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bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky · 3 years ago

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Shower Me in Love | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi, friends!

Warnings: blood, talk of Bucky's traumatic past, cute shit

If you like what you read, throw me a reblog so that others can find my stuff. 💜

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A thick layer of grime and dried blood coated Bucky from head to toe. His exhausted form trudged through the front door to your apartment, letting his duffel bag slide from his shoulder to the floor. Bucky was sore, half-dead, and bleeding in at least two places- but his dull, tired eyes lit up when he saw you. The horror and bloodshed from his most recent mission melted away the moment you pressed your body against his. The hollow feeling that gnawed at his chest after being away from you for so long finally began to heal, leaving him feeling whole.

Taking a deep inhale, you could still make out Bucky’s warm scent, even through the smell of gunpowder and ash. “Hi, Buck”, you nuzzled as close to him as possible, desperate to hold him, to feel him. Knowing he was home safe brought you the peace of mind that alluded you while he was gone- you hadn’t slept properly since he left. You couldn’t. It was too easy to let your mind spiral, concocting horrifying scenarios about Bucky ending up seriously injured or dead.

But he was home.

His strong arms wound their way around you and held you as tightly as he could without breaking your ribs. He remained quiet as he let the feeling of home settle over him. The warmth of your touch, the smell of your hair, the feeling of his Henley hanging loosely from your body- you were his home. “So good to see you, baby”, his hands guided your face to meet his, “I missed you so much”. His lips pressed against yours in a deep kiss full of longing and need that only you could satisfy.

But Bucky’s eyes widened suddenly and he pulled himself from your grasp. He couldn’t believe that he’d let himself hug you when he was practically dripping in the blood of Hydra operatives, “fuck, I’m sorry-this was a bad idea”. Much to his dismay, you launched your body into his arms once more-nothing could keep you from Bucky’s embrace, not even a biohazard. “It was a great idea”, you pulled him in for another kiss, silencing his protests all together.

It was routine for Bucky to return to his own apartment after a mission to shower and change, only making his way to your place once he was cleaned up. But he couldn’t help himself this time. He was desperate to see you, aching with need to feel your hands in his hair and his head on your chest. It took him an embarrassingly long time to gather the courage to call you on the flight back and ask if he could come straight to you-but you’d said yes without hesitating.

Nerves tangled into knots in Bucky’s stomach. He listened to the phone ring, wondering if he should just hang up and forget all about it- but then you answered. He really shouldn’t have been nervous about asking you for something so small, you were the kindest person he’d ever known, and so accommodating of his needs. But Bucky always worried about crossing a line or pushing you too far. You did so much for him- how could he ask you for yet another favor?

You’d barely said hello when Bucky spoke up, willing himself to make his request before he lost the nerve. “We’re gonna land in about half an hour, and I was wondering if I could come over?” he toyed with the zipper on his leather jacket, nervously clinking it against his metal fingertips.

You laughed at his request. It was standard protocol that Bucky come over every night, especially when he’d just returned from a mission. Feeling the weight of Bucky’s body on top of yours while he slept soundly on your chest was the only thing that could quell your anxiety about him being gone. It didn’t matter if his mission lasted two days or two months- you needed him with you. You needed to listen to his heartbeat and feel his warmth, assuring you that the love of your life was home safe. “Buck, you don’t have to ask-” you began, but Bucky cut you off,

His words were rambled quickly, tumbling clumsily from his mouth all at once. “I mean, can I come straight over? As soon as we land. I really, really miss you and I need to see you- as soon as possible. I’m bloody and gross from the mission, but I have extra clothes in my bag and I can shower and change as soon as I get to your place, I’m just dying to see you, baby. Is that okay?”

You couldn’t help but smile. Bucky wanted- needed- to see you, just like you needed him “You get your ass over here ASAP, Sergeant Barnes. That’s an order”. He breathed a sigh of relief and thanked you endlessly, promising he’d be there as quickly as he could. It didn’t matter how tired or run down he was- the second the jet landed, he was sprinting for the exit.

Bucky leaned into your touch just a moment longer, savoring the sensation of your skin against his. “I’m gonna go shower”, he said as he pulled away, “I’ll be right out”. He slung his bag over his shoulder, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and made his way to the bathroom, his heavy boots echoing down the hall. It was amazing how much lighter he felt around you. It was as though you unburdened him completely, freeing him from all the trauma and nightmares that weighed him down. As he peeled his bloody tactical gear from his battered body, he felt an intense warmth pooling in his chest. He was back. He was home.

The sounds of Bucky ridding his battered body of dirt and blood echoed from down the hall. Time seemed to slow as you waited for him finish up so you could jump his bones, and then it dawned on you- you and Bucky had never taken a shower together. He’d fucked you every which way imaginable in every location you could think of- but there were no steamy shower hook ups. With a confident huff, you vowed to change that.

Padding quickly down the hallway, you slipped out of Bucky’s Henley and dropped it to the ground, your underwear falling in a pile next to it. “Hey, Buck”, you called innocently from outside the bathroom door, “how’s it goin’ in there?” Bucky looked down at the vermillion-tinged water and grimaced, “um, fine”. He heard you offer your help and appreciated the gesture, but didn’t want you ending up with enemy blood under your fingernails. “Thanks baby, but it’s okay”, he called back, “I’m almost done”.

Much to Bucky’s surprise, you threw open the bathroom door and stepped inside, your gaze landing on his perfect form behind the water-spotted glass. Bucky’s eyes widened. He felt his jaw fall slack at the sight of your naked body just feet away from him, looking more mouth-watering than ever after his long mission. He watched you slowly approach the shower, rendered silent by your lustful gaze. You pulled the door open and hopped inside with a mischievous laugh, only to have the breath snatched from your chest.

Ice cold water pricked at your skin like needles, sending a harsh chill up the length of your spine. “Oh my god, what the fuck-” you practically tumbled out of the shower, barely catching yourself against the wall as shivers wracked your body. Bucky looked on, completely confused. He wanted to step out and rush to your side, but the stubborn, day-old blood that still clung to his skin kept him from leaving the shower.

“Why is it so cold?!” you almost yelled as you clamored for a towel. With the soft terry cloth wrapped around your body, you felt the shivers begin to subside. “What, were you just that horny for me, Buck? Had to come in here and take a cold shower?” your teasing tone made Bucky smile automatically, but he was lost. He watched a smile crack through your blue-tinged lips and shook his head.

“I’m not sure that I- what do you mean?” Bucky’s lack of modern references had him once again feeling out of place. Surely, this was a quote from a movie that he’d missed out on or something of the like, he just needed you to clue him in. “The cold shower!” you laughed, “like when a guy gets turned on and needs to cool down a bit? Do you really not know what I’m talking about? Was that not a thing back in your day?” Bucky shrugged.

An air of confusion colored your expression, “wait, so then why are you taking a cold shower?” Again, Bucky was lost. There was clearly some kind of disconnect, some sort of miscommunication that had the two of you feeling so unclear. “I always take cold showers”, his tone was sheepish as he realized that he was once again doing something you deemed out of the ordinary. He raked a hand through his wet hair, loosening a few bits of congealed blood that remained trapped near his scalp.

“Do you not- do you not find it uncomfortable?” you asked, shivering as you remembered the frigid water slicing through your skin. Bucky shrugged.

Comfort wasn’t something he ever considered when it came to showering. Hell, comfort wasn’t something he considered period. It took you months to get him to switch the blanket at his apartment from scratchy wool to a cozy down comforter and convincing him to switch from his worn-out boots to a new pair with more support had basically changed his life. Bucky only ever considered utility and efficiency- a holdover from his days at Hydra. His comfort had never been important back then, only his kills.

“Cold showers are just what I’m used to…” he muttered, “they’d strip me, hose me down with freezing water to get rid of the blood, and throw me back into cryo. That was that”. He never considered that this practice was wrong or strange- it was just his life. It was what he accepted. And when he escaped from Hydra and ran off own his own, it was all he knew.

With cautious steps, you made your way back over to the shower, dropping your towel at your feet. “Here, let me…” Braving the icy water, you stepped into the shower and turned the handle from C to H. The water slowly warmed up, enveloping the two of you in a cloud of steam. Almost instantaneously, Bucky’s shoulders relaxed. The tension that kept them at attention melted away under the hot water, easing the knots in his tired muscles. “See? Isn’t this nice?” you asked, running your hands slowly down Bucky’s chest, “it’s so relaxing. So comfortable. You deserve to be comfortable, Buck”.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours as the hot water poured over your bodies. “Thank you. I kind of feel like an idiot when you have to show me these sort of things…” his arms wrapped slowly around your waist, pulling you closer into his body, “But I’m glad that you do. What would I do without you, sweetheart?”

Your hands snaked upward, weaving around his neck, and finding a resting place in his hair. He wanted to protest to make sure you kept your hands clean, but he couldn’t resist. His eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of your fingers scratching lightly over his scalp; it was one of the things he missed most when he was away. “Um, you’d freeze your balls off,” you teased, “and we can’t have that”. He stuck his tongue out at you, squeezing you ever tighter as you giggled.

“Here, let me help”, you motioned for him to turn around and began working the remaining blood out of his hair. It tangled in his locks, knotting them together in thick clumps. You knew Bucky well enough to know that if he tried to do this himself, he’d rip his hair out at the root. He was never gentle with himself- only with you. He didn’t consider his comfort or his well-being, only the task at hand. Sure, ripping the bloody masses from his hair would be faster, but it would surely hurt like a bitch. And you weren’t okay with that.

Bucky needed to learn how to treat himself with the kindness he showed you, but it was a long process. You were more than happy to step in when need-be, filling in the gaps and taking care of him in the way he deserved. Gently, you massaged the blood out of his hair, letting the warm water and Bucky’s favorite shampoo wash the sticky, red ooze down the drain.

“Thank you, baby”, Bucky turned around, kissing your forehead when you deemed his hair ‘blood-free’, “you’re fucking incredible”. He pulled you close, the two of you weaving your bodies together under the hot water. Bucky couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have someone so patient, so kind. You never made fun of him or made him feel stupid when you had to teach him things. You never made him feel small or gave him a hard time- you only wanted to help him. To make him more comfortable.

“And hey, shower sex is a lot more fun with warm water”, you attached your lips to neck, lightly sucking at his pulse in the way he loved. Now that Bucky understood the comfort of a hot shower, you were determined to show him just how enjoyable showers could really be.

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wackus-bonkus-maximus · 2 years ago

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Hi, hello it's the Anon who was sending the song lyrics but not anon now!

Here to share some more, I feel, relevant lyrics.

"Maybe I'm a broken man

Maybe I can barely stand

But the two of us are trapped in here again

I know that it's so bittersweet

Fitting now, but it's still me

It's something beautiful and it's back from the dead

Maybe you'll come around

Or maybe I'll burn it down before we make a decision

Maybe we'll see eye to eye

Or maybe I'll come alive before we make our way in

I've been looking in the mirror, I've been losing me

Running in a lonely race

The finish line's a cursed place, yeah

All the pain and all the anger is my only home

Every night, I scream and shout

But I know that there's no way out"

And the other half

"Don't you tell me I'm to blame

You're the one who sparked these flames

Despite your actions, I always come back (I always come back)

Maybe you'll come around

Or maybe I'll burn it down before we make a decision (A decision)

Maybe we'll see eye to eye

Or maybe I'll come alive before we make our way in

I've been looking in the mirror, I've been losing me

Running in a lonely race

The finish line's a cursed place, yeah

All the pain and all the anger is my only home

Every night, I scream and shout

But I know that there's no way out

I've been running from my fear, it's eating me alive

Find another way to sell

A room that is my own in Hell

All the pain and all the anger is my only home

Every night, I scream and shout

But I know that there's no way out

(Maybe one day you'll find humanity)

('Til then, don't you dare say that we are the same)"

So! I can't share my thoughts here cause this is already absurdly long. However! If you are interested at all, I will do so in a reblog with a "read more" attached! So your poor followers aren't bombarded with a wall of text.

ayyy sup mythicalthings :DDD

ooh yes yes i like these lyrics a LOT. the interesting thing is i can hear them in ladybug's voice talking to monarque, adrien talking to gabriel, or ladybug and cat walker talking to each other D: the line "i've been looking in the mirror, i've been losing me" is really powerful to me actually. marinette's mirror could be kagami, and adrien's is felix. they're both losing themselves and each other through their trauma and racing to "the cursed place" of the finish line!

#gotta say this gives me no further notion of what fnaf is about #i always assumed it was about animatronic chucky type characters #a beware the night shift kind of game #but now i'm thinking it's just odnlb the video game

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karasuno-volley · 4 years ago

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HAIKYUU THIRD YEARS + SAYING I LOVE YOU FOR THE FIRST TIME

( ft. aoba johsai + karasuno )

plot: how the third years say i love you for the first time.

pairing: seijoh / karasuno third years + gn!reader (slight fem!reader implied for asahi + oikawa)

a/n: fair warning, i did google personalities for makki/mattsun so i can get a sense of how they act. :) shoutout to haikyuu wiki. liking/reblogging welcome, no reposting though! also, hmu if you want to be put on a taglist !! love, volley.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE ?

Oikawa Tooru would never admit it, but he is helplessly in love with you. He isn’t sure why, but this feeling comes in waves. One day it is subtle and stirring in the back of his mind, the others, when your lips collide and your breath is hot on his neck, it’s a tsunami. Now, with your head in his lap, the movie you had chosen plays idly in the background. Neither of you are paying attention-- you’re distracted by his long fingers from one of his hands in both of your own, and Oikawa’s distracted as his free hand runs through your hair. It is a soft moment; Oikawa feels like he’s drowning, but in a way that resembles falling asleep. He knows he has to say it now, to say it first. If he has to find similarities here, perhaps it’s breaking the surface to see the sun above. Perhaps it’s the first breath he’s ever taken, and exhaled with a soft-- “I love you.” You hear him, of course. It’s quiet and lovely and wraps your heart in velvet. You find his eyes, kiss the pads of his fingers to your lips. What is there to say? “I love you, too.” Just like that, Oikawa is drowning in you.

He does not mince words, you know this. Iwaizumi was calm and supportive, even when you decide to get ice cream in the dead of winter. He doesn’t order anything with you, but insists on paying for you. As the pair of you walk idly through a nearby park, he can feel his senses adjusting to you, for the first time in forever. It’s not like he’s never focused on you-- it’s quite the opposite. However, now, with you taking small bites of your mochi and the snow falling into your hair from the looming trees, it’s all he can do to not look at you. He’s distracted by your lips as you speak, your eyes as they convey all sorts of emotions. Iwaizumi can always read you, that’s his strength. But now, at least to you, he doesn’t seem to even be listening to your story.

You stop suddenly on the walking path, and he does, too, though obviously startled. “Are you okay?” You ask. His eyes don’t leave you. “I love you.” He says it like he’s dumbfounded, as if stumbling across an answer he’s been looking for for far too long. You only smile, picking up one of your mochi from its container and putting it between his lips. When he bites down, it’s strawberry. He can’t stop himself from thinking that it matches the taste of your lips perfectly.

It wasn’t like the pair of you were doing anything special. In fact, it was the opposite. The rain had ruined any plan you had of taking your boyfriend out for a picnic, so you were a bit down on the idea of doing nothing. However, when you walk into his house a bit later after Takahiro had offered the idea of just hanging out, you see it. A checkered blanket, a basket. A few bentos and drinks laid out. “Makki? What is this?” You ask, and you can’t stop a smile. “Uh, a picnic?” He says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Smartass.” You say, but join him anyways, happy to be doing anything other than the ordinary.

You two talk for a few hours, much longer than you had actually planned. You knew you had homework to do, but it really only felt like minutes. “Hey, I have to tell you something.” Makki doesn’t even look at you when he makes his confession, really. Only a few quick glances your way. “I love you.” You sit there for a moment, face blank. He panics, thinking he’s made a mistake. Maybe you don’t feel the same way? He’s about to backtrack horribly, but then you kiss his cheek. When he finally gets a new view of you, you’re blushing, taking another sip of water. “I love you, too.” He’s never seen anything so lovely.

You never knew how funny Mattsun could be until you started dating. Constant cut-and-dry jokes lead to light-hearted dates. It could be a walk in the park, bike rides, a trip to a convenience store: whatever the situation was, it usually led to more laughs than anything else. His teammates didn’t usually get this side of him, and you know this. It’s a savory feeling that you couldn’t get enough of. He never smiled enough, but now that you two are dating, even Oikawa admitted on more than one occasion that something had changed in him for the better.

Now, as he guides you down a cherry-blossom filled path, he’s oddly silent. “Mattsun?” You say, trying to catch up with the boy’s long strides to get a look at his face. You worry something might be wrong, until he says: “You know I love you, right?” You laugh, and then he stops, turns to you. Mattsun’s eyes are lively, bright. A new emotion. “I tell you I love you, and you laugh?” He’s incredulous, but not angry. You pause, your smile slowly morphing into something slightly more like shock. “You… You’re serious?” “Yes!” He says, throwing his hands into the air as he continues walking. You’re a half step behind him as he laughs. “God, I’ve been working up the nerve all week to tell you that!” You step in front of him, hand on his chest to force him to stop moving. You kiss his lips, smiling. “Mattsun, I love you.” You turn, high-tailing it down the sidewalk. He chases you, arms waving in the air like a madman. “Hey! That’s my line!”

“Koushi, please.” You beg, both his hands in your own. “Please? It’s been forever.” Your boyfriend only laughs. “What? We went out three days ago! Besides, we both know we have stuff to do.” “Do we?” You give him the best puppy eyes you can manage. Something in Suga’s expression alters, his eyes turning soft and melted. He sighs, a small smile appearing on his lips. “I…. uh, fine. But we’ll just get ramen or something, okay?” This changes your frown into a fast and easy smile. You kiss his cheek quickly before continuing on past your house and towards the small ramen shop on the corner before you realize Suga isn’t actually following.

His hands in his pockets, he watches you with a dumb smile on his face that hasn’t gone away quite yet. “Hello?” You say after him, turning on your heels before he finally comes back to his senses to catch up to you. “What was that? Lost in thought?” You ask, laughing. “What? No, it’s nothing. I just love you.” Before you could reply, Suga runs past you to beat you to the front doors of the small cafe. “You what?” You call after him, disbelief all over your features. “Come on! You don’t want your ramen to get cold, do you?” “Suga, it’s a restaurant! It’s not going to get cold!” You chase after him, your heart lighter than it’s ever been.

Perhaps he should have known this already, that you’d be upset. He looks at you stupidly, and you have half a mind to hit his shoulder. You don’t, but God, are you close. “Sawamura!” You whine, and Daichi seems to snap out of it. He isn’t used to you calling him anything but Daichi or any number of pet names. “C’mon, darling. Don’t be so upset. It’s just one grade.” He gently takes the exam from your hands, looking it over. In fact, he isn’t. His eyes glance towards you the whole time, watching as you pull your hair up, run your hands down your face. “What am I supposed to tell my mom? If I don’t pass this class, I…”

“Your mom will understand.” Daichi says, slowly handing the paper back to you. You take it, adding a few creases to its smooth surface. “If it makes you feel any better, I still love you.” He isn’t sure why he chooses then to say it. Maybe he wants to see the frown on your face dissipate. Maybe he just wants to hear you say it back. You look around the empty hallway, and find the pair of you alone, before you turn back to your boyfriend. “How’s that supposed to make me feel?” “Hopefully better?” Daichi asks hopefully, a dumb grin on his face.

You did not want to be sick today. That was easier said than done, however, especially with allergy season on the rise. You hadn’t told Asahi you weren’t going to school that day. In fact, the medicine you had taken early in the morning caused you to sleep through most of the day. You only wake from your sleep when there’s a knock at the door, and you rise groggily to answer. When you do, you see Asahi there, sheepishly holding a bag from Shimada Mart. “Hey, I, uh… brought you some stuff?” It wasn’t a question, but it was sure phrased like one. “Asahi, what are you doing here? How did you know?” He smiles, almost a little embarrassed. Normally he wouldn’t show without at least texting to let you know he was coming over. He’d never actually seen you in anything but casual clothes or your school uniform. Your pajama pants were covered in different dogs, a loose white t-shirt a horrible substitute to your favorite blouse.

“You didn’t answer my texts. Can I come in?” “If you want to get sick, sure.” You open the door for him, and Asahi enters, taking his shoes off at the door. He surveys the couch where you had obviously just been resting. “Go lay down.” He nods towards the living room. “I’ll go make you some tea.” You don’t have the strength to argue. When Asahi returns, two cups of tea in hand, you’re already asleep. He sets the cups down as quietly as he can manage, settling himself in by you. His hand takes your own, and you adjust for it easily, even in your sleep, the back of his hand pressed against your lips. He says it, but there’s no way you hear. Asahi doesn’t mind, though. He can always tell you again when you wake up. For now, he leans back, covers you in a blanket, and settles in for a long evening.

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shelby-love · 4 years ago

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GEORGE WEASLEY

I'm Holy. Get it?

Requested: no

Prompts: none (all lines are from the movie save for the reader’s + some other)

Warning(s): I'd say if you haven't watched HP movie 7 don't read this but I mean...

[Y/FN or Y/MN] is your father’s name or your mother’s name, whichever you prefer :)

Word count: 2.6K

Author's note: This is set directly in the first part of the ‘Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows pt. 1′ movie (Polyjuice scenes and arriving at the Burrow after the Sky battle). Reader reacts to George's injury kinda thing. I highly recommend rewatching those specific scenes so you get the feels:

Arrival at Privet Drive (watch first 50 seconds)

Full Polyjuice scenes

The Sky Battle (watch all if you want)

The Order at the Burrow after the Sky Battle

This is by far my favourite one-shot out of all of my work and it took me a while to write it so please like, reblog and let me know what you think! P.S. if you’re up for me to write a part 2, that one shot will be set before, during and after the wedding <3

MASTERLIST

Darkness set around Privet Drive seemed to be rippling, the air wafting all around. The Dursley's house, home of the famous chosen boy Harry came into view only as the brooms lowered to the ground. Not only brooms, in three cases skeletal, black winged horses too. Hagrid dominated the scene, sitting in an enormous motorbike you had begged him to give you a ride on, with goggles and a helmet set on his bearded face.

Despite not arriving in the motorbike, you had flown on the next best thing - a broom, with arms wrapped around your boyfriend, face nested against his shoulder and a million sweet nothings whispered into your ears on the way over.

You were pleased to say the least.

One by one, you lifted the Disillusionment Charms, coming into view for Harry Potter to see through the window of his room.

George Weasley dismounted the broom with ease, helping you off by letting you put your hand on his strong shoulders.

Harry pulled the front door open, eyes wide upon hearing Hermione screech and fling her arms around him. Ron: the next best thing how George and Fred always say, clapped his best friend's back and waltzed into the house after Hermione.

You stood outside, holding George's hand, body molded against his and watched the scenes unfold with the rest of the Order - Bill, Fleur, Tonks, Lupin, Arthur, Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley, Fred and George. You were accompanied by Mundungus Fletcher: a small, dirty man with droopy eyes and hair that was non-existent. Behind Mad-Eye stood a slender man in a dark suit, having just dismounted the third winged horse. He was handsome, so to speak, with black hair brushed behind and dark glasses shielding his eyes.

"Who wears sunglasses at midnight?" Fred had mumbled when he saw the man for the first time at the headquarters. You laughed immediately, agreeing by throwing a joke of your own.

George was protective; he made sure you weren't close to either of them as you followed the rest of the Order inside. As was Bill, his older brother, who had a hand on his fiancée's back, ushering her inside while placing himself as a human shield against Mundungus and the stranger. You were thankful for George, just like Fleur for Bill - you saw it in her eyes when you made it inside the small, family home that was once filled with furniture.

"Hello, Harry. Bill Weasley," said the oldest brother, hand extended for Harry to take.

"Ah, pleasure to meet you," this was the first time Harry had met the oldest Weasley and he shook his hand immediately and gave Fleur a hug right after.

"Wasn't always this handsome." Fred teased, pushing through the small crowd of people.

"Dead ugly," Your boyfriend added, holding your hand, and pushing you in front of him as the auror walked in right after you three did.

You released George's hand and came in to give Harry a hug, who you considered to be your close friend. "Are you going back to Hogwarts?" The boy asked you, knowing you were as old as him and his closest friends.

You shook your head, "My parents are in the Order as much as I am. I'll go when we defeat him. At least that's what I have planned."

"Of course, she'll go," Hermione interjected, not wanting to take the N.E.W.T. alone.

"No, she'll work with me," George butted in the conversation, grinning. "She'll be our salesman."

