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ttulipwritezz · 4 months

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This Is Our Place.~ S.Black

Ootp! Sirius Black x gn! Reader

Synopsis: After azkaban, Sirius falls for his best friend's colleague, who just so happens to return his feelings. They find their place within the confines of a war. Perhaps they'll leave the Christmas lights up till January.

Wc: 2k

Warnings: lots of italics, probably grammatical mistakes, inconsistency, mentions of presents, Christmas, bad family (s.b), kiss(es), might be ooc idk.

The clouds began to form in delicate shapes, and the roar of thunder echoed through the gloomy room. The light from a candle illuminated the kitchen, in which you sat, your mind preoccupied with the thought of the incoming rain.

Preoccupied with the thought of having to take the clothes off the drying rack anytime soon or bringing all your potted plants indoors to avoid them drowning.

It was not an odd thing—rain—being that it was the end of August.

"Knock, knock."

You looked up from where a blank piece of parchment lay in front of you, curious to know the source of the words.

"You could just, you know, knock? Like a normal person, Sirius."

You found yourself speaking before you could collect your thoughts. The said man glanced at the parchment once and looked back at your face, his lips curving up the tiniest bit at your attempt to lighten the mood.

"Who am I, if normal, love?" He chuckles with a crooked smile.

You let your eyes roam around his face, his hollowed-out cheeks, and his half-lidded eyes. He looks tired. You conclude.

"Do you want some tea? I was just about to make some.."

You weren't really, about to make tea, that is. Still, you found yourself speaking, wanting to comfort the man, even if just a little.

Sirius was, by no means, your friend. He was just a friend of your colleague, Remus. You'd joined Hogwarts the same year Remus did; being new, the two of you hit it off immediately.

It always amazed you how well of a grasp Remus had on DADA. And he returned the favor by complimenting your herbology. You were a couple years younger than Remus, at best, and had known of him and the infamous marauders during your time at Hogwarts. Sirius Black did intrigue you the most.

You knew he came from a wealthy family, a bad one—of course, by no means did you want to intrude on his family life, but the heart does what the heart wants—and that he found solace in the friends he called brothers.

When Remus introduced you to his falsely convicted friend, Sirius Black, You damn near fainted on the spot, not because of his (undeniable) handsomeness but because of the sheer fear of standing in front of a possible murderer.

Now, years later (two to be exact), you find yourself enamored by the faded gray of his eyes and the curved bridge of his nose, which, you reckon, has been broken at least once during his time at Hogwarts, noting the sudden halt in the curve that then sharply turns to the other side and resumes its path.

Maybe it is a little peculiar to be noting such details of his appearance that you can paint a picture of his past. Strange, they'd call it. But it's routine for you. A routine you find comfort in.

"Thank you, Love," he replies.

A mumbled "'course" leaves your lips as you put the kettle to boil on the stove.

Sure, you could use magic, but these mundane tasks that don't require it seem to bring a sort of normalcy to your life. Even if just for a moment, it stops feeling like you're in the midst of a war and that people aren't dying left and right.

You were only nineteen when the first wizarding war came to an end, when your friends lost their lives, and when the dark lord seemingly disappeared forever.

He hadn't; that much was evident from the current situation.

The tea was set in front of Sirius almost unknowingly. You had been a little into your head and had been going about the task with practiced ease.

"Thanks again, Love. When do you reckon the others will return?"

Remus, along with the other order members, had gone on yet another mission. They left Sirius, concluding he was too weak to fight right now, and you, as you'd offered to stay back.

"Any time now, and really, it's no problem,"

you replied, sort of bashful at both his gratitude and the endearment.

As if on cue, the door opened with a jingle of the keys, and numerous voices rang through the empty corridors of Grimmauld Place.

Remus stalked into the kitchen and put his left hand up, leaning against the doorway with his right for some sort of support, revealing a gash running from his middle finger to his wrist and a sheepish smile on his face as he looked at you. Immediately, wordlessly, you walked forward with your wand and began healing the wound.

Removing a tin of herbal paste from the drawer beside and handing it to Remus.

"How'd that happen? I thought this was a 'harmless' mission," you asked, quoting his reassuring words from earlier.

"I nicked myself on a broken shelf." As confident as he sounded, his lie didn't escape you.

All it needed was a 'really?' look on your face to get the truth out.

"Death eaters," he stated, defeated.

"You really ought to be more careful, Rem. It worries me."

You said that and guided him out of the kitchen to assess his other wounds, which included one on his arm and a twisted ankle.

Unaware that a certain raven head was watching you from the table, envious and defeated at failing at his attempts to talk to you. The rain began pouring down, and the clothes and plants still outside ran through your mind.

The rain mirrored the heart of the black, sitting at the table, gloomy as ever.

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

You'd last seen Sirius when Harry and the kids stumbled through the door of Grimmauld Place, bringing an unconscious, but thankfully alive, Sirius with them.

Harry had told you that he was leaving to retrieve his godfather from the ministry, mentioning something about a dream, but you weren't paying much attention after you'd heard the news. With Dumbledore's permission and assistance, you'd returned to Grimmauld's place to help in case they ever needed it. Praying that Sirius made it back alive.

The kids, along with Remus and a few other order members, laid the unconscious Sirius on the couch and went to clean themselves up as you offered to take care of Sirius in the meantime.

Once conscious, you dragged Sirius to the bathroom on the ground floor of the house, squeezing through the thin hallways and sitting him on the counter as you retrieved a first-aid kit from the cupboard.

"Couldn't you use magic to fix my wounds?" came his distraught voice, cutting your thoughts short.

"Do you want me to inflict pain on them? Just sit still. Besides, it's not like I'm a healer."

As you cleaned each wound with precision, one thought roamed your head.

It's not like they don't have wands—the death eaters, that is—they injured him in a way that seems almost muggle.

"If you're wondering how, it was Bellatrix," Sirius said, trying to suppress a hiss at the particularly deep wound on his arm, as if reading your mind.

"Your cousin?" you answered, or rather, asked, continuing and moving onto the smaller cuts that littered his face.

Humming, he let you get the rest of the wound cleaned.

You glanced up at his face when opening the packet of cotton, only then realizing how close you had been. His breath was fanning your nose as he stared deep into your eyes, no trace of guilt or shame in them, as if he trusted you wholeheartedly.

You could have sworn you saw him glance at your lips in anticipation. The thought alone swarmed your stomach with butterflies.

Only now had you realized how intimate your shared moments were and how he had always tried to enlighten your mood with his jokes. You thought it was his defense, his coping mechanism.

Though now it seemed amidst the war, all he tried to do was hear you laugh. By pausing your movements as if in a trance, you maintained eye contact with him. He looked so stern and so soft all at once.

In his mind swam thoughts of the previous night, when you cradled Remus's hand with such grace and concern.

His lips parted, and you wanted to kiss him. You don't know why, but you did. All you had to do was move your face half an inch forward, and his lips would crash into yours. You wanted to do it so badly.

And so you did.

His eyes fluttered close, and the arm that wasn't injured came up to grip your neck, light as a feather.

His hands caressed the tiny hairs on your neck and sent a tingle down your spine. The kiss was phenomenal.

You didn't sleep that night; the thoughts were fluttering in your mind even hours later.

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

"I kissed him."

As soon as those words left your mouth, Remus choked on his tea and had to take a moment to steady himself.

"You kissed whom exactly!?" came his exasperated voice.

"Sirius," you said sheepishly, suddenly feeling small under his wide gaze.

"I didn't even know you liked him," Lupin said as he went to dry his clothes from the tea.

"It just…sort of happened..you know-"

"no, I don't know y/n..what were you thinking!?" Remus was confused, and a part of him felt betrayed.

You liked his best friend, but he had no clue.

The patter of the rain outside added to the deafening silence that you left. The sound brought you back to the first night in the house, the night when you shared tea with Sirius.

Your eyes flitted to the scar running along the Lycanthropes hand, and you grimaced at the angry red surrounding it as it healed.

"Did you put the balm on it today? your hand, I mean " Your words cut through the silence like a knife, and you moved your hand toward one of the many drawers housing your herbal balms.

"You're deflecting, love... If it's any help, Sirius would much rather pretend nothing happened than act on his own; you're best off confronting him first."

Remus's words were assuring, but the tone in which he said them made you scrunch up your brows and tilt your lip downward.

"Umm, I'll see what I can do." Your hesitance was evident in your voice.

You walked back to your room after handing Remus the green and silver tin, silently reminding him of his wound.

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

On the other side of the house, Sirius lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the kiss.

His mind wandered to the feeling of your lips, his hands on on nape, and your gaze before it all.

Your lips. My lips.

"A Rubber Duck!" A shout came from the room beside him. Harry's room. They were playing a round of charades, he remembered.

Harry! Yes!

He should ask Harry. So he made his way towards their room.

"Harry, could I talk to you for a moment?" Just as Harry was getting up and ready to join his godfather,

"actually hold that-"

He turns to Hermione

"-Hermione!! You're a muggle. You'd know! of course" The hopeful tone of his voice sends Ron into a laughing fit, and Harry's mouth twitches into a grin as Hermione sits confused with a frown.

After discussing the matter with the kids, Sirius decides he's done with his stupid old ways. He wants to say something; make the first move.

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

It happened on christmas eve.

Everyone had taken to opening presents under the large tree at the living room.

After watching Ron fawn over his new wizard chess set, you decided it was time for a much needed break.

"I think i'm going to go make some hot chocolate...anyone want some?" You asked, already getting up to yout feet.

Most of them nodded no and you only just realised all their mugs were rather full.

Making your way into the rather small kitchen of grimmauld place, you got out your wand to help make your hot chocolate.

"Knock knock" a familiar raspy voice came from the doorway.

An odd sense of deja vu enveloped you and you turned around to look at the source.

"you could just knock. Like a normal person" you repeated your words from the previous day.

The relationship between you and sirius had strained quite a bit after that shared kiss.

"sorry love, how's your day going so far?" He asked, seemingly trying to dissipate the awkwardness from the air.

"Alright...i suppose, what about you?" You replied with just as much hesitation.

"Good." And it stopped at that, the conversation.

Only now did you realise just how close he had gotten. You backed yourself away slightly, only to find your leg hitting the back of the counter.

The world seemed to be silent as the sound of your breaths mingled with one another, accompanied by the ticking clock.

The noises in the living room had become nothing but a blur and muffled by your thoughts.

"I really like you y/n. I truly do" Sirius spoke first, drawing your attention from the planes of his face

"Huh?" Your reply came meek and unsure.

You weren't even sure you'd heard it right.

"i like you." He reiterated.

You did hear it right.

Your knees felt weak but at the same time you were on cloud nine.

Before getting the chance to gather your thoughts you found yourself speaking..

"I really like you too sirius"

your voice came out just louder than a whisper, you're sure he wouldn't even have heard it.

His next words sent a flurry of butterfiles to your stomach.

"May i..?" You noticed him glancing down at your lips and back at your eyes.

You couldn't stop the smile that bloomed on your face as you nodded yes.

The kiss was diferent than the last, less desperate yet more passionate. It was slow, steady and loving.

You could feel his smile against your lips before you pulled apart.

"I've waited so long to do that" his voice came a mere whisper

Your eyes followed the movement of his lips, which were on yours moments ago.

" I...umm got you a gift" he continued, his hesitation surprising you.

Forcing your eyes to look back at the grey irises you managed to let out a breathless

"what?"

Sirius pulled out a box, a small one of velvet, the kind that would normally house a ring, now held a singular locket that was shaped as a star.

"A star...for my star" he said

You couldn't stop the heat from spreading to your cheeks, eyes widening a touch and lips quirking up the slightest.

Two voices giggling could be heard from the kitchen that night.

The whole night.

A/n: I spent WAYY too long on this- and the ending is super rushed lmao i hope you enjoyed it and all reblogs help me reach more ppl! I had sm fun writing this. i'm v proud of this ❤️❤️

#oneshot #sirius black imagine #marauders era fanfiction #harry potter #fanfiction #sirius black x reader #marauders x reader #sirius black fanfic #sirius black x professor reader #marauders fanficion #marauders #sirius black fanfiction #post azkaban sirius #prisoner of azkaban #hp ootp

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cemeteryspider · 3 months

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Disco Inferno

Alastor x Hippie! Reader

Summary: Your carefree soul learns how to navigate your friendships and a budding relationship in the Hazbin Hotel

Trigger Warnings: Drug use, mature themes, violence, party atmosphere, alcohol consumption

Word Count: 1699

Maybe the years of drugs, protests, and sexual acts were what did you in. After all, good people don't end up in Hell you suppose. You lived as a relative nobody in Hell, except for the people you raised hell with.

Your best friend Cherri Bomb, adorned with fiery hair and exuding leather-clad confidence, sported a rebellious flair. Her devil-may-care attitude made her the perfect partner in crime.

You were casually talking it up with some big shot when out of nowhere a pink bomb landed on the table in front of you. Quickly, you jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding the blast. However, the shrapnel struck the Overlord you were engaged in conversation with, sealing Cherri Bomb's claim to his territory.

In addition, you encountered Angel Dust, revealing a shared passion for drugs that strengthened your connection. While you may not have the same drug of choice it doesn't mean getting high together was any less fun.

You navigated a niche between Angel's popularity and Cherri's intimidation, finding your place as their intriguing and adventurous companion.

This is how you ended up being the Happy Hotel's second patron.

~~~

Although smoking became off limits, in the hotel at least, you were still swaying around to music and dancing through the day.

You almost felt better when you weren't smoking but that wasn't something you wanted to admit to Angel or especially Charlie. You knew there would be a party thrown as soon as you said it.

The now Hazbin Hotel, was home to quite a few demons, not all there to rehabilitate but it made it feel more at home. The more people around the more you felt reminded of your friends topside, now they were almost certainly dead or "double dead" as Angel might say.

Charlie and Vaggie were stern but friendly towards you. They told you to stay sober if you wanted to stay at the hotel and you happily obliged. Although sometimes you still snuck a blunt, why did they have to know?

Husk was always able to talk you down and put a drink in your hand. He heard your troubles with Cherri and how she didn't want to talk to you anymore, and heard you talk about your worries with Angel. You and Husker, bonded by shared experiences and unspoken understanding, found solace in each other's company. Often, you sat around doing absolutely nothing, reveling in the comfort of a companion who needed no words.

Sir Pentious, Hazbin's third rehabilitant, was just the sweetest. Again you two often sat around talking, usually about his inventions and sometimes about Cherri. You gave him subtle hints about what she liked and how to win her over, but usually he got too nervous to act on these. This never stopped you from trying to help, and frequently having sleep-over with him and his sweet Egg Bois.

Alastor's enigmatic presence left you with a lingering curiosity, a puzzle you were determined to put together with every passing day. However, this didn't stop you from trying to become his friend. You listened to his radio show to try to find out things he liked and often accompanied him to Cannibal Town, not for its namesake but for amazing chats with Rosie. Alastor was the one piece of the puzzle you just couldn't figure out, and the more time you spent with him the more about him you wanted to know.

~~~

So when Charlie and Vaggie went on their trip to Heaven, you decided to invite Alastor out. You decided not to call it a date, but hoped the message would get across well to him. You and Alastor left shortly after everyone else when to a club nearby.

Wanting to bridge the gap between your worlds, you chose to bring him to your favorite disco joint, even if the music wasn't his usual taste. If you wanted him to like you, he did have to get to know you.

Studio 666, with pulsating neon lights casting an otherworldly glow and a bass so deep it reverberated through your very soul, stood as Hell's most renowned disco club. Though Alastor's smile didn't fade, a twitch betrayed his discomfort amidst the crowd and physical contact. The music was nothing like what he was used to and so far away from his favorite dance tunes.

Alastor was well aware of hippie culture as he had talked with many people who died and how they lived on his radio show. He had been to a club like this once with Rosie and he did not think that he would ever be back to one. Let alone with a beautiful dame like yourself.

He stood frozen for a moment and felt very out of place in his coat and slacks. You were dressed impeccably for the occasion wearing a halter top jumpsuit adorned with red rhinestones and sparkles. Platform boots make you just a hair taller than your usual height.

You had decided to match Alastor on your night out, trying to make others notice you were with him and maybe have them be more friendly. Well as friendly as some sinners were willing to be.

Gently you took his hand and led him to the bar.

"Yo, Y/n, where have you been? The Studio's been missin' you"

"Oh you know Flower, I've just been truckin' on"

"Wearin' some groovy threads"

"When am I not, ya goof"

Alastor noticed you fall into a rhythm with the bartender, Flower you called them. Again he felt sorely out of place, even though before this, you had always made him feel right at home.

"Anyways, what can I get you and Casanova here?"

A small chuckle escaped your lips.

"You know me," you grinned, "a tequila sunrise, and Alastor will have a-"

"I'll have a Greyhound"

With that, a playful grin graced your lips as you looked up at him. For you, he would try to embrace this night of loud disco festivities with a drink he normally would never try.

Once Flower had served the two drinks Alastor saw them whisper in your ear. Despite the attempt at secrecy he heard exactly what was said.

"I got primo grass and mushrooms if you're interested, foxy"

Alastor saw the glance you gave him and quirked his eyebrow. You moved away from Flower.

