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urdepressedslut · 1 year

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I Get Scared Too

♡ Pairing: tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: You have a close call during a mission, and back at the compound Bucky seems to be distant and cold towards you.

♡ Warnings: angst, fluff, reader injury, mentions of gunfire, hints to anxiety attack

A/N: this idea was from a dream i had (im a lucid dreamer). i have been writing in a dream journal since elementary school, so you can imagine the dreams i have jotted down 😭

The mission hadn’t gone to plan, shocker, but everyone kept all their limbs and were able to walk back to the quinjet.

You had a close call, you didn’t see the previously passed out agent sitting back up raising his gun to your back. Obviously before he could fire somewhere vital, Natasha had taken him down, faltering his aim. Although the bullet had skimmed you deep on your hip.

It was hardly life threatening, but Natasha being a protective best friend, scolded you for being reckless. You knew her intentions were good, and that she cared about you, but it didn’t stop you from being annoyed at her treating you like a kid.

She eventually walked to the other side of the quinjet, leaving you to your thoughts. You thought you had done really well, taking down twice as many enemies than last time. But of course, everyone always focused on your flaws, what you had done wrong.

When the quinjet finally landed back at the compound, you were the first one out, having a slight limp from the discomfort in your hip. But otherwise didn’t mind it, you wanted to find your favorite person and tell them all about the mission.

“FRIDAY, where’s Bucky?” You called out to the air once you were inside.

“Bucky is currently in his room, Miss (Y/n).” She announced, making you smile in excitement.

The mission had only been a three day trip, but you had missed him the second you stepped on the quinjet.

Arriving at his door, you knocked three times, hearing shuffling from inside. The door swung open to reveal an unhappy looking Bucky, causing your smile to waver. Assuming he was just having a bad day, you smiled wider and stepped forward to hug him.

“Hi Buck, I missed you.” You mumbled into his chest, squeezing him tighter when you didn’t feel him hug back.

His body tensed, and immediately you released him and stepped back. You were confused at what was wrong, his face was cold. You were hurt that he hadn’t hugged you back, wondering if you had done something to make him mad.

“Missed ya too um... You should go (Y/n).” He spoke finally, his voice holding annoyance.

You blinked up at him and shook your head, fully confused now.

“Buck wha— what’s going on?” You asked hesitantly, anxious that Bucky was being so short with you so suddenly and you didn’t know why.

“Nothing, I just wanna be alone.” He told you, and your heart broke for two reasons.

One, the thought of Bucky having an episode and you weren’t here for him made your heart hurt.

And two, he always came to you when he was upset and the fact that he didn’t want you with him… It stung.

You stared at him as your eyes started to water, your bottom lip starting to quiver. Your heart ached, but you wanted to respect his need for space. You didn’t know what else to say, and considering the lump forming in your throat, you decided to keep it short.

“Alright yeah, of course. I’ll… See you at dinner then.” You told him, watching him retreat back into his room and slam the door, making you flinch.

You were frozen in place, staring at the door expecting him to come back out and tell you it was all a prank. But several minutes passed and you were still staring at the door.

_____________________

You pushed the food around on your plate, keeping your eyes casted down. You had tried to get Bucky's attention, ever since you watched with glossy eyes as he passed his usual seat next to you, and instead sat at the other end of the table. He was avoiding your direction and never attempted to make eye contact.

Bucky giving you the cold shoulder, being silent with you was extremely painful. Considering how well you two communicated and talked, you were the one who had brought him out of his shell. It hurt so bad your chest ached physically.

Out of nowhere, you were slamming your fork down on the plate with a loud clank, causing everyones attention to snap to you.

"What's the matter with you cupcake?" Tony asked you, taking a sip from his wine glass.

Feeling embarrassed from everyones stares, you snuck a glance at Bucky at the end of the table, surprised when you met his concerned eyes.

You scoffed, shaking your head in bewilderment. He had no right to act concerned, after ignoring you. You almost felt bad for him, thinking he was having a bad day, but after you watched him chatter playfully at dinner with everyone, you realized it was only you he didn't want to speak to.

"Hello? Earth to (Y/n)!?" Tony announced, banging on the table to get your attention when he noticed you spacing out.

Everyone was concerned about you by now, all watching you carefully. You glared at Bucky and stood up without answering Tony, pushing your chair back and quickly exiting the dining room.

"Must be her time of the month." Tony mumbled, earning a slap to the back of the head from the redhead next to him. "Ow... What?!"

"Shut up Tony." Natasha rolled her eyes, turning to Bucky and giving him a 'What did you do' look.

_____________________

Laying in bed on your side, you pulled the blanket tighter to your chest with a sniffle. You began to turn over on your other side when your hip throbbed painfully at the movement. The waves of pain had your body shuttering, your eyes filling with fresh tears, rolling down your flushed cheeks.

You blamed your tears on your hip pain, but all the emotions you’d piled up since you’d gotten back from the mission was weighing on you now.

Light knocks sounded from your door, causing you to tense up and turn your back to the door. You didn’t feel like talking to anyone, especially if it was him.

“(Y/n)? I know you heard me.” Natasha muttered, opening the door, letting herself in.

“What do you want Nat?” You snapped, not meaning to take out your frustrations on her.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on? Your little scene downstairs has everyone worried.” She told you, earning a scoff from you, still refusing to face her.

“It’s nothing.” You sighed, wishing she could leave so you could attempt to sleep your issues away.

“Didn’t seem like nothing.” She retorted, huffing in annoyance when you stayed silent.

You were staring at the wall, biting your lip, trying to hold in your built up emotions. Too busy to notice Natasha whispering to another person entering the room. It was when you felt the edge of the bed behind you dip down that snapped your attention back.

“Hey doll,” Bucky greeted, “How’s your hip?”

You twisted your body back facing his worried form, but your eyebrows were furrowed on how he even knew about your injury.

“How did you…”

“Nat told me.”

Rolling your eyes, you were cursing under your breath. Throwing the blanket over your head in attempt to hide.

Your blanket cocoon was quickly ripped away by Bucky, pulling the blanket all the way down below your knees. His eyes dancing around your bandaged hip, clenching his jaw at the red seeping through the white gauze.

“(Y/n), is your hip feeling okay? Do we need to change it—“

“I’m fine!” You snapped, “Now go away.”

You we’re looking everywhere but his eyes, knowing you’d break down if you saw the disappointment in them.

Bucky was taken a back, but he couldn’t be all that angry when he’d brought all this on himself. He just got into this weird headspace when he’d heard the mission report, hearing that you’d been hurt. He realized it wasn’t fatal, but he didn’t like seeing his girl hurt at all. He realized he took it a little too far, he didn’t mean to make you upset the way he did. He’d shut you out and he felt like his old self when he’d first arrived at the compound again. Anxious and closed off, pushing you away when he really wanted to pull you into his arms and tell you how much he loves you.

“Doll, talk to me.” He practically begged, his metal arm whirring, having to stop himself from reaching out to touch you.

“Why are you ignoring me?” You rushed out, your voice louder than you intended it to be, “Is it because I messed up on the mission? A-are you disappointed in me or something? Huh?”

Your chest was rising and falling in a fast rhythm, your mind going haywire at the possibilities of why Bucky was suddenly indifferent with you. Your throat felt like it was tightening up.

Bucky stayed silent, his heart hurting, feeling terrible for making you feel this way.

You couldn’t stop your mind from producing the awful thoughts, and like a switch had been flipped, the dam inside of you cracked. The tears wouldn’t stop, your sobs painful sounding

“Is it… Is it because you— I— Do you not love m-me anymore?” You wheezed out.

Bucky snapped out of his silent trance, his hands cupping your face, brushing away the tear streaks.

“Baby no…” He hushed, trying to stop your mind from torturing yourself.

“I’m so sorry Buck, I-I love you so much and I…” You hiccuped, “If I did something— If I’m not good enough—“

“No Doll hey… Stop that,” He cooed, “You haven’t done anything wrong, okay?”

“Bu-but you…”

“I know baby, I’ve been a dick. I shouldn’t of shut you out like that I was just… I was scared.” Bucky confessed, your tears and breathing slowing down, you sitting silent besides the occasional hiccup.

“I still… I don’t understand?” You thought out loud.

Bucky breathed heavily, swallowing the forming lump in his throat. He scooted closer to you, pulling your form closer to him, and you let him.

“(Y/n), you have no idea how scared I was when I heard you had gotten hurt.” He started, watching your face soften at his wavering voice.

“Buck, I’m okay though.” You reassured him, grabbing his palms, rubbing your thumb comfortingly over the back of his hand.

“I know baby, but… I couldn’t help but think if you got hurt on a mission and—“ He panted out, “And you didn’t make it.”

Your heart ached at the pain laced in his words, him holding onto your hands in a desperate grip.

“Buck..”

“I know that doesn’t give me an excuse to be a dick to you I… I just get into this headspace every time you are headed back from a mission, when I’m waiting to hear that you’re alright and… When I heard you had gotten hurt— I just assumed the worst.” He finished.

The disappointment was clear on his face, but it wasn’t directed toward you, it was directed to himself.

You understood that he meant no harm, and you felt incredibly bad that he suffered so much while you were gone, you thought it was the other way around. You felt extremely loved in a sense, feeling lucky enough to have someone worry as deep as he did for you.

“Buck, you should’ve just told me how you were feeling from the start. You know I’d listen,” You paused, doubt clouding your thoughts, “You still trust me enough to talk to me… Right?”

Bucky immediately nodded his head, cupping your face, hearing your faltering voice.

“Of course I do baby, I trust you with my life.” He reassured you, “I don’t know why I got like that.”

“I know why,” You started, cradling his face, watching him snuggle his cheek deeper into your palm, “You have a good heart, and sometimes having a good heart can be overwhelming, because you can care so much about something.”

“I don’t want a good heart if it’s going to make me act that way.” He whispered sadly, lowering his eyes.

“That’s the thing about having a good heart,” You lifted his head slightly so his eyes met yours, “Its not something you can just change, it’s a part of you.”

He gazed from each eye, to your lips, then back up to your eyes, mesmerized by your beauty and soul. How could you be so forgiving and caring towards him?

“I’m so sorry I shut you out (Y/n), I love you and I will never do something like that again.” He promised, lifting and pulling you into his lap, curling his arms around your frame. Sitting his chin on top of your head.

You snuggled your face into his neck, wrapping your arms around him protectively.

“It’s okay Buck, I get scared too.”

#reader insert #light angst #fluff #oneshot #imagine #bucky x female reader #buckybarnes #bucky x y/n #falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #marvel cinematic universe #sebastian stan characters #hurt/comfort #protective bucky barnes

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charmedreincarnation · 10 months

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Success story (not the void)

Maya, as I promised you, I'm writing you my success story. It's quite a wild one, so please bear with me.

My journey started during the Angel era, when I was struggling with the void state. I tried everything I could think of to get out of it - every method, every meditation technique, affirming, intention, lucid dreaming, and even coaching from various LoA experts, including those not so well-known. I was desperate for a breakthrough, a key to unlock the life I deserved. I would have done anything, even ate dirt if that was what it took.

At that time, my family was going through a rough patch. My abusive father, a police officer, divorced my mother and left us with nothing. We were homeless, living out of our car, while my dad was living a comfortable life. He had a new girlfriend, a younger woman, and continued to be respected in his job. Meanwhile, my mom, who was a victim of his abuse, was labeled a liar and lost everything. I was filled with rage, towards him, towards the world, towards the jury that declared him innocent. I wasn’t safe in this world especially being homeless, women and children are the most vulnerable to sexual and physical assault. I was scared, unsafe, and had nothing aside my mother and siblings.

