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ninii-winchester · 8 months ago

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Behind Closed Doors (Part 10)

Pairing: Boss!Dean Winchester X Assistant!Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: slight angst, plot twist, language, not proofread duh.

A/n: i really enjoyed writing this part, do let me know how’d you like it.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

"Mr.Winchester your relationship with your fiancée is none of my business you don't have to explain anything to me."

Her words broke Dean, he let go of her face and his eyes brimmed with unshed tears. His forehead remained resting on hers as he squeezed his eyes shut, his hands came to rest on her legs. With a final sigh, he got up and disappeared into his office.

The fear of being left, of watching him build a life without her, had spiraled into a desperate need to protect herself. She shut him out, convinced that it was better this way, that she wouldn't be the one left behind, forgotten, and rejected.

He had come back to her, time and again, fighting against the odds, but each time she had pulled away, fearful of what it would mean to let him in. And now, in the silence of his absence, she realized the truth: she had made him lose his patience. She had driven him to the point of giving up completely.

The memory of his face—hurt and frustrated—haunted her. She had turned away when all he wanted was to fight for them. But how could she ask him to choose her over a future that had been decided for him? The regret clawed at her insides, and the emptiness in the room echoed her own despair.

The next few days passed by in a blur, Y/n burdened herself with workload while Dean shut himself in his office, keeping to himself. Whatever information she needed to relay to was either emailed to him or she left sticky notes in his office for his reminders and meetings. To an outsider it may seem like a childish approach but them it was the last thread of their sanity. With Rachel constantly sauntering inside the office and flaunting herself as Dean's fiancée, Y/n's frustration continued to grow until one day she snapped.

In the spur of the moment she barged into Dean's office with her resignation. She slapped the paper onto his desk, making him look up from his computer. His gaze landed onto her and their eyes met for the first time in days. Maintaining his posture, he folded his hands of his desk and asked,

"What is this?"

"My resignation." She replied curtly. Dean's breath caught in his throat as he processed the news. A moment of silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. His heart raced, the room fading into a blur as Y/n's words echoed in his mind. The world felt suddenly distant, as if he were trapped behind glass, watching everything unfold without truly being a part of it.

"You can't resign." He replied quickly composing himself. She opened her mouth to respond but he cut her off. "According to the company policy you can't resign without giving in a notice, at least a three month's notice." He spoke professionally. "Besides, you're a valuable asset to the company Miss.L/n, I suggest you try to keep your personal and professional life separate."

Y/n's hands trembled slightly, a nervous energy coursing through her veins, for a brief second, she wondered if she would fall apart right there. But instead of tears, a thick silence enveloped her, a quiet disbelief that left her momentarily frozen. Soon that nervousness turned into anger. The knot in her stomach twisted tighter, and her breath quickened, each inhale feeling more constricted than the last. The heat surged through her, igniting a fire that burned away the remnants of her hesitation. Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she felt a rush of adrenaline.

"You suggest?" She snapped back, and for a split second Dean flinched. "Mr. Winchester I suggest you to mind your own business, and don't throw 'company policies' at me, since there was a anti-fraternization policy as well, but you didn't abide it cause you're the boss right?" She retorted sarcastically. "Now I suggest, that you accept my resignation." She growled.

"I don't." He replied simply leaning back in his chair. There was no smugness or cockiness in his behaviour, just a plain refusal. "I could start the notice period from today, but you're gonna have to work here until I find another assistant." Dean added. Y/n glared at Dean, but he seemed unbothered but it, with a huff Y/n walked out of his office, remembering to slam the door on her way.

A month had passed and she was still working at Winchester and Co, and Dean was nowhere near finding a new assistant. It was as if he wasn't interested to find one. He'd interviewed a few people just for the sake of it but he didn't bother to call them back since he knew he wanted Y/n only, and he wouldn't let her leave.

Rachel and his mom had been bugging him with the wedding preparations, but he wasn't interested in the slightest. One evening, Dean was forced to have dinner with his family and his mom invited Rachel, he was on edge the whole time, and it didn't go unnoticed by John. He could feel the frustration seeping out of his son like steam coming out of the pressure cooker, and Dean seem to get even more agitated at the mention of anything related to the wedding.

Mary, noticing Dean's distant behaviour towards Rachel suggested to push the wedding date closer than originally intended. She believed that as soon as they get married, Dean would forget about Y/n and accept Rachel as his partner.

"Dean!" John called out to him, he gestured him to follow him outside and the younger Winchester followed his father out reluctantly. The older man passed a beer to his son. The silent seemed to stretch on as the father-son duo sat on the patio steps.

"Mom's really going through with all this, huh?" Dean gritted his teeth taking another sip of his drink. John nodded with a sigh, doing the same.

After another few minutes of John asked, "do you trust me, Dean?" The green eyed man looked at his father with a dejected look on his face. He turned to him with a perplexed expression and replied,

"I did." He finished his drink and left his father sitting on the steps. When Dean said he did, he meant it. He trusted his father with everything he had, he believed in his heart that it was his father who would help him, that's why he went to him in the first place. He knew his mother was far too prideful and too in her head to see her son's happiness over the materialistic aspects. He was disappointed, heartbroken and he felt let down.

The wedding preparations were unfolding at a whirlwind pace. Invitations were sent out and the date had been fixed. After a long day of work, Y/n was going through mail, bills and letters and then her gaze landed onto the envelope which clearly stated, 'save the date. A single tear dropped down her cheek as she read the invitation card which was like a stab to her heart, a reminder of her lost love. A stark reminder of her defeat. A part of her cursed herself for giving up too easily. She should've fought for her love. She shouldn't have let his mom control their lives like that.

The day of the wedding arrived and part of Y/n didn't want to go but the masochist part of her won and she got dressed in a green dress that was a captivating shade of emerald, flowing elegantly with a subtle shimmer that caught the light. Its rich hue and graceful drape gave it a timeless, enchanting quality, turning heads with a perfect blend of boldness and elegance.

The outdoor wedding venue was beautiful and peaceful, set in a cozy open space surrounded by trees and flowers. Rows of chairs were lined up neatly, each with small, pretty bouquets. Soft lights hung above, ready to glow as the evening arrived. The gentle sound of a nearby stream and the fresh smell of nature filled the air. Everything looked warm and magical, making it the perfect place to celebrate in the open air.

Dean, despite his polished exterior and the excitement surrounding the day, couldn't shake the quiet sense of hesitation. Though he looked every bit the image of a man ready to marry, deep down he felt torn. As he stood at the altar, a subtle tension in his expression hinted at the conflict within—a man torn between honoring his commitments and facing his true feelings.

The moment Y/n stepped foot at the venue, his eyes were on her. The most beautiful woman he's ever seen, the one who was supposed to walk down the aisle, the one he was supposed to wait for. His green eyes were glued to her as she refused to look at him. She was here for a purpose.

As the music began, a soft melody filled the air, creating a sense of magic that wrapped around the moment. All eyes turned as Rachel entered, radiant and poised, taking her first step down the aisle. With each graceful step, the gentle sway of her dress matched the rhythm of the music, her expression a mix of joy and emotion a contrast to the turmoil that brewed inside Dean. A quiet gasp went through the crowd as she moved forward. Dean didn't even acknowledge her approaching him. His eyes were fixated on his love.

As Rachel reached him and stood in front of Dean, he remained indifferent. The officiant stepped forward, a warm smile spreading across his face as he addressed the gathered guests. "Welcome, everyone, to this joyous occasion," he began, his voice steady and inviting. "We are here today to celebrate the love between Rachel and Dean two individuals who have chosen to embark on this beautiful journey together." He blabbered as he was supposed to, unaware of the lack of love between the the couple. "If anyone here knows of any reason why these two should not be joined in marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace." The officiant declared the opportunity to object.

Dean held his breath as he waited, it was his last speck of hope. He sent the invitation to Y/n in hopes she would come and object and save him from a terrible fate, another selfish part of him wanted her to watch him get married. To remind her of what could've been and what she lost by being a coward. He held his breath as he looked at Y/n, waiting for her to speak now. Part of him knew she wouldn't but a guy can hope, right? And to his surprise, she did.

"I OBJECT." Y/n said loudly standing up from her chair, a chorus of gasps was heard, Dean's eyes widened, half in shock and half in ecstasy. Rachel's smile fell off and Mary was absolutely fuming. Castiel was smirking from his place as the groomsmen and Sam was dumfounded.

"And who the hell do you think you are to object in my son's wedding?" Mary spat angrily.

"I'm his fiancée, the one he actually loves." She said holding her left hand up. “And wants to marry.”

Mary scoffed at the display of the ring as she stood off at a distance. "You think putting on a random engagement ring is gonna get you anywhere?" But her jaw dropped when she saw the Winchester heirloom, a ring with a single sapphire encased with diamonds on her finger. "Where'd you get that?" Mary asked perplexed.

"The head of the family gave it to me, as his blessing, of course." Y/n smirked and Dean's jaw dropped to the floor as he stared at his father who grinned back at him. "so, Dean Winchester, are you going to marry her?" She smirked at Dean who looked like he could cry any moment.

"Fuck no." He said removing his tie and moving to go to Y/n when Rachel grabbed his arm pulling him back.

"You can't do this to me, you can't humiliate me like this." She spoke authoritatively but he shrugged her off.

"I can and I will." Dean replied and took off towards Y/n, without a thought he slammed his lips to hers, and dipped her as he deepened the kiss. She kissed him back like her life depended on it. After a few seconds he pulled apart, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, and started walking away. Behind his back, John winked at Y/n who was dangling upside down over Dean's shoulder. She grinned back at him, after all it wouldn't have been possible without John Winchester.

Tags:

@spnfamily-j2 @galway-girlatwork @deangirl96 @queensilber

@s0urw00lf @monkey-d-hoshizora98 @deans-baby-momma @fullbelieverheart

@riah1606 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @hobby27

@starkleila @suckitands33 @m3ntally-unstable @kanekilovelove-blog @candy-coated-misery0731

@blackcherrywhiskey @ladysparkles78 @goest-and-fuckest-thyself-blog @graywrites5567

@thelittlelightinthedarkess @enamoredwithbella @winchesterwild78 @myuhh8

@10ava01 @n-o-p-e-never @itsdesiree86

@kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

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deancaspinefest · 4 months ago

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hummingbird

Author: Abi_in_the_Cosmos | Artist: adromelke

Posting on Tuesday March 18

Castiel is 21 and spending the summer in a beach town. Living in a camper van near the ocean, he fills his days with paint, pot, and working in the local coffee shop where he meets Dean Winchester. Dean is the boss’ kid, but he’s practically running the place. Between juggling his dad, his brother, and the family business they call home, he finds comfort in his developing friendship with Castiel. The two become inseparable, until John Winchester finds out exactly how close they’ve become, and everything falls apart. Ten years later, the last person Dean expects to see in his adult Business Administration class is the same guy that left without a goodbye, but there he is: Professor Castiel Novak. Thrown together at a time when Castiel is dating Mick, and Dean is fighting to keep ownership of his home, they find themselves face to face with a decade worth of hope and regret.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

“No.” Dean says under his breath, widening his eyes as the man stands behind a desk. Those elusive butterflies, a decade gone, rush into existence as a slide pops up.

Prof. Castiel Novak.

“I’ll be taking you through this semester, my contact details are up there, please note them down. You can come to me with anything, although if it’s love advice you need, I will not hesitate to smite you.”

A few people laugh, but Cas doesn’t—he never did. His jokes always came with a straight face.

Dean pushes the lump down his throat, if there’s a God then he must be playing some game. His heart is pounding and his fingertips won’t press down when he tries to write Cas’ email, because how the hell is he meant to do that?

He should leave.

Castiel steps out from behind the desk, dressed in dark pants and a navy blue sweater—white shirt collars popping out—and rolls his sleeves up. Professional. There’s no visible signs of the guy Dean knew before, the guy whose hair smelt like a beatnik blend of weed and incense.

“How many of you have studied at this level before?” Castiel asks, folding his arms across his chest as he looks out to everyone.

His arms, even in wool, look thicker. Damn, he looks good. Why did he have to look good? The least he could do for leaving without a goodbye was to look like crap. Like the last ten years had been bad to him, rather than a healthy jog down the park.

“How many of you haven’t studied since high school?” Cas asks next, and Dean takes a breath as a few hands go up near him. There’s a heaviness all over, a desire to move because someone's obviously looking at him. It’s instinctual to lift his head, which he does, and their eyes lock.

Dean’s stomach turns like it’s been punched, and Castiel pauses, causing a deep silence to reach the back of the lecture room before he walks to the desk and looks at the computer.

The slide changes with a click. So you probably want to start a business. It fills the screen and Cas takes a moment before facing the group once more. “Let’s get started,” he says, voice lower.

Someone prods Dean’s back and he turns to see the girl. Her smile now completely wasted on him. “Do you have a spare pen?” she asks quietly.

“…No,” he replies in a haze, genuinely apologetic. He doesn’t hear the steps towards them, or feel the shadow over him.

“Use mine, but return it afterwards.” Cas says, reaching over to pass his own to the girl. His face is older, with the odd line or two running the width of his forehead, but his eyes are still blue and bold.

They still stop time.

Keep reading on Ao3 after Tuesday March 18 🌲Find more 2025 Pinefest previews here 🌲

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #destiel art #deancas art #pinefest 2025 #pinefest previews 2025 #Dean/Cas Pinefest #Abi_in_the_Cosmos #adromelke #Coffeeshop AU #Second Chance #Recreational Drug Use

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heykaya · 3 months ago

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Quinn’s Strange Visitors

Extracted from the game’s code (3rd April 2025)

Random events that occur while waiting in town hall.

You approach the town hall, a tall building on the precipice. It looms over the rest of the street, and the beach below. The hall proper is locked when not in use, but the mayor's office sits next door.

You enter a long waiting room, lined with wooden doors. A receptionist sits on the front desk. There's a queue.

It would be pointless to wait in line without a goal in mind.

You wait in line behind a (person).

(person) = Generic NPC (slim girl, lissome man, etc) The receptionist is also a randomly generated NPC, but for clarity’s sake they’ll be called “receptionist” in this post instead of (person 1) and (person 2).

_______________

He carries a shaking cage. When his turn arrives, he places it on the front desk, but the receptionist shakes his head. The (person) leaves with a sullen expression.

_______________

He hops from foot to foot. "Can I use the bathroom?"he says when his turn arrives.

The receptionist gives him a level stare. "You waited in line for that? There are public toilets outside."

The (person) glances around, then leans forward, and whispers. You can't make out the words, but they make the receptionist roll his eyes, and point to a door on the left. The (person) rushes through it.

_______________

He wears a rictus grin. When his turn arrives, he speaks without moving his lips. "Quinn is expecting me."

The receptionist waves him through.

_______________

He clenches his fists at his side. When his turn arrives, he places them on the counter. "Horticulture," he says. "The usual pro-"

The receptionist waves him through.

_______________

He keeps rubbing his eyes. When his turn arrives, he has to stifle a yawn. "I need to-" He stifles another. "I need to file a complaint. The noise from the-"

The receptionist retrieves a stack of paper, and drops them on the desk with a thud. "Please fill out this form."

The (person) stares dumbfounded for a moment, but doesn't argue.

_______________

He carries a fat binder under one arm. When his turn arrives, he places it on the desk. "Here's the photographs you wanted. Proof of my pest problem."

The receptionist pulls the binder closer, opens it, and flips through the pages. You notice torn furniture, a wall with claw marks in it, and a door ripped from its hinges.

"I'll send this through to the appropriate department. They'll contact you when they've made a decision."

"How long will that take?"

"Please move along sir, there's a queue."

He grumbles, but walks away.

_______________

He rubs his hands as if cold, but the room feels plenty warm to you. When his turn arrives, he breathes into his palms before speaking.

"I was told to ask for transport."

The receptionist taps something into a computer. "Third door on the right."

_______________

He looks around the room with a bemused expression. When his turn arrives, he speaks with a foreign accent. "Hello. I'm here to see the mayor. I'm expected."

The receptionist waves him through.

_______________

He carries a plant pot containing a single daisy in one hand. "Horticulture," he says when his turn arrives. The receptionist nods, and the (person) moves along as if he already knows where he’s going.

_______________

He carries a large stack of paper. When his turn arrives, he slams it on the counter. "That's them all filled," he says with relief.

"Thank you," the receptionist replies. "I'll see that the mayor gets it at once."

He drops the paper in a bin as soon as the (person) turns his back.

_______________

Degrees of Lewdity - Text Based Masterpost

#dol #degrees of lewdity #dol quinn #quinn the mayor

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green-fifteen · 3 months ago

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HENCH

tags: not!fic, stobin, russians, post-starcourt, POV outsider

word count: 1744

The intention here is slapstick levels of tomfoolery and incompetence. In which I give a henchman every opportunity to put the clues together.

written for @stobinmonth prompt: pins (but it quickly grew out of hand)

So after the mall "fire," the Russians are humiliated. They have just enough information about the trespassers that caused this disaster to be able to start a manhunt. Obviously, they're a bit low on resources, but after a few months they send the best guy they have left. Let's call him Igor.

Now, Igor is not supposed to be going into the field. Father said he only had to man the camera feeds for a little while and then he'd get promoted out of the lower ranks. But Father was crushed to death underneath a mall and the remaining leadership think he looks tough because he has broad shoulders. Therefore, despite his personal objections, he is sent into greater Hawkins, Indiana to sniff out their enemies.

Igor has heard a little about these enemies. He heard the special agent was insolent and stubborn under torture. He heard the accomplice who rushed in to save him was a mighty terror of a man, hulking over everyone in the room. It makes him cautious as he settles his equipment into his motel room, eyes tracking suspiciously over anyone taller than average.

Luckily, he seems to attract very little attention as he stalks the town. Even when he can't find cover, the townspeople don't seem to look at him twice. He gets a little more confident and starts entering buildings, notepad held open in front of him. He checks the name tags pinned to the clothing of service workers, looking for Steve, looking for Dustin Henderson. These are his only leads and he finds nothing. He begins to wonder what he is doing. After all, wouldn't highly sophisticated and well-connected spies have moved on from this tiny little town by now? But leadership is certain Steve at least is hiding in plain sight, working a low-income job to stay off their radar. Apparently, he'd been wearing some kind of ice cream costume when he'd been apprehended. He just keeps checking.

On his eighth day in town, Igor gets bored. He goes out during the day to surveil the town in person, then returns to his room to surveil their transmissions overnight. He is tired, he is lonely, and he just wants 90 minutes to himself.

He goes to the video store.

It's a strange country, America. The women on the television are picketing for God while the Family Video is advertising something called Chopping Mall. Igor shudders and keeps looking. He's turning over a film about high school basketball when he hears a voice call out.

"Are you finding everything okay?" says a young woman. He instinctively reads the name tag pinned to her vest.

Steve.

His eyes fix on her face. He watches her carefully as she takes in his appearance-- his dark jacket and close cropped blonde hair. She scoots away a tiny bit as he continues to scowl at her and startles slightly when he thrusts the tape into her hands.

Igor knows this is not Steve of the Starcourt embarrassment. Steve had been an impressive male agent sent to infiltrate their base. Steve had managed to knock out Lev "Rabid Bear" Mikhailov in the control room. He watches her closely anyway as she takes the tape with her behind the counter.

"Um, do you have your card with you?"

He falters. Doesn't know what she's talking about.

"It's okay if you don't? Just give me your phone number, I can look you up in the computer."

Igor hesitates, thinking fast.

"I just moved here two month ago," he says. "I don't remember my number… and my… American wife has the wideo card."