"Nah, we best keep on steppin', peace, Flower"

With a smile and a nod of their head they went to serve the next customer.

~~~

You were able to find a table a little ways away from the ruckus to talk with Alastor about anything and everything that came to your mind. The hotel and its apparent success, things Alastor spoke about on his last radio broadcast, and your favorite color.

However, the smooth flow of the night was interrupted when a small group of demons approached the table where you were chatting.

"My my, here's a brick house I'd never I'd see again"

Your smile instantly turned into a scowl. You turned toward the short stubby man who seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

"Psych, the bug I thought I squished a long time ago", you practically snarled at them.

"Hold up, Dollface, no need to freak out. We just wanna talk. Why don't you take a chill pill and come boogie with us. We sure do have lots to catch up on"

Alastor appeared between the two of them before Psych could make a move to grab her.

"Why gentlemen, that is no way to treat a lady, now scurry along, u̵̪̓n̶̲̋l̶̑͜e̷͉̊s̶̜̽š̸̙ ̷̞̑y̵̪̅ơ̵̞ṳ̴̕ ̶̪̓n̴͇͂o̷̮͑ ̵͎̆l̵̫͒o̶̥̕ň̵̗g̸̠̓e̶͍̊r̴͓̉ ̵̹̋ẅ̴̳ḭ̵͠s̸̮̅h̶̛̩ ̷͈̈t̴̬͒o̶̜̔ ̴͔̿u̴͍͝s̵̗͂ē̸͎ ̴͓͝y̴̻̕o̴̮͊u̵̟͒r̵̗̈ ̸̥͂h̵a̸n̴d̶s̴"

"Snaps man, were goin'"

They stalked off, and Alastor returned to his seat.

"So, Cher, do you wish to, how did they say it, boogie?"

"Al, we don't have to dance if it's not to your liking," you suggested tentatively, concerned about Alastor's comfort.

"Nonsense, I did not learn to disco for nothing." Alastor's response carried a hint of excitement. In an instant, you found yourself on the dance floor, the disco ball casting a dazzling display of lights above your heads.

The dance floor pulsed with neon lights, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The infectious rhythm reverberated through the air, prompting everyone to move in synchronized harmony. Happily you take Alastor's hand and his overcoat disappears leaving him in his black button-up.

The bassline kicks in and you synchronize your movements, letting the music guide you.

The dance floor ignited with a playful series of twirls and spins. Your sequined jumpsuit scattered sparks across its surface, catching the neon lights in a dazzling display. Your bodies moving in harmony.

The tempo rises and soon a transition into sensual and intricate dance moves. Your fluidity contrasts Alastors strong and controlled movements. You playfully tease him with every step. The crowd soon had all of their eyes on the two of you.

A continued show of trust and chemistry flowed through every dip, lift, and spin. The disco lights danced in their eyes, mirroring the euphoria of the music that surrounded them showcasing laughter and glances, you were completely lost in the magic of the moment,

The music reaches its peak, and you lock eyes with Alastor. His usual smile was replaced with a lovesick grin.

As the song concluded, your heart still pounding with the rhythm, the world slowly came back into focus. The applause of the entertained crowd echoed, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and joy. Alastor's expression, a lovesick grin, reveals a side you hadn't seen before, deepening the connection between you two.

Leading the way, Alastor guided you from the dance floor to the exit. As you stepped outside, his coat materialized on your shoulders, a protective gesture in the crisp night air.

"Wow, Alastor, I didn't know you could dance like that" The revelation left you pleasantly surprised and craving more insights into this mysterious demon.

"Mon Cherie, next time we'll go to a jazz club and you'll see how well I can dance"

Still breathless from the dance, you sighed contentedly as you continued the walk back to the hotel, the night filled with the echoes of joy and music.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin angel dust #radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel 2024

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astraystayyh · 1 year

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A sun and a moon

pairing: minho x reader, pre-established relationship.

genre: hurt/comfort. reader is going through a rough patch.

On days when the mere thought of breathing gets tiring, Minho makes it feel a bit easier.

Please let me know if you enjoyed reading, it means a lot to me <3

-------------

It was one of those weeks when you woke up every day feeling out of place. In your home, in your mind, in your body.

You never really understood why you'd start feeling this way. It would happen out of the blue, and you'd be forced to carry the heavy weight of your insecurities with you throughout the day.

On days like these, you'd wish you'd be able to crawl out of your skin, float in the air, and not feel anything. You'd give everything to quiet the thoughts in your head that criticize your every move- the way you walk, the way you talk, the way you breathe.

Minho would always notice- how you wither down like a flower that was left to fend for itself, rootless. You'd become quiet, afraid that if you ever spoke, you'd break down and he'd be forced to pick up your shattered pieces. You didn't want to be a burden for him, you wanted to be easy to love.

And when Minho noticed, he didn't comment. Because he knew that part of being human is feeling down, and that it can't always be sunshine and roses. But what he didn't convey in words, he did in actions. He would kiss your forehead randomly, his fingers threading gently through your hair. He'd make you lunch, drawing a smiley face on the rice with sauce. He'd bring you water, making sure you drank it all, patting your head when you are done.

He wouldn't talk, but his gestures spoke for him- they were telling you, 'I know, I know you are not feeling like yourself and I still love you'.

But you couldn't voice your gratitude or your love for him. And it made you resent yourself more. You'd spiral down, and you'd start to think that he deserves someone else, someone better. Someone who doesn't sit on a couch unmoving; selfishly hoping that the universe would pass on their insecurities to somebody else.

"I'm sorry", you mutter on a particularly draining night, and he frowns, placing his chopsticks down.

"I'm sorry you are stuck with me. You deserve better", you slip out, angry tears welling up in your eyes. You don't even know why you spoke. Maybe it was the sight of the dinner he made you left untouched, because you couldn't bring yourself to eat it.

He's quick to your side, kneeling in front of you and holding your hand in his. "There is no one better, sweetheart. There is only you", he reassures, his tone so soft it makes you cry even more.

His warm hand in yours doesn't make the insecurities go away, but for a minute, your mind forgets. It allows you a moment of solace- like a rainbow that comes once in a while to remind you that the sun will shine again.

That night in bed, Minho pulls your body toward his, your back snug against his chest.

"You know, they say that the moon and the sun are lovers", he starts off, tone hushed. "And they say that one day, the sun started to notice how soft the moon's light is, compared to its own warm rays. And how lovers always write poems about the moon, when no one can look at the sun for too long", he pauses, and you nod to show him you are listening.

"And the sun thinks, maybe... maybe the moon deserves a better star to love". He's talking about you, you realize. You are the sun and he is the moon.

"But... what the sun doesn't know is that the moon only shines because it reflects the sun's light. The moon wouldn't be the moon without the sun. Just like I would be nothing without you, my love".

Minho kisses the back of your head, and you shake in his arms, your sobs resounding loudly in the room. "I am who I am because of you", he whispers right in your ear, hugging you even tighter to him.

Right now, you aren't okay, and Minho's words don't fix everything. But they are the light at the end of the tunnel, so you clutch onto them. You store them in a sacred cabinet in your mind, in the wait of the day where you'll wholeheartedly believe them.

It will happen soon, you think to yourself. Soon, you'll be okay again, and Minho will still be by your side.

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kazenomegaminowanpisu · 7 months

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Hi! How are you? I just stumbled on your blog. Your art and stories are amazing. I was wondering if I could put in a request for a SFW story please? I’m a huge one piece fan. I really love Ace and Law. I was wondering if you could do a female reader who is their mentor’s daughter (Whitebeard’s daughter for Ace and Corazon’s daughter for Law). They start a relationship with them. They just have a cute little moment watching the sea together (or something like that), talking about how much how they fell in love, what they want for their future together (a happy one of course) and how they’ll have to tell their parent eventually but their parent is behind, watching from a far happy. It’s a lot I know you can ignore it, do one of the characters. It’s all okay no matter what. But thank you and have a good day! 🧡

This is a brilliant idea.. but I'm gonna write down what I have understand base on your request (I'm sorry for the very very lateness)

Op boys having a relationship with their mentors daughters

Warning:SFW, Fluff

Feat:Law, Ace

You and Ace sat side by side at the edge of the Moby Dick, your legs dangling over the open sea. As the sun began its descent, casting a golden hue over the horizon, Ace couldn't help but be captivated by the enchanting sight.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Ace whispered, his eyes flickering with a mix of awe and adoration. "The sea... it's like a reflection of our love.

You smiled warmly and leaned against Ace, feeling the strength of his presence comforting you. "Yes, it is. Our love, like the sea, is vast and ever-changing, but always filled with wonder and discovery."

Ace intertwined his fingers with you, their touch embracing a shared future. "I want to create a future as bright as the sunsets we see, filled with laughter, adventures, and endless support."

You nodded, your heart swelling with affection. "I want that too, Ace. A future where we cherish each other, grow together, and face whatever comes our way with resilience and love."

As the two of you savored the serenity of the moment, glancing over your shoulders and caught a glimpse of Whitebeard watching from afar. His weathered face softened, a proud smile etched across his lips. He saw the happiness that radiated from his daughter and her newfound love, grateful that Ace had found someone who truly understood and cherished her.

Law

You and law found solace on the deck of the submarine, the gentle waves lapping against its sides. Both of you sat together, shoulders brushing lightly as you gazed out into the vastness of the ocean. The evening sun painted the sky with hues of orange and purple, casting a serene ambiance over their moment.

"This view reminds me of the tranquility I feel when I'm with you," Law murmured softly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of tenderness.

You turned to him and smile soft and affectionate. "I feel the same way, Law. Your presence brings a calmness to my soul, like the gentle lullaby of the ocean."

Law's fingers delicately traced patterns on your hand. "I envision a future where we can learn from each other, trust each other, and build a foundation of unwavering love and support."

The reader's heartbeat quickened, Your love for Law swelling in your chest. "I dream of that future as well, Law. A future where we create a sanctuary together, where our hearts find solace and our dreams intertwine."

In that poignant moment, both of you glanced towards Corazons Grave, quietly looking at your father's grave. Both of you know that Corazon were very happy for the two of you.

#One piece canons #one piece x reader #one piece x s/o #one piece x y/n #Portgas D. Ace x reader #Law x reader #kazenomegaminowanpisu #one piece #hannaemeraldwhitedragon #one piece canons #writing #anime

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tmpestuous · 10 months

Text

The Phoenix Project

summary: Bucky finds out more about your past with Hydra.

pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, canon-level violence, mentions of Hydra + Hydra torture (mainly reader and other unnamed characters; not Bucky),

word count: 6.2k (I got carried away…)

a/n: welcome to my comeback era… this concept came to me in a dream and I know I said I’d stop with the hurt reader fics but I’m sort of fixated on the trope… (someone send help) this is part of the Phoenix & Winter soldier universe!!

Phoenix & the Winter Soldier Masterlist

—

Waking up in Bucky’s arms was your favorite part of the day (only before going to sleep in his arms as well). His musky scent brought you comfort, the cool and warm contrast in his arms and hands bringing you solace. His embrace felt like home, a place you wouldn’t trade for anything else.

When Bucky was away on missions without you (or vice versa), it was always difficult readjusting to sleeping alone. A part of you felt like it was missing, and this time would be no different. Bucky was going on a mission with Steve and Natasha to gain important SHIELD intel and information on Hydra tactics, new and old, to try and track down their current bases and hideouts.

Steve had warned Bucky that there might be information on the Winter Soldier and new attempts to revive the program, though that was no surprise to anyone on the team. Bucky was more concerned about whether or not there’d be information on you.

Things were a lot better during your time with the Avengers recently. You got off to a good start, hit some bumps along the road that landed you on probation (thanks, Steve), but you still came out on the other side. You finally felt at home. You felt like you had a family. There was nothing that could get in the way of your place here.

Although you still had your fears and triggers to get over, as anyone would after being forcefully succumbed to Hydra’s authority, there had never been a moment where you felt better than you do now. And you knew that it was only up from here.

You didn’t remember much from your time with Hydra, a result of both their tactics and your subconscious suppression. Nonetheless, you struggled with deciphering whether your lack of memory was a good or bad thing.

No one on the team knew enough about your past with Hydra. They definitely did a number on your memories, far worse than what they’d done with Bucky’s. Bucky slowly but surely remembered things, both about himself and his time with Hydra. He was grateful enough to keep his memories with Steve and his life before his capture. You, on the other hand, didn’t really remember anything. You held bits and pieces of your childhood, but nothing of substance. Not to mention you weren’t nearly as crucified as Bucky; once you arrived on the team, the public was a lot more educated on Hydra and its ploys.

On past missions recovering more intel, there’d been little to nothing about you. You usually felt a tinge of relief, not sure if you were ready to uncover everything just yet. Nonetheless, the anticipation of an eventual find didn’t curb your anxiety, and the curiosity was eating you alive.

The Phoenix Project, they called it. It wasn’t too far off from the Winter Soldier program but centralized its focus on a small group of young women. Some were just girls. You were one of the older ones, though not the oldest, and often found yourself sacrificing your own well-being to protect the younger ones who were still only teenagers. It was also somewhat reminiscent of Natasha’s time in the Red Room, creating the Black Widows.

Your experience with Hydra often gave you survivor’s guilt, especially when you first started interacting with Bucky. His unsolicited time as the Winter Soldier wasn’t unbeknownst to anyone, not even you. In fact, one of the few things you remembered was how everyone in Hydra spoke about him.

It took you a moment to warm up to him, and him to you. In the beginning, you couldn’t help but hate yourself for feeling so low about what Hydra did to you when Bucky Barnes was right there and had gone through so much more. Bucky never knew about how you felt, a result of your own decision not to tell him, and he never would. To this day, you tried not to complain about it. The Hydra operatives in control of the Phoenix Project were ruthless, though you couldn’t remember enough to know if they were any more or less cynical than the ones who watched over Bucky. Given the fact that you weren’t forced under them for over 70 years, however, you didn’t dare to compare experiences. You figured Hydra wasn’t anywhere near close to carrying out their plan for you, especially since the Avengers cut their plans short.

You and Bucky have yet to talk about either of your times with Hydra. The two of you had crossed each others’ paths romantically after moving past it, and you had told yourself that the last thing you wanted to do was ruin your relationship with an unnecessary trauma bond.

Hydra didn’t define you or Bucky. You were both better than them; you had just fallen into their cage, and that wasn’t either of your faults. Your time with them didn’t make or break you as a person.

Bucky knew that, and even better, he believed it. He’d never think of you any differently because of it. But he needed to know if he’d find out information on you during this mission. For his sake and yours.

The Avengers never really sought out information on the Phoenix Project, but intel was looming that Hydra was plotting on restarting it. Intel also alluded to Hydra’s inevitable search for you, knowing about your involvement with the Avengers and the ultimate ability to make you even stronger a weapon for them.

Steve had pulled Bucky aside to talk to him about everything, especially since they both knew you wouldn’t be going on this mission. He alerted him of the possibility of the information they’d yet to find, stronger than that of finding information on the Winter Soldier program. He had also told Bucky not to tell you, stressing that it was important not to induce any unnecessary anxiety for a mission you wouldn’t be going on. He wanted to tell you, so badly, but he knew Steve was right.

“What are you thinking about, Sergeant?” You asked, your voice soft yet still enough to snap Bucky out of his thoughts given how close you were to each other.

“The idea of having to sleep without you for the next two days,” Bucky said, his voice raspy from waking up. It wasn’t a lie, but merely half the truth.

“At least it’s only two days this time,” you said, as optimistic as always. Bucky adored that you always tried your best to find the silver lining in things, something he didn’t do often.

“I wish you were coming on this mission,” he voiced in a whisper, rubbing the knuckles on his right hand against your cheek back and forth. “But maybe it’s for the better.”

“You still don’t want me on Hydra missions, huh?”

“Just looking out for you, honey,” he kissed your forehead, letting his lips linger before kissing it again. “Never know what you might run into that’ll bring up rough memories.”

“What about you?” You asked sincerely, once again avoiding thinking about your time with Hydra and the fact that Bucky was protecting you from something he also should be shielded from. Maybe even more than you did, in your opinion.

“I’ll be okay,” he reassured. “I told you, I’m free from them. They’re not getting me anytime soon.”

Nodding, you shifted your gaze away from Bucky’s, trying to mentally run from the thoughts clouding your mind.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, noticing the shift in your demeanor. “Did I say something wrong?”

Looking back up at him immediately, you shook your head. “No, no, you didn’t. I promise. I’m just gonna miss you, is all.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, baby,” he smiled down at you before giving you a prolonged kiss, lasting a few moments before he pulled away and looked back into your eyes as you both caught your breaths. “We still have some time before I have to go, honey.”

“I had a feeling that was coming,” you teased, pushing him back so he was laying down on his back as you crossed one of your legs over to straddle him, spending the time he had left tangled inbetween the sheets.

Two Days Later

Bucky being away on a mission never entirely fazed you, and vice versa. You both trusted each other enough to know you’d come home at the end of it all, but for some reason, this felt different.

Bucky was on edge. So far, everything had gone smoothly, which was never good news to him. He was keeping watch on the door while Natasha retrieved any and all files they needed.

It was too quiet for Bucky’s liking, the silence two seconds from giving him a migraine. Hydra had been at the opposite end of the Avengers plenty of times, but they weren’t stupid. They were calculated, they knew what they were doing, and they often knew when to let the Avengers play right into their hand.

“Still not done, Romanoff?” Bucky asked impatiently, his anxiety creeping up by the minute.

“Working as fast as I can, Barnes,” she retorted.

Bucky heard her typing stop, as did Steve, who turned his attention toward her.

Natasha sighed. “Guess we found what we were missing.” Steve took a glance at Bucky before they both approached the screen behind the redhead. Tons and tons of files upon files regarding this project, their plans, and the subjects. Bucky’s gaze couldn’t divert from the one Natasha clicked with your name on it. “You sure you wanna see this?”

“Open it,” Bucky said without hesitation, his tone completely void of emotion.

“Buck—”

“I said open it.”

Natasha and Steve shared a look before she clicked on the file. It was over 500 pages long, probably the most in-depth file Bucky had ever seen from Hydra aside from maybe his own. Pictures of you battered and bruised, information on your home life, how they captured you, the different tests they’d run, the serum they injected into you; everything was in here.

Bucky felt his chest constrict at the pictures. He was somewhat grateful you couldn’t remember any of it, though it pained him that he was now aware of it and you weren’t.

Natasha scrolled to the end, finding a list of names that had nothing to do with you, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion. “What’s this?”

“They look like death certificates,” Steve noted. “What’s this got to do with Y/n?”

“Says she killed them,” Natasha read.

“That’s impossible,” Bucky interjected. “She didn’t kill anyone. They didn’t get that far, right?”

“I don’t know, Barnes,” Natasha shook her head while she downloaded all of the files. “But these don’t look like civilians or Hydra enemies.”

“They look like Hydra operatives,” Steve added. “I mean, look at the names and the pictures on file. They have separate files of their own.”

Natasha proceeded to find the name of one of the men you had supposedly killed, and Steve’s suspicions were right. A full detailing of a man’s time with Hydra, also a subject of their tests through another program. His death was pronounced at the bottom of the file.

Date of death: X/XX/XXXX. Terminated by Y/n Y/l/n.

