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phoeebsbuffay · 2 years

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Imagine “Star Wars” especial edition: crossovers.

[4/4?]

House of Jedi.

Imagine: you are the daughter of a powerful king whose realm is located in a not so far away galaxy. You have an older brother who died, and thus you are the king’s only heir. The council is obliged to acknowledge your inheritance, but upon the king’s death, you are found usurped by your half-brother—the king’s son by his second married. You need to fight back, but you also need more allies. Hence, you contact Anakin Skywalker, your old friend from the days where you almost became Jedi yourself. However, when he comes to you, he finds you a very different person… Will your friendship remain in these turbulent days? What will be of you?

Warnings 1: this is based on “House of the Dragon”s plot. For those who might not be aware with the upcoming “Game of Thrones”’s spin-off, it’s about the dispute of the iron throne between Rhaenyra Targaryen and her half brother, Aegon II. Some names are changedand some other details are different too, but the story is basically the same (hence the crossover).

Warnings 2: this wasn’t meant to be long, but okay. It contains smut, violence, a LOT of drama with fluffy (?) ending (??).

Recommendations: this part is loosely based on “Going Under”, “Bring me to Life” and “My Immortal”, all songs by “Evanescence.”

***

Anakin’s POV.

He follows you to the boy’s bedchambers, his heart racing against his chest. Who’d have known that night where both of you followed your hearts would lead to this? Most intriguing is that he’s the father of the next king of Westeros.

As much as this information shocks the Jedi, nothing compares to the sentiment of becoming a father. However, it’s only when Anakin realizes that the boy had been raised as your husband’s son that he is very much irritated.

“Is he aware that I am his father?” Anakin asks you.

You take notice of his annoyance and, before the both of you get into Aegon’s privy chambers, you turn at him.

“Yes”, and it surprises him to hear so. “Daemon suspects, but says nothing about the matter. Aegon is a young man now so he needed to know the truth, despite being instructed not to tell this to anyone. He’s the heir of the throne regardless and is as much as a Targaryen as a Skywalker. I pray you not think that night we had, where I gave myself to you, is regretful to me. Unless it is to you.”

He is taken aback by your words, not expecting to hear them. It provides Anakin the crude vision of what lies in your heart, a long time struggle between light and dark, duties masked by ambitions, thus eclipsing sentiments that both of you had been forced to conceal due to circumstances.

Nonetheless, he sees the light in you. When you look at him ever so lovingly. Anakin steps closer to you and gently caresses your cheek.

“I did not mean to question you, my love.” It is when he confides you. “I’ve been plagued by nightmares again.”

Anakin looks away, but this only makes you sympathize with him. You are remembered of the days where you consoled and comforted him when deep fears haunted him in the shape of unreal events disguised as nightmares.

“I hate how I lost you. I was unable to choose for myself. I’d have chosen you.”

“I know. But you’ve never lost me, Anakin.” You tell him, gently. “You are irreplaceable to me. Your affections never dusted into wind. They are my only comfort. To look at our child, our boy, as much as I fear for him, is to be gladly reminded of you, of us.”

Anakin interrupts your words by kissing you passionately. Thankfully, there is no one on the corridors and the few guards present pretend they are not the ocular witnesses of what’s going on.

“You will be mine again”, he vows it.

Upon which you give a mischievous smirk.

“I’ve always been yours, Ani. As I hope you have always been mine.”

“There’s no question about that.” He presses a kiss on top of your forehead.

You do not take more time in the corridors; anytime now Obi-Wan would go back to meet them with Daemon right beside him. So Anakin follows your footsteps to the boy’s bedchambers already sensing the Force in him.

As the door is open right after you are excused of the guards’s presence, Anakin is right behind you. The son you and him conceived about nine years ago was preparing to sleep when you announce yourselves.

Anakin is thrilled, emotive when laying his eyes on his son. He is tall for his age and is every inch like you. A Targaryen, indeed, but he’s such a Skywalker in many ways.

His hair is silver and drops in his shoulders; his eyes, so vivid, possess different colors: the same blue of Anakin’s and the lilac of Y/N’s. Though serious in countenance, Anakin senses he’s more temperamental than he shows, although also counterbalanced by a deep melancholy.

He’s been exposed to constant trauma.

Anakin frowns lightly when analyzing the kid’s sentiments and thoughts. He’s confused, but fearful, seeing me with distrust: will I betray his mother like so many, including his adoptive father, did?

“Say hello to your father, Aegon”, you break the silence that has suddenly taken over the environment.

Aegon steps forward, rather reluctantly. Anakin makes sure to earn his trust, firstly by opening his arms wide and staying on his knees. The tactic works: because Aegon is inspired by the Force, which flows as naturally in him as in both his parents, he can tell of the Jedi’s true intentions. So he goes to Anakin and hugs him. And Anakin returns it, eyes tearing when sensing the kid’s scent, feeling as much as him the need of love and affection.

Oh, to grow in such troubled circumstances! How tormenting must’ve been! And yet, somehow I understand you, my boy. My son.

“Hi”, Aegon says it, still struggling with calling Anakin “father”. “I’m Aegon Targaryen.”

Anakin would’ve correct him, though. No, you are Aegon Skywalker. But what does this matter? Details, mere details. What is more important, however, is Anakin realize that his son is healthy and a survivor of this bloody dispute upon which he’s also involved whether he liked it or not.

“It’s a delight to finally meet you, my boy. I’m Anakin Skywalker.” He pauses. There’s a long glance of mutual understanding between the two parties. You watch all with a new sense of delight. It’s what you’ve dreamt all this time. “Aegon, I’m your father.”

“I know.” There’s a little smile twitching upon the corner of the kid’s lips. “I was told about you. I… I hope I can make you proud, sir. And…” he pauses, unsure what to say. Aegon turns his head to you, and you nod your head, encouraging him to speak his mind. “…i hope we can get along.”

Anakin feels tears rising to his eyes, but choked in the way to his throat, thus suffocating a sob. This meeting means so much more than he thought. When looking at Aegon, the Jedi is remembered of all the goodness that somehow mirrors the light there is in him. He’s the savior, and Anakin knows it.

“You make me very proud, son. I’m sorry we haven’t met before but I assure you I am not leaving so soon.”

Aegon’s face lightens up. He has such a good heart, Anakin beams when noticing it.

“I pray so. Can you tell me more about you?”

As much as Anakin is willing to bound with him, it is not the moment. You leave the position of observer and tell your son he needs to rest and that Anakin and him will have plenty of time to talk.

When you both say goodbye from him and return to the Conqueror’s throne room, you snake your arm into Anakin and says:

“He is a good boy.”

“He is”, Anakin agrees delightedly. “You have raised him well.”

You blush, a sight pleasant to Jedi.

“I’ve meant it what I said, though.” He insists, making you look at him. “I am not going back to the Order. I’m staying, Y/N. For good.”

***

Your POV.

The little moments of happiness you’ve enjoyed by Anakin’s side and your son Aegon’s are now past. You entrust the boy’s care to one of your ladies as the battle day comes.

Anakin watches as you come to the small council dressed for the battle. You are wearing silver armor, possessing a sword in your right side and a dagger to your left, even though you are intending to make use of your powers for the first time. Perhaps it’s by reading your intentions that Obi-Wan tells you when you have a moment before Daemon’s arrival.

“Please, Y/N. Be careful as you fly today for war. We need you safe and sound.” Before you answer, an appreciative smile forming in your lips, he adds seriously still: “And I don’t mean it physically only, but mentally too. I know more than anyone the effects of a long war.”

“I take your counsels in consideration, my former master”, you say in such a blissful manner that warms Obi-Wan’s heart. “I have endured this too long to fall now. Rest assured, old friend, that I know what to do.”

The conversation is interrupted as Daemon Targaryen walks in. He is exchanging some words to Anakin in regards to battle before looking at you.

“It’s time. They are coming.”

You give Obi-Wan one last look before nodding. To the men there present, and here you force yourself to ignore Anakin, sensing his deep concerns towards you, you address the following speech:

“My lords, today is the last day. The battle that will be either victorious to our cause or smash us in a grand downfall is to be finally fought.” You put a smile in your face as you walk around the table, the same one your ancestor once looked upon to plan the conquest of seven kingdoms.

“I, more than anyone, understand the values of sacrifice for this cause, the energies we put in efforts to defeat the usurper. But this isn’t about me anymore. This is not about this family, but to the unity of the Seven Kingdoms. I’m betting my life to it, to govern it with justice and peace. To rule, when victorious, with wisdom and balance. I’ve made mistakes in these past years that cost me so much. But this ends today. This ends now.

“We fight for the rights of your daughters and granddaughters, your wives and mothers. We fight for the justice of men; of your sons, grandsons, brothers and fathers. We fight for one righteous cause. We are not here to bend before the darkness that awaits outside. We stand together over what’s right, never tolerating what’s wrong. May those on the wrong remember that the real Targaryens are just in their claims. Therefore, if it is needed the use of fire and blood to win this war, then so be it. It’s by fire and flood we will sweep out injustice of our realm.”

It is when you are applauded. Even Daemon acknowledges your charisma, your skills presented in your speech by giving you a small smile. Perhaps in another life the two of you would have synchronized in this union.

It is time to leave. You know Anakin wishes to have some time spent with you before you go, but for the sake of you both you don’t give him his moment.

You separate at last. You fly with Daemon by your side. Mounted in Syrax, you spot the enemy. You watch as Daemon goes forward.

The battle descends in blood. It begins.

You fly fast forward to meet your brother Aegon II in the air. Both of your dragons collide, each claws trying to rip each one’s throat. There is offense in the air, but you try to concentrate by using the Force to your favor.

You need to know Aegon down. But sensing something is coming from you, he holds onto his dragon.

“What have you become, Y/N? Sister, you are a witch!”

“Words of a weak man such as yourself are nothing to me, Aegon.” You respond him in the air. “Often frightened boys as yourself call powerful women as me by witches. If you were so secure of yourself, you’d not offend me. But perhaps you do so by existing.”

He snorts at you, fury crystal clear in his countenances. The dragons clash again and again, dancing as high as above the clouds. Winds are cold, and there might come a storm soon.

“You will deserve the death of a traitor.” He yells at you.

As clouds get darker, so do you. A prelude of blood, an announcement of a storm.

Syrax feels the fury you are attempting to hold back, having promised Obi-Wan you’d not bargain with the dark forces, and slashes it upon your brother’s dragon by cutting it’s left wing.

It is when Aegon surprises you by removing from his back an arrow. How..? It comes faster than you’d think. He shoots you an arrow and it is close he does not hit you. You make sure Syrax presses her claws upon Aegon’s dragon. It is when he shoots you another arrow.

This time, however, he hits you.

***

Anakin’s POV.

It rains as the battle in land continues, bleeding the field with the red blood of thousands of men, clones included. Out of a sudden, however, two dragons are seen falling from skies, carrying to the ground their riders. For a moment, Anakin fears it’s you, but according to men the fallen are Aemond Targaryen and his uncle, Daemon Targaryen, your husband. Both of them are declared dead.

“What does this mean?” Anakin asks Obi-Wan right in the core of the battle.

“It means the battle is balanced”, Obi-Wan explains, preoccupied.

“I have a bad feeling about this.” He looks up and his master follows his look, anxiously noticing the shadows of two other dragons dancing deadly higher the sky. “If only I could go there.”

“Don’t be stupid, Anakin. Our roles are here to help those who require us in helping conduct the war.”

“She’s in danger! I know it! I feel it”, Anakin protests it.

Obi-Wan does not want to admit he feels something’s wrong with you too. But whilst he may be many things, he is not one known for being hopeless.

“Perhaps your judgement is clouded by your feelings for Y/N. Come, Anakin. We ought to make ourselves useful for Y/N’s cause by staying here.”

Anakin reluctantly agrees, but as he moves in the battle a strong noise captures his attention, startling all those present. Another dragon falls dead. What happens next appale him and Obi-Wan all the same.

Blood is out of your arm and leg, but you somehow resist the wounds. There is also blood in your neck and face. Your hair is a mess. You stand over your dragon, who’s occupied breaking the other’s neck.

To a general surprise, you are using the Force to choke Aegon. The usurper’s eyes go wide, struggling for air, to live. There’s no mercy in your eyes. You weep uncontrollably as you enjoy having your enemy at your mercy.

Anakin knows the sentiment. For knowing so he makes his way, despaired to prevent the scenes of his nightmares become real.

“Y/N!” He calls out your name, ignoring Obi-Wan’s own preoccupation. “Listen to me! You’ve won this war! You don’t have to prove yourself for anyone! Don’t become the one thing you vowed to destroy!”

You turn your head slowly in pure angst. Anakin could swear your eyes are beginning to acquire another coloration.

No. He’s not going to lose you to the Sith. Whereas Obi-Wan goes out to look the Sith influence in order to detect and prevent it further to have you weaved in such darkness, it’s up to Anakin to prever your fall.

“You are better than this!”

“He took away everything I hold dear! Alicent, his mother, deserves to see the fate of her dear son!” You yell at him, your hand still up in the air, manipulating the Force. Aegon is still fighting for his life. “He’s accountable of how low I went! How many deaths I died because he refused to acknowledge my birth rights! He’s the reason we are paving upon blood right now!”

Anakin is, unlike others, not fearful of the demonstration of your angst. Knowing your good side, how merciful you could be, he is aware that’s up to him to bring you back to life, to save you from your darkness.

“Do not make this bloodier than already is! Give him the justice he needs!”

You turn at him, partially blind by tears. The dragon howls and groans, so connected is Syrax to you…and your pain.

“He did not give justice to my son! To any other man who perished under his hands!”

“Y/N, this is not the Jedi way of resolving injustice! This is not the queen Obi-Wan trained you to be!” As you hesitate, Anakin is encouraged by his own speech. “This is not the woman I’ve fallen in love so many years ago! Do not let darkness consume you!”

It is then. Only then you realize what you are doing. Aegon’s life is about to end when you release the grip on him. You cry because you were so close to become what you were taught never to be.

All men breathe relieved. It seems they are all willing to forget the display of fury, for once you show mercy, it’s all good in the soldier’s mind. Nonetheless, whilst Aegon is arrested and ready for trial, Anakin holds you against him.

“It’s all right. There’s no need to surrender yourself into guilt, Y/N. I’ve been there myself”, Anakin has much to thank Obi-Wan when not so long ago he was tempted by Count Dooku. What’d happened if Obi-Wan had failed to prevent him from killing mercilessly the enemy, Anakin fears to know. But now he’s restaured to peace, he rocks you against his arms.

“You won, my love. The victory is yours”, he tells you. “In many ways, you are a victor to be looked upon.”

“But at what cost, Anakin? At what cost?”

Anakin holds you close. He makes you look at him, dwelling in these lilac eyes that hold a depth of sadness that he wishes he could erase. Whilst the world around you commemorates, it all feels so silent when you lock gazes.

“Let me sweep away your fears”, he whispers. “Trust in me, the days of fighting are gone. We can build ourselves better now.”

“I don’t think I deserve that… I disappoint Obi-Wan.” It’s all you can say. “Please, Anakin. Don’t leave me.”

He realizes he’s not the only one to have been deeply wounded by your depart so many years ago. As you sob, Anakin comes to see how this is a wound that is not healed for neither of you. But now you are reunited. Now all is good.

“I will never. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

And you kissed.

***

Your POV.

You watch as old Corlys Velaryon, your hand, gives the veredict of Aegon’s trial before court.

“Aegon of the House Targaryen, how do you pledge yourself?”

Your brother’s eyes are transfixed upon you in the moment he declares himself innocent of all the crimes he’s been accused of. You are tired of feeling angry, often flowing in between it and sadness in all these years. Thanks to the aid of your lover and your former master, however, your conscience is in peace for the ending of this war.

The Hand of Queen proceeds the end of trial by saying so:

“Aegon Targaryen, unfairly associated to many as second of that name to rule Westeros, you are demoted of a throne you unjustly occupied. You broke a vow to His Grace, the late king Viserys. You committed lese-majesté against our queen Y/N. You shall, therefore, suffer the penalty reserved for traitors: death by fire.”

You are occupying your iron throne when the sentence is read out loud. By your side is the two sons—Viserys has finally been found by the Greyjoys almost three years after his disappearance—and an unborn child that your guts tell you it’s a girl.

Finally you step down your throne and come close to your brother. You spared his wife, Helaena, and a daughter who survived—she’s to marry your son Aegon. Everyone else died in the long conflict that divided the draconian dynasty.

You stare at him as you speak:

“Whatever the insults you might think about me or my character, brother, I was inclining to comute your sentence. But I understand that your mother planned to conspire against me with your whole support in the visit she was allowed to pay you. It saddens me we could not make peace as we should. But may you think of my words as the fire of Syrax engulfs you: I forgive you for all that you’d done.”

And you watch him go, rather perplexed and desolated with a heavy conscience at the words you give him. Obi-Wan comes at you and smiles:

“You did what a great queen should do. How unfortunate that some men persist in the pursuits of wars.”

“Foolish are those who cultivate greed and pride in their hearts”, you tell him. “Isn’t this a line you taught me, dear Master?”

Obi-Wan smiles, tearful upon your words.

“Indeed, my dear Padawan. You’ve come to learn so much.”

Later that day, you are finally crowned Queen of Westeros with the full support of the noblemen and noblewomen all across the realm. A new council is formed with a Stark replacing the old Velaryon as your Hand.

“I’m too old to be useful to you, my niece”, he says kindly to you. “I would rather give the place for those younger and with a thirst of doing things right as I in my days once had.”

“You speak as if you are dead, my lord.” You protest. “But I appreciate your honor and dedication to my cause. This will not be forgotten.”

Although you thought Lord Stark is more strict and rigid than lord Velaryon, you come to find that his sense of duty equals yours. Both of you seem to be pleased to find that.

In the meantime this happens, Alicent Hightower dies. She’d been inflicted by a long, summer fever, though there’s suggestion she’d died broken hearted. She’s mourned by the only daughter she left. Eventually Helaena asks your permission to join the Silent Sisters. You grant it, somewhat relieved because, whether you both like it or not, her presence at court was a remembrance of the days Westeros bled.

Your reign starts peacefully at last and Obi-Wan is pleased to see the woman and queen you have become. But time comes and he needs to go back to Costurant. The Sith presence in Westeros dissipated, but it’s head is found back to his homeland—and he suspects that Chancellor Palpatine might be involved.

“I wish you’d stay a little longer”, you tell him a day after you married Anakin Skywalker. An union that only pleased the lords when he refused to take part in the politics of the realm, contenting himself to be the Prince Consort. “Anakin and I owe you so much, my dear Master.”

“As much as it pleases me to know so”, says Obi-Wan. “I have duties to attend. Anakin, you’ll be missed. But you know the Order will always be open for you if you feel like going back.”

You watch him with delight in your eyes as he politely refuses the invitation his now former master extended to him.

“I appreciate, Master, but my place is beside Y/N and our son, Aegon.”

And so you say goodbye from Obi-Wan… from now.

***

Epilogue.

Anakin pants when feeling your mouth right around his erect member. His fingers grab your loose curls and gently pulls as his eyes scan yours with a smug grin on his lips. He likes seeing how a powerful queen such as yourself submits to him so easily.

In fact, it does turn him on how both of you comply to the dark side of the Force in moments like this. After the birth of Visenya Skywalker, you realize that nine months (counting perhaps the time of conception when the morning after that decisive battle happened) were enough for you. You wanted to enjoy him so much now that there are no objections for you to stay together.

And it all starts with you going down on him. You have woken up early that day with that aching in the between of your legs. Now he’s about to come into your mouth.

Perhaps he would had he not pulled you up and placed right under his body. Anakin kisses your lips passionately, having a taste of himself as his tongue dominates you—reflecting the possessive gestures he has towards you by pinning your hands above your head all the while he teases his manhood into your entrance.

“Hmm. My queen is needy today, is she not?” He speaks hotly into your ear, attentive to the reactions of your body, aware of your needs. It turns him on how desperate you are for him, so eager, so… famine.

“I want you, Anakin. Please!” You beg him.

He begins slowly, of course. Much to your dismay, he kisses your neck and little by little he goes down to your chest. His eyes stare in an almost impolitely manner to your breasts, admiring the shape of each one before placing a hand on one while engulfing the other with his mouth.

“Fuck, Anakin!” You whimper, getting your husband to smirk against your skin. “Fuck me!”

He laughs at your words and the sound gives you chills. Anakin moves his lips to your other breast all the while squeezing the other he’d been with. You sense a growing ache right there, and your moans become impatient.

Eventually, Anakin cedes to your demands by giving a finger right there. He stops what is he doing to watch you. A sly smirk crosses his lips because, oh, his wife enjoys her husband watching her.

The former Jedi overstimulates you with continuous movements right inside you, his eyes capturing every indecent thought that does not reach your mouth; every sentiment that brings butterflies to your belly; every ache that melts in his hand.

He then leaves traces of kisses to your legs before replacing his fingers to his mouth. You come undone almost immediately. You ride Anakin’s face unashamedly. You step aside to your dirty self come in, disguised by the shadowy and obscure version of yours that you never imposed to forgetfulness but embraced it and accepted it being part of you.

It is precisely that Anakin feels this side of you coming to surface, that right after your orgasm he comes to you and thrusts into you rather rapidly and intently.

“Y/nickname…” his voice contrasts to the ferocity of his moves, so caring and sweet. “I love you.”

You roll your eyes, your legs around his waist.

“I love you, Ani!” You whimper, you too softening your lust when feeling him so close to you. “I love you so much!”

It does not take much of time for you both coming in. The two of you mewl in each other’s embrace and after kisses and mutual’s professing love, Anakin cups your face and says:

“Aegon and I have finally defeated every barrier we once had. Viserys is also seeing me like his father even though I wasn’t the one conceiving him…”

There’s a small jealousy in this fact, which makes you giggle.

“You are the father he needs, my love. I’m thankful you are playing the part well.” You beam at him, holding you close.

Anakin blushes slightly at your compliments.

“I’ve always wanted a family of my own”, he confides you. “Thank you, my love, for providing me this.”

You giggle sweetly, cuddling him as much as you could.

“I have a feeling we are enlarging this family soon”, you tell him, making Anakin arching eyebrows.

“The Force is strong in us, isn’t it not?” He says, smug as always.