"Or saleswoman!" Fred voiced somewhere around the house.

Your lips spread into a grin instinctively as you placed a hand into George's already extended one and joined him somewhere else, letting Harry get to know a little bit more about Bill and his scar.

"-the joker," the last of Tonks' words made their way into your ears. The bubbly woman came to stand next to you. "By the way, wait until you hear the news! Remus and I are -"

"All right, all right!" Mad-Eye interrupted Tonks mid-sentence. You gave her a smile and a glance at her belly. She smiled in return. "You’ll all have time for a cozy catch-up later! We’ve got to get the hell out of here and soon!"

"What news?" George leaned in and whispered into your ear, Fred leaning in too.

"Doesn't matter," You told him. It was Tonks' announcement, not yours.

"Babe, pleasee," he whined, but you stood your ground and elbowed him in his abs.

George yelped behind you, drawing in attention. The adults turned around to look but he composed himself immediately, placing on a carefree smile and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, brushing them all off with the actions.

You missed half the conversation about the Trace the Ministry had on every underage witch and wizard. You thankfully didn't have the Trace for several months now but you did pity Harry in that aspect. The Trace was not an easy pill to swallow for an underage wizard like himself.

"The real one...?"

Moody drew a flask from one of his pockets.

"I believe you're familiar with this particular brew."

"No! Absolutely not!"

Hermione sighed, "I told you he'd take it well."

Harry, the always humble boy shook his head. You didn't see his face because you stood in the back, but you could imagine it very well. "If you think I'm going to let people risk their lives for me-"

"Never done that before, have we?" Ron mumbled, rather audibly so that everyone heard him.

"This is different. Taking that. Becoming me - no."

"Well, none of us really fancy it, mate." Fred said earnestly.

"Yeah imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as scrawny, specky gits forever." Your boyfriend added after him.

Harry didn't smile at that.

But you did - and that was enough for the Weasley twins.

You focused on the conversation that went on, cringing with George when Mundungus started to speak.

Suddenly, Hermione mercilessly grabbed a tuft of Harry's jet-black hair, yanking several pieces out and placing the strands into the flask.

"Blimey Hermione!"

Moody held out the flask in which the potion was connecting itself to the strands of hair. The mud like liquid gave an awfully displeasing imitation of brewing, but it turned to gold liquid soon and you let out a breath of relief.

But relief was soon replaced with dread as you realized what awaited you. Instinctively, you stepped back only to crash into George who had stepped behind you, knowing what you would do. Your boyfriend placed his hands on your shoulders and walked you to stand in line with the rest of soon-to-be-fake-Harry-Potters. "You aren't going anywhere luv."

George slapped your shoulders for effect.

"For those of you who haven't taken Polyjuice Potion before, fair warning. It tastes like goblin piss."

You visibly shuddered as you stood between the twins, Moody's fake eye catching you in a locked gaze.

"Have a lot of experience with that, do you, Mad-Eye?"

Moody's eye switches from you onto Fred. "Just trying to defuse the tension."

Fred gingerly took a sip, cringing in distaste immediately after.

He tried to hand the flask over to you, but you shook your head and dashed over to stand after George, not before him.

Why didn't he start from the other end of the line?

You were fine with standing next to Mungundus - the petty criminal, just not with taking a sip of that potion.

"My girlfriend's just scared," George smiled apologetically, still trying to defuse the tension just like his brother.

Both twins shrinked immediately after drinking it, and you swallowed the remains of your saliva and took the flask from your now very short boyfriend. "Cheers." You muttered, taking a small sip from the flask.

"That's not nearly enough! Blimey drink some more!" Mad-Eye barked at you and you did as he said, taking a much bigger sip this time round.

He finally nodded and stepped aside.

You felt your features bubble up uncomfortably, until the transformation ended, and 8 Harry Potters stood in the kitchen that had once belonged to Harry's evil muggle caretakers.

"Wow - we're identical!" Fred and George said at the same.

"Not yet you aren't," Moody mumbled, pulling out the sacks with eight identical sets of clothes.

You, Fleur and Hermione grabbed for the clothes immediately, your bras suddenly feeling everything but comfortable against your now flat chest.

"Don't have something a bit more sporty, do you?'" George asked, looking at the red shirt puzzled.

"Yes, don't fancy this color at all." Fred agreed.

"Fancy this: You're not you, so shut it and strip." Mad-eye exclaimed, turning to Harry. "You'll need to change too, Potter."

Harry looks around and self-consciously begins to strip. The other in takers of the potion had no concern when they stripped off their clothes. As for you, when you glanced underneath the shirt and indeed saw that your breasts were no longer there, you had no problem when taking off your shirt and bra. Any ounce of self-consciousness that was there disappeared once coming to terms that the body wasn't yours.

"Harry," you started, your voice the only thing left that was your own save for the clothes you were currently taking off. "Sorry for exposing you like this. But if it makes you feel any better...you have a nice body?"

You didn't really know to which Harry you were talking to, but one look at the Harry who didn't smile, the one that looked rather angry was enough to know he wasn't the real Harry. It was George. "I mean...that's kind of a compliment to you too... Right Fred?"

"It's a compliment," A different Harry but with Fred's voice said. "Take it or leave it George."

"Help me with this?" You decided to say instead, your cheeks flushing red as you turned around to give George space to unclip your bra.

"Never thought, I'd see the day Harry helps himself take off a bra," Ron mumbled with a laugh, having just finished commenting about his best friend's non existing tattoo.

"Shut it, Ron." Harry's voice came from somewhere amongst the crowd. Real Harry's voice.

George then helped you put on your red shirt in a haste, just now starting to smile. "I'm helping Harry Potter with his clothes the same way I would help my girlfriend."

"But it is me you dimwit!"

"Right then," Moody started to talk again, just after George helped you with your jacket. "We'll be pairing off. Each Potter will have a protector. As for you, Harry..."

"Yes?" Every Potter, real and fake, said in unison.

"The real Harry! Where the devil are you, anyway?"

"Here." The real Harry raised his hand and Moody's eyes rotated onto him.

"You'll ride with Hagrid." He said, "As for [Y/FN or Y/MN]'s kid... Where in the bloody hell are you even?"

Hearing those words, you raised a shaky hand. "I'm here sir."

"Good," Mad-Eye took note. "You'll be going with Ren on one of the thestrals."

"R-ren?"

The dark figure you and George so desperately tried to avoid stepped into the room right at that moment. "Yes, Ren. He's one of our best Aurors. Good and loyal - exactly the ones that are the hardest to find."

"O-kay," You said uneasily and turned around to face George. As weird as it sounded, fake Harrys holding comforting hands weren't a weird sight if you imagined hard enough to see George and Y/N.

That's what you did at that moment at least.

Held Harry's hand and tried to imagine George.

"Let's go."

***

"I'll see you at the Burrow, okay?" You told George, voice laced with worry.

"I would kiss you right now if you didn't look like Harry," He said.

You nodded in understanding, "Me too George. Me too."

The two of you went to your respective protectors - George with Remus and you with Ren.

You ignored the man when you came up to him and only gave him a look when he was supposed to help you up on the calm horse like creature.

"Hang on tight," was the last thing he said before the thestral flew the moment Moody finished counting.

You did hold him, only not as closely like on the broom with George.

***

"Confringo!" You yelled, holding out your wand in the direction of the Death Eaters. A bright blast flew out of your wand, hitting one of Voldemort's followers and sending him off his broom to be eaten away by the wind.

They were catching up to you, not bothered by the aggressive sways of the wind. Whether the thestral was acting out in fear or in rage - you wouldn't know.

"We're almost there!"

True to his words, the two of you broke through the protective spells of the headquarters, landing somewhere on the land, away from the Burrow.

You heaped off the thestral immediately. "Do you really plan on walking all the way back?"

You didn't know what to tell Ren as you continued to walk on unsteady legs. Your brain was mushed, fried even due to the number of curses you evaded and had been struck with.

"I-I..." You started, but words weren't coming out. "We're the last ones to arrive. I'm sure of it!"

"What difference does that make?"

"What difference..." You repeated, not believing what he was saying. "They maybe think we're dead! George might-"

George might think I'm dead.

It crushed your whole being. The lingering thought that they might not be okay...

"Come back," Ren interjected, slashing through your mind with his words. "We'll be faster on the thestral."

As much as you didn't want him to be right...he was. And so you turned back around and grabbed his hand, sitting back on the thestral - cold and scared for everyone's lives.

Especially George's.

***

"Oi! Let her go! Let her go!"

Remus Lupin ignored everyone as he pointed the tip of his wand to you, sending your still very Harry looking body hurling to the ground.

In the end it was Fred, George's older twin, who had marched out of the house and pushed Remus away. Fred looked like himself again, making it all ten times scarier. You had tears in your eyes as he pointed his wand at you and never felt so threatened in your life. "What was the place where you first met George and me?!"

His screaming had you struggling for words. "Answer me!"

"Filch's office you bloody dung brain!" You screamed back, feeling your face return back to normal.

Fred's face softened instantly as he came down to help you up. He hugged you the moment you were back standing. "Fred, what's going on?"

"It's George."

***

"Where is he?" You barged into the cramped house, looking around the whole place frantically. You followed Fred into the sitting room, where Molly had tended to her injured son when he was first brought in.

George lied on the couch, his bleeding had stopped thanks to his mother, but under the light you saw a clean hole where George's ear had been.

You dropped to your knees by his side immediately.

You could practically see the struggle he had with opening his eyes which he never had trouble with before, especially not when he was trying to look at you.

"How is he?"

Fred answered glancing at the bandages, "It could have been much worse. We can't make the ear grow back since it was removed by dark magic."

You shook your head, wiping your tears with the sides of your index fingers before brushing George's hair out of the way. "He wouldn't want you to."

"Yeah," Fred agreed. "He's a tough nut."

You voiced your agreement with your laugh, "Yeah, he is."

The two of you admired George in silence for a few moments. The room has been cleared, leaving only the three of you there. "I'm sorry for jumping on you like that."

It wasn't common for Fred to be so serious, and because you didn't even want to think about your arrival, you gave him a small smile, "It's okay Fred. I would have done the same."

"I know."

"What did he say?" You asked quietly, "Before he passed out."

"That he was holy."

"Holy?"

"Yep," Fred said, the teasing tone to his voice returning as he pointed to his ear for demonstration. "Holy. You get it?"

"Thank God! He's alright!"

MASTERLIST

Tags (general (all posts)): @fofisstilinski @short-potato @miranda0102 @httphiddlestan @caromichaela @xx-missunicorn-xx @jemmakates @theravenclawmarauder @httphiddlestan @tclaerh @chefdoeuvre @abimoon @sofiasamps @princxss-fia @thirstykpophoe

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teklarn · 3 years ago

Text

𝕨𝕙𝕪 𝕒𝕣𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕔𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕞𝕖 𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕚𝕟? - 𝕕. 𝕜𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕣𝕚

character(s): denki kaminari x gn!reader (ft. katsuki bakugou, eijirou kirishima, izuku midoriya, hanta sero, mina ashido)

- 𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

a/n: yall this was SO MUCH fun to write EHJWHEJWE (pls excuse any typos!!) check out my other holiday masterlists listed at the bottom!

summary: “why are you calling this number again?” “because you’re the ghostbusters!”

genre: humor, (part of the holiday masterlists)

warnings: light cussing, ghosts lmao, denki being an idiot, oujia boards (does this need a warning? idk), denki is also a scaredy cat lmfao never thought i’d put scaredy in a fic but ok

happy halloween!!

word count: 2247

REBLOGS ARE GREATLY APPRECIATED!!

holiday masterlists listed at the bottom !

- - -

mina slammed the phone down. “does it have to be like this every year on halloween?”

“they’re just mocking what we do, aren’t they?” kirishima buttoned up his jumpsuit, lugging his proton pack over his back.

“probably,” mina replied. she rubbed her forehead. “nobody believes what we do.”

bakugou rocked himself back and forth on a rolling chair, boots up on the control panel, jumpsuit half-open across his chest revealing a white undershirt. “who cares if they don’t believe anything. we’re the ones saving their damn lives from ghosts.”

the phone rang again. mina groaned, pushing it to her ear. “ghostbusters. what’s your paranormal emergency?”

kirishima snickered at the opening.

there was silence, only the blabbering on the next line. “sero?” mina exclaimed. “sero, sero slow down.”

kirishima and bakugou turned in unison to face their pink-haired friend. “is it bad? what’s going on?”

the words were too fast and quiet to hear from where they were standing. “All right, all right, i’ll send...what do you mean you need all of us? someone has to stay back! ...sero that's not-” the line beeped dead.

mina turned to her friend, eyes shaking. “sero called for backup, and then it just..”

bakugou took mina’s jumpsuit off its hook and shoved it at her, swinging his proton pack over his back. “kirishima, you take the mission you’re on now. once you’re done, meet us where sero is, got it?”

kirishima nodded. “got it. i’ll be done soon.”

mina and bakugou raced down, following one another down the fireman pole. kirishima followed them after, boots landing with a slap against the cement. the engine of their car started, siren already blaring when kirishima took his seat in the back.

bakugou was in shotgun. mina twisted the key once more and felt the car rumble to life. the garage opened and they raced out, nearly hitting a group of teens going trick-or-treat. - denki stepped out of the washroom, whistling softly to himself to find the room empty. the only sound was the buzzing of electricity flowing through the control panel and the constant ringing of the phone.

mina wasn’t at the receptionist desk. bakugou wasn’t monitoring the cameras. kirishima wasn’t by the pinball machine. it was halloween night! the most hectic time for all of them.

sero was already on a mission with midoriya, so he didn’t expect to see them, but where were his other three teammates?

denki wandered off to the receptionist desk and picked up the vibrating yellow phone. “hello?” he said dryly.

“you have to help! there’s a bunch of-”

denki hung up. just a minute later, the phone started ringing vigorously again.

“why did you hang up? i said-”

“if you have an emergency, take it up with the police. we’re the ghostbusters.”

“yes! that-” denki was not in the mood for pranks. they always got too many over the halloween season, starting at the beginning of october. it was tiring being sent out constantly just to come back and report that nothing happened.

when he’d signed up for this job with his friends, he didn’t assume it would come with so much...mockery.

the phone started ringing again. denki groaned, golden eyes rolling back. “why are you calling me again?”

“ghostbusters! i need the ghostbusters! that’s why i’m calling! i promise this isn’t a prank! my friends and i were fooling around and strange things started happening!”

“fooling around with what?” he deadpanned.

you paused for a moment on the other line. “...with paranormal shit!”

“why are you even doing that in the first place?”

“because we thought it would be fun! now can you get over here? the lights went out, it took me forever to find my phone to call you!”

“what’s your address? or..the place you’re at?”

you gave him your address, voice growing more frantic with every word. “please hurry!”

“i’ll be there.”

denki hung up. he buttoned up his jumpsuit and slid down the fireman hose, hanging on with one hand as finished suiting up with the other.

he had forgotten how heavy his proton pack was, and grunted with the effort it took to put it on. when he turned, his jaw dropped. one of the cars was missing. where had they gone?

denki disregarded it and hopped into the second car, twisting the keys. the engine revved to life and the garage opened. he pulled out, glancing down at the address messily scribbled down on his right palm.

luckily it wasn’t a long trip. when he arrived at the house, all the lights were out. it was a quieter area of town, but it should have still been bustling with young kids looking for candy.

denki stepped out, slamming the door shut and swinging his long gun over his shoulder. his cheeks puffed out, reminiscing on how scared he used to be. now, all denki wanted was a cute date to hang out with on halloween.

he wandered up to the door and knocked thrice. perhaps a bit more aggressive than necessary. when no answer came, denki banged his fist again.

he heard shuffling, and the door swung open.

“good, i was wondering when-” he looked around. although it was dark, he knew nothing human had opened that door.

“hello?” he called. no answer followed. denki gulped and felt a familiar fear settle in his stomach.

he wished he had bakugou’s ruthlessness, sero’s flawless aim, mina’s ability to talk her way out of the ghost’s way, midoriya’s ability to find a solution to things quickly. what would help now is kirishima’s bravery.

denki constantly felt like he was just tagging along. just a hindrance and not a real ghostbuster.

now, he guessed, it would be a good time to prove himself.

“is anyone here?” he called again.

the shuffling sounded again. denki twisted to the left, angling his proton blaster at the living room. he crept away, back to the kitchen. his breath shook, reminding him that kirishima used to tell him that there was truly no strength without fear. (not like kirishima could come up with something that catchy by himself. perhaps crimson riot said it first.)

denki stepped lightly, creaks of the floorboard barely audible. the silence was nearly unbearable. “is anyone here?” now he was just calling out for the sake of hearing some kind of noise.

maybe he should call you again. see if there’s any noise, any signal of a phone ringing.

there was still no hint that anyone resided here. denki sighed, letting his shoulders sag with an equal amount of disappointment and relief.

twisting on a heel, denki turned to exit to find two people standing with their backs pressed against the wall, shushing him silently by pressing their fingers to their lips.

their eyes were wide with horror, breathing erratic. denki paused. he could see they were begging. begging silently for him to stay. he swallowed before nodding understandingly. denki just wondered what they were hiding from.

he started back on his way towards the entrance just as the door slammed shut. what can you expect from a haunted house?

a draft followed through an open window and the lights flickered back on. denki’s knees felt weak, ankles about to give up on him.

the lights seemed to offer some comfort to the people with their backs against the wall. one of them glanced around, shivering from fear with a hand pressed to their chest.

they shuddered, rushing up to denki and ushering the other person to come along and hurry. “go tell our friends they can come down now.” “i don’t want to be alone,” the other person protested.

the one before denki shook their head. “no, you need to go. now. be back soon, i promise you’ll be okay.” they turned to denki once the other person left hesitantly. “my name is y/n. i’m pretty sure i just made the house haunted.” - your hands shook. you and your friends had (stupidly) played with an ouija board on halloween. when strange things started happening, you’d all thrust your hands back from the board and had been too scared to return to the game, foolishly forgetting to tell the entity you were done playing.

“there’s something in the living room, and it’s been stirring things up, and there’s just so much going on and i promise you this isn’t a prank at all. thank you for coming here.”

denki’s cheeks dusted red as you gripped his shirt tightly. he wasn’t picky about looks, but you were...cute.

he gripped your hands and tugged them off. “you’re good, alright? i’ve got you. you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

denki left out the part where he was scared out of his skin. he didn’t specialize in catching the ghost. more of a help in finding it, leading it to the rest of the group while screaming and then putting it into a trap.

“thank you so much.” your eyes glittered with tears. he recognized your voice to be the one screaming at him over the phone.

the lights flickered, electricity buzzing before sparks erupted from the bulbs and shattered.

“i don’t want to be alone,” you whispered.

“‘s all right.” he let you cling onto the back of his jumpsuit as he slowly crept forwards, proton gun ready.

behind him, you shuddered, feeling a chill linger, a tingling sensation running up and down your back.

the two of you made your way to the darkened living room. papers shuffled in the wind coming from the open window.

thankfully, these lights hadn’t been blown out like the ones in the kitchen. denki flicked the switch up, watching the room come to life.

papers, drinks, everything in the room was either flipped or torn. you let out a gasp, releasing the back of his jumpsuit to cup your hands around your mouth. “what happened?”

it wasn’t a prank. denki knew that now, and found himself wishing he had come sooner.

“i don’t know,” denki said. his gun hummed to life, red and blue energy flowing through. his eyes darted to the corners of the room. he lingered on the far left corner. the shadow there was darker than the rest. while denki might not have been as clever as everyone else on the team, he wasn’t oblivious.

“sorry about this,” he muttered your way. he pressed the trigger and a beam of energy shot out, wrapping around the shadow.

denki released the trigger, and the entity hiding came out to reveal itself. he gasped at the sight. its eyes bugged out, skin hanging grotesquely from its face.

its cheeks were sucked in, bony and dry and white; its cheeks were slit in ugly ways, dried blood crusted to its face.

while he wished he could have stood by and watched the demon fly around for someone else to take care of, your grip on his sleeve reminded him to keep you safe.

he shot his beam forwards again. the entity screeched in agony, twirling wildly in the hold.

“i need your help! y/n!” he yelled over the noise. “grab the canister on my back! it looks like a thermos!”

“uh,” you panicked, frantically searching before finding what he had mentioned. “i found it!”

“good! push it onto the ground! i need you to step on that trigger to open it!” you did as instructed and the thermos flung open, light erupting from it. denki stumbled back, struggling to bring the entity in. “close it! now!”

“what?”

“i need you to step on the trigger again!”

“right!”

the ghost screeched, struggling to grab something as it was sucked inside. silence resumed and all the lights flashed on alarmingly. denki slumped against the wall, panting, heart beating fast.

“great job.” he offered you a fist bump.

instead, you rushed into his arms and gave him a tight hug. “thank you, uh.” you looked down and saw a name tag on the left breast pocket of his jumpsuit. “kaminari?”

he grinned. “that’s me.”

“thank you, kaminari.” you smiled. still shaking a bit, you got to your feet. your friends who had been hovering by the staircase rushed down, hands all over you to make sure you were alright. “i’m fine, you guys,” you reassured.

denki smiled. “do you need..help?”

“i’ll be fine cleaning by myself. should i pay you or something? anything?” denki shook his head. “it’s all right. no need.”

you blushed. “then...can i take you out to lunch sometime? to pay you back for this?”

denki’s face relaxed. “uh, yeah. yeah, sure. that’d be...great.”

you smiled. you hesitantly grabbed a discarded piece of paper and a pen from the coffee table and wrote down your number. “here. and maybe this time, don’t keep hanging up on me?”

denki laughed. “have a good halloween, y/n.” he took the paper and was on his way. - “there you are!” mina tied her jumpsuit around her waist. “where the heck were you?”

“just saving this poor person and their friends.”

mina tapped her foot impatiently.

“i did save them.” he held up the steaming canister. “there’s a ghost in here.”

bakugou’s eyes went wide. “by yourself?”

“by myself.”

kirishima took the canister so they could find a proper containment for the ghost. “lucky guy.”

“what?”

the redhead winked. “don’t think i didn’t see you got their number. are you going out with them soon?”

denki smiled. “hopefully. yeah.”

- - -

ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ, ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇᴄɪᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴘʀᴇꜱꜱᴜʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ, ᴘ��ᴇᴀꜱᴇ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴇɴᴛʜᴜꜱɪᴀꜱᴍ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ (ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɢᴏᴇꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇʟʟ!) ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ɴᴏᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴍᴏᴛɪᴠᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴇʟꜱᴇ ᴅᴜᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ ɪꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴏʀ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ

- 🅾🆃🅷🅴🆁 🅼🅰🆂🆃🅴🆁🅻🅸🆂🆃🆂:

- 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕖𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕗𝕗𝕖𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕠𝕡

- 𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

- 𝕟𝕖𝕨 𝕪𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

- 𝕧𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕤 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

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the-chick-of-the-air · 4 years ago

Text

Hello my lovelies!!

Ok let me just start by saying- 600 followers?! Are you kidding?? Thank you all SO much! I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am to have every single one of you interested enough in my blog to be following me! Thank you thank you thank you!!!🥰🥰

Now I’m gonna repay you by breaking your hearts!

This is my first try at anything super angsty, so if your gonna yell at me afterwards please feel free to do so in the comments or in my ask box or even just reblogging and cursing me in the tags🤣 please let me know what you think!

TW: Major character death, mentions of vomiting and allusions to body mutilation- nothing graphic just vaguely indicated but whatever you are comfortable with is up to you! If any of what I warned makes you uncomfortable please don’t read! Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction!

Update: I’m sorry- I posted this and for some reason the tag list wasn’t working but it should be now! If your username has changed please let me know so I can tag you properly down below!❤️

Summary: Someone important dies. Cardan deals with it. Grab your tissues❤️

Final Resting Place

“I’m…I’m so sorry.” The folk are not in the habit of apologizing, much less for something that is so common. It matters not, Cardan has ceased listening, has heard nothing after The Bomb uttered those damning words.

Jude is dead.

He recalls, distantly, a time when Nicasia drug him halfway to her underwater kingdom, wishing to show him its beauty and splendor. He recalls how helpless he felt, how he could breathe but it wasn’t right. How he was silenced and the pressure from the water was crushing his chest so painfully it didn’t matter if he could breathe or not.

This feels near exactly like that.

“Your Highness?” Someone is asking a question he doesn’t hear. He doesn’t even ask them to repeat themselves. All he can do is state,

“She is to be brought back here. Burned on the pyres.” A Queen’s funeral. The only funerals the folk bothered to observe.

