#this is so beautiful I hyperventilated a little and had to lie down | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cjwritesforyou · 1 year ago

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Rain Angels

4-Page Short Story

“O rain, pouring rain!” Leaping into the air, crashing back down to the ground. Now flat on my back and sprawled out spread-eagle on the asphalt. Making rain angels like a kid—a kid that never made a snow angel before, but always imagined it would be just like this but freezing and more snow and more fun. There would be lots of snow. There would be snow deeper than I could stand where snow would be. Where rain would be—here, always here, forever—there was enough of it, but not so much that it could ever quite possibly replicate that white-stuffed-fluff. There was no snow here. Just rain.

The highway came alive tonight, surreal like the first time I walked the length of it. The feeling in the air, the wind, was the same. The feeling that kept me coming back night after night. It was lovely—it really was—but something about this night in particular didn’t sit right in my stomach, despite nostalgia.

Suddenly—a scream. The shriek pierced my ears and my night—ruined in a way I never could have expected. It startled me, and I would have jumped, if not for the weather. The voice wasn’t stopping. It continued crying out, a wail you expected to hear faintly miles away, howling against the dark. It wasn't a pretty voice. It was ugly. It cracked and groaned pathetically. Still it persisted, a matter of time between losing voice or breath. To say the voice was nearby would be an under exaggeration; I peeked up from my artistry to see a silhouette propped up against the outside railing of the freeway bridge. A gaping cavern flooded with forestry draped beneath the viaduct’s arches, like crumbled chandeliers. I imagined what the beautiful scenery below might look like with bright beaming light, which would illuminate each crevice flawlessly. I would have enjoyed the view, but the hour never permitted anything more than darkness. A little moonlight, even a crescent could suffice. On this night, of all nights, not even a spot would show. Not for its darkest hour.

Below, spectacularly towering trees conjured unsettling rustles of wildlife, resonating with the wind’s nudge. Breezes weren’t forceful yet, but rather suggestive. The screaming persisted. Then the voice’s tone grew stronger, and the wind began to flare. Nature assembled in conjunction, orchestrated. A drizzle became a rain, a shower, then a downpour, a hailing hurricane, slammed me to the ground. Tightly. Suffocating. I gasped for breath, wheezed, hyperventilated. The scream roared in the night sky. I processed the noise with what consciousness remained. Seeing below my own torso wasn’t manageable beneath the shield of rainfall. A certain fog of water had encapsulated my body like armor—an armor which seemingly protected me, but not from anyone else. Although I could no longer see the voice’s maker, I knew it still existed, had to exist, for it berated the air, pierced the atmosphere, right before me.

The voice’s tone altered, slightly weakened. I tried tilting my head up at the highway I knew existed, but could not see. I considered my route home. It instigated unease. In such a state, I figured fighting this force was unnecessary. It was uncomfortable. And here I lie, pinned to the pavement, middle of the night-morning, with my rain angels, hoping, not for the storm to cease (because it never does entirely) but to ease up, to let me through. I wasn’t one to pick a fight with nature. The speaker softened steadily. Pressure that weighed me down allieviated. The rain died down. The voice relieved itself, as did the weather. I was released from the floor. Only a small drizzle remained from prior. The figure returned to view, now misplaced in its surroundings, lacking a sheet of water to hide behind. I heard crying as I regained control of myself.

That’s when I considered the voice. I pondered the nature of the voice. I thought about what the voice was doing there, how the voice got there. But it pained me the most as to why the voice existed in the first place. Right here, right now, for what reason? For what purpose?

I sat up, cupped my hands around my mouth like a cone, and howled an outrageous screech. Startled, the figure scanned for an origin. Finding me, flat on the pavement, wasn’t difficult, but drew sensible confusion. The voice was about to speak again, but I took initiative, rose up now, and closed the distance between us. I stopped a few persons length before the figure, and the face followed me thoroughly, looked me up and down, then spun back to face away, to smear the tears.

“You gonna go?” I said, “You gonna jump?”

“Is that what it looks like?” the voice asked, nervously.

“What a stupid fucking question,” I said, waiting for a reaction. The voice said nothing. I waited a little longer, still nothing. I continued:

“If it looked that way—then there wouldn’t be anything to see here at all. There would be no need for explanation. It doesn’t matter what it looks like unless it’s real. I would go about my day, and you would not. And everything would stay the way it normally is. If you’re gonna do it, do it. Stop just fucking standing there. Whining and crying and all that. I hate people like you–attention whores.”

I could no longer hear the rain, nor could I hear my own voice. My heart swelled, then exploded, pounded louder than an engine. My words would lose power, would lose weight, if my inwardness persisted. I tried to stay confident, the way my mom taught me. I noticed cuts on the body, and that calmed me down for some reason. They were scattered all over the body in front of me—the kind of cuts you normally never see. Normally hidden under layers of covering, but were visible tonight, like they wanted to be displayed.

“Are you angry?” the voice said.

“Aren’t you freezing?” I replied.

“Does it even matter?” The voice said.

“Obviously it matters.”

“But if I were gone?” an arm emerged and pointed down below, “If I were down there, would it matter?”

“If you’re cold, you’re cold,” I said.

“And if I went, it wouldn’t matter. I would be down there. You would be up here. What’s the difference, really? Cold. Warm. What could you care if I’m cold?”

“What could you care?” I remembered my mom screaming, my dad face to face with her. He was drunk again, always was. I was conditioned to avoid it over time, staying in my room, away from him just as my mom told me. He never came into my room, or ever leave the living room, where he slept, smoked, and drank. I had seen her boiled up before, but not as much as this night.

We drove home from my school recital that night and I had a big grin of satisfaction and relief on my face. We walked in the door, the hall, then the living room, and that’s when she erupted with anger at the sight of him, drunk off his ass, tobacco stinking the entire house. He lazed about sideways on the sofa, mindlessly watching some old drama. I typically went straight to my room, but that night was different. It had the same wrong feeling in my stomach. She seemed a little angrier than usual, he seemed a little drunker than usual. I pretended to go to my room like usual and instead hid. For what it was worth, I could have stood in plain sight, for they never once cared to look my way.

“I fucking knew it,” she screeched, “For our kid—do you give a single damn for our kid?”

“Obviously I must not,” he said, still watching the television.

“Obviously, for fuck’s sake—for fuck’s sake—for fuck’s sake obviously,” she screamed. She violently grabbed her purse by the strap and slung it and nailed the side of his head. She screamed again, “Is this how you wanted to raise him?” He didn’t react at all. He acted as if he had not actually just been hit by a purse with two bricks directly to the head. He drank some more.

“Is it ‘cus your dad didn’t raise you quite right?’ Huh? ‘Cus you had a fucked-up life?’ So now what? Time to pass off your shit? ‘Cus you’re mad at the fucking world?’ Huh? Are you listening to me?” she said.

He stumbled standing up off the couch and threw his beer across the room. I saw him look my mom dead in the eyes for the first time. Tears flew off her face uncontrollably. He said nothing, but stared. The television’s speaker blared and neither of them took notice. His arm started to twitch. My mother was struck by a hard blow to the temple—she was pummeled onto the carpet. He pulled a bat out from inside the couch, and I ran to my room, hands over my ears. Mom screamed, begged on the floor. I scrambled to lock the door. I hid in the closet corner, underneath mountains of hand-me-downs. She stopped screaming, and I heard nothing but my heartbeat.

“I couldn’t give a damn about you,” I said.

The voice said nothing. Some time passed without anything happening, and I looked out at the darkness again, expecting to see something even though I knew I couldn’t. The figure got off the guard rail and looked me square in the eyes for the first time. Tears kept parading down, but a smile emerged.

“Thank you. That’s more than enough.” the voice said.

What I saw now was dark, lost eyes. I stared deep into them and found nothing. Those eyes had experienced a lifetime of emotions in too short a distance. And yet, those eyes faced those feelings.

Time began to slow down. When I could see the body moving backwards, leaning, falling, then gone, I didn’t feel a thing. I stared in the same place I had when the eyes were right before me, and that’s when I thought about my dad and my mom and how something never felt right but it felt just like that day. I thought about what it would be like to walk down the highway now, as I normally would, to come back tomorrow, and the next day, and pretend like nothing ever happened. I thought about how my life wouldn’t have to change. How I could keep coming back right here, night after night, and how nothing had to change. I thought about the voice, and placed my hands on the railing. Then my legs hurdled the banister, and I peered over the ledge. Darkness. Nothing had changed. I decided I’d pretend nothing happened and that I would walk down the highway. But instead of turning around, I fell. Head on, head forward. My sensations returned. I heard and felt the rain again, the sensation of being in my own body, and I felt satisfaction and relief. A big grin covered my face. I imagined that some other day, someday far in the future, I might see another person just like myself. I might see that person leaping through the air, crashing to the ground. Walking the highway in the middle of the night-morning through the downpour. And there I’d be, a big grin on my face, watching from above, like a rain angel.

#writing #reading #creative writing #cjwritesforyou

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 7 months ago

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@zepskies

It’s here!! Not gonna lie I watched the Frontierland episode last night in preparation 😂 And I am so ready to lose myself in Western Dean Winchester. Not to mention ready to rekindle my childhood love of Spirit lol.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly.

Oh goodness the enemies to lovers is bubbling under the surface and I am already naming Dean and Mila's children.

This chapter really is one of the best scenes in Spirit, not to mention one of my favorite songs in that movie. "Get Off My Back" is legendary.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. "That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.” That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed. “He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

I love her already. I mean I loved her from the moment that I found out she broke that jerk's nose, but a strong defiant woman. Yes ma'am here for Mila 1000000%.

Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

He's already feeling!😏 And I really loved that he fought the smile when she spat in the Colonel's face. Because Dean is already smitten with this woman.

Dean remains quiet, ignoring yet another uneasy twinge in his gut. He didn’t join the army to fight the Indians. He doesn’t always understand their way of doing things, but he understands why they fight—to protect their land, and to protect their own. It’s the same reason Dean fights, when he has to.

I really love this part, when Dean can sympathize with Mila and her people and why they continue to fight. It also really brings together the "realism" in this story. Especially with the "He doesn't always understand their way of doing things..." A lot of people fear what they don't understand and for Dean to have a more "open" outlook even being surrounded by people who don't is refreshing. And now Mila gets to show her all the wonderful things about her and her tribe! He's different and I love him.

I also really liked the background you gave him. His father being in the army and that being the reason why Dean joined, and I can just imagine young Dean and young Sam riding horses and breaking them out on their family farm.

Okay also the fact that Mila calls Dean "Green Eyes" had me literally screaming lol. I was like, "girl I see you and I respect you for noticing how beautiful that man's eyes are."

Suddenly, the man’s body is ripped away from her. Mila loses her footing and falls to the dusty ground, sliding against the wooden beam she’s tied to. The wind is knocked out of her, but when she raises her head, she watches with wide eyes as the Green Eyed One beats the other man into the dirt. It doesn’t take much, just a few well-placed fists.

Let's go PROTECTIVE DEAN ALERT!

I hope Roman falls off a watchtower and into a giant pile of poop (the size of the ones in Jurassic Park) and then dies. I mean he doesn't... because Dean destroys that man. BUT I hope that they shoveled his body away with the same shovel they use for all the horse poop. It's what the people want lol 😂

Then, he turns to her. His gaze softens somewhat, but it’s still unreadable. He crouches down in front of her, resting his arms on his thighs. Mila’s gaze briefly falls to his hands. They’re calloused, the hands of a laboring man. He carries himself like a warrior.

The descriptions of his hands made me hyperventilate. 😳 I am telling you the trope of a big strong man who has done terrible things with his hands and then is nothing, but gentle with his significant other WIPES ME OUT. Oh stars, I can't take it 😭

The Lakota woman laughs. Dean hears it and his head swivels toward her. She bites her lip, but she knows she’s been caught. Despite his injured pride, Dean’s lips curve with a smirk. Just gonna laugh at me, huh?

It's true love and now I'm scared of what's gonna happen to them.

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently. “Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

YOU TURNED BABY INTO A HORSE?! MASTERFUL! GENIUS! Oh my word I was not expecting that, but it made me so happy you have no idea lol.

Again, so happy Roman is gone. Man is a whole problem and Dean is a problem solver lmao 😂

Oh this chapter was absolutely wonderful and it was everything that I expected and SO SO MUCH MORE friend!❤️ Western Dean is quickly infiltrating my subconscious and someone is gonna have to raise Freud from the dead to work this one out for sure. I mean Freud's already gonna have to talk to me about Spirit, but that horse had an energy, it was voiced by Matt Damon, I was young and impressionable, and I can't be held responsible lmao lol😅 (catching myself in 4k)

I can't wait for the next chapter!!😊

The Honorable Choice - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I thought this idea might be a good fit for this @jacklesversebingo prompt.

Disclaimer: I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 4.6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only to be safe. Racism/racial slurs, attempted sexual assault (not successful), protective Dean, angst, some violence and some action.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: Pride & Prejudice

June 1872

Dean hears some of his men shouting, along with the telltale cracking of bone that would make a less seasoned soldier wince. He spares a look to Benny, his Lieutenant, and sets down his glass of whiskey.

Dean’s path takes him brusquely out of his office and toward the stables. He grabs his gun and his hat on the way there, setting the latter on his head.

Is it too much to ask for one night where he can drink in peace?

Dean comes to find a young woman being detained by two of his men, Kline and Novak. Roman sports a bloody nose and his eye is already beginning to swell. The woman fights against their hold.

Even under the pale moonlight, Dean notes the way she’s dressed: a deer skin dress cinched at the waist, over thin pants and shoes. He surveys her tan skin, her black hair that blends into the night, twisted into a long braid, and the anger in her dark eyes.

“What have we got here?” Dean says. He stows his gun in its holster as he approaches her, resting his hands at his belt.

“I caught her breaking into the stables, Captain,” Roman says. He prods with a hiss at his busted nose while trying to stem the bleeding. That’s going to be a bad break.

She remains tight lipped, stubborn.

“Probably doesn’t even understand English. Savage bitch,” he says. Dean shoots him an impassive look to cover up his annoyance.

“Put a cork in it, Roman,” he orders. Then, he focuses back on her. “You’re a Lakota, aren’t you?”

Aside from their main mission here in the Dakota Territory, the Colonel has been fixed on fighting back against the Lakota Indians, especially after they sabotaged the supply line last month.

The proud tilt of the woman’s chin is her only answer to Dean’s question. Her gaze drags down his form with disdain, like he’s the savage. His mouth twitches mirthlessly.

“The Lakota rear up their own horses pretty damn well. Why would you want to steal one of ours?” he asks.

She glances away from him, first at her feet, then over at the camp’s latest “guest.” Dean, Benny, and a few of his men wrangled up a horse a few days ago. He’s a beautiful Kiger mustang with a nasty mean streak. He barely got through a trim this afternoon, and almost took a chunk out of Rufus when he tried to brand the horse.

The Colonel ordered them to tie the horse up to a post just outside the corral—no food or water for three days. He’d turned to Dean with a firm set to his face and issued a single order.

“Break him.”

Now, Dean catches the furtive look the Lakota woman gives the horse, who flicks his tail. The animal stares right at her, as if into her eyes.

“Oh, don’t tell me you here for him,” Dean says with a chuckle. “That thing’s a little too much for you, sweetheart.”

That earns her attention, steely and unimpressed.

“He is too much for you,” she says. Her voice is smooth, and would even be pleasant, if not for the circumstances. “He is one of ours. You will never break him.”

Dean's eyes widen a fraction. He glances back at the mustang.

So that's why she's here, he thinks. She's trying to mount a rescue. Dean feels a twinge deep inside, but he can't allow himself to care about that. They've collected a strong horse that will be a good support for their objectives here, once he's broken.

“Ah, well see,” Dean says, tipping his Stetson up to meet her gaze. “That’s kind of our specialty.”

“Sir, should we take her to the stockade?” Novak asks. He seems reluctant to do so to a woman, even an Indian, but he’s always been good at following orders.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but another voice cuts him off. Colonel Asmodeus Sanderson steps out and takes a look at their captive.

“Not the stockade,” he says, with that Southern drawl that betrays his Kentucky roots. “Not yet.”

He approaches her with a slow, calculated gait. His hands gather behind his back. Dean gives her credit for looking Sanderson in the eye. She seems rightly wary, but not afraid.

“We won’t hurt you. I give you my word,” the Colonel says, “if you’ll lead us to your people’s camp.”

He takes a hold of her chin, turning her face this way and that, like he’s examining a dirty animal, and all that he’ll have to do to make it clean. She spits in his face.

Dean bites the inside of his lip against a smile. She’s got as much fight in her as the mustang. However, he has to school his face back into stoicism when Sanderson rears back in anger.

The harsh smack rings out in the clearing, along with the woman’s cry. Dean doesn’t allow himself to outwardly react, but inside, his spine tightens as he fights his instincts.

Only Kline and Novak’s hold on her arms keeps her upright. She pants for breath, but again, she meets the Colonel with a face that doesn’t give away anything, despite the reddening mark on her cheek.

“The post,” he barks. “Three days. No food or water.”

Dean is kept busy by his duties. He makes sure the camp is running in order, accepting shipments of supplies and ammunition, among other things. Cas Novak is in charge of the stables, caring for the horses and putting them through their training. Jack Kline is young and strong and a good assistant, along with others in his unit.

Right now, Dean and Benny are going over the plans with Colonel Sanderson for continuing construction on the railroad, from here to the Black Hills. It’s a path that cuts straight through Sioux territory—the bands of Dakota and Lakota Indians that occupy the land.

“The natives are fightin’ us tooth and nail,” Sanderson says. “But maybe our guest will be able to help us…negotiate.”

He joined the army because…well, it felt like the right thing to do at the time. His father had been a Cavalry Major, and he’d died an honorable death, now about a decade past.

Has it really been ten years? Christ.

Dean wipes his brow. Even with the windows open, the office is humid and smells like ass. He glances outside, where both the mustang and the woman are tied to their posts under a sweltering sun at high noon.

Not for the first time, Dean wonders what his dad would think of him now.

After the meeting, Dean and Benny fall into step together to inspect the camp. The summer sun shines hot on their blue uniforms, and occasionally they raise their hats to mop the sweat from their brows.

Things are running as usual, but many of the men’s eyes occasionally turn to the posts. Dean’s attention wanders there too without him realizing, catching on the woman’s dark hair. It shines even blacker in the sunlight, like a raven’s wing. He knows the shade because his dad used to have a feather kept in his journal, like a bookmark.

“You okay, brother?” Benny asks. Dean realizes what he’s doing, and his attention returns to the task at hand. Get it together.

Always forward, never backward.

“Just fine,” Dean replies. Benny gives him a knowing look.

“A bit unsavory, ain’t it?” he says. “Keeping her chained up without even a lick of water.”

“The Indians are getting smarter, bolder. They’re ambushing our men, going after our supply lines, and now, stealing our horses,” Dean says. “This is strategy.”

Benny shrugs slightly, making a sound of agreement. Dean hesitates, his gloved fingers flexing against his sides.

“If she was a man, you guys wouldn’t give a shit about putting a bullet through her head,” Dean says.

Benny’s gaze shifts downward. He doesn’t reply, but he concedes the point all the same.

They continue their route, and Dean keeps the rest of the conversation on the work at hand.

Mila has gone far longer without drink, but the sun is particularly unforgiving today. She’s prayed and prayed for even one cloud to glide overhead and shield her for a while. It’s not much better for her companion. He paces in place, occasionally tugging his head against the rope that binds him to his post.

She makes a clicking sound at the horse, getting his attention. She calls him by his name, and his ears flicker in her direction. He offers her a short whinny in response.

“I see you, Mato. I am with you,” she says in her native tongue. She hopes the sound of her voice will soothe him. He looks tired and hungry, but his eyes flick hard and untrusting on any man who comes near him. His spirit isn’t broken.

“Hey! Shut the hell up over there,” Roman shouts at her from where he and Cas are taking a short lunch break. Cas gives him a certain look, crossed mostly with annoyance.

Mila resists the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she closes them and tilts her face back to the sun. In a way, it feels cleansing. Maybe it can wash away the stench of the White Men’s hands on her body, manhandling her, checking her for weapons.

She spends the rest of the day watching the camp. One of their leaders, the Green Eyed One, called this a fort. It does look fortified, with tall walls made of thick wood constructed to form a cage—whether to keep others out, or to keep the men and horses in.

She identifies the Colonel as their chief, of a kind. Green Eyes is second in command, followed by the Bearded One with a strange voice. Even the scruffy Blue Eyed One has some authority, mostly over the Child Faced One. There are too many others to rank them all, but she knows the Loud Mouthed One is arrogant, even after she broke his nose. The way he carries himself, he clearly thinks he has more power than he actually has.

In her mind, Mila conjures up different plans of escape. All of them fall short in some way. The men didn’t find all of her weapons; a small knife is hidden deep in her boot. She could saw at her binds within an hour, but even with Mato to carry her out and away, the problem is escaping this camp without alerting the men. Without getting shot.