But in due time your prevision proves correct. Nine months after Visenya, you give birth to a girl named Rhaenys. The year next, a boy named Lukerys came with a twin sister named Leianyra. And before you knew, it becomes the time to decide for their future: whilst Aegon, the heir, marries his cousin, Viserys takes as wife a daughter of Winterfell by espousing Lord Stark’s oldest daughter. Visenya is expected to take as a a husband Princess Rhaenys and Lord Velaryon’s youngest grandson. Rhaenys’s hand is offered to the Lord of Casterly Rock, a Lannister son of your old ally Johanna. Lukerys, though, is expected to become a Jedi according to the desires of his father and Leianyra‘a betrothed to the Lord Arryn.

It does seem that everything ends well after a start in the depths of blood… until the two of you receive a visit of Ahsoka Tano.

***

Posface.

“Welcome my dear!” You greet her happily, treating her like a daughter. Anakin too is overjoyed by his former Padawan’s presence, though she is clearly uneasy. “How may we assist you? We haven’t heard of you for years.”

She takes a long gulp of wine before settling down. All smiles die when she says, clearly afflicted:

“I need your help. The Jedi Order fell. Obi-Wan’s gone to the Dark Side. He’s taken the name of Lord Vicious.”

These are not the news neither you nor Anakin expected to hear. This is not the happy ending you’ve been waiting for…

162 notes · View notes

rissa067 · 2 years

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nightmares | bucky barnes x reader

author's note: i wrote this fic years ago and i have rewritten it more times than i can count, i hope and pray to the gods above it doesn't flop...

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k+

synopsis: nightmares have always plagued bucky while he slept, but now that he has you, he can sleep a little better

Bucky hasn’t been able to sleep well for decades. Between being the soldat, nightmares, and the constant worrying and anxiety; it’s been far too long since he got a good, full night’s sleep. Until he met you.

At first, the idea of sleeping in a bed with you terrified him. What if he hurt you in his sleep? Or you decided you wanted someone who wasn’t an ex-HYDRA experiment? He has never consciously hurt you, but there were a few nights where his nightmares got the best of him and he accidentally hurt you. You were more than understanding and knew that this was a possibility because of his past, so you never took it to heart and always made sure to let him know that.

Time passes and he starts to realize that you do genuinely love him and don’t intend to leave. You always want him close around bedtime because sleeping without him has become unpleasant and restless, especially when he’s on a mission. Sleeping becomes easier for him. The stiff uneasiness that it once was is now tangled limbs, quiet love confessions, and soft kisses. He dreaded sleep for a long time, hating how alone he truly felt, until you came around. He grew to love sleeping because it meant that he could hold his best girl and prove to her just how much he loves and appreciates her.

He still had his bad nights, everybody does, but the good nights were far more frequent and he couldn’t be more grateful. Sometimes they got to be too much, and that’s when Bucky needed you most. And you were never one to deny the man that made you happiest.

Cold. Darkness. Bucky was running and the only thing he could think about was finding you. Making sure you were safe. His blood ran cold when he heard the screams of fear and pain from where HYDRA was holding you. He hated when anything happened to you and the thought of not being able to save you made him run faster.

A light at the end of a long, dark hallway caught his attention, and the sounds of your captors hurting you spurred a wave of newfound anger inside of him. Moans and whimpers that would make his knees weak in any other situation signaled that you were being hurt and he hadn’t saved you yet.

A terrified scream of his name comes from you just before he runs in, the sudden light assaulting his vision. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is saving you. His heart breaks when he sees how beaten, bruised, and bloodied you are and he makes a mental note to give you a bath and love on you when the two of you leave.

He runs over to you, battling to keep his own emotions hidden, “Y/N/N, doll, it’s me. I’ve got you,” He breathes out, making quick work of your restraints and pulling you into his arms as he buries his face into your shoulder and holds you tightly. A sob wracks through your body as you cling to him, causing his heart to break as he curses himself for letting this happen to you.

“Ahh, Mister Barnes. We’ve been expecting you,” Baron Zemo speaks up from the doorway, causing you to tighten your hold on Bucky while he moves you protectively behind him.

Bucky’s jaw tightens, “What do you want?” He growls, wanting nothing more than to get you back to your shared apartment, safe and sound.

“That’s for us to know, and you to find out,” Baron smirks as your fragile, frail body falls into Buckys. You utter his name, barely a whisper but sounding like a scream to his ears.

Red slowly seeps to cover the thin nightshirt you stole from him many nights ago, he never wanted to take it back because he loves you in his clothes, it makes him feel loved and wanted in a way he didn’t know was possible. A pained scream leaves his lips, and he feels empty, broken.

He feels himself being shaken and hears your voice calling for him from a distance, “James, baby, you’re okay. Wake up, honey, everything is okay,” You say softly, not loud enough to scare him, but enough to pull him from his rapidly racing mind. Your fingers comb through his hair to coax him out of his slumber, worry filling every part of your body.

His eyes snap open as he looks around, searching for his anchor. Desperately searching for you.

With his chest moving rapidly and his heart racing, he settles on you. You’re wearing his hoodie and sleep shorts, watching him carefully with your face full of worry and sadness, hating to see the man you love in such a pained and fearful state.

“Doll…” He breathes out in relief, clinging to you as sobs wrack through his body. Your hushed words of comfort fall on deaf ears, he can’t focus on anything except that you’re breathing. You’re alive.

You shift into his lap, properly sitting in his lap as he tightens his arms around you, not wanting to let you go. “I’ve got you, you’re okay. I’m okay, breathe for me, James,” You mumble as you cup his cheeks and rest your forehead against his, wiping the endlessly falling tears on his cheeks.

He looks up at you with wide, panic blown eyes while gripping your wrists, “Y-you died…” He mumbles, his voice cracking and broken, showing just how scared he truly is.

Your heart shatters as you frown deeply, shaking your head, “I’m here, bub, we’re safe at home,” You say quietly, hating to see him so upset and fearful.

He shakes his head, the sight of you dying in his arms replaying in his mind. The room is silent for a moment, aside from the quiet sobs coming from Bucky. “Buck, can you find five things you can see for me?” You speak softly, not wanting to startle and overwhelm him.

He furrows his eyebrows, staying silent for a moment before slowly pulling away after he calms down after a moment, looking around your shared bedroom.

The clothes scattered around the room from the love he made to you before you slept, a picture of the two of you in green face masks when you begged him to have a spa night (he actually wanted to do it, and he very much enjoyed it, though he’ll never admit it,) the many blankets that you refuse to sleep without, the small night light showing from the hallway that you insisted on after tripping one too many times during late-night snack trips to the kitchen, and you, full of worry and care for the man you loved.

He mumbles through shaky, hoarse words, telling everything he sees. His arms tighten around you, needing to feel you to bring himself back to reality.

“Good, can you find me four things you can touch?” You whisper, slowly carding your fingers through his hair. He pulls one hand away from your waist, letting it wander to feel around him.

The still too soft pillows you use, the smooth softness of your still-warm skin, the slightly rough material of the hoodie covering your body, and the harsh coldness of the wooden bed frame.

His breathing slows and his manic thoughts begin to subside as he speaks, his tight grip on you never once loosening. “Can you find me three things you can hear?” You try to coax more responses out of him, feeling relief at the knowing thought of him calming down.

The damned fan you refuse to sleep without, the steady, but light, raindrops tapping at the window, and the slow evenness of your breathing.

“You’re doing great, bubs. I love you. Can you tell me two things you can smell?” You ask after he responds quietly, feeling happier now that he’s finally calming down.

The detergent of the laundry you did that morning, and the slightest smell of the perfume you wore earlier that he loves so much.

He was much calmer now than when he woke up, his words less shaky and more laced with tiredness than fear.

“Just tell me one thing you can taste, yeah? Then we can go back to sleep or do whatever you want to, okay?” You press a soft, chaste kiss to his forehead as his eyebrows furrow. He cups your chin, tilting his head up as he kisses you softly. The soft, sweet taste of your lips was much better tasting to him than his tears.

A moment of silence passes as he holds you close, rubbing your cheek with his eyes closed. He tightens his arms around you, “I love you,” He mumbles, breaking the quietness surrounding you two.

“I love you too, Buck. I’ll always be here for you,” You mumble while laying down, gently pulling him with you as he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your chest.

Hushed admissions of love turn into yawns and sleepy words before becoming soft snores and peaceful sleep as Bucky holds you a little closer and tighter, knowing his best girl is safe with him.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #i wrote this three years ago plz don't flop

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maximons · 3 years

Text

All Is Lost

Summary: Zombies have taken over the world, humanity on the edge of extinction. All hope was lost. Despite that, Wanda couldn’t seem to let go of Y/n, who had fallen victim to the plague herself.

Word Count: 2,263

Genre: Angst

Requested?: No

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, cannibalism, suicide, mentions of blood. Spoilers for Ep. 5 of What If...?

A/N: I know, I know, I’m gonna get into the stuff I promised soon. But for now, the Zombies episode inspired me and this came out. If you haven’t seen the episode yet, go watch it. Its amazing and depressing. Also this is DARK guys, probably the darkest thing I’ve ever written, so...Happy Reading!

The Zombie apocalypse was always something everyone joked about, but never something that anyone could actually predict.

Everything happened so quickly, Wanda could barely keep up. It’s hard to believe that everything was so normal only two weeks ago. Now, she was locked away with Vision in an abandoned military base in New Jersey. Desperate to survive for as long as possible while Vision worked on a cure.

Some of his experiments had been a success, most notably Scott Lang who he was able to revert back from his zombified state. However, the man was now only a severed head.

Despite the success, Vision was less than optimistic. For one, Scott was one of the first infected. While the cure worked on him, the android theorized that the disease has mutated greatly since then, and it was likely impossible to cure everyone. And even if he could, the technology to do so is beyond human comprehension and therefore doesn’t exist.

Vision might have all but given up hope, but Wanda didn’t. She couldn’t. She refused to give up on you.

Wanda and you have been best friends for as long as Wanda had been an Avenger. You were already a member of the team and greeted her with an open mind and open arms, despite all she had done. You had fire powers, and while your powers weren’t identical to Wanda’s, you still offered some basic tips and tricks to keep such explosive powers at bay.

It wasn’t a surprise that she fell in love with you.

But her stupid fear had to get in the way, and when you came to confess your own feelings for her, she panicked and rejected you. You were so heartbroken, Wanda didn’t need to read your mind to know that.

And it kills her everyday knowing that that was the last interaction she had with you. The last one with you as yourself anyway.

All that remained now was the flesh hungry, blood thirsty monster that wore your, now rotting, skin.

This wasn’t you, she knows that. She looked into your mind and saw no trace of the woman you once were, the one she loved with all her heart. She couldn’t feel you, you were gone.

Despite this, Wanda couldn’t let you go. She couldn’t handle losing you entirely. She already lost almost everyone.

She managed to convince Vision to keep you in the base for testing. You were locked behind a large steel door, with only a window to see you through. But you were here, and that’s all Wanda cared about.

The cure wasn’t working for you. Your powers caused it to incinerate when it entered your system, proving it to be ineffective. Still, she refused to give up.

Vision thought it best to terminate you after the failed tests, but Wanda begged him not to. Knowing he couldn’t overpower her, and sensing his friend’s distress with anything that comes to you, he agreed. As long as Wanda had it under control.

She doubted he knew that she was luring innocent survivors into the base so you could feed on them, but she did what she had to do.

Wanda spent most of her days sitting outside of your cell. The first few days, you were ravenous. Banging on the walls and trying to burn them down, growling and screeching with the inhuman noise that took over your vocal chords, but you didn’t manage to break free. After a while, it seemed you have given up, and just sat in place. Only moving when Wanda opened the cell and let some of your ‘food’ in.

There were times where Wanda thought that maybe, just maybe, the cure was working more than they thought. You seemed to have recognized her, your facial expressions formed into ones that she had recognized and missed dearly. But that hope quickly died when she would peek into your head and still sense nothing.

“Hey, Y/n.” Wanda walked up to outside your cell and sat cross-legged like she did everyday. Your head rose, staring at her with your now glowing yellow eyes. “Still no progress on the cure, but don’t worry, I’m not giving up yet.” You offered no response, not that she expected one. “It’s hard. It’s only getting worse out there...” She sighed as she trailed off. She raised her hand to the glass, like she always did. “I’m going to figure it out...we’re gonna get you back to normal, and I’m going to tell you every day how much I love you. I miss you so much, but...we’re almost there. I can feel it...” Wanda’s voice started choking up, as tears ran down her face. “We deserve our happy ending.”

Her hand was still pressed against the glass as she finished her speech. She was about to lower it, but then something unexpected happened. You stared at her hand curiously, beginning to raise your own. Wanda watched, smile forming on her face as your arm made it’s way to the glass.

“Wanda! Please come here, we have a situation.” You had almost pressed your hand against Wanda’s, when Vision’s voice interrupted. Your attention turned to the direction it came from and you let out a growl, clearly angry at the interruption. Wanda sighed in disappointment, but she tried not to let it take over. You still showed massive improvement, something worth reporting back to Vision. “It’s okay.” She soothed you. “I’m going to go see what he wants then I’ll be right back, okay? I know you’re hungry, I’ll get you some food too.” You didn’t offer a response as she walked off.

“Vis! I have to tell you-” Wanda began as she walked into the main room, but cut herself off at the new faces. She didn’t recognize the bald woman with the spear or the wimpy looking man in a workers uniform, but she was familiar with Peter. What surprised her most though, was Bruce Banner. A man she hasn’t seen in over three years. “What is going on?”

“I ran into them outside the premises. Apparently word has gotten out about the cure.” Vision answered before turning his attention back to the guests. “As I told you, I am afraid we cannot help you. The cure seems to be a moot point.”

“Well, what about-” Peter began, but he was interrupted by a new voice.

“For something you have no hope for, you sure don’t have a problem bringing in new test subjects.” Wanda recognized Bucky Barnes’ voice. She turned around, and her eyes widened as she saw King T’challa on his arm, struggling to stand on his one remaining leg.

Shit.

“My king! We thought you dead.” The bald woman exclaimed in relief and surprise.

“Your highness. I was not aware you were in the base.” Vision said, confused on how that got by him. It didn’t take him long to figure out why. “Wanda...”

“I’m sorry.” Wanda whispered, knowing she was caught. “The cure wasn’t working on Y/n, and in order to keep her at bay, I had to feed her.”

“So you fed her our King?” A spear was raised to her throat, threateningly.

“It was nothing personal, I promise. I have her under control and the cure is starting to work, I know it. We just need a little more time!”

“Why not just kill her? You lured innocent people to their deaths just for her when there a couple million more Zombies out there that you could use for testing. Ones that have a chance of being cured.” The whole room went quiet after Bucky said that.

“Uh oh. Shouldn’t have said that.” Wanda heard Scott say, but she was too busy glaring at Bucky. Her eyes started to go red, but before she could do anything, she noticed the spear held to her throat begin to glow red and melt. The woman dropped the spear as it began to burn her hands.

“Did it just suddenly get like, super hot?” Peter asked as he began to fan himself.

“Oh no...” Wanda trailed off. She looked up to notice the steal walls that led to your cell begin to melt. “You’ve done it now...she hasn’t eaten in days.” Before anyone could respond, the steel doors melted completely. The man in the uniform was unfortunate enough to be standing in front of it, as a strong burst of flame shot out and incinerated him on the spot. Only a second later, you flew out the door, covered in flames as you hovered above everyone.

Wanda watched in horror as you began to fight everyone. They weren’t holding up very well, and that’s when Wanda finally realized what she had done. This wasn’t you, and if you were still here, you would hate to see your body be used to attack and kill others.

“Vision! Get us out of here!” She heard Bruce yell, and Vision shot a blast towards the wall, blowing it up and letting everyone out. Wanda turned her focus back to you, you watched them starting to escape and you began to fly after them, but a red mist surrounded you before you could. You turned your head, starting to growl, but stopped when you saw it was Wanda.

“Y/n. Stop...” You tilted your head, still struggling to move as Wanda came closer. She took a chance and reached up, gently placing a hand on your face. “I am so sorry...you never deserved this...” Your face softened at the touch, beginning to show the signs of emotion that Wanda desperately held onto. However, it was clear now that it was too late.

You snapped out of it, as you managed to break free from Wanda’s hold. You opened your mouth wide, intent on biting and feeding on her, but something stopped you. You hesitated, and Wanda noticed. You settled for pushing her aside to the ground as you reignited yourself and flew out of the base.

Wanda picked herself up after a moment, intent on stopping you. She ran past Okoye’s body, charred and eaten, but she was sure there was little time until she turned. She ran faster to where you were, now facing off against Bucky. She sprinted further, about to take off and fly when she paused.

Vision was face down on the ground. She kneeled next to him, glowing red hand turning over his body, afraid of what she’ll see. Once he was turned, Wanda gasped at the sight. The mind stone was torn out of his head.

“Oh no...no, no, no...” She held his body, tears slowly building as she mourned the loss of her best friend. She had officially lost everything. “I am so sorry Vis...I’m going to make this right, I promise.”

She heard Bucky scream. She looked over to see you start to feed on him. She saw Bruce, Peter, Scott and T’challa in the distance, making their way to the jet. They were your next target.

No. Wanda wasn’t going to let that happen. It ends now.

She used her powers to propel herself forward, landing directly in your path. You growled at her yet again as she used her powers to hold you. “Y/n...please, stop.” You struggled to get out of the hold, but Wanda held on. “This isn’t you...you wouldn’t want this...I love you more than anything, and I’m so sorry...I hope one day, you’ll forgive me.”

Wanda used her powers to grab the gun laying by Bucky’s side. She held in to your head, ready to pull the trigger...but she couldn’t. She let out a scream of frustration and dropped her hold on both you and the gun. The gun fell to the ground, but you haven’t moved.

“I can’t do it...I...I’m not strong enough...” Wanda began crying, shutting her eyes and waited for you to finish her off. She failed everyone, no one deserved death more than her. She opened her eyes when nothing came. You stood, staring at her with a tilt of your head. The yellow of your eyes dimming as you stared.

“W....Wan...” You struggled to let out, but it was enough for Wanda to hear. She cried even harder. She was right, you were almost there...but it was too late now.

You took in your surroundings as best you could, you didn’t have a lot of awareness, but you knew enough to piece everything together. You saw the influx of zombies starting to enter to base. Everyone needed to get away. You turned back to Wanda, and you knew what you had to do. You felt the little control you had start to slip away.

You bent down and picked up the discarded gun. You shakily pointed it to your temple, the control slipping away faster and faster. “Love....you....I...sorry...” You managed to croak out. Before you could lose control completely, you pulled the trigger.

Wanda watched in horror as you shot yourself in the head. Pieces of your brain landing on her, your blood drenching her. She looked down to see your body, half your face still together, but you were gone. Truly gone.

She knelt down sobbing, as she held your body. After a moment she looked up to see the Hulk appear as the zombies began to overwhelm the base. She saw the jet take off, and she gave a weak smile. They got away. Wanda’s job was done. This is where her story ends. All was lost for her.

So when the zombies finally reached her, she didn’t fight back. Accepting her death with open arms.

Epilogue

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you

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jikookiekosmos · 3 years

Text

When I Dream of You || jjk

➥Pairing: best friend!jungkook/reader, husband!jungkook/reader

➥Summary: Jungkook always imagined being with you was like a dream come true, and after years of pining he can finally say it’s all he could have ever hoped for and more. But what happens now when Jungkook’s dreams about you no longer have a happy ending?

➥Genre: established relationship, (somewhat?) heavy angst, smut, fluff, hurt/comfort

➥Rating: 18+

➥Words: ~6.2k (little much for a drabble i know, sorry)

➥Content warnings: story mostly told from jungkook’s POV, jungkook has a nightmare, feelings of insecurity and anxiety, mentions of harassment (not much), yoongi to the rescue (seriously he’s the voice of reason i love him), making out, grinding, slight hair pulling, riding on top, reader is in control (and jk is happy about it), unprotected sex (safe sex is great sex), cumming inside, cute times in the shower, jungkook is actually the sweetest, reader and jk are so in love with each other it hurts, also jk saying ‘only for you’ is a thing i started and can’t stop now oops

A/N: hello! This is part of my Only for You (OFY) Drabble series, but it can be read as a stand-alone! Their relationship will make a lot more sense though if you’ve read OFY beforehand. This fic takes place roughly around a year after the events of OFY. (I also mentioned this in the post for OFY but for those who haven’t read it, the Kun in the story isn’t referring to any other irl person specifically, it was just a name I chose to make the initial story easier to write.)

As always, thank you to @dntaewithluv for being so supportive of me and motivating me to keep writing when there are times I feel like I shouldn’t. And for also being my beta-reader and just generally an amazing person, one of the best friends I could ever ask for.

I’ve written a few other drabbles and will list them below, along with a general timeline:

Use My Best Colors For Your Portrait - ~6 months after OFY

Stay With Me - a few months after this dream drabble

I know this is the most angsty thing I’ve written so far (update: Stay With Me now holds this title), but I got attached to these characters and wanted to tell more of their story so here we are. I basically wrote this all in one sitting because I’ve had this idea in my head for a little while and I was excited to get it out. I hope that if you read this, you enjoy it~

➥OFY Spotify Playlist (songs I listened to for inspo)

➥Series Masterlist

➥All Works Masterlist

taglist: @inlovewiththemoonn

⊱──────── ✬ ✬ ✬ ────────⊰

Jungkook was dreaming again.

It was a dream he’d had many times now, and it always started the same way. He watched as you appeared in the doorway of the chapel, ready to make your trek down the aisle.

You looked dazzling in your dress, and through the thin veil that covered your face, Jungkook could see the brilliant smile you wore, which caused him to break out into one of his own. Each step that brought you closer to him made his heart race faster, and it didn’t take long for you to finally be in front of him.

Well…somewhat in front of him.

He could only watch as at the last second, you turned slightly and were now standing in front of Kun, the man you were originally meant to marry. Jungkook’s stomach twisted with fear as he observed Kun lift your veil over your head and take your hands in his as you both stared into each other’s eyes. You, looking at Kun with all the love in the world, because that’s just how you were. And Kun, looking back at you, with a sinister expression that made Jungkook feel dizzy.

He opened his mouth to object, to speak, to do something but no sound would come out. Everyone around him that had gathered to see you get married were either oblivious to Jungkook’s obvious distress, or they just didn’t care.

They weren’t here for him, after all. They were here for you, in the same way that he was here for you, too.