Her eyes go wide and she ducks under the counter. When she emerges, her hands are shaking around a white and yellow book. She squints at him and smiles without teeth.

"Not to worry," she says. "This is the latest phone book. Just came out this month. Let's see if we can find you."

They stare at each other for a few seconds, before her words catch up to his brain. A book with all the names and numbers in town? Forgetting the movie and forgetting the girl who is not Steve, he picks up the book as if he means to page through it.

Then suddenly and without warning, he bolts to the door and out into the night, leaving the girl shouting behind him.

By the next morning, Igor has the address and phone number of Claudia Henderson memorized. It is a little odd, he thinks, that Dustin isn't listed but his wife is. Well, America is a strange country. A whole book of personal information for anyone to find, imagine! When he thinks it's late enough in the morning for someone to be awake, he calls the house.

It rings three times before a man's voice answers. "Henderson house, who's calling?"

Without a word, he hangs up the phone and grabs his shoes. He finally found Dustin Henderson and now it is time to kill him. He is pretty sure he can do that. He even has a gun.

When he gets to the Henderson home, there is a car there. The lemon his superiors gave him is a rusty gray color and looks ancient in comparison to the shiny red vehicle in the driveway. Disdain briefly overwhelms any other emotion he might have been feeling as he abruptly remembers he is here to kill a filthy capitalist. It will be easy, he thinks. He deserves to die, he thinks.

To his surprise, as he steps out of the car, the door of the Henderson house opens in sync. There is a man standing there, young and dressed like he's on his way to work. He wears the vest of a Family Video employee.

A younger, curlier boy is next to him and spots Igor first.

"Holy shit!" he breathes. "I knew it, I was right. It was Hoosiers guy on the phone this morning!" He's bouncing with energy, but he clutches at his friend like he understands Igor has come to his house to kill.

The older boy looks at Igor like he knows him. This must be Dustin Henderson. He is a lot smaller than anticipated, but soldiers have been known to exaggerate.

He takes one step closer and Dustin Henderson is across the yard in an instant, throwing punches. In his brief panic, he doesn't even think to reach for his gun before it's being pulled away from him by the small, curly-headed one. Henderson takes the gun and brings it up and then down onto Igor's head.

When he wakes up, he's cold and his head hurts like hell. There's a strip of something tied over his eyes and around his wrists.

He hears it when his captors notice he's awake.

"He isn't dead!" someone shrieks. The curly boy. He speaks too loudly.

"No shit, Sherlock. Now pipe down." The voice is feminine and vaguely familiar.

Someone prods him. "Hey," they say. "The feds are on their way. Are you thirsty?"

"Don't ask him if he's thirsty! He came to my house to kill me!"

"Listen, man, you've never had a head injury like that." He addresses Igor again. "How's your neck feel?"

What sick game is he playing, pretending concern? He grits his teeth and says nothing. Already he can feeling himself cracking under Henderson's interrogation. This is not good.

The trio converses quietly and then one of them steps forward. "Who have you been sent to find?" It's the woman. Her voice pierces his sick brain like a thin knife.

"Robin, you don't have to speak so loud, Jesus. He's Russian, not deaf. Cut the concussed guy a break."

Break? Igor reminds himself he will not break under questioning. He will not betray his comrades, despite the horrific mind games of his enemy.

"ARE YOU AN IDIOT? Why would you say me name?" she screeches. He can swear he feels blood pooling behind his ears.

"It's not like he isn't already after you, too! You were there!"

"But we don't know that! For all we know the Russians are as sexist as they are stupid and managed to forget all about me and Erica."

A humorless snort. "Yeah, because you were both so quiet and unassuming the entire time."

"Guys! Shut up and focus on the prisoner? Please?"

There is a moment of silence and then Igor hears the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked. His own gun, he guesses. He never even got to fire it.

"Tell us what you know," the girl called Robin says. There is steel in her voice now.

And well, Igor wasn't exactly trained before being given clearance to the base. Father said it wasn't necessary, that he could learn on the job. Besides, the interrogation resistance lessons sounded horrible and painful. Why go through that when it would likely never happen?

So he is much more disappointed than surprised when he opens his mouth and the truth comes out.

"I am sent to kill Dustin Henderson and special agent Steve. They will die for what they have done to my countrymen."

A shout of anger from Robin. "See! Oh my God, you have got to be kidding me."

"Don't tell Erica," Henderson pleads.

The small one answers. "Good luck keeping it from her."

It is at this point that a siren whoops once from outside and his captors open the door to greet an officer. Igor struggles without much hope and finds himself nearly unbalanced as his seat rocks side to side. Has he been sitting in a boat?

There is the heavy sigh of a grown man and then he is lifted by the arms and led out of the door.

As he sinks into the back of the police vehicle, Igor laments that he not only managed to blow his cover and his mission completely, but he never even set his eyes on Steve. If he were able to make a report back to his superiors, he would tell them that the town is a locked box, no clues, no leads on agent Steve anywhere. He tried his best, but there was no way he could have found the man. He must have left already, just as he thought. It is with a pang of relief that he realizes he will likely never be able to make such an embarrassing report, as the car starts and takes him away from Hawkins, Indiana.

#stobin #stobinmonth2025 #uhhhhh this is kind of not that stobin #i mean they are both there but it's more about this russian oc who jumped out of me #forgive igor he is trying his best #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #robin buckley #dustin henderson #fifteen-fanfic

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chiefdirector · 1 year ago

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Hostage Taking | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

Act One | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19

Content Warning under cut: Episode 3x05. Themes of Racism (Doug Stanton, at the end), bombing and other canon typical plights. Read at own risk.

“So when do you think you’ll be back from court?” (Y/N) asked, walking alongside Harper towards the evidence lockup.

“Eh,” Harper said. There was nothing Harper hated more than court duty, especially when the case was so clear cut that she didn’t need to be there. “Hopefully soon, that way I can enjoy having Nolan on front desk duty for the rest of the day. Let him enjoy the general public”

“Is he really that bad to ride with?” She stopped at the door.

“No, and that's what sucks. He’s too nice, and sometimes I don’t need all that positivity.”

(Y/N) just shook her head as Nyla just winked at her as she entered the evidence room. Turning on her heel, (Y/N) passed Lopez as she wandered back to her desk, trying to figure out what to do with her day. Most of her cases were closed, the Damian Barrett case had all but run dry and Grey had all but forbidden her from working on her own case alone, despite how much she wanted too.

Sitting down, she gathered all of the papers on her desk, stacking them neatly, before organising them alphabetically, and then chronologically. Next on her hit list was the pen pot. Grabbing the container, she tipped them out, testing them one by one on a loose post-it.

She had only just opened the chess on her computer when the radio belonging to the blonde officer who worked opposite her rang out. “Sargent Grey, this is officer Nolan, go to channel nine.”

(Y/N) stifled her laugh as she moved her pawn two spaces, of course it was Nolan she thought. Even in her short time back in the precinct, Nolan’s reputation had been shared with her. Her good humour was cut short as the rest of the conversation rang out through the handset.

Grey replied quickly “Nolan this better be important”

“Sure is buddy” An unknown voice rang out. (Y/N) closed the chess game as she began to listen more intently.

“Who’s this”

The stranger’s voice rang out again. “The guy sitting in your parking lot with an ammonium-nitrate fertiliser bomb.”

Without hesitation, (Y/N) rushed up from her seat and made her was over to where she could see Nyla and Grey looking down at the radio, officers silently surrounding them, all listening to the bomber

As she got closer, she could hear the stranger’s voice again. “I have cameras on every exit. Do you understand me? If anyone leaves, everyone dies”

“I can confirm the cameras, sir.” Nolan’s distant voice chimed in, “Our bomber has a dead man's switch, sir.”

“Okay,” Grey said, voice solemn and serious, “You have my attention. Tell me what i can do for you.”

“Rectify an extreme miscarriage of justice. I demand the immediate release of Donalf Feltt from the Primedale Department of Corrections.”

(Y/N) moved to the computer near her, typing in the given name as Harper moved beside her. His record showed immediately. Donald Feltt, ID no: 4076696, sentenced to life without parole on multiple charges: Possession of an illegal substance, undocumented concealed firearms, animal abuse, drug trafficking, battery, and murder.

Grey tensed his shoulders as he read the screen out loud to the bomber, trying to confirm that they were both on the same page.

“That's him,” The man confirmed, “and it’s not going to be a back-door parole for my boy. Feltt walks out of there today.”

“Back-door parole?” (Y/N) asked, looking up from the screen

“For when you die in prison,” Harper replied. “Our bomber’s done time.”

“Most likely with Feltt,” Grey lifted his radio up again, “All right. That’s a big ask. It’ll take time.” He lowered the radio and looked to Harper, “We need someone on the outside.”

“I’ll call Lopez, she left already.”

Grey nodded his head, raising the radio again, now on the general channel to alert the units, both in and out of the precinct of the tactical lockdown and what to do. Once he was done, he turned to face (Y/N). “You should go down with everyone else to the parking garage, you’ll be safe there.”

“Like Hell I am, now what do you need me to do?”

----------

“It’s morse code.” Grey said, looking at the camera feed pointed towards the brown van, (Y/N) moved to get a dictionary, only to be stopped by the Sargent raising his hand. “S-C-R-L-I”

“He has a scar?”

“On his left eye. Good man, Nolan.”

“So,” (Y/N) said, opening the laptop she had bought over, typing as she spoke. “If we assume he did time with Felt. We know that he is a white male with a scar on his left eye.” Pressing enter, she quickly read the results aloud. “Graham Porter. He did three years at Primedale, a couple of misdemeanours prior. Nothing that screams mad bomber.”

“How does a guy like this get on with a guy like Feltt?”

“Let’s hope Lopez can find out,” Harper said, returning from the parking garage.

----------

“So Graham Porter is in desperate need of money?” Nyla asked as she regrouped with Grey again, this time joined by Chen and both Bradfords.

“So why not demand a ransom?” Grey responded “Why give us a head fake on Feltt”

Chen stepped forward. “Maybe it’s not a head fake. Maybe Feltt’s paying Graham to bust him out of prison.”

“Feltt’s a murderer, not a cash-heavy narcos.” (Y/N) said, looking over to Tim, allowing him to finish her statement off.

“If this Feltt’s gambit is smoke, we’re chasing our tails trying to free him. Meanwhile, an accomplice robs a bank or something.”

Grey considered the next step for a moment. “Contact West and Stanton, have them check out a nearby check cash-in place. I’ll contact the chief to see if we can get more boots on the ground.”

Nyla nodded, going off to make the call, leaving Tim, Lucy and (Y/N). The three stood in silence for a moment before (Y/N) turned to her laptop again.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, looking over his wife's shoulder.

“Googling him.”

----------

It didn’t take long for Grey and Harper to find their way back to the other three. There wasn’t much luck on either end, apparently everything was “Code Four” with Stanton and West, and the rest of the LAPD was spread thin by having an entire precinct down so that not many more men could be spared.

“We found something.” (Y/N) crossed her arms. “I ran his name through the web. He had a YouFundMe, set up by his girlfriend, Kelsey Adams. I asked Lopez to run her down, there was nobody there, no cell answer either.”

Tim moved to stand near (Y/N), disliking this whole situation. “This whole thing is weird. Kelsey is using an assumed identity. Her social security numbers are fake. No record No picture.”

“According to Lopez, Kelsey and Graham are inseparable. So she is likely involved.”

“But how?” Harer asked, If it's not about money or Feltt…”

They sat in silence, contemplating Nyla’s question. (Y/N) uncrossed her arms, letting her hands fall down and began to play with her ring.

Lucy was the one to break the silence. “What if this is all a distraction meant to pull our focus outside the station, when we should really be looking inside?”

“What kind of woman would be crazy to be inside a building ith her boyfriend parked outside with a truck full of explosives?”

Tim rolled his eyes at Nyla’s question, before sending an incredulous look towards Lucy. The two of them had a silent conversation before taking off towards the parking garage, leaving the three officers with the words “Freegan Frida.”

As the pair left, Grey looked at the two detectives. “What the Hell is a ‘freegan?’”

----------

(Y/N) and Nyla moved through the corridors with their guns raised, silently sweeping each room for Adams. Tim had alerted them of the woman’s presence when she had left the garage, leaving the other’s trapped. Grey had taken one half of the building, whilst the detectives took the other. The two had found nothing until they approached the evidence room, finding the door broken.

On Nyla’s silent command, (Y/N) entered the evidence room, looking around for the suspect whilst she called Grey, alerting him of the situation and that a search was underway. As Harper spoke, (Y/N) moved through the evidence locker, looking down the aisle. It only took moments for her to find Kesey, rummaging through a secure bio-evidence bag.

“Hands up.” she commanded, “Don’t move.”

“Please, I have to find it,” the woman begged.

Harper approached from behind. “Find what?”

“He thinks I’m dead, If they run my prints…”

“Are you trying to destroy evidence?” Harper asked, moving closer to Kelsey.

“No,” Kelsey exclaimed, panic and desperation clear in her voice. “It’s my husband. He’s a loan shark in El Paso. He hurt me. I ran away three years ago, got a new identity, the works. So he would never find me. Then there was a robbery where I work. The cops took a bunch of stuff, things with my prints.”

“So when they run the prints, they will get a hit on the real you.” (Y/N) stated. The tree women stood in silence for a moment before (Y/N) continued speaking. “Look, we will try and help you but you need to get Graham to stand down.”

----------

(Y/N) listened to Grey speak to Graham as he told him to stand-down. That he knew what their plan was, that Kelsey had told him that the bomb was fake. That he was going back to prison for a long time. She also listened in as Graham demanded the S.W.A.T team back off, and when he threatened Nolan’s life if they didn’t.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and that grew at the threat. She hated this whole situation. She hated that it was Nolan that was trapped, she hated how the entire precinct was shut down because of this madman, she hated how there was nothing that she could do to help Nolan. She hated it all.

She only began to feel marginally better when she heard Nolan’s voice ring out on the radio. “Sargent Grey, this is Nolan. One is custody. We’re code four.”

Although, hearing the click ring out afterwards reassured her somewhat.

----------

“Oh God, what happened earlier?” (Y/N) said, curling up on the sofa as Tim grabbed two beers from the fridge before joining her.

“Stanton let Jackson get assaulted. Bastard did nothing.”

“Is Jackson okay?”

“He was taken to the hospital. Bruised and beaten but nothing he can’t recover from. Physically anyway.” Tim moved to wrap his arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, pulling her into his chest. “Stanton is on administrative leave. Grey took his gun and badge.”

“What happens now?”

“This will be the end of Stanton, I don’t see him coming back from this.”

(Y/N) nodded, processing the information. “We should go see him tomorrow. See how he’s doing, if he needs anything.”

Tim just hummed in agreement, moving to place a kiss on the side of (Y/N)’s head.

Act One | Chapter 19 | Chapter 21

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424 @salty0cracker @iamasimpingh0e @malindacath @agentred27 @hufflepuffwhore13 @tessalynni @anaferreira-4

Tags are open :)

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford #tim bradford imagine #the rookie #the rookie imagine #chiefdirector #bottom of the river

161 notes · View notes

melodrangea · 1 year ago

Note

Hello! I see that requests are open and I am in need of more SE content, so I figured I would just slide on in! I realise you said obscure characters, so I don't expect this to be answered because my home boy is one of the main characters, feel free to ignore this! But I've been so obsessed with the idea of Kid with a reader who kinda just let's people walk all over them. They're too shy to speak up! And out of fear of upsetting Kid they dress as symmetrically as they can! They even started folding their toilet paper and picking up various other habits to please him:') Since they tag along with him everywhere he and the sisters go, they figured it was the least they could do:')))) So maybe one day something happens to say... maybe their outfit or smth? Perhaps it tears on a mission in a way that is asymmetrical. They start crying cuz they are afraid Kid will yell at them or worse- stop talking to them entirely! How does Kid react?

Stay hydrated and eat well!!!!! OR I'LL TAKE YOUR SOUL>:DDDD (Politely ofc U_U) 💛💛💛💛💛💛

Firstly I would like to say I'M FINALLY BACK BITCHES

Between holidays and my computer breaking and needing a new one I was unable to post for the longest time because shipping is a bitch but I'm totally back now and will be posting at least once or twice a week!

Now! Getting back into it...

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-Kid would be the type to absolutely not realize that you are doing all that you do to please him

-he would love the matching outfits and all the symmetric habits you pick up but he figures that's just what happens in relationships and that you enjoys his habits

-after hanging out with them for a period of time, Liz does pick up on what you're doing and worries that you are doing it for different reasons than Kid thinks

-but she doesn't say anything because it doesn't seem to be really affecting you

-that is until you go on a mission together

-you and your weapon partner go on a joint mission with Kid to spend more time together and because Kid wanted to be able to protect you

-anyways the fight gets under swing and slowly but surely you're taking damage

-you don't notice but you outfit it coming undone; the laces rip on your right shoe, one of the buttons on your shirt gets torn off and you build up battle grime etc..

-once the fight is over you go to swipe the hair out of your face when you realize a part of you bangs has been trimmed on the left side

-you panic and inspect the rest of your outfit, realizing the rest of the imperfections in your outfit

-without even meaning to your eyes start to fill with tears, terrified that Kid is going to be upset with you, you heart begins to race and you feel your heartbeat in your ears

-you weapon partner is off assessing damage with Liz and Patty so Kid is the first to notice you upset

-he rushes over to you, at first thinking that you got hurt

"y/n are you alright? are you injured?" his eyes scan over you, hands rubbing soothingly across your jaw.

your lip quivers and tears stream down your cheeks, "I'm sorry" you whisper.

Kid's brow scrunches, "for what?"

you release a shaky breath, "I don't look perfect anymore. One of my buttons is gone, my shoes are dirty, I think that guy with the sword chopped my hair. Please don't be mad at me."

Kid frowns, "oh darling, what makes you think any of that matters to me? I admit I like symmetry but you could be wearing rainbow tie-dye and glow in the dark sketchers for all that I care. "

your eyes widen, "really?"

"really"

-after that mission you slowly start to develop your own style, occasionally swinging for matching outfits of course

-Liz helps Kid point out other habits that you copy unintentionally and helps you to gently shut them down

-Kid is your biggest supporter in helping you choose your own style, he can and will take you shopping whenever you feel like (live laugh love Kid's daddy's money agenda)

-and if you want to keep some of the habits you've picked up Kid is also happy because it means that you like him for who he is <3

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tis all for now my lovelies

please don't be shy about asking because you think the character is "too mainstream", I'm pretty sure my entire inbox is Kid anyways so his character and I are getting fairly acquainted

as usual I am at your writing service my dears

-Melodrangea <3

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i-am-beckyu · 6 months ago

Text

Patience is a Virtue and Trust is Earned

A continuation of my Christmas fic One Small Gift

AYOOOOO! 3RD YEAR IN A ROW I'VE WRITTEN A CHRISTMAS FIC! LETS GO! I've been writing this fic on and off for almost a year ever since posting the first fic and got a few people wanting a sequel so congratulations!! You got your wish!!!

I recommend reading the first fic if you haven't already as this fic references plot that may not make sense without context so please consider reading it first before reading on. I'm gonna ramble on at the end of this fic but without further ado, MERRY CHRISTMAS AND ENJOY!!!

cw: fear, lying, panic and anxiety, hidden identity, magic and a TONNE of fluff and whimsey!

word count: 9180

Disclaimer! This story is based on the characters of the Dream SMP and not the real life content creators. Anything that occurs in this story is purely fiction and should be treated as such. Thank you.

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Borrowers.

Tiny scavengers that take human things for survival.

Well, that’s what all the articles say.

