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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Note

Can i please request a fluff with rengoku + 19, 27,29 🤧 (please let him survive in this one, i've been seeing lots of fics where d-word, i want him to be happy, grow old, train tanjiro, marry, and have as much kids as he want)

DELIVERY! (Rengoku has been in my head RENT FREE for WEEKS.)

Right Here: Kyojuro Rengoku x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.2k

tw: fluff

masterlist

“Lady Rengoku,” you hear at the door of your studio, and you turn back to face the attendant, mid-brushstroke.

“Yes?” you breathe, wondering what news she brings so early in the morning.

“Master Kyojuro has returned,” she replies, and you dunk your brush in the water pail.

“Is he well?” you wonder, wiping your fingers on your towel. When the woman doesn’t answer, you eye her carefully.

“Miss, he--” You march out of your studio quickly, dropping the towel and running as fast as you can. You dash past Inosuke, Tanjiro, the yellow-haired boy, and Nezuko, panting as you make it to the Butterfly Mansion’s infirmary.

“Tengen,” you wheeze as you stop. “Where is--”

“Inside.” He thumbs past the doors, and you walk inside, where you see Rengoku on a bed covered in blood.

“Kyo,” you whisper, squatting next to his bed. He groans, opening one eye slowly before looking over you. “Kyo, speak to me.”

“You’ve been painting,” he murmurs, trying to smile. He fails and grunts softly, bringing his hand up to his ribs.

“Don’t… don’t…” you whisper, tears rolling down your face.

“I’m okay,” he finally replies, wincing. “Young Kamado and his friends brought me here just in time.” He begins to cough, spitting up blood in his hand, and you rush to grab a towel to wipe his face. As you tenderly pat his skin, Kyojuro hums softly, closing his eyes. “You’re so sweet to me, my love.”

“Hey,” you begin. “You need to keep your eyes open. Just a little longer for me. Okay, Kyo?” Kyojuro nods in response, fluttering his golden eyes back open and reaching up to touch the hand resting on his face.

“I must be blessed beyond measure to have an angel like you attending to me.” You laugh in response, his words harkening back to the day you two first met. “We have to stop meeting like this…” He tries to laugh, but he groans instead, holding his ribs again. An attendant comes by with something for him to drink, and you prop more pillows under his head before holding the cup to his lips.

“It’s a little warm,” you warn, but he chugs it down anyway.

“Three broken ribs, a slightly punctured lung, a bruised collarbone, some internal bleeding, and various cuts all over,” the attendant informs you, and you nod, turning back to Kyojuro.

“Now what trouble did you get into this time?” you ask, tilting your head, but he just wheezes out a laugh, trying again for a smile. “We will talk once you get some rest,” you urge him, pulling the covers around his figure. You place a kiss on his lips and he kisses you back, reaching up a hand to stroke your hair.

“Will you remain here, yn/?” he asks as you pull away. You nod, resting a hand on his.

“I’ll be here until you’re well again.”

_____________________________________________________________ The coughing fits begin in the middle of the night.

In an instant, you’re up, holding a fresh towel beneath his mouth to catch the blood, stroking his back as he attempts to catch his breath, eyes wide with panic and something you haven’t seen in a long time: fear.

“Just keep breathing. In and out. You’re doing great,” you whisper as he struggles, but when he falls asleep again, you sigh, watching his chest rise and fall slowly. You didn’t sleep again until the sun rose and an attendant could take over while you climbed into bed and got some rest.

And most days were like that: wake up, tend to Kyojuro until he fell asleep, fall asleep a little, help him with his breathing, keep watch, then rest again when the attendant comes. Sometimes Tanjiro and his friends would come by to see about him and lift his spirits, and other times, Tengen and various other Hashira would come by with stories about demons they encountered, much to your disapproval. You know he wants to get better so he can rejoin them, and after they leave, he lapses into silence, staring at his hands as if doing so would make him heal faster.

But when the day comes for him to finally be released, you ease him back to the estate, looping your arm around his.

“Your bed’s been waiting for you,” you tease, and Kyo laughs with joy.

“It’s been waiting for you, too.” When you ease him onto the bed, he sighs, looking around him at the familiar red and brown hues of the master bedroom.

“Lady Kocho said to take it easy for the next few days,” you remind him as he swings his legs onto the bed.

“Take it easy?” Kyojuro laughs, putting his hands under his fiery hair.

“Kyo,” you warn, and he holds his hands up in surrender, the devilish grin returning to his features.

“Okay, okay.”

“If you’re good, I’ll make sure to go get sweet potatoes for dinner nex--”

“I’ll be the best patient you’ve ever had, my love,” Kyojuro rushes out, and you turn to him, raising a brow.

“That means minimal physical activity.” The Flame Hashira’s mouth goes slack, and you turn back to the dresser, removing your skirt. “And no forgetting.” The groan elicited from his mouth sounds more painful than when he was actually injured, you notice.

_____________________________________________________________

Blood stains your hands and arms as you’re hovering over Kyojuro, his eyes staring at the sky as you press on his chest - one, two, three, four, five, six --

“Y/n, he’s gone,” Tengen whispers over your shoulder.

“No, no, he’s right here,” you cry, tears falling onto your hands as you pump his chest three more times and then blow air into his mouth. “Stay with me, Kyo, stay with me.”

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight--

“Stop!” Tengen hollers, pushing you off of your dead lover. Before he can scoop up his friend, you shield him with your body, weeping profusely.

“Stay away from him!” you scream, the sun beating down on your exposed neck. “Leave him alone, you--”

A deep inhale brings you back into consciousness, and you sit up abruptly, your heart still stuttering furiously. You don’t even realize you’ve been crying when Kyo grunts and sits up, turning on a light.

“You alright?” he asks before turning around and seeing your tears. “Oh, no…” Kyojuro’s eyes soften as you collapse in his arms, his lips pressing against your forehead tenderly. “Look at me, y/n.” Kyojuro’s fingers tilt your chin up, and he whispers, “Just look at me. Forget everything else; it was just a bad dream. I promise you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m always too late,” you hiccup. “I’m always one step behind.”

“You’re right here with me; right where you need to be at this moment.” His fingers wipe at your tears quickly. “You made me promise that I would train young Kamado, have at least four kids with you, grow old, and then you’d give me permission to die.” You laugh a little, remembering the look on his face when you demanded that he hold off on dying for at least sixty years. “I’m not going anywhere, my love. I’m right here.”

#kny rengoku #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku #kyojurou x reader #kyojuro fluff #demon slayer #kimestu no yaiba

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allyouneedisbuck · 3 years

Text

Tee’s Summer Reads 🖤

hi all! as summer comes to a close and classes start back up again, i wanted to come on here and share some pieces i read over break that i just loved.

as always, heed to any and all warnings each creator has put in place. eighteen plus spaces deserve respect and you are urged to show them it.

— ➶ —

Bucky Barnes

i wished one the moon for you by @sunmoonandbucky • “After losing Bucky, you were devastated. So when Howard Stark asks for volunteers for an experiment, you're the first in line.” -> 40s buck & present bucky? love that lasts through time? love it

the shot heard round the tower & unwarranted weakness by @pellucid-constellations • “you just want to know if bucky has feelings for you. bucky just wants you to be okay.” -> these two pieces can be read separately, but i highly suggest reading them both because bucky is written so well and they made me feel warm all over.

see the world the way you do by @vanderlustwords • “you start to see color when you meet your soulmate. bucky thinks that soulmates are a one of a kind thing.” -> there are So many lines in this that just... sit with you. i felt so much reading this. that tight feeling in your chest, pure happiness, anger... i just absolutely loved this.

a little old fashioned by @gogolucky13 • “bucky is a bit subtle in telling you he likes you.”-> behold...sweet, shy comfort fic bucky. i go back and read this when i’m sad.

he’s a good friend by @markandlexies • “reader is tired of watching bucky go on dates with leah and flirt with sarah.” -> give me all the oblivious, pining friends to lovers. just incredible writing and a truly lovely piece.

tap by @houseravenclaws • “bucky never talked much, he fell in love anyway.” -> you KNOW i already love sarah’s writing, it was on my last list. HERE’S MORE! this fic tore me apart in the best way and i still think about it all the time. it has become a go to.

all the good things by @/houseravenclaws • “bucky’s been a little more than happy recently. sam thinks it has something to do with the pretty girl on the team.” -> need i say more? i needn’t say more.

i love you, you idiot by @chrisevansjellybeans • “we’re best friends but won’t say we’re in love trope.” -> this fic made my heart sore. i love when writers have the ability to show love through the smallest of details and this fic did that so well.

the things you’ve done by @divine-mistake • “what if the world ended tomorrow and all he did was spend his last day with you thinking about how you never hold his metal hand and you never walk on his left side and you constantly reach for his right arm?” -> OHHHHHHHHH MAN oh man this fic left me in shambles. absolute shambles and gave me a big, bright smile. insecure!bucky just does something to me. bucky is written perfectly in this.

cornerstone by @agentofbarnes • this is a piece of zee’s (incredible) barnes’ au where bucky and reader (babydoll) are married with kids. -> i love the entire barnes’ au, but this piece honestly meant so much to me??? seeing bucky as an incredibly loving and open father just makes me so happy.

leather jacket full of cats by @bucksfucks • “bucky brings home kittens.” -> nora doesn’t write fluff, but when she does it comes out absolutely incredible???? bucky and kittens?? PLEASE this made so happy (hi keep an eye out for more of nora’s work in the nsfw section)

bulova by @babycap • “in the five years between the two snaps that changed it all, life had moved on, as life is want to do. In the aftermath of that final battle, you discover that time waited for no one (least of all you), and those you loved marched forward into it without you. Sam suggests you volunteer at the local retirement community to keep you busy, keep your mind from lingering on what—and who—you lost. In giving back, you find that time can be just as generous as it is cruel.” -> this is a babycap (dev my love) fan account. i have never read such beautiful words & i am always so stunned by the amazing works that dev puts out. i get so excited to read them.

sunset by @belladonnabarnes • “bucky meets a pretty girl and her little sister at the zoo.” -> how did you know it was my dream to meet bucky at the zoo jaye?????? ahhhhh i loved this fic so much, it was so incredibly sweet i had the dopiest smile on my face when reading it.

crawl home to her by @wkemeup • “stranded without coms, alone, and bleeding out in the middle of a russian snow storm, bucky is content to let nature take its course. only you won’t seem to let him go.” -> this fic is a masterpiece. a genuine piece of art. i was on the edge of my seat reading it, hoping i could faster than possible just to find out if bucky made it.

suburbia by @/wkemeup • “posing as husband and wife, you and bucky infiltrate a quaint suburban neighborhood in search of a hydra hacker. perhaps if you weren’t so in love with him and he hadn’t broken your heart, the act of pretending wouldn’t hurt so much.” -> yeah this one HURT. in the best way, an absolute favorite. so so so good.

that was premonition, i think by @divine-mistake • “sometimes you wish you had never fallen in love with bucky. screw that ‘it’s better to have loved and lost’ bullshit. you wish you had never fallen in love with bucky barnes.” -> just so so good. i was speechless after reading.

Others

Sam Wilson

the summertime and butterflies all belong to your creation by @golden-bucky • “you’ve never been one for baseball, but sam wilson is enough to change your mind.” -> ok. listen. i HAVE always loved baseball and this fic made me dream of mr. sam wilson in a lil uniform and me cheering him on. it was so sweet and i just loved it. a dream come true.

scary love by @bvckysmoon • “the first ‘i love yous’ are always scary.” -> being in love with sam wilson? yes please! this fic is so tooth achingly sweet, i adore it.

that way by @belouva • “you don’t know what label to fall under anymore. were you his roommate, friend or his lover?” -> i love roommate! sam… the first two parts of this series are so good.

Steve Rogers

you don’t know by @/divine-mistake • “until her gaze falls on you and her lovesick puppy dog eyes morph into saucers, leaving her frozen in pure shock. that visage quickly melts away to reveal a smug smile, aimed right at you, and you know exactly what she’s thinking at this moment.” -> steve & plus-size reader! i actually teared up, this fic hit really close to home and is beautifully written.

Spencer Reid

the one where everyone finds out by @reidscanehand • “Spencer Reid is in love with Y/N, and she’s in love with him...only they don’t know it yet...and they might be are definitely going to be the very last to know. And since Spencer and Y/N happen to be surrounded by the best profilers in the country, the rest of the team is, of course, the first to piece together the romance. Little by little, bit by bit, the team solves the case of Spencer and Y/N.” -> i constantly go back and reread this fic… it means so much to me!

work wife by @differentkettleoffishalltogether • “Spencer can’t help but feel a little jealous when it seems like his best friend is interested in someone else.” -> best friend spencer & love confessions? yeah that’s what i like.

Aaron Hotchner

dream a little dream by @ssahotchswife • “Following an injury, the reader dreams about time spent with Aaron Hotchner and his son. She relives heartbreak about Aaron's relationship with Beth and the love she has for Jack. Aaron must come to terms with his feelings for the reader when she wakes.” -> aaron hotchner is my comfort man and this fic makes my chest ache

NSFW

just friends by @/bucksfucks • “you and chris are just friends, right?” -> chris evans please i’m free on saturday

forbidden fruit by @/bucksfucks • “you attempt to set your ex’s things on fire. bucky has a better idea.” -> dadsbestfriend!bucky has my heart and it’s literally because of nora’s writing

appointments by @buckycuddlebuddy • “bucky barnes, finally being able to live freely in 21st century, accidentally gets a fuck buddy and starts to rediscover himself. the only weird thing about this situation is that you have to make an appointment to get railed by him.” -> ooooooooof i love this lil series so much

— ➶ —

these are all of my summer reads!!! i’ll definitely post another one after fall semester, this will most likely be a seasonal thing.

#good reads #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #sam wilson x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotch x reader

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lostinthewiind · 3 years

Note

Could I get a bit of an angst poly Matchablossom fic? Like one of them is out and they don’t hear anything from them in awhile. They get worried and have to rush to the hospital when they find out they were involved in a hit-and-run. They have flashbacks of their relationship like how the three met or when called their relationship official.

Polyamorous Relationship w/ Joe & Cherry: Through Thick and Thin

A/N: you absolutely can have a little bit of angst. Honestly, I sometimes can't decide whether I like writing smut or angst better . . . I think it's because they are both so emotion-fueled, which makes it easy to get into. Anyway, I hope I was able to meet your expectations for this fic! As always, thanks for requesting and don't hesitate to request more in the future :)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, mentions of bodily harm, injuries, blood, high-emotions, slight-trauma

Pacing back and forth from the kitchen to the living room of your shared apartment, your eyes kept flickering toward the clock on the wall, your nerves steadily increasing with every tick of the hand. Every second that Joe didn't walk through the front door made your heart race faster and your bite on your lower lip to increase in pressure.

"Are you going to pace all night?" Cherry looked at you from his desk, his golden eyes scrutinizing your every move from over the top of his laptop.

"Kojiro was supposed to have been home an hour ago," you stated harshly, as if your calm, pink-haired boyfriend didn't already know that. "And he hasn't texted or called or anything. I'm worried."

Cherry sighed before closing his laptop and leaning back in his chair. "I can tell," he noted, his seemingly relaxed demeanour making your hands shake from frustration.

Halting your pacing, you crossed your arms over your chest and exhaled slowly. "Kaoru . . ." your voice was quiet and shaky, and despite the slight embarrassment you were feeling for what would probably be a major overreaction on your part, you just couldn't help it.

Cherry shook his head at you slowly, but there was no disappointment or mockery in his action. Even though he didn't see any cause for concern considering it had only been an hour and Joe's restaurant was busier lately than usual, he acknowledged the worry coursing through your body.

Spinning his chair to face you, Cherry cocked his head ever-so-slightly and outstretched his arms onto the chair's armrests, palms up, silently asking/inviting you to come to him.

Gravitating toward him like a magnet seeking stability, you shuffled over to his chair, standing before him and trying to calm yourself. Leaning forward, he rested his hands on your hips, brushing his fingertips up your sides. When he reached your shoulders, he worked his hands down your arms, wrapping his slender fingers around them and unfolding your arms before holding your hands in his own.

"There is no sense in worrying until there is something to worry about," he said simply, pulling you into his lap. Once you were close to him and enveloped in his embrace, you felt your breathing naturally slow to match his.

"I know. You're right." You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes as he brought one hand to your face and brushed some loose strands of hair out of your eyes. "You're always right."

Cherry chuckled lowly. "Well, maybe not always . . . don't tell Kojiro I said that," he warned jokingly.

"Okay," you laughed as well, feeling the nerves begin to flee your body, "I won't."

"Good girl."

