#“try to concentrate” on WHAT the fact that MY WORST NIGHTMARE’S RIGHT THERE?? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

illmoraineakoi · 1 year

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So I had a funny idea the other day, and I thought you'd all enjoy it

(Read More bc this this is long)

The Abyss is canonically not as air-tight as PK thought it was, and I personally headcanon the Vessels as having a craving/obsession/hunger for light (specifically the Radiance's; they recognize pale light as “their own”.)

What if PK was minding his business one day, and just stumbles across a Vessel that's infiltrated his Palace? And he's like “Where the HELL did you come from?!” Like he legit double-checks that the door is still sealed. It is. And he’s just so Confused.

And now he's just got this second Vessel that's randomly shown up. That he has no idea what to do with. He only needed one, they're meant to be tools, but at the same time, he can't quite forget the fact that these were supposed to be his children. He can't quite bring himself to just get rid of it, even if it doesn't have a purpose.

He ends up just sitting on the issue, trying to think of a 'solution'. It's fine, it's not even really that big of a deal. It's just one extra Vessel. He’ll figure out a use for it eventually.

A few days later, he walks past both Vessels in the hall – only to stumble a step because "Wait a moment – those aren't the right horns!" And sure enough, he double-takes, and they're not. They're completely unfamiliar. These are two new Vessels.

He's so flabbergasted he actually tries to ask where they came from. And of course they just stare at him. He's so confused.

He's even more at a loss for what to do with them. It's getting hard to even remember to double check if the Vessel he's interacting with is the Pure one. He's stressing out about already accidentally fucking up their ‘hollowness’.

It just keeps happening. The White Lady corners him with a very disapproving look on her face, going "Did you forget to tell me something, my beloved?" while pulling out a Vessel from her robes. Herrah arrives unannounced and plops one on his desk, “I think you’ve lost something, Wyrm. Keep your cursed spawn out of my tunnels.” Ogrim and Isma attempt to stealthily deposit two of them in the ‘Vessel Room’ without him noticing, but the seal work on the door was designed to alert him every time a Vessel left or entered. He doesn’t even ask where they found them, he just looks at them with resigned acceptance and shuffles them into the room.

When Lurrien arrives for his bimonthly meeting to discuss the growing infection rates with a cracked mask and heavily bandaged hands, a tall tri-horned Vessel absolutely seething in a tight bundle of rope, the King honestly just wants to lay down in a ditch at this point. He can't figure out where they're coming from. He doesn't know WHY they're coming to the Palace.

He didn't even think this many had survived.

And he still doesn't know what to do with them all, aside from shoving them into the “Vessel Room”. It takes so much of his concentration just to try to keep them occupied or distracted with something, because if they aren't, they turn to the rest of the Palace, and they are somehow even more of a chaotic nuisance than Hornet was. Nothing was safe; if it existed, a Vessel was going to find it and get into it. And potentially steal it, he discovers after an eventful game of "What are you putting in your mouth--nO COME BACK HERE-"

And then Ghost shows up.

And if he thought the other Vessels were menaces, the King had no idea what he was in for. Ghost is easily the worst of them all, combined. Nothing is sacred to Ghost. Ghost is basically a honey badger: they do not give a fuck.

Ghost is the first Vessel the King accidentally gives a nickname to when he calls them a 'Little Nightmare', a title that Ghost only seems to take on with pride. The King regrets.

The King is beyond exhausted. Trying to juggle the Vessels, training the Pure Vessel, dealing with the increasing number and severity of Infected, rising tensions with Deepnest, the Hive and the Mantis Tribe, and the futile search for some other way to deal withe Radiance that he knows he won't find, because he's already out of options. He's sleep deprived, barely eating, constantly stressed, and more times than not forgets to bathe. He's in a downward spiral, he knows it, and knows he can't continue as he is. But he has no choice. He just has to keep going, while hoping, praying, that he doesn't mess up and doom his kingdom, his people.

And just when the King thought he couldn't handle any further stress...

The Vessels go missing. All of them. They just vanish.

It takes a while for anyone to even notice, but it’s the White Lady who does first.

And at first, the King doesn't pick up on his wife's worry when she tells him she can't find them. It's only when she repeats herself, insisting that they're nowhere within the Palace walls, the guards and Great Knights have looked everywhere, twice, and she hasn't personally seen them since last night, that the implication finally sets in.

The Vessels are missing.

He's never put together such a massive amount of city guards so quickly before in his entire Kinghood. The order is simple: find the Vessels, bring them back to the Palace. He doesn't understand why his body was shaking so much as he watched nearly every guard in the city leave to search. It must be the stress. Or he just forgot to eat again.

He expected the Vessels to be found quickly. As small and indistinct as they are, they tended to stick together as a flock or in groups. They were also not very sneaky or subtle about their presence, most of them being little terrors on stubby legs, so some bugs must've seen them. They also couldn't have gotten very far. At most, a couple of hours, he tells himself as he paces the entrance hall of the Palace, waiting for news or a team to return.

He wonders how they got out of the Palace, and resolves to find the weak spot and patch it. Without another exit, the Vessels wouldn't make it past the Guards if they tried to leave again. Perhaps he should place detection seals around the perimeter of the Palace...Just in case.

News does not come. Nor do any of the guards return for over half a day.

And when they do start trickling back, they're all empty-handed.

They give reports, of bugs seeing the Vessels, of their possible movements throughout the Kingdom, but the Vessels themselves were elusive. None of them had even caught sight of a single one.

The King is angry, enraged actually. He's also terrified. He feels like he's in pain, even though he's not wounded. He wants to burn things. Break things. Claw his workshop to pieces. He wants to scream, to seethe. To sob. He's so overwhelmed with so many conflicting emotions, he doesn't know what to do. The shaking has returned. He feels like he can barely breathe past the rock in his throat. His body feels oddly numb. He’s only ever felt so helpless when confronted with the Infection itself.

The order still stands: Find them. Just find them.

He's restless. he feels anxious for reasons he doesn't understand. He searches himself, even though he knows it’s a risk to his own life; the Radiance would take any shot she had at him. He scours the Kingdom, looking for even the slightest traces of Void. He finds signs of it all over the place, small amounts, but not a single whiff of the Vessels themselves. He cannot even tell what they were doing, if anything, because they seemed to have gone quite literally everywhere.

Days pass.

With each hour that goes by without any word of them being found or them returning (by the Stars and Fates, does he hope they just walk back through the front door. He wouldn’t even be upset, he just wants them to come back.) the King becomes more and more distressed. More despondent. More hopeless.

The Kingdom, outside of the City and the villages, is not safe. So many viscous, infected creatures that would willingly try to feast upon a tiny Vessel. Food was becoming scarcer; the icy black of their bodies wouldn't be a deterrent, even if their toxic Void would most assuredly kill whatever consumed them eventually. The acids were so caustic they'd easily eat through the thin, small maskshells, leaving not a single trace. So many perilous places to fall from. So many unstable caverns to be crushed or trapped in.

The King wondered if he should alter his order to include looking for any signs of their corpses as well. He cannot bring himself to do so; to voice such terrors aloud would make them unbearably real.

Every day is the same: There is no news. There is no news. There is no news. We have not seen them. We have not found them.

Until suddenly, there is news, but it’s not the news he expected or even needed.

The Infection was dying. Rapidly. Just...shriveling up, into gnarled vines and sunken pustules. The bright glaring neon orange was dimming to a lifeless murky brown. Those ensnared in the waking dreamsleep woke up, came back to themselves.

Everyone was dumbfounded. What did this mean? What could have possibly happened? Did the Radiance...give up? Or did something happen to her? What could possibly affect the Radiance enough to disrupt her power so quickly, so thoroughly?

The entire Kingdom looked to their King for answers, and he had none to give. He didn’t know.

He could only work to prevent panic and hysteria, and hope that someone comes back with answers soon.

Through the efforts to assuage the public’s concerns, the King continues to wait, desperately, for word on his Vessels. In the evening, he waits by the front gate. Watching the bridge, for hours. Hoping, even as he’s growing hopeless. There, yet not.

The King is just about to give up for the night, to return inside, to curl up in his chambers and fall into a restless sleep that fails to rejuvenate or ease his stresses, where the images of dead and mutilated Vessels terrorize his nightmares, when voices call out, alarmed, catching his attention. He turns.

He freezes. Stares.

The Vessels were right there, huddled in a group as they slowly walked across the bridge. All of them. Together. They were there.

They were safe.

They were all scuffed up, splattered in the orangeish brown muk and smelling of ash, nicks and dents on their tiny dirty shells. Some of them looked worse for the wear, being supported or carried by others, leaking void from various injuries. The taller tri-horned one with an overgrown cloak had a nasty crack on it's head, their shortest horn just outright gone. It was messily bandaged, and they seemed to be in pain, but they were alive. Another, with two short pairs of horns on the side of their head, was clutching their chest, limping along with another who was missing half their curled horn.

Ghost supported the Pure Vessel, who looked utterly ravaged. cloak torn and stained orange, a deep crack through their right eye socket, empty space where their tiny left arm used to be. Ghost, Little Nightmare, supported a nasty crack down the middle of their mask, deep grooves in their horns like blade wounds and scorch marks searing their tattered cloak, nail shattered completely in half.

The Vessels stop when they see him, staring back. The King doesn't even realize he'd approached them until he was almost on top of them, staring down.

And then he realizes they were carrying something between them, but they're moving, shifting, spreading apart--

And presenting him with a large blade still wet with neon orange ichor.

A familiar blade, he knew was once attached to the Radiance.

He can only stare, as the Pure Vessel steps forward, dipping a tiny claw into the slowly congealing orange and writing slowly, "We ate the Light. No more sick dreams."

And it hits the King right in the gut that the Vessels had been listening to him talk about the Infection, heard him complain and worry over it. Had listened, and taken it upon themselves to try to get rid of it.

And they'd somehow succeeded. Somehow managed to find, to trap, to fight, to defeat her. Not unscathed, not without a cost, but without loosing any of their own. They’d all challenged a God, and killed her.

Had ripped out her gleaming blade, the symbol and embodiment of her power to cleave through dreams and minds, to take it with them.

To give it to him.

The Vessels push the bloodstained blade into his hands, and he stares at it for only a single second, before dumping it to the ground beside him without a care.

A twitch of surprise goes through the Vessels, and air of confusion and outrage, but he doesn't care; he lunges forwards and wraps his arms around as many of them as he can reach, pulling them tight to him and grabbing for yet more until he’s somehow got them all in his arms. Clinging to them. Burying his face among their stained shells and nicked horns, and sobbing.

Of course he cares about the death of the Radiance. The severity of that will hit him later, after he's had time to absorb it properly.

For now, the only thing he gives a damn about is the fact that his children are all safe, back home. Dirty, busted up, and in a world of trouble once he's done weeping with relief, but alive.

Nothing else mattered.

#Hollow Knight #Pale King #Vessels #Story blurb #This started out as a funny idea #and turned slightly angsty and serious whoops #I'm also a sucker for fated/parallel injuries #Vessel Group includes the Deepnest Vessels #BECAUSE NO ONE EVER GIVES THEM ANY FUCKING LOVE #C'MON HK FANDOM #Also Broken Vessel being just a feral little bitch is my favorite fan take ever #Broken Vessel is NOT hollow #They are filled with spite and AGGRESSION #Pale King be out here not knowing that he's accidentally become a Dad #“Why am I so worried about my missing Vessels that I feel like I'm about to throw up?”#GEE I DUNNO BUDDY COULD IT BE BC THEY'RE YOUR LITERAL CHILDREN???

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marvel911 · 1 year

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Cable – “HOW TO COPE WITH YOUR WORST NIGHTMARES”

Cable Volume 1 No. 98 Released Nov. 2001

Letter pages are a fun part of the history of superhero comics. Readers write in to compliment, complain, and contest. They get the joy of seeing their words printed in their favorite comic and maybe even winning an infamous Marvel No-Prize. The letters page usually even has a cheesy name like “Let’s Level with Daredevil.”

But you know what’s more fun than letters from readers?

A letter from the artist about precognitive 9/11 dreams, why the Editor-in-Chief of Marvel is wrong, Carl Jung, reproduction as the meaning of life, Serbian concentration camps, accidental shootings, and the value of talking about traumatic experiences with others.

That’s what Igor Kordey delivers on the final page of Cable Vol. 1 No. 98, in an essay titled “HOW TO COPE WITH YOUR WORST NIGHTMARES” and printed where reader letters normally appear.

The impetus for the essay is concerns from Marvel’s editorial staff about images of terrorism in the wake of the September 11, 2001 attacks on the United States. Kordey disagrees with management’s concerns. It’s not completely clear why. He might see it as a denial of reality, or he might see it as a denial of the power of precognition? And then he goes in a bunch of different directions, ultimately ending with some sweet and insightful advice from someone with experience dealing with this kind of trauma.

It’s an entertaining read and it definitely feels at home in a comic book about a militant mutant from the future who preaches the value of mediation. It’s tempting to try and dissect what the letter reveals about the time period, about the artist himself, about bravado and vulnerability coexisting side by side… but to avoid the risk of over psychoanalyzing, let’s just go to the letter in full.

HOW TO COPE WITH YOUR WORST NIGHTMARES

I received a call from Joe Quesada the other day. Joe (and not just Joe) was upset about the possible psychological impact of page #12 of this issue (thanks to my ingenious storytelling), with a terrorist flying a jeep full of explosives into a financial building and blowing it up. Obviously, this is an image very close to everyone’s heart right now.

The page in question was drawn in June, but Joe and I spoke two weeks after the terrible disaster in New York City. Joe’s opinion was that we should somehow get rid of the most shocking images from this page. This is understandable, considering that pictures of planes crashing into the WTC towers were too fresh and too painful for the people working at Marvel (which is based in Manhattan), just as they are for many of you.

Well, I had a different opinion. By chance, I had a conversation with Brian David-Marshall the day before. Brian was worried about his Captain America script, written well before September 11, 2001, and featuring Captain America fighting terrorists who possess a nuclear bomb. In addition, I spoke with a number of people who had pre-cognitive dreams or nightmares about disasters several days before the tragic events in New York, Washington, DC and Pennsylvania. Most of these people didn’t discuss these feelings before it happened, as they were afraid of ridicule or embarrassment.

But that doesn’t change the fact that these things are happening.

It is my belief that this precognition is a warning to humankind, a form of collective subconscious as described by Carl Gustav Jung in 1914. These theories were written with the world on the brink of World War I, as Jung recognized himself and a great number of people around the world having precognitive nightmares. On a personal level, these themes were explored in a project called “Tarzan: Rivers of Blood.” Neven Antichevich and I began work on the first drafts of this story in the early eighties, during the turmoil in the former Yugoslavia after the death of President Tito.

However, we continued work on this project in the spring of 1991, immediately preceding the Serbian aggression against Croatia (my homeland).

When I first saw the pictures on TV, with planes crashing and towers collapsing, I thoughts to myself, “You can never get used to it!” This, in spite of the fact that my family and I survived war in Croatia between 1991 and 1995, witnessing similar spectacles nearly every day for four years (from the apocalypse of Vukovar town to the mass slaughter in the Srajevo market, to name just a few examples). My second thoughts was “death walks behind you” (Also the title of an old Atomic Rooster song), because I only moved to Canada in 1996. My wide Andrea and I were thrilled to Canada because we KNEW there had been no war in North America for nearly 100 years, and we KNEW that at last our children would be safe. And this year, our worst nightmare was revisited. We knew we could never get used to it, though we knew we could cope.

We fell back to the lessons we learned. Never lose HOPE, and never be SELFISH. The meaning of life is really very simple: REPRODUCE and keep your family SAFE. So we now cope with life by living in Canada with our three beautiful children, Rea (10), Vilena (8) and Rita (4). And we also learned to discuss our experience, sharing them with other people. In fact, some of my best friends here in Winnipeg are guys who survived Serbian concentration camps, only to be scrutinized and hated again because their religion is based on Islam.

But that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re talking about getting these things out of your head. Talk about things, share your thoughts and experiences. Don’t let your dark side stay inside you, or sooner or later it’ll come out through aggression in the worst way – in full view of your friends, family, or your lover.

And it’s this dark side that reminds me of a statistic I once read. Nearly one out of every three young women and men in North America experienced some form of sexual or physical abuse during childhood. Most of their tormentors manage to get away with their crime because many children are afraid to talk about such things in public. We can’t do the same things with our feelings following September 11. Don’t hide your feelings under the carpet, but be aware of your feelings and learn of their true causes. Only then will you learn to live with trauma. In the meantime, turn to your loved ones for support, stay busy, sleep as much as you need, and DON’T LOSE YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR! That kept me a SANE human being for a long time.

Yours truly,

Igor Kordey and family

(Photo caption) During the war in Croatia, my turn came to defend my county. This picture is from the Croatian highland, Lika. In spring of 1995 (that’s me with the hat). I show this picture because there is a story behind it – one of 5,000,000 Croatian war stories. The guy in the middle shot the guy standing to his right (his best friend) during the watch in the dead of night. It was an accident that occurred because we were all scared out of our minds. I was able to save the man’s life, because I was the only one in my squad who knew the basic first aid. But the man remained an invalid. He was just a poor farmer. A poor farmer with a family of seven.

Above: The page in question, Cable, Vol. 1 No. 98 page 12; writer David Tischman; artist Igor Kordey; colorist Avalon Studios.

#2001 #9/11 #comics #early 2000s #marvel #marvel comics #Cable #X-Men #Terrorism

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dailytatsu · 3 years

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Hello! I saw request were open so i was wondering if i could request some headcanons of the Archons and/or the Adepti meeting a God reader who is the God of Chaos and destruction. The reader is not a Archon tho and travels all over Teyvat cuz small bits of destruction were ever they go. They're pretty mischievous and somewhat smug but despite how they act they're actually a good person. They dont mean to cause problems(most of the time anyways) chaos follows them were ever they go. Idk if you have a character limit but if you do please tell me so i wont make a mistake again. And if there is you can just do Zhongli and Xiao. Optionally could you make them a dendro user, there not a lot of dendro content and if not thats fine. I understand. Could you make the reader Gn or Non-binary they/them pronouns please? If not male reader is totally fine. Im so sorry for the long post and I hope you have a good day/night!

Ohmy, it’s my first time just writing headcanons! I’m use to write a lot, so let’s hope I did it right (^ ^' )7

Thanks for the request! ✨

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[HC] God of Chaos! Reader and the Archons + Xiao

Characters: Zhongli, Xiao, Venti, Shogun Raiden (Ei).

Gn! Reader

I tried doing it with everyone but I’m no still that confident to try writing with some characters ＿|￣|○

Sorry for any mistakes!

Request are open!

Genshin Masterlist

Second part ->

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VENTI

To be honest, he didn't notice your presence at first. He had other concerns on his mind that day to perceive the chaotic (and slightly threatening) aura that Mondstadt was infected with that day.

Barbatos is a person of habit, so he couldn't help but be curious when the crowd in front of him began to look a little agitated instead of seeming to enjoy his lyre and his songs.

But then a series of domino events appeared in front of his very eyes.

The purity of the chaos was such that he felt overwhelmed, even without the white-haired boy around, if it wasn’t Bennett fault, then how was it possible for everything to be ruined in such a short time?

His patience ended when, out of nowhere, the strings of his lyre jumped close to his face as they snapped. Making that awful noise that couldn’t mean nothing good.

Okay, enough, who is messing around in here? No more joking in his nation!

He concentrated a little, a faint but unique presence kept his nerves on edge, as if he was being watched from afar. He moved away from the busy areas and then chased that ephemeral energy to the highest point of the church, where the bells were ringing in an irregular and stressful way.

Then he found you. Snoozing against one of the columns, somewhat tired because the trip you made to reach Mondstadt.

Surprisingly, Barbatos understood you since the first exchange of words. A god of chaos who was also a free spirit, you followed no rules ever written in Teyvat, and you had no plans to apologize for the mess you made.

Both of you were Zhongli’s worst nightmare, but that’s another story.

He managed to through your arrogance and your teasing nature that you, in fact, were a lonely spirit that liked to witness the life from above of everyone.

The difference between teasing someone accidentally and committing a crime was really visible, but he still couldn't help but feel like he should scold you after your mere presence messed up with the guild's baskets full of fish.

But hey! He also enjoy the company! Venti tried to teach you how to enjoy the calm and the whisper of wind, music can also contain chaos, feelings, old stories waiting to be told again, expressions and desire united, in a wonderful piece of-

As you yawned his lyre broke up again. Making clear the message.

Okay, not even God of Freedom and Wind can control chaos. Anyways, what a tragedy, but there’s nothing a simple bard can do, smh.

“Do you like kids, don’t you?” He said once, after a nice day of hearing him sing before your chaos reached his little concert. Again watching everyone from above on the hands of the statue, with your attention caught by some kids playing tag.

