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dailytatsu · 3 years

Note

Heya! Can I request an Aether/Lumine & reader?

So reader is basically an immortal half-elf who've lived for centuries and a well refined fighter. Well at the beginning even tho they volunteered to tag along on traveler's journey to find their sibling, reader is rather obnoxious and a lazy-dork who only help when actually needed. But as the journey continues, they began to act like traveler's bodyguard after witnessing (archon quest spoiler!) traveler almost getting killed by the Shogun? And maybe random shenanigans happen between them (ft.Paimon). I don't mind if you do either Aether or Lumine if you feel pressured 🙏

Hi! This kind are my favorites! Tysm for requesting! (๑>◡<๑)

I did this with Aether since he is my favorite is who I chose, and I feel more comfortable writing with guys than with girls.

I know they have some different personalities but I can help but see Lumine as the all mighty abyss princess.

Hope you enjoy!

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Aether & Half-elf! Reader

GN! Reader

Inazuma Archon Quest Spoilers!

Request are open; sorry for any mistakes!

Genshin Impact Masterlist

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Aether always thought that immortality brought with it wisdom, beings who live for much longer than an ordinary human tend to gain an understanding of life and changes in the world after years of appreciating the passing of the ages.

But when he met you he couldn't help but feel that all his beliefs were based on fiction and old rumors from other worlds. You were anything but wise, not even his first choice to be the voice of reason.

Even Paimon takes her role as his guide seriously.

But what was so wrong about you that get him on his nerves all the time? And most important, why does is he still dealing with you?

To be fair, maybe he was waiting a little too much from you. After all, he always forget that you still have half of a human’s nature.

“Mmh? What are you doing?” You asked Aether the first time he removed your hair from your ears to see if they were pointy. They were, and Paimon yelled kind of a objection when she realize she had to pay for losing their bet.

Not a human, not a elf, but a hybrid between them.

The first encounter was really something he would never forget. Rumors about treasures and requests from the guild made them follow some clues to find a cave that was marked as lost, impossible to enter and explore.

But “impossible” is a word that doesn’t exist their vocabulary. Yet is common that regretting comes along when you’re that bold and risky.

At the very end of that strange cave there wasn’t a treasure waiting, not even a new clue to keep going with the mystery. Instead, was a humanoid silhouette, they seemed to be meditating, not showing a single interest in their voices neither getting nervous because of Aether and Paimon taking some steps forward to have a better look.

But they were breathing, and both could see the pupils moving slightly under their eyelids. Eyebrows twitching now and then, like they were having a nightmare, one of which they couldn’t wake up.

Paimon encouraged him to get even closer to shake that person's shoulder, while she was hiding behind some rocks, obviously.

Aether summoned his sword and then he approached slowly until touching them with his fingertips, waiting for some kind of jumpscare.

The stranger raised their arm, carefully but also in a robotic way. Their fingers were tense, as much that it was painful just looking at them. Like a quiet call, like a order that couldn’t be heard, from the pile of rocks where Paimon was hiding something emerge, breaking through the stone and letting a rusty polearm to be seen.

Their fingers closed around the weapon, bringing them back to reality.

“Master and weapon, reunited again, rise so the world can meet their end!”

Or at least that's what he would have preferred to find. A servant guarding a lost relic, a soulless body moving by a curse, perhaps even a fate that death could not prevent.

But instead it was something really underwhelming, something that broke the mystical and strange atmosphere. That person opened their eyes, annoyed by the light of the torches and disoriented by the situation.

With their body in pain and numb at the same time, how long have they slept in that position?

The first thing they did after waking up was sneezing.

‘So much dust…’

Never accepting missions for exploring legendary caves ever again. Nope. Negative. He refuse to.

What if they find another (Y/N)? Thanks, but no. One is more than enough.

“So what you mean is that your parents' families exiled you and locked you up in the cave for being an ‘abomination’ to both species?” Paimon confirmed once the three of you were back in the surface again. Her hands moving side to side to explain -in a very expressive way- everything you told them.

“It seems that we found the remains of an ancient race that used to exist in Teyvat.” Aether said, still surprised by the way you roamed to feel the wood of the trees and the grass under your bare feet. Kind of heartbreaking.

“Like the boar we found with Xiangling!”

He wasn’t sure if it was okay to compare both encounters but he could see her point.

“… ‘Wait for us’, they told me, ‘think about your existence and find the answer to why your conception is not the atrocity that everyone says you are. May their words not reach you, because we have long ears to hear the words of the gods and not the ones of those who defile earth’… ” You pronounced after decades of not needing to use the language you were taught, with one hand on your chin and eyes closed to concentrate. All you had left was the few memories you preserved inside your mind and heart.

“With ‘they’ you mean your parents?”

You nodded.

“And what happened next?… ” Asked back the tiny companion of the blond guy that rescued you.

“I got bored and I fell asleep.” You admitted, carefree about it, shrugging your shoulders and sighing.

A total waste of your youth.

“Eh!? Then you didn’t thought about those things? That sounded important!” Paimon seemed disappointed for your answer, while Aether held his forehead, without having a clue of how he was supposed to react.

That was the day you joined their party! New team member, (Y/N) strikes in!

Or something like that,,

“H-Hey! We could use a hand over here!… woah!” The little white girl scold you but from your high sit on the top of a big rock only a exaggerated yawning can be heard. Paimon crossed her arms to almost immediately duck down to dodge a fire bullet from the Fatui. Aether didn’t say anything, he was concentrated fighting.

“Oh, yeah… You’re doing great. Go, Aether, go…”

“Was that supposed to be a cheering?!”

“Hey, calm down” You said “He doesn’t need my help. Just take a look, he’s an adventurer. If I meddle it will be really boring for him.”

“Hmp! Now Paimon believes that you were lying when you said that you were a well refined fighter!” She was floating around you, ignoring the battle of his blond friend. Like a pesky bee, the only thing you did was avoiding her furious gaze. “Don’t ignore Paimon! How can you not hear with those ears!? That’s it! Paimon will give you a ugly nickname!”

“What about ‘extinct deaf elf-der’?”

“Yeah, that’s a good one!” She agreed immediately, then she shook her head, pointing at you like a guilty criminal. “Wait, Paimon doesn’t need your suggestions!”

When the last Fatui was defeated Aether turned back to face both of you, sighing because of the new arguing between you two. His sword disappeared and some steps were took to get closer.

Your eyes met each other, a slight smile in your face after looking him safe and sound. So confident but so unaware of the remain danger hiding. Your expression became a surprised one, then your gaze sharped like a killer sight.

You left Paimon on top of the rock when you jumped down, summoning your own weapon you ran straight to where Aether was. The traveler panicked just a fraction of second before loosing sight of you.

Next thing they know was that a you were behind him, facing at the nothing with a defensive pose, just a second of silence before a impact could be heard. Some dirt and dust was lift as the pair of Fatui Pyro Agents became visible again. They stayed there, defeated in one hit.

“Like I said. It would be pretty boring if I meddle...” Aether and Paimon were shocked, none of them felt their presence, not even the heat of the pyro delusion. Your weapon disappeared in the air, and your hands rested on your waist. “Dear Seven, that was intense.” Looking at your friends you sighed, with the laziness on your body language. “It was my turn to cook dinner, right? What a pain having to eat again… ”

Acting that relaxed after that really made them went Ô_Ô and Ö

A silent speech, where devotion and gratitude are the best topics of conversation. The message that is heard even if there’s no words in between. Just a exchange of gazes. Little signs of affection that are shown when it’s necessary.

Your family was gone. No clues about their whereabouts could’ve found in that cave of where you came. Not even the skeletons of a couple holding their hands and petrified in a sobbing position. Not even ashes.

When you have been thinking about the most unimportant things in the universe for so long you can deal with the lost faster than anyone else. Getting the idea of no remain evidence of your parents and feeling that it wasn’t that heartbreaking.

Maybe because you gained a new family almost immediately.

Still you could empathize with Aether, he still had his precious memories with his sister, still remember her face and her voice. And most important was that he knew that she was still roaming Teyvat, waiting for him.

Even if they leave behind Paimon and you at the end of the trip.

Or even if they just leave you behind.

‘I’m okay with that.’

You thought, stroking Paimon’s hair when her head found a comfortable place to rest in your lap. You thought, moving your shoulder so Aether wouldn’t have neck pain. Both sleeping peacefully and you staying awake night by night.

You’ve slept enough, for so long besides.

Somehow the flames of the campfire are warmer now that you have someone to look how the fire dance in the night.

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“I see, so you were serious when you told me that your companion was a mystical extinct creature, weren’t you?” Albedo’s hand went up to hold his chin, analyzing you from distance.

“They are half of it, actually.” Aether answered back, notice how Sucrose was asking you permission to check your features. The sparkle in her eyes made you accept her petition after feeling with the back against the wall.

“Your ears are like mine! Look, look!” Klee pulled your shirt, then she pointed at the side of her head.

“… Still the shape of both are quite different, the length too.”

Years of isolation really are hitting hard right now. You felt overwhelmed and somehow shy when Sucrose hold your face to have a better look.

You follow the traveler to everywhere, no matter the place, you were there. Like a shadow, sometimes just a spectator, other times like an actual active team member.

“Who would’ve tell that our Honorary Knight also has his own knight watching his back.” Kaeya’s voice has that joke but charming tone, as always.

Day after day, it’s the same, everyone talking you through Aether. Like some kind of translator.

“More like a human shield.” Your hand landed on top of Aether’s head, not agreeing with his explanation.

Bonk.

“I guess everything’s better than being Emergency Food.”

“Hey!”

“Haha! You three are quite a team, aren’t you?”

Of course you were. Mondstadt, Liyue, you name it. You could assure that every place in this two nations have at least one story about the team.

You knew that the most brave and magnificent outlander in Teyvat didn’t need a guardian, he can defend himself (somehow even if he’s still using that dull blade).

Bodyguarding also sounds like such a hassle…

You only provide a last resource help when was needed, sometimes also helping with some puzzles and mysteries.

The long eared people was known to be wise and smart people that searched for the full comprehension of the world. Also such a nerds and fans of knowledge. So, even if you considered yourself dumb, in your blood was the instinct of looking for the truth, and sometimes that impulse could be really annoying.

You were always near enough to reach him. Pulling his scarf from behind to move him away from danger. Countering after he gets hit.

Always in a place where you could reach him.

You just needed to extend your arm and you would catch Aether. It was always like this. Always with you jumping in the middle of the crossfire to shield them if it was necessary.

It’s always like this.

Until the day you three set a foot in Inazuma’s land. And a bad feeling of a imminent catastrophe made your shiver.

A new nation, a new problem to solve. But a war? Boldness and stupidity sometimes looks like the same thing, but no matter how many times you repeat this to Aether, he would still ran into problems.

And you would follow him, until your debt is paid, until his travel is done.

It used to be like this.

But then you failed him after being unable to move because of the fear that paralyzed your body. The day Aether faced Shogun Raiden in the ceremony. The day you heard the broken voice of a god inside the Shogun you also fell apart. It was painful, cruel, a void of anger and sadness.

Jumping into danger, without you behind.

You tried to ran between the goddess and your savior, you tried to get closer to at least be useful one last time as the shield you promised to be.

You tried.

But, for the first time, your hand didn’t reach him.

The void of despair and darkness that could be heard inside the Shogun devoured him.

The tears of panic and fear in Paimon’s eyes. The way the Shogun lifted her sword to end his life. The way you were paralyzed because of her presence, forced to be part of the crowd and presence his execution.

That day your facade of laziness faded away, the real feeling of being a knight burnt along your proud. It was so annoying, it was so unnecessary, but still you couldn’t ignore it.

“Are you… are you sure that you’re okay? We don’t have to find the Sangonomiya resistance today. If you need to rest then-” Your hands were shaking when you placed them in Aether’s shoulders, holding yourself for tearing up.

“We have to keep going. I’ll be fine.”

“Besides, if we stay near Inazuma this night they could find us! Paimon won’t be able to sleep like that!” Your mouth opened to counter their arguments, but not a single word dared to go against Aether’s plans.

They could see it in your face. The worry, the remains of shock and fear, the guilty.

“Don’t try to look strong then. If you get tired, tell us. I can carry you in my back.” Even if you were offering help your voice was serious, so cold but so hurt at the same time that nor Aether or Paimon knew what to said to bring the old you back.

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“… Aren’t you coming?” You could hear how the door was slid to let him saw you. The lighted spots on Aether’s clothes were purple, just as the lighting that almost end him. Your lips made a concerned and stressed grimace.

The young traveler took a seat next to you, outside the structure, sitting on the wooden steps and looking at the starry sky. The wind was cold but still the soldiers of the resistance were talking normally and the slight feeling of discommodity because of the excessive presence of other people was climbing up your back.

“(Y/N), there’s no need of guard us every night. You also need to sleep.”

“I'm not tired, I think I've gotten enough sleep, at least not to need it until the next century.”

Aether’s expressions went into a sarcastic one, asking if you were serious with just his gaze.

“That’s not how it works.” He said, trying to change the mood. “And if it does, then why are you always snoozing during the day in every chance you get?”

You had the answer to that, but you weren’t sure about telling him.

“Because everything supposed to be boring. Nothing really changed a lot and… looking at the familiar places was depressing.” So easy, so simple, but still enjoying the company, still enjoying the sound of theirs laughs and their own shenanigans. “… Lately, I’ve been thinking that I should not had left the cave. Don’t get me wrong, I do appreciate that you two helped me to be back at the surface, and I really want to help you on your journey, but if you still run into the chaos by own decision I think I could not follow you any longer before being a burden in your adventures.”

Overprotection, an unbreakable shield, frequently avoiding fights, always being pulled back to not be part of the battle. Enemies of the braveness of the traveler.

Worry, panic, an overreaction due to fear of loosing everything again.

‘let me do it’, ‘I got it’, ‘wait here’, ‘don’t get close’.

These day could be described like that.

“So, before I do something worse as an excuse of defend you, please let me find a cave to await. You do what’s is needed and… call me back, or leave me there, anything you think it’s better… ”

You could be pronouncing the words from the very bottom of your heart, but still your face was the same seriousness as the accident almost happened.

And even with that you felt his gloved hand removing the hair that was covering your right ear, revealing how it slightly leaned down, showing sadness unwittingly.

“Hey, cut it out… I’m serious about this… ”

“It doesn’t matter if you think that it’s the best option, you’re still sad about leaving.”

“… That’s cheating.” Removing his hand away from your hair you tried to act indifferent.

“You know the reason why we invited you to came along?”

‘You felt sorry for me.’

“I can’t totally tell the exact reason, but it wasn’t for you to pay us some kind of debt because of saving you.” He crossed his arms, looking at the stars, wondering if his sisters was doing the same. “We don’t need a guardian, we need our friend back. And I know you care about Paimon and me, but still you must enjoy the journey. It’s not fair that you are always aware of every potential danger while we mess around lately.”

An eternal silence, your response is late to appear but somehow Aether can tell that you already have something on your mind.

“Then apologize.”

“… Why?”

“For believing that playing as the hero and jumping to face the Shogun was something you had to do.”

“… but-”

Neither Aether nor you slept that night, the blonde had to listen for hours to all the things that you ever wanted to complain about since you arrived in Inazuma.

You made your position on joining the army of the rebellion very clear, you had no intention of fighting to seek "justice" or "peace". Because after all, that fight did not correspond to you, but if he asked you to, you would protect some soldiers or help to guard the barracks, if he asked you to, you wouldn’t complain about it (at least not that much).

Both had enough of each other’s attitude, but it was okay. Because that was what all of you chose in first place.

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argylesweedstash · 3 years

Text

did you just call me baby

(ao3 link)

The first time it happens, it’s an accident. At least, Dean’s banking on Castiel thinking it’s an accident. And it is, really. Dean fell onto the war room floor covered in black goo with his arms around Cas. Sam and Jack leapt up from the table, moving away from the intricate spellwork that no longer needed their attention.

Cas stirred a little. He’d been out of it when Dean had found him - half-lucid and mostly disbelieving. He’d let Dean pull him up and sling his arm around his shoulders, but hadn’t said much. Only mumbled apologies and words that sounded a lot like, “I hope this is real.”

Jack was first on the floor next to them. “Cas?” he asked, a tentative smile playing on his lips. Cas nodded and within seconds, his arms were full of his son.

Dean watched them, a smile playing on his lips. When they broke apart, Sam offered Castiel his arm. Cas had looked at it before taking it and being pulled into a hug by the taller man.

Dean removed himself from the floor and helped Jack up. When Sam released Cas, Dean stepped in front of him.

“It’s real,” Dean said, looking into Cas’s eyes.

Cas nodded. “Thank you for saving me, Dean.”

Dean finally closed the distance between them and pulled Cas into a bone crushing hug.

“I missed you, baby,” Dean muttered against Cas. When he realized that he’d said baby instead of buddy, he could feel heat rising to his cheeks. He removed himself from Cas and grinned sheepishly at the floor. There was a weird fluttering feeling in his chest. He wrote it off as the adrenaline that was still pumping through his veins.

Cas, for what it was worth, didn’t seem to notice the word. “I missed you, too, Dean.”

That was two weeks ago. Since then, Dean has been avoiding talking about it. Not just his slip, though, the things Cas had said to him before The Empty came and took him. It wasn’t that Dean didn’t feel the same way - he just didn’t know if he did or not. He likes Cas and he’s his best friend. He knows he likes spending time with him. Sometimes he’s overwhelmed by how fond of his friend he is, but he doesn’t read too far into that.

Plus, things hadn’t changed between them. They still watched movies together in the Dean Cave a couple nights a week. Castiel would always come and join Dean in the garage when he was working on any of the cars they kept. Dean would greet him with a, “Good morning, Sunshine,” every morning from his place at the table. The only thing that had changed was that they didn’t have the end of the world looming over their heads. Honestly, this is the happiest he’s been in a long time. Getting Cas back meant that they’d tied up their loose ends and now they could relax. Of course Dean had never felt this happy, they’d never so resolutely saved the world like they did this time around.

Dean is sitting at the table, now, staring at the laptop screen in front of him. There were still monsters, there might still be a case somewhere. In the back of his head Dean knows he doesn’t really want to find a case. He’s been enjoying his time with Cas and Sam. He likes that the most pressing thing he has to worry about is whether or not the fridge is stocked. He knows Sam has been getting stir crazy, though. Maybe he’ll find a case and send Sam off, encourage him to get Eileen in on it.

The sound of footsteps draws Dean’s attention away from the laptop. Castiel pads into the room. He’s wearing one of Dean’s hand-me-down shirts, even though he hasvclothing of his own. Part of pulling Cas out of The Empty meant leaving his grace behind. Jack had been pretty clear - Cas’s grace was the reason Jack was unable to just pull him out. So, here Cas is, as human as Dean, wearing Dean’s shirt. A smile threatens to break on Dean’s face.

“What’re you up to?” Dean asks.

Cas turns to face him. Dean notices toothpaste stuck to the corner of Cas’s mouth, he must have just finished brushing his teeth.

“It’s almost lunch time,” Cas says. “I was going to make myself something. Are you hungry? I can make enough for two.”

Dean shakes his head. “Just ate,” he says. “You, uh -” He gestures vaguely at Cas’s mouth.

“I what?” Cas asks, tilting his head a little.

“Baby,” Dean starts as he gets up from his chair to walk over to Castiel. “You have some toothpaste. Right there.”

Cas stares at Dean, wide eyed. Dean resists the urge to roll his eyes and grabs a napkin from the table. He wipes at Castiel’s mouth before he crumples the napkin and walks it over to the trash. Cas watches his movements.

“What?” Dean asks when he notices Cas staring at him. It’s not that he minds, Cas just looks a little lost.

Cas just shakes his head and puts a smile on his face. “Nothing. Thank you, Dean. I didn’t realize.”

“It’s part of being human, man. No worries,” Dean says, depositing himself back in his chair. “You gonna eat in here?”

“Yes, of course,” Cas says, finally moving from where he was stopped.

Dean nods in his direction before he pats the chair next to him, smiling up at his friend. He returns to his research as Cas busies himself in the kitchen.

Two days later, Sam is gone to go after a nest of vamps and Eileen’s place just happens to be on the way there. Dean isn’t quite sure why Sam hasn’t just asked her to move in. He’s pretty sure Sam had refrained before because Dean had been a wreck with Cas gone. It was probably better for Dean and Eileen’s relationship that she hadn’t seen him like that. But now, there was no reason for her not to be here. She was family, after all.

Dean knocks on Cas’s door, ending his stream of thoughts. Dean was kind of bored and he hadn’t taken Cas anywhere but the supermarket since they’d brought him back. And, come to think of it, Dean couldn’t remember the last time just he and Cas had gone out for drinks.

Cas answers the door already dressed. “Dean. I was actually coming to look for you.”

“Well, I found ya first,” Dean says, putting an easy smile on his face. “Was gonna see if you wanted to come grab a drink with me. Looks like you’re going somewhere, though.” He didn’t want to press, but where on earth could Cas be going? It wasn’t like he really knew anyone around here outside of Sam and Dean. And if someone they knew was in town, why hadn’t Dean heard of it?

The ends of Cas’s lips turn up slightly. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Dean lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and beams at Castiel. “It’s a date, then. Give me five minutes and I’ll meet you at Baby.”

Cas nods at Dean’s retreating figure and mumbles, “It’s a date,” before shutting his door to walk to the car.

Dean meets him there a few minutes later. “Had to grab my keys,” he says, holding them up for Cas to see.

The drive to the bar passes in comfortable silence, Cas staring out the window at the passing buildings. Dean drums his fingers on his steering wheel. He glances to Cas a few times; he almost can’t believe Cas is really back. He’d been gone for two months. Dean had spent most of that time frantically reading through every lore book and the rest drinking until he couldn’t remember the pain. It had been Jack that finally suggested opening the rift and leaving Cas’s grace behind. Dean had been ready to go almost immediately.

Now that Castiel was back, Dean felt better than he had in years. A warm feeling had settled over him after they fell through the rift and it stayed around. Whenever he was with Cas he could only describe the we he felt as “content.” Like now, for example, he could drive all night like this and be pleased with the way he spent his evening.

They pull in and Dean holds the door to the bar open so Cas can walk through. “Grab us a table and I’ll get drinks,” he says, clapping his hand over his shoulder and walking past him to the bar.

He gets the bartender’s attention pretty quickly. “Hey, Lynn. Slow night?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes at him and pushes a stray strand of blonde hair out of her face. “It’s a Wednesday, what do you expect?” She gives a little chuckle and leans against the bar. “Where’s your brother?”

“Sammy’s with his girlfriend. Won’t be back for a few days,” Dean says easily. “Left me alone with Cas over there.”

Lynn looks past him at Castiel, who is seated at a booth in the corner. He’s looking around the mostly empty bar, seemingly taking in the neon signs advertising different kinds of alcohol. He’s wearing one of Dean’s flannels, Dean realizes belatedly.

“He’s cute,” Lynn says. She turns her attention back to the man in front of her. “What can I get for you two?”

“Two beers,” he says. And then, as an afterthought, “And two shots of your top shelf whiskey.”

She grins. “Celebrating something?”

“Come to think of it, yeah,” Dean says. “He, uh.” He looks for the words. “Just got back from a work trip. Gone for a couple of months.” That sounds like a good cover.

“I bet he’s happy to be home,” Lynn says, setting the beers in front of Dean before turning to grab a bottle from the shelf behind her. “You seem happy that he’s back.”

It’s Dean’s turn to grin. “I’m freaking thrilled. Dude’s my best friend.”

Lynn slides the now filled shot glasses toward Dean. “Want a tray to carry all that?”

Dean doesn’t get to answer before she’s sliding a tray toward him. “You need a tray,” she says, putting the drinks onto it. “I know you were going to try to carry all this over there without one.”

Dean thanks her and slides the tray onto his left arm, steadying it with his right hand. He turns toward the booth Cas is in and flashes him a smile while he lifts the tray slightly, indicating the beverages.

“That my shirt?” he says when he gets to the table. He sets a beer and a shot down in front of Cas.

Cas looks down at the flannel and then back at Dean in a way Dean can only describe as bashful. “Yes. It must have gotten mixed in with my laundry. I can return it, if you want.”

“Keep it. Looks better on you anyway.” Dean picks his shot up and motions for Cas to do the same. “We’re celebrating, Cas.”

Cas picks up his shot and looks at Dean curiously. “What are we celebrating?”

“You’re back!”

Cas smiles warmly. “I am,” he nods. “Thanks to you.”

“Well, Sam and Jack helped,” Dean says, grinning.

“To humanity,” Cas says, raising the shot.

“To humanity,” Dean echos before taking the shot.

Cas makes a face after he downs his and raises his beer to his lips to chase the taste away.

“You’ve not had a drink since you got back,” Dean remarks, watching Cas take a few long drinks from the bottle.

“You haven’t either,” he replies.

Dean contemplates the statement. “Really?” He takes a sip of his beer. “I guess I’ve just been busy.”

They both know that isn’t really true. Dean’s only been engaging in leisurely activities, he’s just not been drinking during them. He wonders for a moment why that might be. It’s probably because he doesn’t have any pain he needs to ignore, he thinks.

“Your tolerance is going to be shit.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m a cheap date.”

Dean looks at him for a moment before laughing. Cas gives him a genuine smile before returning to his beer.

Several beers later, Dean cuts himself off. Someone has to drive home and Cas is more than a little giggly on the bench across from him. He takes a sip of his third beer and gives Dean a measured look.

“What?” Dean asks, putting a soft smile on his face. “See something you like?”

“Yes,” Cas says.

Dean grins back at him. There’s a tug somewhere in his chest, but he ignores it. “Anything on your mind?”

Cas just looks at Dean, clearly deep in thought. “Not really, no.”

Dean laughs and shakes his head. “Want another?”

Cas’s beer is still half full. “Another what?”

“Another drink. Or another shot.”

“Another shot might be nice, actually.”

Dean smiles at him. “That’s my boy. I’ll be right back.”

He returns to the bar and waits for Lynn to walk over to him.

“Two more?” she asks.

“Just another shot,” Dean says. “I’m driving but huggy bear over there can have whatever he wants.”

Lynn shakes her head and pours another. “You two been together long? I haven’t seen him in here.”

Dean blinks back at her and then looks down at the shot. “Actually we, uh, we haven’t talked about… that. Being together.”

She frowns at Dean and he takes a breath. He hadn’t been avoiding it, really. He and Cas had just fallen back into their comfortable rhythm.

“He doesn’t know how you feel, does he?” Lynn asks. She looks a little sad now.

“I guess he doesn’t,” Dean says thoughtfully.

“You should tell him.”

Dean looks up at her.

“Not tonight, though. He should probably be sober.”

Dean nods and grabs the shot. “Thanks, Lynn.”

He sets the shot down across from Cas when he gets back to the table. “For you.”

Cas downs the shot as Dean settles back down across from him. “What were you two talking about?”

Dean stares at Cas. He knows he shouldn’t lie but if he says anything Cas may actually want to talk about his feelings and Dean isn’t ready for that. He doesn’t really have words and he’s not even sure he’s fully processed Cas’s confession yet. And, Lynn was probably right. Cas should be sober for that particular conversation.

“Sam,” Dean lies easily. “This is where we come for drinks. Neither of us have been by in a while.”

Cas accepts the lie and sips from his beer before starting a conversation about Jack and the prospect of weekly family dinners.

By the time Cas had finished his beer the shot he’d taken seems to hit him. “Dean.”

“Cas.”

“I’d like another shot.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “You can get it.”

Cas frowns at Dean before swinging his legs to the end of the booth to pull himself out. He pushes himself up on the table and wobbles a little before Dean is up and at his side, steadying him.

“When you don’t stand it hits you all at once,” Dean explains. He’s gripping Cas’s bicep and shoulder.

“I know how drinking works, Dean. I spend all my time with you.”

Dean chuckled low in his throat. “How about we get you home?”

“Can I drink there?”

Dean turns Cas to face him fully. “Hell yeah, you can.”

“You’ll be drinking, too?”

“Well, yeah. I won’t have to drive us anywhere. Can’t let you have all the fun.”

Dean walks Cas to the Impala and deposits him in the passenger’s seat. “I’ll be right back, baby. I have to pay the tab.”

Cas stares at Dean for a moment before opening and promptly closing his mouth.

“I’ll leave the door open in case you hurl. And I’ll get a bag from Lynn.”

Dean returns to see Cas has closed the door and is currently slumped against it, sleeping. He rolls his eyes and drives him home, careful to avoid the bumps on the road. When they get home, he shakes Cas awake.

“‘Morning, Sunshine.”

“It’s not morning, Dean,” Cas replies groggily.

“Nope,” Dean says, leaning over to pull Cas out of the car. “Let’s get you to your room.”

They make their way through the bunker slowly. Dean sits Cas down and gets him out of his shoes and, after a brief moment of hesitation, his jeans. Once he’s gotten Cas under the blankets, he gets a glass of water from the kitchen and a few tylenol from the bottle he has stashed in his room.

“Alright,” he says, setting everything down on Cas’s night stand. “Take the tylenol when you wake up. You’re probably going to be hungover. And drink some water, okay?”

“Yes, Dean,” says the Cas sized lump under the covers.

“Let me know if you need anything else, okay? I’m right down the hall.”

Dean turns to leave but Cas makes a noise. Dean turns back around.

“Thank you for taking me out tonight, Dean. I had fun.”

Dean smiles. “I had fun, too. Get some sleep, baby.”

He flicks out Cas’s lights and reminds himself to stop calling Cas buddy. The dude loves him and Dean’s probably making it hurt or something. Plus, he’d accidentally called him baby when he’d first gotten back from The Empty. Dean’s probably sending him mixed signals. He shuts the door behind him and walks to his room; he knows he should probably figure out what to say to Cas. Unfortunately, he was pretty sure that meant poking at that warm, fluttery feeling that seemed to be permanently in his chest.

Sam returns from the hunt a week later. He assures Dean it was an easy hunt and that he and Eileen hadn’t needed any help. He also admits to spending a few days with Eileen after they’d taken out the nest.

“How is she, anyway?” Dean asks, handing a beer to Sam and setting one on the end table next to Cas. They’d been watching old western’s in the Dean Cave when Sam got home. Cas had wanted to spend the day watching movies and Dean had agreed on the condition that he got to pick the movie.

“She’s good. She misses you two,” Sam answers.

“Tell her to get her ass out here,” Dean says. “She’s family at this point, man. She should be here, anyway. It would make hunts easier.”

Sam shook his head, smiling. “That’s the first hunt I’ve been on since we beat Chuck. You still haven’t been out.”

“Hey, I’m keeping Cas company. He’s still newly human,” Dean argues.

“You could go hunt if you want, Dean. I’m capable of taking care of myself. I don’t mind,” Cas says from the couch. Dean looks over at him and shakes his head.

“Nah, you’ve been back less than a month. We gotta make sure you have your sea legs before I go anywhere, baby.”

The words left his mouth effortlessly. Sam and Cas just stared at him for a second before Sam coughed.

“It’s great seeing you guys but I’m going to go shower and pass out for a few hours,” he says before making a quick exit toward his room.

“Fine, Sammy. We didn’t want to hang out with you, anyway,” Dean shoots back before collapsing onto his side of the couch.

He hits play on the movie and settles in. He has his own bottle of beer pressed to his lips when Cas speaks.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?” he replies, lowering the bottle from his lips.

Cas is quiet for a moment. “Why do you keep calling me ‘baby’?” he asks carefully.

Dean stares back at him. “I only called you that once,” he says, on guard now. Had it slipped out again? He didn’t think it had but now he’s not so confident. He sets his beer bottle down.

“No, you’ve done it five times.” So, it had slipped out again. More than once. “You did just now before Sam left.”

Dean is silent, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t even realized it had come out. “I’m sorry,” he finally decides, lowering his gaze from Cas’s stare for a brief moment.

“I don’t mind it,” Cas says quietly. He’s looking somewhere to the left of Dean, his eyes occasionally flickering to Dean’s face. “I thought you were doing it on purpose, is all.”

Dean can’t seem to form a fully coherent thought. He knows he needs to say something - mention Cas’s confession, maybe. But he doesn’t have the words for that yet. Instead he says, “Do you want me to stop?”

“I want you to do it on purpose,” Cas says, looking down. Dean can see the beginnings of pink on the top of his ears. He’s overwhelmed with an ache somewhere in his chest.

Dean doesn’t know why, but he slides in close to Cas. He reaches his hand out and lifts his chin so their eyes meet. “Anything you want, baby,” he says, softly. The fluttering in his chest is more insistent now.

He hears Cas’s breath hitch. Cas closes and opens his eyes before saying. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course,” Dean says, his hand still resting on Cas’s chin.

“Will you kiss me?”

Before Dean registers what he’s doing, he nods and ducks his head in. The kiss is chaste and quick but Cas leans in and responds gently. When they break, there’s a soft smile on Cas’s face.

“Cas,” Dean says, moving his hand to Cas’s cheek. “I, uh. I need to talk to you about. About what you said. Before you… Ya know.”

“When I told you I loved you?” Cas supplies, his eyes half-lidded.

“Yeah,” Dean says, chuckling lightly. “I. I think I do, too. I just haven’t -”

“You don’t have to say anything, Dean. You know that.”

Dean brings his mouth gently back to Cas’s and kisses him again. This time just a little longer, his other hand finding Cas’s waist.

“It was just so easy when you got back,” Dean says when he pulls away. He tries to find any string of words that expresses how he feels. “I didn’t think I needed to say anything but…”

Cas stares at Dean, encouraging him to keep going. Dean can feel his face heating up.

“Lynn asked how long we’d been together,” he says, lamely. “The bartender,” he adds.

“I didn’t get to meet her but I remember her name.”

Dean smiles at him and takes a breath before speaking. “And I told her we hadn’t talked about it. And she looked really sad. I realized I do need to say something.”

They’re silent for a moment and then Dean says. “Holy shit. That was a date.”

Cas looks confused. “You told me it was a date.”

“I did?”

“Yes. When I said yes to going with you, you said ‘it’s a date.’” Cas says.

