#nightmares. god the nightmares. very restless nights. I wake up exhausted | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

howaboutcastiel · 1 year

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I've Made Up My Mind

Summary: (7) Layla’s on a hunting trip… and she hasn’t been home in a few days. FWMS Masterlist.

Genre: Mostly fluff, a little spicy, a tiny bit angsty.

Content: Kissing, heavy petting ig. Vague talk of human trafficking and description of a violent nightmare. Overall… PG-13? 4.1k words.

A/N: I could have made the text messages abbreviated and more ‘realistic’ or whatever, but I would rather them be readable. Just pretend Marc was an English major ok. This was originally only ½ a chapter but it got too long.

Marc had been texting her a lot.

It was part of their agreement, but neither of them had expected it to actually be working. Layla had met Marc halfway with his mental health treatment—he refused to go to therapy, she refused to sit by and watch him go on without help. He agreed to write and, by extension, he agreed to write to her. Every single day, whether he felt like it or not, whether he had anything to say or not.

Sometimes it would come in the form of simple good morning and good night texts. Other times, he’d stay on the phone with her late into the night, whispering the vulnerable things that he should have been saying to Layla all along. Some things were easier than others, he had come to find out, but that didn’t really matter. He stuck to his word.

Layla had been on a “work trip” in Dubai for the last several days. The targets that she was tracking were high-risk, high-reward, and the job took all her attention. Most of the time, she was unavailable to reply to him, but Marc still sent his texts like clockwork.

Marc: Good morning, I love you.

Marc: Goodnight, I love you.

Marc: Good morning. Please be safe.

Marc: Having a hard day today. I wish you were here.

Marc: Goodnight. I love you.

Marc: Morning babe. Hope the weather’s good where you are.

She hadn’t answered in over three days, but he wasn’t upset with her. Marc was scared, though. As much as Khonshu had protected him from harm, he wasn’t very convinced that Taweret could be trusted to do the same for Layla. He’d seen the entire Ennead’s avatars slaughtered in one night, and their gods were supposed to be protecting them, too. Maybe Taweret was good on her word, or maybe she was just as much of a pompous ass as the rest of the Egyptian deities. Either way, Marc was getting concerned at Layla’s lack of reply. His anxiety was palpable.

Marc: I just realized that I don’t even know what your favorite flowers are. That’s one of the first things a husband should know, isn’t it? As soon as you get home, I’m buying you flowers.

Marc: I love you so much. Goodnight.

Marc: I think that the nightmares have started again.

He didn’t know much about his PTSD, except that a doctor had told him a long time ago that his nightmares were part of it. At the time, most of them were about his brother, save for a select few brutal ones about his mom. Now, though, he had a whole array of horrors that would threaten to greet him every time he closed his eyes. They only worsened when his bed was empty.

Steven’s presence helped a little bit, but Marc was still losing enough sleep to affect his cognition. Even if he did manage a few hours, he’d wake up exhausted all the same. His heart would be racing, his sheets would be drenched in sweat, and his limbs would be so heavy that it almost hurt to drag himself to the shower and then to the kitchen to brew a too-strong cup of coffee. Sometimes the body rested better when Steven was the one at the front. Sometimes, though, he’d return to the Duat when he fell asleep. Paralysis would follow, but instead of a demon to haunt him, there would just be the dreaded image of endless dunes and the feeling of sand in his throat.

Needless to say, the boys were not sleeping very much. They had come to be used to it, but it seemed quite unfair that they’d made so many strides in sharing the body and still could not manage to get a good night’s rest. Steven knew of many ways to pass the time when the restlessness came, but Marc wasn’t used to it. Each time a terror managed to tear him up from his bed, there was only one thing he had to fall back on.

Marc: Last night it was about our trip to Tokyo. You remember that? I was scared as shit that whole mission but you didn’t even flinch.

Marc: It wasn’t like the trip though. I was so slow, it’s like I was frozen in place. You were running around fighting just like normal. But you were too slow, too. I just watched it all in slow motion and they took you away from me.

Marc: I don’t know what I would do if that happened.

Marc: I miss you so much. I know you’re busy but please let me know you’re okay.

Marc: I love you so much.

He couldn’t believe the man he was turning into. Marc had never spoken this much about anything in his life. Ever. Even if it was just over text, even if he didn’t have to say the words out loud, he’d never been so… vulnerable before. He never knew that he even could. The more time he spent saying these things to Layla, though, the more natural they felt to share.

Marc: You know how they say that love at first sight isn’t real? I call bullshit on that. The first time that I saw you I was already done for. You had on that leather jacket and your hair was pinned back, and you tore into that guy at the display case when he credited your father’s work to some other dickhead. There was just so much fire in you and I knew right then. I was hooked. I had to have you.

Marc: That sounds all sexist doesn’t it. That’s not what I meant. You know what I meant. You were just all the perfect things and I didn’t even know what to do with myself. I wanted to protect you, I had this NEED to protect you. But you never needed it, you always took care of yourself. You still do.

Marc: That was the only way I knew how to love you.

Work had been a solid distraction, but time was stretching on and there was still no word from Layla. Marc’s unease was beginning to grow into panic. Now, his lack of sleep was from worry just as much as from nightmares. It took everything in him not to turn to the bottle for comfort, or god forbid, one of his other coping mechanisms.

Marc: I just want to know you’re okay.

Marc: I’m sorry for the things that I did. I know that I already apologized but… I’m sorry. The way that I lied to you all that time. I don’t know what was wrong with me. It’s still hard not to lie sometimes, but I never do. I promise. I will never lie to you again. I was so goddamn stupid and I thought that you were better off without me. I don’t know, I still think that, but I don’t want to hurt you like that again. Plus you have Steven now too. He can give you things that I can’t. He can be the things that I’ll never be. The things that you deserve.

Marc: Please tell me you’re okay. It’s been four days.

He was half-convinced to book a plane ticket to Dubai. Marc gave himself another day. If Layla didn’t reply in the next 24 hours, he was coming to find her. Ceremonial suit or not, he would be there to make sure she was safe. He couldn’t help himself.

It was nearly two in the morning and Marc hadn’t even shut his eyes once. He knew that he needed to be up at the crack of dawn, but he couldn’t get his heart to stop jumping into his throat. Marc had taken ibuprofen for the pounding in his head, but it barely muted the physical pain and didn’t touch the rest of it. He sat at the edge of his bed, drawing circles on his skin and willing the motion to calm some part of him down. It wasn’t working.

Suddenly, the dead quiet of the night was interrupted by a sharp, chiming tone.

A text alert.

Marc flinched at the noise and his head jerked in the direction of his night stand. The flip-phone sat motionless on the side table, the screen illuminated blue. He snatched it into his hand.

The phone started going wild. Text after text flooded in until more than a dozen messages had been alerted in quick succession. Voicemail tones rang in-between them. Marc could only stare at the phone in shock until the onslaught slowed. Finally, the tones stopped and the room was once again silent. He pulled the first message up on the screen.

(4 Days Ago) Layla: I’m about to lose signal for a few days. Not even sure I have it now. I don’t know if my messages will send, but I’ll try to update you.

(4 Days Ago) Layla: Goodnight. I love you.

(3 Days Ago) Layla: I’m beginning to think that the wings on this suit are giving me a complex.

(3 Days Ago) Layla: I’m safe, by the way. Might not text for a day or two. I got a good lead.

(3 Days Ago) Layla: I miss having my partner to help me.

(1 Day Ago) Layla: Finishing up here. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back to London. Leaving later tonight.

(2 Hours Ago) Layla: Oh God. I just got your messages. None of mine even sent to you did they?

(2 Hours Ago) Layla: I just got off my flight. I’m waiting on the bus now. Are you awake?

(2 Hours Ago) Layla: Can I come over?

And then, one final ping.

(17 Minutes Ago) Layla: Fuck it. I’m coming over.

If Marc was restless before, he was wide awake now. He fumbled for the switch on the lamp beside his bed, illuminating the room with a much harsher light than the glow of the moon seeping through the windows. The apartment was a mess—dirty mugs littered about the place, shirts and sweats strewn across the floor. Marc scrambled to clear a path from the front door, hiding the clear evidence that he’d been falling apart for the last couple days.

He had just placed the last mug in the sink when a gentle knock against the door echoed into the kitchen.

Marc was at the door in an instant. He turned the knob and pulled it toward him. Layla was dressed in a hoodie and sweats, likely the clothes that she wore on the plane. Her hair was tied up in a bun. She looked tired.

Her feet dangled in the air as Marc scooped her up into his arms, taking less than a second to look her over first. Layla gasped at the impact, digging her nails into his back. She expected him to put her down after that, but he didn’t budge. Marc's arms were wrapped firmly around her and he wouldn’t let go. He couldn’t.

“Hey, baby,” she hummed. Layla leaned into his touch, bringing her hand up to the back of his head. He sighed into her neck. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I love you,” Marc groaned. His breath was hot against her skin. He kicked the door shut and stumbled backward to the sitting room. “I missed you.”

Layla chuckled when the backs of his knees hit the couch. “I know. I love you, too.”

Marc was shaking. He hadn’t realized it until now, but he was practically buzzing with energy. Whether it was excitement or shock or something else, he wasn’t entirely sure. All he knew is that he couldn’t physically get any closer to Layla, but he didn’t feel quite close enough.

“Scared me to death.” His grip didn’t soften. He leaned back until his shoulders hit the cushions. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Her weight shifted on top of him. Her mouth found his ear and her teeth grazed the lobe. “I’m back now.”

He hadn’t felt like this in so long. In some respect, Marc had never felt like he was feeling right now. He had never wanted to hold her so tightly. He had never been so utterly terrified to let go. What Marc could remember, though, was the feeling of longing. The feeling that their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle. The feeling that Marc’s only goal in the world was to make Layla feel good. Like that was his purpose.

Marc pulled her down into a kiss.

They moved together lazily, but passionately. It seemed that neither of their bodies quite had the energy for what they truly had in mind. He held Layla against him with all the strength he could muster, keeping her body flush with his and giving her the opportunity to explore his waist with the limited movement of her one free hand. The two of them could have stayed there for hours, save for the fact that it was nearly three in the morning and neither of them had slept a wink in days. Marc persisted, though, as long as he could. He only finally pulled away when his lungs could not physically handle being deprived of air anymore.

Layla wrapped herself around him from behind when they made their way to the bed. She was nearly as tall as him, her frame almost as big, so she had no difficulty enveloping him in her arms. He was rigid against the feeling at first, but managed to sink into it in a matter of minutes. He felt safe in her arms and, though he wouldn’t admit it, he really needed her to hold him right now.

“I’m happy you’re here,” he mumbled to her. Sleep was tugging at him in a way that it hadn’t dared to in days. Her breath tickled his neck.

She interlocked their fingers, breathing a chuckle. “Me too. Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

His eyelids were heavy. He was as tired as he’d ever been before, but only now did his body seem to think it was safe to relax. Marc thought, for just a moment as he drifted off, that he might actually sleep well tonight. That would have been too good to be true, though, and sure enough, the nightmares came just the same as they always did.

This time it was Cairo. Nothing too fancy, nothing imaginative. Marc’s mind was filled to the brim with imagery of Arthur Harrow and his followers. The violet beam that Harrow flung from his cane wrought destruction in every direction. Marc reached for the crescent blade on his chest, but felt only fabric underneath his palm. Just like always, Marc’s feet were frozen in place. He couldn’t move, couldn’t protect himself. More importantly, he couldn’t protect her.

“Layla.”

He called out to her, intending to shout, but the noise came out barely a whisper. She couldn’t hear him. Layla stood before Harrow in her avatar suit, just a few steps away from the tip of his outstretched cane. He had noticed her presence. It was only a matter of moments before he decided to strike against her.

“Layla!”

Still, nothing came out. Marc could only watch in horror as the beam of light struck Layla square in the chest, knocking her backwards. He wanted to scream at Harrow—to distract him, to make himself the target instead of her—but his voice was shot. The disciple walked right by him, zeroing in on his wife. She seemed in no rush to pick herself up off the ground. Marc already knew how this ended. In a hundred different nightmares, he’d seen the same thing before. Layla, fighting against all odds, determined as always. Him, frozen and unable to help. Too slow to protect her. Too weak to protect her. He had watched his enemies strike her down a hundred times before. That’s all he could ever do. Watch.

Harrow brought his cane over his head, aiming the crocodile-shaped knob on the end against Layla’s skull. Marc tried to look away as he dealt the first blow. His head wouldn’t turn though, and his eyes wouldn’t close no matter how hard he tried. Even if he’d seen it a hundred times, even if a small part of his mind always knew that it wasn’t real, it didn’t hurt any less. He yelled for her, one last desperate plea.

Marc was at the edge of the bed before he even realized he was awake. He almost wanted to laugh at himself—it was normally Steven that woke up running. The beginning light of the sunrise illuminated the room just enough for him to see the outline of a figure beside him. He lowered himself back into bed, blushing at the way Layla was staring at him. He didn’t know if his movement had woken her up or if he was talking in his sleep. Either way, it was obvious she knew he’d just woken from a nightmare.

“Sorry,” he murmured. His body was still trembling and his heart was still racing. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s alright,” she chimed. She held out her arms as an offer to hold him. To comfort him. “I get them, too.”

He shook his head, moving to sit at the edge of the mattress. “I don’t think I can go back to sleep right now.”

“You should at least try, darling. You’ve barely slept three hours.”

“I’ll be fine.” He put his head in his hands. Layla was having none of it.

“At least lay with me.” She repositioned herself so that he could lay his head against her chest. She patted the bed beside her. “Please? Keep me warm, baby.”

“Okay.”

Marc always loved the feeling of Layla running her hands through his hair. It was the most relaxing sensation he could think of. Layla carded her fingers through his curls as he laid against her, and Marc could feel his muscles relaxing more than they had in months. The trembling died down the longer he listened to her steady heartbeat. After a while, he brought his arms up to wrap properly around her torso.

“Thank you,” he mumbled into her chest.

Layla pulled the cover up over him. “For what?”

“For staying.”

The sun was rising above the horizon by now. The low golden glow illuminated the studio just enough that Layla could see the content on his face. She could also see that, despite his relaxed demeanor, he wasn’t going back to sleep. As much as it would have made sense to get up and put on a pot of coffee, Layla wanted to stay warm under the covers for just a little while longer.

Marc wasn’t the only one who had fallen apart over the last few days.

“Marc.” Her voice was worried, hesitant. He craned his neck to look at her, picking up on the tone immediately. “I don’t think that I can be alone right now.”

He hadn’t asked about the details of the mission. Layla had told him the basics: a trafficking ring was wreaking havoc on the people of Dubai, particularly on the women and children in poorer communities. Taweret had found a gap in their operation—one that Layla could squeeze into perfectly, if she played her cards right. It was never meant to be a one-and-done trip, but Taweret had hoped they could take a chunk out of the organization, to weaken them right from the start. Marc hadn’t yet asked whether she and Layla had accomplished that.

“You don’t have to be.” He brought his hand down to hold hers. Layla’s wedding ring brushed along his palm and he squeezed her hand tight. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No,” she piped. Layla gritted her teeth. “But I need to.”

They readjusted, so now Layla was laying as Marc had just been, her head resting on her husband’s chest and her arm wrapped around his waist.

“It’s only fair,” he half-smiled. “I’ve been baring my soul to you for weeks.”

She smirked. “You’re supposed to be doing that anyway.”

“So are you.”

Layla took a few deep breaths before starting. Talking about things was easier for her than it was for Marc, but that still didn’t mean it was easy. She sighed. “This job is so much bigger than I thought. And it’s so much…worse. It’s horrible.”

Marc nodded slightly and she cleared her throat. She continued, “I saw things I don’t know how to forget. I mean, some of our adventures together got pretty rough, right? But this was something else entirely. It was like going to hell. Actual hell. These people are demons, Marc. I don’t know what else to call them.”

The worst of the worst, Marc thought to himself. “I can see why Taweret wanted them punished.”

“No, not punished.” Layla shook her head. “Eradicated. It’s not about them Marc, it’s about all the people they’ve hurt. All the people they’re still hurting. They need help. My help.”

Her breath shuddered and Marc brought his hand up to rub circles on her back. “But it’s not just Dubai. It’s not even just the peninsula. It’s everywhere, love. I mean absolutely everywhere. It’s at least over half of Asia and probably just as much of Africa and Europe. I don’t even know if calling it the tip of the iceberg would do it justice. There’s got to be a million people involved, or close to it. The ring isn’t that powerful, but it’s so spread out. I can’t imagine how far.”

Marc didn’t like any of what he was hearing. He hated the thought of that many people in danger, of that many children in danger, but it wasn’t just that. He could tell by Layla’s tone that her fear was not pushing her to forfeit the mission. It wasn’t motivating her to step back or to minimize the scope of her goal. No, he knew better than that. Layla was terrified, not because she had bitten off more than she could chew, but because she was sure now more than ever that she would not stop until the ring had burned to the ground.

“So what are you going to do?” He questioned hesitantly.

Layla almost winced as she thought of her answer.

“I’m going to dance with the devil.”

She buried her head deeper into his chest, trying to absorb the heat. “It’s already started. I have to go in as a participant. I have to work for them, or at least make them think that’s what I’m doing. That’s why I couldn’t text for a few days, they had to search me. Had to be sure I wasn’t a cop or someone from a rival group. I had to make them trust me. Or at least, not actively distrust me.”

“Layla…”

“I know, baby. I know how dangerous it is and I know what it means I’ll have to do. But I can’t stop now. You should know that more than anyone.”

Marc’s heart was skipping again. “Is Taweret making you do this? Is she forcing you?”

“No, Marc. She’s not like him. She wouldn’t do that. This is my choice, alright? I’ve made up my mind.”

And Marc knew what it meant that Layla had made up her mind. There was no point in arguing, no point in trying to convince her otherwise. There was no point in doing anything besides helping her or getting out of her way, and Marc was in no position to help. Not the way she needed him.

“I’ll talk to Steven about helping you track them.”

Her body went rigid at the statement, and she hugged him tighter. “Thank you.”

“Now come on, we gotta get up.” He stretched underneath her, trying to gently roll her off.

She didn’t budge.

“Come on, babe. I’ve got work.”

Layla made a noise of discontent. “Five more minutes.”

