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carpenterswife · 8 months ago

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ALL MY GHOSTS (iv)

series masterlist

- summary: Beau discovers what you’ve been doing behind his back, and is the farthest thing from impressed. Upset you’ve been hiding your worries from him, he begins to push for answers from you. And, unwilling to give any, you fight back. Tensions rise as you and Beau have your first ever proper fight, and you go home on suspension. You’re left defenceless when you come face to face with danger.

- word count: 2911

- warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse, alcoholism.

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Beau liked to think he was a reasonable man. He was a lenient boss, and, in his opinion, a generally good guy. He didn’t like to fight with people outside of his job — especially not his friends and loved ones. He’d been like that with Carla; argumentative and unreasonable, so, these days, he tried not to be.

But you’d certainly pushed his buttons this time.

He caught sight of you the moment you walked into the bullpen for work (totally not because he’d been waiting). In an instant, he leapt up from his chair, leaving his office with a slam of the door that made you flinch in surprise. “L/N.”

You rose your brows at him, awfully confused at the harsh, angry demeanour he was presenting. “… yes?”

“I need to talk to you. My office. Now.” With those extremely threatening, and very intimidating, words, Beau turned and stalked back into his office That wasn’t like him. You’d never seen Beau this mad before.

Confused and worried, you turned to look at Pop. All the deputy could do was shrug, just as clueless as you were. Sighing, you hurried to Beau’s office, feeling very much like a child about to be scolded.

Oh, yeah. Beau looked like he wanted to rip your damn head off.

“Hey.” You shut the door gently behind you, eyes on him. You were steaks that, if you looked away for a second, he’d lunge at you like a damn lion. He drummed his fingers on the top of his desk, expression emotionless. “What’s going on, Beau?”

He pressed his tongue to his cheek for a moment. “You trust me, yeah?” You stared at him, confused. Your lack of a response made Beau grit his teeth. “That wasn’t rhetorical.”

“Oh—!” You stepped forwards, closer to his desk. Risky move. “Oh! yeah. Yes. I trust you.”

“Right.” He practically spat out the word. Your brows shot up. Something was extremely wrong here. Your skin crawled uncomfortably, “And, if I recall,” his gaze darkened, fingers stopping their drumming, “you told me you’d come to me for help.”

You stared blankly for a moment, trying to understand his point. “Yeah, I did. So?” You shook your head, utterly confused. Anxiety churned in your stomach. “What’s this about?”

He scoffed, standing up. His tall, intimidating stance made you step backwards. Putting his hands flat on the desk, he leant forward. “How come I had to find out you’re being stalked through a fuckin’ text message to the wrong person?” Dread washed over you. You didn’t respond, lips parted as you just stared at him. “Huh?”

This was bad. When you refused to tell Beau about what was going on, you didn’t think this far ahead. The idea of him being mad at you for not telling him hadn’t crossed his much. But it course he was going to be mad — he was naturally a protective, worrisome person. Of course he was going to want to know.

You’d dug yourself a deep, deep hole.

Biting your tongue, you calmed your anxiety. It was time for damage control. “Okay, Beau—“ you tried the gentle approach, treading towards his desk. “It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, okay?”

Beau didn’t move an inch. His expression didn’t even change. “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you’re busy—“

“Fuck that!” He barked, not giving you the change to finish.

You bit your tongue at Beau’s words. God, he was mad. You’d never seen him like this before. You’d seen him angry at suspects, but this was worse than that. He’d never been this angry and this upset — or, at least, you’d never seen him like this before.

“You know, and I know, that I’d fuckin’ help you, Y/N.” He said lowly, his anger evident. You noticed his accent got thicker when he was mad. It wasn’t helping at all. “No matter what was on my schedule, I’d help. So why didn’t you come to me?” He demanded an answer; there was lying to him or avoiding it now.

But you were sure as hell going to try. You ran a hand through your hair. “Why are you making this such a big deal, Beau?”

