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dracosathenaeum · 4 years

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Something Precious

Summary: You and Draco realise your feelings for each other when he ends up at the bottom of the Black Lake during the Triwizard tournament that you are a champion for.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!reader

Warnings: Some swear words

Word Count: 2,321

Requested by anon! I hope this meets your expectations 🥺 (I changed the wording slightly, so instead of Treasure, I used precious as it just fitted slightly better here, sorry if it bugs you :3)

“Don’t touch me you filthy little mudblood.” You sighed, why was it always you that had to stand up for the first years. You’d think that by now Draco would’ve gotten used to your scolding and would get bored of picking on the helpless first years.

“Draco! I told you to stop calling the muggle-borns that, lay off the derogatory terms you shit.” You were pretty much the only person (other than the golden trio) that would stand up to Malfoy. But you were however the only one in the school who he would actually listen to. The two of you basically grew up together so you were used to putting up with each other. By now you wondered if Draco only kept picking on the younger years to wind you up.

“I’m just calling them what they are, don’t be upset love.” He said with a wink and his signature smirk. You don’t know when it had started but somewhere along the line, ironic flirting had started between the two of you. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it though.

“I’m not upset Draco darling; I simply want you to take that stick on the floor and stick it up your arse.” Draco flushing a deep pink was worth having to call him these ridiculous pet names.

“Thank you, Y/N!” the little Gryffindor squeaked.

“You’re supposed to be courageous right? Malfoy isn’t even scary, he’s very… ferret like.” And with a wink thrown over your shoulder to Draco, you were on your way. You weren’t by any means popular or well-loved by the school, it was more like you had their respect. You were still a Slytherin after all, you just stood up for the ones Draco and other Slytherins were especially cruel to. Simple name calling you could turn a blind eye to but the hexes and use of “mudblood” was just unnecessary.

That was probably why instead of boos, you simply got applauded when your name was pulled from the goblet. You weren’t in it for the ‘eternal glory’ you were just bored at Hogwarts. These deadly tasks sounded like something to get your mind off of everything, besides now that ‘The Chosen One’ was also competing, you had extra motivation to win the whole thing.

That being said… Potter tipping you off about the first task was probably the single worst feeling you’ve ever had in your life. The feeling of owing someone, let alone Potter, a favour. But he had saved your life, without his tip off you don’t know if you could’ve won that task. I mean it was dragons, DRAGONS. But your victory meant firewhiskey parties in the Slytherin common room for a week straight so you wouldn’t complain too much. You definitely kept it to yourself though, the thought of the rest of your house finding out you were saved by Potter made you shudder.

“Surprised you’re still alive Y/L/N, though I suppose someone has to beat Potter. His head is big enough.”

“Don’t look so happy to see me Malfoy.” Sarcasm dripping from you voice.

5 seconds of eye contact was all it took for you to be pulled into his arms, a breathe you didn’t know you were holding finally being released. You allowed yourself a couple seconds to enjoy to be held, it wasn’t often that you and Draco hugged despite having grown up together.

“I’m glad you’re alive Y/N/N, I need someone other than mudbloods to make fun of.”

“Shut up Malfoy, don’t ruin this.”

“Don’t fall in love with me yeah? I know I’m hot but you’re not really my type, though being a pure blood does help.” Smacking his chest, you pulled away from his hold. “God you are insufferable, now help me figure out how to work this stupid egg so I can tell Potter and not have to owe him anymore.” Draco was your one exception to the ‘tell no one that you owe Potter rule’ you set yourself, besides, you couldn’t hide anything from him. He’d find out sooner or later.

You had spent weeks with that egg, trying to figure out how to open it without the deaf-curdling screams. It was only when you convinced Draco to sneak you into the prefect’s bath (nothing in that dingy castle could compare to the prefect’s bath), that you figured it out. Though it took an awful lot longer to decipher it but being even with Potter again made every blood-curdling screech worth it.

The yule ball was a whole other catastrophe. Watching couples slow dance for hours on end sounded like utter hell to you, which is why you practically threw a fit when you were told champions had to lead the first dance.

“Draco stop laughing at me, they want me to dance; they want me, me to hold some guy against me and dance in front of 3 schools. I was content to stand by the food and make fun of the Weasley’s tattered robes or Potter’s awkward dancing but now I actually have to join in? I should just quit now.”

“You fought dragons Y/N; a dance is nothing. Besides we’ve been going to balls for years, you should be used to it by now.” He did have a point, maybe all those long boring parties your parents would throw would finally serve a purpose for you.

“Pansy’s been trying to corner me for weeks, honestly I’d rather slow dance with your flat arse than hers. Besides, then we could make fun of Weasley together.”

You thought it over but not for very long, you knew he’d be the only one you’d willingly go to the ball with, well the only one you could tolerate for so long that is. Besides, the two of you had made it through countless balls together, what’s one more.

“Fine, but you’re buying me a new dress.”

“What? That wasn’t an invitation? I was just joking. Hang on, you have just as much money as me! Pay for your own damn dress.” You turned and made your way to the girl’s dorms, blowing a kiss towards the flustered blonde on the sofa. “Make sure it’s velvet or silk, nothing cheap either, else I’m telling you mother.”

And that’s how the both of you went to the Yule Ball together. Waltzing like you had done for so many years in the Malfoy manor and stuffing your faces, as you made fun of Ron Weasley’s robes and Potter’s pathetically sad looking face. Though you had to admit, Hermione was the focus of the night, no matter how good you looked in the dress Draco got for you, there was no denying all eyes were on her and the Durmstrang champion. As you climbed into the bed that night, a soft smile stretched across your face, the Yule ball wasn’t so bad with Draco as company you supposed.

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Which brought you to where you are now; stood in the freezing cold ready to dive into the equally freezing water. Calming yourself, you ran through your plan again. Cast the bubble-head charm, collect whatever ‘precious item’ Dumbledore was talking about and once you were out you would find Draco Malfoy and kill him. He had promised he would be there to help you prepare the night before; yet you spent the entire evening alone in the Slytherin common room waiting like some bloody girl being stood up.

You knew you weren’t traditional friends (if you could even call yourselves that) but you thought at the very least he’d be there for you when you really needed him. Swimming had never really been your strong point after watching your cousin drown during your childhood, but that was a story for another day. After all these years, you really thought despite everything he’d be with you when you needed him most.

The canon went off, startling you from your thoughts as you quickly cast you charm and dove into the water, taking a second to adjust to the freezing water and calm your nerves. You really should have learnt a body warming spell. You watched as the other 3 swam straight through the village and watched as Fleur was attacked by Grindylows. “Better her than me.” You thought.

You swam through the murky water and eerie village until you reached four figures afloat in the water. You swam toward them and recognised Weasley and Granger straight away, of course the golden trio would be making an appearance even here. Yet it was the mop of blonde hair that made your heart skip. ‘Something precious has been taken from you.’ Draco was your precious something!? You saw a young girl next to him, probably Fleur’s sister. Why was it Draco who was taken? Why wasn’t it your own sister who was just 3 years younger than you? God you were going to get an earful from the both of them after this.

Swimming closer you realised how gaunt he looked, you felt like you’d never truly looked at his face til this moment in time. Not even when slow dancing that night at the Yule Ball. He looked so different yet so similar to when you first met him at the age of 5. Both of your parents cooing as tubby little Malfoy held his tiny hand out to ask you for a dance.

For once he looked peaceful, rather than the sneer he always had at Hogwarts or his blank look at home around his parents and yours.

You slashed his bonds with a nearby rock, deciding to just get out of the water as soon as possible, you couldn’t bear to be in the water with your heart thumping this fast any longer. Turning to give one last look at Potter you could see the disgust on his face as he stared at the unconscious boy in your arms. You threw a glare and the rock at him before swimming away, feeling slightly sorry for the poor French girl left behind.

You were the first to break out of the water, Krum following shortly behind.

“What?? Where am I? Y/N?!” Draco spluttered, coughing the water from his lungs before wrapping an arm around you and keeping the both of you afloat.

“You can ask questions later, I’m exhausted, can you please just swim us back to the stands.” He didn’t need more instructions, knowing you hated the water, he pulled you against him as he swam straight for the closest stands.

Everyone cheered as the both of you were pulled from the water and wrapped in towels. You had won first place but that was the last thing you were thinking about.

“Draco is your precious item? I always knew there was more going on between you two than you admitted!” You could kill Blaise then and there, you decided. Though you supposed the glare you received from Pansy was worth the humiliation, just a little.

“Y/N? What’s Blaise talking about? All I remember is Professor Snape asking to see me last night as I was walking to meet you in the common room and the next thing I know I’m freezing my ass off in the water with you. I mean is it even legal to do this to a student? My father will be hearing about this.” You could barely meet his eyes at this point, you were just as confused as he was, but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his last comment.

Did you have feelings for Draco? Sure, you grew up together and had a love-hate relationship the whole time but that was the extent of it. You didn’t like Draco, surely, you’d know right?

“Something precious was taken from each of us, Krum got Granger; Potter, Weasley; and Fleur got her sister. I guess Dumbledore thought your sorry arse was precious to me or something.”

“Oooo does my darling Y/L/N have a crush on me? I thought you- and I quote- hated the sight of my stupid face?”

“In your dreams Malfoy, now shut up I want to hear them announce me as the winner.” In reality you could care less about the announcement, just wanting to change the subject as fast as possible. Your eyes went to Potter, along with everyone elses, as he shot out the water like a bloody dolphin. You would give him credit where credit was due though, saving just Draco was hard enough, Potter had saved both Weasley and the Delacour girl.

“You know, if you wanted me all you had to do was ask? Obviously, I’m very attractive and my father is very important but don’t be intimidated-”

“Shut up you git.” God if he wasn’t going to shut his stupid mouth, you’d make him, one way or another. The ‘other way’ as it happened was you grabbing his face between your palms and pressing your lips to his.

Draco wrapped his arms around you to pull you closer, deepening the kiss. You giggled into the kiss as everyone around you cheered; you didn’t think you were a fan of PDA but after kissing Malfoy, you couldn’t care less. You pulled away and nuzzled yourself into him, the both of you still ice cold from the swim but hearts beating fast.

You never thought you’d get a boyfriend from this tournament but being there in his arms, despite freezing your ass off, you were happier in that moment than you had been in a long time. There was nowhere you’d rather be.

“Be my girlfriend?”

“Shut up and kiss me Malfoy.” You both smiled into the kiss, loving how natural it felt to be with him like this. Completely ignoring the winner’s announcements and instead focusing on how happy you felt.

Life was looking more bearable by the second.

Well until you got killed by Voldemort that is.

I See The Light can be read as a loose sequel describing this moment

#A/N: I literally had the HP wiki page open the entire time, it’s my first time writing a changed story line, something with a proper plot. I hope it was okay, please let me know if I got anything wrong or if something should be improved! Also sorry for the crappy ending :33

Thank you for reading!

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#draco #Draco Malfoy #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy x reader #harry potter #triwizard au #triwizard cup #triwizard tournament #Harry Potter fic #Draco Malfoy imagine #draco fic

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flirtyhyuck · 3 years

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Floor 1 - Incubus Haechan

; haechan x gender neutral reader

; incubus haechan, slight religious talk, suggestive, dubcon, demonic aphrodisiac

; 2.4k wc

; The entire room is painted black. The only thing you can see is your friend’s phone screen and the flickering orange light illuminating the elevator itself. It’s old fashion; dark-stain wood plank walls with a vintage scissor gate. The metal looks rusty and you’re afraid to touch it. You step into the small box alone, waving off your friend and nervously reading the attraction brochure for the fifteenth time. It’s creepily vague with way too bold of a font and too many colours.

Welcome to Elevator 127!

Come make an appearance at a spooky Halloween attraction unlike any haunted house you’ve ever seen. Pick a floor for an eerie hour with any of our paranormal members. Free of charge too! Pass the elevator doors and enter their realm far from any experience you’ve ever had.

Select your floor...

The very first listing in the brochure is for an incubus named Haechan; 606 years old, male (in human form), and Korean. There’s nothing but his information printed with what looks like a stamp of a sigil; two circles, one big and small, with three crosses meeting at their ends in the middle , laid 90 degrees separate from one another, with a flicked tail coming from the center. Lilith spells itself out between the edges of the circles in all capitals.

You scan the rest of the options but end up back at Haechan’s section. It’s best to go in order, he’s only a floor up and all the rest are placed in a drastic range from one another. You fold up the brochure and shove it into your back pocket, crumpling up the paper slightly, and scan the button selection for his floor. The pad is a painted rectangle with ten black, circular buttons, arranged in five rows with his placed alone at the very top. It’s damp when you press and you go to check your hands in the case it was your own sweat, grimacing when you find that there’s now a clear sheen on your right pointer.

With a final close of the door, you wipe your finger onto the thin brochure paper that peeks out and stand patiently as the elevator leisurely makes its way up. The floors were either built far apart or this old lift was taking its time on the way there. You check your phone for the time, feeling as if five minutes had already passed just for a single floor, and raise a brow when the device doesn’t turn on. How cliche, you think.

The elevator gently comes to a stop, so naturally that you wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for the slight squeak that sounds when it halts. You press the door button and watch it squeak open, revealing a dim, red room with candles placed all over its wooden black furniture.

A second later, the view is obstructed by a large puff of smoke, a black cloud appearing out of nowhere to drift away in skinny tendrils from the body standing in the middle of it. You guess that this is Haechan. He’s a younger-looking man, an innocent face with a teasing smile and soft but prominent jawline. He’s got caramel skin with the reddest of lips, colour resembling the dark shade of horns that peek through his curled, light brown hair. He’s dressed in all black, head to toe varying from sheer mesh to worn leather in the dark shade.

“Hi,” he giggles as an introduction, a glittering in his black eyes and pearly whites. The man tilts his head like a curious puppy, eyes opening even wider with wonder, and he eyes you up and down before carrying on, “I’m Haechan, demon name is Donghyuck.”

You stand in shock, still taking in the sudden appearance of the incubus and his simple introduction. The first thing you do is give him your own name in a small mumble, biting your lip nervously. His eyes focus on the action with fervor, gaze so strong you swear you can feel a slight burn begin to bubble your skin on the exact spot.

He chuckles when you turn away, blinking in a lethargic manner before taking a step back and directing you into his room with a wave of two fingers. You walk in with a deep breath and the moment your body enters the room, the gate slams shut with a crash and plunges down so fast you can hear gusts of air follow behind it. How lucky that you didn’t have to experience that speed.

The first thing you notice is how warm it is here compared to the elevator, air stuffy, and dense. Your cheeks take in the warmth as you steady for proper breathing, adjusting to the thicker air as you take in the room properly. There’s a king-sized bed against the center of the left wall, covered in red satin and black lace lined sheets. With a proper inspection, the room is actually furnished like any other, only standing out due to its intimate and monotone colour palette. Besides the giant sigil that’s painted onto the center of the floor, identical to the brochure.

“Thanks for choosing my floor, doll. I was getting bored,” he smiles, still not moving an inch. His posture is like that of a statue, the only sense of life is the smile on his lips. With his hands crossed in front of his hips, he continues speaking with a charming lilt in a honey-coated voice, “the only rule on my floor is absolutely no religious or silver jewellery. Go put them in the box behind you.”

You spin around and make your way to the small glass box, open and waiting, before discarding any accessories that seem to be against his rule. The moment your necklace is off your skin and onto the box, you feel Haechan’s body stood a centimetre from your own. Leaning over your shoulder, he watches you drop the last of your rings into the box before whispering, “can I touch you?”

You barely get halfway through a nod before Haechan eagerly wraps his arms around your waist, pressing you against his own body. His skin is searing hot, only slightly hidden by the heat absorption of his clothing. The part that stands out the most is his bare fingers, ungloved, and laid on your sides. There’s a gradual sweltering feeling that forms like a branding print and your body begins to panic at the feeling, needing to run from the danger of burns this very moment. Except you lean into it, the slight numbing feeling worryingly satisfying the more you hold out. Sustaining the touch makes it more intense, more terrifying, yet when his hand drifts up to clutch at a different spot, the fresh searing feel has shivers flying down your spine.

“Close your eyes, doll,” he mutters into your nape. Your eyelids shut without any added thought of his order, lips parting in a slight gasp at the touch of his breath against your exposed skin. It’s overwhelming and you feel your brain go fuzzy, zeroing in on that singular spot and the throb that comes with every exhale .

His hand finds your jaw next, the touch burning just as much as the last, and with a firm hold, Haechan physically gets you to look over your shoulder. With a drowsy blink, you open your eyes to the dizzying sight of his face leaning in to capture your lips in a kiss. Your mind blanks immediately; senses working in overdrive so that all you can make out is static, you’ve forgotten how to breathe and there’s no way to feel if you’re kissing Haechan back properly.

The demon pulls back with a lewd pop, licking away the spit all over his lips with a swipe of his forked tongue before murmuring for you to open your eyes again. “You can relax now, baby.”

The action of blinking open is painfully difficult, eyelids insanely sluggish and head so heavy that even the low luminescence of candle-light is enough to have you wince. You open your mouth to speak but can only manage a smile, tongue lazy after the haze. He doesn’t look nearly as worn out as you, the exact opposite actually. His breathing is slow and controlled, expression alert and attuned to each and every one of your actions.

“I’ll let you relax,” he huffs with a simper, “I’ll have to calm down on how much I take, you’re more sensitive than I thought.” As if to check that truth, Haechan runs his pointer down your neck and follows the movement to the middle of your chest with a light scratch, digging into the midway point of your pelvis before letting go with an amused hum. You visibly shudder.

He pulls away and wanders to the other side of the room. The distance clears your head instantly, muscles gaining their strength back from the jello state they were in just a moment ago. Regaining the ability to breathe feels like a blocked nose finally clearing up after a week long fever and you take deep, desperate inhales, savouring the sensation of your lungs filling properly. Sitting up, you watch Haechan walk over to the glass box and examine the contents through the clear material curiously.

You startle realising you were no longer near the glass box, suddenly you were on a completely different side of the room watching it from a distance away. “What the fuck,” you whisper, gulping down the confusion and panting in fear. Your hands fly up and you look between them and the box so quickly your neck might snap if you do another two. The sleeves of your shirt fall down your forearm to reveal your skin, allowing access to cooling. You relish in the feeling of crisp air on your skin, exceptionally torrid, so much so you swear that you can feel the layer sizzling against one another.