Bucky couldn’t believe his eyes. He knew you weren’t capable of doing such a thing unless you needed to. He had seen it on that mission you got separated from Steve. Twenty men killed on your own while you were injured.

“We have to go.” Bucky looked up at Steve heading towards the door as Natasha shot the computers and file drives, following suit behind both of them towards the jet. He felt sick the entire ride back to the Compound.

Something was off. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

Upon landing in the hangar, Bucky felt like he was going to implode. Nat and Steve had tried to talk to him, but he couldn’t get the image of you out of his head.

The truth was that he felt guilty. He let his curiosity get the best of him and invaded the secrecy of something not even you remembered. He held your history in his memory, while you were completely clueless. Bucky didn’t even know what he was going to tell you the moment he saw you.

The girl he left behind with a smile on her face and a ‘good luck’ on her lips after he snuck a taste of them. She wasn’t even aware of the details of the mission. She had no idea he could have discovered everything.

And that he did.

Opening the door to his room to shower before a debrief—Steve telling him to cool off a bit—Bucky expected to see you waiting for him, but you were nowhere to be found. He hadn’t passed by the kitchen or the living room, but you knew he was coming back today.

He was already on edge and he needed to get everything off his chest. Stepping back out to the common area, it was vacant. Spotting Fury talking to Steve and Natasha in the debriefing room didn’t settle his anxiety either.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Fury greeted in his usual monotonous yet sarcastic voice. “Thought you’d be joining us afterward.”

“Where’s Y/n?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “She’s not in your room?”

Bucky shook his head, his gaze not breaking from Fury’s. Steve and Natasha looked at the Director with the same confusion sprawled on their faces.

“She’s on a recon mission in Siberia. Just left today.”

“Recon mission to observe who?” Bucky bit back without hesitation.

The Avengers were focused on Hydra for weeks. There haven’t been any other threats and Bucky was aware of that. He knew you weren’t ready for Hydra, not because you couldn’t handle them, but because they were looking for you.

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

“Fucking hell, Fury,” Natasha muttered, rubbing a hand across her face.

“She’s not even cleared—”

“She was cleared this morning. She wanted the mission, Barnes. I was gonna send Wilson before she stopped me.”

Bucky felt his heart drop to his stomach. He should’ve known something like this would happen, and suddenly he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Storming out of the room, he heard an explosion outside.

Rushing out to the hangar, with Steve, Natasha, and Fury not far behind, the quinjet was up in flames, with workers everywhere wounded or trying to now fix the problem.

“The drive, Nat,” Bucky muttered, not ripping his eyes off of the now-destroyed jet.

“What?” Natasha asked.

“The drive.”

Natasha pulled the drive out. Burnt. To a complete crisp and she didn’t even feel it.

“What the hell is going on?!” Sam rushed out with Wanda, Vision, and Tony.

Fury crossed his arms, exhaling deeply. “We’ve gotta find Agent Y/l/n. Now.”

—

You knew it was probably a bad idea to get involved in a Hydra recon mission so quickly after your probation, but you told yourself surveillance couldn’t be that bad, right?

Yeah, right.

Fury only asked you to identify the base and make note of its activity, location, and how often it was frequented throughout the next five days. Your location was pretty secure. That was until you saw the girls.

It wouldn’t be your first time going against Fury’s orders, but it would definitely be the first time you did it alone. You had all the tools necessary, and you were never afraid of Hydra. You killed 20 of them on your own with a grueling stab wound that took 8 weeks to completely heal. You would be fine.

That’s what you thought 10 hours ago.

Now you were strapped to this god-forsaken chair listening to this insolent asshole go on some rant about how he was the first one to find you. You still didn’t understand Russian fluently, but Bucky and Natasha had taught you enough to hold your own.

Rolling your eyes at the man in front of you, you shortly felt a sharp strike to your cheek.

“Все еще такой непокорный.” Insubordinate.

You scoffed. “Alright, you’ve got me. What now?”

“What now?” he repeated your question with a chuckle. “You come back to where you belong, Феникс.” Phoenix. You hadn’t been called that in so long, but you’d recognize the word anywhere. Even before you knew a lick of Russian.

The man pulled a syringe from a freezer, and your brain suddenly wired to recognize the serum, making you pull at the restraints on your wrist.

“Silly, silly, Phoenix,” he drawled in his thick, Russian accent. “Let’s see what the Avengers do when they find the real you.”

—

After some calls to King T’Challa, a jet was secured. Fury asked for Shuri to come as well as the jet, in case Dr. Cho needed some help with whatever state you’d be in when they found you.

Bucky was tired of saving you. Well, he wasn’t tired of the saving. He’d save you every single time until his last breath. But he knew how exhausting it must’ve been to constantly be in the position to be saved.

He didn’t say a word to anyone while on the jet. Bucky’s thoughts were clear, and he just needed to know you were safe.

Stepping into the Hydra base, everything was (once again) running too smoothly for Bucky’s liking. There was a lot more resistance than the mission they’d just returned from, including finding some hostages to extract.

“I spotted—” Natasha said before she grunted. “She’s not herself, I’m gonna need some backup here.”

“On my way to you now,” Bucky said as he ran up the stairs, meeting up with Sam and Steve halfway. Opening the staircase door, the three of them saw you with Natasha pinned down. You immediately looked towards them given the noise, your eyes blurred off.

You weren’t you.

Steve and Sam ripped you off Natasha, though Bucky was frozen.

“Buck!” Sam said as he dodged another one of your swings, a lot more fast-paced than your usual combat. “A little help here!”

You dodged Steve’s shield, swinging it back at him at full force before knocking both Sam and Natasha down. Bucky picked up your combat moves, which hadn’t changed much. They were just faster. He managed to pin you to the wall, your back against his front as you wrestled with his grip before he pinned you to the ground below him.

You were staring completely through him, not a single hint of recognition in your eyes of who he was. Natasha handed Bucky the restraints while Steve injected you with the sedative. Soon your struggles had calmed down and your eyelids got heavy. You stared up at Bucky with a haze before your eyes closed.

Everyone was silent. The entire trip back. Placing your sleeping body on the gurney, Bucky wasn’t satisfied. There was no certainty that Hydra didn’t completely wipe you again, or even tested something new. But regardless of the circumstances, Bucky couldn’t breathe properly. He couldn’t think properly. He wanted to smash every wall in the building and then fight everyone that was in it.

You shouldn’t have been there. You wouldn’t have been there. And somehow, Bucky Barnes blamed himself for letting you out of his sight again.

—

You had woken up fairly quickly once the sedation wore off, eyes wandering in confusion to your location. A man walked in, noticing your consciousness, and his eyes widened immediately.

He looked like Captain America, but you couldn’t possibly be with the Avengers… right?

“Shit,” he muttered to himself though you clearly heard him. “You’re awake– um, are you okay? Do you need anything? I should get Cho and Shuri, I’ll– I’ll go do that.”

He exited the room just as fast as he entered. You looked around again, knowing you were in some sort of hospital, but if Captain America was here, you assumed it wasn’t just any hospital.

The man returned with two women, one in all white and one in all black.

“Hi, Y/n,” one of them greeted. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, is that okay?”

You nodded, still a bit disoriented.

“Good, do you know where you are?”

You looked back at the man who stared at you nervously. You shook your head.

“Do you know who I am?”

You shook your head again.

“Okay, well I’m Dr. Cho,” she introduced, her face indicating she realized something. Probably that you had no idea what was going on and were probably freaking out. “This is Shuri,” she pointed to the other girl next to her. “Do you know who this is?”

She pointed at the man again. You hesitated, but you nodded.

“Could you tell me his name?”

“He’s—” you stopped yourself before sighing and looking back at Dr. Cho. “He’s Captain America.”

She nodded before someone else entered the room. Someone you definitely recognized.

“I heard she was awake, I’m sorry,” he said before he locked eyes with you.

The Winter Soldier. The man Hydra had been so adamant about finding. They wanted you to bring him back to them, and that they’d kill you both if you betrayed them. Your eyes watered before you started sobbing and looked back at Dr. Cho.

“Are— are they gonna kill me? They said they were gonna kill me if I didn’t find him, I—”

They all looked at you with pained eyes.

“You’re safe here, Y/n,” Dr. Cho reassured as Shuri ushered the men outside. “I promise. We’re going to take good care of you. Rest up for a bit, you have a lot to process. I’ll be back.”

—

Bucky couldn’t stop the tears from falling down his face.

“She’s terrified of me,” he said as Dr. Cho stepped outside.

“This confirms what we tested when we drew her blood,” Shuri tried to instill some hope in him. She’d seen Bucky through traumatic moments while removing the triggers from his head, and somewhat considered him a friend. An ally, at least. “The serum they injected into her bloodstream somehow removed the memories up until before she came here.”

“And the antidote is in progress,” Dr. Cho added. “She’s going to be okay, Sergeant.”

Bucky felt like he was drowning. “All of this could have been avoided.”

“Buck—”

“No, Steve,” Bucky interrupted. “She wasn’t ready. She didn’t even know what they were doing, this could have been avoided—”

“We have to focus on the now, Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri stepped in. “We cannot undo the past 24 hours, but we can give her all of our effort to bring her back.”

Thirteen Days Later

You’d adjusted to being in the hospital room by the time they told you they had to put you under again. The past two weeks had been somewhat okay.

The entire Avengers team came to tell you stories about your time with them. Natasha brought pictures. Sam did, too. Tony told you about all your late-night lab visits while he worked on new tech, and Steve told you about the times you discovered new music together. Everyone else brought you your favorite snacks, games, everything.

The only one really missing was Bucky. Everyone decided it was best for them not to be the ones to recount your relationship, but they assured you he was your favorite.

It was nice not feeling as alone as you did before; some of the pictures and stories felt familiar, but you couldn’t remember them much. You were kind of used to not remembering things, Hydra never really gave you the chance to. But now it was all you longed for.

“This antidote was made fairly quicker than the last one, but I indeed haven’t slept for three days just for you, Y/n,” Shuri joked, the corner of your lip tugging up.

The last serum had apparently brought some of your memories back, but the side effects were a lot more prominent than Shuri had anticipated. You felt excruciatingly sick and even tried to fight your way out of the med bay before eventually passing out. They hadn’t even gotten the chance to sedate you.

So Shuri went back to the drawing board.

“And you’re sure this one will work? Bring my memories back?”

“If it doesn’t, it’ll be back to the lab again,” she answered, though not definitive. “Not to worry, though, you are still in good hands. Dr. Cho and I have worked very thoroughly on this. I even asked for help from a friend in Boston.”

She wiped the inside of your arm with an alcohol pad, finding your vein to direct the antidote right into your bloodstream.

“You should fall asleep in a few minutes,” she informed you as the darkness eventually pulled you in.

Four Days Later

Your eyelids felt pretty heavy, so forcing them open was a task you fought hard to complete. Looking over at your surroundings, you could tell you were in the med bay. The last thing you remembered was trying to fight off that Hydra guard, but he eventually won that battle.

You looked over at the side of your bed, Bucky sleeping in a cot that was way too small for him, making you smile to yourself.

You wondered what had happened since you’d been knocked out, though you were sure it wasn’t anything pretty. Stirring in the bed, Bucky shot his eyes open.

“Y/n?” He said, his voice raspy with a hesitancy you didn’t recognize.

“Hey,” you pushed a smile in his direction. “I feel like we keep ending up in this predicament.”

“Y-you remember me? Remember us?”

Then realization struck you. The serum. It was that serum. The one that always ripped everything away from you in an instant. Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded, Bucky sighing in relief as he made his way toward you.

“Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re okay,” he said as he kissed your head, but you couldn’t stop the lump in your throat from pushing the sob out. Bucky enveloped you in his arms, shushing you and rubbing your back as you let everything out.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you sobbed into his chest. “I shouldn’t have gone, you were right, I wasn’t ready for a Hydra mission—“

“Hey, hey, no,” he grabbed your face in his hands. “You’re ready, okay? You didn’t know, you had no idea they were waiting for you. That isn’t your fault.”

“But I didn’t need to go, I could have just waited for you—“

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he cut you off again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I only care that you’re okay and that you’re you. That you’re here and you know me and I can love you as I always have. That’s what’s important to me right now. Not Hydra.”

You nodded as he pulled you in again. The pit in your stomach was something you couldn’t shake, but being back in Bucky’s arms always made everything feel better.

“I should get Dr. Cho,” he said after a few minutes. You gripped him tighter as he started to pull away, prompting him to kiss the crown of your head. “I’ll be right back, doll. I’m not going anywhere.”

Reluctantly letting him go after a few breaths, he looked back at you before stepping outside, returning momentarily with Dr. Cho and Shuri.

They asked you the same questions they did when your memory was gone, though you didn’t remember that, of course.

“Your vitals are outstanding and you seem to be in good shape,” Dr. Cho assured as she reviewed your chart. “Shuri will stay in the compound for a few days in case you have any adverse reactions to the antidote again. But for now, we’re putting you on bed rest, Agent Y/l/n. It’s good to have you back.”

You nodded in appreciation at the both of them, knowing they were probably exhausted.

Going back to Bucky’s room was a relief for both you and him. You were happy to be back in his arms again, and he was happy that you were back to being yourself.

Bucky felt a little selfish for not going to see you as often while your memory was still gone, but he didn’t want his sadness clouding your recovery. If he had to make you fall in love with him all over again, he would. No matter how much it’d hurt him to know you didn’t remember your time together.

Your body was still pretty exhausted so falling asleep as soon as you showered and hit the bed was no difficult task. Bucky watched you intently, not knowing what could follow the antidote working.

The truth of the matter was that Dr. Cho and Shuri were doing their best to reverse the effects of the serum Hydra gave you to suppress your memories, but they weren’t entirely too sure how far it’d go back.

It could be up until the moment you first became an Avenger. It could be up until you were captured by Hydra. It could be all of your memories at once.

Bucky was nervous. He had dealt with those Hydra nightmares for years; hell, he still got them sometimes even now. He was always grateful you didn’t have to constantly relive those experiences, but now, you might have to.

Any stir or change in your expression as you slept left Bucky waiting. He wasn’t sure what to anticipate, but he wanted to be there when it happened.

Only he wasn’t prepared at all.

You started to stir a bit, murmuring incoherently but Bucky’s attempts to slowly wake you weren’t working. You got more impatient in your sleep, sweating bullets to the point that your pajamas had gotten soaked.

Bucky ripped the covers off of you as he cradled you in his arms, stroking your face softly to try and wake you up.

“Y/n, please,” he spoke softly yet sternly. “Wake up, baby, I’m here. I’ve got you, open those eyes for me, please.”

Steve and Natasha heard your screams as they progressed, rushing into your room as Bucky was watching you with intense eyes, anxious that he couldn’t pull you out. He didn’t even notice Natasha rushing to get Shuri, who came in and asked Bucky what was going on.

“She won’t wake up, she’s trapped in whatever nightmare she’s having, I—“

“It’s okay,” Shuri reassured. “Lay her on her back.” Bucky followed Shuri’s directions as she uses her Kimoyo beads to scan your heart. “Her heart is beating very rapidly, we’ve got to wake her up soon or she could go into cardiac arrest from whatever it is that she is dreaming about.”

Bucky was trying not to completely lose his composure, picking you up in his arms as they all rushed to the med bay. By the time they had settled you in a bed, your nightmare had gotten even worse. Tossing and thrashing so much in the bed that even the sedatives weren’t working, Bucky couldn’t even feel Steve’s hand on his shoulder. You were sobbing uncontrollably, pleading for help as they restrained you against the bed, Shuri injecting something else into you that eventually calmed you down.

Your breaths were still coming in at a fast pace and you still hadn’t woken up. As your heart rate settled into normal territory, Shuri looked over at Bucky and gave him a nod.

Walking into the room, Bucky saw your face still contorted, a few groans coming from your lips as your breathing evened out. He pushed your hair away from your face, covered in sweat, noticing your eyes start to flutter open.

“Y/n?”

Tears immediately crowded your vision as you started sobbing again, Bucky’s heart breaking in two.

“Y/n, sweetheart, look at me,” Bucky pleaded with you, caressing your face softly. “You’re safe, you’re okay, I’m here.”

“I- I killed them,” you choked out. “I killed them, I killed them.” You repeated the sentence about a dozen times, looking Bucky in the eyes. “Thirty-six.”

Bucky looked at you confused, Shuri’s eyes held the same emotion.

“What’s thirty-six?” Bucky asked though he assumed he knew what you meant.

“People, Bucky. Thirty-six people. I killed thirty-six people.”

Two Days Later

You hadn’t gotten a nightmare since the one that confirmed your worst fear. Bucky couldn’t sleep as you slept, not knowing if you’d ever get another one.

He’d watch you the whole night, not that he ever minded.

Thirty-six. All the kills were volunteer Hydra agents, so Bucky didn’t mind all that much, though you were forced to kill them for their ‘betrayal’ to Hydra. But with the twenty from your rescue mission, that was fifty-six people you’d killed. When you hated the idea of killing even one.

Part of him was relieved they never got far enough to make you kill anyone that would land you in the same position he was in, needing a pardon that so many people didn’t even think he deserved.

Watching you wake up, Bucky looked down at you as you opened your eyes to look back at him.

“Hi,” you whispered, drowsiness hinted at in your tone. “I missed you.”

Bucky chuckled. “I’ve been here the whole time, baby.”

“I know,” you sighed, snuggling closer to his chest. “I’m sorry.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, Bucky shook his head. “What are you apologizing for?”

Sitting up slightly, you positioned yourself on your stomach, resting your arm on Bucky’s chest which you then rested your head on.

Biting down on your lip, you exhaled once more. “I know I scared you the other night, and before you say it wasn’t my fault, I know that none of this would’ve happened if I had just stayed here until you got back from your mission.”

“Baby…”

“I mean it, Buck,” you emphasized. “I don’t want you to see me go through what you went through. You don’t deserve that. It’s triggering, it’s scary, and you’ve come too far to be swallowed by all of that fear again.”

Bucky couldn’t quite gather the motive behind your words, but he’d hoped you didn’t mean you wanted to break things off. He found that it would eat him alive far worse than anything Hydra could do to him.

“You’re the air I breathe, you know that?” He said in a whisper. “When you’re hurt, I’m hurt. When you’re sick, I feel sick. It doesn’t matter how close or far I am, it doesn’t matter if we’re together or separate. You’re everything to me. Hydra doesn’t scare me anymore, they can’t reach me anymore and I meant that.”

He cupped your face in his hands. “My priority is you. I need to make sure you’re okay. Fury knew that Hydra was looking for you and even if it was your decision to go into that base alone, I could never blame you for doing what any one of us would have done.”

Leaning into his touch, you kissed the palm of each of his hands. “I love you, Bucky. So much.”

“I love you, too, Y/n. More than you know.”

Three Months Later

First mission back, and you felt better than ever before.

The last three months were far from easy. You had gotten nightmares here and there, Bucky immediately comforting you, especially during the worst ones. He hated seeing you sob, but he knew that the trauma from Hydra never truly left.

Word had gotten out about the files the organization had kept on you, the public finding that you’d killed for them, which some didn’t take lightly. They weren’t nearly as ruthless as they were with Bucky, your work with the Avengers already overshadowing your actions under Hydra’s authority. Steve got you talking to Dr. Raynor as mandated sessions when the government had meddled its way into your history with Hydra. It took a lot of negotiating and convincing that you weren’t under Hydra’s control anymore; the government was worried they’d have a repeat of the Winter Soldier on the streets, but Steve and Tony managed to assure them that there was nothing to worry about. Seeing the two of them in a united front definitely helped your case.

After a few sessions with Raynor, you could see why Bucky hated the woman. You swear you had told him she should be fired.

“Yeah, baby, I’d have to agree with you on that one.”