When his legs could finally move without crumpling underneath him, he walked over to stand next to you and Kun as he tried to reach out to you. He couldn’t touch you, though, because it was like there was an invisible wall in between the two of you now. A wall he could still see through but couldn’t reach past. He moved back at the realization, only to be met with something similar hitting his back.

Jungkook whirled around and was met with the same thing, now surrounding him on all sides, trapping him inside some sort of box. A box where he could still see what was happening but couldn’t stop it despite what he did. He felt suffocated.

He was shouting from inside his new prison, banging on the walls, trying to make any sort of sound that would reach you. And he knew you couldn’t hear him; you didn’t spare even one glance his way. But he still had to try. The longer he let this go on, the greater the chance of losing you grew to be.

And the possibility of that, of losing you in any capacity, was something he couldn’t bear to even think about.

Jungkook could hear everything coming from your mouth. The cheerfulness in your voice was usually something he loved to hear under any given circumstance. But in this case, it was threatening to tear him apart. He listened dismally as the two of you started reciting your vows to each other.

And his heart started to break when he heard the words from the letter he’d tried to give you all those years ago. Tears were forming in his vision as he listened to Kun rattle off the words he’d written for you. Words he never got to claim as his own until much later, when it was almost too late.

He could feel his heart shatter at the sight of the breathtaking smile on your face as you two finished your vows, moving now to kiss each other and seal the deal.

He tried once more to call out to you, but any sound he could’ve possibly made would’ve been immediately drowned out by the cheering from everyone around you.

His legs gave out as he knelt down to the floor, helplessly staring at you as you linked your arm with Kun’s to walk back down the aisle as a newly married couple. It took the last bit of his strength to look up as you passed, and you didn’t notice him.

But Kun did.

Kun paused in front of Jungkook, still separated by that invisible wall, and he grinned. It was the kind of grin you’d expect from someone who’s sole purpose in life was to sabotage others’ happiness. Which, ironically enough, is exactly what Kun was now known for.

All Jungkook could do was look on while you left the chapel, followed by the many guests who had gathered for the ceremony. Only when everyone was gone was he able to move about freely, but he opted to remain seated on the floor there instead as the chapel slowly started to fill with darkness once the doors closed.

Jungkook awoke with a start, bolting upright and inhaling a sharp intake of air. He was covered in sweat that dampened his hair and made it stick to his forehead. His breathing was shallow, and it took him a few seconds to remember where he was.

He was at home, in his bed. It was nighttime and sleeping next to him was a figure who’d remained undisturbed by his sudden movement.

He cautiously looked over at your sleeping form. You were turned on your side, facing away from him, breathing peacefully. His eyes softened at the sight and he could feel his heartbeat start to slow down into a pace much less frantic.

He pushed his hair out of his face as he took a deep breath. He knew he should probably wake you, especially since you always told him to do so whenever he had nightmares. Lately, he hadn’t been having any bad dreams, so it had been a while since he last had to rouse you from your slumber.

He reached an arm out, only for it to gently fall by his side. He hated waking you unless it was really important, because he knew you sometimes had trouble sleeping, and this included falling back asleep if something made you wake up during the middle of the night. You’d been especially exhausted lately, what with the new exciting event that had suddenly happened in both of your lives.

Well, exciting wasn’t really the right word. Terrifying fit way better.

After managing to avoid Kun for over an entire year, he somehow turned up at your new place of employment one day, surprising you and frightening you all at the same time. He told the staff at the front desk that he was an ‘old friend, here to congratulate you on your new position.’ And they believed it, so they let him come up to your office unsupervised.

Let’s just say when Jungkook heard about that little ordeal, he was not pleased at all.

Ever since then, Kun had been borderline harassing you, even sometimes going as far as to try and talk to Jungkook during his shifts at the bar. That lasted for all of maybe 2 encounters before Kun found himself banned and unable to return.

You both thought he was out of your life for good after the break-up, but he was proving to be much more of a plague than you or Jungkook initially imagined. So yes, these recent events had maybe been causing Jungkook to have intrusive thoughts once again that translated themselves into the one recurring nightmare he used to have shortly after the two of you got together.

The nightmare of him losing you. You obviously didn’t end up marrying Kun, but you came a lot closer to it than Jungkook liked. And that wasn’t because he’d been pining after you for years; he could’ve dealt with that, if it ended with you being happy. It was more so the reason that your relationship with Kun hadn’t seemed genuine on his end, and Jungkook wanted better for you than that.

Sometimes he wondered if he was the right one to give you what you deserved.

He shook his head to keep more thoughts from seeping in, but he knew sitting here alone in the dark wouldn’t help with that for long. He glanced at the time on his phone. It was 2:08 A.M., so not too late, but most people were usually sleeping at that time.

Nonetheless, Jungkook pulled back the covers and swung his feet over the side of the bed to stand up. He moved as gently as possibly to not risk waking you, but on his way to the bathroom he had to pass by your side of the bed.

Your sleeping face was free of worry, and your lips were slightly parted as you were breathing softly. The sight made Jungkook’s heart thump. He couldn’t help himself when he leaned down to plant a gentle kiss on your forehead.

If you woke up, he’d just tell you he had to use the restroom and try to coax you back to sleep. You looked too cute for him not to kiss you, though, so he deduced it was worth the risk.

He padded off to the bathroom then, only wearing a pair of gym shorts. Every step he took was calculated so he didn’t make much noise, and when he finally made it to the bathroom, he closed the door as quietly as possible, listening to the faint click before he leaned against the sink.

He sighed and fished his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his contacts until he found the name he was looking for. After dialing the number, he put the phone to his ear, and within 2 rings someone picked up.

“Kook? You ok?”

Jungkook smiled. “Yeah, Yoongs, I’m ok. Just needed to talk to someone, that’s all.”

He heard shuffling from the end of the line and he felt a small pang of guilt at the fact that he may have woken his friend up. But then again, it was Yoongi, and he wasn’t a stranger to being up at this hour.

Yoongi hummed. “Y/N not awake then, huh?”

Jungkook shook his head, despite Yoongi not being able to see him. Yoongi took his silence as confirmation.

“Hm, well you do know I love talking to you, but I am wondering why this time of night?”

Jungkook sighed. Better to get it over with than beat around the bush. “I had a nightmare.”

“Oh no,” he could hear the somberness of Yoongi’s tone. “Is it the same one, or…”

“Same one,” Jungkook answered without hesitation.

“Kook, we’ve been over this-”

“I know,” he groaned, running a hand down his face. “I know. Trust me, I don’t want to keep having this happen either.”

“Can you think of anything that may have triggered it?”

Jungkook tongued his cheek then. The more he thought about it, the only thing he could see as being a potential trigger for these dreams to come flooding back would be Kun’s unwanted reappearance.

While he was still thinking, Yoongi continued.

“Do you think it has anything to do with that asshole showing up again?”

Jungkook smirked. He knew how much disdain Yoongi had for Kun, and for good reason.

“Yeah, it’s exactly that, I’m almost positive.”

It sounded like Yoongi was moving again and Jungkook could just picture him now, sitting up and shaking his head in disappointment, not at Jungkook, but at the situation.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna level with you.”

Jungkook gulped.

“I honestly have no idea why you’re letting someone like that affect you. He’s not worth your time, he’s not worth Y/N’s time, not worth anyone’s time if you ask me. Letting him continue to have this kind of effect on you isn’t healthy.”

Jungkook sighed again, his breath coming out somewhat shaky. “I know, it’s just…it’s hard. It’s really hard, Yoongs. I can’t help but think of how close I came to losing her and fuck it hurts every time I think about it.”

“First of all, you wouldn’t have lost her, and you know that-”

“Yeah but seeing him is a reminder that I came close.”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi’s tone was stern now, and Jungkook immediately stopped talking.

Yoongi took a deep breath. “Like I was saying, you wouldn’t have lost her. You mean too much to her and she means too much to you for either of you to have let that happen. Give her a little more credit, yeah?”

At the mention of you, Jungkook’s lips curved upwards into a smile. He knows you’d never allow anything to take you away from him, outside of maybe some things beyond both of your control. But you certainly would never let someone come in between the friendship you both shared.

A friendship that had developed over several years and had now blossomed into a beautiful, loving partnership.

There it was again: you. Anytime Jungkook thought about you, it always made him happy. He was so in love with you and had been for so many years, so it was sometimes still surreal to him that you two were together now. Your smiling face was all he needed to get him through some days.

But right now the vision of you playing out in his head was the sight of you the night he found you in your house kneeling on the floor after Kun broke your marriage off. You looked so utterly broken, and Jungkook made a promise to himself then and there that he’d do anything in his power to make it so you never felt that way again.

“Kook? You still with me there?”

Yoongi’s voice roused Jungkook out of his thoughts. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good. You know I worry about you, kid.”

Jungkook smiled. “I know.”

“This is the first time you’ve had this dream in a while, right?”

Jungkook leaned against the sink again, looking at the tiled floor underneath his feet. “Yeah, it’s been months.”

“Then I want you to do something for me, ok?”

Confused, but intrigued, Jungkook shook his head. “Yeah, sure.”

“I want you to take a look at your left hand.”

Jungkook did as he was told, splaying his fingers out in front of him.

“Now tell me what you see?”

Jungkook’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at his gold wedding band as it glistened faintly in the light of the room.

“My wedding ring,” he answered softly.

“Exactly. Your wedding ring. It belongs to you. And it means you’re the one who’s married to her. Not him, not anyone else, but you.”

Jungkook could see exactly where Yoongi was going with this, and the thought made him almost tear up. Yoongi knew exactly what to say and when to say it whenever Jungkook needed reassurance about something, and this was one of those times.

“Jungkook, I’m gonna tell you this, and it’s something I want you to remember. Y/N loves you. She loves you so much. My God, sometimes it’s hard to look at you two because you’re always so lovey dovey like-”

Jungkook laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

He could imagine Yoongi smiling on the other end. “Good. I think as long as you remember that, you’ll be ok. It’d probably still help to talk to her, though. You know how upset she’d be if she knew you were suffering in silence about your dreams again.”

Jungkook shakily inhaled, his grip on the sink behind him tightening. “I know. I’ll talk to her, probably in the morning since she’s still asleep-”

Jungkook cut himself off when he heard the soft sound of you calling his name. “Yoongs, I gotta go, thank you for answering and for everything else.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Anytime. Night, Kook.”

Jungkook hung up the phone and peered from behind the bathroom door. He saw you sitting up in the bed now, rubbing your eyes before you stretched. He was so fond of you, the sight made his heart swell.

He also noticed how the t-shirt you were wearing had ridden up some during your stretch and he could see the exposed skin of your thighs now now. He even thought that something as simple as you wearing a t-shirt was breathtaking. And when it was one of his t-shirts, like it was now – on some days it was enough to drive him crazy.

Now wasn’t the time for that though. He watched lovingly as you focused your eyes on him and smiled. He wasted no time getting back in the bed with you, seated with one leg crossed under him, his hand coming down to rest on top of your own.

“Hey,” you greeted him with a lazy kiss. Jungkook melted into the kiss when you deepened it, because after everything he just went through, any touch from you now was igniting all his feelings for you.

All of them, which is why he pulled back to rest his forehead against yours.

“Hey,” he said with a smile, nuzzling his nose against yours before pulling away to look at you. He could tell you were still sleepy, but you wouldn’t attempt to go back to sleep without talking first. Especially since he knew you could tell something might be off.

Your brows furrowed. “Koo? What’s wrong?”

Jungkook took a deep breath, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I had another nightmare.”

The immediate look of concern on your face made his heart lurch, and not in a pleasant way. “Baby, what happened?”

He brought up your hand to place a kiss on your knuckles, right above your ring.

“I had that nightmare. You know the one…”

You frowned. “Jungkook-”

“But it’s ok, really. I talked to Yoongi and I feel a little better.” He was looking anywhere but your face now, so you placed a hand under his chin, tilting it up so he’d look at you.

“You know you can always wake me up and talk to me.” You brushed your thumb across one of his cheekbones and he sighed into the touch.

“I know. You’ve been having trouble sleeping lately so I-”

“You also know that if I have trouble sleeping, usually cuddling with you helps. So please don’t use that as an excuse.”

Jungkook felt guilty again because he knew you were right. Before he came along, sleeping wasn’t always easy for you, but in the comfort of his arms, you found slumber much faster these days.

You took Jungkook’s face in both of your hands, your own chest twisting with pain at the sight of him. His big, doe-like eyes were shining with so much emotion, and all you wanted to do was take away all his worries.

“Do you know why you had that dream again?”

Jungkook nodded, absentmindedly brushing his thumb along your thigh. “Everything that’s happened with Kun lately, it- I don’t know, it just bothers me. It bothers me way more than it should. And I guess it just made me think again about- well, you know.”

Jungkook’s head hung then, and you leaned down so you could look into his eyes once more. He brought his head up to keep you from having to lean uncomfortably like that for too long.

“Koo,” you brushed a piece of his long, dark curly locks out of his face. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I know that things happened in the past that we can’t erase or change, but what we can do is focus on our future. Our future that we’re building together.”

He started to smile at your words, his heart lurching again now, but in a good way this time. Every time you told him you were in love with him, he felt like he could conquer the world.

“So please don’t worry about what almost happened or what could’ve been, because what matters is we’re here now. We’re here together. And I don’t plan on going anywhere,” you placed a quick peck on his lips, “Unless you want me to, that is.”

Jungkook quickly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you so you were straddling his lap, making you giggle as you tried to steady yourself. His hands rested comfortably against your waist and you placed yours on his shoulders. He looked up at you now with so much love and adoration.

“Never. I’m not planning on ever letting you go,” he accentuated his words with his grip around you by wrapping his arms more tightly around your waist to pull you closer to his chest. “Not until the day you decide you don’t want to do this anymore.”

“Well I don’t see that ever happening, so I guess we have nothing to worry about then, do we?” You booped his nose and he grinned, placing a hand on the back of your head to bring your lips down to meet his once more. The kiss was soft, yet passionate.

And it quickly turned into something more.

You deepened the kiss and Jungkook groaned into it, kissing you back now with a fervor that had you unconsciously moving your hips against him. He broke the kiss to lean his head back against the headboard, eyes shut and mouth parted.

“Fuck,” Jungkook panted. “I’m so fucking in love with you, Y/N. And right now,” he opened his eyes to stare at you again, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

His hand snaked underneath your t-shirt to brush at the skin he found there, pulling your head back down for another kiss.

“I want to show you how much I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “Will you let me?”

The sound of his voice shot straight to your core, and you were nodding before he could even finish his question. He chuckled against your lips before he started trailing them down your neck.

“Need to hear you say it, baby,” he spoke as his lips ghosted over your throat, his hold on you tightening.

“Please,” you breathed out, pulling at his dark tresses and making him grunt. “Please, Koo. I want you to make love to me.”

That was all he needed. Jungkook started placing kisses along your neck and down to your collarbone that was exposed from the collar of his shirt, his fists clenching around the material at the bottom of it.

“I love you,” he kept saying in between kisses. “Gonna take care of you.”

He started tugging your shirt up and you met him halfway, ridding yourself of the garment fast enough that it made him chuckle at your eagerness. He started peppering kisses all over your chest, kneading at your breasts, rolling your nipples in between your fingers and making your hips move faster.

You could feel him growing harder underneath you through the thin fabric of the shorts he was still wearing, so you sped up your movements, making him moan.

“These need to come off, don’t you think, baby?” You tugged at his shorts. Another moan came from Jungkook as he nodded, helping you move up so he could shimmy out of his shorts. He still didn’t think he could ever get used to that pet name coming from you, and he thought it was the sexiest thing ever when it fell from your lips.

Of course, Jungkook thought nearly everything you did was sexy. That was just the effect you had on him. Everything intimate was intense in the best way possible, and if this was what being in love felt like, he never wanted to stop being in love with you.

He loved you. He needed you. He wanted to be with you for the rest of his life. And he’d never felt this way about anyone else for.

He felt all of these things for you. Only for you.

Jungkook was pulled out of his thoughts of how much he loved you by the feeling of you grinding down onto him again, this time the only barrier of clothing between the two of you being your own panties.

Yeah, Jungkook wasn’t having that.

He made quick work of removing your soaked panties, laughing again at your enthusiastic impatience. He loved seeing that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

“Be careful, angel,” He cooed at you as you tried to steady yourself on his lap once more. He rubbed his hands up and down your thighs while you huffed, a cheeky grin plastered on his face.

“Just wanna feel you already,” you said breathily, and the sound of your voice mixed with the words that fell from your mouth made him twitch. He knew he probably wouldn’t last long inside of you, and with the way you were already worked up, he figured you might not either.

But tonight wasn’t one of those nights where he planned on going for hours anyway (even though you both definitely could at times and boy did he love it when that happened). No, tonight was about him proving to you how much he loved you, telling you through his words and soft caresses and the way he took care of you.

And you did the same for him. Jungkook had never had anyone care about him before the way that you do. He knew you’d do anything to ensure his happiness, the same as he would for you.

And that’s also why he thought you were destined to be together. And he hoped he would never fuck that up, that anything would ever fuck that up.

Jungkook heard you whine from your place in his lap, still grinding against him to find some much-needed friction. You felt so good on top of him that he let himself enjoy it for a few moments, soft moans escaping his lips as he watched you through half-lidded eyes. You leaned down to give him another kiss, and in the same movement, he picked you up by your thighs under your ass and placed you back down where his tip was at your entrance.

He grunted against your lips as he felt you sink down onto him, waiting for you to accommodate to the stretch as you’d done many times before. You always told him you could handle it and sometimes you wanted him to be a little rougher with you from the get-go. Jungkook wasn’t at that level where he was comfortable with that yet.

But one day, he thought, especially with how good you feel around him, he just might be.

When he was finally completely inside of you, he waited just enjoying the feel of your warmth around his length. He brushed some hair out of your face, noticing how your eyes were glinting in the faint light of the room.

God, he could never get enough of staring into your eyes. He’d happily get lost in them over and over again.

Now, though, they were starting to close as you picked yourself only to drop down again a moment later. The action caused Jungkook to let out a throaty moan, eyes fluttering closed at the motion.

Hm. That was new.

Usually, Jungkook would guide you with his hands on your hips, and it wasn’t that he didn’t let you have control, it was more that you never really wanted to take control. So, seeing you decide to do it now was exciting and something he’d gladly let happen if that’s what you wanted.

To be sure though, he placed his hands on your waist. You placed yours on top of his and shook your head.

“Let me take the lead,” you said as you pushed his chest to where he was lying down more. “You can keep your hands here, but I want to do the work.”

Jungkook frowned, only because he knew you still had to be tired. “Angel, are you sure? I can help- fuck.”

You cut him off as you clenched around him before you started moving again, his hands constricting around your waist. You placed your hands firmly on your chest to help you get more leverage as you continued moving.

As you sped up, Jungkook leaned his head back into the pillow he was lying on, eyes screwed shut and the prettiest sounds falling from his lips. You watched as the muscles in his neck strained with the movement, and that alone made you want to mark him up.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

Jungkook managed to open his eyes and look at you riding him, the sight making him twitch inside of you. He thought you looked so beautiful like this, and you taking the lead was so hot to him, he knew he’d definitely not last long if you kept this up-

“Do you know,” you broke off to moan as his cock hit a spot inside of you that made your breath hitch, “do you know why I wanted to take control tonight?”

Jungkook swallowed and shook his head, rubbing his hands along your waist.

You smiled at him lovingly, taking one of his hands and bringing it to your lips before linking your fingers. The action made his heart soar.

“It’s because you always take such good care of me. I want to take care of you in that same way,” you squeezed his hand, letting your words wash over him.

“But you do take care of me,” he started to say, only to be interrupted by the feeling of your walls clenching around him again.

“I know. But tonight, I want to show you I know how to take care of you in this way, too. I want to show you how much I love you.” You leaned down, hitting a new angle that had both of you moaning as you brushed your lips against his. “Will you let me?”

Jungkook felt himself getting closer as you repeated his words from earlier. He nodded vigorously, kissing you with so much passion that you thought you might topple over. You sat up straight again and started moving faster, now pulling out as much as possible before dropping back down.

Jungkook’s high was approaching fast because of the combination of you taking control, the way you were riding him, and your words. He was feeling so many things at once and he tried to will himself to not let go.

He didn’t want to let go yet, not until you were there with him.

To help you along, he reached down in between both of you and started rubbing your clit, relishing in the feel of you around him as you stuttered in your movements. He smirked, knowing that even when you were in control, he still had an effect on you the same way you did him.

“Come on, angel, I’m right there, I want you to cum with me.” Jungkook’s voice was husky now, the pleasure threatening to overtake him any second. He bit his lip as he stared at you, watching as your head lolled forward on your neck and you started shaking from the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“I’m almost there, Koo, I love you so much,” your sounds were increasing in pitch and becoming more frequent, so he knew you were close. All that was left now was for you to reach your high together.

He took your hand that was still intertwined with his and placed a kiss on the inside of your wrist. “I love you, too,” he said softly.

His response was enough to finally provoke your orgasm, it being so powerful that you fell forward on top of him. As you did, you were clenching so tight around him that his release wasn’t far behind. He grunted as he placed his head in the crook of your neck, filling you up, the familiar sensation of warmth making you shiver in his hold.

Both of you were trying to catch your breath, you now completely laying on his chest and his arms snaked around you. He placed a kiss on top of your head and you both just laid there for a few moments.

Jungkook was the one to break the silence. “Well, that was certainly something.”

You giggled. “Yeah, I enjoyed that, Don’t know why I haven’t done that before.” You felt his chest rumble with laughter underneath you.

“Me neither, but you can absolutely do it more often. I know I won’t be opposed.”

“Deal,” you said as you leaned up to place a kiss on his nose. “But only under one condition.”

“Oh?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow, intrigued at your proposition.

“You,” you said as you traced patterns on his chest, “need to stop being so cautious with me.”

A tiny frown etched itself onto his features. “Angel-”

“I mean it, Jungkook. I’m not some fragile thing that’s going to break anytime you stick your dick in me.” He couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from him, immediately apologizing afterwards because he knew you were being serious.

“I know you’re not, I just- I never want to hurt you.”

“And I’d let you know if you did. So promise me you’ll at least try to treat me a little less like I’m gonna break under your touch?”

He ran his fingers through your hair as you laid your head on his chest again. “I promise to try. I don’t just do it for you, though.”

You brought your head back up to look at him, quirking your own eyebrow. “Oh? What do you mean?”

He chuckled darkly, his stare alone making you throb. “I also do it so I can maintain some self-control.”