He scoffed, then smiled. “Fine, but you’re making breakfast.”

~~~

I hate that this chapter is so late. Ill try to keep to the schedule better.

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @magicwithaknife @rmoonstoner @nervouslaught3r @unavoidabledirewolf @kbakery @mccn-bcys @gingermous @avatarofseshat @damreonsgirl @dragons-are-my-favorite @k8esilver @competentpotato @theconsultingdoctor10 @rayrlupin @moony-artemis @nerdory10 @valkyrieace

@ahookedheroespureheart @mt2sssss @loki-hargreeves @starfirette @celeste412 @avengersinitiative2012 @sifinskies @unspokenmoon @maplemind @mainstreambitchlife @hot-mess-express1 @toracainz @zarahbronstein @daughterofthequeen @am-3-thyst @romanarose @wand-erer5 @jake-g-lockley @in-between-the-cafes @alexismm @moonmoonboys @joyful-soul-collector

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #layla el faouly #marc x layla #marclayla #moon boys #fire within my soul #Masterlist

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saijspellhart · 3 years

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Little oneshot about Atem meeting Sphinx Yugi

Part of my Sphinx AU. Please enjoy.

Atem clutched his cloak around him, trying to settle back against the date palms again, only to sit up with a start at the rustle of leaves. The once vibrant and friendly oasis he’d happened upon in the day, had turned into an absolute nightmare as soon as the sun set.

He hadn’t managed to get a fire going, he couldn’t find anything to eat, and although the water in the massive pond looked clean and tasted good, he was convinced he’d be sick by morning.

The night was so dark, even with all the stars, he could barely make out his surroundings in the dense thickets of trees and brush surrounding the pond. He could swear something was out there. Could feel it staring at him, hunting him.

He snapped his head to the left at the sound of disturbed undergrowth, and swore he caught a glimpse of yellow eyes. Like the glowing pupils of some large animal. They disappeared almost immediately.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them. Could be a fox, or a crocodile, perhaps a leopard, or even a hyena. Although he really doubted it was a hyena. Too quiet for that noisy pack animal. Never the less, he was convinced he was being stalked by some silent predator.

Hours were passing, and he continued his restless watch.

The night wore on leaving him more and more exhausted, and the chill set in harder. He felt cold in his bones without a fire or proper insulation from the frigid desert night.

He would die of exposure before he was ever rescued by his priests.

Atem saw the flash of yellow eyes again in his peripheral and scowled at them sleepily.

Or I’ll simply get eaten alive. What an end for a mighty Pharaoh. He should have simply died earlier in the day during the skirmish with the brigands. At least then it would have been in the service of his people, and not alone, lost in the desert, and at the jaws of local wildlife.

Another hour passed, and he couldn’t hold his head up anymore to stay alert. He was so cold.

So tired.

His eyelids drooped. And each blink was a little longer, his mind a little hazier.

He searched for the eyes in the dark, but saw nothing. He heard nothing. He couldn’t hold his eyes open any longer and he drifted out of consciousness.

0000

Atem’s world was a lot brighter when his brain clicked back into consciousness the next morning.

And warmer.

So much warmer. He’d been so cold the night before and now he was wrapped in a blanket of warmth and fluffy comfort.

It felt like his head was pillowed against a cloud. A slightly dusty, musky scented cloud with an edge of sweetness, almost like grass. It was pleasant.

In fact everything was pleasant. Even the comforting weight settled over him. Atem didn’t want to move. Didn’t even want to wake up. Instead, he inhaled the pleasant scent again and tried to drift back to sleep.

His hand reached up to sink fingers into soft fur and snuggled deeper into his pillow.

Which gasped, and shifted beneath him.

Atem’s eyes shot open, getting an eyeful of white and tawny red-gold fur. Something like a tail swished just over the swell of golden fur he’d taken a handful of. He was up in an instant, flailing against feathers, and violently slapping a large wing off of himself as he stumbled to get away.

“Ouch!” a stranger’s voice yelped.

He ended up crawling backwards through sand and grasses. Drawing his knife—his khopesh having gotten lost when his horse threw him in the strange and sudden sand storm—he pointed the blade, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the strange creature he’d been cuddled up to only moments before.

“What in Ra’s name are you?” Atem demanded.

The creature blinked large and bewitching purple eyes at him. “What does it look like?” It asked, sounding almost offended. It shook out one of its large black-tipped white feathered wings, as if shaking off pain, before gingerly folding the appendage against its back. “In fact I’m one of the god’s creatures. I’m a sphinx,” it announced rising up on its very feline paws.

This gave Atem a very good look at the creature, and yes. Yes, it was a sphinx. He quickly lowered the knife so as not to disrespect it.

It was not the type of sphinx he was most accustomed to seeing depicted in scrolls and in reliefs. That being a creature with a lion’s body and the head of a human. No, this creature had the head and torso of a human, its arms changing into a feline’s paws starting at the elbow, and its torso becoming a feline’s lower half starting at the stomach.

The stomach that Atem’s head has been pillowed against, he noted. That’s what had been so soft like a cloud. He swallowed thickly.

“It’s been awhile since a human has wandered into my oasis,” the sphinx said conversationally. It took a few steps towards Atem. “What’s your name?”

He wasn’t about to give a magical creature such as this his name. Magical creatures could do dangerous things with your name. “Atem…” the name tumbled off his tongue unbidden. Fuck. He suspected some magic must be at play, but Ra would have to smite him before he would tell this creature he was a Pharaoh. Absolutely no good would come of this creature having that knowledge.

“Atem~” the sphinx tested the name on its tongue, and smiled brightly at him. “Hi Atem! My name is Yugi,” as it introduced itself it made a tight circle giving Atem a look at its entire body from nose to the end of its stumpy tail.

It was just like a cat to give someone an eyeful of its ass. If the lack of breasts hadn’t clued him in, Atem could safely conclude that the very effeminate looking creature was indeed a male.

When Yugi turned to face him again he couldn’t quite meet the Sphinx’s eye anymore and sort of looked off to the side instead.

It was actually startling how much the Sphinx’s hair resembled Atem’s. Should he be flattered? Or maybe the sphinx was flattered. It was probably far older than him. Their hair was strikingly similar, both having flowing blonde bangs and unruly black spikes tinged with color at the tips. Although Atem’s hair ended in red, while Yugi’s seemed to be a gradient of purples and reds. That was where the similarities between them seemed to end though. Yugi had large eyes and a small nose, with a slight build and fair skin. Where as Atem had a large nose, thick brows over slanted eyes, with the build of a fighter and brown skin.

“I’m sorry for scaring you when you woke up,” Yugi dipped his head and looked genuinely apologetic.

“What was…that anyway?” Atem jerked his head at the Sphinx and reached a hand down to pluck at some grass, tearing the blades between his fingers.

“I was keeping you warm,” Yugi explained. Almost comically large cat ears flicked on either side of his head, disturbing locks of hair as they did. Atem could make out black tufts of fur on the ends of the ears that reminded him very much of a caracal. Yugi kept his distance but sat back on his haunches. His wings adjusted on his back, fluttering a bit before folding back into place. “You were so cold, shivering in your sleep, and well… the elements don’t bother me.” he shrugged. “So I curled up beside you, and covered you with my wing.”

Atem narrowed his eyes at the creature. Were sphinxes usually so kind? He couldn’t recall many stories about sphinxes but the stories he did recall they were always dangerous and tricksy. “I suppose I owe you a debt now, don’t I?” He growled out, tossing his handful of shredded grass on the sand before him.

Yugi blinked at him. “No? Oh well maybe…” he tilted his head and it looked like the wheels had begun to turn in his mind. “Why?” he asked slowly.

“Because you probably saved my life. Kept me from succumbing to exposure or something.” Atem explained impatiently. He didn’t want to be in debt to a magical creature, but he was also a Pharaoh and it could spell disaster to leave debts unpaid. Should the sphinx ever find out he was a pharaoh and decide to collect on the debt it might ask for something outrageous. Like a child, or a golden statue in its likeness, or perhaps to stay in his palace to live like a king. “Creatures like you always want payment for a life saved.”

Yugi seemed to consider this, all the while studying Atem curiously. “I suppose that’s true,” he purred. “How about we play a game? Win, and consider the debt repaid. Your life will be your own. But should you lose, then your life is mine.” This time when the little Sphinx grinned at him it was far more predatory. If he wasn’t so adorable Atem might have felt more intimidated.

A game? A smug sense of triumph curled in Atem’s stomach. A game wasn’t so bad. He was excellent at games. “What kind of game?” Atem hedged warily. Skills aside, making a deal with any magical creature was extremely dangerous, but especially with a sphinx.

Yugi laid down on the ground and crossed his front paws. “Oh, nothing complicated. Just a simple game of riddles~”

Atem adjusted until he was sitting cross-legged facing the Sphinx. He placed his hands on his knees and did his best to school his expression with confidence. “Alright then. I’ll play your game.”

“Great!” Yugi chirped happily, and his cat butt wiggled with excitement. “I will start.”

Atem bit his cheek and silently reminded himself that this cuteness was probably a facade. He would focus…and he would win.

#puzzleshipping #yugi mutou #atem #Yami yugi #pharaoh atem #yugioh #sphinx au #sphinx yugi #drabble #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #yugioh duel monsters #ygo dm #SaijSpellhart writes

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halo-jpeg · 3 years

Note

hi new bestie! can you please write some stanley or bill x reader fluff :)

Bestie indeed I got you 😚😌✨ So this is a strange amalgamation of stuff from the book and stuff from the movie because I couldn't pick one and uh- I hope it isn't too confusing. If you have any questions at all just leave them as a reply and ill answer in no time at all :) Also, in AUs where Stan doesn't die I like to headcanon him as like,,,, some reincarnation of the Turtle or something. It's totally unrealistic but it's a lot of fun to think he keeps all his memories and is just a little bit omnipotent. Yay.

Stanley Uris x Reader Fluff

You sat bolt upright and uttered a sharp gasp, your eyes blown wide. Goosebumps rippled back and forth along your arms, pricking eerily as the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end- you were certain you would be screaming right now if you weren't painfully out of breath, your lungs clamped tightly together as if trapped in the unrelenting jaws of some beast. With your heart thrumming too quick inside of your chest you felt as if you were dying, as if you'd run a thousand miles just like you had seemed to be moments earlier in the midst of your nightmare. The menace, the fear, it played back in your head like some sick home movie, terrifying you to your very core and drawing out something akin to a wail, like the sound of a wounded animal, quiet and choked and desperate.

The space around you was vast, eternal, stretching left and right and up forever yet being lit by a yellowish, alien glow. People were with you, seven people but you didn't know their names. Someone had your hand on one side, someone else on the other and your stomach was roiling with horror. Before you was a demon, something that could only have come from hell and even that seemed to be a stretch. Through the endlessness you could only see eyes, glowing and red and promising death, and muscle rippling under fur-covered spider legs.

Your arms clamped around you in a death grip, your eyes slamming shut and begging for the images to be out out out out out. These images, why the hell did you keep seeing these images? This scene from beyond was forced upon you night after night after restless, sleepless night and you didn't understand why. The reasoning was there, you knew it was, you knew that the cause of these dreams lie somewhere in your brain but you just couldn't grasp onto it and right now you weren’t sure if you even wanted to. You pull your knees to your stomach, tears brimming in your eyes, your hitching breaths becoming desperate sobs and no further helping the hurting in your chest. You wanted to scream, to get up and run towards anyone and anything that would keep you safe but everything was too much, too sudden, too frightening and it your chest hurt and your head was spinning and the images, oh god the memories-

The beast roared, deafening, your hair pressing backwards and blowing wildly in the wake of it. The smell overwhelmed your senses and dug up stray memories of the Canal Days Festival, of petting zoos and goats and pigs and the stench of an animal carcass. You felt as if you were going to throw up but the grip on your either hand grew tighter and you swallowed down the bile. The phrase, Turn Light Into Dark, it washed you with a sense of power that only made your head throb more. Blinding lights spun down, down, closer, and though you knew your eyes were shut you could still see Its true form even though you didn't know what It was.

A hand pressed over your mouth to stop another wail from escaping, louder this time now that you had spare breath in your lungs. Tears spilled over and swam down your cheeks like small rivers guided by a canal cut through stone, the Kenduskeag, Derry- You forced the thoughts of Derry away and swept them under a mental rug. When you thought of Derry you grew afraid that you would find out why you were having these nightmares. You couldn't stand that. You were shaking, oh how you were shaking, tremors rocking you back and forth as if a dog- no, a werewolf had sunk its teeth into your spine and was regarding you as nothing but a chew toy. You needed something, someone, you needed to get this to stop-

These lights, the Deadlights, they doused you back into that cold sea of terror that the still-new power had almost saved you from. Seeing them now, here, descending, physical, you did not think that you could kill them. These candle flames would not be snuffed, you thought, and yet you screamed your throat raw nonetheless. A chorus of voices you felt rather than heard chanted over and over Turn Light Into Dark Turn Light Into Dark Turn Light Into Dark and then the lights were gone, swallowed up by something magical, something that killed monsters if you believed it did until the circle broke as one of you went to lock It up in Its new cage. As the circle broke so did the flowing power and a red glow overtook the alien yellow as the lid was pushed up and away and the sleek scarlet surface of a blood-coloured balloon emerged from the magic prison. You felt your stomach sink, your blood run cold, the power drain from your veins for the briefest moment as your belief waned completely and oh no oh God this was it you thought you would have killed It would have extinguished Its flame but It was eternal It was the Eater of Worlds and it wouldn't-

The door whipped open and you let out a startled cry halfway through a choking sob, not having noticed that you had begun to cry aloud. At once you slapped a hand over your mouth yet again, scrubbing at your cheeks with the heel of your palm and slapping on a shaky little smile that entirely contradicted the wild look in your eyes. Your heart was thrumming again both from the memories and the jump as the door flung open. You had to tell yourself again and again and again that you knew this man, that he was familiar and his name was right there at the tip of your tongue, curly hair and brown doe eyes and a kind, concerned crease in his brows that only deepened at the sight of you- Stanley, it was just Stan and suddenly you felt safe enough to cry. Your arms both going to pull your knees into your chest you let the terror grip you and the sobs rip free from your throat.

"(Y/N) what- what happened? Are you okay?" For a moment Stan hesitated, looking instinctively down at the palm of his hand for a reason you did not know and then he went surging forwards and to your side, gathering you up in his arms. He didn't speak just yet, simply holding you close, quiet, something about him dripping with a sense of calm. Laced underneath that pressing security was the power you had felt ripped from you in your dream, the power you did not know the meaning of but were certain was important, had been important, in some vital way. You cried and cried in Stanley's arms as your group of eight, a lucky number, crazy eights, was split instead into twos and ones.

One with glasses, one with a patch on his cheek, one with hair lit aflame like January Embers, one in love and one who was too smart for his own good and one who would lead them to safety no matter what and no matter when- and then there was him, he who let out this forcefield of strength, the one thought to be the weakest now doused in some strength greater than It, than love, than the Turtle whoever that was and he had your hand in his and you were running and trying to get away. Trials, terror, doors and bathroom stalls and clubhouses and (how do you know this?) little brothers and the macroverse. The Deadlights and blood and broken hearts and fear and pain.

"Do you want to talk about it?" His voice was soft, safe, and his hands rest on either side of your face to guide your eyes to his own. They were dark like melted chocolate, solid, calm, steady and unmoving and nothing like the ruby red ones belonging to It, to the creature you didn't think possible to imagine. You didn't have to answer for Stan to know you would decline. He didn't scold, he didn't chastise- he would never do that. Instead, he leaned forwards and placed a kiss on the space between your eyebrows, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder. He did nothing more than hold you, silent, waiting for the fear to run it's course.

Belief grew strong all over again, the Leader fanning the flame of hope and driving forth the metaphorical wooden stake at last. You had felt something like hellfire roar through you, a driving agony that nearly drove you into madness but then it faded to the back of your mind and It was flaking away. There was crying alongside the groaning of the earth, a lurching sound like wood moments from snapping in two. Urgency, warm and throttling, tied each of you eight together and forced you onwards despite the exhaustion tethered like weights to your limbs. A hand in yours, you raced into darkness, leaving behind webs to collapse and bodies to fall and be buried. The gargantuan remainders of what was Its nest would lie dormant in the ground for millennia to follow, undiscovered. Eight of you, one two three four five six seven eight, retraced steps with the help of a dying man and grew closer and closer to light and life and safety. You climbed rough rock, something or someone (Turtle? Other?) lending you all the collective determination to move quick and careful and leave no man behind. The earth sang a song of despair as it clung to itself with all of it's force, urging you forwards, cheering you on, hoping you would all make it out before it could cling on no longer and collapsed atop your sorry heads.

"Focus on your breathing, my dear. You're all right. I have you," Stanley let his hand rest on your hair, stroking, smoothing, calming, "You're going to be alright." For a moment the floodgates in your head flung open and you knew everything but then they slammed shut once more and you were left hopelessly, blissfully clueless. You curled tightly into yourself, coiling like a frightened snake, letting the golden power coming off of Stanley in waves lay over you like soft, light silk. Something about this strength, glowing brighter than the sun in a manner much more pleasant than the Deadlights(?) felt ancient as well as young and fresh. You are certain Stanley has had this aura forever, and yet you have never ever felt it this strongly. It was almost as if you could see him lit from the inside out.

More darkness, sewers, the dead things smell fading slowly yet steadily. You passed places that were achingly familiar and yet felt worlds away, not having even the chance to stop and say farewell (did you say farewell to nightmare places?) since the roof was dropping flakes of grit and the rumbling had grown near a roar. Another well, a rope, heaving and pulling, up up up out of the dark and into the light, the homestretch. The feelings you felt were smothering, a sickening concoction of relief and one last choking bout of terror. It was not over yet. Eight of you, all eight, running through the house on (Nelson? Neibolt.) street towards safety, towards the end, towards-

You had never seen this far before. Your nightmares always cut off abruptly before you could even start to flee. They always cut off right before you defeat It, whatever It was, right before you snuffed Its light from this realm. Now, however, as if coaxed forth or caught on the end of a fishing line, you were seeing the ending, the ending of everything. Stan was still petting your hair, rocking gently back and forth as your trembling began to ease and your crying, ever-slowly, began to subside. The memories were still frightening, coming to you in rapid flashes, reminding you of an old black and white film spinning on a reel.

Towards the door. Floorboards creaked and groaned and split, sinking down, breaking underneath your feet. Glass shattered as walls sank towards collapse, as the dirt began to part, opening into a grave. Somewhere behind you the roof collapsed and spilt old dust-soaked furniture, a coffin, a collection of porcelain clowns down towards their resting place. With one final shriek of snapping wood all eight burst out into the Summer sun and the house gave in behind them. They didn't stop; the cement path was cracking, the weeds being reclaimed by the soil. The Earth opened up at last, providing just enough time- maybe held together by some greater strength- for the eight to reach safety. You all spun, watching, awestruck and horrified and solemn as the Earth opened up it's unrelenting jaws and swallowed whole the home of death that It had claimed as it's own.

Your shaking had stopped. Your sobbing had halted. Your heart had slowed to a regulated beat like that of a drum. Slowly, Stan's grip around you had begun to ease and you wrapped your own arms around him in turn. Your eyes, which had been screwed tightly shut, fluttered open and then fell closed once more, soft, not afraid.

"There you are, baby-love," Stan whispered the words into the top of your head and bumped his nose gently against it, "All better, right? You're going to be okay." With a swell of love that almost made you want to cry once more, you believed it. He was going to keep you safe just as he has done forever. With a concrete certainty you knew that Stanley would fight of Heaven and Hell if it meant saving you. With a concrete certainty you knew that, at some point, he basically had. You shift, slow, leaning away from him to gaze into those dark caramel eyes yet again. That's where the power came from, you were certain; from those eyes of his. They were so calm, so collected, so firm and confident and adoring. They shone with nothing but utter love.

"Stan..." Your voice was weak and shaky but Stan nodded his head, patient, waiting for you to find your words again, "Do... do you ever get nightmares?" At this, Stan cracked a radiant smile that was brighter than starshine and glowed in a way entirely different from the burning of the Deadlights. This smile was otherworldly, like the beams of the sun in the form of man. He nodded.

"Of course, dear," he hummed, and let his head fall forwards, forehead against your own, "We're only human." The last sob shook your body, and then you grew still as Stanley bumped his nose gently against yours. Your goosebumps sank away. The tightness of your lungs eased. A honey-toned warmth seeped from a newfound crack in your memory floodgates, letting through scraps of your childhood you had long since forgotten. The Summer of '88 had been pushed from your brain; as far as you had been concerned it had never even happened, it had just been Spring and then Autumn but now, with the door cracked open just a sliver, the memories spilled through and they were brilliant. You remembered the Barrens, playing guns and tag and Parcheesi and jungle hunters, winding through bamboo and splashing in the river and building a dam and an underground clubhouse. You remembered buying ice cream and movie tickets and picking through the dump with the seven greatest friends you had ever known. You remembered Stan the first time you'd seen him, haloed by the setting sun as you fell upon him and his friends on the cliff above the quarry. You remember Beverly's kind smile, Bill's welcoming eyes, Mike's handshake, Ben's timid wave. You remembered Richie's ill-timed joke and the way Eddie had so lovingly punched him so hard in the shoulder he had almost tumbled right off the rock he was seated on. You remember feel- hearing a click like pieces of a puzzle slotting together and you remember thinking these are my people.

Underneath these warm memories were dark ones begging to push through, to smother the good things, but for some odd reason you could imagine Stan fending them off, keeping them at bay for your sake. You can imagine him keeping the door held shut enough that the big ugly thoughts about hurt and fear on the other side of the gates. And you were grateful.

"You know," Stan said, and placed one hand on your cheek, his thumb skimming lightly over your cheekbone, "Those things in your nightmares can't hurt you. Monsters can always be killed," And, as if he had spoken directly to your brain, you feel-heard him saying if you believe they can. You met his sunbeam smile with your own, smaller but just as listlessly beautiful. Yet again you felt the aura around him, around your man, your husband, the only person you ever needed in your life.

"I know," You replied, and kissed him soft, "and I believe they can so long as you’re here with me.”

—————

Okay i actually,,,,, adore this I think? Stan doesn’t get enough love and I would die for him. So, just to kind of explain this in case I failed to do that through the text itself, Stan was gifted a few nifty little powers by either The Turtle or The Other depending on what makes more sense to you. He can (with a little struggling- that’s why the ‘floodgates’ opened and shut suddenly before finally only letting the good stuff through) staunch and release the memories of It and Derry in all of his friends heads, meaning he can choose what they do and don’t remember. He can also, just a little bit, project his thoughts onto other people. I’m not exactly sure why I went with this idea but I thought it was nice and fun and after playing a lovely It based game called ‘Use You Outside Voice Richie Tozier’ I fell in love with God-Stan. Thanks for reading :)

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realcube · 3 years

Text

sleepy haikyuu headcanons 💤

pairings: nishinoya x reader, tendō x reader, kageyama x reader

tw// swearing, violence(?), she//her reader, angst, overthinking, fluff

Yū Nishinoya

midnight pillow fights with Noya 💓

i could leave at that but i shall elaborate

whenever you sleepover at his house (or vice versa), every time y’all say that you are gonna pull an all-nighter and have chaotic fun

but it never works because being chaotic requires a lot of energy, so you both end up falling asleep at like 2AM-ish 🥱

the closest that y’all have gotten to an all-nighter is 5AM

anyway, it’s not a tradition - more like something that just ends up happening every time Noya is over, perhaps a curse lol

but at some time of night, you’ll say something to irk Noya and he’ll throw/hit you with a pillow

not to intentionally start shit but just as playful ‘shut up’ sorta thing

but something about the sharp impact of the pillow just pisses you off and you instinctively launch a pillow right back at him and it’s always a bit harder than you meant for it to be

thus, a pillow fight ensues

Noya had always envisioned a pillow fight with a female as a playful, sensual experience

but there was absolutely nothing playful or sensual about the way you powerbombed him and then proceeded to suffocate him with your pillow

you would both be feistily beating each other with the pillow, the room filling with your battle cries and screams ╰（‵□′）╯

and this would only end once both of your harsh, quick hits turned sloppy and tired

eventually, you’d both just drop unconscious during the fight and wake up in the weirdest positions

Satori Tendō

he is the self-certified ‘worst cuddler’ (ಥ _ ಥ)

not only is he extremely sensitive to temperature, he’s also filled with too much energy to just stay in the same position with you for god knows how long

it’s not that he didn’t like to cuddle, though. 🥺 i mean, nothing made him feel more safe than you in his arms but he was just unable to stop himself from getting restless when he did it for too long

but there were some nights that he wasn’t as fidgety, though

most of the time, it was after a big volleyball game or a hard day at practise and he was absolutely exhausted (_　_)。゜zｚＺ

