#his smile fading when he opened the window and the wind and light attacked his face

[hyunpic]

hyune’s holiday ep. 10 [short and sweet edition]

[mediumgayitalian]

vampire x wizard? i read a fic about it ONCE in 2023 and haven’t stopped thinking about it. it wasn’t pjo related but anyway what are your thoughts?

OOOOOU I LOVE THIS OKAY. and its not skeleton sunday anymore but whatever i dont care lol. also coming back to say this got a little horny bc that is vampirism for you. oops.

nico is a new vampire.

he hates being a vampire.

he was turned in a bloody attack that killed most of his family -- it haunts him, but what haunts him most of all is that his sister bled out and there was not a drop of her blood to be found at the site. it could have been the vampire who turned him. but he cannot be sure.

he hates himself for what he is. he shuns any mortal who wants to help him, and shuns any fellow monster even further.

his only goal is to make it to the mountains where he has been told a witch lives, and has lived for centuries; the greatest healer of all time, who could drag the vampirism right from his body.

it takes time to get to the mountain. he has no resources, for starters, and his desperate, grieving father has half the country looking for him. he must travel in shadow, and he's hungry.

that, and all he knows is that the witch lives in apalachia -- where, exactly, no one can sure, all he can gather is from bits and pieces of gathered voices.

and dreams.

many, many dreams, of blue eyes and curled blond hair, flashes of a bright smile and gentle hands.

whoever this witch was -- he knew her, in a past life, or in many of them.

it takes him years to make the journey.

he knows, finally, when he approaches, because the air starts to taste sweeter. in the dark of winter, in the height of isolated rock, flowers bloom, and birds sing.

he follows the lush, ever-green forest for months. there are creatures he recognizes only from myth hiding in these mountains, women melting out of trees and hiding giggles in their hands, scowling spirits in the wind and grains. in the heart of america, where bluegrass swells, the ancients have taken roots. this is where the witch hides.

he comes across a small house. built by human hands and charming, even to nico's hardened heart, he enters unbidden, and searches the room, but there is nothing, no one.

there are traces, though. bread burnt in the oven and tossed on the counter in frustration, plants and herbs flourishing in open windows. pastes, salves, and shelves on shelves on shelves of books. a guitar with warmth still bleeding from the neck.

and the smell of something sweet that makes nico's stomach howl.

it is not until he pushes the back door open into a maze of garden that he sees her. a figure, humming, with hair as gold as the sun, crouched with her back to nico, thrusting a spade into the dirt.

i have nothing to give, nico starts, and the witch gasps, turning, and --

the witch is no woman. a man stands before him, eyes wide, and blue, as the skies, as the sea, as the back of a beetle or wing of a butterfly. as any time nico has ever seen the color.

as they have been reflected, teasing and cross and loving, over and over and over again, in his dreams.

nothing to give, nico repeats, swallowing. but i need your help regardless.

to his eternal credit the witch takes this in stride.he straightens, and smiles, small, and says, well. you are not the first or the last, although most have something to offer.

he looks critically at nico's hands.

can you work?

nico starts at the implication.

of course i can.

grand, then. you will help me, until time enough has past. and when a credit is owed to you i will do as you ask.

and nico nods, and it is that simple. the witch -- will -- gives him a place to stay, and food to eat, although nico is always hungry. this he notices with a critical eye. but regardless in his home nico does not fade, as he had begun to, in his years of abstinence. whatever darkness that has infected him cannot reach him in this tiny palace of light.

nico helps will for months. he is funny, nico finds, and sweet and biting and quick. there is not an ailment he cannot ease and an injury he cannot fix. the spirits and tree-women -- dryads, nico learns they are called -- come for his help, and the local towns, too, wary of him but polite and fearless nonetheless. these are will's favorite to treat.

although sometimes, never more than once every turn of the moon, there is a traveler. wearily, like nico, and desperate, although always with something to offer. they have a night by the warm fire to calm themselves and a cure by morning, often helped by nico's hands along with will's.

as snow falls again in the towns -- outside of where this eternal summer spreads, visible from the hills where will picks dandelions -- nico exhales, and balls his fist.

i am sick, he says, and must force the words out. i came to you for healing.

will inclinces his head. i know.

it has been a year.

almost. not quite.

and when the year is up?

will looks down, and away. when a year is up i will do as you bid, he says, quiet. whatever way you need it, i will heal you.

nico exhales. will does not say it, but he hears it anyway: and then you will leave. and then your debt will be no more, and you will be on your way.

nico watches the days drift by with dread building in his stomach.

on the day will approaches him nico knows whats coming. an ease, finally, from the hunger that constantly pangs him, but the thought of it offers no relief: only stony, ashen acceptance, that he will be fixed, that the blood will be washed from his hands, crimson patters stripped from his skin. and on his way he will go, back to -- his life, his father. what is left of his family and the responsibilities he abandoned.

i was turned, nico admits, when will takes his hands and asks him softly. cursed to drive life from bodies and take to survive.

will nods, as if he knows already. he probably does. his grip does not change in nico's hold, but nico can hear the pound of his heart.

i can satiate you, says will softly. a feast to end your hunger.

and then i will be cured?

you will never be hungry again.

he blinks, and exhales. then he meets nico's eyes, sharp and challenging, like nico is so used to, and bares his neck.

nico stops breathing.

he knows what he is asking and is horrified. but more horrifying is the want, deep and desperate and howling; he wants to attach his mouth to the crook of that sun-browned neck, wants to bite either side of his jugular and drink and drink until will is limp beneath him.

he moves, ever slightly. will whimpers.

he attacks.

the howling shadows that have lived locked away inside him break loose from the chains nico has locked them in, and he feasts. he drinks will's blood like a man who has not seen water in weeks devours a stream until it is dry, like a plant that has lived in neglect its whole life sucks the rain from the sky. he guides will to the floor and rubs his greedy hands up and down his still-warm arms, under his tunic, resting over the frantic pound of his heart. will does not flinch or move away but presses into nico's greedy mouth, like it is him who is feeding, like it is him who is desperate.

nico pulls back for a moment, for a second, to see the darkened terror in will's eyes, but there is none. there is only want. and he surges up, to steal his own blood back from nico's mouth, to suck his lifeforce from nico's teeth, and nico lets him, lets him lick into his mouth as he strokes hungry fingers anywhere he can touch, can reach; into the sluggishly bleeding holes at the sides of will's neck, that he presses, and presses, and presses, until will cries out. until his body forces him to pull back and nico can see his bright eyes squeezed shut, can see the red smeared around his mouth.

nico follows him, and descends.

he drinks the fluid from will's body until he feels like he will burst from it. his sweat, his tears, his spend, his blood; if he pulses out to the sluggish beat of his heart nico laps it up like a dog, like a wolf; like the greediest of predators stalking the woods. and will presents it all like he would not care if nico drank him dry, if he sucked the life out of him.

nico does, almost. drinks him until he can do nothing but lie back and breathe, barely.

when night has nearly crested into morn nico gathers him in his arms. he brings him back to will's home -- to the home they have shared, for more months than fit on nico's fingers -- and lays him to gentle rest in the cool sheets of nico's bed, opening the window so the sunlight can reach him.

he nurses him back, here. it takes weeks. will is drained. moreso than healing makes him, moreso than he would be if he didnt touch food or water for months. he is weak, and feeble, and nico realizes:

he is hungry, still.

hungrier.

you're here, will whispers, when he finally can, when he has the strength. you stayed.

nico turns his head to press a kiss to his palm, and stays there, as long as will has the strength to lift his hand.

you were wrong, nico murmurs. i am no more sated than if i ate all the food in the country.

will's face crumples in despair. only, his eyes do not; his eyes, blue and steady and knowing, bely his relief, his solace.

you lied, nico says, impassive.

slowly, will nods.

there is no cure for hunger, he says. only eating, and it will return.

you promised me you could heal me.

i promised you would never be hungry again.

there is the challenge, again, in his eyes. the steel of his own self-assurance.

tricky, he is. careful.

but honest.

you could leave, still, he offers. there is nothing i have done binding you to stay.

but i would be hungry.

you would be hungry, will agrees.

nico watches him carefully. he thinks of years of travelling, of starving, of aching. he thinks of it years before the bite.

ill stay, he says, or whispers. he kisses will's hand again.

will brushes his thumb under his eye, smiling.

and i will feed you. forever.

[maybe-im-dark]

Like a prayer

Based on this post

------

The late-night fast food joint was nearly empty, fluorescent lights flickering above while Logan leaned back in his seat, shooting Wade a half-smirk over the rim of his drink. They’d barely made it to the end of their meal without bickering over something trivial, but Wade loved that—the arguments, the banter, the push-and-pull that made things feel like they were truly alive. Here, with greasy fries, cheap beer, and the warmth of Logan’s rare but genuine laugh, Wade felt a sense of peace.

When Logan stood to head to the bathroom, Wade barely registered the way Logan muttered something about Wade stealing his fries, watching him disappear down the hall with a grin.

Minutes passed. Too many.

The smile faded, Wade’s senses pricking with unease. He glanced around, half-expecting Logan’s gruff figure to stride back, maybe cracking a joke about Wade being paranoid. But the uneasy silence grew, stretching thin, and Wade’s heart began to pound. Something wasn’t right. He rose, pushing his tray aside and hurrying toward the bathroom.

As he entered, a metallic scent hit him—blood.

His gaze dropped, horror creeping up his spine as he followed the dark smears of blood staining the floor, leading to the open window. Logan had been kidnapped. The realization hit Wade like a fist to the gut. The panic sharpened into something harder, something cold and deadly.

The manager nearly choked as Wade pressed him against the wall, a gun held to his temple. Wade could only imagine what an image he gave off —a bald man with a face full of burn scars and blisters, eyes black as the night, aiming a gun.

“Security footage,” Wade hissed, his voice like a razor. “Now.”

Terrified, the manager stammered and scrambled to comply, showing him the footage. Wade’s stomach twisted as he watched the screen, where Logan had been ambushed—no, hunted. The men had moved quickly, mercilessly. They’d struck him with knockout gas, beaten him with lead pipes until he crumpled, helpless, his skull crushed, bones breaking with each brutal swing.

They dragged him, his body limp, leaving a trail of blood as they shoved him into a van. Wade could feel his hands shaking as he took down the license plate number. Rage surged through him, cold and fierce, as he turned and left without another word, the screams of the manager fading in the background.

---

Wade’s contacts came through quickly, as he knew they would. They owed him, and he would’ve torn down their doors himself if they hadn’t. He found the address, a decrepit warehouse on the outskirts of town, the kind of place where shadows stretched long and secrets lay buried under layers of dust and neglect.

He’d expected to face this alone, but as he approached, he saw familiar figures—the X-Men—already there. Of course they had caught wind of what happened. They nodded grimly as he joined them, each one looking as angry, as frightened as he felt.

Jean’s soft voice cut through the tension, filled with sympathy. “Wade…I have to warn you, they’ve done something to him. They’ve tried to…erase him, turn him into a weapon again.”

Wade clenched his jaw, a chill creeping up his spine. The very thing Logan feared most—being stripped of his humanity, reduced to a monster at the whims of men who saw him as nothing but a weapon.

“I don’t care what they’ve done,” Wade muttered, his voice thick with pain. “We’re getting him back.”

A crash interrupted them, and they turned to see Logan at the end of the hallway. His eyes were wild, a twisted feral glint in them that sent a pang through Wade’s heart. This was not the Logan he knew, not the man he loved. His gaze was empty, filled with only rage and instinct.

“Logan…” Wade breathed, his voice a mix of shock and sorrow.

But Logan didn’t seem to hear him. He lunged forward, claws bared, each movement a brutal, calculated attack. The X-Men tried to hold him back, but he cut through them with vicious efficiency. Every strike, every slash—there was nothing held back, nothing restrained. His healing factor, paired with his berserker fury, made him unstoppable. Jean fell back, a wound across her arm; Hank was thrown against the wall, groaning as he tried to rise. The other X-Men didn't fare any better and they quickly retreated.

Wade’s chest tightened as he watched, desperation clawing at him. He couldn’t let this happen. He couldn’t let them lose Logan again, not like this.

An idea formed, a wild, reckless hope.

“Wolverine!” Wade’s voice rang out, the sound echoing as he stepped forward, blocking Logan’s path to the others. “Come and get me, honeybadger!”

Logan turned, the wildness in his eyes flickering as he sized Wade up, a snarl pulling at his lips. Wade took a deep breath, leading him into a small, empty room at the end of the hall. He could hear Jean’s worried voice behind him, begging him not to do it, to let them help.

But Wade shut the door, closing himself in with the man he loved, the man who now saw him as prey.

Logan’s posture was predatory, his muscles coiled and ready to strike. Wade felt a flicker of fear but pushed it down. Instead, he looked Logan in the eyes, willing him to see, to remember.

And then, he did the only thing he could think of. He began to sing.

Life is a mystery

Everyone must stand alone

I hear you call my name

And it feels like home

The words spilled from him, shaky, his voice cracking with emotion. Logan stopped, his head tilting, a faint glimmer of recognition in his gaze. Wade’s voice grew stronger, louder, each word a lifeline.

When you call my name, it's like a little prayer

I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there

In the midnight hour, I can feel your power

Just like a prayer, you know I'll take you there

He was crying now, unable to stop the tears streaming down his face. This was the song they'd saved the world to, holding onto the raw strings of matter and anti-matter, holding each other's hands. It was theirs, a memory of a connection that could never be severed again.

Logan’s breathing slowed, his eyes softening, the rage melting away as he stared at Wade, the familiar lines of his face, the sound of his voice. Slowly, the haze lifted, memories returning as he saw Wade—his Wade.

“Wade…” Logan’s voice was rough, barely more than a whisper, but Wade heard it, heard the pain, the sorrow.

Wade stepped forward, his hands shaking as he took Logan’s face between his palms. Logan’s eyes were wet, shimmering with regret and grief as he collapsed into Wade’s arms, his entire body trembling.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” Logan choked, clutching Wade as though afraid he’d vanish. “I couldn’t…they…I wasn't strong enough.”

Wade held him close, his own tears falling freely. He stroked Logan’s hair, his voice soft, soothing. “Hey, hey…you’re back. You’re with me. I’ve got you.”

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, as the darkness around them seemed to fade, replaced by the warmth of their embrace. Logan’s sobs quieted, and Wade gently wiped the tears from his cheeks, pressing his lips to Logan’s forehead.

Outside, the X-Men waited, the tension easing as they heard the muffled sound of Wade’s song, the quiet murmurs of reassurance. Jean and Hank exchanged a glance, relief softening their expressions.

In that moment, with Wade’s arms around him and his familiar scent grounding him, Logan felt safe. The shame, the rage—they faded, replaced by something fragile, something hopeful.

“I’m here, Wade,” Logan whispered, his voice rough but steady. “I’m…I’m here.”

Wade’s voice was a soft promise, his words barely a whisper as he held Logan tighter. “And I’m never letting you go.”

It wasn’t an ending, nor a beginning. It was a moment suspended in time, where two souls found each other again, bound by something deeper than memory, stronger than fear. And as Wade held him, Logan knew, for the first time, that he was home. Because home wasn't a place, it was a person. And that person was Wade.

[bluewindfall]

Where hope dwells in time

His steps slow to a stop when he catches a glimpse of the inside of the concert hall. 

It’s bright, filled with orange, mellow hues of wood. An organ’s gleaming pipes span the back wall above the stage where rows of musicians have begun to find their seats. The interior is old but elegant. He can hear the resonant cacophony of melodies overlap every time the back door opens. 

The carpet in the front hallway is softer than the one in the back. His dress shoes sink with every step. 

“Hey.” A sharp, pointy elbow prods him in the back. “Stop gaping. You look like a peasant.”

Yukio’s eyelid twitches when Shura saunters past him. “I wasn’t gaping.”

“Sure,” Shura drawls. “Well, just pass out your programs and look pretty.”

Yukio adjusts the sling on his arm before he follows after her. Shura’s footsteps are swift, and her heels leave fading marks in the plush carpet. Flowing, deep crimson folds of her dress curl around her ankles as she begins to climb the marble stairs to the entrance of the concert hall. 

The building’s air is chilled, and it smells rather like a library. He can still see the dregs of summer dusk through the window they pass. 

“I hadn’t realized it looked like this inside,” Yukio admits. “I walked past it nearly every day in middle school.” “Yeah. It survived the attack years ago.” Shura rolls her shoulders into a lazy shrug. “One thing is for sure. The old Order would never have bothered with this sort of thing.” 

“But I’m glad we’re able to help now.” Yukio passes her half of the stack of programs, smiling as an elderly couple heads inside the concert hall to take their seats. 

Shura gives a family of three programs and helps point them toward their seats. Most of the audience is well dressed in a myriad of colors. As the hall fills gradually, the lights are dimmed. 

Just as they’re about to head inside to sit down, he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. Rin is calling him. 

“Wait, where are you going? It’s about to start,” Shura hisses. 

“I know. I’ll be back in a minute.” Yukio tucks his remaining stack of programs under his arm as he steps away behind the stairs. “Nii-san? Did you finish your mission?” 

“Yeah. Hey, are you almost done with your charity thing?” Rin asks. His voice is slightly breathless, and the murmur of traffic noises leaks through from his end at erratic moments. “Can you come back?” 

Yukio glances back toward the concert hall full of orange light. His assignment as an usher is complete, but he’d been looking forward to watching the concert. More importantly, it’d be impolite to leave without thanking the donors.

