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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it.

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends.

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart.

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years.

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same.

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin.

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence.

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony.

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed.

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living.

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again.

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it.

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that.

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again.

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him.

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears.

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book.

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails."

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down.

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed.

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly.

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here."

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying."

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred.

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks.

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury.

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move.

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting."

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top.

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks.

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few.

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so.

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief.

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading.

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks.

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive.

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks.

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?"

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void.

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this."

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you."

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace.

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you.

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing.

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him."

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen.

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void.

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying.

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors.

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible?

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless.

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air.

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?"

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?"

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?"

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance.

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me."

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded.

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just-

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss.

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto-

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve.

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition.

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice.

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years.

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.”

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.”

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.”

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur.

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay.

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost.

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears.

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement.

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!”

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands.

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.”

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person.

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right?

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy.

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes.

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot.

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust.

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy.

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin.

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction.

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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#wilbur soot x reader #ghostbur x reader #jschlatt x reader #mexican dream x reader #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #tw: swearing #tw: death #tw: near death #tw: blood #tw: panic attack #tw: violence #tw: injury #tw: grief

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mellow-em · 3 years

Text

Bittersweet Temptations

CHAPTER 3

[special dts: @bluewingedangel @siennamariia <3]

Your neighbors, Nathan and Elena, have been friends with your parents for years. Whether it’d be family gatherings or vacations, they were around; they were family. But when you return home from your final years of college, what will happen when you find that it isn't just them living in the house next door anymore?

_____________________________________

I wanted to say something.

I knew based on the long expressions plastered across their faces, that they were waiting impatiently for me to say something too.

But I physically couldn’t.

A knot cemented itself at the back of my throat, suffocating me as I tried to swallow. I could feel my mouth suffer through a drought as I did so.

All I could do was look at the three of them, internally wallowing in embarrassment with a load of questions making my head spin.

How could Nate and Elena keep something like that from me? What were they thinking? No. What was I thinking?

Suddenly, the voices of people scattered amongst the yard became too loud. Though, the stares directed towards me were louder.

“Y/n can you say something?”

Without even thinking, I felt my body turn away from them, and I carried myself away.

“Y/n?” I could hear Elena calling after me.

“I’ll just be a minute” I finally croaked back to her, relieved that I could finally get a word out.

I rushed past the deck towards the side of the house.

I knew in the back of my mind that I was being ridiculous. It wasn’t something to run away from; knowing they probably felt just as awkward telling me.

But I had to get away from Sam.

I couldn’t bear standing there while his smug grin could be seen in the corner of my eye.

It was driving me crazy.

Why does he insist on making this hard on me?

I continued to let my feet travel, not even worried about where I would end up. It felt good to step away from the chaos that my parents organized, for a while anyway.

But I soon found myself at the dead end of the street, in front of the wooded patches that lined the edges of the pavement; sectioning off the neighborhood from the forest.

Without any hesitation, I stepped past the barricading trees, and onto the trail that led to a place of sanctuary.

A small body of water sat on the indented ground, with blooming ferns and bushes fencing it. Farther away from the pond, large rocks collected together, forming makeshift seats to take in the atmosphere.

It looked like it belonged in a cheesy disney movie, or a landscape renaissance painting.

I found this place with Nate when I was little, and since then I would escape here when things become too much to handle.

I sat myself down on one of the largest slabs of rock, almost seeing the memories with Nate passing around me in the form of faded visuals; they were almost ghost-like.

I took myself into these moments one by one; succumbing to the laughter, the playfulness, the smiles, the thrill.

Even though I love my parents more than anything, the bundles of memories Nate and I shared, showed me a glimpse of adventure that my parents couldn’t give me.

The overwhelming feeling of contentment pushed a smile onto my face.

But in an instant, it all faded.

Sam.

That one moment with him feasted on my conscious mind like a ravenous vulture. It made my stomach churn in the worst possible way.

I sunk my head into my hands, huffing in frustration.

That is, until I heard a few raucous cracks of leaves and sticks not too far from me.

I fix my posture while whipping my head towards the direction of the noise, only to be met with guilty eyes.

Nathan stood there, leaning his upper body on the stiff trunk of a tree.

Perfect timing, Nate..

My lips flatlined as I scratched at the corner of my forehead, “Hey.”

He steps closer, leisurely but surely.

“Hey,” he gestures to the vacant space next to me, “can I?”

“Yeah.”

Placing both of his hands on his thighs, he plops down next to me, slightly grunting. We sat there in silence; but it wasn’t peaceful, it was impatient.

The both of us were longing to say something to one another, but neither of us preferred confrontation in the slightest. So we sat there, staring at the grove.

“It’s been a while since we’ve been here.”

I look over to him, noticing the tinge of nostalgia sketched upon his features.

“uh yeah.. yeah it really has,” I release a breath, reverting my eyes back to the pond, “almost 5 years.”

It was two days before I left for college. Screaming echoed throughout the house, and reverberated through my head, overwhelming my senses.

My parents chalked it up to being stressed over ‘my big move,’ which I can believe. But the words said that day pushed its way through me. I finally had enough of the nonsense and hollered back at them.

Big mistake. ‘you’re an absolute failure’ They said, ‘you’re never gonna go far.’

Long story short, I ran out of the house, and into the forest. I sat on this same rock, with tears planting glistening streams down my face.

Nate apparently heard the commotion, which wasn’t too surprising, and he made his way to me.

He didn’t even say a word before wrapping his arms around me; embracing me with a comforting warmth that slowly eased me back to normal.

‘Sic Parvis Magna,’ He said.

I was more than confused with those few words, until he began to speak once more.

‘Greatness from small beginnings. Now this isn’t exactly small, you know, with you leaving me here to go to college and all. But it is a new beginning- your new beginning. Don’t let anyone stop you from moving forward.’

That was the last day I saw this beautiful spot of ours, and the last time I really had a solid conversation with Nate; it made the final memory bittersweet at best.

“It really hasn’t changed a bit though.”

“Probably because change is dining elsewhere,”I tried to whisper under my breath, but unfortunately, he heard me loud and clear.

I look up at him in the corner of my eye, noticing his presence fall into a sea of guilt again.

He runs his hand through his surprisingly neatened hair, letting out a sigh that releases all of his proper posture.

“Look, y/n, I wanted to tell you. I really did. But it’s just-”

“Nate all I gotta ask is why? Why would you keep something that major from me?”

I had my body fully turned to face him now, while he still remained there; slouched with his head bowed to his fidgety hands.

I could tell he was stalling, swallowing his responses with force.

“Nate. Just tell me. Please.”

His eyes closed as he exhaled, “It’s a very long story.”

“I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Not exactly.” Roars of laughter within the distance cause both of us to look at the trail leading out of the woods, “we’ve still got a party going on, which happens to be for you, if I may add-”

“Seriously Nate, you think I care?” I was growing fretful, mentally pleading for him to just give up on excuses.

His hands raised in defense, “Fine, fine, okay..”

———

It didn’t even occur to us how long we’d been out here until the streams of sunlight disappeared from the ruptures in between the trees. The day was just replaced with the beginning of nightfall.

“So you’re telling me that Sam, your brother...who was presumed dead for 15 years, dragged you out across the globe to find Henry Avery’s treasure in 3 months because a drug lord was gonna kill him if you didn’t?”

Nate stifled a low chuckle, nodding along.

“So I take it you found it and gave the son of a bitch his cut? Well, since he’s alive and all-”

“Hey, language missy.” He attempted a scolding tone, but I could see through his thin facade.

I rolled my eyes, shoving him playfully,“Haha very funny. Now answer the question mister.”

“Well, it turns out the son of a bitch was Sam. He uh- lied about the whole thing.”

My eyes widened, “Wait what? So the drug lord- the sole purpose of the treasure hunt..”

“Yep it was all bullshit.”

I averted my wide-eyed gaze from him to the pond that was now lit with the blaring lights of fireflies,“Wow. I’m surprised no one got the chance to kick him in the face.. or balls.”

“Yeah Rafe- he pretty much took care of that one..”

The both of us laughed, causing a few birds to flutter away from the branches closest to us.

I missed this.

“Figured I’d find you two here.”

As our fit died down, we glanced over to a beaming Elena emerging from the trail with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I told your parents that you were comin’ over with us. I assumed you wanted some space from all the chaos.”

I showed my relief in the form of a warm simper, up until the realization punched me in the face.

Sam is gonna be there.

My body tensed, becoming a stiff statue in place. The lack of saliva in my mouth was back, and I felt my breath hitch silently.

I guessed the two of them noticed my change in demeanor.

“Are you okay y/n? You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Elena’s tone was gentle, as her grin faltered slightly.

“No no it’s fine it’s just- it’s nothing don’t worry,”I abruptly stood up, scratching at my forehead again, “lets go, back.”

“You sure?,” I felt Nate’s arm fall over my shoulders, giving me a faint squeeze as the three of us trudged down the path.

I needed to take my mind off of Sam, hopefully I can avoid him.

“Yeah..” my voice trailed off, “as long as I get to play a certain game that I happened to have the highest score of.” walking confidently with my head held high, I could still see Nate rolling his eyes.

“Actually, Elena has since claimed that title for herself.” Nate said frankly.

A dramatic gasp escapes my lips,“Elena, are you kidding me!”

“Hey, don’t get mad at the pregnant lady here,” she looks back at Nate and I as we continue to walk down the trail, “how about this: you two compete to try and beat my high score.”

Nate looks down at me with the same contemplative look I give him.

“And what’s the catch, hun?” Nate asks.

“Loser gets pushed or thrown into the pool.”

Well well well, Elena’s finally getting in on our shenanigans.

I smirked, “This is gonna be light work.”

“Oh really now? I just know you’re secretly afraid that I’m gonna win.”

“Sure, Nate. I’m not gonna lose, you’re all bark and no bite.”

It was his turn to let out a theatrical breath,“How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

While Nate and I went on with our child like banter, Elena laughed hysterically at our foolishness,“You two are absolutely ridiculous.”

Nate glances back at me, only this time his fist patiently waited in front of me for a fist bump, “you ready to get destroyed?”

I scoff, hitting my fist on his, “You’re on.”

#sam drake x reader #samuel drake x reader #uncharted fanfiction #sam drake #uncharted #uncharted 4 #samuel drake #nathan drake #naughty dog #elena fisher #sam drake fanfiction

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potassium-pilot · 3 years

Text

Prompt 24: Illustrious

“Is it done, Alphinaud?” Dia pestered excitedly.

“No, it is not.”

She waited for approximately five seconds before asking again, “How about now?”

“Do you really want me to rush through this?”

“You’re the Artist Alphinaud, I am your assistant; what else can I do if not make sure you finish?”

“Will you ever let go of that?”

“Never.”

Alphinaud sighed defeatedly and continued his drawing. He was commissioned to create a current portrait of the Scions of the Seventh Dawn to hang in the Solar. To their relief, he had everyone’s figures wrote to memory and therefore, did not require them to pose. That in mind, Dia couldn’t help but be a shadow to the boy, watching his artistry at work. The Warrior of Light was many things; an artist, she was not. It seemed the act of using a paintbrush did not come with the same ease as using a sewing needle, or a cooking utensil.

In the middle stood what he believed looked like himself holding a carbuncle while Alisaie stood on his right side at roughly the same height with her rapier held out in front of her. Dia towered behind him carrying Tataru on her shoulders (at her behest) with Thancred on her left with his arms crossed, Y’shtola on her right with a cane being wielded, Urianger on Thancred’s left with a book in hand, G’raha between Alphinaud and Alisaie with a big grin on his face, and Krile in front of Y’shtola to the left of Alphinaud leaning up against him.

“All right, I’m not done, but what do you think so far, Dia?” She scrambled from the Solar door to the desk to look it over with enthusiasm. “Ahh, I love it so far! Why’d you make yourself so short though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Alphinaud, you’re not that small. You almost made yourself into a lalafell compared to me.”

“It feels accurate to me…after all, ‘tis no secret I’m of a smaller stature in comparison to many of you.”

“Smaller stature, sure, but you’re not miniature. Give yourself more credit.” He shook his head before she inquired, “And where’s Estinien?”

“Oh…”

“What?”

“He…told me not to draw him…”

If her eyes could turn red in fury like Nidhogg, they would have in that very moment. “Give me but a moment, Alphinaud…” she told him quietly. She turned away from the smaller elezen and exited out the door in a seemingly calm manner, concealing her fury.

*********

Estinien, Thancred, and Urianger enjoyed a cup of coffee in the lobby.

“So you sort of just…wait for an assignment?” Estinien confirmed. The other two nodded. “Frankly, it’s been a bit more trouble to have the patience recently, particularly since our last assignment wasn’t exactly taken by choice”, Thancred stated.

“Indeed. Though we only aged some few moons in the Source, our souls hath lived on for years in the First, and kept us all plenty occupied, particularly when our friend finally arrived”, Urianger affirmed. Estinien made a hum. “What did you do while waiting before?”

“Oh”, Thancred began nervously, “Nothing too unusual. We just took our rest, did something leisurely, enjoyed ourselves whilst we waited.”

“Is that what thou calleth courting several maidens at once?”

Thancred scowled at Urianger while Estinien made a slight smile at the remark. Suddenly, Thancred and Urianger made horrified faces and scattered from their positions, abandoning Estinien to his fate: a furious Warrior of Light, wearing a look she wore when she killed gods.

“Do you want to explain your thought process here?” Dia confronted him.

“You’re under the assumption that I care to explain anything.”

“Look, I get you that you like to work alone; frankly, it’s understandable in a way. Twelve knows half the work I do needs to be done alone, lest anyone without the Echo be tempered, but I have news for you: you are not alone anymore!”

He growled, “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” She placed her face in her palm, then explained annoyedly, “The portrait, Estinien.”

“By the Fury, you’re angry with me about that?”

“Yes, yes I am.”

“It’s a bleeding portrait. What does it matter?”

“It matters, Estinien! It matters a lot to me, to Alphinaud, to quite a few of us.”

His face betrayed his befuddlement. Not having been a Scion for very long, her irritation seemed misplaced.

“That portrait’s not my place”, he attempted to explain, “And quite frankly, I don’t understand why you all so desperately want this portrait in the first place.”

“We want to commemorate our little family.”

“This isn’t my family. It never was.”

“Never?” she repeated incredulously.

He raised an eyebrow at her tone.

“Estinien, Alphinaud fought for you after your possession by Nidhogg. I fought for you. When everyone seemed intent on killing you, even yourself, we did everything we could to keep you alive. We even entreated Hraesvelgr to help us save you when Aymeric seemed content with just stopping Nidhogg at any cost. Then you go and follow us through Gyr Abania, to the point where you even pushed back an Ascian in the body of Zenos yae Galvus, and pulled my comatose body out of a battlefield and back to the front. And on top of that, you helped take out Black Rose facilities for us while the rest of us were off in another world. You mean to tell me that meant nothing?!”

Estinien blinked.

“Guess what, dragon boy? You were a Scion before you even offered your lance!”

He looked away to the floor, pondering her words, irritated by the nickname.

“Don’t call me ‘dragon boy’…” he snapped.

“That’s what you’re taking from this?”

He remained silent, still thinking through. What in hells had he done? What did he get himself into? He let out a frustrated breath and walked away. She watched him get away from her in disbelief, and followed him as he aimed for the Solar.

Estinien opened the door and called, “Alphinaud?”

The young elezen looked up and away from his efforts. “Yes, Estinien?” The dragoon hesitated, then begrudgingly ordered, “…put me in your damn portrait.”

Dia flashed a huge grin, and Alphinaud’s eyes lit up in excitement. “I’ll do just that! Thankfully, I was still sketching, so I can find a way to add you.”

“Hm…good, I guess.” He closed the door behind him and glared at Dia, still chipper from his agreement. “You’re a pain in my side, Dia Sito.”

“You have to be to do what I do. Thank you, Estinien. He’s a great artist; he’ll do you justice.” He shook his head and stomped off while Dia hurried back inside the Solar.

*********

A bell had passed since Estinien agreed to be in the portrait. Making sure he wasn’t followed, he quietly slipped into the Solar where Alphinaud continued his work unabated. He sat down in front of the young artist and bade him, “How goes the portrait?”

“Quite well, all things considered. I did have to remake the idea a bit, but overall, I’m quite pleased with how it turned out.”

“I see.” The dragoon shuffled in his chair for a moment, unsure how to phrase his next question. “Alphinaud…you are doing this of your own free will, correct?” He brought his attention from his work to the question brought before him. “Of course I am”, he answered incredulously.

“You’re sure, Alphinaud?”

“I am. Why do you ask?”

“I want to make sure this is something that you truly wish to do. Dia has a tendency to be a bit dramatic as I’ve recently learned.”

“Fear not, Estinien. I’m under no influence but mine own.”

Estinien let out a long breath and asked, “I know her reasons, but what of yours? What does obsessing over a painting get you?”

Alphinaud smiled at him. “I get a chance to relax.”

“Really?”

“I do. The past few times I’ve drawn, ‘twas out of necessity in order to locate our missing comrades or to gain entry into forbidden cities. This isn’t like that at all. Despite our friend’s being a bit more enthusiastic than I’m used to, I feel no pressure.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself at the very least, Alphinaud. But is that the only reason why?”

Alphinaud brought his gaze back to the portrait. In particular, he focused on the outlines of two people; Dia and Estinien.

“When I lost command of the Crystal Braves…when I heard that everyone I knew had been lost to that bloody banquet, all I felt was hopelessness. I felt stuck in a dark abyss, where nothing could see me nor pull me from it’s shackles. That’s what I earned for dehumanizing those who would help me, for seeing them all as pawns in my game to unite Eorzea.

Then Dia pulled me out of it. So did Tataru and Haurchefant.

Despite everything I ever thought of her, despite the way I would send her out as though she were my trusty god-slayer from my toolbelt, she stood with me, and helped me find a new home. Had she not saved Haurchefant’s friend from the Inquisition, and slayed Shiva, and the dragon that threatened the gates of Ishgard, we would not have found refuge within it’s walls.

After everything that came of our tenure in Ishgard, the Scions became something different. Especially now that my blood family has forsaken me, the bonds I’ve formed with my comrades became a great source of comfort to me. Everyone has their reasons for why the Scions are their home. If we wish to commemorate that with a painting, I see no reason not to oblige.”

Estinien didn’t usually pry into this sort of business; that was Aymeric’s domain. Yet, he did find himself in a better understanding of Alphinaud after that. He met the boy when he was still so immature, inexperienced in many things that were obvious to him growing up with Ser Alberic. It was interesting to hear how he changed, and what he missed.

“So this truly is more than just Dia’s will being imposed on others, then.”

“Dia’s not wont to impose her will onto others. She merely expressed a wish that the rest of the Scions shared, myself included.” Alphinaud raised an eyebrow. “Now that I think of it…I’m not entirely sure what her will is on a normal day. What does she want?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps it’s best for that to remain her business, hm?”

“When this is all over, and the Final Days are halted, I mean to express my sincere gratitude to her in any way I can.”

“Heh. Good luck with that”, Estinien commented as he rose from his chair. “Well, I won’t pry from your work any longer. Keep at it, Alphinaud.”

“I will, Estinien, thank you.”

The dragoon turned away and left through the door to the Solar. Alphinaud returned his full focus to the portrait.

******

The days passed while Alphinaud took his time to focus on the painting. The Solar was nearly forbidden territory, with the exception of Dia, who nobody would dare try to stop. After nearly a week’s worth of effort, Dia finally opened the door, and approached her fellow Scions.

“If any of you would like to view the portrait and help us decide where to place it, that would be most welcome”, Dia announced to the group as they sat in the lobby. All but Estinien rose from their chairs and walked towards the Solar.

“That means you too, Estinien.”

“Your suggestion is noted.”

“Get in here, or I’m telling Alphinaud to put it on your bed.”

He stood up reluctantly and followed her into the Solar, where they beheld the group fawning over the portrait. Estinien and Dia looked to each other, Dia wearing a smile on her face, Estinien his usual stoic look. He slowly walked towards the portrait to join the group.

For the most part, the positions of everyone stayed the same with one notable exception; Estinien stood between Dia and Thancred with a smirk and with his hand placed on Alphinaud’s head.

“I’m glad he took my suggestion and made himself taller”, Dia mused. Estinien tore his eyes away from the painting and looked to Dia. “Didn’t he do a good job with you, Estinien?” He nodded, “Aye, he did.” He brought his attention back to his portrait self.

Is that how he sees me, he thought.

“All right, now the question remains: where do we place it?” Alphinaud asked the group.

Everyone took a moment to think. “What about up there?” Estinien suggested, pointing to a spot above the desk…the spot that once held Tupsimati. Most of the group shifted uncomfortably with the exception of G’raha and Dia.

“Well…” Alphinaud started.

“I think it’s a good idea,” Dia defended. The group made faces of disbelief towards her. “Look, I will never forget Louisoix, nor will I forget Moenbryda’s sacrifice. But that spot is perfect. Anytime we walk in, we’ll see us hanging there proudly. After all, Tupsimati’s not hung there in how many moons now. Why don’t we use that spot to honor a new legacy?”

The Scions considered her words. “Did I touch upon something sensitive?” Estinien whispered to Dia. “‘Tis a long story. You did nothing wrong”, she whispered back to him.

“All right. Perhaps it would be better for us all to let our own story be told. After all, we saved not just one world, but two. That should be worth a nice spot, don’t you think?” Thancred reasoned. The group nodded.

“Allow me”, offered G’raha. He took out his staff and levitated the portrait from it’s spot. Y’shtola took out her cane and prepared a nail for the painting to hang upon. The two combined their efforts, and in a matter of minutes, the portrait hanged proudly in the very same spot Louisoix’s legacy once stood, the legacy that Dia had unfortunately sacrificed along with Moenbryda in her attempt to destroy Nabriales.

“There. I like it there quite a bit”, Dia complimented. “Thank you, G’raha, Y’shtola.”

“Of course. Now would you care to explain to me why that spot seemed to cause discomfort?” G’raha questioned.

Dia smiled. “I owe you two an explanation, it would seem.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #ffxivwrite #ffxiv #estinien & wol #estinien & alphinaud #estinien wyrmblood #wol #alphinaud leveilleur #thancred waters #urianger augurelt #g’raha tia #ffxiv fanfiction #fanfiction #a writer is never late nor is she early she arrives precisely when she means to

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jeongi · 4 years

Text

cabin fever | jjk (m)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jungkook x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 8k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | fluff. smut. mild angst. exf2l au (?)

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering, unprotected floor sex (dongs better be wrapped irl), light dirty talk, very soft, fluffy smut. jungkook is sad, soft babie.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | trapped in a cabin with your ex-best friend jungkook, you’re forced to overcome the fallout between you two.

↣ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | cabin fever

“We're lost!” Seokjin shouts dramatically from behind the wheel. “Hopelessly and forever lost!” The van’s radio crackles and pops as the soft ooze of music sits underneath your friends’ bantering.

“You're such a baby,” says Namjoon as he smacks Seokjin with the map he's holding. “Relax. I know my maps.”

“You've only been here all of one time—” Seokjin spits back, his fingers clenching the wheel harder. You chuckle under your breath at their bickering, your body immediately tensing as you feel Jungkook adjust himself next to you. A part of you wonders if he’s still alive; you have no idea how he’s managed to sleep through the endless bickering- yet, there he sat, still snoring away. If you remembered correctly, Jungkook was almost impossible to wake up.

You ask yourself why you still felt somewhat nervous in Jungkook’s presence, and for the upteenth time, your memory reminds you of that giant nothingness that now separated you two.

Hoseok giggles behind you and your mood dampens further. His excessive, unwarranted giddiness irritates you on any given day, but today it seems extra warranted. How could you not feel irritated when your ex boyfriend is sat behind you, practically playing grab-ass with his new girlfriend?

You ask yourself again why you ever agreed to come on this trip, let alone agree to be stuffed in a van with an ex-boyfriend and an ex-best friend. And once again, you come up empty. You're sure there must be a reason.

“Hey, focus on the road!” Jyo-en shrills from the seat directly behind Namjoon. “Some of us want to arrive alive and unharmed.” Jungkook once again shifts in his seat, his shoulder pressing against your own and his mouth wide open. You can faintly hear the purrs of soft snoring escaping him.

Alas, your motives come to light. Frankly, you knew you were doing this as a favour to Jyo-en more than anything else. Her undying, one-sided pining after Seokjin had her on her knees begging you to go on this trip with her. There wasn't much that could ever reduce Jyo-en to such a state, but her affection for Seokjin's masculine wiles had been too much for her to bear. The fucker was just too damn charming and you couldn’t blame her either. From the broad expanse of his muscular shoulders, to the plump of his pink, full lips, you figure the chaos that naturally comes from his presence is usually heavily subdued by the sheer epitome of beauty that is Kim Seokjin.

Nonetheless, you had agreed to come on this trip, much against your initial refusal.

“Pipe down back there,” Namjoon shoots. “It could be worse.”

“Yeah,” says Hoseok, “Namjoon could be driving.”

Involuntarily, you snort. It isn't so much the humour that prompts such a response, but the bitterness you can't help but feel. However, that response is lost amidst the sea of laughter that now fills the van, save yours, Namjoon’s and a sleeping Jungkook’s.

