#idk. I’ve been feeling weird these last few days and probably should have waited until i was feeling not weird before starting these | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lxngbottom · 4 years ago

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Cramps. | N.L. (+ D.T & S.F.)

in which the reader is having a really bad period, so her three best friends come and check up on her.

warnings: pain, periods, bleeding, swearing, we know how it is.

i’m on my period rn, & these three boys are my fav characters so this is mostly to comfort me (and idk if you guys can even relate, but my periods get THIS bad) (edit: this was NOT supposed to be this long but oh well i love these three)

gryffindor reader! (but anyone can read obv)

—

somehow, you had managed to make it through the previous school day. but, the whole time your stomach felt like it was completely turning on you, and with every step you took, the bleeding was so heavy. you couldn’t even remember the last time you went through so many pads and tampons in one day.

on top of that, you were an absolute emotional wreck. and, that became apparent to neville when seamus laughed over tripping over your shoe lace, and you looked up at your three best friends with tears in your eyes.

“merlin, y/n! i was only messing with you! what’s wrong?” seamus furrowed his eyebrows at you, only for you to bend down and groan in pain as you attempted to tie your loose shoe laces.

“i can’t do it!” you whined, a tear finally escaping your tired eyes. you stood up, and sniffled, not noticing the genuine concerned looks plastered across the three boys’s faces.

and then, if things couldn’t get any worse, you felt someone tap your shoulder. you turned around to meet a terrified looking ron and harry, staring down at your legs,

“y-y-y/n... blood! t-t-there’s blood running down your legs!”

you looked down, and sure enough, there was a bunch of it. you automatically began to cry, and the sobbing only got worse as you realized that this was happening in front of not one, not two, but five boys.

“nev—neville... p-please give me your jacket...” you choked out, rushing as the blood seeped between your thighs. he did so quickly, tossing it to you, and your tied it around your waist before running into the nearest bathroom.

“why would you point that out?” dean asked ron, eyeing him,

“what?! would it be better for her to stay like that the rest of the day?” the ginger snapped back, still not putting two and two together. ron wasn’t exactly wrong, but his execution was awful.

the boys sighed, deciding that maybe waiting outside the bathroom would do you some good. but, unfortunately, as 15 minutes passed, you never came out.

“m-m-maybe someone should go and get hermione. or lavendar. or one of the parvati twins?” neville suggested, scratching the back of his neck. seamus shrugged, honestly clueless on how to handle the whole situation.

luckily, a saving grace skipped by, grabbing the attention of all of the boys,

“ginny!” ron called out, and she stopped in her tracks, “thank merlin you’re here!”

the look on her face was questionable as harry, ron, neville, dean, and seamus all stared at her.

“w-what?”

dean spoke up first, more than concerned, “y/n went in there. she—she had—blood running down her legs. and, she started crying...”

that’s all it took for ginny to nod her head, “okay. you guys go ahead. i’ll take care of her!”

they did so reluctantly, more so your three best friends. as ron and harry wanted to be away from the whole scenario as soon as possible.

and, that was the last they heard from you yesterday. today, they waited for you to come down from the girl’s dorm, but you never came.

they waited for you in the great hall, but again, you never came.

little did they know, you were curled up in a ball on your bed, sobbing from the excruciating pain that filled your whole body. this cycle was hitting you like a truck, and you’d wished that somehow you had been more prepared for it.

hermione had left you reluctantly that morning, never seeing a fellow girl having such a bad period before. you had cried all night, and you and her both had barely gotten any sleep. so that’s why when neville saw hermione drifting off to sleep during a shared class, he was absolutely baffled.

as that same class ended, the three boys caught up with hermione,

“hey, granger! where’s y/n?” seamus asked, and she rubbed her eyes.

“she—um—“ a yawn interrupted her response, “she’s in our dorm. she doesn’t feel well.”

neville’s mouth went agape, and he finally put two and two together.

“i wouldn’t go and see her, though. you guys embarrassed her yesterday. she told me all about ronald, and ginny, and seamus. she’s really upset, and... she’s just in a lot of pain. so, just let her be for a while.”

and with that, she left the three boys. they gave each other weird looks, mentally questioning each other.

you on the other hand at this time, were crying as you changed out your bed sheets for the second time that day. it wasn’t necessarily the most comfortable experience to have to explain to a house elf why you needed a bunch of new clean sheets.

dinner soon came, and even then, the boys expected to see you sitting with them, eating and laughing. but, you still hadn’t left that dorm.

so, neville packed some extra food, and the three made a journey to gryffindor tower, just to see if they could break the rules to make sure you weren’t dying. (of course, all three of them were convinced that you were on your death bed.)

they slipped past the prefect, climbing up the stairs to your dorm.

dean was just about to knock when they all heard your voice,

“stop, hermione! please! i don’t care that i missed my classes! i’ve been puking all day, bled on my bed, almost shit my pants four times, so, i really don’t care about snape and what he said about me! piss off!”

seamus’s lips curled, and the sound he let out could only be described as pure disgust. but, neville nudged him,

“she can’t help it. don’t be like that...” he whispered, still not sure if you were alright with visitors at the moment.

“well, i’m sorry! but, dean, neville, and seamus are all worried about you! they—“

that’s when they heard a blood curdling scream, and it sounded exactly like you. it made them jump,

“I WANT TO KILL MYSELF! FUCK!”

“don’t say that! it’s only for a few days, y/n! i told you i would help you with anything you needed!”

“then you can start by fucking off! go away!”

the boys looked at each other,

“maybe—“

“yeah—“

“later.”

they all mutually agreed, and ran down the stairs before hermione had the chance to see them.

they settled in the common room, deciding to do their homework until they knew it was a safe call to go and see you. they all worried about you tremendously, as they had never heard you talk to a fellow friend like that. you simple weren’t that type of person in their eyes. you had always been patient with people, so it was a wonder to them how you loved them so much.

they spotted ginny, walking up to the girl’s dormitories with a glass of ice cream in hand. they naturally assumed it was for you. and truth be told, when ginny entered with a sweet smile on her face, holding the cold treat, you realized you had never been more happy to see a weasley before.

as pathetic as it sounded, you cried to ginny while eating the chocolate ice cream. you sobbed to her about all the events of that day, and the day before. your crush on neville and how you believed he didn’t feel the same, the way that seamus chewed too loudly, and how hermione was too uptight sometimes. she simply listened, knowing that’s all she could really do.

finally, the three boys saw ginny coming down the the glass now empty, and they ran up to her,

“is she okay?”

“what’s happening?”

“can we go and see her?”

she chuckled and shook her head them, “she’s fine, you guys. calm down. i’m not so sure if she’ll want to see you guys, but you guys can sure try.”

they all three looked at each other, slightly terrified.

but, they sucked it up and made their way up again. of course, seamus couldn’t hold back from making a snide comment,

“i swear, if i get a book thrown at my head and end up in the hospital wing with a concussion, i’m blanking it on neville.”

“why me?!” neville scoffed, throwing his hands up in the air,

“because! you fancy her and are the most worried about her! she’s just on her period! is it really that big of a deal?”

before neville could answer, dean cut in, “yes, seamus. it is a big deal. maybe not to us, but to her it is. try bleeding out of your dick for a week while your inside are ripping apart!��

if you would’ve been present, you definitely wouldn’t hugged dean for that one.

they finally arrived, and they argued for a moment over who would be the once to knock on the door. it felt like they were stepping into a death trap. finally, neville agreed to do it.

he did so gently,

“what?” you asked, “who is it?”

dean and seamus eyed each other, definitely panicking.

“erm—it’s... us...”

you groaned, and looked down at your state. you were only in your bra and underwear, trash bucket in your lap, nausea getting the best of you... again.

but, you figured seeing your three best friends would bring you some comfort. this wasn’t their fault, and you didn’t want to take it out on them anymore.

“um... you can come in, but warning! i’m—“

before you could warn them, the door flew open,

“naked...” you breathed out, looking down at the trash can.

they all went wide eyed, and neville covered dean and seamus’s eyes with his hands, and closed his own.

“close the door, you gits!”

neville did so with his foot, still covering everyone’s eyes. you let out a small chuckle at the fact, and shook your head.

“you guys can look, you know. you act like we haven’t been best friends since first year.”

“b-b-but you’re—naked!” dean responded, through neville still keeping his own hand over the boy’s face.

you pursed your lips as you felt vomit climbing it’s way up your throat, “who—“

that’s when they heard it. the violent sound of puking. neville thanked merlin that his eyes were closed, because he probably would’ve puked too.

“who cares?” you breathed out, wiping the slobber from your chin. that’s when seamus took neville’s hand away from his eyes, and realized how you looked.

you looked unrecognizable almost. you looked exhausted, pale, and like you had just been hit by twenty cars at one time. your eyes were all puffy and red from crying, and your hair was definitely not put together like it usually was. makeup was smeared all down your face, makeup from the day before that you simply didn’t have the motivation to get up and wash off. but, seamus couldn’t help but notice your bra and underwear.

“you—“ he chuckled, “you have teddy bears on your undergarments, y/n?”

you clenched your jaw, and tightened your grasp around the trash can, narrowing your eyes at him. his eyes widened,

“kidding! i was only kidding! they suit you well!”

finally, dean shoved neville’s hand off as well, and neville opened his eyes back up reluctantly. neville and dean took in your state, much less of a laughing matter to them, as they were more of the calm friends.

“merlin, y/n... are you alright?” neville asked, approaching you slowly. you shook your head,

“i’m dying...”

the three boys gasped, and you looked at them funny, “i’m kidding... but i feel like i might...”

that settled their nerves a bit, the theory of you dying slowly fading away. you spit in the trash can, and set it back down on the floor. of course, seamus being the curious cat he is, looked in the trash can.

“don’t look at my vomit, finnigan! don’t you have any manners?”

he jumped back, and nodded his head.

“what are you guys doing here, anyway?” you asked, laying down fully on the bed, stomach and legs exposed.

“well—we know—you—you sorta—“

neville sighed at dean’s awkwardness about the whole situation, “we know you’re on your period. and, we know that you’re in a lot of pain. and, we just wanted to come and check up on you.” he glanced at the other two boys, “right?”

“yeah, definitely!”

“totally!”

you giggled at seamus and dean, “oh, what gentlemen. how could i ever thank you?”

seamus couldn’t hold it in. the comment just slipped from his lips,

“well, seeing you in your bra and underwear is thanks enough in my book!” he joked, nudging dean.

surprisingly, the only one who laughed beside seamus... was you. this surprised the boys, as you were sure that would earn seamus that book to his temple, or at least a smack to the face. but, it didn’t.

“see? i told you guys she’s fine! she’s laughing like she always does!”

neville seemed to look over at you for reassurance, just to make sure that seamus hadn’t crossed a boundary with one of his crude jokes. it was something that seamus had done quite a few times, without even realizing it, but it was simply because he didn’t know how to put a filter on. you knew at the end of the day that seamus wasn’t trying to disrespect you. plus, it was something you had go get used to, being one of his best friends and all.

at one point, the boys had eased into the floor, getting things for you if you needed it. seamus even asked why exactly girls even got periods, and you explained it to him in full detail.

“so... like—the inside of your uterus is actually tearing? i thought dean was joking about that!”

you shook your head, “unfortunately, it’s not a joke, finnigan. it’s very real...”

“well, is it this bad for all girls?”

“no, actually. some girls only bleed for a couple of days, and it’s very light. they can go without cramps, puking... lucky bitches!”

that’s when the boys fell silent, even seamus himself. until he raised an eyebrow,

“is it bad that i’m kinda curious? you know—to see how it feels to... bleed... down—there...”

dean furrowed his eyebrows, but neville nodded his head in agreement.

“well, boys... i can’t make you bleed out your dick for seven days straight... but, i can punch you guys in the stomach with full force and show you how cramps feel!”

collectively, they all disagreed, which caused you to fall into a fit of laughter.

“but—it can’t be that bad, right? i mean, everyone can get a stomach ache...” dean questioned, but unsure of what he had just said.

“let me put it to you like this, thomas. imagine the weasley twins sneaking a muggle laxative into your morning pumpkin juice...” you started, “but that stomach pain for a whole week.”

dean put his head down, finally understanding. no wonder you had talked about almost shitting your pants.

that’s when the door swung open, revealing a surprised hermione,

“y/n! where are your clothes?! boys are in here! and plus, they’re not even supposed to be in here, anyway!” she snapped, immediately storming over to your closet, and pulling out a random shirt, throwing it at you.

“but, it’s too hot! and, any tightness hurts!”

“i don’t care! i couldn’t imagine sitting around with ronald and harry with my—lady parts hanging out!”

you chuckled at her hidden shaming, quite used to it by now. “oh, whatever, granger! it’s the same difference as a bathing suit! lighten up!”

seamus and dean snickered at the look on her face, and the way she stormed out.

“she’s right, y/n. not about—you know, we don’t care... but, just—seamus will be talking about it for the rest of his natural life if you keep your clothes off any longer.” neville stated, standing up and taking his sweater off. he passed it to you, making sure not to touch you in anyway that would make you uncomfortable.

you smiled at the kind gesture. sure, it was a sweater, and you probably should choose the lighter t-shirt that hermione had snagged out for you. but, it was neville’s sweater, so, how could you refuse?

you slipped it on over your head, and pulled your hair through the hole. it was quite comfortable, and you were just the right amount of warm and cool. so, it worked out in the end. “thank you, longbottom. that was sweet.”

his face turned red at the small grin etched upon your face, but he shook it off and sat back down on the floor.

you all began talking again, not even noticing when seamus had gotten bored and ancy, and started snooping in your drawers. but, his eyes went wide at the sight of something in your drawer. he picked it up, and stared at it for a moment.

“uh... y/n...” he started, voice a bit shaky, “what’s this?”

he held it up, and you, dean, and neville all looked over.

“that’s a tampon, finnigan. i use it when i’m on my period so the blood doesn’t leak out.”

he took a beat of silence as he connected the dots, and his eyes seemed to widen even more,

“and... you have to put this where exactly?”

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #neville longbottom #neville longbottom imagine #neville x reader #neville longbottom smut #dean thomas #dean x reader #dean thomas imagine #dean thomas smut #seamus finnigan #seamus finnigan imagine #seamus x reader #seamus finnigan smut

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sometimesbeforeitgetsbetter · 4 years ago

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Off the Record | Stiles Stilinski

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader

Summary: High school in Beacon Hills, as told through the eyes of one inquisitive journalist who has a knack at getting on Stiles Stilinski's nerves.

Warnings: idk there's like a couple curse words lmao. also, spoilers? if you haven't finished teen wolf I guess??

Word count: 8,227

A/N: hi hi this is my first fic I'm posting on Tumblr (not to say that this is my first fic ever...anyway)! before you start, I just wanna say that there's a couple things that might be off from the show but please just ignore them. like I think it's bs Lydia brings Stiles back and not Scott in 6b so I righted that wrong. but I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think of it! thanks for reading!!

All my life I’ve wondered why people didn’t question what happens in Beacon Hills.

It’s no secret that our town is unusual, but when odd things seemed to happen, people would just turn a blind eye and go about their business.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t let it go. I was inquisitive by nature, and my mom never knew how to answer my questions.

Why do we have so many animal attacks?

What happened to the people that disappeared in the Preserve?

Why did his eyes glow like that?

That last question almost caused my mom to get me a therapist – which probably would’ve helped me regardless – but she just continued to answer with her usual responses.

They just feel threatened by us, dear.

They’re in a better place now.

I’m sure it was nothing – you probably just saw some reflection in his eyes.

But no matter what she told me, I wasn’t satisfied. I knew there was something bigger going on, something my mom couldn’t explain, but I wasn’t sure what. As I got older, however, I realized that if I kept voicing my concerns, I’d be seen as the local crazy person – which, at the time, was the title reserved for my neighbor, Donna Romano, who always went to Town Hall meetings to complain about how some supernatural creatures were traumatizing her dogs every time she took them out at night to urinate.

Out of fear of sounding like Donna, I kept my suspicions to myself. I observed the strange actions of those around me and kept note of the bizarre events that happened in town. I found that it was something I was good at – observing. Always watching, but never voicing my opinions. Eventually, it got the best of me because I grew really quiet at school. But I didn’t mind. I liked being a wallflower.

One day in the fifth grade I saw my mom reading the Beacon Chronicle and I had an epiphany – journalists investigate weird, inexplicable events, so I should be a journalist. Reading the news became my favorite pastime, and by sixth grade I decided I would join the high school newspaper, The Daily Beacon, when I became a freshman. I figured maybe it would give me an outlet to investigate the odd occurrences in the town without looking like a lunatic.

But in sixth grade, I noticed that some of the odd things had stopped happening. There were less animal attacks and disappearances from the Preserve. Some people had even left town, including the last of the Hales, whose house had burned down that same year.

I didn’t give up hope though. I kept my head down and waited for things to get weird again. In the meantime, I wrote for enjoyment. In eighth grade I started shadowing a girl named Anna that was a part of the Daily Beacon, and I started writing articles – album reviews, movie reviews, school news.

Everything was going smoothly until my sophomore year of high school. Suddenly the weird things were happening, and I was sure that there was one person that was at the epicenter of it all – Scott McCall.

“...Angela, you’re covering the new faculty; Thomas, you’ve got the new Vegan Support Group club some juniors just created; and y/n, you’re covering lacrosse try-outs,” said Andrew, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Beacon.

I groaned slightly. “Andrew, couldn’t I write something a little bit more...my style? Like what about the one freshman class that boycotted their summer reading and is facing suspension?”

He gave me a slight look. “y/n, you know how important this lacrosse piece is. You know what that sport means to the school. You should be glad I’m giving you this opportunity,” he scolded. “Besides, Marlene is covering that class and is already interviewing their teacher.”

I nodded slowly and tried to refrain from rolling my eyes. I knew that Andrew meant well – he had been like an older brother to me ever since my freshman year – and he was right about the importance of lacrosse. I stayed quiet until he dismissed us, then mentally prepared myself to spend my afternoon watching some jocks exude machismo on a field.

When my last class was over, I walked over to the lacrosse field and found myself a spot on the top of the bleachers. It gave me an excellent vantage point – until a couple girls sat down right in front of me. The redhead I recognized to be Lydia Martin, the school’s resident popular girl. We’d been in class together all our lives, but I couldn’t remember a time she ever talked to me. I’m sure she didn’t even know I existed, just like the majority of the other people in our grade. The other girl, however, I didn’t recognize. I found out her name was Allison by overhearing their conversation. She was new and must have just moved to Beacon Hills.

The shrill sound of Coach’s whistle knocked me out of my thoughts. Tryouts started, and I watched as Scott McCall, a boy from my grade, was nearly knocked out by a lacrosse ball to the face. I winced but wrote down the event in the notebook I had out for documentation.

The next ball that went Scott’s way didn’t hit his face though. He managed to catch it in his goalie net. I couldn’t help but be a bit surprised – like Lydia, I’d known of Scott my whole life though he probably didn’t know me at all. But that meant I knew he was an asthmatic that wasn’t particularly skilled at sports.

“He’s actually pretty good,” I mumbled to myself as Scott continued to catch every ball that came his way.

I didn’t realize how loud I must’ve said it though because at my remark Allison turned around. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said, obviously surprised. “Do you know him?”

I shook my head and quickly turned my attention to my notebook to write down the surprising turn of events. “Are you writing about this for the school newspaper?” I looked back up at Allison’s question. She was paying attention to me?

“Um, yeah, I am. I’d rather not write about sports, but here I am,” I joked lightly.

She let out a beautiful laugh at my statement. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Allison, and you are…?”

“y/n,” I answered. “Nice to meet you, Allison.” Suddenly the crowd roared, and I remembered why I was there. Allison, too, smiled and turned her attention back to the game. Lydia hadn’t said a word, but she was focused on watching Scott absolutely demolish Jackson Highmore, who, in my opinion, needed to be knocked down a few pegs anyway.

The more I watched Scott though, I got this weird feeling. He was good – too good. I tried to ignore my feelings and just focus on writing notes for the ridiculous lacrosse piece, which would include the headline: “Sophomore Scott McCall shines at lacrosse tryouts and becomes team co-captain.” But deep down I knew there was something up with him.

A few days later, I was sitting behind Stiles Stilinski, Scott’s best friend, in English class. Even though I’d had nearly all of my classes with him, we never talked. It originally was because I had a minor crush on him and was afraid I’d pass out if I spoke to him, but eventually it just morphed into me not speaking to many people and being convinced he didn’t know of my existence anyway.

But this one day, I was committed to speaking with him. I had to know what was going on, and if there was one person that knew anything about Scott’s new-found lacrosse talent, it was Stiles.

“Hey, Stiles,” I spoke up from behind him.

The brunette turned around, slightly confused but with that soft smile on his face. “Oh, hey, y/n. What’s up?”

I swear my heart stopped beating for a second. He knew my name? He knew who I was? I shook myself out of my thoughts before I went down the rabbit hole of the implications of him knowing me.

“Oh, nothing much. I’m just writing a piece about lacrosse tryouts for the school newspaper and I was just wondering if you had anything to say about it,” I explained.

He tilted his head slightly and shifted in his seat to more fully face me. “Um, yeah sure. I think it’s going to be a great season, especially since we’ve gotten some new leadership. My boy Scott’s co-captain now, so those Devenford Prep guys won’t know what hit them!”

“Speaking of Scott, when did he get so good at lacrosse? Would you say it’s natural talent?” I pressed a bit, hoping he’d say something that would give me a hint as to what was going on.