he’d literally just detours to your house to catch up like he usually does but his demeanour clearly isn’t the same when he’s worn out so you invite him in for a few minutes and he’d gladly (and gratefully) accepts

he’d just flop down on the couch beside you, his arms just automatically finding your waist and thoughtlessly pulling you against his chest as he laid back, staring at the ceiling

he found himself muttering random things about his day when you asked him, but nothing he said seemed to be in chronological order - unless he brushed his teeth during volleyball practise, which - now that you think about it - doesn’t sound too out of character for him.

his hand found it’s way into your hair and started caressing your scalp, slowly drifting off as the little tune you hummed into his shoulder sent relaxing vibration throughout his body (￣o￣) . z Z

and this wasn’t a one-time thing either, whenever he comes to your house drained from practise, a similar chain of events always end up happening

the only difference being that sometimes it was in your bed rather than on the couch

Tobio Kageyama

i feel like bb has nightmares, like frequently 🥺

i mean, if i was him i’d have nightmares too; he has so much important shit riding on his performance - it’s a miracle that this man can even sleep with how much stress he must be under

like, he’s kinda failing school/ he doesn’t have the best grades and if he doesn’t do well on tests then his opportunity to go to camps and train volleyball could be taken

speaking of volleyball, he probably is so stressed from being a part of a team and having people rely on him - not the mention that he clearly isn’t very good at processing his feelings considering that he expresses most negative emotion he feels towards Hinata in the form of anger

then there is the pressure of keeping his relationships and not naturally distancing himself from the people he loves

like you, for example

he goes to bed with all these horrible thoughts in his head and whenever he tries to think positive, it always backfires

he’ll be like ‘i’m the worst person to be around, it’s clear nobody likes me.’

then he kinda shakes it off like, ‘wait, no. don’t think that. i know that (Y/N) loves me and i love her back.’

but his mind never leaves him alone, ‘am i even sure she loves me? i mean, i act so stand-offish towards her - yeah, she probably barely tolerates me. and she was talking about hinata’s spike yesterday, she’s probably going to dump me for him.’

it was a heart-wrenching thought but what could kageyama do?

for now, he’d just lie down beside you on your bed as you scrolled away on your phone, completely unaware that he just mentally rehearsed how he was going to react when you broke up with him

“goodnight, kags. love you.” you hummed, turning around to place a kiss on his cheeks like you always do when he sleeps over

kageyama nodded, trying to act cool and collected despite the fact he was internally nervous as hell, “night, (y/n).” he paused, trying his best to lift the corners of his lips into a kind - rather than intimidating - smile, “love you too.”

‘look, i called her by her first name - i’m so romantic.’ that was probably the nicest thing he’s thought to himself all day

with that, you both try to get some rest

aaaannnndddddd cue the part when he wakes up in a cold sweat, shivering slightly as he looks over to you with wide eyes to reassure himself that your not gone

his heavy breathing alerts you that he is awake so you pry one eye open to look at him, “not again, tobio.” you said wearily, forcing yourself to sit up and attempt to wrap him in a hug but he just jerked away from your touch

you sighed, “what happened?”

kageyama blinked rapidly, darting his gaze around the room before it finally landed back on you

“i- the walls- and you were almost d-” he began coughing, resulting in you immediately reaching over to your nightstand and handing him the bottle of water you had lying there

he took a few gulps before letting out a refreshed ‘ah’, his stare glued to your lips the whole time

eventually, he was able to grumble “it was nothing.” (⊙_⊙;)

upon hearing his evidently fake answer, you shoved out your bottom lip and whined, “shut up, tobio. i was obviously something; why won’t you tell me?”

“because it was nothing.” he said without missing a beat, then he proceeded to lay down so he could fall back asleep - as if this time it’d go better for him

“Kageyama!” you barked, resulting his eyes jolting back open, “You always have nightmares at my house; I’m starting to wonder if you’re scared of me or something.”

kageyama shook his head before nonchalantly responding, “it’s the cherry blossom air freshener - maybe use vanilla or something next time.” he joked, unable to resist a smile as you playfully punched his shoulder.

you sighed, clearly not going to get an answer out of like every other time you’ve tired, so you just decided to try fall back asleep and try reclaim the little bit of sanity you had left

“(y/n).” kageyama grumbled, wanting to make it seem like he was half-asleep but he was far from it as he pulse was still going crazy as that nightmare shook his to the core. “are you going to dump me? because if you are, now would be a good time.”

he spoke, praying to every deity he could think of that you wouldn’t say yes - but if you did, now would be a good time as he could storm out and since it was dark outside, the streets would be deserted meaning that nobody would be there to witness the tears streaming down his cheeks as he sprinted through the night

you rolled your eyes, “is that what this is about?” you didn’t mean for it to come off so harsh as you actually felt a great amount of sympathy for kageyama but just unable to express it in the way you desired

“stop crying.” you hissed, making kageyama quirk an eyebrow.

“I’m not crying-” he replied until suddenly, he realised that your comment was directed at yourself as you hastily buried your head into his chest and he felt something soak through the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m not going to break up with you kageyama, you stupid moron idiot!” you snapped against his shirt.

don’t ask why that nickname made kageyama’s heart flutter

“get those crazy ideas out of your head or i’ll have to take them out for you 🔪--” you could barely even finish your sentence before both you and kageyama burst out laughing

it was probably just the ambience of being cozy under a blanket with each other in a freezing cold room that reeked of cherry blossom but some how you both some how fell even harder for one another

although what you said wasn’t the most moving or motivating, your intention was clear and from then on, kageyama was a lot more upfront with you💕

he’d tell you if he ever felt uncomfortable or if he was ever worried and you’d either make him feel better or make him laugh and then insist that he goes to talk to suga or daichi

also after that night, (and once you ditched the air freshener and started burning vanilla essence) he only had ‘sweet dreams’ whenever he stayed over at yours

(or at least that is what he said whenever you asked him. in reality, his dreams were about volleyball and tsukishima chasing him through the mall on a velociraptor but whatever, it was a step up from the nightmares anyway. 🏃‍♂️ 🦖 )

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fatgummybear · 4 years

Note

Hii idk if you’ve watched your name and listened to nandemonaiya but could I get j a really soft bakugou x reader where it’s like they’re in a moment that’s super loving on the rooftop and yea just listening to that song makes me feel that way :)) thank youuu

Nandemonaiya- A Bakugou x reader drabble/fic

im so sorry this is so late, i feel like i’ve had a million and one things to do and life got on top of me for a minute there! I’m still yet to watch Your Name, though i did listen to the song and wOW IM SOFT T-T it reminded me of watching a sunrise being all cozy in the fresh air with pretty flowers and im going to shut up and actually write this now:D It’s a bit dingy and dark at the beginning i do apologise, but the fluff comes in>.<

wordcount: 1253

genderneutral language for reader and quirk unspecified:)! Oh- warning for language, we are talking about Bakugou here! (◠﹏◠✿)

Everyone has a different definition of perfect, some may not even believe in perfection, but this morning could change the mind of the non-believer. Soft sighs, white breaths and warm bodies sat under a periwinkle sky and cotton candy clouds. It was an early summer morning, around 5:30am. That doesn’t explain how you got here though, so let me start from the beginning.

Training had been rough, though there had yet to be a major incident in your second year. That didn’t change the fact that you were exhausted. Everyone was. Self defense and emergency procedure training had been increased tenfold since the many events of year 1. The physical and mental stress of lessons on top of homework and never ending nightmares had... less than pleasant side effects, insomnia being one of them. Nights where you couldn’t get to sleep became more frequent, nights where you could actually sleep were short lived; ended with you waking up in the very first hours of the morning, even beating the early bird by a good couple of hours. Tonight had been one of those nights, sleep disturbed by your own restless thoughts, tossing and turning to the point where the four surrounding walls seemed to mock you and your effort to sleep. The rain that had been pouring overhead steadily came to a halt. Turning once more to face your nightstand, you checked the clock. 3:48am. Exhaling something between a sigh and an annoyed huff, you threw the sheets to the foot of the bed and sat upright, trailing your hands down your face and neck in a new quest to at least feel more awake if you couldn’t shut your eyes.

A shower was out of the question at this time of day, you at least knew that. While the chances of others being awake too were unfortunately high, there was no sense to be made in ruining someone else’s sleep to benefit yourself for a measly half hour. The sink would have to make do. Dragging yourself out of bed and down the hall you quickly reached the bathroom and threw water over your eyes, somehow colder than usual from not being in use and the night air’s influence over the pipes. Standing in front of the mirror, now somewhat more alert, you assessed your current situation and what you could do to pass some time. It was now 4:02, a dark Saturday morning which was arguably better than a weekday. There were no commitments today, no classes, no homework that couldn’t be done tomorrow, no rules saying you couldn’t nap through the afternoon when you finally tire yourself out. However, there wasn’t much to do inside at this time of day, and you weren’t about to knock on doors to see how many were suffering the same fate as you. It wasn’t all bad, though. Your boyfriend, Bakugou would be up within the next hour or two to go on his morning run through campus, always claiming how it would make him better than “shitty Deku” if he got out earlier than him.

While walking back to your room, you decided to instead take the ‘secret passageway’ up onto the roof of the dorms that you and the ‘Bakusquad’ had stumbled across one night. It was really just a service entrance, holding a small cleaners room next to the stairs, but no one else had braved opening the unknown door, so why ruin the magic for you and your friends, that was where you all frequently hung out when the weather allowed it, sharing silly stories filled with laughter and plotting your next mischievous pranks. The rain was long gone you realised after opening the door, though the scent still lingered and the silence almost created a gentle hum in your ears, coaxing you to walk out further and sit on the still damp concrete. The time was now unknown, having left your phone in your room and the obvious lack of clocks occupying the rooftop. It couldn’t be too far off sunrise, though, as the sky had started to change colour from a blinding darkness into the soft pinks and yellows that came with dawn.

The next hour or so went by fairly quietly, the sounds of the surrounding wildlife adding to the peace. It was still relatively early for people to be up and about, especially for a Saturday morning. You were expecting to hear the teachers get up soon though, to conduct their daily patrols around campus and make sure their home class are all present and okay. However, what you weren’t expecting was to hear the gentle click of a door beneath you opening and the soft tapping of shoes on the concrete stairs. Startled, you turned, expecting a lecture off of Aizawa-sensei or a cleaner for lurking where you shouldn’t be, and at such an early hour too. Braving yourself to look up, you found yourself looking into familiar crimson eyes instead.

“Tch, figures you’d be up here at a time like this”.

You could only stare up at him, shocked at the amount of time that had clearly passed. Katsuki was up and ready for the day. He still had messy hair, but he was in a loose pair of sweats and a fitted shirt, clearly ready to go for his routine jog.

“You just gonna sit and stare? Get your loopy ass in before you catch a cold, or has sitting on the wet floor for god knows how long already got to you?”

“Nah, ‘m comfy”

This sent Katsuki into some state of confusion, staring at you as if you had grown a second head. How on earth could you be comfy on the wet floor at this time in only a pair of pyjamas? Wordlessly, he sunk down to a crouch before looking you in the eyes, rolling his and plopping down next to you.

“If I get sick it’s on you, now get comfier. I’m not sparring you on Monday if your stupid ass can’t get enough sleep to even talk properly”.

You smiled while tucking your head into his clavicle, knowing he was just trying to keep up his bad-boy image. Yes, he was a lot softer around you, being able to rest yourself on him like this was enough to show that, but Bakugou was Bakugou and he would always have some roughness to him. You knew it was highly unlikely for him to actually get sick just from sitting on the damp concrete, his body temperature ran way too high for that.

This is how the two of you stayed for the next half hour or so, curled together on the rooftop hiding from the world, silently watching the sky turn from light pink to a pale yellow before erupting in fiery oranges and then watching an ocean of tranquil blues dull the embers as the sun rose higher. You were expecting to get tired at some point, possibly going to rest in Katsuki’s bed when he decided to actually go for his run, though you felt the ropes of sleep pull your eyelids shut right there on top of the roof of the 1A dorms. Katsuki looked down and couldn’t manage to stop himself from smiling at you dozing off under his chin.

A soft “I love you, firecracker” rumbled from his throat. “Hm, what was that?” you replied in a sleepy haze, eyes glossed over as you snuggled further into his chest.

“Don’t worry about it”

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Text

You were all I wanted Part 4

Pairing: mob!Peter Parker x plus-sized!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, swearing, human trafficking, allusion to dubcon, minor character’s death.

Words: 3309.

Summary: You are bought by the head of Stark crime family for a kid he cares about.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

P.S. Peter is an adult!

_____________

That night he was restless.

It had already been a month since you left the auction in Peter's car and started living in Stark's Tower. The evening when the boy shot a drug addict on the street was forever imprinted on your memory.

Apart from that, things were quite simple. Each morning you were waking up in the same bed as him, having breakfast together, and then staying alone in the room while Peter was gone to do whatever Mr. Stark wanted him to. Sometimes the kid wouldn't leave at all, sometimes he'd come late and drenched in someone else's blood. You helped him shower and clean his wounds if he had any. Well, miraculously, for the past month Peter didn't need stitches or anything of that kind. But you knew he wasn't always that lucky - his back and chest were covered in ugly scars, his wrists bore strange circular shape marks. The only reason you hadn't seen them the first night was because you were so terribly drunk.

The boy whined softly in his sleep, and you tried to shush him. Today he returned beaten up, anxious, and exhausted. He and Rhodes were hunting down someone from the gang who had gone completely mad, but Peter refused giving you any details. You suspected something really terrible had happened since the boy was hard to frighten.

And now he was crying, tossing and turning in bed. It was the first time you saw him like that.

"Peter, Peter wake up." You whispered, gently touching his shoulders. "Please."

It took you a few long moments before he had finally opened his eyes and stared at you, his breathing ragged, erratic.

"It's you. It's you." He mumbled, and you saw tears streaming down his face to the pillow beneath his head.

"Yes, it's me." You cooed at him and wiped the wet tracks with your hand, leaning down to kiss him in the forehead. "You're safe."

"Please, please don't go." The fear in his eyes made you stop as Peter gripped your hand in trembling his. "I'm not safe. I'm never safe."

What kind of nightmare was haunting him, making him shake so badly? He looked so scared, so vulnerable and defenseless, tearing up like a little kid. You had never thought you could pity a mobster, but you were wrong - you felt sorry for him.

Shifting on the bed that way that Peter's head came to rest against your chest, you buried your fingers in his disheveled hair and started caressing his head.

"You're safe with me, Peter." You whispered reassuringly, and he snuggled closer to you, throwing his hands against your body. "I'm staying with you. Come here, sweetheart."

He tried to nuzzle against your soft body so close as if he wanted to become a part of you quite literally. Peter let out a heavy sigh, and you felt the skin on your chest burning.

You spent a few more minutes in complete silence of the room, listening to each other's soft breathing. Although you had no intention of moving away from him, Peter clung to you as if his life depended on it. You were curious what he had seen in that nightmare of his, but you didn't say a word, knowing he needed time.

"It's so scary to be alone in the dark." Peter suddenly said, his grip in you getting a little tigther. "I need you to walk with me."

You blinked, unsure of what to say. Didn't he choose the darkness himself? Didn't he get accustomed to all the things he was doing? You remembered him killing that guy on the street without any regret. You were pretty sure Peter didn't feel anything. Were you wrong?

"If I came with you... Would you leave me there by myself after that? I'm scared of the dark, too."

He had finally let go of you upon hearing your words and gave you a bit of space, looking at your face intently.

"No, I wouldn't. I'm not Mr. Stark."

At first, you thought he was talking about Tony and his relationships with women, but then the realization hit you: Peter was referring to himself. It was him who was left alone. Despite you thinking he was very close to his patron - for God's sake, the man bought you as a present for the kid - things were rather different in reality. Maybe Mr. Stark treated Peter like a toy, too. Yes, the boy, surprisingly, had some authority in the gang as he was considered Rhodes equal, but maybe Peter didn't want that, or not only that. Maybe he wanted to be taken care of, to be shown some kindness for the things he was doing for his boss. It felt ridiculous suggesting that, but Peter's still wet face made you think that it could really be true.

"Do you know what are these?" Suddenly, the boy lifted his hand and showed you the marks on his wrist. When you squinted and shook your head, he smiled. "These are cigarette burns. I got them the first week Mr. Stark sent me to school here. I was twelve."

"Did he burn you?" Your gawked at his skin, shivers running down your spine.

"No, he didn't. The guys at school did. I hid it from Mr. Stark, but soon they crushed my head against the sink and I ran away bleeding." He chuckled at your horrified expression. "I thought Mr. Stark would come talk to the teachers or sent his guys, but instead he gave me a gun and said I had to earn my place in the gang. So I went to school with a gun in my backpack and shot one of the guys who bullied me."

You stared at him, hoping it was all about his very dark sense of humor - he had to be joking. Even though you knew what man Tony Stark was, how savage did he had to be to give a firearm to the twelve-year-old child who was bullied?

"Of course, Mr. Stark made it so the other kid was charged with the murder while I just walked away. After one month, I felt so guilty for what I've done that I attempted to end my own life by taking a whole a pack of sedatives."

When he brushed his hand against your cheek you realized you were crying at his words.

Sniffing, you brought his hand closer to you and lowered your lips to his wrist, kissing the marks on his skin. Peter's eyes went wide, but he didn't say a word at your gesture, and you touched each and every burn with your chapped lips while he watched you. Did it bring him any comfort? You hoped it did, because no words could describe how you felt once he finished talking.

No wonder you were the closest to a friend he had ever had. He wanted to have someone by his side so desperately.

"I will never do something like that to you." He whispered ever so gently, not smiling anymore. "Even if you're going to hate me or run from me... But please, please don't run. I need you. You don't understand, but I need you so much."

Slowly, you started kissing his fingers one by one, watching his eyelashes tremble. For some reason, you felt grateful for his sincerity as if it changed something. He was the only man to ever need you - and need you so desperately he was literally begging you to stay with him. It was stupid believing the one who held you captive here, but you still did.

You wanted him to need you more.

"I want to make love to you." He murmured, and one of his fingers touched your lower lip. "Can I? Please, Baby."

"What, now?" To say you were surprised would be an understatement. "But y-"

"Please." He breathed, and his finger slipped past your soft lips, forcing you to lick it, swirling it around your wet little tongue. "I wanna fuck your ass. You don't mind, do you? You took the toys so good yesterday."

You rolled you eyes at him, but obeyed, nonetheless, sucking his finger deeper into your mouth as if it were his cock. Well, you did like it when he kept playing with your ass the whole week.

"You're so good to me." His other arm was already lowering your pyjamas pants as Peter squeezed one of your buttocks, and then his fingers found your little tight hole. "I love you so much."

You grunted in response, feeling how he massaged the entrance with his fingertips, equally aroused and scared at his excitement.

_______________

One more month had passed. You were finally allowed to go out of your room all by yourself as members of the gang were assured you were completely harmless. The thought of coming back to your family had always lingered at the back of your mind, but you always pushed it away, knowing you might as well just go and shoot people you loved by yourself. Now you had seen what Mr. Stark was doing with traitors with your own eyes and you would never want to risk being in the same position.

Peter still treasured you. He had become way more creative in bed comparing with your first handful of weeks, but not that you could complain since giving you pleasure was among things he cared about the most. Besides, your relationship got even better as now he was slowly opening up to you about both his past and present. You no longer dreaded coming with him somewhere. The only thing that bothered you was a feeling that, somehow, Peter got even clingier, but you brushed it off. There could be nothing bad in his growing affection to you.

That day you were coming back from the communal kitchen - thankfully, most of the gang members didn't use it much as it was reserved for their women. The ones who came to cook there were more or less decent, so you weren't worried being close to them. Besides, the boy also gave you one of his guns. Just in case, he said.

Carefully opening the door to your room, you balanced with a heavy plate of chocolate chip cookies in the other hand and stepped inside. Instead of Peter you found Tony Stark sitting on the chair in his breathtakingly beautiful white suit. You held your breath and stilled, unsure of what to do. You had never faced Mr. Stark all by yourself. Were you even allowed to be here now? He clearly needed Peter, not you.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir, I'll return la-"

"It's quite alright, Y/N, come."

He remembered your name, really? It got you alerted.

You hesitantly closed the door, but didn't turn the key, leaving the plate on the top of the microwave standing on the side table. Did you have to offer the man your cookies? Would he be offended by that?

"I apologize, I didn't know you were coming, sir." You said softly, clenching the fabric of your simple cream-colored dress. "I'm sure Peter is going to return shortly... Um, w-would you like to have some cookies, sir?"

"Yes, please." He answered simply, and you brought him the plate immediately, feeling being something between a hostage and a servant to the crime boss. "Mm, not bad. My mother used to bake them, too."

"I'm glad you like it, sir."

You didn't know where to put yourself, knowing he watches you. Except for a chair near Peter's table and his bed there was nowhere to sit, but placing yourself on the top of the bed while there was a man in your room seemed to you absolutely indecent, so you awkwardly leaned on the wall. You prayed for Peter to come back soon, unsure of how you should behave with the most dangerous man you had ever known in the room.

He smirked at you, finally lifting his fancy sunglasses and hiding them in the pocket of his suit.

"I see you settled in nicely here. Do you enjoy living with the kid?"

You shivered, looking at his handsome face and nodding to him.

"Yes, sir, I do."

"Huh, is it Peter's gun you have there? Did he give it to you?" Tony pointed at the holster strapped to your belt - you knew it looked ridiculous, yet it was better to look ridiculous but have something to protect yourself, giving that you were living inside Stark's Tower. "Let me have a look."

"Of course, sir."

You didn't like taking the gun and giving it to the man, knowing perfectly he could shoot you right here and right now. You still remembered that perfectly innocent woman he murdered because she wanted to flee as well as all those ones he got rid of before her.

You did your best to look humble. In the end, you belonged to Peter, didn't you? He said many times that Mr. Stark wasn't taking back the gifts he'd made. If Peter was alright with you living here...

"I see he takes good care of you, dear. You look positively glowing." Tony had that odd smile on his face while looking at you.

"Yes, sir, he does. He's a very good man." You lowered your gaze to your shoes as blush spreaded across your cheeks. Although all this was definitely wrong, you still have very warm feelings towards Peter. Living with vultures for so many years, he was still able to treat someone with kindness.

You didn't see a subtle flash of anger on Tony's face, but he gathered himself rather quickly. Actually, he didn't come here for Peter. He sent him away to have a few moments with you instead.

It was true you were radiant when he was watching you from a far. What was the kid doing to keep you so happy? Did he give you pretty dresses? Jewelry? A car? Anything else? Tony made way more expensive gifts to his girls, but they were never satisfied, nonetheless. It seemed he was choosing some rotten whores over decent women over and over again despite all his efforts, but Peter got lucky with his first girl. Tony was almost ready to admit he was jealous.

So why were you special? He couldn't explain it with words, yet looking at your warm smile every time you saw Peter the man knew why his kid was so eager to return home every evening. Tony wanted to have this feeling, too.

"I could give you more than he does." The man said, and you choked on air, staring at him like a rabbit in front of a snake. "Peter's a sweet kid, but he's so inexperienced, you know. He has no clue what to do with a woman. I bet he doesn't even bring you to nice places or make you gifts, does he?"

Your heart was beating so fast you felt like it could stop any second. It wasn't good, oh shit it wasn't good for you. You had no idea how a man who was able to force the most beautiful women of the planet to attend to him could ever look at you, someone who wasn't even considered pretty by most people. Was it just because he wanted to see you suffer? Because he couldn't handle looking at a woman who was happy?

"But I already belong to Peter, sir. I am your gift to him." You smiled nervously, trying to be polite. "How do I dare to change my master?"

"Nah, the kid won't mind. I'll give him another girl, I promise." The man winked at you, and you realized he wasn't letting you go regardless of what you'd tell him.

You needed to run.

Before you reached the door he was on your back, grasping your hands in his and chuckling smugly. His other palm was already lifting the hem of your dress.

"Huh, you're not so submissive as you look. I like that." He whispered above your ear, grinding his hips against your ass.

"No, please, sir! I'm not good! I'm not good for you!"

He threw you on the bed you shared with Peter and took of his white suit jacket, watching you crawl away and smiling at your pathetic attempt to run from him. What a sweet little girl you were, he thought. You wanted to be loyal to someone like Peter when you had him offering you to take the place of his woman.