I wanted to enter the void, not just for myself, but to give my family a better life and to bring justice to those who had wronged us. I was at a point where I was harming myself, but I couldn't give up because my family needed me. I remember messaging you, Maya, pouring out my story, begging you to help me enter the void. Despite your initial hesitation, you responded with kindness, sharing some personal experiences, and reassuring me that I wasn't alone.

Your words gave me hope. You made me realize that many people who find the law have gone through, or are still going through difficulties. If they could overcome their struggles, so could I.

So, I decided to let go of the void. Not because I didn't believe in it, but because I had elevated it to a status akin to a genie that would magically solve all my problems. When non-dualism and other loa concepts were introduced, everything finally clicked. I realized I didn't have to be angry, or try to be someone manifesting master, or do all these fake methods. I have always known that my family and I were meant to be happy.

For a month, I went through a process of shedding my ego. It was uncomfortable, and there were times I found myself fighting my own thoughts, telling them to shut up. I was separating my ego from myself. You, Maya, had once said that this process was similar to withdrawal symptoms of someone quitting drugs. This thought comforted me. I was becoming someone new, my old thoughts weren't there anymore.

Living in my car, I began to see it as my mansion. My mom's crying turned into laughter, my siblings' whine for food turned into jokes. We pretended that we were living our dream life, and after a while, my siblings joined me in this game. We would come "home" from school and yell at each other, pretending that the house was so big that we needed walkie-talkies to communicate.whenever I needed to steal food it was because we owned the place and can take whatever we want, not because I had to.

One day, we parked at a field, and I started imagining my life. I tried to become the clouds by thinking I am and accepting that my consciousness could be whatever it wanted. I got my siblings to do the same. We became the flowers, then the sun, then the stars at night. Even though physically I was still in the car, mentally and emotionally, I was living my dream life.

When I woke up, I was in a large room. It was decorated to perfection. I heard my siblings running around, throwing toys, and my mother laughing with a man, who's laugh alone sounded like gold. I explored the house, and it was beautiful. There was no yelling, no violence, only laughter and love. My mom introduced me to her boyfriend, and he was holding a newspaper that read that my father had been arrested for domestic crimes and fraud. He was losing everything.

At that moment, I realized that I had done it. My mom was happy, beautiful, and loved. My siblings had plenty of toys and clothes, and our house was filled with love. My family and I were finally living our dream life.

I have been living my life for about a month and now, and it has been blissful to say the least. I go to a well known private school and I am the top student. I am apart of many clubs, and also spend a lot of time volunteering at domestic shelters, and speaking to victims of intrapersonal abuse. I have made friends of people who volunteer with me, so it’s nice to have people who care about the same thing I do.

I am also apart of my writing club, and found comfort in reading and writing and have decided I want to be an author once I graduate. I have always wanted to be a writer but they don’t make enough money often. But now not only do I know I will be successful but my family has enough money to last us multiple generations plus some more. My Bio father had gotten much to what is coming to him and he will be going to jail. I hope he drops the soap but I have let go of my anger with that barbaric fool. So has my mother who has also recently gotten engaged and I get to be her maid of honor. She has a friend group of mothers from school and I have never seen her happier. My now father treats her like a goddess and treats everyone like that. He spoils my mom and us with gifts and luxurious trips. He also spoils the help such as the maids and cooks and never treats them below us. He does not expect anything from my mother except for her to be happy and spend time with us. He is kind selfless loving and respectful. the real definition of a man. I adore him so much and I’m so happy to call him my father.

I find great joy in the little stuff. I love cleaning my room. My bio dad was a hoarder and the house was always a mess because my mom was the sole provider though my “bio dad” made much more. He instead used it on hookers, alcohol, and drugs. Pathetic excuse for a man I know. I love going shopping, as I don’t have to look at the price tag. It feels normal, there was no shift. This is just life constantly changing. I have 5 pets and spend great time with all of them, and they are all so loving and adore me. I love school, and doing my homework, taking tests, assemblies etc. i love talking to my teacher about my ideas and how I can improve. They’re always so encouraging and kind, and I have never experienced that. I also loveeeee having crushes hehe. I never had time nor the “looks” for that prior to these past few months, but I receive a good amount of attention from a lot of sweet man and the “what if” aspect of having crushes is fun. I just love being a teenage girl, something I was not always able to say. I love the world and the people in it, the creations I bring and make, and all I did to make it what it is. I never worry what happened to my old self or life. It died, it doesn’t exist I am here right now with them and the old story is gone. Like an author erasing a part of a story she doesn’t like and never producing it, I did the same. My one true reality and I am so blessed.

Also big thanks to bloggers like @awarenessis @starbursts777 @consciousnessbaddie for introducing this concepts to Tumblr in a simple and kind way. Love to everyone in this devoted app.

Congratulations on your astounding success story 🥹 Your journey is a testament to the power of the human spirit, and it's an honor to hear about your transformation. This is beautiful wild tale, but it's your reality, and it's absolutely beautiful.

Your story is a powerful reminder that we have the power to shape our reality, no matter how dire our circumstances may be. It's a testament to the power of belief, determination, and the human spirit. I'm incredibly proud of you and wish you and your family all the happiness in the world.

#law of assumption #manifesation #manifesting #void state #my asks

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gabessquishytum · 8 months

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Dubcon mating with alpha dream except hob knows EXACTLY what hes doing:) hob has been all but throwing himself at dream all semester all "ohh wow i would NEVER leave MY alpha like that.. too bad i dont even have one :(" hell cut it as close as possible going to class through his pre heat just to hopefully give dream a wiff of how slick and fertile he is. Dream does not seem to notice. But hob is one of the few omegas in the school this year so hob thinks his chances are pretty good to be able to get him in rut. He follows dream to his office all smug and confident. But he wasnt prepared for how overwhelming getting held down and rut fucked was!! Hes trying to crawl away despite himself but only gets hornier when dream physically drags him back. Hob has fooled around before but never done more than some over the clothes stuff with an actual alpha.. dream gives him his first knot and latches his teeth to the back of his neck to mate him as well. Hob is a bit teary and dream still hasnt come back to himself.. his pants were ripped off his body along with his underwear but dream lays on top of him so hes not cold. Hob is determined to keep his alpha though. Hes got his gym clothes in his bag and he drags dream off to his own room, planning to hide long enough that the bond solidifies and an emergency break wouldn't be possible anymore :) good thing dream isnt awake to make hob see someone for that!! Hes got a weird sense of honor and hob is doing all he can to make the bond permanent before dream can get in his way :)

-🔪

Oh YES. Sneaky, sneaky Hob. This is excellent.

Hob is ambitious, ok? He’s been told all his life that he’ll never get anywhere or be anything. He sees it as his job to prove people wrong. So he has a plan: put himself through uni, get a fantastic fucking job, and get himself the most eligible alpha he can find.

Not necessarily in that order.

Dream is just perfect. Clever, rich, handsome. Hob can’t understand why anyone would leave him, but he’s not complaining. With Dream’s previous mating bond gone, Hob is free to make his move. He’s a little scared of how it will work out, but Dream has been nice to him and shown an interest in Hob! Not in a sexual way, but that’s only because he’s too professional. Hob is sure that Dream won’t object to them being mated. Hob isn’t the perfect omega, but he’ll do his best. He’s (mostly) a virgin, and he plans to take good care of his alpha. What more could Dream want?

And once he becomes lucid again, Dream is surprisingly compliant. He doesn’t seem angry. He panics at first, but once Hob assures him that he wanted Dream to fuck him and mate him, he just kind of… accepts it. He takes Hob home to his big empty house. He just seems pleased to have an omega around the place!

Hob gets his comeuppance for his sneakiness, because the house isn’t entirely empty. Dream soon introduces Hob to… his son. Orpheus is preschool aged and spends his time split between Dream and Calliope’s homes. Hob is suddenly thrust into the role of step-parent to a child who could conceivably be his sibling, while Dream breathes a sigh of relief because he really needs all the help he can get with Orpheus.

But Hob doesn’t believe in giving up! He rolls up his sleeves (figuratively and literally), speedily reads a couple of websites about blended families, and decides that he’s going to be the best fucking step-parent anyone has ever seen. He does regret his underhanded behaviour a tiny bit, but he’s made his bed and now he’s going to lie in it.

And he still gets to ride Dream’s dick at the end of the day, so… it could be a lot worse. Every time Dream grabs him at the waist and pulls him back onto his cock, shoving his knot more firmly into his hole, Hob remembers how it all started… and he’s honestly really looking forward to his next heat. Dream fucked him so good in his rut, so Hob is pretty sure that spending a pheromone loaded heat with him is going to be amazing. And maybe they’ll even make a little sibling for Orpheus :D

#🔪 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw omegaverse #cw teacher/student #cw dubcon

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middleearthsdreams · 4 months

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New World

Chapter 1

Author's notes: Hii, this is my first time posting something of mine here, I hope you'll enjoy. I usually write these for myself so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes or grammatical errors - english isn't my first language. I didn't proof read, I thought of just posting it and see how it goes.

(The reader has a little of self-insert, so she's going to be italian, nothing too evident)

Warnings: so far none.

Enjoy xoxo

chapter 2 / chapter 3

The last thing you remember, was the feeling of sinking. Like when you’re falling in a dream. Then nothing at all.

You gasp for air, hoisting yourself up with your arms. Your vision is blurred, the shapes around you look nothing like your room. The only think you can hear is the hard and fast beating of your heart. Your hands feel wet and cold, like you’ve been laying in the morning grass for a while. Now that you place your thoughts together, it’s not just your hands that feel cold, but your whole body is shivering from the cold. You start to panic. You can barely feel the sheer fabric of your shirt and sweats, as you move around looking for your glasses. You take a hold on them and wear them.

Yes, something is definitely wrong. You have just the feeling that you’re still dreaming. You focus on the tall trees surrounding you, and the dirt you’re touching with your hands. Your eyes can’t lie to you, you’re surely dreaming. Your comfy bed is gone, as is your warm room. You stand up with bare feet. Wiggling your toes to warm them up and to feel the damp forest floor, you look around. The lucid dream you’re in is set in a cold forest, apparently. The reason? Whatever it is your consciousness wants to tell you is very subtle, maybe it is to take a walk? Breathe clear air? You clean your hands form the dirt on your sides. Your grey shorts taking a brownish shade.

You start to wander the path, there’s marks on the ground, like a carriage has just passed by. You feel your mind on a cloud, still not knowing what is happening around you. But yet, you’re dreaming. It must be a pretty normal feeling. You’re surprised by your rational thoughts. You wonder why this forest feels familiar. But again, you dream familiar things all the time.

You whistle a melody while walking, looking around in search of odd things to encounter. Something must happen, for crying out loud. You’re constantly waiting for something to barge or stumble on your presence, but it doesn’t happen. As the minutes pass by you’re overcome by boredom, and immediately after that by fear. It’s irrational, pure and primal fear of the unknown. The trees look all the same and the Sun begins to shine brightly, letting you know that hours have passed by, and not just minutes. You run, pinch your arm, count your fingers. Nothing. You can feel the ache of your lungs from running, the pain in your arm as you pinch it, and again you counted 10 fingers. You huff and puff, leaning on your knees to steady your irregular breathing. Your back stiffens, a loud ‘crack’ coming from somewhere around you. You freeze and quit your loud noises, counting to ten before sprinting in a frantic run. You leap on logs and wet leaves, never stopping. You jump, looking behind for just a second. You heard something very close. You have just the time to look back ahead and discover where the noise actually came from. You bump, very harshly, on a strong person. Not just strong but also firm and hard, since it doesn’t even bulge. You fall – again. This time you know why, at least. And you know now more that before you’re not dreaming. Your head feels heavy, your limbs ache incredibly bad. A loud bark comes from the person you just run over.

“Seven Hells, watch out!”