Stiles’ eyes squinted a little, and his head tilted slightly again. He seemed to be at a loss for words, which was unusual for the fast-talking, sarcastic boy, but he quickly recovered. “It’s definitely...natural...talent. He’s been working extra hard recently to hone his talent and skills so he could bring his A-game to this year’s tryouts.” When he finished speaking, he looked pleased with himself, and I could tell he had let out a small sigh of relief.

What are you hiding?

Though I didn’t know it yet, at that moment my rivalry with Stiles Stilinski began. He and Scott were hiding something, and I was going to find out what it was.

“You’re telling me that a girl is in a coma after the school winter formal and you don’t want me to write a story about it?”

Andrew leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. “It’s not that I don’t want you to write it. I just think it’s a tense time right now. The administration is receiving a lot of flack right now because of the winter formal fiasco, and Ms. Blanchard told me that we may want to avoid stirring the pot right now,” he explained. “That is not to say that we abandon our journalistic integrity and commitment to informing the student body, but we just may want to be sensitive to our environment right now.”

I trusted Ms. Blanchard, the faculty sponsor of the Daily Beacon, but not reporting on Lydia’s comatose state felt wrong. She was well-known at school, and students deserved to know the facts of her situation and how it had happened.Well, maybe I was lying to myself by saying that the real reason I wanted to pursue the story wasn’t the fact that something inexplicable had happened at the dance and I had to figure out what it was.

Andrew could sense my disappointment. “Look, maybe for now you can start collecting information and sources, and I’ll talk to Ms. Blanchard. Maybe she can advise us on how best to proceed.”

I threw my arms around Andrew in a quick hug. “Yes, thank you! I promise I’ll be sensitive when asking sources. I know how difficult this must be for the people close to her.”

“I know you will,” he said, chuckling lightly.

With a smile plastered on my face – perhaps a little inappropriately considering the topic I was excited to cover – I left the small newspaper office in search of my first source: Stiles Stilinski. He had been Lydia’s date to the dance, so surely he must know what happened to her, right? “No, I don’t know what happened,” Stiles angrily responded when I cornered him at his locker. “We were separated for a bit because she went looking for someone. When I went looking for her I–” he stopped suddenly, as if choosing his words carefully. He wouldn’t meet my eyes as he spoke.

“The next thing I know, she was at the hospital in a coma. They told me Jackson had found her out on the field when I went to check on her at the hospital,” he explained.

Something wasn’t adding up. “Ok, but where were you the rest of that time? You didn’t go looking for her when you didn’t see her for a while? What about when she had already been checked into the hospital?”

“What is this – an investigation?” Stiles shouted as he slammed his locker shut. I took a step back, eyes wide at the sudden display of aggression. Maybe I pushed too hard, I thought. Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I….I didn’t mean it like that. There’s just a lot going on, and my dad has been up my ass about those details too. To be honest, I can’t tell you where I was. The time just flew by and all of a sudden I’d realized I hadn’t seen Lydia for a couple hours. I wish I had been there for her, but there’s nothing I can do for her now other than check up on her.”

Running a hand over his buzzed head, he shot me a forced smile and said “good luck with your article” before walking away.

I was at a loss for words, trying to put the pieces together in my head. Surely he couldn’t have had a part in Lydia’s injury? There’s no way. But his defensiveness was off-putting–

“Hey, y/n!” I was snapped out of my thoughts by Allison approaching me from behind. “What were you talking to Stiles about?”

“Huh? Oh, um, I was just asking him about…” I remembered that the funeral for Allison’s aunt was happening and didn’t want to mention the additional stress of her best friend being comatose, so I opted for a white lie. “Biology homework. I wasn’t really paying attention in class today.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were friends,” she said as she leant against the lockers.

I shook my head violently. “We’re not.” I’d grown too close to Allison for her to not pick up on my feelings though.

“You say that now, but–”

“I have to get to class. See you at lunch, Ally!”

Other things that year were weird, but none warranted any further investigation via newspaper article. Sure, I was wondering about Erica Reyes’ sudden transformation into the ultimate baddie, the mysterious deaths of a mechanic and Isaac Lahey’s dad, numerous paralyzations at the Jungle, and a death of someone at a secret rave, but Andrew thought it would be best for the Chronicle and Ledger to cover those bigger events. In fact, the only other unnatural event that happened that I had to cover for the newspaper was Stiles’ unbelievable winning streak at the lacrosse championship. I would have quoted him after the game, but I really didn’t want to speak to him and anyway, he had disappeared for a bit right after the team won.

I could tell that things were happening, but it was all hidden from public view. I even noticed Allison’s behavior fluctuating. The arrival of her grandfather shook things up, and while he gave me a bad feeling, I couldn’t exactly figure out why. Lydia was more troubled than usual after coming back from the hospital even though she tried to act normally. Jackson was going through something and was more angry and aggressive than usual, but I wasn’t close enough to him to ask him if he was okay.

Over the summer, I spent a surprising amount of time with Lydia. Allison spent her summer in France, but she asked me to keep an eye on Lydia to make sure she was okay, especially since Jackson had moved to London during the summer break. I was surprised how much I enjoyed spending time with the redhead, and we hung out when I wasn’t working at my internship at The Beacon Chronicle, which my mom had convinced me to apply for after she noticed how irritated I was that I couldn’t pursue some of the stories I wanted.

By the time Allison came back before the start of school, it felt like Lydia and I had been best friends for the longest time.

“So, Allison, have you talked to Scott at all this summer?” I asked when I was sitting in the backseat of Lydia’s car, Allison in the passenger seat.

She shook her head. “No, I think I still need some time. He...hides things from me and I don’t know if I can trust him.”

I nodded my head, understanding the feeling. I still couldn’t place my finger on what had happened between them or what Scott was involved in. Though I comforted her when I found out they broke up, I didn’t really know why they’d done it.

“What about you, y/n? Have you talked to Stiles at all?” Allison asked, looking back at me in the backseat.

“Why the hell would I talk to Stiles?” I questioned, confused.

She and Lydia shared a small look that I couldn’t decipher before she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, but you guys are more similar than you may think. I don’t know why you guys act like you don’t like each other though.”

The car rolled to a stop at the stop light, and all of a sudden I noticed a familiar baby blue jeep approach next to us. “Speak of the devil,” I mumbled. Lydia and Allison didn’t notice Stiles staring and waving at first, but when they did the car was filled with awkward tension.

The next events were a blur: Lydia running the red light, both cars stopping in the middle of the road, and a deer running straight towards us, nearing killing me in the gap between the front seats. We were shaken, and the boys ran towards us when they saw what happened.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked Lydia, but he kept looking at me. I nodded slightly and he turned his full attention back to Lydia.

“What was wrong with it?” Allison asked as Scott got closer to the deer.

“It was scared,” he explained. “No, terrified.”

Things got progressively weirder after that. On the first day of school, I interviewed our new English teacher, Ms. Blake. She was nice enough, but it was unfortunate that her class was the one that a whole flock of birds decided to burst through the classroom windows. By the time the police arrived, I was already drafting up a story in my brain: Why are the animals acting weird in Beacon Hills?

I had overheard Stiles talking to Scott about the deer’s weird behavior and the number of deer-related incidents in California, so I swallowed my pride so that I could talk to him and maybe get some stats and information on the whole situation.

I walked up to him when he was sitting alone, texting on his phone. “Hey, Stiles.” “y/n? What’s wrong?” He had genuine concern written on his face.

“I overheard you and Scott talking about deer-related incidents earlier,” I noticed how he tensed up at my statement, “and I was wondering if you could help me with a piece I’m writing? It seems like you know all the stats, so maybe...you could write it with me?” It pained me to finish that sentence, but I figured it might be easier to figure out what was going on if he was helping – especially if he already had inside information.

I think for the first time in his life, the talkative boy was speechless. “I understand if you don’t want to or you’re busy–” I said quickly, trying to give him a way out.

“Yeah, sure.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t caught off guard by his response. “W-what?”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help you out with your article, y/n. Collaborate with you, if you will. We can work on it at my house tomorrow afternoon if you want.”

Nodding and agreeing with the plan, I left the chaotic English classroom.

The next afternoon, I felt like I was walking into the lion’s den. Going to Stiles’ house felt foreign, but what was even stranger was seeing him in casual clothes in a comfortable environment.

He answered the door wearing some sweats and a t-shirt, looking more comfortable and confident than I’d ever seen him. “Hey, y/n. Come on in,” he greeted.

I thanked him awkwardly, and we walked to his dining room table to get set up. “Sorry, I need to go grab my notes from my room. Be back in a sec,” Stiles said before leaving me alone in his dining room.

After a moment of silence, Sheriff Stilinski walked in wearing his uniform. “Oh, y/n! What are you doing here?” He had seen me a couple weeks ago in the police station when I was requesting documents for a story for the Chronicle. Though journalists and cops don’t often have a jovial relationship, he said that he liked me because of my commitment to the truth and respectful nature.

“Hey, Sheriff. I’m writing a piece about the animals acting weird, you know, with the deer accident and bird incident, and Stiles said he’d help me since he has a bunch of statistics on deer related car accidents.”

“Stiles is helping you? Well, I’ll be damned.” When he saw the confusion on my face, he rushed to explain himself. “No, not like that. It’s just, you’re all organized and focused, and Stiles is….Stiles.”

I was laughing heartily when the boy himself walked back into the room. “What’s going on, Daddy-o?”

“Nothing, son. Just catching up with y/n here. I’ve got to get to work, but you’re welcome anytime, y/n.” He said before patting Stiles on the shoulder and heading off to work.

Stiles looked over at me oddly when he placed his notes on the table and sat next to me. “Since when are you all buddy-buddy with my dad?”

Shrugging, I said, “Ever since we started grabbing beer every Thursday night while you’re at lacrosse practice.” His jaw dropped slightly, and I laughed again. “No, idiot. We’ve just interacted a lot because of my internship. Now, can we get started on the article?”

After the article was published, my next assignment was writing about the track meet a couple weeks later. I found out Allison and Lydia were riding together to the meet, so I tagged along.

Both girls were extremely tense the whole ride, seemingly concerned about something going on in the bus. We were only a few cars behind the bus full of track runners (and lacrosse players who were forced to attend the meet), but the stand-still traffic was a force to be reckoned with.

“Do you think we’re too close?” Allison asked.

“Honey, if you were any closer I think you’d mount the bus,” Lydia said sarcastically. She got a call from Stiles and looked over at Allison. “Hey, Stiles,” she dragged out the ‘hey,’ tension obvious in her voice.

She listened to what he was saying, something clearly wrong. “What do you mean he’s not–” she stopped when she remembered I was in the car, “healing?” She finished the question quietly, probably hoping I wouldn’t hear.

Healing? Is he injured?

“Yeah, ok, just find a way to get Coach to stop. We’ll meet you there.” She hung up and told Allison to pull off at the next stop.

When we got to the rest stop, I could see everyone hurrying to get off the bus. Allison parked the car, and we quickly went to the bathroom where I saw Scott nearly passed out on the floor. “Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Yeah, y/n. He’s fine. At least, he will be,” Stiles responded. He positioned his body in front of me a little bit as if he was trying to block my view of Scott.

I gently pushed him aside so I could see and was shocked to see black blood coming from the injured boy. “What the hell is going on? Why is his blood black?” I ran forward to get closer, kneeling next to Allison.

“It’s nothing. We just need to stitch him up and he’ll be fine.”

“Stiles, don’t fucking lie to me. I can see that he’s obviously not fine.”

“He’s right,” Allison said quietly. “We need to stitch him up. I need something to stitch him together with.” She looked around before remembering something in her bag.

I shook my head. “We need to tell Coach. Take him to a hospital or something.”

“No!” All three of them yelled at me.

It was quiet for a moment, all of us deciding where to go from here. “Just…” Stiles started, “please go and make sure the bus doesn’t leave without us. We’ll handle this.” I got up and slowly made my way to the door.

As I reached for the door, a hand grabbed my wrist. “y/n,” Stiles said, “it’ll make sense someday. Just trust us for now. Trust me,” he pleaded quietly out of earshot of the girls and Scott.

“I do,” I replied quietly, not meeting his eyes, before pulling my hand from his grasp and leaving the bathroom.

That night, we all had to stay at the Motel Glen Capri because of the postponed meet. I didn’t like its energy, and neither did Lydia. “A lot can happen in one night,” she said.

Though it was supposed to be two to a room, I convinced Coach to let me room with Allison and Lydia. Admittedly, Coach didn’t need much convincing because I was saving the school money by doing so. Once we got our room key, we went up to our room on the second floor.

“I’m going to go get a snack from the machine,” I told Lydia once Allison was in the shower.

She nodded. “Sounds good. I’m going to the lobby. There must be something we can do about these towels that reek of nicotine.”

Grabbing a couple one’s from my wallet, I made my way down the hall to the vending machine where I ran into Boyd and Stiles. As I approached, I could hear Stiles trying to talk to an unresponsive Boyd, who subsequently punched a hole through the glass of the machine, grab his snack that the machine refused to give him, and walk away.

“What the hell was that?” I asked Stiles as I walked up next to him.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know, to be honest.” He reached into the machine to grab his snack and tossed one to me as well.

When I got back to my room, a shaken Allison and Lydia were hurriedly talking about something. “Oh, y/n! You’re back. You won’t believe what just happened…” Allison started

She recounted the story of Scott’s bizarre behavior in the bathroom, and Lydia filled me in on the counter that they have at the front desk. “Can you imagine having a counter for the number of suicides that take place in your hotel? Crazy,” Lydia said. Taking her phone out, she sent a quick text to Stiles telling him that we all needed to talk.

We met him in the hallway a couple minutes later. “What was the text for?” Stiles asked when he saw our little gathering.

“There’s something going on with all the…” she looked over at me before continuing, “guys. You know, Scott, Boyd, Isaac, probably Ethan too.” I tried to connect the dots between all of them, but I didn’t really know what they all had in common. Scott and Isaac were both on the lacrosse team, but from what I could tell they didn’t have a particular fondness for each other or Ethan.

“I think someone’s going to die tonight,” Lydia said decisively.

“Why do you think that?” I asked, but it seemed like I was the only one questioning her line of reason.

She shook her head slowly. “I just...have a feeling.” After a moment of silence, she told us about hearing something from the room next to ours through the vent, so we decided to investigate it. Room 217 seemed empty and locked, but all of a sudden we heard the sound of a saw from behind the door.

Stiles busted the door open, and we opened it to find Ethan turning the saw on himself. “Ethan, stop!” I yelled as we ran into the room. Stiles started wrestling him for the saw, but luckily Lydia saw where it was plugged into the wall and unplugged it.

The next thing that happened was completely unexpected to me. Ethan grew fangs and claws, his eyes blazing red. What the fu–

Allison and Lydia rushed forward, wrestling his claws away from his torso where he had been planning on slashing himself. In the struggle he fell on the space heater, which apparently brought him out of whatever state he was in. He ran out of the room soon after. When we tried to question him about what he was doing, he couldn’t answer us. He had been out of control, and it made Allison realize we were forgetting someone.

“Where’s Scott?” She asked suddenly. When no one could answer, we all decided to split up – I’d go with Allison to look for Scott while Stiles and Lydia went to find Boyd and Isaac.

Scott wasn’t in his room. Allison and I ran all over the motel, looking in every crevice. At last, we decided to check the school bus, and that’s where we saw him. Standing drenched in gasoline, a flare lit up in his hand.

“Scott…” I approached quietly, careful to not make any sudden movements.

It was then that Stiles and Lydia joined us. I watched as Stiles walked into the gasoline, my breath catching in my throat as he nearly sacrificed himself. Scott was talking, but I didn’t really understand what it meant. He said that his life was better before the bite.

Stiles eventually talked Scott down, but the flare rolled into the gasoline. Luckily, Lydia was able to make sure we had all gotten out of the way. I’d ended up next to Stiles on the ground, and though we made eye contact, no words were spoken.

We spent the night in the bus because none of us could bear the thought of spending another second in that cursed place. Coach woke us up in the morning, definitely thinking the worst about what we may have gotten ourselves into, but whatever he was thinking wouldn’t possibly compare to reality. What was reality? I couldn’t have really told you at that point. I didn’t understand what we’d just lived through.

Before the other students started loading onto the bus, Stiles slid into the empty space next to me. “y/n, you know that all of this,” he made a grand gesture to Scott and the others as well as the motel, “is off the record. You can’t tell anyone about this. About what happened.” I held eye contact with him for a moment before nodding. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. To be honest, I don’t even really know what I would tell people, but I wouldn’t.” He nodded, a sad smile on his face as he looked down and fidgeted with his hands. “But Stiles,” I said as he looked back up at me. “Please help me understand it all. You can trust me, I promise, I just want to understand. I want to help.”

With a deep sigh, Stiles nodded once more. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”

When Stiles said he’d fill me in on everything, I didn’t realize he meant everything. I couldn’t believe how oblivious I had been to everything that had happened in the past year. Sure, I knew something weird was going on, but how was I supposed to know it was supernatural?

Finding out that my little corner of the world, little old Beacon Hills, California, had werewolves (and a kanima, pack of alphas, and whatever the hell a Darach was) was a lot to process. It was unbelievable, but Stiles helped me believe it.

I could tell that he didn’t fully trust me though. There was something in the way he looked at me that told me he was wondering when I would be done with my source acquisition and I’d write the next big exposé: Supernatural Beacon Hills: How Werewolves Have Been Hiding In Plain Sight. I didn’t know how to assure him that I was on their side and wouldn’t expose their secrets.

As the year progressed, things simultaneously made more sense and less sense. To defeat the Darach, we had to perform a sacrifice for the parents that had abducted, and Deaton – the veterinarian that had taken care of every family pet we’d ever had – told me I had to hold Stiles down during it. He said we had some sort of connection, but I guess that’s what mutual loathing does to people.

In the end, we won. We beat the Darach, the alpha of the alphas Deucalion left, and Scott became an alpha himself. But it was still just the beginning.

The sacrifice did something to Scott, Stiles, and Allison that we didn’t fully understand. Deaton said they left a door open, which only made it harder for Stiles to trust me because he could barely trust himself.

Knowing about the supernatural didn’t preclude my other responsibilities though. I still wrote for the Daily Beacon, much to Stiles’ displeasure, but I enjoyed it. So, on the first day of school I interviewed our newest faculty member – Mr. Yukimura. He and his family had just moved from New York, and his daughter Kira was in our grade. She was nice, but shy, so I invited her to have lunch with us.

Surprisingly, Kira jumped right into the conversation at lunch by mentioning bardo, the Buddhist concept of being in an in-between state.

After lunch, I caught up with Allison to walk to our next class. “Hey, Allison, could I ask you a favor?”

“Of course! What’s up?”

“Well, I don’t really know how to ask this but...I need help learning to defend myself, I guess? It’s just that I’m going to be helping you guys now, and I actually want to be helpful, so I want to protect myself so you guys don’t have to worry about me,” I admitted.

Allison smiled softly. “I’d love to help.” I returned her smile, suddenly giddy, yet nervous. “But, I think you should know that my...aim...has been off since the sacrifice.”

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Nonsense, I’m sure that you’re still the best shot in this school.” She shook her head. “It’s never been this bad.”

Touching her arm lightly, I gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out together.”

A few days later, I was surprised when I was paid a visit by both Scott and Stiles while I was sitting in the library. “To what do I owe this pleasure, boys?”

“We need your help.” I perked up at Scott’s statement. “We’re trying to solve the Tate case, you know, the one where Malia Tate disappeared all those years ago after that car accident, and we could use your help tracking her down.” He looked over at Stiles and nudged him with his elbow.

“And, you can write a piece about it. Not including all the details, if what we think happened is true, but you can still write something factual,” Stiles said, still displeased that I was writing for the newspaper.

To annoy Stiles, I acted like I was really thinking about it for a minute, but then laughed lightly. “Yeah, I’ll help you guys. Where do we start?”

Pull yourself together, y/n. You’re a journalist. You’re supposed to report on tragedy all the time. Be objective.

I took a deep breath and wrote the first line for what would be the cover story of the next Daily Beacon issue.

Junior Allison Argent, 17, died in an unfortunate carjacking incident last fall.

Before I could write any more, I got a phone call from Stiles.

Oh, thank god. “Stiles?”

“Do you want to come with us to Mexico?” He blurted out.

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from my chest. “What? Mexico? Why? When–”

“Tomorrow.”

“Stiles, are you insane? Even if I wanted to, there’s no way my parents would ever let me go.”

“We’re all telling our parents we’re going camping, if that helps at all,” he said with what seemed like a hint of disappointment in his voice.

I was quiet for a minute, but my mind was already made up. “Why? And who exactly is going?”

“Scott, Lydia, Kira, Malia, and I have to visit some hunters and see what they know about Derek being missing.”

As soon as he mentioned Malia, my mouth started curling into a frown. It’s not that I disliked the werecoyote, it’s just that she and Stiles had been pretty full on since they hooked up at Eichen and started dating. I wasn’t jealous – though I’m sure Lydia would argue otherwise since she’s convinced I like him or something – just...weirded out by their relationship.

I sighed. “I want to help, but I really can’t tomorrow. School starts back up in a couple days, and I need to finish this elegy for Allison and come up with a bunch of assignments for the staff writers…” I trailed off, thinking about all that I had to do before the coming week.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Ms. Editor-in-chief over here has a life outside of us,” Stiles joked.

Andrew graduated at the end of last year and left his glittering empire to me, though suddenly I felt overwhelmed at the prospect of running a newspaper while being way too involved in the town’s supernatural endeavors. It didn’t bother me last semester, but after Allison…

“I’ll just see you guys when you get back, okay?” I told Stiles. He made an unintelligible noise of agreement. “And try not to let anyone get killed.” “Yes, mom,” Stiles said sarcastically. I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

When the pack got back, I was surprised by the events that had taken place. “What do you mean it’s a young version of Derek?”

