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muffinbeliever · 3 years

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When the Stars Align [08]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader

Word Count: 5801

Warnings: language, angst, sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), ANGST, lots of crying, theres dom/sub vibes if you squint, did i mention angst?

Summary: Soulmate!AU– Everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their wrists. You and your cat are living a normal life in Fort Collins, Colorado when three men come bursting through your door, completely changing your life. Reader-insert story. Starts around S06E08, but Sam has his soul, and it doesn’t really follow the series from there

A/N: APOLOGIES ! i have been absolutely swamped with work and exams. i wrote an extra long chapter full of angsty tears because you know i live for angst. i am so sorry for my irregular postings i'm trying to work on it.

Masterlist | When the Stars Align Masterlist

You snuggled closer to the object in your arms, eyebrows furrowing when you realized it was a pillow and not Dean’s bare chest. Despite last night’s unhappiness with your soulmate, you couldn’t deny that you loved waking up with him. Too tired to open your eyes, you patted your hand around the other side of the bed, frowning when cool sheets met your touch. You groaned and cracked your eyes open, squinting them not only because of the puffiness from crying but also from the bright beams of light streaming through your window.

The door opened slowly, and Dean peeked into the room, his wet hair indicating he just showered. When he saw you were awake, he gave you a tentative smile, unsure of how you would react.

You couldn’t ignore the feelings of hurt from last night, but you knew you were being irrational. Besides, you didn’t know how long he was going to stay for, and you didn’t want to ruin your time together. You could be mad at him later. You returned with an equally tentative smile and watched his face relax.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, his voice as smooth as honey.

“Good morning,” you responded sweetly, patting the bed next to you, wanting to be close to him. He happily obliged, the scent of his cologne filling your nose. The bed dipped beneath his weight and you curled into his side. Silence fell between the two of you, and you debated your next words.

“Bean,” you started, and he hummed in reply. “I’m sorry about last night. I overreacted and I know that it wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just is what it is.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, nervous that bringing last night up would result in another argument. Dean’s large hand rubbed across your back, and you relaxed under his touch.

“You didn’t overreact,” he murmured into your hair. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you so suddenly. I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t know how to find the words or even start that conversation. I’m sorry for ruining our date.”

You leaned your head up, his worried expression filling your gaze. Your heart was no longer pounding; instead, it tightened at Dean’s pain.

“Last night may not have ended in a way that we both wanted it to, but by no means did you ruin our date, Dean. I’ve never been out like that before and it was amazing. There isn’t anyone else that I would want to do that with,” you reassured him, hoping your affectionate words wouldn’t scare him away. A hint of a smile danced on his lips before he leaned down, capturing you in a bruising kiss. And God, this man could kiss.

His hand stopped it’s soothing rubs against your back and instead travelled further south, gripping your ass. His tongue was wonderfully playing with yours, his soft lips like pillows. You ran your hands through his slightly dampened hair as he shifted under you, rearranging so that you were straddling him. You could feel how hard he was under his jeans, and you took the opportunity to press against him, slowly grinding your hips, eliciting a noise from Dean that shot straight to your core. He flipped you over expertly, taking control of the situation. His hands were exploring your body, rolling your pebbled nipples with his thumb and forefinger. You shamelessly moaned as he trailed kisses down the side of your neck, nipping at special spots that made you cry out.

You tugged at his shirt and as he tore it off in a hurry, you quickly unbuckled his belt in a swift movement. He slipped off the t-shirt that donned your body, immediately pressing open kisses on your chest as his fingers danced at the waistband of your underwear. You arched your back, a silent gesture of want.

“Patience, baby,” he breathed against your lips, and you couldn’t help the whine that escaped you. He chuckled darkly, and you gazed into his eyes, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“Please,” you whispered, pathetically. Dean smirked.

“Please what, sweetheart? Use your words,” he commanded lowly, and you could feel yourself getting impossibly wetter. He looked down at you, drinking in the sight of your almost-naked body that was writhing with want.

“Please touch me,” you whined.

“Touch you like this?” he asked with false innocence as his fingers grazed your rib cage, his light touches making their way up your body, kneading your breasts. You let out a struggled moan, frustrated with his teasing.

“Or should I touch you like this?” he whispered hotly into your ear, and before the words could fully register in your mind, his fingers dipped below your underwear and into your wet heat. You moaned loudly as thumb lightly circled your clit while his fingers pumped inside you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and his lips were on you in an instant. You could barely think; how could someone be so good with their fingers? The room was filled with your breathy moans and the slick sound of Dean’s fingers in you. You felt your climax approaching, and Dean could feel it too. Suddenly, his fingers were gone as was the light pressure on your bundle of nerves. You whined at the sudden loss of contact.

“When you cum, sweetheart, I want it to be on my cock,” he said roughly and your eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he buried himself in your tightness until he was fully unsheathed. It only took a couple of well-placed thrusts before you were seeing stars, incoherently rambling as he worked you through your orgasm. The snapping of his hips was relentless, and by the time you had come back down from your high, there were only a few seconds before you could feel the pressure building inside you again.

“One more, sweetheart, I know you can do it for me,” he encouraged, and you shook your head, tears forming from the overstimulation of his fingers rubbing your clit and the fullness of his cock. He muttered praises in your ear as you came again, and his thrusts became sloppy as he drove himself over the edge. Spent, he collapsed on top of you, the comforting weight of his body caging you in against the bed.

The two of you laid there for a minute, catching your breath and allowing for your heart to stop racing. Dean pressed a light kiss to your neck before he rolled onto his back next to you. A glance at the clock told you that you had a little over an hour before you had to leave for work. You looked to your right and found Dean already looking at you, a twinkle in his tired eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently, and you nodded with a smile on your face.

“I wasn’t too rough was I?” There was slight apprehension in his voice. You placed a hand on his cheek and your heart fluttered when he nuzzled closer into your palm.

“I like it a little rough,” you admitted with a blush. He flashed you a wide smile and leaned in to kiss you.

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman,” he muttered against your lips and you giggled. He pressed a firm kiss to your lips before pulling away, getting off the bed in search of his boxers.

“Why don’t you go shower and I’ll cook us some grub?” he offered and your heart warmed at the gesture.

“Only if you make bacon,” you teased and he gasped dramatically, his hand clutching his chest.

“As if I would make anything else,” he retorted and you rolled your eyes playfully. You hopped off the bed and walked to the bathroom, uncaring that you were naked. You debated on taking a shower but instead threw your hair into a bun and opted for a hot bath, as your legs were still a little wobbly from your previous activities.

You hissed as the water made contact with your sensitive skin, but soon you were fully emerged, your muscles relaxing into the warmth. Leaning your head back, you sunk deeper into the tub, letting your eyes close. There was a slight clatter of pots and pans coming from the kitchen and you heard Dean quietly curse followed by the tapping of Meatball’s claws against the hardwood floor. You chuckled, envisioning a spooked Dean accidentally stepping on Meatball’s tail and an equally frightened Meatball scampering away. You laid there for a while, the exact time, you were unsure, but you guessed about fifteen minutes if the light pruning of your skin was any indication. Despite how comfortable it was, you didn’t want to keep Dean waiting. You quickly washed yourself before climbing out of the tub.

The tub quietly drained as you brushed your teeth, and you observed your reflection. Despite your tears from the night before, your face wasn’t puffy and your eyes shined brightly. You put on lotion before making your way to your bedroom. You pulled on a soft pair of leggings and a worn sweatshirt. You threw your towel into the hamper and glanced around your room, a smile quirking on your lips when you realized that Dean had already made the bed.

You wandered into the kitchen, a full pot of coffee sitting on the counter as well as a plate of eggs and pancakes. Dean was at the stove finishing up the bacon when he turned to you and winked.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you. When Dean grabbed your empty plate and made his way over to the sink, you protested but he silenced you with a look.

“You gotta get to work. I’ll clean these up,” he said and you sighed, knowing he was right.

“I’ll cook dinner then,” you compromised and he smiled at you. You gathered your purse and keys and Dean kissed you on the forehead along with a whispered promise to see you later. Meatball was sitting by the front door, his tail swishing with slight irritation and you frowned, knowing he was probably jealous from the lack of attention. You picked him up in your arms and brushed your hand over his soft fur. It took several seconds, but soon Meatball’s purrs filled the air and you placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head before setting him back down.

The bookstore was quiet and fairly empty, but you weren’t surprised. As the weather grew colder, people normally stopped coming in as frequently. Only at the peak of Christmas shopping did you see a lot of your customers in the winter. It was a day filled with stocking books and shared giggles with Thomas. The atmosphere between the two of you was back to normal, something you were grateful for. You didn’t want to lose Thomas as a friend. You were still full from the breakfast Dean had made, so by the time lunch had come around, you decided to go home for a little bit rather than eat.

You walked into your house, Dean’s voice echoing from the kitchen. He was on the phone. You weren’t sure who he was talking to, but he didn’t sound very happy. You couldn’t make out the words he was saying other than the occasional “son of a bitch”. The call ended when Dean sighed and said, “Alright Sammy, I’ll see you later.”

The kitchen was silent after that, and there was a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew that he wouldn’t be staying for much longer. Were you going with him? Did he want you to go with him? Are you guys together? This wasn’t a one-and-done type of thing was it?

“I thought I heard you walk in,” Dean’s voice came and you jumped. So lost in your thoughts, you had failed to notice him leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, a small smirk on his lips. He pushed off the wall and walked over to you, cupping your face in his hands and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“If I had known you were stopping by, I would’ve made lunch,” he said, his eyes held mild concern and there was a slight frown when he noticed that you were drowning in thoughts.

“Sweetheart,” he said, and you shook your head, eyes filled with tears.