Someone, The Roach, likely, grunts in disapproval, “She… we…are not able to bring the body back. It was…”

Cardan isn’t sure what part of that statement makes his stomach churn the worst, the fact that they just referred to his wife, their queen as a body, or the fact that there apparently isn’t too much of her body to bring back.

He tries not to think, not to guess at what death was so brutal that she doesn’t even have a body left.

And that really is it, isn’t it? She, his fierce, vibrant, deadly queen, who always looked over her shoulder, is- was always so cautious, secretly ruling over a land that was designed to kill her, the mighty Jude Duarte, slayer of the folk-

Killed by something mortal.

In the mortal lands.

Where he sent her.

It was almost laughable, Cardan did laugh. Hysteria bubbling up in his chest like bile, which it might have been because suddenly the churning in his stomach was no longer violent but imminent and he’s throwing himself into the bathing chamber.

He doesn’t hear the court of shadows, her court of shadows, retreating as he retches into the chamber pot.

~.~

Time has lost all meaning.

It’s been days, weeks, months. The days pass in a blur, marked only by those who knew what she meant to him coming to give their condolences. Like it could lessen the pain of her being gone. Lessen the pain that came with the knowledge that this was his fault.

It was so ironic it hurt. Had he not exiled her to the mortal lands for her protection, she would have still been alive, ruling where she belonged, right by his side.

And now, she would never get to rule her kingdom openly. She would never share his throne, his crown, his name, his bed again.

She was gone before he got to have her.

And it was his own damn fault.

He refused to hold any audience with Taryn. It wasn’t fair, her twin was dead and she was parading around wearing her face. He knew that should he take one look at her, he would break beyond recognition.

The only thing keeping him alive on the throne being Jude’s memory, how she would have wanted, commanded him to keep ruling, even if she wasn’t there to do it with him.

He did allow an audience with Viviane, once. She had all but demanded it and would hardly take no for an answer. She arrived, eyes puffy and bloodshot, looking as terrible as he felt which didn’t seem fair either.

He wanted to be alone in his pain, for it to be all his own, because no one could understand, could relate to how he felt for her. Why should they share in his grief? The newest plate of armor he has cast over his heart?

She wasted no time on condolences, which in itself was strangely comforting. She got straight to the point, “You missed the funeral.”

“A mortal tradition.” His voice was hoarse with disuse. Had he gone so long without speaking to anyone? That didn’t seem possible.

“Dammit Cardan! She would have wanted you there.” Her anger was refreshing, a nice change of pace compared to the complete emptiness that was left behind in the shape of a mortal footprint upon his heart.

He almost wants to disagree, but that would make no sense. The folk can’t lie, not even half-fae.

When he doesn’t respond, Vivi crosses her arms, “Will you at least come visit her? Say your goodbyes? You have to say yes, we both know you need it.”

And painful as it was, she was right. The one thing that hurt worse than Jude being dead, knowing that it was because of him, was that he didn’t get to say goodbye. That all his letters to her went unanswered. That she died without knowing how much he needed her. How much he missed her and all she was to him. How much he…

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he silently rises and follows Vivi to his queen’s final resting place.

~.~

The mortal world is bright and loud and reeks of iron and is so alive it feels audacious. How dare anyone else continue living when someone from this place, someone so important, so above them was forced to forfeit that right?

The plot of land where she- what’s left of her- is laid to rest is small. The headstone sits, new and clean, next to two more that are dulled with age.

Justin and Eva Duarte.

Madoc had somehow procured graves for the two mortals he slaughtered, and now their youngest daughter lay beside them.

They are standing there for ten minutes before Vivi speaks, “You know, when someone visits the grave of someone they love, they usually look at it.” Her voice is monotone as she stares at the slab of stone sitting at the head of a patch of newly sprouted grass.

He’s not sure he can. If he looks, if he sees there is in fact a final stop, a final holding place for this restless mortal, then he will know it is real. That this wasn’t all some elaborate trick or punishment of her own making to get back at him for her banishment.

Foolish as it is, that was a dark hope buried deep inside him. That she was really still there, biding her time, waiting until he was just ruined enough to waltz back into his life to teach him a well deserved lesson. Perhaps on gratitude, on not taking things for granted.

It would be such a Jude thing to do.

A hand rests on his shoulder and he nearly flinches away, “I’ll give you a minute.”

Her footsteps recede, utterly fae and silent. So unlike the ones he desperately wishes to hear a final time.

It takes him maybe two minutes more for his eyes to finally find the headstone. He is shocked to find he can barely read what is inscribed upon it through tears that have filled his eyes.

Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

Beloved sister and wife

2001-2019

His tears come in earnest, then. How had he never known she took his name as well? Had cared enough to do so? Or was this something her sisters did to spite him? He pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle any sobs trying to break free.

Cautiously, so cautious she would be proud, he runs his fingers over the inscription of her name- their name. When he knows his voice will be steady, he speaks.

“Well, wife.” He presses his eyes closed as a fresh wave of tears pushes at his senses, “I doubt either of us saw it coming to this.” Gently, he tugs something out of the satchel he brought with him.

“It was yours. For you to wear upon your return. For when you came home.” He couldn’t stop his voice from breaking as he carefully laid the crown down at the foot of the headstone, glamoured so mortals would see it as a pile of painted rocks.

“I guess in a way, I got what you thought I wanted. For you to…” He can’t even bring himself to say it. He had never wanted this. When in palace lessons, he thought that dreams plagued with her scent, her voice, her touch had been the most horrid nightmares. He was wrong, this was far worse than any dream he had of her angry face, her soft hair. This was a nightmare terrifying enough to cripple the strongest of men.

“Well. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter that I wish I could take back what I said about you in our childhood. That you would return to the earth, worm food.” He shudders, recalling that he had said those things while imagining that they would have followed a long life. One filled with her aging slowly due to living in Elfhame. Secret imaginings he only allowed himself in the darkest hours of the night- ones where he was by her side and they wreaked havoc together for the rest of their long, full lives. His next words are whispered, “I never imagined it would happen so soon.”

His hand returns to the headstone, gripping the cool rock tightly.

There is nothing left to say aside from one final message. Nothing left to do other than leave this place and continue on in his immortality, letting her fade into the backs of everyone’s memory as the Last Mortal Queen.

Taking a final shaky breath, Cardan utters the truth he had spent nearly his whole life repressing, trying to lie his way around. The words he now so desperately wishes he had said to her before he cast her out of their home in hopes of preventing this very thing from happening.

With one final look upon the place his wife, his queen is forever to rest upon, he whispers,

“I love you.”

~.~

Years and years and years later, young children of the gentry sit in their history lessons amongst their mortal classmates, and learn of the beautiful, treacherous life that was led by the Last Mortal Queen, Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

And that is that! Did I make you cry? Do you want to throw crumpled tissues at my head? Let me know!❤️ (I left out details of Jude’s death on purpose, it’s up to your imagination to come up with what happened to her, sorry for pain😬)

Tag list:

As always, please let me know through the comments or my inbox or any other way you are comfortable with and let me know if you wish to be added to my list so you can be alerted to my future works!

@maleckanejnessienjurdansolangelo @woodsbeyond1 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @thewickedkings @aneurwin @snusbandxknifewife @jurdanhell @andromeddea @dressedindustandshadows @thesirenwashere @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @unidentifiedblackthorn @iminsanenotobsessed @df3ndyr @brittneyal @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @fuzzypineapples-blog @nahthanks @charrise @thefolkofthefic @theviolettulip @embersfromink @kittkatandbooboo

Till next time, loves!🥰

#cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #the cruel prince #tcp #jude x cardan #angst #I’m so sorry #I made myself cry writing this #actually I was fine writing it #but when I reread to edit it #then I cried #if Jude is your comfort character I am SO sorry #fluff to come in the future #I promise #you guys are incredible #a test in seeing how sad I can make my writing before I can’t even write it #the folk of the air #let me know if anyone reads my tags #I think I’m so witty and I hide it in here #aaaaaaaaaangst #no fluff #trigger warning: vomit #trigger warning: major character death #trigger warning: allusions to body mutilations #I’m so sorry Jude #my home girl and I killed her off #ok I gotta stop with the tags or someone is gonna hit me with a shoe #ha! even tumblr wants to him me with a shoe: I reached the tag limit!

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sk1fanfiction · 3 years ago

Note

Hello! I saw that you reblogged the "I wish you would write a fic where..." post, and I have two ideas for the Running From My Destiny verse that might make neat scenes. The first I can't really make a summary for since it's such a general idea, but I'd really like to see a Quirrellmort POV. For the second one:

Malfada Prewett meets the Weasleys. This... does not go as well as her parents thought it would, even if they didn't have particularly high hopes.

Malfada absolutely does not get along with her cousins; she loves them anyways, though.

I hope the prompt(s) is(are?) fun! It's cool that you're doing this; it seems like it'd be an interesting experience. Have a nice night! :)

Thanks so much for the prompts! They were both very cool ideas! Hope you have a nice morning/afternoon/night as well!

ᑫᑌIᖇᖇEᒪᒪᗰOᖇT/TᑌᖇᑎIᑎG TO ᗩᔕᕼEᔕ

(spark)

Quirinus Quirrell surveyed his classroom, then glanced down at his attendance sheet, running a shaking finger down his list of names.

“P-Parkinson, P-Pansy?”

“Here, Professor.”

“P-Patil, P-P-Parvati?”

He’d always been ashamed of his stutter. There wasn’t a time he remembered not feeling afraid of his own voice. He expected peers, now students, to laugh at him and make him feel smaller and smaller, until he was annhilated.

“Here, sir.”

He pushed his reading glasses up his nose and focused on the next name.

His heartbeat stuttered in his ears. Something seemed to click. To focus. And when he spoke, his voice was as composed and steady as he’d always dreamed.

“Potter, Harry.”

“Present, sir.”

He could not help but look up at the speaker. But it wasn’t as if he was one looking. Rather, someone or something else had nudged their way to the front of his brain, gazing at the small first-year in the second row, scrawny, bespectacled and overall unremarkable, except for the round-rimmed glasses and bright green eyes that seemed to stir some distant memory, as if he had seen them both on another person.

Dead. And yet he felt more alive than ever.

He shuddered, and moved on, taking note of the remaining few Gryffindor and Slytherin students.

(ember)

It had been mere days since Quirinus had returned to the school; mere weeks since Voldemort’s disembodied spirit promised him everything he’d ever dreamed of.

No longer would he be the bullied, cowed Professor of Muggle Studies.

No longer would he be an afterthought.

There is no good and evil, only power, he reminded himself. Whether he vanquished Voldemort or brought him back to life, he would be great. And that was all that mattered.

And so, he had found himself standing in front of the Mirror of Erised, performing spells that he did not understand (but the other, strange new part of him did) and renewing the runes drawn around an ancient bloodstain.

But now, he was sitting in his office. And that green-eyed, unremarkable boy was sitting across from him (though the part of him that was Voldemort whispered, Quirinus, he is the one).

“Do you think I should be worried at all about the shadows?"

Harry Potter’s voice seemed to be coming through several miles of water. For his part, Quirinus felt frozen, and yet, more clever and powerful and strong than he ever had. His limbs had new life, every square centimetre of his being thrummed with magic, and he felt a strange, vast understanding of everything around him; even the boy’s mind.

"You were right to come to me, Harry Potter.” And there came the new, clear voice again, but it faded quickly. “If you are at all interested in learning to... control... to develop... your power, I may just be able to point you in the right d-d-direction."

(flame)

Halfway through the Quidditch match, something strange had come over Quirinus. That same terrible focus and perhaps not-so-mysterious power.

And every nerve in his body sang with the same fierce joy: Kill him, kill him, kill him! They’ll never trace it to you! Dumbledore is not here to see! KILL HIM!

Quirinus had not taken even a single year of Ancient Runes while he was at Hogwarts, and his affinity for the Dark Arts had always been weak. But now, he sat quite calmly in the professors’ box, muttering an Ogham chant and tainting the air with foul magic.

He saw what the others could not; Harry Potter was being consumed by his own shadows. The boy reached for his broom, hanging on with the last of his material form. His eyes were glassy and empty, and everything in Quirinus sung with the triumphant knowledge that his strange enemy was close to death. The Reaper was coming.

The two Weasley boys circled around him, trying to save him (foolish children, none can save him from Lord Death himself!).

It was the girl that snapped him out of his focus; she threw herself into the box like a wildcat let loose and despite the protests of the professors around him.

But it mattered not. Her precious brother was fast losing his grip, and soon the great Boy-Who-Lived would be nothing but a stain on the grass below; a tragic accident—

“INCENDIO!I”

The box crackled with flame, and the thing inside Quirinus howled in anger; yes, she should not know that, but fire would save the boy, sap the shadows.

Even as Snape shouted at her, it was her victory, not his, because Harry Potter had pulled himself back on the broom to safety.

How hard is it to kill an eleven-year-old child already cursed by a parasitic monster? You are just as much of a failure as they say you are!

And yet, thought Quirinus, he did not know if it was the thing, or himself howling in fury at his inability to kill the boy.

(ashes)

He did not like her. He did not like either of the Potter children at all.

Perhaps he liked Harry Potter sometimes, when he delved into his mind and forced the Obscurus to manifest, savoured his terror and the fear-filled memories of his Muggle relatives. When he entertained the idea of using him as a weapon against Dumbledore, now that he had shielded the boy from Legilimency from anyone but him and instilled within him a fear of his Headmaster.

Perhaps he liked Harry Potter when the Dark magic had burned out, and he lay helpless on the floor of Quirrell’s office.

Quirinus found that he liked to toy with the child; make him feel as helpless and utterly annihilated as he once had felt.

After all, he would one day kill Harry Potter. He would make the life bleed out of those green eyes and watch them go still and glassy (like his mother’s, he remembered now), someday soon.

Even as he Obliviated the second child who dared to intercept his search for the Stone, Quirinus knew the end was dawning.

With shaking hands, he lifted the cigarette to his mouth and inhaled death. The weak, prim Quirinus who would have balked at the very idea of polluting his body with such a thing was no longer important to him. After all, what was nicotine and tar and his disgust at the idea of a smoking habit when the spirit of the Dark Lord lived within him?

No. He had been chosen for greater things.

Tonight was the night the end begun.

Quirinus signed the bottom of his letter of resignation, put out the cigarette, and placed in it his brand-new ashtray.

And yet, he cried.

“I have given you my all, My Lord,” he said, and his voice, his own voice was steady. “And now I am nothing.”

𝙼𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚍𝚊 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚝𝚝/𝚃𝚘 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙳𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚎 𝚄𝚙 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚊𝚕𝚕

August, 1986

“Just give it a chance, will you?” asked her dad, taking her luggage out the boot. “You won’t know you hate it until you try it.”

Everyone seemed to be giving her the same stupid advice today. When they stopped to get petrol during the drive from London, some weirdo in the petrol station had told her “Cheer up love, it might not happen!” She had responded by sticking her tongue out at them.

Mafalda frowned, crossed her arms, and leaned against the car.

“I don’t see why I can’t go to Roedean.”

“Well, you’re a witch, Mafalda.” He wiped his forehead and frowned. “Bloody hot, isn’t it?”

Witch. She hated the word already. Yeah, some of the girls at school were into Ouija boards and palm-reading and whatnot, but Mafalda didn’t go in for all of that nonsense.

The kind of nonsense that got Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon killed.

“And what do they call you and Mum again?”

Her dad sighed. “Squibs.”

“Yes, Dad! It’s not very nice, is it?”

She glared at the house as if it had personally offended her. It was tall, maybe four or five stories and so crooked that there was no way it hadn’t fallen down by now. A couple of brown chickens hobbled around the yard.

And in here lived the people who had sent her father off to Muggle boarding school, as far away from them as they could possibly manage, as soon as they could.

As her dad strode towards the door, Mafalda followed, kicking a rusty cauldron as she went by.

Before Mafalda could make her great escape, her dad knocked on the door and a plump, short, red-headed someone opened it almost immediately.

“Alfred?” she asked in a squeaky, shocked voice. Then, she glanced furtively behind her as if to check that no one was listening. “Alfred, what are you doing here?”

Her dad frowned, fanned himself with the collar of his shirt, and beckoned her closer so that the rude woman could look her up and down.

“Come on, Mals,” he whispered. “In for a penny, in for a pound, eh?”

Yeah, her hair probably looked a mess and the dress Mum had forced her to wear was all creased, but Mafalda didn’t think she would look particularly nice if she’d just spent three and a half hours in a stinky, sweaty car.

“Well,” said her dad, “this is your niece, Molly, and she’s a witch just like you. Got her Hogwarts letter last week and everything; Professor McGonagall said we should come over and see you. Of course, her mum and I know next to nothing about the wizarding world and Mals just barely remembers your brothers—“

Mafalda couldn’t help herself.

“You’re my aunt? Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon’s sister? Why’d you never come to see me?”

The woman — Aunt Molly — went red in the face.

“Come in, Mafalda,” she said tiredly. And at her father’s hard look, she added: “Come on then. Both of you. In.”

Once they were inside the cramped, cluttered kitchen, she was introduced to her cousins. Mafalda kind of tuned out for most of it because most of them were younger than her, bloody annoyingly loud, and she wasn’t the World’s Biggest Fan of small children, but she did pay attention to Charlie (thirteen and Gryffindor Seeker) and Bill (fifteen and a Prefect of Gryffindor House). The youngest boy was crying his eyes out because someone turned his teddy bear into a giant spider, but Aunt Molly didn’t seem to care. A ugly-looking sweater was knitting itself on the sofa.

While she obviously knew what a Prefect was, Mafalda had no idea what a Seeker was or why everyone was making such a big deal over Gryffindor or more to the point what Gryffindor even was!

“Who’s that, Mummy?” asked the youngest, a little girl with hair the same violent red as Mafalda’s.

“Your cousin, dear,” said Aunt Molly tiredly. “She’s just come to meet us, her father’s a Squib you see—“

The little girl screwed her face up.

“I don’t wanna Squib cousin!” she yelled.

Despite herself, Mafalda flinched, and her dad did, too.

“Don’t worry, dear. She’s a witch, just like you.”

As if that made it any better.

“I don’t wanna,” the girl repeated, glowering at Mafalda.

“Look,” said Mafalda harshly. “We’ll just leave, get our Squib selves out of your way and on the three-and-a-half-hour drive back to London. Thanks for nothing.”

“You didn’t call, Alfred,” said Aunt Molly.

Her dad pinched the bridge of his nose, looking frustrated.

“There’s no way to contact you, Molly. No phone, and you don’t get our kind of mail. Where am I going to get my hands on a trained owl?”

“She can sleep with Ginny,” said Aunt Molly, nodding towards the little girl.

Mafalda gave Bill, who seemed like the most sensible one of the bunch, a look that clearly said, I am not going to bloody sleep with that demon and that’s final.

“I can sleep with Charlie, Mum, and Mafalda can have my bed.”

Aunt Molly beamed. “What an angel,” she said. And to Mafalda. “Come, dear, let me take your trunk. We’ll all go shopping in Diagon Alley tomorrow, doesn’t that sound nice? Alfred, you wouldn’t mind—”

“—Not letting the world know you have a secret Squib cousin, you have nothing to fear, I’m well practiced, Molly.”

Charlie stood up. “Can I show her around the house, Mum?”

The youngest boy looked up, too.

“And can I have a piggy-back ride from her?”

“You’re too old, Ron!” said the snootiest-looking boy, who was sitting in the middle and had the least amount of dirt in his face.

“I’m not too old!” shrieked Ginny, waving her freckled arms. “I’m only five years old, Mum! I want a piggyback-ride!”

“When your dad gets home from work,” said Aunt Molly.

“You’ll get used to us,” Bill whispered.

I don’t have to like you, thought Mafalda.

“So are you coming?” asked Charlie. “We’ve got to de-gnome the garden. You should come too, Uncle Alfred.”

Dad said he’d come with them, but would rather watch. De-gnoming apparently seemed to involve spinning the tiny, screaming, spiteful little (animals? creatures?) until they shrieked with giddiness, then tossing them as far as you possibly could, which Mafalda was very good at, and Bill and Charlie were all too happy to cheer her on, even convincing her dad to join in, too.

"Don't mind Ginny," said Bill as he flung a particularly angry gnome over the hedge. "She doesn't know anything about anything. And it was wrong of Mum to push you away, but I hope we can be friends still, and that you'll come to Hogwarts with us."

Mafalda, despite herself, thought that was an entirely reasonable proposal.

Maybe she wasn’t going to hate the wizarding world.

It turned out that unfortunately for the sake of her sanity, Charlie loved to talk while he was working.

“Have you heard about Quidditch, Mafalda — oh, good one, Uncle Alfred! That must have gone like twenty yards! Did you know the Antipodean Opaleye has no pupils? What House are you going to be in?”

And yet, she found herself (ew) getting a bit fond of them already.

#quirrellmort #quirinus quirrell #mafalda prewett #mafalda weasley #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #bill weasley #charlie weasley #harry potter

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mollymauk-teafleak · 3 years ago

Text

The Problem with Magic Markers

Soooo Critical Role campaign 2 just ended, I've got major brain rot over it and my wonderful gf gave me a wonderful idea for a fic so! This happened! A gift to @spiky-lesbian who came up with this adorable concept and is just generally an all round wonderful person who deserves the world. Also huge thanks to my ever patient, ever helpful beta reader @minky-for-short

If you liked it too, please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3!

-----------

Mollymauk is so proud of Caleb in so many ways and, now they have their lovely lives with their wonderful children, he finds more reasons to be every day.

-----------

Mollymauk Tealeaf had learned many things since he’d become a parent, now five years ago. A short amount of time, he’d used to think, but plenty of time to obtain a lot of knowledge you never thought you were ever going to need in your life.

Like how sandwiches cut into triangles were disgusting but sandwiches cut into squares could be eaten by the hundreds. Like how to make a bath appealing to a toddler with the liberal addition of bubble bath and a willingness to get absolutely soaked playing Sharks with them. Like how a scraped knee and bumped forehead could be cured with his cuddles and kisses alone, like how a promise from him that everything was going to be okay was enough to make it so.

And how silence was very, very worrying.

So when Mollymauk walked past his son and daughter’s room and heard only silence, when he knew for a fact they were in there, he stopped dead. He put any thoughts of getting to go and spend some time with his sewing kit out of his mind. Because he’d been a parent long enough to know that something was up, two five year olds weren’t that silent unless some game was afoot, something they didn’t want their parents to know about. Which meant he should probably at least poke his nose in.

So he knocked lightly on their door, the one covered in whichever drawings they were most proud of that week and a hand painted sign Jester had made for them the day they were born, prettily proclaiming ‘Trinket and Una’s Room!’ amongst a flock of miniature unicorns.

“Sweetlings?” he called gently, “Mind if I come in?”

There was a sudden scrabbling from behind the door and he heard a muffled grunt from Una before Trinket answered hurriedly, “Um...yes! Okay daddy!”

Raising a curious eyebrow, Molly pushed the door back, disturbing the usual scattering of toys left on the floor like the aftermath of a felt based battle. Although it did seem like there was more mess than usual…

Trinket stood in the middle of the room between their two little beds, his backpack at his feet and an expression of perfect innocence on his face that was just a little too polished to be anything but an act. Molly had to admit he’d probably learned that from him.

“Well hello there, little man,” he leaned in the doorway, smiling crookedly, “What game are we playing today?”

Trinket shuffled his feet, “Um...packing?”

“That sounds like a fun game,” Molly’s gentle concern upgraded to full blown wariness, “And where’s your sister?”

Trinket turned a deeper shade of purple, looking down at his fidgety feet that were poking more holes in his innocence by the second, “Um...she...um…”

Which was the point Una helpfully chose to poke her little head out of the backpack, dark eyes blinking curiously and ears flapping, trilling, “Here daddy!”

Trinket flushed guiltily, frowning at her, “Una! I said you had to stay shh!”

Molly took a breath, wandering over to sit down on Trinket’s bed. As his eyes swept around the room, he noted a great deal more chaos in the room. Almost like someone had been going through the toy box and the drawers and bookshelves, hurriedly pulling things out, making quick decisions about what to abandon and what to stuff into a little blue, dinosaur patterned backpack. Molly supposed he should at least be grateful that Trinket saw his sister as worth taking.

“Why don’t you talk to me, babies?” he offered gently.

Trinket swallowed, eyes darting around nervously before the last of the fight went out of his narrow little shoulders and he mumbled, “Daddy...can I tell you a secret?”

Molly had to smile. This was almost a running joke between the three of them, his kids running up excitedly to tell him they had a secret for him before whispering into his ear about some apparently very cool bug they’d seen or that Uncle Caddy had snuck them an extra cookie or that he was the best daddy ever. He loved being brought into their world where everything was brighter and more exciting and there was fun to be found in the smallest things. And where everything was felt so much more keenly.