A few days later, I had to cover the spring lacrosse tryouts. Though I wanted to assign it to someone else, I had to do it myself because everyone was busy with the assignments I had given them.

To my surprise, a new freshman, Liam Dunbar, showed everyone up at tryouts – even Scott. I took note of how he seemed almost athletically superior to everyone, and I wondered if he was supernatural.

“He’s human, I’m sure of it,” Scott said as he came up next to where I was sitting on the bleachers, scaring me out of my mind in the process.

“Jeez, Scott. A little warning next time would be nice. But how do you know?”

He shrugged. “I can just tell. He’s just a really great athlete.”

“He’s going to be a great pain in my ass, I can tell,” Stiles said, sidling up next to Scott.

I took note of their reactions, writing down Scott’s comment – about being a great athlete, not human – to consider while writing my piece.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re writing a story about him,” Stiles groaned.

“You know I have to write one about the tryouts, and he just happens to be the star player of today,” I told him. “Sorry, Scott.”

Scott waved me off, but Stiles was still upset about the situation. “No, don’t give him the ego boost! He’s already a little shit, and an article about him would make it worse.”

Taking a break from my note-taking, I looked over at the brown-haired boy. “Stiles, have you even talked to him?”

He looked at a loss for words. “N-not really...but I can see his arrogance from a mile away!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well then, if you’d excuse me, I’m going to write up a fantastic story about a talented up-and-coming lacrosse player.”

The article became the next issue’s front page, but I almost wished I hadn’t given him as much attention when Scott turned him into his beta.

The rest of the year didn’t go as planned either, but isn’t junior year supposed to be everyone’s worst year?

As much as I liked helping out with the supernatural problems Scott and the rest of the pack were having, it was hard knowing about what was going on and not being able to write about it, especially when all of the mysterious killings started up. We eventually found out about the deadpool, but I could write about a kill list of Beacon Hills’ resident supernaturals, could I?

At the end of the year, I finally had to make the trip to Mexico with the rest of the pack. “Stiles, I’m going. You can’t stop me!” I attempted to open the passenger door of the jeep when he reached out and shut it from behind me.

“No, it’s going to be dangerous. We don’t even really know what we’re facing,” he tried reasoning with me. “I can protect myself,” I said, thinking of the training that Allison had given me. “Besides, I can’t just sit by and wait for you guys to come back. I need to try helping Scott.”

Realizing that I wasn’t going to back down, Stiles removed his hand from the side of the door and opened it for me. I nodded a quick thanks as I hopped into the vehicle.

I wasn’t expecting to fight Scott that day, but we all did in order to return him from his Berserker form. At the end of the fight, I had a few cuts and bruises, but nothing I couldn’t deal with.

As Derek drove away with Braedan, I could feel that things were changing. “I can’t write about any of this, can I?” I asked somewhat jokingly.

“Off the record,” Stiles replied from where he stood next to me.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank god, you remember me!” He said as he grabbed my hands. He’d been running down the hall frantically when I saw him.

I looked at him with concern on my face. “Yeah, of course I remember you? Why wouldn’t I–”

“y/n, it’s the Hunt. The Ghost Riders. I saw them, and now they’re coming for me.” He was breathing heavily, eyes sweeping the surroundings for signs of the Ghost Riders. His eyes locked on something to his left, but when I looked, I couldn’t see anything. “They’re here. We have to go,” he said, pulling me towards the parking lot. We got into his jeep, but he didn’t start the car. “Stiles, what are you doing?”

“It’s too late.” I could see the look of grief on his face. “No, don’t say that. It’s not–”

“It’s the truth,” he cut me off, turning to look at me. “Promise me you won’t forget.”

I shook my head. “I won’t. But Stiles, I can’t do this without you,” I could feel a tear escaping my eye and slipping down my cheek, my emotions getting the better of me.

Stiles reached forward and wiped the tear away before placing his hand on my cheek. “What do you mean? You’re one of the smartest, most inquisitive people I know. If I had to trust anyone to find a way to stop the Ghost Riders, it would be you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. “Yeah right. Lydia will probably figure it out before me.”

He shook his head. “You can do it. I trust you.” I could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he turned to look at something through the window over his shoulder. “Can I tell you something? Off the record.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my mouth. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t hate you. I know it may seem like I’ve never trusted you or that I don’t care about you, but it’s actually the opposite. I...really really like you,” he admitted.

I was stunned. Stiles likes me? He was searching my face for any indication of feelings as I sat there silently.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles mumbled. “Ok, forget I said that. Well, you won’t need to forget when you forget me in a minute–”

I cut off his rambling by placing my lips on his. They were warm and familiar, as if they were made for mine. “I like you too,” I mumbled when I disconnected, my eyes still closed from the interaction.

But when I opened them, I was alone in the baby blue jeep.

All semester, I’d felt that something was missing, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Or who it was.

But after months of searching for it, we finally figured it out. Lydia had gone into a banshee trance to discover the word “Stiles,” and it brought back vague memories for me when I heard it. The feeling of soft flannel. A sarcastic laugh. Red string around my finger. A hefty wooden baseball bat.

The collection of memories made sense when we all finally got our memories back and remembered the person we were missing from our lives.

We traced the trail of clues to the sewers, where Scott tried to bring back Stiles because of their brotherly love for one another. I thought it would work, but the portal closed and Stiles hadn’t appeared. Come on, Stiles. Where are you?

We had to fight the Ghost Riders off, making sure they didn’t turn our beloved Beacon Hills into another ghost town. I’d run into the high school, looking for something to use as a weapon when I ran into someone in the hall. A tall, brown-haired figure wearing a flannel shirt. “Stiles?”

He turned, and smiles emerged on both of our faces. I broke into a run again, right into his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re really here.” I mumbled, the sound muffled against his shirt.

“I knew you could do it,” he said.

I pulled back slightly and looked up at his face, suddenly nervous. “That night in the jeep...did you hear what I told you before you disappeared?”

A soft smile rested on his face. “Of course I did. It was the one thing that kept me going, especially when I was stuck with Peter.”

“Peter Hale? Why the hell were you with Peter Hale?”

Stiles shook his head. “We can go over that later. For now, there’s one thing I’ve been wanting to do.” I was a little confused, but I understood once he leaned in and connected our lips.

This is what I’d been missing, and I was never going to let it go again.

I watched from afar as Stiles gave his trusty baseball bat to Mason, who didn’t seem to appreciate the hunk of wood.

“Have you told him yet?” Lydia asked as she appeared next to me.

I shook my head. “We haven’t really had time to talk about that stuff. I think he doesn’t really want to think about it just yet and what that might mean for us.”

She nudged me with her elbow, silently telling me to go over there and talk to him. Rolling my eyes, I walked towards the familiar blue jeep and familiar mess of brown hair.

Liam and Mason had already walked away, and Scott and Stiles were standing and talking at the jeep’s trunk. “Hey, y/n. I’m just heading out, but I’ll see you guys later,” Scott said as I came up and Stiles threw his arm around me.

We waved as Scott left, and Stiles pulled me closer. “Hey,” he said, looking down at me with an affectionate expression.

I pulled him over so we could sit in the open trunk. “We need to talk.” I could see the panic flare up in his eyes.

“Oh, um, okay? Is everything okay?”

Chuckling lightly, I nodded. “Yeah, we just haven’t talked about college at all,” I explained.

His head dropped. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want it to ruin what we have here, and I don’t even know what life will be like outside of Beacon Hills, and I feel like we just got together and now–”

“Stiles,” I cut him off. “I’m going to GW too.”

His eyes widened at my confession. “You...you’re going to GW?”

I nodded, a small smile on my lips. “I committed a while ago. I’m going to study journalism there.”

I watched as a smile spread across his face. Then, it was replaced by a quick smirk. “Oh great, you’re following me there, huh? I just can’t seem to get rid of you.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m going to need someone to give me the inside scoop on the FBI’s antics.”

He looked pensive for a moment. “I think what you’re describing is illegal.”

“Not if it’s in the public’s interest. But maybe it just needs to be off the record,” I admitted. Stiles laughed. “Oh, it’s definitely going to be off the record.”

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf #stiles stilinski fic #stiles stilinski x reader #scott mccall #lydia martin #allison argent #hot take: scott should have brought back stiles in 6b not lydia #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski one shot #dylan obrien #isaac lahey #dylan o'brien

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yandere-sins · 4 years ago

Note

Idk If you have rules cuz I can't seem to find it but Osamu(Haikyuu) as mafia(if ur not comfy then you can ignore this part) who Kidnapped u and is obsessed(the "I'd rip out my heart for you" type of obsessed) who would literally do anything for you😋and puts you always first before anyone else🗿a soft yandere but will k!ll anyone who gets near you type so Osamu being possesive of you🤩

Nope! No rules, there aren’t enough people who care for them and I don’t want to stress about it anymore. If I don’t like a request, I just delete it. I prefer Yakuza over Mafia, hope you don’t mind! Thanks for requesting, enjoy ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Even the careful Osamu couldn’t keep you from stirring in your sleep as he opened the door to the apartment. This was probably the first night ever you had been able to fall asleep in peace, and yet, you sat up while he tiptoed through the hallway towards the only room you two shared. Rubbing your eyes, you heard a soft gasp, making you look up.

“Didn’t mean to wake ya...” Osamu grumbled before stepping into the room fully, walking over to the mini-fridge he kept stocked with basic food like rice balls and ice cream in the freezer compartment. The light briefly illuminated his body, showing you a sight you didn’t want to see while he restocked some food in the fridge, either unaware or indifferent about his looks.

You looked away, biting your lips. It had all started out innocently enough, your father paying a Yakuza to keep you safe while there were some even worse guys after him. Even if the arrangement had been strange, especially after he - Osamu - moved into a small, one-room apartment with you, basically just sticking around and rarely leaving, by now, it was more than just a nightmare.

How long had it been since you last left the apartment? Almost a month now? Osamu took you for a walk once or twice, returning after mere ten minutes and stating it was too dangerous. However, whenever he did leave, he returned bloody and dirty. Frankly, you were too afraid to ask what happened, but the secrecy between you two wasn’t helping in soothing your mind.

In the beginning, you still had been hopeful that the matter would resolve quickly and you could go back to your normal life. But apparently, it just kept dragging on, Osamu only ever stating that it wasn’t over yet. Even your dad stopped responding to your messages, asking if he was okay, by now, and you were nothing but worried about him. Now, you just wondered how many more days you’d have to spend with this guy that you still considered to be a total stranger.

Gripping your blanket tightly, it took you a lot of courage to speak up, but the situation was awkward as it is, there was nothing you could do to mess it up more. “Are you okay?” you asked carefully, hoping you weren’t overstepping your boundaries. His hand stopped, and he glanced back over his shoulder at you, simply staring for a moment before turning back to finish his task.

“Yeah, just a rough night.”

“Then... are you hurt?” you continued, feeling relieved after hearing his casual answer.

“Why? Ya worried about me?” Only being able to see his side profile over his shoulder, you noticed him smile - presumably for the first time ever that you knew him. “I-I mean!” you stuttered, twiddling your thumbs as you felt flustered. It wasn’t actually that bad talking to him; he actually had a hint of a joke in his voice as he spoke with you, even if you only ever perceived him as a mean-looking fellow with a bad career choice.

“It would be bad if something happened and you were injured...”

A soft chuckle fell off his lips, and you presumed he must have been tired if you actually managed to make him laugh. Either that, or you had to admit he wasn’t half as bad as you thought him to be. Closing the fridge - and with it, the only light in the room - you heard him groan as he stood up. However, even if he tried, his footsteps were audible because of his muscular build, especially as they drew closer.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” he assured you, plopping down on your bed. “I got it all under control, promise.”

“If you say so...” Pulling in your legs, you made some space, prompting him to lean back, and the smell of blood and dirt made its way to your nose. “So... not your blood?”

There was a certain risk in asking this, but you were awake now and, for the first time, had a conversation with him. “Nope,” he casually admitted, and it brought back some of the fears you first had when he was introduced to you. Mainly that he had already become numb towards violence. “Hey...” Osamu tore you out of your thoughts quickly as he spoke up first, noticing your silence.

“Has anyone been bothering you lately? Talked to some bad eggs on your phone?”

Blinking a few times, you delayed your response, nervously glancing at your phone. It was true that after you had to go undercover, you had quite a few arguments with your boyfriend and friends. They wouldn’t understand why you’d ghost them and avoid their questions about your whereabouts. “Not really?” you mumbled, unsure if he’d be interested in that kind of complaint from you. After all, they were more or less just relationship problems, and you two weren’t close in any way.

“I see,” he curtly replied, silence falling between you two until he sighed, sitting up straight again. “After you fell asleep, there was a guy outside to room. I’m surprised you didn’t hear the knocks, but I guess you were tired for a change.”

Immediately, you tensed up. Worried about the sudden revelation about a visitor, you didn’t even mind his last comment, revealing he had been aware and watching you as you had struggled to sleep the last few weeks in his presence. “W-Who was it?” you questioned, scared of hearing that you had been found out and you’d have to leave soon and hide somewhere else.

“Don’t know him. He got very agitated when he saw me and tried to get into the apartment, but I couldn’t let him, of course.”

Ears peeking up, you almost jumped out of bed as you leaned forward, intrigued by what Osamu was telling you. “And? What happened?” you pushed for a continuation.

“Nothing special. Told him he can’t get in and to leave. But he was one persistent bastard, yelling weird stuff like he was your boyfriend and he loved you and should be able to see you. These things.”

“W-Wait! What do you mean it was my boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell me! I could have confirmed it! I’d really have liked... to see him...”

Shoulders slumping in disappointment, any fear of being found out was now turned into sadness, knowing you had been asleep while a vital piece of your life and of ‘normality’ had been so close. “Ridiculous, as if I could just let anyone come and claim he knew ya,” Osamu grumbled, and the heaviness of your situation returned back to you. Of course, he couldn’t allow the risk of someone hurting you after everything you two went through already.

“He did ask me to give you something, though,” Osamu seemed to suddenly remember, contemplatively. “What is it?” you inquired, hoping that maybe it really had been your boyfriend after all, and perhaps he brought you something to help you through these challenging times.

But instead, you were met with two fingers around your chin, pulling you in closely until you felt Osamu’s breath against your mouth. Much too late did you understand the intention, his lips kissing yours gently yet longingly. You felt an immediate gut-wrenching response, tearing away repulsed by the actions of your guard. Pushing him away, you rubbed off the feeling of his lips on yours with the back of your hand, spluttering, “What are you doing?!” while you tried not to feel sicker as the smell of iron reached your nose.

“Ya know,” Osamu continued, his tone indifferent, but you could hear the smile on his lips. “I’m just repaying my debt to him. There’s no ‘being too safe’, but I guess you really did matter a lot to him. He kept crying and telling me he loved ya.”

“Why didn’t you just wake me up to confirm it then?” By now, you felt the pain of your boyfriend, worried sick about you, and then faced with someone like Osamu as his only clue. “Are you kidding?” was all that the Yakuza responded. Getting up, he stretched audibly.

“I beat him to a pulp and took care of him and his phone with the tracking app.”

What?

“H-How could you...?!” was the only thing you could stutter.

“Yeah, he won’t bother you anymore. I know you two have been fighting lately.”

“Excuse me?”

Walking over to the entrance to the bath, Osamu flipped on the light before looking back at you. Dreadful splatters of blood were all over his face, even more than you had seen before. His knuckles seemed to be straight out of a horror movie, and the black clothes he wore had dark, firm spots on them.

And yet, he smiled at you affectionately.

“As if I’d let anyone put a frown on ya cute face, Babe. Doesn’t matter who, I’ll protect you from anyone trying to get close and hurt you. I told ya, didn’t I? I’ve got everything under control.”

With that, he entered the bath, and you heard the familiar sound of the shower. Confused but mostly worried, you threw back the blanket and hopped out of bed with unsteady feet, racing to the front door. Sliding off the door chain, you pushed the handle, expecting it to open, but it wouldn’t budge.

The faint sound of a chuckle echoed from the bathroom, the walls thin as paper, much to your dismay. You didn’t want to believe it; even more, you wanted to see it. See that what Osamu described didn’t happen to someone so dear to you. You wanted to know that everything was okay. Know that the man you shared this locked apartment with wasn’t some kind of maniac going around killing people on ‘your behalf’.

But when you looked at your phone, you saw a message from your boyfriend, saying he tracked you down and would be coming to get you now. It had been read before you, even replied to, but you didn’t remember ever seeing it or replying to it at all. Especially not when the last message eerily read:

<< Waiting for you (:

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thoughts-on-bangtan · 4 years ago

Text

Let’s talk: Vlive Asks and comment/chat discussions

From @cottoncandykings: Hello! As u probably know jimin just went live recently and again he mentioned mandaggo and discussing about doing it with tae. I just find it so weird though. I mean jimin keeps constantly mentioning it and its not like vminnies were begging or dying for a vmin live everyday even before jimin mentioned it last year. Even now most including myself dont really care that much ofc i m happy if they do one together. But the way jimin keeps mentioning it is so weird. Like surely if he wanted to do it so badly he could have talked to tae privately and arranged it by now. And if tae is the one that doesnt want to do it then idk why jimin is pushing it. But what was really weird to me this time was that he said there were lots of comments about mandaggo yesterday in zoom call and yet they didnt mention it yesterday but suddenly today without prompting he talks about it. I also hope no one spammed the zoom call chat or the vlive chat with requests for vmin live (i didnt see any) bcoz thats just unnecessary and demanding. I hope vminnies wont demand/ ask for another memeber when one of them is live. Its just disrespectful. This turned into a rant sorry. Do you think it was weird too?

Since Admin 2 can’t type their thoughts themselves, I’ll relay their thoughts to you instead, since they had more thoughts/opinions/ideas in regard to this than I do, to be honest.

Admin 2 is sure that there is a good chance that we will get a vmin vlive sometime soon, which I know contradicts their original opinion and post from a few months ago, but there’s a reason for it. During the zoom meeting between BTS and ARMY they noticed something I don’t think anyone else noticed, or at least neither of us has seen any vminnies mention it anywhere, which in conjunction with Jimin’s vlive today and saying how he’d talk to Tae about doing a mandaggo vlive again, as well as another observation a little while ago, leads them to this conclusion.

So, the observation from the zoom meeting. Basically at one point when the question of Jimin doing a vlive arose Tae looks at Jimin and then he nods while smiling which in turn makes Jimin smile as he turns away from Tae and back to face toward the camera before answering the question and saying how he’ll come visit us the next day. Which he did.

Then the other observation from a while ago, this one being from their OT7 vlive celebrating their BBH100 #1 on June 29th where at one point Jimin says something but slips into satoori after which Tae encourages him to say that again but this time in the Seoul accent, so the way they actually should speak, which Jimin says isn’t difficult but he doesn’t actually end up repeating what he said.

And lastly in today’s vlive Jimin mentioned how he’s using satoori quite often but that he isn’t all that good at doing it on command or at teaching it to others, which is something he’d have to do for mandaggo but I’m sure he’d manage just fine if the time came for it.

Based on that Admin 2′s thoughts are basically that Jimin really meant it when he said, last year, that he’ll bring Tae around for a vlive, that it wasn’t a joke or a way to tease us with something he knew he wouldn’t be able to deliver, but rather that up until this point they weren’t quite sure how to do it. Which sounds a bit odd, I know, but what they mean is that if vmin were to just sit down in front of the camera and were supposed to just talk based on what the chat would give them, it would likely just turn out awkward and weird and no one, including them, would really have fun. Even more so when we take into account how idiotic the chat is during regular vlives so now imagine if those two were to do one together that’s just a casual chat. It would likely end up in disaster and honestly I wouldn’t wish it upon them to read all those awful comments that they would likely get, even worse ones than they already get normally, to be honest.

But now that the whole satoori thing was brought up, and Jimin actually mentioned mandaggo and wanting to bring it back after so many years, Admin 2 thinks that they must’ve finally figured out a solution to their problem, if you can call it that. Doing mandaggo would basically mean they would have an activity, something to do similar to how they did those ASMR videos for the Japanese Fan Club which were fun and cute, and so Admin 2 thinks that perhaps chances are we will finally get the vlive we’ve waited for so long (though like many others I’ve long given up the idea).

Another confirmation is that during his vlive today Jimin basically said that he only came by for a little while since they are quite busy and had to soon get ready for work with the other members but that he’ll return in two or three weeks for a more proper, longer, vlive. So, he could’ve treated today’s vlive as the promised one but instead he saw it more as a bridging one between the zoom meeting and the proper vlive he wants to do, so is it the farfetched to think that he had proper plans for a vlive, like doing mandaggo, but it just wouldn’t have worked out time wise today so he moved the actual vlive he wanted to make to a later date?

One last thing (well two actually) that has nothing to do with this question but Admin 2 wanted me to include it anyway is that one, have you noticed how Tae and Jimin were both on weverse around 3 am (until almost 4am (also both of them posting a comment to some post at 03:41 am KST)) one after the other (though with one day of a break in between them) recently and then also two, that Jimin was up until like 6 am (since he posted on weverse around that time) on the 8th and then during the zoom meeting Tae answered a question by saying that he’d been awake until 6 am the previous day (also the 8th) since he wanted to see the sunrise? Which is also something an anon mentioned to us. Curious, isn’t it?

From anon: I request both admins to please post this ask. So jimin wwnt live today and one of the accounts on twt posted a screen cap of them commenting 'touch your hair if vmin is real' in the live chat and jimin's reaction to it. Now idk if it is an edit or real. No matter i just want to say its not ok to bring up ships in front of the members no matter which ship it is. We dont know the reality of their relationship so lets not make them uncomfortable. Its not a joke. Its not funny. Be respectful the members are real people.