“Don’t worry,” Haechan smirks, licking across his perfectly straight teeth with a calm gaze that only serves to panic you more. “I moved you to the bed while we were kissing.” There’s no shame in his voice, only a hint of pride when recalling the actions, but he’s so infuriatingly indifferent that you feel a whine crawl up your throat, feeling ignored.

Right, you think, inhaling once and twice to ground yourself after that blanking bliss. The satin is damp under your hands and it holds onto your legs surprisingly well, latching onto the sweat that has formed between before and now. “What happened to me?” you ask, breathless.

He stands up from where he was leaning over the box, strolling over the small distance with a slight smirk and watchful eyes. “You get weak when we touch,” he explains with a drag of his words, “having your essence isn’t the most powerful feeling after all.”

“My essence?” The saliva in your mouth is grossly thick, vicious, and somewhat salty. You’re dehydrated. There’s a bottle of water on the bedside table and you gulp half of it down in one go, forgoing the need to breathe in exchange for the cool liquid. The preparation is oddly excessive but you appreciate it nonetheless, necking the second half after less than ten seconds of being out of breath.

He watches you drink with a clouded gaze. The glaze in his eyes have disappeared, black irises dulling in emotion before expanding beyond their circumference, colouring part of his whites. You stare as they change and take a deep breath to control the fearful confusion of the sight. The night was strange enough, anymore questioning and your head would explode. Your lips, swollen and wet with more than just his spit is a delightful sight and Haechan feels himself grow impatient. “Are you ready to continue?” he hurries, trying his best to hide the hunger in his chest.

Continue with what, you don’t know, but there was absolutely no way you could take sitting around and doing nothing under his intense stare for any longer. You nod and he’s in front of you in half a second, on his knees and leaning forward with his hands on your thighs for support. “Okay,” he drawls, setting fire to your skin as he examines every line of your features, “I’m going to touch you. Are you okay with that?”

With the pressure of his hands on your body yet again, you feel your chest constrict once more before panting out a yes. He notices the effect and removes his hands, asking a second time to receive the same response, this time from a clear head. With your cue to go, Haechan’s pushing himself against you with haste and dives in to press your lips together. You chase after him when he pulls away, desperate and empty without his kiss.

“I could smell you the moment you got into the elevator,” he lulls, licking his tongue over the warm expanse of your neck. His saliva was cold, shockingly so, and you chase the chilling moisture desperately. The sharp gasp you let out is embarrassingly loud but Haechan, feverish, soaks the sound up, fingers tightening their grip on your shoulders as he noses at your neck.

“Smell what?” you shiver, afraid of moving even an inch away from his touch. It was dangerously enchanting and you find yourself losing your sense again, giving your all to the greedy demon. Haechan wasn’t taking nearly as much as before, you feel yourself becoming impatient, needing the overwhelming sensation for as long as you can take it. He pulls away with the widest grin on his face, the entirety of his eyes completely painted over in deep black. A misty cloud of smoke, like the one he introduced himself in, begins to surround you.

“Your arousal, of course,” he chuckles. He stuffs his nose into your clavicle, tracing up the line of your shoulder to inhale deeply. “It’s astoundingly suffocating.” The action would be weird if not for the warmth that gathers in your belly, one that dissipates into sparks that race down your limbs in a pleasant buzz.

“Do you like it?” you shudder, throwing your head back as he sucks at a pressure point in the junction of your neck and shoulders.

“Oh, my babydoll,” he growls, gripping your chin with his thumb to stare into your eyes, forcing you to gaze into his black. The rest of the room turns black in your peripheral, partially masking the wings that have grown from his back, but you can’t take notice with how potently demanding his stare is, not allowing you to look away for even a second.

His fingers, with nails that have become tough and black, wander up and push against your lips, fighting for entry before you feel his skin, now leathery and hot enough to bubble, lays flat against your tongue. It feels like your mouth is about to melt away yet you couldn’t want anything other than to be in this exact moment. Haechan’s grin stretches from ear to ear, wider than the length between his horns, and still, the harrowing image does nothing to deter your want. He leans forward and mumbles with the same honey, sweet voice as before, “I more than like it. Your arousal is a gift from God himself.”

#haechan #haechan x reader #haechan smut #haechan fanfic #nct x reader #nct #nct fanfic #nct dream #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct dream fanfic #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 fanfic

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chokememrstark · 3 years

Text

There Is A House In New Orleans // Starker

Words: 1896

Warnings: Death, Ghosts, Alternative Universe, Mentions of Violence and Murder

Summary: During a work trip, Tony meets a young boy on his way home by the name of Peter. He quickly finds himself drawn to him and spends his evenings talking to him over the fence of his garden, but something about Peter is weird. Tony only finds out what it is after returning home and it turns everything upside down.

Notes: Special thanks to @darker-soft-starker for giving me feedback on it ;D

Read on AO3!

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Tony is on a business trip and on his way back to his hotel after lunch when he walks past a clearly abandoned house. Despite the obvious neglect and decay, which indicates it's been abandoned for many years, he can see a boy of about 17 in the overgrown garden.

He stops for a moment and watches him pick up flowers and then the boy looks up, giving him a smile. There's soft music filling the air, Tony assumes it's coming from inside the house, but after the smile the boy turns away and Tony leaves. It’s a bit weird, but well, he might just enjoy the flowers, right?

The next day, Tony sees him again. And the day after as well. Always outside, always with the same music playing, soft and calm but at the same time... eerie. As if something about the whole scene isn’t how it should be. As if he is watching something he isn’s supposed to see.

After four days, Tony calls out for the boy and talks to him. Much to his surprised, the boy seems eager for conversation and company and soon, Tony finds himself spending hours chatting with him while leaning over the fence.

The boy's name is Peter and he's very sweet and nice and funny, but something about him seems off. Tony can't say what it is, but it doesn’t matter, he enjoys talking to him and comes back to do just that for the following days. He believes things between them go well until he asks Peter to join him for dinner one evening.

The boy gives him a sad smile and tells him he can't go. After some talking, he admits that he can't leave. Confused, Tony asks why but he stays quiet and doesn't want to tell. Maybe his parents won’t allow him to leave with older men? Or maybe there’s a different reason, Tony doesn’t know. Still, he comes back to talk and soon, the invitation seems almost forgotten.

A few days later, Tony has to leave to return home. He's sad leaving Peter and Peter is even more sad that he has to go. Peter has no phone so he can't call him, so Tony promises to write instead. But once he's back home, things start to feel weird.

He does send a letter, but it gets returned with a note on it saying it can't be delivered.

Tony is even more confused and starts to dig and what he finds out is nothing he expected. He just wants to see if he mixed up the address but then he finds the newspaper articles and once the first headline pops up, he's too stunned to stop going further.

Teenage boy brutally murdered while parents are on vacation.

The Parker Mystery - Who killed Peter Parker?

Twenty years later, the killer is still unknown - Mr. and Mrs. Parker cleared of suspicion.

The more Tony reads, the more he starts to understand. And slowly, he's piecing things together. Especially Peter's reaction to Tony inviting him out for dinner.

"I'd love to join you, Tony, but I can't leave, I'm sorry. I have to stay here."

Was it that he couldn't leave because he was dead? That his spirit was bound to the place where he died? Did Tony actually talk to the ghost of a murdered boy or was this all a huge coincidence?

Finally, Tony decides that he needs to know for real and returns to New Orleans. When he comes back to the house, however, Peter is nowhere to be found. Frowning, Tony steps into the garden for the first time, the wooden fence door squeaking when he pushes it open.

"Peter?" Tony asks carefully, but there's no answer. He walks up to the door and pushes it and, without much surprise, he finds it unlocked.

The inside of the house confirms his first impression that it's been abandoned immediately and he feels his heart sink. There's dust and cobwebs everywhere and on the walls, several black cloths are hanging - they cover mirrors, he knows that. It's a tradition when someone died.

Slowly, Tony explores the rooms, still calling out for Peter but never getting an answer. Most rooms are empty, some furniture is knocked over here and there, but every room looks like it's been untouched for years.

And then, he finds a room with something strange. It looks to have been a living room of sorts, but the carpet on the floor looks weathered more than the ones in other rooms and right in the middle is an old Vitrola.

Curious, Tony steps up to it and kneels down, inspecting it. It's not dusty at all and looks very clean, even the record that's on it looks almost flawless. He reaches out to turn the crank and after a moment, the Vitrola springs to life.

Then, Tony hears it again. The beautiful music that he always heard while talking to Peter and it fills his heart with so much sadness he just wants to cry.

"You shouldn't have come back," a soft voice suddenly says and Tony spins around, finding Peter standing in the door. "There is nothing here for you."

"You are here," Tony says quietly and stands up, but he looks hesitant. "It's true, isn't it?"

Peter looks up, smiling sadly. "That I'm dead?" he asks and Tony nods silently. "It is, yes. I don't even know how long it's been, time doesn't really mean much anymore…"

"But… why can I see you? Why can I talk to you?" It makes no sense, he never believed in ghosts and this is just so surreal.

Peter sighs and pushes himself off the doorframe to walk over to Tony. He gently takes one of his hands and smiles.

"I've been here my whole life," he explains, not missing the shudder going through Tony at his touch. He's cold, he knows that. "I was born here and I died here and I never left, not even now…"

"You can touch me," Tony whispers and covers Peter's hands with his own. "I can touch you."

"You can, but only you," Peter nods. "I don't know how it works, my parents… they never saw or heard me. I tried to talk to them for so long and they got so scared they just left one day and never came back. No one else ever noticed me."

"So, you've been all alone for all those years?" Tony asks. Peter doesn't answer, he just looks at him with so much sadness in his eyes it breaks his heart.

"Some men were here a few days ago," Peter eventually says and pulls away from Tony to walk over to the floor length windows that provide a full view of the garden. "They didn't come inside, but I heard them talk."

"What did they do here?" Tony asks confused and Peter sighs.

"They want to buy the house," he says quietly. "They called it a disgrace and an eyesore…"

Tony gulps and in his head he replays all the stories he read as a kid about ghosts. If they destroy the house…

"What will happen if they do it?" he asks, somehow scared of the answer. "What will happen to you?"

"I… I don't know," Peter admits and wraps his arms around himself. "I know it's not pretty but it was once… I can't make it pretty again, I can't do anything…"

"Peter…" Tony feels so sad, this isn't right.

"I'm scared, Tony," Peter whispers and looks up at him, tears in his eyes. "What if they want to destroy the house? What about me? Where will I go then?"

Tony doesn't think, he just walks over and pulls Peter into his arms, hugging him as tight as he can. It's a strange feeling because he knows he shouldn't be able to and yet he can. Peter doesn't feel like anyone else but despite the cold and the unfamiliar feeling, despite knowing he's literally dead, he doesn't feel dead. Not to Tony at least.

"I'm so scared, Tony," Peter sniffs and Tony notices without any doubt that the boy is crying.

"It's okay, Peter," he says gently, rubbing the boy's back. "I'll help you, okay? You won't have to go anywhere."

"But the house, they… they want to buy it."

"I won't let them," Tony promises and he's serious. He can't stand seeing Peter so scared and he wants to help him, no matter how. "I'll fix this, alright? I promise I will."

"Thank you, Tony," Peter sniffs and for a long time they just stay like this, Tony holding him tight as the sun slowly sets outside.

It's a week later that Tony managed to sort everything out. He found the owners of the place, Peter's parents sold the property a few years after moving to an old lady on the other side of the town, and he managed to buy it off her easily by doubling the offer the other men made.

After that, all he had to do was take care of his own business. It would be a little inconvenient for him, sure, but he didn't care. He could manage his company from anywhere in the world and once he'd have a phone and internet, everything would work out fine.

When he returns to the house, Peter looks scared once more and pretty much runs into his arms as soon as he steps inside.

"Tony! There were even more people here and they talked about renovating and I don't know what to do!" he sobs, clinging to the man helplessly.

"Shhh, it's all good, those people work for me," Tony tells him with a smile and hugs the boy tight.

"For you?"

"They do, yes," Tony smiles and pulls back. "I promised I'd fix this, didn't I?"

"You did, but… but how?" Peter looks so confused it's adorable.

"I bought the property, now it's mine and I'll make sure it will go back to how it was before," he explains, watching Peter's eyes widen.

"R-Really?" he asks shocked. "It's yours now? I don't have to leave?"

"Even better, come, I'll show you," Tony chuckles and leads Peter outside. He walks over to his car that's parked nearby as Peter watches and takes out two suitcases.

"What's this?" Peter asks, earning another smile.

"I figured why stop with buying the house?" Tony shrugs as he carries his belongings inside. "Unless you mind the company?"

"Wait, you'll stay? Here? With me?"

"That's the plan," Tony confirms with a bright smile. "I'll stay and we can fix this place up together, what do you say?"

"Oh my god, thank you, thank you!" Peter throws himself back into Tony's arms so hard he has no other choice but to drop his suitcases and catch the boy, laughing. "Thank you so much, Tony!"

"Of course, darling," Tony laughs, pressing a kiss to Peter's head before hugging him. Is it weird that he moves in with a ghost? Maybe, but he likes Peter and the poor boy doesn't deserve any if this.

"I'm so happy you'll stay, I promise I'll be good and help you as much as I can," Peter promises and Tony can't help but chuckle again.

"I'm happy too, Peter," he smiles softly. "You won't have to be alone anymore, I promise. I'll stay with you."

#starker #tony x peter #peter x tony #ironspider #myfics

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renjunfromthestars · 4 years

Text

more than

Pairing: Mark + reader, Bestfriend! Mark, Childhood friend!Mark

Genre: Fluff, angst, honestly a little bit of crack LOL

Song recs: Best friend + Untitled + Waiting Room (Rex Orange County), Sofia (Clario)

Warnings: Mild swearing and mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 7.0k (my longest fic yet, wow!)

Summary: You’ve known Mark for all your life, and it only takes one drunken night (plus a little intervention with Haehcan) to think that you wouldn’t mind getting to know him a little better...

Notes: The fact that I actually had the patience to sit down and to write something above 3k words,,,,absolutely astounding, amazing, unique, never been seen before…. Mark is a little awk and always works so hard (poor bby), so imagining him as a super stressed pre-med major and oblivious best friend absolutely wrecks me thank you goodbye

----

When you first meet Mark, you’re eight years old, and it’s at church. He’s dressed in his Sunday best: a light blue button up, khakis, and shiny dress shoes. He looks stiff as your mother introduces you two, with his shirt buttoned all the way to the collar.

It’s not that you dislike him, but you think he might dislike you, with the way he avoids eye contact, eyes tracing the floor, your shoes—anywhere but your face.

You see panic flash through his eyes when his mom gently pushes him towards you, telling him to take you inside and reserve a spot in the pews while she catches up with your mom.

He shuffles awkwardly, and wordlessly, you follow him into the building.

The pews are almost empty, with the bulk of them being filled in the front by the old people that usually have nothing better to do on their Sunday mornings. Although your local church is on the smaller side, it feels unusually large with rows of empty pews, almost eerie. You shudder at shadows the walls make with the stained glass, and hurry to your usual spot towards the middle.

If Mark notices your apprehension, he doesn’t say anything. He’s oblivious, actually, not noticing your absence until he’s almost at the end of the rows. When you see him stop and search for you frantically, you stifle a laugh.

He eventually finds you, and after shuffling awkwardly between the pews, makes his way to you.

“This is kinda far, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

“Huh?”

“I mean,” he stammers. “I usually sit closer to the front. ”

You peer at him from the side. “You actually want to pay attention?”

He scratches the back of his head. “Well yeah, isn’t that the point?”

“I guess,” you say, looking at the ceiling. With the sprawling arches and patterns, the designs are pretty, you think.

“You should at least try, it’s kinda interesting,” when you turn your head to look at him he turns away. “Only if you want to, of course.” he adds, fidgeting with his hands.

When you tell him that maybe you will, you see him crack a small smile.

It becomes a routine, almost every Sunday, with you and Mark sitting next to each other. Whether it’s closer to the front or the back, it’s a whole debate. You usually give in, because when you walk in, Mark is already waiting for you in the front.

….

“Do you still go to Church?”

You’re laying on a green bean bag in Mark’s dorm room, procrastinating on the midterm paper you were supposed to get started on, well, a week ago.

You think for a second, hand raised to rub your chin, just to tease him. “What’s church?”

“C'mon dude, are you serious?”

“Barely,” you say, standing up to move to sit on his bed. “You should really get a new bean bag, it’s kinda deflated.”

Mark ignoring you, reaches over from his desk to fluff up the bean bag. “It’s because you sit on it so much.”

“Are you calling me fat?” and before he can defend himself you finally answer him, “I stopped going in like, middle school. It would be hard even if I wanted to, to find a whole new congregation, and I’m just busy. Also, it’s so boring, I could cry.”

Mark perks up. “Not if you go with me.”

You groan dramatically, and Mark chuckles.

“Good to know that you haven’t changed since you were eight.”

It’s just your view on church, that hasn’t changed since you were eight. First thing things first, you were 19 now, going on twenty. You’re in University now, your second year. It’s been a blur assignments, partying, coffee and term papers- you don’t have time to think about anything else right now. Except maybe actually starting your paper but-

Mark interrupts you midthought, breaking the silence. “Are you still with that guy?”

“Huh? Who? Yuta?”

“Yeah,” Mark responds sheepishly, avoiding eye contact.

You roll your eyes. “No, we haven’t been together for a while. It wasn’t that important so I forgot to tell you.”

You can tell he's surprised about how unusually calm you are for talking about your first serious breakup, but he doesn’t say anything, instead just scratching the back of his head awkwardly in typical Mark fashion. “He was an asshole anyway,” Mark murmurs.

“What did you say?” you ask, acting shocked. “Mark Lee? Talking shit?”

Mark, embarrassed, refuses to repeat it.

“I’m just saying, he wasn’t the right person for you.” he protests.

“As opposed to who? God himself?”

“I can think of a few,” he sighs, but you aren’t paying attention, instead laughing your ass off on his bed.

“You’re insufferable,” he says, standing up to open the door. “C’mon let’s go, I’m hungry. I know you’re not starting that paper anytime soon.”

…

It’s a routine, seeing Mark on Monday afternoons for lunch. Not Friday, because you were busy getting wasted, and consequently not Saturday, because you were too hungover. Not Sunday, because Mark had church, and you, well, were busy praying to God that you would be able to finish all the work you’d neglected over the weekend as a result.