“Of course you can, sweetling,” he murmured gently, patting the bed beside him, “You can always tell me secrets. Whatever it is, I promise we can make it better together.”

As Una rolled out of the backpack, apparently unconcerned and rather enjoying herself, Trinket clambered up beside him and stood so he could whisper into his ear. Molly tucked his purple curls behind one ear, smiling encouragingly.

Voice already trembling, Trinket leaned in and murmured, “I messed up Papa’s coat.”

Molly absorbed that in silence, feeling his son’s anxious red eyes on him. He leaned back, keeping his face carefully neutral before taking a long, deep breath through his nose, marshalling his thoughts.

“Trinket, I’m not going to lie to you here. We might be in trouble.”

His opinion didn’t change when he actually saw the coat. The coat his husband had been wearing as long as he’d known him and refused to be regularly seen without, no matter how many attempts Molly had made to buy him a newer, less ragged, less musty smelling version. It was more a comfort blanket than just clothing, stained and scorched from numerous spells and spills, old leather worn shiny from overuse. He hadn’t said so in so many words but it didn’t take a genius to guess that Caleb had worn it since before he came to the city. Which meant it had probably come from his parents. And though it was old and faded and stained today, it must have been new when he got it, a costly garment for people like the Ermendruds. The sort of gift that would only be given if your only son was leaving home to join the Academy and wanted to show him how proud you were.

A lot of Caleb’s life was like that. Even as his husband, Molly found himself having to piece things together from passing comments and turns of phrase, things that dulled his love’s eyes and tightened his jaw. Molly had about a quilt and a half’s worth of assumptions and semi-finished anecdotes by this point, telling of a sad and fractured timeline.

But he knew enough to see what the coat meant to Caleb and the place it held in his husband’s black and white, yes or no, yours and mine way of thinking.

The coat that now had a minor gallery’s worth of doodles and drawings scribbled in magic marker across the sleeves and all the way down the back. And if he wasn’t comfortable with Molly washing the thing, he wasn’t going to be okay with this.

Trinket had been fretfully watching his daddy since he’d first pulled the coat out from where he’d guiltily stashed it under his bed. As Molly’s mutely horrified silence dragged on, he only became more and more anguished until he was barely in tears, wringing his tail between his pudgy fists.

“I only wanted to make it pretty,” he whimpered, “Papa will hate me. I won’t be his special boy any more.”

Molly looked up at him, reaching out and putting his hand on Trinket’s shoulder, “Oh sweetling, your papa loves you a lot, you know this isn’t going to change that.”

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the times he’d picked up a pen from Caleb’s desk without thinking much of it, doodling with it until he’d looked up to see his husband gaping at him in scandalised horror. Or the times he’d stolen sips from Caleb’s drink when they were at the cafe, the same way he’d do to any of his friends, but Caleb would frown if he caught him, unable to understand why Molly was taking his coffee?

It was just part of the way his brain functioned, the rules it spat out after absorbing years of poverty and trauma, along with some different wiring that had simply occurred naturally. Mollymauk had learned a long time ago how to fondly work with these Caleb-isms, making concessions where it was best to and encouraging his wizard to gentle the restrictions his brain built when he needed to. It was like tending some kind of creeping vine in a garden, the way he saw it. Sometimes things needed moving aside so it could flourish and sometimes it needed pruning so it didn’t strangle the flowers around it. Caleb had been as brave as Mollymauk could have wished in managing his idiosyncrasies and sometimes he just had to sit back and admire how different the Caleb he lived with today was from the anxious, mumbling wizard he’d first met.

But how much patience he’d be able to muster when it was one of his favourite things in the world, Molly couldn’t say. But he wasn’t looking forward to telling him about it.

“Should I go?” Trinket’s lower lip wobbled, glancing back at his half packed bag, which Una was back inside, the front half this time as she munched away on some snack he must have stashed in there.

“Absolutely not, your papa would never want that,” Molly squeezed his shoulder gently, “We’re going to put the coat in to soak so we can get all this ink out and then we’re going to find him and I’ll tell him what’s happened. But you need to be the one who says sorry, okay?”

Trinket nodded frantically, still clinging onto his tail for comfort, “I am sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“I know, buddy,” Molly drew him close and hugged him tight, hating to see him so upset, “But we’ll be laughing about this before long, you’ll see.”

Maybe if he said it confidently enough, he’d start to believe it too.

Caleb wasn’t hard to find for a number of reasons. For one, their apartment was very small and there were only a handful of rooms to look in. But more importantly, it was late afternoon on a day where Caleb didn’t have any reason to go down to the Academy and fulfill his duties as an adjunct professor and when his bookshop was closed, as it was once a week. Which meant there was only one place he would be, in his half of their spare room, either playing one of his video games or reading.

Molly wasn’t quite sure what they’d do when one of their kids decided they wanted their own room and were tired of sharing, meaning Caleb would have to store his books and he’d have to store his sewing somewhere else. Or if they had another kid. He’d been toying with that idea in the back of his mind lately.

Maybe best not to float that idea with Caleb right after this.

Mollymauk could feel Trinket in his arms, his offer to pick him up and carry him having been immediately, breathlessly accepted. He could sense him getting more tense, more anxious, growing heavier against him as Molly knocked lightly on the door.

“Ja, come in,” Caleb’s response was immediate, not even needing to ask who it was or having to pause over whether he wanted to see them.

When Molly went in, Caleb was in the old, ratty wingback chair they’d liberated from some sidewalk when they’d first moved in, Molly announcing teasingly that a future professor needed some grand leather throne from which to smoke a pipe and pontificate. Caleb had blushed and rolled his eyes, not even believing back then that one day he would get the job he’d always dreamed of having, thinking trauma and past hurts had stolen it from him.

So now Molly always got a small flush of pride when he saw his Caleb sitting in that chair.

His hair was getting a little longer these days, it’s auburn tangles pulled into a small knot at the crown of his head so it wouldn’t fall in his eyes. His beard was growing a little thicker too, more than the usual rusty shadow that dusted his jawline. Molly absolutely was not going to be complaining about any of that, he liked his husband looking a little more rough around the edges like when they’d first met.

As soon as he saw them, Molly with Trinket balanced on one hip, Caleb’s face lit up with a smile. His smiles had been rare once upon a time but now just the sight of his family was enough.

“Hello,” he set the book he’d been reading to one side, already expecting Trinket to want to sit on his lap like always, “How are my loves?”

Near Molly’s ear, Trinket whimpered mournfully and pressed his face against his daddy’s neck. It was more than an ache to listen to, Trinket idolised his papa, following him around whenever he could, listening devotedly as he explained his work even when it wandered far off the track that his little mind could understand. Molly had no doubt the attempt to brighten up his coat had been a genuine attempt to make him smile and he couldn’t imagine how much it was hurting his little boy, to think he’d upset the man he looked up to more than anyone.

Caleb’s smile dulled a little, seeing Trinket hesitate, immediately realising they weren’t here for playtime, “What’s wrong?”

Molly exhaled slowly, carefully keeping his voice calm and level, “It’s okay babe, Trinket just...did something he wants to apologise for.”

“Oh?” Caleb frowned a little, eyes still fixed on Trinket, arms still open.

Molly opened his mouth, ready to do the hard part but before he could, Trinket bolted upright and tearfully burst out, “I wanted to make your coat pretty because you always like my pictures and I thought you could take them everywhere not just in your pockets but I made a mess and I’m so sorry papa! I’m really sorry!”

For a moment both of his parents were a little stunned, not quite sure what to say as his rambles tapered off into spluttery sobs. Molly warily glanced at Caleb, looking for any change in his blank, closed off expression, any flicker of discomfort, even anger.

After a few beats, ones that felt longer than usual, Caleb only nodded, getting to his feet. Gently, he reached over and put a gentle hand on his son’s face, catching some of the tears dribbling down his cheek on his thumb.

“Little Kätzchen, it’s alright,” he murmured softly, “Please don’t cry.”

Trinket sniffled, blinking blearily, “You’re not angry? Don’t want me to go away?”

Caleb’s eyebrows shot up in alarm, “No! Oh, Trinkie, absolutely not. I’d never want that.”

“But…” Trinket’s eyes were wide, hopeful, wanting to take this relief being offered but hesitant to, “It’s your favourite thing in the whole wide world…”

Caleb chuckled quietly, his smile back with all it’s warmth as he leaned in and kissed his forehead.

“Kätzchen, you and your sister are my favourite thing in the whole wide world.”

Molly nearly yelped in panic as he felt the weight of Trinket suddenly leave his arms before realising his son had thrown himself at Caleb, locking his arms around him tightly. He didn’t doubt for a moment that his husband would catch him, only smiling fondly as he gathered Trinket close and buried his face in his hair.

“It’s all okay,” Caleb whispered against the rust red curls he’d given their son, “It’s okay, little one.”

Molly let them have their moment, letting Trinket cry the last of his tears out happily against his papa’s chest, hanging back and feeling his heart thudding warmly against his ribs. Eventually he was their beaming, bright little boy again, if a little damp, wriggling down from Caleb’s arms determinedly after one last little kiss against his papa’s cheek.

“I’m gonna make you a sorry card. The best sorry card ever,” he promised Caleb, already toddling towards the door, “It’s gonna have glitter.”

“Wow, that kid is definitely my son,” Molly observed wryly once his little lavender tail had disappeared around the corner.

“Then you can clean up the mess he’s definitely about to make,” Caleb chuckled, moving into his husband’s arms.

“Hey,” Molly kissed the crown of his head gently, “Well done. I know that must have been hard for you and...I’m really proud of you.”

He couldn’t see it but he could hear the coy smile in his voice, “Well...I meant what I said. Some coat is never going to be more important to me than my kids.”

Molly smiled knowingly, “I know baby….but you know, if you want to scream into that cushion for a little while, that’s okay too?”

There was a short pause before he felt Caleb’s shoulders drop in relief.

“Thank you, Katze…”

“Is it done yet?”

Molly had to fight a smile. He’d explained to Caleb that soaking his coat would take exactly thirty minutes, knowing his husband fixated on time easily, but still he asked every five minutes on the dot. He’d expected nothing less.

“Not just yet, babe,” he repeated, as he had all of those other times, looking up from the laundry they’d been folding so Caleb would have an excuse to hover anxiously in the laundry room, over the tub of hot soapy water and a little rubbing alcohol his coat was submerged in, “Soon though.”

Caleb gave a small grunt, poking a finger into the water curiously like it was some potion he was working over. After a moment, before Molly could turn back to folding the clothes, he frowned.

“This sleeve isn’t in the water…”

Molly’s smile turned crooked, coming over and putting a hand on Caleb’s before he could move the one sleeve into the tub, “I thought maybe you’d want to look at it...decide if you want to keep that one.”

Caleb blinked, not understanding until he turned it a little and saw the drawing his Trinket had chosen to adorn the sleeve with. It was done in bright red, standing clearly against the dark fabric, unmistakable a child’s drawing. There were four figures there, two taller and two smaller. The first had a set of horns drawn a little too large for it’s head, as well as a tail. The second had a long scarf and a scrawled head of shoulder length hair. The next was much smaller, with another set of horns and a tail but the same scribbled hair. And the last was tiny, with voluminous ears and spikes on the end of it’s fingers. All of them had immense smiles and held hands, a lopsided love heart hovering above them.

As the other scribbles and swirls turned into formless ink in the water, Caleb held this one like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“Yeah,” he murmured, smiling softly, “I think this one can stay.”

#critical role #modern au #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #widomauk #una #trinket #please reblog and comment!

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Ravadhi (Part 9)

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationship: Female Human x Male Half-Orc Additional Tags: Exophilia, Half-Orc, Monster Boyfriend, Interspecies Romance,Angst, Slow Burn Content Warning: Domestic Violence, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Alcoholism, Drug Abuse Words: 4148

Holly finds out what her mother left for her in the deposit boxes. Afterward, she and Ravadhi settle into a comfortable routine until it's suddenly shattered. Please reblog and leave feedback!

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Holly arrived at the bank only ten minutes after leaving, which was not at all enough time to mentally prepare her for what she was about to find in the deposit boxes, left for her by her dead mother.

She waited in the line anxiously, her fist clenched around the keys that Tonri had given her and her chest tight.

“I can help the next guest,” The teller called. Holly knew him distantly from school, he was a Ratfolk man name was Auro. The two of them hadn’t been friends or really even spoke to each other, but like everyone at school, he knew who she and her dad was, and speculated along with everyone else. Despite that, he hadn’t ever bullied her or ignored her existence out of guilt.

“Hello, what can I help you with today?” He asked as she approached

“Hi, I inherited the keys to safety deposit boxes--” She checked the paperwork she’d received from Tonri. “F152, F153, F154, and F155.”

“Okay, I’ll just need the keys, a photo ID, the death certificate of the decedent, and inheritance letter?”

“Uh, yes, right here.”

She handed the documents to Auro, who took them and scanned them briefly, stopping on the name and glancing up uncomfortably. It was a well known fact that Holly’s mother had disappeared when she was young, but she guessed the news that she was dead hadn’t made the gossip rounds yet.

Auro cleared his throat. “Of course, right this way.” He left his desk and led Holly to a private room. “Wait here a moment and the boxes will be brought to you,” He said.

“Okay, thanks.”

She waited tensely for about five minutes. Then, Auro returned with the four boxes, setting them on the table in front of Holly. He also left a large bank bag on the table.

“Would you like privacy?” Auro asked.

“Yes, please,” Holly replied in a small voice.

He nodded and smile sympathetically, then left and closed the door.

Feeling tears prick her eyes, she sat in front of the four boxes, steeling herself to look inside. She picked the one on the right and pulled it toward her. With shaking hands, she turned the key and slowly opened the lid.

The first thing she saw were the pictures. Hundred of them. Pictures of her, of Holly as a baby, of the two of them smiling and happy and together.

Holly cried softly. She thought all the pictures had been destroyed. She spend a long time looking at the photographs of her and her mother. As she shuffled through them, and envelope fell out from the pile. She picked it up and examined it, and on the front, in her mother’s handwriting, was the word, “Holly.”

Sniffling and attempting to stem the flow of her tears, she carefully slit open the envelope and took out the contents. It was a letter. It was dated seven months before Holly’s mother disappeared.

My baby girl, I’m so, so sorry. If you’re reading this, it means that son of a bitch actually killed me and my attempt to escape with you has failed. I’m sorry. I tried. I tried so hard, but he was always one step ahead of me, no matter what I did. You once asked me, when you were very little, why I was with your father if he made me so sad. I couldn’t answer you then, because you were too young to understand. I was hoping to tell you this story in person one day when we were free of him, but it looks like that day will never come. Abusive relationships never start out that way, you know. Your father started out sweet and kind and affectionate, and I was fooled. By God, was I fooled. He spent the first year of our relationship waiting on me hand and foot, doing anything I asked, lavishing me with gifts and attention. I was so struck by his attentiveness and loving nature that I fell for him very quickly. Looking back, I realize it was too quickly. I didn’t realize that his attention was manipulation, or that a pattern of dependence was beginning to develop. The change was so slow that I didn’t even see it. It started with comments, off-handed observations. “Your mom was kind of rude to me today and your brother doesn’t like me. We shouldn’t go over there as much. Your friends talk about you behind your back. You should dump them and get better friends.” He began to drive a wedge between me and all of my relationships, until he was the only one left. He’d convinced me that my family hated me, that my friends were jealous of me. I started cutting ties with people who I loved dearly, and when no one was left, all I had was him. Which is exactly what he wanted. Then there were sudden negative criticisms about my appearance or how I cooked or cleaned. I was gaining too much weight and wasn’t as pretty as I had been when we first started dating. I was spending too much time at school or work and not enough time with him. He began questioning where I went, how much money I spent, who I was with, why I was out so long. Whenever I protested, he simply said he was worried about me and that he didn’t want anything bad to happen to me, that I was careless, even reckless sometimes, and that I could get myself in trouble. I started questioning myself and actively avoiding things that would upset him. I thought he got angry with me was because he loved me. I didn’t realize he was trying to control me. Before we got married, he had been pressuring me to leave school, saying that it was too expensive and he couldn’t afford it. I told him I could apply for grants and scholarships, but he wouldn’t hear a word of it. His temper was getting shorter and shorter by the day, and before I knew it, it seemed like he was always angry. He started drinking not long after we were engaged. But I loved him, and I figured it was just stress because of money. It was easy to dismiss the emotional and psychological abuse as stress or concern, but now I know it was never any of those things. The physical abuse started shortly after we got married. By then, I wasn’t speaking to my family or friends anymore and we had moved to Willowridge for his work, so I was completely isolated. We had another argument about school, and it was the first time he laid a hand on me. He slapped me so hard that he knocked me to the floor, and I was shocked. Looking back now, it’s almost comically obvious that the relationship was heading in that direction, but at the time, I was terrified and so very confused. I was a smart person; smart people didn’t get into abusive relationships, it wasn’t possible. And now that I had alienated all of the people who could have helped me, I felt powerless. My mother died, and I wanted to go to her funeral and patch things up with my family, but your father convinced me that my family didn’t want me there. They hadn’t called me, after all. There had been no invitation to attend. So I didn’t go. Then my father died, and shortly afterward, my brother took his own life. Suddenly, I was without family and it was now too late to reconnect with them. I dropped out of college due to a mental breakdown, which was what your father wanted. It was then that the abuse became extreme. He would beat me for any small thing. I had no money, no friends, no resources, and I was now living in a town of which I wasn’t familiar. I felt trapped, but I also felt like it was my fault for falling for it, so perhaps it was what I deserved. I developed an eating disorder, lost a lot of weight, stopped leaving the house, and fell into a deep depression. I always felt anxious and sick. I didn’t even realize I was pregnant with you until I went into labor. You were a month early, and so tiny. I hadn’t been to the doctor since before our wedding and the eating disorder made my period stop for months at a time, so I had no reason to believe I could have been pregnant. When you were born, everything changed. I may not have been able to get out for myself, but for you, I would move mountains. I made a deal with your father; you know what it was. He wouldn’t let me work, so I had to scrounge and save any way I could. I was the weirdo who took all the coins from the “take a penny, leave a penny” tray. I dived into wishing fountains and scooped up handfuls of quarters. I’d lie to your father and say I lost the receipt when I went to buy groceries and couldn’t remember what the total was. It always earned me a beating, but it was worth it if I could manage to squirrel away even five dollars. I even sold my wedding and engagement rings. I expected to tell him I had lost them and get a beating, but he never asked about them. Someone who controlled every aspect of my life for years didn’t care that the proof of our marriage was missing. Fitting, I suppose. I’m not sure how much I’ve managed to save; I’ve never had the chance to count it. I’ve also put away all of my jewelry, collectables, and any small thing I thought might be valuable sentimental or otherwise. I hope beyond hope that you’re free from him as you read this, but if you’re not, I hope I’ve saved enough to give you a chance to get away and live a better life. If there’s only enough for you to buy a bus ticket and get out of this godforsaken town, it’ll have been worth it. I love you, Holly. I love you so much. If any good thing came out of that miserable bastard, it was you. You were a surprise, but once I saw your little face and your tiny hands gripped my finger, I’d have done anything to keep you safe. I’m sorry I fell short. If you hate me, I understand. But please, never doubt that I loved you. I only wish I could have been a better mother and protected you, and I hope you’re not too disappointed in me. Forgive me. Forgive me. Mommy

There were tear stains on the paper, old ones from when it was written, and new ones as Holly read it. Holly held the letter to her chest and wept bitterly.

“I don’t hate you,” Holly sobbed. “I don’t.”

It took several minutes to compose herself. When she’d sniffled to a stop, she turned her attention to the other boxes. In the first, she found jewelry, coins, stock certificates, and the proof of purchase on the house. In the second, there were trinkets she’d saved from Holly’s childhood, like her footprint, her hospital bracelet, and the blanket in which she’d been wrapped in. In the third was a single item: a bank account card.

Holly took all of the items in the boxes and stepped out of the room, walking back up to the teller’s desk.

“There was this account card in the box,” She told Auro. “Do I have access to this?”

“Yes,” Auro said. “Your name is on the account.”

“Oh,” Holly said, surprised. “Can I check the balance?”

“Of course,” Auro said, entering the number into the computer. His hands stilled and he stared at the screen.

“Well?”

“Right,” He said, clearing his throat. “At present, you have $53,640.35 available in your account.”

“Fifty-three…” Holly trailed off. “That’s… mine?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Auro said. “You can use it whenever you like. I can give you a checkbook before you leave, and have a debit card mailed to you within the week.”

“Yes, please,” She replied faintly.

She rode home in a numb fog. When she arrived, Ravadhi and Sarah were sitting on the front porch as if waiting.

“Are you okay?” Ravadhi asked, immediately pulling her into a hug. You accepted it gladly. As soon as he wrapped her up in his arms, she started sobbing again, unable to stop, and started to collapse, her legs crumpling underneath her.

“Hey, it’s okay,” He said softly, moving to sit her down on the porch. Sarah sat on your other side and rubbed her arm.

“What happened?” Sarah asked.

“She left me some things,” Holly managed to gulp out, pulling some of the things from her bag to show Sarah

“Are these you when you were little?” Sarah said. “I’ve never seen pictures of you as a kid.”

“Dad got rid of them all,” Holly replied, shuffling through them to show her. “Or, I thought he had. Mom managed to save some.”

“You were really small,” Sarah said wonderingly. “Even smaller than me.”

“Mom said I was a month premature. I didn’t know that before,” Holly whispered.

“You’re mom said?” Ravadhi asked.

“Oh, she wrote me a letter,” Holly replied, pulling it from her pocket. She began to read the letter out loud to Sarah and Ravadhi. As private and emotionally charged as the letter was, Ravadhi and Sarah were the only two people in the world who Holly felt she could share it with, and because she could, she did. Not only that, she knew they would understand it in a way that no one else would.

“Do you hate her, like she said?” Sarah asked.

“No,” Holly told Sarah. “No, I couldn’t hate her if I wanted to. I wish she had been your mom, Sarah, she was such a good mom. The best.”

“Dad tricked her,” Sarah said, looking up at Holly sympathetically.

Holly nodded. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t trick my mom,” Sarah said bitterly. “All he had to do was pay for her drugs and vodka.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah,” Holly said. Sarah shrugged.

“So you own our house?” Sarah asked, changing the subject. “Are you going to kick mom out?”

“No,” Holly said. “It doesn’t matter what my feelings are for your mom, I will always make sure you have a home to go to, no matter what. But I think it’s best if she doesn’t know I own it, so maybe keep it under your hat.”

Sarah nodded knowingly.

Holly sighed heavily, wiped her face, and stood up abruptly. “Well, I am absolutely starving. Do you guys want breakfast?”

That night, Holly lay in bed, unable to quiet her mind. She had decided to keep the news about the money to herself until she knew what she wanted to do with it. There were a million possibilities bouncing around in her head, and she couldn’t pin one down. She could fix up the house for Sarah, put it away for Sarah’s college, put a down-payment on her own house, go back to school, anything. But deep down, Holly was worried.

Ravadhi had said at the beginning that she was to stay with him until she got back on her feet, but now they were dating. Would he want her to to find her own place since, she had the money to do it? She liked living with Ravadhi. It was the healthiest environment she’d ever lived in and she didn’t want to have to start all over again on her own. Was that co-dependent? Maybe, but healthy co-dependence was better than depressed, anxious solitude, as far as she was concerned. She didn’t want to leave, and she didn’t think he would just kick her out. But, as her mother’s letter had taught her, you could never be truly certain of a person’s motives or intentions. Ravadhi had been nothing but kind and caring toward her, but… people can change.

What if she could get custody of Sarah? That would be amazing. If she could prove Diane was an unfit mother, would they even let Holly get custody? She knew that they wouldn’t let Sarah live with a convicted felon, though, so if she could get custody, the matter of continuing to live with Ravadhi in his house would decide itself. As much as she cared for Ravadhi, Sarah was her first priority.

What if she lost the custody case and they put Sarah in some kind of group home? Ravadhi’s tale of being in a group terrified her and she’d never subject Sarah to it. Was it best to leave her in a neglectful environment where at least Holly knew she could take care of herself and be safe? Or try for custody and run the risk of losing her in the system?

Maybe she could ask Sarah. She had a good head on her shoulders and could make good decisions for herself. A lifetime of neglect from her own parents as well as having to take care of her beaten and bloodied sister on a regular basis had aged her prematurely, so she was used to it. Unfortunately.