You laughed. “What’s so bad about losing control?”

He smirked. “Nothing, I guess. We’ll have to see though, won’t we?”

The suggestion made you tingle with desire, but you were unfortunately too tired to go again, so you figured it’d be best to leave it alone for the night. Jungkook finally pulled out of you, making you let out a small whine at the loss. Before you could say anything, he picked you up and carried you with him to the shower, as he did most nights when you two shared these intimate moments.

In the shower, he helped you clean off, and as he was washing your hair, you stared up at him, seeing his dark locks falling into his face with the weight of the water that drenched them. His lips were parted and his tongue was slightly sticking out as he concentrated on making sure he lathered every inch of your hair with shampoo. He looked so adorable like this that you couldn’t help but giggle.

You ran your hands along his chest now to help him wash off the soap, and your ring caught the light, glimmering faintly. Jungkook picked up your hand and turned it this way and that to watch the ring shine from different angles, before he linked your fingers together.

“I told you I’d get you a better one, didn’t I?” You rolled your eyes in amusement at the cocky smirk that tugged at his lips.

“You didn’t just tell me, you promised me.” You continued washing all the suds off of him as he wrapped his arms around you to bring you closer.

“And did I follow through on my promise?”

You pretended to think about it for a second, making Jungkook tickle you under the shower’s waterfall. “Ok! Ok! Yes, you did,” you said as you laughed. “You always follow through on your promises.”

“I try,” was his soft response. He nudged your cheek with his nose, which is something he did when he wanted a kiss, a habit you were very quick to pick up on in the early stages of your relationship. You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood up on your tiptoes, placing a gentle kiss on his lips that had him letting out a small sound of contentment.

“I love you. And I’m in love with you. Nothing, nor anyone, will change that.” You reassured him as you pushed his hair out of his face. Any doubts he still had you wanted to erase them all.

You wanted him to know that you loved him with everything you had.

He smiled, brushing his nose against yours. “I know. And I love you more than anything. All the love I have to give is for you.” He placed another soft kiss on your lips before he pulled back to quietly add, “Only for you.”

Those three words meant so much to you, and every time you heard him say them it made you fall for him even more, if that was possible. The two of you continued to hold each other and exchange lazy kisses until the water turned too cold to bear. After drying off, you both snuggled back into bed, with you falling asleep almost instantly, feeling safe in Jungkook’s arms.

He kissed the back of your neck and wrapped his arms around you securely, resting his forehead against your shoulder as you both laid on your sides. Your soft breathing let him know you were already asleep and he smiled, elated that he could provide you the comfort you needed to help you fall into peaceful slumber once more.

When Jungkook inevitably followed behind you, he was met with nothing but pleasant dreams, and all of them were about you.

#bts #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #ofy drabble

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Text

Whumper Turned Whumpee

Pet whump or whatever is not my area of expertise and this was done between the times 9 and 10:30 (take away a half hour for dinner), so it was quite late for a person (like me) who values her beauty sleep, but the idea popped in my head. I also liked the idea of "whumperees" as @whumpwillow calls them. Anyway, like most late night posts, this is not edited.

Warnings: restraints, torture, blood, stabbing, loss of consciousness, beating mention, concussion, mention of mental torture, pet whump (?), forced labor, exhaustion, fear of punishment, overheating

"Whatd'ya want?" Whumper groaned as light spilled into his bruised eyelids.

"Recompense," Caretaker answered, her voice loose and fluid- nonchalant almost in a frightening way. Whumper stiffened in his restraints. His wrists and ankles were chained up in a 4-point fashion by metal restraints. They weren't even padded, just furious metal digging into his skin.

"Wanna know why?" Caretaker asked, sitting on the table where Whumper was bound. She smiled wickedly and drew shapes against Whumper's hand who, in turn, clenched his fist, shivering. Her touch was cold on his already frigid skin, reminding him of the cold air surrounding him.

"I can guess," Whumper peeled a sore eye open. Though he could not see, he could feel the array of bruises lining his forehead and mouth where he was brutally punched- beaten, being a more honest term for the onslaught that Caretaker plagued him with. Being a professional torturer for years, Whumper knew that the ferocity of the beating was strong enough to give him a concussion. The swimming lights, the blurred vision, and pounding headache confirmed that theory.

"Whumpee is sick," Caretaker growled, her voice taut with utter rage as she glared down at her captive.

Whumper's eyes slipped shut without his consent, too tired to keep open. Anyway, it hurt to do so with the light so unceremoniously placed directly in his eyes.

"Will you answer me?" Caretaker asked, slapping Whumper's cheek.

"No."

Caretaker smirked and yanked Whumper's head up. He grunted, but allowed himself to be aggressively man-handled.

"I really hate to do this, but you destroyed Whumpee," Caretaker whispered into his ear. "Mutt."

"That was unnecessary."

Caretaker grabbed a handful of Whumper's hair and pulled it, tight. "Maybe," she growled, and pulled him forward. His head spun, his shoulders burned with the sudden pull. Caretaker kept him in this position, slowly moving him forwars until he felt his joints sliding.

"Stop!" Whumper pleaded, desperately trying to bend his elbows to release the pressure.

"Make me," Caretaker taunted and, using her free hand, grabbed a nearby knife, and plunged it into Whumper's side. Then she let go. Whumper collapsed back onto the table, blood beginning to pool from the gaping wound in his side.

"That'll need medical attention," Caretaker pointed out, lazily rubbing her hands on the knife's hilt.

Whumper grunted, torso moving to try and escape the metal embedded into his abdomen.

"Stop your writhing," Caretaker shoved the knife in deeper. Whumper hissed, fingers tapping the metal table in an erratical movement. "And listen."

"I have been," Whumper pronounced each syllable with such intensity that Caretaker's hand waver for a moment before punching him in the stomach. Whumper gasped, gagged and winded. Caretaker gave him a moment to catch his breath before repeating the movement.

"Knock nnh... it. Off," Whumper snarled, eyes shinning vividly.

"Never," Caretaker replied and lifted her shirt up slightly and began to fiddle with the belt buckle.

Whumper's stomach dropped, just as his heart started to pump in double time.

His brain registered what was going to happen right before the buckle slashed into his skin. Whumper hollered, feeling the bruise coming along. He was horrible, yes, but he never whipped Whumpee with a belt. Heck, he never even physically hurt him. Just mentally wounded the poor guy with isolation, sensory deprivation... everything like that.

Whumpee never had one blemish.

Another whip, the buckle making a dent into Whumper stomach. He groaned and grit his teeth.

The whips sped up after that until Whumper lost count, the world beginning to spiral into a hazy tornado. He didn't even register the agony that was being afflicted onto his being. Just the light, the obnoxious bulb that seemed to ground him.

But even that was stolen from him as exhaustion, pain, and blood loss started to take its toll. Darkness crept at the edge of vision, obscuring his view of the brown leather.

"Mm," he groaned, and allowed the tense neck muscles to loosen, yet the attack kept going. One after the other, after the other.

When Caretaker stopped, Whumper was unconscious- as he had been for a while- blood pooled around the whole table, dripping onto the ground and onto her hands.

It was mortifying yes, but in a strange sense, Caretaker enjoyed it?

It was, after all, recompense.

Two months later...

"Whumper, wash the dishes."

"Whumper, clean the table."

"Whumper, scrub the floor."

Whumper bowed his head and nodded solemnly as he went to clear the table. His knees wobbled at the sight. Caretaker had guests over, and well, the whole table was filled with dishes, pots, pans... not to mention the dishes he used to make the meal.

It was 10:30. At night.

Everything was to be handwashed, not a speck on them, Caretaker inspected them herself, or there would be punishment. Would it be starvation or dehydration was the question.

Or not, all Whumper had to do was make it perfect.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time the vast kitchen floor was scrubbed- why did Caretaker have to live in a mansion?- as was the dining room where the guests dined.

Whumper drowsily turned the lights off and proceeded to go to his bed- a dog bed in the basement- when a small sound stopped him right in his tracks.

Whumpee.

Whumper turned around to see Whumpee- his ex-captive- staring at him with wide, moon-like eyes.

"Whumper," he said, a slight quiver to his voice.

"Master," Whumper dipped his head and spoke in a slurred voice. He was exhausted and just wanted to go to bed.

"You need to vacuum my room. You forgot."

Whumper nearly dropped to the ground right then and there, but didn't. That would equal punishment, after all.

"Yes sir," Whumper nodded obediently and went to grab the vacuum cleaner from the closet.

The room heated up like fire very quickly. Sweat perspired around Whumper's sweaty forward as he worked to get the dust and dirt out of the pale carpet.

It was so hot...

Whumper grunted and continued to pull through, but lightheadedness was starting to get to him. He swayed, exhaustion pulling at his eyelids.

No, keeping going. No sleeping on the job...

Whumper sunk down to one knee, holding the vacuum with all his might. Don't pass out, don't...

White flashes started to illuminate his vision as the rumbling from the machine faded in and out of earshot.

The last thing Whumper felt when he finally toppled over was two arms swiftly catching him before his head met the floor.

#whumper #whumper turned whumpee #whumperee #past torture #tw torture #writing #pet whumpee #pet whump #overheating #lady whumper #male whumpee

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staripheral · 3 years

Text

➺ 𝙋𝘼𝙍𝙏 1 & 2 𝙈𝙀𝙉 𝘾𝙊𝙈𝙁𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙄𝙍 𝙎/𝙊 𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘼 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙏𝙀𝙍𝙍𝙊𝙍

𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 : 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙘-𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙧, 𝙝𝙮𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

★ JONATHAN J. would wake to the slightest of movements, the quietest of whimpers, and to the tiniest of tremors raking through your body as you were squeezed to his muscular side. He was an extremely light sleeper, something he naturally acquired to remain vigilant (because a certain adopted son of the Joestar Family surely had it out for him). Immediately, his eyes blinked open and he moved onto his side, cooing gently into your ear and rubbing slow circles with his calloused fingers on your hip. While he had hoped to simply coax your dreams into something more delightful, you awoke with a loud gasp after a few moments of experiencing his earnest touch. You hesitantly turned your head towards his large figure in bed and felt the tears trickle from the corners of your eyes; you could see the pain in Jonathan’s eyes as well as his own features contort to express his discomfort of seeing you in such an agonized state.

“My love, please… tell me what troubles you?” He pressed a tender kiss to the crown of your head and brought up his palm to feel the skin of your complexion, carefully brushing away the several tears you could not find within yourself to hold in.

“J-Jojo… Oh, Jonathan, it was horrible! You-- You were murdered, and I was forced t-to watch the life drain from your eyes and--” Jonathan’s brows furrowed further, witnessing your pain: your damp cheeks, red eyes, and uneven breaths. He pressed himself further towards your shaking body underneath the silky sheets, and removed his hand from the side of your face only to replace it behind your head and press your face into his bare chest.

“How I hate to see you so upset, my love… But, know this. I will never leave your side, not even for an instant. My soul is bound to yours as yours is to mine. Never shall I part from you, in life or death, and I do not plan on leaving you alone in this lifetime, my love. I am positive I am to remain by your side for the rest of eternity… and no man, woman, or enemy could ever remove my promise to you, ⌜f/n⌟.” His kind words only made your tears flow stronger, and he panicked for a moment, wondering if he had been out of place to say such things. But, when he felt your wails begin to even out into soft, short breaths and your trembling vanished, leaving your body moving with every inhale and exhale, and eventually your tears came to a stop, he found he could relax at last seeing as you were not in torment any longer. “Sleep well, my love.”

He pressed a kiss unto your lips and pulled away with your hand in his, holding both atop his broad chest. Goodness, what he wouldn’t do to ease the pain of the one he loved most.

★ DIO B. had not been in your presence the moment you had been awoken from your night terror. Your hands would not stop shaking as they gripped the sheets and pulled them off your damp body and you found that you barely had the strength to move your feet to plant themselves atop the soft rug by your bedside. You stood up, having to bring a hand to the footboard to support yourself, and a hand to your mouth to stifle an oncoming sob. There was only one person you trusted yourself with in this kind of state, but he was nowhere to be seen-- at least, not yet.

You wrapped your arms around your torso in an attempt to comfort yourself and your voice echoed through the Joestar Mansion, searching for your beloved. Eventually, you heard his voice call out to you and you ran (or, at least walked as fast as you could) towards its source; the den area.

The door was cracked open just a sliver and you gazed inside, spotting Dio on the loveseat, reading a novel in the dead of night by himself. You squeezed through the entrance and closed the door as delicately as you could.

“And what is it that would require my utmost attention in the midst of the night, my dear ⌜f/n⌟?” Dio questioned, not even looking up from the place he was in his book, although you could tell you had his ears open for you, as he had not turned another page in his book.

“...Dio. It is nothing… I-I just wanted to keep you company.” You whispered, coming around the side of the loveseat and remaining at his side, giving him space to himself, but also being close enough that you were able to feel his warmth from afar as well. You feared he would push you and your stupidity aside, calling you out for allowing yourself to be overcome by your fears. Although he was soft for you, you knew he still had his own limits, which you deeply respected.

Dio looked over at you slyly, his usual smirk gone and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “After seeing you sound asleep in our chambers, I’m not quite so sure that you could have awoken just for a bit of attention, hm? What dreams plague you this late?”

You sighed. Nothing gets past his watchful, crimson eyes. As you wiped the tears from your eyes, you began to recount the atrocious visions that haunted you; that of death, destruction, and deceit. Dio nodded thoughtfully, having put down his book, but still staring into the flames of the pit before him. You wrung your hands harshly, trying to quell your emotions as best you could.

He suddenly took your right hand in his and pulled you towards him so that your back lay against his chest and he picked his book up once again. “Perhaps you would like to read this with me, to get your mind off of the foolish fantasies you dream of? After all, how can anything harm you if you are here in my company.” He said, mocking you slightly.

If he were being honest with himself, Dio would admit that this situation made him uncomfortable, almost out of place. But when he felt your head slightly nod against him, he found himself reading aloud, the only thing he could do (or at least knew what to do at that moment) to provide you comfort in that very moment.

As he read chapters upon chapters, with his deep, rich voice running dry, Dio felt your figure cease its subtle movements and slump into another deep slumber. He carefully slid out from underneath you and kneeled beside the loveseat, tucking his toned arms underneath the back of your knees and the length of your shoulders and lifting your limp body into his arms, carrying you back to your chambers, where he intended to join and guard you from any more dreams that wished to terrorize your good-natured soul.

“Don’t believe in such trivial fantasies, my dear. I would never allow for us to part. Even fate itself will not be enough to divide us. Sleep well, dearest.”

★ JOSEPH J. was a very, very deep sleeper. No man alive could devise a wake up call loud or obnoxious enough to make him arise from his sleep. But… a woman such as yourself happened to find out what woke him up on the day that you experienced a terrifying dream. You had tossed and turned, cried out and begged for help, yet no one had come to rescue your pitiful self. You awoke with a start, your figure flying up from its position in bed. Joseph’s heavy arm that had once lay across your waist had been tossed to the side, and his eyelids remained closed while his snores filled the quiet room. You clutched your chest in an attempt to control your breathing, tears dripping down onto the covers of your bed as you tried to maintain composure. You had to leave the bedroom, and fast, lest you feel even more suffocated than before.

The loss of your presence woke up the goofster. There was no heat, no mass weighing down the bed in the space next to him; you were gone. That was his motivation to open his eyes and look at the time by the clock beside him. 2:31 AM. The horror.

Joseph knew he would not be able to sleep without you by his side, so he begrudgingly sat up and exited the bedroom, rubbing his tired eyes and groaning at his sore muscles. His bare feet padded against the floor, making a loud entrance into the kitchen, so loud that he had not even heard your quiet, muffled sobs as you sat on the floor, back pressed against the cabinets with your face buried in your hands.

His eyes softened. He grew quiet. He was never quiet. You were scared to even look up at him. Was he upset? Was this another trick of your mind? You were so lost, so confused, shaking so violently in your nightgown that you became so sure that this was real. Your gaze finally moved upwards to look at Joseph, who had approached you with soft, saddened eyes as he kneeled before you.

“Jo,” --you hiccupped-- “Jo… I-I’m so sorry, did I wake you?” You attempted to wipe the tears away vigorously, poorly covering up your terrified state. Joseph, the ever-observant man that he is, knew better than to fall for your words. You were so scared. He could practically feel the fear radiating from your body as his fingers extended to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and cup his palm against the side of your neck. “Joseph?” You asked timidly, as he remained silent and reached your hands out to touch his face.

However, you were the priority in Joseph’s mind, and in no way would he let you suffer as he often found himself after troublesome nights, especially when you were always there for him in his times of need. Instead, he moved his hands to grip your sides and smoothly lifted you to sit atop the countertop, leaving you squeaking in surprise. This side of Joseph was so unfamiliar to you… yet you loved it all the same.

His hands tenderly smoothed up and down your sides before engulfing you in an embrace. He wordlessly connected his lips to your temple, holding them there for what seemed like forever until he finally felt the sobs rack your body, your pain being released into the air. Joseph’s teeth clenched as you gripped his shirt in your dainty hands, cries filling his unusual silence as he let you rid yourself of the suffering you were experiencing. He only moved to either smooth the back of your hair by running his fingers through it idly, or to press the lightest of kisses to your temple, so that you knew he was there, that he would not judge, and that he would always protect you from the bad, even from within, until you fell asleep, peacefully breathing against his shoulder with your arms wrapped around his neck.

Joseph was a chatty, intolerable brat at times… but he always, always wished to bring you the kind of serenity you’d introduced into his life. And he realized that sometimes, just by being at your side he was able to help rid yourself of the demons that lived inside of you, as you had saved him from the demons that once lurked within him.

★ CAESAR Z. woke to your piercing shriek sounding out in the middle of the night. He moaned something incoherently to his amore as his eyes desperately tried to open, only fully widening as he felt a petite hand shake against the bulk of his bicep. “C-Caesar, please wake up!”

He sprung up into a seated position to look at you, his frazzled partner. His head whipped back and forth for signs of any potential danger. When he found nothing strange, his head turned back to you to figure out what was wrong. Your lips wobbled, your eyes producing streams of endless tears, and your hand shook as you gripped his arm again. “Y-You’re alive!?”

“Of course I am alive, tesora, what made you believe I wasn’t?” He questioned, gingerly taking your face in his hands, bringing his forehead to yours, and furrowing his eyebrows in curiosity. “Did you have a night terror, ⌜f/n⌟?”

Your waterworks were the only response he required to answer that question. As he wiped away your tears and nuzzled impossibly closer to you, your own hands clutched at his sides, as to ascertain for themselves whether he was reality or some sort of dream.

“Oh, tesora, please do not cry. I promise you, I am real. Do you feel my hands on your face?” You nodded, the air around you feeling a lot thinner than it did before. You began to wail in a panicked state. “Shh… It is alright. My lips, right here, “--he kissed your left eyelid--”and here,”--then pressed another to your right eyelid--”are real.” His hands began to peel away from your cheeks before you desperately tried to grab at them. He could tell you were so scared, so vulnerable and afraid of losing him, as he was of losing you. “Amore-- I’m here. You can touch me, I won’t disappear. I will not vanish. My place is here, loving you forever. I am not dead, nor will I be anytime soon. Oh, don’t cry… please breathe with me.”

His continued coos of affection, his whispered words of encouragement, and his gentle touches provided you comfort in due time. His words were laced with a velvety, relaxing tone that surely would’ve put you to bed much sooner had you not been so frantic in your state of mind.

“I’m so sorry, Caesar… I’m so sorry for waking you up and bothering you with my mindless nonsense.” You spoke quietly, forehead still pressed to his as you laid down next to one another for the second time that night. He shook his head immediately, his bangs tickling the skin of your forehead.

“Don’t ever apologize… You were scared, and not over something such as ‘mindless nonsense’. I want you to reach out for me, to find solace in me, tesora. I want to cure you of your fear. I want to save you from your darkest thoughts. You mustn’t be sorry, tesora, for everything that has happened does not bother me in the slightest… I adore you, ⌜f/n⌟ .” He spoke calmly, slowly so that his words would lull you into sleep, hopefully this time blessed with happiness.

Caesar smiled as you snuggled in close and thanked him for everything. He did not say anything in return and made sure you were comfortable before shutting his eyes once more. ‘No,’ He thought to himself. ‘Thank you, tesora, for giving me everything.’

𝙖/𝙣 : 𝘰𝘩 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘪'𝘮 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰 𝘸𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦 :')) 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴, 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩!! 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵! 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 <3

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mygodyouredivine · 3 years

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The Hell In Your Eyes - 3

Summary: Loki doesn't meet her until two weeks after his initial imprisonment, but he knows he hates her. He has to hate her. Because the way she talks to him and helps him and saves him meals can't mean anything. She is too soft to deal with Loki, who is hardened with pain, pain, and more pain. And Loki hates soft things.

Have you ever seen the hell in someone’s eyes and loved it anyway?

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: brief mentions of violence

Word Count: 4836

Previous Chapter

Loki is annoyed.

Loki has sat through thousands of years of political dinners, exchanging thinly veiled insults under a layer of diplomacy, all while smiling through his teeth. Loki has spewed sensical nonsense, charming naive, innocent maids and sweeping young stable boys off their feet. Loki has endured Odin’s wrath — in all its horrible glory — countless times, and never once had he shed a tear, nor had a single cry escaped his lips.

The whole of Asgard had coined him the Dark Prince — and who was Loki to disappoint?

He had long since learned people saw what they expected to see.

And so as the entire realm rejoiced in his demise, as Laufey left him to die, as Odin condemned him for eternity, as Thor abandoned him, as Frigga had sided with her husband again and again and again, Loki maintained his carefully constructed front.

Yet one encounter with a mortal, and he had unraveled at her feet.

If physically kneeling before the wretched creature wasn’t enough, he knew she had seen past his mask. By the time he had regained his composure, he was sure she had seen him.

It won’t happen again.

Loki is a god, and gods do not crack. Gods maintain their image, regardless of circumstance. Gods do not show weakness, do not show vulnerability.

This is a lesson Loki knows well, a lesson etched into his skin countless times by Odin’s hand.

And yet for each time Odin reinforced this lesson, the very same lesson was burned away by Thanos a thousand more.

Loki tried, he truly did. Loki maintained his godly facade for an impressive amount of time, resisting as his body was taken apart over and over and over again. Perhaps it wasn’t as long as he thought. Loki feels as if his entire life was spent doused in agony, spent with his flesh melting off and his bones withering away.

Ultimately, a god is no match for a Titan.