Namjoon turns in his seat and glares at Hoseok. “Just because I don't have a license doesn't mean I can't drive.”

Seokjin chortles. “You literally almost drove us straight off a cliff the one time I let you drive.”

“You’re being dramatic. It wasn't even that tall a cliff…”

Beside you, Jungkook smacks his lips in his sleep, and sinks his shoulder further into yours. You absentmindedly wonder what he’s dreaming about.

Do you even care? Probably not. But the mental exercise in speculation offers some respite from the storm of emotion slowly and undeniably building within you. You glance back at Hoseok and Nancy, their disgusting buffet of PDA having no regard for anyone but themselves. You know for a fact you and Hoseok would have never done this. Turning away, your eyes once again fall on Jungkook.

You hope it's a dream better than this.

2:04pm [You]: ugh.

2:05pm [Yoongi]: Lol. What’s wrong?

2:07pm [You]: remind me again why i couldn't come tomorrow with you guys?

2:10pm [Yoongi]: Dude we've been over this, you couldn't swap spots with Jimin because he works tonight. It's the entire reason we're leaving tomorrow

2:10pm [Yoongi]: Is it that bad?

2:14pm [You]: between hoseok munching on his new gf and jungkook literally speaking to everyone but me,,, i’d say this is the car ride from hell

2:15pm [Yoongi]: Yikes

2:15pm [Yoongi]: Sounds about right, but I don't know what I can do from here...

2:25pm [You]: it’s whatever, tell jimin and tae i miss them dearly

2:26pm [Yoongi]: I’ll probably forget

2:27pm [You]: you’re the fucking worst.

You sigh heavily and lock your phone, haphazardly flinging it back into your lap. The van door opens with a whoosh and your eyes immediately squint against the intense albedo that now renders you temporarily blind.

“Did you just fucking hiss?” Seokjin asks, no trace of humour in his voice. You shoot him a silencing glare and he plays along to it, his hand shooting up to his chest as he fakes a few stumbles back. The effort to make you smile is that of triumph, the edges of your lips quirking up to a faint smile. Nonplussed, Seokjin continues. “Well, this is it!” He says with far too much enthusiasm for have driven nearly six hours. He reaches down towards the duffle bag by your feet and you swallow the bubble of discomfort that fills you when Nancy squeals behind you.

“This cabin is huge!” Her voice reminds you of Polystyrene rubbing together. It pierces your skull, scorches the skin on the back of your neck and you internally scream. Hoseok chuckles beside her and you can’t help but want to gouge out your eyeballs with a screwdriver.

When Seokjin swings the navy blue bag over his shoulder, his eyes briefly glance towards the still sleeping figure next to you, his face static in the grips of slumber.

“Hey!” Without warning, a red glove speeds past your face and smacks Jungkook in the nose with a surprisingly satisfying thwack. Immediately, Jungkook jolts awake, shooting you an accusing glare so icy, the snow around you may as well be a sunny beach. Before either of you can react, the glove’s partner in crime follows and smacks him in the face again. “Well, good morning, sleepy beauty,” jeers Seokjin. “Now that you're alive, how about you start helping us move our stuff?”

Blinking in the new light before his eyes, Jungkook sighs explosively, half yawn, half exclamation.

“It’s sleeping beauty, you imbecile.” You think you hear him grumble under his breath. A part of you wishes he’d acknowledge you again like old times. Another- and you convince yourself, a greater- part of you simply cannot be bothered to care anymore.

“I think that’s the last of it!” Namjoon yells from the trunk of the van. You hear him close it with a loud thud, one arm holding a cooler, the other locking the trunk. Seokjin stands by the porch of the cabin, nodding approvingly at the progress. He checks his watch.

“I’m hungry,” he says, “Should we go into town?”

You groan in protest. “Dude, we just got here. You want to hop back in a stuffy van and drive, again?”

“Yes,” he answers without a beat.

“Yup!” echoes Namjoon. You have no idea how he heard this.

“Ah, food would be so good,” Jyo-en says as she comes up from behind you, a hand patting her stomach and a frown adorning her face. You can't help but roll your eyes; she’s not hungry at all.

“Food it is,” Seokjin confirms. Despite the peckish feeling that jabbers at your stomach, you're not certain your appetite can handle another car ride with them so soon.

“You guys go ahead without me, I had a big breakfast this morning,” you lie.

“Suit yourself,” he says with a simple shrug of indifference. Turning away to head inside, you hear Seokjin yell for the others. You’re not sure where Hoseok and Nancy scurried off to, though the list of possibilities is disgustingly short. As if on cue, they near stumble out of the room they had chosen for the night, their lips swollen and clothing frayed. You think you’re going to be sick, and a subsequent twist of your innards does everything but confirm the sentiment.

You need to get out of here. You desperately need to get out of here.

As quietly as you can, you pull your boots on and stuff a spare water bottle in your jacket. The door before you opens, and with a breath, you crunch your way into the snow covered trees. You should have worn something warmer, you scold yourself as you cross your arms over your chest and blow out a huff of air.

The air is still- too still, you think. Even the melody of chickadees sound too far away. Your breath comes out in stiff clouds, hanging seconds in the air before fading away. You shove your nose deeper into your scarf as you aimlessly wander, allowing your thoughts to get as lost as you’re about to be.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost be convinced it was four years ago. The way the wind nips your face reminds you of waiting for the train at the worst possible hours of the morning, despite the fact you only had the one class that day.

The rest of the day was for the squad.

This could mean anything from half-attempted study sessions (in reality, a thinly veiled excuse to gossip about your classmates and munch on overpriced cafeteria food) to skipping down to the neighbourhood village just down the street from your university for the far better food that was just as expensive. It could mean sneaking off between classes to a quiet staircase and into Hoesoek’s arms for as many fleeting moments the two of you could steal in a day. It could mean a walk down to the university bar for curly fries and maybe one too many drinks. Sometimes it was the train ride home, hand in hand and falling asleep on each other’s shoulders.

The wind was just as cold as it has always been, but you haven’t been. Somewhere along the line, something had changed. A whole lot of somethings. At some point or another, it all just started to come crashing down until now you stand, here, in a snowy field standing ankle deep in fading memories.

You’d ask yourself how it managed to go to hell so much, so fast. But you don’t feel like opening that vault again— you’ve had it closed for good reason.

The piercing caw of a crow snaps you back to reality. Your eyes open, and the freezing train stations and too-warm classrooms fade away with the snowfall. You feel the first snowflake hit your cheek and when you look up, another hits your nose. Whichever way you go, whether it’s memory lane or the slow, cold walk back to the cabin, it’s going to be a bitch either way. It doesn’t take long for your boots to become soaked, and it takes even shorter for your toes to begin freezing. Your only regret is you find yourself wishing you’d have noticed it earlier; you were too preoccupied with watching the sun’s last stretch across the mountaintops.

Your laugh is what Jungkook remembers the most as you two walked towards the train station on those cold winter mornings. The light fragrance of your perfume that overpowered the icy winds had always made you feel like home to him. And your laugh, the thing he missed the most. When was the last time he’d seen you smile? When was the last time he’d even talked to you? It seems a lifetime ago now.

Jungkook’s fingers hesitantly hold the black pen against his sketchpad as he allows the natural skill of his hand overtake the paper. The desk he’s sat on faces towards the blanket of white snow against a crisp blue sky. He sighs, the view of the mountain sheathed in nothing but white bringing him back to old memories of you.

He can almost taste the pork bulgogi he’d always order at lunch with you. One look is all you had to give in order to silently invite him to eat after class. It was that cocked eyebrow, the slight tilt of the head and he was already transferring money into his bank account. And your scent- soft and subtle against the cold winter air. Even if his lungs were crystalized by the cool winter air, your perfumed scarf still lingered to his nose. You’d always felt somewhat like a distant lover than an old friend. What happened? He happened.

Just as Jungkook blasts his Spotify playlist through his earphones, you walk through the front door. Unbeknownst to you or him, the cause of your melancholy sits on the floor above you in his room. Your hands are freezing, a soft curse escaping your mouth as your teeth clatter and you stomp your way inside. You’re covered head to toe in snow, a sudden icy flurry hitting you on your way back. Perhaps a spontaneous walk down memory lane was one of your dumber ideas but if anything, it was nice to get away from this bullshit for even a little while. And by the looks of it, you’ll be able to escape a little while longer as you stand in the foyer of an empty cabin. You’re alone with your thoughts once again. How did you get here? You ask yourself a million times over.

Shrugging off the weight of your coat, you unravel your scarf and land with a loud sigh against the brown suede couch. It’s a cozy cabin, you’ll have to give Namjoon that much credit but his need to treat everyone as equal despite obvious differences landed you in this more than miserable situation. Your fingers hesitantly uncurl, the heat already uncoiling the ice in your veins. You reach for your phone, the only notification being a “Merry Christmas” email from your dentist. You almost laugh at yourself.

4:04pm [You]: yoongs, entertain me

No reply, instead a big fat, red “not delivered!” pops underneath the message. You frown, annoyed at the world and mostly Jyo-en for dragging you along this getaway from hell. On top of this, the three people you’ve been wanting to see and talk to the most in the world won’t be arriving for another excruciating twenty-four hours. Old Man Winter chuckles to himself as he prolongs your misery.

Jungkook is mindlessly working upstairs, watching the flurry of snow coat the mountains and area around the cabin further. If it weren’t for the gentle ooze of Keshi in his ears, he’d be concerned by the rapid snowfall. His hand works diligently, his sketch near finished as he watches the sun set outside. Somewhere between the last of his shading and perfecting does the lamp in his room suddenly give out.

Silence.

You freeze as the world surrounding you goes absolutely still. The sound of heat coming through the vents stops, the lights flicker off and you’re approaching darkness as the sun settles outside. Fuck, you think to yourself. This could not be happening.

Reaching for your phone, your fingers clamour as you hastily give Namjoon a call.

Straight to voicemail.

You try Seokjin; it doesn’t even ring.

Panic settles over you, your flight or fight kicking in as you think of what to possibly do. You scour the main floor for a landline, anything that could be of use in this situation. Surely there was a maintenance number somewhere? It’s when you’re in the kitchen that you hear the footsteps above you. You freeze again.

Now you’re almost positive it’s an intruder ready to murder you. Like in those horrible, terrible horror movies. Although you’ve played a lot of Outlast, you doubt you could handle whatever the fuck has spawned upstairs. As the footsteps shuffle some more, you grab a knife from the counter and decide if you should wait to be murdered or move towards the sound like every idiot in those movies. But just as you’re deciding, the steps move rapidly down the stairs until you’ve panicked and dropped your knife, shrieking out of pure terror with your eyes shut.

Jungkook stares at you in complete bewilderment.

“_____?” He cocks his head to the side, his eyebrows strewn together in genuine concern. His eyes fall to the knife on the floor, further confusion littering his mind. “Are you okay?”

The voice sounds familiar, too familiar and it pangs you to know exactly who it is.

Your heart plummets to your stomach when you tentatively open one eye and see Jungkook’s big doe eyes staring right back at you.

“Jungkook? What the hell are you doing here?” You put your hand to your chest and sigh a heavy breath of relief. “I fucking...thought…” You look back up at him, the furrow in his eyebrows suddenly flooring you with emotion. You haven’t really looked at him in ages, it feels.

“You didn’t go with the others?” His lips form an innocent pout as he asks. You haven’t realized how much you missed his boyish charm. It’s then that you find yourself observing him head to toe for the first time in a long time. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and (unintentionally, you convince yourself), the plaid red pajama bottoms you got him for Christmas three years ago. Is that how long it’s been since you’ve last spoken? He looks different, more confident, more tone in his body. Although his hair remains the same shade of brunette, it’s slightly longer and rests in natural curls. His jawline is even sharper, you note. From the small mole just under his lip to the faint cleft in his chin, you find yourself completely absorbed in how good looking Jungkook has gotten.

“N-no,” you’re suddenly stuttering as you catch yourself out of flagrant staring. “I thought you did—”

“Nope.” The tension brews around you two, both of you stood across from one another as sudden realization dawns on you.

“The power’s out,” you say and Jungkook nods in agreement. You really didn’t think this day could get any worse yet here you were. “I-I tried calling Namjoon but it wouldn’t go through.” Jungkook taps his pointer finger to his lower lip in consideration.

“Phone lines must be out too,” he said half to himself. “Must be a hell of a blizzard out there.” You shudder involuntarily as you remember the way the wind tore through you on the return journey to the cabin, and with the memory comes the bittersweet nostalgia…

You mentally stomp the memories out. Not the time, not the place. Not anymore.

“Well, I don’t want to starve,” you say as you start to feel your stomach glare at you hungrily. Maybe you should have gone with them after all. An image of Hoseok and Nancy sucking face flashes before you. You shudder again. It might still be hell here, but at least it isn’t a hell so deep as watching them. Besides, this is the most Jungkook has spoken to you in years.

“Fortunately, they left us with the food,” Jungkook says to you. “If memory serves correct there should at least be a box or three of smokies floating around somewhere.” He pulls on a sweater and rubs his hands together in an attempt to warm them up.

“What about the fire?” You ask.

“What about it?”

“Well, I don’t know. Can you start one?” You know for a fact you might be able to, but this isn’t the time for you to test your skills.

“Probably. It isn’t exactly rocket science,” he replies with a smart grin. There’s a small door just under the staircase that Jungkook opens with little to no hesitation. You had always admired how unafraid of the world Jungkook had always been. Perhaps those values washed away when he too walked out of your life.

You snap yourself out of it and roll your eyes. “Jungkook, you’re the least handyman person I know.”

“At least I’m remembered for something,” he replies as he dips below the stairs to search for wood.

You damn near have to stop yourself from smiling.

You’re not certain if it’s just the natural dynamic you shared with him, or if it’s completely circumstantial, but one thing was for certain; like it or not, you found the pair of you swiftly falling back in step with one another in more ways than you’d care to admit… and more ways than you’d care to remember.

It’s almost as if he hadn’t just chosen to vanish from your life for nearly three years. It’s almost as if it were like old times. What had happened to you guys? Why did he stop calling you?

For the umpteenth time, you snap yourself away from this. It’s too late. There’s no use in thinking of the past. You sigh and return to the kitchen, scouring, searching every cabinet and square surface for candles and matches.

A heartbeat or three passes, and a clonking of feet on wood alerts you to Jungkook’s return.

“I've got good news and bad news,” He huffs as he steps back onto the main floor from the cellar.

“Oh, god,” you start. You feel a slight panic coming on again.

“Good news?” He hefts a frayed and worn burlap bag. “I found firewood.”

“And the bad news?” You ask tentatively.

He feigns sadness before he brings out two giant bottles of cabernet sauvignon from behind his back. “There's all this wine, and nobody around to drink it,” he finishes. “Except us, naturally.”

For however brief a moment it was, you knew for certain that the flash in his eyes, the quick smile he now wore, you hadn't seen for years. It seems as though, if only for a split second, the old Jungkook had returned. Somehow sensing your revelation, the moment passes as swiftly as it came, and then a stone faced Jungkook returns.

“I-if you want to, anyway.” The coolness returns without indication, a coolness you are now determined to thaw out.

“I’m insulted you even think you have to ask,” you return playfully. A hint of colour returns to his cheeks, and a fraction of a grin returns. Silently, he sets about starting the fire while you work on opening the wine.

It takes you a second to realize that the wine is in fact corked, and you had not a corkscrew between the two of you. You glance at Jungkook, his back still turned to you, rubbing two sticks together or something. You really don’t know, and he doesn’t share; in fact, he seems quite absorbed in his work.

You glance back at the wine bottle. Taking the lapse in effort, you ask yourself if this was really worth doing- if this was even a good idea.

“Aha!” You hear a whoosh followed by a golden radiance that now permeates the space. “And that,” Jungkook turns towards you, grin wide and proud, “is how you start a fire.”

You’re not only warm, but impressed- leave it to Jungkook to be perfect in literally every department. You suppose he hasn’t lost that talent yet.

Though the feeling of pride quickly fades as you see the can of body spray in one of his hands and a lighter in the other. You raise a questioning eyebrow at him, silently calling him out on his middle school arson methods.

“It was ah, taking too long,” he adds sheepishly, rolling the can of body spray towards the corner and playfully tossing the lighter at you.

“Seokjin is going to kill you.”

“What for? Theft of his lighter, or his outrageous body spray? If anything, I’m doing him a favour…how are you making out with the wine?”

“We… don’t have a corkscrew,” you reply somewhat dejectedly. That half-serious face comes about his visage once more as you see him wracking his brain, trying to solve the problem.

His grin returns. “Don’t worry,” Jungkook says after a minute. “I have an idea.”

“What a waste of a fucking match, oh my God!” You’re sure to sound extra exasperated as you watch Jungkook wrap the loose piece of twine around the neck of wine bottle.

“Do you want to drink or not? Let me work my magic…” Jungkook wears determination on his face, a tongue poking out, eyebrows scrunched together as he ties it once, twice until you’re sure even a wine bottle could choke. You watch as he carefully takes a match and strikes it with the expertise of a pyrotechnic turned for the better. With little hesitation, he lights the twine on fire, a burning noose around the neck of the wine bottle. It doesn’t take ten seconds for the glass to crack open. He’s two for two; at this point, you find yourself enjoying his company more and more.

You’re honestly mesmerized. “How…?” You ask. He lets out a soft chuckle, barely audible.

“It’s magic,” you hear him say as he shrugs. “I don’t have to explain shit.” Another eye roll later, you’re returning to the kitchen and opening the cabinet above the sink in search of wine glasses. To no avail, you find stainless steel coffee mugs instead.

“Is this even safe to drink out of? I won’t choke on microscopic shards of glass?” You ask Jungkook after your third and fourth glasses. It’s a little too late to be asking such a question but you’re sure at this point, your words are a little slurred and nothing quite makes sense. Inwardly, you realize it’s a moot point anyway, and with that realization comes that for the first time in longer than you can remember, you’re just trying to strike up a conversation with him.

It’s hard not to when Jungkook has planted a pile of pillows and blankets in front of the fire, the pair of you sat and drinking potentially lethal wine. Before you lies half-finished board games you two attempted to play yet failed due to sheer anger at the game itself or each other. You’re sure if you were sober, this would be a lot more difficult.

“Magic, _____.” Jungkook slurs, his cheeks flushed and that half grin he does so well. Despite a certain flutter in your chest, you scoff into your mug of wine, small bubbles splashing back onto your upper lip.

“Magic?” You nearly spit. “This isn’t Harry Potter, Jungkook. How exactly do you personally quantify magic?”

A quiet moment passes as he swirls the final dregs of wine in his cup thoughtfully.

“I’d define it as the things you do to me, actually,” he replies before downing the rest of his cup.

Are you hearing things right? Did that actually come out of his mouth? Is this happening? You glance at your own cup. What the fuck is this wine, anyway? You’re drunk. Both of you are.

Jungkook stands and reaches for the bottle, filling up his cup before topping up your own. You still sit in a stunned silence, observing as he tosses another log into the fire, a shower of sparks floating up the chimney.

“Wh… Where did that come from?” You manage. He waves his hand dismissively, breaking eye contact a moment.

“Next question?” He asks as he sips.

Feeling bolder now, you pursue. He isn’t getting away that easily.

“Okay. I’ll put it another way.” You pause to sip, the confidence now flowing nominally through your system. “What exactly happened to us?” There, you’ve asked it.

A silence now spreads the two of you apart, despite the lack of inherent distance between you two presently. Now it seems to be Jungkook’s turn to be stunned into silence.

“I’ve been wondering the same thing this entire time,” he replies. The stone is slowly creeping up to his face.

“You can do better than that,” you egg him on.

“What, now you believe in me?” He shoots back. The venom in his words would take you off guard if it weren’t for how earnest his was before you. He drinks again, gulping this time. He must be on his sixth glass now. You can see the same sentiment in his eyes that you hold in your heart; a universal now-or-never. This is the chance to lay the cards on the table. You know it’s going to hurt, but you know it’s necessary. He rises slowly to his feet, swaying ever so slightly from the wine.

“How about you tell me what happened to us, _____?” Jungkook almost shouts. “We used to be close. We told each other everything. I used to stay up late just to make sure you got home from class or work, I made sure you ate your meals, that your homework was completed. I cared. We both did. Maybe a bit too much...” With this, he sighs explosively and flops down onto the dusty couch behind you, his chin resting on his hand. “We used to be something. I don't know what, but it was there. And now?” He waves an arm absentmindedly towards the window. “Nothing but cold.” The irony, you think. But it's an irony that's been a long time coming, and a certain sick irony that could only come from him.

But the question sticks with you, more than you'd care to admit. Something had slapped you deep inside, and even still it reverberated within you.

No, you're not going to stand here and take this.

“You tell me what happened, Jungkook.” You uncross your legs and rise to your feet, striding towards him. “You stopped texting, calling. You stopped wanting to hang out, and suddenly there was this wall between us. You never even told me what I did.”

For a moment, he looks hurt, as though a thousand predisposed assumptions has just come hurtling down. He regains his composure, though barely, and through shaken words, he continues.

“No, _____.” His face softens. “It isn't what you did. It isn't anything you did, not really.” He's nervous now; his knee bounces, his jaw clenches. You're fairly certain he's beginning to sweat.

What isn't he telling you?

“Tell me,” you whisper. No venom now, merely curiosity, and perhaps a hint of something more. Your hand finds its way onto his own, and your fingers slowly curl around his palm. Contrary to your assumptions, his hand remains there. Even more surprising, his hand reverses and his fingers interlace with your own. A heartbeat passes, and his eyes meet yours.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, _____. I don’t think either of us did anything wrong. Passing ships in the night? Too little, too late? Just bad timing, is that all? Hell if I know.” He takes a deep swig of the wine. “We vibed. Hard. Everything about us was natural and made sense.” You have to agree with this, even now, not talking after so long- you two felt real, felt right.

“No, Jungkook, that’s bullshit and we both know it!” You insist. “You stopped putting in the effort, you stopped wanting to be in my life, you….” It hurts you, a sinking feeling in your chest as you choke out your words. “You wouldn’t even look in my direction the past however long ago it was that you decided to walk away from my life without a single warning.” Perhaps it’s because you’re drunk that tears spring. It’s a deep-seated memory that you’ve brought back, a confrontation that you had always convinced yourself would never happen. “And I don’t even get an explanation why?” This whole situation had to have happened for a reason, you drunkenly tell yourself. If fate really was real, this moment would be its poster child.

Jungkook is staring at you with a look you can’t quite read. You can’t quite decide if he’s about to cry with you or angrily escape this situation. Instead, he places his cup on the wooden coffee table and stands up. His walk towards you in confident, as if he’s ready to expel whatever it is that riddled him in shades of torture for as long as it did. He takes your hands, a slight shake in the way he grasps them.

“I couldn’t stand seeing you with him,” he blurts.

A moment passes, your eyes unleaving as you try and process the weight of his words in your scrambled, drunken mess of a mind. You with who? Hoseok?

“Him?” You find yourself repeating. “Why would you…”

Jungkook sighs and lets your hands go, his fingers moving up to rake his brunette locks away from his face. He’s definitely sweating, you note.

“Wasn’t it obvious, _____?

“B-but what about after we broke up, you could’ve—”

“Could’ve what?” He laughs humorously. “Could have gone back to the way it was before?” He cranes his neck to the side, the palm of his hand rubbing against the skin. “It doesn’t work like that, _____. I’m selfish for you but not that selfish. Staying away was better anyway... neither of us would get hurt.”

But you were hurt, hurt more than the break up itself because at the end of the day, all you wanted was your best friend and even he had left. “You’re such an idiot.” You can’t help but say. “Stupid, stupid idiot. How could you do that?” You want to punch him, slap him as hard as you can for him to feel any amount of equivalence in physical pain that he gave you in emotional pain. All those nights you had laid wondering what you did wrong had all been for nothing?

Your frown deepens, more questions than ever before emerging. “You liked me?” Had you ever even thought of him as more than a friend? You’re not sure you should even be asking these questions with vigour liquor coursing through your veins yet, you remind yourself that the liquid courage has brought you two here thus far.

Jungkook laughs once more, no strain of humour in the vibrato. “That’s an understatement.” He then mumbles and you’re left racking your brain. For a brief second, it makes perfect sense before you completely lose your train of thought. “Besides,” he continues. “There’s no point in thinking what could have happened, I just—” There’s a pause as his chocolates in his doe eyes search yours for something. “Will you just let me kiss you right now?”

This takes you wholeheartedly off guard, your eyes widen as you speak with hesitance. “Y-you want to kiss me?”

“I’ve always wanted to, _____.” How does this phrase create such a powerful flutter in your chest? You wonder if it’s the alcohol or maybe, just maybe, a deep-rooted longing you;d never known you had in you.

Without answering his question, you kiss him first.

As your fingers reach for his face, Jungkook grapples your waist. You feel tiny in the palm of his hands, he thinks as he feels your lips against his for the first time. Jungkook feels as if he’s dreaming- perhaps the alcohol has something to do with that.

Red wine is what you taste the most, mixed with a subtle sweetness of mint. You drown in him, melt against him as he carefully engulfs you into his arms. The fireplace warming the space around is nothing in comparison to the sudden inferno in your chest. It’s then that you realize, this is what you’ve wanted all along.