She has three days to think.

That night, the moon refuses to give her clarity. Her stomach is too empty, her throat too dry, her tongue thick in her mouth. Her attention shifts in and out of consciousness, until the sound of boots crunching in the dirt trills unease down her spine. More alert, she sits up straighter.

The Loud Mouthed One. The one they call Roman comes to taunt her, offering her water, then drinking for himself instead. He comes closer to examine her. He has a small bind over his broken nose.

“You know, you’re a pretty one,” he says, taking another cold sip as his gaze drags over her form. “For a wild thing.”

His face nears hers, clean shaven, though his thin smile reminds her of a rattlesnake. Dread and repulsion churn at odds in her stomach as she realizes what he's really here for. It doesn't matter if he truly wants her, or just wants to pay her back for his face. Either way, he means to take her here in the dirt.

She looks away, not wanting to let him see her fear, or the dread tightening her stomach, rising into her throat. He winds long fingers into her hair. At first the hold is gentle, deceptive. Then it's tight against her scalp. She hisses in pain when he tugs her head back and forces her to look at him. Her breathing quickens as she tries to pull away.

He draws in close to try and claim her in a kiss, but she head-butts him, hard.

He cries out and stumbles back, his flask falling to the ground.

He angrily grabs her and hauls her up to her feet. He pushes her hard against the post and unbuckles his belt, just to stuff it in her mouth. With his free hand, he begins to undo his pants.

She refuses to cry out, even though she spits out his belt and fights him, trying to kick out his knees.

Roman lies there catching his breath, and he spits a wad of phlegm and blood. His left eye will match his nose, that’s for sure.

Green Eyes looks angry and disgusted. He huffs and puffs while staring down at his subordinate. He pushes back his short brown hair and points an ungloved hand at Roman.

“Get back to the goddamn barracks. You’re gonna be mucking out stalls until shit’s coming out of your ears,” he growls.

Roman doesn’t argue, though it’s obvious that he wants to. He just picks himself up, makes a show of straightening up his open uniform jacket while catching his breath. He walks past Green Eyes with a resentful, angry look. Green Eyes watches him until he disappears inside.

“Sorry about that,” he says.

It’s not what she expected. Mila eyes him warily when he moves closer. She presses her back against the post until it hurts her spine. He raises up his hands placatingly.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he says.

“That is what your Colonel said,” she says. Her voice cracks with dryness. “I didn’t believe him either.”

His lips flicker at a rueful smile. It wrinkles crow’s feet around his eyes, breaking his stony face.

“Fair enough.”

He reaches for his belt and retrieves a flask, similar to the one his subordinate carried. He extends it out to her.

“It’s water, unless you prefer whiskey. I know I do,” he says.

She raises a brow at him, but hearing the sloshing inside the flask, her thirst takes over her wariness, and even her pride. She tentatively leans forward. He brings it closer so she can press her lips to the opening. Despite his Colonel’s orders, he lets her drink as much water as she’s able. When she’s done, he pockets the flask and sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

That, she will not give him. Names are sacred to her people, and this man, while seeming to have a shred of honor, isn’t worthy.

“Don’t wanna even tell me your name?” he says. He nods slightly. “Okay, well, I’m Dean. Captain Winchester, to this band of delinquents.”

He gestures around the camp with a dismissive hand. Mila only watches him. She’s never seen a White act like this, breaking his leader’s rules, being…kind.

What a strange man.

But if he had any real convictions, he would untie her and let her go, along with Mato. She won’t hold her breath.

Dean’s brows raise up toward his hairline, and his full lips form a pout. Realizing he’s not going to get anything more from her, he lets out a tired huff and straightens up.

“Well, goodnight,” he says.

He finally leaves her alone, but she can’t help but follow the swaggering path of his bowed legs and heavy boots. They carry him away and back indoors.

A strange man.

By the morning of the third day, Dean is ready to do what he does best. Or at least, one thing he does best.

He’s no stranger to horses. He grew up on a farm in Lawrence, Kansas, where he and his brother would help take care of the animals. Dean was older, so he helped his father till the land and train the horses. Sometimes he and Sam would sneak off and race their favorite ones, until their mom called them back for dinner.

In fact, part of what earned Dean his rank in the U.S. Cavalry was how well he could command a horse. His own is resting in the stables.

Today, he’s getting in the ring with the mustang.

…Well, not right away. He lets a few of his guys go first to tire him out. Even after three days of no food or water, the horse is living up to his bad attitude. He bucks each of them off after just a few seconds in the corral. Dean can tell it’s becoming a kind of game for the horse. His dun-colored coat shines in the sun, his brown socked legs kicking up dust and manure as he brays angrily at whoever tries to mount him.

Dean notices the Lakota woman watching with an amused smile on her face while she sits with her hands tied to her post. She’s enjoying the show, like she knew this would happen. It seems to give her energy every time another man is thrown off the horse and limps out of the ring.

Dean shakes his head. Pitiful.

He puts two gloved fingers to his mouth and whistles the entire clearing to attention. He saves Kline the chance to bruise his spine and pats him on the shoulder. Dean steps into the corral and positions himself into the stirrups, wrapping the reins around his hand. The horse is breathing hard, but he’s not done. He’s still got fight in him. Dean sees it in his brown eyes.

“All right, mustang. You’re big and bad. I get it,” Dean says lowly. “But I don’t scare easy. Gimme your best damn shot.”

Cas and Benny give him wary looks from where they stand outside the gate.

“Hold onto your hat, Cap,” Benny mutters.

Dean adjusts his hat and rests his gun on the post for safe keeping. He wants to feel as natural as possible, like it’s just him and this horse, out back in his family farm. He holds on tight to the reins. He’s fully prepared for how the mustang takes off at a galloping clip around the ring. He twists and bucks, but Dean claps his thighs tight and holds on for the ride.

The horse gets smarter.

He runs for the water trough just outside the ring. He slams Dean against the side of it once, twice—and manages to throw him off, with Dean landing right in the water trough.

He bursts out from the dirty water, sopping wet and spluttering in anger. He looks over at the horse trotting around, whinnying and tossing his head like he’s laughing. Dean can’t help it. His anger fades, and he smiles.

This guy’s got some brass balls, I’ll give him that.

“I see things are going well,” comes a familiar drawl.

Dean’s face falls as he looks up and finds Colonel Sanderson. Dean pulls himself out of the trough and tries to squeeze some water out of his uniform. He clears his throat.

“Well, uh, it’s going, sir. Just gonna take a little more time than I thought,” Dean says. He quickly reclaims his hat from the ring, giving the mustang a smart berth. After he climbs back out, he goes over to the post where he left his pistol.

“Hold him steady,” Sanderson barks out the order, but not at Dean. The other men wrangle the horse back into the pen, where Sanderson climbs up and mounts the horse himself.

To his credit, he stays on longer than even Dean thought he would. The mustang gallops and circles. He tries slamming Sanderson on the sides of the corral, tries bucking him and bucking him, but the man clings on, even when his hat falls into the dirt.

The horse is exhausted. He eventually stops in the middle of the ring, panting for breath, his legs shaking slightly. Dean straightens at attention.

So does the Lakota woman, he notices. She looks worried, her brows furrowing.

Sanderson swipes a hand over his graying hair and moustache to collect himself. He raises his head with an arrogant smile.

“You see, gentlemen. Any horse can be broken,” he says. He kicks the horse with his spur. “Move along, mustang.”

To everyone’s amazement, the horse obeys him. He moves forward at a slow clip. All the men applaud, even Dean, belatedly.

“There are those in Washington who believe the West will never be settled,” Sanderson continues. “The Northern Pacific Railroad will never breach Nebraska.”

His gaze draws over to the woman. Her eyes are filled with tears as she watches the Colonel makes his rounds.

“A hostile Lakota,” he says in derision, “will never submit to providence.”

She stares back at him with steel in her watery eyes.

Dean doesn’t realize his jaw is clenched tight until he feels the strain in his jaw. He forces himself to relax, with his hand on his dampened belt.

“And it’s that kind of small thinking that would say this horse would never be broken,” Sanderson says. “Discipline, time, and patience. That’s all you need to level a wild thing.”

Just then, the horse stops abruptly.

“Mustang?” Sanderson asks in warning.

Dean tenses. He knows what’s about to happen.

“Sir!” he calls out.

But it’s too late.

The stallion revs and charges, bucking even wilder than before. He swings his head and rears back high on his hind legs with a powerful bray. Sanderson yells in fear and strain, but he stays on the creature’s back.

The horse’s angry eyes take on a darker shade of conviction. When all four of his hooves hit the ground, he finally bucks hard enough to get the Colonel off his back, though he still clings to the reins near the animal’s head. He comes face to face with the horse’s crazed eyes. His own are wide and full of terror.

Hot breath heats Sanderson’s face. Then the horse swings his head and tosses the man out of the ring. In the process, the horse falls on his side and shatters a section of the wooden beams that fenced him in.

While he shakes his head and gets his hooves under him, Dean and Benny help the Colonel up to his feet. His uniform is a wreck, and now, with a bruised body and likely a couple of broken ribs, the man is fuming.

Kline and Roman wrangle the horse’s reins and keep him more or less in place. The Colonel shoves Dean and Benny off of him. He reaches for his gun at his belt and aims it at the mustang. Dean goes rigid in shock, but he knows he can’t interfere. If he does, it could warrant some major discipline.

The Colonel pulls the hammer back on the revolver, but before he can pull the trigger, the sound of cutting rope and a feminine yell breaks the silence in the clearing. The Lakota woman pulls the Colonel’s arms down, and the gun goes off into the ground. Her elbow comes up quick to strike the man between the eyes. He careens back into Benny, who catches him.

Meanwhile, the woman swings up onto the mustang. She grabs a stronghold by the neck and barks something in her native language. It spurs the horse onward, and he breaks through the crowd of men at a gallop.

Dean watches with widening eyes and furrowing brows. “Shit!”

He runs to the stables where he finds Baby waiting for him. Her black coat ripples as she stamps impatiently.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he beckons. He leads the mare out of the stable, and after grabbing a coil of rope from the supply bench, he mounts her smoothly. With a subtle kick of his heel, she picks up speed to follow the mustang and his rider.

They’re already approaching the gate where the men are quickly trying to close it. There’s still a window of opportunity for escape, but not only is Dean on their heels, Roman also stands on a pile of crates filled with iron parts that are due to be shipped out in the morning for continued construction on the railroad. Roman holds a rifle. He trains his weapon on the woman, taking deadly aim.

Dean’s jaw clenches and his brows furrow. He knows then, in the breadth of a few seconds, that he has to make a choice. If he does nothing, both she and the horse are as good as dead.

Sam used to call him reckless, stubborn as the horses he spent long hours taming.

Right about now, his brother is probably right.

Dean reaches for his gun, aims, and shoots within the span of those seconds. Roman goes down before he even knows what hits him. His chest plumes with blood after he slides down the crates and flops heavy to the ground. His eyes stare unseeing at the crisp blue sky.

The mustang tears through the narrow opening in the gate, and Dean isn’t far behind. The woman is an excellent rider, far better than he expected her to be. She clings to the horse’s neck and mane, and she doesn’t even use the stirrups. She clings on when the horse leaps over rocks, and when she notices Dean tailing her, she urges the horse at an even faster gallop.

Dean’s face furrows with determination. Baby is built for speed too.

He gives her a little kick with his heel. “Come on, Baby. Go!”

He’s able to keep up with the mustang just a few yards behind, even when they reach rougher terrain, going further up and into a canyon. He follows them through every curve and dip, guiding his horse just as much as she's guiding him.

Dean takes his rope in hand and turns it above his head, but his attempt to lasso the mustang's neck fails; the woman saws straight through the rope with her knife.

"Damn it!" Dean mutters.

He's forced to let go of his frayed rope when he and Baby nearly careen off the edge of a cliff. His heart settles high in his throat as he grits his teeth, but he pulls back on the reins hard and leans in the opposite direction. Baby's able to bank left, saving them from a long way down to certain death.

They continue up the narrow path the mustang has trod ahead. It carves around and through the mountain.

Dean mentally grasps for a plan, aside from just keeping up. Without even a bit of rope, he doesn’t know how he’s going to slow the woman down without hurting her or the horse. He doesn’t want to have to use his gun.

Eventually, the canyon breaks into a patch of desert, and then, grassy plains and tall forest trees. The mustang begins to tire and slow to a stop. His rider murmurs soothing things to him, stroking his neck. She turns back to look at Dean over her shoulder in dismay. She knows she’s caught.

“All right, sweetheart. That’s enough,” Dean says.

He sidles up next to her and intends to grab the mustang’s reins.

That’s when her swift kick comes, dead in his forehead.

AN: And here we go! 😅 Feels right that November is Native American Indian Heritage Month. 🫶🏽 For that reason especially I've done my best to do the Lakota people justice, even in this little series and complete work of fiction.

There's a lot packed in this first chapter, and yep, I did borrow a bit of scene from one of the best scenes in Spirit as an homage. From here on out, we're literally going off road...

Next Time:

Dean falls out of his saddle with a yell, landing hard in the grass. The impact knocks the air out of his chest and his hat off his head, not to mention the pain that rattles down his back.

“Son of a bitch,” he wheezes, while trying to get back up.

The woman jumps down from the mustang’s back and all but leaps on Dean. Straddling his waist and grabbing a fistful of his collar, she lets out a battle cry and raises a small knife at him. It’s probably no more than two inches long.

Dean may be on the ground with a smarting forehead, but he’s still got the upper hand. He grabs her knife-wielding arm and whips out his pistol from his belt. Her eyes widen, and she stills above him. The gun lies between them, aimed for her chest. They’re both breathing hard.

Dean has a problem.

Looking into her eyes, soulful and brown, the slope of her nose and her full lips, parted with shock…

COMING 11/10! (New chapters every Sunday.)

Or read Part 2 on Patreon now!

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#jensen ackles #supernatural #supernatural au #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #spn #guysireadsomething

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krikeymate · 2 years ago

Note

Any AU, Ghostface is back. Tara gets stabbed. They’re just playing with her, though, so nothing life threatening. They tell Tara that they’re going to kill anyone she tells about this encounter. “Don’t believe me? Try me?”. Tara tells someone she’s not super fond of. She makes sure no one overhears them. The person is dead the next day. That gives us Tara, trying to deal with this on her own while hiding a literal stab wound (and maybe more) from Sam. Sam finds out pretty quickly, though. Tara’s terrified when she does because of the threat.

AU? Baby this is just Scream 7. Tara's got herself a ~staaalker~

She's home alone, Sam's working late tonight. She's been home for hours, she had no idea what was coming for her. She had no idea she wasn't alone. They were waiting for the right moment, they wanted her to be fully relaxed, calm and unexpecting. They grab her from behind, one hand in her hair, the other wraps around her to trap her arms. They kick at her legs, spreading them so she can't stabilise herself.

"Hello, Tara. Have you missed me?"

They can hear the way Tara begins to hyperventilate, see her chest begin to pound, but she still manages to get out a "fuck you!" They love that about her, it's why they chose her. So much spirit. A real wildfire. They'll enjoy breaking her.

They release her, throwing her to the floor. She tries to get up, to crawl away towards the door, calling out for help, and Ghostface can't do anything but laugh at the pathetic sight. They kick her back down and straddle her hips. "Shhh shhh shhh, we wouldn't want anyone to interrupt us now, would we?" they coo at her, wrapping a hand around her mouth. Ghostface spots tears dripping over their gloved fingers, and it makes a rush flow through them. It's such a beautiful sight, they only wish they had a camera.

"I'm not going to kill you, Tara. I just wanted to introduce myself. See, I've been watching you for a long time. Longer than you might think, in fact, and I think you're finally ready to meet me. We've got a lot in common, you know."

The bitch bites down on their hand and they slam her head into the floor for it. "You'll clearly need a little training first, but we're going to do great things together."

"What the fuck are you on about?!" she yells, voice cracking.

"You'll see. But first, let's play a little game."

Ghostface draws the knife across her side, blood beginning to pool on the wooden flooring. "It's called Can Tara Keep Her Mouth Shut. I hope you're good at it, because you won't like what happens when you lose."

"Oh yeah, and what happens if I don't?" She attempts to sound confident, but her voice shakes. They'll teach her to lie better.

"Well, I'll kill whoever you tell, of course. I must confess, I hope you don't believe me. I'm so hungry, you see. It's been so long."

Ghostface sits up on their knees and flips the girl over, taking her by surprise once again. Now face to face, they can finally see her tear-stained face, see the fear in her eyes, the spark of defiance. It's delicious. They hold the knife to her throat, digging it in until it leaves a small cut in her skin. They grab at her scarred hand, thumb tracing the scar on her palm.

In a flash they lift the knife from her neck and drag it up her palm, digging into the scar, tearing it away. Ghostface relishes the way she screams, the way she tries to stop them, grabbing at their wrists.

They let her go, standing up. "Are you going to test me, Tara?" They walk backwards to the door, savouring the way she curls into herself on the floor. "You best clean yourself up quick dear, Sam is due home soon, isn't she?"

The girl's head snaps up at the sound of her sister's name. "Don't you fucking touch her," she snaps, getting to her knees despite the pain and her blood-slick hands.

"Well I won't need to, will I. It's not like she's going to find out about any of this, is she?"

She stands silently staring at them, and Ghostface knows she's gotten their message. "Until next time, my dear. I'll be watching."

#/mp #ask box #Scream #Tara Carpenter #AU: exit pursued by a ghost #my writing tag

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nomsfaultau · 1 year ago

Text

The Lambs Wolves Wear part 3

"He's known for a long time," "Technoblade" realized quietly.

Philza clutched the edge of the kitchen counter too tightly, knuckles taut with fear. "I don't know what you boys talking about?" he tried.

"Stop scaring him with your prank," "Tommy" threw out desperately, scurrying towards Philza on what sounded less like footsteps and more like the clop of hooves. His arms snaked around Philza's waist, clinging so tightly "Tommy" didn't notice that his claws buried deep into his skin. Or perhaps the shapeshifter did, the covert threat hanging that his claws could shred through Philza's organs at any time.

Philza shrunk into himself, terrified of what was coming. He carefully trapped his gaze on the sink pooled with water and dishes, but the plates and knives began to float up as "Technoblade" grew upset, the phantasmal hands of those long slain in battle beginning to slam cupboards. Philza was caught watching the reflection of "Wilbur" melt as his true son's features ran down the changeling's visage. Spindly elven fingers seized his jaw, jerking Philza around to meet his gaze. "You were pretending just as much as the rest of us were," "Wilbur" hissed.

Philza's jaw shook. "I-I d-d-d-on't know what y-your talking ab. About, Wilbur."

Something shimmered across "Wilbur's" eyes. When his spoke his voice was layered with glamor. "Tell us the truth, father. How long have you known?"

"Weeks," came the answer pulled out of Philza's throat. The entire room froze, every horrible monstrosity enraptured with solely him. Tears welled in Philza's eyes. No. He spent so, so long trying to keep up the facade of peace, and now no illusion of safety could protect him. And now the creatures pretending to be his children knew, and nothing would save him from them. Philza wept quietly, mourning for himself, for his children he couldn't save. He'd tried so hard for them. "Pl-please don't hurt me," he said so quietly it hurt.

"Wilbur" hadn't thought Philza knew, caught up in the bitter resentment of being loved for being someone else. Somehow the betrayal cut deeper, knowing Philza only loved them to survive. "Tommy" thought that ridiculous. In hell, love was only going to get you killed, so he didn't see why it would've helped. This just meant it was genuine, right? ...Right? And Technoblade? If it was feigned, then it meant Philza fought down instincts to win. Honorable enough in his books, trying to pretend it didn't hurt.

Still, their peace treaty was broken as the feigned normalcy shattered. The only way they'd agreed in the first place was to vow the remaining 2 would kill the entity who ruined it, and now none of them knew what to do, angry and scared and hurt. The creatures argued loudly, their dark powers filling the room. The place grew hotter and hotter, mirages of dead soldiers crowding the halls of the pretty little lie that was their home. "Wilbur" bickered fiercely with creatures far more powerful than he, though his magics ripped painful truths out of their throats and images of betrayal and a thousand horrible nightmares flickered through the flames and shades. "Wilbur" had expected to die for breaking the peace, but he also expected to make it a hellish fight as he was torn apart.

Philza crumpled to the kitchen floor, hyperventilating. “Tommy” ripped apart into a giant beast crouched over him, ragged demon wings flaring out and breaking the lights. Philza curled into a tight ball as it crushed him, waiting to be mauled as the creature's growl rattled his bones. "Which one of you hexed him?" snarled a voice like the crack of tectonic plates. "STOP IT! MORTALS NEED TO BREATH!" the beast roared.

"Not I," came a voice raspy and layered with the echoed whispers of the dead. "Asphyxiation is a cowards' tool."

"I would never," purred a beautiful voice brimming with sparkling power.