But a mortal is no match for a god.

And yet, Loki has found himself at her feet — at her mercy — twice.

Even after, Loki couldn’t bring himself to summon his cruel exterior. Perhaps it had to do with the way she had waltzed into his space, all soft and defenseless, carrying that deplorable drink as if it was the elixir of eternal life (unfortunately, it tasted just as divine). Perhaps it was his body, still sated and full for the first time in months, reminding him of the food — the debt — he owes. Perhaps it was the way she held out her arm towards him, even though he could see it shaking.

Whether it was any of these things or none at all, Loki’s cool mask of indifference was rendered utterly useless at her delicate, mortal hands.

Loki hates her.

His hatred fills every fiber of his being. It’s a scalding, fiery hatred, much unlike the frozen excuse of Loki’s heart. His frost giant heritage seems to reject her very being.

Loki hates her voice, hates her hands, hates her. He hates how she makes him falter when there is no place for mistakes.

Loki’s thoughts are interrupted by Thor, who enters Loki’s quarters without an ounce of hesitation — ever the righteous, confident, arrogant bastard.

Ah, but Loki almost forgot. Thor is not the bastard — Loki is. How despicable; for really, Loki can not even call himself a bastard. Yet, ‘the Bastard Son of Odin’ has a certain charm to it. Perhaps another false title for his collection.

“Loki!” Thor booms, “Here are your clothes that Lady Angel washed. You should be grateful brother, for she offered of her own volition — ”

Is it so surprising someone would offer to help Loki without external influence?

“ — to see and visit you! You are doing well. I am happy to see you are finally making an effort to get to know all of our friends — ”

Thor is happy? For Loki, or for himself? Why must Loki, even now, strive to prove himself to Thor? Why is Loki’s worth solely dependent on Thor’s judgement?

“ — and Lady Angel is absolutely wonderful. I am delighted to see you two getting along so well! I can’t believe you finally made a friend— ”

At this, Loki’s composure cracks for the second time that day.

“What am I? A pathetic child wandering aimlessly through a school corridor? A helpless hatchling at the mercy of others — groveling for the bare minimum? Who are you to congratulate me for ‘making a friend?’ She is not a friend ,” Loki spits out. He can feel his teeth grinding against each other, his fingernails once again digging into his palms. “She is nothing more than another worthless mortal, unworthy of even breathing the same air as I, and yet you suggest I be grateful?”

Thor advances on Loki, his eyes hardening. The atmosphere is tense; unlike the typical bickering between the brothers, Loki identifies something distinctly different in the way the air vibrates. The space between the two gods crackles. “Watch yourself brother —”

Brother. The word grates upon Loki’s nerves. How can Thor so carelessly throw the word around, even knowing of its false implications — implications and lies Loki foolishly believed.

Sometimes Loki wonders if Thor does it on purpose.

“Do you hear yourself Thor? Bending yourself over backwards to defend this wasted excuse of consciousness — you are the King of Asgard. What is she? She is nothing.”

And now Loki is no longer staring at his brother, but the ceiling of his prison. His back is slammed against Stark’s hardwood floors and there is sharp ringing in his ears, likely the result of the crack in the floor right behind where his head is currently embedded.

Loki almost laughs.

Truly, it is comical — comical that even now, Thor’s first instinct is to physically threaten Loki. As if Loki doesn’t almost enjoy it.

But Loki’s laugh catches in his throat, prevented from escaping by the large hand tightening around his airway.

Thor’s hand is around Loki’s neck — a mirror of His.

A thousand years Loki has known Thor. A thousand years of childish brawls, foolhardy battles, pointless arguments. How many times has Loki betrayed Thor? Thor betrayed Loki? And yet, Loki believed he knew his brother’s character.

A thousand years Loki has known Thor, but never once has he thought Thor to be cruel.

Oh how wrong he is.

Thor’s hands are gripping Loki’s neck and for the life of him Loki can’t breathe. He tries to draw air into his lungs — lungs that are screaming with a familiar ache — and fails. Phantom pains flicker across his entire body and somehow, in the second before his vision goes black, Loki manages to croak out a strangled wheeze of a laugh.

Loki is once again strapped upon a bed of coals, once again stabbed with blades of flame, once again torched with fire so hot he freezes. Loki remembers the only other time he begged — begged and pleaded for the sweet mercy of death, all while knowing death was a pleasure he was never to be granted.

Loki is once again kneeling — boneless — at the feet of a Titan, looking up into a face promising endless pain, a face painted with the patience of a thousand moons and splattered with the ruined blood of a Frost Giant.

Loki did not know that a Frost Giant’s blood could boil.

Ah, but the Mad Titan knew, and he ensured Loki would never forget.

Loki recalls the moment he let go — an eerie echo of his fall from grace, his fall from the Bifrost. And he remembers the horribly invasive power of the scepter, along with the blessed relief and utter disregard for self preservation that followed.

And it is this — the relief — that plagues Loki. He does not fool himself; Loki may be the God of Lies, but he has no reason to lie to himself . It is not the destruction of New York nor the deaths at his hand that weigh upon his shattered mind. No, it is the fact that Loki found solace in his actions.

Make no mistake — Loki does not rejoice in his crime, but nor could he say he regrets it.

For if Loki were given the choice, he could not — would not — choose to spare Midgard at the cost of his own sanity.

(But Loki was never given a choice.)

Alas, Loki is already insane.

The Mad Titan has taken so much from Loki.

Physically, Loki has long since disregarded his own body. He remembers the beginning of his torture, when he still held the title of 'Prince of Asgard,' when he spoke with arrogance and oozed of indignantion. Oh how naive he had been. When the first whips had landed across his skin, Loki's thoughts could never have anticipated what the coming months would entail. Loki did not once stop to consider how he would escape the clutches of his captor — oh the confidence he held! — but instead lamented the scars he would surely have to bear. Dimly, Loki recalls worrying over his marred skin, irritated at the blemishes he would surely have to cover when taking future lovers.

Loki scoffs.

Loki does not recognize the man who spent time thinking of lovers. Or of his physical appearance. Or of his interests. Or of any other insignificant pleasure that ultimately contributes to the annihilation of a soul.

(Even now, Loki carries with him an irrational fear of physical touch — a seed planted by the Mad Titan that Loki cannot gouge out, not even if he tore open his very being.)

In fact, Loki wondered if his corporeal form had even existed anymore. But most of all, more than the ruination of his physical form, Loki mourns the damnation of his mind.

Ultimately, the Mad Titan did triumph over Loki. For no matter how many times Loki escapes, fakes his death, runs away, he can never evade the visions that haunt his mind, the voices that infect his thoughts, the termites eating away at what remains of Loki’s sanity.

(If Loki were given a choice, he would have chosen death again and again and again.)

Alas, Loki was not — is not — given a choice, for suddenly he is not lying on a bed of coals, but on his apartment floor again. Thor has since removed his hand from Loki’s neck and Loki half wishes Thor just kept it there. Just kept on squeezing and squeezing and squeezing until Loki died on that bed of coals.

Loki wonders, if he were to die at Thor’s hand, would his brother feel remorse? Or perhaps, more realistically, relief?

Unfortunately, Loki is not dead, and Thor is gazing at him, concern evident in his gaze. As if Thor wasn’t the one who put Loki in this condition — wasn’t the one who greedily snatched all of Odin’s affection, wasn’t the one who pushed Loki out of favor, wasn’t the one who led his brainless minions in a brash suicide mission, as if Thor wasn’t the one who stared Loki in the eye as Loki let go into the abyss.

As if Thor wasn’t the first domino in a long ripple effect that eventually drowned Loki in his sins.

Thor was the smooth pebble that young children skipped over lakes, just barely skimming the surface of a tempting downfall — nevertheless gracefully leaping unscathed across the reflective waters. Yet Loki was the jagged, unskippable rock, destined to fall through the air and fall through the water with no hesitation. Loki has long since come to terms with this simple fact.

No longer does Loki resent his brother, for he understands: light can only shine in the presence of darkness. And if Loki is condemned to darkness — so be it.

Loki does not resent his brother, but oftentimes Loki despises his lightness . What some might say is endearing — the inability for Thor to give up — is just a burden. Even now, Thor still thinks he can change Loki, can fix him. Thor still thinks that by vouching for Loki and providing Loki a place to live and surrounding Loki with Thor’s friends that he can mend Loki’s broken soul and bring back the brother he once had. Thor is still in denial — he refuses to grasp the very simple concept that Thor’s brother — the Second Prince of Asgard, God of Lighthearted Mischief — is long dead. And so Thor continues to try. But light yelling into the darkness does not change it.

And even now, with Thor looming above Loki, Loki does not resent his brother.

But Loki resents Thor’s very being — the core of who Thor is. Thor is a duality; one of naivety and compassion, yet tainted — or perhaps embellished — with a smidge of cruelty and arrogance.

And as Thor is speaking to Loki, mouth forming words Loki is too tired to hear, Loki simply lies on the floor, limbs relaxed around him, throat sore, and does the only thing he can do when feeling so utterly empty.

Loki laughs.

______________________________

Midgard is rather charming in some regards.

Loki will eventually have to investigate the laundry process, for he has just now made the curious discovery that freshly dried clothes are warm . He suspects they were warmer right after they were dried, but he can still feel the presence of the heat, lingering within the very fabric of his garments. He wonders just how much they were heated up to — would it have burnt his frozen hands at the peak of its fiery glory?

No, Loki’s hands are too well accustomed to fire now.

But he doubts that her hands are. He envisions Angel pulling his clothes out of the dryer, her hands touching the same clothes that he has worn, that he will wear, that he is currently touching.

Yet is it entirely possible Loki is standing around, imagining a scene that never played out, for it was not Angel who brought Loki’s laundry back to him, but his dearest brother. Looking at his pile of clothes again, Loki takes in the telltale signs of Thor. The messily folded shirts stare back at Loki, mocking him.

He wonders if she ever even did any part of his laundry. Perhaps she only offered it as a way to ease the uncomfortable tension that had arisen earlier. Or rather, (and his stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought) she lugged his laundry basket downstairs and dumped it straight into Thor’s arms.

Why else would she refuse his help to accompany her?

A twinge of something rises up within Loki as he realizes she accepted Thor’s offer to bring his clothes back. Or, much more likely, she had pushed the task onto Thor in a desperate attempt to avoid encountering him again.

Not that Loki could blame her.

And yet the uncomfortable sensation within Loki only grows, and he realizes that he feels something akin to disappointment. Loki cannot allow himself to feel disappointment. He had long since learned not to expect anything from anyone — or perhaps, much more cynically, to only depend on — to trust — himself.

Trust, Loki knows, is a fickle concept the naive embrace. Trust itself is ill fated, the certainty of an inevitable betrayal the same as the certainty that one day everyone living on this cursed realm will perish.

Loki hates Angel. He hates how she pretends to care for him, hates how she imitates Thor, hates how she always finds a way to break him, and Loki hates how Angel makes him feel.

Loki's silent anger boils inside of him — like the steady countdown of a ticking bomb — manifesting itself out of him as the laundry basket is violently launched across the room.

He hates how he feels absolutely no satisfaction at the way the freshly clean clothes scatter across the floor, hates how he lost control, and hates how the damned mortal forces him to feel emotions he does not want to feel .

Sometimes all Loki can do is hate.

______________________________

The heat from the clothes have long since seeped into the floor.

The sun is just now setting, dousing Loki’s room in a fiery glow. Warm light spills across Loki’s bookshelves, his impeccably made bed, the clothes strewn around his floor. Loki sits on the ground, bare of his illusions, allowing himself to just be .

Staring across the room, he notices tendrils of light carefully curling around the air, miniscule particles of dust dancing in the golden glow. This is a gold Loki enjoys. Unlike the brash, loud character of Thor’s gold — of Asgard’s gold, this is a much softer, gentle color. The comforting hue reminds Loki of his mother, and against his will, he feels a wall of despair beginning to build within his chest.

For a second, Loki loses himself as the wall crashes over him. He drops his head, allowing his hair to dangle in front of his face, obscuring his view of the floating particles. He feels like a child — wants nothing more in this moment than to run to Frigga, for her floral scent to fill his senses as she envelopes him in her arms. What Loki wouldn’t give to have Frigga’s delicate fingers comb through his hair just once more, for her soft lips against his forehead, murmuring words of comfort.

But he can’t have that. Instead, here he is, sitting on the floor of a glorified prison in the midst of a community of people who hate him, with nothing but Thor to act as his buffer.

Looking up, Loki gazes at the honeyed light as it glides over a particular heap of clothing. He watches, mesmerized, as the light gently moves, unhurriedly bathing each corner of the fabric in its rich glow.

If he were still on Asgard, Loki would most likely have been reading, thoroughly immersed in some story or another. The sun would have showered his pages in its quiet glow, lighting the words aflame. He would have taken a stroll in his mother’s gardens, breathing in the sweet scent of her flowers as he sat in his favorite hidden alcove. He would have taken out his book and continued to read, read until the golden hue of the sun was replaced by the tender shine of the moon. Only then would Loki return, serenely walking back to his chambers, stopping only to retrieve a cup of tea, and resume his reading on his balcony.

Loki wants that.

Loki wants an afternoon to himself, with no worries plaguing his mind.

Loki wants to be able to read, and to do so in an environment which permits him to let his guard down.

Loki wants to sit outside, surrounded by flowers, and watch as the sun transitions into the moon.

Loki wants to indulge in a hot cup of tea as he watches the moonlight spills across the pages of his book.

Loki wants so many things — and he can’t have any of them.

Standing up, Loki decides he has spent enough time reminiscing over what he cannot have today. He feels sticky and hot and cold and hungry and all he wants right now , is a long shower.

And so Loki walks over to the same pile of clothes, now dull and abandoned by the sun, gazing disapprovingly downwards. Thor is truly an imbecile, for he has not even managed to separate their clothes correctly. Loki is currently staring at a dark green sweatshirt, one he knows for a fact he has never seen before. Tiredly, he tosses it upon his bed and scoops up a clean change of clothes, then turns around and trodds slowly into the bathroom.

______________________________

Water droplets rain all around Loki, swiftly sliding down his body.

He doesn’t particularly enjoy showering — it reminds him too much of another substance: denser, stickier, and much more red, trickling down his skin. Loki much prefers baths. Baths, however, render their subject very much vulnerable, and Loki does not fancy risking any more vulnerability than strictly necessary.

So Loki is standing in the shower, unabashedly soaking up the shallow warmth the water provides. Surely if Thor could see him, his brother would lecture Loki on wasting Midgard’s precious resources. But, Loki reasons, if Stark truly possesses the excess of wealth he boasts of, Loki’s water usage will not be of much concern to the man. And so this is a luxury Loki will grant himself.

The shower is one place where Loki feels the safest, where he allows his thoughts to wander and drift into otherwise forbidden territories. Today especially has been challenging, and even his muscles seem to ache, the fibers pulling away from each other, trying to rip Loki apart from the inside out. His mind is exhausted, filled with swirling thoughts of Frigga and Angel and Thor, with the occasional Odin and Titan intruding whenever a particular body part cries out.

And as Loki gazes down at his body, the disfigured canvas of scars stare back at him and he attempts to soothe away the countless aches. No matter how much time has passed and how much magic Loki pours into himself, the pains never seem to retreat. Rationally, Loki knows it doesn’t make sense. He knows his magic is fully capable of healing himself, knows that by all accounts he is healed.

But Loki also knows he does not imagine the sharp pains coursing through his veins.

He is fighting himself — the part of himself that does not want the pain to stop. Because all Loki knows is pain, and he fears the absence of pain almost as much as he dreads its glorious presence.

Loki raises his head, allowing for the stream of water to bruise his face. And if Loki’s closed eyes leak the occasional tear, no one would know.

______________________________

Loki’s self destructive spiraling is abruptly cut short by three succinct knocks from his bedroom door. Still soaking in the shower, Loki debates whether or not to answer; after all, he truly has no desire to see his brother again today. Or preferably, ever again. Unfortunately, Loki is all too aware that if he does not answer the door to let Thor in, Thor will simply let himself in. And if there’s anything worse than seeing Thor, it will be seeing a displeased Thor while Loki stands nude and wet.

Reluctantly, Loki turns off his shower, changes into his freshly washed ‘sweatpants’, and leisurely walks towards the door. He is honestly surprised Thor hasn’t invited himself in yet. He is more surprised when he finally opens the door and is promptly met with — not Thor’s brutish face, but the goddamned mortal.

She stands there, in front of his door, barely out of arm's reach. Loki can’t help but drink her in. He notices her hair, laying loosely around her face, framing her profile. She’s sporting a sweater, much too warm for the present weather. Its collar is stretched out over years of use, teasing his eyes with a fraction of her collarbones peaking through. Her legs are barely covered by absurdly short shorts, and Loki feels the back of his ears heating up. Hurriedly, he averts his eyes, falling down to her feet, once again hugged by soft looking socks — mismatched.

His scrutinization is interrupted by her voice; so soft.

“Hey! Sorry if I interrupted you. I heard you were in the shower but I was going around taking everyone’s dinner orders. We’re getting Chinese.” She tilts her head to the side, lifting her chin ever-so-slightly, distractedly exposing the tantalizing skin of her neck. She swallows, and Loki’s eyes discreetly follow the bob of her throat. “I was just wondering if you wanted anything?”

It takes a moment for Loki to register her question and another for him to process it. She is going to order dinner? For him? And she is asking him for his preference? Loki has not had the privilege of preferring anything in a long, long time. Damn this mortal.

“I am not familiar with this particular cuisine, nor Midgard’s in particular.”

She meets his eyes then, and only after does it occur to him that her eyes had been previously glued to his abdomen. His abdomen, he realizes which has been bare this entire interaction. “That doesn’t answer my question.”

He forces himself to roll his eyes, running a hand through his still dripping hair to hide the scarlet his ears have surely become. “I am saying that I do not have a preference, woman.”

She lifts her shoulders briefly in a gesture Loki has come to associate with Midgard’s daftness and promptly moves closer to him. Instinctively, Loki takes a step back, then curses himself for doing so. He truly must be losing it, backing away from a defenseless mortal. But she doesn’t push further, instead tilting her head at that angle again, asking him another question.

“Can I come in?”

Loki hesitates. He doesn’t understand her motives, doesn’t know if this is a trick the Avengers have set up or perhaps a test designed by his brother. All he knows is that Angel is staring at him with her eyes wide and innocent and completely devoid of deceit.

Angel must carry magic or Loki must be possessed by the Mind Stone again, for against his will, Loki steps to the side, allowing her to brush past him. The sleeve of her sweater comes into contact with Loki’s stomach, and he jerks away.

Awkwardly, Loki closes his door and turns to face the mortal, noting how hilariously out of place she looks, standing in the midst of Loki’s domain. With a wave of his hand, the previously scattered articles of clothing fly onto his bed, meticulously folding themselves. Angel’s surprised, quiet gasp does not escape his notice. She walks towards his bed, small hand landing on Thor’s sweatshirt.

“Take that when you leave.” Loki internally bristles at his own tone, noticing how Angel’s shoulders locked up when he spoke and did not relax when he stopped. “Please,” he adds.

To his surprise (again), Angel approaches him, sweater in hand. “Why?”

At this, Loki is caught off guard. Without warning, he is overwhelmed by distaste. His patience has been tested over and over again, and he does not have even a drop more to deal with this mortal’s incompetence. His hatred for her rushes back, multiplied a thousandfold. Who does she think she is and why will she not leave Loki alone? Why must she cut short his relaxation, intrude upon his personal space, inquire after him when he knows — he knows — she does so unwillingly? Why is she holding up Thor’s goddamned sweater, pretending not to know why Loki hates it so? As if she doesn’t know it belongs to Thor.

In fact, Loki is positive she is intimately aware of whom it belongs to, undoubtedly so. He hates Angel, hates her for reluctantly offering her help, hates her for her smoothies, hates her for asking him about his preferences. Briefly, he envisions snapping her neck. Effortlessly. But the image makes him recoil, bringing about not satisfaction, but horror.

His fists clench, his broken fingernails once again digging into bruised skin. It costs Loki an immeasurable amount of self control not to simply throw her out, hurl her from his quarters. Instead, he snaps at her.

“Girl, do not test my patience. I am warning you, it has been a very long day and if you do not exit extremely promptly, it will not end well for one of us.”

Loki hates the way her shoulders tense up again, hates the way she physically flinches away at his dismissal.

Loki hates how though he can sense her increasing heartbeat, her nervousness, Angel still looks him in the eye and informs him, in a terrified voice coated with forced calm, “I’m sorry to hear that Loki. I added this sweater into your laundry after it was done, but I should have known it would not have been welcome.”

Loki hates how she then drops her eyes, staring intently at her mismatched socks.

“I’ll just leave your dinner outside.”

Loki hates how she leaves, her hands gripping Thor’s — his — sweatshirt tightly, footsteps moving at a much brisker pace.

Loki hates how Angel closed off, how he closed her off.

Loki hates how Angel clearly did do his laundry.

Loki hates how Angel thought of him, giving him an extra sweatshirt, offering him a choice for dinner.

Loki hates Angel more than he hates Thor, more than he hates Odin.

Loki hates Angel more than he hates the Mad Titan.

The only person Loki hates more than Angel is himself.

Fuck.

______________________________

We don't even ask for happiness, just a little less pain.

- Charles Bukowski

______________________________

Previous Chapter

Taglist: @spacedaddydinn @doct0rstrange

#Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #Loki Laufeyson x Reader #the hell in your eyes #thiye #loki x you #friends to enemies to lovers #reader insert #loki fic #jouce writes

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dreaminpetals · 4 years

Note

Yoooo can I get some norton sfw and nsfw headcanons 😳 your writing is top tier btw !!!!!

⛏ norton hcs ー sfw & nsfw . . .

art credit

SFW ;;

♡ norton deals with frequent mood swings, hallucinations, and intense survivor's guilt, so he had cold feet about relationships for a long time. he views himself as a burden and stain on society, he doesn't want to put anyone through the misery of dating him.

♡ if he had a partner all he'd do was hurt them, norton thought. he'd try to rescue them during a game but accidentally maim them, or lash out at them during a fit of uncontrollable rage and scar them forever.

♡ when he began to develop a crush on you, he was even more gloomy than usual. he cancelled plans with you, walked away the moment you sat down beside him, and refused to heal you even if you were standing in front of him and the hunter was far away.