It screams at you, adjusting its armoured shoulders. Your ears perk up, he sounds familiar. You can tell it’s a he, and he is also very tall. That half-burnt face, you could recognize it everywhere. You squint your eyes, hoping you are wrong. Despite your glasses, and your eyes being the useless muscles they were, you focus enough to trace the coarse face of the man standing in front of you. He looks you down, an angry expression buried in a frown. He’s like this all the time. But you discovered the true and most emotional parts of this giant man. During the show. Because that’s what it was, a show. The Game of Thrones was just a show, and the Hound isn’t standing in front of you. You feel yourself floating, out of this world. Your soul – figuratively – leaving your body. But what was this world if not dreams? It couldn’t be real.

You gasp for air, trying to feel the touch of your numb hands on the ground, but you couldn’t. Your breathing becomes frantic, you’re sure to be having a panic attack. You don’t look up anymore, trying not to focus on the man’s face. It couldn’t be more real. A real panic attack. You feel every little detail and at the same time you don’t. You can’t feel your body from the outside but only form the inside.

The tall man – the Hound – keeps looking at you from above, not really caring what is going on. “Yea, feel bad about it, I ain’t gonna apologize” he says, taking his gloves out. His voice is what makes you feel everything suddenly, all at once. He grounds you back to the moment. Your feet on the ground, hands gripping the dirt: you breathe again.

His eyes wander to your sitting form, wondering if you’re a threat or just some lost girl. While you start to wonder if you’re just batshit crazy. Holding your thoughts back, you stumble up on your feet. You eye the Hound carefully, making sure he’s really there. And if he’s there, you make sure he doesn’t make anything dangerous towards you. Now that you find yourself in front of him, you can see why people were so scared of him. It’s just his whole presence, that makes you shiver – and not in a good way. You carry yourself near him, not too close as not to worry him of harm. Not that you could harm him, in any way. Stranger is right beside him, loaded with weapons and some of his own stuff.

“I apologize Ser” You speak for the first time, not really sure if to bow or how to bow. You decide not to. Now that he’s assured you’re not mute, he looks away from you and grunts. He really just grunts. His horse could have given you a much better answer, you think. “Not a Ser” He just shrugs. You don’t know how to respond to that, so you decide to stay silent. You look around again, since you don’t really know what to do. The forest is quiet except for the birds and unknown sounds. You wonder if you find yourself in the north, but quickly discharge the idea. It would have been way colder if it was. You can stand on your bare feet and not freeze your toes off, so it’s definitely not it. You kick the ground lightly, wondering if you’re gonna be walking into the woods for much longer. You don’t have much knowledge about scouting and hunting, maybe finding a tavern would be the best choice. Of course, it would be, if you knew where to go.

“What were ye doing out in the forest?” His sudden question clears your thoughts, having grown accustomed of the quiet chatting inside your head. You turn your head to him, a question mark written across your face. You have no fucking clue, but here you are. Chatting with the Hound. From the Game Of Thrones. He steadies a bag on the horse, maybe done camping for a night. You wonder what season you found yourself into.

You answer, lying: “I was being chased by a boar”. That would explain your helpless running, obviously. However, since you couldn’t tell him the truth, you start to ponder which lies would have sounded more reasonable. Trying to test the waters, a joke escapes you: “didn’t want to end like King Robert, you know”. You giggle lightly, trying to break the ice. He just huffs but answers your silent question: “aye”. So, it’s past first season, good to know.

“Can I ask you a question?” You try but he stops you “You just did”. You roll your eyes at him, glad he doesn’t notice. “I heard about Stannis Baratheon marching upon Kingslanding, is it true?” You know you’re burning your cards but you don’t know how better to put it. His movements stop for a second, he looks ahead, but he wakes and close up the straps holding the bag quickly. He grunts again, so it’s a yes. ‘Oh’, you smile. He’s on the run, then.

You try to make it sound casual “I just heard about it, it’s crazy what the Imp has done with the wildfire”. He replies with a growl then walks with his steed alongside him, away from you. The ground opens up beneath your feet: what would you do if you were alone? You couldn’t be left alone: you would not survive one day. As you glare at his broad shoulders walking away, the lamp inside your head turns on.

You struggle to walk to him, what long strides he takes. “Wait!” You exclaim, almost running. He doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking. “Don’t leave me alone” You tell him, trying to make him feel something. You know how cautious he is, he is a loner and he has just escaped a city that wants his head on a pike. Despite all of this, he is one of the strongest men in all Westeros, he could keep you safe like no one else could. Whatever that escaping bullshit was, it had to wait. “I don’t know where I am and I don’t know how to live in a forest, I would die by tomorrow or worse” You complain. He just shrugs his shoulders and says “None of my business”. You should have figured he would be like this. But one tiny, little part of you wants to make him feel sorry for you. You’re the damsel in distress.

“At least can you give me a ride? You see, I ran so fast I lost my shoes” you say looking at your feet on the verge of bleeding. He stops himself – and the horse – to turn around and look you down. He bends, looking at your feet with disgust. His hard shell cracks the tiniest bit, because he sighs. “Whatever, where are ye off to?” He offers a hand to make you sit on the horse, but changes his mind: you are far too short. He opens his arms, holding your hips to help you up. His two hands almost engulf your whole waist, his touch making you blush. Here come the nice shivers. “For now, the next tavern, then I’m heading North”. You don’t know why, but you want to separate yourself from Kingslanding as quickly as possible. That damn city. You love the sea and all, but you would prefer to visit the western zones. The North would seem like a good option for now. You lighten up, your eyes glistening. You could try to save Robb, Cathleen and then try to meet all of your favourites. Maybe you could travel north and save Ed and Pip and – your heart races – Ingrid. You could still have time to help Tyrion with the whole trial, and meet Prince Oberyn, save him from the Mountain. There’s still time. You know all of it, the timing is perfect.

Your racing thoughts are pulled away by Sandor’s hand coming close to your leg, to take the reins. Eyes scan your body, you feel embarrassed by your sleeping attire, not very fit for the season. You try to cover your exposed thighs and belly. You went to sleep with some shorts and a small top, since it was summer. Now, you surely hadn’t planned to travel in a fantasy series, otherwise you would have worn much different clothing. Maybe a cute little outfit, you had just the perfect dress for the occasion which you bought for LARP. Sandor – what a sweet name to pronounce – clears his throat and points out “You’re going to freeze your ass off if you’re going North”. You shrug “I’m just going to buy new clothes along the way-” you slap yourself and think ‘yeah, with what money?’. You decide it’s a problem for future you, now you just want to enjoy your first horse ride and to chat a little bit more. Well, not that Sandor’s a chatty man, but you can talk and he can just listen. “Whatever” He just shrugs. You focus on him now, his unbruised half face directed towards you. Then it hits you. You feel like crying, chin trembling. You always forget he dies too, in the end. And you think it’s just unfair: for all the character development he will be going through, it’s just cruel how his story ends. He knows you’re looking at him, but he’s used to be stared at. He thinks it’s his scar that scares people away, that makes him ugly. But he doesn’t know that, in reality, you have a determined face right now. You’re not looking at him because he’s weird – he’s way too handsome in real life. You will save him, no matter the cost. You make it your mission; you will save Sandor Clegane.

“I haven’t properly introduced myself, I’m y/n” You offer him your hand, not receiving any response from him. He just keeps looking ahead, unbothered. You don’t give yourself up: “And you are…?”. You try to not show your real emotions, you’re not the best liar. He scoffs, glancing your way briefly “You know damn well who I am”. You insist “I may know your name, but not the man behind it”. He barks a real and sarcastic laugh – making you jump a little – eyes thin and wrinkled by the grimace “Good luck with that”. Being optimistic, you just nod and say “Challenge accepted”. The shadow of a smile still lingers on his lips, humoured by your attitude. You point your nose up, the rocking of the horse and the thumps of his feet the only sounds remaining.

“Yer not from around here” After some minutes he interrupts the silence, surprising you. You look at him questioning and he clears himself “Ye said your name but didn’t tell me where you come from, lassie”. You open your mouth promptly, but close it again. You surely can’t tell him where you come from, but can’t force yourself to lie enormously. You come up with the most accepting half truth you can muster: “You wouldn’t know, it’s an unknown land from the West”. He doesn’t seem too convinced by your lie, but says nothing. You let out a sigh of relief, then of pensiveness. You don’t mean to brag but you really miss your world: the comforts, the food, your family. You have no clue what is going on the other side. Maybe you’ll wake up in your bed once you’ll fall asleep tonight, maybe not. Does your family know you’re missing?

“But you know, sometimes I miss it, my small town. My mother makes the best pizza of all town, and I’m not saying this because she’s my mom; she taught me how to make it, maybe I can cook it for you one day. I’m gonna need…” You talk and talk, about anything that comes to your mind. You haven’t spoken to someone the whole day: he has the burden to bear with you for quite a while. He sighs, letting you talk.

Your continuous bragging about nothing and everything surely makes Sandor regret his decision. But he’s grown accustomed to boring conversations, so he dissociates from your nonsense. The only thing that intrigued him were the sudden unknown words you spoke – maybe another language. But after some time, he grew tired and began thinking to his own stuff. You know he’s not listening, so you pretend to talk to Stranger. He’s character too, you know. You caress the horse, receiving small sounds of appreciation form him. You tell Stranger all your favourite dishes and hobbies, letting the hours go by.

When the sky starts to turn pink and purple you have shut up for good, hours before. You find the quiet company of the Hound amusing, it’s kind of relaxing. Surely, you want to know many more things than you already know from the tv series. But you tell yourself ‘one thing at a time’.

You rub your cold thighs, shivering from the cold evening air. You haven’t encountered a tavern so far, nor a person passing by. It surely isn’t the King’s Road, otherwise it would be more ‘crowded’. You glance tiredly at the man at your right, his astonishing strength still making him walk. You look at him incredulous: “How are you not tired of walking?” you question him. He just shrugs “I’m used to it”. Your expression drops. You feel terrible for stealing his seat on Stranger, but you don’t know how long you would have gone without shoes. You miss the sensation of warmth that clothes provide, your limbs numb from the riding and cold.

“Can I walk again? I’m hurting my bum up here” You try, his head turning your way, glancing ever so slightly down where said butt sat. He shakes his head “We’re almost arrived”. You sigh, rocking your hips up, trying to relieve the ache between your legs. You’re not used to sit for so many hours. Least to ride a horse. But you’re glad, you thank him silently. You’re overcome by excitement once you hear the indistinct sounds of people talking and drinking, from afar. Finally, people!

Once you – three – arrive at the tavern, you realize you can’t just walk in, this bare you are. Sandor offers to walk inside first, trying to retrieve a dress or something. You thank him, he glances down at you and grunts “Stay hidden, these are not place for ladies to wonder alone naked” and with that he’s jogging inside. You shiver, unmounting Stranger to hide behind his giant form. Your legs wobble and tingle, you let out a moan of relief. You shake and jump on them, warming them up. Your feet are hopelessly cold, you can do nothing about them. You bend to massage your legs, leaning on Stranger to crack your back. The horse looks you weird, like you’ve grown two heads. As you are cracking on the left of your back you feel a presence behind you, its big shadow enveloping you. You’re scared for the first two seconds but take a relieving breath when you hear Sandor’s voice: “What are ye doing?”