Your hand slides down Jungkook’s face to his chest. He feels broad underneath your fingertips, a certain firmness to the touch that you hadn’t expected. He only brings you closer, arms wrapping around your torso as his lips press against you harder. His tongue is soft with your own, a gentle roll with your own as a certain heat builds up in your core.

Suddenly, it’s messier. Jungkook’s tongue swipes your bottom lip before planting a soft bite. It releases a whimper from you, earning a quiet groan from him. You’ve never thought this day would come. Are you dreaming?

When you pull away, Jungkook’s full attention is on you only. He runs a thumb over your wine-stained pout, his eyes large and completely enveloped in the sight of you. “I never thought I would get to kiss these lips.” He says.

You moan and lean in for another.

No matter how much your lips fuse together, how much you press yourself against his stronger hold, you cannot get enough nor do you want this to end. It feels right, comfortable to be in his embrace like this, his mouth against yours and chests connected. It’s not long before you’re both succumbing to the fall on your knees against the self-made bed Jungkook made of old blankets and pillows. It’s cozy, neither of you wasting time to run upstairs to a proper bed. You think this is the most romantic setting you could have ever hoped for.

It’s when you’re suddenly on top of Jungkook that you feel a growth settle underneath your core. You feel the sheer girth of it as your kissing intensifies, two large hands coming to rest upon your thighs as they persuade your hips to skim over it. You gasp at the feeling, sure that you’re already soaked beyond measure. It’s not hard for you to already feel him like this, the thin veil of his pajama bottoms being the only barrier away from you having it in you. The thought arouses you far too much, leading to a harsher grind that has you both moan out. You haven’t been touched in a long while.

Jungkook’s hands travel up your sides until he’s cupped both of your cheeks in each palm. Your lips are guided once again to his own as he places a hard kiss against you. With each fleeting moment, your want for him intensifies. You can’t help but think this was meant to be, that you’ve wanted this somewhere deep within you. Perhaps the old you was looking out for the future you.

It’s with both hesitance and confidence that Jungkook inches your sweater up. His hands feel warm against your bare torso, a shiver running through you when they lazily travels up and down your sides. As you pull away, Jungkook gives you that lopsided grin you hadn’t realized you’ve missed dearly until this moment. It almost feels as if nothing has changed, as if there hadn’t been a giant nothingness between you two for so long.

“You look so beautiful.” Jungkook whispers, his right hand reaching to push a strand of hair away from your face. He helps you guide your shirt off before a thumb strokes your cheek, and then your lips. You softly bite it and receive a contempt groan in response.

“Yours too,” you gently urge as you play with the hem of his white shirt. Jungkook grins and lifts his torso before pulling the fabric over his head. He does not hesitate to kiss you again.

With each kiss, the intensity grows until you’re sure you’ve caused a puddle in your pants as you shamelessly grind your cunt against a very erect bulge in Jungkook’s pants. He feels so firm, more built than you could have ever imagined as he pulls you tighter against him. You’re slowly losing your mind before you decide to take the initiative.

“Jungkook,” you mumble against his mouth.

“Hm?”

“Let me taste you.” Jungkook nearly unravels just from those words alone.

“Yeah?” You nod, a coy smile spreading across your face as surely a heavy blush riddles your cheeks in a crimson red. Jungkook merely chuckles, planting a feverish kiss against your mouth. “You’re so adorable.”

You trail kisses down his torso, the definition of muscles in his abdomen driving you absolutely mad. You’re still unable to fully comprehend what exactly was happening yet you’re equally unable to stop yourself. Jungkook helps you get rid of his pants, your mouth instantly watering when his erection lands against his torso with a soft thwack. It glistens against the golden aura surrounding you. He cocks his head to the side. “Think you can take it?”

If that’s a challenge you hear in his tone, it’s a challenge you’re willing to take. You might even think Jungkook remembers how competitive you are. You move down his body with ease before placing a tentative lick against the head of his cock. Jungkook’s hands immediately surrender to your hair, moving it out of your face until he’s made a makeshift ponytail out of his own hands.

“Fuuuck,” he drags out shakily when you take the whole of his head in your mouth. You suck just under his head, a certain ball of nerves that drives Jungkook absolutely mad. The hold he has on your hair acts as an invisible guide, in motion with his hips lifting does he simultaneously move your head down. “Just like that, baby.” You groan against his cock as you take more of him in your mouth. Jungkook is thick, girthy with a prominent vein that sits right where your tongue can trace it. He’s losing himself further and further into you as you begin a steady motion of sucking. Your hand holds the base of his cock as your mouth works wonders, earning you whimpers and curses from him. “So good, so good.” Jungkook gasps when you pick up the pace. It’s when he feels himself really about to lose control that he pulls you away from his cock, a satisfying pop following the disconnect.

“C’mere,” he murmurs before smashing his lips against yours. Though your lips are coated in saliva, his kisses have become sloppier, rougher as he cradles your torso with one arm before flipping you until you’re underneath him. “These have to go.” He pulls at your pants and you giggle with agreeance.

“That would be ideal.”

Jungkook undoes the buttons before tugging them down your legs. You’ve now got nothing on but your bra, a pale violet with a lacy trim on the top. Did you subconsciously know you were going to get fucked by none other than Jeon Jungkook today?

He pulls your legs apart, a satisfied hum escaping him as your glistening folds welcome him. “Fuck, _____.” He whispers as his thumb skims over your wetness. You suck in a sharp breath, the callous on his thumb sensitive against your cunt. You want him to touch you there.

It’s as if he can read your mind, the thumb now dragging over your clit. The sigh of relief you give only fuels Jungkook’s satisfaction more. He too would like to taste you.

You cry out, hands grappling for his torso as he begins circling the thumb over your sensitive nub. “So wet,” he groans.

“J-just for you.” This makes Jungkook move faster with his thumb. He wants to feel you. Jungkook slowly slides the defts of his index and middle finger into you, your cry filling the space. He takes his time, feeling your walls clench around his digits as his thumb simultaneously circles over your clit. He’s amazed by how each thrust of his fingers causes you to coat them farther in your arousal. And you’re amazed by how soon you’re about to come. It only makes his own erection angrier and your cunt clench tighter.

“You coming, baby?” Never would Jungkook have thought he’d get to call you baby. You nod with vigour, each pump of his finger along with the relentless rub of his fingers causing your legs to shake.

“S-so fucking close...oh my god.” You’re coming, you’re coming, you’re— “Jungkook!”

He dips his head in between your thighs, his mouth instantly suctioned to your clit as his fingers continue their torture. With his tongue replacing his thumb, you come undone almost instantly, the wave of pure white, hot filth overtaking your entire body. You shudder, legs trembling as your fingers thread through the lush of Jungkook’s brown locks. Jungkook continues licking against your clit, flicking and sucking until you can no longer take it.

“F-fuck me, Jungkook- please,” you beg as your cunt craves for more. You want absolutely all of him.

Jungkook’s cock is ready, heavy against his palm as he takes ahold of the base and spreads your legs apart. His mouth is wet with your arousal, his chest littered with beads of sweat. “Your pussy looks so fucking good.” He remarks, letting the pink tip of his dick rub against your wet folds. You both moan at the sensation.

With one more rub of his head, he lines himself against your entrance and slowly pushes his hips forward. You think you could come instantly again. Jungkook’s cock feels amazing, full as your tightness grips with so deliciously, even he has to hold himself back from not undoing quickly.

“Fuck.” You let out as you place a hand on his chest, letting the feel of his cock overtake your entire body. He stops when he’s reached the hilt, careful to rock his hips out before slamming them back into you. You can’t help but cry his name out. “You feel so good.” You’re whimpering, the hand on his chest and moving to the back of his neck as you push his head forward to kiss you. He follows suit, beginning a rhythmic pace of his hips as you lose yourself further and further into him.

Jungkook kisses you feverishly, hot and wet against your mouth as he continues to rick in and out of you. His breaths are laboured, filthy words and curses escaping him as you clench around him with each thrust.

“Yeah, baby?” You’re losing your mind, already close to a second undoing. You know you’re going to come again soon. Jungkook takes your legs and places your ankles on his shoulder, plummeting into you with a force so delicious, you’re about to go delirious. You’re so tight, Jungkook can feel himself edging closer to his own end. “Fuck, turn around for me.” You do as requested, turning to your stomach. Jungkook pulls your ass up towards him and lines himself up once again. Without hesitation this time, he pushes into you, a new type of fullness that overtakes your innards. He feels so fucking good.

It’s a steady rock, your ass hitting against his pelvis as he continues a continuous motion with his hips. He’s relentless in his movements, the new position allowing him to reach deeper, feeling you clench tighter.

“Holy fuck,” Jungkook is moaning out. He grabs a handful of your ass, using it as support while he rams into you with no plans of slowing down. The room is filled with the sound of your skin slapping and your deep breath and moans. Jungkook knows he’s so close.

He reaches forward, first and second digit immediately gravitating towards your clit. As he rubs, the familiar rubber band stretches in the pit of your guts. You’re going to come again, you feel it.

It’s when Jungkook whispers into your ear how much he wants to come inside you, that you give out. It washes over you, makes you tighten your grip on the blanket underneath you as you clench so hard around Jungkook that he too comes with you. You feel the spurts of him fill you to the brim until you’re nothing but a puddle underneath him. You lay still, letting his fluid mixed with yours dribble out of you as Jungkook pulls out. It burns to have him away from you. You want him to hold you all night.

“Was that okay?” Jungkook asks, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. You nod in reassurance, twisting your head around so he can kiss your lips.

It’s then that your phone blares, taking you both by surprise. You rush to your feet, arms reaching for your phone when you see Namjoon’s name flash across your screen.

“Hello?” You answer with no thought.

“_____! Oh my god! Are you okay? There was a huge storm, we’re trapped in town until Monday- did I ask if you were okay? I think Yoongi—” The line fizzles out.

There’s a pause as you look at a curious Jungkook.

“It looks like we’ll be here a while.”

a/n: hey babies! so sorry for the long wait for this one! i really hope you liked it! it’s been in the works for a little while haha. this is my first fic back in a WHILE! and more to come soon! let me know what you think as per usual. i love you so much!!!!!!! and happy holidays to you, your friends and families ✨💞

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts #bangtan smut #oneshot #fic #kpop

6K notes · View notes

nightswithkookmin · 3 years

Note

Hiiii, please response me😭

Honestly I wonder why Jk jealous of taemin when taemin & jimin having friendship?? I mean I can clearly see jk's jealousy. Please answer..... Borahae 💜

Ehhhhhh??????? JK is jealous of Taemin????

That's both an understatement and the most ridiculous thing I ever heard! Lol

Don't be shy, he wants to kill him. Say it! Lmho

Why is JK jealous of Taemin? Sounds like an existential question and I don't want to get into all of that mess.

I just slicked my edges down. Can't have these angry mobs peeling it off by force 🤧

But I get it. I used to find JK and Taemin's dynamic intriguing too but frankly, I'm over it. Lol.

I don't think it's as deep as the fandom make it seem. Especially not in 2021.

Word on the streets was Taemin had a thing for JM? and JK wasn't too happy about that- not sure about that but I can't fault him if ever he did. It's Jimin. Who doesn't want him.

But I think it's more delicate than that.

Besides, Jealousy shouldn't be our only go to label to explain every Jungkook emotion out there where JM is concerned.

Personally, I've sought to revolutionize the term Jeonlous and Jimlous in the way that we as a fandom perceive and think on it as a complex human emotion, one that centers mostly on boundaries rather than frivolous feelings of possessiveness or envy.

So to me, if JK really is 'jealous' in regards to Taemin then I'd assume it's because Taemin breached his personal boundaries where JM is concerned. It's as simple as that.

Which I believe was the case.

I try not to speculate on dynamics other than BTS's as it goes against my better conscience- Yes I have one. Shut up and read. Lol.

I tortured myself to death, figuratively speaking of course, the last time I tried commenting on a dynamic outside of BTS- JK and Mijoo's situation.

I don't think it's ethical...

When it comes to JK and Taemin's dynamic, one thing you should understand is they aren't friends. Not that we know of.

Jimin and Taemin are friends in the same interest group, the Padding Squad. JK isn't a member of that interest group- perhaps because he doesn't share their interests.

Jhope passed on becoming a member of the Padding Squad because his hobbies and interests didn't align with that of the members- Sungwoon. He introduced Sungwoon to Suga instead who then introduced him to JM.

One thing that Jhope said about Sungwoon was that he enjoyed outing which was a lifestyle incompatible with his own.

Now since Sungwoon said he clicked with JM right away, I'd assume its because JM enjoyed going out and stuff like that- among other things.

Jk in those days wasn't known as the outing kind and preferred staying indoors to going out. I think this is one of the contrasts between JK and Jimin's personalities.

So if JM has a bunch of friends who enjoy going out as much, then I don't see how JK would fit into that circle.

Taemin and JK move in totally different circles. They don't have much in common beyond the fact they are both close to Jimin. In my opinion. I could be wrong.

Jimin have said he doesn't like to share his friends but of course we've seen him, Sungwoon and JK hang out a few times. Those three have a friendship going on unlike in TaeminMinKook's case.

It's speculated, Jimin introduced JK to Sungwoon but this was during one of Sungwoon's time off and the three got to hang together which I think is great.

Not sure if, JM has had similar opportunity to introduce Taemin and JK. That would depend on their schedules and what they do during their free time.

Introductions are necessary in friendship culture and we cannot undervalue JM's role in facilitating camaradship between those two.

If they are 'not friends' ask JM why. Smirk.

Their 'differences' and why their 'not friends' to me has more to do with their unique individualities and interests but also their age difference and culture?

Jealousy sounds plausible but you have to consider the fact age is a huge thing in the South Korean culture.

Taemin is much older than JK and ordinarily we cannot reasonably expect for them to be as close much less be friends to begin with- per the dictates of their culture.

As much as we love to rave on about the hyung/dongsaeng dynamics in their culture, from the little I know of their culture, older people and younger people aren't expected to mingle so easily or act so casually.

Besides, hyung/dongsaengs aren't considered friendmates in their culture.

A high level of respect and reverence is required within such a dynamic and boundaries are expected to be upheld at all times too so I guess we can chalk it up to that too I think.

The only way a younger person can be considered friends with or close with or even treat an older person as 'a friend' is if the older one allows for that level of familiarity between them.

Without that kind of permission, their relationship is viewed as strictly an older hyung to younger dongsaeng relationship and formality must be respected by both sides.

I think we've talked about this? This is what JK was going on about in his conversation with Tae in Soop. Tae was giving JK permission to treat him as 'friends' within the group but JK insisted on the formality and boundaries expected between them as hyung as and dongsaeng.

If JK believes he needs to uphold boundaries with people older than him and not get too close to them, what makes you think he would consider older people besides his bandmates 'friends' or treat them casually like one?

The thing about JK, he is a bit cliquey... in my opinion that is. I'm gonna get in trouble, am I not? Chilee.

I often talk about JK and exclusivity or his tendencies for exclusive behaviors....

Once my sister told me, when she first enrolled to uni, how everyone she'd met would ask of her age first before they even asked which country she was from and some of the girls on her floor wouldn't talk to her because they considered her older than them and as such kept their distance or something like that- out of respect for and she had to give those that fuxked with her permission to address her a casual way- personally, I thought they were just being ageists and racists as fuck but then a year into her stay she said she sort of got the hang of it. That it was a cultural thing- Stockholms is real people. Lmho.

Bitxh wouldn't know a friend from a foe. Can't relate. Foe till proven friends!

Gotta smart yourself out here- Hold on...

Is this why I don't have no friends???!!!!!

😥😥😥😥😥💀

Chilee. This is not good.

She explained, most of the people she later became friends with seemed to prefer making friends with foreigners because they felt the age barrier thingy didn't apply there and they had the freedom to express themselves freely with them regardless of their age.

People that are considered 'friends' in their culture are usually people around the same age while a hyung/dongsaeng friendship dynamic often invite brows and gazes- if you know what I mean. A hyung who allows a dongsaeng to be friends with them gives that dongsaeng status at best, at worst is opening the younger one to cultural criticism especially in how the older one is addressed.

So when Namjoon refers to Jimin as a friend it hits hard and reflects how deep and special their bond is as compared to say Vmin or NamHope who are close in age. Same age friendships would have to be qualified to denote how special their bond is. So for Vmin you'd see them going out of their way to talk about that they are soulmates, besties etc.

When JM talks about that all of his friends are hyungs, it a form of social proof. One cannot be friends with hyungs just like that. Jimin is cool and has social status.

If Jimin ever refers to JK as a friend he would be admitting he allows for a certain level of familiarity between them that is out of the ordinary just as his dynamic with Taemin and RM is.

I say all this so you can deep it when an older says to a young one, he is my friend.

RM says JM is his friend.

Mess with Minimoni, I'll stab you.

Taemin says JM is his closest 'friend' in the padding squad- or maybe I misunderstood what he meant but he keeps talking about Jimin and how close they are and how special their relationship is in the media and what not...

Deep it and deep it for JK too. Lmho.

He's lucky he is alive!

In my opinion, JK doesn't do too well around people who pull ranks over him. He tends to have his guard up around them and he tries to maintain formality with them.

It all depends on how comfortable JK is around certain group of friends Jimin has. Just as, it's not all friends of JK JM vibes with. Smirk.

Ok listen, I tried this sane shipper thingy yall recommended, it's not working for me-

If Taemin is not fucking with JK, JK is not gonna be fucking with him. So simple. I tried beating around the bush but chilee JK is not the problem Taemin is. There I said it.

In my opinion of course.

Whatever thing they had going on seemed personal and it could be as a result of anything.

It could be JK doesn't agree with his choices, lifestyle or influence on JM. It could also be Taemin does not approve of JK for JM. It could be he said something JK took offense at. Literally anything.

Whereas JK have reacted strongly to him in the past, I don't think I've seen Taemin have a similar strong reaction to JK. I could be wrong.

To me, he's always laughed those moments off as if JK were overreacting to something trivial- which, it's Jk, I won't put it past him but I find that behavior annoying and condescending as fuck coming from Taemin. No disrespect to Taemin.

For whatever reason, JM has always put his friendships on a pedestal talking about that his relationships is gold to him and what not and he prides himself in the fact he goes out of his way to nurture his relationships.... cool.

Love it for him.

But JK on the other hand has been striving to put up boundaries for JM in regards to the people he surrounds himself with and I don't think Taemin is an exception or was an exception.

JK has a lot of boundaries, I keep saying and they may not be the kind of boundaries you expect to see from him but he has them regardless.

He prefers for instance not to be so casual with people older than him for obvious reasons as he keeps saying, I'd assume it's a value he's tried to pass on to JM several times over the years- what is JM's view on that? Clearly JM has his own values.

JK has said he doesn't have friends and when he started making friends they were all within the same age group- the 97 liners.

JM on the other hand says all his friends are hyungs and he has one same age friend- V. Sidenote: Can't he just make Idol friends within the same age group besides V?

What goes on?!

Do y'all see the conflict of values there?

It's not always about Jealousy if you ask me.

Their values on certain things don't align.

I'm sorry. Lmho.

I mean I have said this several times now!

It's taken JK a hot minute to come to terms with, accept and get used to certain things especially in his relationship and personal life and it shows in the way he talked about 'dressing up' more often in his recent VLive, and how he seems to be acknowledging that he is a celebrity with power and status and he has to be conscious of that going forward.

Contrast that with a two years ago when he didn't even care about how he dressed to the airport and Jm said he had to use tactics to get him to get rid of his old bag or even care about how he dressed.

Significant improvement.

Jimin, as we've said claims he's come to the realization friends ain't shit- the emphasis is mine. Lol.

So I guess my answer to your question is, I don't think JK is jealous necessarily when it comes to Taemin. He reacts to him the same way he reacts to Namjoon or whosoever breaches his boundaries in regards to JM.

And that to me translates as, Taemin doesn't respect JK's boundaries for whatever reason. It could be because like I said, he doesn't think JK has a place in JM's space as his boyfriend, could be because he treats JK as JM's dongsaeng and not his equal partner.

It could be JK doesn't approve of Taemin's friendship with Jimin because he expects Jm to have boundaries especially with certain people around him- I mean I wonder how many of their friends know they are a thing. Can't be all of them💀

That too can create issues with the way they handle their boundaries with either of Jikook.

Or it can be because he is jealous too. We can't know for sure.

Signed,

GOLDY

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satan-ruler-of-hells · 3 years

Text

The Only Exception

Am I capable of writing anything fluffy without angst? No I don’t believe I am. Anyway here’s some Ushijima love! A big thank you to Noodles and Pies whom without this story would never have left drafts. You guys have no idea how much I appreciate you.

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, this isn’t exactly fluffy so prepare yourself and I hope you enjoy!

You'd sworn to yourself at an early age that you'd never fall in love. After watching your mother and father fight for years until the birth of your sister and your father having an affair every 2 years or so, you had decided it wasn't worth it. Then you’d met her and she made you think maybe love could be something more, something beautiful. But you were vividly reminded why you kept those walls up, why you guarded your heart so closely.

You were reminded again a few years later, after finding out that all those late nights that kept your father at “work” and all those odd jobs were actually another affair. It wasn’t the first time, not by a long shot but you were old enough now to realize not only what he had done to your mother but to you as well. While he was out “living his life” and “working late” you were left at home to raise your sister. A position you’d been forced to take that was met with resistance and hatred from the very one you’d done your best to take care of while still being a kid yourself.

Your mother, who had been working the graveyard shift, had done her best with what she had, but at her age pulling all nighters wasn't exactly an easy feat. You didn't blame her, you couldn’t. Not when you'd seen her and held her as she cried when she felt she had failed you as a parent and the guilt when she had to take a nap just so she could function. Your heart ached for her and raged at him. You’d seen what love could do to someone first hand and decided with renowned resolution that you wanted nothing to do with it.

That’s why starting at Shiratorizawa on a cheerleading scholarship, didn’t worry you. While your team would gush and rave about all the attractive men on the boys volleyball team you couldn't care less. Nice to look at, yet dangerous to touch, like a fire, give it the chance and it would burn you alive.

That didn't stop you from making friends though, you quickly found peace with Tendou Satori, the infamous “Guess-Monster” whose most monstrous trait in your opinion was that he loved too hard. Despite what meeting the red head led to, which at the start was the worst thing that could ever happen, you'd thank him for this one day. He introduced you to his best friend and dorm mate Ushijima Wakatoshi, who before getting close to Tendou was just another member of the volleyball team.

You enjoyed his company, where Tendou was as loud and bright as the sun, Ushijima was quiet and calm like the moon. A perfect balance of excitement and security, spontaneity and familiarity. You would grow just as close to Ushijima as you had Tendou, if not closer. Slowly you’d let them in, not fully, but not at arms length either, within the year, they became people you relied on, your chosen family. The next year only furthered those feelings, cementing them a place in your life for better or for worse.

One night as the three of you had a sleepover, which was pretty much a weekly occurrence since the middle of second year, you and Ushijima stayed up for hours. The usually quiet and stoic man opened up to you, telling you his story. How he watched his parents slowly fall out of love, the way that had altered his views on life at a young age, and how his mother had wanted to change his left handedness, but at his fathers insistence, ultimately relented and the story his father had told him that shaped him into the player, and man he was today.

In turn you told him everything you had kept to yourself for so long. From the way you'd grown up, to the grand reveal your father had given you, the truth on how everything had actually affected you. How you had become your family's backbone, that while your mother and sister broke down, you had held strong, giving them the time to grieve that you'd never had. Emptying your soul to him in a way you never thought yourself capable of, but you know what they say about conversations after midnight.

You two never brought up what you’d spoken of that night but something in your relationship had immeasurably shifted. You’d find yourself seeking his presence, even when you were surrounded by your friends and team. You, of course still spent most of your free time with Tendou, who’d become your brother in all ways but one, which usually meant Ushijima as well, but you found yourself having more alone time with him. Not that either of you minded, you typically used this time to finish your homework in peace ( you loved Tendou, truly, but he had nothing that even resembled an attention span for anything other than volleyball and the latest edition of Shonen Jump).

On the weekends you two would find yourselves just walking around the city, you talking about everything that had gone on in the past week and him listening intently chiming in at the appropriate intervals, occasionally providing advice or just a different perspective on any predicaments you may have ended up in. These sessions ended as they usually did, with a hug but you didn’t notice, not consciously anyway, that they would linger longer and longer as time went on, and that saying goodnight was harder. If you did, you would just brush the thought aside because of course it sucked that he had to go, he was one of your closest friends, it was only natural.

You probably could’ve lived in your little bubble of denial the rest of your life if not for Tendou who, bless his heart, was just trying to help.

“When were you going to tell me about you and Ushijima?” he’d asked one day out of the blue.

“What do you mean?” You looked over at him from your place on the floor, eyes borrowed in confusion.

“I mean like when were you going to tell me you liked him?”

You laughed, ignoring the way your chest tightened, “You’re seeing things Tendou, nothing is going on between me and Ushi. we’re friends just like you and me, like we've always been.” The red head looked at you for a moment, almost like he was contemplating something.

“Y/N, I love you darling, truly I do, but you are full of shit. Either tell him how you feel or let him go, you’re my friend but so is he. Neither of you deserve to have your heart broken.”

“You can’t break something that was never whole to begin with, besides, like I told you, there's nothing going on.” You changed the subject quickly after that trying to ignore the nagging voice in your head that agreed with Tendou. But the door had already been opened, and deep down, you knew he was right.