"Dad, you need to breath," the demon growled. "Crying-- it's okay. Big boys cry. That's how all the bad emotions are supposed to leave you." Somewhere, buried deep beneath mortal panic and atavistic instinct, Philza realized they were the same words he'd told to Tommy a while ago, after he fell out a tree. He-- he hadn't yet realized what his children really were, yet. A fresh sob broke out. He hadn't known. All his children stolen, and he hadn't been able to save them. He couldn't even save himself.

Belatedly, he realized the demon was trying to soothe him. The growl that made his human instincts howl with terror...was supposed to be a purr. "Tommy" nuzzled into him, his breath rank with sulfur and hot as embers.

The quarrel died abruptly. Dozens of spectral hands seized Philza, ripping through his hair and clawing a mimicry of comforting circles into his back. "Wilbur" reached for him, manufactured flesh crawling up his arms, "Philza's" own face staring back at him and rambling confused amalgamations of the advice he'd given the monsters. The trio offered their warped ideas of comfort, parodies of the kindness he'd shown them.

They still expected him to pretend. After all this, they still were going to force him to continue pantomime a happy, loving father. No longer did he have the excuse of ignorance. Never again. Now, his love was expected to be genuine, not merely misguided.

So Philza shakily shoved down his horror and peeled himself up off the floor. He forced his fingers to card gratefully through "Tommy's" acrid fur, to accept the boney hand of "Wilbur" pulling up, not flinching from the careful pat on the shoulder "Technoblade" gave him. He kept his head ducked, gaze shying, luring a ghost of a smile onto his face as he began to purposefully begin cleaning the ruined kitchen. Phantoms picked up the shattered plates and pictures, and "Wilbur" spun illusions to cover the parts where "Tommy" burned the home. Philza got a broom and began to sweep up shards, instinctively warning the "children" to not go near with bare feet, never mind the fact "Tommy" had hooves, never mind the fact "Technoblade's" toes didn't touch the ground. "You boys made quite the mess," he laughed shakily as they once more resumed the masquerade. By the time they were done silently cleaning, the entities were all wearing the skin of his children as if that's all they'd ever been.

"Tommy's" hand caught on his sleeve, staring up at him once more with the face stolen from his real son. "Did you really think we'd hurt you?" At Philza's silence, hurt flashed in the blue eyes designed to look like Philza's own. Four curving horns began growing from his skin once more, teeth sharp from where his mouth twisted in upset.

"Well. I know better now," Philza said carefully. It seemed to ease the imposters, the tension fading until it was only the deadly undercurrent it originally was. The home no longer crackled with magic that made the hair on the back of his neck raise.

He couldn't stop silently crying, but they were monsters. They'd scarcely understand what that meant.

Next>

Dark SBI where Philza is a nice normal human man whose family slowly gets replaced by super natural creatures. The youngest is the first to go, replaced by 'Tommy', a shape shifting imp who decided he liked the skin of the kid and decided to keep it. He lives for chaos, but his motives falter when he experiences genuine love for the first time. Then 'Wilbur' replaces another son in classic changeling fashion, the boy taken to fulfill the whims of the fae and leaving in his place a bitter boy who knows he's an inferior version. Finally, the last son becomes plagued by dark voices that grow worse and worse, leading him succumbing to possession by 'Technoblade', who thinks he'll make the perfect new vessel after the last one was destroyed. 'Technoblade' doesn't want to lose his new vessel so soon after the last one, 'Wilbur' was trained from birth to mimic the human he would replace, and 'Tommy' wants an identity he can fall back on to play innocent if he gets in trouble. It takes awhile before the others realize all three kids are imposters. There's friction, of course, but they eventually make a pact to continue pretending to be a sweet and unsuspecting family.

The thing is...Philza isn't dumb. There's this awful feeling in his gut, and he has a sharp eye for details that don't add up. He's increasingly certain these things aren't his children. He quietly gathers evidence, and the moment he's sure...he does nothing. Philza carries on in a careful pantomime of a perfectly loving family, terrified of what they'll do to him if they realize he knows their true natures. He smothers his fear and offers them warm smiles and boundless mercy and tender affection the likes of which the imposter children have never known before. Slowly, it becomes a easier for everyone to pretend.

Maybe, if Philza's kind enough, they won't kill him, or worse. Maybe if he's good enough, their evil natures will soften. Maybe, if he's patient enough, they'll give him his real kids back.

And the moment they do, he'll slaughter every last one of the monsters who destroyed his family.

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thescarletwitchsapprentice · 3 years ago

Text

Imagine: You’re a princess at another kingdom’s ball; also you catch/have caught the attention of the queen of the kingdom. (Yandere!Queen!Wanda Maximoff/Yandere!Queen!Scarlet Witch x autistic!female!royal!reader)

*Get it? Because she called it a throne? .....illgohome. Also not my GIF.

(CW: Earlobe nipping, sensory overload, mentions of marriage proposals as cruel jokes)

Author’s Note: Just gonna leave this for you lesbian simps, especially the autistic lesbian simps.

(y/h/c): Your hair color.

(y/s/c): Your skin color.

(y/e/c): Your eye color.

You fidget with your dress as you enter the ballroom with your kingdom’s ambassador. Why had you been invited to her kingdom of all kingdoms? You don’t exactly have a good reputation as a princess, after all. It’s not your fault you had trouble with social rules, especially when each of them were somewhat different for each kingdom. Because of that, when you do get invited to things like this, you mostly stay off to the side and stay quiet.

As the festivities begin, the ambassadors make small talk, the princes speak with one another, the other princesses gossip a bit. You wanna join in, but it’s as if everything is in different codes, ones that no one gave you any guides or translations for. You stay over by the wall and out of sight.

At least.....that’s what you think.

Upon her throne, Queen Maximoff looks out into the crowd. The faces of so many seem to blend together as she searches for one in particular. Then over on the right, she spies her; a beautiful girl with (y/h/c) hair, (y/s/c) skin, and such wide (y/e/c) eyes. She slowly smiles, studying this sweet and innocent princess for a time, knowing that she will not leave her spot.

After some time, she stands up and walks over.

Meanwhile, you’re so caught up in your thoughts and melancholy that you fail to notice a woman with dark hair wearing a beautiful red gown with a matching tiara approach you.

“Enjoying the ball, my dear?”

Her soft, seductive voice pulls you from the thoughts. You attempt to look her in the eyes, but it becomes overwhelming, making you panic. You begin to hyperventilate and repeat a sound over and over.

“It’s alright,” the queen assures you. “You can look anywhere on my face if you wish to speak to me.”

Slowly you calm down and look at her nose.

“I....it’s too loud here,” you tell her quietly.

“I imagine.....” she nods. “Perhaps you’d wish to be somewhere more calming. I’d be more than willing to show you.”

You nod gratefully, not suspecting anything, making the queen’s heart beat with affection. Gently she holds out her hand.

“If it’s okay with you,” she clarifies.

You take a bit of time, but manage to gather the courage to grab her hand. It’s soft and gentle as she leads you away from the party and up the stairs. She leads you to her bedroom and you sigh in relief. You could really use a nap after all of that noise. You practically collapse on it, letting out another sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, the queen heads over to the other side and sits on the bed, her legs crossed.

“I’ve heard that you don’t mind head pets, is that right?” she asks.

Hearing this, you blush and nod.

“My lap is open for you, darling.”

Eagerly you place your head in her lap and she gently strokes your head, making you blush even more as a tingle moves through you, making you smile and sigh dreamily.

“You have such lovely eyes, my princess,” she whispers softly. “Such sweet, innocent eyes.”

Your cheeks flush an even-deeper scarlet. It become even deeper as she slowly traces your face with her finger.

“Such a lovely face, such a pure soul....you must have suitors falling at your feet, darling.”

“....I don’t,” you admit sheepishly.

“...Oh?”

“No one has offered a proposal, except as a joke..”

A small tear falls down your face. Slowly the queen’s hand lifts your head to meet her face.

“Then perhaps I shall be your first genuine one.”

You’re caught off-guard, speechless, a little skeptical. You’ve been screwed over before and you don’t want it to happen again.

“I would never lie to you, darling,” she promises. “Never. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to finally meet you in-person. I love you as you are....all of you. I will keep you safe. I will treasure you as you are meant to be treasured. I will practically worship you. All I ask is that you be mine forever....”

You practically faint onto her shoulder. As she rubs your back, you spy her earlobe and something overcomes you. You slowly move closer and gently nip on it. You hear a little gasp from the queen and you pull away, feeling ashamed as she glows a deep scarlet. And yet, she’s smirking a bit.

“Please don’t be ashamed,” she assures you. “I enjoy the curiosity you hold, my darling......do you wish to know how it feels?”

You nod, mostly out of curiosity. Slowly she leans in and you shut your eyes before feeling a soft and gentle nip on your earlobe, making you blush.

“How does it feel?” she asks as she pulls away.

You simply nod.

“I’ll give you all of the head pets and ear nips that you wish. I won’t judge you for being you, I already adore who you are. You can tell me about what interests you for as long as you wish and I will listen. I will never force you to look me in the eyes and I will stand up for you when you are being abused for who you are; all I ask is that you stay with me. Be my princess.”

No judgment? Sensory heaven? Ranting about your Special Interests and being listened to? Not being forced to look in her eyes? Someone loving who you are? It all sounds too good to be true, but at this point, you have nothing to lose and way more to gain.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!”

You begin to stim in excitement and the queen watches with a twisted fondness as she casts a spell to bind you to her, one that you don’t notice. Of course she’ll uphold all of what she’s promised, and even more. That spell she’s cast locks in that feeling of joy and love whenever you see her. It prompts you to turn to her for comfort and safety. Just to name a couple of things.

Of course she misses Vision terribly, but you completely took Wanda’s breath away with your innocent personality. And since she couldn’t save Vision, she’s determined to keep you. Even if it means messing with your mind a bit.

What you don’t know.....will never hurt you.

She’ll make certain of that.

#queen!wanda maximoff #yandere wanda maximoff x fem!reader #yandere wanda maximoff #autistic!reader #yandere wanda maximoff x autistic reader #autistic reader #wanda maximoff #yandere marvel #yandere avengers #Avengers #marvel

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thebadgerclan · 3 years ago

Text

The River

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: What if the river had taken him that night?

The river was freezing, the water making your fingers go numb. You forced yourself to remain calm, not to hyperventilate. The baleen would give you 10 minutes of breathing air, less if you panicked. You felt bodied bumping against you as the river carried you, was that Matthias? Nina? Kaz? Or was it Bo? It didn’t matter, as long as you got to shore soon. Eventually the river spit you out in the gorge below. Water had begun to leak into your baleen, but you surfaced before it burst completely.

You watched as Nina clawed her way to shore, tugging Bo behind her. Matthias had already exited the river, but he was bent over an unconscious Kaz, who wasn't breathing. “Kaz!” you screamed, stumbling over your numb legs to him. “Kaz!” Matthias was pushing down on his chest, his blue eyes frantic. “I. Should. Let. You. Die!” He said, and Nina moved her hands to extract the water from his lungs. They worked for what felt like hours with little improvement, and to your absolute horror, Nina lowered her hands, sitting back.

“Matthias, stop,” she said, but the Fjerdan didn’t listen. “Matthias! Stop. He’s gone.” “No,” you said, your voice shaky. “No, no, no! Nina, he’s not gone, keep going!” “Y/N, I’m sorry, but-” “Did you hear me?! Save him!” “Kaz is dead, I’m sorry.” You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “No, no, no, Kaz, come back! Don’t leave me, come back! Kaz! No!”

“No!” You bolted upright, your skin covered in sweat. The room was dark save for a sliver of moonlight streaming through the window. You covered your face as you shuddered, the dream far too vivid for your liking. Breathing deeply, you tried to remind yourself that you were home, in your new mansion on the Geldstraat, the house Kaz had purchased with his riches from bringing Van Eck down. And if Kaz had bought a mercher’s mansion with Van Eck’s money, that meant he was alive.

Kaz stirred at your side, sitting up and laying a bare hand on your shoulder. “Y/N, love, are you alright?” Suddenly, the nightmare came flooding back, and you let out a sob. “Kaz,” you cried, and you turned, falling into his arms. Your lover grunted at the sudden impact, but held you tightly, easing himself to lie down with you in his arms.

“Alright, it’s alright, darling. I’ve got you, I’m right here.” Kaz stroked your back, whispering soft reassurances into your ear as you cried, slowly calming down. “Kaz,” you whimpered, and he brushed your tears away, tipping your face up to look at you. “What’s wrong, my love?” “Nightmare,” you said, hardly containing your sobs. “We were at the Ice Court, in the gorge. You came out of the water, but you didn’t wake up.”

Saying the words brought a fresh wave of despair, and you sobbed into Kaz’s chest once more. “Oh darling,” he said, wrapping his arms tighter around you. “Shh, I’m alright, I’m right here, love.” Even as he comforted you, Kaz thought that the fact that he was able to hold you like this, to touch you like this, was a miracle. It had been a long and arduous road to get to this point, working from barely being able to hold his gloved hand to being able to throw yourself into his arms without worrying about triggering a panic attack. The touch of others still gave him pause, but your touch became a sanctuary, comfort rather than panic.

Kaz pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “Can you look at me, my darling?” Tentatively, you lifted your head, your tear stained face looking at your lover. “There we are, my beautiful girl. I am perfectly fine, Y/N. Alive and right here with you.” He reached between you and took one of your hands, twining his fingers through yours. The sight still made your heart thump; his bare hand holding yours, something you’d worked so hard to accomplish.

He guided your hand to his chest, which was bare as well, the Ketterdam summer heat preventing proper pajamas from being worn, pressing your palm over his beating heart. “You feel that?” Kaz asked, the feeling of your hand against skin calming rather than revolting. “I am right here, and I’m not going anywhere any time soon. It’ll take more to get rid of Dirtyhands.” You shook your head, snuggling closer to his chest.

“You almost drowned that night,” you said, voice no louder than a whisper. “I almost watched you die, Kaz.” Your lover shook his head, tightening his hold on you. “But I didn’t,” he said, kissing you gently, his lips soft against yours. “I survived and I brought Van Eck to his knees. And Pekka’s next. But that’s not the only reason I survived.” Kaz once more reached for your hand, this time your left, lifting it so the diamond ring glinted in the moonlight.

“I survived so I could make you my wife, so I could spend the rest of my life with ‘Y/N Brekker’.” You smiled at that, drawing his hand to your lips, kissing his wrist. “I love you,” you said, and Kaz smiled too, pulling you in for a proper kiss, this one lingering and tender. “I love you more, my Y/N. You’re stuck with me for a very long time, my dear. So if you want out, now’s your chance.” His words made you laugh, and Kaz’s smile grew. “Not a chance, honey. You’re stuck with me too.” “Good,” your fiance said, kissing your forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” You cuddled against his chest again, the nightmare soon forgotten, and you were shortly dozing in your fiance’s arms again. You’d brought down Van Eck, you’d brought Ketterdam to its knees, Rollins would be no different. With the Crows at your side, there was nothing you couldn’t do. But for a while, you would rest, safe in Kaz’s arms.

#kaz brekker x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #kaz brekker x you #shadow and bone reader insert

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supercorpkid · 4 years ago

Text

Extraneous Variable 2

Error: n2.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader, Brainy x Reader.

Word count: 2520.

“AAAAAAAAAAH!” You yell when you realize, and you look at Kara on the other side rushing to open your lab door to understand why you’re yelling. “DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR!”

You look at the clothes they put next to you on the floor and sigh. They are not going to fit your very big and masculine body. And oh no, you have that between your legs.

“What’s wrong with your voice?” You hear Lena’s voice from the other side and look at Kara lowering her glasses. Oh no. You cover your very strange new body part, without touching it, and it’s Kara’s turn to yell.

“She’s a boy!” Kara screams covering her eyes. “My beautiful, beautiful baby girl is a boy now!”

“AND SHE’S NAKED!” You yell at them.

They all have different expressions. Kara looks terrified, like she just saw someone dying. Alex is laughing so hard next to them. Brainy looks like he’s doing some calculation to see where it all went wrong, and Lena is just shocked.

“Can someone get me some clothes?” You beg, trying not to look down at yourself.

“Go buy her something.” Lena says handing Kara her card. Kara flies away and comes back not long later with some bags.

“I’m going in.” She announces, like she’s going into a war, and you hide yourself behind a chair, like she couldn’t see more if she wanted to. “Oh, Rao. My poor little daughter.”

“Can you just toss me the bags and turn around?” You ask and she does exactly that. You’re into boy’s clothes in no time. “Ok, I’m decent.”

“Ok, ok. No need to freak out. We can reverse this.” Kara says and you look at her. She is clearly freaking out. She must be talking to herself.

“Yeah. Sure hope so.” You go to your lab door and open to everyone on the other side.

“My baby.” Lena touches your face, with tears on her eyes. “Oh no, you have a beard now.”

You touch your face and feel hair on your chin. This is worse than being a baby. Much, much worse.

“No.” You feel tears coming up. You’re the largest, tallest person in the room, and yet you feel so tiny and small and sad! “Mommy.” You turn to Kara. “I have a beard.”

“Oh, my poor sweet girl.” You have to bend yourself to fit into her arms, and it is still weird.

“I should’ve stayed a baby. Why are our lives so weird?” You mumble between your tears and feel Kara’s hand easing up your tense shoulders.

“We’ll figure this out, my love.” She passes her thumb on your forehead, then kisses it. It’s instinct, getting your bangs out of the way, before kissing your forehead. They’ve done it all your life, except now you don’t have bangs. You barely have hair if you’re being honest.

“You know what? You look handsome as a boy.” Aunt Alex jokes and you roll your eyes at her. “What should I call you? What name would you like to have if you were a boy?”

“Well, I would very much like not to be a boy right now!” You wipe your tears but see on her face that she’s trying to ease the mood. So you lean into it, otherwise you might just cry non-stop until you’re back into your old self. “But for now, just call me…” You look around trying to think. “Brainiac 6!”

“That’s funny.” But Brainy doesn’t look amused. “As a matter of fact, there is a Brainiac 6 in the family. I’m not quite sure you would like him.”

“Oooh, family drama!” Alex jokes and you smile.

“Who would think Coluans had such a dramatic background?” You add.

“Everyone?” Brainy misses the sarcasm on your voice, making you and Alex laugh harder.

“Would the three of you stop being funny and transform my babygirl back into a girl?” Lena asks. The three of you lower your heads, feeling embarrassed that Lena had to scold you. You all turn back to the computer and the alien tech in front of you.

“Oh no!” You look at the name on your phone, currently ringing. “It’s my girlfriend! I can’t pick up!” You give your phone to Kara. “Here, you answer!”

“Me?” She holds your phone like it’s a bomb in her hands. “Why me?”

“Because I can’t talk to her with a man’s voice, and if I don’t answer she’ll worry. So just make something up!”

“Then have Lena answer!” She tries to pass the phone to Lena, who ignores it.

“Momma, please!”

“Oh boy.” Kara complains, accepting the call, and slowly putting the phone on her ear, like it’s about to explode. “Oh, hi Maya. It’s, um, it’s Mrs. Danvers! So sorry, she can’t talk right now. No, no, she’s fine. She’s just…” She looks around trying to come up with a lie. “Grounded!” She yells, and you furrow your eyebrows at her. “Yeah, I-I had to ground her, ‘cause she…” Kara is hyperventilating in front of you. “Did something bad. Anyways, I had to take her phone away, so you won’t be able to talk to her for a while? I don’t know how this thing works, but yeah. Ok, have a nice day! Bye!”

“Really? You grounded me?” You take the phone from her hands and put it back in your pocket. “Couldn’t have thought of a more believable lie?”

“It’s believable!” Kara says, getting an eyebrow rise from everyone in the room except Brainy.

“Hardly.” He says, instead. “It’s 10% believable. If you had, however, said that Lena was the one who did the grounding, the lie would’ve been 85% believable.”

“Whatever.” Kara huffs upset, crossing her arms. “I’m so going to ground you someday just to shock everyone.”

“Mhm, honey. Sure you will.” Lena shushes her, and you turn your face to the other side to laugh at her. Kara is such a dork.

You’ve been at it for a while now. Brainy seems to have understood the logic of the alien tech, and then misunderstood it a few times by now. You also don’t have any idea of what was done and how the hell you were turned into a freaking boy.

“I need, um, help.” You whisper to Kara and point to your new private part with your head. She looks down on it with furrowed eyebrows.

“Can’t help with that.” Kara tries to move away from you, and you hold her arm, pulling her back to where you’re standing.

“How do I pee with this thing?” You whisper, terrified someone else might be able to hear you.

“You hold it, aim, and shoot.”

“Are you sure you’re not thinking about a gun?” Kara holds her laugh at that and pulls Lena until she is in front of you.

“Ask your mom, I have to be anywhere, but here.”

“What’s wrong?” Lena asks and you look down on your body. Why does it feel so weird to talk to Lena about that? Maybe you should just google it.

