#every time I see someone miss a treasure chest I DIE inside | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ichorai · 3 years

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pearls and pastries ; j.jk

pairing ; pirate!jungkook x baker!reader (gender-neutral)

summary ; a crew of pirates have been pilfering your village for several weeks now and one particularly keen buccaneer has stopped by your bakery practically every visit; whether it be for the delectable pastries or for the sweet baker he's taken an interest to, jungkook couldn’t say. but there’s a catch - the baker doesn’t know that he’s a pirate.

themes ; fantasy, angst, fluff, pining, slight action, pirate au, baker au, medieval au

words ; 3.6k

warnings / includes ; descriptions of weaponry, stealing (from the rich), jungkook being a sad lovesick sap, pirate!bts, poetic sadness but when do i not do angst lmfao everything i touch turns into written sorrow </3

a/n ; written for the @ficscafe fic exchange event for @sunshinerainbowsbts !! i hope you like it <3 i'm definitely considering writing a part two to this :D

Jungkook wasn’t quite fond of parrots. Well, his mislike wasn’t necessarily directed towards the multi-hued rotund bird itself, but the fact that the wretched thing was squawking out a poor rendition of what Jungkook had announced earlier whilst clambering down the crow’s nest.

“I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery! I’m going to the bakery!” the winged devil screeched from atop Jimin’s shoulder, ruffling its bright feathers as if taunting him.

Shooting it the nastiest of scowls, Jungkook reached behind his head to untie the vermilion bandana holding his overgrown locks away from his narrowed eyes. “You better shut that bird up before I toss it to the sharks, Jimin.”

“If I let you do that, I’d also have to throw you overboard. The both of you are equally annoying,” the other pirate snorted in contempt, glancing up at his younger friend striding across the ship before moving his gaze back to the knapsack he was emptying for the pilfer. Out fell several empty bottles of rum, a few gold pieces glinting in the harsh midday sun, two jewel-encrusted daggers, and a worn eyepatch that suspiciously looked to be the same as the one Yoongi always wore over his left eye. “You seem to forget that we’re here to steal from the rich, not buy fancy breads! You’re lucky that Namjoon has half the decency not to kick you off the boat. Jin, however fond he is of you, still calls you a moocher.”

Rouge faintly dusted across Jungkook’s cheekbones as he coughed into his fist, lifting his shoulder in a half-shrug. “I steal stuff sometimes,” he muttered under his breath. It was useless to defend himself against someone who saw straight through him.

“Sometimes, my foot!” Jimin scoffed, hiking the bag over his shoulders. “Bringing back a goblet you found rolling down the street doesn’t count, you know that, right?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes to the cloudless sky, far too stubborn to admit that Jimin was right. With not another word, the young pirate clambered off of the large vessel and onto the rickety docks, grunting upon landing. It didn’t bother him much that Jimin was irked at his lack of contribution. They were rich enough as it is; what was the rush?

The air was tangy with sea salt and damp wood as he inhaled a deep breath, setting off for your bakery. Walking there took exactly three hundred and seventy two steps. Jungkook had memorized the shortest route to your little shop, mumbling the numbers under his breath with a growing grin blossoming across his lips. He subconsciously rolled the sleeves of his white tunic down, the fabric concealing the pirate tattoos inked all over his arms.

When the youthful sea wolf stepped foot into your store, a familiar chiming of the bell hooked atop the door echoed across the cream-walled room. At the reverberating sound, your head peeked out from the kitchen situated in the back. An illuminating beam danced on your features, eyes lighting up with mirth at the sight of Jungkook.

It made the muscle within his chest slam against his ribcage, desperate to be freed from its confines because it belonged to you, and only you. He wasn’t quite sure when the sudden fixation for the village baker his crew was stealing from started, but he had acclimated to his own change of heart by visiting you as often as he could.

“Fancy seeing you here today. Are you coming in or are you now my human door stopper?” Your heavenly voice floated towards Jungkook, snapping him out of his thoughts. Sheepish, he shuffled inside, engulfed by the warm scents of chocolate cakes, powdered pastries, caramelized fruits, and toasted almonds. His stomach gave an impatient snarl at the sight of tempting desserts. You had also walked to the front of the counter, dusting your flour covered hands on an apron. Some of the white powder had managed to smudge on your cheek, and Jungkook had to resist the urge to reach over and thumb it away.

“Hi,” he said with the brightest of grins. “I’ve missed you.”

At his bold statement, you suppressed a chortle. “I think you missed those chocolate cream puffs you like so much, not me. What’ve you been up to while you were gone?”

Jungkook hesitated at that. For the short amount of time he’d been visiting you, not once had he mustered the courage to tell you of his true origins. A savage pirate like him shouldn’t even be around the likes of you. You had no idea that he was part of the crew that was robbing your village, and the very thought of you finding out had him terrified. You were a taste of all the goodness in the world, and Jungkook was afraid you’d crumble into ash if he dared touch you. The sinner had no rights touching an angel, after all.

“Visiting family,” he hummed, quick to move on. If you noticed his strange demeanor, you didn’t say anything. For that, Jungkook was grateful. “I brought something for you.”

There was something about your smile that seemed to expel any and all feelings of gloom in a room. Jungkook was no exception to this feat, his knees almost buckling against the soft pink counters. He righted himself by leaning his elbows on top and propping his chin up with a palm. Gods, he didn’t know he was in this deep.

“Oh?” you set your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the side. “To what do I owe such pleasures?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “For those cream cheese tarts you made me last time I visited. Thought I’d repay you.” Whilst saying this, he used his free hand to reach into his back pocket, fishing out a string of authentic pearls, adorned with a glimmering clasp of gold the same hue as the sun.

Your smile melted into a confused pucker, brows knitting together in a muted painting of hesitance, yet you ogled the expensive necklace dangling by one of his spindly fingers nonetheless. Where on earth had he gotten such a valuable treasure? “But you already paid me with money. I really can’t take that, Jungkook.”

Disappointment was easily detected as he slanted his lips to the side. “Alright, then.” He tucked the pearls back into his pocket. It surprised you how easily he had complied.

The worrisome atmosphere was quick to dissolve when the bell jangled once more. A small child meandered in with a toothy beam, holding a small pouch of clattering coins in their palm. They were no taller than Jungkook’s midriff, and he liked it a little more than he should have watching a certain softness adorn your features at the sight of the kid.

“I recommend the cinnamon apple pie. Or maybe the brown sugar crepes if you’re looking for something sweeter,” Jungkook said, gesturing to the treat behind the display glass. The child angled their head to stare at the taller man with wonder. “Anything Y/N makes is to die for, though.”

The child excitedly babbled something in return, but you didn’t quite pick up what they had said. You were far too focused on Jungkook’s animated features when he kneeled down to point at some more desserts. Sure, he was a handsome man, you’ve known that since day one. You’ve never really looked at him in this light. It was as if he were carved from pure luminosity, whittled by the hand of the most skilled sculptor. Everything about him was practically perfect; the gentle slope of his nose, the angles of his raised eyebrows, the dappled rouge of his lips, the beauty marks mottling his dewy skin, the dangerous cuts of his jaw, the twinkle of gaiety you found in his irises. With the sunlight filtering through the windows, it basked Jungkook within a golden radiance, the shadows casted along his face only highlighting his best features, doing nothing to aid your fluttering pulse. Has he always been this beautiful?

“I’ll have a slice of apple pie!”

The sudden clinking of coins being dumped onto the counter snapped you out of your trance, and you kindly wrapped up what the child ordered and handed them the paper bag. Both you and Jungkook watched as they smiled in thanks and trotted out of the bakery. Curse his handsome physique.

A little flustered by your earlier thoughts, you busied your hands by sorting the coins the kid had coughed up. Jungkook, ever the kind soul, merely stood with you as you worked, engaging you in entertaining conversations to keep you occupied while your store was empty. Where did the sun go once it disappeared down the horizon? Why did everybody else seem to enjoy the bitter taste of coffee except him? Why did his heart beat so quickly when around you? The last question he couldn’t muster the courage to ask, and much to his perturbation, he already knew the answer. You enjoyed Jungkook’s company very much; to the point where you couldn’t quite remember what it was like before he had sauntered into your life.

Before the both of you knew it, the sun was already setting. Jungkook noticed the way you deflated just slightly when red kissed the sky. It was a telltale sign that Jungkook was long overdue to go back to his ship. Yoongi would have his ass if he was late again. The whole situation was ridiculous, really. He felt like a fairy tale princess running away from the ball before his clothes grew into tatters. Well, in his case, he supposed it’d be pirate-wear.

Your smile betrayed only the gentlest hint of disappointment as you thrusted a bag of warm cookies into his arms. “Take this for the road,” you had said.

And so Jungkook did, smiling like an idiot the whole way back. A part of him absentmindedly wondered what your face would look like when you noticed that he had left the pearls on the countertop for you.

The ship rocked as the young pirate scampered across the deck at a startling speed, flinging the doors to the cabins open. Six older pirates stared at his panting form, a few looking on with unsurprised indifference, most glaring at him in disappointment. Jimin merely stuck his tongue out, his childish way of saying I told you so. There was expectancy in the captain’s eyes, but it waned away at an instant upon seeing that Jungkook carried nothing of value. Namjoon pinched the space between his brows in mild frustration.

Stiffly, Jungkook jerked his arm to thrust the bag in his hand forward. “Cookie?” he asked. Nobody said anything. Jungkook slowly brought his appendage back down, guilt roiling in his abdomen. “I take it you guys don’t want the cookies?”

With a huff, Namjoon stalked forward. “Of course we want the cookies, give me that.” He snatched the bag out of Jungkook’s hands and tossed it to Taehyung, who caught it with eagerness vividly splayed across his ruffled features. “I do have to admit, we’re getting tired of you bringing back nothing but sweets every time we go on raids, Jungkook. C’mon, kid, this is a team effort here. Look, just today Yoongi managed to steal a dozen coffers from a nobleman. The least you can do is try.” True to the captain’s word, there was a mountain of chests and boxes full to the brim with gold coins and shimmering jewels piled to the side of the cabin.

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Jungkook nodded in understanding, though not without a miniscule frown twinging his lips. What was a pirate without his treasure, right?

Taking note of his glum demeanor, Namjoon clapped a hand to the younger man’s shoulder. “We’re not mad at you—”

Yoongi snorted at that.

“We just… want to help you help us,” Namjoon finished, ignoring the salty pirate’s quip from behind him.

The youngest man on deck raised his hand to his forehead in an awkward salute. “Yes cap’n!” Shame prowled within his chest; just thinking about the dishonor he brought to the pirate reputation by loitering in a bakery all day, ogling at sugary treats (and the sweet baker, but Jungkook digresses).

A part of him felt even worse knowing that he’d see you less and less, what with the other pirates breathing down his neck. He could only hope that you’d still look forward to his visits, though few and far in between.

Authentic bottles of expensive wines were shoved into his knapsack by Taehyung, lacing chains of aureate crammed into his hands by Hoseok, bars of cold silver wedged into the pits of his arms by Jimin, and more treasures thrown at the youngest pirate to hold as they lithely ran across the village. Being one of the stronger and more agile ones of the group had its downfalls, after all. He was being treated like a pack mule, hauling all the treasure for them. Not that he was going to complain; Jungkook knew that he deserved the rough-housing.

“Hold onto these for me, will you?” Yoongi gruffly uttered as he slid the thick hilts of gem-encrusted daggers into his belt. Jungkook complied hesitantly, but not without a suppressed groan of annoyance. “They’ll sell for more than a pretty penny, so don’t lose them.” The older pirate seemed to be in a grumpier than usual mood, considering he lost his eyepatch and the mottled scar crossing over his eye was on display for anybody to gawk at. It would’ve been worrying to Jungkook if he wasn’t aware of the fact that Jimin was merely prolonging his juvenile game of ‘keep away’, attempting to dance away from Yoongi’s inevitable wrath.

Perhaps being a pirate wasn’t his true calling, because Jungkook found that his mind kept wandering off to the matters at hand—running away from the guards. Though it was a relatively easy task (the guards were quite thick-headed in this village), he thought about the pretty plants dangling from the balconies of a building they jogged by, or the scents of exotic spices carried by the souq market not far from where they were. Most of all, much to his expectancy, his thoughts were centered around you. Had you gotten many customers for lunch rush? Were you lonely without him? How many times have you smiled today? Jungkook was all too fond of your smile.

Blinded by his unsaid affectionate ramblings, he only barely caught on to Namjoon’s quiet, “We shook the guards off for now. Be careful next time, Seokjin. The sun’s about to set soon; we should head back to the ship before it gets dark.”

Jungkook hissed out a small sigh of relief, bending over to catch his breath. Jogging across the village would have been no problem, but running with treasures twice his weight draped all over him was a different story.

When he righted himself back to standing, the sudden pit of shocked trepidation unfurled within his abdomen. There you were, beautiful as ever, but a terrifying sight to see. Normally you’d be the only person he would want to see, but as of this moment, you were the absolute last person he fancied bumping into.

Why now? He had the most rotten of luck.

Today you weren’t wearing your regular apron, but a pair of fitted grey trousers and a soft beige blouse far too large for you, hanging off of one of your shoulders as you cradled a basket of breads and cheeses and other groceries in your arms. It was a simple outfit, but one that made his heart clench nonetheless. The glinting of iridescent pearls draped over your décolletage had his breath stolen away from him as raw sentiment overtook his form. You were wearing the pearls he left for you and you never looked more beautiful. Jungkook, on the other hand, was clad in clothes that practically screamed pirate; a golden-clasped corset tightened about the small of his waist, a tattered white button-up tucked into his dark trousers, worn sea boots covering his feet. A large gun was also slung over the belt cinched around his hips, along with multiple daggers of the like, and not to mention all the riches and jewelry the other boys had thrown at him.

You couldn’t see him. No, it would absolutely ruin Jungkook.

Perhaps dropping everything he was holding in a panicked effort to dash away as quickly as he could was the worst possible thing he could have done to not warrant any attention.

The concerned and confused questions erupting from the other pirates as they whipped their heads towards their youngest comrade went completely ignored. He scampered away from them, lunging towards a shadowed alley and hiding behind a teetering pile of musty boxes. A stray cat nuzzled against his leg, but Jungkook merely shooed it away with a frustrated glare and not-so-subtle shushing gestures.

What a fool I am, the young buccaneer berated himself, pressing a knuckle against his temple in frustration. He waited for another minute, before slinking out from the shadows, peering around the corner to see if you were still there.

No sign of you. Relief seized his chest, but not without the gentlest flower of disappointment staining whatever solace he felt, a weed amongst the roses. Jungkook’s mind was still reeling from the fact that you were wearing his pearls.

Treading carefully, he strode out of the alley, turning the other direction before halting in his tracks completely. A queer, garbled noise tumbled past his lips.

It was you, a confused smile gracing your features, and all Jungkook could think about was how the sunlight was made for you, how you glowed in front of him, how he wanted to cradle you into his chest and murmur confessions of his pure, unadulterated love into your ear. But Jungkook didn’t do any of that. Instead, he merely stood there, as if he was imitating a statue in all of his pirate glory. Terrified, regretful, and ever so angry at himself.

Fate was a cruel game.

The pearls shone prettily on your skin. A reminder of the best mistake he’s ever made.

Your eyes had yet to wander down to fully take in his appearance, for your expression still held fondness for the man that’s visited your bakery so often, still having no idea that he was a filthy pirate, locked into his molten gaze. “I think you dropped something…?” The golden chains dangled loose between your fingers as you held them out to him. Jungkook didn’t take them, frozen on the spot.

It was as if he could pinpoint the exact moment you found out his true origins. Your brows furrowed upon seeing the weaponry strapped onto him, one of his pirate tattoos on display (Jungkook cursed himself for not thinking of rolling his sleeve back down), and the six other men watching in silent despondency behind them. You had always been a sharp one, far too smart for your own good.

Or, perhaps, it's always been obvious. Jungkook was only wishing for the impossible.

“You’re a pirate.”

The statement wedged a stake into his chest, splintering his heart into pieces. When you stepped away from him, confused horror marring your beautiful features, Jungkook knew that it was over.

He lost you.

A flurry of emotions, overwhelming and tumultuous, evidently took over you at his lack of denial. You looked to be just as heartbroken as he was.

“You’re a pirate,” you repeated, dazed. You wanted him to say something, anything. Much to his surprise, you didn’t sound angry. You took several steps back this time. The weight of pearls around your neck suddenly felt choking.

The sudden calling of his name had his head whipping around to look at his captain, watching the brutal exchange with gentle sternness. “We have to go.” The guards’ll be coming soon, no doubt.

Jungkook looked back to you, any and all words lodged in his throat. Despite the fear in your irises, a soft expression of acceptance folded over your visage, for under all his pirate exterior, he was still the same man that you thought so fondly of from your bakery. The look was short-lived however, quick to fade away when Jungkook reached out for you hesitantly. A part of him pondered how a simple baker managed to steal from the stealer. You had robbed him of his heart, and Jungkook didn’t even try to stop you.

Upon seeing you inch away in mortification at your new revelation, Jungkook retracted his arm and pursed his lips. The agony clawing at his stomach was begging to be set free. He wanted nothing more than to get onto his knees and plead for your forgiveness.

I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I’m not the man you thought I was. I’m sorry I fell in love with you.

His name came out again, this time from Yoongi. That meant it was serious.

“I’ll come back,” Jungkook said, tears rimming the bottom of his warm doe eyes. You watched him start to trek backwards. “I promise.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, like he was swallowing down a knot of thorned ivy.

Before you had the chance to say anything back, he was gone, bounding back to his ship with his comrades. Not long after, the distant barks of guards pursuing them rang throughout the village. You took that as your cue to leave. Swallowing down the urge to cry, you forced your eyes away.

You hoped he wouldn’t uphold his promise, for the both of your sakes.

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fic-heaven · 2 years

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Part 2 of the (bad) ending from my #2 Random thoughts

When Silco went back to the Last Drop fuming and red in pure anger, Sevika warned him he was being reckless... Idiotic even. Silco's mind was so clouded in thoughts of you he couldn't retort back her too forward comment, he paced around his office, hair messy and wavey from being pushed back so many times with shaky hands, he huffed as Sevika halted him pressing a hand to his shoulder which he instantly brushed off glaring at her taller form, eyes burning in distress and heartbreak. Sevika fought a startled face, in all her time with Silco she never expected to see her boss in such state.

"I'm just saying... Maybe this was for the best. Your growing obsession with her is only going to worsen your mental health, specially after the traitor's death." She breathed out. And Silco TENSED at his ex lover's name was mentioned like they were having a casual conversation. He flinched harder this time and Sevika swore all the hostility she felt through him increased in the blink of an eye, she noticed... The tight white knuckles the kingpin hid on his side. He wanted to hit her, he WAS about to hit her but he didn't let his composure fall, he knew he deserved this but...

"If I want your FUCKING opinion i will ask for it. Step out or I'll make sure you follow that bastard's path."

So she stepped back with a respectful neutral face, getting cocky wouldn't do her any favors specially towards the eye of Zaun. Sevika swallowed her scoff at her boss' childish tantrum.

'You fell for her, left with another woman thinking your feelings would die down only to end up hurting her and losing her completely AND being betrayed by your own lover. Let (y/n) go.

Let her make her own life with a man who will surely treasure her the way she deserves, a young promising man, and a Zaunite nonetheless.'

That's what she wanted to tell him. And like telepathy he exactly got the message just by their short interaction as he waved her out of the office. And once she was out, the second after the door clicked closed a loud roar almost animalistic came from Silco's office, the wood cracking at the thud of something heavy slamming the floor, she felt the urge to check for her boss but validated her own life over such reckless decision. More sounds came from his office, rustling and teared paper, broken wood, glasses and thumps here and there, the bodyguards from the door swallowed hard trying not to make eye contact with the now bored looking Sevika.

This was going to be a living hell until Silco's temper tantrum cooled down or at least he got what he wanted... Viktor or you. It didn't matter one or both or in which order. But Sevika was certain if she didn't step up everyone would soon deal with this bullshit and no one wanted that. Specially if it's Silco's. Him being in the top of the equation.

______

You didn't bat an eye as Viktor leaned closer and lower to you pressing his mouth to yours, he kissed you softly like he was savouring you, like a wine so exquisite and foreign he was afraid to miss the taste of every drop, every press of your lips. It was...

This was... Too much.

This was your first kiss with the inventor and you loved every moment of it, but something deep inside you burned, ached at this tender gesture it felt as if you were betraying yourself, or someone else...

No... No. 'i can't think about him now. How- why!? Why would I think about him? After all what happened, after all he said, all he did? No. He doesn't deserve even a second of my thoughts.'

So if you thought this why did you shove Viktor away with both hands pressing his chest?

"I knew it." His accent trembled much more accentuated like he almost forgot how to speak your language. "You... What?" You whispered, his eyes scanned your startled now paling face "You never looked at me intently, there was always something there... Behind those beautiful eyes of yours."

You stood silent.

"Uncertainty."

You shake your head looking at him with teary eyes. He continued "I... I'm sorry for what happened to you, I'm sorry you got rejected... But i can't be your second plate to soothe your heart."

Was this a nightmare? First Silco and now Viktor? No... But he was right.

"I love you. You know that right?" His voice whispered to you so softly you had to clean your tears away quickly before you looked much more of a mess than you already were.

"Me too... But..." "-but not in the same way. I understand. I... Goodnight, moya lyubov'. "

He sounded so hurt you wanted to scream. You felt as the devil reincarnated when Viktor pecked your lips one more time, for the last time, and swiftly and quietly made his way out of your apartment, the soft clanking of his cane echoing through the room and the halls before leaving you completely alone with your thoughts.

And you wept. Unable to hold your tears any longer you cried, you knees failing to work as you fell to your bed clinging to the sheets as if to chase the tiniest warmth they could provide to your aching mind, to your aching heart.

"Silco..."

You didn't know if you his name left your lips like a curse or a plea, you quietly begged someone, anyone, to take your pain away, the memories of his worried gazes when you got hurt after missions or his reassuring touches and cares every time you got sick, his soft smiles when you made a mess at the calculations or ordering his folders instead of scolding you, the way... He would slowly slide his hands through your hips to pull you closer to his chest silently begging you to embrace him after another horrid nightmare.

"Silco!..." You called for him. Even when you knew he wouldn't answer, you called for him like he was your own unreachable deity.

"You look two pathetic."

At this you jumped from your bed startled, Sevika gazed you from your window, almost comically small in comparison to her bulking body. Concerned, you quickly opened it wider and helped her in, Sevika quickly turning down your helping hand with a light squeeze on your shoulder.

"How old are you?" She spat, and you visibly flinched "p-pardon?" Now inches close to you, you stepped back confusion in your eyes.

"You two behave like two idiot teenagers... I don't give a crap, don't get me wrong, though i start giving one when the boss is inches close to my nose with a killer look wanting to choke me to death beacause of all this mess."

At this you sat down swallowing the growing lump from your throat, "I'm so sorry... I didn't want to cause more trouble... Hell that's why I moved to Piltover."

"And mess with another guy to move on from Silco? You know you are doing exactly the same he did right?" Wait if she was here...If she knew about Viktor then Silco must know too... Wait, Viktor-

"Don't worry about the lanky one, i pretty much heard the whole thing. Almost threw up, by the way. So listen carefully because I'm only going to say this once. Go back. Talk to him, fix this and stop running because if you keep this drama alive my headache will only increase."

"But... What about her? Didn't she try comforting him or did you finally see i was right?" You almost shouted at the end until Sevika interrupted you.

"She tried to kill the boss."

Your eyes widened as she explained what happened with such a bored tone you almost wanted to apologize for putting her in the middle of this, but you know what? You weren't going to apologize, you warned them. You warned ALL of them and they pushed you aside, Silco pushed you aside...

At this though you crossed your arms and pouted. Sevika seemed taken aback at this sudden change of body language but to your surprise she smiled widely. She was like a big sister to you... And just like a big sister she looked proud at you as you knew your place and didn't apologize for nonsense.

"Go back you little rascal... Before I either force you or worse!"

You smiled this time sniffling your now almost fry tears away.

You were going to make this right. Either if he wanted or not... You left your apartament along Sevika.

So I'll probably do a continuation of this one... Probably

Tags:

@amberpedraza

#this fic killed me #silco x reader #random thoughts #viktor x reader #viktor #silco x y/n #silco #arcane silco #silco arcane

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 3 years

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happy birthday, @irrlicht-ghostfront ❤️ i love you, and i'm judging you for this being your prompt, but i love you some more, so here <33 (warnings: car accident) [NO MCD]

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Blink and a miss — accident — wrecked car, and fleeting on the painful side of barely conscious in a pool of his own blood. There was too much of it anyway. Castiel felt dizzy more than he felt the pain as time, almost tangibly, passed on.

There's no way he was going to live.

(It was supposed to end old — fingers crossed for painless. Featuring inevitably beeping monitors, and time to come up with last words. A goodbye to his family.

Not that he had much of one right now — he isn't sure if he can call Dean's family his, yet; Dean seems to insist on it but then he's always been a pioneer in giving Castiel more than he could ever deserve, starting with his own heart, so Castiel can't tell — but he'd finally started to have intentions to, in the future.

A dog, for Dean.

Children.

Intentions to beg his brother to come back, and not give up until he'd gotten his forgiveness and his only remaining family back. But that — well, it was a different alley than Castiel's thoughts swarmed to right now. And swarm they did, his head throbbing, and life thudding at its gates.

Castiel had also intended to marry Dean, misty-eyed and denying it. Intended to figure out flower arrangements, and guest seating. Intended to kiss him at the end of the aisle, with his hands cupping Dean's face, and Dean's around his waist.

Then, move out from their shared apartment into a house.

Yellow wallpapered bedroom.

Treasure, and keep Dean happy forever.

Fuck.)

His breathing is still ragged, and his head feels too empty, but the heaving has lessened. Probably the blood loss. Less pain, more haze. And the resultant thoughtlessness is perhaps the only thing that sparks the courage in him to do what he does next.

Castiel picks up his phone.

(A struggle, but he's determined.)

If he's dying, and he'll never get to live the life he'd finally started to dream of — never have a life to share with Dean, never get to see Dean again, then he'll take what he can get.

He's allowed this, he tells himself. Allowed to be selfish, one last time.

He's on his deathbed after all.

It's outstandingly painful to bend his neck enough to see he's picked the right number — but the mere idea of accidentally calling an acquaintance at a time like this brings a tensed sliver of life into his muscles, and straining, he looks. Right enough, he's got 'Dean :)' on the screen.

Pressing dial, he lets his head fall back on the seat, wincing again. Maybe that'll relent the floatiness, if his body circulates some goddamn blood into his brain — because he needs this.

He's dying, but he needs this. One last time, he needs Dean.

A thumb swipes the familiarly placed 'on speaker' button — he can't bring the phone to his ear right now. He's going to have to risk Dean hearing the still crackling ruins of the poor engine, strewn across the wreck in smoldering pieces.

He must make quite a sight, he thinks, waiting for the call to go through. Man found in car wreckage, trapped by the door, dead within —

"Cas?"

Dean's voice cuts through Castiel's morbid mental news report, and almost reflexively, he closes his eyes. There's a tangible relief in his head when he does it, and god, Castiel must've been doing worse than he's convinced himself he is.

Dean sounds beautiful as always, and so familiar its like home.

It's the last time he ever gets to have this.

"Hello, Dean." Maybe he manages to not sound weird, or Dean's just not listening for clues. The loud racket behind him, at Bobby (and Dean's) automobile shop, helps as well.

"Hey." There's a smile in his voice now. Fuck. He's smiling. He's smiling, and he's smiling at Cas, and it's the last time Castiel ever gets to hear it.

He loses himself trying to remember the last time he saw Dean smile — earlier this morning, kissing him goodbye before he left — no, down from their balcony, accompanied by a gleeful wave because Dean's shift started a couple hours after Cas's day in the office did — no, when Castiel checked the time, and the Dean on his lockscreen grinned up at him — and he doesn't realize he's fallen silent until Dean's speaking again.

"Babe, you okay?"

There's a tinge of worry. Only a smidge, and it still hurts. The last time Castiel hears Dean can't be laced with anything bad. And it can't be Castiel's fault.

There's a pause. "Cas, what's up?"

Castiel doesn't know what to say so he tries to hold on to the phone tighter, his throat fluttering as a tear rolls down his face.

"Wait," The worry dissipates, apology slipping in. "Am I forgetting something? Did we make plans for lunch, 'cause Bobby and —"

"N-no." Cas struggles, and it's getting harder to not pant. He sounds too breathy anyway. "We don't. Didn't."

He forces a smile into his voice while saying it. As if it doesn't break him that he'll never get to see Dean again. But he needs to smile, doesn't he? One last time. Just for Dean.

"Well, do you want to?" Dean sounds cheerful. Normal.