“… I don’t know what do you mean.” Once discovered you had no choice but to remain defensive, pretending to be disinterested.

“Heh, you aren’t a good liar.” It may not be the wisest thing to make fun of someone who could destroy the place where you were resting, but Venti was confident that he knew you well enough to know that you were not so explosive. “You know!, I just have some pieces, but I think it’s because they are little walking concentrations of pure and innocent chaos, am I wrong?”

He wasn’t, no at all. But you would never confess something that embarrassing.

This guy wrote a ballad about the days when Mondstadt got immerse with that strike of bad luck. Kind of an apology of not being able to handle the situation.

Now there’s the rumor that says that, every time somebody sings that song, something unlucky will happen in front of you.

The song is cursed.

One night when the moon was shining on the Cider Lake his well tuned ears distinguished a melody that was broken from time to time by the accidents of his performer, distracting him of his way to look for you.

It could be painful to listen to, but Venti could certainly feel the dedication of the one who was playing the imperfect song.

The ballad of the god of chaos, hummed like a lullaby that instead of making you sleep makes you question the events of the day. Wishing for the slightest thing to be different after an exhaustive week of peace and tranquility.

A lonely spirits cursing their existence, sitting in the highest point of a stranger’s palace, where you can reach the sky by only rising your hand.

The next day, Barbatos invited you to drink some wine, this time near Windrise to avoid accidents in the city.

As he almost dropped the bottle when a lot of slimes were attracted by your presence, he confirmed the theory about that the way to spend time with you would not be his personal definition of hanging out.

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ZHONGLI

Okay, there’s only two scenarios that could happened when you set a foot in Liyue.

Old man has a soft spot for you for being a relative young deity.

Or he’s always lecturing you for not having control of your aura and powers.

How u dare bringing chaos to the nation of order? It’s that a death wish?

Jokes aside, you’re not really a threat. And he could sense that after he saw how you tried to avoid having direct contact with the city. Rex Lapis found your silhouette jumping and crossing through the mountains until reaching the fairest point that allowed you to enjoy the view of the streets that were filled with life and light as the sunsets.

He even noticed how you sighed in frustration when a storm started out of nowhere. A rain dedicated just for the arriving of the God of Chaos. Not even bothering of getting shield, you stayed in your place to look at all the people who were getting back to their places.

The rain seemed to stop over your head, for a second was enough to stop you from being cruelly swamped by the very weather you had created. An elegant umbrella covered you, the long awaited surprise you expected from someone as outdated as Morax.

You looked up, and found his expression calm and attentive, watching you. As if he had made a great discovery that he could not believe

“May I have a moment of your time to keep you company? Letting out your sorrows in the middle of a torrential storm is not what I would recommend as way to spend a good day.”

“… What are you talking about? Get in your own business, old man.”

“Well, you should know that a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved.”

Next time you knew was that he was helping you to dry your hair with a towel once you let him guide you to his place.

Zhongli picked you up like a abandoned cat that day. Even if having you near meant to deal with new the roof leaks.

Also kept you away from Hu Tao, if you two ever get along for being partners in crime he would seal himself underground-

For all the time you spend exploring Liyue, there he was. Like a little kid showing his treasures. But also like a worried father looking after his child for them not to stumble making their first steps.

Look at you! Almost crushing those Treasure Hoarders when a bunch of rocks fell down after you jumped at the edge of the cliff.

Wait, no- come back here! You should verify the surroundings and be aware of the weight of your power if you’re going to explore in that bold way. You, chaotic brat.

Another one who believed fervently that your mood was to blame for the constant chaos you caused. He also tried to show you the wonders of peace and calm, teaching you how to prepare tea while listening to the storyteller (also both being a little far away from the rest of them, just in case).

He couldn’t help but sigh when the teapot arm broke as soon as you tried to serve the tea. What a waste, he thought.

You apologized to him, kind of stressed with yourself after you took all the pieces with your bare hands to run away with them. Leaving a confused Zhongli behind.

Next day you were back, with the teapot repaired and just like new.

He let out a lot of thankful words, some flattering and a lot more cheesy things that you never had received before.

With that unexpected affection you couldn’t help but react flustered; then a cat that was chasing a bird jumped through a lot of decorations and merchandise, almost starting a fire as the chained events kept going.

Yeah,, uh, Zhongli got some useful mental notes about you and your chaos that day.

Hey, before you go, want to make a contract? You won’t regret it!

But as the wandering spirit you were you had no problems in reject his offer, but also promising that you would visit Liyue if he wanted you to.

Of course he wanted! But.. maybe next time you should stay in Huaguang Stone Forest instead of roaming near the city,,

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XIAO

Tried to kill you.

I mean, your aura is threatening and full of a destructive energy, how is possible that you weren’t a demon to eradicate??

Sorry, but he had a point.

Your first met was on your way to reach Huaguang Stone Forest along with Zhongli for introduce you with the Adeptus.

Xiao, in the other side, thought that you were about to attack Morax from behind, so he just struck against you. With his polearm near to go through your chest, just stopped because you felt him before.

Lifting your hand at his direction, summoning chaos, this time, on purpose. The wind gained a wrathful nature and the biggest roots that were hiding under his feet rose to caught him.

And when you were about to hit each other Zhongli’s shield appeared just in time to separate both of you. Preventing a real catastrophic event.

Now stop fighting and introduce to each other.

Nice(n’t) to meet u.

What if you tried to awake Azhdaha to bring chaos and destruction to Liyue? What if you wanted to summoned Osial? What if… ?

Zhongli had to confirm and promise to him that those cruel possibilities won’t be a near future for respecting the real reason of your travel.

No matter if he wasn’t comfortable with your presence, it wasn’t his decision to allow you to roam freely, so he had to get use to it.

He immediately knew after hearing about your nature that was your fault that lately there were a lot more demons and monsters. Even his karma was getting more painful than usual.

(If you ever meet Hu Tao, please think twice before doing Xiao a prank)

You both didn’t interact a lot, and being honest, it was better that way.

He hadn’t a single intention of talking with you again until the day you were practicing the song that your Anemo friend taught you. By the other hand, Xiao noticed that the melody had the same nature as the one he once heard before being consumed by the karma.

It wasn’t a flute, but a worn lyre that was still in one piece after weeks of being repaired again and again.

“That song… ”

“Do you know it?” Xiao just nodded, staying in silence, being your very first audience even if you still have a lot to learn about playing a lyre.

It wasn’t as effective as the original, but was still… nice, kind of nostalgic.

Next morning, the Yaksha called for you. Made you stay still in the middle of a plain and then he disappeared of your sight.

He abandoned y- wait, what’s that? Why those monsters has that weird dark aura?

You were about to defend yourself until Xiao appeared back just in time to defeat them.

That day you became his personal bait for demons and monsters. Naturally you attracted chaos, so anyway you were, there will be also something to fight.

I guess this is your way to pay for all the troubles you made for him and his duty, so no complaining about it.

If you ask for a unexpected experience to Ganyu she would said that once she found both of you fighting along against the catastrophe, looking after each other’s back and almost having a perfect synchrony.

➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹➷➹ ➷➹➷➹ ➷➹➷➹ ➷➹ ➷

SHOGUN RAIDEN; EI

Also tried to kill you.

Well, the puppet tried to.

And then Ei tried when you had the opportunity of facing her.

But since killing a god just mean the releasing of a lot, pure, energy she couldn’t afford that risk, much less considering your “speciality”.

Who knows what would happen to Inazuma if your vital energy burst across the nation. Just like that old story about Sal Terrae and their goddess.

She just defeated you. Letting you rest and recovering in the midst of the plane of her reality within her mind. Your inert body in the middle of the battlefield as she kept meditating.

When you woke up she ignored your presence, but also denying your complaints about letting you go out back.

In her words, you were a burden, another enemy of eternity. Something as unpredictable as you and your “accidents” couldn’t get along with her utopia.

Ei could banish you from Inazuma, but she knows your type. Stubborn and not accepting the most simple orders to obey.

She knew that you would found a way to be back.

It’s better like this.

And in the hypothetical case of you being freed when she trapped the traveler (kicking you out) and then having a chance to see her again after the end of the war, then things would be somewhat different.

There’s not that much of civilization on some islands, so she allowed you to explore as much as your heart wanted. But if something serious happen, she promised that would end her work in the middle of the sea so your remains never be found.

Okay, message clear. Just do chaos near monsters and bandits, got it,,

Even if she wanted to spend some time with you and telling you some stories about Inazuma and other gods she couldn’t found the right time to call you at her presence.

As the current ruler of Inazuma she was busier than the rest of Archons you have meet. Maybe just some letters now and then like a way to keep a logbook, but not really a face to face talk.

Until she got the opportunity of a day off, just to found you messing around near some ruins. Trying to solve a puzzle before your speciality strikes in. The structure fell down after your fingertips reached the stone.

When the dust dissipated, you discovered her figure judging you from the other side of the remain ruins.

Give her a good reason for not errase you from the map, I dare u.

You felt the worst was about to come when Ei ordered you to follow her after a long sigh. Crossing her arms and starting to walk away from the bunch of old and worn rock.

Plot Twist, she actually invited you to rest under a tree, asking in her serene voice the reason for your journey and your origin. In such a direct way that it seemed more like a sentence than a talk to get to know each other better.

You answered what you could remember and then the silence stayed like the only way of interaction between you two.

Ohno, you know this pattern. Something’s about to happen-

“There is some strange beauty in the chaos, it may be the calm after the storm, but the catastrophe itself is seen as a necessary evil to appreciate the stillness. How much it would last until the lighting hit the valley?”

“So I arrived to keep order between the humans?”

Well yes, but actually no.

“… You see, if there is nothing but order and a lack of problems, mortals are likely to create them on their own. Their minds feels the need to be tested, to prove their worth, so I guess some of your chaos may be part of the history.”

“… then shall we take a walk in Inazuma?” You did not know if you were right, but you thought you saw a faint smile through his lips in the same way that lightning can be seen in the sky.

“I’ll allow it.” She said.

Her only condition was for you not to approach the huge boxes of fireworks down the street.

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anaveragebibliophile · 3 years

Text

He Comes First

Thranduil x Wife!reader x Young!Legolas

Summary: After finding out some exciting news about your and Thranduil’s future as parents, you begin reminiscing on the all the joys and wonders that this life has given you (especially getting to see your husband excel at fatherhood).

PART 1

PART 2:

https://anaveragebibliophile.tumblr.com/post/659269636241637376/cyclical-love

“Are you one-hundred percent certain, Morwen? I know you are an expert at discerning such things, but I cannot help but still feel the uncertainty reverberating through me,” you said, hands gripping your kneecaps as you awaited the healer’s response.

“Yes, my queen. All of the signs are there: the nausea, the subsequent morning sickness, the exhaustion. I am positive that I am correct in my diagnosis.”

“Oh, by the Valar (God),” you responded, your right hand drifting to hold your stomach protectively. “I am with child. Thranduil and I will be welcoming another elfing next fall.”

“Yes, Queen (y/n). When the leaves begin to fall, you will be holding another blessing in your arms.”

Walking back to your and Thran’s chambers provided ample time for rumination on this news (because the healer’s quarters were on the other side of the palace). Now, that’s not to say this contemplation was meant to curb any sentiments of regret, resentment, or anger. Not at all. In reality, you couldn’t stop a huge smile from framing your face. You couldn’t help but embrace the elation that was filling every facet of your heart, soul, and mind. Oh, this was a dream come true.

Obviously, the topic of having another child had been discussed between you and your husband many times (usually on fireside date night with goblets of wine and lots of cuddling). And the funny thing was that the prospect had cemented itself more securely over the last few months. Having and caring for another child no longer appeared to be this unattainable desire, but, instead, it filled you and Thran with this rapture, this thrill. And why wouldn’t it really? Legolas was everything you both could have hoped for, so why not try for that relentless feeling of contentment one more time? You’d have to be asinine not to.

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“Ada, Ada are you awake?” Legolas’ melodic voice asked, breaking through the tranquil haze you’d encompassed yourself in.

“There is no need to fret, my little leaf. Ada is just resting his eyes. He is tired,” your husband’s deep baritone responded.

“Of course, Ada, but that is not why I was asking. Would it be alright if I laid on your chest?”

“You already know the answer to that, Legolas. Climb on up, iôn nîn (my son).”

And climb on up he did, at least from what you saw through the little crack in the door. Once your little elfling’s voice alerted you to the fact that your two favorite people in all of Middle Earth were in your chambers, your immediate instinct was to rush and join in on the cuddle session that was so obviously taking place. Yet, somehow, right as you put your hand on the doorknob, it was as if your feet were tethered to the floor. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. All because you turned your head. All because of what you were bearing witness to.

Legolas was sprawled starfish-like on his father’s chest, his little face turned into the right side of Thranduil’s neck. You could see the red, depressed sleep lines marring his face from his morning nap (where he and the pillow became great comrades). And even though that was such an adorable sight, what you saw your husband doing made joy spread through your entire heart in such a way that you thought it might implode on you.

Sometimes your little leaf struggled to fall asleep at night. Whether it be because of a nightmare or a fear of separation from his parents no one could truly say. His insomnia was variable at best and inevitable at worst. However, regardless of the circumstances, your and Thran’s mission was to get your son some relief, no matter the cost. And you tried everything you could think of: lullabies, rocking, warm milk, literally anything that the rule book on parenting tells you to attempt, but nothing would make any impact. That is, until your husband changed the game.

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One night in mid-winter, Legolas’ inability to sleep had reached its peak. He hadn’t been feeling well for most of the day--spending most of it snuggled with you in the sitting room or with Thranduil in his office--and by the end of the night had been sporting a pretty nasty fever. He was miserable, plain and simple. You had hoped that the illness would’ve given him the opportunity to give in to his fatigue, to barricade himself in a dream-like state. Wrong. Instead, the infection chose to create a pain in his ear that wouldn’t abate by any means. No question, it made him absolutely hysterical.

Despite this, though, he was most at peace with your husband, the man who spent most of that day with his lips pressed in a thin, white line and his stomach in knots. All he hoped for was his son to be improving, but it didn’t seem like Valar (God) was in the mood to grant that wish. So, he did what he was best at: finding a way to take control of the situation. In this case, the problem was Legolas’ discomfort. The little guy was trying to sleep--on his side, his back, in Thran’s arms, in whatever position his brain could conjure up--but would then proceed to hold his left ear and whimper. Anything he did would cause pain to shoot through him.

“Alright, little leaf,” Thranduil said while rocking his son in his arms for the tenth time that day, “how about we try having you rest on my chest. You might sleep better that way.” And all he got was an almost imperceptible nod from the elfling that was clenching his hand so tight.

Moving over to the bed, he slowly settled himself in the center, making sure not to jostle his son too much. Quietly humming to Legolas, he carefully moved his right hand up and down his spinal column and left lingering kisses on his forehead.

“There we go, iôn nîn (my son),” he said. “Hopefully this helps. Gi melin (I love you).”

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“Darling, you can come in, you know. This is your space too,” your husband’s voice articulated, a hint of mockery and teasing in his tone (all in good fun).

Opening the door all the way, you smiled at the treasures that laid before you. One curled into his father’s chest like an armadillo. The other grinning like a fool at said armadillo.

“My apologies, sweetheart. Once I got here, I couldn’t refrain from letting you have that special one-on-one time with him.”

Your husband’s right cheekbone lifted up to create an off-centered smile of sorts. “How was your appointment with Morwen? Was she able to give you some herbs to aid your sickness?”

“Yes, she was. But that is not the only thing she mentioned to me. About why I am ill anyway.”

“What else is wrong? Whatever it is, it is treatable, yes?” Thranduil queried, his voice getting higher by at least three octaves.

“Yes, honey. It is treatable. I’ll only have to wait about six more months.”

At that, your husband paused, concentration taking over his features. You felt his brain’s agony at the mere thought of analyzing the riddle and attempting to figure it out. Every mechanism was moving to decipher the answer.

And then it all clicked.

“If what you say is true, then that means we are….”

TBC

#thranduil #thrandolas #legolas #babylegolas #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #love #children #pregnancy #marriage #battle of the five armies #desolation of smaug #the fellowship of the ring #thranduil x reader #thranduil x wife

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flusteredloser · 3 years

Text

subzero - beverly marsh x fem!reader

it fandom week: huddling for warmth

content warnings: mentions of intoxication, smoking, swearing, fire, harmless threats, inhaler abuse, enemies to lovers, also i’m making bev tall bc i love tall gals word count: 3k

at the ripe age of ten years old, you knew you wanted to become a mother. the appeal of bouncing children in your lap, tucking them into bed, and the empowering feeling of calming tantrums down was something you naively believed was your destiny. now, ten-year-old you was never wrong, you knew that. but what you didn’t expect was for your dream to come true at eighteen, stuck mothering six drunken teenage sons during a hailstorm’s power outage.

“edward. kaspbrak. i swear to god, if you do not go to sleep right now i will knock you out with your own inhaler.”

eddie groans at your words, still teeter-tottering towards the mattress. richie was already in bed, practically dead for a past half-hour.

thankfully, he didn’t wake up from his comatose state when eddie gracefully slammed headfirst into the bed. you held your breath as the bed shook under eddie’s weight. drunken eddie was already a nightmare, what more, an even worse nightmare when catalysed with richie’s antics. mike was slightly more useful. after throwing up in almost every sink in the house, he helped carry a very tipsy ben up the stairs and they were now both unconscious down the hall. bill wasn't exactly a disturbance, but he was incredibly determined to show us that he could play the piano right now if asked, that his skills were only heightened after dark. (the fact that bill had never touched a piano in his life, or that bev's apartment didn't even have a piano wasn't stopping him). bev was taking care of them in the other room, and based on the muffled conversation, was still trying to coax bill to sleep. you and bev being the losers’ designated sober pair for tonight was the worst idea that had ever occurred to anyone. ever. the eight of you agreed. if you needed something done, you’d never leave the two of you to do it together. but stan had explained that the rotation required the two of you to pair up tonight, no matter what. you didn’t quite understand the necessity of it but in all honesty, you’d rather put up with bev’s clownery than upset stan further. speaking of, you glance at the lump on the floor, peacefully swaddled and engulfed in the massive duvet. you should probably check on stan’s breathing later.

now, though, you still had one child left.

hearing the sound of an air pump go off from the bed, you walk back to eddie.

“but i’m so cold and i’m not even tired,” said eddie, his inhaler still jammed in his mouth.

“eddie, the power will be back in no time, and if you keep pumping that shit in your mouth, you’re never going to feel tired,” you sigh, taking the aspirator away.

“no, but seriously.” eddie continues, his eyes filled with sleep-deprived mania. “i swear, i’m like wide awake, i don’t even need sleep right now, it’s technically the morning and nO WHAT THE HELL-”

clutching the pump in your hand, you watch the white vapour shoot against eddie’s face. nothing but eddie’s exasperated coughing filled the room.

“i told you, i’m not afraid to use this.”

“i thought...you said...you were going to...knock me out with it,” eddie questioned between coughs.

you narrow your eyes at him, “you keep this up and i will knock you with it.”

“wow, you really are gonna make a great mother someday.” you let out a deep groan, turning to see where the new voice came from. leaning against the doorframe with a lit cigarette between her fingers was bev in all her smug glory.

“you know, after dealing with kaspbrak tonight, he makes you look like an angel,” you roll your eyes.

“hey!” you hear a muffled voice from under the blanket.

“go to sleep, pretty boy,” bev chuckles, some smoke escaping with her laugh, “i know it’s hard after seeing her troll face but you have to try.”

you rolled your eyes again at the two giggles in the room, shuffling around the bed, carefully stepping around stan’s body. you continue to walk past bev and into the hall.

the house was silent. no one lived here anymore but bev since you guys graduated, and since mr. marsh stopped residing here, the apartment had an almost peaceful quality.

walking past the guest room, you grin at the sight of mike, ben, and bill entwined together on the floor. oh, how much tamer this group would’ve been compared to the menaces next door.

you snatch your backpack from the living room sofa and dug through the pockets anxiously. searching against the walls of your bag and still finding nothing, you began to feel more and more nervous. “fucking hell, where is it,” you whisper. at this rate, you weren’t sure if the thumping in your ears was from the sound of sharp hail hitting the windows or your heart beating in your throat. you stand up in a deeper panic, aggressively patting your pockets up and down.

“you know, as entertaining as this is to watch, i almost feel bad.”

“bev..." you sigh. "i am not in the mood."

“why? too busy looking for your pack of camels?” you hear the sound of a familiar cardboard flap opening, “personally, i’m more of a marlboro girl but i mean, these work too.”

you spin around and storm up to bev, snatching the lit cigarette from her lips. “that’s mine?”

she smirks, “you left your backpack open, it was practically an invitation.”