Just then, Cherry's phone buzzed atop the desk, startling you both a little. Looking over at the device, Cherry smirked as he picked it up. "See?" He flashed the caller ID toward you, which read Kojiro's name. "He probably just got busy and lost track of time."

You felt relief wash over you like a wave as you lifted your head from Cherry's shoulder so he could answer the call.

Accepting the call, Cherry pressed the device to his ear and tutted his tongue. "You ever hear of calling or texting if you're going to be-" he stopped mid-sentence, his toying expression turning stone-cold in a split-second. You couldn't hear what the person on the other end of the call was saying, but all you had to do was look at Cherry's wide eyes, furrowed brows, and trembling lips to know that it wasn't Joe and that something was wrong.

Suddenly, the wave of relief had transformed into a dark, ominous riptide, dragging you into the darkest parts of your mind and forcing you to conjure the worst things possible. Hands gripping tightly to the front of Cherry's yukata, you willed the conversation to be over so you could find out what was going on.

"Yes." Cherry nodded, the arm that was wrapped around your waist squeezing you tighter as he listened intently. "Yes, I'll be right there . . . okay, thank you."

When the call finally ended and Cherry put the device back down onto the desk, his hands shaking like yours had been minutes before, you watched him closely. He was silent afterward, his hold on you tightening even more. Both his and your own breathing were rapid at this point, the nervous energy radiating off of both of you and only working to make the other person even more uneasy.

"Kaoru." You brought a hand to his face and forced him to look at you. "What happened? Is Kojiro okay?"

Seemingly snapping out of his trance, Cherry gently pushed you off of his lap before he set about collecting things from around the apartment. You could see the cogs turning in his head as he grabbed the car keys from the counter before turning back to pick up his phone once more. All the while, you watched him, a sick feeling rising in your stomach, increasing in intensity the longer you stood there oblivious.

"Kaoru, what happened?!" you asked again.

Cherry glanced up at you in passing as he headed toward the bedroom. "There was a hit-and-run," he said. "We have to go to the hospital."

You felt your heart shatter and sink at the same time, your hand frantically gripping the side of the desk for stability as you watched Cherry's pink head disappear into the bedroom. The pace of your breathing quickened, if that was even possible, and you swallowed a hard lump in your throat—out of everything your brain had imagined, something as bad as a hit-and-run never even crossed your mind.

"D-did Kojiro hit someone or was h-he hit?" The question flew out of your mouth as quickly as it popped into your head. The way that Cherry was reacting already had you assuming which answer was correct, but you felt the need to clarify nonetheless.

Cherry, who was moving from surface to surface, looking for God-knows-what, ignored your question once more—although it was probably fairer to say that he had simply not registered the inquiry instead of ignored it.

The blatant lack of information was slowly started to boil your blood but the last thing you wanted to do was lash out at Cherry, who was clearly going into panic mode.

As your boyfriend passed in front of you, his head on a swivel, you grabbed him by the arm and pulled him in forcefully for a hug. Wrapping your arms around him tightly, you buried your face into the crook of his neck. At first, Cherry stood stiff in your embrace, but after a moment or so he physically relaxed and melted into your warmth.

You heard him draw in a shuddering breath, his shaking hands slowly coming up to cling to you. As much as he pretended to be indifferent towards Joe, you knew that he cared for him more than anyone else in the world—maybe even more than he cared for you, which you weren't offended by; you knew the two had a long history with one another.

Once you could tell that Cherry had calmed down a little and the roles of worrier and supporter had shifted, you drew back and looked him in the eyes. "Did Kojiro hit someone or was he the one who was hit?" you questioned, surprisingly steadier than before.

Cherry blinked back a tear that was forming in the corner of his eye, his lips trembling as he struggled to form words. "H-he was hit."

━━━━━━━━━━━━

The half an hour it took for you and Cherry to collect your things and drive to the hospital was nothing more than a blur in your mind. Weaving in and out of traffic through the busy, lit-up city, Cherry mumbled details from the phone call to you as they resurfaced in his memory. All in all, he didn't know much, but restating the facts to you—or more accurately, to himself—helped keep his head on straight and his wits about him.

As soon as the two of you reached the hospital, you parked—not even really checking to see if you had parked in a designated spot or not—and rushed inside, hand in hand. The emergency room entrance had been the closest, but the inside was chaotic and had you clinging to Cherry like child afraid to lose their mother as the two of you pushed your way to the reception desk.

Cherry did all of the talking, refusing to let anyone else see him the way you had seen him back at the apartment. Once again, the roles of worrier and supporter had shifted—but at this point, it was probably more accurate to state that you had each taken on both roles, worrying relentlessly and being there for support when the other person started to spiral.

Thankfully, the nurse at the reception desk was kind and patient with the two of you. She understood that standing around talking about specifics was the last thing either one of you wanted, but she worked carefully to draw out your information so she could direct you to the correct floor.

While Cherry listened as intently as he could to the information being provided, you heard a commotion from the other end of the emergency room and looked back over your shoulder just in time to see an ambulance crew wheeling in a patient on a stretcher.

The patient, a man who looked about Joe's age, was bleeding profusely from a wound on his abdomen and screaming bloody murder about how he didn't want to die. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you listened to his pleas for help.

Without even noticing, you began to picture the man as Joe. Had Joe been hurt as badly as that? Had he been crying and screaming when they brought him in? Joe was one of the bravest and most stoic people you had ever met, and he only really cried (rarely) for emotional reasons, like really sad movies, instead of physical ones—but nevertheless, you couldn't help imagining him screaming out, all alone and scared.

"Hey." Cherry rested a gentle hand on your shoulder, careful not to startle you out of your daze. "You okay?"

You blinked a few times, tearing your gaze away from the stranger. When you glanced back, the paramedics had wheeled him out of sight and his screams grew fainter and fainter in the distance.

"Y-yeah." You forced a nod of the head. "I'm fine."

"Okay, let's go then," Cherry took your hand in his once more and led you out of the ER and toward a set of elevators. "The nurse checked for me and apparently he was taken up to the third floor. She wasn't on shift when he came in, so she couldn't tell me much."

You nodded once more, unable to find your voice . . . not that you had much to say anyway.

In complete silence, the two of you rode the elevator up to the third floor of the hospital, and following the directions Cherry had been given, arrived at a hospital room with the door cracked open slightly.

Before either of you could look inside, however, a tall man in a white coat approached the two of you. "You're Mr. Nanjo's emergency contacts?" He grabbed a chart from the adjacent nurses' station.

After the two of you confirmed your identities and relation to Joe, the doctor pulled you aside privately and began explaining the situation.

"Based on eye-witness reports on the scene, your . . . boyfriend," he seemed a tad uncomfortable with the polyamorous aspect of your relationship, but relayed the information professionally despite the obvious confusion, " . . . he was crossing the street, presumably to the parking lot across on the other side, when he was struck in the intersection by a drunk driver. Thankfully, he was only clipped and not hit full-on. All things considered, things could have been a lot worse, but he is still in pretty rough shape."

You drew in a sharp breath as your mind began to fog over, your concentration completely fading away. Before long, you were simply standing in place, eyes-glassed over, watching the doctor's mouth move but only picking up the occasional tidbit of information like "fractured rib" and "internal bruising".

Noticing your unsteady stance beside him, Cherry snaked his arm around your body for stability. It took everything he had not to devolve into a shaking mess like you, but he knew that one of you needed to pay attention to this information for Joe's sake; so, despite the overwhelming nauseous feeling in his gut, he nodded along to the doctor's words.

Once the doctor had told you everything there was to tell, he directed you back to the room and told you he would be back in a little while. With full visitation rights, you and Cherry stood in front of the cracked-open door, both too terrified to peek inside just yet.

Then, mustering every ounce of courage you had circulating your system, you placing a trembling palm on the door and gave a gentle push. Without a single creak, the door swung open silently, revealing a small hospital room with a bathroom, large window, armchair, and of course, a bed.

In the bed, the white sheets were completely covering the body of its inhabitant; the mess of green hair atop the pillow the only detail that confirmed to you that it was, indeed, your boyfriend. Joe's face was toward you and Cherry, eyes closed, scrapes and bruises littering his handsome features. There was even a cut that had needed stitches on his forehead.

If it wasn't for the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, you would have assumed he was dead.

"Oh, Kojiro!" you exclaimed, emotion suddenly taking over as you lunged toward the bed. Tears collecting in your eyes, you bent over him and rested your head on his chest, quiet sobs escaping your shuddering body. Finally, you let yourself cry.

"The doctor said he was given some pretty heavy pain medication, so he might be out for a while," Cherry said, coming up beside you and ghosting his fingertips over Joe's cheek. "But he should be okay."

Those five words were the best five words you had heard in your entire life. "He'll be okay," you repeated to yourself in a soft whisper. "You'll be okay." You directed the comment to Joe this time as you ran your fingers slowly through his messy hair. "Karou and I are here now. You're going to be just fine."

"Come on." Cherry placed his hand onto your lower back and guided you to the armchair. "We're in for a long night. Let's sit."

Lowering himself into the rather comfortable chair, Cherry scooted it closer to the bedside before he pulled you into his lap, the two of you sitting and holding each other the same way you had been back home in his desk chair . . . the way you had been sitting before your entire day had turned on its head.

"Don't cry." Cherry wiped a tear from your cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You know that if Kojiro wakes up and you're crying, it'll just make him upset too and then I'll have two blubbering babies to deal with."

You choked a subtle laugh through the sobs and gasps for air. "Shut up." You smacked his chest lightly as you cuddled further into his chest, your actions effectively contradicting each other. "This is the scariest moment of my entire life," you craned your neck to look at Joe and reached your hand out to grab his limp one, "I'm allowed to cry."

Cherry pressed a kiss to your temple. "I understand . . . this is the scariest moment of my life too. When I first picked up that phone call, for a split second, I thought we had lost him."

"I can't even imagine life without him," you said, trying not to let the dark thoughts invade any more than they already were. "I wouldn't be the same person I am today without him . . . without either of you."

Cherry cracked a small smile, the expressions of amusement completely standing out among the solemn atmosphere in the room.

"What?" you cocked a brow, wondering what had suddenly sparked such joy.

"Nothing, nothing . . ." He tried to play it off, but when it was obvious you weren't going to let him get away that easily, he caved. "I was just thinking about the first day we met you," he let out an airy laugh, "stumbling into his restaurant soaking wet from the rain, seeking shelter like a stray dog."

You couldn't help the giggle that escaped. "Oh, God, don't remind me. Of course I picked the only closed establishment with an unlocked door on the entire block to seek refuge in. The way the two of you just stared at me, glasses of wine in hand while I stood there, dripping and embarrassed. I felt like dying on the spot."

"You were cute," Cherry told you before shrugging nonchalantly. "At least, that's what Kojiro said. I'm pretty sure he fell in love with you right then and there."

"Oh, but not you, mister 'keeps all his emotions locked away until he dies'." You rolled your eyes.

Cherry just smiled. "I may not have declared my undying love for you right on the spot, but as you sat in Kojiro's sweater that damn-near swallowed you whole and sipped steaming tea to try and warm up, I could tell you were going to be special to us."

Finding yourself getting lost in the reminiscing of happy memories, you relaxed into Cherry's arms completely. "It's funny that Kojiro fell for me before you did," you looked up at Cherry and pressed a soft kiss to his neck, "because I fell for you before I fell for him."

Cherry quirked a brow down at you. "You never told me that."

"It wasn't by much so I didn't think it mattered . . . especially since I love you both the same now." You shrugged before elaborating, knowing that Cherry wanted to hear the story. "It was when Kojiro insisted we go to that fancy new restaurant that he wanted to scope out but he had underestimated how hard it would be to find parking, so we ended up having to walk like ten blocks."

Cherry nodded. "The area with the busiest, newest establishments was low on parking on a Friday night. Who would have thought?"

"Exactly," you agreed. "Anyway, we were walking and the wind was cold as fuck. I was shivering because, hey, I thought we'd be walking two or three blocks at most. Then, without even a glance in my direction . . . you just wrapped me in your coat. No words, just actions. I fell in love right then."

The corners of his mouth twisting up into a smile, Cherry kissed you softly. "I fell in love with you that same night," he said, surprising you. "Exactly ten seconds after that when you thrust my coat back into my arms, grumbling about how you would have much rather used the adrenaline from strangling Kojiro to keep you warm."

"I hope you know I appreciated the gesture . . . I just didn't want you to think I was going soft or something." You knew the words sounded beyond stupid as they were coming out of your mouth. "Love makes you crazy."

"That it does," he agreed. "But, for whatever it's worth, I've never once thought you were soft. Especially not that night when you were seconds away from killing Kojiro the entire time."

The two of you broke out into soft fits of laughter, careful to keep the volume down.

"I get hit by a car and even then the two of you can't be bothered to say nice things about me?" a weak voice mumbled from the bed.

Laughter dying out immediately, you and Cherry looked over to see Joe smirking up at you, his eyes slightly droopy and hand slightly squeezing yours.

"Kojiro!" You jumped out of Cherry's embrace and moved to place a kiss on the green-haired man's chapped lips. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"

Kojiro winced slightly as he pushed himself up into a slight reclined position in bed. "I think I'm okay," he answered, obviously trying to put on a brave face. "I'm glad you guys are here though," he clocked the glint of concern in your eyes, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to give you guys a scare."

"Don't apologize," Cherry told him, cupping his cheek with his hand. "We're here for you, whatever you need. We're just glad you're going to be okay."

Kojiro forced a smile, ignoring the aching pain it brought to his bruised and scraped face. "You guys know I love you, right?"

"Of course." You kissed him once more. "We love you too."

#sk8 the infinity #sk8 #sk8 cherry blossom #sk8 joe #joe #cherry #kojiro nanjo #sakurayashiki karou #angst #lostinthewiind #fanfiction #reader imagine #x reader #reader insert #polyamarous #polyamory #polyamorous relationship #through thick and thin

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anyoneseenadam · 3 years

Note

Hii

Can you please write something for fenrys? first meeting maybe? And the bond clicks? Thank you 🥺🥺

pairing: Fenrys x reader (throne of glass)

warnings: implied smut, kissing and nudity, lil bit of blood and injuries but mainly pure fluff

a/n: fenrys is my fave and u can tell in the fic omg!! i hope you enjoy it cause it’s probs my fave one i’ve written yet :))) (i also made it a teensy bit ddlg but that’s just cause i want Fenrys to baby me lol)

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Shit

Fenrys pressed his hand to the wound in his side, feeling the slow pump of blood seeping between his fingers as he stumbled through the woods. He had won the fight. The other guy now lying in the dirt, however not without consequence. And he wasn’t entirely sure he would stay alive unless he could find a healer soon.

He stopped to lean against a tree, breathing heavily as he held himself together. He transformed into a wolf, moving faster, and trying to pick up a scent, any scent, that could possibly help him, when he caught the sweetest smell he ever had. It was a female, smelling like peonies and blackberries, sweet but with an underlying smoky smell. She smelled of long days in flowers fields and even longer nights beside campfires, evenings spent curled in hand woven blankets and mornings spent drinking dark coffee and eating sweet toast.

He whimpered and began running in the direction of the scent. If he wasn’t so focused on not bleeding out he may have stopped to consider why the scent was pulling him in the way it did. He would have considered the direction he was running into, the direction of his future, his past and his present. But he just kept up, going as fast as his injured body would allow, concentrating on the sweet smell and putting one foot in front of the other.

He felt the change almost immediately, the cold snow and rough bark being swapped for cool moss. The pine trees swapped for tall, oak trees teeming with life. The silence of a frozen forest swapped for the rustling of bushes as nocturnal animals moved silently under the guise of darkness. The chill of the snow-covered woods swapped for the warmth of a summer evening. He pushed between two bushes and found himself facing a clearing, in the middle of which stood a wooden cottage, the wood dark and the roof covered in more moss, flowers growing from every surface and ivy peeking out of the crevices in the house. He stumbled down the path to the cottage, turning back into a male and crossing a small bridge over a stream that separated him from the intoxicating scent he chased.

He let out what he could only describe as a bark, calling for the female that carried the scent he was growing addicted to, collapsing onto his knees, feeling his conscious fade as he held to the side of his stomach, searing pain replaced by fiery veins as his head swayed. He barely heard the door open, only noticing the scent get so much stronger. He attempted to look up, the movement making his head spin as he collapsed, the last thing he saw, a girl in the halo of the moon.

Fenrys awoke in a foreign bed. An unbelievably comfortable bed, but foreign all the same. He pushed up on his forearms, gritting his teeth at the reminder of his wound.