“Why are you always bewildered when I do or say something?” You answer, turning back to face him. He’s so tall, you have to tilt your head back to look at him. You take a quick look at his black eyes, unreadable as a stone. He smirks and hands you some pieces of clothing “Cause you’re a funny woman”. His answer leaves you shocked – and amused. Then he turns around and commands: “Put them on”. It takes you some time to distinguish what clothes they are, but manage to put them on. It turns out it’s a long skirt and a bodice, of poor material. You accept kindly, finally covering your legs and arms. Lovely warmth! As you struggle to tie the top piece, you ask “Where did you find these?” referring to the clothes. You hear his shrug thanks to the armour he’s wearing. You decide not to inquire. You sigh loudly, hands behind your back trying to tie the laces but failing miserably. You cross your arms on your breasts and ask quietly “Can you help me?”. You blush, feeling like a child who cannot tie its shoelaces. You still have your back to him. You don’t see him but you can hear him turning towards you, the clanking of metal indicating he’s getting close. Gentle fingers caress your back to find the laces, then a firm pull brings you back. You yelp a little and plant your feet to the ground. He tightens the bodice and knots it. Your blush grows; you’re glad it’s dark so he can’t see it. As suddenly as his hands were on you, they left. He grunts and starts walking back to the tavern. You’re left to yourself for a short second, but you quickly quip behind him. The lingering of his touch burning your back with shivers. The only thing you can see are his broad shoulders, then he moves out of the way and you can finally see the inside of the tavern. It’s so warm and cheerful, you feel overcome by a sudden feeling of happiness. People laughing and drinking, women cheerfully dance to a bad melody. The smell of chicken pie and smoke soaking the environment. Fuck yeah.

You catch up with Sandor to a far table, isolated from the rest. You take a seat across him, excited as a baby to a birthday party. You almost jump from the happiness. Sandor watches you, scrutinizing your every move. He still hasn’t figured you out yet, and that makes him nervous. You’re a small woman, you should be scared of him. Instead, you follow him around and look into him so deeply; you watch him as if you trust him. He knows that, whatever you try to do to him, he’s one of the strongest men in Westeros and could snap you like a twig. So, what is it that makes him nervous? Your gaze rests on his eyes, two seconds too much maybe, and you blush bashfully. He raises a brow ‘what is wrong with this woman?’. Your eyes grow big and wet, your mind racing with thoughts and questions. He looks away, unable to maintain the eye contact. You lower your own gaze.

You get served pie and two pitchers of red wine. It’s not so good – the pie – but since you were starving, you devour it in less than two minutes. Then you gulp down a full goblet of the shitty wine, to ease the passing. All the while Sandor looks at you shocked – as far as his facial expression can go. He’s never seen a lady behave like that, but – after all – you didn’t eat a thing the whole day.

A sigh escapes your lips, two more pitchers have gone, equally divided between you and the giant in front of you. The meal went silently, making you grow bored. The alcohol in your stomach – gone to your head – makes you act frantically: you get up and walk towards the dancing women. The Hound doesn’t stop you, just glances towards you with half lidded eyes. You have always been the drunk dancer, so it’s natural for you to go up there and take some woman’s waist and twist her in your arms. The black-haired woman laughs and holds her hand up facing you. You meet her hand with hers and dance in a circle, leaving her to circle with another woman. You quickly catch up the lyrics of the song and sing along with the ones participating. You laugh and dance for a while, head turning and vision going blurry. Your dress moves swiftly, calluses forming under your bare feet. You can feel two holes burning on your back, so you turn around. You make eye contact with the Hound and wink his way, rosy cheeks and hips swaying. He sips from his goblet, eyes lingering down your body. You feel more naked now than when you were wearing your grey shorts. Stomach aching and legs feeling like jelly, you walk back to the table. You don’t know if your stomach stirs from his stare or from the good laugh you’re having. And your legs are trembling from all the dancing, right? No other reason.

“You’re so dark and broody, I wonder what goes into that pretty head of yours” You exclaim, sitting poorly on your chair. Your hands go to your stomach, as your feet cross over the table. You huff from the exhaustion, taking deep breaths with your eyes closed.

“Ye don’t want ta know” he slurs, gulping his last drink. Your eyes open, legs go back on the chair and hands under your chin, with your elbows on the table. You stare into the balls of his eyes, trying to read him. His whole demeanour changes, he grows stiff and cold. Alright, he doesn’t want to be read.

“And what if I do?” you play, testing the waters. He snaps, eyes go from warm and sultry to dark and frozen. “I don’t!” he half yells. You’re surprised but unfazed by his reaction, you know he’s cutting the edges of his walls to make them sharper. You don’t care, but don’t insist, holding your hands up in defeat.

“I get it, sorry” You apologize, the energy drained from your body. Your many drinks starting to show their effects, you lay your head on the table. You gaze up at him from down there and ask “Can we go to sleep?”. He’s still stoic and cold, but places two coins on the table, making it jump. You jump too, standing with him. His strides are longer but he’s going slow on purpose, to keep an eye on you. He nods towards a narrow hallway upstairs, leading you to a room.

As soon as you see a bed, you launch yourself on it. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’s soft. And big. It’s a king-sized bed, but you don’t put much thought onto it. Sandor still stands at the feet of the bed; you look at him from behind your shoulder. “Come” You pat the other side of the bed, distancing yourself from the other end. “I won’t be too close, I swear” You plead him to stay. First of all, because you didn’t want to steal another comfort from him, today. Second, you are still a bit cold and the warmth of another body could help with that.

You can see the thoughts behind his eyes, wheels stirring and twisting. You thought he wouldn’t agree, but he sits on the edge of the bed. He starts taking his armour off, struggling to unclasp the straps in his drunken state. You crawl to his left, eyes asking silently ‘can I?’. You don’t touch him unless he asks you to, so when he growls, frustrated by his inability to do basic things, he nods. You help him get out of his heavy armour, eyes never meeting. You’re too embarrassed to look him in the face since he’s too close. His face inches from yours, you can smell the alcohol coming from his mouth. His eyes though, they don't leave you for one moment. Travelling down your face, then your exposed shoulders, the curve of your breasts, then to your hands. He burns with restraint: you surely wouldn't want to do anything with him. Yes, you're just using him for protection, he knows that. When you’re done, he hastily gets up and goes to lay on his side. How could someone ever want him. With these thoughts he closes his eyes. You blow out a candle, ‘patience’ you repeat to yourself. You fall asleep very quickly, your backs brushing lightly. Head empty.

#sandor x reader #sandor clegane #sandor the hound clegane #the hound #reader insert #sandor / reader #fluff #eventual smut #strangers to lovers #game of thrones

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shyrose57 · 8 months

Text

The night Scott sees Aimsey, he dreams.

—--------------

Owen and Water drag him home, shooting glances between them while they pretend nothing’s wrong, strained smiles and hesitant chatter that dies into unsure silence within minutes.

They think he’s crazy. Scott knows he’s not. He knows what he saw, bone deep certainy, even if for some strange reason, none of the others saw it too.

It had been Aimsey. Pale and sickly, standing so close, and his cheeks had looked so sunken. If he had reached out, they would have touched, in those few silent seconds. But they hadn’t, instead turning, slow, without a sound, and walking further into the island, ignoring Scott’s cries.

Of course he followed. He didn’t know why Owen and Water hadn’t seen them, didn’t know why they seemed so desperate to get off the island when she was right there, in need of help or rescue or something.

He’d wanted to keep going, to chase after until they slowed down and explained, until they stopped and let him help. But his crewmates tones had gone firm in a way he knew they’d picked up from Cleo-a tone that he knew by heart.

‘We’ll drag you from here if we have to’ it said, even as they just ushered him back towards the boat with reassurances that sounded shakingly hollow and meaningless.

He skips dinner when they get back, and goes straight to bed. His stomach twists at the mere idea of eating. He wonders if Aimsey found the stew.

And yet, sleep comes in like a tidal wave, slamming down on him without warning in the midst of his worrying.

He wakes into a dream, lucid and aware.

“Aimsey?” They’re sitting on the foot of his bed, still silent. Hunched over casually, sharpening a sword he vaguely recognizes as his own. Strange.

This is a dream, he knows. He shifts upwards anyway, going to lay a hand on his shoulder, just to have tried.

She isn’t there anymore though. He blinks, and oh, they’re over by the doorway. Why did they move?

(Something tugs at the corner of his mind, but it’s drowned beneath sluggish confusion)

“Aimsey?” He asks again, and then he’s at the door too, trailing after their shadow and leaving his sword by the window it ended up propped on. He’d usually never do that, but this is a dream, and Aimsey is not something he needs to defend himself from.

Scott doesn’t quite notice when they leave Heron territory for the rest of the island, gaze focused on the missing Kite, always just a few short steps ahead, and if he was just closer-

The next step he takes is on open air, and he realizes, abruptly, that he’s at the docks.

And then, hands on his shoulders force him into dark waters, and something flashes in the briefest ray of moonlight, purple overlaid on pale flesh, framing dead eyes that don’t change even as the Kite’s face does, abruptly not her face at all.

And then, he has a horrifying second realization.

This is not a dream.

—----------------

(The night Scott sees Aimsey, he drowns)

#scurvyblr #pirates smp #drabble #scott smajor #gee sure hope nothing followed our favorite heron back home #i just don't think he's gonna survive this one

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hyuuukais · 5 days

Text

⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404

pairing ~ yang jeongin x fem reader

synopsis ~ y/n starts getting messages from an unknown number after buying a used phone for cheap. as she finds out more about the boy she's talking to, it turns out there's much more to this than a wrong number --- he died, and she's talking to his spirit, yet he has no idea what happened to him. will y/n have what it takes to solve the mystery of his death? or will the boy's spirit remained trapped in his phone?

warnings ~ gen, death, blood/injury, implied child abuse

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS | NEXT

CH 2 ~ THE PLAYGROUND (wc: 2.9k, 2 screenshots)

Nothing you find online even hints at foul play, or at least, nothing official. There's a blog you come across called Souls of Seoul, a conspiracy theorist obsessed with fishy deaths citywide, and they just so happen to have classified the death of Yang Jeongin, a 23-year-old actor about to snatch his breakout role, fishy. She has multiple posts dedicated to it, but you skim most of them as they repeat information or add details that are a little... out there. You finally reach the final post where she writes an in-depth analysis and theory of what she thinks really happened.

"And then his rival and best friend... ah," you click the continue reading button, wanting to learn as much as you can, but the page refreshes to find nothing, a big, red message screaming at you.

ERROR 404 : PAGE NOT FOUND !

You refresh the page again, but the same words flash at you. Weird. There's contact info at the bottom of the page, but when you try and text the number, your messages don't go through, almost like the universe is trying to stop you from uncovering the truth. At first, you weren't really sure if you believed Jeongin's death was something deeper than the story told, but evidence keeps piling up, making you become suspicious.

On the bus ride to work, you can't help but ponder the strange dream you had last night. You can still feel the breeze on your cheeks and hear the breath in your ear. Something isn't quite right, the air around you too still when the bus is stopped too long at a red light. The bus lights flicker, then turn off completely. You're sitting near the back by the door, watching a man walk onto the bus and gasp at the sight of him.

There's a large butcher's knife digging into his neck, wet blood slick around the site of the wound, soaking his shirt and beige coat red. He pays the fare, sitting down in a seat closer to the front. No one else seems to notice, but no one else is moving either. People around you are frozen in their seats, paused mid-movement. A girl across from you has one earbud in her hand, centimetres away from her ear. Another passenger beside her has just dropped their water bottle, the object half way to the floor. You hand covers your mouth as you take everyone else in, eyes finally landing on the man again.

He's looking at you, seemingly just as shocked that you can see him too. His eyebrows furrow, mouth shut in a tight line as he gets up and moves to sit next to you.

"You're not dead," his voice is raspy.

"I'm not," you whisper, hand falling away from your mouth to grip the pole beside you, fighting the urge to run off this bus.

For all you know, the bus is still moving and this is another lucid dream. The last thing you need right now is to try and leave, ending up in the hospital for leaping off a moving bus. Although this doesn't feel like a dream, you can always tell, you won't risk it.

"How are you not dead?" His fingers brush up your jaw, cold and dry. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to get to work," you reply, voice shaky.

His eyes snap down to yours and his hand drops. "Oh."

Then the lights come back on, there's a clang of metal hitting the floor, and the man is gone, leaving you with a raging headache.