Before coming closer to bed he was taking off his pants, and you readied yourself to scream as loud as you could. Maybe Tony had your gun, but you had to do something. Maybe someone would come before the damage was done.

Who were you kidding? No one would come to protect you against the head of a crime family.

"Now be a good g-"

Before Tony finished the sentence you heard the lound crack of the door opening and then the sound of a gun. Although you intended to scream just a second ago, now you were silent, staring at the quickly growing bloodstain on his expensive white shirt. You suddenly remembered the drug dealer who died exactly like that.

Peter was standing in the doorway with his gun pointed at his own patron, and then he fired one more time. And one more. He seemed to calm down only when Tony fell on the bed, staining it's cover with his crimson blood. Once the boy looked up, you saw his hollow eyes as if he weren't even conscious.

"Peter." You muttered, your eyes full of tears. "He... Oh God."

He saved you. The boy shot that sick bastard before he could lay his dirty hands on you, but you weren't relieved. He killed Mr. Stark, the one who took him into the family and gave him roof above his head. Tony's people would tear Peter apart for his silly attempt to save you.

When he lowered his gun, you left the bed and came closer to him on shaky legs, swallowing your salty tears.

"Peter, you need to run. They'll kill you."

He reached out to your face and stroked your lower lip in awe. Apparently, he was as shocked with his own actions as you were, you thought, your eyes bleary with all those tears.

"Peter, please, you need to run. Leave me here, I'll be... a deadweight."

Before you could finish he had ushered you to come closer, pressing you against him and putting a hand on the top of your head like a parent to a crying child. His eyes were still hollow.

"Mr. Stark thought he could take whatever he wanted, but he was wrong." The boy whispered, and you cried out quietly at his words. "He thought you'd say yes, and I won't object, hahah."

"Peter, p-please. If you won't go..."

"Why should I go, Baby?" He left a tender kiss on your forehead, his tone of voice strangely calm, but frightening. "We can run Stark's family without a Stark in it, can't we, Rhodey?"

Amazed, you glanced straight ahead of you and saw heavy armed people waiting behind Peter's skinny figure. You recognized many of them as part of Peter's and Rhodes' team, but there were Tony's bodyguards and some other men you had never seen before. They stayed still, their eyes on the two of you and Stark's dead body laying on your bed. For some reason, no one aimed their guns at you. They just stood their and did nothing at all.

"No one's taking you away." Peter's voice turned sweet as he dropped his gun to the floor and his other hand rested on your back. "And I'm not going anywhere. You're my girl, Baby, and you gotta stay whatever happens."

THE END

______________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @msruchita @opheliadawnwalker3 @ifntelyinspirit

#peter parker x reader #dark peter parker x reader #dark peter parker #peter parker #spider man #spiderman #yandere

395 notes · View notes

kpop-zone · 4 years

Text

Blackpink reaction to their s/o crying because of a nightmare about them

A/N: Sorry for the Blackpink overload, I promise to post for other groups soon!

----

“So you have time to meet up with your idol friends but you can’t even make it home for our anniversary?”

You yelled, while tears of desperation and hurt were threatening to fall from your eyes.

“I can’t believe how possessive you are.”

Your girlfriend scoffed, making you look at her in disbelief. Her reaction was absolutely irrational. How could she discard your feelings like that?

“Possessive? You call it possessive when I want to celebrate our anniversary?”

You asked in hopes to get her to overthink her statement, but your girlfriend just rolled her eyes.

“Yes. What’s next? Should I cancel our tour because you can’t stay home alone?”

The scorn in her voice cut off your air supply, making you stare at her wordlessly. Your girlfriend had never been so coldhearted before. Where was this coming from?

“Why are you saying this? You know that I support your career. I just want to spend some time with you every once in a while, is that too much to ask?”

You choked out, not being able to hold back your tears anymore.

“Yes, it is, because I don’t want to spend time with you anymore. I’m tired of this relationship; it’s just a burden anyways.”

No bullet in this world could have managed to hurt you more than those words. You felt like your heart had just burst into a million pieces, making you want to scream in pain, but no matter how wide you opened your mouth, no sound could escape, making you grasp your hair in frustration.

“You are pathetic. It’s over, Y/N.”

Your girlfriend laughed maliciously before turning on her heel to walk out the apartment. You wanted to run after her, but your feet were glued to the spot. They felt heavier than cement and you couldn’t take a single step forward nor scream out her name. You twisted and turned to break free from your shackles until a gut-wrenching scream finally made the walls around you crumble.

With a jolt you shot forward, suddenly not finding yourself in the living room, however, but in your bedroom instead. Your throat felt hoarse and your chest was rising and falling in a violent pace. Nothing made sense anymore. How did you get here? Everything was blurry and the last thing you remembered was your girlfriend leaving you behind. Panicked you whipped your head to the side, just to find an empty bed.

“Jagi?”

You called out, but the apartment stayed silent.

This couldn’t be. Everything must have been a bad dream. But where was your girlfriend then? It was already 4 am; she should be laying right beside you. Tears streamed down your cheeks as your eyes scanned the room for anything to stop you from spiraling; anything to tell you that it was just a dream.

“Wake up.”

You mumbled under your breath over and over again, but the nightmare didn’t stop; you stayed in an empty bedroom.

A broken sob escaped your lips and you buried your face in your hands. Suddenly, however, the door to your bedroom flew open.

Jisoo

Jisoo munched happily on her fried chicken while entering the apartment without a care about the ungodly hour, when noise from the bedroom suddenly made her stop in her movements. Confused she pricked up her ears; you were supposed to be sleeping like everybody else at 4 am, opposing to her who hadn’t been able to sleep and played games all night until her hunger had expelled her from the couch. Jisoo just stood there and listened for a while, but eventually more noise from the bedroom made her drag her feet in its direction. Silently, she opened the door to find you sitting on the bed. The room was dark, but she could see that you were moving, causing her to turn on the light.

You jumped in surprise and looked at her with wide eyes, making Jisoo realize that you were crying. Perplexed she looked at you for a moment, not knowing how to handle this situation.

“J-jagi what’s wrong?”

She stuttered, because she had never seen you cry before.

“I thought you were gone.”

You sobbed, finally ripping Jisoo out of her helplessness.

She stumbled to your side and awkwardly wrapped an arm around you, hoping that it would help you calm down.

“Gone? I was just getting some chicken...”

Jisoo mumbled confused.

She didn’t know why you were so distraught. It hadn’t been the first time that she had pulled an all-nighter instead of sleeping next to you. She thought about possible reasons for your state while patting your back soothingly until you eventually piped up again.

“You...yelling...pathetic...left.”

Your sobs swallowed most of your words, but slowly Jisoo started to make sense of this. You seemed to have had a nightmare and were still a little dazed because of it. Therefore, she pushed you back to be able to cup your face and look at you.

“Hey... it was just a dream. I was just out for a second to get some food. I’m here now.”

Jisoo said softly while wiping away your tears.

She was a little insecure whether her words were helpful, because none of you were usually the emotional type. But when your sobs slowly died down, she knew that she had done the right thing and quickly pulled you against her body to rock you back and forth. Eventually your sobs ceased, and you relaxed in her arms, causing her to lean back.

“I still have some chicken in the living room...”

A cheeky grin played on her lips and managed to elicit a giggle from you, indicating that you were doing a lot better now.

“Who the hell buys chicken at 4 in the morning?”

You shook your head in disbelief but Jisoo only shrugged before leaping to her feet and holding out her hand. Without hesitation you grabbed it and the two of you went into the kitchen where you started to have very early breakfast.

Although you were babbling like usual while eating, Jisoo couldn’t help but glance at you from time to time to make sure that you were really feeling alright. Your sudden outburst had completely caught her off guard and a bad conscious was nagging on her, because she hadn’t been there when you woke up from your dream. From now on, she would make sure to at least leave a message whenever she would go out at night.

Jennie

Jennie sighed tiredly as she unlocked the door. It was good to have friends, but in moments like these, she wished that she had less complicated ones. One of them had been dumped by her boyfriend the fifth time already and had called her over. Naturally, Jennie didn’t hesitate a second before agreeing to take care of her and stayed with her until she was feeling better. Now, however, it was already 4 am and Jennie knew that she would be exhausted the rest of the day.

With her eyes already halfway closed, she dragged her feet to the bedroom and silently slipped inside. Once her gaze fell on the bed though, she yelped in shock. Contrary to her expectations, she didn’t find your sleeping figure. Instead, you were sitting there motionlessly.

“Jesus Y/N, what are you-“

Jennie was about to scold you for scaring her like that when she suddenly realized that you were crying.

Quickly she rushed to you and lifted your chin up to look into your eyes.

“Baby what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Jennie scanned your body for any symptoms but couldn’t find any.

“I dreamt that you left me.”

You sobbed eventually, making Jennie gasp.

“What? Why would you dream that? Of course not!”

She exclaimed upset before pulling you into her arms.

“Don’t ever think that again. I would never leave you.”

Comforting words sputtered out her mouth until you were resting in her arms completely relaxed. Only then she gently pushed you down on the bed and placed herself right next to you, so that you were laying face to face. Softly, she stroked your cheeks and whispered sweet nothings, causing your eyelids to fall shut eventually. For her, however, this night shouldn’t hold more sleep. Your trembling body had made her mind restless and now she couldn’t bring herself to fall asleep in case another nightmare would be haunting you.

Never again, she wanted to see you cry like that.

Chaeyoung

Chaeyoung huffed annoyed as soon as she had closed the door. She had forgotten her company ID; like always. Quickly she fished out her keys from her bag and unlocked again before rushing to the living room where she had probably put the ID somewhere. It didn’t take her long to find it and she instantly turned on her heel to get going for the meeting that she would probably be late to when a weird noise from the bedroom made her come to an abrupt halt. The clock on the wall was telling her that she should leave immediately, but an uneasy feeling made her walk to the origin of the noise. Chaeyoung was just a few steps away from the bedroom, when she realized that she was hearing crying sounds. Panicked, she dashed forward and threw the door open to see you sitting on the bed with your head buried in your hands.

Without hesitation, she ran to your side and wrapped her arms around you.

“Oh my god, baby, why are you crying?”

She asked while stroking your back lovingly.

You had never cried before, so Chaeyoung was immediately on high alert. Something really bad must have happened. But she didn’t want to press you to answer. First, you needed to calm down. Therefore, she hummed random melodies into your ear and kept caressing your skin until your breathing had come back to a normal rhythm again. Only then, you broke free from her embrace and looked at her with puffy eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

You apologized, but Chaeyoung immediately cupped your face and shook her head.

“What are you doing? Don’t apologize. You can always cry if you feel like it.”

She tried to calm you before pressing a kiss on your forehead.

“But... why did you cry? Can you talk about it?”

Chaeyoung was careful not to overstep any boundaries. She didn’t want to make you talk if you didn’t want to.

“It’s stupid... I just dreamt that you were leaving me. It felt so real and when you were not laying next to me...”

Your voice sounded more upset with every word, causing Chaeyoung to grab your hand and squeeze it soothingly.

“It’s ok, it’s not stupid. I’m sorry that I wasn’t here. I should have reminded you again that I had this early meeting today.”

Chaeyoung cursed herself inwardly for not leaving you a little note.

“Are you feeling better though?”

You nodded quickly, making her heart finally stop racing. Seeing you cry like this for the first time had really scared her.

“I’m fine. You can go to your meeting now.”

Chaeyoung was a little hesitant to leave, but after you had assured her that you would just sleep a little more, she finally left the apartment. In her thoughts, however, she was with you the whole morning, because she couldn’t stop pondering about why you had had that dream in the first place. Were you concerned about your relationship? Didn’t she tell you that she loved you enough?

As soon as she came home, the two of you definitely had to talk about this incident again.

Lalisa

Lisa entered the apartment with a wide grin on her face. Although she had had to leave in the middle of the night and only returned in the early morning hours, she had enjoyed every second of the video shoot for her new dance performance. Happily, she skipped to the bedroom, but as soon as she opened the door, her cheerfulness vanished into thin air. The dawn lit up the room and she saw you sitting on the bed while sobs were shaking your whole body. Lisa was completely taken aback, but her feet automatically brought her to you. Gently, she laid her hand on your shoulder, causing you to jump in surprise.

“It’s ok, it’s me. What happened?”

She asked concerned, but you only sobbed louder when your eyes fell on her.

Nevertheless, you wrapped your arms around her waist and pressed your body into hers. Lisa furrowed her brow in confusion and squeezed you tightly.

Why were you crying? Did she do something wrong?

Concerned she kept hugging you, but with every minute her anxiety grew stronger and when you finally had calmed down, Lisa had already thought about every possible reason for your breakdown in her head.

“Are you ok? Did I do something?”

She asked nervously once you pulled away, but you instantly shook your head, making her exhale reassured.

“What is it then, baby? You are scaring me...”

Seeing you like this drove Lisa nearly crazy. She just wanted to know the reason in order to make you feel better.

“I dreamt that we broke up and when I woke up and you weren’t there, I couldn’t really tell if it was just a dream or not.”

Lisa almost sighed in relief when she heard that nothing serious had happened, but when she saw that you were embarrassed, she quickly sat down on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through your hair.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t here. I had my video shoot today, remember? I would never break up with you, you know that.”

You nodded in response and Lisa quickly pecked your lips.

“Do you want to go back to sleep or do you rather want to stay awake?”

Although she felt exhausted from the shoot, Lisa wanted to leave this decision up to you. Every time she had a nightmare, she was afraid of falling asleep again. Therefore, she wouldn’t mind staying awake for you.

“Let’s cuddle?”

You asked sheepishly and Lisa immediately agreed.

Together the two of you snuggled up in the bed and chatted about the video shoot until none of you could keep your eyes open. But despite letting sleep take over her body, Lisa kept her arms securely wrapped around you. She wouldn’t let another nightmare haunt you today.

#blackpink reactions #blackpink #jisoo #jennie #rose #chaeyoung #lalisa #blackpink imagines #girl group reactions #girl group #kpop reactions #kpop

225 notes · View notes

widowsofchaos · 4 years

Note

98,101,66 please. 👉👈

❝Kindred Spirits

98. “Can you just…hold me? Just for tonight.”

101. “(Name), please…you’re scaring me.”

66. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x black!reader

soulmate au // requested from this prompt list

A/N: angst and smut, what else is new? After this one, there would be a mix bag of light and dark fics of the 200 ways to say masterlist will be filled with dark fics, for dark fics is why I created this blog in the first place. I’m just trying to get my lighter ones out first. Requested from this prompt.

Oof anon, you one angsty bitch, aren’t you?

Do Not Repost My Works!

It’s okay, I’m here for you.

That’s how it started. Sweet whispers, warm on his clammy skin -- a balm rash. On his flesh forearm, words of adoration carving, itching, and burning -- kismet.

A moment’s breath of happiness reared its head a 180, unveiling a twisted putrid beast; foaming at the fangs shouting “You don’t deserve her.”

Legend has been told for generations that if you reject your destined soulmate, physical illness overwhelms the body. An heart-wrenching pain injects itself into the soul — as if death itself manifests within you.

Those sadden eyes when Bucky shifted away from you that night made him want to bite down on his fist, and scream till his throat went raw. You slightly flinched when he curled in himself, snagging his flesh arm away from you.

It was another restless night for Bucky, waking up screaming bloody murder from an intense nightmare -- images of Hydra murdering you sent him into a spiraling panic attack.

Shouts of your name laced in despair echoed throughout the floor, fists clenching the bed sheets. Knuckles ghosted white, nearly ripping the fabric at the stitched seams. Hot tears stream down his red cheeks like waterfalls. Like a guardian angel, you flew to his aid.

Trembling hands seek a tender soul -- a better soul. Aching bones, and aching heart grasping for your touch, despite the gnawing guilt of how undeserving he felt of your presence.

To breathe the same air as you, there’s nothing tender in his jagged edges, or in his filthy hands. Bitter clouds brew and storm above him -- not fit to feel your pure flesh.

The light in your eyes, the feathery pads of your fingers soothing him -- it reminds him of his mother. Lately, he’s been missing her even more these days; the more deeper he wallows within him, serene memories of himself being dumb and fourteen.

The sly slip of ale on the tip of his tongue, fumbling apologies, she just shushed him, and tucked him into bed. Told him he was a good boy, and that he could never do anything bad. Taught him how to be tough, and yet connected with his sensitivity -- how to be a man.

He clung onto his mother’s sweet words, wise advice -- even a century later.

“Did I do something wrong?” Those words burned in his brain, how your chin wobbles a bit. Shifting on his side, his back facing you, he mumbled, “No. Just leave.” Bucky bit back a sob, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. His face contorting in a pitiful display.

A hiss escaped through his teeth, “Bucky, what’s wrong?” You whimpered. That tug -- all too familiar in your heart to scoop him up, and tend to his wounds. On instinct, you hugged him, your chest squeezed onto the muscular planes of his slick back.

Shivers crawled through the crevices of his spine at the feel of your skin.

Bucky wiggled in your grasp, the heat of your engraved words began throbbing as Bucky refused to accept the tie between you two.

Bucky slithered out of your hands as if it pained him to be near you. Tears brimmed at your eyes -- never once -- has he ever refused a hug from you.

The closest of the Avengers; Bucky was timid in your presence. You didn’t force yourself in his bubble, a comfortable distance. Friendly approach of kind greetings, inviting him to movie nights of just you two or suggesting reading material to him.

Helping Bucky adjust to modern culture through advanced technology. Spoiling him with your cooking -- no longer does tube-fed mush, or boiled food lingers on his palate.

It was easy to trust you, it was -- second nature to ingrain yourselves in each other’s bubbles.

Eventually -- Bucky sought out your company, and kind words. Old language of affection -- fluttering lashes, and tiny grazes of her knuckles. Soft hugs at night, his ear laid against your beating heart to tame his late-night terrors.

Now a year later, finally the acknowledgement of deeper layers of love that were sunk in each other now surfaces from the soul to the skin -- a permanent tattoo.

“Bucky, what’s wrong with your arm?” You asked, terrified that he might be in unbearable pain, your strong hands grab his forearm. Tumbling to see what’s eating at him, Bucky jolted with a pained yelp, eyes shut; tears now soaking his face, clutching his arm.

A burning rash simmers on your chest, like a hot blade. A hidden promise prickling above your heart.

A quick graze of your fingers against his skin, sore skin incised. The carving sent electric zaps, the tug in your chest pulling harder and harder; breathless.

You gasped, “Bucky, let me see.” Your words hushed, uncertain.

Hopeful, if it’s finally time. The universe has connected you two together. It’s meant to be.

“No.” Stern, and hardened. “Now leave.” Watery eyes cloud his vision, the taste of anger lingers on his tongue -- rage at himself. His chest cavity felt as if it shattered, “Don’t do this.” You pleaded, it felt as if God himself stabbed your soul.

“Don’t push me away. Not after this.” Your voice trailed into silence, and a sniffle; wiping your wet nose with the back of your hand. “Please, show me your arm.” You begged again.

Fresh tears trail down your cheeks, Bucky remained silent -- the only cadence was his heavy breathing, curling into a fetal position at near the edge of the bed. “Bucky, please don’t do this. Don’t you know what this means? Don’t deny your -- our fate.”

A beat of silence, Bucky refusing to meet your eyes. Your weak fists pounded on Bucky’s back. A few seconds past, even at the brink of offense, and rejection bubbling, you just couldn't bear to physically hurt him. You love that steel-eyed bastard too much.

“Is this what you want?! To end this?!” You shrill, hiding your face against his bicep, softly weeping on his arm, but with every contact -- the words itched even more. Eventually, you stopped, slumping on his body, full bodily sobbing; Bucky kept his metal hand on his arm.

Dying, and yearning to cradle you as droplets flood his eyes, nose scrunching. Losing you will surely kill him.

His words, void of any emotion, “It doesn’t matter what I want.”

Gingerly, his teeth sinking into his lip, gripping onto the metal tray in both his hands. On the tray, was a bowl of tomato soup, crackers, and a bottle of water. It’s been three days since Bucky sent you away, rejecting you -- despite the universe’s revelation.

Standing at your door, sighing as he peers at Bucky’s door -- shut closed away. Steve dropped off a platter of food, but he doubts Bucky even acknowledged it. Three days, fearing that it would tip into a week of radio silence, and festering ill in your own respective rooms.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you please open Y/n’s door?”

“Of course, Captain Rogers.”

The lock clicked, a faint groan can be heard. A humorless laugh exhaled through his nose, maneuvering the tray on his hand, the other twisting the handle. Steve entered the room, the stuffy atmosphere almost made him cough.

The blinds and windows were shut -- pitch black darkness shrouding, causing Steve to nearly squint. The lightning emitting from the hallway, revealing the thrashed living space.

Furniture throttled across the room, the sofa up-turned, the glass table nearly shattered; no doubt, your fist colliding against the coffee table, visible blood splatter are still drying on the cracks. Steve shakes his head, sighing.

Strolling quietly towards your bedroom, Steve’s chest tightens at the sight of you crumbling into a ball, surrounded by wrinkled sheets.

“Please, Steve … I’m tired.” You mumbled, too exhausted, too sick to open your eyes -- too lethargic to send a glare in Steve’s direction.

“This needs to end.” Steve murmured under his breath, hesitant to ask the question that it is just edging at the tip of his tongue, but how else is he going to address the rabid elephant in the room?

“Have you talked to Bucky?” Steve whispered, his words dying into silence. Brows pinched sorrowfully, hurt that not only is he witnessing the deterioration of a close friendship -- the only person Bucky fully heatedly trusts besides Steve -- along with the distress in not only you, but Bucky as well.

“No -- he doesn’t want me. So why should I?” You weakly snarled, but it was a pitiful attempt to mask your heart-ache, and yearning for him.

Barely glancing at Steve, as you sat solemnly on the edge of your bed; staring out at the window. Limbs aching deeply, muscles tensing as you clung onto the blanket. Slowly, your body is going to give out.

“This can’t keep going on. You’re getting sick and so is he.” Steve walked to the dresser, placing the tray down.

“And who’s fault is that?” You choked back a sob,

“I’ve been sick my whole life. Sick and fucking tired. All my years, everyone rejected me. My parents, being bullied as a kid -- and now the very soul that the universe connected me with doesn’t even fucking want me! My existence is a fucking joke.” Your arms failing, sloppily crawling under your bed sheets to hide away once again, and pray to finally die.

“You’re not a joke. We all were born for a reason, and destined for the right one.” Steve sat beside your sniffling form, balled into an infant position. His palm cups your shoulder, rubbing it through the stitched cloth.

Pity swells in his cavity. “Oh Stevie --”, you sighed. What a romantic he was, still the old soul of the hopeful bird-boned boy under the shield of a praised golden god; ever so the gentleman clinging onto fantasies of true love.

“--Bless your heart. With your sweet soul, I hope you find the one meant for you.” You croaked, a bit hesitant at first, mixture of regret -- Steve stills hold onto the mourning of Peggy.

Muffled in the back of his mind, insistent that she was the one; but never got the chance to find out if his skin would be graced with her serene words.

Steve silently clung onto your hand through the blanket, squeezing a bit tightly. Grounding himself so he won’t slip into the painful nostalgic haze once again.

“You both need to address this. I’m worried about yours and Bucky’s health. I’m scared.” Steve whimpered, shell-shocked to hear him crumble -- you peer over the blanket.

Steve’s face is pinched, pruning into a pitiful kicked puppy, his chin leaning against his chest -- eyes shut, failing to prevent tears from falling.

Caving in you crawl out of the sheets, hugging onto his muscular back -- a picture worthy of a laugh, how much you resemble a koala bear clinging onto a teddy bear.

“Please -- just talk. Please.” Steve’s stuttering over water-logged words, sniffling as his eyes leveled with yours; never once have you thought ever in your life-time that you would see the mighty Captain America shrivel into a shaking boy.

Petrified that Steve can lose two great friends -- due to years deep of insecurities, and lack of communication.

“Okay --” Defeated, you sink your chin on his shoulder, “--I’ll talk to him.”

Your knuckles grazed his cheek, “Don’t cry, Stevie.” Wiping his fallen tears gently, Steve twisted his body to engulf you in his arms.

Steve’s rubs your back soothingly, “Now, please eat.” You huffed a chuckle, you mumbled a low sweet okay.

- Guts churning, as if the devil himself was playing jump-rope with your intestines. Nausea bile rising at the back of your esophagus.

Why will I say to him? What if he turns me away again?

The possibility of once more rejection will kill you. Trapping your lip between the cages of your teeth, the hesitant fist hovering over the door finally rains down.

Unanswered knocks engulfed in silence rings in your ears. It’s well past midnight, the entire compound is fast asleep, but you know Bucky -- like the back of your hand. Insomnia is a tricky bastard that haunts Bucky, you sighed.

Thankfully, Steve permitted you access in FRIDAY’s system to unlock his door despite Bucky’s request to remain locked in.

Timid steps waltz inside, the air thick, and stuffy -- like your room, barren, and shut out from the outside world. Hovering fingers mindlessly fiddle in the air, trying to grasp any solid surface; cautious from bumping, and falling.

Gliding open-palms against the wall pavements, walking in the correct direction in darkness due to muscle memory; your chest heaving slightly from unbridled anxiety.

Shaky fingers clutch the knob, twisting it carefully -- although, you have a hunch, Bucky is aware of your presence.

“I thought I told you to stay away.” A hoarse, harsh disembodied voice looms from the beyond the door, simmering rage now rises in fiery flames at the pit of your stomach. You push the hinges of the door wide open, your eyes swirl from soft brown to carmine fury.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, chestnut tresses cling against his cheeks -- tear soaked strands sticky against his stubble cheeks.