Anger bubbling higher, he released a scoff, shaking his head. “Because it is a big deal!” You opened your mouth. His hand shot out. “Ah, ah! Let me finish!” He ordered loudly, like he was speaking to a child. You closed your mouth immediately, mostly in surprise. “Right now, it feels like you don’t trust me. You promised you’d come to me.”

“Listen, I just didn’t wanna worry you, ‘kay?” You stepping towards his desk, trying to cool him down. This was getting out of hand, fast. “After everything with— with Avery, I didn’t wanna put more on your plate.”

“That’s bullshit.” He squeezed his hands into fists. The two of you stared at each other for a moment, Beau simmering in his rage. “Tell me what’s going on. I want to know. Now.” He seethed. “Who the fuck is Jack?”

You stared at the ceiling. Huffing, you shook your head. “No.”You looked back to meet his eyes, body cold with dread and guilt.

“Why not?” He challenged, becoming angrier with your every word. “You don’t trust me? You told Cassie and Jenny.”

“That’s different, Beau—“

“How is it different?!”

“Because it is!” You raised your voice to a yell.

It surprised you as much as it did Beau. His brows shot up, standing straighter as your voice got louder and more aggressive. You closed your eyes and attempted to calm yourself down.

He grit his teeth, and held out his hand. “Give me your gun and your badge.” He said lowly.

Your eyes shot open. “What?”

“Give me.. your gun.. and badge.” He repeated slowly, pissed off. His teeth ground together, eyes dark with rage as he glared at you. “You’re on one week suspension for insubordination.”

You gawked at him, completely taken aback. “You cannot be serious.” You shook your head. You took another step forwards, brows knitted together, making an attempt to get through to him. “You’re mad at me, I get it. But you can’t suspend me for that!”

Beau didn’t even react. “Don’t make me make it two.”

You scoffed in disbelief, tearing your badge off your belt. You slapped it into his hand. Beau nearly flinched as the metal sent a sting up his palm. Unclipping your holster, you slammed that and your gun inside onto his desk. Beau’s eyes didn’t leave you, watching the tension in your jaw increase.

Without even another look at him, you stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind you with your foot.

What utter bullshit.

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“He suspended you?”

Jenny and Cassie couldn’t quite believe it when you told them what’d happened. Beau yelling at you? Him suspending you? None of that sounded right. It didn’t sound like the Beau Arlen they’d all come to know and love.

Yet, the distinct lack of your badge and gun on your hip proved your words truthful. In the whole time Beau had worked as sheriff in Helena, he’d never once suspended someone. He once said he didn’t think it was a suitable punishment.

But, here you were, suspended for a week over an argument. It was petty of him. But, Beau was a rather petty man when he wanted to be. To pull out the superior card and actually punish you? It was such a him move that it made it even more annoying.

You downed the remainder your cocktail, face pulling together in distaste at the strong burn of vodka on your throat. “With pay, at least.” You sighed, putting your empty glass down on the table. That was a positive. Beau hadn’t been so heartless to suspend you without pay. At least you were still getting paid. “I can’t fucking believe he suspended me over a fight. Bullshit. What an asshole.” You didn’t mean it. You were just mad.

Jenny sighed deeply, rubbing her forehead. She knew you were speaking from your emotions, and that you’d regret insulting Beau like you had been all night. “Listen, I’ll talk to him.” She attempted to soothe you. “He was probably just upset. He’ll regret it when he wakes up tomorrow. You know what Beau’s like.”

And she was right. You did.

Too much.

“And he’s stubborn.” You pointed out, twirling your cocktail glass on the table. “Once he sets his mind on something, he doesn’t go back on it, even if he regrets it.” Jenny sighed once again, knowing you were right. He wouldn’t take you off suspension until the one week was over.

Because he was a stubborn and petty bastard like that.

“I’m not too upset over being suspended. It’s just the fact he did it.” You attempted to explain to the two girls, who nodded in understanding of your words. After all, why wouldn’t you be upset? Beau was your closest friend, and he’d suspended you because you raised your voice during a fight.

You chewed your cheek as you thought deeply.