♡ it was your compassion that made him fall. hard. although you didn't speak much, you always went out of your way to help norton and offered an ear if he needed to vent rather than being scared and fleeing.

♡ he thought that if he made you hate him then his feelings would go away, but it only made you more determined to support the crumbling man who had your heart.

♡ every time he thought about holding you, he would be plagued with visions of him hurting you right after. sometimes he would burst into tears when he met your gaze because he couldn't stop thinking about you dying like his coworkers.

♡ it took weeks of nonstop affection to convince him that you'd be safe with him and that you'd love him no matter what.

♡ he wanted to be as close to you as possible to keep you out of harm's reach, but he also didn't want to be near you in case he hurt you.

♡ your love was like magnets. he pushed you away, pulled you closer, pushed you away, pulled you closer.

♡ the best s/o he could ask for would he a levelheaded and understanding one, if you were calm and nurturing (but not overbearing) then he could have someone to pull him out of his fits of catatonia AND calm him down when he was blazing with fury.

♡ norton's rage would never be directed at you, it was always himself or anyone who posed a threat to you.

♡ he'd give hunters tons of shit for even daring to lay a finger on you. he didn't care if hastur was a god and norton was a man, he was going to calamari that bastard for letting you bleed out.

♡ huge fear of abandonment. he needs constant reassurance that you aren't complaining about him behind his back or planning to pack your bags and leave.

♡ when norton is in a good mood, he can't keep his hands to himself and acts so smug.

♡ you want to keep him in his sleazy money hungry moods for as long as you can, you insist on gifting him with stunning gems or interestingly shaped rocks just to see his face light up.

♡ he gets frustrated and genuinely upset when you tease him or don't give him what he wants but when it comes to teasing you? norton is the most mischievous man you've had the experience of meeting.

♡ he uses the height difference between you to his advantage, if you have a hat he can and will hold it above your head and chuckle as you try to reach for it.

♡ give him sweet food!!! he may not look like it, but pastries and candy remind norton of his childhood and have a calming effect on him. for every donut you donate to him, he'll kiss you in any spot of your choice.

♡ if he has a game on golden cave you'll volunteer to play it for him, he can't handle the claustrophobia and flashbacks he gets when he has games there. he appreciates it so much.

♡ favourite cuddling position is laying on his back with you resting on his stomach or under his arm with your hair splayed on his chest.

♡ burns everything he touches but will still cook and bake for you!!! maybe you should give him lessons?

♡ never knows how to ask to vent. he lets you know by talking to himself, saying "i killed them", that's when you drop what you're doing and console him.

♡ he wishes that he embraced love earlier, nightmares and hallucinations are easier to handle when he has someone clenching his hand and running their palm along his hair to calm him down and remind him it's not real. the voices that asked norton "why did you kill me?" are replaced by his lover cooing "norton baby, it's not real, you're safe in your bed, i love you so much dear" in his ear. he feels like he can handle anything with you by his side.

NSFW ;;

♡ like his moods, norton's behaviour in bed changes like the weather.

♡ norton is a fan of slow, intimate sex where nothing exists except you two. when you can mumble that you're hopelessly in love with him as you give light strokes to his cock, each lick worth a thousand words.

♡ other times, norton is brutally rough and you have to use a safeword with him.

♡ on bad days he'll enjoy humiliation or degradation, by having you beg for him or be called filthy names it reassures him that you aren't plotting to abandon him if you're doing all this embarrassing stuff.

♡ when he tops, he prefers to fuck you from behind and grip your hips until his nails like talons leave a mark, drawing blood. he can't control himself when he sees you submitting yourself to him and spanks you.

♡ holds you no matter what, when he wraps his arms around your belly as his hips snap into yours from behind he feels like he's protecting you.

♡ likely has a breeding kink as well, he wants to cum inside of you as deep as he possibly can and never pull out.

♡ he has such a thing for your hands ー their softness, their size, how your nails feel when they scratch his back, how you play with his hair... he wants those same hands to turn his cock into a red, leaking mess.

♡ candles. norton would use candles to set the mood and lighten the room so he could look at you better, but he would also enjoy watching (safe) wax trickle onto your skin.

♡ especially if you already have cum on you, he'd rub it in with his hands until they stuck to your body.

♡ something about the smell and the mess of it all drives him wild. the fact you're willingly letting him corrupt you like this is enough to make him cream in his pants.

♡ obsessed with claiming you, he would mark you up from head to toe and have you promise you wouldn't leave him while his teeth sunk into your skin.

♡ pulls your hair so hard that some chunks have accidentally come out... in the moment norton growls and fucks you harder when it happens, but once he cools down, he feels awful and wants to give you a massage.

♡ the heavy breathing and strings of curses that fall from his lips make your legs weak, his voice sounds huskier and more primal during sex.

♡ when he eats you out or blows you he digs his nails into your thighs and doesn't let go until you've cum at least twice, the unmistakable scratch marks left on your thighs leave him ravenous.

♡ norton doesn't like when you make references to past sex when he's in one of his happy moods, it's so embarrassing for him. but when he's in a teasing, possessive mood? the same room you mentioned it in would be the same room he jackhammers you in. even if there's other people, he'll find something to stand behind and act like he's fixing your outfit for you... don't try to tease norton when he's horny because he does Not show mercy.

#norton stans lets get it!!!!!#norton campbell #idv x reader #norton campbell imagine #idv prospector #norton campbell smut

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luna-the-moth · 4 years

Text

The Birth of Satan (SFW)

Hello hello lovelies! I felt the strong urge to write some Satan angst, so why not illustrate the fall, Lilith’s death, and Satan’s birth?

CW: Blood Word count: 1.3k

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

Staring at his previously snow-white wings, Lucifer felt a shiver of fear run up his spine, as the voice that had been plaguing his mind for eons had finally silenced.

He was used to it shrieking, furious at even the slightest inconvenience. Whenever Michael had belittled him, or Mammon had stolen Raphael's feathers, he would hear an ear-splitting voice, screech and attempt to claw it's way out of his head.

However, Lucifer had never reached that tipping point. Always reigning in his fury, his feelings of being slighted. Repressing, over and over, plastering that infuriating smirk on his face, permanently. Until now.

Watching Lilith's body fall in slow motion, Lucifer paused from his duel with Raphael, giving the other seraphim a chance to drive his spear into the future demon's torso. Yelling out in pain, Lucifer ripped it out of his body, a guttural noise of pain reverberating from his chest.

Before the angel of healing could respond, Lucifer dove through the clouds, wings spiraling down, rushing in a torpedo of blinding wings. He had to reach her, he couldn't fail her, not after everything they've been through. Not after betraying their Father, performing one of the most outrageous and traitorous actions an angel could commit.

Falling in love with a human

He could see her, limbs twisting, blood-stained wings beginning to burn, brighter than all the stars combined. She was dying, he realized. Dying for such a trivial thing. Although Lucifer hadn't seen the appeal in humans, he couldn't deny the stars in his sister's eyes when she talked about humans, the happiest she'd ever been.

How could he deny his sister of her happiness?

But now, as she plummeted into the Devildom's ground, a crater left in wake, Lucifer would've done anything to have changed his mind. To stop her from visiting the human world, even if it meant she would loathe him for the rest of their eternal lives.

Abruptly changing his flight course, Lucifer had realized too late that he was about to crash down as well. He went rolling into the dirt, wings splaying out in unnatural angles, twisting, fading into ash.

But not even moments later, he forced himself up, wings ached and burned in excruciating pain. He could see it in his peripheral vision, falling around him. Snow white feathers fading into black, corrupted with sin. Among them, the Demon Prince and his butler, stood in the far off corners of his vision, watching.

Of course, this was mere entertainment for them, he thought bitterly. This was nothing but a game, a chessboard. As he and his brothers were knocked away by their king, they were relinquished to the Devildom, unwanted, and thrown away as scraps.

Chuckling scornfully at his predicament, Lucifer hauled himself to his feet. Barely being able to stand, he staggered his way over to his sister.

With a flicker of hope, he saw her chest rise and fall, albeit weakly, but still, she was alive. Throwing caution to the wind, Lucifer painfully fluttered his wings, attempting to fly to her. However, all it succeeded in, was cause numbing pain in his back.

Finally kneeling over Lilith's body, Lucifer carefully picked her up, tears gathering in her eyes. She looked fragile, like a porcelain doll. Cracked and thrown away, nothing more than a discarded pawn.

Her wings, twisted and mangled, were already starting to fade away. With her breathing starting to turn ragged, she let out a weak chuckle, and uttered one last wish.

"Hey Luci.....? Don't....let them....fall....too....okay?"

Looking up at her brother with adoring eyes, Lilith let out one last chuckle, cheerfulness still ever-present in her eyes. With a peaceful smile gracing her blood-stained lips, Lilith breathed her last breath, body turning limp.

"No....this can't be real. Lilith, it's not your time yet, please come back, I'm begging you!"

Tears falling freely from his face, Lucifer sobbed brokenly, tears carving their temporary scars on his face. After all he's done, and everything he's fought for, she still died. So this is what Simeon had meant when he had said no one comes out of war a victor.

Lucifer had known this fact intimately, watching humans go through the same, repetitive, heartbreaking process. Time and time again, wars and battles would be fought, but in the end, no one truly came out victorious.

Yet Lucifer had never thought the war would come to this. He thought there was still a chance, that she could live. He had anticipated losing the war, yet he had led his brethren against his own kind, choosing love, and loyalty.

Lucifer gently set down his sister's body, with one last kiss on her forehead. Seeing her body, disgraced and bloodied, had been the tip of the iceberg. Everything was red, no green, as Lucifer screamed in agony, a broken war cry.

He couldn't fight the voice inside of his mind anymore, no. It had overtaken him, rage, and pure wrath taking over his instincts. All of his composure, his masks, crumbled and let out the monster underneath. Twisting his form, he tore out his wings in a fit of rage.

Feathers flying throughout his vision, Lucifer cast the wings to the side, watching as the pure feathers had darkened into black, a sign of his sin. The heavens were cruel, and always were. Yet Lucifer had never experienced it's full fury and viciousness until now.

Clutching his head between his hands, Lucifer finally had a moment of peace. For eons, his mind had been plagued with wrath, always taunting him from the back of his mind. Now, he felt himself, with no one else influencing his decisions.

However, Lucifer's grief was far from spent.

No, fate couldn't let this man have a single moment of peace, could it?

Behind him, where his wings once lay, was a black and green mass. Writhing and erratically moving, it started taking on a form. Twitching and lumping itself together, if gradually started taking on a solid form.

A unicorn, Lucifer realized with a startle. With black, skeletal armor, and a fiery green mane, it reared it's head and whinnied loudly. It's horn, a deep obsidian, carved with emerald, glinted in the Devildom moonlight.

This wasn't like any creature Lucifer had seen before. In his entire lifetime, Lucifer had never seen something as volatile, furious, and absolutely magnificent as this.

The unicorns in the Celestial Realm had been tame, calm, and soothing creatures, renowned for their medicinal abilities.

Yet this one looked at him with absolute disgust, an intense hatred burning in it's furious green eyes. Or, what he thought were eyes. In the eye sockets of the beast, were bright green flames, which Lucifer assumed were eyes, as they narrowed and behaved like his own.

With a taunting gleam in it's eye, the beast wordlessly stood before Lucifer, who was already broken and bloody. Prideful and arrogant, the beast stood proudly, brandishing it’s strength compared to Lucifer’s.

It's own creator who had hosted it for years. Even so, the beast resented him, for keeping it in the corners of his mind, always repressing and quieting it's voice.

Whirlwinds of flame surrounding the unicorn, it's form took yet another shape. One more...human. No, human would be far too generous. Demonic was a more suitable word.

Horn splitting into two, twisting themselves to frame the humanoid head, the beast had started to hone itself, refining it's outward appearance. Blond locks replacing the fiery green mane, hooves morphing into hands and feet, it gradually took the form of one of the Devildom's strongest demons.

Yet, the beast couldn't help but add a finishing touch to it's form, just to mock Lucifer. With one last flourish, a boa of black feathers appeared, draping his neck, a final mark of rebellion against his creator.

Flashing a nasty grin towards the fallen angel, Satan jeered at him, seeing the all-powerful Lucifer Morningstar, broken and grieving. It was almost laughable, at how weak and pathetic his previous host looked.

With a smile full of spite, he spat out a venomous statement, filled with loathing and hate.

“Hello, Lucifer. Did you have a nice fall?"

#my writing #obey me #obey me angst #obey me lilith #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me fall #obey me celestial war

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cno-inbminor · 4 years

Text

a/n: yeah, i don’t know what this is. definite drabble dump! also unedited, so sorry. hope all of you are healthy and safe! please wear your masks when going out and sanitize frequently!

pairing: heir!iwaizumi x reader

wc: ~1.8k

“Please, you have to hear me out—”

“I don’t have to do anything for you. Fuck, I don’t even know your real name!”

Hajime knew he was signing up for trouble the moment you gave him your name and placed his drink of choice in front of him. Seven months ago, he sought refuge at a hole-in-the-wall bar, one hidden in the shadows and away from the skyscrapers he was learning to detest. Your back had been turned towards him as he politely for a glass of whiskey, neat, but even the world of accomplished, beautiful heiresses couldn’t prepare him for the sight that was you. Hajime immediately believed that you weren’t supposed to be behind the polished wooden counter and underneath some poor lighting, that the uniform you donned was simply nothing more than a costume you were itching to get out of.

And idiotic, foolish him, stumbled and stuttered when you asked for a name to be put on the tab, and before he could stop from plunging into a world of inevitable pain, he replied, “Haru.”

So gripped by the fear of knowing that this bar was the last place he was supposed to be, so initially distrusting of your ability to keep secrets under wrap (an unspoken duty of bartenders), he lied through his teeth. And every Wednesday and Friday nights for the weeks following like clockwork, he would leave behind his custom Balenciaga suit jacket, replace it with a cheaper, itchier blazer stored in the closet of his office, take the train, and walk two and a half blocks to get to the alleyway where his asylum existed. He allowed you to subject him to any of your new concoctions, and whenever you let him stay as you closed up the bar (though mainly at his insistence because he always ended up being the last customer and wanted to make sure you could get to the station safely), it further emboldened his belief that he wanted nothing more than to be there by your side.

The guilt clawed through his chest day after day – it didn’t take half a brain to know that asking you out would be a bad idea in the long run, but he convinced himself that he would come clean with you some day. He was going to get out of this arranged marriage smoothly, deal with any damages that would ensue, and then unveil everything about his background in hopes that you would undoubtedly accept him and everything would be just fine.

But of course, karma would have it that he pays for his sins. He became too comfortable with the sneaking and the hiding, the lies about his job and role in the business world naturally spilling off his tongue. His world came crashing down when he least expected it – he had been waiting for you at your apartment in a t-shirt and sweatpants, answering work emails on his cellphone and ignoring some of Tooru’s nonsensical texts. Naturally, he perked up when he heard your key turn the bolt, already standing from the couch to greet you at the door and maybe help you with your things. Hajime was unaware of your rigid silence as you accepted his kiss on your cheek, letting him take the bags of groceries from your arms and bring them to the kitchen. It’s not until he sees the tabloid magazine haphazardly stashed next to the leeks and freezes at the two faces on the cover, two extremely, unsettling familiar faces.

In that moment, he could hear nothing but the dreadful pounding of his heart. He could feel your presence leaning against the sink and boring holes into his back, pleading, beseeching for some sort of explanation.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he trips over himself, finding the courage to turn around and face you. But what breaks him more than anything is how disappointed you look – he could take anger and tears right now, but the look of on your face that shows he has ultimately failed you crushes him.

“So what is it then?” You ask calmly, but the bitterness is scathing. “Because to me, it looks like the announcement of a marriage between two people who just so happen to be heirs to a couple of the largest companies in Japan.”

Hajime would like nothing more than the earth to open and swallow him whole, just so he has some time to gather up his excuses and do anything to keep you with him. It’s disgustingly selfish, but he can’t lose you. He just can’t.

“I don’t want it,” he says and reaches out tentatively, taking a single step until he’s right in front of you and lightly grasping your waist. You look over his shoulder defiantly, avoiding his gaze every time he tries to obstruct your vision. “I don’t want her, I just want you,” he spills.

“I always felt like something was off,” you quietly digress. “There were a couple of things that didn’t seem to line up, but I didn’t question it. I didn’t want to pry – I wanted you to open up whenever you felt comfortable. But I never imagined it to be something like this.”

“Please, you have to hear me out—”

“I don’t have to do anything for you. Fuck, I don’t even know your real name!”

It’s disturbing to know that the man you’ve been to bed with, the man that’s cooked for you on multiple occasions, the man that plagues your dreams from time to time in the last five months, goes by a different name. Takahiro Haru might have been just the average, run-of-the-mill, one of many financial analysts working over at Sony, and he was yours. But Iwaizumi Hajime, heir to one of the largest business corporations in Japan and an extremely eligible bachelor, could never be that.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he gulps, eyes frantic and searching for anything in your face and posture that says you’ll stay. “No more lies, but I’m doing my best to get out of this. For you, us. And—”

“I’m not the solution to getting out of your responsibilities, Haru. I know it’s 2020, but we’ve only been seeing each other for five months – your parents would be furious if they knew I was in the picture. Plus, she’s much more accomplished and beautiful, donates a ton of money to all the right causes and charities, why – why wouldn’t you want to marry her?”

Hajime moves to cradle your cheek, silently beckoning for you to lean into his palm. His thumb softly strokes your skin and you hate how comforting it is. You hate how easy it could be to just take his hand and jump into the deep end without a second though – that’s the control he has over you, and it’s incredibly frustrating.

“I don’t love her. Heir or not, I should be with someone I love, no?”

“But—”

“I love you,” and the way he says it like it’s the first time sends your heart to the clouds. “Nothing’s going to change that,” he tries to promise, using his free hand to lift one of yours to his lips and kissing the knuckles. And you want to believe him – you want to believe him so bad but it’s impossible. There are too many extraneous factors; going through with all this would thrust you into a world that you were completely unprepared for. Your life would be unceremoniously uprooted and haphazardly buried into a new garden.

Was it all worth it to be by this man’s side?

“I need time,” you whisper, moving away from Hajime’s hold on you. “I need time and space to think about this, but I can’t have you here to influence my decision.”

“…how long will that take?”

“As long as I need,” you firmly reply. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you struggle to say the next sentence. “In the meantime…I need my spare key back.”

Even though Hajime already feels like he’s drowning in a pool of lava, the unmistakable chill of dread that runs through his veins is excruciating. Having your spare key meant unbridled access to you, only needing to give you a quick text whenever he was going to visit. But with this permission revoked, he wouldn’t be free to see you whenever he likes. He wouldn’t be able to escape into your calming embrace at the end of a long day and would have no other option but to return to his lonely, downtown penthouse. The realization is suffocating, like smoke entering his lungs and stealing away all his oxygen. He needs you so bad – this can’t be the end.

“No,” Hajime shakes his head stubbornly, making wide strides out of the kitchen and into your living room.

“Haru—”

“I’ll give you all the space for as long as you need, but don’t make me give you back the spare key—”

“Iwaizumi!” You cry out, teeth gnawing your bottom lip afterwards. He loathes the fact that the first time you call him by his real name is in the midst of the biggest storm he’s ever encountered – it’s full of raw pain and frustration, a complete antithesis to the loving tone you usually have when referring to him by his other name. It’s a whirlwind that only one can run from, and he knows it has to be him. After all, this was his monstrous creation.

Hajime does his best to the keep the trembling of his hands to a minimum as they fish out his keychain and start unwinding the most significant piece of metal on there. The closer it gets to the other end of the ring, the more he struggles to not toss it away and fight for himself. But he places the key in your awaiting palm and watches with a breaking heart as your fingers close around it, your nails digging into your own flesh.

“You need to leave,” you struggle to order.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”

“I know.”

You don’t stop him when he moves forward to give you one of the sweetest kisses you’ve ever experienced, relishing in these last moments of intimacy. Both of you itch for more, but now is not the time. You walk him to the door, heart sinking as he slides on his polished shoes. He gives you another once over and drinks in all the details he can, branding your image in his brain for the next possible agonizing weeks.

“I love you, (y/n),” he quietly declares for the nth time.

And he desperately clings onto the little hope that he has when you reply, “I love you too…Hajime.”

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi #iwaizumi scenarios #iwaizumi angst #hajime #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu angst #hq angst #haikyuu scenarios #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi x y/n #haikyuu x you

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okaybutlikeimagine · 4 years

Note

El has a nightmare and Hop has a night shift, so she can't talk to him about it and goes to Billy instead. Imagine Jim coming home in the morning and finding El sleeping in her brother's bed taking almost all the space and the covers, while Billy is about to fall off with one leg and one arm touching the floor. And Hop can feel his heart melt because this is the cutest thing he's ever seen.

HI I’M the one melting bc this is so adorable!! ♥ i’ve been bundled into a ball of fluff over the idea of this.

One of my absolute FAVORITE things that really cemented me into the “I live and breathe for Billy’s found family and you can pry it from my cold dead hands” club was fics where Billy looks out for El. like, something about this big rough and tough and emotionally vulnerable boy noticing and helping out this small but also feisty and emotionally vulnerable girl just drives me CRAZy ♥

their dynamic is TOO GOOD. they’re so similar and both deal with the same kinds of traumas and call me crazy, but I don’t think Billy likes the idea of other people going through what he went through. I think he likes to THINK he does, I think he likes to both silently and very loudly wish ill of people- usually bullies or assholes who think they’re clever. Think they’re better than him bc they have whatever constitutes as a “happy home life”. He hates those people. Those are the people he (almost) wishes could feel the pain he’s felt his whole life… the pain of trying to be as small as possible, to take up as little space as possible, and still get slapped for it.

The thing is… he never actually means it. He likes to think that if he was given the choice, he could throw his life and all of the pain that’s come with it onto some poor, unsuspecting soul… but somehow he knows he would never. Could never. It’s an upsetting thought for him.

And he most definitely wouldn’t want anything plaguing a little kid… especially this little girl that Billy shares a home with now.

Bc Billy’s no stranger to nightmares, and within about 3 days of moving into the Hopper household, he knows El isn’t either. Bc he wakes up to shrieks. It startles him awake, gets his heart racing like crazy, and sets his entire body on fire because…

Because he hears heavy footsteps, rushing somewhere on the wooden floors.

He’s awake but his mind is still processing it so his vision is blurry and all he sees is a large figure barreling towards the only room- El’s room, and the door slams open and the shrieks get louder and Billy’s livid.