Perfect.

Castiel doesn't want to die.

"Not, today." He half-heaves, and another tear rolls down his face.

Not today.

(If he'd known, he'd have stared to his heart's fill this morning. Kissed him an hour longer. Held him in his sleep. Oh, if he had had any foresight at all.)

"Dickface-atron keeping ya busy?"

Castiel lets the air stuck in his chest out, and it probably makes up for a small chuckle. He doesn't want to lie, he just won't agree.

"Figures."

"Sorry." Castiel tells him, meaning it entirely.

"Nah, s'good. I love you." Dean adds, clearly smiling wider, because they've only recently added that to their vernacular instead of the pedestal it'd been on for the first eight months of their friendship turning into a relationship. Somehow, it feels grander though — or, that might also be because it's the last time Castiel ever gets to hear Dean say it to him.

Oh, he loves him so much.

(He doesn't want to die.)

"And I have my packed lunch anyway." Dean continues, filling the gap thankfully. Machines blare in his background and he braves on like a man used to not being able to hear his own words due to the racket. Castiel is grateful for it. He hangs onto every word, drinks it in. Makes himself hold on. "Pretty sure you'd kick me to the curb if I let a PBJ go to waste."

"Jelly?" Cas smiles, when he wants to sob. He's certain he sounds fainter too, he feels fainter, and it's a miracle it doesn't show.

The tears well up in his chest, for possibly the rest of time. Dead men don't cry, and Castiel can't.

(Can't be long now, can it?)

"Jelly." Dean confirms. "It's the curse of paying attention when you rant about jam, you know." He snickers. "I used to be normal."

"Yes, I'm very lucky."

Dean chuckles, and Castiel sighs.

He's yearned for Dean to be happy, tried to make him smile, longed to see him laugh, for so, so long it feels like a part of him now. And now, it goes back to Dean, without him.

Somebody else'll make him smile, somebody else will wake him up with a kiss on his temple, and somebody else will love Dean for exactly who he is because it's Dean, and there was never someone who deserved it more — so of course somebody will.

But it will never be him again.)

An untethered broken sound escapes his throat, and Cas winces, faking a cough with it.

That makes the blood gush.

"Oh, also — wait. Just a second." He interrupts himself, and probably covers the speaker with his palm before yelling blurrily to someone near him.

(Or perhaps it's not supposed to be blurry. Castiel wouldn't know. He can hardly make out his own breathing. It's a feat that he can make out the conversation, even if most of it is instinct memory, and all he's doing is holding onto Dean for as long as he can.

Somehow, it feels like he's been doing so forever. But the time left, had never been so little.)

When Dean returns, he sounds apologetically busy.

"Dude, that dick who yelled at Ash, remember? He's back. Garth went this time, 'cause douchebag brought a Sedan."

Castiel swallows again, and vaguely registers that it tastes like metal. Almost like there's blood mixed with saliva.

There's another morbid thought. What, in this wreck, is finally going to kill him?

"I should probably check on him. Garth sorta wears on you."

"Of course." He croaks, and slips — fuck, he slips — but for once, thank god for oversensitive customers and boyfriends with likeable personalities, because Dean's conversing off the phone again, his hand on the speaker.

"I'll call you back, babe." Dean comes back to add in a rush, and Cas sucks in a painful breath, slowly beginning to feel like the only thing keeping him conscious any more is the sensation of air in his lungs, in his mouth, in the back of his throat. "Still have to ask what you even called about, you know. Or maybe if you just missed me." He beams, he obviously beams, and Cas stifles a groan.

"I do." He wheezes. "I —"

"Me too." Dean returns, flirty, and Cas goes to add to it — because he has to, because he's not going to make it, he's not going to be able to hold on until Dean returns, and he has to — but there's a click.

Castiel stares at the screen, devastated.

(Or tries to, anyway.)

"I love you," He cries out, aware that the line's cut, but needing to hear himself say it anyway. Plus, his head feels too numb to keep words inside anymore. It's less a prison of thoughts, and more a canyon of loss.

More tears fall.

His heart is beating faster than it ever has.

"I love —" His voice trembles, tries again, and fails. His throat refuses to comply with the thousands of things there remain to be said, and the words slowly fade, neglected.

In more ways than one, it's like being administered anaesthesia before a surgery — Castiel was operated on for tonsils at age eleven, and he remembers it still — and it finally sinking in, and knocking you out, as the doctor says to count to ten, and you hardly graze six.

His hands clutch the phone tighter, neck rendering him incapable of looking anymore, so he has no idea what his thumbs are trying to type — but it doesn't matter, not really, because this is it. Completely alone, young, and desperately in love with Dean Winchester, Castiel closes his eyes for the very last time.

And everything fades to black.

When they find him, it's been at least four hours.

It's night.

The uniformed official stuck with the responsibility of calling the next of kin, Victor Henriksen, fishes out the wallet as the paramedics carry him into the ambulance and attach him to IV immediately, and steps away to dial his emergency contact with a crinkled brow of sympathy.

And as he waits for the guy, a Dean Winchester, to pick up, he can't help but notice that his number is exactly the same as the one the last text almost sent from the victim's phone had been typed to — clutched in his hand, an unnerving, 'I love'.

And well, he isn't particularly into romcoms, but he hopes the poor guy gets a chance to finish his sentence.

He was in pretty bad condition, Henriksen recalls, and the bloodloss had knocked him out for several hours, but he looked twenty five at most, more importantly healthy, and — he looks at the wallet again, and the picture of two men (one of them, the victim) smiling at the camera with their hands around each other — most importantly, seemed to have reasons to fight for.

(Plus, he'd been the one to call the accident in himself — albeit four hours after it happened, but Henriksen figured he'd been passed out for that long — so he had to want to live, right?)

"Hello. Dean Winchester, who's this?"

"Hello, sir, I'm Officer Henriksen, and I have you listed as Mr Castiel Novak's emergency..."

"You dick."

Castiel coughs, and gives up on squinting against the bright light. It's a LED. Like in hospitals.

"Jesus, Cas. You complete asshole, you —"

Castiel opens his eyes a sliver again. The walls do resemble a hospital. Plain, white tiled. Way too many AC vents. Is that something on his hand?

"So you'll open your goddamn eyes, and not even fucking look at me."

There's IV's on both his hands. And something stiff around his neck. Almost like a collar, but thicker. And when he breathes, his ribs start like they might hurt — but the pain is numbed as it registers. He must be running really high on painkillers; they never really worked for him.

"Fine. You don't gotta look at me." A pause. Then, more shaky. "I was so scared, Cas. So fucking terrified. They said they weren't sure, said it may be too late, and you were dying. And then they tell me the crash happened at three, and I feel like I'm going to have a fucking stroke."

His vision slowly unblurs, feeling returning to his fingers. He tries to fold them, and winces at the strain.

Immediately, there's a hand on his arm.

"Stop moving, dumbass. I'm going to kill you for this, you know. I am, but I need you to be okay first."

The words don't register, but the voice does.

(He sounds beautiful as always, and so familiar it's like home.)

"Hell, I just need you, Cas. Period. I need your ridiculous, stupid ass — and I need you to look at me when I'm begging you to be okay, and I need you to stay, with me, forever, and not call me first when you need a goddamn ambulance, you dumbass —"

"Hello, Dean." Castiel interrupts, a hoarse whisper, and he thinks he hears a sob from the general direction of the love of his life.

(He really can't move his neck — he's got to tell Dean that at some point if he's not understood already. It's the cast.)

"Oh, thank god." Dean cries, the words muffled by either him burying his face in his sleeve, or the lifesaving medications Castiel is alive on account of, but it's okay, right? Dean's here — and he's okay. It's fine.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm still going to kill you for this."

"Well, I'd deserve that." Castiel tries to joke, and almost pulls it off, except for the part where he can't see Dean's reaction until the latter lets out another broken sob, and grabs his hand. Castiel freezes, trying to squeeze back, tears welling up again. "I'm really sorry, Dean." Then, after a beat. "I'm going to make this up to you."

It feels like a strange thing to say, but it's exactly what he means.

"Yeah, you are. Although it can't stop my revenge being not texting you when I have a heart attack in aisle three when I'm eighty and you're buying eggs, but okay."

If Castiel could, he would've shaken his head at that.

(But at least, and this is what really matters — they made it. He's alive. He — he gets this.)

"I love you, you son of a bitch."

Castiel smiles slowly, a tear landing on his pillow. "I love you too."

#destiel #destiel angst #castiel #dean winchester #deancas #cas pov #tw car accident #angst with a happy ending #prompt by the wonderful bamboo thank you again and happy birthday!!#bluefirecas #queenrowena #userpris #tearsofgrace #rambleoncas #oh writing my writing #PLEASE FORGIVE MEDICAL INACCURACIES IF FOUND i am a self professed fool #also please forgive bad writing. i hadn't written in WEEKS when i wrote this #long post

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itssuppertim3 · 3 years

Text

Ghost Story

Welp, this is my first one shot so far

You’ll probably be seeing a lot of Miraak & Teldryn on here lol, but I’ll most likely be adding more characters in the future😗

The rough echo of boots clomping against stone could be heard throughout the vast and lonely crypt. Well, perhaps not as lonely as one would think.

My knuckles clenched white, gripping the hilt of my blade at an impressive strength. Danger lurked around every corner. If I lost focus for even a moment— “Watch out, serjo. A ghost might snatch you,” I heard a certain mercenary whisper spookily into my ear. Upon instinct, I flinched away and wacked Teldryn where his nose would be.

“For the last time, I’m not afraid of those! And if you don’t watch it, we’ll be caught in a draugr ambush. Again,” I grumbled through my teeth. The male elf reached underneath his mask to soothe the tip of his nose while shrugging his shoulders in reply. “All I’m saying is, those rumors could still be true.” I chuckled weakly at him. “It’s no rumor, it’s just a myth; an old wives tale used for scaring children.” Teldryn seemed to have perked up at my words, for he picked up his pace until he was matching mine.

“Huh... well, it must be a pretty damned good wives tale if it scares the almighty Dragonborn,” the Dunmer teased. I could practically feel the grin cracking through his mask. I felt hints of a embarrassment settle into my cheeks and I immediately tried to hide it by facing the other wall. “You’re really insufferable, you know that?” The words came out a tad more harsh than what I intended.

I waited for another taunting remark from him, maybe even a small tut, but alas I was only given silence. I whipped my head around to confront him, but he had completely vanished!

In a heap of confusion, I halted in my steps and didn’t think twice about yelling his name. “This isn’t funny, Teldryn! I know you’re just trying to scare me and it’s not going to work!” No answer. A sudden chill crawled over my skin and for some reason, I couldn’t control the rapid tempo of my heartbeat. This feeling was somehow kin to the one I felt when losing sight of my mother in the town market when I was young.

I balled my hand into a fist, whether it was from anger or fear, I hadn’t a clue. “You... you’re dead meat, you hear?” my words fell weak against the hollow, stone walls of the tomb. I knew the fool was just hiding, simply watching me from the shadows in amusement. The mere thought had me clicking my tongue and spinning on my heel. Oh, I’d show him!

As I ventured onward with great reluctance, I began to recall the story the farmer told us a day prior:

“She was an old hag who lived around here bout’ a hundred years ago. She was a rich one, too. Dozens of times little brats would be takin’ her jewelry, pendants, even a few septims here and there. Then the brats started disappearin.’ One by one, children would be plucked away gods know where. The townspeople couldn’t find a single trace of em’! The Hag, Talos forbid I mention her name, was declared guilty by the townsfolk. They seized her house, searched it, and found the cellar a bloody mess! All six children were down there, bits of em’ scattered about and such...

They say her body resides deep inside a crypt a small ways from here, though I wouldn’t go wanderin’ around in there. Much like those children, adventurers like to search for treasure down there, but often go missing just the same!”

A shudder slowly raked through my body, and my legs started to tremble with each step. To blazes with the treasure, I just wanted to leave! But I couldn’t leave without Teldryn, and I knew he would only tease me for it afterwards.

But what if he didn’t tease me. What if he didn’t give me one of his goofy remarks like he always did? Teldryn and I grew to be close friends, but I still knew so little of the man beneath that red cowl. I didn’t want to show fear in front of him. I didn’t want someone I cared so deeply for to see me in such a weak and feeble state. I was the Dragonborn, not a child who needed a hand to hold. I thought quite often of him leaving my side, always conjuring up some wild scenario of him abandoning me in random moments. I hated feeling like this. I hated stressing over such a trivial thing. Followers always came and went as they pleased, so why was this one so different?

All of my pent up anxiety fled my senses as I heard Teldryn’s footsteps approaching from behind. I whirled around with a relieved grin dancing on my features. I wasn’t even upset with his antics anymore. I was just happy that he was back at my side. However, my stomach flipped upon meeting a familiar pair of eyes emitting a chilling blue glow. It was a draugr, and a wight lord at that.

I yelped as a burst of frost magic was shot in my direction and I rolled out of the way. But due to my slow reacting, my shoulder managed to pay the price. Luckily I remained mostly unscathed, but a frostbiting sting seeped through my shoulder plate and sank its teeth into my skin. I jumped to my feet and readied to lunge at the monster, only to be left gawking at the sight of a blade penetrating through its chest.

The draugr gargled in agony before slumping forward, and Teldryn discarded the body to the ground with a loud thud. He then sheathed his sword, chuckling to himself as he did so. “You know, I think I deserve some gratitude--” I cut his words short by throwing myself into his arms. The mercenary let out a small grunt of surprise and he stumbled back a bit. “Easy, now. You’re injured,” he warned.

“I’m sorry,” I voiced quietly. I could feel his gaze linger on me. “You’re sorry? What in the world do you have to feel sorry for?” he asked in complete bafflement. This caused me to only bury my face deeper into his chest. “I yelled at you and called you insufferable...” I felt Teldryn’s body quiver as he barked in laughter. “Oh, my poor serjo,” he began, clearly out of breath. My face reddened when he held me ever so tighter.”You act like this is the first time we met. I mean seriously, there’s no need to feel bad. Any normal person would be furious with me!”

I brushed away from his warmth and proceeded to firmly jab my knuckle into his chest. “You’re right. Maybe I should be a little more furious with you,” I snickered. This earned a few pained ‘ows’ and ‘ouches’ from the fearless mercenary. “You know what? I change my mind. Your guilty side is much cuter.”

“Die.”

This has been chilling in my drafts for over a month mainly b/c of procrastination and a LOT laziness lmao

#teldryn sero #skyrim x reader #one shot #help me it's 1am #dragonborn #fanfic

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shes-ghostface · 3 years

Note

Hello is my first time here and I would like to place an order, if you are accepting of course!

What would it be like if Jason, Brahms and Harry Wander went to Dead by Daylight with their beloved (reader)? How would they react in an ordeal, did they sacrifice their beloved one or save? And the intimate moments? Would the boys be jealous if the reader befriended the other survivors?

Welcome! Glad to have you here 🤍 this is an interesting ask! (slight nsfw)

Brahms Heelshire: Brahms would sacrifice everyone else and save you for last, he’d make sure you seen how brutal he can be, though. Every sacrifice he made he would want you to see how easy it was for him to knock them down with his bare hands, and how he lifted them onto the hooks with no effort at all. He likes to show off his strength and impress you, seeing you fidget nervously because you know how easily he could break your body in a second if he wanted to, turns him on. He wouldn’t sacrifice you, he can’t bring himself to do it. He treasures you too much, you’re his little angel. But of course, it’s Brahms. So he’s expecting a reward for letting you live, he won’t be nice if he isn’t getting anything back in return.

When it comes to being intimate, Brahms is really sweet. He’ll often hold both of your hands whilst pressing the forehead of his mask against yours, staring into your eyes. Often lays you down in his lap and runs a hand through your hair, the other lightly tracing across your cheek, his gaze never leaving you. He will want this in return too, he loves laying in your lap. Having all your attention on him, that’s all he wants. As you trace your hands across his large forearms, he will often lean up to caress your face and bring it down far enough so that he can ‘kiss’ you, which means him pressing his mask against your lips as you do the kissing. If you try to get up before he has had enough attention from you he will grab you and refuse to let you move, he is a brat after all, and you will do as he says.

Brahms, jealous? A l w a y s. If anyone even looks at you he feels the rage building up inside of him, you are his and his alone. If anyone touches you, that’s a whole other story. They won’t be alive within the next five minutes, that’s for sure. Jake healed you during a trial once, and when Brahms seen this he lost it. Seeing someone else touching your skin and bandaging you made him snap. You had never seen Brahms move so fast, every inch of his body was tensed up and his breathing was erratically heavy. He grabbed Jake by the neck with both hands, snapping it instantly. He turned to you, stepping inches in front of your face, looming over you, his chest heaving up and down furiously. You were in trouble.

Jason Voorhees: Jason would never sacrifice you. You’re everything to him and the thought of any harm coming to you tears him apart. All he wants to do is protect you. When you’re in other trials, all he does is worry. He knows how ruthless the other killers can be. He’s gotten into fights with some of the others numerous times after seeing the state you come back in. The entity has to break up the fights every time because of how ridiculously strong Jason is, even the other killers find it tough to fight him off. Especially when he’s in a fit of rage. When you’re in trials with him, he makes it his top priority to prevent you from seeing him hurt the other survivors, he thinks you’re too precious to see anything like that. He wants to protect you both mentally and physically. He doesn’t care if he gets in trouble with the entity, he’s giving you hatch. As long as you’re safe that’s all that matters.

Jason is very intimate, no matter what, he will be holding your hand every chance he gets. All he ever wants to do is hold you in his arms and feel you against him. Having your scent around him brings him peace and makes him feel at home. He will always have you sit in his lap with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you secured to him, this is his favourite way of holding you, he knows no one could hurt you or take you from him when you’re in his arms. When you look to him you feel his whole being loosen up, you really are his weakness and he knows he would be so lost without you. When he knows you’ll be coming back from a trial, he gathers what flowers he can for when you get back to make you feel better. His mother taught him that if he cared for someone, flowers always showed them that you were thinking of them. Soon as you step in the door he will come up to you and open his arms, waiting for you to melt into him so he can embrace you tenderly. He always wants ‘face’ kisses from you, every few minutes you will hear a tapping noise and when you look to him he will be tapping his mask imploring you to kiss him.

Jason will get jealous very fast, his jealousy is in an insecure sense. He thinks you will start to enjoy the other survivors company more than his and find them more attractive. He hasn’t exactly had the best experience with anyone aside from you and his mother, so he thinks everyone is out to make fun of the way he looks or is out to hurt him. He doesn’t necessarily care about all that stuff now, but it does still affect him in some ways. He want’s you all to himself, the only thing he is scared of, is losing you. He thinks that the other survivors will persuade you into not seeing him anymore. This of course makes him angry, which causes him to lash out on the survivors he sees you talking to a lot. He will make them suffer by throwing them through walls and making them bleed out in pain, or crushing their skulls under his boot. Of course he won’t allow you to see this, the other survivors tell you. But you don’t mind, Jason is everything to you, as you are to him. You have to reassure him a lot, when you hear he’s lashed out in trials again, you approach him slowly whilst telling him how much you have missed him and that you aren’t going anywhere. He responds by looking to the floor, he knows you know what he did. He doesn’t want you to look at him as a ruthless killer, which you always tell him you don’t. But you’re used to him needing constant reassurance. Placing both your hands on the cheeks of his mask and staring into his eyes whilst telling him how much you love him and that no one else matters soothes him, for a while. He gets lost in your eyes every single time and nothing can make him feel the way you do when you look up at him.

Harry Warden: Now Harry, he will sacrifice you. He does what he has to, he knows you’re not actually going to die if he hooks or mori’s you. He loves seeing your blood smeared across your skin, seeing it drip off of the tip of his pickaxe. Seeing you so helpless is a turn on for him, considering he is a major dom. Knowing how easy it is to have you at his mercy, he loves it. He saves you for last so that your blood is the last thing to be splattered over his gloves and overalls. After trials he won’t even clean himself up or wash his clothes, he loves having your blood smeared on him. The smell, the look of it, it intoxicates him.

Harry isn’t the most intimate guy, he doesn’t like to be smothered much. But there is times when he craves you and your touch, your scent, your voice. He isn’t the shy to show you just how much he is craving you either, he will abruptly stop whatever he is doing and grab you by your arm, dragging you into him so he can hold you. He never says anything, all you hear is that heavy breathing of his, and feel his chest moving in and out as his arms tightly slither around you, securing you to him. He likes to hear you talk about your trials, especially the ones in which he killed you. That, combined with your voice which he loves so much, arouses him. He will take you whenever, and wherever you both are, whether you’re ready for him or not.

Jealous should be Harry’s middle name. He is beyond possessive of you, he knows what people want and look for. Given his history, he hates anything to do with seeing others flirt or being lovey dovey. Valentines Day is his least favourite time of the year. So if he see’s anyone being too friendly with you or looking at you in a certain way, he is gonna make sure his pickaxe finds it’s way into their skull. One time, he seen you in the distance on a generator with Nea, as he was heading towards the two of you, he heard Nea say you looked good and that she liked your outfit, he didn’t like hearing that, not one bit. All you heard was loud footsteps approaching, along with his heavy, rattled breathing under his gas mask, followed by the sound of Nea’s skull cracking due to the impact of Harry’s pickaxe colliding with it. He didn’t stop there, though. She was dead immediately from the first swing, but he was furious. How dare she compliment what belonged to him, one hit wasn’t enough to rid him of his fury. He continued to pound her skull into smithereens, flesh, blood and bone flying everywhere, splattering your face. You looked up at him, his breathing erratic, his body so tense, his gloved hands gripping his pickaxe so tight that you could hear the leather of his gloves pulling against the wooden handle. He wanted you to see it, he wanted you to see the consequences of you allowing others to speak to you in such a manner. You’re his and he’s going to make sure you know it, no matter how, or where, he has to drill it into you.

Thank you for this ask! I enjoyed writing for these three, I hope this is what you were asking for and you like it! 🤍

#brahms heelshire #jason voorhees #harry warden #slasher x reader #dead by daylight

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laurore-stormwitch · 3 years

Text

The time Zoya saves Nikolai in the Fold. The time Nikolai asks her to be his general. And the times when they had win their battles and they can tell each other of those times.

This is dedicated to @tricewithaz because she specifically requested it and we came up with some nice hc. It’s so fun to explore how they met and how their relationship was built. the times we made a choice - ao3

word count: 10.417

“Do you plan on keeping some order on this desk or do I have to incinerate your work with a gust of fire?”, Zoya grunted, eyeing the absolute mess he had left after working in her sitting room all evening as he waited for her to come back from a private state dinner. She slumped beside him, huffing a tired breath and shutting her eyes. Nikolai closed the novel he had stolen from her nightstand, turning to her with a grin.

“I’m very glad to have your goodnight spite reserved for me, Nazyalensky.”

She turned to him, eyelids fluttering open, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. A wave of aching affection washed over him at the sight of her. His darkened fingers disappeared in her silky hair, skimming on the skin of her neck. A shiver went through her.

Nazyalensky. The habit of using her name like this had turned from provoking her to scowl to getting himself an annoyed but affectionate look. It possessed a different power, now that he knew it was an identity she had chosen for herself so long ago. Nikolai had waited to see if she would desire to change it, but he had the sense she was attached to it. It was hers, it was the promise of a new life she had made to a little girl long ago, and this made her feel conflicted. She was slowly embracing the parts of her past that could finally complete her, wandering through what she had missed in denying a part of herself; yet, some ghosts were more haunting than others.

“Do you remember the first time I called you that?”, Nikolai asked, if only for the sake of distracting her from another tiresome and tedious day of meetings. Zoya peered at him under her lashes. That was the look she wore when she was pondering whether to indulge his nonsense or just let him ramble her into sleep, with the engulfing solace of his voice frantically telling her about his new invention of the moment or the last thing they made explode at the Fabrikator’s lab. Her hand came to adjust his collar in an unconscious gesture.

“I’m not sure”, she admitted. He traced the soft curve of her lips with his thumb, smirking.

“It was when you saved me. I mean, the first of the many times you did that.”

Zoya looked dubious. “Was it though?”

“You remember something else?”

He was positively sure. When it came to Zoya, his memory rarely failed him. Still, a part of him did want to hear what she remembered. Zoya being willing to talk was a treasured rare occurrence.

“I think it’s when you made me your General”, Zoya asserted, cushioning her head on his forearm.

***

He was flying, and then he was falling.

When the blade went through the Darkling heart and his blood soaked the Fold’s barren sands, Nikolai’s wings disappeared in an inconsistent smoke.

He was fighting, and then he was surrendering.

The world started drowning in darkness, the shadows curling around its outlines and growing like a monstrous tide that devoured every living being on its path. He remembered the clouded sky, the shrieks of the volcras, the stink of fire and gunpowder. If that was how the bastard prince’s fight was going to end, his mind thanked the Saints for giving him that one last moment as himself. The demon retracted, leaving Nikolai on his own as he dove toward his demise. Yet, it would be fine. They would win. And Nikolai would never see what could become of his country.

He was dying. And then, without warning, he was floating.

Or sort of. A sudden gust of wind slammed on his back, slowing his helpless fall on the ground. The prince had only a split moment of consciousness to be glad before crashing onto earth, the blow hard enough that he heard the sound of his ribs cracking, of the air forcefully snatched out his lungs. The world went dark.

He was breathing. A strike of ravaging pain splitted his chest in two. He thought he had opened his eyes, but his vision was blurred as he forced his eyelids not to fall shut. Inhaling felt like a burning flame scorching his throat. He wanted to move, to get up, to take his weapon and resume the fight. He wanted to rest. He wanted.

“Try and be still”, a distant voice murmured beside him.

His vision sharpened, bolts of pain running through his battered body. Nikolai did not know how long he had passed out, if it was hours or mere seconds. Was he seeing the sea again? Was he coming back to the restless waters he loved with woeful neediness? For a brief moment, there was peace. He was home.

Then, another breath tore his lungs, the searing ache canceling the blur. It wasn’t the sea; he found himself lost in a pair of impossible blue eyes, deep and dark as the oceans he had sailed with his wolf of the waves. He grasped at them.

“Don’t move'', the voice whispered, shuddering.

A girl, with raven-black hair and blood smeared on her cheek. Her fingers tightened around his wrist, checking his pulse, while she held the back of his neck with the other arm. Her hold was firm, comforting; yet, Nikolai felt a tremor coming from her, her tone desperate. He knew her, something inside him told him as his consciousness slowly slid back into place. He knew her; he remembered her laugh, in the brief excitement David’s dishes for Alina had brought them before being shattered by the nichevo’ya. He knew her from dimly lit hallways made of rock under a mountain, where they had thought they could hide from the monsters lurking in the shadows. His lashes blinked away the mist and he gripped her arm, steadying himself; the girl startled, shifting her gaze and locking those unearthly eyes back on his again. Were his still black? Was he still the demon, or was he himself again? Another remembrance rushed as his mind finally cleared of the last strands of darkness, restoring all his awareness, all of himself. The squaller, the stubborn one, with that insanely acid tongue. Zoya. The grip on her arm grew stronger, he wanted to part his lips, to speak. He wanted.

“Damn, stop moving. I need to make sure I saved you. No way I’m letting Ravka’s only hope die on me, are we clear?”

Anguish cut through the edge of her tone, cracking it. Zoya, the proud one. The one he had overheard standing up for the Etherealki in the face of every disdain she had earned from them. Zoya, who had fought her way through their reckless warfare strategies with the grace and precision of a hawk diving for a prey. With the snarky words she had sent his way whenever they had crossed paths, her piercing gaze studying everyone around her, always surprising him with a biting response. Zoya Nazyalensky, the impossibly beautiful and equally mysterious summoner who all the other Grisha gossiped about. Kneeling on the dirt beside him right now with an endless well in her sight, full of sorrow and terror. It was the aftermath of the battle, probably. Probably.

Zoya the soldier. Alina’s soldier, Ravka’s soldier, the king’s soldier. His soldier, now.

“Nazyalensky”, he rasped out, mustering all the strength he could find. Relief flooded her face, making her lips quiver. Not too gently, she shook his hand from her arm, her look hardening. Nikolai felt the horrifying moist consistency of blood on his hands; he could not dwell on where it was coming from, either his own wounds, the ones of the girl beside him, or the ones coming from the lives he had snatched with his infernal claws.

“Good. The blow on your head did not shatter your brain.”

Cutting as a blade. As she scanned the ground around, he found her havoc-raging presence weirdly heartening. Nikolai was only dimly aware of the mayhem still breaking out. There was a muffled quiet around them; he realized that it was probably Zoya’s doing, hushing the sounds in the air. An unforgiving wind flowed, kicking up the grey sand; it seemed to reverberate directly from Zoya’s trembling body. The squaller ran a hand through her hair and her face, shoving dirt and red streams on her skin. She was shaken. It would take her a few more battles to get used to this. Maybe she never would. If he wasn’t lying half dead on the ground, he would have felt tempted to reach for her, to comfort her. The wind rose as she swore out, spreading her black mane around her, still frantically searching for help with her gaze. Saints, Nikolai thought, this girl is powerful. She snapped at him.