(Admin 1 taking over from this point onward) This ask nicely ties into the last one that’ll be further down in this post since they cover a similar issue of sorts. But let’s start with this one asking about, essentially, vlive comments and the things fans ask/comment, which also ties in with the above ask as well.

The thing with the vlive chat, and especially comments/questions that are like anon said, questions or “commands/requests” about touch your hair if XYZ ship is real or cough twice if you love XYZ member or, likewise, comments such as where is XYZ member or what are the other members doing, unfortunately those have been a steady and unchanging part of the vlive chat since basically forever. It’s been an issue on and off with different intensities though I feel like it’s gotten worse again this year. Particularly if we look back at the vlive Tae did with Hobi and Yoongi and how essentially the entire chat was filled with comments related to Xkook and not much else.

If my memory doesn’t fail me we once even had a situation some years ago (2016) where the chat during Hobi’s vlive was so bad, as in so full of questions about that other members instead of him, that you could see he was upset about it and eventually he handed over the vlive to Jimin, whom the chat had requested Hobi to visit, and Hobi just left. And I can’t blame him for it since the chat must’ve made him feel like basically no one cared about him so what was even the point of him being there, right?

Personally I’ve long given up looking at the comments during vlive because they just make me cringe and feel bad for the members, especially when I think back to vlives such as Yoongi’s D2 one last year where he was so excited to talk about the songs and the process of making the mixtape and yet so many of the comments were just unrelated nonsense and annoying request like speak english or can you say my name or say hello in XYZ language. If it makes me question why the people posting those questions are in the chat, why they are fans to begin with, imagine what the members must feel like, how discouraging that must feel like. After all they are musicians and yet so rarely do they get questions about that. Or rather they do get them but they are just drowned out by nonsense. Which is a shame. And also very disrespectful but any attempts that were made to remind people to be respectful, to remember their place as fans, to focus on the member that’s doing the vlive instead of asking about the others, and to keep ships away from the members have failed because some don’t care and will continue to not care.

From anon: what are your opinions on the Qs that were asked during that zoom meeting thing between BTS and ARMY?

Now I’d like to preface my answer to this last question by saying that by no means do my grievances come from a place of jealousy or anything. I’m very happy for all the ARMYs that won their spot, that they got to participate in the event and that BTS got to see ARMYs again even if only on screens and not in person still. No, my issue stems from something completely different, and I don’t want to say that the system chose the wrong people, because that would be mean and also who even knows how the winners were chosen, if it was pure luck or there were some actual criteria that went into the process, but the fact is that only a select 200 ARMYs got that spot out of however many that applied, so basically for some this was a once in a lifetime chance, right, even just getting this close to asking Bangtan a question and have really great chances of having them give you an answer while acknowledging you somewhat instead of just seeing pure words on a screen, you know what I mean?

Now imagine you are one of those 200 ARMYs and you get the chance to fill the chat with questions along with the other 49 participants of your session and you decide that asking questions such as what it’s like for Jimin to work as angel, if Namjoon ever broke a bicycle, or why JK smells the crowns of the other members heads? Or even worse, you decide to ask about JKs shower routine and in which order he washes his body? And sure, the “fault” doesn’t fall completely on the ARMYs alone, after all it’s the members who read out those questions and not some magical off screen entity, and since I wasn’t part of the event I can’t say with a hundred percent certainty that no one asked any “proper” questions, but if those were the questions that ended up being read out loud, is it that hard to guess that likely all the questions looked similarly?

Which brings me to my main grievance of it all: have you forgotten that you are fans of musicians and not reality TV stars or vloggers/influencers? I know there were likely no rules for what questions you could or couldn’t ask (except for probably ones that were 100% about shipping or far too personal), but really, you get to ask your favorite band a question, something you might never, ever get the chance to do again, and your first thought isn’t to ask about their music but instead about some unimportant nonsense like the angel question or if they differentiate between the clothes they wear at home and those they sleep in? Like sure the angel one was kinda funny, maybe, and Jimin handled it in a cute way, I applaud him for it, but was that really necessary?

I know someone asked JK about Decalcomania, as well as Tae about his mixtape, and Yoongi/Jimin about Tony Montana (season 2), but other than that were there any other questions about their music? Perhaps I’m overthinking things, maybe I’m exaggerating and maybe I’m the only one who sees an issue with this, but if I would’ve won a spot, I’d rather have asked something about their process when writing lyrics or creating beats or how they prepare when learning new choreographies, what it’s like to be on tour (though perhaps that would be a mean question seeing as tours aren’t really something that’ll continue being possible for a while still), you get the point.

It makes me wonder if it was just bad luck or if it had something to do with how old the participants were (I saw some being as young as fifteen), which isn’t to say that teens can’t ask smart questions because they definitely can just like adults can ask stupid ones as well, but somewhere something, in my opinion, just went weirdly. And maybe that was the point of it all, for the event to be casual, funny, lighthearted, but my question then is when is the time for music discussions? For fans to ask those types of questions that actually have something to do with the boys careers? When even journalists aren’t asking them proper questions, ARMYs aren’t either, so what is the point of it all then?

Then again, after the event concluded and Seokjin came onto vlive he seemed so happy and excited, so maybe they had fun (I mean they seemed to have fun) and didn’t mind at all that the questions were lighthearted and silly, maybe I’m the one making mountains out of molehills. I don’t know, but anon wanted to know my thoughts/opinions, and this is them. Once again, I don’t mean to be mean toward the ARMYs that got rightfully in, that won, and I don’t want to insult them for the questions they asked, perhaps I just expected/hoped for something a little different? And perhaps I’m the only one. I don’t know.

#answered ask #BTS #vmin #jimin #Vmin vlive

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 4 years ago

Text

Get Me To Church, I’ve Done So Many Bad Things It Hurts

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: you guys, idk what this is. I only know it’s not what I initially planned. Title is from Sinéad O’Connor’s song “Take Me To Church”, which hijacked this story’s initial plot. It reminds me of Wilhemina, and it’s a very good song <3

Word count: ~ 5 400

Your brain no longer was a brain but fucking mush. Mush that stunk and made one want to throw up at first sight. You had not been able to get a good night’s sleep since you had been sent to Outpost 3 a few months ago. You were running on a few hours of rest snatched here and there and on the disgusting, weird food cubes. At this point, when someone talked to you, you would gap at them until your brain suddenly gave a start and registered their words. Your body felt twice its weight. It was hard to concentrate, hard to think.

Days went by looking exactly alike. You would get out of bed, meet the others, try to have a talk, listen to the same song over and over again. “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”. Stare at a book maybe, open it, stare at a page, fail to understand a single sentence. You would wait for time to pass. Complain with Coco or Andre or that guy whose name you couldn’t remember even though you had been living together for months now. One day, Coco and you decided to exercise by running up and down a staircase, but you didn’t last more than five minutes before you dropped on the floor, panting. You didn’t try again. You lacked the motivation.

Sit at the table, eat your cube. “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”. Go to bed. You were going crazy. You could no longer tell what was real and what was a figment of your imagination.

In truth, there was one thing at least you knew was real. The butterflies in your stomach every time Venable – freaking Venable, of all people – so much as walked into the room you were in.

It was terrible. Why her, why you, you did not know. The only thing you knew was that you were falling hard for her, for that sadistic, mean, scary woman.

In typical mush-brain fashion, you couldn’t string two sentences together when she would ask you a question and her dark eyes would bore into you. You would laugh stupidly or give one-word answers. You would trip over your own feet when you passed her in a corridor.

So, really, it wasn’t a surprise when you realized that she hated you even more than she seemed to hate the others. For starters, she never looked at you. When she did, her eyes were as cold as the North Pole. Icy winds and all that. And when she talked to you, her voice was always so condescending, so sarcastic, as if she knew you were the most idiotic idiot at the Outpost. She probably wondered every minute of every day why you had been chosen to survive. It was a mystery to you, too.

But then – but this was part of your imagination. It must be. There was no rational explanation. For the wistful look on her face you had caught a glimpse of, once, when you had turned and shot her a glance. She had been staring at you. Or for the faint blush that had risen to her cheeks when you had accidentally – accidentally? – brushed past her, way too close to her, on your hurried way to the bathroom. Or for that one time, that blissful, ethereal time – but that had been a dream, it must have been, you had passed out from exhaustion and dreamed – when she, coming out of her room, and you of yours, had paused with her hand on the doorknob, and raised her head, met your eyes, and smiled. Not her mocking, cruel smile. But a fond, almost shy smile. A genuine smile, reflected in her eyes. This you were sure you had dreamed. Were you?

You were falling for her. Love, intimacy, would make things more tolerable. You craved a strong, true connection with someone, and part of you was convinced you could have it with her.

In the past few evenings Venable had made a habit of joining you in the music room as you whiled the time away before bed. She wouldn’t say anything, merely sit and read a book. The first time she had done it, you and the others had exchanged half surprised, half worried looks. What was she doing? Studying you? Deciding which one of you she would cook for dinner? You didn’t know. Her presence had made you all uncomfortable at first, but now you were used to it. You ignored her, just as she ignored you.

She always, always sat facing you.

And you couldn’t help but steal glances at her. Marvel at the beauty and neatness of her. Your eyes would travel down her body and the butterflies in your stomach would go wild and your head fill with want. For. Her.

Her eyes never met yours, not even once.

One evening as you sat brooding and she sat reading facing you, and the others chatted about some boring things, and the music, the music went “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”, you abruptly jumped on your feet to stretch your upper body. The sudden movement surprised Venable, who looked up at you. You met her eyes and gave her a goofy smile. She scowled.

“In your mind you have capacities,” you heard yourself sing to the music.

“But do you, Y/N?” Venable sneered.

That shut you up. You straightened up and glared at her. “Do you have, like, a problem with me?” you asked in an annoyed voice.

“Do you mean apart from your obvious lack of brain cells?”

“Why are you always so mean?” you heard yourself whine.

“Oh, boo hoo,” Venable cooed. “Poor you. Look at you, standing among the few who have been allowed to survive the Apocalypse. Do you really think I should feel sorry for you?”

You considered that. “No,” you grumbled.

“No, Ms Venable.”

You didn’t know what came over you then. Probably it was a mix of exhaustion, anger, frustration and want. Your hands clenched into fists. In what was both the bravest and stupidest moment of your life, you retorted, “Bite me.”

Someone in the room gasped, and then chuckled. Venable’s eyes went wide with shock. Heat flooded your cheeks.

You were dead meat, you knew that. So really you couldn’t make things worse by adding: “I’m sorry. I meant, bite me, Ms Venable.”

Impressive. You were a genius. Gosh, you needed sleep.

You couldn’t meet Venable’s eyes. Instead you stared at Andre, who was gawping at you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Coco give you a thumbs-up. You smiled shyly at her.

“Right,” you said. “Um. Goodnight.”

You hurried out of the room before someone could call you back. Your heart was beating too fast in your chest, but you couldn’t really understand why. You needed sleep.

You closed the door of your bedroom behind you and collapsed on your bed.

You couldn’t sleep.

It was always the same: you were exhausted all day, but the minute your head touched your pillow, your brain roared back into life. Someone in your head turned the light on. You were wide awake.

You groaned and turned on the bed. You didn’t have the slightest idea what time it was or how long you had lain under the sheet. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been a century. You turned again, forced yourself to close your eyes.

Bite me, Ms Venable. Damn it, you were such a fool when you were exhausted! You had survived the bloody Apocalypse and now you were about to die for something so, so stupid. Venable was probably plotting your death right now. She would order you out of the Outpost and condemn you to a horrible death among the repugnant creatures that haunted the nuclear winter outside. In your current state, you wouldn’t last a day. You’d trip over something and break your neck or get stabbed by the first hungry person you’d meet.

Fear clenched your stomach. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t feel like giving up on life yet. Even if the world as you had known it was gone, even if there was almost no hope of a bright, safe future. God, you wanted to live.

You sprang out of bed before you knew what you were doing and ran to the door. Locked it. Looked around the room for things to build a barricade with. The chair would do, and if you could move that huge chest of drawers –

You heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards you. And something else, unmistakable. The sound of a cane.

Shit. Your whole body froze with fear. Then your hand automatically reached for a decorative statuette close-by, that had sharp angles and that you could use as a weapon if need be. The footsteps grew louder and came to a halt at your door.

You waited, heart hammering in your chest. Venable must have a spare key, of course she must. You stared at the doorknob, expecting it to move, expecting the door to open, on Venable standing tall and threatening and radiating off anger and satisfaction. How so very beautiful she would look.

Nothing happened.

What was she doing? You couldn’t hear anything but the mad pounding of your heart. Had you imagined her footsteps? The sound of her cane? But you had been so sure –

One of your hands came up to press against the door. Fingers splayed out, palm pressing against the cold, hard surface. To try and feel her through the wood.

You waited. Your heartbeat was drumming against the wood. And it was slowing down, and your eyes were fluttering closed, for she was here – just behind the door, and you could almost see her, her eyes on the doorknob, the spare key in her hand, her lips slightly parted. It was as if your soul had connected with hers and now they were softly singing to each other.

There was a sound like a sigh. Before you knew it you had unlocked the door and opened it.

Venable stood in front of you with her left hand in the air, a few inches further to the left than yours had been. She met your eyes in surprise as her fingers curled up. She lowered her hand, and schooled her features.

You decided your safest option was to play it cool.

“I thought I heard a noise,” you said, assuming a casual expression.

“I was on my way to bed,” Venable answered. A pause. “I saw your light was on through the gap under your door.”

She didn’t sound particularly mad or threatening. Relief flooded your chest. Maybe she didn’t mean to kill you, after all. Maybe you’d been over-reacting.

Her eyes fell on the statuette you were still holding.

“What’s this?” she asked very slowly. Her eyes met yours again. They were dark, her eyes. The darkest eyes you had ever seen.

“What’s this?” she repeated, louder. You started.

“Oh, uh.” You raised the statuette to your chest and shrugged. Play it cool. “I don’t know why I’m holding this.” You tried to laugh. It came out nervous and foolish. “Must have been sleepwalking or something.”

Venable’s gaze was boring into you, piercing your skin, piercing your veins, piercing your bones. You felt too hot suddenly. You laughed again. Then it finally dawned on you.

“My light isn’t on,” you said.

You always kept one candle burning when you slept, but its light was very faint. There was no way Venable could have seen it from the lit corridor.

Her face didn’t change. “It’s not?” she said in a toneless voice.

You shook your head. “I’m afraid not.”

She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin. Her grip on her cane tightened just so.

“Were you planning on attacking someone with this?” she asked, nodding at the statuette.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” you answered, holding her gaze.

“I cannot think of any other use you could have for it.”

“Well, maybe I was.”

“Has someone threatened you?”

You scoffed. Gave her a look as if to say the joke wasn’t good. She narrowed her eyes uncomprehendingly.

“Um, let’s see.” You folded your arms as you pretended to think. The statuette dug in your chest. “Maybe I’ve gone just a little bit too far with someone who’s quite obsessed with hierarchy.”

A small, incredulous laugh escaped her.

“You thought I was going to –“She didn’t finish her sentence, her laugh lingering on her lips as the incredulity reached her eyes.

“Well,” you retorted, leaning your hip against the doorframe, “you did have those two Greys shot the other day for making love.” You raised your eyebrows at her. “For breaking one of your rules. So excuse me if I’m not feeling particularly safe right now.”

The smile vanished from her face. She closed her mouth, stared at you. Your eyes shifted to her lips. Back up to her eyes. You licked your lips.

“I wouldn’t have you killed merely for being stupid,” she said after a short moment.

How were her cheekbones so sharp? Her eyes so dark? You swore whomever had made her was the most talented artist and the cruelest asshole in the whole goddamn universe. How many years it must have taken, how much sweat, how many skills, how much patience and love, to make her.

You cleared your throat. What had she just said? Called you stupid. Wouldn’t have you killed. Something like that. You couldn’t remember.

“My light wasn’t on,” you said mechanically, “so why did you stop at my door?”

If the question surprised or unsettled her, she didn’t show it.

“I thought it was on,” she answered without missing a beat. She paused. “You thought I was going to have you killed?”

“Um, maybe.”

Her eyes fell on the statuette again. When they met yours, you swore you saw something like sadness deep into the black. She blinked, and the sadness disappeared.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “You should go to bed.”

You realized you didn’t want her to go. What if you invited her to come in? What if you told her about your insomnia, and asked her to help you while the night away? Merely have a talk with her. Merely sit by her side, and watch her, and share secrets with her. Show her you weren’t as stupid as she must think you were. You could light dozens of candles and watch the light dance on her face. Have her relax, make her laugh. And maybe if things went well, at the break of dawn you could lay your head on her lap, and certainly then sleep would find you.

You assumed a nonchalant expression. “Well then, goodnight to you,” you said with a smile that hurt your mouth.

She nodded, turned and walked off.

You listened to her footsteps fade away. You let out a long, shaky breath, and closed your door.

For a very long time you stayed with your back against the door, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. The sadness you had seen in Venable’s eyes haunted you. You tried to think of something else. What you would do tomorrow. Boring. That summer holiday you had spent in Spain with your best-friend. Venable’s hair in the flickering light of the candles. Venable’s face. Venable’s eyes. How you absolutely adored the fact that she could stand up to anyone. Venable’s eyes. The sadness in her eyes.

You groaned. You had half a mind to bang your head on the door to knock yourself out and finally get some sleep. Perhaps you could go to Venable’s room and apologise. Tell her you hadn’t meant to question her authority. You’d like to see her again.

It was a stupid idea. Lack of sleep made you so, so stupid. She would be angry, would order you out, slam her door in your face, maybe hit you with her cane. You shouldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You tip-toed down the corridor till you reached her door. It was slightly ajar, which surprised you. Heart beating fast, you opened it just enough to peek into the room.

Venable was sitting on the floor by the dark fireplace, her head bent, her hands joined on her lap. What was she doing on the floor? Surely the position couldn’t be good for her back. Then you noticed that her lips were moving, forming silent words, as if she were praying. Her eyes were closed.

The flickering light from the candles threw shadows on her face. Patches of black and red and orange vacillating and oscillating. Touching her face, fleeing to the walls. You watched her in silence, at a loss for what to do or what to think. You heard her sniffle, saw her raise a hand to wipe her cheek.

There was something so fragile about the scene in front of you. To see this woman who was always so proud, and so strong, and so dominating, murmuring silent words to herself on the floor in the dead of night. Or maybe those words weren’t for herself. Maybe they were addressed to someone else, whoever would listen, whoever would take the time to stop and lend an ear. Was she asking for strength? For mercy? Salvation? Her back was leaning slightly forward just like the backs of worshippers you had seen in churches.

Her lips stopped moving for a moment. She opened her eyes to stare unseeingly at the wall in front of her. You saw her bite her lower lip, saw her take a shaky breath. The silent murmuring started again.

You scratched your arm nervously. You knew you should leave, and erase from your mind this private moment you had no right to witness. Part of you felt like a thief. But your legs seemed to be frozen. You could not move them.

So you watched her. At one point she coughed softly, and the next two words came out loud enough for you to hear them: “Let me...”

Was she praying? You didn’t think she was a religious person. Why should she be? She had helped bring on the Apocalypse and had not received so much as a word of complaint from God. You squinted at her in the dim light, your body instinctively leaning towards her, your hands coming up to grip at the doorframe. Your heart was pushing against your ribs as if it wished to burst free from your chest and wrap around her.

Venable paused, sighed, went on murmuring. Once again her words reached you. “…soothe and let it save me so she can think it acceptable to love me.”

Your clammy palm slipped on the doorframe, unbalancing you. You gasped in a breath. Venable’s head jerked to the side. Her eyes locked with yours.

You could have screamed. Surprise then anger then fear flashed across Venable’s face as you took a step back, your mouth opening and closing like a fish as you tried to find something to say but couldn’t come up with anything. For a moment there was only silence, and you and she holding each other’s gaze.

Venable’s face closed up. She stood up, supporting herself on her cane, so calm, so composed. It was impressive, the tight grip she kept on her emotions. Always so perfectly in control of herself.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a firm voice.

“I –“you stuttered, “I – I’m sorry, I just – I, uh, saw your light was on.”

That was a risky answer, and you knew it. But today had been crazy, and any minute now Venable would unleash her wrath and it would destroy you. You had nothing left to lose. So you held her gaze, her inscrutable, unreadable gaze, admiring even now the flickers of candlelight that danced across the black.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you heard yourself say, your voice coming from far, far away. “I’ve not been able to sleep for quite a while. So I roam the corridors to try and distract myself, and I saw your light was on.” A pause. “What were you doing?”

Venable’s expression didn’t change. She took her time to answer, and you waited, waited for the inevitable anger, the inevitable punishment. You felt too distanced from yourself to be afraid.

“That is none of your business,” Venable said eventually. She turned away from you. “Go back to your room.”

That brought you back to yourself. Your soul crashed back into your body.

“Is that all?” you blurted out. “Go back to my room? Aren’t you going to, like,…” You didn’t finish your sentence, but she must have understood, because she turned to face you and shot you a somewhat outraged look.

“You seem so very certain I mean to hurt you,” she said sharply.

“Er, well.” You folded your arms on your chest and looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think. “In the last few hours I disrespected you and burst into your privacy. And, no offence, but you don’t strike me as a kitten kind of person.”

“Kitten?” she repeated.

“Yeah, you know.” You brought a nervous hand up to scratch your head. “Fluffy and cute, cuddly and helpless.”

She stared at you as if you were stupid. “Kittens scratch you for no reason.”

“Yeah, but...”You shook your head at yourself.”Never mind, don’t mind me. I’m too exhausted to think straight.”