Maybe you should just tell him the truth. Right? That’d make everyone’s life easier. Beau would understand, probably take you off suspension, and Jenny would be able stop playing mediator.

But your pride was not going to allow you to roll over and admit Beau won this time. Nope. He’d started a fight. And you were going to stick to your side of the ring, not stroll over to his side and admit defeat right at the start.

If Beau wanted to be petty, you could be pettier.

“Another round?” Cassie asked. With a nod a each from you and Jenny, she got up to walk to the bar and order.

Jenny leant her elbows on the table. “We found something.” Your brows raised, full attention now on her. You, too, sat forwards to listen better. “Jack, your ex.” You tried your best not to flinch at his name, but did anyway. Jenny, bless her heart, didn’t mention it. “He used his credit card at a gas station five miles out of town.”

“Seriously?” Despite your calm exterior, you felt your heart rate begin to speed up. So, you’d been right. Jack was crazy enough to travel from New York to Montana just to find you. Fucking psycho. “When?”

“Last week. The day before the flowers were delivered to the station.”

That was enough of a confirmation for you. Your abusive ex-fiancé was stalking you. The realisation hit you, and instantly made you feel sick. You didn’t know what he wanted, but you knew it wasn’t going to be good.

As Cassie sat down, with three shots, you didn’t hesitate to reach out and grab one, downing it. You were going to need more of these.

Cassie stared at you in bewilderment, and then exchanged a look with Jenny. You were too busy willing yourself to not panic over this to pay attention to their silent conversation.

Reaching out, Cassie grasped your hand, startling you. Your eyes snapped to her, meeting her kind eyes and reassuring smile. “We’re gonna fix this. All of it.” She squeezed your hand gently, making your shoulders relax a bit. Though it was jerky, you nodded in response. “What can you tell us about Jack?”

You pulled your hand back from Cassie’s, setting it on your lap. “He’s a narcissist.” You fiddled with the hem of your sweater. “He’s a sadist. He— he got off on hurting me.“ You closed your eyes tightly at the memory of swinging fists and deep purple bruises.

Two hands rested on your arm, grounding you back to the bar you were in. Your eyes opened and stared down at your arm, at Jenny and Cassie’s hands cooling your warm skin.

“It’s hard to reason with him, he always thinks he’s right.”

“Shut the fuck up. Stop being a bitch.”

“He likes to be in control. He… liked to say he owned me. I should’ve realised something was wrong, really, when he started saying that.”

“Get on your knees. Now. Fucking whore.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Jenny’s voice snapped you from your mind, bringing you back to the present, effectively calming you. She’d caught sight of the distant look in your eyes. “We get the point. He’s a bastard.”

You cracked a smile at Jenny’s words, tension draining from your posture. “He has major mommy issues.” That was enough to get a smirk from Jenny and an amused look from Cassie.

“We’re gonna catch this guy.” Cassie squeezed your arm. “I promise.”

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Jenny Hoyt was not the type of woman you wanted to upset. To get on her bad side, was to sign a death warrant. She could be your worst enemy, and also your closest, most trusted friend.

And, unfortunately for him, it was Beau Arlen’s turn to be on the receiving side of her anger. He squeezed the pen in his hands to reign in his frustration. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need your input.”

Standing her ground, Jenny stared back at Beau, who seemed far too relaxed for someone who just suspended his closest friend. “Suspending her was too far.” Her arms folded tightly across her chest, her eyes hard and narrowed as she stared down at him challengingly.

Beau rubbed his index and middle fingers across his forehead, muttering to myself. “Jenny—“

“I get it, Beau.” The blonde said, frustrated. “You wanna help. But you ever think that maybe Y/N isn’t telling you because it’s hard for her?” That made Beau’s jaw tighten. Jenny sighed heavily, glad to be somewhat getting through to him. “The things she’s been telling us? Beau… they’re horrific.”

Beau wet his lips with his tongue, and chewed on his bottom lip. A heavy weight of concern and guilty settled down on his chest. Maybe he shouldn’t have suspended you after all.

“I know you’re upset she didn’t tell you, but she needs you.”