It was like a switch flipped in your mind, the late night calls and texts, the sleepless nights you spent helping him study and practicing with him. The way your heart would flutter when his hand would accidentally brush yours and the way you’d found yourself melting into his embrace when he would hug you. For a fleeting moment you were elated, but just as quickly it was replaced with dread, anxiety, and fear. You couldn’t- no you wouldn’t allow yourself to admit it.

You would like to convince yourself that you were not ignoring Ushijima, that you were just busy. Exams were coming up so you had to study, and if it just so happened that you remember this fact every time he entered the room well it was just a coincidence. You started avoiding Tendou as well, the look in his eyes, a feeling you couldn’t, and frankly didn't want to name made you feel worse and there was nothing he could say that would change your mind.

Everything was going perfectly according to plan, ignore Ushijima and Tendou until graduation and then you’d be off the college, Tendou to Paris and Ushijima would be a pro volleyball player like he had always wanted. The distance would hurt, but the alternative in your mind was much, much worse. At least for about a week, you should've known your luck wouldn't hold out as when you got back to your dorm, Ushijima was waiting for you.

And there you have it folks! And yes there will be a part 2 so please don’t come for me with pitchforks and torches.

Taglist: @pies-writes-and-more @thisnoodlewritesao3

#ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima #ushijima x reader #ushijima x you #ushijima x y/n #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you

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the-sympathetic-villain · 3 years

Note

U!patton and Remus for the Remus prompt. my friend and I had an idea where Patton forces Remus to wear a muzzle so he can’t talk

Okay, I don't know how to write short prompts so I went a little overboard on this. I also threw in some protective Janus just for fun. Anyways, I hope you enjoy it! <3

Pure Thoughts

Description: Remus makes his way over to the light side of the Mindscape to patch up his relationship with Virgil, but he doesn't quite make it to his friend.

Characters: Remus, Patton, Janus, Virgil and Logan Mentioned Pairings: Platonic Dukeciet Word Count: 3256 Warnings: Remus-Type Content (Sexual Innuendo, Somewhat Graphic Descriptions, Etc), Threats, Attempted Erasing of a Side, Swearing, Death mention, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/Comfort, Unsympathetic Patton (Let me know if I missed anything!)

---

Remus poked his head into the dim, empty corridor of the mindscape, pausing to check for the other sides before tiptoeing around the corner. Any other night, he'd be making his way down the hall with cymbals on the feet and a kazoo in his mouth, but tonight was the night to be covert. For once, he was actually trying not to be noticed, and notably, he was succeeding. Which was as perfectly satisfying as his pet eldritch demon's tentacle slime, because the last time he'd made one of his more spectacular entrances in their shared spaces, the Microsoft Nerd™ had nearly blown a gasket.

He'd lectured Remus for nearly forty-five minutes about ‘optimal sleep schedules’ and ‘the importance of brushing your teeth’ or whatever the dork had been saying. Quite frankly, Remus hadn't been listening. Learning from his mistakes wasn't exactly his jam, and if nerdy Wolverine’s brain was too full of Crofter’s to have realized that, that seemed like a him problem.

Besides, that was the past. Right now, the future seemed so much juicer. His fabulously favorite emo had eased up on his prickly sarcasm enough to give him a chance to talk things out, and as ambivalent as he may pretend to be, he wasn’t going to pass on the opportunity to make amends with his old friend. He wanted to salvage any small piece of their damaged relationship, so here he was, sneaking into the light sides' half of the mindscape to duke it out with his anxious nightmare.

The only challenge left was passing the other light sides’ rooms. Virgil's room of course had of course moved to the farthest corner of their space, making it the most difficult to reach without being noticed. Of course, he could make it easy if he cut across the common room. That way, he'd miss Roman’s room entirely and the only one he'd have to worry about was—

“Hey, kiddo.”

Remus head spun on his shoulder to the sound of Patton’s voice. The usually friendly father figure's familiar voice filled the room with a soft kind of seriousness that sent shivers down Remus' spine. The chill in Patton's voice was new and unsettling, but still, Remus cracked a cocky grin as he stared into the shadows and waited for Patton's lecture. After a moment, the lamp on the far side of the room clicked on to reveal a seriously scary looking frown on Patton’s face. Remus straightened upright as a tingling of fear crept up his arms. The creep factor of the amber lighting alone would have put Remus' own efforts to shame, but this was Patton.

Pun-loving, puppy cuddling Patton.

Patty boy’s harmless.

Right?

Remus swallowed nervously before summoning up his usual carefree front and staggering across the soft carpet. “Hey, Padre. Sorry, if you were looking for a late night suck, but I'm actually in a bit of a hurry. Maybe later—”

“Language, Remus.”

Remus stalled at the coldness in Patton’s tone. He licked his lips. The hostility in the air was nearly palpable as Remus stared across the room, trying to get a gauge on this new side Patton. It wasn't often one of the other sides left Remus speechless, but he was unsure of how to react to such an open display of hostility, especially from the side whose entire being was rigged toward being nurturing. Oh, well. There wasn't much else for him to do and he was on a schedule tonight. Remus let out a breath, falling back on familiar habits as an attempt to cover his exit. “Don't get your panties in a bunch, Patty daddy. I know you’re not the type blow and go without a sticky emotional mess, but you don’t have to worry—”

“You’re not going, Remus.”

Remus’ grin faltered at the finality in Patton’s voice, biting his lip as he eyed the direction of Virgil's room. “Um, what?”

“Virgil’s been doing so good.” Patton growled as he rose to his feet. Remus' feet felt like lead holding him in place while Patton moved to block his way. “I finally got my kiddo realizing how toxic you are to him and I’m not going to let you play with him anymore.”

Remus' mustache twitched with displeasure at the insinuation, though a part of him wasn't denying Patton's brusque statement. “Listen, Pattycake. As well as you play the daddy dom role, Virgil asked for me to come and I don’t see where this is your business, so I'll just be—"

“Virgil needs help knowing what's good for him.” Patton continued as a deep hatred started to burn in his eyes. “and that isn't you, Remus.”

Remus brushed him off, starting towards the door. He'd only made it a few steps before Patton waved his hand the door disappeared. Defensiveness turned to frustration as he reeled on Patton. “You can't just—”

“Go back to the whole where you belong before force you into your place.”

Remus froze as Patton's stomp connected with the ground, sending a shiver across his skin as the particles of his body destabilized. A choking breath caught in his throat and his hands shot to his chest in a manic frenzy as his body solidified again. He glanced up at the dangerous sparkle in Patton's eye. Remus was alive for now, but he got the feeling Patton wasn’t done with him yet.

“Hold on, Pat. Let's talk about this—” A bead of sweat dripped down Remus temple as he began stepping away from the door. His hands lingered in the air as he tried to reason with Patton. “—I thought we were good. The human pocket protector told you it was best to play nice with me. I get you don't like me, and it don’t have to be an orgy or nothing, but you can't just piss all over the nerd's hypoth—”

“Shut up.”

Remus sucked in a sharp breath as a black, leather muzzle appeared over his face. The leather molded to his skin as his hands shot to his face in a sudden manic moment of fear. Desperately, he pulled at the leather with all the force he could muster as the glowing rage in Patton’s eyes slowly backed him into a corner.

“I'm sick of you bullying Logan and dragging Virgil down.” The lights in the room flickered as Patton cried out and shoved Remus to the ground. “I don't care what Thomas says or Logan thinks. You don’t deserve to stay. Thomas is better off without you."

Remus hesitated. His hands lingered on the muzzle as his eyes flitted the door back to his own room. He knew he could retreat to his own room, but the idea of letting Virgil think he’d stood him up gave him pause. The choice was made for him a moment later when Patton’s power vibrated in the air and Remus let out a muffled cry as he felt his being wavering. The particles of his body began to weaken and fade as his resistance crumbled. He was unable to push back or even speak as Patton started to force him into the subconscious.

“Virgil will be disappointed when he realizes you forgot about him,” Patton whispered as Remus tipped his head up to meet the horrifying smile spread across Patton's face. “but he'll understand once you’re gone. I'll make sure he knows how bad you really are.”

Panic shot to Remus’ heart as he clutched at his fading body, choking as the muzzle as it grew tighter on his lips.

“I should have put that muzzle on you years ago." Patton’s laugh cracked in his ear. “Your silence is music to my ears. Finally, we can be good. Thomas can be good without you hear to ruin—"

“Is everything okay in here?”

Remus let out a heaving breath as his body hit the ground. He clutched his hands to his body, feeling around to make sure he was still fully there as Patton's grip loosened on him.

“Mind your own business, Janus.”

“Remus is my business. You made it clear years ago that he is my responsibility.” A flicker of worry flashed over Janus' eyes as Remus glanced up to him, but his gaze remained cold and distant as he maintained eye contact with Patton. “In fact, I think I'll be taking him now.”

Remus fingers raised to his lips as Patton’s muzzle fell away at Janus’ snap. His body was numb as Janus moved between him and Patton, extending a hand down to him. Remus swayed, staring at the fury in Patton's eyes as Janus pulled him to his feet.

“You have no right—”

“I think you'll find that I'm quite within my rights to do as I please.” Janus muttered as he absently brushed the dust from Remus’ shirt and shot a deathly glare at Patton. "but if you want to test that theory, I have no problem getting Thomas involved.”

Patton growled his discontent as Janus stepped forward to shield Remus from Patton's gaze. The silence hung over them, weighing heavy on Remus' shaking body, until the air shifted and Patton took a step back. “Keep him away from Virgil or I may not be so forgiving next time.”

“Don’t worry. You've won this battle, Morality, but I hope you know that Virgil will start to question your iron grip on him eventually. I taught him better than to simply follow others.” Janus muttered bitterly. His head bowed in reluctant acceptance of Patton's good grace, though his voice remained rebellious as their eyes remained locked together. “ He will not accept your word on blind faith.”

“Virgil will learn not to question me when he realizes how toxic you are to him. He can be molded into something better, unlike the cretin you're using so much of your dwindling energy to protect.” Patton spat as he turned to the door. “Now, go back to your hole before I change my mind."

“Remus, go.” Janus shoved him to the door.

“But—”

“For once in your life, don’t argue with me.” Janus muttered as he guided the shell-shocked Remus back to the dark sides' hallway. His voice dropped after a few steps and he glanced down at Remus. “Not a single word until he can't hear us. Got it?”

Remus nodded, still numb as Janus dragged him toward his own room. He could hear Janus’ breathing become heavy as he guided Remus through the narrowing hallways with an unnatural speed, not stopping until they reached Remus' black door at the end of the hallway.

“Jan—”

“Not yet, Re.” Janus whispered as he cast one last suspicious glance down the empty hallway before shoving Remus inside the narrow door frame.

“Janus, what the h—”

Remus' diatribe was knocked out of him as Janus' body slammed into his chest. He froze as Janus' arms curled around him, unsure of how to process the man's tight grip. He tensed, ready to struggle when he realized Janus was actually hugging him.

“Are you hurt?”

“What? No—” Remus whispered. His body went limp as released him enough to look him up and down. “I'm—I'm fine, Jan.”

“I'm going kill that self-righteous bastard.” Janus seethed. His grip on Remus' shoulders tightened as he stared past Remus to the closed door. “How dare he threaten you—”

“Janus—”

“—and especially when you were actually working to make things right with Virgil—"

“I don’t—” Remus blinked as Janus' words registered in his mind. "Wait, how did you know that's what I was—"

“I mean, where does he even get off thinking he can control Virgil's life without his input anyway?" Janus growled, gesturing abruptly to the door. "Virgil isn’t some helpless child. He’s able to make his own decisions—"

“Am I on fucking mute or something?”

“—and you!” Janus spat, gesturing towards the Remus. Remus immediately flinched at Janus' anger, though he wasn’t sure what he'd done to deserve the lying side's ire. “He could have killed you—”

"What?" Remus flailed as Janus grabbed the collar of his shirt like a disobedient child. “Hey, that's not fair! I didn’t know that Pattoncake was secretly a sadist—”

“You should have been more careful—"

Remus' head reeled as Janus spun him around, but he managed to stifle his nausea long enough to shout at Janus. “Jan—For fuck's sake, either fuck me or take my head off your fucking chopping block—”

Janus blinked, finally taking in Remus' red face as he swayed uneasily in Janus' grip. “What?”

"Listen, I like it rough and all but if I knew that you could manhandle me like that—" Remus blinked blearily as Janus loosened his grip. "Fuck the possibilities are endless, but—"

"Remus, I'm really not in the mood for your games tonight—"

“I'm not playing—Just ignore all of that. I needed to get your attention because you wouldn’t let me get a word in edgewise. ” Remus muttered, waving his hands as he found his bearings. “Jan, you—you frickin' saved me.”

"Now is the time you decide to censor yourself?"

"I'm trying to give you a compliment, Janus." Remus cut him off with a wave of his arms. "Hello, I wasn't expecting to become a damsel in distress but you make a hell of a knight in shining armor to have actually stepped in to save me.

“Of course, I saved you." Janus muttered after a moment, dipping his head in embarrassment. "I felt Patton’s emotions start to well up. I knew he was going to cause trouble and I wasn't about to leave you to his mercy.”

“What so you mean you felt him?” Remus mouth dropped in confusion.

Janus shrugged as his gaze dropped to the ground, still agitated. “I feel a lot of things Patton does.”

“But why?” Remus growled angrily as Janus clammed up. "Just spit it out already, Jan—"

“Because he's Thomas’ biggest lie.” Janus blurted out without thinking, gesturing to the door.

“What?” Remus whispered as he watched Janus begin to pace the room.

“The source of Thomas’ morality is corrupt.” Janus yelled, though he was quickly losing steam. “Not Thomas himself. God, not Thomas. But his insistence on clinging to his purity complex and thinking he can please everyone if he just tries hard enough—It's the most insidious evil that's ever taken root in him.

Remus went quiet as Janus explained and everything suddenly began to click into place.

“Thomas can't just turn his attention away from every reality he doesn't like.” Janus shrugged as he looked up at Remus. “Trying to eliminate anything uncomfortable or unpleasant in his life is a slippery slope to much more dangerous ideas.”

“Okay,sure, but this is still happy pappy, sunshine-coming-out-of-his-ass Patton. You sure you don't got a screw loose in that big brain of yours?” Remus managed to blurt out in exasperation. The scene had just played out before his own eyes, but he couldn't help that his brain turned to fuzz every time he attempted to process it. “Ya know? Maybe, we’re in a some sort of shared delusion. I mean, I know he's cute and all but now's not the time to think with your other head—”

"Remus," Janus let out an exasperated sigh as he glared at Remus. “I know you can’t help it but I would strongly prefer you think before you speak, like a normal person—”

“But, Jan. Come on—"

“His perceived innocence is part of the ruse, Remus. Why do you think Thomas' Logic is blind to his actions?” Janus muttered as his voice became nearly manic. "Why do you think his Creativity fawns over him and his Anxiety is soothed by him?"

Remus giggled as the human side of Janus' face became a brilliant shade of red. "Couldn't just be that he's just more personable than you, Janus?"

"Remus, I swear I'll strangle you myself—"

“Ya know, it's not often I'm the one fighting to talk over you.” Remus interrupted as he giggled and leaned into Janus' fury with a crooked grin. “If I knew you'd get all hot and bothered by Patty getting rough with me, I would’ve shoved my—"

“If you value your life, you will not finish that thought.” Janus muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “This is serious, Remus. You—You could have died.”

“Everything’s always serious, Jan-Jan. You should give yourself a break.” Remus grinned, gesturing up and down at himself. "Do I look dead to you?"

“I know, but—”

Remus' grin widened as he rambled. “I mean, I've got a plan for when the heart attack kills you and all, but I'm not like dying to use it.”

“That's not the—Wait, you do?”

“Well, yeah. I wouldn't let you go out without a bang." Remus' grin widened as Janus turned up him curiously. "Figured I'd have some fun with it and put your head under someone’s covers. It’s very Godfather-esque.”

“Huh—" Janus leaned back, suddenly contemplative to Remus' proposal. "To whom would you do this?”

“Well, not Pattycake anymore.” Remus laughed, patting Janus on the back. “Maybe, Roman though. He needs good jolt every once in a while.”

“He certainly could stand to come down a few notches on his ego.” Janus sighed, rolling his eyes. He paused, finally taking a breath as he stared at Remus unfaltering smile. “I have no idea how you're managing to stay calm after what just happened."

“Well, that's easy." Remus purred with cocky smile as he leaned into Janus. “I got my big, bad protector here with me.”

"I got lucky, Remus." Janus huffed. “If I hadn't have been paying attention to Patton's power flaring up, you would've—”

“Whatever, you felt that Patty boy was about to turn me to dust and you showed up.” Remus brushed off Janus' excuses. “That means something, Jan—Means a lot to me actually.”

Janus blinked as he looked up to the suddenly serious expression on Remus' face.

“The deadly dad freaked me out and I have to admit he had me kinda buying the story that I'm not that great of an influence on Virgil—” Remus sighed as he let his grin dropped away. “— or Thomas even, but I figure if you saved me, I can’t actually be all bad.”

“You’re not bad, Remus.”

“Yeah, well, even I need a reminder of that every once in a while.” Remus smiled. He shifted on his feet as he looked up at Janus. “So, thanks.”

“Anytime, Re.” Janus smirked at Remus' sincere smile. "I've always got your back."

“I know you do.” Remus breathed with a worried glance back at his door. “Saving me might have been the easy part though, Jan. Patton didn't seem like he was gonna let our Stormy Nightmare go.”

“Virgil will see through his lies,” Janus breathed as tasted the air. “The power's shifting and he can't hold me back forever. We aren't going down without a fight, and once Thomas sees his true nature, the game's over for Morality.”

“Well, better get cracking then,” Remus grinned. “before Patton finishes brainwashing 'em all.”

Janus nodded with a glance at the wall as a sudden chill ran up his spine. He could feel someone watching, but he supposed it didn’t matter. There was no turning back now. “Yes, Remus. I think it’s time to start pushing back.”

---

@justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck @shadowyplaidpurseegg

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts remus #ts patton #ts janus #unsympathetic patton #platonic dukeceit #remus centric #Pure Thoughts #villain writes

51 notes · View notes

slutsofren · 3 years

Text

satiated

din x neutral reader x paz; 2.8k words

summary: home from a long term job, you’ve come to realize how incredibly touch starved you are. good thing there’s two men who are more than willing to help seeing as they are in the same boat as you are.

read on ao3 here

content warnings: none, just soft snuggling with two idiots, playful banter, bounty hunter & mandalorian reader, gender neutral / unspecified pronouns, this is so self indulgent sorrynotsorry

Arriving back into the covert beneath the market on Nevarro, your bones ached. Although you were sore you couldn’t stop yourself from walking with a bit of a pep in your step. This most recent quarry had a wonderful price tag, if you say so yourself. The surplus in funds you were bringing back to your tribe was more than enough to give some of the younglings armor and more than enough credits would be left over for medicine and food. It was a blessing that you silently thanked the stars for.

A few heads turned to look at you as you passed by, undoubtedly eyeing the canvas bag you held in your left hand. The credits softly clinked together from inside. You stormed past the onlookers, not paying attention to the helmets swiveling to watch you as the whispers started. Being gone so long and returning with one of the highest payouts your covert has seen in quite some time was surely going to give rise to tensions, you worried.

Reaching the Armorer’s hall, you sat down gently on the bench after she acknowledged your presence, the canvas bag in your lap. Her hammer beat down on the metal she was working on, after a dozen beats she spoke, “You have returned.”

Not a question nor a welcome but a statement. Sometimes you never knew what to expect of the Armorer. At times you wondered if the helm that clouded her expressions that made you weary or it possibly could be the tone that never gave away her feelings that set you on edge. Either way, you never wanted to be on her bad side.

You nodded at her words and reached inside the bag on your lap. Inside you felt for the bundle that was worth all the trouble you went through this past month. A single quarry worth his weight in credits. It was nearly too good to be true but the bastard did put up one hell of a fight if you were being honest.

You laid the gold and silver ingots on the table before you in their retrospective piles then reached back into the pack for the next bundle. Inside the second were credit chips. Each one worth more than the next.

“You have supplied your tribe well,” the Armor praised only taking a brief look at what you displayed. She stopped her work and approached the table, taking another few moments before she sat across you. “This will fund several younglings.”

“The younglings are our future. I will always provide, Armorer.”

“This is the way.”

“This is the way,” you repeated.

She took a few credit chips and passed them back across the table to you saying nothing. You hesitated to reach out for them to push them back across to her, giving her all of the bounty until she raised a hand to stop you. “All these years and you’ve never taken more than two percent of your earnings to live on. Take these. You��ve more than earned them. The rest will go back into the tribe.”

“I-,” you stammered. Before you could finish whatever noncommittal excuse to not accept the credits back, heavy footfalls echo through the tunnels and come to a slow stop behind you. The room suddenly shifts and takes on a thick radiating tension.

“You’re alive after all, vod,” says a raspy deep voice, echoing ever so slightly off the metal walls, interrupting your conversation with the leader of the tribe.

Paz Vizsla.

Without turning around to face the large brute you replied with a steady tone, “I am, vod.” Praise to the stars that your face was hidden behind your helmet because you beamed with a smile that you weren’t able to suppress. You were glad to be in Paz’s presence once again.

He lingered behind you for a breath and another until the Armorer spoke up. “Your contribution to the Tribe is greatly appreciated. You may leave.”

Less of a suggestion and more of a demand, you gathered. You stood, making what you assumed was eye contact with the Armorer as she gave you a small nod, gesturing a hand towards the credits still lying on the table. Still unsure, you took what was graciously given to you then pocketed them, prepared to make your exit of the hot room. As you turned around and stepped aside the small bench you had occupied, Paz in all his annoying glory blocked the entrance. His large body stood in the doorway and you let out an annoyed groan.

“Paz Viszla, stay. I have use of you yet,” the Armorer called. Paz’s shoulders stiffened a bit before he reluctantly sidestepped you and took the seat where you previously were. With that, you left.

You made a beeline straight for Din Djarin’s quarters, hoping he was in his room. A tentative knock on the door and you could faintly hear some soft shuffling on the other side. The door swiftly opened and there was that beskar-clad di’kut you wanted to see.

Din spoke your name softly and moved aside to let you enter. As soon as the door shut he leaned towards you, the two of you partaking in a Mandalorian kiss, a keldabe. His towering body pushed your back against his door. “You were gone so long, cyare.” Beloved.

“I know, I’m here now,” you sighed happily. You wrapped your arms around his armored body and felt your heart swell. Din placed his hands against your waist, no doubt inhaling your scent as you were of him. You missed this, missed him, missed both of them.

In your heart, you knew you wanted to shed all the layers of fabric and metal that kept you both from touching each other the way you really wanted. It was just too early to indulge in such things, something you shared with both Din and Paz, two of the strongest albeit airheaded warriors in the tribe.

“Cyare,” Din started, “Promise me you’ll never be gone as long as you were this time. I-, we, were both worried.”

You leaned back, resting your head against the door, and placed a hand on the cheek of his helmet, “You never have to worry about me, Din Djarin.”

He tilts his head into your hand and his shoulders noticeably relax. He whispers your name ever so softly in that warm voice of his and he lowers himself to pick you up. Your legs wrap around his body instinctively as he leads the two of you to his modest couch.

If there was one thing you loved about Din Djarin, it was his ability to live as modestly as possible. He was never one to be frivolous with his credits like some of the other Mandalorians have the potential of being. He was a man of as few possessions as he was with words.

He sat on the couch with you still on top as you laid into his chest, trying to shake off your day and seek warmth from him. “Will you tell me of your adventures,” he asked softly.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, accidentally knocking your two helmets together which led you both to have a small chuckle. When you finally found yourself comfortable, Din interrupted you, “You smell like a firefight, you know?”

A snort left your nose, “Thanks for reminding me I need to shower.” You couldn’t see it but you knew Din was smiling as much as you were in this comfortable moment. He didn’t respond, only reserving the seconds to minutes the two of you got to share like this. “We can talk about my adventures another day, Din. For now, let’s enjoy this.”

Din accepted your request and soon both of you began breathing in synch, relaxing into each other's embrace. After ten, maybe more minutes, you piped up, “Paz is probably waiting.”

The unspoken invitation lingered between the two of you. Din raised his gloved hands and rested them against the sides of your helmet. “I missed you.”

The smile you had trickled into your voice as you said, “I hate being out there without you, you or the other di’kut.” You wrapped your gloved fingers around his wrist as you admitted this.

Din nodded as you let go of him and stood. He rose from the couch and took a step towards the door then held his hand out for you to hold. No more words needed to be spoken now, not when the most important part of your covert life was just within reach.

The two of you continued to hold hands as you walked through the halls of the covert, still ignoring the lingering gazes of the other Mandalorians. The tribe more or less knew what was happening between Din, Paz, and yourself but quite frankly, you didn’t care. It didn’t matter if this was conventional or even allowed. As long as the three of you continued to bring in credits and provide for the tribe- nobody whispered a damned thing.

Stars help the first bastard to confront the three of you about it.

Arriving at Paz’s door, you entered the code for his quarters and the door swished open and Din let you in first, ever the gentleman.