You, Bucky, and Steve were back in Siberia, at the same location from the events three months prior.

“Okay, bomb’s in and ready to detonate,” Bucky alerted Steve through comms.

“Let’s blow this place to hell,” Steve responded.

As you all evacuate and boarded the jet, Steve hit the detonator once you were at a fair distance so the shock wouldn’t hit the quinjet. You stared off as the building fell into pieces, sighing to yourself mostly in relief.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, rubbing a comforting hand on your knee.

You looked over at him and gave him a warm smile. “I will be.”

Leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss on his lips, Bucky kissed your temple afterward. He knew you were being sincere, and he was glad that you were okay.

—

It feels good to be back! I’ve had this in my drafts for a few months and finally got the motivation to finish it. I hope you enjoyed it; thanks for reading!

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky angst #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n

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peanutapplesauce · 19 days

Text

Ocean view

| Gojo x Y/N Comfort prose?

Author's Note: I wrote this because i felt really overwhelmed with life. hope this piece brings you some warmth :) lmk any thoughts, feedback, etc!!!

Based on Se So Neon's song, Nan Chun.

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The ocean was calling her again, its rhythm whispering sweet nothings in her dreams to get up and leave the windowsill. To be underneath the pitch black sky with the waves embracing her softly, caressing every inch of her flesh and gently dissolving all her fears before breathing solace to mend her soul.

And under the same starless sky, the waves nipped away at every exposed flesh of his — thrashing around for any semblance of his grievances. Satoru, the strongest, would brace his soul and fight the push and pull of the salty sea for glimpses of her. His fingers frantically grasped and grappled at her flesh, desperately holding on until she was ready to float back ashore, away from the ocean that sung her promises of immortality and bliss. Because Satoru knew the ocean was a liar, that the promises were broken and the muffled cries of the mermaids were proof of this. But she was too far gone, too drowned.

And he grabbed her hand, hugged it close to his chest, waiting with bated breath to feel her pulse glow with life once more. Even prayed to his deity for her spirit to fight against those thoughts of hers once more. Counted to ten for any sign, then repeat from zero until something gave.

And something would give, just before the waves could sing its final chorus. He’d witness the flutters of hope return to her eyes, and she’d be met with his unwavering gaze full of light and tender patience. Once more, she would wish there was another way to repay him in full but her grateful soul was the only thing she could offer with open palms.

Then, wordlessly, gently, his hands would guide her away from the windowsill - away from the roaring ocean outside just like he always did when she found herself drowning. A quiet muttering of, “Come here, hug me.”

And once again, they’d live through the night and into the sunrise.

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Oh my dear don’t fall apart // don’t get cold on the windy windowsill

Come here and hug me tight // live through today and let’s go to tomorrow

#gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo angst #hurt/comfort #gojo imagine #gojou satoru x you #gojo headcanons #jjk x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #gojo satoru #satorugojo #drabble #prose

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 8 months

Note

Hi there...I understand you're taking requests 👀. Could I please get an Ashton Irwin x reader friends to lovers? Maybe he confesses his feelings to reader who feels the same but doesn't think they should be together because he has to go on tour (distance). But they end up together with some smut. I hope you can write this one, if not I understand. Thanks so much 😊

Hi, thanks for dropping a request. I hope you enjoy it doesn't get steamy, if I'm honest. I hope that's okay. If it's a problem, please let me know!

Requests are open briefly until the 24th. Any NSFW content (smut, etc) must be requested off anon to ensure no minors (those 17 and below) are requesting the content.

Feel free to look through my masterlist for more. You can submit a request through my asks.

________________________________

It’s a tradition, one that you’d personally be damned in trying to pinpoint when it had grown into such. But lack of clarity on its inception doesn’t undermine the tradition that brings you here, two nights before the tour sitting across from Ashton. He’s giggling at his own story, napkin clutched into one of his hands. Your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been smiling and laughing at it as well. You and Ashton are always here two nights before any tour with dinner. Whether he cooks, or you cook, or you eat out--it doesn’t matter. The two of you make sure to set time aside for each other regardless.

“I’m so serious,” Ashton giggles. “Guy straight up offered fifty bucks for the t-shirt I was literally wearing. Right off my back.”

“The real question,” you start, setting your bottle down after your sip, “is did you actually give this rando your shirt off your back for fifty bucks?”

Ashton’s smile changes, the bright honey curve of his lips morphs into something softer and more mischievous. “I got a good lunch afterwards though.”

“Ashton!” you scold, tufts of laughter bubbling from your chest. You know the possibility always exists with Ashton. It would be hard to imagine that he wouldn’t do something just for the story of it.

“I didn’t take the cash! But he treated me to lunch, since I did sort of give him the shirt off my back.”

“You didn’t sort of do anything,” you huff, finishing off the last pieces of your food. Ashton’s plate sits with just another bite or two of the pasta. Somehow the food’s gone faster than you two have even calculated for, but that won’t stop you. With the settling evening, Ashton’s backyard is a comfortable solace, a nice place to rest for a little.

“Guilty as charged,” Ashton returns. He scrapes up the last of his food as the conversation lulls for a moment. He watches though, the way you stare up and behind him, like your mind’s taken you to places behind the court of his house. “But how’s work? For you?”

You’d asked Ashton how his life was going and it sent him spiraling. He can go a mile a minute but he’s never far from always checking in on you. You shrug at Ashton’s question. Your life has fallen a little mundane though your work is anything but.

You’d fallen into Ashton’s world when he frequented the record shop you worked out in the last year of your master’s program. You needed the cash on the side. Though the days were long between school, work, and homework, you found a little slice of quiet in that shop. It was a local gem, hidden in the debris of a crumbling shopping center. But locals knew the record shop well and would take the hike to unearth the treasure.

Ashton was one of those locals. He spotted you as you placed prices on new arrivals and asked if anything specific came in worth looking for. You shrugged in response, but lifted out some limited edition vinyls with a yawn. You’re not sure what joke you made specifically, but it was enough. Ashton laughed like his life depended on it and more and more he came into the shop. You two exchanged names, then numbers, growing closer and closer as time passed. In just a year, you could tell that Ashton was going to be someone important in your life. You’d never imagine the scale, and still can’t. But you told yourself even if Ashton was there for a season it would be spring and bring forth all sorts of new life.

Now, you’re four and half years into your friendship and it still grows and grows. You’ve left the record shop, settling into talent management and running in leagues adjacent to Ashton’s. It’s not the most glamorous job on the planet, but it pays the bills. The only downside to the field is that drama from others becomes your drama just by association. You have to get in the dirt sometimes as much as you definitely didn’t want to. And Ashton knows how much you dislike some of the aspects of your job.

“Is that a shrug that means same old, same old? Or is that a shrug that means big shit?” Ashton questions. “I’d hazard a guess closer to the latter.”

“You win another year of friendship,” you laugh, finally focusing your gaze back on Ashton. His honey eyes are melting with concern as he gazes up at you. It makes your stomach flutter and you hate the feeling. Hate that the two of you were always dancing.

“I wasn’t worried for a second about that. You’re stuck with me. It’s in the contract.”

“I signed no such thing,” you tease. “I need to see that one.”

“It’s written in invisible ink,” Ashton snorts. “But seriously, what’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”

“It’s just a mess.” You’re not supposed to get into specifics, but it’s never once stopped you when it came to Ashton. “It’s sensitive information really and not something I want to spread around even if it’s to safe ears.”

Ashton nods. “I’m sure you see and hear a lot of shit.” He knows you’re working specifically with someone up and coming. They’re young and if Ashton knows anything from his younger years, it’s that trouble comes with freedom and excitement. Some mistakes though just need to be learned the hard way. So Ashton assumes it’s something big for you to even keep it quiet.

“Too much shit. We’re talking with lawyers,” you divulge.

Ashton whistles. He’s no stranger to lawyers but he knows that when they get into the mix it gets messy fast. But they aren’t there for no reason, no little reason that is. “Fuck. Is this like…criminal?”

You shake your head. “It’s technically a civil matter but it could easily get criminal with my client’s hothead.”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Ashton comments. Once before the two of you were catching up over lunch and your phone rang. Not the first time Ashton’s been inside a police station but it is the first time he’s been in one where he thought a crime might happen right next to an officer. To say he thought you could spit fire that day is not eloquent enough for your rage. “Well, I hope it doesn't get criminal. I know it’s gotta be a nightmare for you though. You’ve only been working with them for what? 6 months?”

“Eight,” you correct, “but it’s not long enough to be dealing with lawyers on a first name basis.”

Ashton reclines into his seat, arms folded over his chest. You rest your cheek against the flat of your knuckles, elbows resting on the table. Though you’re smiling, Ashton knows just how unamused you are at the situation. “How long have you been dealing with this situation?”

“Two months? Maybe a little less, but like we’re about to get the two month mark.”

“God damn.”

You can only nod, a hum leaving your throat. “Yeah, but that’s boring and a buzzkill.”

Ashton doesn’t miss the way you spin the bottle of alcohol free beer in a circle. He laughs but nods. “Fine, fine. Want another?”

“No, no, I’m good. You excited for this tour?” Ashton hadn’t talked it about in the same way he had the others. He adored what he was doing. He spoke passionately about the tour. But you were fuzzy on some details. Normally, he was brimming with every twist and turn the tour had. He’d trip over himself to tell you. You hate to think it was somehow a sign--that maybe Ashton’s retracting.

Ashton’s nod is fast and hard. You watch him, eyes dropping from you to the green glass bottle in his hands. “I’m very excited. But I don’t want to spoil it,” he offers. It’s soft and you think that the words are somehow going to crumble onto his lap.

“What do you mean spoil it?” you question. You don’t want to start pointing fingers and claiming that he’s not telling you things like before. You don’t want Ashton to go onto the defense.

“I-it’s so silly,” he laughs.

“No, I’m sure it’s not silly,” you offer.

“But it is. I just-I kind of want you just to see it without me telling you anything about it beforehand. I know I normally tell you everything but this time I just want this to be a surprise.”

“Want me to go in blind, Irwin? Trying to give me a heart attack? I’m supposed to have insider knowledge, you know?”

He smiles again. For that, you’re grateful. “No, you do. I’m sure you have more than enough insider knowledge. I just--” His words fall short. He loves telling you everything. God, Ashton loves sharing his world with you. It makes him smile to see you smile. He wants to be there, when he can be, for you. When he can’t be, he wants to know that he’s still one of the first people you call even through the distance. And he does know it. When you got offered a position with the management company, you called Ashton mere minutes after the email came through. When Ashton nailed a drumline, he’d ensure you got to hear the initial take or two.

But there’s something different about this--he wants to watch you when everything comes unraveled. It’s unlike anything else they’ve done. He wants the show to keep some of its magic. That and he wants to keep an excuse to see you again. You visit during the hometown shown normally and you still plan to this time. But he’s hoping to convince you to visit at least one other show too. Because no two shows are exactly alike.

“Are you sure you can only make it to the LA show?” Ashton questions, finally looking up at you.

You pause, nails picking at the label and the label scrunches just a little with your work. “I might be in Dallas too.”

“Really? You mean that, no bullshit?”

You shrug, your own lips failing to hold back your smile. Ashton catches on though and pushes up in his seat. His plate scratches over the top of the table as his forearms move it to the side. Your skin warms. It’s not embarrassment, it’s not even fear or shyness. You just feel alive in a way that only Ashton seems to make possible. You hold up your hands to slow his roll before it’s begun. “I’m supposed to be working the night before but I extended my stay by a couple days.”

“I’ll take it. I’ll take it easily.” Ashton reaches for your hands. Your palms are softer to the touch and it’s not lost on Ashton how the hairs on his arm stand up at your touch--electric in ways that he’s sure he can’t be alone in. When he looks up through his lashes, your gaze is dropped down to your intertwined fingers. Your fingers stroke gently over the top of his hands, over his knuckles.

“You’re such a sap,” you tease softly.

“I’ll have you know that I don’t care,” Ashton hums. His bones are melting at your touch.

“You all packed up yet?” Ashton’s not necessarily a last minute packer, but he does occasionally cut it down to the wire. More than one of your pre-tour dinners has ended with Ashton needing to pack up his suitcase. It almost feels like it wouldn’t be a tradition without that fact.

Ashton shakes his head, tracing the veins on the top of your hands now. It’s a dance, your hands trading who leads and who waits. “Stylist got the show outfits last week. Everything else is sitting around the suitcase waiting for your magic touch.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you laugh. “You taught me how to pack!”

“And I must say I may be one heck of a teacher, but I swear I almost miss something without you.” He pouts at you, lower lip rolling out.

You roll your eyes but tap at Ashton’s forearms. “You clean up the dishes and get me another beer and I’ll get started.” You’d cooked over at Ashton’s place. Your apartment doesn't have the appropriate kitchen space and you hate how cramped it can feel, so Ashton offered up his place.

Ashton squeezes at your forearms in response, “Thank you. Dishes will be squeaky clean.”

It’s all the two of you need before you push away from the table, plates and bottles in hand, and carry on back inside of the house. The floors are cool against your feet and the house echoes in a way that lets you know all is silent. Ashton most often keeps music playing, saying it makes the place feel lived in. You’re not sure how it can’t feel lived in. Ashton’s couch is covered in blankets, walls lined with plaques and photographs. The living room is a bit echoey as it opens up into the kitchen more directly, but there’s plenty of life, if anyone was to ask you.

You set your dishes on the counter next to the sink, listening to the click of the ceramic meeting the marble. “One of these days you’re going to have to pack yourself,” you tease.

Ashton closes the door to the fridge with his hip, holding two bottles in hand. “Don’t you dare say that. You’ll always be my pack checker.” He wants to say more, wants to say the reason you’ll always be there is because you’ll be with him. Forever might be a scary concept, but he wants to see what that could look like with you. Though if Ashton puts anything more than friends out there and you shoot him down, it’ll shatter him.

He’d recover, he knows. But it’s selfish. He’d rather not have to lose you or hurt himself like that.

“Hmm, my tax might get higher,” you tease, sliding the bottle opener off the counter.

“I’d pay it in a heartbeat,” Ashton huffs. And as the two of you get closer, you reaching for the bottle, Ashton wishes he’d just be more direct. He really ought too. He wants to tell you but also worries that it might break everything.

You work loose the top to both bottles. “That’s a lot of game, Irwin. Let’s see if you can back it up.”

“Promise, I can.”

Only a hum leaves your throat before your sip pauses you. “I’ll be upstairs packing your suitcase.”

“Thank you!” he calls out as you push towards the stairs.

“Yeah, yeah, just pay up, Irwin.”

Ashton watches your exit, the stairs taking you further and further from sight. It feels like it’s bubbling up his chest. All the words he’s held onto for years. But if he’s going to be honest, this might be the most selfish thing he’s going to embark on.

You sigh as you enter Ashton’s bedroom. His closet door is open, suitcase splayed on the floor. Inside of the case, you can see his toiletry bag, clothes stacked neatly inside and a couple pairs of shoes on the floor outside the cas. You assume this is all the stuff he’s taking with him on tour. It’s a scene you're familiar with, having grown fond of the ritual as well.

You can’t shake the soft echo of Ashton’s voice earlier, I’ll take it.

It’s eating away at your tongue. What will Ashton take? It certainly couldn’t be just one extra show you’d catch. It certainly wasn’t that. But there was something desperate and earnest in his voice. You think it might mean more. You want it to mean more. The crush on Ashton started slow, so slow you almost can’t pinpoint when it surfaced. But you know it had surfaced.

You longed for his touch and when he was around, you felt like everything made sense. Even if it didn’t actually make sense, there’s a sense of comfort in his presence that slows your racing mind. You don’t have butterflies, but it’s a warm feeling buzzing beneath your skin. A kind of calm that cuts through the noise.

Ashton could have his pick of whomever. It’s a fact made possible by his occupation and his good looks help too. Yet, you’ve noticed a decreasing lack of conversation surrounding relationships. You weren’t sure if he was looking less for them or if he was just keeping that information from you out of respect. You never hated that he talked about other women. You’d sort of grown accustomed to that topic, having talked Ashton off many ledges about love in the midst of drama, familial trauma with relationships, and his own stubbornness.

You’re not less of a suspect about the topic either. You stopped talking so much about your own love life with Ashton as well. Part of it due to its slow death. With work and your crush on Ashton you sort of resigned yourself to a state of limbo--temporarily at least. You know you can’t linger on this crush and unknown forever. But you hadn’t been so bold as to bring it up before.

Perhaps, it was time to breach that line again.

The clack of Ashton’s slippers on his floors lets you know he’s moving up the stairs and closer to the bedroom. You keep your focus on the tuck of his jeans into the bottom of the suitcase. Your heart races though, the closer and closer Ashton gets.

Would you really bring up this conversation now? Two days before tour? It was beyond shitty timing. Yet, opportunity feels like it’s slipping through your fingers if you don’t make a move now. Like if you don’t say something now you won’t say something ever. You’ll resign yourself to swallowing back down everything you’ve been brewing over in the ten minutes you’ve had apart from Ashton.

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?” Ashton teases, slipping out of his house shoes. His descent beside you on the floor is a little slow and he groans just a hair as he gets down.

“Bad knees,” you return with a laugh, taking a shirt from the pile to fold and roll.

“You’re a fucking comedian,” Ashton huffs. He takes another one of his shirts and is acutely aware that he should probably handle his undergarments to spare you.

It falls quiet around the two of you. You’re focused now on folding, rolling, tucking into luggage. You run your fingers over the items. “Got enough bottoms? I’m not sure how often you’ll be near a washer and dryer.”

“We find ways,” Ashton laughs. “Also I’m counting the pants I’m wearing on the first flight, so yeah, I’m good.”

“PJ’s?”

“A couple sets to swap out,” Ashton answers, lifting up to display some shorts and t-shirts beneath his normal attire.

“Space for souvenirs?”

Ashton laughs. “Take me for a rookie, baby?”

“I don’t know, maybe.” It falls quiet again. The scruff’s grown thicker and now might be enough to constitute a beard. “Going to let the beard grow out or shave it?”

Ashton shrugs. “I’ve got some shaving stuff packed just in case I choose otherwise. It’ll only need a couple days to grow back,” he laughs.

Now, as the two of you lock gazes, you see something swimming in Ashton’s eyes. His brows are pulled together. “Everything okay?” you ask. Though the two of you are separated by a suitcase, you still inch closer.

“Can-can I ask you something?”

You nod. “Anything.” And it’s so easy to say that. Because you mean it. Ashton can ask you anything and you’ll answer it. But you’re not even thinking what that might mean to someone else until Ashton’s stumbling over his own words. A man normally so confident, worrying his lips over and over with his teeth.

“I just--I know we’ve been friends for a while and with the tour coming up so soon, I’m not sure this is even fair to ask now.” Ashton pauses. He wants to take the knot of your brows as rejection but he watches for a moment longer and the pieces are clicking. Your eyes narrow, then widen like the bulb might’ve just gone off even before he’s gotten all the words out. “I don’t-I don’t want to ruin anything! I just need to ask.”

The possibility you hadn’t fully wanted to let yourself consider seems to be crash landing into your lip. If you’d conjured up this moment, you were afraid that you’d give it too much weight and care about it a bit too much. You worried that if you did open the door it would slam close, so you let yourself just think, but never dream.