He stared at her doubtfully. “She doesn’t—“

“No, she does.” Jenny cut in. Her eyes hardened. “She needs you, and you need her, and you’re both too stubborn to admit it.” Beau allowed himself to chuckle quietly at that. He knew Jenny was right. “She needs your support.“

Sighing, the sheriff relented. He sat back in his chair, and it creaked under his weight. “Okay.” He nodded, spinning his pen between his fingers. “I’ll stop by her place when I finish tonight.”

Jenny sighed in relief. “Good.” She smiled, pleased. “And don’t be a dick.”

Beau scoffed, tapping the end of his pen against his open file. “I ain’t a dick.” He rolled his eyes at Jenny’s deadpan stare. Groaning, he pushed a hand through his hair. “Fine. I was a dick t’her. I’ll apologise, swear it.”

“You better.”

He held his hands up in surrender, amused at his friend’s insistence. “Swear. I’ll even bring her chocolate. Y’know? Win ‘er over.”

Jenny chuckled and nodded. Convincing Beau was easier than she’d expected, thank god for that. “Don’t let her push you away, Arlen.” She stepped back, towards the exit of the sheriff’s office, pointing her index finger at him. “She needs you. She just doesn’t want to admit it.”

Beau watched her go, amused.

Jenny Hoyt: matchmaker extraordinaire.

He’d visit you tonight and apologise, even if it’d sting his pride and ego to do it.

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Feeding three needy cats was an everyday battle for you, snd it was one that never got an easier. It was like running a really hard marathon with no water. You threw yourself down on the couch as the cats finally gave up on their battles and decided to eat peacefully, relieved to finally be off your feet.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about Beau, and how angry he’d been at you.

Maybe you should apologise.

No, you didn’t do anything wrong.

But… maybe you did. Maybe you should have just told him what was going on front the start. He was your closest friend. Your sheriff. You were meant to trust him. Why hadn’t you told him?

It was something to do with you distrust of men.

But it was Beau. Beau, who wouldn’t hurt you even if you had a gun to his head.

Your internal battle was interrupted by your doorbell. A glance at your phone showed the notification for movement at your front door. Sighing, you stood up and padded to the door, expecting Jenny or Cassie with news. Or, if you were lucky, maybe even Beau with his tail between his legs.

You were stupid to unlock the door without checking.

For gods sake, you were a cop. You’d seen the crime scenes. You’d read the reports and files. But, here you were, making the same mistakes.

And it bit you in the ass immediately.

Because the face on the other side of your front door was not a friendly one.

“Jack?”

The man grinned — that same lopsided grin that used to make you shiver. It still did. “Hiya, doll.” Your grip on the door tightened. “We need to talk.”

You reached for your holstered gun, only to meet air. Right. Your gun was at the station, with Beau, as a result of your suspension.

God damnit, Beau.

As he stepped forwards, you stepped back. “Jack—“

Too late.

Your body hit the ground, unconscious, as darkness filled in your vision.

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taglist: @yvonneeeee @deans-spinster-witch @fanfic-n-tabulous @dwonfilm @foxyjwls007 @just-levyy

#beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #big sky #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #all my ghosts

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yesimwriting · 3 years ago

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Hi! I have been having an off day I’m kinda exhausted and anxious slightly snappy haha. I was wondering how would the darkling react to an anxious reader that he cares about. 😊

a/n ive been a little MIA but im working i promise!! i felt really apathetic about writing for awhile bc of some personal stuff but ive been trying to get back into it bc im genuinely happier when i write :)

- ok so i think how he reacts to an anxious person that he cares about depends on where you're at in the relationship,, which might be kinda a 'duh' but it needs to be said for how im setting this up lol

- bc if he's kinda just starting to figure out his feelings, i think he'd be so surprised by how much he cares that he has to hold back his immediate reactions, bc he may have his faults but he's def protective once he realizes something is affecting/hurting the person he sees as the sun

- that protectiveness stems from wanting to be what makes you happy, he wants to feel like he's your shelter so that he feels like he's good enough for you. He wants you to be happy so he can feel your warmth but he also really wants the redemptive feeling that comes from knowing that he's your protector in a way.

