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onlyswan · 2 years

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summary: in which you and jungkook are just two young souls deeply in love.

> fluff / wc: 2.7k

> warnings: burn out from overworking . it’s been a stressful time for you bc of deadlines </3 you and me are one . a fish dying?

note: as always lmk what you think hehe sorry for typos and errors i still miss some of them even after proofreading T_T

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“i feel great.” you grin delightfully at jungkook, chest heaving up and down as you clutch the half empty bottle of cold water in your hand. the cold air inside the convenience store gives you much needed relief after being out and about under the sun for hours.

he’s too busy chugging on his own water bottle to verbally respond, but the corners of his lips rising into a smile tells you enough. it’s been a while since you’ve went for a run with jungkook at the park by the river. the endless amount of deadlines to be met rendered you prisoner in your shared home, only allowing you the time to eat and sleep before you need to get back into work again.

i just want to get everything done as soon as possible, you’d whine as you bury your face in your boyfriend’s chest during the break he reminds you that you need atleast every two hours. this is how you’ve always operated — giving it everything you’ve got until you drop. you and jungkook are awfully similar in that way. you both know this. that’s why you’ve made it a thing to snap the other out of it and to remind them to take a breather. your overall wellbeing is the top priority in any given situation.

let’s take a break so we don’t get burnt out. have some snacks, my love. you’re reading the book upside down. baby, don’t get too close to the screen. it’s bad for your eyes. hmm, i think the third one is the best version. the words will come to you when you clear your mind from worries, come back to bed. you made a mistake? i didn’t even notice. you’re a pro! you’re doing so well. you work so hard. i’m so proud of you. do you want me to sing you to sleep?

with jungkook’s unwavering love and care, you finished all your works without completely turning into an insane person. to be honest, you’re not expecting the best of results. but you tried the best you could at the time. you’re well past blaming yourself for things you can no longer control. what matters the most is the present.

the present, you say? as in jungkook letting you have a taste of his mango flavored popsicle, your hand holding on to his wrist. you lick your lips to savor the sweet flavor, humming in satisfaction. you tap your watermelon flavored popsicle against his lips next, and he eagerly copies your actions from earlier. he looks into your eyes with mischief sparkling from his own, lips forming a smirk. he moans dramatically, raising his eyebrows after.

“you are insufferable.” you roll your eyes at his playful antics. the simple touch of his soft grip on your wrist feels comforting somehow, more so when his thumb brushes repeatedly against your skin. it’s almost a natural reflex. appreciating every inch of you every second of every day.

he leans forward, planting a sweet kiss on your lips. wet and sticky. messy and addicting. with the yellow-orange hues of the sky passing through the glass and kissing his honey skin, he asks you with a childish grin. “exchange deal?”

you walk out of the convenience store holding hands. you’re devouring the mango popsicle after exchanging with jungkook once each of your own was already half-eaten. you pretty much share everything with each other. popsicles. clothes. lip balm. perfume. home. the bathroom sink. the pack of cotton balls. the jar of strawberry jam. the blanket. the childhood experience of buying a pet fish and the said pet fish dying the next day. the progress and high score in your ps5 games. families. secrets. dreams. warmth. love.

“can we do this every sunday?” you ask him out of the blue, hopeful eyes looking at his face. you notice the artifical red color of the popsicle has spread on his lips, making them look more kissable.

he nods his head without second thought. “of course, baby. we could do it more often if only you don’t wake up at noon.” he chuckles before biting off the small remaining piece of the cold treat from the wooden stick.

these days, his schedules usually take place in the afternoon. too bad you’re not a morning person. never was. tried. failed. miserably. your day often starts at one in the afternoon. awfully disconnected from the real world, you must admit.

“you like sunset more than sunrise.”

as if on cue, his head whips up to admire the sky. splashes of yellow, orange, blue, and purple. “that’s true. let’s do this every sunday.”

“okay.” you hide a content smile, going back to eating your popsicle as you walk all the way home. when you reach the spot where you need to cross the road, jungkook’s protective hold crawls up to your wrist to keep you secure by his side. there are no pedestrian lane and traffic lights here, so he often stresses the importance of crossing the street carefully since you frequently visit the convenience store.

he looks to the left and to the right, waiting for the perfect timing. it’s already 5pm which means the rush hours are starting. vehicles moving at a hurried pace continue to pass by. he gives up for a moment, choosing to look at you instead. you’ve finished the popsicle, the stick sitting between your teeth because there’s no trash can in sight.

“you’re so pretty.”

his random compliment makes you giggle. you remove the stick between your teeth. “i’m all dirty and sweaty.”

“you’re pretty nonetheless. this is the happiest i’ve seen you in weeks.” the fond look on his face makes you feel safe.

“thank you. for being with me in my miserable weeks and happy weeks.”

you don’t miss the slight blush on his cheeks. “you do the same for me.”

“well, you’re my best friend.”

jungkook finally finds the opportunity to cross the road, his hand wrapping around yours to lead you. you’re forced to speed walk because the taxi ahead have no plans in slowing down.

“asshole.” he mutters under his breath. you catch up by his side, grimacing because you can feel yourself starting to sweat again.

as you continue your walk, an idea pops in your mind. you voice it out immediately. “let’s go on a bicycle date too.”

“when was the last time you rode a bicycle?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“i don’t know. when i was like eight, i think?” you giggle at the old image in your head, swerving to the right and falling into the pond. “i’ll figure it out somehow.”

he shakes his head in amusement. “let’s set the date once we order elbow and knee pads for you.”

you click your tongue, slightly offended. “everyone’s just going to mistake the scars from childhood, you know?”

“fine. just don’t whine while i disinfect your wounds.” he taunts you playfully.

you stick out your tongue at him, your next words contradicting your actions. “i’m not a baby.”

“sure, sure.” he hums, avoiding your eyes by looking away.

you scoff. it’s your turn to mutter the word, “asshole.”

as you walk by the playground, something catches your eyes. “jungkook,” you tug at his shirt to catch his full attention, halting on your tracks.

“look!” you point at the abandoned box of sidewalk chalks, various colors used to decorate the lifeless grey pavement. all the kids went home already, the playground deserted. it makes nostalgia overflow in your chest, spilling over to get translated into childish excitement as you excitedly tug your boyfriend to the spot.

you sit down with legs crossed on the ground, jungkook copying your position beside you. his bright laughter fills the air, unable to hide how giddy he is as you.

“the kids drew animals.” he uses the blue chalk to write the name of the animals under the poorly but cutely drawn pictures. you join him, bending forward on your knees to write the words tiger and frog with a yellow chalk. the chalk dust falls down like heavy snow on a winter day.

you notice the drawing of a bunny. jungkook already wrote the name under it, and you write down his name enclosed in an open and close parenthesis as an endearing little joke. you look at his face to watch his reaction, and you’re not disappointed when he giggles and lightly bumps his head against yours. his adorable bunny teeth make you unexplainably happy. it’s the little things about him you find yourself often hopelessly adoring.

“i’m gonna draw a fairy tree.” he announces, already holding the brown chalk. “i hope it doesn’t run out before i finish.” and you hope to god it really doesn’t or else he’s going to run to the store to buy more chalk just to finish his artwork. in fear of that happening, you rummage through the box and find another brown one. and two different shades of green. there are a few other duplicates. you empty the box on the ground to make it easier for the both of you.

“draw to your heart’s extent, my love.”

that gains you an appreciative kiss on the lips before he comes back to his one great love: art. you busy yourself with drawing clouds with faces. a happy cloud on a sunny day. a crying cloud on a rainy day, raindrops pouring down from it. an angry cloud on a stormy day, eliciting thunder bolts.

hanging low on the sky, the sun watches over you as it prepares to hide from sight to let the moon shine bright. it sighs dreamily, enamoured with the sight of such pure souls intertwined by unfeigned love.

later on, jungkook brings out his phone to play music. you quickly recognize it to be one of chopin’s nocturnes, as you often listen to his pieces in the quiet moments in your life. usually when reading or taking a bath or staring out the window on a pouring day (it counts as quiet because your ears turn numb from how loud it is sometimes).

“really?” you look back at him, pleasantly surprised by his choice. your backs are already facing each other as you draw flowers all over the remaining space on the pavement, determined to make the playground look as colorful as possible.

“isn’t this romantic?” he asks with hazy eyes, heart fully content if ever time is to stop in this moment forever.

“so romantic. i feel happy.” you answer truthfully. “big thanks to the kids who got dragged home they left their chalk behind.” at that, he throws his head back laughing like a little kid.

you bask in the comfortable silence that comes after, the classical music and the subtle sound of chalk gliding across the cemented ground providing a peaceful and intimate ambiance. you keep yourself busy with drawing a rainbow. god knows how much you needed this. someone. something. anyone. anything. to remind you how much you truly love life. you’ve spent the past month thinking about the parts of it that you hate — the parts of it that you want to discard. it may sound dramatic, but when you’ve faced more than enough hardships in your life, there comes a point when minor conveniences set you off easily because they start to look like major punishments from the universe itself.

that’s one of the million reasons you’re grateful to love and be loved by jungkook. you read a phrase once that says to love you is to be in love with everything. you think it describes jungkook’s influence in your life perfectly. it’s a rare happenstance to fall in love with living in the process of loving a person. trial and error. forlorn searching. not meant to be. but you’re a member of the lucky ones club.

“babe, your little drawings are so cute. i love the clouds.” he snickers. “the angry one looks like you.”

jungkook. oh, jungkook.

your brain is too busy faling in love with him all over again to react to his silly little joke. “oh my god, you are crazy. like you scare me.”

you gape at the fairy tree he drew. there’s a small door at the very bottom, scattered mushrooms beside the roots. a big hole in the middle of the trunk as the bedroom. a bed with blue, yellow, and pink pillows propped up and even a white curtain with purple polkda dots drawn to the side. a tire is hanging on one of the side branches. green vines wrap themselves around the trunk and branches, subtly forming a few hearts here and there. the giant tree grows orange and violet flowers. you notice a sky blue kite sticking out from the leaves, obviously stuck.

“you drew that much details with sidewalk chalk? you’re crazy.”

“that’s still a compliment, right?” he chuckles, leaning his chin on your shoulder as he embraces you from the back. it’s already dark outside. the indigo sky does not prove enough light for you to properly study his work of art, so you had to shine your phone’s flashlight on it.

“are you kidding? baby, you’re insanely talented. like you just put your all in everything you do no matter how small or big the task is. and they always turn out to be perfect.” you gush to your boyfriend, opening your camera to take countless of pictures.

“thank you, my love. send the pictures to me later so i can post on instagram.” he requests with a cheeky smile on his face, quite proud of how his little project turned out.

you mutter an ‘okay’. your dreamy eyes wander all over the details and the colors and the techniques he used to achieve the results. “this is so pretty. it makes me want to live in a tree.” you breath comes out airy, still in much awe.

this makes him laugh, his breath tickling your skin. “you know what? we should live in a cottage someday. it’s one of my dreams.”

you gasp at his words, not expecting this from him. “excuse me. one of your what? why am i only hearing this now?”

“it’s a secret. i’m planning to surprise you with it in the future. like twenty, thirty years from now. so plenty of time for you to forget all about it!” he sounds too cheerful for a person who just spilled a two year kept secret.

you turn around to face him, shaking his shoulders in an attempt to knock some sense into him and to make him understand how much this means to you. “you know it’s one of my fantasies. how am i supposed to forget about it?!”

“what did you eat for dinner three days ago?” he widens his bambi eyes, quizzing you to prove his point.

you freeze. oh, this is unfair and cruel. “the two things are not comparable!”

he shrugs his shoulders, feigning innocence. “just don’t think about it for now.” he kisses the corner of your lips and pulls away with a patronizing smile.

the lamp posts turn on one by one. he looks around and his lips form an ‘o’. “i think that’s our cue to leave. let’s go home and freshen up, baby.”

you let him drag you away from the playground, but your whining doesn’t get left behind there. “what do you mean surprise me? on my 40th birthday? on my 50th? oh, maybe yours? or our anniversary?”

“i will not satisfy your questions with an answer.”

“a cottage? in the countryside? with a lake nearby? and cows? and ducks?”

you don’t stop pestering him even in the elevator bringing you up to your apartment unit. the smile on his face only fuels you to keep going until you pry the answers out of him. oh, he’s enjoying this too much.

“you’re really going to do it, aren’t you? in that case, will we grow our own fruits and vegetables? can we bring my entire library? and adopt cats?”

he pulls you in for a tight embrace to shut you up, squeezing you. “don’t worry your pretty little head and just think about what you want to do when we get there, okay?”

you raise your head from his chest and gasp for oxygen. his troubled doe eyes meet your eager ones. “so you’ll build a cottage for us?”

he groans, forehead dropping on your shoulder. “i shouldn’t have said anything.”

#jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook one shot #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #bts #bts fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts reaction

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thedaytheworldburned · 2 years

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TXT Theory TidBits Ep 2 - The ‘ETERNITY’ postcard

I’m talking about this amazing inclusion in both versions of the ‘ETERNITY’ album;

The level of detail in this is ridiculous. You think it’s just them looking at the sky, right? Haha, no.

Look closely.

1. The star from ‘Nap of a Star’. It may just be the colours, but it looks pretty asleep to me. Or perhaps it’s awake, and the colour around it is a glow?

2. The birds and trees Taehyun found himself with in ‘Frost’s MV. Speaking of, all of the trees are dead.

3. Yeonjun stands on a fountain which has run dry. Interesting - we’ve only really seen fountains with ENHYPEN before. Perhaps this is a reference to the bathtub from BTS’s storyline, which reflects suicidal thoughts, OR it is a fountain of life and reflects Yeonjun’s newfound desire to live. I think it could be the latter, as Yeonjun hold his broken-off horn casually, looking like he is ready to go forwards. He no longer shies away from it - instead he takes his issues head-on.

4. Blue and green mushrooms - A representation of the cat? Otherwise, teh cat is suspiciously missing from this image.

5. Soobin with his ears and his umbrella - remember, the umbrella is a symbol of protection. He is grounded on a tree trunk, but a tree trunk is also the symbol of his estrangement from the rest of the group and entrapment by the cat in the ETERNITY concept trailer. It also looks like there might be some kind of magical symbol burned into the side of the tree in orange. Interesting.

6. A wastefield of dead trees - the burnt remnants of Magic Island?

7. Thorns - well I don’t think I need to tell you what this suggests. Especially in regards to Yeonjun....

Oh dear....

8. My guy Gyu looking pretty cute.

9. Kai sitting in the tree, like a bird. He’s got his wings, and they are angel wings, but... well, that blood doesn’t look so good. I wonder if this is a representation of how he loses his heart in the Chaos chapter, or if it is a suggestion of his demonic wings. Well, I don’t think it actually is blood, it looks like the ribbons which were used to represent blood in the Chaos chapter. In which case, it looks like he’s broken his wing and has been patched up by someone else - maybe Yeonjun, who has the only other red on him in this image?

10. And Mr Taehyun... out of view, observing. He’s got his telescope and telescope case next to him. Cute.

The postcard

So, it isn’t groundbreaking, but it is a WONDERFUL piece of art which jammed the Dream Chapter into a single artwork and hinted at later aspects of the storyline. The ETERNITY album was the perfect one to release this in. We see their curses, and the consequences of them. It’s just nice to notice the little details, like the birds in the tree and the telescope next to Taehyun.

The back of the card

There is a message on the back of the card;

You can’t find translations of this online, as NO ONE talks about the card - I had to get my hands on a copy of the album and take these pictures to even get a PICTURE of it.

However, I have cheated the system and used the foolproof method of..... Google translate for images.

I would never imagine I could stoop so low....

Anyway, taking the exact wording with the healthy bowl of salt that Google translate deserves, it seems that this translates to ‘Don’t forget, the fact that we were here together.’

And they WERE there. They were on Magic Island together, they were together with their powers after Yeonjun was attacked by the cat in ‘Nap of a Star,’ they were together when Yeonjun burned the forest down, they were together when they stole the grimoire, and they drifted apart only later on. But even though they are apart, they still, in the back of their minds, realise the importance, and remember the importance, of being on Magic Island together to save the star.

A very appropriate caption to add context to an image, and a very appropriate image to lend context to a caption.

#txt #tomorrow x together #txt theories #moa #tdc #the dream chapter #eternity #the dream chapter: eternity

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years

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VALERIE - Part V. (Harry Styles)

happy sunday loves!! part 5 is here, buckle up bc we are getting down to business here!! thank you so much for the nice feedbacks, it’s always so moving and inspiring to read your thoughts, so please keep them coming! even if it’s just some gibberish rambling, those are the best haha! now let’s jump right into part 5, we are heading into the christmas mood and im so excited for yall to read this part!! enjoy!

word count: 6.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

By the time November nears its end you officially become a couple with Marcus. It happens gradually, two more dates follow your first one, and then on the third one you agree to test the waters of the possibilities between the two of you exclusively.

Marcus is a great guy. He is funny, caring and smart, always listens to you and cares for even the smallest details about you when you’re talking. He is great company and never fails to make you feel appreciated and wanted. Exactly what you’ve been looking for in a guy, Rosa really hit the nail on the head this time.

You easily fall into a habit with him. Fridays are for date nights, sometimes you go for little trips outside the city on Sundays and he never misses a chance to send you flowers throughout the week. He is just the type of guy that’s always there to cheer you up with something whenever the days start to weigh down on your shoulders.

You even have dinner together with Rosa and Steven one Saturday evening, Rosa keeps giving you those ‘I told you so’ eyes whenever Marcus kisses you shortly or places his hand to your waist. You mostly just roll your eyes at her, not wanting to make a big deal out of the two of you, but Rosa knows how long you’ve been trying to find someone.

What’s a surprising turn is that you start seeing Harry more. Intentionally. You have no idea how it happens, but it does and you’re not mad about it. Some days you grab lunch together whenever he is in the neighborhood, some days you go shopping with him when his sister doesn’t have the time. Harry is a problematic shopper, he takes a long time to decide on clothes so usually you are the one that forces him to choose and finish before all shops close.

When he has had a rough week and you happened to call him for whatever reason, the two of you agree to meet up for drinks at his place, then end up playing UNO for hours, slowly emptying out two bottles of wine.

It’s starting to get harder to imagine what it was like when things weren’t like this with him. When you were getting anxiety from just the thought of seeing him or having to talk to him. It’s like the both of you are showing a different version of yourselves to each other and you have to admit you enjoy being friends with him.

He keeps his habit of teasing you and making jokes about you though, but you don’t mind it. He is not doing it in a mean way with the attempt to piss you off, but to make you laugh and start a playful war where you both throw insults at each other until one of you runs out of it and just starts laughing. You feel a kind of dynamic building between you and him that has a way better effect on you than the continuous killing you were doing before.

You can tell Rosa is thankful for the change as well. Whenever she sees you interact with Harry without making a grimace or have that face that screams how badly you want to hit him, she is relieved that she has one less thing to worry about and Valerie will have two amazing godparents who even like each other.

Christmas is always a big parade in your family. Your mom and your aunts always want to celebrate together so in the past few years it has become a tradition to rent a place out that has enough space for the whole extended family and spend three days there from the 23rd to the 25th. This year your dad found a huge cabin in the woods with ten bedrooms and seven bathrooms, just the perfect size for you all. It’s gonna be your parents, Rosa and Steven with Valerie, Aunt Monica, Aunt Teresa with Uncle Andrew, your cousin Etta, her husband Joe and their two kids, your other cousin Lily with her husband Jeremy and their daughter, and lastly you and Harry. Though your mom urged you to invite Marcus along as well, he could join you for longer than a dinner, since he was already set to fly home to his family.

“You sure he can’t stay for at least the first night?” you mom asks on the phone one evening. You’re stirring the sauce in the pan. holding the phone to your ear with your shoulder so you have both of your hands free.

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s fine, he can come for dinner and then leave later.”

“I get it, but it would have been fun if he stayed,” she sighs, clearly disappointed that she couldn’t change what’s already set. If you’re being honest you don’t mind that Marcus is not staying for the night. You haven’t been dating for that long, you feel like it would be a little uncomfortable to have him there the whole time. A dinner is perfectly fine as a starter, since he hasn’t met anyone else from your family other than Rosa and Steven.

“Anyway,” she sighs moving on, “Have you figured it out how you’re gonna get there?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’ll tag along with someone.”

“Well, I think you should ask Harry. Everyone else is pretty packed already. Rosa and Steven won’t have any extra space with Valerie this year.”

You nod, even though she can’t see you. These past years Rosa always offered you a ride for the holidays, but even when they brought her over for just one night their car was jam-packed. No way you’re gonna fit in there so you are left with Harry since Marcus can only come in the afternoon.

“Sure, I’ll ask him.”

You shoot him a text that day and he replies right away that you’re welcomed in his car, though he won’t be able to take you back since he is leaving early in the morning on the 25th since he is flying back to the UK to his family. It’s fine, you think, you’ll just probably just tag along with aunt Monica back to the city, she always gets her a car for these occasions. Though it’s not your ideal option, she is not the best partner for rides, because she is a fan of smoking in the car, but you don’t have much of a choice.

“I’ll call you when I leave, okay?” Marcus tells you on the morning of the 23rd. It’s early, barely seven, but he is up because he needs to work a little today and you are finishing up packing since Harry will be here in an hour to pick you up.

“Sure. Drive safe,” you huff sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at your suitcase that’s still not closed, clothes are sticking out on the side and you’re sure you’ll have to sit on it to pull the zipper.

“See you later,” Marcus says before you end the call.

It’s rather comical how you try to close the suitcase but you only care about the fact that you eventually succeed. Only minutes before eight you are packed and ready so when you get Harry’s text that he is outside you can leave right away.

Seeing you with your big suitcase he hops out of the car and rushes to help you.

“How long are you planning to stay, Y/N?” he chuckles lifting the bag up and you just shrug your shoulders with a smirk. You’ve alway been a heavy packer, no need to try to cover it up.

Harry throws your stuff into the back of the car as you take the passenger seat. His phone is hooked to the car, a playlist of his own playing gently through the speakers and you’re surprised to catch on the Christmas feeling in the songs.

“Are you in the spirit?” you ask when he gets into the car.

“Like to set the mood ahead,” he chuckles starting the car and off you go.

Ridiculous to think about it, but it’s actually the first time you sit in the same car with Harry or see him drive even. The way you two used to be was not quite ideal to have you locked up in such a small place as a car. But now you have nothing against spending the almost hour long drive with him.

“Can you pull out the navigation when I leave the highway? I’m not sure where exactly I need to head,” he asks you, eyes fixed on the road ahead of him and nodding you open the app on your phone so his can keep on playing the music without the voice of the navigation interrupting it.

“Excited to spend your first Christmas with us?” you ask. Though Harry was there at several family events, it’s his first Christmas since becoming Valerie’s godfather.

“I am,” he chuckles, nodding, hands gripping the wheel gently. He is a natural driver, easily working the car, the kind you feel completely safe next to. As Baby It’s Cold Outside comes on a smile stretches across your lips as you start gently bop your head to the song. “I’ve heard crazy stuff about Christmases at your family,” he adds glancing in your way for a second.

“Like what?”

“I remember when Steven told me about his first Christmas with your family. You remember that?”