“I still don’t understand why you choose the worst day of the week for this,” you say over your Kale caesar salad, pushing the leaves around aggressively. The University had a lot of healthy options, which you were grateful for. Grateful for you were not, were for the student loans you had to pay off every month, the exorbitant amount you partially owed to all the local and expensive organic produce the meal plan featured for the sake of being sustainable and health conscious.You could really give a rat’s ass about whether your salad was organic or not; if your weekends said anything about you, no amount of kale could help you (or your liver).

“It wasn’t really up to me,” Mark points out. “Maybe if you weren’t too busy being-”

“Ta ta ta,” you tsk, waving a finger around. “I, unlike you, actually have a social life.”

Mark frowns. “I have a social life.”

Mark definitely had a social life. He was popular, even. As popular as you can be, being a preoccupied Pre-med with perfect grades. Mark is likeable. It’s not like he doesn’t have the opportunity to go on weekends if wanted to, he just chooses not to, deciding to slave away at biological functions, orbitals, and lab results instead. Even now, as he takes his glasses off to clean them, you notice the imprint they leave on his face from how long they’ve been sitting on his face, and doesn’t take you long to find the dark circles that grace the skin under his eyes: he’s exhausted.

You frown too. “You should really get out more Mark. You seem stressed.”

Mark gives you a small smile after putting his glasses back on, and then resumes typing on his laptop. “I don’t know how going out would make me less stressed,” he says, distracted. “I would only be more stressed, knowing the work I have to do.”

“Yeah, but you're pretty organized.” You point your fork at him accusingly, kale falling to the side. “Don’t you usually finish things early too?”

“Yeah, I do.” he admits, and before you can press onwards you’re interrupted by a girl you recognize to be his lab partner.

Goggles in hand, you can see the marks they leave around her eye area, but she’s somehow still annoyingly beautiful, with her glossy straight hair and long eyelashes, but that’s not why you dislike her. She might be the most stuck up girl you’ve ever met.

“Did you do the calculations yet?” she says, turning to Mark. ignoring you. It’s only when you cough in your seat that she turns to you. “And hello, (y/n).” An afterthought.

“Hello Yebin,” You give her a wry smile. “How's the lab?”

“The usual.” she glances at Mark, who seems to be doing some finishing touches on said calculations. “How’s Chem 2?”

Boy, does she really grind your gears.

“It was fine, I actually placed out because I took it in high school.” Not to mention, it was a class for freshmen, and you were in fact, now a sophomore.

Before she can say anything back, Mark claps his hands in celebration. “Done! Sorry it took me so long, I just had to double check some things.”

“It’s no problem,” and with the way her voice drips with a sickly sweetness, you want to gag. It’s so painfully obvious. “Are you still down for tomorrow?”

Poor Mark, always oblivious, stops typing on his laptop and looks up in confusion. “Huh?”

You silently laugh at the expression Yebin makes when she realizes Mark has no idea what she’s talking about. “For our study session? The MCAT is just months away.”she reminds him.

Mark remembers. “Oh yeah, about that, I was thinking we could also invite-”

“Great!” she chirps, “See you tomorrow!” and with a flash of her white lab coat, she's gone.

Mark scratches the back of his head. “I guess she had somewhere to be.”

You roll your eyes for what it seems like the 100th time this week, anymore and they might be permanently stuck to the back of your head. “She definitely likes you.”

“Who? Yebin? No way.”

“Yes, Yebin, and yes way.” You fling a walnut from your salad over to his side, and he cringes.

“What is your problem?” he grumbles, and resumes typing on his laptop.

You drop the subject, because you know any talk on girls is completely lost on him. As you set aside your salad, you peer over at Mark, palm supporting your face. He’s focused, eyebrows slightly furrowed, with his lips mouthing over silently whatever science journal he was reading on his computer screen.

Mark has always been good looking, you think. You don’t know why you’ve never really noticed it before. His nose bridge gently slopes over his face, and his jawline is sharp, having lost his baby cheeks years ago. He works out often too, although he barely talks about it (maybe out of fear you’d tease him for being a gym bro). And with the way he’s so adorably awkward, It’s no surprise really, that every girl friend that you’ve met of his seems to be completely smitten.

Shaking your head, you snap out of it. It’s dangerous to think of Mark that way, you think. You’ve known him too long.

“My problem? I think you’re the one with the problem here. I’m surprised your hair isn't completely gray by now.”

Mark ignores you, probably mad at the fact you tried to start world food war three with him with a walnut.

“Hey.” you flick at his forehead to get his attention, and he flinches.

“There’s a party this weekend at Johnny’s fraternity, you should come.” Johnny, being both your long time mutual friend (who’s demeanor is way too nice to fit the stereotypical frat boy image, really) who has since stopped asking Mark out of respect for his “med school grind”.

“I’m already planning on it,” he responds, and you’re surprised.

“Since when do you actually accept party invitations?”

“Since yesterday, because I’m tired of Haechan bothering me about it.”

You silently cheer, of course, you expect nothing else from Haechan.

…

“I never knew it was so hard to get booze.”

“It’s not hard if you’re 21.”

Scoffing, you turn your head to face the boy across from you. As if he can feel the burn of your gaze on his forehead, Haechan stops typing on his Macbook and lifts his eyes to meet yours.

“No shit Sherlock, but last time I checked, we both weren’t 21.”

The sun had set a half an hour ago, and despite having spent the whole afternoon together, you and Haechan have had yet to come up with a way to secure the drinks you promised your friends for tonight’s pregame. With both of you being certified schemers representing your respective friends, you guess it wasn’t that big of surprise that the responsibility was left on both your shoulders. It beat scavenging alone, and spending time with Haechan wasn’t so bad either, when you two weren’t trying to kill each other.

It was already late, and Haechan had deemed Ubering to the nearest packer store that sold Soju (the sweet sweet liquid of choice) was too much work. You on the other hand, had dismissed that option for a completely different reason. The issue in question was the flimsy, borderline pathetic excuse for a fake ID Haechan planned to use at the packer store.

“Hey it works!” he protested. “You just act like you’re already legal and they don’t even card you. Easy.”

You roll your eyes as Haechan theatrically reenacts his last trip to the packer store.

“I asked him how he was doing, and he told me school sucks. I say to him, ‘Tell me about it, thank god this is my last year!” and as if to emphasize his next point, he flicks his wrist in the air, ID snuggled between his index and middle finger. “And I was on my way. No issue at all.”

“That’s because he didn’t even see your fake I.D stupid. He would’ve called you out on your bullshit in an instant.”

Out of all the different options available, you could not fathom why he chose his fake ID to show that from all the places in this world, he was from freaking Hong Kong. There were fifty states to choose from, other English speaking countries, and he chose to pose as an international student on a student visa. He could most definitely look the part, but after looking at the ID he proudly slaps on the common room lounge desk, you deadpan. The yellowish tint to the card was way too suspicious to be taken seriously.

“I wish we could just ask Mark,” you sigh, and Haechan looks at you like you’re stupid.

“He’s 20, ya dimwit.”

“I know, that’s why I said I wish. You have serious hearing problems.”

Haechan stops typing on his laptop to shoot you an especially heated glare, and you’re reminded again why he’s #2 on your fight list, right above Yebin. First place was taken by the girl you almost actually fought at that one University party a town over, wherever she is you hope she’s having a terrible day.

“If it were not for the rules of this land, you’d be dead right now Haechan.”

Haechan places his head in his palms, and flutters his eyelashes disgustingly.

“But you love me.”

“Yes, as much as Mark loves social events. Speaking of Mark, how on earth did you get him to leave his cave?”

“It didn’t take much,” and before you can call him out for lying, he shushes you.

“Okay, maybe a few days of nonstop begging.” Haechan says as his eyes dart across the laptop screen. You raise your eyebrow. “And I might have threatened to release pictures from the photoshoot his mom made him take when he was younger.”

“I expected nothing less from your evil, evil, mind.”

He scoffs. “Hardly. Just resourceful.”

Resourceful he is, because Haechan is the one who ends up finding a plug for the alcohol that night.

…

A can of four loko, a bottle of soju, and a few shots later, you should be hammered, wasted even. But after 14 months, 2 weeks, and 5 days into college, your tolerance is pretty high, so you’re really just plain drunk. Even so, you’re a little messy (no surprise). You’re not in a state to be trusted with any errands, so you don’t understand why Haechan asks you to pick up Mark along the way to Johnny’s fraternity.

“Why do I have to do it?” you whine, putting your hand over your forehead, and Haechan only laughs at your dramatic display of despair.

“Because Johnny messaged me that Mark isn’t there, and there’s no way in hell I’m letting him flake on me this time. ”

You point a finger at him, and he stifles a snort when you’re off by a couple inches. “Letting him flake on me, me, me as in you! It’s not my problem.”

But there’s no use in arguing with Haechan, and you know it. That’s why you find yourself stomping your way up the second floor of Mark’s dormitory like you’re in elementary school again, having just been scolded by your mom and being forced back into your room.

You knock at his door impatiently, and it feels like forever until you hear some shuffling, and see the door knob twist open. To be honest, it’s probably just a few seconds, but time is different when you’re intoxicated.

Before you even see him, it smells faintly of shampoo and detergent, so you’re not surprised when he opens the door and you see his hair is still half wet from the shower. He’s definitely party ready, and when you mean party ready, he’s wearing the same loose black tee and grey joggers he wears to sleep. His socks don’t match and you try not to laugh, because it would be a bad look for you, to show up intoxicated, and apparently crazy.

“Oh (y/n), what are you doing here? Oh shit is today Friday? I totally forgot, Haechan is going to kill me-'' He looks at you and then pauses, scrunching up his nose. “Have you been drinking?”

“No.” you say sarcastically, but it definitely falls short of Mark because he looks at you like he does not believe you. Good, because he shouldn’t.

He sighs, and ushers you in his room. It’s dark, with the only light emitting from the little steel lamp on his desk, which is covered with his notes, pencils, a textbook, and some highlighters. When you finally make your way to his bed (with difficulty) he sighs again, and you silently scold yourself for having that mini drinking contest with Haechan. If you thought you could handle your alcohol well, Haechan was an absolute monster.

You nearly screech when Mark flashes a mini flashlight in your face, and he tells you to calm down before someone thinks he’s committing murder. He holds your face still with his index finger resting on your cheek and his thumb lifting your chin. You try your best not to squint when he tells you to, instead focusing on his face. He’s so close, you can feel his warm breath on your face. If you weren’t already so flushed from drinking, you suspect you’d look beet red now.

“Well, your pupils still dilate normally, so I don’t think you have alcohol poisoning-”

The world is moving a little, so you plop backwards on his bed— albeit a little harder than expected because he rushes over to you and looks concerned.

“-but I don’t think that’s the problem here.” he finishes.

Your eyes are closed, mainly because his bed is really comfy. “I’m here to pick you up.” and as if to emphasize your point, you wildly start pointing in all directions, hoping it would land on him.

You open your eyes when you feel him grab your finger and turn it thirty degrees to the left, just stopping at his chest. Your sense of direction must be really bad, because it turns out you were pointing at nothing.

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere for awhile”

“Noooooo” you wail, and Mark lets go of your hand to sit back down on his desk, and unsurprisingly, begins reading his textbook again. How he is able to focus with you in the background, you don’t know, but it must have taken years of practice.

At this point, you decide to take matters into your own hands. You shove yourself off the bed and grab his arms from behind him. His roller chair scoots a few inches before he stops it.

“You’re not exactly making great case for yourself here”

“Stop making excuses!”

You aim straight towards the armpits, and you’re confused at the lack of reaction, so you reach over to squeeze his knee. Almost immediately, he crumples over, almost falling off the chair.

“Can you-” he says mid laugh, “please” he gasps, “Stop that!”

You respond by attacking his other knee, and it’s over. He falls off his chair and you go down with him. The difference is that he recovers quickly, and starts tickling you back in revenge.

You’re sensitive, so it feels like you’re dying. You try to use his arm as leverage to push yourself up, but next thing you know he’s toppeling over you. You close your eyes and wait for your head to kiss the cold hard floor but it never comes, because Mark's hand cradles your head, breaking the fall.

When you open your eyes, he’s closer than ever before, noses touching. Lips a mere centimetres away and in a weird embrace, you resist the urge to close the distance.

Mark has always been good looking, especially now, so close to you. You don’t know why you’ve never noticed it before.

When he pulls away he’s flustered, and for the first time, so are you.

It’s an awkward silence, with you still on the floor as he stands up, rubbing the dusk from his knees. He scratches the back of his head and offers you a hand

“Let’s head out,” he says.

“Yeah, let’s.” you echo.

…

Although Haechan berates you for being more than a little late to the party, he’s overjoyed that you somehow managed to show up with Mark. Not that he didn’t have faith in you anyways, he tells you. It’s just that Mark is married to his Biology textbook, and she runs a tight ship. By the time you reached the frat with Mark, you’ve sobered up enough to enjoy yourself normally,

It’s when you wake up in the morning, that you’re not okay. It’s not okay, because you dreamt of Mark, and that’s weird, because you and Mark were just friends, right? And you always will be.

It’s not a big deal because friends dream of friends. Dreams are a product of your own desires environment, you tell yourself, it’s perfectly normal because you spend so much time with him.

What is not normal, is when you see Mark the following Monday, and are worried about it. You’re nervous the whole time, and it gets worse when you slide the little watermelon filled tupperware container across the table in apology for last Friday. He likes his watermelon cut up into little cubes, you remembered (why do you remember?), and you avoid his eyes, pushing a stray piece of hair behind your face.

Mark, oblivious as usual, doesn’t really notice anything until 10 minutes in, as if your lack of rambling surprises him. Munching on the cubes, he asks if you’re okay.

“Yeah, I am.”

No you are not. You are utterly fucked.

…

“But you need to promise me you won’t judge or make fun of me for it”

“Just say it already, Jesus.”

“It’s just so embarrassing.”

“Oh my god, are you in love with me?”

“No!”

When placing your hands in your face, Haechan grants mercy on you, patting you on the back instead of teasing you further.

“I don’t know what else could be so important that you need to talk to me in person. Unless…. it’s about Mark?”

His hands stop soothingly rubbing your back and instead starts slapping it, waiting for you to laugh along with him. When he doesn’t get a response he gasps. Turning his head sideways to face you, he pries your fingers apart.

“No fucking way.”

“Right?” you moan.

“I was just joking, but I can’t say I didn’t expect it.”

You remove your hands from your face and look at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Like, you’ve known each other forever. You spend a lot of time together too. Someone was bound to catch feelings eventually.”

You don’t respond, instead choosing to sulk.

“You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it because you’re the loser in this situation.”

Right he is, because you’ve been avoiding Mark for the past few weeks like the plague. You’ve told him that you’ve been busy with your final term paper (you’re not, you’re an engineering major why would you have one?), and although he was a little confused, he was probably also a little thankful because the MCAT was only a month away.

As you tell him about your plight, Haechan listens thoughtfully, “mhming” and “ahh-ing” at all the right places.

“I don’t see how ignoring him helps you at all. I would say to just talk to him about it, but it’s Mark, he probably hasn’t thought about you that way at all.”

“Thanks,” you grumble. “So I’m basically one of the boys.”

“No really, mans might as well be the anemone from Nemo, I’ve never seen him interested in anyone.” Haechan sighs. “This is a tough one.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something, but I might have to get creative.”

“I’d like to see you try Hyuck.”

…

It’s 9pm Sunday night, and there’s a knock on your door. It’s strange you think, because it’s a Sunday, and it’s a little late to be doing anything.

When you open the door, there he is, Mark Lee in all his 5’9’ glory, with a little bag in hand, in it your favorite milk tea.

“It’s Sunday.” you say, intelligently.

Mark just chuckles. “Yes it is, and your point?”

You step aside so he can walk in, and you’re embarrassed at your current state. For once, you’ve finished your assignments early, so you’ve spent the past four hours in your pajamas watching K-dramas and snacking on honey chips. You must look like a bum.

Mark on the other hand, always looks good, even in some old dress slacks, and an old t-shirt with some holes in it. He smells faintly of antiseptic, so he must have just come from a volunteering shift at the hospital.

“It’s nice of you to drop by,” you poke the straw into the bubble tea. “And thank you for the bubble tea.”

“You’ve been busy recently so I figured you’d need it for the caffeine content, but it’s not like you sleep anyway.” he jokes. “How’s the term paper going?”

“The term paper? Oh right, the term paper. It’s alright,” you lie. “Just a couple of pages left. Beats having to take the MCAT though.”

Mark looks tired, with his hair slightly overgrown and his dark circles hallower than usual. You feel bad—he has a habit of overworking himself; you’re usually there to check on him but lately you haven’t, and he’s kind and thoughtfull enough to bring you something because he thinks you’re stressed.

“Yeah tell me about it,” Mark takes a seat next to you on your bed, head hitting the wall with a soft thump. “It’s going to be all over next week though, I can’t wait. I’ve missed you though.”

Busy silently cursing at yourself for the way your heart flutters at his admission, you forget to respond. Mark frowns, places his hand on your thigh in an attempt to soothe you, and it has the opposite effect—you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

“Is something wrong?”

“N-no.” you stammer. “Just stressed. ”

Mark makes things worse by leaning in closer, gently placing the back of his hand on your forehead. “You’re kinda hot.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, like I think you may be running a fever.”

He hops off the bed, and rummages around in his little black bag, and pulls out a thermometer. He places a little sleeve on the end, and motions for you to open your mouth. When it beeps, he takes it out of your mouth and looks at the result.

“Your temperature is fine, but you should rest. I’ll see you soon okay?” He pats your head. “Take it easy, I know you’ll do great.”

…

You might not have a term paper, but what you do have is a physics final.

The desk area is littered with eraser dust, crumpled paper, and half filled styrofoam cups of coffee that have since gotten stale. You swear to god that Physics was a subject meant to torture, not enrich the lives of college students. At this rate, you were seriously debating dropping out to become a stripper.

Haechan, not sensing your dismay, disrupts your plans to drop out by telling you something that puts a damper on the rest of your day, as if Physics wasn’t doing that already.

“Have you noticed that Mark’s been hanging out a lot with that one girl lately? What’s her name? So-bin, Yee-ben, Ben 10, ”

“Yebin,” you snap. “And don’t ever disrespect Ben 10 like that again. ”

Haechan lifts his hands up, “ I agree she’s a total bitch, but man is she hot.”

“Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better, not worse?”

Haechan’s face softens and for once in his life, looks a little sorry. “All I’m saying is if you don’t do something soon, someone might do it for you. I overheard her saying something about her and Mark going to spring fling together.”

He’s not wrong, but Mark, at Spring fling? At a Darty? Willingly? His idea of a good time was studying.

“You’re kidding,” you scoff. “As if he’d be caught dead at something like that.”

“I don’t know (y/n). He doesn’t really have much else to do now that the MCAT is over.”

Right, the MCAT. He took it last week. You mentally slap yourself for not asking how it went.

“Speak of the devil.” Haechan says quietly, motioning behind you.

There she is through the glass, Yebin, pulling a seat next to Mark, not before sneaking up behind him and planting a fat kiss right on his cheek.

…

Maybe if this were a movie, you’d cry all weekend and he’d make it up to you; But this is real life, so you secretly cry for a week and sulk for the rest of the month, blaming your puffy eyes on seasonal allergies (In real life, Mark can’t make it up to you because he did nothing wrong. He’s also not even aware that you like him, but that’s besides the point).

Despite Haechan’s attempt to convince you that it could’ve been just a friendly kiss, a greeting kiss, a whatever kiss, you insist that you’re done with your little crush, that it had shriveled up and died. Although not so convinced, Haechan drops the subject all together and instead resorts to comforting you in his own way, which mainly just consists of making fun of you about other things.

Mark is a touchy subject, and you’re still avoiding him. Why? You don’t really know. You know it’s not fair to Mark, who is probably very hurt and confused at your lack of communication. Nonetheless, he doesn’t question it, and is so infuriatingly mature with his emotions that you suspect that he even respects it, because he stops texting you after a while.

You feel bad about stonewalling him, leaving him in the dark, but really, what would you say to him?

“Sorry-I-haven’t-been-talking-to-you-it’s-just-that-I’m-in-love-with-you-and-I’m-butthurt-that-you-have-a-girlfriend-of-course-it’s-not-really-your-fault-but-”

You shudder at the thought, because it’s just plain embarrassing.

But really, you’re not the best at expressing your emotions—you’ve never been. Frankly, you’re tired of expressing your emotions because it never got you anywhere. Not with your mom, not with your dad, and definitely not with Yuta, who you dated for a year and half a year just to dump you like you were nothing.

It’s not worth it, to put your emotions on the line for anyone, not anymore. You locked your heart away a long time ago, and you were a fool to let it come out last time, and you like to think you learn from your mistakes.

At least, that’s what you think, until you return home one Sunday night from the library and see a little cup of your favorite milk tea at the door, with a straw neatly balanced on the top.

…

When spring fling rolls around, you still haven’t spoken to Mark, and if your friends catch on, they don't mention it. They know by now that you prefer to deal with things alone, to digest them for what they are and then promptly moving on—you know, like processing a death.

It doesn’t really matter, you think. You and Mark have always been friends, and will always be friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And when you get over yourself, things will be fine.

But really, how can it be fine when your whole world stops every time Mark looks at you?

You try not to dwell on it, even now weeks later. You’re busy getting ready to go out, blotting your lipstick on some tissue paper in your friend Yuna’s bathroom.

“(y/n), you look amazing.”

When you turn to look at yourself in the mirror she’s right; The mascara you put on your lashes really brings out the color of your eyes, and your skin (thanks to Yuna’s highlighter compact) is literally glowing. You feel really pretty.

You turn to smile at her. “Thanks to you.” you tell her, and she gets bashful, pushing you out of the seat and ushering you out the door. You make it down stairs no problem, but she calls you as soon as you walk out the door.

“Yes, I have blotting papers with me, and no, I am not dating Haechan I’ve told you thousands of times-”

“What about me?”

You turn around to find Haechan leaning against the dormitory wall, already waiting.

Embarrassed, you tell her you need to go and hang up the phone.

“How long have you been standing here? Hopefully not too long.” You apologize, but he assures you it’s all right.

“Are you sure your friends are fine with you leaving them early to go with me?”

“Yes Haechan, they’re just happy that I have someone to go with.” you sigh. “Almost too happy.”

He laughs, after looking at you, he pauses. “You look nice.”

“You do too, Hyuck.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would say he seems embarrassed at your compliment.

When you walk into the venue, you’re not surprised at how spacious it is. You’re used to your school going all out, from the kale salads and now, spring fling. They might as well call it spring semi-formal, because everyone is dressed their best.

You see Johnny at the end of the punch table, and he waves, motioning for you two to join him.

“And my favorite couple,” he greets you two, and you almost smack him upside down the head.

“Relax, I’m just kidding.” and he leans in for a hug. “How are you (y/n), I haven’t seen you in a second.”

“I’m good, just been super busy. You were so right, Professor Kim has been really keeping me on my toes in Physics 430,” you laugh. “Every time I walk into the classroom I can feel my life flash through my very eyes.”

He laughs, and you all laugh with him. Johnny tends to have that kind of effect on people.

“How’s Mark?” he asks, and you cringe. “It’s been a while.”

You laugh nervously “ I haven’t seen him in a while either.”

“Oh really. Don’t you see each other every week?”

“Well we used to,” you panic. “Just not anymore because, you know, I-”

“Because you’ve been so busy,” Haechan finishes.

Johnny gives you two a strange look but continues talking anyway.

“Well that’s life. Poor boy’s been studying for the MCAT like his rent is due tomorrow.”

“More like everyday.” Haechan snickers.

Johnny doesn’t hesitate to flame Haechan for his insolence, and begins teasing him for almost failing Calc II (Calc II was kind of hard you admit but that is an admission that will die with you), meanwhile, you’re whisked away by Yuna and her entourage. You glance at Johnny and Haechan, who bid you farewell with a nod of their heads.

It’s fun, you’re having a great time dancing, and eating mini hot dogs on a toothpick (you guess your university had to cut corners somewhere). When Roxanne plays, you and Yuna go wild, nearly knocking over a waiter over with a silver tray. You have so much fun, that you forget that Mark Lee exists until you make eye contact across the floor.

It's no surprise that he’s with Yebin, who looks annoyingly prettier than usual, with her makeup all done and satin dress. She’s pulling him in the opposite direction, but Mark seems to pay no mind, instead staying in place, looking at you. A moment passes, and you see him excusing himself. When he begins to head your direction. You panic.

Before you can even react, you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close. When you finally turn to see who it is, you’re nose to nose with none other than Haechan.

“What are you doing?”

“Just go along with it,” Haechan whispers through his teeth. Your hands are pressed against his chest, and he grabs one of your arms, placing it around his neck.

“Go along with what? Have you lost your mind-”

Before you can finish your sentence, his lips press against yours and your mind goes blank. He tastes like peppermint and aftershave, with his lips soft in the center and just a little chapped around the edges.

When you two finally part, Mark is nowhere to be found, and you don’t know how to feel.

“Haechan I-” you stammer. “I need to go.”

You hurry off, and he doesn’t follow you.

…

When you’re outside, it’s cold; the air is brisk and definitely doesn’t help steady your breathing, it only makes it harder. It’s a lot to process, Mark, Yebin, Haechan. It’s a lot, and you feel like you’re in emotional overdrive, with all the feelings you’ve been trying to keep in for the past few months coming back to bite you.

You sit down at the edge of the fountain outside the venue, and you nearly get soaked. It misses you by mere inches, with the ceramic fish looking at you almost mockingly. You don’t care, with all the thoughts running through your head right now, you think you might go insane.

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting there at the fountain when you feel something wrap around you, warm like it was just taken out of the dryer. It smells familiar, like cologne and faintly of antiseptic—it smells like Mark.

You don’t look at him when he sits down next to you, legs open, hands crossed. And he doesn’t look at you. It’s radio silent.

“So you and Haechan, huh.”

“So you and Yebin.” you echo.

Mark looks at you for the first time, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh that.” He shuffles awkwardly. “I don’t really like her like that.”

Your head raises in surprise, and you face each other for the first time in months.

“I thought you guys had a thing.”

Mark scratches the back of his head. “Well we do, but it’s just in her head” he says, and you can’t help but laugh. “She came onto me last week, so I finally set things straight.” Noticing your reaction, he just shakes his head.

“I don’t think it worked though,” he adds.

“I would think, you’ve always been too nice for your own good.”

“I just didn’t want to hurt her feelings, you know?” he murmurs. “I feel terrible.”

“You’re not a terrible person just because you don’t like someone back.”

“Maybe not, but I believe not wanting you and Haechan to be together does.”

It takes a moment for his words to register within you, and even after you process them, you’re not sure what to say.

“We don’t like each other like that.” you interrupt him.

Mark looks visibly confused. “Then you and Haechan aren’t??” his voice falters.

“No more than you and Yebin. I promise you it’s not what it seems like.” you tell him and it finally clicks. You’d have to thank the idiot later. Right after you slap him.

Mark doesn’t question it, not even when you start crying. You don’t question it either, unsure of why you’re crying.

“You’re so stupid,” you sniffle. “I’ve liked you for so fucking long.”

Mark pulls out his pocket square to gently wipe the tears from your face, and places his hand on top of yours.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? You could have just said something.” his says softly

“I didn’t want to ruin anything. We’ve always just been friends.”

“I think we’ve always been just more than that.” he says, leaning in, hands cup your face gently.

“Just took some of us a little longer to realize.”

....

“That was very nice of you,” Johnny says.

“Yeah. Very nice.” Haechan echos.

“How long has it been, that you’ve liked her for? Three years?”

“Two going on three.”

Johnny lets out a low whistle, and looks down at the younger boy worriedly. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Haechan glances at you and Mark through the glass, outside the venue. With Mark whispering in your ear and you laughing, you seem so happy; happier than you’ve ever been with him.

“Yeah, I am. More than okay.”

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rosecolouredmind · 3 years

Text

Savior

Nicholas Scratch x Reader

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

Part Three:

The Broken Boy

Now there were two.

Or at least, the only sounds being made now were the quiet sobs still being let out from the poor figure now in front of you.

You’d sent Lucifer away with a banishment sigil, though with how powerful he was and your lack of familiarity with your domain, he should be back soon. You felt a lot more drained than you did when you first came in, the spell taking a lot out of you. You now realized that your visit came with a time limit, and would only last as long as the remaining energy in your core did. The flesh acheron had you currently separated from the stars, so it was only natural that your power was unable to replenish itself here.

But at least, now you were alone with the boy.

You exerted a bit more power to make the space a more welcoming, eliminating the eerie red scenery in exchange for something milder. An endless white replaced it in a flash; you weren’t exactly a living human for long and didn’t know much about what comforted them, you realized glumly.

It seemed as if they boy didn’t notice the change in scenery, failing to even flinch. Back and forth, back and forth. He endlessly rocked as mumbled jargon poured listlessly from his mouth. Though it isn’t your first time pitying humans, this was the first time that you were face to face with the cruelty Fate was capable of. The sentiment fed into your growing discomfort with the situation.

Cautiously, you drew closer. Once you stopped in front of him, you slowly lowered yourself until you were truly able to look him in the face.

Dampened hair stuck to his forehead, pale and leaking a cold sweat. Raised goosebumps clearly visible over taught muscles were felt under your fingertips, gently stroking his arm in comfort.

A sharp gasp and a quick hand nearly made you yelp out in shock yourself, your wrist now held in a tight grasp. Panicked eyes met your own, dark and deep and boding. You felt your very soul tremble as if it were crying, as if you were crying.

It wasn’t until you noticeably felt a liquid drop culminate at the tip of your nose before splattering did you realize that you were.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you cooed, attempting to make eye contact.

Your gaze meets frantic mirrors of desperation, anguish and torture reflecting in the muddy pools that stared back at you.

As if it was natural to you, your hands rise to caress his face. His skin feels warm beneath your fingers, and you hold back a shudder. Concentrating, you focused deep on the constant thrumming of your soul and willed your core to mimic these pulsations through your body and out your fingertips, your hands now glowing the color of moonlight.

You can’t undo what Lucifer has done and possibly will do to him, but you were confident that you could make your presence a beacon and relieve some of the burden for him.

The boy leaned into your hands, and for a long while you just watched entranced as his eyelids fluttered while he took the time he needed to calm down. Finally, he looked up at you. The panic had now been replaced with sheer exhaustion, and you wanted nothing more than to protect him.

“Who are you?” he croaked, eyes flooding in tears. They flowed silently down his face, following familiar track marks of the rivers before them. His fingers tightened around yours, afraid of letting go. Afraid that if he let go, you would disappear. This was the first time he felt relief in what felt like an eternity, and all he could focus on was the figure in front him. You paid no mind to his tight grip, electing to settle yourself between his knees, getting as close as you possibly could.

“I’m here to help you, it’s okay,” you repeat softly.

“Wh-where did he go? The...the Dark Lord,” he quivered, muscles tensing up at the mere thought of the man. You felt your heart go out to him, your own eyes becoming misty as well.

“I sent him...away. He will return, but not for a while at least.”

Of course you couldn’t separate them completely, this was still in part Lucifer’s mind as well, and you had an inkling that although this wasn’t the actual place, the flesh acheron, this boy’s body, was somewhere in Hell. Your energies felt off, as if they didn’t belong. That would normally only happen in a territory outside of the scope of a stela’s domain, and Hell fit that description perfectly.

Your powers weren’t nearly as strong here, and you could only offer him temporary reprieve. But it is something, and that’s all that matters.

“What’s your name?” you question, intending on keeping him present and away from the dark, straying thoughts no doubt threatening to plague his mind. He stayed silent for a while, attempting to anchor himself while he focused on the near healing effect you radiated.

“...It’s Nick,” he eventually responded.

“Okay, Nick, tell me. What makes you happy?”

Nick thought for a long while, but couldn’t gather his thoughts. His mind had been ravaged so thoroughly by the Dark Lord that any notions of happiness had long since been replaced by terrors he could only have imagined before being tortured by Satan himself. He started to shake his head, then more and more vigorously. You reached for his face again, realizing your question set off another round of panic.

“That’s okay Nick, you don’t have to think about it. How about we go somewhere that makes me happy instead, hm?”

Your creativity and knowledge of the human mind was close to zero, but there was once place you’d always wanted to see.

You had Nick close his eyes as you closed your own, visualizing the sights and sounds you wanted to experience. Soon, the soothing crash of waves could be heard in the background, your eyes opening to an expanse of sand being gently eroded by the clear blue water of the ocean. You felt a bit weaker at the manifestation, but the boy in your arms was even more so, and your heart went out to him.

You shifted yourself so Nick’s forehead was now resting on your chest, giving him all the time he needed to settle before he opened his eyes again.

His breathing was deeper now, and less erratic. You waited for it to become completely even before you attempted to speak again, Nick lifting his head in order to study your features.

“I’ve always wanted to see the ocean,” you sigh gently. “I wasn’t able to when I was human.”

“Why not?” he asked quizzically, resulting in a smile from you. You were glad he was speaking, and continued to talk before he got distracted again.

“I died very, very young. I hadn’t really even started my life before the Fates took me for their purpose,” you explained. “And after that, well, I never really thought I’d see Earth again so there wasn’t much of a point.”

You tried coaxing more out of him, like his name, likes, dislikes. His answers were simple, and he had to think about some a lot longer than others, but he put effort into answering each question. You continued to describe your ties to fate to him as he patiently listened. He nodded along thoughtfully, before going quiet again.

“Nick?” you question, worry laced in your tone.

“Is this really what Fate had planned for me?” he asked quietly, looking down at his knees. Tears instantly blurred your vision once again, but you didn’t acknowledge them.

“No, sweetie, of course not,” you grab his face once again. His watery eyes mirror yours, yet you refused to let the first one fall.

“Your fate is so much more than this. This is only temporary. You have to believe me on that.” you urge.

“But I’m tired,” the sheer amount of hopelessness emitted off him in waves. “I don’t think I can make it,” the break in his voice was enough to collapse the dam on your tears, and you clutched him to your chest.

“No, baby, no. You can. You’re strong. I’ll be here for you. I’ll come back.”

“You promise?” he cracked.

“I promise.”

You held him for a while longer, shushing him against the rumble of the waves as you stared out at the water. You’d never felt more determined to do something in your life, but you will save this boy. You meant it with your heart and soul.

A while later you felt your figure start to fade, and you knew your borrowed time in Hell had reached its end. Nick frantically began clutching at you, using one hand to caress your face like you had his, “Will you really come back?”

Begging eyes pinned your soul down and for the first time in your life, you cursed the fates. Cursed how they could allow this boy to suffer far more than he deserved, and put you in a position to witness it. No one deserved this. Not even the fickle humans. If they were meant to suffer like this...

Maybe this was what you were sent to Earth for.

Visiting the flesh acheron, and by extension, Hell, for as long as you have took not only your power, but the power of the fates as well. If you came here again, it wouldn’t be for nearly as long, and would exhaust a huge chunk of power every time you did so. But as you face the boy in front of you, you couldn’t find it in yourself to deny him.

You’d figure it out, you’d make something up, you’d lie; Tell them Lucifer was being an uncooperative dickhead, which isn’t exactly wrong anyway — anything to be able to make your way here again.

You had to.

With a few more whispered promises and broken sobs, you eventually fade away. It wasn’t until you noticed the sandy shore beneath you had been replaced with slowly moving constellations did you allow yourself to look up again, the impatient eyes of the council piercing through you.

You’d already gotten rid of any trace of tears, your mind going a million miles a minute conjuring up a plan to save Nick. You knew you had bigger priorities than one human, a single soul; Earth and her millions of souls were on the brink of annihilation yet all you could think about was one boy.

But something in you, deep in your core screamed that this was important to you, he is important to you.

Maybe it's because you’re soft, maybe it’s because he’s your first lost soul, maybe it's because it’s Fate, but as you waved an intricate web of truth and lies while you built your case with the council -- of how freeing Lucifer from the flesh acheron was of the utmost importance, of how often you’d probably need to be sent there to attempt to do so;

Your heart was nearly pounding through your ribcage at the thought of seeing that boy and his pitiful soul once again.

And as Lucifer, upon his return, ranted and roared and raged something mighty, Nick desperately held on in anticipation of your next arrival.