“For Saints sake are you capable of staying still? I have to fetch you a Healer”, Zoya barked.

Nikolai tried to get himself up, ignoring the excruciating ache in his chest, steadying himself on her shoulder with his right arm. “This would be a perfect moment to indulge in regicide”, he tried, another burst of pain running through him and causing him to cough violently.

“I might consider it if you don’t stop moving”, she murmured in response, scanning him for injuries other than his broken ribs and a likely dislocated shoulder, considering his other arm felt like it was catching on fire when he had tried to lift it. Nikolai caught a movement behind her, tried to gather the strength to get up, to follow the instinct to protect her. Zoya was faster, followed his eyes and threw her fist upward in that direction with a frustrated yell; a violent rush of air hit a soldier aiming at them, sending him toppling to the ground. “I’m trying to keep you alive, you idiot”, she raised her voice, and with it a thunder echoed in the field. Was it being called forth by her? Whatever she was doing, she did not seem aware of it. “You have a country to run. So don’t distract me.”

Someone else was rushing toward them, but this time she looked relieved, which meant whoever they were, they were on their side. That help was coming, that they were almost safe.

“Then you should handle me more gently”, Nikolai spoke again, voice unpleasantly screeching the walls of his throat like nails on a mirror.

What was happening around them? Blinding rays were coming from upward as Alina’s power rumbled into the Fold in whistling sounds, shredding every inch of it into light. He heard muffled voices, Zoya barking commands. Nikolai reached for her again, he clenched his fingers in the folds of her kefta; the hold on her tied him to earth, tied his mind to a world that still felt too unreal and too far away, as it had felt when he had been looking at it with demon eyes. This time, she did not shove him away. A young boy with a red dusted kefta kneeled before him, placing his hands on his chest. Zoya unceremoniously slipped her arm away from below him, lowering him to the ground to let the Healer work. Nikolai hissed when his back hit the sand, shooting her a glare. She shrugged her shoulders, raising her hands in fighting stance to keep them safe, scanning the area for other enemies.

“I hardly am gentle, prince”, Zoya spat out, alert.

"Did we win?"

Now she sent a swift gaze his way, drawing in an unsteady breath. "I think so", she answered with tentative hope. The Healer’s powers were doing their magic, a warmth flooding him and numbing his senses. He fought it, not wanting to lose consciousness again, to fall back into the unknown.

"Then I'm fairly sure I'm going to be crowned. You should go with Your Highness."

Wit was his. Humour, brilliance, the might to find words when voice was failing you, when air was rare, was his. Not the demon. It was Sturmhond’s cocky attitude he had kept when he had been shot and nearly bled out, it was Nikolai’s charming attire when he had rode with Dominik through village fairs and then military encampments, the optimism he had tried to feed since when he had been just a boy. It was what provoked that shadow of an exasperated smile on the squaller’s face, the twitch in her lips promptly straightened again in a thin, severe line.

"You’re a wretch”, she scolded him, turning her attention from their surroundings to the Healer that was sealing his wounds. “There’s little royalty in you right now.”

“Still a king.”

The Grisha boy cleared his throat and nodded to her. “I did the best I could, we need to get him to a tent and someone more trained”, he explained, his remark shaky. “But he is out of danger.”

Zoya exhaled, her eyelids falling shut for a mere instant. The wind slowed down; her hands were still trembling when she ran them again through her hair.

“Do you want me to take care of - “, the boy tried to ask, pointing to her. Her eyes flew open then, firm determination in them.

“We need to get going”, she cut him off. She got up with a swift movement; Nikolai caught the hand she extended to him, letting her help him to a standing position that made all of his muscles and bones howl in protest. He staggered, his knees failing to keep him up. Zoya looped an arm around his back and made him lean on her side; he gripped on her shoulders, hating himself for feeling so weak, for having to rely his weight on her. Her kefta was badly bloodied and ripped, she had a deep cut that ran over her hip and other bruises; it was difficult to assess how injured she was, yet there they were, her will tougher than the hell they had just been through.

“Then you’re a King wretch”, she mumbled from under him. She barely reached up to his chin. What a tiny ball of spite and power she was. They started to make their way toward the outlines where the Fold ended once, when it still existed. “Better? Now let me save you. You have work to do.”

With another pang of relief Nikolai recognized Tolya in the distance, the flash of white of Alina’s hair lifting up from the ground. They were alive. He could not think of much else right now, not until they reached them, until they were safe. And all properly healed, he thought, checking Zoya’s limp and how she pressed on the gash in her flank with the hand that was not supporting him.

“Are you hurt?”, he asked, winded from the effort of putting one foot in front of the other, unable to conceal his worry. Zoya startled and looked up to him, her blue irises wide and exhausted, vulnerable for the span of a flutter.

“I’ll be fine”, she said, somehow softer than before. “Just keep walking.”

Nikolai put all of his remaining energy into subtly pulling away, relieving her from some of the weight. If she noticed his effort, she did not tell. His head emptied of anything but their cautious steps, Zoya’s ragged breathing beside him, her wind running with them, shielding them from harm.

“King wretch. I like it”, he muttered back.

Kings better not take themselves too seriously, after all. It was nice to have someone remind him of that.

***

Nikolai did not mind the paperwork that came with being a ruler. It felt almost comforting to see the slow improvements his country was making under his watch written on paper, sealed with ink and brought to life. He had decided to dedicate himself to the good news today, that maybe he had earned an afternoon of peace inside the quiet of his study. The wheels kept restlessly turning inside his brain, relieving the images of the tour they had taken across torn cities and miserable villages after his coronation, and for a couple of hours he just wanted to forget about them. Contrary to every concern he had held, the people travelling with him had made the grueling trip all the more bearable; they had run against time itself, wearing their horses down and getting little to no sleep at all, resting not more than one night at every stop to be back in Os Alta as soon as possible. He had felt even hopeful, at times. The same kind of jittery expectancy that made him check his time piece for the tenth time in a row and try to stop the rhythmic beating of his foot on the floor, without dwelling too much on the knot of eagerness in his stomach. When the pointer clicked on the chime of the hour, a knock resounded in the room. She was always almost eerily on time.

“Come in”, called Nikolai to the door, folding the letter he was skimming through. A valet entered and cleared his throat.

“Your Highness”, he bowed deeply, “Miss Nazyalensky is here as you requested. Shall I let - “

The squaller marched in the room, surpassing the poor valet as if he was an inconsistent blur of annoyance.

“Miss Nazyalensky”, she hissed under her breath, flicking her hair over her shoulder, ”I am no Miss, and I am perfectly able to let myself in.”

Nikolai arched an amused brow at her, kindly dismissing the servant. A disdainful glare was cast in the direction of the valet’s deferent curtsy as she strode in front of the king’s seat. Zoya never bowed. For anyone. He lounged in his chair, turning all of his focus on the gorgeous harpy that now stood before him, spine straight, chin high and defiant eyes pinned on him. She clasped her hand behind her back with her usual military countenance.

“You called for me, Your Highness?”

“I did”, he confirmed, straightening his legs before him and crossing them at the ankle. There constantly seemed to be a slight mockery in the way she indulged in his title. He folded his hands, still studying her. The vague nuisance with which she was eyeing him was clear enough to make him smirk at her.

“I hear the Triumvirate has done some grand process in these first few weeks”, Nikolai stated, gesturing to the documents on his desk. “I’ve been informed that many Grisha are seeking refuge in the Little Palace. And I also hear you’ve been reconstructing. I do have hope we will be able to put the Second Army back into shape.”

Zoya did not answer, merely kept looking at him with the barest nod of her chin. The king was not used to people being so untouched by his presence, or to be that annoyingly silent around him. He would not admit he had spent part of the last weeks trying to catch her off guard with an astounding lack of results.

“Would you agree with the reports?”

His question seemed to ignite a spark of interest through her immovability. He had noticed that while she had no issue in voicing her opinions strongly, she seemed not equally accustomed to people directly consulting her with a true interest in her point of view. Maybe he was reading too much into things, but he had guessed Zoya liked how he had started to value her input.

“We are indeed making progress”, Zoya said, “but there is a lot of work to be done. We’re only starting.” She paused, seemingly pondering her words. “We need - “

“Before we start making requests”, his interruption earned himself an irritated glare, “I called you in because I have something to ask. To the whole three of you, actually; I asked Genya and David too.” Yet, somehow, her answer was the one he was most curious about. “Alina gave you the Triumvirate. You know what to expect from it now. And you’ve got just a mere taste; what’s to come will be tougher, tiresome. While I assume you have the motivation to keep your position, I do prefer to give people a choice when it comes to demanding tasks. So I’m asking: do you still want it?”

“I do.” There was no hesitation, only urge in the way the answer rolled out of her. She took a step in his direction and cleared her throat. “Not just the Triumvirate. I want to train the new Grisha. And we need to speed up the process on the royal order stating Grisha’s rights. If we are to rally them, they need to feel truly safe here.”

Nikolai kept his expression neutral, although he was pleasantly impressed. He knew she had taken it upon herself to start working with the Grisha finding shelter in the Little Palace, and the kids being taken there. He would not have made her out to be someone who loved teaching; then again, it was hard to make her out for anything. As far as her initiative went, he had quickly understood how his status meant little to her. After all, they were kids themselves. She was a year younger than him, and she had seen him shift between his roles of privateer, prince and what someone might call usurper. Never failing to point the last one out to him, if one had to be precise; Saints forbid he could ever possibly forget he needed to earn a respect that was not freely given. Surely not by Zoya Nazyalensky. He would not expect from her the humble demeanor of a subject in front of a king. Thank the Saints for that, he found himself thinking. Her bracing self was almost soothing, after weeks of dealing with people smarming at his feet, and hers was the company he had found himself searching for more often than others, as wicked as she might be. Zoya never overstepped without a reason, apart from a common snarky energy that was profoundly her. What she did was to call him out on every dumb decision he leaned toward, and constantly remind him how to be worthy of his position and the love of his people.

“We can arrange that”, he decided to answer, satisfied by how her pupils widened at his prompt concession. He got up and opened a bottle of brandy, pouring himself a glass. He glanced back at her, still planted in the middle of the room.

“You were loyal to the Darkling.” Nikolai was sure he had not imagined the flash of anger that darkened the blue of her eyes, nor how her jaw clenched and her posture seemed to tense. “Pardon me for being so forthright, but I do feel like it’s better to deal with the tedious matter first.” Or rather the interesting ones you seem to keep an aura of secrecy around.

When she spoke, her voice was not as firm as before. “We’ve worked together for weeks and known each other for longer. I wonder if you have a suicidal strike or you are really questioning my loyalty now.”

“No suicidal strike, and I’m not questioning anything.” The heartfelt honesty in him seemed to reassure her. Her shoulders eased ever so slightly, yet her features remained strained. “As you dutifully pointed out, the time for that has long passed. However, since we’re getting to know each other, I guess you’ll find I like stories. This seems like a good one.”

“Stories are earned”, Zoya asserted, slitting eyes and matter of factly tone.

“Fine point. You were, though”, Nikolai pressed. Her look never wavered from his. Unconsciously he leaned toward her, rolling his glass between his fingers.

“I was.”

“What changed?”

“Everything.”

Silence stretched on. Nikolai decided he could wait a while, if it meant gaining some other insight. He did know part of the story, the part that was ushered by people when she strode beside them. Stories might need to be earned, but they also needed to be told by the ones who had lived them. Nikolai was not one to listen to gossip anyway. Sure enough, she resumed speaking, catching that he was not going to drop the subject.

“It got personal. I was loyal to him because I craved power, then because I believed he could provide a home for us. Instead, he stripped from me the only one I had and slaughtered my friends. Enough of a reason?”

Zoya proudly lifted her chin even higher, her words back to being stinging as an icy wind, the anger burning in her seeping through the tremor in her hands. She moved closer. A slight breeze swept through the room, rustling the papers, called forth by her emotions in turmoil. He remembered when it happened in the Fold, when her despair had raised the wind around them and a thunder had boomed.

They were no more than two steps apart, now; the gust she summoned carried a scent Nikolai struggled to place as her hair lifted up. It reminded him of the heat of a sunny day, of the field near Dominick's house when spring came, when his little sisters would run back into the kitchen with crowns made of daisies and golden ears of wheat. Was it the pressed corn caught in the evening mist? Was it flowers?

“I won’t beg for trust. Words are empty vessels, actions carry meaning. The choice is yours: either you let me prove myself, or you discard me now.”

She kept her fierce piercing eyes to his, every inch the warrior. Nikolai held her gaze, hazel melting into blue, a small smile tugging at his lips, struck by the force of her nature and her fuming reaction.

“Here I thought I was the dramatic one”, he chuckled, ignoring her scowl and pulling his hands up in surrender. He slipped inside a reassuring attitude. “I was really not questioning you. Alina trusted you, she chose you. You fought for all of us. I’ve seen the way you stood up for your people, I’ve always agreed with Alina. This is your home; you already proved yourself, more than enough.”

The wind ceased to flow; Zoya flexed her fingers, a rage made of guilt and regret still paining her look. Nikolai knew the place from where those feelings came. Maybe picking at that was not a sensible idea after all. He would need to stop outright testing both her patience and his luck like this; the temptation she was brewing of roasting him alive right now was evident. He was still measuring his steps around her, how she seemed to dive into arguments that would make anyone on earth feel at least uncomfortable, or close right off when someone touched seemingly irrelevant nerves.

“Besides”, Nikolai let the smile spread in her direction, “I am in dire need of allies.”

And friends, he thought sourly, yet a king can rarely ask for those.

“Unnerving them sure seems a smart way to ensure your supposed allies’ support”, she clipped out, shaking her cuffs.

“I like to test my chances.” His words were accompanied by a shrug. The urge to take another step toward her pressed in the back of his brain. “You haven’t unleashed a storm on me yet, so I’d say we’re halfway through a steady relationship of trust and mutual forbearance.”

“Mutual, sure.”

Nikolai tapped his finger on the desk. It seemed he could not stay still. “You’ll need to work together”, he advised, “with Genya and David.”

“I do well on my own.”

Like she has not made that abundantly clear in the last couple of months.

“Oh, I have no issue in believing that. Still, it wasn’t a suggestion, I’m afraid.”

Zoya’s mouth curved in an honey smile; she fluttered her lashes, tilting her head in his direction, the dark waves of her hair falling on her shoulders. It could have been an almost convincing smile, if it had reached her eyes. Instead, it stood cold on her face, firm as a statue, a pretense of complacency with the clear intent to taunt. Nikolai had no doubt whatsoever that entire crowds of people had fallen on their knees for that feigned sweetness. To be completely truthful, she did throw him off balance. Now it would surely be a reasonable call to put a bit of distance between them. Not that he resorted to reason that often when making decisions.

“I am well aware kings are not in the habit of making requests, Your Highness.” Her voice rippled like silk, delicate and musing, dripping sarcasm. “I was merely informing you.”

“You’re not particularly easy, are you?”, he asked with a grin, leaning back on the desk and folding his arms. An apparently casual movement meant to regain the use of his lungs. The smile vanished as she adjusted her hair.

“I am not easy, nor kind. And I lack the interest to make people search for these qualities in me.”

Nikolai had begun to understand in these weeks the stories around her, more than he had ever understood them before. He had also begun to nurture a sheer curiosity in her regard, for the complex mind she hid and the way she seemed careless to other people's thoughts on her. He tried not to let himself be distracted now, which always proved to be a strenuous task with this particular girl, when she waved that look at him and played the card of the ridiculously attractive and positively enchanting Grisha summoner she undoubtedly was. He did really need to get a grip, though. If they were to work together as closely as he had his mind set to, he had to find a way to make himself immune to her flair, constructed or natural that it was.

Never seduce anyone prettier than I am, right? Or never even conceive to seduce anyone you’re attracted to if you had planned to offer that specific anyone one of the highest-ranking positions in the whole country. An equally wise rule to live by. If only her look was the only appeal he had found in her. Her edgy personality, which people tended to be almost scared of, had captivated him a great deal more; whatever beauty withered in the face of how capable and strong-spirited she was. Qualities that made her all the more desirable. The privateer in him had screamed at the top of his lungs to take on the improbable quest of conquering someone who seemed impervious to him as she did, someone that out of reach, that captivating. Shameful instinct, to say the least. And leaning on the worst-idea-ever side of things.

Besides, he had a country to take care of now; he was no longer a privateer who could make reckless choices and chase after impossible girls. Nikolai Lantsov was a king, the king of a war-torn, desperate place. The challenge of earning her trust and admiration might turn out to be just as endearing; he could embark on that one, letting her bitter tongue put him back into place.

Resorting to his decision, he got a small box out of a drawer, placing it on the desk beside him.

“There’s something else I mean to offer you.”

Zoya eyed the box, while Nikolai bobbed his chin at it, encouraging her to take it. She stood still, her look shifting back to observe him. Truly exasperating the lack of gratifications she offered.

“Contrary to what you believe, I am no fool.” He decided to dive right into it, pushing through her silence. “As much as I hate to admit it, the Darkling was fairly good at reading people. You rose high in his favour because he considered you extremely resourceful and trustworthy, and valued you as a soldier.” Nikolai unfolded his arms and rested his hands on the wooden brink of the desk, pushing himself to her; he lowered his voice with a smirk. “And I know for a fact the reason for that has nothing to do with your very pleasant appearance, which I have no doubt is another weapon you know how to use.”

He backed up again. Life on the sea had taught him to turn weakness into brass. Thankfully, he had spent years practicing the art of acting. Zoya pursed her lips, biting a comeback and momentarily avoiding his gaze. Not that impervious after all. One had to catch on the details.

“I am not blind. Nor do I have reasons to pretend to be. Still, I’m afraid I am far more interested in your wide arsenal of warfare talents.” He took a sip from his glass and hummed teatrichally, cocking his head to the side to assess her. “I do share the burden of being handsome, though. We can whine together about our fatigues.”

That mocking smile was back on her mouth, sparkling with mischief. She spoke with a casual tone, smoothing her kefta. “As much as you brag about it, your charm seems to fail you. Our Sun Saint did not look particularly impressed by it.”

Ah, clever one. Nikolai mustered his composure to flash another grin at her, thoroughly impressed both by her boldness and by the precision of her strike. All right, that stung. Which to her credit only meant she had no fear to bite people where it hurt and a certain ability to find that spot. Useful skills for a General.

“Luckily for me, she was one of a very few number of exceptions.”

“Charm our way through peace, then.” Zoya cast her eyes heavenward, crossing her arms.

“Can I come back to praise you? I wasn’t finished.”

“By all means, do”, she gestured.

“As I was saying. Sadly for our favorite herald of darkness, he was also a prick. Not to mention manipulator and mass murderer, amongst other remarkable successes. He wholly under-estimated you: you are trustworthy and resourceful, along with a lot of other virtues he did not remotely understand nor properly paid attention to.”

Nikolai paused. He put his glass down, yielding to the temptation at last and letting his feet stride toward her. Had she moved more near too? Now they were definitely closer than needed. He could see the darker slivers in her irises, the curls falling inside the fur collar of her uniform.

The smell in the Grand Palace garden after a rainstorm, he thought of that scent. When he had laid in the grass and soaked his clothes in mud, just for the sake of feeling the earth below him and the water on his skin.

“I’ve watched you, these weeks. You are good. Not just at fighting, I believe that is a given. You are good at leading. Your mind is way sharper than your tongue. I’ve studied you with your Etherealki and the other Grisha, with the First Army representatives.``

He made a show of plucking a peck of invisible dust from his coat. Zoya did not move, keeping her attention on him. A sceptical frown appeared on her face.

“You do love to hear yourself talk.”

“I’ve watched you do that, too. You’re bold, in a good way. You tend to deliver neat blows.”

“Are you in the habit of examining all the people that come to work for you?”

“Just the powerful ones”, he admitted.

She might have looked nothing but unimpressed by the string of praises he had just given, as if they were common known truths, nothing of importance to linger on. Her eyes had grown troubled though, then curious, they had softened in the glowing sunset light. They were assessing him with strong intent now, and Nikolai could only think they held the ocean inside. The ocean he had seen when he had thought he would never be back on the waves again, the one that had felt like hope gained with blood and shattered bones in those grey sands.

“You saved me, in the Fold”, Nikolai abruptly said. The twitch in her breath made him understand just how much his demeanor had changed unconsciously, how much the mask of the ruler had slipped away and his unguarded voice betrayed him.

“Indeed.”

“I haven’t had the occasion to thank you properly.”

“It’s my job”, she briskly answered, almost annoyed. “You’re my king.”

You’re my king. Best to ignore the bolt of confidence and pleasure that spiked through his spine.

“Apart from my gratitude, I kind of had in mind to make it your actual job”, the king considered.

Zoya Nazyalensky. Not kind, and not easy. Zoya shot him a suspicious look, but she held her ground.

“It just so happens that both me and the Second Army are in need of a General”, he declared, never shifting his focus from her face. “Would you care to consider taking the position?”

He caught the box in his hand, opening the lid and extending it to her. A medal was shining in it, the golden Ravka double eagle, wrought in in a pale blue sash. Zoya briefly lowered her gaze to it, turning to look at Nikolai with an intensity that was almost impossible to bear. Her look was unreadable, yet the tension in her stiff muscles unmistakable. Nikolai could hardly hide the painful want for her to accept, the thrill he felt at the chance of having someone to rely on, in time, to share some of the burden with. Someone who was not his father’s advisors, someone he could choose. Someone he felt a strange pull toward, a sort of twisted hidden affinity.

Alina chose you, he had told her. The choice is yours, she had told him.

I made the choice. I am the one choosing you now.

The thumping heart in his chest ached at the possibility of making things right for this cursed country with a person he could trust at his side. To ease the loneliness, even if it had to be a game of pretend to some degree. The moments dripped away, her eyes alight with a flame hard to understand. Nikolai restrained his own will to jump into that blazing chaos, knowing how easily he would have lost himself in it.

“You’re making me your General?”, she said finally. The annoyance had disappeared, replaced with a hesitant falter, something that sounded both like disbelief and a flicker of cautious excitement.

“I’m asking you to be my General, if you wish so. I would not force anything on you. The position comes with a lot of heavy responsibilities and long sleepless nights.” Zoya was still frozen in place. Slowly, her arms uncrossed, coming to rest at her sides. “On the brighter side, you’ll get to enjoy endless hours of my company.”

“I’d say the brighter side is the responsibilities one.”

None of the previous snark was contained in her words. He could see how hard she was trying to keep her attitude on her, her own mask.

“You can decide whether to direct your scowls at me or at people annoying you then.”

“You’re assuming you won’t be among the people annoying me. Bold take.”

“I’d wager that’s what I’m mostly going to do”, Nikolai conceded. Zoya was trying to buy time, to ward off his attention. He just wasn’t sure if she needed it to regain her confident self or if she was considering how to refuse the offer. Nikolai did not like the last option, and it was better to rip the band aid off quickly.

“With the prospect of this gain, would you accept?” She peered at him again. He could not hold back a grin. “Did I just surprise you?”

“Please”, she spat out, but it was a little too marked to not be forced. Nikolai fought the impulse to smile wider. “Who else would you choose? Genya, so she can tailor the enemies away? David, to bore them to death with science talks? I’m the most qualified for the job. It’s reasonable of you to ask me.”

“I am not asking you because it’s reasonable.”

Again, reason was not the prime source fueling his judgment. For Saints sake, would you take this damn medal? Nerve racking girl that she was. It was making him fancy her even more.

“I am asking you because you deserved it. I believe you are the right person for this task, in many different ways.”

The weariness in her was still there; he hoped she could see that was not empty flattery anymore, that he had meant it. Finally, finally Zoya reached for the medal. He heard her draw in a sharp breath, a crease appearing between her brows. Nikolai wondered how it would feel to make it disappear, to see her features smooth down. Zoya moved through the world like a soldier with an armor in place, one she kept up with the pure will of her steel spirit and hardened heart. Despite her stillness, power was radiating off of her, the wind once again carrying that distinctive scent.

That small fishermen port they had docked in when the Volkvolny had arrived on the Wandering Isle, the one that was surrounded by pastures and a wide meadow in which an ocean of colourful wildflowers had just sprouted. Wildflowers.

For once in life, Nikolai had hardly an idea of who the person standing in front of him was. The enigmatic, beautiful, fierce squaller. Was she happy? Excited for this chance to serve her country? Terrified by the prospect of what they still had to face? Considering smacking him for being out of his mind? There was something that lurked inside of her under that armor, something in those blue eyes that seemed too painful to be looked at, too intimate to know. It came in shadows, disappearing, as if she was fighting it to stay down, to get it under control. The same bottomless abyss he had seen when she had saved him.

Nikolai knew what it meant, to lose something, to fight for an ideal and see it broken, to finally have the power in your hands to fix what others had crushed. It felt terrifying and exhilarating, and maybe that was what was running in that head of hers now. Zoya brushed her fingers on the golden pin, pulling it up and wrapping it under her hand. She closed her fist, raising her gaze to him, locking their eyes together. The shadows had gone, replaced by a fearless light.

“I’ll need to meet with the First Army generals”, the tone of a leader. “They won’t like this, and since I am fairly sure you don’t care one bit about it, I’ll need to handle them. And I’ll need that document drafted.”

He nodded, pushing down the towering joy that was flooding his chest. Practical. Ruthless, facing the issues head on, not shying away. He twisted and reached for another glass from the cabinet, turning inside his mind the fact that she had accepted, that he was looking at his General now.

“To a long and fruitful partnership, then”, Nikolai offered her the brandy, “or rather to save this broken country and not getting killed in the meanwhile.”

Zoya gave him a stern look. “I don’t drink on the job.”

Why does that not surprise me? He grinned excitedly and raised the glass to her, downing his drink.

“In time, I may teach you to have a little fun, too.”

Unscathed, she just tossed her hair. “Believe me, Your Highness, I am perfectly able to revel in fun. I am just highly selective of the people I allow to share it with me.”

The seducing part really would never be necessary, after all. He had a hunch they were immensely going to enjoy working together and drive each other crazy. I undoubtedly am.

“You’ll teach me how you select those blessed souls, then.”

Before she could resume their banter, another call at the king’s chambers’ entrance interrupted them, bursting the quiet of this comfortable room. The sound seemed to snap Zoya back to herself, making her realize how close they were standing. Nikolai had already been all too aware of it. She quickly moved away from him, not leaving his eyes. Pride back in her expression, shoulders squared. In her silver threaded kefta, she already appeared like the able respected General she would soon grow into. Her medal was closed in her fist, the knuckles white from the force of the grip.

“I will not fail Ravka”, she said, marking every word. I will not fail you, was the rest of the sentence, the part that hung unspoken between them. “I promise you that.”

Nikolai trusted her, without reservations. The king knew he had made the right choice. Both for the country, and, he selfishly thought, for himself. There was a hidden gratitude in her oath, the emotion she would not speak outright but nevertheless felt.

“Brace yourself, Nazyalensky.” He felt positively giddy and already itching for the challenges that fate would throw their way. “It’s going to be one hell of a ride. Take the rest of the evening for yourself, I’m afraid it’s the last moment of peace you’ll have for a while.”

She exhaled, her eyes moving to the window and Os Alta’s pointed domes in the distance.

“Ravka doesn’t consider rest as possible, that much I know.”

She rang for the servant, ignoring they were in Nikolai’s study and he was the one probably supposed to do that. Already moving like she owned the place, deciding the conversation was over. Zoya gave him a long, deep look.

“Goodnight, Your Highness.”

Nikolai fell back on his chair, watching her go as one of the old king’s advisors was accompanied inside the study. Surely a less pleasurable company for the evening. Both for the eyes and for the soul, he thought, forcing himself to wave a welcoming expression to the white-bearded man and his ridiculously long mustaches.

“Miss Nazyalensky”, the advisor greeted her with a half bow as she passed beside him on her way to the hallway. Zoya simply rolled her eyes, strolling toward the door with a last nod at Nikolai. He was sorry to see her go. Before she got out, Nikolai took the impulse and called to the man before him.

“General”, he corrected him, ignoring his shocked expression, “it’s General Nazyalensky now.”

Nikolai did not miss the slight misstep Zoya took at his words. Her kefta wirled as her gaze snapped to his. A beat passed. Without a sign of acknowledgment, Zoya looked away, that scent he had finally placed disappearing with her. Nikolai thought it best not to tell her that she hadn’t been quick enough to hide; he had seen her lashes lowering as she sighed, a smile tugging at her lips, one that was not feigned neither mocking, one that made her eyes sparkle with delight and was not meant to be noticed. If there was hope to make Zoya Nazyalensky brighten up like that, maybe Nikolai had it in himself to steer this country to safety after all.