- he wants to protect and make you happy so bad, sometimes you need to be like 'umm...i really appreciate that you want to torture the person that bumped into me a little too hard on a bad day,, but maybe let's not??' especially if you are still in that phase where he kinda scares/intimidates you bc you know him more as the General

- not only are his more over the top reactions a little scary bc you don't want to offend him by not wanting to talk about it to avoid blowing the situation up,, they're also confusing

- bc you had no idea he cared if you lived or died let alone cared if you were nervous or not?? but sometimes it makes you feel really comforted, bc if someone as hardened as the darkling can care that much about how youre feeling than you can't be as awful as you're feeling

- and it's also comforting bc he's clearly strong and powerful and when he puts a hand on your shoulder and stares at you like you're the only tangible thing in the world and telling you that he's not going to let anything happen to you,, the rational part of your anxiety is appeased to say the least.

- alright but that's at like the first stage of the relationship for him, bc i feel like he def has like twenty stages he goes through before finally being in a committed relationship bc even though he wants an attachment and love so badly bc he hates his eternal loneliness, he has a lot of layers to work through before he feels secure enough in you as a person to risk vulnerability

- so if he's at the point where he's accepted what he feels for you,, but has yet to really act on it, this is where he starts to give himself away a little

- like you'll mention being stressed about training in the Little Palace, or not getting along with someone and he immediately jumps to encouraging you. It's kinda funny bc at first he seems like he's just trying to be a supportive pal bc at this point ur sorta friendly (at least more friendly than anyone else is with the darkling) but then he kinda losses himself in talking about how amazing you are.

- and if youre feeling anxiety/bad bc of someone in particular, you better not mention their name unless you're 100 percent sure you're furious at them.

- sometimes it causes some strain bc you don't necessarily want him to get involved, and he's not above lowkey guilting you into telling him the full story, but it's not really intentional. He just starts talking about how much trust he puts in you and you just let the little things go after making him promise to leave things alone.

- if your anxiety is general,, or just bc of a. bunch of little things and he's at a point in which he's accepted how much he cares about you but has not told you yet,, he'll try to hide how soft he feels, but sometimes he slips up.

- honestly, i wouldn't be surprised if a really big relationship milestone came from that.

- like you crying one night and the darkling finding you, and then him taking you back to your room and promising to stay so that you don't have to feel alone and then the next morning you wake up and he's holding you

- at first ur like ?? but he acts so normal you're like maybe that can be platonic? but then it starts happening more and more and neither of you mention it and then when you two finally do get together youre like 'ohh? im stupid'

- and if your anxiety comes from your worry about him?? wow--he'll have to stop himself from kissing you

- this is a man who is so used to being hated/feared that the concept of someone worrying about him so much they physically don't feel well?? that would hit him STRAIGHT in the chest, and he'd be so quick to pull you to him, and then you'd be like--are you ok??

- wouldn't be surprised if that's how you found out he had feelings for you,, like he'd say something like "i didnt know the brightest star in the sky could want to protect the darkness instead of banish it. You're the brightest light I've ever known, it was more than enough for me that you weren't repulsed by my darkness...and now..."

- anyways,, if you were already established together and you were anxious, he would have no need to hold back

- if he notices your hesitant to let him 'help' he might do a thing or two to reduce sources of your stress without telling you...which sometimes leads to you getting a little mad, but depending on how extreme his actions were, he normally smoothes it over quickly

- i mean,, it's just how he shows that he cares, he's never had someone that could snap their fingers and get rid of his adversaries or reschedule a thing or two to make his life easier

- he sees no harm in it,, and even though sometimes other people may give you a bit of a hard time bc of his evident favoritism,, you know it just means he cares

- if he goes really far, you're more willing to be mad at him, but honestly when youre upset all you want is to be near him bc there's nothing more comforting,, so you agree to hold off on arguing lol