“You’re leaving?” You whispered, and his face fell. There were word lines on his face and his eyebrows furrowed. The small part of you that hoped he would bring you with him was crushed, and you understood that he was leaving you behind, again. He pulled you into his arms and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“Y/N, you know why I can’t take you with me, right?” His voice was thick, and there was a sharp pain in your chest when you realized that he too was holding back tears. You were tired of arguing with him. You were tired of the tears and the angst. You just wanted him.

“Be careful,” you whispered, defeated. You could tell he was taken aback, probably expecting you to fight. You stepped away, wiping the tears from your face.

“Be careful, Bean. I’ll be here when you get back,” you said with a sad smile. Because it was true: you’d spend forever waiting for him if you had to.

“I—,” he paused, before shaking his head, clearing his eyes of tears, “I’ll come back for you.” He promised, and you giggled while tears streamed down your face, your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He wiped the tears from your cheeks and gave you a deep kiss.

Kisses with Dean weren’t unusual, but they were nothing like this. This kiss was filled with emotions left unexpressed and words left unsaid. It was filled with the missed time between the two of you and hope for the future. You weren’t sure when you would see him next, but you were sure that you would remember this kiss for the rest of your life. It was the perfect goodbye kiss, and that is what made it so hard.

He left soon after, not needing to pack anything, as he didn’t have much with him in the first place. With teary eyes, you watched the Impala’s tail lights until they reached the end of your street, turning left and out of sight.

While the reassurance of him returning comforted you, it didn’t keep the tears from escaping your eyes and the sinking feeling in your chest. Deciding to take the rest of the day off, you shot Thomas a quick text telling him that you wouldn’t be returning from your lunch break. Instead, you turned the TV on and cuddled with Meatball on the couch, seeking comfort in your feline companion. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that Meatball also missed the green-eyed hunter, as he kept staring at the door as if expecting Dean to walk through.

Time quickly passed and before you knew it, the sun had set and Meatball was meowing for dinner. You quickly began to regret not fighting Dean more, at least asking him to stay for one more night. But he left in such a rush, you didn’t want to be selfish and keep him to yourself when there could be someone out there whose life depended on him.

The events of the day left you without an appetite, so you filled Meatball’s bowl before retreating to your room. Your eyes fell on the dark henley that was laid out on the bed, and you smiled at the kind gesture. As if on cue, your phone rang and you giggled when you saw a goofy selfie of Dean fill your screen along with his contact name “Batman”.

“I wasn’t aware I had the hero of Gotham’s phone number,” you answered, teasingly.

“Not just Gotham, sweetheart,” came Dean’s low voice and your heart pounded in your chest. How was it possible for you to get this excited over a phone call?

“When did give me your number?” You asked, and Dean chuckled.

“This morning while you were knocked out. It was quite a sight; I took a couple of pictures to commemorate the moment,” he said, and you scrolled through your photos, immediately finding several photos of you sleeping, your mouth wide open and your hair sprawled everywhere. There were a couple of you by yourself but others were with Dean, him making silly faces as you slept.

“Creep,” you joked.

“I can’t help that you’re adorable while you sleep,” came his smooth reply.

“Did you see my gift?” He asked, changing the subject. You nodded before remembering that he couldn’t see you over the phone.

“Yeah, I found it right before you called,” you said, picking up said gift and holding it to your nose. You inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of cologne, leather, and whiskey. For the next couple of hours, the two of you talked about everything under the sun, enjoying each other’s company. You found out that he was a few hours outside of Sioux Falls, and that the normally almost 10 hour drive was dramatically shorter due to the Dean’s speeding. After lightly scolding him about his disregard for his safety, you proposed that he take a plane if he wanted a shorter trip, but he confessed his fear of flying.

It was nearly midnight by the time the conversation lulled, and you were laying comfortably on your bed in Dean’s henley. It was a comfortable silence filled with Dean’s deep breathing and the purr of the Impala’s engine, and you quickly drifted off to sleep.

The next few weeks passed by fairly quickly. Although you missed Dean’s presence, he made up for it with daily calls and endless texts. Every morning, you would wake up to a sweet text from Dean wishing you a good day. The two of you were faring well considering the distance. He would keep you updated on his hunts, as well as Sam’s wellbeing.

You were happy again, Thomas noted as he observed the smile that always graced your face whenever you were talking to Dean. Despite his lingering feelings for you, Thomas truly wanted you to be happy, even if that wasn’t with him.

However, there were some nights that left you feeling empty and those nights were the hardest. You muted your microphone and cried yourself to sleep, not wanting to cause Dean any pain. As the time apart grew, so did the frequency of those terrible nights.

Nearly three months after Dean had left, you were slowly starting to unravel. You began to isolate yourself again, turning down lunches with Thomas and opted to stay in your house when you weren’t at work. You often spent your weekends staring at a blank wall thinking about Dean for hours on end.

You were unsure if it was your imagination running wild or not, but you could’ve sworn that your soulmate was getting more and more distant. Your nighttime calls were getting shorter, often ending before you had fallen asleep, and Dean’s voice seemed to be sharper. You rationalized in your head that he was particularly stressed about this case and that once it was over you would have your goofy partner back.

When you woke up one morning without a text from Dean, you knew that your suspicions were correct. He was pulling away. You wished him a good morning and waited all day for a response that never came. Maybe he was just busy?

At 9:57 PM, your phone rang loudly, startling you from your trance. Your eyebrows furrowed as you saw “Batman” flash on the screen and your heart leaped out of your chest, a wave of excitement but also anger rushing over you.

“Where have you been?” You immediately asked when you answered, not even allowing him to greet you. Your voice was icy, upset with the way you were shut out all day, and Dean knew that he was in trouble.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice defeated, and you knew something was very wrong. There was a deep sigh before he continued.

“Sweetheart, I have to go away for a couple of days and I won’t be able to contact you,” he said and a million questions raced through your mind, but the most prominent of all: why? Conflicted with where to even begin, you let out a shaky breath that you weren’t aware you were holding in.

“Where are you going?” You asked weakly.

“I just gotta finish this case, and I’ll be back before you know it,” he rushed out. You opened your mouth to speak again, but Dean hastily cut you off.

“I gotta leave now, but I’ll see you soon,” he paused, “I’m sorry.”

“De—,” you called out, but it was too late. He had hung up on you. Furious, you tried calling his phone, only for it to go straight to voicemail.

“Dean Winchester, you will answer the phone right now and explain what is going on,” you demanded, before texting him variations of the same command. You tried calling Sam, but much to your anguish, his phone also went straight to voicemail.

“What the fuck,” you muttered, wringing your hands as you tried to figure out a way to contact the brothers. There was no way for you to track them, and you didn’t even know Bobby’s last name, only that he lived in Sioux Falls. You got on your knees and prayed to Castiel, begging for his help, but when there was no flutter of wings nor a handsome man wearing a trench coat in your home, you did the only thing you could do. You cried.

You thought it had hurt when Dean left the first time, but it was nothing compared to the pain you had felt now. This time, you had a glimpse of happiness, a peek into what your future could have held. A future with pancakes and forehead kisses, late nights in bed and early mornings curled around him. You had gotten used to his witty comments and snarky replies, his teasing and affectionate nature. You had finally began to see yourself being happy for the rest of your life with this man, only for it to be taken away, and you hadn’t the slightest clue why.

A day passed without any contact from the brothers despite the numerous calls, texts, and prayers you had sent. You had no idea where Dean was, how long he would be, or if he would even come back. For all you knew, he could’ve just left you, deciding that he could no longer do long distance. Unable to bare being alone in your lonely house anymore, you drove to Thomas’ apartment.

You knocked heavily on his door and noted the look of surprise in his brown eyes, before Thomas recognized your tear-stained face and disheveled look.

“What did he do this time?” Thomas growled, as he stepped aside to let you in. Not in the mood to talk, you merely shook your head as you felt tears welling in your eyes again. Thomas pulled you into a protective hug, and as much as you wanted to find comfort in the embrace, you were disappointed when the smell of lemons and fresh laundry hit you instead of cologne, whiskey, and leather.

Thomas pulled away once you quieted down, dragging you to the couch and insisting that you stayed there while he made you a cup of tea. You glanced around the room, taking in slight differences since the last time you were here. There was an unfamiliar jacket resting on the back of a chair as well as a pair of shoes by the door that you’d never seen before. When a shirtless man walked out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, you remembered Thomas mentioning a few months back that his brother was staying with him for the foreseeable future.

Thomas’ brother, you had forgotten his name, swept his dark eyes over the living room, spotting you on the couch.

“It’s about time Tommy found a girl,” he remarked with a smirk. Something about him made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and sent shivers down your spine. Thomas had briefly told you that they don’t really get along, but that he still wanted to help his brother out. You shook your head, clearing your mind of thoughts.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you introduced, “I work with Thomas at the bookstore. We’re just friends.” You clarified and noted the man’s eyebrows raise.

“Just friends, huh? I would’ve thought Tommy would mention working with such a beautiful woman,” he drawled before sticking out his hand.

“Dylan,” he said firmly and you looked warily at his hand before shaking it, very much aware that he was practically naked in front of you. Luckily, Thomas stepped into the room, a cup of peppermint tea in his hands.

“Dyl, go put on some clothes,” Thomas instructed, before looking back at you, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Dylan rolled his eyes and sauntered out of the room.

“Sorry about him,” Thomas said. Not wanting to cause any trouble between the brothers, you shrugged lightly before taking the tea.

“What’s wrong?” He kindly inquired, sitting next to you on the couch. You took a sip of your tea before setting it down, letting out a shaky breath. You spent the next hour explaining what had happened with Dean: how he had to leave suddenly for work and the past several months with the phone calls and texts, leaving out the more intimate details. You then told him about Dean’s changing moods and the strange phone call. You told him that you had tried many times to contact him, not mentioning Castiel, and how broken you felt without Dean by your side.