Long seconds passed. None of you moved. You both held your ground, staring at each other. Waiting.

Your mouth opened again. “I don’t know whether I should run away from you or towards you.”

She didn’t react. Didn’t answer. She kept staring at you.

“I can’t sleep,” you repeated. “May I stay here and sleep with you?”

Her expression did shatter at that. She blinked in surprise, then in consternation.

“Uh, I mean, not like that,” you stammered. “I mean sleep as in actually sleep. Uh, get some shuteye.”

Venable let out another one of her small, incredulous laughs. “No, you may not,” she answered sharply.

“Right, of course. Stupid me.” You tried to laugh, ended up choking on your own spit.”Sorry. Uh, forget about all this.” You quickly turned to go.

“You need to get a grip on yourself,” came Venable’s voice. You stopped.

“Gosh, I know,” you breathed.”I’m sorry.” You waited. No reply came, so you started to walk away.

“I may have a few sleeping pills, if you think they can help,” Venable called after you.

You turned on your heel and rushed back into her room. “Yes, please, I’d be very grateful. Thank you.”

Venable nodded, walked into the ensuite bathroom. You heard the sound of a drawer opening, some fumbling, and then she was back into the room holding a small pill box.

She dropped one pill in your extended hand. “Try this tonight. I can give you more tomorrow if it works.”

“Thank you,” you breathed. Your fingers curled around the pill as her eyes bore into yours. You almost reached out to touch her cheek. Almost.

But then your breath hitched. For that was it, wasn’t it? Her punishment. Her revenge. You glanced down at the pill in your hand. Poison. It had to be.

You glanced back up at her, and your thoughts must have shown on your face, for her eyes momentarily glazed over with the same sadness as before.

“This is hydroxyzine,” she snapped.

“Right,” you mumbled. “Thanks.”

“Do you think some of my rules are too harsh?” she asked suddenly.

You blinked at her. “Well, I mean…” You paused a second, considering. You chose honesty.” Most of them are useful, I’ll give you that. But, Ms Venable, the copulation rule? People being shot for, what, loving each other? Finding comfort in each other?” You took one step towards her, growing irritated. “Those two Greys didn’t deserve death. They did nothing wrong. And what’s so bad about copulation, anyway? What’s so wrong with affection? Intimacy?”

You paused, waiting for her answer. Her eyes were very big and shining in the candlelight. They were different, now. It was that sadness again. She looked almost sad.

“Tell me, what’s wrong with this?” You reached out and laid the pad of your index on her right wrist. She tensed up, her hand tightening around the knob of her cane. Her eyes grew bigger still.

You swallowed, refusing to lower your gaze, as you slowly ran your finger down her hand, circled one of her knuckles, moved to the next. You could feel her shaking under your touch, her skin soft and hot.

“This never hurt anyone,” you said softly. Her brow tightened, just so. She made as if to withdraw her hand from your touch. Your finger stuttered, your eyes questioning hers. Well, maybe affection had hurt her. Undoubtedly it had. You could read it in her eyes.

You removed your hand, but she captured it in hers and brought it up close to her mouth.

“We cannot possibly take the risk of having to deal with a herd of babies, can we, Y/N?” she said very slowly. Her breath grazed your knuckles and sent a shiver down your spine. Her grip on your hand was strong.

“We can’t, Wilhemina,” you heard yourself say.

Wilhemina. How did you remember her Christian name? She had told it to you exactly once, on the day of your arrival at the Outpost. Months ago. And it wasn’t a very common name.

“But then again, Wilhemina,” you went on, “you and I would never have this problem.”

Venable brought your hand up to her mouth, her gaze burning into yours, and sank her teeth into your skin.

“Ow!” you yapped. “What the…”

She tightened her grip on your hand to hold it back. A smirk crept up her lips.

“Bite me,” she said, her mouth hot and damp against your skin. “That’s what you said. So, here.” She did let go of your hand, then. You held it protectively to your chest, smoothing it over your shirt. “Happy to oblige.” She turned away from you.

You watched her in consternation as she bent over her bed, apparently rearranging the pillows. Her teeth had left a row of white marks on your hand. A moment passed, until she straightened up and met your eyes.

“Well, goodnight,” she said, almost teasingly. And with that she sent you off.

“You’re still alive,” Coco said in surprise the morning after.

“You’re very observant,” you mumbled, slumping onto the chair next to her. You still felt a bit woolly because of the hydroxyzine. But at least you had slept.

“You’ve been observing our Earth”, sang the female voice from the radio.

“This song will drive me crazy,” you groaned. “Can’t we turn it off?”

“And we’d like to make a contact with you,” the voice retorted.

You straightened your shoulders as Venable walked into the room. Her gaze immediately fell on you. You held it, not sure what to think of the night before, her helping you, her biting you for God’s sake – mechanically you massaged the back of your hand where her teeth had sunk. And those words you had overhead. They had been addressed to someone else, but you couldn’t help but hope she had been talking about you.

You thought you saw something in her eyes, eagerness perhaps, as she walked towards you. She stopped in front of you and tapped her cane on the floor.

“Good-morning,” she said. You gave her a smile in answer, then lowered your eyes to study your nails. You could feel her gaze on your face.

“How did you sleep?” she went on in a casual voice that sounded just a tiny bit strained, as if she were uncomfortable or nervous.

You squinted at her, fighting back an amused smile. “I slept well, thank you.”

You were vaguely aware of the hush that had fallen upon the room. There was more to it, too, some sort of tension, expectant and apprehensive, a holding of one’s breath as one waits for something the nature of which one isn’t really certain of.

“We’ve been observing your Earth, and one night we’ll make a contact with you,” the robotic, distorted alien voice burst out.

“Good,” Venable answered. “I am glad to hear that.”

A pause. The pause stretched.

“Maybe now some of my brain cells will finally kick back into life, “you prompted.

Venable blinked. “We can only hope so,” she answered after a while.

The smile you had been holding back danced across your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Coco shoot you a perplexed look, saw her contort her face as if to ask, “what the hell is happening?”

Venable’s cane tapped on the floor. “Everyone, please,” she called, “I have an announcement to make. Some good news for you all.”

Excited whispers filled the room. You straightened in your seat. Venable waited until she had everyone’s attention, and then spoke with pride in her voice. “To renew with tradition and entertain you, we will now have board games nights. Whist, backgammon, chess.”

Was she… actually trying to be nice? Giving you all something to look forward to? A bit of fun, to help pass the time? You almost gawked at her.

She’s trying, a voice whispered in your head. What was it she had said? Make it acceptable to love her. You were vaguely aware of the tears that sprang to your eyes.

“Excuse me,” Coco blurted out, “I thought you’d said ‘good news’, not ‘you’re now officially living in a shitty Jane Austen novel’.”

Venable glared at her. You caught just a flash of pain in her eyes.

“I think it’s a good idea,” you retorted before Venable had time to. “It’ll keep our minds distracted.”

“I don’t even know what whist and backgammon are,” said Andre. “And I’ve never played chess.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Venable sneered. “It will be the perfect opportunity to inject some knowledge into your vacuous brain.”

“Not as vacuous as that,” Andre retorted angrily, “seeing as you filled it with my boyfriend’s own brain.”

You had never seen Andre stand up to Venable before. Like the others, he had been too scared of her to dare contradict her. But now his voice was openly belligerent, his eyes shooting daggers at her, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair as if he were contemplating standing up. Something had changed, and it didn’t take you long to realize you were the cause. Or rather, Venable’s behavior to you. You had been insolent to her, and she had not punished you. She had not even verbally abused you.

“What will it take,” Venable enunciated, “for you to finally understand me when I say that I did not feed you Stu?”

“Then where is he?” Andre growled, jumping to his feet, “And what was in the fucking stew?”

“Alright, okay, calm down,” you spoke, rising too, and holding out a hand in front of Andre. “I’ll teach you chess, okay? I know chess, I can teach you. Just, relax, man. Gosh.”

Andre glared at you. You raised your eyebrows at him. For a minute he stayed still, hands clenched into fists, and then he let out a breath and moved back to his chair.

Coco threw her hands up in the air. “Board games nights it is,” she said sarcastically.

You turned to Venable. She was studying you, her expression strange, as if she could not quite decide between anger and gratefulness.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she said, her eyes locked with yours, “I do not need your help when it comes to dealing with idiots.”

You took your time to answer, to think of the right words to say. A smile crept up your lips again, and this time you let it.

And you knew everyone in the room would be able to hear you. But you didn’t care. Blame it on the hydroxyzine. Blame it on the freaking interplanetary and most extraordinary occupants. The world had ended. You were exhausted. And you were falling for her.

When you spoke, your voice was a singsong, as insolent as it had been the evening before. “Why, fuck me, Ms Venable. I know that.”

#ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader #fics

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

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Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You��re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin.

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had.

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian.

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain.

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting.

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know.

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying.

“Konechno.” Of course.

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again.

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death.

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman.

My father is an arms-dealer.

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy.

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t.

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty.

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people.

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly.

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer.

“Starik,” I tease. Old man.

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York.

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise.

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase.

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital.

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait.

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details.

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé.

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored.

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him.

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option.

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room.

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature.

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more.

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest.

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name.

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now.

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected.

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello.

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield.

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello.

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction.

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave.

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck.

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys.

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official.

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual.

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it.

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

Tags: @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @masstrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #acosf countdown #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acosf fanfiction #a court of mist and fury

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sunkissedpages · 4 years ago

Note

idk if you're taking requests but I would die to have a tom x bi!fem!reader I guess I never read one. like something with her ex girlfriend calling and him getting jealous. treating this as a normal thing CAUSE IT SHOULD BE A NORMAL THING. sorry my bi-self its kinda angry today lol. BTW you're writing its just... omg so good, you're freaking talented girl!

you had me at bi!reader lol also yes i named the ex after jade from victorious don’t @ me

i’m also tempted to make a nsfw version of this but...

warnings: swearing, drug mention

You sighed when the music you had been playing in Tom’s car cut off suddenly and reached up to reject the incoming call, but froze when you saw “j (don’t answer!!!)” pop up as the Caller ID. Your thumb hovered over the End Call button, hesitating for a second too long before finally tapping it and swiping away the notification. You held your breath as the music came back on, hoping your boyfriend hadn’t noticed your reaction. But he knew you better than you knew yourself and picked up on your nerves instantly.

“Who was that?”

You cursed under your breath and sunk further into your seat. “Oh, uh, just... Jade.”

A spark of recognition lit up behind his warm, brown eyes and he pursed his lips. “Jade? Your ex-girlfriend?”

“That’s the one,” you confirmed, nodding.

“Why is she calling you?”

You shrugged and tried to play it off. “I don’t know.”

To be fair, you didn’t know why she was calling, but you knew it had to be important if she was reaching out at all. Your relationship hadn’t ended on the best of terms all those months ago, and there was still the dull ache of what was associated with her name. You didn’t want to talk to her. And you really didn’t want Tom to watch you talk to her.

“Should you... call her back?” he asked.

“No,” you answered a little too quickly, averting your eyes from your boyfriend’s gaze. “It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You were about to reply when the Incoming Call notification popped up on the Audi’s touchscreen display again. You muttered fuck under your breath and pressed the answer button against your better judgment, worried that she might be in some sort of trouble.

“Hello?”

“Hey, y/n,” her voice echoed through the speakers softly and you had to force yourself to take a breath before responding so your voice wouldn’t shake.

“Uh, Jade. Um, is everything okay?”

You glanced over at Tom who was focused on the road. He appeared to be as calm and composed as ever, but his grip on the steering wheel gave his true feelings away. His knuckles were turning white around the dark leather and the seams were pressing into his skin. You reached out and put a hand on his thigh in an attempt to calm both his and your own nerves.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Jade said after a moment, clearing her throat awkwardly. “Actually, no it’s not.”

“Oh, what’s up?”

“Do you remember our shitty landlord back at Monty’s?” she asked.

“How could I forget?” you laughed bitterly, even though it was all you wanted to do. “That asshole tried to make us pay double rent like six different times, claiming we hadn’t already paid it.”

“He was also homophobic as hell,” Jade added.

“And creepy.”

Jade laughed and those old, fluttery feelings in the pit of your stomach threatened to surface again. It was the effect she always had on you and apparently still did, at least in some capacity. Guilt began to set in when you felt yourself smile listening to her laugh and you retracted your hand from Tom’s leg.

“But why do you ask?”

“Oh, right. He’s being a dick about the faucet in our- my bathroom. It’s leaking and he won’t fix it because he says it’s my fault that it’s broken in the first place.”

You hadn’t realized Jade still lived in that old apartment you used to share. Maybe you should have guessed, since you had been the one to move out when things ended, but it had been so long ago that you had just assumed she was living somewhere else now. You wondered if she had taken other people home there, if there was someone different sleeping in your spot on the bed every night, cooking for her like you used to-

“Anyway,” she went on, snapping you out of it, “it’s bullshit. It’s leaking because it’s old, not because I did anything to it. But he always listened to you because you were better at sweet-talking him. I’m... too bitchy, I guess. I know it’s a lot to ask after everything that happened between us, but I was wondering if you could maybe... give him a call? And ask him to fix it?”

Tom looked over at you with eyebrows raised expectantly, him and Jade both waiting for your answer.

“Yeah, I can give him a call,” you sighed reluctantly. “But if he says no, I’m not asking again.”

“Oh my god thank you, y/n,” she gushed. “You’re the best! I-I wouldn’t have called, but the leak has already damaged part of the floor and he’s dodging me-”

“You don’t have to explain it all. I’ll call him, okay?”

“Okay, okay. Thank you so much. You’re a fucking lifesaver.”

“Don’t mention it,” you said, “I’ll uh, I’ll text you to let you know what he says.”

“Sounds good!” she chirped. “Hey, if everything goes well you should let me smoke you out as a thank you.”

“Oh,” you paused, glancing back at Tom who wasn’t even hiding his scowl now. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well the offer’s open if you ever want to take me up on it. Ya know, for old time’s sake.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you promised.

“Okay,” she said with a sigh, “I’ll let you go now... it was nice hearing from you again.”

“Yeah, likewise,” you lied through gritted teeth and hung up, finally feeling like you could exhale.

Your music started playing automatically again once the call had ended, but Tom turned it down immediately, clearly distracted.

Your head was still reeling from the conversation you’d just had and you would need three to five business days to process it, but you knew you had to say something to Tom. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but his jaw was clenched like it was when he was upset so you knew it couldn’t be good.

“I’m... sorry if that was weird for you,” you tried. “I know it was weird for me.”

Tom turned his head toward in surprise, as if he hadn’t been expecting you to say anything, and his eyes softened immediately. “Are you okay, love?”

“Yeah,” you said and nodded like you were trying to convince yourself too, “I think so.”

“You sure?”

You nodded again, then asked him the same. “Are you okay?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m trying to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, my girlfriend’s ex just called her out of the blue and basically asked to hook up with her right in front of me, so I’ve been better.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s jealousy and settled for crossing your arms over your chest instead. “Tom, she did not ask to hook up with me. Were we listening to the same conversation?”

“It wasn’t that hard to read between the lines, y/n. ‘You should let me smoke you out as a thank you’, like that wasn’t just straight-up flirting. She was obviously using the god damn faucet as an excuse just to talk to you again.”

“I-”

He wasn’t wrong, and evidently you both knew that. The faucet might have been a legitimate issue, but it was an awfully convenient one too. You brought your thumb to your mouth and started chewing on your nail anxiously, not even realizing you were doing so until Tom gently pulled your hand away.

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“No, darling, don’t apologize,” he insisted. “I know it was probably difficult to hear from her after so long, and I, I’m not making it any fucking easier. I just got in my head about things... because your relationship with her was so serious and it lasted for like two years and you lived together and we’ve only been dating for a few months-"

You sighed and leaned over the center console to rest your head on his shoulder. “All of that may be true, but you know I would never go back to her, right?”

He paused for a moment before finally nodding. “I do.”

“She’s my past. You’re my future.”

Tom smiled and leaned down to kiss you on the forehead. “And you’re mine. For as long as you want to be.”

#1.3k words #i've been sitting on this for like a week and a half i'm so sorry #answered #wazzupblurbs #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland self insert #tom holland blurb #bi!reader #tw: homophobia mention #tom holland x bi!reader #tom holland imagine

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dreadpoetssociety · 4 years ago

Text

Fevers Don’t Exist

TW: Fever ? (I’m not sure what counts for triggers so pls lmk if I miss anything)

Prompt: hi!! could u do one maybe where like, the reader is an actress on supernatural and she plays like their younger sister on the show or something and she gets sick at a con or something? Thanks !!

NOTE: Hey guys, I’m alive!!!! I know I have a lot of Spencer prompts atm, but it’s really hard to write them when I’m not like, hyper focused on Criminal Minds. I am going to try though! So sorry I’ve left so many of you in the wind, I am a very inconsistent person, my bad. But here’s this! It’s REALLY bad because I’m terrible at being realistic but like idk it’s something.

I really don’t even know what to put for tags on this.

()()()()()()

Ah, September. You knew what came along every September, and looked forward to it for the first eight months of every year. Secaucus, New Jersey. You loved every con you went to, truly. Everyone was so nice, you love staying in hotels, panels are such a great time, the whole thing. It's a great experience outside of the set to get connected with fans. And, they loved you almost as much as you loved them. You were typically closer in age, since you were still just a teenager. You also started out as a fan of the show before somehow snatching a role, so you really were with them at one point. Everything that excites them excited you just as much. And, you loved making friends with them. You weren't allowed to be reckless with your phone number, so you made a snapchat that you shared exclusively with con goers, whom you made swear to secrecy. It was like a club, and you just enjoyed genuinely talking to everyone. But, when you woke up that first morning, you knew it was going to be a long day. Your body ached, and you were still pretty exhausted. You had a fever, but didn't really know if it was a fever because you were still young, and God forbid you ever decided to recognize the signs of you being sick. It was almost like a form of denial, not knowing. You were sweating, but freezing, and your throat felt particularly dry. Your headache rested underneath your eyes for the most part, to which you just blamed on being tired. Your stomach didn't hurt, but you definitely weren't hungry. Even though you hadn't felt exactly 100% the past days before, and you obviously weren't feeling right now, you just deduced that it was all because you were tired, and had a late flight in. As a responsible person does, of course. You didn't even bother taking any medicine for it, because hey, you obviously weren't sick, you'd feel better in a bit, and you didn't have any, so why waste the time, right?

You groggily got dressed and met up with "the boys" (even though they were all older than you) for the free breakfast downstairs, in a separate room, since fans did happen to stay in the same hotel. You grabbed some Cheerios, only to conspicuously throw them away after.

"You good, Y/N?" Jared asked out loud, gaining the attention of Jensen, Misha, and Alex. You could feel their eyes burning through your skin. Or, maybe that was the fever. It had to be their eyes, you convinced yourself, you didn't have a fever. You were fine.

"Yeah, why?" you asked, faking the perk in your voice and confused eyes. Your eyes felt really heavy, you noticed.

"You just... You look exhausted. And pale." he said, "And you threw away that cereal without eating any of it."

You looked down at yourself as an effect for what you were about to say, "Wow, well that's one way to make me self-conscious. I thought I looked kind of poppin'." you laughed slightly, trying to play it off.

"W-wait, no that's- that's not what I meant! You look fine, I just-" he was embarrassed. You and the others chuckled.

"I'm kidding. I'm all good, just went to bed late, y'know?" you smiled. It was hard to try and mask the rasp in your voice, and doing so made you feel the need to cough, so you downed some water until it dialed down a bit. He nodded. In your mind, you blessed your acting skills, thinking you got away with it. What you didn't know was that Misha, Jensen, and Jared, as fathers do, knew every trick in the book, and each noted to keep an eye on you. Not to mention, they'd been acting far longer than you had, and could just tell when one switches into a character. They all figured that if you weren't sick now, you would be in days to come, and exchanged glances with each other, while Alex innocently continued to chew on his toast.

"Well, if you're tired, I don't think you have a panel or anything for another hour or something, maybe you could catch up on some sleep then." Jared suggested. You shrugged.

"Nah," you said, "I've got photo-ops in like, twenty minutes. I should actually probably get going. I'll catch up later!"

You left with a wave, and disappeared into the hotel somewhere. You stopped in your room, allowing yourself finally to set free the coughs living in the back of your throat. You blamed it on your throat being dry since you didn't drink enough water. Not on germs. So, you grabbed two water bottles from the small fridge in your room, and left, making your way towards the convention center.

You felt slightly better during photo-ops, which just confirmed in your mind that it was impossible that you were sick right now. You smiled and talked to everyone. There was one girl, who introduced herself as Meredith, who stuck out in your mind. She gave you this super cool hand painted keychain, which you very excitedly put on your keys instantly.

"Dude, I've been looking for a cool keychain. Not just one of those janky ones you find at like 7-11, like a cool one. This is so exciting." you smiled genuinely. You had just recently bought yourself a car, and thought that your keys looked a little lonely, and searched for hours on Etsy for something to spice it up a bit. A weird obsession, thinking about it now.

She laughed, "I'm glad you like it!"

"Hell, yeah! Now, are there any poses you wanna do? Or do you just want to hit that casual look? I could make it look like I'm meeting you." you stupidly rambled. One of your traits that was so widely known was how funny and awkward (in a good way) that you were. It took you a long time to get to that point, though, because you were always anxious about meeting others. You still are every now and then, but it's different here.

"I was just hoping to get a hug." she said, "If that's okay with you."

"Yeah, that's cool!" you wrapped your arms around each other and shot the camera a grin. The girl looked a bit confused.

"Hey," she said, quietly, "are you like, okay? You feel really hot."