Dean shakes his head. “It’s… It’s an expression, Cas,” he says. Then, “But, uh, that was a date. I think.”

“Dean. Did you want it to be a date?” Cas asks. His voice is lined with both patience and amusement.

Dean pauses for a minute before saying, “Yeah. That was our first date.” He leans in and presses another kiss to Cas’s mouth.

Cas kisses back and then pulls away a little. “Would you like to go on a second date?”

Dean makes a show of thinking. He hums lightly.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Cas. I do,” he places a kiss on the side of Cas’s mouth before he drops his hand. “I, uh, I don’t really know what to say but… You can have me, if you want. You’re just going to have to work with me. I don’t really know what I’m doing here.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Cas says.

Dean places a kiss on Cas’s cheek before he turns back to the TV and starts the movie. Cas reaches across to grab his hand, intertwining their fingers in the space between them.

“Hey, baby?”

Cas’s head pops up in response to the pet name, there’s a faint smile on his lips. “Yes, Dean?”

“I love you.”

Cas beams at him before replying, “I love you, too.”

Dean turns his head back toward the TV but spends a better part of the rest of the movie sneaking glances at Cas. He indulges the warm feeling in his chest, even if he doesn’t quite have the words for everything yet.

#supernatural #destiel #destiel fanfic #spn #mine #bye this was inspired by a post I made because im a monster!#my writing #my fic

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littlepadika · 3 years

Note

💕pink 🎀 = Din

🌸floral 🌻 = meet cute

💅bratz 🍬= dom!reader

the phrase "good boy" would be nice please hehe

congrats on 500 bb 💖

Thank you Jasmine!!! Here's a sweet little blurb for you my darling!

500 followers celebration

Warnings: dom!reader, inexperienced Din, touch starved din, dindin gets a crush!!!

source: timothyolyphant

Din never did anything without reason. He was a practical man. He lived on bare necessities. So when he landed in your hangar it was because the ship would not make it to the next point without repairs.

He expected some male alien or maybe a woman like Peli with a scowl on her face not... you. You were far younger than him but possessed enough knowledge to make up for it. You immediately listed the millions of things needing fixing. Your sweet features not reduced by your spit fire attitude.

"Just the exhaust." He said pulling out his bag of credits.

"But the radiator and the hyperdrive-"

"Just the exhaust."

He watched as your face scrunched up. You wanted to protest but eventually you just sighed. He was your customer after all.

"How much?" Din asked next.

"20."

"Only 20?" Din can't help but tilt his head at such a low fee.

"Yeah since you're only letting me fix the exhaust I figure it won't be long until you're back. I'll charge you more then." You winked making Din's eyes widen behind the visor. He suddenly felt very shy. He wasn't sure why exactly. He was nearly a foot taller than you, towering over you, but your smug smile had him unnerved.

"But no imperial credits."

Din smiled. Oh... he liked you.

Din never did anything without reason. He never wanted for anything except his freedom. However, staying in this shit hole planet for one more day simply to look at you a while longer seemed like a good idea.

"You can fix the radiator too." He told you when he came back with the bounty.

"Oh? What changed your mind, Mando?"

Din didn't answer. He got away with not answering a lot because of the helmet and his intimidating form. He hid behind his helmet, watching as you smiled and shrugged.

He watched you for a moment as you went back to the ship and started unscrewing the side panel. He felt his chest softening, caving in as he watched you push some hair from your face with a huff. Admiring the way you were so pure and graceful yet skillful with your hands. You were brimming with confidence and humor. He envied it. He craved to be on the receiving end. It was times like this he wished he was anyone but a Mandalorian. A man who could come to you with something to offer. Something that someone like you would want.

"Need any help?" He came over, startling you.

"Yeah-the switch board needs new wiring I think. I have some here." You pulled the spare wire out of your tool kit. "Can you switch it out?You know how?"

Din nodded. His heart was beating strangely in his chest, he felt light on his feet walking back into the ship.

After a good couple of hours you were done with the radiator. It wasn't perfect but it was working. You closed the panel, feeling satisfied by the work. You wondered what Mando was up to. Surely it didn't take hours to change some wiring. You walked into the ship frowning at the grime and wear and tear inside the cabin. For a man as rigid as he was he showed surprising lack of care with his belongings. It was reckless, so reckless you almost wondered if he wanted the ship to fall apart. Wanted a reason to finally give up the work. Perhaps it was just you romanticizing like you always did.

You ventured up to the cock pit after seeing he wasn't below. You found him passed out in the cockpit chair, the wires hanging out.

"Typical." You chuckled. He was probably worn out from whatever job he came from. You couldn't imagine putting your life in danger every day just to survive. It had to be draining. It certainly made him more appealing though.

You maneuvered yourself between him and the switchboard. His knees hit the back of your thighs. You looked back and saw he hadn't moved. Still asleep, you assumed.

Din was very much not asleep. He had woken up as soon as you bumped into him but he was too terrified to move. The warmth of your thighs was burning holes into his knees. It felt good. Even just this small amount of contact felt like heaven. It had been so long. So long since he had felt anything close to human touch. He forgot how good it could feel. Especially from someone like you, T

hen you did the unthinkable. You sat down on his thigh. Your back still turned. Focused on the wiring in your hand.

There was no way. There was no way Din would be able to keep still. His thigh flexed and you felt it. You spun around, standing up like you had been burned. He looked down in shame.

"Mando-Maker... how long have you been awake?"

"Just a bit."

"Oh shit. I'm sorry." You rubbed your hand over your face.

You saw him squirm, his knees bumping against the front of his thighs. He looked... forlorn. How could you even tell with the helmet on? Just the deflated posture. Like he was ashamed. You instantly felt bad for cringing away from him. It hurt his pride, you think. So many were scared of him or disgusted by him, and you'd be damned if you were like everyone else.

"Mando?" You bent over, placing a hand on his warm knee. "Did you want me to get up?"

There was a long pause where you questioned your life choices. The impenetrable visor blinded you to his reaction. You just saw your inquiring eyes in the reflection. You didn't see how his eyes widened and his pupils dilated.

"No." He croaked.

"Okay then." You slowly sat back down onto his thigh. He stiffened beneath you making you question whether he liked it. His short one word answer was as close as you were getting to any explanation. Maybe he didn't let himself like touch. Poor thing, you thought.

"Mando. Relax. I'm not going to hurt you." Your voice softened almost as if you were talking to a scared animal.

Mando took a deep breath, his muscles relaxing.

"Good boy." You rewarded him.

He tensed back up again, and not in a bad way. It reflected interest. A change in the tension between you two. You grinned at his responsiveness. His sensitivity to praise.

"Seems the ship isn't the only thing that's neglected."

Din didn't say anything but you could hear his breath deep and ragged through the voicecoder. His hands were gripping the arm rests in a vice grip. You would be starting from scratch with him, your favorite. The wiring long forgotten. You'd get back to it once Mando was passed out from pleasure.

"Relax for me, good boy. Let me work on you, too."

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

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averytiredfanfictionwriter · 3 years

Text

Sic Semper Tyrannis

A syndicate x Platonic! Reader/ Technoblade x Reader

Warnings: murder, kidnapping, blood, a somewhat graphic depiction of getting stitches

Word count: about 2800

Ao3 Link: wow.

I’m excited to share this. I did write a version with an angsty ending, which is up on my Ao3 account here if you want to read that one as well. Fair warning though, while writing it I found myself dying inside so I don’t know how you guys would feel. It was the original way I wanted to take the story but as I was writing I also created this one which is an alternate, fluffier ending. Reader is a raccoon hybrid in this one. Don’t forget to like and follow for more. Enjoy!

It almost seems to be a mistake, Techno thinks. The woman- no girl- standing in front of him never struck him as the anarchist type. She was always too soft, too nice for any of it. Yet here she stands next to Philza, shivering from the chill of the cave and rubbing her bare arms.

“This is the new recruit I was telling you about.” The winged man smiles at Techno.

“She seems… soft.” He mutters, taking in her shivering form before handing her a cloak.

She only nods, accepting the cloak gratefully and clipping it around her neck with ease before burrowing into the thick material.

“Trust me. You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew her how I do.” Phil mutters, rubbing at his shoulder.

“Fine. But do you swear to uphold the values of the syndicate? Do you promise that you’ll help in our mission to destroy the corrupted governments that threaten the freedoms of its citizens?” Techno stands over her, red eyes practically glowing.

She nods hastily under his seven foot tall frame and he seems satisfied as he backs away. “Okay then. Come take a seat. We have a lot to talk about today.”

Techno makes his way up the stairs to the table behind him, taking a seat facing the entranceway. Y/n looks up at Philza and he only shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about him. He seems scary but he won’t hurt you. In fact, that’s the nicest he’s been to someone that’s tried to join yet.” Philza says before walking towards the table.

“Wait- what do you mean ‘tried to join’? Phil, what happened to them?” Y/n says in a panic.

“We don’t talk about them.” Ranboo chimes in. “Now, come on. Don’t want to be late to your first meeting.”

Y/n scurries up to a chair at the table, taking the one across from Phil and next to Ranboo. She sits furthest from Niki and Techno who both seem to be scrutinizing her every move.

“Now, let’s get this meeting started. First things first, we have a new recruit. This is Y/n. You all know her, but she’s going to be joining us. You’ll need a codename.” Techno states, and Y/n thinks a moment as they stare at her.

“Dolos. I’ll go with Dolos.” Techno nods, eyes flashing with an unknown emotion before returning to their usual blankness.

“Okay. Now that that’s over with, is there anything in particular you guys wanted to discuss? Any new information or governments?”

Phil nods, standing as he stands from the chair and speaks to the group. Y/n zones out a little for the rest of the meeting, nodding along but not really listening. Soon, it’s time to go and they’re all standing, the sound of chairs scraping on the floor loudly and Ranboo’s laughter at something Niki said echoes through the small space.

“Y/n, can I speak to you alone.” It’s not a question, and the woman swallows thickly as she follows the piglin hybrid into a small room that connects to the main one.

“So why Dolos? I mean, of everything you could’ve chosen, why’d you choose Dolos?” He asks, standing against the door to the room, blocking her in.

“Ah, well- you see, I’ve been told I’m good at deceiving people and that I’m so good at it, no one ever knows until I tell them, and even then they don’t believe me. I think that it’s a good codename, that’s all.” She stutters out, and Techno’s eyes narrow.

“I’m not easily fooled. If you’re lying, or you’re here as a spy, I’ll figure it out. And then not even Phil will be able to save you. Do you understand me?” He grunts out, standing over her with his sword held in his hand.

She nods and all but teleports out of the room to get away as quick as possible. He looks after her, seeing the disappointed look on Phil’s face outside and the confused glances from Niki and Ranboo. He steps out of the room as well and leaves the meeting hall without another word.

It’s a week before anyone hears directly from Y/n again, and when they do it’s not for reason they would have ever expected.

“I need your help.” Techno takes in the sight of the blood soaked clothing that covers the young woman.

“What happened?” He’s bewildered, the first time he’s been surprised in a long time.

“It’s not my blood. Most of it’s from the people we were fighting, but some of it’s his.” She points behind her where Phil stands, holding up a severely injured Tommy.

“Come on.” Techno grunts, ears twitching. The voices chime in, but he pushes them aside.

“Set him on the couch.” Phil lays him down gently and gets to work brewing potions for the young boy.

Y/n sits next to him, clutching his hand tightly with one of hers as she continues putting pressure on the gaping wound in his stomach. Her striped tail swishes nervously on the floor behind her and the large black ears lay back against her head.

“Get his shirt off. I need to sew it up.” Techno has his sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he comes over with a small first aid kit.

Y/n uses her sharp nails to cut away the stomach section of Tommy’s shirt, revealing the ugly looking gash. She pales at the sight of it, getting up and running to the bathroom to most likely vomit. Techno only sighs as he gets to work, wiping off the dried blood around the wound and starting to stitch it up. Tommy shifts uncomfortably on the couch, crying out at the needle threading in and out of his skin.

Once done, Phil shoves the healing potion in Tommy’s face, which he drinks and then promptly passes out. Y/n comes back from the bathroom, hair tied back from her face.

“What happened?” Techno asks, standing in front of her.

“We were running through the woods, having fun- y’know, kid things- when we came across a small group of people. They started to attack us, and we started to fight back, thinking there weren’t anymore of them. Well, we were wrong. Very wrong. We wouldn’t have escaped if it wasn’t for Phil. Before we got away though, they said something like ‘down with the order’. I don’t know what they meant though. It was hard to understand them through their masks.” Y/n spews out and Techno only stares at her.

“‘Down with the order’? That sounds like they know something. What did they look like? Any distinct markings for kingdoms or anything?” Techno says softly.

She shakes her head. “Nothing that I could see, unless I missed it. I could probably lead you back to the place we fought at. I don’t know if more came to collect the bodies or not.”

“Take me there. But first, go get cleaned up. We don’t need you walking around drenched in blood.” Techno says, nodding to the bathroom.

One shower and change of clothes later, the pair are on their way to where Y/n and Tommy were attacked. Techno notices her fidgeting more than usual, constantly looking around them and watching as she jumps at the smallest of noises. He chalks it up to having been just attacked and they continue walking.

She stops in a clearing and he stands beside her. No sign of bloodied bodies is anywhere to be found. In fact, there’s no evidence a fight even occurred here. No blood spots on the ground, no scrapes in the ground, no disturbance of wildlife.

“Are you sure this is the place?” He turns to look at her, but she’s gone. Suddenly, something hits him from behind and the last thing he sees is Y/n, crying softly as someone holds onto her.

Techno slowly opens his eyes, registering the cold metal against his wrists and multitude of people surrounding him. The voices scream out in rage- rage at Y/n for getting them captured, rage at himself for allowing this to happen, anger for not trying to stop him and Y/n from being captured. They’re angry at a lot of things, and he grunts as he feels a headache coming on.

Y/n stirs in the chair across from him, whimpering softly and her tail waves behind her slowly. “Where-”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to tell us who the rest of the members of your little club is, or else you both die. Tell us, and you live. It’s that simple.” A voice speaks out, a young man with brown hair and light eyes.

He rests a sword on Y/n’s shoulder and looks Techno in the eyes. He says nothing, glaring at the man instead.

“Are you going to tell me? If not, then I guess I’ll need to encourage you to do so.” The young man sighs, and takes out a knife, grabs hold of Y/n’s tail and presses the knife against the base of it.

Y/n screams loudly, and Techno hates the sound of it more than any other sound he’s heard. The voices seem to hate it as well, yelling at him to just tell the man the names of the other members to end it.

“Fine.” Techno gives in.

The young man smiles, dropping Y/n’s tail and wiping the knife off on her shirt. “Oh good! That’s very good.”

“Don’t do it. It’s not worth it. My life’s not worth it.” Y/n mumbles, tears falling down her face as she clenches onto the armrests of the chair tightly.

“You might know one of them. His name is Zephyrus. Has black wings, wears lots of green. Another one is named Lethe. He’s half enderman. Good luck catching him though. The last one is Nemesis. You might never find her though. She spends most of her time underground.” Techno states and Y/n almost laughs at the use of the codenames.

“You’re lying.”

The young man holds the knife to Y/n’s throat and presses gently, causing a small trickle of blood to run down her neck. “You have one more chance to tell me their names before I kill her and then you. I’ll give you to the count of ten. Ten…” Techno growls at the man before him, the sight of his knife pressed against the woman's throat more than angering.

“I told you. Those are their names. It’s not my fault if you don’t believe me. Now let her go. I don’t even like her. Killing her wouldn’t get me to reveal anything.” Techno says calmly.

The man considers this, pausing his counting. “You’re still lying. I saw you help her and her friend, the blonde. I’m surprised the cut didn’t kill him, to be honest. I think I’ll have to go back to your cabin when I’m done here and finish the job.”

Steam is basically pouring out of Techno’s ears and his eyes glow a bright red. “Don’t fucking touch him.”

“Yes! I will, unless you tell me the real names of the other members of your little club.” He releases Y/n’s head from his grip, and pulls his knife away from her neck.

“Phil, Niki, and Ranboo. Those are their names. Now let her go.” Techno growls and Y/n shakes her head.

“He’s lying. Those aren’t their names. There’s not even more than one other member of the group. The third member of the group is named Dream. He’s currently in prison for killing several people and blowing up a country not once, but twice as well as manipulating kids. He’s the only other member of the group.” Y/n says, hoping that they don’t know she’s lying and buy her bluff.

The god currently sits in prison, waiting out his days monotonously. They would definitely all die the minute they try and kill him- if they even do get to him, considering Sam would kill them the minute they step foot in the prison.

“Finally, someone here is telling the truth. You’re going to give me the exact coordinates of where the prison is, and then you two are going to stay here while we go kill him.” Y/n gives him the coordinates and the man is almost bouncing in joy. “For your sake, we better not be walking into a trap. Let’s go boys.” They leave the room and Y/n sighs, her head hanging forward heavily, as if her neck can’t hold itself up anymore.

“What was that?” Techno asks and she shrugs.

“I told you. People don’t believe I’m capable of lying to them. They’re all going to die trying to get to Dream, or he’s going to kill them himself.” Y/n yawns.

“Yeah, and we need to get out of here in case some of them survive.” Techno says, struggling against the restraints holding him to the chair and eventually manages to break them.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Techno mumbles, picking the lock on Y/n’s restraints and lifting her up easily in his arms.

The maze of hallways is nearly impossible to escape, but they do it somehow and step outside to a snowy tundra. The wind blows frozen ice shards through the air and it bites at their skin. They were stripped of gear and their cloaks. The cold is no match for Techno, who produces enough body heat to stay warm enough, but Y/n shivers in his arms and presses her face against his chest in an effort to keep warm.

Techno’s communicator beeps as it regains signal, and he works it out of his pocket, seeing the messages from Phil and quickly shoots one back with their coordinates and a request for blankets.

Looking around, the only shelter Techno can find until Phil arrives is the building they came out of but that’s not an option in case the people come back. Techno settles for sitting on the ground and hugging the woman to his chest, doing his best to protect her from the wind and cold.

“Oh my god…” Phil says as he lands in front of the pair, quickly grabbing Y/n and wrapping the cloak around her.

“Take her back to my cabin. She needs to get warmed up and is going to probably need stitches in her tail.” Phil nods, passing his sword to Techno.

“Will you be fine walking back? I can zip right back here to get you. Tommy’s healed and can look after Y/n while I do so.”

Techno shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. After all, you need to check on Ranboo and Niki. Make sure they’re okay. We’re not extremely far from the cabin, I’ll make it back before the end of the night. Now go already.” Techno says and Phil nods, taking off quickly with Y/n.

He looks back at the building they were in, and heads back inside. If there’s anyone left here, they’ll pay for what happened.

It’s a few days before Techno comes back and Philza spends the time either worrying over it or about the worsening condition of Y/n, who seems to have developed a bad cold or flu or hypothermia or all of it, really, as well as making sure Tommy doesn’t rip his stitches trying to do stupid stuff. When Techno does come back, he’s covered in blood and doesn’t even stop to talk to the members of the syndicate sitting in the living room or even wash up, instead going straight for the room where Y/n is sleeping and peeking in.

“She’s not doing well at all. I stitched her tail up, but she’s developed a fever and is still freezing cold all the time and isn’t getting any better, even with a ton of healing potions. I don’t know if she’s going to make it.” Phil mutters beside Techno and he only nods.

He steps out of the doorway and leaves to take a shower, taking extra care to scrub the blood out of his hair and changes into comfortable clothes. Peeking into Y/n’s room again, he sees her shivering underneath the blankets. Well no wonder she’s sick, she’s still freezing cold, he thinks to himself before opening the door further and stepping into the room. He climbs under the covers and Y/n instantly curls up to him, soaking in his natural warmth.

“Thank you, for getting me out of there.” She mutters, before falling back asleep.

“Anything for you.” He whispers, holding her tighter against him in an almost protective manner.

Phil watches from the doorway, smiling as he watches Techno fall asleep curled up with her.

Tagged:

@thegeekisheere

#dream smp #dream #technoblade #ranboo #philza minecraft #technoblade x reader #philza x reader #anarchist #anarchy #lizzy writes

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maneskin-dimensione · 3 years

Text

La tristezza non dura per sempre.

Summary: You're having a 'blue' day and Damiano's determined to help.

Word count: 4414.

Warnings: Google translate errors, me projecting (again), swearing, I guess? If there are any warnings or things you think need to be tagged then please let me know and I will edit it asap!

Author's note: I've been feeling a bit 'blue' myself lately so this was quite helpful to write.

Please enjoy: likes, comments and reblogs fuel me so please let me know if you liked it and if you’d like to be tagged in anything else I write! Also a massive shout out and big major thank you to @mywritingonlyfans who read this before anyone else and gave me such encouraging feedback, thank you!

Tag List: @mywritingonlyfans @selenophiliaxx @daddydamiano @cries-in-maneskin @superchrystaldrug @bidet-and-legolas @illicitfuck @pinklyrium @teenyweenynightghost

"Sometimes sadness is appropriate. Not something to run from, not something to numb...just Something to feel." ~ Marianne Williamson.

You didn't understand where it had come from.

Yesterday, you had felt fine, happy, content even. You and your roommate had ended up having a quiet night in together with your boyfriends, Damiano getting to know and spend time with the other people in your life was important to him and, luckily, they'd all got on like a house on fire, with your boyfriend agreeing to join your roommate's boyfriend in a game of basketball when they both had a free moment.

Afterwards, Damiano had said goodbye to your roommate and her boyfriend and brought you in for a kiss, promising to pick you up bright and early the next morning. You'd been so excited then and had gone to bed with butterflies in your stomach, looking forward to what the next day would bring.

But when you woke up...it was like you'd never felt that excitement, like it had never existed in the first place.

Instead, you were just so tired. You'd taken your first big breath of the day and the effort it had taken you to do that, alone, made you feel tired to the bone and all you'd wanted from that moment onwards was to just roll over and sleep the rest of the haze away.

The only emotion you could pick out with any certainty right now was disappointment: you'd had plans with the band to have a beach day today - it'd had been in the works for weeks and had been your idea: a short break in the recording process would be good for them, you'd reasoned. Unsurprisingly, Damiano had been the hardest to convince, but had eventually caved when you'd turned the puppy-dog eyes on him.

You'd been excited about this for days, practically counting down the hours until you'd be able to spend some quality time with your favourite people and then...and then this, this morning. This feeling that you hadn't felt for a long time hit you like a high speed train and now in your bed was the only place you wanted to be.

Your roommate had come to investigate after you didn't show up for breakfast; it had been a ritual, as long as you could remember really, for the two of you to have breakfast together, with her always serving up delicious, freshly baked treats. But even the idea of a warm, fresh-from-the-oven croissant wasn't enough to pull you from the sanctuary of your warm bed.

You ignored your roommate and her attempts to get you to respond, ignored her knocks on the door and her calls of your name. You didn't want to be bothered, you didn't want to bother with anyone. You loved her, you really did, but she was one to hover and by her sixth time of trying to get your attention, you were beginning to get more than a little pissed off.

"I'm fine, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather!" you eventually called out, in an attempt to mollify her.

It was a downright lie, you weren't actually sure what you were feeling but what were you supposed to say without causing her to panic?

"I'll be alright if I could just get some peace and quiet!"

There was a pointed hint in your reply to her and finally, she gave up and you were stuck listening as she walked off, down the hallway, her heels clacking against the wooden floors and a sigh of relief left your lips when you could no longer hear her.

But you should have known that the silence wouldn't last for long.

...

You suppose you shouldn't have been surprised that your roommate had called him; it's what you would have done if the situation had been reversed.

You didn't turn around at the knock on the door or the sound of Damiano calling your name. You didn't flinch when the door opened or when you could hear footsteps approaching you.

You didn't even flinch when the bed sank beside you and a hand came up rest on your shoulder with a light squeeze.

"Amore."

You didn't reply, you just kept your gaze straight ahead, almost staring a hole through the patterned wallpaper that your eyes were fascinated with.

"Amore," Damiano repeated, his hand gently travelling from your shoulder up to your hair. "Per favore parlami, per favore dimmi cosa c'è che non va. Sono preoccupato."

It was unnerving to Damiano for you to be silent this long. There was never usually so much silence between the pair of you, one of you always found something to speak about - even if it was the stupidest thing in the world. It was also unnerving for you to go so long purposely not speaking to him.

"Amore, please."

With a grunt, you rolled over in the bed, your eyes finally meeting his; His heart sank at the dull look in your eyes and his hand searched to grasp yours, finding it amongst the sheets.

"What did she tell you?"

Damiano's thumb stroked over the back of your hand, mindless pattern after mindless pattern. You didn't know if he was trying to distract you or himself.

"She said you weren't coming out of your room," he murmured, "And you weren't answering her knocks or calls. She was worried, amore. Worried enough to call me."

You didn't reply, didn't look up at him, didn't move as he peered down at you, eyebrows knitted together in worry as his eyes searched your face. What had happened in the hours that he had left and gone home to sleep? You were fine when he'd left, happy and smiling and giggling along with your roommate at some lame joke her boyfriend had made.

"I don't know," you murmured in response. Damiano blushed slightly, not realizing he'd been verbalizing his thoughts. "I don't even know what happened. I don't know why. I just woke up and there it was...this weird sad, dull feeling in my chest, like it's been there the whole time and I've never realized until now."

"What can I do? What can I do to help?"

You considered for a moment. You glanced up at him; he was already dressed for the beach: tank top, shorts, trusty Dr Marten platforms, jewelry all painstakingly chosen to give off the relaxed vibe he wanted and yet all you wanted him to do was stay here with you.

But, despite how long it had taken them to get on board, Damiano was clearly looking forward to a relaxing day at the beach with his friends and you weren't about to take that from him.

"You can go to the beach." you eventually murmured. "Tell everyone I'm sorry, please? I don't want to spoil their day, or yours."

"The only place I'm going is to call them and say that we can't make it." he decided, sitting up and toeing off his shoes, flipping them off his feet and not caring where they landed in the room. "And then I'm going to get in that bed with you and hold you until you're sick of me."

You didn't reply to him, knowing that there was nothing that you could say that would get your boyfriend to change his mind; once Damiano had an idea in his head, it was hard to get him to abandon it. His footsteps echoed on the dull floor as he left the room, phone to his ear, his voice carrying through to the bedroom from the hall as he told someone - presumably Vic - of the change in plans.

You could hear the rustling of clothing, the soft drop of his shirt meeting the floorboards, the clink of his phone and keys on the bedside table and then the mattress dipping beneath you with his weight. His bare chest met your back, his arms slid around your waist as he pressed up against you, lips meeting your shoulder.

The silence stretched between you, tears pricking the back of your eyelids. You couldn't stop the sniffles or the way your shoulders shook slightly as you tried, but failed, to hold back the tears that had been threatening to escape for the past few hours. Damiano didn't speak but his grip on you tightened, kisses being pressed wherever he could reach.

"Sono davvero dispiaciuto." You whispered so low that Damiano had to strain to hear you. But he did hear you, he always did and you felt his nose brush against your neck.

"You've got nothing to be sorry for, amore."

You shook your head. "I ruined beach day."

"You didn't ruin anything." he countered, "I'd much rather be here with you than at the beach with the others."

You sighed, "You're a terrible liar, Damia."

"I could never lie to you." He sighed, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "Do you want to talk about whatever's bothering you?"

"I..." you trailed off and swallowed. "I don't even know what is bothering me. Like I said, I just feel sad."

"Do you need anything?" he murmured after a moment. "Anything at all?"

"No," you said, but then you paused, considered. "I don't know what I need. Everything's just...off, right now."

"That's okay," Damiano nodded. When he next spoke, his words were shy, hesitant almost. "You know...” he swallowed. “You know I'm not going anywhere, right?"

"Even if I have more sad days?"

"Every day could be a sad day, dolcezza, and I still wouldn't go anywhere. You're stuck with me." his arms tightened around you and he scooted closer, as if to prove his point. "I'm a koala. Your koala."

Normally, a sentence like that would get him a giggle out of you or a smile, but not today. It was a testament to how low, how down you were feeling that you didn't react to something that usually gave you butterflies and earned him a flash of the smile you seemed to have just for him.

Damiano was silent for a moment, before he piped up again, this time his voice laced with cautious optimism. "What do you think about us going into the living room and watching a movie? We can watch anything you want. It just might do you good to get out of this room for a while."

You sighed. You didn't really want to move. You were warm, comfortable and safe from prying eyes. You liked this little bubble you were currently encased in: just you and Damiano and your bed, that's all you needed right now and if you could, you would have been content to stay like that for the rest of the day.

But your body decided to betray you, and with a sigh you nodded. You supposed that movies would help with filling the silence between you two.

"Sure," you mumbled. "Just got to go to the bathroom first."

Damiano nodded and you felt the bed shift as he climbed out, waiting until you were stood up and moving to plant a kiss against your forehead. It was so gentle and sweet that it caused you to flash him a ghost of your smile. It was thin, small, but it was there and it made Damiano's heart leap in his chest to see it.

"Take your time, amore. There's no rush."

When you'd finally emerged from the bathroom, feeling slightly better after splashing your face and cleaning your teeth, you retreated to your bedroom to pick up the blanket that always laid at the bottom of your bed, opening it and draping it around yourself and approaching the living room, you stopped in your tracks at the doorway, your tired eyes widening at what you saw.

"What..." you managed to sputter out with more energy than you felt. "are you doing?"

All of the cushions were off the couch, the knitted blanket your grandmother had gifted you when you had secured your internship was draped over the body of the couch and then strung up, clothes pins holding it to other blankets and sheets that Damiano had managed to find, all attached to a rope that hung from the ceiling via your light fixture - a rope that you had no idea that you even had, and other ropes strung across the room. From your vantage point, you could see your favourite fluffy pillows and blankets inside the construction, piles of books, snacks and magazines you liked littered the "floor" of the fort.

Netflix was cued up on the TV screen, the lights were low and there were fairy lights and candles on every available surface and you could even smell the unmistakable aroma of Pasta Amatriciana - your favourite and Damiano's speciality - sneaking in from the kitchen.

Your boyfriend, the man in question, turned to face you. He wore a bright grin on his face, his eyes shining in triumph as he studied your face.

"Building a fort of course!" he said.

He approached you and took your hand, leading you around the room as if he was a realtor trying to make a sale.

"I've made the fort here, as you can see. It's loaded with your favourite snacks, books, magazines and those fluffy pillows that you like so much but always make me itch. I know you love candles and fairylights so I filled every surface I could find with them." he gestured to the inane amount of fairylights that he'd strung up: over photos and paintings that hung on the wall, on the windowsills around your plant pots and the vase of flowers that you'd bought a few days before. The fairylights were intertwined with the small tealights that your roommate always insisted on stocking up on whenever she passed them in a store.

"Netflix is queued up and waiting for you to have a scroll to find something to watch," he continued, turning around to face you, "And the Pasta Amatriciana is almost finished, made just the way you like it." he blushed slightly.

You blinked at him. How long were you in the bathroom?

He looked so pleased with himself and so proud at his attempt to cheer you up that you felt yourself begin to thaw slightly.

"You didn't have to do all of this."

He nodded, giving you hand a squeeze. "I know, I wanted to. I remember what you told me; how when you were younger and you felt sad or you'd had a bad day, your dad would build you a fort and you'd sit in it for the rest of the night. You called it the "happy fort" because only happy or good things were allowed inside."

"I can't believe you remember that."

He shrugged, a smile still on his face. "I remember more than you think, amore. Now, why don't you get inside and get comfortable while I check on the pasta? I called Leo and he's going to drop Bidet and Legolas off and also to bring dessert because we both know that while I can cook, I'm hopeless at desserts and I didn't want to disgrace the canoli."

He dropped a kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the kitchen, leaving you to aquaint yourself with the fort he had built single-handedly. It certainly was impressive, a massive gain on the ones your father used to build you when you were a child. You climbed in, pleasantly surprised at how warm and cozy it was and you felt something pull at your heart.

You were so wrapped up in the warmth and the familiarity and overwhelmed by the fact that Damiano went to all this effort just to brighten your day a little that you almost leapt out of your skin when you glanced up from where you were stroking the feathers of your cushion to meet his gaze, bowls in hand.

"Comfortable, amore?" he asked, passing a bowl of your favourite Pasta Amatricana, and smiling as you inhaled the scent.

"Very." you sent him a small smile as he maneuvered himself into the fort; he'd had the foresight to build it with more than enough room for you pair and the cats. The two of you ate in companionable silence, eventually settling on watching Friends; you'd seen the show to the point where you could probably quote the episodes word for word but Damiano didn't object in the slightest.

Despite yourself, you managed to finish your pasta and even had a second helping, much to Damiano's relief.

Leo had knocked and delivered Bidet and Legolas, who both were eager to explore (and attempt to destroy) the new construction in their living room, meowing or glaring at you when you softly told them to stop trying to chew one of the cushions; he'd also brought chocolate cake from a bakery that the two of you frequented together often when buying secret treats for the band whenever they were working too hard to stop for something sensible to eat.

You were curled up now, Bidet in your lap, resting atop the soft blanket Damiano had covered you with, your head billowed on his shoulder as he sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders and the other making sure Legolas was comfortable on his lap.

"How are you feeling?"

Damiano's voice was soft, gentle and it washed over you like another warm blanket that you just wanted to snuggle up to. You turned to face him and smiled slightly.

"I'm getting there." you admitted, leaning into him. "This is helping."

"Are you up for a facetime?" he asked, "Vic's been bugging me all day. She wanted to come over earlier but I figured you weren't up for that so I turned her down. She, Ethan and Thomas are at her place right now, they're all worried about you."

"Didn't they go to the beach?" you asked. Your voice was small, as small as you felt. It was one thing, you supposed, for Damiano to skip out on a fun beach day because of you. It was another thing, entirely, for Ethan, Victoria and Thomas to miss out because of you too.

He shook his head, "They didn't want to go without us," and seeing the way your eyes filled, he hurried to reassure you. "But it's okay, amore, because we're going to make sure we go when you're feeling better. Please don't worry."

"I'm sorry," you sighed, "I didn't mean to ruin everyone's day."