Hunched over, eyes stuck on the carpeting -- as if the blue rug was so damn fucking interesting. He doesn’t have the nerve to look you in the eyes -- how could he?

“Look at me.” You demanded, tone hardened; despite your congestive throat. “I said fucking look at me.” You stomped your foot on the floor, emphasizing your hurt.

Watery blues peek through brown strands, wincing at your nose flaring, fists coiled, “Stay away?!” You shouted.

Bucky grimaced, shutting his eyes, his face pruning -- resembling a pitiful baby. “Stay away? Like I don’t mean anything to you! Like I’m trash?!” Your voice cracked, tears pooling in your eyes.

“I’m not like everybody else -- it’s you and me. I -- I don’t understand -- these past days, I’ve been having these dreams -- whenever I do get some sleep!” Your eyes zero on him, daggers into his soul; your arms flailing.

Your heart is beating wildly against your chest, tight fists weakly beating onto your cavity. Twirling like an unhinged rag-doll, Bucky crying slightly, his body shaking a bit, from small tremors of sobs.

“Y/n, please … you’re scaring me.” Bucky scared you’re going to hurt yourself, itching to cease your hands hitting yourself. Fingers clinging onto the sewed fabric, “Dreams of you --” breathless, eyes hazy. Bucky gasped a bit, dreams of him?

You quietened down, glaring at him, “I’ve never got to show you.”

You quickly unbutton your blouse, frustrated fingers fumbling over the stitched buttons, “Y/n, what are you doing?” A pained whimper laced with curiosity, Bucky’s hands reached out to halt you. “No!” You shouted -- a watery bite -- he flinched.

Gripping the flap of your shirt, you tugged it down -- a soft gasp left Bucky, harshly swallowing back a sob. Imprinted above your heart is his own words, “I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.” Cerulean lettering gleaming against scarred sepia.

You scoffed, then a sniffle, “Funny, when it’s you who ended up hurting me, instead.” Irkingly you released your snag, hugging your torso with your arms, a weak attempt to distance yourself -- succumb into your shell.

‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.’ Those words weigh so heavily, creamy bronze snicked on brown skin back three months past.

It was a mission gone hay-wire, five Hydra agents bombarding you -- Bucky heard your screams in his comms; screams that would haunt him forever.

As a speeding bullet, Bucky ran like a mad-man for you -- slaughtering agents, snarling as his knife punctured clean through the necks; gliding his blades slicing down the spines. No mercy. If you ever get hurt, it would be the end of him.

Drenched in blood, ichor coating his strands -- sticking against his maw, and neck. Sitting on the floor, crazed eyes, black cat-suit shines with splotches of red, curls now limp with plasma, plump brown cheeks now covered in a blood mask.

Big doe eyes beam underneath coated heavy droplets -- Bucky sweet strawberry kiss upon your hairline, his lips printing against the red sheen-- his blood-splattered angel.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.” Forehead pinned against forehead, Bucky’s palm gripping the nape of your neck. Passive eyes with a small smile masking a burning hot-white sensation right above your heart plate.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky mumbled under his breath, tiny droplets of tears falling down his bearded cheeks. “You deserve the world.” His chin fell to his chest, little sobs huffing.

“You need someone who isn’t broken.” Bucky cried, sniveling — staring at his trembling hands in his lap.

“Not someone who’s going to wake up screaming in the middle of the night from fucking night terrors!” His hands harshly gripping his sweatpants.

“Who’s clingy, and needy cause doll –” Bucky lifted his wet gaze to you, “I miss you when you leave to the next room. I need you all the time.” He croaked. You cautiously stepped to him, cupping his puffy face.

Bucky instinctively leaned into your touch, tranquility washing over him. A calm sigh slipped from him, “Bucky, I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

Bucky’s eyes opened, “I’ve needed you before I was born.” You bent forward, the tip of your nose flick against his, he solemnly chuckled.

His timid smile fell just a tad bit, “For so many years, I thought the universe was playing a cruel joke on me. For decades I saw you in my dreams – I thought maybe it was a hallucination.” Bucky’s released the bundled fabric, his hands finding its home on your body. Bucky pulled you to his lap, grasping onto your thighs like a life-line.

“I thought you were a figment of my imagination—it gave me peace knowing that you didn’t leave me even when I was getting my brains fried.” You choked back a sob, kissing his forehead. A lingering kiss; you lips were so soft— soft soft soft— like a feather grazing him.

“You see, I was always there with you.” You mumbled against his hairline, nimble kisses in your wake.

Littering kisses on his tear-soaked face: on his fluttering eye-lids, between his brows, the creases on the edge of his eyes, and his chin.

Bucky reciprocated, emotional sloppy kisses. Limbs entangled like a pretzel. On your temples, a trail of pecks on the slope of your nose, your eye-lids, and your chin too. A little nibble like a sappy puppy.

“For decades, I’ve dreamt of you. Didn’t know if you were real or not — soulmates are destined, right? Everything happens for a reason.” You tearfully nodded at his words.

“If I have to go through years of brain-washing to be with you again, I would do it in a heartbeat.” You cried, furiously smashing your lips on his, cupping his cheeks in your hands.

“I love you in a place, where there is no space or time.” At that moment, you felt like your heart would stop at Bucky’s words, glassy eyes meet each other.

Foreheads connect, Bucky’s hands slowly graze your smooth skin, glossy oceanic hues never waver from yours, his calloused fingers slither underneath your shirt, rubbing circles at the nape of your back.

Keening leisure desperate touches, your fingers intertwining, and soft tugs of his tresses. Lips hairs-away from each other, a bit hesitant at first, hitched breaths fanning; a quick flick of your upper lip against his.

“Can you just ...hold me? Just for tonight.” Bucky asked, his voice on the cusp of shy, still paranoia hovers in his mind that you may be gone tomorrow.

“I want to hold you every night.” You mewl, a feather-light kiss. Open palms travel the muscular planes of blood, bone, and metal -- nails lightly scrape his skin. Bucky’s lips smashes against yours.

Decades ago -- what feels like a distant lifetime ago -- dim mere of his own past, Bucky would’ve cupped your face in the warm curve of his hands; once soft, now calloused with bitter memories.

He would press his lips to yours, tenderly. Like a poem, simple but yet passionate.

Taste of smeared lipstick, sticky like honey, and faint mint -- now, it’s fumbling. Sloppy, desperate. But it’s all the same; he’s no longer the fresh baby-face of his past. Eyes sparkle with wonder, he’s older -- wise beyond his years.

Years of hurtful baggage weighs on his heart, but -- you. You remind him how to feel alive again, he feels like the care-free pubescent misfit he once was running around Brooklyn, saving Stevie from another fight, and chasing skirts, being a heartbreaker.

But the only skirt he wants to chase is yours only; and keep your heart in his safe grasp.

His heart unfettered, you came to him bare -- as if you peeled your skin inch by inch, no secrets barricading your love.

Soaking in your essence, unfiltered groans against molding mouths -- coveting pink lips slip from your swollen lips to your jaw to your weak-spot; you squeal as Bucky suckles on your pulse-point.

Marking what is his -- the gift that the universe personally bestowed for him, and him only. From an outside party, you’re younger than him, but not in flesh and not in soul.

A vision that followed him everywhere in his mind, even in the darkest years, you were the light.

Kindred spirits before birth.

Bucky grunts, his palm tenderly clutches the nape of your neck -- steadying your shakiness, eyes blissfully closed as he devoured you.

“I love you. God -- I love you.” Mumbling against your flushed skin, his warm tongue licks against his love-bites, parted lips fanning tantalizing pants.

Your eyelids fluttered, pupils rolling in the back of your skull, “I love you too.” A declaration, the truth. Spidery brown fingers rubbing against his scalp, he gasps, it’s a cooling sensation soothing his senses.

“Make love to me.” You coo, you relish the way Bucky squirms underneath you.

Desperate, inpatient -- Bucky grabs your waist, lifts you off his lap momentarily. Seated with Bucky nestled between your legs, thick tone thighs ripple a bit underneath your soft plush.

Choppy pants exuding from both of you, Bucky tugs the hem of your shirt upward -- braless, breasts heave free, ready to be explored with his mouth.

His teeth caging your nipple, nibbling, and pulling -- you hiss, ensnaring Bucky’s head in your arms. Cradling his dome against your chest, as he suckled upon your breasts.

Muffled groans, and moans -- grinding your clothed pussy against his bulging crotch. Leisure thrusts, dry-humping -- your lavender panties turning into a wet silky grape.

“I need to feel you.” You mumble lowly, a whining lover. Bucky’s hands glide down the slope of your spine, sweetly rubbing the nape of your back to then cupping your soft globes.

Squeezing, molding into his palms, you lean into his neck, and lick a long stride. He mewls, his fingers sneak beneath the hem of your panties, calloused against smooth flesh.

Sneaky fingers travel between your cheeks, as if it’s muscle memory, toying with your gaping asshole to your clenching cunt. A raw groan vibrates in your throat, “Bucky --” He shushes you, lips trailing your jaw. “You’re so fucking wet.” Back and forth glides in your velvet folds, to your supple cheeks.

“Nhhh -- uh--” Stunned stuttering, your entire body vibrating in shivers as the cooling metal infiltrates your blazing heat. “Hmm … needs a little bit more.” Bucky removed his fingers ever so slowly, a quick spat on his fingers; diving right back in.

His thumb plunging and curving inside your glistening ass, and his two fingers pistoning in your moist pussy.

“I need you dripping … so I can slide nice and deep.” Like a feline, you mewl and your back arches in his grasp, manhandling you by the clutch of your holes.

Untying his sweatpants strings, in a frenzy as your ass jiggles in his unrelenting metal appendage. With his flesh hand, with ease and precision, Bucky snaps your underwear off.

Your thighs shake as if an earthquake was erupting within your body. Harsh tugs at his pants -- God, you can tap-dance if you could -- he goes commando. Slapping against his abs, his cock swollen -- gleeful fingers wrap around his cock like a vice. Tight, and ruthless.

“Fuck doll --” Bucky’s voice is cracked, he growls lowly, “Don’t stop. Never fucking stop.” Swiveling fist from the base to the tip, twirling around his tip -- Bucky’s swallows thickly, “You fucking minx.”

It’s all too much yet liberating. Cheekily you twirl the tip of his cock against your throbbing clit, you shudder against his lips, “You’re mine.” You spoke in a hush, maneuvering his dick upward, skidding against your humming labia.

Bucky releases your holes, “Enough! I need you.” Bruising grip on your waist, lifting you upward, hovering over his dick, and swift fall of grace -- you scream, so thick, so full.

“Shit, you’re so big. So damn big.” Eyes shut close, “Wait Bucky --” A frail hand lays flat on his abdomen, “Wait nothing!” A guttural noise leaves his throat, like a beast. And fucks you like one.

Your head leaning backwards, curls bouncing and yourself jolting up and down in his hold as he snaps his hips against. A menace.

Time ceases to exist, gravity crushing, bones aching yet it’s a pleasure burn -- no longer pains of despair, but delicious pain as Bucky thrusts in you.

He’s selfish -- and with every right, his heart thumping against his cavity, he thinks it would stop. Can you hear it? How it beats like a hummingbird for you?

Fast, and snarling, “No -- no -- no.” Latching on your jaw with his thick fingers, “Look at us.” Aiding your head downward, you groaned at the sight of his cock hurtling like a mad man. How perfectly you clench him -- a perfect fit.

“So perfect, like a warm wet hug.” A hoist of his hips off the bed, a curve of his dick, you shriek, “Ah -- there it is. The sweet spot.” Your fingernails create craters in his bicep, and scrape against metal.

Squelching skin on skin pounds in your ears, abrupt jerk down on him, balls deep -- it was brutal. Swirling his hips, along with you following his teasing motions, muffled sticky cadence of your juices coating him.

Slow fall, asterning with your hands on his knees. Skull hanging, raspy small fucks, and yes Bucky leave your lips.

With the support of his hand on your back, short but hard thrusts, and his flesh hand slapping your tits. Bent forward, Bucky sucks on your breast, his hair tickling your bare breasts -- the one with his imprintment. Gawking at it as he sucks, it brings tears to his eyes.

“I’m --- uggnh -- I’m gonna cum.” A broken whisper, Bucky pulls back to him, nearly his bare back colliding to the bed, “Do it, doll. Soak me. Cum with me.” Possessively, you wanna coat his flushed pink skin with your cum, have your scent on him -- like an omega for her Alpha.

It’s divine will. A burst of an eruption of the milky way in his eyes. Unwavering brown meets cosmic blue. Space dust clouding your visions, satellites whirling -- Bucky and yourself nourishing your needs’; crawling in each other's fibers, and sinews, make-shifting into a womb.

As one.

The horizon of the galaxy is painted in glittering pinks, neon green, and blues. Stars shine like uncut diamonds, the hand of God commemorates the two soulmates.

Time and space disoriented, shouts of the other’s name bounce against the walls, but speaking each other’s names is like a prayer, salvation. Hot waves of fluid paint your wet walls, spurts of your essence sprays his flexing abs, and groin. Droplets falling from his happy trail.

It's blinding -- cumming so hard has Bucky and yourself levitating at the toes, then begin collapsing and twisting in each other’s limbs, clinging onto each other, shattered breaths, chests heaving. Loss for words.

Bucky came hard, yet gentle and sweet deep inside of you, his words dying in a slurring breathy whisper. It’s so much -- suffocating, but both of you don’t mind drowning. To lose only a sense of the world; just feel each other. In body, and soul.

The smell of him -- hot musk, flushed warm skin, sweaty skin on skin. Love-bites litter his neck like on yours. Bucky’s ego flares, you smell of him. Branded by every sense of the word.

Lust still lingering in the air, on yours and his flesh. Sepia melanin coated in a sheen, candied with saliva and sweat. He smells like a natural aroma of lavender. How Bucky internally gushes at how your baby hairs cling on your forehead, your kind hands sway the chestnut ringlets that curtain your favorite burning blues.

Shy lips dance a bashful tango. Barely touching, but sensual. Tempering with aching pining, ever-lasting yearning that can be only satiated with touch. Always, always, always, always starving, and everlasting.

“I want more.” A crooked grin forms at Bucky’s face, so insatiable he mutters under his breath. His smirk falters a bit, “All of me?” Depth to a simple question with a complicated meaning. A double-edged sword wielding in the distance, but you know both ends are worth it.

So you’ll take it straight to the heart -- the journey will be sweet -- dear God, yes sweet sweet agony. “All of you. For all eternity. Even in the after-life.”

A kiss soft, and slow. Not sure to rush in, can feel his heart. Bucky grips your curls to look you in the eye, a quick glare, his eyes glistening, Are you sure?

You smirk, grabbing the nape of his neck, smashing your lips, forehead to forehead. Nose to nose, face closer, searching for any shadow of doubt but he only saw a twinkle of pouring affection.

A short chuckle, Bucky leans in for a kiss but you tease him with only a second of it, pulling your face away. A huff of a laugh at his darkening eyes. Grumbling, by the power of his metal fingers, forces you on his lips.

The echo of the smooch is wet, and enticing. Flinging you on the bed , trapping you under his weight -- a giggle, and a low timbre of a raspy snicker.

“I want those legs high on my shoulders, doll.”

Smack.

“Hmph --” Biting down on your lip, reveling in his dominance. “-- And you call me insatiable.” You jabbed, a shit-eating grin.

Crack.

And another brisk one, heat blooming on your cheeks.

A high-pitched moan is Bucky’s only answer.

- Pungent fragrance of coitus thickens the air. It’s delicious. Hours of non-stop love making. The sunset is sneaking from the distance, a soft tangerine hue illuminating the room.

Bucky’s fingers rubbing circles on your shoulders, lulling you to a blissful freshly fucked state.

Hazy eye-lids, you want him -- he’s still in disbelief, how can someone like you -- a goddess incarnate -- love someone like him. Is the universe really forgiving him for his sins?

Your small frame engulfed in his massive frame, legs entangled, his arms hugging you tightly. His fingers finding refuge in your hair, his water-logged eyes trail to your chest.

It’s okay, I’m here for you.

A beautiful reminder of your dying commitment. The pads of his fingers trace his marking above your breast, ‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, doll.’

Savoring your small sleepy pout that edges into a smile. A smile curls at the corner of his mouth, leaning forward to peck the letters -- and he’ll always be there for you too.

Forever and always.

#buckybarnesplumwhore wrote this #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes x reader smut

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ncityislove · 4 years

Text

His Worst Nightmare

➳ Pairing: Demon!Jisung x Reader

➳ Genre: Angst, Demon AU

➳ Word Count: 9.2k

➳ Warnings: mention of murder and blood but no actual death

Requested? Nah.

You wake up in a pitch-black room, the smell of something burning, stinging your nose. You let out a choked cough, attempting to sit up, only to realize you can't. Your chest is tied down to a table, along with your arms and legs with buckled straps. Fear runs through your veins as you call out for help.

You don't know where you are but the room must be humongous for the way your voice echoes, your screech bouncing around the room for what must've been over a minute until it comes back to you. That's when a singular lightbulb hanging over your head comes on and a boy standing to your left comes into view. You scream again and he hushes you with a finger to his lips.

The light is dim so you can only see his silhouette. How long he had been standing there, you didn't know, but all you could feel was the shrill voice in the back of your brain telling you to run away from him. You're breathing loudly now, the cold metal of the table contrasting with the warmth of your skin. The smell is stronger. You finally recognize the scent as burning flesh.

You stir on the table, screaming and calling for someone—anyone—but the boy puts a hot hand on your shoulder, silencing you. You don't know how he did it, but your voice is gone, your limbs frozen. He leans into the light and you can finally see his face.

He's handsome, his jaw chiseled with small eyes that would've been charming if it wasn't for the alarming blood-red pupils that stare down at you. His lips curve into a wicked smile, his pointed teeth white and pearly as his tongue slid over them quickly.

"Wake up," he whispers.

You shoot up in your bed with a gasp. Your heart thuds in your chest as you try to stop the stream of tears pouring out of your tear ducts. You had to remind yourself that he wasn't real, your breaths coming out uneven.

You've had the same nightmare every night for the past month, leaving you on edge and restless. The bags under your eyes have bags. You put a clammy hand to your forehead, the skin hot to the touch, only reminding you of the burning temperature of the room in your dream.

You don't know why you were having nightmares and why of all things it was always the same boy every night. It never went any further than that bone-chilling smile except once, two or three weeks ago, when his jaws opened the size to fit 3 large watermelons, blood dribbling down his chin. You woke up screaming that time, causing your parents to rush in to check on you.

You get up to make a cup of coffee, deciding against going back to sleep. Caffeine has been your kindest friend for the past few weeks. Unfortunately, you couldn't stay awake forever and eventually, you'd drift off, finding yourself strapped to that table again.

You groggily padded across the kitchen floor, grabbing your favorite mug from the drying rack and pouring yourself the largest cup of coffee possible.

The computer cafe you were currently sitting in was emptier than usual, which slightly lifted your spirits. The icing of your half-eaten cupcake was starting to become too sweet so you get up to dispose it in the garbage at the ordering counter.

Your legs feel weak as you walk, your entire body suffering from the lack of proper rest. You feel the world sink in when you blink occasionally, dozing off over and over. This won't do. You get into line to grab another coffee.

You're sitting back at your computer, nose hidden in your oversized coffee mug, when a tall figure shadows over you, their presence strikingly familiar to you—so familiar that when they touched your shoulder, you didn't even flinch.

"Excuse me?," said the young boy.

You turn around, your blood suddenly running cold. The face you've dreamed of every night for the past month—the face that was so terrifyingly beautiful that his image was permanently ingrained into your mind. The slope of his nose those his slanted eyes—it was him! There was no mistaking it.

His lips curl into an awkward frown, his eyebrows lifting slightly at the way your eyes pop out at him.

"A-are you okay?"

You shake your head side to side as you abruptly stand up, gathering your things with trembling hands. You had to go home. You were hallucinating now. You had to be. But why did he seem so real? You were going insane.

"Hey!" he calls out, his hand reaching out to stop you, and you do flinch this time although he never actually makes physical contact with you.

"I just came over here to tell you that you missed the trash can," he points to the bin that you threw your cupcake away at—or at least you thought you did. You look at him, noticing the pastel pink uniform and his name tag.

"Oh," you manage to say. "I-I'm sorry, I'll pick it up. It's just—I thought you were someone...I mean you look so much like him."

He looks confused as he struggles to put together your words, as he simply got annoyed with you trashing his workplace with your unfinished food.

"Jisung," you read his name tag aloud. "Jisung, how long have you been working here?"

"About two weeks," he shrugs.

You nod. It still doesn't make sense that he had the exact same face as your torturer—the same voice too! You struggle to maintain eye contact with him, expecting the red pupils to make an appearance any minute. But he seemed like a completely different person. He was kind of awkward, shy almost. He wore his hair differently, his eyebrows barely visible under the blonde locks that covered his forehead, unlike the perfect middle part you were used to. That way you could see his eyes clearly when he watched you writhe in fear, that ever so wicked smile would appear when you tried to scream.

You swallowed thickly as you apologize again, making your way to pick up your cupcake when his voice stops you.

"Who is it by the way? Who do I look like?"

You freeze, the tone of his voice alarming as if he knew something. Or maybe it was all in your head. You turn slightly to face him, his head cocked curiously at you, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Some guy I know. He's an awful person...if you can even call him that," you say and then you turn around not caring to see his reaction, quickly cleaning up your mess before squabbling out of there.

You don't visit the cafe again. It's been three days since then and you've still been getting the same nightmare except for the new addition of Jisung's cheap name tag. You weren't even sure if they were the same person but all of it seemed impossible either way. How could you dream of someone you haven't met? And if it truly was him that tortured you in your sleep, was he that evil creature in real life too?

You begin to cry. You just wanted it to stop. You hide your face in your bookbag as you wait in the cold. The firm cemented steps offer your bottom no comfort as tears dampen the collar of your shirt. You had fainted in class from exhaustion and now the nurse was sending you home early.

As if you weren't already embarrassed enough a group of people walked passed you during your meltdown—no doubt ogling at your crumpled figure. One of them stops and heads back towards your direction. You cringe, waiting for them to walk past again except they don't. They stop right next to you. You really didn't want to be bothered right now—wasn't it obvious? You kept your head down, hoping if you didn't acknowledge the person they would go away. Maybe it was working. They're backing away now. Thank god—

"Uh, hey, are you alright?"

You squeeze your eyelids shut as a string of curses run through your mind. You give a curt nod of your head, your face still nuzzled into your bookbag.

"I remember you," the voice pauses. "You're not crying because you missed the trash can again are you?"

You slowly sit up to look at him, tears still streaming down your swollen cheeks. It was him. He found you again. This couldn't be a coincidence.

"Bad joke?" he awkwardly chuckled.

"You don't go here," you state.

He was caught off guard by your response. He gives you a once over before sliding off his plum purple puffer jacket and placing it over your shoulders. Your eyes widen at the warmth that envelopes you. The jacket was nearly scorching but barely just warm enough to where it wasn't uncomfortable.

"My cousin goes here. Me and my parents are picking him up for my aunt as a favor."

You nodded not really believing him. "So you're skipping school to come with your parents?"

Jisung took the question as an invitation to sit next to you. "No, of course not. I'm homeschooled."

You frowned. It angered you his words made sense when every cell in your body told you he was lying.

"You wanna talk about why you were crying?"

You shake your head, looking back at your book bag as a strong gust of wind blew your hair wildly in your face. You shiver, closing the jacket tighter around you.

"Aren't you cold?" you ask.

He just shrugs, flicking the hair out of his eyes with a tilt of his head. "That guy I remind you of, you must not like him very much, huh?"

"Hate his guts," you grumbled.

"Whatever he did to you must've been bad because you treat me like I'm gonna bite your head off any second."

You look back at him with the toughest expression you could muster. "Who's to say you won't? What if you are the same person?"

"And what if I'm not?" he interjects. "What if I'm just me?"

"What are you trying to say?"

Jisung stares at you for a beat and you swear you see a flicker in his eye. "I'm not who you think I am. That's all."

He gets up and walks away just as your mom arrives. You stare at his back as he walks through the glass double doors, not even taking a second glance back.

Later that afternoon, you're stuck on the couch with your mother hovering over you. She's currently on the phone with the doctor while you're swamped in blankets with a wet towel on your forehead that's slightly blocking off your vision. She's frantic, making up symptoms you don't have as she paces around the living room space.

You huff, trying to think of a way to get out of this situation. You sit up, removing the cloth from your forehead only for your mother to force you back down with an icy glare.

"Yes, we'll be there at 10:30 sharp," she writes the time down on a notepad.

"Yes, thank you so much...okay...bye."

"Mom," you call out as soon as she hangs up. "I gotta return my friend's jacket."

"You're not going anywhere in this state," she puts her hands on her hips.

You flop back on the couch dramatically. "But I told him I'd give it to him today," you lie.

"I think he'll understand," she says walking into the kitchen.

There was no way you could stay here another moment without getting answers. What did he mean earlier? You knew he was trying to convince you of something, but what?

"And what if I'm not?" he interjects. "What if I'm just me?"

Did he know about your dreams? Your head was beginning to ache and you weren't sure if it was because you were going to faint again or if your brain was starting to hurt from overthinking.

"I'm not who you think I am. That's all."

You double-check to see if your mom is paying attention before grabbing the jacket and your shoes, tip-toeing out of the front door. You hop on your bike and pedal like there's no tomorrow down the street to the computer cafe.

The ride feels longer than usual, the streets cold and barren. The grey sky threatened rain but as if someone were looking out for you from above, the heavy puffy clouds held out a little longer. You nearly get hit by a red pick up truck in your haste, gaining you a middle finger as he zoomed by angrily.

Out of breath and slightly dizzy, you step into the cafe, your eyes peeled for a familiar head of blonde hair. You're red in the face, bent over your knees as tears sting your eyes. You don't see him. He's not here.

The door opens behind you and you're too emotional to move out of the way. Whoever it was would just have to squeeze by.