“Ashton, I’m going to ask this because I just need it explicit. What are you asking?”

A beat. Then two.

Ashton moves the suitcase top up and over to shut the half packed suitcase close. He moves closer to you, taking your hands. “I want to ask if I should ask for a romantic relationship with you if the answer might be yes? I-I know we have a lot to work out and I’m gone for 4 months in two days. But, god, I had to ask. I have to ask.”

There’s a lot of unknowns. It’s jumping off the deep end. But the things you do know is that you and Ashton have had years. That surely had to count for something. “It-it could be.” The words make your own teeth chatter for a second. Your guts hurt at the thought that you might even be inching closer to something.

Ashton’s palm is large--it swallows your cheek as he brings your face up closer. Your foreheads brush and you can smell the garlic from your food and the subsequent mint you’re sure Ashton snuck on the way up here.

His smile radiates over his entire face. You can feel the heat of it ghosting over your face and you smile too. “It could be?”

“It could be. I like you. A lot. You make me feel safe. But you’re leaving so soon and I don’t know if right now I can say anything definitely.”

Ashton’s lips brush over the tip of your nose. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t ask anything sooner. But please know I’m happy at the possibility. We’ll talk. I promise.”

As Ashton draws back, you surge forward, locking him in with a hand on the back of his neck. Ashton had asked but still you need the words. “Promise me we’ll talk at least weekly while you’re on tour? Promise me that there’s a possibility back?”

“I promise there’s a possibility. I mean, more than that too. But it’s--it’s not something you just waltz into. We’ll talk. Weekly at the absolutely least.”

Ashton swears his chest is going to burst when you kiss the tip of his nose. His fingers curl and he wants to do nothing more than to take your waist into his hands, kiss you until his lungs burn. But he won’t do that. The two of you had only promised an exploration, something to talk about more in depth, nothing full fledged. Ashton can’t lie that he doesn’t take that promise to bed like treasure. He can’t lie that he doesn’t lets it bury into his chest. He can’t lie that his dreams don’t water that hope.

He can’t lie that when he wakes to a text from you, Take care of yourself today, with a red heart instead of the pink ones that something ike joy, or maybe just a stronger hope, blossoms.

Your phone shakes and you pull the glasses off your face with a huff. You’d been buried into your laptop trying to read over the headlines about your client and you already know it’s going to be a mess, yet this is all you have just a mess.

Ashton’s name greets you on the screen and your bubble of frustration shrinks. “Long time, no see, stranger,” you tease, taking in the shaky and choppy picture of Ashton.

“Hey, stranger,” he teases. You can tell by the way his hair sticks to his forehead he’s recently either gotten down with a show. “What’s it like on the west coast?” he asks.

“Sunny and on the verge of collapse.”

“Verge of collapse? Your client?” Ashton questions.

“Isn’t it always? I’ll figure it out, I know. Just buried right now in tabloid bullshit. How was the show over there? How’s the east coast?”

“It’s a little cloudy. Heard some stuff about potential hurricanes. I’ll be glad to be further west next week.”

You nod, scotting down a little in your chair. “This time of year is hurricane season. Must be an active year though if you’re catching wind of it.”

“Our tour manager said the same thing. We’ll be getting out just in the knick of time. Just worried about the folks who live out here. Hurricanes don’t sound fun.”

You shake your head. “Mother Nature is always to be feared--fires to hurricanes.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

“How are the shows though?” you ask, knowing that you may not get all the time you want with Ashton on the phone so you try to get the best of it you can.

“They’re fucking phenomenal. Amazing. Not quite the same as when you’re around, but they’re going really well.”

“And you’re taking care of yourself? If I ever get another text from you about being in a fucking hospital, I swear to God.”

Ashton laughs, a kind of laugh that you know is a bit uncomfortable, but he’s hearing you. “No, no, you won’t. Promise.”

“Good, I do not need a repeat.”

“No repeats. But question, is one of your dream dates still to get dressed up to go visit a museum?”

You give a pause, trying to assess with the somewhat clear picture of Ashton on your phone. You know you’d briefly mentioned it once, maybe twice. But you didn’t think it was enough for Ashton to still carry around the knowledge. You nod though at the question. “It is.”

“Why’d you say it like that? Are you getting suspicious of me?” Ashton teases.

“Maybe just a little. Can I ask why you’re asking?”

“If you must know,” Ashton starts, accent morphing into an almost decent English accent, “I am attempting to court you. Dates are a part of such activities.”

Your laughter falls easily, cheeks heating at the thought. “You do not have to say it like that,” you huff with a smile. “Is your dream date still a picnic and painting?”

“And if it is?” Ashton questions, a bit of a tease lilting his voice.

“Then I’m buying paints, good sir. As simple as that.”

“I can’t argue with that. Okay, two good things about your day? Yeah?” It’s a thing--whenever you talk to Ashton now you two share two good things about your day. It’s a nice way to break up the conversation, spin the frustration of the day into something positive. You recline into the cushion of your couch contemplating your day. After you share the good things you ask Ashton about his. Of course he mentions the show.

Conversation winds through dreams--literal and things about that you want out of life. It’s nice to just let the conversation go where it wants. Ashton mentions being inspired on tour for new scents for his candle company and you let that take you to conversations about the smells of your childhood home. Ashton teases that he’ll have to make that another scent. When you ask about the smells of Ashton’s childhood, you notice he gets a little quiet. It’s a slow answer and when it comes, you listen to all the weight he gives the words.

“Mum--she did the best she could you know. I think if I had to describe the smell of my childhood home it’d be a bit of vanilla, grass because god the house was always brimming with our ruckus.”

“Grass after it rains is a nice smell,” you offer after Ashton’s bout of silence. “We don’t have to push it. I appreciate you sharing what you did.”

“No, no, I don’t mind. Just hard sometimes.”

“I get it. It can be hard sometimes. But I appreciate you listening. It means a lot, you know? That you’re willing to let me work through it at my own pace.”

“Life’s hard enough,” you concede. “No need for me to make it harder.”

“But we have Dallas to look forward too.”

You nod. “Yes, we do have Dallas. I’m excited.”

“Good, me too.” Voices echo from further down and Ashton bids his goodbyes, sad and quiet but you ensure to send a message as follow up, I’m here, when you need to call or text or vent. Got plenty of space. You attach a picture of your bed you splayed across the queen sized mattress.

Ashton’s response comes about twenty minutes later, God, that looks comfy as hell. Thank you. A red heart is attached too.

Ashton’s not one to freak--he’s done plenty of it on his own and knows it’ll get him nowhere. But the night before the Dallas show, his phone shakes. Your name lights up across the screen. He thinks it’s just about tomorrow. Maybe an inner monologue about you trying to decide what to wear. But when the message starts with, I’m so sorry, Ashton knows it’s bad.

He doesn't even read the full thing, pushes back from the bar counter and presses to call your number. It rings, and rings, and rings in his ear. “Please pick up,” he mutters to himself.

“Hi, I’m sorry I can’t answer the phone right now. Please leave a message with your name and number and I’ll be sure to return your call,” your voicemail greets Ashton.

He listens for the beep before speaking, “Hey, it’s me, Ashton. I-I admittedly only read like two percent of your text, but I wanted to call, to see if everything is okay. Please give me a call back when you can. Please. I’m worried.”

There’s so much more to say but Ashton can’t get his tongue to cooperate so he leaves it at that and hangs up. Pushing the hair off his forehead with one hand, Ashton swipes back to your text. I’m so sorry about this. Currently at the ER and will probably be on crutches tomorrow thanks to an ill placed step on some gravel. I’ll be sure to update you and call as soon as I know for certain.

You’re hurt, but not terribly so and that’s a win. It’s not enough to quiet the thunder of Ashton’s heart. What had you done? Where had you been? He can only think to type out, Which hospital are you at? Are you going to be okay?

“Hey, Ash, everything alright?” Calum asks. His voice is soft as his question falls. Ashton’s not sure how he even catches Calum speaking if he’s honest, even as he gives a head shake no to the question. “What happened?”

“Just-I need them to text me back. Figure out how far the hospital is from here. I can think then.”

“Yeah, of course. But it sounds bad? Who’s hurt? When you get the name, I’ll see how quick we can get an Uber.”

Panic does no one any good, but Ashton’s not going to talk himself off the ledge of panic when it comes to you. He waits and waits and Calum waits with him, finally getting the pieces of your text in relation to a potential fall. The two men hover in the lobby of the hotel, drinks long forgotten by now. Though Ashton felt the waning of adrenaline leaving his body from the show just a couple hours before, he feels wired. He watches and watches his screen for it to only come alive by the shake of his hands.

I’m sure you just got done with the houston show and would probably prefer some rest. It’s a pretty bad sprain, I’ll be okay, reads the text after a long 45 minutes.

His fingers shake and he nearly can’t get a steady enough press to dial your number. The phone rings--once, then twice. Your voice is the sweetest sound he could ever hear as it floats in through the receiver, “Hi, Ashton. I’m sorry to give you such a scare, I know.”

“You’re okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Nasty fall. Really bad sprain. It’ll be annoying for the next couple of days. But I’m not dead.”

“Which hospital are you at?”

“Uh, Baylor something or another. I’m getting discharged now actually. I thought I’d be able to call after the initial run of test but they diagnosed it fast. And a lot sort of happened before I could get my hands on the phone again.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re okay. Do you have someone that can get you back to your hotel safely?” He needs that answer to be yes. He’s not sure where you are though and that’s the thing that’s killing him. Ashton does have the name of the hotel you’re staying at, as you shared your itinerary with him earlier in the week to see if you’d be at the same hotel. Your hotel is about 10 minutes or so from his. Happenstance you both knew but right now it feels like a godsend.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve got someone that can drive me.”

“I’m going to meet you there okay?” You start to protest but Ashton’s quicker. “I know you probably don’t need me. But please, just let me get eyes on you so I know you’re not going to keel over, okay?”

You sigh. “Fine, Irwin. But you better be there before me.”

A smile lifts his cheeks. “I will be. Promise.”

“Are they at Baylor University still? I got the address,” Calum offers when Ashton hangs up. “And yes, yes I was eavesdropping,” he laughs at the pull of Ashton’s brow.

Though Ashton won’t admit this, he’s glad for Calum’s care. “Nah, no, they’re about to head back to their hotel. Getting discharged now. I’m-I’m going to go there and I’ll meet up with you guys for the truck in the afternoon before it leaves for the venue.”

“Sounds good. Keep us updated though? Should anything else happen?”

“Of course, man. Of course.”

Ashton’s quick back to his room to grab his bags. They’re not many, thankfully. All the while he tracks his drivers approach on his phone as he waits at the elevator door. It’s a slow descent, or at least it feels that way but the doors open and Ashton’s back into the lobby. Just as his feet hit the concrete of the sidewalk a car eases to a stop.

“Picking up for Ashton?” the driver asks through the passenger side window.

It’s a quick ride and Ashton thanks the driver before climbing back out into the thick humid Texas air. It’s heavy on his skin but all Ashton continues to think about is getting into that lobby before you. The glass doors are heavy but they reveal a mostly quiet lobby. No one at the front desk and he settles off to the side. Ashton halfway considers calling you to see how far you are, but before the thought can blossom anymore than a hair, the doors open again.

Someone holds open the door and there’s a click and clack that’s distinctly hollow. “Thanks,” you state, working the crutches up and forward.

Not what Ashton expected but you’re whole--together, in front of him. A wrap on your left ankle. “You’re late,” Ashton huffs, a faux annoyance. But it’s all you need to grin. The ache in his ribs eases.

“I’m moving a little slower than normal.” The two of you meet in the middle, or maybe less than that as Ashton does cover more ground than you. But it’s not like you care. Though you are mindful that you are still sort of on the clock. And Ashton catches on too, when you don’t lean in for a hug or more.

“Do-do you have any bags you need me to carry?” he asks.

“Personal effects,” you tease, throwing a look over to Savannah who’s got your shoe in a plastic bag from the hospital. You take the moment though to introduce the small group you’re with--mostly other staff on the team. “Everyone, Ashton,” you conclude with a nod of your head. It’s a quick conversation to ensure you’re all okay and set to go. Once you confirm that you’re good and that Ashton won’t let you do anything to further hurt yourself, the group slowly thins.

You and Ashton remain as the others move towards either the hotel bar or the elevators. You wait, trying to ensure that the group is gone before you sigh, shoulders rounding with the action. “I hope your heart will be able to withstand the show tomorrow,” you tease.

“Oh, quit it. I’m not that old.”

“I don’t know you told you were old anyway.”

“Oh, society says it everyday. Aren’t you listening?:

“Absolutely the fuck not,” you laugh.

Ashton’s glad to hear the sound. “Yeah, I thought you might say that, let’s get you to your room yeah.”

It’s a hobble, still unsteady on the crutches a little but thankfully once you’re inside the elevator, you know it’s a quick walk to your room. Ashton retrieves the keycard from your wallet for you and holds the door open. The room is cool--like all hotel rooms seem to be as they surely must double for freezers with the temperatures they are set at. But it’s clear that maybe you hadn’t been planning to be out--your laptop’s still on the bed. Your bag rest on the lounge chair open, clothes peeking out from the depths of it.

Ashton drops his bag next to yours.

“So what happened?” he asks.

“We got back around 8 or so, a much too early night if I’m honest. So, I did a little work to pass the time. Then around 9 Devin, the stylist, asks if I want to go out and grab a couple drinks. I say yes, we’re sort of bar hopping to find the right vibe. I had like two drinks max at the bars we’d found. But on the way to another bar, coming down off the sidewalk, I just misjudged the distance or something. All I know is that I was up one minute then I was down.”

Ashton’s gentle as he kneels, taking a quiet moment to inspect your foot. “You ought to be elevating it,” he offers.

“I sort of want to change, but I need to shower too. And that’s just awkward all the way around,” you laugh. “Haven’t even taken me on a date yet and I’m already on the verge of having to ask you to help me undress because of my stupid ankle.”

“They don’t mean that,” Ashton directs to your injured joint. “And I am working on that date, you just need to give me a few months.” Though Ashton hopes he can do it sooner. Though with this injury he’s not sure if his plans of stealing you away one day during the break will pan out still.

You know you should be responding. Ashton’s gazing up at you from practically between your legs as if waiting for an instruction, but you’re too caught up in the way his face holds his beard, honey eyes dripping still as they look at you. “You’re handsome, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Some might say you just did.”

“Well, you are,” you return more confident. “You’re very handsome.” Maybe it’s just easier now. You can freely admit to such attraction because you know the possibility exist that you and Ashton have more. You know the tour is just a temporary thing, but it gives you two something to work from. Rather than just the comfort of ease and accessibility, you and Ashton have to make conscious efforts to communicate while he’s away. The discomfort makes you work. It reminds you that nothing worth having has always been easy.

Your fingers trace the line of Ashton’s jaw, from the bottom of his ear to his chin. Feels like his body is melting but he remains frozen, kneeling on the thin carpeted floor of this hotel room. It’s a sort of limbo that if Ashton were to ever work through a metaphor, he might call it the seconds in a summer blaze with ice cream. You know the ice cream won’t stay solid forever, but in the first few moments, everything is as it always will be. The ice cream will still have a shape and the sun will still have a ray, but those paths had not crossed just yet--not long enough to have an effect. Yet, Ashton knows that while he holds still now, while he waits to see if you say or do something more, he is the sun ray. He will cause an effect.

“You, however, sweetheart, are so incredibly dangerous,” Ashton whispers.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Besides absolutely wiping out and being a danger to your literal self, I do have to say that you are dangerous because if you keep scratching at my beard like this you are going to open a whole new can of worms that we will not be able to get back inside.”

You know it’s a warning. You don’t think you want to heed it though. “Just a kiss?” you ask.

Will it ever be just a kiss, Ashton does not know. “You speak of me undressing you to shower and change and rest your ankle that is still injured by the way, and ask for just a kiss?”

You nod. “Yeah, just a kiss.”

Ashton pushes up, hand capturing your cheek as his lips capture yours. Your lips taste a bit sour, maybe the drink or two you’d mentioned before. But Ashton thinks he could swallow the taste and tattoo it into his lungs. He would tattoo it into his lungs if such a thing were possible.

You swear you’ve never been held in such a more confident and gentle way as Ashton pulls up closer into your body. His hands find your waist, a grip that pushes into the flesh of you that makes you whimper. It’s a pathetic sound and you can’t help but laugh at yourself, interrupting the kiss. Your kiss ends with an echoing pant between the two of you, nose to nose as you hold his face between your palms.

“You can make fun of me for that later, understand?” you huff.

Ashton’s laughter falls out more like a groan when you brush your hands down his chest. “I don’t really think I have ground to talk, so.” Ashton presses another kiss, lighter, but still long against your lips. “I just--I’m a little ill prepared to go any further tonight.”

“Are you, Ashton Irwin, rockstar and drummer for the hottest band, 5 Seconds of Summer, telling me that you do not have condoms?” you snort.

“It may be that. In all fairness, the spare I had I had to end up passing along to a couple of the other guys so, it’s not that I didn’t have them.”

“You just don’t have anymore,” you conclude for him.

“Exactly.”

“No worries. My spare expired, so same boat. Besides, I did ask only for a kiss.”

“That you surely did. And I think this is our last stop on this train lest we decide to risk it tonight.”

You giggle, fingers playing just a little at the hair at the nape of Ashton’s neck. “I think this is my stop anyway.”

“Can I ask for one more kiss though?” Ashton’s grin is small and sheepish, like he knows he’s asking for something he shouldn’t. But you can’t say no as you capture his lips one last time. It’s softer now, rather than holding for fear of life lost, now you know you can taste and taste without worrying about losing your chance.

Though it should be awkward to get yourself changed and cleaned up, you find that it’s easy. Undoubtedly, it’s intimate to have Ashton help you get your pants on and off, but it’s easy to laugh and converse around your work. By the time you’re both settled in for the night, your leg slightly elevated thanks to some of the spare pillows, the blue hue of the TV screen is just an accent to you and Ashton’s laughter,

“You had to have a crush on at least one cartoon character,” you huff.

“No, I’m normal.”

“Ashton, you are anything but normal. So just fess up. Was it Lola Bunny?”

Ashton laughs. “No, it was not Lola Bunny. Who even is that?”

You ignore Ashton’s question and pry for an answer listing Roxanne from A Goofy Movie as another potential. It gets shot down immediately. “C’mon, Irwin! Just give me an answer.”

Your response is only Ashton pressing a kiss to your cheek with an adamant but giggled filled, “Goodnight.”

It’s not what you imagined how the first time you shared a bed Ashton would go, but you can’t think to change anything about it now. It’d always be a story to tell, one to hold close to your heart in the future. You reach over, finding Ashton’s hand easily under the cover. His response is immediate as he threads his fingers through yours.

The TV remains on, a quiet hum and over the soft music of some commercial you’re sure you catch the rumble of a snore. “Thanks, for being here,” you offer. Even if Ashton is still asleep you need to say it.

“You’re more than welcome.”

#ashton irwin #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin fic #ashton irwin blurb #ashton irwin imagine #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos blurb #5 seconds of summer blurb #5 seconds of summer imagine #calum hood #michael clifford #luke hemmings

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auroraborealyss · 2 years

Text

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐋 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐢.

⊹ pairing: morpheus x reader

⊹ summary: you encounter a strange string of coincidences in the forms of old friends

⊹ tags: violence, you don't do well coping with being separated from your husband either, more longing but from reader's perspective this time, established relationship

⊹ warnings: violence, cursing, spoilers for 1.09

⊹ word count: 2671

⊹ previous part: part i.

⊹ up next: part iii

⊹ now playing: thoughts by faime

𝚒 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚠, 𝚒 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎

You wouldn't think a bathroom stop counts as you stopping from running, but the bounty says otherwise.

Your pants are barely up after having taken a piss when the door is kicked open and a hand clutches around your throat. You cry out in pain as your head is slammed against the mirror, carving cracks into the glass. Large fragments break off and fall into the sink next to you, but the piece is just out of reach.

You gasp desperately as you dig your nails into the hunter's hands, but the hunter — a man in his mid forties who you've already narrowly escaped from twice before — learned his lesson from his last attempt and now wears gloves and earmuffs.

You manage to kick his knee, forcing him away from you. But freedom lasts only for a few seconds, and despite your attempt at running away, he grabs your hair and yanks to the floor. He straddles you as he resumes his grip back on your neck, this time with both hands squeezing tight enough that you know it’ll be hard for you to talk for a day or two.

"Bounty...needed...alive..." you choke out.

The hunter scoffs and leans closer to you. "I wanted that bounty the first time I tracked you. Now, this is personal." His grip tightens, and black dots swarm your vision and block him out so all you can hear is his voice in your ear and the stench of cigarettes and bloody. "You hurt my pride, lady Y/N."

Pride. The downfall of all men.

Though the situation doesn't warrant the memory, thoughts of your husband flood you anyways. Perhaps it's because he's always in your thoughts. Or perhaps he's chosen to make this appearance to give you solace from the pain as you black out. For when you open your eyes, you aren't in the dingy gas station bathroom anymore, but a green meadow with trees around and flowers blooming throughout.

Just because you're untouched by Death doesn't mean your memories throughout are vivid or intact. But you remember everything about that day, from the smell in the air — crisp, clean summer air with a fresh breeze that brings around the smell of petals — to the touch of the sun's warmth and your soft, chiffon wedding dress against your skin.

Unlike a dream, you aren't in control. Your body moves according to the memory. You move down the aisle between the three or four rows of seats. At the end of the aisle is a large willow tree, its branches drooping over a white arch where Lucienne stands. She bids you a small smile, which you return with your own, before your eyes shift to him.

Like always, there is a look of adoration in Morpheus' eyes. He looks handsome, having foregone his usual long black coat for a formal suit of that time. He's even managed to tame his messy hair — something Mervyn and Hob must have helped him with. As you get to where he stands, you see his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"Don't cry, my love," you whisper. You place your palm against his cheek and rub your thumb under his eye. And like always, he leans into your touch, finding comfort in you. He turns his head and press a kiss against your palm — all while not breaking eye contact with you, the coy bastard.

You shake your head and smile.

The memory fast forwards, and suddenly he's saying his vows. He doesn't speak quietly — he has no shame in everyone hearing how much he means to you.

"I vow to always find you, as long as you wait for me. I vow to love you for as long as you let me. And I vow to be your husband until you want me no longer. All I am is yours until you cast me aside. And I beg of you to never."

Thank the gods you had said with your speech first. His speech had rendered you overcome with emotion to do anything else but cup his face and kiss him, both of you sealing your promises of forever with that act.

And both of you had kept your promises to each other. He remained by your side, as you remained by his. Until now.

He, by no fault of his own, disappeared from your side.

And you, also by no fault of your own, disappeared from his side.

A cruel twist of fate. Perhaps the universe restoring balance to the centuries of happiness the two of you lived together. Perhaps that had been enough, and it's time you stop trying to delay the inevitable. Perhaps it's time you stop and succumb to the exhaustion and pain of being with Morpheus.

I vow to always find you, as long as you wait for me.

Wait for me.

Morpheus' vow jerks you back to consciousness. Your eyes snap open, staring directly into the hunter who's looking down at you greedily. His mouth is curled into a hideous snarl, and his pride at seeing you weak and defenceless has drawn his head close enough that your noses were nearly touching.

Behold pride, you think as your hands drop from his wrists in feign unconsciousness, the downfall of all men.

You grab onto the sides of his head and dig your thumbs into his eyes. You try not to think about why your muscles memorize the exact amount of pressure and angle to do it so.

The hunter jerks backwards, screaming, his hands flying to his eyes which has begun to bleed. You cough violently as you take in as much air as you can to soothe the fire in your lungs, all the while scrambling to your knees and trying to get away.

A hand grasps onto your ankle.

You're pulled backwards with a scream.

"Where do you think you're going, lady?" the hunter growls. "I'm not done with you yet—"

"Remove your hands from me."

You feel the man go still. His hand falls from your ankle, and you scramble forwards. You don't need to look back to feel the shift in the air, but you do anyway because looking at them is the least you can do.

The man pulls out his saw from his bag. Without hesitation, he places the blade over his wrist and begin to move back and forth. He screams out in pain and begs for relief, but doesn't stop his motions. The hunter looks over at you, eyes glassy with gold that resembles sand, as his hand falls to the floor.

You're out of the bathroom before he begins his other hand. Before Death arrives for him.

You begin to run and don't look back.

Your throat is throbbing.

You touch your throat gingerly, and you don't need a mirror to know that the handprints of that man are visible against your skin. But even as you cough, the motion rough against your raw throat, you don't stop running.

You catch sight of a hotel, and you feel relief as you turn away from the road and bolt up the hill to the building. It'll be easier to hide in one of the man rooms, but the guarantee of people in the hotel was cause for concern. But as long as you keep your mouth shut, all should be fine.

You slow into a walk as you pass a trio of people in the parking lot. Name tags dangle from their chest, one of who is named, The Music Teacher. In the centuries you've been alive, you've never heard such an in-depth and seriously spoken topic about their favourite methods of cooking barbecue and collecting grills.

As you hurry inside, you pass by a sign that reads: CEREAL CONVENTION.

Is cereal that interesting to warrant a convention? you wonder as you scan the lobby. Nothing looks too out of place, apart from more people with name tags. It wasn't weird that there were adults taking part in the convention, but it was weird that there wasn't a single child in sight. A strange familiarity with those two words only made you more uncomfortable.

"Ma'am?" the receptionist calls. "May I help you?"

You tug up your turtleneck before approaching the reception desk and smiling at the receptionist. She visibly relaxes and smiles back, even wider than before.

"Do I know you?" she asks, peering at you curiously like everyone else who looks at you. But no matter how hard they look, they'll never be able to remember just where they remember you. Dreams had a funny way of being that way.

Even if she doesn't remember, her smile changes from being polite to being genuinely friendly, as if her muscles remember that you were a friend.

You motion for a notepad and pen. The receptionist scurries and puts the tools before you.

1 room, 1 night please, you write down.

She doesn't question it. She eagerly nods and asks for your name, which you also write down.

"You already have a room, ma'am," the receptionist informs you.

You raise a brow. A room? You never reserve your hotel rooms ahead. That guarantees someone waiting to kill you when you get there, as you learned a few decades ago in Manila.

The receptionist seems to understand the confusion on your face. "Perhaps you reserved the room for the convention?" she suggested.

But what interest would you have in a cereal convention—

The invitation.

The memory is jarring. Suddenly, you can picture it clearly. You can even feel the parchment between your fingers as you opened it, and the gasp you let out as you dropped the envelope and an eyeball rolled out, the nerve still attached.

The iris was blue, a shade nearly as light as Morpheus'. You knew it was no coincidence.

You take a step back from the receptionist, reeling that you've walked straight into a trap. You're so caught up in trying to figure out a way to get out without alerting anyone that you hear the receptionist's warning too late and your back hit something large and firm.

You spin around, your hand instinctively going to the hilt of the knife hidden underneath your shirt, before freezing in recognition at the man in a green cloak and cane.

"Lady Y/N?" the man gasps, gawking at you.

"Fiddler's Green?"

You've never seen Fiddler's Green personified as a human before, but the warmth that surrounds him in unmistakeable and makes you relax.

He dips his head in a respectful bow as he puts an appropriate amount of distance before you — a law Morpheus decreed in the Dreaming. He had been more possessive back then, especially since it was right after the power transference ceremony. Though you thought it ridiculous, you saw the slight relief it brought him so you allowed it to remain, pretending you still didn't know about it.

The appropriate response to a bow is to return with a small curtsy, but after a century of running, your first response is to run. You have to go before you harm Fiddler's Green. You'd never be able to forgive yourself for hurting someone so important to both you and Morpheus.

But it's because he's so important to Morpheus, and you've always known him so loyal to the Dreaming, that you think about your words carefully before speaking.

"What are you doing here?" you ask hesitantly, your voice still a bit rough from the fight. "Why have you left the Dreaming when you are so vital to it?"

You wait for the gold to appear in his eyes, but it doesn't appear.

"I am not vital to the Dreaming," Fiddler's Green says. "You and lord Morpheus are, and you were both gone. I left to go search for you, but I stayed for the humans. I do worry for the punishment I will receive. I know lord Morpheus has been calling back his other dreams and nightmares, but I wouldn't exchange it for the knowledge I have learned from the people who visit my glades every night."

You soften at the pureness in Fiddler's Green, but something catches your attention.

"My husband? He's free?"

Fiddler's Green looks surprised. "Why, yes, lady Y/N. He's been back for a few months, I believe. You haven't seen him? I thought that was why you were here. I thought perhaps he sent you after us."

You fight back tears of relief at the news that your husband has managed to break himself free from his cage. Your only regret is not being the one to have helped freed him, and you hope he doesn't resent you for that.

But what if he does? What if he thinks you have abandoned him? What if he thinks you've cast him aside? A hundred years, and he never received a visit from you. Now he's been free for months and you have not received a visit from him.

Why had he not come looking for you?

"There is something else you must know, lady Y/N." Fiddler's Green bends to your height. "The Corinthian is here."

You look at him in panic. How was it possible that you, him, and the Corinthian were all in the same place at the same time? You hadn't meant to come to the convention, yet there you were. Fiddler's Green definitely didn't prepared to se you or the Corinthian, which meant he was unaware too. What could be the reason for three pieces of the Dreaming to be near each other?

"I'm here to help Rose Walker find her little brother, Jed," he continues. "I fear both her and the boy are in danger from him."

"Then you must return to the Dreaming and let my husband know," you say without thinking.

The second the words leave your mouth, gold fills Fiddler's Green's eyes. He straightens and turns on his heel, and despite telling him to stop, he marches out of the hotel without another glance back, leaving you alone with your whispered apology going unheard.

Shit, you think. You try to dismiss your worries by entrusting Fiddler's Green's safety to Morpheus. He would be safer in the Dreaming than here with the Corinthian and no Morpheus.

You grab the piece of paper he had been holding. It's a missing poster for Jed Walker, and contains a picture of him with an older girl — Rose Walker, you presume.

If two mortals were being preyed on by a nightmare, then it was part of your responsibility as lady of the Dreaming to protect them. Morpheus can deal with the Corinthian. You just have to trust he'll come.

Of course he'll come, you think as you pocket the poster. I'm his wife.

In the corner of your eye, you catch sight of a man in a beige suit. There's something charmingly offputting about the man even from a distance — something you've only seen another man possess before.

You head in his direction immediately, only to be stopped by a man with the name tag Fun Land.

"Only guests are allowed in the convention."

"I think—"

"Guests only."

You eye him irritatedly. You glance at the extra name tags on the table, one of which you recognize coldly. Slowly, you look back up at Fun Land, then at the other convention attendees who are also wearing name tags. The conversations you manage to overhear are still talking about collecting. Only now, you're starting to understand what this fucking convention's really about.

"Can you check if I'm on the list?" you ask tightly.

"You're a guest?" he asks dubiously. "Name?"

"Whispers."

His eyes widen. You don't entertain the excitement in his voice as he apologizes and starts to ramble about how he was a fan. You snatch your name tag from his trembling grasp, his palm slightly sweaty, before starting your search for the Walkers in the basement, where you also coincidentally saw the man in the beige suit head down.

ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴇxᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ…

You push Jed behind you.

He grips onto the back of your shirt, trembling in fear as you and him both look at the Corinthian and the man being stabbed to death by two others behind him.

Even with those dark shades on in the dimly lit room, you know the Corinthian is looking at you. You can feel his stare raking you up and down, taking every inch of you greedily. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

It has been a century since he last saw you, after all. An entire century since he stopped you from entering the basement of Rodrick Burgess and freeing your husband when you were right outside the door, and instead put a bounty on your head.

"Hello, my lady," the Corinthian says, his honey-like drawl drawing shivers from you as always. He dips his head in a bow — more mocking than respectful. He takes a step towards you, and you take three back. "I've missed you."

ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ…

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝖺 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋?

𝖾𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋�� 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗂 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗃𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎! 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍'𝗌 𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵!

╰┈➤ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘧!

𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 @aurorarevenclaw1927, @hueanhdang

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 @justviktormlolm, @amirahroronoa, @sunna-fangirls, @mrs-captainsteverogers, @absbdbshhs, @urbanbts, @theamuz, @ac-procrastinator-13, @thegreatestsandwich, @julegrav009-blog, @harrypotter55, @blossomedfloweroflove, @lestaikkeullsokka, @thetrashypanda423, @ponyboys-sunsets, @izzicle, @dilfsandtherapy, @mischiefmanaged71, @grippleback-galaxy, @cynic-spirit, @thecrazytealady, @violet-19999, @junobutbored, @avanisbored, @redskull199987, @bilesxbilinskixlahey, @ladymoon666, @celestialceremonials, @mm2305, @ttae-yong, @thegreatestsandwich, @notabotiswear, @boofy1998, @crimsonsabbath, @megumimind, @itsnanabun, @spygrrl99, @regulusblacksimpsblog, @maverey, @storm4433, @writerinlearning, @lokigirlszendaya, @thesadvampire, @thestarsanctuary, @floreoo, @pinkpunkdynamite, @jesllianaquilesrolon, @aegeanblues, @anjimimimoo, @imaginativefanatic, @book-place, @littlemoistcarrot, @lorosette, @wondermia69, @commanderfreethatdust

𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎!

#the fourth tool #the sandman imagine #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #dream imagine #dream x reader #dream of the endless x reader #sandman fanfiction #dream fanfiction #sandman imagine #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus #sandman angst

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year

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Hey Devil,

I turned 27 today and wanted to thank you for for all that you do here. It’s literally the only thing that brings a smile to my soul throughout the day…if I may be so selfish, could I request (whenever you can) a comfort piece with any of the cafe or museum folks? I’m just so tired of this life and would love some solace

(Happy birthday, Anon! Hope the waters clear for you and that this little piece is to your liking. Went with cafe because we haven't seen them in a minute)

"They should try mine first!"

"Eat shit, pussy! Boss is trying mine first!"

"I-I don't mind if you try mine last, master, but please enjoy it!"

Your birthday. One of the most awaited days at the cafe, but also one of it's most hectic. You sit at a booth surrounded by your regulars, the entire lot rented for your special day. The sneaky cat who paid for the venture planned the celebration around you and him, but a certain cow still had her keys and crashed the party during the decoration stage.

Every direction holds a new cake for you to sample. To start off, a high in, four tier cake sits at your immediate disclosure. Each layer was a different flavor and it was wrapped in the fluffiest frosting decorated with sugar pearls and lace pattering. Next was a quaint little dome with white frosting and a pink belly, topped with rabbit ear. Following that was a sheet cake with a grass pattern, bordered by a yellow wall and a little candle in the shape of a barn. To round out the display was a ghastly number that hardly resembled a cake at all; its walls collapsing outward on itself and burnt to a crisp. Frosting included. An air bubble in its center pops as someone points a manicured claw at it.

"If Y/n eats that thing, we'll be spending the rest of the day in the fucking hospital." Saber hisses, teeth bared as his fur frizzles from the stimulation.

His hyena rival rolls his eyes to the back of his skull. "Quit your bitching. I might have left in it a little too long, but I'm sure it's not that horrible."

"Ehehe... If we are claiming firsts, may I request they open my gift first." The leech-maid suggests "I've done my research and positive they'll enjoy it."

"Unfortunately for you, Doc. I believe I am the one who holds that title." Comes the crow from one corner, addressing the shiny pendant hanging from your neck.

"Here you go, sugarcube. Eat up." Whispers Belle; the cow woman having already cut you a huge slice from her cake while the others fought. You've tasted her desserts before, but this one seems sweeter and lighter than usual, and is your favorite of what you'd had in the pass. She wipes the crumbs from the corner of your lips and pockets the napkin.

"Alright, enough." Barks Bear, clearing his throat of the snarl within as he addresses everyone in the room. "We've been over this. We wish them a happy birthday, we give out the present, we play nice for a little while longer, then we each get ten minutes alone. Got it?"

Agreement comes in the form of a grumble or word of confirmation from around the room.

The wolf glances at the sheep by his side. "Wanna start off?"

"Um- Sure! Ha-"

"Wait just a moment.... There." Viney hands place a floral crowd on top your head, buds sprouting and binding the piece to your head by locking with each other through strands of your hair. "Perfection. Now we may begin."

One... Two.. Three.

Out of tune and a few off-key, your loyal and lovestruck pets sing you happy birthday. Through their discordant song, one thing rains clear. The love each individual bares for you and their willingness to make sure your happiness always last. It was the very reason they all were here now without going at each others throats'. The bickering may return another day, but at the end of it all their hearts were yours alone.

#Cafe tag #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #male yandere #female yandere #yandere fluff #soft yandere #yandere hybrid

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ezekielbhandarivalleros · 2 months

Text

A Surprise at the Café

Paring: Benoftheweek (Youtuber) x Reader (Mainly Female)

Summary: One special day at your favourite coffee shop fate brings you closer to someone you couldn't imagine meeting

This story is a response to the post made 3 years ago - Here's the link to that post

After a grueling day of college classes, I sought solace in the familiar routine of grabbing a warm drink from the nearby coffee shop. As I waited for my latte, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my subscriptions, eager to unwind with a Benoftheweek video.

The latest upload caught my eye, and I eagerly tapped on it. Ben's videos always brought me a sense of comfort, like catching up with an old friend. Lost in his latest adventure, I barely noticed the bustling crowd around me until I collided with someone while reaching for my drink.

Startled, I looked up to apologize, only to find myself face to face with none other than Ben himself. My heart raced with disbelief as I realized who he was. I'd been a fan of his videos for years, and now here he was, standing right in front of me.

Ben's kind eyes softened as he noticed the coffee stains on my jeans and sweater. Without hesitation, he offered me his hockey hoodie to cover up the mess. As I slipped into the oversized hoodie, a wave of joy and warmth washed over me. It was like wearing a piece of his world.

Feeling giddy with excitement, I asked Ben for a selfie to capture the unexpected moment. He chuckled warmly and obliged, his arm wrapping around me in a friendly embrace.

Ben insisted on buying me another coffee and a muffin to make up for the mishap, even though I knew it was my fault. We found a cozy spot to sit and chat, the conversation flowing effortlessly between us.