"You didn't." his voice was firm, full of warmth, but firm. Pushing you to believe him. "Amore, you're having a bad day, a sad day. You need to know that that's okay and it's more than okay for you to need to take time for yourself."

You sighed and then glanced at his phone. "Can we facetime them? I want to apologise."

"You don't have anything to apologise for." he insisted, but quickly found Vic's contact and pressed call, angling the phone in front of the pair of you.

Usually, when you were facetiming Vic, Ethan or Thomas, you'd look a bit more presentable than you did. You swiped your arm under your eyes, using the cuff of your sleeve - one of Damiano's hoodies you'd later realize - to wipe the last remnants of your tears from your face.

Damiano simply pressed a kiss to your hair as Vic picked up, her face filling the screen with Ethan and Thomas behind her, all of them wearing warm smiles.

"There she is!" Vic cheered when she saw you, handing the phone to Thomas and leaning over to pick up Chili and show her to the camera, "We miss you!"

"We're sending you lots of hugs and kisses!" Thomas cut in, breaking off in a laugh when Chili turned to him and licked a wide stripe up his cheek. "Chili too!"

"How are you feeling?" Ethan asked and you managed a small smile.

"I'm getting there." you glanced over at Damiano and then back to the screen.

"I'm really sorry about the beach thing. I didn't mean to ruin things."

"You didn't ruin anything, cucciola," Thomas cut in, before anyone else could. "We wouldn't have had any fun if we had gone without you two. I need my racing buddy!"

The tiniest giggle left your lips and you could feel Damiano sigh deeply, in relief or in surprise you weren't sure; you were pretty sure he winked at Thomas.

“Please don't worry about today." Ethan spoke up, "We can go to the beach any time. Just name the way and we'll clear our schedules."

"Oh completely." Vic nodded, "I'll argue with whoever I have to clear whatever day you want. But, like Ethan said, please don't worry. Just focus on you for now, okay? The beach can wait, just put yourself first."

You smiled, tears once again pricking in your eyes, but this time, they were happy ones, relieved ones.

"I love you, guys."

"We love you too!"

Thomas pushed Chili forward so the dog began to lick the screen of Vic's screen. "Chili too!"

"Now," the camera swung back to Vic again, "Get some rest, make Damiano watch Mamma Mia and relax, okay? We'll talk to you later."

Once they'd signed off, Damiano placed his phone down and turned to you, nudging your cheek with his nose. "Feeling better?"

"I'm glad they aren't mad at me." you mumbled, leaning into him with a sigh, the tension melting from your body.

A kiss was planted on your forehead. "I never thought they would be."

A yelp left your mouth as Damiano used the small distraction to pull the TV remote from your lap. "What are you doing?"

You watched as he scrolled through Netflix, before landing on a very specific and familiar movie. A small smile pulled at your lips, and just as it had previously, it made Damiano's heart leap in his chest.

"Finding your comfort movie."

The opening titles of Mamma Mia filled the screen and you turned to peer up at him. "This will only work if you sing along, you know."

Damiano rolled his eyes, but hunkered down to watch. "As long as you don't make me watch it three times in one night again."

"I don't know why you're complaining. You seemed to enjoy it last time."

"I was singing ABBA in my sleep, amore. There's loving ABBA a regular amount and then there's singing it in your sleep while on tour with your bandmates, and waking up to find out that Thomas has recorded you."

"Could have been worse."

Damiano rose an eyebrow at you, but there was a smile playing at his lips, amusement in his eyes. "How?"

"We could have watched the High School Musical trilogy instead."

"I've told you before, amore. I was Troy Bolton in a previous life."

"With better hair I trust."

"You know it."

....

Four days later, you found yourself on a quiet beach, lying on a beach towel with Chili running around the sand, barking at the ocean and Ethan and Thomas racing each other into the water and back. Damiano was lying against you, his head resting on your thigh while Vic was sitting beside you, filming them and cheering them on.

You smiled to yourself.

The five of you, six if you included Chili, had travelled to Sardinia for the weekend. When you called up Victoria and told her that you were feeling better and if you could reschedule the beach trip, you had no idea that you'd be making the leap to Sardinia of all places.

It had been Ethan's idea, you'd learned when you arrived, to come out to Cala Luna; he'd been to the beach before and thought you'd like it due to the seclusion, and you had to admit that the beach and it's surroundings were beautiful; as soon as you'd stepped onto the sand, you could feel the tension that had been present in your body ebbing away.

The beach was quiet enough and hidden enough that no-one would be able to guess your location or tip off the paparazzi, so the five of you were free to completely relax and let your hair down.

"Shit, Chili, no!" Vic yelled out, shattering the peace as she jumped up and ran towards her dog, where she was trying to grasp the inflatable beach ball that Thomas had insisted on bringing with them, determined to get them all to play a game of beach volleyball at least once.

You startled when you felt a poke at your shoulder, looking down and meeting Damiano's wide eyes, his cheeky smile as he gazed up at you. "You okay, amore?"

"Come on, you two!" Vic called out, "Smettila di sdraiarti e di essere così carina e adorabile. Come and play Volleyball!"

"Vic, there's five of us," Ethan pointed out, "How are we going to play volleyball with five people?"

"Someone's going to have more team members," Thomas complained, "That's not fair because we know it's you that will insist on the extra team mate."

"Well then, one of you will just have to referee." she huffed.

"But that's not fair," Thomas continued, "Volleyball was my idea. Why can't you referee? or why can't...."

As Vic, Ethan and Thomas bickered before you and Chili ran around their feet, tail wagging in excitement, you turned back to Damiano and smiled down at him.

"Yeah," you murmured with a peaceful smile. "I'm okay."

~ fin ~

T R A N S L A T I O N S:

Amore: Love

Per favore parlami, per favore dimmi cosa c'è che non va. Sono preoccupato: Please talk to me, please tell me what's wrong. I'm worried.

Sono davvero dispiaciuto: I'm really sorry.

Cucciola: Puppy

Smettila di sdraiarti e di essere così carina e adorabile: Stop lying down and being so cute and adorable.

Dolcezza: Sweetness

#damiano david #damiano david x reader #damiano david fanfiction #maneskin #maneskin fanfiction #måneskin fanfiction #måneskin

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hotpinkhoshi · 4 years

Text

devour (m)

pairing: human!baekhyun x vampire!reader (f) genre: smut, paranormal warnings: mentions of blood, pain, monsters etc, explicit sex involving some slight dom/sub themes but not really. a lot of position switching, oral (m receiving), cursing word count: 6.6k summary: you’re thirsty. so damn thirsty. and baekhyun is the only one that can give you what you want. it’s the last time, really the last time, you tell yourself. a/n: hello my lovely amazing readers! thank you so much for being so patient with me these last several months, i know i haven’t been very consistent with my posting BUT i promise i’m trying. i started this piece about 3 weeks ago and my only goal was to finish it by the end of the month. thankfully i just barely finished in time! i hope you enjoy but first, a disclaimer: i haven’t read or watched anything about vampires in many years so i know there may be things that don’t technically make sense. vampire enthusiasts pls do not come for me, i did my best. thanks to: all my followers, @jjinyounf for discussing vampire reproductive systems, & @flowerbeom and @jjpmoans for hyping me up and giving me love and encouragement whenever i need it, which is a lot!

Last time, you told yourself it was the last time.

The last time you let Baekhyun into your apartment at half past three in the morning, so out of your mind starving that you could hardly even see straight. The last time you let him take you, command your body like it was no longer your own.

You should have known you were lying to yourself.

You [3:28am]: are you up?

Baek [3:29am]: yea, why?

You [3:31am]: can you come over?

After your last message, you got no response. Perhaps, you thought, he’d fallen asleep or worse, had no interest in being your blood bag for the night. You would be disappointed, but you wouldn’t blame him.

You rolled over in bed, flopping onto your stomach as you buried your face into your pillow. Maybe you could simply push through and wait until morning, when Kyungsoo would be awake and able to help you.

After you turned a few months ago, totally unexpectedly, it had flipped your world upside down. Kyungsoo found you, shivering and delirious by a dumpster where your fun little one night stand had left you.

Kyungsoo was human, but he was the type of person that people trusted and allowed into their worlds, no matter who they were. As one of the general surgeons of the local hospital, he’d gotten himself into a position of substantial power over both the humans and the vampires of your city. He never used it as a weapon—only as leverage to keep the humans safe.

When he found you, he’d wrapped you in his jacket and carried you to his apartment, but you didn’t remember anything until many days later. Kyungsoo nursed you to health, providing you with a vampire crash course to prepare you for the rest of your life. Of eternity.

Then he’d introduced you to some of his friends at a party after you were more comfortable, although you had yet to feed on a living human. There was a whole community of humans that got off on it, that lived for the pain and pleasure of letting a vampire feed on them.

It was at this party that you met Baekhyun. He had a mischievous glint in his eye when Kyungsoo told him your name and left the two of you alone in the dimly lit, smoky club basement. Something about that look in Baekhyun’s eyes told you he knew you’d be his by the end of the night.

The feeling, the taste, the pure ecstasy of finally consuming fresh blood was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, even when you were alive. Your senses were heightened as a vampire as it was, but as soon as his blood hit your tongue, it was like your world exploded into a million colors.

But even though you’d been the monster drinking his blood, Baekhyun remained in control. He laid you out on his bed and pinned your wrists to the mattress with one hand, his other wrist pressed into your mouth as he forced you to feed.

You whimpered and cried out when it was too much, when the overstimulation of his blood and the way he was rocking into you at a brutally rhythmic pace had you seeing stars. He never relented; only fucked you harder as you writhed under him.

After that night, you never wanted anyone else. Baekhyun was the only man you wanted to feed from. With him, you didn’t feel like a monster. You didn’t feel like a thing, like a horror story to tell in the dark.

He made you feel human again.

Tonight, the thirst was too much to handle. It was clouding your mind and keeping you awake as you twisted and turned under the covers. You couldn’t tell if you were craving his blood or craving him, but you were too weak to care.

You hated the thirst. It was like dehydration, tenfold. Your head hurt, your lips were dry no matter how many times you wet them, and all you could think about was warm blood sliding down your throat. It was maddening.

The telltale sound of your apartment’s buzzer had you sitting up in bed, so quickly that it made your head spin, the noise signaling that you had a visitor down at the main entrance to your building.

You scurried off the bed and hurried to the door, nearly running into it as you slid on the hardwood in your socks to let him in. You told yourself the eagerness to see him was only because you were thirsty, certainly nothing more.

As soon as you opened the door, you felt embarrassingly underdressed.

Baekhyun had dyed his hair since you’d last seen him. It was now a silver blonde, perfectly messy and framing his stupidly beautiful features. He’d been out tonight, you realized. The glitter on his cheekbones gave it away.

His hands were stuffed comfortably in the pockets of his leather jacket with a faded graphic tee underneath, and expertly tailored black jeans practically painted onto his lower half.

You tugged the hem of your T-shirt down, even though he’d already had you in positions that you hadn’t even thought were physically possible—vampire or not. For some reason, you still felt bare in front of him in your pajama shorts and oversized tee.

“Hmm,” Baekhyun hummed as he stepped inside, letting the heavy door close behind him. He smelled like smoke and rum. “Look at you. Is someone thirsty?”

You blinked, grateful that you were incapable of blushing. As ravenous and desperate for blood as you were, the way he looked you up and down made you feel small and shy.

“Can I?” you asked, reaching for his wrist, half tucked into the pocket of his jacket.

“Uh-uh.” He stepped back just before your fingers brushed his skin. “You know that’s not how it works, baby. You still need to work for it.”

If you wanted to, you could muster your strength and slam him into the door, dive for his neck and bleed him dry before he even realized what was happening. But you didn’t. You wanted this, you wanted to beg and plead until finally, he rewarded you.

“Baekhyun,” you whispered, then dragged your tongue over the dry, cracking skin of your lips. “I’m so thirsty. I’ll do whatever you want.”

He seemed pleased by this, judging by the way his lips turned into a familiar smirk. “I know you will. Come on, let’s go sit down.”

You followed him to the living room obediently, watching as he made himself comfortable on the couch. He shrugged his jacket off, revealing the expanse of his forearms down to his wrists, covered in bite marks in various stages of healing.

All from you.

If he had chosen to get his fix somewhere else, you wouldn’t have any reason to be envious or hurt. But it filled you with a sense of pride that he didn’t, that you were the only one he allowed to taste him.

You moved to sit next to him, but Baekhyun stopped you. He took your hand, leading you to stand in between his parted legs.

“Knees.”

It took one word for you to drop to the carpet, your bare knees pressing into the old scratchy shag rug you’d had for ages. He kept your fingers in his palm, rubbing his thumb idly over the back of your hand.

“Good girl.” With his other hand, he tucked your hair behind your ear, his wrist brushing against your cheek so that you could hear the pulse beneath his skin.

“Baek…” you began, turning slightly until your nose brushed his skin. “Just a taste. Please.”

Baekhyun lifted your chin with his finger and locked eyes with you. You filled with warmth already, just one look enough to send your mind racing with images of everything you wanted from him. His blood was further down the list than you would have thought.

“Just a taste,” he repeated.

With that, he let go of your hand and turned slightly to reach into the pocket of his discarded jacket. When he pulled out the shiny folded metal, you gulped hungrily.

The pocketknife brandished with a metallic click.

It wasn’t uncommon for humans to carry weapons these days. After all, vampires weren’t the only monsters that roamed the streets after dusk, and not all vampires were quite as friendly with humans as you were.

Your eyes followed Baekhyun’s nimble fingers as he brought the very end of his knife to his middle finger, twisting the point into his fingertip until a spot of blood appeared.

It took every bit of self control that you possessed not to reach out in desperation for his hand and bring it to your mouth. But you knew better—you knew if you broke, Baekhyun would stand up and walk out the door like you were less than nothing to him.

He watched you with interest as he held his finger just out of your reach, eyes dancing with that mischievous stare he had when he teased you. You would despise it if you didn’t know that eventually, he always caved.

Finally, when your mouth had gone dry and you could feel the warm tingle that meant your fangs were about to protrude, Baekhyun brought his index and middle fingers to your mouth.

He slipped them past the parched skin of your lips, your entire world blooming as soon as his middle finger touched the center of your tongue. You moaned, eyes falling shut.

“Look how needy you are,” he remarked after a beat. His voice was strained, though, as if watching your display of bliss was causing him physical pain.

He let you go for a while, maybe half a minute, before he was removing his fingers from your mouth. You couldn’t help but whine, resisting every urge not to grab at his wrist to keep him there.

With the small amount of his blood you’d been able to milk from his finger, you already felt renewed. A surge of energy coursed through you like you’d just been injected with adrenaline.

“What do you say?” Baekhyun asked with a cocked brow.

You swallowed, licking any remnants of his blood from your lips. “Thank you.”

Without a second thought, you reached for Baekhyun’s belt, fingers quickly undoing the metal buckle. Your ears picked up the quickening of his heartbeat from the moment you undid the button of his pants.

It was no surprise that most vampire-human relationships, if not ending in death, ended in sex. Feeding, in your experience, was extremely sensual and instantly created feelings of arousal within both parties. It was almost better than sex, and when the two came together? It was euphoric.

You were pleased to find him half-hard already by the time you got his zipper down, your hand wrapping around the length of him under the fabric of his briefs. Baekhyun inhaled sharply, holding his breath until you had pulled his cock from his underwear.

Only a few seconds passed before you leaned forward, parting your lips to run your tongue along the underside of his member. Your eyes remained open, locked on Baekhyun’s face to gauge his reaction.

He loved it, of course.

With a groan, he tipped his head back, exposing his throat and sending a shockwave to your core. You wanted his throat, his neck, all of that fresh, warm blood pumping beneath his skin. But you wanted to taste it while he was inside of you. It would be worth the wait.

Your eyes fell shut as you took his length into your mouth, deeper and deeper with each stroke until he hit the back of your throat. Unlike men you’d been with when you were human, Baekhyun made no effort to remain quiet. He was loud, and you loved it.

If you had your way, all of your days would be filled with Baekhyun’s voice. His moans, his rough whispers in your ear, his laugh, his hums as he completed mundane tasks like wiping down the counters or tying his shoes. Deep down, you wanted it all.

“Good girl, that’s my girl,” he whispered, reaching forward to lace his fingers in your hair. He curled his hand into a tight fist, a deliciously sharp pain spreading across your scalp.

You whimpered, lips wrapped tight and wet around him. He guided you back and forth for a while with his hand in your hair, muttering soft praises all the while. By the way his hips were twitching towards your face, you knew he was getting lost in the ministrations of your mouth.

Baekhyun soon dropped his hand from your hair, signaling you to pull away, just in time for him to stand up and pull you to your feet.

A squeak of surprise fell from your lips as he lifted you, hooking your legs around his waist in a simple, swift movement.

“Bed,” he said simply.

Baekhyun carried you through your apartment as if it was his own, lips kissing and nipping at your neck as he dodged every obstacle between the two of you and the bedroom. He stopped once, in the hallway, to lean you into wall and roll his hips into your center.

His name came out as a sigh.

Then, finally, he dropped you onto the center of your bed. It was messy from your previous tossing around in the sheets from your thirst, but neither of you cared. Baekhyun reached for the comforter, knotted and piled together under your lower back, and easily tossed it off the bed to leave nothing but the sheets under you.

He stood at the foot of the bed, chest heaving up and down, and ran his fingers through his hair. The look in his eyes had you squirming, ready for him to devour you in every way possible.

“Are you still thirsty, baby?”

Your heart clenched at the pet name, even though he always called you that, loving the way it sounded on his lips. You gulped, nodding as you batted your eyelashes.

“Yes,” you admitted.

“Take off your clothes,” he told you, hands reaching for his jeans, still unbuttoned, to push them down his legs.

It took less than a second for you to obey, clutching the waistband of your shorts and shoving them off of you. You knew he liked when you kept your underwear on, just so he could use it to further torture you by keeping a layer between you.

You slipped your thin T-shirt off, throwing it to the side and laying back into the mattress again. Baekhyun had removed his own shirt, leaving just his briefs from letting you see all of him.

You could marvel at his body for hours—he was slender, but solid. He wasn’t much taller than you, but his shoulders were broad enough to make you feel protected in those rare moments when he held you in his arms.

This time, though, you noticed something new. There was a handful of bruises and scratches marring his body, completely different from the puncture marks that your fangs left when you fed on him. Blinking, you furrowed your eyebrows, fingers reaching out.

“What are-”

“No questions,” Baekhyun cut you off, reaching for your hands before they could reach their destination. His face softened, ever so slightly, when you quickly retreated, curling your hands up near your own chest. “We’re not here to talk, are we, baby?”

Just like that, he made you forget the suspicious marks on his chest, even one slash that looked particularly painful. Almost like he’d been cut by a knife.

Watching the way he licked his lips as his eyes traveled down your body, slowly, so slowly, you were easily steered back to the task at hand. You dropped your hands to the sheets, digging your nails into the fabric as he overwhelmed each of your senses.

Even from here, you could smell his blood. From here, you could hear the steady, strong beat of his heart, taste the alcohol and nicotine of his kiss. Your body was calling out to him and you weren’t sure how much longer you could deny what it needed.

“Baekhyun,” you found yourself whining, hips squirming under his hungry gaze.

His eyes snapped up to your face then, so much desire and pure lust in his stare that you felt a brand new surge of heat travel through your limbs.

“Mm, first…” he pressed one knee down into the mattress, then the other, until he was hovering over you. “We have to see if you’re ready for me, don’t we?”

Baekhyun led a painfully light touch down the middle of your chest with his index and middle fingers, between your bare breasts, and down the valley of your stomach at a pace that had you biting your tongue just to keep from begging him for the nth time. It would only further encourage him to play with you, of which you could only tolerate so much.

You knew his moves by now, knew that he would trail those fingers down to your waist, over the elastic of your panties until he found the evidence of your arousal between your legs. You knew his moves, and he still had you whimpering the moment his fingers brushed your clit through your panties.

Your toes curled into the sheets as you tried desperately not to show how crazy he was making you. He knew already, though, the moment he slid his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties and found wetness between your legs.

“Oh,” Baekhyun said with a smirk, tongue running cheekily along his lower lip. “You’re dripping, Y/N. You’re this wet just from sucking me off?”

Again, you were grateful for your inability to blush.

“Answer me,” he demanded suddenly, eyes turning dark just the way you liked them.

“Yes!” you replied, hips canting up towards Baekhyun’s hand. “Yes, I’m this wet just from sucking you off.”

Even after you closed your eyes, you were sure you could see the cocky smirk that was undoubtedly painted upon his lips. He lived for this, the feeling of absolutely owning you. You, an immortal, bloodthirsty, powerful woman despite how weak he made you.

As his fingers delved lower, just until he could dip them into your entrance, you mewled and turned your cheek towards the pillow. “Please,” you breathed.

Baekhyun’s lips brushed your neck. “Please, what?”

“Want you… want-“ you sighed as his fingers pushed deeper, to his second knuckle. “Want you inside.”

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t surprise you when he finally gave in, but you couldn’t complain. Though he didn’t concede without a few deep pumps of his fingers, enough to have you gasping and close to ripping the sheets apart beneath you.

Baekhyun slipped his fingers from you and stood from the bed, his hands pushing down his briefs without hesitation. He nodded at you once, motioning with his chin to the headboard behind you.

“On your knees, and face the headboard.”

Renewed with your need to feel Baekhyun inside of you, you easily flipped over onto all fours, that warm sensation in your gums warning you that your fangs would extend at any moment. You didn’t fight it, hoping that it wouldn’t be much longer until you would need them.

“Fuck,” Baekhyun exhaled, just before you felt the bed shift with his weight as he moved behind you. “You’re beautiful, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t love seeing you like this.”

You’re beautiful.

The words echoed in your mind, though you knew they probably shouldn’t. He rarely complimented you so boldly, especially before he was inside of you, overwhelmed with pleasure and pain. Curling your hands into fists, you shoved your feelings down because you needed to. A survival instinct, really.

Because if you fell for him, if you opened your heart, the odds were against you. You weren’t sure why he chose you, why you were the only one he allowed to feed from him, but you couldn’t let yourself see it as any more than a mutual transaction of pleasure.

Baekhyun snapped you out of your thoughts easily the moment he pressed up against you from behind, his hands molding down your sides until he could place them upon your hips.

You hung your head between your shoulders, reaching your hands out to grip the wooden slats of your headboard. The anticipation was always the best, and worst, part of this.

It almost scared you how well Baekhyun knew your body. He knew when he trailed his fingertips down between your shoulder blades that you’d shiver and bite your lip, using every ounce of willpower that you possessed not to beg him. Even though you were pretty sure that’s what he wanted.

He knew when he leaned forward and kissed your shoulder, that you’d ultimately lose the battle with yourself and your dignity. You were hot, sweaty, and desperate. Desperate enough to give in and sob his name, squeezing your headboard so hard that you felt the wood splinter beneath your hands.

Without another word, his lips still pressed to your skin, you finally felt the tip of his cock tease your entrance. You held your breath, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t drag it out any longer.

Your wish was granted as he filled you in one long stroke, both of you releasing satisfied moans at the sensation. This... this was bliss.

“How are you-” Baekhyun ground out through his teeth and squeezed your hips hard enough you’d probably bruise, if you could, “-always this tight? God.”

His lips trailed across from one shoulder blade to the other, giving your body a moment to adjust to the girth of him, before he began to move. Just like every other time, he pulled sighs and moans from you that only his ears had ever had the privilege of hearing.

“Oh, my god,” you breathed, your walls clenching around him each time he filled you, his pace making your head spin.

“How’s it feel, baby?” Baekhyun asked, voice low next to your ear.

It took a few more thrusts for you to be able to catch your breath to answer him, your head spinning from the way he was fucking you. It didn’t matter how many times you had him, he always made you like this. Crazy, hungry, and weak.

“Good, so… so good.”

“That’s right,” Baekhyun answered, one hand drifting from your hip down between your legs to find your clit. “You’re taking me so well. Think you might get to feed a little earlier than normal tonight, baby.”

You clenched around him once more at his words. Recently, Baekhyun had started making you wait longer and longer to taste him. The last time, you’d been teetering right on the edge of your second orgasm when he finally bared his neck to you.

It wasn’t the worst thing in the world--no, that moment when his blood hit your tongue had sent you towards the most electric, trembling climax you’d ever had. But you had to admit your mouth was watering already at the thought of sinking your teeth into his skin sooner rather than later.

“Please,” you begged, pushing your ass back towards him. “Please, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun rolled his fingers around your clit in circular motions, grunting as he thrusted hard, jolting you forward. You gasped and moaned, throwing your head back in ecstasy.

“You want that, huh? You want me to fuck you while you drink from me?” He matched each stroke of his cock inside of you with the pace of his fingers, drawing tight circles between your legs.

“Yes,” you answered, voice cracking. You didn’t just want it, you needed it. Your fangs were showing now, and you weren’t even sure at what point they’d finally protruded from your gums, a biological response to the thought that you would be needing them soon.

Your world spun, briefly, as Baekhyun grabbed your hips and flipped you from your knees onto your back. It was quick, a move he’d pulled on you so many times you barely even noticed until he was pushing back inside of you.

“Oh, look at you,” he said from above you.

Now that you could see him, you could appreciate his rosy cheeks, the way his hair stuck to his temples, and the subtle way his shoulder muscles contracted each time he moved inside you. Holding himself up with one arm, he trailed his free hand down the side of your face and brushed his thumb over your lip.

“You’re ready to feed, aren’t you, baby? So fucking needy. You think you deserve it?” The pad of his thumb slipped inside of your mouth, daring to trace over the shape of one of your fangs.

All you could do was nod, the ability to actually speak coherent words completely lost on you at the moment.

You waited, as patiently as you could while he was driving you insane, for Baekhyun to make the first move. You never reached for his arm first, never lunged for his neck or his shoulder, simply because you wanted him to have that control.

Baekhyun leaned down, his lips trailing kisses from your chin up to your jaw, until he nipped at your earlobe. “Go ahead, pretty. Take what you want.”

The next time he filled you completely with his cock, you finally sunk your teeth into Baekhyun’s neck, that same spot that you had claimed as your own already. You whimpered as his blood filled your mouth, sliding down your throat.

You reveled in the way he tasted and the sinful way he inhaled sharply at the initial bite before he let out a long, blissful moan. Your body was on fire now, so consumed in Baekhyun and the way he felt buried this deep inside of your heat. It was like you were invincible.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pulled him into you easily. It was different when you fed from him like this. You had to be careful, control yourself so that you didn’t hurt him too badly, but it tasted so damn good.

Before you could get carried away, you forced yourself to pull back, licking any remnants of his blood from your lips. Even though you were no longer feeding, you felt the effects of his blood rushing through your body already.

It was electric and overwhelming in the best possible way, heightened even more so by the way Baekhyun fit inside of you and stretched you so perfectly. The entire room had brightened around you as if somebody had switched on a light.

When you were finally able to focus on the man above you, you were pleased to find that he looked just as fucked out as you felt. His arms shook, for a moment, maybe from the quick loss of blood or just the sheer pleasure of it all.

Taken by a moment of bravery, you used your legs hooked around his hips to roll your bodies over so that you could settle on top of him and let him rest for a moment. His wound would heal quickly—something to do with the healing properties of your saliva, according to Kyungsoo—but you knew he’d need a beat to regain his strength.

The moment he filled you completely, you took in a shuddering breath and planted your hands on his chest. Baekhyun stared up at you, eyes filled with awe, lips parted as if he wanted to say something but just couldn’t find the words.

“Wanna ride you,” you whispered, licking your lips once again. “I want to make you - make you feel good,” you admitted.

Baekhyun’s hands found your thighs, pale and smooth, and dug his fingertips into your skin. Slowly, those fingertips trailed up to your hips to pull you closer, forcing you into a rocking motion atop of him.

“Go on, then,” he breathed. “Make me feel good.”

It occurred to you then that you’d been in this position with him only once before, and it only lasted a couple of minutes before he flipped you onto your back and took over control. This time, though, you wanted to take it until the end. You wanted him to see just a shred of the power you could have over him.

Maybe you didn’t realize it until now, but you knew Baekhyun’s body just as well as he knew yours.

You knew when you rolled your hips just right, he’d groan and his eyes would flutter closed as he fought not to thrust himself further inside of you. You knew his hands would start to roam, squeezing and groping at the smooth flesh of your hips and stomach.

Not until Baekhyun had you learned to appreciate a man’s hands on you without feeling self conscious or try to cover up. Maybe because Baekhyun owed you nothing, there was no reason for him to lie to you or tell you what you wanted to hear. With his hands and his lips, he painted his honest truth on your body without saying a word.

You started to lose yourself more and more with each roll, each circular grind of your hips on top of him, letting your needy moans fill the room along with his.

“Just like that,” Baekhyun praised, both hands holding firmly onto your waist. “Tell me, who makes you feel this good?”

You pressed your hands more firmly into his stomach and opened your eyes, only a little surprised to find him staring up at you again as if he was trying to drink in every inch of your body.

Just when you were about to answer, Baekhyun bucked his hips up, pushing himself deeper inside of you—deep enough to make you shiver and lose any and all words that could have gone through your mind.

“I-” you started, fighting the urge to close your eyes. With the way he was looking at you, you knew that Baekhyun wanted your eyes on him. “Y-you,” you could only whisper.

“I said,” he said, through his teeth, surprising you as he sat up underneath of you so that your chests were flush together. “Who makes you feel like this?”

“You, you, you,” you cried, feeling the familiar heat building in your belly and spreading down towards your thighs. “Baekhyun, oh, fuck…”

“Mmm,” Baekhyun hummed, pleased, pulling you even closer to him. “Such a good girl. You know exactly who you belong to, don’t you? No one else can ever have you like this.”

Even as far gone as you were, something about his words made you shiver, mind racing with all the ways he could mean those words. You’d accepted that you wanted more from him, more than a late night fuck and feed, but what if he felt the same way?

“No one.”

Baekhyun pressed the words onto your lips. You clawed at his shoulders, not caring if you marked him, if you left scratches to match the mysterious half-healed slashes across his torso. You wanted him to belong to you, too, if only in one way.

The kiss sent you closer to your high as your thoughts got the best of you, imagining what your life might be like if you could belong to each other.

Maybe you could wake up next to him someday, help him with breakfast by frying the bacon while he mixed pancake batter. Or you could fall asleep curled up into his side, hand pressed to his chest, counting his heartbeats.

“Close,” you whispered. “I’m so close.”

“Me too, baby. Me too.” Baekyun pulled back first from the kiss, one hand in your hair and the other helping you keep your pace, gripped possessively around your hip.

When you finally tumbled over the edge, you could only speak incoherent mumbles and whispers of pleasure into the crook of his neck as your body bowed forward into him.

Fireworks exploded behind your vision with your climax, a feeling you should have been used to by now, but you still found yourself practically blacking out every time. It was stronger, more powerful since you became a vampire. Like every cell of your body was exploding and putting itself back together again.

“I got you, pretty, I’m here,” you heard Baekhyun whisper as he thrust into you from below, fucking you through the intense waves of your orgasm.

The feeling returned to your fingertips what felt like an hour later, even though it was probably only a minute or two, and you found yourself able to open your eyes. You blinked a few times to let your eyes refocus, taking in the sight of Baekhyun so close to you, so close to his peak.

“Baekhyun, I can’t-” you gasped, willing your trembling thighs to move so you could resume your movements on top of him. It was no use—you just didn’t have the strength.

Baekhyun moved quickly, easily flipping your positions so that he was above you once more. He remained on his knees, grabbing one of your pillows to shove under your lower back. From this angle, he could wrap your legs around his waist and grind into you at the perfect angle.

“Oh, fuck,” you moaned, hands scrambling to clutch the sheets underneath of you. All you could do was watch him, devour him with your eyes the same way you had devoured him with your mouth.

From the moment you met him, you’d thought he was beautiful. It always struck you as unfair that he appeared to be without flaws, as if you had dreamed him up. He just simply couldn’t be real. And if he was real, it was a miracle he wanted anything to do with you.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Baekhyun said through gritted teeth. He was losing control, moving closer and closer to the edge with each deep thrust.

Your fingers squeezed and tugged at the sheets beneath your hands, the only thing you had the physical strength left to do. “Please,” you whined. “I wanna feel you come inside me.”

It didn’t take much longer, only a few more perfect rolls of his hips before he came with a loud, shuddering groan. You felt him spill inside of you, liquid heat that felt like it was never ending. This was your favorite part. It was the closest you could ever feel to him, surrounded in every way.

Once he had come down, Baekhyun fell forward on top of you, catching himself on his forearms. He breathed deep and heavy, face buried between your neck and your shoulder. You found yourself stroking his back, tracing words into his skin that you couldn’t say out loud.

When he finally rolled off of you, he didn’t go far, just flopped onto his side next to you. Your breath caught in your throat when he pulled you closer, one arm around your back and the other grazing your shoulder.

Outside the window, you heard the morning birds begin their chirping. It was easier to focus on their melody than just how close Baekhyun was. Close enough to hear his pulse, quick and strong.

“You okay?” he asked, nose nudging your jaw. “You get enough?”

You swallowed, suddenly remembering the whole reason Baekhyun had come over in the first place. Because you both had an itch that needed to be scratched—nothing more.

“Yeah,” you replied weakly. “I got enough.”

But he didn’t move, just let his lips rest softly against your neck. It had never been like this before. Soft, quiet, sweet.

“Why do you only let me feed from you?” you found yourself asking, hand on his chest gently pushing him back. “Why me?”

Baekhyun’s eyebrows pushed together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” you sighed, sitting up and pushing your hair out of your face. “All your feeding marks are from me. I’m the only one, right?”

Leaning up onto his elbows, Baekhyun could only shrug as if you’d asked him if he liked sugar in his coffee. “Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you,” Baekhyun offered. As if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

You blinked. Had you heard him wrong? Did he mean it… like that?

“You like me,” you repeated.

Baekhyun had the nerve to laugh, just a light, airy chuckle. “That’s what I said. Why am I the only one you feed from?”

Gulping, you tore your eyes away from him and shook your head. You wanted to deny it—but you both knew it was true. You’d never told him as much, but you wouldn’t be so desperate for him if you could easily get it somewhere else. Correction: you could have, you just didn’t want to.