"Oh, thanks, my jacket," Jisung says, standing beside you now.

You stand up straight, almost smiling in relief. Jisung was still dressed in his casual clothes; his shift must not have started until now. Suddenly you feel foolish for being so melodramatic. Here you were, your eyes still glossy and your cheeks still glowing a faint red from the cold ride and the wind whipping your hair against your face when it all seemed so dumb. Why were you here? To confront a boy you hardly knew about your nightmares? To accuse him of the impossible? You had everything you wanted to say planned out perfectly, imagining the weight that would lift off your shoulders ever since he left you at school but now, finally face to face, all those words died at your tongue.

You look at Jisung and stick your arm out, the jacket dangling in your hand. Jisung smiles brightly at you before taking it, the corner of his lips turning downward as he examines your face. He looks somewhat hesitant to bring it up but he does anyway.

"Is whatever was bothering you earlier still upsetting you?"

You nod, biting your lip.

"I was hoping leaving you my jacket would cheer you up somehow," he chuckled, his eyes thoughtful. "It was stupid."

"It did cheer me up in a way," you start. "It reminded me of something...but I'm ready to tell you what's wrong now."

The whites of Jisung's eyes became more visible as he looked at you, his lips parted slightly. He leans in closer, ready to hear what you have to say.

"Can we step outside for a minute?"

"Uhh," he glances at his watch. "Yeah, sure."

You walk out first, hearing his soft footsteps follow behind you. The sky is even darker now, even though you were only inside for a moment, the smell of rain in the air. The wind was strong, blowing the trees wildly.

You kept your back to him. "I've seen you before."

Jisung is silent for a moment. "You mean the guy who looks like me?"

"No," you correct him. "I've seen you before. You are the guy who looks like you. Aren't you? Except you act different."

"Huh? I just met you...how would I..." he trails off.

You turn around, tears threatening to spill over. You weren't afraid of him now, only in your sleep you were but for some reason, as you spoke, your heart thudded in your chest. You didn't feel in danger when you were with this Jisung. The Jisung that kindly asks you to pick up your trash and gives you his jacket in the cold. But the jacket...it was more than a kind gesture...something wasn't right about it.

"Why was your jacket so hot?"

His eyes fell low before looking back at you. "You and I meeting was fate, you know that?"

You frown. "What?"

"If you've seen me before then we must've met in your dreams correct?"

You take a step back. "How did you—"

"How did I know? It would take me forever to explain. But you're special, __."

A white flash illuminates Jisung's face, a loud crack of thunder echoing around you causing you to jump.

Jisung starts to laugh madly. Terror runs through your body as you start to regret coming here at all.

"What are you?" you ask, your voice shaking in fear.

Jisung smirks at you. "You know what I am, baby."

There's another crash of thunder and you nearly hop an inch out of your shoes. Jisung starts to laugh at you again.

"Are you going to kill me?"

He puckers his lips at you with a tilt of his head. "No. Why would I do that?"

"Isn't that what you do," you tutt, your throat tight. "In my dreams, you were always about to kill me."

"That's...no, I'm not like that," he clenched his fists at the statement.

"But you think it's funny to torture me? I haven't slept in over a month because of you."

"A month? No, that's not right. What happened in those dreams?"

A drop of water hits the top of your head but you ignore it. "Like you wouldn't know!" you answer, your brows furious and angry as you look up at your torturer.

"I have no control over your dreams. Can you tell me about them, please?"

"Nightmares," you correct. "Call them what they are. Don't act coy with me. Don't lie. If you're going to kill me then just do it already."

"I don't kill anymore!" his eyes flash red.

You gasp, you're blood running cold at the terrifyingly familiar image. You run away. You make it to your bike but before you can hop on, a hot hand grabs your arm, yanking your body off onto the damp pavement.

"Don't you run away from me!!" Jisung looks angry and maybe a little hurt by your actions but you don't care. You just want to get out of here.

"Just leave me alone, okay!" you get up to run away again but he lifts you again with one strong arm, his hand wrapped tightly around your throat. Your eyes bulge out of your head when you realize you can't breathe.

"You're pissing me off now. I don't want to hurt you but it's the only way to make you listen."

You struggle against him, your fingers clawing at his hand while he seems entirely unaffected. His nostrils are flaring, the pointy teeth now visible as he glares at you with those blood-red eyes.

"I don't control your dreams. The only person who can control your dreams is you. I only met you a week ago so stop accusing me of something not even I can do." And with that, he drops you.

You fall on the sidewalk, gasping and coughing. Your butt hurts from landing on it so roughly and your left arm stings, probably a cut from the fall but you don't check. You can't bring yourself to look away from him.

"What do you want from me?"

"Well, I can't tell you now," he scoffs. "I don't trust you."

A fat tear escapes your eye, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you try to make sense of reality. "Who the hell would believe me even if I told anyone??"

"There are those who believe we exist. Mostly the looneys of the church but I can't have you going around exposing me. Then I'd have to kill them all and I don't want to do that again. I'm reformed now."

Again?

"You said you're not who I thought you were. If you're not him then who are you?"

A gentle ring of thunder fills the thick air as it starts to rain. It's cold and uncomfortable but neither of you makes an effort to go back inside.

"I'm not a killer. That is, only if you don't make me out to be."

How could he say that when you could see the fangs that could tear your body in half. How could he say that when he almost killed you just now?

"You've killed people before," your voice waivers even though you will it not to. "You're a murderer. That's what your kind does to humans. Kill."

"Say it. Say what I am." Jisung crouches to your level. "C'mon. Say it."

Your body's shaking from how close he's gotten. You say nothing as he waits for you to respond. You remain silent.

He leans into your ear and whispers, "Either you say it on your own or I'll make you say it."

You let out a weak noise, turning your head away as he tucks your thick wet hair behind your ear.

"Demon," you wail, as tears blur your vision.

Jisung smiles triumphantly, pressing his warm lips to your forehead. Your body shrivels away from him as you scream, a fist landing on his hard chest. He takes your hand in his, keeping it on his chest, sliding your hand to the left and you feel something. Something that doesn't make sense. It's a heartbeat. It was a little faster than a normal one but it was still a heartbeat.

You look at him in shock, your mouth rendered speechless.

"I'm late for my shift," he gets up. "I'll see you soon. But remember what I said. You control your own dreams."

Jisung wraps his jacket around you once more with the obvious intent on having you return it again tomorrow. His eyes fade back to brown as he sends you one last smile and the awkward and kind Jisung is back almost as if he never left. He walks back inside the cafe, leaving you alone in the rain, shivering, wet, and traumatized.

A slightly chubby waitress decked out in tattoos with blue hair brings out your steak, medium rare, with a side of lightly salted fries as per Jisung's request. His order was something French that you couldn't pronounce, nor identify, but smelled heavenly, your mouth watering for the order that was not your own.

Jisung checks his expensive watch. "They're late. As usual."

"Hmm?" you snap your eyes away from his meal. "Who is?"

"We're here!" A beautiful older couple makes their way to your table.

"Mom! Dad! It only took you fifteen years," Jisung remarks as he leans in to give them a hug.

"It was your father, love. He got hung up with the gentleman at the sports club."

"Ah! It was business! You know how that sort of thing goes."

They both sit in their seats across from you, picking up their menus. His mother's hair is combed back neatly, her youthful skin glowing as she smiles pleasantly at you. His father is dressed rather casually, wearing khaki shorts and a baby pink polo but the giant rock on his pinky finger told you of his financial status.

"Oh my," says his mother. "And you, my darling, how are you? I've heard so much about you."

His father hums. "Ah yes, you're a special one aren't you? Haven't had a human dine with us in decades."

"Special? How am I special?" you ask, taking a French fry.

"Jisung, haven't you told her?" his father takes a sip of his sparkling water.

"Tell me what?" you look to Jisung.

The temperature in the room starts to rise and you break out into a sweat, fanning yourself with a napkin.

"Why would I tell her what she already knows?" Jisung answers, taking a spoonful of his soup.

You give him an odd look which he ignores and you decide to bite your tongue. A certain glimmer around Mrs. Park's neck catches your eye and you can't look away, like it was a magnet, drawing your eyes to it, willing you not to look away.

"Mrs. Park? That's a lovely necklace your wearing," you say marveling at the shiny red cut of the mysterious diamond. "May I ask what stone that is?"

Her lips curve a little, the pointed bones of her teeth peeking through. "That's a family secret. One that you'll know soon, my dear."

The waitress returns, notepad in hand, asking what the two would like to order.

Mrs. and Mr. Park smile sweetly at the young girl, giving her a long once over. "Yes, we'd like to have you for dinner."

She drops her pen from her notepad. "Excuse me?"

Mr. Park jumps up and snaps the poor girl's neck like a twig, catching her limp body as it falls forward. You scream in horror.

"Christ," Jisung rolls his eyes.

Mrs. Park rips her head off, dropping it carelessly to the ground with a thud. The restaurant is unbearably hot, and you're sweating through your lengthy dress. Your mouth is gaping as you helplessly watch them tear the woman to shreds picking off the meat on her bones and tear the flesh with their teeth. You look around to see everyone carrying on normally as if someone didn't just get ruthlessly murdered.

You can't pry your eyes away as they continue to feast on her carcass, blood dripping down their chins, red splatters tarnishing their clothes. Mrs. Park looks at you, that same smile from earlier still there but now it holds something dark behind it. Her eyes were that crimson red that you'd seen so many times. She crawls onto the table making her way towards you, and you scoot back falling out of your chair.

"I'm not who you think I am," she whispers.

"Wha-what?" you stumble backward.

"I'm not who you think I am. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not..." she turns over on her back, her arm laying on your food, giggling wildly.

"You control your dreams, __" Jisung says standing up.

You look at him, bewildered.

"This is your dream. Control it."

A whack of thunder shakes the ground, yanking you out of your dream. Your heartbeat is irregular as you stumble out of your bed. Startled, you jump out of bed, pulling on your shoes and jacket, grabbing Jisung's coat along the way.

You left the house in haste, going to the only place you could think of. You needed to talk to him. Whether he'd show up or not was a chance you were willing to take.

You pedaled your bike down the cold, empty streets with the thought of Jisung on your mind. You were confused but you felt like you knew everything at the same time. It was so strange but you couldn't remember the last time anything felt normal.

The cafe was closed. The door was locked, obviously, so you let out a gust of air as you sat down against it. It was nearly 3 am and you left the house alone, loitering around some dumb computer cafe. What had your life come to? You don't even hang out with your friends anymore. You barely even speak to your family these days.

"Jisung!" you yell.

It was only a guess that he would show up. Maybe he'd hear you from wherever he was or maybe you could summon him? It sounded dumb but it made sense at the time.

You yelled his name once more, the desperation in your voice evident but still, nothing.

"Jisung, please," you whisper, your head falling into your lap.

Just as you're about to give up and go home, a blast of heat blows against your back in the strikingly cold morning. You gasp at the sound of the door unlocking behind you, jumping up to meet the boy you came to see.

Your eyes drank in his familiar face and dark clothes. "You came."

"Didn't you ask me to?" he tilts his head, giving you a sideways smirk that you never saw before. "Oh, Jisung! Oh, Jisung, please!" he mocks you and you frown.

"You need to loosen up a bit," Jisung clicks his tongue. "I don't think I've ever even seen you smile."

"I don't do that much these days."

"I see. Come in," he opens the door wider and you follow him into the warm cafe.

It's dimmer than usual, only half of the lights had been turned on and the absence of music almost made you uncomfortable. Jisung sat down at a random table and you cautiously sit across him. It feels as if he's examining every inch of your skin, his eyes slowly dragging over your face to the bottom of your torso where the table blocks his vision. It makes you antsy. You try to ignore the feeling.

"You heard me calling. How'd you do that?"

Jisung drums his fingers on the table in thought, "I don't really know. I've never been summoned before. I just heard you so I came."

"But how'd you get here so fast? Where'd you come from? Your home? Where do you live?"

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Now, why would I tell you all that? I don't trust you."

You sigh, chewing your bottom lip—a motion you caught his eyes following.

"Well...what can you tell me? I deserve some answers, don't you think?"

He laughs at that. "You don't deserve anything, human. I owe you nothing."

You press your lips together in annoyance. If he didn't want to tell you anything then why'd he show up? He seemed to have some interest in you by the way he keeps toying with you. You can't figure him out. He's hot then he's cold. One minute he's shy and sweet then the next he's rude and angry. But sometimes he was a mix of both, like right now. A happy medium of kind and a touch of asshole. But at least he wasn't going to kill you. You were sure of that. You couldn't explain why but ever since you had that nightmare this morning you had this feeling that he didn't want to hurt you—which was illogical of course—because he did, in fact, hurt you. You had the bruises to prove it. Your neck was covered in black and blue bruises with a distinct outline of five large fingers.

"I had another dream," you start and Jisung raises a brow at you. "I trust you. I don't know why but I have this feeling that I can't get rid of that you won't hurt me."

He frowns for a bit before he begins to chuckle. "My suspicions were true."

"What do you mean?"

"You want to know why you've been having those dreams?"

You nod frantically, bracing yourself for what he was about to tell you, but nothing could prepare you for the words that were about to leave his lips.

"You're destined to become my slave."

You come to on a leather couch in an unfamiliar room. It was a living room. A large one at that. You sit up, your head feeling heavy and full of fluff. Your shoes are sat neatly to the side of the couch along with your jacket. Standing up on sore legs, you stretch before looking around in what you could only assume was Jisung's house.

It's very...empty. Like it had been barely lived in. Almost as if no one lived here at all. The kitchen's beautiful, large and spacious with fancy looking cupboards. You walked down a long dark hall passing an extravagant dining room with a table that looked like it was a mile long and a chandelier that was so humongous it must've weighed more than your immediate family all together.

You hear the sound of water as you approach a room on your right, pushing open the door left slightly ajar. Jisung is staring right at you as if he knew you were coming. The bathwater is running and he's sitting on the toilet seat with a tub of bath salts in his hands.

"Morning, sunshine," he smiles cheekily at you.

You step into the steamy room, eying him with a groggy pout. "What the hell happened?"

He scoffs. "Of course you don't remember. I told you that you're my slave and you didn't handle it well."

You almost lose your balance, grabbing the counter just in time. "Pardon??"

Jisung rolls his eyes. "I made you a bath. You look like hell so I'll leave you to it," he gets up patting his jeans.

You didn't notice his change of clothes until now. Just how long had you been there?

"Hold on, I have a question. Several actually—"

"I'll be back in a bit," he stalks off closing the door behind him.

You open the door to call after him but he's nowhere to be found. It was like he disappeared into thin air. It wouldn't surprise you if he actually did. You return to the bathroom and disrobe, deciding you might as well. You couldn't remember the last time you took a bath. Must've been years. You pause at the mirror and nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw how awful you looked. Jisung did not lie when he said you looked like hell. There were dark circles around your eyes and you looked pale, on top of that your hair was a frizzy mess. You finger-combed your hair to the best of your ability before giving up and sinking into the warm bath Jisung had drawn for you.

You let your mind reel as you sat in the tub, your knees tucked into your chest. Nothing made sense anymore. Oh, how you longed to go back to the life you had where the only thing you had to worry about was struggling with your math homework. If Jisung was telling the truth, then your life would never be the same. There had to be a way out of this, right? Maybe this is your punishment for something horrible you did but what? The worst thing you'd ever done was steal a couple of lipglosses from Target and that was two years ago. Or maybe it's because you lied to your mom about passing your Spanish test last month? You regretted it but it still seemed too small of a thing to be punished so greatly for. No matter how hard you picked your brain you couldn't come to a conclusion in any reality where you deserved this. You just wished you could get some answers soon. What would you tell your parents? Your friends? Would you have to leave them all behind? Did you have to do evil things now?

No, he said he changed. He wasn't like that. At least you hoped he wasn't. The scary thing is that you couldn't find it in yourself to care if he did make you do evil things. Just yesterday you would rather kill yourself than to do Jisung's evil bidding. You didn't like that you didn't mind it. You didn't like that nothing added up. You couldn't understand why in the world all of this had to happen to you. You didn't know where you were, how long you've been gone or what was going to happen to you. It all felt like a never-ending bad dream.

After you washed up and dried yourself, you sat idly on the toilet as the water drained from the bathtub. You felt a little better now that you were clean but you could feel the foreshadowing of an oncoming headache from the stress.

There was a gentle knock on the door, shaking you out of your pity party and you get up to open it. Jisung is in different clothing once again, wearing a hoodie and baggy dark jeans.

You stay there for three long days. You don't speak much in that time, but you feel like you know him a bit better. He wasn't as scary as you thought. After spending seventy-two hours together, you feel more at ease in his presence. He refused to discuss your circumstances and you never ask to go home. The thought never crosses your mind after the first day and you almost forget about your life at home completely. Instead, you spend all your time observing Jisung. You watch him cook and clean, sew and paint. He's perfected almost a million hobbies. He doesn't acknowledge your existence as you watch, only bothering to speak to ask what you wanted to eat or if you were tired and wanted a bath. Contrary to your earlier thoughts, he never ordered you around. He left you to wander around on your own, doing as you pleased. Whether that be to read a book from his collection, watch a movie or watch him. On the third morning, you're up early, sitting cross-legged in the bed of Jisung's guest bedroom. After taking a shower, you were stuffing your face with a bowl of oatmeal Jisung had so expertly prepared.

"You ready to go home? School should be starting soon."

Home. Your mother. Oh, shit.

"What time is it?" you tuck your damp hair behind your ears.

"Five thirty-seven."

Your eyebrows knit together as he tosses your uniform at you and you catch it.

"Hurry up," and with that, the door is shut in your face.

It only took you about a minute to change and then you were scampering down the hall to the living room where Jisung was waiting patiently, sitting as still as stone.

"Good then. Let's go."

"Wait," you grab his sleeve and Jisung stares down at your hand as if it were alien.

"Can you please tell me what's going on now? I'm going insane here."

He sighs before motioning for you to sit down. You quickly oblige, plopping down on the couch and he sits opposite of you.

"Sometimes, there are certain circumstances where a demon who does their job very well would be rewarded by Satan by being gifted their very own human slave.

"It's very rare actually, and Satan stopped doing it centuries ago bc it led to us being discovered. Then he had to "handle" it so I'm not sure why he gifted you to me. Does that answer all your questions?"

You give him a pointed look. He sighs.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what's going on either; I don't even work anymore."

"What do you mean you don't work?"

"I'm retired. I don't like causing harm to humans and Satan let me settle down up here."

"Satan sounds awfully nice..." you frown a bit.

Jisung rolls his eyes slightly. "Oh, believe me. He isn't. Satan lives up to his name just fine. He let me go under special circumstances."

"So you're special?"

"Yep."

You folded your arms over your chest. "How so?"

"My parents and I were really good at doing what we do. The best actually. For centuries we were the apple of Lucifer's eyes. I mean, we got the best treatment, luxury lifestyle, the other demons didn't dare mess with us. It was almost like...heaven."

You purse your lips, feeling uncomfortable with the comparison to heaven.

"One day, I met a human I was assigned to and she was different than any human I'd ever seen. I was supposed to influence her to sin but I just couldn't no matter how hard I tried. This human was the purest of any kind I'd met and she was so young. The young ones are supposed to be the most malleable but she always resisted. She was good.

I realized something then. I thought, maybe not all humans don't deserve to go to hell. Some do. Some don't. And without the influence of us, a lot of them would go to heaven. After doing it for so long, I started to feel guilty. I've never been human. I was born like this. I never experienced a human life but I wanted to. So I asked to retire."

You were sure your eyes were bulging out of your head but you were too shocked to try to change your expression. "And he just let you go? Just like that?"

"Yeah. Satan wasn't happy. He thought it was stupid, which, it might be a little. A demon can't live like a human. He claimed after a few decades I'd see humans for what they really were and then I'd be back."

"So, then Satan made me your slave to try to convince you to come back?"

"I'm not sure," he flicks a strand of hair out of his eyes. "But Lucifer doesn't do anything without a purpose. I'm sure we'll find out soon."

"Will you go back?"

"I don't want to but if I have to then I will. It's what I was created for."

"Oh," you were lost on what to say next.

"Are you ready to go back home?" He stands up, holding a hand out to you.

You're about to take it when the doorbell rings. Jisung looks frigid. Was that fear in his eyes?

"My parents are here."

"Huh? Why?" The scenes of your dream flash in your mind. The headless waitress and blood gushing everywhere. If they were anything like the dream version of them then you were dead meat.

"I don't know. They're not nice people, __," he warns.

"Should I run? Or hide?"

"There's no point; they'd find you. Just sit still and don't say a word."

Jisung walks to the door, opening it to reveal two faces you've seen before. His mother didn't look pleased to see her son but his father pulled him in for a quick hug, patting him on the back.

"Well, are you going to invite us in? We knocked this time. Just like you asked," his mom says with a hint of annoyance.

Jisung steps back to let them inside and it's like an alarm goes off in their heads because as soon as they step one foot inside, their heads snap to find you sitting on the couch.

"Oh...you have company," his father says in confusion.

"Jisung, what is this?" His mom looks at you in disgust.

"Mom, Dad, this is __. We were just on our way out, actually. So, this is a bad time."

His mom shoots him daggers with her eyes. "You aren't going anywhere we just got here. Jisung, where are your manners?"

Jisung stands there, looking defeated as he mumbles an apology.

"Hello, there! I'm Mrs. Park," she extends a hand out to you. You look at Jisung before getting up to shake it.

"Mr. Park," his dad shakes your hand next. Their hands are just as hot as Jisung's. You shuffle back to your spot on the couch.

"Is this your friend, Jisung?" Mrs. Park asks, looking you up and down.

"She's my slave, mother."

His parents look at each other in shock, smiles of joy creeping across their faces.

"Lucifer gifted you a slave?" Mrs. Park practically jitters with excitement.

"Yes, mother."

"Son, that's amazing! You have to come back now!"

Jisung clenches his fists at his sides. "I'm not coming back. Not now. Not ever."

"Don't be silly, Jisung. It would be extremely disrespectful not to after receiving such a gift. He stopped gifting slaves centuries ago," Mrs. Park snaps.

"Mom, I made my decision."

"You foolish boy. You're an embarrassment to us all. We've been forced into hiding ever since you left. We're the laughing stock of the underworld because you decided to go soft and ruin the reputation we worked so hard to build. Two centuries of hard work down the drain."

"Mother—"

"Don't you understand? This isn't a gift it's a warning. You've been gone too long, Jisung. He wants you back. You've had your fun living your little fantasy; now it's time to come back to reality."

"Son, please," Mr. Park sits down next to you. "Listen to your mom."

"I...no. No, I'm staying here," says Jisung.

"You're so selfish! He won't just punish you he'll punish us all! Me and your father will be extinguished right along with you. My dearest son, please use the common sense I gave you and come back to us. I've missed you. We were a great team."

Jisung looks torn as he looks at you then back to his parents. "I have to get going."

"Jisung," Mr. park barks.

"Please leave," Jisung opens the door for them.

"You're going to get us all killed," Mrs. Park snarls as she nudges her husband to get up. "Close the damn door, Jisung. We're leaving."

Jisung closes it, his back falling against the wall.

"We're not done talking about this," his mother declares before looking at you one last time, the corner of her lips turned downwards. You think your eyes are playing tricks on you as the couple dissipate right in front of you, fading into a silhouette and then finally nothing. They're gone.

Jisung opens the door again. "Come on."

The ride to your house is silent and too quick if you were being honest. Jisung lives fairly close to your house although in a much better neighborhood for someone who's living off of minimum wage.

You're still a bit shaken up but much calmer than before. Once you enter the house, you find the lights off. Your mom was still asleep. You thank god as you creep to your room as quietly as possible. When you open the door, however, your mom is sitting on your bed holding a book in her hands. Was that your diary?

"Y/n, just where have you been all night?"

You deflect her question. "Why do you have my diary?"

"This is my house and my rules. I am your mother for Christ's sake; I have the right to know what's going on in my daughter's life and if you won't let me in, damn it, I'll find out my own way."

"That's a complete invasion of my privacy!"

She looks taken aback at your brazen comment. "Raise your voice at me one more time—I dare you! You were out with that boy from the computer cafe, weren't you?"

"What? No! My friend, Deana broke up with her boyfriend and it was an emergency. I had to go talk to her."

She narrows her eyes. "Don't you lie to me."

"I swear it! It's true," your bottom lip trembled as you held back tears.

You wanted to tell the truth but you couldn't. Jisung wouldn't like that very much and quite frankly, you were simply terrified of what his parents might do to you more than your angry mother. Would she believe you anyway? You didn't have any proof. She'd probably lock you up in some psych ward hundreds of miles away from here at the first mention of demons. Or maybe she'd just think you were lying. Her face was red with fury but you can tell by the slight quiver in her voice she was more worried about your safety than anything.