You were a crying again by the time you had finished, reduced to a bumbling mess, unattractively wiping your face with the sleeve of Dean’s henley that you wore for the past two days. It had long lost its scent, but knowing it was his still brought you a shred of comfort.

Thomas cooked your favorite pasta, and Dylan joined the two of you at the table for dinner. Hoping to get your mind off of Dean, you got to know Dylan more, asking questions about his career and his life in Fort Collins. You learned that Dylan was a problem child and he was at boarding schools for most of his life. He dropped out of college early on, much to his parents’ disappointment. He had gotten in trouble with the law for petty theft as well as drunk driving. He was now staying with Thomas as he worked at the mechanic, fixing cars and saving money until he could get a place of his own. Despite your initial impression of the man, you had learned that outside of his snarky demeanor, he was actually quite a decent guy. Him and Thomas weren’t very close as a result of Dylan being five years older and not around for the majority of Thomas’ childhood.

As the pasta disappeared along with two bottles of wine, the three of you delved into deeper topics. You learned that Dylan hadn’t met his soulmate yet and he was afraid he never would. He had a long history with women, and Thomas pegged him as a one-night-stand type of guy. You told him about Dean and the rollercoaster that was your relationship. You successfully avoided questions that directly asked about Dean’s job and the details of his life. It was nearly midnight when your phone rang.

You sucked in a breath, your heart pounding when you saw Sam’s name on the screen. Why was he calling you, after all this time? Why didn’t Dean call you first? Did something happen? You quickly excused yourself from the table, rushing into the living room before answering. “Sam?” You said, shakily.

“Hey Y/N,” came Sam’s tired voice.

“What’s going on? Where’s Dean?” You demanded, furious at your soulmate and his brother for leaving you without a clue as to what was going on.

“Dean didn’t tell you?” Sam asked, his voice twinged with confusion.

“Tell me what?” You asked, your heart racing at the endless possibilities running through your mind. However, none of them was remotely close to what Sam revealed.

“Lisa and Ben,” he said, and you flinched at the woman’s name, “they were kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped? By who?” You asked incredulously. Sam began explaining how demons came after them and how Ben had called Dean. You didn’t mean to, but you tuned out the younger Winchester, caught up in your own thoughts.

Did Lisa tell Ben to call Dean? Is this why he left? Did he have unresolved feelings for this woman? You collapsed onto the couch. You couldn’t cry anymore even if you had tried. No longer buzzed from the wine, you processed everything that Sam had told you, anger rising in your chest.

“Where is he?” You asked, not caring that you had cut Sam off. He sighed before answering.

“The hospital.” The hospital? Why on Earth was he in the hospital?

“He’s not in the hospital, he’s at the hospital. He’s uh… he’s taking care of some things,” Sam said, and you didn’t even realize that you were thinking out loud.

“I see,” you clipped. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Lisa and her son were the unmentioned things and that Dean still deeply cared about them.

“Y/N,” Sam said, “I’m so sorry; I thought you knew. Dean said he took care of everything.” You scoffed.

“He told me that he was leaving and that he would be coming back later,” you said coldly. You took pity on Sam, the tall man always kind towards you and it wasn’t his fault his brother was an idiot.

“Tell him I am expecting a call when he’s done with those… things,” you said before hanging up. You resisted the urge to hurl your phone at the front door, and instead screamed into a couch pillow before rejoining Thomas and Dylan in the kitchen. Thomas took one look at your face and pulled out the whiskey and three glasses.

You winced at the harsh burn as the alcohol entered your body, throwing back glass after glass in hopes of numbing the ebbing pain in your heart. He didn’t want you. He wanted her. He left you so he could be with her. You should’ve known he wasn’t over her, with the way he kept hiding things from you, how he hid their relationship until recently.

It wasn’t long before you were a drunken mess, Thomas insisting that you sleep on the couch as you were in no state to go home. You barely protested, knowing that you would rather be with Thomas in his apartment than in your house by yourself, sleeping in a bed that you and Dean used to sleep in.

A loud ringing from your phone woke you up. A pounding headache and an achey back signaled that you were hungover and on the couch. You didn’t remember passing out, nor did you remember Thomas bidding you a goodnight. You squinted your eyes at the clock on the wall, wondering who would be calling at three in the morning.

You scrambled off the couch as your phone continued to ring, seeing Dean’s face on your screen in that stupid silly picture he took that you hated to admit you loved. Wanting nothing more than to scream at your soulmate, you unlocked the door and crept outside, not wanting to wake up the whole apartment with your yelling.

“How convenient of you to call,” you said cooly when you answered.

“Sweetheart, I—,” Dean started before you cut him off.

“Don’t sweetheart me, Dean. Do you know how worried I was? How confused I was? You suddenly up and left me without a single explanation, and I have to find out from your brother two days later that you were saving your ex-girlfriend? You were in such a rush that you couldn’t explain it over a text or a voicemail?

“God, I cannot believe that you did that! Why did you keep this from me? Do you still have feelings for her? You asshole, you said you didn’t love her!” You screamed, absolutely done with the whole situation.

“What’s next? You’re going to apologize and tell me that she meant nothing, and that you only want me, but the next time another girlfriend of yours goes missing, you’ll be leaving again, without a single word?” You were out of breath now, your chest heaving. The other end was silent, before Dean spoke again.

“It wasn’t like that. I was trying to protect you,” he reasoned and you exploded again.

“Protect me? You keep saying that but all you do is leave me and hurt me. Don’t lie to me Dean, you were trying to protect her and her precious son,” you said venomously.

“You know what Dean? I’m done. Go be with Lisa and that kid. Go live out that perfect life that you had tried to before,” you said, suddenly exhausted. You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep fighting with him.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re upset,” he started, “Hell, Sam punched me when he found out you didn’t know. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, I guess I didn’t want you to worry, but God I’m so stupid. I promise I’m done with Lisa. I had Cas remove their memories of me, so they can live a normal life away from all of this stupid supernatural bullshit. I don’t want her, Y/N. I want you.”

“No, Dean. You don’t get me. Don’t you understand? You chose her. She may not have any memories of you but you sure do have memories of her and the year you spent together. The year you played family. How dare you even be jealous of Thomas, when you’re with her?” You were tired. It was cold.

“I’m done, Dean,” you whispered defeatedly into the phone. “Please don’t call or visit. I don’t want to see you.”

“Sweeth—,” you hung up before he could even get the word out. Bubbling over with anger, you threw your phone to the ground and watched it shatter into tiny pieces. You rushed back inside, throwing yourself on the couch and sobbed until the sun rose.

Taglist: @akshi8278 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @lanea-1 @slamminmine

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blkmxrvel · 3 years

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Haven’t Forgotten My Way Home (25) - [CONVERTED]

Pairing: Kara Zor-El x Female!Reader

Summary: In the D/s society of National City, men and women abandoned by their Dom/mes or otherwise deemed unfit for life “outside” end up at the Mount Overland House for Orphaned Submissives. It is here that Kara Zor-El finds Y/N Hastings, broken and fearful from mistreatment at the hands of her former Dom. Can Kara coax Y/N back into the world that once so terrified her, and show her the true meaning of care and submission?

Warnings: Domestic Violence (Flashbacks, Mentions and Descriptions), Misogyny, Domination/Submission.

She hadn’t known what to expect for the trial. She’d thought that she’d have to sit in a little box, with a judge towering over her and yelling questions. Or maybe they’d let James ask the questions, even though both Sam and Lucy had told her that wasn’t the way these sorts of trials worked. She didn’t know; she’d never been to one before. She’d watched a court show or two when she was younger, at her parents’ house, but she was pretty sure even then that that wasn’t the way real life worked.

Then again, Y/N was growing ever surer that her own life wasn’t the way real life was supposed to work.

She certainly hadn’t expected for James to be this close, so close that she could smell his cologne and the underlying hint of soap. So close that she could see his eyes, the nervous, uncertain way they would flick in her direction then back down to the table again, as if he was afraid – or ashamed – to be caught looking at someone who was “beneath” him. She hadn’t expected the fear, the revulsion that had welled up within her at knowing that the man who had tormented her for years was now, once again, within mere feet of her.

She hadn’t expected to find herself hating him.

The only thing that gave her comfort, even more than sitting with Sam on one side and her lawyer on the other, was knowing that Miss Kara was also a few feet away, sitting in the gallery with Lena and watching her with kind, proud, protective eyes.

Miss Kara had kept the blanket fort up for a few days, and she and Y/N had slept in it the night previously – but only after Miss Kara had bought an air mattress.

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” she’d said, a determined look in her eyes that made Y/N fall in love with her just a little more.

She hadn’t really been able to get much sleep; she’d tossed and turned with images of the trial not letting her close her eyes for more than a few moments. Finally Miss Kara had had enough – they both needed to rest so they would be in top form, she’d said, her voice gentle but authoritative. She’d held Y/N close in her arms and sang into her ear, softly, soothingly, until finally Y/N was able to settle down and get a few hours of sleep.

Nothing had really prepared her for seeing James in the courtroom. Even having Kara on one side, Sam, Lena, and Lucy on the other, did little to quell Y/N’s nerves. The moment she saw him, it all came rushing back.

And then, listening to the reasons for why he had done what he had… was that enough? She found herself wondering. Would it all excuse what he had done to her? She hated that for a brief moment while listening to James’s testimony, her heart had ached for him. The little boy, his family in turmoil and ultimately being abandoned by the father… She could only imagine what James had gone through, what he had thought, how he must have blamed himself. For just a few minutes, Y/N could see the scared boy that James had been. And yet, the boy that he had been was quickly overshadowed by the instruments he had used, the angry scowl of his voice as he beat her. The pain, the bruises, the broken bones…

But at least that’s why she was there – to give voice to her own worst memories.