Nervously, you replied, "Oh, no, yeah totally fine. I'm just wearing two layers, and it's getting spicy in here."

"Yeah," she answered, "don't push yourself, okay?"

"I won't, thank you. It was really nice meeting you!"

"You, too! Thanks!" she waved goodbye and you moved on to the last few people in line. She was right, though. You realized that you felt worse than you did when you walked in. You thought it had gone away for a while, but now it was just amplified. You noticed you were cold again, but that you were sweating as well. It must've just been the temperature in the room. These conventions aren't always able to keep a steady temp in the entire building, right?

This day, you didn't have much to do. Most of your events were on the other days to come. You had one panel in a few hours, and then a panel with Jared, Jensen, and Misha a few hours after that, and then bam, the day was over. You just had to get through those two events. Just two.

Two, events. And both were an hour. So, two hours out of the day. Rookie work. Yet, as your panel approached, the headache had expanded from under your eyes to anywhere that there was space to hurt, your throat ached and so did your lungs from how much you were going off somewhere to cough in privacy, your body felt heavy, you couldn't tell if you were hot or cold at this point it was some weird combination of both, your stomach hurt just slightly, the world was moving around you a bit more than it usually would, and the fever you "didn't" have had climbed a degree, probably two. And, at some point during the day, you got pretty congested. You felt like you could just fall asleep at any moment. Jared and Jensen happened to be walking by where you had been waiting by yourself, away from any congoers or employees, and noticed that even though you were leaning against a wall, you somehow were still swaying.

"Y/N?" Jensen called out, worried. You heard him, you knew you were supposed to respond, but didn't know how. Maybe you did have a fever, and maybe you sort of let it out of control. It was like you were comprehending them, but not at the same time. You heard everything, but it just swept right through your feverish mind. The walked in front of you and examined you within seconds. You felt Jared's cold, really abnormally large man hand sweep your hair back and land on your forehead.

"J, she's burning up." you felt another hand on your face. You, quite exhaustedly, swatted it away. They couldn't figure out how it'd gotten so bad so quickly. You were sick this morning, but not to this degree. They knew then that you had just shrugged it off all day, and your teenage fever brain probably didn't even think to take any kind of medicine or anything for it, even if you were trying to hide it.

"I'm good. Just tired. Fevers don’t exist." you finally mumbled, taking a few deep breathes, which you hadn't really been able to do in a bit without being rudely interrupted by a bone-shaking cough. It felt nice, almost. The boys sighed at you and shook their heads.

"Y/N, you should go back to your room and get some rest. We can bring you some stuff that'll help." Jared suggested. You shook your head and opened your eyes, which somehow felt even heavier.

"Nah," you said to them, "I've got a panel, I think, in like, I ‘dunno, some minutes or something. Something I-" you pushed yourself off the wall to try and make your way somewhere, but stumbled a step or two, which result in Jensen and Jared instinctively to grab you in order to keep you steady.

"Like hell we're letting you go to that, Y/N, you can't even form a sentence, or stand for that matter. You're out of your mind. We're going to bring you back now, we'll take care of your panel thing." Jensen stated pretty sternly. You were about to fight back, and they could see it, but you coughed a few times, and they could almost feel it in their own chests. You just nodded in defeat.

"Yeah, maybe I could just like, sleep, for an hour or two." you whispered, tiredly. The two were still holding you steady, and could see you already falling asleep before even going anywhere.

"Or six, by the looks of it." Jared joked lightly.

"Poor kid." Jensen said to Jared as the were walking out of your room. They helped you get there, and you were gone before you even saw the bed, "Why do they always have to pretend like they aren't sick? Look where it gets them."

"Don't know, man. You can't talk, though. You literally tell people you are immune to illness." Jared laughed quietly, shutting you door.

"Well I am. I am the perfect example of health. I don't get sick."

"Yeah," Jared rolled his eyes, "Right. Watch you catch what Y/N has. You practically carried her all the way here. There's no way you're escaping it." Walking towards the center, the back way of course, Jensen scoffed, "Please, germs take one look at me and know not to mess this up. And, by the logic, that means you're already infected, too. So, tell me, princess, what sort of soup do you want spoon-fed?"

Again, Jared rolled his eyes, and the two laughed. They weren't making fun of you, they were making fun of each other, and knew that you would've wanted in on that action.

"Y/N probably would've destroyed us if she heard that. Something along the longs of 'You want me to tuck you in? Carry you bridal style?'" Jared pitched his voice a tone higher for it. Again, the two men laughed.

They made their way backstage of what's supposed yo be your panel, and informed the crew about what was going on. They were just going to fill in for you, probably tell a few embarrassing stories.

When they made their way through the curtain, the crowd shouted. They were obviously excited to see the two leads, but also were obviously confused. "Alright, you're probably confused." Jensen stated the obvious, "Because obviously, we look nothing like Y/N, and thank God she does not look like us." The crowd laughed.

"Anyway, Y/N can't make it today. She's really sick-" the crowd cut Jared off with a unison "awe." People yelled out that they hoped she felt better, tell her to take care of herself, and so on.

"Yeah, poor kid looked like she was just going to fall asleep right where she was standing. She literally tried to come anyway, like, kid, you're making no sense. Y/N couldn't really fight against us, though, so she's sleeping now." Jensen explained, "So we came here to chat in her stead, but just know she really was planning on coming. That kid loves you guys." and again, the "awe" rolled through the crowd.

"If she wasn't sick, she could totally kick both your-" the last word was cut off, but was implied anyway, someone screamed from the crowd, which resulted in laughter.

"Yeah, probably. Even if we were stronger than her," sarcastically, of course, "she'd still beat us. Kid's too fast, and I'm too old." Jared laughed.

In the last ten minutes of the panel, Jared decided to give you call. Not only to check in on you, but so you could at least say hi to your crowd. When you heard the phone ring, you groggily opened your eyes and aimlessly reached for it.

"Hello?" you answered. Jared almost frowned at how sick you sounded, even with just one word.

"Y/N?" Jensen stepped in, "It's Jensen."

"Unfortunate." you sighed exhaustedly. It was joke, a really tired one, but still enough to make the crowd laugh.

"We're here at your panel, we thought you might want to say hi." Jared said loudly, holding the speaker of his phone to the microphone.

"Panel?" you asked. Panel? What panel? Your delirious mind was clearly confused, "Who's that?"

"Y/N, the con. The convention panel?" Jensen actually sounded worried. They probably should've thought to give you some sort of medicine to do something about the fever you had before they'd left.

"Oh," you closed your eyes again, almost falling asleep, before remembering finally what it was they meant, and after a moment, "Oh! Crap, the panel thing, I'm late."

"No, Y/N, stay there, we've got it covered remember? You can't come. You can say hi to them, though." Jensen interjected quickly.

"Okay, hi guys." you just followed as told.

The crowd responded with a series of hello's.

"'M really sorry. I hope they aren't boring you." the two men could practically hear you closing your eyes. The crowd responded in inaudible chatter. Jensen and Jared walked from the mic for a second.

"Sorry if we woke you, kid." Jared apologized, having just realized they probably could've left you alone, "W also just wanted to check in. See how you're doing."

"How are you feeling?" Jensen asked, but got a mumbled word in response, "Alright, well, just go back to sleep, we'll be up there soon."

Jared hung up the phone, and the two began to answer the last few questions and close up. They waved their goodbyes to the crowd, and started heading back your way.

"Jensen, you got any over the counters with you? Thermometers or anything? All I've got is Advil, and I don't even know what's really bothering her yet other than that cough and being tired."

"Yup. Danneel always makes me carry literally an entire medicine cabinet, just for these moments. I'll go get 'em and meet you there. It'd probably do her some good to eat something, too. I don't know if she's got like, a stomach virus thing going on, though." Jensen answered.

"I'll see what she'll say and let you know."

The two parted ways, and Jared made his way to you. Even though he'd only talked to you just a few minutes before, you were dead to the world by the time he opened the door. The room was boiling, and Jared looked over to the thermostat to see that you'd at some point put it on to 90 degrees.

"Jesus, Y/N, I know you've got a fever, but damn." he said, more so to himself than to you. He looked over at you after turning it down to see you curled beneath what looked like any blanket you could find. He came over and started removing the blankets slowly, and shook you gently to wake you up.

"Y/N, wake up for a minute, it's Jared."

"'Mm." was all you said, until you realized your layers of warmth had been moved, "What're doing? It's cold."

"Y/N, you're dripping in sweat. It's the fever making you cold."

"I don't have a fever." you retorted, "I'm good. Just tired."

"Kid, you've been tired the whole day. You've been sleeping this whole time." he tried rationalizing.

"I have?" you questioned, closing you eyes again. Jared put his hand to your forehead again. Somehow, it was warmer than the first time he'd done it before the panel. It was then that Jensen finally appeared, a whole bag of things in hand, "Could you bring the thermometer over?"

"Yeah, gotcha." He walked over and rummaged through the bag at the same time, pulling out a thermometer.

"Y/N, we need to take your temperature." Jensen said.

"No need." you said, "'M not sick."

"You are so obviously sick, I'm not asking." again with that stern voice. Jared gave him a "Hey, she's sick, back off a little" sort of look, but it had worked, and you let them take your temp. They were almost shocked when the thing beeped at 103.

"Should we take her to a hospital? That's way too high." Jared asked.

"If it gets any higher, yes, but let's see if we can bring it down first." Jensen replied.

"No hospitals." you demanded, opening your eyes and glaring at them.

"We aren't bringing you yet, Y/N, but I need you to eat this so you can take some meds." he held out two pieces of toast that he must've brought from his room. You hated toast even when you weren't sick.

"I'm not really hungry."

"I know, but it'll help. You haven't told us what's bothering you yet, either." Jared responded.

"Nothing's-" you coughed a few times, a bit violently, "bothering me." "We can see that." Jensen said sarcastically.

"Everything's bothering me." you whispered, giving up.

"Your stomach hurt?" Jensen asked. You waved your hand from side to side to signal a so-so, "Think you'll get sick at all?"

"No, it's not like that, I don't think." you breathed out, another cough escaping you. You took a few bites out of the toast. It made you uncomfortable, but it was then that you realized you probably felt that way since you really hadn't eaten much that day or the one before, which probably contributed to the splitting headache. It didn't go away after, either though. You pushed yourself up. You almost fell over, but Jared put a hand out for you.

"Alright, good. Take this. I'm going to be frank, it tastes disgusting." Jensen handed over a small cup of liquid, "Sometimes, if you take it like a shot, it helps. But you shouldn't know how to take shots, but if you do it, I won't judge." And so you did, causing the two to chuckle slightly at you.

"You were right, about the sleep thing." you slumped back onto the bed heavily, like a brick.

"When am I ever wrong?" Jensen asked, "Don't answer that, actually."

But you were already sleeping again, and the boys decided to stay nearby for now. The next panel wasn't for another few hours anyway, and they just didn't want you to be alone. Also, incase you were wrong about the toast, and it decided to make its return. Jared's phone began to ring loudly, to which he very quickly tried to answer so his obnoxious ringtone wouldn't wake you up again, not that you wouldn't have just fallen back asleep anyway.

"Misha? Hey, what's up?" Jared answered. Jensen walked over to hear what was going on on the other side of the line, but Jared just decided to put it on speaker.

"Where are you guys? I haven't seen you all day. Felicia, Alex, and I are going out for lunch, we were wondering if you guys want to come. I tried calling Y/N, but she didn't answer, so." he rambled.

"That's because Y/N's not feeling well." Jensen said, giving him a solution to his predicament of not being answered, "We're with her right now, so we'll have to pass."

"She's sick? Is she okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. She's just got this crazy fever we've been trying to bring down. Thinking about it now, Jensen, we should probably check it again."

"A fever?"

"It's been at 103 degrees for like, two hours. At least for what we know of. She's probably had one all day, but as a dumb teenager does, she just tried to ignore it."

"If it goes up you should-"

"Yeah, we know," Jared said, "we're trying really hard to avoid that, though. Also, she'll definitely fight against it, I don't know."

Jensen, from the other side of the room at the sound of a beeping thermometer, could be heard on Misha's end, "It went down, finally. 102.2."

"Thank God, I was getting worried."

"Should I come there? Do you guys need any help?" Misha asked.

"I mean you can, but I think we're good. She's just been trying to sleep it off the whole time, so not much is really going on." Jensen was closer to the phone now, "Like, she's got this cough, a headache, and you can hear how congested she sounds, but mostly I think she's just exhausted. I honestly don't know how because she's just been sleeping for hours."

"Fatigue."

"Yeah, poor kid. I don't think I've ever seen her so tired, it almost makes me tired to be honest." Jensen joked.

"Maybe you're just getting sick." Jared slipped in.

"Not possible. I am immune."

"Nobody is immune, Jensen." Misha sighed.

"I'm not nobody." he shrugged.

"Alright, well, we're going to get lunch then. If you need anything let me know, and tell her I hope she feels better." Misha concludes.

"We will, thanks Misha." and with that, Jared hung up. For a few more hours, the two hung around. They were there when you woke from some fever dreams, and when you needed a cough drop, or twelve, and wake you up every now and then to check your temperature, which raised and dropped and raised and dropped, but currently was at a very steady 102.4. But, soon enough, it was time for them to leave for the last panel of the day, and unsurprisingly, you tried to follow suit.

"Y/N, we gotta go, but we'll be back in about an hour from the panel." Jared said. You took a deep breath and sluggishly pushed yourself to the side of the bed. Having been sick, and not having sat up in a few hours, the blood rushed from your head, leaving you dizzy.

"What're you doing?" Jensen asked.

"The panel. I missed the last one I should go to this one. I feel okay." you yawned, then coughed slightly.

"Y/N, really, you shouldn't even think about pushing it like that." Jared said. Jensen walked over to you, half on the bed, clearly trying to steady yourself just from the movement of sitting up. The spinning room honestly almost made the toast make a reprise, and you hiccupped, and held your breath.

"Hey," Jensen grabbed a can quickly, noticing, "are you going to be sick?"

Giving it a minute, it went away, and you shook you head no, causing a huge tension to leave the room.

"Alright, well, remember how you said I was right all the time earlier?" Jensen pun the can down.

"No, must've been the fever." you half joked, causing Jared to laugh.

"Alright- well- okay, shut up. We agreed I'm always right, and that I was right about needing sleep, so I say you need some more." Jensen demanded rather than suggested.

"Yeah, or at least lay around and do nothing. I can't imagine ever sleeping as much as you just did." Jared joked, pushing you very gently back down, with his hand on your back, knowing you would just hit the bed without it. Your eyes were heavy again, and your throat was painfully dry, and you coughed. Your aching head also agreed with the two of them to your dismay.

"Maybe just a bit more." you mumbled, "A few minutes."

"Yeah a few minutes, sure." Jared smiled, knowing you were probably going to knock out for a few hours once again. You opened your eyes again.

"You think," you coughed, "that they'll be mad?

"Who?" Jensen asked.

Feeling pretty sick, you said, "That I don't go? I don’t feel really good."

Ah, the fever comes to play once again, it seems, but the two felt some sort of triumph now that you've at least admitted to being sick, even if it's been hours. It concerned them, though, if you felt bad enough to admit it.

"No, they'll be fine about it. We'll be back soon. Misha or Alex might come in to check on you, alright?" Jared answered, to which you nodded.

They weren't gone long. You spent half the next day sleeping, too, until you could stand without swaying. You did sneak back to the con, against Jensen and Jared's orders, since you really didn't break that fever and cough for a few more days, only to be caught after a tweet of you at the con was trending and the cast caught wind of it. But, eventually, you were better, and got the chance to help Jared take care of an "always immune" Jensen. And he was more stubborn than you were.

#jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x y/n #jared padalecki #jensen ackles #jared padalecki x you #jared padalecki x reader #y/n #supernatural #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #sickfic #spn #spn cast

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tartagilicious · 4 years ago

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Hi, I've got a bit of a weird request for MLQC. What would be different with an MC who was a player of the game before somehow getting pulled into the first chapter of it? They don't have to have played through everything, but definitely at least up to ch 13, after Lucien's reveal. Which of the guys would notice MC acting weird? Would MC ever tell them? How would they react? How does this mess with the plotline?

😳 wait when I tell you I used to think about this on a daily basis- I’ve never gone into much depth with it though, so I guess now is a better time than ever! let’s say that for drama’s sake, this person has played up to chapter 29, since I think that’s the last chapter she reunites with them after being gone for 6 months.

Lucien:

- In my eyes, this always starts with the MC waking up confused in her apartment. She recognises the area around her based now what she’s seen in the game and is familiar with though she obviously thinks it’s a dream. Until, that it is, there are texts from in game characters that come from the phone on the bedside table. She’s more unsure then.

- She explores the apartment briefly and is freaked out when she recognises the kitchen, but decides that she should try visiting some other places she remembers from the game to try and confirm what’s going on. On the way out, she runs into Lucien, who’s leaving his apartment at the same time.

- By chapter 29, the last we’ve seen of Lucien is when you’re reunited and he confesses those things to you while he thinks you’re asleep. Because of this, and also because of outside sources, this person understands his situation and his personality much more. There’s a lot less hesitancy, but she isn’t sure what Lucien knows at this point. At the very least, it’s comforting to her that she has the upper hand when he’s not quite smitten for her yet.

- I always end up confiding in Lucien because I’m biased, though normally, that’s obviously not a good idea T-T

- Though of course, early Lucien is very far from a threat, so he notices how bewildered she is to see him and is more concerned than anything. It’s hard to know what to say without completely revealing everything, but I can imagine she’d be struggling either way. She would probably slip up once, maybe referring to something personal between them that hasn’t happened yet out of nerves

- He’d be polite about it, not even a bit wary because I don’t even think the MC knew she had an evol yet, and he’d know that. It’d be better just to assume that she’s spewing nonsense than actually looking very deep into it.

- I have a feeling that this would end up messing with the plot pretty badly, actually. She knows a version of him that doesn’t exist yet, and this would be a singular issue imo. His personality is night and day when comparing to the beginning to how he is currently. It would get her into a lot of trouble either way, but could possibly also force Lucien go undergo development much much earlier

- I can imagine her trying to curve his betrayal. he tells her to meet him at the place he tells her his real motives (the news station?? that skinny and tall building idk ;-;) and she just flat out says no. you can’t leave me if I don’t let you >:)

Victor:

- this!!!!! I have such a soft spot for victor and it shows in how this plays out in my head. Without a doubt, the only person that I would trust with the information that I was pulled into the game is Victor. Throughout most of the game, mostly later chapters, Victor is kind of like her partner — she learns to trust him with almost everything, and they work through the situations they can together. They save each other’s lives countless times. This is a lot for one person to carry while the other is clueless of any of that ever happening.

- Next, I feel like it’s reasonable that she would try to seek out everyone else, and where better to find Victor at this point than LFG? Conveniently, once she gets in the office, Goldman hunts her down to tell her that Victor’s waiting for her in his office to discuss the final terms of investment. talk about nostalgia lol

- personally. I’d feel panicked going up to his office. Victor is a very intimidating guy when you aren’t close to him, and acting as you normally would around him will not only be possibly humiliating but also just not effective at all.

- she would devise a plan in her head and as they talk, would slip in small details that kind of further the plot without revealing too much. so for example, mention how the investment is so important to her because she was an orphan and wants to make a name and prove that anyone can do what they dream to. he’d probably try asking more about that, but if not, she could always go into further detail like how she was injured pretty badly trying to save someone else around that time, but doesn’t really remember why and wants to find this person to see if they’re doing okay. This would advance their relationship like 10 chapters, but it would be pretty hasty. This would just be to let him know who she is and what kind of things the future will contain

- Once he figures out what she’s doing, he’d ask what her purpose is — why did she seek him out? to this, she’d most likely reveal her dilemma, and how she was pulled into this world from hers, and knows what will happen for months in the future because of the circumstances

- whether or not he’d retain this affection that he has for the MC when knowing that she isn’t technically who he’s looking for is up for debate, but regardless, something like that is definitely too good to pass up. he’s always been connected to black swan, and knowing her and enlisting her help would most likely come in handy.

Gavin:

- I think I’ve implied that these events take place somewhere in the first few chapters rather than the first so :( I’ll just continue with that. that might even work better, because it gives them at least a bit of a connection to this person. I don’t really remember what happens in the first few chapters, ngl, but I think it’s pretty calm.

- Gavin!!!! whether he’s your favourite or not, you can’t deny that this man is a literal pilar of support. he’s the knight in their dynamic, whereas she’s the queen. she knows he’s not as intimidating as he seems, and her immediate friendliness might throw him off a bit, but I think it’d be a good thing.

- part of the reason he backs off so much in the earlier chapters is so he doesn’t overwhelm her with all of these sudden developments (like coming back to be her personal guard, about black swan, etc) In the original plot, Gavin knows much more than he lets on, always more than the mc does at the very least.

- this would probably change their relationship a lot. I mean, obviously, whoever this is that’s been pulled into the game is bound to have a different personality to the normal mc. she’s more joking and doesn’t hesitate so much, and obviously is a lot smarter and confident due to knowing the future. she doesn’t have to rely on Gavin for information like the original mc does. instead, she acts with him.

- this literally takes 27 chapters in the game. when she meets Gavin in that evol institution in ch27, that’s the first time they fight comfortably side by side.

- Gavin would definitely notice such a drastic change in personality from the shy and kind girl he knew in high school. he might comment on it a few times, but I feel like a personality change is a bit easier to justify, especially since it’d been a few years. she technically has the mc’s memories, so it’s not suspicious or anything. he’d probably eventually let it go.

- though, I think it’s pretty plausible that he’d find out you’re not actually the mc he knows later, maybe by mistake or by you telling him. but by then, he’s also grown attached to this new version of her and doesn’t mind as much.