Wilbur leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head. His back popped from the unhealthy way he’d been hunched over his computer for the last few hours, but he hardly noticed as he scrolled the internet.

“Yet another useless article that tells me nothing about how to actually coax one out.” He sighed dejectedly.

Now you are absolutely right, he should be studying right now while at University and not googling Borrowers again for the millionth time, but it’s not like he wanted to risk doing it at home. No way was he going to jeopardise having Tommy leave.

It had been a few weeks since Wilbur had met the young boy that fateful Christmas Eve and he was positive they hadn’t left. Not when he was now able to recognise the tell tale signs of a scavenger living in his walls. But the man was getting a tad testy about not being able to speak to them in person.

Over and over Wilbur had to tell himself that Tommy trusted Santa Claus, not him. If they ever got a tiny hint that he knew of their existence, then that would be it and the boy would be gone. If a Borrower was seen, the rule they set for themselves was they had to leave no matter the circumstances. Staying after being seen was an absolute no no and never worth the risk. The articles had been very extensive on that point.

His other option to try and unknowingly lure the boy out wasn’t going very well either. Every idea seemed either too obvious, or too dangerous to attempt. (No he definitely did not consider using a mouse trap…)

Tommy was smart enough to avoid those anyway.

But he couldn’t ignore the growing urge to speak to them despite how foolish it would be to do so. It’s not like he could just walk straight up to Tommy’s wall and be like: “Hi I’m Wilbur but you already know that and I know you’re living in my walls. Sorry for ruining your house and kidnapping you haha.”

…

Yeah that would definitely send Tommy packing.

So like anyone does when they’ve run out of ideas, Wilbur rushed to the internet and started doing his research.

Borrowers- who are they, and how to befriend one.

Surprisingly, it seemed there were definitely people who knew about them. The few articles proof enough; but no one seemed to know anything further or wanted to speak up about how they knew what they did. The few authors or bloggers he’d emailed ended up ghosting him when asked to elaborate or rudely shut him down (looking at you PandasCanPVP) and though it did make sense they didn’t answer his questions; protect the borrowers and their code etc, it was still damn frustrating that no one was open to helping him.

He’d at least done a few things to aid Tommy a bit more. He left more food out for longer than required and on the lower shelves so the blonde didn’t have to go to such lengths for a meal, and he’d creatively turned an unused draw into a junk draw and filled it with a bunch of mismatched items with multiples of each so that Tommy didn’t have to worry about him getting suspicious. (He definitely did not smile when he counted 6 paper clips instead of 7)

But there wasn’t really anything more he could do in terms of coaxing Tommy out. Wilbur just had to hope that either his message as Santa got through to him, or that he’d catch sight of Tommy one day and have an opportunity to acknowledge his existence. He hoped for the first of the two, but he’d take either to just make progress with the boy at all.

At least he had peace of mind they were doing better now then they had been before Christmas Eve. Niki was an absolute legend for helping him make all those tiny gifts. So yes he owed Nicki a massive favour when he absolutely bamboozled her for showing up outside her front door in the middle of the night and begged her for help to make tiny clothes for Tommy without explaining what for and why he needed them done that night. And yes he’d had to suck it up Christmas Day when he was tired as hell from working through the night to do it, but not for a second did Wilbur regret it when he knew how happy those gifts would have made the Borrower child.

It took everything in him not to tell his family about the encounter too, not wanting to risk the blonde hearing him, but it was for the best. One day it was going to pay off and then he could properly apologise for what he had done and get Tommy home.

Even if it meant he’d never really get to know the little guy, he would do it!

And that was a promise.

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This Wilbur guy was weird.

Did he have any reasons to back that statement up?

NOPE!

Wilbur was just decidedly a wrong-un and that was a good enough reason for him to accept.

Tommy had been finding his time in Wilbur’s walls a lot more pleasant now that he had some proper supplies. Santa really did spoil him rotten with all the extra gifts and was making getting by so much more achievable than what he had been previously. Even before his kidnapping, living in the forest certainly did not come with quite the same number of luxuries that living in a Human Beans house did.

For one: Constant food source.

Wilbur was one sloppy guy.

Bean did not seem very keen on putting things away properly before he left the house for hours at a time for this ‘You-knee-verse-it-tea’ thingy he went to for school. Anyone normal would probably think he was a slob, but for Tommy it was the golden ticket to trying foods he’d never even dreamed of! Did you know bread could actually taste good when it wasn’t mouldy?

Wilbur’s house was just a treasure trove of things to borrow from and Tommy had pretty much anything and everything he could ever want here. He still had plans to get back to his nook home, but perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to stay for awhile longer while he figured out where home actually was.

There wasn’t really a rush to leave with all the snow still about anyways. He couldn’t be the bestest Borrower ever if he was frozen solid before he got home, but he couldn’t help but think about what Santa had said.

‘He’s not as scary as you think’

After the whole meeting with the REAL Santa, Tommy hadn’t felt the same. After being so used to the isolation of the forest, physically talking to someone that wasn’t an animal or a tree had left the Borrower a tad empty. He’d spoken to someone, and they had spoken and listened back. The candy cane card sat in front of his bed and every day Tommy would wake up and reread the message and reminisce about that fateful night.

It seemed bonkers to the boy, the idea of actually speaking to another Human Bean, but Santa’s kindness and words seemed to ring loud in his head. He’d been longing to talk to someone again for so long, and after observing Wilbur all this time; the Bean hadn’t done anything to suggest that they were a bad person. Believing that Santa was telling the truth wasn’t hard, but the thought of willingly revealing himself? Well it was easier said than done.

Because what if Santa was wrong?

What if Wilbur was kind to other Beans but looked at him and decided he was more of a ‘Tommy shaped pet’ instead of an actual person? Just what would he do when he held all power over him? He would be powerless to stop them and could quite easily end off worse than where he started.

Tommy tried to shake the thoughts away before he thought too hard about it.

Wilbur would never catch him.

That wasn’t going to happen if he could help it.

Speak of the devil and they shall appear, as the sound of faint keys being slid into a lock as it clicked, signalled the return of said Bean. The man gently opened and shut the door as they sighed before walking into the kitchen, as Tommy listened intently to their routine.

Put their bag down on the table. Open and close the fridge Shuffle through the cupboards for something to eat. Take out a box of half eaten crackers. Eat one and toss the rest on the bench for later.

Move into the bedroom to relax and close the door with a soft-

‘Click’

Tommy grinned mischievously to himself.

Now was his time to shine.

It might be foolish to any other Borrower to take food while a Bean was actively awake and home, but Tommy had seen Wilbur do this enough times to know now that that man was not going anywhere for at least another 20 to 40 minutes while they de-stressed their day away watching Tikky Toks on their phone, and there was no way he was wasting the opportunity to get food while it was easy access on the bench right now.

Silently, Tommy grabbed his hook and borrowing bag as he made his way through the maze of walls to the kitchen outlet. Just a quick trip and Dinner would be acquired.

Easy.

With little effort, Tommy slipped the electrical cover off the outlet to the kitchen, double checking the coast was clear before making a move straight for the crackers.

“Ugh, Seaweed again?” Tommy scrunched his nose up at the obnoxious packaging.

He really shouldn’t be complaining about the easy borrow, but the blonde knew there were BBQ flavoured ones up on the high shelf he couldn’t reach. Stupid Wilbur gatekeeping his favourite snacks. Okay, unknowingly sure, but come on; Seaweed? The same stuff fish eat? Yuck.

Secretly the boy actually didn’t mind them too much but it does get a bit much eating the same thing 5 nights in a row. Better plan a supply trip to the high shelves next time Wilbur’s out to get stocked up with a bit more variety Tommy decided, as he opened his bag and stored a broken up cracker.

As he gathered up his borrowings, the unusual pangs of an instrument in pain sounded down the hall. Tommy gasped as he sped up his movements before grabbing his hook and hastily making his way down to the ground. Another few pangs of an off note sounded through the walls as Wilbur messed with his guitar strings.

Looked like it was dinner and a show tonight!

Lady Life’s music of the Forest was good and all, but Tommy never knew music like Wilbur’s even existed till he got to experience it one night. It was just like tonight, Wilbur in the other room with Tommy borrowing before the man started doing what was called ‘tuning the guitar’ to get the instrument in the right key.

Tommy thought he’d been destroying the poor instrument until they started playing a song he didn’t know. The brunette had talent and listening to them play felt like a private concert just for him. It wasn’t long before Tommy had crossed the kitchen and was back in the walls to Wilbur’s bedroom, nestled atop the Bean’s shelf out of sight in a discarded Beanie.

The soft strum of the guitar filled the room and Tommy found himself relaxing to the constant rhythm. It was easy to just let himself drift and sway with the melody. The way it put him at ease was almost hypnotic, but the boy found he didn’t care if it meant he could indulge in it forever.

Wilbur had been working on this song for awhile and it had quickly become one of his favourites. There were many times he had wanted nothing more than to cheer and clap whenever the Human Bean had finished playing, but the lingering fear of being caught was ever present in the boy's mind. This however didn’t seem to defer his ever growing loneliness.

‘Would it be so bad if he were to talk to Wilbur?’

‘What if he was one of the so-called good Beans?’

‘What if he had a chance to make a friend?’

Tommy peaked over the edge of the shelf down to where Wilbur was busy absorbed in his playing. How would he even approach them? It’s not like he could just walk out into the open and be like: ‘Hi I’m Tommy and I’ve been living in your walls ever since you kidnapped me and using all your stuff. Want to be friends?’

…

Yeah that’s definitely going to result in him winding up in a jar or something.

If only Santa Claus was still here. It was his suggestion to befriend them in the first place so he’d probably know exactly what to say and do.

Wait, THAT WAS IT!!!

Why didn’t he think of this sooner? Why not just ask Santa what to do! It made perfect sense! He’s a Bean and talks to them all the time so obviously he would know exactly how he could approach them!

Tommy crept back into the walls and quickly ran off in the direction of the house's study.

He had a letter to write.

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“Okay, Dear Santa…” Tommy said out loud as he began to write in his best handwriting.

As soon as he’d found an unused marker in the study, Tommy had been quick to fashion it into one his size from the red tip. His hands had been stained red, but red was the poggest colour ever so he didn’t mind. He had gone to start writing a letter with some borrowed paper back in his home that night, but quickly realised Santa probably wouldn’t be able to read his letter if the letter was written in his regular handwriting- AKA too small to read with Santa’s bad eyesight from being old. This would require a bigger piece of paper and writing with his Big Man writing skills!

That also meant needing a bigger piece of paper and room to write it which meant waiting for Wilbur to leave and that took far too long with it being a Sunday. Tommy had had to wait HOURS for Wilbur to leave to do the grocery shopping, but at least it meant he’d be out for awhile and the Bean had left the kitchen window open, so it was a good day to enjoy some fresh air, albeit if it was a bit cold still and windy.

So with his new marker in hand and a few sheets of Wilbur's scrap pieces of paper from the Kitchen, Tommy now had everything he could possibly need to write his letter.

“Dear Santa.”

…

“---Dear Santa?”

… … …

“Dear Santaaaaaaaa UGHHH WHY IS THIS SO HARD!?”

Well, everything but the right words…

“It shouldn’t be this difficult!” The boy complained, as he crossed out another attempt at writing.

“Dear Santa, so you know how you said to talk to Wilbitch? How exactly do I do that?”

Tommy groaned as he furiously scribbled over the dear santa line before flopping himself on top of the stack of papers. He had been trying to write this letter for 15 minutes and he was getting frustrated. He just didn’t know how to start the letter.

Get straight to the point or ease into?

Is there even a way to write a letter correctly?

6 year old Beans do this for goodness sake!

He just wanted to ask for the best way to approach Wilbur without the worst occurring. He knew the Beans schedule so he could probably work out a good time to talk to them based on their mood but he also still had to get over the idea of willingly exposing himself and that he definitely needed Santa’s help with. Not to forget to mention he still had to thank Santa for all his gifts too! He honestly couldn’t thank him enough for what he had done and the Borrower wanted the old man to know that.

Perhaps just being honest would be the best way to write this? Get it all down in one go and out in the open so he and Santa were completely on the same page. It was at least worth a shot. Wilbur would be back soon and he needed to get something written before that. With a little more internal deliberation, Tommy took a deep breath, and began to write.

Line after line the Borrower wrote his letter- as well as stopping to rest his aching hand as the letter grew longer letting the words flow as best he could. It wasn’t perfect, but then again he added pictures and doodles to make it better so he’s pretty sure that evens it out.

The last thing he needed to do was address the letter to Santa and get it to the letterbox. With his best precision skills, Tommy folded the letter in half and wrote on the front in his best writing.

TO: SANTA

NORTH POLE

Once he was done, Tommy stepped back to admire his handy work.

It was a bit wonky and anything but fancy, but for the first letter he’s ever written, it wasn’t too bad for a giant letter written by a Borrower.

Now all that was left was to deliver it. The boy quickly put his marker away into his borrowing bag and cleaned up the stack of papers back into a neat pile like how he found it, discarding any of his first bad attempts in the bottom of the bin where Wilbur wouldn’t find it, before moving to the window with the letter in tow.

Now the best way to get the letter to Santa would be to post it and Tommy had seen some Human Beans put letters in their letter box before on the big black box, and then they were taken to be delivered like magic, so that made the most logical sense to him. He’d have to go outside to send it, but if he went now and waited till the sun went down, he would be able to scale the letterbox under the cover of darkness and do it with less risk.

Tommy set the letter down beside him as he prepared to descend from the window sill to the outside world. The wind had picked up a little bit, but the Borrower was confident in his abilities to scale down the wall without any issues. Just like climbing up and down the trees back in the forest. Hook in, and descend down. Piece of cake.

Once he was sure his hook was secure, Tommy gathered up the letter in one arm before raising his other to shield his eyes from the setting sun, basking in the serenity of the afternoon as a chilly breeze blew through his golden curls.

Tommy exhaled a content sigh. He missed watching the sunset through the trees of the forest, the soft music of trees swaying and birds chirping as they did their birdie things. Hopefully he’d be reunited with his old nook and could enjoy them like he once did again soon. His letter was sure to fix everything.

Santa would fix everything.

Tommy gently closed his eyes to savour the feeling one last time, but the boy lingered for just a moment too long as a strong gust of wind was all it took to throw the Borrower off balance and snatch his letter from his grasp, sending it flying off with the wind.

“NO!” The blonde shouted, watching as his letter drifted left and right off into the distance.

It was almost magical in a sense, as he watched how it danced through the air and Tommy had to wonder, what if that was intentional. Santa had managed to do things he didn’t think possible with his magic, so perhaps he knew when letters were addressed to him and sent a magic wind to collect it for him?

Yeah that made sense! Good old Santa Claus looking out for his favourite Borrower! Prime he should have thanked Santa more in his letter.

Satisfied with coming to this conclusion, Tommy packed up his gear before heading back to the walls for a well deserved rest; blissfully unaware of the true whereabouts of his letter as it drifted through the wind over buildings and roads, before finally flying straight into a certain brunettes face on his way back from the shops.

“What on Earth?!” Wilbur grabbed at the piece of paper from his face prepared to throw it away before abruptly coming to a stop to read the bright, red scrawl across the front.

“Okay, interesting spelling.” Wilbur examined the poorly addressed letter.

It was obviously a lost Christmas letter written on what looked like sheet music from some kid judging by the spelling and array of doodles. Little faces in the O’s to make it look like Santa, but obnoxiously written in capital letters to make it stand out. It made him think of Tommy and how he went into all the finer details of his life that he couldn’t help but opt to read the childish letter and pique his growing curiosity.

Dear Santa

Hi, it's Tommy! TommyInnit the Borrower you spoke to on Christinimass Eve. I’m sure I don’t need to explain which Tommy to you being the most amazing Tommy to exist ever but anyways I’m writing this letter to ask for your help.

Firstly, thank you for all the pogger gifts. They’re all so AWESOME so thank you! (Like seriously, you are the Greatest Man alive- After me of course >:3 )

Anyways, the reason I sent you this letter. You know Wilbitch Wilbur? The Human Bean that kidnapped me? Well I’ve decided to be the bigger man and befriend him despite him kidnapping me and destroying my home (You know it’s still in his living room slowly dying? Weirdo).

Thing is, I don’t really know how to do that. I know you said I can trust him, but I’m still scared of what he might do to me if he finds out I’ve been using and taking his stuff. I know his schedule by heart at this point and wait till he leaves to get anything done outside the walls, but ever since talking to you I’ve felt so lonely. I loved talking to you but I know I can’t do that with you all the time so I’m willing to give the Bean a chance.

Do you have any ideas for how I can talk to him?

Thank you for your help and if you do this I won’t even ask for a Christmas present this year!!! Seriously I won’t!!! I would just like a friend.

From the coolest Borrower ever,

-Tommy

P.S. You’re the best.

Wilbur couldn’t believe his eyes.

It- It was a letter to Santa, from Tommy.

His Tommy.

This was it! This was his in, his chance!!!

Wilbur carefully folded the letter back in half and slipped it into his trench coat pocket before hurrying home, formulating a plan of action the whole way. Finally he had a shot to befriend Tommy and there was no way he was going to waste it.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Waiting.

Waiting..

More waiting…

Great. Just great.

Wilbur couldn’t help but keep his eyes glued to the clock on the class room wall. His leg bounced in anticipation as the minutes ticked by to the end of the day. He should really be listening to his lecturer, but it was almost impossible to do so when all the uni student could think of was getting home as quickly as possible.

The only way to catch Tommy would be by surprise, and to do that would be to break his schedule.

Wilbur couldn’t lie and say he didn’t love a well structured schedule. It was the only way he found he really ever got anything done and if sticking to his timed out plan was the way to do that, then so be it. Sometimes that meant postponing other things like hangouts and was a pain, but right now it was his ticket to meeting one Borrower.

His Plan- Get home an hour earlier than normal by skipping study and hope to catch Tommy in the open.

Okay, so yes the whole plan was just one big gamble. It’s not like he got home at exactly the same time every day so he doubted Tommy was going to be out borrowing still even if he was home early, but it’s the best idea he’s got. The letter said Tommy knew his schedule so being early was rarity for him. It’s not going to hurt to give it a try.

He’ll either see Tommy, or he won’t.

Wilbur idly traced the words of Tommy's letter as he sat and waited for his lecturer to signal the end of class. So much energy and bright smiles were hidden beneath the red writing and he wanted to know it all.

After what felt like an eternity, his lecture finally ended and the brunette wasted no time in gathering up his things and racing out the door. He didn’t really need to sprint home, especially given that the roads were still a bit icy, but there was no time to waste.

It only took a matter of minutes for him to reach the end of his street, huffing and panting. He took his time walking down to his house allowing himself to catch his breath and recompose himself for the task at hand.

This was a stealth operation. No loud noises allowed.

Wilbur treaded lightly up to his front door, taking out his keys holding the key chains tight to prevent any jingling sounds before slipping the key in the lock. He turned the key as slowly as he dared, opening the door in a similar manner, before poking his head inside the door frame, eyes immediately looking to spots he thought the small borrower child might be hiding.

No signs of Tommy.

Wilbur crept into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a loud click. “Shoot.” he muttered before slapping a hand over his mouth sharply, before realising his mistake as he cringed at the slight stinging pain now blooming across his jaw.

‘Don’t talk, you idiot!’ Wilbur internally chastised himself.

Ignoring his first blunder, Wilbur quietly shuffled across the carpet to peek into the living room. Nothing appeared out of place, and Tommy’s spot on the book shelf remained as empty as ever.