The two of you entered the heavy infantryman’s living quarters quietly. Paz, as much of a brute he was, enjoyed his silence and quite frankly, each of you needed this- whatever this was. Din stepped around you and began to strip his armor off and you followed suit quickly. Backs turned to each other to give some semblance of privacy, soon you were both stripped down to your helmets and bare clothing essentials, a tank and soft shorts.

You were the first to finish undressing since, quite frankly, you wanted out of the leather and durasteel more than anything. Your skin itched to be free from its confines.

Din reached for your hand gently as he gestured to Paz’s room with a nod of his head, entwining your fingers together. Without the thick leather keeping your hand warm, it was Din’s own heat. His large hand encompassed yours and you felt a rush go down your spine. This is what you craved, what all of you craved.

“Cyare,” Paz sighed behind you. He entered the living area of his modest home, stripped down just like you and Din, he opened his arms wide towards you and you all but ran into his embrace, letting Din’s hand go. Paz wrapped his arms around your exhausted body and the two of you nearly clinked the other’s helmet together from the hug.

Din’s light footsteps fell behind you as he held you from behind, joining the hug. Paz shoved Din back lightly and cursed, “Hey, this is my hug, back off.”

You laughed while sandwiched between the two men and asked, “What did the Armorer want today?”

He looked down at you and shrugged, arms still around your body. “She wanted an update on weapons since somebody,” he squeezed at your sides, “brought us back enough funds to stock up.”

“We’re proud of you,” Din says behind you.

You shrugged a bit, trying to hide the enormous boost to your ego before Paz let go of you and took your hand. You took Din’s own hand in your other one and the heavy infantry Mandalorian led you all down the hall to his bedroom. As soon as you entered you jumped into his rather large bed, not even bothering to stifle the giggle that welled up inside you. Your body bounced on the bed and Din sat on the left side of the bed, leaving room for you to flop around.

“What happened to being exhausted,” Din joked.

“That was before I took off the beskar, now I’m practically ready for playtime!”

The two men laughed at your sudden liveliness. Paz reached into a crate near his bed and retrieved an oversized fur blanket just for you and tossed it on the bed before nearing the solar light and quickly turning it off.

Soon the faint sounds of hisses filled the air. With heavy sighs from each of you, the three of you dropped your helmets off onto the floor beside the bed. Then you felt Paz’s large arm wrap around your middle, gently pulling you back towards the center of his bed.

“You feel nice, cyar’ika,” his deep baritone voice spoke from your left. Paz was a man of few words but the words he spoke always struck to your core.

“Not as nice as this fur,” you quipped back as you draped it over your prone body.

To your right you felt Din shift onto the bed and felt his hand reach for you. “Share, vod,” Din’s raspy voice called out. A smile plastered across your face as you gave a soft hum, the three of you moved in tandem to find your usual comfortable positions with each other.

“Come now, cyare’se,” loved ones, “behave.”

You felt Din’s chest rumble beneath the hand you held on his chest as you snuggled closer to him. Din always enjoyed it when you playfully scold him. As you finally rested your head against Din’s chest, Paz took his usual spot behind you and you became the perfect middle to this snuggle party.

The three of you created a warm and safe environment for each other where your crave for affection could be satiated and you knew not a single one would betray your oaths to The Way. It’s what led you to this arrangement. That indescribable innate need for companionship without jeopardizing your creed.

Paz’s large warm body curved around you and he began to leave soft kisses along your shoulder blade and the back of your neck, gently moving your hair away so he could press more to your skin.

Beneath you, Din began similar ministrations and kissed upon the crown of your head and drew soft designs with his fingertips across the arm you had draped over his abdomen.

You let out a happy hum at the men, reveling in how gentle they are. No matter how much chaos and death surrounds the three of you, you all can shed those daunting walls in the confines of whatever situation your little trio have gotten into.

Large warm and calloused hands traveled down your back as Paz followed Din and began dragging his fingers in uncoordinated circles on your skin, leaning his solid body against you. “You are nothing but trouble, or’dinii’ika.” Little fool.

“Says the bastard who made a fool of himself in front of the Armorer,” you poked back. Paz’s only response to your sly attitude was to smack your ass lightly that made you laugh.

Din shifts underneath you to lean up a bit and you imagined disbelief across his face, “Paz? Making an ass out of himself, who’d have guessed?” He chuckles.

Paz moves up onto his elbow and threatens playfully, “Don’t make me come over there.”

“I’d like to see that,” you say over your shoulder

Din shifted the arm that was under you and swatted at Paz’s large thigh. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, you two,” he threatens.

The three of you gave a lighthearted laugh and settled back down. Din began his usual ministrations of massaging your arms before you gave in to the one last thing you wanted to savor.

You turned your body around and sought out Paz’s face in the darkness with your hands, feeling his sharp jaw you leaned towards him and gave him a kiss. You hummed as his large calloused hands wrapped around your body and he sighed against you. Paz opened his lips to deepen the kiss just a little, you barely registered Din behind you giving your shoulders open mouthed kisses too, his hands squeezing your hips. You felt like putty in this warm embrace.

Before long you pulled away and gave Paz one last kiss before turning back around to Din, ever the most patient Mandalorian. You reached for his face as you did with Paz, only this time you felt the faintest of stubble beneath your hands. You smiled against Din’s lips as he crossed the small space to meet you. Where Paz’s lips were rough, Din’s was soft. Much like the rest of their bodies. As the two of you indulged in your kisses, it was hard to tell where one of you ended and the other began.

Din let out a groan, “Any more and I’ll have to take you cyare.” He pressed his lips against your forehead, his hands still on your waist.

You leaned into his touch as Paz spoke, “Another day, vod. Let our little bounty hunter rest.”

Your heart was so full in this moment with these two rough men who could touch you so softly you’d melt. Soon thereafter, the three of you settled down underneath the fur blanket Paz provided from one of his hunts many years ago. Relaxing against one another, the sounds of slumber filled Paz’s bedroom and you never felt so loved.

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #paz viszla x reader #din djarin x paz viszla x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian reader insert #mando x reader #bounty hunter reader #asher's writing

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talas-starlight · 4 years

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Scarred Spirit - Zuko x fem!reader (pt.2)

SUMMARY: reader faces the consequences of interfering with the Agni Kai (emotionally and physically)

WORD COUNT: 3.9k

WARNINGS: angst. Torture, semi nudity (NOT sexually) –traumatising!! physical and some mental abuse. Violence. Mentions/descriptions of death. Crying. Swearing. Ozai being a literal nutter. Azula being nutter 2.0.

A/N: THIS IS A REPOST FROM THE AUTHOR OF THIS FIC - I had some complications with the original blog this fic was posted on so please show this some love,, ALL FUTURE CHAPTERS FOR THIS FIC WILL BE POSTED HERE!! hi friends!! Thank you to everyone who showed some love to the first chapter eep! Anyway I’m really scared for y’all to read this one, but!! I’m aiming to have the gaang in the next one so if you hate this I’m sorry but I didn’t want the story to be rushed so I couldn’t bring myself to skip this :// Please read the warnings!!

Also! In this part italics are internalised thoughts 😊

OTHER PARTS: pt1 / pt3 / pt4 / pt5 / pt6

MASTERLIST: Here!

The Fire Lords command echoed throughout the room, encompassing the crowd in a thick silence.

Zuko let out a small gasp, one only you were able to hear. After experiencing just a fragment of the physical pain he endured, you didn’t want him to make any decisions he would regret, especially if he was considering to defend you. You didn’t deserve it. Burnt, dead skin, blisters across your left side in the hot atmosphere around you. Your heart begins to tighten and rip you apart all at the same time, realising how much pain you caused for taking all of those lives.

Continuing to kneel on the floor of the duelling platform, you’re frozen, filled with disgust as you finally acknowledge the person you became. From your first commission four years ago, you were numbed to the experience of taking someone’s life. Seeing the life fade from someone’s eyes as you plunged your flame lit sword into their chest, you felt nothing. It was as if it were just a switch inside of them, nothing more. One moment they were there, the next they’re not. You recall Zemin’s reaction when you recounted the events of your first kill, and he didn’t make it seem like it mattered. His only response was to scold you for showing off because you didn’t need to light your sword on fire to kill the man.

Managing to push through the new thoughts and emotions that have awoken within you, your mind travels back to the boy behind you. Despite what you’re currently feeling, it will never amount to the emotional pain he has after being attacked by his father. Fire Lord or not.

Continuing to face the floor, you can’t bring yourself to even glance at Zuko, barely managing to croak out, “Forget who I am. Stay alive, that would be enough.”

You feel his stare to the back of your head. You wish you could turn around and say something, anything at all, maybe even hold him. Anything to get rid of the disgusting, vulnerable, and isolating feelings within you. You wanted to tell him he didn’t deserve it, even if you didn’t know who he really was. Because as much as you hated to admit it, you were afraid. So fucking afraid. Zemin never taught you what to do in these situations, especially anything involving saving the Prince’s life.

Unknown to you, Zuko’s right arm cautiously reaches out to take hold to the back of your robes. So close his fingertips graze the fabric, but not close enough. The two nearest guards rushed to grab you while everyone in the crowd stared at your figure on the duelling ground.

With one guard on either side of you, they grabbed your arms and shoved you off the platform. Hissing, and failing to shove down a pathetic sob ripping through your half-burnt throat, you fall onto your hands and knees. A moment later, the guards were back at your side, dragging you through the door you couldn’t bring yourself to walk through minutes earlier.

Freedom feels like a distant, pathetic dream.

You try to take in the palace around you as they drag you to the right. Connecting where you are to the map, you saw last night, becomes increasingly difficult as the prolonged burning sensation on your skin begins to fog your mind. It’s no use keeping your eyes open. The dark colours of the palace give you a headache. You want to pass out. Give up completely. But Zemin didn’t lock you up in a pitch-black, underground labyrinth, for three months when you were eight to learn nothing. Instincts kicking in, you allow your eyes to close and begin to count your movements, listening to your surroundings.

20 steps forward.

Turn left.

15 steps.

Turn right.

You notice the guard to your left has a weaker hold on you than your right. Possibly about of disgust for holding your arm, or maybe to cause less pain. You assume the former.

18 steps.

The guards come to a stop.

You feel the guard to your left, slightly turning her body towards you. “Hey, maybe we should stop for a bit. I think the kid passed out.”

Ah, so maybe the latter as well then.

The guard to the right scoffs at her suggestion. “Don’t worry about it. She’s not completely out yet, she managed to keep moving. Probably just weak from the pain. Stupid kid. We’ve got a long way to go, and the Fire Lord will want her towards the top of the prison.”

Still unconvinced the female guard persists, “Shouldn’t we be taking her to the infirmary? These are really severe burns.”

There’s a pause. Only for a few moments, but enough for them to weigh up their options. “We should, but the Fire Lord would end us if we did that. We’ll just send a healer to the cell after we get her there.”

The guard shakes you, forcing you to open your eyes. Guiding you out of the palace, you squint your eyes as the sun blinds you, eventually able to make out a tall tower-like building before you. Entering the darkness that lies inside it, you struggle to keep up with their pace as they wind their way further and further up the spiral. Making it to a cell, the guard to the right drops you instantly making you crumble to the floor, eliciting a subtle dig to your hip. You’d forgotten all about the dagger strapped around your waist under your robes—the one you used to kill the general.

While the guard is holding your injured arm tugs you back up, you decide to act while one of them is preoccupied. Balancing on your right leg, you swing your left leg around, slamming into the back of their knees, making them fall. You quickly take out the dagger from underneath your robes, flipping it in your hand and using the blunt of the handle to knock her out in the head. The thud to the guards’ head alerts the other ahead of you. By the time they’ve processed what happened, you ran to them, kicking them in the stomach propelling them into the cell they recently managed to open. Running towards them you drop to both of your knees, arching your back as you slide under streams of fire passing above you. Rookie move on their part. Bringing your torso back up, you send a punch to their face knocking them out cold.

You grab the other guard and drag them into the cell as well and swap your robes for their uniform. It’s too large for your adolescent figure, but its good enough. Taking the keys, you lock them both in there, closing the main door on your way out in hopes no one will notice them in there instead of you.

Breath, you still have a long way to go.

With determined strides, you make your way past other guards in the prison, praying to the spirits that for once they’ll be on your side. Following the steps you memorised in your head from earlier, you end up back at the point where they led you from the arena. From this point, you decide to go in the opposite direction to which they took you. To the left.

Stay calm y/n, you’re going to make it.

You find a door leading out of the castle, and you can see the palace gates in the distance.

Holy Spirits! So… I would have made it out in time if I left the Agni Kai… That doesn’t matter anymore, you’re going to make it out now.

Walking out into the open, you force yourself to suppress a scream of pure joy. Time began to slow down as you saw the gates coming closer and closer. So close you started wondering where you’d go once you made it through.

Those thoughts were abandoned when you hear screaming from behind you.

“Close the gates! That guard is the traitor! Don’t let her out, and close the gates!”

No. No, not again. No, no, no! Fuck!

Breaking out in a sprint, you push yourself harder and further than any training exercise Zemin put you through. You let out a painful scream as if it would make you run faster than the guards at the gates, slowly pushing them shut. Nothing could compare to how much you wanted this slice of freedom. After just a few hours of being in the miserable palace, you were convinced you’d rather walk and swim to the Northern Water Tribe without any food or water, than have to spend another moment here. Mind going into overdrive, you don’t seem to hear or even register the fact that there is a group of around twenty guards behind you, ready to take you down.

With an echoing clang, they seal the gates shut. You falter, slowing down as waves of desperation and hopelessness consume you, yet unable to bring yourself to stop completely.

No, please.

One guard managed to catch up to you in your moments of weakness, throwing a strong punch to your head before you have time to react.

WEEK ONE

It had been a week since you were caught (again) and imprisoned in the Fire Nation jail cell and quite frankly, you were bored. After your stunt when you were first brought here, they ensured that you would never have access to any sharp objects, serving food in wooden bowls with only your hands to eat. Bold of them to assume you didn’t know 21 ways to use the bowl if you truly desired to kill them. No one spoke to you, not even the healer who came in wordlessly the first night to treat your burns. You lay on your right side, staring up at the ceiling admiring the small light that came through the poor excuse of a window.

I wonder if Zemin was worried when I never came back. Would he be worried? No that’s a stupid question, of course not. If anything, he’d be annoyed that I damaged his reputation by getting caught… I still hope he got those gold pieces though, at least then I can slowly waste away in here knowing I don’t owe him any more money. Maybe he could finally fulfil his dream and go to Ba Sing Se. He used to always guilt me into learning a new form of fighting, groaning on about how he gave up the money he had to move there and start a new life with the woman he loved, to raise me. Idiot. He never had an obligation to raise me in the first place, I’m probably from nowhere, and my parents were probably mediocre people in the grand scheme of things. Who even were my-

Cutting off your train of thought, one of the guards walked up to the cell and unlocked it, another quickly grabbing your wrists, and latching them in chains. “The Fire Lord has ordered to speak with you.”

You crack a smirk, “Oh goodie, I think I’m ready for a rematch!”

“Shut it kid, you’re lucky he ordered that you can’t be disposed of… yet.”

Am I lucky? Being burnt alive and having access to a non- waterbending healer and a bowl of old rice is lucky? Oh great Spirits, thank you for gracing my life with these blessings from the great Fire Nation.

What. A. Load. Of. Shit.

Leading you to the palace, you make it into the throne room. At this point, you wanted to laugh at their efforts to scare you.

Really? Dark Lighting and a fire wall right in front of the throne you sit high and mighty? If only I were an Airbender, then I could huff and puff until you fall into the flames.

A guard standing near the Fire Lord is the first to speak. “Bow before your Fire Lord!”

Spitting on the ground, you look at Ozai in the eye. “I will never bow before you!”

He laughs.

“I know you are the one who killed one of my generals before the duel after acquiring your blade. It’s quite interesting how you managed to get to him without any bending, I must find and congratulate whoever your trainer was. Lucky for you though, the general was of no value to me and easy to replace. I will also show you mercy for what you did at the Agni Kai, only because it was my disgrace of a son you protected, and just like that general, not anyone truly valuable to the nation. Regardless of your crimes, you have already proven yourself a very great asset for a mere child. For that, I will grant you the ultimate freedom, free of any ties you have with the low lives outside of the Capital. Instead, you can directly serve your Fire Lord as my personal assassin. I will have the best swordsmen train you. Taking your abilities to new heights, you wouldn’t even begin to imagine for yourself. I will make you unstoppable. For a non-bender, that is.”

Based on the confident yet bored tone of his voice, you could easily assume he didn’t care. Yet his golden eyes narrow down towards your figure. Waiting. Testing to see if you dare defy his wishes. The offer is objectively easy. Technically, all he is asking of you is to do the same thing you’ve been raised to do, just under his allegiance.

Zuko flashes in your mind. Tears streaming down his face, and begging his father for mercy. “I will never kill for you! I would rather relive the burns you gave me every day than stand by your side!”

He sighs. “If that is what you wish. Maybe over time, you will learn what a great honour it is to be offered such an opportunity, let us meet again next week.”

The guards, as if they were expecting this, shoved you to your knees, ripped off the top you were wearing, and the bindings across your chest. Frozen as the warm air from the flames around you hit your chest, you were mortified. Knowing other guards present were intently watching you be humiliated in front of the Fire Lord, you forced yourself to control the urge to vomit the contents of your prison food on the floor. Quickly bringing your arms and hands to your chest, you winced at the sudden movement from your left arm.

Without any time to mentally prepare, both guards ignited streams of fire to your back. Instinctively you hunch over, attempting and failing to avoid the flames. Unbeknownst to you, everyone in the palace all the way to the kitchens, froze as your haunting screams echoed throughout its halls.

Through your tears and screams, you faintly heard the Fire Lord speak. “You will learn to agree, and you will comply.”

THREE MONTHS

Despite crying every time it happened, you became accustomed to the burnings every week you refused Ozai’s offer. You began to lose any emotional feeling when it happened, robotically going through each step.

They bring you to the throne room.

You say no.

You take off your shirt and bindings for yourself.

The guards burn you.

You cry.

Ozai watches you as if he had better things to do with his time.

Although today, hours after the ritual, you received your first guest that wasn’t a guard or a healer. You knew who they were after sensing them as they hid behind a pillar in the throne room every week. Sensing them through the body heat within them, a gift you always had since you were little. Theirs was crackled with so much anger and hatred; it was so unique to everyone in the palace, you barely had to think about it.

“What do I owe the pleasure of the one and only Fire Nation Princess being in my worthless presence?”

“Shut it scum!”

You let out a small laugh. “Ooo scum? That’s a lovely nickname, but honestly, a little bland, don’t you think? You ARE the Fire Nation princess after all, why not add a little spice to it?”

She didn’t seem to like that. “ENOUGH! You want spice?!” Shooting a streamline of fire from her fingertips, she shot at your head. Luckily enough, you weren’t in front of Ozai or defending her brother, so you swiftly dodged her shot.

Not giving her the satisfaction of retaliation, you sat in the middle of the cell, closing your eyes and crossing your legs. You began to meditate, trying to block out the irritating sense of fire within her.

She walked up to the bars, staring down on you. “I hope you know that my dear brother Zuzu won’t be coming back any time soon.”

This was the first time you’d heard about the Prince since the Agni Kai. She paused, waiting to see if she got a reaction out of you, but you were a trained assassin for Spirit’s sake, you had more control than that. Letting out a deep breath of air, you knew all you needed to do was stay calm.

“You do know what happened to him after you failed to protect him, don’t you? Oh! That’s right if I do recall correctly, you were so paralysed with what you had done, you didn’t even spare him a glance!” She let out a laugh as you remained still.

“Awww, yes! Poor Zuzu doesn’t even know what his ‘saviour’ looks like and he never will! You want to know why, scum?”

Not really but I guess I don’t have much of a choice.

“Because he will NEVER come back. He will NEVER step foot into the Fire Nation again because he was banished to capture the Avatar! It’s a bit ironic, don’t you think? All your pathetic little life, you have been KILLING to get out of here, gain your freedom, and you’re never going to get it. You’ll die in this cell. Yet, on the other hand, Zuzu wants nothing more than to come right home and stand by father’s side! That really does top it all off, doesn’t it, scum? You have trapped yourself here, to save someone who only just wants to come crawling right back. And if he ever did by some miracle, capture the Avatar? He would look you in the eyes and burn you himself for being such a traitor to this Nation.”

You tensed for a second, keeping your eyes closed you quickly regained composure. “Okay Azula, you’ve had your fun. That’s enough.”

She smirked with a sinister glint in her eyes. “You embarrassed him that day. You took away the little bit of dignity he could have had if you just let him get all his scars… Or at least let him die getting them.”

Enough.

“You will forever be a reminder of what should have been his. You’re going to die here for nothing.”

Enough.

“You thought you could do some good in this world? You were wrong! Your one poor excuse for saving someone’s life will always mean nothing! Zuko doesn’t care if you saved his life! He hates you! He hates you for taking away his dignity! You will die with him hating you! Your hope for doing good in this world means nothing because he is searching to take away the one thing that would end this war, even though they’re already dead!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH, AZULA!” Opening your eyes, they snapped from your usual e/c to a blinding golden light. The fire you trained for so long to control reached its tipping point and exploded from every pore in your body setting fire to anything in its wake. Azula rushed away from the bars of your cell as it melted around you. Feeling your hair raise in a halo of fire, you raised your right arm as a blast fired right next to her head. A warning shot.

The guards outside of the cell who have been watching you since you were imprisoned, stared in shock. Not once had you shown any indication of being a fire bender.

Generally, in this state, you were unstoppable. A force even Zemin didn’t 100% know how to train, leaving you to your own devices. However, these weren’t normal circumstances. You have been tortured weekly, barely given any food or water and countless wounds that aren’t even close to being healed. After the sudden use of intense energy, you felt yourself passing out, allowing the guards to grab you quickly.

***

Groaning as if no time had passed, you found yourself chained up on a boat. “Am I going to be executed?” You weren’t sure if you were worried or hopeful at the possibility.

The female guard you knocked out on your first day in the palace sat next to you, letting out a sigh. “No, but you might as well be in your condition. You’re going to Boiling Rock, into The Cooler.”

SEVEN MONTHS

The guards came by the Cooler to deliver your food. They usually throw it to the ground and leave, but it seems today they received news that was too good to pass up the opportunity to torment you.

“Did you hear that kid? They tracked down your poor excuse of a trainer and killed him. Figured if the best he could produce was you, he wasn’t even worth sending to Boiling Rock.”

You remained curled up in the corner, unmoving as they laughed their way down the hallway. As their laughs slowly died down, you realised how pathetic you let yourself become.

Why did people have to keep dying because of you? You wanted to scream. Burn this stupid icebox down with your hands. Set the whole place to flames. But you were tired. So, so tired. You didn’t even have the energy anymore to cry when they burned you every week. Regularly being exposed to entirely polar elements began to fuck with your body. It didn’t know how to function anymore. Physically and mentally.

Despite being four months since your encounter with Azula, her words continued to spin in your mind every day. What seemed to break you the most was that you knew even if she were right, you’d do it again. If you could go back, you knew you would jump in front of him every time if it meant he was alive. Knowing he was far away from this hell hole brought you a weird sense of peace, regardless of if he was searching for the Avatar or not.

Unlike him, you weren’t far away from this wretched place. You were helpless.

Grabbing the old and cold bowl of rice, you finished your meal for the first time in three weeks.

EIGHT MONTHS

The guards walked in to take you to the palace for your weekly offer, and for the first time, you were already standing. After placing the chains to your wrists, they took you out of your cell just like they did every week. While travelling back to the Capital, you continuously persuaded yourself, this was the only way. You knew, deep down, this was the right choice. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

Entering the throne room, you make your way up to Ozai. Holding eye contact as the flames burn between you.

Bowing before him in the most traditional Fire Nation bow you can muster. You bring yourself back upright, stance and face stoic, contrasting the satisfied smirk on his face. For the first time, he doesn’t bother to make his offer.

“I am at your full service, and ready to comply my Fire Lord.”

A/N: Thank you to everyone who is reading this or coming from my old blog!! please follow this one and stick around, I am currently working on the third chapter and a lil sokka oneshot :)) and to my taglist, i love you all, thank you all so much, i’m so sorry that you all have to deal with me rn and im so so sorry <3

TAGLIST:

@slythergirlimagines @mangoberry43 @eridanuswave @whiskeywinter89 @callums-keith @kaylove12 @simplyfandomish @khaleesi-of-assassins

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matthiasschoenaertsdaily · 3 years

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Matthias Schoenaerts full interview for De Morgen Magazine (original in Flemish, translated into English by @matthiasschoenaertsdaily)

Interview by Els Maes, published on November 28, 2020

Even a global pandemic will not destroy the optimism of actor Matthias Schoenaerts (42). Because he knows from his own experience how much beauty can emerge from the most hopeless situations. "I've had my back against the wall often enough, I'll always find a way out."

A bleak autumn day on a concrete square. There is lukewarm coffee, lukewarm Chimay and rolling tobacco. At dusk we see the silhouettes of fat rats that shoot past our ankles. And yet Matthias Schoenaerts will tell us in a glowing argument that this, here and now, is the very best place to be. That there is so much beauty to discover, he says. Le paradis c'est ici. As long as we want to see it.