There had been another thing that had been weighing heavily on her lately as well, even before learning about her inheritance: she and Ravadhi had been officially dating for about a month, but they had both cared about each other longer than that. Would… he be expecting sex? Even if he did, she didn’t think he would be the type to pressure her into it, especially given his history.

Eventually, she fell asleep, wondering if she should ask him about it. A few days later, when they were alone with each other and just sitting down to dinner, she broached the topic.

“Ravadhi?” She piped up shyly. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, anything,” He said, picking up his fork and getting ready to tuck in to his pork stirfry and rice.

“Do… do you want to have sex with me?” She asked.

He immediately began to choke on the first bite of his food, and Holly rushed to get him some water in alarm.

When he was able to speak again, he asked, “Before I answer, is that an inquiry or a request?”

“An inquiry,” She replied.

“Okay,” He said, taking a deep breath and bracing his hands on the table. “Okay.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Holly said, wincing.

“No, no, it’s okay,” He replied, clearing his throat and taking another sip of water. “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough with me to ask. That’s really important to me, that you feel safe and comfortable.” He knitted his fingers and took a second before answering, pondering the question over in his head.

“The short answer is: yes, I do, because I care about you in both a emotional and a physical way, and part of that is wanting to be intimate and sexual. The long answer is: yes, I do, but.”

“But?”

“Yes, I do, but… I know that it scares you and that you’re not ready. Yes, but I never want to do anything to hurt you or make you feel unsafe. Yes, but I’m willing to wait as long as it takes until you feel the time is right, even if that never comes. I’m here for you because I love you, not because I want to have sex with you. Your happiness and well-being is more important to me than that.”

Holly blinked and her mouth fell open. She stared at Ravadhi in silent shock.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“You said you loved me.”

His cheeks darkened. “Oh. I… well… yeah. I do. Love you, I mean. It’s okay if you don’t or don’t want to say it.”

Holly’s heart raced and she felt confused. “Give me some time?”

He nodded. “Yeah, absolutely.”

She nodded in return, relieved. “Thanks. And… I appreciate you being cool with everything. It may not seem like a big deal to you, but it means a lot to me.”

He smiled fondly at her and continued eating.

The school semester came to an end, and Ravadhi passed all his exams, despite working two jobs and having taken Holly in during the month when he needed to study the most. Now that school was over for the summer, he took some more time to work on the house, which he hadn’t been able to do for a long time. Holly was happy to help him, and it became a new bonding activity for them both. Sarah slept over often since it was summer break, and the three of them were happy.

It was becoming easier for her to be physically affectionate with him, holding his hand and giving him hugs and kisses more casually, which was a huge step for her. He never brought up sex or being more intimate, and Holly appreciated it.

Ravadhi still had the plumbing and overnight security job, but now that school was out, he was able to take more shifts. Holly would stay up and text him until at least his lunch break at eleven P.M. to help him stay awake.

On a warm Thursday evening as the sun was going down, Holly sat on the back porch overlooking the closed-in backyard and watched some videos on her phone while texting Ravadhi back and forth. He was bored, like he always was during his shifts at the power plant. He worked alone at the front lobby and watched the cameras, which Holly was sure was nothing short of riveting. At least he was allowed to listen to music.

>What have you got playing? She asked.

>Sevendust. It’s my go-to band. Very effective at keeping me awake.

>I bet. Do you listen to any female fronted metal bands? I think you’d really like Epica and Otep. Epica has got a great opera vibe. Oh, and Sister Sin is a really good hard rock band. Great vocalist.

>I haven’t heard those bands. They sound awesome.

>I’ll make you a playlist.

>Nice. What are you up to?

>Enjoying the nice evening. I was going to clean up the kitchen before I went to bed, but I was tired. I’ll do it tomorrow after work.

>Going on rounds. I’ll text you back in a minute.

Holly switched back over to watching true crime videos on YouTube. She blinked, and when she opened her eyes, suddenly the sun was completely down. She looked at her phone and realize she must have fallen asleep: two hours had gone by. She went over to messages and texted Ravadhi. He hadn’t texted back yet, which was weird.

>Sorry, I fell asleep. Find anything?

Holly decided to go inside and actually clean the kitchen. By the time she was done, Ravadhi still hadn’t texted back.

>Everything okay?

Ten minutes passed and there was no response. Holly began to feel uneasy. With a pit in her stomach, she dialed the power plant’s main line. Ravadhi had to answer that phone, it was part of his job. The phone rang and rang and rang. Ravadhi never picked up.

Holly’s breath stalled in her chest with panic and she called the sheriff’s department.

“Sheriff’s department,” Holly heard.

“Hi, um, look, my boyfriend is at work and he’s not answering the phone, which is part of his job, and I’m worried something may have happened to him,” Holly said in a rush.

“I’m sure he’s fine, ma’am,” The deputy said dismissively. “He’s probably in the bathroom or something. I’m not sure this warrants a welfare visit.”

“I’m telling you, something is wrong,” Holly insisted. “I haven’t heard from him in hours. That’s not something that happens.”

“You’re probably overreacting,” He said. “Just calm down--”

“Who am I speaking to?” Holly asked, getting angry.

“Deputy Reynolds.”

“Well, Deputy Reynolds, my name is Holly Stevenson. Do you know that name?”

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end. “Yes, ma’am, I know who you are.”

“Then you know you owe me. You owe me.”

The deputy didn’t respond.

“The least, the very least, you can do is make sure the person who saved my life is okay. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” The deputy replied. “I’ll send an officer right away.”

“You do that,” Holly said. “And I expect a call when you get there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” The deputy said.

Holly hung up the phone and waited anxiously, biting her nails and pacing. A full thirty tense minutes later, she saw red and blue lights outside. She rushed to the door and threw it open. The sheriff himself stepped out of the car.

“What happened?” Holly asked.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

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My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Orc #Half-Orc #Slow Burn #Monster Boyfriend

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magalidragon · 4 years ago

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fire on ice | a crackish Jonerys drabble

Soooo... @moggett reblogged this post and well I felt compelled to write a drabble for one of those prompts so I give you this crack fic-- a funeral home meet cute!

I give you....FIRE ON ICE! And this is also partially @youwerenevermine‘s fault, lol, because we literally had same idea for one of the prompts.

“Thank you so much Mr. Snow.”

Jon nodded politely, solemnly, his gray eyes the perfect amount of sympathetic, sad, and he hoped the right amount of ‘normal’— lest people think him a total fucking creep—while he shook the hand of the Greatjon Umber, whose son Smalljon Umber had unfortunately encountered the wrong side of a chainsaw while out trimming trees.

Greatjon began to go into a tale about his son—who by all accounts had been a horrible person—speaking like he was the second coming of Aegon the Conqueror for all his ‘talents’ and ‘successes.’ “Hmm,” he murmured, walking him slowly to the door. “He sounds like quite a man your son, thank you Mr. Umber, we will speak later regarding tomorrow.”

“Of course, thank you again Mr. Snow.”

The door shut loudly behind him, Jon slumping against it, relieved. He glanced at his cousin, who had emerged from the basement, shaking her chopped bob out of its messy little knot atop her head. “He gone?” she demanded.

“Aye.”

“I had half a mind to sew his arm on backwards.”

Jon closed the doors to the viewing room where Smalljon rested in repose until tomorrow when he’d be taken to the Karstark’s castle for the final funeral and ultimate burial in the crypts, as was custom for the Northerners. He clicked his tongue. “Arya, be nice.”

“Remember when his wife died, and he squeezed my arse?”

“Aye, I remember.”

“Thought so.” Arya checked her phone. “Your beloved texted me. We have another on the way. This one fell from the Wall. Ygritte said he’s a fucking mess.”

He made a face; he hated that she referred to his ex-girlfriend as his ‘beloved.’ “Will you stop calling her that?”

“She works for the morgue Jon, what were you thinking?”

“It’s hard to find women in this line of work.” He heard the bell ringing on the other side of the old stone house that served as their place of business and home—the five-floor monstrosity he knew people in town referred to as ‘Castle Black.’ He did wear a lot of black. Came with the territory. He waved off Arya. “Just make sure you finish up with Mr. Lannister before the end of the evening.”

“The rich dude who died on the shitter? Yeah, no thanks, that’s all yours.”

“Do you want to take this one? Where the fuck is Robb anyway?” Robb was the master of this shit, not him. He was better with the dead.

Arya walked away before he even could try to play ‘Dragon, Wolf, Lion’ with her or answer as to where her eldest brother happened to have gone off. Guess it was all him. He caught his reflection in one of the mirrors in the hallway, adjusting his black tie at his neck and raking fingers through his curls. It did nothing to tamp them down. He schooled his expression, solemn, and pushed through the dark wooden doors from the funeral home side of the floor to the entry way. He let them swing back and folded his hands in front of him.

“Welcome to Three Wolves Funeral Home, may I help you?” he asked, voice gentle; you never knew who might be waiting to speak with you on this side of the building. He’d been accused too often in Robb’s post-services discussions of being too cold.

The woman standing in a dark red dress with long black overcoat was not someone who appeared to be in mourning, but then you never really knew, some people were good at masking emotions. Her silver hair was in an elegant, braided knot at the back of her head and she had large black sunglasses folded in her hands, gazing at the table with various brochures for caskets.

She turned, blinking wide violet eyes at him, her lips crimson, face pale. “Good afternoon,” she greeted him, eyebrow arching. “I’m inquiring as to your crematory services.”

“For yourself?” he blurted, before he realized how it sounded.

She smirked, while he flushed, thrown off by her stunning beauty. He tried to school his expression again; she could very well have been there for her husband, boyfriend, or other, he did not need to stumbling through this. He wished Robb was there. “That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? Well, I can assure you I’m not here to burn myself alive, but you know…” She inspected her hand, a couple rings on them glittering gold. She grinned up at him. “I have heard stories my ancestors were immune to flame.”

His throat constricted. “Apologies. Can I help you?”

“Your crematory services?” she wondered again, walking by him and into the showroom, running a finger over an ebony casket.

“Ah…I am afraid Three Wolves does not offer such services. We can, however, assist with selecting one, urns, and preparing a memorial service.” He wondered what she was doing; she was now leaning down to look underneath a massive white casket. No one really cared what the underside looked like. He gestured towards the office. “We can speak in private, if you wish?”

The woman shook her head. “No I’m fine, thank you. Just doing a little bit of research.”

“For a relative?”

“Something like that.” She wore very high heels, which clicked loudly on the hardwood. She glanced sideways; eyes shrewd. “Are you one of the Three Wolves on your sign out front?”

“Yes, Jon Snow, I’m the mortician.” It sounded so creepy like that, but it was the truth. Robb handled the hand shaking, the business side. Arya was their resident makeup artist—she could do wonders with faces practically taking them on and off—but he was the one who handled everything else.

“Hmm, yes I heard of you.” The woman offered her hand. “Dany.”

“Jon,” he repeated, like an idiot. He was put off by her beauty, rather disarming. He swallowed hard again. “Nice to meet you. Is there…”

“This was enlightening Mr. Snow. I’ll be back.” Dany wiggled her fingers, waving, striding out decisively. “See you later.”

What the seven hells was that about? He spun on his heel, about to ask her what else he could help her with, when the front door slammed shut, bell ringing on her exit. He heard the door from the services wing open, Robb walking in. He scowled. “Where were you?”

“Talking with the Umbers, heard it went well, did we have a customer?” Robb adjusted his tie, eagerly seeing dollar signs. “Where are they?”

“They left.”

“Damnit Jon!”

He rolled his eyes, storming by. “I’ll be downstairs.”

“With Tywin Lannister? Better make him look good, the Lannisters are paying through the nose for this.”

“Aye,” he said idly, heading downstairs and to his ‘lair’ as Robb referred to it. He shook his head, preparing in the locker room, putting on scrubs and his protective gear. When he tugged on gloves, walking over to the block of freezer drawers, he rolled his eyes again, making another face. He was better with dead people anyway.

-----

A couple of weeks later, Jon saw the beautiful silver-haired woman again, this time from the front step of the funeral home, while Arya sat on the railing, Robb in shocked horror as the sign went up across the street.

Dracarys Funeral Home and Crematory Services

“How did this happen? We had the run of things here!” Robb exclaimed.

Arya cracked her gum. “Want me to get info?”

The silver haired Dany waved from the front step of her home. “Hello Starks!”

Jon shook his head, appalled. “I thought she was just asking because someone died…like they all do.”

“You didn’t think that she was scoping the competition?” Robb shouted.

“I told you I’m better with the dead than I am the living!”

“Oh leave him alone,” Arya chided. She rubbed Ghost’s ears—his great white wolf—gazing across the street again, shrugging. “Maybe we can make this work. Jon, you were the one who met her, maybe you can get some more info. They do crematory, we don’t. Maybe we can make a deal or something.”

Robb nodded, poking his shoulder. “Go over there, find out more.”

Jon sighed. He really didn’t want to do this. “I have that Wall guy to deal with.”

“Jarl will keep, go find out more.”

He slid away from the column, clicking his tongue for Ghost to follow him, the two of them crossing the street and up to Dracarys. He entered into the front room, seeing that everything was a shade of black and red. He glanced at Ghost, who was scanning the space with his bright ruby eyes, white fluffy tail wagging slowly. “What do you think?” he mumbled.

The walnut wood stairs creaked in the back, drawing him towards the door leading away from the showroom and sitting area. He peeked into another part of the old house, just like how their business was set up, with a viewing room and seating area. He moved to another door, which was open, leading down a set of stairs.

A massive black cat yowled from a sunbeam near the door, hissing at Ghost and running off. Ghost didn’t bark but took off after the cat. He sighed, calling out. “Please don’t kill her cat!”

He went down the stairs and pushed open a set of swinging double doors, pausing at the sight. It was state-of-the art and he scowled at some of the fancy equipment he’d been trying to convince Robb to upgrade to for the last year. He ran his tongue over his teeth, arching a dark brow at the woman who had been wearing head-to-toe designer when he’d met her and now was in black scrubs and protective gear, leaning over a dead man, a kit of makeup and brushes next to her.

“Jon Snow,” she called.

“Daenerys Targaryen.” He used her full name. The proprietress of the competition, he would not refer to her as Dany. “You could have told me you were moving in across the street.”

“And you would have shown me around? I think not.”

He stepped closer, curious at what she was working on. His eyebrows flew to his forehead. “Greyscale, huh?”

“Hmm,” Dany murmured. “Yes.” She looked up, grinning. “I saw you coming over, decided not to stop you from finding me. You’re not squeamish.”

“No I’m not.”

“They call you the King of the Dead.”

It wasn’t the worst thing he’d been called. “And you are?” he retorted.

“The Dragon Queen, I suppose you could call me. Or at least, that’s what they called me at mortician school.” She selected another brush, grinning. “I’m offering a service that your busines does not Jon Snow, that’s all.”

“The North doesn’t burn their dead.”

“I know, but many in the South do. There’s plenty of them moving up here.” Dany stood and pushed the gurney with the greyscale man into the freezer, closing the door. She removed her gloves and gear, walking by him, and began to wash up. She tossed a serene smile over her shoulder. “I think we can make this work Jon Snow. Don’t worry about it.”

“Robb isn’t used to competition.”

“And you?”

He shrugged. “I work better with the dead.”

“So do I.” When she finished, she studied him for a few seconds, which unnerved him. He tore his eyes from her, wondering what she was doing. She approached him, hands on her hips. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee?”

He frowned, nose wrinkling, surprised. “Coffee?”

“A hot beverage, sometimes served with milk and sugar? Other times with various accoutrements like cinnamon or chocolate?” Dany’s smile softened. He saw then how gentle she actually was, how soft. It was comforting and he wasn’t even grieving. She must be very good at her job, he thought. He was numb, unsure how best to reply. She patted his arm, stepping by him. “Come on, I’ve got a lovely blend from Braavos.”

In the kitchen on the third floor of her house, where he assumed, she lived, she prepared the coffee. He wondered where Ghost had gone. “This how you get all the competition?” he managed to get out. “Ply them with coffee?”

“Just you.” Dany sat down across from him at a small bistro table in a large bay window, with a beautiful view of the mountains in the distance. She passed him the mug of coffee and used a small ceramic pitcher to pour milk into her coffee. Lifting it to her lips, she smiled again, warm and eyes dancing. “You intrigue me.”

He sipped his coffee—it was very good—a small smile on his lips. “You are an interesting one, Dany…if that is your real name.”

“Only my friends can call me Dany,” she mouthed.

“And we’re friends?”

“Well I hope we’re not enemies.”

Jon figured he’d have to wait it out and see for certain, but he didn’t think enemies was the best word for it. He was not good at this sort of thing, so he chose to continue drinking his coffee. He set the mug down on the table, sighing and cocking his head, a slight furrow to his brow. “I’m not good at this.”

“I know,” Dany shrugged. “But I am.”

Well that was that then, he figured, smiling at her.

-----

“So where did you two meet?”

Jon wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, as one of Sansa’s friends from King’s Landing had cornered him, trying to get info on Robb. “Where did I meet…?” he echoed, playing dumb.

Margaery Tyrell frowned. “Where did you meet Daenerys? Sansa didn’t tell me. In fact, she’s being really weird about things. Won’t even tell me what Robb does for a living.” Her eyes lit up. “I like a challenge.”

“Um, well…”

His wife of the last two hours emerged at his side, looping her arm through his. “We met at a funeral home,” she said, smiling at Margaery’s wide-eyed, horrified expression. Dany gazed up at him, love shining from her beatific face. “In fact, we contemplated holding the reception there, but figured everyone might think that a little weird.” She smiled even wider. “Also in the future, please keep the Fire on Ice Funereal Services in your thoughts for any funereal needs!”

Jon stifled a snort, glad to be rid of the odd questions. He smiled down at his beloved. “We didn’t actually consider the reception there or…did you?”

“No of course not, I don’t want to mix business and pleasure.”

“Isn’t that exactly what we did?”

“Nah, I came to scope out the competition and this really cute guy who couldn’t look me in the eye without blushing wandered in.” Dany rose on her toes, pecking his cheek. She patted her hand against his chest. She beamed again. “Best decision I ever made. I could have sent Viserys.”

At the mention of her annoying older brother, Jon shivered. He squeezed her close. “Very well then. Let’s at least try to figure out a better story, you’re scaring people.”

“Well it is the truth.”

Jon shook his head, but smiled anyway, his arm around her and hers around him, both of them walking off into the crowd of guests. He even thought that he overheard someone say the King of the Dead had found his queen. He kissed her temple, sighing. He certainly did.

THE END

#jonerys #Jonerys au #Jonerys drabble #worst prompts challenge ACCEPTED #I blame Erika for this one #crack fic totally

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 5 years ago

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Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 1)

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: You've woken up being hunted by an Alghoul. You were in a death race and hollered for help. Though, it seems like the human you've first seen didn't exactly appeared to look human all through out as his eyes glowed beneath the moon light. You've talked to him but he didn't seem friendly at all except for his awakened friend. The words coming out of their mouth seemed baffling because they were acting like they didn't live in earth, and deep inside you were in denial because they really weren't.

Warnings: Monsters? The word 'whores' and cusses? Blood? A lot of modern references because reader lives in modern day era in earth.

Words: 3,800+

A/N: Hello! Yes, this is my first Geralt fic! There will be eventual smut in the future chapters. I can just tell. LMAO. I ain't good with medieval things but I'm trying! I hope this isn't a failure nor a disappointment, spuds! 😅 Reader lives in modern day earth in this fic but magically woke up in The Witcher’s dimension, alright? This turned to be comedic because of the modern references from the reader. 😂🤣🤣 I had fun writing this! FOR REAL!

TAGLIST IS OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS FIRST PART! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Taglist: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters and said monsters aren't from moi as well. (GIF taken from Tumblr!)

MY WORKS ARE NOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

Tweaks of branches echoed around the unspecified woodland. The satisfying crack of the frail wood felt on the soles of your feet which wore some nasty pink Havaianas slippers as the night sky became colder than from what you were accustomed with.

You were running away from god knows what as you've heard a loud thud beside the tree you've woken up with. Taking a trip down the memory lane, your forgetful mind could only recall a lake in which you were drowning in and the sudden flash of lightning occurred above you as the water rested upon your face.

Then after that terrifying nightmare, you suddenly woke up in the middle of nowhere. A slightly dead looking forest before you've heard the rustle of some twigs and leaves beside you.

Having a vacation in the forest of Switzerland has never been a dream and considering how God smacked you in the head unconscious and teleported you in Switzerland was entirely bewildering from the start.

Your heart was hurriedly pounding out of your chest as you sprinted as fast as you can. Abnormal shrills whistled with the wind that made you mewl as you ran for your life. There has been cuts and bruises across your knee from how you've stumbled upon a large log that hid beneath the earth-like soil. No pain has been sent to your nerves yet because of the adrenaline rush rising in every part of your veins with the need for the hushed voices to stop.

"Ah!" Another loss of one's footing, you've tripped over a large rock and fell face flat. Face now covered in grime and soot as you've heard the intangible whisper of words for the tenth time.

"Leave me the fuck alone! If this is a prank, it's not funny because I'm hurt!" you shrieked in the night and no one in particular. Limbs were turning feeble and shaky, but you've offered all your will power to survive in the damn forest if you were about to get murdered and be found after a year where your body has already been eaten by some wild animal.

The hushed voices were coming closer to a definite scare that took your heart out of your chest. You've pushed yourself up and began sprinting with a limp as you saw the end of the forest; like a meadow was waiting for your damn demise as you won't be outrunning the murderers behind you.

You stood in the middle of a grass field. So, this was the end for you. The voices inside your head spoke as you've scanned the whole area and saw a peculiar wooden house in the middle of the vast area.

The wooden house seemed to be made of Hazel twigs, daub and wattle. Its whole structure was darn weird to be seen in the era you knew you were in. Year 2020. It looked medieval, old and superannuated. The house's structure had a timber frame with a light glowing inside the open panels of its windows.

Human. Someone can help you. Based on the clothes that hung on the sides of a wooden fence in logs, you knew there was someone living inside the peculiar looking house.

Then, you've heard a loud roar. It was enough for you to spun on your heels and see who had been chasing you like a wild boar.

Yet, it wasn't a normal wild boar that could calm you down just a slight because it was just an animal.

The one chasing you didn't seem a murderer nor an animal. Its body appeared to live on the ground, like a zombie who came to life and had no lower body. Though, it had a large stomach and uses his burly arms to chase you down the forest. With Bright cardinal eyes wrathfully staring you down as you stood rooted on the ground in the middle of the field; your heart seeming to run out of oxygen because of what you were witnessing.

You didn't know if it was an alien or a zombie. Proper thinking thrown out of the window as you were running away from the nightmare that was bound to kill you in your sleep, if you were even sleeping.

Your feet ran a trek to the house; looking behind. Focal point completely at the fast carcass crawling to where you were, tons of disgusting looking saliva dripping out of its eroding jaw and you were screaming for help as you skedaddle away.

Until your head hit a hard wall, but not enough for you to fall unconscious.

Vision falling like a kaleidoscope world, you blinked repeatedly and squinted you eyes up at the wall. Though, you were met with a clothed robust chest and a strong warmth he radiated through the crispy, cold Autumn wind. You've scanned him from chest to face and noticed a coin-like silver necklace just a meter away from your face that had a symbol of a wolf.

You didn't know if you were just still dizzy from your newly awakened-self but it was as if your world spun around you as the brawny, marvelous man towered over you like a lion over a mouse. His jawline impressively great enough to cut a bitch; a prominent, cleft chin that can be quite tempting to poke at and eyes that were glowing in Aurum like a star in the night sky or a pot of gold in the other end of the rainbow, with majestic half-tied hair that ended below his shoulders tinted in ivory that stood upon the Tartarean night.

Though, despite of how dashing, grimy and haggard he appeared before you. The scowl on his face was enough to take you to step back from how disturbed he looked like.

You've seen him somewhere. In the movies back in your laptop when you were having a marathon of something.

Lord of the rings. Right, you were dreaming about it in the middle of being chased in your nightmare. That explains why he appeared.

You clapped excitedly as you lifted your chin to stare into his beautiful blazing gold eyes. The grumpy looking man cocked his head to the side as he scrutinized and studied your filth-filled face and you couldn't help but notice the concealed scrunch of his nose if you weren't staring a little bit too closely.

"Hmm," it was the first word you've heard from this intimidating man standing in front of you and hearing such an impossible, low timbre of a hum that vibrated from his chest could get your knees weak from such a tone because you didn't know if it was scaring you or telling you to run for the hills instead.