Searching in your memories you tried to remember when was the first time Rosa brought Steven along. They dated for two years before they got married so it’s been about five years since then, but as you think hard the memory of that specific year pops into your head making you laugh as you nod.

“Oh, yes. The year Aunt Monica almost burned the Airbnb down,” you sigh grinning at the memory. She brought some special kind of cigars that year that were told to be curiosities from somewhere fancy, but they ended up the literal worst quality, flaming bits were falling out them all the time when she would smoke one, almost making the rug catch on fire wherever she went. Best thing is that she was already drunk on the liquor so she didn’t even notice, there was always a person on Aunt Monica duty, following her around, making sure nothing burnt down.

“Steven said he had a moment when he thought about bailing,” Harry tells you and you gasp, because that’s new information.

“Really?”

“Yeah, but like only for a split second after your dad walked in on him naked in the bathroom. That was kind of the last straw. Luckily Rosa could convince him to stay. Guess it all worked out at the end.” Harry smiles as he stares ahead of him.

You can’t imagine a version where Rosa and Steven don’t end up together. They met through a mutual friend not long after Rosa had a nasty breakup with her scumbag ex. Steven was there to put her back together and be her partner as she found herself again. The change and positive impact he had on her could be seen every day and you were so thankful to him for helping your sister find her way out of such a dark place in her life. It didn’t take them too long to start dating and he proposed a little more than a year later. You still remember how Rosa was screaming in the phone when she called you that evening telling you that Steven proposed. They are quite literally a match made in heaven. It’s been your goal in life to find this person in your life though you haven’t had much luck with men so far. Ironically, if you were in a room with every man you were ever involved with in any kind of way, Harry would be the only one you’d want to talk with. If you had to make this exact same choice just months ago you would have chosen to run out screaming.

“Maybe this year it’s your turn to get horrified from us,” you laugh, sinking down a little in your seat as you adjust the seat belt. You’re still quite far away from the cabin, you might as well make yourself comfortable.

“I think there’s not much that I haven’t witnessed yet. I was walked in on at the bathroom once too, but it was your cousin, Etta.”

“When did that happen?” you ask with a heartfelt laugh.

“I think it was last summer at one of your nieces’ birthday party. Luckily everything was already tucked away when she basically barged in.”

“She didn’t miss much,” you tease him with a smirk and your witty comment catches him by surprise.

“Are you saying my dick is not imposing enough to be worthy of peeking?” he asks with raised eyebrows and you’re happy he is driving. His intimidating look would already burn right into your skin by now, but he is forced to watch the road instead.

“I mean, if you want to put it that way…” you continue, but a laugh escapes your lips.

“Take that back, Y/N,” he orders, sneaking a hard look at you before turning back ahead, but you can see the small smile hiding on his lips.

“Or what?”

“Or you might find yourself in a war you don’t want to be involved in,” he warns you, but his words don’t quite have the effect on you he wanted. Because in a heartbeat you find yourself feeling… excited? Thrilled? Even curious about his means behind his words.

“Wouldn’t want to lie, so…” Pretending like you’re sorry you shrug your shoulders as Harry gives you a look that makes your stomach churn. Now either you are gonna have some fun teasing each other or… you just threw yourself into the arms of the Devil himself. Either way, you’re certain Harry won’t leave it in that.

Turning your head to your window you can’t keep your smile contained as you think of the fact that how big of a lie it was. Harry is surely not a guy who should ever worry about any aspect of his manhood. You’re talking from experience.

***

The cabin is absolutely gorgeous, just the perfect place for a cozy family holiday. Hidden from the busy roads with a secure gate and tall trees on both sides, the back of it is facing a majestic view of the valley and the evergreen covered hill in the distance. With an interior straight from the pages of a magazine, you need just a few moments to adjust to your surroundings upon arriving.

“I saved a nice room for you, Harry!” your mother gushes the moment she sees the two of you walk through the front door. You huff in annoyance.

“And what about me?”

Harry chuckles giving you a smug grin. “Guess you’re just second after me.”

“It’s his first Christmas with us, he deserves the better room,” your mom shushes at you, making your eyes roll instantly. It’s still hard to believe Harry has this kind of charm over most people.

After greeting everyone who is already there, your dad, Aunt Teresa and Etta with her family, your mom walks the two of you down one of the hallways that leads to several bedrooms. She stops at the last door with an excited grin on her face as she opens it revealing the bedroom behind it.

You instantly understand why she thought this is the best one. The view is absolutely breathtaking, the gentle noon light is flowing into the room through the floor to ceiling windows, the king sized bed facing them so when you wake up in the morning the first thing you see is the endless sea of evergreens on the side of the hill. Not to mention the room has its own bathroom, not many of the other rooms are blessed with that. There’s a spacious shower that has enough space for at least three people in there and it’s one of those fancy ones that can make you feel like you’re having a shower in the middle of a jungle, mood lights and bluetooth speakers attached to it.

“No fucking way Harry is getting this room!” you gasp as you look around, taking in the luxure your mother is willing to hand over to him.

“Jealous, much?” he smirks, throwing his sports bag to the bed already ruining the neatly made sheets. He does not deserve this.

“Mom!” you huff turning to her, but she has made her mind up already.

“Your room is nice too, don’t worry Honey. Let Harry have this one!”

“I really can’t believe you are taking his side,” you grumble under your breath, folding your arms on your chest as you take one last look at the stunning view.

“Come on, Y/N. He is a guest!”

“He is not! You said it yourself he is family now!” you retort and Harry just laughs behind you, so you shoot him a murderous look over your shoulder, that just fuels his entertainment.

“Don’t be silly. Your room is the second one on the right from here,” she smiles at you. “We are gonna take a walk around once everyone arrives, so get settled by then!” she informs you before walking out.

“Hey,” Harry’s soft voice makes you turn around. “You can have the room if you want.”

Your eyebrows rise at the kind gesture, it’s very not like him, even now in your friendly state, so it’s quite odd that he is willing to switch rooms with you.

“No need,” you shake your head grabbing the handle of your suitcase that you abandoned at the door.

“You sure? It doesn’t matter where I’m sleeping, really.”

“I’m not gonna deal with my mother’s scolding if she finds out I took your room, so you can totally stay.”

Harry chuckles as you head out, but stop at the door to have one last word with him. “Though I might occupy your bathroom, that shower looks nice.”

“All yours,” he grins before you walk out.

***

By 11 am everyone arrives and the once quiet cabin is now buzzing from life, children running around, Valerie’s babbling shoots through the spacious living area where Rosa set her crib up, your mother is already making preparations for dinner while most of the men are circled around the pool table having a beer since no one has to drive for the rest of the day.

“When is Marcus arriving?” Rosa asks, eyes on Valerie who is absolutely destroying something that once were an elephant maybe, but she’s been ruthless with the poor animal, chewing and throwing it around all the time, so it’s not just a grey, fuzzy mess.

“Sometime before dinner. He has some work to finish,” you tell her pulling your legs under yourself on the comfy couch.

“And explain again, why isn’t he staying for the night?” she turns to you with a puzzled look.

“Because he is going home to his family early in the morning tomorrow.”

“Okay, but he could have just left from here, didn’t he?”

“It’s… complicated. It’s better if he just goes back home tonight and then leaves from there in the morning.”

What you leave out of the whole explanation is that you didn’t really invite him to stay the night as well. Sounds horrible and ridiculous but you didn’t think you’d have felt comfortable with him staying. You’ve been dating for only barely more than a month and though things are going well, you felt like starting with just a dinner would be a better idea. Marcus didn’t question why you didn’t offer him to stay, it seemed like he was fine with just coming and then going after dinner.

Does this make you a bad girlfriend? Maybe, but you value your comfort and feelings more than to ruin your favorite holiday with your family.

Just as you mom said, once everyone is settled in their rooms for the upcoming three days, the whole gang dresses up to have a walk around taking the welcoming little path that runs around the cabin and is smooth enough for Valerie’s carriage as well. Your nieces and nephew are quick to surround Harry and nag him to join them at the front, exploring the woods surrounding the path. It seems like he doesn’t mind it and gladly takes part in the adventure, also secretly looking after them so their parents can have a break and enjoy the stroll in hopes the walk tires the kids out enough that they’ll willingly go to bed in the evening instead of whining to stay up late.

You’re walking with Etta next to you as she tells you about Hannah’s latest dance competition when you spot that Harry and Oliver, your nephew, Etta’s other kid are suspiciously whispering around pointing in your direction. At last Olly nods and runs up to you showing a quite thick piece of wood into your hand. You look down at him confused.

“Thank you?” you tell him a little unsure what it’s all about.

“I found it in a bush, I want to take it home. Harry said you’ll keep it for me because you have a good hand for thick and hard sticks.”

You almost choke on your own breath, as Olly just carelessly runs back ahead to join his sister. You immediately look over to Etta in fear that she heard what Harry told Oliver, but luckily she was talking with Joe turning back, not really paying attention to the conversation you just had with her son. If she did, Harry probably wouldn’t live by now.

Speaking of the devil, you look in his way and that annoying, smug grin is right there as he nods in your way saluting before he shows his hands into his pockets and turns back around to catch up with the kids.

That disgusting piece of shit really went into the depth of teaching something secretly dirty to your nephew as a way of payback for your comment in the car earlier. He surely wasn't just joking when he said you’d pay for what you said. And you have a feeling he is just getting started.

***

Aunt Monica is like a legend in your family. She is the oldest between your mom and her sisters, already in her sixties, but in the heart she still feels like she has just turned twenty. She never married, but had several men in her life, love affairs, short flings, but none of them lasted for more than a year.

“Why would I settle when there’s so many fish in the sea?” she once told you, her iconic Chanel sunglasses sat on her nose as she sipped on her martini.

She has worked many jobs throughout her life, she was once a dancer, she waited tables and even worked as a TV host at one point in the ‘80s. She was the true free spirit of the family, her sisters often questioned her sanity, but you think there’s nothing wrong with how she lived her life, enjoying it to the last bit. In the early ‘90s she was seeing a millionaire, probably the only man she would have given her lifestyle up for. Unfortunately, they never married, the man passed away due to his heart problems, however, since he had little to zero family he left basically everything to Aunt Monica. Money, house, cars, business, everything. Being the smart woman that she is, she handed over the business into professional hands but she is still the owner, so the money is still flowing even though she could have lived happily on the money she inherited without ever having to work a day.

She seems a little odd in your family, but she has always been a loving aunt to you, a caring sister and she never fails to take care of her loved ones. She is the one to pay for all these Christmas getaways, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to stay in places this nice.

“What’s all the money for if I don’t spend it on my family?” she always says when someone questions if she is fine with paying for everything. Your mom and Teresa have tried to convince her to let them at least pay for part of it but she wouldn’t even listen to them.

She likes to have her own, sometimes odd ways in life. She definitely has a drinking problem, but not in a dangerous way. You have never seen her completely wasted, she just likes to keep things buzzing and always have a drink on her whenever she needs the extra fun. Because of her past she has the greatest stories about meeting famous people back in the days or how soldiers used to try to win her over when she was just a teenager.

“Oh, those things happened,” your mom told you when one day you questioned if you could believe all the crazy stories Aunt Monica tells you. “She was like… the star of the show. Used to hate living in her shadow, but I can’t blame her for enjoying life and doing the things I was too afraid to do myself.”

Now you’re sitting in the sunroom that faces the amazing view behind the cabin, the Christmas tree is standing tall in the corner, beautifully decorated in white and beige. Valerie is snuggled up to your chest as you gently rub her back and you listen to Aunt Monica tell you about how a literal captain once proposed to her after just three days of knowing each other.

“He was a gentleman, but a beast in the bed, Y/N. I’m telling you, men in uniform are just a different level of satisfaction.”

She sighs deep, taking a sip from her margarita that’s definitely not her first drink, and you just laugh nodding.

“He was begging for me to go to Italy with him.”

“And why didn’t you?”

“Who said I didn’t?” she asks with a pretentious hurt look turning to you and you just laugh. You should have known the story would go this way. “I accepted the offer, only turned down his proposal when we sailed off and then we parted as soon as I stepped onto the land of Italy. Broke his heart into pieces, but I was too busy enjoying the Italian summer.”

Harry comes in and hands you a bottle filled with juice that probably Rosa sent for Valerie.

“Thank you,” you smile at him shortly as you adjust the little girl in your arms and hand her the bottle.

“Young boy, have you ever proposed to someone?” Aunt Monica asks Harry who stops in his way as he was already about to head out, but now he walks back to the sofa where she is sitting.

“No, not yet,” he shakes his head.

“And how do you think you would if the time came?”

You watch Harry think to himself at the odd and quite random question. It’s not really something you would have ever asked him, but now that there’s the chance to hear his answer you are listening curiously.

“Depends on the woman I’m proposing to,” he replies after a few seconds.

“How would you propose to Y/N?”

Your eyes widen as you turn to your aunt with shock all over your face. You definitely didn’t want yourself dragged into this.

“Aunt Monica, that’s--”

“Shush! I’m just asking theoretically. Wanna hear his answer.”

Harry’s eyes wander over to your sitting figure on the sofa as he leans onto the back of the one in front of him. You can feel the heat crawling up on your neck to your cheeks under his burning look and you just know he enjoys how nervous you got from this simple question that wasn’t even asked from you.

Licking his lips he moves his eyes from you over to Aunt Monica who is still waiting for his answer.

“Something romantic, but not too grandiose, I know she doesn’t like being in the center of the attention that much. Maybe…” Tapping on his chin you listen to his words and without even realizing you hold your breath. “Maybe on a hike with a nice view. She would be admiring the view when I get down on one knee and as she turns around I pop the lid on the box.”

What bugs you is that it’s an awfully accurate description of how you’d imagined your proposal. He was right about many aspects, like how you don’t like being in the center of attention. No idea how he nailed so easily, but he did.

Glancing down you pretend to be busy with Valerie who is still peacefully drinking her juice, eyes wandering around the room relentlessly.

“So you really look to satisfy her deepest fantasies, careful about even the smallest details. Women appreciate it,” Aunt Monica nods, completely oblivious to how uncomfortable she just made you feel.

“Thank you, I do like to satisfy women,” Harry cheekily answers with a smirk, eyes locking with yours for a moment as Aunt Monica lets out a laugh at the dirty comment. Before you could bite your tongue a retort slips out of your mouth.

“What a shame you don’t always succeed.”

Harry’s eyes turn from playful to dark pretty quickly and you enjoy the victory over him. Your comment in the car earlier already wounded his manhood, now it’s another stab right into his… crotch. It’s the least he deserves after what he taught poor Olly.

“That I don’t believe. He seems like an absolute pleaser.” Aunt Monica winks in Harry’s way who just smiles at her shyly, but you can tell your comment is still bugging him.

“I think Y/N knows that too herself, am I right?” He tilts his head to the side and you stand your ground with holding his gaze and not looking away.

“Don’t be so sure about that,” you simply say, just when you hear your mom calling out for you. “Would you take her please?” you innocently ask walking up to Harry, holding Valerie out for him. You can tell he is looking for a witty comeback, but he has nothing just yet, so he is stuck with keeping his mouth shut as he takes baby Valerie from you. You gift him with a sweet, but definitely spikey smile before leaving him there with Aunt Monica.

***

Dinner is already almost ready, you’re helping your mom and Aunt Teresa in the kitchen with the finishing touches, Joe and Harry packing out the wine bottles from the rack Jeremy brought them in, the two of them examining the bottles with such professionalism you almost believe they have the slightest idea about what to look for in a good wine.

“Should we open some red or white ones for tonight’s dinner?” Joe asks your mom who is the master chef when it comes to the dinner.

“Red would suit better,” she answers. “Are they sweet?”

“Some, yeah,” Harry nods holding up a bottle and checking the label.

“Great. Monica loves that too,” Teresa chuckles as she adds some salt to the mashed potato.

“And Y/N too,” Harry adds, not even looking up, but he successfully attracts your mom’s attention with his comment.

“She does?” Harry looks up and sees your boiling anger plastered all over your face, so of course he chooses to take it further.

“Oh, yeah. She can drink like a gallon. Wine drunk Y/N is like a whole different person.”

“I told you so many times not to get drunk, Y/N. It’s not too ladylike. When was the last time you saw her drunk?”

“There were plenty of occasions,” Harry exaggerates and you could kill him right there. “Though last time it was the tequila that got her wildin’.”

That damned smirk of his is making your hands curl into fists and for a moment you tell yourself it’s okay to punch him in front of your mother even if she’ll probably disown you for such behavior.

“Y/N! I have told you a million times that you need to know where your limits lie!” she huffs shaking her head at you while you clench your jaw. Back at it with the lessons about getting drunk. She’ll never get over it, not even when you’ll be forty. Why does it matter to her so much? Sometimes she is the one to get you started, but then she gives you the dirtiest looks when you have one too many. She should just get used to it now.

“She surely likes to have fun when she has had a few drinks,” Harry continues smugly. “Remember how much fun you had at Rosa and Steven’s wedding?”

“Oh, God! I remember how drunk you were that evening, I could have killed you!” your mother growls and you roll your eyes at her.

“It wasn’t that bad. There were a lot more people who got way more wasted than me,” you try to defend yourself folding your arms on your chest.

“That doesn’t change that you were too,” she says with a hard look. Great, now she is mad at you for something that happened literally years ago. Kudos to Harry for ruining her mood.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Harry adds and you look in his way with suspicion. “She was a delight when it was time to get her to bed.”

Your mouth almost hangs open, but it seems like you’re the only one understanding what he really meant by that. Luckily, beside you and him, Rosa and Steven are the only people who knows what happened between you and Harry that night, so it’s no surprise no one else catches on the hint.

“You were the one who took her up to her room? Sorry if she was a burden,” your mother sighs and right at that moment you wish the floor would just open up and you could disappear forever. Harry’s satisfied grin is the evidence that he just won another round of this nasty war.

Just as you open your mouth to try and move the conversation to another field you see a pair of headlights pull up to the driveway. Everyone turns to the window as Marcus’ car parks down last in the line. As you step away from the counter you see the confusion in Harry’s eyes about the new guest.

“Oh, amazing! He is here!” your mom cheers, seemingly instantly forgetting about how she was dragging you just a minute ago.

“Who’s here?” you hear Harry ask, but you’re already out of there, heading to the front door to greet Marcus.

Just as you walk out into the cold evening air you see him get out with a warm smile on his lips. You wait for him at the door, arms wrapped around yourself and as he reaches you he places a soft kiss to your lips.

“Hey, how was the drive?” you ask him.

“It was fine. I didn’t arrive too late, right?”

“No, we were just about to set the table. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

He takes your hand in his as the two of you walk inside, all eyes immediately turning your way at the arrival of your boyfriend.

“Everyone, I want you all to meet my boyfriend, Marcus. He is staying for dinner.”

Your family members walk up to the two of you, shaking hands and introducing themselves to Marcus who smiles at everyone politely, trying his best to remember all the names and information that’s thrown at him all of a sudden. Everyone seems delighted to have him for dinner, the kids instantly make him promise he’ll play a card game with them after dinner and he happily says yes to the invitation.

You can tell your mom is proud that finally both of her daughters are spending Christmas with a man by their side and you’re almost certain your dad took a liking to Marcus the moment he mentioned he is into fishing.

Everyone seems excited and happy for Marcus, there’s just one face that doesn’t fit in the line of joyful smiles. Harry stands quite far from the two of you and only gets closer when he shakes hands with Marcus. His cocky grin is long gone from his face as he keeps his hard look on your boyfriend who is chatting with everyone. Standing next to Marcus, your hand still holding his, your eyes lock with Harry’s and there’s an unknown, burning feeling in your gut when his hard gaze holds yours. The sudden change and cold act gets you wondering what’s really going on in his mind. He is the first one to look away and you watch him walk into the kitchen and disappear from your sight before you force a smile on your lips and turn back to Marcus.

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suicidalslasher · 4 years

Text

forever & always. ➤ tom. h.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)

WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her. i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.

The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away. The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person. In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed. The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be.

They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again. But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier. You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small. You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second. The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash, wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire) but a name - Harry Warden. 1997. Valentine's day. Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened. For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed. Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden. No copy cat killer version of him, neither. So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters, buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with love in their hearts and a smile on their face. Today was Valentine's Day, once more. Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself. Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs got decomposed, rotting corpses, instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings.

It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as a threat. Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable. A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay as they read the paragraph out loud all while shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.

Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards. The recent two cards had said; From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near! And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot. Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you. Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps. It could have very well been the same man all those years ago. That's what they were saying. (Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song.

She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.

(Of course, there was more.)

(The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.) Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs. "We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully." "Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N) turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs.

She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason. Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was.

(Y/N) was trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge. With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things. Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel. She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse. "I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital." (Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name, the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead! She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up. Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face. "Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received has said he's been missing since two days ago. He can be anywhere. More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.

Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off. "This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.

“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless." The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's. The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same. She instantly regretted not doing so now, however.

She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her. The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'. (Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together. She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe. Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard. "(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice. And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere. She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself. Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open. There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself. He looked up, surprised she had answered the door. Giving her a weak, lopsided smile, Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping. "(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle. "Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was. "I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N). (Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks. "Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant. "Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together." Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet. "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out. "I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything. Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door." And, yeah, okay, he was right. "Tom..." "(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes. "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?" (Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice. Everything was too much of a coincidence.

Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up.

Now that she was thinking about it....

There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum. Three days ago....

Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne. If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner. Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.

She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her. A promise is a promise. When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too. "I love you too." Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot.

"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.

"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips. "Oh, I'm going to." "Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs." Tom grins and (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom.

Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.

#Tom Hanniger x reader #Tom Hanniger x Y/N #slasher imagines #slasher one shots #slasher x reader #Jensen Ackles x Y/N #My Bloody Valentine #Jensen Ackles x reader #Slasher fanfictions #Jensen Ackles fanfictions #Jensen Ackles imagines #Tom Hanniger imagines #Jensen Ackles one shots #my works #Tom Hanniger one shots #Tom Hanniger fanfictions #Harry Warden x reader #Harry Warden x Y/N #cierra's stories

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watermelonlipstick · 4 years

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Dreams, Chapter 7

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 7

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 4184

Summary: Life moves toward normalcy for Sam and the reader, regardless of emotional turmoil.

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, s l o w b u r n

A few days later the Kaisers came into the bar for a nightcap and asked you and Sam to come to their house for dinner. You couldn’t think of a reason not to, and honestly thought maybe it would be nice to have something to structure the week around. It had been quiet, just barely beneath solemn while the dust settled and Sam stayed mostly silent while you moved around each other throughout the day. At least at the Kaisers’ Sam would have to talk to you, maybe even sidle up close to you during waking hours to keep up the couples’ charade. A little zap of guilt moved through you as you politely agreed to a time, that the second thought you’d had was about getting closer to Sam under this guise. In any case, the Kaisers were kind, it wouldn’t hurt to have a nice meal with someone else, and if you were going to stay here, it would be a good idea to avoid appearing standoffish. You bought their last drink and were waving after them when Sam came upstairs from changing a keg.