Kiro:

- you wouldn’t have to tell him you were pulled into the game. he’d know.

- with his connections as Helios and also just his general memory of the mc, it wouldn’t take very long for him to figure out that she’s not the person he’s been chasing for years. and the mf would probably point it out too, scaring her half to death.

- of course, he doesn’t know how she appeared, just that she did, replacing the actual mc. but, despite how he’s very honest about knowing she isn’t who she says she are, he’s empathetic. it’s hard not to be when she has the mc’s face.

- she’d tell him what happened and how she appeared, partly because she wants to trust him and partly because he seems a bit threatening, but either way, I see him as an eventual ally. she knows the inner workings of everything and would be a great help to him in messing with black swan. they’d pretty much be an unstoppable duo with their combined knowledge.

- as they get closer, she feels it’s necessary to tell him that he doesn’t have to leave to protect her. she can handle herself, and him ever leaving would only cause more grief and make things complicated. he would probably tell her not to worry, that he wouldn’t just leave unprompted.

- when he ends up leaving anyway, it stings more than it did watching it on a screen.

- though, that also makes the reunion more memorable, and it would probably go differently as well. maybe kiro is this mc’s LI?? that would be cool asf

#I lowkey wanna write the kiro one hm #UHH #mr love queen’s choice #mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc lucien #mlqc gavin #mlqc kiro #mlqc x reader #mr love queen’s choice x reader

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illfoandillfie · 4 years ago

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I’d love a platonically blurb ab them applying to foster/adopt kids 🥺

i love you for this request but also it made me very soft and emo and how dare you

It ended up being a little less about them actually applying and more just them deciding they wanted to adopt or foster and discussing their options because i can't read but perhaps i could do an actual fic later about the process involved and them meeting their kid and stuff?? idk...dad ben makes me 🥺🥺🥺

Anyway, here's the second last blurb in my Platonically event!

Words: 1,683

Warnings: Nothing much really, discussions about children including pregnancy, adoption and fostering, a little mention of sex but nothing explicit.

“I wanna be a dad.” You weren’t surprised to hear Ben say it. You’d seen the signs. There was the way he’d befriended and doted on the adorable toddler who’d played his daughter on a TV project. Every day he’d come home and his face would light up as he talked about her – how she babbled little kid nonsense at him all day and how they’d played silly games sitting on the floor of the set while the cameras were set up around them. You’d almost expected him to bring up the possibility of having kids then but he’d surprised you and not mentioned it. You could tell he was thinking about it though which made you think about it too. It made sense to at least discuss it and see where you both stood now that you’d been in the QPR for a while and knew that it worked and that you made a good team. You asked about it one night while you were washing the dishes and Ben was drying them. “Do you ever think about kids? Like having one?” “Yeah, sometimes,” he said, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but the conversation didn’t go any further than that.

It wasn’t until about three months later that you heard him say it. It took one of his mates having a baby with his wife for Ben to bring it up. You’d gone over a couple of weeks after they left the hospital, gifts in hand (a cute little spotty onesie and soft toy elephant that he hopefully wouldn't grow out of as quickly as he would his clothes). It was a lovely afternoon, catching up with the new parents and meeting brand new baby Bertie who just stared at everyone who cooed over him. You each had a turn holding Bertie too, marvelling at how anything could have such tiny hands and such big brown eyes. Ben happened to be handed the bundle of blankets that Bertie was swaddled in as the baby began to fall asleep. He didn’t mind though. When the new father asked if he should take Bertie and put him in his crib Ben waved him off. He said he didn’t mind sitting there a little longer to make sure Bertie really had dropped off. The parents didn’t argue, a little relieved that they were able to take a break and just relax. Both of them excused themselves for a moment to get some more food and use the bathroom which left you and Ben and the sleeping Bertie alone together. Quietly you stepped towards the armchair Ben was in, sitting on the arm so you could run your fingers through his hair. “I wanna be a dad.” Ben glanced up at you as he said it, and you could see how much he meant it. “Let’s talk about it tonight,” you reached out to stroke Bertie’s pudgy cheek as Ben lent his head against your side, his attention turning back to the baby.

Neither of you mentioned it on the drive home. In fact you both specifically avoided mentioning it, though not from fear of what might be said but rather just wanting to make sure you had adequate time to go over it without rushing. Once you were inside, shoes kicked off and the kettle on, you opened the discussion. “So....a baby?” Ben nodded, as he settled into the couch, body angled towards you, “I’ve been thinking about it for a bit, it’s not just because of this afternoon but that did help. I really want kids and I think I’m at a place where I feel ready to. Is that...is that okay?” “It’s wonderful Ben. Honestly, I’ve kinda been waiting for this conversation for a while. I’ve seen you interact with kids and I knew it wouldn’t be long before you wanted your own.” He laughed and inclined his head in amused agreement, “So does that mean you like the idea?” “Yeah I do.” “Really? Just that I know you weren’t really sure about it when we first decided to be partners.” “I might not’ve been then, but I am now.” “What changed?” “Well...you, obviously.” “Me?” He seemed surprised. “Look, before we got together I couldn’t imagine being in a relationship that didn’t make me feel at least a little uncomfortable. I figured I’d be single forever and I was okay with that. I’d considered just having a kid on my own – sperm donor or whatever – but that seemed like a really hard thing to do and I wasn’t sure I’d ever want it bad enough to do that. But then you showed me that it was possible to be in a partnership that felt good and, I don’t know, I started thinking about the possibility of having a family with you, and the more I thought about it the more I liked the idea.” Ben smiled as if he was trying not to look as pleased with your answer as he felt, “So we’re doing this then? For real?” “Yeah I think so. Weird.” “Bit weird.” There was a pause as you both just sat with the knowledge that you were planning a future together, that you both wanted to go ahead with it. You never would have guessed you’d get to that point with anyone.

Ben was the one to break the moment, “How would you want to...I mean how should we...How do you feel about being pregnant?” You bit your lip in thought, “I’m not sure. Honestly, it still kinda freaks me out.” “That’s understandable.” “I mean, if it was a dealbreaker for you then I would. I’m not entirely against the idea of carrying our baby and it would mean we’d get to do the fun part of making it.” “We do the fun part a lot as is,” Ben laughed, “But it’s actually something I thought about a lot.” “The fun part? That doesn’t surprise me.” “No, the you being preggers part,” he said exasperatedly, “I knew you weren’t super keen on the whole thing so I got thinking about whether or not it really mattered to me and I don’t think it does. I think I could be just as happy with a kid that came from someone else. And,” he paused as if giving you time to prepare for what he was about to say, “I might have looked into our options for adopting or fostering.” “You did?” “Mmhmm. It’s kinda complicated so we shouldn’t rush into anything and we should probably contact some agencies to ask questions and stuff.” “How complicated are we talking?” “Well, basically, if we want to adopt I think we have to put our names down with an agency and then there’s an interview process and if they think we’re suitable candidates then they’ll put our names in the system and find us a kid. And I guess it depends on the age bracket you’re looking for. I think if we wanted a newborn we’d be more likely to get one through adoption but it might still take a while whereas older kids are a little easier to find, so that’s something we need to consider.” “What about fostering?” “It sounds even more complicated. Like adoption you put your name down and go through an evaluation process but then there’s a few different options. There’s short term fostering where we’d look after kids for a couple of weeks or months while plans for their futures are finalised. Then there’s long term fostering which is usually for kids who can’t go back home but don’t want to be adopted out of their birth families and they mostly stay with you until they’re adults. Emergency fostering is another option which is a few nights or weeks at most but it’s for kids who need to be moved quickly and you don’t always get a lot of warning about them coming to you. And like, there’s possibilities to end up adopting the kid or kids you foster depending on what they want and how it goes.” You puffed your cheeks up with air and slowly blew it out, head swimming with the sudden influx of information, “That does sound complicated.” “Yeah. We’ll really have to consider out options and decide what sort of family we want to have. I think reading about adoption and fostering made me want to do it more though. Cause like...” he paused as he tried to find the right words, “These kids are out there without good homes and I really believe we could give them that.” You noted Ben was getting a little misty eyed, blinking more rapidly to hold back the emotion, so you tried to make him laugh by nudging him and calling him a sap. But you loved seeing how much he cared. It worked a little as he chuckled softly and shrugged, “Look, either way – adopting or fostering – it's probably not going to be easy. There’s challenges involved in fostering for sure – kids with trauma we won’t be able to understand, kids who are grieving the loss of their birth families or who’ve had bad experiences with other foster carers and who struggle to trust anyone. And the kids who are up for adoption might not have the same problems, especially if they’re younger but, I don’t know, I think finding out you were put up for adoption would leave its own scars. Issues with abandonment and things like that. So I think we have to be really, really sure before we put our names down anywhere. But I also think we could properly help someone doing it, maybe more than one someone. So, if you’re up for it then so am I.” “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” “What are you thinking?” More pros and cons lists?” You both

laughed at that but Ben grabbed your arm, encouraging you to leave your seat and sit on his lap instead. He wrapped his arms around your waist and tilted his head up for a kiss which you gladly gave. “I’m really happy we’re talking about this,” He almost whispered, squeezing you a little tighter. “Me too. I guess we should start by going through all our options and seeing which ones would suit us best.” "I've got some websites bookmarked and a few documents downloaded so why don't I go get my laptop and you make us a drink and we'll start working through it, okay?" "Okay,"

#my writing #my blurbs #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy imagine #platonically event #catch me crying in the club #god this was such a good prompt tho #ily L

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clonecest-bin-account · 4 years ago

Note

I totally agree on your opinion re: dogma isn’t a mistreated baby uwu nor did the 501st bully him. He is a man who made bad choices based on poor judgement while in a very shitty situation. So on another vibe, may I request fives/dogma nsfw with aftercare where dogma, emotionally vulnerable, apologizes for his actions and fives forgives him, knowing how much it’ll mean to him? 🥺

(I’m so glad other people agree with me. Idk I’ve always felt like that by making Dogma an uwu soft boi bean you basically destroy his character and the purpose he has in the story. As for the prompt, it’s probably different from what you had originally in mind: I’ve decided to make it happen right after Umbara, so the feelings are a bit raw still, but it has a hopeful ending nonetheless!)

(WARNING FOR SOME MILD DUB-CON)

(Fic under the cut)

This isn’t how Fives thought his evening was going to be, but oh well, so is life.

They’re all still recovering from the mess that was Umbara; some are doing it on their own, some with their brothers. As for Fives, he’s been with Rex mostly, and with the men, trying to reassure them as best as he can, but he needs some time alone now, that’s why he’s taking a walk through the Resolute.

He meets a few brothers here and there, all huddled up together, but otherwise the ship feels pretty empty.

When he arrives close to the hangar, he decides he’s ventured far enough and that he’d better get back to the barracks. As he turns to do exactly that, however… he slams against someone.

He barely has the time to react that the person he’s slammed against grabs him by the wrist and drags him to the first open room he finds, which turns out to be the fresher. It’s…

“Dogma? What are you doing?”

He drags him to one of the stalls and slams him against the door. “Hey!”

“I’ve been looking for you…” Dogma says then, as if that explains anything.

“So?” Fives asks, confused by what is happening. What the hell does he want now?

At this point, Fives expected him to start a fight - though a fight in the fresher doesn’t sound that great, doesn’t it? - but to his surprise, Dogma drags him for a kiss. What?

Fives is so shocked that he’s paralyzed, not moving a muscle, prompting Dogma to pull away and look at him with a delirious intensity that he never felt from him before, not that he’s known him for such a long time.

“Don’t you hate me?” Dogma asks then. “Don’t you want to make me pay for it?”

Fives keeps staring at him, not knowing what to say. He does hate Dogma a bit, though he feels guilty about it, because he’s a brother and they’re supposed to be united… But isn’t Dogma the first one who broke this unity? He almost had him executed, and for what, saving the day?!

Dogma leans closer, whispering to his ear. “I’m giving you an opening.”

Fives isn’t able to resist his instincts anymore, even though he feels there are still many questions that haven’t been answered at all, but it doesn’t matter for now.

He turns them around, slamming Dogma, who’s grinning at his actions. “You think this is funny?” he snarls. Does he think this is some kind of fucked up game?

Dogma shakes his head, though he still has that annoying expression on his face. Fives is going to wipe it away.

One good thing is that Dogma isn’t wearing his armor, and like this Fives can visibly see just how much he’s liking this. He grabs his bulge through his blacks, squeezing it so tightly that it makes Dogma hiss in pain. “Do you enjoy being treated badly? Is this why you’re such a bitch all the time?”

Dogma whimpers, but otherwise keeps his mouth closed. It’s fine: the less he talks, the better.

He makes him kneel down in front of the toilet, stripping him off his blacks without uttering a word.

He’s not that evil not to prepare him however, although he goes quite fast with that. The only sounds that come out of Dogma’s lips are whines and moans, and nothing more, as he scrambles against the toilet’s surface to hold onto it. It’s quite the image. Fitting, Fives would even dare say.

He’s harsh in the way he moves his fingers in and out of Dogma, keeping his free hand on Dogma’s back to keep him still if he begins to move too much.

“Fives… Sir… Please…” Dogma’s voice comes out more as a chocked sob, but Fives doesn’t mind that at all. Besides…

“Sir, huh? I like the sound of that.”

He removes his fingers, quickly moving to replace them with his cock. He could go slower, but frankly he doesn’t care enough for that; besides, it doesn’t seem that Dogma minds.

Once he’s completely inside, he waits just for a moment before beginning fucking the daylights out of Dogma.

Sometimes Dogma grunts in pain when he’s slammed against the hard surface of the toilet too hard, but he never asks the other to stop, so he keeps going. At some point Fives even grabs his head and pushes it inside it, close to the water level, but never enough to actually drown him; he could do it, but unlike Dogma, he’s a decent person, so he doesn’t.

He keeps going, he keeps going and he keeps going, until he reaches the apex, coming still buried deep inside Dogma, just to add insult to injury.

Once this is over and he finally manages to catch his breath, Fives comes back to himself. What has he done?

He pulls away from Dogma, one hand in his hair, tugging at the curly strands. Oh shit.

“Dogma? Are you okay?” he asks, getting closer again. Oh no, he’s trembling, and when Fives reaches out for him, he realizes that he’s crying.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Dogma continues to sob. Fives has no clue what to do. Why did he provoke him like this? Is it because of Umbara?

He hesitantly draws Dogma into a hug, caressing the top of his head. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this to you,” he mutters then, meaning every single word of it.

“No, no… I deserve it.”

Fives sighs. Sure, Dogma has been a dick, almost having them killed, but not to the point of deserving this. As much as he almost doesn’t want to admit it, but… “You don’t. You understood your mistakes, I hope. I can’t say that everything’s been mended, but… C’mon, why don’t we get out of here? Let’s get you someplace nicer.”

Dogma doesn’t say anything. He just looks baffled by the kindness he’s showing him now, a kindness that he doesn’t feel like he deserves, not after what he’s done. Still, it feels nice, he can’t deny that.

He nods then, hurrying to dry his tears with the palm of his hand - he hates that he’s ended up crying - but soon he’s joined by Fives, who dries them away with his thumb. He’s giving him an apologetic smile, but Dogma doesn’t understand: he’s the one who pushed him to act like this, so why does he feel like this?

“Dogma?” “Yes?”

Fives begins helping him up, only to stop halfway to shoot Dogma another gaze. “Alright?”

For some reason, Dogma can’t help but to smile. “Alright.”

It feels weird walking back to the barracks with Fives so close to him, holding his waist gently by draping one arm around it. It makes him feel safe, even though they’ve been getting looks from other troopers who must be wondering what the hell happened.

Fives takes him to the ARC quarters, which grant them more privacy, even though Dogma isn’t sure if he should be there, but he doesn’t voice his doubts.

He helps him clean up, even lends him a fresh pair of blacks, then offers his bunk to him, an offer that Dogma accepts, but only if they’re sharing, first of all because he’d hate to take something that is Fives’, and secondly because… it’s been a very long time since he last shared a bunk with someone. He wants to feel that closeness again.

Thankfully, Fives agrees. It’s a tight fight but they make it work. Dogma doesn’t really mind it that much.

He’s almost fallen asleep when Fives whispers his name. “Dogma?”

“Yeah?”

“… I’m sorry, really.”

Dogma sighs. “Look, let’s just say that we were both wrong and move on, alright?”

Fives stays silent for a while, then he shifts, pulling Dogma closer to his chest. “Alright.”

Soon, he falls asleep, leaving Dogma as the only one awake.

He still feels guilty for Umbara, but maybe things will get better; if Fives is willing to treat him decently, then it must be true.

Oh well, only time will be able to tell.

Tag list: @maulusque @captainrexwouldnever If you want to be added feel free to let me know!

#assorted clonecest fics #clonecest #cloneshipping #fogma #idk what their ship name is sorry #arc trooper fives #clone trooper dogma #my fics #spicy tag #dub con #letitrainathousandflames

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amerrierworld · 4 years ago

Text

Babysitter (pt 9)

Thor (Ragnarok) - fanfiction

Pt 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: A Loki interlude.

Characters: Hela, Loki

Word Count: 2,111

Warnings: Idk, swearing?

Loki was incredibly annoyed at the current situation.

He’d woken up on a random, clunky spaceship with a pounding head and a bruised neck. He remembered the world going blank and being quite certain that he’d been dead until, frustratingly so, his lungs gasped for the most painful breath he’d ever taken.

A janky pirate ship had snatched him from floating in space amongst the debris, stripped him of his armour -no doubt to sell or melt down into other knick knacks- and left him in the back amongst the cargo. They’d presumed he was dead, so when he had woken up, they had a bit of a shock.

Not a word was comprehensible, Loki couldn't understand whatever gibberish language they spoke, so he ignored them and shuffled to their food supply. That got him a whack on his back from a whip and a kick to the back of the knees.

Trying to take back his armour also earned him a few bruises. They didn’t seem very dangerous, but quite a nuisance.

Amongst the cargo he found familiar debris that struck an icy chord inside Loki. There were piles of Asgardian clothing- ripped and filthy, but Asgardian nonetheless. Bags with very few belongings, and metal scraps of the ship they had been on.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the remainder of the ship of refugees was probably lost. When the pirates began to beat him again for rummaging through their stuff, a rusty old pipe amongst the stolen goods helped quiet them down immensely.

With his kidnappers knocked out, Loki scarfed down what measly rations they had and set course for Earth at light speed -well, the closest speed they got to light speed which was more like a quick paced jog.

He tied up the crew and tossed them in the back, and lounged in the cockpit as the ship traveled on autopilot, picking scraps of food from between his teeth.

Communications on this ship were absolute garbage, he concluded. There was barely any signal and he couldn’t figure out where the closest planet was. So, he took a nap, ate some more food, and tried not to think too much about the harrowing experience of Thanos choking him to death.

Hours later, they entered a very familiar atmosphere. Loki let the ship crash-land, grabbed a bag of few supplies and hopped out just before they hit the ground.

He marched on through the thicket of trees where they landed. Angry shouts that were no doubt curse words echoed from the smoking ship as he left them behind and tried to gather his bearings.

An old cabin was the first building he saw. With a rusty dagger at the ready, he inspected the home around the back, looking for a vehicle he could take, something to get him moving faster than his legs, when suddenly a high pitched shriek nearly shattered his eardrums.

A young girl, no older than six, was staring at him with big brown eyes. Rain boots covered in mud, an aged stuffy in her hands. Loki put his finger to his lips, dreading that he was going to have to kill the girl before she gave him away or screamed bloody murder.

“Daddy! There’s an Avenger in the yard!” she sped off towards a shed, where there was a light on inside. Loki’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Whatever outcome he was expecting, this was by far the worst.

“I’m not- fuck.”

He shoved the dagger away and out of sight and stomped towards the shed, fuming with annoyance. He was about to go off at the man for letting his daughter talk to random strangers and how he certainly was not an Avenger, but the man in question had a large saw in hand and about 200 pounds of muscle to carry, so he snapped his mouth shut.

“Oh, hello there,” he said, his daughter bouncing about the workshop. “What brings one of you all the way out here?”

“And where exactly is out here?” Loki asked.

“Canada! What, you superheroes never been to Canada before? Always hanging around New York, eh? Are you taking a trip or something?”

“No. I, uh, crash-landed here.”

“From space?” the girl piped up, gawking.

“Yes, from space,” Loki said through gritted teeth. “Fighting angry aliens.”

“I told you, Daddy! He’s a hero!”

“I bet you’re trying to find your way to America, then? Lord knows why, there’s all kinds of weird things happening around town nowadays.”

“What do you mean?”

“Half the world’s gone! Poof! Just like that, some alien business I bet.”

“Are you going to save us from them?” his daughter asked again. Loki sighed.

“I’ll try my best. Now, can you please show me how to get to New York as fast as possible?”

The lumberjack’s husband took Loki and his daughter in his jeep and drove a merry long way to the nearest airport. On the way, the little girl asked him all sorts of questions about the Avengers, that he could only half-answer.

“Is it true Thor is super powerful?”

“Well. He's not that powerful. He just uses a hammer. Anyone with a hammer can use it as a weapon and suddenly be considered powerful.”

“I wish I had a super powerful hammer. Then my brothers would stop teasing me so much.”

“Hey,” her second father softly scolded.

“They’re mean!”

“Sibling feuds? I know the feeling,” Loki muttered.

“Do you have siblings, Mr. Avenger?”

“Sure do,” he smiled wryly. “Absolute bullies.”

“Me too!”

“Hey now, let our guest settle down a bit,” her dad said. “She gets a little excited around new people, so sorry.”

“It’s no problem.”

“The local airport’s just up here. It’ll take you to Detroit, and then you gotta get a connection flight to New York.”