“I need your help,” Rin says, drawing him from his thoughts with abrupt haste.

“With what?” Summer wind ruffles through Yukio’s hair as he nudges the door open with his shoulder. “Where are you?”

 “I just have to look for… I don’t know,” Rin mumbles. “I’m at your place.” 

“Do you need it right—”

He frowns as Rin hangs up. Just what is he in such a rush about to find at Yukio’s apartment of all places? It’s been nearly two months since he’s been back in Tokyo. 

Click here to keep reading on ao3 :)

[abhainnwhump]

IMYM Chapter 16: Candy Corruption: Dream

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Since the coffee date, Dream has been feeling much better.

He pinned it on being in the sunshine. He’s been spending so much time in his room, trying to find him, that he didn’t have any time for himself. The open window wasn’t enough. Dream spent most of his childhood outside, so of course his energy would be greater here.

He practiced his archery in the field close to the Star Sanses base. They set up targets to practice, at least a dozen. Dream loved archery, not just in battle. It gave him positivity and excitement, rushes of adrenaline. The wind blew past his frame and tickled his cheeks. The sun was warm and the breeze was cool, the birds sang and chirped in glee. Dream hid the targets amongst the trees and he fired. He missed one, but he made two bullseyes.

Nightmare still hadn’t attacked since then, and that was still so strange to him. Three months and almost no attacks. Something was wrong. He was sure Nightmare would start attacking again once he murdered Ink. Why else could he still be hiding?

His positivity faded the second he thought of Nightmare. His bow lowered in his hand and Dream clutched his head. He took deep breaths to calm himself. Killer’s words came back to haunt him.

We thought you would save him, but I can’t blame you if you didn’t want to.

If Dream worked harder, found Ink a little sooner, forced him to talk that morning . . .

Dream flipped and fired at a target between the branches. It’s been so long since he’s had a full night of sleep. But he couldn’t rest, not until Nightmare and his team were brought to justice.

He wished Cross was here. He was put on double-guard duty with the rising threat of Nightmare and Ink’s death. Dream didn’t blame Cross, or the commander for putting him on the job. It was for the good of the multiverse. And at least Cross loved his guard work, he would be more upset if he was doing a job he hated.

The guardian shot another arrow. The reason he fired arrow after arrow in the first place wasn’t for practice, but for procrastination. They were going to clean out Ink’s room with Blue today, but they didn’t want to. A fragment of his soul hoped Ink would someday come home. If they kept his room the same, Ink would settle right back in and everything would return to normal. Dream imagined it every day and it became his comfort fantasy.

Even if he knew it would never happen. It couldn’t. They saw his dust and clothes. Ink wasn’t suffering anymore.

Wasn’t he?

Dream sensed an aura. He cupped the side of his skull and listened to someone’s boots walk on the gravel path. He looked over and spotted Blue walking through the trees. Dream snapped his fingers and the positivity arrows vanished.

“I got all the boxes from Core! They’re already in Ink’s room so . . . are you ready to do this?” His voice was gentle. Blue knew Dream procrastinated the task since the funeral, he made excuses all the time. But Dream knew he couldn’t put it off forever, it must be done.

“Yes, I’m ready. Thank you for finding me.” Dream put his bow away. He would clean the targets later. They wouldn’t harm any of the animals.

Blue turned the light on. Nobody had entered Ink’s room since the funeral. When he did, Dream felt as if his throat was tightening a rope around itself, trying to choke him. The feeling persisted, but it was less extreme with Blue by his side, even if he still felt sick. As he said, the corner held dark brown boxes. A black marker rested on top of one of them.

Blue removed the blankets from the bed, shook them out, and folded them. “I’ll do the left side of the room, and you do the right, okay?”

Dream looked around the room until he spotted Ink’s wall of paint and photos. He smiled at it. It was of the three of them in Outertale. They all smiled and hugged each other. Dream dropped it into one of the boxes marked ‘Keep’. Dream made sure the photo was face down, trying to push the sad thoughts out of his head. “Okay.”

Dream and Blue worked until nightfall clearing out Ink’s room. Dream cleaned out Ink’s drawers, removed all his art supplies, and took the decorations off the walls. He put them in specially marked boxes. Blue took care of his clothes, furniture, and went through extra boxes. After the sun set, they both lay back on the mattress and looked around the emptier room.

“Well, we got a lot done today!” Dream chose to focus on the positives. And they did complete a lot of work. Only the furniture and a few harder-to-remove decorations remained. Everything else was either packed in a box or thrown away. An eerie emptiness filled the once-colorful room. Even the stench of paint that always filled the room was now gone, left with only a memory.

“Yeah, we did a lot! It’s quiet in here . . .” Blue looked over at Dream. “Who are you and Core choosing to take Ink’s place-”

“No one now, no one yet.” Dream cut him off. “I’m sorry, I promise I’ll- we’ll find a new Guardian of Creativity. But it needs to be the perfect person. Not anyone can replace Ink. It’s for the sake of the Doodlesphere.” He rubbed his thumbs against his fingers. He looked back around the room. They didn’t want to leave Blue alone in here. But Blue did eventually leave to give Dream some alone time. He thought he needed it.

For reasons he didn’t know, the negativity only seemed to grow the longer they stayed. Dream didn’t understand why. It wasn’t coming from Blue, and they had felt the same since they first entered. The feeling was the same as a Code Purple. Dream had the emotions memorized, even though it hadn’t happened in a long while.

Afraid of Blue getting hurt or kidnapped, Dream didn’t tell him about it. Instead, he simply created a portal and stepped into the negative world. It lead him to Candytale, which surprised and concerned him. Candytale always gave him a headache. It’s more negative than positive, but that was due to the monsters having fake happiness. It was made of in- well, candy. All pink and sweet. The trees were lollipops and the the grass was saltwater taffy. Rock candy constructed the tunnels, like the one he was in now. Dream liked sweet things, so smelling all the chocolates and berries made him happy.

Dream walked down the path with the most negativity until he could a horrid stench. It smelled like a caramel apple that had been sitting and the hot sun and rotting. He looked up and gasped at the black goop down his path. The trees blackened from their brown roots. Tendrils of negativity suffocated the trunks.

Dashing through the cookie crumble dirt, they followed the black goop. He ran faster. Nightmare couldn’t have been far. He grabbed his bow off his back, but could only pull his swords. It was much harder for him to summon his bow if there was too much negaitivity. Patches of dust coated the path, this time not made of candy. Dream began to cough. Oh stars, not again . . .

Stop! Stop!

They almost tripped on a massive rock, but the sweet sound of chirping caught their attention. Dream looked to his left and spotted a yellow Peep bird. Dream stepped away from the rock and held his arm out. The small creature flew down to rest on his ulna.

“What’s wrong?” Dream pet the bird. The sticky sugar marshmallow coating tainted his gloves. The bird blinked its black sugar eyes and bounced on his wrist. It chirped and Dream understood clearly. Danger! Danger! Look behind you! Look out!

“Danger? Where-” Dream’s body went cold with magic and negativity. The bird struggled on their arm, chirping in alarm. Dream shushed the poor animal to keep it from hurting itself. They looked around at their casing of blue magic. He couldn’t move anything except his eye lights, which flashed to look at the person holding him. Half of Dust’s face was covered with a baseball cap and a hood, but his luminous eye lights gave him away. They glowed in the shadows.

Dust gave him a blank yet interested look. “The hell are you doin’ here?”

Dream frowned at Dust. “I felt a Code Purple and sensed your destruction. What are you doing here? Where’s Nightmare?”

Dust kept quiet and pulled Dream toward him. The bird chirped in pain again. Dream summoned his magic under his hand in secret. It stung since you weren’t supposed to move in blue magic, but they were desperate. Dust scoffed. “Helpin’ your brother. He’s going to be real happy to see you-”

A blast of magic to the face cut Dust off and he clutched his face in pain. Dream was done taking this. He stomped up to Dust and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket. “I’m done playing games. Where. Is. He.”

“He-” Dust stared at Dream in shock for a long time. Then he rolled his eye lights. “You are the last person I’d expect to do this.”

“Stop stalling! WHERE IS HE?” Dream had enough of this. His eye lights glowed a brighter gold.

Dust stood up straighter and turned around, gesturing for Dream to follow. Dream turned around to the bird flapping behind them. Dream cupped the Peep between their hands and rested their forehead against it. “Stay safe, little one. Go hide, I’ll keep this AU safe.”

The bird chirped ‘thank you’ and flew into the trees. Dust didn’t look back and walked toward the west. Dream ran to catch up with him.

The Guardian of Positivity stayed close. He looked down and spotted the dark crevices and liquid across the ground. They exhaled and kept following Dust. One hand was kept wrapped around their bow in case he attacked.

Finally, they made it out of the tunnels and walked into a grassy clearing. The bright blue sky and cotton candy clouds were so pretty. But despite the beauty, this spot had more negativity than the entire tunnel did. Looking up, Dream realized why. He narrowed his eye sockets with a scowl. “Nightmare . . . ”

The Lord of Negativity turned around. His shock turned into a twisted smile. “Ah, hello brother. Come to see the scenery too? It’s a lovely evening.”

Dream walked closer to Nightmare. He had some dark magic swirling on the grass at his feet. “What do you want? Where have you been? What are you doing here? Why did you kill Ink? Stop smirking and answer me!”

Nightmare chuckled. “Now, now, one question at a time. I’ll answer them in order. I want what I’ve always wanted, to eradicate all positive feelings. I’ve been working on a special project. I have a new toy, you’ll meet it soon. But for now, I’m practicing some new magic. I think I finally mastered this technique. Would you like to watch?”

Nightmare kneeled down and swirled his finger above the flower. The licorice plant turned darker in color and the grass around it darkened too. Nightmare snapped his fingers and the black sludge shot itself onto a rock ledge. The rock candy sizzled and burned holes into them. The rocks all turned black.

Dream gasped. He’d never seen the corruption spread in real-time, at least not without a master to command. “You’re the one corrupting those AUs!” he exclaimed.

Nightmare gave him a disappointed look. “Wow, you are slow for a guardian, almost slower than Ink was. Of course I was the one corrupting them. Who else could’ve done it?”

“That was a rhetorical statement!” Dream shouted back. He was so angry about the Ink comment, he ignored the rest. “And don’t you dare call Ink slow. He was smarter than you will ever be.”

Nightmare shrugged. “You have no idea . . .” He stood up and brushed his hand off his pant leg. “It doesn’t matter now. Ink is gone. I doubt he even cares what I’m saying about hi-”

Nightmare stepped out of the way as Dream threw one of his swords at him. They couldn’t remember the last time they were this enraged. They would not stand Nightmare speaking about their best friend like this. Dream dashed to grab his sword back. Dust summoned a Gaster Blaster and leaped on it. Nightmare hadn’t moved. Dream ducked Dust’s blast and rolled on the ground. He grabbed the sword and stood up, deflecting a bullet that Dust shot at him.

“Speaking of that new magic I was trying . . .” Nightmare waved his hand as the two fought. “I need a living subject for this new test. Unfortunately, Dust killed everyone who crossed our path, and I’d prefer not to use him. Now that only leaves . . . you.”

“Leaves me for what-?” Dream couldn’t look at Nightmare because he was clashing with Dust. He didn’t see him gather magic in his hand. Swirling and roaring, the magic in his hand grew a brighter teal than his usual power. Too distracted to react, Nightmare shot the beam of malice in Dream’s direction. It seeped into his eye sockets. The cold sensation bit into Dream’s bones and made him scream.

Dream’s eye sockets burst open with a faint teal glow. He didn’t know where he was. It was all darkness. Dream has never been nyctophobic, but this scared him. He stumbled with his words, searching for signs of movement. He was the only source of light and color.

“Think fast!”

Dream spun around to Dust’s voice and stabbed his chest. Wait, where was Dust’s hoodie? And his blood was . . . purple. Dream’s head slowly rose to the skeleton he impaled. He gasped. It wasn’t Dust.

It was the one he loved the most.

“Dream?” Cross asked, confused and betrayed. Dream dropped his swords and tried to tend to his wounds. Cross shoved him aside, still in shock. “What the hell? Don’t touch me! How could you do this? I thought I could trust you! Let me guess, you wanted to take advantage of me like everyone else?”

Dream shook his head in confusion and panic. “No! I swear I thought you were Dust! I’m so sorry. Here, let me heal-”

Cross’s dagger hovered close to his neck. Not enough to hurt, but enough for a taste of what could be. He scowled. “I can’t believe you. I’m done trusting people, for good this time.”

Shoving him aside, Cross stormed off. Dream tried to run after him, but a rustling sound caught his attention. He turned around and the scenery completely shifted. He now stood in a cold dungeon with stone walls, deep under the surface. He assumed it was Nightmare’s. Dream tried to steady himself. This wasn’t real, none of this was real, it couldn’t be. The sound of chains moving made him jump and he crept down the stone hall. His gaze settled on someone curled up in the corner of a cell. It took him a few moments to realize it was Ink.

Ink wasn’t smiling like usual. His bones faded to gray and were covered in injuries. Several of his fingers were cut or missing. Some of the wounds were deep and littered his bones with cracks and chips. Both eye lights dimmed to whiteish gray. As Killer had said, a massive bullet wound took over his skull, dripping black blood. It sizzled when it touched the ground.

Hey, Dream. Ink didn’t speak, but Dream could hear his voice echoing in his skull. When he opened his mouth, he caught a glimpse of the rainbow stub where his tongue used to be. Ink held his arms out, revealing his rotting bones. His left hand was missing two fingers; the right missing three. Like my new look? I call it, “Tortured to death and left to rot because my friends were too stupid to figure out where I was and rescue me.”

Dream felt faint looking at Ink. The shock and guilt he remembered from when Killer first told him about Ink’s fate returned.

Ink kept talking the way he used to, only more cynical. Oh! And thanks for the funeral, I didn’t think anyone cared. They told me they didn’t. The worst part about this is that I still have the damage and I can’t draw anymore! They took my thumbs! Look at this! I’ve tried using my teeth, but it’s not the same. He waved his stubbed fingers. What? Nothing to sta

“I . . . I didn’t do this. Nightmare did. I’m sorry.” Dream blinked fast.

Technically Dust was the one who killed me, but Nightmare kidnapped me, but it was because of you . . . I’mma blame all of you for this, but mostly you since you kicked it off and never found me. Ink pointed at Dream’s hands, making his eye lights follow. Black blood coated his gloves. Dream shuddered. When he looked up again, Ink disappeared, leaving nothing but his chains. Silence lasted for a few seconds before a scream of pain broke from behind him and Dream. He turned around to darkness, and then something grabbed his chest and forced him to the ground. Dream made a sound of pain as the dungeon faded. His head pounded like his soul.

Dream crawled back until his hand grazed the sandy bank of a pond. He turned around and stared at it. It was himself, but . . . not. It was his face, but his circlet with made of pitch-black thorns. He wore a gray hood and cloak with a matching eye patch. Dream shook his head and the reflection did the same. He didn’t understand what was happening.

The hands of reflection grabbed him and pulled him deep into the water. Dream gasped and tried to fight, but his limbs could have been made of lead. His reflection threw him to the ground and the real Dream looked up. His clone’s aura was so much more negative. Bitter, betrayed, heartless, cold. Dream stood up and stared him in the eye. “Who . . . who are you?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You.” The reflection pulled up his fur hood up. “I’m you, but I’ve seen the truth and fixed us. I’m the stronger you.”

“You’re not me at all!” Dream exclaimed. He looked over at his reflection again. It had his face, yes, but nothing else. “Wait, what did you mean ‘seen the truth’? What truth?”

He huffed. “Think about it. What has being kind ever done for us? We were nice to the villagers and they turned on us, and then they killed Nightmare. They walked all over us. We were nice in the Omega Timeline and now nobody takes us seriously. And if you were never the sweet and kind Guardian of Positivity, Ink would still be alive today. He would have never been kidnapped in the first place if it wasn’t for you.” The clone scowled deeper and crossed his arms. “We dedicated our entire life to helping others and we’re at rock bottom. Choosing myself was the best thing we- or let’s be honest, I did. You’re too naive and innocent to see that right now, but you will. Trust me. No matter what you do, you’re going to end up like me, admit it. Nothing will change. We can’t make anything better.” He glared at him. “The sooner you give up, the easier this will be for both of us.”

His fear and confusion melted into the anger that had been building up snapped. He stared at his negative clone. Maybe it was because he refused to believe he could ever fall this low, or his patience was wearing thin. Or he was tired of being scared and the negativity kept eating him. But he wouldn’t stand for this. Dream swung a hit at the clone with a shout and he disappeared into darkness. They grabbed the sides of their head and screamed. The real world and the dark bubble fought for attention. Dream reached out for the light pieces, and the illusion shattered.

Dream awoke to a massive field of damage. He slashed and burned several of the candy trees. He was soaked from head to toe in freezing water. Dream spotted a pond nearby and had his answer. He blushed in embarrassment as he realized he made a fool of himself. But on the bright side, nobody could get hurt. He stared at his hands, no blood. He blinked through his tears and found the laughter came from Dust. Nightmare, meanwhile, was silent but grinning with a closed mouth.

“Interesting,” he muttered. “You produced more negativity than normal and I could feel it enter your subconscious. But you snapped out of it too quickly and I couldn’t get onto your head as I thought. The magic was far too weak. Hm . . . I need to work on that.” Nightmare mumbled something else Dream couldn’t hear.