“We’re going to the Kaisers’ for dinner tomorrow,” you offered, trying to keep your voice even and making a point of not staring at Sam too long. It was a challenge; since Sam had kissed you and even more since he’d divulged that longing was part of the tangle of emotions he was feeling, it was on your mind nearly constantly, adding a murky stripe to the ever-present grief.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Sam jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans like he didn’t know what to do with them. “What time?”

“They said 7:30. Don’t let me forget; I think we should bring a bottle of wine or something, so I can grab one tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that works.”

You wanted to drag out the conversation but couldn’t think of any way to that wasn’t cloying or desperate. If this (hopefully temporary) emotional distance was what Sam needed, it was unfair for you to try to take it from him. A quick nod and you returned to washing glasses.

The rest of the shift passed agonizingly slowly. Sam put on a podcast about Jonestown for the drive home.

You’d decided to walk over to the Kaisers’ with Sam the next day, bundled up on top of a presentable sweater that you hadn’t worn in a few years. Biting wind sliced through your jeans and seemed to creep into your coat even as you dug your chin inside the collar like a turtle, and when Sam noticed he threw an arm around you. His side blocked a bit of the wind and he rubbed your shoulder to warm it with friction. The impulse to curl up into his ribs was fierce, but you fought it down to wrap your forearms around the bottle of red wine that looked the fanciest of the midrange bottles at the grocery store. Where seconds before you had been wishing the walk were shorter, now you could’ve stayed out in the ice forever if it meant Sam would allow himself to be close to you again without being asleep. You’d made peace with the want, trying hard to decide that feeling crazy on top of your grief wasn’t helping anyone.

“Ready?” Sam asked with a tentative smile at the doorway. The Kaisers lived in a version of your cabin, in the sense that many of the houses in the area were log-hewn and rustic. However, they were clearly here to stay. Window flowerbeds filled with pinecones for the season and delicately carved shutters framed warm casts of light streaming onto the snow through gauzy ivory curtains, and their door opened to a tiny front porch where yours simply had a small ungraceful cement platform. For a moment, you thought about how comforting it would be to come back here at the end of a shift. It didn’t feel like somewhere as darling as this could have a half-broken boiler that rattled all day or plastic-coated countertops. This was a home and not a hideout.

You gave Sam what you hoped was a reassuring grin and watched as his long finger pressed an old-fashioned doorbell encased in wrought iron.

Mike answered the door. He had on a fuzzy pullover that made him look even more like a teddy bear than he normally did, nubbly wool spanning his belly like fur. He had the kind of rosy full-cheeked smile some jolly men combined with their booming voices to seem like the Ghost of Christmas Present, and a well-groomed beard with two starkly delineated streaks of gray-white dropping straight down from the corners of his mouth. From previous neighborly hugs, you knew he smelled like piney aftershave. He was a little taller than average, and built former-linebacker solid. You would’ve bet anything he was the perfect dad to call to help move you into a college apartment or scare an ex-boyfriend, and the thought of it made you cheerful and sad all at once. The hand not holding the doorknob had a pint of dark beer. “Great, you’re here! Babs, they’re here,” he added over his shoulder, gesturing an arm to welcome you into the home.

Sam waited for you to go first, shuffling his feet along the doormat in tandem with you as Mike closed the door. You followed Mike’s socked initiative and gently toed your boots off while you handed him the bottle of wine somewhat shyly. For all the years you’d been on your own, there was something so decidedly adult about bringing wine over to the dinner party of a middle-aged couple that felt like those first few meetings of your parents’ friends after college, when you’re not sure whether to call them by their first names or resign yourself to a life of Mr This and Mrs That. Mike seemed to pick up on it, thoughtfully appraising the bottle and squeezing your shoulder, humming about how you didn’t have to bring anything. He clapped Sam on the back and asked him how he was doing before teasing gently about how long his hair had gotten, and you took in the house.

It was bigger than the cabin you were staying in, the staircase to your left suggesting an upstairs that yours didn’t have, but what was far more striking was how warm it felt both in mood and literal temperature. A fire crackled straight through the main room in front of you, surrounded by giant river rock stonework that offset caramelly beige walls. A deep, plush canvas sofa faced the fireplace, flanked by two equally overstuffed armchairs upholstered with burnt sienna stained leather. Quick visual survey gave you a count of 4 throws in the room of various weights and patterns.

The kitchen was over to the right through the dining room. Barbie was wearing an apron covered in piglets and appeared to be basting something in the oven, turning toward you and absentmindedly wiping her hands. Fluffy, soft-looking hair was held back from her face with a pair of no-nonsense tortoiseshell barrettes. “Oh, perfect! I thought I hadn’t left enough time for the roast, but it looks about done. Can I get you two a drink?”

Sam’s soft, encouraging smile was enough to make you feel a little weak in the knees. “Sure! It smells great in here.”

“How about an old fashioned? We’ve been working through a great bottle of bourbon.”

“Works for me,” Sam agreed, and you nodded as well.

A few moments of small talk later, Sam offered to help Barbie with the food. She graciously accepted, giving him some job you knew she could’ve easily done herself as a way to make him feel more comfortable. Mike noticed you looking at the variety of pictures on the wall and started talking about their kids, putting names to each cheerful face. They were a good-looking family, the Kaisers, all big beaming smiles and limbs protectively wrapped around each other over the course of different seasons and major events. You’d had to let go of this idea years ago, long before Dean was gone, but it still made you ache in a nondescript way to see a family so happy and so each others’, not only in the way they loved but also in the way they so obviously belonged. Mike and Barbie were good people, and they deserved this. You tried to focus on the affection in Mike’s face as he talked, asking a few clarifying questions as he went. A few moments later, Sam came up behind you.

“Barbie says we should go sit down.” There was a pinkness to his cheeks and you couldn’t tell if it was the warmth of the kitchen or residual windburn from your walk over.

The table was one of those single-plank, live-edged ones you’d always coveted and knew were far more expensive than they looked. It fit the elevated rustic feel of the Kaisers’ house and the delicious, rib-sticking meal you were eating off of it. As you fawned over the roast and Barbie did the requisite Midwestern dance of ‘oh it’s nothing I’ll give you the recipe’ it was easy to fantasize about belonging somewhere like this, having parents like this, pictures of your cousins and nieces and nephews lining the walls of your childhood home. Indulgent, clearly, even more so than the rich food and smooth liquor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty about it.

“So, have you two always worked in the bar industry? That always seemed so fun to me—but I’m too old to do anything like that now,” Barbie asked.

“Oh, come on, you’d be a great bartender,” Sam insisted, always coming down on the exact right spot between flattering and politely flirtatious. “But uh, no. This is the first bar I’ve worked in for more than a few weeks, actually.”

Mike raised his eyebrows in an indication to continue but Sam artfully avoided his gaze. You couldn’t tell what the cue was—how honest was Sam planning on being? An old classic, the technically-true, seemed like the best option. “I worked as a bartender through and a little bit after college.”

“Silly me, I guess I had always thought that’s how you two had met; you seem like such a good team there! How did you meet, then?”

You artfully popped an entire fingerling potato in your mouth to force Sam to take over. “Uh, our, ah, families were friends.” In the sense that Bobby had been like an uncle to you both, maybe. A complete non-answer that sort of encompassed the barebones of the situation if you squinted at it right, but neither Mike nor Barbie seemed to recognize the opacity of it.

“That’s great. I bet your parents were excited then, seeing you get together,” Mike suggested before taking a sip of bourbon. Both you and Sam smiled affirmatively—not together, many of those parents long dead before we had even met—and hoped the moment would pass. “How long has it been, then? Since you got together?”

That one you couldn’t even guess what the right pretend answer would be and prepared to joke ‘too long’ before Sam said, “About two years. We knew each other for a long time before that, though.” It made sense, as far as answers went. ‘About two years’ since Dean was gone, since your lives changed, but it still ripped through you like an electric shock and sent you reeling. You could have spent an hour looking at that statement from every angle but snapped out of it when Barbie gave you a basket of rolls to pass to Mike.

“So that explains why she doesn’t have a ring,” Mike winked, playfully knocking Sam’s arm with his fork still in his hand. “Two years isn’t that long.”

Two years is a lifetime. Sam blushed and looked down at his plate. “Be nice. Kids don’t get married at 20 like they used to,” Barbie teased from across the table, smirking at her husband with so much love behind her eyes. You couldn’t help but wonder if you would’ve looked at Dean like that across some dining room table if things had been different and your mind flashed on the kitchen counter a few nights before, silently clinking rocks glasses together over pie and wanting to hold Sam until the world got more fair.

The plates were cleared and an amazing, sticky bread pudding was brought out. Mike and Barbie coaxed each other into telling stories that made you genuinely belly laugh until finally you couldn’t suppress a tiny yawn and the final drink was poured with a joke about how it wasn’t like you were driving home, so what was the harm? You all moved to the living room in front of the fire, sitting next to Sam on the couch when Mike and Barbie took what must’ve been their normal spots in each armchair. Old cushions folded up around you comfortingly and rolled you slightly into Sam’s weight next to you, lining up the firm stretch of his thigh along yours. Warmth from the fire and Sam, the pleasant sounds of your hosts’ voices and Sam’s answers to them rumbling through you as vibrations when he spoke were so sweet and heavy under the bourbon, and your eyelids began to droop.

Sam’s hand gently covered your knee. “Ready to go?” he asked, low with a private smirk.

You made a conscious effort to sit up straight. “I’m so sorry, I can barely keep my eyes open! Where are my manners?”

Mike laughed a big belly laugh from his armchair. “Babs, we’re outlasting the bartenders!”

Everyone chuckled as you all got up from your chairs, Sam accepting a Tupperware of leftovers before the at-the-doorway conversation of people who didn’t want to go and hosts who didn’t want them to either. You’d been so nervous about the dinner and now you didn’t want to leave, honestly hadn’t really wanted to leave the sofa, just doze against Sam in the heat and company like a child. It had seemed before like maybe Mike and Barbie were just asking you for dinner because it was the thing to do, but they had been genuinely welcoming and you realized that these were the first non-hunter or hunting-related relationships you had made in literal years as you zipped your coat up all the way to the top and followed Sam outside into the quiet night.

“Man, they are really nice,” he remarked, walking closely enough next to you that your sleeves brushed together.

You could barely see his face when you looked up to him. “Yeah. We should have them over sometime.”

“Our place looks like a flop house.”

You giggled, the sound falling softly on the snow around you. “We can fix it up first.”

“No real point in fixing it up if we’re not staying here for a long time.”

“Maybe we could stay a while.”

Sam looked down at you, slowing to a stop even as the icy wind whipped around you. “You want to stay?”

“I mean, I—yeah, I think I do. Unless you think we should go somewhere else.”

“No, I just…I guess I hadn’t really considered it here, the whole “roots” thing.”

“It’s fucking freezing, can we talk at the cabin?”

Sam’s laugh rang out across the woodsy surroundings as he clapped an arm around you and shuffled you both home.

That night you tucked your cold toes between Sam’s flannel-clad legs and tried to imagine Dean as an old man.

If you’d thought December and January were bad, the intense cold snap of February sent you for a loop. Something about the months of darkness and frozen fingers was making you more stir crazy than normal; the idea of coming home to the cabin seeming less and less enticing as the days went on.

And then the boiler broke.

Well and truly broke, not just making the horrible clanging sounds it was prone to, but no heat at all. It had only been a couple weeks since going to dinner at the Kaisers’ and the experimental conversation with Sam about investing time into the cabin which had since fizzled out. A lack of heat at the border of the Upper Peninsula in winter was obviously untenable, and it forced the topic again as you grumpily helped carry in the remnants of another dead tree Sam had felled to heat the home with firewood.

“Is it worth fixing or is this a sign?” you huffed through the tiny clouds of steam coming out of your mouth. “How much would it cost?”

“I don’t have a ton of experience with boilers, but I’m pretty sure it’s the heat exchanger. And I have no idea how much it would cost to fix, but I can try to do it myself if the parts aren’t too much.” Pragmatic, genius Sam with the patience for machinery that you didn’t have. He snaked a long arm out from the bundle of wood he was carrying to open the door and hold it for you to scurry under his arm before closing it after both of you.

Generally, you thought a landlord would probably fix this kind of thing but it always felt a little scary asking him for anything, knowing you paid cash every month and the owner had never asked for a background check. It could have been fine, but every potential conflict seemed like it might be an opportunity to be unceremoniously evicted. Better to either leave before it could happen or solve the problem yourselves. You put a hand on Sam’s chest before he could go back for another bundle of wood. “Let’s talk about it for a second.”

Sam put his hands on his hips and it accentuated the broad span of his shoulders in his thick jacket. “Okay, right. What do you think?”

“Well, I mean, do you want to stay here? Or do you want to go somewhere else, or start moving again or something? We haven’t even really talked about it.”

He seemed to be weighing the options before biting his lip. “Here seems as good a place as any in a lot of ways, you know? Off the beaten path, probably not going to get spotted by anyone we know—knew—and the money is honest.”

You cut him off with a flippant wave of the hand. “Right, but I’m not talking strategically. Do you want to stay here? Do you like it here?”

A moment of silence fell as you searched his face for clues. “I—yeah, I do. I like being in the woods, I like the bar, I like people like the Kaisers and Steve and Jake. Maybe I’ll feel differently in the summer but right now I do.”

The grin cracked open your face slowly. “Good. I like it here too. Do you think the hardware store would have the stuff you need to fix it?”

“Definitely the first place I would check.”

After getting the rest of the wood inside and leaving it next to the small fire already burning to dry out, you started to follow Sam to the car before he turned around a step before the door. “Where are you going?” he asked as you almost bumped into him.

“Hardware store, I thought?”

“Nice try, we can’t both leave with a fire going.”

“Oh, I get it. So you get to go sit in the warm car and hang out in the warm hardware store while I turn into a popsicle over here.” You were half-joking, but it was genuinely freezing in the cabin, even with the fire going. Sam rolled his eyes over a smirk and strode around you, pushing the couch tight to the fireplace before retrieving the down comforter from the bed and throwing it on top. He grabbed a rinsed plastic bottle from the top of the recycling bin and filled it with water hot from the tap before throwing it in the microwave for a second.

“Unless you feel like learning a lot about boilers today, then yes.” He gingerly pulled the bottle out of the microwave and tightened the cap back on, deftly shifting it between hands before tossing it under the comforter on the sofa.

You were having a hard time holding onto your anger as you watched him make a cup of peppermint tea, still wearing his boots and coat as he moved around the tiny kitchen. Reluctantly, you shuffled over to the couch and removed only your boots and gloves before getting under the blankets, tucking your socked feet around the poor man’s hot water bottle and finally smiling only when Sam brought over the steaming mug of tea with more than a touch of affection under the exasperation coloring his face. “Fine?”

“Fine.”

When he came back, you were well into a worn paperback and had put two more logs on the fire already. “Do you need help?” you called over your shoulder from within the comforter cocoon.

“I think I’ve got it, thanks.” His words came into the room on a gust of cold air while he tapped snow off of his boots.

“Think you know what you’re doing?”

“Actually, yeah. The woman at the hardware store—you’d recognize her, Diane I think—knew a fair amount about it. I’m pretty sure I have it under control.” He brought a paper bag weighted with supplies over to the utility closet you knew held the boiler and got to work.

It was nice watching Sam in this element, always had been. As much as Dean had loved doing little projects and fixing things, both Winchesters were far handier than your average bear and Sam’s natural interest in learning lent itself well to tinkering with all kinds of things. Evidently boilers were not an exception. He shucked his coat off to lie flat on his back, looking up at something you couldn’t see with his hands gently resting on his ribcage before reaching to grab a wrench. The twisting motion raised his elbow and tugged his shirt a bit up his torso to reveal a few inches of Sam’s lower abdomen, the trail of hair tracing to his belt buckle in slightly sharper contrast to the taught skin around it given the consecutive months spent without sun. It made you blush and you quickly looked back to your book, grateful for the heat that the fireplace was bringing to your cheeks as cover.

About forty minutes later, Sam tapped your shoulder and startled you out of the goofy historical fiction of the paperback. “Wanna see if it works?”

He had a stripe of oil or something on his cheek but you resisted the impulse to swipe it off, instead nodding and extricating yourself from the heat of the blanket and couch around you. When you turned it on, the boiler clicked loudly twice in a way you thought might be a bad omen before going silent again. You let an extended beat pass and placed a palm on the side. It was already on the edge of being too hot to touch and you momentarily forgot that you and Sam had decidedly not been continuing your new normal level of comforting affection lately before throwing your arms up high around his neck excitedly. He chuckled into your ear and closed the embrace, forearms crossing your ribcage and hoisting you off the ground as he stood up in your hug. You could feel the fingers of one hand splayed out over your back and side through your jacket, the other still holding the wrench tightly.

“Okay, no promises it’s going to last, but I think that was it,” Sam offered as you released each other.

“Crank it! I want it to feel like the Caribbean in here.”

“You say that now, and in 3 hours you’re going to be whining about how hot you are,” Sam grinned, clearly feeling a little proud of himself even if he wouldn’t admit it. He tapped the wrench absentmindedly against his palm for a moment, considering whether he wanted to say something. “When I was at the hardware store she said our landlord might be open to cutting our rent if we offered to fix up the place.”

“Who’s we?” you teased, holding your frozen fingers close to the boiler like it was a campfire.

“I thought you might say that. But seriously, I know you don’t like the color of the walls or the shower pressure or whatever, could make it feel a little less…sterile.”

You tried not to remember that the last time you’d picked out paint was for a bright pink bedroom at age 12. Sam was right, it could be nice. Even more than that, it would be great to have some leftover cash around, and an extra project to kill a few hours of daylight wasn’t a bad idea.

“I kind of like the sound of that. I’ll talk to him about whether he’d be game.” Sam squeezed your shoulder before massaging your neck, admiring the boiler distractedly when you continued. “And seriously, thank you for fixing it.”

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 8

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

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Full Moon ~ JJK [M] [Request]

➳➳➳Word count: 6.1K

➳➳➳Genre: Smut, AU, fantasy, tiny microscopic angst,

➳➳➳Pairing: Werewolf!Jungkook x Reader

➳➳➳A/N: I changed it a lot as I had just recently read a fic in the same way you asked me to write it and I didn't want to get into trouble by having something similar. That being said I fell totally in love with this and now I'm obsessed with werewolf protective jungkook like wtf. This is a genre I haven't tried before though and I know you said Hybrid so I hope this counts? I know people sometimes say that you still have your tail and things like that but it's not something I would be comfortable with. Hope this is okay. Love you

➳➳➳Warnings: Mentions blood, biting, smut (obviously), breeding.

"There's been another attack!" Someone screamed as they walked over to you and your friend, you were walking through the college campus you turned to look and see Mieko one of your closest friends rushing over and panting out of breath.

"Another attack?" You questioned as you pulled your bag off your shoulder and dug around inside for a bottle of water that you always carried around with you, you were the mum of the friend group so everyone knew they could come to you when they were in dire need or something. A snack, a drink, band-aid, first aid kit, pocket knife and the occasional cheat sheet to a test that you'd stolen from your history teacher when he wasn't paying attention to you.

"Thanks," She began downing the liquid before leaning against your shoulder for some kind of support, she whipped out her phone scrolling through her Facebook timeline to show you what she was talking about and you rolled your eyes,

"You know, not everything you read on Facebook is-Oh." You stopped yourself once you saw that it was a real report from a real news station, you began reading through what the article was talking about, apparently, the attack was one of 20 in the last two days. All of the attacker's victims lived to talk about what happened to them, talking about how a man would lore them to an old parked car or they would feel like they were being watched all night before waking up the next day in pain from beatings remembering nothing from the attack itself. It was nothing if not strange to you that so many people had been attacked without recollection of the actual attack happening.

"They're calling a curfew for everyone in the university, we have to be back at our dorms before 9 pm or it'll result in expulsion." She had finally caught her breath and was walking without leaning against you so you handed her phone back to her.

"Well, sucks to be me because I have to help Mr SeokJin with Art History grading and then I have night classes in the library with English teacher Mr Kim Namjoon." You told them pulling the bag back on over your shoulder and looking down at your schedule for the day,

"Why do you have to be so good at everything? God, you're exactly like Jungkook." Mieko mumbled rolling her eyes at you, they always mentioned this boy. Jungkook. But you'd never seen him before, probably because you both had super tight compact schedules that neither of you liked to stray from though apparently, you had one class together not that you would know if he was there because you had no idea what he looked like.

"You're always going on about him, why don't you just ask him out?" You teased poking Mieko in the side but she scoffed at you,

"He's an idiot, cold to everyone he meets and just shoves everyone off unless you're in his close friendship circle." You made a fake pitty face at her and she shoved you against the door of the entranceway to the Art building, you were running late for class and if you were late one more time that week Mr Seokjin would have you fired as his PA and Jimin, the teacher's pet would gladly take your place.

"I'm late! I'll see you back at the dorms later, save me some dumplings!" You called as you ran off back down the hall not paying attention to where you were walking and rushing straight into someone's arms, you could have sworn they growled at you so you looked up to see who it was when your eyes landed on another pair that were staring you down.

"Sorry, Jungkook! She wasn't looking where she was going, she's a clutz!" You shot Mieko a glare and she ran off in the opposite direction of her class, probably skipping to go and find someone else to torture.

"I am sorry, I'm just late-"

"You should watch where you're walking then instead of barging into everyone with your back!" He snapped making you flinch a little, you nodded gripping the strap of your bag tightly and going to walk the rest of the way to class. Jungkook stared you down as he watched you walking down the hall, trying to see where you were going when he heard Taehyung calling his name. He shook his head and walking over to his friend who was rubbing his stomach,

"I'm starving, what time are we hunting tonight?" He grumbled at the older alpha who was staring at him, Jungkook hated that he was the leader of the pack that they had especially since Taehyung was older than him and so were the rest of the boys with them but it just fell down to him since he was born a wolf, it was his birthright according to his grandfather.

"After curfew and I have the perfect bait for us tonight." He smirked darkling putting his arm around the Omega walking him down through the halls to go and find the rest of his pack.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a ride home Y/n?" Mr Kim Namjoon asked as you walked out of the library together and into the hallway of the History building, the whole place was deserted except for a couple of guards on shift and tutors who were heading home for the day.

"It's fine, I'm just a three-minute walk away sir," Namjoon said goodbye to you and walked in the direction of the car park. You pulled the strap of your bag over your shoulder and took out your phone to text Mieko to let her know you were on your way when you heard something moving behind you. You slowed down something everyone screamed at people for in horror movies but you were curious about what it was, then images of the news article flashed through your head and you clutched onto your bag tightly picking up the pace to get to your dorm.

A twig snapped and your head span around to see something blur in your version darting into the nearby woods near the college, you should have taken the ride. You regretted it instantly and you couldn't type on your phone because your hands were shaking so much,

"Shit." You whispered as you came towards the alleyway you needed to go down to get to your dorm. You prayed whoever it was following you would just leave you alone as you walked down the alley but whoever it was wasn't giving up, they proceed to follow you until you were deep inside the alley where no one could see you if they looked inside.