Goodnight, General.

***

“I thought we were past these poor attempts at wooing me”, she scoffed, playfully pushing him away. Nikolai chuckled, drawing her back to rest on his chest, circling her in his arms. He rested his chin on her head, listening to the warm huff of her breath on the cotton of his shirt. Deadly Zoya, who let herself curl in his hold almost easily. If someone had told him he would live to the feel of her lashes shutting on his heart, Nikolai would have probably sent the man to get his head checked by a Healer. Or paid him another drink.

“I am positively serious”, Nikolai assured her. Zoya blew a distrustful grunt.

“Nikolai, you do realize you don’t need to flatter me to get me into your bed anymore?”

“I do like you in my bed. Or anywhere else, for that matter”, he considered, humming against her hair. Zoya leaned on his shoulder to prompt herself up, looking him straight in the eyes. He tried to keep a smooth expression.

“So you’re saying I garnered your attention that soon? To me, you seemed a bit - “

She tilted her head to the side, shrugged her shoulders.

“Yes?”

“Distracted”, she pointed out, an overly amused grin perking her lips.

Nikolai knew she was referring both to Alina and to the apparently unscathed attitude he had kept around her in the years they had worked together. No doubt clueless to how quickly other forbidden images had replaced the Sun Summoner’s ones in his dreams or just how much commitment he had been forced to put into appearing unaffected by her presence. He had been distracted, at first, though even in distraction Zoya snatched the attention like a lightning. Then a quake in the ground had struck; Zoya had then made her way into his life like a ferociously fast tidal wave, rippling foam at first, raging and rumbling waters then.

“You distracted me a lot, Zoya. Working with you has been equally comforting and tiring. You distract me even more now”, he leaned closer, sliding one hand on her neck, preventing her from backing away, “that I get to do this”. Nikolai caught her lips with his, kissing away the disbelieving frown from her mouth. When the kiss broke, she looked halfway convinced of his candor.

“You can’t possibly imagine how many dull meetings I have tuned out with you haunting my thoughts. The overactive mind I happen to be cursed with did not help my concentration.”

Zoya rolled her eyes, even though they both knew how truthful the statement was.

“You are diverting.”

“Is it working?”

“A bit”, she casually dismissed, tucking a strand of black curls on her finger. Nikolai sighed happily, slipping away in his thoughts. He wanted to tell her everything, he wanted her to take a stroll right into his mind to see it all. They had so much time now, and he had the constant urge of stocking it without letting a single instant slip, making up for all the years it had taken them to have each other.

“Anyway, it’s nothing special. People are commonly struck by my beauty.”

“I’ll admit you are kind of a breath-taking vision”, he snatched her hand away from her hair to press a kiss on her knuckles. “That’s not what really caught my attention, though.”

Of course he had noticed her. Then again, who did not? The vexing creature was hard not to notice, with dark waves framing a perfect figure, hiding an intricate enigma to solve. Since he was a boy, the prince had loved to unravel the puzzle of a person, he had proud himself of being able to do so with nearly everyone he had encountered. Zoya was another kind of riddle, one that had given him more headaches than victories. She made a point to hide; and Nikolai, well, he had always been an explorer at heart, hadn’t he? So he had noticed, and embarked on the journey drawn by the thrill of adventure. Every bitter word had been a wave to crash, every harsh reply a storm to weather to look under the surface. Every gust of wind, barked command and brisk political comment a sudden turn inside her convoluted mind.

“I’m torn between accusing you of sweet-talking me as usual or just outright lying.”

Nikolai clenched his heart in a mock gesture, and a small laugh bubbled in his chest. Judging from the bright gleam in her eyes and the lightness with which she was messing with him, she had believed him.

“Enough about you then. Am I to truly believe I did not impress you at first sight?”

Zoya glared daggers at him, but did not answer right away, considering his question. He got lucky this evening.

“You did impress me, albeit saying at first sight would be a huge overstatement”, she admitted, then exhaled a long breath and let herself fall on the cushion. “I was so happy when you asked me to be your General”, her eyes were distant, as if she was talking to herself more than him, seeing the rageful and determined girl she had been. “I went back to my room and could not stop smiling. My heart was so full, for the first time since what felt like forever. It never felt like a responsibility, it felt like an opportunity you gave me.”

“Tell me you waltzed alone in your room, please”, he teased, being the one who wanted to improvise a victory dance on the spot.

“I will not.”

“You will not tell me because it did not happen, or just to deprive me of the satisfaction?”

“Your ego does not need more encouragement”, she rested her chin on her hand, forcing her lips to stay pursed and fighting back a smile. So that was a yes, then. Zoya bursting with happiness was a sight he would have probably sold his soul to see, three years ago.

“That was the first time I believed you may not be the overly chatty catastrophe I would have made you out to be.”

“You know, I’m not so sure”, Nikolai grinned at her, beaming with pride. “You were stunned when I shot the Darkling.”

“You remember that?”, she gave him a surprised glance from her place on the cushion. They barely knew each other back then, but he had not forgotten. He pulled her back to him, brushed his mouth on her forehead.

“I paid attention in these years, Zoya. To every inch of you.”

It had taken him a while to notice the other things. The stubborn tilt of her chin when she was being challenged and needed to hold her ground. How she shook the cuffs of her kefta before announcing something, or how it meant the argument was done on her part. The way she marked the first words of a sentence with a harder tone than usual when she was in distress, as if the very fact of lacing a syllable with spite could hold herself together. Her resting her head to the side when she was at ease, narrowing her eyes to the sunlight, allowing herself a surrender. The grief and hurt that peered through only when she was trying too hard to conceal it, only when the exhaustion was overwhelming and keeping this country together too tiring. The gleam she possessed when she was teaching the kids, how her gaze softened with care as soon as they turned their backs on her and she watched them laugh and toss each other around. Her laughter with Genya or Tamar when they had a glass too much in the evening and they gossiped around, basking in the illusion of being normal people with no weight on their shoulders.

Zoya had been a story for Nikolai, one he had wanted to unfold, to slowly walk through the pages of it and discover her mysteries, her secrets, her wants. She had been the puzzle of his lifetime, and he knew he would never stop sorting through it. Whenever he thought he had put some sense in it, she uncovered a dark alley he had brushed past without noticing; her Suli heritage, her family’s past, her garden of sorrows. And then came the agony of sorting her feelings out, a line he had walked balancing his hopeless wishes and the reality of her gestures. Trying to piece together how deliberate or innocent had been the way she kept locking their gazes together through the opposite corner of a room, wondering how carefree when she lingered with her fingers on his skin a moment too long as they brushed their hands. If she was toying with him as he had heard in the stories about her, or if her restraint wavered under a desire he had not known he was hoping for. All the times the inevitable had almost happened, and they had strode past these occurrences with the shared silent pact of not voicing it out loud. Zoya’s look growing calm in the dim light of the countless rooms they had worked in, a warmth they had both longed for.

Nikolai tightened his hold on her. He buried his nose in her hair.

The heat of a sunny day, the spring that came in Dominik’s fields, the crushed daisies under his sisters’ sticky fingers. The Grand Palace garden brought alive by rain around him, droplets running through his golden hair. A meadow near the sea in a foreign magical place where he would take her one day, the marvels he would show her. That damn wildflowers scent he had never been able to carve out of the bottom of his soul.

She had revealed herself in front of him, in irrelevant moments carrying with them a significance he had never been aware of.

“I thought I knew myself”, Zoya started, barely audible over the crackling of the fire, “the rotten parts of me. My strengths.” She paused. “Seeing me through your eyes - you shattered everything I knew and built it back. I did not understand how soon you had started doing that.”

"Soulmates stuff, I guess”, he murmured in a wanton tone, ignoring the prick behind his eyes, startled by the sudden shift in her mood and the heartfelt openness she was displaying.

“I don’t believe in that nonsense”, Zoya huffed dismissively. Nikolai laughed.

“I share your disbelief, actually. Destiny has done nothing but put obstacles in our path, after all. If anything, we have defied it. I believe it’s more a matter of choices”, he said, pensive. Once again, he rested his cheek on her carefully brushed curls, inhaling deeply. “We did not happen to stumble upon each other and miraculously fall in love. We chose each other.”

The choice is yours.

I made the choice. I am the one choosing you now.

I would choose you, Zoya. As my general, as my friend, as my bride.

The first one had gone unbelievably smoothly. The second, it had taken patience and effort and a certain resistance to disappointments. The third one, well - he was working on that. A ring did stand wrapped around her finger. Halfway there.

Zoya must had been thinking of that, too. She seemed to ponder his statement before replying. “You did tell me you would choose me. When I thought no one would.”

“I think I chose you long before I knew I did. Then I hoped against all odds that when you’d make your own choice, you’d choose me in return. That you’d choose to stay.”

Zoya fell silent. He could not see her, but he imagined just as well her biting her lower lip, his words sinking into her heart. With Zoya, the quiet was comfortable, warm as the press of her body on his. The quiet was needed.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long”, a whisper at last, as she turned back up to look at him. Nikolai shook his head decisively.

“Don’t be.”

“You have waited for me.” There was just a knowing safety in her tone. It had mattered, for Nikolai, to let her choose. To let her know, and then let her decide. To give her a chance at love and stand by for her to take it, his trust in her never faltering. He gently took her face between his calloused hands, worn by battles and tight salty ropes.

“You were worth every second. Besides, time means nothing for demons and saints, right? We have a lot of it in our hands.”

This time she whole-heartedly smiled, adjusting his perfectly fine collar in that affectionate unaware gesture again.

Being the unsuccessful poet he could have been in another lifetime, sometimes he wondered if the story they had lived would ever go on in ballad and poems, as he had once joked with her. If someone would tell of an open sky split by lightning in which a dragon had spread his wings and roared his heartache, never to be left alone to live in darkness again. If someone would hear of a wayward privateer finding the ocean in a person, tricking fate into conquering everything his battered heart had ever searched for. If there would ever be written the tale of a love waiting on the other side of a door, of the people brave enough to cross it.

He had thought they would have just kept telling that tale to each other, through open mouthed kisses left on bare skin, tangled sheets and hushed confessions traded in the night. Then one day, he had heard the kids play in the Little Palace forest, a girl with golden brown skin splashing water on the others from the lake, calling herself the Suli queen who could turn into a legendary beast. He had seen a Fabrikator in the library draft sketches of pirates and mystical creatures fighting each other on a flying ship. To his amusement, he had watched and eavesdropped as one of his personal guards, a handsome young boy coming from Udova, had tried to woo a noble girl into walking with him to the garden, promising her to tell her the fable of how a king with a demon inside had won the attentions of a beautiful unattainable witch who commanded the storms.

Nikolai liked that. The idea that their struggles might turn into hope. One thing he loved, though, were the details that remained theirs.

Zoya brushed a hand through his golden hair with a yearning look in her eyes, soft as a feather she kissed his jaw, adjusted herself in the space between his arms, played with the ring on her finger as she laced her hand with his. She still called him King wretch at times, he still called her his General. She had still eaten all of his herring that morning, they had still made time to work silently through papers together before dinner. At the end, there had never been a hierarchy between them, swept away in the matter of heartbeats since she had held a broken prince in the safety of her wind and he had given her a medal to cradle in her fingers: they had always fought alongside each other, as they were doing now. These details.

That was the part of their story no one would ever earn to hear. The part they would keep writing in secret.

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fuckyouquiznak · 3 years

Text

Dream's past

(pretty long but this is Tumblr, am I right?)

Puffy is the captain of a pirate ship and has two children, Cornelius and Tobias (yes Dream with horns is my kink + I am not over the name Cornelius Dream used during one of Karl’s tale).

Cornelius is the elder one, around six years older than Toby, and he loves the sea and the pirate life. He is a sunny kid, always smiling and telling jokes. Everybody in the crew loves him.

He and his mother are really close. They share the same kindness and curiosity, which makes them always ready go on adventures. Cornelius also loves his little brother, Toby. They haven't a dad, so he acts very protective and defensive around him. They are an happy family.

Until one day everything changes.

***

The ship docks at a strange place. A creepy island maybe, dark and mysterious.

Cornelius is told to stay on the ship because it might be dangerous, but he is too curious to stay still. He is grown up after all, he can handle an adventure. Moreover he is sure the island is hiding a secret. A treasure? A temple? He needs to know.

When nobody is watching he sneaks out of the ship and goes exploring on his own. But then he'll eventually find something there, something wicked and scary. Maybe it is just a cage... something Cornelius is not supposed to open. But again how could he know? And there are voices... they tell him to free them... (dreamons or maybe even DreamXD?)

And you know what they say... "curiosity killed the cat". Excepts Cornelius doesn't die. As soon as he opens the cage he hears a loud and shrill scream and then everything goes black. He wakes up a little after, but nothing has changed. Or at least it seems so.

He grabs his things and quickly comes back to the ship, pretending nothing happened.

***

However after a couple of days things get worse. Now the voices keep visiting him, especially during night. And he doesn't feel alright.

His mother thinks it might be just fatigue or scurvy. But Cornelius doesn't tell her about the voices and the cage. He stays silent even when he sees a white stain growing on his hand.

It can't be that bad, can it?

***

After a week or two Cornelius is not getting better: his head spins, his heart hurts and the voices keep being louder and louder in his mind, till he passes out.

When he wakes up the ship is burning. He has a lighter in his right hand. Fire starts spreading everywhere and the crew panic, trying to stop it with water. But it doesn't work. It's too late.

Cornelius stares at this hands horrified. He doesn't remember anything. Why is he in the middle of the fire? What happened? He cannot breath and closes his eyes. "Let it be just a dream" he prays "He can't be me". His voice cracks, noticing the white stain has grown all over his arm. (imagine it like Ranboo’s left side... these two are connected)

Puffy quickly reaches him and helps him get out of the cabin. They are both burned and covered in ash. Toby cries and squirms in his mother's hands. "It'll be ok" she says culling the baby too calmly to be in a middle of a fire. "Cornelius, you two will take the lifeboat". Cornelius hesitates. "What about you?" Puffy smiles back at him, her cheeks buried in tears: "A captain never leaves her own ship, duckling.. I've got responsibilities here".

"What about us? Mom you don't have to this" he prays, his voice broken. He doesn't want to leave his mother...

But she doesn't listen.

"Take your brother away from here. Row till you find a coast, then ask for help, ok? I'll find you both eventually. I swear" Her smile is weak and tired. They both know it's a lie. They will never meet again.

Puffy gives Cornelius a compass. "Will be together again" she promises. "Do it for Toby".

Cornelius grabs his little brother and finally leaves. He doesn't have the bravery to hold his mother one last time.

(Puffy will actually survive, but she'll forget everything)

The rest is like a memory.

He manages to reach a little beach a couple of days after the accident. When they touch the ground Cornelius collapses. (Tubbo, Puffy and Dream would have scars and marks after the ship break)

***

The following months are horrifying.

It's cold and desolate where they landed. Nobody is willing to help, mainly because they're scared of Cornelius' white mark.

He can't blame them anyway. There's something wrong and scary inside him. They had found a village at some point, but Cornelius had one of his episode and burned down the place.

Toby cries all the time. He is hungry and, most of all, he misses mom.

The voices are not helping.

Cornelius can't keep him anymore. It's already difficult being alone out there. He can't... he can't let his brother live in misery like this. And what if has an episode close to him?

When they reach a wooden house in the middle of the snow (SBI house of course), Cornelius is sure it's time.

He leaves Toby out of the house, with a letter that says: "Save Toby". He has seen a woman doing that with a blonde hair baby a couple of months before (Tommy’s mother y’all).

The owners seem fine. Cornelius had watched them laughing and eating all together next to the fireplace a couple of times. He is sure they could give Toby the love and the warmth he can't provide him. He'll be safe there.

He gives the compass to Toby, just in case he'll need it one day to find him. It's hard, but it's the only choice. They can't be together.

As soon as his brother walks away, Toby starts crying louder. Cornelius does the same. For a moment he even thinks about turning around and take him back. He doesn't want to leave him: he is the only family he has left. But he is doing the right thing, he tells himself. He needs to be strong. For Toby's sake.

The first one to notice the screams is Wilbur, who jumps out of the door worried and scared. He looks at the baby on the top of the stairs and then looks directly at the tree Cornelius is hidden behind.

Philza exits a few moments later. He grabs the baby softly and he looks up to the sky where is crawls are flying. "There's someone" Wilbur whispers, pointing at the tree. Philza stops him and gives him the card. "Whoever left this baby here has a reason, Will".

Cornelius keeps crying. He wishes he could be there too. But the thing that is growing inside him... he is not sure he can handle it.

Techno is out in the forest eventually. He sees Cornelius. "Have some food, nerd", he says, before leaving him with a potato.

***

Cornelius stays close to that house anyway. At least he can keep an eye on Toby from there. He has found a nice spot, next to a cage. It's not that much, but he can't complain.

Toby is growing fast, even if his horns haven't shown up yet. Cornelius likes to watch him play outside with the other blonde kid, Tommy. They seem to get along well. He is as happy and carefree as a child his age should be.

Cornelius instead is sicker than ever. The white stain is growing on his skin day by day. His left arm, part of the chest and even his eye, now red, are surrounded by that. He doesn't know what to do. The voices keep him awake almost every night. They whisper something about "Dream".

Sometimes he wishes he could think about his mother, but the voices are louder than his thoughts. He can't remember her, nor his past life.

The stain is slowly erasing his memory. He is afraid one day he'll even forget Toby.

***

He meets Sapnap when he most needs a friend.

He hasn't talked with someone for ages (except for Techno who sometimes leave him food), so he is not sure he can remember how to do it, but with Sapnap is easy and comfortable.

He saves him from a spider.

Sapnap is scared and lost in the forest. Cornelius happens to be right next to him when the monster comes out. He grabs his sword and kills it.

"Woah, dude you saved me!" Sapnap says, jumping around. "What's your name?" Cornelius hesitates. It's been so long since someone called with his name. He can't really remember it. Was it something with a C? Maybe. Why can't he remember?

"I think it's Dream" he lies, feeling his skin burning. The other one however doesn't seem to notice it. "That's nice, mine is Sapnap! Do you live here? All alone?"

Dream nods, still unsure he should trust or not this new guy. He stays in the shadow. Sapnap smiles. "Dope! I wish I could have an house just for myself" then the smiles runs away from his face "I actually came here to do that... I got into a fight with my dad. Do you have parents?"

"I don't"

Sapnap laughs a bit. "Me neither actually.. Bad is my guardian to be honest. But he is a great guy, really. It's just... I needed space, you know?" Dream is sure he hasn't understood a word of what this kid has said. Bad? Guardian? Space?

"Not really" he answers, lighting a fire. Sapnap immediately steps back, and Dream realises he has finally seen his face. Now he'll go away too, he reckons. I'll be alone forever.

However Sapnap's smile grows bigger then ever. "Whoa that's sick" he screams "I mean in a cool way, dude. Loving your style".

Dream blushes. "I... don't really like it"

Sapnap raises his eyebrows, sighing. "Maybe my dad could fix it"

***

Bad has never been so worried in his entire life - which is a looooong life.

Sapnap wasn't in his bed this morning. He really thought he lost him for good after their last fight, but he luckily came back safe and sound.

He even made a friend.

Bad was so angry, but the happiness of holding his child again was bigger then every other feeling.

"Does it grow?" he asks, touching Dream's face. The kid nods uncomfortably. "Your left eye.. was it green before?" He nods again. "Do you have memory loss?" Dream hesitates. Bad writes something down.

"Well, Dream, I can't erase the stain. What I can do is preventing it from growing bigger. Your memory is damaged, so I can't fix it, but form now on you should remember things more clearly"

"What does that mean?"

"It means I can't give you back your memories, but you can make new ones"

Dream stares at his feet. He is sure there was someone important in his life before worth to remember.

"It'll hurt a bit"

***

"You can stay here if you want" Bad says.

The "operation" went pretty well. Bad and Sapnap offered him to stay with them as long as he wants. Dream is glad. He likes it here. It feels like... family. The voices are gone. Is he really free?

Sapnap enters the room with a big smile. "Dream, I made you something! I know you have to wear bandages everyday, because the mark is still there – Dream touches is face - so my dad and I came up with this little idea" Sapnap hands him a mask.

"It's easier to take off. I drew the smile"

Dream feels his eyes burning. No one has ever done something like that for him. A gift! "I like it. Thank you Sapnap"

“Don’t worry! That’s what friends do”

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hogarthwrites · 3 years

Text

almost

pairing: samuel drake/reader (m/f)

genre: angst, smut

warnings: graphic sex

words: 3,229

summary:

Part two of Your Type. You thought you lost Sam forever, and you were just about to get over him when he came back. Your feelings for him are stronger than ever, but he's still so emotionally closed off.

note:

This is the second part of your type! Sam and reader are older in this part. I might add a third part to it too.

Present Day

In the last letter Sam sent you while you were away, he sounded excited about finally finding his mother’s things. After that, nothing. When you went home for the summer, you couldn't find him or contact him.

The lady said he just disappeared without a warning, and she put up a few posters and even reported it to the police, but there was just no trace of Samuel Morgan anywhere in the state.

You spent a lot of nights crying, worried sick about what might've happened to him. You comforted yourself thinking he just probably left for that job he was talking about, and not that he was lying face down in a ditch.

Years went by, and before you knew it, you were frowning at your own reflection, unsure if you wanted to count the white hair suddenly popping up out of nowhere. You splashed water on your face and put your lab coat and walked back to your office.

Even though you tried your best to forget him, you still missed Sam. You'd replay that day you had a picnic with him in your mind, wishing things were that simple again. It was unfair how you’d put him on some kind of pedestal, comparing every relationship you ever had to him.

“Got a patient for you,” Chloe barged into your office. It wasn’t unusual for her to come to you after a trip, covered in wounds and bruised up, but this time she was with someone else. The last time she did this was for a man named Charlie who had broken his leg.

“Good to see you’re alive, Frazer,” you mumbled, not looking up from your papers. “Is it Charlie again?”

“You think you could stitch this up, doc?” A deeper voice said and you looked up to see a tall man grabbing at his bloody arm.

“Oh my god,” you quickly stood up and led him to the examination table. “What the hell happened?”

“He fell and scratched his arm on a weirdly sharp plank,” Chloe snickered. “I’m pretty sure he’s concussed, but I really can’t tell.”

“I’m fine , Chloe,” he insisted.

“What’s your name? How old are you?” You looked at him, his familiar brown eyes searching yours.

“It's Sam,” he gave a small smile, and your heart fell. “Been a while, huh?”

“ Sam?” You gasped. “Is that really you?”

Your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest. All the feelings you kept trying to bury away just came surging back. Suddenly, you were 18 again, madly in love with your best friend. You took a step closer, wondering if you should hug him. It didn’t feel real.

“Right,” Chloe looked perplexed. “I see there’s a… thing happening here, so I’m just going to get some coffee. Don’t die, Sam, we have a flight to India in a few weeks.”

He simply chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry. This is Chloe’s job.”

“Nice to see you’re still as deranged as when we were kids,” you started cleaning the cut on his arm.

“I like to think I’m still as charming as ever,” he smirked.

“Hm, at least I know you aren’t concussed,” you pressed the cotton full of hydrogen peroxide on the wound and Sam winced. “I might have to stitch this up though.”

“You’re the doctor.”

The silence was a little too awkward as you began to stitch him up. His eyes were on you, making you nervous. He was a lot taller now, tattoos decorating his arm and neck, his messy brown hair was longer and hung in soft curls behind his neck. Like you, he looked older, but he still made you feel the same way.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat. “This is what you’ve been up to. What are you? Some kind of kids’ doctor?” He looked at the stuffed animals on the table next to him.

“Yeah, I’m a pediatrician,” you nodded. “Chloe’s one of my closest friends and probably my oldest patient. Other than you.”

“If I’m old, you are too,” he smiled at you.

“How do you know her? I don’t think she’s ever mentioned you before.”

“We’re just business partners. I think she used to date Nathan.”

“Nathan? Where is he now?”

“Oh, he’s married. Can you believe it?”

“Well, it has been a long, long time,” you shrugged.

“Yeah, who’d have thought, huh?” Sam chuckled.

You finished off his stitches and bandaged him up. “Alright, keep this dry and bandaged for 24 hours then wash around it with clean water.” You glanced at the scar above the stitches. “I’m sure you know how this all works already.”

“I sure do,” Sam grinned.

It was quiet while you washed your hands on the sink.

“It’s funny,” Sam said and you turned to look at him. “I thought we’d be more… excited, if we saw each other again.”

“I thought you died, Sam,” you felt a lump in your throat. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry in front of him . “You stopped sending letters and you stopped phoning me. I don’t know what you expect me to feel. What happened?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain,” Sam stepped closer and took your hand. “Please, let’s get some drinks sometime. I”ll tell you everything.”

“I don’t know,” you pulled away. “This is just too much for me.”

“Alright,” he sounded defeated. “If you ever change your mind, meet me at the bar on Main Street tonight.”

Sam’s invitation racked your mind all day as you looked after patient after patient. Of course you wanted to see him again, but he left you hanging for more than two decades, making you believe he was dead this whole time. Now he waltzed right in the door when you’ve been trying to forget him.

You sighed and opened the little chest on your desk. Who were you kidding, you still kept the stupid pendant he gave you all those years ago. It glinted in the fluorescent light, taunting you. You know you wanna see me again , his voice was in your head. Sam was in your head again.

Fuck it. You hung your lab coat up and grabbed your keys.

He sat at the bar with a beer in one hand, a book in the other. Treasure Island . Of course.

“Will you ever get tired of that book?” You nudged his leg with the tip of your heels.

“Glad you can make it, scout,” Sam smiled. Here I go again , you thought when you felt your cheeks heat up. “Beer?”

“Why not?” You shrugged and took the seat next to him.

“Rough day at work?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. My best friend who I thought was dead for twenty-something years showed up out of nowhere. And get this, he wanted me to meet him here of all places,” you knocked back your beer.

“He sounds like an asshole,” Sam chuckled.

“You have no idea.”

He sighed. “I never meant to leave you. Will you hear me out?”

You rested your cheek on your hand and gave him a look. “I drove all the way here, I don’t think I have much of a choice right now.”

Sam told you his story. Breaking into an old woman’s home, forced to go into hiding, shot and spent fifteen years in a Panamanian prison, surviving a burning pirate ship ? It almost seemed too extraordinary, and knowing Sam, you weren’t sure if there were all just pretty lies.

“How can I be sure you’re not bullshitting me right now, Samuel?”

“Would this convince you otherwise?” Sam lifted his shirt, revealing the scars left from the bullets.

“Wow,” you reached out, wanting to touch them. You looked up at Sam and he nodded. “God, I'm so sorry, Sam.”

“You could say it's a miracle I even survived that.”

“Oh, definitely.”

“I guess life just wasn't done with me yet.”

There were no words left to say. You downed your beer. Somehow you’ve lost track of how many you’ve drank.

“I missed you,” Sam looked at you in a way you've never seen before.

Your hand was suddenly in his. Was he getting closer?

His lips met yours and you melted into the kiss. You've imagined this scenario for so long, it didn't feel real. Please don't wake up , you thought as you wrapped your arms around Sam’s neck. I hope this dream never ends.

It was a nice dream. You were reunited with Sam. He kissed you. All you felt was warm.

You stirred in bed, pulling the covers over your chest as a gust of wind blew into the room. Then, an arm around your waist. Who’s that?

You sat up in surprise, looking down at the hairy arm draped over your naked body on a bed you didn't recognise. Could it be? As you glanced to the other side of the bed, you knew it wasn't just a dream.

The motel room Sam was staying in looked different in the light. It was a lot smaller than you thought and you noticed his belongings piled up on the table in the corner. A bunch of books, papers, and some clothes.

Sam was gently snoring and you brushed the stray hairs from his forehead. He still looked peaceful when he slept, and it broke your heart to think of how stressed and lonely he was in prison.

“Mornin’,” he garbled.

“Good morning, Sam,” you lay back down on the pillow next to him.

He yawned and blearily looked at you. “Great view.”

“Shut up.”

You leaned over and kissed him softly, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. Soon you were climbing on top of him, feeling him get hard under you.

“God, you’re insatiable,” you laughed.

“You’ve only got yourself to blame,” Sam gave you a shit eating grin.

Your hands were on his broad chest as he entered you. It felt as good as the first time and you hummed in delight. You moved your hips back and forth, watching as Sam screwed his eyes shut in pleasure.

His hands moved to grab at your ass, guiding the movement of your hips against his. It was slow and sweet as you took your time, enjoying the way he felt inside you.