They had decided that, rather than having Y/N prepare her own statement, she was better at questioning, a call-and-response testimony that kept her head clear and focused, and her answers concise. So Lucy Lane’s voice was soft, gentle as she asked the first question.

“Y/N, what was it like when you first met James Olsen?”

She hadn’t been sure about Lucy at first. There was something too flighty about her, a goofiness that had made Y/N wonder if the thin lawyer with the outlandish clothes was really dedicated to her case. But Sam had sworn by her, and the loud chomping of gum while she pored over the notes to Y/N’s case was offset by the look of sheer determination in Lucy’s eyes, and that had made her feel better. Plus she had seen the tender way Lucy had interacted with her submissive when her boy had brought them all lunch one day, and that had done even more for Y/N’s trust.

“He was nice,” Y/N admitted, toying with the hem of her shirt and looking down at the table. “I saw him… a couple of times when we were kids and he always seemed nice. Really… tall.”

Across from her, James snorted, and Y/N smiled a little.

In another life, would they have known each other? If they hadn’t been matched up by her parents and his – before his father left – would they have ever run into each other? On the street, or in a crowded supermarket. Would she have been charmed by his eyes, by the smile that only seemed to lift one side of his face, by his awkwardness hidden under a sense of false bravado?

Or would she have known to stay away from him? Would she have known that he wasn’t a “nice boy,” as her mother had said; that instead he was a spoiled child who made himself out to always be the victim? That he would try to sway Y/N to feel sorry for him even as he was hurting her, that it was, and would always be, only about James’s happiness, James’s dreams, James’s goals (or lack of), everything James wanted?

Perhaps she would’ve met Miss Kara first. Y/N glanced back out to the gallery and smiled, seeing her in the front row again, watching them. Y/N had been scared when Miss Kara had run out, afraid that she wouldn’t come back. It didn’t matter that Sam was on one side of her and Miss Lane on the other; Y/N only ever felt really safe knowing Miss Kara was there with her.

“Can you tell us what your first day with him as your Dominant was like?”

She’d known this was coming. Sam had held her as she cried, the first time she’d described what that day had been like with him. But it was different, telling one person. How was she meant to describe it to a room full of people? But Y/N took a deep breath and focused on Miss Kara, who gave her yet another reassuring smile.

“He was nice, at first,” she explained. “We were both… nervous. I mean we were just sixteen and I don’t think he was very sure of himself so I knelt d-down and I said that I would help him as much as I could, that I was there for Sir, that I was his.”

“And what did he do?”

Y/N shook her head. “I-I can’t-“

Sam’s hand closed over hers and squeezed, and Y/N glanced at her gratefully. She wasn’t Miss Kara, but it helped.

“We need you to,” Miss Lane said gently. “What did James do when you knelt for him and expressed your desire to help him?”

She closed her eyes.

“He slapped my face and said he didn’t need my help. Then he adjusted my stance because he didn’t like the way I was kneeling, and I had to stay that way for a while. An hour or two.”

“Will you tell us what your life was like, from that day on?”

Y/N sighed. “Have you ever felt,” she said quietly, “like no matter what you do, you’ll never get it right? No matter how much of a g-good girl you try to be, it isn’t good enough? I tried so hard, and I always made a mess of things. I didn’t kneel right. I didn’t cook his favorite things well. I was too smart, then too dumb. I talked too much, didn’t talk enough. Didn’t cry, screamed too loud, I was too n-needy. Nothing I ever did was good enough for him.”

“Okay,” Miss Lane said, carefully stopping the flow of words that threatened to send Y/N out of control. She breathed in, shakily, and concentrated on the table again.

She was glad that Lucy had said she wouldn’t ask any sexual questions; Y/N wasn’t sure she could handle those, not yet anyway. It was hard enough to talk to Miss Kara about things like that, even if things between them were growing steadily more intense with each passing day. It was getting even harder for Y/N to deal with her emotions, things she’d never felt before, wasn’t even sure she was allowed to feel. Things like need. Desire. Miss Kara was always telling Y/N to be open with her feelings, but sex… wasn’t anything that was ever discussed in the Hastings household, and in the Olsen household it was more of… a chore. Something that had to be done to keep him happy.

To close her eyes as he always took her from behind, because he said looking at her face ruined the mood.

At least it had never lasted long. At least he had never lasted long.

Miss Lane moved on to the questions about James’s physical treatment of her. The beatings, the broken bones (and here she offered into evidence numerous medical reports), the missed meals. Kneeling for hours on a hard tile floor. Sleeping in a corner of a dark, cold bedroom with little more than a sheet for comfort. Being humiliated in front of his friends.

Y/N told it all.

Everything she had held inside herself, kept hidden for years… it didn’t matter that Miss Kara wasn’t sat right beside her. Y/N looked out into the gallery, locking her hazel eyes with the soft, tear-filled brown ones that she loved… and told it all. She took a deep breath, dug deep and quietly repeated the words to herself, the words that first Sam had told her when she’d sobbed in her arms that day, and then Miss Kara had reiterated hours later.

It’s not your fault.

“Why did you never use your safe word?”

Y/N cocked her head at Miss Lane. “Safe word?” she repeated, feeling a little dumb.

Lucy Lane nodded. “The safe word that you and James agreed upon.”

“But we didn’t,” Y/N said, confused.

“You didn’t have a safe word established?”

It was one of the tenets of their society, Y/N knew. Well, she knew that now. Before, she hadn’t known that safe words and contracts, mutual agreements, were actually a thing. Growing up she had always been taught that her Sir was to be pleased, he was to be obeyed, and her own needs would be met if she did those things.

She wasn’t told what to do if those needs weren’t met.

“No, I didn’t have a safe word,” she answered, and once again her eyes met Miss Kara’s. “Not with James.”

“So your contract didn’t establish the usage of safe words?”

Contract. An agreement between two or more parties for the doing or not doing of something specified. An agreement enforceable by law.

Miss Kara had told her that just a year before Y/N had been “matched” with James, the government had established that contracts were “necessary and advisable” within their society. Every couple, once a claim was made, was required to go and file a contract, with an itemized listing of rules and regulations, the safe words that were to be used, and punishments that would be enforced within the context of the relationship. It was meant to facilitate stronger protection for submissives; Miss Kara’s voice had grown sad when she said that she wasn’t sure it had worked. If it had, there wouldn’t have been a need for places like McKinley House.

Y/N shook her head. “We didn’t have a contract.”

Lucy’s hand paused over the paper on which she was scribbling notes and she glanced at Y/N, then at James. “No contract?”

It was all for effect, Y/N knew. They’d been over this before; Miss Lane knew there had been no safe words, no contract. Nothing in writing to establish Y/N’s role in the relationship, nothing that outlined how James ought to care for Y/N, and how she should respond in kind. It was Lucy’s plan of attack: show that James, while not caring for Y/N and being abusive, had also actually broken the law. This, she said, would virtually guarantee their win.

Y/N wasn’t sure about that; Judge Schott looked like he was ready to fall asleep.

“No contract.”

“No safe word?”

“No,” Y/N said again. “I had no safe word, and no contract. I didn’t… have anything.”

“So how did you keep safe?”

Y/N sighed, and shook her head again. “Obviously I didn’t,” she said, unable to keep the slight edge from creeping into her voice. She looked over at James, and her heart plummeted a little when she saw the smirk on his face.

It was the smirk he always wore, just before… she curled her fingers against the table, grasping lightly and reminding herself of the other thing Miss Kara and Sam had told her.

He can’t hurt you.

“So you lived in a relationship with a man who broke the law by refusing to employ a contract and safe words, and subsequently abused you frequently? We could even say, every day of your life with him.”

Y/N nodded. “Yes.”

Lucy Lane gestured toward Mrs. Allen-West, effectively ending her questioning of Y/N.

She steeled herself as she smiled at her. She was pleasant enough, Y/N decided, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still the enemy.

“Miss Hastings,” she said easily, “Could you tell us about the house you shared with James Olsen, please?”

She resisted rolling her eyes, wondering if every lawyer was an expert in redundancy. “He was never happy,” she began to explain again. “Nothing I ever did was right, no matter how ha—“

“No,” James’s lawyer interrupted, and Y/N flinched slightly at her raised voice. “I am referring to the house itself. What was it like?”

Y/N drew back a little, confused. “Okay, I guess?” she said uncertainly. “A little small?”

“Not as nice as the one you grew up in?”

“No,” Y/N answered, suddenly a little nostalgic for the large house with its big rooms and soft couches, even softer beds with snuggly blankets. She still wasn’t sure where Allen-West was going with her line of questioning, but she already wished she’d stop. The last thing she wanted to remember during a trial was her former home. Her parents – she hadn’t heard from them in years. And her grandfather…

She missed him so much. He’d have protected her.

“So the house was small.” Y/N was sure that the woman with the perfect hair and dapper tie meant to be kind, but her voice was condescending, as if she were talking to a small child. You’re probably a bratty sub, Y/N thought, and not the kind Miss Kara seems to like. Probably one that throws a temper tantrum every time something doesn’t go your way.

“Was it also comfortable?”

“Yes?”

If Iris Allen-West detected any malice in Y/N’s answer, she didn’t let on as he continued. “Warm in the winter, cool in the summer?”

“Yes.”

“You stated that Mr. Olsen would sometimes make you sleep on the floor.” Y/N nodded, not bothering to verbally respond. She’d already stated as much. “Were you naked when you slept on the floor?”

“Sometimes.”

“But the house was warm.”

“Yes.”

“Were you given a pillow, a sheet?”

“A pillow. And a sheet. Sometimes a blanket in the winter.”

“And you stated that every now and then he’d let you sleep on the bed.”