The room he was in was dark, not just in light source, but also in décor. The window was cracked open with lacy curtains half closed, there was a tall bookshelf sat next to a desk with leather-bound books lining it, and tall candles flickering and casting the room in a golden glow. The bed he was in was small, clearly just for one, but so soft. He had blankets surrounding him and copious amounts of pillows, some that appeared hand made. In fact, upon closer inspection, a lot of the room looked handmade. Art covering the walls depicting crying women or bloody scenes that he presumed had been done by the owner of this house, given the pallet and assortment of brushed he saw on the windowsill.

And then there was that scent. It was stronger here and he pressed his face into a pillow tentatively, breathing in through his nose as he picked up on the deeper undertones. Fresh picked daisies, melted wax, the pages of old, worn books and something he couldn’t describe. Something so intoxicating he felt tears spring to his eyes, his body reacting in an unheard-of way, so overcome with emotion from scent alone.

He heard footsteps approaching the closed door and hastily put down the pillow, sitting up straight and readying himself to fight whoever it was if they were an intruder. But when you entered he faltered.

Mate. The word clanged through him as he came face to face with an angel. You were wearing a dark brown broderie dress with white hearts lining the hem, your feet bare and toenails painted black. Your hair was falling around your face, messy and untamed, and you had dark smudges around your eyes, makeup that accentuated your features and made you look like a character from the scary books he read as a boy. However right now you looked more like a teddy bear.

He briefly remembered the tail of a witch he had read. An evil witch who lured men into her house with whispered words and sweet kisses, only to steal their hearts and use their blood to keep her skin young and eyes bright. This girl however was no witch, you had elegantly pointed ears and a graceful way of moving that only came from being Fae. He watched as you moved to his side, silent on your feet, putting a tray down beside him before moving an opening the curtains further, letting in more natural light.

“How are you feeling?” your sweet voice interrupted his thoughts. His mind coming to a halt as he heard you speak.

“I- er fine..?” His voice was rough, and you smiled, a reserved smile. Moving to his side and sitting at the edge of the small bed he was on, pouring him a glass of water from a small decanter you had brought through.

“(Y/n.)” you answered his unspoken question.

“Fenrys.”

He muttered a thanks as you passed the glass to him, noting the crystals that hung around your neck and adorned your fingers.

“Crystals?” he asked, and you looked down, playing with the rings you wore nervously.

“My mother taught me about their meanings, they’ve always helped me.” You bit your lip and Fenrys decided he would never meet anyone as cute as you again, it simply wasn’t possible.

“Me too, my mother used to carry them everywhere.” You smiled at him shyly, a beat of silence passing between the two of you as he listened to the birds outside.

“Can I see your wound? I want it make sure it’s healing properly.” You asked and he nodded, pulling the blankets down slightly, grinning as your eyes widened as you took in his physique.

“I’m presuming you’re the healer I have to thank for letting me see another day.” He flirted playfully but you shook your head,

“I’m not a very good healer I’m sorry, but I did stitch it up and it should do the rest itself.” You pressed gentle fingers against the skin surrounding his wound and he glanced down, seeing it was already practically healed.

“You still saved my life.” He said, completely serious and you looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

“I’ll let you rest.” You said quietly, standing to walk away and he smiled, feeling more at ease than he ever had since the war, watching his little mate leave.

He woke up again a few hours later, wound completely healed and puckering into a scar. Standing he stretched his arms above his head, not bothering with a shirt as he left the room in search of the girl that had occupied his dreams.

The rest of the house was alike your room, tall candles and worn books everywhere. He passed a kitchen filled with copper utensils and a living room with an old armchair, a half-filled mug left next to it, but still no you. He saw the front door was cracked open and wandered over to it, pulling it open and stepping into the fresh air, barely feeling the chill on his body as he found you kneeling on the moss-covered ground facing away from him.

You were muttering under your breath and as he got closer he saw you were cradling a small bird with a broken wing. He watched as you closed your eyes, the ground and air seeming to still as you called upon your magic, a soft white light flowing from your hand into the bird until its wing was healed and it could flutter away.

“I thought you said you weren’t a healer,” he broke the silence and you turned to him with a small smile.

“I said I wasn’t a very good healer.” You replied, standing with green stained knees, your hair now piled atop your head and lip gloss coating your soft lips.

“What are you then?” he came closer to you, unable to resist holding his mate, even if you weren’t aware yet.

“My mother said we were natural faeries.” You said, looking at him shyly, “we derive our power from the earth, crystals, sea water, dirt, fire, stuff like that.”

He hummed, “So technically you could have any type of magic?”

“I guess, but I’m not very good at magic,” you muttered, hands fiddling with your rings again as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Fenrys?” you asked, all pouty lips and wide eyes.

“Have you realised yet darling?” he asked, and you bit your lip. He knew he could tell you, but he wanted to hear you say it.

“I- we’re mates I think.” You were practically shaking, and he didn’t know why he suddenly had this burning desire to scoop you into his arms and protect you against the horrible world that was out there. He nodded with a smile, watching as awe took over your stunning face.

“Can I kiss you princess?” he asked, and you felt your face heat up, looking down as he pulled you closer. “Have you ever been kissed before angel?” he asked, his face hurting from the grin that was spreading over his face when you shook your head.

He tilted your head up to his, looking deeply into your eyes as your breaths came out quicker. “Not many people can find our cottage, my mother put up wards when she got ill, our family wasn’t well liked by the king. You probably only got here because we’re mates,” You muttered.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked again, running a soft hand over your head, smoothing your hair away from your face as you nodded sweetly.

He smiled before leaning down and kissing you gently. Pulling away and feeling as smug as a thief when your lips followed his, pouting at the loss of contact so quickly. He chuckled at your put out expression and leaned down to kiss you again, deeper this time, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you gasped against his lips, quickly beating your own in a battle for dominance and taking his time exploring your mouth.

He laid you down that morning and took you for the first time in the soft moss. Then again in your even softer bed. Now you were sitting in his lap, eating strawberries of a bush you had in your back garden as he pressed dizzying kisses into your neck, both of you still as bare as the day you were born, Fenrys having forgot how much he missed skin to skin contact, when you suddenly remembered.

“Fenrys?” he hummed in response, completely enamoured with the feel of your soft skin against his rough calluses. “Why were you hurt last night?”

“I didn’t tell you my job did I angel?” he asked, the pet name making you giggle as you shook your head, “I work for the queen of Terrasen.”

You gasped, “But she was killed!”

“Oh angel, when was the last time you left this cottage?” he asked, worry coming over him as he realised you had been holed up alone for so long.

“Not since my mother died. She said the king was dangerous and that he would hurt me if he found me,” your bottom lip was wobbling and Fenrys quickly kissed it away, shushing you as it dawned on him just how innocent his little girl was.

“No baby, he’s gone now, the new king of Adarlan is a very kind man and the Queen of Terrasen is wonderful,” he promised, “Will you let me take you to meet them?”

You nodded enthusiastically, bouncing slightly in his lap making him groan. He nipped at your ear lobe and you squealed as he pushed you down. You could meet them another day, today he was too busy with his little mate.

#throne of glass #tog #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys x reader #fenrys moonbeam x reader

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wilteddaisies · 3 years

Text

Yours - Chapter One

Azriel x Female!Reader (acotar)

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You are Feysand’s daughter and you’ve just come home from your studies in the Day Court. Azriel needs someone with extensive training in magic in order to complete a mission for the Night Court. You happen to be just what he needs.

Fic Warnings: age gap?, probably cursing, eventual smut, wing kink ;)

Chapter Warnings: injury, mentions of blood

Note: The first chapter is here! I am so excited to share this fic. I usually don’t write fanfiction but I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so here it is. As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated!

CHAPTER ONE

Gods, you loved flying. Sure, winnowing back to the Night Court would have been faster, but there was absolutely nothing like soaring through the clouds, so high that the ground below faded away and there was nothing but you and the wind in your wings. You sighed as Velaris came into view. As much as you loved the ancient libraries and golden light of the Day Court, the winding streets and twinkling night lights of Velaris would always call you back home.

Your father was waiting for you in front of your family’s river estate. You landed gracefully before taking off again in a sprint into his open arms. You squealed as he lifted you off your feet and spun you around.

“Daddy!” You laughed as he set you back on your feet, but still held you. You breathed in his familiar scent. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He gazed down at you and smiled warmly. “Your mother is at the studio but she should be home soon.” He picked up your bags and led you inside, prattling on about your mom’s business and the hell Cassian has been raising in the Illyrian camps. The elegant river house was just as you left it in the fall. The familiar lavishly furnished rooms and ever lingering scent of flowers welcomed you home. You followed your father up the staircase and to your room.

“I’ll leave you to unpack and settle in,” he said, setting your things on the bed. He turned around to place a kiss on your hair. “Welcome home.”

A welcome home, indeed.

That night, the entire inner circle met at the river house to celebrate your homecoming and the completion of your studies with Helion in the Day Court. The atmosphere was warm and lively in the dining hall, Cassian had no trouble convincing your father to open some bottles of his precious good wine to celebrate. You were happily chatting away with Mor about how difficult it was to focus on your studies with so many gorgeous Day Court males around, when Cassian chimed in.

“Males? What males? What are their names? I just want to talk,” he said with mock intensity.

“You do know I am old enough to date, don’t you, Uncle Cass?” you laugh. “But anyways, they’re all too intimidated by me. And by who my father and uncles are, of course.”

“Damn straight.” He winked and Mor elbowed him in the ribs.

“Come on, there must have been someone that kept you company while you were in the Day Court,” Mor insisted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Even Amren and Nesta looked interested to hear your answer, but your father just tried not to look too invested in your conversation, looking down at his plate in a miserable attempt to look disinterested.

“Well. . .” you began, trying to steer the conversation away from the truth, which was that you had never actually felt that sort of connection with anyone. Well, no one except a certain broody shadowsinger who was considered very, very off limits.

Thankfully, you were spared the trouble of coming up with some half-assed excuse when a loud crash sounded outside the manor. Everyone at the table tensed, the mood instantly shifting. The darkened eyes and battle ready stances of your family were quick to remind you that centuries old warriors were beside you. Suddenly, weapons you hadn’t even realised they had concealed were drawn. You should have known that no one in your family would show up anywhere unarmed. Cassian drew a sword from who knows where, Mor and Amren held daggers, and Aunt Nesta just summoned her power, that alone being a deadly weapon in itself. Your mother drew your Aunt Elaine close to her. You could see darkness curling around your father’s fingertips and you followed suit, the familiar tingle of magic in your veins sparking a rush of adrenaline.

Your father led the way as you all stalked out the front door to see. . . Azriel. You rushed forward, pushing past your father to kneel by a bleeding Azriel.

“Oh Az, your wing.” Your heart shattered at the sight of his broken left wing, the flesh in shreds. It must have been done with something strong and fast, very fast if it managed to reach Azriel, who was amazingly swift on his wings and with his winnowing. The rest of the circle gathered around him, trying to help him up and assess the damage.

“The mortal queens,” he managed to croak out, “I heard whispers of a weapon they made to rival the fae. And when I tried to investigate it, I encountered the beast that guarded it.”

“That’s enough.” Feyre said, “Let’s get you cleaned and healed up. I’ll summon a healer immediately. You can tell us the rest after.”

“I can help.” You say and everyone turned towards you. Your hands were still shaking and your voice wavered at Azriel’s state but you steeled yourself. “I learned a lot of healing magic while I was in Helion’s court. Let me help you.” You met Azriel’s eyes and it was like he tethered you to earth, the strength and resilience you found in them seemed to flow into you, too.

He nodded once. That was enough for Cassian and Rhys to haul one arm over each of their shoulders.

“Where to, boss?” Cassian teased but you found pride in his eyes. And when you looked to your father, you saw the same thing.

“Get him into my room. I’ll take it from there.”

The inner circle had retired to the river house’s various guest rooms by the early hours of the morning, but you stayed awake, the gentle glow of the healing magic from your palms never faltering even though it had been hours. After Cassian and your father got Azriel onto the bed, you made him a salve from the various powders and tonics you brought from the Day Court that would assist the healing process. Aunt Elaine had even supplied some more supplemental herbs and flowers from her garden.

They all stayed for nearly an hour after you started the healing spell, watching as flesh and bone slowly knitted back together, when your mother finally ushered them all out, insisting that you needed to focus. You shot her a grateful smile as she also stepped out and shut the door behind her. Now that everyone was gone, you could finally focus on the spell. Well, focus as much as you could with Azriel’s shirtless torso gleaming with perspiration. You would think after training in and mastering healing magic, you’d be unfazed by the male body, but Azriel’s stunning beauty was not something you could just get used to.

It was nearly two in the morning when you heard a soft knock on your door. Your father’s head poked in.

“Sweetheart, you need to take a break.” He said and wiped a bead of sweat from your brow. You hadn’t even realised you were this physically strained.

“I can’t, dad. Not until he’s healed.” You turned back towards Azriel’s healing wing when your father’s hands enveloped your own, stopping their magic.

“Dad! He needs-”

“You’re the one who’s going to need healing if you try to continue this spell without taking a break.” His brows furrowed with concern. You knew what he saw, you must have looked a mess. Hair mussed, dark circles under your eyes, and a near permanent wrinkle on your forehead between your brows from holding your deadly focused expression for so long.

“I know.” You sighed, giving in. “I suppose I could stop for a moment.” He enveloped you in a warm hug that you hadn’t realised you needed until that moment. “I’m just. . . I’m worried about him, dad. He’s always going off on these dangerous quests with the interests of the court being a bigger concern than his own well being.”

“You’re one to talk.” He scoffed. “What was that you said about putting other people’s needs over your own well being?” He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and then sighed. “That’s my girl, always so selfless and always so stubborn.” He planted a kiss on the top of your head. “You’re a lot like your mother in that way, you know.”

You reluctantly pull away from his arms. “I know, dad.” You rolled your eyes and huffed a sigh, stretching your back, you just realised that standing over Az for so long had really taken its toll on you. “I suppose I could take a shower and change out of this dress.” You were still in your cocktail dress from dinner, you also realised.

“Yes, please do. I mean this in the gentlest way possible sweetheart, but you stink.” You halfheartedly shove him out of the room.

“Gee thanks, dad. It’s no wonder how mom fell for that suave charm.” And you shut the door in his face, but not before catching his teasing smile that only he could pull off, somehow managing to look loving and full of himself at the same time. You rolled your eyes before walking into your en suite.

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I promise the next one will have more Azriel and a bit more spice. If you wanna be added to the taglist for this fic, you can leave a comment below :)

I do not consent for my work to be reposted or translated on tumblr or any other site, but reblogs are always welcome!

Taglist: @moonchild-cf @pansexual-booknerd @huffypuffyme

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel smut #azriel fluff #azriel fic #sarah j maas #feysand #nessian #acowar #acomaf #acofas #fanfic #illyrian #my writing

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katierosefun · 3 years

Note

always a sith anakin, obi wan rescues him and shows him that there's more of the world than Palpatine and the dark side? 🥺

aaaah, anon HELP, i got SUPER into this, and the way i now want to make this a WHOLE FIC.,,,,,,i got carried away, so here’s 1k words-- // prompts now closed

The Force apparently worked in mysterious ways, but this was certainly a way that Obi-Wan hadn’t actually anticipated.

Actually, Obi-Wan was fairly certain that the Force was laughing at him now, because there was something especially strange and especially bothersome about being trapped in a literal death room with Anakin Skywalker, of all people. And what was worse, the fact that Obi-Wan was actually the one making sure that his…well, Obi-Wan didn’t exactly want to call him his nemesis, but that was what they were, wasn’t it? Nemeses and all—anyways, Obi-Wan was the one making sure that his nemesis wasn’t bleeding out from the nasty bite wound around his arm.

“Hold still,” Obi-Wan snapped.

“I would, but you’re—ow!” Anakin yelped, tugging his arm out of Obi-Wan’s grip. “You’re trying to make sure I bleed out on purpose, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know where you got that ridiculous notion from,” Obi-Wan muttered, leaning back on his heels. He reached for the opposite wall, tapped at it. If there was some hollow part in the wall…

“After all, you’re the one always trying to get me killed,” Obi-Wan continued, standing up. He patted along the wall, tossing Anakin a halfhearted smirk along the way. “If I weren’t your best chance to get out alive, I would think you’d have killed me a long time ago.”

Anakin didn’t respond, his golden eyes just watching Obi-Wan with an intensity that forced Obi-Wan to look away first.

“Well,” Anakin muttered, “you’re hard to kill.”

“Thank you, I think,” Obi-Wan said. He ducked down, tapped the wall. Not hollow.

“What are you doing?” Anakin asked after a while.

“Trying to find us a way out,” Obi-Wan said, looking at Anakin again. “I would ask you to help, but you’ve made it fairly clear that you find all of my suggestions intolerable.”

Anakin huffed, standing up. Obi-Wan backed away a step, but Anakin just smiled. “Tell me where to look,” he said.