Sam sat up to kiss you hungrily, his lips making his way down your neck to your breasts, sucking on your nipple. Your breathing became more erratic as you held his head in place, tugging at his hair. Wanting more, you moved your hips faster. He let out a moan while his face was at your neck, kissing the hot skin softly.

Sam’s hands and his mouth continued to explore your body, teetering you to the edge.

“Cum for me,” he whispered and that was enough for you. Your fingers tangled in his hair and moaned out his name as you reached your high.

He didn’t even give you time to recover when he flipped you over on the bed. He was inside you again, slamming his hips against yours, desperate for his orgasm. You took his hands in yours, intertwining your fingers with his.

“You feel so good,” he groaned. “I missed you so much. Fuck.”

Your back arched off the bed and your fingers sunk into his hands as your own orgasm hit you again, revelling in Sam’s grunts and praises laced with lust.

He gave a few hard thrusts before his movements faltered and he pulled out just in time to cum all over your stomach. He collapsed on the bed next to you, just as out of breath, but he was smiling in contentment.

“Do you have work today?” He asked after a while.

“Yeah,” you reached for your phone on the nightstand. “In, shit, an hour.”

“Look at you,” he chuckled. “Seems like only yesterday I was reading over your history essays.”

“Where would I be without you, huh?” You rolled on top of him and kissed him. “I gotta go.”

Sam sat up in bed and smoked a cigarette as he watched you get dressed. The bed looked inviting and all you wanted to do was crawl back in and into his arms again. Maybe I'll bring an overnight bag next time , you thought. Will there even be a next time?

“That's bad for your lungs,” you plucked the cigarette from his lips and put it out on the ashtray on the nightstand.

“Don't forget. You clean around the stitches, okay?” You gently touched the bandage on his arm. “Call me or swing by the office if it comes off or anything.”

“Will do.”

About last night … You wanted to ask him more, but your alarm went off.

“I'm gonna be late,” you sighed.

You were about to stand again when Sam took your hand and pulled you in for a kiss. It started off as sweet little pecks, but as he wrapped his arms around your waist, the kiss got deeper and you couldn't help but moan into it.

“Sam, I can't,” you pulled away. “I have to get to the clinic.”

“Go, save the world, one boo boo at a time,” he smirked as he kissed your hand.

“You're insufferable,” you laughed.

“You mean irresistible.”

“You haven't changed a bit, Samuel Morgan.”

The air was cool as you held onto Sam’s waist with one arm, the other holding a picnic basket. This time, it was his idea to have a picnic at a lake just outside the city. He still drove a motorcycle, and not having ridden one in many years, you clung onto his denim jacket as if your life depended on it.

There was a picnic table and a little grill by the lakeshore and you set the table while Sam tried to figure out how to use the grill.

“Have you been here before?” You asked as you took out a bottle of champagne that Sam slipped into the basket at the last minute.

“Honestly? No,” he smiled at you. “I asked Chloe and Sully, but they didn’t know any picnic spots, so I Googled it.”

“You know how to use Google?” You snickered.

“I’m not that old.”

“Sure, Mr. Radio Tower.”

Sam was proud of the burgers he grilled and had asked you to take pictures of it with your phone so he could send it to Nathan. He was in a good mood, reminiscing about all the trouble he caused when he was younger.

The sun had started to set when you both moved to the shore, boots off, soaking your feet in the chilly water. You squatted next to Sam who was skipping rocks on the water.

“I could never figure out how to do that,” you picked up a stone and attempted to make it skip, but it made a small splash and sank into the lake.

“It’s easy,” Sam laughed. “Here,” he placed a smooth, flat stone in your hand, placing it between your thumb and forefinger. “Now it’s all in the wrist.”

He gently pulled your arm back and forth, flicking your wrist at the last minute. “You just flick it hard enough to make the stone spin.”

“Uh huh,” you nodded. “You make it look easy.”

“C’mon, just give it a try,” he let go of your arm. “Just,” he flicked his wrist. “Like that.”

“Like this?” You copied the gesture he made. The stone flew off your hand and jumped off the surface of the lake before plopping into the water.

“Hey, you did it!” Sam gave you a pat on the back.

“What do you know,” you were smiling like an idiot. “Still a great tutor after all these years.”

“What can I say?” He was still the same cocky Sam.

You leaned into him and pulled your cardigan around you tighter. There was something that’s been bugging since you were reunited and spent more time together. You felt great around him, the old emotional and intellectual connection was back and probably stronger than before. It almost felt like there was something between you and Sam, but you didn’t know if that was what he felt as well. After all, he did reject you before.

“Listen,” Sam spoke before you. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“What is it?” You didn’t know if you were nervous or excited, but you were definitely anxious.

“This job with Chloe, it might be dangerous. Usually I know what I’m getting into, but I’m not an expert on whatever she’s be researching on so I’m really just going to depend on dumb luck.”

“You made it out of prison and a booby trapped pirate cave just fine,” you tried to lighten him up.

“Asav’s a dangerous man. Even more so than Rafe.” Sam looked serious as he stared out into the horizon. “Just… I just don’t want you worrying about me.”

“After this conversation?” You shook your head. “Gee, I guess I’ll try, Samuel."

“It’s just been really good the past few weeks,” Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to say thanks for everything.”

You looked up at him. “What are you trying to say, Sam?”

“Just in case I’m a goner, you know…”

“No, I don’t know,” you stood up. “Hell, I don’t even know what’s going on between us.”

“Come on, don't be so dramatic,” he stood up and tried to take your hand, but you pulled away.

“ I’m being dramatic? You’re out here telling me your last will and testament!”

“I’m just being realistic, alright?”

“No, Sam,” you picked up your boots and pulled them on. “You don’t get to do this to me. I lost you once before, I don’t wanna do that again.”

Sam put up his hands in defeat and sat down next to you and you turned away in an attempt to hide the tears streaming down your cheeks. You didn’t want to imagine a world without Sam again and you were angry that he’d just come back out of the blue, make you feel like everything was alright again, then just take it all away again.

“Just take me home,” you sniffled.

You tried not to cry into the back of Sam’s jacket as you held on to him. He seemed to drive a lot slower than before, and it was agonizing being so close to him.

As soon as he parked his bike in front of your house, you silently got off, hugging the picnic basket to your chest. Sam was anxiously tapping his finger on the grip and you stood there, unsure if you wanted to say something to him. He got off the bike and stood in front of you, twiddling his fingers.

“Thanks for today,” you said weakly.

“Yeah,” he nodded once. “It was nice seeing you again.”

“Yeah.”

He took a small step forward as if to hug you, but he held back.

Hug me, you asshole , you thought. Please .

“Alright, well, I gotta go,” Sam took a step back. “Take care, alright?”

There was a lump in your throat and your vision blurred as you blinked back tears.

“Sam,” you called, and he looked at you expectantly. What else was there to say, though?

“Yeah?”

Be careful. I love you .

“Thanks for everything.”

Sam smiled softly, taking your hand and softly squeezing it.

“See you around.”

#sam drake x reader #sam drake #samuel drake #uncharted fanfiction #angst #smut

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purplehairedwonder · 3 years

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An Awful Lot Like Hope

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Pre-Relationship Lawlu Words: 2308 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy, Nico Robin Note: I know this fic has been done before, but I still wanted to do my own Dressrosa fallout fic. This was written for the “New Beginnings” square on my OP Bingo @op-pirate-fleet card.

Summary: Law should have known that Doflamingo’s defeat wouldn’t simply cause the nightmares the end; trauma didn’t work like that. Rather, he felt like an exposed nerve, raw and jagged. But his conversation with Sengoku had shaken something loose in him, a fragile something he’d kept locked away for sixteen years: hope.

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

The morning after was… difficult.

Law made it through the evening after Doflamingo’s fall on sheer adrenaline—and more than a little bit of spite—helping to treat injuries once the remaining Straw Hats gathered in the former toy soldier’s cabin. Law was the only doctor present, so he’d shoved his own pain, exhaustion, and emotional turmoil aside, falling into the familiar rhythms of cleaning, stitching, and dressing wounds—including his own. In some ways, the distraction was welcome because it kept him from thinking about the day’s events.

Once everyone’s wounds were treated—Law’s own and Luffy’s requiring the most attention—the adrenaline drained out of him, leaving Law feeling hollow, and he had unceremoniously passed out on the floor of the cabin. He woke up in the grey hours of the early dawn with a gasp, the echoes of gunshots and laughter still echoing in his ears. He jolted upright but immediately curled in on himself as the gunshot wounds on his chest and abdomen protested loudly. He took a moment to catch his breath, willing his heart rate to calm down, before looking around the dark cabin. Everyone else was still asleep. Someone had covered him in a blanket at some point, he noted absently.

His thoughts immediately turned to the events of the previous day—traitorous brain—and he knew he had no chance of falling back asleep, no matter how much his body desperately craved it for healing. Insomnia was an old friend, after all. With a weary sigh, he grabbed Kikoku and used her to stand. His vision spun as he unsteadily made it to his feet, and he forced himself to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth until the dizziness passed; he knew he shouldn’t be up and moving with the serious wounds he had sustained the previous day, but Law had never been a very good patient.

Besides, in the wake of his nightmare, the walls of the cabin were starting to feel like they were pressing in on Law like the walls of the treasure chest Cora-san had placed him in thirteen years before. His skin crawled, his stomach turned, and he could feel his heartrate picking up again; he braced himself against the wall with his good arm and stumbled as quickly as he could to the door, nearly tripping over himself once he got the door open and the cool morning air hit him in the face. He managed to shut the door behind him and lurched forward into the pre-dawn.

He made it a half dozen steps from the cabin before he doubled over and vomited, and it seemed like every nerve in his body was screaming against the violent spasms wracking his frame until he was left dry heaving. Once his body stopped shaking, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced back at the cabin, thankful that no one seemed to have noticed his breakdown.

Swallowing against the taste of bile in his throat, he tried to summon a Room to grab some water, but the blue dome faltered and blinked out of existence almost immediately after appearing. Law’s shoulders slumped; he’d overextended his powers during the fight with no regard to the cost, considering he hadn’t expected to see the end of the day. Now that he was alive the morning after, he would be paying the consequences for the overuse.

He would be paying the consequences for everything he’d done to get to this point.

Once he felt steady enough to start walking again, Law trudged forward into the field of flowers and walked until his legs simply gave out from under him. It wasn’t actually that far from the cabin, considering how weak he still was, but it provided enough distance for him to breathe again, to not feel confined by the walls. He rested Kikoku on the ground to his left and looked out toward the still sleeping city.

He should have known that Doflamingo’s defeat wouldn’t simply cause the nightmares the end; trauma didn’t work like that. Rather, Law felt like an exposed nerve, raw and jagged, as the confrontation had dredged up every painful memory he’d spent the last thirteen years trying to keep bottled up.

As he sat by himself in the cool, quiet morning, he found himself wondering what Cora-san would think of him now. Law had come to Dressrosa with every intention of killing Doflamingo—and if he hadn’t been able to do it himself, he’d created a failsafe that would have resulted in Doflamingo’s death at Kaido’s hands. Cora-san hadn’t been able to pull the trigger that day on Minion Island because, despite everything, Doflamingo was still his brother and Cora-san had loved him. He’d wanted to arrest his brother and turn him over to the Marines to face justice. Law, after Flevance, didn’t believe in justice the way Cora-san had. Law knew he was more like Doflamingo in that way, broken and cruel; perhaps part of Law would always be that ten-year-old boy with bombs strapped to his chest looking for destruction.

He could have pulled the trigger.

But he’d been too weak.

The weak don’t get to choose how they die.

Doflamingo’s lessons continued to rear their ugly head, as Law had gone into Dressrosa expecting to die and couldn’t even do that right.

But with Doflamingo in Marine custody, hadn’t Cora-san’s ambition been fulfilled? Wasn’t that what he’d wanted all along?

Law sighed and rubbed his face through his hands. He was so tired.

Law found himself drifting between semi-consciousness and wakefulness, memories playing in his mind’s eye. Of his family. Of the Family. Of Cora-san. Of his crew. Of Luffy.

Law started when a familiar figure sat down next to him, pressing into his personal space. Law frowned when he realized the sun was starting to rise over the ruined capital city; he hadn’t noticed the passage of time.

“Torao,” Luffy said quietly. Law was surprised to see him; after treating his wounds, Law had thought the younger captain would be sleeping for days after the damage he’d taken during the fight. Then again, Law should also be sleeping for days considering his own wounds and here he was.

Law didn’t trust his voice so said nothing, eyes turning back to the city. It would start waking up at any moment to face the herculean task of rebuilding ahead.

“You look cold,” Luffy said after a few quiet moments.

Law blinked. He hadn’t realized it until that moment, but he was cold—though he wasn’t sure how much of it was the cool morning air and how much of it was just him. “I’m okay,” he replied finally.

Luffy seemed unimpressed with the answer so scooted closer, radiating warmth. Law, for some unknown reason, let him. It was easier than fighting him on something so small, he told himself. They were both exhausted and wounded, after all. Luffy had curled himself around Law’s side, though he was being careful with Law’s injured arm.

“How long have you been out here?”

“Awhile.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“I don’t sleep much.” He knew the Straw Hats had noticed his insomnia in the days he’d spent on their ship. He glanced at his companion out of the corner of his eye; Luffy, on the other hand, never seemed to have problems sleeping. “What about you?”

Luffy shrugged and scratched the back of his head, a bit embarrassed. “I woke up and saw Torao was gone.”

“You came to find me?”

“Mhm!” Luffy grinned, and Law’s breath caught in his throat as he, for the briefest of moments, was looking at Cora-san. (“Law, I love you!”) Then it was Luffy again, and Law didn’t know what to do with that.

Law hummed in response, not quite sure what to say. Luffy seemed content just to sit, though, and after a time, the sounds of the waking city started to echo across the field. Law felt his eyes beginning to droop. He wasn’t cold anymore. He blinked a few times but found himself melting into the figure wrapped around him, a warm comfort like Cora-san’s coat had once been.

“S’okay, Torao. I’ve got you,” Luffy murmured as Law slipped into sleep.

-----

Robin awakened slowly, sleep trying to keep its hooks in her after the previous day’s events; she slowly sat up, minding her wounded back. Once she was upright, she assessed the one-room cabin and noted the numerous sleeping figures in the dawn light pooling in through the windows, warmth in her chest as she assessed her nakama, alive after yet another miraculous victory.

Except, she noted with some surprise, the two missing captains. Blankets were discarded haphazardly where both men had fallen asleep the night before.

She pushed herself to her feet. She glanced around once more, and no, neither man was inside. Hm. They couldn’t have gotten far, considering their wounds. As she looked around, she caught Zoro’s one open eye; he silently nodded toward the door. Robin smiled back at him, and he shut his eye again.

Robin carefully maneuvered through the maze of sleeping bodies on the cabin floor and opened the front door. A short distance away two forms were lying on the ground. Alarm jolted through Robin; what if their wounds had reopened? She tapped into her Fruit, manifesting an eye on a flower near the pair…

And all tension left her body.

Both men were fast asleep, Luffy curled protectively around Law, one hand on Law’s gauze-wrapped arm and the other on his hip, pulling him close.

Robin smiled. She’d ask Zoro to bring them back inside after a bit.

-----

The Going Luffy Senpai was as ridiculous as its captain, and Law had little interest in joining in the festivities after the formation of the Straw Hat Grand Fleet. Zoro had roped him into the celebration despite his numerous protestations, but once he’d finally extricated himself, he managed to find a quiet spot away from the chaos. He found himself looking back toward Dressrosa, though it was long out of view.

He shouldn’t have been surprised when Nico Robin came up next to him. “You achieved your goal by taking down Doflamingo, didn’t you? What are you going to do next?”

He brushed her off, brusque, mostly because he didn’t have an answer. He retreated to another quiet part of the ship and rested his elbows on the railing. After sleeping through most of the first day after the battle, he’d spent the last two days thinking, ignoring Luffy’s protestations that “Torao thinks too much!”

But his conversation with Sengoku earlier that day had shaken something loose in him, a fragile something he’d kept locked away since Lami collapsed at the festival.

“Don’t try to find a reason for somebody’s love.”

Law had spent so long certain that Cora-san had saved him because of his name. If Cora-san had saved him because he was a so-called enemy of the gods, that meant Law had a purpose. It meant he had something to live for, a reason for all the pain he endured. He could make Cora-san’s sacrifice mean something. It meant he could pay him back.

If Cora-san had saved Law out of love, what did Law do with that?

“If you really want to do something in his memory, you and I should always remember him. That’s good enough. And you live your life as you like. That’s what he would say.”

Law sighed and turned around, leaning back against the railing. He absently ran his fingers over his bandaged arm and looked up at the blue sky. He felt a bit like his arm, torn apart and put messily back together, never quite the same, never quite whole again.

Live your life as you like.

What did Law want?

Law hadn’t expected to live past thirteen, and yet he had. Every day felt like borrowed time that he didn’t know what to do with, so he ended up spending it living for others, from studying medicine to become like his parents to seeking the Family’s approval and then living to avenge Cora-san. Law didn’t know where others’ expectations ended and Law began. In the last twenty-six years, had there ever really been a Trafalgar Law? Or just a mosaic of other people in the shape of a man?

“Torao!”

Law let out a startled oof as Luffy sprang at him, wrapping himself around Law, all frenetic energy—yet somehow also careful of Law’s injuries.

“What, Straw Hat-ya?” Law asked, exasperated—and, okay, maybe a little bit amused.

Luffy grinned into Law’s face. “Hi!”

Law waited for more, but Luffy just kept grinning. “That’s it? You assailed me just to say hi?”

“Yep!”

Law rolled his eyes, though he felt his lips twitching upward. Traitors. “Hi,” he finally said back.

The grin he received in return was blinding, and that fragile piece of something that had come loose in his chest warmed.

Luffy unwrapped himself from Law but grabbed onto his hand. He dropped to the deck, back against the railing, and tugged Law’s hand until the older captain joined him. He immediately launched into a story about Bartolomeo’s wall of Straw Hat bounties and the change in Sanji’s poster. He was gesturing wildly—but he hadn’t let go of Law’s hand.

Law was transfixed.

Oh, he suddenly realized as he watched the way his tattooed fingers slotted in Luffy’s smaller hands as though they belonged. That fragile something he’d kept locked away for the last sixteen years felt an awful lot like hope.

Live your life as you like. That’s what he would say.

And here, at this moment on the Going Luffy Senpai, it felt an awful lot like a new beginning

fin

#Caitlin's Fic #Trafalgar Law #Monkey D. Luffy #Lawlu #opbingo2020 #One Piece #One Piece fanfiction

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yslkook · 4 years

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#take it offline (3)

#corporate masterlist summary: in the weeks leading up to the first workshop taking place in tokyo, you find yourself having several epiphanies and become better acquainted with jeon jungkook. word count: 7765 warnings: cursing, parental death, a mom who walked out, discussion of mental health, alcohol a/n: enjoy the VIBES. i like using appa because appa means dad in my language, and eomma is pronounced the same way for mom in my language too (i’m not korean)

***

After a year passed after your dad’s death, you had gotten a tattoo. It’s big and bold and colorful on your thigh, filled with all of the flowers that your dad treasured the most. Your dad had been so artistic and soft, taking time to enjoy the beauty of small things. He had a small garden in your childhood home, and you remember how meticulously he took care of his flowers. Namely, his favorites were cherry blossoms, pink hibiscuses, white roses and lilies.

There’s always a vase of flowers at home, on your nightstand. As your little tribute to him.

You remember the first time your dad had seen a sunflower- he’d seen it on the internet, and had been fascinated. He had picked you up and twirled you around, promising you that he’d take you to America to see it, to see mazes and fields of sunflowers.

Of course, you never went. Still, the memory is a fond one for you.

You often think that your mother must have been a cruel woman, and that you had received all of her personality and none of your father’s. Your father, who was quiet, soft, and steadfast. And then you, who was brash, impulsive and always angry.

You gave up trying to understand how she could leave your father- she had left when you were just two. Appa never hid her from you, always wanting you to know that you did have a mother. He would show you pictures of her throughout your childhood, telling you bits and pieces of her. It had made your heart ache at the time. That your dad had at least had time with her, and you had nothing to remember her by.

He wasn’t perfect. He tried his best, but you wonder what was worse- never knowing that you had a mother… or knowing that you had her, she left, and then hearing stories from your father about her.

It didn’t matter, not anymore. You only think of your absent mother fleetingly these days, and it’s been years since you’ve thought of her as anything more than a minor side character in your book.

Once you got the first tattoo, you couldn’t stop. There was a small lion below your heart, because your dad and grandma always called you their lion cub. An arrow on the inside of your wrist. It was an itch, a craving that you could never quite satisfy. The desire for fresh ink came and went in waves.

Today is the fifth death anniversary of Appa, and you contemplate whether you should get another tattoo. To celebrate, or mourn really, five years without him.

Ultimately, you decide against it. Instead choosing to continue the tradition of dinner with Grandma and with Seokjin. You and Grandma cooked all of Appa’s favorite foods and desserts on the day of his death anniversary. Jin, as your closest friend and as the person who quite literally picked you up at your lowest, always came every year for Appa’s dinner.

You think Jin saved you from yourself all those years ago, and you don’t even know if he knows that. And how could he know? If you had never properly voiced it?

Appa’s dinner is usually a quiet, but fun affair. Just the way your dad would have liked it. You and Jin fill the silence with your banter, and Grandma even jumps in, taking sides when neither of you expect it.

Bowls of meat dishes, even seafood (because Jin liked seafood even though you hated it), rice dishes and vegetables were neatly arranged on the table. The flavorful aromas wafts into your nose and your mouth waters. Looking over to Jin, you see the same thoughts reflected on his face and grin at him.

Appa also loved seafood, specifically fish and octopus- both him and Jin would often tease you about how you had no taste. To which you always responded, “I would rather die than eat something that crawls on the ocean floor. You don’t know where it’s been!”

“The same could be said about chicken and beef-”

“I prefer my meat to be a land animal, thanks.”

“Jin,” You say suddenly, “How are your parents? Your sister? I texted her the other day, but I’m sure she’s busy with school...”

“You tell me, Ma told me that you called her the other day,” Jin says wryly, “You probably talk to her more than I do.”

“You should call your parents, Seokjin,” Grandma scolds and Jin gives her a sheepish grin, “Go visit them soon. Your Ma told me she misses you.”

“Oh, fine, everyone can just gang up on me then, I guess,” Jin rolls his eyes, “Next time I go home, you and grandma should come with me. I’ll get scolded by them too if I don’t bring you.”

“Oh, well when you put it that way, you make it sound so enticing, Seokjin,” You scoff, getting up to get a drink, “D’you want soju or wine?”

“Wine,” Grandma chirps.

“Soju,” Seokjin replies.

“I’ll drive you home, Jin. Enjoy yourself,” You wink at him despite his protests.

***

Jin is quiet in the car, his attention undivided to his phone. You don’t mind, but you see his phone lighting up every few seconds. An occasional smile and breathy chuckle leaves his lips as he types away.

You even see a heart emoji or two on the screen.

“Who are you textin’? You got a secret lover or somethin’?” You tease. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t deny you. Instead, the tips of his ears go red and your smile fades.

“Uh,” Jin says, “Not a secret lover… Just a girl that I met a few weeks ago.”

“Oh,” You say, in a strangled voice, “Cool. Awesome. I’m happy for you.”

It hurts you more than it should, that Jin hadn’t told you about the woman he’s been seeing for the last few weeks. He knew it too- your heart and your emotions are always on your sleeve, at least to him. He starts to ask you to come inside so that you can talk, but your face is tightened in hurt, and the words die on his lips.

Your smile was forced when you had dropped him off at his apartment building, ignoring the sudden wave of sadness that tumbled over you. Did he not trust you enough to tell you? Have you been a bad friend to him, that he felt like he couldn’t tell you?

You can’t recall the last time he had intentionally hidden something like that from you. You swallow tears down nervously, wiping your eyes and subtly shaking your head to focus on driving home.

Maybe you have been a bad friend lately. Have you asked about him enough? Does he know that you cherish him? Memories of the last few weeks replay in your head, wondering if you had done something to push him away.

But before you can leave the curb, Jin is sprinting from the building and towards you like a madman. His cheeks are flushed, eyes wide and hair blowing with the wind.

In all of your years of friendship, Jin never lets you leave him when he knew you were upset. He knew how your silly mind worked, how if you revelled in your own thoughts you would end up spiraling further and further away from him.

He slides into the passenger seat of the car, not even admonishing you for leaving the doors unlocked after he had left.

Tears gather in your eyes and you bite your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“Listen to me,” Jin says, turning to you and holding your face in his hands as if you’ll break, “I didn’t tell you about her because… if I told you about her, it would make it so much more real. I don’t know if me and her are real yet. I can’t introduce you to her yet because I don’t know. And you know I need your approval, otherwise she’s gone.”

He says it lightly, to get you to smile and it works but tears drop from your eyes anyway.

“You could’ve still told me you were seeing someone,” You say in a small voice, “You’ve told me every other time…”

“This time feels different,” Jin admits, “But you’re right. I’m sorry.”

Maybe you’re being too clingy. You scoff out loud, already wanting to curl into yourself and forget about your stupid heart.

“God, I’m so stupid. I’m sorry I freaked out,” You mumble, avoiding his eyes, “I know you’d tell me if it was important.”

“Don’t apologize for me hurting you,” Jin says, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“Have I been a good friend to you, Jin?” You whisper after a beat and Jin’s eyes widen. He feels terrible for making you doubt yourself and doubt your friendship with him.

“What? Of course you’ve been a good friend. What’s going on?”

“I just- Maybe you didn’t want to tell me because I haven’t been a great friend to you. I don’t know. Maybe I haven’t showed you-”

“Stop,” Jin whispers, “Stop that.”

And that’s so very you, thinking that you had done something to upset him. When really, it was him who actively chose not to tell you out of his own fears.

You normally don’t really like hugs. Or being touched. Except by Jin. The exception has always been Jin.

“Can I have a hug?” You mumble quietly, looking up at him with red eyes.

Jin coos softly at you, pulling you in tightly to his chest over the console of the car. He rubs your back, waiting for you to calm down as you inhale him in generously.

“If I was upset with you, you know I would tell you. I love you too much to let you get away from me,” Jin murmurs into your ear, “You’re my best friend. When I say that I didn’t tell you because it terrifies me to be in something serious, that’s all it means. Telling you makes it serious, and that’s all it is. Please trust me?”

“I do, I do,” You mumble, face pressed into his purple sweater, “Of course I trust you. It’s my own mind I feel like I can’t trust sometimes. That’s… that’s not a fair reaction to have. It’s not fair...

Jin looks at you for a long moment, and you already know what is going to come out of his mouth. Because it’s something you’ve been thinking about more and more frequently over the past few weeks.

And because you both seem to almost always be on the same wavelength.

There’s a far away look in his eyes. He waits for you to say something, not wanting to upset you further.

“I think… I think I should see someone. Sometimes I feel like I’m just losing control. It scares me how quick I spiral,” You mumble. Meeting his eyes is difficult for you in your vulnerability, so you just don’t.

Jin yanks you into his chest again and hugs you tight. You’re both silent for a few minutes, your grip on his sweater starting to loosen.

“Hey,” Jin finally says, “I’m proud of you. I’m here for you, and I’ll help you find someone.”

“Jin,” You breathe, shaking your head, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Last time we talked about this, we fought so much. We didn’t even talk for like, three days. Which is a record for us,” Jin chuckles, “Of course, I’ll help you.”

You squeeze his hand tightly in gratitude, giving him a tender smile.

“Hey. When you finally do decide that you like this girl,” You say, “Let’s have drinks together. She’s different, I can tell. Haven’t seen you blush at a text like that like… ever. And I want to meet whoever makes you this happy.”

“Yeah,” Jin nods, cheeks reddening at the mention of the woman he likes, “Yes, I’ll coordinate with her-”

“Like, remember that girl you were seeing during our third year? The one who threw up in your shoes, forgot about it, and then blamed it on me? Let’s hope your new girl won’t throw up in your shoes, huh?”

“Shut up,” Jin says and elbow you gently, “You hated her from the beginning.”

“The vibes were just off, Seokjin. You can’t say I didn’t warn you,” You laugh.

Silence falls between you both again, the setting sun pulling you away from your comfortable bubble.

“I should get going. Grandma’s probably wondering what’s taking so long,” You lament and almost shyly give him another hug.

Jin presses a long kiss to your forehead. You’re certain you might combust, you’re not used to being touched like this. Whether it’s platonic or romantic.

“I mean it,” Jin says, “I’m really proud of you.”

He says it so strongly, so full of conviction and love for you that you’re almost proud of yourself, too.

***

Tonight is a late night with Jungkook and Sana. Namjoon had entrusted the next slate of deliverables to you this week, as he was out of the office for the majority of the week. So, you had straightened your back and got to work, outlining exactly what had to be done for the first workshop taking place in Tokyo in exactly one month.