“an invitation for you to go through my shit?” you hissed, dangling the ignited end near her face.

she snatched her cig back and mockingly dangling it back near your face, “yeah, a formal invitation for me to smoke off this monstrosity of a temperature. what do you want, an apology too? i can write you one asap, let me find bill’s notebook-”

taking the cig back once more, you snap. "you’re such an ass, bev.”

she grins, following closely behind you. she could feel the heat radiating off of your body, and she secretly hoped you’d accidentally stop in your tracks so she could run into you. in the name of transferring body heat and what not. shaking off these thoughts that were hijacking her brain, she makes a kissy sound, “c’mon, you know you love it.”

“mmhm sure, bev. because i’m really into girls stealing my shit.”

pinching the flame from the cig and dumping it in the tray, she leads the both of you into the supply closet. she chuckles as she leans against the doorway, leaving you feeling trapped in the tight room. you knew she was laughing because you insisted on going in first and now that you were the one having to get the stuff, but you didn’t quite register that the things you needed was on the top shelf. up high stood a high stack of blankets. and they looked like they could singlehandedly cure the subzero temperature.

clearly, you must have been looking up at the blankets for a moment too long because bev gave up and leaned forwards to grab the stack. the sensation of her flushed against your back was enough to make you dizzy, not to mention how absolutely warm she was. and of course... it was bev.

bev. the girl who you rolled your eyes at every day, the girl who taunts you at any given minute, the girl you would, and had, risked your life for. you guys never talk about neibolt, but sometimes you catch yourself thinking of what could have happened if it went south. if you hadn’t grabbed her in time, and if you didn’t switch places just before pennywise launched at you... absentmindedly tracing the scar down your stomach, you think of the absolute lack of regret you feel to this day. you always had this joke that you wanted to kill her, but how much of that was true?

“darling, did the cold already go and rot your brain?” bev faux-pouts, “not that there was much to begin with, but i’m still worried.” the stack of blankets was now under her arms with one stretched out as she began to wrap it around herself.

never mind. sometimes you did want to kill her.

by habit, you went on your tip toes in order to get to bev’s face, but she was already crouched a couple inches from your face. trying to keep your racing heart under wraps, you choke out a semi-convincing “don’t make me murder you, beverly.”

she grins back your serious face. "aww no, i couldn’t let you do that. the knives and other weapons are also stored up there.” she teases, slinging her arm around your shoulder and dragging you to deliver the blankets to the boys.

"oh, fuck off." you shove bev's arm off of you and walked back into richie, eddie, and stan's room. true to your word, you kneeled down to the floor and gently rolled stan’s head towards you. placing your two fingers against his pulse point, you giggle to yourself at the absurd action. if it wasn’t already obvious that he was indeed alive, he groans under you, but you shush him in time. lightly stroking his curls, you whisper. "i’m just checking up on you, stan,” placing the second blanket onto him. he groaned back.

quietly tip-toeing towards the bed, you tossed the other blanket over richie and eddie. “i swear, these guys would be dead already without us.” you laugh to yourself.

a dim light flickers from the living room and casts a light across the hall. you shut the door behind you as you leave, going into the living room to see bev on the sofa, engulfed in her own large fleece blanket. the only thing peeking out was her face and hands as her she alternated flickering her lighter's warmth on her fingers.

without thinking, you plop by her on the sofa. “whatcha doing there, you pyro?”

“it’s getting so fucking cold,” bev half-heartedly jokes. you can see her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, but her voice was so contradictingly soft it made your heart melt.

you extended your open hand to her and she stared at it. “blood oath part two? promise to never be sober again during a powercut?”

“i wish, and shut up. don’t play dumb with me, beverly.”

you notice the slightest tinge in her cheeks as she places her hand along with her lighter in yours. you immediately recoil at her freezing fingertips and the lighter clatters to the ground. bev rolls her eyes and shifts away, “first you want to hold my hand, secondly you’re acting like i have fucking HIV.”

“firstly, smartass, i’d still hold your hand if you had HIV-”

“aww-”

“because it’s a blood-borne pathogen so unless you bleed or shit or lactate on my hand, i’m safe.”

bev’s face scrunches up. “how romantic.”

“now shut it and give me your hand already.” you say, placing your palm out for her again.

now bev is the one rolling her eyes at you for a change. she gives you her hand, much slower this time though, careful not to have you pull away again. not having you pull away? why was this something she was considering?

immediately, bev felt the heat from your skin radiate against hers’, instantly igniting her skin in goosebumps. she instinctively gave you her other hand and you take with a soft smile.

“now...why the hell are you built like a goddamn radiator.” bev grumbled, rubbing her hands together under yours.

“well, i don’t see you complaining, do i?” you raise your eyebrows.

“i’m not mad...it’s just that it’s not like you need it,” bev says between chuckles, “you’re like five feet tall. not exactly a lot of surface area to heat up.”

“you’re such a dick, bev. you’re losing your hand-holding privileges,” you side-eye, pulling your warm fingers away.

she gasped, “oh, don’t you dare.”

“yes, i do. it’s not like i’m dying to feel your freezing hands on me, bev.” you desperately try to make the statement sound as sarcastic as you can, but it ends up coming out much shakier than expected.

even in the dark, you can see the glint of bev’s mischievous grin. “oh really? you don’t want to feel my freezing hands?” “is that a trick question?” you sigh exasperatedly, “because if you as much as-”

suddenly, you feel bev’s ice-cold fingers press against the skin on your ribcage and you immediately squeal. you clamp your hand over your mouth at the scare, you try and contain the others sounds that escape you as she further presses her freezing hands against your warm skin. scrambling away from her grasp, you slap the back of her head.

“you stop that right now or i will leave you on your own porch to freeze,” you threaten through gritted teeth.

“mmhm, like you would.” she teases, continuing to press the pads of her still-cold fingertips into your stomach.

you felt your heart rate rise significantly, to the point that you were sure that your unknown warmness was actually due to bev making the blood pump 10x more than normal. every braincell swimming inside your head was on the brink of short-circuiting at the feeling of bev’s hands dancing along the edge of your bra. what the hell is she thinking?

after a couple more rounds of her threatening to freeze your midriff and you threatening to crack open a window, you both surrender and allow her keep her hands clasped between yours, resting atop your chest.

“are you not getting any warmer?” you groan, forcing yourself to snap out of your own feelings.

“hey, you’re the hot-pack here. do you think i’m feeling any warmer?” she goes back to press her freezing palms against your stomach.

“no, no, no, do not do that again.”

bev sighs, “then what the hell am i supposed to do?” she sits upright and tightens the blanket around her head. shifting away from you, she shivers her way back into the other end of the sofa. “i’m dressed in triple the layers you are, moved around way more than you have, i’m even wearing this gigantic fleece eyesore-”

“oh for fuck’s sake just come back here.” you roll your eyes.

bev moves about an inch closer.

you feel your heart constrict in your chest and you let yourself say it before you could think it any further, “i said, come here.” you lift one of your arms and gesture for her to come closer. scooting your body near to the end of the sofa, it was clear that the space you made was so she could easily crawl in next to you.

“are- are you... you want me to-”

you’re sure your whole face has gone red. bev she already can’t stand you so why not just make it even more awkward, huh? you bit your tongue gently, calming yourself down. if bev didn’t know that you offered to cuddle with her just because you could, then that was her fault for being so daft. you sigh, resuming back into your deadpan state. “yeah, i can’t listen to another minute of your whinging.”

“no, i heard you, i just-” she stammers, looking equally red herself. you feel a huge tiny sense of pride as you realised you’ve rendered bev speechless. beverly marsh. speechless.

“what are you waiting for?” you tease, “a formal invitation?”

having the upper hand for once was refreshing, if not thrilling. being the one to tease her and watch her become flustered was something you wish could happen more often.

bev’s face breaks out in the softest smile you’ve ever seen. she slowly makes her way over to you, shifting her body close to yours without touching you yet. “is that too much to ask for? a formal invitation?” you let out an unexpected genuine laugh at her silliness and bev giggles in unison. this was different than your default laughter made of semi-amusement and sarcasm. she rests her weight against you, her cheek gently pressing into your collarbone. her fingertips resume their spot against the flushed skin of your stomach and your own cheeks turn red again. there wasn’t a functional reason for her to do that anymore.

“stop that before i regret this, bev.”

“there’s no way in hell you regret this.” she grins, followed by the faintest whisper of an “i sure don’t.”

you were about to reply and perhaps mention how you’d be okay with her falling asleep in your arms, that you could tolerate such juvenile behaviour. you know, in the name of public health and safety, but bev beats you to it.

“just let me warm up here for ten minutes, alright. then you can let go and i’ll sleep on my side right after,” she rushes out.

that wasn’t how you thought it was going to know. your heart sinks slightly at her words but you try not to take it personally. what else could you do? it was almost like a wake-up call, reminding the both of you that this wasn’t normal for you and bev.

after a minute or so, you found yourself absentmindedly weaving your fingers through bev’s auburn hair, gently combing it with your hands like you did earlier with stan. “you have such soft hair,” you whisper against her hair.

you hear her mumble against the blanket indistinguishably and you find yourself closing your eyes at the vibrations of her voice against you. if only bev wanted to stay here like this and this feeling between the two of you could last more than the next ten minutes. you let your eyelids drift down momentarily, and you smile at the thought.

just a couple minutes later, your mind jolts back awake, and your heart sinks at the thought of having to wake her up so she could move to her side of the sofa and sleep. you reach over to feel the ends of her hair between your fingers again, grounding yourself to this feeling one last time before bev had to wake up. once you peel your eyes open however, you immediately shut them against the bright light shining at you. was richie planning on abducting y’all in the middle of the night again? gently prying your eyes open for the second time, you notice the light is shining from the window. you sigh in relief.

wait. the window?

your eyes shoot open fully. the hail had stopped. and it’s day time.

snapping your head down to bev, you take in her figure still fit snugly into your side. her free arm rests across your chest, her legs were entwined with yours. ...and her electric blue eyes stare right into you. your heart instantly jumps into your throat as you scramble for excuses, fuck, anything that would keep you from explaining yourself.

instead, she shifts her body upwards so she’s fit even tighter against your side, placing her face into the crook of your neck. her lips were right at your pulse point, sending your mind spiralling at the thought that she could probably feel how fast your heart was beating right now. her lips move against your skin, saying something barely above a whisper.

“you tell anyone about this and i’ll fucking end you.”

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chironshorseass · 3 years

Note

hello yes i’m OBSESSED with your writing so if you’re still taking prompts maybe “please look at me” bc i also have an unhealthy relationship with pre-tlo percabeth angst and live for pining percy

SYD U GAVE ME THIS AND I JUST HAD TO PUT ALL MY PROMPTS ASIDE!!! because how could i not!!!

for what i wrote, i kind of mention this clarisse one-shot.

anyway enjoy <3, since I sort of went crazy with percy being powerful :) like i always do :) and of course, pre-tlo percabeth :)

read on ao3

The waves had grown restless these past few days. Violent, brutal. The night was quiet, the moon hidden beneath darkened clouds, drenching the camp in heavy ink. Percy knew many demigods proclaimed it as the quiet before the storm. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

All he heard was noise.

He’d been like this—unsteady, overwhelmed—for some time, now. Everywhere he went, he felt like a ship sailing into giant waves, water crashing against his deck, threatening to bring him under.

Grover would’ve understood, maybe. But Grover, like the moon, had vanished. That only left a few of his other friends—and of course—Annabeth.

Percy couldn’t avoid her gaze, no matter how much he wanted to. She was always there, watching. Maybe she awaited the day when he’d sink to the power of those waves that plagued the beach, that plagued him. Maybe she anticipated with bated breath on the day when he’d turn sixteen and he’d have to make one decision that would change everything.

Nevertheless, she’d drift away from him. Then come back, again and again.

It drove him crazy, how much their relationship had changed with the times and circumstances. Only now, Annabeth wasn’t what bothered him.

His gut was.

It tightened and loosened, the same way the currents flowed to the rhythm of his rushing blood. He could hear that now, too.

His blood. The sea. The clashes against rock.

Everything was beating to a powerful symphony of drums.

But worst of all was his gut.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Percy knew there was a war. He had nightmares about it, in fact. Nightmares leading to frantic waking-ups from the feeling of lava burning into his skin. But he hadn’t sensed the war’s presence so strongly in all his three years of attending camp as he did now—and he felt it, because the source of conflict had to do with the sea.

The shadows of cabin three clung to his skin in a comfortable blanket, but he couldn’t ignore this dread. It had trickled patiently into his system for a week now, culminating to this exact moment. He couldn’t sit still. He had to leave. Now.

Not long after stumbling outside while shoving his armor on did he hear the conch horn ringing as a warning. The lookouts had seen something. His legs moved faster.

Doors of other cabins began to smash open, and with it came the spilling of panicked campers. He was already way ahead of them, though.

“To the beach!” someone cried.

Percy arrived just in time to see Chiron assemble with Michael Yew and Austin Lake. The sons of Apollo. They’d apparently been the ones on night duty. The centaur saw Percy before the others made out his heavy footfalls.

“Percy,” Chiron said. “Thank the gods you’re here.”

“There’s something,” he gasped, doubling over once he’d reached them. “There’s something out there,” he finally managed to say, gulping mouthfuls of air. “The sea.”

They already knew, however. The conchorns were signal enough. But what was more obvious was the glimpse of the giant tail, jutting out of the water like a spear cutting through flesh.

The breath he’d managed to find from his mad dash was stolen away at the sight of the monster.

“Yeah,” Austin said, swallowing. “There’s something out there, alright.”

Chiron eyed Percy warily. “My boy. We are dealing here with something I fear that you are only capable of stopping.”

“Yeah, well...it looks like a pretty big fish. I—”

A howl punctured the atmosphere—probably the same sea monster he’d seen earlier. Percy gasped, feeling a stabbing jolt in his stomach. He didn’t know why this sudden change of the sea was affecting him so, but he had to stay strong. So he stood up straight and concentrated on his breathing.

“Are you alright?” Austin asked, studying him.

Percy looked at Chiron, who met his eyes as well. You have to be, his teacher seemed to say.

“I...I think so.”

Michael chose the moment to turn his back on the sea, blowing the conchorn once more. He shouted at the incoming campers, “Greek fire! We need Greek fire!”

The rest of the multitude showed up right away, Hephaestus kids priming canons while others exchanged weaponry. Through all of it, Percy’s gut became a pressure cooker, a fist closing around glass, about to break. He cried out in agony just as a tidal wave shook the world. Falling to his knees, his arms encircled his middle, muffling that pain. He wanted nothing but to make it stop.

He vaguely heard a sound of surprise, coming from someone nearby, then the rush of hands holding onto his shoulders. They helped somewhat, a comfort to the madness.

The hands were warm and soothing. The voice of the person became clearer. He knew that voice. He knew those hands.

Annabeth appeared in his vision, all worry lines and pinched eyebrows. She said something to him again, but the words might’ve been ghosts; the stampeding blood behind his ears was too thunderous to make out anything else.

He closed his eyes and concentrated like he had earlier.

Sharp as a blade, his senses switched to the outside world.

“Are—are you okay?” Annabeth was saying. “You doubled over, and I…”

“No.” He opened his eyes to meet hers. They matched the storm that raged across the sea. “I—I’m not okay. I need to stop this, I need—”

“We were just discussing strategy,” she said. He was glad for the distraction she’d offered. “The Scolopendra isn’t just any ordinary sea monster.”

“The Scolo what?”

She helped him stand up, steadying him with her arms.

“The Scolopendra,” she repeated. “A child of Keto. It’s one of the biggest sea monsters in existence, and it won’t leave the camp border.”

“No shit.”

Annabeth ignored him, glancing backwards at where the monster had last been seen. “There’s no telling what it can do. There’s barely any recordings of it.” She swiveled back to him. “Chiron says that it can control the tide. It might be capable of drowning the camp if we don’t kill it.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“I told Chiron that we needed to try my strategy first. As in, bombing it with Greek fire before we go with the last approach.”

“And what would that last approach be?”

He had some idea, but before Annabeth could speak, the creature shot out of the water, faster than lightning. He only caught a glimpse of the crayfish-like tail and rows of webbed feet before it disappeared again.

“That looks like a giant shrimp,” he declared.

A giant shrimp that was probably capable of crushing a decently-sized trireme. Shrimpzilla, he was about to call it, as a way to lighten the mood. But he thought better of it, once he saw the hard line of Annabeth’s lips as she watched the campers rev up the Greek fire.

The Scolopendra dared to peek out of the waves for the third time, giving the chance for Beckendorf to yell out an order. Instantly, canyons discharged the green substance directly towards the monster.

It roared defiantly, maybe in pain, maybe in anger. No one was sure, because as soon as the night sky lit up with green flames, the Scolopendra crashed against the water like a wrecking ball. For a moment, all was silent.

No one dared breathe.

Annabeth squeezed Percy’s shoulder. She looked hopeful, as if relieved that she didn’t have to go with the second plan.

Chiron’s tail twitched. Beckendorf held out a hand, urging the campers to wait. Some stood anticipatedly, swords ready. He saw Clarisse in the front line, her electric spear aimed at the sea and crackling with energy.

Percy sensed what was about to happen next before he heard it.

“Annabeth,” he said frantically. “Annabeth, we have to go. Now.”

“What? But—”

“NOW!”

He’d already separated himself from her, yelling at the rest of the campers to leave. They didn’t have the chance; milliseconds later, the Scolopendra appeared. It bellowed with the power of a thousand hurricanes. Many campers covered their ears.

To everyone’s horror, it had closed in on the shore, its back legs likely reaching the sand floor as it rose to its full, terrifying height. Lightning crackled, and with it, came another roar.

“No,” he muttered. “No, everyone get out!”

Too late. The monster had already spit out a million gallons’ worth of salt water.

Instinctively, Percy let out a yell and threw his hands out.

The water halted in midair, rippling like a broken mirror. It was as if time had slowed down, as if Kronos himself had been the one to interfere. But Kronos wasn’t interfering. It was all Percy—with nothing but his willpower. A bead of sweat rolled down from his temple.

Annabeth reached him just as he cried out and threw the water back to the sea with everything he had, forcing the giant shrimp to hide as well.

He caught his breath while Annabeth looked back and forth. From him to the sea, from the sea to him.

She shook her head at no one in particular. “The plan didn’t work.”

“No shit.”

Then she gazed at him again. “Thank you for doing that, Perce.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “No problem.”

“About the second plan...”

“I have to kill it, don’t I?”

“I...maybe. But we can help—”

“It isn’t a maybe. It is a certainty,” a voice said, strong and firm.

They both turned around.

“Chiron,” Annabeth said. “How can he possibly—”

“He’s the only one capable,” the horseman said. “You know that better than most.”

Her eyes flicked to Percy. Memories flashed through his mind. A quick, burning kiss. A promise. Then, the way fire engulfed him. The call of the sea. An explosion, strong enough to wake one of the most dangerous monsters of all.

When the bombard was over, he understood. He had to face this monster alone, like he had with the telkhines.

“Okay,” he finally said.

“Okay, what?”

Chiron nodded at him, ignoring Annabeth’s question. Without glancing back, he retreated to where the rest of the demigods were watching by the sand dunes as a precaution.

“I need to face him alone,” Percy told her, once Chiron was gone.

“No! Percy, that thing is bigger than—”

“I’m the only one that can’t drown, Annabeth!” He grasped her shoulders so that she was looking directly at him. “If anyone can do it, it’s me.”

“Don’t think I can’t see what’s going on with you,” she said, voice bitter and rough. “You’re distant, like, like the ocean is—”

“We’re both growing distant, ‘Beth. That’s not the problem right now.”

She pushed his hands away. “And that’s not what I’m talking about, and you fucking know that!”

Before he could reply, the monster's call came again. A reminder that this night wasn’t over.

“Please. Just trust me on this, Annabeth. I have to try. It’s our last option. You said so yourself: it may be capable of drowning the entire camp.”

She said nothing, not even sparing him a glance.

“And—and I don’t know why I’m like this! Maybe it’s because I can feel the ocean getting agitated, or because the war is getting worse, or—”

He realized it, then. Annabeth's tears. They were silent rivers, flowing gently down her cheeks and into her mouth. Flowing down to where everything ended up, to the sea.

“Hey,” he said, approaching her slowly. He took both of her hands in his, but she repelled away from his touch. “Please, ‘Beth.”

This time, he cupped her damp cheek, moving it in his direction. “Please look at me.”

And when she finally obliged, her gaze was fractured with glistening tears, like diamonds.

“I can’t lose you again,” she whispered.

Percy had yearned for too long; he let go of that rope tugging him in the opposite direction and instead let Annabeth in. They melted into each other, both shamelessly giving away the little warmth they preserved. It was the kind of hug that felt like a lifeline, the kind that made them both sway like the tide.

“I missed you,” he mumbled into her curls.

She held him tighter. “I missed you, too.”

“But I have to fight this one myself.”