Curious about the hoodie, I asked Ben about his interest in hockey. Surprisingly, he admitted that he wasn't much into the sport but collected jerseys because he liked the way they looked.

Ben's eyes fell on my bag, noticing the array of books and a laptop peeking out from within. "So, what major are you taking?" he asked, genuine curiosity shining in his eyes.

"I'm studying Journalism," I replied with a smile, feeling a spark of pride at sharing my chosen field of study. "It's actually my first year here."

"Ah, journalism! That's awesome," Ben exclaimed, nodding appreciatively. "Gotta love the power of words. You'll do great, I'm sure."

I thanked him, feeling a rush of encouragement from his words.

Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Ben leaned in closer and quipped, "Well, at least the coffee didn't decide to make your books and laptop its next victims. That would've been a real headline: 'Coffee Spill Disaster Strikes New Journalism Student!'"

We both chuckled at his joke, the tension from the accidental collision melting away into shared laughter. It was moments like these that made unexpected encounters truly memorable.

As we continued talking, I glanced out the coffee shop window that had the reflection the clock and realized how quickly time had flown. I needed to get back to my apartment soon.

Sensing my dilemma, Ben offered to drive me home. Grateful for the gesture, I accepted, and we chatted animatedly during the short drive.

During the drive, I couldn't help but notice the pom-poms dangling from the car's ceiling. I remembered the video where Ben decorated them, feeling like I was right there with him during that moment.

"Those pom-poms are adorable," I remarked, unable to contain my smile as I touched one lightly.

Ben laughed, a warm sound that filled the car. "Thanks! I thought they added a fun touch to the car."

"They definitely do," I replied, feeling a rush of gratitude for the shared connection, however small.

As we pulled up to my building I gathered my belongings, preparing to step out of the car, Ben turned to me with a hesitant expression. "Hey, before you go, I was wondering if… would you be interested in going out for dinner sometime? I had a really great time talking to you, and I'd love to get to know you better."

My heart skipped a beat at his unexpected invitation. "I would love to," I replied, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through me. "Here, let me give you my number."

We exchanged phones, inputting our contact information, before reluctantly parting ways. Before I closed the door, Ben reached into the backseat and handed me one of his favorite caps as a parting gift.

"Consider it a token of our unexpected meeting," he said with a charming grin.

I thanked him profusely, feeling incredibly grateful for the unexpected gesture.

As I watched him drive off into the night, I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. One of my biggest dreams had just come true, all thanks to a chance encounter at a coffee shop. As I settled in for the night, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement for the future date with Ben and the endless possibilities it held.

#benoftheweek #ben de almeida #benoftheweek fic #it's finally here #get excited

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starreadssstuff · 1 year

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bonds - Nanami Kento

warnings- fluff because I promised it after that heart breaking angst fic I wrote 😭. nothing, ummm... physical contact? its hugging so idk. As always LMK!

authors note- Heyyy that angst fic I wrote was so sad and I promised that id make a fluffy one for you all so I got some confessions in this and I really like it! enjoy the story dudes! love, star 💜

It was a sunny afternoon, and the Tokyo Metropolitan Jujutsu Technical High School was abuzz with activity. Students were chatting and laughter filled the air as they enjoyed their break time. Amidst the lively atmosphere, Kento Nanami found himself searching for a quiet spot to gather his thoughts.

As he walked down the corridor, he caught sight of you sitting on a bench, engrossed in a book. The sight of your serene expression and gentle smile caught his attention, and he couldn't help but be drawn to you. With a small smile on his face, he decided to approach.

"Mind if I join you?" Kento asked, his voice calm and soothing as always.

You looked up from your book, surprise lighting up your eyes before a warm smile graced your lips. "Not at all, Kento. Please, have a seat."

He sat down beside you, and a comfortable silence enveloped you both. The soft rustling of pages turning and the occasional breeze were the only sounds that filled the air. Kento glanced at your book, curiosity evident in his eyes.

"What are you reading?" he inquired gently.

You held up the book for him to see, and it was a novel he recognized. "It's one of my favorites. Would you like to borrow it?"

Kento's lips curled into a grateful smile. "I would be honored to read something you enjoy."

From that moment, your breaks became a routine of sharing quiet moments together. Sometimes you would bring books to exchange and discuss their stories, while other times you would simply enjoy each other's presence, finding comfort in the silence. Over time, those breaks evolved into stolen glances and gentle touches that spoke volumes without the need for words.

One day, as you were sitting together beneath the shade of a tree, Kento took a deep breath and gathered his courage. He turned towards you, his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and adoration.

"(Y/N), I wanted to tell you something," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "Spending time with you has made my days brighter, and being around you feels like finding a missing piece of myself. I... I care deeply for you."

Your heart fluttered at his confession, and a radiant smile bloomed on your face. "Kento, I feel the same way about you. You bring so much warmth and happiness into my life."

A wave of relief washed over him, and he reached out to hold your hand, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. The connection between you two felt effortless, like two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, your relationship grew stronger. Kento became not only your partner in exorcisms but also your confidant, your rock, and your best friend. The two of you navigated the challenges of the jujutsu world side by side, finding solace in each other's arms during the tough times and celebrating the victories together.

And so, beneath the cherry blossom trees in full bloom, Kento pulled you into a warm embrace. The petals gently fluttered around you, creating a picturesque scene that mirrored the love blooming between you.

"I'm grateful to have you in my life," Kento whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "With you by my side, I feel like I can conquer anything."

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "And I'm grateful for you, Kento. Together, we'll face whatever comes our way."

In that moment, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the warmth of each other's love, you knew that your journey with Kento was just beginning. And as you shared countless more quiet moments and cherished memories, your love for each other grew deeper, creating a bond that would withstand the tests of time.

#nanami #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #nanami jjk #nanami kento #jjk x reader #i love jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fic #jujutsu sorcerer #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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mrsgrimshawe · 18 days

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Soo I wrote my first ever fan fiction. I’ve had this idea for some time and thought hey, why not try to write this down. Please be nice, English isn’t my first language!! Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Sirius Black (after Azkaban) x female reader (fluff mostly)

Warnings: slight smut, talking about death

Word count: 1.2k

- MINORS DNI -

Summary: After you and Sirius wake up randomly almost every night for weeks, not being able to ever sleep through, you made a habit of meeting up in the kitchen drinking some tea and sharing lighthearted conversations. One fateful night, you have something to confess to the man.

Title: Midnight Tea and Confessions

The dimly lit kitchen of Grimmauld Place was a sanctuary for those restless souls who sought solace in the quiet of the night. For the newest member of the Order of the Phoenix, it became a refuge from the haunting memories of the day and the uncertainty of tomorrow.

Y/N, a young woman in her twenties with an air of resilience about her, found herself often in the company of her dear friend, Nymphadora Tonks. Their laughter echoed through the old house, bringing life to its somber corridors. But it was in the quiet moments, when the clock struck midnight and sleep eluded them, that she found herself drawn to another.

Sirius Black, once the prisoner of Azkaban, now roamed the halls of his ancestral home with a freedom tinged with the weight of his past. His eyes held the wisdom of someone who had seen too much, yet there was a spark of mischief that refused to be extinguished.

Their encounters in the kitchen began innocently enough, a shared pot of tea and idle chatter to fill the silence. But as the nights stretched on, their conversations grew deeper, touching on topics both trivial and profound. It was in these moments that Y/N found herself opening up to Sirius in ways she never thought possible.

As the night draped its veil over Grimmauld Place, the heavy silence enveloped her like a suffocating shroud. Sitting across from Sirius Black in the dimly lit kitchen, she found herself unable to shake the weight of her troubled thoughts.

"Sirius," she began, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the room, "I need to tell you something."

He turned to her, his eyes filled with concern. "Of course, love. What's on your mind?"

She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest. "I've been having these nightmares," she confessed, her voice trembling with emotion. "About... about our friends. About them dying."

Sirius's expression softened, his hand reaching out to gently grasp hers. "I'm so sorry, darling," he murmured, his voice thick with sympathy. "It must be terrifying."

"It is," she admitted, her eyes brimming with tears. "But there's one dream in particular that haunts me. It's... it's about you, Sirius. It feels so real."

His breath caught in his throat, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. "Me?" he echoed, his voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, her throat tightening with emotion. "Yes. In the dream, something happens to you, and... and I wake up crying, feeling like I've lost a piece of my heart."

Sirius's eyes softened, his hand moving to gently brush away her tears. "Oh, love," he murmured, pulling her into a comforting embrace. "I promise you, I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be by your side. Besides, you can always knock on my door at any time of the night, if you need me. I barely sleep anyway. And I’ll be glad to help you.”

Y/N buried her face in his chest, his words a balm to her wounded soul. "Thank you, Sirius" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Their embrace lingered for a moment longer, a silent exchange of comfort and reassurance. Then, with a tender smile, Y/N leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Sirius's cheek.

He returned the gesture with a loving smile, his eyes meeting hers in a silent understanding. And as she rose to her feet, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks, she knew that no matter what the future held, she would always find solace in the unwavering presence of Sirius Black.

Y/N returns to her room, lying down not able to shake her thoughts about the handsome gentleman that was Sirius Black. She knew there had been feelings for him, but oh boy were they growing strong. Nevertheless she was finally able to sleep with a smile for once this time. Dreaming about her secret love interest, wondering if he might find her to be too young to be a serious option for him.

One fateful night, another restless one at that, as they sat side by side at the worn wooden table, she felt a stirring in her heart that she couldn't ignore. With a courage born of desperation, she turned to Sirius, her voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the night.

"Sirius, there's something I need to tell you," she began, her words hanging in the air between them like a delicate thread.

He turned to her, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. "What is it, love?" he asked softly, his hand reaching out to brush against hers.

"I... I think I've developed feelings for you," she confessed, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “No… I know I grew feelings for you. I’m sorry. I had to let you know. It’s okay if you can’t return them. I would understand.”

For a moment, there was silence as Sirius processed her words. Then, with a tenderness that took her by surprise, he reached out and cupped her face in his hands.

"I've been feeling the same way," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion.

In that moment, all pretense was cast aside as they leaned into each other, their lips meeting in a fiery kiss that ignited a passion neither could deny. His lips felt soft against her own, still warm from the tea he was drinking before their little conversation. He kissed her with so much love, gentle but still passionate. Their hands roamed eagerly, exploring each other's bodies with a hunger that bordered on desperation. “Sirius,” she broke the kiss for a moment - “not here” she breathed against his lips.

Eventually, they stumbled to their feet, their desire leading them up the darkened hallway to Sirius's bedroom. There, they shed their inhibitions and gave in to the undeniable pull of their attraction.

In the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains, they made love with a fierceness that left them breathless and spent. And as they lay tangled together in the aftermath, Y/N knew that she had found something truly special in the arms of Sirius Black.

For the first time in months, they both fell asleep peacefully, in each other’s arms, wondering if this was even real.

The next morning, Y/N woke up first, still finding herself in his bed. It was very early, no need to get up just yet. Her eyes lingered on his peaceful looking face, he was sound asleep. Breathing slowly, steady. She couldn’t help but smile, thinking about last night. He treated her gently, lovingly, still full of passion and lust. It was everything she longed for in such a long time.

She started caressing his hair, then his cheeks. Then looking at his bare chest which was exposed, thinking about what the meaning behind those appealing tattoos might be. He started smiling, eyes still closed.

“Good morning beautiful” he said in a raspy voice. “Good morning handsome. It’s still early. We can stay here a bit longer, if you’d like.” she answered. Sirius opened his eyes, looking deeply into her big Y/E/C eyes. “There’s nothing I’d love more.” He pulled her into his arms, kissing her forehead then taking her chin between his fingers to lift it up, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

“Rest some more, my love. I will still be here when you wake up. Let this be the end of your nightmares. And even if they return, I will be here to distract you from them.” he said, pulling the blanket over your bodies, you both drifting back to sleep.

They had no idea she would be the reason the Black Family wouldn’t die with Sirius.

#harry potter fanfiction #Sirius black #older sirius black #Sirius black x reader #Sirius x Reader #sirius black fluff #fan fiction #sirius black fanfiction

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dejavante · 10 months

Text

heartworm | myg

synopsis: "Life always presented unexpected twists and turns; that much was always pretty much guaranteed and inevitable. But you never expected to fall in love with the man held captive in the old snow globe you found in your grandmother’s attic following her passing. If only you’d known your time together was limited, you probably would’ve spent less time throwing snarky and sarcastic remarks his way and would’ve instead confessed the feelings of your heart. It’s been weeks since his disappearance now, and you still can’t adjust to the void he’s left in your life. And no amount of wishing and praying over that snow globe will bring him back…"

↳ pairing: yoongi x reader

↳ genre: modern fantasy type AU! | fluff | a dash of angst but nothing that will have you balling your eyes out, lol

↳ word count: 2.1k

author's note: this is just a little drabble that I've been sitting on for a while now. I've been pretty uninspired lately and haven't been able to finish any of my longer pieces, so I thought maybe I should start off small. I say small, but this drabble is 2.1k words long... anyways, enjoy!

masterlist | asks

You'd hated this place from the moment your grandmother had bought it. There was something about the heavy musk of mould, and the nauseating rose air freshener that your nana would use to camouflage the stench that had you wrinkling your nose in distaste. Or perhaps what repelled you the most was the tedious hike up the cliff that left your legs aching for days to come and the old rickety front door that banged against the frame during its battle with the wind.

While it's true that you'd never done much to hide your dislike of your grandmother's home before, you'd found that there was an unusual calmness to the raging sea – something in its temperamental rocking and in its ruthless habit of violently crashing against the ridged boulders of the coast that painted an odd likeness of tranquillity.

You sit back in your seat with an airy sigh, fingers twisting into the worn material of the blue sweater you don as a means to preserve heat – though this wouldn't be much of a problem if only you could find the strength to tear away from the turbulent scenery to grab the comforter off your bed.

But alas, you can't seem to let your focus stray from the smudged window, not for the growing numbness in your fingers and certainly not for the fatigue that weighs down on you.

For every moment over the last few weeks that you couldn't express your agitations, the storm raging outside granted you a moment of much-needed relief. It helped in soothing the burning flame within, taming your sullen mood.

Your eyes flicker over to the crooked shelf above your bed, sifting through the trinkets you didn't have the heart to throw away before finding what you're looking for. The glass dome of the snow globe has long since lost its shine. Now, it no longer glistens under the dim lighting of the room with the thick blanket of dust that clings to its surface.

At some point, looking at it had become too hard. Remembering the gummy smile that would smile at you from over the glass dome or the baritone voice that droned on about the snowy scenery within, stopped giving you solace and became more like a nightmare. As a result, those nostalgic and intimate moments attached to the snow globe became more fragile than the thin sheen of glass that encircled the world within.

Perhaps that's why you chose to place it on that particular shelf. Because during another day of self-prescribed bed rest, you knew that you couldn't catch sight of that empty snow globe – remembering hurt too much. Although you'd wager that forgetting would amount to equal amounts of pain.

It's a loud clap of thunder that draws you from your long reverie, shooing away the clouds of gloomy thoughts and replacing them with a deep-seated feeling of longing. And oddly, it's in that flicker of emotion that you tried so hard to repress that you finally find the motivation to do more than just mope — to finally confront the reality that you'd been running away from for weeks now. So, with a sigh that is sodden with reluctance and dejection, you urge yourself to move, gaze remaining keenly focused on the object of your affections as you swing your legs off of the window seat and push yourself up.

The aged floorboards creak beneath your weight as you pad sluggishly across the room, singing atrociously off-key until you reach the foot of your bed and crawl on top of the unmade mess of sheets.

You barely manage to untangle yourself from the bedding as you tentatively reach out for the snow globe, allowing your fingers a moment to dance over the dome of glass. The signs of neglect disappear under your touch, and you hoped, a foolish tendency you knew, that as the strings of dust melted away to reveal a clearer view of the snowy scenery within, there would be a change of fate.

But your hope for his return had proved to be futile. Because, yet again, that lone piano sits in the snowy square awaiting a master that will never return to it. Likewise, you wait for a love that slipped through your fingers too early.

Yoongi was far from a perfect man — that much he'd expressed and admitted to you himself on multiple occasions. It was hard to get along with him initially, not with how frantic and frustrated he was with finding an escape from his curse now that he was free from his snow globe prison. And somewhere within his state of near insanity, it wasn't difficult to see that he was simply afraid of being forced to endure that solidarity all over again with no second chance at freedom.

"I'm not scared," He'd bite back, his tone bordering that of a petulant child about to have a tantrum. "You try being holed up in there for so long,"

Though oddly enough, Yoongi would wax poetics about the internal structure of the globe despite his hatred for being trapped within it. With high, frosty skies, bright strung lights, and a mellow atmosphere fabricated for the sole purpose of carrying the soft melody of his piano, he'd said that it bordered perfection.

"It's the sort of place that you share with someone," Yoongi had once explained softly. "It's not built for solidarity,"

The day he disappeared still resonates clearly in your mind as if it'd only occurred yesterday. It plagued your sleep and daydreams, relentlessly taunting you for the words you never dared confess out of fear. Not until it was too late, at least.

You weren't sure why you kept doing this to yourself. It was a system of torture to continue clinging to the idea that perhaps if you fed the snow globe enough of your tears, prayers, and affections, some sort of miracle would happen. Because each and every time, you were left disappointed and with another crack that the fragile mess of your heart was forced to bear during its futile battle against hope. Heaven knows you couldn't handle another battle, not with how close you were to shattering.

The sheets rustle underneath your movement as you shift to sit back on your haunches with the globe cupped securely within the warmth of your palms. For a moment, you're unsure of what to do, the unfamiliarity of the situation finally dawning upon you as you stare intently at the object of your affections.

You'd tried everything to avoid this moment, but you were always pulled back towards it by an invisible force that tempted the longing within you that was no longer satisfied by memories of him.