You booked the conference room, your favorite one with the big projector and the nicer chairs, for the later half of the day. When it began to look like you were going to have to stay late, you told Jungkook and Sana to go home.

But they both vehemently refused to leave you, and that itself brought a small smile to your face.

But Namjoon is still neurotic enough to text you at least twice during the week to see how things are going. At first, you had been startled- hardly anyone ever texts you besides Grandma and Seokjin. But then you relaxed when you realized it was just Namjoon texting you for work.

It had thrown you off when he had continued the conversation, speaking to you as if you were more than coworkers, and as if you were friends.

Jin had looked at you like you had three heads when you voiced your confusion-

“What are you talking about? Namjoon talks about you all the time, he always says how funny you are and how you keep everyone in check at work. He even mentioned those recipes you sent to him. Of course you both are friends,” Jin says, his eyes softening when your lips open in surprise.

You’re rendered to contemplation by that. Had you always been that dense? Not realizing when people liked you?

It was something to discuss at your next appointment with your therapist.

“Your boss is stressing me out,” You joke to Jungkook, “Dude’s on vacation and he’s still worried about work.”

Jungkook freezes, his tongue seemingly stuck in his mouth. You’re looking at him with a disarming smile and he’s just not used to it.

“Uh,” He manages, “I’m still trying to figure out what makes him tick. But I think he’s always had to carry the load for projects, maybe it’s a habit to break…”

“Yeah,” You snort, “Because he’s never had me as a lead on one of his projects. Namjoon’s been cursed with shitty teams before. But not this time.”

“What does that mean?” Sana asks curiously, looking up from her laptop.

“It means that sometimes directors and senior directors don’t know what the hell they’re doing and they don’t know how to strategize,” You say dryly, “The Tokyo team won’t know what hit them. And we’re gonna make our bosses look great.”

The last bit comes out bitterly without it meaning to.

You lean back in your chair and take your blazer off. Jungkook gulps despite himself at the sight of your tanned arms and the brief expanse of your neck. He feels like he’s twenty-one again, shyly watching you speak animatedly to him at your favorite coffee shop.

The sound of your voice yanks him back to reality and he blinks at you.

“I think we still have just one more thing to finalize…” You murmur, flipping through your notes, “It’s already late, I can finish the rest at home-”

“Wait, I really want to stay, but I can’t- I have to take my dad to an appointment,” Sana says, about to apologize but you hold your hand up to stop her.

“Go then, seriously. You should’ve told me you couldn’t stay late,” You scold lightly, “Work will always be there, Sana. Time won’t.”

You offer her another smile and she smiles nervously back at you.

“Wait, before you go- let me get your phone number,” You murmur, ignoring the way your heartbeat rushes in anticipation.

Your therapist has been helping you get comfortable in your own skin and allow yourself the apparent luxury of leaning on others. You figure that part of that is accepting and seeking friendship from others. You’ve only had several sessions with her, but you feel something after each session.

“Our boss never asked for my phone number when I started,” Sana says dryly when she gives you a missed call and you text her so she has your number.

“Yeah, sometimes I wonder if he even remembers my name,” You say lightly, keeping your face in a warm smile.

Jungkook has never seen you smile so much. Not recently at least. It’s… different. He hates to revel in the past, in the version of you that he knew. But he wonders if he ever really knew you at all. The only thing familiar about you is your smile and your eyes.

He doesn’t even realize it, but his tongue is poking at the inside of his cheek.

He wonders if you still even have his phone number. He wonders if you’d even ask for it.

“Jungkook, I can finish this at home if you have somewhere to be,” You offer with a shrug and stretch your arms outward.

“Nah, let’s finish this now,” Jungkook says shortly.

He’s nothing if not a perfectionist.

“Yeah, tomorrow’s Friday anyway. D’you wanna do one last review tomorrow morning and then we can go home early?” You pose it like a question, but really, it’s a demand.

“Sounds good.”

“Wanna order dinner? Since we’ll be here for a while,” You suggest, already googling takeout options.

Jungkook shrugs noncommittally, instead working to spell check the document you had been working on previously.

“How do you feel about fried rice? Or… pizza? You used to love pineapple on pizza right?” You ask airily.

Jungkook has whiplash. Again. How can you remember something so insignificant about him and still be such a stranger to him?

“Yeah, pineapple on pizza is a way of life. Pineapple and jalapeno on pizza, specifically,” Jungkook says, not looking up from his laptop.

His tongue is poking his cheek again, but you don’t notice. At least, he doesn’t think he does.

“I’ll get a pie of pineapple and jalapeno then. And maybe some garlic bread,” You muse, putting your credit card information into the website.

“Wait, I can pay, too,” Jungkook protests when he sees you whip out your card.

“You can get it next time,” You shrug carelessly and absent-mindedly scratch at your forearms, then your cheek.

Next time? Jungkook barely gives it a second thought, his eyes catching on the smattering of tattoos and the swirl of colors on your wrist. He doesn’t know how he missed it, but it’s not often that he is ever this close to you.

Those are new, and he subtly looks at his own tattoos before sneaking a glance at yours.

You lean back in your chair, watching what Jungkook is doing on the projector. You pull up several documents on your own laptop to fact check the document. You both develop an easy rhythm of you telling him what to add and him typing away, and you continue like that even as the pizza and garlic bread arrives. You had quickly dipped out and brought the food to the conference room before Jungkook could even protest.

He reads each paragraph after it’s completed, briefly scanning to see if anything more needs to be included.

“Can you check this sentence, on the acquisitions piece? It doesn’t sound accurate…” Jungkook says thoughtfully. The smell of the pizza leaves his mouth watering but he just wants to finish this one last sentence...

You hum in agreement, leaning back further and relaxing your hands behind your head. You feel like your eyes are beginning to cross as an initial wave of hunger passes through you.

“Let’s eat instead,” You announce, standing up abruptly.

You quickly send a text to Grandma, telling her that you’ll already have eaten dinner by the time you get home. You toss a set of plates and napkins to Jungkook, gesturing for him to take as many slices as he wants.

Jungkook watches you inhale three slices of pizza in less than seven minutes, a small spattering of sauce at the corner of your lips.

“Can’t believe I was ever the type of person to openly hate on pineapple on pizza,” You moan, kicking your legs up onto the chair next to you and looking at Jungkook, “Remember how much shit I used to talk on pineapple on pizza? As if it didn’t belong…”

He does remember. He remembers how you would always make fun of him for it, until he had convinced you to try a slice. And then you had fallen in love. But your hot and cold behavior stings and he doesn’t want to entertain it. Or entertain you. You spent so long acting like you didn’t know him, and now you want to talk about old memories?

Nah. He could be petty, too.

Jungkook shrugs, “Not really. It was a while ago.”

His normally warm, brown eyes are distant, and far away as his glance passes over you and to his laptop. Jungkook turns away from you, his hair nearly covering his eyes and typing rapidly.

Like he’d rather be anywhere but next to you.

You don’t really blame him, but you ignore the brief, dissipating sting at his sudden coldness.

“Do you have roommates?” You ask abruptly.

“Huh?” Jungkook asks, taken aback by the question.

“Roommates? There’s a lot of extra food and I live with my grandma. She won’t eat this,” You explain, waving to the boxes of food in front of you.

“Oh. Yeah I’ve got a roommate, I’ll take it home,” Jungkook replies.

Your grandmother?

You nod and swallow to alleviate the sudden dryness of your throat. You both work the remainder of the hour in silence for the most part, occasional questions and thoughts being thrown around as Jungkook types. Nothing more, nothing less.

Jungkook finally stands up, stretching his legs and his back. You avert your eyes when his baby blue dress shirt rides up a little as he stretches his arms. You catch the inky trails on his forearm (his sleeves are pulled up at the elbow) and his fingers and you wonder, not for the first time, how this was the boy you knew all those years ago.

All those years ago. The words, the memories that you’ve somehow forced into a box have slowly been unfurling. The mental block that you’ve had over your time in graduate school is linked to memories of your dad getting sick and passing away. You’re not dense- you know why you avoid Jungkook, at the heart of it. Seeing him that first day reminded you so much of when you were happy.

Your therapist put it in words when you couldn’t. It’s quite embarrassing you think, how much Jungkook has come up during your therapy sessions. The appearance of him also brought on seemingly unwanted memories of your father. It makes sense.

“We’re done,” Jungkook exhales, rubbing a hand over his face, “We’ll look over it tomorrow with Sana and send it to Namjoon.”

“Yeah,” You say a little breathlessly, “Thanks, Jungkook. For… for everything, I guess.”

His eyes are wide, doe-like and familiar.

“Thanks for the food,” He grins, flashing you his bunny smile.

“It’s on you next time,” You say easily, packing your things up and slinging your blazer over your shoulder.

You don’t care. You know that your boss and other men in general have looked at you in offense when you show skin. But you don’t care. What did it matter, at the end of the day?

Even if Jungkook is annoyed at you for whatever reason, you don’t miss the way his eyes rake over your body. At least you’ve got him there, even if he can’t stand the sight of you.

You elicit a laugh from yourself that Jungkook doesn’t hear.

You both walk in silence to your respective cars. Before you part ways, you dig some courage out from your spine and ignore the way your hands tremble-

“Hey,” You call softly, “I-uh- still have your phone number. Don’t flatter yourself-” When you see him grin confidently at you, “I’ll start a group chat with us and Namjoon. And umm… Great work today. I’m glad we’re on the same team.”

You visibly cringe. You’re going soft.

“I knew it, you’re obsessed with me,” Jungkook teases and you can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips.

“It’s only ‘cause I kept forgetting to delete your number,” You shoot back, without any real heat behind your words.

Jungkook smiles warmly at you, teeth on full display and eyes sparkling and god, you never want him to look at you with emptiness in his eyes ever again.

***

You look, simply put, like shit. Despite the concealer you had dabbed to your undereyes, you feel every bit as exhausted as you look.

But nobody picks up on it, except for you. Your lipstick is meticulous as it always is, not even a single hair is out of place and your outfit is crisp. Despite the misery coursing through your veins, you still have an image to upkeep.

Fake it till you make it, as you’ve always said.

You’re currently in a half day team meeting with your submissions team and your respective bosses. Today is not the day to be tired. And yet, you’re on your second cup of coffee and it’s not even 11 AM yet.

It’s been a rough few weeks since the last late night planning session you had with Jungkook and Sana. Therapy has been getting harder and more frustrating to work through- your therapist, Dr. Lee, is asking you questions that you genuinely don’t want to answer.

Your session a few weeks ago had ended with you being a smartass and avoiding every single question. And she took all of it. She was truly an angel, you think. And then you decide to give it a chance, give her at least an inch.

She asks you about graduate school. Why you don’t want to talk about it. Why Jungkook sets you off, why the mention of your former mentee sent you into a frenzy. She asks you about your dad. About your mom.

She puts the pieces together for you, until you sort of see the fully painted picture. That it’s all connected- school, your dad, why the last five years have felt like a blur to you. Because you’ve been avoiding all of it, and what all of it means.

You feel especially vulnerable and exposed. You’re not used to it- you feel like everyone can see right through you. You feel like everyone can see right through you and see you for the person you are.

You don’t know what’s more terrifying- being seen, or not being seen at all.

It’s two weeks until the first workshop in Tokyo, which is why you’re gathered with Namjoon, Sana and Jungkook and your respective bosses.

You at least straighten your back for this meeting, not wanting to allow room for your boss to criticize you. You don’t think you can handle it, not today. You’re struggling with staying focused, but you try your best.

When you present your portion of the slide deck, outlining exactly what you’ll be doing with the team in Tokyo during the first workshop, your boss cuts you off with a derisive chuckle that makes your blood boil.

“You should put some emotion into it and smile a little. It wouldn’t kill ya,” Your boss says with a smug grin. As if he knows how much it gets under your skin. Which he does, you’re certain of it.

You could take it to HR, you know you could. But you don’t want trouble. You don’t want to be painted as the villain. You wanted to rise above it, but right now, you just want to cry.

“I’ll smile with the Tokyo team, don’t you worry,” You grit your teeth. When I actually have something to smile for.

The air is tense all of a sudden, and it’s your fault. Of course it is. Your boss and Namjoon’s boss look at you as if you have ten heads. Nobody says a word, and you want to scream at all of them. And cry at the same time.

“She’s doing great,” Comes Namjoon’s steady voice from the head of the table.

“Yeah, she put this presentation together. She’s got this in the bag,” Jungkook adds, offering you a small smile. His eyes sparkle at you.

“We’re a great team, you know. It’s really great that you put us together,” Sana says, looking at your boss with acid in her eyes. Not that he can tell.

This time, you really do want to cry. You don’t think anyone at this godforsaken company has ever stuck up for you that way, besides Seokjin. You swallow the tears down and give them a watery smile before continuing on.

You continue on.

***

The first workshop in Tokyo is in two days, and Namjoon wanted to have a little teambuilding night before you all left, just to loosen the nerves. You’re about ten minutes early to the bar, as you usually are to places that you’re invited to. You hate to be late- that was something your Grandma had instilled in you from a young age.

You text her saying you’ve arrived and thank your Uber driver for the ride. Normally, you would’ve just driven, but you know better than to go out for drinks with Jin and think that you’d be okay to drive at the end of the night.

You’re glad Jin will be coming. Seeing your colleagues outside of work unnerves you to no end. So you’re glad that Jin will be there as your buffer. Namjoon had asked him to come, as they were friends outside of work, too.

You grab a booth for the five of you and tap your freshly done nails on the sleek, matte black table. It’s a nice place, you observe. Namjoon has good taste. It’s not often that you come out like this. To bars, and so far outside of your comfort zone. The only time you would ever be seen at a bar was with Jin, and it wasn’t that often to begin with.

You take to admiring your newly painted mint green nails as you text your group chat with Namjoon, Sana and Jungkook letting them know that you’ve arrived. And you send a loud ‘where the hell are you’ text to Jin.

It’s a relatively mild evening, so you had decided to wear your heeled boots, a black flowy top that showcases a peek of the tattoo near your clavicle and dipped generously into your chest tucked into black jeans and you had even done your makeup up more so than what you usually do for work. Grandma had jokingly asked you if she should stay at her friend’s house for the night, in case you were bringing someone home.

To which you had protested and rolled your eyes.

“Look at you,” Jin says loudly, sliding into the booth next to you. He startled you and caused you to jump, “Brought out the lipstick, huh?”

“Shut up, I always wear lipstick at work,” You roll your eyes.

“Red lipstick?” Jin asks with a suspicious arch of his eyebrow.

Okay, fine, that wasn’t as normal. But still, it makes you feel pretty.

“Don’t make fun of me,” You grumble, elbowing him. He laughs and wraps an arm around your shoulders, squeezing tightly.

“I’m not. You look pretty tonight,” Jin says and you give him a beaming smile.

“That implies that I’m not always pretty.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Hey!” You gasp and shove his shoulder. You know he’s only joking, evidenced from the way you both burst out laughing.

“I’m only friends with pretty people, I told you,” Jin says cockily.

“You’re such a dick,” You mutter and roll your eyes for the millionth time already.

Before you can pester him about his mysterious woman that you have yet to meet, Jungkook, Namjoon and Sana eventually trickle in as well. Jungkook waves a quick hello, smile beaming at Jin, and sits across from you. Sana sits next to him and Namjoon sits next to Jin.

You can hardly meet Jungkook’s sparkling eyes, but you force yourself to. He looks good, great even- his hair is soft and wavy over his eyes and he’s dressed in all black. You wonder what the majority of his wardrobe is- is it all black? Does he like bright colors? His lips are dewy and red tinted, as if he had just swiped some cherry chapstick on. The silver of the small hoop on his ears glints in the dimness of the bar.

Jungkook forces his eyes away from the darkened red curve of your lips, from the swell of your chest and meets your gaze with a smile. The moment is broken when Jin squeezes into you to get you to move over and you nearly shriek at the sudden weight thrown to your side.

“Jin! What’s wrong with you,” You shake your head.

“There’s so much space over there! Move over,” Jin says petulantly, “Namjoon’s basically falling off the seat!”

“You could’ve just said so,” You grumble, “Dumbass.”

You say the last bit under your breath but Jin hears it, and Jungkook does, too. Sana breaks out into laughter, hiding her giggles behind her hand. You shoot her a faux glare that quickly melts into a smile.

“What shall we order, ladies and gentlemen and Jin?” You say, ignoring Jin’s affronted gasp.

“Soju,” Jungkook and Namjoon say at the same time and grin at each other.

“No wonder he’s your boss,” Sana says, earning a chorus of laughs from the table.

“The only question Namjoon asked me during the interview was ‘what’s your favorite alcohol’,” Jungkook says and his eyes flit to you when you laugh.

“That doesn’t surprise me. Namjoon knows how to have a good time,” You wink behind Jin at Namjoon and he winks right back at you.

“I’ll have… blueberry,” Sana says definitively and sees your skeptical glance, “What? Blueberry soju is one of three flavors with rights.”

“Strawberry, peach, and pineapple are the best ones,” You protest.

“Are you kidding? Apple and green grape are the best-”

“Why are you yelling? I’m right.”

“Peach and green grape are the best,” Jungkook chimes in, ignoring the stutter of his heartbeat when you beam at him.

“See? Jungkook has taste-”

“He said green grape, too-”

“But he said peach first-”

The waitress comes and all of you cease your bickering to give her your orders of drinks and snacks. She looks guilty for a minute for interrupting your conversation, but Jin waves her off.

“Don’t feel bad, they’re all idiots,” Jin says, and you shove him on behalf of your colleagues. He rattles off the order to the waitress and she’s on her merry way.

Once your drinks arrive in the middle of another heated conversation about seafood, Jungkook takes a long swig of his soju to calm his nerves. Specifically, his nerves around you. He’s quiet generally, but he’s not this quiet. He wonders if you remember. If you remember that he dislikes clubs and crowded places, preferring the quiet of a bar or even better- the quiet of home.

You absently rub the back of your neck, your shirt slipping a little off of your shoulder slightly. And revealing another tattoo, as if it was a present just for his eyes. How many do you have? Are they hidden? Do you keep them hidden on purpose?

He could keep it together around you at work, under the pretense of professionalism. Never offering more than what you offer. If you smile, he’ll smile. If you bark at him, he’ll stay silent. But this is uncharted territory. He can forget about how cold you had been in the beginning, he can forget about how much it hurt. But only if you look at him the way you’re looking at him right now. Only if you look at him with those starry eyes that wrap around him and choke him from inside.

Jungkook doesn’t understand- he doesn’t know you, not really. How is he still this attracted to you? He had chalked it up to the same crush he had when he was twenty-one. But it feels different. And you have no idea. It’ll continue to stay that way, until he can move past it. He deserves better than someone who was as cold and callous as you.

But you weren’t cold or callous, were you? No- the sunburst of a smile on your face says otherwise. The way you rib Jin and try to make sure that everyone feels included in the conversation says otherwise.

Before he can continue his train of thought, you turn your gaze sharply to him. Your red lips break apart to call his name, and he realizes you’re talking to him.

“Jungkook? Here’s your drink,” You say, passing his peach soju to him, “I got peach, too.”

“Because we have taste,” Jungkook murmurs and you grin.

“Cheers to Tokyo,” Namjoon says, “We’re gonna be great. I’m glad we’re a team-”

“Hey, I’m not on your team,” Jin protests and you elbow him again.

“Shut up, Jin, just let Namjoon toast to us. Not everything’s about you,” You hiss at Jin and he pouts. You tip your bottle to the center to meet Namjoon’s bottle and Jin dramatically follows suit.

“As I was saying,” Namjoon glares at Jin playfully, “We’ve done great work, and I know this team can do anything. I’m glad it’s us. We’re going to knock it out of the park.”

“Cheers, Joon, you’ve been a great team leader,” Sana says with a bright smile.

“Yeah, a little neurotic, but the best leader I’ve ever had,” You wink at him.

“Glad you’re my boss, Namjoon,” Jungkook says, sincerity dripping off of his tongue, “I’m honored to call you my boss.”

Namjoon beams at you all, dimples on full display and eyes shining. You clink bottles eagerly and take a long swig of your drink, meeting Jungkook’s swirling eyes briefly. Once he pulls his bottle away from his mouth, you’re instantly drawn to the wet sheen of his lips and his tongue darting out to swipe over his bottom lip.

Your cheeks heat up, and has it always been this warm or is it just you? You can’t help yourself, watching Jungkook’s tongue poke out once more and circling his lips again. You itch your chin nervously, out of habit before ripping your eyes away from him.

You pull away immediately when you remember where you are. And who you are. He’s your colleague, nothing more, nothing less.

Nothing more, nothing less.

***

It’s two and a half bottles of soju later, two peach and one green grape that you’re currently nursing, when your cheeks feel hot and you’re certain your words are starting to slur. You can hear the tipsy higher pitch of your voice when you speak.

You haven’t felt tipsy like this in a long time, and the fact that it's in front of your colleagues sets you on edge. You try to stay as quiet as you can so you don’t make a fool of yourself, but you want to engage with them. They don’t feel like just colleagues. They feel like your friends.

Or they feel like they could be your friends. If you allow them in. Your heart grows fond of the sentiment. The sentiment grows when Sana brings you to the dance floor to dance and sing along to songs with her. The bar has gotten considerably more packed since you had first arrived, and you don’t recall the last time you were surrounded by this many people your age. The lights are dimmed but bright enough that you can see Sana’s bright, happy eyes.

You subconsciously look for Jin, spotting him at the bar with Jungkook and Namjoon. He waves the both of you over and you gesture to Sana.

Jin already has shots lined up for you and Sana but you hesitate.

“I don’t know Jin,” You protest, “I don’t do well with shots…”

Before Jin can tease you and tell you that he’ll take yours for you, you hear Jungkook’s voice on your right side.

“I’ll take yours for you,” Jungkook shrugs, “Since Jin already got them.”

“Oh- uh- thanks,” You say sheepishly.

Your face feels warm again and your heart does a funny thing that you don’t recognize. You shift closer to him to hand him your shot glass, and you lean closer to him without realizing it. The warmth he radiates is intoxicating, more so than the liquor in the shot glass you think.

Jungkook only spares you a quick glance before throwing the shot glass back easily, as if it was practiced. A glint of a silver necklace around his throat catches your eye, the column of his throat nearly glowing with the dimmed lighting.

“Tequila, Jin? Really?” Jungkook winces, washing the taste down with the drink in his hand.

Jin only shrugs and makes his way over to you and Jungkook, wrapping his arms around both sets of shoulders.

The three of you haven’t been together, not like this, since-

“Feels like old times, huh?” Jin says, lips pursing into a tipsy grin, “We were stupid kids.”

“Now we’re stupid adults,” You laugh, but your laugh fades away quickly at the pensive, somewhat cold look on Jungkook’s face.

“Old times…” Jungkook muses, “It was so long ago. We’re all so different now, huh?”

Even if he’s looking at Jin, you get the feeling he’s talking directly to you.

“A lot of time has gone by, a lot has happened since then,” You reply airily, raring up on the defensive just in case.

Jungkook says nothing, only shifting his gaze to you. The iciness around his brown irises breaks apart slowly, but his jaw is set and his lips pursed in a line.

“Oh, really? A lot happened since then?” Jungkook says, voice leveled. It’s unfamiliar, the uncharacteristic coldness in his voice. You’re only used to his bunny smiles and warmth. Again, that was from years ago. And like he had said- you were all different now.

You say nothing, holding your secrets back with your red lips. You owe him nothing. He’s only a colleague, right?

Then why does it hurt the way it does?

Jin releases his hold on the both of you, picking up on the sudden tension between you both. There are a thousand things Jungkook wants to say to you, a thousand questions- How have you been? What have you been up to, all these years? Why are you living with your grandma?

Instead, steel curls in his eyes and ice in his throat.

Jungkook shakes his head, closing his eyes for a second. He knows if he opens his mouth, he’ll end up hurting you. And he can’t do that. But apparently, he can’t just ask you how you’re doing, either.

You don’t really blame him for his sharp tongue.

Jin looks between the two of you with concerned, raised eyebrows, clearly feeling the unspoken tension. You want to melt into the floor so you diffuse the situation the only way you know how.

“I gotta pee, I’ll be back,” You mutter quickly and don’t bother to meet their eyes before making a hasty exit.

Jin already has texted you, asking if everything’s okay. You text him a quick yes before touching up on your lipstick and giving yourself room to breathe. You stay in the bathroom for a few minutes before heading back out and pretending like the look in Jungkook’s eyes isn’t piercing every part of the wall you’ve built up.

You avoid speaking to him directly for the rest of the night, and he avoids you. You can’t help casting glances at him when you think he isn’t looking. You feel like apologizing, but you don’t know why. So you don’t, and you bury it.

But at the end of the night, he tells you to get home safe. And that he’ll see you at the airport on Friday. You reciprocate his sentiments, carefully looking into his irises to make sure that the coldness in his eyes isn’t directed toward you.

Jin pulls you away from the group for a minute-

“Stay the night with me. I don’t like the idea of you being alone with a stranger for thirty minutes in an Uber,” Jin suggests, “And Grandma will kill me if she finds out I let you go home alone.”

“Yeah,” You say faintly, “I’ll text her.”

You and Jin say your goodbyes. Normally, you’d be worried about how the optics of you leaving to go home with Jin looks to your colleagues, but tonight you don’t really feel like caring. You know Namjoon knows of the nature of your friendship with Jin. The rest doesn’t matter.

Jungkook watches you leave with Jin. Namjoon and Sana have already called an Uber together, since they lived in the same apartment complex. Neither of them see Jin drape his jacket over your shoulders. Neither of them see you wrap an arm around Jin’s upper arm and lean your head against it as you walk further and further away.

Neither of them hear his heart ache in this crowded street of Seoul, when his brain was telling him that it had no reason to.

#jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you

126 notes · View notes

yyxgin · 4 years

Text

clouds

“someday, you’re gonna see the things that I see, you’re gonna want the air that I breathe”

-> pairing: lee minho x fem!reader

-> genre: bittersweet fluff with an angsty ending

-> summary: Lee Minho always sees you watching the sky. As the seasons change, you grow closer, until summer strikes again.

-> words: 1.6 k

-> warnings: none other than that i literally just used a one directon lyric under the title

- summer

Lee Minho first meets you as you’re looking up at the blue sky.

You are squinting a little, much to the fact that the sun is up and the sky is clear. Your hair is slowly blowing in the light summer breeze, a soft smile playing with your features as you clutch your hands into fists right by your side. His heart starts beating quicker as he stares at you longer and longer, noticing the details of the slightest blush on your cheeks, maybe caused by a sunburn, the light shine of your features, the stars in your eyes, even the way you deeply breathe in the air as if you were enjoying it more than anything else in the world.

You are wearing a summer dress, red dots splattered all over it, making you look young and care-free. He notices the way he is mesmerized by your presence, the way he just can’t help but stare at you as he’s sitting under the tree in the shade alone, looking you up and down, his chest heaving with an emotion he is yet to understand.

A young boy on a bike strikes around, ringing his bell in joy, making you look his way, softly giggling at the little one’s happiness. Even the smallest thing could make you happy, Minho saw that right away.

But as your eyes move to look at the sky again, they stop at the boy gazing at you from under the tree, a warm smile spreading onto your cheeks.

Minho feels his face burning, a state of new-found flustration taking over him, quickly looking away from you as he is caught in the act, feeling embarrassed. It doesn’t take him long to look at you again, though, your presence is just that captivating to the poor boy, too inviting for him to stay away.

“What is your name?” you ask bluntly, taking a step closer to the shade, but never shielding yourself from the light.

“Lee Minho.” he bashfully replies. He can feel himself growing more and more shy, a feeling he had never experienced with anyone before, biting down on his bottom lip as his eyes move to your feet, your eye-contact being too much for him to handle at the moment.

“Well, Lee Minho… Can you keep a secret?”

- autumn

Lee Minho first kisses you as you’re looking at the blue sky.

The seasons changed and he has too - the warm summer into chillier autumn, his closed exterior into more open, warm. You have changed him. You moved something inside of him and suddenly, it felt like everything found its place in his life.

You are laying in his lap, refusing to sit in the shade, like Minho always used to when he was alone. Your eyes still shine as if you stole the stars from the sky to put them inside, your blush still sitting at your cheeks when you feel your friend watching you, admiring you. You always knew about the stolen glances he sent your way, that was the reason you talked to him in the first place, after all, but they still made you shy when you knew you were being watched.

He smiles at your expression. You were the source of his happiness, a new-found light. You were everything to him.

“Why do you never look at the sky with me?” you ask, meeting eyes with him. His eyes are soft, warm, making you feel like gold, but you always wished he could look at the beauty that was up in the air, right in front of his eyes.