“Besides the fact that I’m a boy now? Nothing. I’m fine. It’s fine.” You walk backwards, cursing Brainy for messing with the alien tech and not being able to bring you back.

It’s late at night when they all decide they are done for the day. You try to protest, spending another day on a boy’s body sounds terrifying, but Alex and Brainy don’t give in and Lena looks scared to touch the tech that wiped her memory. You also think it’s best if Kara doesn’t try anything. So you accept your fate and go home.

“It’s not that bad.” Kara says, lifting your chin up, and you roll your eyes at her. “It could be worse.”

“How? I look like a blonde version of Superboy.”

“Good thing your girlfriend is pansexual!” Kara smiles at you, trying to find the silver line. There is none.

“She’s not going to see me like this! I don’t even want to see myself like this. I have been wanting to go to the bathroom for hours now, and there’s no way I’m going to shower with this whole thing happening down there.”

“Just tuck in and sit.” Lena says coming into the living room and you nearly vomit at the thought.

“Ok, I don’t want to know how you know that.” Kara says and you hold your laughter.

“It makes way more sense than ‘hold, aim and shoot’.”

“What do you think it is? A gun?” Lena asks and you point at her with a victorious smile on your face.

“That’s what I said!”

Lena and her impressive power of reading your mind.

Turns out peeing is not as bad as you thought, at least not now that Lena told you that you don’t have to touch it, and you can sit down while doing so. Still, you don’t shower. That’s next level weird and you’re not ready for it yet.

It’s morning and you’re in the kitchen with your moms and it almost feels like your typical routine. It’s only when you talk and your voice startles them, that you realize none of this is normal. You can’t wait until you’re out of this body.

“Alex said she and Brainy are on their way to L Corp for an early start. Do you mind going there and letting them in your lab?” Kara asks and you stand up right away.

“Are you kidding? Do I mind? I might kiss them when I get there!” You rush to the door, ready to fly away. The good thing about being a boy is that you don’t have to hide your secret identity. This might as well be one.

You open the door and look at Maya on the other side. You see her finger hovering the bell like she was just about to ring it.

Oh no, this can’t be happening! Maya is not supposed to be here! She is not supposed to see you like this! No one is supposed to see you like this.

“Hi.” You try, making your voice sound lower than it already is. Which is damn stupid because she never even heard this voice before.

“Hey! I’m-”

“Maya, yeah, I-I know.” You blink at her while she looks at you very confused. Her eyebrows are pinched together and she’s biting her lower lip. “Oh!” You scratch the back of your head. “I’m-um-I’m, you know it’s a long story. But I’m-”

“She’s my-I mean-he.” Kara looks at you with wide eyes. “He is my nephew! Yeah. Jon Kent.”

“Oh, right. Hi, it’s nice to meet you.” Maya raises her hand, and you grab it, giving the weirdest handshake in history.

“I’m sorry to say that your girlfriend is still pretty much grounded.” Kara says, giving Maya a smug smile. “Because you see, I can ground her too! It’s not just Lena! I’m strong enough to do so and I know it sounds surprising but-”

“You know, I don’t think she is surprised.” You stop her, before she blows this for you. “She grounded her own daughter. How crazy, right!”

“Yeah. Wild.” Maya laughs with you. You see a little tinkle in her eyes and you’re almost sure she can see right through your manly body. “I just stopped by to give her this.” She hands Kara a bag with a smile. “I’ll see her when the grounding is over!”

“Which, by the way, I don’t know when that will be. Because I’m still pretty mad at her.” You look at Kara, looking everything but mad, and you sigh.

“Nice to meet you, Maya!”

“Nice to meet you, Jon.” She narrows her eyes at you. “Jon Kent.”

You feel like the collar on your shirt is suddenly too tight around your neck. You try to breathe, but why is the air of the world suddenly gone?

“See you later, Mrs. Danvers.” Maya shrugs and turns around. You’re almost breathing again when you hear. “Tell my girlfriend I’ll wait for her.”

You and Kara look at each other with wide eyes and mouth agape.

“Will do!” Kara says, waving at Maya. “This can’t get any worse, right?” Kara whispers through her smile while still waving at Maya who is not even looking at both of you anymore.

“Sure it can. Just give yourself a minute.” You pat her back and get inside the house. “Why did you tell her I was Jon? What will happen when the real Jon Kent comes to visit?”

“Well, I don’t know! I’m not good at lying on the spot. Neither are you, by the way! You looked like you were about to combust into flames!”

“Next time, I’ll just ask mom! At least she can lie better.” You point at Lena, who agrees with her head without looking at you.

“Yes, Luthors are great at lying and, the ones who are blessed with, also have great hair.” She smiles looking up and gives you and Kara a few minutes to recover from the burst of laughter. “Can we go now?”

“Only if you tell Alex that joke.” Kara agrees and Lena smiles, much too content with herself.

You get to your lab faster than Kara and Lena, and at the same time Brainy and Alex get there. Brainy thinks he’s got it, so you stay by his side for moral support.

You hear a click on your back, and you look behind you to see aunt Alex with her phone pointed at you.

“Jamie was curious.” She explains and you roll your eyes. “Can you turn to me so I can send one of your face?”

“Are you guys serious right now?” You ask and she shrugs.

“It’s not everyday you get turned into a boy, kiddo!” She jokes and you turn to the camera and give her your best smile. She sends the picture to Jamie and giggles at her phone. “Kelly and Jamie said you’re a catch!”

“Ugh. Go faster Brainy!”

Lucky for you, he indeed knows how to reverse it. Or he looks like he knows. You guess you’ll see. Kara and Lena get there, and you feel confident in trying now.

“Should we leave the room?” Kara asks, and Brainy denies with his head.

“I believe I mastered a way of only affecting the man in the room, so you three can stay and I’ll step outside for a minute. Alex?” He calls and she comes closer. “Just press this when I’m out of the room.”

“Got it.” She gives him two thumbs up, and you watch Brainy making his way out of the room. “Ready, babyboy?”

“Ugh, just go on with it already.” You beg and it doesn’t take her much more to press the button Brainy told her.

The room flashes blue, and you stand in front of a mirror excitedly. You see your image changing from boy to girl and you almost jump in excitement.

“YES! IT WORKED!” You yell, so damn happy you actually jump and squeaky. “Guys! I’m me again!”

You turn around to look at Kara, Lena and Alex.

“AAAAAH!”

“WHAT!”

“What the actual FUCK!”

Notes:

Another funny prompt by @oncemoonie I’m having way too much fun with this series.

#supergirl #kara danvers #supercorp #supercorpfamily #lena luthor #supercorp daughter #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp fanfic #lena x reader #alex danvers #reader insert

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onlymexsarah · 4 years ago

Text

Promise pt. 5 || Kaz Brekker

Summary: When the life of Kaz is threated by her presence, she had to make a crucial decision that will bring misunderstanding among the two of them. Now that he has his Fire Girl, will he be able to keep her, or Dirtyhand will mess everything up?

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x grisha!Reader

Warning: angst, Kaz being Dirtyhands for ten minutes straigh, spoiler of Six of Crows, my english.

A/N: Thank all of you for the comments, the likes and the shares. I didn't expected that this little idea would have captured your attention, really you made my writing more enjoyable and easy. I'm so sorry if I'm late but I've been sick these days and I couldn't finish the chapter :( there are a lot of things that I want to tell you, see you at the end of the chapter ;)

PT. 1 - PT. 2 - PT. 3 - PT. 4

MAIN MASTERLIST

Few days passed with the girl lying on her bed recovering from the wound that the fight gave her.

When she opened her eyes after have fainted in Kaz's arms, fear had been the first to come to visit her. Fear of being already tied at some bed on a ship, sold at the Shu that would have been more than happy to make experiment on her. She was scared that the temptation must have been too much for Kaz Brekker to have such a value grisha in his hands, but then she noticed she was in her room at the Slat and a rush of tiredness hit her making her sleep again.

The other times she opened her eyes someone among Jesper, Inej and Wylan was always at her side, changing the bandage and bringing her food.

Inej told her that her father, Jan Van Eck, was now aware that she was part of the Dregs, and she was under Kaz Brekker's protection. Everyone was aware she was a grisha, but neither Jesper and Inej seemed to mind her lie, maybe because they had secrets too, she though.

A morning a letter came for Kaz, a letter from her father.

Mister Brekker

we never had the occasion to meet, and you'll agree with me when I say that I wish to keep things like this. Voice is spread that you have my beloved daughter with you. I hope you understand that she is a danger for this city. I've sent her away many years ago with the only interest of protecting Kerch from her, but I see that I could have done things in a better way.

It is as a father that I ask you to bring her to me so that I can repair my mistakes. She is a danger for all of us if not under control, Mister Brekker, and I am sure you saw it yourself last night. She has to face a trial for her crimes and be sent where she can't be a danger for anyone anymore. If she doesn't come back in seven days, I should consider you and your Dregs as her accomplices, planning to attack Ketterdam and all Kerch using her power.

Surely a smart men as yourself doesn't want those kind of problems.

Hope to see my city safe again,

Jan Van Eck.

Inej had brough the letter at her in the afternoon, and in the evening the grisha girl was already planning her escaping from Ketterdam for the third time in her life.

She didn't want to leave Wylan, hell she had promised him they wouldn't split up ever again, but if her plan worked then he would have been able to follow her after few months. If the Van Eck siblings moved together they would have caught too much attention, and they had to do everything in secrets.

Wylan tried to convince her to stay. He was sure that Kaz would have helped her, Wylan was sure that Kaz Brekker would have sealed all Ketterdam to keep her save, and even if as her brother he didn't like her closeness with the Bastard of the Barrel, he couldn't deny that it was useful.

"I'm putting all of you in danger just staying here. If I go away father will have nothing to threat you with." she said putting her clothes in her bags. Seven days, she couldn't give her father the time to close all the harbours in Kerch. If she wanted to go she had to do it as soon as possible.

"Talk to Kaz! Let see what he says, please." begged Wylan grabbing her hands in his to stop her.

She looked in his beautiful blue eyes and saw hope. "You really think Kaz has the power to keep me here?"

Her brother smirked. "I think Kaz would tear apart this city to keep you save. Talk to him, keep your options open."

Dirtyhands would never fight a battle where he couldn't win money, but Y/n was willing to try. That night after dinner she decided she would speak with Kaz and see if he was willing to keep her.

"Let see what the great Kaz Brekker think about it." she sighed putting her arm around Wylan's shoulder and walking downstair where their dinner waited them.

Kaz Brekker sat in his office, in his gloved hands the red handkerchief and Jan Van Eck's letter. Before that morning the death of Van Eck had been one of the many he wanted to deal with for what he had done to his Fire Girl, but now his death had taken a shape, colours and many details that Kaz's was adding one by one.

Brick by brick, Kaz would take all his enemies down, and Y/n was more than welcome to take her revenger with him.

He went downstair at the second floor walking toward Y/n's room. He wanted to check how she was, and speak with her about how she wanted to deal with her father. He didn't know if she wanted his actual death, but he was just fine with torture.

When he reached the door and looked inside his blood froze. All her things were packed in three bags, all her clothes were gone from her wardrobe and none of her objects were around the room. Neither the little portrait of she and baby Wylan that she kept on her bedside table before falling asleep.

She is leaving you.

These words felt like a stab in his chest, like someone had taken the oxigen from his lungs. Would she, leave him? Yes. Y/n would find a better life everywhere out Kerch, it was reasonable that she was already packing. When she wanted to leave? Where she wanted to go?

He knew nothing about it and Kaz Brekker always knew everything. Especially of what happened in his Slat. But this time the girl was leaving him, again, and she hadn't had talked with him about it. She hadn't advised him. Did you really think she was going to live this life just for you? For a man who can't even hold her hands without hyperventilate? A man who can't give her the love she deserve?

The fear he saw in her eyes when she saved his life with her power wasn't because she was feared of his rejection; she feared that he would have send her out of the Dregs, without protection and away from her brother.

He stormed back in his office, anger filled his boody and what else? Disappointment? Sadness? He was angry with himself because he had been a fool again. He had let someone playing with him again, that's what Y/n had been doing. She had been toying with him. She had made sure to have a safe place where live, a job and her brother beside her. Every little nice things she did for him was just to keep him close, to keep Dirtyhands at bay.

Like a fury he threw everything that was on his desk on the floor with his arms. Documents, the handkerchief, the letters, were all on the floor but he couldn't care less. She wanted to leave? Fine. Dirtyhands didn't care.

A known shiver crossed his spine before he heard a knock at his door.

"What?" he didn't look up when the girl entered, too focus on something in the drawers of his desk.

"Wow, and I though to be the one who had a bad day." she joked looking the mess at his feet.

He didn't smile, or smirked. He kept his eyes on something she coudn't see. "What bussiness?"

What bussiness. Those words were the greeting in Ketterdam when two bussiness men met, but the grisha girl though that she and Kaz had passed that step. He must had really a bad day, and it could have been because of the letter...she though sadly.

Who knew what other problems her father had caused around Ketterdam to earn the attention of Kaz, to push him to hand her in his hands.

"My father...I don't want any of you to be in danger because of me." she said carefully walking closer to his desk. A glimp of red captured her eyes but the pain at her waist made her close her eyes for a second.

"I'd say it's too late for it, isn't it?" he asked coldly. She took a step behind, taken back by his coldness toward her. "You seemed to enoy keeping secrets, didn't you? Do you know how easier it would have been knowing about your being grisha months ago?"

That wasn't the boy who had brough her in his arms out from the gala. He wasn't the boy who fought beside her, spied beside her and saved her a couple of time.

"I am sorry, I truly am Kaz. But I know what is the price of being a grisha here...it wouldn't have been easy for me walking with a target on my back. I have done it my whole life."

He refused to look her in the eyes, and it was driving her crazy. Was he really that mad at her that he couldn't bare even the sight of her?

"You decided for yourself, a thing you tend to do often I see." she was sure he had never spoken to her like that, neither in his bad days, and Kaz Brekker had a lot of bad days. "You swore loyalty to the Dregs, to the Crows. If you can't trust us then you shouldn't stay here."

He had said the crucial words, and there was no going back. She wanted to leave, then he would make sure to let her believe that he didn't care. That he didn't care about not finding his hot coffee on his desk again, or that from that day on he wouldn't feel the shivers in his spine anymore. He pretended to not care about not seeing her anymore. She had left him once, he could survive it a second time.

"That's it? That's what you want?" she felt her voice dying in her throat. Was her mistake that big? You knew that once Kaz knew what you were he would have pushed you away like everyone else. 'No one will understand you as the other of your kind', Baghra once told her, but when she met Kaz she believed that her old teacher was wrong. Kaz Brekker had been her safe harbour when no one else would care about her, was she so easily replaceable for him?

"You would have leave anyway at some point, you said it yourself the first time we met at the Club. Today, tomorrow, in five years...I don't see the difference." he shrugged like he didn't care.

He doesn't, her mind reminded her.

"Alright then...I don't want to be of any trouble to you anymore..." she whispered with her hands behind her back. She hated how little she felt, but he was sendind her away. Kaz Brekker, the boy she'd die for. The boy who had let her felt hope again after years, the boy who made her laugh even when he surely didn't mean it. The boy in who she was willing to put the most important years of her long life, that boy was sending her away without looking back.

"Then go." he said fixing his eyes in hers. She could feel the sharpness of his eyes cutting her chest.

"Fine, then I'll just-" she stopped talking when her eyes landed on the red thing she had seen before. A red handkerchief. Her feet moved on their own will. Before she could register what was happening she had the red handkerchief in her hands, her eyes fixed on the three letters on it. W. V. E.

"Y/n don't-" Kaz stood up trying to stop her but it was too late.

"Why do you have my brother's hand-" she was confused, but then her eyes raised to the boy in front of her. His brown eyes, his dark hair and pale skin, and in a second her mind brough her a memory.

The little boy smiled standing before her. He was at the same height of her belly, but his eyes seemed older.

"I have still things to do, and people I need to find. " the last words said with rage.

"Take care of yourself, boy. Don't let the bad days winning your good ones, there is always light at the end of a tunnel; you only have to walk a little more."

And then another.

"What is you name little boy?"

"K-..." he stopped for a long moment thinking about it. He looked the girl beside him and even if he wanted to trust her he just couldn't after what happened. "Jordie..."

"J-Jordie?" she asked, her voice trembling. "I-...You are not him, aren't you?" he stayed silent, looking her like a statue. "You would have told me if you were him...Kaz you are not the little boy I met eight years ago, right?!"

Her voice raised squeezing the handkerchief in her right fit.

She saw him gulped before answering slowly. "Yes, I am."

She took two huge steps back breathing eavily. He had known me all along. "Why you've never said anything? That day when you approached me, you knew who I was and you offered me a...job..."

"Can you keep a secret?" she asked touching his shoulder with her own. The boy, whose name wasn't obviously Jordie, nodded looking her curiously. She smirked bringin her left hand on her right one and rotating them slowly. A flame came out from her right palm, little but still powerful; red and orange like the handkerchief she had given him before.

The boy's eyes shone marveled looking the flame on her palm. "You are a grisha!"

The truth hit her hard. She raised her eyes in his letting him see the betrayal. "You had always knew what I was. That's why you gave me the job...you didn't care that I was new, you didn't care that I was the girl you met when you was a child. You wanted an Inferni to work for you!"

Every words, every attention, every talk they shared were all lies. Nothing of what he said was true, Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason, he didn't need a reason to give a job to a girl new in town, but it was clear that Kaz Brekker always had a reason. She had been only too foolish to not understand everything before.

She thought she was good to keep a secret, but something like her power couldn't pass unnoticed to Kaz Brekker. She had been a fool to believe he didn't know about her power. It was the only reason he kept her in the Dregs since the beginning.

"An inferni would have been very useful, but you have proved to know how to do your job perfectly without your power. Now, if you want to go you are free to do so. Nothing bind you here." he said, his voice cold as death.

You bound me here, she wanted to shout. But it had been Kaz's plan all along. Making her believe she was different, making her believe he saw her.

"Nothing." she repeated before walking away from his office, leaving the boy alone with the loudly silent that filled the room, staring at the handkerchief that she let fall on the ground, the only thing that had always bound them.

***

The next morning Kaz woke up and knew immediately that something was wrong. He took his cane and walked downstairs to the kitchen where he heard people talking out loud.

"I swear Jesper, when I see him I-" Wylan stop talking in the exact moment Kaz stepped in the room. The red haired boy fixed his eyes on him and before he could understand what was happening Wylan was yelling at him with all the rage he felt. "How dare you coming here like nothing happened!?"

Jesper had to put his arms around Wylan's torso to keep him from throwing himself on Kaz. "Last time I checked this was my Slat."

"And you find amusing sending people away, don't you?" Wylan spoke spitting venom from his mouth. "She needed help and you turned your back at her!"

Now Kaz needed few minutes to make his brain, still sleepy, working to connect the dots. It was clear that Wylan was talking about his sister, who seemed to have played the victim with her own brother.

"If you want to know, merchling, she decided her will herself. She came to me to let me know she was leaving." Kaz shrugged walking toward coffee machine. He didn't have the strengh to face an angry boy if he wasn't properly awake.

"As hell she did. She came to ask you what to do and you sent her away." Kaz let his words running in his head for a while, studying them one by one.

He didn't..."When she came in my office she had already decided." he refused to tell them he had seen her bags ready in her room, he refused to let someone know he cared.

"No Kaz, she didn't." This time Inej spoke, he hadn't even noticed she was there. "She wanted to leave to protect you from her father, but Wylan convinced her to slow down and come to you to ask what to do."

No, no, it was not possible. "When she came in your office she hadn't decided yet. You gave her the answer, Kaz." Jesper spoke keeping his hands on Wylan's shoulders, who now was sat on a chair with his face in his hands.

I would have noticed if she was asking me what to do. She had her bags ready...she came to me to tell me...his thoughs were running wild inside his head.

"That's it? That's what you want?"

Kaz tried to put his thoughs together. He tried to find a logic of what had happened the night before.

"You had always knew what I was. That's why you gave me the job...you didn't care that I was new, you didn't care that I was the girl you met when you was a child. You wanted an Inferni to work for you!"

No, no, no. Everything was so wrong again. He though she was going to leave him and he had let her believe that he had used her all this time. He though she was leaving him...that was the only thing he had needed to loose his mind.

"You didn't know..." whispered Inej surprised.

Kaz couldn't trust his voice enough to not break in front of everyone so he just shoke his head slowly looking the Suli girl in the eyes.

"What have you done..."murmured Jesper rubbing his eyes with his hand. "Alright, if you hurry you should arrive before the schooner leaves."

"Fifth harbour?" Kaz asked with raspy voice.

"Yes! Go!" said the Zemeni boy excited. "I love a dramatic romance."

He didn't let him repeated twice, ready to run if he had to he walked toward the door when Wylan's voice stopped him.

"Brekker, bring her back." Please, was the word the boy let unspoken.