“The foot of the bed,” Y/N clarified, adding in a mutter, “Like a dog.”

Allen-West nodded, seeming thoughtful, and then smiling at Y/N again. “Were you ever homeless, Miss Hastings?”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand—“

She interrupted her again, leaning forward, and Sam put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as Y/N scooted her chair back an inch.

“In the time that you were with Mr. Olsen, did he ever force you out onto the street, were you ever homeless?”

“No?” Was there a point to all this, Y/N wondered.

But then, with Iris Allen-West’s next question, her defense of James Olsen became clear.

“Y/N, would you ever say that you deserved your punishments?”

Her mouth dropped open a little. “W-what?”

That same damned smile, mirrored by the smirk on James’s face. “You’re a submissive,” his lawyer said smoothly. “Your dominant owns you; his duty is to train you, to make you your better self, to punish you whenever you don’t live up to his expectations. Did you live up to his expectations?”

“I-I didn’t deserve it,” Y/N said shakily. “Not that- not what he-“

“So everything you did was correct?” his lawyer pressed. “You were always good, always obedient, you never smarted off to him, you never broke a rule, and you never left him dissatisfied?”

She could feel the panic start to rise, the endless doubt that had been ever present each day for the last few years, that had only just began to fade, with the persistent gentleness and care of Miss Kara. The feeling that she was always wrong, that she was bad and disobedient, a horrible sub, because she could never do anything right.

“I-I tried,” Y/N said, hearing that her voice was bordering on pleading. “Every day I tried, to do what he wanted to, and I couldn’t—I never—“

“So you admit it, then?” His smile seemed almost feral now, menacing, and when had he stood up, leaning forward on the table, almost towering over her despite how short he was?

“You admit that you were a less than acceptable submissive. You admit that James Olsen frequently had to correct you in ways he saw fit, ways that were permissible because he is your Dominant.”

Now Judge Schott was sat up in his chair, his expression rapt as he listened to Allen-West attack Y/N with gusto.

“You admit that though he was severe, though he may have punished you in ways you didn’t like, that it wasn’t always about you, it was sometimes about James, as a good relationship should be. And the fact that you were never lacking for food, for clothing, for adequate and comfortable housing. And the fact that he was actually a very good Dominant, dedicated to you and your well-being, dedicated to training you in the best way he knew ho—“

“He wasn’t a good Dominant!” Y/N snapped, slamming her hand onto the table. “Not like Miss Kara!”

She was aware that the room had gone quiet. That Schott seemed suddenly interested in her, as did two men in suits sitting in the back of the room. That Sam had softly sworn “Oh, fuck” under her breath, and that Miss Kara was suddenly fidgeting in her seat and Lena had placed a steadying hand on her knee.

The gesture made her irrationally jealous, but Y/N plowed forward, her trembling voice suddenly loud and echoing in the silent court chamber.

“He beat me every day,” she said. “Until I cried, until I screamed. He broke… my bones. Me. I-I didn’t deserve that. And Miss Kara—“

“Y/N,” Lucy put her hand on Y/N, but Y/N shook it off with a glare.

“She’s good. She’s good and gentle and even when I’m ba—even when I’m naughty she’s still soft when she corrects me. She puts me in the corner or… she made me scrub the floor two days ago but she sat in the kitchen with me. She doesn’t beat me, ever, and she won’t.”

“She’s nothing like you,” she spat out toward James. “I may not be a good submissive but you’re not a good Dominant either. Not like her. Not like my Miss Kara.”

She fell quiet then, hating the way Allen-West quirked one extremely forest-resembling eyebrow and said to Judge Schott, “I believe I have made my case, Your Honor.”

The words dismissing them for a recess while he rendered his decision barely registered to Y/N’s ears; she sat numbly in her seat as Sam and Lucy stood up and tried to coax her to go out into the hallway with them. Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d done something horribly wrong, because everyone was looking at her strangely and even Miss Kara seemed unnaturally pale as she came up and took Y/N’s hand, pulling her to her feet and leading her out into the hall with the others.

“M-Miss Kara?” Y/N queried softly, but the smaller woman shushed her with a finger against her lips and a tender look.

“I am so proud of you,” Miss Kara said, and Y/N relaxed when she pulled her into a hug. Y/N rested her chin on Miss Kara’s shoulder and breathed in, letting out most of the tension she’d felt since that morning.

“Really?”

“Really,” Miss Kara assured her, her hand in Y/N’s hair. “You were so brave up there, and you didn’t back down.” She kissed Y/N’s cheek gently.

“You were such a good girl.”

“You did good, kid,” she heard Sam say, and felt the light thump on her back, and Y/N giggled. She nuzzled further into Miss Kara, tightening her arms around her, enjoying the closeness and the comfort… until she heard an unfamiliar sound, a strange clearing of a throat.

She backed away from Miss Kara slowly, feeling the panic again as they both were confronted with the two men in suits, who had been sitting in the back row.

Miss Kara had stiffened, though her arm was still firm and secure around Y/N’s waist as she regarded the men.

“I hadn’t expected to see you here,” she said easily, casting a glance to her side as Alex and Allen-West walked past them, James in between.

“She is a member of Mt. Overland House, of course we would be here,” one of the men replied, looking down at Kara.

“She is Y/N Hastings,” Miss Kara said, and Y/N felt a swell of pride.

She was Y/N Hastings.

The other man nodded coolly, regarding Miss Kara, before saying, “We’ll see you tomorrow in our office, Miss Zor-El. I’m sure you know what we’ll be discussing.”

Miss Kara rolled her eyes as they walked away. “Of course they wouldn’t stay for the verdict,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s not like they actually care for Y/N’s well-being. It’s all for show with them.”

“Kara,” Lena said, a warning tone in her voice. “Now is not the time to make enemies of your bosses.”

Bosses? Y/N drew away slightly as the realization dawned on her.

The men were Miss Kara’s bosses at the Society. Her government bosses. And Y/N had just blurted out about her Miss Kara…

“Oh, no,” she whispered with a feeling of dread. “I-I didn’t—Miss Kara, I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, I’m sorry!”

“No, no, Y/N,” Miss Kara said firmly, even though her voice shook ever so slightly. “You didn’t do anything wrong, little one.” She led Y/N over to a bench and sat down with her, gently rubbing her back.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she repeated. “And they can’t do anything to me.”

Y/N looked at Miss Kara, doubtful. The way everyone seemed to be acting strange, acting worried, and the way even Miss Kara’s face looked pinched and strained seemed to tell an entirely different story.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Miss Kara said, and pulled Y/N closer to her.

“Do you think he’ll… do you think I did okay?”

“I know you did okay,” Miss Kara said. “You did more than okay.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “But do you think it was enough?”

“Y/N, Kara,” Lucy said, coming down the hall toward the door to the courtroom, followed a few steps behind by Alex, James, and James’s lawyer. “Come on, we’re back in session.”

Y/N sat up in shock. They’d only been recessed for ten minutes. It was too early…

Miss Kara glanced at her, and Y/N knew that she felt the same way. It was too early.

“I guess we’re about to find out, little one.”

#madi converts #kara danvers #kara danvers x reader #supergirl #supergirl x reader #HFMWH

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sweetchup · 4 years

Text

Monarch Butterfly

Anonymous asks: Chrollo and his so that both think they’re playing each other... maybe she’s sweet and cute looking so she plays into it and he thinks she dumb and naive and she thinks he’s just a rich kid that took one philosophy class

Type: Chrollo Lucilfer x theif! Reader

Au?: None (same universe as Cute Little Princess (pt.2) and N.E.R.D.S (pt.1))

Word count: 4,000+

Warnings: Smut, Unprotected sex, Chrollo being a Sapiosexual, Dom/Submissive, Angst, angst and angst. Yay, I’m so sad.

Author Note: welp. In a simple sense I went overboard, hehehe, since I instantly got an amazing idea. I might actually make a part 2 to this one if it gets popular enough. I honestly fell in love with the concept once I started writing. I hope you like it anon.

“(Y/n), are you thinking of trying something stupid again? Don’t think I can’t see that look on your face.” Clementine says, blowing a puff out of her cigarette as she looks over to you. You only laugh at Clem, reaching over to pull one of her short blonde corkscrew curls. You watch it bounce back and forth for a moment before answering. “I don’t think it’s stupid. I’m just thinking of having a little fun, that’s all.”

“A little fun my ass. Do you know where we are right now?”

“A party?”

Clementine sighs and shakes her head, “You idiot. We are in a fancy hotel at a party, being hosted by Emperor Fushi who is crowning his eldest daughter, Himiko, and her future husband, Tai.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s that serious.”

Clementine squints her eyes at you as she exhales one last puff of her cigarette before putting it out. “How so. Enlighten me Miss (Y/n).”

“Well,...” you pause for a minute to gather your thoughts, “this is the second time Himiko has been engaged in less than a month. Her first husband was Phinks Magcub who randomly went missing around a week and half ago, along with Emperor Fushi’s youngest daughter.”

“Yeah, they apparently fell in love and ran off into the sunrise. Like so cheesy comedy”

“I don’t think that’s the case,” you murmur. Finally spotting your target again. Clementine lets out an ‘Hah?’. You ignore her noise and just signal her to move down the stairs with you, “I do believe they fell in love and disappeared but I don’t think Mr. Magcub was actually in love with Himiko. Mr Magcub and Himiko got engaged about three ½ weeks ago and Mr Magcub disappeared 1 ½ weeks ago. What do we know that happened in between that timeline?”

You hear her gasp and you smirk a little bit. “T-the theft of The Dragon Eyes Collection!”

“And who do we know that’s crazy enough to do that?”

“The phantom troupe! Wait, (Y/n) is one of them—“

“Yep, one of them is here,” You squint as you go to search for him again. Oh. There he is, “And it’s their leader.”