Annabeth pulled away slightly—and when he saw the look on her face—he knew that she knew.

“HEY, SHRIMPZILLA!”

The Scolopendra reared its head, even uglier up close. Its nostrils flared with hairs, beady eyes staring down at him. When he charged, the monster bellowed and threw itself in the water, sending sprays taller than a house.

But none of it touched Percy.

He didn’t stop running, a plan in mind. Meanwhile, the sea churned around him in one giant mass of power, but it parted with each step he took, forming a trail of now exposed ocean floor. Water collided with the sky, flying with the salt in the air.

Hello, friend, it seemed to say. Or rather, hum. The sea was a song, and he was just there to dance to its melody.

The Scolopendra had disappeared again.

He didn’t look back, though he knew the entire camp was there, watching—maybe in awe, but he didn’t care enough to find out. He kept walking, alone, surrounded by a pool of green and blue. Was this how Moses felt, In those stories he’d heard? Bricks of ocean water, flinging up into the sky, just so that Percy could pass. The feeling distracted him from the objective.

That’s what he’d argue later, because Percy can’t explain how the monster managed to sneak up to him that easily.

The pool of green seemed endless. There was a moment where nothing moved, not even the water. But then something did tug him violently, up, up into the sky.

For a second, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream out, the breath stolen from his lungs and the icy rush of air when flung into the sky nauseating. The only feeling he knew was of the Scolopendra and its death grip on his entire body.

With each second, the roiling waters grew farther and farther away. The Scolopendra’s growl, however, couldn’t have sounded closer. Sharp claws sank into his chest and arms. If he didn’t react now, he’d be eaten before the next flash of lightning struck the sea.

Somehow, he managed to uncap Riptide.

And with a scream, he stabbed, as hard as he could.

“Hey. Want company?” A soft voice said.

He craned his neck around.

Annabeth subconsciously made the world easier to look at. Especially now, as she stood behind him in the pier with the last vestiges of harsh sun striking her back. Her stance was stiff, hesitant. He understood why.

So instead his eyes bored into his lap. He shrugged.

That was a sign enough for her. She crouched next to him, pulling her legs under herself and then flinging them out to where the wooden planks ended and the open air began, toes nearly kissing the placid lake.

She sat next to him, quiet as the wind. It took a few seconds or minutes or hours before she decided to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

From his peripheral vision, he could tell that she’d been studying him instead of watching the reflection of herons flying above the water. Something he’d thought she’d been doing. Apparently not.

It also took him seconds or minutes or hours before he could respond.

“What for?”

She exhaled, “Letting you go alone. Being a part of the campers who…”

She didn’t finish that sentence. He knew why.

Being a part of the campers who abandoned you alone after what you did.

“S’okay. I get it.”

A lie. He didn’t get it.

“Doesn’t make it right.”

He stared at his hands. “Guess not.”

The details of the fight were yet to go away. The memories were still fresh—like his mother’s batch of cookies whenever he came home from camp. Teeth were ever-present in his mind. And those webbed hands. Those twisted sounds as a monster choked on its own blood.

Afterward, everyone had taken a step back. Even Annabeth and Chiron seemed to contemplate him as though he were doomed. Maybe he was.

“I wish Grover were here.”

“Yeah,” Annabeth sighed. She kicked her leg up, swatting at some mosquitos. “Me too.”

“He’d pull our shit together, fix everything.” He found himself sounding wistful, longing for a missing piece of himself all of a sudden.

She didn’t reply to that. They both missed their best friend. Now, more than ever. Percy tried to not dwell too much on the fact that Grover hadn’t responded to his Iris Messages or to his calls from their shared empathy link.

“I’m sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“No, Percy. I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“Just look at me.”

He did the opposite, gazing at the trees to his left. They were a deep, mystical green. The colors looked like the ocean, where he’d displayed his powers for everyone to see. Worst mistake of his life. He realized that tears had begun to form in his eyes; he quickly blinked them away.

“Percy,” Annabeth insisted.

Her tone wasn’t hash or demanding—but rather, a light pink sky. A hand brushing his, sweet and tender. He noticed that it wasn’t just his imagination; glancing down, he found her fingers ghosting against his knuckles.

“Please look at me.”

This was eerily familiar. It hit him, then, that he’d said those exact words when she’d panicked about him going alone to fight the Scolopendra.

Hesitantly, his eyes focused on her face. Her freckles were there, golden like the rest of her. Only now, her eyes were rimmed with tears.

Something changed inside them both. She stared at him, he stared at her. Her face contorted, and the both broke down, crumbling like ruins with the slightest gust.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, clinging to his shirt.

“Me too,” he murmured back.

He held unto her as if she were a life force, breathing in her lemony scent. Tears were exchanged, mingling in the other’s hair. They held each other, an embrace that didn’t deserve to end. It only made him cry harder, while Annabeth held him closer.

“Why are you sorry?”

He couldn’t say it out loud.

I’m sorry for why we’re like this. I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m sorry for leaving.

Instead, he pulled away. He studied her, every single feature, from those grey eyes and that upturned nose to those curls that no longer appeared to look like a princess.’ They were just Annabeth’s.

“I scared you,” he said.

His arms loosened around her, just now realizing how long they’d hugged, but their hands stayed interlocked—like some sort of middle ground.

She regarded him, eyebrows furrowed. “I can’t ever be scared of you,” she said matter-of-factly. “You’re my best friend, Perce.”

He looked away. “Everyone else was.”

“I should have gone to you after—I just...I thought you were angry at me.”

Their hands separated. “Why would I be angry at you?”

“Because I let you handle all of it alone. The monster, the campers—”

“‘Beth.” He took her hands again, cupping them with his. “I couldn’t ever be angry at you.”

“That’s not true,” she said wryly.

An observation, not an accusation. Still, that didn’t make it hurt any less. He recalled the shouting, the fights. The only thing they looked for in those moments was to hurt the other, twist and pull at any chink in the armor they could find.

She winced, remembering that, too. “Sorry.”

His mouth twitched. “You’ve said ‘sorry’ too many times. It’s getting repetitive.”

She hit his shoulder playfully. “Well, I mean it.”

He didn’t retort anything back. They found peace in this lake, once again gazing at the horizon.

“It’s not true what you said, either,” he said, his mind lingering on what she’d told him earlier. “You’re scared, as well.”

The sound of the incoming crickets carried on in Annabeth’s hesitation.

That is, until she said, “I am. Scared. I’m scared.” He glanced over. She was staring in his direction, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Neither did I.”

She laughed, breathless. “See that’s what scares me. What else can you do? Honestly?”

He shrugged, turning away from her.

“How’d you do that, anyway?”

“I defeated it, didn’t I?” It was better to deflect than to answer her question.

Defeating the monster should’ve been what mattered, anyway.

“Percy.”

“Annabeth,” he said, in the same condescending tone.

“All I’m saying is that you could hurt yourself. You don’t know what you’re capable of. And then when your birthday happens—”

“You think I’m going to destroy Olympus or something?” He shook his head. “I should’ve known that you’d side with the gods on that, too. You think that they should kill me?”

“What? Percy, I’d never—”

He whirled, facing her, and finally let go of all those pent-up thoughts that just like the sea, wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Just admit it, Annabeth! Admit that it freaked you out that I blood bended or whatever the fuck Chiron called it! Admit, that it freaked you out how I killed that monster! That I’m fucking cursed!”

“Percy Jackson, you are not—”

“Yes, I am. Why would my dad give me powers like that? Huh? Just say it with me: you’re scared—of me.”

Her eyes were red, face hard as stone. Just like her voice when she said, “Look. I just wanted to help. But if you want to sit in your self pity, then go for it! You clearly don’t need me.”

She made no move to leave, however.

Their eyes held, until the anger from both of them melted. He huffed out a breath, shoulders hunching. “We can’t ever stop fighting, can we?”

She sighed.

“Guess not.”

“I won’t do that again.”

She lifted her chin. “Why?”

“Like you said. Scared you.”

That made her purse her lips.

“You’re not cursed, Percy. You know that, right?”

She reached for his hand. It was becoming a strange routine. Finding comfort in hand holding and then dismantling it as if it never happened.

“You’re mostly right all the time, so.” He squeezed her hand. “I s’pose I’m not cursed, then.”

“I’m right most of the time?” she said, eyes twinkling.

“Okay, fine,” he conceded. “You’re right only sometimes.”

She opened her mouth in mock-offense. “Percy Jackson—”

He cut her off with his laugh, a laugh that fit with the music of the crickets. She rolled her eyes, something that he’d missed achingly, now that he saw her do it for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Scooting closer, she nudged him. “I could help you. Alongside Clarisse.”

His eyes widened. “You knew about that?”

“She’s my friend, too.”

“Of course she is,” he muttered.

Him and Clarisse...they might’ve had a rocky relationship when he’d first arrived at camp, but now, he didn’t know what he’d do without her help—without her friendship. They both understood the other in a bizzare, not very common way. She’d helped him hone in his powers, but it had yet to be something he’d wanted to admit to Annabeth. To everyone else, for that matter.

“I get why you didn’t want to tell me,” she said. “But...I do want to help. You’re my best friend, and, and I also want to spend time with you. If...that’s alright.”

“It’s alright by me.”

Annabeth gave him a look.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He tried for a smile. “I guess you could come along, then.”

His grin was shared with her, though her eyes were serious. “You’ll see. We’ll figure out your powers. What you can do, why you can do it, why the sea is affecting you…”

“All of it?”

She nodded. “All of it.”

They left it at that, though what they didn’t leave was the canoe pier. Not until the sun hid under the trees, spilling its ink of reds and oranges across the horizon.

The golden of the sun was replaced by the silver of the moon for the night, then it rose again for the day.

And in between, the waves lapped against the shore, constant and content. The ocean had calmed. For now.

#percy jackson #pjo fic #percabeth #percabeth fic #powerful percy jackson #look mom i can write #pre tlo #percy jackon and the olympians #chb #also don't judge i just finished this #i pormised syd i'd post it today and i did!!#pogo🤸‍♀️

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triptuckers · 3 years

Text

Trapped - Jesper Fahey

Request: yes “Hey, I'm absolutely in love with your Jesper fics (but your writing in general is amazing!). Could you write something about Jesper and the reader being stuck in a closet and confessing their feelings for each other if you like the idea. Love your blog!! 💖” Pairing: Jesper Fahey x reader Summary: on a job, you and jesper need to make sure a merchant doesn’t see you. and the only hiding option is a closet which barely fits the two of you. Warnings: language, some suggestive themes ✨✨ but nothing actually happens Word count: 1.5K A/N: ahhh yes the Oh No We Are Locked In A Small Space trope. I love it. thanks for requesting this! also this took... a long fucking while to write sorry it’s so late, enjoy reading :) TAG LIST (grishaverse): @ayushmitadutta @mrs-brekker15 @dancingwith-sunflowers @thegirlwiththeimpala @parker-natasha @story-scribbler @romanoffstarkovs @daliareads @meiitanoia @itsnotquimey @sanktaesperanza @whymyparentscheckmyphone @aleksanderwh0r3 @ilovemarvelanne1 @marlenaisnthappy TAG LIST (Jesper Fahey): @hswemadeit @mufnasa add yourself to my tag lists here

You’d much rather spend a friday night at the club, getting drink after drink and laughing with your friends. But Kaz had gotten into some trouble with a merchant, so now you’re in said merchant’s house in the middle of the night. Accompanied by Jesper, and looking for some papers Kaz needs to blackmail the merchant.

It should have been an easy job, and it was easy. Up until you had to actually get the papers. Both you and Jesper were convinced you needed a certain set of papers, and both of you are convinced you are right.

You’re arguing in whispers about which papers to take.

‘I’m telling you Jesper, we only need these.’ you whisper-shout at him, waving the paper in your hand in front o this face.

‘Wrong, love, we need these.’ Jesper whispers back, holding up a different paper.

‘No, Kaz said we needed the ones about his investments.’ you say. ‘No, we need the ones about his private money.’ says Jesper.

You groan in frustration. ‘You didn’t even pay attention to what Kaz was saying!’ you say. ‘We need-’

You’re cut off when Jesper places a hand over your mouth.

You mumble angrily, but Jesper is quick to shut you up with one warning look. And then you hear it too, footsteps coming your way. Your arguing had been heard by someone in the house.

‘Oh, saints.’ you mumble as soon as Jesper pulls his hand back.

You scan the room, looking for a way out. There’s only one door, but it’s too risky to open it, as it leads to the hallway.

There’s a window, but you’re on the second floor. Technically, a jump from that height wouldn’t be lethal. But there’s no time to pick the lock.

Then you notice a tall closet in the corner of the room.

You take the paper from Jesper’s hand and shove it in his coat pocket, along with the paper you are holding. Before he can say anything, you grab his arm and pull him toward the closet.

Just as you close the door of the closet, you hear the door of the room opening and someone entering your room.

You lay one finger on your lips to signal to Jesper to stay silent. He gives a single nod.

You try to concentrate on the sounds the person in the room is making, but it’s hard when you’re this close to Jesper.

His shoulder is pressed against yours, and the back of his hand brushes against yours. You can hear his breathing next to you, and try to prevent a shiver from running down your spine.

You tell yourself to focus on whatever’s outside the closet, not what’s happening inside it.

Jesper seems to be calm about. You sneak one look at him, and notice his are are fixed on the wooden door in front of him. He’s probably also listening to whoever is outside.

Both of you hold your breath when you hear the footsteps approaching the closet. You exchange a panicked look, but remain silent.

You see how the door knob rattles slightly, but then you hear a voice coming from another room.

‘Da? Are you there?’ says a girls’ voice.

‘Coming, darling.’ says another voice, coming from right in front of the closet.

You hear his footsteps retreating and moments later, you hear the sound of a door opening and closing.

You wait some more, to make sure he’s actually left the room, before you sigh.

‘That was close.’ you say.

You turn to look at Jesper. He’s still looking at the wooden door in front of him, and it looks like he didn't hear you. He didn’t have to listen for footsteps in the room anymore, so why was he so concentrated?

‘Jes?’ you whisper. You nudge his shoulder with yours and it seems like he's coming to his senses.

‘Hm, what?’ he says.

‘He left.’ you say.

‘Good.’ murmurs Jesper. He moves to open the door but when he pushes against it, it doesn’t open. He tries it again, and it still doesn’t move.

‘Oh no, no, no.’ he whispers, pushing against the door again.

‘Looks like it got locked when he closed it.’ you say.

‘Great.’ says Jesper. ‘My worst nightmare.’

‘I'm your worst nightmare?’ you say.

‘No.’ says Jesper. ‘Being trapped in a small space with you is my worst nightmare.’

You chuckle at his words. ‘Why?’ you say. ‘Am I such bad company?’

‘No, you’re far from bad company. But I say stupid stuff when I get nervous.’ he says.

‘And I make you nervous?’ you say.

Jesper nods and you smirk, trying to see where this would end.

‘I didn’t think anyone could make the Jesper Fahey nervous.’ you say teasingly.

‘Stop that.’ says Jesper, trying to open the door again.

‘Aw, am I making you nervous?’ you say, moving closer to him.

‘I said stop.’ says Jesper, making you laugh.

You move to try and open the door, you hear how Jesper sucks in a breath behind you. You feel how he is trying to move away from you, despite the fact there’s no room for it.

You squint your eyes as you look at the lock. ‘I can try to pick it from this side, but it’ll take a while.’ you say.

Behind you, Jesper lets out an impatient sigh. ‘Just get started. Quickly.’ he says.

‘What’s the matter?’ you say, bending down as much as you could as you start working on unlocking the doors. ‘Claustrophobia kicking in?’

‘I am not claustrophobic.’ says Jesper.

‘Hmm.’ you hum. ‘You seem very eager to get out of this closet for someone who is definitely not claustrophobic.’

‘It’s not the closet.’ mumbles Jesper softly behind you, but you heard him.

‘Then what is it?’ you say.

‘None of you business, just get us the fuck out of here, please.’ he says. ‘And stop moving around so much.’

‘Calm down, Jes. I can’t get a good look at the lock, so I have to move around.’ you say.

‘Then stop moving around too much.’ he says, sounding irritated.

You don’t know why he’s freaking out so much. You’d been in situations like this on jobs before, and you couldn’t see how this was any different.

As you continue to pick the lock, you can feel Jesper shifting uncomfortably behind you.

‘Quit squirming around, you’re making me nervous.’ you mumble.

‘Well you’re making me nervous.’ says Jesper irritably.

‘Relax.’ you say. ‘Almost got it.’

And indeed, the lock gives a soft click, and it opens. You let out a relieved sigh and straighten your back. You freeze when you feel something poke in your back.

Before you can say anything, Jesper has opened the door and rushed past you, into the room.

You slowly step out of the closet, looking at Jesper’s back. He’s got his hands pressed against his face.

‘Oh, fuck, fuck fuck.’ he mumbles over and over again.

‘Jes?’ you say cautiously. ‘You okay there?’

‘No.’ he says, still with his back to you. ‘No, I am not okay because that was fucking embarrassing and so not okay.’

‘Jesper.’ you say. ‘It is a completely normal reaction to being trapped in a small space with someone as gorgeous as me.’

You can see how Jesper removes his hands from his face and places them on his hips instead. You’re surprised he doesn't flirt right back. Normally, he always does. This must really bother him.

‘Jesper.’ you say. ‘Please look at me.’

It takes him a while, but eventually he turns around to face you. You can’t help but to notice the blush on his cheek.

‘It’s alright, I promise.’ you say. ‘You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. I actually didn’t mind being trapped in a closet with you. And you kind of told me you did as well, without using your words.’

‘Oh god, that sounds so gross.’ says Jesper, chuckling lightly.

You’re pleased to see he can still laugh.

‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’ you ask.

‘It never seemed like the right time.’ says Jesper. ‘We were either running away from someone shooting at us and you’d yell insults at them and I'd go ‘wow that’s one hell of a woman’, but we’d be running for our lives. And on the moments it seemed like the right time, like when you’re sitting on the bar laughing with Nina, I didn’t have the guts to tell you that I’m in love with you.’

You smile brightly at his words and step closer to him. Jesper didn’t back up. ‘You did just tell me.’ you say.

‘I did.’ he says. ‘It’s not like I could, uh, hide it any longer.’

You laugh and luckily, Jesper laughs as well.

‘How about we just get out of here? We’ll take both of the papers and have Kaz figure it out.’ you say.

‘Only if you let me buy you a drink at the crow club.’ says Jesper.

You smile and stand on your toes to softly kiss his cheek.

‘I take that as a yes.’ says Jesper, grabbing your hand and walking toward the door with you.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

#oh no! locked in a closet! hmm I wonder what could happen hehe #jesper fahey #shadow and bone #grishaverse #Jesper Fahey x reade #Jesper Fahey fanfics #Jesper Fahey fanfic #Jesper Fahey fanfiction #Jesper Fahey fic #Jesper Fahey fics #Jesper Fahey oneshot #Jesper Fahey oneshots #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfics #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fics

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spacedikut · 4 years

Text

“would you please put your tongue away” ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: spencer can’t handle how good you look in your dress. he also can’t handle another guy asking you to dance. 2760 words

a/n: taken from this prompt list :)

“…It’s highly inappropriate.”

Someone waves a hand in front of Spencer’s face and he’s brought back to reality – surrounded by people from every FBI department in a far too bright room with champagne that is certainly not worth the amount it costs and in a suit that is a little too tight.

“What?” He asks.

“I said,” Derek grins, “Would you please put your tongue away.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow at that, “My tongue is firmly in my mouth, Morgan.”

Derek gives a scoff. He wishes Emily was with them to attest, but she’s across the room, beside you, stuck in a conversation with some “important” person that Hotch made a point to tell the team to suck up to.

“If Y/N can’t feel your stare burning a hole in her back, when she turns and sees you drooling she’s sure to know you’re obsessed with her.”

In panic, Spencer wipes his mouth just in case he is in fact drooling. That gets a hearty laugh from Derek, and Spencer huffs indignantly, “I am not obsessed-“

“When you saw her all dressed up earlier you had to leave the room, Reid. That isn’t a platonic reaction.”

“Well,” He stutters, glancing over to you and scanning your bare back, “She looks- she-“

“She took your breath away, man. It’s okay.” Derek gives him a pat on the back and smirks at him, coughing to cover a chuckle when Spencer glares at him.

“And who is this majestic being that took Doctor Reid’s breath away?” It’s you, Prentiss and JJ trailing behind, delicately holding a champagne flute in your left hand and a business card in your right.

Spencer flounders, taken off-guard by your approach and the close-up view of you in your dress. He doesn’t know much about fashion, let alone dresses, but God do you look like something straight out of a movie. To him, you’re the embodiment of all the love poems and romantic monologues that his mother used to read him. He always wondered what the beauty all those writers saw looked like, and if he’d ever see something so celestial, and then you walked into his life.

He’ll never recover. Especially when you keep reminding him how perfect you are.