“Because you are prettier.” he mumbles and you can almost see the blush creeping onto his cheeks upon saying such a cheesy comment. Romance was never Minho’s strong side, but after meeting you, he has never wanted to say such pretty words to anyone else.

You don’t respond to him. You never do. Perhaps you like to keep him hanging.

You shy away from his gaze, looking at the sky instead, when his head pops into your line of vision, keeping you away from staring at the clear sky. His fringe is falling into his happy eyes and a shy smile is sitting on top of his lips, a perfect curve you want to appreciate ever so lovingly. How could the both of you fall so hard so quickly?

“Kiss me, if you want.” you say, bluntly as always, making him grin. This was you. The girl he fell in love with.

He dares to do what you ask from him, bending down further to softly place his lips onto yours. The new-found sensation fills him like a drug, not ever wanting to stop. He kisses you softly and cautiously, making sure every move is perfect, because he is sure this is a moment he will cherish forever. Your gentle hand ends up on his cheek, holding him like he is your biggest treasure, letting him taste you, letting him in like you have never let anyone else before. It felt good, having Minho.

And to Minho, it felt good to finally love someone. What a shame there’s a dark secret sitting at the edge of his mind ever since summer.

- winter

Lee Minho watches you stare at the starry sky.

It’s cold out now, but you are laying in the safety of his warm bed, tangled up in his covers that smell like him and make you feel at home. You quickly found a safe place in Minho.

For once, he is happy that his room has a skylight.

You watch the pretty constellations, the shining stars matching the lights in your eyes and Minho is not sure which shines brighter. Your face is illuminated by the light of the starry night, and although he believes the sky is beautiful, he still very much believes that nothing can compare to the sight he has next to him.

“I miss watching the sky outdoors. You never let me anymore,” you pout, looking at him for a second before taking your eyes back to the galaxies.

“It’s better this way,” he smiles softly, taking your hand into his and gently playing with your fingers, much like he’s done many times before.

“I liked it better outside.” you mumble.

“It’s too cold outside, babygirl.” he mumbles, voice soft and considerate, his hand leaving yours to cuddle up to you, bringing it around your waist, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck. He feels the warmth of your body making him feel reassured, holding you like his life depends on it. There is no way he is losing you. Never in a million years. This is the first and the last time he got you to look at the sky in the shade. He almost feels proud of himself.

“Stop acting like I’ll die every moment, Min,” you laugh softly, bringing your hand into his hair, softly playing with it, making him whine under your touch.

You are right. He should stop acting like that.

But what about the secret?

- spring

Lee Minho sees you for the last time as you’re looking up at the blue sky again.

But he doesn’t know that. Because you can never know when is the last time you spend time with someone.

It’s spring again. He let you go outside, because it’s warmer. It makes you happy, watching the sky. And it makes him happy watching you.

The spring breeze plays with your hair just like the first time and you even brought out your favorite dotted dress, even though he repeated multiple times to you that it’s too cold to do that still. Too bad your pout is your main method of getting exactly what you want.

He throws his hoodie over your body, hearing your soft giggles as you drown in the fabric. It makes you feel warm and safe, breathing in his scent, feeling happier than ever now that you’re finally outside.

“I told you I’m not cold.” you mumble, glaring at him playfully before hugging him.

“I saw you shuddering, babygirl. You can’t lie to me,” he smiles, bringing you closer to his body as you lay in his lap again, in the direct sunlight, watching the clear sky.

He watches you face, the content smile on your lips, very much recognizing the way he just feels so happy. And that’s why he resonates to saying the words he’s dreamt of saying for at least three seasons now.

Lee Minho tells you he loves you for the first time when you’re looking at the blue sky.

“I love you,” he mumbles, feeling his heart racing and cheeks dusting pink, much like they did when he watched you from under that big tree for the first time.

You look at him, looking like a shining light, blinding and euphoric, responding in the most sincere way you can. “I love you too, Minho.”

Neither of you thought about the secret at that time.

- summer

Lee Minho looks up at the sky for the first time when you’re no longer by his side.

He feels the tears threatening to fall from his eyes, aggressively blinking them away as he remembers the words you’ve always said to him about crying once you’re gone. He watches the blue sky, gazing into the distance, feeling the heat reddening his cheeks that are in the direct sunlight.

He can’t keep the sniffles in anymore. His heart hurts too much.

He sits to the ground, taking a weak look at the tree he sat under exactly one year ago. The park is empty now, much like his heart. It’s weird, actually. It was never this empty on a beautiful summer afternoon.

His eyes grow hazy as he forgets to blink for a moment, the blue of the sky blurring all in, hating the empty spot beside him, now that there is no one he can hold in his lap.

He curses at the wind, clenching his jaw as he stares onto the sky once again.

He doesn’t understand it.

And maybe he never will.

He never asked you why you always stared at the sky. All he ever knew was your secret.

105 notes · View notes

phairfantooooom · 4 years

Text

Angsty Headcanons That Nobody Asked For

In which you fail. And you die to Belphie. Permanently.

Mammon

He was in denial and refused to believe what his heart was telling him

He was the first to discover you, he is the fastest of the brothers after all

He had raced up the stairs and didn’t even notice Belphie was even there when he barged into the room

When he saw your crumbled body laying on the floor in the attic something in him snapped.

He didn’t even realize he was crying as he clutched you to him. Quietly muttering to himself he begged, he pleaded, for you to wake up. You could yell and scream and insult him for ever agreeing to let you go do this alone but just please wake up.

“You weren’t suppose’d to leave me! You promised…. please…. please just open your eyes…”

When Mammon sees Belphie finally, he connects the dots quickly, as he remembered how Belphie felt toward humans.

“You. You did this didn’t you? You killed them.”

Anger and rage would fill him. And he would welcome it, he’d rather see red than see you not breathing

It’s only when Lucifer comes and stops him that the blinding anger begins to fade. And he hates it.

Mammon would refuse to accept your death and would try to figure out a way to get you back. It’s only when Lucifer sits him down much later on and has a serious talk with him that he finally gives up. It’s not a pretty scene. Lucifer’s heart breaks a bit when he sees just how much Mammon is suffering because of this.

It takes several sessions of talking before Mammon begins to even vaguely resemble his former self

He hoards the stuff from your room and keeps a picture of you in his wallet so that he can at least have a part of you with him always.

In the end he doesn’t truly recover from your death but will pretend he is okay to keep his brothers from worrying

Leviathan

Was eerily quiet when he saw you laying all too still on the floor

A part of him had clung to the small hope that you could be saved if he got to you fast enough

Memories of all the times he saw you smile and enjoy spending time with him flooded his head and his chest shuddered as a silent wave of despair flooded him

He’d never get to play or spend time with you anymore. He’d never get to watch those romance animes with you. He’d… he’d never…he’d never get to confess

“.....Dammit…. Dammit…”

When he learns that Belphie killed you his feelings toward him become icy.

“You… you killed the human… I hate you. I. Hate. You. You took away the bright stars in my dark night sky. You killed the person I loved!”

He would mourn alone for the most part. Anything you ever gave him will become a treasure that nobody, not even his brothers, would be allowed to touch

Becomes even more of a recluse and eventually stops having pets as they only remind him of when you and him raised one of the fish in his aquarium.

He struggles to get excited about things he would normally enjoy. Ruri-Chan has started to collect dust. His Mononoke Land account hasn’t been touched in months. He no longer goes out for idol concerts.

Time feels so slow and yet so fast. Days turn into weeks and weeks into months. Everyone else begins to recover and he just can’t. He can’t let go of you. You who showed him that little things in life can make him happy, and gave him confidence to pursue coding.

You left a hole in his heart that can’t be filled.

He doesn’t play games alot anymore, but has instead spent his time slowly starting to build an AI via his knowledge of coding. Anyone who sees it knows it’s supposed to be you, but nobody is brave enough to call him out on it.

Will sometimes cry himself to sleep while clinging onto your old uniforms and clothes, wishing desperately that you would come back to his side. To wake him up from this horrible nightmare.

Beel

Guilt.

So much guilt.

When he finds out what happened he actually struggled to get mad at Lucifer for containing Belphie.

After seeing you pale and lifeless, it was the first time he had ever felt his hunger vanish. In a way it was worse, as what replaced the hungry was a heart wrenching feeling like no other. He had no injuries but yet it felt as if someone had shoved a hot poker into his heart.

When Belphie gives him the whole “All Humans suck speech” and tries to laugh it off, Beel loses it.

“She wasn’t like them!”

Even as you grew cold in his arms he had gently stroked the top of your head and whispered a sorrow filled farwell into your ear.

Over the course of the coming weeks he would move into your room. Partially because he wanted to be closer to you and partially because he couldn’t stand to be near Belphie.

He does his best to keep your room clean and tidy, while not moving your things out of place. It looks as if you had never left, almost to the point that sometimes he can easily imagine you opening the door and resuming your life here in the Devildom.

His appetite never truly came back, his love of food diminishing as he would remember all the times you and him would cook together. Or when you would treat each other to Hell’s Kitchen.

He visits where you were buried once every two weeks, so he can replace the Lilys he leaves on your grave

Satan

Ahhh.

Very angry. And gets extremely close to killing Belphie. It’s only through Lucifer’s and Beel’s joined effort that they are able to calm him down to a civil level.

“You bastard of a brother! What the hell have you done?!”

His temper flares constantly at the very mention of Belphie.

He researches night and day to find a way to get you back. No matter the cost, no matter what he needed to do.

It’s only when Lucifer quietly asks him “Do you really think the human would want you to sacrifice everything just to bring them back?” that his resolve begins to crack.

Of course he knew you wouldn’t want to see him like this. But you had no idea how much it hurt to not have you there.

Every moment you're not there by his side is another moment he has failed you.

Eventually he breaks down due to fatigue and he just cries. He’s frustrated because nothing was working. He’s frustrated that everything is a dead end. He is frustrated that you aren’t by his side.

He just…. he wants to see your smile. He wants to see that soft look you get when you hold kittens. He wants to be able to hold you again….

Eventually He gets a small therapy kitten and he names it after you when he notices that it shares the same color of your eyes.

He vents out his pain in writing, and he writes in as much detail as he can of what he remembers of all the times he spent with you

He wants to make sure, above all else, that your memory thrives even if you aren’t by his side

Asmodus

Gets very pissy with Belphie

Reasonably so

Doesn’t realize what he is feeling is heartbreak, as he has never lost someone like this before

He misses you dearly, and oftentimes will use perfumes or cologne that reminds him of you

Unintentionally finds himself often reminiscing about you for weeks

One day he sees someone that vaguely looks like you and his heart nearly leaps out of his chest.

Immediately starts putting the moves on them but quickly realizes the differences between you and them.

The difference in pitch in their voice, the way they walk, the way that their eyes are a different color, the way they laugh. The more he observes the more he asks himself why he ever thought it was you.

He finds himself distraught. This had never happened before when any of his partners left him…. Something had to be done about this.

Attempts to banish you from his mind and goes clubbing.

His plan fails miserably.

Under the dim lights and thudding of the music he almost feels haunted by you, it was almost too easy for him to imagine you sitting and waving at him from the bar with that soft smile on your face.

He gets drunk. Veryyyyy drunk.

When he gets home he ends up just going to Belphie and venting his frustrations.

“This is your fault! Do you have ANY idea how much your actions have hurt ME?!”

Before things could escalate, Lucifer comes and defuses it

After this Amso doesn’t go out socializing anymore. He feels awful everytime he does since you're not with him. And he swears that sometimes he sees you out under the glimmering lights and it reminds him of what he has lost.

He hoards all of the pictures of you he has, and when he has a bad day he goes through them one at a time.

“Even if you are no longer by my side, I will treasure you always.”

Belphie

Mr. Killer himself.

Could not give less than two shits about who you were and what you hoped to achieve

He would have kicked your corpse an extra time if he had known that you’d made Beel care about you.

When the brothers found him he had at least thought Beel, HIS TWIN, would side with him. But nooooo. Because of your meddling you had made him seem like a monster.

“Stupid human, you had no right to stick your nose where it didn’t belong.”

Didn’t understand why the other brothers held you in such high regard, and didn’t care to learn why

Until one day when he was in the House of Lamentation by himself

Everyone had been invited to a Gala at the Castle. Each of the brothers had been personally invited by Diavolo. Save for him, who was under house arrest for his actions.

Boredom struck and he found himself wandering around the house looking for something to do when he strolled past your room.

When the brothers were home they never allowed him to go in. They feared that he would destroy your belongings, and they would lose the last remaining things that were proof of your existence here in the Devildom.

Smirking to himself he made his way inside without a care in the world. Sure the other brothers may have cared for you, but he sure as hell didn’t.

He snooped around your room for a bit before sitting down at your desk.

“How boring…. don’t you have any secrets in here…?”

As if granting his wish he saw a leather bound notebook sitting behind a bunch of Devildom Law textbooks.

Quickly reading through the contents of the smaller book he realized that it was a Journal.

Completely filled with your private thoughts.

Believing he had struck gold he took the Journal back with him to his room and lazily sprawled out on his bed. All he had to do was just dig up whatever disgusting trash you were hiding and then he would be once more in everyone’s good graces. After all it’s not as if some stupid humans privacy matters to him.

And so he read.

And read.

He firmly believed that you had to have been hiding something, some dreadful secret. But the more he read, the more he began to have this strange feeling in his gut.

Your entries were normal, er well normal of a student going to a school full of demons, and occasionally you had placed photographs of some of the events you talked about.

One of them was a TSL competition with Levi. Another was a selfie of you and Beel at Hell’s Kitchen. There was a keychain stuck between two pages from a trip with Mammon, Satan, and Lucifer to London. There was even a candid shot of a pillow fight with Diavolo and Asmo.

Forgetting that this was your life written in ink, he read more and more about the lives his brothers had led in his absence.

It wasn’t until he laughed at something you wrote that he realized how comfortable he had gotten with the idea of you.

He nearly trashed the Journal after he realized that.

But…. something stopped him.

A while later he’d resume reading. Curious about your adventures… and…

He wanted to know what you thought about him.

Before long he found the entry where you had written about him and he felt his breath hitch.

Why did your opinion of him matter so much?

His fingers touched the inked lines and his jaw clenched as he read the last entry.

You had trusted him.

You who had held no prejudice against demons had trusted him wholeheartedly.

And what had he done?

He had killed you, without a second thought.

He had even enjoyed it.

The dam he didn’t know he had been hiding behind broke, and all the regret he had been burying since he had started reading your Journal had suddenly rushed to the surface.

He hadn’t noticed he had been crying until he saw the wet blots hit the paper and smudge your words.

“I…. what have I done…. I’m so sorry….”

Lucifer

The calmest of the brothers

Outwardly, at least

Internally he wanted to rip out Belphies throat because how dare he

Doesn’t express how much it hurts to have lost you, he needs to be strong. Both for himself and for his brothers.

The tragedy of being the eldest is that he was the role model. His actions would reflect on himself and his brothers. So his reactions are more forced rather than natural.

Diavolo often tries to coax Lucifer into opening up about it but fails everytime.

“If you really cared, you would bring her back, Lord Diavolo.”

Tension between Diavolo and Lucifer gets… bad. The anger and growing resentment toward the heir of the throne only got worse with time, and eventually Lucifer stepped down from his position with Satan taking his place.

He often goes to your old room and locks himself inside, thinking to himself. The brothers are actually a bit nervous every time this happens because they expect that this time Lucifer will finally snap and they will have to deal with an enraged Avatar of Pride. But it never does so it relieves them and makes them stressed at the same time.

But eventually...

It happens

Diavolo comes by to collect the remains of your belongings, with the intent of sending them back to the human world, to your family and friends

Lucifer sees him collecting your stuff and he fucking snaps

“If you value your life you will cease this at once.”

Before Diavolo can summon Barbatos to his side, Lucifer had managed to grab the prince by the throat. His form had changed to that of his demon self, and his eyes were mad from grief and anger.

There is a brief moment of struggle on Diavolo’s behalf followed by Lucifer leaning uncomfortably close with an aura of unbridled fury.

“You will bring her back, I know you are able to. And you will. Why? Because if you don’t I will rampage through this kingdom of yours until there is nothing but ashes left in my wake.”

#Obey Me #Obey Me Headcanon #Obey Me Lucifer #Obey Me Mammon #Obey Me Leviathan #Obey Me Beel #Obey Me Asmodus #Obey Me Satan #Obey Me Belphie #no beta we die like men

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fandomgirl800 · 3 years

Text

Night Crystal

(Dhawan!Master x Reader)

Warnings: Grammatical Errors, Nightmares, Injury

Summary: Reader happens to be a human which Master took with him on board of the TARDIS. She travels with him through space and time. Just these few days were tough, especially with those nightmares she started having.

Words: 1973

(A/n): Here I am, back on posting my writings. Actually a first time posting a fanfic for Dhawan!Master x Reader.

You wandered through the TARDIS in thoughts. You should sleep or at least rest, but you couldn't sleep. Not with these constant worries about yourself or the Master. Surprisingly he looked concerned when he saw you the last time. You never thought that he would be able to show some emotions towards humans, other than despise, annoyance or anger.

"Can you lead me to kitchen?" you stroked the wall of TARDIS and closed eyes for a moment. Slight humming came through the walls and red pointers appeared on the ground. You needed coffee, to stay awake, forget what you have dreamed about an hour ago. The nightmares began when you first visited Newath planet, where Master stole a crystal just because he was bored. Who were you even traveling with? You had no idea, but he didn't seem like a good person, he didn't seem like a person at all. Before two months, he just appeared in front of your house and pulled you into TARDIS. Master left the doors open, giving you some time to decide whether you want to run away from him or travel with him. It was a time and space traveling machine and you were curious, so you decided to stay. At first, he didn't speak to you, but you followed him everywhere he went. As the time passed by, you learned some things about him, but you still didn't know why he took you of all humans. And why you, when he despised humans so much? When you asked him, he always left without questions.

Following the red pointers on the floor got you nowhere, just back to the empty console room. It was lightened up with a red light of the TARDIS, which just made you close your eyes slightly again. Surrounding was messy as always, Master apparently wasn't a person who would clean every day but neither were you. TARDIS was surrounded with libraries and artefacts with trophies which Master gathered on adventures across the universe. The crystal was put on a red cushion in the middle of it all. It had to be pretty valuable.

With loud sight you walked to the TARDIS, "What do you think? Why did he choose me of them all?" you frowned and leaned on the console.

"You should sleep," you heard his voice from across the room. You smiled to yourself and turned to him, hugging your torso anxiously.

"No, no, don't do that! Don't look at me that way," he said.

"What way?" you mumbled, cringing on how your voice skipped.

"Like you were about to cry," Master said and walked closer to you sighing, "You humans are so fragile... Tell me what upset you?"

"I... Just can't sleep, there is nothing you could do."

"You are pushing your limits human, when you did sleep the last time," he stepped closer to you, carefully observing you.

"I don't know," you looked on ground carelessly.

"No, there is something else, you don't behave like this normally," he paused, before asking, "Or do you?"

"Why did you take me?"you asked, hoping that he will leave. You wanted to be alone. Eventually you would sleep, just not now. Not when the nightmares still remained in your head.

"I have an enemy... well, friend... doesn't matter," he started. You lifted eyebrows, finally he was about to tell you the reason why he took you.

"She travels with humans too, I thought that maybe... Just once," his breath shaked, "I could have a companion." You smiled at him, he never got so emotional.

"It's really interesting you survived for so long," he added, screwing up the nice moment. You nodded for yourself, this was Master after all.

"Now tell me, human, why don't you sleep?" he caught your hands, making small circles with his thumbs against them.

"Can you... can you look?" you stuttered. You saw him doing this few times. Hypnotizing people, reading thoughts in rare cases, he was good at it, "It's hard to explain."

"You trust me?" Master frowned, stepping back away from you, letting your hands go. It left him shocked. Would you trust him? You traveled with him two months already, from time to time he yelled at you, but he never hurted you. Sure, there were also times when you yelled at him. He never let anything hurt you.

You stopped him, catching his hands. He stopped moving and looked into your eyes, his confidence suddenly fading away. You gave him a slight nod and he gasped.

"Why does it feel like I knew you my whole life?"

"This kinda happens when you travel with someone longer than five minutes without threatening them," you gave him a small smile, but his face went dark. He remembered everything that he did to his previous companions or people that put their trust in him.

"You know nothing about me, you shouldn't trust me," he pulled his hands away from you.

"I'm having nightmares, that's just it, that's why I can't sleep," you mumbled and sat on the near chair, "So can you look or not?"

"What kind of nightmares?"

Master was standing next to the console, observing something. You shifted on the chair uncomfortably. You missed Earth, but TARDIS never landed there, it was like Master was avoiding your home planet on purpose.

"Look and see," you said. You knew that he was curious by nature, curious and dangerous, and you were letting him in your head willingly. You could see that it was slowly getting on his nerves. He stepped closer to you and put his hands on your head. You feel a slight buzz in your mind as he was searching for the nightmare. You were glad that he was following the traces you left him right to the memory of the nightmare. The moment he found it, he flinched back. You opened your eyes slightly and saw him running to the TARDIS swearing slightly. He seemed to be in a rush, quickly typing some coordinates on the monitor screen.

"What are yo-" you started when you realized that TARDIS landed somewhere. Master walked quickly to you and without a word, he put his hands on your temples again. World went blurry and you fell asleep. No nightmares this time, just quiet and dark.

You woke up laying in your bed in the TARDIS. Was it just another nightmare? What exactly happened? Your head was aching, but you decided to get up and walk to the console room. You nearly fell on ground, if it wasn't the handle that suddenly popped up from the TARDIS wall, you would faint.

"Thanks," you whispered, leaning against the wall of the TARDIS. Sometimes you had a feeling that TARDIS was the only one who cared about your well-being.

You sat there a few minutes and when the world around you stopped turning, you decided to stand again, this time without a fall. Stumbling to the console room, you were thinking about what happened in that nightmare that you had. You and the Master actually talked there, maybe it would be good to talk to him in real life too. Maybe your mind was giving you some signs. You couldn't travel with someone you didn't even talk with. It was like traveling alone when he avoided and ignored you. Maybe it was time to leave... But would he let you?

Walking into the console room, you noticed that Master was leaning in between the open doors of the TARDIS, looking out. You saw the red burning stars behind him, but he looked kinda confused, lost in the chaos that was happening outside. His hairs were slightly disheveled and his purple coat torn on shoulder.

"Are you alright?" you asked, slowly walking to him. Only then you noticed, he was holding his chest, blood was soaking from him.

"Human..." he turned to you. You quickly walked to him, because he started to lose the ballance. You caught him, so he wouldn't fall out from the TARDIS. '

"Master what happened," you asked him shocked, pressing on the wound to stop the bleeding.

"I saved your life," he frowned and his eyes closed.

"No, no don't die, you can't! I can't be stuck here! I can't pilot the TARDIS! Wait... How?"

"It didn't trigger the regeneration, I'll explain later," he closed his eyes, falling unconscious.

"Med bay! Quickly!" you yelled at the TARDIS. At the closest wall, doors appeared. You pulled Master inside the room and put him on the bed. Luckily you were a nurse before you started traveling, so you knew exactly what to do.

After you patched him up, he was safe, at least for now. He needed rest. You backed away from him, thinking if you should stay, or go to the console room. Maybe you would find a way to land. You would find a way to get home. But were you ready to leave space and time? Would you leave him in here all alone? That alien was menace, he didn't know when to stop, you were always at least trying to stop him when it was possible.

You shaked with your head to clear your thoughts and went to the console room. It was like TARDIS knew about your thoughts... Telepathic field... Of course. She just sadly hummed, but didn't try to stop you.

Passing the things that Master gathered or stole on adventures, you noticed one was missing. The crystal, it was gone. You know how much he wanted it, why he would throw it away? Or was that crystal dream too?

Master took you on that planet, full of hidden treasures. There was an alien protecting the jewel. But it wasn't protected enough, not when Master stormed there with his TCE.

You got the crystal, but since that happened you were having those nightmares...

Suddenly a hand was placed on your shoulder.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know... We have all time and space, but we are still rushing somewhere, we don't even know where," you turned to him. He was barely standing, but looked better, "You should rest."

"You should rest," he said and turned to console, "I'm taking you home."

Your eyes lightened up, was he?

When TARDIS landed, you didn't believe your eyes. Earth, home...

After all that time, nothing changed. But it was nice to see your house. But it didn't look like a home anymore.

You walked out, but turned back to Master, "Are you going to come back, right? You know... You can just... Visit my house or something."

"I'll be here tomorrow, sleep well," he mumbled quickly and wanted to turn back to console, but you stopped him.

"No..."

"What?"

"You are lying, you are not going to come back, am I right?" you frowned, "What happened?"

"You..."

"No, that crystal... What was it? Why is it gone?" you pointed on the stand, "There was a crystal."

"It's gone, same as the planet," he said quietly. He still had that 'I don' t care' face, but you saw the tears in his eyes. Maybe it was just from the injury.

"Master... Why?"

"They were about to hurt you, they were sending you those nightmares. They did it to the wrong person," Master said, now angry. They were gone, the planet, the crystal, just because they tried to hurt you.

Did it mean that he cared about you?

"I want to stay," you said, guiding him to the nearest chair. He shouldn't stand for too long, "Thanks for saving me," you mumbled too quiet and too fast.

Master looked up to you as you walked around the console.

"Can I stay?"

Master nodded and closed his eyes. He was tired, but he wasn't alone and he was about to protect you as long as he could.

#doctor who #Dhawan!master #Dhawan!master x reader #The Master x reader #the master #Doctor who fanfictions #Dhawan!master/Reader #The Master/reader #Dhawan master #Dhawan Master x Reader #Dhawan master/reader

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carewyncromwell · 3 years

Photo

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, So we'll know where you are -- Gleaming in the skies above, Lead me to the one who loves me...”

~“The Second Star to the Right (cover),” by Simone

x~x~x~x

HEY PETER PAN ANON! I MADE YOU SOMETHING!! 8D

Hahaha, yes! This is Peter-Pan!Orion and Wendy!Carewyn (Carewyndy?). No, I won’t be writing this AU before the Tangled AU at least (and yes, I should have that up hopefully by next week)...but I couldn’t resist doodling these and talking a bit about the daydreaming I did based on this concept. Orion’s ripped pants were kind of based on how the pants are ripped in the 2003 Peter Pan’s costume, but I just couldn’t resist giving him his canon fingerless armwarmers. (I see them being forest green just like his pants, though, while his tunic is a light tan.)

Basically I see eternally 12-1/2-year old Orion Amari taking a strong liking to 10-year-old Carewyn Cromwell when she comes to Neverland. Even though she does act a bit too grown-up sometimes, it’s largely because of how deeply she feels for other people -- she’s determined to protect others, whether from bullying or actual danger, and she hates the thought of anyone feeling alone. She actually is the only person who’s ever asked Orion if he was lonely, being the only child who was destined to never grow up. And as much as Orion will airily state that “to die would be an awfully big adventure,” he finds that it’s Carewyn who believes this most, for the idea of growing older doesn’t frighten her the way it does her grandfather, the man now called Captain Hook. If anything, what makes her saddest about leaving Neverland is not for her sake, but for Orion’s -- she, Jacob, Charlie, and Bill were all going home to London, along with a good chunk of Orion’s friends among the Lost Kids...and Carewyn hated the thought that she’d never see her friend Orion again. So she reminded Orion that she would always have her window open at night, if he ever wanted to come and visit, hear her read a story or two, or even just listen to her singing while she did her evening chores. Sensing Orion’s hesitance, she reassured him that she’d never forget him.

Orion proceeded to return to life in Neverland, embarking on those same old adventures that make the days blur and make it easy to forget things. Forgetting was part of Neverland’s magic -- even Bill had almost forgotten he had a new baby sister back in London, when he, Charlie, and Carewyn had been there with Orion and the Lost Kids. But, as Orion would often tell himself, adults forgot things in the other world too: they forgot the joys of childhood, they forgot the freedom and the simple pleasures and the bottomless daydreams. All of them, every last one of them, eventually forgot how to fly.

But perhaps because of Carewyn’s final promise, every time Orion thought of how easy it was to forget things in Neverland, and therefore how easy it was to forget things outside of it, Carewyn’s face and words always returned to his mind. And so, the memory of her conviction and caring never strayed too far from his mind...and with it, other thoughts would crop up too. How stable things had been, when Carewyn was around. How well she understood him and how easy it was to talk to her and trust in her. And it was then that Orion realized that he really, truly missed Carewyn. It was a feeling he’d never really experienced that deeply before, not even for the other children who had eventually returned home to their families. Even Bill and Charlie, who Orion likewise grew reasonably fond of, didn’t make him feel like his stomach was always empty, no matter how much food he ate -- like his heart was scraping at the inside of his chest like a hungry animal desperate to devour something outside its cage. And that feeling only intensified when his fairy guardian Merula would try to urge him to go challenge Torvus and the centaurs to a race or splash around with the mermaids, even when Orion wasn’t in the mood to do so.