‘Not here,’ Wilbur thought as he turned and tiptoed across the hallway. ‘Try the kitchen. Just slow and steady, keep quiet, move slow and steady and- ‘CREAKKKKKKK’ An old floorboard groaned loudly as it took the man’s weight.

‘So much for stealth.’

Holding onto a sliver of hope he hadn’t messed up, Wilbur peered into the kitchen. Just like the living room, everything remained untouched and just the same as ever. Wilbur sighed heavily, dropping his bag loudly in defeat. If Tommy had been here, there was no way he hadn’t heard that floorboard move.

Resigning himself to his failed efforts, Wilbur didn’t bother to stay quiet as he trudged into the kitchen defeated. He flung the kitchen cupboard open, grabbing the BBQ crackers from the top shelf cracking the package open. He then grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and his bag from the floor before moving off to his room.

So his one and only plan didn’t work, now what was he going to do? Guess he’d have to try and think of another time to break his schedule that wouldn’t compromise his study life a different way.

The brunette sighed as he grabbed his phone, chucking on one of his favourite playlists and booting up his Bluetooth speaker. Might as well do some study since he skipped his study block back at the campus. It was as he sat down his stomach suddenly grumbled.

Oh, right- the crackers.

Wilbur rose from his chair and moved through the halls before abruptly coming to a stop and hiding behind the kitchen door. There was movement from the BBQ Crackers packet. The man’s breath got stuck in his throat as he watched a tiny blonde boy emerge from the packaging with a cracker looking extremely pleased with themself, as they set it down next to a little blue bag.

Tommy.

Wilbur couldn’t help but stare as he watched the boy work. He should have known that Tommy would come out for food. It never occurred to him that he would try and get the discarded crackers when they were left out on the bench. It was dangerous for the Borrower considering he was home and could be seen, but it was easy access for the boy so of course the risk would be worth it.

With careful precision to avoid the creaky floorboards, Wilbur crept forward. Said blonde had crawled back into the Crackers packet and was distracted. He didn’t want to scare Tommy away, but the boy was far too close to the electrical socket and he’d determined it was a wall entry/exit a while ago. The last thing he wanted was for Tommy to bolt.

It wasn’t till he was about a step or two away that the Borrower popped back out of the bag with another cracker in tow.

It was now or never.

“Ahem,” Wilbur cleared his throat and tried not to feel guilty, as he watched the Borrower on the bench flinch, stumbling back in surprise. “Hi there.”

Wilbur remained completely still as he watched in anticipation for what the blonde would do next. Tommy’s face seemed to morph 100 different ways all at once before stopping at terrified as they processed the situation. The pure terror on the Borrowers face showed he knew there was no escaping this, as their eyes darted around trying to formulate the next best course of action despite their seemingly ‘dire’ situation, but Wilbur continued to remain calm.

He needed Tommy to understand he wasn’t in danger.

The silence stretched on for a few more moments, only broken by the sound of the cracker Tommy had been clutching to his chest, snapping into several pieces. The borrower was so frightened for being caught, he’d subconsciously been clutching the cracker tighter and tighter till it snapped.

“Can I help with that?” Wilbur asked, pointing to the broken cracker in the boy's lap as he stepped closer.

Tommy was fast to react. The blonde sprung to his feet, cracker and equipment forgotten as they bolted for the electrical socket.

“No wait, STOP!” Wilbur cried as lunged forward to stop the boy. Before he even realised what he’d done, he’d swept the Borrower up in his hand, the boy now kicking and screaming in his grasp.

“LET ME GO!!!” he shrieked as they dug and scratched their nails into Wilbur's skin.

Tommy felt the way the hand flexed as he did so, but his attempts weren’t enough to get the man to budge. This was only the second time he’d ever been picked up by a human, and it was nothing like the way Santa had treated him. It felt far too tight and confining and Tommy wanted nothing more than to be free of it. Tommy always knew that Human Beans could be fast, but he never realised just how fast they actually might be.

His futile attempt to make it back to the walls had been wishful thinking at best. Now the very real threat of his head being popped off for being caught stealing the Bean's food had his heart hammering out of his chest. He was going to continue his plans of bloody murder, but as his stomach lurched and he was lifted up and away from the counter, all attempts died off as he was brought closer to his impending doom's face. He couldn’t suppress the small whimper that slipped as his body shook as the Bean seemingly studied every inch of him, before their eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey, hey it’s alright.” Wilbur reassured. “I’m not going to hurt you Tommy.”

Tommy’s blood ran cold.

How did he know his name?

No, no he couldn’t have. He’d been careful. Never seen, not once. There was no way Wilbur could have known he was here let alone his name right? Right???

“How the heck do you know my name?” he spat.

Did this mean they knew he was here? Had the Bean been trying to lure him out this entire time just so they could trap him and punish him for taking their stuff?

“Ahhh so about that..” Wilbur began before quickly adjusting his grip and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, thin piece of paper with red scribbled all over it. “I got your letter. It didn’t quite make it to the North Pole I’m afraid.”

Tommy couldn’t believe his eyes.

It was his letter to Santa.

All his worst fears were confirmed in the Beans grasp. If Wilbur had his letter then that meant he DEFINITELY had read it and would know everything!! As if magic wind was a real thing! Prime, why did he think writing to Santa when it was no longer Christmas would be a good idea?

“Hey, hey it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you Tommy, I just want to talk honestly.” Wilbur tried to reassure as he placed the letter down. The boy only shook his head in response, trembling as they squeezed their eyes shut expecting the worst.

“Okay, I know you’re scared Tommy, but I’ve read your letter, and I just want to help you. You can trust me I-”

“WHY SHOULD I TRUST YOU?!” The boy shrieked. “YOU SNATCHED ME OFF THE TABLE AND ARE HOLDING ME AGAINST MY WILL!”

“Well yes I know, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you, I just didn’t want you to run away!”

“If you’re really sorry then you’ll let me go!” Tommy pleaded, tears starting to well up in his eyes. “Please just let me go.”

Wilbur sighed, realising his terrific plan to speak to Tommy wouldn’t get very far with their current circumstances. If the roles were reversed, he’d be rightly terrified out of his mind too. You’d think after all his research on Borrowers, this is something he’d be aware of. Looking around the kitchen, he knew he couldn’t just put them down on the bench and risk the boy making another run for it, and instead turned and headed for the dining room table, despite the boy's sniffling cries.

“Tommy, I’m going to put you down now.” Wilbur explained, trying to be gentle as he sat down on one of the wooden chairs. “I promise I won’t hurt you and you can leave straight after, I just want to talk.”

The boy didn’t speak as he brought his hands down to the wooden surface and slowly released his grip. The blonde immediately wriggled out from his fingers and dropped to the table with a slight thud, but was just as quickly scooting away from his hands now he was free. Wilbur brought his hands away and slipped them under the table into his lap to be less intimidating, but could see Tommy was still highly on edge as they tried to gain distance. He was breathing heavily, eyes fixated on him with a terrified expression, seemingly knowing that he had no hope of getting away in the Beans presence.

He felt bad for putting them in such a vulnerable position, but if he wanted any hope to get him home, then they needed to talk properly- face to face.

“There,” Wilbur said, retracting his hands placatingly. “See, you’re fine.”

Tommy didn’t look particularly convinced, his eyes red from crying and snot running down his nose. Like seriously, who did this guy think he was? After the way he just behaved, why should he trust him?

“Define fine.” The boy snapped hugging himself as he turned away so he didn’t have to face the brunette's constant staring.

Wilbur sighed. Why did he have to be so stubborn? He’s the one that wanted to make friends in the first place.

Wilbur glanced at the letter he’d placed on the edge of the table. Tommy was the one that wanted to talk to him but was just unsure of how to approach him. But instead here he’d come waltzing in and frantically grabbed him without any consideration for how this would make him look. The boy believed Santa when he told him he was a good guy, but any truth in that was gone and rightfully so. In Tommy’s eyes, Wilbur didn’t deserve to be trusted.

How could you trust someone that held your life in their hands?

Wilbur sighed as he knew how to fix this, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, but if he wanted Tommy to trust him then his actions had to match his words.

“Okay so I know I didn’t make the best first impression so how about we start over?” Wilbur tried even slinking down to be a bit lower so he wasn’t looming over him so much. “My names Wilbur and if you need anything you can just ask okay?”

Tommy didn’t reply, even going as far to give him the finger which had the man having to suppress a laugh despite it being fair. He waited for the blonde to speak up a little longer but it didn’t seem the Borrower would be talking any time soon.

Sighing realising this wasn’t going to work, Wilbur stood from the table and walked back to the kitchen. Tommy remained still only glancing a little bit to the side when he heard crackling of plastic, before the heavy foot falls of Wilbur's return signaled he was back before something was put down behind him, and a chair was dragged out and around from the table facing backwards.

“So I don’t blame you for not trusting me. I should have realised how my actions would have affected you so I won’t keep you any longer.” Wilbur stepped back from the table and around to the other side where Tommy could see him and towards the hallway back to his room.

“I’ve uh- left the chair next to the table so you can get down with your hook and things, and I promise I won’t go looking for you, but if you ever need anything- please don’t hesitate to ask.” Wilbur took a deep breath and exhaled as he rubbed the back of his head. “I hope in time, maybe we could be friends.”

After waiting for a reply and receiving none, Wilbur turned and walked into his room, closing the door with a soft click before walking over and flopping onto his bed. He couldn’t force Tommy to trust him. He just had to hope giving them space might change the kids' mind.

The second the Bean was gone, Tommy didn’t hesitate to grab his things and descend down the chair with his hook. He then booked it for the nearest wall entrance he could find and didn’t stop running until he was back in his little room in the walls.

His heart pounded realising how close that had all been and now there was no time to waste.

Hastily he began to load his clothes into his bag and supplies for the journey he had ahead. He couldn’t stay now Wilbur actively knew of his existence. He’d been at the complete mercy of the Bean and that was never going to happen ever again. He kept doing this until he had completely stuffed his pack. As he prepared to leave he made his way to the door and had one final look around at his home for anything he missed.

He couldn't pick up on anything specific, not until his eyes landed on the card from Santa. All those happy days he had gotten from just waking up to a pretty card. His encounter with Santa the best day of his life and the reason he was so comfortable here now at all. The memory felt bitter sweet now though, as he trudged over to the card, picking it up harshly flipping it over for one last read.

Dear Tommy,

It was lovely meeting you and getting

to know your story. I figured you might

like some extra gifts as well to help you

be more comfortable in Wilbur’s walls.

I think you should try talking to him.

You might be surprised.

Sincerely,

Santa Claus

P.S- He’s not as scary as you think.

“Not as scary as you think my ass.” Tommy spat bitterly as he set it back in place.

So what if he’d apologised a bunch of times? That didn’t change the fact he almost hadn’t been freed at all. Sure he’d escaped now, but Wilbur might have just made it look like he was free to go as an act to trick him into feeling guilty enough to stay to catch him later.

But then again, he did apologise a lot and gave him a quick way back down the table. If he really thought about it, he hadn’t looked like he was going to hurt him or anything, just guilty he’d grabbed him in the first place. In fact he hadn’t really done anything besides scare the living daylights out of him by snatching him up.

It was perfectly logical for him to be scared of being grabbed, but apart from that, had the Bean actually done anything wrong? He was just reacting to the situation, and if he had read his letter, then maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

But no that can’t be right? He can’t seriously be considering Wilbur not a threat after all that?

“Ughhhh my head hurts!” He groaned frustratedly before dropping his pack to the floor and flopping head first into his bed. Why do Human Beans never make sense? Tommy curled himself into the fabric squeezing the sock blanket tightly in his grasp. This was all far too much for him to think about right now.

The events of the day finally seemed to catch up to him as he laid there, adrenaline wearing off, replaced with a heavy fatigue. Perhaps sleeping would be better than trying to leave right this second? Who knew when he’d have another chance once he started the move.

Rather than fight it, Tommy soon fell asleep, snuggled in his bed, his thoughts dreaming of what ifs and Wilbur.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

The next day, Tommy had yet to leave.

He’d spent most of the morning mulling over his options and what the best course of action was and was having a hard time making up his mind.

On the one hand, leaving meant he was 100% safe from Wilbur and whatever his plans might be, whether they be good intentions or not. But on the other hand, that meant giving up the space he’d spent so long getting right and traversing the winter terrain without a guarantee of finding a place that was safe to stay in. While the Bean knew of his presence, at least he had a warm bed and didn’t have to worry about frostbite. But of course that still left one problem:

Wilbur.

The more he replayed yesterday's events over in his mind the more he wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe Wilbur was one of the good Beans. It’s not like he’d ever met or interacted with one before he came here. Everything he knew of them came from stories and warnings from his parents about Borrowers getting trapped in Jars and what not, but there was always some truth in stories one way or another.

Still though, he had one thing going for him that no other Bean did. Santa trusted him. And while Tommy may not trust him, (not completely anyways) perhaps there was a way he could test them.

Tommy had his borrowing bag strapped to his back and his hook and rope at his side as he sat perched atop the bookshelf in the living room, watching and waiting for Wilbur to enter. He’d test the Bean. See if he stayed true to his word and be in plain sight of the man and see if he was worthy of his presence. If he tried to catch him or hurt him in any way, all he had to do was get back through the crack in the wall and grab the rest of his things and book it out of there.

The blonde's knee bounced in anticipation. It was one thing trying not to be seen by a being 100x your size, but another to willingly just be waiting in the open for your maybe/maybe not demise to show up. Strange how the last time he stood out here, he did so waiting for Santa happily, but now it felt like he half wanted to throw up as he waited for the brunette to show.

His thoughts must have summoned him, because entered an exhausted Wilbur with a cup of coffee in hand before they plonked themself down on the couch. He took a long sip and sighed before putting the cup down and threw their head back against the couch.

He looked sad. Big dark bags under his eyes and he was frowning as he stared up at the ceiling. Tommy couldn’t help but think that was probably his fault. Seems yesterday's events had affected Wilbur just as much as it had him and he did feel a bit guilty for that. Did he really care that much he’d lose sleep over him?

Only one way to find out.

“Ahem.” Tommy cleared his throat and the Bean jolted up almost immediately, head looking around wildly for the source.

“Hey, up here big man.” The boy called with a wave to down below and clenched his hook tightly with the other hand as the brunette's sweeping gaze snapped up onto him. “Sorry if I- uh startled you.”

“No, no it’s fine, I just- I thought you left.” Wilbur said as he turned himself to be better facing the Borrower without leaving the couch.

“Why would I do that?” Tommy asked even though he knew the answer.

“Well, I don’t know I just thought- I’d scared you away.” Wilbur looked away, staring at his coffee as if it was far more interesting than the boy on his shelf. “I figured you’d have left because of how I- how I um..”

“Grabbed me?” Tommy asked, raising a brow as he did so.

“Yeah… I truly am sorry about that. I never should have reacted like that. I don’t know what I was thinking. I promise I never planned to do anything to you when I did, I just- my hand moved without thinking and yeah. I’m sorry Tommy.”

“It wasn’t particularly nice of you.” Tommy tried to ignore the tingly sensation of phantom hands wrapping around him as he stood up. “I just felt so helpless when you did.”

Wilbur nodded sadly in agreement. “Yeah I can’t imagine what it must feel like for you. Based on what I read in your letter, it must be really hard living at your size when everything is so big.”

“Well I was born this way. I learned to live cautiously to protect myself. You Beans are just too busy thinking of yourselves than about who else might be living out of sight.” Tommy glanced down to Wilbur and noticed how the Bean twiddled their thumbs in their lap, gaze now resting on the table and a familiar piece of paper. His Letter.

“Hey I’ve got to ask,” Tommy started as Wilbur brought his head back up to the shelf. “How did you get your hands on my letter? Last I saw it, it was flying out in the wind randomly to who knows where.”

Wilbur chuckled as he leaned over and picked up the letter carefully to admire the craftsmanship of it once more. “Well, I was walking home from grocery shopping the other day and it kind of just flew into my face. It was by chance that I decided to open it and read it that I noticed the paper was one of my discarded music sheets I use for scrap paper. Kind of connected the dots from there since it was my work and here we are.”

Tommy nodded as he listened. He supposed that made more sense than magic wind, even if the chances of it flying into Wilbur's face were bizarrely low.

“Still a shame it didn’t make it to Santa. I wanted to thank him properly for what he did for me.”

“You could always write him another letter if you want.” Wilbur suggested. “I don’t mind helping you if you like.”

Tommy nodded considering the idea before speaking up. “I think you might have to write to Santa for yourself though. You’ll probably be on his naughty list for a while when I tell him about everything that’s happened.”

Wilbur smiled as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah I deserve that. I’ll have to really work hard to get back on the nice list then won’t I?”

“You sure will. Gonna take a lot to get back in his good books though.”

Wilbur smiled as he set the letter back down and leaned back into the couch. “Do you have any ideas on how I could do that?”

Tommy scratched his head for a moment in thought.

“Well for starters you’d have to be extra nice and always use proper manners like asking before you do something.”

Wilbur nodded as the boy continued. “And you’d have to always announce your presence coming in and out of rooms cause if you don’t that’s just rude.”

Wilbur couldn’t help but chuckle as Tommy kept listing nice specific things off. “Anything else?”

“Annnnd always leave extra food out on the counters- specifically the BBQ crackers and chocolate because that’s how you show you're being extra nice.”

“Right, well it sounds like I’ve got my work cut out for me then.” Wilbur replied as he looked back up to where Tommy stood upon the shelf. The boy seemed rather pleased with himself before he realised he was in sight and timidly stepped back from view.

“I’ve got to ask though, why are you still here? I assumed the last place you’d want to be is anywhere near me and well, yeah.” It was a question that was starting to eat at him as why the Borrower would go against the code and all the other things he had read about not making sense.

“Well initially, I was going to leave straight away, yes. But with all the snow on the ground and not knowing the area, it made the decision of leaving more complicated so I’m giving talking one last shot and then deciding.”

Wilbur smiled as he felt warm that the blonde was at least giving him a chance, even if they had their hesitations. He didn’t blame Tommy for being wary after everything that had transpired but maybe there was still hope to salvage things.

“Hey Tommy, do you think maybe we could start over?” the brunette asked. “I think we got off on the wrong foot and I’d really like to show I mean you know harm.”

Tommy stood back from the shelf edge where he couldn’t see the Bean. This was exactly what he wanted. A chance for the Bean to prove himself and he hadn’t even had to ask.

Wilbur watched the bookshelf nervously waiting for a response. What if he’d over stepped? He didn’t have to wait long for an answer as the blonde came back into view with his arms behind his back, before breaking into a smile.

“Yeah, that would be nice. But don’t even think about putting me in a jar cause I know Santa and Santa will absolutely beat your ass if you do.”

“And why would he do that?” Wilbur smirked teasingly.

“Because,” Tommy stated. “I’m his favourite.”

Wilbur’s heart melted as the boy blew a raspberry at him before pulling a bunch of different faces. In a way, he guessed it was true.

Tommy was his favourite.

And he wasn’t going to mess this opportunity up a second time.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

In the days to come, Wilbur and Tommy began to slowly get to know each other.

Albeit at a distance with Tommy still hiding on shelves and behind items that he was sort of a discombobulated voice, but it was a start and made the Borrower feel safer.

Wilbur didn’t mind in the slightest as they were actually talking and making progress! If Wilbur thought Tommy had talked a lot on their Santa encounter, well the kid had certainly been holding back as they chatted away about anything and everything they could speak on.

In fact, soon the two were bantering back and forth like they’d been life long friends and it didn’t take long for Tommy to start showing himself on the shelves.