You're distracted all day as you help Changbin catch up on client orders, mind wandering to the man you saw on the bus when you're alone in the back of the shop. Changbin left to watch the front of the store, leaving you to work on a bouquet someone ordered last minute yesterday, thanking you both immensely for doing it on such short notice. The arrangement consisted of white and black roses tied with a simple ribbon, and you wonder what, or who, they were for. Of course, you never asked personal questions, always left creating your own story for each client.

When you prick yourself on a thorn, the blood has you back on the bus in an instant, letting the red liquid drip onto the table. The air is thick, and you shut your eyes to regain focus, bringing your finger up to your lips until you can find a bandaid. There's one in your apron pocket; you really should stock up again and soon.

The question of this man bothers you, and the way he's affected you bothers you more. Why could you see him? Why did time seem to stop? What's happening? You think, Jeongin might know; you should text him.

Y/N : Why can I see other ghosts and not you?

"You can see other ghosts?" You jump, dropping a pair of scissors to the floor with a clang.

"What the fuck!" You whisper-shout, backing against the table.

In front of you stands Jeongin, dark black hair nearly covering his eyes. He's wearing the same clothes as he did in your dream, a blue sweater and black jeans, but they aren't worn or tattered. They look brand new, actually, like he had just bought them. There are no signs of death on him at all, the bleeding and matted hair gone.

"Y/n?" You hear Changbin call from the front. "Everything okay?"

"Everything is fine!" You shout back, not wanting him to come back and see Jeongin- that is, if he can. "Just dropped scissors."

"Listen, I need to bring you somewhere." Jeongin steps back into your view, blocking the hallway Changbin's voice drifted down.

"Can't you see I'm working?" You gesture behind you. "Whatever it is, it's gonna have to wait. I'm busy."

"Please, I think this could help," he pleads, his hand about to grab your arm, but he sees how you flinch back and stops himself. "C'mon, you only die once, and I'd really like to know how it happened. I know you do too."

"You don't know shit about me," you scoff.

"Really? Well-" he huffs. "You're right, but I know enough, otherwise we wouldn't be having this conversation at all right now."

"Ugh, fine, let me tell Changbin-"

"Just text him! Let's go!"

As you sit down on the playground swing, you send a quick heart emoji back to Changbin. Part of you feels bad lying to him, but a bigger part is wrapped up in the mystery of the man sitting next to you. You wonder what other people at the park might see, if there were any people here. It's weirdly deserted, but then again it is pretty overcast. Would they see a girl and a boy talking on the swings? Or would they only see the girl, talking to an imaginary entity?

When you look over at Jeongin, he's focused on the monkey bars with a sad smile on his face. Following his gaze, you see two little boys, one sitting at the end waiting for his friend who's seconds away from slipping. If you were to stand underneath, you could touch the bar with the tips of your fingers, maybe even wrap your hand around one without much effort, but you know for this kid the ground seems a million feet away.

"Hyunjin! Hyunjin!" The kid's feet are starting to kick wildly, panic present in his voice. "I'm scared!"

"You're fine! If you freak out now, your palms will sweat and then you'll fall," the other kid stands, leaning against the pole connecting the bars to the landing. "C'mooooon, I thought you said you could do this."

"I can," the boy, who you know assume is Jeongin, huffs and reaches for another bar. His fingers slip and his body swings back with a twist, the hand still on the equipment slipping as well. "Owwww!"

Little Hyunjin jumps down to his new friend, little Jeongin clutching his red knee with tears welling in his eyes. He's trying hard not to cry as Hyunjin assesses his scrapes, running over to his bag by the edge of the sand and pulling out a band-aid and a water bottle. Jeongin's tears have fallen by the time Hyunjin returns with the supplies, instructing him to stretch his leg out.

"If you don't wanna look like you peed yourself, you'll do it. Then all the water will fall on the sand and not you." Jeongin does as he's told, wincing as he straightens his leg. "Okay, this might sting, but I don't know cause it's just water, so it might not."

"Okay."

The water runs over his knee and flushes the blood away, leaving damp skin and red marks. After patting the area dry with his sleeve, Hyunjin sticks the band-aid diagonally across the wound.

"See? Not so bad." Hyunjin sits next to Jeongin in the sand shoulder to shoulder. "You need to practice landing on your feet."

"I wasn't trying to fall," Jeongin pouts. "I could have made it if-"

"Hwang Hyunjin!" A deeper, male voice calls out, and you jump a little when a man appears in the corner of your eye. "What happened to no wandering?"

"Sorry dad," Hyunjin mutters, standing up and moving away from Jeongin quickly.

"What's that?"

With a side glance to Jeongin, Hyunjin hangs his head. "Sorry sir."

"Better. Now, how about we head home?" It's only now that you hear the slurring of his words, and your chest tightens with empathy for the small boy. "We can... I'll put on that show you like, have some family time, quality time. Let's go."

When Hyunjin doesn't move, his dad sighs, throwing his head up to the sky and placing his hands on his hips.

"Don't be difficult, c'mere." He still doesn't move. "Have it your way."

His dad is tense as he walks over, grabbing Hyunjin's upper arm and practically dragging him over to a rusty car parked in a driveway not too far away. The whole time little Jeongin had been watching intently, taking in the way Hyunjin's cool-guy attitude changed once his dad showed up, the way he flinched when his dad started walking over. Present day Jeongin is watching them walk away with his lips pulled tight.

"That's when I decided to make Hyunjin my best friend," he says, eyes glued to the scene. "Make an excuse for him to be home as little as possible, and it worked. He was almost always at my house on the weekends. We only made plans to go over to his occasionally when my parents would start to question why we didn't."

"Was he really that bad?" Jeongin finally looks at you again with sad eyes, and you already know the answer.

"You have no idea."

"Hwang Hyunjin, where are you now?" You're typing his name into the search bar on your laptop, Jeongin looking over your shoulder.

Jeongin disappeared shortly after the memory, leaving you to go home and do your own research. One thing bothered you- how familiar Hyunjin felt. You've never met him, not properly at least. Looking at his photo you realize he's the same guy you ran into at the café, but other than that? Nothing. You shrug off the feeling and continue digging.

"Oh- look here, Hwang Hyunjin hits the big screens this summer with new movie Side Effects, a look into a man's life as he navigates adulthood after the tragic death of his twin sister. Could this be his breakout role... read more... hm," you lean back in your chair. "You both were actors?"

"Y-yeah, we were..." Jeongin slides into a chair beside you.

You're sitting in your dining room with your laptop open on the table. It's getting late, so you know Changbin will be here soon and you'll have to wrap up what you're doing quickly, but there's so much more you want- no, need, to know. There's an itch you can't scratch in the back of your mind saying there's more to this than two best friends with tragic tales.

"We were both auditioning for that movie," he starts, looking away from you and places a palm flat on the table, long fingers outstretched. "I guess he got the role then. I'm proud of him."

"Did he ever get away from his dad?" You ask, too curious not to.

"I..." Jeongin squints, shaking his head. "I don't remember."

With a frustrated sigh, Jeongin puts his head in his hands, elbows on the table. His fingers run through his hair as he tries and tries to remember, but nothing is coming to mind. The problem is he knows there's something- something important, but it's just gone.

"It's okay-"

You're interrupted by a loud knock on your door, the sound of your door opening behind you catching your attention. Closing your laptop, you notice Jeongin is gone again. You wish there was more you could do for him, to help him remember; you can't begin to imagine how aggravating it is for him to have everything just beyond reach.

Changbin is politely toeing his shoes off onto the rack by your door, his hands full with bags of takeout and snacks. Wrapping your sweater around you tightly, you shut the door for him.

"Thanks for coming by," you take a bag from him. "I'll bring this to my room, meet me there?"

"Where else will I go?" Changbin laughs.

Sitting down on your bed, you gently place a wooden tray down for the food to keep it stable. As you're waiting for Changbin, a million questions race through your mind. Something doesn't sit right with you about what you've learned tonight, but you also don't know enough to form a proper theory either.

"What's on your mind?" Changbin sits next to you, shaking the tray just a bit. You put a hand on the edge to keep things from spilling. "Or is it just pain? Oh! Where's your heating pad? Let me-"

"I lied."

"What? About what?"

"I lied about the cramps," you admit, avoiding his eyes. You can feel his stare on you. "I need to tell you something, but I might sound crazy. Remember how I asked if you believed in ghosts?"

"Y/n, where are you going with this?" Changbin's voice is low. "Why would you lie to me? Ditch me at the store during our busiest time-"

"There's a boy I've been seeing-"

"You ditched me for a boy?! Y/n!"

"No! Just- just let me finish!" You snap. "There's a boy who I've been seeing named Yang Jeongin, and he's dead. The phone I bought used to belong to him and we both think that's our connection. For some reason, it didn't work for anyone else, but it worked for me and then I started communicating with him."

Changbin is silent, taking in your words and waiting for you to finish.

"We think there's more to his death than what people say, which is suicide. He can't remember much."

"Is..." Changbin is glancing around your room. "Is Jeongin in the room with us...?"

You snort at his reaction. "No, but I was with him right before you got here. It's like, he just shows up sometimes. I have no way of contacting him outside of texting, but even then he doesn't always reply. Look, I'll try now."

Picking up your phone from your nightstand, you click Jeongin's contact and press call. It's silent when there should be ringing, a robotic voice telling you after a few seconds that the service has been disconnected. Tossing your phone to the end of your bed, you're about to complain about that when it starts to ring. The phone is lying face down, but you already have a feeling you know who's calling. Flipping it over, you accept the call.

"Jeongin," you breathe.

"Y/n."

"What do you want?"

"Who's that guy you're with? Wh- wait, can he hear me?"

You look over to Changbin, who is staring at the phone warily. "Um, I guess so. He's my best friend. His name is Changbin-"

"Yah! Don't tell the ghost my name!" Changbin slaps your arm lightly.

"What? You don't want me to haunt you?" Jeongin taunts. "Listen, I can't talk for long. I needed to let you know that I think other spirits are catching onto your ability."

"Don't phrase it like that! Ah, that makes me sound like some kind of psychic..." you frown. "It's freaky."

Without a reply, the call disconnects and you roll your eyes.

"See what I mean? Unreliable!" You groan, but catch the look on Changbin's face. "That's your thinking face."

"I have this friend who used to be a private investigator," Changbin blurts, looking over at you. "He doesn't do it anymore, but this might just be interesting enough for him to pick up. I'll give you his number later. And not to question you, but how do I know you're not pranking me right now?"

Reaching forward to grab your phone, you pull up a few videos of Jeongin for Changbin to hear his voice. There aren't many out there that you could find, a few audition tapes and personal videos on his socials, but that's it. After, you search for a news article about his death and show him the photo of him they used, one of his headshot right before his death.

"Okay, I believe you," Changbin exhales. "Minho might too."

notes ~ i seriously can't wait for the lino storyline u have no idea

taglist ~ @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @bloomingstay @sona1800 @dollschan @defnotfertilizedtoesw @thisisnotjacinta @kayleigh-28 @kayleefriedchicken @lailac13 @linocvp1d @ilov3jeong1n @mooseung

reply or send an ask to be added (18+)^^^ green means i can't tag you

#⋆.˚𖦹°‧✮‧°𖦹˚.⋆ ERROR 404 #skz #stray kids #yang jeongin x reader #yang jeongin x fem reader #yang jeongin #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #yang jeongin fanfic #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz series #yang jeongin series #smau #partial smau #non idol au #i.n x reader #i.n x fem reader

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rosanna-writer · 1 month

Text

now i've read all of the books beside your bed

Summary: A Gwynlain drabble inspired by “source?” divine intuition, gut instinct, and cryptic symbolism from my dreams" Warnings: none Rating: T Word Count: ~600 Read on AO3

"Sweetheart," Gwyn said, trying and failing to sound patient, "how many times are we going to talk about this?"