"Legolas?" your voice croaked out loud, voice turning small when you've received only a grimace that wouldn't be considered as a fake smile, much to your dismay. Your scrutinizing eyes noticed something different from one of the Lord of the Rings character and it was the maturity of his face, "--a middle aged Legolas! Help me! Use your arrow thingy--" he pushed your shoulders to stay behind him, making you stumble from the impact but not enough to ignite another bruise to your knees. Your eyes staring weirdly at his back as you studied the long metal knightly looking steel wrapped around his thick, large, powerful looking palms.

"---Oh, a sword would suffice." you muttered, suddenly uninmpressed because you wanted him to have an arrow instead of a sword to live in your fantasies and continued to hid behind the large build of his body, taking a peek as you saw the bizarre looking creature who screeched so loud that it echoed all over the meadow. You've unconsciously held onto the hem of the wool sweater behind the first human you've ever encountered other than the creature who planned to eat you alive.

"There's a zombie!"

Geralt felt the hand tugging at his sweater. He was close to jumping from the sudden physical touch because of how sudden you've reach out for him regardless of meeting him just tonight. His eyebrows in a tough knot and expression unreadable as he eyed the Alghoul running towards you. The hand holding the hem of his clothing was instantly right out of your hands as he prepared his stance and tread towards the critter like he was confident enough he could eliminate him.

He swung the sword, aiming for the head using just one hand as he lifted it with no trouble; like it was his own weapon and you couldn't help but watch the whole scene unfold before you. The Alghoul jumped using its arms but he was stronger, faster, braver and definitely had no sweat with the upswing of his sword as he slashed the head off the creature with one blow.

Well, he was great. Too great with the sword indeed.

Black blood spurt as he'd cut his head off with no remorse, some of its blood flying off to your grimy sleeveless top and face as you winced from the gore and stared at the head rolling on the ground till it hit your toes.

You just wanted to scream out loud but it seems like your jaw has been stuck and you had no voice to start.

The man seemed to be unruffled at the fact that he just cut the creature's head off with his sword, turning his back at face front that you saw black fluids on the smooth wrinkle of his forehead and cheeks.

"It's an Alghoul," he abnormally grumbled so deep that you mistaken it as a growl. You could feel your tongue stuck in your throat and heard his heavy footsteps coming close. Your eyes still focused at the monster's head scratching your feet that you haven't realized that the man who saved you was actually in front of you already, grabbing its head and throwing it away to save you from another nightmare.

Faded set of footsteps came echoing in. Lighting up a startle from you as you heard a door swish out loud in the open. Until, a budding pitch of a man has said the name of your gory savior in the middle of the night.

"Geralt?" Jaskier hesitantly stepped on the creaking, wooden porch. Eyes still weary of sleep and fatigue as he blinked to the both of you who stood at each other in just an arm reach.

Your savior mumbled another distasteful hum as he observed the short woman before him who seemed to be in total shock; staring at the ground where he'd took the head of the Alghoul away before sighing and taking a step back and away from you to take a look at his bloody sword. "Why, who is this adorable, small grimy lady here in the middle of the night?" the light tone of the man's voice made you blink twice; snapping you out of your reverie.

You turned your head and studied the somnolent man standing outside of the porch, hair disheveled like he'd been disrupted by such a beauty sleep. He looked younger, like he was in his 20's and had a youthful beam with lean muscles beneath the white undershirt wore under a Tunic. Jaskier placed both hands on his hips before pointing a finger at you, sending you a bright smile other than the moue you've received from the man named 'Geralt,' "You came here for Geralt, I suppose? One of your..midnight sashays with him?"

Geralt didn't need to look at his friend and ignored everything he said by walking towards a beautiful brown horse, "Jaskier," he lowly reprimanded as he eyed his horse with an indecipherable expression of his.

Jaskier deeply sighed, his shoulders going up and down from how he did and you eyed him with a baffling twist of your eyebrows.

"First and foremost, you ruined his nap and now he can be as grumpy as an--an Alghoul! An amputated Alghoul!" he blinked in surprise, peeking behind you to see the creature who had its head cut-off laying on the muddy ground.

Geralt continued to pet his horse as your eyes snapped to him, his back on you as you heard his horse neigh, the man named Jaskier still rambling about the creature who laid dead on the ground.

"Alghouls appear in old necropolises and crypts," he scratched his temple with a finger, walking down the path till he was studying the corpse on his foot, "It's a miracle that they've hunted you down. They seldom appear in the forest! Also, they knock down their victims and eat them alive. Right, Geralt? You've taught me these!"

Geralt ignored him and continued petting his horse.

You eyed the man named named Jaskier and watched him walk back to you, a solemn smile on his face because of your unfortunate experience with the forest. Suddenly, realizing about the information he'd uttered, you were sure it was just like those creatures in the movies like Resident Evil or The Walking Dead.

"So, it's basically a zombie!"

Jaskier stared at you like you've eaten a dead mouse. Forehead creasing as he tried mouthing the word you've said, giving his friend a once over as he does, "A zom--what? please do enlighten me, Geralt as to what is a Sombre when I can see with my own splendiferous eyes that the monster he'd killed is an Alghoul--"

You've huffed and bit the insides of your cheeks, fists tightening on either side as you stubbornly bantered, "Z O M B I E. Zombie."

Thus, at the retort; Jaskier had his hands on his hips with his chest puffed out like he was trying to intimidate you. But, it was a failure because he never looked intimidating from the start, "A zombie. Alright. I understood you but not entirely, dirty maiden. Geralt--" he looked over his friend who was now already on the side of you, startling the both of you and sky-scraping from your side as you lifted your chin to see him oddly closing his eyes, breathing you in.

Was he smelling you?

You eyed Jaskier like you were finding it peculiar and he just gave you a shrug, "Your scent..It's...It's...otherworldly, " Geralt uttered, completely resonant and low-pitched that vibrated your calming nerves, "It attracted the Alghoul," he continued with a frown and another sniff before humming in disdain.

"Very out of the ordinary," the latter muttered beneath his chest, a snarl coming out of his mouth as you swallowed the butterflies wanting to come out of your mouth by how monumental he was and you feel so small, "Who sent you?"

You took a step away from the man, eyeing him weirdly as he stubbornly took a step close like personal space wasn't known to the world you are in, "Uhm, no--no one?" a pathetic stutter came out of your lips and felt the tremble of your fingers because of a thought running in your mind that he was also as dangerous as the Alghoul they were saying; maybe even more treacherous, "I came out from my mother’s reproductive organ? You know what, Geralt--"

Jaskier suddenly cut you off, crossing his arms behind him as he watched his friend tower over you, an amused grin etched on his face because you were actually crumbling like a rat before the ginormous cat, "Geralt. A letter G. Not a J. G E R A L T---"

"---Alright, GERALT!" you stopped taking steps back and declared out loud, mocking their accent that you couldn't distinguish. Your palms were outstretched in front of you, ceasing Geralt from pushing you away but not enough to be touching his torso. A pleading look in your eyes that made him breath out of his nose, "---Just please tell me where the airport is and I'm off to my country,"

The man in front of you stared you down, completely uncanny at what you were voicing out. You winced and realized you wouldn't get an answer from him and tried to ask help from his friend instead, but Jaskier was fast to distract you and criticize the clothes you wore, "What even is that clothing?"

You blew out air out of your mouth loudly, not believing their words. They were acting like they weren't actually living in earth at all, "It's casual! Don't judge!"

Jaskier also gave a huff, not believing the outlandish behavior from a lady and continued complaining to the Witcher who seemed to never have the decency to give you space, "Cas--what? Geralt, this woman is foolish. Don't even attempt to ravish her in any way. Utterly not worth it! She's a cuckoo with that flimsy short trousers, an odd looking footwear and a thin top like the Alghoul has taken all of her silk. Unless, this woman is actually your type, well--I wouldn't judge you for your taste in women because most of the time it is utmost round the bend--"

His spouts were cut short as you managed to get a proper look at the strangely, beautifully rugged man before you, giving him one of those tired, puppy eyes that made his frown much less more like it as he waited, "I just wanna go home," your voice sounded so vindicated and you were sure his eyes were really glowing under the night sky, "---please tell me where the airport is and I'll go, or you can probably help me with my wounds first before you shoo me away,"

You've felt the burns from your wounds and ungracefully tried to avoid those glowing eyes that seem to suddenly make your heart pound. Damn you and your horrid types, "Do you...have a car?" you asked no one in particular as you watched the stars that also seemed to be peculiar because of how many they were.

His horse neighed from a distance which gave you an idea that their house didn't have a garage nor do they have a car. You peeked behind Geralt and saw his horse standing behind the stables, "Oh, you have a horse. A beautiful brown horse, I take it we're in a province, I see."

Again, no response from him other than Jaskier's sighs. It was like taking to the wind, but actually talking to a corpse.

You could feel the heat of his stare and it was making you conscious of how you actually looked like, so you continued to avoid his eyes and looked at anywhere but him, "We're in Switzerland right? Or in a province in the U.K, Scotland or Australia considering your accents?"

The only response you've gotten from him was a mere seven word that made you scrunch your nose by how weirder they get, "You aren't from here, I can tell."

"Way to tell her that she's a woman and not a man, Geralt. Stop stating the obvious,"

You ignored their utterance as they've also ignored your question. All you needed was an airplane to get you back to where you came from and escape from this madness. Yet, they seem like to be beating around the bush which began to slightly irritate you because you were sounding like a broken record, "So where's the airport, gentlemen? I still need to feed my cat at home and I'll tell the entire universe that its the end of the world with the zombies. Gotta' tell them a zombie apocalypse is happening--my phone!" you patted the pockets of your shorts and felt your Android phone inside. You've fished it out and pressed the home button, the bright light gleaming beneath the night and both men couldn't help but stare at you in oddity.

"Your what?" was the only thing Jaskier has muttered, looking at what you were holding. Geralt observed the unfamiliar looking thing in your hand and squinted his eyes shut at the bright light, "It's--there's no signal! Where are we?" you tapped on your phone repeatedly and found the GPS not working as the results were indefinite.

Jaskier marched till he was beside his friend, clasping a cold hand on his burly shoulders, cocking his head to the side and clasping his other on his own hip as he gave you a look, "Not just simply absurd but also a strange one, Geralt. You definitely pick the best ladies, First was Renfri; the rebel princess, second is Yennefer; that cunning beautiful mage in which you’ve been in love with and the other hundred are your whores--"

Geralt cocked his head to the side, an unexpected small smile lifting his lips as he continued laying his golden eyes on you, "Year 1268. In the far north kingdom of Kaedwen,"

You nervously nodded, crossing your arms at how exposed you feel from the man before you especially that your clothes were also thin for a weather you were in. Fingers were feeling like ice and you couldn't help but shiver, "Kaedwen? Padawan? Star wars references, I see. Okay, okay, this is getting out of hand and I know you're still in character but please tell me that this is a prank and you're just fond of cosplay,"

"Hmm," His smile was quick to fall, like it has only been a hallucination of your imaginations. Geralt studied you from head to toe. Your breath catching in your throat at how barren you felt with just a simple scan of his eyes and also by how beautiful he looked. Such a pain but soothing for the eyes. He caught the bruises and wounds all over your body and heavily sighed another one before turning his back away from you and letting Jaskier lightly stumble on his feet after giving him a manly tap on the shoulder.

"He's letting her in," Jaskier mumbled to himself and watched Geralt walk away, completely amused as he couldn't believe it, "He really is!"

He scratched his disheveled bed-head and huffed another one, pointing at the retreating man who entered their wooden cavern. "Based on how long I've been a friend with this grumpy Witcher, that answer was either a yes, or a no."

"---Unfortunately, it seems like a no because he took off without a word," he gestured with a finger and used his other to welcome you like a humble gentleman giving way for a princess, "---but also an approval that you can stay in our humble abode to cure that wounds you have which is oddly strange because he never lets anyone in, yet here you are. A grubby ground breaker,"

He eyed the Alghoul's blood on your top and face, his face morphing into disgust as he pointed a playful finger at you, "---And you, small rat. Need a bath," before waggling them around to tell you his point, "---However, you don't get to take my bed,"

The hopes of having your sleep or tightly shutting your eyes, repeatedly wishing inside your head to wake up on your mattress back at your apartment would definitely be a difficult task especially from what you've witnessed. Though, maybe closing your eyes shut and having a nap was the only cure to the nightmare you were living in; taking note at how long this dream of yours have been occurring. It was technically a nightmare full of magical creatures and magic that promised you would only be a mere dream of yours.

That is, when you've opened your eyes after repeatedly wishing up at the sky to wake you up in your dream and saw Jaskier walking in, leaving the door open for you to make yourself at home completely answered your questions.

You weren't dreaming and it appears to be like you were in a different dimension.

"Oh, I'll be damned,"

A PART 2? YES? Y’ALL WANT THIS TO HAVE A SECOND CHAPTER? HEEEHEE!! TELL ME WHAT YA THINK ABOUT THIS!

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statticscribbles · 3 years ago

Text

I posted 1,933 times in 2021

1823 posts created (94%)

110 posts reblogged (6%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.1 posts.

I added 3,896 tags in 2021

#stattic - 759 posts

#asked - 489 posts

#thanks anon - 442 posts

#riverdale - 378 posts

#riverdale request - 358 posts

#riverdale imagine - 317 posts

#anonymous - 300 posts

#prompt - 285 posts

#riverdale reader insert - 285 posts

#prompts - 283 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#listen anon i don't really care what other people think of me but it's annoying that y'all are spamming my inbox and making me think i have

My Top Posts in 2021

Heal

Summary: Bucky Barnes/Reader, Clint’s not the only one with a hidden house and family

You can hear the front door unlocking and you move forward to open it but pause stumbling back as Bucky rushes through supporting another man who’s bleeding sluggishly from a wound to his side.

“Help him, I didn’t know where else to-“

“No problem throw him on the couch, I’ll grab the bandages, anything extra I should worry about?”

“He heals fast.” You can hear Bucky shout as he moves back towards your bedroom.

“I meant if there’s a bullet still in him..”

“Just a bad burn..”. You huff and turn to the man laying on the couch. You mentally thank Bucky for pulling most of his shirt off but leaving the area that’s melted into the flesh from the burn. You can feel the electricity pulse off the wound and you grimace. You run your finger against the edge of the red ring and sigh as you can feel it bubble against the shirt you're wearing. You wince as you press your hand closer to the blackened edge, you can tell the man's body is healing itself, as the blackness seeps into your skin it’s already diminished by his body’s healing abilities. You can hear the shower turning on and you frown hoping the man won't wake up before Bucky finishes his shower. You can see him shifting in his sleep and you push your power into him to take his nightmares. You curl against the couch on the floor and dream of Bucky falling over and over.

“Steve stay still you still have to heal a bit.” You can hear Bucky talking and reason he’s explaining everything to the man on the couch, who you now confirm is Steve.

“How long was I out! There’s no way this should be almost healed and whose house are we in..”

“I got someone to help you out and we’re in my house.”

“You have a house?”

“Clint has a farm, and a sister, can I not have a house? Now, eat a fucking brownie.” You snicker and turn your head towards the kitchen as Bucky comes in holding a brownie out to Steve as he lays on the couch.

“Good morning, sleep well?”

“You took his nightmares too didn’t you?”

“Helps him heal faster.” You stand up and stretch, you wince as the fabric of your shirt pulls against the scabbing burn, you carefully peel your shirt off.

“That’s where I got-“

“Yes, I have powers, I can take people’s injuries from them, my serum heals them for me. It’s alright, it’s better for you to be mobile, especially since this house is a ‘dead zone’ meaning your friends are probably a few minutes out and about to rip me a new one for kidnapping a national monument and fossil.” You laugh at your own joke and move to peer out the window. You open the door to see Tony Stark’s blaster in your face.

“Oh hello, are you here for Steve? Can I offer some tea first, he can’t be moved right now.” You open the door more and gesture to the living room where Steve is now sitting on the couch eating a brownie.

“He only can have two, give the rest of them half of one if they want, also the ones in the red tub are for Bruce.” You smile again and Bucky nods.

“Why half?” Clint pouts, eating his half slowly.

“Half of the ‘flour’ I used is a mix of protein powder and that weight gain powder, in case Buck has a bad day and doesn’t want to eat much, since he needs about 6000 calories per day, one of those brownies takes about 2000 off of that so I know he has something in him. Now, tea?” Natasha and Bruce both nod and Clint signs to Natasha about coffee. You slip into the kitchen brewing a pot of both and return moments later setting them and the mugs onto the table.

“Each mug is colour coded for you all. Buck said it was the best idea.”

“Buck? Sorry but who the hell are you?”

“ A friend, you can trust me.”

“Your house is a dead zone and you kidnapped two of our team members.”

“I can vouch for her, so will Steve and Bucky. Tony give her a chance, she’s very good.” Bruce smiles.

“Good at?”

“I can take on people’s injuries and heal them. I gain the injury but my serum heals me.”

“Wait did you make Bruce brownies? Is this a regular thing?”

See the full post

271 notes • Posted 2021-04-06 19:33:33 GMT

Family Talk

Summary: George Weasley/Reader, Pre-war, Reader keeps sneaking into George’s room and finally gets caught

”Y/N hurry up, we'll miss the train!!” George shouts and you laugh from where you’ve finally pulled your trunk from your dorm room.

“Nobody has ever missed the train home.”

“Well I don’t want to be the first.”

“It’s summer George, besides the last time I came over and we had to have separate rooms you complained the entire train ride back.”

“Okay fine we can go right now and wait on the station for ten minutes if you want. Miss breakfast?”

“Yeah, okay I see your point, breakfast first.” he winks and then leans forward to kiss you, deepening it as he pushes you back on the couch.

“Dessert before breakfast since it’s summer vacation.” He laughs a little as you flush and try to hide it by grabbing your trunk and avoiding looking at him.

”George, sweetie it's….” Molly waits for a moment, she can see your door is open, which means you’re probably in her son’s room.

“Down in a sec mum.” He shouts and Molly realizes he thinks she’s downstairs, so she waves her wand at the door, it unlocks, and as she steps in she considers for a moment that knocking was a much better idea this time. You offer an awkward smile at Molly, who stands ears and face almost as red as her hair, and you swear you can see steam curling up with the flyaways in her hair.

“Hey Mrs. Weasley…” You stutter a little and nudge George with your free hand, the other is on his shoulder stabilizing you as you straddle him on his bed.

“Mum don’t-”

“I have seven children, if I have a grandchild before my next birthday I will have six children.” She smiles and you try your best not to laugh.

“I am going to give you one minute to clean up, come downstairs and we are going to have a chat.” You hold your breath when she leaves only sighing when the door clicks close.

“Get your hand from under my top!” You scowl at George who just chuckles a little.

“What do you think she wants to talk about?”

“Murdering me probably.”

When you walk down the stairs you can see Molly sitting at the table and she gestures for both of you sit down, you carefully take the cup of tea, thanking her and her glare softens a little.

“Listen you two, you’re so young, not that you being younger has anything to do with it Y/N dear. It’s just, if you two aren’t careful, those sorts of feelings, and actions can lead to other more serious and life changing things.”

“Mum for merlin’s sake I don’t need a sex talk.” George’s face turns bright red. Molly just takes a sip of her tea and you can see exactly what she’s thinking as her eyes widen slowly, she’s carefully setting her tea down.

“George…” You try your best not to laugh when he chokes on his tea.

“Are you telling me that you and Y/N don’t need a sex talk because you’ve already bloody shagged her.” Molly hisses and you know George would be laughing but all the colour drains from his face.

“Mum! No! I just meant I heard it when you gave it to Percy and Merlin knows he’s never going to use that advice!”

“So you are using it! You and Y/N are having sex!! In my house!!!! Under mine and your fathers nose!”

“Mum! NO! I’d never have sex with Y/N while anyone else was in the house, that’s awful!”

“SO YOU WAIT TILL WE LEAVE!?”

“MUM WE”RE NOT HAVING SEX!”

“You better not be, I mean if you are at least use protection and be safe about everything.”

“Mum okay, I know, Mum just, can we wrap this up before anyone else wakes up…”

See the full post

272 notes • Posted 2021-07-16 09:12:33 GMT

Courting

Summary: Bucky Barnes/Reader, A/B/O Dynamics; Reader is the only Omega on the team, Bucky takes issue with it, battling with feelings from what he used to know versus what he’s learned. Bucky’s trying to re-learn how to be an alpha and switching from what he remembers of the 40’s to present day is a bit hard.

Half the team was off on a mission. You were expecting them back later that day so you figured you have a few hours to relax and watch more TV, Bruce was holed up in the lab and Natasha was training with some of the new SHIELD agents. You fall asleep to the news droning and wake up to hear a few pained groans.

“You guys are back.” You sit up smiling sleepily. You blink slowly, waking up and rubbing your eyes.

“Hey Steve, why you lookin’ at me like that? Is Bucky okay?” You peer past Steve to see Bucky practically snarling. You cower slightly, aggressive Alpha’s have always made you nervous. You watch as Bucky immediately relaxes holding his hands up slightly and backing away. You shift on the couch sliding out from under the blanket and standing up stretching. You can hear a low growl and pause mid-stretch to look at Bucky.

“Oh, sorry Buck, I’m wearing’ your shirt, I can give it back if you want?” He doesn’t make a sound, choosing to step forward slightly. Steve’s hand stops him.

“Buck, be careful. It ain’t like it was.”

“She’s wearin’ my shirt Stevie, it’s gotta mean somethin’ right?” He looks to you almost hopefully and you furrow your brow at Steve hoping he’ll explain it.

“Back in the fourties omega’s would take a ‘scent marker’ from an alpha they wanted to court them, if the alpha asked for it back it meant they noticed and they were interested in courting the omega.”

“Oh, does the omega give the ‘scent marker back?”

“No they commonly kept it as a ‘first courting gift, then the alpha would slowly bring more leading up the omega’s heat.”

“Oh.” You nod, your thoughts turn to your heat coming up in a few days. You laugh a little and shake your head before smiling up at Bucky.

“My heat starts within the week, not much time to get gifts together is it?” Bucky smiles softly.

“Not much time at all, good thing I have a head-start.” Bucky grins.

“Seriously do you guys need anything at the store? Sam and I are going down to grab a few things, it’s your last chance to ask.” You sing song as you walk to the door waving your hand for attention. You look at Sam and shake your head before the two of you make your way out of the compound.

“I’ve been an official Avenger for almost a year and people still don’t recognize me!” You pout at Sam as he waves of a fan.

“Well it probably has something to do with the mountain of suppressants you take, people don’t trust an omega that won't let themselves be scented.”

“I’ve been off them for a month and no one comes up to ask me for autographs, even with my scent out there.”

“Maybe because you just do undercover missions? That might have something to do with it Y/N” You shake your head laughing as Sam grabs a cart

You’re looking at the vegetables when you feel a slight twinge of cramps, you brush it off, yet find yourself drifting closer to Sam as you both shop.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah just feeling a bit sick is all.” You blink sluggishly, when did you become so tired? Sam’s watching you and shrugs slightly turning around but he frowns turning back to you stepping almost flush against you.

“Heat right?” You duck your head embarrassed.

“Yeah, it’s fine though, I’ll be fine.” Sam steps back as you smell a strange alpha suddenly too close.

“I’ll say, pretty little omega like you will make even prettier pups.” You wince, turning to face the Alpha who towers over you. You weigh your options, the risk of attacking him and getting hurt for it wouldn’t be as big of a deal, but you know Sam wont like that, instead you pull out your phone. The alpha growls at this and you sniffle, tears filling your eyes. God you hate your hormones right now. You whine and fight the urge to show your neck, instead focusing on the phone. You hit the emergency contact number and toss it to Sam, when the Alpha swipes for it.

“You okay doll?”

“It’s Sam, we’re fine there’s just an alpha around that’s a little too close and.. Barnes?” You step back towards Sam as the Alpha steps closer to you.

“Pretty little thing aren’t you.”

“Please go away, I just want to finish my shopping.” The Alpha huffs a laugh through his nose and shakes his head.

See the full post

283 notes • Posted 2021-04-05 10:39:24 GMT

Scotty Doesn’t Know

Summary: Stiles/McCall!Reader, Song Fic, Scotty Doesn’t Know, reader is Scott’s younger sister and her and Stiles are keeping their relationship a secret

Your brother Scott McCall is an idiot. You knew this, having lived with him all of your life, but you were surprised no one else had caught on. For now you were thankful that he was oblivious as you were terrified he’d take the relationship you and Stiles had started badly. He wasn’t openly protective about you, but you feel like dating your brother’s best friend was crossing some line for him.

You and Stiles were enjoying your time alone, Scott was off with Allison doing something and you were happily on Stiles lap kissing him and half watching whatever movie he’d put on. You know the movie doesn’t really matter not with how his hands keep sliding lower and lower.