Obi-Wan hesitated. He didn’t trust those golden eyes of Anakin Skywalker’s, not for one second, but he pointed to the other side of the room. At least, he figured, Anakin couldn’t kill from there. Or Obi-Wan would at least be able to see him coming.

Unless he decides to choke me, Obi-Wan thought grimly. Then that would be a different story.

Anakin walked to the other side of the room, kneeling over with another huff.

The two of them tapped the walls in relative quiet, Obi-Wan trying to focus both on the hollowness (or lack thereof) of the walls and Anakin’s movements across from him.

“So is this gonna help us at all?” Anakin asked.

“I certainly hope so,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“Mm.” Anakin tapped a part of the wall. “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then we’ll just have to find a different way out, won’t we?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I guess we will,” Anakin replied. “Or I will.”

“Wonderful,” Obi-Wan said dryly, turning back to the wall.

Another few moments passed before Obi-Wan asked, “How’s your arm?”

A snort from the opposite side of the room. “Didn’t know you cared.”

“Well, I don’t want to have to drag your dead body when I get out of here, now do I?” Obi-Wan asked wearily.

“I won’t die.”

“Unless it gets infected. Which it would, if it’s hurting. So how is your arm?”

A silence.

Then, “It’s fine.”

“Good.”

Obi-Wan heard Anakin tap on another part of the wall—higher, he could just tell from the acoustics of the room. “Tell me, Kenobi,” Anakin said, “do you usually look after your other enemies, or am I just special?”

Obi-Wan didn’t bother turning around. “I thought it only fair,” he murmured. “Seeing you saved me first.”

The tapping stopped.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Anakin said.

“You don’t?” Obi-Wan asked, then shrugged. “It was a few years ago. It’s natural you would have forgotten.”

The tapping resumed, quieter this time.

“A few years,” Anakin repeated. “The gundark cave?”

“Mm.”

“You looked like an idiot back there,” Anakin muttered. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“I’m sure.”

Obi-Wan heard the scrape of boots against the floor and turned around to find Anakin glaring at him. “What’s that look for?”

“Don’t.”

“Now I’m the one who doesn’t know what you mean.”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Anakin said. “And I’m telling you to cut it out, or else I’ll—”

“Kill me?” Obi-Wan asked. “I think we’ve both established that that wouldn’t be doing any of us any good.”

Anakin fell silent.

Obi-Wan sat down, this time still facing Anakin. Resting his elbow against his knee, Obi-Wan continued, “I wasn’t trying to aggravate you, Anakin. I was only making an observation.”

“Some observation,” Anakin said.

“Well, yes,” Obi-Wan replied. He tried to catch Anakin’s eye. “A few years of this—you know it too. Of course I would have made some observations by now.”

Anakin didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes, dropping his head back against the wall. “I take everything back,” he said. “I shouldn’t have saved you in that gundark cave after all.”

“But you did,” Obi-Wan said simply. “And even now, even with that other beast…there really was no need for you to get bitten, was there? Not if you had just let me—”

Anakin’s eyes snapped open, bright and sickly under the light. “Stop it,” he said, all that sarcasm dropped from his voice. Replaced by an ancient, angry kind of determination that even made Obi-Wan pause. “Do you hear me, old man?”

“If you truly wanted me dead, I think you would have let me die countless times over,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “And if you were a Sith, I think you wouldn’t have minded if I—”

Faster than a blink of an eye, Anakin was suddenly at Obi-Wan’s side, his hand latched around Obi-Wan’s throat. Obi-Wan let out a short cry, but he didn’t dare let himself look away from Anakin.

“I said,” Anakin said in a low voice, “stop.”

Obi-Wan kept his eyes level. “You know it, don’t you?” he managed. “I think you do.”

For a moment, Obi-Wan thought the grip around his throat would tighten—it would be so easy for him, Obi-Wan realized, his heart pounding hard—it would be so easy for Anakin to just squeeze a little harder, and Obi-Wan would be dead within seconds.

But then Anakin dropped his hand, and he stood up, breathing ragged.

“Shut up,” Anakin said. “And just find us a way out of here.”

#my fic #THE WAY I AM NOW OBSESSED WITH THIS AU SEND HELP #me writing: yes this is fine this is easy #obi-wan: says something that hints at a past with anakin that's lasted YEARS apparently #me: OH???? OH????????????????#sith anakin saving obi-wan from a GUNDARK CAVE???? OH????

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sugarbooger513 · 3 years

Text

𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓞𝓷𝓮

I recently got into Obey Me, and I couldn't help myself from starting an OC fic. I've had a lot of help from my wonderful friends brainstorming ideas for it.

Warnings: Blood, death, war, can be seen as religion slandering, language

Blood. Blood scattered across the lush plains, staining the grasses in crimson. Every step she took, she seemed to have to dodge a body on the ground. Her bow, now covered in someone else’s blood, is gripped firmly in her hand.

He isn’t gone yet. Don’t look at the dead. I can save him from this, I can.

A scream from her right makes her whip her head around. Simeon hits the ground, holding his now bleeding arm.

The man in front of him raises his sword, about to finish the fellow angel off. She closes her eyes, pulling the bowstring back, willing the arrow in the correct direction. When she opens them again, the man is on the ground.

“Simeon!” “Aria, dear,” he breathes a sigh of relief as she tears the bottom half of her shirt to wrap it around his bicep, “you saved my life. I seem to owe you.” “Nonsense. This battle isn’t going well on either side.”

Simeon looks down at the man, who is gurgling on his own blood. “You’re right.” He puts the man out of his misery with a swift kick to the neck, forcing the arrow into an artery. Aria squeezes her eyes shut as even more blood sprays her porcelain skin.

She’s uncertain if she’ll ever get the stains from her mind.

“We should get moving, Aria. You look exhausted.” She shakes her head, looking off to the horizon, where more people were meeting their death in an unnecessary battle.

“I can’t.” “Aria, you can’t save him. He decided-” “Enough, Simeon!”

The two angels lock gazes. Simeon’s ocean eyes almost make her lose heart, but thankfully he looks back to the battle.

“You’re as stubborn as he is. You know that, right?” Aria laughs softly, nudging her dear friend. “Of course I am. How else do you expect me to love him? Go get treatment. I’ll find you when this is over.” He nods, picking his sword up from the ground. “May the heavens guide you, Aria.” He runs off, leaving her to stare after him.

“May they guide us all, my friend..”

Her feet move faster the closer she gets to the worst of the battle. Angels on both sides fight each other mercilessly. Friends on both sides fall to their knees, dying gruesome deaths in front of her eyes.

This can’t be what he wanted. Not what either of them wanted. He isn’t this evil.

“Ah! So you’ve finally joined the shindig, have you?” She points her bow at the voice coming from behind her. The golden eyes are so cold, so unfamiliar, that they make her lose her breath.

Diavolo holds his arms open, waiting patiently in front of her. “Aria, my dear, there’s no need for it to get violent between us.” He takes a step forward, making her step back. “D-Diavolo, what is the meaning of this? You said it wouldn’t come to this!” “He refused to listen, so he must be punished. Isn’t that how it goes? We teach lessons here, I thought.”

“You’re insane! We don’t murder innocents!” “Insane? They struck first! Threatened to throw us out!”

“What else were they supposed to do?! Allow you to tarnish all we have here?!”

“Naive as always, Aria. I thought this would open your eyes.” A tall man with charcoal hair steps from behind Diavolo. His eyes look identical to the blood splattered across his white clothing. Even his wings were drenched crimson.

“L-Lucifer! There you-” He holds his hand out, sending out a blast of some weird energy to knock her away from him. “Do not talk to me as an equal. You made your choice.”

She blinks in shock at the man. “Lucifer.. You.. really are a part of this?” He scoffs, walking a bit closer to her trembling form.

“You know my father and I never saw eye to eye.” “But to kill your friends? To kill the ones who love you? This isn’t like you, Lucifer.” His once charming smile fills her body with dread. Who is this man?

“You never knew me, obviously.” “I know you better than anyone else. Don’t play that game.” His dark eyebrow twitches in annoyance.

“Just like my father. You’ve never learned to shut your mouth!” Another blast of energy hits her in the diaphragm, knocking the wind from her small body.

When she finds her words, both men are towering over her. “H-he loves you L-Lucifer.. You know he-” Diavolo kicks her side, making her yell out.

For a split second, Lucifer’s eyes widen in worry for the girl in front of him.

Diavolo looks over at his second in command with a smile. “Do not worry, Lucifer. I won’t put her through what others have endured.” “Thank you, my prince.”

Aria grips her bow, raising it up as the men are distracted. When she fires the arrow, Lucifer’s reflexes are fast enough to catch it in his hand right before it hits Diavolo’s throat.

“Oh, it seems she still has fight left in her. Lucifer, I must make my way to your father. Please, dispose of her.”

Dispose?

“Of course, my prince.” Aria starts scooting away as Diavolo turns, walking away with long strides.

Lucifer glares at her, snapping the arrow in half with a simple move of one finger. “You couldn’t just mind your business? Just hide away? I never wanted it to come to this, Aria.” “It doesn’t have to! He’ll forgive you! Lucifer-”

“Don’t you understand I don’t want forgiveness?!” His outburst silences her. If there’s one thing Lucifer never did, it was yell at her.

His eyes are brimming with unspilled tears as he stares at Aria. He has to do it, but he can’t.

She blinks her innocent, gem-like eyes up at him as he tightens his fists. “Lucifer,” her voice brings a sense of comfort to him, “do what you must.”

He has to choke back the sob in the back of his throat. He shouldn’t let their past get to him! Not when Diavolo gave him a command. Anyone who opposes Diavolo must die. I swore my life to this cause.

But before the cause, he swore his life to another.

And she’s the one looking at him with an undying love as he towers over her.

“It’s time to wake up, Aria.” Her eyes shoot open at the sound of a woman’s voice. She finds the glowing blue eyes in the dark corner of the room. The maid opens the cell door, slowly walking inside.

“You know what today is, right?”

Aria sits up in the cold bed, a sudden wave of despair chilling her bones. “Yes.. judgement day. I know all too well.”

When the woman turns away, she reaches under her pillow for the small stone she keeps. When she rubs her thumb over it, it’s almost as if heat is emitted, and it calms all of her silly worries.

What’s done is done, and now she must face the consequences.

“Are you ready, Aria?”

“How does one prepare to be cast down to hell, ma’am? I’m as ready as I will ever be, I assume.”

The woman tightens the shackles around Aria’s wrist before leading her out of the cell. Guards line the corridors, bearing spears and swords in case she lashes out.

She couldn’t take them all down by herself. She isn’t a fool.

Once the large wooden doors open, Aria dips her head, hoping no one can see the fear in her face. She had always been told eyes are the window to the soul, and hers were some of the most open.

“Aria Eridani,” the booming voice in front of her has her trembling, “you are brought here today to receive judgement for your crimes against our lord. What say you?”

She finally looks from the ground, her coral irises burning with passion. “Where is he? If someone is being dealt judgement, they should at least meet the man delivering it, don’t you think?”

The angel on the stand scowls, giving her a look that used to terrify her. Now her chest fills with anger when staring at the man.

“Our lord is busy with things that do not concern traitors.” “He’s a coward! He doesn’t like to deal with his problems inside this realm, instead he sends them to hell where he wants them to burn!”

“Yes, where you shall burn along with the seven who started the Celestial War. Scum go where scum belong, child.” “Do not speak of them in that tone! I should never have sided with you people regardless of winning! They knew things I didn’t!” “Weren’t you almost killed by the one you loved, Aria?”

She chokes on her next words. No one ever brought up Lucifer anymore. Not individually.

“He would never.. Never have killed me. He loves me, I know he does. I suggest shutting your fucking mouth, old man.” Swords are raised when she snarls the words out, but the man simply raises his hand, making the guards return to their resting position.

“It’s sad, really. Both of you had such potential as Angels.” “I never want to be lumped in with someone like you again. You don’t teach here. You only punish.”

Her vision flashes white as something burns inside of her. She falls to her knees, groaning in pain. Sweat beads on her forehead, the heat desperate to escape her body.

Is this what falling feels like? Did they make Lucifer endure this?

“Aria Eridani, from this day forward you will no longer be known as an angel. May your soul find peace in the pits of hell, my child.”

Her scream echoes in her own head, then her body feels lighter, as if falling through the air.

Wait a minute, I am falling through the air!

Taglist: @kentosovertime, @katgalle, @roughwithfluff

#obey me #otome game #lucifer x oc #lucifer obey me #mammon obey me #beelzebub obey me #satan obey me #asmodeus obey me #leviathan obey me #belphegor obey me #obey me shall we date #diavolo obey me #simeon obey me

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tonightthestarsalign · 3 years

Text

love you to the moon and to saturn

This started out as a kid!fic because of @thedeathdeelers talking about a juke baby in this post. It did not end up there. It’s much more of a character study I think. In fact this is roughly 2k and 1.5k happen before Julie ever gets pregnant. Idk what to tell you.

I might try this again sometime and actually write something about the kid, for tonight though, this is all I have.

That electricity he felt the first time he played the guitar is back, but stronger than ever. He can feel it pulsing under his skin when he looks at Julie. She turns to smile at him and he feels like floating. He just might have been wrong about what being in love feels like.

or: the three times Luke fell in love.

Luke finds the love of his life at age 11. His parents buy him a guitar for music classes in school and there’s no looking back. He learns the chords the instructor teaches him with the kind of determination and focus that his parents have never seen on him. The boy that can never focus on anything for more than ten minutes suddenly spends hours sitting in a corner and trying again, and again, and again until he can place his fingers exactly the way he should, switching between the chords faster and faster.

The day he finally plays the first melody is burned into his memory for the rest of his life. The feeling of pure joy cursing through his veins is something unlike anything he ever experienced. There’s always the feeling of electricity under his skin, but with his hands on the guitar, it rushes into his heart and makes him feel alive in a way nothing has ever done before.

He goes home that day, his fingers bleeding from the strings, and tells his mother he found the love of his life. Emily yells at him until her voice gives out. It’s their first fight of many.

He dies only six short years later and in his final moments he’s glad to have found love, even with how short his life was, because how could something ever surpass the feeling he got when he had his guitar and a song?

His stomach is cramping, tears are rolling down his cheeks and he is happy he’d gotten to experience the thrill of being on stage, the feeling of people singing his lyrics back to him. How could something have ever made him feel more?

He gets a second shot at life, or at least something close to it, when they tumble from the black room into their studio. Technically the studio is the same, the changes are slight, but noticeable. The plants all over the space, the chairs on the ceiling, their instruments missing and the cute girl register in his mind, but he doesn’t really care. He is back here by some magic and he is going to use his chance. When Julie tells them that it hasn’t been an hour but 25 years, he does falter for a moment. Why would the universe not only give them a second chance, but why 25 years later?

Not soon after he finds out they can still play and people can hear it and all the questions go out the window. What does it matter why he is here? What does it matter if he isn’t actually alive, when he can still do the thing he loves most?

The next morning he hears Julie sing and something in the back of his mind tells him that he was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t actually in love with music. Julie sings and his heart that has been silent ever since the black room, throbs once in his chest.

In the following days they spend an intimate moment in the kitchen, sing together on stage and write songs together and that little voice in the back of his mind gets louder and louder. It gets to the point where he can barely ignore it anymore.

She tells them how important the school dance is and Luke in all his rage and thirst for revenge ruins it. They go to Caleb’s club and miss her dance. He looks at Julie’s disappointed face when they finally make it to the school and the pain in his chest comes close to the night he died. He feels like the worst person in the universe.

Somehow, she forgives them. He’s not sure he deserves it. But he is slowly but surely realizing Julie Molina is a better person than him and so of course she forgives him for hurting her.

It’s when they are at Eats&Beats and they sing about knowing they can make it and closing their eyes when his heart throbs once more. Julie’s voice rings through the room and the words echo in his head. He looks at this girl that he’s only known for a couple days really, and he realizes that that little voice might have a point.

Even though she has forgiven him, his little stunt with Caleb almost costs him dearly. The jolts keep getting worse and when he finally tells her about what’s happening, she looks at him with wide, sad eyes and it breaks his heart. He swears to himself that we will do everything in his power to make sure she nevers looks at him like that again.

They try to save themselves by performing at the Orpheum and it’s a n incredible rush to stand there on stage, to do what he never got to do while alive but the second they take their bow, he realizes that it didn’t work.

Julie finds them later that night, on the ground of the garage where they poofed to because they have nowhere else to go. She begs them to take Caleb up on his offer and on her face is that same look that he never wanted to see again. He pushes up on his feet and walks up to her and tells her that no music is worth making without her.

And really, while once upon a time he thought music was the love of his life, he now looks at this fiery, beautiful girl and knows, that while he no longer may be technically alive, he is much more in love with her than he ever was with music.