“Because I like you.”

When you looked back at Baekhyun, he was grinning, the light catching on the glitter still smeared across his cheeks. He pushed himself to sit up, reaching for your hands. He tugged you closer to him.

“Yeah? You sure you don’t just like my delicious, mouthwatering blood?”

You scoffed and shook your head, feeling a smile tug at your lips. “It’s not that delicious.”

Baekhyun laughed again, and this time you had to join him. It felt like it was too good to be true, him wanting you the way you wanted him. You wanted to pinch yourself, just to make sure you hadn’t blacked out and imagined this whole conversation.

“Since that’s settled,” Baekhyun said, fingers grazing up your arm, your throat, until he was lifting your chin. You saw his affection for you in his eyes, so obvious it made you wonder if you’d been missing it all along.

When his lips touched yours, it was a kiss unlike any other you’d shared with him before. Deep and slow, like you had all the time in the world. You sighed into his mouth, letting his lips quiet every worry you had racing through your brain.

“Stay the night,” you said softly once you parted from him.

Baekhyun smirked, pressing his forehead into yours. “It’s already morning.”

You glanced at the window, noting the soft glow of the sunrise behind your curtains. “Oh. Never-”

“I’m kidding,” he cut you off, stroking his fingertips across your cheek. “Only if you promise to cook breakfast for me when we wake up. You do eat, right?”

“Yes,” you said with a laugh. “I eat. I don’t need to, but I love food too much not to.”

“That’s my girl,” he replied in a low tone, giving you goosebumps.

In order to keep yourself from jumping his bones, you pulled from him and climbed off the bed, searching for the comforter Baekhyun had thrown off the mattress when you’d first laid down. Once you found it, you settled on top of the sheets with him, pulling the blanket over top of your bodies.

Your memories from before you turned were a blur. Some things you could remember, but it was like they’d happened to somebody else. You knew you’d had a series of unsatisfying one night stands, a couple of boyfriends, and a handful of crushes. You remembered the face of the man who turned you, but not his name or how it happened. A blessing, Kyungsoo told you.

And although you couldn’t remember the faces of any of your past lovers, you knew without a doubt in your mind that you would never forget Baekhyun.

You realized as he brought you into his arms that he didn’t just make you feel human, he made you feel like the girl you’d been before.

#byun baekhyun #exo smut #baekhyun smut #exo imagine #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun fic #exo fic #exo fanfic #writing

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catxsnow · 4 years

Text

PROM DATES

Request: Hey, could I request a batmom where the topic "prom" comes up (idk how) and batmom says she never went there and regrets it and batfam makes her her "own" prom and she dances with all of her sons.

Warning: fluff

A/N: This was so freaking cute!! I loved writing it, all the fluffy feels

GIF not mine

Word count: 2.4k

Bruce Wayne's kids didn't get along. They fought, argued, and even threatened to maim each other. However, they would also die for each other, avenge each other, and fight anyone that tried to hurt them. They had a messed up family, but if there was one thing that they could agree on, it was how much they loved you.

Each Robin grew up with you in their life. You were there to support them, help them when needed, and be the person to look to when they needed guidance. They might not have been your own kids, but you loved them like they were. Bruce loved you for that. It was a crazy family that you had formed, but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Alfred had worked far too hard for you family. He never showed that the work was ever too much for him, but you knew that when you offered for him to take the day off and relax that he appreciated it more than you could imagine. You decided that it was your time to clean the massive Wayne Manor.

Hours of washing and scrubbing as your family worked themselves away down in the cave. It was nice having the place to yourself. Music was blasting and you were able to dance around without any of your kids teasing you for it.

By the time that you reached the study, you had found an old album of Bruce from high school. He looked far younger than he did now. Stress free, no wrinkles, still the same smile that he gave you now. He looked handsome, but that never changed with his age. You couldn't stop yourself from flipping through the album to see what his life was like before you.

He seemed so different back then. Sports, hanging out with his friends, being irresponsible. You didn't think Bruce was ever capable of that. It was when you reached his senior prom pictures did you stop to admire. He looked better than ever with his suit on and a smile on his face. No lines of stress or thick scars were on his skin.

"(Y/N)!" You nearly jumped as you name was called out. You were far to engrossed in the album that you hadn't noticed Damian and Tim exit the cave. They looked excited to see you - as they always did. Tim moved to stand behind the chair you were sitting in and Damian stood at you side.

"Bruce looks so different," Tim looked at the pictures in shock. Damian analyzed his father, at that age he looked the spitting imagine of Damian. "His prom date doesn't even compare to you. Who was your prom date in high school?"

"I never went to prom," you sighed. High school was a long time ago, but you still regretted not going to your senior year prom. Getting to dress up and get your hair done, it was something that you never got to experience. It had been decades and you still missed not having that night.

"No one ever got around to asking me and all my friends had dates already. I didn't want to go alone," you explained to them. Tim placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. He had seeing you upset about things - especially so mundane like this where there was nothing that he could do to fix it.

"It seems lame anyways," Damian scoffed. He didn't enjoy the idea of wearing a fancy suit just to stand around in some gym with half-ass decorations and people who didn't wish to be there. To him, it was pointless. But he could see that this night meant something to you. He didn't want to see you upset about it.

You suddenly closed the album, not wanting to think anymore about your own past anymore. Tim and Damian looked between each other. It didn't take being the son's of Batman to realize that you were upset. You kissed the tops of their heads and ushered them to to the kitchen for lunch.

Tim and Damian walked far behind you and paused to glance at each other once more. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Tim asked.

"For once, yes."

All week you had been suspicious of your family.

For the first time in a long time, Jason had come home without your request. Dick was more giddy than normal. Even Damian seemed to hint at a smile every time he looked at you. Whatever they were scheming, you wanted no part of it. Last time they had those looks, a prank war nearly broke out.

Saturday morning, Bruce had offered to take you out for brunch. It wasn't very often that you got to lavish on dates, but he claimed that the media needed to see you out and about together - you were just happy to spend time with him. He also encouraged you to dress fancy since the place you were going to was rather expensive.

You loved getting dressed up for him - mostly because you got to hear the endless amount of compliments from him.

Brunch went as you expected it to. Delicious food, pictures from the paps, and the best kind of company with the man you loved. No matter the time or place with Bruce, you always loved getting to be with him.

He took the long way home, wanting to show you the new development that WE was working on. It was going to be a beautiful new building that would help thousands. You were always amazed at what Bruce could come up with. He held you hand the rest of the drive back, gazing over with love in his eyes.

There was a hint of a smile on his face as he drove up to your home. Something had been up with him all morning and you still weren't sure what it could have been. Nonetheless, you graciously accepted his hand as he opened the door for you and walked up to the doors of the Manor.

"What's with you?" You stopped him. You hand rested on his chest while the other was still intertwined with his own. "You look far happier than you ever are."

"Am I not allowed to be happy when I'm with my beautiful wife?" Bruce leaned down to kiss you again. You smiled into it, even more so when he pulled away. Only with you, did Bruce's gaze ever soften. "Come on, let's go inside."

Bruce pushed open the front doors and you were nearly taken aback with shock. Your front entrance no longer was the spotless floor that it usually was, but instead, was covered in classic high school decorations. A picture backdrop was in the far corner, a balloon arch right as you walked in, there were even streamers hanging from the high ceilings.

You felt like you were back in high school again. However, it was the decorations that caught your attention, it was how beautiful and handsome your adoptive kids looked standing in the middle of the foyer. For the first time in a long time, everyone had gathered together, just for you.

Dick, Duke, Tim, Jason, and Damian were in the best suits they owned. Their hair was styled and the all had gleaming smiles as they watched your expressions. Steph and Cass were there as well, both of them in gowns that looked so perfect on them that they looked way more grown than you ever remembered them being.

"What's all this for?" You asked. You broke away from Bruce's hold and did a full spin of the room to see everything that they had done for you. Finally, you had seen the prom poster with the year that you had graduated hanging up. "You recreated my prom?"

"You said you regretted not going," Tim spoke up. He looked over to Damian, who had been the one to help him get everything set up for you. "We wanted to let you have that special day, too."

Tears brimmed your eyes at the idea that they had gone through all of this just for you. Getting everyone together was hard enough as it was, you had no idea how Damian of all people was able to swing something like that. That was the thing, they all loved you enough that they didn't have issue to clear their plans for the day just for you.

Damian was the first to notice the tears in you eyes. He broke the formation that they had and approached you. He looked up at you for a brief moment before latching around your waist. You knelt down so that you could be eye level with Damian instead. He didn't say anything, but you knew what he had on his mind. "I love you too, Damian," You kissed his cheek.

He went back to his original spot and just as he did, music started to play. You had just noticed Alfred standing off to the side with a record player by him. Bruce stuck his hand out for you to grab, "May I have this dance?"

"Of course, my love."

Your afternoon had gone nothing like you expected it to that morning. The surprise of having your kids recreate something so irrelevant in their lives, just for you, warmed your heart. The conversation about prom with Tim and Damian had been so short, you never assumed that they even thought twice about it.

You were wrong, very wrong. They had managed to create you the perfect prom. They even played all the same music that was from your year, it was incredible. You had finally gotten the prom that you wanted, and this was far better than what it would have been in high school.

With this, you had the chance to dance with each of your sons, and the love of your life. Dick had been the most giddy to ask you to dance. The second that Damian had brought the idea up to him, he was all for. You were the most important person in his life growing up, he would do anything to make you happy.

Dick was grand and dramatic as he twirled and dipped you. As the oldest, and having known you the longest, he wanted to make the best first impression of your prom. You were laughing and smiling the whole time he danced you around.

Jason didn't look overly thrilled to be there, but his attitude changed as he danced with you next. Growing up, you were always his biggest supporter. Even now, with Bruce opposing all of his new morals, you still saw that excited little boy in him. For him, you were his voice of reason, you respected him in a completely different way than the rest of his family.

It was moments like those did Jason realize just how lucky he was to have you in his life. When your song ended, Jason had pulled you into a tight hug, muttering words of thanks quiet enough that the others couldn't hear. No matter what he did, he always wanted your praise.

Tim had been next. "I can't believe you did all this for me," You told him. "I don't think I can ever thank you enough, this is... this is beyond incredible."

"Of course I did it for you," Tim smiled. He spun you around in your dance before continuing. "I think if Damian and I can agree on something then it must be very worth doing. We love you, (Y/N). You're the best adoptive mom we could ever ask for."

"As crazy as you kids are, there's no other family I'd rather be in," You agreed. As the dance ended, Tim kissed the top of your head and allowed Duke to take his spot. Duke grinned as he grabbed your hand.

He always felt like he didn't have the same kind of connection with you as the rest of the kids, but he couldn't be more wrong. Duke was an excellent kid, and you were so beyond proud to say that you had a part in making him who he was today. "You look so grown up in that suit."

"I am grown up," Duke argued. He was. All of them were. They weren't the young Robin's that showed up broken and alone to your home. They were all - besides Damian - grown up. You wanted to hold onto Damian's youth forever, you feared the day that he would leave you and Bruce.

Finally, it was Damian that offered his hand to dance. His hair was slicked back and he looked just the image of Bruce. The older he got, the more you saw his father in him. "Thank's for doing this, Damian. It means a lot to me."

"It wasn't difficult," Damian tried to play it off. He was much shorter than the rest of your dance partners, but he had more skill than the rest. He didn't twirl or dip you, but you swayed around the entire 'dance floor'. "I'm happy that you're enjoying yourself."

As the last song ended, you were left feeling happier than you had in ages. Seeing all your kids together, getting along and chatting? That was all you wanted in your life. You hated seeing them fight, but you knew that they all had their reasons - as well as their reasons against Bruce. As much as he wanted to keep them safe, he was too hard on them at times.

Bruce joined you once more, snaking his arms around you from behind and kissing along your jaw and cheek. You looked around the room at everyone. Tim was dancing with Steph, Cass with Duke. Damian and Dick were chatting while Jason was talking to Alfred. This had been the most peaceful your home had been with everyone in it.

Bruce spun you around so you were facing him. His hands were low on your waist and he pulled you as close as he could. Once again, there was a loving smile on his face that was reserved only for you. "Today was perfect, Bruce."

"I'm glad," Bruce kissed you. He did a dramatic dip in the middle of the room, gaining the attention of everyone else. Dick had snapped a photo just at the right time. That picture would be better than any high school prom picture you would have had all those years ago. "I always wish you to be happy."

"I'm always happy when I'm with my family."

#batfam #batfam x reader #batfam imagine #batmom #batmom imagines #batmom x batfamily #batmom!reader #bruce wayne x batmom #bruce wayne #dc imagine #dc one shot #dc #fluff

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ukiyoexo · 3 years

Text

THE PERFECT ONE. — kjm

PAIRINGS — exo, kim junmyeon x reader

GENRES — best friends to lovers, fluff fluff fluff, slight angst

SYNOPSIS — after a ruined date, your best friend decides that you deserve to be treated in the form of a perfect night that leaves your heart warm and your feelings out in the open.

WARNINGS — swearing and sweetness

MESSAGE — hi, @amyeonzing i’m emma, your exol secret santa and this is my (hopefully not too shitty) gift for you. i really enjoyed the time i spent getting to know you and i must say that i think you’re pretty freaking cool!! thanks for putting with my somewhat sporadic asks, i hope this makes up for it

also thanks to mel and lolo for setting up the @exolssecretsanta, it really was fun and definitely worth it!

WORD COUNT — 2.2k+

"i hate guys." you let out in a huff, flopping your body into your best friend's bed, "i hate guys, i hate men, i hate boys, i hate those weird humans with the dicks hanging off their body. i hate them all." you repeat again more descriptively this time, the frustration growing in your chest as you continue your somewhat dramatic announcement. your hands gripping the duvet cover as your head buries into the pillow. the only sense of calm you gain being from the smell of cologne that lingers on junmyeon's sheets.

you don't hear or see him get up, but he does with a small chuckle, pushing away from the desk he was sat in front of at the other side of the bedroom and walking over to the bed calmly. he hovers over the side of the bed your laying on before deciding to crouch down next to you, one hand gently pushing on your arm in hopes of encouraging you to unbury your face. it takes a little convincing — it always does — but you do give in eventually, letting yourself be rolled over, your arms in reponse only folding over your chest as a pout forms on your lips.

"so you were saying," junmyeon nudges you to make room for him on the bed, "men equal bad?" he sits down once you shuffle over, doing his best to hide the small smile that is prying at his lips "men equal very bad." you nod in agreement, the stern look remaining on your face as junmyeon nods. “and why is that this time?”

you shake your head at his question, not really wanting to answer. if you were being honest, you found the truth quite embarrassing, even if you shouldn’t do, you just couldn’t help it. but then again, it was junmyeon you were talking. the man you had known since you were old enough to walk, the man you spent your childhood with, experiencing the epic highs and lows of being a teenager and now an adult. it being junmyeon made you feel a bit better at least and was only reason you were willing to admit the cause of your upset.

“i got stood up.” your face twists, eyes tracing the dappled texture painted on junmyeon’s bedroom ceiling. “i was supposed to go on a date last night with this guy i met through a friend and he fucking stood me up.”

junmyeon shifts onto his side, elbow bent to prop up his head, “oh,” he hums, face morphing into a sympathetic expression, eyes saddened. his hand moves to rest on your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles, “hey,” he begins gently, “there’s no point getting upset over this guy. if he couldn’t be bothered to show up to a date with someone as amazing as you, he’s not worth any of your time or thought in the first place.”

“ugh,” this was the exact reason everyone came to junmyeon for advice and you hated it, mostly because he was always right. you were letting some stupid guy, who you hadn’t even properly met, dictate your feelings and however much you didn’t want to admit it, it was stupid.

“ok.” you nod, lettting a small smile pry at your lips. “who cares about him, right?” you sit up promptly and junmyeon mimics the action. “right!” he cheers on with you but the joy is short lived. “it does still kinda suck though.” your body seems to deflate as the words pass your lips, shoulders caving in on themselves.

it sucked a whole lot in fact. not even because you cared that much about the guy, just the feeling that someone would rather leave you hanging than text to cancel.

junmyeon remains silent for a while before shifting off the bed, making his way around to the other side before grabbing your hands and pulling you up to. “y/n,” he begins softly, “forget him, yeah?” he nods encouragingly and you mirror the action reluctantly, gaze flickering away. “i’ve got a plan and it requires you to not be grumpy.”

your head seems to perk up at his statement, a plan?

your head tilts and it’s enough indication for junmyeon to begin explaining, “go on a date with me instead, a make up for last night.” he offers sweetly, hands clutching yours, and you swear you feel your heart beat fasten. “a date?” you question and he nods again, “a date.” he smiles back, “i’ll make it as perfect as possible and by the end of it, you will have forgotten that prick even exists.”

it hadn’t taken much convincing after that for you to agree, junmyeon was just a friend after all, and what’s weird about going out with a friend?

he had instructed soon after for you to go home and get changed, planning to pick you at seven for the beginning of your date. you had done so promptly, changing into your favourite ‘casual date’ outfit - whatever that meant - before fixing your hair and putting on a light layer of makeup.

and thankfully, unlike last night, when the planned time rolled around, junmyeon showed up too, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand that had your cheeks heating. his only reasoning being that you “deserved to know what a proper date was like.”

just a friend, just a friend, just a friend.

you have to remind yourself as he begins to drive after guiding you to his car, taking a deep breath as you scan the road signs you pass, hoping for any clue of where junmyeon might be taking you. the further you journeyed however, the more lost you became, city buildings morphing into fields upon fields. the car drive turning into what felt like more of an adventure as the minutes ticked on. “if you’re going to kill me, at least give me some warning.” you let out in a chuckle and junmyeon laughs back, his hand moving from the steering wheel onto your thigh. the feeling of his skin on yours leaving goosebumps prickling on your leg, “no murder happening here.” he squeezes his hand and just as quickly, it’s back on the wheel.

it’s weird, the feeling that bubbles in your stomach, almost like butterflies. but no, that was stupid. junmyeon was your best friend of course and that was it. even if he seemed to be the one you thought about most.

few words are shared after that, a quiet melody playing through the car from one of your playlists. your head resting against the window. you don’t even notice at first when the car rolls to a stop, junmyeon getting out first and promptly making his way over to your side of the car. the small giggle that passes your lips when he pulls open your door and holds out a hand leaving a rosy shade on his cheeks. he then retrieves the small weaved basket he had tucked in the car boot - the stereotypical picnic type - before gripping your hand once again, leading you down a small path.

it’s a small wooded area, up a slight slope, away from the concrete buildings and pollution. the moonlight weaves its way between the branches and leaves, leaving specs of silver dancing on the ground. rays highlighting the small blue flowers that sit in bundles in the foliage. it’s pretty. in fact more than that, it’s almost ethereal.

the world around you seems to glow, nature left to create its own bubble of serenity. the peace of the night only disturbed by the sound of your footsteps.

it’s a calm, however, that seems starkly contrastinf to the hammering in your chest every time you feel junmyeon’s thumb rub against the back of your palm. sure, you and junmyeon had held hands before, you had even cuddled and shared the same bed, you were best friends after all. it’s just that this felt different. felt special. it felt like something more.

you walk for only a couple minutes before reaching a clearing. it’s on the edge of the hill, surrounded by trees and seemingly secluded from the rest of the world. the only evidence of human life being the glowing lights of the city from what seems be miles away.

he lays out a blanket and places down the basket, opening it to pull out a collection of some of your favourite foods. god, he knew you well.

“how do you know about this place?” your head tilts, eyes scanning junmyeon’s features as you settle onto the picnic blanket. every soft curve of his face almost iridescent in the white glow of the moon and stars. “i just like to come here sometimes.” he responds rather simply, gaze fixated ahead. “when i want to clear my head, or need to be alone.” he continues, voice edging further into a whisper with each word.

“it’s nice.” you hum back, a small smile perched on your lips. “perfect in fact.” junmyeon gains a smile at that too. “i’m glad.”

you remain silent for a while after that, letting yourself enjoy the food and the comfort each other’s presences provided. you weren’t lying when you said it was perfect, it really was.

no one had ever done something like this for you, and you doubted anyone ever would again. it almost seemed too perfect, and somehow almost painful at the same time. to know that this was just a fake date per say and not the real thing left you with a bitter feeling in the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t seem to get rid. but you couldn’t say anything, after all, junmyeon was just a friend.

“you didn’t have to do this, you know?” you whisper after another moment, “but i wanted to.” he responds quickly but gently back. a response that leaves a warm, fuzzy feeling growing in your chest that you can’t stop no matter how hard you try. “i know, but it’s just sad as well i guess.”

your words catch the man off guard, his head twisting in your direction, eyebrows quirked up slightly. “well it’s not real, is it?”

a silence settles once again. a quiet that’s more stiff than serene. leaving your hands sweaty and throat dry. you shouldn’t have said anything, you knew that, but you and junmyeon had always promised to tell each other the truth and that was what it was. the truth. this date wasn’t real. and that was the truth no matter how much you didn’t like it.

“i—” your best friend begins but doesn’t finish, instead shifting in his spot on the checkered fabric. “i guess.” his thumb fiddles with the ring resting on one of his fingers, “unless you want it to be.” he then mumbles, so close to a whisper that he’s not even sure you heard him, but you do. of course you do.

“do you want it to be?” you whisper out your own question in response, junmyeon letting it linger in the air before slowly nodding. his movements small but sure. “i want it to be real, if you want it be real.”

junmyeon admits and you feel yourself seemingly freeze in the moment. the truth bubbling in your throat ready to be blurted out. you couldn’t lie, you knew that, but admitting it was quite frankly scary as fuck.

“i want this to be real, i want something between us too.”

maybe you blurted out too much.

you can feel your cheeks heating with embarrassment, heart thudding so hard you’re sure it could break out of your chest at any moment.

but then he laughs, a small chuckle, a chuckle of disbelief.

it seems out of character for the junmyeon you knew but then he’s threading his fingers with yours and leaning so closely towards you that you’re not sure if anything is as you really know it. “me too.” he lets a smile pry at the corner of his mouth, face inches away from yours as his gaze flickers onto your lips. your gaze however focusing on his eyes. the way they seem to store a thousand stars and hundreds of joyf memories. the small flecs of gold running through the brown that somehow glow even at night.

“can i kiss you?” junmyeon hums and a breath catches in your throat but your head nods promptly nonetheless. the feeling of his lips against yours akin to the feeling of electricity, jolting through every nerve in your body, leaving every hair stood tall. his lips soft and so so gentle, yet somehow still emitting fireworks when you meet with them.

fuck. he was a perfect kisser too.

you pull back reluctantly, the need for air suddenly an inconvenience. you want to kiss him again, feel the electricity bolting through you once more, but instead you can’t stop this big grin taking over your features. “what?” junmyeon lets out in a breathy laugh, “nothing.” you shake your head back, letting your heart swell even more.

you copy junmyeon’s actions when he lies back on the blanket, eyes scanning the star lit sky. and you let him pull you close when he wraps an arm around your shoulder confidently.

“so, do you still hate men?” junmyeon’s head tilts with an almost cheeky grin, fingers playing with yours. you let out a breathy chuckle before shaking your head softly, “you’re an exception. the perfect one at that.”

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kitkat1003 · 3 years

Text

Who Are You Really?

Chapter 3: To Mold; To Raise One

Summary:

They should know, he thinks, that things like them aren’t picked. The warrior was forgotten by the hero. By everyone. And Macaque? He is going to make them into a tool for a warrior, a warrior themself even, whether they like it or not.

Spirit Masterpost

If he had to say anything on the matter, he would have said they’re useful.

It hadn’t taken much, not really. He finds them in the woods, alone with nothing to their name but whispers of favors to powerful people and three eyes that stare through you. He finds them, appraises them, and despite the way their tail curls around their leg and despite the way they hunch down on themself, something is there. A little broken, but there.

Like a memory of a debt owed, Macaque knows he can fix them and is willing to try.

Convincing them isn’t difficult. They perk up at the word favor, ears pressed up against the sides of their head and their eyes wide and earnest. Desperate for a use, excited to have purpose—he dangles it in front of them and pulls them in.

There were more than a few roadblocks.

There is the anxiety, of course. Kid barely can stand the sight of their own shadow, much less the ones he can summon at the drop of a hat. He gets them used to the clones soon enough. Exposure works wonders, and if they don’t like it at first? Tough. The clones are a part of him, he says It wasn’t as if he could just get rid of them because they don’t like them.

A well placed guilt trip, and Kid stumbles over themselves to fix their error. Good.

They’re soft. Gentle. Caring for all the other living creatures almost to the point of those being above their own needs and wants. Careful of pretty flowers they don’t want to step on, kind to the trees and grass as much as one can be.

Wide eyed, but not doe eyed. Their eyes are something, though.

It’s interesting to watch the large pupil move, the smaller two following. They bounce around like ping pong balls, always taking in every detail. When they wink, they either close the large one, or the two smaller ones. Sometimes, when they’re trying to focus on something, they’ll close one of the smaller eyes.

“My vision’s a little lopsided,” they admit, when he questions. “It, uh, can make things blurry.”

Not doe eyed, he knows, when he looks at them. The furtive way they glance around. They look at dead animals far too long to be normal. Stare wistfully out at human settlements. And when they’re not looking at anything, their eyes look...tired. Empty.

Haunted, even.

Guess they call themselves Spirit for a reason.

It takes a while to teach them to stop caring about the petals you ruin in your walk, to crush bugs underfoot without thought. It would go faster if he taught them the hard way, with broken bones and bloodied fists, but breaking more than they already are serves no purpose. Beyond it all, Macaque wants a tool to use, and a tool shattered beyond repair isn’t useful. So he has to be patient about it.

Of course, his patience runs out sometimes, but they never complain. Maybe he gets used to yelling. It shuts them up real quick, so it works.

Training them is another matter. As much as he wants to beat all of the lessons he’d learned into them, he has to be patient. A warrior isn’t made on the first day, there’s a process. And they’re flighty, too. One wrong move and they might run away. Sure, he knew they’d come back, like a dog on a leash whenever the word favor was involved, but waiting would add more time to the process.

So he takes things slow. Somehow.

They have stamina. Running and jumping through forests day by day leaves them lithe and lean when it comes to muscles. They tower over him even when they bend over; they are always bent over. He forces them to stand up straight, just to get a measure of their height, and they loom like a tree in the forests surrounding them.

A good foundation, but their stance is so easily toppable that he barely has to push them and they stumble back, falling to the ground.

So he starts there.

“You need to be unmovable,” he says, using a stick found in the woods to prod at their limbs until they’re in the right position. “Rooted to the ground.”

“Like a flower?” they reply, turning their head around to look at him.

He smacks them on the side of the head with the stick for that.

“Like a tree,” he corrects. “Do you have any idea how easy it is to pick a flower?”

He hears them mutter about how they think it wouldn’t be too bad to be picked, but they correct their stance and go silent before he can bark at them to be quiet.

They should know, he thinks, that things like them aren’t picked.

The warrior was forgotten by the hero.

By everyone.

And Macaque?

He is going to make them into a tool for a warrior, a warrior themself even, whether they like it or not.

Once their stance is steady, he teaches them self defense. How to punch without breaking your fingers. How to kick without losing your balance. How to dodge, duck, strike.

Kid takes to it like a duck to water, with a few hiccups. The largest of which is a lack of want to land a hit.

Oh, they’re plenty strong. They can lift up half a tree’s worth of firewood with a bit of strain. They could likely kick harder than they punch, with how much they run, but to get them to do either is an uphill battle.

“C’mon kid, hit me,” he says, gesturing to his chest.

They pale, shoulders hunched, fingers rubbing against each other awkwardly as they keep them from becoming a fist.

“But-why? I don’t want to, uh, hurt you.” They frown at the thought.

Macaque laughs.

“You can’t hurt me, trust me. I’ve been hit by bigger and stronger people than you, kid,” he gives them a half grin and snorts at the thought of them being able to hit that hard.

“I don’t…” They draw circles in the dirt with their toe, glancing between him and their feet. “I don’t like hurting people.”

He sighs, long suffering. “You have someone you want to protect?” he asks.

They blink a few times. He watches their pupils dilate, shifting as they think. They don’t have the best poker face, but when they want to hide something, their face becomes carefully blank, a slate wiped clean.

It’s kind of creepy, in a way.

“Not anymore,” they finally mutter, forlorn. Ears downturned.

There’s something deeper there, but Macaque doesn’t have time to hear their life’s story. Especially when they’re training.

“Yeah, you do have someone.” He walks over and sticks his finger into their chest, poking them hard enough that they wince. “You. You want to stay alive? You fight.”

They stare at him, hard, and he raises a brow.

“Look,” he says. “You hate anyone?”

Kid glances down at him—he hates that they’re taller than him, even when they’re hunched down—and their gaze flashes to something dark.

He stares back.

“Yes,” they whisper. “Some. One.”

Macaque does not stiffen. There’s nothing haunting about how quietly, how gently, how angrily Kid says that.

“Alright then,” he takes a step back, arms splayed out to make himself a target. “Hit me like I’m that person.”

He watches them stare at him. They tilt their head to the side. Their pupils shift.

A minute passes, and Macaque is about to say something else, when they blink once, and then strike.

His clothes are ripped, a slash across his chest. Kid holds their hand out like it’s a weapon, claws bared. They took off some fur, too, but they didn’t go deep enough to break skin, though Macaque thinks it’s not for lack of trying.

Another blink, and they come to, yanking their hand back and cradling it against their chest.

“Oh-sorry-I-I was just doing what you told me, and, uh, I didn’t,” they mutter out more apologies, looking away.

Macaque laughs.

“No, no, that was great! We’ll have to get you used to punching and kicking, but using claws ain’t half bad.” He looks them up and down, seeing them in a new light. “If you like something sharp, then, well, we might as well get you a weapon, right?”

“A...weapon?” They look surprised that he’s not upset.

Macaque only yells when they make a mistake, though. And when they’re being annoying, but regardless. Why punish them for a job well done? He told them to hit him, and they did. Not exactly how he wanted, but as long as they’re more willing to fight, he wants to encourage the behavior. An inch of negativity towards them and they’ll jump a mile back from where he wants them to be.

“Something sharp,” he repeats. “Claws will only get you so far.”

He pulls out his staff, twirling it around a few times before holding it out, sideways, for the kid to look at. They peer down at it, tilting their head to the side. They close one of their eyes, to focus. Their eyes trace the spikes on the ends of the staff. They swallow, fidgeting, as their gaze ends at the sharp points.

“It’s...nice,” they say, a little nervous.

“We should go to a market. I’ve got a bunch of weapons we can test out, but your weapon has to be for you.” He pats the kid on the back, smiling.

“Shopping?”

He watches them perk up, eyes wide, a smile on their lips. There’s a certain charm to it. As tall as they are, they have quite the young face.

“Yup,” he says. “But first, I’m teaching you how to sew. If you’re going to tear my clothes, you’re going to know how to fix it.”

They duck their head sheepishly, embarrassed, guilty, but happy that he’s going to teach them something new.

Hook, line, sinker.

He takes them, first, to one of his caves, his hideouts. He has his stash of weapons there, so they can start training with them to get the kid used to weaponry before he buys them anything.

The trip takes a week, and during it he has to stop himself from strangling the kid every evening. They light up every two seconds, prattling on about every little thing they spot, skipping along with both their pack of things and his own. He thought making them carry his things as well as their own would get them tired enough that he wouldn’t have to listen to them chatter well into the night, but they manage to ask so many questions it makes his head spin.

“Do you think that anyone is going to like you if you never shut up?” he growls out, one night. “I can barely hear my own thoughts, you keep spouting out all of yours.”

They blink. Hunch their shoulders. Shift their gaze off to the side.

“I don’t know a lot,” they mutter. “I thought asking questions was how, uh, I learn? My mom always had me tell her what was on my mind, so she could let me know if I was thinking of something wrong.”

They shrug their shoulders, gaze off somewhere, or sometime else.

“Well I’m not your mom,” he snaps. “And neither is anyone else. Trust me, no one wants to hear your thoughts.”

The kid looks up at him, hunched over and sitting down. Their pupils shift, again. Their expression goes carefully blank.

“Oh,” tThey reply. “Sorry.”

Macaque lets out a huff. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy here. Not only is it a bad look, it also makes the kid less likely to trust him. It’s a balancing act, where he toes the line. Sure, the kid can take a bit more attitude than most, but you kick a dog enough and it bites back.

If you kick a dog, and then feed it nice food for a month before kicking it again, well...it takes it a lot longer to think of biting.

“Look,” he sighs. “I’m saying this for your sake, kid. I’m patient, but most people aren’t. You think a regular demon will just tell you to shut up?”

He pauses, levies them an incredulous look. “You’d lose a tooth or something, or an eye.”

They flinch, when he says eye. He files that away for later.

“How about this,” He continues. “You get 3 random questions per day while we walk, and 2 random comments. Sound fair?”

Kid looks up at him, a little less despondent, and then they smile.

“Okay.” They turn to the fire, grabbing a piece of firewood from the pile and adding it to the fire.

They glance up at Macaque, after a bit. “Thanks.”

Macaque reaches over and ruffles their hair, and it doesn’t feel like there’s a fake smile on his face when Kid giggles and leans into the touch.

When it comes to weapons, the kid is clumsy.

Most long weapons are surprisingly difficult for them to wield. Their height should be an advantage in that regard, giving them more of a reach, but instead all their long limbs are good for are getting hit whenever they slip with a staff or spear in hand. They nick themselves a few times, and Macaque thinks he’s going to have to make a fuss with cleaning them up, but every time they get cut they pull out well worn gauze and some mixture, and carefully clean and wrap the wound themselves.

“My mom taught me,” they explain when he stares for too long.

Anything long is difficult for them to handle, so he throws those out the window. Now, short blades they do well with, but they don’t like to stab.

“Curved blades,” he suggests, handing them a pair. “They’re more for slashing. Like a couple of extra claws, but longer.”

They hold them awkwardly, but with some careful correction they do a few practice swings, glancing over at Macaque for approval.