Author’s Note: Next part is out as well! They’re both shorter chapters so I did a double update as well. They would have been out a lot sooner if tumblr didn’t delete my damn editing progress when I tried to insert a photo — I nearly cried. Creating those secondary headers is WERK but not as much as editing this shit? I should sue. I got mad and stopped for a while bc I’m a petty bitch, so if you see mistakes blame Tumblr for crashing. I will also insert links to chapters later, I don’t feel like it currently 🤡

Please ask to be tagged! I’d appreciate reblogs, comments and asks as well 🥺

Tag list:

@insomniac-nerd-posts-things @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet @sophia-of-sass-gard

#caos #nicholas scratch x reader #nick scratch x reader #sabrina #the chilling adventures of sabrina #ambrose x reader #prudence x reader #sabrina spellman #x reader #savior

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hammalammadamdam · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3

Minutes before: Kaalki prov.

After transforming, I could feel it. The Lazarus pit, it was in the one who was trying to help the guardian but before the other men could touch the guardian again Wayzz had put a barrier around her.

'Wayzz! "I whisper yell making him look at me waiting to continue "Why did you do that? The guardian is really weak, she is dying and all they are trying to do is help her. Is it because... "Wayzz just nodded his head before talking in a calming voice "The guardian needs to be protected from them. What if they find out about the miraculous? What then? I don't know why we were brought here as a safe place but the guardian needs even more protection more if a child of the Lazarus pit is here!

On top of that we do not know these people. They have strong dark auras and evil lurks." Wayzz took a calming breath "All we can do is try and wake the guardian so that she can use the miraculous cure to turn everything back to normal. Tikki is already helping the guardian. All we can do in this dome is lend Tikki our powers to speed up the guardian's recovery.

Mirantte's prov:

Everything hurts so much until it stopped. All around me I could sense a comforting darkness. It was something I know all to well. I died again, great! Just what I needed to make my day better. At least I died while I was Ladybug. This should make it easier for Tikki to patch up my wrecked body. I let my consciousness drift in the gentle darkness grateful that Tikki made this place for my soul to rest, the FIRST time she had to patch me up.

I almost shuddered at remembering the first time I almost died. Believe it or not the first time made what is currently happening in Paris look like child's play. Yes, Paris was destroyed, and a building fell on me, thanks to Cat tripping me, but oooooooooo well.

I could slowly feel Tikki's magic soothing the pain making me wonder why I could not just die. But I knew I had to use my miraculous ladybug to put everything back to the way it was before the betrayal, before I truly had no one left to help me. I knew I had to face Cat one last time. It was time to put an end to Cat's recklessness, that has resulted in not only a betrayal to his miraculous but also his betrayal to me.The Akuma had to be in his bracelet. This was not going to be easy. I could feel Tikki softly pushing me back to life. I wonder how long I was dead this time?

Back to present...

Batfam prov

There was nothing more any of us could do now. We all decided it was time to get some sleep and approach what happened tomorrow after maby seven cups of coffee. Why did this have to happen when Alfred wasn't home? I slowly start to follow Bruce up the stairs when suddenly a bright green light illuminated the cave. Our heads wiped to the source of the light only to see that the green dome was gone and the once lifeless girl slowly sitting up.....

Marinette prov.

Pain was the first thing I felt as my senses slowly came back. The next thing were voices that were muffled. This made me forcefully open my eyes to see who it was. That was not one of my best idea's since it was so bright that my eyes watered before they adjusted. Where am I?

Slowly getting into a sitting position I couldn't help but hiss at the sudden pain. I looked down at the wound the betrayer gave me. "He got me good", I said in annoyances .

I nearly jumped out of my skin when a little pow touched my back it had to be Tricks. I looked sheepishly at Tricks while blurting out "I died again , sorry. Uhhhhh if I had known I was going to die so frequently, I would have made a stamp. By the way ,how long was I dead this time?" Tricks looked at me clearly with worry in her eyes before slowly shaking her head.

"Alright , time to get to business! "

I slowly made my way into a standing position even as my body screamed in protest. Grabbing my jojo, I through it in the air saying my normal catchphrase" Miraculous ladybug!" I watched as a tornado of ladybugs swirled around me healing the remaining damage, before going through the ceiling to fix Paris.

I still felt tired and honestly, I could use at least a month's sleep but I still had Cat to deal with...

Looking at my surroundings for the first time I let out a small squeak as I took a defence stance. I was not alone. Damit!

I eyed the the four strange men trying to look as fierce as possible, analysing their movements and aura since I could not properly see their faces. I had to push back my internal panicking and Ladybug my way out" Kaalki , Tikki merge. Voyage....." I whispered under my breath" Uhmmmmmmm, Sorry for coming uninvited. I may have made a small mistake ending up here... Well.... Uhuuuummm. Gottogetgoingbye!"

I practically flung myself into the portal as the strange men started to run towards me, yelling as well as cussing before the portal closed in their blurry faces.

Batfam prov.

How is this possible?....

She was dead........

We saw her last breath leave her, didn't we?

This was impossible. We all turned to Bruce looking for answers that even he didn't have. "He got me good" Our heads wiped to the girl speaking in ... French?... What did she mean by that? None of us moved as the strange female child started to speak again with her face turned away from us. "I died again, sorry. Uhhhhh if I had known I was going to die so frequently, I would have made a stamp. By the way, how long was I dead this time?"

At this stage we were internally panicking but still could not move a muscle. HOW MANY TIMES HAS THIS GIRL DIED!

We all wanted to take a step forward when suddenly the strange female child stood up throwing a jojo in the air releasing a tornado of ladybugs, resulting in Tim jumping into Bruce's arms releasing a very manly squeak.

We were all staring at the ceiling were the pink tornado of ladybugs disappeared through, when another squeak brought our attention back to the strange female child.

She was .... Glaring?.. Squinting?...at us?

You could almost hear Dick trying not to laugh at the strange female child's attempt to look fierce. The mood in the cave when from tense to humorous in a blink of an eye.

" Uhmmmmmmm, Sorry for coming uninvited. " We started to make our way slowly to the strange female child, trying not to scare her even more.

"I may have made a small mistake ending up here... Well....Uhuuuummm". We were close enough to see her blue bell eyes , when suddenly ANOTHER portal opened behind her .

"Gottogetgoingbye!" We were sprinting towards her. Dick was letting out a sting of curses as the portal closed right in his face. Leaving the Batcave in eery silence again.

Tim hit his head against the wall "So many feeling ... so little time.... I need more coffee Bruce"

Good evening Mater's "Alfred's chirpy voice rang through the cave "

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shyneanon · 3 years

Text

So I know almost nothing about Nightmare Sans but I decided I wanted to write something on the creepier side, so yeah! That’s what this is, something on the creepier side. I guess it’s technically “x reader” but it’s not particularly romantic....

---

You were in a marsh.

At least, that was what you thought at first. You were almost knee deep in what you had first assumed was water, and you could see trees. But when you attempted to move your legs, you discovered that the water was more like tar. Almost like there’d been some awful spill, so bad that the entire marsh was just filled with oil now. You looked around. Everything seemed very black; you could only assume it was nighttime.

Where am I? It looked almost like an empty void save for the trees and tar. You saw no night sky.

A dream, probably.

Well, nothing was really happening, so you began to wade through the marsh. It was gross, and very quickly you found yourself struggling to move. Not like quicksand, it just took a lot of effort to move and you were getting tired. You weren’t sure why but you were starting to get eerie vibes from this place.

Maybe it was the fact that there was no sound at all.

You hadn’t noticed that before. It was just… dead silence, besides the sound of you sloshing (or attempting to slosh) around in the tar. There didn’t appear to be any signs of life, despite this being presumably a marsh.

Just darkness, trees, and oil.

Nothing more.

Silence bothered you, so you observed, “There’s nobody here,” in an attempt to calm your nerves.

“I’m here.”

You froze in place and then looked around. It was a soft, polyphonic voice. You couldn’t pinpoint a single direction from which it could be coming.

“There’s no need to be afraid.”

Having the other voice talking at you made you feel a little helpless, so you decided to respond, but the best thing you could think of was, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I mean I was hoping for a longer answer,” you said. “Who are you?”

The voice answered with, “A friend.”

“A bit too vague for my liking, friend.” You looked down and observed just how difficult it was for you to move in the sticky black substance flooding the marsh, and you began to move towards a tree. If your new friend wasn’t really so friendly you could try climbing the tree to get away.

“Do you want a name?”

“I mean, I guess a name would be nice.” It was taking you ages to get to the tree.

“Tell me your name.”

Uh… sure, why not?

“My name’s (y/n),” you said as you finally got to the tree. You reached out to grab it--

The tree suddenly formed a ghastly face with sharp teeth that bit down into your hand.

Hard.

And it hurt.

It was so painful you let out a yell. Instinctively, you tried to tug away from it but its teeth only sank harder into your hand. You swore. Why is the pain so real? Why does it hurt so much?!

You managed to yank your hand away but at the expense of the teeth raking through your hand. You looked at what it had left behind; you could see bone and muscle. The flesh was completely ripped off in some places. You looked back at the tree and saw that it was devouring what it had torn off of you. Looking back at your hand, you noticed there was blood… So much blood…. Horrified, you stumbled backward…

And fell back into the tar. The sensation stung your mauled hand, and while you writhed to get out, its consistency was too thick, too sticky. Where was the bottom of the tar pit? You had been wading through it before but now it felt like you were sinking…

There was the feeling of a hand grabbing your uninjured arm and pulling you up from the tar as if it were mere water. When you surfaced, you doubled over and started to cough; you could feel some of the tar still clinging to you. Eventually you were able to look up from the ground to see who had rescued you, and if they looked like they were just here to inflict more pain.

It… looked like a person, someone about your height. Sort of. The shape did, anyway. They were wearing some… kind of hoodie, you thought? And shorts. And their head appeared to be round, but they were coated in that tar you were wading in. And they had these four massive tentacles coming from their back, that also looked like they were covered in the tar. Or were they made of tar? You weren’t sure. Thankfully, seeing as this was a dream and you were confused and frightened, seeing tentacles didn’t bring to your mind anything humorous.

Or maybe that’s a bad thing. At least if you had been laughing at the thought of hentai you wouldn’t have been feeling the stinging, piercing pain on the hand of yours that had been torn apart.

For some reason, you weren’t really afraid of the stranger. He had a bizarre appearance, yeah, but he had just saved you from drowning, he wasn’t attacking you, and… and you weren’t sure. You just felt really calm around him. More than anything, you were curious. Your eyes were drawn to this one teal eye he had.

Without thinking, you reached up to touch him, and then noticed your mangled hand. Seeing the gore startled you enough for you to yell and almost fall over backwards again, but the stranger grabbed your uninjured arm like before.

“It’s alright. You don’t need to be scared.”

It was the voice from before. This was its owner?

“I mean,” you said, “my hand has been destroyed, so…”

“I can heal it,” he said.

One of his tentacles slowly reached out, but not for your hand. It was aiming for your forehead. You didn’t pull away, just watched. You had the feeling you were both curious about each other, right?

This was going to be one of those awesome-in-hindsight dreams, wasn’t it?

The tentacle eventually touched you. It was gooey but you still couldn’t tell if it was made of tar or just covered in it.

It then turned itself around and slowly ran down your face. You blinked a little at the sensation-- it was still covered in goop, so ew, kinda-- but it wasn’t all that bad.

You saw a smile play at the stranger’s features. The smile was very toothy, and as he cocked his head, exposing more of his neck, you realized why he didn’t look quite normal.

Well, there were a lot of reasons why he didn’t look normal. But why his human-like figure didn’t seem quite like any other person’s.

You could see the vertebrae of his neck.

A skeleton.

Weird.

You lifted your uninjured hand a little. “Can I touch you?” you asked.

He looked at your hand.

“Of course.”

You reached out with your hand and touched his cheek. All of him felt gooey. Man, your brain came up with the weirdest things, didn’t it?

You felt two of his tentacles take your injured hand and the stinging sensation faded. When you looked back at it, it was completely healed, as if nothing had ever happened to it.

Well, this wasn’t really such a nightmare, it had its upsides.

You smiled at the stranger. “Thank y--”

There was a sloshing sound from behind you and you turned to see a harrowing figure of tar rising up from behind you. Before you could do so much as let out a sound it tackled you so that you were back in the tar, though this time you could feel a bottom.

You quickly wished there was no bottom.

Instead of drowning you felt the sensation of the figure’s hand tearing straight through your chest, shattering your ribs and tearing apart your insides.

It was agonizing.

You screamed (or, attempted to) and began to writhe in pain as you suddenly felt like you’d been stabbed in the stomach. Before you knew it you felt like your whole body was getting torn into pieces. Why does it feel so real? This is a dream! It shouldn’t feel so real!

Eventually the pain grew so overwhelming that your consciousness(? In a dream?) began to fade, and eventually everything went black.

You didn’t wake up.

---

Nightmare listened to the sounds of your screaming as the entities he’d summoned tore you to bits and pieces. They ripped your heart out, tore holes in your lungs, took off your limbs…. Nightmare closed his eyes.

Her screams are beautiful….

When you stopped screaming, and he realized you had passed out, he held out his hand and the figures melted back into the tar where they’d come from. He reached down and hauled you out of the tar before making his way to a tree. Unlike with you, the tree made no move to injure him, and he used his four extra limbs to climb up to the top with no problem.

He then began to heal you.

You barely resembled yourself after what the creatures in the tar had done to you. It pained Nightmare to see it. They had torn apart your beautiful face…

But he’d needed to feed. And besides… your screams… He let out a shuddering breath.

And in a few minutes, it would all be worth it.

It took a while before your body was able to reform and put itself back into place, but once it did, Nightmare smiled, taking you in his tentacles.

“So pretty,” he murmured to himself. He wasn’t used to… enjoying the sight of people. Usually his emotions didn’t leave much room for positive thinking. But he supposed you fulfilled certain criteria that fit his… personal tastes.

One tentacle curled around you possessively.

“M… Mine….”

He knew he couldn’t actually keep you here. While he was virtually godlike in his realm (if he weren’t, you would be dead from all that maiming earlier), keeping you here wasn’t feasible.

Right now, at least.

He waited for you to wake up, lovingly stroking you with his tentacles and watching your soft features.

To think he had come up with a perfect plan so quickly…

---

You eventually woke up.

Well, not really, it appeared you were still in the dream. Had you been having a nightmare in the dream? Was this a dream within a dream?

You noticed that you were being held by something odd, and as your vision focused you could see that it was the stranger from earlier holding you.

“You’re awake,” he said. This was the first time you’d seen him frowning. “I was worried I’d lost you….”

You looked at your hands, then felt your body. It was like nothing had touched you. “How…”

“I healed you again, after driving the creature off.”

You looked up at him in shock. “You could heal me from that?” You weren’t sure why you were questioning the logic of a dream, but here you were.

“This forest is a very dangerous place. If I didn’t have these capabilities, I would be dead. There is no one here to heal me.”

Wait.

“So you’re stuck here? All by yourself?”

A nod.

“That’s… horrible,” you told him.

“It’s alright.” He smiled. “You being here… makes it much less lonely.”

Your face warmed up. Why was it warming up? “Oh…. Thanks.” You smiled apologetically. “I can’t… stay here forever, though.”

“I know.”

One of his tentacles brushed aside some of your hair. You seemed to be held in two of them.

Huh. You didn’t see so many tree trunks. Were you still in the marsh?

You looked down and then instantly jumped, clinging to his neck. So high up we’re so high up--

The stranger let out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”

Well, he’d saved you from death twice now, so you’d trust him on that. You nodded. “Thanks… for saving me.”

He cupped your cheek with one hand.

“I have never seen anything as beautiful as you,” he said.

Your face got hot.

He pressed his teeth to your lips.

At first, you just didn’t know what to do. This was a little bit shocking. What was this dream?

But you felt so calm near him, and he was lonely, and he had saved your life… and it was just a dream, so...

You kissed back.

---

Nightmare felt a surge of emotion that he hadn’t felt in a long time as your lips returned his kiss.

Mine…. She loves me….

His tentacles wrapped firmly around you and he deepened the kiss. You reciprocated.

I’m her hero….

One of his tentacles stroked your thigh and he opened his one functioning eye, watching as your face flushed pink.

If only you were a being of darkness like him, able to withstand immense amounts of pain… How he could tear you apart, spill your blood, make you beg for mercy…

Only to have you beg for more….

He growled into the kiss and you seemed to pay no mind. In fact, you shifted in his hold so that it was easier to kiss you.

He wondered… was it possible to change a human into something like him…? He would have to look into that.

The things that he would do to you….

As he thought of it his tentacles began to encroach on slightly more sensitive areas of your body, and he raised a hand, bringing out your soul. He hoped you wouldn’t notice, and at first you didn’t, but when it began to shine brightly enough, you opened one eye and then broke the kiss.

“Wh… what’s that?”

“It is your soul,” Nightmare explained, hoping you wouldn’t ask how it got here. “The entirety of you, embodied in one small object.”

Curious, you blinked and reached out, tapping it.

“It’s warm,” you observed.

“It is.”

So warm…. So soft….

He gently ran a finger along it, watching your face.

You flushed red.

The things he would do….

He suddenly came to the realization that it was almost time for you to wake up.

Not fair….

But that was how things were. So he gently returned your soul (much to his dismay) and kissed your lips.

“I hope that I can see you again,” he told you.

You seemed to be aware that you were dreaming, so you probably thought you wouldn’t be seeing him again. Still, you responded, “I hope so too. Especially if I end up back here. I’m gonna need you around or I’ll die.”

His plan had worked out so perfectly. He was unused to playing the hero, but it had worked out so well….

He would keep being the hero for you.

“If you end up here I promise I’ll find you.”

You nodded.

And then you dissipated as you were awoken by the sound of your alarm.

Nightmare glared at the empty space where you’d been.

It’s not fair.

It’s not. Fair.

His brother had people who cared about him while Nightmare was stuck on his own. You were the only person who wanted him and now you were gone until the nighttime. Until you went to sleep. He clenched his fists.

No. No. There’s no need to be angry.

This was good. The fact that you were gone was good. During the time you were gone, he would eventually find a way to keep you here.

Not just keep you, but change you. So that he wouldn’t be alone.

He would make you into something cold and dark, like him.

And how he’d hurt you….

Such beautiful screams.