But then again, it is hard to say where music ends and Julie begins.

Julie throws herself at him and he doesn’t even think about it as his arms come up and catch her. It’s a couple moments before he notices that they’re touching. She pulls back a little, and it’s like a magnetic force that makes him follow her. If he could, he’d never let her go again.

It’s only later that night, that he realizes his heart is beating again.

He gets an actual second chance at life because the person he loves more than anything pulled him back from the death.

She kisses him the next night, on her porch underneath the starlight. It’s still fascinating to him that they can touch, so when she steps closer and takes his hand, his breath catches. She tugs softly on his hand, until he stumbles a step forward, right into her space. There’s only inches between them, and she has to tip her head back a little to look into his eyes. He never realized how much shorter she is.

She looks up at him with those wide brown eyes and smiles.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” She whispers softly and all Luke can do is nod. Julie pushes up on her tiptoes and then their lips are touching.

It’s not Luke’s first kiss, not by far. But it feels like it’s the first one that matters.

The sky is full of stars, but the brightest one is right here in his arms.

Afterwards everything happens so quickly that even looking back it feels like only moments passed.

Ray gets them set up with passports and social security numbers so they can go back to school. Andi Park calls again and they end up with a contract and a label. ‘Stand Tall’ gets released as a single and hits no. 2 on the Billboard Hot 100. Half a year later, in the middle of Luke’s senior year they drop their first album. They spend the summer touring. Several more tours and albums follow and by the time they’re hit their early twenties all of them are set for life.

Julie and him get married one autumn afternoon. The ground is dappled in flickers of light from the sun passing through the colorful leaves. Julie is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. The simple white dress looks ethereal against her skin. Her curls tumble down her shoulders and Luke can’t believe she chose him.

He stumbles through his vows, cries at Julie’s and slides the ring on her finger with a ridiculous smile on his face. Alex, Reggie, Carlos and Flynn whoop when they kiss at the end of the ceremony. Ray is smiling, his cheeks wet from tears. It’s everything.

They buy a house a couple weeks later. It’s close to the shore, with a nice backyard for the puppy they adopt. Biscuit is a golden retriever and when she looks up at Luke in the shelter from where she’s hiding underneath a blanket, he knows he’s taking her home with them.

They get two rocking chairs for the porch where they spend their evenings with Luke’s acoustic and their shared songwriting notebook.

Julie tells him she is pregnant two years later. Luke cries.

Elena Rose is born in the middle of the night a couple days before christmas. Luke looks at the little bundle on Julie’s chest and forgets to breathe. His heart thumbs in his chest. His wife’s hair is pulled back in a messy bun and she is obviously exhausted. She looks the most beautiful he has ever seen her.

Slowly he steps closer. Elena is sleeping, her little fingers flexing against Julie’s skin. Her face is a little scrunched up and there’s a tiny tuft of dark hair on her head. He looks down at this living being he created and feels like his heart might burst. She is barely a person and still he loves her. He loves her so much it could span eternities and galaxies, life and death.

“She’s gorgeous.” He mutters.

“I know.” Julie smiles. “Come here.” She pats the bed beside her and Luke is all too willing to slide in next to her.

“I can’t believe we made her.” He says.

“You want to take her?” Julie asks.”I’m going to be falling asleep pretty soon.” She doesn’t even wait for his answer, instantly passing over the little body. He doesn’t even get the chance to hesitate before she’s in his arms. Julie drops her head on his shoulder as he settles Elena on his chest.

His daughter opens her eyes and looks up at him with wide blue eyes. His heart swells in his chest.

They get to take her home two days later and Luke puts her down in her crib. She’s wiggling a little, her hands and feet moving in her sleep.

He leans against the door frame to his daughters room and watches her sleep, still unable to believe that he brought this life into the world. There’s a melody in his head and he’s itching to write it down, but can’t bring himself to look away from her for even a minute.

Julie steps up next to him, leaning against his side.

“I never thought I could love anything more than you.” He admits quietly.”But she’s…”

Julie smiles. “I know what you mean.”

He presses a kiss to his wife’s temple. “Sometimes I can’t believe how I got so lucky. I died in 95 and here I am, 35 years later with more than I could have ever wished for.”

“The universe has been kind to us.” Julie agrees quietly.

And as he stands there, with his wife in his arms and his daughter asleep in her bed, he sends a thank you to whoever might be listening.

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #juke #jukebox #my fic

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lordoftherazzles · 8 months

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🍃 As The Tide Turns ‣ (4/9) ‣ The lost treasure of Durin the Deathless has been sought by many and found by none, but to Bilbo Baggins, it’s merely another riddle just waiting to be solved. The self-proclaimed “Deathless” expert finds himself whisked away aboard The Ravenheart, led by the infamous Captain Oakenshield, and the two embark on an unexpected journey to solve one of history’s biggest mysteries. (pirate au, teen and up, 23k)

🍃 Between Vices and Virtues ‣ (6/6) ‣ King Thorin Durinson has only held the throne for a few months after the death of his greedy predecessor. When Shire Inquiry journalist Bilbo Baggins is brought in to observe a meeting of powers, it's quickly made apparent that Thorin's sheltered and strict lifestyle has him completely disconnected from those he rules, as well as his family. It's up to Bilbo to show Thorin that the world is worth exploring and that not everything is as it seems. (modern royalty au, gen, 40k)

🍃 Bookbinder//Songwriter ‣ (13/???) ‣ Thorin Durinul has always dreamed of making it to the big leagues in the music industry. Ered Luin’s newest citizen, Bilbo Baggins, an aspiring writer and all-around bookworm, has recently taken ownership of the mountain town’s dusty old corner shop, now, Bag End Books. They weren’t looking for love, but now they can’t imagine tackling life’s challenges without each other. (modern band/bookshop au, explicit, 76k)

🍃 Dragonhearted ‣ (15/15) ‣ Thorin lives a life of solitude since Smaug’s curse fell upon Erebor. That is, until a brave hobbit turns the mountain upside down with little fear of Thorin’s snarls, scales and enchanted company, and learns to love a beast. (beauty & the beast au, explicit, 83k)

🍃 Forget-Me-Not ‣ (3/3) ‣ After the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin remains out of consciousness until his outbursts of pain become too much for Bilbo to witness. Bilbo - the hobbit whom Thorin married in Lake-town - begs Gandalf for assistance. Magic may have pulled the pain away and brought Thorin to a lucid state, but it also took his memories of the quest, Bilbo, and their marriage, away from him. Now, with a fair warning from Gandalf that rushing Thorin's memories too quickly may cause him to relapse, Bilbo must tread carefully around his feelings, while Thorin is dead-set on courting the hobbit he can't remember he married. (post-botfa/amnesia au, gen, 14k)

🍃 Fuck Thy Neighbor ‣ (7/7) ‣ Bilbo and Thorin have a past, one that spans no longer than one wild evening which resulted in far too many drinks, a 24-hour chapel, and not knowing the other’s last name. They both thought they could simply ‘deal with it later’. When ‘later’ finally arrives, they must learn how to co-exist now as neighbors, but also as accidental newlyweds. (accidental marriage/neighbors au, explicit, 31k)

🍃 Golden Hearts Bleed Faster ‣ (1/9) ‣ Bilbo Baggins, Prince of the Shire, has been left with a kingdom on his back and a ring in his hand after the unexpected death of his parents. Bodyguard Thorin Oakenshield has been brought in to see to the prince’s safety, and do a little investigating of his own on the matter in hopes of coming face to face with the one who turned his mountain, and his life, upside down some years prior. (modern royalty/bodyguard au, teen+, 3.5k)

🍃 Kurdu 'abadaz ‣ (6/10) ‣ It's said the Arkenstone is the literal heart of the mountain with a pulse of its own, ensuring life can sustain within it, but it's also been said that the Arkenstone can drive any king mad. Not every curse of madness is the same. When Thorin Oakenshield is plucked from his eternal slumber by some miracle of the stone, he must work with Bilbo to navigate this new world and what it means for the both of them. (post-botfa/supernatural au, explicit, 34k)

🍃 May Your Forge Burn Bright ‣ (18/18) ‣ Thorin labors as a blacksmith within the world of men to support his family and the other displaced dwarves of Erebor. Change comes to his monotonous routine when the smithy he works in unexpectedly comes under a hobbit’s management. (pre-quest au, explicit, 109k)

🍃 (Take Me Back To) The Night We Met ‣ (6/6) ‣ On a night when The Green Dragon Inn is out of vacancy, Bilbo Baggins opens up his home to a trio of displaced and rain-soaked dwarves. The two children of the bunch are happy to have a temporary home away from the rain, but their uncle, Thorin, sees it only as a debt to be repaid. (pre-quest au, gen, 25k)

🍃 They Stole My Heart (Along With the Rest of Him) ‣ (6/6) ‣ After departing less than amicably, Thorin and Bilbo find themselves pining over memories and questions of ‘what if’ without any courage to seek out the answers themselves. So their friends and family step in to help…some more forcefully than others. (post-botfa/kidnap au, teen and up, 21k collab with @sunnyrosewritesstuff)

🍃 When Darkness Shines Brightest ‣ (10/10) ‣ As the Master of Shadows and King Under the Mountain, Thorin lives burdened with guilt and loss, for Erebor is dark, dead, and on the brink. That is until he finds a possible solution to save his people in a being that radiates light and life. But is it truly possible to save them all from the shadows he created? (hades&persephone/TNBC au, teen and up, 58k)

🍃 Where The Shadows Lie ‣ (8/???) ‣ Bag End Bed & Breakfast collects more dust than customers these days. An unexpected visit lands a company of royal vampires into Bilbo’s care. As he learns to coexist, he discovers secrets to his lineage. (vampire/slayer au, explicit, 59k)

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trashmenofmarvel · 3 years

Text

Branded - Chapter 44

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: I won't give specific chapter warnings because it would spoil it. Just... brace yourselves. I mean that, truly. The entire fic has been leading up to this moment, so... take a deep breath. It's going to be okay.

AO3

Demonic claws striking vibranium metal reverberated painfully around the room, like a gong being struck directly next to your head. You couldn’t cover your ears because your hands were occupied with clutching your shirt, helpless to do nothing but watch as Rogers tried to fight off the Winter Soldier.

And he was losing. Each slash kept Rogers on the defensive, holding up his shield to ward off the next brutal attack. Bucky was ruthless and far faster than Rogers was equipped to handle.

It wasn’t long before Bucky managed to land some blows. Talons left trails of bleeding scarlet, whether from his hands or feet, and even his wings had managed to buffet Rogers more than once.

Bucky’s tail, fast as a whip, grabbed for something at Rogers’ hip. A pistol, yanked out of its holster and deposited into Bucky’s grip, he fired several shots at Rogers who barely managed to get his shield up in time. When the clip was emptied, Rogers bashed it out of Bucky’s hands, following it through with his first solid punch.

Bucky didn’t so much as stumble. Instead, he ripped Rogers’ shield out of his hands, threw a pointed, ridged elbow into his face, and sent him rolling backwards across the floor.

Zemo had remained quiet for the fight, but now he moved closer, a glittering hunger in his eyes.

“It seems you have met your match, Captain. And it turns out, even you can bleed. How nice to find a flaw.”

Rogers rose to his hands and knees, glaring up at Zemo as he wiped blood from his mouth. He gained his feet and held his hands into fists like a pugilist.

“I can do this all day,” he quipped, giving a bloodied smile that was all sharp and no humor. He looked exactly like Bucky had in the HYDRA torture video.

That’s what finally snapped you out of it and got you moving.

Bucky was also on the move, striding toward his friend like a hunter stalking prey, and then he delivered a savage kick to Rogers’ face.

Rogers crashed against the wall behind him, hitting it hard enough to slightly bounce off before collapsing onto his knees. He wasn’t going to win this, and from the pained expression, he knew it, too.

Bucky descended on him. You got there first.

Placing yourself squarely between them, you braced your hands in front of you as if to physically stop Bucky.

Surprisingly, he did, head slightly tilted like a curious animal.

“Bucky. Bucky, please, listen to me.” Your hands shook but somehow your voice was steady. “I know you can hear me. I know, because I’ve been there, with you, in your head when you’re him. The Soldier. He’s just another part of you, Bucky. You’re still in there.”

He simply stood there, immobile as a stature except for his tail. It twitched, restless and agitated, different from its controlled, languid movements during the fight.

But he wasn’t moving. He was listening. There was a chance.

“You can feel it, can’t you? Here.” You touched one hand to the middle of your chest. “Zemo tried to break the bond, but it’s there. Faint and dim, but I can feel it. You must feel it, too. Please, Bucky. Fight him!”

Tears flooded your vision and your throat burned.

“Come back to us.”

Eyes as cold as eyes didn’t so much as blink. If Bucky heard you, he gave no sign of it.

“You gotta get out of here,” Rogers said from behind you. He could barely speak, and a glance over your shoulder told you he was holding a particularly large gash across his stomach. “Go! I can take care of myself!”

You ignored him and faced the demon standing before you. You weren’t leaving Bucky to face his worst nightmare all alone. You weren’t leaving him to be someone’s pawn again. And you definitely weren’t leaving him so he could kill the only other person he loved.

All you could hope was that the animus still tied you to Bucky, and that he wouldn’t harm the human he was bound to.

It was a huge gamble, but there were no other cards to play. Everything depended on whether you could reach Bucky. Not a human slave reaching out to its master.

You needed Bucky.

“You belong to me, Barnes,” you whispered.

You somehow got your legs moving and walked forward until you were standing right in front of him.

“And I belong to you.”

Bucky said nothing, his eyes gaze on you in their entirety. Meanwhile, Zemo appraised you for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

“Kill her.”

Bucky raised his demonic arm, claws extended. You didn’t move.

Even as your heart raced and your limbs trembled, you didn’t move.

The arm didn’t come down. Bucky stayed like that, poised to strike while you braced for the killing blow.

But his eyes. The icy blue searched your face, brows pulled into a confused line, and there was a faint glimmer of something within their depths.

He slowly lowered his arm.

“Sergeant, what are you doing?” Zemo glanced between you and Bucky, his expression darkening. “Obey my command! Kill her!”

Bucky’s ears twitched but his focus was completely on you, eyes narrowed and blinking, as if on the verge of remembering.

It was enough for hope to surge through your limbs, and you couldn’t help but give a small, timid smile.

Studying your expression, Bucky seemed dazed, his eyes widening, and his lips parted as he said your name, raw with roughness.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

Zemo clicked his tongue.

“Pity.”

You didn’t understand; Zemo sounded more annoyed than angry. Bucky also frowned, and began to turn to face the man who had enslaved him.

It was when Bucky turned just far enough that his left arm was no longer shielding you that Zemo pulled the pistol from his holster.

You didn’t hear the shots. You didn’t see the flash of a muzzle, either. But you were still knocked backwards by a brutal force ripping through your stomach, and then next thing you were looking at was the vaulted ceiling and the lights glittering above you.

They were oddly beautiful.

You expected the floor to be as cold as the table, but you were wrapped in something warm and strong. A familiar silhouette leaned over you, blocking out the lights with a pair of curved horns and brown hair, and you had an eerie case of déjà vu.

Had it all been a dream? A hallucination? Had you imagined the whole thing and was Bucky only now rescuing you?

No. It wasn’t a dream. Bucky’s face was etched in unimaginable horror. He gripped one hand tightly with his armored claws, the other pressed against your stomach. You could barely feel it, feel any of it, past the cold wetness, as if you’d tumbled into a frozen pond and you couldn’t get warm again.

You opened your mouth to say his name, but nothing came out. Bucky shook his head frantically, and looked somewhere over his right shoulder as he yelled for Rogers to find the fucking sorcerers.

You tried once more, but only a gurgling noise came out. Your mouth filled with iron. It was getting harder to breathe.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay—“

He repeated the mantra but the tears in his eyes alarmed you. It was bad. It had to be for Bucky to look at you that way.

You tried to lift your head to look down, but Bucky told you not to, his large hand still pressed to your stomach as he pulled you close. He was so warm, his scent earthy and alive, but it wasn’t enough. The world was beginning to fade at the edges. You were so tired.

“No, no, don’t close your eyes, don’t—please, please look at me.”

You wanted to obey him, if only to show him you were fine and he had nothing to cry about, but your eyelids were like iron weights.

Trapped in darkness, the cold numbness was winning, robbing you of your connection to Bucky. All that was left were the sounds of his muffled sobs. It was agony to listen to, but you couldn’t find him in the dark.

All that was left was the fading golden thread, and the slowing beat of your heart.

And then, that too, was gone.

***

You were immediately assailed by heat and stinging wind.