"I know somethings going on," she rests her hands on her knees. "You've been having sleepless nights and you don't go out as much anymore. And now there's some boy who comes out of nowhere and you're running out to meet him when you've got a fever. You scared me half to death and I just let it slide but now you're sneaking out and coming back three days later at six in the morning?

"No ma'am. This is not how I run my household. You know that. I mean is it me? Did I do something to make you wanna push me away?"

Your throat aches as you choke back tears. "No, mom, it's not that at all. I just have to solve this on my own."

She looks heartbroken but nods nimbly. "But you'll come to me if you can't figure it out on your own?"

"I promise."

"Good," she stands up. "We're leaving in ten minutes so hurry up and get dressed. Oh yeah, and you're grounded."

You couldn't say you didn't see that coming.

When you get home from school, your mother's in the living room. She usually doesn't get off of work for another two hours but it wasn't that hard to think of the reason why she was home so early. She asks about school and you say whatever it takes to end the conversation as soon as possible so you can go to your room. You lock the door behind you when you're finally alone, changing into more comfortable clothes. You make sure your mom's still downstairs before you whisper Jisung's name and a warmth envelops your body from the tip of your tongue down to your toes. He appears before you in seconds, wearing his work uniform. He doesn't look at you at first, inspecting the interior of your room before making himself comfortable on your bed.

"Your mom didn't seem too happy about this morning," he sighs.

"How did you know that?" you ask and for some reason, you think, you might be better off not knowing.

"You and I are connected now. I can see you whenever I want. I can...feel you."

You gulp. You didn't like the thought of him checking up on you whenever he wanted. And what's worse is that if you ever tried to run, he could find you.

"Right...well I have a question."

"Oh, you're just full of those, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes. "If you go back to working for Satan...would he allow you to let me go?"

Jisung's face hardens. You could feel the warmth in the room grow.

"Why would you ask me that? Do you know what you'd be asking me to do?"

"I'm sorry," the words leave your mouth at lightning speed. It's odd. You didn't want to say them but you did.

"Am I really so awful you'd rather send me away to do the devils bidding than to be stuck with me?"

"No, not at all," you say this on your own this time. It should worry you how true it was. You truly didn't mind his company. It took some time to separate the man from your dreams to the one in reality but once you did, you saw the good in him—once you overlooked all the sarcasm, of course.

"Don't get offended, please. That's not what I'm trying to do here," you approach him. "I just want my life back."

There's a flicker of emotion in his eyes. He sighs. "I suppose, you're right. It's selfish of me to impose on your life when you didn't ask for any of this. I'll take my problems elsewhere and leave you be."

You're surprised at how quickly he gave you what you wanted. You expected to have to squeal your way out of it. It was so easy you almost felt bad for asking.

"There won't be any consequences? He won't get mad if you leave me alone?"

"I'm not sure what he'll do. Just as I can see you, he can see me," he pauses. "Whatever the outcome, I'll handle it."

He stands up and you stand up with him.

"Is it weird that I'm going to miss you?"

His eyebrows fly up and he almost looks embarrassed. "Uh, I'm sure that's just a side effect of being my slave."

"I see," you look down feeling awkward. "Can I get a hug?"

You can tell he's uncomfortable with the request but he opens his arms for you anyway. You hate how attached you've become in the last twelve hours. You hardly knew the man and after meeting his parents you shouldn't be standing anywhere near him. But you still felt a pull towards him and you weren't so sure if it was a side effect. Maybe you were crazy—actually, scratch that, you were definitely crazy—but you actually kind of liked Jisung. He protected you from his parents and was willing to take whatever the devil was going to throw at him. So you lay your head on his chest and the heat is already scorching your skin. The fast rhythm of his heartbeat almost rocks you as his hands wrap around your shoulders and you stand there for a moment. He was a little stiff but you could tell he was trying his best. When you let go, his face is different. He's smiling at you and there's this gleam in his eyes that you'd never seen before. Then there's something pulling you towards him, an unexplainable compulsion to kiss him. He doesn't move as you lean in to peck your lips on his warm ones. It's like his limbs are frozen and for the first time in his life, he doesn't know what to do. He's never encountered someone like you before. Someone so beautiful and smart. You were the only person that could ever make him feel anything other than complete misery and he was so sad to let you go. He didn't want to let you go and he didn't have to. You were his slave, after all. But you had asked him to and he couldn't find it in him to deny you. Finally, his instincts kick in and his eyes close as he kisses you back. It's the most intimate kiss you've ever had and you find your hands pulling his shirt to pull him closer to you, wanting more but suddenly he's gone. You look around your room to find it empty. He left. He left you. Just like you asked.

"Jisung?" your voice breaks as you call out. "Jisung??"

Your door bursts open causing you to flinch.

"Hey, what do you feel like for dinner?" your mom walks in. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

You try to stop the tears from falling but you fail as you burst into sobs. Your mom runs over and hugs you, begging for you to tell her what's going on but you can't. You can't tell anyone. No one could ever know.

You think about Jisung every day for the next two years. How could you not? His face was branded into your mind, his voice a never-fading memory. You like to think he was okay. That whatever battles he had to face with his creator went successfully. You hoped he was free and happy. You imagine he watches over you from time to time, just to see how you've grown and what you were up to. For some time, he's everywhere you look. You'd see a flash of blonde and go running to catch him, no matter where you were. In the end, you never caught him. It was always your mind playing tricks on you. Your friends and family grew concerned but those concerns faded away as the spottings did. Every hot summer day reminded you of him. Even the heaters in the winter made you think of him. He was always in the back of your brain. After a while, it felt like it was all one big fever dream. The only reminder that it was real was the poorly written entries of your old diary. That, and one other thing. One day, you come home to find a necklace on your bed, the glowing red stone flaring up the memory of the matching one his mother wore. He was alive. He hadn't forgotten about you. The smile that adorned your lips was big enough to give one the impression it was a gift from your lover. You vowed to wear it every day, thanking Jisung aloud, and you swear you feel his presence in the room for a moment, a rush of heat flowing into your bedroom and then it's gone.

#Park Jisung #nct park jisung #park jisung fluff #nct dream #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #kpop fanfic #nct fanfic #demon au

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marmolady · 4 years

Text

The New Taylor: Part 2

CONTINUED FROM PART 1

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC(f)

Summary: (Endless Ending). Saving the world takes a lot out of a person. For Taylor, growing into her new self beyond La Huerta can only happen as fast as her exhausted body will allow her….

Warnings: Non-graphic sex scene, little bit of blood.

Word Count: 6246

Tagging: @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @greengroove

______

“Estela-- no!”

Unblinking, Estela brought her knife to the side of her head, and plunged it behind the blinking mind-control device. She yelped and dropped the knife, but renewed her assault with her own fingers, tearing at her flesh until the cold metal device came loose, to be flung across the room. All the while, she was deaf to Taylor’s cries, dodging the frantic attempts at prising her fingers away from the now gaping wound.

She slumped to the floor, her face pallid as blood continued to gush.

“T-Taylor…”

“I’m here… I’m h-here, okay?” Desperately, Taylor tried to stem the bleeding with her hands, but as Estela’s cold fingers reached up to touch her face, scrunched in anguish, she knew it was already too late.

“I-I d-didn’t… hurt… you?”

“No. No, baby, you could never.”

Estela’s choking exhale shook. “I’m… m-me. I would never h-hurt you… Tay….”

“Shh, shh…. I know. You’re here. My Estela. You saved me.” Tears cascaded down Taylor’s cheeks, mingling with blood. Please, Estela…. No….

Estela shuddered, her body a dead weight against her lover’s chest. “I g-get to go out as m-me. W-with you. T-taylor….”

“With me. I love you-- I love you-- I--”

“...Love…you….”

The last light behind Estela’s eyes dulled, and she was gone. Taylor unleashed a howl of agony….

And she awoke.

Taylor’s heart felt as though it might pound right out of her chest. Her face was wet-- tears?-- sweat?-- both? She let out a quiet, dry sob. The tingle of blood on her hands could have been real. After so many of these nightmares, though, she knew how to ground herself. Against her back, she felt the gentle rising and fall of Estela’s chest. Against her ear, the soft, grumbling breaths of Estela deep in slumber. In the dim light of the bedroom, Taylor could make out the outline of the tiny dog that lay curled up at the end of the bed. All was peaceful.

Slowly, the thundering against Taylor’s ribs calmed. It’s okay. You’re home. Estela’s with you; she’s safe. You’re safe. Stress seemed to make these nightmares-- flashbacks of memories bestowed by the Endless-- rear their heads. Her throat was dry, as if she truly had screamed for the loss. Taylor carefully extricated herself from Estela’s arms, and stood on shaky feet. She’d disturbed her lover too many times; as much as she herself did, Estela needed to rest and recover.

Taylor padded out to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.

“You’re not sleeping so well, mija?”

It was perhaps the third time Nicolas had called her that, and it still gave her a happy jolt. She stood up from her slumped stature over the sink and turned to see the tall silver-haired man perched upon his desk chair, apparently restless himself.

“And what are you doing up so late?” she asked, the croak to her voice betraying the impact of that haunting vision. “An old man like you? You need your full eight hours.”

Nicolas chuckled. “The mouth on this one…. Well, being so old, as you say, I find myself with a lot of accumulated thoughts to organise. Estelita told you I was thinking of writing a memoir? It happens that such an undertaking comes with the stirring of memories. Some… are disquieting. The thing with war is you might find yourself processing memories you’d once pushed aside for sheer survival. But it is nothing I don’t know how to deal with-- a way of life by now.”

Having tiptoed into the front sitting room, Taylor set herself down in a chair; there was little point to heading straight back to bed while her mind was a whirl of traumatic images. Quietly, she was grateful for the company, appreciating how comfortable she was in sharing with her wife’s cantankerous uncle, even for the bumps they’d had in the road.

“I’m surprised she let you slip away,” Nicolas growled-- not an unfriendly noise, but gruff. “After your fainting episode, she’s been on you like an extra limb.”

“I didn’t want to wake her. Estela has had too many bad nights because of me.”

Understanding, Nicolas gave an almost imperceptible nod. “You haven’t been sleeping well?”

Taylor opened her mouth, then closed it again. How to even explain her visions to someone who’d never stepped foot on La Huerta? “I have nightmares,” she said, after a moment of deliberation. “But like, really, really vivid. And not like just a random dream, more like… like I’m living this version of a past with crystal clarity. What might have happened on the island… how it could have all gone wrong; as real as my own memories. I see all the hundreds of ways my friends might have died, how Estela….” She shuddered. “I’ve seen her die so many times. I’ve felt her dying in my arms.”

“This is… all the time?” Nicolas was frowning, but didn’t appear alarmed. Apparently, life had made him pretty unflappable.

“Mmm… more when I’m emotionally stressed. Or at least, that’s what it feels like. And then it’s this really fun vicious circle; you try and not be an emotional wreck when you can’t close your eyes without seeing everyone you love die.”

Nicolas grunted, thoughtful. “It seems the last thing you need is to not be sleeping properly. Have you considered meditation before bed?”

“Yeah, actually. Estela suggested I try that. It helps me with getting to sleep, but I still have the dreams.”

When Nicolas spoke again, his voice was small. “I spent many months unable to shake scenarios my mind conjured… how that fool’s mission would have Estelita killed. It seemed inevitable for so long that I’d lost her, that she’d been wiped from the face of the earth without a trace. And here you have all those ‘what if’s’ collected in your mind. All the ways it could so easily have all come undone.”

“She always would have gone down fighting. I think… every single time. Whether she was going after Rourke, or saving her friends from some monster from the pits of hell… she would be this unyielding force of nature, so sure. To Estela, none of those eventualities ever happened-- she doesn’t have these memories, thank God--, but they’re real to me.”

For a little while, Nicolas was silent, lost in thought. He looked up at Taylor, a twitch of a smile upon his lips, and then his tired face was sombre once more. “I’ve learned a few things over the years of being the guardian of a wonderful, foolish child; one of those things is that to come down hard is to create fractures. And I have been hard on you-- harshness you do not deserve. I am very sorry.”

She swallowed hard. “I… I appreciate that. I’m sorry too. For blundering around like an idiot.”

“Yes, but you are our idiot. My second niece.”

Taylor was certain her heart just skipped a beat. She covered her shock by laughing it off. “You’ll be having me call you ‘Tio’ next….”

“By all means. It is quite clear that Estelita intends to keep you; we may as well cut to the chase with familiarity, mi Taylita.”

“Well, fine. If you say so, Tio.” In spite of her casual tone, Taylor couldn’t keep the smile from creeping to her face. Acceptance.

Nicolas took a long drink of rum.

“I’ll admit it seemed too good to be true; for Estelita to be happy. I always had this dream of seeing her, sharing a life with someone she loved, free from the shadows that have been there for as long as she knows. You’ll forgive me-- it is not that I didn’t wish to believe it, but my guard is there to keep her from being hurt more. Do you know when I knew that this-- you-- were real, not some cruel wishful thinking?”

“What was it?”

“It was, I think, four, maybe five , days after you came home. I didn’t hear what you said, but she was laughing. Really laughing. As though her body could not possibly even try to contain her joy. It was the sort of unrestrained delight in living that I hadn’t seen in her eyes since she was a little child. It was magic. So, I wish for you to know that I will be forever grateful for that gift. For your care for her.”

Feeling like she might just about burst with happiness-- with love for her wife-- Taylor flushed. Whatever life would make of her next, she could be proud of the person she’d been for Estela. “It’s not just me, you know. The rest of us, our friends; they love Estela so, so much. I guess you see that with Jake, but it’s like we’re our own family. This thing we all went through together, it’s seared in us. Whatever happens next, even if I was to get struck down by lightning tomorrow, Estela is not gonna be alone ever again. Not really.”

“I’ve seen a good few impossible things these past weeks. I’d been certain that if she dared try to smile, her miserable old face would shatter! And now, here she is, light as a feather.” Nicolas looked down, his eyes misted over. “I have seen what you, your friends, have done. To say… to say I am thankful feels small. Inadequate.”

Taylor shook her head. “Something like that doesn’t even need thanks. What we have is a privilege. It’s… all the family I thought I’d ever have-- until I came here.”

“Then, it seems my family has grown more than I know.”

_________________________

Sprawled out in front of Taylor were a collection of notes, cutouts and photographs, atop a poster-sized paper. When the idea of a vision board was first put to her, she’d barely given it a thought, but it had become so damn hard to see anything past this period of physical rehabilitation that doing something was a necessity. With a piece of toast in one hand, and the other offering quiet reassurance to her thin half-hairless canine companion, she pored over the visual summation of herself. As it happened, she didn’t appear to amount to much. In the middle of the board, she’d scrawled ‘Who Am I?’, and the wishy-washy answers she’d managed to surround it with did nothing to light the much-needed fire of self-confidence.

‘A people-person’, ‘nurturing’, ‘compassionate’. She scritched Fenix’s belly. ‘A strong leader’, ‘determined’, ‘resourceful’. There was no need for any kind of translation into the real world; all that had come with her. Those things, at least, were hers. But there was no history-- not any that she could ever talk about outside her own close circle.

“I can’t even put down any hobbies…,” she muttered.

Beside her, Estela peered over.

“I don’t think that’s true. You’ve been learning to knit; that’s definitely a ‘you’ thing. And we used to go hiking, swimming, wind-surfing….”

Taylor flinched, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Hey… I know it feels like your body’s giving out on you right now, but this won’t be forever.”

I love you, but you don’t know that.

“Taylor, you can look at me like I’m crazy all you want, but… I know things are gonna get better.” Estela gently took Taylor’s hand in her own. “When you were in the med centre, those first few days… I couldn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. You were gone, and there was no hope. But you came back to me. From nothing, you came back. I’m scared too, no matter how much I try and push it down. Even hard as things are it seems like it’s too good to be true. We can’t listen to those doubts, okay? I believe in a lot of things, but more than anything, I believe in you.”

“Well, at least someone does.” Taylor gave her wife’s hand a squeeze, and offered a grateful smile. “Considering what I clawed myself back from, this could be as good as it gets. But… I guess I’m not done fighting.”

Estela pecked a kiss to Taylor’s cheek, nuzzling close. “Good. I’m glad some of my stubborn streak has rubbed off on you.”

Taylor couldn’t help but chuckle. She was just about to go in for another kiss, when Nicolas marched into the kitchen for a drink of water.

“Buenos días, Tio!”

So… the smooch session was on hold. Resigned to being patient, Taylor reached for her glass of orange juice.

“Estelita, your poor esposa tells me she is having nightmares!” Nicolas announced as he popped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. “You need to be making sure she is nice and relaxed before she goes to sleep. A hot bath would not go amiss. And you should have plenty of sex. The oxytocin will do you both many favours.”

Taylor spluttered into her juice, slopping it down her front, while Estela promptly turned a glowing scarlet.

“Tio!”

“Sex is good for you, mija.”

“Ohmygod!”

Of course, Jake chose that moment to stroll into the room, a shout of laughter giving away what he’d overheard.

“Ya hear that, Katniss? Sex is good for ya.”

The look Estela gave him might have killed a lesser man stone dead on the spot.

“Eh, Lobito, I hope you are not expecting sympathy when she murders you.”

Taylor snorted. “And you will have no one but yourself to blame!”

“Enlighten me, E.T.; what’s all this you’re up to? Taking a break from being nurse to the world’s ugliest dog?”

“That’s Princess E.T. to you,” she retorted, placing a hand over the sleeping animal by her side. “And she’s characterful. Pretty sure she’s a damn sight more attractive than you’d be if you were half starved and crawling with mange.”

“Ten out of ten would not let you in the front door,” Estela said dryly. She looked to Taylor and Fenix with an affectionate glance. Having someone to help out was good for her wife. A few days after the little dog came home and the fire in Taylor’s eyes was once more shining bright. When Estela had suggested the name for the dog, it had not just been an expression of hope for the miserable little creature.

“What I’m up to,” Taylor explained to Jake, “is something like a personal vision board. I’ve been really tripped up by not really knowing who I am in, you know, the real world. Quinn actually suggested this-- I use words and images to make a tangible impression of who this new Taylor is, what I want her to be. The more I think about it… the more I actually see it in front of me… I find it really difficult to separate my sense of self from my friends.”

“Kinda makes sense considering what Vaanu made you for.”

“Yeah… it does. But they didn’t make me with this life in mind. It’s hard to see me fitting.”

Estela grasped Taylor’s free hand, entwining their fingers. “Nope. You fit perfectly. See? It’s just a case of you finding your feet.”

Taylor exchanged a look with Jake. It wasn’t that simple. She’d been created for a purpose, and she’d fulfilled it. How would she even relate to people beyond that world? It would have to be built up slowly. Her friends had ensured she left La Huerta with a plausible life story to parrot, a medical history, even a collection of fabricated childhood anecdotes. Anything more that was a matter of time; she’d be built into a semblance of a real human being through her stumbling experiences.

“I’m serious, carińa! You know it doesn’t help you to see yourself as something set apart. Vaanu created a human person-- not anything else. The human experience isn’t defined by just one thing.”

Jake shrugged. “Eh, that ain’t a bad point, if I’m honest. Not a soul outside anyone you’ve told is gonna think of you as anything but what you look like; and that’s the same slightly irritatin’ human woman that came barging into my cockpit. Ain’t as if anyone’d believe who you are if you even tried tellin’ ‘em.”

Taylor frowned. They couldn’t get it; not really. How was she supposed to see herself as anything other than an outsider when her very body seemed intent on telling her that she was incompatible with this life.

“Look, I know you guys are trying to help, but I really don’t want to talk about that. I want to focus on recovery… on who I am in the here and now.” Maybe to them that was one and the same, but to Taylor, there was a big difference. She didn’t want to hear reassurances of how human she was-- she wanted to just be that human.

Jake put his hands up and backed away, but Estela simply held her wife’s gaze, thoughtful, then nodded.

“I guess I can’t really help you with what to put on this collage-thing-- what with the whole point being that it’s personal-- but I’ll dig out some old papers and magazines. And if you want any pictures printed….”

“Thanks,” Taylor said warmly, offering a squeeze of Estela’s fingers. Even in her gratitude for the subject being dropped, something had been stirred; was she making an outsider of herself? Could it be that she was her own worst enemy? If she’d never uncovered the truth of her being, would she be so scared now? The Taylor who arrived on La Huerta did so with no hang-ups about how she’d fit with others; she just got on and did it. That Taylor wouldn’t be drowning in this cursed self-doubt.

___________________

The little dog, Fenix, made for good company. There were no preconceived expectation to meet, and it was refreshing. Nursing the dog back to health had occupied most of Taylor’s past few days, and it had been a welcome point of focus. Fenix wasn’t in the best shape, and the thought of having a recuperation buddy actually did a lot to lift Taylor’s spirits. If nothing else, she was grateful that she at least didn’t have mange.

The sight of Fenix rolling contentedly onto her back made Taylor smile. It seemed she’d managed to put the sickly animal at ease. That ability to reach people-- and mangy little dogs, apparently-- was one part of herself she was sure of. To be building new relationships, with Nicolas and Fenix, gave her the confidence boost she’d sorely needed”.

“Okay, pupper. See if you can help me with this. I’ve got to do some kind of representation of my future. Whatever the hell that looks like for someone like me.”

The basics were simple. She’d be by Estela’s side. They’d have a child together-- even before Taylor had decided to sacrifice the alien part of herself to restore the world, the two of them had discussed that. She would remain close to her friends, now family for all intents and purposes. More than that… did she really need to have it all worked out?

Maybe it would help.

In spite of herself, Taylor pouted. It’s not as if I even know if I’ll physically recover. Maybe… small goalposts are gonna be more helpful.

She jotted down some notes; small goals…. ‘Go on hikes with Estela’-- they used to go on long walks all the time back on La Huerta. ‘Lean some Spanish’… if nothing else but to see the gobsmacked look on Nicolas’ face. ‘Survive first year of college without worrying too much about picking a direction’…. ‘feel in control of my own body’… ‘take more baths, have more massages-- basically, anything to get me to actually relax’. She tickled Fenix under the chin, and chuckled to herself as the dog groaned happily. “Get this little lady on her feet and living her best life.”

Progress, though, quickly ground to a halt. Self-reflection was tiring, and Taylor simply couldn’t handle tiring. With a hand to her forehead, she looked down upon the jumbled mess before her-- at least in that way it was a fairly accurate representation of the woman she was. It felt pointless. Quinn’s idea had been lovely in the abstract, but all this just hammered home that she was building something from scratch. Her eyes stung. It was crystal clear that she’d been fooling herself; a bit of positive thinking and visualisation wasn’t going to make a human being out of a glorified lump of stardust.

“Taylor, if this is only making you more stressed, you should take a break,” Estela said calmly from the doorway-- how long she’d been standing there, Taylor couldn’t be sure. “The whole idea is to help your recovery.”

Taylor hunched over, her eyes stinging. Torn between letting it all pour forth, taking comfort in her partner, and holding back and keeping up the crumbling facade of some easy happy ever after; she froze, all the while tears wove their tracks down her cheeks. Then, two strong arms took her from behind, carrying away the burden of choice. She sobbed.

Why am I falling apart like this?

After a long while of simply being held, caressed, kissed through her tears, Taylor found her voice.

“I thought I knew who I was. I guess… the fact that I don’t physically feel like me right now… it… it makes all the other things stick out to me so much more. All the ways I don’t fit.”

Estela nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense. It… it must be hard.”

“‘Stel… are we insane to think I could just waltz into Hartfeld and just be another student? I never even went to school; people are gonna see right through me. I’m scared, ‘Stel. Of being some kind of broken half-person who can never be what you deserve.”

“Amor, no--”

Taylor shook her head. “I know how much you love me. You’d never say those things or even think them… but I might not be the same woman you fell in love with. Back then, I was ‘Taylor, Hartfeld student kicking ass on crazy island’, not ‘Taylor, sad little alien that might not ever be close to keeping up with you ever again’.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate a good badass streak… but everything I fell in love with is still here. I’m looking at it right now, and falling in love all over again.”

“I’m not even human.”

Estela gave her wife a hard, penetrating look. No way would she let that go.

“Look at me. Your favourite flowers are sunflowers. Your favourite food is ice cream-- strawberry. To you, a day when you haven’t given out, like, ten hugs, is a day wasted. If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, it would be Princess Bride, which I find personally amusing, but Back to the Future would be your close second choice. You’re more clued up about world issues than most of the people I shared a lecture theatre with in college, and you actually care. You might have just appeared on some magical tropical island a year ago, but you know all the words to songs I’ve never even heard of. You never needed a high school education-- it’s all there, innate to you. More than that… more than anything, you’ve got more humanity in your little finger than most people have in their whole bodies. That person who came and sat with me on that first night on La Huerta… she wasn’t just a human being, she was a wonderful human being. You are and always will be.” Estela brushed Taylor’s hair out her eyes, seeking her gaze. When she found it, those sapphire eyes were welling. “I just… you’ve gotta know that. I know it’s hard-- God, I just want to make it easier for you… for you to see it. And we’re gonna keep building your strength up. It’s okay that this is getting you down-- that’s only natural--, but I won’t let you stay down. It’s your corner I’m fighting in now.”