“Y/N you home?” You duck down, hiding on the couch trying to keep yourself as flat as possible, Stiles tosses a blanket over you as Scott peers into the living room.

“She fell asleep on you, dude I’m sorry, things with Allison ran over.”

“No big deal man, we got pizza there should be..” Stiles laughs and you crack an eye open to see Scott holding two of the pizza boxes.

“So now we have double the pizza.”

“Yeah figured it would be an okay apology.”

“Y/N wake up Scott got pizza.” Stiles pretends to shove you off the couch and you fake a scowl at him. Scott grins.

“My life would be so much easier if you two got along, you know.”

“Like I’m supposed to make your life easier as your sister.”

You’re continuously surprised at the amount of times you and Stiles almost get caught by Scott, you know his werewolf senses increase his perceptibility, but he’s still just as dumb when it comes to seeing what’s in front of his face.

”Stiles got hurt?” You turn from where you’d been talking to Allison as Scott informs you.

“Yeah he sprained his ankle, he’s getting it wrapped now. Actually, can you go let him know that Allison and I are planning on going to the movies, unless he needs help?”

“Yeah of course.” You offer and turn towards the locker rooms hoping your rushing over can just be passed off as general worry.

“Stiles you okay?” Stiles looks up clearly unimpressed by your question.

“Yeah I’m fine, this is just for practice.” He waves his hand over where he’s wrapping his ankle. You laugh a little.

“Here let me help then.” You nod shifting to sit across from him.

His fingers brush over yours when you finish wrapping his ankle, tucking the bandage over itself.

“Scott wanted to let you know that he and Allison are going to the movies.”

“So we’ll have your house to ourselves.

“Yeah since my mom’s on the late shift.” You laugh a little when he cheers, before pulling you in for a kiss.

“So Allison was right.” You freeze when Scott speaks, he’s leaning against one of the lockers.

“Forgot my gear.” He grins and laughs a little nodding to where you’ve almost jumped backwards from Stiles.

“I don’t care y/n, there’s no dumb bro-code or whatever you’re thinking, personally I’d rather both of you be happy.”

“You’re okay with it?” You stare shocked still, but move back to sit next to Stiles.

“Yes, so long as you keep whatever you’re doing a secret.” Scott shivers clearly imagining something he finds disgusting and you laugh.

“What?”

“Well you and Allison clearly make enough noise that mom has to pretend not to notice.”

See the full post

372 notes • Posted 2021-07-02 11:26:40 GMT

Having a baby with Bucky

Summary: Headcanons for having a baby with Bucky

Any of these headcanons can be requested to be an imagine if you want

-You find out you’re pregnant when he’s on a mission, and don’t tell him until he gets back

-He finds out when you’re bent over the toilet vomiting

-You hadn’t ever talked about kids so you both decide to have a long conversation about it

-You find out Bucky is mostly worried about any family he has being put in danger by his past, not that he’d be a bad parent

-You make a few jokes about him being the worlds oldest dad at 100+ years

-Bucky proposes on the spot, you’re too preoccupied with how long he had the ring instead of him proposing

-You deal with a lot of morning sickness which Bucky is always happy to sit by your side with, or hold your hair back when it gets bad

-He refuses to miss any doctors appointments going so far as to skip a mission brief for one

-At the first appointment when they do an ultrasound Bucky cries

-You spend two days arguing about if you want to know the gender or not

-You make jokes that the baby has Bucky’s preferences for 40’s food when you get cravings

-Bucky tries to avoid touching you with the metal arm, but the coolness seems to calm the baby down, if you lie about that to make Bucky feel more comfortable using the arm he doesn’t need to know

-Bucky can easily handle your mood swings, unless you’re crying, then he just sort of flails around unsure how to help, which usually makes you laugh

-Bucky talks to your bump all the time, any chance he gets, worried that the baby might forget him

-You let Bucky think of names but refuse to tell him your top picks until you find out the gender

-When you find out its girl, you calmly mention you want to name her after his mom or sister, he just nods, muttering a quick thank you

-You find out later from Steve he went through seven punching bags unsure of how to deal with the overwhelming love he felt

-Bucky takes time off from missions right before and after your daughter is born

-Once your daughter is born Bucky spends hours just staring at her and everything she does

-You ask about growing your family once you daughter is almost a year old

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490 notes • Posted 2021-10-01 08:03:56 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

#my 2021 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #oooo fun!!!#do y'all agree??

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imagineteamfreewill · 4 years ago

Text

Consort - Part 9

Title: Tricks, Lies, and Love

Pairing: OFC x Dean, Past Goddess!Reader x Dean

Word Count: 5,227

Warnings: Arguing, fighting, angry Dean, crying, mentions of forced servitude, mentions of drugging

Summary: Lilly hikes into the forest to find a surprise for Dean after their night together, but after getting lost, she has to reveal something about herself that changes their relationship forever.

A/N: This is part nine of Consort. It is told from Lilly’s point of view at the beginning, but it will quickly shift. Just be patient! Feedback makes the world go round, so after you enjoy, make sure to reblog with your comments!

Consort Series Masterlist

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Lilly knew that Dean was building her a cabin. It was supposed to be a secret, so she kept quiet, but she knew all about the traditions that the people of Lawrence held. The excitement of it all was almost too much to handle. She loved Dean. She loved him with every part of her being. Having to wait for the cabin to be finished was proving to be a challenge, and as Dean slowly woke up beside her in her tiny bed, she wondered if he felt the same way.

“Good morning,” she whispered. Dean stirred slightly and peeked an eye open at her, and Lilly smiled back. “Did you sleep well?”

He let out a soft sigh and pulled her closer, tucking her under his chin and into his warmth. He tightened his grip on her and she kissed just beneath his Adam's apple in return.

“I will assume that means yes,” she murmured, and then she kissed again.

“If you keep doing that,” Dean finally said, his voice gravelly with sleep, “then I’ll never get to work.”

“So don’t go.”

Dean kissed the top of her head. “I have to. We’ll need the money if we’re going to be together.”

Silently, Lilly pulled away and met Dean’s eyes. He gave her a soft smile and loosened his grip on her so that she could shift into a more comfortable position with her arm bent under her head. Once she was still, he reached out and brushed hair away from her face. His fingers trailed over her jawline and Y/N held back a shiver, watching him intently.

“What?” he asked.

“You want to be with me?”

Dean frowned, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Yes. Is that… not what you want?”

She could see the fear in his eyes. It was as if he was standing there with his tools, poised and ready to build up all the walls she’d slowly been breaking down from the day they’d first met in the forest.

“That is what I want,” Lilly told him earnestly.

Dean’s relief was palpable; every part of his body relaxed against the mattress and he let out a quiet sigh. Lilly offered him a soft smile, then took his hand and ran her thumb over the back of it. He relaxed even further under her touch and smiled back at her after a few moments had passed. With his free hand, Dean reached out again and pulled their joined hands towards his lips so he could press a kiss to the back of hers.

“I wish you would stay here with me today,” she murmured. “I enjoy being with you.”

“Are you not needed at the bakery?”

Lilly shook her head. “Stay.”

It didn’t take long for Dean to decide that he wanted to stay. He was always eager to please, and though that had bothered Lilly at first, she’d learned that making sure the people in his life were happy was his way of showing them that he loved them. It wasn’t perfect, but then again, nobody was.

After another hour or so of just lying together in bed—amongst other things—Dean finally left to go meet his brother and start a long day of work in the forests that bordered the village.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he murmured as he climbed out of bed, and Lilly whined in response.

“You’re sure you can’t stay?”

Dean chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead before picking his clothes up from the floor and dressing quickly to avoid the chill as much as possible. “Stay out of trouble, Y/N.”

Lilly rolled over and gave him a wicked grin, and then he was walking out the door with another laugh. She laid back in the bed. The joy in Dean’s eyes was enough to sustain her for months, she was sure. A person could thrive solely on Dean’s happiness if their life depended on it. Thankfully, it didn’t, and she was going to be able to share everything with him, at least if last night held any truth. People didn’t just spend the night with each other unless they wanted it to mean something, not in Lawrence. Plus, he was building her a cabin, which meant that he was serious about what they had. As soon as it was done, they could start their new life together. The thought and the promise of it all made Lilly smile, and she climbed out of bed and got dressed before her foolish, lovesick grin had even begun to fade.

“He loves me,” she said to herself as she pulled on her boots. The soft leather slid on easily and she laced them up, then grabbed her basket from its place by the firewood. The very idea of being loved by someone as kind and incredible as Dean Winchester made her stomach flip.

Her walk to the edge of the forest was short, but by the time she arrived the sun was already high in the sky.

That’s what I get for staying in bed so late, Lilly thought. Storm clouds gathered far on the horizon. She ignored them in favor of venturing into the woods in search of berries to use in a pie. There wouldn’t be many, but she was hopeful. A pie would be the perfect surprise for Dean and because she couldn’t yet publicly express her love to him in all the ways she wanted to, a pie would have to suffice. The trees were thick on the outskirts of the forest so Lilly hiked into the woods until they began to spread out and foliage cropped up between them. Most of the plants were dead by now, but in the distance there were a few bushes that looked promising.

Lilly picked as many berries as she could, and it wasn’t until the sky had begun to grow dim that she stood from where she’d been kneeling on the cold, hard dirt and looked around. She had never been this far into the forest on her own. There was nothing familiar in sight and her chest tightened. She swallowed hard and forced herself to take a deep breath and another look around. She couldn’t surely be lost, especially since so many of the men in Lawrence spent their days in the woods. There must be somebody nearby.

“Hello?” she shouted. Lilly held her breath as her cry fell only on deaf ears and trees, and then she tried again. “Can anyone hear me? Hello!”

There was no response and she tentatively picked up her basket and began to walk, hoping that she was heading in the direction of the village. It had been hours since she’d left her cottage and she’d been moving from bush to bush without thinking anything of it. Now, however, without snow or mud underfoot, there was no way to tell which way she’d come. Nervousness sprung to life inside of her but Lilly pushed it down. She needed to focus. If she walked far enough south, she would probably reach Lawrence. All she had to do was find the sun and figure out which direction was south. She had only walked for about an hour before coming to the bushes, so surely she wasn’t too far into the woods.

After walking for what seemed like forever, Lilly’s feet were aching. It felt like a lead weight had been buried underneath the heavy load berries in her basket and she quickly found a fallen tree so she could rest for a minute. The wood was cold underneath her, but the air was growing even colder as the sun went down. If she didn’t get back to Lawrence soon, she’d freeze, which meant there was really only one solution.

Closing her eyes, Lilly focused herself. The magic she’d pushed down so she could live her life as normally as possible was hard to unearth after such a long period of disuse, but after a few long moments, she felt the warmth of it travel out from her heart towards the tips of her cold, numbing limbs. Electricity traveled up her spine and Lilly exhaled, opening her eyes and letting the puff of white air escape her. The world around her grew brighter and more alive, and she smiled a little. It sensed her.

“Hello,” she whispered. She stood and left the basket beside the log. A bird chirped in the distance and she smiled wider as she dragged her fingers across the rough bark of another tree nearby. The life inside of it hummed with joy as it felt the proximity of its protector.

Lilly let herself enjoy the small pleasures the forest provided her until a shiver ran up her spine and the reason for digging up her magic in the first place came to mind. Sighing, she picked up the basket once more and closed her eyes, thinking of her cottage in the village. She was out of practice, but after a minute of pushing the thought to the forefront of her mind over and over again, the world around her twisted and she felt a rush of cold air.

Smiling wide, she opened her eyes and stepped forward to take the berries to her small cooking space, but Lilly quickly froze when she realized she wasn’t standing before the hearth of her home like she’d expected. She was still in the woods, and Dean was standing only a few feet away with the unfinished cottage behind him. Lilly barely noticed the building, however; she was too focused on the obvious shock written across Dean’s face.

“Lilly?” he asked, and she watched in silence as the shock slowly morphed into something else—fear. “What’s going on? How did you get here?”

“I… got lost in the woods. I was out picking berries for a pie and then I saw you and Sam, so I came hoping I could stay with you until it was time to go home,” she said. “Can I?”

Dean shook his head, watching her warily. He was still holding his axe and a log was half-split nearby, but he paid it no mind. “There aren’t any berries nearby, Lilly, and people don’t just appear like that.”

“You must not have seen me coming. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you or scare you, I promise.” Lilly scrambled to think of a way she could brush this off or explain it away. Dean was a smart man and he would figure it out if she didn’t think of something quick.

“No, we would’ve heard you coming. Sam would’ve seen you if I hadn’t, and—” Dean stopped and Lilly watched in horror as he realized what had happened and who she was. She watched his expression change again, the way his features hardened and the distrust marred the bright green of his eyes. He shifted the axe in his hand, gripping it tighter, and she held onto the basket in her own hands for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Tears were forming in her eyes from both the cold and the fear and hurt that blossomed inside of her. “Dean, please, let me explain—”

_______________

“No,” Dean said. He shook his head and stepped away from her. “No! Get away from me. You lied to me.”

“It wasn’t a lie!”

“Oh, so you’re not Y/N? You’re not the Goddess of Camor? You’re not the one who goes around and takes people from their homes and forces them to work for you and serve you? You’re not the one who tears innocent people away from their families and then hurts them just so you can keep living your life of luxury?”

Y/N flinched at his words, but Dean didn’t care. He kept going. “You’re not the woman who forced me to fall in love with her and then threatened me when I didn’t do what you wanted? You’re not the one who ordered all those kids—kids, Y/N!—to be drugged so you don’t have to hear them crying out as you drag them away from everyone they love? That’s not you?”

She looked down and away, and he could see a tear drip down her cheek even from where he stood. It didn’t matter, though, because Dean knew the truth. He knew exactly who Y/N was. She was a goddess and she was cruel and she didn’t care about anybody except herself.

“For someone who spent so much time with me,” she finally said, her voice barely audible even in the silent winter woods, “you really don’t know much about me at all.”

Dean scoffed. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

Slowly, Y/N inhaled deeply and lifted her head. Her eyes were sad as she met his and Dean steeled himself against the wave of emotion that stirred within him.

“Stop that,” he snapped.

“Stop what?” she asked.

“Stop toying with my emotions, Y/N. Or would you rather I call you Your Majesty?” Dean poured every ounce of hatred that he could into the words, and it had the desired effect. The hurt in her eyes deepened, as if he’d taken a knife and twisted it into her gut.

“I promise you I’m not doing anything,” Y/N replied, her voice breaking. “I can’t do anything with emotions that aren’t already there, you know that, Dean.”

A branch snapped in the distance and Dean glanced towards the sound. Sam had left to retrieve water and he would be back soon, and Dean didn’t want Y/N here when he returned. It would be too confusing, there would be too much to explain that Dean didn’t have an explanation for. He was too angry to explain things to Sam anyway, at least right now. How was he supposed to explain that the girl he’d been so in love with was the same woman who’d forced him into servitude and then later forced him to become her companion? How was he supposed to explain that he had been in love with this woman just as much as he loved Lilly when he didn’t even understand it himself?

“So what was all of this?” Dean barked out the question and gestured to the basket of berries, then to the cabin standing proudly behind him. It was almost finished, he and Sam only had to finish the roof and the door, but that didn’t matter now. “Was this just some kind of trick? Were you trying to trick me into saddling myself with you so that you could force me to do whatever you wanted?”

Y/N looked like she’d been slapped. “What?”

“Why are you here, Y/N? What do you want?”

“Dean, I—”

“You what, Y/N? You got bored? You decided to come here to toy with me and my family? Is that why you let me go?”

“No!” she cried. “I would never try and trick you, Dean! Do you really think I’m that horrible?”

“Then explain! Explain why you were here pretending to be someone you’re not, why you made me fall in love with you!”

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself and looked around. The basket in her hand bumped against her hip and she had to shift her grip on it, but she didn’t let go. Suddenly, Y/N looked nothing like the confident, powerful goddess who’d first commanded that Dean be her consort. To him, she looked small. She looked like a village girl who’d been rejected and abandoned by the man she loved. Dean had seen women like her a million times growing up and now he had to steel himself even harder against the second swirl of guilt, sadness, and heartbreak he felt.

“I never meant for this to happen,” Y/N finally choked out. “I just wanted to see what a normal life would be like, so I let my magic fade just enough that people would see me differently. I needed people to see what I really look like instead of what the magic makes them see.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked. He ignored the tears now streaming freely down her face and glanced in the direction Sam had left before looking back at her. He was running out of time.

“My beauty has always been in the eye of the beholder. That’s what everyone sees when they look at me—they see the most beautiful woman they could ever imagine. But when I left the temple, I let that part of the magic fade away. I haven’t used any magic on anyone, Dean, I promise. Everything you saw, everything I ever said and did was purely me. I haven’t used my magic since I left the temple!””

He stared at her, scrutinizing her expression. Y/N was telling the truth. Dean could see it in her eyes, but the longer he looked at her, the more he realized that it was like watching someone’s face from underwater. She was Y/N, but she was also Lilly, and he had to focus hard on one or the other in order to see clearly.

“Then why?” Dean asked. “Why let me go? You didn’t have to free me if all you wanted was to pretend to be normal for a time! You could have locked me up like you did when you sent me away during The Culling!”

A sharp, cold wind whipped past the cottage as the sun continued to sink below the horizon and Y/N shivered, hugging herself tighter, but she never took her eyes away from Dean’s.

“I let you go because you were hurting. I hurt you Dean, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ve never— I was too wrapped up in how you made me feel to realize you were in pain. I didn’t realize how much suffering I’d caused you and the rest of my people, not until I heard you at night.”

Dean stepped back. “At night?”

She nodded sadly and sniffled in a poor attempt to reign in her tears and compose herself. “I know about your nightmares. You were so afraid of me and I didn’t know for so long, and when I finally realized, it was too late. Your fear made you ill, Dean. There was nothing I could do to make you better. I visited Samuel for help and he told me how much it hurt that you had been taken away from him and your mother. His pain… I could feel it. It ripped through me like a knife and I could tell he loved you and I— I knew that if I let you go, you would recover! You wouldn’t live in fear and you would heal!”

Unsure of what to say, Dean watched her for a moment. She visited Sam? Why hadn’t he said anything?

Dean shook his head. It felt surreal to be standing in the woods he’d grown up in with Y/N, knowing that he was also standing in them with Lilly. He’d tried so hard to forget about his time in the temple and everything having to do with Her, but the whole time She’d been right there with him. He’d been lied to and when he realized how he’d almost given up everything once again for someone so selfish and vile, Dean’s stomach churned. The sensation was almost as discomforting as the sudden realization that he was still in love with Y/N, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

“So then why did you come here?” he finally asked, trying to keep some of the sharpness in his voice, and Y/N’s shoulders dropped.

“I don’t know. I didn’t intend to come to Lawrence, of all places! I just needed to see how my people lived, Dean,” she said. “I had heard things I didn’t believe until I saw how you lived, how people struggle to live and to eat and to be happy. This was never what I wanted for my people, and I had never intended to fall in love with you, but once you saw me I couldn’t just leave! I couldn’t make myself leave, Dean, I’m sorry.”

Y/N was crying again and Dean forced himself to look away. He wouldn’t fall for her lies, not again. Even if he was in love with her, whoever she was, he couldn’t be with someone he couldn’t trust.

“So what, we ate together and you decided that if you couldn’t have me as a goddess, then you’d have me as a peasant?” he spat the last word as his anger rose again at the thought and Y/N stepped back, tightening her grip on the basket’s woven handle. “That if I wouldn’t give in to your tricks and your lies and your powers in the temple, you’d force me to love you here? Is that what you decided? That you’d twist my emotions around until I had no choice but to love you?”

“I didn’t force you to do anything!” Y/N shouted. She finally released the basket and it tumbled off to the side, its contents spilling across the dry, frozen forest floor. “I would never force you to love me! Whatever you felt was entirely you; it was entirely natural and I had nothing to do with it.”

“When we first met, you said that we would “bond”. How do I know that this wasn’t some trick to make that happen, huh? And what about the handmaidens?”

“What about them?” Y/N asked. She swiped her tears away, then stiffened as Dean closed the gap between them to get in her face.

“They warned me that you’d do this, that you’d use your magic to manipulate me and make me love you. I should’ve listened to them, I was so stupid!”

Y/N shook her head and held his gaze, her own eyes filled with tears even as she held her ground. Fear radiated from her, and if he focused enough, Dean could feel her powers tugging at his emotions. He could feel her magic trying to twist them to match her own fear.

“Enough,” he growled through clenched teeth. “If you wanted to be a girl, then act like one. No more magic, Y/N. No more tricks. Have you been manipulating me this whole time?” Her powers pulled away from him, but Dean’s anger didn’t dissipate like he thought it might. He only grew angrier.

“People… There are many things people don’t understand, Dean,” she said, ignoring his threat. Her voice trembled but her gaze hardened as he pushed even further into her personal space. “They don’t understand my magic, but they also don’t understand love. When you combine those things, they will say things that aren’t true simply to convince themselves that they know more than they truly do.”

Dean’s lip twitched up in a snarl. “Is that supposed to make this better? Did you think you could just spout something off about the rest of the world being less than you and I’d fall to my knees and beg you to let me serve you again?”

“No. I love you, Dean. I didn’t realize that I was beginning to have feelings for you before I let you return to Lawrence, but once I found you again here, my feelings came to light. You have my word that I never used my powers to make you fall in love with me, not then and not now,” Y/N said. Her words were sure even though her voice continued to shake, and after a moment, she stepped back. Y/N reached down and picked up the basket, using one hand to scoop as many berries back into it as she could before she stood and smoothed down her dress.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, watching her carefully. He wasn’t about to be blindsided again, not by her.

“I’m going to take the berries and return to my cottage. I picked these to bake you a pie and even if you won’t eat it, I’m sure someone will. I don’t want them to go to waste,” Y/N said.

Dean could tell she was trying to divert the conversation and distract herself, and he scoffed. “I never want to see you again, Y/N. I don’t want to see Lilly either. Stay away from Sammy and my mother, too.” He paused, then added, “It would be best if you left for good. If I see you again in Lawrence, I tell everyone who you really are, and this time there won’t be guards to protect you from the peoples’ anger.”

He left her after that, and he ignored Y/N’s calls for him as he headed towards the distant silhouette of Sam returning with the filled water jugs. There was only a slim sliver of evening light remaining, which meant it was time to return home anyway, but as Dean walked, he realized he’d have to break the news that they wouldn’t be working on the cabin any more. There was no point to it—he’d been tricked, and he’d lost both Lilly and Y/N in the process. He had no future, especially if he’d angered Y/N enough. Was he upset about it? Maybe, but being sad never got him anywhere. Being angry was useful. If he was angry, he would get more work done, and if he got more work done, he’d be too tired at the end of the day to think about how Y/N had dug her claws into his chest and ripped out his heart, then dangled it in front of him and taunted him with it like he was an animal meant to be trained. She’d used him for her own gains, and that hurt more than anything else in the temple ever had.

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You watched Dean go in silence for a moment, and then you felt yourself calling out for him. It was instinctual. You didn’t think before you were screaming his name and begging him to change his mind. You needed to apologize, to explain. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

He ignored you and after a few minutes you realized that he wasn’t coming back. He’d simply left his tools and walked away, and you saw in the distance that he’d met up with Sam. The two of them talked for a minute, then headed in the opposite direction of where you were standing outside the unfinished cottage.

When you’d first arrived after using your magic, you’d been confused. You’d never had any problems returning things to their rightful homes, least of all yourself, but after you’d seen Dean, everything had made sense. Dean was your home. He’s where you felt most like yourself, powers or not. He made you feel safe and loved and everything else a person could desire in a relationship, and you weren’t even in a real relationship with him. At least, you hadn’t been when you were in the temple. Lately, ever since you’d tucked away the magical part of yourself, you’d come closer. He’d walked with you and eaten meals with you, and last night…

You shook your head and blinked away the tears that had cropped up again. You couldn’t think about last night. You hadn’t cried this much since becoming the goddess, and you hastily wiped the single spilt tear away before it could dry and leave your cheeks feeling crustier than they already did.

Sam and Dean were out of sight now, and the darkness of the early evening had fully descended upon the forest. You stood in the dark and held your basket for a long moment before it dawned on you that you truly had no other option now. You had to return to the temple and do your duty. There would be no more pretending, no more chasing after Dean or stealing moments with him when you could. That part of your life was over now, and it was your job to take care of your people. You’d gotten a taste of how they lived. You could be a better protector and provider now, even if it meant pushing every thought and every memory of Dean out of your mind.