Wilbur was always super cautious around the boy and made sure to give him space, and even gave him extra warning about what he was doing to ease the boy more around his presence. While Tommy initially had his reservations, he was quickly beginning to see what Santa had meant in his card.

Wilbur truly was doing everything he possibly could to show he wanted to help him and be friends and that gave Tommy the confidence to take the next step and actually be in close proximity with the man rather than the safety of shelves.

Eventually, Tommy would tell Wilbur of how he came to be in his apartment and Wilbur would offer to take Tommy back to his home. It didn’t take long for the boy to realise how close he’d actually grown to the Bean and when the time came to actually go, the Borrower would decide that maybe the Forest wasn’t necessarily his home any more.

From there, the two continued to grow closer and eventually table talks turned to movie nights on the couch, to hand cuddles on chilly days. And whenever things got too much, Wilbur gave Tommy the space he needed and one day Tommy realised that Santa was right.

Wilbur wasn’t as scary as he once believed.

In fact, he finally had a friend he could depend on.

Just like he had always wanted.

༘⋆ ❅ ･:*:｡ ❆ ₊˚ ｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊ ⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

Epilogue

Annnnnnnnnnnnd that's a wrap!!!

Thank you so much if you read the whole thing through. It was a lot of fun to write as it's not the kind of topic I see written about very often and especially not in a gt sense so I loved exploring what Santa is to a Borrower that lived outside most of their life never knowing about these things.

HUGE Thank you to @quotemenevervore for beta reading and helping me get unstuck to write the ending!!! Always very thankful for your input and so glad I got this done before Christmas like I planned <3

Thanks again to everyone who's stuck around and continues to enjoy my writing despite all the circumstances of previous creators constantly changing. As times gone on, while I still really enjoy writing these characters, new ideas to use them in the future have certainly been becoming less, so I still fully intend to finish JORNOS but after that's done, I have one more chapter fic I want to post and then I think I might explore some new characters. Dunno yet tbh. Work is being a pain and will probably continue to delay new stuff, but I'm certainly not done yet :3

Anyways that's my last fic for this year so Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and I'll see you all on the next fic <3

tag list: @local-squishmallow @brick-a-doodle-do @justarandomsloth @veryfunkycheesecake @munchkin1156 @kayla-crazy-stuffs @da3dm @eiscreme135 @orchid-harmony @the-tiny-lurker @colossal-red @nobodywritingao3 @nata2343 @bad-author777 @box-beanz @gracideaviolet @a-xyz-s

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mistylune · 10 months ago

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How I manifested an iPad (without realizing it.)

Hello! It’s been a bit a time since I last made a post. I’ve been pretty busy lately, but when I was thinking about what I wanted to post next, I remembered a success story from a while back. This story is definitely one of my favorites.

So to clarify, when I say that I manifested without realizing it, I mean that I manifested before being fully clear about the law. Back then, I wasn’t a part of the community, so I had no idea that what I was doing was manifesting, nor did I know either of the laws. I’ve come to learn that we manifest all the time subconsciously, and now I know how it is utilized properly. But in this story, keep in mind that this was before I was on tumblr.

So there are two types of LOA. Law of attraction, and Law of assumption. I used to confuse the two all the time, so I’ll quickly define them. I know you all have probably seen them defined a million times, so I’ll keep it brief.

(Also please note that these are my personal descriptions of them, so they may not be entirely accurate, nor make sense, but this is just how I would define them.)

Law of attraction is the belief that your thoughts are what attract things into your life, and by focusing your thoughts positively into the things that you desire, you can attract them into your life. For example, bringing money into your life.

Law of assumption is the belief that your thoughts are what shape your reality, and thus if you change your assumptions about yourself and your life, you can change your reality. In this case, instead of bringing, or attracting the money in your life, you would already have it.

I ended up using a mix of both when manifesting my IPad, so when I say LOA, I’ll be referring to both of them.

So onto the story.

A couple of years back, I got back into drawing, and while I enjoyed traditional art, I wanted to branch out into digital art. Many of my favorite artists that I saw on social media were drawing digitally, and I wanted to experiment in the medium. But the only device I had was my phone back then, and a school computer. When researching on what a lot of artists used for digital drawing, I discovered that many of the artists I admired used IPads for their artwork. And so, I decided then that I wanted to get one.

I remember that I focused a lot on what I would do if I had one. I would watch digital drawing tutorial videos, make Pinterest boards for inspiration, I followed my favorite artists on instagram, and would get inspired by watching speed paints and looking at their art. I remember how I would bask in the feeling of excitement at the thought of having my own iPad and creating my own artwork, focusing on the positive feelings that would arise when I thought about having one. Just thinking about it filled me with joy and motivation. I didn’t think of how, where, or where I would get it. I just knew that someday I would get one.

A few months later, it’s summer and I’m offered a spot on a team for a contest. After accepting, I attended a lot of meetings discussing the competition and preparing, we left two weeks later to compete. We worked really hard, and I had a lot of fun being on that team. When we competed, I was super excited but also full of nerves because we each had a part and I had to speak in front of a crowd. But it ended up paying off.

When the award ceremony came, I was full of nerves again, because I was unsure where we would place, or if we would even place at all. I remember seeing that a team I thought would win got second. At that moment I wondered which team was good enough to beat them for first place. And it ended up being my team. I felt a rush of excitement and emotions as we went up on stage and accepted our medals. It was my first time winning a team competition, so it was fun celebrating with the people I had been working with for two weeks. It was rewarding knowing that our hard work payed off. But the kicker was what happened after that.

After celebrating for a bit, and heading to the awards banquet, we learned what prizes we would receive for placing first. We received three prizes, and among them was…an IPad.

Now, I was in complete shock. I had heard from my mentor that the tech prize would be a computer. But it ended up being an IPad instead. The very thing I had said that I wanted. I remembered thinking it was just a very lucky coincidence, and I joked with my parents that I had gotten what I wished for. But now I know that in reality, I had actually manifested my iPad.

Recently, when I was struggling with manifestation again, and feeling stuck in a loop of negativity, I made a list of all the things I had already manifested to pull myself out of it. Through that, I was able to remember this story. Realizing that I had manifested before I even knew that it was a thing motivated me so much, because I realized I was putting so much pressure on myself to do something I had already done several times.

So I think the best advice I could give is that if you are struggling with doubt and negative thoughts, please remember how powerful you are. You are capable of manifesting anything that you want. I know it seems unbelievable at times. It was for me too, which I why I first saw my manifestation as a lucky coincidence. I’ve realized too that putting a label on the law often adds this extra pressure, because we aren’t sure if we are applying it correctly. But we are the creators of our realities. There is no wrong way to manifest. Just do what works best for you. But don’t give up. If you do, you could miss out on receiving your desires. The law cannot fail, and neither can you.

Thank you so much for reading! I truly hope this post was able to motivate or help you in some way. I’ll see you guys in the next post!

With love,

Lune.

#law of assumption #loa blog #loa tumblr #loassumption #manifestation #manifesting #shiftblr #shifting blog #shifting realities #neville goddard #loa success #success story

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mothwingwritings · 1 year ago

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Dreaming Of World's End

Reader X Zenos Yae Galvus

Waaah it has been so long!!! I apologize for the absence! I have been working on and doing all kinds of stuff (fics included) as of late so I did one of my classic dip outs there for a moment, but I’m here! Just plunking away as usual. :)

With Dawntrail coming up I have been focusing a big chunk of my free time on trying to beat Endwalker (I am slow in all things, video games included lul) because I wanna be there with the herd with Dawntrail comes out!!! I have no idea if I am gonna make it, but I am doing the best I can to catch up!!!

That being said: Zenos brainrot propelled this fic from my brain, to my computer, to you. Was I and am I also writing a bunch of other things? Yes. Is this the only thing I could momentarily focus on writing-wise because I have been compromised by my love for this fucked up man? Also yes. I’m sorry. It’s bad. I was already obsessed with him in Stormblood and now that I am deep within the clutches of the Endwalker msq… It’s over for me guys. It was a good run, but rip to me. My WOL may be playing hard to get, but I’m sure not. Zenos if you are reading this, you can just have me.

So without further ado, here is a Zenos fic I have been working on! My love for him aside, I think Zenos is a super fun character to write for, so I really hope I did him some justice! This is a reader insert fic, but you are the Warrior of Light in it so feel free to insert your OC’s and WOL if you like! I tried to keep the reader neutral, but I will say it’s def aimed more at a female reader/character and if you are a shorter race like a Lala it will probs be a little wonky, so my apologies. Also, I am about half way? A little over half way? through the Endwalker main story, so potential spoilers up to that point. This fic takes place sometime between post Shadowbringers and the first part of Endwalker.

Nothing overly explicit, but due to the nature of this fic it is 18+ please!

Thank you so much for reading!!! <3 I truly hope you enjoyed!

WARNINGS: Unhealthy relationship (if you can even call it a relationship), intense infatuation, implied noncon, noncon mentions, a lot of fighting and mentions of fighting, mentions of death and the end of the world, unwanted touching, Endwalker spoilers.

It was always the same dream.

Amaurot. The end times. Death, destruction, chaos. Streets tainted by endless misery, stifling woe permeating the air as people ran about frantically, picked off left and right by horrendous, nightmarish monsters. Screams pierced the air as the remaining survivors struggled in vain, desperate to escape a fate that they could not avoid.

Just as any other night, he would watch it all unfold with cold indifference. Walking through the crumbling, fire charred lanes of this shell of a once bustling city, he would take it all in at a leisurely pace, maintaining a stride no more rushed than if he were taking a pleasant stroll. His features would be void of distress or malaise, his face a blank slate as he paraded down roads lined with bodies and devastation.

Zenos could say it was because he had grown accustomed to it, have the same dream each night and the grisly scenario that laid in wait past your closed eyes was bound to no longer shock you. But that would be a lie, as this ghastly nightmare had never truthfully bothered him to begin with. He simply didn’t care, not about the dying planet, nor its inhabitants that suffered the same fate. This scene from another time, this moment from a faraway place that no longer existed, he couldn’t bring himself to feel any form of remorse for the phantoms left to wallow helplessly in this endless, hellish loop, even if his own star was on track to share the same fate.

An echo of the past was just that, to dwell on it was a fool’s errand.

But tonight, it was not the end of times that greeted him when he closed his eyes. In its place stood an immaculate hall appearing to belong to some manner of grandiose castle. Pristine and orderly, he sat upon a large throne questionably positioned in the middle of the walkway, facing so that a vast expanse of the hall was clearly within his view.

Had he been here before? It was hard to say, having been trapped by palace walls most of his life they all blurred together after a certain point. Perhaps this wasn’t even a castle, but some manner of fortress. The varying weapons displayed neatly along the surrounding walls certainly made it feel as if this was more than just a mere abode for royalty to live out their boringly opulent lives, perhaps it doubled as an armory of sorts? Every sword, spear, and battle axe looked immaculately cared for; their blades so sharp simply looking at them made you feel as if you had been sliced.

His time to dwell upon the mystery of his surroundings was quick to dissipate however, as he felt a familiar presence approach him from behind. He remained still when a delicate hand was placed upon him, crawling from his arm to slide unhurriedly across his broad shoulders. The caress occupied the entirety of his thoughts, manicured nails scratching lightly against his flesh as they raked across his back, pressing just hard enough that they left a pleasant burn in their wake.

“There you are,” a deceptively alluring voice purred in his ear. Phantom arms draped themselves loosely over his shoulders, their fingers moving to trace a swirling pattern upon his chest. Goosebumps littered his arms at the brief contact. “Were you hiding from me?”

A small smile spread across his lips. What elation merely hearing your voice caused.

Were he not already aware of it, he would recognize he was in a dream from this interaction alone. You, only you, would be welcomed to touch him this way. But even were he to offer invitation, you would never do so of your own free will. There was a mixture of pride and revulsion that kept your interactions with him void of skinship, save for the fleeting contact that occurred when you were locked in combat.

His motivations, the way he chose to experience the world, your differing values and opinions. Like night and day, they barred you from reciprocating his feelings towards you. Because of this, he was left to revel in your touch exclusively in the realm of dreams.

“On the contrary,” he hummed, “you have been the one to keep me waiting.”

A low chuckle reverberated from your chest, sending a shiver down his spine. You rose to your full height, pulling away slowly until you disconnected from him completely. Even if the contact was nothing more than an attempt at provocation, he missed your touch the moment you detached yourself.

“Well then I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me, my lord,” you enunciated his title tauntingly, the playful lilt in your voice exciting him further. He heard you take several languid steps away from him before you spoke once more. “That is, if you even have a heart that can offer forgiveness.”

Zenos rose to his feet, turning to finally face you. Your back greeted him as you stared up at the myriad of weaponry covering the back wall, the hand that was moments ago atop his chest now gracefully running across the hilt of a long sword. Your fingers lingered on the handle, moving as if you were going to grip it, but never completing the task.

Zenos smiled. You were toying with him.

“You jest,” he spoke, taking a measured step your way, “if anyone has intimate knowledge of the existence of my heart and whom it beats for, it is you.”

Your posture stiffened in acknowledgment of the insinuation, yet you refused to turn his way.

“Is that so,” your voice seemed distant, as if you were unwilling to accept the burden of the intense desire he held for you, “Forgive me, I must have misread the situation. Due to the nature of how our meetings always end, I figured you only ever wanted one thing from me, and that is my blood.”

A low chuckle rumbled from within him, his eyes crinkling in amusement. For all that you were, all the skills and knowledge that you held, you could certainly be dense.

“I desire all you have to offer,” he answered plainly, “Your fury and malice, your rage and rancor, your disdain and desire,” he continued to approach you, each step slow and deliberate as he closed in on your staunch form. “Your love and affection are no different. I want to consume your every thought, just as you consume mine. I want you to taste me in the air you breathe and feel me crawling under your skin, even when I am far removed from your presence.”

He stopped several steps away from you, keeping his distance but lingering close enough that it bordered on intrusive. He raised his hand calmly, reaching out to grab a stray lock of your hair between his fingers. He gingerly caressed the silky strands, smirking when he noted that even such slight contact caused a shudder to lurch your otherwise statuesque form.

“You can play the fool all you want, but you cannot hide the fact that the same beast that dwells in me is also within you. They call out, craving each other to the point of madness. We need each other. This dance we share must continue in perpetuity, lest our fierce yearning for each other’s presence turn us to savages incapable of rational thought, driven to the point of committing mass, undiscriminating destruction as a means to appease ourselves.”

He smirked, placing a gentle kiss atop the tendrils in his hand, before letting it slip from his grasp completely. “And you would do anything to divert that misfortune, would you not hero?”

Your shoulders began to quiver, shaken by the threat of violence he could and would commit simply to be by your side. An impatient sigh escaped his lips, “So come, what better way is there to quench each other’s thirst and prevent calamity than through a mutually beneficial rendezvous? Surely even someone as set in their way as you are is in agreeance.”

“I was under the assumption that you planned on battling me until the world was torn asunder, regardless of if I entertain your perversions or not,” Your voice dripped with disdain as you spat your response at him, “If that is the case, pray tell why I should not cut you down where you stand? Why must the dance continue if the outcome is all the same?”

Your words made the smile on his face grow, stretching his lips to an unnatural degree. Taking another step forward, he leaned in until his mouth grazing the shell of your ear. Placing his hands firmly atop your shoulders, he gave a tight squeeze as he responded.

“Because we share one destiny,” he pressed his cheek flush against your head, inhaling deeply before releasing it in a slow, shaky sigh, “even now as you try so hard to deny me, our fate is intertwined, my warrior. You cannot escape me, and I have no desire to escape you. The dismantling of this world as a result of our conquest is all but inevitable and I welcome it with open arms.”

“I won’t let the world crumble to ash.” Your bold declaration was spoken as if it were fact, the conviction in your voice sending a surge of wanton excitement coursing through his veins. “Say and do as you like, the future you seek will never come to pass.”

Oh, how he adored you.

“Hmm,” he hummed, “You can try and stop me, but you cannot escape what has been predestined.”

During the course of the conversation, your hand had had traveled to the base of an axe, your fingers wrapping around it to grasp the handle in a constricting hold. All of the anger that had been bubbling up reflected in the whites of your knuckles, the tremor of your hand becoming more apparent as your composure slipped further and further. The cool demeanor you initially donned had completely shifted, overridden by the immense agitation his presence was inviting.

The axe was ripped swiftly from the wall, lacking fluidity. There was no care for keeping the wall in tact or making sure all the other weapons that surrounded it stayed in their spot. You ripped it down with one great tug, bits of stone and surrounding armaments clattering noisily into a massive steel heap on the ground as you finally spun around to face him. Zenos had seconds to react as you swung down in a wide arc, the finely sharpened blade slicing easily through the decorative tiling that coated the floor, decimating the ground where he once stood.

“There we are,” Zenos growled in anticipation, sizing you up with a bloodthirsty grin, “you are a vision to behold when you let your ferocity consume you.”

You deigned to answer him, your icy countenance his only response as you straightened your posture, considering your next move. Your distaste for him was clear as you hefted your axe from the ground, dust settling around you as it was freed with a mighty yank. Weapon in hand, you came for him in a relentless torrent, striking at him in a flurry of breakneck swings. In the ensuing madness, he grabbed the nearest weapon he could reach-a sword that was more ornate that functional, but it would serve its purpose for the time being.

The enmity increased as he reciprocated your attacks. Parrying each blow with a steady hand, he responded to your blows with calculated strikes of his own, expertly countering your aggression. The air around the two of you had become electric, charged with hostility and fervor as you hacked away at each other time and time again.

Though frantic, the assault was far from inelegant. Each swing of your axe and swipe of his blade was an orchestrated maneuver befitting the couple who performed them. It was as beautiful as it was fierce, a true force of nature. To an untrained eye the activity would appear as nothing more than a blur of chaos, annihilating all that was in its wake. But to Zenos, a man who had dedicated himself to your study, it was a sight that made his heart ache.

He was witnessing a glorious preamble, a promise forged in battle between himself and his righteous and powerful hero, the only person with whom he ever felt a true connection. This battle, amongst all of its other perks, gave him purpose.

Fighting you, he felt alive. To be the sole receiver of all your ire, your discontent, your undivided attention… it was like a dream. He realized this encounter was most likely just that, a conjuring of your presence from his sleep addled mind, a side effect of his constant ruminations of you. You already occupied each of his waking thoughts, it only made sense that having you visit in his dreams would soon follow.

Be that as it may, the knowledge that this moment lived solely in his mind did little to dissuade his desire to get lost in it, to get lost in you. If he couldn’t have you in the waking world, his dreams would have to suffice, at least for the time being. Besides, there were things he could accomplish in his dreams that would never be plausible elsewhere, moments of intimacy he could forge that would never present a chance of happening in reality.

A particularly rough blow sent Zenos reeling. The sword knocked from his hand scattered just out of reach, his body lurching to an abrupt stop as he collided with rubble that had piled up behind him. A quick glance your way revealed a small smirk ghosting your lips, a hint of satisfaction shining through your hostility. He could see the assurance reflected in your eyes, a swell of pride over the victory you would soon be relishing.

Zenos mirrored your glee, pleased you were having as much fun as he was.

As you hoisted your axe high, thoroughly preoccupied with your pending achievement, Zenos took the moment to strike. Launching himself from the ground, he rammed his body against yours, hitting you hard and fast. The speed at which he closed the gap astounded you as much as the collision had, causing the axe to topple from your hands, skittering out of your reach. A pained grunt escaped your lips as you collided with the ground, Zenos following suit atop you. His hand cradled the back of your head as you fell, catching hold before it could crack against the stony floor. It would do no good to have you suffer injury and pass out now, not as things were about to get truly interesting.