He nodded before running toward the harbour. He took just his cloat at the door, leaving his hat behind. He couldn't let her leave again. He had to arrive in time, and if he didn't he would have swim until he'd found himself on the schooner and ask sorry to her for his infinity dullness.

"Alright then...I don't want to be of any trouble to you anymore..."

She wasn't a trouble, he wanted to shout in the air. She had never been a trouble, he was the wrong one. He was the twisted, crooked, problematic who couldn't stop himself from hurt her everytime.

"My father...I don't want any of you to be in danger because of me."

Even when she was the one in danger, she would think about him first. He didn't see it last night, too focused on accusing her of betrayal. Betrayal of what? She hadn't broken any vows she made. She wasn't bind to him, she own him nothing and surely Ketterdam did nothing to earn her protection.

Since the first day she had stayed on her own will, she had stayed beside him even when he pushed everyone away. That's what got under his skin, her perseverence. She kept fighting for him, she kept seeing good in him and the only thing he had been capable of was making her feel used and unwanted.

He saw the harbour and he barely noticed that he hadn't used his cane. It would have just slowed me, he thought already searching his girl with the eyes.

He owed her an explanation, he owed her a lot of apologies, and then she would decide if she wanted to stay. Kaz swore to everyone who was listening that if Y/n chose to stay in Ketterdam with him, he would have made sure to be worth her choice. He would fight everyday to go trought his boundaries for her, with her. He would be the man she deserved.

"The schooner for Os Kervo." Kaz asked urgently to a man. He knew Y/n, she would find a safe home in Ravka at the Little Palace where the grisha were safe and strong.

"The first one left this morning at four bells, the next it's at the berth twenty-four, leaves in half bell." the man answered.

Kaz didn't think twice and ran toward the schooner with his heart in his throat. Please, saints if you exist make sure she hadn't already left.

He felt pathetic. Never in his life he had ever prayed, but he though that if it gave him a chance to see her again that it was worth a try.

He arrived at the schooner, but looking around he didn't see her. She must be already on board, he though and without difficulty he went on the ship.

There wasn't many people, but from what Kaz knew the grisha girl could have been already in her room and there was no way to find her before that schooner left.

He felt a shiver in his spine, telling him that she was close, but he didn't know where to look. Right, left, he looked everywhere. People around him looked him worried.

She can't be gone, he kept reapeting in his head like a mantra.

"Came here to bring me back to my father?" a voice said from above him. "How much did he offer to you? Must be a lot to affront a grisha alone."

His heart missed a beat and when he looked over his head he though he might start to believe in saints.

She was there, perched on one of the boom. Her hood was up hiding her face like she always did when she was out of their zone. She was a wanted grisha now, and he felt a grip on his heart at the though that she was used to that life of a runner.

You are not alone anymore, Fire Girl, he though vividly.

"I thought you had decided to leave..." he said. It didn't sound like an apologize at all...Damn Saints, there were a bilions things he wanted to say her, and yet his throat felt dry when he could talk.

"I did." her voice was sharped as a blade and cold as ice.

He gulped, I deserve this. "I know..." He had a flashback of their first conversation at the Crows Club, and cold shivers ran in his blood. I will not make the same mistake twice. "I should have told you who I was since the beginning."

"Maybe if I knew I didn't have to hide my power you could have had your personal inferni sooner." it was his fault. He had let her believe that he wanted her just for her power, but it wasn't true. Kaz Brekker kept her with the Dregs because he couldn't bare the though of her being hurt or threated.

"Could you get off from that boom? Please..." the last word burned in Kaz's throat like fire. It wasn't easy for him to say out loud his feelings, but he knew it would have been the only thing to make her stay. He owed her the truth.

She scoffed and jumped, landing in front of him with the lightness of a feather. Crossing her arms over her chest she studyed him from under her hood, waiting for him to speak first.

You want me sto stay, you have to say it, her posture told him.

"I saw your bags in your room, I though you wanted to leave me, the Dregs. I would understand if it what you wish, but you have to know that I was angry. Angry because I though you didn't trust me. You had just packed all your things without talking to me first, I though...I though you..." said those words Kaz brekker, a voice said in his mind. "I though you used me as a protection, nothing else. And when you showed up in my office I though you were going to say me you were leaving. No question, no mouners."

She stayed silent for a bit, surely surprised by his words. He couldn't see her whole face from his height, and he needed to use all his self control to not take it and push it down.

"The only reason I decided to leave was because my father knew about you. I knew he would have used you against me if I stayed, and I couldn't put you in danger just because I wanted to be selfish." her voice had softened a bit, but it was still sharp as she was ready for any attack from him. "Wylan convinced me that you would have helped me, that you would have been willing to fight for me. But when I come to you, I find Dirtyhands planning my departure. And what I find out? That you kept me under your roof just because you knew I was a grisha."

"It's not true." he stopped her firmly. "I knew you were a grisha, but never in my head I though about using you for your power."

"Then what other reason to keep the truth about our first meeting from me?"

Now it's the moment. Don't let your shame eat you alive, put yourself together and take your Fire Girl back.

"Because I was ashamed of the man I became. Because if you knew who I was you would have seen that the little boy you met eight years ago doesn't exist anymore. You would have seen that I failed you..." saying finally those words after a year left him lighter.

She gasped softly. It's not true, I can still see that little boy right in front me... "No, I failed you. You were a child Kaz, you had no faults. I should've stayed with you."

She could see the surprise on Kaz's face when she spoke those words. She had time to think that morning, at the little boy she left alone in the streets of Ketterdam. The boy who had kept her secrets all those years and never blackmailed her.

"I don't think something would have changed. I chose my path." he said with his raspy voice. How many nights he had dreamt about that moment? When he would finally speak with her, when the little boy and the Fire Girl would meet again.

"Becasue no one was there for you. Beccause you were alone. But if someone would have taken care of you, if someone would have showed you another way, maybe everything would have been different." maybe you would have been different.

She wasn't disappointed in what Kaz had became, she knew that everything he did it was to survive at the Barrel. She was proud that he had found the strengh to fight and live; Y/n would change nothing of the man she had in front of her.

The captain of the schooner announced that they were ready to leave and Y/n took a deep breath. "You should go..."

"Come with me." his mind, his rational part stopped working. There were nothing to brake his tongue. "Eight years ago you asked me if I wanted you to stay with me, and I said no. Today I'm asking you to stay in Ketterdam, with me, with the Crows. We cant-...I can't loose you. Not again."

Her heart started to beat faster like a roller coaster. Was Kaz Brekker the one who was talking in front of her? The Bastard of the Barrel was asking her to stay with him. You are going to put him in danger, a voice in her mind reminded her.

She looked Ketterdam behind him, as she could see her father's house.

Kaz saw the shift in her face's direction, and immediately understood what was thinking that mind of her. He rose a gloved hand in front of him taking her by surprise.

"If you wish to go to Ravka I will not stop you, but if you give me a chance I'll try everyday to be the man worth to stay by your side. And I promise you..." he took a step forward making her gasp. "I promise you we will take down everyone who threat us and we'll make them know the real meaning of the word suffer."

That's the Dirtyhands I fell for, she though smiling brightly. She took his hand firmly feeling his fingers closing around hers. "Just one condition." He raised an eyebrow to say 'continue please'. "Jan Van Eck is mine, and he's not going to die until I say so."

She knew that Kaz wasn't the only one who had changed in those years, and there were no reasons to hide it. The grisha girl who lived in the shadows and the little boy who was scared would never meet again, both had died when the world had turned its back to them. Both had raised like phoenix and became stronger.

"The deal is the deal, Fire Girl." he smirked walking with her toward the berth. The schooner was already leaving and there was a little void between the berth and the schooner, so Kaz squeezed her hand and they both jumped. When their feet touched the berth he didn't notice he was laughing with her. Her hood was over her forehead and he couldn't hold it anymore, he stood in front of her with the steady hands of a magician and gently lowered it, feeling the hurge to see her smile again. "No secrets anymore."

"No secrets anymore." she replied keeping her eyes in his.

It was their promise to start from the beginning. Their past was a beautiful story to remember, but they would fight for their future side by side, and little did she know that for all the time she hadn't spoken with Kaz Brekker, Bastard of the Barrel. But the boy in front of her, with the light of hope in his dark eyes was the normal, simple Kaz Rietveld.

A/N:OH MY GOODNESS WE ARE HERE! This is the end of the story of our lovely, brave Fire Girl and our little, cute Kaz. I think I can cry... This is the chapter that most I love of the series and I think you can see why! Writing it was so emotional and still so easy, I knew from the first moment how I wanted their story to end and how I wanted to write it. I have many ideas for a future book with those two idiots, but in the mean time...would you like a bonus chapter where we are gonna see how they're managing they're "relationship"? Maybe where he tells her his real name...👀 but now tell me, what was the part that you most liked? Would have you made the same decisions as them? MY CHAT AND REQUESTS ARE OPEN SOO I'm gonna wait you there ;)

p.s. : who recognize the scene from an old tv series for young I took ispiration for the fight and the departure? 👀

#kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x grisha #kaz brekker #the crows #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #matthias helvar #nina zenik #grishaverse #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone #six of crows imagine #six of crows #soc #crooked kingdom #imagine

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comfortwriting · 4 years ago

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Prompt 13 - G.W

Prompt 13: Tears streamed down your face

George Weasley x Fem Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, cock warming and swearing.

About: The Reader and George are dating and George keeps pranking her, one of his pranks embarrasses her and gets her into trouble, making her cry. The reader decides to break up with George as a prank but he takes it so seriously he does anything to get her back - when she tells him it was just a prank George storms off and then they have cute, cuddly slow sex.

Masterlist, Prompt List, Request Rules

Sitting in the cold and gloomy dungeon, you tried your best to concentrate on everything Snape was teaching but every now and then you swore you could feel something crawl from inside your shoes and up your leg.

Instead of making a scene or drawing attention to yourself, you ignored the crawling sensation, only for it to get worse. Squirming in your seat, you could hear quiet laughs from across the room.

Your boyfriend, George Weasley sitting next to his brother Fred and his best friend Lee, had his eyes locked on you, a playful grin spreading across his face.

“Don’t you dare.” you mouthed, glaring at him.

Being the girlfriend of one of the twins was all fun and games until you were the one in the line of fire. George would take it upon himself to prank you in the most cruellest ways, but he was pushing your boundaries today.

He knew how you felt about creepy crawly insects, you were terrified of them and they made you sick to your stomach - you and his younger brother Ron had that in common, especially when it came down to spiders.

“Miss Y/L/N.” Snape drawled, the whole class now staring at you.

You withdrew your focus from George and focused on your professor, his intense stare making you shrink in your seat.

“One more disruption from you and you will find yourself in my office tomorrow evening. Fifty points from Y/H.”

You bowed your head and stared at your empty cauldron and potions book, ignoring the stares and laughs from George.

The crawling sensation intensified and spread all over your neck and back, you reached back and pulled the centipede from your neck, realising what was crawling all over your body, you began to screaming and jump out of your seat - feeling the number of insects multiply the more you freaked out.

The nausea pooled in your stomach and you could feel bile piling up in your throat, your heart pounding, tears streamed down your face whilst you hyperventilated.

Snape’s furious expression burned into you, the whole class roaring with laughter and pointing at you, George instantly regretted what he had done, seeing you in such a distressed state wasn’t funny.

“I’ve had enough of you, Y/L/N.” Snape walked over to you and tapped his wand against your shoulder, permanently putting a stop to George’s little prank.

The centipedes and spiders went limp and fell to the floor.

The whole class fell silent, the only noises they could hear was you crying and Snape’s heavy breathing.

“Get out!” Snape raised his voice, surprising everyone as he wasn’t the type to shout.

Grabbing your potions book and clinging onto it for dear life, you rushed out of the cold dungeon, pushing past students in the hall.

“Whoever practiced that little experiment will find themselves in detention.” Snape stared at George, deducting points from Gryffindor House.

Still shaken up from potions yesterday, you stared at your plate of breakfast not wanting to make eye contact with anyone out of embarrassment.

George entered the Great Hall and ran over to you after you avoided him since Snape kicked you out, sitting next to you he tried to put his arm around you but you flinched.

“I’m so sorry my love.”

You shook your head “leave me alone, George. I’m bloody mortified and I’ve got detention now thanks to you!”

George frowned and tried to take hold of your hand, you pulled your hand away quickly and decided to give him a taste of his medicine.

“Can you stop trying to comfort me?” you snapped “I’m not your bloody girlfriend anymore, alright!”

George’s heart skipped a beat, his hands started sweating and a lump formed in his throat, tears pricked at his eyes.

“w-what?”

“I’m not your girlfriend.” you hissed “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

Standing up you grabbed your books and continued with your day, trying to ignore George the best that you could.

Throughout the day George kept trying to make things up to you, if you were struggling on a paper or didn’t have the right ingredients for your cauldron, you would suddenly have the answers you needed when you returned to you seat.

George tried to catch your gaze, trying to bewitch you with his loving and longing glances but you ignored them, shaking your head and laughing at him.

Scrubbing the large grimy cauldrons piled up in the dungeons without magic, George tried to speak to you every chance he could when Snape would get interrupted by other professors and students.

“Please take me back” he pleaded, wiping another cauldron clean “I said I was sorry and I’m doing everything I can to make it up to you.”

You bit your lip, you did feel bad for toying with him, especially after he got caught bothering the house-elves for your favourite treats by Mr Filch.

You blew a strand hair out of your face, breathless and tired from all the scrubbing and elbow grease.

You sighed and stopped scrubbing, facing George. “It was a bloody joke.”

George’s soft face dropped and turned hard “you what?”

“I didn’t actually break up with you, it was a prank.” You admitted.

George stopped wiping the cauldron and stared at you, he shook his head and stood up.

“I can’t believe you, you rotten git.”

Snape walked back to the desk and tried to stop George from leaving as he pushed past him.

“Leave now and you’ll be here again tomorrow evening, with an additional one hundred points deducted from Gryffindor.”

“Shove off” George replied, storming off.

You felt a heavy weight sit on your chest, feeling guilty for hurting his feelings.

Turning around you continued to clean up, working twice as hard to fill in for George’s absence, Snape’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.

George laid in his bed, messing around with his wand.

Sneaking through the dorm rooms, you finally reached George’s room and sat on the end of his bed.

“I’m sorry.” You said softly, stroking his soft hair.

“It’s fine.” He answered sternly, turning around to face you. “This doesn’t make us even though.”

You cocked an eyebrow at your stubborn boyfriend. “Will this?”

Climbing on top of him, your lips softly grazed against him, kissing him softly. Your hands got tangled in his hair, the kiss getting heavier and sloppier.

George’s hands quickly landed on your waist, messing with the hem of your skirt. Your hands moved away from his hair and down to the buttons on his shirt, undoing his tie and little buttons.

The room became more cold as you removed more layers of your clothes, George peppered kisses all down your neck and sucked on your collarbone, causing you to moan.

The two of you now naked, pulled the covers over you. George’s long salvia coated digits rubbed between your folds, then circling over your clit before he started to finger you teasingly.

You took his hard cock into your hand and pumped gently, his pre-cum leaking out over the head.

George bit his lip and removed his fingers now coated in your juices, letting go of his cock, George pulled you on top of him and he lined up his hard cock to your entrance.

“Ready when you are” he breathed out, smirking up at you.

Biting your lip, you blushed and slowly sat down on his cock. The feeling of George filling you up caused two of you to moan out in pleasure, your sex face turning George on even more.

“You’re so bloody beautiful.” He moaned.

Riding George slowly, the room filled with your moans, one of your hands resting against his cheek - tracing circles into his skin with your thumb. You moved your thumb over his bottom lip, stroking it softly before George took it into his mouth, sucking softly.

George rocked your hips back and forth with his grip on you, moaning as you arched backwards and picking up your pace, his big cock rubbing against your G-Spot.

“You feel so good” you moaned out.

George blushed and quickly pulled you down to kiss him, he slowly pushed you off him and pulled you to lie down next to him.

“turn around” he ordered.

Turning around, your back facing him, George rubbed his cock teasingly against your folds before pushing himself inside you, his arms wrapped around you.

“feels so much closer like this.” he breathed out, kissing your neck, moaning softly.

George’s cock twitched inside of you with every thrust, causing your walls to tighten around him. His warm embrace made you feel safe and warm. Continuing to fuck you, you pushed your lower half out even more, crying out with each slam.

“I’m so close.” the heaviness forming within your lower stomach.

George grunted “me too love, cum all over my cock.”

Letting go and releasing all of the building pressure from inside of you, George also released inside of you, both of you a hot, worn out, sweaty mess.

You tried to pull away from him but he stopped you, still inside of you.

“Don’t move” he breathed out “I’m enjoying the cuddle”

You giggled and kissed his arms that were locked around you.

“Are we even now, Georgie?” you asked.

You could tell a grin had spread across his face “I reckon we are, yeah.”

#george weasley #george wealsey x reader #george wealsey imagine #george weasley fanfiction #George Weasley one shot #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #Weasley #fred and goerge weasley #fred and george #hogwarts #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #Harry Potter fanfic #fluff #angst #light smut #smut

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fanfictionwritingoddity · 4 years ago

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙤𝙮’𝙨 𝙆𝙧𝙮𝙥𝙩𝙤𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚: 𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙁𝙤𝙪𝙧

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.7𝙠 𝐭𝐰: 𝙮𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙮, 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙢𝙪𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙖𝙣𝙭𝙞𝙚𝙩𝙮, 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙨𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙨𝙪𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚, 𝙝𝙮𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙠𝙞𝙙𝙣𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠: 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙞𝙩 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙜𝙤 𝙬𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙜 - 𝙝𝙪𝙙𝙨𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙤𝙧 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 | 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

( 𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎!𝙾𝚒𝚔𝚊𝚠𝚊 𝚃𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚞 𝚡 𝙵𝚎𝚖!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 )

You nervously tapped your pencil eraser against the top of your desk, ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Matsukawa was never late. Not without texting you, that is. In all of your two years of friendship, he had always made sure to message you and make you aware when he wouldn’t be in or on time. He knew you had anxiety, and thus made sure to do all he could to keep you comfortable.

It was hard to resist the urge to glance at your phone screen, but somehow you managed. You knew that if Issei texted you, the screen would light up and a small ping would resound from your device. The ringing of the next class bell startled you, so much so that you actually dropped your phone. Your heart pounded in your chest as you attempted to simultaneously calm down and pick up the electronic.

Before you could reach it, a pale hand shot out, gently lifting it from the floor and setting it onto the desk. You blinked in surprise, trying to figure out who had helped you without seeming like some creep. When you heard the slight laughter, you jumped, quickly straightening your posture.

Oikawa was standing in front of you, his umber eyes flitting around the room in confusion. You wondered why he had arrived at your classroom, before remembering the bell. Ah, that’s right, it’s lunch time. He must have come here to see Matsukawa so they could walk together to lunch. Expression twisting into one of anxiety, you looked at the phone now sitting on your desk, realizing the screen was slightly cracked. There were still no notifications.

“Y/N, do you have any idea where Matsukawa is?”

You weren’t sure how much longer you would be able to hold it together, and opted to turn and pretend to search through your bag after shaking your head in denial. Tooru frowned, scratching the back of his neck a few times.

“Do you?”

There was a slight crack in your voice, your throat constricting uncomfortably when you spoke.

“I might,” he muttered, looking off to the side in thought. You leapt up at this, grabbing the captain’s free hand and clasping it tightly.

“Is he alright? Did something happen?”

Oikawa’s heart sped up due to the proximity and the way your smaller hands squeezed around his. God, you were wonderful. But he couldn’t break the act just yet. Feigning deep thought, he took a few moments to answer, narrowing his eyes as the seconds passed.

“Well, last night he told me some things… I tried to check up on him but he wouldn’t answer any texts.”

One glance at your forlorn and let down expression was enough to make the setter aware of his victory.

“There’s a lot to explain, but I think I might know where he is. I’m going to be busy all day, so if you’d like, maybe wait for me and after practice I’ll walk you home and explain. Is that alright?”

Your nodding was so eager that Tooru couldn’t help the smile breaking onto his lips. It quickly fell when the reality of the situation weighed in on his mind; you were acting so eager to hear about a bastard who didn’t even deserve the time of day. Well, who hadn’t deserved the time of day. Luckily he wouldn’t be bothering you anymore. Your love made sure of it, of course.

The wait was tortuous. The entire day seemed to last for months, hours turning into days and minutes into hours. You had asked around, wondering if Issei had spoken to anyone besides Oikawa last night. The verdict was negative, even the Seijoh volleyball team didn’t know what was going on. It wasn’t like him to miss practice, much less without a warning or explanation.

The pit in your stomach eagerly grew with each passing class. By the time school was over and you were left to wait for practice to end, it weighed heavier than any burden you had ever shouldered alone. There had never been a reason for you to make friends besides Issei and Kaori, but Kaori was busy with club activities so you were unable to vent to her. When you explained the situation she had completely understood, shooing you away with promises to make an excuse for you.