"It's strange to say in this unpleasant period, but I've enjoyed the past few months enormously. It's the first time in ten years, since Runskop actually, that I'll be home for a long period of time. This is so beneficial: I am photographing, painting, writing. I can devote time and attention to the very simple things we'd otherwise race past."

"Seriously, look at that," he says, picking a leaf off the ground. "Those colors, that pattern. I can spend hours looking at the pure beauty of the things that surround us."

Above us a pigeon is wreaking havoc between the thinned out foliage. "While you are singing about the wonderful beauty of nature, that animal is going to shit on our heads," I say. "And that too will be a s-p-l-e-n-d-i-d moment," Schoenaerts answers.

Matthias Schoenaerts is Belgium's most successful international film star. But here and now, on a bench in his hometown, he is a technically unemployed actor, an all-round searching artist, but above all: fighter of cynicism. "I refuse to go along with all negativity and fear. The true battle today is cynicism versus courage. And I always choose the latter."

We're on the Oudevaartplaats, the square that everyone knows as the Antwerp Bird Market, and where Schoenaerts' childhood memories are waiting to be picked up. It comes into the conversation just like that: Brando, the cute chow chow that little Matthias got from his mom on this square, when here on the bird market puppies were still sold. "My dogs were my great loves. The home situation was often difficult, and with my dogs I found security. We had three chow chows, those fluffy lion dogs with a blue tongue. Brando was the first, I loved that animal."

"We lived in a small apartment with three dogs, anything but ideal. One day we let them go, to people with a large estate. That was heartbreaking."

There is a beautiful lesson in that, about love and letting go. It would have been selfish to keep your dogs if you could give them a nicer life elsewhere, wouldn't it?

"Absolutely, but I obviously didn't process that departure properly. Brando still appears in my dreams, after all these years. Then he returns home unexpectedly, and am I mad with joy.

"I often dream about my parents too: that reunion is so intensely beautiful and warm. Oh, there you are, finally! Those dreams are true to life, and the awakening is rock-hard."

Is that one of the reasons why you like being here in Antwerp, because here you feel more connected to the people that you loved?

"This is my home, my zero, I can't imagine a place in the world where I would rather live. When my mom was alive, and especially when she got sick, in between filming I tried to be with her as much as possible here in Antwerp. In the meantime I have an apartment here, my first permanent place of my own, but I've hardly been there in recent years. Now I can finally enjoy my home, I find peace, tranquility and inspiration there. I have seen fantastic sunsets on my roof terrace in recent months. So much beauty, and you can just admire it there, every day, for free. As long as you take the time to enjoy it.

"Normally I would have started filming again in April, and left for a hectic ride of at least two years, with projects that would follow each other quickly. I was at my limits, sooner or later I was going to bang my head against the wall. I feel how beneficial it is to slow down for a moment. David Lynch said that: 'Just slow things down and it becomes more beautiful'.

"As an actor you have to work in a big machine, according to a tight schedule. I have now discovered the pleasure of creating things for myself very spontaneously in my own cadence."

Is that work something you ever want to go public with?

"I want to do something with my photography someday, but I'm in no hurry. I'm also writing a film script, I've had an idea for a trilogy for a long time. It's a very personal project, and it takes time for it to crystallize into something very pure and proper. Maybe those films will come within ten years, maybe never.

"The most important thing is to keep busy. You have to look for something, anything, on which you can focus your passion, love and attention. Of course I would like to return to set, and those projects will come back later. But if I can't change anything about a situation, why worry about it?

"From a very young age I learned that there are not many certainties in life, I adapt easily to unexpected circumstances. There is one thing I can't stand, and that is feeling powerless. I never want to be the victim of a situation, I will always think: what can I do myself? Which way can I go? I have often enough stood with my back against the wall, I will always find a way out and take matters into my own hands."

So Schoenaerts decided to use this period to put Zenith - his artist name as a street artist - to hard work. Since the lockdown he has already created nine impressive murals, including one in the courtyard of the Oudenaarde prison, and one at the beginning of this month in the Antwerp Begijnenstraat, on the bare walls that form their furthest horizon for the prisoners. A moving event, he says. Not only by the touching conversations with inmates, and the forty-minute applause with which the prisoners welcomed him. "The mural contains a poem by my father. While I am there painting those beautiful words of my dad on the wall, I suddenly remember that my mom used to give meditation lessons to the prisoners there in the Begijnenstraat. I had completely forgotten about that until I stood there. How beautiful that is. Suddenly I felt my parents very tangible, very close to me."

It's a bit funny: a long time ago you were arrested for graffiti, now they invite you to prison to make a mural.

"I used to tag a lot, but I really don't like the vandalism that sometimes comes with graffiti. Defacing a facade, that's just ridiculous. But trains, bridges, tunnels.... frankly I think that's the max. Soon I'm going to do another oldskool graffiti wall, with some friends, back to the roots. But with permission, yes."

Scary dudes

The problems of the Belgian detention system are well known: outdated infrastructure, overcrowding and a system of pre-trial detention which means that some people are innocently stuck for years. Schoenaerts: "These are human lives that are destroyed by the Belgian state, isn't that scandalous?"

Schoenaerts' engagement started years ago, after meeting Hans Claus, prison director in Oudenaarde, who contacted him when he wanted to organize a screening of Le Fidèle, the film by Michaël R. Roskam starring Schoenaerts. Claus has been fighting for many years for a reform of our detention system, among others with the non-profit organization De Huizen, small-scale centers that are more focused on rehabilitation and reintegration of the detainee. How does Schoenaerts see his role? "Those murals are a kind of lubricant for me, to get attention for this problem. I am not the expert and I am certainly not a politician. This injustice touches me as a human being, and my message is clear: please listen to the people who have been working hard for decades to reform the system from the inside."

In The Mustang, your last feature film to be seen here before the lockdown, you take on the role of a prisoner who learns to tame wild horses and his demons. Has that role changed your vision?

"That rehabilitation program with mustangs really exists, and the chance of recidivism is almost zero percent. I had a conversation in the Begijnenstraat with the minister of Justice Vincent Van Quickenborne (Open Vld, ed.), and he told me that the chance of relapse here is 40 to 50 percent. Isn't that madness?

"That's what fascinates me most of all: what do we do with those detainees while they're stuck? How can we help to break the destructive patterns that put them in prison? Imprisonment is a punishment in itself, but someday we'll send those people back into society, so let's mainly support them in their self-development.

"In preparation for The Mustang, I visited prisons in the U.S., and talked to men who had been detained for 20, 30 years. Heavy guys: Aryan Brotherhood (powerful crime syndicate of neo-Nazis in American prisons, ed.), Mexican gang leaders... real scary dudes. You know what those say to me? That they live in fear every day, but they must not show weakness. Psychological counseling and things like that have their value, but that's often very cerebral. I especially believe in the healing power of art. Imagine that inmates can express all those fucked up emotions through art: I think that there is an enormous potential in this."

I heard you're playing with the idea of giving acting lessons to inmates?

"That's not a concrete plan yet, but I would love it if people from the creative sector would commit themselves to this: musicians, sculptors, dancers. Or writers who help prisoners put their own story into words.

"The cultural sector needs to start sticking its neck out. The sector is lying flat, and that's terrible. But we have to keep moving. We can all do something for the community, without being paid for it. Planting small seeds, doing something good for your fellow man, something beautiful always comes out of it."

Had you been to a prison before The Mustang?

"To visit friends, yes. In Merksplas, Hoogstraten, Hasselt, Dendermonde... We shouldn't talk about that any further. A prison is deep tristesse. Who dares to call that 'a hotel', shame on you."

This summer you painted an impressive mural in Paris in honor of George Floyd, murdered by American officers. And in Ostend last week a new mural was unveiled, with a 'decapitated' Leopold II. Is activism an important part of your street art?

"Graffiti used to be more of a style exercise for me, you want to create things that get noticed within the scene. But gradually I felt like communicating with a wider audience. I like to incorporate a lot of symbolism in my paintings, such as the cracks I photograph all over the world and then magnify them in another place. And the praying hands, a universal image of hope and faith in yourself. Art has the power to speak to our deepest emotions, and that is what binds us to the other. Connectedness, empathy, harmony, solidarity, that's the essence for me."

The corona crisis is one big exercise in empathy and solidarity. Sometimes we seem to lack that.

"I refuse to surrender to cynicism, and I surround myself with positive people who do beautiful things for others. This period would lead us to insights: how do we deal with each other? Do we help each other, or is it every man for himself? A human is such a wonderful creature, but we mess it up so much for ourselves.

"Yeah, I know. Some people who read this will think: this guy is smoking too many joints. (laughs) I don't smoke joints, and I'm not an unworldly idealist. But I will always focus my attention on the good, in spite of everything."

If you always want to see the good in people, are you sometimes disappointed?

"Yes, of course. I'm not a naive brat, I've learned to guard my boundaries. I can't please everyone all the time, and I don't let anyone rush me. I react badly when people put pressure on me because they want things from me. The perception of me that others have of me, I can't control. I don't let myself put out of balance easily anymore."

I saw that on your Instagram Stories you warned about fake profiles on social media, of people pretending to be you. That made you visibly angry.

"Really, that makes me angry. Every day I receive screenshots from people who have been tricked by crooks who approach innocent victims with my name and my pictures. There are stories of fans who have paid thousands of euros because they were promised a meet-and-greet with me. How disgusting is that? One person has transferred 14,000 euros to someone who pretended to be my manager.

"Of course, that raises questions about how gullible some people can be. But I've seen those chat conversations for myself: those criminals are terribly sneaky. They know how to play on the vulnerabilities of their victims in a very cunning way. This is manipulation and swindle of the filthiest kind.

"Really, I get physically unwell when I think about it. How can someone be so mean? If I ever catch these guys, I'm gonna bash their skulls in, I'm not kidding. Sorry."

Or: those crooks get a jail sentence, where you're going to give them acting lessons.

(laughs) "Okay, let it be clear that I think everyone should be punished for their crimes. My commitment to the prison system is not a plea for impunity, and I certainly don't want to romanticize crime.

"But when someone abuses innocent people's trust in such a cunning way, the question is: how did you derail so morally? And above all: how can we initiate a transformation in that person? Surely you can't lock someone up and expect that person to suddenly make better choices years later? First such a person has to take responsibility for his own actions."

Do you have something criminal on your conscience?

"No." (Thinks for a second) "No. Thank God. I couldn't live with that.

"I've probably hurt people in my life, like everybody else. Sometimes we just hurt people because of who we are, or because we can't fulfill what others want from us. But I have never harmed anyone consciously or criminally, no."

As a teenager you sometimes came into contact with the juvenile court, for vandalism. Do you think you could have ended up on the other side of the bars?

"Probably, a life can take strange turns sometimes."

What made you sit here today, and not get on the 'wrong' path?

"Wait... that's a good question. There's the one terrible dramatic event that caused a total turnaround in my life: when my dad went into a coma after a psychosis, and I was told he only had 24 hours left to live.

"I was 21 then, thrown out of school for the umpteenth time. I was doing graffiti and wanted to find my way creatively. But I was messing around, going with friends who... Anyway, there was latent danger, it threatened to go a little bit the wrong way.

"And then I got that phone call: come and say goodbye. Bam. The relationship with my father had been sour for years, we hardly saw each other. Until I stood there at his deathbed in intensive care... I only felt love, a wave of emotions that I had pushed down very deeply. That realization was rock-hard: this was it. My father and I will never get the chance to figure shit out, I thought.

"Long story, the rest is known: after 72 hours my father woke up from a coma against all odds. Like a plant: he could not speak, reacted to nothing or nobody. According to the chief psychiatrist, we had to accept that his condition would never improve. That was without the fighting spirit of my mother and me.

"It's because of that unlikely event that I've changed my whole lifestyle. For eight months, my mother and I went to visit my father every day. We talked to him, but he seemed to look straight through us. For hours we sat with him at the psychiatry department of Stuivenberg, how desperate those first months were also. We continued to fight, taught him to talk, to eat, to walk. A miracle, the doctors called it. Bullshit of course. It was love, dedication and stubbornness. Especially thanks to my mother, the lioness who kept fighting for him. And see how much beauty came out of it. My life then received an entirely different impulse.

"I suddenly think of an anecdote I've never told before. After a while we were allowed to take my father to the cafeteria once in a while, or to the garden. But he was absolutely not allowed to leave the hospital. Fuck it. I hid a bag of clothes for him, secretly dressed him in the toilet and took my father to the city. By bus, because I didn't have a driver's license. I wanted to stimulate his senses, test if any memories would come back. He was fond of Our Lady's Cathedral, so that's where I wanted to take him."

Matthiaske, why am I crying?

He plays it out. The written version here is only a dead script compared to the lived-through performance, right there on that dark square, just around the corner of the Arenbergschouwburg, where Matthias made his stage debut as a 9-year-old boy next to father Julien, as The Little Prince.

Matthias shows how he supported his frail dad, and how they shuffled in small, careful steps towards the cathedral. Dad looking at the ground to be sure not to fall. "I say, 'Dad, look up'. He looks up, and I see the tears rolling down his cheeks. I had never seen my father cry. 'Matthiaske,' he says, 'can you tell me why I'm crying?'

"I had already decided then that I would take my father into my house. Overconfident, yes, at that age, but they have become the most beautiful years of my life. Mom came by every day to help. Suddenly we were a bit of a family again, something we had only been for a short time when I was young."

It was at that time that you decided to become an actor. Why did you decide to become an actor?

"I had always resisted following in my father's footsteps. In my youth I mainly wanted to break away from my father, and seek my own path. I didn't want to have anything to do with him and all those loudmouths around him in the theater world. But most of all I was terrified that compared to the great Julien Schoenaerts I would never be good enough.

"Only now do I understand why I then decided to go to the conservatory. Not to become an actor, but to understand my father. We had so many years together, and now that we had been given a second chance, I wanted to get to know him as well as possible. By acting, maybe I could get closer to him." (pauses)

Sentimental fuss

He banishes the tears. It's one of the many things he has in common with his father, he says: they're both very emotional, but they hate sentimental fuss. "Come on, Matthias: breathe," he commands himself.

"Voilà, see how much beauty can come out of misery. What a chain of beautiful things came out of the fight my mother and I put up in the most hopeless situation. Who knows how differently my life would have turned out?"

"There are so many lessons in that. If we just talked about the rehabilitation of detainees, for example. It takes commitment. Not a workshop of two hours. You have to persevere, even in the event of a setback, with no guarantee of a happy ending. That's why I think it's so important to keep telling that story about my dad. Those are the values I believe in: dedication, stamina, attention, love. You can apply that to everything in life. Love is the fuel."

You often talk about your parents as if you want to keep them alive with your words.

"Because my mom and dad are the people I've loved most. With them I shared the most important moments, built the most beautiful memories. That loss is enormous. Life has been really fucking tough since they've been gone.

"That's what grabs me so much in this period. How many people have died of corona in Belgium?"

According to Google, today, on the day of the interview, the counter stands at almost 14,000 deaths.

"Fourteen thousand! Imagine how many people that has an impact on? How many people have suddenly lost their mother, father, brother, sister, best friend or neighbor? Behind those figures lie tens of thousands of poignant stories, of people who see a loved one torn from their lives. That is a mountain of unresolved grief, and far too little attention is paid to it."

Earlier during our conversation a guy had walked past coughing and maskless. It pissed Schoenaerts off: "And whining about masks or strict measures. Grow some fucking balls. Having to say goodbye to a loved one, that's the worst thing."

"Isn't that what this period teaches us? That our time here is limited? And what really counts in life: sharing moments of beauty with the people you hold most dear. All the rest is wallpaper. Having success, making movies, that's all fun. But the day you lie on your deathbed, you really don't think about the professional successes on your resume. No way."

#matthias schoenaerts #interviews #misc #by us

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worldwidemochiguy · 4 years

Text

Reticence (soft! Yandere Hoseok)

Summary: You were always terrified of getting kidnapped when you were younger, and now that you’ve been taken by a man who claims to want to take care of you, you recede within yourself so far you refuse to even eat... but Hoseok is determined to let nothing hurt you, not even yourself.

Warnings: Kidnapping, kind of Stockholm syndrome, mentions of not eating so if you’re sensitive to that kind of stuff pls be careful <3 Yandere behaviour, though I am kind of romanticising it in this fic, please remember that that is all it is: Fiction. Obviously in real life this behaviour would be unacceptable and horrifying.

Word Count: 2.2K

Masterlist :)

a/n: my first hobi fic!!! this is for @kpopgirlbtssvt from a request made about a billion years ago (sorry :/ ) for made-for-each-other verse! Yandere Hobi with a shy reader who wouldn’t talk even though he begged her to, and then him coming home from work to her telling him she missed him and was glad he was home. this was a lil less fluffy and a lil more angsty than i intended, but its still a ‘happy ending’ bc im a weak bitch with simple pleasures, what can i say lmao

Reticence

“What do you want for breakfast, sunshine?”

Silence.

Hoseok sighed, then straightened up again, walking over to the refrigerator. You remained sat by the kitchen island, empty gaze fixed on the marble countertop.

“Omelettes it is, then!” He exclaimed with artificial excitement, trying to be cheery in the face of your taciturnity, but even the sunshiney optimist that was Hoseok was finding it more difficult than he expected. He had hoped that by now you would’ve accepted him, but you remained as quiet and unresponsive as the day he brought you home. Not that you thought of it as ‘home’ yet, but he hoped you would eventually. Hoseok was not a patient man, but he was willing to wait forever for you.

You didn’t even blink when he set the plate down in front of you. It didn’t seem like you were going to attempt to eat it either. Hoseok sighed. He could understand if you didn’t want to talk to him yet — even though it had been months and he’d been nothing but kind to you — but he drew the line at refusing to eat.

You had lost weight. The cute cheeks he loved to watch bunch up as you smiled were now sunken. Your beautiful figure which he had admired from afar was starting to become worryingly waif-like. Hoseok frowned, a crinkle between his brows forming for the first time as his usually exuberant features warped with agitation.

“Listen, Y/n-” Hoseok sat down at the kitchen island across from you, bracing his forearms against the table and leaning forwards. “You have to eat. I promise there’s nothing in it that could hurt you. Look, I’ll even eat it myself!” Hoseok carved out a small piece of the omelette and popped it in his mouth, exaggerating his chewing and swallowing. “See?” You offered no reaction, and Hoseok felt his disappointment join the omelette on its way down to his stomach.

“I can understand that you maybe aren’t so happy with me right now, but that doesn’t mean you have to punish yourself. Just, please, please stop shutting me out.” His pleading tone did nothing to move you. You just sat there like a ghost, and a groan of frustration slipped out of Hoseok.

“Please! I’m begging you! Just eat! I don’t understand, all I want to do is take care of you! All I want to do is love you, why won’t you accept me? Why won’t you even talk to me?”

The only sound was Hoseok’s harsh breaths after his outburst. If he couldn’t see the slow rise and fall of your chest, Hoseok would think you weren’t alive at all. He slumped in his seat, allowing himself to wallow in self-pity for a moment, before forcing himself to get up and ready for work. When he passed through the kitchen again on his way out the door you were still sitting there, staring at the countertop.