You shielded your face as you sat upright, drawing your shirt up to cover your mouth on instinct. The air was so dry and hot it hurt to breath, and when you opened your eyes, you immediately wished you hadn’t.

There was nothing beyond the endless dune of red.

Next Chapter

#branded #bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky x reader #demon!bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

Lavinia fluff fic, with some angst in the middle to give it a little bit of ✨spice✨

Written by @cute-ogre

Her friend is hurting again, she is trying so hard to give the heart back to Lavinia, but she can’t.

She feels the anger and the frustration rising.

She can’t control it.

Lavinia can’t control Her.

“Let’s try again.”

“I told you! I don’t know if i-”

The wind get stronger and snow starts to fall in a storm, the forest around them starting to freeze up, and the shivering blonde woman in front of her is trying to hold her ground, play the hero. Trying to be brave, but she is nervous, that much is obvious.

I should’ve never talked to her in the first place, now I care about her and she is in danger and I can’t stop it

She can feel the anger, the bitter taste of madness that is possessing her body.

“Give it back, now!”

Her own voice sounds cold, demanding, echoing in the stillness of the now completely frozen forest, She steps closer to this girl in front of Her, that stupid little thing that is nothing more than it, a girl standing on Her way.

“I’m trying to!” The generational thieve waves her hand wildly.

“If you don’t give it back willingly, I will take it from you!”

The Ice Queen watches the girl give a step back for each step She gives forward until her back hits the frozen trunk of a tree, trapped, eyes staring on hers unwavering, but her chest raising and falling faster than before.

“Lavinia, please…”

There a low tone on her voice, almost pleading.

“What? Are you scared of me?” She is inclining Her head to the side, pretending worry “Owww, don’t you like to see me in a crown?”

The Queen smiles, cold as stone, bringing Her face closer to the little thief to whisper taunting.

“Tell me, which one is worse, living to see me kill everyone you care about or dying first?”

“Lavinia, that’s not you, you are not like this, please!” A killer sweetness appears in the Queen’s voice then.

“Oh, but I am. Give me back what you family stole from me and maybe I will be kind enough to let you go.

“I’m trying I swear!”

Hands hitting the trunk brusquely, framing the girl’s head and trapping her even further, the Queen growl.

“Trying is not enough. I don’t care if you die doing this. Give. My. Heart. Back!”

She watches the blonde flinch, closing her eyes. There’s a long pause and when her eyes open again The Ice Queen is overwhelmed with the sudden softness in those grey orbs. She blinks when the sweet and calm voice whispers hesitantly.

“Please, I understand that you are angry, you are hurt and I’m so so sorry, but I swear to you that I don’t want to keep a piece of you heart, I just want to put it back in place.

The snow around them start to fall more calmly now.

“It’s mine. It’s my heart.” The Queen grunts. Making the woman she trapped between Her arms nod, locks of dark blond hair caressing the pale skin of Her forearms.

“It’s yours, it is, and it should never have been of anyone else.” She says it oh, so kindly, and The Queen feels like She is suffocating, fighting against something She can’t touch, like drowning without water around Her “That’s why I’m trying to find a way to give it back, it belongs to you and that man should’ve never accepted it in the first place.” she pauses, swallowing. “Whe- When we love somebody, we don’t want to posses any part of them, freely given or not. Because love it’s not possession, so just being lucky enough to receive your love should have been enough for him. He didn’t need a reminder of it. I’m so sorry that he acted that way with you.”

The ice started to melt, the Queen’s eyes searching the other woman’s face, trying to understand her.

“Why are you saying those things? What do you want from me?”

“Nothing, I just want to help.”

The way this woman touches her left cheek, warm hand burning in her cold skin, makes something break inside of her. Lavinia closes her eyes, feeling warmth in her chest, making her mostly frozen heart beat faster.

It’s weird. She is not used to this feeling. To this warmth.

And oh, she knows that she isn’t all cold, but then most of the time she just doesn’t have it in her to be warm.

Warm in this moment, comes in the form of this beautiful woman, that seems to have the moon in her eyes and fire in her soul, Lavinia can’t stop looking.

“Why aren’t you scared? Why don’t you run? You know, I’m not one the good guys, not even close to it.”

The burning hands are trembling, but start a painfully soft caress, and Lavinia can feel her tense body slowly start to relax.

“I’m not scared because I know you, and while you are not all good, you are also not all evil. I don’t run because I know you are hurting, and I care about you. I-I like like you.”

Her words come out a little bit tremulous, teeth clattering, her cheeks pink and lips a little bit purple from the cold. Her warm breath hitting the cold air and becoming vapor after each word.

Lavinia can’t look away, her hand moving to touch the women’s face, seeing her pale fingers contrast beautifully with golden skin, learning in slowly until their foreheads touch, noses brushing softly, letting scape a little incredulous laugh.

Everything about this girl seems too good to be true.

And yet, when another warm hand touches her neck, Lavinia can’t hold back, her cold lips crashing against the warm, trembling lips of this absolutely intriguing woman.

She hears a gasp, and then she is being kissed back, slow and softly, burning hands in her hair and neck while her own hands trail delicately a path to the small of the blonde’s back ,pressing the soft body more firmly against her own, feeling the tips of her fingers burn from the warmth.

The soft trembling sigh in response makes her smile slightly, tongue tracing full lips softly, feeling her own lips tingling from the contact.

The woman was shivering from Lavinia’s ice, as much as Lavinia was trembling from her fire.

I’m going to freeze her. She is going to melt me.

And maybe that’s fair.

She feels warm hands grabbing the back of her shoulders, pulling her closer.

Or maybe we will cancel each other out

The Queen presses the little bookworm harder against the tree truck making her arch her back.

Maybe that’s was what I was supposed to feel all along.

She feels a little moan against her mouth, giving a not so gentle tug on the blonde’s hair in response.

Her body shivers.

Lavinia’s body shivers in response.

Like I’m not the only one giving, the only one shivering from a touch

Like I’m not the only one who cares

She ends the kiss, panting heavily, looking at the flush in the other women’s cheeks, the skin there as red as her own.

Moonlight eyes never looking away.

“You calmed me down, I- I never..”

“I will help you fix this. Please let me help you.”

Lavinia looks at her, sincerity bleeding from every pore.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

She is taking way more than one piece of my heart as hostage

The Queen thinks, a little bit annoyed, but can’t do anything but smile softly at this hurricane of a woman.

Give my heart back, keep all of me instead

“Yeah. But you better make yourself useful, you nerd.”

“I will.”

The blonde smiles back at her, so brightly that is like staring at the fucking sun, Lavinia doesn’t look away, can’t look away.

Way more than a piece of my heart indeed

Oh shit, that will be complicated

“Good.”

“Lavinia, can I ask you a question?”

“Hmh.” The blue eyed woman answer distractedly, looking at red swollen lips that are curling in a mischievous smile, before singsonging.

“Do you wanna build a snowman?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Keep laughing and I will turn you into a snowman, you little shit.”

The loud, bold laugh that echoed in the forest was followed by a reluctantly amused.

“Bold of you to assume that it wouldn’t be the coolest thing to ever happen to me.”

#answered #anonymous #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #eaa lavinia #lavinia x mc #ever after academy #ever after academy lavinia #fluff #fluffy angst #slight angst #touching thursday

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years

Photo

Words: 5,232 Sister!Winchester Reader x Gabriel Warnings: violence, intense scenarios, violent imagery A/N: So... once upon a time I was writing two series at once... Mess Is Mine and Fangs and First Impressions. And I said to myself, "Self, we are never going to write two series at the same time again! This is stressful!" And yet, here I am today, already writing two series (The Wrong Bed, Sam x Reader which is almost done! and Even in the Darkest Heart, a Demon!Dean series) and now I'm being dumb and chucking in a third. This was supposed to be a One Shot but as we've already established on this blog I am apparently incapable of writing short fics. So HERE YA GO! New Series. Don't ask me how many parts it will be because I literally have NO IDEA. :) But having a steaming slice of Gabriel, straight out of the oven.

Your name: submit What is this?

White. Clean, blank, pure white. That was all you were aware of suddenly. It was blindingly white and as you sat up and then pulled yourself to your feet, you saw that it was like an expansive room, painted in the color of freshly fallen snow, unmarred by any track or trail. All was pure white.

“Hello?” The only answer you received was the lonely echo of your voice, so distorted by the time it bounced back that it was almost unrecognizable. Where the fuck am I? you wondered. You started to walk, but as everything was the same, the sensation of moving was unaccompanied by any visual cue that you actually were moving. This was so unsettling and disorienting that you ceased your tentative steps quickly. Your heart started to race a little faster and a disturbing thought popped into your mind. Am I dead?

_ _ _ _ _ _ “I need a large bore IV, wide open. And up her oxygen percentage. Her numbers are tanking!”

“Sir, you really have to stay back. Sir! You’re not allowed beyond these doors!”

Dean watched helplessly as your unconscious body, straddled by a doctor with their hands pressed firmly down onto your abdomen, was hurried through a pair of swinging doors, flanked by an army of medical personnel. Dean finally registered the nurse in front of him and stopped before he collided with her outstretched hands. “Where are they—”

“They’re taking her straight into surgery. Are you next of kin?”

“Yes—My brother and I. She’s our sister! I need an update! As soon as you have one!” Dean urged.

“Do you give us permission to perform life-saving actions like resuscitation if necessary?” The words came out in a fast tumble and Dean didn’t even process them before he answered.

“Yes, goddammit! Do whatever you have to—she has to be okay!”

“We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” The nurse turned and ran down the long hallway, the swinging doors closing finally behind her. Dean paced a tight circle, a bundle of nerves and rage.

In about 20 minutes, Sam came running up and spotted Dean collapsed in a chair in the little seating area, endlessly bouncing his knee. “Hey—what’s going on? They wouldn’t let me leave—I almost punched out a security guard,” he said desperately. Sam had fresh stitches in his forehead and he was developing quite the bruise around one eye.

Dean let out a heavy exhale. “They rushed her right into surgery.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Are you okay?” he asked, finally looking up to inspect Sam’s stitches.

Sam collapsed into a chair beside his brother. “Fine. They said the concussion is probably mild. Nice to be numbed for stitches for once,” he said, but his eyes kept darting back toward the doors and he was wringing his hands. “Did you hear anything yet?”

“No.”

The Winchesters sat in a heavy silence for almost two hours before a doctor came out.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were becoming so anxious by the lack of anything and the horrible thought in your head that this was it, this was dying, that your heart was absolutely racing in your chest now. Sitting still didn’t seem like a good option, but the thought of trying to move again through all that blank nothingness seemed just as bad. “Hello?!” you yelled once more, this time as loud as you could.

“Hi there.”

You jumped with a startled gasp and spun around, one hand on your chest out of fright and surprise. There was a figure there. He had a small, warm smile on his face and his irises seemed to blaze golden and light brown. It was strange—you felt an overwhelming sense of calm as you looked at him. Your heart rate had slowed to its usual pace and you no longer felt that bubble of rising panic in your chest, threatening to burst. You were keenly aware that in your profession, a seemingly kind face didn’t necessarily mean anything—and yet, he had somehow stopped your wounded whirling.

“Who—who are you?” you asked, finally able to recover from your surprise and find your voice.

His smile widened on one side, curving up in a crooked half-smirk. “Well… I suppose you can call me your guardian angel,” he said.

Your brow only furrowed down in confusion. “Where… are we?”

“Difficult question to answer. We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense… kind of everywhere to you right now.”

The wrinkles on your furrowed brow deepened. “Am I—am I dead?”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily, while you merely looked on in perplexity. “Now, what kind of guardian angel would I be if that were the case?” he asked you. He suddenly stuck a hand into his pocket and pulled out a large Twix candy bar, bouncing a little unconcernedly on his toes. He opened it and took a big bite, before meeting your eyes again.

“I’m sorry—but who are you?” you asked again.

He let out another small chuckle and you watched as the corners of his eyes crinkled this time in a broad smile, but he still didn’t give you an answer.

“If I’m not dead, what exactly is happening?”

He tilted his head a little and looked at you for a long moment. “Do you remember that man in the bar?”

And suddenly it was like you were there—sensory overload. You could hear the drone of the music in the background and smell that heady scent of beer… And there was the man. You saw his face clearly, and now you saw that he had been watching you.

“I see him,” you said, and suddenly you were back in the white space. “Saw him.”

The figure nodded. “Well, he wasn’t just a guy in the bar.”

Now, you tilted your head a little in an unspoken question and your eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“He was the thing you were hunting. And he figured out that you were hunting him.”

As soon as he said it you heard a crack like thunder and a flash like hot, white lightning. Your body jolted and there was a searing pain in your stomach. You looked down saw an expanding circle of dark crimson on your shirt, and when you pressed a hand to it your fingers came away stained bright red, sticky with blood. Now when you looked back up at the figure he wasn’t smiling anymore and there was no sign of the candy bar or wrapper. He raised two fingers and snapped, and the searing pain disappeared along with the scarlet stain on your shirt.

“Sorry about that,” he said. His voice now was lacking the playful lilt it had before. It was soft and serious. “That can happen from time to time. Reality leaks in a little bit.”

Suddenly, you understood and then you remembered. You had heard his footsteps behind you, first at a distance and then quickly, running. You had turned and then… the crack of the gun going off and echoing in the lonely parking lot—the flash of the muzzle. More gunshots, must have been Sam and Dean shooting back—they had been ahead of you going to the Impala. But you were already on your knees, bleeding, clutching your stomach and struggling to see anything through the searing pain.

“He shot me,” you said.

“He did,” the stranger said.

“But I’m alive?”

“Yes.” A long silence stretched where you both just looked at each other, and you were reeling from the implications.

“So, is this real or all in my head?” you asked him.

He smiled again, just a small one, and it lit fireworks of light off in his eyes. They were mesmerizing. “Why can’t it be both?” he asked. “We’ll be seeing each other again. I promise.”

“But—wait!”

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam and Dean both jumped to their feet when the surgeon came out through the swinging doors and eagerly ran to meet her.

“Y/N is going to make it,” she said. The brothers both heaved huge sighs of relief. Sam crumpled half over and put his hands on his knees, forcing in air. Dean shut his eyes and clenched a hand into a fist. “She’s very, very luckily to be alive. The bullet lacerated her liver and she lost a lot of blood but it missed her hepatic artery by mere millimeters. If that had been hit, she would have bled out in minutes,” the surgeon said. Sam straightened back up stiffly and exchanged a look of horror and desperation with Dean. “She’s in critical condition and we will keep her in the ICU until she is more stable, but she’ll be okay. Thank goodness you two got her here so quickly,” the surgeon said.

“Thank you,” Dean said forcefully.

“Yes, thank you so much,” Sam added. The surgeon nodded and headed back through the doors. The Winchesters stood there in silence after the doctor left until finally Sam broke it.

“That was way too close,” he said.

Dean swallowed hard at the lump in his throat, but it wouldn’t lessen. “Way too damn close,” he said, his voice breaking a little. He wandered back over to collapse into the chairs. Sam sank down next to him and glanced over at his big brother.

“At least the shifter is dead,” Sam said. “Yeah. But we still have to deal with the cops,” Dean growled. “Afterall, we did kill someone in a parking lot…”

“There was surveillance at the bar. It was clear self-defense. We have nothing to worry about,” Sam reassured him.

“Well, not nothing,” Dean said. “You know what a pain in the ass it is going to be trying to keep Y/N from doing anything to heal up?” A faint touch of a smile reached his eyes as he looked over at Sam.

He nodded. “She is a Winchester.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

You were finally moved from the ICU, and Sam and Dean snuck in early, even before visiting hours, so they could be there when you woke up. Sam had a huge bouquet of sunflowers on his lap and Dean had brought your favorite herbal tea. You woke up slowly, still a little foggy from all the painkillers, but you immediately sensed the two figures in your room. Sam noticed you stirring first.

“Hey,” he said sitting up. His voice was soft but you could hear the smile in it. “You’re awake,” he said, climbing to his feet and coming to stand beside your bed. “Brought you something to brighten up the room. I know they’re your favorite,” he said, setting down the huge bouquet on the side table.

You blinked heavily a few times and managed a weak smile at him, “Thanks. It’s good to be up and have my room brightened,” you said. You put your hands down on the bed and tried to sit up a little more but immediately winced and hunched over, a hiss of breath drawn in through your teeth, drawing concerned looks from your older brothers.

Dean was immediately at your other side. “How are you feeling?” he asked. His voice sounded extra gruff to your ears, and you knew it was likely due to worry.

“I’m doing well for someone who has staples holding their guts in,” you said dryly, a small wry smile creeping onto your face. Neither of your big brothers laughed. “Oh, come on! I’m kidding!”

Dean swallowed at the lump and tightness in his throat again but it didn’t abate. “Really though? How’s your pain?”