Unfortunately, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t focus on your homework. A voice in the back of your mind was screaming that something was so terribly wrong. Had he gotten hurt? Did the girl he walked with do something to him? Or did he just end up staying over at her house? You never did get her name, so for all you know she could also be absent. It wouldn’t be out of character for Matsukawa to skip a day to help someone he cared about.

On days when you had been sick and your parents had been too busy to take care of you, Issei had pretended to be under the weather so he could sneak over to your house and help nurse you back to health. But even then, he would explain the situation to his teammates, and they would all cover for him. So, if that was the case now, why hadn’t he said anything? Why did he only tell Oikawa?

It just didn’t seem to add up. Matsukawa was closer to a few other guys on the team than he was to Tooru, so why was he the only one who knew what was going on?

Shaking your head, you patted your cheeks a few times to calm yourself down. You couldn’t let your overthinking get the best of you. Oikawa would never lie to you like that. He was a playboy, sure, and liked to flirt with literally everyone, but that didn’t make him someone who would hurt your best friend. Here you were again, letting your thoughts get away from you and become overpowered by anxiety.

While you were stuck in your own mind, struggling with your intuition and logic, volleyball practice had promptly wrapped up. When the sound of shouted calls and balls hitting the court ceased, you looked up from the question you had been staring at and noticed that most of the guys had made their way to the locker room to grab their bags. You stood up, eagerly stuffing the papers you hadn’t made any progress on into your bag as you almost tripped over your feet running down the staircase from the stands.

Oikawa was waiting for you at the bottom, one hand on his hip and the other slinging his volleyball bag over his shoulder. He watched you almost stumble down the steps, letting out a soft chuckle whilst you scampered over to him. Soft puffs of breath left your mouth and adrenaline coursed through your veins. You were finally going to find out what happened to Issei!

“Follow me, cutie.”

The rest of the team had already left, and since you were the last out it was your job to turn the lights off. The gym slowly dimmed, row after row of lights shutting off. Tooru started with the bright LED fixtures closest to you, flicking the light switches one by one. Eventually, he stopped, leaving one light on. This action confused you, so you drew your eyes away from the ceiling to his face, bewilderment written all over your countenance.

Tooru was tempted to turn every light off. Would you cling to him in fear? Would you scream? Or would you find comfort in the pitch black, while he broke the news about your ‘friend’.

No, as much as he wanted to, Oikawa knew it would be much more enjoyable and satisfying to see your face. He wanted to watch your expression crumble while pretty tears of disbelief gathered in the corners of those beautiful eyes. The setter wanted to see how you shook and trembled.

He wanted to see every single side of you.

“Y/N, Matsukawa… he’s…”

God, he hated the way you perked up when he uttered that stupid name.

“He’s dead.”

Your features immediately fell, eyelids fluttering open and shut as you tried to comprehend the words that just left Tooru’s mouth. Your mind raced at the speed of light, questions tumbling out of your mouth with a broken and unsettled tone.

“What do you mean? How do you- how do you even know? Is this some prank? Where the hell is Isse-”

Just as his name was about to leave your mouth, Oikawa covered your lips with his palm. There was a smoldering hatred in his eyes, one of pure malice and discontent. The look alone sent shivers down your spine, leaving your knees trembling as tears began to blur your vision. What was happening? Why was he doing this? You tried to make space between you, but eventually ran out of room as your back hit the hard wall.

“I know because I killed him myself. And you know I’m not one to half-ass something like that, right princess?”

The word betrayal was an understatement to the immense pain you felt. The tears that had been gathering in your glossy eyes spilled over, slipping down your cheeks and onto Tooru’s hand. You looked so adorable like this, he thought, your protests muffled as you weakly tried to shove him away.

“It’s not my fault, you’re the one who liked him in the first place. If you didn’t fall in love with him, he would still be alive now.”

This was… your fault?

“You know, I’ve liked you for two years. Every time I saw your adorable face in the stands at our games, I pushed myself past my limits in the hopes that it was me you came to see. I never imagined in my wildest dreams that you would show up in my little fanclub.”

The tremors shaking your body were so violent you were having trouble breathing. You were starting to hyperventilate. Desperately clawing at the hand covering your mouth, you tried your best to steady your hand enough to dig your nails in, but the attempt was to no avail.

“Imagine my pain when you told me you liked someone else. Let alone, someone so unworthy of your attention. That hurt like hell, doll.”

His tone was nothing but a growl as he pressed harder against your mouth, stifling your breath. The world around you began to fade to black, noir clouds creeping across your vision as your grip on his arms lessened. Eventually, you passed out, collapsing forward into Oikawa’s waiting arms.

“Hm, I guess you really are my kryptonite. Good thing I have you all to myself now, right?”

𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 : @kray-dragon , @lagoonsmainacc , @steampunkhell

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alpacaparkaseok · 4 years ago

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Lost & Found - 7

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, abandonment

Word Count: 4.1k

a/n: as always, THANK YOU for reading! Thank you for reblogging (which is literally every author’s dream), liking, commenting (I DIE OVER YOUR COMMENTS/ASKS, THEY ARE THE HIGHLIGHT OF MY DAY) and just reading in gereral! Enjoy!

Chapter 7. Lie to Me

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Jimin finds himself robbed of breath as he watches that red thread dancing in the wind, the twin to his own. His heart is unsure of whether or not it wants to beat like a drum or stop altogether, leaving him clutching his chest.

Slowly, so slowly that it almost hurts, he brings his eyes up to the girl’s face. Only catching her side profile, he can’t help but be taken by surprise.

Soft is the first word that comes to mind when he catches sight of her eyes, her cheeks and nose. Her lips are pursed from where she must be biting them, making him emit a choked sigh. Her hair, falling around her shoulders, is deep with color.

He watches with no small amount of devastation as her eyes land on Elle’s figure, the cat already bounding down the stairs to greet her in the street. Coming to a stop, the woman crouches down and sets her groceries beside her. She reaches out to scratch Elle’s ears, and Jimin is unable to do anything but watch as those pursed lips ease out into a soft, beautiful smile.

It’s a smile, Jimin realizes, that he was meant to wake up to for the rest of his life.

Stuck in his trance, Jimin sees the woman pull her phone out and type out a quick message. Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she grabs her groceries once again and begins to trek up the stairs.

Like the sound of a nail being hammered into his coffin, his phone pings with a text notification. He doesn’t look at it just yet, refusing to accept the reality. He keeps his eyes glued to the girl, his heart throwing itself at his ribs with undeniable vigor.

Step.

She turns to head up to the top right-hand apartment, Elle leading the way.

Step.

Now she’s fishing keys out of her pocket, saying something to Elle as the cat leaps through the window with ease.

Step.

She’s pressed up close to the door now, fumbling a little with the lock before the door gives way.

Step.

Making sure she has everything, the girl does a quick inventory of her bags, giving Jimin a complete view of her face for a split second before stepping inside.

Close.

The minutes tick by, but Jimin remains frozen in place, staring at that door with the number 6 hanging from it. The inside of his head turns into a hurricane, not giving him enough time to batter down the hatches before everything comes pouring down. Bringing a shaking hand to his mouth, Jimin finally tears his gaze from the door as it all becomes too much and the tears begin to stream down his face.

It’s there, quietly sobbing in his car, that Jimin realizes that he will be forever haunted by the image of his soulmate. And it’s there, one hand wringing the steering wheel while the other tries to silence his cries, that he curses the cruelty of fate.

Cutting the thread wasn’t enough, he knows that now. Just because his soulmate - Jolie is his soulmate’s name, how can a name be so beautiful? - cut the thread, doesn’t mean that she stopped fate. There are other common threads that bind them together.

Who could have expected it to come in the form of a cat?

Hands shaking violently, Jimin turns the key in the ignition. The bawdy tune on the radio is turned off the instant it comes on, and he’s left staring at his phone that sits atop his console.

Closing his eyes and grabbing it, he does his best to control his breathing. With tears still escaping his eyes, he looks at the message that arrived what feels like eons ago.

Jolie (Elle): Thanks for dropping Elle off! I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience for you.

Jimin is at a complete loss for words, so he does the only thing he can.

He calls Namjoon.

✂

“Did you enjoy your night out?”

Elle preens on the kitchen counter, looking like she definitely did. I shoo her away, setting the groceries down and immediately beginning to put them away.

“Well, I’m glad. Good to know I was worried sick over nothing.” When Elle doesn’t begin to miraculously speak, I sigh. “You know, I went and saw that therapist today. The one my boss talked about a couple weeks ago.”

I pause for a moment, staring at the can of soup in my hands. Reading the nutrition label but hardly seeing it at all. It’s still early in the day, but I find myself already at a loss as to what I should be doing with the rest of the day.

“Now that you’re home, wanna go on a fieldtrip?” Elle perks up at my offer, tail lazily swishing back and forth. Putting the rest of my groceries away, I fumble around for my jacket. Then, staring at the envelope Namjoon gave me that still sits on my nightstand, I walk past it and grab a small business card sitting atop my dresser.

I have some homework to do.

If I’m supposed to come to terms with the events of the past couple of weeks, I might as well start with the person that assisted me in this entire process. That, and Christina may very well be the only person that doesn’t want to strangle me at the moment.

Chung-hei and Namjoon are supportive, but they see this as one thing and one thing only: wrong.

Elle is already waiting for me by the door when I reemerge, slipping the jacket on. She bounds out the door as soon as I open it, heading toward the small path that leads toward the park. I chuckle, the sound at odds with the uneasy feeling in my chest.

“Not that way,” I call to the confused cat. “We’re taking a bus to Itaewon.”

✂

Jimin is sitting on a stool by the kitchen island when the boys come stumbling through the door. He hardly flinches at the sudden change, only staring at the marble countertop. Staring at it like it might come up with the answers he needs, but not getting any input.

Namjoon received a call about an hour ago from Jimin, the younger boy nearly hyperventilating into the phone as he told him two things before dissolving into some sort of shocked silence.

“It was her.”

“Help.”

It didn’t take much for Namjoon to piece it all together. He had just been on the phone with Chung-hei that morning, trying to remember if Jolie had a white cat named Elle, and if Jimin was indeed in possession of that same cat.

Chung-hei had confirmed it, although she was just as shocked as Namjoon. What are the odds?

Apparently better than they thought, if Jimin’s current state is any indication.

Namjoon had wanted to stop Jimin, but after a long chat with his soulmate, he decided that it may be best to just let fate run its course.

Now, looking at Jimin who has finally lifted his head, he wonders if he was a fool for letting it go this far.

“Jimin-ah we’re home,” Taehyung announces, heading straight toward the island and taking a stool on his right. Yoongi takes the one on the left, Jungkook settling for wrapping his arms around Jimin’s shoulders and nuzzling his nose into his hair in the way that only Jungkook does.

Jin, j-hope, and Namjoon all weave around to stand on the opposite side of the island, exchanging worried glances. Unfortunately, none of them are experts in severed soulmate bonds. However, they do consider themselves to be Jimin experts.

Hopefully that will be enough.

“Do you want to tell us what happened?” The question comes from Yoongi.

It falls silent as everyone waits for Jimin to speak. The quiet seems to be pressing in from all sides, nearly suffocating them.

Raising his head a bit more but not looking anywhere but the countertop, Jimin relinquishes his lip from where he was chewing on it.

“Her name is Jolie.” Jimin’s voice is still a bit shaky, but he pushes forward almost as though this is his only chance to get the words out before they’re forever locked up inside his mind. “Elle is...her cat. She was grocery shopping, I thought she was nice.”

“You talked to her?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin shakes his head. “No...not face to face. I had her number, when I thought I was just texting Elle’s owner. She seemed friendly.”

It’s quiet for a moment until Namjoon can’t fight the guilt anymore. “I’m...she probably is, Jimin. Good people make horrible decisions, sometimes.” He barely gets the words out without confessing all that he knows. He’s dying to, but he can’t. Something stops him, begging him to wait a little longer.

Nodding absentmindedly, Jimin sighs. “Elle loves her.” He stares burning holes through the countertop now. “She ran like a puppy once she saw her walking down the street. I think...she is a good person. So why…?”

He doesn’t need to finish his question, everybody is already thinking the same thing.

“Did she see you?” Taehyung wonders aloud, looking at his best friend with nothing but sweet concern.

“No, I was already in my car. But she...she texted me.” Jimin takes a moment before choking out the rest. “She thanked me for returning Elle. Said that she hoped it wasn’t too inconvenient for me.”

Once again, silence reigns in the apartment. It’s a rare occasion; these four walls are rarely quiet.

Hobi shuffles on his feet. “Have you thought about...you know…”

“What.”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Texting her back?”

Jimin finally looks up, focusing on Hobi. “Text her back? What would I even say? Why….why?”

Namjoon jumps in. “I think it might be good, Jimin. It may help you to get some closure? Just get to know her a bit better. Maybe you’ll find out why she made this choice in the first place.” What he doesn’t tell him is that he’s been meticulously checking the mail every day for any sign of Jolie’s letter. If she hasn’t written to him yet, maybe this is another way for his friend to get closure?

Jimin shakes his head. “I’m the last person she’ll want to talk to.”

“She doesn’t have to know that it’s you,” Jin chimes in.

“And besides,” Namjoon continues. “I think that maybe today was some sort of sign. She can’t turn away forever, you know? Fate will always find a way.”

What he was hoping might be uplifting instead has Jimin turning to look at him, some sort of cold fire flickering in his eyes before sputtering out. “I don’t want fate or whatever this is,” he holds up his thread, “to just exhaust her into finally coming back to me! Is it too much to ask that she actually wants to be with me?”

“I didn’t mean it like-”

Jimin rises from his seat, prepared to walk away. “I’m not you, Namjoon!” His voice echoes through the house. “I didn’t get the girl! She took one look at me and thought that it would be better to ruin my life than be a part of it!” Jimin’s chest rises and falls, his breath rattling with the threat of sobbing.

Jungkook keeps his arms wrapped around Jimin, planting him in place. He’s always known Jimin so well; he knew that he would try to run and hide at some point during this conversation, to lick his wounds in peace without having to hurt anyone else. They’ll take it, though. They’ll take all of the barbed words in exchange for some sort of breakthrough. For Jimin to feel something again.

Jimin shakes his head, angry at himself for the tears and sobs that try to break through. “I’m so tired of crying, Namjoon.”

Namjoon remains on the opposite side of the island, unable to come up with anything to say, other than, “I’m sorry.”

But it’s Jungkook who musters up the courage to speak next. He’s quiet, still practically laying on Jimin and knowing that he’ll get away with it. Resting his chin on his friend’s shoulder, he sighs.

“Jimin-ah,” he begins, “You’re right, this is exhausting. But don’t you think that maybe she’s just...scared? And don’t you think she wouldn’t be so afraid if she got to know you? The Jimin that we all know isn’t scary, but all she’s ever seen are the promotions and concerts and suddenly she’s been thrown into a world where the one person that’s supposed to be her’s belongs to the entire world.”

The icy exterior that Jimin had been clinging to melts a little, his chin dropping to his chest. Jungkook sees the encouraging glances from his hyungs, and continues.

“It’s harmless to text her a little bit. Just get to know her. Let her get to know you. You can wait, to tell you who you are. But if you quit now, you will always wonder what could have happened.” Jungkook squeezes Jimin’s shoulders a bit tighter. “Do yourself a favor, and let it hurt a little more now so you can feel better in the future.”

“Rip off the bandaid,” Taehyung mumbles.

Yoongi stares at the countertop as well. “We’ll be here to help you know what to say, if you need help. But just because she shut you out, doesn’t mean that you should return the favor.”

Jimin closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply before letting it out. When he opens them again, the pain is still there. Like a splinter caught in his skin. Painful, but not unbearable. Not when he’s got more important tasks to attend to.

He looks up at Namjoon, his cheeks a little red from embarrassment due to his outburst. “I’m sorry, Joon. I didn’t mean to yell at you like that.”

Namjoon shakes his head, offering up a small smile. “I know. Don’t worry about it.”

At that moment the doorbell rings, everyone looking at each other with confused expressions. Jimin’s heart rate picks up, his imagination running while.

Did she see him? Does she somehow know what he’s planning to do? Is she angry and here to-

“Chicken!” Hobi shouts, bolting from the kitchen to the front door. Everyone dissolves into laughter, the uneasy tension from before dissolving a little.

Once Hobi returns with several boxes of chicken, explaining that he called for it just before entering the house, they turn back to the matter at hand.

Jimin stares down at his phone, wondering how on earth to begin. Jin coughs around his food before speaking.

“Just start with something that you have in common,” he suggests.

That common thread that is trying to no avail to bring them together.

Elle.

✂

Elle, I have come to learn, believes that she is above taking the bus. She must have gotten a hint of the high life last night with whoever she stayed with.

She’s currently poking her head out of my bag, which she immediately burrowed herself in upon finding boarding the bus. I smirk down at her, keeping my eyes averted from everyone else. It’s nice to have a little friend with me. It helps me ignore all of the people staring at me.

Or rather, my thread.

No one has dared to ask about it. Yet.

It should only take about twenty minutes to get to Itaewon. Hopefully that’s enough time for me to slip away before someone plucks up the courage to talk to me. If they approach, maybe Elle will hiss at them.

Judging by the way she’s nuzzled into my bag, I suppose that may be too much to wish for.

Riding the bus and watching the city slip past through the scratched windows has always been the strangest form of therapy for me. It’s crowded at times, loud and overall an awkward experience for many. However it’s often one of the places where I can just slip away. Dream with my eyes open as street shops and people drift into the rear view.

I’m just entering that dreamstate when I feel my phone vibrate. Slipping it out of my pocket and ignoring the whispers coming from a group of friends a couple of rows behind me, I glance at the new message.

It’s from the person that dropped Elle off, finally returning my message of gratitude.

UNK: It wasn’t inconvenient, don’t worry. If I’d had it my way, I would have hung out with Elle all day. 😸

I snort at the message, leveling Elle with a glare. “Sounds like you two are close.” Elle stares back up at me almost as though challenging me to do something about it. I roll my eyes. “You think you’re wrapped around their finger, huh? Watch and learn, princess.”

ME: Did you use the cat emoji bc of Elle or are you the kind of person that regularly uses cat emojis??

I wait with my phone in my hands, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I watch the person on the other side appear to be at a loss. Those three dots pop up for a moment before disappearing again.

It happens again and again, and I finally decide to put my phone away instead of watching them struggle to make up their mind. There’s only about ten minutes left of the trip, anyway.

Another five pass before my phone vibrates. Giving Elle a pointed look, I take a look at the response.

UNK: ...so what if I use cat emojis?

UNK: they’re there to be used, you know. Maybe you should quit ignoring them and give them a chance. 😿

“Ha!” It takes a moment before I remember that I should try my best to not appear like a crazy woman. “See?” I whisper madly. “They’re practically begging me to keep chatting.”

ME: Wow.

ME: I feel like you took that very personally. Elle didn’t tell me that you’d be like this.

There’s another stop, a few people getting off but many more getting on. Most of them sit down without sparing me a glance. Only when they’ve all settled down and gotten lost in their conversations or phones do I allow myself to relax.

UNK: are you the kind of person that talks to their cat??

I give a startled chuckle, delighting in the distraction this conversation is allowing me. Before I can fire off a response, another text comes through, making me stifle a laugh.

UNK: 😼

Maybe it’s the silly conversation, or the fact that Elle has gotten to a position where she can rub her head against my leg. Maybe it’s the view outside, the late afternoon sun pouring down on the people outside, and me, watching the world through the bus window.

For the first time that I can remember since I cut my thread, life seems a bit more manageable.

I feel like I can breathe.

✂

Jimin can’t breathe.

Not with the way all of the members have crowded around him on the couch, Jin still munching on some chicken while he peers over Jimin’s shoulder.

“I liked that last text. It was a nice touch,” Yoongi croons from Jimin’s side. “Gotta stick to a theme.”

The others grunt in agreement, hardly noticing the absolute strangeness of the situation. Taehyung slings his arm around Jimin on the other side, never once looking away from Jimin’s phone screen. He hums to himself while they wait for those fated three dots to appear.

Jungkook’s neck is about to break from the way he’s craning it, sitting on the floor before Taehyung’s legs. It’s a miracle that he can see anything at all.

“Is she texting yet?” He asks, hissing as he rubs a sore spot on his neck. He gives up trying to see what’s going on, facing forward again. Hobi, sitting beside Taehyung, automatically reaches down and begins massaging the younger’s neck.

“No, not yet,” Hobi sighs. “I wonder what - OH SHE’S TEXTING!”

Everyone presses in closer to Jimin, the boy in question gritting his teeth with anticipation. “Do you think she suspects? Have I been too obvious?”

Jin produces another chicken leg from somewhere, offering a bite to Namjoon who doesn’t hesitate to chow down. “No, she doesn’t. You’ve been totally aloof.”

“Yeah, you’re good,” Namjoon says around his food.