Elain looked up from her novel, all doe-eyed innocence. "Talk about what?"

Gwyn never fell for that—from their first meeting, it had been abundantly clear to her that Elain Archeron wasn't nearly as sweet and naive as everyone assumed her to be.

It was one of the many reasons Elain had married her.

One of the other reasons had been Gwyn's enthusiastic support of Elain's efforts to create comprehensive taxonomies of the Night Court's native flora. It had been more than just words of encouragement—Gwyn had volunteered to fetch books, organize notes, and check facts.

That had been years ago, but Gwyn still proofread Elain's work. These days, she did it from the comfort of her desk in their home library, often with Elain curled up in the nearby armchair like she was now.

It had become a comfortable routine, which is why Gwyn merely narrowed her eyes at Elain and said, "Your citations."

"Did I get the numbering wrong again? I—"

"Elain. You can't cite prophetic visions in an academic treatise."

"You can if you're a seer," Elain said mildly, as if that settled it.

Gwyn set her pen down, rubbing her temples. "They can't really be independently verified, and scholarly work needs to be reproducible."

"There's not much point to seeing the future if I don't share what I know, now is there?"

"You should write something more than just a footnote that says 'This was once revealed to me in a dream.'"

They'd gone back and forth on this for years—it would be remiss to exclude relevant information Elain had gleaned from a vision, but in the bibliography, it couldn't quite be categorized as a firsthand account or an interview. Gwyn had asked the scholars in the library for advice, but seers were so rare that no one had ever given the issue much thought.

The argument could go on for hours if they let it, and Elain had no intention of ruining their evening. She closed her book and stood, crossing the room and wrapping her arms around Gwyn's shoulders.

"I appreciate your attention to detail all the same."

Gwyn smiled—even with her, Elain couldn't quite manage to stop being a bit prim and diplomatic. The sound of it was just as familiar as Elain's jasmine-and-honey scent. "I appreciate you all the same."

Elain pressed a kiss to Gwyn's cheek. "Appreciate you more."

Gwyn couldn't ignore a challenge like that. With all the strength and grace of a Valkyrie, she turned and slid both hands under Elain, lifting her wife as she rose to her feet. Elain let out a surprised laugh and locked her legs around Gwyn's waist.

"Do you have a source for that claim?" Gwyn said. It must have gotten on Elain's nerves just the way she'd hoped it would—Elain leaned down and kissed her, immediately parting Gwyn's lips with her tongue. Gwyn carried her without breaking the kiss, taking a few steps forward until Elain's back was pressed against the bookshelf.

Gwyn might have been the one who had Elain pinned, but Elain's hand drifted to her hair, fingers tangling in the strands to keep her right where Elain wanted her. Not that Gwyn wanted to be anywhere else—she'd stay there forever if she could, with Elain's mouth on hers and her hands splayed on Elain's ass.

Neither one of them was sure exactly how much time had passed when they finally broke apart, flushed and breathing a bit harder. But as intoxicating as Elain was, Gwyn was still lucid enough to remember that she'd never gotten an answer to her question. "Do you?" she said, pushing for a response. "Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, Elain."

Elain let her head tip forward until their foreheads were touching. "Take me to the bedroom and allow me to demonstrate my appreciation, then."

The rest of the proofreading could wait until morning.

#gwynlain #gwyneth berdara #elain archeron

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frankcastlescumslut · 11 months

Text

it hurt. almost to the point of being unbearable, but it was necessary.

it had to be.

it wasn’t selfish of him to leave, you knew that. he tried his hardest to convince you it was— that he was wrong to have intertwined himself with your life, that it was the most careless thing he could have done, to put you in danger like that.

but it just… wasn’t. it couldn’t be. his absence was the last act of love he could give to you, and it hurt.

relocating was necessary. in some ways it helped; there were no traces of him to be found, no reminders or distant memories that would poke and prod the ache in your chest, just uncomfortable stillness.

there are moments when you wonder if things would be different if you never became a target, but you shove those thoughts away, burying them alongside the slivers of hope you once had.

it was lonely.

you were lonely.

acknowledgement was the first step along a fine line and yet, it was futile.

time never stopped, of course.

you found a new job. ate at a different diner. the weather changed. leaves turned to different shades of fire before returning to the earth. snow littered the ground. fireworks assaulted the sky.

you always hated the new year, just like Frank, and it was no different this time. except that it was— everything was different.

he was still gone and you were still there, alone, even if you were surrounded by swaying bodies and sweet champagne at a company party you couldn’t get out of.

he was still gone, fireworks were still igniting, and there was nothing you could do about it. there was no way to make sure he was okay, let alone alive, and that was the reality of the situation.

he was still gone.

you were still alone.

fireworks still exploded.

it wasn’t unusual for you to leave at the slightest inconvenience, but this was more than that. the noise was a constant reminder of his suffering, that you weren’t there, that he didn’t give you chance to be there— it was an attack against your very being, and your feet carried the weight for you, as far away from other life forms as possible.

you weren’t sure where you were once your feet stopped moving. the tears stung against your freezing cheeks, your throat burned with each gasp of dry air, the world spun around you.

frank was gone.

you were alone.

fireworks echoed your perceived solitude.

it had to have been a cosmic encounter or divine intervention that kept you on your feet long enough to watch a silhouette stumble towards you.

“Frank?”

no, that was stupid of you to think that.

it was the grim reaper, you decided— that felt more practical. it was time for your to pay your dues and accept the fate that had finally caught up to you.

you gave in, dropping your head in submission to what was to come. there was a moment of curiosity, if this is what it looked like when Frank’s family was hunted, if they would be kind enough to make it as quick as possible, if he would ever find out about your demise.

it didn’t matter, you decided, and steadied yourself in anticipation.

your brain felt fuzzy as you watched the figure grow closer. it had to have been the champagne, you thought— there was no logical explanation for a ghost to be hobbling in front of you.

but there he was.

dead man walking.

you swallow your vomit, because that would be embarrassing, and you squeeze your eyes shut. maybe this is all a lucid dream, maybe you could will yourself to sober up enough to get the fuck out of there, maybe you could convince yourself that he wanted to come back.

but he was still there.

he was still frank.

he looked different; his hair was buzzed and new bruises decorated his hardened face. nearly unrecognizable, you allowed yourself to see him, but there was the familiar softness around his eyes that he reserved for you.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

hey hehe 🙈 sorry for this! I was listening to Satellite by Harry Styles and couldn’t get this out of my head k bye!

#frank castle #frank castle blurb #frank castle angst #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher blurb #frank castle hurt/comfort

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average-vibe · 2 months

Text

I’m Mr Loverman (and i miss my lover, man.)

Pair: Wilbur Soot x Fem!Reader

Summary: A song fic based off of ‘Mr Loverman’ by Ricky Montgomery

Genre: Angst

TW: Alcohol, stalkerish behavior, language.

AN: Hi! I realized this song would make a good fic, so here we are! I did 0 research prior to writing this, so if i misinterpret anything, please lmk and i will fix it!

I’m headed straight for the floor,

the alcohol served it’s tour.

Wilbur sat, mindlessly staring into the floor, tears rolling down his face. A week, it had been, since you had decided you’d had enough of being left on read, being ignored, and being replaced by alcohol and music. He hated himself for it. He glanced over to the empty wine and Vodka bottles that were sitting on the opposite side of the room. He shut his eyes, just wanting to go back to sleep, and dream. He knew that you were there, in his dreams, comforting him and hugging him. Making him feel alive again.

And it’s heading straight for my skin,

Leaving me daft, and dim.

Ever since he was little, Wilbur had found himself scratching his skin often, as a nervous habit. Not because he was itchy, but simply because it got rid of his nerves. Now, as a older, more mature adult, he scratches his skin, more as a coping mechanism. That, along with the alcohol, left his eyes bloodshot and his body swollen.

I’ve got this shake in my legs,

Shaking the thoughts from my head.

Wilbur sat on a barstool at the old pub he usually went to, some friend inviting him. It’s not like he wanted to be there, but hey, at least he had a distraction from his vibrating leg, always bouncing up and down, courtesy of his growing depression and anxiety. When he was home alone, all he could think about was that moment where you yelled, shouted at him, told him to get out and go.

But who put these waves in the door?

I crack and out, I pour.

The alcohol had gotten to him after a few weeks, making him hallucinogenic, seeing things that he shouldn’t have seen. Zigzags, lines, everything was blurry. He couldn’t see straight. He saw you, smiling as you did. When he woke up from the lucid dreams and nightmares, he would cry, scream at himself for not being there for you more, all while nursing a hangover.

I’m Mr Loverman,

And I miss my lover, man.

I’m Mr Loverman,

Oh, and I miss my lover.

He would go to clubs, pubs, anywhere that had a seat, people, and a drink. He would eventually gain the confidence to vent to his family, friends, anyone who would listen. How he longed for you, he’d do anything for you. He was in love with someone who didn’t even know he ever did love them.

The ways in which you talk to me,

Have me wishin I were gone.

One day, he found you, at some party, dressed in your favorite dress, your hair curled and styled, heels clicking across the floor. When he first saw you, he wanted to hide, run, wherever he could go, he wanted to be. But unfortunately, you saw him, waving him over with a smile. Hey! Wilbur!, you’d call, with a toothy smile that sent his heart leaping. Although you didn’t mean for it to hurt him, he spent that night crying, thinking about how perfect, how beautiful you were, and how he left you.

The ways in which you say my name,

Have me running on and on.

You two had exchanged numbers that night, promising to remain friends, no matter how bad it hurt Wilbur. You’d text him, Hi! He’d respond, almost heartbrokenly, Hey. You’d meet up for coffee to talk about life, how everything was going. Everytime you’d say his name, his heart would skip 3 beats. All of a sudden, the feeling he got when everything started came right back to him, hitting him hard.

Oh, I’m cramping up,

I’m cramping, up.

His heart, it’s physically hurt. Not because he was in pain, but because you hit him so hard, so unexpectedly. Your smile, your eyes. Everything about you made him hurt more and more. He knew it was wrong, he knew it was against what he wanted to do, but he couldn’t help himself.

But you’re cracking up,

You’re cracking, up.

He didn’t realize it, but he started to flinch whenever you would laugh at one of his mates jokes, a twinge of jealousy running through his system. He cursed himself for it. Why were you laughing, while he was right there, eyebrows furrowed in emotional pain. He wanted to yell, to shout, to scream at you for not noticing how angry he was. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the depression he was fighting, maybe it was just how he felt. Whatever it was, it made him relentlessly angry.

I’m Mr Loverman.

And I miss my lover, man.

He didn’t so much miss you, anymore. He just missed the love, the way you loved him. He wasn’t so much infatuated with you anymore, more so what you did. Your looks didn’t draw him in, it was the way you treated him, as if he wasn’t some douche who dumped you for alcohol and his own relief.

I’m shattered now, I’m pouring out,

Upon this linoleum ground.

There he was again, crying on the floor, wanting it all to be over. Please, let it be over. He wanted to drown in the thought of you smiling and saying yes, accepting his offer to be in a relationship again. Instead, you had shook your head, saying that you’d already seen someone. That sent him spiraling, drowning in alcohol, head swimming through various memories.

I’m reeling in, my brain again,

Before it can get back to you.

He wouldn’t tell anyone what he thought, fearful that you’d back away, thinking he was so strange for thinking the things he did. No one knew that when he said he was “Busy”, he was really sat in bed, stress taking over his body.

Oh, what am I supposed to do?

Without you.

He was lost, a goner. No one heard of him for a while, texts going into read, never a response. It was pathetic, really, how depressed he was because of you. He didn’t know what to do with himself, or how to do anything anymore. It had cut too deep, it was the last straw. He couldn’t do it, he was lost.

I’m Mr Loverman,

And I miss my lover, man.