“Someone’s been networking,” Derek nods to the business card, noticing Spencer’s struggle and swooping in to save him. Derek loves to tease Spencer, it’s his favourite thing to do, but there’s always a time and a place, you know?

You fiddle with the card, “A little pretentious, but he mentioned having some paperwork trouble and I offered to help. I thought if I got in his good graces he’d help us keep the jet.”

Just then, the band at the back of the charity event plays a slow tune, everyone coupling up to head to the dancefloor. Before you or Spencer can react, Derek is dragging Emily away and JJ goes to find Will, but not before all three of them send some kind of subtle gesture to Spencer – Derek winks, Emily raises her eyebrows and looks between you and Spence, and JJ nudges him as she passes.

Spencer’s entire body locks up. He can’t do this. Whatever this is.

When he doesn’t move, you offer him your hand, “Would you care to dance, Doctor Reid?”

His body eases and he can’t help but smile because you’re you, “It would be an honour, Miss Y/N,” He laughs, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.

You tug him onto the outskirts of the floor – being in the centre is both of your worst nightmares – and Spencer’s other hand falls to the small of your back, pulling you close. You’re chest to chest, your arm falling in place around his shoulders, but even with heels on he’s still got some height on you. You sway to the music in perfect sync, like you’ve done this a million times, and your eyes subconsciously close from the comfort of being in Spencer’s arms and the feel of him against you.

You concentrate on your feet for a few beats, too shy to look him in his clear, brown eyes. When you finally look up to meet his gaze, you can’t help the soft smile that appears. He’s already looking at you.

Spencer returns it, smile equally as fond.

The lights of the room reflect in his eyes – it’s as if they’re twinkling, like stars, and it’s utterly mesmerising. For a second, you forget you’re at a fundraiser event, on business, surrounded by your team and people from all departments and all positions. You feel like you’ve been whisked away to some faraway land, maybe somewhere that isn’t filled with killers and evil, and you and Spencer are lovers simply enjoying the night and eachother’s company.

“You look beautiful,” Spencer whispers, as if he doesn’t want anyone else to hear you. You wonder if he feels the same way you do.

“Thank you. I was waiting for you to compliment me.” You tease.

“Oh? Does my compliment mean that much?”

You giggle nervously. You love when he teases you back, when he has this confidence that always surprises you.

“More than I’d like to admit,” You say, “But I did also spend all day getting ready, so I want my hard work appreciated.”

“Well,” Spencer swallows, eyes flickering to your collarbones and neck and everywhere on you, “Consider your hard work appreciated. Not just by me, either. I think I’ve got a lot of glares being shot at me right now.”

You break eye contact to survey the room. There’s definitely a good number of people staring at you, but you refuse to believe they’re all jealous of him. He looks dashing in his suit, hand-picked by Rossi himself, and you know you’re not the only one to notice. You see the beauties dotted around that keep checking him out.

Another ballad begins so Spencer keeps you close. He scans the side of your face, how your nose peaks and the makeup you’re wearing illuminates all of your features. He’s hopeless at makeup, too, but the colour of your eyeshadow(?) suits you perfectly. You always look perfect, he realises. Being ethereal comes naturally to you.

“Excuse me,” A voice interrupts.

Both of you snap towards him. Travis.

Travis works in.. a department. A stupid one, probably. Spencer thinks Travis sucks.

“Hi, Trav,” You smile. You like Travis – of course you do. You’ve known him longer than you’ve known Spencer, so how does Spencer stand a chance?

“Evening, Y/N. Evening, Spencer.” He gives a polite smile.

Spencer returns it with his jaw set.

“Could I steal you for a dance, Y/N? Just like during our graduation ball?” His eyes are hopeful, and Spencer looks at in you confusion. What graduation ball?

You agree shyly, “Sure, Trav. Is that okay, Spence?”

He doesn’t know why you’re asking him – you both know Spencer’s too socially awkward to say no. So he nods, gives a tight lipped smile, and sharply turns to walk straight towards the bar. He doesn’t want to see Travis gently grasp your hand and pull you close, just like he had done.

But he’s not jealous.

“Water, please.” Spencer says to the bartender.

Someone slides up beside him. He glances at the shoes – Italian leather – and he knows it’s Rossi. He’s standing with a whiskey in his hand and a pitying gaze.

Spencer takes a big gulp from his glass of water like it’s a shot of straight vodka.

“You know he’s gonna make a move on her.” Rossi announces. Spencer takes another gulp.

“What?”

“I overheard him and his friends. They were in the academy together, and after seeing her tonight he’s decided now it’s time to make a move. Even stopped me to ask if she was single because he saw how close you two were out there.” Rossi shrugs as he takes a sip of his drink, gaze burning into Spencer as he does it.

Spencer knows what he’s doing. He’s trying to rile him up, get his feathers ruffled, for him to, what? Fight Travis on the dancefloor? Run up and steal you?

“I’m sure…” He starts, slowly, “If someone, say, Emily, who disappeared outside, had a sudden emergency… Y/N would drop Travis in a second.”

Spencer looks at him. Rossi raises his eyebrows.

“Excuse me.” Spencer says.

Rossi grins as he watches Spencer almost charge towards you.

There’s a hand on your shoulder and you know it’s Spencer, and when you turn he’s out of breath.

“Emily-“ He pants, “I think she’s- she’s sick. She’s outside and asking for you.”

“Oh, God,” You gasp, hands immediately leaving Travis completely to instinctively grasp Spencer by his arms, something you’ve always done.

Spencer’s heart warms at your concern – of course you’re so genuinely concerned for one of your best friends. Could you be anymore perfect?

“Let’s go, Spence.” You glance at Travis, feet already moving, “Sorry, Travis, it was lovely to dance with you!”

Travis watches you flutter away, knowing very well that that was his once chance and he lost it. It doesn’t take a genius to work out that Spencer is lying – at least a little.

Travis could tell Spencer wasn’t happy when he asked if he could dance with you. The unimpressed look in Spencer’s eyes whenever they made eye contact solidified that.

Travis can’t blame him, if he’s honest.

Outside, the cold is starting to set in, but you’re too panicked to notice or care. Your head darts left to right, searching for Emily. You spot her, in her stunning red dress, and go to call for her. But then she laughs, head thrown back, and takes another sip of her drink.

She’s fine.

You turn to Spencer, confused, “I thought she was sick?”

He looks sheepish and you laugh as he says, “I may have told a little lie.”

“Spencer!”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t look sorry.

“Well why-“

“Since we’re here, why don’t we go look at the fountain? I saw you eyeing it when we arrived.”

You want to ask why he interrupted you and Travis, but you’re not given the chance. Spencer’s large hand holds the tip of your fingers and he gently pulls you towards the stone fountain, where it stands with several tiers and the soothing sound of running water. There’s a statute in the centre – a woman wrapped in some kind of shawl.

“My guess,” You say, arms crossing, causing Spencer to take a sharp intake of breath, “Is the statue is based on the forlorn sculptor’s lover.”

Spencer’s body deflates as releases a deep breath. He thought you were onto him and why he ruined your dance.

“Actually,” His hands move to emphasise his point, “One of the most common purposes of sculpture is in some form of association with religion-“

“Why did you interrupt Travis and I?”

Uh oh.

“Did I look uncomfortable?” You wonder, “Because I can handle myself, Spence.”

You tried to resist asking again. But something about what he did bothers you – if you didn’t want to dance with Travis, you would’ve said no or made an excuse to not have to. If you didn’t want to be around Travis, you would’ve walked away from him. No matter what, you could’ve dealt with it yourself. Does Spencer disagree?

He licks his lips out of nervousness, shakes his head and mumbles a, “No, that’s not it.”

You turn to face him. His hands are in his pockets and he’s staring at the ground as he shuffles his feet. Rossi will have a fit when he sees the shoes he hand-picked have marks on them.

“I needed to get you alone. I’m sorry.” Spencer squirms. He can’t make eye contact.

“What?” You ask, brows furrowed, “Why? Is something wrong?”

“He was..” He trails off and clears his throat, “He was gonna ask you out. I couldn’t- didn’t want to let that happen.”

Your confusion increases. So he does think you can’t handle yourself?

There’s a spark of frustration in you, then. You’ve dealt with being underestimated and babied basically your whole life and Spencer knows that. He also knows you’re a trained FBI agent that has saved his skin more times than you care to count – he knows better than anyone that you can handle yourself.

So what the fuck.

“I appreciate the concern,”

Spencer winces at your tone. This is… not going well. Not going how Spencer wanted it to, or planned. Not that he had a plan beyond getting you and Travis as far away from one another as possible.

“But I can guarantee I do not need you to loom over me and scare boys away, Spencer. You’re not my father.”

Your tone is biting and Spencer moves closer to placate you.

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N, I’m sorry that’s- I know you can handle yourself. Very well. I still have the scar from when you thought I was a robber in your house-“

“You shouldn’t have tried to sneak up on me, Spencer Reid-“

“Rossi overheard Travis saying he was gonna make a move on you and it was like I went on auto-pilot and I could hear the blood pumping in my ears and-“

“I can take care of myself, Spence.”

“I couldn’t let it happen because I want to date you.”

He looks at you then, gaze so intense you feel frozen where you stand. He continues.

“But I’m sorry if you were planning to say yes to Travis and I… came in and ruined it. Maybe you’re into him and I just… delayed the inevitable for no reason other than to humiliate myself.” He gives a tight lipped smile, rolling onto the tips of his feet and then back on the heel.

You let out a breathy laugh in disbelief. “I wasn’t going to say yes to Travis, Spence. It’d be pretty damn rude for me to date him when I very much like and want to date you.”

His eyebrows shoot up and he gives a toothy, hesitant smile, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” You step closer. Spencer can’t take his eyes off you, not that he’s been able to at any point tonight, but now you can tell he can’t help but ogle at you.

It makes you feel fuzzy inside, that mix of excitement and nerves that you always get around Spencer.

“Well, what should we do about that?” He teases, but some anxiety shines through. He’s genuinely asking.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?” You ask.

He sputters, “Uh- yes. That would be completely okay.”

“Well then,” You smile, “Come here.”

As if you’ve done it a million times, Spencer’s hands cup your face as he tugs you towards his lips. Your hands find his waist, softly gripping him as your eyes flutter shut and you feel Spencer’s lips for the first time.

Why does it feel so natural? So right?

Spencer has to pull back a couple of seconds later because he’s smiling so wide. You can’t resist and kiss his nose, and he giggles. He giggles.

God, you’re so in love with him.

Spencer glances at the statue standing at the top of the fountain.

“You think she’s angry that we’re kissing in front of her?”

You hum in consideration, “Definitely jealous. I mean, not everyone gets to kiss the most handsome guy at the ball.”

He can’t help but blush, and although you have a teasing tone you both know you genuinely mean it.

From where you’re standing you can still slightly hear the sound of the band inside – some kind of smooth jazz is being played now, nice and slow.

You turn and offer your hand to Spencer, just like before, “Another dance, kind sir?”

Spencer gives you a cheeky smile, “As long as you promise no Travis-like interruptions this time.”

He pulls you close, definitely closer than before as your lips nearly touch and you can feel his breath, and you rub the tip of your nose against his. “No Travis, no one, just us.”

“And the voyeur statue,” He gestures with his head towards the fountain.

You both look, and your hand leaves his shoulder to flip her off.

“Back off, hag.” You joke, and Spencer laughs at your absurdity.

Then you dance, for the second time, to the music that flows out from inside. Under the moonlight, with the twinkling stars, Spencer is convinced this is the closest to Heaven on Earth. With you, in his arms, dopey grins and loving stares.

God, he’s so in love with you.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #i thought i liked this but then i left it for a day and now my opinion has DRASTICALLY CHANGED #decent idea. terrible execution

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moonlit-jeno · 4 years

Text

evanescence (m.)

pairing: kim jungwoo x fem. reader

genre/warnings: ghost au, explicit sexual content, angst, fluff, mentions of death, some graphic violence/ gore, character death, brief mention of heights, i swear it’s not as bad as it sounds

word count: 7.8k

summary:

evanescence (n.): the quality of being fleeting or vanishing quickly; impermanence; i.e the evanescence of dreams

song to listen to: me & your ghost- blackbear, faded in my last song- nct, trampoline- SHAED, lonely heart- 5 seconds of summer, dreaming with a broken heart- john mayer

notes: evanescence i.e not the band who wrote my immortal <3 part of the almost collab!

The thing about fear is that it’s irrational.

Of course the doll in the corner of your room won’t suddenly come alive and kill you. Of course the spider on your ceiling is actually harmless. Of course nightmares won’t come true and haunt you in your daily life, won’t do more than bother you for a few minutes when you’re asleep. Knowing that doesn’t make it any less scary. Doesn’t stop the shivers from crawling up your spine, doesn’t ease your breathing when you curl into yourself in an attempt to hide.

Some people find comfort in crawling under their blankets, hiding themselves from the rest of the world as if the thick cloth will protect them. You don’t have that luxury. Because the thing you fear isn’t some axe murderer breaking into your house, or some mutant spider wrapping you up in a web. It’s not ghosts or ghouls or demons.

It’s sleep itself.

You used to love sleeping. Naps were considered a favorite hobby of yours, a way to escape from your obligations temporarily or lift your spirits during a bad day. But the line between like and dislike is thin, and the peaceful dreams you were accustomed to transformed into terrors that torture your nights and leave you shaking and sleep deprived when you wake.

Coffee becomes your best friend, the drink becoming a crutch that you use desperately to avoid reliving the nightmare that haunts you every time your eyes fall shut. It’s always the same scene: a basement, a young man being tortured by a masked figure. Punched, strangled, stabbed. It’s always in that order, with the exact same amount of punches and stabbings each time- six. It’s worse than any movie you’ve ever seen, worse than anything that you can imagine. And yet it doesn’t get any less horrifying as time goes on, as you relive the same thing over and over again.

The only thing that changes is the point of view. Sometimes you can see it from his perspective, begging for mercy from an expressionless figure whose ears fall deaf to the boy’s pleas. That’s the worst, you think, because you can feel everything. It leaves you frantically checking yourself for wounds and marks and bruises, the vividness of your dream leaving you shocked when you find your skin unmarred. Sometimes you watch from the corner of the room, able to see everything yet unable to help, your voice stuck in your throat when you attempt to cry for help. And sometimes, you’re the killer, repeatedly delivering blow after blow in a body you can’t control.

Tonight’s different. Instead of the boy strapped to the chair, it’s you.

You shake and cry out, trying desperately to free yourself of the restraints. They aren’t strong, and yet your limbs feel like jelly and you can’t break free of them. A shadow looms over you and you look up, expecting to see the killer, but you don’t. Instead, the boy stands over you.

His features are softer like this, not scrunched in pain or splattered with blood and bruises. He smiles gently at you.

“Hello,” He says, kneeling down in front of you. One hand lands on yours and the restraints fall away, your limbs now free. “I’m Jungwoo.” You just blink at him. “I’ve seen you in my dreams.” Jungwoo’s smile falters a bit, and he huffs a humorless laugh. “That… yeah. That’s less of a dream and more of a…” He trails off, shrugs. “Memory.”

It takes a moment for it to process fully. Memory? If that’s his memory, then that means that he had to go through all of that. “I’m- I’m so sorry. Who put you through that?” He shrugs. “Dunno. But I wouldn’t pity me too much.” There’s a tight lipped smile on his face. “I’m the one that’s made you go through it, too.”

You blink once, twice, and feel the sympathy in your bones turn to fury. “Why?” You ask, tears brimming at your eyes. “I didn’t do anything to you! And you still tortured me, every night. Do you know how terrified I was? I am?”

“I’m sorry.” Jungwoo says, eyes downcast. “I didn’t even know I was projecting onto you at first. I would just get so consumed with what happened that night, and I guess you would relive the scene with me.” He takes a slow step towards you and raises his head. “I never meant to hurt you, I’m sorry.” You nod, because what can you say? Jungwoo doesn’t seem to know either and he stands there, shifting from foot to foot, looking everywhere but at you. “So.” You start, head tilting to the side curiously. “How does this work?” “How does what work?” Jungwoo seems surprised, but whether it’s by your question or by the fact that you’re able to string a coherent sentence together is lost on you.

“I dunno. This. Like are you a ghost? Do you just like, live inside my head now.” “Yeah, I mean I’m dead so I must be a ghost. Haven’t had much time to talk to people and ask.” It’s not meant to be funny, but you can’t stop yourself from laughing. You clear your throat to cover it, trying to focus your energy on your next words. He doesn’t look too hurt at your amusement, though. His eyes are twinkling.

“Hmm let’s test it. If you live in my head, you should be able to hear my thoughts right?” Jungwoo stares at you, bringing one hand up to stroke his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he snaps his fingers. “Got it! You want pizza.” “Nope! I want you out of my head.” Your smile is sickeningly sweet. Jungwoo rolls his eyes, tongue sticking into his cheek briefly before laughing.

“Well, I want to be alive but here we are. Guess we’re at a standstill.”

Guilt fills you and you open your mouth to apologize, but Jungwoo disappears right before your eyes. You try to call out after him but it’s too late, the dream’s over. The annoying beep of your alarm replaces his soft laughter and you groan, fumbling with your phone to turn the sound off.

Classes pass quickly for once, although you’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t register any of the material. You’re done for the day before you know it, finding yourself at a cafe with Johnny. “You’re in a good mood.” He comments, looking at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “Did you get replaced by aliens?” You roll your eyes. “I can be in a good mood, Johnny.” It’s rarely true because you’re normally running off of approximately six minutes of sleep, but hey, it still counts.

Johnny raises his eyebrows. “Y/n, you’re never in a good mood. Not even when your best friend is here.”

“My best friend is here? Where?” Johnny gives you a deadpan expression and you laugh, popping a grape into your mouth. “Kidding, you know I love you. But guess what: I actually slept last night!” He gasps so obnoxiously loud that he inhales the chip he was holding and chokes around it, slamming his hand down on the table and hacking his lungs out. You put your head in your hands until he finally recovers. “You slept? You actually slept? Holy fuck, you did get replaced by aliens!”

“No aliens, John. No nightmares either.” Johnny, though he’s your best friend, doesn’t know the details of your dreams. He knows that they’re bad enough to make you cry and curl up in his arms from time to time, knows that you chug energy drinks to avoid sleeping, but that’s about it. No gruesome murders in sight for him.

“Holy shit, that’s great! We should celebrate.” Johnny reaches across the table to high five you, grinning from ear to ear. “Wanna come over and crack open a few cold ones?” He bites his lip and you know that it’s taking all of his effort not to finish that sentence.

You appreciate it, but you shake your head. “I’ve got a lab report to finish plus like two papers due. I really don’t have time.” That’s only slightly true. Yes, you do have homework, but you normally wouldn’t let that stop you. The itch to see Jungwoo again, however crazy it may sound, is driving you crazy and for once in your life, you can’t wait to fall asleep. Seeing Johnny’s expression drop makes you feel a little bad for bailing on him with a ghost. “Maybe this weekend?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Johnny grins again. “Hopefully you get to sleep tonight.”

The nightmares seem to go away permanently after that. Your dreams always take place in that one room, but Jungwoo’s always there to greet you. A month passes and you learn a lot about him, almost to the point where you see him as a friend. Almost. Because you can’t really be friends with someone who isn’t alive, right? But he feels real. His spirit is still alive, to the point where you forget he’s a ghost who you can only talk to in your dreams, and that’s what matters. Except tonight when you fall asleep, you open your eyes to sand and salt water, gentle waves calmly lapping at the shore. Strange. Jungwoo sits with his back facing you, knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn’t look up when you sit down next to him, but he does speak when you say his name softly.

“I think I figured out why I came back.” Jungwoo says, eyes concentrated on the water. “My brother’s in danger.” His head drops to rest on his knees and you pat his back, not knowing what to say.

You don’t learn what Jungwoo meant until the next night, the man so distraught that he isn’t able to form words before your time’s up. The scene is different again this time, a playground replacing the beach from the night before. Jungwoo sits on a red plastic swing, his feet dragging on the ground sadly.

“Hey Jungwoo.” You call out the greeting gently, taking a seat next to him. “Are you okay?” He nods, laughs a little. “Yeah, sorry for freaking out last night. It’s just. It’s a lot.” “Sounds like it is. You wanna talk about it?” You pat his knee comfortingly and he stares at your hand for a long moment before covering it with his own.

He tells you about his brother first, about how much he misses Mark, about how bad he feels for leaving him on his own. Mark’s younger than him, but only by a year, and he was nowhere near as good as him at FIFA. He tells you that he doesn’t remember who killed him, but that as soon as he was transported to the beach, he knew his brother was in danger. There’s no explanation on how the beach told him that, but you have no place questioning the afterlife. You listen patiently throughout the whole story, and it seems to help Jungwoo, his shoulders sagging with relief when he’s done.