“Looks good,” he says, because they seem most steady with the twin blades, and that’s something to hone in on.

The kid beams. Macaque finds himself smiling back.

They train for a couple months, not just with the curved blades. A jack of all trades is far more useful than a master of one, after all, and letting them have at least a rudimentary understanding of how to use most weapons will make it so even if they’re without their typical arsenal, they’ll be able to make do.

That, and between the hand to hand combat lessons, will make them a force to be reckoned with, though they still refuse to strike with a killer’s intent.

All in due time, though. Macaque would hate to waste all this effort to create something of use by scaring them off with his impatience.

They know of the Monkey King.

“I hear about him all the time,” they say, over dinner. “He’s a very famous monkey!”

“Sure,” Macaque grumbles, ignoring the urge to punch their teeth in.

It’s not their fault, he knows. Anyone who knows anyone would know of the Great Sun Wukong enough to—

“Have you met him?”

Now, there’s a question. Something dark and pleased rises up when he hears it, because he can’t ruin the reputation of Sun Wukong to the world, but starting small never hurts, and why not score some trust with Kid along the way?

“We were actually pretty close,” he explains.

The look on their face when he shows them his scar and tells them how he got it is just priceless.

Shopping with them is...something else.

He takes them to the market closeby, a few miles out from where they met in the woods. They’re like a kid in a candy store, bouncing between market fronts and looking over every random object with interest.

“Some of the people here owe me favors,” they whisper conspiratorially to him, waving at a few of the shop owners. “I helped them out! It was nice.”

“Mhmm,” he nods along.

Kid is very, very insistent on favors. The wording is important, and Macaque pockets it, pulling out the phrase whenever Kid starts to get too hesitant about doing what Macaque needs them to.

“What’s the whole favor business for, anyway?” he asks, because he genuinely is curious.

As much as Kid’s ramblings can get annoying, they do provide insight. Information on insecurities makes for a fun leverage.

“They owe me,” Kid replies. “I do what they want, and then they can’t hurt me.”

Short, simple, to the point. But oh so interesting, an insight Macaque files away. He can’t go around hurting Kid after the favor is done, then. That’s fine. He has plenty of time to get them to heel without yanking on the leash.

A few tugs will do well enough, anyway.

They reach the weapon shop, and Kid is enamored with a purple pair of their preferred weapon, fluttering over to them and tracing the shapes with their fingers. They’re practically bouncing on their feet, grabbing fistfuls of their pant legs to stop themself from snatching up their prize immediately.

They glance back to Macaque for approval.

“Not a bad color.” Macaque has always liked purple. Maybe that’s why Kid doesn’t annoy him as much as most people. They’re bright in personality, but wear the colors of shadows, and hide in the shade rather than stand out in the spotlight.

Kid preens at the compliment.

“Can-uh-is this what-can I have them? Please?” They’re vibrating with excitement, eyes wide and earnest as they hope for a yes.

“Maybe,” Macaque replies, smooth as silk. “It all depends on if you’re going to use them properly.”

That gives them pause. Their excitement diminishes into confusion as they try and parse out just what Macaque means, ears twitching.

It is almost charming in a way, how they always seem to be moving a little bit. Whether their tail is swaying back and forth, or they’re curling and uncurling their toes, or fluttering their fingers at their sides, they move.

“I...know how to use them,” they finally say. “You taught me.”

“Practically,” Macaque replies. “But you still won’t fight with them.”

Kid blinks again, tilting their head to the side. Genuinely confused, befuddled, uncertain of his words. He watches their eyes slide to the side, glancing around and trying to figure out what exactly he means.

“I…,” they start, haltingly. “I thought I was?”

Macaque sighs, more out of exhaustion than annoyance, but they take it as such, ears drooping low. Their tail brushes the floor.

“Intent, kid,” he says. “You can use the weapons, but you don’t fight with them. Not with intent.”

“Intent to what?” Kid asks, hesitant but insistent.

“Kill,” Macaque says, simply. “These weapons are for killing. If you aren’t going to use them like that, there’s no point in you getting them. No point in continuing the favor.”

He can tell the second part hits them hard. They stiffen, hands clasping in front of their stomach, tight. Their feet overlap each other, toes curled, shoulders hunched, tail coiled around their leg.

Fidgeting, tense like a coiled spring, Macaque waits, because he’s seen this before. Every time he pushes, they duck their head in quiet defiance for only a moment, before

They buckle, going limp.

“No,” they mutter. “You’re right. I’ll get intent, sir.”

Sir is new.

Macaque likes it.

“Good. Then they’re yours—” He gestures to the twin blades, with purple glossy handles and white grips. “Take them.”

Their smile is smaller than it was before, when they pull the pair from the rack. Their hands tremble when they hold them; they grip the blades tight to keep them steady.

Macaque pays for the blades, and ignores how still they’ve become.

With Kid’s preferred blades acquired, Macaque ramps up training. He pushes them farther, because he’s laid the groundwork, and now the only way to get them to bend is to force them into the position.

Starting small is important. Kid is still fit to scatter if he scares them. It’s like placing a frog in a pot of boiling water. It doesn’t work. You set them in the room temperature water first, and then turn up the heat. Slowly, still. If he cranked it up now, well, they’d still jump out.

So, they start with a shadow clone. Looks like a real person, but is detached enough from it that Kid won’t get too freaked when they attack it. No blood, no screams, just smoke and mirrors to get them in action.

Maybe he should be concerned that he’s teaching them to fight a visage of him, but Macaque knows Kid isn’t stupid enough to think they can beat him.

That would be ridiculous.

He guides them through the motions, hands on their wrists as he tugs their arms into the correct positions, jerking their hand forward in a slashing motion and letting go just as they make contact with the clone, dissipating it with a single strike.

Typically his clones are more powerful, but an easy win to start will embolden them to strike harder next time.

“Nice job!” he pats them on the back, hard enough that they stumble a little from the force of it.

They’re smiling though, small and secretly pleased. They love praise, he finds, desperate for approval. A few kind words can feed them for a week, if he plans it out right. Not that he’s always planning. Some do just...slip out.

“Now,” he summons another clone, placing it a few feet away. “Try this one on your own.”

Kid nods, turns, and settles into a stance. They charge forward and strike.

Macaque smiles.

From clones, comes animals.

After all, he explains, they have to eat. Sure, a true warrior eats less than most, but they still need to have food. Starving themselves when they’re in the middle of training, in the middle of gaining muscle and strength, is stupid. They need to bulk up.

“I don’t, um, usually eat much,” Kid says.

Macaque scoffs.

“That’s why you’re a stick.” He gestures to their general size, how their clothes hang off of them.

They fidget, shrugging a little.

“I guess,” they reply, which is their typical response when they don’t exactly agree but don’t have the courage to actually disagree.

“Well, I know,” he bites back, finding some sort of pleasure in how they shrink away from him. “We need to make sure you know how to make food anyway. You’re no use to me half-starved.”

He drums up options, glancing off into the forest they’re surrounded by.

“There’s plenty of food out here,” he says. “We can fish in streams, shoot for birds, and there’s a human settlement just out west a couple miles, so—”

“We are not,” Kid interrupts, interrupts, voice harder than he’s ever heard, “Eating humans.”

Their eyes are sharp. Angry, even. So rarely does he find anger in them, find fire where there is cool terror and anxiety. This is something noticeable. Kid likes humans, enough to fight for them.

They’re trembling, waiting for his reaction. Clearly, they’re terrified that he’ll snap at them, that he’ll shut them down. But they don’t apologize.

Interesting. How rare is it that Macaque sees them be brave?

“Fine,” he shrugs. “They scream too much to be worth it, anyway.”

That much is true. While he might not be showing off the six ears that beget his title, they’re still there, and shouting is nothing that he wants to deal with.

Kid relaxes, relief evident on their face that he’s not yelling at them. It’s good that they’re smart enough to fear his reproach.

“But, that means you’re gonna have to learn to gut fish,” he jerks a thumb towards the stream behind them.

Kid smiles, with all their sharp teeth on display.

“Sir yes sir!” They salute.

Macaque has to wonder who taught them such a motion as they jump up and rush to the water.

He stands and prepares the next lesson.

In the weeks following, they learn to fish with both a line and with their hands. He teaches them to use a bow for the birds, as well as the bears. They only kill one bear, because the amount of meat will last them ages and it’s foolish to waste such meat.

They trade some of it for spices in the human markets, once Macaque makes sure they know how to look human. Apparently, it’s the only form they can shift into. Not surprising, but disappointing nonetheless.

Kid takes to cooking with a gusto he doesn’t expect.

“I would help my mom with dinner,” they explain, setting up the fire one night. “I didn’t know how she was making what she was, but I loved all of it. I—”

They cut themself off, suddenly shy.

Macaque doesn’t pry. Half because he doesn’t care, and half because he knows it’s a fruitless endeavor. For most things, Kid can be cajoled into explanation, but if they truly don’t want to say anything, he’ll get nothing. Which, considering his secrets, is fair enough.

“I...like that I can make something nice,” Kid finally admits, turning away from him to grab some spices. “For you.”

Oh.

Somewhere along the line, Macaque stops finding them as annoying as they should be.

They smile at him like he’s a star, the sun, and years of being a moon, of being second best, makes that look something to covet. If that means he lets them drag him into the forest to look at some rare plants, if that means listening to them ramble about the medicinal properties of said plants, well.

It’s only because it ingratiates them to him. That’s it.

Physical affection, too, is something they desire. It’s a reward. That is it. A reward for a job well done, a pick-me-up when they’re too morose to be useful, a new tool in his set to fix them into something worthwhile.

Say nothing to the times they shivered in the cold, slowly shifting towards him, pressed against his back to conserve warmth. Macaque didn’t push them off because he was asleep. Say nothing to the days they would shiver in the day, lack of proper fur like he had to keep them warm, and he’d lend them his scarf. He didn’t need it anyway. He’s stronger than they are, he can deal with the cold. He’s setting an example.

He refuses to groom them. Grooming is something private, something reserved for people who are no longer around, who left, who left and took the whole of him with them. And Kid is not that someone.

Sometimes, though, he wonders.

Bright, like a star, they can shine in the darkest corners. Hands bloodied from a carcass, they’re always gentle with the animals they kill. Always certain to make the cuts clean and precise, so the animal dies quickly.

It’s a small mercy, but to choose to find that mercy and lean into it…

They’re not naive. Neither was he. Enough knowledge of a cruel world to understand hate, but enough kindness in a soul to push back against it. But that type of soul is flighty, off to the next weeping child to console, the next problem to solve, the next world to save.

That type of soul leaves, and doesn't come back.

Better to crush that type of soul, then.

“Mac!” Kid calls, holding a full net. “Look at how much fish I caught!”

Macaque fights a smile.

“Don’t call me that,” he barks out and wishes it hurt less when he sees them flinch.

“Sorry, sir,” they reply. “I got excited. We’ll have food for weeks! I’ll dry some of the fish out for snacks, and I have some spices that would go really well with—”

They pause, flushing, ears pointed up and pink with embarrassment. They bite their lip.

“Sorry,” They say, again. “I know you don’t like me rambling…,”

Not typically, no.

But now…

“Well, if it’s about our food stores, it’s important,” he says, a justification that rings hollow. “So go on, kid.”

They brighten, eyes wide and happy as Macaque becomes their sun, again.

Macaque basks in it, just a little, and thinks he can wait a little longer.

They get very good at using the blades. Between traveling, getting food, making food, and training, they can hold their own pretty well.

Of course, they only really fight animals and clones. Whenever Macaque suggests they spar with him, they lock up, terrified by the idea. That’s fine, though, because Macaque wants them to be in top shape when they actually fight him, anyway.

They can manage against eight clones at once, dodging punches and slashing through them. Of course, the clones aren’t at their top durability or strength, because Kid isn’t Monkey King levels of powerful like he is.

But, they seem to be doing fine, so he raises the intensity level a little bit. Has a couple of the clones level up, so to speak, to keep Kid on their toes. They can’t expect every enemy to be the same skill level every time. They have to be used to surprises.

Maybe he does it too quickly, because Kid ducks, slashes, and is unable to dodge the kick to their side that sends them flying.

Their head cracks against a tree trunk just outside the clearing.

When they drop, they don’t move.

Macaque is up on his feet in an instant. The clones vanish as he sprints across the clearing, at Kid’s side so fast his vision blurs with the motion.

“Shit,” he breathes.

Macaque lifts Kid up in his arms. They’re limp in his grasp, eyes closed, and they look dead but he knows they’re not, he checks their pulse and they’re fine, it’s fine. He wouldn’t kill them. Not like this.

He feels where their head hit the tree, and his hand comes back wet.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

He reaches into Kid’s pockets, and finds that roll of gauze they always have on them. They buy a new roll every time they go to the market, just in case.

He hasn’t needed to wrap wounds in a while, considering his healing...style, but he remembers how it goes.

Blood drips onto the ground, even as he wraps the wound as best and as tight as he can. He folds Kid’s gangly long limbs so he can lift them up, and their forehead rests in the crook of his neck. He can feel their breath on his fur.

Good. They’re still breathing.

He squats down and presses hard against the dirt, lifting off the ground and speeding through the forest. There’s a demon market a few miles out, there’s got to be a healer there, they can fix this. They will, whether they like to or not. No one says no to the Six-Eared Macaque, regardless of circumstance.

He hears a shuddering whine crawl out of Kid’s mouth. A hand grasps at his shirt, as pained gasps reach his ears.

He can hear them so clearly. Curse of six ears. But, he can still hear their heartbeat, and even the gasps are a good sign. They can still breathe. It’s fine.

“Give me a minute, kid.” He whispers, forgiving the hand because they’re injured, that’s the only reason. “We’ll get you fixed up, just sit tight.”

They whimper and curl up tighter, as their wrappings on their head stain quick.

It takes Macaque twenty minutes to get to the market. Twenty minutes for eleven miles, as he rushed between trees, over boulders and hills, through towns. It would have been quicker, but whenever he picked up too much speed, Kid would whimper as the wind whipped at their face and head wrappings. So Macaque took it a touch slower, if only to keep him from hearing that noise.

They’d passed out a few minutes before he’d arrived at the market, though, so he’d managed to speed things up a little.

He slips between the shadows of market stalls, eyes searching for a healer. They’re typically at one end of the market or the other, to keep the stench of blood and pus and rot from infected wounds away from the rest of the market.

He finds the tent and dashes inside.

The healer is some sort of fox demon, tail twitching as Macaque enters. Sharp eyes fall on him and then Kid in his arms, and when Macaque speaks up his tone leaves little room for argument or reproach.

“They hit their head.” He doesn’t explain how. It’s none of their business what he does with his tools. “Fix it.”

The healer raises a brow, glancing at the two monkeys, one with sharp eyes and the other curled and trembling in the other’s arms.

“There is a fee,” comes a silk voice, near a hiss. They point to their price.

Macaque summons a clone and sets Kid in its arms, growling under his breath. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his coin pouch, digging into it and grabbing out the correct amount. He slams it onto the counter with a force that would have caused the coins to scatter all over the room if not for how tightly he grips them in his fist.

They trickle down onto the desk with a clatter. Macaque places his trembling fists at his sides, enraged enough that his eyes glow. If not for the fact that this healer is needed, their blood would paint the tent and everything inside of it.

The wary look the healer sends him is proof that they understand that.

“Fix,” he growls. “It.”

The healer gestures to the table off to the side, and Macaque has his clone set Kid down before dispelling it.

The healer moves Kid onto their side, lifting their head and glancing at the covered wound. With a careful claw, they cut away the bandage, a swirl of magic creating a small bubble over the wound, keeping the blood from spilling.

The lack of pressure, the new sensation of magic, gets Kid to stir.

They twitch, fingers and toes curling as their eyes blink open. Confusion paints their posture and expression, and they take in a hitching breath, ears swiveling to try and figure what is happening.

“M-Mo-Mac-h-hhhhhh,” they gasp out, trying to move.

The healer presses them gently back down onto the table, placing a careful finger to their forehead.

“Shhhh,” they whisper. “Rest, child.”

Kid’s eyes slide shut. They relax.

The healer first gets a rag and some water, carefully dabbing at the wound, cleaning away any dirt that may have gotten into the crack. They use their claws to align the tiny pieces of the skull that have dislodged both from the wound and from the journey. Then, they grab a jar off of the shelf, pulling off the lid and dipping their fingers in to scoop out an orange-yellow cream substance. Gently, they rub it across the wound, and then wrap it again.

They use a spoon to put more of that cream into a smaller jar, and hand it to Macaque, along with a roll of gauze.

“The wound will heal in a few days. Change the bandages twice a day and reapply the cream. It speeds up the process and prevents infection,” the healer explains. “The child may have a foggy memory of the incident, and may hallucinate. Be aware.”

Macaque sticks the jar and gauze in his pocket and nods, picking Kid up. He’s gentle about it, supporting their head on his shoulder. They shift a little in their sleep, pressing their forehead against his neck. Their fur brushes against his chin.

Their tail curls around his arm, a comforting squeeze. The end wisps against his palm.

Macaque pointedly ignores how any of this makes him feel and heads off.

Back at camp, he sets Kid up with blankets and enough soft material for a pillow, making sure their head is elevated and kept away from the hard ground. He sends a few clones out to grab firewood, setting up a flame and throwing some stuff together for a soup.

Macaque, on a whole, doesn’t cook much. He’s content to chomp on apples and whatever fruits he finds. Occasionally, he’ll cook some meat. Otherwise, he just won’t eat often. Kid’s the one who makes all the different concoctions.

He hopes the mix of spices is good here.

Kid wakes up a few hours later, when stars dot the sky and Macaque shivers a little at the night chill. Bleary eyes stare up at the sky, pupils shifting to try and focus, though Macaque doesn’t see them settle.

He scoops a bowl of soup, still warm though the fire has died down, and shuffles to Kid’s side.

“Hey, kid,” he whispers.

Macaque is not a delicate man. But no one is here to see, no one who could matter, so he hooks an arm beneath Kid’s shoulders and lifts them up so they’re sitting up against his chest, though not fully considering the height difference. God knows they won’t be able to sit up on their own, and he refuses to waste good soup.

Bleary eyes blink, staring up at him. Recognition flickers in their gaze.

“Mom?” they croak.

Macaque. Freezes.

He carefully lifts the bowl of soup to Kid’s mouth.

“Drink,” he says, pointedly ignoring their comment.

Hallucinations, the healer told him. That’s all this is. Kid isn’t seeing him, after all.

Kid takes a few steady gulps of the soup, turning away to breathe. Macaque exercises patients by glancing up at the sky and ignoring how idiotic this is. He’s not a babysitter. He doesn’t do this. He isn’t their parent. He isn’t...

“Did Dad hurt you?” Kid turns back, looking up with eyes that stare through him rather than at him. “Your eye…”

They reach up, fingers close enough to brush the line where his scar is, hidden beneath glamour. Macaque pulls away, lifting the bowl up to Kid’s lips again in lieu of responding to that.

“Drink,” he snarls.

They flinch, nodding and getting the rest of the soup down. He helps them back to their bed, and their eyes stare back up at the sky with that same faraway look.

“I’ll be better next time,” they whisper, quiet but strong. “So you won’t get hurt.”

Macaque turns away, and doesn’t look back until he knows they’re asleep. Hallucinations, he knows. Hallucinations. That’s the only reason they’re saying anything like that at all. They don’t know him, he’s kept his heart under his cloak, never on his sleeve. That's why he’s their teacher, so they will learn to do the same.

He watches the fire sway in the night, until he can find it in himself to sleep.

The next day goes mostly smoothly, with incoherent ramblings occasionally from Kid that Macaque tunes out. He changes their bandages in the morning and then goes out, leaving a shadow clone to watch the camp while collecting food and other supplies.

They sleep through most of the day, but at night when he goes to change their bandages again, they start to squirm.

“Kid,” he starts, trying to hold them steady. The wrappings are already off, and he’s trying to keep dirt from getting in.

They kick and writhe, whispering and growling and making an assortment of whimpering noises he can’t make heads nor tails of. He grips them tight enough to bruise, to keep them steady.

“Kid, I’m not going to hurt you!” he shouts.

“YOU HURT ME!” they scream, and it sounds so much as if the words had been torn from their throat that Macaque is surprised he doesn’t see blood splatter out of their mouth. “YOU HURT ME!”

Their hand claws at his, and he drops them with a shout of pain as they tear off the skin of his knuckles. They drop to the dirt with their own short cry of discomfort, curling in on themself as Macaque backs away.

“You—” They cough. Their breaths are short and uneven. “You-it-it’s like an earthquake,” their voice is quiet and strained and quick. “Cracks beneath the surface. Snow, melting from inside. Inside out. Cracking. Melting. I’m-I’m-I can’t see it.”

They gasp it out, trembling.

The water is boiling. Why is Macaque the one burning?

They still.

“You don’t look,” they finally say, a hoarse whisper. “You don’t want to. You don’t want to see.”

Macaque swallows. Stares at the-the—

The child may have a foggy memory of the incident, and may hallucinate.

Child.

He shuffles forward, so, so gentle as he reaches toward them. They don’t move when his hand brushes against their back. They’re boneless when he pulls them toward him. As if every last drop of them was poured into their words, they’re empty.

He patches their wound. Sets them down. They’re silent, asleep on the bed.

He sits, watches the blood from his knuckles drip to the ground. It’ll heal on its own. He can heal on his own.

He doesn’t sleep.

The next couple of days are easy. Kid doesn’t say or do much, moving when prompted and sleeping when not. Macaque ignores the buzz in the back of his head that feels like guilt. He leaves Kid with a shadow clone and tears down a forest. Anger is easy to deal with. This is not.

A little under a week after the incident, Kid wakes up with a groan.

“Mac?” They rub at their eyes sitting up with a bit of effort.

Macaque fights the urge to tell them not to call him that. He’ll save it for later.

“About time you woke up,” he says, with an easy grin on his face.

Kid blinks up at him, confused.

“You hit your head,” he explains with a wave of his hand. “One of my clones caught you off guard. You were out for a few days.”

Kid blinks a few more times, tail and ears twitching. They tilt their head to the side in thought. They reach up and feel the back of their head, poking at the freshly healed wound. They wince.

“Oh,” they say. They smile up at him. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

They stand up on shaky legs, shuffling a little before they steady.

“I’m gonna see about some food. I’ll make you your favorite tonight!” They grin, all teeth, and vanish into the forest before Macaque can stop them.

He stares at their retreating form. He sends a shadow clone to keep an eye on them, in case their wound acts up.

He sits and ponders their smile.

YOU HURT ME!

Thank you for taking care of me.

The strange thing is, he doesn’t think they were lying either time.

He eases them back into training, and they fall back into it with ease, the injury fading from view as their fur covers it up. He’s still ever so careful the next couple of weeks. The last thing he needs is for them to get hurt again.

They’re too much like him. Too much like the sun, the hero, but the difference is that the hero could be like that because he was powerful. The hero could strike down any foe, the hero had power. It allowed him to be soft.

Kid does not have power. They can get hurt. They can die.

Their heart is on their sleeve. They smile. They curl up, sometimes, hiding their chest, but more often than not they’re splayed out, an open target. Wide eyed, not completely naive, but just hopeful enough to get them killed.

And he...he doesn’t want them killed.

It’s sad, he thinks. If they were stronger, maybe they could stay as they are. But they aren’t, so he will rip their heart from their sleeve and teach them to keep it hidden.

Whether they like it or not.

“You’re too...you. To be intimidating like I am,” he tells them, pacing. “But there are different types of scary. We’ll have to find the one that fits you.”

Kid is sitting on a rock, watching him pace. Their eyes follow his movements like a pendulum, swinging back and forth. They tap their palms on their knees, nodding along as they listen.

“Um, Mac?” They start.

He glares in their direction. They shrink down, shoulders hunched.

“Sir,” they amend, quickly. “Um, why do I have to be scary?”

It’s a valid question. Annoying, but fair, and an explanation will get them to further listen. Still, the fact that they don’t know, when they’re as old as they are (not that Macaque knows how old they are), is annoying.

“Because,” he stresses, rolling his eyes. “When you intimidate, people won’t fight you. Intimidation is making sure everyone in the room knows you’re the strongest one there. Even if you’re not.”

And they won’t be, more often than not. They’re crafty, and fast, but not strong. In a standstill fight, they’ll lose a lot. But that’s why the intimidation look has to be perfect.

“Oh,” they reply. “Cool!”

“Of course it is,” he shoots back, puffing out his chest. “Now, angry intimidation won’t work. You don’t have a good angry face.”

“I don’t get angry often,” Kid shrugs.

“Exactly. You don’t have it in you,” he rubs his chin in thought. “We could go for the ‘danger behind a smile’ angle.”

He takes a few steps toward them. With how they’re sitting, a rock as a prop up, he’s at eye level with them standing.

“We want a small smile, kid.” He reaches a hand towards their face, to help shape their grin.

They flinch back, and have their blades out in a flash. Their eyes are wide, locked onto Macaque’s outstretched hand.

Macaque blinks, startled by their sharp shift in mood, and Kid comes back to themself, lowering their hunched shoulders.

“O-oh,” They breathe, letting their hands drop. “Right. Y-you’re right. I think.”

They set the blades on the ground, shuffling their feet.

“...Alright,” Macaque continues. He knows they were hit by a clone of his, and, well, the clones are made looking like him. They might be more shaky than they say, over that. He certainly has taught them to be quiet. “Now, you want the smile to be small. Your eyes are wide, and your pupils are small. You want to look like you’re a second from ripping their heart out and eating it in front of them.”

Kid makes a face. “That’s gross,” they say.

“It’s an analogy,” Macaque groans, throwing his head back and slapping a hand over his eyes. “Just do it.”

They try it, and Macaque has to give them a few pointers. No, your smile is too wide. Don’t fidget. Keep your tail still. Don’t look away. Keep eye contact.

Finally, they have a good look.

“There,” he says, stepping back. “That will make sure nobody messes with or hurts you, kid.”

Their expression drops away into something blank, and Macaque stills. He wouldn’t tell them, but when their expression is empty it’s far scarier than their smile. Better they not know that lest they use it to an excessive degree.

“Um,” they start, a little shy. “But, you do this. And you got hurt?”

Their eyes trace the scar hidden beneath glamour. Macaque turns so that eye is out of view.

“It doesn’t always work,” he mutters, casting a glare in their direction. “Because some people know that they’re stronger than anyone, so intimidation doesn’t work.”

“What do I do then?” they ask, with all the wide eyes of a student expecting their teacher to have the perfect answer.

“You claw at any part of them you can reach,” Macaque replies. “And you run.”

He ramps up their training. Any time they aren’t traveling is spent sparring, practicing, cooking, hunting, no free time. No time to play or joke around.

They’re confused, at first, by the change of pace. They try the same tricks, the same comments. Macaque does not budge.

“Quit it.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Stop acting like a child.”

They quiet, eventually. Learn to be smaller and less bright, keep their light within themself so it doesn’t attract too much attention. They learn to keep their thoughts inside, following orders with a blank face and the occasional grin.

They still get overexcited, and sometimes Macaque bites his tongue. If it’s just around him then it’s fine in small doses.

It’s not because he’s scared of their light going out. It’s not because he likes it when they ramble and drag him along until they get him to grin. It’s not.

He gets them a new outfit. Their old one is worn, the fabric thin and worn and ripping. They sew up the patches and clean it as best they can, but considering the age it’s soon to be a lost cause.

They do love shopping, so he strings them along.

They sprint through different styles. Everything is new and interesting to them, as if they spend time outside of the present and are then shocked by the new future. He trails them along different stalls, pulls them away from items they shouldn’t touch, and critiques outfit after outfit.

They find the right one, though he’s quick to tell them how rare that is, so they don’t get a big head. Besides, with how tall and gangly they are, finding something that fits them is pretty difficult. It takes them two hours to find something right, two hours better spent training, moving around.

He goes up to pay for it while they spin around and jump excitedly in their new look, and his eyes widen at the price.

“Enchanted pockets,” the tailor explains. “They hold up to a full pack’s worth of items without showing it.”

And, well, Macaque didn’t expect to spend this much. He turns around, because they don’t need those pants, they can carry a pack just fine, and—

Kid sees him looking and waves, gesturing to their new outfit and striking a valiant pose.

Macaque sighs, softens, and pays.

They tell him the flaps on the side are just like his, something excited and happy in their tone, and he grins. If they’re just like him, then they’ll be smart. If they’re just like him, they won’t make silly mistakes like trusting people, like getting attached, like getting hurt.

The issue with that is when you stare at a person who is functionally a mirror, you start to see all your flaws.

His final challenge isn’t supposed to work.

Kid has barely been able to spar with him, when he gives them his challenge. They spar and they don’t fight hard, and Macaque always wins.

But then they say they have to go, and Macaque knows they’re not ready (secretly, they’ll never be ready because they’ll never be powerful enough, but if he keeps them within arms reach he can make sure they stay away from him) so he picks something he knows they can’t do.

Kill.

He expects them to get to where that demon is and balk. He expects that they’ll try but their fears will halt them in their tracks, and they’ll come back with their tail tucked between their legs and apologies spilling from their lips. He expects that he’ll smile, and say that they’ll just have to stay with him, then, now won’t they? And then they will, and everything will be fine and good and right.

He doesn’t need or want anyone, but...he doesn’t mind if they’d stay.

He doesn’t know them. He doesn’t know what they’ve lived through, what they’ve done before. He doesn’t know how deep their ties to favors run. He’s never asked, he doesn’t know.

Two days after he tells them to kill, they come back with a severed head.

They’re smiling, when they do. Their tail curls around their leg and they’re trembling, but they’re smiling like they always do. Macaque is supposed to be able to tell when someone is lying, and he’s supposed to know them and read them like an open book, but Kid smiles and it looks real.

They’re trembling. He barely hears what they’re saying, over the sound of their thudding heartbeat.

The eyes on the head are sewn shut. He asks, and they give him an excuse, and he doesn’t press because he never has. He’s never cared enough to ask about their past, their feelings, never dug deep enough. He thought they were surface-level, because they’re quiet, and they don’t talk about themself too much beyond comments about their mother. He’s staring at a stranger he’s known for over half a year.

He’s not supposed to be caught off guard. So self-assured, he plans his schemes with the knowledge that he understands all the moves the player will make. Now he’s in the dark, lost with the simple sight in front of him.

Macaque doesn’t understand, but if Kid’s a stranger he’ll keep them as one.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two gifts. He’d gotten them months ago, finding a jeweler who could enchant the token, and a book binder at the market that could create a tome practically infinite in space but small enough to be a notebook.

He holds it out, and then they smile so wide he thinks it could crack the porcelain of the mask of indifference they’re wearing so perfectly. They strangle their tail as if it were their neck, and he knows that must hurt.

They have blood, staining their feet. Every part of them is pristine, but the dried blood is crusted on their feet, covered with dirt.

He watches them go, tired eyes and bloody feet.

He makes his dinner by himself. He makes the fire by himself, he sits by the fire by himself. He sleeps by himself. He travels by himself.

There is no voice, pointing out different flowers. He doesn’t hear about this certain mixture that can cure this illness. He doesn’t get any anecdotes, he doesn’t hear the patter of feet as they run ahead.

It’s quiet, save for the typical sounds of the forest. As it should be.

The Six-Eared Macaque walks alone.

Just like a warrior should be. Isn’t that why they left, to be alone? Isn’t that what he wanted?

Macaque ends up back on that cliff, where they stared up at the sky on New Year's. He never cared much for the holiday, but the Kid was insistent, so he'd let them drag him along.

He closes his eyes, and for the first time when he thinks of fireworks he doesn't see Wukong's smile. When he opens them, the sky looks devoid of stars.

The moon looks lonely, without them.

Centuries later, a silver token with amethyst gemstone eyes buzzes in Spirit’s pocket.

#kitkat1003 #Yin Spirit #lego monkie kid #monkie kid oc #monkie kid #monkie kid macaque

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chaolie · 3 years

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"Home is where your heart is" [3/3] - How fast they grow

Soo this is late a day because I couldn't finish it yesterday, I hope that's fine?? But here's the last thing I wrote for @fundyfiles' Yogurt Days!

For clarity, this takes place a couple years after the last chapter, so Yogurt is basically a teen at this point and things happened. If by the end you're confused check out this story on Ao3, where I explained it more in the end notes!

Characters: Yogurt, Fundy, Foolish, Foolish Jr

Words: 2.4k

The moment he left the cave, Yogurt could tell he miscalculated the time. The sun was long gone from the sky and the moment he went outside, he almost ran straight into a zombie’s arms. With no better weapon to use, he swung his pickaxe at it before jumping back and moving away from it. His attack stopped it for a moment, but it was fast to follow him, reaching after him in an attempt to keep him from moving. The distance he managed to get was just barely enough to drop the tool and get his hands on a proper weapon, a sword Fundy gave him as soon as he was able to hold one. With that ready to use, he had no trouble with defeating the monster and felt safe moving further through the forest.

Not too long after and with just a few monsters he had to fight on the way, he finally reached his shelter - his house. The old cottage was mostly dark except for a single lantern by the door and a torch burning dimly inside. Not taking any chances, he didn’t slow down nor lower his weapon until he was safely inside and the door was closed. Just then, he rested the sword against the wall and slowly walked deeper into the building, stopping to crouch down by two furnaces.

He set down the bag previously thrown over his shoulder and pulled out some coal from it, putting it into the furnaces somewhat equally. Then, he took out the more valuable thing he managed to find in the cave, a few blocks of gold ore, and without a moment to waste he put them inside to smelt them. He nodded to himself and stepped back, leaving the bag on the floor and approaching one of the chests instead. He briefly looked through it, pushing away all the items that shouldn’t be there in the first place before triumphantly pulling out a spider eye.

He grew to like the taste. He tried them plenty of times as a child, usually as an accident, it was hard to spot one out in a pile of berries, and he strongly disliked them back then. Now, though, now he knew what to expect when he ate one, he could brace himself better, and he ended up liking them more than he thought he could. He didn’t eat them too often either, he had a feeling his dad wouldn’t be happy if he did so, but eating one every now and then couldn’t hurt too much, could it? He could swear it did quite the opposite, really, felt as if each time he ate them, they had less of an effect on him.