4 months later, he finally got his life together. He moved into a easier living situation, far away from wherever you were. He got a easy job, slowly getting promoted and making more money. He became successful. He was well-known, celebrated.

But there was always a little part of him, begging for some form of a reminder of who you were.

He missed his past lover, even though she didn’t even remember him.

—

AN: THIS TOOK 3 DAYS BRO!!! AND IT STILL SUCKS!!!!

anyways have a good day :)

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lailoken · 11 months

Note

hello Lailoken. I've been practicing my craft for over 6 years now and I've spent so much time researching, experimenting and worshipping. I take my craft very seriously. but no matter how hard I work, I can't seem to see my gods and spirits visually. I feel them in omens and in the way magic works when they're called on, and I even interact with them in dreams. but no matter what I do, I can't see them manifested visually when awake. do you think i'm doing something wrong? 😔

I'm sorry you're struggling with these doubts, dear Anon, but know that you are not alone. I have had multiple people express similar concerns to me in the past. The thing is, what you are describing about your interactions is what actual communion with numinous wights looks like for the vast majority of seekers!

I'm not totally sure how the concept of spirits taking consistent physical shape has become at all widespread, though my guess would be that much of it comes from very literal readings of mythology and representations of spirits in fantasy media. The truth, however, is that such interactions with spirits are not the norm by any stretch of the imagination. I won't claim that this isn't the case for anyone, as I don't like to claim certainty of most things, and people can be quite unique. But to be extremely frank, if you are seeing a lot of practitioners talking about seeing their spirits as if they are clearly and physically visible, they are almost certainly lying in order to self-aggrandize or experiencing some sort of psychosis. I realize that's a fairly serious statement, but I firmly stand by it.

Can spirits be gleaned as if physically seen? Yes, I think so. There may even be some people who are more prone to seeing such things than others. But I think those sorts of experiences are extremely rare, and people who say otherwise should be treated with wariness.

In my lifetime of practice, I have had visual experiences of this sort only a handful of times, and none of them was anywhere near as cinematic or dramatic as some might claim. I have seen hazy, luminous, and humanoid shapes in the periphery of my vision when working with the Fae, which were gone as soon as I tried to look at them. I have seen shadows coalesce in the benighted woods to take on the hyperrealistic look of an eerily grinning face, only to dissipate as candlelight revealed the scene further. I have seen the foam of running water take on shockingly distinct animal shapes when working with a river spirit, which turn to rushing foam again as soon as I focus on them. Aside from one bizarrely palpable experience I had as a young child—which has never been repeated, despite my explorations— these are what physical manifestations look like for me, and even these situations are few and far between.

When my Kith interact with me, I, too, experience it through omens, feelings, and dreams, and they are not any less real or powerful for it. In fact, I would argue that dreams are the place where one has the best ability to truly interact with spirits in a tangible way; its just a matter of training yourself to recognize and interpret different types of dreams. Working on lucid dreaming can also be extremely useful.

So, to answer your last question: no, I don't think you are doing anything wrong. It sounds to me like you are cultivating a meaningful and honest relationship with your spirit kith, and I encourage you to keep at it without comparing yourself to others on the internet. After all, it's difficult to determine when someone is offering earnest wisdom or just playing dress up, but you know your own experiences.

#witchcraft #traditional withcraft #spirits #spirit work #spirit evocation #evocation #the sight #witch tips

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eddies-ashtray · 2 years

Text

The 30th // Eddie Munson x GN!Reader

masterlist

Synopsis: Eddie survives the bat attack by the skin of his teeth. Now you sit in the hospital with him and Dustin and can’t help but think about what could have happened if things were different. Would he not have survived? Eddie wakes up and you share a moment.

WC: 0.8k

Category: Fluff, but kinda angsty

Content: Fix-it fic (kinda)!, being in a hospital, mentions of scars (on Eddie from the bats), reader overthinking about what could have happened in the Upside Down, mention of Eddie receiving pain meds, reader cries a bit.

A/N: Inspired by the song The 30th by Billie Eilish. I was listening to it on repeat today and wanted to write a quick blurb while listening and this is the final product! If you haven’t listened, it’s a beautiful song, so listen while reading!

***

The heart monitor in the corner and the moon shining in through the window were the only light illuminating the cramped hospital room. You sat on a chair next to the bed, the plastic chipping away from the corner of the seat to reveal the squishy yellow foam beneath. Dustin had left to grab the both of you some water despite you declining any refreshments when he’d asked.

You hadn’t moved from your spot by his side all night. You couldn’t even sit down for the first hour, but the exhaustion eventually caught up to you and you finally accepted the pale brown chair next to Eddie’s bed. You wouldn’t allow yourself to take your eyes off of him, but then you couldn’t bear to look at him without him looking at you back. Your only reassurance was the slightly unsteady rise and fall of his chest and the spiking of the heart monitor.

So you laid your head on the bed instead, grasping his hand in yours, stroking over the soft back of it.

Eddie was okay now. You knew that. He had woken up earlier in the night (4 hours ago? 5? Time didn’t seem to exist within the drab walls of the hospital) and you’d cried and called the nurse in, and he was lucid enough to answer their questions and get a quick check-up. After that, they had given him more pain meds and informed you and Dustin he just needed rest now. He’d fallen asleep shortly after, the medication doing its job fairly quickly.

You knew he had to sleep. But, selfishly, you wanted him to wake. You wanted to hear his voice again to make sure it wasn’t some sort of sick dream. You craved to see those big soft eyes of his; their doe like nature.

With Dustin gone from the room, you couldn’t help but think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been with Eddie when it happened. What if he’d already gone back through the gate before Eddie had run off to buy Steve, Nancy, and Robin more time? What if he’d forgotten his shield or his spear? Would the bats have gotten to him quicker then? What if he stopped running away sooner? What if Dustin had been injured and unable to pull Eddie’s nearly lifeless body back through the gate? What if you hadn’t been on stand-by, ready to race to the hospital in Eddie’s van if something had gone wrong? What if, what if, what if. What if he died? In poor Dustin’s arms. In a world that looked like Hawkins, but wasn’t. For a world that thought he was a killer.

The room was spinning. You sat up, tears streaming down your face as quiet sobs wracked your whole body with tremors.

Eddie’s eyes were open. He was squeezing your hand.

You gasped, and pulled your gaze to his face.

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie drawls, voice raspy and tired.

“Hi,” You sniffle, sitting next to his legs on the bed and reaching up to brush his sweaty hair behind his ears. Your eyes are wide and still wet with tears.

“‘Nough o’ that,” He says weakly, hand coming up to squeeze the wrist of your hand that was still gently stroking the hair away from his face.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Just happy your alive.”

“‘Course I’m alive. Wouldn’t leave you.”

You smile softly at that and trace the line of his jaw, then lightly brush underneath the scar on his cheek. You continue just brushing your hands along his skin and moving his hair out of his face tenderly. It’s the only way to know he’s actually sitting in front of you right know; to know he’s still alive. He picks up on your constant touches immediately.

“Look that bad, huh?” He whispers, seemingly too weak and sleepy to speak at a louder volume.

You don’t even have to think about it, your heart swells with the relief that he’s still here, still cracking jokes and being Eddie.

“Still so pretty, Eds,” You whisper back, your hand falling back down his arm to hold his hand again.

“Even with these wicked bat bites?” He jests.

“Especially so. Very heroic,” You answer decidedly, squeezing his hand in yours. A stray tear slides down your face, the wetness still dotting your lashes.

With the hand not in yours, Eddie reaches up slowly to swipe the tears away with his thumb. You let go of his other hand and grasp the shaky hand he has against your face lightly, steadying him, and lean into his touch.

“Love you so much,” You say, voice breaking at the end.

“Love you more, sweetheart.”

***

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please consider leaving a like/comment/or better yet, reblogging or letting me know what you thought in my ask box!

Wanna be tagged in new fics?

#eddie munson #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #dustin henderson #eddie munson fix it fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson reader insert

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owl-with-a-pen · 4 months

Note

I don't remember when, but there was a headcanon post from someone about Brainy falling asleep on the job sometimes because he overworks himself, and Winn and some of the other people at the DEO being startled by it, so what if he started falling asleep out of nowhere at the Tower too and Nia would find him and help him get more comfortable as well

This is so stupidly late at this point but anon, if you're still out there, this one's for you 😉

Nia should’ve seen it coming, all the signs had been right there.

As someone who could take the gold medal for ignoring her body’s needs when it came to sleep, Brainy came in at a close second – and that was only because he wasn’t susceptible to random fainting spells.

Usually, anyway.

There’d been one close call that morning, down in the lab. J’onn had been going over the details of their latest alien convict case when Nia had felt it. That dream-like gut punch that told her something was about to go very wrong.

Brainy had been stood at her side, arms tensely folded across his chest, all but smothering the Brainiac insignia on his shirt. To anyone else, he would’ve looked focused on the task at hand, but Nia could read between the lines.

He’d had maybe one solid thought track reserved for J’onn’s briefing, and that was being generous. It was no secret that their lack of leads over the last few weeks had been grating on everyone’s nerves, but none more than Brainy’s. She was pretty sure he’d manipulated his image inducer just to hide the extent of it from everyone. His eyes had been far too bright ever since they’d left the apartment that morning, the heavy shadows she’d seen lurking beneath them conveniently absent.

It was only when Brainy started to tilt in her periphery that Nia had realised what that gut punch had meant. She hadn't needed a vision to fill in the gaps, not when Brainy’s eyes flickered shut and he'd tipped abruptly towards her.

Fortunately, Nia was quick. Before he'd had a chance to fall, she'd caught his shoulder with her own, gently bumping him back into place. To his credit, Brainy recovered in record time, blinking quickly to recalibrate his surroundings.

The whole thing had lasted maybe two seconds, tops, and if any of the Super Friends had noticed, they didn't say a word.

So, Nia hadn’t mentioned it either.

She really regretted making that decision now. If she’d just called him out on it that morning, maybe she wouldn’t have found Brainy at his desk just a few hours later, head cushioned across folded arms, all but dead to the world.

The research Brainy had been working through was still visible on the Tower’s television screens, though the only sign of activity came from the steady flash of the stationary cursor. Brainy’s own computer screen had gone dark some time ago, which at least gave Nia a good place to start in terms of figuring out exactly how long he’d been like this.

It wasn’t too late, just past lunchtime, and while any other member of the Super Friends might have been alarmed by Brainy’s impromptu nap, Nia knew what the others didn’t.

Brainy hadn’t slept that night. And it wasn’t the first time, either.

Some nights, she’d rolled over to find his side of the bed empty by 3am. Others, Brainy had tossed and turned so restlessly that Nia had been forced to grumble out half lucid complaints just to get him to quit it. By the time she came-to, she’d find him flat on his back, perfectly still at her side - eyes closed but flickering fitfully behind his lids, never quite unconscious.

In the early days of their relationship, Nia wouldn’t have known what that had meant. Now, though? Now, she was very well acquainted with the stages of a Coluan sleep cycle.

First, there was the short but succinct restorative process that lasted anywhere between one to three hours. The Coluan equivalent of a human sleep pattern, she supposed. In that time, he’d shut down all thought tracks, all non-essential processes, and allow his body and mind the total freedom to recuperate uninterrupted. His eyes never moved in that state, there was no REM cycle going on, no dreams at all. His mind retreated somewhere far beyond the realm Nia might catch glimpses of in her own dreams, a state of being linked solely with his life core, a shared space within the Big Brain. Wherever it was, wherever it took him, Nia knew he always found peace there.

The other sleep state – the one Brainy often fell into now he shared his nights with her – was something akin to a light doze. He was freer with his choice of positioning during that time, often cosying up to her instead of lying Nosferatu-style on his back. Those were the hours Nia liked best, where she could curl up into his chest or wind herself around him, feeling his breath in her hair, his hands on her waist or tracing patterns across her spine. His mind was open to her in that state, so much that the edges of their dreams would often blur and coalesce into one still life portrait that they could share.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him inhabit either of those states.