“(Y/n) wait don’t. We don—“

You act as if you're checking something in her hair and whisper into her ear. “Clem. He already has the two Crown Jewels. That’s our mission and I need to go retrieve them. We may also get the info on the Dragon Eye Collection. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, please hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

You pull away and Clementine sighs before smirking. “Don’t be a stupid ass though.”

“I won’t.” You whine as you sashay away. Your heals click down across the tile floor as you get closer and closer to the bar. You hear a whistle and look to your left to see some young prestigious men eyeing you. Practically undressing you with their eyes. Bingo.

As you finally come to the bar area, you locate him. You can’t see his face right now, due to his back facing you, but it’s obvious it’s him. His bulb-like earrings give him away from like a mile away. You smirk before giving your best sweetest smile. You poke the black haired leader on the shoulder causing him to turn around.

“I-um. Oh god. I’m sorry but can I sit next to you?”

Chrollo gives you a smile. “Yes, of course. Is something the matter, Miss?”

“Oh, no. I’m just not a fan of parties and I was trying to go back to my room but, I got a little scared when a couple of men were staring creepily at me.”

“But, wouldn’t I make you nervous as well? Afterall you don’t know me.”

“Ah I guess-s you do. I’m sorry you are just the first one I saw. I guess I’ll leave, I’m sorry to disturb—“ you say, attempting to get up.

The black haired man grabs your wrist. “Oh. I don’t want you to leave. I was just curious.”

You sit back down. That worked perfectly, he reacted just as you thought he would. You once remembered a person telling you that the leader of the Phantom Troupe has an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and his curiosity. And you could tell just by watching him from the balcony, that stealing the Crown Jewels was just like child play for him, so he was bored sitting here at the bar. And even if he didn’t look like it, He was practically looking for anything to possibly entertain him.

So, you walk in, a rich looking damsel in distress waiting for someone to come save her. Chrollo will, of course, take that. You check off all the marks needed to satisfy himself and he had many possible ways to do it. He could steal your Nen, break down your mind, use you, steal from you, or simply just do all of them.

This was where he messed up though. He never would have imagined he would run into someone just as intelligent as him, you.

“I’m Chrollo, Chrollo Lucilfer, by the way.” Chrollo says, leaning against the bar counter.

“Oh! Nice to meet you Chrollo. I’m (y/n). (Y/n) Okage.” You murmur the last part under your breath as if you don’t want him to know. But, he definitely caught it. Perfect, he took your bait. Now he thinks you're an Okage.

“An Okage huh? Wow, call me impressed.”

“Ahh it’s not anything that impressive. It’s just a last name after all.”

Chrollo raises an eyebrow as if he’s saying really. So you’re an Okage, huh? Now he is really interested. The Okage family is a prestigious military family that is known for their very rare Nen. Chrollo is definitely not letting you out his clutches now, he’s going to quietly lure you into his web and pounce. But the question is how…

Ah, that’s how. Chrollo eyes the group of men on the left side of the room, whistling and eyeing every woman that passed by. This worked even better because they were also blocking the exit.

“Would the group of men that happen to be eyeing you, them?”

He points to the group before looking quickly back at you. He watches your doe like eyes blink a couple of times before looking off in that direction. You seem to shudder and clearly show your fear as you see them.

“Y-yes that’s them.” You say, clutching tighter onto your purse. You hear Chrollo let out a small ‘ahh’ as you finish talking.

“Well I was just wondering how you're going to get back to your room without them noticing. After all, they are blocking the door.”

“Oh no. Your right. Do you know if there’s any other doors that lead to the hotel part of this building?”

“Sadly there isn’t. But...,” Chrollo suddenly stands up and extends a hand out to you, “I’d be happy to escort you back to your room.”

“Really?!? Thank you so much!” You say, taking his hand as he leads you away. As you're about to leave you spot Clementine and, secretly, use your hand to signal her.

Clementine smirks into her drink as she notices it. So, the spider has been beaten at his own game eh? Man she might call you stupid but honestly you are the smartest partner she could ever as for. It also doesn’t help you make this job ten times more interesting when you're around.

She just hopes you didn’t get him too caught up in your fun. He’s definitely not like the others you’ve faced.

———🕸—🕷—🕸———

“C-chrollo, W- Wait. I haven’t even taken out the keycard.” You murmur, let out soft moans into his ear as he bites and sucks on your neck. Maybe you made yourself a little too appealing to this guy. Though, at the same time, you can obviously tell him lusting over you is all fake. He just wants you to let his guard down so he can steal from you. Also, you can feel he doesn’t even have a bulge right now.

“Give it. I’ll take care of it.” Chrollo groans, grabbing the card. Once the door to the hotel room is unlocked, Chrollo picks you up and throws you onto the bed. You squeal as he pulls your dress off you and then takes off his shirt and bandanna. Huh. Honestly he’s not half bad, he’s got some nice chiseled muscles going on and an interesting forehead tattoo. Though his patience could use a little work.

You moan out his name as he gives small open mouth kisses all the way from your stomach to your lips. Once he reaches your lips he stops and gives you a passionate kiss.

Honestly, even though this is nice and all, you have a job to finish. Sorry Chrollo. Hope you’ll forgive me on this one.

One moment, Chrollo is pushing you down onto the bed and in charge but in the next, his body feels a hundreds of pounds and it’s even hard to move an muscle.

“W-what?” Chrollo murmurs confused as to what’s going on. You huff as you roll him off of you and he lands next you on his back.

“Fuuuw, Damn Chrollo you weigh a lot. You should lay off the muscle training for a while,” You say, stretching your back. Now, let’s see where those Crown Jewels are. Scurrying through his clothes you find two tiny marbles stuffed into his pant pocket. You bring both up to your eye and examine them as you sit down on his lap. As you look into them you spot the two crowns in one and the Dragon Eye Collection in the other. Score!, “Ooooo! What an interesting ability. Conjures never cease to amaze me with what they come up with.”

You see Chrollo tense, attempting to move, as you throw them on top of your dress on the floor. “Don’t try Chrollo. My Nen won’t be making you move for quite some time.”

“How so?” Chrollo asks, his face blank, unreadable. But, it won’t work, you can see right passed that little trick of his.

“Now I wouldn’t want to tell you that silly goose. I’ll meet one of your conditions if I do so.”

You see Chrollo eyes gleam for a second. He was surprised. He’s had people figure out what his Nen is before but no one has been able to find out his conditions. Not his enemies, not the people of Meteor City, not the Zoldyck’s, not even the troupe. Only he knows what they are. Chrollo licks his dry lips, he’s knows he’s walking on shaky ground right now. “A condition? Are you talking about my Nen? (y/n)? If that is really your name. Though I highly doubt that’s your name. Afterall—

Aww how cute, little Chrollo is trying to change the subject last minute. You decide to cut him off in the middle of his rant, “Yes it’s really my name and yes, I’m talking about your Nen and conditions. Honestly, I already knew you could steal abilities around 3 people had already told me. So it just left me to how. How did the infamous Chrollo Lucilfer, Leader of the Phantom Troupe, steal people’s Nen without their knowledge? Well, it can’t be something that catches them off guard. Afterall, that will grab too much attention and you would have found out already. Yet it also can’t be something too far from the topic of “Nen” either since you need to steal it. So I just observed you as you walked around the party today, after all their is an—“

You pause for a second as you feel something. Is this really happening right now? You test the waters and spread your legs a little bit more wider. Chrollo has definitely gotten a boner while you were talking, it’s a fully hard one too. You decide to roll your hips a little and watch as Chrollo let’s out a moan. You laugh a little at his reaction, “Wow. I’m not sure if I should be happy or offended that me talking turned you on more than the flirting and grinding we did all the way in the elevator.”

Chrollo chuckles, his hair sprayed around on the pillow below him. He’s still trying to keep his tough act up, even now. “Well, there’s a word to describe that actually. It’s called Sapiosexual. By definition it means that someone is attracted to their mind over-r… shit.”

Chrollo clutches onto the sheet below him as you start to slowly grind on top of him. “You know, I’m starting to believe you just really like to hear yourself talk. Either that or you just like to avoid confronting things you don’t know how to figure out in that moment.”

Chrollo doesn’t respond. He just chooses to close his eyes while you smile down at him. “Not talking? Aww sorry I didn’t mean to hit a nerve, Chrollo. Here let me make it up to you.”

You lightly lift yourself off his lap and slowly begin to unbuckle his belt. Looking away quickly, you tried to see Chrollo for a reaction but there was none. Oh well, you can’t rush the good things after all. You’ll have him a mess eventually.

Finally, you pull down his pants and boxers off. Leaving his hard length out in the open; you reach out and hold it lightly in your hand. Wow, he really was a Sapiosexual. The tip of his cock was a pretty red shade with light drips of precum spilling out, showing he was practically craving for release. Hmm...You know what you’ll do. “Wow Chrollo, you're really straining for release. I should help you out. Hmmm... I’m not sure if you're a germaphobe or not so I’m just going to start with my hand….”

Chrollo still had his eyes closed so it gave you the perfect opportunity. As you continue talking, you pulled your panties to the side and lined him up with your entrance. Careful not to get too close so he figures out your plan. Honestly, you were soaked, his cock was honestly really thick and big so you knew it was going to feel absolutely amazing. Also, Chrollo is an entertaining man. You wouldn’t mind have sex with him multiple times if you have to.

“....so Just let me know if it’s not enough ok? I’ll switch to my mouth if so.”

You wait for a second for him to respond but he only lets out a chuckle. Still trying to play it cool. Oh well, you brought this on yourself Chrollo. You take a deep breath and sink down onto his length.