Dust chuckled a little more until his expression turned firm again. “Huh, hearin’ only one side of those conversations was insane.”

Before Dream thought it through, he stomped up to Dust and punched him in the jaw. Then he swept his leg, forcing him onto the ground before stomping on his back. Dust yelped and cursed. Dream swung a hit at Nightmare too, slapping him clean across the face. Even Dream was surprised by his violent outburst. He stared at his hands but then balled them into fists in front of himself.

“The fuck is your problem?” Dust spat. He pulled his hand away from his bleeding nasal bone.

“My problem?” Dream barely kept his voice steady. “My problem is that murderers and criminals like you keep running free! My problem is that you feel no regret for the people you hurt! I am done letting you push me around! Do you have any idea what it’s like to lose the ones you love and you’re helpless to do anything about it? Ink didn’t deserve to be tortured and killed! My brother didn’t deserve to die so you could take over his body! I thought you could still be redeemed, I was hoping you could. My mistake.”

Dream closed his eye sockets and took a deep breath, trying to let the anger leave him. But it was hard. He had to restrain himself from strangling Nightmare, beating him to the ground. His pacifist nature was too strong for that, but he wanted them to suffer for their crimes.

Dust finally answered with a scoff. “For the record, yeah, I do know what it’s like to lose people. And I happen to feel a lot of regret.” He rubbed his jawbone. It dripped with blood.

Dream stared at him for a long moment and turned to Nightmare. His smug grin grew. He grabbed his swords and ran to him. Nightmare bared his teeth as his tendrils flared. He melted into a pile of darkness and took Dust with him. Dream stabbed the ground where they left. His blade cut through the dirt with ease, but there was no sign of either of the killers.

Once the anger was gone, Dream could properly process what he went through. He knew it was all a hallucination, but he couldn’t help but feel shaken. Cross, Ink, that clone of himself . . . it had to mean something, Dream couldn’t think of what.

Dream shook in place. He quickly made a portal and ran into it. The inky darkness outside didn’t help his emotions. He fell onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, then he squeezed his eye sockets shut to repress tears. He held his upper arms and tried to clear the images from his head. They couldn’t breathe and covered their cough. Dream ripped off their cape and boots and lay down. They didn’t take their wet clothes off and instead covered themself with blankets. He was exhausted, but also too paranoid to get any quality sleep. Their hands wouldn’t stop shaking. He couldn’t have nightmares, so sleep was a safe haven. For now.

================================================

Dream ran out of the base right away in the morning. It was five o’clock and the sun had barely awoke over the horizon. Blue was still asleep. Dream didn’t want to worry him as he left, though he knew he already did. Blue wrote him a note that lay ignored on the counter. He walked up the hill toward Ink’s statue. He stared at the engraving on the pedestal and traced his finger over it. He looked up at Ink’s cocky stone grin.

They touched the stone Broomie’s handle. It was too tall to touch Ink’s cheek like he wanted, but having his hand on the statue was enough. It felt like his spirit was by his side.

“What do they know that I don’t . . . ?” Dream asked the statue. Ink didn’t reply. Usually, statues made them uncomfortable, especially hyper-realistic ones like this. But maybe the thought of Ink being in stone instead of in that twisted castle was better. “I’m sorry. I feel like it should be obvious, but something is missing. I can’t explain it . . . I hope you don’t hate me.”

Dream reached as high as he could and lay his hand on Ink’s chest. He could have touched his face if he stood on the pedestal, but he didn’t want to. He had so much he wanted to say, but couldn’t since it wasn’t Ink to hear. He kept it short and sweet. The Guardian of Positivity pressed his head against Broomie. “I’ll avenge you, Ink, I promise. Even if my soul burns up and I take my last breath, Nightmare will be brought to justice.”

[kur0nek0chan]

Off Script - Attack on Titan AU [Ep. 05: The Last Day on Set]

They're all now in their trailer, trying to rest before going back home tomorrow. [Chat – 11:14 PM | Eren & Mikasa]

Eren: Asleep yet?

Mikasa: Nope. You?

Eren: Just dropped my bag. Zoning out on my bed. Can’t believe it’s really over.

Mikasa: Same. Feels weird… so quiet. You’re usually making noise, kicking the trailer door open.

Eren: Lmao.

Mikasa: I miss you, already.

(Last message reads 11:20 PM.)

Eren: Haha, yeah, me too, kinda. We’re still doing breakfast at the usual place tomorrow, right?

Mikasa: Yeah. Don’t be late.

Eren: Wake me up, then.

Mikasa: Huh? Who do you think you are asking me that?

Eren: Lolz.

(Mikasa stares at her screen for a while. Then types.)

Mikasa: Go to sleep, Eren.

Eren: Oyasumi, Mikasa.

Mikasa: Oyasumi.

[Chat – 11:31 PM | Armin & Annie]

Armin: You not tired of Pieck teasing you all day?

Annie: Not really. She’s sweet. You’re the stiff one.

Armin: Sorry, I just…

Annie: Relax. I like that you’re stiff. I’m more awkward than you anyway.

Armin: You’re heading back to Marley tomorrow?

Annie: Yeah, but evening flight. So… if you ask me to brunch, I’m in.

Armin: Pick you up at 9? I'll be in front of your trailer.

Annie: Okay.

Armin: Try to sleep. Don’t overthink.

Annie: …too late.

Armin: Then think about this: I liked you since season 1. When you secretly brought that stray cat to set.

Annie: Armin.

Armin: Yeah?

Annie: Same.

[POV – Jean]

Jean’s sitting, typing in his notes app. Outside, the night wind’s starting to calm.

“Everyone’s got their own path now. I’m not sure what mine is yet.”

He opens Instagram, scrolling through today’s group photos. Swipe… swipe… then stops on one candid of Eren and Mikasa laughing together.

He gives a small smile.

“I used to think I had a chance. But I guess… that’s not the point.”

He saves the photo. Locks his screen.

“What matters is—we all got to live in that moment together.”

[POV – Sasha]

Sasha’s scrolling through DMs with Hitch. They’re sending each other random goofy pics from backstage.

She laughs softly… then just stares for a while.

“Real life’s not as fun as set life. But maybe that’s why I need friends who make regular days feel kinda magical.”

[POV – Connie]

Connie’s listening to an old voice note—Jean and Armin goofing around with a guitar in the trailer.

He chuckles, then goes quiet. His eyes are tired.

“Everyone’s letting go of their roles. But for me… this isn’t the end. It’s a memory. One I’ll keep replaying until it fades.”

He taps Replay.

Morning – 7:11 AM

This is the third day after they're off since the last shoot. The day they all finally going home to their homes. The Shiganshina sky is clear. Morning light filters through the windows and across the quiet streets.

Eren wakes up, eyes half open. His phone buzzes with a notification:

Mikasa: Wake up. Don’t be late.

He smiles.

Annie opens her window. Cool air fills her room. One unread message waits:

Armin: On my way.

Jean’s already in the kitchen of his trailer, making his own coffee. It’s quiet, but his heart feels lighter. After this, he's gonna pack his things, for real.

Sasha, Connie, Jean are texting:

Connie: What’s for breakfast?

Sasha: I’m in a waffle-mimosa mood. Jean: A cup of coffee.

Connie: Jean being up this early is insane.

Sasha: We’ve all grown up, Con.

Mereka semua lagi di trailer sekarang, istirahat sebelum besok akhirnya balik ke rumah masing-masing.

[Chat – 23.14 WIB | Eren & Mikasa]

Eren: Udah tidur?

Mikasa: Belum. Lo?

Eren: Baru aja naruh tas. Lagi ngeblank di kasur. Masih gak nyangka… beneran selesai.

Mikasa: Sama. Aneh ya… sepi banget. Biasanya lo berisik, nendang pintu trailer.

Eren: Lmao

Mikasa: Gue udah kangen lo...

(Pesan terakhir terbaca jam 23.20)

Eren: Haha, iya, gue juga… agak kangen. Besok kita sarapan di tempat biasa, kan?

Mikasa: Iya. Jangan telat.

Eren: Bangunin gue ya.

Mikasa: Hah? Siapa lo nyuruh-nyuruh gue?

Eren: Lolz.

(Mikasa liatin layar HP agak lama. Terus ngetik.)

Mikasa: Tidur, Eren.

Eren: Oyasumi, Mikasa.

Mikasa: Oyasumi.

[Chat – 23.31 WIB | Armin & Annie]

Armin: Lo gak capek digodain Pieck seharian?

Annie: Gak juga. Dia manis kok. Lo aja yang kaku.

Armin: Maaf ya... :(

Annie: Santai. Gue suka kok lo kaku. Gue malah lebih awkward dari lo.

Armin: Besok lo balik ke Marley ya?

Annie: Iya, tapi flight sore. Jadi… kalo lo ngajak brunch duluan, gue mau.

Armin: Gue jemput jam 9 ya? Gue tunggu depan trailer.

Annie: Oke.

Armin: Tidur ya. Jangan overthinking.

Annie: …telat.

Armin: Kalau gitu… pikirin ini aja: Gue udah suka lo dari season 1. Pas lo diem-diem bawa kucing liar ke set.

Annie: Armin.

Armin: Yaa?

Annie: Sama.

[POV – Jean]

Jean lagi duduk, ngetik di notes app. Angin malam di luar mulai reda.

"Semua orang udah punya arah masing-masing. Gue sendiri masih gak tau arah gue ke mana."

Dia buka Instagram, scroll foto-foto ramean hari ini. Swipe… swipe… terus berhenti di satu foto candid Eren sama Mikasa lagi ketawa bareng.

Dia senyum kecil.

"Dulu gue kira gue punya kesempatan. Tapi ternyata… bukan itu intinya."

Dia save fotonya. Lalu matiin layar.

"Yang penting, kita semua pernah ada di momen itu bareng."

[POV – Sasha]

Sasha lagi scroll DM sama Hitch. Mereka share foto-foto konyol dari belakang layar.

Dia ketawa pelan… terus diem sebentar.

"Hidup tuh gak semenyenangkan pas lagi syuting. Tapi mungkin… justru karena itu, gue butuh temen yang bisa bikin hari biasa jadi kerasa spesial."

[POV – Connie]

Connie lagi dengerin voice note lama—Jean dan Armin main gitar iseng di trailer.

Dia ketawa kecil, terus mendadak hening. Matanya keliatan capek.

"Semua orang pelan-pelan ninggalin peran mereka. Tapi buat gue… ini bukan akhir. Ini kenangan. Dan gue bakal terus ulang sampe gue bosen."

Dia pencet tombol Replay.

Pagi Hari – 07.11 WIB

Hari ketiga setelah wrap. Hari di mana mereka semua akhirnya pulang beneran. Langit Shiganshina cerah. Cahaya pagi masuk lewat sela jendela dan nyapu jalanan yang masih sepi.

Eren kebangun, mata masih setengah kebuka. HP-nya bunyi, satu notifikasi masuk:

Mikasa: Bangun. Jangan telat.

Eren senyum kecil.

Annie buka jendela kamarnya. Udara pagi langsung nyelonong masuk. Satu pesan belum kebuka:

Armin: Otw.

Jean udah di dapur trailernya, bikin kopi sendiri. Suasananya tenang, dan hati dia juga udah lebih ringan. Abis ini dia bakal bener-bener mulai beresin barang buat pulang.

Sasha, Connie, Jean ngechat di grup mereka bertiga:

Connie: Sarapan apa lo pada?

Sasha: Mood gue: waffle, mimosa.

Jean: Kopi aja secangkir.

Connie: Jean bangun jam segini tuh aneh sih.

Sasha: Kita semua udah dewasa, Con.

[dearsnow]

SAFE AND SOUND

- something evil is conspiring to kill you, tyrion lannister’s only child, and your father thinks jon snow is the only solution. (jon snow x gn!reader, part of the standstill collection)

word count: 904

STANDSTILL: The arrival of the Lannisters and Baratheons in Winterfell has caused the world to quiet for just a moment- a moment long enough to last lifetimes.

a/n - please please tell me if i mischaracterized jon because i was really stuck between book jon and show jon :( I ended up going for more of a show jon, but it’s my first time writing for him and i would really appreciate any feedback about how i wrote him.

The sound of the carriages rumbling over small rocks on the even ground fades into the background as you look out the window. It really seems like winter has come to the North. The cold wind whips around you bitterly, seeming to seal your fate.

You’re going to die in a place far from home.

The last two assassination attempts left you and your family shaken up. First a drop of poison in your cup, then a hooded figure in the dark of night. You can still feel their rough fingers on your skin when you think about it too hard. Luckily, though, your wine was tasted before it reached your mouth and a guard arrived just in time to save you from your attacker. This trip to Winterfell is supposed to be a joyous occasion, but all you can think of is who wants to kill you and when they will strike next.

It’s hard being the dwarf’s child, but there is no possible reason that could warrant your death. Your aunt Cersei may hate you, and your father even more than you, but she could’ve killed you in your cradle. She could’ve sent someone to push you off the cliff of Casterly Rock when you were small enough to not fight back. She could’ve done anything to assure your death and the sorrow of your parents, but she hadn’t. No, this is someone else. Some shadowy figure that disappears whenever you shine the light of a candle in the corner of your room. Something far more sinister than Cersei Lannister.

Your carriage rumbles to a stop. You can hear your uncle, the king, greeting Ned Stark jovially, and you do the same. You take note of the Starks, eyes scanning their faces for a whisper of evil. You find none.

The greetings and pleasantries are over quickly enough, and before long, you settle into the room designated for you. The crisp air is definitely different. It burns your lungs if you breathe too deeply, but you can think of no better feeling. The cold is a welcome change to sweating in your fancy dresses. A knock at the door startles you from your thoughts.

“My dear, there’s someone I would like you to meet before you blow the candles out.” It’s your father’s voice.

“Of course.” You say, opening the door. You address him quickly before your eyes wander to the figure behind him. His jaw is set firmly and he looks almost like a guard dog.

“This is Jon Snow, Ned Stark’s bastard son. He is to be your guardian for the remainder of our stay at Winterfell, though if he agrees, I would like him to stay with you permanently.” Jon gives you a curt nod. You can feel there’s something Tyrion isn’t telling you, but you’re not going to question him in front of someone else.

“Hello. I’m Y/N.” You smile at him, though your mood is soured by the tension in the hall. Your father clasps his hands.

“He’s one of the greatest fighters I’ve seen. I’m sure you’ll be safe and sound with Jon. Now, I’ll leave you two to talk and make merry. It’s always better to be friends with the man in charge of your life.” He gives you a look, one with an expression you can’t quite place before he briskly walks away.

There’s a moment of silence between you and the man in front of you. He stares at you with what you can only think is mixed feelings, before stating, “I’m supposed to be going to the Wall in a few days. They need me. But it seems you need me as well.” He doesn’t exactly look happy about it, and you understand. The Starks have family at the Wall and it must be an honor for him to go there himself.

You wince. His tone is serious, but you can tell his frustration is mostly aimed at the situation. “It wasn’t my choice. I would let you go if I had the power. In any case, I’m not going to be in Winterfell forever. I’ll ask my father to set you free before I leave.” You almost tease. A hint of something gentle takes hold of his features before he brushes it off.

“I’d be grateful. While I’m here, though, I swear to keep you ‘safe and sound’. By the old gods and the new.”

“Despite how much you dislike it?” You do tease him this time. You can’t help but think that behind his stoic demeanor, there’s a kind soul just waiting for something to bring it out.

“I suppose so. I trust there’s something after you that someone else can’t handle, so I’ll be your sword and shield.” He responds, expression just as stony as it was before.

“Well, I’ll take your word for it. Good night, Jon Snow.”

You smile at him once more before closing the door. You feel almost giddy at your interactions. Something about him is just so intriguing- you find yourself hoping that you’ll get to know him just a little bit better during your trip. Maybe you’ll find something buried in those black eyes of his.

This moment in time has many more things in store for you and the bastard boy. More things than could possibly fit during the duration of your trip. Time does, of course, work in mysterious ways.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

[jvsons]

Ahhh that last prompt drabble was so cute!!! 😭 I'd let Jason throw a cabinet door in my face any day 💀 Could you please do the "hushed conversation in between kisses" prompt? with Jay of course 💖💖💖

MASTERLIST

“Hey, this is Jason. I’m probably busy or kicking ass, or both. Call me later.”

With weary eyes cast upon a surging crowd of wealth, you let out a quiet sigh. One hand that sat perched upon your chin dropped down, putting your phone to rest as you grabbed your drink. Five mediocre sips later and you sat just how you did a few seconds prior, only this time fighting the urge to close your eyes and block out the irritating voices of those around the grand hall’s expanse.

The sound of rapid shuffling caught your attention, eyes widening as you turned to see a figure donned in black rushing toward you. A hand swiftly cupped your mouth as you were pushed out of your seat and under the table, your attacker sliding behind you whilst smoothing out the cloth that covered it.

You squinted, making out a few strands of dark, unruly hair spread across the front and back of his head. The darkness raised suspicion in your guess, yet, when he turned to face you, your eyebrows only narrowed in confusion.

“Jason, what the hell-“

“Sorry I’m late, gorgeous.” He whispered, leaning forward to give you a light peck on the corner of your mouth. “Something came up.”

“What happened?” You asked, a look painted your face unimpressed when he bit his lip. “And why are we whispering?”