Orion felt restless, unsure of quite what was wrong with him and not knowing how to explain his muddled thought process to McNully and his remaining Lost Kids. One day Orion was eventually persuaded by McNully to lead an expedition to find a lost chest of pirate treasure, and for a short while, the Boy Who Never Grew Up was simply able to enjoy pulling one over on his old enemy and sharing the loot with his gang. That changed, though, when Captain Hook crashed the party.

Orion and Hook traded as many blows as ever, throwing insults at each other like they always did -- but this day, Hook said one barbed phrase that stuck in Orion’s ear more than he ever would’ve admitted.

“Already forgotten my dear Winnie, I see. But I guess I can’t be surprised. After all, the only thing that can break through Neverland’s curse -- that thing that makes everyone forget...is love. And you -- ha -- you don’t know anything about that, do you, boy?”

Love. Yes. That was the thing that made Carewyn remember her lost brother and mother, even while she was a Lost Girl. That was the thing that had made Charlie remember his parents, even after he’d forgotten London altogether. That was the thing that made Bill remember his other siblings, once he remembered how his baby sister Ginny would always cry after her afternoon nap until he came home from his newspaper route and bounced her up and down for a minute or two. That was the thing that had made Jacob remember his little sister in London, even after he was kidnapped by Hook and commandeered into piracy. And, Orion realized, it was the thing that he missed most about Carewyn -- her ability to love more deeply than anyone else he had ever known...like a mother would, and yet like an equal...a companion, more than just someone to go on adventures with.

Orion tried to broach this topic with Merula, but the huffy little fairy put up her walls and stubbornly refused to let them down. Feelings were grown-up things, and Orion didn’t need grown-up things! Orion wanted to agree, but the feelings he felt were becoming heavy -- so heavy, in fact, that he found it harder for him to find his center, to think thoughts happy enough that he could fly to any height he wanted. He actually found himself hovering and floating more than flying...and this troubled him. It made him more anxious than he could remember ever being.

Then the thought struck him -- why didn’t he just go and visit Carewyn? She said he could, whenever he wanted. She could tell him some stories and sing some songs for him -- maybe she could even sew him a new pocket for his shirt! These thoughts perked Orion up a bit, and he decided to leave for London straightaway.

He hadn’t expected it to be so cold -- for you see, in Neverland, it’s every season all year ‘round, all except winter. It was a fact Carewyn had lamented, for winter was her favorite season. She loved the Christmas holidays and how everyone would gather around the fireplace with warm food together and sing Christmas songs and tell stories. It had actually sounded kind of nice to Orion, when she described it to him and the Lost Kids -- but on this day in London, Orion didn’t think the cold was so nice, nor the gray, dreary city itself. There were buildings that had been crushed and holes in cobblestone streets, made by bombs that had been dropped by German Zeppelins, and just about nobody raised their heads enough to look skyward. The adults prowling the streets were just as lacking of joy as Orion had always imagined them to be, yet it wasn’t due to stupid grown-up things like wearing a tie to work or paying bills. Instead there was exhaustion, sadness...pain. Orion hated these people’s wrinkles even more than the ones he’d see on the pirates’ faces, from dwelling on mindless things like how much treasure they had or what their daily duties were.

But none of that mattered, of course. What mattered was seeing Carewyn. But alas, when Orion arrived at the Weasleys’ house, it was still daytime...and the window to the room Carewyn, Bill, and Charlie once shared was locked.

Orion rattled at the window desperately, slapping the glass and pulling at its handles as he cried her name. All logic left his mind -- his breathing became raspier and weaker even as he shouted louder.

She had to be there -- she had to be there -- she couldn’t have forgotten -- she wouldn’t have forgotten -- she promised -- she promised she wouldn’t forget him -- love was what kept someone from forgetting -- Carewyn knew love better than anyone -- she loved her brother -- she loved the Weasleys -- she loved the Lost Kids and Torvus and the mermaids and the fairies -- she loved Orion -- didn’t she love -- ?

As Orion��s anxiety spiked, the magic of Merula’s fairy dust began to abandon him. He found himself becoming heavier. He tried to cling onto the windowsill, pulling at and smacking the window, but it wasn’t wide enough for him to hold onto while it was closed. Soon enough he found himself falling slowly, like someone drifting down to the bottom of a pool...and when he landed on the ground, he landed on his knees, shaking. He clasped his hands together, his eyes wide and hollow upon the frosty ground as wintry condensation fell from his panting lips.

He’d lost his happy thought. He’d lost it.

He tried to fly. He tried desperately to fly, only to fall and scrape his knees and hands. Never in his life had Orion Amari ever been so frightened, shuddering from head to toe in the freezing cold.

He shakily got to his bare feet and, barely knowing where he was going, he walked. He wandered aimlessly, his eyes glassing over as he gasped for air, searching every revolted and anxious face that he passed as the faces’ owners cringed at the state of his long hair, ripped clothes, and lack of shoes.

Orion wandered for what felt like hours, until at long last, as if by fate, he ended up not far away from a Church-funded school, which taught both elementary and higher-elementary-level students. One of those such students was a girl with a ginger braid and almond-shaped blue eyes, walking home with several classmates, including a black-haired girl with glasses carrying a bunch of books, a rather pretty blonde with pigtail braids, and a rather cowardly-looking boy with blond hair, brown eyes, and a very thick sweater and mittens over his Church-provided uniform. The ginger-haired girl herself was wrapped up in a rather thick old dark blue blanket she’d turned into a shawl after it got ripped and had been holding it tightly around herself when, all of a sudden, she heard her name being cried by a misty, and yet anxious voice.

“Carewyn! Carewyn...!”

One can only imagine what Carewyn’s school friends Rowan Khanna, Penny Haywood, and Ben Copper thought, seeing such a scrawny, ragamuffin street boy running toward their friend. Rowan actually tried to step in front of Carewyn as if to protect her, while Ben made as if to cling onto Carewyn’s arm in terror. But Carewyn herself, her eyes very wide upon the boy, immediately tore away from both Rowan and Ben and ran to Orion without a single shred of hesitation.

“Orion?!”

She barreled over, whipping the shawl off her shoulders and wrapping it around his instead.

“Orion, what are you doing here?! You’re going to catch a death of cold!”

Orion hadn’t been able to stop shaking for an instant, but her shouting his name, rushing to take care of him -- her remembering him -- it made his heart feel like a beast craving food again. Her concern wet his appetite. He wanted it. He wanted her caring. He wanted her love...

She was as tall as him. She’d been so tiny before...

“Carewyn...you know this boy?” asked Rowan, looking bewildered.

“Yes,” said Carewyn, glancing over her shoulder, “he’s a friend. Rowan, this is Orion. Orion, this is -- ”

“You’ve...grown older,” Orion’s absent mumble cut her off.

Carewyn fixed him with a faintly reproachful look. “I’m afraid that does happen, in the span of three years...”

Thirteen. She was thirteen. ...She was older than him.

Carewyn’s eyes welled up with concern as she looked Orion over. She turned to her friends quickly.

“...I’d better get him inside and warm...I’ll see you all tomorrow, okay?”

She quickly bid her friends goodbye, before wrapping an arm tightly around Orion’s shoulders as best she could, rubbing his arm through her shawl in an attempt to warm him.

“Orion, what were you thinking?” she whispered, her voice full of concern as her eyes stayed locked ahead at their path. “Coming here in broad daylight, in this cold...”

Orion had started to shake again, his hands clasping more tightly.

“Your window was shut,” he mumbled.

Carewyn looked very upset. “...My old window, you mean? The one I shared with Bill and Charlie? Oh, Orion, I don’t share a room with Bill and Charlie anymore -- I share with Ginny now. Girls’ room, you know. Charlie and Percy actually share that room now...Bill’s sharing a flat with several other boys, closer to the newspaper’s headquarters in the East End...”

Her eyes rippled with pain.

“...Ginny’s and my room doesn’t have a window,” she explained. “I’ve told Charlie and Percy to keep their window open for me, but...well, Percy’s grown up way too fast. He must have closed it to block out the air raid sirens last night and forgotten to reopen it...”

Orion didn’t understand half of what Carewyn was saying, but the tone she spoke with held such reassurance and remorse that it soothed the racing anxiety that had so paralyzed him. He closed his eyes as the adrenaline his anxiety had built up ebbed away, leaving him oddly drained and colder than ever. He was so out of it that he barely seemed to acknowledge that his head flopped down onto her shoulder.

“Orion?” said Carewyn, startled and worried.

But Orion merely inhaled and exhaled slowly. Her caring fed that beast in his chest. He wanted a bit more.

“Carewyn,” he murmured, “did...did you think of me?”

He felt Carewyn adjust her arm around him.

“Of course I did,” she said softly. “I told you I would never forget you.”

The tenseness in Orion’s clasped hands and face loosened its grasp. “...Because you love me.”

Carewyn looked at him, her eyebrows furrowed with confusion. “What?”

But Orion barely reacted -- as if he didn’t think what he’d said was the least bit weird.

“There’s only one thing that can prevent someone from forgetting...and that’s love. For once you love someone, your heart never really forgets them. Instead they become part of you...an indispensable piece...that would make you feel incomplete, if it was ever removed.”

Orion slowly opened his eyes, his lips spreading into a small, rather soft smile that made him look a bit more like his usual self.

“...It’s what helped you remember your brother and the Weasleys, while you were with me...and your brother remember you, while he was with Hook,” he said. “It’s something I know nothing about...but I know you know it very well.”

Carewyn considered him for a moment, before returning her gaze back to the road. Plenty of people passing by gave her and Orion the side-eye, but she didn’t care.

“I don’t know if I’d say you know nothing about it,” she said at last. “You remembered me just as much as I remembered you, did you not?”

Orion’s smile faded from his lips as his eyes widened ever-so-slightly. Then his expression slowly relaxed.

“...Perhaps...”

His black eyes trailed over her arm around his shoulders and her hand rubbing up and down his arm hesitantly. His arm beside her chest twitched slightly -- then, very, very tentatively, he tried to wrap his arm around her shoulders in return. It was a bit awkward, with the shawl wrapped around him...but once Carewyn sussed out what he was doing, she adjusted enough to give the shawl enough slack that he could successfully hold her in return. Once he had gotten his arm around her, he seemed oddly proud of himself, his smile spreading and his eyes closing again as he leaned into her, his head beside hers on her shoulder.

They stayed that way for several blocks, walking in silence and simply enjoying each others’ company. Orion felt his center of balance returning to him. It was like having this stable place, with his arms wrapped around Carewyn’s shoulders and hers around his, was the earth he needed under his feet to launch himself back up into the air. He felt like he might even be able to fly again at some point...maybe not yet, but soon. Time always moved more slowly in Neverland than in London anyhow, so no one would mind if he took his time...

“...Carewyn?”

“Hmm?”

“I...don’t know if I can make it back to Neverland,” he confessed.

Carewyn looked at him, her eyes once again flooding with concern.

“I fell, when I failed to open your window,” Orion explained. “I’ve only ever fallen like that once before...when...”

“...When Grandfather made you think unhappy thoughts,” Carewyn finished grimly. She turned away from him, facing the road again.

Orion nodded. His black eyes flickered across her face, even though she was no longer looking at him.

Hook had taunted him then that Carewyn had no reason to stay in Neverland -- that she preferred the thought of growing old and dying to staying with him -- that he could never meet her high standards. He’d taunted that one day, Orion would go back to find her window locked and barred -- a grown woman who’s forgotten all about him, about Neverland, about how to fly...who’s replaced all of it with adult things Orion could never understand. Ambition. Family. ...Husband.

Carewyn wasn’t an adult yet, but she certainly wasn’t a child anymore either. There was a practicality to her posture -- a steadiness and gravity to how she walked. There was a neatness and meticulousness in how she handled her appearance. And yet even so, her hands were still so warm and her eyes were still so soft...and the sincerity in the little wrinkles that creased her brow and eyes and kissed at the corners of her lips was just the same.

Carewyn raised her head in Orion’s direction, but her eyes couldn’t quite reach his. Instead they landed vaguely on his shoulder.

“...I never told you...Grandfather was wrong, did I?” she asked quietly.

Orion tilted his head. “...I suppose it depends on which thing he said that you’re thinking of. You did say you’d never forget me, or Neverland...or how to fly.”

“Yes,” said Carewyn, “but I didn’t say that he was wrong, that you’d never understand ambition or family. That’s definitely not true. Ambition isn’t just an adult thing -- you dream of never growing up, of never losing your freedom or your independence...your spirit. That’s a wonderful ambition. And you have a wonderful family too, in Neverland. The centaurs and mermaids -- Merula and the fairies -- the Lost Kids! You take care of them as if they were your family.”

Orion stared at her for a moment, his face very unreadable, but his black eyes rippling with a strange emotion. Then he curled his fingers into the puffy white sleeve of her shirt.

“...And...the last thing?” he asked softly. “‘Husband?’”

Carewyn frowned deeply. “Is marriage something you even want to understand?”

“No!” said Orion instantly, looking revolted. “No...but...well...”

He swallowed, his own gaze drifting away. “...If you grow up...you’ll eventually want one, won’t you?”

Carewyn cocked her brows coolly. “It’s possible. But honestly, marriage seems like a bit of a bother. I’ve had to answer to plenty of adults in my life: I’d hate to have to answer to one more by choice. Especially if it means I have to give up Jacob, my friends, and my dreams just to make him comfortable.”

She said this so huffily, and yet it comforted Orion more than he could ever properly express. His own chest seemed to lighten and he felt better able to breathe again. His eyes softened upon Carewyn’s face.

“...I see.”

The two finally reached the Weasley home again. Orion noticed the house across the street that Carewyn had once pointed out was hers and Jacob’s had been boarded up.

“It’ll get torn down soon,” said Carewyn, noticing Orion’s gaze. “The family that lived there had their house ransacked, just because they were German...”

Her eyes narrowed.

“...It’s disgusting, how they were treated,” she added to herself. “They were very nice to Jacob and me, when we first came home...”

“Where is your brother?” asked Orion.

Carewyn deflated.

“...The war front,” she said sadly. “He’d been saving up so we could move into our own place, but...well, the army needed soldiers, so both he and Mr. Weasley signed up. Mrs. Weasley let me stay here, so I wouldn’t have to struggle to find a place to stay myself.”

Orion felt something oddly like pity prickling at his chest. “You mean you’ve lost him again, after only just getting him back?”

Carewyn didn’t answer as she opened the door of the Weasley home and bustled him inside. Once the door was closed, she guided him over to the main room and into an armchair, wrapping several more blankets around him.

“Wait here,” she said. Her lips spread into a fuller smile. “I’ll make you some hot cocoa -- that’s sure to help you fly again.”

Orion felt his heart give a somersault.

“Do you remember?” he said very quickly, before she could leave the room. “...Do you remember how to fly?”

Carewyn beamed.

“Of course. All you need is faith and trust, and to have been brushed with fairy dust. Then you think happy, wonderful thoughts, and...”

She spread her arms, and -- amazingly -- her feet actually came up off the ground.

Orion’s black eyes widened. Then his mouth slowly spread into the fullest, brightest smile as he found himself coming up off the ground himself. He floated just below her, spreading both of his arms too so as to take her hands and hold them out on either side of them.

Even when the world was so miserable -- even when she had so much reason to forget...Carewyn still knew how to fly.

“You’re flying,” said Carewyn with a warm smile.

Orion’s eyes sparkled as he guided her around in a circle, just as he had when they danced with the fairies. “I found a happy thought.”

“Did you? What is it?”

“A person whose company makes you feel stronger, when you’re at your worst.”

Carewyn smiled. “I believe that’s what’s called a ‘friend,’ Orion Amari.”

Orion’s midnight-black eyes gleamed.

Yes. A friend. Not just someone to go on adventures with, or look after, or play make-believe with, or give direction -- but someone to be your shoulder to lean on. To listen, to comfort...to love. That was a friend. As much as he cherished the Lost Kids, he was the one who had found them -- they answered to him, seeing him as leader, since there was supposedly no one else who could.

This friend...he wanted this friend by his side forever. “Forever,” as Carewyn had once reminded him, was an awfully long time -- but he didn’t hesitate in this thought at all.

And so, not long after, the Boy Who Never Grew Up returned to Neverland. He passed his mantle of leadership onto Lost Boy McNully, said a quick goodbye to all of the members of his Neverland family...and decided to leave for good. Even his short trip back to the Second Star to the Right took up a few weeks, but when he returned to London, his friend was waiting for him. And Orion and Carewyn grew up together, as close of friends as teenagers and later adults as they were as children. Orion grew more than just a fraction of an inch -- he soon towered a good head over Carewyn once more. He even grew a mustache, and a beard too! And yet even with this, it was never beneath his dignity to climb a tree, nor to engage in food fights, nor to read adventure books about pirates, nor to crow like a rooster upon winning a game. No matter how much his other classmates at school would frown, and no matter how much the adults would disdain and scold him, Orion never cared -- and neither did Carewyn, or Bill or Charlie, or any of the other friends he made over the years.

So you see, even if Orion grew older, he never truly grew up...for all children grow up, except one. And one day -- many, many years down the road from when Orion first made the choice to stay -- he looked at Carewyn and realized that his first and dearest friend had become something even more precious: a friend he wished to love, cherish, and live beside far longer than forever. A friend he would call “lover.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #peter pan au #my art #my writing #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #damn it I didn't mean this to be so long but I just couldn't stop XD #my two favorite peter pan adaptations are peter pan (2003) and hook so that DEFINITELY influenced this #I'm sorry but I think peter finding a reason to grow up is sweet #I know there's the whole fan interpretation of peter guiding dead children to the afterlife and all but...#well we see kids leave neverland not just the darlings but the lost boys #and honestly hook is right in the 2003 version -- peter IS a tragedy as he is!#in the end he'll always end up alone #so really eventually every child *should* grow up...it's a scary thing but something that must be faced anyway #because through that hardship one can find even more fulfilling happiness #because it's happiness that's fought for #that's my two cents anyway XD;#geez orion looks so different without his facial hair LOL

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xsparklingravenx · 3 years

Text

breathtaking

Title: breathtaking

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Characters: Albedo, Klee

Rating: G

Word Count: 2,275

Summary: The times that Klee and Albedo tell each other to breathe.

AO3

The paintbrush dashed across the canvas, and in turn, something true came to life.

On the grassy plains of Mondstadt’s surrounding areas, a boy stood silent, a palette of colour in one hand, the brush in the other. Gently, he curved those colours across the blank sheet, splashes of blue and green and brown, the boars that roamed the plains recreated in paint and chalk outlines.

These boars were unremarkable, but that in itself was what made them noteworthy. Such a contradiction shouldn’t have made sense, but to the boy, it was perfect enough to immortalise. Hilichurls and Abyss Mages took to these lands like they were their own, but still the boars persisted, living free and unafraid. At any moment, they could be hunted, for sport or for food, and yet the few before him had survived their entire lives out in an unforgiving world.

Now they lived immortal in his image. Caught up in his work, he paid no attention to the passing of time around him, how the sun crossed the sky, how the wind danced across his skin, the Anemo Archon’s quiet blessing. Another brushstroke here and there brought his vision closer to completion. The boars continued to graze. The grass was emerald green, and if he mixed his colours just right, then maybe—

A distant explosion had him pausing. The boy turned his head, a single strand of pale hair falling into his eyes as he searched for the source. Somewhere over the hills, it seemed, far enough from him that he needn’t pay it any mind. Were the Knights of Favonius out exterminating vermin today? He wondered, idly, if Sucrose was with them, though he didn’t identify any sort of Anemo traces in the air from this far away. Another boom in the air, and he cast the thought aside, returning his attention to his art.

Life stilled around him once more. That was it. The boars carried on quietly. The colours melded together. Three boars, quiet, content, living beings, born from the soil and destined to return to it. They breathed, interacted with the elements, survived—

An explosion shook the air, so close that it rattled his canvas. The boy stopped still, a frown on his face, because he was certain he knew that sound. And he knew that intensity.

And he knew that brand of giggling.

He opened his mouth to shout, to cry, wait—but he was a fraction too late. The sight before him erupted into fire and chaos as an explosion roared and took out every single sign of life in front of him. The grass flamed, the boars that had survived their entire lives out on the plain now little more than charred carcasses before him. He stared at the carnage in front of him, the canvas still depicting his quiet moment from moments before, wordless at the sight.

And then, from the smoke and disaster, a tiny figure came sprinting out, arms at her side, eyes wide. She skidded to a stop before the boy, planting her hands on her hips, looking immensely pleased with herself. “Albedo! Did you see Jumpty Dumpty! It went boom!”

Albedo looked beyond her, to where the grass was still burning, smoke rising up into the sky. “Klee…? Why did it have to be here?”

He knew better than to question her intentions, because her intentions were always cause the biggest explosion possible. She beamed at him, and then, spotting his canvas, she bolted up to it. “Oh! Oh! Were you drawing again? It looks really good!”

“I was…up until you decided to blow my subjects up, yes.” Albedo looked between the smoking grass, the charred meat that was cooking in the fire, and his art, which was miraculously unscathed. “How did you…why were you…where’s Jean?”

Klee giggled. “Master Jean is busy today, so she let me go exploring! I wanted to try out some of my treasures, but Kaeya says that ‘explosion inside city wall, grounded be thy woe’, so here I am!”

She admired his painting as he looked down at his colours and wondered if he should add the fires to his painting. It was hardly an interesting specimen to recreate.

“They look really cool, Albedo is so good at making pictures!” Klee sat on the ground in front of it and watched the flames rise. “I didn’t know you’d be here, I just got lucky! I haven’t seen you in a while…you’re always so busy, but now we can hang out, right? Maybe we can play with my treasures?”

Playing with her treasures was a shortcut to a fiery doom, but he couldn’t deny that her words instilled a sense of guilt in him. So caught up in his alchemic studies as of late, all his time had been spent with Timaeus and Sucrose. He’d been hanging up his do not disturb sign constantly, and Klee had been all but left to her own (chaotic) devices. “Sorry, Klee. I didn’t realise you wanted my attention. Seeing as the boars are all…well, halfway to becoming a sticky honey roast, I suppose I can spare some time to play with you. Not that it was exactly how I saw my day going.”

“Oh! Oh! Can we find a cooking pot? Can you make Woodland Dream? I love when you cook, Albedo! It’s just like when you do your alchemy stuff, like, you go poof and then…bam! You make something new!”

Her enthusiasm might have been infectious to someone else, but fortunately, Albedo had been blessed with the ability to remain calm and casual-minded in her presence. “Considering we have plenty of fresh meat right here, Woodland Dream seems like a waste.”

“But if you make that, then I can go and get all the fishes with Jumpty Dumpty! We can play, and then we can eat! And then you can draw. Maybe you can draw me?”

She hopped up as Albedo considered her request. He hardly ever used his skills to paint that which did not pique his interest in the realm of alchemy, but she’d asked so earnestly. Would it be so wasteful to dedicate a couple of hours to produce happiness?

“Albedo?”

He looked down. The fire was beginning to die away now behind Klee, the grass singed and blackened. She adjusted her backpack, and he said, “Yes?”

“You should breathe,” she said, smiling impossibly wide. “Come on, let’s go! We’ve got fishes to get!”

And then she was gone, dashing off across the plains, and he realised that she was right. In his pursuit of life, in his creation of art, he had not taken a single breath in. He closed his eyes and did as she asked, allowing himself the mimicry of human necessity. Nobody noticed, except her, and she didn’t question it.

In the distance, she turned and shouted, “Albedo! I’m gonna leave you behind if you don’t hurry!”

Packing up his art supplies, he chased after her, thoughts of eruptions in the back of his mind. It was going to be a long day, keeping her from wanton destruction, but at least she’d be happy—and he couldn’t deny that a day spent with her wouldn’t brighten his spirits regardless.

***

The outskirts of Dragonspine mountain were bitterly cold, the water close to freezing entirely, and yet the moment Klee went beneath the surface, Albedo didn’t hesitate to dive beneath.

It wasn’t supposed to be serious. He’d asked the traveller and her floating companion for assistance in collecting Starsilver for an alchemical recipe, and yet Lumine had shown up on the mountain side with Klee in tow, claiming that she’d been with her when he’d sent word to Mondstadt that he wished for her help, and that she refused to stay behind.

“It’ll be fine!” Paimon had declared in Lumine’s lieu. “Paimon thinks that even if things go bang, at least it’ll be nice and warm!”

“And we can always cook you over one of her open flames if things start looking dire,” Lumine added, looking a little smug.

Klee had been giggling then, but that had been before they’d run into the Lawachurl, before the lumbering beast had picked her up in its great hands and thrown her through the air. Her scream still rang out in his ears. Life born from soil was so fragile, and that was what he’d thought when he’d watched, helpless, as she hit the water and sank beneath it.

He had not thought through his plan, he’d just acted, tossing aside his sword and abandoning the traveller to the battle. The cold had not been a factor in his mind. The fight was forgotten. Miss Alice’s words echoed in his skull, treat her like a real younger sister!

Elder brothers protected their siblings. The traveller had told him stories of her own brother, how she would do anything to find him. She’d also mentioned the Fatui Harbinger who would do anything for the sake of his baby brother, and he knew of Diluc’s loyalty to his own non-blood sibling, how the rift between him and Kaeya had not prevented him from coming to his aid before. Albedo was not related to Klee, but she was his sister nonetheless, and that meant he had to save her.

The water was akin to ice, but his body withstood it, powered by something more than adrenaline. His eyes stung, but there she was, floating lifelessly, a small body so still, and something surged in his chest, emotion that he did not often feel, emotion that overtook his thoughts, his logic.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest, and oh, she was still a child, still so tiny, with so much power but as fragile as every other being. He thought of the boars she’d taken the lives of that day before his canvas, how she’d ended their existence with the childish joy of an exploded bomb, and he thought of the Lawachurl and its base desire to attack. They were not the same, yet they were; life was inexplicably difficult to understand.

He broke the surface, not choking or hacking, but that was normal for him. Klee did not move. There were no coughs, no groans, no cracking open of her eyes. She was limp in his arms, drenched through and frozen in his arms.

“Klee!” Albedo shouted, the roar of the Lawachurl’s fierce battle with Lumine nearly sweeping away his voice. He kicked his legs to keep them afloat, but he was losing his strength fast, the cold sweeping it away. “Wake up!”

Still, she didn’t move. She hung there in his grasp, and it was then that he realised that she wasn’t breathing. Fear gripped his heart as he dragged her through the water to the snowy bank. He had to hope that Lumine could hold it off without him. He had to hope that there was still enough of Klee left in her body for him to save.

Pushing back his shivers, he laid her on the snow and tipped her head back. Acting on instinct more than thought, he pressed the heel of his hand to her chest, one hand instead of two, not wanting to hurt her with his actions, but wanting to keep her with him through any means necessary.

Usually, he brought things to life through the act of creation, through alchemy, through his paintbrush and his clever mind. This was different. Klee was already living, he just had to keep her that way, and in his experience, keeping something alive was almost always more difficult than giving it a pulse. Practicality and alchemic practices went hand-in-hand, and yet here he was, doubting himself.

He pressed down. One compression. Two. Three. Keeping track of the time between them as Lumine shouted behind him, as the Anemo Archon’s winds whipped across his skin, as the unforgiving bitterness of Dragonspine bit deep into his bones of chalk. Albedo thought of blooming flowers, of exploding bombs, and he thought of Miss Alice and his own chest splintered beneath the pressure.

“Breathe, Klee!” he cried. “Breathe!”

And she did. She choked. Water expelled itself from her lungs as Albedo sat back to give her space. He heard the thump of the Lawachurl hitting the ground behind him, and, trusting Lumine to finish it off, he gave Klee all his attention.

As her breathing calmed, he asked, “Are you okay? Klee, speak to me.”

“Too much water…” she whispered, reaching out her arms to him. “I was scared…”

He knelt in front of her and answered her request silently, pulling her close to his chest as she buried her head into his. Alive. She was still frozen but she was alive.

“Your catalyst,” he said. “Your Vision. Use it.”

Between them, Pyro erupted, warmth in a different sense than her usual explosions. It swept through him and her both, and into his chest, she said, “You rescued me, Albedo…”

“Of course I did.”

And as she wrapped her tiny arms back around him, she said, “Breathe too, please?”

He closed his eyes and did. In and out in time with her, soil and chalk. The oxygen did nothing for him, but it did everything for her, so he followed her lead, this girl full of energy and life, his family until the end.

“Woodland Dream when we get back,” he said. “I promise.”

She held onto him tight, and he listened to her breaths, the cold forgotten, the fear draining away.

He could breathe for her as much as she needed him to.

#Genshin Impact #Klee #Albedo #My Writing

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