#I dunno I was like #how bout somethin' creepyyyyyy #fanfic #fanfiction #reader-insert #self-insert #x reader #sans x reader #nightmare sans

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liibrii · 3 years

Text

Kita Shinsuke x gn!Reader

Synopsis: Hitchhiking through the countryside you catch a ride from a handsome stranger, which just might turn out to be the greatest decision of your life – or your greatest mistake.

wc: 2k || thriller-ish, mystery-ish

a/n: heavily inspired by one of my all time favourite songs; The Count of Tuscany. tbh this fic was just an excuse for me to listen to it on repeat for several hours :P as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

In the bathroom of the roadside gas station you change into your best clothes and brush through the tangles in your hair, wash your face, scrub your hands to make sure there's no dirt beneath your nails. No one in their right mind would pick up a scruffy looking hitchhiker.

You decide to stand outside where everyone who drives in to fill their gas tanks will notice you. On a small chalkboard you bought for a few hundred yen in a convenience store you write the name of your destination with the prettiest writing you manage and even add a smiley face. That should do the trick of gaining attention.

You've almost reached your destination already. The western sea of Japan. Being born on the eastern coast you have watched the sun rise above the ocean your entire life. At least once in your life you want to see it sink in the vastness of the sea hugging your homeland.

Would a train or a bus bring you to your destination faster? They would, sadly your wallet disagreed with that option. Hitchhiking really was the best option even if you often waited for hours with no luck. Still it wasn't all bad; one time an elderly lady stoped to give you a lift. You sat in the back as the front sit was occupied by her dog who excitedly turned to sniffle and lick your face, begging for scratches. She made you stay for dinner and even prepared a futon for you to sleep. “All my children and grandchildren moved to the big cities.“ She scratched behind the ears of her dozing four legged companion as you drank tea while sun slowly set behind the hilltops. “Slowly but surely we are bein' left behind. Seein' someone so young come 'round makes these old bones incredibly happy.“

Following morning she wished you good luck on your journey. Her name and address are written in your dairy. When new year comes in a few months you mustn't forget to send her a gift. You watched her stroll away, one slow step after another, dog trailing behind, her back bent under the weight of years. Is that what the future holds for you?

You try to keep a positive outlook, at least you get to see the beauty of the countryside. The green hills and vast fields of rice swaying in the wind are a sight that takes your breath away. Summer's coming to an end. It will soon be harvest season.

Your legs are starting to hurt. Hours have passed and nobody pays you even a second glance. Under the hat your hair sticks to your skin, droplets of sweat trickle down your back. You're all but ready to give up and start looking for a place to stay the night when a man about your age approaches.

He has caught your eye before. Something about his overalls and silvery hair glimmering in the sun made him stand out from the others. He kept glancing over at you while filling his tank.

“I'm not goin' as far as ya want,“ his eyes glance over the chalkboard you're holding. “But if ya want I can give ya a ride to the next town over.“

You eagerly nod. “That would be great!“ You offer him a hand. “You can call me y/n!“

His hand is calloused. Hand of someone working outside. “Kita.“

Ride is comfortable. Kita is more on the quiet side but once you mention how pretty the landscape looks with all the swaying fields he laughs . It's a bright sound that makes your heart skip a beat. He tells you he works the fields, not all you see, but many of them. Talking to him quickly becomes easy. To your surprise you find you have a lot in common. When you arrive to the town and he stops by a small inn offering rooms you're almost reluctant to leave his company. He hesitates when taking your backpack from the back seats. “I know we just met,“ he softly says, “but could I take you out for dinner? Maybe tonight?“

How could you possibly say no? You've been travelling on your own for the past two weeks and the loneliness is starting to get to you. And he's cute.

When he picks you up a few hours later he's wearing a nice button down. He combed his hair though you preferred it when it was all messy. “I'm not late am I?“

“No, I'm just a bit early.“

“Here,“ he shyly averts his eyes when he hands you a small bouquet of spider lilies that have yet to open in full bloom.

Your cheeks flush. It has been a long time since anyone gifted you flowers. “Thank you,“ you say, sincerely.

Kita takes you to a small family owned restaurant down the street. He opens the door for you and pours you tea while you skim through the menu. Talking to him is so easy. He mentions he used to play volleyball back in high school, that many of his old teammates went on to play professionally. Embarrassed you have to tell him you know very little about volleyball. As you speak his eyes linger on your face. Sports have never been your strong suit, you admit.

“Don't feel bad over it,“ he reassuringly smiles. “So how come yer travellin' these parts?“

Your dream of seeing the sunset over the sea seems so simple when you tell him but Kita nods. There's wisdom in his eyes you don't usually see in your peers. Why are you so relieved he doesn't find your dream childish? “I just want to see the country, get to know the land and the history,“ you eagerly continue.

“There's an old castle ruin not far from the town. Tourists often visit it. If ya want I can show ya 'round,“ he offers.

A trip to ruins does sound nice. Even a little bit romantic. One more day staying around couldn't hurt, right?

Kita's smile widens when you agree. “I'll pick ya up tomorrow. Would around midday be alright?“

For the rest of the night you're all giddy on the inside. You can't wait for tomorrow to arrive. Kita walks you back to the inn and waits till you're inside before heading his own way. What a gentleman, you think to yourself. Meeting someone like him was the last thing you expected.

Whatever road lead to the castle in its days of glory has long since been claimed by the nature. Kita walks with steps of someone who has walked this path a thousand times before. You trail behind him, your clothes getting caught in branches all the time. When he sees you struggling he slows down and even offers to carry your small backpack for you.

“This castle used to be really important back in the days,“ he explains while you catch your breath. “It's strategic position is really important. There's a legend my grannie used to tell me. Durin' the Sengoku period the youngest son of a shogun fortified himself in this castle and defended it for months. Then his enemies dug tunnels beneath.“ He offers you a hand to help you climb over a pile of rubble marking what once were the castle walls. “Filled them with wood soaked in fat and set it aflame. Castle crumbled and buried hundreds of soldiers beneath it. Some say the son of the shogun still haunts this place.“

“An interesting story,“ you say, ignoring how every hair on your body stands up.

By the time you reach the ruins you're drenched in sweat and yet once the view of the valley beneath opens up you forget all about the fatigue. You step closer to the ledge and peek over it. The side of the hill plunges straight down. Deep below you see tree tops. If you slipped -

A hand grabs your shoulder. “Careful. The stones 'round here often crumble.“

You murmur an apology. Kita's hand lingers on yours, his eyes following when you walk away to have a closer look at the ruins. They're covered with grass and small trees sprouting from the crack between stones. Funny, you can't see any tables with information about this place. Having a map would surely help with orientation. You can't be the only tourist with a knack of getting lost.

Kita approaches you with a smile. “Wanna see somethin' really cool?“

You follow him inside the ruins. “Watch yer step,“ he holds the branches of a lonely tree so they don't smack you as you walk by, “it's easy to trip 'round here.“

Walls here are better preserved, higher. The shadows they cast seem longer. You follow Kita inside the labyrinth of crumbled stone. An uneasy feeling of being watched grows inside you as your approach scares off a flock of birds.

Kita pushes away a curtain of poison ivy to reveal a gaping hole where the walls lean on the cliff towering above. Cold gust of wind makes you shudder. “Here,“ Kita offers you a torchlight. Your hands are cold. Fingers barely capable of wrapping around the black plastic.

He turns to you, his eyes carefully examining your face before he enters. “Ya comin'? Be careful where ya step, the stairs are slippery.“ He offers you his hand. It's warm.

“There's a natural cave beneath the castle.“ His calm voice echoes through the winding staircase. “Apparently it used to have a small pool for the nobles to cool in durin' summer. It's filled with rubble now.“

Light of the torches casts eerie shadows on the walls. Stone surface under your fingers is cold and damp. You follow Kita through a narrow hallway and soon enough you reach a small cave. It probably used to be bigger but a part of the ceiling caved in.

Rubble crunches under the soles of your shoes. In the eerie silence all you hear is your breathing and unsteady thumping in your chest. Somewhere in the distance perhaps a ghost of a long deceased soldier- you curse yourself in your head. Why are you trying to scare yourself?

You look up to see stalactites growing from the ceiling. How many thousands of years old must they be?

“They only grow about a millimetre per year. Must be tens of thousands of years old.“ Kita's voice makes you jump. How did he know exactly what you were thinking?

Only now you notice he's standing between you and the exit to the hallway. His eyes are fixed on you. He's closing off the only exit. Pounding in your chest quickens. This place is starting to suffocate you.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

You really did follow a complete stranger into a cave beneath an abandoned castle. What an idiot. Naive, trusting idiot.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

Slowly, like water dripping from the ceiling it sinks in you may not make it out of here.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.

Ah, don't be stupid! You still have years to live! A boring office job to take on! When was the last time you spoke to your friends?

Kita's eyes never leave yours as he steps closer. In the dim light it all seems so- Kita wouldn't- But you don't know him, do you? Torch rolls from your shaking fingers.

Is this really how it ends? Hidden from the sunlight, caught like a mouse in a trap of stone and cold cutting to your bones? You can't breathe. Will they ever find you? Tears well up in your eyes. Why? What have you done to deserve this?

You're shaking. Will you ever see the sunset over the vastness of the sea? Will you lay beside the unfortunate soldiers from centuries ago till you become only clean, nameless bones?

A shaky plea for your life is all you manage to stammer. Through the tears his face is just muddled colours. Is this really how you die?

Warm touch of his hands cupping your face, thumbs wiping away tears, his soft, gentle voice, paralyse you. “Hey, why are ya cryin'?“

#kita shinsuke #kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #kita imagine #kita #hqcorenet #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki x y/n #hq #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #libri scribbles #before spider lilies bloom

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chokemeanakin · 4 years

Text

Bad Dream- Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader (angst + fluff)

Summary: Reader has a bad dream during a thunderstorm and goes to Anakin for help

WC: 2.2k

Masterlist

Reader it in ao3

You had fallen asleep to the distant grumbling of the sky. Weather reports had all pointed to a storm during the night, and although you were not afraid of thunder, you were inclined to sleep through it so you could catch up on some much needed rest. Unfortunately, your subconscious had other plans.

You’re not sure when the tossing and turning started, but it must have been around the same time your head was filled with disturbing images, dark scenarios, dreams that made your pulse race and your body break out into a cold sweat. It was one of those dreams where you felt like you were drowning in a box with no way out, running from something when your legs refused to move, trying to save someone but they were just out of reach.

A deafening clap of thunder had you shooting upright in bed.

It took you a moment to realize where you were. The room was dark, the surroundings of your room illuminated in flickers as lightning flashed across the sky outside. Thick pellets of rain hammered against the windows, like millions of tiny pebbles attempting to break through the glass.

While normally it would have calmed you, now it heightened your unease. The whole world seemed to groan in rage outside, and you were still desperately trying to pull yourself out of the frightening dream you just had.

You were no stranger to nightmares-- you knew how to ground yourself after the particularly bad ones. But your fingers were too numb from gripping the bed sheets to feel anything else, your eyes unable to pick anything up but the eerie shadows in the corner of the room as irregular veins of lightning struck the ground, ears deafened by the rain and rumbling of the storm. Your head felt like it had been doused in lava, heart pounding in your chest. You were trapped, being swallowed up by darkness, falling back into that dream, back into that nightmare--

Another clap of thunder had the wall decorations shaking and you shooting to your feet, heading toward the door. You weren’t sure where you were planning on going, just that you had to get out of there before you suffocated for real. Peals of thunder followed you into the living area, unrelenting and loud enough to make your ears ring. The glass decorations on the windowsill rattled with tension, bright white flashes causing spots to form in your vision. You could barely hear yourself think, and a very real fear that the sky was actually opening up and falling down had you bolting for your door, heading across the hall of the Jedi temple to Anakin’s room.

You wandered through his living space on unsteady legs, falling into furniture and tripping over chairs in the dark. With each explosion of thunder, you sunk deeper into yourself, hugging your arms around your middle and bracing for impact. His door was cracked open an inch, and you nudged it open wider so that you could slip into the room.

You weren’t even sure he would be in here. He often worked late into the night, running around the temple halls, working on his starfighter, or deployed on a mission. If worse came to worse, you were just planning on sleeping in his sheets like you did when you missed him… except when you approached the bed, he was in it, and he was fast asleep.

You studied his face between flashes of light. He looked peaceful, face relaxed and breathing even. How he could sleep through a monstrosity of a storm like this, you would never know… especially since he usually wasn’t a very deep sleeper. He must have been beyond exhausted after his Jedi duties today if he wasn’t waking up, especially sensing your troubled presence nearby, and it only made you feel worse for disturbing his rest. But before you could work up the courage to leave, his eyebrows twitched, lips twisting into a frown before his eyes fluttered open.

Upon seeing you, he pushed himself up onto his forearms, blanket slipping down to reveal his bare chest. He squinted at you, still very much half asleep but reaching to take your hand in his anway.

“Wh’s wrong?”

You suddenly felt very childish. How were you supposed to complain of a nightmare to Anakin Skywalker, the literal king of terrifying prophetic dreams? What would he think of you if he knew you had come running to him because a simple thunderstorm had spooked you? What was he even supposed to do about it anyway?

Your hesitance worried him, so he reached out with the force to gage your emotions. Scared, uneasy, disturbed-- but not so much of the furious storm overhead, but of something else, something deeper. You had been shaken to the core, tormented by something that left your mind restless and body quivering in his touch. He had had enough experience to know exactly what was going on.

“Bad dream?”

You ducked your head to study your bare feet, ashamed. “The thunder doesn’t help.”

“C’mere,” he scoot across the bed, peeling back the covers for you to get in. You crawled into his bed clumsily, collapsing onto the pillows as he tucked them back up over you. The rain was still pounding mercilessly into the windows, the sky waging armageddon, but the pillows smelled like Anakin and he was right next to you, a formidable, calming presence despite the warzone outside.

He immediately gathered you into his arms, cradling you against his chest and resting his cheek on top of your head. You breathed in his scent, basking in his warmth. All of the fear and worries from the storm outside seemed to melt away. All that was left was the incessant reminders of your disturbing dream, replaying in your mind as if on a tape-reel. Every time you tried to close your eyes, to relax fully into Anakin and let him just hold you in his strong arms, the images would come back. It had you pent up with frustration, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep like Anakin seemed to be doing again, but you just couldn’t. You were too afraid that you might slip back into that dark place, and have to relive what had plagued your mind before.

You felt Anakin’s head lift off yours. He studied you for a moment, eyebrows drawn down in concern.

“Alright, come with me. We’re going on an adventure.”

You watched Anakin unwrap himself around you and then get out of bed, waiting for you to do the same. Slowly, you pushed yourself back onto your feet, taking the hand he held out for you and letting him lead you into the kitchen. He motioned for you to sit at one of the chairs of the island, and then left you there to reach into the cupboard and retrieve a couple of mugs.

“Tea? Tea is your idea of an adventure?” You teased, spinning slightly on the spinny chair.

“When it’s 3am the roof is about to cave in because of a storm, yes. It’s an adventure.”

He flicked the oven on and a flame burst out of the stovetop. He placed the tea kettle on top, then lazily waved his hand in the air to call the teabags over to him. Then he leant his forearms against the counter, bowing his head and yawning as he waited for the water to heat up.

You felt terrible for keeping him awake.

“I can make the tea,” you offered, and he lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at you. “So you can go back to bed, I mean.”

A sudden boom of thunder clapped overhead, shaking the walls and causing you to flinch involuntarily. He looked at the ceiling as this happened, listening to the aching sky grumble an apology for the attack.

“And sleep through a storm like this? Now that’d be a shame.”

You knew he was only saying this for your sake, and you loved him for it. Still, it didn’t ease the guilt you felt as you watched him take the whistling kettle off the flame, pouring it into the mugs with one hand while rubbing his eye with the other.

“Don’t feel guilty, my love. I’m more than willing to stay up with you if you can’t sleep.”

“You must be exhausted though,” you accepted the mug he held out for you.

“I’m alright.”

You pouted. The temple shuddered with another round of explosive claps of thunder, lightning flickering through the blinds. Suddenly the low hum of the space heaters went silent, and a foreboding click sounded as everything shut down.

“Did the power just go out?” You eyed the blank screen of the microwave, where it used to show the time.

“Good timing,” he handed you honey for your tea. “Don’t worry, it should be back on by morning. The temple maintenance workers are more than prepared for stuff like this.”

“I’m not worried… just surprised. It’s a very violent storm, isn’t it?”

He nodded, thumbing the rim of his mug. His deep breaths, the slow blinks, the slurred words. He was about to fall asleep standing up, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do something about it.

“Let’s go to the couch,” you suggested, and pushed yourself off the spinny chair. He followed you into the living area, sitting next to you as you curled up into his side again, hugging the mug between your hands and letting the steam melt across your face. Instinctively, he put his arm around you and let you rest your head on his shoulder.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked after a moment, staring out the rain-spattered window at the blurry city lights below. “Your dream I mean?”

“I… can’t really remember it anymore,” you answered truthfully. The longer you stayed awake, the more the dream slipped from your memory. A blessing, only tainted by the feelings it left in its wake. The fear and dread remained, though the dream in itself was gone.

“It bothers you still.”

“Only a little,” you took a sip of your tea. “But this is nice.”

Lightning shot across the sky, reaching its hands out like it was searching for something across the horizon. More tendrils branched out in every direction, crawling across the skyline and illuminating the room in a pale blue light. You counted the seconds until the thunder hit: 1...2...3…

“Storm’s right overhead,” Anakin noted, thumb stroking the skin of your arm.

“It better not kill us.”

“I won’t let it kill you,” he chuckled deeply.

“You won’t let it?” You pulled back to look at him. “I hate to break it to you, but I think Mother Nature does what she wants.”

“You forget, I control an important part of nature.”

Your mug lifted from your fingers suddenly, floating into his hand instead. He took a sip of your tea, winking lazily.

“Hey,” you laughed, reaching for your mug as he held it over his head with a teasing smile. You were too tired to fight him for it though, so you rolled your eyes with mock exasperation, holding his chin steady so you could kiss him instead.

His lips were pliant beneath yours, and tasted sweet like the honey. You licked the taste off of them, and his arm lowered without him realizing it so he could focus on the feel of you. You took the opportunity to grab your mug back, pulling away before he could realize what you’d done.

“Dirty tactic,” he mused. “I’d even go as far as to say… cheater.”

“Yeah, yeah, like you don’t use your fancy Jedi tricks to peek at my deck every time we play cards.”

“You have no proof.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” you finish your tea, setting it down on the coffee table before you and nuzzling your head back into Anakin’s neck. “So it’s only fair that you cut me some slack.”