You felt a hand clutch onto your wrist before a loud growl sounded through the air echoing off the walls and making your legs shake. You were dragged onto the floor and you tried to beat whoever or whatever it was off your body but they were ragging you about from side to side. You opened your eyes to see bright red ones glaring back at you, attached to the eyes was a huge dog with black fur that was growling heavily and biting into your side repeatedly, you began screaming as loudly as you could hoping someone would hear you and try to rescue you but no one was coming. You started hitting the beast with your fists, bag and phone anything to get it off you but it wasn't budging, you could feel a burning sensation in your side where it had its jaws around you. You jammed the beast in the eye with your elbow and it let out a yelp, letting you go just enough so you could scramble off down the alley and towards your dorms where you banged loudly for Mieko to come and get you.

"Look, I'm telling you I don't remember anything." You said to the policeman who was interviewing you, you were sat up in the University's hospital wing after a nurse had patched you up and called them to report a crime had happened.

"You don't remember anything?" You shook your head and the man grumbled something before leaving you alone, you laid back down against the white sheets and stared up at the ceiling. What were you going to tell people? That a giant dog came out of nowhere and decided to use you as a chew toy? They'd lock you up and throw away the key, at least now you knew why everyone who was attacked before you said they forgot. You wished you'd forgotten, you had the image of the giant red eyes burnt into the back of your head, giving you a headache whenever you thought about them and the way he moved you around. It was bigger than the average dog and known wolves in the area, it was as if it was something straight from a fantasy book but fantasy books weren't real...were they?

Jungkook walked along the hallways with Taehyung and Jimin either side of them, giant smirks across their faces walking around as if they ruled the place.

"Did you hear about Y/n?" Jungkook heard someone mutter behind him, thanks to him being a wolf he had different abilities in and out of his shape. The heightened hearing was just one of many and he used it wisely,

"What happened?" A concerned voice rang out,

"Mieko found her bleeding out on the curb of their dorm, whimpering about something attacking her." Jungkook looked at the Omega's to see if they'd heard anything but they were either not bothered or hadn't heard what the girls were whispering to one another.

"Stay here." He mumbled leaning against some lockers so he could keep an ear on the conversation, he wanted to know what had happened and why you had survived much like all the other people someone had been attacking at night.

"She's in the hospital wing, they're going to keep her overnight until she's stable again. Mieko said it happened right in the alley near their dorm." Jungkook took off in a sprint leaving Jimin and Taehyung alone and confused in the halls, Jungkook hated the fact that he couldn't use his speed ability out of wolf form but he was fast enough without all four legs he knew where your dorm was, he'd heard Mieko talk about it enough in the classes they shared together.

Hissing as you sat up you looked around the hospital room for something to entertain yourself with, your phone was missing along with your laptop so you were awaiting the college to send you a replacement until a new one could be funded to you.

"Miss Y/n?" You looked over at the door to see the nurse who had stitched you together was standing there,

"A guest." You nodded and she moved out of the way letting Mr Kim Namjoon into the room, he walked over to you and sighed.

"I'm so sorry Y/n if I'd have insisted I take you home this never would have happened." He grumbled looking at you with pitty full eyes he felt terrible for not insisting you get into the car with him.

"It's not your fault sir," He nodded and held up the roses that he'd brought along with him, he knew how dreadful the hospital in the university could be and he wanted to liven the place up for you.

"I'll put these in here and go, I have a class." Just as he was reaching for the door handle the door swung open and Jungkook stood there, your eyes widened as he stared at you from the doorway.

"Ah I see you have another visitor, I'll see you next week back in my class." You looked down not wanting to make awkward eye contact with Jungkook but if you had looked up you would have seen the two of them having a stare off while Namjoon left the room. Neither of them blinking until the door was shut and the other was out of sight and out of mind.

"How are you feeling?" You stared at Jungkook once again as he stood beside your bed, your eyes locked onto the bag he was carrying and you realised it was yours.

"Where did you-"

"I went to the alley you were attacked in, your phone is a little broken." He handed you the red iPhone and you groaned looking at the smashed up screen, you put it down on the bedside table reaching for some water when Jungkook noticed the bandage around your waist.

"Why didn't you tell the police the truth?" You stared at him and he poured you a glass of water, handing it to you and watching as you carefully took it from his hands.

"I told them everything I knew." He shook his head at you,

"No you didn't, you told them you don't remember anything and trust me no one forgets something like that you went through." You stared at him with a blank expression, he pulled a chair up to your bed and checked the watch on his wrist.

"You can pretend all you want but we don't have all day." You looked down at the cup of water in your hand trying not to think on the fiery eyes that stared at you, your eyes began to tear up and Jungkook knew what you were feeling. He'd seen the same thing with Jimin and Taehyung but he'd never had a female before,

"It was huge," You started, you had no idea why but there was something about Jungkook that made you feel as though you could trust him with everything and he wouldn't think you were crazy.

"It had these giant red eyes and then it-It's fur it was black and matted." Jungkook knew instantly who and what had attacked you the night before and he knew there was nothing he could do to prevent what was going to happen to you that night.

" I can't explain it all here, it's not safe but we need to get you out of this hospital bed and to my place as soon as possible." You scoffed in his direction and put the cup of water down,

"It's that how you get all the girls Jungkook?" He was shocked at how you were speaking to him at first, normally girls would swoon at his feet and obey whatever he told them and he put that down to the wolf charm but not you. You didn't seem to care about it but he figured it was because you would be changing soon,

"Listen to me, did that bite burn when that thing did what it did?" You thought about it for a couple of seconds before nodding, he leant forward and moved the bandage away from where the bite should have been but it was completely gone.

"That's-"

"Impossible? Yes, it's called healing and I'll tell you more if you come with me." Your mind was telling you that you couldn't trust him or anyone else but there was something about him that was luring you in, your heart and soul both screaming at you that this was right and this was what you were supposed to do.

"How do I know you didn't do this to me..."

"Do I look like a giant wolf to you?" You shook your head at him but remembered all of the old folk stories,

"Wolves shift in the day." He smirked at you for knowing your stuff, you weren't as stupid as he first thought you were.

"If it was me I wouldn't have let you go so you could become like us...No one deserves this life, it's hell." He sat you up in the bed and handed you one of the University hoodies from the shelf and then some sweatpants.

"Like us?" He sighed promising to explain everything once he got you to a safer place,

"Am I going to die?" He felt his heartbreak as you stared up at him with tearful eyes, he shook his head at you.

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

If someone had told you that you would have been changed up in a basement by the end of that day you never would have believed them,

"So what happens when the moon is up?" You questioned watching as Jungkook walked around the basement to make sure the chains were secure, there was one on each of your ankles and then one on each of your wrists keeping you in place.

"You change...Into one of us." He answered looking over at the basement door as it opened, Jimin walked down the stairs to give Jungkook a case of water and he spotted you.

"Y/n was the one they attacked last night?" You stared at him as he placed the water down on the floor, he dropped to his knees and walked closer to you taking a sniff of your hair and pulling back.

"She's not mine." He smirked looking over at Jungkook who was looking away from the scene in front of you,

"What? You haven't checked?"

"Checked? Checked what?" Your voice came out panicked and Jimin tutted shaking his head and turning to look at you,

"You could be his mate or Taehyung's mate who knows, everything happens for a reason Jungkook." With that, he left the basement slamming the door behind him,

"Mate? As in..." Jungkook nodded and you bit down on your lip ignoring the tension that was now filling the air, Jungkook didn't need to check he'd known since you'd walked into him yesterday that you were his mate. He should have walked you home last night to make sure nothing happened to you, he should have been there to protect this from ever happening but now here you were getting ready to change into what he was.

"How come you're not in chains again?" You questioned trying to get rid of the awkwardness that was hanging in the air,

"We can control out shifting, we can change whenever we want but you're new and it's going to be a long time before you can learn to control anything happening inside of you while you're in your wolf form." He walked over to you and looked at the watch, it was almost time. He attached another chain around your neck and you stared at him through your eyelashes.

"Is it going to hurt?" He stayed silent wanting to spare you of the gory details, it was something he'd hated when he first transformed.

"That's a yes." You whispered leaning back against the cold concrete wall behind you,

"I'll change as soon as you do, we can communicate through thoughts so just pay attention to me."

Jungkook watched as you screamed out in anguish, another crack sounded through the air as your arm broke in several places the chains clanging against the floor. Your back arched away from the ground and you let out a shriek in pain as it snapped in one place only to do it again in several other places, your whole body was on fire and you could feel every muscle shaking and bending as something took over inside of you. Then within seconds, the pain was gone and you were staring at Jungkook at a new angle,

"You're okay, it's over." You stared at him as he shook his body once falling down onto all fours and becoming a huge wolf creature in front of you, you tugged at the chains with your paw to get out but it wasn't going to budge. Jungkook had used the same ones wit Jimin and Taehyung and they were triple your size.

"I'm hungry..."

"You will be, Jimin and Taehyung will be back soon. Try to suppress the thoughts with something else." You thought back on all the assignments that were due in next week and you heard Jungkook chuckle from inside of your head,

"You're thinking about homework?"

"Always, it's important."

"You're worse than me." Jungkook went on to explain that that was why he was taking all the extra classes, the extra work kept his mind off of wanting to rip everyone's head off and eat them. While it also kept it from having a social life outside of the pack, he never wanted anyone else to go through this.

"Dinner is served." A deer's body was dropped down on the floor in front of you by a brown-haired wolf with black eyes,

"That one's Tae, he's shy but he'll get used to you." Taehyung left and changed back into his human form upstairs complaining to Jimin that you weren't his mate either.

"Do I just-"

"Let your instincts take over. Once you've fed it'll be easier to control yourself." You threw yourself down biting and tearing into the skin of the animal and he was right, it was as if your body knew what to do without you telling it to.

After that night of changing things changed at home, you couldn't live with Mieko anymore and started to shut her out Jungkook had convinced you it was for the best if you stayed away from her. You didn't want to accidentally kill her or change her into what you were, you moved into the house Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook were living in and started to only interact with them at school. That was a month ago and the full moon was coming up, Jungkoo still hadn't told you what he knew you were to him but he knew it was going to be hard to hide this time around it was already hard enough as it was to keep his hands off you and to stop himself from jumping on anyone that came near you. The alpha instincts around his mate were always stronger than anything else inside of him and it was hard to control but you didn't know he was your mate and he didn't want to tell you.

"Y/n? You ready?" Jimin asked from the doorway watching to see if you were following him,

"Be right there." You called back to him sliding everything into your bag, it was getting late and the moon would be coming up soon so Jungkook wanted you back at the house as soon as possible, it was going to be your first change without the chains on.

"Miss Y/l/n?" You looked over your shoulder to see Mr Kim Namjoon watching you and Jimin closely,

"May I speak with you a second?" You flung the bag over your shoulder and he walked over to your desk, leaning against it and staring down at you.

"You ought to be careful with who you associate yourself with." His hands traced along yours as it rested against your chest, you snapped it away from him feeling uneasy about the touch.

"Jimin and his friendship group they're not exactly the best of their kind," His eyes flashed a bright red colour and you stumbled backwards knocking a chair down in the process, Jimin was by your side within seconds and he was staring at Namjoon who was staring back at him.

"The pathetic little alpha sends an Omega to collect his cum rag, that's funny." Namjoon chuckled deeply without another word Jimin pulled you out of the classroom both of you rushing in silence to get out to Taehyung's car,

"Cum rag? Who the fuck does he think he is?!" You let out a growl by accident and your eyes were starting to illuminate a little as you got angrier,

"Y/n," Taehyung warned reminding you you were inside of a car and no the basement where it was safe to change, but the anger inside of you kept growing inside of you as you thought of him insulting Jungkook like that.

"What happened?!" Jungkook yelled as you were walked into the basement by Jimin and Taehyung, you sat against the floor growling into your hands at the mere thought of Namjoon.

"I think he changed her as well, his eyes Jungkook...They were red and he seemed to know that you were her mate." Your ears picked up on that word again and you watched as Jungkook tensed up.

"I'll fix it, go and hunt for something to eat you haven't had anything all week." You'd managed to feed your cravings by eating a copious amount of beef burgers and steaks when you didn't have to change.

"Mate?" Jungkook turned to look at you and nodded, he knew the time was coming where he would have to explain it all to you but he would rather go off and find Namjoon first, kill him for doing what he did to you.

"Namjoon did this to you, he's the reason you're in this mess." You looked up to see his eyes were filled with tears and you walked over to him taking his face in your hands to make him stare at you,

"Jungkook I'm fine, look at me." He stared at you, the urge to kiss you was growing stronger and he could tell you wanted him to by the way your legs squeezed together and the way you kept licking your bottom lip.

"You're perfect." He mumbled before crashing his lips against yours, his hands gripped onto the back of your neck pulling you closer to him there was something that changed inside of you and it was like you were feral, you never wanted him to stop kissing you ever again but your body was craving more from him. His lips moved down to your neck and you moaned out in pleasure at the feeling of him sucking along the exposed skin,

"Fuck, we can't." He pushed you away and you whimpered looking at him with hurt in your eyes,

"Why not?" He looked at you and then at the watch realising you hadn't even changed yet and then checked his watch again maybe it was too fast there was no way you had control over your changing abilities yet.

"Jungkook kiss me." You whispered to him bringing him closer to you, he took one sniff of your scent and almost fell to his knees ready to take you but it was too dangerous, you were in heat and the moon was full anything could happen. You weren't stable,

"I need you," You whined out in his ear and he grabbed you once more kissing you roughly and slamming you against the wall behind you, you shrieked happily as his hands worked their way up and down your body tripping the shirt from your chest.

"My favourite shirt," You fake pouted against his lip,

"Shut up," He mumbled against your lips biting down on your bottom lip and dragging it with his teeth, everything inside of him knew this was wrong and it could fuck everything up but he needed you and you needed him.

"I need more." You whimpered and he knew what you wanted, what you both wanted but once you started there was no stopping.

"Oh god, I want you to...I want to fuck you until you're full up pup but-" You kissed him once again to shut him up and he relaxed a little more letting your lips relaxing his body, you pushed him back and dropped to your knees in front of him.

"I want what I want," You whispered to him undoing his jeans and pulling them down his legs, he nervously looked up at the basement door and prayed Jimin and Taehyung had left to hunt and weren't going to come down and find this scene unfolding in front of them.

"Shit." He grunted as you took him into his mouth, there were no words to describe how he was feeling the way your tongue worked around his member, licking and sucking every bit of him you could but what you couldn't you used your hands to massage, he was letting out whimpers as his head fell back.

"Just like that, shit." He grunted his hand going into your hair and biting his tongue resisting the urge to slam his cock down your throat, he knew he had to be gentle with you he could smell it on you that you'd never done something like this before.

"Lay down baby." You took him from your mouth with a pop and he smirked ripping your jeans off your body and throwing them somewhere within the basement, he didn't care all he cared about was you. Tasting you and having you all to himself, he licked a stripe up your folds and you moaned at the new sensation, all of this was new to you but it felt right,

"Jungkook." You whined out not wanting to be teased, you wanted him to mount you and not stop until you were screaming out his name,

"I know baby but once I've started I won't be able to stop until I'm done." You nodded at him as a sign that you understood and it was what you wanted and he kissed you, slowly easing himself into you as you whimpered out. You could feel him stretching you out from the very first push and your nails dug into his back dragging down and you were positive if you didn't have super healing powers it would scar him.

"Fuck you're so tight." He grunted as he finally submerged himself all the way inside of you in the missionary position, not something that was common among your kind, holding himself in place until you were ready for him to start moving. You gave him a nod and he kissed your forehead promising you he would be as gentle as possible with you but once you felt you were used to his small and light thrusts you begged him to go faster,

"F-Faster Kookie, I can take it." You whispered in his ear but he shook his head,

"I can't, you'll break." You whimpered as continued his tiny thrusts, you knew there was something to make him move but you didn't want to risk him stopping altogether.

"N-Namjoon called me your cum rag, said you were a 'pathetic alpha'." You managed to say through grunts his thrusting stopped and he stared down at you, he knew what you were trying to do and it was working.

"Fuck, you're going to kill me." He grunted pulling out of you only to slam back into you at a rough pace making your back arch back as he finally hit the spot you'd been needing him in.

"Right there." You whimpered within a matter of seconds already feeling yourself coming to your first orgasm, there was a pit in your stomach that was starting to grow with every thrust,

"Don't stop." You stuttered out as his thrusts became faster, he smirked watching you come undone underneath him he'd never imagined for a second you would be like this with him. He thought you would be a shy and fragile girl like you were before but this was something else.

"I think- Ugh fuck- I think I'm close." You panted out and he could smell that you were, you began clenching around him and he grunted picking up his pace a little more so he could get you to the edge, he bit down on your neck drawing blood and smirking as you let out yelps of pleasure.

"Cum for me pup," You yelped out as you felt your orgasm rush through your body sending shock waves throughout you, your legs were shaking and your hands were shaking as they latched onto Jungkook's hair tugging a little as he continued his vigorous thrusts into you not stopping just because you'd come around him. You screamed out his name as he continued to thrust into you, the pain from just finishing was slowly starting to be subsidised by pleasure once again as you felt the belt-tightening once more,

"J-Junkookie." You whimpered and he smirked down at you kissing your lips and pulling back, he pulled out of you and flipped you over onto all fours, he couldn't take the human position anymore, he needed you on all fours so he could fuck you properly like the dogs you were inside.

"Shit." You hiccuped as he thrust into you hitting spots that were left untouched before, you gripped onto the ground as his hips pushed into yours, one of his hands gripping onto your hips and digging in so deep it was drawing blood.

"I'm close Y/n." He grunted as he continued to fuck you in the way it felt natural to him, you whimpered in agreement letting him know you were too by clenching around him and he smirked,

"C-Cum inside me, please." You whined out underneath him arching your back as you felt your release coming nearer and nearer, he faltered for a second before picking up his pace again not wanting to stop, hearing you tell him what you wanted sent him closer to his edge.

"What do you want little pup?" He asked coaxing you into telling him again you let out a whimper as you were going to have to say it again,

"Finish inside me, I need you inside of me. Everything, just-" You couldn't finish because he pulled your hair so he could kiss you as he fucked into you,

"There's no going back if I do this Y/n." He warned as he felt himself getting closer, he kissed your neck lovingly wanting nothing more than to finish inside of you and claim you as his own but he had to make sure you were sure first.

"Make me yours," You whimpered and he pulled out once again bringing you back to the human position you had started in, he wanted to look at you as he claimed you and made you his. He wanted this to be romantic and not as though he was stealing something away from you,

"S-Shit I think I might." He grunted throughout his sentence staring down into your eyes as you stared back up into his smirking at him as he brought you closer for your second and final orgasm of the night.

"You might what?" You giggled up at him and it was like music to his ears, he felt his balls throb as he almost finished at the sound of your giggle.

"Shit, d-do that again." He begged, watching as you giggled beneath him once more his thrusts picked up once more as he felt his pleasure coming to an end,

"I'm g-gonna cum, cum for me okay?" You nodded at him and he smirked kissing your lips softly pulling away to make eye contact with you as you begged him to fill you up, it's what you needed and what your body was begging for.

"S-Shit." He grunted hitting your spot in just the right way that you clenched around him tighter than before, like a vice and he stuttered his thrusts spurting into you but continuing to fuck into you so you wouldn't miss a single drop.

"Shit I think I love you." He grunted out as he continued to thrust into you when you didn't say anything back he felt his heartbreak a little but he continued to thrust.

He stayed in place above you as you both came down from your high, once he knew it was safe for him to pull out he did and dropped down next to you smirking as he looked at you.

"That was-"

"Yeah," You finished looking at him with a smile on your face, you rolled over and laid your head down against his chest.

"I love you too by the way." You whispered looking up at him as you rested your chin on his chest to make eye contact with him.

"Can you guys warn us next time?! Fuck!" You heard Jimin yell from upstairs you looked over at the door and back at Jungkook,

"Why didn't I change?" Jungkook looked at you and took in a deep breath,

"I think you have better control over your instincts than I first thought." You hummed and bit down on your lip,

"I want you to do that again." You whispered to him biting down on your lip as you stared up at him,

"Trust me, you're not going to want to stop now you've had one taste." He chuckled knowing how hard it was to keep yourself from stopping once you'd had the first taste of an orgasm like that.

"But let's go upstairs since you're not changing, there are much comfier places then the basement floor." He whispered in your ear, roughly biting down on it with a fang and smirking as you whimpered out to him.

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keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 16 (Mafia AU)

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warning: Lemon goodness!

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Read Chapter 16 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

As heated as Edge’s kisses were, the warmth dissipated quickly when Edge led him out of the green room. Standing outside the door was one of the Dog guards, his expression the same blandly impassive as they usually were and that was enough to set Rus firmly back into reality.

Rus stole a single glance at that furry, emotionless face before he looked away, a stupid blush rising in his cheekbones. He couldn’t help wondering if this Dog were part of the security team that had seen him dancing on the cameras, but there was no way in hell he was going to ask. Better to banish that idea from the ol’ memory place and move right on.

Maybe Edge felt sort of the same or maybe he was still feeling a little handsy after everything. Instead of leading the way, he slid an arm around Rus and guided him to walk beside him, settling a large, warm hand at the base of his spine like a sort of backwards leash. Edge was wearing gloves, but they weren’t much of a barrier and the light touch against his exposed vertebrae made Rus shiver.

This was…this was fine, and he trotted along beside him as quick as he could without outright running, partly to keep up with Edge’s long strides and partly because the floor was damn cold on his bare feet.

If there was one thing he’d learned from all this it was that sexy didn’t have much in common with comfort, and that was the truth.

The path they took was different from the one this morning and led to an elevator instead of stairs. Crowded into the lift, Rus didn’t think he’d ever felt more awkward in his life as he stood there between Edge and the Dog, tarted up in the clothes Mona chose for him like the shiny jam-filling between two claustrophobically oversized slices of bread. He practically darted out when the doors opened, waited only long enough for Edge to gather him up again, herding his lost sheep through the hallways.

Edge didn’t seem to feel the need for all the tricksy backwalking that the Dogs usually did and led a straightforward path around the corner to a door in the middle of the hall.

Rus blinked, confused. “this isn’t my room.”

He was pretty sure about that, anyway. All the doors were exactly the same and Red’s tricksy tricks made it hard to keep tabs on anything, but as confusing as the corridors were, Rus knew for sure that there was a wall sconce across from his room, not a painting. Probably both were rigged with spy cameras or microphones, angel knew what.

“It isn’t,” Edge agreed. A press of his hand against a panel opened up a familiar keypad and Edge tapped in a code, the numbers obscured from Rus’s view. “It’s mine. Your brother can wait a little longer to see you.” He slanted Rus a knowing look. “I’m gathering he didn’t take your chat about us very well.”

“not really.” Rus blinked hard against the sudden stinging in his sockets, trying not to think about the accusations Blue flung at him.

He followed Edge into the room, the same room as earlier, had it only been a few hours since he’d been sitting on that wide sofa, healing Edge from the burns whose marks were still faintly visible on his bones? This entire week was rushing by at lightspeed, so many things coming at him at once.

Earlier, he hadn’t gotten a very good impression of the room past ‘posh’, more than a little distracted by Edge being, you know, burnt up. Now as he was looking at it, the expensive vibe was still winning the race but there was a close second coming up from behind of…unimpressive.