“So whoever killed me,” Jungwoo squeezes your hand, stares at the woodchips dragging around. “They’re going to kill my brother next.”

“So we find your killer. Easy.” You squeeze his hand back. “Mark’s going to be okay, Woo. I promise.”

Tonight’s dream takes place on a rooftop. There are lights strung up that lead you straight to Jungwoo, the man facing you with a smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. His arms are outstretched and you walk into them, sighing softly when he wraps you in his embrace. Lips press to your forehead and you swear you’ve reached heaven. “Dance with me.” He whispers it as if you have a choice to disagree with him when he looks this good. You nod and bury your face in his chest, swaying with him under the stars. There’s music playing now, music that you didn’t hear before, and he hums softly to it as you dance. A squeal leaves you when he spins you, dipping you down before pulling you close, your back to his chest. His lips graze your ear and he laughs before spinning you back around and pulling you into a kiss.

It feels so good and you find yourself getting lost in his touch. The warmth of him against you, the solidness of his chest under your palms. It’s so nice, so comforting, so… real. But it can’t be real. Because this is a dream, because Jungwoo is dead. The thought is enough to jolt you out of your haze and you try to pull back, need to pull back, but the hand on the back of your head holds you still and it feels so good that you almost don’t want to pull out of his embrace. “Jungwoo,” you mumble his name against his lips, not wanting to pull away from the kiss but needing to know the answer to your question. “Jungwoo, are you real?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jungwoo chuckles, pulling you back for more. “Don’t I feel real?”

A gasp leaves you when his hand slips lower to your ass, squeezing before slipping between your thighs. He finds little resistance, easily reaching under your dress and past the thin panties you’re wearing to swipe through your folds and enter you, stretching you out deliciously well. You cling to him as if he’s your life line and not the other way around, letting him take you apart with his fingers. His name leaves your lips in a sob and you press your face against his neck, clutch at his shoulders. “Please, Jungwoo, please.”

Both of his hands slide to your ass and he picks you up easily, your legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He carries you over to the ledge of the roof, setting you down on the cool stone. He barely gives you time to take in what’s happening before he’s dropping to his knees in front of you, his eyes dark and so intense that you can’t look away from his gaze as he attaches his lips to your thighs. You slide one hand into his hair and he moans into your skin, the vibrations traveling through you as he kisses his way up your thighs and to your core. A sigh leaves you and you put your other hand behind you for balance, your heart dropping to your stomach when your fingertips wrap around the edge of the balcony. “Jungwoo!” You yelp immediately trying to stand up when you look behind you and see the darkness below you, decorated with lights from buildings so far down that they’re almost as tiny as the stars above you. “Jungwoo, I’m gonna fall. Ohmygod I’m gonna fall, Woo-”

“Shh,” Jungwoo hushes you, rubbing your thigh soothingly. He reaches for your hand and laces your fingers together, taking a moment to press his lips to the back of your hand. “Look at me, y/n. You’re not going to fall, okay? I’ll always be here to catch you if you do.” Something in his eyes looks so honest, so sincere, and you find yourself nodding slowly.

“Okay.” Your voice comes out as a whisper, too scared to raise it any louder and break the moment between you. “I trust you.” Jungwoo smiles up at you one more time before lowering himself down to your core. His free hand lifts the edge of your dress up and he takes his time rubbing slow circles into your clit, sighing out praises about how good you are when you shake from the unbearably intense sensation. His eyes stay on yours the whole time, even as he lowers his mouth to your pussy and eats you out like a man starved. It feels so good that you can barely process it, squirming against him and letting your eyes roll back.

“Fuck, Jungwoo,” You whimper, feeling your orgasm build up in the pit of your stomach. “Shit, c’mere.” You use the hand buried in his hair to tug him up, pressing his lips to yours for a sloppy kiss that feels way too good for the moment. He rubs messy circles into your clit that have you clutching him tight to your chest, crying out his name so loud that you’re sure the entire city can hear you. “You like that?” Jungwoo asks, although his voice is so cocky that you’re almost entirely sure he knows the answer. “Fucking love it,” You pant out, orgasm so close you can taste. “Love you, ohmygod.” The end of your sentence cuts off with a whine as you come so hard you nearly black out, holding onto him so tightly you’re sure you would’ve broken at least one of his bones if this were real.

If this were real, if he were real. If this wasn’t a dream with a ghost. The realization washes over you like cold water and the dream disappears before you in a flash, leaving you trembling and empty in more ways than one. Your hand is tingling and when you look at it, you realize that Jungwoo didn’t let go the entire time.

You’re not in your bed when you wake up. It takes you a moment to realize it, the weight of your dream still heavy on your mind, but then you open your eyes and process your surroundings and realize that even though you’re awake, you’re back in your nightmares.

A scream leaves you and you jolt out of the chair, falling flat on your ass. You scramble backwards a good few feet before relaxing, realizing that your mind was just playing tricks on you. This is no nightmare place, it’s just your basement. Except…

That chair is definitely the chair from your nightmares- or well, Jungwoo’s murder. You’ve never seen it down here before, but then again, you never go into the basement. It’s been years since you’ve been down here, the room always giving you the creeps. And you’ve never sleepwalked- you can’t fathom why you’d be down here.

“Jungwoo?” You whisper, not even flinching at the gust of cold air as he materializes next to you. “Why am I down here?” “This is where I was murdered.” Jungwoo murmurs, his gaze distant, cloudy. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Here? Are you sure?” He nods strongly, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. You get to your feet and watch him pace around, tentatively poking at objects. A violent shudder runs through him when he touches the chair. “Jungwoo, this is my house.” He freezes. “This is your house? Then you must know who murdered me.”

There’s a long second where you just stare at him, not knowing what to say. Thoughts abandon you and your mind goes blank, leaving you to shake your head and stutter out objections. “W- No, Jungwoo, I can’t-” A deep breath, a heavy exhale. “No one ever comes down here, and I can’t remember the last time I even had people here.”

“Well someone had to come down here!” Jungwoo presses, motioning at himself. “Y/n, I’m dead. You could help me find who killed me.”

You spend hours thinking through every person you know, mulling over all of your friends and anyone else who has ever been to your house. Parents are ruled out immediately- they live across the country, first off, and your mom nearly cries whenever she so much as swats a fly. Jungwoo tries to help, but he doesn’t know anyone the way that you do, and he’s a tad bit negative.

“Okay, but how do you know they’re not killers.” He asks, tone flat. “I mean, do you have hard evidence? Because somehow none of them are killers, and yet…” He smiles humorlessly and holds his arms out, doing a twirl for you. “I’m dead.” “I’m trying.” You say tiredly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s just hard. Literally no one ever comes over, and I can’t picture my friends as killers. Plus, no one has access to my house except for me.” You purse your lips, staring at your sad little notepaper list with dozens of names scratched out. “Is it possible this happened before I lived here?” Jungwoo shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” He doesn’t look convinced.

You purse your lips, groaning in defeat when your mind stays blank. “I’m sorry, Woo. We’ll figure it out eventually, I promise. I just can’t think right now.” “Hey, it’s okay. Thank you for helping and not like, I don’t know, calling an exorcist.” Jungwoo presses himself to your side, poking your cheek when you laugh, and his presence is so comforting that it’s easy to forget that he’s not really there. You swat at him good naturedly, your laugh cutting off early when you realize that he’s disappeared. You call for him a few times, panic racing through your mind, until he manifests again a few feet away from you.

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry! Did that hurt you? I didn’t know that would happen!” You jump to your feet, reaching out to him on impulse before thinking better of it.

Jungwoo laughs softly, but his form flickers. “It’s okay. I guess you can only touch me in dreams.” He smiles, but it’s with his mouth closed tight. The chair becomes visible through his form as he flickers again.

The mention of touch jolts your memories and you scratch the back of your neck nervously. “Wait, Woo, I meant to ask.” He looks at you expectantly, humming for you to go on. “Last night, in the dream. Was that like, was that really you?” “Hm? Are you asking if it was real or not?” Jungwoo asks. You nod, unable to look away from his gaze. “It was me, y/n. I’m real.”

You nod, lips pursed as you think it over. Jungwoo smiles though it’s hollow, hard to see the usual light in him when he’s nearly translucent again. “I’ll see you tonight?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer before vanishing, leaving you alone in the cold basement.

“Yeah.” You whisper softly, a dark cloud hanging over your head.

“What’s in the bag?” Johnny asks you, nodding towards your bookbag. It’s normally empty, save for a notebook or wallet, but today it’s stuffed full of newspaper clippings and binders.

“Nothing.” You shrug. “Just some old articles.”

Johnny thumbs through a stack of the papers before looking up at you, his forehead creased. “On murders?”

“Yeah. They’re interesting. Figured I should know the history of the town I live in, right?” You take a sip of your coffee, hoping you don’t look as insane as you feel. It’d taken you hours of searching to find those articles, digging through the library archives and reading murder after murder to find ones that seemed similar to Jungwoo’s case. They were unsettling, to say the least, and the fact that someone had taken a life under your own roof left you jittery. “I mean, I guess?” Johnny shakes his head and thumbs through a few more, hesitating at one of the clippings before shoving them back in your bag. “Kind of an appetite killer.” He says, pausing after a second and laughing. “Hah, get it? Killer…” The cold stare you give him has him sobering up quickly. He clears his throat. “Anyways. What else have you been up to? You’ve been kinda distant lately.” Have you been? Probably. “Sorry.” You shrug. “Caught up in my work, you know how it is.” Johnny wiggles his eyebrows. “Seeing a new man?” You shoot him a withering look. He throws his hands up innocently. “Woman? Person?”

The word ‘ghost’ is on the tip of your tongue, but that sounds insane even to you. You can’t be seeing someone whose body fades out of existence when you so much as blow air on him too strongly. “No, Johnny. I’d tell you if I was dating someone.” “Promise?” He asks. You hold your pinky out to him, interlocking the digits and offering him a smile. He grins back. “Good. You wanna come over tonight? Play some video games, order some pizza?”

It sounds good, and you really don’t want to be alone at your house after discovering it was the site of a murder, but you don’t want to leave Jungwoo. He’s kind of counting on you for something big, plus you have all those articles to show him…

At your hesitation, Johnny pouts. “Come on, I feel like I’ve barely seen you for like, a month. Please? It’ll be just like old times.” The promise of old times has your resolve fading, and you give into his whining. He cheers and knocks your coffees together, dramatically complaining when the liquid splashes onto his sleeve.

Taking a nap had seemed like a great idea when you had gotten home from lunch, but it’s the first time you’ve dreamt without Jungwoo in your dreams, and all of the nightmares were so genuinely disturbing that you wake up sobbing. Every room seems so foreboding that you can’t bring yourself to sit in the house any longer and you run out the door without any further thought. The rain soaks through your thin sleep clothes and you find that you have three missed calls from Johnny, but you don’t bother to call him back. You’ll be at his place soon enough, and the rain is starting to blue the screen too much for you to see. Or maybe it’s your tears, you can’t be sure, and you really don’t care.

You knock on Johnny’s door, stepping back and impatiently shifting from foot to foot before stepping forward and knocking again. Exhaling harshly, you raise your fist to knock again. The door opens.

A very disgruntled Johnny stands before you, one hand wiping at his face. His hair is disheveled and you have the conscious thought that he must have just woken up, but your brain is flying a million miles a second and you don’t have time to spend worrying about if you’ve interrupted his beauty sleep. “Y/n?” Johnny yawns out, opening the door wider. “You were supposed to come over like 3 hours ago.” His sentence goes unfinished as you push past him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him to the living room. With your hands on his shoulders, you push him down to sit on the couch. He looks less tired and more confused now, which makes sense considering he’s never seen you act like this- you’re not even sure that you’ve ever acted like this- but he keeps silent, trusting you enough to tell him what the fuck is going on. He patiently puts his hands on his knees, watching you pace around the area.

It takes you a while to formulate exactly what to say to him. How exactly do you tell your best friend that you’ve been helping a ghost solve his own murder without him attempting to send you to a psych ward? After a few moments of pacing, in which you accidentally leave a trail of muddy footprints on Johnny’s carpet, you pause.

“This is going to sound insane.” You start, facing Johnny. He nods encouragingly, motioning for you to go on. “I need you to believe me. Promise me that you’ll hear me out until the very end.” Johnny nods. “No, I need you to promise me.” Maybe it’s how frantic your voice sounds, or the fact that you’re soaking wet and still breathing heavily from your run, but Johnny promises without hesitation. His voice is soft and his eyes are wide and you thank God for giving you such a good best friend. You search his eyes with your own, and finding nothing but encouragement and trust, you begin.

“Okay, so. You know those nightmares I’ve been having?” A nod. “Okay, so apparently there’s a ghost living in my house that’s been like, projecting their memories onto me.” Johnny blinks, not even trying to hide the skeptical look on his face. “Before you say anything, I know it sounds crazy. But ghosts are real. Jungwoo- Jungwoo’s real.” Johnny inhales sharply. “His name is Jungwoo?”

“Yeah. He was murdered 4 years ago in my basement. My basement, Johnny.” You take a deep breath, shuddering. “Whoever did it is still out there, and Jungwoo thinks that his brother might be in danger.” You shift anxiously from foot to foot, hands wringing together in front of you until Johnny takes them into his own, thumbs rubbing over the backs of your hands to calm you. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you help me find him? I just need to make sure that he’s okay, and I know it’s silly that I promised a ghost but-” “I’ll help.” There’s a reassuring smile on Johnny’s face when he interrupts you, and you breath out in relief. “It’s okay, y/n. I believe you.”

You launch yourself forward into his arms, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t deserve you.” Johnny laughs. “Yeah, you don’t.” He pulls back from the hug long enough to look you in the eyes. “For right now, let's go to bed, yeah? You really look like you need some rest.”

“Okay, so here’s his address. I mean, I think it’s his address.” Johnny looks over your shoulder at the satellite image of Mark’s house, nodding. “We can get there in about two hours.” Johnny hums, stepping away from the computer. “I can get us there faster than that, don’t worry. C’mon, let’s have some coffee and then we can go.” He makes sure you eat something that actually has nutritional value before you go, even going as far as to pack a bag before you hit the road. Johnny does his best to reassure you throughout the drive, but you’re a nervous mess. You compulsively take sips from the water bottle Johnny had forced you to take with and it’s empty in no time, leaving you to drum your fingers along your thighs and squirm with a full bladder.

The house looks so much bigger, so much more foreboding in person. Johnny gives you a reassuring look and after a deep breath, you knock on the door. It takes a few seconds before it creaks open to reveal a man around your age peering at you through black-rimmed glasses that sit crookedly on his face. “Hello?” “Hi, Mark?” he nods, looking you up and down. “Do you have a moment to talk? I just have a few questions, it w-” He’s already moving to close the door before the sentence is even out of your mouth. “Wait, Mark!” You manage to wedge your foot in the door before it closes and he groans, rolling his eyes.

“Look, I’m really not in the mood to buy anything, so if you could just please-” He tries again. “It’s about your brother!” You exclaim, finally succeeding in getting Mark to listen. He freezes and stares down at you dumbly. His eyes stay on you for a little too long before lifting to look behind you.

“Johnny?” Mark asks, eyes widening. “Is that you?” You look over to find Johnny standing behind you, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah, it’s me. How you doin, kid?”

Mark lets you into the house after tackling Johnny into a hug, offering you tea and a seat on the couch. “I didn’t know you knew Jungwoo,” You whisper to Johnny, watching Mark grab cups from the kitchen.

Johnny shrugs. “Never had a reason to bring him up.” He definitely could’ve brought him up earlier, like when you mentioned you were seeing his ghost, but you brush it off as nothing. Maybe he didn’t want to upset you.

Mark returns, offering you each a cup of tea before taking a seat on the couch opposite you. “Wow, it’s been so long.” Mark laughs, clutching his tea for dear life. “It’s so good to see friends of Jungwoo’s again. It’s like, it’s not the same as seeing him but. It’s nice.”

“Good to see you too, Mark.” Johnny smiles. “I looked all over for you after Jungwoo’s death, but I couldn’t find you. When did you move?” Mark sniffs. “Um, I think like a month after it happened. They arrested the guy that killed him and I dipped. It was too painful to see all those little reminders of him everywhere.” Mark sniffs again, and wipes harshly at his eye. It makes you tear up a little too, thinking about how fondly Jungwoo talked about his brother, how unfair it is that they got ripped apart so soon. One phrase sticks out to you and you manage to reel yourself back in before you start crying too hard.

“Wait, they caught the guy? Do you know who killed him?” You side eye Johnny because he must have known that the killer was caught already, and it doesn’t make sense that he didn’t tell you considering that was the sole reason for this trip.

“Um, well. Jungwoo uh, he had a sort of accident.” His hands are shaking, you notice. Some tea spills onto his leg. “He used to go out to all these parties and he swore he’d be safe but I guess he slipped up this one time.” Mark takes a deep breath and his voice cracks. “He was driving home from a party and he probably thought he was fine but he was way too drunk and he hit a pedestrian. He drove away but her boyfriend saw the whole thing and followed him.” Mark drops his head down and sobs a little.

Johnny moves to comfort him and Mark calms down after a few moments, skillfully changing the topic away from his dead brother. All the water that you drank in the car finally catches up to you and you excuse yourself for a second. Mark’s laughter rings clearly from the living room and you can’t help but to laugh too, smiling at Johnny’s ability to make everyone happy. You fix your hair in the mirror, a little spring in your step at the thought of being able to fulfill your promise to Jungwoo.

You wish he was with you right now as you walk down the hallway back to the living room. There are so many pictures on the walls, Mark’s accomplishments framed proudly. It sends an ache through your heart that you’re here to see all of this by yourself. It’s only then, when you’re picturing Jungwoo exploring the house with you, that you realize how quiet it’s gotten.

Frowning, you call out Johnny’s name. You get no response and call out again, finally catching movement out of the corner of your eye. “Johnny, why’d you sneak up on me?” A laugh leaves you when you turn to fully face him, cutting off only at the flash of color that slowly fades to black.

Your head is throbbing when you come to, vision taking a few seconds to clear up. A groan leaves you and you shake your head softly, coming face to face with Mark. A Mark whose mouth is covered with duct tape. You freeze, eyes widening, then look down to find that the rest of him is bound, too. “What-”

Panic surges through you when you realize that your hands and ankles are bound too, and you jerk your head to the side, frantically searching to make sure that Johnny’s okay. You don’t find him. It’s only you and Mark in the room. “Johnny? Hey, whoever the fuck has us down here better leave Johnny the fuck alone!” You might currently be tied up, but the fact that your best friend is missing and potentially hurt overtakes any concern you may have for yourself. Mark’s eyes widen and he shakes his head frantically. You furrow your eyebrows and go to ask what he means, but you don’t get the chance.

“Oh, don’t worry. Johnny’s just fine.” The sentence comes from the man himself, standing right in front of the door. Relief fills you, turning to dread the second he closes the door and flips the lock. “You however…” “Johnny? What are you doing?” You ask, watching as he rolls his sleeves up to the elbow.

He tips his head to the side, looking at you with confusion. “Isn’t it obvious?” The glint in his eyes matches the knife he picks up, the dim light catching on the shine of the blade. “For someone who apparently experienced Jungwoo’s death dozens of times, you should be able to figure it out.”

You blink once, twice, and then your eyes bug so far out of your head you worry they might fall out. A soft wheeze leaves you as your chest constricts, panic blooming in your gut. Johnny wheezes too, but his is a wheeze of laughter. He’s amused.

His eyes slide down to Mark, whose eyes are glimmering with fresh tears. “Did you know it was me Mark? Did you know it was me who killed your brother?” The boy shakes his head frantically, tears free-falling down his cheeks now. There’s some muffled cries that you think sound like no, but the tape traps them and makes him incomprehensible. “Really?” Johnny asks, stepping forward until he reaches Mark and then squatting down in front of him.

“Liar.” Johnny whispers, dragging the syllables out. The point of the knife presses into the boys throat, and while the noise Mark makes is barely audible, you can feel his suffering. There’s a tense moment as Johnny increases the pressure, Mark leaning backwards as far as he can to get away, before Johnny pulls it away. Mark exhales strongly, relaxing a little bit. He’s still crying. “It doesn’t matter, though.”

Tears would probably be rolling down your cheeks if you could process what was happening. But shock has taken ahold of you, and you can only watch helplessly as Johnny turns to glance back at you. “Thanks to y/n, now you’ll never get the chance to tell anyone.”

Johnny whips back around in record speed and slices the knife right through Mark’s throat.

A scream leaves you and you fall forward, unable to do anything but watch in horror as the line in Mark’s neck wells with blood, the poor boy convulsing in horror. A wretched gurgling noise leaves him as he chokes and frantically gasps for air, made even worse by the duct tape over his mouth. Johnny sets the knife down delicately and uses that hand to pinch his fingers over Mark’s nose, effectively shutting off his air-flow. The fight drains out of Mark’s body along with his life, and it’s just a few more seconds before he stills completely.