Positioning himself atop your fallen form, his body caged you in as you lay beneath him, panting and exhausted. Splayed amongst the rubble, your confusion morphed into a look of annoyance as you realized your situation had drastically changed. Your success had been stolen from you and now the thief had you cornered, trapped right where he wanted.

“I wish you could see yourself as I see you in this moment,” Zenos spoke between his own labored breaths, pressing into you ever further as his face hovered inches from your own, “Disheveled and feral, transformed by your bloodlust, you have never been more breathtaking.”

“I’m not like you,” you retorted sharply, “I don’t revel in such acts of savagery.”

Zenos chuckled, “And yet you seemed quite delighted moments ago when you were convinced victory was within your grasp.” You frowned as his hand found purchase on your chin, gripping it in a tight pinch to keep your focus fixed his way, “But here you are now, bested and at my mercy.”

You grimaced, “I have yet to lose to you. I refuse to concede defeat.”

In response to your bold declaration, he gave a throaty, booming laugh. How was it that you always knew just what to say to drive him absolutely mad with desire?

Unable to contain himself any longer, Zenos smashed his lips to yours, capturing you in a heated and hungry kiss. Your brain took a moment to comprehend the abrupt action, but as it did you began to struggle against it, thrashing and clawing at him in an effort to create distance. Zenos remained firm, making it clear that you had expended far more energy than he had, leaving your assault lacking the power needed to stop him. Whines of displeasure snaked from your mouth as his grip tightened on your chin, squeezing so roughly you couldn’t help but gasp in pain. Eagerly seizing the opportunity, he muscled his tongue inside of you, lapping at the inside of your mouth aggressively. He groaned as he savored the taste of you.

When a need for air arose, he pulled back slightly, staring down at you with lidded eyes. Your saliva coated his lips, giving a glossy sheen as they curled into an offputtingly tranquil smile. His hand moved from your chin to drag languidly across your cheek, the brief touch of his rough finger tips sending a shiver down your spine. Your gaze wavered the longer you stayed trapped in this awkward position, your eyes brimming with uncertainty. You seemed unsure of where to look, what to do, how to escape. In his wishful thinking, Zenos wondered if perhaps you were even unsure if you truly wanted to escape.

Amongst your numerous charms, Zenos found your enigmatic personality to be one of your most appealing. Being such a virtuous being, your motivations, ambition, and drive were all easy enough to sort out. You are Hydaelyn’s chosen, the Warrior of Light, the people’s champion, and you live up to those titles and more. You are a hero through and through, a source of salvation for those you protect and a complete nightmare for those that offer opposition. There is no doubt that you are a force to be reckoned with, no matter what the encounter or situation may be.

And what good hero is without a nemesis? It’s a role the disgraced Prince and betrayer of his kin plays well. In his illustrious life he had gone through the motions, donned many hats, played countless roles, many of which were not of his choosing. But of all his grand titles, your adversary is most certainly his favorite, the only one that gives him any sense of pride. Your existence gave him purpose, and for you alone he kept up the hunt.

But he knew it was different for you. Though cut of the same cloth and driven by destiny to engage him, your feelings did not completely align with his own. You were driven by more than barbarity, more than a duty to save your people and your planet. There was something inside of you, something that made you YOU, that he could never truly know, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

You were his greatest conundrum, a true mystery, and when you look at him as you were now with those eyes that swirled with anger, uncertainty, grief, and something yet unspoken… What was he to do but become a slave to this maddening, consuming attraction?

He gloated about being the victor, but it was clear you would always have the upper hand.

“Get off of me.”

The demand brought him back to the present, sheer determination replacing the conflicting emotions that fought for dominance within you. He could tell by the bite in your voice that your vigor was returning, and given a bit more time and provocation, the battle would gloriously resume.

“Eagar to carry on with our dance, are you?” He responded, an almost teasing lilt to his voice, “Or is it that you just can’t stand the thought of defeat at my hands?

“I already told you, you didn’t defeat me,” you glowered, your rage becoming palpable the longer his unwanted presence loomed, “I came here to end this farce and I plan to do just that.”

A beat of silence passed, followed by a sigh. Parting your lips to speak, your voice came out quieter, more desperate than it had previously.

“I wanted to keep this is civil as possible and respect your wishes as best I could, no matter how twisted they may be. But even for your own benefit, you refuse to entertain the notion of making this situation even the slightest bit amicable. You speak of such lofty things as fate and destiny, but all I am witnessing is you causing unnecessary suffering, hiding behind my name to do so.”

For a split second, another flash of uncertainty danced across your features. You bit your bottom lip in vexation, a glimmer lighting your eyes as they swept across his handsome face, “There is more to this world, more to this life, than waiting for its untimely end. To live out your days perpetuating death and blind havoc is no way to exist, it’s a tragedy. Why can’t you see that? Zenos, I-“

As if taken by surprise, you cut your own words short, silencing the previous thought that had been brewing. Zenos felt as if you looked pained, staring at him with pleading eyes, face scrunched up in frustration. Even with all the hate you carried for him, you were still trying to understand him, still clinging to the hope that maybe you could save him too.

Here, on the cusp of annihilation, you were doing all you could to fulfill the role of hero and protect the people that you loved. In order to fulfill that duty, it meant he must be defeated. There could be no other ending, the inexorable conclusion to all of this was always cold and endless death. Whether it would be all of humanities or just his own was still to be determined, but it did little to change the fact that there was no future to plan for, only a violently rapturous and melancholic end.

To be cherished by you, to feel your love as if he were one of your dearest companions… It was a thought not meant to be dwelled on, but one he found hard to completely shake from his head. How would it feel to be earnestly and unequivocally loved by you? Perhaps in another world, another time, your souls would be reborn and given another chance. A fresh beginning to grow together, an opportunity to nurture something more than the misfortune this world had thrust upon you. Maybe in some alternate telling of this tale the two of you were together and happy, with nothing but a bright future awaiting you on the horizon.

But that was simply a foolish daydream. All that he had, all he could hope for, was the here and now.

You sighed again, steeling your resolve with a shake of your head, “Never mind. You have already proven to me mere words cannot move you, so I will save my breath.”

Raising your torso as much as his hold on you would allow, your eyes bore into his, fully accepting the challenge that lay ahead. Though still restrained, there was an aura of dominance that surrounded you. It was a warning to Zenos that your binds were temporary, whether he released you willingly or otherwise was his decision, but regardless the outcome would be the same.

“If it’s the end you want, it’s the end I will bring you,” your soft words clashed with the look of malice reflected in your eyes, your breath fanning his face as your noses nearly touched. For an instant your eyes darted to his lips, and Zenos wondered if it would be you to instigate the kiss this time.

“I will fulfill my role. I will be your end and your salvation.”

Your words pierced him, the proclamation sending sparks of excitement to course through him, igniting his soul. His whole body burned for you, intense and consuming, his need for you was beginning to show itself in ways beyond his control. Pressing his hips flush between your spread legs, he made his intentions known to you, a shiver wracking his body when you released a small gasp of surprise.

Clutching the remaining shreds of his sanity, he grunted as you writhed against his growing arousal, pulling your body up towards him until he had engulfed you in a tight embrace.

“Enough time has been wasted,” he snarled into your neck, his chest rumbling as his grip on you tightened, “let us deliver a ruin unto ourselves so extraordinary, so beautiful, that naught will remain but the scattered fragments of this forsaken world.”

Loosening his grip, he pressed his lips to your forehead in a chaste, yet gentle, kiss. Your brow furrowed at his touch, shoulders tensing as you drew yourself back from him, recoiling at the small display of adoration. He found the reaction endearing, even with his intentions laid bare and and his hardened cock pressed firmly against your core, it was the smallest token of his affection that caused you to squirm.

Repugnance, hatred, scorn- whatever you felt for him in this moment, none of it mattered, none of it deterred him. He loved you, and he would make that love known in the only way he knew how, while he still had time to do so.

“This shall be my final gift to you,” he purred into your ear, his grip latching securely to your tunic. With nimble hands he started to pull, exposing yourself to him bit by bit as the fabric turned to tatters in his hands. “Let us relish it my friend, my warrior, my beloved. Destroy me, and I shall be your devastation in kind. ”

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asumofwords · 2 years ago

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Court, death, mentions of violence.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels! We are getting closer and closer to the end! Only 3 more chapters to go, I can't wait to finish this with you. I know I sound like a broken record, but jesus! I've had this bad boy ageing in my computer waiting to be posted haha. Anyone, Enjoy! <3

Chapter 107: And So The Tide Rushes to Shore

The news of the seizing of Kings Landing by Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen spread across the realm like wild fire. There was no corner that had not heard the news, nor person that had not swallowed in apprehension.

But the promise of war was over.

There would be no war.

No torching of the realm and its innocents, no destruction of Keeps and homes and livestock. No call for men to join armies and fight for the throne in a bloody and violent death. Nor women and children who would be left alone without their fathers, or husbands.

However, now was a time where the fragility of her rule would hang upon a delicate thread, and although Rhaenyra had her supporters, there were still those who had supported Aegon’s rule, and then subsequently Aemond’s.

The Small Council of the Greens had been rounded into cells by guards and knights. Gold cloaks flooding the Keep at the order of Daemon, a man who they had kept their allegiance to for all his time spent away.

And as Rhaenyra had personally escorted you, alongside Daemon, towards your original chambers, the ones that you grew up in, and not the one that now housed the corpse of your late husband, you walked quietly, dagger still in your hand, Daemon’s fingers unable to pry it from you just yet.

The corridors were a mess of Lords and Ladies, maids and servants who rushed and fled, were captured, and otherwise scattering like ants as they were unsure of what to do, or what was to come.

Above you, four large dragons, circled the Keep, crying out into the air. A vision of red, and green, and pale pearl flying about as they surveyed the Red Keep below. One outsized them all.

The bronze scales of Vermithor shimmered brightly in the sun.

A sob of relief fell from your lips as you watched him, looking up at a dragon you had been separated for months from, not being able to see him or know he was okay. There was agitation in his body as he flew, but otherwise he was safe.

He was safe.

And he knew you were too.

When you had gotten to your chambers, Amala and Joanna were already there, waiting, wringing their hands together in anticipation. And upon seeing you, Amala had gasped, and ran towards you, hands checking your face for wounds, no doubt shocked by the blood.

Daemon turned to the girls, “Fetch her some water for a bath.”

And with that, their fussing and stress stopped, and they sprung into action, running from the chambers. Both girls eyes dragging over your body and the crown atop your head as they exited.

It was weird to be back in them.

The chambers that felt alien to you now.

You stood in the room you had once called your own and breathed, slowly walking over to your old table to place the dagger atop it, finally feeling safe. Finally feeling as though you didn't need the blade any longer. That the last piece of safety Aemond had given to you had served its purpose. And it was then that you breathed, truly breathed. Breathed for the first time since coming to the Red Keep.

It was over.

You stood as you were and watched the maids return, another younger girl in tow, blonde and thin, who bowed and introduced herself quietly to you, ‘Ceryse, Your Grace’, eyes widening at the blood on your skin and hair before she averted her eyes, face having turned ashen.

Daemon and Rhaenyra waited with you as they filled the bath, and as the chamber doors opened once again, you had expected one of the girls to be bringing more water to rinse you with, but instead, you were met with a pair of deep brown eyes.

Jacaerys.

You sucked in a sob as he raced across the chambers, crashing his body into yours as he gripped you tightly. You almost fell backwards from the clashing of your bodies, arms curled under his and up his back, squeezing the leather riding tunic he wore to you tightly.

He smelt of dragon, of musk, and the subtle sulfur of dragon flame. But most of all, he smelt of home.

You half sobbed and half laughed, overjoyed and grieving all at once in his arms. Hands shaking around him as he squeezed you tightly. His chest shaking as he sobbed himself, holding you outwards in his arms as his eyes roamed your body, looking you over.

He was taller, so much taller than he had been, and broader too. His hair was long against his shoulders and curled, pulled behind his ears by braids.

"You're here." He breathed, as though he was even unsure of it. As if seeing you had confirmed that his greatest fear had not come true.

You nodded, hand coming to touch his jaw gently. He grabbed the wrist that held his face tightly, emotion pouring through his eyes as he shook. And in a turn of familiarity that you only knew from Daemon, he rested his forehead against yours and breathed, eyes shut, brown lashes clumped together and wet as he fought the tears that escaped them.

"I'm here." You breathed, "I'm here."

The rest was a blur.

A blur of reunion, a blur of being bathed, the milky water below turning a soft pink, to an earthy copper as the blood was washed from your hair and face. The maids scrubbing your body with a sponge to pull the dried blood from your skin, Rhaenyra not once leaving your side.

One of the maids had to bring her a chair and tell her to sit down as she anxiously stood between you and the door, eyes darting back and forth, the fear of having you taken from her again ripe.

But nothing had happened. No knights entered to take away, no Greens supporters came to call, no Alicent, or Jasper, or anyone. Just you and your mother, who insisted on brushing and braiding your hair, and you had let her, tears cascading down your cheeks as she hummed to you.

A familiar tune.

Something the maids had sang to you a long time ago, but this time, it was the song of the Goddess Meleys, and you had cried even harder.

She had been there all along.

That evening you dined with your family, exhaustion burrowed deep within your bones.

And it was still all a blur, it felt like a dream still. Sat with Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jacaerys, Rhaenys and Baela around the table in the intimate dining hall.

It was almost like it had been before.

Before the war.

As though this was as it was supposed to be.

Almost.

And whilst they celebrated the victory quietly and solemnly, toasting a cup towards you which you lifted your own in response, there was no denying the grief that lingered in the foreground. No denying the grief of the loss of Lucerys and your sister. Their palpable absence. The grief of the war and time lost, of your own child, of Aemond.

Tears escaped your eyes, and you were thankful to be with them, but for the most part, sitting with your family, it felt as though you were watching them all through somebody else’s eyes, as though you were watching from somewhere else, or that you were a puppet from Flea Bottom and somebody, high above in the clouds, was pulling your strings, stretching your cheeks into a smile, nodding your head in agreement, ears listening to tales and comments of relief without truly listening.

It was not a loud and joyous celebration. In fact, it felt more like a funeral, like the one for Laena, like the one for Laenor.

There was no music, there was no dancing, but it was enough.

It was enough to just be with them, to just be in their presence, hear their voices, be able to reach out and touch them if you wanted to. The subtle scents of their own, curling around you in a soft blanket.

You had reached for your goblet at one point during the night, mouth having gone dry at the mention of Aegon, and you had to hold in a scream, eyes finding your hands covered in blood once more. Your eyes had widened in shock, a small inhale ripped into your lungs, and Daemons careful eye from across the room had spotted you.

And though the maids had washed and scrubbed you vigorously, cleaning under your nails with careful hands, even though you knew in your heart that you were clean, it didn't stop your mind from seeing them soaked red with your lovers blood. Covered as they had been that morning.

And he was there.

Watching.

By the corner of the room.

Eye never leaving you.

But you kept a brave face, if only for a while longer, not daring to look where you hands would reach, grasping blinding in front of you, resulting in wine spilt and worried eyes. You had blamed your tired and shaky hands. For how were you to explain that when you looked down upon them you saw the proof of your misdeeds. The proof of your sin. The proof of your betrayal.

Then all too soon, exhaustion creeped over you, and your mother, noticing the shift, escorted you back to your chambers, and readily tucked you into bed, sitting on the side as she looked at you with nothing but love. She brushed your hair from your face, and without a word, climbed into bed beside you. She pulled you to her tightly, and you curled up against her, nestling your head into the crook of her neck to breathe deeply.

And as your eyes were closed, you let yourself pretend that it was him.

Sleep dragged you under, and no dreams haunted you this time, though you felt his presence behind you. And when you woke, still in her arms, her hand was holding your head against her as she breathed, fingers absentmindedly carding through your hair in thought. You shifted, looking up into her lilac eyes which seemed to be shadowed, dark rings on the skin beneath.

She had not slept.

“Did you rest?” You asked, eyes darting across her face as you shifted to sit up in bed.

“I have not slept since the day you left. And now that I have you in my arms again, I am frightened that my eyes shall close, and when they open and you will be gone.”

You swallowed thickly, “I would never leave you.”

Rhaenyra gave you a small smile, though edges pulled down into a frown.

“If it is your wish, I would not keep you here in the Keep. If the memories are-“ She paused, unsure of how to move on, “If it is too much to bear, I would not hold you here. I would not force you to stay.” She whispered, brushing your hair from your face.

You frowned at her, “I am your Hand. I am bound by duty to be at your side.”

Rhaenyra let out the breath she had been holding before she nodded, “Duty be damned, I think you have performed yours and then some, more than I ever would have asked you to." She breathed deeply, "The rest of the council and my men shall arrive today. There will be a trial, to convict those who have plotted against me. Those who aided Aegon in the usurpation of the throne. And those who kept you here.”

You shifted in the sheets as you looked at your mother.

Her soft brows pulled slightly together, the frown lines that seemed to now permanently mar her skin, were present with the movements of her lips, which she pressed together into a thin line, moving to open again.

But you beat her to it, “Then we must be ready.”

And so, you were dressed in a black leather bustier, with large winged shoulders, the neck of the leather coming just below your chin. It was a shorter gown, coming just mid calf, and beneath, you wore black trousers and leather boots that tucked them inside, just below the knee. Across your chest was chains, hooped and long against your bust, each end being the opened mouth of a dragon on either side.

The girls braided your hair back, gentle and soft in their movements, both working together as they used small pins with red jewels at their tip to hold your hair up and off of your neck. And all the while, your eyes did not leave the Conquerors Crown that was placed atop the table, smears of blood on the steel and ruby.

Rhaenyra had already left, to be dressed and readied for court in her old chambers, joined by her husband. But you were rooted on the spot, unable to move as you looked at it, watching as the light from the sun caused the ruby to glimmer.

A blood red.

Blood.

Like the blood that had covered you. Like the blood you had tried to stop at Aemond’s neck. The blood that spilled through your hands and his and soaked the sheets and pillows below. The blood that had soaked you.

You would not dare look at your hands, for you knew what you would see.

You blinked and moved towards it.

But it was your crown.

Yours by right.

And so you lifted it, placing it atop your head, revelling in the weight that it pressed down your neck. The weight that then settled in your chest and gut.

With determined steps, you left the chambers, blade tucked into a holder at your side, dried blood still smeared across its blade and hilt as you walked swiftly down to the throne room to meet your Queen, and meet with the rest of the council and Lords of the realm.

All ready to see and watch the true heir to the Iron Throne be seated where she should have always sat, from the moment Viserys had passed, and for her to cast down her judgement on those who went against her.

Traitors and turncloaks alike.

When you entered the throne room, it was bursting with life, and the floor where Larys had laid was stained with his dried blood, a large smear across the stones from where his body had been dragged and removed.

All eyes were on you, each step echoing in the chambers as the people quietened, and your mother lifted her head.

Your father stood at the foot of the throne, Jacaerys beside him, as you came to stand before her.

Ser Erryk Cargyll announced you to the chambers, presenting your titles to the room, “Hand of the Queen.”

With a bow of your head, foot sliding beneath you, you pressed your knee upon the floor and reached a hand up, grasping the crown from your head as you held it towards her, “Your Grace, I give my crown lands and titles to you, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the true heir to the Iron Throne.” When you stood again, you looked up at your mother who smiled gently at you.

“Princess Y/n, my daughter and first born, you have earnt that crown valiantly, through months of tireless work.” Her voice rose in the chambers, all still as they listened, “You may hold it in your possession, as a reminder of your deeds.” You could feel the eyes of all in the chambers flickering on the back of your head and then to the Queen who sat atop the throne.