Jason pushed a flock of stray hairs from his eyes before sending you a lopsided smile.

“I was having a civil conversation about someone about death and resurrection when Bruce stepped in, and-“

“You pissed off your dad at his own gala?” You whisper-shouted, earning a slight wince from the other side.

“Guilty.”

As you opened your mouth to respond, the sound of approaching footsteps came to both your attention and his. Eyes widening in the slightest, you tensed up, looking over to see Jason bite his hand, watching the cloth rustle slightly at the wind of movement. Soon enough, the footsteps began to fade. Your eyes narrowed once more, pulling on his tie to gain his attention.

“How bad-“

Your sentence was cut off by the sharp press of Jason’s lips against your own, rendering your next breath similar to a shudder. He tapped your cheek as another round of footsteps circled the table, leaving again in perfect time for him to pull away before you started to suffocate. Jason remained inches away from your skin, the hair spread out above his dimmed gaze tickling your forehead, soft pants synchronized with your own.

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Mister.” You sighed, leaning to hover over his lips. “But we have to get out of here first.”

A quiet hum vibrated against your mouth as you enveloped Jason in another kiss, pulling back shortly after with a smile. Another peck was peppered to your cheek before he turned to the side, lifting the table cloth so you could peer into the hall. When all sights returned devoid of Bruce Wayne, he took your hand, eyes fixated on the nearest window.

He then looked back, mirroring the smile you sent his way almost exactly.

“Ready?”

[pherelesytsia]

Burning Witch

Pairing: Thomas Shelby/Knight x female/Reader

Summary: Thomas Shelby, a knight on a hunt for a witch finds his horse under the care of a woman living in the cottage instead of a wicked creature and slowly falls in love with her.

Warning: Fluff

Word Count: 1.6k      

Thomas Shelby Masterlist PART ONE

The wood crackled in the fireplace. Flames rose and fell. The sword reflected the light of the dozens of candles scattered around the cottage in the middle of the deep forest of oaks and pines. Gently, the wind knocked on the narrow windows flanked by short curtains.

Laughter echoed through the forest, startling the animals. Her eyes glowed and Y/N couldn’t think about the last time she had talked to another human, not to an animal, to a deer feasting on berries and drinking water running through the forest. The heavy armour no longer covered his body and the man in the dark tunic had fallen asleep on the chair in the corner of the cottage, a few steps away from them seated at the table.

Y/N giggled. The soft snores roused her from her stupor, pulled her out of the depths of his eyes. The bandage covered his torso. The scent of hundreds of herbs surrounded him as he followed Y/N's gaze to his snoring brother. Y/N´s sparkling eyes turned to John. Not able to comprehend how the man could have fallen asleep on the uncomfortable chair, Y/N shook her head, but then she remembered the tales of the handsome knight of sleepless nights below the open sky of thousands of sparkling stars and travelling clouds.

A barely audible sound escaped the knight, but Y/N heard it. Thomas wanted to cross his arms in front of his chest, but then he felt the stinging pain travelling down his spine. Suddenly her eyes widened, travelled across his face. The sternness faded into oblivion and a veil of delight ruled over him. She feared the wounds were torn open, but the look in the man's eyes told her not to be frightened, telling her he was fine.

            “I am well, darling.” breathed the knight.

Y/N nodded and lowered herself on the chair. Three of the five candles had gone out. The flames died in the sea of rising wax.

"I would like to apologise. It has been a long time since John could sleep without fearing wild animals will attack us. The nights are dangerous and fire is something you can't afford in the woods if you want to catch a glimpse of sunrise." Thomas informed the young woman dressed in a long dress.

"I would not dare to be angry at him. I should be sorry I cannot offer him a bed for the night, but as I said, you may sleep in my bed. You need to rest properly and if you set out in the morning, you should ride slow. The wound is deep. My bed is certainly not like one in a castle or a nobleman's house, but certainly better than the fields and cold hills." Y/N continued.

Thomas shook his head in disagreement, didn’t want to accept the offer of the young woman and fixed his gaze on her sitting opposite of him, no longer looking toward his brother with whom he travelled the lands in the King's name.

"How is life in the castle? I assume you live with your brother in the King's house. Can you tell me about it? I have left the forest probably twice in my life, but my grandmother told me many stories about princesses and kings." asked Y/N.

A dark scratchy blanket rested on her lap, covering her legs, protecting herself from the coldness entering the cottage through narrow holes in the roof. Thomas glanced away from the rising flames to the woman who shivered, smiled and found himself reminiscing about the king's castle about the long nights of mead and wine. His fingers enveloped the dark mug filled with warm tea, brought it to his lips and Thomas couldn’t remember the last time he had drank a tea.

 "It is not a place where I would live but I hardly spend my days in the royal house and the days when I am there I am in the stables with my horse. Again, I would like to thank you for taking care of my horse, any other person would have locked her up in a stable and prayed no one would look for her," the knight said.

The blush of the morning painted her cheeks. Y/N did not lower her gaze. She lost herself in his eyes and the memory as he rushed into her home to take her to the gods was gone. Y/N thought he was an old friend who had come after years of parting, knowing each other for more than a dozen years, as if they had spent long days on fields and played in the forest in the afternoon, watching wild animals wander and the sun and the travelling clouds over lakes and fields.

Smiling Thomas watched the young woman closely and laughed silently. The wind knocked on the house of wood, overgrown with moss and ivy, but Y/N did not open the door, did not allow anyone to enter, but the cold penetrated through the fine cracks in the walls. A dark veil settled on her features. Y/N shivered, digging her fingers deep into the blanket on her lap. She didn't like the cold, had never liked it, carrying long-forgotten memories across the land.

            "I suppose someone from the village sent you. You don't have to tell me the name, I don't know anyone who lives there. What are you going to tell the person? He or she must be a wealthy person to send a warrior of the king into the woods to kill me." Y/N continued.

The sadness in her broken voice was unmistakable. Thomas nodded and placed the mug he clutched tightly on the long table. A heavy coat of silence rested on his shoulders.

            "I wonder how they know anyone lives here," she breathed softly, repeated herself, thinking Thomas had not heard the words but the moment a shadow passed over his face Y/N knew he must have heard her faint whisper.

            " I don’t know the name, but it was a man, a lord who send me a hawk. I tell him that no witch dwells in the cottage in the wood. What happened to your family, Y/N?" Thomas informed.

A sad smile graced her features. Suddenly Thomas remembered he had asked this question once before. Y/N stared off into the distance, looked past him out of the window flanked by long curtains and stayed in silence. The branches of the trees adorned with lush green leaves did not resemble those beyond the fence danced in the rising wind.

            "Death. Soldiers were sent to kill my grandmother, we lived together and barely rode into town but you know the villagers. They had to blame someone for the fields no longer carrying the same crop but that they overwatered the plants and didn't protect them from the animals with fences, they forgot but it's easier to blame a human than to blame themselves." Y/N breathed weakly. 

The story dripped with sadness. Thomas clasped his hands on the table, gesturing for the woman to stop, feeling the fear and sadness in her heart and Y/N smiled weakly and stopped the tale. The knight knew the end of the story, knew exactly how it ended, had heard those stories too often to not know.

            "The moon is high. It is getting late; you should go and lie down. I will take care of your horse. My bed is not of good wood but I hope you will sleep well. I bid you good night, my dear lord." Y/N added after a few moments.

The wood creaked. Y/N pushed the chair back and gave the man sitting a few steps away from her a weak smile, trying to make it impossible for him, whom she hardly knew, to see the grief spreading in her heart like a leathery fire.

Wordlessly Y/N, turned her back to Thomas dressed in a long tunic and walked with slow steps growing faster and faster away. Longing for air Y/N opened the door, for the stars and the waxing moon. Y/N followed the barely perceptible path leading from the cottage through the small garden. The sadness was carried away with the next breeze smelling of the freshness of the evening.

            "Good evening my friend, I hope you have everything you need," Y/N said in a loving tone as if she was speaking to a child growing under her care.

Y/N walked towards the stately horse no longer turned towards the apples lying in a small pile on the ground. Carefully Y/N placed her trembling hands on the horse's back, let her fingers disappear into the mane, and rested her throbbing and aching head on hers. The dark brown eyes looked questioning at her, asking questions, but Y/N did not answer, listening to the owls singing, the birds settling in the nests and the rustling leaves. The eyes were like mirrors but Y/N did not turn, ignoring the man approaching her with slow steps. Thomas closed the door, left his brother behind and faced Y/N. His eyes shone brightly in the steel light of the moon. The deep healed scars shone, breaking through the darkness, telling stories of death and war, of long nights spent on the field under the clouded moon.

[tatoda]

Here || TASM!Peter Parker x fem!reader

summary: you have an anxiety attack and peter is there to help

pairing: tasm!peter x fem!reader

warnings: anxiety attack, fluff

wc: 621 (short)

masterlist

short burb this is how my anxiety attacks are others may have different effects.

Overthinking was what got you to that point. The point where you feel like everything around you fades out and all your emotions up 100%. The shaking of your hands starts and you can’t hold something still even if your life depends on it. The overwhelming feeling that washed over you made you scared. Knowing that first, it was your tears then as that took over your system the nasal effects blocked from any air entering or leaving your nose. The hyperventilating breaths stopped you from breathing normally. it was like the feeling everything was at one point going to end soon if you didn’t get something on your mind.

As you sat on the floor in front of your bed you took your shanking to you pick up your phone clicking peters contact putting your phone up to your ear praying he answers. He was the one person, your person, who made everything better and he knew you better than anyone. The line picked up and the sweet voice of your boyfriend was heard.

“Hey sweetheart.” the sound of the wind passing in the mic made you realize he was swinging

“p-pete.” by the crack in your voice he immediately knew what was happening

“I’m on my way, but keep taking deeps breaths for me.” you just let out a breath trying to breathe if you could “I love you, okay?” “I know.” you smiled at the feeling that he was the love of your life and there to complete you.

“I was on my way already because aunt may made you cookies.” he laughed “I’m wearing a dumb ass backpack with my spider suit.” you knew he was trying to distract you with stories or just random shit “oh hey there is a carnival-we should go soon.”

“Just want you pete.” sniffling into your phone he was about to swing into your apartment

“Good thing I’m at your window, be there in a second.” he hung up and opened your bedroom window sliding in and without closing it he took his mask and backpack off sitting on the ground gabbing you and putting you in his lap strong arms wrapped around you feeling like home

“Sorry,” you muttered into the red suit covering his shoulder. hiccups started to form in your breathing and peters hands started drawing shapes on your back

“don’t apologize.” peter kissed the side of your head “do you remember when I taught you how to skate?” you nodded against him “that was the day you kissed me, it was my favorite day of freshman year.” peter could feel the small wet patch that was forming on his shoulder “I was so scared.” he laughed and you moved your face back to look him in the eyes

“me too.” peter brought one of his gloved hands to wipe your tears and you brought the edge of your t-shirt to clear the snot while peter laughed at you

“you feeling better?” he moved some hair away from your face “a little. nose is opening up.” you soft smiled at peter “thank you for coming.” he nodded immediately kissing your lips softly

“I need to get out of this suit. would you like to go to bed?” nodding his head you moved off of him to close the window and turn the lights off as he takes the suit off and slips on boxers. you got undressed knowing the skin-to-skin contact would make you feel better. getting into the bed you cuddled up to Peter's chest feeling his skin to yours sighing in relief as he was there with you Peter loved you. So much he would die for you and you would do the same to him.

[laniuchiha7]

The One That Got Away

It’s been over two years since he stepped foot inside of the village hidden in the leaves. Finally ready to return following his journey of redemption, the spring sun shines high and cherry blossom petals float by with the wind while Sasuke walks through the gates a different man than when he left, one who’s atoned for his sins and is open to receiving Sakura’s love wholeheartedly, coming home to her as he promised. 

He walks into the hospital for an examination Kakashi says he needs in order to be reinstated as a Konoha shinobi, and of course she’s his doctor because Sakura is the only one he trusts enough to look at his eyes, let alone touch him. Her sweet voice rings in his ears as she welcomes him back, smiling so wide it reaches her beautiful bright green irises and makes his heart rapidly beat in his chest like it’s about to pop out at any given moment. Once she’s done Sasuke asks if she’s eaten recently or offers to take her out after her shift is over, where they can catch up and reacquaint themselves with one another. 

Wondering what she thought of the letter he sent a few days ago, Sasuke hopes she still feels the same way about him and he isn’t too late, if she’s willing to give him a chance after all this time. 

That’s how it should have been at least.

A few days have gone by already. Sasuke sits on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, of the apartment Kakashi rented for him until he finds a permanent place of residence, with the windows and curtains closed, lights turned off. Wanting nothing more than to be alone, he ignores all those who try to check in on him, aware he’ll inevitably lash out at anyone who tries to console him.

It had been an accident, so he heard. Kakashi gave her a solo mission to deliver a scroll to the Kazekage in which the leader of Sunag gave her another one to bring back. On her journey to Konoha she was ambushed by a group of notorious bandits, being at the wrong place at the wrong time as mentioned by Shizune. Using what was left of her strength she summoned Katsuyu, giving the scroll she had been assigned to bring to Konoha to the slug before fading away only seconds later.

According to Tsunade, it’s hard to say what got her first; the poison eating away at her chakra system or the blood loss. Either way, like a true warrior, she fought until her last breath.

There’s only one person who loved him unconditionally throughout everything he’s done, one who he wanted to become a better person for, one who he could have ever imagined himself being with and now that’s impossible because she’s gone.

Sasuke had lost many people in his life, but never did he imagine losing Sakura too. 

With dark irises devoid of life he stares at the unopened letter in his hands, the same one he sent to her days before his return only to be given back by the Hokage after he told Sasuke of what happened, that contains his anticipation to pursue a relationship with her and unveils his deepest feelings for her. Sakura never read or even received it, gone a week before he’d even sent it. And perhaps that’s what hurts him the most right now, she never knew how much he truly loves her.

If he had sent his hawk a few days earlier then she’d know how much he cares for her and his plans to return. Had he come home sooner then maybe he could’ve joined her or the mission would’ve been given to someone else. More and more possibilities fill his mind of alternante outcomes had different choices been made, however none of them matter because she’s still gone.

It’s late into the night when he finally decides to get up. Sasuke doesn’t remember the rules he was given by Kakashi since his return, but he doesn’t particularly care at the moment. From the conversations he heard earlier on, the group of bandits who attacked Sakura tended to hang around a small town two-hours west of the village, and so that’s where he’s going.

Finding them wasn’t hard, not when they were all drinking and boasting about their recent success of terrorizing innocent people who passed by, even going on to laugh about how they took down that ‘pinked haired bitch’.

The next thing Sasuke knew there was a man, the one who made the comment and presumably the leader of the group, cowering in fear under the frightening gaze of his Sharingan and Rinnegan, with the rest of his group knocked unconscious. Taking this man’s life wouldn’t be difficult, it’s not like anyone would miss scum like him anyway, Sasuke would be doing the world a favor by getting rid of one more piece of filth. Despite the years that have passed he’s still an avenger at his core, in a way this is how he always grieves; with his parents, Itachi, and now Sakura. 

Wanting to watch the earth crumble in the background, Sasuke raises his arm with the Chidori ready in his palm. He so desperately desires to go back into his old ways just this once, to quench his thirst for revenge and have the satisfaction of being the one who punishes all those who took her from him.

As if her arms warmly embrace him from behind like she’s keeping him from falling into darkness once again, forehead gently pressing against his back, and her trembling voice calling his name and pleading him to stop, causing the lightning jutsu fades away until it completely disappears. This single act would undo everything he’s done to improve himself, and in his heart of hearts Sasuke knows Sakura is against this. Justice without the unnecessary cause of more bloodshed is how she preferred to handle situations.

Sakura may be gone, but she’s tattooed herself into his soul forever. It’s for her alone he’s willing to stay on the right path, wanting to be the man she believed him to be in her final moments.

Instead he knocks out the leader and seals them all in order to bring them back to Konoha.

Dawn breaks across the village by the time he gets back, stopping by the T&I unit and tosses the scroll to Ibiki Morino without a word before heading to the Hokage tower. Sasuke isn’t surprised when Kakashi gives him an earful for disappearing in the middle of the night with no prior warning or reason, especially after everything his former teacher has done for him. When he’s finished his lecture the lone Uchiha discloses his plan to go on another journey, needing time and space to himself to properly lament Sakura’s passing. In truth Konoha is filled with too many memories and too many possibilities of a future that could have been, Sasuke doesn’t think he can live there contently.

 Kakashi looks slightly taken aback, the boy only just returned and now he wants to leave so soon, but must understand his former student at the same time. He gives Sasuke an indefinite mission, one which would take him out of the village with little need for him to come back if he doesn’t wish, only needing to communicate through letters from time to time. 

The offer comes as a shock to Sasuke, nonetheless he accepts, assuming it’ll be good for him to have a solid goal in mind and being able to protect the village from outside threats. It’s what she would’ve wanted for him too.

With what little of the belongings he owns packed up, Sasuke makes one stop before departing from the village, and it’s there where he spots Naruto. The blonde lifts the corners of his lips, telling him of how happy he is to finally see Sasuke here. Silence fills the air, both having their own unspoken conversations while staring down at the tombstone with Sakura’s name engraved across the top, flowers and presents from loved ones surrounding the grass floor.