Yeah, the sofas were huge and plushy, the bed frame and side tables ornate wood carved in curlicue designs. Oriental rugs lined the floor, decadent cushions and pillows carefully placed. What it really screamed was a lack of any personality whatsoever. Like it hadn’t been five minutes since a designer came in and did their thing, leaving it coldly uncluttered and stark.

There was no personality, no shoes half-kicked under the sofa, no books piling up on the nightstand with a glass of water for the midnight thirsties. The sofa was nice, but there wasn’t a single anomaly in the cushions, a slight indent that revealed which one was the favorite. Back home, their walls were covered with pictures, Blue loved photographs, and there were so many of them; from when they first came to the surface and those first six months that all Monsters spent in quarantine, pictures of them working in the garden, from the grand opening of the shop.

There was plenty of art here, all of it probably expensive, not that Rus knew the difference between museum quality and dentist waiting room, but not a single photograph, not even a family shot on the nightstand. Which, okay, a candid shot of Red staring at him all night wouldn’t give him sweet dreams, but that was Edge’s brother, not some psycho stranger who’d abducted him right off the street.

Even their current borrowed room had a touch of clutter after only two days. This one was so impersonal, utilitarian despite the implied comfort. There was nothing of Edge here, nothing whatsoever, as blank as an expensive hotel room. This was nothing more than the place Edge slept and dressed, it wasn’t a home, and that seemed so wrong.

His impromptu assessment short-circuited when Rus realized that Edge hadn’t paused to sit at the sofas. He walked past those cushy seats to the bed, toeing off his shoes and lining them up precisely next to it, then impatiently shoving the curtains back as he settled to lay on top of the plush comforter with a loud groan, clothes and all.

Rus hung back, unsure. If Edge was planning on going to sleep, did he expect Rus to lounge around his room and…what? There wasn’t a television that Rus could see, not so much as a paperback lying around, and Rus didn’t even have his phone to play a couple rounds of Candy Crush.

Before Rus could plop down on either of the sofas to spend some quality time twiddling his thumbs, one of Edge’s sockets cracked open to show a gleam of crimson, his unscarred brow bone rising pointedly as he held open an arm in invitation. “Come here.”

It wasn’t a question and not precisely a demand. More like an expectation and when Rus didn’t move, only shuffled his bare feet against the carpet undecidedly, that brow bone rose higher still. “I only want to hold you,” Edge said, “it’s been a very long day. Can’t you give me that much, flower shop?” One corner of his mouth lifted in that half-smile of his, settling at a near smirk, “Considering that I was getting ready for bed when I heard about your latest disappearance, I think you owe me that much.”

The last thing Rus wanted to get into was a conversation about debts, seriously. He had no idea which side was in the red anymore, but he knew which side Red was on and Rus wasn’t liking his odds. He still waffled, lingering back. “like i haven’t been losing sleep over you, asshole?” Rus muttered.

That half-smirk only widened, unoffended. “Well? Make a choice.”

Somehow, Rus didn’t think he only meant this bizarre version of snuggle time. He shuffled closer, slowly climbing onto the wide bed, crossing the plains of it like a damn wagon train heading to California. But his reluctance vanished by the time he settled cautiously against Edge’s side. He was big and warm, the spice of his cologne sharp in Rus’s nasal passage, and one arm looped around his back, a large hand settling to rest almost chastely on the upper curve of Rus’s hip.

Both of them were still fully clothed even if Rus was a little more exposed in his dance outfit, intimate without being intimidating. As much as he hated to admit it, it felt…nice. Safe.

Rus gave in and snuggled closer, settling his skull cautiously on Edge’s chest. Felt the rise and fall as he took a deep breath and let it out in a contented sigh. Edge’s arm tightening around him, his hand rubbing a gentle, soothing circle against Rus’s hip. There was a soft touch against the top of his skull, a kiss, coupled with a gust of warm breath.

As tired as he was, Rus found that he wasn’t anywhere close to drowsing off. His thoughts were still agitated, questions bouncing around on the inside of his skull. Without letting himself think too hard about it, Rus blurted the safest one. “how did you get involved in all this? the club, i mean. you know what i mean.”

Edge’s gloved fingers dragged an absent path up Rus’s spine, leaving a tingling trail behind them. “Hm? That’s a long story.”

Of course it was. “give me the reader’s digest version.”

He felt Edge smile against his temple. “All right.” For a long moment, he said nothing, only gently pet the many bones that Rus’s clothes left exposed, but if he was hoping to lull Rus to sleep without answering, that was off the table. Rus shifted restlessly and he finally spoke, slowly, as if selecting each word with care.

“There were four of us when we first came to the surface,” Edge said. With his head resting on Edge’s rib cage, Rus could hear the vibration of his deep voice from within his chest, the words coming in strange stereo. “My brother and myself, Blaze, and Gaster. I’ve known Blaze since I was a child and Gaster was…I suppose our godfather, that’s as good a word as any. He raised us and he was the one who set up this little empire, he started nearly the moment we stepped out into the sunshine. He gave the orders and we followed them, without question.”

Referring to someone as ‘was’, yeah, that was kind of a big hint, but Rus asked anyway, haltingly, “so...um. what happened to him?”

“He disappeared one night.”

“he left?”

“I don’t know,” Edge said, and something in his tone warned about asking any more questions about that, “He was simply gone. Red took over after that and we finished building up this place as a home base.”

Their godfather up and vanished one night and no one looked any deeper into that.

Yeah…

Rus was no Sherlock Holmes or even a Watson, but that seemed, oh, what was the word, really fucking suspicious?

Then again, like he had room to talk, their pop had done something pretty similar before they ever came to the surface. Went off to get drunk, same as always, and never came back. In his case, the whole town went looking and never found so much as a speck of dust; for all Rus knew, his pop was out there somewhere alive, maybe starring in an Underground music review with this Gaster guy.

He wondered if Edge had been scared when Gaster disappeared, like Rus had. Or if he’d been guiltily relieved that it was over, and he wouldn’t have to deal with all that shit again…like Rus had. But in their case, with one man down, that left three.

“and blaze?” Rus asked, cautiously.

“That’s an entirely different discussion.”

Hmph. “that wasn’t the reader’s digest version, that was barely a tik tok video,” Rus complained. “when do i get the long version?”

“You don’t,” Edge said, and the coolness of his voice belied the heat of his fingertips fondling their way back down Rus’s spine. They teased at the waistband of his pants, barely skirting beneath the fabric. “I told you once, I am a very bad person. I wouldn’t taint you by telling you all that I’ve done. All I can say is that for every deal with the devil we make, some good comes of it, and if the price of helping our people is my soul, I’ll gladly pay it.”

Difficult as it was, Rus shook off Edge’s hand, sitting up enough to scowl back down at him. “nice speech, but if you don’t want me knowing anything about you, where does that leave me?” Ignoring his inner voice shrieking that it was better to stay in the dark, safer, ignorance was the only path back home.

“Right here.” Edge rose up on one elbow, his other hand gentle on Rus’s chin as he leaned up for a kiss and, damn it, someday Rus wasn’t going to fall for this. Someday he wasn’t going to melt like a pat of butter on fresh toast at the heat of Edge’s mouth, the curl of a tongue against his own, gently coaxing. For a moment or so there was only that, a cautious meeting of mouths that slowly turned more insistent, parting for gasps of breath before hungrily meeting again.

The world seemed to spin suddenly, revolving, and then the mattress was soft beneath him. Rus dazedly realized Edge was above him now, knees nudging his legs apart as his heavy weight settled between his femurs.

Wait, Rus tried to say, the word catching in his throat as Edge abandoned his mouth to bite a delicate line along his jaw

“oh,” he whimpered aloud. He fumbled for words that skittered out of his reach, unsure if he even wanted to speak them. He couldn’t focus, his attention torn in a dozen directions; the pressure of Edge’s weight pushing him harder into the mattress, the tease of his mouth sucking at his mandible joint, and his hands never stopping, roaming over him from his skull to his hip, touching, coaxing, soaking him in pleasure so quickly. Too quickly, days’ worth of pent up desire shaking loose of their bonds to follow that touch.

Edge shifted against him and knee slid higher to press firmly at the join of Rus’s legs, rubbing at his pubic arch through the too-tight trousers. He cried out, a half-voiced whimper of protest twisted up with an almost alarming need. “wait…i…i don’t…”

“Shhhhhh,” Edge breathed. His mouth was searing hot against the side of Rus’s skull, crooning into his auditory canal. “Let me, pretty. My pretty little flower shop.” His hand slipped down into the cradle of Rus’s pelvis, not into the agitated swirl of magic gathering there, but tracing his ilium in an agonizing tease. He could hear the smile in Edge’s voice as he murmured, “You’re trembling.”

If he’d had a single wit still in his possession, Rus would have snapped out, ‘no shit!’. He could hear that he was trembling, the muted rattle of his bones as shivers wracked him. But mere thinking was far past his skills right now as that teasing touch suddenly became so much more pertinent, fingers gliding down to rub circles against his sacrum, a matching rhythm to the rocking pressure of his knee.

Rus nearly sobbed as he tried to arch up, struggling against Edge’s weight holding him down. He couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything, his breath panting harsh and the pulse of his soul so loud inside his skull he barely heard Edge whisper, crooning to him, a request and a demand as one, “Come for me.”

His knee pushed hard against his crotch at the same moment his fingers dipped down, fitting against the groove of his pubic symphysis, the rising wave of his pleasuring cresting with a garbled cry, “oh, oh, OH!”

His whole body quivered, carried along by sudden ecstasy and Rus could only whimper and let it take him. Shivering and choking out little cries even as he sagged weakly into the mattress, wrung out and undone.

Damp breath gusted against his temple in a fervent groan, “There. So beautiful, my beautiful flower.”

Rus only lay there gasping, limbs gone weak and limp. He squinched his sockets tightly closed and waited for Edge to strip away his pants, waited for a hand to take his own and guide it down to the hard shaft he’d felt pressed against him. Long moments passed and eventually, anticipation melted into confusion. Rus opened his sockets to see Edge still hunched over him, taking long, slow breaths to settle his aroused magic.

With a grimace, Edge rolled off him and the loss of his weight left Rus strangely bereft. He reached out unthinkingly.

“Don’t,” Edge gritted out. He caught hold of Rus’s hand before he could snatch it away, softened his words with a light kiss against his palm. “Not right now, not tonight.”

“oh, but,” Rus could only blink in dumb confusion, “why?”

“Because when I make love to you, you’ll spent the entire night in my bed.” Edge’s voice went lower, deep and dark, and a renewed flush of heat lit inside Rus, a kindling spark. “I want to be sure I can see your face when I make you come.”

A blush flamed across his face, burning hot, and Rus was almost ready to beg for that, even with little twinges of pleasure still lingering, but Edge’s smirk soured. “I don’t believe your brother would accept that tonight, I’ve been advised he’s anxious for your return.”

Been advised? How and by who? Reluctantly, Rus sat up, wondering if his trembling knees were even going to hold him. At least he could be grateful that his pants were black, it would hide the dampness he could feel between his legs. He really hoped they’d give the clothes a wash before taking them back to Mona.

Edge slid off the bed, frowning down at his wrinkled suit. He shed his jacket, tossing it on the bed and hey, his first piece of clutter, Rus could be a good influence yet. With a practiced yank, Edge untucked his shirt, pulling off the tie and loosening the top few buttons. It lent a casual appeal even as it exposed the lines of his collarbone, the slender bones oddly delicate on his large frame.

Great, he looked cool and casual, and Rus looked exactly like he’d just been rolling around in someone’s bed. That was a little more honest than Rus felt like being with his brother right now and maybe Edge agreed, because he disappeared behind a nearby door and when he came back out, he was carrying a shirt, a close match to the one he was already wearing.

He helped Rus slip it on and Rus couldn’t help a laugh at the way the sleeves fell far past his fingers. Between the two of them, they rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, Edge’s side neat and precise, and Rus’s a lopsided attempt. He stood like a child while Edge buttoned it and now shyness was creeping in, leaving him a little uncomfortable. He was grateful to be covered, his spine and ilia hidden behind the oversized shirt.

Rus bit back a yelp as Edge suddenly dropped down to crouch at his feet. He took hold of Rus’s bare foot with both hands, urging it to rest on his knee as Edge plucked loose the glittery ribbon still wound through his tibia and fibula.

Yeah, that was probably a good idea. The once-crisp bow was drooping sadly by now and it would surely bring up questions that Rus didn’t really want to answer. He honestly wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak to Blue at all and the urge to ask Edge to let him stay the night after all was strong. But this was his problem to deal with, not Edge’s and it wasn’t fair to ask him to step into the middle of it. Edge was already cobwebbed into the center of enough webs.

The rough feel of the ribbon gliding against his bones as it was pulled loose distracted him, making him shiver, his toes curling. He braced his hands against Edge’s shoulders, leaning against his solid support and it was a good thing he did because as soon as the ribbon fell away, Edge ducked his head to press a kiss against the newly sensitive bones.

“There.” Edge let go of his ankle and Rus set his foot back to the floor, trying to ignore the renewed wobbliness of his knees. “Let’s get you back to your brother.”

His sudden trepidation was harder to ignore but Rus managed, nodding and he said as firmly as he could. “Let’s go.”

The walk was a short one without the pretense, his room was only two turns down the corridors away. Rus hesitated in front of the closed door and turned back to Edge, looking up into his bright, crimson eye lights.

So much had happened that a simple good night seemed kinda pathetic. They were way past the conventions of a first date, hell, they’d skipped that part of the manual entirely. But there was a Dog standing on one side of their door as a guard and his brother was just inside, and Rus’s mind was a blank page.

Edge saved him with a brief, soft kiss, huh, saving seemed to be his personal kink and holy shit Rus did not just think that. He banished the thought, rising up on his toes to return that light kiss and sighing unhappily as Edge broke it and stepped back.

“It’ll be all right, flower shop,” Edge told him softly. Rus nodded stiffly and turned away. He took a steadying breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the door.

“blue?” Rus barely had time to close the door before a blur flew across the room and attached itself to his legs. He flailed back a step, only saved from falling to the floor by the door behind him.

“I’m sorry!” Blue blurted, “I’m so sorry, brother, I didn’t mean it.”

Rus blinked hard against the sudden well of hot tears, dropping down to his knees to pull his brother into a fierce hug. “it’s okay, bro.”

“It’s not,” Nearly a sob and already the front of Rus’s shirt was growing damp. “It’s not at all!”

That was probably truer than Rus wanted to admit. A hasty apology wasn’t going to heal his aching hurt at the memory of his brother’s accusations. But it was a start and he couldn’t bear to listen to his brother crying, not now.

“look, let’s just get some sleep, tomorrow we can have a long talk and i’ll tell you everything.” Rus hesitated, took a deep breath, and forced out, “I promise.”

He meant it. He was going to tell the entire story from the beginning and if it made his brother hate him, then so be it. Whatever else happened, the lies and hidden truths between them were going to end.

Blue nodded, his chin digging into Rus’s sternum, “All right. But it doesn’t matter, Papy, none of it matters except that you’re back.”

They sat there together, caught in a tight embrace, until the cold of the floor started to seep its way in. “bro, i love you,” Rus said ruefully, “but my ass could use a new seating arrangement.

“Language,” Blue said with a watery laugh. He let go then, turning away so briskly that Rus frowned, watching his brother bustle away. “Why don’t you go get changed into your pajamas, everything will seem better after some sleep.”

He kept his face turned away, not looking at Rus and that was more than a little strange. He was used to Blue looking him over like he was studying for a test. “bro?” Rus asked, hesitantly, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” That single word bordered on maniacally cheery and he kept turned away, angling his head oddly, and yeah, okay, they weren’t going to get out of one set of lies by diving into a new one. Exhausted as he was, it didn’t take much to sidestep into a shortcut and come out in front of his brother, catching sight of him before he could spin away.

“what the fuck!” Rus gasped. He grabbed Blue by the shoulders, ignoring his feeble resistance as he forced him to turn around. There was a darkened bruise running down the side of his brother’s face like the shadow of a bluejay’s wing, from his eye socket nearly to his chin.

“what happened?” Rus demanded. The unpleasant thought came that while he was fooling around in Edge’s bed, his brother was out here alone, no, not alone, someone hurt him, and the list of suspects was vanishingly short. “it was him wasn’t it, he-“ Rus broke off, too furious to speak. He was going to kill Red, he didn’t know how, but somehow he was going to dust that low-rent Scarface bastard for daring to hurt his brother.

“No!” Blue shook his head frantically. “It wasn’t him, I swear, I promise, it was…” Blue sighed, tiredly. “I did something stupid. It seems to be an ongoing trend these past few days. Please, little brother, I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

Dirty pool, that, tacking the ‘little’ onto brother.

“okay,” Rus agreed, slowly. “but we’re talking about everything tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Blue hurried over to gather up Rus’s pajamas, practically thrusting them into his arms. “Now let’s get some sleep.”

Blue was trying to sound reasonable and it mostly worked. The endless flood of exhaustion was rising up over the sandbags and Rus was ready to get some sleep.

He went to the bathroom to wash up, trying to ignore the way his pants still felt uncomfortably damp at the crotch, a match to the tearstained front of his shirt. But it was an absent glance in the bathroom mirror that had him blushing up to his browbone.

Unbeknownst to him, he had a new bruise of his own, vivid against the pale bone of his jaw. It couldn’t be called anything but a hickey and there wasn’t a single chance Blue missed seeing it.

He’d seen it and hadn’t asked, not a single question about that or Rus’s sudden change of clothes and his obviously borrowed shirt.

Looked like neither of them were talking about their fresh bruises, not that that was anything new. Not talking about things seemed to be their current state of being; shouting, yes, avoiding, got it, but no talking, not really. Tomorrow was going to change that, Rus decided firmly, for better or worse.

Rus sighed and stepped into the shower, washing away the long day with hot water and heavenly scented soap. This place might smell like a choir of angels, he thought sourly, but the sulfur was sure starting to creep in.

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #mafia AU

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shapeshiftinterest · 4 years

Text

This Could Be Us But You Playin': badgermao & shadow badgermao (CH 3)

Mao and Shadow Mao return to see that the HQ has been trashed

Adorabat explains

sidenote: she doesn’t know what the Badgerclops’ were talking about, just that BC was choking on some toast

story under the read more

This Could Be Us But You Playin' (also on ao3)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Both Maos dropped their grocery bags in shock, eyes widening.

Mao held his head in disbelief as Shadow Mao lifted a hand to where their mouth would be and let out a silent gasp.

The living room, office, and probably the kitchen, were all a mess. Papers were scattered everywhere and a good half of the furniture was overturned.

The living room table was split in half, random memorabilia still on fire. Burnt toast was everywhere, on the floor, the walls, even the ceiling. And was that-

“SOFIA!!“ Mao cried, rushing over to the rafters. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you down from there!“

While Mao was freaking out over the couch, Shadow Mao sprinted towards the kitchen.

His boyfriend was doing a hand stand while Badgerclops sat backwards in a chair and drew his portrait... in ketchup. Shadow Mao looked past them to see Adorabat T-posing on the kitchen table.

But where was-

*thump*

The sound brought his attention to their adopted deputy, stuck head first in a box of cookies and struggling to get out.

“BADGERCLOPS WHERE ARE YOU?!“ Mao shouted from the living room.

“UH, I’M KINDA BUSY HERE MAO” he scoffed, continuing to smear ketchup on the canvas. “Some people just don’t appreciate my creative ways, y’kno?“

“DROP WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND HELP ME WITH SOFIA!!!“

“NO WAY MAN, DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO PAINT SOMEONE DOING A HANDSTAND?!?!“

Shadow Mao shook his head at them before trying to get Shadowbat unstuck, gently tugging the box off their head and wiping the crumbs off.

They blinked and ‘squee’ed at their guardian, the bat’s eyes turning into happy slits as they rubbed the top of their head against his chin in thanks.

Shadow Mao set them on the table next to Adorabat, who was now shoving pieces of toast in her mouth and offering a few slices to her new table buddy.

Mao had also moved to the kitchen and was now in a shouting match with Badgerclops while Shadowclops buttered another piece of toast and watched.

They noticed their shorter companion walking over and handed them a slice with some jam on it, shoving the other 3 pieces into their ‘mouth’ and leaning against the counter.

The cat shade crunched half of it and tossed the rest back to their companion, who snapped it up mid air, before quick stepping behind Mao and putting a hand on their shoulder.

Mao paused, looking over his shoulder at red eyes. He glared for a bit and sighed, pinching the bridge between his eyes.

“Alright, just. Everyone into the living room. Badgerclops, could you please help me get Sofia down from the rafters.”

-after getting sofia down and putting out the fires-

The Maos stood in front of the broken coffee table, arms crossed as they looked at their deputies.

“Can any of you tell us what happened to HQ while we were gone?“

The deputies shared a look but stayed silent.

Mao glowered, foot tapping impatiently. Shadow Mao picked up a piece of toast and waved it at Shadowclops. ‘What’s up with all the burnt toast??’ they signed.

Shadowbat rubbed the back of their neck with one of their wings.

Mao looked off to the side, “Fine, you leave me no choice, but to withhold the snacks we brought for you until further notice.“

Four sets of eyes snapped to attention.

Badgerclops gasped, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, but I would. And the longer you say nothing the colder they’ll get.”

‘You monsters!’ Shadowbat signed.

Shadowclops put a hand to his forehead, feeling faint.

“Wait!“ Adorabat called out, just as the Maos were going upstairs. “We’ll tell you.“

“Adorabat what are you doing?“ Badgerclops whispered.

“It has to be done! I wanna know what they got us.“

He made a slightly troubled face before conceding.

Adorabat took in a breath “It started like this.“

-a few minutes after the Maos left-

Badgerclops walked into the living room, an Adorabat on each shoulder. Shadowclops looked up from their borrowed Switch but kept pushing buttons rapid fire.

“Sup shadow me, wanna join us and mess around with the toaster while the Mao’s are gone? We’re gonna see how much bread it takes to built a fort out of toast.“

Shadowclops nodded eagerly, saving their game and tossing the Switch onto the couch.

-an ungodly amount of toast later-

“It’s so beautiful.” Badgerclops choked out, wiping a tear from his eye.

Shadowclops put a hand on his shoulder and handed him a napkin, glowing with pride at the toaster fort they’d made in the living room around the couch.

All four deputies were decked out in their own toast outfits, personally decorated with different colored jams.

“Badgerclops, we should take a picture to show Mao Mao!“ Adorabat said, tugging on his belt.

“Good idea 'dorabat.“ Badgerclops pet his toolbelt pockets. “Now where did I...?“

Shadowbat swooped over them, dropping the phone into his hands.

“Oh sweet, thanks lil dude.“

They gave him a thumbs up from their perch on Shadowclops’ shoulder.

“Ok everybody, say, ’deputies!’“

“DEPUTIIIIEEESSS!!!“

*click!*

‘Send that one to me.‘ Shadowclops signed.

“Fo’ sho my guy, fo’ sho.“

It wasn’t long until the four were tag team playing against each other.

Badgerclops fell back against the back of the couch, careful not to knock his toast crown against the top of the fort as he passed his controller to Adorabat.