“Just this once,” he appeased, tilting his head so that it was resting on yours again.

You felt much better now than you had before. As the storm came to a head, Anakin held you through it. It was impossible to be frightened of the loud noises and sinister peals of lightning when he was holding you. The sluggish funk that the nightmare had left you with also faded away, and all that was left was the scent of Anakin, the feel of his warm skin beneath your cheek, and the taste of him on your lips. Before long, you had nodded off on his shoulder.

He stayed awake until he was certain you were sleep, watching the raindrops race each other down the window pane. Shortly after the space heaters powered back to life, he turned his head to see your eyes closed, lips slightly parted, fast asleep against him. Carefully, he shifted you into his arms so that he could carry you back to bed without you waking.

Although he was beyond the point of exhaustion, he slept better than ever that night knowing you were beside him, safe in his embrace and contentedly resting now that your fears had been washed away. A few hours of missed sleep was worth it if it meant making sure you would be okay, and he knew that you would do the same for him without a doubt.

#did i really just write shirtless ani and NOT mention his abs???#shit i guess there is something wrong with me #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fic #star wars fic #anakin fluff #anakin angst #anakin skywalker

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wonderland-in-bloom · 4 years

Text

the battle for a princess pt.2

[dorm leaders x reader]

@selfinsertheaven asked: Yaaaaaaay I've been waiting for this!!!! If it's not too much to ask, could I get a oneshot of the House Leaders falling for female reader who's basically a Disney princess (kind, gentle, can sing really nice, the works) and them trying to make her fall for them/compete for her heart. Thank you so much I absolutely adore your writing!!

part two!! lezgooo!!

♡

“shh, shhh. it’s okay little one.” he cooed. “want to help me take care of him, (y/n)?” what you and riddle both failed to realize, was that the three remaining dorm leaders had a plan up their sleeves. you and riddle managed to treat the little hedgehog. it had a little injury on it’s left leg and you managed to wrap it up pretty nicely. “you’d make a good nurse, (y/n).” riddle complimented you as you rubbed the bridge of the hedgehog’s nose, hoping it’ll fall asleep. “you think so? maybe animals yeah...but people?” riddle smiled a gentle smile, something the heartslabyul students rarely see. “of course. you did cure my broken heart after all.” you giggled. “ah riddle, the overblot situation? it was nothing...”

it didn’t cross your mind that riddle was flirting with you. you just assumed he was being friendly. this didn’t matter to riddle however, he got to spend time with you and had all the time in the world to win you over. “(y/n)...i-” riddle’s sentence was cut off with cater and trey running towards his direction. “RIDDLE! SOMETHING! BAD! HAPPENED-” you two followed cater and trey to go to the area of the gardens with the rose bushes. riddle’s jaw dropped when he saw the roses painted in blue and green paint. his face began to get redder by the second, and you tried your best to calm him down and didn’t make him explode. you felt a tap on your shoulder and you saw jade and floyd from a shrub. “you wouldn’t wanna see this, come with us.” you hesitantly left riddle to let cater and trey take care of him while you muttered a small ‘sorry’. you followed jade and floyd who was presumably heading to the mostro lounge. “i assumed you two did that?” jade only let out a small chuckle but covered it with a cough and floyd just smirked. “the roses were waaaaay too boring. they’re just red or white. can’t the choose another color?” you shook your head. the truth was, azul told the two of them to distract riddle somehow so the both of them could lure you away all the way to the lounge.

when the two double doors opened, you stepped into an empty lounge. the purple lighting only illuminated one table, with an all too familiar figure sitting there. “my sweet, precious (y/n). have a seat.” you shuddered at this eerie atmosphere. but you hesitantly took a seat across azul. once you sat down, the lights all bursted alive and the room was illuminated in different shades of color. you were shocked to see new decorations such as corals and chandeliers. “azul! look at what you’ve done with the place...” he chuckled. “of course i got the finest quality of decor. the finest, just like you...” you giggled. “you’re too sweet azul!” he smirked to himself. with a click of his fingers, a rainbow of food appeared in front of the both of you. “i’m planning to have new menus. please, be my taste tester.” you spent the whole afternoon with a happy heart and happy stomach. besides, you also got a chance to talk a lot with azul. this made him extremely happy, and he was actually shocked that there were no distractions from the other dorms at all. when the clock struck at around 8 pm you thanked azul for your little time together and left. on the way back to your dorm, you chuckled to see a figure leaning against the old dead tree of the ramshackle dorm.

“isn’t it too late for a lady to be roaming around at this time of night?” you shrugged as you entered into the property of the dorm. closing the gate, you turned your head and gave malleus a small smile. “ehhh, i think it’s fine like this.” you approached malleus and that’s when he fixed his posture. “the night we met, i thought you said you would find other abandoned places to relax in.” he sighed. “it’s different now. would you believe me if i said i wanted to see you.” malleus was not the type to joke, you thought to yourself. you just shook off the thought however. “hmm. probably.” was it really though? or was he planning something? well that didn’t matter. “you must’ve been tired from today. you should get some rest.” malleus gently took a lock of your hair and gently kissed it. “goodnight, princess.” all you could do was giggle. you really didn’t know how to react. “goodnight, malleus.” as he exited through the front gate, you couldn’t refrain yourself from smiling. today has been such a weird day with different events involving all the dorm leaders. weird, you thought.

after cleaning yourself and already tucked in bed with a loud grim snoring beside you, you received a video call from idia on your phone. you picked it up and saw him laying down on his bed. “hey (y/n)...i know it’s late. are you going to sleep yet?” you waved at him. “nope, it’s fine.” he sighed in relief. he promised you that the call would be short but it actually ended two hours later when the two of you were drowsy and really sleepy. “i think you should sleep now, (y/n).” you yawned and nodded. “i’m sorry for being weak at staying up late.” you chuckled. idia brushed it off. “it’s alright! really. after all, i’m the one who keeps talking to you.” idia hesitantly raised his left pointer finger and thumb to form a small little heart symbol while his left hand held his phone showing you his face and hand. “sweet dreams, (y/n). i hope you dream about me.” how adorable. “i really hope we can call each other again tomorrow. it’s been fun talking to you.” and with that the call ended.

that night, you had a little trouble sleeping. you never realized how different and how caring all of the dorm leaders were towards you. were they in love with you? noooo of course not. well. at least you thought that was the case.

♡

hey guys! i’m sorry if i write less nowadays (however i’ll try my best to upload one or two things each day) because i had a bandaid around my pointer finger and it’s actually really annoying to type with, and also cause the spark of inspiration for drawing came back lololol. i’ll promise to update everyday though :)) stay safe, stay healthy, stay happy guys!

love, a♕

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mattzerella-sticks · 3 years

Text

Heart in My Hand (15x18 “Despair” coda, Dean-centric, Destiel. post-that scene)

(ao3 link)

He was right there.

Cas was telling Dean everything he ever wanted to hear since meeting the angel of the Lord... only each and every word of his confession stabbed at Dean's heart. Because once he finished, there's no more time for them. For him. For any chance of happiness - all that taken away by the Empty. And now he has to carry on.

He tries. Stands, gets in his car and drives where Sam tells him. When he meets with the others, though...

Dean spots them easily, only two people left on the planet besides himself. Standing in the middle of the street, waiting. He rolls to a stop near some crashed truck and an abandoned bag of groceries that spills out the top. Egg yolks oozing into a small puddle, mixing with freely leaking juice burning bright against dark asphalt. Visible even from where he sits inside his car.

With Sam and Jack advancing, Dean crams the rest of his emotions down. Puts on a brave face. What he sees in his rearview isn’t anything like that. Trembling lips. Red, blotchy skin. Wide eyes that look more haunted than an average, Midwestern home. It’s better than how he appeared earlier. And since they’re already here, he must move on. Steeling himself, he exits his car.

“Dean,” Jack starts, glancing from him to his empty car, “Where’s Cas?”

Dean fails, again. “Cas…” He croaks, words blocked by the boulder that wedged into his throat once that black portal of despair vanished. Water traces familiar pathways down his cheeks, Dean steadying himself on his open door. Hisses panicked breaths through clenched teeth. “Cas, he…”

“Oh.” Sam stumbles backwards, news dealing its own damage. Jack stares at Dean, jaw hanging limply. Gaze wet from threatening tears. “Was it…” his brother coughs, regaining his footing, “was it Billie?”

He shakes his head, still not ready to speak. Voice abandoning him like… well.

“Chuck?” Jack asks, inching closer. “Did Chuck make him crumble, too?”

Dean nearly forgot. Chuck… if only. His anger would have a target, instead of hanging around him as if it were a fog. Miasma thick he cannot see past a never-ending reel of those few, long minutes. Cas’s parting message replaying ad nauseum. “No,” he manages, staring at Baby’s roof. “No, he – he sacrificed… to take out… to save…” Gasping, Dean lolls his head upwards. Staring up at an empty sky, sending what’s left of his sentence into the heavens.

Someone approaches, lays a hand on his elbow. There because it hovered over Dean’s shoulder and chose a different path. Dean felt how close it came to fitting over his angel’s mark. Heard a sharp intake of breath after they noticed it, confirming Dean’s suspicion. “Dean,” Sam says – of course it’d be him. He recognizes his little brother’s voice. Especially when he forces confidence through his tone. It lacks, however, as an undercurrent of worry threaded through it. “Dean,” he continues, “what happened?”

First, he searches for Jack. The younger boy leans across from Dean, waiting. Curious. Heartbroken. “He,” Dean whispers, knees buckling under him, “Billie was out for blood and – and we couldn’t stop her on our own. So Cas, he…” Sam’s grip tightens on his elbow, adds another supportive touch to Dean’s armpit. Keeps him standing. Dean thanks Sam by letting his hands stay. “We were dead to rights. So Cas… let himself be happy.”

Jack’s muttered curse resolves a lingering question, whether he knew. Doubly confirmed since Jack draws further attention to himself, slamming his fist on Baby’s roof. Dean doesn’t raise his usual objections. “The Empty,” he says.

“The Empty?” Sam glances between Jack and Dean, “What would… why would the Empty be there? When Cas is happy – what are you talking about?”

“A deal Sammy,” Dean says. Louder, rougher. Shattering the eerie silence of this deserted city scape. “He made a deal with that damned thing, his life for… for…”

“For mine.” Jack tilts his head, brows drawn in such a mirror of his father Dean nearly collapses where he stood. He remains strong. “When I was in Heaven, after I… I died, the first time.” Sighing, he stretches towards them. Extending an empty palm in a gesture of regret. “I’m… I’m so sorry –“

“No.” Dean slides his own hand, taking Jack’s. Squeezes it. Grounding himself further. “I don’t… it’s not your fault. Cas made the deal. He – he’s made his choice. It’s… if he had the chance to go back, he’d still do it. Again and again. That’s who he is.” Dean hiccups, face cracking as his mouth stretches wide, gracing the others with a rueful smile. “Putting everyone’s needs before himself even if it… even if it meant he could never…” He shudders, Cas’s peaceful expression when the Empty struck frozen in his mind. “Too good, Cas was – he was too good –“

“Dean, Dean!” Sam tore Dean away from Jack and Baby, carrying him off to sit on the sidewalk’s curb. Bent him, head between knees, helping him work past growing hysterics. Jack followed them, hovering. Shadow blocking the sun from shining above, casting him in darkness. Thinking this makes Dean spiral further. “Breathe Dean, just breathe.”

It’s stupid. Dean wastes valuable time, their world crumbling all around them. And what is he doing? Crying. Making Sam and Jack comfort him because Dean lost the shovel he usually buries his feelings with. Empty probably taking that, too. It’s stupid. Maddening. Also, completely unavoidable.

Dean wondered if, one day, he might shatter so completely gathering those pieces might prove impossible. He has his answer, at the worst possible moment.

Soon he calms, and Dean can lift his head without flashing back there.

“Dean…” Sam starts, cautiously. Treating Dean too carefully given how far into this war they’re in. “Dean, Cas’s deal… the Empty wanted him happy?” Nodding, Dean waits for the next question. Dreading it. “What… what did he do?”

Sam hadn’t broken down, when they found Eileen’s duffel – and her phone. Recovered best he could and shouldered his pain. Allowed those seconds of grief, then used it as fuel. Whereas Dean drags his suffering into eternity. Mourns his best friend, and their lost potential. A stolen future. Years spent in denial. If he’d taken a chance earlier… at some point. “Cas,” Dean sighs, “he let himself… he confessed…” Explaining it was too difficult, but Sam needed to know. Jack, too. “He loved me, Sam.” Laughing, Dean wipes at his eyes. “He loved me, after all I – he still… he loved me, and that killed him.” Whispering, he repeats, “He loved me.”

Sam’s features shifted, journeying from shock to a pitying understanding. Rubs comfortingly at his back, sighing. “Loving you was what made him happiest?”

“Yeah… it was, it was so simple…” Dean uncurls, teetering, flirting with the idea of lying on his back. He and Jack trade a fleeting glance, Dean checking his reaction. Not surprised in the slightest. Kid’s too damned insightful. “Just admitting it was enough and… and you know what he said? He said he… Cas believed it was something he could never have?” His chest tightens, and Dean scoffs. “I don’t… how could that be – how could loving me be, I’m… how can I be Cas’s happiness? Out of all he could have had, and what he wanted was me – what I… what I thought I could never have.”

“Don’t say that Dean,” Sam admonishes, “you are worthy of having love.”

Shrugging, Dean turns from his and Jack’s heavy stares. Looks at the pooling egg yolk again; focuses on that spreading mess. “Cas said about as much, before the Empty… had this whole speech that I – it felt like I was being peeled away. Called me out for… it all feels so meaningless. Is that what it felt like, with Eileen? Being with someone who can see through you and make all this big stuff seem – well, seem not so big anymore?” Sam agrees, as much. “There we were Billie hot on our heels. Waiting for death, and he spits out the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I almost forgot what was going on. It was just him and me… him seeing – seeing me. And you know what I did? Not a goddamn thing…”

“Dean…”

“I could barely speak, I – I was so scared,” Dean admits, “if you’d’ve been there Sam, the look of – look of finality that was there, alongside the love, and peace, and happiness. I always wanted to hear him say that, couldn’t predict him saying all of that… I would’ve traded it if it meant he’d stay. And I can – I get to have him in the only way we could. But he made up his mind, like with Jack. Took Billie down, and him, too. Leaving me there – alone – that it… when I finally said it back, I was too late.”

They echoed. Hung in the air. Mingled with Cas’s blood on his sleeve and the fresh tears pouring out of him. Shook Dean down to the very core of his being, barely hearing it past the low pitch of static filling his ears. Dean thought those words innumerably before, imagined different scenarios, played pretend in the comfort of his room where no one can see.

No one ever will, now.

“I…” Dean tries saying his truth. It doesn’t want to come out. He continues regardless, “I miss him, Sam. Why do we do this? Hurt everyone we’ve ever cared about? Hell, the whole world’s collateral damage because of us!” Exhausted, Dean gives in. Falls fully off the cliff, lying on the sidewalk. Arms spread beside him while he watches endless blue.

Sam squeezes his knee, “I miss her too. I miss them all.” He stands, adding another shadow. Jack’s advancing, too. Blanketing Dean in a strange temperature. Not cold, still there’s an absence of warmth he notes. “But it’s not on us. It’s Chuck. Always has been…”

“Then is this it?” Dean asks, “One last play, even if it kills us? Even if it can’t bring everyone back?”

“At least we died fighting, then.”

Dean cannot argue with this. He doesn’t feel too inclined to move yet. “For them,” he says, closing his eyes. “This isn’t about us, anymore. It’s about all of them. The world… our family… Eileen and – and Cas.”

Their shadows move. He senses them leave, sunlight returning. Bringing with it more memories. Of how it felt first hearing Cas say it. A natural glow that lit from within. Snuffed in Cas’s next breath, as Billie’s fist pounded on the door, and when the bitterness of Cas’s declaration hit his tastebuds. Dean grasps for that feeling, basking under the sun. Pretends it’s Cas giving him that gorgeous, soul-shattering smile. Encouraging him into his final battle. Telling him it’ll be over soon, he’ll be done, and that he loves him.

He loves him. He loves him. He loves him.

“I love you Cas.”

Dean will rise. Gather what little he, Sam, and Jack have and rush at Chuck until there truly is nothing left. Of this world. Or of them. But that’s later.

Right now, Dean dreams of his losses. Apologizes, one by one, faces blurring together as he starts counting strangers his mind saved for no purpose other than to make him carry more crosses. Never his, though.

Cas’s face shines uninterrupted, clearly, like the sun. There even as everything else fades. In the safety of his mind, where the Empty can’t steal him. In the safety of his heart, that Chuck can’t control. In his hands, wearing Cas’s blood like a badge of honor and pride.

And love.

#supernatural #spn #spn15 #15x18 despair #dean winchester #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #spn coda #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel coda #deancas coda #sam winchester #jack kline #castiel

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krisdreaming · 4 years

Text

MASTERLIST | PART 2

˗`ˏ THIS IS PART 1 - READER POV ˎˊ˗

Pairing: Iwaizumi Hajime x Fem!Reader

Summary: After the accident, you’re willing to give up anything so that Hajime can live. All things considered, your memories of him in exchange for his life seems like more than a fair trade. When it’s done, neither of you understands what’s happened, and it leaves you both hurting. Still, even without your memories, you can’t help but feel drawn to him. He still loves you more than anything. Your love will find a way… right?

WC: 1.6k

Warnings: Angst, Hospitals, Mentions of Character Injury / Death

A/N: I’m so excited to start this journey! This part is the only one that has any kind of supernatural / magical realism elements. It kinda just made the most sense to me as the vehicle for the entire rest of the plot so just... bear with me 😅 After this chapter, it’s all just normal canon-verse.

Without further ado!!

The golden late-afternoon sunlight pours through the lone window in the hospital room and pools on the floor, not quite reaching the bed where Hajime is lying. The contrasting stringent white hospital lighting does nothing to improve his wan complexion. His cracked lips are turned slightly downward, and you wonder, with a sharp twinge in your chest, if even in this state, he can feel pain.

“I’m here, Hajime,” You say for what must be the hundredth time, reaching out again for his limp hand. The doctors have said that talking to him may help to comfort him, but you wonder if he can even recognize your voice. Even to you, it sounds small and foreign, hoarse from who knows how many hours of tears. The only response is the steady beeps and hums of the machines keeping him alive. You give his hand a gentle squeeze.