You can’t think of anything to say, can just gape at Mark’s body as Johnny lets go of him and the boy hits the floor. Johnny turns to you next, picking the knife back up.

“It’s a shame you’re always so curious, y/n.” Johnny sighs, shaking his head. “You’re my best friend, I’m going to miss you.”

There’s the faintest breeze against your cheek bone, your hair blowing to tickle the back of your neck. You try your best not to shiver when it starts blowing against your wrists. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s not a draft from an open window, but it’s Jungwoo. He’s not visible, probably because he’s focusing his energy on freeing you. If Johnny notices anything wrong, he doesn’t say anything. Your wrists aren’t free yet, but you can feel the rope loosening. If you can buy yourself some more time…

“Why are you doing this? Why did you kill Jungwoo in the first place?” Your question obviously catches Johnny off guard and he stops walking, glancing off to the side and sighing softly. He seems to have an internal debate but then he shrugs, settling down on the floor across from you. It calms you a little to have him seated instead of looming over you, and you try your best to stay absolutely still.

When Johnny speaks, there’s a hint of regret in his voice. It’s hard to tell if it’s manufactured or not. “Jungwoo and I were best friends. We always had each others backs, always told each other everything. Ride or dies.” His eyes lower to his knife and he smears the blood around the blade with his thumb. “I was the one who hit the girl. I was drunk and it was stupid, but when I called Jungwoo to help me get rid of the body, he refused. He wanted to call the police, y/n. The police.” His eyes are brimming with tears now, and he looks up at you with an urgency that tells you to believe him. You don’t of course, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to convince you of his innocence, or himself. “My own best friend wanted to turn me in, y/n. I couldn’t let him do it.”

“How did you even get into my basement?”

“You were at a training retreat in the mountains for that job you ended up hating that weekend. I knew that your house was empty and where the spare key was, plus I knew that no one ever went into your basement.” Johnny shrugs. “His body’s in the backyard, in case you were wondering. Buried him under the dahlias.” The red dahlias, your mothers favorite plant. How many times had she gone out to water and tend to the flowers, unknowing of the poor boy who lay beneath? Your breath catches in your throat and you finally can feel tears pricking the back of your eyelids.

“You’re sick.” The sentence is barely above a whisper, but it carries enough weight with it. Johnny’s entire demeanor changes, his face twisting into an ugly scowl.

“I’m sick? I’m not the one that was going to betray my best friend by letting him rot in jail! How fucking dare you.” The ropes fall off of your wrists and you grab onto them to prevent them from hitting the ground and alerting Johnny. All that’s left is the rope on your ankle, and then you can make your move. “Yeah? Aren’t you betraying your best friend right now? Just like you did last time?” “I should’ve used the duct tape on you.” He murmurs, tightening his hold on the knife.

There’s enough give in the ropes that you can wiggle your ankles. You just need a few more seconds. “Why didn’t you?” “Ran out.” Johnny breathes, lunging at you. You squeak and roll to the side, groaning when your legs refuse to function. Sitting on them for so long made them feel like jelly and they tingle as the blood rushes back to your limbs. “What the- you little bitch.”

Johnny attacks again and you dodge yet again, doing nothing but rolling around and avoiding him. You definitely can’t beat him in a physical fight, but you can probably beat him in other ways.

Johnny’s breath catches in his throat. “J-Jungwoo?” He stops moving, obviously trying to process how someone who is clearly dead can stand in front of him. Unfortunately, his body doesn’t quite get the memo, and he trips over Mark’s form. A sickly thud resonates through the room as he falls, followed by a deafening silence.

When Johnny doesn’t move for a few seconds, you step closer to examine him. The first thing you notice is that there’s a little stain under his chest that’s steadily getting bigger, contrasting starkly against the wooden floor. The second thing you notice is the acrid stench of blood, too strong for the small room you’re in. Third is the tip of the blade sticking out of his back. After checking his pulse and finding nothing, you roll him over. You find the hilt of his knife sticking out of his chest and your breath catches in your throat. He must’ve landed on it when he tripped. You slump against the wall and try to catch your breath, staring at Johnny’s limp body and waiting for him to lunge at you.

He never does. You look up to say thank you to Jungwoo, but you don’t get a chance. He looks right at his brother’s limp body and disappears, leaving you alone in the room.

You sleep as much as you can, hoping that Jungwoo will pop up in your dreams again. You cry when you sleep and you cry when you wake, until you get to the point where your eyes burn and your face swells and you can’t physically cry anymore. You cry until you’re exhausted and yet you can’t sleep, can only frustratingly toss and turn and scream silently through your raw throat, praying to a god that you don’t believe in to let you see Jungwoo, just one more time. That’s all you need. Just one more time to say goodbye.

Promises are mumbled into your pillow and chanted in your mind but there’s only so much you can do to keep them. You swear to never forget Jungwoo but the words are meaningless and do nothing to stop his face from fading. Slowly, his features become less clear in your mind, his laugh blending with countless others until you can’t differentiate them. You get him a proper grave in a cemetery, and you go from visiting his grave every day to going every few days, until weeks pass before you remember you wanted to leave flowers for him. The flowers last even less than your promises, wilting and rotting on the stone, becoming a sadly unrecognizable mess. You do your best to clean it, and you cry so hard the first time you see the mess that you almost black out, but it’s now a sight that doesn’t even phase you.

Time doesn’t stop to wait for you. It’s not long before you finish grad school and get a job offer in a city 1500 miles away, much different from this one. Your sister drives down to help you pack, easily helping you throw things that you need into a suitcase and counteracting your hoarding tendencies. Something catches your eye just as you’re leaving and you pick it up, frowning at the little resin flower.

“What’s that?” your sister asks, leaning in over your shoulder. “Is that a dahlia?”

“I don’t know.” you furrow your eyebrows, trying to place why it seems so familiar, before shrugging. It makes a hollow sound when you toss it into the trash that seems to echo much too loud for such a tiny object.

She heaves your suitcase into your arms. “Ready?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

You don’t look back.

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mischiefmanaged71 · 3 years

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Turning Tables (3/8) - Joaquin Torres x Reader

Summary: Y/N and Joaquin work together to track down the Flag Smashers, but yet again, she is the middle woman between Bucky and Sam as they butt heads.

Author’s Note: Continuation of the story into Episode Two of TFATWS. Love the banter between Sam and Bucky, especially when Walker turns up and they team up to direct all of their anger at him. Joaquin is my man, my soft boi. I need more of him in the next two episodes, otherwise, I’m going to be a wreck for a while. Let me know in the comments if you’d like to be tagged! There will definitely be two more parts…who knows, maybe I’ll add more or individual one-shots!

Warnings: anxiety, the smallest drop of fluff

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x fem! Reader

You leaned back in your chair, feet crossed in front as Joaquin read through documents at his desk. Following up on leads was the top priority right now with the rise in communications of the revolutionaries’ known as the Flag Smashers.

Word Count: 2.4K

Joaquin stood by his word and incorporated Sam and Y/N in the investigation. They had been at the Airbase for a total of 3 hours and 49 minutes, reading through documents and following up leads using the database resources.

You rest your hands on your stomach as you shut your eyes for a moment. The bags under your eyes had become more noticeable in the past couple days, what with sleepless nights and long hours. All of which led you to grow closer to the coffee machine in your small apartment.

The nightmares had grown worse in the past week, haunting more than the occasional dream. Sometimes it was just the darkness that irked you, which you’d usually resolve with a bit of light. More recently, they formed into horrific events where you couldn’t save Sam or Bucky. The worst instance was last night’s terror.

This time, Joaquin showed up instead.

Instead of the usual guilt that strung you up, an aching sorrow and horror overwhelmed you as you lost control.

The fire was everywhere.

It burned until nothing was left.

Until the last edge of life was gone.

Even as you grasped for the tip of control to stop it, the flames extended further and further.

You couldn’t stop them,

And that terrified you.

It had its grip on your throat, ever-so-slowly compressing your windpipe as you clawed for the surface.

“Y/N?”

You inhaled sharply, opening your eyes to Joaquin’s concerned gaze as he leaned across the desk.

“You alright? You dozed off there.”

You nodded your head, slacking your jaw to recognise your feet touching the ground, the cabinets along the walls and lastly, the man sitting behind the desk.

His concerned gaze is glued to your widened eyes which scan the room, almost as if you weren’t completely aware.

“Yeah...I haven’t been getting much sleep is all.”

Joaquin nodded, returning to the words on the document,

“I’ve noticed. You’ve been a bit jittery the past couple days.”

“And...that’ll be the caffeine.”, you trailed, as you stood and stretched your limbs out.

“Don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

Joaquin glanced up from the desk, shaking his head as a smirk grew on his face. The bruise under his left eye had slowly been healing from the past mission, along with a large cut along his forehead.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

“Oh really? Then what’s the face for?”

“What face?”, he laughed and stared at you incredulously.

You leaned your hands against the back of the chair as pointed at him,

“That face that says I’m judging you.”

“This is not a judgemental face. This is the face of someone who is concerned about you.”

You’re quiet, allowing Joaquin to continue as you grip the back of the chair. Averting your eyes to the floor, your stomach plummets. Thumps palpate in your chest as your blood seems to pump harder.

“Are you okay?”, he asked.

You gulped down your anxiety, making eye contact with Joaquin so as to convince him and yourself as you spoke.

“...Yeah. I’m fine.”, you nodded your head and smile with the lack of enthusiasm that brings his attention to it. Joaquin cocks his head to the side, trying to see deeper into your mind.

“Y/N-”

The door bursts open as another uniformed soldier leans in the doorway.

“Lieutenant, I’ve got an update waiting for you, Sir.”

Joaquin stood from his seat, nodding his head at the officer.

“Alright, thanks, you can hand it over.”

The soldier nods his head, leaving the folder on the desk before shutting the door. You huff out a sigh at the tension and silence filling the office. Joaquin gathered up the remaining papers on the desk into neat piles, tidying the space.

“Look, it’s nothing I can’t handle. I’m electing not to sleep and I’m getting more work done.”

“You can’t live like this, Y/N, you’re gonna run yourself into the ground.”

“Yeah well right now, I’d rather not face those fears. Got bigger fish to fry right now.”, you purse your lips and nodded towards the folder.

You exit the office, wandering the first level of the base offices. Your arms press against the railing as you drop your head and listen to the bustling of people and machinery echo across the base. Slumped over the railing, you concentrate on counting your breaths as you hear Joaquin’s feet stomp closer to you.

Joaquin leans next to you on the border as you refuse to move, knowing that your façade of calm will chip as soon as you look at him.

“Y/N, if somethings bothering you, you should tell me. I know you feel that keeping it to yourself is better than admitting it but trust me, it’s a lot worse.”, he leaned down to meet your gaze as a stoic blank expression overcame you.

Your throat tightens and clench your jaw to suppress the sob building in your chest.

You’ve always been alone with your thoughts, threatening to crack under the constant pressure behind your skull. The Avengers had been an unconventional setting but you created close relationships with a few of them. Some you lost along the way because of uncontrollable things but you wonder.

You wonder if maybe something was wrong with you.

If it was your fault why they always left.

Why no one stuck around for long.

Tears glimmer, threatening to fall but you exhale a long breath out, turning to him. You twiddle your fingers, jaw clenched as you choke out the words in a whisper.

“...okay.”

Joaquin’s posture straightened as you stepped away from the railing and nodded your head in agreement.

“I’ll try. For you, Flyboy.”

He hummed and a small smile grew on his face at the nickname.

“That’s all I ask.”

Looking over his shoulder, you recognise a familiar face.

“Hey, Wilson.” you called over Joaquin’s shoulder, causing Sam’s eyes to flicker between the two of you.

“Hey, Y/L/N. I see you guys are spending extra time together…”, Sam implied with a smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes at Sam’s implications, nudging his arm.

“It’s about time he kept me in the loop.”

He recognises the dark circles under your eyes and how tired you look but elects to ignore it.

“You alright?”, Sam asks.

You look up at Joaquin as his lips twitch upwards in a small encouraging smile. His hand slides across the railing, hovering next to yours as you reply.

“I’m right where I need to be.”

You trail off as you notice Sam’s stiff posture and tension as he glides his hands into his pockets.

“How are you?”

After the huge declaration of America’s new ‘Captain America’, you were infuriated with the SHAM. Walker had done nothing to deserve that shield.

It was Sam that Steve chose.

It was Sam that deserved the shield.

You can only imagine how upset he is feeling.

Sam almost shrugs, tilting his head as he doesn’t know how to express all of his feelings about the situation.

You all glance towards a screen as a poster of John Walker holding up Steve’s shield is shown.

“Seems like a good guy. You met him?”, Joaquin asks.

“No.”, Sam replied.

“Thanks for doing this on such short notice.”

“Yeah. No sweat. I’m just finishing up the checklist. You’ll be all good to go once you land in Munich.”

“I’ll be in the air with Joaquin so you can keep us updated…”

You trail off because your attention phases to Bucky Barnes’ entrance. With the fury in his step, you can practically visualise the daggers Bucky is sending towards Sam as you descend the stairs.

“Shouldn’t have given up the shield.”

“Good to see you too, Buck.”

“This is wrong.”, Bucky interjects.

Bucky follows Sam, cutting him off to interrogate.

“Hey, hey, look, I’m working, all right? So all this outrage is gonna have to wait.”

Bucky narrows his eyes,

“You didn’t know that was gonna happen?”

Sam is aghast, “No, of course I didn’t know that was gonna happen. You think it didn’t break my heart to see them march him out there and call him the new Captain America?”

“Steve didn’t want this.”

“Oh, my God. What do you want me to do? Call America and tell ’em I changed my mind? Huh?”

Joaquin rests a hand on your shoulder, bringing your attention back to him,

“I’m gonna go ahead and set up before we leave.”

You nod, acknowledging him, gripping his hand,

“I’ll be right there.”, sending him a reassuring smile.

You watch as Sam and Bucky tussle in an argument over the shield and then the mission.

You find yourself striding up to them as Sam stomps off alone towards the plane.

“Hey stranger.”

Bucky turns around and his eyes light up in recognition. He flicks over your tired eyes and sombre expression.

“Sam didn’t know this would happen.”

“Well, he shouldn’t have given it up in the first place. It doesn’t belong there.”

“Bucky… I know how much that shield means to you... But you have to understand that Sam did what he thought was the right thing. We have to accept that. It’s what Steve wanted.”

“This is not what Steve would have wanted, Y/N.”

Bucky is fuming at the thought of the man parading as Captain America.

“I know, I know, Bucky. But we gotta work together to solve this one.”

“Just like always.”

He hummed, looking at the plane.

“Fine, but it doesn’t change the fact I’m mad at him.”

You sigh but agree because you know your boys are stubborn.

*****

You sit up on a crate as the plane flies below the drop-off zone for Sam and Bucky. You were sitting this one out to surveil with Joaquin from above.

“One minute to drop off, Sam.”

You watch Joaquin as he assesses the distance below and the time on his watch. The cuts and scrapes on his face have mostly healed but the blue and purple bruising under his eye remains.

“So what’s our plan?”, Bucky asks Sam who ignores him as he positions his com in his ear.

“Great. So no plan.”

Bucky shakes his head in annoyance, sitting back down in his seat.

“Thirty seconds!”, Joaquin yells, looking out into the open air.

“I’m reconsidering sending those two out there alone.”

You glance anxiously between Sam and Bucky as the tension in the plane stirs.

“But they’re not alone, because they’re going together.”, Joaquin points out.

“That’s the part I’m worried about.”

You smile unconvincingly at Joaquin as you listen to the men bicker.

“Enjoy your ride, Buck.”

Bucky rejects Sam’s use of the nickname,

“No, you can’t call me that.”

“Why not? That’s what Steve called you.”

You roll your eyes at the childish banter between the two. You were considering the amount of logic and coordination between the two of them but then again, you were too tired to get on board for this mission.

“Steve knew me longer, and Steve had a plan.”

“Why couldn’t Steve be here?”, you whisper sarcastically.

“Fifteen seconds to drop.”

“I have a plan.”, Sam defends.

“Really? What is it?”

Sam ignores Bucky, jumping from the plane. Joaquin peeks his head out in amusement as Sam ignites his suit and flies off. He still wears that look of amaze on his face since the first time he saw the suit.

“Great. Where’s the chute?”, Bucky asked, looking around.

“We’re at 200 feet. It’s too low for a chute.”

“I don’t need it anyway.”

Joaquin perked an eyebrow, glancing at Bucky from the side,

“You sure about that?”

“No! I know that look Bucky and I swear-”

“Yeah.”, Bucky sighs, yelling as he drops from the plane.

You and Joaquin both stare out into the open air as Bucky plummets into a tree, slowing his descent.

“What. An. Idiot.”, you exclaim from beside Joaquin.

“That looks like it hurts too.”

Pulling your sleeves down, you shiver and pull back from the open door to return to your seat.

“He’ll be fine. I think.”

Joaquin slides the door shut as its seals with a hiss.

You retract back into yourself as your thoughts return in the quiet.

Luckily, Joaquin is there to push them back.

“Hey, join me upstairs? I’ve gotta track activities for Sam from up here.”, he waits for your answer.

“Sure.”

He steps aside to let you walk up the steps first, sliding behind you as you reach the second floor. His hand ghosts over you back, guiding you across to the computers.

You flirt around the screens, leaning your hands against the metal frame. Joaquin’s hand roams around different radars and dials as he reads them. You watch from your spot as he concentrates, although, his eyes float up to check on you, every so often. You’ll pretend not to notice the suppressed smirk that threatens to rise on his face at your stare.

You push that brewing anxiety aside but not without strain. Not without a little help from that pure and inviting calm that Joaquin brings.

***

TAGS:

@asoftie4bucky @remmysbounty @cjsinkythoughts @bubblegum28universe @farfromjustordinary @hocusbowie @alainabooks143 @marvelnerd18 @samscaptain @alexlynn16 @dontstahpmemeow @plllover86 @petewentzfrommcr80 @literallyjustfanfiction @captainbarness @parkjammys @the-and-sign-anon @nialeesato

#joaquintorres #joaquintorresxreader #joaquintorresxy/n #joaquintorresimagine #buckybarnes #samwilson #marvel #mcuxreader #marvelxreader #marvelseries #tfatwsxreader #tfatws #tfatwsimagine #joaquin torres x reader #tfatws x reader

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obeyme-kaidii-writes · 4 years

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Dreams

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 1855

Content warnings - lots of fluff and comfort, platonic relationship

Prompt/Inspiration - Mammon has a nightmare and MC comforts him

Summary - Mammon is forced to sit through another horror movie with his brothers, and you decide to go check on him once he’s gone to bed.

AO3

You didn’t know how it happened exactly, but somehow movie night had turned into “let’s see how many times we can make Mammon jump before he pisses himself.” Since you had been helping Beel gather snacks (someone has to make sure he didn’t eat them before he even left the kitchen), you weren’t involved in the movie selection process. You had already told everyone you had no preference, so they didn’t wait for you to return.

As soon as you took your seat between Mammon and Beel though, you started to suspect something. Mammon was flinching at every little thing - from the sound of your can of soda opening to the sound of Beel opening a bag of chips. You tried to ask him what was wrong, but he said it was nothing. That you didn’t need to worry. And since the movie was now starting, all you could do was watch him skeptically out of the corner of your eye.

About 10 minutes in, the first jump scare occurred, and you heard Mammon muttering obscenities under his breath. It didn’t seem that scary to you, so you were about to just let it go, when the next scare happened and he almost spilled your drink with how hard he jerked into you. You thought about suggesting that they change the movie, saying you didn’t like it, but Levi already knew just how much you loved horror movies and was sure to call you out on it. And seeing as Mammon was trying so desperately to contain just how freaked out he was, you didn’t want to draw anymore attention to him and make him feel even worse.

So you decided the best course of action was for you to just snuggle up to him and hold his hand. There were several times you thought for sure he was going to crush your own with how tightly he was gripping you, but somehow you managed to make it through the entire movie with all your limbs and digits still attached and in working order. When you finally stood up to stretch, you got a good look at Mammon. Poor boy was white as a sheet (which is saying something with his dark skin tone), and made a hasty retreat as soon as possible to his own room, his brothers snickering as they watched him go.

“Y’all really can be assholes, you know that?” you said, sending a glare towards Asmodeus, who you were sure suggested the movie in the first place.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he replied, smiling innocently at you. You rolled your eyes at his mock confusion. He knew exactly what he did. Just like the rest of them.

As you walked towards your room, you thought about stopping by Mammon’s to check on him, but decided better of it, and opted to text him first instead.

“Hey, how are you doing?”

“Fine. Just fine. Already in bed. Goodnight.”