Together, the seven of them stare at those three dots rippling across the screen. When they disappear for a moment, everyone groans. It doesn’t take long before they reappear, and suddenly a message appears.

“What does it say?!” Jungkook scrambles to his knees, struggling to get a good view.

Jimin groans, shouldering his way forward until he’s leaning in front of everyone. “Shh, let me actually read it.”

Jolie (Elle): Haha, touché. I feel a little weird texting an unknown number...do you have a name I could save you under? Or should I just settle for a cat emoji?

“...what do I do?” Jimin turns to face the others, a flicker of panic painting his features. “I can’t tell her that it’s actually me...she’ll quit talking to me!”

Yoongi shrugs, completely unbothered. “Just give her a fake name. Like, Jaemin or something. Close enough.”

“Ha! Yeah, do Jaemin. Reminds me of James Corden trying to say your name,” Jungkook cackles.

Jimin looks at the other members with big eyes, waiting for some other offer. Something better. Taehyung pats his shoulder.

“I know you hate lying but...I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

Sighing, Jimin types in a response. He holds up the phone for everyone to see, waiting for their grunts of approval before hitting send. A knock on the door has everyone except for Jin turning their heads.

“Don’t tell me you ordered something else,” Namjoon gripes. Jin just chuckles quietly, reappearing a few moments later with an armful of boxes. Jimin recognizes them immediately: it looks like an assortment of churros and other treats.

“Hyung,” Jungkook watches the procession with wide eyes. “What’s this?”

“Would you go grab the rest?” Jin asks instead of answering. Jungkook leaps to his feet, bounding toward the door where more treats await. His shouts of excitement drift back to the boys.

When everyone gives Jin an appalled look, he just shrugs his shoulders. “What? I figured that we’re going to be here for a while. Might as well get comfortable.”

✂

UNK: No, I won’t make you stoop so low as to use a cat emoji. Park Jaemin should work fine.

I nearly stumble down the steps of the bus as I make the mistake of pulling my phone out to see the latest response. Once Elle and I have made it safely to the sidewalk, I proceed to stare at my phone in utter horror.

Rereading that name again and again until I’m sure that I’m reading it correctly.

Why did it have to be such a similar name?

There’s a slight tremor to my hands as I try to come up with something to say. Saving the number, I take a deep breath. Elle watches me from the safety of my bag, mewling softly.

“Gimme a sec,” I sigh. “Is this some sort of cruel joke?” My mind is spinning too quickly to think clearly, so I pocket the infernal device and take a moment to orient myself. Heading down the street, I wait until I’ve made it a block before attempting to form a reply.

It would appear that my new friend is a little impatient. By the time I stop on the corner, there’s already another text waiting for me. The new contact name has me gritting my teeth, but I push past the initial shock that rocks me.

Park Jaemin 🙀: Unless you don’t like that name? I could always choose a different one.

“He’s a little...weird.” I glance down at Elle, who seems inclined to agree with me. “But nice, I think.” Mustering up all of my courage, I punch out a reply and send it before I can think twice about it.

ME: That’s fine. Jaemin it is. I just didn’t realize you were a guy? Elle always seemed wary of guys.

I set off down the street, finding it a bit different in the daylight than it was at night. That, and this time I’m not a hyperventilating mess. It doesn’t take long before I’m turning down an alley that I realize I’ve been seeing in my dreams lately, heading toward the tell-tale gray apartment with the warehouse attached to it.

There’s another text notification reaching my ears, but I ignore it for the moment. Knocking hard on the door, I wait to hear footsteps.

It takes a couple of attempts before a distant voice shouts, “Coming!” A few seconds later, the door is cracked open to reveal a disgruntled Christina.

She gives me a long look, recognition sparking in her eyes even as she looks entirely unimpressed by me. She eyes Elle, who stares right back at her.

“You know I don’t do refunds, right?”

There’s another text coming through, but I ignore it again. Instead I plaster on my best smile, which Christina sees right through.

“I know. That’s not why I’m here.” Glancing up and down the alley, I rub at my arms. Fighting off the sudden chill. “Mind if I come in?”

Previous - Next

main masterlist

taglist is open! let me know, or click on the link in the series m.list or navigation!

taglist: @baepsaetay @dreamcatcherjiah @eusticenatalie @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles @moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi @knjkitten @sacha-cff @vik7797 @hesmyphenominiall @onewoneman @preciouschimine @missseoulite @marianeamine @somewhereinthestarss @chubsjmin @daydreamerwestwood @010op10 @4evahevah @mawwnsterr @hikka-light @biasnation @betysotelo18 @shhhhsecwet @channiespup

#bts fluff #jimin fluff #bangtan #jimin x oc #bts x oc #jimin angst

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nonagesimus · 4 years ago

Note

happy birthday! are you still taking prompts? something sam and cas discussing the whole casifer thing maybe?

if you wanted something more like. productive and healthy, I am sorry. again this is roughly part of touch verse (but all you need to know is that they're in an established relationship).

tw for references to sexual assault (Toni Bevell) and slight unreality in the aftermath of the incarceration in 12x09

(AO3 Link)

The basement door had shut, the sound echoing around the walls, and Sam had been left with his family - Dean, and Cas, and the not-ghost of his mother, which – all of it was a story someone was going to need to tell at some point soon. But with just them, the British Men of Letters gone, he could slouch. Sag down. Not worry so much about letting the last couple of days show.

Cas said, “Sam,” soft and sad. “Let me heal you.” Then he stepped towards him, one hand reaching out and- and-

He’d been keeping his distance. They’d both been keeping their distance, or at least it had seemed like they had been. Maybe it hadn’t been enough time to tell, between Cas being Cas again and the ambush in the bunker. Because Cas was Cas again, Sam knew that, had known that, had held onto that like a lifeline and-

Cas reached out to heal him and he flinched. Froze. Sucked in a breath and held it because otherwise he was going to hyperventilate. Cas’ hand paused too, kept moving only when Sam nodded to him. A rush of grace healing him, then Cas stepped back, and Sam slowly let the breath out. Pushed himself upright, and Cas withdrew further, going to Dean. Sam flexed his newly whole foot against the floor and didn’t look at them.

There was a conversation happening. Mary - Mom? He didn’t know what to call her - was watching him like a hawk.

He needed to be outside. Out of this basement. The Brits had to be gone by now. He could hope they were gone. Mind made up, he strode to the steps - maybe Dean said his name, but his ears were ringing a little - and then up and out.

Daylight washed over him. Something in him relaxed, at the feel of sun on his skin again. It felt real. Real real, not the daydream of a bed, somehow both cloying and ephemeral. This was just the sun, warm on his skin, a reminder that the world was still there. He shut his eyes, breathed deep, listened to boots clomping up the steps behind him.

He already knew it was Dean, but hearing his voice say, “Sam,” before his hand clapped onto Sam’s shoulder still helped. “Ready to go home?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, opening his eyes again. Mary was with Dean, and Cas was behind them, eyes searching.

“I’ll meet you there,” he said, nodding towards them, and he walked away first.

Dean, thankfully, kept going like nothing was awkward. Jerked his head towards the road. “Car’s this way. You good on bare feet or you want me to go get it?”

If Dean went for the car, Mom would probably stay with him. Sam couldn’t tell if he desperately wanted that or wanted to shy away, so he said, “I’m good to walk.” It would be good to move, anyway.

Dean kept up the chatter all the way to the Impala. Part clear relief, part recognising Sam wasn’t up to talking yet, and the silence needed to be filled.

“We’re about six hours out from the bunker,” he said, as they finally approached. “So, you’ve got time to catch a nap if you want to stretch out in the back. Unless you want the passenger side?”

Sam shook his head. “I’ll take the back.”

He did fall asleep there, listening to Dean and Mom talk in the front, an odd parody of his childhood. Like he’d slipped somehow slightly to the left, some world just adjacent to the one he’d grown up in. Shuddered awake as the car pulled into the bunker garage, took a moment to reassess. Still Dean driving, Mary in the passenger seat. Body still whole, after being healed. Feet still bare, clothes still crusted with sweat and blood. He sat up carefully, rubbed a hand over his face to clear away some of the grogginess.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty, you’re up,” Dean said. “Did they feed you in there? I can make you some food.”

They hadn’t, but Sam’s stomach rolled at the idea of eating. “I think I want to shower first,” he said.

“Yeah, dude, you reek,” Dean said. “Go clean up, I’ll get started on food.”

He hadn’t been planning on going back out but showered, in clean clothes, he thought Dean and Mary deserved that. Proof of life. Put on a good show, eat something, take part in the conversation. Something about the way Mom kept glancing between them twinged something - he thought about when he’d come back. Before he’d remembered, a year and half of blank space, Dean and Bobby both watching him with a weight he couldn’t parse.

It was something to focus on, and he took her Dad’s journal, and tried to say the right thing, and when she hugged him he almost broke.

So when he got back to his room and Cas was there, he was already fractured.

It wasn’t an intimate tableau. Cas was just standing by his dresser, the door to the room open, waiting. He swallowed hard, shook off the arrested momentum, finished walking inside.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Sam,” Cas said. Grave, and soft, and concerned. His hands twitched like he wanted to reach out. Sam looked away, felt tension fill his shoulders. “Are you alright?”

The least Sam owed him was honesty. “No,” he said, “but I don’t think that’s anything you could help with. Right now.”

Cas’ face only got graver, and Sam hadn’t really meant it like that. That it was Cas in particular that couldn’t help, but he couldn’t quite grasp the words to explain.

“I understand,” Cas said. “If that changes…”

“I’ll let you know,” Sam said, not sure how he’d be able to tell. “It’s not- you’re not- I’ll be fine, this was just-“ He shook his head. Just physical, but it hadn’t been. Not Cas, but it was. He didn’t even have thought, he was down to sentence fragments and a hollowed out feeling in his chest.

“I want to help,” Cas said.

“You-“ said Sam, “He-“ and he didn’t have to specify who he was talking about.

Cas looked wrecked. Looked ashamed, and part of Sam thought, good, and part of him wanted to bury his face in Cas’ chest and never let go, and all of him felt wrong.

He took a deep breath.

“When she started,” he said, “When she had me in that basement.”

Cas said, “Sam,” and Sam help up a hand to stop him.

“I told her. I told her I’d been tortured by the Devil himself,” his voice was more even that he expected it to be. “So, what did she think she could do to me?”

Cas’ hands twitched again. He didn’t reach out. Sam couldn’t tell if he was grateful or not.

“And I was right, y’know?” He shook his head. “She couldn’t do to me in two days what he could in two minutes. And what he could do with your face.” It looked like Cas was going to speak again so he shook his head again, cutting him off. “And I get it, Cas, I do, I know why you said yes. I just-“ His voice cracked finally. Throat clicked shut.

“I understand,” Cas said. “I- if you want space?”

Sam nodded, guilty at the helpless look on Cas, face. “I think space would be a good idea.”

Then Cas was gone too, and he was alone.

It hadn’t been a lie. Not really. Lucifer - the name tasted like stomach acid even when he was just thinking it - could take him to pieces far more efficiently than Toni Bevell could. And Sam couldn’t stop seeing it, the tilt of his head, the line of his jaw, the curve of his smile on Cas’ mouth when he’d reached into Sam’s chest, ready to close that fist and detonate. It was there all the time in the corner of his vision but-

But.

The door to his room shut behind Cas and even as he breathed a sigh of relief, her voice whispered, Was it good for you? into his ear.

His skin crawled. He felt dirty but he’d already showered, and the comfort would be nice but he couldn’t take another body in his bed.

—

Sam broke through the trees, saw Cas, and didn’t think before he went crashing into him. It had- they hadn’t- It had still been tense. Before Dean and he had gotten arrested. Sam had still been holding his distance, a little, Cas hadn’t been staying in his room like he used to, it had been…

There had been an equilibrium, if one that pleased neither of them.

But that was before the- the time. Sam couldn’t put a word to how much. The cell door had shut behind him and he’d taken in the concrete walls, the buzzing fluorescent lights, the quiet and- He didn’t need to count days. Days would pass with him or without him. He’d eaten when they gave him food, and shut his eyes when he wanted to sleep, and done push ups when he felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin.

Tried to remember some of his college classes to pass the time. Twelve years ago, give or take a couple hundred. He didn’t remember much.

But they were out, and then in a forest that felt hyper-real, where the sky felt too far away, where Sam’s focus had to narrow down on getting out. Blood in his veins, breath in his lungs, cold steel in his hands. Cas appearing out of the trees like a dream.

Not a dream, Sam went crashing into him and he was solid, and warm, and holding Sam as tight as Sam was holding him.

A breath caught in his lungs. He somehow found strength to hold even tighter. Saw Mom over Cas’ shoulder. Hugged her too.

(It was bittersweet, it was probably going to be the last time, he didn’t want to explain it, Dean thought it was going to be him but Sam wasn’t letting him do that, it was going to be Sam, it was, it was, until it wasn’t, until Mom, until Cas’ blade plunged through Billie’s chest, and the broken deal felt bitter but Sam-

Sam was alive.)

The bunker was a relief and a cage. Familiar, and closed in, and concrete walls again. The buzz of the lights.

It didn’t smell like the cell had. Sam breathed in.

Cas was following him again. Trailing where Sam went, watching him like he was going to be tested on it. Like he didn’t know what to say. Neither did Sam.

He tried to ignore it. Showered, got into his own clothes again. Found Cas in his room, sitting on the chair beside his desk. It wasn’t unexpected. Something about it felt almost dreamlike. The forest, after the cell, that had been a shock to the senses. Too much, too different. The bunker, that was familiar. Even if he hadn’t been there in- in some amount of days. Definitely weeks. Maybe months. His mind shied away from the idea of asking. It wasn’t a dream though, he reminded himself.

“Sam?” He’d maybe been standing in the doorway too long. Cas looked concerned. “Should I go?”

He shook himself. “You don’t have to.” Moved further in to sit down on his bed. “Did you want to talk?”

Not the right thing to say - he saw Cas’ expression dim. “Yes, I- I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find you.”

“How could you?” Sam said, attempting a smile. “You were the one who hid us from angels in the first place.”

“I’m still sorry,” Cas said. “You were alone.”

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve been,” Sam said, which was true even if neither of them wanted it to be.

There was still something urgent in Cas’ eyes, so Sam lightly patted the bed next to him. Cas shifted to the bed. Sam felt the mattress shift underneath him.

A voice in his head whispered, was it good for you? and he tried to push it away.

Took Cas’ hand in one of his, but didn’t touch him otherwise. Didn’t look at him. He heard Cas let out a long exhale at the contact. Dry skin to dry skin, the one thing that didn’t feel like a dream.

“I let you down again,” Cas said, quietly, and Sam shut his eyes.

He wanted to say which time? He wanted to tell him it didn’t matter. Wanted to turn and pull Cas into his chest and hold him. He couldn’t quite get himself to move.

Cas said, “Sam?” again, and Sam realised he was gripping Cas’ hand so hard he could feel the bones grinding.

He let go. Folded his hands in his lap. “Sorry.”

Cas touched his arm. “You need rest.”

Sam nodded, but didn’t say anything. With his eyes shut the lights buzzing sounded like the cell.

“Why did you kill Billie?” he asked.

“Because I’m not losing you,” Cas said. “And I’m not losing Dean, and I’m not letting you lose your mother. None of you deserve that.”

“Yes we do,” Sam said. “All of us have cheated death. We need to stop at some point. I don’t- I don’t want anyone else to die for me.”

Cas’ fingers brushed his face and he flinched. Opened his eyes. Cas had frozen, hand still raised. The tips of his fingers were wet. Sam realised he was crying.

“I couldn’t let you,” Cas said. “I- After Lucifer, we never…” He shook his head. “You were gone, and I couldn’t find you. I wasn’t going to lose you again right after I found you. I didn’t want you to go through any more pain.”

“I know I should say thank you,” Sam said.

“You don’t have to,” Cas said. “I know you don’t want to.”

“I miss you, Cas,” he said. “I miss you all the time. I want us to work through this, I do, just-“ He broke off. The buzz of the lights was giving him a headache.

“Sam,” Cas said. “Sam, I would do anything-”

“Yeah,” Sam said, wetly. “Yeah, I know.”

That was always the problem. Someone who would do anything. Anything smelt like Dean’s blood soaking into carpet, felt like hellfire, felt like grace crackling through his hands. Sam didn’t want anything.

“I’m gonna get some coffee,” he said, after a valiant attempt at composing himself.

“Sam, you should sleep,” Cas said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m gonna get some coffee.”

#supernatural #sastiel #sastiel fic #samcas #samcas fic #sam winchester #castiel #my fic #birthday prompts

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j-wont-stop · 4 years ago

Text

The Scarred (Chapter Five)

Title - The Scarred (Chapter Five)

Word Count - 2156

Fandom - Batman: The Dark Knight

Pairing - Ledger!Joker x OC

Summary - Penelope Bishop works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by therapy and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

Warning(s) - Panic attack, murder, cussing

Inspiration - Cold (Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz)

Masterlist

The vase fell from her hands, the shattering glass echoing through the hall. Penelope’s mind grew petrified as she stared at the card sitting in the mess of glass, water and flowers. She fell back against her door frame, her breathing sharp and fast as she began to hyperventilate. She gripped onto the front of her bra to pull it away from her chest, looking for any kind of relief, any way to find space for her to breathe properly. Yet it did nothing. She knew she was making a scene, and she wanted so badly to hide away in her apartment. But what about the mess? She asked herself amid the chaos. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the ambience around her.

“’Scuse me-?” Penelope shot straight up, eye frantically darting towards the new voice. A tall, slim man stood before her, hands held out in front of him as an offering of peace. “Apologies, I didn’ mean to alarm ye. Are ye alrigh’?” His bright eyes held a gentleness in them, the same as his voice. It was soothing in a way she had never before experienced. It was hardly able to calm her, however, in her panicked state. “Righ’, dumb question…” He mumbled to himself, glancing between Penelope and her welcome mat. “I’ll clean this up righ’ quick fer ye, tha’ alrigh’?” She gave the smallest nod, letting go of her bra to wipe the tears from her face as he disappeared.

She closed her eye, grounding in an attempt to compose herself. Never had she broken down in front of a stranger. And never had she felt more humiliated by it. Her eye snapped back open when she heard the sound of a plastic bag, eyeing the man warily as he walked back to start picking up the glass shards. He noticed how her breathing had only slightly improved, but it was progress.

“Why are you helping me?” The sound of her voice caught him off guard as he continued picking up the pieces.

“Juss doin’ my duty.”

“In Gotham?” The man sighed and looked up at her from where he was crouched on the floor.

“‘Ard as it is to believe, miss, not erryone in this city is a crook.” It wasn’t until then that she noticed his thick accent. It was a surprise to her, however one she greatly accepted. She felt childish for it, but she was excited as it was her first time meeting someone with one. “Ye wann’ keep this?” He asked, holding the Joker card between his index and middle fingers. She hesitated before reaching to grab it. “Now, I’m not all tha’ superstitious,” He stood up with a huff. “But if tha’ is a genuine Joker card, I’d watch out if I were ye. Yer either really lucky, er ‘bout to be really dead.” He noticed the growing fright in her eyes. “Or! Some guy is juss actin’ the maggot and playin’ wit’ ye.”

“People were scared enough to impersonate Batman, I don’t think they’d dare to impersonate The Joker himself.”

“Then pray yer juss really lucky.” He spoke in a softer tone. He began to tie the bag as she continued to carefully watch him. “I don’t believe I’ve caught yer name yet?”

“Penelope.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Bishop.”

“Penelope?” The name left his lips in curiosity. “Tha’s a new one.” Her eye shifted to the ground. “Bu’ it’s refreshin’.” The man offered her a friendly smile, but her expression remained constant. “Liam Garson. Juss moved in couple a doors down.” He pointed off to his left.

“Why?” He threw her a confused look. “I mean, why Gotham?”

“Oh!” Liam chuckled. “Well, why not? Barely any restrictions with the mob and cops runnin’ ‘round lie’ chickens wit’ their ’eds cut off. Sure, muggers an’ the lie’ crawl abou’, but tha’s the price ye pay fer freedom, righ’?” He contained himself from beaming when she gave the ghost of a smile.

“Well, I see where your morals lie, Mr. Garson.”

“Liam.” He jested. “An’ I may lack some, but I’m better off than over ‘alf the boyos ‘ere.”

“’Boyos’?” Penelope gave a small chuckle.

“Males, juveniles, youngins.” She nodded in understanding. “Well, I’ll let ye be. Juss wanted to check on ye and make sure ye were alrigh’.” He started to back away. “If ye need anythin’, I’m in 329.” With a final salute, he disappeared into his own apartment. Penelope slowly turned around to head into her own, closing her door softly.

She looked down at the card caught in her nimble fingers. She couldn’t help the jolt that rushed through her body when she realized that if it was his card, he knew where she was. He knew who she was. She was somebody to him and she wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or terrified. It made her start to question her own morals. Any other person wouldn’t even think to be flattered, so why would she?