Sasuke is the one who speaks first, informing Naruto of his decision to leave and the new assignment he’s been given. The dobe seems disappointed by his sudden announcement, but hides it under his empathetic grin, commenting about how they’ll need to spar should they cross paths again and asking for a promise to keep in touch. Sasuke can only nod in return. Giving him a last goodbye, Naruto leaves him to have some privacy with Sakura. 

Sasuke hopes that in another life he and Sakura are happy, that he was able to keep all of his promises of protecting her and never hurting her again. A life where they fully love each other against all odds and ignorant of the judgment given by everyone around them. Maybe they travel the world together, start a life together, and build a family together.

His eyes burn with tears he hadn’t realized were there until they slip down his cheeks onto the ground, and for the first time since her passing Sasuke allows the bottle he’s been holding all of emotions, these last few days, to shatter. All of his regrets come out in choked sobs and labored breaths as he drops down to sit on the grass, unaware and uncaring of anyone who passes by. Sasuke stays there until he has nothing in his system, tear ducts running dry and throat left raw.

When he’s ready to leave, he takes the letter out of his pocket and places it among the rest of her offersings, having comfort with the knowledge that at least it’s with her now.

Pink flashes in front of his eyes and when Sasuke looks up she’s standing in front of him, mouth pulled into a sad smile; Sakura leans down to kiss the top of his head. However between his dry eyes and the wind, he blinks and then she’s gone, like she was never there to begin with. Gaze dropping to the letter, a cherry blossom petal blown from the nearby trees now sits atop the parchment almost as if it landed there intentionally.

In another life he and Sakura can be together blissfully, however in this reality she’ll always be the one that got away.

[witch-hazels-musings]

nightmares

Includes: Childe, Albedo, Xiao

Warnings -> STRONG emotional images (panic attack, spectral hands grasping at character, feeling of overwhelming fear and dread) -> leads to comfort

Synopsis: Nightmares plague the characters sleep and they wake up startled - the reader comforts them 

I’m a SUCKER for painful things man - I want to put them through hell just to pull them back up again ... 

Anthology

Childe

He was drowning, suffocating by the thousands of hands pulling him deeper into the terrifying darkness he ran from. Their nails dug into his skin, pulling it back to reveal the horrors laying underneath. The thousands of vile acts he had done in service of the Tsaritsa, for the Fatui, now pouring from him and feeding the hunger of the hands, urging them to dig deeper into him until there was nothing left. 

He reached out toward the distant light, gasping and desperate. 

Childe...

The light called to him, speaking his name as if he were worth more than being a simple tool, a means to an end. The dirty hands grabbed at his face, he struggled with every ounce of his strength to get away. The fear of seeing what lay beyond the reach of the light spurring his determination. He screamed and nothing came out, instead his mouth filled with bloody fingers. 

Childe violently awoke, lurching forward with incredible force and urgency. He was drenched in sweat and fiercely forced air into his lungs. When he felt a hand on his arm he jerked away stumbling from the bed in heartbreaking distress. 

“Childe …” he heard your voice, saw your hand reaching out to him, saw how you looked at him as if he were some wild animal: fearfully.  “It’s me … do you see me.” he watched as you moved the sheets from your legs. “You’re safe, it’s okay.” you moved toward the edge of the bed, “Put the knife down.” He looked down into his hand and saw he was gripping onto the knife which he kept in the nightstand. His fingers wrapped so tightly around it that they had turned a painful shade of white. 

The beating of his heart continued to race even as he straightened himself out, even as he rubbed the sweat from his forehead. 

“I’m okay …” he spoke the words more to himself than to you, like a montra he recited every day. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. 

He heard the bed creak and, returning his attention to you, he saw you making your way toward him, hands open in an attempt to show him you didn’t mean any harm. 

“Is it okay? Can I come to you?” the words are covered in honey, and he knew you were trying to cover up the hesitation of your steps. He placed the knife on the windowsill and nodded, making sure you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. 

The feeling of your arms wrapping around him was akin to a drug. You provided him with comfort he’d never known, the sensation of your face resting against his chest, he reveled in it. Your voice had this magical power of reaching him no matter where he was, or what he was. 

“Your heart is beating so fast. That must have been one intense dream.” your lips connect with the space over his beating heart. 

“You can’t imagine,” he breathes into your hair, resting his face in it’s wild locks. He lets your scent fill him up, and this connection helps to calm him. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” you shift your head making him lift his own, you stare at one another in the moonlit room before he finally answers your question. 

“I don’t want to make my fears your own,” he places a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m pretty tough, I can handle it.” you squeeze your arms around him in a playful manner which elicited a chuckle from Childe. “But, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’ll always listen, if you ever change your mind.” 

His heart rate slowed, thanks to the proximity of your own giving it the ability to match it’s pace. 

“Thanks,” He scooped you up and led you back to the bed, and once you got settled in between the sheets he slid down to rest his head against your chest. There he was able to drift back into a peaceful sleep by the rhythmic thumping of your heart and the movement of your fingers in his hair. 

Albedo

There was a long hallway, incredibly long, unending. His footsteps echoed off the walls and when he glanced upward he couldn’t find the ceiling. A child was laughing further down the passage, and he followed after it until he reached a blinding light, without hesitation he stepped through it. 

On the other side was a bustling city filled with laughing citizens weaving between one another, going about their day under the warmth of the sun. As he walked through the streets, he noted how the citizens didn’t seem to mind him. A woman stumbled before him and he reached out his hand to help her, when she turned to thank him her face contorted into uncomfortable, inhumane shapes. She screamed causing Albedo to stumble backwards and, in unison, every citizen stared at him, their mouths open, screaming. Their voices culminated into an unholy sound which unraveled his soul. 

Suddenly, shackles appeared around his wrists, his ankles, his neck. Their icy touch seeping into his skin. When he touched them the screaming only grew louder which caused him to cover his ears, tears falling from his eyes onto the stones below, which were now covered in snow. He looked up and saw burning buildings. Screaming families desperately trying to hold onto their children as the walls crumbled around them. He looked onward, and without warning the ground beneath him opened up and swallowed him whole. 

Albedo, in a hysterical fit, pushed himself off of his chest and onto his knees. His arms extended to keep him from the mattress and he watched how it became damp from the sweat dripping off of him. His heart was beating way too fast, he couldn’t breath, his chest felt tight and it began to make him panic. 

“Albedo?” a voice called to him, but the beating in his ears made it impossible to hear. He felt a hand slide along his back and it caused him to sit up suddenly, smacking the hand away from him. When his eyes saw you in the darkness he wondered what face he must be making based on the way you looked at him. 

“Albedo …” you called again. He grasped at his chest hoping he could find a way to pull the invisible weight off of him. His breathing still erratic. “Hey, look at me.” you told him, and when he looked at you he saw you were now sitting closer to him, your hand extended to his chest. The warmth of your fingers broke through the chill smothering his body and he watched as you pulled his hand to your chest. 

“Do you feel my heartbeat? Feel my breathing.” and he did. The even in and out of your chest, the steady thump of your heartbeat. He felt them. “That’s it, match my rhythm.” You placed your other hand on his shoulder, which provided him another way to ground himself. The images started to fade from his mind and were replaced by the outline of your frame, illuminated by the soft light from the bedside table. 

You looked at him and gave him a warm smile. “Keep breathing, I’m here.” You stroke his face and that’s when he learns he had been crying. He pressed his face into your palm, breathing in the sweet smell of your skin. “I’m here, and I’ll be here until you’re ready to sleep again.” 

You stayed with him even as the sun started to fill your room and birds chirped out morning salutations. 

Xiao 

An epic battle raged around him, the sounds of victorious and pained screams mixing with the clashing of swords and heavy claymores. He was running quickly through the mass of bodies thrusting and flying through the air. His mind focused and clear, it had to be if they were expected to win. 

To his left he saw the flash of red fabric, to his right he heard the booming voice of another and when he found the source he smiled to himself. It seemed that even through all of this the yaksha’s were able to relish and live. He felt his heart move at their elegant movements, how they used the strength of one another to quell the mania of the world. Xiao continued to run, his movements turning into a blur at the speed. In fact, he ran so fast that time seemed to move with him until he came skidding to a stop in an open field. 

He looked behind him confused as to how he got here, wondering if he had passed through some portal or door. He was alerted to a shriek and turned forward only to feel a sharp stabbing sensation pierce his chest. It propelled him backwards and as he fell, red strings claimed him. They wrapped around him, completely enveloping him and held him suspended. Again, there was a shriek. He turned his head and wished that he hadn’t. He saw the face of his kin pleading and begging to another before being struck down violently. Their body ripping in half before him. The yaksha decorated in purple garments turned and with a great thrust of their weapon impaled another. Xiao watched as their body, bathed in blue light, went limp and with the flick of the wrist were tossed into oblivion. 

Xiao writhed and pulled at the strings capturing his limbs, he spat and yelled but couldn’t escape. His head shook violently, unable to deal with the scene in front of him, and unable to do anything to stop it. He closed his eyes letting his angry tears drop into the black water slowly rising over his body. 

“Xiao,” a voice called out and when he opened his eyes he saw the dangling bodies of his yaksha family impaled against the nothingness which drowned him. 

He awoke in a fit. He felt the scream spill from his throat as he lurched upward. Around him things began to fall to the floor, toppling back to the ground as if a huge gust of wind had picked everything up all at once. Before his eyes a piece of paper fluttered past him before slipping under the trunk next to the window. Something touched his shoulder and in a second he had the perpetrator in a tight hold, one hand viciously wrapped around their wrist and the other gripping onto an arm. 

“It’s me, it’s me!” his eyes were clouded, but he knew the voice. “Come back … it’s me.” The breath in his lungs was hot, almost as if he had been standing next to an active volcano. His mouth was heaving in an attempt to grasp back to reality, to still his overworked mind. The sound of humming filled the room, it’s soft, slow tone pulling him in. He focused on it, taking the tune in as if it were a lifeline, the only light in the dark space which surrounded him.  After a bit, his eyesight began to clear and when he saw you, eyes closed humming to him, and his hand digging into your wrist he quickly let go.  

“You’re back,” you whisper, sending him a soft, ‘i’m relieved’ smile. 

He crawled off of the bed and made his way to the window, desperately in need for some fresh air, and an escape. 

“Whatever you saw in your dream, must have been very frightening.” your voice stilled his movements. “I’ll be here when you decide to come back,” he looks back at you, your legs crossed, hands resting in the blanket. The moonlight illuminates the space there, casting white shadows along your chest and face. You look like an ethereal being in this moment, and there is a call in his chest to return to you. 

His heart is still so heavy, and even though his breath has returned to a normal state, buzzing energy continues running through his veins. He looks at your wrist and can see a bruise beginning to form. He can’t risk letting his energy out with you near him, it’s too dangerous. Even though he feels the stab in his chest, he slips out the window and into the night sky. 

In the morning when you wake up you find qingxin flowers resting on the table next to the bed. You lift them and inhale their scent. 

“How did you sleep?” you turn to see Xiao perched in the window, his eyes downcast. 

“Alright,” you sniff the flowers again, “you came back.” 

He huffs at you and looks back out the window. His back resting against the windowsill, one leg bent so he can rest his arm on it, the other dangling over the edge. Sliding out of the bed you make your way over to him, taking up the space at his side. He looks at you and you can see he is looking at the bruise on your wrist. Placing his head in his palm he reaches down and grabs onto your wrist with the other. His fingers brush over the darkening skin. 

“Welcome back.” you whisper into the wind. 

[bontenten]

Sleeping Beauty

Pairing: Shirabu x f!reader WC: 5.6k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairy tale retelling, incest, dubcon/noncon, drugs (sleeping pill), somnophilia, abusive past relationship, implied rape (not Shirabu), panic attack, victim-blaming, hero-complex with a bit of god-complex, hints of yandere, uhh medical malpractice, Shirabu’s bangs

Summary: The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. Shirabu will do everything he can to keep you in a safe haven where you can freely dance with your prince once upon a dream.

A/N: This is a part of the whorehouse intoxicated collaboration, rest of the pieces of this toxic journey can be found here! Thank you Ria and Angel for helping beta <3 Love you both so much.

Unofficial bgm: Once Upon a Dream & Once Upon a December 

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers, pulling you back by a handful of hair. You feel a blanket of pain shoot across your scalp. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

"G-get away from me!" 

You thrash and kick your legs wildly hoping something will land. The moment you hear a pained grunt and feel his grip loosen, you scramble up to your feet and run. Your shoes grate against wet cement as you take off. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you will your legs forward one after another. The caw of birds seem to act as a beacon leading you through the twists and turns of the terrain.

A left turn here, two blocks straight. Past the corner store and beyond the stoplight. Three blocks. Right turn. Two Blocks. Five steps away. Four...Three..Two...Safety...

----

"In the forest, the princess played with a lot of animal friends. She grew up there in the cottage with three fairies looking after her."

Thunder claps and lightning strikes outside.

"It's so loud Kenjirou-nii!" you cry, burying yourself into Shirabu's arms.

"Shh, I'm here," Shirabu coos, rocking you back and forth until your sobs subside. "One day, the princess was singing with the songbirds..."

Shirabu begins to recount the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty to you, slowly easing your mind away from the turbulence outside.

"Do you think you can sleep now?"

You shake your head and jump again when the thunder claps over the roof of the house.

"It's okay, I'm right here. Big brother’s always going to protect you."

"Like the prince protecting the princess?"

"Yes, exactly. You're always my princess, now go to sleep. I'll wake you when the sun's up.”

After a while, you calm down and slowly drift into sleep with your breaths evening out. Shirabu pulls the covers over both of you and enters sleep as well.

The winds continued to howl outside the window...the branches tapping...tapping against the window...tap...tapping…

----

Shirabu Kenjirou opens his eyes. He had just fallen asleep while studying for the third time that night. There is no use staying at the library if he is going to treat it as a hotel; he’ll be better off going home first. He yawns and stretches his neck, then packs his bags to return to his apartment. There are few students left in the building at this ungodly hour. Dark clouds loom overhead and the air is filled with the pitter patter of autumn rain hitting cement. Shirabu zips up his coat, opens his umbrella, and walks into the dark.

You would have been so frightened by this sort of weather, whimpering under your blankets, counting sheep with shaky breaths. Just like how you did in that dream of his earlier.

While growing up, Shirabu hadn't cared all that much about anything else considering he spent most of his time with his studies or playing volleyball. Although there was you, his little sister, he figured you had your little bubble anyway. But on a stormy night, you teetered down the hall after finding your parent’s room locked. Afraid and sleepy, you looked for comfort elsewhere and arrived at Shirabu’s room.

Shirabu had been most irritated and decided to shoo you out with strings of curses and profanities, but he couldn’t. The sight of your form huddled right outside his bedroom, with young eyes pleading for him took hold of a bit of humanity in Shirabu’s heart. So, he let you into his room, a safe haven, and eventually a world that was composed of only the two of you against the rest of the world.

Shirabu has known for a long time that you are the most brilliant, precious, and purest thing he’ll ever encounter. Always perfect. Forever unsullied. 

There are many things that Shirabu wants to shield you from. If he can secure one more hour of innocence, one more day, one lifetime, he’ll do so without a moment of hesitation. The real world is unlike the fairy tales that you hear about while growing up. 

The real story of Sleeping Beauty is anything but beautiful. There isn’t a handsome prince the princess meets in a forest. No color changing cake. No kiss of love. In the real story, the princess is put into an endless slumber and has her virginal body taken by some unknown beast of a king, used like a rag for his carnal pleasure. When he leaves, the sleeping girl is then forgotten like trampled daisies under the hooves of horses. And she will wake to find her womb bulged with bastard life as a result of the damnation. The stretches clawing around the navel as permanent reminders that nothing will wash him from her.

The real world is dark. Horrible. Wretched. Dirty. Filled with suffering. That is why he, Shirabu Kenjirou, responds to the call to action and enters a life of service. In his heart he yearns to save and help, even if just a little, by becoming a prince with a white coat. He will not give up trying to salvage pieces of humanity he’ll touch, and in the process, carve out a haven, a little forest with a cottage, for his dearest sister to safely live in.

It has been a while since he last heard from you. Partly his own fault, really. Ever since Shirabu entered university and then medical school, the number of times you two would meet up dwindled. The hours on the phone became texts and soon after, communication vanished into mostly silence.

You are in university now, grown up and stepping into the real world, but that doesn't mean you are no longer his little sister. And because you are the one and only, Shirabu feels that he should try to do a better job as an older brother and check-in with you to see how you are doing. So, Shirabu takes out his phone that’s still on silent after studying.

27 missed calls from Sister 

Shirabu pauses in his tracks and returns the call. Cars zoom by on the streets while he waits for the line to connect. 

He was right, you must have been frightened.

The first call doesn’t connect, so Shirabu immediately tries the second time. You pick up on the third attempt.

"It's me, I'm so sorry I didn't pick up earlier."

"K-Kenjirou-nii..." your voice weakly translates over the speaker. 

Shirabu presses the phone closer to his ear and turns up the volume. "Where are you now," he demands. "At school?"

"...Your place..." Your voice sounds so dangerously faded, like petals beaten to the ground from the rain.

Shirabu bolts. His apartment is just a couple blocks away. Around the corner just up ahead. Shirabu makes a sharp turn and splashes through a puddle. 

"Stay...on the phone with me," he urges, paying no mind to his soaked shoes and socks.

You nod in understanding, as if he’ll hear your action.

"I'm almost there okay, almost."