“Thank you. For always knowing what to say… and for making me feel so, so loved.”

“It’s only because you are.”

“I love you too.”

“We’re getting through this, okay? We need a solid plan. All these things we’re doing that help… but there’s no routine, no targets-- you can’t see how far you’ve come.”

“So… you’re gonna be my personal trainer? Just like old times.”

“Well, kind of. We don’t have the threat of you dropping dead to worry about, so it’s definitely gonna be more pleasant than preparing you to return Vaanu’s essence. And I’ll be taking things a lot gentler.”

“Oh, thank god.”

Estela couldn’t hold back a giggle. And the sound of it, the airiness… and the sight of that once-so serious face scrunched up in mirth, it tickled Taylor until she was laughing herself.

“I mean it though. I love you, so damn much.” Catching her breath back, Taylor looked down beside the table, where Fenix was now fast asleep. Peaceful. There was something kind of satisfying about seeing that. A little sign that Taylor might just still be capable of doing something worthwhile. She needed more of that feeling. Much more.

She brought a finger to Estela’s chin, and let her eyes speak her desire.

“Hey… the dog’s sleeping, no one’s home…. I could really use some nice feelings right now, if you wanted to take this to the bedroom.”

Concern furrowed Estela’s brow, and it made Taylor laugh all over again.

“I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I was to tired. We can just take it slow.” As usual. She was pretty sure there was a joke to be had there about a worst case scenario in which at least she’d die happy, but she kept it to herself. Too soon. Besides, it wasn’t important. Something else was on Taylor’s mind.

The smile slowly returned to Estela’s face. “I won’t say I’m not tempted,” she said quietly. “Okay, fine, I’d love that.”

As Estela settled on the bed, Taylor carefully pulled the door closed, not wanting to wake Fenix from much-needed rest. She looked at her wife, waiting there for her, all tenderness and affection, and felt a rush of warmth. There could never be any discomfort in expressing what she needed, not here. Estela was her safe place.

“I… actually wanted to try something different,” she said, slowly moving toward the bed. When Estela’s quirked eyebrow gave away her interest, Taylor continued, pink spots blossoming upon her cheeks. “You know how I’ve been feeling like I’ve got no control… like I’m just along for the ride in my own body…? Well, I want, I guess, the opposite.”

Estela nodded solemnly, but a matching blush rose up on her face. “Oh, you want to be in charge. Are you thinking a… um… bondage… kind of… thing?”

Ignoring the raging heat that had flushed her skin, Taylor responded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Something like that. If you’re open to giving it a try?”

Having shrugged off a pesky layer or two of clothes, Estela settled into the pillows and offered her wrists. She watched with smoldering eyes as Taylor rummaged through her La Huerta luggage until she came across a scarf.

With gentle hands, taking time to caress along Estela’s sensitive inner arms, Taylor carefully secured a knot, then slipped out of her clothes-- all the while, butterflies danced in her stomach. The kind of trust involved here was… a lot. Complete vulnerability should have been against everything life had hammered into Estela, and yet she looked comfortable. Okay-- more than comfortable.

“You’re sure this is okay? Just-- I’ll stop the second you--”

“Taylor. I know. I wanna try this. So, now you’re in charge.” Estela settled back into the mattress, her glittering eyes poring over her wife’s scantily clad figure. Have me.

One hand remaining firm on Estela’s tied wrists, Taylor let the other trail downwards, dancing a slow dance across supple shoulders criss-crossed with faded scars.

“Close your eyes.”

Estela did so, though not before meeting Taylor’s gaze with a smirk clearly intended to make her lover go to pieces.

“Oh, god,” Taylor hissed out as the warm throb between her legs heightened. She took a moment to catch her breath. This was another area in which her confidence had taken a knock, but she was safe and loved, and knew she could take all the time she needed. She leaned close, and began to touch, to feel, responding to the soft whines and moans of pleasure that followed in her wake.

Some time later, after a few stops and starts, for rest breaks were something Taylor now simply had to accept, the two lovers lay entwined in one another’s arms.

“That… was nice.”

Taylor collapsed into breathless giggles. “’Nice’? That’s the review I get?”

“I’m sorry, it’s not my fault I can’t throw a sentence together right now. Most of the things I’m feeling are kind of… too big for words.”

“Yeah? Well, I guess I can take the compliment.”

“You should. I am so lucky.”

“Not nearly as lucky as me.” Taylor sighed contentedly, snuggling against Estela’s shoulder and appreciating the joyful hum that rumbled from her throat. “It just felt so good, to feel like I’m actually in control of something, to not be helpless. So, thanks for giving me that.”

Estela flushed. “When I say it’s my pleasure, you don’t know the half of it.”

Giddy, Taylor couldn’t hold back the laughter. For the first time in a long time, her body felt simply light, no longer an anchor dragging her down. As Estela gave into giggles herself, the tickling bounce of her stomach only served to chase out one laugh after another, until Taylor found herself spent.

“I love you…” she gasped. Her body ached all over, but it was the happiest kind of exhaustion, without a trace of the frustration that had plagued her. She’d stopped fighting it, and as it turned out, her body was still hers.

“I love you too, mi vida. With every beat of my heart.”

Taylor gazed adoringly into Estela’s dark eyes and knew home. How is it even possible for someone so tough and prickly to be utterly soft? Of course, she knew, the hard outer shell was itself a force of love. As long as you’ve got her, you’re indomitable.

“I guess we’ll see if Tio’s right about the oxytocin helping with the nightmares.”

Estela snorted. “Joder-- I’d never hear the end of it. Whatever works, I guess… but I still think we should keep up the meditation before bed tonight.”

“A bit of clearing out the old noggin never hurt anyone.” Taylor grinned, and pecked a kiss to her lover’s cheek. “It’s like… the more I’ve been scared, the more tired I get, just from the worrying. Well, I’m done. The new Taylor might be a little frustrated with her limitations, but she’s done being scared by them.”

Pulling Taylor ever closer, Estela kissed her deeply, then pressed her forehead gently to hers.

“This is how you’re gonna get better,” she said. “By ramping up the self-care. If it’s knitting a jumper for our sad, naked dog, or taking two or three baths a day, or curling up with me in a hammock and watching the world go by. I think… in this instance, fighting looks like… like letting go. Like enjoying the quiet moments, and letting your body rest and heal.”

Taylor nestled into the blanket, and slid down so that her face was tucked against the sensitive crook of Estela’s neck. I’ve been such an idiot.

“I’d over-think myself to death if I could,”she sighed. “And I’d miss all of this in the process. You.” Her lips tickled a teasing trail of kisses down to her love’s collarbone. Maybe she’d been so focused on the impossibility of her being her, alive and with a life by Estela’s side, that she’d been fighting it. Fighting herself. Sabotaging her own happiness, her own body, with fear. Maybe she didn’t need to fear letting Estela down.

The ‘new’ Taylor, was, after all, just the old Taylor. And she was enough.

#endless summer #playchoices #es fanfic #choices fanfiction #estela montoya #estela x mc #wlw

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youbloodymadgenius · 4 years

Text

Along the Silk Road - Broken (Ivar x reader)

(spoiler free!)

A/N: This was requested by @surrendertotheunknown. Sorry it took me so long! I was very conflicted: smut or not? There’s no smut in this one, but a second - smutty - part is possible. Let me know - all of you - if you’re interested!

I wrote this in English first - the French version on Wattpad is a translation. It’s the first time I’ve done this, but definitely not the last 😉

@inforapound, you’re the best and the most supportive beta ever! 💖💖💖

Request:

Warnings: Ivar’s inner demons; angst; fluff (?) at the very end.

Words: 2042

So many noises and sounds, colours, smells, scents... All different, all strange…

So many new feels…

Sometimes, like now, it’s so overwhelming it's hard for him to breathe.

Nonetheless, he's grateful for that because it keeps him from thinking. Thinking kills him so he drowns in this world he doesn't understand.

Laughter and smiles. Many smiles. Too many for his restless mind, his tormented soul. Though he can't help smiling back, feeling a little silly.

He feels dizzy.

Screams and exclamations in a language he doesn't comprehend.

Children, dressed in rags, but who seem genuinely happy.

Men with engraved face and tanned skin, shouting from stall to stall, laughing out loud.

Animals like he's never seen before, colorful birds, huge snakes.

And the women… their skin darker than his own, their hazelnut eyes, their long smooth hair… They are so beautiful… Entrancing… Their female curves, the softness of their features, their smooth, delicate faces…

They radiate such tenderness; such kindness…

They are different from the women back in Kattegat. Less muscular, less athletic. They seem to be more genuine, maybe more ingenious too… More truthful than Freyd…

Feeling nauseous at that thought, he forces himself to focus on something else. Unexpected colors, surprising scents. He's looking for anything, truly, to escape from his depressed, troubled mind.

***

"We are going to stay here for one night, maybe two!" Thorsten's rough voice startles him, bringing him back to the present moment. Confused, he blinks several times. "How? Why ?"

"Your cart needs to be fixed. Horses are tired. Men are tired. We all need to rest. We are traveling day and night for so long, Ivar. Even if Bjorn's men are after us, and I doubt it, we can afford at least a proper night's sleep."

Looking at his man, he weighs his options. He'd like to keep moving forward, even without a goal, but he's exhausted. His legs hurt like hel and his back is sore from sleeping on the floor.

Tilting his head, he slightly nods. "Where then?"

"Over there." Pointing to a small farm not far away, Thorsten explains. "The owner is a merchant. He doesn't live there. It was his stepfather's farm I think. When he died, the merchant couldn't bring himself to sell it. Whatever, we're allowed to stay. The guys and I will sleep in the barn. For one more coin, I got you to sleep in the house, in the one room. The barn girl will bring us bread and water."

***

Sitting on the bed, cutting his beard, a sharp blade in his hand, he doesn't see you looking at him from the threshold. Clearing your throat, he raises his head and finally acknowledges your presence as you slowly enter the room.

Never taking his eyes off you, he watches you getting closer to him. Putting on the table next to the bed the heavy tray you're carrying, you point it out, showing him the food you brought in. Some bread, as you master told you, and chicken that you decided to add on your own, thinking the stranger might be someone important since he had been allowed to sleep in the only room.

Glancing quickly around, the crutches and the leg braces you notice against the wall make you realize he's the cripple you heard about earlier. A Viking, it seems. Maybe even a king. You don't really care who he is. The only thing you care about is the sadness in his eyes, so deep that you can hardly bear it. You want, you need to help.

Taking a step forward, you stretch out your hand before putting it on his, both of your hands now grabbing the knife's handle. He freezes, startled and somewhat baffled, unsure of what your intentions are. But he knows you won't harm him. How could you? You're so small, almost frail.

Staring at you, he can see that you're shy but not scared, as you hold his gaze. You gently put your free hand on his messy beard, your eyes asking for permission.

Conflicted, but mostly dumbfounded; that's exactly how he feels.

The old Ivar would have pushed you away, frightened you, surely even threatened. But he's not that man anymore. Or a king. Or a god. He's barely Ivar. He's a stranger, a runaway. A nobody. That's who he is now. A nobody. A nobody deprived of human touch for so long, craving immensely for your kindness, your gentleness and the warmth radiating from your hand resting on his.

Giving in, allowing himself to be weak, he eventually nods at you quietly and you sit down on the bed, next to him, smiling tentatively. Allowing you to take the blade, he closes his eyes for a moment, breathing out a sigh before resting his hands on his lap.

"Y/N." Whispering, you're almost startled by your own voice.

Words are useless, as you don't know his language and he doesn't know yours. Nevertheless, you feel the need to bond with him; to break his loneliness, even in the slightest way.

His eyes wide open, looking at you bewilderingly, he furrows his brows. "Y/N." Blushing shyly, you keep repeating yourself, your index finger pointing at yourself. "Y/N." One more time.

Suddenly his face brightens, a faint smile curling up his mouth. Mimicking your gesture, his hands points at his own chest. "Ivar."

You nod, showing him you understand, before repeating softly, "Ivar." His smile widens slightly, not even reaching his eyes, but it's enough, you don't need more.

Raising the knife, you release a breathe and get to work cautiously.

***

As so often, he doesn't sleep, fighting his own slumber. Tossing and turning in bed, he sighs heavily, trying to chase away the awful memories from his mind.

Baldur…Freydis... Joined lately by Sigurd.

They are haunting him, endlessly. It's easier during the day. But at night, he's alone. If he falls asleep, it's only to be woken by nightmares. Horrific nightmares. Worse than any he's ever had. Worse than his mother's death. Worse than the shipwreck. Terrifying to the point he doesn't want to sleep. He doesn't know how much longer he can bear to relive their deaths, over and over again. So, he doesn't sleep, racked with guilt.

Exhausted. Exhausted and in pain. That's how he feels, how he is. The sharp physical pain is often overwhelming. He's used to it. Mental pain, on the other hand… He's never felt anything like this before, even when his mother and father died. For the first time in his life, there's no anger left. Just guilt. And an infinite sadness that consumes him day after day, night after night, hour after hour… He doesn't know how to cope.

As he sits in bed, his back resting against the wall, a single tear runs down his cheek.

***

It's far from dawn but you're already busying yourself, making bread for Ivar and his men, who will leave, or not, in a few hours. Either way, they'll be starving when they wake.

"Ivar.” A whisper. You love the way his name rolls off your tongue. "Ivar…"

His huge, dejected eyes haunting your mind, you can't stop thinking about him. What has he been through? Why such grief? You lose your train of thought as you hear a muffled noise. Sobs. There's no one else here, so it has to be him.

Grabbing a candle while rushing toward the room, you poke your head around the half-open door. There he is, crying.

Getting closer, you clear your throat so he'll notice you're there. Looking up slowly at you, tears streaming down his cheeks, his puffy eyes meet yours but you're not sure he sees you. But you can see. The sadness in his gaze seems excruciating. You want to help. You need to.

Without a second thought, you grasp the cloth you left earlier on the table, soaking it into a water bucket intended for his morning wash.

"Ivar." Whispering, you sit down next to him on the makeshift bed, wiping his face gently. A simple gesture, the one your mother used to make when you had a bad dream. At first, he doesn't react, his breathing uneven, his features contracted.

Hoping to soothe him, you put a hand on his chest, still whispering his name as he rocks his head slowly from side to side, sobbing.

"Shh… Ivar…"

All of a sudden, he finally gazes into your eyes, grabbing your wrists. You startle but don't have time to be scared, as he starts talking, his words rushed.

"I am so tired, Y/N. I'm tired of being in pain. I'm tired of being myself. A failure." Hiccupping, he swallows. When he speaks again, it's in a shaky voice. "A… a monster. That's who I am. I killed them. I loved them and yet I killed them. How… How am I supposed to live? I… I should have let Bjorn kill me. I can't anymore. I can't, Y/N."

Ivar's face crumbles as violent sobs wrack his body and make it seem like he might shake apart.

You may not understand his words, but you know what it is. Loneliness. Despair. Torment. Suffering. This man is lost. Distraught. Hopeless. Broken.

"Ivar…” You wish you could tell him it is going to be okay. But you cannot. Because you don't speak his language, clearly; and you don't know that for sure, not wanting to lie.

Therefore, you do the only thing you can. Stretching out your hand, you pull him into your chest, wrapping your arms around him, hoping to provide comfort. He doesn't fight back, leaning forward, his head on your shoulder, his tears on your dress.

He cries for what seems like forever, and you let him. One hand on his back, the other in his hair, humming a lullaby, you gently cradle him.

Finally, he calms down, pulling away, his swollen eyes full of gratitude and you smile before softly stroking his face. His skin is warm beneath your palm. Your lips graze his cheek as your hand faintly squeezes his arm. His slight smile warms your heart as much as it relieves you. He feels better now and you can leave.

Barely moving away from him, his hand grasp yours, preventing you from going.

"Stay."

You don't know the words, but the silent prayer in his eyes is unmistakable, perfectly clear. Sighing to yourself, you cannot deny him.

Closing your eyes, thinking for a moment about your chores, already well underway, you eventually nod and are rewarded with a smooth smile. Shifting in the bed, Ivar adjusts his legs, wincing briefly before lying down, silently requesting you to do the same as one of his hands softly grabs your arm.

"Please, hold me tight, Y/N.” Begging eyes, hesitant voice, he seems almost scared, like a little boy, reminding you of Babak, your baby brother. If you needed it, this sweet memory is enough to convince you.

You slip without a doubt into the sheets and lie down, careful not to touch his legs but he immediately draws you close, his powerful arms lifting you up like you're a twig.

"Thank you." Whispering, he buries his head into the crook of your neck, silent tears returning as you wrap your arms around him once again. "Shh… Ivar….”

Tightening his grip, you can feel him relaxing, holding you tight as if wanting your bodies to melt together. You are sure that tomorrow your skin's will be bruised showing the signs of his need for you. It doesn't matter. Tonight, only Ivar matters. It's all about him.

Humming once more, a chill goes down your spine as he awkwardly croons, apparently pleased with you. Yet, he soon falls silent, allowing you to get lost in the beauty of the moment. The peacefulness is nearly exhilarating, putting a smile of hope on your lips. Everything is fine. And maybe Ivar will be fine, too.

Eventually, his breathing gets deeper, slow and steady. One arm across your chest, his head on your shoulder and your legs intertwined, he's finally sleeping.

"شببخیرایوار"

Muttering, you kiss his forehead before closing your eyes. For now, he's fine.

🛡⚔️🛡

A/N: " شببخیرایوار"= Good night, Ivar"

@gearhead66 @lisinfleur @honestsycrets @waiting4inspiration @saldelys @readsalot73

#vikings #vikings imagine #ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar vikings #ivar imagine #vikings ivar #ivar x reader

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bangtanoneshotsx · 4 years

Text

First and Last Time Leaving You-Jimin

Two pairs of small shoes sat by the front door. They were placed just in-between a pair of sneakers and flats. The shoes had been a gift from Namjoon, he found them in a small store when he was abroad in Italy, bringing them back as one of the only presents he remembered to get. With a sigh, Jimin dropped his bag down in front of the door. Hearing a small thud, he turned, finding you carrying one twin while the other had attached themselves to your leg, a grin on his face as he enjoyed the ride.

“You ready?” You asked softly, already noticing the small glistening of his eyes.

“Nope.” His voice was small as he dropped to his knees, opening his arms for the twin that was attached to your leg to waddle towards him. With a laugh, Jimin almost stumbled backwards with the force that his son threw himself. Lifting him up and placing him on his hip, he turned to look at you again.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay? I can call Namjoon and tell him you need me, I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” His words seemed to race out his mouth, his eyes wide. Giving a giggle, you shook your head.

“We’ll be fine. You’ve already taken a year out, I don’t think you can take any more time. Anyway, you love performing.” Another sigh escaped Jimin as he looked over at the twin in his arms before looking at the one in yours.

“I know. It’s just...I’ll miss you guys.” His voice became soft as it wavered slightly. As much as you could manage, you stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Jimin, pulling him into a hug. The truth was, you’d miss him too. Of course, this wasn’t your first time away from him while he was on promotions, but it was the first time since you had given birth. The management had given BTS a break ever since you had given birth. It had given the boys much needed time with their families, and for Jimin it let him explore the first year of fatherhood without missing milestones.

While the year had been great, the end of normality had always been looming over the two of you. The end of the break always seeming to be so far away until it wasn’t. Until Jimin received a phone call from Namjoon telling him they needed him in the studio. Until they were learning a new dance, until they had an album released, until he had to go to Japan for promotions.

Despite their young age, the boys could tell something was going on. Jimin had become more clingy in his last couple days, not wanting to miss anything until he absolutely had to.

A chime from his phone broke the silence in the hallway. With a sigh, Jimin went into his pocket, grabbing the device before checking it.

“Car’s here. I need to go.” Even his voice showed his reluctance. With a nod, you sighed, passing your son to Jimin so he could hold them both. Tears now rolled down his cheeks as he kissed each of them on the head, holding them closer to him. With one last sigh, he placed them back onto the ground. Hugging him close to you, you could only reassure him. Trying to fight back your own, you wiped his tears with the pad of your thumb.

“We’ll FaceTime everyday, I’ll send you updates. You won’t miss anything, I promise you.” Your voice was small, wavering slightly. With a nod, Jimin placed a soft kiss on your lips before bending down, ruffling his sons’ hair. Standing up he grabbed his passport and bag. Scanning the three of you one last time, he forced himself out the door.

He knew you stood at the door, probably holding both of his sons. But as he walked down the path towards the black van he didn’t dare look behind him. He knew that if he did, he would run back into the house and never leave.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jimin was exhausted. He panted as he grabbed a water bottle, the sounds of the fans still clear from backstage. The other six boys surrounded him, each in their own world as the adrenaline wore off and tiredness set in. It had been a tough few days, despite keeping fit during the break, Jimin forgot how tiring performing could really be. His phone vibrated in his pocket, your signature pattern making Jimin take out his phone. Instantly, a smile was brought to his face. You had sent a picture of the twins, both sleeping, their hands linking them. Jimin could feel tears reach the brim of his eyes as he read the caption. ‘They miss you’

“God, they look like you.” Jumping slightly at the sudden voice, Jimin looked up to find Taehyung looking over his shoulder at the picture.

“Yeah.” His voice wavered, though pride warmed his heart. “They’re getting bigger every day. It’s scary.” With a laugh, he found a photo taken only a couple days before he left. Each of the boys wearing one of Jimin’s t-shirt as they looked up wonderingly at the camera you held. Taehyung’s boxy grin showed as he took the phone from Jimin, zooming in on the boys’ faces.

“To think you’re a father.” Jimin could only grin, agreeing with his best friend.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jimin’s heart was breaking over and over again. His hands shaking as he scrolled through the photos in his phone. A tear landed on the screen, distorting the picture of the four of you slightly. He lay in bed, the clock on the bedside table warning him of the few hours he had before he had to wake up. All he could do was stare at the pictures from the past year. From the hospital, where the nurse took a picture of him and you, both lying on the hospital bed, holding your sons who were only hours old. The next had the boys by your side, grins covering each of their faces. With a sigh, Jimin flipped to the last one, taken just the day before he left. It was one you had taken very quickly before anyone had noticed. Jimin sat with the twins, both trying to fit in his lap as they played with a pile of blocks. It was slightly blurry, but you could still see the likeness between Jimin and his two sons.

Jimin locked his phone before tossing it down onto the bed. However with his mind still racing, the ache in his heart still there, he picked up the device again. Unlocking it, he quickly found your number, instantly pressing the FaceTime option.

“Hello?” Your croaky voice answered. Jimin couldn’t see you, just hear your voice as you shuffled over in bed.

“Y/N.” His voice broke, a small smile appearing as you turned on the bedside table, your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to get used to the sudden bright light.

“Jimin? What’s wrong?”

“I miss you.” With those three words he broke down. The tears he had been trying to keep back finally breaking loose and rolling down his cheeks.

“We miss you too. But it’s only a couple more days, do you think you can do that?” With a sniffle, Jimin shrugged.

“I don’t know. I just want to be back home.” Your heart was breaking for your husband. You both knew him leaving was going to be difficult, but you weren’t expecting an exhausted, homesick husband to phone you at 4am.

“Do you want to see them?”

“Is that okay?” Jimin whispered out, his heart thudding in his chest.

“Of course.” Stumbling out of bed, you tossed the cover that was slipping off of the bed back.

Quietly, you made your way through the house, still whispering to Jimin. Softly, you opened the boys’ bedroom door. A space themed nightlight was still on, allowing a soft glow to fill the room. Creeping forward you flipped the camera to show the carpet before arriving at one of the beds.

“Can you see them?” You whispered, hoping they stayed asleep. It had been a nightmare to get them to go down, so the last thing you wanted was for them to wake up.

“Yeah.” His heart was warm as he watched his two sleeping sons, the ache in his heart dulling slightly, though he still wished to be there.

“How have they been?” He whispered, watching as you checked the boys one last time before tiptoeing out the room, closing the door softly behind you.

“They’re missing you. I had to play ‘Serendipity’ to get them to sleep.” You gave a small yawn as you sat back on your bed. “We’re all missing you Jimin. When the boys are older they can come with you for short trips, visit you when you’re on tour. It’ll be easier, I promise.” Jimin sniffled, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“I know.”

“Hey, it’s late, you should try to get some sleep.” Jimin shook his head, his mouth open as he was about to protest. However, a yawn slipped out making you give a warm smile.

“Okay.” He sighed, scanning your face once the call fell silent. “I miss you too you know.” You gave a soft smile.

“I know, I’ll be at the airport in three days.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jimin couldn’t get off the airplane quick enough. As soon as the pilot announced that they were close to landing he became restless, his leg bouncing as he waited for the green light.

Finally, they were allowed off. Taking his carry on, he followed a manager and bodyguard through the corridors out to where the fans, and hopefully you stood. Turning back to face the six boys he said goodbye for the night before rushing forward.

There, you stood, a stroller in front of you where the twins patiently waited, distracted by the occasional fan waving at them. As tears began to flow, relief filling him, Jimin dropped his bag, running forwards. Quickly unbuckling the twins from the stroller, he pulled them into a hug. Laughing at their own excitement to see their father.

“Hello to you too.” You laughed as Jimin looked up at you, a guilty smile on his face. Standing up, he made sure he knew where the twins were before bringing you into a hug, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I’ve missed you all so much.” With your arms wrapped around him, the feeling of the twins hugging his legs, Jimin knew he never wanted to leave his family again

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