And he jumps into action, gracelessly because he’s still drunk with sleep and exhaustion (because those first few weeks in the cabin are rough on him.) and he rushes to El’s room, running himself into the doorway, leaning heavily on it, eyes scanning wildly to stop this because holy shit he didn’t think this man was like this but then again how could he be so stupid as to think this man wasn’t a poison to society like every man Billy’s ever met and-

And….

And El is crying and Billy’s vision is getting less blurry and she’s… she’s hugging Hop. Hop is on the bed, arms wrapped tight around the little bundle of curls and tears that are shivering against his chest, and Hop shoots a look up to Billy in the doorway. He must look like a fire being doused.

You okay? Hop mouths, patting El’s head.

Billy’s blinking hard, trying to make sure he knows exactly what he’s looking at- make sure he knows that there’s no danger here.

El starts mumbling something… something about monsters and labs and Papa and…

Billy leaves. Stumbles his way back to the couch and flops back down and falls into a restless sleep of his own monster.

And it takes a bit for him to realize he may never get used to it. Every time he sees something other than reality. Every time his mind is somewhere that isn’t the present. Every time Billy rushes, heart beating violently, over to the room, leaning heavily on the door, ready to fight, mind just racing with thoughts of: oh no, it finally happened. He finally did it. He’s finally bored of me. He finally moved on to her...

Every time Billy snaps back to the present, taking note of the girl having brown hair rather than red…

But Billy just never gets used to it. He never gets comfortable. It’s happened a countless number of times and every time he’s nervous and today, when El screams, Billy is up in a second, stumbling on wobbly legs that’re heavy with sleep over to her room to see her standing and crying and wobbling around herself. She’s wandering around her room, bumping into her bedframe and her dresser and her wall because she has her hands covering her eyes in fear.

Billy grabs hold of her, embracing her in his arms, keeping her still. He feels her shake as his sleep hazy mind slowly clears.

“Monsters.” is all she can say but it’s all Billy needs to hear.

So he guides her out of her bedroom and into the living room to sit on his bed in the corner. He lets her talk for a minute about what she saw and how it makes her feel and Billy just lets her before he tells her it’s “not real” and that she doesn’t have to be scared. He doesn’t quite know what else to say. Even though he has nightmares too, he’s not sure what he’d want to hear. It works, nonetheless. She breathes a little more even and nods and curls herself up in the corner of his bed while he goes to grab her a glass of milk and an extra blanket.

When Billy notices she’s not shaking anymore, he figures this is the perfect time to guide her back to her bed and try to get back to sleep himself, but the second he opens his mouth she beats him to it.

“Can you sing?”

His brows furrow deeply. “Huh?”

“Sing? Can you sing a song?”

“Uhhh… I don’t really sing, kiddo.”

“Yes you do. Sometimes you sing.”

“Yeah but-”

“Please?”

And it’s the puppy dog eyes and the pouting lip and the fact that her face is still puffy from crying that really seals the deal.

So he gives her the extra blanket and lets her get cozy and tries for the life of him to think of something to sing- some slow song he’s heard her listen to or that he’s heard and knows the lyrics to or that, maybe possibly, his mom used to sing for him when he was a kid… but even those are far and distant and muffled and it’s stupid but there’s only one song and it’s only the chorus that he can think of.

So…. well…

He makes sure she’s comfy and he lays back in the bed a bit and he twists his face up a bit and sings rather awkwardly-

“Take me down to the paradise city… where the grass is green… and the girls are pretty… oh won’t you please take me home?”

She snuggles in more, burying her face into his arm and grabbing hold of it. He sighs a little, trying his damnedest to sing the chorus slowly and in some kind of tune that resembles a lullaby.

Somehow, for some reason, it does work- with only a couple repetitions of the chorus, El is fully calm and asleep against Billy’s arm, her own arms wrapped around it like it’s a teddy bear. The smile Billy gives to her is small and soft and involuntary, and he keeps singing the chorus, softer and softer and even softer, until he too is asleep.

And just imagine Hop’s heartwarming surprise when he comes into the cabin after a grueling and tiring shift to find El spread like a semi-broken starfish across the bed, the blankets mostly wrapped around her and yet with a hand still gripping onto the arm of Billy, who is half off the bed and yet still fully passed out.

He chuckles to himself as he pulls off his boots, makes some coffee for Billy to wake up to, and gets ready for some shut eye of his own.

And imagine Hop’s even more… perhaps confusing surprise when Guns and Roses’ Paradise City comes on the radio one night when they’re all driving back from the Byers’ home and El shouts out “lullaby!”

He shoots Billy a very confused look, to which the boy just shrugs and makes his best “I have no idea what she’s talking about and don’t ask me” face.

#y'all..... i'm back on my bullshit in this new year #i've been writing SO MUCH this month who is she!!! lol #Billy Hargrove #Jim Hopper #Eleven #El Hopper #found family #fluff #ask #angst #only a little bit #i'm gonna post once a week for now even though i've got asks written out!#bc i'm trying not to burn through everything i've done lmaooooo #i'm also working on a fic while doing these #i'm deciding what day i was gonna do fridays #but then i didn't end up posting yesterday lmaooo #anyway here take this!!#i'll be answering more as consistently as possible!!#sorry i've been gone so long i've been so stressed and upset jweiwa;fawjif;wa #i was gonnaput this under a Read More so i'm not a jerk about long posts and LOOK AT ME not using a read more #someone tell me if read mores are good or bad i still don't know proper etiquette lmaoooo #halp

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morgana-ren · 4 years

Text

Come Down to the Black Sea III

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki, graphic depictions of violence, heavy sexual innuendo, implied noncon, foul language, sexual tension you can cut with a knife, and just general sexual grossness. Joking daddy kink also, if you count that.

PART I, PART II

Here you go! The third installment. Your seafaring friend finds your hot button and decides to plant some lovely ideas in your brain. Listening to them probably is not the smartest idea in regards to keeping your heart beating, but it certainly gets your thighs clenching.

Taglist: @lemonzoey, @babayaga67

You know, it's really rough to explain to your superiors at work why you're so distracted when it happens to be because a mythical being is giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re not entirely certain why it bothers you so much that your last encounter with him ended rather sour. He had made it perfectly plain from the get-go that his intent with you was far from pure. Murderous, in fact. He had almost drowned you on your first meeting and insulted you incessantly during your second. Not exactly a friendly track record.

Regardless, he’s made a permanent home crawling beneath your human skin, like some itch you can’t scratch away. You can try to justify it however you’d like, but you can’t ignore the truth. In a word full of mundane existence, you’ve found an oddity and as much as you’d like to pretend you aren’t, you’re drawn to it. It’s part of why you returned to the beach despite the clear and present danger. You’d found a living, breathing mermaid. Even more impressive, you’d managed to piss him off.

Mermaid? Is that accurate? He’s so sensitive to being classified wrongly, but still never told you what he was. Considering the circumstances, maybe you should be a little bit more concerned about other things rather than offending him, but it still bothers you.

Your ignorance isn’t due to lack of trying. You’ve done extensive research in the spare moments you have during the day, but nothing quite matches his description no matter how deeply you delve into the weirder parts of the internet, even going so far as to browse around on conspiracy sites on the darknet. Mermaid? Merman? Siren? Fish-guy? Some distantly related offspring to that Ripley’s Believe it or Not monkey fish? Relentless searching proved fruitless. Plenty of old sun-crazed fishermen claim to have seen merfolk in the waters or sirens on the rocks, but more often than not, it was a walrus or stage 4 sea madness. No one had a legitimate account of meeting with a real, intelligent creature of the deep. Nothing that came remotely close to him, anyway.

Despite being unable to focus at your job, getting home only doubles the anxiety. Restlessly sitting and twitching on the sofa, repeatedly trying and failing to read or watch some vapid TV show. You’re unable to keep your mind from returning to the ocean, to him no matter how hard you try.

Over the course of time, you become acutely aware that staying home clearly isn't an option, but you're not really sure what to say to him if you see him again. Why do you even care? Aren't you supposed to be ignoring him? You can excuse your obsessive thoughts about him since most people would have the same reaction to seeing something supernatural not once, but twice in front of their very eyes, but a lot of people wouldn’t continuously return to see it especially if it was malevolent.

You love that preemptively planning what to say to a sentient supernatural sea dweller is a part of your day. That's awesome. Can't look that one up on google.

You’ll compromise with your compulsiveness instead. Go a little early and watch the sun set down over the horizon instead of watching the moon rise. Most parents won't allow their children near your rock because it’s slippery and dangerous, and frankly, you don't think he'll show up when others can see him. He’s deadly, but a mob of terrified parents and curious beach goers has few rivals.

Maybe you can get your fill before he appears. It's better to keep away from him anyway. He wants you dead.

He wants you dead, you remind yourself.

And so you do. Tread the sandy trail down to your favorite little hideyhole and plop down on the hard surface. You kick your feet absentmindedly on the rock beneath you, watching the small particles of sand splay and regather with every motion of your foot. The crash of the waves, still tumultuous and ornery, slap the side of your makeshift perch and splash you with speckles of water every few moments. You don't mind. You needed to shower anyway.

You can't help but feel a bit more lonely than normal, even surrounded by so many more people than you usually are. Flustered moms urge their children in from the shore to wipe them down with towels and flighty young twentysomethings hoot and holler, laughing loudly as they pile into their cars to find their next big spot for the night. The moon rises and the beach empties, leaving you alone again. The ocean settles, and even though it feels better, you feel alone.

You close your eyes, resting your head sideways on your knees with your arms buckled around your legs. You're close to the edge, precariously so. You just want to be close to the water. You should move back.

In. out. in. out. in. out. in. out.

The waves seem to move in line with the beating of your own heart, a tranquil feeling that dulls your restless thoughts and engulfs you in quiet solace. The hum of the ocean resonating deep within you with each breath you take of the briny air.

You're aware enough to recognize that the sound of the sea is luring you into a false sense of comfort. The darkness seeping over the horizon doesn't make it easier, and soon your slowly wandering mind is on the brink of unconsciousness. You're dangerously close to falling asleep, and given the circumstances, that probably isn't the best idea, especially since you're precariously close to the water.

You can't help it, it's been one hell of a week. You haven’t slept. Haven’t relaxed. Haven’t felt at home in so long...

Listen, there's no guide online to look at that can help you through what to do when a malevolent fish-man hybrid has decided he wants to drown you. You can imagine it would say something along the lines of 'Stop going near the water then, dumbass' but that's like asking a religious person to stay away from church. It's the one place where you feel any semblance of peace, and you'll be damned if you're going to let the moonlight water marauder take that from you.

Still, it makes things in your life exponentially more difficult when you can't explain to anyone what's on your mind.

'Yeah, I met a mer...thing, and he's decided that he hates me and he wants to drown me, and that makes me sad. The one supernatural creature I get to meet and he doesn't like me. Bummer.'

They'd probably have you committed. That’s a bit much even for your eccentric proclivities.

Your body occasionally jerks you awake, probably its way of saying 'You cannot sleep when there are enemies nearby', but it feels like it's been weeks since you've had a decent night's sleep. The endless procession of days marked by existential crisis with the tacked on bonus of being aware of the existence of a nefarious fairy tale creature makes everything feel awfully surreal. It feels as if you've been running on pure adrenaline and are about to crash. Hard.

If you were smart, you'd go home and try to bank on the feeling of sleepiness currently plaguing you, but you just can't bring yourself to move. Even barring the flaxen haired fish dude just chomping at the bit to drag you under, napping this close to the sea is a bad idea in general. Tides change rapidly and all it would take is a few minutes of you being unaware for the waves to snag you and haul you off to a watery grave. They'd probably never find you, just like the others who disappear here at night.

But that's probably his doing, isn't it?

What does he do with the bodies exactly?

You really wish he wasn't trying to kill you, cause you have an endless list of questions you'd like to ask. What does he eat? Where does he live? Does he sleep at all?

Musing on all the things you'd like to know about him and his life leads you into fantasizing about being a talk show host interviewing him, and one thing leads to another and before you know it, you're conked out cold. You've managed to find an extremely awkward position to slump into, but even the horrid crick in your neck isn't enough to shake you from the dreamless slumber. Your body doesn't even have the energy needed to produce a dream, so instead, you just float through an endless void.

It could have been minutes, or even hours, really. You're not sure. The only thing strong enough to jar you awake is a sudden and intense feeling of dread that blooms in your stomach and gives you a form and sentience again. Your eyes snap open instinctively, and you're greeted with a pair of spiteful red eyes far too close to you for comfort.

"Jumping jesus-!"

Surprised is a nice word for what you feel, an ugly screech emanating from your throat as you kick out your feet, knocking yourself over and almost falling in the water in the process. You hit your head nice and hard on a particularly jagged portion of the rocks, and by the time your vision undoubles, the danger is just barely settling in.

Except danger is too busy cackling to be a threat.

You try to grapple with the panic in your chest and get a grasp on reality again after your literal rude awakening, but it's a bit rough when the sadistic jackass who perpetuated it in the first place won't stop laughing. Apparently he's too amused to take the opportunity to seize you, so you take the moment to scoot much further back and out of his reach, resisting the urge to plant your foot right on his stupid face.

Eventually he quiets down, but the grin never leaves his face. Much like everything about him, it's hostile somehow, mocking and disingenuous.

"Humans really are so stupid."

"Joke is on you, tunabreath. You wasted the perfect opportunity to actually grab me."

He shakes his head, tutting you. "I couldn’t resist. We like to play with our food too, sometimes. Scared ones taste better."

Is he implying he eats people? Okay, you know what? You don't wanna know. You doubt he'd be honest about it anyway, and would probably say whatever unnerves you the most. He seems a prick like that.

"I thought the entire point was to drown me and get it over with. You’re borderline obsessed with it."

He scoffs, little head fins twitching as he waves you off. "If I’m going to waste my time, don't make it so easy. It's less fun."

Okay cool, this is all a game to him; your life is a game to him. Nice. Fun. Great.

Something on your face must have given away your ire, because he simpers at you and another raspy laugh bubbles in his chest.

"It's not my fault you're stupid. You're the idiot sleeping next to the ocean when you know what's waiting for you when you get too close. It’s like you want me to devour you."

"I thought after your little tantrum last night, you were gone for good. You really can throw a fantastic hissy fit."

That wipes the smile from his face.

“Little brat.” He taps a claw on the rock, narrowing his eyes at you. “Tough talk from someone afraid of getting a little wet.” He drags out the final word with a mocking tone, clicking his tongue against his fangs with the final syllable.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of getting wet-” It takes it a second to sink in but wow this all sounds so wrong. Your face darkens and a familiar tingle worms itself in your gut. Are you really that lonely? “And don’t say it like that!”

His brows furrow and he studies you with a slightly quizzical expression. “Like what?”

How do you explain to a dude who presumably has no cock and no human sexual experience about the sexual insinuations of human expressions? Wow. This is not a talk you thought you’d be having. The entire situation is weird, but this really sets the bar.

“I know you’re probably not familiar with it, but that sounds... weird. It just sounds weird, okay?”

“I don’t understand.” His lips curl downward in annoyance, arching a pale brow in your direction.

“Look, when a human and another human... do stuff, things happen to their bodies and-“ a twisted sense of shame curdles your stomach and you go to scratch the back of your head, avoiding his eyes. Your words trail off somewhere mid sentence. If you were looking, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, but a few seconds later, his face pops in realization.

“I’m fully aware of your human mating habits.”

“Don’t say it like that either! Jesus, you’re so awkward.”

A slow smile spreads over his face and he leans closer to you, tail swishing in a steady rhythm beneath the water. “Why? You’re over the ‘age of consent’, as it’s put, right? A sexually mature human female? Does it make you uncomfortable when I say things like that? Or does it make you something else?”

He trails his claws in a walking motion towards your out of reach leg, and embarrassment isn’t a strong enough word for the emotion that colors your face as you recoil from his wandering fingers. “Knock it off!”

“Has it been a while since someone touched you, little human?”

“None of your business! You’re such a creep! And what do you know about it anyway? Don’t you fuckin’ lay eggs or something?”

He ignores your pointed jab, licking at his chapped lips as he runs his piercing eyes over you a bit too invasively for your liking. “You wanna know, huh? I can show you.” He reaches towards you again and you wiggle back a few more inches, caught between his words and the friction igniting feelings you’re desperately trying to ignore between your thighs.

“I’m getting mixed signals here. Are you trying to drown me or fuck me?”

“Who says I can’t do both?” He tilts his head, gaze lingering on your lips before drifting down to your chest without shame. His attention still feels utterly predatory, but for a different form of predator entirely. “Your death doesn’t have to be entirely painful, you know.”

“S-stop it.”

He’s giving you whiplash with his intense mood swings, but you can’t deny the less than appropriate places his words drag your mind to. Heat ignites inside you, warmth spreading through your navel as your cheeks burn deeper than they did before. You will it away, trying to shake loose the thoughts from your mind. No fucking way are you even considering this.

“Look, even if our bodies were compatible, which they aren’t, it’s not like you wanting to kill me is a turn on.”

He gives you another lilting grin, flicking his tongue and hissing in a foreign laugh. “Are you sure? I know that some of your kind are into that sort of thing. Hard. Rough. Dangerous. And judging by your face-“

Another bout of blood colors your cheeks so intensely that you can literally feel it. Oh God, make it stop.

“-You might be.”

“Shut it, shark bait!”

“And who’s to say we’re not compatible? I know plenty. Something about the beach is an aphrodisiac to you humans. Not to mention~” Another grin, but this one gives off the undeniable air of ‘I know something you don’t know.’ “You have no idea what I can do.”

You can’t help but look back at him as he says it and you can tell he means every word. The unnatural scarlet glow of his eyes seems far too welcoming, calling to you like some sort of beacon in the darkness. The soft gleam of his silvery hair in the moonlight far too inviting. You want to touch it, wonder what it would feel like entwined between your fingers, what it smells like and how those claws would feel like scratching against the sensitive skin of your ass as he holds you steady against his hips.

You bet those fangs aren’t just for show, and judging by his attitude, he’s probably not afraid to use them. You bet they’d feel all sorts of nice scraping and digging into your flesh, biting you and licking that thick tongue up and over your neck, maybe even a bit lower if you asked him nicely. He’s so lithe, so strong, he’d have no problem fucking you against the rock even with the water resistance. His slick skin rubbing against yours, webbed hands squeezing your waist, kneading your tits, pressing the rounds of your neck until you gave yourself over to him completely and the taste of him is the last thing you ever knew.

Okay, you admit it. You are really curious to see just what it is he can do. You’d probably be the first human in history to find out, the first girl to be fucked to literal death by a siren. Would it really be such a terrible way to die? Being dragged under metaphorically and physically and spending your last moments in pleasure wholly unknown to the moral realm?

He smiles softly, watching you toss it around in your mind as he cradles his head in his palm. He’s beautiful, and you loathe it. You hate that you’re even considering this, even toying with the thought as if it’s really an option. What the hell are you doing? This is complete madness!

“You aren’t serious, are you?”

He gestures you forward seductively, nibbling gently on his scarred bottom lip, keeping your eyes squarely trained on his mouth. “Come a little closer and find out. I promise I bite. Extra hard if you beg.”

Another clench between your legs. Shake it loose, shake it loose! “Look, even if I believed for a split second you wanted to seduce me, you really think I’m going to literally die for the chance?”

“What else are you going to die for?”

Oddly deep. Not a thought you wanted to ponder right now. Expertly deflect it with sarcasm and ignore the fact that he has a very good point.

“Of old age, in my bed, surrounded by loved ones and piles of money I didn’t get the chance to spend yet.”

He scoffs, blowing air through his nose. “Sure.”

“Just what is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs, shucking aside your irritation. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“Prick.”

He giggles, finding your crass human mouth oddly endearing. “Well, the offer stands. I told you I’m not going anywhere until you're under the water with me.” He pauses, considering you for a moment before grinning darkly. “I might just do it anyway, but it’s better if you’re willing. Not that I’ve ever been averse to a little struggle.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to say no when you can’t speak. I could easily bypass this little game of playing hard to get, but I want to see you squirm.” He eyes between your legs and you pray to the Gods that he thinks the dampness residing there is because of the watery environment. “I want to see you beg before the light goes out in those pretty eyes.”

“You’re a fucking perv!”

“I told you I’m going to watch you drown, you really put it past me to not take other forms of satisfaction from you while I’m at it?”

He presents a good point. You resent the fact that you don’t entirely feel repulsed by the thought. You should. You should be mortified and terrified and other words that end in ‘fied’. You should run and never come back. You know you should.

You lean forward.

“I’d like to see you try, fish boy.”

A strangely genuine smile spreads across his lips and his face seems to light up at your words. It's still menacing, but oddly cute; like a child getting ready and excited to play their favorite game.

"You really think you can win this, huh?" He muses, looking up at you through those pale lashes. "You sure are something, little girl."

"What do I have to lose? If you win, you kill me, and whatever else, but I won't care, because I'll be dead. If I win, I get to see that arrogant smarminess wiped off your face when you don't get what you want. You'll have wasted all this time for nothing, and I guess that's a small consolation prize alongside my life."

“Time means nothing to me, but if it makes you feel better about the situation.”

From the way he says it, you don't deny it. It dawns on you that you really know nothing about his people. Do they age like you? Do they age at all?

“How old are you?”

"Older than you by far, I promise. What a rude question. How old are you?"

“Old enough. But that doesn’t answer my question. Don’t deflect.”

"No manners, you humans." He ponders it for a minute. "You count the passing of time in revolutions around the sun, right? I'd bet I had been an adult for a very long time while you were still learning to walk on wobbly little legs."

It's your turn to laugh now, and he doesn't seem amused. "You're an old man! Ew! You're an interspecies cradle robber!"

"I'm not old! We live exponentially longer than you! I'll still be in my prime when you're an elder!" His pallid face is dusted slightly red in frustration, and it's almost funnier than his reaction.

"Whatever you say, grandpa! Do you have an undersea walker? Drink sea prune juice? Is that why your hair is silver? Cause you're old?"

Self consciously, he strokes the front of his long bangs between his fingers. "No! You're an immature little brat!"

"Back in my day~" You barely dodge a swipe from one of his claws as he jumps as far forward as he can and swings at you. "Careful gramps, you don't wanna hurt yourself. You’ll break a hip or whatever it is you have."

He sneers at you and you bask in the minor victory.