You hear chrollo let out a loud groan as you sink every inch Chrollo has to offer inside you. Even while you are just staying still it makes you feel as if you are about to burst. But, that’s not the important thing right now. You bring your hips up and start off with a slow rhythm, watching as Chrollo is attempting to bring back his composure.

“So,... where was it I left off again? Oh yeah. So I was observing you at the party. Be extra careful to catch changes in people’s aura and listen to what you were saying to them.” You say, rambling off your thoughts. You feel Chrollo twitch suddenly inside you as you speak. You decide to reward the poor man by moving your hips at a faster pace. Maybe you got a bit too excited coming across someone like Chrollo. Clementine will definitely scold you later but, oh well. “I noticed you had stolen the Nen ability of 6 out of the 21 Nen users you talked to at today’s party. Observing you is how I determined the conditions. The first condition I found out was when Mr. Noz and Mr. Casey wouldn’t show you their Nen, and theirs weren’t any of the ones that ended up being taken. The 6 you did take however did show you, meaning one of your conditions is the user has to show you.”

You flinch as you feel Chrollo’s hands grab onto your waist, a bruising clutch against your soft skin. Crap, your Nen was warding off faster than you thought. You have to quicken this up, as much as you didn’t want to. You lean forward onto chrollo’s chest, allowing him to be squeezed more and sucked deeper into you. It definitely made you more vulnerable since it meant his cock was bashing against your g-spot with every flick of your hips but it was also working well on him. You could tell since he was panting and groaning into your ear like crazy. You just needed to hold on for a bit longer.

“T-the second condition I confirmed also with two people. One being a woman whose husband explained to you her Nen ability. You didn’t end up stealing hers so that meant one of the conditions had to do with the person telling you about their Nen. T-Then—then when you went to…”

Oh god, you hide your head into Chrollo’s neck. It was too good, you were honestly begging for mercy. You would slow down the pace but Chrollo has gotten feeling back in the muscles of his hips so he was just thrusting up erratically into you. Chasing after his release.

“What’s wrong (y/n)?” Chrollo murmurs into your ear, causing you to whine and shiver at his mesmerizing voice, “W-what did I do next that 100% confirmed the second condition?”

You don’t respond as your brain was practically melted at this point. Though, Chrollo won’t take that as an excuse. Chrollo, with most of the feeling back in his body, flips you over so he was on top. He stops his thrusts and holds your legs down so you can’t move. You whined as you looked at the silvered eye man above you. “I asked you a question, my little butterfly. And I expect you to answer it.”

You pause and don’t say anything, not wanting him to boss you around. He smirks and pulls all the way out before bashing right back into you, hitting your cervix. You grunt, pain flickering through your body.

You glare at Chrollo above you and he only does it again. And again. Waiting for his lovely little butterfly to answer him. On the 6th thrust is when it gets interesting, this time when he bashed in, your cervix had eased up. Allowing him into the depths of your womb. Your eyes widen and Chrollo chuckles, both of you knowing what this means.

You try to fight against it but Chrollo successfully cross your legs. Making it so you squeezed around him even more. He lets out a sigh, losing his composure as he begins to make small little thrusts, trying to stay in your womb. “Answer me my little butterfly. You and I both know what’s highly likely to happen if I cum this deep in you. There’s no way around it if I do. So answer me.”

He was right, there was no way around it if he does. You’ll just have to follow his orders, waiting for him to drop his guard again.

“T-then I confirmed it when Mr hansu wouldn’t explain to you how to function his ability after you saw it, only about how flashy it is. Meaning your second condition is the person has to tell you the general function or uses of the ability. The third—“ you let out a small sigh as you feel the knot in your stomach about to explode. It also didn’t help you could feel Chrollo begin to twitch inside you, if you came while still explaining there was no question he would cum, hard. “The third, I confirmed through your expressions. Sometimes you would do the first two conditions but not follow up with the third condition since you hadn’t found the ability interesting to you. But when you did, you always had them touch the handprint on your conjured book. The ones that didn’t touch it, didn’t have their abilities stolen.”

You let out a sigh, you were done. You listed all of his conditions. Now he just needs to stop thrusting into your womb.

“And the fourth? The fourth condition?” you blink as he says this. T-there was a fourth condition? Oh god you had forgot strong Nen ability usually had 4-5 conditions not 2-3. Your heart races up as you flicker fastly through your memories.

Nothing else was similar between all the people he talked to. Which means that it’s either a time limit or a magic word that you hadn’t caught. It’s more likely the time limit so you’ll go with that.

“Y-your fourth is a time limit. I confirmed this because strong Nen types need 4-5 conditions and nothing else was similar between the people you talked to. T-This—this means the only likely answer is a tough time limit. From what I observed it took you about 45 minutes to steal from one of the businessmen-men so it’s something higher than that but it has to be shorter—oh~ than 3 hours since that gives too much time and isn’t as strict. Hah-ha-Happy now?”

Chrollo humms for a minute thinking, before he lets out a groan. Come on Chrollo, pull out. You can tell he’s about to burst.

“Chrollo pull out-t, you're about to cum.”

Chrollo groans as you say that, leaning his forehead against yours. Damn, you felt your walls twitching and tightening. You were going to cum.

“You can tell little butterfly? You're so smart my butterfly. All mine.” Chrollo murmurs, pressing kisses against your collar bone. “ I enjoy you, you are so entertaining, so smart, so special. Like a rare specimen. My special butterfly. Trapped in my web forever. Fuck—”

As he says that you finally feel him cum, also allowing the knot in your stomach to finally burst. You bite down, hard on his shoulder, as your whole body shakes underneath him in ecstasy. You thought your brain was mush before, but now it had completely melted into a liquid. It also didn’t help that you loved the feeling of him pumping hot cum into you. The feeling of something so dangerous that also felt so messy and primary sent a flame through your nerves.

You let a couple of pants out as you finally come to. Turning to your right you see chrollo his eyes close since he was out cold. You had hoped when you bit his shoulder and broke the skin that, with your nen, you could put him to sleep before he had cum in you but it seems that hadn’t worked out. As you're trapped underneath the handsome man, you decide it wouldn’t hurt to observe him for a little. Ever so carefully you lightly run your fingers through his hair and then to tracing his features before finally running them across the tattoo on his forehead.

“(Y/n)…” your heart clenches and your fingers tremble as you hear him whisper in his sleep. This is bad. You finally decide it was time to get him off you and it was time for you to make your leave. With a huff, you roll him over before covering with the sheets. You give him one last look before you begin to get dressed, deciding not to even bother cleaning up the cum he pumped into you. You would deal with it when you got back home and we’re able to take a shower, right now you just needed to get the hell out of here. Though before you leave, you decide to neatly fold Chrollo’s clothes and place them on the nightstand beside him, a parting gift if you will. As you place the clothes down and go to leave, a hand grabs your wrist.

You turned, shocked, as you looked at Chrollo. He was hardly able to keep his eyes open and was struggling to even hold onto you. “My Little butterfly… you aren’t going anywhere… you're mine”

You look at him blankly for a couple of seconds before letting out a sad laugh. Damn it. This was supposed to be a fun time but nothing can ever have a happy fairy tale like ending can it?

You lean down placing your forehead down on his. Looking deeply into his silver eyes. “Chrollo. I am your little butterfly. I bet I forever will be but…but…”

You turn your head to the side and savor the last kiss you'll ever share with this man. This extraordinary man that gave you a night you’ll never forget. You slowly pull away watching as his eyes begin to droop again.

“But, Chrollo, you have to be careful. Afterall, A monarch is deadly to a spider.”

And, with that, Chrollo was out. And so were you, not a single trace of you remained in that room. It was like the monarch had never been trapped in Chrollo’s web in the first place.

But, the scars left on those beautiful butterfly wings of yours, Is enough proof that you were there. And that you left, damaged.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #hxh scenarios #scenarios #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer x reader

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Walt Disney Reveals Just How Disneyland Was Created in Rare Interview

David F. Smith/AP/David F. Smith/AP/Shutterstock

This article was written by Ira Wolfert and originally appeared in the April 1966 issue of Reader’s Digest.

“Twenty years ago,” Walt said as we drove toward Disneyland, some 25 miles southeast of central Los Angeles, “I was always trying to think of a place to take my two small daughters on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon—a place where I could have fun, too.

“At an amusement park, the only fun provided for a father, besides having his bottom dropped out from under him on the roller coaster, was the same he enjoyed all week: Buying the tickets.”

Now Walt has created his own park, to satisfy—in parents as in children—the profound human hunger to wonder, be amazed, and make believe. With that incomparable Disney sorcery, he has combined fantasy and history, adventure and learning in a way that sets every tendril of the imagination to tingling. Get a behind-the-scenes look at the first map Walt ever made of Disneyland.

From the beginning, Disney decided to lay out this 31-million-dollar playground like a gigantic theater. You’re in the lobby the moment you hand in your ticket: It’s Main Street, U.S.A., as it looked 50 years ago, when Walt was growing up. To the left and the right and straight ahead are the entrances to four “stages”—Adventureland, Frontierland, Fantasyland, and Tomorrowland. On these stages are set 45 different attractions, irresistible toys more costly than an emperor could buy.

Main Street has gaslights, handcranked telephones, a penny candy store with jelly beans and orange slices, and a bank where bankers (real ones) wear high stiff collars and massive watch chains and work at roll-top desks. An apothecary shop offers herb remedies and real live leeches in bottles of water. At the “Main Str. Cinema,” real (1914) Thomas A. Edison and Pearl White movies play. Only the ceilings and lighting inside the stores are modern. “I’m sorry you noticed that,” said Walt disconsolately. “We had to change the gaslights here—people complained that they made the merchandise look too gloomy.”