“Thank you,” Loki said, genuinely.

“Why are you going to New York, Mr. Avenger?”

“To find my siblings,” Loki sighed. “At least, one of them should still be there.”

“But they’re mean to you?”

“Yeah,” Loki pondered as the car came to a stop. “But they’re family. I suppose.”

A few cunning lies and disguises later, Loki was suddenly landing in New York, amidst chaos. It had been a few days since he’d woken up, and apparently a few days since what they call the ‘Blip’. Humans clearly don’t like having their realities altered.

Your home was abandoned. Alfred didn't even greet Loki at the door, and no amount of pulling and prying opened it for him. The lights were off, and he feared the worst.

It wasn’t until he was in the streets and overhead muttering about some crazy goth lady terrorizing a nearby street that Loki thought he had finally found something.

He marched down the street until, to his surprise, he found Hela sitting hunched on the side walk, scowling and daring anyone to come close to her. She looked incredibly tired and disheveled, but her eyes were clear and angry, and recognized her idiot brother immediately.

“What the hell brought you back here?” Hela snarled.

“A toddler’s wisdom, if you’ll believe it,” Loki said, ignoring her glare as he sat down next to her.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

Hela grumbled.

“Have you eaten?”

“Since when did you become Mother? I don't need your help.”

“Really?” Loki picked up a filthy scoop from a pile of three ice cream tubs that were fully devoured. He dangled it from his fingertips for a moment, pulling a face. “I think you do.”

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Glad to see you too, sister.”

Silence. Hela really did look like shit, Loki noted. Her hair was mussed, and there were rips and broken pieces in her armour, reminiscent of the time they’d met. She had to be weak not to bother fixing it with her powers, or was just too preoccupied to even think to fix it.

“Where’s Y/N?” Loki asked.

“Beats me.”

“Did you kill her?”

Hela’s eyes snapped to his, a sudden fire in them. “How dare you say that?”

“Well, her home is abandoned and no one answered the door, and you’re here cowering like a criminal. One makes conclusions.”

Something changed in her expression, and she turned her body to face him. “Abandoned?”

Loki frowned, “yes. Didn't you know?”

“No- I.. I’ve been here, the last time I saw her...”

Hela jumped to her feet, nearly kicking Loki in the process. “That bastard, he took her, didn’t he? Him and his awful, forsaken pieces of shit he calls friends.”

“Who?”

“Our darling brother,” she spat. “He came in and- and threatened me, and then took her from me.”

She paced in front of him, green fire trailing behind her heels, hot with anger. She had expected you to come find her, take her back to your home, make her feel safe. But when you never came she had assumed you had abandoned her. Now, knowing Thor had taken you instead, filled her with rage.

“Where does your little posse hang out, hm? Some supposed secret lair? A great big castle in the sky?”

Loki blinked at her, at her sudden outbursts, at the scared glances from passerbys, and didn’t know what to say.

“Fine then, I’ll get her myself,” she growled, turning away from him.

Loki nearly let her walk away, let her walk into whatever doom she was getting herself into, but with a groan and a mad realization, he knew she was the only one he could rely on right now.

“Wait,” he said, reluctantly, hurrying after her and grabbing her arm. “You can’t just go running off. Tell me what happened.”

Hela spat at his feet. “I don’t need to tell you anything.”

“You care about her, don't you? Y/N? Why else would you want to ‘rescue’ her from our brother?”

“Be silent,” she hissed.

“No, no, I’m right, aren’t I? You care for her, but you messed up, and now you have no one on your side. That’s why you left, and that’s why Thor had to take her.”

Hela yanked her arm away before Loki could see her face, but he knew what she felt; remorse, and loss.

“Tell me.”

And so, reluctantly, knowing she had no other choice, Hela sat him down, this time on an actual park bench rather than the ground. She told him what had happened, how her mistrust had turned to affection for you, and how Thanos had destroyed everything in the end, and how the Avengers had fought her out of fear.

“I know the feeling,” Loki agreed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, watching an elderly lady feed a bunch of pigeons as if nothing drastic had happened to the world the past few days.

“And now I don't know where she is, and she probably hates me, but who am I to blame her for that?”

“If I know anything about Y/N, is that she cares about everyone, but it takes a lot more to win her love. She doesn’t hate you. She’s just afraid. I mean, you did after all break her window and run off into nowhere.”

Hela stayed quiet, made an annoyed sound in her throat, and looked away.

“I’m starving, how did you get all that ice-cream? Why not an actual meal? Or were you just eating your feelings?”

“Y/N doesn’t like it when I kill people, so it was either massacre the street or steal their dairy products,” Hela bristled.

“Fair enough.”

“Now what, hm? You come out here, seemingly from the dead, chastise me for messing up, and now judge my diet? What do you really want, Loki?”

“Not sure, to be perfectly honest,” Loki said. “I thought I was dead, and then I wasn’t. Frankly, my priorities are shifting.”

“And what is your current priority?”

“Getting you back to Y/N so you stop moping around and fix this.”

“And how do you suppose we do that?”

Loki grinned, standing up. His armour shimmered and regained its full glamour; horned helmet and deep green cloak.

“Taking notes from me, are we?” Hela grumbled. Loki glared at her.

“I was wearing this look long before you got here. Now, get up, we’re going to infiltrate the Avengers and give you your romantic happily-ever-after so you stop being such a pain in everyone’s neck.”

“You think we’ll just be able to get in? You really are as mad as Father was.”

“I’ve broken into quite a few places over the years, I’ll have you know. I’m the God of Mischief after all.”

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Hela stood, her own armour strengthening again.

“Shut it.”

A/N: Loki is not dead! I know he’s technically alive in an alternate universe or whatever.. but I wanted the Odin Trio to be together sooooo here we are. Let me know what you think!!

taglist: @midnight-lestrange @cheerfullyvenomous @germansarechill@gaylorrds @amii-nyc @waitingfortheendtocome @novakitten0901@marvels-writings

#hela #hela x reader #hela/reader #hela x you #hela odinsdottir #thor #thor ragnarok #thor ragnarok fanfiction #loki #loki odinsin #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfiction #cate blanchett #tom hiddleston #best siblings amirite #wlw #lgbt #merry writes

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tessisawriter · 4 years ago

Text

Invisible String, Part 1 (Colton Parayko)

Request: Can you write an imagine where the reader is John Krasinski’s [niece] but she’s dating Colton Parayko and like she has to breaks the news and John acts mad or something and scares them but then he says he’s joking and he’s fine with it? Thanks

***NOTE***: I changed some details in the last scene b/c I moved the timeline up from October 7 to September 14.

A/N: I’m back! The protagonist is an OC but I decided to call her Y/N instead of giving her an actual name b/c John Krasinski has nieces and/or nephews irl. I already planned the entire plot but idk whether the series will be 2 or 3 parts—I’ll post an update when I know more. This series takes place from March 2018 to June 2019 and is loosely based on Taylor Swift’s “Invisible String.” Here is the playlist.

Warnings: Six swear words, rough breakup, alcohol, loneliness & homesickness

Word Count: 3.4k

March 21, 2018

You were impervious to the mix of pitying and derisive glances from passersby as you sat on the curb. You knew you looked like a cliché, crying in front of a restaurant because your boyfriend broke up with you on your 22nd birthday, but you didn’t care. One question gnawed at you: how had six words upended your seemingly perfect day and relationship?

Your brain was buzzing with activity, wondering if Max had given you any clues that something was amiss. This morning, you woke up in his Cambridge apartment to him singing “Happy Birthday” while kneeling at the side of the bed. As soon as Max finished singing, he kissed you before grabbing his backpack and hurrying out of the room. That didn’t mean anything, though: Max was one of the only seniors to have the misfortune of taking all morning classes because his major was Theater, Dance, and Media. He was also (as usual) running late.

The rest of the day unfolded like any other Wednesday as you followed your schedule of lounging in bed, studying for an hour, going to the sandwich shop across the street for lunch, and heading to campus at 1PM for your classes. Afterwards, you went back to the apartment to find Max waiting there, already dressed for dinner. You quickly showered, curled your long (Y/HC) hair, and changed into a dark green dress and black booties before taking his hand and going to an Italian restaurant in Boston’s North End.

There were no warning signs at dinner, either. In fact, everything was perfect until you were waiting for the check and Max said with a detached look in his eyes, “I think we should break up.”

You didn’t want to relive what happened next, but the images of you acting like Elle Woods when Warner broke up with her in Legally Blonde popped into your head unbidden. You closed your eyes in humiliation and shame as you remembered Max, the man you dated for three years, abandoning you at the table and fleeing the restaurant. The other customers stared at you, some sympathetic, others scandalized, and the rest in pure shock.

You snapped out of the flashback when you felt a large hand rest on your shoulder. You whipped your head around to find a young man with blonde hair and black rimmed glasses squatting next to you on the curb.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The panic faded as you took in the man’s features. He was definitely in his 20s, probably a few years older than you, and his blue eyes were filled with concern. Something about that concern, though, made you snap.

“Do I look like I’m okay? I mean, come on, look at me!” you demanded while pointing at your face, which you (correctly) assumed had giant black streaks of mascara on it.

You fully expected the man to walk away and leave you be, but he sat down on the curb instead and said, “My bad, that was a stupid question. I’ve got some tissues if you want them?”

That made your attitude soften. He was only trying to help, so you nodded and he handed you a pack of tissues from his pocket. You smiled at him, took the tissues, and wiped your eyes and face. As soon as you were satisfied that they were clean, you broke the silence. “Thank you…?”

“Colton, and it’s no problem. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.” You held out your hand for him to shake, which he did. After a pause, you asked: “Why did you stop? Surely you have somewhere better to be tonight.”

He chuckled, and the sound of it made your heart flutter. “I was just heading back to my hotel when I saw you, and I figured I’d stop and make sure you get home safe. That is, assuming you live here?”

“Yeah, I live in Cambridge.” As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized they were no longer true, so you amended your statement. “Well, I lived in Cambridge until about 15 minutes ago when my now ex-boyfriend dumped me. On my fucking birthday.”

“Shit, that sucks. I’m really sorry.” He paused before adding, “I’m assuming he isn’t here.”

“Nope. He hightailed it out of the restaurant as soon as he got his credit card back.”

Colton shook his head. “What a jackass.”

“I know, right? I wasted three whole years with someone who not only broke up with me in a very public setting on my birthday, but also couldn’t be bothered to ask where I would go! He probably assumed I’d go to my parents’ house, but still.”

“Your parents live here?” Colton asked as he fished his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it.

“Yeah, right by Boston Common, why?”

“I’ll get an Uber and drop you off before going back to the hotel.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that,” you protested while going through your bag for your phone. “We just met! I’ll pay.”

“Nonsense. You’ve been through a lot tonight. Let me take care of it.”

You stared into Colton’s eyes and realized he wasn’t going to back down. It took everything in you to suppress your pride, thank him, and provide the address. Colton typed it into his phone, waited for a moment, and said, “The closest one is around the block.”

“That’s good.” Your burst of energy dissipated as quickly as it came, and you fell silent. From the corner of your eye, you saw Colton open his mouth as if to say something before the headlights of a car momentarily blinded you.

“That’s the Uber.” Colton stood up and offered his hand, and you took it. You couldn’t help but notice how well they fit together as he pulled you up and off the curb, but after regaining your balance, something else grabbed your attention: his height.

“Gee, how tall are you? No one’s ever made me feel like a dwarf before,” you joked as he led you to the car, your hands still intertwined.

He chuckled and opened the door for you. You let go of his hand and slid into the car. After Colton slid in next to you and shut the door, he replied, “I’m 6’6” and no one’s ever made me feel like I’m not a giant before. You’re what, 5’10”?”

“6 feet, actually,” you corrected him. “So, where are you from, Colton?”

“St. Albert; it’s just outside Edmonton in Canada, but I’ve been in the States for a while. I went to the University of Alaska in Fairbanks before moving to, uh, St. Louis.”

You noticed Colton’s hesitancy and the fact that he lowered his voice when saying “St. Louis,” and you were about to ask why when you thought better of it. You were protective of your privacy, too, especially whenever people commented about how funny it was that you shared the same last name as John Krasinski. It wasn’t a coincidence—he was your uncle, and the two of you were extremely close—but you went along with it and never corrected them because it wasn’t their business. So, you let it go. “And what brings you to Boston?”

“Work,” he said before changing the subject. “What do you do? Are you still in school or—”

“I’m a senior at Harvard,” you cut him off. You generally didn’t drop the “H-bomb,” as you and your friends called it, with people you didn’t know well, but this was a special case. Colton just confirmed he was hiding something, and after looking at him in better lighting, his face seemed familiar, which weirded you out. You had to get back on equal footing, and the H-bomb almost always unsettled people.

“Wow, you must be really smart,” Colton said, seeming impressed but unphased. You couldn’t help yourself from raising an eyebrow as he asked, “What’s your major?”

“Government. What was yours?”

“Business administration.”

“Ah.” You fell silent again, this time on purpose, as you racked your brain for where you might have crossed paths with Colton. He wasn’t from Boston, not even close, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d seen him before, and recently.

Colton didn’t let you ruminate for long before reviving the conversation. “What do you want to do when you graduate?”

“I’ll be a lawyer one day, but I have to be a paralegal first. I’m looking for jobs right now.”

Before Colton could reply, the car came to a stop. You looked out the window and saw your parents’ townhouse and your childhood home.Your time in the car had flown by, a sensation you rarely, if ever, experienced. And there was something between you and Colton, a connection you couldn’t quite describe, that made you want to spend more time with him. But your time was up. “This is me. It was nice to meet you, Colton, and thanks again for the ride—I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” he replied. “I’m glad I found you.”

You were overwhelmed by an intense desire to ask for his number. If only he lived in Boston or somewhere in the Northeast. But he lived in St. Louis, so you moved to open the door, only to feel Colton’s hand wrap around yours and hear him say: “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You turned around and locked eyes with him. It was like being in a trance, and your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

It felt like years, but it was more like a few moments before Colton let go of your hand. “Good luck with the search. I’m sure you’ll find a good job.”

You wanted to let out a sigh of disappointment, but you just said, “Thanks,” and smiled at him before getting out of the car.

***************

The smell of bacon finally lured you out of your bed at noon the next day.

It had been a rough night. The reality of the breakup hit you like a ton of bricks when you rang the doorbell and all but collapsed in your mom’s arms when she answered the door. She brought you over to the couch, where your dad was waiting anxiously. As soon as you sat down, you grabbed your mom and cried for an hour straight as she held you and stroked your hair. You knew Max wasn’t worth your tears, but it had more to do with you. Despite his major, he wasn’t that good of an actor, and yet, he fooled you into thinking he could be your person. You took immense pride in your instincts, but they failed you with Max. How could you have possibly fallen in love with such a heartless person? More terrifying, would you have ended up marrying him a few years down the road if he hadn’t broken up with you?

You didn’t know the answer to either question, so you stopped crying and began venting about how the breakup went down. Your dad almost hit the ceiling after hearing that Max left you at the restaurant, and you had to talk him out of driving to Cambridge to “give that little shit a piece of my mind!” That wasn’t to say you weren’t thinking about revenge, but your dad potentially getting arrested was not helpful. After that, you started crying again, only this time out of frustration, and didn’t stop until you practically passed out on the couch. The last thing you remembered was your parents guiding you up the stairs to your bed.

Thankfully, you had no classes on Thursdays, so you were able to sleep in and be, if nothing else, well-rested. Your stomach rumbled when you smelled the bacon, so you got out of bed and made your way down the stairs to the kitchen, where your parents were sitting at the table and watching the television.

“Ugh, why are you watching the news?” you said as a way of greeting while making a beeline for the bacon.

“Good morning to you, too, sweetheart,” your dad replied. “I’m waiting for the sports report. I missed the game last night and Uncle John wouldn’t tell me the score. He said he’s sorry about, I quote, ‘the scumbag’ and he’ll call you tonight.”

“God, I miss him. And you,” you addressed your mom as you shoveled a load of bacon onto your plate, “are the best.”

“See, honey? I knew bacon would cheer her up,” she said to your dad.

“I didn’t doubt it. Y/N, we have to figure out a time to get your stuff from that piece of shit’s apartment. I’m not letting you go by yourself, but do you want to let him know ahead of time or just show up?”

“Who did the B’s play?” you sat down at the table and changed the subject immediately. You didn’t care about sports, but your dad and Uncle John were major Bruins fans and the mere mention of Max gave you a headache.

“The Blues.”

“Where do they play again?” you asked as you ate your bacon. It had to be a team from the Western Conference, but the only teams you knew there were the Canucks and Blackhawks because they were on your dad’s shit list.

“St. Louis.”

You almost choked on your food. “What?”

“St. Louis, sweetie. You know, the Gateway Arch—”

“Yeah, I know, Mom,” you recovered. “That’s the team Jenna likes, right, Dad?”

“Yes. Shh, here it is!” He didn’t need to tell you twice; you doubted Colton was a professional hockey player, but your curiosity won out as you intently watched the television.

The score flashed on the screen—an OT loss for the Bruins—and your dad groaned. “Ugh, I’ve got to turn this garbage off.”

And suddenly, a few Blues players, including one that looked awfully similar to Colton (albeit without glasses), flashed onto the screen. You didn’t get a good enough look at him to be sure, though, because your dad changed the channel. You let out a noise of frustration.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” your mom asked, and your dad looked like he had the same question when he turned away from the television.

“I’ll text the scumbag and tell him I’m coming this afternoon, if that’s okay with you, Dad,” you said. “I want to get it over with and besides, I need my laptop and textbooks.”

“That’s perfect, sweetheart. The office doesn’t need me today, anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back; my phone’s upstairs,” you called out behind you as you raced back up the stairs. You did not want to text Max, but it was better than telling your dad that the man he praised for making sure you got home last night was potentially part of the team responsible for his beloved Bruins’ loss.

You locked your bedroom door and grabbed your phone to pull up Google and the St. Louis Blues roster. Part of you thought there was no way a professional hockey player actually cared enough to bring you home, but the Blues being in town and one of its members resembling Colton were too many coincidences for your liking. You tapped your foot impatiently as the phone loaded the roster, and you scrolled through the list until you found a name of interest.

“C. Parayko, 55, R, 6’6’’…”

It cut off after that, so you scrolled sideways to see the other information. It left you without a shadow of doubt, but you clicked on the name anyway to view a picture. Colton’s headshot and full first name stared back at you as if they were looking into your soul.

It really was him. You had to have seen him on the little television at the sandwich shop’s register yesterday.

But what did this information mean for you, really, besides discovering his identity? It was nice to know his full name because it confirmed that he was a real person instead of a delusion your reeling mind made up, but it didn’t change one important fact: you lived in Boston and he lived in St. Louis. Barring a radical change in one of your lives, which you didn’t see happening, that was the reality of the situation. It was time to stop dreaming and confront your immediate future.

You pulled up Max’s number and began composing the text which, after several drafts, read: “I’ll be at the apartment today from 3 to 5. My dad’s coming with me, so make yourself scarce. I want my shit back.”

***************

6 months later: September 14, 2018

You were miserable only two weeks after relocating to St. Louis.

It was funny how one phone call could completely change someone’s life. In your case, said phone call involved an extremely attractive job offer with a clear path for advancement within one year. The offers you had received from legal firms in Boston, New York, D.C., and Philadelphia were underwhelming, to say the least, and you were only a week away from graduation. You had already endured a lot of change this year, so why not one more?

After nearly giving your parents a heart attack but ultimately receiving their blessing, you accepted the offer and moved to St. Louis on September 1st. Uncle John had been especially supportive, enlisting Jenna (known by the rest of the world as Pam from The Office) to fly out from L.A. and show you around the city last week. She made sure you knew the ins and outs of the city, which you really appreciated. You also loved your job. You were doing important work every day, and your boss was already hinting at giving you the promotion you wanted.

So, why were you unhappy? It was your social life, or rather, lack of one. You didn’t know anyone in St. Louis, and while your coworkers weren’t mean, they didn’t make you feel welcome, either.

That seemed to have changed earlier today when two of your desk neighbors who were around your age, Harper and Ellie, invited you out for drinks after work. You couldn’t have been happier. You went home after work, did your hair and makeup, put on your favorite royal blue mini dress, and met them at the dive bar you recommended. You were so excited on the way over that you could barely sit still; maybe you’d make friends with these girls and finally feel like you fit in in this city.

Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Harper and Ellie abandoned you within less than five minutes after two guys came over and asked them to dance. You were now sitting at the bar alone, nursing a cocktail and despairing over your situation.

It was times like these when you thought about Colton. It had been six months since you’d met him in Boston, and you didn’t want to risk looking like a lunatic by slipping into his DMs on Instagram, but you were getting desperate. It was bad enough that being from the Northeast made you stick out like a sore thumb, but the loneliness was eating you alive, and the combination made you feel unmoored. Maybe a familiar and friendly face could change that.

As if God had answered your prayers, you heard a commotion near the entrance. You swiveled your stool in that direction and saw a group of tall, good-looking men in their 20s entering the bar. The tallest one had blonde hair and black rimmed glasses.

It was Colton.

Your brain screamed at you to look away and approach him after he settled in, but you couldn’t take your eyes off of him as he laughed at something one of his friends said. It was as if he felt your stare because he suddenly looked in your direction and appeared to gasp.

It was only then that you turned away and faced the bar, drinking the rest of your cocktail in a few gulps. You were so embarrassed; he probably thought you were a stalker or something. You were about to flag down the bartender for another drink when you felt that familiar large hand rest on your shoulder.

You turned your head and found Colton staring at you, his blue eyes full of incredulity and…happiness?

“Y/N. It’s really you,” he breathed.

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