As she watched Brainy’s back rise and fall with each heavy exhale, she knew that this was more of a light doze situation than anything else. His fingers were curled tightly against the table, a level of strain pulling his shoulders taut. Nia couldn’t see her boyfriend’s face beneath his folded arms, but she could imagine the pinched expression that might’ve greeted her. She knew this nap wouldn’t bring him any peace, not when it hadn’t been preceded by the restorative process he clearly needed.

Her skin prickled at the thought.

She should’ve said something sooner. She’d felt it in her gut, why hadn’t she just…?

“He’s not okay, is he?”

Nia turned sharply at the sound of Alex’s voice. She hadn’t even noticed her come up from the elevator, let alone sneak up behind her.

Nia tightened her arms around herself, ducking her head. “He’s not been sleeping,” she said carefully, trying to hide the strain in her own voice.

“Again?” Alex asked. She took a step closer, peering over Nia’s shoulder, reviewing Brainy with a doctor’s eye. She frowned her concern. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this bad since he first started working at the DEO.”

Nia smiled grimly. “That tracks.” When Alex looked at her in confusion, she sighed. “Brainy used to tell me how difficult it was in the early days adjusting to this time,” she explained. “It really used to stress him out. And that’s the thing— he’s been stressing a lot worse since he took off his inhibitors, especially after…” Nia shuddered, gritting her teeth at the memory. She closed her eyes. “While he was working for Lex, I mean, he hardly slept. In fact, he would’ve done anything to avoid it. So now, any time he starts stressing over something…”

“The pattern repeats,” Alex finished. She watched Brainy sympathetically, worry lines etched into her brow. “I really don’t want to wake him, but he deserves to be resting properly. This—” she waved her hand over his head, “isn’t exactly ideal.”

Nia’s lips twitched. “I’ll handle it.”

“Are you sure?” Alex asked, turning towards her. “Do you need any help?”

“It’s fine. Trust me, I got this.”

Alex hesitated. It was weird, seeing that protective older sister instinct take over in real time. It practically glued her to the spot. Nia tried not to smile at Alex’s expense. She knew it couldn’t have been easy handing her duty of care over to someone else, especially if this had become her area of expertise in the early days of Brainy’s career.

She wondered if his sleep cycle had ever come up with Alex before. It was probably on his medical file somewhere, but Nia sincerely doubted Brainy had given up that information lightly. It had taken her weeks of sleeping in the same bed as him just to broach the subject casually.

Eventually, Alex cleared her throat. “Well then, take him home,” she told her, holding Nia’s eye for an uncomfortable beat. “And tell him he won’t be fit for duty until he’s had a proper Coluan-fit sleep. Doctor’s orders.”

Oh yeah, she definitely knew what was up. Nia felt bad for ever doubting her.

“Noted,” Nia said, saluting with two fingers as Alex headed back down to the lab, but not before giving Brainy’s hair an affectionate ruffle. Surprising neither of them, he didn’t so much as stir.

Once she and Brainy were alone in the loft again, Nia bit her lip, shuffling a little closer to the table. She took up Alex’s old position, watching Brainy’s posture for any change, any reason to think he might have been aware of his surroundings at all.

When Brainy remained unresponsive, she took his shoulder with one hand, ignoring the tension knotted there, and brushed her fingers across his forehead with the other, knocking a few feathery strands of golden hair across his nose.

“Querl?” she asked softly.

On Brainy’s more difficult days, Nia always found it easier to reach her boyfriend by using his given name. Just as she’d anticipated, he shifted slightly, making a muffled sound into his arms. As he lifted his head, Nia tried not to smile at the imprint left behind on his cheek by his sleeve. His lashes flickered slowly as he tried to blink his eyes open. They were dark and bloodshot and extremely heavy lidded, but he was awake. He was with her.

Nia let her fingers travel up to the roots of his hair, scratching his scalp in the way she knew he liked. Brainy responded immediately, an appreciative hum rumbling somewhere in his chest. Nia did smile then. “Hey Wildcat, how’re you doing?”

“Nia?” his voice was a little dry, crackling heavily around his modulator as he became reacquainted with those muscles. He raised his head towards her, the first tell-tale flicker of acknowledgement whirring behind his eyes. “Apologies, I—I must’ve--” At that, something inside of him snapped to life and he straightened so quickly that Nia’s hand slipped from his shoulder. “I—don’t know why I—” He cleared his throat, and while obviously disoriented, his hand still found the keyboard reflexively, gripping it for purchase. Immediately, his screen turned on, although Nia didn’t miss the way he shied away from the bright light. “I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I can bet it won’t.” Nia took his elbow, leaning in towards his ear. “Because you’ve just been benched.”

It was adorable watching those cogs start to turn again as Brainy tried to figure out what she meant. She rarely caught him out like this, which really spoke volumes as to how exhausted he must’ve been. Brainy opened his mouth as though to refute her, only to close it again when he took further stock of the room. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Alex was here, wasn’t she?”

Nia snorted. “Doctor’s orders,” she repeated, rubbing his shoulder sympathetically.

Brainy’s quick burst of energy was already beginning to wane. He leant into her touch without hesitation, his eyes flickering shut again.

“Hey,” Nia said quickly, cupping the side of his face. “Listen, you’re exhausted, Brainy. Can you honestly tell me when you last slept?” She gripped his arm tighter, just for emphasis. “And not just cat naps, I mean your last restorative cycle.”

No more secrets, it had been both their promise and mantra to one another ever since Nia had saved Brainy from Leviathan’s ship. It wasn’t always perfect, and she could tell that Brainy was uncomfortable admitting to it now, but his exhaustion was clearly winning out.

After a few seconds to process, Brainy lowered his head in defeat. “Seven days, fourteen hours.”

Nia’s mouth fell open in surprise. “A week? You haven’t slept for a whole week?”

Brainy’s shoulders drew together defensively. “I have gone far longer without sleep before, my species are—”

She lifted her hand in front of him, stopping him in his tracks. “Querl Dox, Colaun or not, nearly eight days is a push and you know it.” When Brainy failed to meet her eye, she sighed, rubbing circles into his back with her thumb. “If there’s something on your mind, you can tell me.”

Brainy made a derisive sound at the back of his throat “That’s the problem,” he muttered irritably. “Everything is on my mind. I- normally, I can compartmentalise, control and distribute any thought or calculation I wish to hone my focus on. But, but right now?” He laughed through his teeth, baring them into a tight smile. “I can’t.”

“Can’t- compartmentalise?”

“Can’t think.” He rubbed at his eyes in frustration. “Recent stressors have been a factor, of course, but I find now that the simplest answer to a problem feels like a mile long task.”

“Lack of sleep can do that to a person,” Nia considered. She dug her knuckles into some of the more compacted areas of Brainy’s back as she spoke, watching his jaw tighten as he struggled to remain functional. “Why don’t we head home for the day?”

Brainy scoffed at that, rolling his shoulder away from her. He scowled down at the table. “Do I have a choice in the matter? I suspect you will remove me either way.”

Nia shrugged. “Well, it is the logical choice, unless you wanna take it up with Alex.”

Brainy only groaned in answer.

She stroked his hair, flattening out the top of his head before planting a kiss against his scalp. His skin was warm against her lips, not quite feverish, but a little more than a Coluan’s natural heat signature. She had her suspicions that he’d been dipping into power reserves normally meant for his doppelgangers just to keep himself on his feet.

But, that was a conversation for later.

“We’ll figure it out,” Nia promised, resting her chin on his head, letting that warmth bleed into her jaw. She wrapped her arms around his front, grinning when Brainy began to relax against her again. “If my mom taught me anything, it’s that things always look a little brighter after a good night’s sleep.”

Brainy perked up curiously at that, his dark eyes flickering up to meet her. “It’s two thirty in the afternoon.”

“Semantics.” She drew back, giving his shoulders one final squeeze. “Come on, ready to go?”

Brainy’s response was a grumbled mixture of Coluan and English, but he pushed himself onto his feet regardless. Nia untangled herself from his shoulders before heading out in front of him. She was halfway to the elevator when she sensed what he was about to do.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned.

Behind her, Brainy dropped the tablet he’d been trying to surreptitiously stow inside his backpack. “Your precognitive abilities are growing stronger, I see,” he commended with a dry smile. “It’s annoying.”

Nia laughed. “Let’s go, sleepy head, before Alex kicks us both outta here.”

Once they were home and Nia had finally managed to coax Brainy to bed, she could tell he was still too restless to sleep. He eventually agreed to let her douse him with a little extra dream energy, lulling him into a part of his unconscious mind where any unruly thoughts would have trouble following.

She stayed close to his side as he struggled to get comfortable on the bed, keeping an eye on the ever-present tension in his arms as he folded them over his chest. He’d lifted any illusions from his image inducer the second they’d stepped foot inside the apartment, and now Nia could see the deep shadows beneath Brainy’s eyes, sinking like sallow bruises into his cheekbones.

It must have felt impossible at times to sleep with a mind as crowded as Brainy’s. The restorative process was meant to be an escape from that, a total surrender to the Big Brain, but that escape didn’t come naturally to Brainy, not after so many years without it, especially when he’d worked himself up like this.

Nia knew this would be a bigger conversation somewhere down the line, but Brainy was still hesitant to share his anxieties with her, especially anything that related to his time working for Lex. Kelly had offered her office to him if he ever wanted a professional ear, but he still had a way to go before he’d feel comfortable sharing like that.

Still, every step was progress.

For right now, Nia knelt by his side, stroking her hand through his hair, across his forehead. She let her other drift over Brainy’s chest and stomach, feeding lazy swirls of dream energy into his projectors. After a while, Brainy’s eyes fell closed, a stuttered breath passing uneasily through his teeth.

She knew he was starting to slip towards the restorative process when he began muttering things in Coluan. The words were disjointed, his accent far too thick and heavy with sleep for her to pick up exactly what he was saying. Eventually, even those words mellowed into a purr-like hum courtesy of his relaxing modulator. His fingers loosened across his front and – just like that – he was totally out, the Big Brain sweeping any latent concerns away as it pulled him safely inside, his projectors pulsing brighter as a result.

Nia maintained her dream energy for a while longer, although the more she leaned into that power, the more she felt her own consciousness begin to slip away. It wasn’t abnormal for a Dreamer to get pulled under by her own energy, and while she’d fought it for a long time, she knew now that it was as natural and welcoming of an entity as the Big Brain was to Brainy.

Before she gave in completely, Nia quickly tucked herself into Brainy’s side, resting her head against his shoulder. She kept her hand poised over his central life core, holding their connection until the very last moment.

Her power washed over her like a calming tide of seafoam, turning the darkness behind her eyes into a familiar shade of blue.

Brainy would need to rest under his restorative process longer than normal to get the full effect, which gave her just enough time to paint the perfect picture inside her dreams. Like watercolour on canvas, she willed a series of soft oranges, yellows and blues to spill forth onto the page, bleeding into each other like the hazy landscape of a liminal space. From there, she began to build, turning ink blots into hilltops, marking stars around every empty spot the paint left dry.

It kept her mind at work, her body at peace and, most importantly, it gave her the perfect dream destination to take Brainy once the restorative process was complete. Somewhere that rest on any level would come easily for them both.

All she had to do was wait.

#supergirl #brainiac 5 #nia nal #brainia #alex danvers #querl dox #supergirl fanfiction #my writing #anon #my asks #i wanted to expand on more headcanons about coluan sleep patterns. and this is sort of the opposite to a previous headcanon i once wrote #i think. but i think i like this one better.#brainy x nia #dreamdox #oh yeah and happy new year!

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