Shirabu isn’t lying. A few moments later you hear the frantic footsteps coming closer to you. The stomping noises make your skin crawl, but the familiar face of your brother melts those fears away. He appears with his wet bangs stuck to his face and his shoulders heaving up and down. It’s him, your niichan, your prince finally here.

You scramble up and dive into his open arms, in relief that you are safe at last, as you finally allow tears to mix with rain.

"I was so scared. I missed you so much, Kenjirou-niichan," you sob into Shirabu's wet coat. "Where were you, where were you?"

"I'm sorry. I'm here now, I'm sorry," Shirabu apologizes, "Let's go inside first, alright? We’re both drenched.”

----

Under the bright lights of the living room, Shirabu gets a better look at you. You catch his discerning eyes studying you up and down, visually tracing the markers of your demise. That’s when you crack.

“Kenjirou-nii...the real world, the world is a horrible place. I trusted him, you know? I trusted that man.”

Foolish and stupid, Shirabu wants to say. It’ll be easy to simply yell at you.

Shirabu is not someone without a temper. He was quite known for it back in his high-school days. The bruises, the scars that did not heal well. Shirabu reminds himself to keep his composure, especially in front of you. He’s to be a doctor. He’s to be a protector, a savior. And with the training he already has so far, Shirabu knows he’s already as good as any board certified, licensed white-robed saint. He just needs to do what he’s meant to do. Heal. Clean. Purify.

After listening to your brief tale, Shirabu tells you not to worry about anything else tonight other than take a hot shower and get some rest. He gives you a reassuring smile and sends you off to the bathroom with towels and a large t-shirt.

While you wash-up and lose your thoughts piecing together the messy events of the night, Shirabu paces in the living room after he changes his own wet clothes. Nevermind the medical books he still needs to pour over, all Shirabu wants to do right now is track down the culprit and stick a scalpel through his socket. No, that’s just too easy. That bastard deserves something much more horrible, a slow and patient torture, a death within grasp but just out of reach. As if agreeing with Shirabu’s thoughts, your phone on the coffee table lights up. Shirabu picks up the device and watches the notifications pop-up.

Shirabu sees an unknown number call you. He doesn’t pick up, letting the phone ring while he reads the numbers across the screen and commits them to memory. The phone calls stop and an onslaught of texts follow; some coherent and others far from decipherable. There are messages of broken apologies and confessions of persistent love. Requests for you to go back to him. Shirabu scoffs at the language.

Shirabu continues to wait with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin. How dare the man behind that accursed number treat you, his little sister and princess, in such a foul manner. This beast who stole from you. Who is the reason behind the tainting of your now sullied innocence. 

Finally after a few minutes of silence, the screen lights up with a series of curses and condemnation that show the man’s true colors. A morphed beast due to your lack of response. Shirabu scrolls through the list of notifications again with impassive eyes, but the tight death grip around the device gives away the boiling rage beneath his skin. 

"You will pay," Shirabu seethes, taking a knife from the kitchen and ramming the sharp end straight into the device glass. The phone buzzes desperately and goes dark. You have no use for that phone anymore after all of this anyway, and the cursed number is already memorized by Shirabu for his own purposes.

----

Shirabu’s room is tidy. The two bookshelves on either side of the table are filled with books, photos, and many other accolades. That’s your older brother alright: perfect, proper, always right. Always right about everything, except one thing. The world you know really isn’t the wonderland he told you about growing up. Not at all. 

You bury your face into Shirabu's pillows and will yourself to sleep. You are safe here in his bed. It’s a haven...safely tucked in a forest. You are in a forest. The trees and the breeze. Songbirds are singing. 

You can dance here, twirl about...safe...free…

The trees melt.

Birds squawk and screech, scampering away…

Ink engulfs you....swallowing you whole

Falling...falling…

"You'll never wash me from you," he sneers. "You'll never really get away. Time to wake the fuck up."

NO! you try to scream. You can’t, the weight on your chest sinks you deeper, only silence is uttered...choked…

Wake up.

Wake up.

"Wake up!"

Your eyes fly open and you see him. Him. A blood curdling shriek finally tears through your throat and you thrash. "Getawaygetawaygetaway! NO!"

"It's me, hey, it's me. You're okay, you're safe." Shirabu’s eyes widen with worry at your outburst, but gives you ample space to breathe and compose yourself.

This familiar voice. It does not belong to him. It’s definitely not him.

"...Kenjirou-nii?" you ask quietly. The shadow is backlit from light coming in through the door and your vision is still fuzzy from the nightmare.

A tender hand closes around yours. "Shhh, it's okay, you're okay now. It was a bad dream, you're safe. You're safe. I'm here."

Cold sweat runs down your temples. Your breath is fast and shallow.

"Follow me, okay. Breathe in..." Shirabu takes a deep breath. You follow his voice and movement as if they are lanterns guiding you through a maze. "And breathe out. Good, you're doing great. Breathe in...and out..."

You feel your mind slowly beginning to clear with each inhale and exhale. Finally, you see Shirabu clearly again. You can smell the scent of his body wash from him. The texture of the blanket rubs against your fingertips. You’re here in Shirabu’s room. Safety. Haven. 

"I'll be right back," Shirabu tells you, before leaving you for a moment and going towards the bathroom. He opens the medicine cabinet, pops out a few white pills from a box.

"Here," he says holding out the small tablets in the middle of his palm. The off-white seems to almost glow in the dark.

"It's zolpidem, a sleeping pill I sometimes take for insomnia. It'll help you for tonight, and then we'll get you something else tomorrow that'll work better."

You look at the pill and then at Shirabu. Shirabu is someone you love and trust with all your heart. His embrace is your anchor and haven when the rest of the world has turned a blind eye. He’s your brother. One and only. There’s no reason not to trust him.

"I won't see him will I?"

"No," Shirabu affirms. The pills don't really manipulate dreams, but if reassuring you can placebo sweet dreams, then what harm really is there? He didn’t pass Ethics with top marks for nothing.

Shirabu gently presses the pill body against your lips and you part them, allowing the small object to slip through. He feeds another and you open your mouth obediently. You look at Shirabu’s eyes which are fixated on the way your lips wrap around his three fingers.  Kenjirou-nii’s lashes are so nice and pretty, you think. 

One gulp of water later, and you feel nothing but a cold sensation traveling down your throat and disappearing into your belly.

"It'll take about half an hour, I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," Shirabu says. He supports your back and gently lowers you back into the comforts of the plush mattress. Shirabu will surely carry the same attentiveness and care when he becomes a full-fledged doctor. You are sure of it. The big brother you grew up with has truly grown up and matured. But no matter how much he changes or how much you mess up, he’ll always be your big brother.

"Can you lie down next to me again, like when we were young?"

An innocent request from a patient-in-need. Shirabu complies and lies down next to you.

"I remember when we were young, I would make you dance with me to live out my princess dreams. You remember?”

Afternoons next to the stereo, crayons scattered on the floor. The smell of something baking in the kitchen. Shrieks and laughter in the living room. Even though Shirabu would be mildly annoyed at first, he found humoring your imagination to be a pleasant and soothing experience. Even he was sometimes whisked away from textbooks into a magical forest that was just you and him. The stress and burdens of everything else all seem so much lighter on his shoulders when you’re simply just there.

"Of course I remember, silly."

You hum softly and continue waiting for the medicine in your bloodstream to make its way through your body.

"Do you...remember the sleeping beauty story you would always tell me?"

"Yea?"

You pause for a moment before quietly asking, "Kenjirou-niichan, why did you lie to me?"

Shirabu does not respond and only glances over at you, eyeing your closed lids. Closed though they may be, the tiny beads of glimmering tears are beginning to emerge from between the lashes and trail down your cheeks.

"There is no prince, Kenjirou-nii...no prince for me, no one...niichan...," you mumble between your breaths. The drug is starting to take its effect, ushering your mind into another dimension far away from hurt and pain. It swallows you like a pit of ink, sinking you deeper and deeper...

----

Kenjirou-nii, why did you lie? Earlier, Shirabu felt his breath hitch when you asked that. 

He calls out your name softly, brushing over your cheeks, and listening to your soft breathing for a good while to make sure you are in fact asleep. At long last, maybe this is a good dream.

A lie? No! Not a lie, Shirabu wants to tell you. For you, his dearest sister, who only ever deserves happiness, in the rawest and truest form. You are supposed to have a life of others giving gifts of love, never having to offer anything of your own.

Shirabu feels his blood boil once more at the thought of that man who stole your innocence away. The one who took your body for his own carnal pleasures. The one who dared to steal you from him, Shirabu Kenjirou. If Shirabu's nails are not kept in immaculate condition for his profession, no doubt, his grip would be drawing blood from his palms.

Those marks and scars across your skin. Shirabu traces his finger down your neckline and along your arms...

Your head turns from left to right and you manage to shrug the big collar of the t-shirt off your shoulder. Shirabu can see, under the glow of moonlight from the cleared night sky, a nasty mark. A permanent mark. And before he realizes it, his fingers are already traveling over, tracing along and testing out the patterns and bumps.

Shirabu feels his chest burn beyond the anger and fury. Guilt. Where was he all this time when you were suffering? Why hadn't you just called him then? Anguishing thoughts of his little sister writhing in pain under that beast's grasps tear Shirabu apart. Did you cry? Were you scared? All these years studying for what? For what noble purpose is Shirabu trying to pursue if he can’t even save those closest to him?

Shirabu continues to search for any other marks or discolorations that are splayed across your skin like a map. It is what it is now. But Shirabu still has his calling. He is a man who answers to a life of service and healing: a prince in a white coat. No matter what happens, even if you’re tainted now, you’ll still be his little sister.

Even if your naivety and stupidity got you into the mess in the first place. Of course, why didn’t you listen to your brother’s warnings and stay in a safe haven like a good girl? Stay in your room and study for your future like a good student? Like him? Why did you think running off for fun, enjoying “youth and freedom” like the other degenerates would be a good idea?

Shirabu grits his teeth. Look at you now, damaged and past the point of no return, used. Injured and ill. Still, he needs to get the full story first, and see where else you might possibly be hurt. A complete diagnosis needs to come first. After the messages from the man, Shirabu is all the more certain that there are more clues left, and he needs evidence. He needs to know. The comforter is pulled away and careful hands examine the lines of your palms.

Once upon a time, you grabbed Shirabu’s hand and tried to use the methods of schoolyard palm-reading on him. You even exclaimed, “Kenjirou-niichan, this line means you’ll live a long life! And we can be together forever because my life line is really long too!”

Shirabu smiles at the memory and presses a kiss to the center of your palm. It must have been so painful, how could you have possibly endured? But you did and you survived. You are so brave. 

Probing fingertips trace across your collarbone and push the fabric of the large t-shirt up to reveal your torso. Shirabu blinks, realizing that this is now the body of a fully matured woman. You take a deep breath in your sleep from the cold air running across your exposed breasts. Shirabu can see the nipples perk up from the chill and hesitantly touches the bud with a hint of academic curiosity.

“Mmm, that tickles...” you giggle softly. Your hand pushes Shirabu's off and scratches the same spot he just traced, fondling your own breast briefly before letting go and continuing to sleep. Even grown up now, still the same adorable little sister.

Shirabu lets himself tease your nipples and knead the soft flesh of your breasts, toying around and watching your cute little expressions. Sometimes you’ll respond again and paw the tickling hands away. It’s fun, like playing a little game.

But when he lets his eyes wander down, Shirabu’s eyes narrow. Below the breasts, on either side of the waist, Shirabu sees damning marks of deep purple turning into a disgusting yellow. Like cursed claw marks. Shirabu hesitantly presses on the bruise, watching the color transform under his touch. He stops immediately when you begin to whine in pain. Carefully, Shirabu presses a kiss on these markings too, just like any other little injury you sustained in the past. A kiss so the pain flies away.

Foolish, foolish girl. Naive princess. Why did you let this happen to yourself? In the future, don’t run anymore. Stay here where it’s safe. 

There is just one place left Shirabu did not examine yet, a hidden spot that is supposed to be locked away that someone else discovered. Shirabu looks down at the dark lace panties obstructing his view like gates of a castle. It’s a poor “keep out” message; if anything it entices anyone who sees it to come in. A tempting invitation to see what’s behind.

Shirabu allows his clean fingers to easily slip through and begin a thorough investigation through the soft folds of flesh. His fingertips dip into a pool of wetness. He furrows his brows. When did this happen? 

Why are you wet? His eyes focus on your sleeping face that still has a relaxed smile. What are you dreaming about that makes your body like this? Shirabu drags the fingers covered with your slick to circle your clit. In response your thighs clamp and twitch. So sensitive, still inexperienced, even if you’re sullied. 

Shirabu slides the soaked panties off and pushes your thighs apart so he can continue his examination. That person must have touched this area too, his fingers have been here, and then…plunged his fingers into you like so. Your body trembles as Shirabu’s two fingers probe in, fully examining your inner anatomy. Soft, warm muscles clamp tightly around his digits and try to stop them from entering further. It’s for your good and his knowledge. He pushes deeper into you, dragging alongside the bumps and ridges of your walls.

You whine loudly and arch your back when Shirabu’s fingers find a sweet spot. Your head shifts on the fluffy pillows.

“Did you like that? Did that feel good?” Shirabu asks, probing your hole once more. As if in agreement, your body twitches again and your hips automatically roll against the palm, pressing your sensitive clit into the surface. Your breathy sighs are soft and sweet, unlike any other sound Shirabu has heard from you. It’s like a spell that enchants Shirabu and beckons for him. He shudders as he feels his cock responding to each noise coming out from between your lips.

It’s good, something feels so good. Under the sunlight, you feel warmth pooling throughout your body. There are tingles in the soles of your feet, like grass tickling skin while running around barefoot. Your body feels so light and relaxed. It’s warm and you’re not in this forest alone. The shape of a prince appears. You know he’s a prince because his voice is gentle and his touch feels safe.

If this feels good, it’s only because this is an act of love. If this makes you happy, it’s because it’s love. If it’s love, it’ll fill the empty pools of hurt. And if you’ll be whole again, you’ll heal. Shirabu makes up his mind and caresses your cheeks tenderly, So beautiful. Always beautiful. A sleeping beauty. His hand reaches to the waistband of his pants.

The prince rests his hand on your hips and excitement jolts through your body. You wrap your arms around his neck and smile back.

Shirabu freezes the moment he feels your arms wave into the air and reach for him. The sneaky fingers run across his skin.

"Dance..with me," you slur before falling back into silence.

The alarm washes away when he confirms you are still sound asleep.

"Are you dreaming of your prince?" Shirabu asks while tearing open a condom packet. Medical safety. He should have worn gloves earlier too, if he wasn’t already too entranced. "Dancing? Then I'll dance with you."

Forever. I'll be your prince, my sweet darling.

Shirabu runs the length of his hardened cock along your glistening slit. Rather than take, rather than pillage and steal...Shirabu will give. Replace the gross markers of pain with soft fleeting kisses. Replace the innocence stolen with love given unconditionally. Shirabu will give you all the love you deserve and more.

Shirabu’s fingers weave into your delicate ones, the palms join together, and your fingertips automatically lock with your niichan’s. It’s the starting position for a waltz in the forest, once upon a dream.

The man takes the initiation, the leading step. Shirabu closes the gap, sinking his length into your sweet embrace in a fluid and wet squelch. You respond, digging your nails and tightening your grip on his hands. Your other arm hugs around your partner, your niichan, pulling his body close against yours. Your blank eyes flutter open briefly to look straight at the shadow of Shirabu. Of course, you don’t see anything, you’re actually in a warm forest shyly gazing at your prince. Shirabu almost thinks that he woke you up, but you only let out a quiet moan before your body relaxes again.  

Shirabu groans and rests his cock in your warm and tight embrace. This is the way it should be, how it ought to be done. No one else can lead you in this dance the way he can. The way he will. This is not the self-fulfilling king stealing the princess’s virginal body for his own pleasure. This is the loving prince who loves and gives selflessly. Your big brother knows you the best, knows how you’ll respond, knows how you’ll like it. Shirabu slowly draws himself out and thrusts back in.

The prince presses himself so close to you, and you inhale sharply. During the waltz, you always have to maintain body contact with your partner. You feel his breath on your cheeks, and you’re sure he can feel your hammering heartbeat. The intimacy builds in the tender but secure hold. The steps are quick but the movements are not violent. It’s just enough that the heat stirring in your core spreads throughout your body.

Breaths become more labored and raspy into the act. Shirabu sees your face morph into bliss as he continues his pace and rocks his hips into you. His own brows furrow as Shirabu feels his grip over rationality falling apart with each thrust. Each flutter of your walls against him only invites him to come in deeper, farther. Harder. 

“...K-Kenjirou-nii...,” you softly cry out.

Your honeyed voice is a thick syrup trapping Shirabu, coaxing him. It’s like a melody inviting a weary traveler, a lost prince, in for rest. Your voice, your body, it’s tantalizing.

"Too good," Shirabu groans to himself. Why is it so good? You, his little sister, how? He looks down towards where he sees his cock, covered with your fluids, disappear into you. The thin latex barrier doesn’t stop how close the two of you are, Shirabu feels each clench and spasm around him. “My little sister, I didn’t know…” 

Shirabu can now understand just why that man did all that to you. Why that man wants to keep you by his side. Why he incessantly sends messages and tries to manipulate you back into their world.