Once he was done with the ‘snack’ and a couple of extra berries he grabbed to make sure he wouldn’t get hungry too soon, he was ready to head to bed. He moved his bag away from the working furnaces, brought his sword further from the door and hid it in one of the chests by the bed, and finally lied down on top of the sheets. He’d hide under them, but the night was surprisingly warm and he didn’t feel like melting in his sleep. He stretched before resting his head on the pillow, but rather than closing his eyes, he caught himself staring at the ceiling.

The bed felt too big for him. Well, it shouldn’t be too surprising, it was the size of three normal beds after all. Too big and too small, that was the better way to put it. He wanted to fill it, but he felt wrong for taking up as much space as he was now. He tried to ignore that feeling for a while, just close his eyes and let his tiredness take over, but it was too persistent to just disappear. With a sigh, he sat up, closed his eyes, and with the very little effort it took him, shapeshifted into a fox. He’d try sleeping normally some other night, he promised himself as he curled up into a ball on one of the pillows. It always felt better to sleep like that, especially in this bed.

Early in the morning, Yogurt was already leaving the cottage again. He took the sword he put away the night before, he re-packed his bag before throwing it over his shoulder and walking out of the house. He had to walk through the forest for just a few minutes before making it to the nether portal Fundy and he made a long while back. It still worked perfectly fine, and it was still connected to the same place in the other dimension, which apparently was somewhat rare. He fixed his grip on his sword before stepping through, preparing for the absolute heatwave to hit him.

He didn’t like traveling through the nether, it was far too hot for his liking. He didn’t like the weather his destination would have either, he’d pick somewhere colder any other day, but today he had a purpose. A plan so great he was willing to endure all this lava and fire and hot desert sands. An idea that put a smile on his face if he even thought about it. Making sure his bag was steadily on his shoulder and it wouldn’t accidentally catch on fire, he sped up, and soon enough, a new portal came into view.

“Finally,” he sighed to himself as he reached it. Maybe the hot weather on the other side wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be better for sure. And there would be some nice views to make up for it, too.

Foolish’s pyramid was as impressive as always, so beautiful and so giant. Knowing well how cool it is inside, in the shade, Yogurt didn’t wait long before quietly sneaking inside. Its owner was inside for sure, he knew that, but the man was probably still asleep. Who would want to get up when it's so hot outside, after all? He walked around it for a bit, looking around and making sure no one was near before finding just the right spot. It was somewhat hidden, but somewhat close to the entrance, exactly what he was looking for. With a grin just growing on his face, he knelt down on the sandstone and put down his bag. He had everything, and if he didn’t, he’d find a way around it. He planned this for too long to let himself fail.

Without a moment to waste, he got to work.

It took surprisingly long for anyone to spot him.

“...Yogurt?” someone finally asked, recognizing him. He paused, both of his hands resting against a dispenser he was just installing. Then, he spun around.

“Hi!” he greeted, and to his relief, no one but the person calling his name was there. He knew Junior wouldn’t tell on him without a good reason.

“What are you doing?” he asked, stepping a bit closer to get a better look at the machine behind Yogurt.

“Building a little… something. For your dad,” he explained. Junior looked his masterpiece over with confusion, so the boy continued. “It’s loud, annoying, and hard to turn off. I really want to see him try,” he added with a grin.

“Oh,” Junior nodded before taking a seat on the sandstone. “Don’t hurry, then. He’s out to collect more sand, it takes a while,” he assured. With a grateful nod, Yogurt got back to putting the dispenser just right.

“That’s good to know,” he muttered, stepping to his side and fidgeting with a repeater for a moment. “Do you want to watch?”

“Yeah!” Junior confirmed. More confident in his skills, Yogurt continued to work, sometimes reaching down into his bag and pulling out a few more components he needed. After a while, he noticed a look of confusion growing on his friend’s face.

“Any questions?” he asked. Junior nodded and pointed near Yogurt’s feet.

“What’s with the bag?” he questioned. Slightly disappointed that it wasn’t about his genius contraption, Yogurt sighed.

“My dad gave it to me. I can’t hold too many things, two or three get hard, so I carry items in there,” he explained, and Junior nodded.

“Mhm. And what does that thing over there do?” he asked another question, pointing at a piston attached to a currently-off redstone clock. A grin returned to Yogurt’s face as he approached the part of his machine he was pointed to.

“I’m glad you asked…!”

“W-what’s going on here?!” Foolish asked, running into his pyramid and looking around in confusion. Junior ran in just behind him.

“I don’t know!” he lied, looking around as if he didn’t know where Yogurt’s contraption was.

“Hm… maybe…” his dad hummed, starting to walk around the building, searching for the source of the strange noises Junior warned him about. Yogurt, meanwhile, was hidden behind a pillar and doing his best to muffle his giggles.

It took Foolish full 7 minutes to find the boy’s machine, and Junior somehow managed to keep an innocent face through it all. Yogurt was really glad about that, every time they tried to work on something together, his friend seemed to be getting better at that. Foolish spent another minute walking around the contraption and trying to figure out what it did, why it did it, and how to turn it off. Then, he finally found a button the boy hoped he would, and cautiously pressed it. When a gold ingot shot out of a nearby dispenser and landed just by his feet, he initially jumped back. Then, encouraged by it even if the loud noises the contraption was making didn’t get any quieter, he pressed it again.

When another dispenser started to mercilessly spit out golden nuggets upon golden nuggets, basically showering Foolish in the valuable yet incredibly annoying items, Yogurt couldn’t help but burst out in laughter. Even that was tuned out by the loud contraption, though, so he could probably safely stay in his hiding spot and watch the man struggle to stop the machine from being loud and giving gold in the worst possible way, but he felt like he should leave anyway. As soon as he collected himself, he got up, secured his bag, and broke into a sprint across the pyramid. He could swear Foolish turned around and caught a glimpse of him as he was leaving, but he didn’t chase after him.

Good. There was still somewhere Yogurt needed to get, and he couldn’t spend too much time hiding and running. He couldn’t be late.

Crossing the nether never felt so quick, but before he knew it he was in the overworld again. And to his delight, a colder part of it. He took a moment to enjoy just that, the air he could freely breathe and the icy wind that felt so nice against his skin. Then, he started to walk, admittedly slowly this time, just enjoying this nice, chilly afternoon. His home wasn’t too far away anyway.

The building was nice, he really liked how it looked. It felt welcoming, and the lights always seemed to be on. He carefully walked up to the door and knocked on it a few times. At first, he was met with silence, but just a moment later he could hear footsteps thumping inside. And then, the door opened and he was greeted by a cheerful figure of his dad.

“Yogurt!” the man smiled at his son, stepping back from the door to let him inside. “Come in, come in,” he encouraged, and the boy gladly did so.

“Hi, Dad,” he greeted once he was inside, and Fundy closed the door behind him.

“I was wondering if you were going to show up,” he joked, his son chuckling nervously.

“Yeah… Sorry, I was doing… a thing,” he explained, and Fundy nodded.

“Was it fun?” he asked, and the boy nodded eagerly. “You can tell me all about it while we eat, then,” he offered.

“Yeah! What food do we have?” Yogurt asked, and his dad was already starting to head to the kitchen.

“I’m almost done baking some steak,” he answered. Smiling brightly at that, his son followed him. “And what did you eat for the past two days?”

“Uh… mostly berries,” Yogurt admitted, looking back at the time he spent in the house. “Some bread and chicken, too,” he added, and Fundy nodded.

“Good,” he praised. “If you need any extra food, let me know.”

“I will,” his son assured. He could already smell the dinner in the air, and he could tell it'd be tasty.

“And did he turn it off in the end?” Fundy asked, doing his best to muffle his laugh. Yogurt shrugged.

“I don’t know, I ran when he pressed the button the second time,” he answered, and his dad nodded.

“That’s probably for the best,” he agreed. “That sounds like an impressive contraption,” he added.

“Thanks! I’ll ask Junior how it ended the next time I see him,” Yogurt answered, very visibly proud of himself after hearing the compliment. Fundy laughed.

“I bet I’ll know first, when Foolish comes to ask me if I helped you,” he guessed, and the boy had to admit it was very probable. “I’ll let you know what he thought of it.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Yogurt smiled. Then, he glanced at the window and noticed the sky slowly turning orange. The sun was about to start setting. “Uh oh,” he muttered to himself, and Fundy’s gaze followed his.

“Oh, looks like you’ll have to leave soon if you want to make it before it’s too dark,” he realized. Then, he glanced in the direction of his bedroom. “Unless you want to stay here for the night.”

“I…” Yogurt hesitated. He was the one to request that his dad let him stay in their old place, it was his idea, but… “I think I want to stay home tonight,” he decided. Fundy nodded.

“Sure. I’ll go get some clean sheets for your bed, then,” he agreed, getting up from the table.

“I can wash the plates,” the boy offered, and Fundy paused for a moment before smiling.

“Thanks,” he nodded, and the boy got up to collect the dishes.

He liked sleeping at home. It always felt cozy, and even if his dad apologized time and time again for the beds there ‘not being as comfortable’, he couldn’t even tell the difference. His bed here never felt too big nor too small, and… he liked this place. He enjoyed going to the house, but staying at home with his dad was always a treat.

#yogurtdays2021 #c!fundy #yogurt dsmp #foolish gamers #foolish jr #fundy #yogurt dy #my writing #dream smp #I am so proud of taking part in 3 events so far and being late just once and for 1 day. this is so cool of me #Oops forgot to link the previous chapters and can't do this now because I'm on mobile already #I'll try to do that tomorrow

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dracothedeatheatingcupcake-ao3 · 3 years

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Another Life

Hi guys!! So, I mentioned in the last chapter of TPWP that I had a short-ish one shot about IshiMondo following Mondo murdering Chihiro in the canon universe. I will warn y’all that this... this is a sad fic. If I were posting this on AO3 (which I will, eventually, I think) there would be the Major Character Death warning, so... yeah.

Anyway. I just wanted to say something real quick before getting onto the fic. Feel free to skip if you don’t care. But y’all will realize as you read that this is not really my usual style of writing. I tend to prefer to be big on the details and emotion, since that sort of thing is what interests me most. This story, though, is more... barebones. I’m telling more than showing, and there is one main reason for this. This fic... it’s sad, but if I wrote in my usual style, it would be devastating. For me, at least. I got the idea for this fic months ago, maybe even before TPWP, just a quick “I wonder what an interaction between Mondo and Taka would be like after Mondo killed Chihiro would be like.”

I immediately dismissed the idea once I went down the path and realized how sad it would be, though. I love writing angst, right? I don’t think I’ve ever written a single story without some measure of angst or sadness. It’s just... what I do, ya know? But the one thing I cannot stand is hopelessness. It’s why I don’t like Danganronpa much, since it’s such a hopeless story, even if some of the students get out. It’s hopeless, and more than that, it’s pointless. The death and all that. There’s no reason for it at all, and I just... I hate stories like that, with no hope of a true happy ending. And this idea... it ends kind of hopelessly. I hate that sort of thing.

But I couldn’t stop thinking of this story. It kept coming back, again and again, and eventually... I caved and knew I had to do something. So I wrote this. I swear, it was supposed to be short! Just 1,000-2,000 words that explained the idea, to get it off my mind. I’d have posted it here and been like “hey guys, see this weird idea I had??? Man, wouldn’t it be crazy if I wrote this???” But then! I started putting more details in, like I always do. And then dialogue showed up. And by the time I finished my first writing session and went off to work, sending the story from my phone to my computer to check the word count, I had written over 6,000 words. And I wasn’t even done. Only then did I realize... this was a fic, dear god. Not my usual kind of fic, but... a fic nonetheless. I finished writing it then, and then went back to add some more detail to the first 6,000 words to make it at least a little like a fic.

Now, I know this was a long explanation, but I just... I’m anxious about this fic. It’s been on my mind for ages and I don’t know if I like the style. I oddly think it fits the story, though, given how messed up Mondo would be after what he did, so there is that. But I just... if y’all could please let me know what you think, I would appreciate it. I do plan on posting this to AO3 and FF . net eventually, but having feedback would help, if y’all wouldn’t mind. If y’all like this style of writing... I may be able to get more ideas out without taking months to write the whole thing. It doesn’t preclude me from writing full fics eventually, but it allows me to get more ideas out. So just... let me know, yeah?

Anyway! Here’s the fic! The main warning is that there is a major character death, since this, ya know... follows canon. It follows Mondo’s POV, and there is very mild sexual content. More referenced than truly shown, but it is there.

Enjoy!

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Another Life

Summary: Mondo finds himself outside of Taka’s room following the events in the boy’s changing room, his head a mess and heart even worse. While he knows he doesn’t deserve it, he finds comfort in Taka’s arms anyway.

Mondo finds himself leaving the exercise slash changing room in a daze, his body having rearranged the furniture to respect- respect Chihiro and his gender on autopilot, his head a complete mess and feeling so incredibly sick. He has always hated himself, more so after what happened with his brother, but he is positive he has never hated himself more than he currently does, the phantom sensation of bright pink blood staining his hands lingering, even though he has scrubbed them clean a dozen times.

In his distraction, he finds himself meandering through the halls without any real idea of what he’s doing, where he’s going, his brain not quite registering what he’d done, his mind wanting to reject it even as he knows he’d done it. While he has always hated himself and his tendency for violence and anger, he’d once never seen himself as the kind of person who could murder anyone, especially not someone smaller and weaker than him. Not even when he was at his angriest and wanted to hurt someone desperately. And he doesn’t know how to handle the reality of what he just did.

While walking aimlessly, he realizes that he somehow has found himself back in the dorm hallway, stomach clenched and angry, wanting to throw up but doing all he can to not do so. He tries to force his feet to walk over to where his dorm room is, but finds his legs won’t let him, his mind warring with his body. He is exhausted, has never felt so tired, but he doesn’t know if he can stay in that room by himself all night long. He... he truly doesn’t.

It takes him a minute, but he eventually realizes that he’s been standing outside Taka’s room for several long minutes, just staring at the little depiction of the kid on the door, staring like his life depends on it. For the first time since- since, he... he feels something. Anything. He has no idea what that something is, but... but...

Before he can tell himself not to, his hand is rising and ringing the doorbell, once, twice, three times, before falling back to his side dully, hating himself somehow even more for likely waking Taka, but not knowing what else to do. What even is he supposed to do, now? After... after...

A few moments pass and Mondo is just about to bail and leave Taka alone, forever, when the door opens, a sleepy but still overly concerned looking Taka standing there, taking Mondo’s breath away. The kid is wearing his sleep clothes, a white and ragged undershirt and a pair of white briefs, nothing else. Mondo has seen Taka naked before, since Taka had insisted that they ‘bare themselves to each other’ a few days before, but somehow... somehow this seems even more intimate. Seeing Taka wearing so few clothes, all sleep warm and scraggly haired, and… and…

He gets jolted from his thoughts when Taka hesitantly and yet still earnestly asks if he’s alright, inviting him inside without a single thought, not a single care for his own safety or- or anything.

For some reason, that angers Mondo greatly. And while he does find himself entering the room, his legs forcing him forward despite himself, he can’t help but yell at Taka, his frustration at all of it coming out. He snarls at the kid, low and angry, asking him why the hell he would ever open his door for anyone during this stupid ‘game,’ let alone let them into his room in the middle of the night, his fear and frustration coming out in a way he doesn’t want, doesn’t want at all.

Rather than get angry, though, Taka just stares at Mondo with wide eyes as he rants, and when Mondo is finally done, his exhaustion overcoming him again, Taka... Taka calmly and confusedly replies that he only opened the door because he could see through the peephole that it was Mondo, saying quite earnestly that he trusts Mondo completely and knows he has nothing to fear from him. His guileless and innocent words make Mondo feel disgusting, the reality of what he’d just done hitting him, and he finds himself getting angry again despite how tired he is.

He yells at Taka again, then, words that he doesn’t even register but that just burst out anyway, all his anger and frustration releasing from him as he rants. Taka just lets him, a small frown on his face, but when Mondo starts saying that he is a monster and only a goddamn, fuckin’ monster, Christ, Taka apparently has enough and marches over to Mondo, ignoring the deadly (and scared) glare that Mondo gives him in warning. And then... then, Taka places his hands on Mondo’s shoulders, looking him straight in the eye, a small and yet encouraging smile on his lips as his eyes sparkle with enthusiasm and trust, destroying Mondo entirely. Fuck...

“That is untrue, kyoudai! I used to think you were only a criminal and a no-good biker, but I have seen the best of you this last week and I know that you are more than that! So much more! You are kind, and caring, and gentle, and very, very good! I know I have nothing to fear from you, kyoudai, no matter what! I understand you have self-esteem issues, my dearest kyoudai, but you needn’t worry! I trust you and always will! I promise! A man’s promise!”

The words utterly destroy Mondo, his insides clenching and breaking and hurting, and he wants to cry but he knows he can’t, he doesn’t have the right, not after what he had done. But he can’t help the way his stomach lurches at the earnest look Taka gives him, his heart beating fast, and he knows exactly what it is he feels for Taka. Has known from the moment he set eyes on him in the main hall, so much at odds considering their respective talents, but it was so clear to him even despite that. He never has felt anything like this for anyone, certainly not so soon after meeting them, but... but he does. He most definitely, truly does.

At the time, he had even had an absent thought of how Taka just seemed so familiar to him. How— even though he knows they’d never met before; he’d most certainly remember a person like Taka— it was like he knew him intimately somehow. He’d tried pushing it away, especially considering the twisted game they were being forced to play, but he’d never been able to fully push the feeling inside him away. And when they’d had their sauna battle and became kyoudai, he knew he couldn’t deny how he felt for Taka any longer, even though it had only been a couple of short, stressful weeks that they’d ‘known’ each other.

But... as stressed out and scared and terrified as Mondo currently feels, he can’t help the desire that rises inside him, looking into Taka’s wide and trusting eyes. Part of Mondo wants to destroy that trust, to break Taka and prove to him that Mondo is just a monster that doesn’t deserve anything good, but he finds he just can’t, the thought of it breaking him more than he’s ever been broken before. And when he sees Taka’s eyes dart down to his lips after several long minutes of staring into one another’s eyes, Taka’s lips parting on a shaky breath... Mondo’s slim hold on himself breaks.

Leaning forward, Mondo kisses Taka angrily, firmly, somehow finding a way to hate himself even more for doing such a thing when he sure as hell does not deserve it, not after what he did. And yet, despite his anger, and self-hatred, and pain, pain, pain, he quickly finds himself softening the kiss, since— even with how angry and scared he is— he doesn’t want to hurt Taka. Not now. Not ever.

Taka doesn’t kiss back, though, not even after several long, long moments. It’s just as Mondo is pulling back, heart pounding and breaking and aching, thinking he’s ruined everything and that Taka will finally see how much of a monster he is, will hate him, fuck, Taka...

Taka lets out a soft noise, the sound not at all something Mondo can decipher, before he kisses back. Messy, and clumsy, and clearly inexperienced, but Mondo sure as hell doesn’t care. Not one single, goddamn bit. Not when Taka is as enthusiastic and passionate as ever, his lack of experience getting more than made up for by his enthusiasm and passion.

Mondo finds himself walking Taka backwards, Taka following willingly, trustingly, until Taka’s back is pressed against the wall, Mondo kissing him like his life depends on it. And, in a way, he thinks desperately that it does. It truly, truly does.

Because he knows. Right? What’s going to happen in the morning. That someone will find the body and a goddamn trial will begin, and while Mondo had done all he could to cover his tracks, he knows he’s not the smartest person and that there are likely so many fucking things he missed that a smarter and more capable person would have noticed. And he knows that... that if they don’t, that if no one notices and they accuse wrong and Mondo doesn’t get- get executed, then... then the whole class will. And that includes... includes...

Taka pulls back from the kiss first, and Mondo is terrified that it’s because he somehow knows what Mondo did and that he’s disgusted by him, that he hates him, oh god. But before he can utter anything, any apologies he doesn’t deserve or sorrow he shouldn’t be allowed to feel, he feels Taka’s hand gently touch his cheek, wiping away the tears that he hadn’t felt begin to fall. Taka is looking at him with such gentle concern that it breaks him again, and he wants to destroy everything, wants to scream, and rage, and cry, but Taka is talking before he can, and Mondo can do nothing more than listen, desperate and aching.

“Mondo... it’s okay, kyoudai, really! Do not cry, I... I wanted to do that. Very, very much! ... I do not know how to explain it, but from the moment I met you, I knew there was more to you than meets the eye. I... I have felt, er... things for you since that very moment! Things I’ve never... never felt for anyone else... aha. B-but please, kyoudai, do not cry! It... it’s okay, Mondo. I promise. I guarantee it! We will get out of here, you’ll see! No one would ever actually kill over something as silly as a secret, and then that darn bear will see that we will never do as he asks, and then we will be free! All of us, kyoudai. N-no one else will die and then we... w-we can be together! If you... i-if you would want that, a-aha...”

Mondo feels broken again at Taka’s enthusiastic words, despising himself as he sees how earnestly Taka believes this, even still, even after having learned that one classmate had tried to kill the other, only to get killed herself. Even after being forced to watch as another classmate got pummeled to death by baseballs, and another skewered by spears.

Mondo has a moment to despair for Taka and his trusting nature, and he wants so badly to yell. To scream at Taka and ask him what the hell his problem is, ask him why he is being so delusional, but he finds that he... he just can’t. And as he looks deeper into Taka’s eyes, as he looks closer than he’s ever looked into anyone before, he... he sees that Taka isn’t entirely being truthful. He can see the fear that is swirling within him, can see the lie that is in his words, even if Taka doesn’t allow himself to see it.

And he realizes... he realizes that, while Taka may be naive, may be trusting… he does know what is happening, in some regard. But... but he is doing all he can to pretend that it’s okay. That this will all end up okay. This is just- just his way of coping, telling himself lies that it will be okay, even though part of him knows that it won’t. Knows that... that there is a very real possibility that he will just... die here.

A reality that Mondo suddenly knows will happen to himself come morning.

Because... because, if he doesn’t get found out... if he doesn’t get accused properly by the class, if the trial goes in his favor... then Taka will die, Taka and the rest of their class, and that idea is suddenly so wrong to Mondo. That... that Mondo should survive at the expense of their class. At the expense of Taka. He...

He doesn’t know. If he’d be able to confess himself, be an active participant in his own death. While he’s always tried so hard to be strong and brave, he’s plagued by the truth that he’s not, not really. Not at all. But he knows he can’t let Taka die because of his mistake. His murder. And in that moment... he knows. No matter what, he will die the next day. That day, really, it’s so late. As he looks into Taka’s eyes, seeing the hidden fear that lurks within them, the terror and anguish the boy tries so hard to hide... he knows.

And he knows that he doesn’t want to die without knowing what Taka feels like. God...

Surging forward, Mondo kisses Taka again, desperate and needy and full of pain, but so good, too. And Taka kisses back, just as desperate, just as needy, making noises that drives Mondo out of his goddamn mind, but he doesn’t stop. He feels himself lifting the thin undershirt Taka is wearing, tossing it over his shoulder as he lets his hands explore the warm and smooth expanse of Taka’s chest. He feels hard, harder than he’s ever felt before, and he wants so, so bad. He presses his hips to Taka’s and moans when he feels an answering hardness, Taka letting out a small shout at the feeling. He knows that Taka is enjoying himself, knows that the boy wants it too, which is why he feels so confused when Taka pulls back, his eyes wide, shaking his head slightly.

Taka then says how they shouldn’t, that it’s improper, that they’re not technically even dating. He insinuates that he wants to wait until they get out before they do things, which upsets Mondo, since he knows that that won’t happen, no matter what Taka is deluding himself to believe. But Mondo... Mondo can’t find it in him to burst Taka’s bubble, not when it’s his last night on earth. The last time he’ll get to spend with Taka. Yeah, he really, really wants to go all the way with Taka, to not die a fucking virgin, but he also doesn’t want to pressure Taka. He doesn’t deserve it, anyway. Not after what he did.

So, Mondo nods, reluctantly, wondering if he should just go or not. If it wouldn’t be better to just... leave now and not hurt Taka anymore.

But then Taka is smiling at him, grabbing his hand, and... and then Taka is kissing him. It’s awkward and clumsy, the boy clearly not knowing what he’s doing, but it’s so endearing to Mondo that he can’t help the warm chuckle he lets out, even if it’s a bit watery. Taka pulls back with a small pout, looking a little annoyed, and Mondo fixes that by grinning brightly, stuffing down the fear inside him, and kissing Taka properly. Taka just lets out a happy sound, annoyance forgotten, and returns the favor in kind, enthusiastic as ever.

Mondo loses himself in the sensation and is a bit shocked to find— several minutes later— that at some point the two of them have migrated over to the bed, lips not parting for a single second. Mondo doesn’t mind at all, though, and finds that he can’t help how he pushes Taka down onto it gently, muttering promises that he won’t go too far, he swears. Taka nods absently at the words, seeming too far gone to even care anymore, but anytime Mondo’s hands accidentally wander too far south, he can feel Taka jolt, which reminds him to keep this PG. It still feels incredible to press down onto Taka as he kisses him, though, knowing then that there is nothing else he ever, ever wants to do in life.

Sometime later— Mondo has no idea how long since time has never meant less to him— he and Taka find themselves lounging together on the bed, Taka’s head on his bare chest, Mondo’s duster and tank top having been discarded at some point. Taka is drawing absent designs on Mondo’s chest, humming happily. Mondo is holding onto Taka tightly, his fear and terror running rampant through him, but it’s manageable when he’s holding Taka so close.

At some point, Mondo manages to let out the words that have been building inside him since he- he did that, his weakness and fear voiced at last.

“I’m scared, Taka,” he finds himself muttering, closing his eyes, breathing deeply and evenly. “So... so fuckin’ scared. K-know ya think we’re gonna get outta here, that no one is gonna- gonna fuckin’ kill anymore, but... I dunno. Yer so fuckin’ good, man. Believin’ the best in people, but I... I ain’t like that. An’ I... s-shit. I’m so fuckin’ terrified that I’m gonna die. I don’t... I don’t wanna die, man. I... I...”

Mondo begins to cry then, hating himself yet again for it, but Taka doesn’t judge him. He just shushes him softly, pulling him close, shifting them so that Mondo’s head is on Taka’s chest now. Mondo’s hair had fallen out of his pompadour at some point, his eyeliner smudged off, and he’s never felt weaker, but somehow... somehow, he doesn’t mind. Not when Taka is there, shushing him softly, kissing his forehead tenderly, eyes soft and caring. He can feel how Taka is shaking, knows that he’s also scared, but damn if Taka lets that be known. Mondo has a moment to think that Taka is probably the strongest person he’s ever met, heart aching, before Taka is speaking. Soft and shaking, but still so incredibly determined.

“You won’t, kyoudai. N-neither will I. We... we will both make it out of this, you’ll see! You and me. Me and- and you. We will get out and we will spend the rest of our lives together. We will finish school and then we will go to university, and I will get a job in politics while you- y-you get a job wherever you would like. We will get married and have children, if we want, and pets, and... and we... we will... we will be happy, kyoudai. Happy. And... and together. I- I promise, kyoudai... Mondo. I... I promise...”

Mondo can hear the way Taka’s voice tremors, can hear the uncertainty and the doubt even despite the confident words, but in that moment... in that moment, he just doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if that’s actually possible or not. He doesn’t care if he and Taka can have that; if he deserves to have that. He just... he doesn’t care.

Instead, he smiles. It’s small at first, but it gets wider and wider the more time that passes, and soon he is laughing. It’s brittle and fragile, but it’s more than he thought he’d ever have, after... well. After what he’d done. He lifts himself off Taka’s chest and looks down at him with liquid soft eyes, smiling with all the love in his heart.

And in that moment... he knows. Knows that he wants that. A life. With Taka. And- and had this whole thing not happened... had they met in better circumstances, better times… they could have had that. A life. A love. Him and Taka; Taka and him. Together forever. He loves Taka, truly and fully, and there is no one on this earth he can imagine ever loving more. And maybe it’s the desperation of the situation, maybe it’s not actually real, but he... he wishes that it could be. Real. That they could have discovered together if it could have been real.

(And in some part of him, deep, deep inside... he knows that it is. He doesn’t believe in reincarnation or things like that, but he knows that this is not the first time he has met Taka. The first time he has fallen in love with him. He doesn’t know what that means, but it’s such a strong belief inside him that he can’t find it in him to contradict it. Not at all. Not even a little.)

And then... while Mondo really wants to be closer to Taka— to feel him, in every sense of the word— he respects Taka’s wishes and keeps his hands to himself. And instead, he... he finds himself talking. He’s still leaning up on his arms, looking down at Taka, while he continues the story Taka had created. Of their life together. He mentions that he would become a carpenter, fixing and creating things rather than always breaking them. That they would live in a shitty apartment that is broken down and crappy at first, but that they would eventually make enough that Mondo would be able to build them a house, large and perfect, built exactly for them and the family they will have. He mentions that they will adopt at least two kids, a boy and a girl, though he wouldn’t mind more. Says that he will spoil them all rotten and do everything he can to ensure that they will never know the hardships that either of them has faced. He talks about the dogs they will own, and the cats too, and other animals, all the animals, their home full and bright and happy, and...

And Taka continues when Mondo’s voice breaks, saying that Taka will start a garden outside, one that he will tend to when he’s not working on his campaign. He will grow fruits and vegetables and herbs that he will use in his cooking, since he apparently enjoys cooking and baking and things like that. He will also grow flowers and other ‘useless’ plants, just because he thinks they look nice, their house full of color and life at all hours.

Mondo finds his voice again and talks about how he would want to start a charity, something to help kids who grow up in rough neighborhoods, giving them options in life other than street gangs and crime. He talks about how his brother always wanted to do that kind of thing, and that he wants to do it in his stead. His voice gets thick again, but it’s okay, because then Taka is leaning up and kissing him, so he doesn’t have to talk anymore anyway.

Mondo has no idea what time it is when they pull back, Mondo shifting them again so that they are facing one another, arms around each other as they cuddle close together. He knows it’s late, thinks it might almost be time for that bear’s fucking morning announcement, but he doesn’t let it get to him. He just holds Taka closer, imagining the life that they created together, a life that could have been theirs— would have been theirs— if only... if only.

At some point they start kissing again, Mondo not knowing who starts it but not really caring. The kiss starts lazy and slow, but is soon getting heated again, Taka’s hands wandering all over his chest, driving Mondo crazy. Eventually Mondo has to grab Taka’s hands desperately in his own when they travel too far south, Mondo letting out a desperate noise as he whispers hoarsely that if Taka doesn’t wanna go farther than this tonight, then they should prolly stop.

To his absolute shock, Taka gets a concentrated look on his face, like he’s thinking deeply about something, and then... then...

Taka takes his hands back from Mondo, and then...

Mondo lets out a strangled curse when he feels Taka’s hand brush against him down there, Taka blushing bright red but looking as determined as ever. Mondo asks him softly what he’s doing, heart racing, and Taka grows even brighter red, but he doesn’t back down. He just hums, softly, and looks Mondo in the eye.

“I... I do not know, kyoudai. I just... I want... hm. I’ve never. Um. Wanted. Not before. But I... with you... hm. I-it is improper, I know, a-and we don’t have to- we... we have time, I know, but... but I...”

Mondo stares at Taka with wide, wonder filled eyes as Taka trembles, his hardness pressing against Mondo’s as they mold themselves to the other’s body. Part of Mondo feels nervous about what Taka is saying. Thinks that he should deny him, should say that Taka should wait, if he wants. But the bigger part of him... the part that knows the future they made up is just that, made up... the part that knows that they both will not make it out of this alive, since Mondo fucked that up already...

It can’t quite find it in him to deny it. Not when he knows this is the only chance he will ever get. Ever.

And so... he kisses Taka again. Deep, meaningful. And he lets his hands wander. Taka lets out noises, enthusiastic and happy, but desperate, too. Needy. And Mondo thinks he knows why. Knows that Taka knows. That this isn’t okay. That neither of them is okay, but fuck, will they pretend they are.

As he slowly pulls down Taka’s briefs, doing his best to not psych himself out, he has a moment to think about how familiar this all feels to him. He’s never done anything like this with anyone, certainly not Taka, but as he grabs Taka in hand, listening as Taka lets out a loud shout, desperate and needy and fuck, he... he knows this is not the first time this has happened. He doesn’t know how he knows, but... but he does. Somehow, that thought comforts him. Greatly.

And when he feels Taka’s hands hesitantly touch him, trail over his body, and hesitantly remove his pants and his boxers, Taka trembling but oh so passionate and determined still... he wishes— not for the first time— that none of this had ever happened. That he’d never come to Hope’s Peak, that Taka had never come to Hope’s Peak. And he doesn’t wish that they’d never met, fuck he doesn’t wish that, but... but maybe they could have met somewhere else. Taka had mentioned once that his father is a police officer. Maybe... maybe they could have met during one of the times when Mondo was inevitably arrested, Taka visiting his father and seeing Mondo, but not feeling afraid, not at all. Maybe Taka would have spoken to Mondo, then, earnest as ever. Maybe he would have offered to help Mondo out, to help him leave his life of crime and settle into a good, meaningful life. And Mondo knows that if that had actually happened in real life, he’d have punched the kid’s lights out, but in this fantasy... in this fantasy, he accepts, and Taka smiles so beautifully at him, and they find a way to have their happy ending. Without this nightmare, without the threat of death looming over them even as they touch one another so softly, so gently, the first time they’ve ever done this but also not.

He pushes the thoughts aside as he gears up the courage to grab himself and Taka in hand together, Taka moaning loudly, Mondo moaning as well. Part of Mondo wants to go further, wants to take all of Taka, but he finds he can’t. Not when he knows what is going to happen in a few short hours. Not when... well. Not when.

But he allows himself this. Allows himself and Taka to build up a steady rhythm together, Taka practically sobbing as Mondo holds him close, shushing him even as he feels like he’s about to fall apart himself. He doesn’t know why Taka is crying, if he’s just overwhelmed or if he, too, realizes what this is. That this isn’t the first in a long line of times they will do things like this, but that it... it’s a goodbye, Mondo’s way of holding a part of Taka, even as he lets him go.