The front door banged shut, the sound echoing in the apartment. Then, silence. And then, very quietly, the noises of cutlery moving against a plate and chewing.

~~~~~~

“I don’t know what to do~” Hoseok whined, his head buried in his hands. Around him, his shocked friends were gathered in an informal circle. Each of them had an expression with varying degrees of surprise and confusion — they had never seen Hoseok, the literal personification of sunshine, so dismayed.

“It’ll be ok, Hoseok. I know it’s bad at the moment, but you just have to wait until she trusts you. Once you achieve her trust, you’ll both be the happiest you’ve ever been.” Taehyung reassured him. Taehyung was obviously the source of authority, since him and his wife were basically the perfect couple.

“But what if she never trusts me?” Hoseok fretted, before groaning again. “She won’t even eat! I don’t know what to do, I’m just watching her slowly starve in front of me and she won’t even look at me!” The rest of the group paused as they digested this new information. It seemed this girl was particularly stubborn.

“Force feed her then.” Jin shrugged and Hoseok’s head shot up in outrage.

“No! I could never hurt her like that!”

“You’re hurting her by letting her starve.” Jeongguk pointed out, and Namjoon smacked the back of his head, chastising. Meanwhile, Hoseok looked like he was about to cry.

“Listen, Hoseok, are you sure this girl is the one?” Jimin questioned, bracing his clasped hands on his knees.

“I know she is.” Hoseok replied with a conviction he rarely used. “The second she came into my life, it was like I was born again and she was the first thing I saw. The only thing I could see. Her face- God, it just… glows. She’s like sunshine. She’s an angel. She’s so beautiful and kind and fragile and I want to protect her from everything, and I don’t deserve her but no one else does either and I know we’re meant to be together. If I thought I could’ve let her go, I would have. But I can’t. I have to have her, she has to be mine.”

The circle of men was quiet for a second, before a quiet chuckle broke the silence.

“Well then,” Yoongi rasped, “if she’s all that you say she is-”

“She is.” Hoseok interjected fiercely.

“Then all you can do is have a little patience.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It was incredibly boring being kidnapped. Especially when your kidnapper did nothing interesting except make bad food and dance along to music from the TV surprisingly well and cry sometimes when you wouldn’t look at him. Frankly, it would have been easier if he were more of the torturey-type, because it was really hard to stay stubborn in the face of his sparkling eyes and radiant smile.

When you were younger, there was a poster up on the wall of your homeroom at school. On it was an old man with an ugly sneer and a beige trench-coat, with the slogan ‘DON’T TALK TO STRANGERS’ superimposed in glaring red letters. You used to stare up at the poster and wonder how anyone could be so stupid as to talk to someone who looked like that.

You were never afraid to yell ‘STRANGER DANGER’ at the highest decibel your little lungs could manage whenever a person brushed too close to you in the mall. It was almost a habit — you were avidly fixated on your own personal safety, much to your mother’s chagrin and public embarrassment. Being banned from all the surrounding stores within a 20 mile radius had two consequences:

You had to drive forty minutes for a new pair of socks.

You stayed at home a lot more than you went out.

You became a homebody, and it was certainly not something you were unhappy about. Staying safe in your room meant there was less risk for someone to kidnap you. The comforting layer of your blanket was a shield from everything bad in the world. When your parents were arguing constantly, screaming at each other every other night, you would just tuck yourself in and read a bedtime story on your own since they were both occupied. When your parents eventually divorced, you buried yourself under your duvet rather than answer their questions about who you wanted to stay with, and what your preference was. When your mom died in a car crash, and your dad started drinking, your mattress was the shoulder you could cry on, your blanket was a warm arm holding you close. You had always felt safe in your bed. Perhaps that was why you were having such an averse reaction to being taken from it.

Hoseok was not a man with an ugly sneer and a trench coat. He had an impeccable sense of style, and his smile was breathtaking on the few occasions that it appeared. You more often saw his face twisted into a pained grimace. For a kidnapper, he was awfully sensitive. You were pretty sure it was reasonable for you to be holding grudge, and it’s not as if you were actively fighting against him or anything. You were just refusing to acknowledge him. You were highly skilled at repressing things, or ignoring them, and you were resolved to do the same now.

By 7 o’ clock, your resolve was slightly eroded. Hoseok always arrived back at half-past 5 on the dot. He was a very punctual person, and you felt an unwelcome sense of worry curl along the edges of your mind as the clock counted away the seconds of him not being there. You remembered feeling the same way when you waited for your mom to pick you up from your dads, watching the clock hand sweep past the numbers, increasingly taunting. Of course, you hadn’t realised that she was at the time caught in between a lorry with a drunk driver and a very steep incline. You wondered if you were being similarly clueless now.

When the door clicked open at quarter to 9, you had to restrain yourself from exhaling in relief. Hoseok came in looking slightly disheveled, his collar undone and his hair mussed as if he had ran his hands through it over and over again. He gave you a quick once over to see if you were alright, shot you a small, forced smile and then went straight to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

That was odd. He never closed the door to his bedroom. He had always left it open in case you needed anything, despite your refusal to acknowledge him. First, his late arrival and now yet another uncommon action? You felt curiosity bubble within you. That was it. Curiosity. It’s not that you were at all worried about him, you were just being nosy. Of course.

You tiptoed towards the door, tracing a finger around the door frame lightly. What if he didn’t even come out again for dinner? You doubted he had dined out without you, he had been eating his meals sitting across from you while you refused to touch yours since the day he stole you. You really should check on him, if only for the fact that if he dies then you’re trapped here with a high chance of starvation.

Before you could convince yourself not to, you opened the door and stepped inside. The only light-source came from the moonlight filtering through the window, casting Hoseok’s form lying on the bed in a deep blue. His eyes, which you assumed had been closed previously, shot open to observe you as he propped himself up on the backs of his forearms.

“Y/n.” He rasped, and a pleasant shiver ran down your spine. “D-do you need anything?” His tone was both excited and confused, probably because you had literally never directly interacted with him before.

You didn’t speak, and for the first time your silence was due to speechlessness, rather than a conscious desire.

“I-I, uh,” You stuttered, and Hoseok sat up ramrod straight, hearing your voice for the first time. “You… were late home.”

Hoseok felt like he couldn’t breathe. Your voice was so soft and pretty, fuck, and you were actually looking at him, you were actually talking to him, holy shit- and you called the apartment home. You said he was late ‘home’. Hoseok somehow managed to keep his shit together.

“I was?”

“Yes.” You confirmed with a small nod of your head. Fuck, you were so cute. “You normally come back at half five. It’s almost nine now.”

“I’m sorry. I was working late.” He was staying at the office because he felt guilty for not taking proper care of you and wanted to avoid seeing the proof of your unhappiness, but you didn’t need to know that.

“It’s ok.”

You remained standing at the foot of the bed, locked in his gaze. The bed looked so comfortable, moulding to support his body, and his warm body was exactly the comforting presence you were searching for all those years ago and you found yourself asking,

“Can I sleep in the bed with you?”

It was a quiet, timid suggestion but Hoseok reacted to it like a bombshell. His eyes practically popped out of their sockets and his entire body tensed. You were about to rescind your offer when he reached out a tugged a corner of the blanket down, welcoming you into the warmth.

You awkwardly sat on the edge of the mattress, nudging off your house slippers with your toes before slipping under the covers. The relief was instantaneous, shrouded in comforting and familiar warmth, and you couldn’t stop yourself from plastering yourself against his side, arm reaching out tentatively to rest on his chest. You felt his muscles jump under your touch, before his arm slid under you and tucked around your shoulders, drawing you into him closer. You closed your eyes, letting out a quiet little sigh, and you let yourself say the words you wish you could’ve said all those years ago when your mother never returned.

“I’m glad you’re home. I missed you.”

#yandere bts #soft yandere bts #bts hoseok #bts jhope #bts hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #yandere hoseok x reader #bts imagines #bts fanfiction #bts fic #bts fanfic #jung hoseok

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nelllraiser · 3 years

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those magic changes | eddie & nell

TIMING: before nell was yoinked into the hellscape. LOCATION: gallows grove. PARTIES: @specterchasing & @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: eddie and nell have some much needed post-highschool catching up while a spawn tries to catch them up. CONTAINS: sucidal ideation (eddie’s general disregard for his life).

The Bend, also known as the bad part of town, also known as Eddie’s favorite part of town, looked particularly derelict the day he and Nell decided to meet up. The sun hung low overhead, threatening to swap places with the moon at any moment. Meanwhile, within the depths of the sewers, an especially hungry vampire awaited the transition with rapidly diminishing patience. His sire botched his shot at immortality, making him a mindless spawn but, what he lacked in brains, he made up for in brutality.

Eddie parked outside a stretch of abandoned homes only a few blocks away from the spawn’s location. He took a sweeping glance at his surroundings, but there was no one in sight. His hand slipped into his back pocket and retrieved his phone before texting Nell in search of an update.

[Text to Nellspawn]: It’s 7:46 and we agreed on meeting at 7:45.

[Text to Nellspawn]: If you hate me, say it to my face, coward. ):

Nell crept up to Eddie’s car like a cat, making not a single sound as she ducked below the side of it- for once grateful that she was shorter than was ideal. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she smirked as she read the illuminated words on the screen. In the blink of an eye she was jumping from her hiding spot into Eddie’s window, slamming the screen of her phone against the driver’s side window of Eddie’s car as she yelled out. “I got your text!” Hopefully he’d at least jump a little. Or maybe she’d be so lucky as to get a small little scream that she could mock him for.

Out of nowhere, Nell popped into Eddie’s peripheral vision and his heart leapt into his throat. He jumped in his seat, clutching his chest with wide eyes. “Holy fucking shit,” he breathed. As he gradually calmed down, his expression of terror turned into one of utter disdain. Eddie rolled down the window, glaring up at Nell. “Hey, could you do me a favor and stand in front of my car for a second?” he asked. “I promise I’ll make it quick.”

Nell practically cackled as she watched the fear very possibly shave a few years off Eddie’s life, sticking her tongue out at him through the window. “Surprise! I could tell you’re really happy to see me. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone look like that since the time I saw a toddler witnessing their first boggart going in on the peanut butter aisle of the grocery store.” Just in case he didn’t pick up on what she was insinuating, she made sure to rub it in. “Get it? I’m comparing you to a toddler. A small child.” Rolling her eyes she took a step back from the car door, giving him room should he choose to open it. “As if your car would stand a chance against me. I’m made of steel.” For a moment she flexed her arms in the classic pose, though you couldn’t begin to see anything past the looser sleeves of her jacket. There was simply something about seeing Eddie that made her feel as if she were as careless as the day she’d left White Crest. As if all the terrible things since then hadn’t come to pass. He was clean- a slate that wasn’t marred by being present for any of the atrocities of the past year or so.

Eddie willed himself to continue glaring at her, but the truth was that it felt good to hear her laugh again. Like most, Eddie viewed high school as hell on earth, but drama class with Nell gave him a sliver of hope to hold onto each day. “You’re three feet tall, you don’t get to call me a toddler.” Eddie rolled the window up and stepped out of the car. “It might take a few tries, but you know what they say about wills and ways,” he said, finally giving in to the urge to grin. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw her—graduation, maybe. Those years were more blurs than memories at this point. “Fuck it,” he said before taking a step closer and pulling her into a hug.

“I am not!” Nell stomped petulantly against the ground, not entirely helping her case. “I’m just saying if the toddler stroller fits you- who am I to argue?” Nevertheless her own grin was still bright on her lips, feeling lighter by the second the faster she and Eddie fell into old ways. It’d been..shit- it’d been almost six years, but it felt all too easy to pick up where they’d left off. “Yeah- they say Penelope Vural has the strongest will and the best ways, and no car’s ever gonna stop her.” Her laugh was lighter, less sharp as he stepped forward for a hug, and she embraced him back without hesitation. “I can’t believe you’ve gone soft on me, Carridine,” she teased before her gaze flickered over his shoulder to the nearby cemetery. “So you’re still stupidly bent on getting yourself snacked on in there?” One of the things that she and Eddie unfortunately had in common was that they were nearly impossible to sway once they’d made up their minds to do something idiotic. And she wasn’t keen to watch while White Crest swallowed up the friend she’d only just reunited with.

She hadn’t changed, not from what he’d seen so far. It felt like stepping out of a time machine and reliving a period in his life when the most pressing issues he faced revolved around timed tests and peer pressure. “It’s your fault for leaving me, Vural,” Eddie replied, giving her a tight squeeze before stepping back and shoving his hands into his jacket’s pockets. “It’s not stupid if you film it, then it’s art,” he said as he backed up a few steps closer to the rear door of his car. He turned on his heels and pulled the hand before ducking in to grab his filming equipment. “Besides, we might not even run into anything worthwhile,” he said with a shrug as he pulled the bag’s strap onto his shoulder.

The physical scars Nell had gained since seeing Eddie were tucked away under layers of clothing, always prone to the cold. Thankfully it seemed the scars on her soul had seen fit to fade into the background for the moment being as well, leaving her to freely bask in the warmth of Eddie’s company. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about going to cry in a Subway again,” she joked dryly, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m pretty sure that makes it more stupid, actually.” If this had been six years ago she most likely would have been all for diving headlong into a cemetery, and she’d still do that if it was only her going in. But there was another life at stake here as well, and it wasn’t one she was willing to risk. “Yeah- we’ll see.” She was too jaded at this point to feel optimistic about not running into something lurking in the cemetery, already knowing vampires loved to lurk in their shadows. She’d brought a stake just in case, more than ready for if things went south.

“Don’t knock it ‘till you try it,” Eddie advised in response to her comment about shedding tears in sandwich shops. His hand raised and mimicked a flapping jaw at her next comment. Whether or not his plans were stupid, it wouldn’t stop him. His already poor decision-making continued to deteriorate with each passing day. He told Bex he would be careful but, as much as he didn’t want to disappoint her, he didn’t know the first thing about showing caution. And, frankly, he showed no interest in learning. Eddie’s outlook on life made being alive out to be more of a chore than a priceless gift.

“You wanna do an intro for the channel?” he asked, digging out his camera. “Or did you somehow become the type of person who values anonymity?” Eddie’s brow raised at Nell as he walked passed her en route to the cemetery.

“No- I don’t think I’ll be trying it, thanks. I would, but it makes it a little hard since I have something called dignity. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t expect you to be familiar with the concept. I will keep knocking it, though,” Nell teased, that same playful glint still making a home in her eyes. “Wow!” The word was stretched out as long as she could make it last, offense plain to see in the way her eyebrows had raised towards her hairline. “I can’t believe you just admitted you don’t watch any of the TikToks I make for the newspaper. You think I’d be doing that if I valued anonymity?” She still wasn’t sure how she’d managed to land the job, reveling in the pay and benefits for the minimal amount of work she did.

“You’d be lucky to have me in your intro!” In another moment she was parroting the old intro she’d seen on his channel the times she’d tuned in, letting the words fall none too sweetly as she poked fun at him. She was pretty sure the camera wasn’t even out yet- but that didn’t have her hesitating.

“Dignity,” Eddie mused, sounding as if he were trying to dredge up the definition from deep within his memory banks. “You’re right, I’m drawing a blank. Is dignity the reason you got drunk at Hayden Dane’s house party and asked everyone for soap to appease the bathroom demon? Yeah, I don’t think I have that.” He shrugged all the way up to his ears. It didn’t occur to him that a demon actually did take up roost in Hayden’s bathroom, explaining why his house burned down two days later. Eddie knew a lot about ghosts and decidedly less about infernal imps.

“There’s a pretty big difference between newspaper TikToks and showing your face on a YouTube channel exposing White Crest’s supernatural underbelly,” he replied with a glance. “Most people don’t want to be associated with it. I actually watch your content all the time. It’s… kind of how I learned you were back in town and had been for a while.” A year of radio silence. No point acting like it didn’t sting a little.

At the sound of Nell repeating his old intro back at him, Eddie clutched his chest in despair. “No,” he whined, turning to face her again. “Let it stay dead, Nell. I’m not that person anymore.” The camera in his hand raised in her direction. “Here’s your chance at YouTube fame. If you embarrass me, I’ll get your house haunted.”

Nell rolled her eyes fondly at the memory of the little Bannik that she’d found in Hayden’s bathroom, having been utterly thrilled to stumble across a demon in her drunken state. It had been in the midst of her beginning to acquaint herself with the demon species and portals— so of course she’d been all too eager to find some soap for the little creature. “You’re lucky I was there to appease the bathroom demon. You all would have been long gone if it wasn’t for my quick thinking.” Were Banniks actually all that dangerous? Absolutely not. But Eddie didn’t need to know that.

“Mhm- White Crest’s supernatural underbelly,” she repeated dryly, still not all that pleased that Eddie had made it his life’s mission to single handedly crack open supernatural secrecy. “You know that’s a great way to get people killed, right? What you’re doing with your videos and stuff?”

Stepping through the threshold of the cemetery, Nell’s mouth was already propped open to give her next quip of a reply when a chill ran down her spine. Whether it was the product of being attacked from the shadows one too many times, or an actual premonition- she was suddenly quiet. She began to scan the tombstones with a sharp eye, as if something might be lurking behind them. Then...a low snarling sound, and Nell realized she’d been right to have come as Eddie’s personal bodyguard. “Shut up,” she hissed, already trying to pinpoint where the sound was coming from, a hand slipping one of her hidden stakes from its hiding place.

Eddie eyed Nell skeptically. “Uh-huh,” he uttered. The likelihood of Nell being right about the soap-loving fiend was actually pretty high, but Eddie didn’t care to admit that. He much preferred giving her a hard time, and the feeling seemed mutual enough to dissuade any guilt.

“You know what else is a great way to get people killed? Keeping them ignorant,” Eddie retaliated without missing a beat. “So long as I try to avoid outing individuals, I’m pretty sure I’m in the clear.” This was an argument he knew well, the beginning of it anyway. People didn’t usually bother trying to correct him once they knew how firmly he stood his ground. They saw him as a lost cause, he saw them as uninformed.

Nell seemed on-edge, which Eddie didn’t understand. As much time as he spent in graveyards, he never developed a sixth sense for danger. Mostly, out of lack of interest. “Yeah, that’s a great intro,” he deadpanned. The sight of a stake made him lower his camera. “What are you doing? Now’s not the time to showcase your Buffy cosplay.” He didn’t hear the growl over his own voice.

Nell had never backed down from a fight, argument, or otherwise in her entire life, her stubbornness and determination matching Eddie’s in a way that hadn’t been fully explored quite yet. After all, they’d agreed on most things in highschool, but as was often the case with the supernatural— things got far more complicated when it entered the picture, and relationships were no exception. So she was more than ready to fire back a retort before another growl pierced the night air, and she shushed Eddie once again. “I said shu-” But her words didn’t meet and end as the spawn finally leapt from the shadows taking advantage of her momentary distraction to begin its attack.

Rolling in a smooth and practiced maneuver, Nell clutched the stake like a lifeline in her hand staying low to the ground as she readied her magic should she need it. “Don’t move,” she gave Eddie another command as she tried to draw a large circle around the spawn with her footsteps. But the thing had taken one look at the stake in her hand and decided to go for the easier target. In the blink of an eye, the spawn had shifted course, turning towards Eddie with bloodlust in its eyes.

Eddie let out a startled laugh at the sight of the vampire, his usual reaction to imminent danger. He instinctively raised the camera as Nell momentarily outsmarted the beast. Asking her where she learned a maneuver like that would have to wait.

“Gonna have to deliberately disobey that order,” Eddie said once the spawn locked onto him. A familiar surge of adrenaline flooded his system and Eddie jouked to the right, an outstretched hand commanding a small cross to fly from a nearby grave into his grip. He was lacking in the faith department, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off,” he chanted as he waved it in the spawn’s direction.

The raising of his camera wasn’t lost on Nell, and she shook her head in disbelief as the spawn tore after Eddie. Really? Even now Eddie was trying to get a shot? “You can’t upload a video if you die, dumbass!” Nell yelled, already hot on the spawn’s trail while it flew after Eddie like a bat out of hell. Which...wasn’t actually all that terrible a description of the lesser vampire when Nell thought about it. At least her friend had enough sense to arm himself with some religious memorabilia, though the spawn had yet to spot it while being far too intent on having its next meal.

The creature was faster than Nell could have ever been without a hunter gene or otherwise, but thankfully she had her own tricks up her sleeve. Casting one of her oft-used spells when it came to fighting, her speed was instantly buffed, and she became a blur even quicker than the spawn. The burst was enough to get her on top of the spawn and send herself barreling into the side of it, trying to find purchase with her stake. She was by no means all that large of a projectile standing at only 5’2 and having a slight build, but the momentum she’d gathered was enough to shoot the spawn off its path. The spawn was quick to recover, snapping at the hand that held her wooden point and clamping its jaws down on her wrist. With a curse falling from her lips, the weapon was forced out of her hand.

“What the fuck?” Eddie exclaimed when a Nell-sized blur collided with the vampire. Questions piled up, giving him a reason to outlast the encounter. The spawn recalibrated with deadly quickness, and blood subsequently flowed from Nell’s wrist. As much as Eddie liked to pretend situations like this fit his laissez faire narrative, he couldn’t stand idly by while someone he cared about bled for his mistakes.

His camera hit the ground while his feet carried him to Nell’s side. With little regard for his own wellbeing, Eddie pressed the cross to the side of the spawn’s head. It sizzled against the wrinkled skin, sending the creature reeling backwards with a shriek.

“You dropped this,” Eddie said breathlessly as he floated the stake to Nell’s uninjured hand, hoping she would take hold of it. He stayed next to her, holding out the cross to hopefully keep the beast at bay long enough for Nell to plan out her next move. But it looked hungry and Eddie couldn’t imagine it had much patience.

Nell grimaced while she did her best to ignore the injured wrist, giving Eddie a grateful nod as she caught the stake he’d floated in her direction. She couldn’t deny that she was enthralled by the encounter with the spawn, and she would have been enjoying herself even more if Eddie hadn’t been involved in the crossfire. Not for the first time, she felt like she was back in the Ring, fighting for her life and the winnings of those who’d bet on her. She couldn’t deny that she missed the rush of battling for her life, and the roar of the crowd.

The cross move had been smart on Eddie’s part, and Nell supposed she should at least count herself lucky that he knew enough to know what had the ability to ward off vampires. “Just go-” she began to say, unwilling to risk Eddie’s life any further. She didn’t wait to see if he’d obeyed, once again rushing forward with a speed she shouldn’t have possessed. The stake in her good hand plunged forwards through the spawn’s chest, but her efforts were fruitless beyond making the creature even angrier. At the last second it’d darted to the side, shifting just enough for the point to miss its heart.

With a growl of frustration, Nell decided she was done with trying to hit a moving target. She kicked a leg into the air to hook it behind the thing’s head, using her momentum to swing herself up by the crook of her knee until she’d sat herself on the spawn’s shoulders, hands placed on either side of its head. “Just gotta bring the inside out,” she reminded herself as she gripped her magic tight. She could feel it’s sludge-like blood responding to her will as it’s head began to fill with more than it could hold. Pulling her hands from the creature’s head, she tugged on the blood she’d pooled, bursting the spawn’s head in an explosion of brains and viscera. With the remains of the spawn painting her front, she slipped from it’s twitching body, catching her breath while she looked to see where Eddie might have gone.

Nell told him to go, but Eddie couldn’t look away, let alone move. She climbed the vampire with precision and put a bloody end to it. He went momentarily slack-jawed. “What the fuck?” he breathed, sounding like a broken record. Eddie trudged towards Nell, remembering a final obstacle stood between him and the answers he wanted so badly. He placed the cross in his back pocket, making a mental note to return it to its rightful grave before they left, and reached out for her injured wrist.

“Can I take a look at it?” he asked timidly, wanting to make up for the harm he caused her. “Or do you have some kind of spell for that, too?” He eyed her curiously, fine with either answer. If she had a handle on her blood loss, he would need to figure out a new way to make tonight up to her, but he could work with that. “I think the best I can do is a band-aid, anyway.” He offered her an apologetic shrug.

Nell fixed Eddie with a disapproving look the moment she realized he hadn’t actually moved an inch since she’d told him to leave. “You know- usually the best way not to get killed is to listen to me.” Mindlessly, she let him take her wrist, not entirely having expected him to ask for it, but offering it nonetheless. Her head tilted in amusement as he mentioned spells, realizing he’d already pegged what was going on. “You mean you’re not buying the whole- I just got really buff after highschool or something like that?” To be fair she had gained more muscle, but it was of a leaner make than anything a bodybuilder might have.

“Well- it’s not really...a spell but-” As he eyed her wrist she willed the blood to clot where the skin had been broken, once again flexing her bloodkinesis as the wound scabbed over. “I can just do that for the most part. I never really learned a lot of healing.” She gave him a smile anyway, coming down from the high of the kill slowly but surely. “You can still put a band-aid on it though, if you want,” she teased, though thankful for his concern.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” Eddie replied flippantly. For Nell’s sake, he kept his indifference towards death light-hearted. Whichever way the wind blew, Eddie didn’t mind much. Either he lived another day, or he didn’t. In his opinion, both options seemed eerily similar. “We can play pretend, if you want, but I’d rather pick your brain about magic.” He knew another spellcaster, Bex, but she didn’t seem as advanced as Nell. “God, how did it take me this long to figure it out?”

Nell healed herself, in a sense, and Eddie’s eyes widened with delight. “So cool,” he said, catching her gaze again. “You don’t have to coddle me. I get it, you’re all tough and scary now. Way beyond band-aids.” As he spoke, he meandered back to the grave he’d stolen from and returned the cross with a quiet apology. Ghost or not, they deserved more respect than he’d given them.

Returning to Nell, Eddie knew better than to think they’d walk back to his car without a good lecture. “I’m fully prepared to be scolded now, by the way. Hit me with your best shot.”

Eddie might have thought his jokes about dying were landing decently, but Nell’s face didn’t so much as twitch into a smile as he spoke the words. After the last year...after the last six years she knew that death wasn’t a joke. She supposed it made sense that Eddie would have a skewed vision of it as a medium, but that didn’t mean she had to encourage him. Maybe he’d feel differently if he’d watched someone he loved die, woken up covered in her blood with her headless body lying next to him on the ground. Shaking her head to dispel the dark memory, she simply sent him another stern glare. “No fun in dying, really.” She wasn’t going to entertain his frivolity when it came to his life. But magic was easier to talk about, and something that wasn’t tainted by her trauma. Her voice grew lighter again, curious to know what he himself was curious about. “Sure- what do you wanna know? Or how much do you know already? It probably just took you so long cause you couldn’t see around your giant hair,” she teased, leaning on an old laugh.

Another little smile crossed her face while she watched his reaction to the magic, always thinking it endearing the reactions of those who were less acquainted with it. “Actually I’ve always been scary and tough, thank you very much,” she joked with a wrinkle of her nose— even though she’d gotten in more than her fair share of fights in highschool.

Picking up his busted camera from the ground, Nell thumbed some dirt from it’s lens before taking a closer look, trying to figure out if a simple repair spell might have it back in working condition. He’d asked for a lecure, and she was left wondering when she’d become the kind of person who doled them out. “This isn’t a game, Eddie,” she began seriously. She should have known the levity of the start of the evening wouldn’t last. Not in a place like White Crest. “You can’t just waltz into supernatural infested areas without protection. And you shouldn’t be doing it in the first place.”

Nell didn’t laugh, but that was nothing new. Eddie understood that most people took death more seriously than he did, and he knew they had their reasons. On the other hand, their solemnity didn’t invalidate his indifference. He preferred not caring, it made life easier. The subject-change suited him just fine, however. “The conditioner I use doesn’t help either, eats at the brain cells, y’know,” he said, going along with her joke. “I’ll be honest, I don’t know much. Magic’s fascinating, but I’ve always been satisfied with the whole telekinesis thing, so I didn’t do much digging. So, feel free to talk to me like I’m an idiot, not that you need my encouragement,” he teased.

“Taking on a vampire is a little different than maiming Cindy S,” he playfully corrected her. Eddie knew Nell had never been a push-over, but this was groundbreaking as far as he was concerned.