It’s the only explanation, really, when you don’t even know how bewitching your body is. How enticing your voice is. Anyone would want to keep it as their own. Your warmth, your sweet, sweet hole. This cunt of yours is itself a safe haven. And Shirabu feels like he’s the one being made whole from you. It’s all because of you.

Each moan from you. Those gentle mewling cries, a witch’s spell, an incantation for addiction. That man is trying to manipulate you? How? When your whole existence manipulates everyone first, drawing them all in with the image of your unsullied purity.

Shirabu feels his impending release around the edge. His pace quickens and his thrusts meet with each of your twisting squirms. Your head tosses side-to-side on the pillow as your sleepy climax washes through.

Spin. Faster and faster in the forested ballroom. Twirl for the finale. You feel a dizzying jolt as the prince dips your body back. It’s a whirlwind of love. In your dream, the sunshine is so warm and growing so much hotter. It feels like you’re floating. So light and free. That prickling tickle in your feet is growing stronger until little fireworks set off across every corner of your body, filling you completely. The forest melts as the colors blend together in a dreamy painting. 

Euphoria, as Shirabu finishes spectacularly, clutching your sleeping body close to him in a messy ending pose. The final winds of the dead storm outside sound like a rumbling applause for this sinful waltz. He can hear his own pants and your shaky breaths mix into a fading duet. Shirabu lets himself bask for a moment, resting, entangled with you.

Everything makes sense now. He completely understands why the bastard king forces himself onto Sleeping Beauty. He completely understands why your allure is much too exquisite to pass on. Shirabu pulls out and carefully removes the condom, collecting the white essence you bewitched out from him into a little package with a tie. Dangerous little princess, that you are.

Even though Shirabu now fully understands the complete story after careful examination, there are still a few lines Shirabu will draw. One, that man has still committed a very grave sin, being the first to sample your purity, stealing that away from Shirabu? Damaging your flesh and skin? Unacceptable, he thinks as he tosses the used condom into the waste bin. A complete low-life who doesn’t know how to cherish. Punishment will be due.

Shirabu returns to the bed where your unconscious body is still sprawled between bunched sheets. His blank eyes study your spread legs and puffy cunt that’s still quivering every now and then. He taps his index finger against your sensitive clit. As if it is a magic button, your body briefly trembles on command. As if you are ready to enchant another unsuspecting traveler into your safe little haven. A little bit of fluid leaks out from your hole, presenting itself seductively. Welcome. 

Shirabu scoffs. And number two, you’ll be better off staying here with himself, your big brother. You’ll be safe here with a prince who knows best how to love you right, and give you the world. This is the way it should be; before you completely lose yourself into degeneracy and invite just about anyone into you. 

Those sleeping pills will be insufficient for the long-run. A different concoction while you are still healing from your terrible trauma will be needed. A cocktail of sorts that will target different needs. Yes. Shirabu files that thought away, putting it towards the top of his to-do list. There’s so many things he has to take care of. Too much pain in this world waiting for him to don white robes and be out there.

“But you’ll always come first on niichan’s list,” Shirabu whispers, slipping your panties back on and pulling the comforters over your body. He’ll never allow you to be sullied again. You’ll stay here in this safe haven, like a little cottage tucked away in the forest. Dream here. Find happiness with the only prince you need.

The first rays of dawn begin to brighten the sky, shooing away the cloak of night. The first songs from the birds announce the arrival of a new day. The morning light filters through the windows of the room, spilling over onto the bed and your quiet, unmoving form.

Time to wake up now, sleeping beauty.

[delimeful]

how easy you are to need (redux) (1)

the first chapter of my HEYATN rewrite! find the original here!

warnings: panic attacks, fear, hypervigilance, paranoia, mentions of freezing/starving

-

The first sign of the humans had been the smoke.

The scent had caught Virgil’s attention from the moment he woke, the light grey plumes curling over the tips of the trees in the distance. There’d been no recent storm to strike a flame, which meant that human hands had crafted it.

It wasn’t the first time. His forest was wide and sprawling, and it was near enough to a few well-worn traveling paths that humans thought it a fair place to set up camp for a night or two. The otherworldly aura of the forest itself tended to dissuade any longer stays.

(Eerie howling in the night also tended to do the trick.)

Virgil still had to check it out, of course, both as his home’s protector and to soothe his own agitation at the sight. It didn’t matter that they were almost always peaceful travelers, the presence of humans put him on edge every time.

And if the sensation of being watched drove the intruders away quicker? All the better.

He headed down the hillside, winding his way through the edges of his normal patrol route as he went. Nothing was amiss there, the wildlife scampering away at the sight of him, the natural magic of the area still abundant and thriving.

The source of the smoke was closer than he’d anticipated, though. It was rare that any were bold enough to camp any further than the edges of his territory, and yet here he was in the middle of the forest, the smell rapidly growing stronger.

He slowed, close enough now that the smoketrail was hidden by the long branches overhead. This was a familiar spot, there was a clearing up ahead, and—

Virgil stopped dead at the edge of the trees, staring at the abandoned cabin that had sat quietly in this clearing since he’d first stumbled into his forest.

There was smoke rising from the chimney.

He could smell the humans now, tracks and scent trails to and from the apparently formerly abandoned cabin. They must have trekked through a good quarter of his territory to get here, and he’d slept through the intrusion like an idiot. He paced back and forth agitatedly, circling around the clearing and remaining carefully out of sight as he did.

He’d been in that cabin before. How could he not have? Alone in these woods, there wasn’t much to do for fun except explore. Once he’d gotten past his initial skittishness, he’d been determined to investigate every inch of the dusty old place.

And then he’d realized it was a former den for hunters. He’d spent weeks on the other side of the woods, slowly working his way through the panic that had risen up in him at the simple thought: what if they return?

Even so, as time passed, he’d only grown more sure that the place was well and truly harmless. Nobody had been in there for years prior to Virgil’s arrival in the woods. Whatever use its hunters might have had for it, it had clearly been long abandoned and left to rot.

Of course, now there was smoke in the chimney, and the windows had been carefully pushed open, and there was a horse, grazing mildly.

Virgil took a deep breath, pausing his pacing to try and calm his racing heart. He couldn’t jump to conclusions.

Just because it was an old hunters’ den didn’t mean the new occupants were hunters. It might have been a simple act of opportunity, like a vole taking up an abandoned burrow.

The back door swung open, and Virgil went still, watching as a human donned in red strode over to the horse, patting its snout and murmuring softly to it. He offered it a handful of some sort of grain, which it seemed to enjoy, and then made his way to the center of the clearing and drew a sword from the sheathe at his hip.

Even from here, Virgil felt his skin prickle at the way the blade sang, radiating protective magics as the human moved through blocks and attacks against an invisible enemy. It had to be pure silver, and likely warded as thoroughly as possible against creatures like him. One didn’t simply obtain a weapon like that without knowing what it was, what it was meant for.

He backed away slowly, fading into the underbrush, until he was absolutely certain that he was free from the human— the hunter’s range of sight.

Then, mind full of white noise, he turned and bolted.

—-

He lost a day and a half to the blinding panic, cycling between fear-anger-exhaustion-terror until he’d finally burnt all the emotions out and collapsed.

It was an awful decision. He’d kept as far as possible from the cabin, even in his haze, and now he had no idea what the humans had done in his absence. If they knew he was there— if they’d set up traps— it would only take one slip and everything would be over.

No, if he was going to get rid of them, he needed to be as prepared as they no doubt were.

He spent sleepless nights scouring the forest, searching for any traces of them-- searching for their patrol routes, their traps, the damage to the forest they left in their wake.

But there was none. Not even a faded scent trail to suggest they’d ever been through at all. It seemed they were sticking close to the cabin.

For the first time, Virgil wondered if they’d really come for him. He hadn’t been seen by humans in years, often sticking to the shadows to scare off travelers that had overextended their stays. It was possible that they didn’t even know a shifter lived in the forest, let alone a werewolf. He couldn’t bet on it, but it was possible.

Whether he wanted to find out what they were doing here or just know what human tricks he’d be facing, he had to return to the cabin. He spent less time sleeping so that he could continue patrolling through his woods and also keep a wary eye on the humans when they roused.

The hunter was the easiest to spy on. He spent most of his time outdoors, running through a series of daily tasks that ranged from caring for the horse to gathering firewood to hauling water from the well. He practiced drills with that sword less frequently than Virgil would have expected, but when he did, he moved with the well-balanced motions and sure strikes of someone who knew their way around a weapon.

The other two were more difficult to get a read on. They didn’t seem like hunters in physique or manner, and they spent significantly more time indoors.

One had hands that carried the sharp, chemical smell of ink, and only made regular excursions from the house to mess with a plot of upturned land he’d had the hunter help him fence in. It was a garden, Virgil was fairly sure, though it looked nothing like the ones he’d planted, all careful rows and even spacing.

The other spent most of his time indoors, though he was anything but stagnant. Where the hunter focused on heavy labor and maintaining the exterior of the home, this one seemed to focus his attention on the interior care. Virgil often caught glimpses of him opening windows to air out dusty old linen or set sweet-smelling baked items along the sill.

Most interesting of all were the ways the three of them intersected.

The baker would bring simple food and drink to the scholar when he spent longer than usual wrist-deep in the dirt, and sneak the horse treats while the hunter wasn’t looking, completely unrepentant whenever he was caught.

The scholar would sit and watch the hunter run through drills, occasionally calling out an imaginary attack for him to counter, or share quiet conversation with the baker as dusk fell and the lantern bugs began to emerge.

Even the hunter was gentle, presenting freshly-plucked berries to the baker with a dramatic bow and excited smile, or crouching in the garden to listen as the scholar excitedly explained how well the new sprouts were doing.

It wasn’t like anything he’d ever seen from humans before.

He eventually decided they couldn’t know he was there; any hunter worth their salt would know that encroaching on a pack’s territory was tantamount to declaring war. The other two didn’t even seem to be combatants. If Virgil was anything other than an undersized, scrappy outlier, he could have killed all three of them at any point.

He probably still could, now that he knew when they slept and was well familiar with the ins and outs of that cabin. Unless they’d set up new defenses, or sealed off the secret passages, or randomly deviated from their normal sleeping schedule. Unless, unless, unless.

The forest had been as uneasy as him at first, but surprisingly enough, these new residents worked hard to avoid wreaking the casual destruction humans were known for. They didn’t clear swaths of land of all life or hunt the new season’s young.

As the days passed, they continued to just… exist there, long enough that deer passed through the clearing with barely the flick of an ear at the voices from inside the house.

Over time, the forest’s reluctance turned to ambivalence, and then to amusement at Virgil’s expense. He was the only one who seemed to be taking the threat seriously anymore, much to his annoyance. Sure, they hadn’t done anything yet, but the key word there was ‘yet’.

It was well into the moon’s cycle that his patience in watching the human’s was rewarded with witnessing a change in their routine. As dusk fell, the three of them left the clearing entirely, trekking into the woods with careful steps. Virgil followed at a safe distance, feeling suspicious about their uncharacteristic silence.

The hunter led the way with a glowing lantern, wary but with no sword at his hip. The baker walked behind him, carrying a wrapped, slightly bulky package in his arms, and the scholar brought up the rear with a lantern of his own. Every so often, the scholar would pause and then murmur directions.

It took Virgil an embarrassingly long time to realize they were following a leyline, and sure enough, once they reached an intersection point, they stopped and set up a brightly colored cloth, a few wooden dishes, and bound, dried herbs from the garden.

An offering, the forest seemed to croon around him, pleased with the cuts of meat and burnt herbs. Virgil couldn’t hear what the scholar said, the words quiet and slow, but with the forest present in the back of his mind, he got the general idea.

Reciprocity. Giving for what they had taken, a declaration of their intent.

The forest accepted the claim as it had accepted his offer years ago, the sound of it in the buzzing of the insects and the breeze rustling the leaves. The humans returned home, as much residents of these woods as Virgil was, now.

---

Between the forest’s new fondness and their own persistent harmlessness, Virgil couldn’t justify getting rid of the humans.

So instead, he stayed well away from them, only venturing out of his corner of the forest to supervise the offering trips they made into the heart of the woods on every half-moon, both waxing and waning. If the humans noticed either the forest's fond touch in the brush of its greenery against them or the weight of his narrow-eyed gaze upon them, they didn't show it.

The season shifted slowly, and then all at once. The forest grew quiet again, its greenery fading away as it and many of its inhabitants dropped into snowsleep. Virgil wished his own winter could pass so simply.

The humans’ arrival had dragged his attention away from his usual preparations, and he had enough difficulties hunting alone without adding new complications to the mix. As it stood, he had barely any body fat to speak of, and even his winter coat felt pitiful against the cutting winds and heavy snow.

Whenever he wasn’t hunting, he was curled up in his cave, wishing for the warmth of a pack to surround him. He usually ran warm, enough that even the night’s chill didn’t bother him, but it was a different story in this weather. Shifting wasn’t an option either— His human form could barely withstand minutes in the cold, let alone hours.

Looking back, he wasn’t sure whether he’d drifted towards the cabin on purpose or simply subconsciously followed the smell of smoke. The result had been the same either way.

The house had looked unbearably warm against the bleak landscape, and Virgil had spent ages arguing with himself before slinking towards the abode, unable to bear another sleepless night having any scrap of heat leached away. Honestly, he’d been half-surprised to wake up this morning.

He slunk around the edges of the building, his heart pounding at the muffled voices inside. They had no reason to believe a werewolf resided here. He was small enough to resemble a normal wolf if they caught him. He might simply be earning himself a quicker death, put down like a simple wild animal, but he felt too numb to care.

The cabin’s foundation was solid, but Virgil had spent a fair amount of time exploring the human den as a pup, telling himself he was conquering his fear. It was certainly a hunter’s hideout; he’d found a staggering number of secret passages and hidey-holes built into it for easy escape. With a little prying, they could also be used for easy entrance.

The boarded up entrance to the crawl space was just where he remembered it, faded defensive runes carved into the wood. The enchantments were long defunct, the boards old and rotted, and he’d wriggled through the crawl space enough as a kid to know that there were no lingering traps in wait.

He braced himself, and then shifted with low cracks of bone and flesh. This close to the full moon, it ached like sore muscles, but not as bad as the cold stung at his now-human body. Gritting his teeth, he quickly dug his nails into the wood, able to pry the planks free even with half-frozen fingers. Task done, he shifted back as quick as he could and waited for an agonizing moment, listening for any signs that he’d been heard.

Nothing. The distant voices carried on without a pause.

He hesitated again, but in mere seconds, meager warmth began trickling out from the opening, baiting him more effectively than any supernatural lure. He ducked his head and crawled into the passage, which was more cramped than he’d recalled but still manageable. Step by silent step, he crept through the crawl space, letting the growing heat sink into him until the biting cold was barely more than a memory.

He hadn’t realized just how far under the cabin he’d ventured until a voice rang out directly above him, the actual words lost in the rush of panic he felt, crouched and vulnerable with a human was only meters away.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent like that, tremors vibrating through him as old memories came rushing back. It was small things that brought him back; the smell of ink, the crackling of a hearth, shared laughter. He’d had none of those, back then, but they were here now. He was here now.

The humans continued to chatter casually, none of them aware that there was a beast lying in wait just under the floorboards. They didn’t know he was there. He was safely hidden away.

Slowly, inch by inch, Virgil relaxed, head tucked against his paws, adjusting bit by bit until even the creaks of the humans moving about over his head didn’t register as a threat.

Finally warm, he dropped into sleep between one exhale and the next.

[stylistiquements]

Introduction : three older brothers

𐐪𐑂 Pairing : Sapnap x fem!reader {Playlist} 𐐪𐑂 Summary : When Sapnap learns the news, some questions are resurfacing.

𐐪𐑂 Word count : 1.1k

𐐪𐑂 Warning : none (for once lol)

Masterlist | Next

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

I’m coming to see you in Florida, your voice plays again and again like it’s some kind of song stuck in the back of Sapnap’s mind.

In the lull of the afternoon, a nest of merriment peaks in the crest of his chest and threatens to overflow, but honestly it’s more a promise than anything; bare feet stomping euphorically against the wooden floor without a hint of withhold and the humid air twirls around his fists as he punches a not so silent victory.

Fifteen years of friendship, two years of longing and four months until the world both crumbles and harmonizes again.

129 days until my best friend comes home, Sapnap processes ecstatic, acidic. Peonies hatch in the depth of his heart, where light shouldn’t reach but still does somehow.

The heel of his palm presses against the phone a little tighter, where your voice ringed high and low just minutes ago. He forgot to ask how long you were planning on staying with him and Dream. Somehow, he forgot how to think about anything else but the fact that, soon, late night texts and virtual calls are to be bad dream-ish flashes. But it’s so easy to put everything behind, so easy to dismiss when you’re about to appear in front of him, soft as a smile and real.

When the celebration falls breathless, Sapnap isn’t sure what to do with himself, throwing his body over the bed that bounces up and down and the movement is so swift he’s left tasting all fuzzy. He’s transported overseas, heart streaming over the sheets. They wrinkle and frame his body like a restless picture.

This could just be a dream, he reasons; he waited so long for you to say those words that, for all he knows, he might have been asleep all along. The threads of lights that escape the window fondle his hair and wash up two soft cheeks and, in an attempt to seal the wish, he closes his eyes and lets the sun flood the back of his eyelids.