You sit in silence; him with a scowl tightly pulled across his thin lips, and you with a smug little grin. So it’s not impossible to get under his scales.

He’s a world class pouter, you’ll give him that. He doesn’t strike you as vain, but this is probably uncharted territory for him; actually talking to a human and subsequently being made fun of for his age. He’s probably not used to being mocked in any sense of the word, seeing as he’s a ‘non existent’ mythical creature. Maybe his kind are prideful, if a little childish. He claims to have existed for ages, but he still has the mannerisms you’d attribute to a male around your age. Maybe a tad immature and explosive himself. You guess some things don’t change with the species. Aggression, domination, and sex. And murder, in his case.

Some things are universal, it seems.

He’s making a show of ignoring you now, clicking his claws together in a subconscious attempt to threaten you. They are awfully sharp. You swear looking at them makes the gashes on your arm start to ache all over again. Occasionally the fins on the side of his head twitch in an almost catlike manner, turning toward whatever source of sound can be heard. It’s so strange to you, you can’t help but stare. He looks ethereal, even as impudent as he’s acting. With the backdrop of the ocean and the moon behind him, he looks like a painting that belongs in a gallery. You can’t stop yourself from leering at him.

You’re trying to ignore the fact that he definitely takes notice.

He's angry at you, displeasure still slightly evident in his face, but a small smile crooks his lips. You've clearly offended him but your leering goes a little way towards soothing the hairs you've rubbed the wrong way. For whatever reason, knowing you find him attractive puffs his feathers- er, scales- with pride. Body language relaxes between the two of you and a few minutes of quiet follows.

Yet, it's difficult to keep a pleasant silence when the company you keep is far from familiar. This isn't two friends relaxing on a beach; at least unless most friends are malevolent ocean dwelling creatures with an end goal of filling the other's lung with sea water.

The lack of noise makes you antsy, almost like you're anticipating something but you're unsure of what. It feels false somehow, like you're trying to turn this isn't something it isn't; comfortable. No matter how his casual demeanor tries to lull you into a false sense of security, you have to remain vigilant. One little slip and he'll drag you into a watery grave- among other things if he was serious.

“So… What do you eat?”

He slow blinks at you a few times before grinning, light glinting off his all-too-sharp fangs. “You mean besides you?”

There’s multiple implications to that, neither one of which you want to ponder for various reasons. Your panties are already uncomfortably damp.

“Yes. Besides us.”

Shrugging, he flicks at a small pebble on the rocks edge and plunks it into the water. "Same thing you would if you were one of us. There's plenty of fish down here, only difference is I can eat them raw."

Your nose crumples and you stick your tongue out slightly, imagining him taking a bite out of a still-twitching fish. "Ew."

He rolls his eyes, brushing your obvious disgust aside. "If I recall, don't you humans have multiple dishes you eat raw?"

"Well, I mean, yeah, but it's different. We actually prepare it."

"Sounds like a whole lot of fuss over nothing. Your weak stomach just can't handle it and mine can, and you seem to find that to be some sort of bragging point. Also, don't you humans have a tendency to put things in your mouth that don't belong there?"

“Didn’t I already tell you to shut up about that?”

"I don't know, I'd say the occasional raw fish is a lot less dirty than a human male c-"

“Oh my god! I am so sorry I fucking asked!”

He cackles loudly and you realize that he's officially found your hot button. Even worse is he knows it. "I mean that's not to say we don't have our own filthy habits, but you guys are inspiring-"

"Dude! Make like a tunafish and can it! I don't want to hear any of this!"

"Oh? Is that so? Because around 10 minutes ago, you were half ready to rip your clothes off and jump in here and let me try you even if it meant your death."

"Momentary lapse in judgement. Don't get too excited, grandpa."

He frowns again but seems less offended now that the initial moment had passed. "If you insist upon calling me a nickname pertaining to my age, I'd prefer daddy."

All humor drops from your face. How the fuck does he even know about that?

As if he can read your mind, he responds. "A lot of you humans like to reproduce here. I've seen quite a bit and heard even more. Like I said, you’re absolutely filthy creatures.”

“Ah. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“My offer stands. Come a little closer and I’ll show you just what I learned.”

“Creep.”

“That makes two of us, now doesn’t it?”

"I'm not the one bringing up sex every 3 seconds."

Hey, do you know how awkward it is to be having this conversation? With him? Right now? Do you know how utterly surreal this is?

“No, but you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn and you know it doesn't matter what you say. Your face is a dead giveaway. He knows it too, crossing his arm and arching a cocky brow at you.

“And I’m the pervert, huh?”

You wrap your arms around your legs again in a subconscious show of defense. "Yes, you are. This is a natural response to embarrassing topics. Topics you keep coming back to."

He shrugs again, his head fins twitching a few times. "I don't deny my nature. If I feel lustful, I act on it. Another reason you humans are inferior. You deny what comes naturally in the name of some form of... shame, is it? I have no bonds holding me back, while yours are pointless and dictated by some invisible and shallow form of ‘morality’ and ‘purity."

He’s… technically right. Still.

"You realize you're saying this to the person you're trying to kill, right?"

"I'm aware. Consider it a parting gift. You can feel what it's like to be untethered before I end you."

You roll your eyes so deeply that you’re almost certain you’ve detached the retina. “Oh, how very kind of you. So thoughtful.”

"It’s not entirely altruistic, but it's better than I was originally planning. I was just going to rip you apart the second I pulled you in. Of course, that was before I got a good look at you. It'd be a shame to waste such a pretty thing without getting a taste first.”

It's a twisted compliment, but you appreciate it, at least as much as the circumstances allow.

“Thanks… I think?”

"It's a good thing, I promise. I won't just touch anyone, you know. Most of your kind repulses me. I'm not an easy please."

"Oh." Another awkward silence. "What makes me so special, anyways?"

His face blanks over, eyes hardening and mouth pursing in a tight line. He opens his lips a few times to speak, but seemingly stops himself. His expression flashes confusion, then rage, then apathy in quick succession. "I don't know. It won't matter for long anyways, soon you'll be dead and I can move on."

“Not if I win.”

"You won't. I don't lose. Besides, I've already almost gotten you twice. It's only a matter of time before you slip up again, and I'll be there to catch you when you do."

"Put it like that and it almost sounds sweet." A smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.

His face flushes and he looks away from you, expression contorting. “It’s not. Don’t twist my words.”

“Spoilsport. Go eat a mackerel or something. You’re not yourself when you’re hungry. Or maybe you are. Either way, you’re cranky.”

"It's hard not to be cranky when there's a meal right in front of me and I can't indulge."

"Quit threatening to eat me. I get the point, it's just weird.”

His thick tongue flicks out and runs across those glimmering teeth and he just smiles. "Who said anything about eating?"

“Give it a rest.”

He swipes a small amount of water at you with his thumb and forefinger. "Deny it all you'd like, you enjoy the attention."

"Definitely. I love being the first human to be hit on by the world's first mermaid fuckboy."

A hybrid mix of a groan and a growl rumbles from his chest. "I'm not a fucking mermaid!"

"Oh, sorry!" The sarcasm is palpable, and he scowls at you again. You love the fact he doesn't deny the secondary insult. "I meant merman."

"Don't insult me. As if your petty, unimaginative fairytales could even come close."

"You have a tail, you live underwater, and you're half human. Sounds pretty damn close to me."

The look on his face is as if you just forced him to swallow something extraordinarily disgusting. "You have no idea what I'm capable of. And I'm not half human. You're half us."

Now that takes you off guard.

“What did you say? What do you mean?”

"It doesn't matter." He pushes himself away from the rocks, his tail slightly flapping above the surface. "Besides, you were right. I am hungry. I should probably find something to eat for tonight, unless you’ve changed your mind." He doesn’t bother waiting for you to retort before skillfully diving down back beneath the waves.

You want to stop him, but he’s gone before you can think of a creative way to say ‘hell no’. The slight dash of silver hair makes out towards the horizon and before long, he's gone. As always, he leaves you feeling more frustrated than anything.

You want to stay, to enjoy the ocean like you used to before he barged his way into your life, but it all just feels too strange now. He won't return tonight, you know that much.

Heaving yourself off your asleep butt, you begin your bowlegged walk back to civilization, left with nothing but the ache of a cramp in your hips and a strangely heavy feeling in your gut.

#Shigaraki x Reader #Shigaraki Tomura #Come Down to the Black Sea #See warnings up top

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hxseok-honee · 4 years

Text

atlas heart || jeon jungkook

requested by @deepseavibez , asking who jungkook is when he’s not the person he makes himself out to be </3 this little moment takes place right after part 6 of the au, when jimin first brings up jungkook to y/n.

>> because when jungkook is finally alone, he’s terrified of being alone <<

______________________________

“Jeon Jungkook, you son of bitch!” Jungkook cracks a mischievous smile, taking the rough pat to his back with ease. He’d just been handed yet another detention for causing trouble in the castle, but even with all the house points he’d lost over the years, Gryffindor had always welcomed him home like a hero. It’s not hard to fathom, really -- with the weight this war’s had on the world, everyone could use a laugh.

Nodding once at the 7th year that had greeted him when he’d walked into the common room, he tucks the detention slip into the pocket of his robes, the ink still fresh from his most recent run-in with authority. He gives the room one last glance-over as he heads for his room, his grin falling just slightly when he makes eye contact with James Potter, the older boy sitting with the rest of his friends by the fireplace. Their gazes remained locked while Jungkook crosses to the stairs, and it’s only when Potter sends him a playful wink that he turns away, setting foot on the first step as a sigh builds up in his chest.

Nudging the door to the 6th year boys’ dorm open with his shoulder, Jungkook stops short at the sight before him. Kim Taehyung lounges on his bed, next to Jungkook’s own, but that’s not what brings Jungkook pause. Sitting at the foot of Taehyung’s bed, books spread around him like some kind of nerd halo, is Park Jimin. The Ravenclaw doesn’t even notice Jungkook’s entrance, but Taehyung certainly does.

“Jungkook… hey, what’s up?” Jungkook’s eyebrow quirks just a fraction of an inch at the tone in Taehyung’s voice and even more at the way Jimin’s head is whipping up to look at him, eyes wide. Jungkook’s phone sits in his pocket, a text from Y/n from not even 24 hours ago sitting in the spotlight of Jungkook’s memories.

Park Jimin asked about you today… I think he knows something.

But it’s not like Jimin would know that Jungkook knows anything, so he hums a greeting in Taehyung’s direction and shoots Jimin an easy smile.

“Jimin… right?” Jimin’s nod is cautious, almost like he’s uncomfortable with the fact that Jungkook knows his name. Jungkook crosses to his bed, pointing lamely at it as he looks at his roommate. “You guys mind if I take a nap? I gotta serve detention tonight, so…” Taehyung jumps up, practically kicking Jimin in the back as he searches for his shoes.

“Go for it, man -- we’re heading down to dinner anyway--”

“Wait, what? I thought we were studyi--” Taehyung shushes his best friend, bending down to pack Jimin’s books into his bag for him and sending Jungkook a curious glance, almost as if to check if he could hear them. Jungkook pretends he’s not standing less than five feet away and pulls back the blankets on his bed, taking a seat on the mattress with a suppressed sigh. He barely registers when the room empties out, too busy tugging the knot of his tie loose and flopping back onto his pillow with a groan.

When he sits up in bed, it’s several hours later and he’s incredibly frazzled. The state of him, heart racing and hair stuck to a forehead slick with sweat, is only worsened by the darkness he finds himself in. Glancing at the clock on his bedside table, he swears under his breath, realizing he’s almost three hours late for detention. Instead of jumping to his feet and running to explain himself, however, he’s patting his pants frantically for his phone. When he finds it, he’s yanking it from his pocket and searching for a contact almost out of desperation.

Shoving the phone to his ear, he pins the device to his shoulder and holds it there as he searches blindly for his shoes. The line clicks, and he doesn’t even give her the chance to greet him.

“Are you alright? Tell me you’re alright. I had a drea--”

“Woah, woah, slow it down there. I’m totally fine… what happened?” Jungkook sighs loudly into the receiver, slipping his sneakers on and practically barreling out of his bedroom door.

“Just… are you busy?” There’s a laugh on the other end, soft and breathless.

“I’m always busy, Jungko--”

“Don’t… don’t say my name.”

“But I’m alone…” He doesn’t hear one of his housemates call out a pleasant greeting to him -- he doesn’t even see that he basically runs Remus Lupin down on his way out of the common room. He has a reputation around the castle for being reckless and chaotic, but only two people in this school know what causes his tunnel vision : fear.

“Just don’t say it, Y/n!” He swears under his breath again, looking around to make sure no one’s heard him, and then he’s on the move again.

“Okay, I won’t, I promise… Where are you?” Her voice is calm, almost soothing, and Jungkook knows that’s on purpose. He responds as he’s racing up the closest staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

“I’m just… I’m on my way to--” Rounding the corner, he’s met with the sight of Y/n standing at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall nearest the stairs to Ravenclaw tower. She’s gazing at him expectantly -- of course she is. She’s seen this enough times to know exactly what’s on his mind when he calls her in the middle of the night.

Jungkook pockets his phone, ending the call without another word. Almost as if all his energy’s been drained from his body now that he has her in front of him, he trudges down the length of the corridor slowly, memories resurfacing as he goes. Memories of a happy home, a happy life. Memories of a mother who dotes on two children, of a father who reads two children to bed every night. Memories of late nights spent hiding away from the rest of the castle, just the two of them -- a childhood predicated on secrecy, in the hopes of one day being able to walk the streets of the wizarding world with no more fear. Because for now, fear is all he knows.

When he reaches the end of the corridor, he doesn’t stop or even slow down, all but crashing right into Y/n as he takes her into his arms. He can’t tell her what he dreams about -- he can never tell her. He can never say that he lives every day in fear, fear for more than just his life. Fear for hers. Fear that one day he’ll wake up and she won’t be there. Fear that every moment of his life, he’s somehow coming closer to losing the only person that keeps him going.

But he doesn’t need to tell her. He doesn’t need to say that he’s scared for himself, for his family. Because she is his family, she’s more than that. So if anyone knows what’s happening in his mind, it’s her. And, while he usually revels in the fact that she knows every thought that crosses his mind at any given moment, he hates that she will always know what plagues his nightmares. If he’d ever had any doubt of that fact, all he’d have to do is exactly what he’s doing right now -- falling apart in her arms.

“You’re okay. Y/n, you’re okay… I…”

“Of course I’m okay, Jungkook. How could I not be? I’ve got you.”

#atlas heart #bts au #bts smau #bts texts #jimin x reader #bts social media au #bts hogwarts au #park jimin

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daddy-chiluc · 3 years

Text

My World is Alight by your Gaze

Chapter 1: Dandelion Dreams

Here you go for Non-Ao3 Readers! ^^

TW: Nightmares, blood, mentions of alcohol, depictions/eluding to trauma

—

His skin prickled, hairs rising under the chilling touch of the snow. He knew of this dream. He knew it far too well. A dream of vivid reds and beasts towering over him, his body small and worn out in its futile attempts to fight back. To resist. To resist the abyss that had plagued him, haunted and teased him. He was frustrated. Oh so painfully frustrated. He’s gone through this nightmare so often it’s become a broken record…why it still shook him with fear was beyond him…but he hated it.

The plaint wooden sword in his hands had given him splinters, the wood chipping under his tight grasp, as he slashed at the darkness that shrouded him, the snow doing little to support his momentum. His throat was sore as his tears froze to his cheeks, fingers numbing under the harsh bite of the cold. Crying seemed to stumble him far worse than any monster that had approached him. It confused him. Made him uneasy.

Snezhnaya does not believe in tears he reprimanded as he drowned his fear with the palms of his hands, thrashing and slicing at the darkness until it dissolved into the vast, pure white expanse of snow and trees. He repeated the mantra as a reminder, body shaky as a violent blizzard rushed at him, the wind howling in his ears. With chapped lips, bloodied and numb from the freezing winds, he wiped at his nose, the skin raw from it running. He had finally won. He could feel a gentle shake run through him, the wave of contact quickly growing in force as he darted awake.

“Tartaglia?” Right, Aether. Memories of yesterday’s adventure came rushing to him all too quickly. Flashes of water and blood tainting his mind, “Are you aright? You started to groan in your sleep.”

“Ah, apologies comrade,” he grunted, muscles and limbs sore from yesterday’s brief battle as his wounds began to sting under the bandages. The rest of Aether’s party — Beidou and Klee — began to stir awake at the smell of Aether’s perfected breakfast sandwiches. Had it not been for this reoccurring nightmare, he wouldn’t have a problem eating the Mondstadt delicacy as he had cooked them often, favoring the more comfortable taste over something more refined.

“As much as I appreciate you cooking breakfast, I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.” He sighed, getting up from the makeshift bed, the grass being the only cushioning he had over the night. His companions were a tad bit concerned, Klee far too enamored by a yellow butterfly and Beidou not caring for his predicament…after all, he had almost drowned her entire city with her girlfriend. It was only fair she despised him.

Aether simply nodded as he watched his eyes scan over Mondstadt, the cliff they had taken refuge on giving a beautiful view of the nation. The wind had blown by, twisting in his orange locks and dancing merrily along his lashes before a heavy exhale escaped past his lips. The sun started to cook him in his dark clothes, never truly able to get used to the heat even after having left Snezhnaya so long ago. Although, while the Tsaritsa had a certain, almost welcoming place in his heart, he couldn’t help be feel the wind calling to him, enticing him to something greater in the land of freedom.

Freedom. A concept somewhat blurry to him. Blue crystalline eyes growing duller as he tried to recall what it was like…but even the Abyss had taken that from him. Taken away the childish wonder and innocence at such a young age, becoming a savage for survival. Who knows, maybe he’d be fortunate enough to find that wonder in such joyous landscapes of summery green, the faintest smell of fresh grapes teasing his nose.

“I was thinking on taking you and Beidou to a really popular tavern this evening after we drop Klee off to Albedo,” Aether spoke calmly, Beidou perking up at the slightest promise of drinks.

“What kind of drinks?” She spoke swiftly, desperate for beer.

“Their wine is very popular, I’m sure you can ask the bartender for beer though.” His sincerity easing the tension in the party just a bit.

“I might try a glass of wine, see what Ningguang might like and take some back to her after our little crusade,” she chimed, voice still rough with sleep but just as energetic as she was yesterday after being invited to the trek from the land of contracts to the land of freedom.

“Tartaglia?”

“I might entertain it for tonight. Not much of a wine person but I could use a drink.” Maybe the discontentment in his voice gave away whatever had been egging his mind because he felt a small pull on his pant leg to find the little chaos bringer looking up at him with worry, “What’s up Fire Bug?” He smiled, picking her up and holding her over his hip.

“Is big brother Childe okay?” With dandelions fisted and bunched together in her hand, she chatted with him while Aether and Beidou finished packing to close their trip. Maybe his façade had faltered just a tad because her grip on his shoulders tightened ever so slightly.

“Of course Ladybug, why wouldn’t I be?” He hummed as her eyes twinkled with delight, light red eyes glowing brilliantly under the sunlight as an idea came to mind. Delicately, she straightened out the green stems of the flowers in her hand before placing them all throughout his hair, taking time to move every strand and stem with practiced ease — as if she’s done this several times before. Satisfied with her work she grinned, innocent and wide as her eyes closed with her cheeks.

The memory of Childe’s nightmare had long since faded, not wanting this fragile moment to shatter in the rough, calloused palms of his hands. Being with the little firecracker had reminded him of Teucer. Instead of that heavy, sickening feeling of sadness that weighed him down, he imagined what would happen if Klee had met his siblings. He could see them playing in the fields of snow in Snezhnaya, making animals out of snow and snowball fights. Snow angels and snowmen. The cold, harsh empty land suddenly filled with excitement and a childish fun that had warmed the freezing exterior of his heart.

He imagined them rolling in hills and flats of Mondstadt, playing in the wind and dancing happily, uncaring of the Fatui and tyrants of the world. Uncaring of visions and fighting. To simply live in the moment and have fun. To have what he lost at such a young age. To not have to fight for their survival every waking moment. Yes, he’d conquer the world and follow the Tsaritsa to the end of time…but he wouldn’t hesitate to burn the Fatui to the ground. They’d fallen out of her perfect image. Betraying each other left and right. Lying and deceiving every waking moment. If not an enemy then they’d deceive and use a comrade. It was pathetic.

Yet, with Klee in his arms and her pyro vision keeping him warm, he felt alive. He felt happy, a lightness filling his chest as she beamed in his arms. Even if he couldn’t make friends he wouldn’t have a problem stopping by to spoil the little one with toys and gifts. He’d done so with his siblings, and even if she wasn’t of blood, it wouldn’t stop him from giving her sugar and letting her blow up an entire Fatui camp if she felt like it. He was willing to protect her if it was necessary.

“Thank you Klee.” He smiled, it wasn’t sly or mischievous. It hadn’t held any scheme behind the gentle pull of his lips. It was genuine. Filled with warmth and kindness. Klee accepted the gesture happily, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing with vigor, hat squished beneath his chin as they watched the birds fly across the morning sky.

Perhaps her eye had been hallucinating. It would prove to be a problem if it had. A man who nearly killed her partner and the entire city seemed to have a heart after all. Seeing the smile along his face and hold the child so gently made her question him. To Beidou, Childe was an odd figure. He was hard to read, far too many mixed signals to understand which was real and which was fake. After all, he was a Harbinger.

Some part of her however, decided to give him a chance, just for today that is. She wouldn’t let her guard down, but she chose to see what kind of man he actually was rather than letting a title define him. Actions speak far louder than words she told herself, and seeing him be so kind and gentle with the small child made her release a heavy sigh. She could give him a chance, but just for today.

On their journey to Mondstadt, Beidou studied him, watching as he carefully placed a flower back in his hair if one hung loose and carrying Klee on his shoulders the entire walk there, telling her stories and fairytales of all sorts, one of which sounded like Liyue history turned into a children’s tale with bombs for an added effect, keeping her interested. How he came up with such an idea so quickly almost baffled her; and he was supposed to be one of the most feared Harbingers? Maybe she was quick to judge him, but that wouldn’t allow him forgiveness for nearly drowning the harbor. That would take time. If he could explain why she may be able to tolerate him a little more at best.

Unless it’s bullshit. Beidou doesn’t tolerate bullshit. She especially lacks patience when she’s dealing with someone she so heavily detests. So trying to converse with the Harbinger would drive her mad, beyond a doubt. She really hopes this tavern had beer.

—

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