Shadowclops sat on the opposite end, decked out in similar toast duds. The two watched as their smaller deputies duked it out on screen.

He leaned over, catching the other’s attention. “Hey so like, what’s up with you and Shadow Mao?“

Shadowclops turned his head and tilted it. ‘What do you mean?’

“I dunno like,” Badgerclops covered his mouth, whispering “why d’y’all smooch so much? Are you heroes with benefits or something?”

He jokingly wiggled his eyebrows at the other and broke off one of his shoulder armor toasts, biting through half of it before reaching for the peanut butter jar.

Shadowclops snickered, signing something that made Badgerclops’ face burn. Most likely due to choking on his toast, but also from embarrassment.

‘Are you ok?‘ Shadowbat signed, their head popping over the edge of the fort to look at him with concern, miniature toast crown slipping a little.

“Y- *hHrGk* yeah,” Badgerclops hacked, giving the Adorabats a thumbs up “never better!“

Shadowclops thwacked him on the back as he continued to wheeze.

“Thanks man.”

‘no problem :).‘

Absentmindedly he shoved his other shoulder toast into his mouth. Anything to get his mind off of Shadowclops signing ‘dude, we’re lovers, lol’.

Sure, he’d thought about it a few times when he was alone, or when he and Mao’d had a soft moment together.

And yeah, maybe they made out before when they’d been on the road *cough* and in his art and some of his dreams *cough*. But officially?

Badgerclops’ brow furrowed and he crossed his arms. Officially they were partners, co- heroes. They were best buds protecting Pure Heart Valley along with Adorabat.

He glanced back at Shadowclops, Shadowbat was splitting part of their crown and giving him half. He wondered what it would be like to have that kind of relationship with his Mao.

“Whoops!“

Adorabat’s controller clattered as it hit the floor, skidding under the couch and breaking Badgerclops out of his thoughts.

“Sorry! Could one a y’all get that for me?“

“Oh yeah, sure.“

He blindly searched for the controller with this robo arm, something thunking against it. “I think I got- oh no. GET OUTTA THE WAY!!“

Badgerclops’ arm started to spark, flipping through different modes before settling on the blaster setting.

“Nonononono. SHADOWCLOPS, SAVE SOFIA- AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!“ he yelled, arm rapid fire blasting through the toast fort and parts of HQ.

Badgerclops rushed out of the fort, tripping on the living room table and breaking it in two, a wayward beam taking out part of the ceiling.

His shadow version managed to yeet Sofia into the rafters a little farther in.

Shadowbat was frantically trying to remember where the fire extinguisher was and just kept breaking thing she thought it would be in.

Meanwhile the strength of the blasts had forced Badgerclops into the kitchen, where he and Adorabat were hitting his robo arm in an attempt to dislodge the magnet stuck inside.

Adorabat gave up once the toaster exploded, poking at the base of the prosthetic the way she’d seen Mao do before.

After a few tries the rogue arm sent out a strong blast, catapulting itself through one of the closed windows and into the forest.

All of them were breathing heavily, Badgerclops went to get his spare arm while the other three put out some of the more immediate fires.

Tired, and still a little on fire, they sat at the kitchen table.

“So it’s agreed? We don’t tell either of the Mao’s what happened here.“ Adorabat said, wings folded in front of her.

-present time-

“And that’s what happened!“

“Wait, so you’re telling us, that Badgerclops’ arm got a magnet stuck in it and is still blasting stuff in the forest?“

The deputies looked at each other. “Yes.”

Shadow Mao sighed rubbing his temples before looking at Mao and shrugging.

‘We’ll deal with it later, groceries first.‘

“We’ve decided that because of the damage done to HQ, the four of you will NOT be getting your snackies,“ he paused “... until you clean this mess up and deactivate that arm.“

The deputies deflated. “And to motivate you to get the job done quickly,” Shadow Mao poured the contents of the bag into a bowl

“tadaaa!! mini cobbler filled beignets, specially made from Muffins’ bakery.” Mao said with a flourish.

“OOOOOOHHHHH!!!“ The deputies leapt out of their seats, rushing to different parts of the room and getting started.

The Maos nodded at each other and Mao made his way to the kitchen, not noticing Shadow Mao sneak 2 of the treats to his shade deputies.

#my words #my fanfic #cartoons #mao mao heroes of pure heart #mmhoph #mao mao #badgerclops #adorabat #shadow mao mao #shadow badgerclops #shadow adorabat #pinky #LGBTQA #shadow badgermao #badgermao #cats #bats #badgers #rhinos

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yeojaa · 5 years

Text

SUGAR HIGH, chapter xiii. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary. You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing. jeon jungkook. mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags. angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional baggage, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating. general (for now?)

word count. ~1800

chapter 13. Like We Used To

When you're like this, it's easy to fall back into old routines and forget how his mouth had burned imaginary paths across your skin, setting you alight like kindling. It's far easier to separate the two versions of him as he stands beside you, hip knocking against yours as his enthused laughter wraps you up in your own little universe of two.

You stay like that for a long time - longer than you should, after all that's transpired. It's hard not to when his arms feel like home, the only thing capable of holding you together.

You know it's selfish, though. Can feel it in the beginnings of your bones and through every fibre, colouring you black and blue from the inside out.

Still, It isn't enough to make you stop.

(Just a few minutes more.)

Eventually, Jungkook shifts, though he does his best to keep from jostling you. You'd been so peaceful in his arms, the sobbing, broken girl seemingly a lifetime away by the time sunlight began to stream through the large uncovered windows. You meet his eyes curiously, chin canting with the same emotion.

"I need to pee," he says apologetically, like he's at all to blame for the basic human instinct. At least it makes you laugh, short and sweet. He wants to bottle that sound and keep it under his pillow, absorb it into his skin through contact that's never quite enough. You're so pretty like this, before the weight of the day has settled on you. He thinks about telling you but doesn't, because that's not the kind of relationship you have and well, he really does need to get up.

You notice the discomfort because otherwise you're sure he'd never push you off. He never rushed you. "Oh, sorry."

Despite your motion to extract your limbs - your hand from his chest, his legs from beneath you, fingers from hair - he seems reluctant to let you go, squeezing you infinitesimally tighter. You feel it all the way through to your heart, the muscle stuttering to life like his touch is a defibrillator bringing you back from the edge.

"Just one more minute."

You're not sure who's indulging who when you relax back into him, your tired body sinking into all the crevices between you. It's only when you're nestled into the crown of his head, the velveteen strands tickling your nose, that you speak. "I'm sorry about last night."

It's not enough, you know, to say these words and offer no explanation. You also know he'll never press you, because he'll be there when you're ready. Such a shame that you're not sure whether that day will ever come, but you keep that locked tightly behind the cage of your teeth, swallowing the key.

"Stop apologizing," he chides with what you think is a roll of his eyes. It certainly sounds like a roll of his eyes.

"You're going to be exhausted today," you return. You can already see it in the molting beneath his eyes, the way the hollows look heavy enough for you to curl into. Guilt returns in waves, fingers tracing the purple that mars his complexion. He leans into your touch, humming affectionately.

"You can bring me coffee. I'll be fine." The words are pressed into the palm of your hand and it feels almost like something else.

You're tearing yourself away from him before he can react. You don't catch the look of hurt that flickers across his face when you're across the bed, tangled in his sheets. But he sees the way you look like a frightened animal, your hair sticking up in all directions and your hand shoved between your knees. You won't look at him, though you sound a little crazy when you sing-song, "you should get up."

He's racking his brain for what he did wrong when he stands and moves toward the adjoined bathroom.

"I'll be quick, then you can brush your teeth." Because just like at your place, you have a little drawer. It's been wholly untouched for the better part of the last three years - the duration of your relationship with him - but Jungkook kept it regardless. He even occasionally used your facial cleansing pads. They just smelt so nice - like green tea and honey - and it was a nice reminder of you.

True to his word, the door swings open almost as quickly as it had closed and he's peeking around it with a toothbrush jammed against his cheek. He waves yours at you, toothpaste already spread neatly across the top, and you're shuffling over, throw tossed haphazardly over your shoulders.

"Don't get any toothpaste on that," he warns around a mouthful of bristles.

You both watch - you in amusement and he in horror - as a tiny glob of spittle lands on your shoulder. The speed with which he wipes it off has you laughing as you go about brushing your own teeth, meeting his pout in the mirror.

Because this is your best friend, the same boy you've known since you were four feet tall. The one that had pushed you into the ocean when you'd been too afraid to dip your toes, dragging you in like you weighed nothing. He was the one who'd nearly burnt your house down in attempts to mimic your father's bungeo-ppang, placing the blame solely on you because he knew you could get away with it.

Jungkook might've been the person you were now, somehow, heels over head for, but that didn't erase everything else.

He spits, rinsing all traces of mint from his mouth and toothbrush before slotting it back into place in the little bunny-shaped brush holder. "We have the day off today." The stare he levels you with is expectant but soft, like hope dangling from a gossamer thin string.

"No, you don't," you state matter-of-factly, returning your toothbrush to your own fox-shaped holder beside his. You momentarily the lock of confusion that flickers across his face, cutting him off when he begins to speak. "You're busy with me."

Sometimes, your mood swings give him whiplash. This time, he doesn't mind. "Oh, right. How could I forget?"

The two of you stumble out of his bedroom a short while later. The apartment is eerily quiet for being occupied by seven men but you take the opportunity to throw yourself into the nearest seat.

"There's not much in here." His voice carries from the kitchen where he's poking into the fridge.

"We can order in. Or whatever." Honestly, it doesn't really matter to you. You've always indulged in Jungkook's eating habits but find yours significantly more reasonable, though that's not really saying a lot.

Your legs are shifted, raised to make room for him as he settles down beside you before allowing your feet to return to their rightful place across his lap. You admire the way he deftly peels the apple in his hands, setting near continuous rope of skin on the side table. It feels oddly domestic.

"It's too hard for delivery drivers to get into the complex," he reminds you. One of the downfalls of living such a life.

"Then I guess we'll starve," you say, solemnly. His snort shakes his shoulders and he swats at your socked foot, making you dig the heel of your other foot into his muscled thigh. This elicits a high-pitched whine and you can't help but snicker, though that sound quickly turns to shriek. "No!"

Because he's trapping your knee in the thread of his elbow and his fingers, so long and capable, are clutching your suddenly bare foot in an iron grip. There's mischief written into every line of his DNA, twinkling brightly in the depths of his dark stare. "Say sorry." His fingers brush experimentally against the sensitive sole.

You nearly scream. If it were anyone else, you think you might've been able to break free but it's not and your thrashing only prompts him to cinch his grip tighter, the whole weight of his body pressed into your legs.

"Say sorry," he repeats through a chain link of bared teeth. It would be intimidating if it weren't so goddamn pouty.

When you don't respond, he's repeating the motions. Your lungs feel like they're about to explode. "No! I'm your noona - stop it!"

Another snort, one that goes unpunished, and he puffs a breath out that fans his hair from his face. You both know it's a rotten attempt to get away. "You're older than me by less than two months. Don't pull that." As if to drive his point home, he tickles you again. First, on the sensitive parts of your feet and then everywhere else. His fingers never stay in one place for too long, seeking purchase at the ditch of your knees and then higher, across your hips.

He's all but sprawled across you, your head thrown back as tears spill down your cheeks. It's a very strange sight.

"What are you guys doing?"

The question punctuates the air and you're grateful for the way Jungkook leaps away, the only colour in his face a brilliant scarlet that tinges his ears and creeps across his chest. You use the sudden freedom to draw as many excruciating breaths in as you can but otherwise remain slumped against the cushions. Your entire body feels like overstimulated jelly.

You hear more than see Hoseok above your heads, his amusement infectious. "Soomi-ya, seriously. I think you woke everyone in the house up. I thought someone was dying out here."

"It was his fault!" A feeble attempt at blame falls from your lips, though it's quickly met with a rebuff.

Jungkook is indignant, doe-eyes wide. Bastard. "You started it!"

"You're both terrible." It's not the dancer this time, but Seokjin. He's somehow effortlessly put together at the early hour, RJ cradled under his arm. He stifles a yawn as he joins your little group, taking a seat in the single chair to your right. "Why are you up so early?"

"I was hungry."

You can't help but stare at Jungkook, who meets your eyes with a tiny smile. There he was, protecting you even when you didn't need it.

"There's nothing to eat." Hoseok again, this time from the kitchen.

"We know," the three of you chorus. It prompts all of you to fall into laughter, the sound tinkling like bells in the faded morning light. You're reminded, once again, of how nice it is that the Bangtan boys are home again.

notes. hope you liked this semi-fluff because you're in for a world of pain soon. lolz~

#bts fluff #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #bestfriends.zip #sugarhigh.doc #jungkook.doc

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cherry3point14 · 4 years

Text

Stranger Than Fanfiction: Ch 10

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Violence, intrigue and MONOLOGUES. Oh my! Word count: 6,965. Chapter Summary: You’re somehwere familiar and nothing is right. A/N: Now we’ve come, to the ennnnnnd of the roadddddd. Still, I can’t let gooooooo.

Ao3 if you prefer

Y/N had not spent much extended time in her basement since her best-laid plans of turning it into anything other than storage had fallen through. It was a room she visited often, her washer and dryer both under the stairs, but visits were limited to transporting clothes in and out of the room in various states of cleanliness. The basement was her nagging project, which every home is legally required to have. She would presort her clothes before she ever went down the stairs, giving her ample time while loading the machines to think about her never to be completed masterpiece. Did she want some sort of rec room or maybe a space for those craft projects that sat forgotten around her home? She understood the game, that nothing would change, the room would remain a combined laundry and storage space until the day she died. Of course, she was right.

She’d never noticed the drip before. The sporadic yet incessant plop of water somewhere in the pipes that circled her basement and supplied her home. The drip might not necessarily mean something was wrong and it might not require an expensive plumber, it's just she hadn’t spent enough time down there to hear it at all.

As she opens her eyes the drip is the only sound that registers besides the ringing in her head. A headache pounds at her skull and an ache on her right says she’ll have a bump there. All of which she supposes she can thank Laura for. She keeps thinking of Laura, her face, and her name because it’s easier than to admit the truth. Y/N knows what a shifter is and unlike the majority of people, she knows that they are real. She knows one was in town and she knows that it wasn’t Laura who held the gun to her face before knocking her out with the butt of the thing. All this knowledge, however helpful, was still not enough to save her.

“Shit, shit, shit.” you mutter under your breath. You’re finally coming back to consciousness as Emma’s voice brings you up to speed. It’s almost comforting now to have a name behind it, her. That consolation prize is still of little help when you wake up with your hands cuffed behind the load-bearing beam in your own basement. You’re grasping for any friend you can and Emma, being in your head, is the closest thing you have. Maybe the last friend you’ll have.

Although if she kills you for her story, the term friend might be a bit of a stretch.

It does absolutely sound like she is going to kill you though.

You hear a door open from above, “are you awake yet?”

The voice doesn’t sound like Laura. You’ve heard Laura’s phone voice and her speaking-to-the-manager voice. You’ve heard her greet visitors and greet you first thing in the morning. That is definitely not Laura. Well, of course, it’s not Laura, but it’s also not someone using her body like a puppet.

“Yes?” you call back. It’s possible you’re inviting danger by answering but you’re handcuffed and almost certainly going to die today. How much more dangerous can things get?

The first wooden step groaned under the weight of the woman still shrouded in mystery at the top of the stairs. The second step followed suit with an equally mournful ache. Never had Y/N considered that her battered basement stairs sounded so hopeless. The room wasn’t dark, the lights were on despite the small basement window displaying daylight. There was barely enough shadow to hide a blemish but the sound of her stairs filled her veins with ice, as if she was lost on a cold night. Each creak took what seemed to be an hour, a day, before the next footstep pierced the last. It was on the ninth step from the bottom when Y/N caught the first glimpse of her captor.

A foot, followed by another.

A leg and then shockingly, a second.

Y/N knew before she saw. She knew before her favorite battered t-shirt came into view. She knew before her round chin, her slightly uneven ears, and her very own eyes appeared staring at her.

“Hey there, me!” A copy of your voice greets without your lips moving.

It hits you then, it was you at the top of the stairs. Not the voice you hear when you speak but the shadow version from when you’re forced to listen to a voicemail or video recording of yourself. The one that sounds nothing like you.

Yet just like that, there you are.

The shifter smiles and it’s the first time you’ve ever really seen yourself smile. You’ve felt the curve of your lips before and seen a reflection in mirrors but now you can see it.

You wonder if it’s always looked that terrifying.

As the shifter leaned in close enough for Y/N’s eyes to pick out the small white scar above her eyebrow—a scar that she knew matched the one on her own face—she wanted to scream. Even if it would do no good. She wanted to think herself superior to the monster wearing her face. She wanted to try to claim that there was something wrong with it. A sparkle that wasn’t present in its eyes or a hairline that was lower than it should be. Unfortunately, inches from her face was a perfect carbon copy. It had gone as far as copying the bags under her eyes; the product of too many late nights. If Y/N didn’t know that it wasn’t her, then even she would be fooled. The experience was a messy one to try and accept, let alone have it happen in front of her.

“This is weird for you, I get it. But listen, I gotta ask. How do I get your toaster to not burn the bread? Because I’ve gone through, like, four slices and it’s still black as hell. What’s the magic setting Y/N?”

You sniff at the smell that’s followed the shifter down the stairs. Burnt toast.

“You-you want me to tell you how to use my toaster?” You sound incredulous because you are.

She steps back, takes a seat on the second step from the bottom like she’s exhausted standing up. Your face, the one she’s wearing, gets this kind of humored look. Her eyebrows raise and she smirks from across the room, “I know it sounds crazy. I mean I can dive in your head if I want.”

As she says that she scrunches her face and seems to strain with something unseen. You don’t need to ask if it’s working because you feel it, whatever she’s doing. Your spine jolts and freezes, straight as an arrow, and you’re clenching your jaw for some reason. Your body tenses like it’s being invaded.

Then she smooths out her face and you flop like overcooked spaghetti.

“See, that’s not fun for either of us. Plus now I have this big download of you in my head that I’ve gotta sort through, and that wasn’t even all of it. Which, by the way, it’s not easy to find exactly what I’m looking for, there's no google for your memories. So, yeah, it’s easier if you tell me how I use your toaster.”

She seems patient. You’re pretty patient so is that your trait or hers? Clearly, it’s not her first rodeo waiting on people to get to grips with talking to themselves. She kindly gives you a second to process having had her inside your head.

Because you don’t have enough people in there already.

“It’s eh, you need to toast at like two. I know that seems low, but it’ll be medium brown?” It’s not a question, you know how to use your toaster. You’re simply confused about why you’re telling the shifter how to use your toaster.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it? Do you want some? Toast I mean?”

Were it not for the metal handcuffs still cold against your wrists then her offer might be caring. As it is, it’s a shifter in your body. You’re not sure if it’s capable of the emotion.

It sucks that your stomach chooses then to rumble.

“I’ll make you some anyway. You like…no wait let me find this one myself…” she pauses as if trying to remember a password for an account she hasn't used recently. “Smooth peanut butter?”

“Um. Yeah but I’m out.”

She hoists herself up and tsks above you, “you need to take better care of yourself Y/N. Go shopping once in a while. Live a little, buy the peanut butter.”

It takes half the time to get up the stairs that it took her to come down them and she’s careful not to slam the door at the top. So, she’s already learned how loud the door is if you put an ounce of effort into closing it.

The beam at her back is wide enough that the corners dig into each of her shoulder blades. Consequently, she has to decide between suffering or sitting forward a little but straining her wrists against the metal holding her. With the shifter out of sight, she can pull at the shackles and try to find any leverage. She can try but she keeps failing. They’re not pinching, not tight enough for that, still tight enough that she only has one comfortable position. So, it’s her back or her wrists. Y/N chooses her wrists and sinks back against the pain in her shoulders.

Above her, she can hear the shifter shuffling around her kitchen. Her kitchen. Y/N is not so territorial that she cannot share her plates and bread, she draws the line at her face. Her body. Her life.

The shifter comes back down the stairs after a few minutes with two plates. “I’ve got plain butter and strawberry jam. Seriously, you have jam and not peanut butter? Which one do you want?”

“I-I erm…”

“Let’s share.”

She sits down in front of you, not at the foot of the stairs, in front of you. Legs crossed the same as yours and close enough that your knees almost touch. To an outsider you might be friends, or twins, having a sleepover and sharing secrets. That’s when you realize she has no intention of uncuffing you to eat. She takes a bite from one plate and then holds a slice from the other up to your mouth.

When you glare at her instead of opening up she sighs, “I don’t have to be this nice. I’m not usually this nice.”

“This is nice? You knocked me out and now I’m handcuffed in my own basement.” You take a bite of the toast while it’s sitting there, hovering in front of your face. You had bought the bread afterall.

She hums happily. “This is practically best friends. I don’t make food for anyone else. Granted I usually only have them locked away for a few days. A few bottles of water gets them through. You though? You’re special.”

Special? You’re not special. Never have and never will be. The most special thing about you is the other people in your life. Sam and Dean. Emma. They are all special and you are the byproduct of a situation. You only convinced yourself that you were anything close to the main character because Emma wrote it. She tricked you into believing it.

The shifter takes another bite of her slice of toast, funnily enough, she’s eating the jam covered toast. So, in certain death, you’re still stuck with the second string choice. Plain butter.

When you swallow she holds the slice up again and you comply. "Why are you doing this?" You ask with food in your mouth, manners are a social construct that seems ridiculous in this situation.

The question is obvious and banal but it's sitting right there. And you needed to know the answer.

"Money." She takes another bite herself.

You scoff. That's enough to set her off.

“Sometimes things are just about money. That’s it. I like nice things and I have a good little racket going, I roll into town and find a few medium fish. Small business owners and cynical people usually have pretty decent policies. I take over the role of loving spouse for a day or two, get my money, and go. It’s been working out for me. I stay moving, only hit a few anywhere I go. Between, I travel wherever I want. I’ve done most of Asia, Europe, South America is my favorite for food.”

Y/N had never been a fan of the villainous monologue as a literary device, then again, in books, the villain strode about a nondescript location with sweeping arms and overused cliches. This villain, her villain, was not so stereotypical. She sat and talked to Y/N like an old friend might lament about a bad break up. And even though it was the shifter who had put her in this situation in the first place, the doppelganger version of herself truly seemed to care if she ate her toast. Not that she had any sympathy for the shifter. Y/N just hadn’t appreciated the villainous monologue until she had been the person waiting to hear the full story. Nobody cares what the monster has to say until they are the victim.

“But you? You gave me an idea.”

You splutter, “what?”

“Yeah, see there I was waiting for my money that never came. I was all ready to take a nice little vacation somewhere idyllic, south of France, maybe? Beautiful this time of year. And I know the paperwork was all put through because I watched you do it. I was standing at your desk, or Laura was, pretending to care about your sad weekend plans when you did it. And my money never came through. At first, I was furious because, frankly, I need to get out of town. With the Winchesters of all people on my trail, it’s time for me to exit stage right if you know what I mean. Then I was chatting up Mark about you not being in the office the past few days and, cool as a cucumber, that idiot told me you’d gone to the bank to stop the transfer.”