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Really. You can stop giving me those classic Winchester furrowed brows. I’m okay. They have me on the good drugs,” you added with a small smile. You noticed the paper cup clutched in Dean’s hand. “Is that for me?”

“Oh, yeah. Your favorite tea.”

You grinned at him and accepted the cup. “Thank you.”

Sam sighed heavily beside you, and you could sense your brothers exchanging a glance. “Listen, Y/N…” Sam started. You lowered the cup from your lips and looked at him.

“Stop,” you said holding up a hand. “Before you say anything else, I need to say something.” You struggled to find the words. You wanted, no—needed them to hear every word you were about to say. “This is not your fault,” you said, deliberately turning your eyes to Dean and catching his green ones. “I mean it. This was bad luck. It could have been any of us. I was just the slowest walking to the Impala. My legs are a lot shorter than yours,” you joked. “Alright?” A heavy, thick silence held the room in suspension, feeling like a stifling summer evening heavy with humidity. “I mean it. None of us saw this coming. It isn’t anyone’s fault except the dickhead who shot me.”

Sam was staring at your face and you caught his eyes, which were a little sad and glistening more than they should have been for the light. “We’re your big brothers though,” he said. “We’re supposed to protect you.”

“We thought we lost you,” Dean said.

“But you didn’t,” you retorted. “And you did protect me—you saved my life. They said if you had waited for an ambulance I might not have made it.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and you watched the muscle in it twitch. “Did they tell you?” he asked you, his green eyes holding yours—and you saw fear there, something you rarely saw in his eyes—not that it was never there. He just never let you see it. “Millimeters and it wouldn’t have been fast enough.” You looked down at your hand on the comforter of the hospital blanket.

“Yeah, about that, actually…” you started. Sam’s brow creased even more in the middle. “There’s something else that happened I need to tell you about.”

“What is it?”

“I think while I was in surgery—or maybe even before, I don’t know for sure—but I saw something,” you said, wrapping both your hands around your paper cup again, soaking in the warmth of the tea.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, apprehension growing with every word your spoke.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I was in this pure white room… and at first there wasn’t anything there. It was just empty but then this… figure appeared.” Your brothers watched your eyes grow a little distant.

“A figure?” Sam repeated. You looked up at him and nodded.

“I asked him who he was and he told me that I could call him my ‘guardian angel’,” you said, now looking over at Dean and trying to read his reaction. His face seemed to darken and you watched the muscle twitch in his jaw again.

“It was probably just your brain trying to process what was happening to you,” Sam offered. “You almost died. The mind does crazy things when the body is in shock—trust me, I know,” he said sincerely. “And so does Dean.”

You shook your head. “No,” you said, vehemently. “It wasn’t that. It wasn’t. It was real. I’m telling you; it was—” you sighed heavily, not even knowing how to explain without sounding stupid. “—it was happening in my head but this figure, I don’t know… There was something about him. I think he really exists,” you said.

“Did he say anything else?” Dean pressed you.

“I asked him who he was and then I asked him where we were and he said something like, ‘We’re nowhere and yet, in some sense everywhere.’ Whatever the hell that means,” you said, fiddling with the sleeve on your hospital gown. You hesitated, knowing the next question you asked would be hard for your brothers to hear. “Um. And then I asked him if I was dead… and—it was the strangest thing. He laughed and he made some joke about it.”

“He made a joke? What the hell?” Sam repeated.

Dean shook his head. “What kind of joke?”

“Like, ‘oh, how good of a guardian angel would I be if you were dead?’ Oh! And it gets weirder… then he reached in his pocket and pulled out a candy bar.”

Now, Dean and Sam both straightened up involuntarily and looked at each other long and hard in some kind of silent communication. “What? What is it?” you asked. “Come on. Don’t do the silent, telepathic thing. I hate when you do that,” you said.

Sam swallowed hard. “What did this figure look like?” he asked.

You tried to call up an image of him in your mind, and as soon as you shut your eyes you could see him as clear as day. “He has sort of warm brown hair. It’s a little shorter than yours, Sam, kind of swept back. And he has these—these eyes that look like they’re golden brown or amber. A little stubble on his face and he has this cheeky sort of little smile…” You opened your eyes again and looked at your brothers. Their expressions made it quite clear they knew exactly who you were describing.

Dean ran a hand over his face and licked his lips. “You said he pulled out a candy bar?”

“Mhm. I wouldn’t get that detail wrong,” you said.

Sam shrugged and his eyebrows lifted. He shook his head, a little disbelieving.

“What?” you repeated, looking between your brothers. “Who is it? What’s going on?” You were met with stony silence again. “If you two don’t tell me right now I’m going to climb out of this bed and if my stitches rip out it WILL be your fault!”

Dean sighed heavily again. “Alright! Alright! Calm down, turbo!” You sunk back against your pillows again. “Yeah, I think we know who you saw. But—I mean—” Dean looked to Sam who shook his head again, apparently having no explanation. “It doesn’t make any sense.” You gave a questioning look.

“We knew him. Before we knew about you. It was definitely not your mind inventing this, but—he’s dead as far as we know,” Sam said.

Now it was your turn to gulp at the tightness in your throat. “Dead?” you repeated. Sam nodded.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It’s complicated.”

You laughed sardonically and let your head fall back against your pillow, feeling suddenly tired. “Isn’t it always with us?”

“You’re tired. You obviously need to rest so we can talk about this later,” Dean said, putting a hand gently on your shoulder.

“What?! No! You’re not just gonna say that and expect me to be able to—to sleep!” You looked between your brothers in annoyance. “I’m serious! Cough it up! If you think I’m giving the two of you time to concoct some bullshit cover story you have another thing coming.”

Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Just—relax. We don’t need you getting all worked up… You remember that trickster we told you about? Way before we found out about you?”

“The one who made you watch Dean die over and over again?”

“Yes, exactly,” Sam said.

“…Wait, you think that figure I saw was this—this trickster? That’s way too powerful for a—”

“He wasn’t a trickster,” Dean interrupted. “He was an archangel playing at being a trickster.”

Your jaw dropped open. “What?”

“Gabriel. It was the archangel Gabriel,” Sam said. You stared at him like he was insane. And then you looked over at Dean, who was refusing to look at you and instead staring, brooding, at his boots, chewing on his lower lip.

“Pardon my French but fucking--Gabriel?? THE Gabriel?”

Sam nodded. He could see your mind starting to spiral. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—he said he was my ‘guardian angel’. You don’t think he was being serious, do you?”

Dean shrugged. “We don’t know. We don’t even know if he’s back. He’s supposed to be dead. Sam and I basically watched him die. Besides, just because he said something like that doesn’t mean anything. He loves goofing around,” Dean said, and you heard some bitterness still in his voice.

“I don’t think saving my life is goofing around,” you retorted.

“We don’t know for sure that he did that,” Sam said. “We need to be careful here. There could be some other agenda. I mean, he was dead. So, if he is actually back that is a big enough mystery right there to warrant being concerned. Resurrections tend to have a catch.”

“I didn’t even know archangels could die,” you said, a little sadly. “Why did he—?"

“He died to save Dean and I,” Sam said. You let out an exhale in an audible rush of air. “Y/N, did he say anything else?”

Now you couldn’t think. Your mind was spinning. You pressed your palms over your eyes. “Umm, yeah he—I asked him if I wasn’t dead what was happening and he walked me through the shooting. The guy in the bar… the parking lot—” you suddenly shuddered and your eyes flew wide open. You pressed one hand over your incision.

“You okay?” Sam put a hand gently on your arm.

“It was like I was there. I could see everything as if in the actual moment. I saw the man in the bar watching us. I heard him running up behind me when we were in the parking lot. And then I could feel it again…” You trailed off and the room stayed silent for a long moment, each of you grappling again with how close to true disaster and devastation you had all come. Sam reached out and grabbed your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“But he just snapped his fingers and it was gone—the pain and everything.” You looked over at Dean. “I heard more gunshots—after I was shot. Did you and Sam—?”

Dean nodded solemnly. “We got him. He’s gone.”

That answer was weighty. You were glad that he was gone, but you wondered about the implications. “Are you and Sam going to get into trouble? I’m guessing there is an investigation and—you killed someone. What if—” Dean smiled fondly at you and chuckled a little. “Are you really worried about that? You almost died, and you’re worried about Sammy and me dealing with the cops? It’s all taken care of, okay? There were surveillance cameras in the lot. They caught everything. It was a clear case of self-defense. Don’t worry.”

You nodded and let out a relieved sigh. “Good. That’s really good. Who is going to wait on me hand and foot if the two of you are in jail?” you joked.

“Y/N,” Sam said, his tone again serious. “What else did Gabriel say?”

“Right. Umm, I asked him what was happening if I wasn’t dead—if it was real or all in my head. He said ‘Why not both?’ and then he told me—” you suddenly remembered his last words to you and the beeping on the heart monitor increased to match the rushing of your heart. You gulped. “He said we would be seeing each other again. What do you think that means?”

Sam shook his head and looked to Dean, whose face was stern and serious. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think it was really Gabriel?” you asked. “I mean, it could have been something else pretending to be him, couldn’t it?”

Sam rubbed a hand over the center of his chest, where a tightness seemed to be taking hold. “I don’t know. We don’t know. But you should get some rest now. Dean and I will look into this, okay?”

They both kissed your forehead and made sure you were comfortable against your pillows before retreating to the hallway, hoping that you would take their advice and get some sleep while they investigated.

Dean pulled out his phone and pressed the speed dial number for Cas, who was back at the bunker. Cas answered on the first ring.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, hey. Sammy and I are just leaving the hospital.”

“How is Y/N?”

“Well, you know, as good as can be expected. She seems to be in good spirits though.”

Cas breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. “Good. That’s very good news. I feel so… useless,” he said a little quietly.

“I know,” Dean replied. “But there’s nothing to be done about that right now. And none of this is your fault.” There was a beat of silence where Dean guessed Cas was still wishing as hard as he could that he would somehow magically regain his angel mojo. “Hey, listen, though… there does seem to be something else strange going on…”

“What do you mean?” The angel’s voice immediately deepened with worry.

Dean ran a hand back through his hair. “Y/N said when she was unconscious that she had some sort of dream or vision or something. She is fairly convinced that it really happened.”

“Okay…” Cas’s voice was uneasy.

Dean quickly related the whole story to Cas with as much detail as he could remember, but purposely omitted the key moment—the candy bar. “This figure claimed to be her guardian angel.” “Well, that is odd because the human idea of a ‘guardian angel’ is quite rare in actuality. Only a very, very small number of humans would ever be given that kind of special protection and they would have to be very important.”

“Right. But we asked her to describe who she saw and guess who it was?”

“Dean, you know I don’t like guessing games—”

“Frickin’ Gabriel. The archangel.” Dean waited for Cas to say something but the line was quiet. “Cas? Cas, are you still there?”

On the other end, standing in the front room of the bunker, there was a very good reason Cas was silent.

“Hello, brother.”

Standing before him was the very being Dean had just mentioned.

“Oh, why don’t you just go ahead and tell Dean-o you need to call him back.”

Cas was so shocked that he gulped and did just that without thinking.

“Cas, wait! What’s—” Dean let out an annoyed sigh and Sam’s brow contracted low over his eyes.

“What was that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Cas just hung up on me all of a sudden. He sounded weird,” Dean mused, frowning down at his phone. He redialed Cas’s number but it simply rang and rang.

Back in the bunker, the angel stared in shock at Gabriel. “Wow. What exactly have you done to yourself, brother? I mean, I was never a big fan of the trench coat but even that was better than this,” Gabriel said with a grimace, taking in Cas’s sweatshirt and jeans. “Yikes. But, I’ll admit I do kind of dig the scruffy look you’ve got going on with the beard.”

Cas’s dark eyebrows were casting a heavy shadow over his cobalt eyes. “Gabriel… How—how is this possible?” he asked, stepping back slightly. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Well, I was dead. Dead as a door nail. But—then, all of a sudden, I wasn’t,” he said. He walked casually over to the table and hopped up to sit on it.

“What—” Cas gulped anxiously. “How?”

“Beats me. Dad up to his old tricks again if I had to guess. I was given some specific instructions though…” he added mysteriously.

Cas didn’t say anything and just studied him. He seemed to be quite the same Gabriel that Cas remembered. “What were they?”

“Oh, come on, Cas! You never did have much flair for the dramatic. You really think I’m just going to sit here and tell you? No, no, no… especially when you’re the only one here…” he said, glancing around. He jumped back down onto his feet. “Listen, don’t bother calling those flannel-swaddled jawlines back—first of all because your phone is broken—”

Cas glanced down at the screen on his phone and it was cracked and did not light when he pressed the button on the side. He gave the archangel an annoyed look.

“And second of all, because they will know when it’s time for them to know. Which, by my calculations, will be when they get back here in three to five days once Y/N is able to leave the hospital.”

“Dean said she saw you when she was unconscious or… dying,” Cas said. It was hard even to get the word out.

Gabriel smiled. “Did he now? How interesting, don’t you think?”

Cas was getting irritated with him for playing coy. “Enough, Gabriel. Did you save her life?”

He pointed to himself. “Did I? Y/N had some sort of vision of a mystic figure? Sounds like a classic near-death experience to me. Who’s to say if it really happened at all?” He smiled serenely at Cas again. “Where is Y/N’s room? This way?” he asked, pointing down the hallway. Cas frowned at the question but Gabriel only took off in that direction.

“Gabriel,” Cas called after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t have my grace but you do. Why don’t you go heal Y/N now?”

Gabriel gave Cas a doubtful look. “Yeah, I’m sure that miracle would go completely unnoticed by the hospital staff… Look, brother, as much as I would like to simply go and fix her, take away all the ouchies, I can’t yet. Y/N is going to have to wait until she’s released.”

Despite his usual playful tone, Cas thought he saw real concern in his brother’s eyes while he spoke of you. “Well, is it true?”

Gabriel was continuing his hurried walk down the hall, poking his head into every room to see if it was yours. “Is what?” he asked carelessly over his shoulder.

“You told Y/N you were her guardian angel!”

Surprisingly this stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face Cas, his lips pressed together into a thin line. “Castiel, you know how rare that is. I mean, they hardly exist. Only a handful over all the millennia,” he said softly. There was a strange light in his eyes and Cas studied his expression carefully.

“That didn’t answer my question.”

And in response to that, Gabriel only smiled.

Part 2

#gabriel fanfiction #gabriel x reader #gabe fics #archangel #supernatural fics #reader insert #spn

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captaincravatthecapricious · 3 years

Text

Collapse- Prompt Fill

Jon is a Dune fan. How can picking up one book change things? Idea from a tumblr prompt and a post by @roseunspindle (permission was granted for writing this)

cw all the typical episode 160 stuff and references to nausea and of course manipulation and fainting. Some dialogue from 160, and a quote from Dune, of course!

I am still accepting bingo prompts (card by @celosiaa) Pick a prompt from the card and a character and let me know if you want art of fic! (I am much faster at art). I have several outlined that I need to write, and I will get to those... Soonish? Have an excellent day and I hope 2021 treats you well!

Jon isn’t sure why he grabbed the book. He’s read it before so it doesn’t hold the same interest it once did. He had to work on that reading habit of his in school, and now he’s managed a few rereads, but he still prefers the unknown and interesting.

But he did love this book when he read it. He was too young for it, of course. But that hadn’t mattered. He sucked the whole world into his young and greedy mind.

And now that glossy, second hand cover.... makes him pause over it. He doesn’t know how it survived evictions and his absences. He must have subconsciously stored it out of the way. But he grabs it, with a few statements, and his small collection of clothes into a very battered backpack that he’s sure once belonged to Melanie.

He wishes he had more books. Maybe once he and Martin reach the train station, he can pick up something else to read. Or maybe he can borrow some books from Martin….

He stuffs Dune into his backpack. It’s on the top, distending the fabric slightly, straining the zipper as his grandmother had always reprimanded him for when he shoved too many pleasure books into his school bag, (always to read under the desk and he was always inevitably caught and reprimanded again, but what could you do with an inattentive student who still pulled good marks?).

He boards the train with Martin. Battered and aging backpacks filled with worn clothes and statements and books and granola bars. The station had been loud and busy enough to send Jon reeling with the information spilling off a crowd of people as well as the less eldritch sensory overload. His head aching dully as they settle into their seats.

Medicine for motion sickness sends him drowsy as soon as it is effective. He spends the time before it works staring queasily out the window, clammy hands holding tightly to Martin as much to sooth his uneasy stomach as to hold Martin in this plain of reality. He nods off, hands still clasped with Martin’s. Wrapped up in the elation of having Martin with him, around him, talking to him…. almost safe.