“Your acts of bravery have not gone unnoticed, nor has your role in winning this war, and returning the throne and all the realms to me rightfully.” Jacaerys shifted at your fathers side, a small smile pulling at the side of his lips, “And at this time, the succession for the Iron Throne has changed.”

What?

Your breath stopped in your chest, eyes darting to Jacaerys who gave you the slightest tip of his head.

“Let all who stand here bear witness to the naming of my true successor. A successor who had been promised the throne once before.” Her eyes met yours, “Let it be known, that in the eyes of the Realm and before the Old Gods and the New, that my daughter, Princess Y/n Velaryon, is my heir and successor to the Iron Throne. Duty of the Hand of the Queen shall be placed upon Ser Corlys Velaryon.”

Heir.

Successor.

You blinked.

You were her heir.

You were the heir to the Iron Throne.

"But now," the Queen continued, "Is not the time for talks of succession and my rule. Now is the time to bring forth traitors and turncloak's who broke their oath to my father, King Viserys, and to me, the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms."

The sound of men around you shifted as they bowed their head towards you, your face in pure shock as you looked at them.

“Now,” The Queen boomed over the rising whispers in the chambers, “Bring forth the accused.”

You stepped on unsteady feet, unsure and uncertain as you came to stand beneath the throne on the opposite side of your brother and father, both who beamed at you with pride. The Conquerors Crown still in your hands, the cool Valyrian steel pressing into your palm.

But as the doors to the chambers were opened once more by guards, you had snuck a glance at your father, who was already watching you, and gave you a promissory nod. And so with certain hands, you lifted the crown once more, and settled it against your scalp.

Wild auburn hair appeared first, and then a gown of deep green as Alicent Hightower was dragged before the Iron Throne by Gold Cloaks. Each one stood behind her as her hands were locked in chains at her front, eyes flickering from you, to Rhaenyra, and then back to you.

And then you began.

“Lady Alicent Hightower. Dowager Queen of King Viserys. You stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Roynar, and The First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. You are bought here to be charged with crimes against the Crown. You are accused of treason.” Your voice carried through the chambers, the chains on Alicent’s wrists knocking against each other as she picked at her hands, fingers raw and bloody.

“You are charged with conspiring against the Crown to usurp the throne with Prince Aegon Targaryen and Ser Otto Hightower. You are charged with the conspiracy to cause harm to a Princess of the realm, and her wrongful imprisonment.”

“Rhaenyra, see reason. I beg you. Your father-“ Alicent began to plead.

“-My father,” Rhaenyra’s voice boomed, “Is dead. And you kept that hidden from the people for days, and rushed to crown Aegon as King in the Sept before the realm. You usurped the throne from its rightful heir and King Viserys’ successor, whom your House swore fealty to. Do you deny your charges?”

“I beg mercy! I only did as I believed was right. Viserys told me before he passed that he wished Aegon to sit the thr-”

“-You will have chance to make your own petition, Lady Alicent. Do Queen Rhaenyra the curtesy of letting the charges to be heard.” You held your head high, mimicking the same words she had said to your mother, a long time ago, “If the Lady Alicent Hightower speaks out of turn once more, cut out her tongue.” You watched as her face ashened, and her brows pulled together in desperation.

“You supplanted the Iron Throne’s rightful heir.” Rhaenyra growled, “You sent Aemond to slay my son, Prince Lucerys, the heir to Driftmark, who was an envoy in Storms End. And you have kept the Princess, my heir to the Iron Throne prisoner in this Keep under the hands of your rabid sons.”

“Please, Rhaenyra.” Alicent begged, “Am I to pay for the crimes of the wants of a father on his daughter? For the crimes of my sons? We were close, you and I. Friends!”

Daemon snickered beside the throne as he watched the Hightower woman beg.

Rhaenyra straightened, “What good is a friend who plots and grooms her sons into usurping the throne from its rightful heir? Their half-sister? From her supposed friend? These crimes are treason. And there are witnesses. A Maester who was slain here. Maids who had watched. Gold Cloaks, and servants, and Lords alike witnessed your crimes, Lady Alicent. Do you deny these charges?”

A tear fell from Alicent’s eyes as she sucked in a shuttering breath.

She stayed silent.

Rhaenyra looked at the woman from down her nose before speaking once more, delivering her conviction.

“For your crimes against the Crown, against my blood, and against the people of the realm, you are found guilty. I, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Roynar, and The First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, sentence you to death by dragon fire.”

Alicent’s face morphed into horror, “No! Rhaenyra, please! I beg mercy! We are but women who had our hands forced by the men around us!” She cried into the chambers as she was dragged out by the Gold Cloaks, “What choice did I have?! Imprison me, Rhaenyra, I beg this of you!”

Alicent Hightower’s voice faded down the halls and walls she was dragged down, pleading for mercy, begging to the Seven for help. But the Seven did not hear to her prayers, for the Stranger was already on their way to take her.

Maester Orwyle was next, and the man stood silently as his charges were given to him. He did not speak, nor did he rebuke them, or plead for mercy. Instead, his dark brown eyes stared into your mothers with nothing more than disgust and pure hatred, until he was pulled away, the same way he came, back to the holding cells of the Dungeons you had once spent your days in, with his verdict.

Guilty.

It was this way until the whole of the Green Council and turncloaks was laid before your mother, each one individually brought before the Queen, had their accusations of treason laid. Some were given the option to bend the knee to Rhaenyra and serve her in exchange for their lives, others were not.

None, bar Lord Jasper Wylde, bent the knee.

And all, bar the Master of Laws, was sentenced to death.

The chamber of the Iron Throne was ripe with energy. Nervous, excited energy from Rhaenyra’s supporters as they watched on as they delivered the sentences to those who had betrayed or turned cloak against her.

And then, the court was dismissed, and the Lords and her supporters were led outside of the Keep, to the mouth of Blackwater Rush, where a flat grassy knoll lay before the cliffs, and a worn path for traders was trodden upon.

It was there where Lady Alicent Hightower was led, beside her Maester Orwyle, Ser Tyland Lannister, and the turncloaks, Lord Bourney, Butterwell, Mootey and Rosby stood in a line.

The oceans breeze ruffled the cloaks and hair of all those in attendance, and Rhaenyra was the last one present. The final person to arrive.

Above you, the large and excitable screech of a dragon who would finally be reunited with its rider.

Alicent looked up the skies in fear, her hands clutched tightly together in prayer as she shut her eyes, mumbling to the Seven, begging for mercy, and guidance, and promises of good servitude if they grant her her life.

But dragons did not answer to the Gods.

Nor were they inclined to show mercy.

And so you watched, in delight and anticipation, as the large bronze dragon landed against the grass beside you, purring into the air with his large scarred snout, mouth full of jagged teeth opening, and eyes dancing over you.

All watched as you reached out to touch him, the dragon rumbling deep in his chest as he leant into your hand. The bond sent sparks through your fingers and arms as you leant a forehead against him, breathing in his dragon smell, sulfur and smoke, and the distinct almost reptilian stench that they all carried.

But your true reunion would have to wait, for the Queen and realm were waiting on you.

It was only right that you delivered the blow of justice.

As heir.

As now stand in Hand before Corlys.

In fact, your mother and father had been most insistent upon it, if only you wanted to.

And the Gods knew that you did.

The crowd of people shuffled backwards as Vermithor’s long tail beat against the ground forcefully, vibrating the earth beneath.

Alicent Hightower jumped in her spot, knuckles white as she stared at you in fear.

“You are guilty and have been charged of treason-”

“-I am innocent. I beg mercy, please. Rhaenyra, see reason!” Alicent cried out into the soft ocean breeze, her words lost to the crashing swell. Rhaenyra blinked impassively at the woman.

“Reason?” You parroted, “Mercy?”

“Please, it was the ambitions of a father onto his child. I had no play-“

“No play? None?” You sneered.

There was that rage again.

“I beg mercy. I will work in-“

“-Where was your mercy for the Queen when you usurped her throne?” You stiffened, Vermithor behind you growling, sensing your anger through the bond.

“Where was your mercy for her sons? For Lucerys?”

“I was not at-“

The Bronze Fury shifted behind you, head coming to loom forward in the space beside, teeth bared as he growled at the woman who dropped to her knees in fear, legs giving out beneath her.

"Where was your mercy when you locked me in a cell? Where was your mercy when you let him rape me? Defile me.” You took a step forward towards her, “Hurt me.”

Another step, and ice spread through your chest, “Where was your mercy when the King broke into my chambers?” You spoke dully this time, but inside you was the fire that you had hidden. Trampled by your own hands and feet in order to keep on, to keep moving.

To survive.

Vermithor lifted his head into the sky and cried out shrilly, all around him flinching from the sudden movement. His large jaws opened, and a plume of fire shot into the air, the heat falling down around you hotly.

You looked down at the woman who started it all.

Her children.

The usurp of your mother.

The war.

Lucerys.

Syndor.

Visenya.

All of it.

“You are found guilty of treason, for the usurpation of the Iron Throne from its rightful heir. You are guilty of crimes to the Princess; Daughter and heir of the Queen. You are guilty of hiding the death of King Viserys from the people and Lords to conspire with turncloaks and oathbreakers. And you have been sentenced to death.”

You stared into the eyes of the woman before you, tears cascading down her cheeks as she looked up at you and pleaded, begged for her life, begged for mercy.

Prayed.

Her hair was messed, her robes were crinkled and green, and as you looked at the woman you felt a surge of rage.

“Dracarys.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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melk917 · 2 years ago

Text

We can do it in the pouring rain

Warnings: Making out, promises of future filth

Rating: M

Pairing: Rafael Barba x f!Reader

Summary: The heat finally breaks

Song Vibes: Gimme Shelter, The Rolling Stones

Notes: What? A fic? From me? Who am I?!

Honestly, this is the first time I've opened my personal computer since moving in May. This is rough, super under edited, and not my best work, but it is finished! And so here you go, only a few years gap between this and the last time I posted something from this series. Please let me know if there are any typos or errors!

Motivation and inspiration coming from a straight week of rain here in New York, peaking with the city flooding and all transport shutting down. It was charming here....

It had felt like New York was holding its breath for days—that sort of late August heat that lays heavy on the city. It was thick, swollen, and hot, the only relief coming from the rush of air as the subway charged past the platform. No matter what you did, sweat poured off of you. Going anywhere, moving at all really, was too much. It left you exhausted and irritable. You were ready to start sacrificing to the gods if the infernal heat would just break. Surely it was close? The air was so thick, you swore you could feel it pass over your skin as you walked, like the cling of a damp curtain in the shower, irritating but determined.

Even sitting inside at the bar at Forlini’s, you felt like you were melting, sweat making your thighs stick to the cracked leather of the stool. The A/C unit above the door groaned and wheezed, rattling away in vain as it struggled to cool the restaurant. Despite its best efforts, sweat trickled down the back of your neck, dampening the back of your shirt and leaving you utterly miserable.

Rafael, on the other hand, seemed perfectly composed. His only concession to the heat was to abandon his jacket and roll his sleeves. He had pulled his tie loose, but had yet to remove it completely. He wasn’t flushed. He wasn’t even sweating. You hated him just a little bit for it. Even more for the amused twist of his lips when you shifted again, fanning yourself with the menu.

“You doing ok over there?” He raised his eyebrows at you, humor laced through the question as you pressed your glass to your neck, hoping the ice in your drink would cool you down.

You leveled a glare at him. “You know, the A/C actually works in the apartment. We can even mix our own drinks there. And the shower has endless cold water.”

He scooted closer as more people filed in and pressed up against the bar next to him. You grunted in displeasure as he invaded your personal space and you could feel the body heat radiating off him in waves. He huffed in amusement and ducked forward to press a kiss behind your ear as he took your glass from your hand and placed it back on the counter. He stroked his thumb along the line of your neck, tracing the path left behind by the condensation on the glass. You tried to squirm away, but the sudden influx of patrons had him now almost flush against you with nowhere to go.

“There room for two in that shower if I promise to get you home now?” His voice was low and the brush of his breath across your skin had you shivering despite the heat.

You snorted and shoved at him lightly so you could get out, wincing when you had to practically peel yourself off the leather. “Stop sharing your infernal body heat with me and we’ll see.”

He lifted his eyes to nod at the bartender before pulling you the rest of the way to your feet. The press of bodies had gotten tighter and the next chime of the bell over the door brought with it the yelps and shrieks of people ducking inside and the thick smell of petrichor.

“Oh shit.”

Your heart sank at the view out the windows.The heat had finally broken, and broken spectacularly. You could hardly see the street through the curtain of water. A cloud burst, dumping without warning.

“Fuck we should go. Call a car. We don’t want to get stuck on this side of the bridge.”

He was a step ahead of you, already scrolling through the apps on his phone. You peered through the glass, watching water rush down Baxter Street, eddies and rivers running through the gutters.The rain was coming down so fast the city struggled to drain effectively.

Behind you Rafael cursed softly, and when you turned, his eyebrows were almost in his hairline.

“$180 to Brooklyn,” he explained, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Shit.” You breathed out hard and bounced on your toes one, twice, three times. “Fuck it. Canal is right around the corner.”

Rafael’s head jerked up in surprise. His gazed dropped, eyeing your silk blouse and flats skeptically. “You really want to run for it?” He ran a nervous hand over his silk tie.

“Last time a storm broke this fast, people were stranded in Manhattan overnight. I’m not sleeping in your office.”

His lips parted and he looked for half a second like he was going to object. But then he was breathing out hard, popping open his briefcase to shove his jacket and tie inside. “Fine. But you’re dealing with the dry cleaning.”

“Run fast, and maybe you won’t have to worry about that,” you taunted back with a smirk and tugged the door open, ducking out in the street, Rafael right behind you.

You were immediately dumped on, assaulted by sheets and sheets of rain. It hit you like a slap across the face, cool and sharp, soaking your hair and clothes. The sheer volume of water made you gasp and curse. You took off down the street in the direction of the subway, Rafael at your heels, swearing and holding his briefcase over his head as a makeshift umbrella.

The Canal Street stop really was just around the corner, but it made no difference. The rainfall was so heavy that it obscured critical information until you were right in front of it: the construction materials and tape that was strung up across the entrance, blocking the stairs. This particular subway entrance was closed.

“Fuck!” you shouted, shading your eyes from the rain and casting around for Rafael, unable to see him through the fall of water.

You were utterly saturated, your blouse soaked through and clinging tight to your body like saran wrap. Rafael wasn’t faring much better as he pulled up next to you, splashing his way along. Rain water was pouring off him, cascading down the sides of his face, over his chest. His shirt was plastered to his skin, white fabric gone transparent and clinging to the muscles of his chest, his arms. In another time and place, you would have appreciated the view. As it was, there were more pressing matters.

“What now?” Rafael was squinting, wiping at the water in his eyes as he pitched his voice to be heard above the rain.

Before you could open your mouth to answer, a cab drove by, tearing down the street at a speed that was highly inadvisable in the low visibility and kicking up a wave of water from the gutter, sending it crashing over both of you.

You stood frozen, eyes and mouth wide in shock. You expected a shout or a curse from Rafael, at least. Some threat against the universe for ruining his suit. But instead there was a long pause and you turned slowly to face him. He met your eyes, resembling a drowned rat more than anything else. He looked just as shocked as you, mouth gaping, holding his arms away from his sides as though it might keep the water off of him. He paused, chest expanding as he took a deep breath (for the tirade of curses against the rain, you assumed). But instead he threw his head back, laughing. Full, loud, and bright as the crack of lightning that flashed across the city skyline. And when he finally straightened up to look at you, he shook his head, water flying everywhere.

“We’re fucked!” You threw your arms in the air.

“I know!” he shouted back, grinning.

Your annoyance flared hot, and you wiped at your eyes angrily, cursing when you pulled your fingers away to see them smeared with mascara, the water catching on your eyelashes and making it run. He was still laughing, mirth loud enough to be audible over the rain.

“What the hell are you so happy about?”

He raised an eyebrow at you and smirked. Your silk shirt was completely saturated with the rain water and plastered to your breasts, your nipples hard and obvious through the thin fabric. He dragged his gaze down your body and back with a significant look.

You crossed your arms, frowning, shoulders hunched to hide from his leering with a glare. It did little to hide anything, just pushing them up further for him to appreciate.

And he was undeterred by the dirty looks you threw in his direction, advancing on you slowly, a predatory sway to his step. You took half a step back and then another in a futile attempt to put space between you as he crowded close, advancing until your back hit something hard, the nearest building pulling you up short. Your breath caught, the rough brick snagging on the thin silk of your shirt, scratching at your back and pulling at your hair. His eyes flashed, triumphant as he leaned close. He dipped his chin to slowly drag the point of his nose along your neck, nuzzling. His breath was hot, the contrast with the cool rain making you shiver against him, a tiny flare of want pulsing low in your belly against your better judgment.

“Rafael.” You injected as much steel as you could in your voice, a warning. The insolent smile he gave you in response did not indicate success.

“This was your idea,” he reminded you, breath warm on your skin as he pressed an open-mouth kiss behind your ear.

You managed to swallow the small, pathetic whimper that threatened to slip out in response, even as your fingers curled into the sodden fabric of his shirt. Not shoving him away, but not pulling him close either.

“Not this idea,” you managed, voice going breathy when he pressed another kiss to the same spot, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin this time. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

He pulled back just far enough to meet your eyes, a single suggestive eyebrow inching up. “I think we just got everything out of the gutter.”

You snorted in spite of yourself and he winked. The rain was still coming down in sheets, but he was catching the brunt of it now as he leaned over you, beating down on his back and shoulders, catching on the ends of his hair, dripping off his nose to fall on your cheeks as he pressed close.

“We need to get home,” you pointed out, but he only hummed in response, ducking back low to brush his lips over the shell of your ear.

“No cab is going to take us if we’re soaked through,” you tried again, breath mingling with his as he turned, lips just grazing yours in a tease that made your breath catch and your fingers clench in his shirt.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re already soaked through.” His voice was a low, amused rumble as he pressed light kisses along your jaw, licking lightly at the rainwater that continued to run down from your hair.

He was right of course. His shirt was plastered to his torso, white fabric gone translucent. You shoved lightly at him till he leaned back, and you couldn’t help but drop your gaze to take in the shape of him. How the shirt molded to all the curves and angles of him, his biceps and pecs obvious, every minute twitch and flex clear. Heat flared in you unbidden, licking up your spine as he slipped his one hand under your shirt to splay across your low back. His modesty was only preserved by his undershirt or you were certain you’d see his nipples, conspicuous and dark, through the fabric. It was honestly a shame about the undershirt you thought, flattening your hands on his chest, swallowing the soft noise that threatened to slip out at the feel of his muscles shifting as he stroked your skin.

He smirked down at you, clearly following the path your thoughts had taken. You tweaked a nipple through his shirt in retaliation, and he jerked, grunting.

You went to repeat the motion and he grabbed your wrist, pressing it to the wall up next to your head. Want flared bright in you like the burst of lightning that cut through the sky.

“This was your idea,” he reminded you, an amused twitch to his lips as he leaned down again, his breath ghosting across your skin.

You shivered then gasped as he scraped his teeth down your throat. “My idea was to take the train. This is not taking the train.”

He hummed, kissing his way back up your neck. “No. No, it’s not.”

“We should do that.”

“In a minute.” He ducked low to brush another kiss across your lips. Your breath caught in your throat as those long, clever fingers dipped under the waistband of your skirt, stroking. “We’re stuck here now. Might as well make the best of it.”