She slaps both her hands on your knees, digging her duplicate fingers into your flesh. The hair on the back of your neck stands to attention. That's the moment. Not where you think, but where you know you’re going to die.

“And I thought, wow! I bet she doesn’t even know how much power she has. I mean Laura was a glorified word processor and Mark doesn’t do anything, he’d delegate tying his own shoes if he could. But you Y/N? Well, me now. Us? We can do it all. No more kidnapping widows and threatening them to keep quiet after I’ve gone. I can write my own ticket and if it hadn’t been for you cutting me off, I would have never figured it out. I can run this racket as you for a year and I’ll be all set.”

“A year? How are you going to keep me…?” You know the answer, obviously, call it morbid curiosity that you want to hear it from her own, or your own, mouth.

She smiles, that dangerous one you didn’t know your face was capable of, “oh, I’ll have to kill you. No way I’d keep you under wraps for a year, too much upkeep, but if you wanna feel better about it, think about all the people I won’t kill pretending to be you! You’re taking one for the team.”

Y/N wanted to say she felt sick. She wanted that acrid taste of stomach acid on the back of her tongue. Or fat tears welling in her eyes. She’d even accept a tremble of fear. She wanted any physical reaction to the words that had been said. That she, Y/N Y/L/N, mild-mannered insurance adjuster was going to die at the hands of this monster. Yet nothing came forth. As if every nerve, every blood vessel, every cell had ceased to take orders from her brain. That or her brain was too busy comprehending to give the orders.

What’s worse, she had no one to blame but herself. It was her own face she was staring into and it would be her own hands that would do the job.

“Wh-when?” If your voice was tangible, it would be shaking like a leaf despite the rest of your body being stuck in place.

She jumps up, calm, “I have some things to do first. Need to do the full Vulcan mind-meld if I’m taking over, and I hate doing it on an empty stomach. Hence the toast. Why? Are you in a rush or something?” She laughs at her own joke and finishes with a shrug when you don't join in, before picking up both the plates. “Don’t worry, I’ll finish this for you.”

She starts walking up the stairs and you rush to ask the other obvious question, “why did you tell me all this?”

“What? I can’t want someone to talk to? Sue me, I’m a people person.”

The door at the top of the stairs closes sharply this time. You assume it’s on account of the plates in her hands that she can’t be more careful.

This was all your fault. It’s one thing to tell Emma that, in theory, she can kill you, it’s another thing altogether to speak to the monster who will do it.

More than that, you stopped the payment, you suggested flushing the shifter out and for what? To get Dean to stay a little longer? To save some people?

What about you? You were people, still are for the time being. One moment of weakness while reading a pretty story and now it’s actually going to happen.

Today’s the day you’re going to die.

There’s no clock in your basement, you have no idea of the time or how long you’ve been down here. You know it’s still daylight outside, you can see it, that’s it. So, you have no idea how long she’s been digging in your head for. It’s not uninterrupted but it is constant. She doesn’t ever pause long enough for the buzzing behind your eyes to stop. You’ve given up on comfort—that’s a concern for people with hope—but every time she starts again your straight back pushes into the post behind you. If another person in your head wasn’t enough then your back feeling like it’s going to split right down the middle was the cherry on top of the sundae.

Y/N swore that she could feel every memory, every thought, slip from her head. Not delicately either, but rather pulled kicking and screaming. Every experience hidden in the deepest, darkest corners of her mind, every last one, was found, counted, and copied. In reality, she had no idea what was being done or how it worked. She had no words to describe it and no understanding of what was being taken and when.

Although she figured that on today of all days, she could cut herself some slack. Lean into the dramatic thoughts that she wouldn’t normally.

She wondered how her parents would feel, retired in Florida, wondering where she is at Thanksgiving. Or how would those friends that she's hung onto since highschool react when she didn’t arrive for their monthly dinner. And Dean. She’d never get to tell him that she likes arguing with him, when he apologizes with a kiss.

Y/N’s life wasn’t full of too many people, which meant the select few she did have were all the more important. Every one of them had an appearance in her head, in the brief moments between what she was beginning to call torture.

You slump again, as much as the handcuffs allow you. The strain in your arms is the least of your worries since the shifter is back.

The you that floats down the stairs is all the things you’re not; happy and comfortable. She bypasses you completely as if you’re not even there. It’s only when she does that you register your ringtone from across the room.

“Forgot I’d left this down here”, she explains as she digs through your jacket that you must have had on when she knocked you out.

Whoever it is she rolls her eyes before answering, “hi Dean.”

You perk up at the mention of him because you’d forgotten what he is. A hero. What was that motto? Saving people, hunting things.

The relief doesn’t last long. As soon as you open your mouth she’s across the room, faster than you can usually move, with her hand clamped over your mouth.

“Like I said, Laura was dropping off some paperwork.”

“Um-hmm. Nothing on the shapeshifter? That’s a shame, it’s only Saturday though. She might have only just found out about the money.”

“That sounds great.”

Between everything, there’s a Dean sounding muffled voice on the other end of the phone. And although she keeps her tone measured she ticks her jaw at the word ‘shapeshifter’.

“Ok. Bye Dean.”

She ends the call and looks at you again, with more recognition than when she'd shared food with you. “Somebody didn’t tell me that she’s a few sandwiches short a picnic, did she?”

Your eyes widen. There’s no way she knows about Emma. That’s not a memory, it’s inside of you.

“And you never told those annoying hunter boys that you’re hearing voices? Or one voice anyway. Come on Y/N, that’s like victim 101.” She taps your temple as if she’s checking if there's still a brain in there.

“I didn’t think it was their kind of thing. Not like you are.” All the effort you have left in your being goes into narrowing your eyes at her. Even if you’re the furthest thing from a threat.

She laughs at that, “doesn’t matter sourpuss. They already trust you, so they already trust me. The Winchesters don’t stay anywhere for too long. They’ll leave and I get to go on being you.” She bops a finger on your nose.

You laugh at that. You've read the books, you’ve met them and you’re talking to another dumb monster that thinks she can outsmart them. You’d forgotten because it’s wearing your face and threatens you with sugar instead of spice, still, it’s a monster.

You might die but so will she.

“That’s funny. Do you think they won’t figure you out? They’re the Winchesters.”

“You know I was wondering where your fire was. I knew it had to be in there. Underneath the bookworm, paperwork pariah thing.”

“I’m not a pariah.” Obviously that’s what you find most offensive about her evaluation.

“Sure you are. Lonely little lamb. It’s fine though, I’m being nice to you, aren’t I?”

Retrospectively you realize that with Dean you’d been a cute angry, annoying combination. At the shifter, you’re plain furious, except it’s dampened by sadness. Not fear, the fear comes in an underwhelming third place.

“When?” You grind out.

She slips your phone into your jeans, unfortunately, it’s the pair she’s wearing. “I need to pee. Give me a hot minute. I don’t know, what’s the line? Say your goodbyes or prayers, or something.”

The timer that had started when Y/N first picked up that file weeks ago was finally counting down its last minutes. Unlike a bomb timer in every television show ever, there was no wire for her to cut. Nothing to do but wait and appreciate that she couldn’t hear the ticking of each second. That might be better, the counting would feel urgent like she can change it. She can’t. She’d never been able to. All roads, no matter how long and winding, have always led her to this point. Had Y/N not tried to flush the shifter out there would have been some other absurd reason for the monster to hunt her down. Which is why she is so under control, it’s been a long time coming. She's feeling a thousand emotions but none of them turbulent.

Surrounded by pipes in the basement you hear a flush from the bathroom. The shifter had, actually, put killing you on hold to pee. You add insulted to the list of last sentiments you'll ever feel.

You can't even write a letter or a note. One last phone call or voicemail. It's all frustratingly out of your reach. The shifter isn't going to let you leave anything behind because to the outside world she is going to keep going in your place.

Your basement door has never opened as many times as it has today. Still, there it is again. Whining wood opening and closing. Your captor in front of it brandishing your biggest kitchen knife like a maniac in a bad horror.

Y/N never wanted to believe she was subject to something as mundane as routine despite it being obvious that she was. She only needed to examine a week in her life, or a day, to notice the repetitions she couldn’t escape. Still, she tried. Like every person who woke up at the same time every morning or sunk into sleep like clockwork each night. Y/N struggled to buck against the system. She won some battles, enough to believe that she could keep winning but ultimately she lost the war. The biggest loss was reflected back to her in her own kitchen knife. No. It was in her own eyes when the shifter bent down and leveled its honeyed threats.

“I won’t say this isn’t going to hurt. It’ll be quick though, I’m not completely evil.”

She could not escape routine because there had never been an exit. She was always supposed to play this predictable role. The victim. The one who dies seconds before the hero's entrance. The one who could have been saved if only they’d been a minute earlier. She was the sacrifice that distracts the killer long enough to be caught. Y/N was well aware of the character trope she filled.

Then it was in this final moment that she had been fooled by fate one last time. Y/N was indeed about to die. Imminently. But Y/N would not be dying at the hands of some mediocre monster.

For the last time, you find yourself shocked at Emma’s words, for the last time you respond to her out loud. Struck by confusion so completely that you can't help yourself. “What the…?”

The door that’s dictated your life for the last day opens carefully. If you couldn’t see it past the shifter you might not believe it had opened at all. Dean is at the top, Sam trailing behind him, his extra height visible over Dean’s shoulders.

And they see you. Dean sees you.

Then he sees the knife. He sees the shifter he doesn’t know is you yet, her back to him. He sees her leaning into you with one last comment whispered in your ear and that knife. Big and sharp as it is, held against your body, your throat, ready to slice you a second smile.

That’s all he sees; you, a weapon and a monster.

Dean isn’t a shoot first, ask questions later guy, he’s an ask questions with the barrel of his gun kind of guy. A middle ground that has served him well. That’s not to say he has that patience in every situation. Sometimes he needs to exert some knee jerk force. Like when he’s standing at the top of her basement stairs, blood pounding in his ears above the din of everything else. Dean can’t hear Sam or the shifter or the sound of the wood under his boots. He hears exactly two things. Y/N’s gasp, half caught in her throat, and the stiff, satisfying crack of his gun as he fires it—once, twice, three times.

The knife falls from her hand as the shifter simultaneously falls forward. She’s about as heavy, or exactly as heavy, as you are, so you are not overwhelmed by the weight of the body. The shock is the residual confusion of her being you, and you falling on top of you. The shifter landing takes more of your focus than the feeling in your gut.

You don’t even feel that at first.

Not when you’re so relieved to see them. The boys. You’re convinced for a moment that Emma was wrong, you’re not the last killed victim, you’re the one saved at the last second. You’re the person carried out of danger by the Winchesters.

When she does slump over you the boots start moving again, thunderous steps by them both as they rush to check if the shifter is dead. Three silver bullets should be enough but they have been caught out before.

They haven’t hit the concrete floor of your basement yet when the heat starts. Tingling, scratchy, burning through your abdomen. You’ve never imagined what it’s like to be shot, never heard a gunshot in your administrative based life, except those fake ones in movies. You’d have thought it hurt more. You’d have thought a bullet tearing through your flesh would have a little more of a kick. In truth the thing piercing you hadn’t been any worse than a punch, there was a push from the impact but the bullet was fast. The hole wasn’t what got your attention.

The burning did. Lodged inside you the metal was the epicenter for an itch you couldn’t scratch. You couldn’t tell where the bullet had found a home, only that it was unreachable and there, and the ache was starting to become painful. Exponentially painful and not made any better by the weight of your stunt double crushing you. You had the strength to swallow the pain or the strength to push her off. Not both. So, she doesn’t move until Dean is there yanking her away from you.

She’s dead, at least.

Her eyes, your eyes, are lifeless now. Blank and staring into nothing. That’s a hard pill to swallow because she’s not the shifter anymore. The shifter is dead. Now she's just an empty shell that looks like you, while you sit there with a bullet in your gut. It’s an immediate prophecy of what you will become. An accurate prophecy too, because it’s you. Dead, cold, and not very pretty to look at.

It’s natural that they both check the dead shifter first. To make sure she’s dead. That’s their job, they're doing it right.

They only look at her for a second to confirm but by the time they turn to you the blood is starting to seep through your shirt. You still haven’t found a way to form words. You try and don’t get very far. Your throat is croaky and grinds like sandpaper. You’re not gargling blood at least and some last remaining functional brain cell thinks that’s good. You don’t have blood in your lungs.

All at once they crowd you.

“Y/N, you’re ok. You’re ok.” That’s Sam. His hands are pressing at the hole to stop the bleeding, you don’t have the voice or the heart to tell him he’s making it worse. Maybe not medically but it’s more painful with his hands there. The bullet doesn’t like being agitated and your stomach doesn’t like the pressure.

“Y/N, honey no. Shit. Come on, stay with me.” That’s Dean, he’s the one with his hands on your face, pulling your eyes to him because he is the one giving you orders to not leave. He needs to see you hear the instructions.

Sam lies to you and tries to fix the problem. Dean begs you to stay when you can’t.

Suddenly, or not suddenly, you have two new choices. Stay awake or don’t.

Except it’s not really a choice at all.

Y/N slipped in and out of consciousness in her last moments.

In the back of a car her eyes flutter open. Her vision is blurry like it’s the first moments after waking up on a Sunday morning. This blurriness doesn’t go away. The cream roof above her looks soft and inviting. She wants to feel it, lean against it. She can’t move in any meaningful way, not enough to touch it, it’s too far.

Briefly, again, when metal doors slam shut. She's distracted from the weak place beyond her pain by the sound.

In the hospital, jolted by the gurney beneath her as tubes are inserted into her body. Her nose specifically. The plastic feeling like a blockage instead of an airway. She’s not coughing up blood so she manages to wonder why she needs a tube inside her, although she’s not a doctor. She reaches for it because her arm still has mobility and she can’t breathe, but a hand stops her. She reaches again and more hands pin hers down. Her red, swollen wrists are strapped to the bed. She can’t move again, restricted. Another prison.

She doesn’t wake again. She doesn’t complain about the tubes or question the strange taste in her mouth from the drugs in her system. She’s lost so much blood. The bullet is deep and today is the day. It’s still Saturday. It’s still imminent.

It wasn’t a shifter, she was collateral damage. A secondary consequence of saving the day. A victim of fate.

By a bullet from Dean’s gun, Y/N dies.

You open your eyes.

How are you opening your eyes? You’re supposed to be dead.

It takes an age to take in the fact that you are alive and that there’s a faint beep somewhere that signifies a heartbeat. Yours. The room is white, clean, and as much as you can see from lying down, a hospital.

You manage to groan. It’s cathartic to make a noise, and painful. You can’t forget painful.

“Miss Y/L/N?” A man comes into your vision. The bed moves, not enough to upset you but give you a better angle to have a conversation. You see a little more of the world that you’re not supposed to be seeing because you’re supposed to be dead.

The man, the doctor, beams at you. “You gave us quite a fright Miss Y/L/N. We thought we lost you there for a minute but you are a very lucky young lady indeed.”

You’re not that young and you’re not lucky. This is impossible. You were dead.

You try to speak and this time you find purchase, “what happened?”

He has the audacity to chuckle, but then you're alive so that might warrant laughter. “A lot, Y/N. You've been out of surgery for about six hours now and we had to keep you sedated while you had a blood transfusion but as I said, you’re a lucky woman. That bullet was solid on impact with no fragment complications. It seems the um, issue, was blood loss and some trauma to your stomach which we’ll talk about once you’re off these I.V’s. But for now, you need to rest, I’ll have a nurse check on you in a few minutes.”

He smiles, genuinely, but you suppose he’s managed to escape telling you anything further about the dying thing. He plops your chart back into the plastic holder at the foot of your bed as he leaves, which forces you to look in that direction.

“Dean?”

He’s there, stocky and wide and too much for the hospital chair he is sitting in. You want to say sleeping in but that would probably require him to be asleep. He seems to be more in a state of falling asleep and not quite making it. His arms are crossed over his chest and his head is down, however as soon as you call his name he shudders like he was nowhere near sleep at all. He looks up, all big green eyes, bright and awake, and looking at you.

He smiles. It’s soft and so far removed from the cocky bastard that you're used to by now. “You’re awake?”

“Looks like it.” You smile back, although it must look weak on you. “You’re here.”

Dean gets up slowly and takes measured steps towards you. You’re not distracted by the way he walks though, you’re distracted by the way his face creases in sadness at your question. He looks like he's burying something instead of saying it, right in front of you.

“Had to make sure you were ok.” After I shot you. He tries to hide the end of his sentence, you hear it anyway.

“I’m fine.” It’s not your fault. “Thank you for saving me.” You don’t want to argue with him from a hospital bed so you imply the part of your sentence he’d fight you on.

He is astute enough to catch what your face is attempting to relieve him of. His guilt. It won’t be as easy as that, hopefully, you'll have time later to work on him.

You didn't know what to do beyond this point. There's one thing to say for dying, and that's not having to think about the future. Who cares about the stock market if you die next week? Now you're laying there like a broken doll who's been taped back together, looking up at Dean and wondering what the next part of the story is. You suppose you're going to have to figure this one out on your own.

“What’s a girl gotta do to get a cup of tea around here?”

“Tea?” He asks, knowing where you're going with this.

“Tea.” You confirm.

This time his grin is dazzling. It covers all manner of sins and comes with some promises to boot. Through the aches, in your not quite whole body you feel him carefully cup your chin, his thumb ghosting over your cheek to make sure you’re still there. “Don’t go dying on me again and I think I can sneak you something terrible from the cafeteria.”

As Y/N looked at Dean and took in that she was thankfully very much alive, and well beyond her time of death, she felt as if finally everything was going to be ok. She was no longer weighed down by concerns of routine or comparing literature to the real world because perhaps, in one day alone, she’d had more than enough excitement to last her for the rest of her life. Her new, second life. The one that was as clean and fresh as a blank slate could be. Although dying for a new start—even if that death was only three minutes and twenty seconds long—was quite dramatic and completely unrequired. Anyone, including Y/N, has the opportunity to change their life whenever they need to. Whenever they reach that bleak state of despair or, in Y/N’s case, a dull point of repetitive boredom. Solace can be found in even the most remote and lonely of places. It can begin with a new piece of literature or taking a new route to a familiar destination.

The things that take up the small moments, that seem like puzzle pieces required to navigate our days are, in fact, a series of thousands of choices. Any single one of which can change an entire life and lead to impossible people and impossible things. Or serve to better ourselves in ways we’ve dreamed of but never hoped to achieve. Make us braver, stronger, funnier, or brilliant. Because we were all along, even when we didn’t know it, or even if we doubted it. It may sound utterly too easy, and that's because it is

Y/N didn't need to change, not really, not when she was unpredictable and brave all along. She only needed a nudge in the right direction and a good cup of tea, to save her life.

If you stuck with me on this I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. This was a little passion project I’ve had in my head for a while. I hope y’all had fun.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 @jesseswartzwelder Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer StrangerThanFiction tags: @jaylarkson @starsandmidnightblue @ceisbill

#dean x reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn x reader #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean dean the soft lil bean #I'm not sure how I feel about this ending #I think I have read it too many times

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bae-leth · 5 years

Text

shbhsdhf i have for you today a really short sylvelix i wrote for fun, idk if i should ao3 it or not

ill will

“Say ‘aah.’”

“You are not spoonfeeding me.”

Sylvain frowned, lowering his rejected silverware as Felix folded his arms. He had been trying this for the entire morning now, since Felix was still too weak to get out of bed. The winter had not treated them kindly, and Felix had grown quite ill.

“Come on, Felix, it’s breakfast in bed!” Sylvain protested. “It’s the finest dining of all!”

“I’d agree, if you could cook,” Felix retorted. Sylvain narrowed his hazel eyes in insult, placing his bowl of oatmeal (which he somehow managed to burn) on the bedside table.

“Well, you don’t really have much of a choice at this point,” Sylvain declared, and his partner wrinkled his nose. “Once you can walk yourself over to the kitchen and make breakfast on your own, you can trash-talk me however you’d like.”

Felix huffed, staring at the spoonful of oatmeal as it made circles in the air in front of his face. “It’s cold now.”

“Well yeah, that’s because—” Sylvain sighed and ate his own spoonful, then scooped another from the bowl on the table. “You’re so picky.”

Felix opened his mouth, his arms still folded, and Sylvain brought the spoon closer to his face. Then, Felix’s nose started to itch.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he spluttered, but with his mouth open, it sounded more along the lines of “way, way, way.”

“‘Aah,’” replied Sylvain. Felix’s eyes squeezed shut.

“Aah—” Sylvain beamed, but only for a second “—CHOO!”

Felix sneezed, and the spoon nearly flew out of Sylvain’s hand; the lancer winced and covered his face, and Felix gasped.

“Sorry…I was trying to tell you I was going to sneeze….”

“Well, if I get sick, you have to feed me,” Sylvain snapped, and he jammed the spoon into Felix’s mouth before he could say anything in return.

The top of Felix’s mouth tasted like burnt oatmeal throughout the night. It didn’t mingle well with his headaches, or anything, really. He buried himself deeper in his blankets and tried to fall asleep, hoping it would be gone by the morning.

Then, from across the room, he heard Sylvain coughing.

Felix winced and raised his head, and he saw his partner lying on the makeshift bed he had made, shivering under his singular blanket.

Guilt crossed Felix immediately—he really had made Sylvain sick.

The navy-haired young man grunted as he rolled out of bed, the floor icy against his bare feet, and he dragged his blankets after him as he made his way across the room.

Sylvain blinked open his weary eyes and flinched when he saw a dark, wide figure standing over him, the moonlight carving a thin, bestial outline in the deep blackness.

“What the—mmph!” The thing suddenly fell forward and on top of Sylvain, and he felt soft hair press to his neck and warmth surround him as Felix wrapped his arms and blankets around him.

“Felix!”

“You seemed cold!”

“You’re going to get me even sicker!”

“We don’t have enough blankets for both of us to be healthy at the same time!”

They bickered well into the night, then slept back to back. Felix thanked the goddess Dimitri and Ingrid came to visit the following morning, as neither he nor Sylvain could get out of bed to make breakfast.

((version 1 started off really Really sad so have this version 2 instead))

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notes from bae: you CONTINUE to bless us with all your sylvelix.... my evening is starting off So well!!! this is so sweet.... sickfics??? are my jam. i love em. and now they’re BOTH sick like the IDIOTS they are jhhfdhf I LOVE THIS!!

#photographerh #submission #also.... EYES EMOJI AT VERSION 1.... TELL ME ABOUT IT....#fire emblem three houses #sylvain #felix #fic #sylvelix #sylvix #will tag both jic

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a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan · 6 years

Text

Linked Universe Fanfic Ch. 6: Fire

Stop! You’ve Violated the Law!

So, you’ve stumbled upon this original post for my Linked Universe fanfiction. That’s okay, it happens to everyone. As of March 2021, I’ve uploaded the entirety of this fanfic to my Archive of Our Own page. Along with finally giving the story a name--Oops! All Links: A Linked Universe Story--I made substantial edits to some of the chapters. These range from minor stylistic revisions to fixing a gaping plot hole that kinda completely broke the character conflict in the earlier chapters. I also renamed and renumbered (but not reordered) the chapters. Specifically, this is now split into Chapter 7: Fire, and Chapter 8: Inferno.