At the far end of Main Street stands Fantasyland, the entrance guarded by moat-encircled Sleeping Beauty Castle. “It’s not far away,” said Walt, “but let’s have some fun getting there.” He led me to a quaint old horsecar pulled by a gleaming, burly Percheron. The driver snapped the air between his tongue and his teeth, said, “Giddyyap,” and clanged a bell. We clipclopped down Main Street.

The ride over, Walt explained why it had been shorter than it looked. “It’s not apparent at a casual glance,” he said, “but this street is only a scale model. We had every brick and shingle and gas lamp made five-eighths [of] true size. This cost more, but it made the street a toy, and the imagination can play more freely with a toy. Besides, people like to think that their world is somehow more grown-up than Papa’s was.”

That’s how you make people feel taller and confirm their belief in progress—if you have the genius of a Walt Disney.

David F. Smith/Shutterstock

Fantasyland, “the happiest kingdom of them all,” is a place where childhood dreams come true. Here you can go to the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party in a whirling cup and saucer; ride Dumbo, the Flying Elephant; fall down the rabbit hole with Alice in Wonderland. When you take the Peter Pan ride, sitting in a pirate galleon, you make lovely, airy swoops over rooftops that seem to lie far below. You feel the speed and the wind of your passage as, through the masterly use of tricks of perspective, you soar through the inky night toward the stars.

This sort of thing could be scary for some people, but whenever it seems necessary Walt interrupts reality with a wink to let you know it isn’t really real. On this ride the wink comes in advance. The galleon is lifted onto its rails outside the Peter Pan building, before you go into the darkness, so you can see for yourself that it’s all going to happen only three feet off the ground.

“When you go to Frontierland, make sure that Walt takes you to Tom Sawyer’s Island,” said Dick Irvine, head designer at the Disney Studios. “Walt was brought up in Missouri—Mark Twain country—and that island is all his. He didn’t let anybody help him design it.” Check out some more secrets Disney employees wish they could tell you.

You get to the island on a spittin’ image of the raft Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer built. All around you zip authentic keel-boats, Indian canoes paddled by real Indians, and a grand gold-and-white stem-wheel steamboat, the Mark Twain. The swift-flowing waterway is kept warm and brown, like the Mississippi River itself.

Everything on the island is free; you need a ticket only to get there. “I put in all the things I wanted to do as a kid—and couldn’t,” Walt explained. “Including getting into something without a ticket.”

So there’s a tree house to climb into and a pontoon bridge to cross, like those built in frontier days—planks laid on empty barrels that bob up and down when you walk on them. From the top of a log fort you can sight in with guns on a forest in which Indians lurk. The guns don’t fire bullets—they’re hydraulically operated—but the recoil is so realistic that you’d never guess they aren’t the genuine article. You can fish in the water around the landing, and your chances of catching something are good. A net has been hidden there, and it is kept stocked with catfish. Fishing tackle? You borrow a bamboo pole and worms from an overalled, straw-chewing lad so freckled and friendly he looks as if Mark Twain created him.

We went into Injun Joe’s Cave. This is just a rock tunnel with a hill heaped over it, but it has been tricked out with dripping caverns and a bottomless pit (three feet deep) from which ghostly roaring emerges to curdle the blood. Here Walt has added something to the pages of Mark Twain: A series of little passageways, looping off from the main tunnel, that are just large enough for children only. The kids scoot for them like chickens for feed. There is nothing to see in them and nothing to do, but the dimensions are what count. There is joy and nourishment for the spirit in being alone from time to time in a space adults can’t enter—that’s what the children’s hoots and hollers proclaim.

Uncredited/AP/Shutterstock

From Frontierland we moved on to Adventureland. “Everyone dreams of traveling to mysterious far-off places or exotic tropical regions,” Walt said to me. “Let’s go.” We climbed aboard a powered launch. The cruise took us down the misty Amazon, up the murky Mekong, and through the hippopotamus-filled Congo, with tropical rain forests and bright orchids all around us. Adventure lurked at every bend; crocodiles snapped at us; bull elephants trumpeted; lions, tigers and headhunters eyed us suspiciously through the jungle growth.

From this primitive world it was quite a jump—mentally—to Tomorrowland. Suddenly I found myself in the interior of a space ship, and Walt and I were about to take a ride to the moon. Actually we were in a theater. Around a giant viewing screen in the floor, the seats rose in circular tiers; in the ceiling hung another great screen. The voice of our pilot sounded over an intercom, matter-of-factly warning us to prepare for take-off. The lights went out. A view of the earth as seen from a launching pad appeared on the lower screen, and overhead was a full moon as seen from the earth.

Now a great shuddering and jarring began. Our seats and the walls and floor of the theater shook. Rockets gushed in deep-throated tones. There was a sudden, uncanny clattering—cosmic rays pelting like bullets as we passed through the radiation belt beyond the atmosphere. We saw the earth drop away and become round, the moon come close enough to touch, the stars and planets as they look when there’s no atmosphere to dim them. All this is authentic, made of motion-picture film taken from missiles and satellites, from planetariums and observatories. The effects were so carefully worked out that the sensation of drifting in the stillness of gravity-free space became real, too astounding and blissful.

“Two of the leading figures in the space field, Wernher von Braun and Willy Ley, helped us with the engineering of this ride,” Walt told me. But the biggest help was the father who, 20 years ago, longed to sit with his children and enjoy not just a thrill ride but also a genuine sense of wonder.

In Tomorrowland, too, is the Submarine Voyage, one of the most elaborate illusions ever created. You have the sensation of being completely submerged. Actually, the craft rides on rails and only the part of the hull where you sit facing a porthole is beneath the surface.

The sub starts out under a waterfall, with water foaming and splashing over the portholes as over a submerging conning tower. The commands “Dive! Dive!” coming over the squawk-box are the real thing: They were tape-recorded on submarines in actual ocean dives. Ballast tanks are blown, and bubbles stream past the portholes at a 45-degree angle, to give you the feeling you’re at the angle of descent. When the uproar stops and the bubbles clear, not even a veteran submariner could resist the illusion that he had leveled off after a dive.

Now you are cruising in the deep. Monsters of the underwater world peer at you curiously through the portholes. Giant squid that spread out 26 feet loom up, and clams huge enough to trap a man. But—the Disney wink—when the huge clams open their jaws, you see they’re holding pearls. It reassures the children and makes their elders smile.

Suddenly you are under the North Polar ice cap, pale cold sunlight filtering eerily down. Overhead, icebergs grind and scrape, and the conning tower bumps as it glides under the floes. None of this is exaggerated. The sounds were recorded by U.S. Navy subs in the Arctic.

Now you slide into another ocean, one peopled by snow-white mermaids with flowing purple and silver tresses. “Listen,” Walt cries, as the submarine’s “sonar” tunes in to the silliest symphony ever recorded: The gruntings, whistlings, and shriekings of fish and shrimp. These sounds, too, are genuine, brought back on tape from the wild world of deep waters. Take another look back in time with a boy who met Walt during his first trip to Disneyland.

Don Brinn/AP/Shutterstock

For our last ride in Tomorrowland, Walt and I boarded the Monorail, a train that runs on rubber tires on a single elevated concrete beam. No toy, this $1,300,000 installation is a seriously proposed commuter-transportation system. It occupies only a narrow strip of ground, which doesn’t have to be graded; the piers supporting the beam just have to be built to different heights. Since the Monorail can cope with difficult topographical conditions—rounding sharp curves at high speed, and climbing steep grades—the track could be erected on the dividing strip of existing highways. It is being considered as one solution to the traffic problems of congested metropolitan areas.

Where is the roller coaster? In Disneyland you don’t just zip up and down hills that stand on stilts. Between Tomorrowland and Fantasyland is a $1,500.000 model of the Matterhorn, “snow-capped” and breath-taking, every feature reproduced meticulously at 1/100 of actual size—which makes the mountain as high as a 14-story building. (Even the evergreens, edelweiss, and other plants growing up to the timber line are in scale; when they grow larger they’re replaced.) You swoop down the slopes on a bobsled, hearing the roar of mountain winds. You pass behind real waterfalls, through icicle-hung caverns and a glacial grotto. And at the bottom you glide to a halt on a glacier lake.

In Walt Disney’s magic kingdom there is nothing to convey the feeling you get at most amusement parks—that you’re watching a nervous breakdown and being invited to share it. There are no barkers selling tickets, no “Hurry! Hurry! HURRY!” Thoughtful cards on the display tables of the Main Street gift shop say: “Relax. We do not charge for accidental breakage.” In place of a neon nightmare to lure customers all night, tiny lights resembling fireflies have been set to twinkling in the trees. Adults whose children have strayed are soothed by a sign that reads: “Lost parents, please wait here for your children to find you.”

More than 19 million people, from all 50 states and 70 foreign countries, have visited Disneyland in the five years of its existence. Among them are King Baudouin I of Belgium, King Hussein of Jordan, Princess Sophia of Greece, and President Sukarno of Indonesia. King Mohammed V of Morocco, after his official tour of the park, sneaked back to pay his way in and enjoy it incognito.

The success of the venture has put a ferment into the amusement-park business everywhere. Denver’s Magic Mountain; New York’s Freedomland; La Montaña Mágica in Caracas, Venezuela all follow the basic Disney idea of stretching the imagination while providing fun. At Pleasure Island near Boston last summer, youngsters were piling into whaleboats to take off after a 50-foot replica of Moby-Dick—a far and noble cry from the underprivileged kind of fantasy such parks used to offer.

But the others will find it hard to imitate Disneyland. For something unique and intangible is expressed here—the creative personality of a master of the fairy tale. Next, check out some more fascinating facts about Disneyland that even Disney fanatics don’t know.

Original Source -> Walt Disney Reveals Just How Disneyland Was Created in Rare Interview

source https://www.seniorbrief.com/walt-disney-reveals-just-how-disneyland-was-created-in-rare-interview/

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