He wakes up in a storm of hurried breaths and crashing thoughts…. precarious as the crashing waves that haunted the lonely, but far closer and more oppressive. Statements tumbling with his own crashing thoughts. Fear on his breath. His fear making him Hungry in the nauseous way of autocannibleism.

He presses his face into Martin, only just then realizing that he’s been using Martin as a pillow. Martin, who is dozing. Martin, who is still a little foggy. The last of the haze burning off with the contact. Jon can see the steam rising between them, mainly and gentle. The sun burning the fog off a meadow in the early morning.

Jon sits himself up, but stays pressed against Martin. The imprint of Jon slowly thawing Martin as the train gently sways them both.

Jon doesn’t want to sleep more. He would much prefer to read, but it is still more than a bit of a gamble for him to even medicated. But…. he’s bored.

Dune.

Right on the top of his bag. Leaning over starting to make him queasy (which doesn’t bode well for reading attempts), he pulls it out and straightens up.

He turns it over in his hands a few times, until his stomach settles. He’s fine. Just a few more minutes before the medicine works… probably anyhow.

He flips through the pages, still waiting for his breathing to calm as well.

Oh.

He remembers this words… in a half remembered haze of childhood and tracing those words on his limbs and his walls. With his eyes, and markers, and pencils. On the inside of his eyelids. Carved into the air about his bed as he repeated them to himself.

‘I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.’

Reading those words again makes his hands shake like they had when he first read them… with Mr. Spider fresh in his nightmares. Still missing the life he could never have with his parents.

Jon fumbles for a pen.

He traces them again on his forearm.

Poorly written, of course. Hands far from steady with the rocking of the train and the rocking of his stomach and the rolling of his world after the day he’s had. But he is once more too tired to focus on anything much, so he tucks his book away again, and shoves the pen in his pocket.

He tucks himself up against Martin again, using an old jumper as a blanket. He knows he is taking a bit of a liberty, but he buries his face in Martin’s neck and breathes deeply. He’s asleep again in moments.

The trip isn’t eventful. Lots of track clicking past. Lots of drowsy hours. A disappointing sandwich and a tasteless cup of tea. Jostled shoulders. Cramped restrooms. Cramped necks. Jon’s bad leg protesting the seating arrangements. Then the slightly uncomfortable walk to the safe house. Weighed down with hasty shopping and their lumpy bags. Jon limping more heavily by the time they drag themselves over the threshold.

In the domestic bliss, time stretches. Lazy afternoons on the couch Jon and Martin entwined stretch into years in the golden light of afternoon. Two weeks of cups of tea. Of trips to the store. Of statements that Jon goes through way too fast, try as he does to ration them. Frantic phone calls to Basira as Jon can’t make the trip to town anymore. More cuddling on the couch. Bickering over who does the dishes, over who makes the best eggs. Over what to have for dinner. Discussions of what counts as a sandwich and whether cereal is a soup. Jon being appalled that Martin eats cereal from the box directly with a spoon. Martin being horrified that Jon eats dry cereal from a bowl with a glass of milk. Playing footsie through dinner. “Yes Martin, another soup. Means less cooking.” Sloppy kisses over glasses of wine. Jon being too dizzy to go on walks. Jon retracing Frank Herbert’s words on to his arm. Over. And over. And over again.

“I must not fear…”

Until a package arrives.

It’s unassuming and labeled in Basira’s careful penmanship. If Jon expects to see tear-staines over a lost partner, he doesn’t see them.

Martin kisses him soundly, and leaves to take pictures of good cows.

Jon has been tucked up on the couch. Under a thick blanket. Finally in better spirits now that he has statements again, ready …so ready for his limbs to feel like his again.

He tastes copper as he started to read. The words don’t sit right in his mouth. Before he can even properly start… before his mind is lost to him, he can feel the wrongness building. And when the betrayal occurs, he can’t find it in him to be surprised or hurt. All he can feel is a hollow fear…. a hungry fear. Gaping and endless. Tearing into his skin as he tears at his clothes, his skin, the statement that does not belong to Hazel Rutter and has nothing to do with a fire. Aside from the fire in his throat and in his hand, and leaping from mark to mark as Jon learns what they actually are. A map of manipulation. A tool to make the actual tool. The wood and hammer and nails that make him the door. The door that he… that he. “ Come to us in your perfection.

Bring all that is fear and all that

is terror and all that is the awful

dread that crawls and chokes and

blinds and falls and twists and

leaves and hides and weaves and

burns and hunts and rips and bleeds

and dies!

Come to us.

I-“

“I…” Jon chokes. His eyes sliding helplessly over the room. Over many tokens of a happy life that he is never going to have. Because of this…. this… he can’t even call it a betrayal. His entire life has lead to this. Every unhappy moment. Every instinct he has ever had. Every poor choice. Every step another step towards the inevitable. His eye catches on a familiar cover. Somehow still glossy. Despite Jon having carried it around like a safety blanket for the last few weeks. And he catches those smudged and traced over words on his arm and he tears at himself, trying to stop.

“I…”

He chokes again. Around those last few words. The words that will wrench the thunder from the sky and rend it asunder.

“I…”

He breathes. Possibly for the first time since his hands ghosted over the unassuming manilla folder.

“‘I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.’”

His vision cuts out. He must have stood at some point, because he is falling. Stings cut. Nothing to manipulate. The puppet is broken.

He wakes with a head full of cotton, but a heart devoid of fear. There is a clarity in his limbs. But exhaustion sits heavily on his chest. He feels… clear. And real. And… like utter shit.

But the arms around him are solid and warm and smell like tea and toast and all the good things Jon can think of in the world. And even if Jon could bring himself to move… he wouldn’t have dreamt of doing so.

There is burnt ink in the air.

“Wha’?” Marble-mouthed. Heavy with the exhaustion of years of poor sleep, of running and fearing and the adrenaline crash of something horrifying being…over.

“It’s alright, Jon. Everything’s fine. I…. I don’t know how you did it, but you stopped reading… and I burned it. It’s gone. We’re okay.”

And Jon isn’t sure he understands…. but he doesn’t care. Because he is not afraid, and Martin told him that everything is okay. And he thinks… just Maybe. Just… maybe… that it might be.

He lets himself be tucked in. He lets himself sleep.

Jon takes up calligraphy. He hates it. Utterly despises it… but he becomes decent enough to write one thing for their mantel. In the safe house. Miles away from fear and Jonah Magnus… if the bastard is even still alive…

Framed in gold, traced out in neat and flowing calligraphy:

#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fic #tma fic #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #dune #cw fainting #cw nausea #cw manipulation #my words #my fic #my writing #my art

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rexlapi · 3 years

Text

i know no one who follows me is into genshin bUT im so proud of this au so i’ll post it anyways

moongod!zhonglixmotal!childe, chang’e/hou’yi au (no previous knowledge of the mid autumn festival is needed, hopefully i explained it well enough in the fic)

am i yours?

rating: teen for inexplicit self harm wc: 2k

ao3

- -

It had only been a century since the god of the moon, known to the people as Morax, had first come to the barren rock he would soon have to call home. He had no emotional attachment to the place, however he had no other place to call home. Too many years since the man who had once been Zhongli had last seen his love, too long since he had known happiness.

The earth was rising into view from his palace on the moon, the blue waters always reminding him of his lover’s bright eyes. Zhongli stood on the cold stone floor, staring out into the distance. It was the anniversary of the day when Zhongli had first ascended to yue, a day many mortals celebrated, offering him yuebing, or mooncakes, in hopes that he would bless their families. Every year, he found it in himself to smile upon those who still remembered his story, hoping that one day, his good would come back to him in the form of the one he loved. But of course, the world was a cruel place, leaving the immortal nothing but a barren rock to live his sad eternity on.

Despite the people’s celebratory gifts, this day was always one of sorrow for Morax. He had only experienced a few decades of imprisonment on this rock, yet somehow Zhongli felt so, so very old. This day only ever reminded him of what he’s lost, of what he will never have again. To be fair, almost everything reminded him of his Tartaglia, from the waters of earth to the orange of the sun. More than anything, these things reminded him of his biggest mistake.

There was nothing in this that the moon god regretted more than his reckless action that got him stuck on this barren rock, never to see the face of the one he loved again.

The day that ruined Zhongli’s life had been a beautiful day, one of the most beautiful days he had ever seen. The skies were a vibrant blue, streaks of puffy white clouds dotted throughout the sea of blue, the sunlight warm and bright. He had planned on proposing to Tartaglia that day He had everything prepared, an elaborate basket of luxurious gifts for the other man’s family, as well as a lovingly self-crafted pair of matching dangly earrings, for each of them. Zhongli unconsciously brushed his hand over his ear, toying with the rare orange jade bead at the end of his.

He had been waiting for Tartaglia to return home from an assignment when one of his own students had broken into his house, looking for the small potion of immortality Tartaglia had received for shooting the excess suns out of the sky. His Tartaglia had always been an adept warrior, being proficient in nearly every weapon. Zhongli smiled to himself, wishing he could see the way Tartaglia bounced on his toes before every right, his face stretched into a broad grin, ready for the rush of adrenaline that every fight gave him.

Zhongli had always loved teaching, wanting to impart his knowledge and wisdom on the next generation of bright minds. He would never forget the look of horror his student wore when Zhongli angrily shoved a spear through their stomach, snatching the elixir out of weakening hands and downing it in one gulp. It wasn’t until Tartaglia returned home shortly after the incident when Zhongli realized what he had done. He remembered how Tartaglia’s eyes had widened, his voice calling out for him, but Zhongli could already feel himself floating away, becoming weightless, as if he had become a spirit. The distraught cries from his love that morphed into sobs, calling his name, begging him to stay, telling him he loved him These cries would forever ingrain themselves into his memory. The elixir would have let them be happy and together forever. Instead, it separated the two of them for the rest of time.

Every year on this day, he would talk into the sky, hoping that maybe, one day, Tartaglia would hear him. Hoping that maybe one day he could see him smile, hear him laugh again. This year was no different. Zhongli busied himself in the kitchen, preparing some of Tartaglia’s favorite foods. He would eat a bite of each dish before leaving the rest as offerings to whatever greater powers lay above him, asking them for mercy, for freedom for this barren rock. Though, behind all of these, he would always ask to see his love, one last time.

Please, Celestia. This is all I can offer for you. Please, I’d like a way off this rock, freedom from my past mistakes. He looked off into the distance, at the painting he had done of Tartaglia. Please, I’d like to see Tartaglia again. Please.

Years like this one passed. Years became decades, and decades became centuries. Time passed quickly for the immortal, and though it may pass fast, it had no end. Every year, Morax asked the same things of Celestia. Every year, he received no response. He had grown so very tired.

On his 8880th mid-autumn festival, he awoke to see a sharp periwinkle dagger wrapped in silver silks sitting on the edge of his bed. He carefully unwrapped the fabric to reveal a beautifully carved glaze lily embedded on the handle. A small piece of paper fell out of the wraps, peaking Zhongli’s interest. He carefully set the dagger down onto his bed, picking up the small slip.

A note, written in elegant, looping, traditional Liyuen. It read: Morax, your prayers have been heard. Celestia sends its regards as well as apologies for taking so long to process your request. Take this dagger as the key to the next journey in your life, where the one you love is waiting. It has been enchanted so there will be no pain. However, if you decide to take this chance, do know that it is irreversible. Do as you wish with it, take the chance or do not.

I hope you find your peace, Zhongli.

The note was not signed, but somehow Zhongli felt as though he knew the person who had written the note. “Thank you.” he croaked out, his voice rough from lack of use. His hands shaking, he picked up the dagger once more. It was the perfect weight, a perfect balance of light yet solid. It had been, well, ever since he had come onto this rock since he had held a weapon. Not a weapon, a key. A chance. Hope.

He took a walk around the empty palace where he had lived in solitude for thousands of years, as if saying goodbye. It was a goodbye he was happy to say. He retrieved the hand carved wooden box containing his most prized possession from it’s secret location, securing it in his pocket. He carefully rolled up the scroll containing the image of a smiling Tartaglia and slipping that into another pocket, scared that if he did see Tartaglia again, that Zhongli wouldn’t be able to recognize him.

He stared down at the dagger in his hands, his fingers curling around the elegant glaze lily. He felt his grip grow tighter, then he felt his hands start to shake. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He was ready to leave this barren place behind. I will see you again, Tartaglia.

As promised, the blade brought him no pain.

...

Zhongli opened his eyes to see an ethereal forest, the trees not quite opaque, as if they weren’t quite there. He looked down to see the beautiful blade that had been gifted to him stained with golden blood. He wasn’t bothered by the golden blood, for it was the blood of immortals after all. He was however, awed by the trees he saw. He hadn’t seen vegetation in what felt like years, not having to eat food in order to sustain himself after ascending to godhood, saving human food for very special occasions.

He looked around, though he didn’t see anyone. Where the one you love is waiting, the note had said. Zhongli wandered around the forest for what felt like days, looking for a head of bright orange hair or a pair of deep ocean eyes. He saw neither. Had the sender lied? He couldn’t help but lose a little bit of hope, though wherever he was now was still certainly better than the hellhole of a rock he had resided on for millennia. He took a deep breath of the fresh air, feeling more and more energetic by the moment.

Say something. His brain told him. He was running out of options, so he did as his inner monologue asked. Clearing his throat, he recalled the song he would sing to his Tartaglia. Humming the first few lines to get warmed up, his hope growing with every beat.

“Xu ni sheng shi shi, wu jue qu de ai,” His voice shook as he switched from his native Liyuen to lover’s Snezhnayan. “Always and forever, in this heart of mine…” The forest was silent. Zhongli felt his heart shatter, not wanting to accept that he really would never see his Tartaglia again. He knelt on the ground, his hand clutching the blade of the dagger, a cascade of golden blood dripping onto his spotless black-gold hanfu. He wished he could feel the sharp pain of the cold blade biting into his skin.

“Xu ni sheng sheng shi shi, wu jue qu de ai,”

Zhongli had never stood faster in his entire life, the dagger falling to the ground, forgotten. His eyes widened as the familiar face of his beloved appeared from behind a tree. He stood stunned. The sender didn’t lie.

The sun seemed to illuminate the younger boy, his orange hair glowing golden, his typical gray ensemble billowing in the breeze. Zhongli had never seen such a beautiful sight in his thousands of years of existence. “Always and forever, in this heart of mine… longer than the heavens, and the stars that shine…”

Zhongli and Tartaglia both rushed forward at the same time, the orange haired boy taking the other’s bleeding hand in his, while Zhongli gently placed his uninjured hand on his lover’s face. “Xiang si qing nan nai, yuan yu ni tong zai,”

They both broke out into smiles filled with grief and disbelief, their voices shaking as they finished the verse together. “I am yours, I am yours, forever”

Collapsing into the other man, Zhongli let himself cry. “Tartaglia I-”

He felt strong arms hug him tighter, only making Zhongli sob harder. “Shh it’s okay, I’m here now. You’re here now.” Tartaglia had begun to cry too, having fallen to the ground with Zhongli, the two a tangle of limbs and tears.

“I love you so much.” Zhongli choked out, letting more and more of his years and years of pain and loneliness fade away with every moment in the other boy’s arms.

Tartaglia kissed Zhongli through teary eyes, trying to convey the words he couldn’t say in the action. “I’ve never stopped loving you, even after all these years. I love you, Zhongli. So much. Please, don’t be an idiot again and cause us another eight-thousand years of separation. I don’t think I can go through that again.”

Zhongli laughed through a sob, placing a kiss on Tartaglia’s cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” He pulled out the box he had carried around with him since he had been banished to the moon. Carefully, he pulled out the other earring he had crafted all those years ago, the same shape and pattern as the singular one Zhongli himself wore. “Tartaglia, would you be mine forever?”

“Only if you’re mine forever" He responded, the biggest shit-eatting grin on his face.

Zhongli nodded solemnly, completely serious in his consideration of the agreement. “That is a fair contract.”

Tartaglia laughed before kissing Zhongli again. “It was a joke, of course I’ll be yours.”

He dipped his head down, allowing Zhongli to attach the earring to his ear. Perfect. Zhongli couldn’t help but think. The blue jade matched his eyes perfectly, just as Zhongli’s earring matched his own amber eyes. “Forever?”

“Forever."

~~~~~~~~~~

Xu ni sheng shi shi, wu jue qu de ai -> Let your love live forever,

Xiang si qing nan nai, yuan yu ni tong zai -> Love-sickness is unbearable, I wish I were with you

#mine*#IVE NEVER BEEN PROUDER OF MY WORD VOMIT BRAIN #NE VER #im actually in love with my own writing? who could've known #anyways if you enjoyed mayahps a comment or reblog?#genshin impact #chili #zhongzi #childe x zhongli #zhongli x childe #zhongchi

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