What is printed there, between orange light and imaginary shapes, is an old memory that slowly unfolds; a brushed wound on your knee during one of those skateboarding afternoons.

Sapnap huffs. God, you used to love skateboarding so much it drove him crazy.

But it was, after all, his duty to carry you home. Like a princess, you said, eyes sparkling and smile so promising. He whined, complained the whole time about you being heavy, but it didn’t matter; what colored his skin was how important you gave him the opportunity to be. And the truth, although diluted, remains indelible to the passing time.

It’s funny, he recognizes, that the memory decided to collide with this very moment. Just as if a boiling impatience molded itself into a wave of memories. And when the nostalgia fades away, he imagines what it would be like if you were right in front of him; the shape of your eyes and the curve of your smile. Something old, something new, something blue, he thinks ironically, though it probably only makes sense to him.

“What the hell, Godzilla?” The door cracks open and welcomes a swirling breeze. Dream fakes the annoyance, but his tone betrays; boyish amusement. His silhouette intertwines with rays of lights and though his shadow elongates enough to hide Sapnap from the merciless sun of Florida, one glance at the man forces him to squint in order to not be completely blinded. Sapnap tunes into reality once again, heels sinking into the mattress.

“129 days,” he mumbles, willing to answer a question that hasn’t been freed yet, knowing it’s not too much of an answer yet everything he’s capable of for the moment given, still stuck into the ethereal.

“Cryptic,” Dream sighs. His scoff stops when he lies on the bed next to his friend, a small rattle falling out of his lips.

In the interlude, met by two green eyes and the chirping of the birds outside, he gives in, “I haven’t seen y/n in two years and now she’s coming back in 129 days.”

Dream’s head rises effortlessly, unimpressed, little birdie tells Sapnap he probably knew much before he did.

“Then why are you not as happy as you should be?”

“I’m not sure,” Sapnap shrugs. “I mean-- I am, but it’s weird. It’s like super long and super short at the same time.”

Dream’s hovering smile twitches slightly devious, slightly smirk-ish. “Maybe you’ll finally be able to tell her how you feel.”

Betrayal, he noticed the way his lashes flutter when your name is mentioned in a conversation, the way he secretly flusters every once in a while when the boundaries between what is and what could be are drawn too blurry. Sapnap’s eyebrows arch in a hypocritical confusion.

He gulps with a little bit of coyness, “It’s just not the right timing.”

“Things don’t always need to be complicated, you know.”

His jaw clenches in a sour agreement, but to be so desperately in love with his best friend, there is only room for difficulty.

It’s like magnets with the same polarity. Sometimes, too caught up by the pursuit of your own selves, sometimes kept apart by the fear of losing the most precious thing life has given the two of you. And if one second he thinks he could catch a glimpse of hope, too tangled with the force field to think, the next he never even dares to think about it.

“I’ve heard how you interact with each other, being all flirtie flirtie and stuff,” Dream notes high and daringly. The smirk blooms, Sapnap flinches.

“Right, as if. She also has three older brothers, you know? Kinda don’t want my ass to get beaten.”

“You’re being a giant baby.”

“You’re a giant baby,” Sapnap repeats to mock. “Shut up.”

And soon the air is filled with hands aiming to attack each other, weltering between a mound of sheets and choked out laughter. The introspection blows in the wind for a second before reappearing as easy.

Once Dream’s power has made its own point, Sapnap surrenders, “Fine. Oh my god, you’re so annoying. And if I tell her that I’m in love with her and she rejects me, what then?”

Heaving chests and remains of chuckle, the sun fades out for a moment to give them a rest.

“And if you tell her that you’re in love with her and she says ‘me too’, what then?”

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

Taglist : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @itsoakaa

A/N : I'm so happy to finally post something again I feel like it's been years lol!! Hope you guys appreciated the intro. it's a bit shorter but once again its just the intro and if you're used to the length of the sorcerer's chapters then this is gonna defo be a lot shorter. Anyway lmk what you think!! I think I'm going to publish one part every sunday but can't really promise anything. Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

[iguessilovebakugou]

Kill the Lights and Kiss My Eyes ||  Domestic!Bakugou x Wife!Reader [ +18 ]

I’ll be honest, I’m still so confused what HOH!* is, but...fuck, I know what domestic smut is.  I guess it’s finally time I take the fucking plunge, baby. 

Congrats Anon - this is my first smut drabble. I hope you're happy.

CW:  NSFW, Oral, Cunnilingus, Rough Kinks:  Lip biting, body worship, powerplays, Bakugou on his knees, Rougher Sex Word Count: 2.8K Pairings:  Pro!Bakugou x F!Reader

“So moving forward, I really think we should start having the clients be aware of the changes before they even get to that portion of the contract.”

“I agree.  I think that way, we’ll have ample time to inform them of the changes to how we handle their business.”

“Nng, Katsuki what the fuck?”

“Do you think we should create a contract specifically for this change?  I think that might be best, that way they can’t say they never heard about it.”

“P-Please, I...I’m in a-”

“That’s probably a good idea.  Mrs. Bakugou - what do you think?  Is that something you could do?”

He had been a terror the second he got home...and he had only been home for all of 2 minutes.  

He had been gone on some sort of mission for an entire month.  The first week was fine, the second wasn’t so bad.  The third?  The third was torture.  He would never say it, never admit it out loud, but he missed you.  It was subtle ways - to mask the fact that you were all he could think about those past two days.  Letting you know what time he would be arriving, complaining the whole ordeal was taking to long, and in the moments where he could - calling you and just letting the silence hang around you.  Getting as close to you as he humanly possibly could.

The moment you heard that door open, you knew Katsuki would be...unruly, but this was...okay, it wasn’t entirely unexpected.  

“I think her connection went down again.”

It happened a lot actually.

His nails drug down the skin of your thighs, leaving bright and angry pink marks until they his hands gripped your pelvis.  With a yelp, you were tugged further down into your office chair - which was already pretty damp with his affections.  You were left a groveling, mewling mess as he continued his attack.  The knew position gave him ample room to lavish your clit with more attention, running the tip of his tongue over and around it in circles before diving back inside you.  You tried to get a word out edge wise, but the moment his tongue slid against your walls, you were done. 

“Fuck...fuck, babe.”  A shiver shot up your spine as his tongue pushed further inside you.  It reached as far as it could go, lapping at the very core of you.  Each movement drew out the most desperate of cries.  He had only just begun and already you were quickly dissolving into a pile of rather pathetic whimpers as you curled around him.  "Please, I...I’m...”

“Mrs. Bakugou, can you hear us?”

If you didn’t respond, they would grow suspicious.  You could get in trouble, you would have to try and explain why your connection only every had a problem on the days your husband got home.  You reached, desperately for the spacebar on your desktop, trying to let them know you were in fact still there.  

But Katsuki’s hand shot out, quickly abandoning your thigh and snatching your wrist.  He didn’t pull away from you, refusing to slide his tongue out from inside you.  You looked down at him, through lidded eyes.  Another moan, fingers gripping the arms of your work chair when you felt the growl in his throat, felt the words he was trying to say against your lips.  They sent shockwaves up to the top of your skull and curling your toes.  You looked down at him through lidded eyes, desperate for some semblance of reprieve.

Don’t answer it.

“...ah.”

Fuck Katsuki Bakugou.  Fuck the fact he knew just how to touch you, to melt your will just enough to mold you into whatever shape he desired.  If he wanted to touch you, wanted to drive you over the edge at this very moment, who were you to deny him that?  Without another moment’s hesitation, you reached over your chair and grabbed the cord connecting your computer to the outlet.  With a grunt, you yanked, tugging the plug out of the wall and sending it scattering to the wooden floor with a Thud!

The voices from your meeting stopped and the screen behind you went dark.  The only thing keeping your office lit was the sun, which was already starting to nestle behind the trees of your backyard.  Katsuki paused, only a moment to watch what you were doing.  His expression, while cautious, seemed...surprised.  His eyes glowed in the light, his panting now more pronounced that the voices of your superiors weren’t droning on above it.  

You swallowed, harshly.  Your mouth was dry and your tongue felt like cotton.  It was still hard to breathe, still hard to think - no hope for any sort of long winded sentences.  But he had stopped, watching you now, and waiting - for you.  He had been so terribly awful, but you could see the patience nestled in his face.  He wasn’t going to make a move until you spoke.  

Your voice was low, deep in your chest as your fingers found their way into his wild, blond hair.

“If you’re gonna fuck me - then fuck me. ”

It wasn’t a just an invitation - it was something that he loved almost as much as you:  a challenge.  His eyes turned more wild and with another guttural noise, his lips curled up into a smile.  

“You’re gonna regret asking.”

If you had any doubt left in your mind that he was telling the truth, it was swiftly quelled.  Katsuki shut his eyes and pushed back against you.  Your chair - propelled by the sheer force of him - went crashing back against the wall.  The action yanked a gasp from you as his tongue was forced further inside you, reaching a new depth you hadn’t expected.  And then it was gone.  Still, his mouth refused to leave you, his lips now wrapped around your clit.  You felt empty, only for a moment - until two of his calloused fingers slide in deep and curled, rubbing your warmth quick and tight.  

You cried out, wrapping your legs around his shoulders to draw him closer.  To keep him right where the two of you wanted him to be.  No longer inhibited by some meetings about contracts that didn’t matter, you let your cries be heard.  You threw your head back against the window, resting it there while and moaned to your hearts content.  Your neighbors would hear surely, but let them.  It shouldn’t be a secret that your husband knew how to unravel you, that the man you loved had memorized every tiny spot that turned you into a puddle at his touch. 

Katsuki’s eyes never left your face.  You could feel him watching you.  And when his fingers curled up further, tugging at your core - fireworks erupted.  It wasn’t enough to send you over the edge, not just yet, but it was enough to draw your back up straight.  Your fingers tightened around his hair, your legs wrapped tighter around him.  “Keep...that...again...please.”

You could feel him chuckle against you.  The whine came from you, even before he drew his fingers back.  His tongue was drawn over the top of you.  In another breath, his lips wrapped around your clit.  And he started there again.

In moments like this, Katsuki never played fair.  You were certain half of what he did was to torture you, while the other half was because he liked watching you squirm and wiggle under his touch.  He would never say it out loud but you knew he adored seeing you like this, knowing full well no one else in the world got to see you such a begging, needy mess.  It was his little secret to keep.  And he was so very good at keeping secrets.

He deserved to be rewarded for it.

He didn’t expect you to reach out.  He didn’t expect your fingers to trail under his jaw bone, to pull him up and away from you.  For a moment, he snarled, not wanting to budge from his position.  But then he felt the urgency and, albeit begrudgingly, he lifted his head.  His eyebrow was cocked, his eyes narrowed and his glistening lips curled into a sneer.  “What?”

You gripped him by the fabric of his shirt, tugging forward and up to meet you.  The steadfast resolution to bring you to climax quickly faded as you pressed your lips to his.  A chaste kiss at first, soft and sweet.  One more, drawing him into you...

Your teeth found his bottom lip, gripping it and tugging it back, nipping hard enough to break the skin and draw a drop of blood against your tongue.  You smirked at the sharp intake of his breath, the way his body tensed at the action.  For as much as he knew how to unravel you, you equally knew the little notions that could ruin him.  The right places to touch him to make his knees buckle, to make him chase you for more.  And - like clockwork - the moment your fingers slid down his abdomen to run over the rise of him, Katsuki’s entire being shivered, his body leaned into your touch.  

You had been with him long enough to know when the façade was crumbling to the ground.  You could feel him twitch under you touch, feel the pulse of his desire.  His hands against your thighs gripped you just a bit tighter, his skin grew a bit hotter, his kiss was just a bit deeper.  

The groan you had elicited from Katsuki’s chest was intoxicating.  You could feel the rumble underneath your skin, crawling up your veins and fogging your thoughts.  The existence of you was his drug, just as he was to you. 

You took advantage of his parted lips, sliding your tongue against his.  He reciprocated in his own way, immediately fighting for dominance.  The chair slammed back against the wall, but this time you were prepared and so was he.  You slipped effortlessly out of your chair and into his lap.  His hands, calloused and rough, gripped your ass to pull you tight against him.  He grinded up against you in abandon, grunting softly against your lips.  His hands on your ass squeezed, making sure to hold you taut against him as he desperately rutted against you.  

The waiting was turning into madness - and judging by how quickly his hand reached for the hem of his pants - he readily agreed.  It was difficult for him, fumbling with the buckle and edging the fabric down over his hips.  You almost laughed, and would have if his mouth hadn’t captured yours before anything more than a gasp could escape.  

And then you felt it: the head of him, dripping with want, press against your entrance.  One final time, you felt his eyes on you.  Behind his grunting and growling, behind his shaking fingers, he was asking.  Making sure this was okay.  If you were alright with this.  

In response, you pressed down against him.  “Please,” You begged, just a whisper in his ear.  You felt him quake beneath you.  “Fuck me, Katsuki.”

He drove up into you and the force of his weight inside of you - although familiar - always drew a cry.  Katsuki paused, only for a moment, each breath he took shaking.  In that moment, there was nothing but the weight of him inside you - every glorious inch of him.  The world was empty - save for the two of you in that office.  You opened your eyes, taking him in.  The wild blonde hair, the rough skin dotted with sweat, the way his shoulders rose and fell as he tried to contain himself.  As he tried to keep himself steady and not rut into you like an animal.

He wanted to make sure this lasted as long as possible.  There was no telling when he would be dragged away from you again. 

Your fingers ran through his hair, gently holding it to tug his face out from where it was buried in the nape of your neck.  Gently, you peppered kisses over his face - across his forehead, over his eyes, on the tip of his nose.  There was a moment his hips bucked, to try and reestablish who was in control...but it faltered quickly.  He soaked in every ounce of affection, relished every gentle touch you bestowed upon him. 

His voice, so quiet and ragged when he finally spoke, was not a surprise.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

You huffed, your lips against his temple, dragging against his skin.  “Then ruin me.”

He was up in a flash.  A moment later, your back was against the desk as his mouth resumed its assault on yours.  It was smart - seeing as you cried out in absolute ecstasy when he began to pound into you.  

As promised - Katsuki was most certainly trying to ruin you.  Your hands scrambled, your fingers wrapped around his arms, gripping him as he began to pound into you.  There was no hesitation - each thrust was deliberate, their soul purpose to drag each and every lewd noise from you that they could.  And they did.  While he refused to pull his mouth from yours, that didn’t stop you from moaning, gasping and mewling every time his cock buried itself inside you.

The sound of his hips hitting your ass with such force was almost enough to drown out the sound of the desk skirting across the floor.  You paid no mind as the pictures lining it’s edge went clattering to the floor and shattering upon impact.  You paid no mind as your phone - buzzing away on the other side - sliding off the desk as well.  You tried to keep your mind straight, to try and stay grounded.  But you couldn’t - Katsuki was too much.

His thrusts grew faster, less timed, erratic as he drew closer and closer to his breaking point.  You finally opened your eyes, looking up to see him staring down at you.  The smirk on his face was a perfect blend of frustrating and heart pounding.  You greeted it with your own smile.  “F-...fuck, babe...”

“Beg for it.”

You grunted when his hands joined in, slamming you down against his thrusts.  You gritted your teeth, swearing again.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck...” You gasped when he did it again...and again...and again.  

“Beg. For. It.”

Each word was accentuated with a thrust.  Each thrust was accentuated with a cry of pleasure.  God he knew he was going to get his way.  He knew that no matter what, you wanted the same thing as he did.  He was just going to torture you until he heard you admit it out loud.  

Just for him.  Only for him.

“I...I want you to...Fuck, Katsuki!”

“What do you- ah...”  His hips refused to slow as he let out a grunt.  He lowered his body down, pressing his chest against yours and trapping you between him and the desk.  His lips found their way to your ear, his voice low - barely above a growl.  “What do you want me to do?”

He knew what you wanted him to do.  “I...I want you to...”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, your face burying itself against his shoulder.  Your mind was staring to go blank as you dissolved into a mess of curses and moans.  But he wasn’t going to stop until you answered him.

“Cum...I want you to...cum...”  

“Where?”

“Fucking damn it, Katsuki!”

“Where?”

The heat inside you was unbearable now.  The pleasure was forcing all logical thought out the window.

“I...just...”

You weren’t going to last much longer at this rate.

“please...”

And judging by the absolute bliss in his eye, he wasn’t going to hold out much longer either.  

“I-Inside!  Cum inside me!!”

You allowed the pleasure to crash over you - the pent up frustration from Katsuki being gone for so long, the undeniable desire for him to touch you, to fuck you, to love you like only he could.  With a final cry of his name and the arch of your back, it all went white.  

You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as he rode you through it.  You’re still gasping for breath, the fog he lost you in starting to clear, when you realize his teeth are against you neck, muffling the .  You can feel him erupting inside of you, grunting as he fills you.  

The two of you are panting, sweating messes; your office is in an even worse state.  You’re a tangled mess of limbs, of gentle touches and dragging nails and...

“Fuck...”  He breathes, letting out another breath.  He doesn’t speak again until he’s lifted you up off the desk, weakly lowering the both of you down onto the floor.  You kiss him once more before he slips out of you, which he happily reciprocates.  He pulls back, looking down at you, his crimson eyes flashing.

“I fucking missed you.”

So...first smut....I hope you liked it - cause like...fuck bro...

I drank tea and burned through 3 different candles trying to write this and I’m still not like...super okay with it.

Send me more smut asks - I need to get used to writing it.