“And what’s that?” You slid your hands up his sides, feeling the solid shape of him through the shirt, the heat of him, before curling them in the sodden fabric and tugging him forward before he could answer.

The thud of his brief case hitting the pavement was lost over the roar of the rain and he had you boxed you in, one forearm pressed into the brick next to your head as he used the other to cradle your jaw in a firm grip, tilting your head as he dipped down to press his lips to yours.

The kiss was feather light, in contrast to your urgent tugging, warm rain running across your lips as he met yours with quick, barely there presses, teasing. You could feel the flex of his chest under your palms, the solid weight of him, and you tugged more insistently, chasing his mouth.

He laughed (the bastard), his breath brushing hot across your lips. “I thought you wanted to head to the train?” he murmured against your mouth in between kisses.

You pulled back enough to glare at him and slid both hands into his wet hair in retaliation, gripping tight and pulling him back down to you to kiss him hard. You felt the rumble of his answering groan where his chest was pressed firm against yours as he fought you for control of the kiss, working his tongue against the seam of your lips until you parted them, gasping, and he licked into your mouth, swallowing the soft, needy sound that bubbled up unbidden.

The kiss was hot, like the press of the August heat, and burned pleasantly as you chased the last of the whiskey he drank earlier. Moaning, you curled your hands over his biceps to haul him closer, opening up to him. Water was dripping down his face from his hair in rivulets, pooling in his collarbone under his shirt.

His hands skated down your sides to grasp your hips, your thighs. He scraped his teeth down your neck and you gasped, arching to press into his hold and chase that urgent electricity that raced down your spine to pool in your stomach. He took advantage, licking lightly at the rainwater that was pooling in your collar bone before applying lips and tongue to the thin skin at the base of your throat, working until he could feel the heat of your blood rushing to the surface, leaving a mark, dark and obvious against your skin. The pain of bursting vessels had you gasping, fingers digging into his biceps as you rolled your hips forward, heat flaring between your legs as he marked you up.

He groaned as you rolled your hips again, firm against his, the hard line of his cock obvious through his soaked pants. It was impossible to differentiate where the heat was coming from now, his whole body throwing it off in waves like a furnace. With an urgent noise, he hauled you closer, tugging your leg up and wide until the two of you slotted together perfectly. He rocked against you, grinding his cock along the line of your hip, and dipped his head further, ducking down so he could pull the open collar of your shirt aside with his teeth and lick at the curve of your breasts, chasing the rain as it traced a stream in the valley between. The water made them glisten, and he couldn’t help it, applying lips and teeth and tongue to every inch of soft flesh he could reach.

Both of you had forgotten the rain at this point. Nothing registered other than the press of your bodies together and the fervor you’re stoking between the two of you. You were so caught up in him, his mouth on your breasts, his cock hard against your hip, loving how every tug on his hair made him lose focus and rut against you. In retaliation, or maybe just blind need, Rafa slid his hand down your thigh and back up under your sodden skirt, fingers brushing against your soaked panties, groaning at the slick heat of you.

A sharp wolf-whistle cut through the sound of the rain and your lust, a group of teenagers running past on the sidewalk, their shouts and encouragement breaking the spell you had spun between the two of you.

Rafa pulled back so fast, you almost fell over, his face flushing bright red as he cast around for the voyeurs. You reached up to cup his face, turning him back to you and grinned as he used the hand he had just had up your skirt to push his soaked hair back from his face.

“Maybe now it’s time we headed to the train,” he suggested, more than a little abashed.

You dropped a significant look at his crotch, the soaked fabric of his pants clinging to his cock and making his arousal painfully obvious. “I think you might get arrested for indecent exposure with that, counselor.”

He followed your gaze and huffed a laugh, cheeks bright red. He shifted from foot to foot and tried to pull his slacks away, but to no avail. Finally, he picked his briefcase up off the ground and held it in front of the issue, giving you a small, triumphant grin. He held out his other hand and squeezed when you laced your fingers together.

“Come on." You grinned at him through the rain. "Let’s get home and you can fuck me in the shower. I’ll even keep my clothes on to keep the fantasy alive.”

Rafa snorted and used your joint hands to pull you close so he could lean in and kiss you, quick and full of promise.

“Ok, but I’m taking mine off. I’d like to at least keep the illusion that this suit can be saved.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but laughed at the serious look on his face. “Whatever you want, dear.”

#rafael barba #law and order svu #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu imagine #law and order svu fic #rafael barba x f!reader #the full ratchet #melk917fantasybingo #svu fic

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countrymusiclover · 1 year ago

Text

11 - Must Answer the Call

Part 12

Dr. Redheaded Neighbor

Comment your thoughts down below or in a reblog post

Tag list - send an ask to be added @annieradcliff @watermeezer @zaidatorcuatomorgado @kmc1989

One Year Later

Running as fast as my feet could carry me I abandoned the building that was on fire falling down onto the ground tripping on some wood that had fallen off the house because of the fire. I groaned blinking my eyes seeing Casey rushing to my aid where he yanked me up before our bodies got thrown forward by an explosion of flames. “Easton! Ugh – are you alright?”

“Yeah. I – I think so. How are you?” I forced myself to my feet as best as I could offering him my hand helping him off the ground. Brett and Dawson had already left in their ambulance with the patients that needed o go to East Mercy hospital.

Casey removed his firefighter helmet from his head running a gloved hand through his hair. “I’m okay. I’ve been in tougher situations than what we had today.”

“Hey chatty Kathy’s let’s get back to the house. Mill’s has food going in the oven and I’m hungry!” We turned our heads in the direction of the fire truck that Kelly was climbing in the backseat.

Casey and I made our way back over to the fire truck where we made our way back to the house. Climbing out of the passenger seat my boots hit the stone concrete floor. I hung up my firefighter gear just walking around in a fire house 51 shirt, some blue jeans and my brown boots about to go get some food until my phone rang off inside my locker when I walked past it. “Hey, Halstead. I wasn’t expecting to hear a call from you this early in the day.”

“Are you Ms. Mallory Easton?” A computer operator voice responded through the phone.

“Yes. This is she. Who is this?”

“You’re call is now being transferred.” The operator answered back.

“Ms. Easton, this is Lieutenant Griffin. I have been trying to reach you for a while now.”

I ran a hand through my hair nervous to hear his voice after all this time. “I apologize for that, sir. I have gotten a new job with Firehouse 51. So, I haven’t been seeing your phone calls recently. Um, what exactly do you need to tell me about?”

“I must inform you that we need you and Maxon back for deployment.”

Slowly lowering myself down onto the wooden bench in front of my open locker I couldn’t believe what he had just said to me. “Sir, I - I have no clue what to say. I thought I was done – that I had finished my tour.”

“When Dr. Owen sent you home we believed that we had cleared everything from here. Unfortunately we had some new information come in from one of our guys. Somebody is planning on attacking the US soil.”

Sucking in a breath I felt like I was frozen in some sort of nightmare. I was finally with my best friend. I had found some more friends and gotten a new job that I was beginning to enjoy here. Now it might all get taken away from me. “Sir, how soon would I have to be deployed out?”

“I’d give it would be three to four months at the most.” He responded through the phone with a very heavy sigh meaning he didn’t care for the answer he had given me either.

“Lieutenant Griffin, when do I need to let you know that I have everything squared away on my end?”

He corrected my statement. “You have to remember Ms. Easton. This is the military you don’t have to give us notice. If we need you you’ll just have to follow the orders you’ve been assigned.”

“Yes, I understand sir. I’ll figure this out.”

He hung up the phone without another word. “I’ll be in touch. Good day.”

Sitting my phone down beside me I hit the lock button on my phone then turned it back on to show the lock screen that Will and I had taken with Maxon on our one month anniversary where we had went and done the tilt at the John Hancock Building.

“Two tickets for the 360 tilt.” Will handed asked the cashier woman at the front desk the money.

I was standing behind Will and Maxon was sitting beside me while I held his leash attached to the collar loosely in my hands. “Oh, I’m sorry ma’am. But he can’t be up there unless he is a service dog.”

“He’s actually a former Army veteran K-9. I think he meets that criteria.” I corrected her statement with a smile.

She nodded seeing Maxon wagging his tail happily at her. “Ah I see. Have a good time.”

The three of us entered the elevator with a few other people who were going up with us. Once the doors opened I led Maxon forward until we reached one of the windows and he put his paws on the glass wagging his tail happily. “Pretty neat isn’t it, Max?” He barked in response to me.

Will joined us looking out the window seeing all the city buildings from this high up. “And here I thought the hospital balcony had a view.” He chuckled in awe never being up this high.

“This is the second time I have been able to enjoy being this high off the ground. When you look out the side of a helicopter it’s not the same since you’re going off to war.” I held my mouth opened just living in the moment with the building lights shining all over the nightly windy city.

An idea popped inside the ED doc’s head where he took out his phone nudging my arm. “Let’s do a picture up here.”

“Yeah but you’re getting in it too.” I told him bending down on a knee to be level with Maxon.

Will held the phone up wrapping one arm over my shoulder. “One, two, three. Got it.” He hit the camera button a few times showing me the picture of the three of us.

“We’re pretty good together. Happy anniversary, Mal.” Will leaned down kissing me softly on the lips with a smile.

I smiled into the kiss leaning up on my toes, wrapping my fingers around the tea shirt he was wearing. “Happy anniversary, Will.”

Hearing footsteps entering the locker room I bent my head down into my knees trying to still process that phone call. I wasn’t prepared to get deployed out after getting the leg brace. And now Will and I were in a really good place, so what was he going to think now. “Hey Mallory, Mills wants to know what type of pizza you want. Woah, hey what’s wrong?”

“Huh – oh it’s nothing Brett.” I attempted to lie hoping she wouldn’t pick up on it.

She slowly came and sat down to me. “If you’re crying then it’s clearly not fine. I’m you’re friend you can tell me anything.”

“I got deployed, Sylvie.”

She covered a hand over her mouth in shock. “I’m sorry. Are you going to tell Will?”

“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. I just know I need to tell the truth of something we’re gonna have to deal with together.” I responded to my friend.

She noticed me slowly getting up and grabbing my normal gear to go home for the evening. “Where are you going, Mallory?”

“In case the Chief or Casey ask where I went. Just say I had an emergency come up but I’ll be back tomorrow.” Shrugging on my jacket I bolted out of the room and to my car needing to see my boyfriend sooner rather than later.

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b4tasquad · 2 years ago

Note

can you write a pov with Aj forgetting your birthday and then making up for it?

BIRTHDAY: AJ SHABEEL

Authors note: finally something for my boy Aj.. I can’t believe I haven’t written something properly for him…. So disgusting of me honestly😒😒 but here it is. Also it’s more of a sad one because I feel like I only write happy things🤷‍♀️

Warnings: mention of shitty parenting, reader being emotional, Aj shabeel being overly sweet

…

A feeling of deep hurt had permanently taken refuge in the pit of your stomach. Your mind was working on memory, as you went about your day, as if it was just like any other. Every few seconds, a notification sound would pop up on your phone, causing you to snap your head in the device’s direction, hoping with everything in you that it was him.

But no. Every single time, the same sound of sheer sorrow left your lips as you tried shaking away the disappointment of being forgotten. It wasn’t unusual really. All your life you had become accustomed to being insignificant, in your household, during your years at school, and even amongst some of your friends. Your restricted personality alongside anxious habits you’d caught, making it easy for people to just disregard you.

Aj had never made you feel like a background character, someone who simply existed to feed into someone else’s needs. He always made you feel like the brightest star, and the sole attention in any room you stepped in. Through Aj Shabeel, you had learned to not settle for only being in the corners, but daring to step into the center at times too.

It was funny how the person that had made you feel the most special was also the reason you carried yourself with such indifference on your birthday. For the 2 birthdays of yours the two of you had been friends, he had been the first to congratulate and treat you, but the year you’re finally his? He completely ignores you as if he couldn’t care less about this unimportant day.

You felt stupid for how you had spent your early hours of the morning, expecting something, anything, to come from him. During your breakfast, you made sure to check, double-check, and even triple-check for a new message, but there was nothing. Radio silence. As you moved from the morning into work, there was no time for you to even be on your phone. You could vividly remember feeling awful as you did your work on the computer, hand itching to reply to a call or even a message you knew would be there.

When lunch had finally approached, you had turned down a lunch offer from your friends as they were in a rush, and you were sure you’d have to call Aj to thank him. How stupid you felt, checking every app for anything. In a last attempt, you had even opened Instagram, an app you never even communicated on, only to come to the same two conclusions.

He had either not woken up or forgotten. How you hoped it was the former.

But doubt turned into confirmation once you saw him post on Instagram hours later. He had even texted you after your shift, simply informing you he’d come over to yours after he was done with work. But there was no mention of your birthday, and now you were completely sure your boyfriend had missed it.

Even in your angry state, you could never have it in your heart to believe he just didn’t care enough to mention it. That wasn’t like him.

Usually, you would be ecstatic to know your boyfriend was coming over straight after work, that meant him telling you about everything he did which was something that fascinated your mind. His lifestyle and work were something that you’d always loved, Aj creativity and passion for it fuelling your interest. But now, you walked home with such dread, shoulders slumped in defeat.

You knew you should’ve made the best out of your day even without Aj, but it was just so hard to look past the fact that the most important person in your life had just neglected you like that and continue with your day. Your closest friends had gratulated you and you answered with the same faux tone of happiness. Even Aj’s family members, those you had met because of him, sent you countless nice messages.

Currently, you were just moping around, watching a rerun of a romantic movie that played on your tv every night. A bowl of popcorn was laid in your lap and you occasionally threw one in your mouth. It didn’t matter how many times you watched this movie, every time you were left flabbergasted at the plot twist. It was just that dramatic.

A notification sound on your phone interrupted your little movie night, and you hated yourself for how quickly you grabbed it, thinking it was Aj.

Anna:

What you doing tonight?

You knew where this was going, and a part of you wanted to lie your way out of the obvious plans about to be made. Another part of you felt bad though, here your best friend was, trying to show you how loved you were on your birthday and you were just gonna lie your way out.

You:

Nothing much, why?

It doesn’t take more than 20 seconds from when your message is sent for your best friend to reply.

Anna:

I’ll be at yours in 30, get ready!

And there wasn’t much you could do after that. In just an hour you found yourself seated at a fancy restaurant, Anna sat across from you. You had came with a slightly dampened mood, ready to not enjoy the evening and go home still feeling down. But that was not the case. There was just something so beautiful about Anna that made everyone around her smile. From the way she laughed to the way she talked, Anna had everything it took to get a laugh out of you.

There was the occasional glance at the phone, but other than that you spent 2 nice hours chatting away with Anna as you ate the luxurious food. You were extremely thankful for her and made sure to thank her extra on the ride home.

“I’m your best friend. Now stop thanking me!”

Opening the door to your flat, you had been ready to take off your makeup and outfit and just spend a lazy night in bed. It was 10 pm on a Friday, and as a woman in her early twenties, this should not have been what you were doing. The door closes with a thud behind you as you’re too eager to throw off your heels, but a set of other shoes alongside yours catches your attention.

“Why are you dressed up?” Aj asks from the doorway, his voice simply curious. You don’t even spare him a glance as you finally get rid of your shoes and shrug the jacket off. At the rejection, Aj looks at you weirdly, noticing how off you seemed. As you try to walk past him, he stops you by stepping in front of you.”

“Babe, what’s wrong?” A part of you breaks at the fact that he genuinely didn’t even know. Your boyfriend is confused, eyebrows furrowed until you look at him with disappointment and suddenly it’s everything he can think about. By his eyes widening, you can tell he finally remembers.

Scoffing, you just step away from both him and the conversation, feeling as if you might’ve cried if you stood in front of him any longer. As a child, your parents had made it a regular thing to forget about your birthdays. Claiming they didn’t forget, but simply planned something good. Being the gullible kid you were, you always believed them, waiting for that big surprise. It was finally after your 10th birthday you realized it was their fucked up way of trying to make their nagging child shut up. There was no such thing as a ‘big surprise’.

Fair to say you never asked, but just took the love you got on rare occasions.

As Aj walked behind you to the bedroom, muttering apologies and excuses, you felt like a child again, hearing the same words from your parents. Seeing how you were making your way to the connected bathroom, Aj took hold of you, afraid you’d lock yourself in there and refuse to talk to him. You’d never do that, but he was stressing and thinking of every possible outcome.

You don’t pull away from his hold on you as he sits you down on your bed. He’s stood over you, hands on his hips as he tries to think of a way to make it sound less… wrong?

“Y/n, I genuinely don’t even know how it managed to slip my mind. I just woke up late and was rushing to get to the studio to film, and it ran later than I thought. It’s no excuse because I’m your boyfriend, and I shouldn’t prioritize work over something so important like your birthday- oh my fucking God, I can’t believe I forgot your birthday.” Rambling was one thing Aj did once nervous. He had done it when the two of you knew each other as friends and continued to do so far into your romantic relationship. Usually, you found it cute, but right now you didn’t have words to describe it.

His genuineness softened the pain and by the way his eyes lightened up, you could tell he saw the change in your behavior. Even with the slight empathy for his situation, there was still a feeling of neglect that you couldn’t shake off. You don’t know when, but somewhere during the speech, tears you’d kept in all day, quietly started to slip down your cheeks.

When your boyfriend notices, his voice wavers, truly seeing how much he had messed with your whole mood. Aj was the petty type, one to stay mad and drag things out for far too long. You were a clear contrast from him with your forgiving tendencies, and not being able to hold a grudge.

The fact that you were sitting on the edge of your bed, crying your eyes out on your birthday said something about how much you had been hurt. “Baby, no please don’t cry.” Aj pleads with you, but you’re far too gone to stop crying. When your sniffling gets louder, he crouches in between your legs, pulling your hands away from your face.

You don’t fight his grip but simply gaze at him. Aj kisses the palm of your hand in his hold, holding it against his cheek in a way of showing affection. “I’m so sorry, please don’t cry.” He wipes at your eyes. “ I love you so much, I’m sorry for being such a shit boyfriend. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me, genuinely, I don’t know what I would do without you. Please just don’t cry.”

Too deep in your feeling, you don’t think twice about wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s shoulder, needing comfort even if he was the one to hurt you, to begin with. Being an over-sensitive person, you weren’t always too in touch with your emotions. They sometimes got too much to bear on your own, and therefore you found it easier to process them with the help of Aj.

With just a comforting touch or a few reassuring words from him, you always managed to feel better. And right now, as funny as it sounded, Aj was the only one you wanted to comfort you.

“I felt so alone.”

Your words are like daggers being thrown into his heart, twisting and digging an even bigger wound in his already vulnerable state. He knew he had no right to feel gutted like he was feeling now, but hearing your broken whispers and knowing he was the cause of your defeated words was a hard pill to swallow.

“You’re not alone.” Aj takes a seat beside you on the edge of the bed his hold on your hands never faltering. In a futile attempt to show you the reality of his words, he opens his arms. You fall into his hold holding him as close to you as you possibly can.

The warmth he supplies you is a unique thing you’ve only felt in the arms of your boyfriend and you can’t help but snuggle closer to get more of it.

Aj wipes your tears, holding your cheek to make you look at him. A faint smile appears on your lips as you hold eye contact. The faint feeling of hurt is still present, and there’s no way you’re just letting it go. But all you want to spend the last moments of your birthday doing is be in his hold. In his protection. With a soft peck to your slightly tear-coated lips, Aj speaks. “Happy birthday, beautiful.”

#Aj shabeel #Aj shabeel x reader #Aj shabeel x you #beta squad #beta squad imagines #Aj beta squad #✭b4tasquad speaks #youtube #fiction

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