Mondo doesn’t know what will happen in the trial, but as he holds onto Taka so desperately, he knows he will not be winning. He still is so afraid, doesn’t know if he will be brave enough to do what he knows he must, but... but he also knows he can’t be the reason Taka dies. He honestly would rather die than do that. It’s comforting to realize, in the oddest, strangest of ways. Death is so much easier to digest when he places it in the context of saving the man that he loves. And he does. Love him. So, so much...

Eventually Mondo feels himself getting close, and feels that Taka is getting close too, so he allows himself to whisper into Taka’s ear. Whisper all the soft and gentle words he has kept hidden inside his heart his entire life, the words he’s always had to hide in order to survive the rough and dangerous lifestyle he was always forced to lead. He whispers how amazing Taka is, how Mondo is constantly astonished by how good and kind Taka is, how Taka is prolly the best person he has ever met. He whispers that he knows Taka will change the world, that he will be the best of all of them. That he already is.

And he... he whispers how much he loves him. How he knows it’s too soon to say shit like that, but that he- he means it. He also whispers his sneaking suspicion that this was not the first time they met, that he’s loved Taka far longer than just a handful of stressful, terrifying weeks, that they... that they belong together in a way that is intrinsic inside them both.

And while part of him is embarrassed by the words, thinking himself a weak and pathetic sap, the majority of him can’t find it in him to care. Not when Taka is letting out a shout, cumming against him while a few tears leak out of the corner of his eyes. And Mondo... Mondo is cumming not long after, collapsing on top of Taka, breath heaving as he rests, doing his best to not crush the love of his fucking life.

But Taka doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t seem to care at all, not when he leans up and whispers in Mondo’s ear. Voice shaking and trembling but still, always, endlessly determined. He whispers how he feels the same, that Mondo is the best person he has ever met. How, despite his gruff and harsh exterior, Taka has never met someone so kind and caring before. How he loves Mondo, too, more than he would ever think possible, certainly not after such a short amount of time. And how he, too, has the weird feeling that this was not the first time they’ve met, the first time they’ve fallen in love.

Taka asks him, then— voice small and trembling— if Mondo believes in reincarnation. If he thinks that... that they’ve lived a life together before, and that this is just them meeting up again. And that... that they will meet up again one day, in another life, far from Hope’s Peak and killing games and death that is both senseless and cruel. And Mondo doesn’t know, has never believed in an afterlife at all, but as he pulls back and looks down at Taka’s face, the boy looking so desperate and terrified, he... he can’t help how he smiles. And laughs. And leans down, kissing Taka again, the millionth time even if it really shouldn’t be. And he...

He nods. He agrees. He says that yes, he does. He does believe in reincarnation and that they- they will find each other one day. Should they... well. Well. That one way or another, they will have their happy ending. He promises. He... he promises...

He can’t even find it in him to be embarrassed by the sappy words, the desperation he knows is plain in his words and eyes. He knows it’s getting so fucking late, knows that the fucking announcement will come soon and that the body will be discovered soon after, but... but he doesn’t want to leave. Never. Never. Never. He doesn’t want to think too much, doesn’t want to think about what will happen in a few short hours. Doesn’t want to let this one small piece of happiness he’s found get ruined because he couldn’t handle being fucking soft.

And so, he doesn’t. Doesn’t ruin it. He just lays down on his side, next to Taka, and pulls him close. They are naked, bodily fluids drying unpleasantly on their skin, but Mondo doesn’t care. He just pulls Taka close and holds him, Taka resting his head against Mondo’s chest again, like earlier, fingers tracing patterns on Mondo’s skin again and again and again. Mondo is exhausted, so tired, but he doesn’t close his eyes. Doesn’t let himself sleep, knowing that this is the first and last time he will ever get to hold Taka like this and wanting so badly to savor it. And- and he knows Taka feels the same. Knows that Taka doesn’t sleep either. And Mondo... Mondo wonders if he suspects. What Mondo did. The reason why Mondo is so scared. He thinks the Ultimate Moral Compass can’t possibly suspect, thinks that Taka would never be willing to be so close to him if he- if he knew— but. But...

But... when the fucking announcement comes, seven coming way too fast for his own good... when he feels Taka stir sluggishly, the boy clearly not wanting to get up but his sense of duty likely making him...

Taka whispers to him. Soft. Gentle. As Mondo takes a washcloth and cleans them up, he hears Taka’s whispered words. And he... he...

“Please know, kyoudai, that I... I will always love you. No matter what happens. No matter... n-no matter what happens. Nothing will ever make me love you less. I swear, m-my... my love. I... I promise.”

Mondo stares at his kyoudai, heart beating both fast and slow, a contradiction that somehow makes perfect sense to him. He’s exhausted, hasn’t slept a wink all night, but for some reason, he’s not afraid. Oh, he knows he will be. Once the announcement is made that a body has been found. Once everyone is called to the girl’s locker room, once they see the dead body he left lying on the ground beside a splotch of bright pink blood. Then the fear will return. Bright and fierce and terrifying. He will mourn himself, mourn Chihiro, mourn everyone who is trapped in this sick and twisted death game.

(But not Taka. He- he can’t mourn Taka, can’t let himself believe that this beautiful and wondrous boy will ever, ever die. Even if it’s so fucking likely, since like hell would Taka ever kill anyone. Maybe- maybe he’ll find a way out. Or whoever is keeping them here will realize how twisted they are and let him out. Or- something. Something. Even if it’s too late for Mondo, it won’t be for Taka. He- he knows this. Has to know this.)

But for now... for now, he doesn’t worry about it. He just... lets himself exist, his heart beating for Taka and Taka alone. He doesn’t let himself think about what will come or what will happen. He just... loves Taka. Plain and simple.

So, he smiles. And he nods. And he whispers the same words back, even though it’s not the same, not the same at all.

He watches with all the fondness and love in his heart as Taka gets dressed in his ridiculously complicated uniform, aching for what he will never have, and yet yearns for dearly. He’s fighting the fear inside him as hard as he can, but once he is dressed in his clothes from the day before (he doesn’t care, fuck he doesn’t care) and Taka is in his uniform, it’s not like he can help it. The fear. The dread.

It only gets worse when, right before they are able to leave the room together, they get accosted by Monokuma, who is being all vague and unhelpful, even going so far as to make insinuations about them, but one thing is clear. Something happened. Not that it’s a surprise to Mondo. He... he already knew that.

And... it seems Taka did, too. Mondo looks at him, the fear kicked up a hundred-fold, and sees that the kid’s face is a blank mask. Mondo has never seen Taka look so... emotionless before. It makes him nervous, but before he can ask if he’s alright, or maybe try and beg for the forgiveness that he knows he doesn’t deserve, Taka smiles at him. Bright and guileless, with no hint of strain.

(Mondo wouldn’t have suspected that Taka could be such a good liar. Perhaps, when it’s important. When it matters. When... when.)

“I think we should head to the bath, kyoudai. Before breakfast. I remember you mentioning how much you like morning baths!”

Mondo stares at Taka for a full minute, heart aching, but Taka doesn’t seem to show he knows anything at all. And yet... Mondo knows he must know something. Taka is so big on rules and order. He is the one who insisted they all meet for breakfast every day. He wouldn’t miss that. Especially not when something clearly has happened. Not when... shit.

But Mondo doesn’t deny it. He just nods stiffly, his smile shaky on his lips. Taka smiles brightly back, before marching over to the door, opening it, and exiting quickly. Mondo stares after him for a moment before following, not wanting to waste a single second more.

The walk to the bath doesn’t take long and, thankfully, they don’t run into anyone as they make their way over. Once inside, Taka immediately goes to the men’s section of the bathhouse, not saying a word, but his back is loose, not tense. Not like Mondo’s is.

Mondo watches as Taka strips, his breath getting taken away as he sees the beautiful boy before him. He only is spurned into motion when Taka looks at him over his shoulder, head tilted curiously. Mondo strips quickly after that, very relieved that there are no security cameras around. He can feel Taka’s bright red eyes watching him as he removes his clothes, heart racing, doing all he can to pretend that this is okay. That this is normal.

It isn’t. It can’t be, he knows it can’t, but if Taka is doing all he can to pretend, then... then so will he.

Taka insists that they quickly rinse off before entering the bath itself, as is polite, and once that is done, they enter the bath together, talking softly about random bullshit, light and easy. They don’t mention what Monokuma insinuated. They don’t mention anything like that at all. They stay close, practically touching, but they don’t do much more than that. Mondo knows that Taka wouldn’t approve, and he doesn’t want to pressure Taka into anything. Not ever. Especially not now.

After a little while, they exit the bath, dressing in their uniforms again as soon as they are able. They then leave the bathhouse and head to Mondo’s room, since Mondo still has to make himself up. Part of him doesn’t really want to, as tired as he is, but he knows it would be suspicious if he didn’t. Plus... if this is going to be his last day alive (and it will, oh god, it will), then he might as well look presentable. Right?

It takes him the usual twenty minutes, during which Taka watches him, his body loose and his eyes soft. They talk again about everything and nothing, and for a moment, Mondo can pretend. Pretend that this is fine. Pretend that he’s okay. Pretend that he hadn’t... h-hadn’t...

But then the announcement comes. And his heart sinks.

They found the body. God fucking dammit, they found the body.

The next hour is a blur to him, Mondo following after an unusually quiet Taka in a daze. Mondo does his best to not show how terrified he is, but he thinks he fails. With Taka, at least. And Taka... Taka doesn’t do anything to show that he’s suspicious. He doesn’t give Mondo any looks, doesn’t frown... doesn’t really do much of anything, really. It makes Mondo feel disgusting inside, but... but he doesn’t know what to do. Goddammit, but he’s only sixteen! He... he didn’t fucking ask for this! Any of this! G-god... f-fuck...

When he and Taka enter the girl’s locker room, Mondo wonders how he will be able to fake his shock when he feels so dead inside, but the minute he enters... he realizes he won’t have to fake shock. He won’t have to fake anything, really.

Because that... that is not how he left Chihiro’s body, holy fucking shit.

W-what... who... who the fuck did that, he wonders, trying to mask the shock a little, hoping it looks like someone who is appalled at the disgusting way Chihiro is being suspended and not... not. Mondo... Mondo may have killed the dude (oh god), but he sure as shit hadn’t done this disrespectful bullshit. But who... who did...?

For one split, heart stopping second, he wonders madly if Taka did it. If he... if he did it because he knew, he knew, he... he somehow knew and wanted to try and cover it up, or throw people off Mondo’s scent, or- or... something. Anything.

But he quickly dismisses that thought because a) it’s absurd, Taka is too fucking good and moral to do shit like that, b) Taka looks as shocked as all of them, and no matter how good he may be at acting, Mondo knows he’d fucking suck at covering up his own crime, and c) Mondo spent pretty much the entire night with Taka, going straight to his room after- fuck. After. So... definitely not Taka. But then... who...? He doesn’t know, fuck he doesn’t know. He can barely think, feeling so tired and scared and afraid.

(He had noticed Taka’s momentary look of relief, though. As soon as they entered. As soon as he saw the body. It had quickly morphed to sorrow and pain, but Mondo had seen the relief when Taka had glanced at him, and Mondo... Mondo thinks he knows why.)

(After all.)

(He sure as shit wouldn’t have done that monstrous bullshit to anyone. Least of all Chihiro. Anyone who knows him would know that. He may be a biker [and now a murderer], but he has more honor than that.)

(And maybe... maybe, with that in mind... he could actually get away with this shit. F-fuck...)

(Yeah, Taka would die, they’d all die, but... b-but...)

Mondo is volunteered to stand guard again with Ogami, the class assuming he’ll do it like he’d done last time, even though he really wants to be anywhere but here. Especially when Taka goes off, eyes determined, saying he’s going to find out who did this and see that they are brought to justice. Seems Taka has stopped suspecting him entirely, then. F-fuck... he can’t leave, though. It would be suspicious, especially since he was the one who volunteered last time. So, he... he doesn’t leave. He just... stays. Stomach sick, hating himself as much as ever, he… he stays.

The hour of the investigation is simultaneously the longest and shortest hour of his life. Shortest because he knows this will be the last hour of his life, his fear making time seem like it moves faster than it should. Longest since he’s trapped in the room with his fucking murder victim, forced to see the horrifying way some sick bastard had mangled the poor dude’s body, the worst disgrace in death. He wants to rip the poor dude off the bar, wants to show him the respect he fucking deserves, but he can’t. That detective chick is still observing the body, and if he does that, he will instantly be indicating himself. And- and while... while he knows he will be caught, should be caught, he...

He can’t help the goddamn fucking hope that is blooming inside him. The hope that he’ll be free. The hope that he might actually be able to escape this living nightmare. The hope that he... he could...

Eventually the hour ends, and the class is forced into the goddamn fucking courtroom, and Mondo is forced to listen to the farce of a trial. It gets discovered relatively early who disrespected Chihiro’s body (revealing that fucking Fukawa is Genocide Jack. Or Jill. Or... whatever), but then... then it turns out it was Togami who mangled the dude’s body, for... whatever fucking reason that sick fucker had. Which infuriates the shit out of him, hating Togami almost as much as he hates Monokuma and himself, hating him for being so uncaring about someone being fucking dead.

Everyone latches onto the idea that it was Togami, though, even Taka, which shouldn’t relieve Mondo as much as it does, goddamn him, but... but...

But of course. Fucking Naegi, that goddamn bastard... he has to be suspicious. And Mondo gets it, okay, he does. No one here actually wants to die. But... but he...

In the end, it was a slip of the tongue. One mistake that will end up costing him his fucking life. He’s never put much thought into the words he says, the strain too frustrating for him to bother with, and it’s fucking fitting that that specific personality flaw is what kills him, in the end.

Blue. Fucking... blue. Blue was once a favorite color of his, though red has quickly been replacing it lately. But just... fucking blue.

Taka tries to deny it. Mondo thinks that’s what kills him the most. How desperately Taka tries to defend him. Refuting everything Naegi says. Denying it all. But Mondo had seen it, too. The doubt. The way the kid’s eyes had widened when the class caught onto his trail, darting over to Mondo quickly once, then away. The... the fear. The... all of it. Just... all of it.

But... but Mondo is tired of lying. He honestly hates lying, it makes his head hurt trying to hold onto so many tangled webs. And he didn’t get any sleep the previous night, anyway, and hasn’t eaten at all. And he’s just... tired. So very, goddamn tired...

So... he gives up. He gives in. He confesses his truth, the deadly secret that he can’t ever undo, and it... it’s hard. Not even because he knows he’s signing his own death sentence, but because of Taka. Because of the anguish he sees on the kid’s face, tears and snot flowing freely down his beautiful face, not that Taka seems to care. The kid asks him why, and he... it’s the least he can do. To confess. To just... explain.

And that hurts, too. All of this just... it hurts. But it’s not a sharp and angry pain. It’s like... pressure. Inside him. He... he killed someone. Someone who had trusted him. Someone who had admired him. He... even if he had survived, he’d never have been able to live with himself. Not in the long run. Especially not if his cowardice led to the death of so many others. Of Taka. He may be a monster, but he... he’s not that much of a monster.

So... this was for the better, he thinks, heart aching as that fucking bear reveals his secret anyway, the one he’d been willing to murder to keep safe. He finishes his confession, tells everyone what he did and why, and it… fuck, it’s hard, but it’s the absolute least he can do. He keeps looking at Taka even through the pain, through his final confession, even though Taka cannot look at him. Taka hadn’t voted for Mondo, hadn’t been able to do it, the bear had said. That breaks him even more, honestly. F-fuck...

And then... before he knows it, it... it’s time. Punishment time. And Mondo... Mondo finds that he’s not as scared as he thought he would be. He apologizes to Taka, the kid looking absolutely destroyed, and it’s not enough. It’s never enough; can’t ever be enough. He has so many words to say, declarations and apologies and promises. In the end, he has time for none of it. But he... he does get one thing in. Other than his apology. Other than... than...

“See you in the next life, Taka. Hope it ain’t anytime soon.”

Mondo isn’t able to hear Taka’s response to that, as he’s too busy getting dragged off by that goddamn fucking bear. He does his best to appear calm as he is chained to the back of a motorcycle, as that goddamn bear sits in the driver’s seat, wearing a mockery of his uniform. His heart is pounding, and he knows this is it. It’s like the moment before his brother pushed him out of the way all over again, but this time... this time there is no last-minute rescue. This time there is no freedom, no release. This time...

This time he... he dies.

But... well.

At least he dies on a fucking hog, like he always imagined he would.

There’s some measure of comfort in that.

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

A/N: So, that’s the story! I think y’all can kind of see why I didn’t want to write this how I normally write. And I’m sure y’all picked up on this, but yes, them feeling like they knew each other was definitely because of the memory loss. I have a degree in psychology. I learned a ton about memory during school, and one thing is that memory is located in so many places it’s almost impossible to completely lose all of your memory. Even if you lose your episodic memory (your memory of personal events, like birthday parties or what you did last month), you tend to keep your semantic memory (your memory of facts and things, like what the Pythagorean theorem is, or who Napoleon is) as well as some sense memory. Mondo and Taka were totally a Thing before the killing game. I honestly don’t believe in reincarnation, but I think it was comforting to Taka and Mondo to think about.

(It also would make seeing Alter Ego Mondo so much worse, oof.)

This story, technically, could fit into canon, I think. I even rewatched Mondo’s death to make sure, and while some things were a bit off, I tried to keep things mostly like in canon. The only real difference was Mondo’s last words to Taka, I think.

Anyway, I hope y’all liked it! Let me know if you liked the format and maybe I’ll do more things like this to get more ideas out. I have one in the works, tentatively, so we’ll see. Bye! :-D

#Danganronpa #Kiyotaka Ishimaru #Mondo Owada #Mondo Owada POV #Danganronpa fanfiction #Character death #Another Life #One Shot #My fanfic

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botwstoriesandsuch · 3 years

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Kip v Age of Calamity

For someone who writes tough shit on Age of Calamity, you sure don’t see me writing a better story. So maybe I should stop complaining and be satisfied with what was given to me.

...or...

...maybe we can dedicated a few hours of my time to spite an ask.

Even though the entire argument of “why are you mad if you can’t write a story yourself” is inherently flawed and pointless considering that’s the equivalent of telling me I should chug spoiled milk because I’ve never milked a cow, I’ll fucking step up to the plate here, I’ll put my money where my mouth is.

So here is Part 1 of your residential Kip approved rewrite of Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity. Or as I like to call it:

Ok so before I get into it, a couple things I wanna establish. First, I know I just said I’m doing this out of spite, but I’m actually also doing this for fun. I really enjoy and am passionate about the writing process, so if you were looking for an angry rant about how terrible everyone’s opinions are about everything, this isn’t that. I don’t think that I am a better writer than anyone, or than the professionals that made this game, or that I am somehow superior to Nintendo. I am someone with the benefit of hindsight, I don’t have the constraints of producers and mandated directives and executives rubbing their hands in the story to make it more marketable or dumbed down or any of the other chaos that goes into crafting a videogame. So while obviously I think the people involved in this could have done a much better job, this isn’t a bash to say, “look how easy it is to make a story” because there’s a ton of unseen drama that goes into development that I have the luxury of avoiding, and it’s a miracle that any games are coherent and enjoyable in the first place. I’m just a lil Kip doing a fun lil exercise.

This little series is also not going to be a fanfic. I’m going to be telling the story chronologically as if you were playing for yourself, but it’s going to be from my omniscient perspective because 1) I need to relate the story to the gameplay 2) That would take way too much time to actually make this into a fanfiction as it already takes a hell of a lot of time to even plan out the beats of this rewrite and 3) This is less going to be a telling of a story, and more of a fun little exploration on the Three Act Structure and The Hero’s Journey. In fact, I am going to try and keep the given story of Age of Calamity as intact as possible.

The general ending is going to be the same, the characters used are going to remain roughly unchanged, (there will be no new characters, or removal of characters) and characters that live or die and where they end up are going to be mostly the same with how the original game is written. I know, I know, we all would love to see the Champions die brutally or to get us that sweet sweet Link angst or to have a game with multiple endings. And even though I personally would change some of those premises in Age of Calamity, I’m going to strive to keep it all as intact as possible, just to prove wrong the misconception that the story was only bad because of the writer’s choices for the general arc. I am a firm believer that biggest weaknesses of this game are in its methods of conveying its story, a problem in the storytelling process, and not (necessarily/only) the story product itself.

If you want to use any of the ideas that I present, go for it! I release them into the public domain, I have no plans whatsoever to write a fanfic for this myself, in fact I already have my own separate Pre-Botw fic story that I am pouring myself into, so I give the people full permission to take these ideas off of me.

Alrighty! With all that out of the way, let’s get into:

HERE IS THE VERSION IN A GOOGLE DOC FORM BECAUSE TUMBLR HATES YOU MOBILE PEEPS

Spoilers! Obviously. I’m going to act on the assumption that you know the full story of Age of Calamity to save myself some time, capiche?

Ok so we start out the game roughly the same, with eggbot being chased and forced to time travel into a portal. But, there is going to be some important differences in details.

We have the part of the scene where Zelda awakens her powers, and at the same time, something else in Hyrule Castle glows with the same aura. However, this glow is not coming from the Princess’ Tower, but instead, the camera pulls back from the fields of Fort Hateno, sweeps over Hyrule (where you can see the Guardians and the sense of destruction and all that) and the camera eventually flies over Castle Town, then within the Castle, weaving through the halls, until the camera stop and focuses on the entrance of a destroyed room, slowly creeping in. It’s a room that’s been demolished, stone rubble from Guardian blasts ruin the floor and cave in from the ceiling, there’s a small fire in the corners of the room, and from the props that you can make out, it seems to look like some study or office of some sort. The room is small, but domed and circular, signifying that it’s of a bit more importance than you might think . The desks and books and all buried beneath this collapsed stone brick. But as the camera focuses on that pile of rocks, from within that rubble, you see that same glowing aura that Zelda has, glowing brighter and brighter until finally out pops, eggbot.

Now, you can have that same sequence within the game where he runs around all cute, the outter wall of the room is broken so eggbot can look outside and see the Calamity’s destruction. Then that cut to Zelda saying “I want to save...everyone,” and this is important because I need the fade in between Zelda’s line and the fade back to eggbot to wordlessly imply that he is hearing these words, something that’s already done pretty well in the original cutscene. Anyhow, then the Guardian Stalker pops from behind, prepares to shoot, and eggbot can escape into its little time portal, and then the malice follows or whatever.

However, I’m not gonna immediately cut to the title, but instead, we have the music build to eggbot’s little jump in a pretty climactic way. But then the music still lingers slightly, and rests in suspense, camera is still looking out the window where eggbot jumped. It pulls back, turning back into this room that eggbot emerged from. Music is still relatively silent. Then, from the corner, you see some of the fire suddenly catch onto something. Flattened between the rocky rubble, just a few feet where eggbot emerged, is a purple cloak, trimmed with gold, flapping just slightly in the wind. [Said flapping being what causes it to catch] The fire catches, burning through the cloak, and underneath it, is a fallen copy of the Sheikah tapestry of 10k years ago. Camera zooms into that art of the Calamity, music suspends, merge to title card, then the music hits that climax and BOOM, “Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity.” Main Theme plays. Let the opening title roll.

Now the reason I changed this slightly is because 1) I wanted to earlier set up some of the plot points that I have planned for this (some of which you might already guess or maybe not who knows *wink wink*) and 2) I think that the original opening could have been much stronger with its hook. Yes, the element of mystery is established with eggbot’s existence and that element of time travel, but then the opening immediately goes into saying “This is the tale of champions, a diminutive Guardian who traveled backwards through time, and the Great Calamity they faced.” So...you just dampened that hook you established two seconds ago because you explained it all. Sure, it doesn’t completely ruin it, but I think the impact would be much stronger if that text wasn’t there at all, and the music and hype of the tapestry moving and coming alive is all there was. I’d much rather that element of time travel just be explained through the cinematography itself, because you can already understand that perfectly with that scene where you see the portal lead into birds flying around a beautiful Hyrule Castle.

Also, the music in this game is fantastic! So letting moments that really let you soak it in, I think would be very beneficial. So now this scene serves as a much more effective hook before we get into the actual plot. The mystery of eggbot’s identity is heightened and left a bit more unexplained, you have this mysterious circular room that you’ve never seen before, and the set up of details that will eventually serve later revelations in the plot, cough cough.

Then you hit Chapter 1, Link gameplay, eggbot and the tower, that’s all the same. I got no changes for the story there, it’s a great introduction. However! I know my strength here is writing and I am by no means a game developer or designer, but I need, I absolutely need to add one aspect to the gameplay.

Near the end of the first stage, where there are those three moblins at the end, I want to add something that I’m going to call, a gambit. The game already introduced you to the special meter and “press a to use special attack” thing, but I want Impa and Link to use a gambit to defeat this last horde of moblins. Essentially, you press A to use your special attack, BUT, if another character is in proximity, the attack is even more powerful. Every pair of characters has a special little attack, that does tons of damage, and during said sequence, there are voiced lines, or at the very very least text boxes that comment on it. And with this gambit, while a regular solo special attack still does a lot of damage, I’m gonna nerf it slightly to encourage players to use this gambit feature.

Now, why did I add this? Because I need to better connect this gameplay to the story on more than an external “lets defeat this and go from point A to point B” type of way. I need something in the gameplay to better serve to the game’s main theme of “teamwork makes the dreamwork” and all that. The CURRENT gameplay, although absolutely fun and fantastic, just doesn’t do this. I need just one element to serve this theme while ALSO having the dual purpose of serving as character interaction. The current structure of Age of Calamity works where the sidequests and battle serve as your character interaction, development, and banter, while the cutscenes serve the main story beats, and important plot revelations. The cutscenes just aren’t crafted to support the weight of these dozens of characters while also giving them all interesting interactions, and that’s fine! So I’m just adding this feature to the gameplay, because being able to customize different lines for different characters for different stages that are voiced will go a long way into making the character development seem more fleshed out. And this gambit feature doesn’t necessarily change the way you play the game drastically, as you can still have four character slots and have them split up to take on the battlefield, but now you can split them off into groups of 2. And also, because I’m not completely blind to game design, the damage percentage boost of these gambit attacks will not increase as much, just slightly lower, than the damage boost of a solo attack when you level up. So what I mean is, when your character is weaker level, you are forced to rely on others in order to defeat your enemies, but, with the way the leveling up percents work, your characters can still reach a point where they can defeat big bosses all on their own without gambits. THAT way, when certain events happen in later chapters, when your character is all leveled up, (and maybe they awaken a sacred power or two) it feels all the more powerful when you can go off on your own. You can feel how your character has grown in strength because you can contrast it with your teamwork gameplay of earlier levels. AND it still highlights the importance of that theme of companionship, because you would never have gotten to this level of strength had you not relied on your friends.

OK, so the stage 1 ends with a gambit attack, Impa compliments Link’s fighting style or something that shows her admiration or respect for him. And then stage 2 for the Road to the Royal Lab is the same, but gambit dialogue for that stage is Impa complimenting Link, Impa being protective of Zelda, and since this is Zelda’s first playable area, Zelda’s gambit lines can be about kinda brushing Link aside like “I want to capable to hold my own in battle but thank you” to Link (cause I never really got that same “I don’t really like you” vibe that is established in botw for this game) and then to Impa Zelda’s gambit lines can be like “is this thrill what you always feel when battling?” and Impa is like “yeah isn’t it great we should do it more often!” and then you can allude to that with a sidequest for Zelda’s training or something. I just want to better connect sidequest stories with this stuff. And also, gambits are obviously optional so that’s why this is all just banter and character development and not actually plot points, and I’m going to stick with just one-on-one dialogue, although it should be theoretically possible to have gambit boosts of three and four, but I feel that would be too much as I don’t want to ruin the gameplay balance and encourage you to keep all four character slots close together, because splitting them up is an important part of the game. Anyhow!

So Chapter 1 is done, my changes being almost purely in the gameplay because this is the start of the story and the character set up is important. Chapter 1 to Chapter 2 is basically the establishment of the ordinary world, and in the Three Act Structure it’s basically Act 1. Act 1 is all about set up. I need to really focus this chapter on both introducing the player to the mechanics of the game, having them connect to the characters and the characters connect to each other through the gameplay, and I need to establish this tone so that when I rip it away, and change the tone during the threshold, it feels more meaningful and suspenseful.

As you can see from the diagrams, Act 1 has something called the Inciting Incident. The Inciting Incident is going to be the Yiga attack in Chapter 2, where our heroes first experience the true dangers of their journey, and there is no turning back. BUT I’m getting ahead of myself.

Chapter 2 is also exactly the same. I would literally change nothing about the Champion’s sections (other than my addition of gambit interaction of course) because they’re all pretty great. For the record, yes, evil egg is still a thing, and yes, Zelda and the gang can still discover those pictures of the Calamity in eggbot, yes you beat up Revali, and the Divine Beast sequences are the same. I just really need that gambit dialogue to help establish character relations. Revali quips at Link, Mipha protects him, Daruk is his buddy [I thought a cool gambit attack for Link and Daruk to better show that they are old friends could be them both chewing down on some rocks, before striking an enemy simultaneously. Because they never eat rocks together and I just want this ok] Kohga is the same, Sooga is the same, BUT, for that scene when you first meet Astor in the Yiga base, I need two things to happen. 1) The camera reveal for Astor starts at his cloak, which is intact and NOT tattered like how his design is in game. It’s a deep purple with gold trim, the camera pans up to the back of Astor’s head. Now 2) When the camera moves to look at Astors face, I need him to be standing in front of and staring solemnly at the evil eggbot. He’s frowning, and his eyes suggest something like he’s deep in thought of something in the distant past. That’s how the scene starts, and in the background is Kohga recounting the events of his failure to beat Urbosa and the gang. Then, Kohga can say something funny to annoy him, Astor’s face changes to your classic villain disgust. Then, he can get a bit pissed and go on his little rant about how pathetic the Yiga are and how the Calamity is trapped within the evil eggbot and how he will use his powers to end the Kingdom of Hyrule. Then he can take his little astrolabe and be all “My harbinger, show me the future!” and all that. IMPORTANT LINE CHANGE, Astor’s motivation here is not “The future, as it will and must be. I will not allow anyone to alter its course.” Instead, I need to tweak it slightly to be, “The future, as it was fated to always be. The pathetic stories and legends of children and false kings cannot waver this course. I will not allow it, for my sake…” camera pans to the broken evil guardian, Astor’s voice lowers just slightly. “...and yours.” The slightest, almost silent bits of the harmonies (not the melody) of the Hwaoc Main Theme play before fully fading back to Astor’s theme. And the final shot of that scene is Astor, looking down at the heap of Sheikah tech, with a neutral expression, but then looking back up at the malice stars, and the future visions of the Calamity. He just ever so slightly smiles.

[Also I JUST realized that the harbinger is actually slightly above Astor, because it’s supposed to show that the power dynamic is really Calamity Ganon is in control, so ignore the “looking down” parts I talked about, and just think in the broad direction of Astor looks at the guardian, and then looks further up at the ceiling with the Calamity and the future and then he smiles]

For that scene, I also need to remove any characterization where Astor is laughing and being joyous at the impending destruction, I only need that smile at the end. There is no villainous cartoon laughter, at least, not yet. Also the part where Sooga calls Astor a fool for thinking he can control the Calamity is GREAT I need that, that absolutely needs to stay in.

And then Chapter 2 closes off with that Yiga ambush. That’s the inciting incident, so I need the tone at the end to be slightly different. Instead of ending on that cute little thing where eggbot points angrily at Link, (like that part can still EXIST in there BUT) I need it to end on a more serious note.

Referring back to the Hero’s Journey, the Call to Adventure is the parts of each of the Champion’s recruitment. They each have their initial reasons for joining the fight, whether to protect their people, to feel validated for their skill, to get closer to the ones they love etc etc that’s all established in their respective stages.

This Yiga stage, however, serves as the official barrier between Act 1 and Act 2, the threshold between the known world and the unknown world, where the heroes prepare to seek out the obstacle that stands in the way of their goal. It’s important that this threshold establishes a sense of urgency, because that better gets you invested in the stakes, and helps the story's momentum to move forward. IT shows that the journey and adventure that these characters want/need to take is outside the safety of their home/known world.

In the original game, the threshold ends with that cute scene of eggbot and Zelda and Link and the Zelink vibes. That’s not bad, but it’s also not good. The momentum towards the later confrontation in Korok forest needs to feel more important, because this is a major turning point in the story. SO, I am going to add one more scene at the end. It’s just after the ambush, after the fires have died down, and Zelda (and in the back the Champions) discussing the events with the King. I want King Rhoam to a few things. First, I need him to kinda berate the Champions for falling for the Yiga’s “splitting them up trick” and leaving his daughter vulnerable. This 1) establishes doubt within the party, which makes for better uncertainty for the future and later internal conflict. This was supposed to be the dream team but the King is already kinda telling them off. 2) This also still characterizes the King as someone who cares for his daughter’s safety. That care for his daughters safety is layered in the subtext of him saying something like “Your priority must be to protect the only person capable of sealing the Calamity. You were so concerned with victory and glory in battle that you forgot that the fate of this kingdom lies on my daughter’s survival.” and blah blah blah. The King can also congratulate Link for keeping Zelda safe, and this is GREAT because that can add further to Zelda’s slight resentment for him, as he’s getting the approval from the King that she has yet to receive. But like overall the King is like “don’t leave my daughter alone cause she almost got killed if it weren’t for Link wtf.” and then that can also be a further excuse to hurry to korok forest to find the wielder of the sword so that they can better protect “not just the Princess, but the entire world,” something something fancy kingly dialogue.

Also when the Champions leave THIS can also be the time where Zelda gives that Sheikah device thingy to Rhoam and also where he sees eggbot. I know that happens a bit later, but for pacing purposes and for the sake of the story changes that I made, it better serves to place it here. That interaction itself can stay mostly the same as it is in the game.