The glass glistens dully in the room's light as you twist the snow globe in your hold, surveying the snowy territory in all its different angles to perhaps find an abnormality that would lighten the bulb of hope. However, all you find in return is a distorted reflection of yourself in the glass that stares back at you, highlighting your swollen eyes and the hollowness of your cheeks.

You can already hear Yoongi's playful remark about your dishevelled appearance, and the thought garners a soft smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

Though it's only a matter of seconds before the moment of bittersweet reminiscing gives away under the pressure of loneliness that quickly settles into your bones. The shift is gradual, languid and done with little effort. You begin to deflate, your shoulders sinking and globing around your frame protectively as you cradle the globe close to your chest.

"I really miss you," You whisper, voice watery and thick with the heaviness of unsorted emotions. "I didn't even get to tell you how much I love you.."

Being hung over someone for such a long time feels almost childish. And though you knew that the complexities of emotions were too far intricate to be dealt with within a matter of weeks, you still felt rather pathetic for torturing yourself this much. Especially with the uncertainty of how Yoongi felt towards you. Though you'd wager that your situation garnered an exception because in no way were your circumstances to be classified as normal.

A dry, humourless laugh bubbles past your lips as you press a palm to your eyes, wiping away the budding tears that blur your vision before the disorienting fog of self-pity can settle any deeper in your mind. You clear your throat and give your head a small shake to refocus yourself as you draw the globe away from your chest, steadying it in one hand as you reach out for the lever in the back with the other.

Under the delicate manoeuvre of your fingers, the cylinder begins to spin, plucking at the teeth of the comb to create a melody that encases each of your senses and casts a wave of nostalgia over you. The music is orchestrated in a subdued register, mellow and silky in its composition as if it were a lullaby. And if there was anything that reminded you of Yoongi the most, it would be this particular song with the way that it flowed effortlessly, engulfing the room in a soft and timid yet harmonious and enigmatic resonance that burst with passion.

You reach for the lever again as soon as the soft, fading echo of the concluding chords finally dies down and allows for a brief moment of comfortable silence. However, before your wrist can complete the first full turn of the mechanical arm again, your ears are flooded with the distant performance of the very same melody that had just faded into the tranquillity of the room.

For a beat, you remain motionless, heart pounding in your chest and mind unable to string together a coherent thought. You were damn near certain that this was nothing but a fabrication of your imagination, taunting you relentlessly for the regret you held and guiding you to the brink of insanity.

As if in a trance, your feet find the floor. Your grip on the snow globe loosens as you stumble towards the door, slipping from your grasp and shattering against the floor. The sound of the breakage bleeds into the background, becoming a second priority to the music you follow out of your room and down the corridor, like a sailor enchanted by a siren's song.

There's a moment as you reach the end of the hall when you flicker back to reality, pausing a mere few centimetres away from the spare room to contemplate the rationality of the situation. It hadn't escaped you that this entire set-up felt almost too good to be true — because in all the weeks of your misery and longing, why now?

But there was no mistaking that melody, not with the level of familiarity that you had with it. Its intricacy, like its composer, was both special and specific. You didn't need to see who the musician at your grandmother's old piano was to know in your heart who it was.

And yet, you find yourself hesitating to step forward and confirm your suspicion. Instead, you stare blankly at the door, heart thundering against your ribcage as you resist the urge to step forward and push the door open. Because even with how much time you'd spent practising and planning the words that you'd say to him if you were ever given a chance to meet again, you were certain that you wouldn't manage to utter a single word.

You don't notice when the music finally fades into the combined quietness of the house, nor do you hear the soft click of the door's mechanism turn as your hearing drowns in the dull and piercing ring that consumes your sense and renders you unbound to your surrounding.

The call of your name seems distant, its hand reaching out into the void of the ocean, where it becomes lost between the flickering of your muted sense as if it were a dream. And you would've gladly accepted it as that if it weren't for the palm that presses to your cheek to coax you back to reality.

You don't expect to be hit at full force by a surge of emotions when you step out of your reverie to meet the eyes of the one calling for you. And while his touch is wholeheartedly welcome, your emotional collapse isn't.

Yoongi offers a gentle smile of reassurance, his hand rising to wipe the trail of tears that slip down your cheeks before your face is cupped within his palms. You make no attempt to stop him as he inclines his forehead against yours, instead welcoming the close proximity he offers by leaning further into the warmth of his touch as he murmurs something indistinguishable to your clouded mind before his lips find yours.

"I love you too,"

the copying, modifying, translating or reposting of any of dejavante's content is under no circumstance permitted.

#bts #bts yoongi #yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #min yoongi fluff #min yoongi angst #min yoongi fanfic #bts scenarios #bts smut #min young smut

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cranetreegang · 10 months

Text

In the Light of Death - Part 1

Sebastian x FemReader with former Ominis x FemReader

This will be I think a four or five part series - depending on how i break it down. I have it all written, it was just A LOT to slap into one fic.

Uhhhh fic kind of depressing at first, but we'll get through it to the more spicy bits <3 def a friends to lovers type fic

Summary: Suffering from death of her beloved husband, Ominis, Sebastian comes to comfort and support her.

Word Count: ~2,800 words

Warnings: Death, Depression, Loss, Grief

Find Whole Light of Death Series Here

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She stands above Ominis, his body resting upon a stone bed adorned with a white silk sheet. Matching white flowers lay all around him and he almost looks like he’s floating on a cloud. He looks peaceful, as if he’s in a pleasant dream with a faint smile playing on his pale lips. Even the sun peeks through the dense gray clouds, casting its light upon him. It makes the nightmare she’s living all the more painful. She leans down, softly pressing her lips on his forehead, her eyes shut as tears continue to fall and her body trembles.

“I love you. Now, and forever,” she whispers, gently stroking his cheek that’s far too cold.

With a hard, sharp breath, she slowly steps away from her beloved Ominis. Several arms and hands wrap around her, offering comfort, but none of them provide the warmth she so desperately craves. But, they’re the only thing keeping her standing, and not shattering at the base of his altar into a hundred, million pieces - never to be whole again.

A golden light envelops Ominis’ body, and he’s consumed in a beautiful, radiant glow. She watches as the light drifts off, ascending into the sky, leaving her with a suffocating pressure around her throat. But, she doesn’t cry. Instead, a harrowing thought rings in her head like a deafening bell.

He’s gone.

She’s not sure how she made it home, but she now stands in front of the kitchen sink, gazing out towards the garden that they planted. He loved to be out there in the warm afternoon sun, tilling away with his hands. Then he’d come inside to show her his harvest, a proud smile tugging on his lips while dirt coats his pale cheeks. She can almost hear his teasing laughter as she tries to clean him up.

Instead of finding solace, only bitter, crushing emptiness smothers her. An indescribable pain and yet a chilling numbness all at once. Her mind - unable to comprehend such a loss. It’s like a vital piece of her is gone, and she’s merely a husk doomed to walk the land until she turns to dust.

Lying in bed, her eyes fixed on a picture of them together, she can’t bring herself to move. He didn’t want to take the picture, but she asked him to anyway. He’s scowling at first, then she kisses his cheek and his whole face lights up into his beautiful, warm smile. She pulls his pillow to her face, inhaling his scent, as the numbness suffocates her.

Everything serves as a cruel reminder of what she no longer has: His empty chair at the table, his favorite nook to read at collecting dust, the lack of his upbeat humming to banish the quiet. Even her dreams are no longer a sanctuary, as Ominis is always there, but just beyond her grasp, walking further and further away. Never once turning to look back - no matter how much she screams and begs.

A knock at the door startles her. She stares at the door from her place on the couch, momentarily disoriented, before dragging herself over to answer it. Sebastian’s face brings a flicker of welcome relief as he smiles at her, familiar and warm. For a brief moment, she smiles, her lips forming Ominis’ name to call for him, but her eyes fall to the ground instead.

“Sebastian,” she whispers.

“Hey,” he whispers in equal softness. “May I come in?”

She nods, stepping aside, and he strolls inside. Sebastian’s eyes widen at the once-lively rooms, now shrouded in darkness, with drawn curtains and an eerie stillness permeating the air. He grimaces, his dark brows furrowing, as he follows her towards the kitchen.

“Let me make us some tea,” she says.

Sebastian joins her in the kitchen, observing her movements for a moment, “Shouldn’t I be the one making you a cup?”

She pauses then musters a tight smile, “Last I checked, you’re notorious for burning tea.”

Sebastian chuckles, “You still won’t let me live that down, eh? That was one time!”

“I never thought it possible. So excuse me for still being in disbelief,” she giggles, surprised by the noise for a moment. He smiles to himself at hearing a bit of joy from her, even if it’s at his expense.

While she prepares their mugs, Sebastian looks around the dimly lit room. It really is too dark in here, he concludes. He yanks open the curtains one by one, letting the fading afternoon sun in. As he opens the final curtain in the living room, his eyes land on a picture on the fireplace mantel. A sad smile tugs on his lips as he approaches it, holding the picture like a delicate flower.

He recalls this moment - Christmas two or three years ago with himself, Anne, Ominis, and her. They’re all wearing horrible, matching sweaters that Anne insisted they wear, but everyone is smiling and laughing despite it.

“I was happy to burn that horrid thing afterward,” she says, diverting his attention to her as she hands him a mug of hot tea. “Ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“That’s Anne for you. Impeccable taste.”

She stares at the picture, her smile fading into a deep frown. They’ll never have another Christmas together, and they’ll never have moments like that again. It’s all gone.

He places the picture back up on the mantle and he guides her to sit on the well-loved couch. With sunlight cascading onto her, he can finally see the depths of her despair. There’s a dullness, a void, in her eyes - a dark, empty well that seems bottomless. The dark circles beneath her eyes only amplify the effect. Although her hair is brushed and her clothes are fresh, he doubts she’s been eating. He shifts his gaze to the tea in his hands. The steam swirls up to his face and he can see his frowning reflection peering back at him.

“I thought the funeral was nice,” he says. “Didn’t expect so many people-,”

“Is that why you’re here?” She interrupts, her tone sharp as she sets down the mug with a huff. “I don’t need, nor want, more condolences.”

He places his mug beside hers and turns to face her, “No, that’s not why I’m here.”

She barely turns her head towards him, so he continues.

“I have some work in the area - research mainly - and I was hoping I could use the spare bed.”

She stares at him, blankly and unnaturally still. He takes her hand and she jolts, her eyes blinking rapidly. Eventually, she nods.

“Of course. You’re always welcomed. You know that,” she smiles, but it’s forced and doesn’t come close to her anguished eyes. Sebastian squeezes her hand and she notices how warm he is compared to her. He’s practically an inferno.

“And as appreciation for your humble hospitality, I’ll help you around the house. Cook you dinner from time to time. Run errands, anything you need,” He offers, grinning.

There’s a certain yearning in his eyes. She’s familiar with that look. He does it every time she’s angry or upset with him, and he’s trying to make her smile or laugh. It usually never fails to wear her down, and she’s thankful to have a bit of normalcy right now.

“Thank you,” she whispers with a slight frown. It’s a weak show of gratitude, but it’s all she can give him. She withdraws her hand from his, finding his warmth too much to bear, and stands up, “I’ll… go check to see if the room’s picked up.”

As she disappears into the back bedroom, Sebastian runs his hand through his hair with a heavy sigh. He’s never seen her like this before - it’s like she’s dead too. It’s hard for him to keep himself from falling into the same void with her. His gaze returns to the picture on the mantle, stirring a bittersweetness within him.

Oh, Ominis, she’s far worse off than you thought she would be, he thinks to himself. He grits his teeth as he stands, determined to rekindle her spark again.

The bedroom is neat, untouched since their last visitor. She runs her fingers along the patchwork quilt as she tries to recall who last stayed over. She thinks it was Sebastian, and they all enjoyed a long weekend by the lake. Her eyes squeeze shut, her hands clench to her sides.

All of their memories hurt. Like something is tearing and ripping at her throat as her heart sinks further into her chest. Thunder rumbles and rocks the house, plunging the room into darkness. She sucks in a sharp breath, not realizing she’s been holding it in, and she leaves the room.

The sounds of clanking dishes and sizzling food lures her into the kitchen. It’s a familiar noise, bringing a bloom of warmth amidst the pain. But when she rounds the corner, it all fades. Instead of her husband, it’s Sebastian who occupies the kitchen. She watches, captivated by his dance, as his wand is hard at work - swishing the air to command the various spices, vegetables and pots. Ominis would do much the same, cooking for her as he hummed a soft song. She always loved to watch him, silently smiling as he pretended to not notice her staring.

Sebastian is far more chaotic to observe - and far noisier too - as he has the whole kitchen sprung to life. She finds herself smiling at his excitement. The evening sun bathes the kitchen in a warm glow, the storm passing as suddenly as it appeared, and Sebastian seems to almost shine, like a beacon.

“It smells nice,” she comments.

Sebastian whips around and smiles at her, his whole face lighting up.

“Hope you don’t mind, we’re having pasta tonight. It’s all I could scrounge up, so we’ll need to hit the market tomorrow,” he spins back around and continues about his preparations. She joins him in his whirlwind and gazes at the pasta creation. A pot boils golden noodles, and a bright crimson sauce simmers. She steps closer to feel the steam against her face, a smile tugging at her lips. Sebastian grins at her.

“What do you wanna have this week? Ah,” he snaps his fingers with a chuckle, “you know what I’ve been craving for? That roast of yours - with those little potatoes and carrots. Merlin’s Beard, I can almost taste it now.”

“Sure, that sounds nice,” she murmurs with a slight giggle. “Do you need any help?”

“Just set up the table, and pick out a bottle of wine. A good one. I know you’ve got something stashed away back there,” Sebastian teases with a wink.

She lets out a snort as she heads to the cupboard. There’s several bottles and as she skims over them it’s like she’s tossed right back into her sorrow. She pulls out a bottle her and Ominis were saving for their anniversary. She runs her hand over the label with a sad smile before putting it back. She grabs a bottle at random and sets it on the dining table. By the time she’s got the table set, Sebastian is levitating a steaming pot over.

He fills their bowls, sending the pasta away, then he opens the bottle of red wine. He pours their glasses with the dark burgundy drink and he raises his up with a smirk.

“To my incredible cooking.”

She giggles as she clanks his glass, “We’ll see about that.”

His cooking is actually decent, impressing her. The flavors and robustness warms her heart. She can’t remember the last time she enjoyed a good meal, lacking any motivation to cook since she first got the news. People had brought their own food over, of course, but it all tasted bitter or bland. As she sips her wine, glancing over at Sebastian, she can almost pretend that they’re waiting for Ominis to walk through the door and join them.

It’s silent, save for their chewing and forks scratching their plates, and as they drink more and more of the bottle, the more she enjoys herself. They shove their plates aside and they both lean back in their chairs with their fourth glass of wine in hand, and their bellies full. Sebastian has a smile playing on his lips and she catches the light of mischief within his dark eyes.

“Well,” she says with a grin, “say it.”

“Say what?”

She rolls her eyes, “What’s on your mind.”

He laughs with a slight shake of his head, “I truly can’t keep anything from you. You’re just as bad as Anne!” Biting his lip as he swirls his wine, he says, “I was just thinking about when we all went to that wine garden in France.”

“Where you made a fool of yourself by mispronouncing all the wine they had?” She chuckles.

“The very same!” He laughs as he leans over to her, “But, it wasn’t me who was embarrassed, was it? Ominis was about ready to rip my tongue out.”

She hides her wide smile behind her hand as she recalls Ominis’ outraged face.

“I’ve never seen him so embarrassed. Actually, that’s not true,” she giggles. “There was this one time where we were at some gathering. I don’t know how it happened, but he ended up holding hands with, well, not me.”

“No!” Sebastian exclaims with an open-mouth smile. “He’s so good about that.”

“I know, I know. I blame the beverages they were serving, they were quite strong, and you know how he gets with sweet drinks. But, oh, I wish you could’ve seen him. I went up, I tapped on his shoulder, and I said, ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for my dashing husband, have you seen him?’”

They both burst into laughter, sipping more wine as they calm down.

“Ah,” he nudges her, “remember our school days?”

She scoffs, “How could I forget?”

Sebastian grins, “Remember when we all drank Garreth’s ‘brilliant brain brew’, so we could pass our Charms exam we forgot to study for?”

She falls back into her chair with a groan, “Oh, I wish I didn’t. I have never puked that hard in my life! I never should’ve talked Ominis out of hexing Garreth into a toad.”

“You talked him down from that? What were you thinking?”

The warm buzz is pleasant and she laughs with a shrug. As she stares up at the ceiling, she recalls many fond memories from their days at Hogwarts.

“Remember when you first showed me the Undercroft, and Ominis caught me straight after? I’ve never been scolded like that before in my life.”

“You and me both. Now, that was a tongue-lashing that would put that poor old librarian to shame,” he sighs.

She leans forward, chipping her nails along the glass stem with a soft smile.

“That’s how I first met him, really met him. I thought he’d always hate my guts. Now look at us,” her smile fades, replaced by a grimace. “Fifteen years… and now he’s gone.”

A sharp gasp leaves her. She covers her face with her hands as sobs escape her. Hard rain pelts against the windows and a gale rattles the shutters. Sebastian’s hand is quickly on her back, pulling her into his chest.

“It hurts so much, Sebastian. H-How am I supposed to live without him? I-I can’t bear it. I can’t. I can’t. I just want him back.”

Sebastian holds her tighter, “I know. I’m… He’s… He was special to me too.”

He doesn’t know what else to say, so he just holds her as she cries for a love forever lost. Lightning flashes, casting eerie shadows across the room, and thunder rumbles, making the walls tremble, in time with her rapid breaths. As her tears subside, so too does the storm, and she slowly removes herself from Sebastian’s embrace. She wipes her cheeks with the back of her arm and gives him an apologetic look.

“I-I’m sorry. I… thank you for dinner. I think I’ll just go to bed now,” she whispers, her voice raw from her outburst.

“Okay,” he nods with a gentle smile, squeezing her hand. “Get some rest.”

She leaves, collapsing onto her cold bed, and dragging Ominis’ pillow to her. A whimper escapes her at his scent already starting to fade. She doesn’t want to cry anymore, yet more tears come. It feels endless, like being trapped in an abyss. She shudders, clutching the pillow close to her, and she gazes at their picture - barely visible in the darkness.

“Why did you have to leave me? Why couldn’t you have taken me with you?” She whispers.

Ominis only smiles - like all is well - and she closes her eyes - wishing that were true.

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Read Part 2 Here

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AN: i really wanted MC to be disjointed and sporadic - like time is moving around her but she's sort of stuck. And I def want her emotions to be all over the place. She's both feeling nothing and everything all at once. Hopefully that's conveyed well enough. ngl, when i first wrote the intro, i nearly cried. and i hope i made one of you cry cause im a terrible person. SHARE IN MY MISERY MUHAHAHA

As always, feedback welcomed. Love to hear what y'all think and if i got seb right or not LOL

Also I love the idea of Seb being like a lil puppy trying to cheer her up. also also, this is how i think of older seb. no idea where this pic came from, i had it saved in my google doc. forgive me

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #fanfic #creative writing #former ominis x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian x reader #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #fanfiction #much angst #hogwarts legacy sebastian #grief #loss #writing ominis dying hurt my feelings #sebastian being a the bestest best friend

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