It’s been a week of this, now. A week since you got the call and rushed to the hospital as fast as you could. A week since you saw him lying too-still in that bed, a swath of bandages and a tangle of wires making his body look so, so small and helpless. A week since you sank to your knees the moment the doctor had left the room, clutching Hajime’s hand to your face until his skin was slick with your tears, only realizing afterwards that the strange, gasping sounds you’d been hearing had been coming from you all along.

You’ve spent every day here since. You’ve hardly eaten. What little sleep you can get is plagued by nightmares that wake you up in a cold sweat, reaching out desperately for a warm body that isn’t there. All that you know is this room, this chair, this bed, and the shallow rise and fall of Hajime’s chest.

A breath shudders out of you when you’re reminded, again, of what the doctor had said when you’d arrived this morning. “Y/N-san, the improvements we’ve been hoping to see haven’t been coming at the rate we’d expect. As it is now, the reality is that he may never wake up. The severity of the damage is becoming clearer as we continue with our testing. As difficult as this is to say, it may be the time to start preparing to say goodbye.”

You squeeze your free hand into a tight fist, feeling your nails dig into your palm. You run the thumb of the hand holding his gently across the backs of his fingers. “You know,” You begin, haltingly, trying to keep your voice as clear and normal-sounding as possible, “When this is all over, I’m going to make us a big picnic. I’ll make those onigiri you like so much, the ones with the pickled plum inside. You can eat as many as you want. I promise I won’t yell at you,” You pause to swallow back the thick feeling in your throat, “And we can have whatever else you want. Just say the word, and I’ll buy it. It’ll be the meal you’d never let any of your athletes eat in a million years,” You laugh softly.

“And by the time we’re done eating, well, the sun will probably be almost set. We can just lay back on the blanket and watch the stars come out, like we did that night last summer.” You pause, looking at him almost as though you expect him to answer, or at least nod. His expression doesn’t change.

“We can plan some more for the wedding. It’s going to be here in no time at all, you know,” Your thumb goes to the ring on your finger, twisting it back and forth in what’s become a familiar motion. “I know you don’t like the planning much, but we have to get it done.” You fall silent for a few moments, not wanting him to hear the way your voice has started to waver.

“Or maybe you’d rather just plan for the honeymoon,” You finally pick back up again, “We need to decide soon where we want to go. Hotels and plane tickets sell out fast, you know. What would be really fun is if we could visit Tooru in Argentina. I know you think it’s too far, but honestly, when else would we ever have the chance?

“We don’t have to spend the whole time with him, of course,” Your voice drops lower, “We’d want some time to ourselves. I hear the beaches there are nice. Or we could find a really nice hotel with a Jacuzzi and fancy room service.”

It might be your imagination, but the expression on his face seems just a little bit softer. It’s not a smile, but his lips aren’t turned down quite as hard as they had been, so you take it as a sign that you should keep going. “Of course, you know that I don’t really care where we go. We could spend the whole week in a hotel on the other side of Tokyo and you wouldn’t hear me complain.” You can practically see his incredulous smirk at that, and you choke out an almost-convincing laugh. “Well, you know what I mean.” You fall silent again, still tracing your thumb against his fingers, lost in your thoughts now.

All the while you’d been talking, you hadn’t notice the slowing of the heart monitor. His breaths are coming slower too, the rising of his chest barely noticeable anymore. Outside, twilight has fallen, and there’s no longer any natural light coming in through the window. You notice all of this at once, but you suddenly feel so sluggish that you can’t bring yourself to move, much less press the call button for one of the nurses. Even as the beeps fade to a single, steady whine, you feel frozen in your seat, his hand still in yours. There’s an eerie sense of calm descending over you.

When the whine stops, it seems to shake you out of whatever stupor you’re in. Blinking, you look around and find that the two of you are no longer alone in the room. In the corner farthest from the door, a human-like figure stands shrouded in the faintest yellow glow, like the last remnants of the sunset outside. It has the face of an elderly man, but there is something decidedly un-human in the way it carries itself.

“Hello, Y/N,” The figure’s mouth moves, but it’s almost as though its words are projected directly into your mind rather than spoken into the room. There’s a tingling quality to them, almost like an electrical shock, but not something altogether unpleasant.

You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes, thinking that the lack of sleep must be affecting you more than you realize. When you finally lower your hands, the figure hasn’t moved. “Are you… Death?” You aren’t unaware of how preposterous the question sounds. You grip Hajime’s hand tighter, and the figure seems to smile.

“Hardly. The concept of death itself as an entity is little more than a construct of the human imagination.” There’s a pause and a sound you could almost consider a chuckle, then it continues. “More accurately, I suppose you could call me Life.” It looks at Hajime’s still body almost mournfully. You aren’t sure how much time passes, or if any has passed at all.

“This life is very precious to you. Yes?” Its attention is back on you now.

“More than anything,” You breathe out, “I – I love him. We’re getting married.” You hold out your hand so that the being can see the ring on your finger. As if it would care. For some reason, it does lean forward and inspect the ring carefully.

“Hm. These kinds of things… they aren’t so cut and dry, you know.” Assuming at this point that you must be dreaming, you nod dumbly, even though you don’t really know at all. “Still, all hope is not lost. With the right material, a repair could be made.”

“A repair?” You parrot back, feeling your heart catch in your chest. Is it even beating right now?

“It will require something made up of the same stuff as the existing soul. Something strong and plentiful. Do you understand?” Your brow furrows, and you shake your head. Dream or not, you can’t even pretend to know what this being is trying to say.

“Your memories,” It says gently, as though explaining something simple to a small child. “If I could use all of your memories of him, I can save his life.” It watches you intently for a few moments, but you feel frozen in place, trying to comprehend what it’s asking of you. “I would understand if you decline. Others have.”

“So he will live?” It nods. “But I won’t remember him. Not even a little.”

“Not one memory can be spared,” It confirms. “It’s the only way.”

“Will I fall in love with him again? Will he – will he stay with me?”

The being gives an almost imperceptible shrug. “It can’t be known. Your future – that’s something you will have to work out on your own. The only thing I can promise you is that his life will be spared.”

You’re already nodding. “Then I’ll do it. We’ll find a way to be together. He won’t give up on me.” The being’s lips twitch briefly, but it nods.

“If you’re certain,” It’s already reaching toward you, fingertips hovering near your forehead.

“I am.” You screw your eyes shut, clutching onto Hajime’s hand tightly with both hands. “Do it,” You prompt, when you don’t feel the being move. And just like that, you’re awash in a sea of light and warmth for a few blissful moments before being plunged into a deep nothingness.

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Mute male siren x female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a tier reward for a lovely patron who wanted a siren who's never been able to use his voice, and is thus treated poorly by his own kind for being 'useless' in their eyes. Hope you enjoy!

It’s been up on my Patreon for a while now, so if you want to have access to stories before they go up on Tumblr, plus a number of exclusive rewards, access to our Discord server, polls, artwork, character concepts, etc. then head on over and check it out!

___

It was the eerie melody - almost more of a feeling in your chest than a sound in your ears - that drew you out onto the jetty from the beach where you’d been walking barefoot, flip-flops dangling from the fingers of one hand. You knew about the shoal of sirens who lived and hunted off the reef that guarded Starfall Bay, but you’d never seen them; they didn’t come too close to shore very often after all, preferring the vast open waters of the channel beyond.

Something about their song that afternoon seemed harsh, cruel, despite the plainchant beauty of it and a tear spilled from your eye before you’d even noticed it forming. The song faded as the sirens clearly dived back down again, and it left you strangely hollow. Humans were far from immune to the hunting calls and songs of those hauntingly strange creatures, and in the silent wake of their absence, you found yourself humming softly. The tune was a cheerful one as you tried to rally your spirits a little.

Squinting against the reflections of the strong summer sun against the rippling water, you clambered down to sit on the edge of the dock so that you could dangle your feet in the cool, clear water. A little crab scuttled around in the rocks beneath the jetty’s pilings, minding its own business, and you watched him for a bit. As the hairs on your arms prickled suddenly, you looked up and found that you were not alone.

Lying half slumped over a nearby rock which had been smoothed by the constant caress of the sea was a creature that was unmistakably a siren. You frowned, wondering what they could be doing just metres from the shoreline, and half-hauled out of the water. Something about their size and shape suggested that they were male, and you stared openly at the stunning colours of his tail and upper body. The thick muscle was covered with inky blue scales which were in turn dotted here and there with pearlescent scales. It brought to mind the clearest of night skies. The fan of his tail was feathered and spread out in the water behind him, while his upper body was smooth and free of scales. His skin there, however, was a dark blue-grey, and he had little fins of iridescent blue at his elbows. Plastered to his head and hanging halfway down his back, his hair was black as an oil slick, and he stared at you with huge, dolorous, sapphire eyes, blinking slowly.

“Hi,” you called, waving. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a siren up here before. Do you come here a lot?”

He waved back, somewhat hesitantly, and then gestured with a clawed hand at his throat, opening his mouth silently.

“Oh,” you said. “You don’t speak…? Is that right?”

In answer, he gave a slow, sad nod, those bright, completely blue eyes turning down to stare at a spot of vivid green seaweed on the rock.

Something about his dejected posture made you keep talking, so you asked, “Do you know Sign?”

His head jerked back up at that and he tilted it curiously to one side in a silent question.

“You know, Sign Language?” you asked. “It’s what people who can’t hear or talk - or sometimes both - use to communicate. They use their hands.”

The siren froze but his lips parted in soft astonishment, eyes wide with wonder. He clearly hadn’t known that there were other ways of expressing himself, and your heart twisted at the anguish in his storm-blue eyes.

“My friend teaches it,” you went on, thinking on your feet. “I don’t know it myself, but if you’d like to learn, I’m sure I can ask him for you.”

He nodded emphatically but then went still again.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He made an empty kind of cough, mouth opening in an unvoiced hiss of frustration - more of a choke, really - flashing razor sharp teeth. Then he looked back at you and rubbed his thumb against his fingertips in the gesture that said ‘money’ almost the world over. He’d clearly been around landfolk often enough to have picked that one up.

Waggling your legs slowly through the water as you thought, you pouted and then said, “I can ask if he’d be willing to help out anyway… He’s the kind of guy that would do that.”

The hope that kindled in those sad eyes nearly tore your chest in two.

“I’ll ask him right now. Hang on.”

One quick text later and Jera was agreeing to come down to the beach in ten minutes to meet the siren. The bright green of the lizardfolk’s tail seemed to fascinate your siren, and the two of them seemed to hit it off almost immediately. You couldn’t help but notice the way he flinched away though whenever either of you made a sudden gesture or raised your voices - even to laugh - and as you and Jera made your way back up the beach after promising to return the next morning, your friend voiced his concerns.

“For a siren to have no voice…” he muttered darkly. “He must be the lowest of the low… he…”

“He seems to desperate to communicate,” you commented.

Jera shook his head and made a soft growl like an alligator. “It’s more than that. They use their voices for everything: hunting, mating, socialising… Without that, he… he has no role, no function.”

Your heart ached for him and you said, “You mind if I sit in on the lessons too? That way he’s got me to talk to as well…”

“I kind of assumed you’d want that anyway,” Jera grinned. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

Over the next three weeks, you and Jera spent hours down at the shore with the siren. He was literate as it turned out, and at the start of your first lesson he wrote his name with a talon in the hard, wet sand.

“Ilta,” Jera repeated, looking up at him. “That means ‘evening’,” he added, and both of you eyed the starry night sky of Ilta’s tail.

“Appropriate,” you grinned and Ilta blushed darker. His face was so sharply defined, his features so intense and clearly belonging to a predator, that to see him turn a little softer sent a thrill through you.

When he saw the way you smiled, he signed, “Thank you,” with a hesitant and bashful hand.

One morning perhaps a month into your daily lessons, as you hurried through the town, with your heart fluttering and your chest light with excitement to see him again, your phone buzzed and you paused at the harbour to read the text.

Jera: Hey, I can’t make it today - something’s come up and they need me to cover for another member of staff at school. Sorry! x

You replied that it was fine, and that you and Ilta could practise together anyway. However, he wasn’t there when you got to your usual meeting spot in the cove, and a stab of worry hit you like a hammer blow. Eventually, after thirty long minutes of pacing the sand and staring at the water, the surface of the sea rippled in a rush of bubbles, and you saw Ilta’s dark tail propelling him towards you.

“Hey,” you called, waving to him, but when you saw how dejected he looked, how broken down, you knelt in the water, heedless of the splashing waves, and held out your arms to him. “Come here,” you murmured.

He lay in your lap, his chest heaving silently, and he flung his lean, muscular arms around your waist. Stroking his wet hair seemed to calm him and after a moment you felt him shiver. “Ilta, what happened?” you asked softly, but he only tightened his grip on you and buried his face from sight. “Ok, it’s ok,” you crooned. “I’m here.”

After a while, you recalled something that Jera had said about song being so important to the everyday life of a siren, and you began to hum quietly. It was the tune you’d sung on the day you’d first met him; a variation of a folk melody that had always cheered you up when your grandmother had sung it to you. Within seconds, his body went limp beneath your touch and he let his hands fall to the sand on either side of your thighs. He listened to you sing it through twice before he took a deep, shuddering breath, and then pushed himself upright.

His strange gaze met yours and he reached a lethally-clawed hand for your throat, his fingertips just brushing against your skin as you continued to sing. The urge to stop was overwhelming, but something made you keep humming. He blinked slowly, dark lips slightly parted, and he continued to touch you. Eventually he withdrew his hand and signed an embarrassed, “Thank you… I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” you asked, using your hands instead of your voice now.

He shuffled slightly, splashing you as he got comfortable enough that he could sit half-coiled up on himself, balanced and able to use both hands to speak. “Sorry,” he grinned as you wiped the droplets off your face with a quiet laugh. “I… I had a bad day with my shoal.”

“What do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes in frustration, though it wasn’t directed at you. “They use their voices on me,” he admitted.

“I don’t understand…” you said gently, movements of your hands small, quiet, faltering.

He turned his gaze back to meet yours and said, “You know how we hunt, right? We lure our prey in and then we use our voices to stun them. The sounds are…” he paused, frowning, searching for a way to explain it to you. “You know how some whales hunt by blasting sound at fish, making the air inside them expand or leaving them twitching and immobile…”

Horror slid into your stomach and you stared at him. “They did that to you?”

Ilta nodded. “They’ve always done it,” he went on. “But since I’ve been coming here and learning to talk another way, they’ve been doing it more and more. I… I can’t defend myself from that.”

“Can you leave?” you blurted aloud.

He shrugged. “Probably, but only if I stayed in and around the harbour. I learned to hunt in the shallows the way other merfolk do, with a spear of sharpened shell, but they think that’s hilarious of course.”

You made a disgusted noise in the back of your throat and he smiled broadly.

“What?”

“I love the noises you make,” he said. “Sometimes it’s just really cute and other times it’s beautiful. You have a lovely voice you know?”

You snorted softly, flushing. “You should have heard my grandmother. She was a real singer.”

“What’s a real singer?” he asked.

“You know, someone who sings for audiences… People pay to come and hear her…”

“Oh,” he said. “You sang for me though,” he added, his movements suddenly shrinking down to barely-there twitches of his hands. He’d picked it up much more quickly than you had, and you almost missed what he said.

“I couldn’t think of any other way to make you feel better,” you said shyly. “Did it work?”

“Yeah.” It was obvious that there was more to it though, but he didn’t go on immediately.

“Did… Did I do something wrong?” you asked, trying to catch his eye but he was too busy looking at a patch of bare sand just beside you.

He shook his head.

“Then what is it…?”

He swallowed and looked up at you at last. “It’s something a mate might do,” he said with trembling fingers. “No one has ever done anything like that for me before. I thought they never would… you know… because of…” he finished by gesturing weakly at his voiceless throat.

Feeling brave, you reached for his face and traced your thumb across his cheekbone. “Ilta,” you said and he brought his hand up to your throat again before dropping it so that he could speak.

“I love your voice,” he said. “I wish I could sing for you. I wish… I…” His hands fell limply into the water beside his tail and he sighed. Slowly he brought the fingers of his right hand up to his own throat, claws digging into the muscle of his neck. For a horrible moment you thought he might hurt himself, but he relaxed a second later and opened his mouth. As he exhaled, gills flaring briefly in his neck, he let out a wet choking sound. It was just air in his throat, with no vocalisation at all. “I can’t,” he signed. “I’ve never been able to…”

You took his hands in yours briefly once he’d stopped talking and kissed his knuckles gently. “I know it’s… it’s been awful for you,” you said as you continued to kiss his cold skin, “But… I think that not having a voice has made you partly who you are. I’m not saying I wouldn’t love you if you could sing, but… I love who you are, Ilta. I love spending time with you and listening to your stories about what it’s like underwater… I would never have known any of that if I hadn’t met you.”

Ilta listened to your words and stared at you, stunned, barely breathing. Eventually he slid his hands free of yours and asked, “You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” you reassured him.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked immediately, and when you nodded, he grinned again.

He knocked you back into the sand, pressing his whole body against yours, and it was as if his touch became his song. Silently, he sculpted his feelings for you against your skin, running his hands up your legs, his gills working as he became more and more aroused by the feel of you. He lifted your top and raked his teeth over your warm skin, making you gasp and cry out. The cove was mercifully pretty empty, with only a few people about, but they were a long way off.

His fluke flailed in the surf as he dragged himself up towards your shoulders, his body still pressed along yours. His long hair fell to one side and you looked up into his eyes. “You were going to kiss me,” you grinned.

Ilta’s answering smile was sharp and wicked but full of fondness, and he kissed you hard enough that you let out a low moan. One of his cold hands wrapped lightly around your throat as you continued to mewl and groan under his touch, and you knew that his touch was his answering song for you. Together, the two of you made a song of your own. When you said as much, he tipped his head back, almost in victory, and rutted up against your thigh, his scales suddenly slick where they touched you.

Ilta continued to touch you with reverence and wonder until you could no longer stop the sounds from falling from you. He took every single one of them and returned them with his body until the two of you were gasping together, sharing a breath as he spilled his release across your thighs, his forehead pressed to your collarbones and his fingers tangled in your hair.

With one final, soft, decadent moan, you kissed the top of his head and he signed something vague that might have been ‘thank you’ but you weren’t quite sure. To be fair though, you weren’t in a much better position to be articulating anything either.

—

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