So now, the threshold ends with a bit more tension. The Champion squad is powerful, but also has flaws in how they were split up by the Yiga, (cough cough I wonder if that serves the themes of the game in some way cough cough) and it’s not just “smooth sailing” into the search for the Master Sword, and the stakes are a bit rocky as we finally enter into the story’s Act 2.

= = = = =

And that’s Part 1 of my rewrite. Not really a lot, cause again this is mainly character set up, and establishing stuff, but personally I think it’s already a bit stronger than how Age of Calamity did it. Stay tuned for Part 2 either tonight or tomorrow, mwahaha.

Predict the future if you can...

#yes that is a allude to Nando v Movies #hwaoc spoilers #Hwaoc: The Kip Cut #honestly not TOO much rewritten for the First Act because the First Act is actually one of the strongest and best written parts of the game #hwaoc #age of calamity #hw age of calamity #hyrule warriors age of calamity

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scullysexual · 3 years

Text

pirate au fic; i’ll tell you a tale of a pirate queen (5/ )

A tale of a Pirate Queen.

@today-in-fic

- - -

Chapter Five: Here A Man Be Free

The last few men filter through the entrance to the cave, spreading themselves out in the small area. Fifty, Dana counted, of the 300 that mull about the island, only fifty want to continue piracy. Spender keeps watch for any snitches who could’ve followed them here.

“You all know why we’re here,” Mulder asks. He stands near the back of the cave holding the pardon in his hands. “This pardon says we’ll be able to live free if we turn ourselves in but we know that’s not true. We turn ourselves in, when will we ever be allowed, trusted enough, to sail again?” She watches his eyes scan the faces of the men sat listening to him. “When will the likes of Frog, Elias, and Jacko be considered equal in the eyes of white men and gods again?” A murmur begins to rise, mutterings to the person sat next to them. Mulder looks down at the pardon and hops down from the bench he stands upon. “This pardon says all men will be free but what they don’t understand is that here, a man be free. Free from the hierarchy of a naval service, where a man is whipped if he so much as mutters a word, dares to disagree. Free to take as much or little as we want.” A stir begins to form, the mutters and murmurs etch higher and higher as men begin to shout their agreement towards Mulder.

“How many of you have risked your lives on the sea and received nothing but a pitiful handful of coppers?”

The men shout back, banging their hands on the rocks.

“Because that is what you’re asking for when you sign this.” He holds the paper up and points at it. “You’re asking for the whips, for the chains, for the poverty if this is what you agree with.”

All fifty men rise, shouting and yelling in encouragement. Adrenaline courses through Dana as she finds herself swept up in it. She looks towards Mulder who stands there looking pleased with himself. He catches her eye and she smiles.

The cries die down and a slow clap makes its way through the cave. Dana turns towards the noise as the men part and a man she has yet to meet makes his way through the crowd.

“Impressive speech Mulder,” the man says. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

Mulder sighs. “What do you want, Krycek?”

“Just having a look,” Krycek says. His eyes scan the crew. “An interesting bunch you’ve got here, Mulder. A black man, a psycho,” his eyes finally land on Dana, the look of disgust clouding them. “And a woman.” Dana clenches her fist, staring him down. Krycek smiles and looks back towards Mulder. “Fitting for the disgraced son of a plantation owner.”

“You come to join us?” asks Mulder.

“I don’t think I fit in much,” Krycek answers. “Besides, I haven’t decided if I’m gonna accept the pardon or not yet.”

“Skinner just made you a captain,” says Spender. “Like hell you’re going to accept it.”

“Well, when I decide, I won’t let you know.” Krycek turns away, walking out of the cave.

“Will he tell anyone?” Dana asks. She didn’t trust this Krycek and Spender not stopping his entering worried her.

“No,” says Mulder. “He’s got no love for the British anymore than we do.” He shakes his head. “He won’t say anything.” He shuffles forwards, rising his voice to address the crew. “This is the plan. Tomorrow, Scully will go back to the tavern, be part of the welcoming committee and will sign the pardon on our behalf. It will give us more time to figure a way out of here.” He turns to Dana. “If anyone asks, the rest of us have gone out to sea, you’re not sure when we’ll be back.” Dana nods, it was easy enough. “I want you to report back anything you hear, okay. Anything.”

“Okay,” she agrees.

“The rest of us will camp out here until we know it’s safe to leave,” he addresses back to the men.

“Do you think this will work?” she asks him. It’s not to undermine him, her hope depends on it.

“It won’t be easy but once we’re away from here, we should be okay.”

Dana smiles, hoping that was the case.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Colton is an idiot. Ambitious, smug, carrying an air of arrogance and “I’m better than you” around him. The lower end of the ranking, Dana imagines he volunteered for this job, thinking he was doing somebody a favour. All he’s doing is shovelling the shit in the Navy’s eyes.

She signed the pardon, scribbled her signature on behalf of herself and Mulder’s crew. In three days time, they were to board The Angel and go back to England or, alternatively, they could live on here.

She does as Mulder told her. Sits in the tavern and listens to the conversations around her- one she learns are rumours that Krycek plans to take a ship called The Outlaw as the ships in their harbour would become property of the British. She keeps note of what is important and what isn’t, keeping her ears trained on Colton and Skinner, mostly, who sit on the furthest table in the room.

“There are still people yet to have signed the pardon,” she hears Colton say.

“Look,” says Skinner. “Those who want to sign it, sign it. I can’t make them.”

Colton hums. “One of these people who have yet to sign it is Aleksandr Krycek. He was your Right-Hand-Man, was he not?”

“He was,” answers Skinner.

“And you can’t account for his whereabouts?”

“I made him a Captain,” Skinner explains. “He commands his own ships now, his own crew. If he hasn’t signed the pardon, that’s his reasons.”

Dana tucks that one away; Krycek made his decision.

“Well, I doubt you’ll mind looking for him then.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those who don’t sign the pardon are to be caught and hanged, Mr Skinner.”

“You expect me to become your bounty hunter?”

“The Navy would appreciate it greatly.”

Colton’s footsteps retreat from the table, Dana watches him walk past. He takes no notice of her.

This was interesting.

She downs her drink in one gulp and scurries out of the tavern towards Mulder in his cave.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

“Krycek has gone. I overheard someone say he was planning on stealing a ship called The Outlaw, that all our ships would become property of the British.”

“Makes sense,” says Elias. “Take our ships, we can’t sail anywhere.”

Mulder nods.

“There’s more, too. Colton’s turned Skinner into some pirate bounty hunter. He’s instructed him to go after Krycek and his crew.”

“Traitor!” yells Spender, he kicks the rocks on the ground.

“And once they realise we’re not here, he’ll be instructed to go after us, too,” Mulder states.

Dana nods. Her father told her tales about Walter Skinner, how he was one of the best navigators. There was no out-sailing him.

“We’ll have to leave sooner,” says Mulder.

“How?” Elias asks. “There’s no ships left.”

An idea hits Dana. It might be suicide but it was worth ago.

“What if we took The Outlaw?”

“Steal from Krycek?” Elias laughs, shocked. “That’s the last thing you want to do.”

“It wouldn’t be stealing if we claimed it first,” Dana explains, her eyes on Mulder. “We’ll fight him for it.”

“Krycek isn’t some little amateur sailor, you stupid bitch,” shouts Spender. He stands close to her, peering down at her. “In first sailed with the Imperial Russian Navy. There’s a reason Skinner chose him as his Right-Hand.”

“Alright, back off,” commands Elias, standing between Spender and Dana, creating a wedge.

Spender steps back. “She wants to get us killed,” cries Spender, pointing his finger at Dana.

Dana goes to say something but she’s cut off by Mulder.

“I don’t see you suggesting anything, Spender.” Spender backs down. “It’s worth a shot.” He says, nodding.

Dana smiles gleefully at Spender.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The ship sits at the bottom of the harbour. Not a soul in sight, it was easy pickings. Something about it didn’t feel right to Dana.

“If Krycek is really gone, why hasn’t he already taken it?” she asks Elias.

“Nobody knows why Krycek does anything,” says Elias. “Get untying.”

Dana nervously looks around. Her stomach twists and turns. Something was wrong about this. She might not know Krycek every well but something told her he wouldn’t just abandon his ship like this, not while knowing they were still on the island. The others, however, seem not to care. She shakes her head, puts it down to worrying about getting caught by the British and sets on untying the rope.

The moment her hands touch the rope, however, there’s a cry from Elias. She turns as he slips and his dragged into the sea by something.

She goes to shout, to alert the others, but they’re under attack, too. Some pulled beneath the pier, others with shadows holding a knife to their necks.

“You really thought it would be that easy, Mulder,” comes Krycek’s voice. He moves from the shadows, a smile across his face.

“You already have a ship Krycek,” Mulder tells him. “Why do you need this one?”

“It’s bigger, better.” He smacks the side of it. “But I am willing to fight you for it.”

The smile doesn’t leave Krycek’s face. Already, he thinks he’s won.

Mulder nods his head, not letting any fear show. “Deal.”

Krycek just smiles some more. “You win, you get the ship. I win, I get the ship and…” his eyes fall to Dana. “her.”

Dana’s stomach drops as she looks at Mulder. She catches the worry in his eye, a reminder that he isn’t a fighter.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She tries not to let her worry show. Soon as she notices her fingers tangling together, she rips them apart, even going as far to sit on her hands.

Mulder wasn’t a fighter. He avoided it as much as he could but now her life depended on him winning. Dana hoped that wasn’t too much to bear.

“I can fight him for you,” she suggests but Mulder shakes his head.

“That would be cowardly. Especially if I was to get a girl to fight for me.” He smiles. “I’ll be okay, Dana. I’ll try my best.”

She nods, knowing he will. “Will he kill you?”

“No. It’s just who gives up first.” They see Krycek ready. “The others will fight. Your going will be the last thing that happens, okay.”

Dana nods again, believing him, believing in his crew.

His lips press against hers. “I love you,” he confesses.

Dana smiles, pushes at him slightly. “Go on.”

She watches him walk away, her arms crossing over her body.

“He’s been in fights before Scully,” says Elias, soaked through yet recovered from his dip in the sea. “He’ll be okay.”

She uncrosses her arms, allowing her fingers to tangle together as she watches. A clanging of swords, near misses from both of them. Mulder tries to keep up but Krycek is too quick, the edge of his sword scrapes Mulder’s side and Krycek knocks him to the ground.

Dana holds her breath, praying for Mulder to get up, her hand subconsciously falling to her stomach.

Beside her, Elias is whispering his own mantra yet Mulder does not get up. He lays on the ground, his hand covered with blood.

“You’re just not good enough Mulder,” Dana hears Krycek say. He turns around, the victor. He’s won the ship and Dana.

“He’s gotta get past us,” says Elias, determined.

Dana smiles, trying to find comfort in that. She doesn’t tell him that the others don’t care for her.

“Or maybe not.” Elias nudges her. “Look.”

Dana looks to see a dagger pierce Krycek’s calf. The other man falls to the ground as Mulder stands up. The tables have turned and it’s them who have won the shop.

She runs to him, gathering him up in her arms. He falls against her, hissing at the pain in his side.

“Let’s get you inside,” she tells him, helping him towards the ship.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Once on board, she helps him with his clothes. The cut is long and nasty. He hisses and winces when she moves the skin.

“Is it bad?” he asks not wanting to look at it.

Dana smiles at him. “You’ll live,” she says. “It’ll scar, though.”

Mulder shrugs. “What’s another scar?”

Dana smiles slightly. She busies herself getting pieces of cloth and bunching them together to press against his side.

“You seem distracted,” he says.

One look into his eyes and Dana knows she can’t keep her thoughts to herself anymore. She drops the cloth and sighs, turning around to sit beside him on the bed.

“You won’t be mad when I tell you?” she asks, looking at her hands, pressing her thumb into her palm.

She waits for him to comment, to offer in this quip or joke. When one doesn’t come, she exhales, her eyes trained above her on the ceiling.

“Mulder…” A shaky breath falls from her lips. The internal struggle of whether to tell him or not. But he’s looking at her expectantly, it’s clear she has something to say.

“You can tell me, Dana.”

And she can. She knows she can.

“Okay,” she says, nodding, believing him. “I…I think I’m pregnant.”

Shock floods his face, then confusion, then awe.

“You’re…” he starts then shakes his head. “How can you be sure?”

She shrugs, unsure herself. “I just…know?” she offers as answers.

He jumps up, the pain in his side forgotten, smiling. Then the smile fades.

“Shit Dana,” he says. “We’re about to go…the men….”

Dana stands, ready to protest.

“They don’t have to know. Not yet.” She grabs his arms. “I’m not even showing yet. Please, don’t leave me behind.”

“Dana, it’s dangerous. This life is dangerous. If something was to happen to you, or…”

“It won’t,” she tells him. “We’re just looking for more crew, right?”

“Right.”

“Then you need me until then. Once I start showing, then you can drop me off somewhere. But until then, I stay here.”

His eyes trained on her stomach, she can see him thinking it over. Finally he nods then laughs.

“A baby…” he says in awe.

Dana finds herself laughing, too. At the absurdity of it all.

Mulder kisses her. Once then twice then once again and Dana laughs some more. She was home. And she was free.

#the x files #the x-files #txffic #xfiles fanfiction #pirate au #historical au #alternative universe #xfiles alternative universe #multichapter fic #18th century #mature #scullysexualwrites

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mrwinterr · 4 years

Text

3AM

Pairing: Leo West x Female Reader

Summary: You should go home, but you always end up in his room and this time he isn’t letting you walk away from him again.

Warnings: Smut 18+ (consensual sex, unprotected sex, oral [female receiving], hand job, vaginal fingering, cum play, cock warming and dirty talk). Pillow talk. Language. Angst, I guess. & mentions of alcohol.

Disclaimer: Minor elements of the film Ibiza (2018) are present in this. More like one or two out of context spoilers. It wouldn’t really ruin the movie. You don’t have to watch it to read this.

Title Inspiration: “3AM” by You Me At Six

A/N: I caved. I’ve finally written something for one of Richard Madden’s characters. Personally, I would’ve never watched Ibiza, but it was on Netflix, I was on furlough from my job, and quite frankly Leo West is fucking perfect.

Deep breaths. Deep and calculated breaths. For some reason you paid more attention to your breathing when inebriated. Your eyelids felt extra heavy as you struggled to not only keep them open, but also your line of vision straight. The pores of your body were seeping out sweat from the copious amount of alcohol you’d consumed. The air was stuffy, and you kept sniffling.

You wanted to blame the last part solely on the alcohol too, but you couldn’t escape the real reason that drove you to spend hours at a bar in the first place. Historically speaking, you liked to enjoy yourself, maybe a bit more than others, and while it was reckless, that lifestyle introduced you to one of your favorite things on this planet. It wasn’t the drinks, the substances or the sex, but a humble, very talented now turned international superstar DJ.

It led you to Leo West.

It was at a small, dark club on a busy weekend. You were closing in on finals week and what better way to de-stress than a night out on the street. Your friends opted for this particular joint because of the aesthetic, but you didn’t care about its appearance. It was a bar nonetheless, the place always catered to live music and you loved that.

You remembered how puzzling it was to not see the usual instruments, like that of a guitar or a drum kit or a set of keyboards or even a lone microphone stand on the makeshift stage that had one dimmed spotlight. Instead, there was just a table with a case, a laptop, a turntable and a pair of headphones displayed on top of it. Oh, and lots of wires and buttons and knobs everywhere!

Great. A wannabe DJ was scheduled tonight that would most likely go overkill on the bass and damage your eardrums. You weren’t drunk enough to stick around for this, so you walked back to the bar, hoping if you got a few more drinks in you then maybe the “DJ” wouldn’t sound as bad as you were expecting.

Claiming a spot, drink in hand, your eyes started scanning the small capacity crowd until they locked on a man and his path up to the stage and behind the setup. The intro music he picked out started playing, but it fell deaf on your ears. And your whole world just stopped when he looked up, the first of many “performer-to-audience” eye contact that night. He just couldn’t keep his eyes off you each time he looked into the small crowd. It all but allowed you a better look at him.

He wasn’t as defined back then, the t-shirt hung loose on his body, but he was still built nicely. His hair was curlier, definitely didn’t have the money to have it styled and cut or dyed, no trace of the signature gray streak in the front, nor was it maintained like it was now. He was very handsome. And his voice, when he spoke into the microphone clumsily, your heart melted. He wasn’t from here, and you wondered how the world brought this cute, awkward guy all the way from Scotland here to you.

When his set ended, he appeared next to you at the bar ordering a drink. He looked over at you and smiled sheepishly. He was adorable. You were done. You were always a confident person, and you mentally cursed yourself for even feeling like this. You didn’t do serious relationships. There just wasn’t any time for one in your life right now. You were young, still are, and the only thing you’d wanted from anyone was a distraction here and there.

He told you his name. You told him yours. He commented on the necklace you were wearing. You complimented his set. You even teased him about seeing him trip over one of his wires. He thought no one was paying attention, but you were. The two of you talked and talked until last call and the bartenders were begging you both to leave so they could close up shop.

That led you to his place. You learned he’d transferred from overseas to study music and was looking to break out in this country. He wanted to make it big time. You admired him for that. Then there you were pathetically telling him your small-town goals, it seemed dull compared to his, but Leo never wanted to make you feel that way as his words assured you that they weren’t and only encouraged you further.

The attraction wasn’t lost between you two either. You didn’t go home that night. You stayed and what was supposed to be one turned into many nights tangled in one another. You frequented his bed often to the point it looked official to everyone - except it never was. Leo made it loud and clear he wanted to be with you, but you kept bypassing his proclamations. He became none but a standby in your haze.

He just made it too easy to feel. With him everything was easy; not a care in the world, just you and him. It could and should be just that - easy - but your heart and mind didn’t ever make it that way for you. They wanted two different things. Your heart wanted Leo, but your mind said it wasn’t worth it.

He’d make it big one day, no doubt about that. He got good each and every set you saw him put on. He’d travel more, settle in a much more exciting area, find someone who could commit and keep up with his new life. You knew it wouldn’t be fair to have Leo wait around for you to change, but getting your shit together was something you had to do at your own pace.

Once you graduated and his advancements were becoming a bit more serious, you started to turn a new leaf. You did it to be a better version of yourself for him because he deserved it that much, but he always claimed he wanted you – whatever version he could have. At least that’s what he had you convinced of up until you saw him lock eyes and signal over to another girl in the massive crowd several hours ago.

What the fuck? That was your whole reaction. How could he? He always said no matter how big the numbers he played, he’d always and only see you. He didn’t look anywhere else besides her during the set, well you didn’t care anymore because you left after seeing them walk to the back. Did he not mean a single word he said to you? All those nights in bed, was it all just pillow talk? Figures. You didn’t want to get upset because you let it come to this.

In that moment, you just couldn’t forget all the pretty lies. You’re mindlessly scrolling through the messages on your phone, until your blurry eyes see his name and the distinct emoji assigned next to it. Based on the thread, you thought you were both heading towards the same page. It shouldn’t have been this complicated. Now all that’s left is yourself staring down at an old text message he sent, no longer wondering if he really meant any word of it. It hurt. It really fucking hurt.Your mind was proven right and now your heart paid the price.

“Miss? We’re here.” You pick up your head that was slumped against the side of the cab window and nod in acknowledgement.

You stuff your phone in your purse, pay for your fare, stumble along the stones of the pavement, on the steps of the complex and into the elevator up to the highest floor. You stare at the numbers on the door, hoping they’d line up and still, before you slip the spare key card into the slot and barge right into the suite.

You walk right out of your heels, and on your path to the glass doors and window, you aimlessly toss your purse over the expensive couch, and expertly reach for the zipper behind your back, dragging it down along the dress you were wearing, allowing it to pool at your ankles only for you to kick it away soon after. Forget the fact that you splurged a bit more than usual on it in hopes for a celebration of some sort.

When you stepped outside, you headed straight into the hot tub that also provided an overlook of the city. As you slowly descend neck deep into the hot water, you close your eyes and lean your head back on the edge, feeling the muscles in your body begin to loosen up. The jet streams of the hot tub that caused the bubbles collided headfirst with your back, and a taste of the midnight air in your face, all offered you only a temporary high. You used to think the hot tub was a bit too much at the time, but now you were basking in it.

For a moment you think you could just pass out right there, when you hear him say your name from behind. Your eyes flutter open and you hear the floorboards lightly creek with the thuds of his heavy footsteps as he makes his way to sit on the edge of one side of the rectangular tub. You don’t dare divert your eyes over in his direction just yet.

“It’s 3 a.m.” Leo states; an all too familiar scene for the both of you, and even though you’re not looking at him you can hear the concern in his voice. You roll your eyes at the obvious, not giving a damn if he saw, and then at the idea of him being concerned about you.

He senses the discomfort in the air and is hesitant in choosing what he should say next. He hated being on your bad side and judging by your demeanor you were mad. “You should probably go home,” he suggests after getting no response from you.

Only when he moves to get up and fetch a nearby towel, you turn your head and speak, “Why? Is she here?” It meant to come out as casual, but it came out more spiteful.

The muscles of his back contract and he visibly tenses at your cold tone. “What?” Leo questions, turning his head to look over his shoulder.

“I saw you!” You say, sitting up straight and getting ready to step out of the tub.

Leo is quick to assist you as he his entire body spins around, a rolled up towel in hand, “You’re not thinking straight-” he says and attempts to cover you up, but you snatch the towel from him and help yourself out of the tub. Water sloshes around as Leo puts his hands out, eyeing your every move the whole time in fear of you slipping and falling.

He follows you back into the suite and calls out your name again, but hearing it flow out of his mouth in his voice starts to hurt more and more.

“I’m not fucking blind, Leo!” You shout, whipping around and with your hands out in frustration.

“Shh! Please. The neighbors are sleeping!” He pleads, grabbing you by your wrist bringing them in and pulling you close to him. Your face is almost nose-to-nose with his, but you lean your head back just slightly in defiance.

“I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.” You say in a more indoor friendly volume, emphasizing each word, effectively letting him how mad you still were. The close proximity gives him a whiff of the alcohol on your breath. You were drunk. He thought you’d stopped this destructive habit.

“I don’t get you,” he says barely above a whisper. It wasn’t meant to come out, but his thoughts always left his mind around you.

“Me?” you ask quizzically, noticing the strong look of confusion etched all over his pretty face, “I don’t get you, Leo,” you couldn’t hold it in anymore, “you begged me to come watch your set tonight,” pulling one of your wrists out from his grip, poking a finger at his chest.

“You said you were busy with work-“ he says then grabbing the loose hand stabbing at him in his larger one.

“I wanted to surprise you,” you explain, voice cracking under it all, “I didn’t think it was going to work because you said,” the atmosphere grows thick and you struggle to speak, “you said no matter how big of a crowd you were playing that you’d always see me, but you didn’t.” You always had a pretty good idea that Leo would wait for you, but when he failed to spot you tonight, you really thought you’d lost him for good this time.

Then he understood why you were upset. You saw him make signals to another woman and take her backstage, where all he was trying to do was help the poor girl and tell her she had a penis drawn on her face with a black light marker. He never saw her again after that. All that did was paint the wrong picture in your eyes.

Leo looked down, breaking the intense eye contact. It was probably best he didn’t see the tears in the corner of your eyes that were threatening to fall, but he didn’t cast his gaze away fast enough as they ran down in streaks, staining your face. He just didn’t know where to start.

You had been there for him tonight. He’d been really happy lately, especially when you started responding and returning his gestures. He thought he was finally going somewhere with you. And here you are, revealing you’d sacrificed and made time to see him play and he didn’t even see you. That led you down to a bar and into an old habit you’d gotten rid of lately, but he just threw you back into the pit unintentionally.

“I should go home,” you say, defeated and breaking away from him. You wipe at your face, trying to clear the make-up that was out of place and turn to pick up your discarded dress off the floor.

“No, don’t. Don’t leave me,” Leo says frantically reaching out for you. Another act within the all too familiar scene; he always hated this part and seeing it replay over and over. All those times you walked out, scared of something, he wasn’t going to let it happen again. He stumbles a bit as he manages to grab your arm to turn you back and face him. You brace a hand on his strong chest preventing yourself from crashing right into him.

Deep breaths. Deep and calculated breaths. You’re counting not yours but his breaths this time. You can feel his heart racing as you stare at his plump lips, parted and each exhale fanning against your face. His hands come up to cradle your face; and while alcohol had its way with making parts of your body feel numb, you always felt his touches. It was the best feeling.

Leo was always transparent with you and was nothing short of it in this moment as he crashed his lips into yours. He’d never been as desperate than he was now. The grip on your face was secure, hoping you wouldn’t attempt to escape again. He didn’t have to worry though because you were tired of fighting it. You’d bare yourself to him.

Your arms wrapping around his neck let him know you weren’t going anywhere this time, and he was able to let one hand reach down between your bodies to remove the towel. His touch sends shivers throughout your body as you rub up against him; your soaked undergarments leave a wet imprint on his dry clothes. His hands travel down to your thighs, giving it a light squeeze, signaling for you to jump up.

He carries you to his bedroom, lips never parting, until he has you lying down on the massive bed. He kisses you all over - your neck, collarbones, between your breasts, down your naval, hip bones, and the insides of your thighs - each kiss feels like a drug shooting through your system.

Leo tests the waters by pressing a finger to your clothed core and upon seeing the slight jolt of your hips, it gives him all the encouragement he needed to tug the damp article of clothing down your legs. He spreads your legs a bit further apart, pressing them down against the mattress, enough room for his burly body to settle between them.

His tongue darts out to your clit and you suck in a harsh breath of air at the contact. Each running pass of his tongue has you squirming, he has to use both of his hands to keep you still. The vibrations of his moans wreck all throughout your body as he sucks on the bundle of nerves.

Your hands wildly reach out in front of you, messing up his short hair, you need something to hold onto. Leo offers one hand, lacing your fingers together, yours more of a death grip in his. It only loosens when he suddenly stops.

You pick up your head that had dug deep back into the pillows to see why. You groan at the sinful sight of seeing his mouth glistening in all its glory - doused in you. Leo comes back up to level himself with you; both sets of eyes pulled together like magnets. He steadies himself with one hand above your head and the other grabs a hold of your leg, keeping them open for him, so his hand could find a clear path to your pussy.

Your slick makes it easy for him to slip his thick digits in you. Leo revels in the look on your face contorted in pleasure he is bestowing upon you. He inwardly groans at the snug grip around his fingers as he slowly pushes them in-and-out; the filthy, lewd noises only further cause his blood to rush fast down his body.

You start rocking your hips, your clit brushing past his palm with each thrust up. With a curl of his finger, he finds the spot and it's confirmed when you wrap a hand around his wrist to keep it there.

“That’s it, huh, baby?” Leo asks knowing full well he’s found the trigger, “that’s...your...spot,” and with every word his finger sinks in deeper and deeper. There’s a feral look he’s sporting, and you let out a whine in response, your fingernails puncturing his skin.

“You know what to do,” his voice turns rugged, “you know what to do, baby girl,” his fingers working faster, “come on my hand,” his forehead, sweaty, pressing against your own, “you can do it,” his soulful eyes burning a hole through yours when you finally come for him.

“Good fucking girl,” he growls against your lips. You start clawing at his white t-shirt, but it’s fitted so well, you start wrestling with the fabric to get it over his head. He chuckles lightly at you as you pout at him. He kisses the space between your eyebrows and sits up removing his shirt on his own; his bottoms follow ensuite.

You admire the expanse of his toned body for a brief moment before you pull him down back on you. Your teeth tug at his luscious lower lip then suck at it. Leo chases your tongue with his own, engrossed by your lips he’s not prepared for when you sneak a hand in his boxers and grab a hold of his length. He moans into the kiss at the contact and slides his boxers all the way off, giving him a full show of your fingers wrapped around his hard cock. You watch as he swallows the knot in his throat when your thumb swipes across at the bead of pre-cum leaking from the head.

“Yes, baby, just like that,” he says encouragingly as you start stroking him at a pace only you know he loves, “you see how good you make me feel?” It’s a question that doesn’t require an answer. He was hot and heavy in your hands and you wanted nothing more than a taste, so you switch hands bringing the sticky one up to your mouth giving your palm a broad lick as you try to lap you all of what was left of him on your skin.

His jaw visibly ticks as he watches the whole thing. You bring your wet hand back down and resume jerking him off. His breathing increases and you know he wants to cum when he involuntarily starts thrusting back, but he had other things on his agenda as he gingerly pushed your hands away.

“I wanna...inside you,” he says, still very much short of breath, this version of him only made you more wet.

“Please,” you beg, feeling his cock slide up and down your pussy, prepping him with your slick. You never begged, but for some reason you got scared that this would all end in an instance.

You let out a big sigh of relief when he pushes in and fills you up to the brim. Your eyes widen at how his cock stretches you out to accommodate his size. You feel close to bursting at just being able to feel all of him, as he stilled in you, feeling every ridge and vein. He takes a moment to himself, studying the way your body reacts to his. He’s reeling in on the warmth you provided his cock and more so his heart. You made every part of him swell up.

With a long and heavy drag out, Leo begins to thrust back in deep and slow, only increasing when he feels your hips start to retaliate back against his. He knows the pace you like it at.

“Fuck!” You yelp feeling the tip of his cock probe at the right spot.

Leo loops an arm around from beneath you, and at first you think he’s trying to bring you in closer by the hips, but instead he flips over, so you’re now settled on top of him. You support yourself with both hands on his pecs, fingers lost within the hair that sprinkled his chest, then you start grinding your hips deliciously over his. He helps you set a new rhythm with his hands on your hips. You watch as he bites his bottom lip and just the sight alone makes you want to come again.

He sits up, bracing one arm behind him for support, while the other pushes you slightly back, you have to use both hands to support your upper body, but this new position allows you both to get a good look at your bodies connected. Eyes both glued at his cock buried deep in you, you rotate your hips and moan when you feel his cock scratch along your inner walls with each swivel.

“That’s right, you know how to make me feel good...fuck, yes,” he praises then places a thumb to start rubbing circles over your sensitive clit, causing your thighs to clamp up, “that’s it baby, work that pussy on this cock...it’s all yours, beautiful.”

Once he has a good upright position, he uses his other hand to undo the clasp of your bra. He has a hard time trying to rid you of the confines, so you maneuver and sink down back on him and do it yourself. He uses both hands to pull the straps down your arms before bringing your body flush against his and reclaiming your lips.

You let out a sigh as his lips travel down your neck to your breasts, groping one and sucking on the other. Your hands find purchase in his dark sweaty locks as he pistons his hips up hitting deeper.

You pull his face away from your chest and you take note of his glossy eyes, the sweat buildup on his hairline, the creases on his forehead, his swollen lips and you’re in complete awe of just how handsome he’s always been. Leo brings a hand to your face, thumb brushing away the stray tear that escaped your eyes. You slightly turn your head in his palm so your lips can capture his thumb. The same one that was just mere moments ago rubbing circles on your clit.

Leo gasps at the sight, your eyes close from the burst of flavor of yourself on his salty digit. Your hips work harder and your thighs begin to ache. It shows, so Leo starts to pick up on the slack.

“Leo-“ you call out his name after a particular sharp thrust, your labored breathing makes it hard to voice out your desire, but he knew you were close and so was he.

His hands grope your ass as he brings your hips down hard against his, you feel the hairs on his lower abdomen rub against your clit, effectively adding on to the impending sensation.

“Come on, baby. You can do it,” his fingers would definitely leave marks your skin, but you don’t mind it because yours claw at chest, “come on my fucking cock...show me how good it feels, pretty girl.”

You shut him up with a bruising kiss and soon he’s swallowing your moans as your body starts to quake, pussy clenching tight around him. You keep your hips grounded in place when you feel the throb of each spurt of his cum that shoots deep inside you.

Both of you part your lips from one another for some needed air. You’re still experiencing a bit of an aftershock as your walls continue to contract around his cock.

“Ride it out, baby, use my cock,” he says against your lips, and assisting you with small movements up and down his cock, “that’s it. You got it. Fuck, I love you. I love you so much,” he says, wrapping his arms around your body.

Your body falters against him when you don’t fail to notice that he’s started slipping the L-Bomb in his praises. Leo feels drops of water hit his skin and when he opens his eyes, he notices your body shaking still – you’re crying.

“Hey,” he says cradling your face again, “what’s wrong?” He pulls back to inspect your body and see if you were hurt in any way.

You brace his face in both your hands to stop his eyes from wandering from anywhere else but your face. “Did you mean it?” You ask, unable to control the downpour of tears.

Leo stops moving and immediately understands what you’re asking. You’re asking if he meant it when he said you were the only one he’d ever notice. You’re asking if he meant it when he said he’d wait for you. You’re asking if he meant it when he said he loved you.

“Every word,” he confirms.

Overjoyed, you press your lips together in a tight smile, and let the rest of your tears fall. He lets you rest your head on the crook of his neck as he rubbed soothing patterns on your back in attempts to calm you down.

When you do, you pull away and finally say it back, “I love you too, Leo West. I’ve always been in love with you,” and watching the big smile on his face was almost enough to cure you.

He meticulously pulls out of you, slight signs of his cum seeping out and running down your thighs, and helps you off him. You both settle down on the bed, bodies parallel, both on your sides, silently staring at one another. You absentmindedly brushing the gray lock of hair away from his forehead.

“Nothing happened with her,” Leo says breaking the comfortable silence. He wanted to bring tonight to attention because he meant it when he told you previously that he doesn’t bring anyone back home. You almost forgot about tonight but are still relieved to hear him put to rest any suspicious thoughts.

“I’m scared,” you admit. The first step had been admitting you had loved him back this whole time, but you still had to face the fact that you both were on two different schedules and you feared the worst it wouldn’t work out.

“Come with me,” he proposes.

“What?” You ask completely taken back at the offer.

“Come on tour with me,” he says a bit more specifically.

You’d already proven you were willing to drop work for him by showing up at his gig tonight, but were you willing to leave your old life behind to follow his?

Then the biggest smile on Leo’s face confirms everything when you respond, “okay.”

A/N: Leo West is so precious! & for the record, I too would drop everything to follow him. Lol. I may write more Richard Madden fics, idk yet. Please let me know if you liked this or what. Thanks for reading!

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