He was a murderer, a psychopath who wanted nothing more than to watch the city burn. And yet she had half a mind to consider being flattered. Really lucky or really dead. Why would she be dead? Had she angered someone without her knowing?

She froze.

“The boss.” She whispered to herself in realization. The bald man worked for The Joker. Which meant he knew where she worked. How much else did he know? Who all knew? How many people were following her? Question after question ran through her head and it was almost unbearable. She didn’t know what she even did to be on his radar in the first place.

“-patrolling the streets trying to trace his whereabouts for the time being, but so far-“ The news anchor’s voice hummed softly from her TV and she practically ran over to it, snatching the remote from the coffee table to turn up the volume.

“Well, John, I think it’s safe to say that The Joker’s escape is truly devastating for the people of Gotham. Not only in the sense that he has escaped, but it gives the chance for other criminals to wreak havoc on the city knowing that Batman will once again be busy with him.” The woman on the other line spoke. Penelope scoffed at her words.

“Way to give them ideas.” She mumbled to herself with a wide eye.

“Let’s just hope that Batman is able to do what he does best, and fast. Cause-“ Penelope switched the TV off, having heard enough of it. It upset her that the city was putting their faith in a masked man, that none of them had the nerve to do something themselves. That they couldn’t even rely on their own first responders. That she couldn’t rely on first responders.

She began to peel off her bandages, dragging her feet towards her bathroom. So much had happened in only a week and it all started to catch up to her, her head starting to pound from it all. The note. The glass. The bald man offering her a large sum of money for just a vase of flowers, finding out he worked for The Joker, finding out The Joker had been tracking her for who knows how long.

Penelope reached into her medicine cabinet for pain killers, deciding on taking two with a glass of water. Finally she laid down on her bed, snuggling up to her great fuzzy blanket with her eyes closed in an attempt to fall asleep. She briefly thought about telling Emma, but if she truly was dealing with The Joker, she wanted her involved as little as possible. For her safety. She thought to herself in reassurance before sleep took over.

———————————————————————

The sounds of rushing water and seagulls filled the air around her, the occasional pair of footsteps passing by that she grew wary of from time to time. The sun began to disappear in the horizon, painting the sky with breathtaking shades of pink and orange on the rare cloudless evening. Music played softly from her phone that sat on one side of her, her dinner left half eaten on the other. Her short legs dangled lightly over the ledge as she watched from the pier. It was almost tradition on warmer nights, seeing it as a rarity. It would’ve been perfect if it wasn’t for the littered concrete and occasional plastic bag that floated by as a reminder of where she was. Along with the gun that clicked from behind her.

“I’d say just jump and save me the work, but then I wouldn’t get your money.” A gruff voice spoke. She didn’t dare move. Didn’t dare turn her head or flinch a finger. Her heart rate picked up, stomach churning. “Well?” The man urged, losing patience.

“I-I don’t have any.”

“How’d you get that nice dinner, then, huh?”

“Been saving up for it.” A lie. The man just chuckled.

“Alright. How about you get off of there, put your hands up, and then face me. Slow.”

“I-I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t raise my hands.” She told him as she awkwardly turned around on the ledge.

“Alright, enough talking-“ The man halted, red quickly seeping through his jacket. Blood dribbled down his chin. She watched in horror as he collapsed.

“I agree.” Penelope looked up to see the man who had helped her the day before. He walked around the mugger towards her, bloodied switchblade in hand. When he saw her flinch he slowed his pace, tucking away the weapon to make her more comfortable.

“Y-you just-“ She spoke frantically, pointing towards the now dead body with a shaky hand.

“Killed a man?” She nodded quickly. He tilted his head dismissively. “Aye. The bastard ‘ad it comin’.” She shied away from him as he took a seat next to her, arms folded. “Relax, miss. I juss saved yer life, did I not?” He looked over at her to see her chewing on her cheek.

“Why?”

“‘Why’ what? Why did I do it-?”

“Yes.” He hesitated for a moment.

“Why not?” The man shrugged. “Was either he killed you or I killed ‘im, an’ I wouldn’t dare let such a beautiful woman go to waste lie’ tha’.” Penelope scrunched her nose and scoffed.

“Beautiful woman…” She mumbled to herself. “If you think I’m easily won over by flattery, you’re wrong.”

“With all due respect, miss, I wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout fer meself.” The brunette noticed her eye take on a more gentle stare. He sighed, scratching at his beard.

“Why’re you here?” She asked, rubbing her left arm.

“I could ask ye the same question.” Penelope looked at him quizzically.

“Dinner.” Liam nodded.

“Was on a walk. ‘Eard the ruckus. Came to see what was ‘appenin’.”

“That’s quite a coincidence.”

“Aye. It sure is. A damn good one, if I do say so meself.” Silence fell between the two of them, however it was peaceful. Penelope quite enjoyed it. “If ye don’t mind me askin’,” Liam broke in. “What do ye plan on doin’ wit’ this Joker business? Assumin’ it’s not too late already. I mean, ‘ave ye told anybody?” She shook her head, focusing on her breathing.

“I haven’t.” Penelope swallowed as Liam raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Ye ‘aven’t? Well, why not? Not even the cops?”

“What’ll they do?” She finally looked up at him. “What will they do? You’re the one that was saying yesterday that they’re all running around like chickens with their heads cut off.“ She began to rant, everything starting to catch up to her. Her eye began to glisten as it watered over. “And if they can’t help me, who can? Certainly not Batman!“ She spit the masked man’s name with venom. “They couldn’t even keep him behind bars to keep the city safe! Why the hell would they care to keep The Joker from coming for just a single person, a nobody, from coming for me-!”

“Miss!” Liam held onto her shoulders, keeping her steady. In a moment of desperation, she clung to him, and once again she caught him off guard as she started to break down for the second time. He began to gently stroke her back and sighed. “Ye’ve been dealing wit’ this a while now, ‘aven’t ye?” He spoke just above a whisper and he felt a shift in her head, a confirmation. A van sat in the distance, tinted windows making it impossible to see through. It was cracked enough for him to see who was in it and he made eye contact with a pair of almost pure black eyes, giving them a faint nod.

#ledger joker x oc #ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #heath ledger x oc #heath ledger x reader #heath ledger #the joker x oc #the joker x reader #the joker #joker x oc #joker x reader #joker #batman #the dark knight #fan fiction #dc

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gaitwae · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Fate •||• Loki x Reader

WORD COUNT: 3025

Loki stepped into the shadows of the forest, holding his breath and melting into his armor. He wasn’t sure if it was even worth it to go into the Forest of Ydraggsil. But the cosmos were born there, in the “branches” he had been taught about. Loki knew that the answer to his very soul was written in the songs the ruffling leaves sang. His heart hammered in his rib cage as he let out a shaky breath.

He scratched his palms with worry, closing his eyes in thought. He could prove that he was his brother’s equal . . . worthy of being more than just a Jotun. No matter what Odin had said, no matter what Frigga said, he was just not what either of them said. He couldn't be what Frigga had thought he was. He wasn’t even close enough to be as good as she thought. He was much more than Odin had said. Loki could prove that. He just needed to know...

Would it be worth it if he couldn’t?

Child, a beautiful voice of the Norns whispered. That startled him. The Norns were silent, spoke in riddles and curses. But he could just. . . . Tell. He hadn’t expected to hear that. She continued, What brings you to where souls are born and fate is scripted?

Loki swallowed, stepping in to the wood. “Uncertainty,” he says meekly, eyes welling with tears. “And losing the will . . . the will to live.” He sank to his knees. “I beg of you, help me find my place in the world.”

He knew that it was selfish to ask the Norns to give him things, things that not even they could change. He would be cursed for such confident brattiness. He held his head high in the sky, watching the cosmos conflict, purple and blue and green explode and tear at each other. Green smoke curled around his body. Loki had to refrain from panicking, trying his hardest not to scream in fear, not to sob from the pain of his broken soul.

The leaves rustled. He breathed deeply, his heart rate painfully fast. His neck hurt from the rush of blood. His heart kept crying out in the lonely longing for companionship.

Just a place in the world? Nothing else? She sounded. . . . Expectant. Like men who had braved the branches before had always asked for proud things. Wisdom; strength; a lady’s hand. Loki just wanted not to be alone.

A tear slips from his eye. “Give me my glory back. . . . Give me someone who will love me. . . .”

Loki Laufeyson, the Norns whispered with a reassuring tone, you’ll find someone who loves you. It’s fate.

Loki swallowed, gasping some. That was a lie; wasn’t it? It had to be. He wiped his eyes. He sat there, staring at the ground. One day, he would. One day. He tried to swallow his fears. But it didn’t work.

The cosmos rippled again, a woman’s laugh ringing through his ears. Not the Norn who had spoke, it wasn’t Hers. This laugh. . . . It stung. Loki covered his ears. No one he cared for loved him back. He started to hyperventilate. The laughing got louder and louder.

No. No. “Please. . . . Make it stop,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. The smoke curled around his body. His skin turned blue.

“You’re a dirty, evil Jotun,” Thor’s voice taunted somewhere. Loki stood, looking around for his brother. “Did you really believe that the Norns would help you?”

“Stop this illusion!” he pleaded. Loki spun around, hoping to find something. This had to be a lie. “Stop!”

“What illusion, my son? You’re seeing the truth,” Odin called, coming from a different direction. He turned toward the sound, hoping that his father wouldn’t scoff at him, punish him. Tears fell faster. Streamed. His father’s cold voice.

“Father—,” Loki tried, caving in and panicking.

“I’m not your father!” Loki flinched, raising his arms in protection as he stumbled back from the invisible people pushing him.

“No!” Loki cried. “NO!”

---------- -*- ----------

I sat bolt right up in my bed, chest heaving and sweat drenching my body. I looked over to my side. A beautiful woman. My panic melted quickly, but my fears didn’t. I was next to my fiancée. She gently pushed me back down.

“Loki, shhh,” she soothed. “It was all a dream. You’re safe.” I rested my head on her shoulder. She ran her hands through my hair affectionately.

“Oh, Bryleigh,” (Bry-lee) I sigh, hugging her gently. “It was the same dream as last time. . . . With th-the forest . . . you have no idea—”

Her hazel eyes and blonde hair were strangely lit from the moonlight in the window. I had never been more grateful for her. I sigh again, kissing her once, twice, three times. Bryleigh pulled away, resting her forehead against mine.

“It’s okay. Go back to sleep. I love you,” she said, rubbing my back. “We have to both work tomorrow, so we should go back to sleep.” I nodded in agreement. I would have to explain to my secretary, (Y/N) why I was late.

Oh, no. I sat up. I practically scrambled to get dressed. “Honey, what are you doing?” Bryleigh asked. I checked my cellphone. Truly a magical mortal instrument, the cellular telephone. 2:35. I still had thirty minutes.

“Picking (Y/N) up at the airport,” I said, my tongue between my teeth as pull on a shirt. “I lost a bet, so I had to chauffeur her to and from her flight.” I laughed, face hot from remembering her smile. Oh, (Y/N) was adorable. Like my little sister. And I didn’t have to actually chauffeur her; I just wanted to. But Bryleigh wouldn’t have let me.

“Wait; the trip she went on that you funded for her birthday? You spoil her, Loki,” she says, voice riddled with distaste. She sat up in bed. I rolled my eyes.

“Bryleigh, she’s going to be my best woman.” I pulled on my shoe and grabbed my keys on the nightstand. “You better get used to the godmother of your children being around my house.” Bryleigh gaped, looking at me with an offense with an origin I couldn’t place.

“What?” I ask.

“Since when is that bi—” I cut her off, giving her a glare. Good feeling gone. I truly adored my fiancée, but I simply could not stand it when she picked on (Y/N). Especially when she did that.

“Biiiiii-eautiful woman I have adopted as my sister,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I’m sick of you acting like a jerk to her.”

Bryleigh flopped back down. I kissed her forehead goodbye. “If you loved me, Loki, you’d see she's just evil!” She smiled softly and tiredly. I rolled my eyes.

“Evil? That is a new one,” I comment, kissing her and rushing out the door. Before our bedroom door closed, I heard her scoff. Something in me stirred, both at the thought of Bryleigh making nasty statements about (Y/N), and (Y/N) herself.

-----skip-----

“Flight from [Place you've wanted to visit] now unloading at Platform 9.”

The PA announcements seemed to fly by since the time I got there, but that one I paid attention to. I was almost eager to find her. I was speeding past every person I passed, even doing 360s to see if I could locate her. Her smile, her hands, ruffling her hair.

I passed through crowds, hearing the TSA yelling at someone, kids crying—or was it the other way around?— and twisting and weaving through people to Platform 9. “Where could she be?” I whisper to myself.

Something about all this turning reminded me about going to the Forest of Ydraggsil. But without all the fright; just really confusing and overwhelming and something missing. I didn’t mind. My heart was pounding with excitement. (Y/N) would be in this building somewhere.

“Loki!” I heard her call. I got reminded of my dream, but it didn’t scare me as much as it should have.

I whipped around, beaming when I saw her. She had a rolling suitcase and messy hair; she must have fallen asleep on the plane. I ran to her, lifting her up. She dropped her suitcase as I held her. I spun her with glee.

“You missed me that much, Loki?” She wrapped her arms around my neck, standing closely when I set her down. It was probably because my arms were still around her. (Y/N)’s hands rested within my elbows as she unwrapped her arms.

“Of course, I missed you. Who do you take me for?” I laughed softly, my head spinning slightly as I realized just how tired I was. I also realized that I didn’t care. About anything.

I didn’t care about how mad I had made Bryleigh. I didn’t care about the time. I just wanted. . . .

Oh, no.

But I just couldn’t stop smiling. (Y/N) was the only thing I could see. I was here, with her, no where else.

“I kinda took you for a stubborn prince,” she joked, hands moving again to my shoulders. “You know, the kind that didn’t pick favorites without doing it so subtly, and throwing knives, and doing favors reluctantly. Not picking up your secretary because she asked you to at three in the morning and taking you away from your fiancée.”

“I don’t care what she thinks,” I blurt. She blushed, and so did I. But I stupidly kept going. “I don't want to marry her.”

She stepped out of my arms. “Loki, what are you talking about?” I grew idiotically confident, taking her hands. “Loki?”

“I was such a fool,” I laugh, looking at her. I press the heel of my hand to my forehead. “I’m not in love with her.”

It was all clicking into place, now. The constant dreams of looking for her. The wedding dreams, too, with her in white. It wasn’t just paranoia. And all the times I would feel that awful knot in my gut when she spoke of other men. I gaze into her eyes.

“It’s you.”

She shook her head, “Loki, I — I can’t just—”

“(Y/N) you can’t pretend that you don’t feel this,” I continue. I bring her luggage out with her. “Actually, it all makes sense now.” But as much as I’m grinning, she’s only standing in shock.

“Darling?”

Your POV

Okay. Seeing Loki was already amazing. But now you were sure that one of you had gone crazy, or that you were dreaming.

“What? Loki, you can’t just say things like that!” You felt your face heat up at the delirious Loki’s practically random confession. Your hands and legs were shaking. Yes, you loved him, too, but what about Bryleigh? They had sent wedding invitations already!

“Why not? Better now than in a month, (Y/N),” he said. He opened the door for you. You got in his car. He definitely looked crazed, loopy. But he was happy.

You study him for a second, a thought coming to light almost immediately. He seemed carefree, distracted. He revved up the engine and grinned at you. You knew exactly what he seemed like to you, now that you thought on it.

He was like a bachelor.

“You didn’t!” you gasp. “You didn’t break up with her, did you?!”

“No, but I will. Even if you decide you don’t want me as a friend or a romantic partner. The only person who I can imagine marrying would be you.” He laughs, driving you to your house. You gape at Loki. He really had gone mad.

Not only was he head over heels with you out of the blue, he thought he would marry you. Or, at least he wanted to. Your heart sank.

It all made sense now.

“Loki,” you say quietly. “I’m seeing Steve. From economics.” You ducked your head. He loved you. And you couldn’t see him as anything more than a friend, or a brother. You fiddled with your shirt’s hem.

Loki frowned some, but quickly regained his smile. Except it was fake. You could tell so easily. You shifted in the passenger seat, watching cars pass by. “Oh,” he whispers. “I understand.” You hated this, but you really preferred not to lie.

“I’m so sorry, Loki,” you mumbled. You hugged yourself. You wanted him happy, but you couldn’t be with him. It was the worst kind of lie. “We became an item about three weeks back but I asked him to keep quiet about it. I didn't want to cause any gossip.”

Loki nodded. “No, I totally understand. . . . I was meant to be alone. It’s fate.” His bottom lip quivered. You felt your heart break for your best friend. Then you wondered if he had been dreaming again. He had nightmares that Bryleigh made worse, and you were the only one he could tell them about. Really tell. You felt warm inside. He really was in love with you.

“Loki—,” you try.

“My immortal life was just . . . the worst. Now my mortal one is mirroring it,” he sighs. He gripped the wheel. Tightly. You saw his knuckles turn paper white. “I became cursed by the Norns. I made a mistake.”

“Loki, please, I am sure that you will find someone who will love you,” you try. You felt something in the back of your head tell you that this was a mistake, letting him go. But it was fate. You knew it. Loki was someone you felt for in the past. Never again.

“You know who I want,” he says. “This time, I won’t settle for something lesser.” He stared at the road. “I’m not getting any younger.”

Something lesser?

“Loki, really,” you sigh, “I’m not fantastic.”

“Steve sure thinks you are.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You growl, “That's low, even for you.” Loki doesn’t answer, just scoffing quietly.

You huff and cross your arms. Fiddle with the seat belt. “Just marry Bryleigh, okay? What do I care!” That came out harsher than you meant. Oops.

Loki pulled the car over so roughly you almost hit your head on the window. “Excuse me?” He turned to you. “What did you mean by that?” You felt your heart speed, but you had already turned him down.

“Just—take—me—home,” you say through gritted teeth.

“Tell me what that was about,” he protested. Loki rested his arm on the middle compartment, making you face him. Now you wanted to get mad at him and yourself. But he wasn’t your life, and he wasn’t ever going to be yours.

So who cared?

“It meant nothing,” you lie. “Nothing at all.” You shift in your seat, again. Look away from him. All the feelings you used to feel came rushing back, but without the affection they used to hold. You felt bitter about loving him before. A man who was engaged to be married. Now he could feel it, too.

“Oh, sure. You never told me you didn’t want me married, (Y/N).” He had flipped a switch. He went from giddy to hurt within seconds. But saying something as sudden and intimate as “I don’t want you to get married but I’m seeing someone else” would have to hurt anyone.

“Because at least you were happy, Loki!”

“I wasn’t, you knew that!”

“I don’t want to fight about your witch fiancée,” you grumble. “Take me home, Loki. I’ll resign in the morning.” You sit back, watching through the window the rest of the ride. This would need to be solved, but in what way, you didn’t know.

------------(:V)------------

You stepped out into a clearing. You saw Loki dressed in his armor—something he hadn’t worn since New York. Green smoke billowed around your feet. You couldn’t move anything, no matter how much you tried to run and help him. He was screaming about being sorry, apologizing to whomever was laughing and telling him he’d never know love.

You couldn’t scream. Couldn’t get him. You wanted him.

“Please, I just want someone—!” He was cut off by his own cry of fright. He fell to the ground. You hated feeling so helpless. No. No, you needed to help him. The smoke surrounding the both of you covered Loki, and then—

You sat up, horrified. You were going to be late. Loki would—

Loki. Right. You had fought with him the night before. He probably wouldn’t want to see you. . . . Unless that was a dream. Again. You sigh. No matter what you had told him last night, you weren’t seeing Steve. And you were in love with him.

You picked up the phone. There was only really one thing to do.

“Hello?” he answered tiredly. He sounded like someone who had been crying, or losing significant amounts of sleep. He also had a tone of worry in his voice. You felt your heart skip.

“I love you,” you say. You were rushing to get the wires out. “I don’t want you to marry Bryleigh. I’m sorry for everything I told you last night and I don’t care if you remember none of it; you deserve to know. I’m in love with you, I always have been, Bryleigh is and always was someone who was just so much better than I am, and even though I think you two can be happy together, I want you to myself!”

Just before you hang up from fear of his long silence, he says, “Wait, wait. You said you were seeing Steve. . . . I’m so confused. . . . Bryleigh walked out last night, calling the wedding off, anyway. I’m not getting married.”

You sat there for a minute. “What? Why?”

“Apparently I spent more time talking about you than she liked,” he explained. “But I’m not sure if I should anymore?”

“No. No, Loki, that’s great. I mean—it’s not great, but you didn’t have to break up with her. . . . I just . . . spent so long thinking about what you said. You were right: it is fate.”

He sniffs on the other end. “You picked a fantastic time to tell me, (Y/N).” He laughed. “For the record: I think you’re right. It is fate.”

#loki x reader #loki x y/n #gaitwae writes #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki of asgard #loki god of mischief #loki mcu #mcu loki #loki #mcu #marvel

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