Closing your eyes, you willed your magic to take you back to your chambers in the temple. The fireplace and the candles in your room came to life as soon as you appeared, and the thin coating of dust you’d expected was absent. Almost as soon as you’d gotten your bearings, the servant’s door opened and a temple woman stepped in.

“Your Majesty,” she murmured, dipping into a curtsy.

You gave her a courteous smile in return, but you didn’t say anything as you moved to inspect the outside of your temple from the window.

“Will you be eating those?” she asked.

Confused, you turned to look at her, and the basket you still held bumped against your shin. You looked down at it and a wave of heartbreak rolled through you.

“I— No. Please. Take it,” you stammered. You held it out for her and the handmaiden took it from her grasp. She said nothing, but her face was painted with confusion. Clearly, they’d all been wondering where you’d gone, and you suspected that you looked nothing like your usual self right now. Your magic had come back full-force as soon as you’d left Lawrence, which meant she was seeing whatever she considered to be beautiful, but your dress remained the same. It was dirty from walking through the forest and kneeling on the dirt to pick the berries, and it was stained from the time you’d spilled blackberries on it at the bakery. The stain had never come out and you’d never bothered to use your magic on it. Everyone in Lawrence had stains on their clothes from work. It had felt normal to you then. Now, however, it felt shameful and wrong.

“Leave me,” you ordered. You willed your voice into iron and it had the desired effect. The fear coming from her was palpable even without your powers and the temple woman quickly scurried back through the door from which she’d come, basket in hand.

Once she was gone, you collapsed onto the chaise and dropped your head in your hands. The silence in your chambers was overwhelming. After a moment, more tears came, and this time you let them flow. You sobbed into your hands and then you curled up on the chaise and cried into the pillow until you were exhausted.

You’d lost him. You’d lost Dean because you were foolish and you hadn’t thought about him or his family. You’d had no plan to reveal yourself, even though you would have had to at some point. Dean was right—you were selfish and deceitful and horrible. You’d tricked him and so many people, and in the end, you’d hurt them even more. You’d failed to uphold the number one thing you were supposed to do as the Goddess, which was to keep the people of Camor safe from harm. You weren’t worthy of your position anymore, and as you laid on the chaise and stared at the fire with puffy, tired eyes, you wondered if it was even worth keeping up the facade.

_______________

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Kismet {2}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot Heavy, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Flirtation

Words: 4.9k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: I did something a little different this chapter with POVs. You’ll see it toward the end. Let me know if it was confusing or if you guys liked it. Also there are Google Translations in text. If they are wrong, I apologize. I hope you enjoy this. ❤️❤️

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘 As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

Previous Chapters: 1 |

-Henry-

He could feel the eyes of those around him. He’d been recognized. You’d think that years of being in the industry, he’d be immune to the stares, whispers, and not so discreet pictures of him being taken. He was not. It was always like the first time. It was difficult for him not to feel self-conscious about it either. Doing a once over of the restaurant, he made a mental note of where everyone who looked suspicious was. Most of them looked away when they saw him looking around, but there were a few bold ones who kept looking and even one or two extra bold who tried to make eye contact while giving the classic seductress lip bite. When that happened, he usually gave a quick, polite nod before looking away, never to look back.

Tonight was no different, except he couldn’t stop thinking about one woman—you. It wasn’t enough that he’d dreamt of you last night in ways that were unexpected seeing how he’d just unofficially met you. He couldn’t explain how he felt. It was strange and new. He’d met beautiful women before, women that were drop dead gorgeous with an equally amazing and impressive body. The physical aspects of you were not what was keeping him enthralled. It was something else, something he saw in your eyes when he held you, something his body felt once he touched your skin, something his heartfelt when you spoke. It was unexplainable at this time, but just because he couldn’t explain it didn’t mean he couldn’t dwell on the feeling.

“Dude, I’ve been calling and texting you all night. What the hell?”

Jean, had his arms stretched out nonverbally, asking, “what the hell?”

“You have?”

“Yeah. Pick up your phone,” Jean finished.

“I didn’t know. I don’t have my phone,” he replied as he leaned back. The eyes of his three friends dropped to the table where your phone was. It looked identical to his.

“It’s right there, man,” William said, pointing to it.

“This isn’t mine.”

“Uh, it looks like yours,” Jameson informed.

“Yeah, but it’s not.”

They all looked confused. Stifling his laughter, he began explaining to them. He knew they were probably going to lose their minds.

“Yesterday, I had a meeting about Witcher, so I’m coming off the elevator on my phone, and I run smack into Aliya Taylor.”

The eyes of the gents around him widened as they sat up more alert.

“Thee Aliya Taylor?” Nodding his answer to Jameson, he gulped his Guinness before continuing.

“She almost falls over, so my reflexes kick in, and I catch her and set her upright. She recovers and gets on the elevator. I pick up what I thought was my phone, but I just spent the last night realizing that this is not my phone,” he finished.

The three of them sat there silently, each thinking over the bit of news he’d just shared. Saying it out loud, it sounded like a plot from a romcom. It was absolutely ridiculous. Things like these never happen in real life.

“So, you have Aliya Taylor’s phone.”

“I have Aliya Taylor’s phone, and she has mine,” he laid out.

Jameson, his oldest friend, slid back with a shocked expression on his face. “Wow. That’s bonkers.”

Releasing a chuckle, he nodded in agreement.

“So, what have you doing on her phone?”

He knew that was going to be William’s next question. He could also guess another one of his questions was going to be about your pictures.

“What you would find on a typical woman’s phone,” he answered.

“So, selfies, nudes, clothes, and makeup?”

The laughter around the table filled the space around them, giving him enough of a reprieve to drink down some more of his Guinness.

“Not sure about the nudes. I saw a half nude then stopped. I felt weird like I was violating her privacy.”

“The better question is, what’s on your phone, mate?” That was when he made a face knowing full well what might be on his phone.

“There might be a few nudes,” he admitted. His friends laughed again, but he didn’t find it funny at all. “Oh Christ, I hope she hasn’t seen them.”

“Mate, Aliya Taylor could be checking out your knob right now and fancying what she sees,” Jean teased.

“Shut up. She hasn’t called. I’m sure she knows by now that it’s not her phone,” he audibly thought.

“Just like you know. Call her,” Jameson urged.

He sat there for a few moments thinking about if that were the right move rather than a text. His friends could see his hesitation. So passed the next five or so minutes with them trying to convince him a call was the best option. With a unanimous decision, he picked up the phone as his friends squeezed in to look.

“Aw, flowers how adorable,” William teased. He ignored their laughter and dialed his number. He had no idea if you’d pick up or not.

The phone rang three times, and just when he thought you weren’t going to pick up, he heard your voice. It was soft and hesitant.

“Hello?”

Silence. His eyed automatically widened as he froze. His friends around him motioned to him, telling him to speak. That was when his brain restarted.

“Yes, hi. This is Henry—Cavill. I bumped into you; we bumped into each other yesterday.”

“Right, yes,” you confirmed in a professional voice. He wondered if you were slightly freaking out as much as he was on the inside. If you were, you sounded nothing but calm and collected.

“It looks like I might have your phone,” he breached.

“And I might have yours.”

“It seems that way.”

The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable.

“Would you like to make a plan to exchange them back? Maybe coffee tomorrow, or brunch?”

His mouth said it before his brain caught it. Once it was out, he cringed. He sounded sleazy with a touch of desperate. It was not a good look either way. Your silence told him you thought the same thing.

“Are you asking me out or to meet up to get your phone back?”

It was a good question, one he didn’t have enough confidence to answer.

“I can’t tomorrow anyway. I’m actually in London right now working. I won’t be back in LA for about a week and a half,” you informed.

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry for the inconvenience. If you like, I can have my assistant mail it to you express. You should get it by tomorrow night,” you suggested.

“I would rather exchange hand to hand. My phone has a lot of very personal stuff on it.”

“As does mine,” you added.

“I would suspect so. The most secure thing would be when you return to LA,” he countered.

“Can you go without a phone for that long?”

A smile spread across his face. “I’ll be using yours.”

Your laughter was loud and unexpected. He couldn’t help but smile wider because of it. He wondered what you looked like while you laughed. Catching a glimpse of his friends’ faces, he wiped the smile off his face and shook the thought away.

“Feel free to use mine,” he added.

“And is someone important calls like Spielberg or a Francesca?”

That was when he knew you’d looked in his phone. He wasn’t angry. He was filled with something else—regret maybe. Regret that you’d seen things that he couldn’t explain then and there or beforehand. His friends all had the same look on their faces. It was one that said he’d been caught.

“If it’s Spielberg, yes, answer on the first ring.”

Again, you laughed. You were good for his ego; he thought to himself before continuing.

“Francesca, no need to answer, we have nothing to talk about.” It was the truth. “What about if it’s Tyra Banks or Liam or Jesse. Do I answer?”

The silence stretched for several long moments. He wondered if you would answer, and his friends looked equally interested. What seemed like a long while later, he heard you speak again.

“Tyra Banks answer at your own risk, she’ll pump you for info until you’re blue in the face. If it’s Liam or Jesse, if I were you, I wouldn’t. They have strong jealous tendencies.”

The answer was unexpected, and it was an answer he didn’t quite like. “Who doesn’t these days,” he stated. Neither of you spoke for a few moments after.

“So, a week and a half?”

“Sounds like a date,” he responded. You giggled. He liked the sound of it.

“Date?”

“Yes, a date,” he confirmed.

“I never said anything about a date.”

“I know, but I also know there was some sort of spark between us yesterday, and I know you felt it too.”

Again you were quiet. Yeah, it was bold, but he knew that he wouldn’t get any answers to the multitude of questions he had without some bold move forward.

“You’ll have your phone back in a week and a half. Goodbye, Henry,” you said before you ended the call.

Without knowing he’d been holding it, he released his breath and sat back in his seat.

“Jeez, she’s a firecracker,” Jameson professed.

That’s the least of it, he thought.

~~~~~~~

-Aliya-

Your time in London was hectic. You were all over the place. Your photoshoots took you all over the English countryside. You frolicked in green pastures, posed on trees, in trees. You rode horses and pretended to play cricket. You posed with English roses and having afternoon tea all the while in the latest in fashion, and all dolled up in makeup. When your days began at five in the morning, they didn’t end until ten at night. If they began at night, you were not back in your hotel room until six in the morning.

On the days your modeling responsibilities didn’t rule your schedule you worked within your company. You were still in the midst of putting out your first magazine that you hoped would be up to par with Vogue or Bazaar. The goal was to do what they did, just better, and geared for a more ethnic audience, but you were now working on ways to be a bit inclusive—but not much. You wanted black and brown people to feel included, seen, represented, and heard. It was a lot of work, but you knew it would be worth it. Your launch was scheduled for a few months from now, and your excitement was reaching epic proportions with each passing day.

This project was your baby, you put sweat, blood, tears, sleepless nights, and everything ounce of your energy into it. You sometimes neglected having a life for it, and that included dating. It was what you told yourself was the reason for your lack of dating. At the surface, it sufficed, but deep down, you knew you were full of shit. No one else had to know that, though. All anyone needed to know was that you liked to work, and you were damn good at everything you did. You made sure of it.

With your current phone situation, you used Henry’s phone to do everything. No one recognized the number, and when they saw it, they always wanted to question you on what was going on. You were thankful that whoever you called didn’t have his number, or else the caller ID would say his name whenever you called, then you’d have a lot of explaining to do.

On your fourth day in London, you were sitting in the tub soaking after a long day when his phone went off with a notification signifying a text. When you looked at it, you couldn’t help but smile.

MSG Your Phone: Travis and Jesse have called three times so far. I haven’t answered, but you have an overflow of messages and voicemails.

You smiled and wondered if he was fishing for details. When you reread the message, you tried to pick up on any hint of jealousy. There was none.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Francesca and Abby haven’t called, but the messages are overflowing. Would you like me to forward them?

After barely waiting a minute, another message came in.

MSG Your Phone: No. As I said, we have nothing to talk about. Would you like me to forward your voicemails?

Again you smiled. He was fishing.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Nah. They can wait.

You had to giggle. You didn’t plan on giving him not one detail.

MSG Your Phone: How is London treating you?

MSG Henry’s Phone: It’s fine.

MSG Your Phone: Did the sun come out for you?

MSG Henry’s Phone: Nope. Raining cats and dogs.

You sank deeper into the tub and took up the glass of wine you had rested at the side. After a decent sip, you placed the wine glass back and sighed.

MSG Your Phone: Glad to know mother nature treats you just as how she treats me.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Are you in London a lot?

MSG Your Phone: I mainly live in London. I come to LA for work but am spending more and more time here for work, or on location.

The thought popped into your head of where he lives. You wondered if you’d passed it. As soon as you began thinking about it, you pushed the thoughts out of your head.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Oh, so you’re a Brit. Interesting.

It was a stupid reply. Duh, he was a Brit, the accent in interviews you’d watched since bumping into him made it a dead giveaway. It was the only thing you could think of.

MSG Your Phone: What is that interesting?

MSG Henry’s Phone: I completely missed your accent.

It wasn’t a lie.

MSG Your Phone: You were rather distracted.

You couldn’t help but giggle again. It was adorable how confidant he was. This was not the first display of it. Deciding to throw him off, you shot your final text.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Gotta run, goodbye Henry.

Instead of putting the phone down, you reread the messages. With each message, you found yourself smiling wider and wider until you noted a giddy feeling rushing through you. Nipping it in the bud, you put the phone down and closed your eyes, deciding to focus only on relaxing. Unfortunately, the two hemispheres of your brain weren’t in agreement. One wanted Henry, the other wanted relaxation.

Two days of working and forcing yourself to focus on work and everything related to it found you drifting onto the side of overstressed and worked. Any normal human would do everything to alleviate the discomfort, but you, you did everything in your power to prolong it. You knew what the root of it was, and you didn’t want to entertain any parts of your growing curiosity about him. Though you didn’t want to entertain your thoughts about him, you found yourself two days later sitting on your hotel room balcony with a glass of wine thinking of no other but him.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Why don’t you have a lock code on your phone?

As you waited, you sipped from your glass and stared out to the London Eye. It was one of your favorite parts of the city. Sometimes at night, you liked to ride it and just think about your life. You especially liked having it stop at the top. It gave you such a beautiful view of the city and the lights it always took your breath away.

He heard the chime of the phone in the next room. He turned the flame on the stove down to low, so the sauce he had simmering wouldn’t thicken too quickly and made his way to his bedroom for the phone on the nightstand. When he took it up, his smile was wide when he saw his number and the name he’d designated himself as highlighted. When he opened it and read the message, he couldn’t stop the victory dance that he did around his two-bedroom home that went on for much longer than he’d ever admit to.

When he stopped, he was back in the kitchen, hovered over the counter.

MSG Your Phone: What do I need a code for?

As he anxiously waited for your reply, he put the phone on the counter several inches from him. He hoped this would stop him from sending message after message. When he realized that it wasn’t enough, his idle hands still wanted work, so he went back to stirring his pot.

His reply had you wrinkling your nose. He sounded so flippant about it.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Well, for one, you’re an actor with a lot of private high secret info regarding movies on your phone. Anything can get leaked. For two, this is the twenty-first century, and the average person has at least six pieces of incriminating material on their phones. That incriminating material can end up on TMZ or US Weekly, hell every Perez Hilton.

You couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of that. This was logic to you, logic you couldn’t believe no one else had.

He nearly laughed out loud from your message. This was definitely a concern of someone whose star of fame was up there in the stratosphere. He didn’t consider his fame to be anywhere near that high. Yeah, he had fans that ventured on highly over spirited, but on the ever swinging pendulum of fame, he was somewhere a few notches past middle ground. He was glad for it. Already he found his level of fame to be somewhat invasive and debilitating. He could not imagine dealing with your level of fame.

MSG Your Phone: I’m not nearly important enough for anyone to want to hack into my phone to blast info. Also, yes, this is the twenty-first century, but I am anything but the average man. That doesn’t apply to me.

You liked his reply. It said a lot about him but also left so many things hidden, things you absolutely wanted to know more about.

MSG Henry’s Phone: So, there is nothing on your phone that you wouldn’t want a stranger, me seeing?

You thought back to his pictures and the women in his text history and wondered how he would respond. This time you finished your wine with the raise of your hand and poured the remaining contents of the bottle into it as you waited for his reply.

Immediately his mind went to his suggestive nudes and the messages with Abby and Francesca. Those were the only two things he worried about.

MSG Your Phone: Yes, there are things I wouldn’t want you seeing. A stranger, I don’t really care.

Your message came in almost immediately.

MSG Henry’s Phone: What makes me so different? I am a stranger.

Smiling, he turned off the fire, took up the saucepan and poured the caramelized onion, garlic, butter, and wine sauce over his perfectly prepared steak. After putting the saucepan in the sink for washing later, he walked to the dining table with his steak and potatoes dish. He was still living on a high protein diet to keep himself in Witcher shape.

MSG Your Phone: So I’m a stranger?

MSG Your Phone: Yes. I don’t know you.

He thought about your words for a few moments as he sliced a piece of his steak to pop into his mouth. As he chewed, he knew the right response.

MSG Your Phone: Do you want to know me?

It was bold as hell. You couldn’t believe the words as you reread them for the fourth time. What the hell did you say to that? What did he expect you to say? What did you want to say? The only answer that fits every question was you didn’t know.

MSG Your Phone: Something easier then. Why don’t you have a code on your phone?

Sighing out in relief, you took a few gulps of your wine.

MSG Henry’s Phone: I did, I was in the process of changing it when I bumped into you and never completed it, so both were void.

MSG Your Phone: Oh, so it was fate then.

You almost rolled your eyes into the back of your head so far they got stuck.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Fate?

MSG Your Phone: Yes, fate that we bumped into each other at the exact moment you took the code off your phone and then happened to have lost your phone to me. Fate that gave me ten days to peruse it if I chose to. Fate that gave me ten days to make a plan.

Your smile was widening every second that ticked by. The man was charismatic.

MSG Henry’s Phone: A plan? To what exactly?

His smile was big. This was going just as he hoped. The only thing left for him to do was take it there.

MSG Your Phone: To make you mine.

He wished he could see your face right now.

Gasping for air, you continued to cough. The wine was still trapped in your windpipe. As you struggled for air, you tried to calm your panic. After several moments you found yourself able to catch a full breath.

“Holy shit,” you finally gasped. The man was bold as hell for real. You read the message again, and again each time the shock remained. You couldn’t believe he actually said that. A flirtatious feeling washed over you, and you decided to run with it.

MSG Henry’s Phone: You can’t make something or someone a possession that doesn’t want to be possessed.

MSG Your Phone: I think you want to be possessed.

Scoffing, you shook your head and stared at the London Eye again and looked over the lights of the city.

MSG Henry’s Phone: Are you sure?

As soon as you sent the message, his phone chimed again, except this wasn’t a message from him. It was from Abby. Almost instantly, a sour taste filled your mouth, and your face reflected that. It was like a slap to your face telling you to wake the hell up and come back to reality. That was when your bitch face came out to play.

MSG Your Phone: Pretty sure, but you tell me.

MSG Henry’s Phone: You should call Abby. She’s sent you fourteen messages today, most recent right now. Goodbye, Henry.

Closing out messages, you gently tossed his phone onto the small table on the balcony, grabbed your glass, and looked out over the city.

For the next four days, any message he sent you ignored. The one thought that kept racing through your head was that there were currently two women that were continually texting him. Though you didn’t know the specifics of why the whole situation screamed messy. You didn’t do messy; you didn’t do love triangles or squares, you didn’t do anything that screamed complicated or distracting. You didn’t care how attracted you were to him. You wouldn’t compromise your ideals for anyone—not again.

When he changed his tactics from texting to calling, you ignored those too. You were tempted to answer, and on several occasions, you almost did until your stubbornness triumphed. You were victorious until one night in your room as you soaked in the tub after another long day. His phone rang loudly. Somehow you knew it was him. You didn’t know how, but you knew. When you reached for it and glanced at the screen, you loudly groaned as your suspicions proved correct. Closing your eyes, you tried to decide on if you’d answer or not.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” His voice sounded so damn good, and by the way, your belly flipped, you knew it agreed.

“Hey,” you nonchalantly replied.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Uh, not really. Not unless you call catching me in the bath a bad time,” you teased.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Henry quickly stammered.

“It’s fine. How can I help you?”

Yeah, it was slightly cold, but maybe cold was the right way to be. “Hello? Henry?”

You heard him release a puff of breath. You could imagine what it smelled like. You couldn’t picture it.

“Whew, this is the second time I’ve heard you say my name, and it had the same effect as the first time.”

Your belly again flipped. It was becoming a normal reaction to his words.

“What was the effect of the first time?”

He didn’t speak immediately, and after a minute of silence, you wondered if he would.

“So I’m about two weeks away from finishing reshoots and prep for season two for Witcher and I really, really need some time off. I had no idea how much the process had run me down. I am physically exhausted,” he mentioned.

“A lot of action, huh. I saw some episodes of the first season.”

“Nice. Yeah, it’s a lot of working out and fight training. It goes on and on,” he explained.

“Poor thing.” You were teasing him, and when he chuckled, you were glad he caught it and didn’t take offense from your condescending tone. The lite humor worked to ease away any tension in the air between you.

“This is strange. I’m talking to someone on their cell phone while they talk to me on mine.”

“I can see how that would be strange,” Henry replied.

Silence fell between you again. It was a mixture of a comfortable one and one of nervousness.

“I have to tell you before I miss my chance. You have the most amazing voice I have ever heard, and you’re an amazing artist.”

With a racing heart and a wide grin on your face, you closed your eyes and tried to get control over the butterflies in your belly. It took you several moments to get a grip. This was not the first time you’d gotten a compliment like this, but this was the first time it made you feel like this.

“Thank you. That’s—kind of you to say.”

“Just stating facts. I’ve always been a fan of your music,” Henry added.

“Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome. How’s work?”

You sighed and dropped your head back on the cushion there. “Exhausting. I need a vacation or to stop getting on a plane. It takes a lot out of me,” you confessed.

“We both need a vacation it seems,” Henry began. The way his voice sounded had you lifting your head to read between the lines.

“Are you insinuating that we should take a vacation together?”

“I wasn’t insinuating anything. I was thinking it, though. Seems you read my mind. Sounds like a good idea.”

You snorted as soon as he finished. “How? We don’t know each other,” you piped up.

“What’s a better way to get to know each other than on vacation?”

Your jaw dropped. The man was insane. “You’re crazy. That’s a horrible idea.”

“Tomato, tomato.”

Your laugh was loud and almost uncontrollable. You had to give it to him, his sense of humor was top notch.

“Plus, after our date in a few days, we’ll know each other better,” Henry confidently slid in.

“What date?”

“The date you want to show up for when we exchange phones.”

Usually, this level of cockiness in a man was unattractive. You’d left plenty of them hanging for far less. With him, you found yourself not hating the cocky spiel maybe because it came off as something else—intoxicating confidence.

“I hear an accent, too,” Henry said, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“What accent?”

“An Australian one. It’s faint on most words but heavy on a few.” You smiled. You’d thought it had mainly disappeared by now.

“Not many people can hear it,” you clarified.

“I’m good with accents and languages. I know French, some Italian, a few words and phrases in German and Czech.”

You decided to test that theory.

“Combien de temps at-il fallu pour apprendre le français?” (How long did it take you to learn French?)

“Peu de temps peut être cinq mois.” (Not long maybe five months.) Henry responded in perfect French.

A thrill filled you.

"Und Deutsch?”

"Deutsch dauerte länger etwa acht Monate.” (German took longer about eight months) Henry replied in perfect enough German.

“You speak French and German?”

“A very little bit, trust me, it wasn’t my idea. You sound like a native, though,” you complimented.

“Thanks. I try.”

The longer you spoke, the more intrigued you became by him, and the more intrigued you became, the more attracted to him you became. You checked the phone and saw you’d already been talking for almost forty minutes. It didn’t feel nearly that long, though. You could hear his breathing through the phone. It wasn’t heavy breathing, but soft breaths that you imagines were pleasantly warm. When you thought it, you dropped your head back to the cushion in frustration.

“It’s pretty late here, and I have an early call tomorrow,” you began.

“Right, I’m sorry to have kept you up.”

“It’s okay—I guess.”

“All right, have a good night,” Henry ended.

“Goodbye, Henry.”

You ended the call and sank low in the water, but not low enough to wet your hair.

“I don’t need this now,” you groaned out before you slapped your hand on top of the water creating a small wave that splashed over the edge of the tub and cascaded onto the floor. You had to figure out a way to nip this in the bud.

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

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