Well that was odd, you thought. Usually he was more chatty with you. The other times he had been tricked into watching horror movies with his brothers, he usually made up some lame excuse as to why he was going to spend the night in your room, “in case you got scared”. But tonight, he didn’t and you weren’t sure what to make of it.

————

Mammon collapsed on his bed as soon as he got to his room, not even bothering to lock the door behind him or remove his clothes. He was absolutely exhausted at this point. Watching those shitty movies with his brothers always drained the life out of him. He had to concentrate so hard just to stop from humiliating himself and giving them something else to mock him for for the next century.

And tonight’s movie seemed to be the worst one yet. He seriously had to wonder what dark pit of hell the director must have crawled out from to make such a twisted movie. No one else seemed to mind it though. Even you, the weak, fragile human, were enjoying yourself. But he had been too nervous to even register the fact you spent the entire movie pressed up against him, as he squeezed your hand for support.

Part of him really appreciated having you there, but another part of him absolutely hated it. It was bad enough when he got spooked during the other movies they had watched together before, but just the thought of you bearing witness to his shame this time was almost enough to make him cry. Why couldn’t he pull himself together? You’d think the fact that he had resided in the Devildom - literal hell - for over a millennia would be enough to desensitize him to such things.

He flopped over on his back, staring at the ceiling, wondering if he should just go to bed now or give up on sleeping tonight altogether. When suddenly a loud “DING” echoed through his room, causing him to practically throw himself out of bed as he struggled to figure out what the hell that sound was.

Oh.

It was his DDD.

You had just texted him.

Mammon sighed in relief, before feeling utterly embarrassed at his own reaction and simultaneously grateful that no one else was around to see it. When Mammon opened his messaging app, he saw that you were just checking up on him, and his heart warmed a little knowing you were thinking of him. But he also knew he was in no shape to see you right now because he’d surely only add to his embarrassment. So even though the idea of spending the night with you sounded really enticing, he decided to tell you he was fine.

After sending the text, Mammon crawled his way under his covers. He thought briefly about turning the lights off, but quickly decided that would be a horrible idea. He’d just have to sleep with the lights on tonight and hope no one walked by his door and took notice.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“MOTHERFKERRR….!” Mammon yelped, sitting bolt upright as he tried to calm his pounding heart.

“Mammon? It’s me.”

For the love of….it was just you. Not his brothers. Not the vengeful shadow lady murder spirit from the movie. Just you.

“Yeah?”, he said as he tried his best to keep his voice calm and even.

“Hey,” you opened the door and let yourself inside. You immediately noticed that the lights were still on, which honestly didn’t surprise you even though Mammon had told you he was going to bed. The second thing you noticed was that Mammon was sitting in his bed fully dressed, with a death grip on his blanket while he watched you enter his room, having changed into your pajamas. Looks like you had made a good decision to come.

“I was wondering if I could sleep here tonight?”

“Huh? Why ya wanna do that for?”, he asked. He had thought for sure you enjoyed the movie, so it shouldn’t be because you were scared, right?

“Just feeling a little uneasy you know. My imagination can get the better of me sometimes. So I thought I’d sleep better with you.”

“Um yeah. Sure. I’ll look after ya,” Mammon replied.

“Can I turn the lights off?”, you asked. Mammon nodded with a grunt, so you flipped the switch and headed towards his bed, using the light from your DDD to guide you so you didn’t trip over all the junk scattered on his floor. He didn’t really want the lights off, but he didn’t exactly want to say that either, so he convinced himself it would be ok since you were here now.

As you settled down beside him, Mammon started to relax as well. It didn’t take him long at all to realize that you were just fine and only giving him an excuse to not sleep alone, without him needing to do it himself. He smiled to himself as he rolled on his side and felt you rest your head against his back.

“Goodnight, Mammon.”

“G’night.”

————

After only a few hours of sleep, you were awoken by the movement next to you. Mammon was now on his back, hands gripping at his blanket, as he occasionally kicked his legs or jerked his head like he was running from something, trying to escape.

Realizing he was having a nightmare, you sat up and placed a hand on his chest, giving him a firm shake, “Mammon. Wake up,” he didn’t respond, so you raised your voice just a little louder and shook him again, “Mammon. MAMMON.”

Suddenly his eyes flew open, while he gasped for breath, his thoughts still frantic and confused. As he gradually became more fully aware of his surroundings, he noticed you were propped up on your elbow next to him with your hand on his chest. Wanting to make sure you were really there, he grabbed your wrist.

As soon as he felt the warmth of your skin in his hand, tears started pouring down his face from relief. You were here. You were safe. He didn’t remember why he felt it so important to check just then. His memory of his dream was already fuzzy and quickly disappearing. But that didn’t stop him from still feeling those lingering emotions of terror and loss.

“Hey, Mammon. What’s wrong?”, you asked. Your eyes had adjusted to the dim light of his room by now and you could see how hard he was crying. Not only that but you felt his hand shaking as it gripped your wrist. Whatever he had been dreaming about clearly left him terrified.

All he could do in response was shake his head, trying to reassure you that he was fine and it was nothing to worry about, but his words were caught in his throat and the tears just wouldn’t stop. Seeing that Mammon wasn’t going to be talking anytime soon, you leaned over and wrapped him up in your arms, a gesture he was all too happy to return as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

You held him like that for a few moments, rubbing his back and soothing him. After a while his erratic breathing began to calm, so you carefully laid back down on the bed, holding him close to you so that he was mostly on top of you by the time you had gotten comfortable.

“It’s ok. It was just a dream, Mammon. Just a dream.”

As his panic subsided, Mammon adjusted his position slightly so that his head was more on your chest and shoulder. He could hear your heartbeat better this way, and he closed his eyes, focusing on the familiar, comforting sound. Yeah it was just a dream. You were here. You were safe. It was just a dream.

Pressing a kiss to the top of his head, you continued to hold him close as he tightened his arms around your waist. Snuggled together, it wasn’t long before the two of you drifted off to sleep. And this time, Mammon’s dreams were much more peaceful.

#gn!mc #platonic mammon #platonic relationships #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #mammon x mc #obey me fanfic #obey me fluff #mammon fanfic #mammon fluff

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milliedazzledust · 4 years

Text

War Rages On: part 2 (Bucky Barnes imagine)

Words: 3234

A/N: Still don’t know where I’m going with this story but I’m really having fun writing this and I hope you’ll like it! Don’t forget to tell me if you want to be tag for the next parts :)

Previously: part 1

Steve had found Bucky deep in the forest of Wakanda. Escorted by the kind T’Challa, he led him to the man they called the White Wolf. He had found his redemption away from mankind. Surrounded by trees and animals, Y/N and him had lived a simple life inside their cottage up until that moment. Before this, Steve had no intention to bring them back. He had planned to come visit the couple but most importantly to let them have their happy ending, to keep them from monsters that had tried so many times to tore them apart. He couldn’t imagine two people more deserving of peace than them. The King of Wakanda had outdone himself to make sure this was achievable.

“Do you remember the last time you saw her ?” Steve asked him.

Bucky sat on a rock near a river, hastily ruffling his hair.

“She left a couple days ago” He recounted. “She had a message from Stark on the burner phone you gave her”

“What did it say ?”

“Need your help asap - Romanoff compromised. An address was attached”

He got worried when he saw Steve dropping his head and rubbing his eyes in frustration. He had known him long enough to guess something was bothering him.

“Buck’, Tony didn’t send anything.” The Soldier confessed.

“What do you mean ?”

The familiar sensation of anxiety started to form in the pit of his stomach despite the lack of information. He knew he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.

“I don’t know what happened, but somebody pretending to be him wrote that message”

“That’s impossible” He shook his head, refusing to believe him.

“Buck’ ..”

“She left, Steve. She left to go help him” He vehemently cut him. He stood up and started pacing. His friend could see his whole demeanor slowly shifting. “If she’s not with Stark, then where is she ?!”

“I don’t know” The Captain replied. Admitting it to his friend was almost too painful.

“Have you talk to the others ? Do they know anything ?”

He was looking more and more like a madman. His body had already understood what his mind failed to grasp.

“She send Sam an SOS”

“What ?” He said it in a whisper, instantaneously freezing on the spot.

“Bucky, I’m sorry but she’s missing”

“She can’t be” He felt the panic beginning to creep into his chest.

He turned back to look at his friend.

“That’s not … She said she’d be back” He explained, as if it would make perfect sense that she couldn’t be gone, as if that promise had been enough to keep her safe “.. She … She always comes back to me”

He dropped on the floor, the captain barely had enough time to catch him. His breathing became more rapid, more shallow. He felt it hit him like a hurricane. There was a logical explanation, but the only one he could think of was worst than any nightmare.

“Steve if it’s …” He suddenly sounded alarmed.

“It might not be” The Captain answered. He didn’t know which one of them he was trying to convince the most.

“Who else ?”

His friend stayed silent. His mind couldn’t wrapped around the fact that this could be happening, that they were potentially facing another threat.

“They’re still after me” The Sergeant muttered. “It’d make sense”

“Even if it’s Hydra, we’ll still find her” Steve promised.

“What if it’s too late ?” Bucky dared to think about that possibility, his eyes drifting into space.

“It’s not”

The soldier put a comforting hand on the Sergeant’s shoulder. When he glanced up at him, he saw the reassurance he so desperately needed. He knew this look by heart, he had seen it so many time on Steve’s face growing up. He had that same determination every time he went on to fight someone twice his size, the confidence and fierceness that had built Captain America.

“C’mon, get up.” He ordered with force. “We’re gonna find her”

He silently followed him, his mind running a mile an hour. He couldn’t remember a time he had felt so vulnerable. The mere thought of her somewhere with Hydra was enough to reopen his deepest wounds. He knew what they were capable of, he had lived through the endless torture for years and to picture a fraction of it being done on her was too much.

Steve had taken him to a jet. After several hours of flight, they had landed in a location he didn’t recognize. The place looked like headquarters, abandoned in the middle of nowhere. They were surrounded by large trees. When they walked out of the plane, Bucky recognized the distinct sent of mint and pine mixed together. He glanced around, trying to find a clue as to where they were, but all he could see was the woods. No other indication.

“What is this place ?” He asked Steve as they walk inside the building.

Before his friend could answer he heard another voice speaking, the sound resonating on the walls.

“Secure location not far from Warsaw, outside of the radars”

Bucky didn’t hide his surprise when he found himself face to face with Tony Stark. The billionaire saw him tense, his body instinctively going into defense mode.

“At ease, soldier” He sighed. “We’re not here to fight”

Still he didn’t ushered a word and looked back and forth between the two men in front of him. After what had happened between them before he found shelter in Wakanda, he wasn’t sure how to behave around Stark.

“Have you find anything ?” Steve inquired, folding his hands behind his back.

“Sam checked the address you sent me” Stark started to explain. “We were about to take a look at the security footage”

He guided the soldiers to a room that seemed like it had been restored at the last minute. There was a violent contrast between the dust on the floor, the half broken chairs and the high-tech computers Tony had most likely installed. It definitely looked like a hideout. He first noticed Natasha Romanoff leaning on the large table at the center of the room. She was studying a file. Next to her was Sam Wilson, scrolling on a tablet he was holding with intense concentration.

Steve greeted both of them with a simple nod and Bucky noticed the side looks he was being given but chose to not acknowledge them. Stark started to type on his computer and the enormous screen he had placed on one of the wall turned itself on.

“Here’s what we know so far” Tony told them.

Bucky recognized a screenshot of the message sent to Y/N on the burner phone, the very same one he was carrying in his pocket.

“I was not able to trace the id or the location”

As he spoke, Stark watched the Sergeant from the corner of his eyes taking a sit on a half torn armchair.

“But whomever send this was pretending to be me”

“How were they able to get her number ? Only you and I are supposed to have that information” Steve interrogated.

“I’m getting there, Captain.” Tony answered. “Somebody infiltrated my system and discreetly hijacked it to get into classified data”

The Sergeant suddenly raised his head and with a flick of the fingers, Stark projected details of his firewall system on the screen.

“They left a trail. Sloppy work if you ask me”

“Get to the point, Tony” Natasha reminded him.

The man rolled his eyes before continuing his explanations.

“They searched through every files I have on Barnes. What they were looking for exactly? I don’t know, but I have a vague idea”

“My location” Bucky whispered.

“Bingo. They were after you, and when they realized I was smart enough not to put any compromising informations, they moved to plan B”

“What’s plan B ?” Sam severely asked.

“If you can’t find the Winter Soldier, then let him find you.” Stark directly offered the hypothesis.

“They’re using Y/N as leverage” Steve finally understood.

“Exactly”

Bucky rubbed his eyes in frustration. This was looking more and more like Hydra’s modus operandi.

“Who is they ?” Romanoff questioned.

“I might have an answer to that” Sam replied, waving his tablet. “I found something on the security footage”

A video without sound started playing and instantly Bucky stood up. His eyes traveling from one corner of the screen to the other, he was closely studying every movement. Whomever was doing this had smartly brought the woman in the middle of the city and away from any camera that could incriminate them.

“Y/N is waiting in the corner of the street, then this man approaches her. She takes a step back, probably figured out something was wrong.” The Falcon explained. “All we can see is her reaching for her phone behind her back, which we know now was to send an SOS”

“Any identification on the guy ?” Natasha inquired.

“No. He stayed hidden from the cameras. He knew exactly where they were”

“Why didn’t she attack ?” Tony pondered. “She could have taken him easily”

“Busy street” Bucky answered mechanically. “If you want somebody to comply, lure them in the middle of a crowd. One move and someone else die. Works all the time”

“Of course you’d know about that” The billionaire muttered under his breath.

Steve hadn’t talk yet. His eyes were glued to the screen. Something wasn’t adding up and he didn’t know what. He watched the video playing four times, his hands on his hips, deep in concentration.

“Rewind it” He ordered Sam.

The man didn’t question the request and did as he was told. Shape after shape the Captain analyzed every detail until the information he was missing was right in front of him.

“Stop there”

The video froze and they stared at the frame, trying to figure out what he was seeing.

“What is it, Steve ?” The Russian spy inquired.

“Can you zoom in ?” He asked, ignoring the first question.

Tony took the tablet in his hand and started to play with it.

“What am I looking for ?”

“His neck” He simply said. “He has a tattoo”

His friend raised an eyebrow in surprise, but got to work. Typing on his keyboard, he cut the video’s frame, zoomed in and used a program to polish the picture and create a clear image of the ink on the man’s body.

As soon as Bucky saw it, he felt a cold shiver running down his spine. What he feared the most had only been theoretical until then, there was still a slight hope he was wrong, a one percent chance he was holding onto that he wasn’t living his worst nightmare. And all that came crashing down when he recognized the pattern of a skull he knew by heart.

“No..No, no, no, no” He kept repeating, pacing around the room, panic striking in his veins. “This is not happening, this is not…”

The Captain stopped him in his track, putting his hands on his shoulders.

“Buck’ ..”

“They have her, Steve. They have Y/N” He was terrified, and his friend could clearly hear it in his voice.

The others were following their interaction, not yet understanding what was happening. Steve raised his head, still holding his brother emotionally breaking apart, and looked at them with an alarmed expression that did nothing to ease their worry.

“We had our suspicion on who might have pulled up something like this » He told them. « Frankly, I was hoping we were wrong”

“Who is it ?” Romanoff demanded.

“…Hydra” Bucky murmured, his head low and his human hand shaking.

They all tensed in the room and the silence that followed was frightening.

“Are you sure ?” The Falcon asked.

Steve stared at the projecting image on the wall, pursing his lips.

“Yes, Sam. It’s them” He answered with a heavy voice filled with concern.

Bucky felt the tears on his cheeks before he realized he was crying. His breathing had become unsteady and he was slowly faltering. He quickly excused himself and left the building. He needed the air.

He was trying so hard not to panic but he seemed paralyzed. There was suddenly a menacing aura around him, holding him in a tightening grip. He could feel his temperature rising, a clear sign of his anxiety, his fear. It was a living force creeping over him like a hungry beast, fed by the agonizing possibility he might lose her. He started to take shaky small breath, like Y/N had taught him every time he had a panic attack, but without her to guide him, it was useless. His pulse was beating in his ears, blocking all the other sounds, and he was sweating. There was a lump in his throat, an emotion so large it was aching to be released. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to beg for mercy. Alas, he closed his eyes, trying to focus his senses on one thing only, find her.

And just as the thought crossed his mind, he felt the tiny device he had in his pocket vibrate. He took his phone out, but nothing was displayed on the screen. Then he realized it wasn’t the right one. Fishing in his pants, he found was he was looking for and grabbed the burner phone. One message. When he opened it, the color quickly drained from his face.

« She won’t stay alive for long, unless you come home. Not Romania, not Brooklyn, your real home. No Avenger. You know the consequences of disobedience »

Attached to it was a photo. His heart stopped and his metal fist clenched the phone so hard he accidentally broke it when he saw the picture of the woman he loved, arms chained on a ceiling, body dangling in the air and covered in blood. He absently stared at his hands, thinking back to their time in Wakanda, in peace, away from the world. Just the two of them. What a difference a couple of days could make. He knew what he wanted to do. There was not an ounce of hesitation in him, only the desire to make sure she would make it out of there alive.

So engrossed in his own thoughts, he didn’t hear someone creeping in behind him. Natasha silently stood next to him. Was it out of pity or emotional support, he couldn’t tell. She observed him for a moment, furrowing her eyebrows like she was trying to read him, before she turned back to look at the sky.

“You know where she is”

It wasn’t a question but a statement.

“What makes you say that ?”

“Two fossils from the 1930’s with the same instinct of preservation and the same tendencies to make stupid decisions based on emotions. Not exactly hard to put two and two together. You and Steve have a lot in common”

He pursed his lips.

“Are you gonna tell them ?” He asked, looking back at the abandoned building.

“Still debating.” She admitted. “You’re not really stupid, Barnes. You know you can’t take them all by yourself”

“That wasn’t my intention”

“Then what’s your plan ?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, she could see it in his whole demeanor. It was in the way he stood up straight, in the way he was clenching his jaw, in the way his eyes held so much determination and purpose.

“You don’t intend on coming back, do you ?”

“I can’t let them kill her” He explained.

“A suicide mission is by far the most stupid idea you could come up with”

“It’s the only one I’ve got” He replied, resigned.

He turned to look at her. The calmness he was displaying was enough to know he had made up his mind and honestly, it frightened her.

“I don’t think you know how much she means to me, Natasha. I don’t deserve her love, I really don’t, but somehow she saw something worth fighting for in me. She saw all the cracks, all the flaws and all the mistakes I’ve made and she didn’t run. She stood by my side and fought for me. She’s my sanity. She’s all the good that’s left in me. She’s the name I whisper when I’m scared my memories are fading. I can’t take the risk to lose her because if that happens, I’ll lose myself and there will be no come back this time”

The lump in his throat prevented him from saying anything more and he gulped, trying to make the feeling of anxiety subside.

“Whatever it takes, and whatever I’ll have to do, I swear she will get out of there alive” He nodded to no one in particular, a silent and simple sign he would not change his mind.

“At what cost ? What are we suppose to tell her when you won’t be here anymore ?”

“That I fought for her the same way she did for me”

His response shut her up. His voice held so much serenity and resolve she knew it would be useless to argue. She understood where he was coming from, just like she understood the sacrifice he was ready to make.

“There’s a version of this where we win, Barnes. Keep that in mind. It doesn’t have to end in pain or worse. Fight with everything you’ve got and don’t stop until both of you are safe”

He sadly smiled.

“You’ve definitely spent too much time with Steve”

She rolled her eyes before turning to stand in front of him. She hesitated a moment, words on the tip of her tongue.

“I’m sorry this is happening” She gloomily confessed. “But you know why they want you, right ?”

“The Winter Soldier” He replied, closing his eyes. “They want him back”

“Just so we’re clear here, Bucky, and just in case, you have to be aware that the moment you’ll get there, they will torture you to get him back. Your mind is already damaged, you won’t hold long”

“I just need to hold long enough to get her out of there” He vehemently assured her, gritting his teeth.

“Your plan is to walk out with her” She reminded him, insisting on the words.

He glanced down at her and judging by the look in his eyes, she knew what he was about to ask her before he even spoke.

“If it comes to the worse, if I become … him again …” He started.

“I know” She cut him. He didn’t need to say the word, she knew thinking about it was already more than enough pain for him.

She stood there, watched him get into the jet him and Steve had taken to get there, and did nothing. It was useless to try to convince him to stay, he was too stubborn to listen. And she knew this was his best shot at getting back the woman he loved alive. She was aware Hydra would not spare the lovers and she prayed they were ready for the fight that was ahead of them. The Avengers would find them eventually, hopefully before it was too late. She turned around when she saw the jet flying in the air and walked silently back inside the building. She would keep that conversation and the promise she had made a secret, and hope whatever Bucky had planned, it would be enough to prevent the worse from happening.

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