The AO3 iterations of these chapters are the definitive versions. So, if you would like to read this fanfiction, please do so on AO3, right here. With this embedded link. Hehe. Geddit? Link?

Note: My screen name on AO3 is FrancisDuFresne. Yes, that is me. I am not plagiarizing myself.

Anyway, for posterity’s sake, the rest of the original post is below the cut.

This continues my @linkeduniverse AU narrative. The length is daunting but trust me when I tell you it’s worth it. Word Count: 4855.

Fire. A gift from the golden goddess Din which can both give life and take it. It can both create and destroy. This fire, however, was the latter on both counts. An entire small settlement was set ablaze, the screams and shouts of the villagers nearly drowned out by the sound of the fire itself. Buildings were collapsing into their own infernos, sending jets of flames into the sky. The Hero of Warriors split the Links into pairs to cover more ground. This was an ambitious rescue mission, and they knew they couldn’t possibly save everyone.

This hell is where the Links found themselves today.

…

The Hero of Legends hadn’t used his Pegasus Boots in a very long time. He remembered this as his sprint reached peak speed; it took more effort than he anticipated to not trip and bury his face in the scorched dirt. Need to get myself under control, he thought. These people need me.

Though Legend and his companions charged into the village at the same time, his boots soon brought him into the lead. Leaving them behind like Warrior told him, he rushed to the far end of the settlement. He chose a building at random and threw open the door.

Sweltering heat hit him with force of a bomb, followed by smoke to match. Squinting and coughing, he entered. It seemed to be a tavern. A long counter ran the length of one wall with shelves of bottles and a closed door behind it. Several round tables and stools lay in disarray across the floor. Shards of glass littered the place. Everything flammable was either burning or about to.

“Hello?” he called, struggling to keep his voice both calm and urgent. “Is anybody in here?”

No reply. Swinging his legs over the counter, he jumped behind the bar and tried to open the door. It was jammed shut. “Damn it,” he muttered. He shoulder-bashed it but it didn’t budge. He rummaged in his pouch a moment then pulled out his hammer. He raised it and swung. It hit its target dead-center. With a satisfying crack, the now-splintered door fell to the ground.

Putting away his hammer, Legend entered the new room. Shelves upon shelves of liquor bottles and barrels filled the room. Liquor. Liquor has alcohol. Alcohol can burn. The place could be about to explode. “Oh no,” he breathed. “Hey! Is there anyone here?!”

A barely audible whimper came from the far corner of the room. Legend whipped his head to the spot. Several wooden beams and shelves were piled there, on fire like nearly everything else. In a flash, he had slipped on his power gloves and was prying the detritus from its place.

After nearly a minute’s work, the area was cleared, revealing a small man huddled in the corner. Hair and clothes singed, skin black with soot, but very much alive and well, he looked up at Legend with tears in his eyes. The hero wasted no time in picking up the man and rushing out of the building. In the relative safety of the street, he put him down.

“Is there anyone else in there?”

The man shook his head

“Are you hurt?

He shook his head again.

“Good,” Legend said while pointing in the direction of the portal Four opened. “Run until you see a glowing circle on the ground. Step in it and it’ll take you to safety.”

The man hesitated, clearly still in shock. “Go!” Legend shouted, jabbing his finger back to the portal. “Now!”

He looked after the man a moment, watching him run to safety. Coughing from all the smoke, he turned back to the tavern. The fire seemed to have reached the drinks, because it promptly exploded. Here we go again, he thought to himself as he turned and ran into the next building.

…

Twilight dashed down a side street. He had recognized the scent of children and followed it. Blazing buildings seemed to crowd around him on all sides, but he ran on. The shackle set above his front paw was heavy, but he never had the heart to take it off. Every so often, a beam or sign would fall just overhead. Twilight would bark and Wind, riding on his back, would activate the Phantom Sword and freeze time just long enough to get past the hazard before it crushed them.

An upcoming road led out to the side, the scent wafting from there. Twilight took the tight corner, nearly unseating Wind. “Watch it!” the youngest hero grunted. Twilight growled back, as if saying hey, I’m trying here.

There at the end of the road was the house they were looking for. Reaching the door, Wind hopped to his feet and the wolf became Hylian again. Wind inspected the house. It didn’t seem to be too damaged yet. He looked over to his partner. “Twi, you sure this is the one?”

“Positive.”

“Alrighty. Let’s go.”

Naturally, the door was jammed. Not bothering to find some fancy solution, Twilight kicked hard. The door blew off its hinges. He ran in, Wind on his heels. The former had put away his weapons, afraid they would scare the children. The latter kept his out. His sword had a valuable power, and a shield might be helpful in a burning building with falling debris. They took a quick look at the main room.

The furniture was already scorched, leaving husks of a dining room set, sofa, cushioned rocking chair, child’s rocking horse, cabinets, and other amenities. Fine china lay shattered below what used to be their cabinet. The house’s owners were clearly rather wealthy. There was no sign of the children Twilight smelled. Several doors led out into other rooms. Twilight started for one of them. “Split up,” he said. “Take that side.”

“Whatever you say, boss,” Wind replied, heading for another door.

Twilight shook his head. He hated being considered a leader, but he supposed it came naturally to him. Maybe it came from growing up around younger children, or being born with the Triforce of Courage… he neither knew nor cared. He hurried to the door he chose. This one was not jammed.

He shoved the door open, finding stairs that led up into a hallway. The smoke was even heavier here. Seven doors lay ahead: three on either side, one at the end. There’s not enough time for this, he thought. For a moment, he transformed to use his heightened wolf senses. All the doors had traces of the children’s scent. After changing back, he called out “Hey! I’m—cough—here to save you! Come on out!”

There was no reply. “Damn,” he cursed to himself. Look’s like we’re doing this the hard way. He picked a door and opened it. The room was a mess. The walls were covered in soot, the closed windows bottling up the smoke. A bed was smoldering in a corner, and a chest of drawers in another. No one was inside.

Twilight checked the next door. This room was more damaged than the other, bits of ceiling falling to the floor. Active flames licked the blackened walls. Whatever furniture was there was unrecognizable. Still, no one was inside. The next four rooms bore similar results.

When he finally got to the seventh door, he found it was sealed shut. He kicked the door, but it didn’t work this time. He drew his shield, backed up, charged forward, and full-on tackled the door. It splintered and flew off its hinges into the room. Twilight noticed a new sour smell mingling with the children’s. His eyes swept the room, and his stomach lurched.

The children were dead. The fire took them hours ago, by the looks of them. They were huddled together. What appeared to be three boys and a girl sat in a corner, burnt and deformed. An image of Talo, Malo, Beth, and Colin flashed in Twilight’s mind. Now realizing the source of the sour scent, he winced and threw up a little in his mouth. Was it the smoke or emotions that made him blink away tears as he turned from the horror? He didn’t have the time to decide.

…

Meanwhile, Wind was having his own problems. The side of the house he chose was far more damaged than his partner’s. Beams, floorboards from upstairs, and light fixtures kept falling around him. His decision to keep his weapons equipped was a smart one. “Hey!” he shouted. “Is there—hrrk” he grunted as his shield blocked a chuck of wood from dropping on his head. “Is there anybody in here?!”

He had called this out repeatedly for several minutes as he wove his way through the high-ceilinged rooms. He had yet to get a reply. The intense heat and effort of defending himself were starting to really tire him out. Unfortunately, his sword’s time-stop was just as tiring to use as manually preventing being squashed like a bug. He silently wished he still had Ciela to help him.

Wind spotted the last room he hadn’t entered. He tried the handle, but it was jammed and burning hot. Mirroring Twilight, he kicked at the door. He yelped in pain from the door not opening. Guess I’m not as strong as him… he thought. He looked closer at the door. Oh. It opens this way. Silly.

He reached in his pouch and brought out his grappling hook. With the claw latched onto the doorknob, he yanked on the rope and the door burst open. The sudden lack of resistance caused him to fall backward onto the floor. Shaking his head to clear it, he spotted another falling lamp about to crush him. With a roll to the side, he just barely cleared it. “When Time says it’s gonna be a long day,” he muttered, “it’s gonna be a long day.”

Remembering the door was now open, Wind hurried to his feet and went through it. He took in the sight. He had really hoped there was someone to save in there. Anything to make all the effort worth it. Lo and behold, there was nothing in this small closet but a few musty coats and boots. “You have got to kidding me,” he groaned.

Disappointed and tired, he ran out of the house and back onto the narrow road. Twilight emerged from the flaming wreck a few seconds later. He looked thoroughly disturbed. “No survivors,” he said just loud enough for Wind to hear over the din. “You?”

“Na-da.”

“Well, that was much ado about nothing.”

Wind pointed to another nearby house intact enough that there might be survivors. “Let’s try there.”

Twilight nodded and the two broke into a run to the house.

“Twi?”

“Yeah?”

“What started this fire?”

“That’s a very good question. It’s been eating at me. We can’t worry about that now, though,” Twilight said as they reached the door. “Ready up, we’re going in.”

…

“You’re good at setting fires, right?” Warrior asked while running between buildings.

“Yep,” Wild answered, side by side with his partner.

“How do you put them out?”

“I don’t.”

“I see.”

“Besides, you said yourself that we’re trying to save the people, not the buildings.”

“Fair point,” Warrior admitted. “How many people have we saved?”

“You know my memory’s a joke,” Wild shot back. He paused. “…maybe a dozen?”

“For a settlement this size and us being here for what, an hour? You’d think we would have more.”

“We still have the others doing their bit, but this seems futile. For every building we search, three more just collapse.”

Warrior frowned. “That does seem to be a problem.”

“How did this thing start, anyway? Village-destroying fires don’t just pop out of nowhere.”

“You’re thinking arson?” Warrior said with some incredulity.

“Maybe,” Wild said. “Think. From what I’ve been able to tell, the entire area is equally damaged; it’s all been burning the same amount of time.”

“So?”

“There’s no epicenter. If it was an accident, one point would be the most damaged. There’s got to be a reason why. I suspect foul play.”

“Good point. How could someone ignite the whole village at once, though?”

“I’m thinking it’s more of a “something” than a “someone.”

Warrior was silent a moment. “A monster?”

“Has to be, or at least some evil force.”

“Arson usually isn’t up there on a monster’s list of go-to ways to terrorize people. Maybe a wizzrobe…”

“A wizzrobe would have been laughing and dancing around waiting to be killed,” Wild pointed out.

“Right.”

“Don’t forget there’s something seriously wrong with this place. We couldn’t see it at first. It’s not even on my map.”

“So, we don’t rule anything out.”

“Exactly.”

The two Links stayed silent for a while, rushing into another semi-intact building and finding no one to save. Any villagers able to run away had clearly done so already. This was all very disheartening.

“I’m getting a really bad feeling about this place,” Wild said finally.

“Me too, and if I know our companions,” Warrior replied, “we all are.”

…

Four heard hacking behind him. He stopped running and turned around. Sky had his hands on his knees, coughing madly. Nearly two hours in, the smoke was taking its toll on him. Four ran back and put his hand on his partner’s back. “You okay?”

“Sure, when—cough—we get out of—cough—here!”

“I’m not sure that will be much longer,” Four said, looking up at their surroundings. “Look.”

Sky followed his gaze. Most of the buildings around them had already collapsed into their own flames. They were running out of places to look for survivors. All this might be over very soon. He would be glad to be rid of the place, but the number of people they’d saved was disturbingly low.

They still hadn’t gotten the chance to think about what to do once that happened. Where would all the people go? Follow the Links as refugees to the next village? Protecting dozens of weak villagers in a possibly monster-infested forest wasn’t going to be easy. Going back through the cave was impossible, so they would have to go forward or not go at all.

When Sky’s coughs let up, Four helped him back up to a standing position. “You don’t look so good,” he observed.

“Sorry,” Sky replied. “I’m ju—cough—just used to really clean air. I’ll be fine. We have a job to do.”

“That we do,” Four affirmed, jerking his head in the direction of what looked like a sort of schoolhouse. “Let’s try this one.”

Sky pulled the sail his Zelda gave him up over his nose and took point. The front door was left ajar, so they wasted no time getting inside. They were standing in a hallway with two doors on the left and two on the right. The entire place looked about to collapse. Sky and Four looked at each other, nodded, and parted ways.

Four entered the first room on the right. Overturned desks littered the floor. Glass shards and burnt quills indicated where inkwells had fallen and shattered. The bookcases lining the walls were already burnt to a crisp; the books were perfect kindling. Four coughed and wiped his sweating brow. “Hello?!” he called. “Anyone here?!”

Silence. Four shook his head and went back to the hall. He ran over to the next door on his side. The same scene as before played out. He exited the room to check on Sky. Just as he got to the room Sky had entered, the roof above the door collapsed in flames. The door was blocked. “Sky!” Four yelled. “Are you okay?!”

The shortest hero waited a moment, but no reply came. He tried again, panic creeping into his voice. “Sky! Hey! You okay?!” Again, no response. Four nervously ran his hands through his hair, knocking his hood back. “Oh no, no no no no no. Sky, come on, talk to me!”

Four remembered the second door on this side of the hall. Before relief could kick in, this door collapsed as well. Desperate, he drew his Gust Jar from his pouch and tried to blow out the flames on the wood blocking the doors. The moment they were extinguished, they came back stronger. It was the first time he considered that this fire was unnatural. The structure seemed on the cusp of utter destruction. There was nothing he could do for his partner.

He ran outside the schoolhouse, eyes wildly darting around for any of his companions. The smoke was so heavy now that he could barely see in front of him. Now he was really panicking. “Anybody!” he called as loud as he could. “Somebody, help!”

The smoke was filling his lungs and he began to cough heavily. “Please, help! Any—cough—anyone!”

No one called back. No one came dashing out of the smoke. No one was going to help. Four had to decide whether to stay by the schoolhouse or run for help. He was afraid it might go down, but he also feared that he wouldn’t be able to find anyone or even find his way back. His friend was in there, but he was helpless to save him. He just stood there in manic indecision. Oh Goddesses, what can I do?

…

As Sky left Four’s side, he burst through the door he chose. A thoroughly destroyed classroom stared him in the face. He didn’t know it, but it was almost identical to the one Four was currently in. He noticed another closed door on the far side of the room. Probably some sort of closet, he thought. May as well.

Still covering his nose and mouth with his sail, he jogged to the door and tried to open it. Of course it’s jammed, he thought. He drew his sword and backed up just far enough that its point would fit in the doorframe, but not any farther. In four deft swipes, the Master Sword sliced through the frame. The door, now cut free, fell forward with a clatter.

A little girl was curled in the fetal position against the wall. Sky rushed forward and knelt in front of her. He lowered the sail. “Hey there,” he said in a soothing tone. “My name is Link, and I’m going to get you out of here.”

The girl looked up at him. Her wide, teary eyes were filled with fear and shock. She was completely silent. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have any burns on her. Sky sighed in relief. As much as he wanted to make all this effort worth it, he hated knowing she had trapped here for Hylia knows how long.

“What’s your name?” Sky asked gently.

Her answer came as a choked whisper: “Mira.”

“Okay, Mira. Can you stand?”

She nodded.

“Good.”

The girl pushed herself to a stand. She was so young she was barely half his height. Sky sheathed his sword, unhooked the sail from around his neck, and held it out to her. “Hold this up to your face; it’ll keep the smoke out. Stay close to me, understand?”

She nodded again.

“Good. Let’s get you to safety.”

He held out his hand. She took it. They left the closet and started for the door. They were almost there when the ceiling above it came crashing down. Mira shrieked. Sky’s mind raced. How would they get out of here now? “Four!” he called out, hoping beyond hope his partner heard him. “Four, are you there?!”

Sky was certain Four didn’t hear him. The fire was almost deafening. Time for Plan B, he decided. He let go of Mira’s hand, took out the Gust Bellows, and blew. The fires came back the moment they went out. Damn it, he cursed to himself to spare the little girl hearing.

He took another look around the room. He spotted a door that likely led into the neighboring room. It was completely consumed in flames. He wisely decided that wouldn’t work. The walls were all aflame, so even if he could cut through them, it would be suicide to jump through.

Jump through? An idea struck him like a lightning bolt. He gave the room another glance. A soot-stained window was set in one wall slightly above his eye level. He grimaced. “That’ll have to do.”

The hero turned back to Mira. Her features hidden by his sail, she was staring at him with terror in her eyes. Flames licked at the floorboards near her bare feet. A pang of guilt hit Sky. He hadn’t done a very good job rescuing her so far. That would change. Hopefully. He went to her and scooped her up in his arms.

“Mira,” Sky whispered in her ear. He stifled a cough. “I need you to hold on tight, now. Okay?”

Sky felt her head nod against his chest. He sprinted at full speed at the window, pivoted, and leaped back-first at the window. He felt the glass shatter against him as he fell. The ground came up sooner than expected. It knocked the wind out of Sky’s lungs. His everything ached.

He gently moved Mira off him. She seemed unhurt, still clutching his sail. All things considered, that was a miracle. It took everything he had to bring himself up to a stand. He was dizzy and was confused by the voice he heard getting nearer him. His head cleared, and he saw Four running at him.

“Sky!” Four exclaimed. “You’re alive!”

“Yeah, are you o—oof!"

Sky was cut off by Four practically tackling him into a hug. “Oh, thank the Goddesses, Four cried, releasing Sky. “I didn’t find anything on my side, so I went to find you. Then the ceiling collapsed, and I couldn’t get to you and—”

“Hey,” Sky interrupted, putting a hand on his rambling friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, we’re fine.”

He gestured toward Mira, standing where they fell. Her eyes darted between the two of them. It was as if she knew their relation. Sky began, “This, my friend, is Mira. She was stuck in a closet on my side. I got her out safe. Can’t say the same for—cough—myself, though.”

Sky now noticed that the entire village was just about ready to come down. Luckily the now incinerating schoolhouse was near the edge of the settlement. “I don’t think there’s anyone left to save,” he said with new severity. “Let’s go back to the portal and find the others.”

Four nodded. Sky went to Mira and picked her up again. The two heroes ran clear of the village and into the field. The portal was dead ahead of them. For whatever reason, none of the survivors had gone through it. Independently deciding that wasn’t important for now, the Links approached them.

One of the men noticed them and shouted out, “Mira!”

“Daddy!” she called back. Her voice was still hoarse.

Sky set Mira down and she ran to her father. They embraced, sobbing into each other’s shoulders. It was a beautiful sight, as if the Goddesses were shining their divine light on them.

Sky nudged Four. “See that?” he said. “That’s what we’re doing all this for. All our pain, all our suffering, it’s all for them. We’d better not forget that next time a map shorts out or something silly like that.”

Four did indeed see that. It was wonderful. He was about to reply when the other Links started emerging out of the fire themselves. Legend came first. He was running so fast he nearly faceplanted when he stopped. Next up came Twilight and Wind, then Warrior and Wild.

They all looked around and spotted each other. Beaming, they ran to each other and hugged. After that ordeal, seeing each other’s sooty faces was the best sight they could think of. They began to tell each other tales of their separate adventures when Twilight noticed something.

“Wait, wait. Where are Time and Hyrule?”

As if on cue, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air. It came from the direction of the village. They whipped around and tried to see its source. They saw nothing but a wall of flames. “What the hell was that?!” Legend exclaimed.

Twilight had had enough death and misery today. Still, he had to admit, “something tells me we’re going to find out very soon.”

…

More than two hours had passed since the Links entered the village. The smoke and heat had only gotten worse. Time wished he had held onto the tunic Darunia’s son had given to him. If it could resist the heat of an active volcano, it surely would have helped here. He considered using Darmani’s mask, but dismissed the thought immediately. No, not if I absolutely need to. I can take this.

Hyrule had so such thoughts. He was just hot and sweaty and took that at face value. Had he asked Time, they would have agreed that this was taking too long. Many of the villagers had clearly fled the moment they saw the fire, yet somehow there were stragglers trapped behind flames and sealed doors.

This whole scenario troubled Time. His mind was filled with questions he had no answers to. Why is this village hidden? Why isn’t it on Wild’s map? Why is it on fire? Who started the fire? Where are they? Why did no one stop to help their trapped fellows? Why is it only us trying to save people? What in the Golden Goddesses’ names is going on here?

“Time?” Hyrule snapped Time out of his thoughts.

The two of them were standing in a square of sorts. At first glance, it looked like they were enclosed by a towering wall of fire. Truly, those were just the houses on the edge of the square. Hyrule was looking around them, taking in the rampant destruction. He turned to Time. Hopelessness played across his face. His arms hung limply at his sides. “Time? Where do we go now?”

Time recognized that expression. It mirrored his own throughout his adventures. His friends, his home, his everything had been taken away from him at one point or another. Malon had been that one beacon of light in a world of darkness Ganondorf didn’t even try to create. He couldn’t look Hyrule in the eye.

“I… I don’t know. I don’t think we can do any more good here.”

Hyrule had never seen Time look so defeated. “Yeah,” he sighed.

“Let’s rendezvous with the others. We’ve done all we can.”

The heroes, eyes stinging and throats sore from the smoke, turned to leave the way they came. Fire had sprung up that road as well. They were trapped. “No,” Hyrule breathed, “we can’t die here. Not after all of this. We still have a job to do.”

“You’re right.”

The resignation in Time’s voice made Hyrule turn to face him. The oldest of the nine was expressionless as he rummaged in his pouch. He withdrew his hand holding a mask. To Hyrule, it looked like how the others had described Gorons. They were about to die, and this was Time’s plan?

“What good will playing dress-up do for us?!” Hyrule’s voice cracked as he shouted.

Time had wanted anything but this. This was where he betrayed his friends’ trust, where his lies and half-truths fell apart. There was no other way. He couldn’t bear to look at his friend as he said, “I’m sorry.”

Hyrule didn’t a chance to ask what for before Time put on this cursed mask. It seemed to close in on him, latching to his flesh. He writhed in pain, trying his best not to cry out. Even so, it was too much. A guttural, tortured scream pierced the smoke-filled air. It was laced with hopelessness, regret, guilt, and unfathomable agony. Hyrule had never heard anything so awful in his entire life.

A blinding light shone, stunning Hyrule. When his vision cleared, a Goron towered over him. A jagged scar ran down his closed right eye. Hyrule barely managed to stammer “T—Time?” before being swept off his feet.

This shade of a great Goron hero brought Hyrule in close to his chest. Hyrule struggled to break free, but the grip was hard as rock. The Goron rolled itself into a jagged boulder covered in massive, razor-sharp spines. Protecting Hyrule, it rolled across the square, building speed. It showed no sign of slowing as it neared the flames. With a deafening crash, it broke its way through rows and rows buildings.

Free of the inferno, the boulder stopped on the tall grass. It unrolled and Hyrule fell to the ground. He was shaken but intact. The Goron stood up and the blinding light shone again. When it faded, the Hero of Time was left in its place.

He opened his eye to see his eight companions staring at him. The villagers they had saved stood behind them. Betrayal, fear, shock, and awe played across the Links’ features. Before Time could even begin to comprehend the sight, the world went dark.

#linkeduniverse fanfiction #linkeduniverse #my own #my writing #fanfiction #Fire

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