As expected, she provided words of warning. He nodded along absently, his eyes fixed on the camera in her hands. If he kept up at this rate, he wouldn’t be filming for much longer, anyway. Lack of equipment meant lack of content. “And, why is that?” he asked curiously when she finished bending his ear. He figured he knew the reason, or at least the jist, but he wanted to give Nell the benefit of the doubt. Maybe, her reasoning wouldn’t be as boring as everyone else’s.

“We both know that’s a lie because you don’t have any brain cells to eat,” Nell commented dryly, wishing they could have stayed in the sun of their earlier conversation, the lightness of it having been reminiscent of simpler days. But these weren’t simpler days anymore, and apparently the spawn and whatever bullshit this town would toss out next hadn’t wanted her to forget that for more than the half an hour it’d taken for her and Eddie to get here and get into the cemetery. “You know telekinesis is basically just another form of magic,” Nell supplied, remembering saying something similar to Blanche. An ache of longing shot through her as she thought of her best friend, wishing they could be physically closer, but knowing that Whtie Crest had essentially sapped the flush from her friend’s cheeks, and the joy that was meant to color them. “It’s cool you can work with it though since not all mediums can.” She assumed he knew as much. “But magic…it’s built on a few core things...intention, will, focus…” She didn’t know if this was the best place for the conversation the more she looked around. For all they knew there could be another spawn lurking, or a fully fledged higher vampire who was thirsty. “We should talk about this somewhere else, though.”

“Cindy S fucking deserved it,” Nell joked in reply, honestly having half forgotten the way she’d broken the snotty girl’s nose while in highschool until Eddie brought it up. “And she was already halfway to being a bloodsucker with the way she acted.”

Nell’s annoyance grew as he seemed more preoccupied with the camera than herself. “You’re not even pretending to listen,” she accused, the displeasure plain in her voice. “Because you’re either gonna end up dead or have someone else end up dead or get hurt.” She waved her wrist as a reminder, not above using it in a moment like this. “And maybe you don’t mind being a ghost, but it’s not fucking fun for the people who care about you.”

Hearing Nell refer to something he possessed an innate knack for as ‘magic’ brought a grin to Eddie’s face, a grin that grew larger when she called attention to how rare of a gift it was. Telekinesis wore him out more often than not. Even now, he felt the dull throb of an oncoming headache making itself known. But, despite the pain and exhaustion, Nell’s opinion made him feel proud. “Yeah, it can be a little tricky,” he admitted, thinking back to Willow propelling him across her living room. “Right, right, totally. Time and place, I gotcha.” Eddie wouldn’t have minded loitering in the cemetery until daybreak, but Nell was the one recovering from a vampire bite.

“Yeah, well, all busting her face accomplished was convincing her parents to let her get a nose-job.” Eddie pursed his lips at the resurgence of long-ignored memories. Present day left a lot to be desired, but nothing could convince him to relive high school.

Eddie opened his mouth to assure Nell he usually went on these adventures alone, but her next comment caused him to immediately slam his jaw shut. His brows knitted together as he considered her. He wanted to argue, to insist that no one cared about him enough for it to matter. He would’ve used her as an example, calling attention to how long it took her to reach out to him. If people cared so much, they would act like it, and he wouldn’t feel so alone. But, admitting to feeling that way would’ve made him sound pathetic.

“I’m not gonna die, don’t be so dramatic,” he said, turning away to start walking towards his car. “I’ll try to be more careful.” Eddie hoped she wouldn’t call his bluff. “Do you need a ride?” he asked over his shoulder, eager to change the subject.

“A new nose job, and the satisfaction of leaving me and my friend alone,” Nell jokingly corrected. Cindy had been one of the ones to make fun of Blanche and the way she seemingly spoke to herself at times when addressing a ghost. She wasn’t necessarily proud of the temper she’d had in highschool, and referring to it as past tense was most likely generous— but she liked to think she’d improved from the even more violent youth she’d been. Besides, she’d break someone’s nose for Blanche any day.

“You don’t know that,” Nell rebutted instantly, still annoyed at how lightly Eddie seemed to be taking everything. “You know White Crest loves to eat people up and spit them out.” How many people had gone missing or been killed in their highschool class alone? Too fucking many. Perhaps she was leaning a little too hard on her personal feelings when it came to the matter, tired of watching people she cared about die, but if it made Eddie live another day she wasn’t opposed to tough love. “There’s a thousand and one things out there that could kill you, and you’re throwing yourself at all of them. I’m not being dramatic.”

After years of separation, Nell couldn’t tell if his words of being more careful were sincere or something he’d said to placate her, but she figured this was another conversation they shouldn’t have in the middle of the cemetery with beasts potentially lurking in the shadows. “I’m not done with you,” she clarified, not wanting him to think he’d gotten out of this. “But I’ve got my bike that I need to take home. Thanks for the offer, though.”

White Crest’s history didn’t bother Eddie. He coped with his surroundings by romanticizing how capricious the town was rather than fighting against the inevitable. When people questioned him, he often wondered what made them so certain they knew how he should live his life better than he did. Whatever it was had yet to be explained to him in understandable terms. He didn’t want to argue with Nell anymore.

“I said I’ll try to be more careful,” he reiterated.

Eddie stopped when Nell politely turned down his offer and turned to face her. It only felt right to pay proper attention to their goodbye. “Don’t mention it,” he deflected. “It was good seeing you again, Nell. Fingers crossed, next time will be a little cozier.”

#// BLESS FRANKIE for being so goOD #ch:eddie #wickedswriting #chatzy #those magic changes #suicide tw

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bnhayyy · 3 years

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The Call (2)

Chapter Title: Teamwork

Wordcount: 4.7k

Fic Tag: Click

Ao3 Link: Click

Notes: See end of fic.

Chapter Summary: Mikasa has a conversation with Annie, and Annie has a conversation of her own.

"The slayer," Mikasa repeated, disbelief flat on her tongue. She let go of the woman’s - Annie’s - hand and took a step back. "I'm the slayer."

"I thought you might be," the woman - Annie - said. "That's why I came here. I thought-"

"No," Mikasa cut her off, already shaking her head. "There's only one slayer at a time. You're..."

A lie. An imposter. Impossible. Mikasa took another step back, forcing her feet into a more solid stance despite the fresh wave of protest from her injured ankle.

"I'm telling the truth," Annie insisted. She drummed her fingers against her stake as she spoke, as if its mere presence somehow landed her words credence. "A new slayer is called when the old one dies. Normally that would mean that there's only one at a time, but..." Her lips pressed together. Now it was her turn to look suspicious. "I suppose I'm the one who should be asking questions," she finished.

"She's right," a voice said from behind her, soft, contemplative, maybe even a touch mournful.

She didn't need him to remind her of that. The thought was already dancing around within her, forming a lump in her throat and clawing at the backs of her eyes. Nonetheless, Eren whispered, "you died, Mikasa. Remember?"

Of course she did. The memory had been lapping at her heels for the past several days, relentlessly haunting her in those few moments that she laid down to sleep. It had been easy to brush it off as a combination of guilt and exhaustion. Now, however... Erwin had told her that slayer's dreams tended to be more meaningful than most. She had assumed that it didn't apply to memories, but as she stared Annie down, she wondered if she might have been drowning in her dreams for a reason.

Assuming that Annie was telling the truth.

"Who's your watcher?" Mikasa asked, not daring to drop from her stance or come any closer.

Annie blinked. "Watcher?"

"From the watcher's council," Mikasa pressed.

"Oh." Annie frowned. "I didn't... know that was a thing."

Mikasa pursed her lips. In theory, that probably shouldn't have boded well, but... Erwin had found her less than three months ago, even though she had been called years before that. Everything she knew about being the slayer prior to his arrival had been cobbled together from encounters with various demons after she was called. That much, there had been no denying.

The council was supposed to guide the slayer and help combat against the forces of darkness, but they had already failed once. What were the odds that the council would have found a second slayer when they had no idea that they were even looking for one?

Had the council really been so incompetent that they left her to go through the same thing as her?

Mikasa's expression remained guarded and unreadable as she continued. Meanwhile, Annie was visibly trying to do the same, but she couldn't quite hide the whisper of anxiety making its way against her expression. Eventually, she broke and asked, "will your watcher help treat your injuries?"

He would if she went to him.

She didn't want to. That wasn't Annie's business though.

"Does it matter?" Mikasa asked. As she spoke, she went to shift her stance a little, her muscles growing stiff from being trapped in the same position for so long. That was a mistake. She was hit by a fresh wave of dizziness from her head and discomfort from her ankle, causing her to stumble a few centimeters. It was a very slight misstep, but Annie caught it, her lips dropping into a slight frown.

"You're dead meat out here in this state," Annie said. "If they won't, then let me help you."

Mikasa stiffened. She turned her head, almost imperceptibly - just enough to catch a glimpse of Eren lurking a few paces behind her. He hadn't been there to watch the vampire go for her, but he was here now. Did that mean that some part of her sensed that she was out of danger? Or had he showed up because the real threat had only just arrived? Even if she was a slayer, it didn't mean that she was to be trusted. It didn't mean-

"I don't know what you should do," Eren confessed, stepping forward and looking Mikasa in the eyes. The eye-contact was brief and promptly broken off by Mikasa. As she shifted her gaze back to Annie, she thought her peripheral vision caught the whisper of some expression flickering across his face. He continued on in spite of it. "But if she planned on hurting you, I think-"

He went silent as Annie spoke, seemingly finishing his line for him. "If I was going to hurt you, I would have done it already." She paused, gaze intensifying as she looked Mikasa up and down. "I wouldn't have had to do anything. You've already taken care of that by going out in your state."

Mikasa bristled. She knew that Annie was right, painful to accept though it may be. That wasn't the thing that pushed against her nerves. It was that this woman - her apparent savior - felt the need to go ahead and point that out.

"So why did you?" Mikasa asked, voice short and clipped. "Why are you here?"

Annie answered immediately, her voice earnest despite the hint of discomfort. "Because we're both slayers," she said. "The only ones in the world, presumably." She gave a bitter smile and held her hands up placatingly, one thumb pressed down to keep her stake held in place. "I'm not saying we need to be friends, but our lives will probably be a whole lot easier if we help each other out."

It made sense. If there truly were two slayers, then in theory, they could bear to lighten their loads by half. Or do a whole lot more. But that would require both of those slayers staying alive. It made sense, and yet, Mikasa hesitated.

To her credit, Annie caught on quickly. She lowered her hands with a heavy sigh. "I'll answer any questions you have at my place," she said. "But not here, with you half dead."

Mikasa gritted her jaw.

At the edge of the vision, she saw Eren step up to stand beside her. "Mikasa, I know you're strong, but you're not invincible," he said. "You need help."

I know, she didn't say, even though she knew that she did, at least for tonight.

Instead, she unclenched her jaw, took a deep breath, and said, "fine."

***

The journey to Annie's house was silent. She didn't offer to help Mikasa walk, for which she was glad. It was already bad enough that she had noticeably slowed her pace to accommodate her limping.

"We're here," Annie murmured, coming to a halt in front of an unobtrusive little house placed on a street corner. A street corner that was only two blocks away from the cemetery. Mikasa frowned, unable to decide if the location was smart for its convenience or foolish for its risk. The frown deepened when, after a short walk up to the patio, Annie opened the door quickly and easily.

"You don't lock your door?" Mikasa questioned.

Annie shrugged. "No need."

Mikasa pursed her lips. Potential reasons for Annie's viewpoint flew through her head; she'd certainly considered them herself a few times. A slayer should be able to deal with any intruder. The odds of a home invasion were unlikely. If some thing truly wanted to get in, a mere lock wouldn't be enough to stop it. She had considered them many a time, wondered if she was just being paranoid.

Those considerations never changed her actions. She still kept her door locked, regardless of whether she was home or not. Even if it didn't stop whatever was trying to get in, it could slow them down. That was important. It was important to remember that every moment counted. It was important to remember that slayers were strong, but they weren't infallible, and with that strength came a target painted on their back.

It wasn't even just slayers. Normal people could stand to be a little safer too. Home invasions were rare in Paradis, but they did happen.

Not that Annie seemed to care.

She strode through the entryway, either unaware of Mikasa's displeasure or simply failing to care. As Mikasa bristled, the phantom that had followed them all of the way there stepped in ahead of her. "Give her a chance," Eren urged. "You haven't really met her yet."

What I've seen so far doesn't seem worth knowing, Mikasa thought. Nonetheless, she moved to follow Annie into the house, hesitating for a moment at the doorway, then walking right through Eren when he didn't get out of the way quickly enough.

It would probably be easier if she just let it slide. And yet...

"You should sti-" Mikasa's words evaporated as she followed Annie into the kitchen. There was a person in there. A tall man about their age, sitting slumped over at the island, reading a book. He looked comfortable. Not an intruder, no, he looked like-

The stranger looked up. "Annie," he called, eyes glittering with excitement that turned into concern as he noticed Mikasa. They met eyes, and Mikasa's confusion deepened. She'd seen this guy around before. Only a few times, and only at night. Quite frankly, she'd entertained the thought that he was a vampire last time she saw him. His general nervous and soft-spoken demeanor was what had made her second-guess her assessment. A good thing, she supposed, because that was looking very much impossible now. Assuming that she was right, assuming he actually-

The stranger turned his gaze back to Annie. "Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Bertolt, get the first aid kit," she said, a hint of a sigh in her voice.

The man - Bertolt - stood up with a nod and scurried out of the kitchen. Annie walked over to the island and set down her stake. Eren wandered over to lean against the stove, idly taking in his surroundings. Meanwhile, Mikasa just stood there and stared. This woman claimed to be a slayer, and yet...

"You live with someone?" Mikasa demanded, her voice suddenly returning to her.

"Of course," Annie said. "I couldn't afford to pay the rent myself."

"And does he-"

"-Know?" Annie interrupted. "Of course." She leaned against the island and crossed her arms, preemptively daring Mikasa to challenge her. "Bertolt and Reiner have been with me since I first got my powers."

Mikasa gaped. Meanwhile, Annie stared, not quite judgemental, but certainly assessing.

"Is your watcher the only one that knows about you?" Annie asked.

"No," Mikasa admitted. "But there were mitigating circumstances."

Annie raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that there weren't with me?"

Mikasa pursed her lips. "That's not the point," she said. The point was that she avoided living with anyone, even though it meant that she couldn't afford more than a tiny apartment. The point was that she took measures to make sure that no one was truly dragged into her world. The point was that she didn't dare let Armin close enough to truly consider him her friend - or for the rest of the world to notice. "What you're doing is dangerous."

"And striking off on your own isn't?" Annie countered. As she spoke, Bertolt returned, carefully placing the first aid kit on the island and nervously glancing between them. Annie didn't so much as pause. "There are benefits to having a team."

"Do they help you?" Mikasa asked. The idea was preposterous. Annie might have been a slayer, but her roommates certainly weren't. The very demons that she could go toe-to-toe with would turn them into mincemeat. "You're putting their lives at risk."

"Maybe sometimes," Bertolt piped up. He had migrated over to a corner and was leaning against a wall of cupboards, fidgeting awkwardly. "But she's also saved our lives plenty of times too. Maybe we can only help her a little, but that's still something. And, well, I'd rather know the truth and be able to do something about it." He paused, and something in his gaze seemed to harden. "Especially since if anything happens to her, it means that everyone will be a lot less safe."

"They have a point," Eren mused.

They might have. Mikasa's head was reeling too much to really think about it right now. She thought it was because of what they were saying, but judging from the myriad of concerned and alarmed looks she received in that instant, she supposed it may have been the head wound.

"Come here," Annie said, reaching for the first aid kit.

With a small sigh, Mikasa obliged.

Once she was within reach, Annie took Mikasa and guided her onto one of the stools surrounding the island. Her touch was gentle yet firm.

Mikasa watched out of the corner of her eye as Annie opened the first aid kit and opened a packet of antiseptic wipes. She was prepared for it, yet couldn't quite refrain from wincing when Annie took one of the wipes and carefully dabbed at her head wound. The blonde didn't apologize, but she did pause for a second before slowing down in her ministrations. Before long, the first wipe was bogged down with blood and she had to reach for another.

They sat in silence this way for several minutes, Annie tending to Mikasa's wound while Bertolt and Eren stood by, human and illusion both equally unobtrusive. It was shattered by Annie saying, "the person that knows about you. It's Armin, right?"

Mikasa went stiff as a board, the distrust and alarm bells that had begun to fade from her mind making a striking return. Annie noticed and took a cautious step back, which Mikasa took as an opportunity to give her a long look, searching for any sign of deceit. She hadn't mentioned Armin to Annie. She had been very careful not to mention Armin to her, not to anyone. How could she-

"Armin mentioned her earlier," Eren remarked.

At the same time, Annie said, "Armin and I study together. He's mentioned you a few times, and you don't seem like the type to have many friends. That's all."

"Oh." Slowly, the alarms in Mikasa's head began to fade. The surprise meant that they lingered to some degree, but now that she'd been reminded, she recalled that Armin had mentioned an Annie. It added up in that sense. Annie's own conclusion, while a little insulting, was also accurate. Mostly. "He's not a friend," Mikasa murmured, allowing her gaze to drift down toward the floor.

"Right," Annie said, the corner of her lips twitching upward. "Too dangerous."

Mikasa sighed. "Are we done here, or..."

That got Annie and Bertolt to pipe up at the same time. The latter started to say, "you're still really-" only to cut himself off when he realized that Annie was also speaking.

For her part, Annie sighed and allowed her gaze to drift upwards for a moment. It wasn't quite an eye roll, but Mikasa got the distinct sense that she was tempted. "No," she said. "Not yet."

With that, they lapsed into the same silence as before; at least for a little while. As Annie was setting aside the final wipe and reaching for a tube of antiseptic ointment, the room was shaken by the distinct sound of a door opening. Mikasa's attention snapped to the entryway, and within a way moments, a large blond man walked by

"Reiner," Eren murmured in the same instant that the newcomer paused and peered into the kitchen. His eyes met Mikasa's, and for the third time that night, she found herself surprised by a familiar face. He was the guy from her trigonometry class, the one who sat next to Annie and liked to pester her.

She supposed it made sense. Annie didn't seem like someone with a bunch of friends either.

The newcomer - Reiner, if Eren was to be trusted - took a step further into the entryway. Eyes still trained on Mikasa, he said, "you're-"

"Yes," Annie interrupted. Now that Reiner had shown himself, she seemed content to return her attention to what she was doing. She didn't even bother looking up from the bottle of ointment she was opening as she spoke.

Reiner nodded slowly. "Right. And she's-"

"Yes." Annie squeezed some of the antiseptic onto her fingertips and carefully dabbed it onto Mikasa's wound.

This new distraction made it easier for Mikasa to avoid wincing this time. "They know about me as well?" she demanded.

"Of course," Annie said, voice flat. "We help each other."

Mikasa frowned, but didn't press the subject. If Annie was completely sold on involving her cohorts, fine. There was a more important question at hand, a question that she'd let wait for too long. "How did you find out about me?"

"Demons talk," Annie said. "I got a lot of comments about how I'm impossible and the slayer is supposed to be in Paradis." She closed the tube of antiseptic, set it back in the first aid kit, and began rummaging for the bandages.

"This is impossible," Reiner said. He walked over to lean against the counter beside the oven - inadvertently taking a place beside Eren, who was eyeing him contemplatively. "Everything we found about slayers said there's only supposed to be one at once." He frowned and crossed his arms. "Granted, it wasn't much," he conceded, "but it all said that a new slayer is only called when the old one dies."

"I died," Mikasa said, voice empty, refusing to let herself feel what she was saying. There was no avoiding this. At least she could get it over with sooner rather than later. "The EMTs revived me. But for a few minutes, I was dead."

Reiner's frown deepened. He looked for all the world like he wanted to say something else, but Annie shot him a look, and the expression fell away. He sighed, and a sympathetic one took its place. "I'm sorry you went through that," he said.

"Thanks," Mikasa murmured.

"Well," Bertolt interjected, the anxiety clear in his voice, "it's good that you know about each other now, at least. Maybe you can work together?"

He was right. Mikasa knew he was right. Two slayers had to be better than one, and the logical thing would be for them to help each other. However, the thought of committing to working with this woman she'd just met still made her pause.

Thankfully, Annie spoke up before she had to. "Don't make any assumptions," she warned Bertolt. Even so, as she turned back around to face Mikasa, bandage in hand, she gave her a brief, hopeful look; a reminder of her earlier offer.

Mikasa sighed. "I'll think about it," she said.

"That's all we can ask," Bertolt said.

Annie didn't comment. She opened up the package of the large bandage she was holding and brushed Mikasa's hair out of the way before gingerly pressing its edges down around the cut on her temple. This, she noticed, was less uncomfortable than cleaning her wound or applying the ointment. It was almost soothing.

With her head wound taken care of, Annie returned to the first aid kit and pulled out a roll of beige adhesive gauze wrap. Mikasa took the cue to extend her injured leg. Annie crouched down before her and deftly removed her shoe. Mikasa frowned, but didn't comment, a little embarrassed that she hadn't thought to do it herself.

Compared to the near-hesitancy with which she'd dressed the wound on her head, Annie was surprisingly quick and effective at wrapping her ankle. "You're good at this," Mikasa remarked.

Reiner laughed. "She should be! Annie hurt herself all the time as a kid."

"Reiner," Annie warned, standing up and shooting him with a flat look.

This time, her attempt at intimidation didn't have much effect. "It's true."

Annie frowned, Reiner's grin widened, and Mikasa couldn't help but stare. It was odd seeing a slayer interact with someone like this. Someone she had a personal history with, someone she was friends with. It was dangerously tantalizing for all that it was foreign.

Mikasa pulled her gaze away. "I should get going," she said.

"Are you sure?" Bertolt asked, shooting a glance at her ankle. "Annie or I could drive you."

"I only live a few blocks away," Mikasa said. She was aware that it wasn't entirely true, that the distance was probably closer to a mile and a half from this distance, but she wasn't about to say that. "It's been long enough that I should be able to walk that far." This much was true. The walk would agitate her ankle a bit, sure, but the wrap would minimize additional damage, and what she incurred would likely heal while she slept.

Annie looked hesitant, but eventually nodded.

Taking that as her cue to go ahead and leave, Mikasa stood up and took a few steps, then paused just as she was about to leave the kitchen. It took a few seconds to get the words out, but she eventually managed, "thank you. I'll see you later."

She left before any of them could respond.

***

The household was quiet for several minutes after Mikasa's departure. They all lingered in the kitchen, staring at the doorway, as if the slayer might pop back up at any second.

Finally, Reiner tilted his head back and sighed. "She's gone." He shifted to peer at Bertolt, then Annie, the unspoken 'we can speak' in his gaze.

Annie frowned. "Are you so confident that your hearing is better than a slayer's stealth?" she asked.

"I'm confident that she doesn't seem like the type to stick around and eavesdrop," he said.

"She seemed... sincere," Bertolt said. Annie almost wanted to snort upon hearing it. The impulse faded completely with his next words. "It kinda sucks that we have to..."

"Kill her?" Reiner interjected.

Unlike Bertolt, Annie managed to refrain from frowning. Even so, Reiner gave both of them a long look before pointing out, "that's the job." His voice was light and cheerful, carrying all of the ease that she and Bertolt lacked, like he was talking about getting groceries rather than killing a slayer. It crawled under her skin and made her want to try and claw it out.

That wouldn't do anything. Instead, she went for the itch that she actually had reason to scratch.

"A job that you're making harder," Annie snapped. She stood up a little straighter and walked over to stand in front of Reiner. "You didn't need to kill Mina."

"I was hungry. I weighed down her body and dropped it in the rider, so it's not like we'll get any trouble from it," Reiner defended. "Besides..." He paused, his eyes meeting Annie's. The casual air he had been maintaining dropped into something far more grave and serious. "You seemed like you were getting attached."

Annie bristled. In that second, she was tempted to call Reiner out for hypocrisy. He was ten times more social than she was; if anyone might endanger the mission through attachments, it was probably him. The trouble was that it wouldn't work, because it wasn't true. Reiner was a soulless bastard who could probably turn on his so-called friends at the drop of a penny without any trouble at all.

Then again, maybe it was unfair of her to blame his behavior on his lack of a soul. Bertolt didn't have a soul either; no vampire did. Bertolt didn't put on the same friendly act as Reiner, but he still managed to be less impulsive and cruel at the end of the day.

Maybe Reiner was just an overconfident, hypocritical jackass by nature.

There was no point in calling out Reiner's hypocrisy, so Annie settled for glaring at him and saying, "I've told you plenty of times that I don't care about anyone here that much."

"I'm just being careful."

"No, you're making excuses to be greedy."

Bertolt stepped out of his corner, a flicker of worry on his face. "Guys, do we have to fight about this?" he asked.

Annie gave him a long, tired look, which quickly turned into one of agitation when Reiner held his hands up and said, "hey, I'm not the one who's fighting."

"I'm not fighting," Annie ground out, slowly turning her gaze back to Reiner. "I'm saying that you're being stupid. You want to hunt on campus? Fine. But if you keep killing people we interact with, people will get suspicious no matter how much time you spend in the sunlight."

"She's right," Bertolt tentatively interjected. Reiner shot him a frown, and he quickly amended, "I'm not saying that you're stupid. But we can't afford to take too many risks." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I'm already worried about how we're going to hide my nature from the slayer. Maybe we should have come up with some sort of story."

"Like what?" Annie asked.

"Maybe we could say that I was cursed with a soul or something?" Bertolt mused.

Reiner laughed. "A vampire with a soul? How lame is that."

"It's happened before," Bertolt protested. "Although, I'm not sure if I'd be able to pull it off. It's supposed to be pretty emotionally devastating..."

"It's still ridiculous." Reiner shook his head, then waved his hand - and the ring that adorned it. "If it comes down to it, I'll just let you borrow the gem. Make sure that she sees you in the sunlight a few times and you're set."

"You're lucky to have that thing," Annie grumbled.

"I am," Reiner acknowledged. He stood up a little straighter and gave her and Bertolt a serious look, clearly trying to play the role of inspiring leader. Fun. "But we're going to need more than luck to pull this off. We need the slayer to trust us, and I doubt she's going to make that easy."

"I think we're off to a good start," Bertolt said. "She seems pretty isolated, but Annie did a good job trying to convince her she'd be better off with a team."

Annie frowned, but didn't bother pointing out that Bertolt had done most of the work. Meanwhile, Reiner blinked in surprise.

"Annie? Talking up teamwork?" He let out a bark of laughter and shook his head. "I'd pay to see that."

"Then pay," Annie said. "What I want to know is why we didn't just take her by surprise. I could have taken her out tonight if we did that."

Oh, Annie knew fully well what Reiner's convoluted logic was. They had been over this several times before. That didn't mean she didn't see the benefit in making him run through it again, just on the off chance that he might change his mind about this whole charade. She couldn't say that she felt very bad about inconveniencing him with it either.

Alas, Reiner didn't seem particularly perturbed to repeat himself for what had to be the seventh time. If anything, he looked a little smug to hear his plan out loud once more.

"Slayers know to expect attacks from strangers," Reiner said. "Unless we're able to kill her immediately, the element of surprise wears off after the first attack. But if she trusts us first? Even if she survives the initial assault, that will slow her down for a while.

"Bertolt, you're right in that you'll need to be cautious. You can help when you get the opportunity, but until it's time to act, Annie and I will need to do most the of work. As long as she doesn't find out about the Gem of Amara, I can keep her from finding out that I'm a vampire; she'll have no reason not to trust me. And Annie. Even with the state she was in, she might have escaped if you tried to take her out tonight. But if you're able to get close to her first?" Something akin to appreciation flickered in Reiner's eyes as he paused, mingling with the excitement that was oozing off of him. She ignored how it made her stomach twinge. "You're a slayer. She won't stand a chance."

Annie allowed herself to think of the strong, cold, sad woman she met today. Of how she had seemed so convinced that she had to be alone, of the flicker of hope that had shown through the distrust.

"You're right," Annie admitted. "She won't."

*****

End Notes: Alright, so. Pre-emptively, I know that Reiner is pretty OOC in this chapter. He's my favorite character in the series, so believe me, I am Aware. They are in-story reasons for this, some of which are tied to Buffyverse vampire lore and some of which will be unveiled as the story progresses. Hopefully, the payoff will be worth it in the end, but for now, all I can do is ask you to trust me when I say that I have plans.

For now though, hold on tight. Erwin gets properly introduced to the story next chapter, as well as a few other characters.

#mikannie #mikasa ackerman #annie leonhardt #annie leonhart #eren jaeger #bertolt hoover #reiner braun #snk #attack on titan #snk fic #my fic #my writing #the call #btvs au

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