- i mean there are always lines that get crossed, so there are times he cant charm himself out of your anger, but the longer youre together the more he tries to hold off on doing things that make you really angry,, unless he feels like the person really hurt you, then nothing can stop his anger

- if youre actually together he's much more quick to comfort you physically if youre feeling really anxious,, he'll kiss you everywhere until he's all you can think about, which works for when your anxious over small things

- if your problem is larger, he cant exactly kiss it away though i cant say that doesnt help but it's still comforting and relaxing bc duh,, so i feel like he's really touchy if youre upset

- kissing sometimes leads to other stuff,, but that should be its own fic/headcanon bc i have a secret head cannon that feeling needed or like the only one his partner has is a turn on for him bc it returns some of the power he feels like he gives up by letting his partner care about him

- might have to write that fic now that im thinking about it....

- if youre so anxious you dont want to be touched, it'll be a little harder for him, but if he reaches for you and you back away he'll try to talk you down and remind you that he's not going to let anything happen and as long as he's breathing he'll make sure you're okay

- if youre officially together and youre anxious about something small, he's actually surprisingly nice to talk to,, before you were close you felt like you were bothering him with small, insignificant things,, but once you know that he cares about you he's a patient listener bc he likes being really present with you when he can bc he's busy so often

- sometimes if youre worried or upset he jumps to anger towards the object of your distress before comfort, but once youre at the dating part, you know that that's just how he is, and anger is how he shows love in a way?? lol, so you just have to clearly tell him that you'd rather him stay with you then rush out and like smite someone, he'll stop and comfort you

- sometimes how much he cares makes him angry at himself bc he begins to question if he'd pick you/your happiness over his goal, if he can't convince himself that you'd never get in the way of that, he gets a little cold until he feels assured in his loyalties or at least assured in the fact that your happiness would never conflict with his goals

- that can happen at any point in your relationship,, i feel like it'd happen more when he's unsure about his feelings bc seeing how much he cares about someone that's nothing to him makes him want to banish his nerves

- overall though,, once he cares about you, whether he's fully accepted it or not, he'd burn the world down to make you feel okay again,, or stay in bed with you for awhile, or both--whatever you want, really

#grishaverse x reader #grishaverse x you #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse #genereal kirigan imagine #general kirigan x reader smut #general kirigan x you #the darkling x you #the darkling x reader #the darkling #general kirigan #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x you #netflix shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #ben barnes #ben barnes x reader #aleksander morovoza x reader #aleksander morozova imagine

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adorerdraco · 4 years ago

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Good Enough ✧ Draco x Hufflepuff!Reader

Request: hiii i love your writing!! can you write about a sweet hufflepuff and how everyone thinks they aren’t a good pair together so one day Pansy bullies the reader into breaking it off with Draco because she feels like she’s not good enough for him then draco finds out and he’s really mad at Pansy?

Another seventh year AU where Voldermort never existed !

Warnings: bullying, slight angst, crying, cursing (barely), sad!draco, angry!draco, implied smut towards the end (also extra mean slytherins for the purpose of this imagine but i have nothing against them i <3 them as much as any other house)

Words: 4.5K

A/N: hiii thank youuuu 🥺💗 !!!!!! but ahhhh omg im a hufflepuff so i hope i delivered good hufflepuff energy in this oneee :’))) i think this might be my new favorite thing ive written omg but i do not own gif

There was truly no explanation how you, a kind Hufflepuff, managed to become friends, let alone a couple, with the proud and arrogant Slytherin Prince, Draco Malfoy.

On the outside, your relationship to everyone seemed uncanny and plain wrong. Even your friends and housemates had looked down on it for a while but eventually came around and just let you be. You couldn’t say the same for the Slytherin’s, however, because if there was one house they disliked more than Gryffindor; it was Hufflepuff.

They berated you and Draco for weeks after they found out he had started a relationship with you. They scowled at you when you would walk by them sometimes calling you names depending on whether or not Draco was by your side. He always defended you and you did your best to ignore them, but they were relentless. You had only been dating for about a month now and the tantalizing comments from Slytherin’s and anyone else who wanted tear the two of you down were right now seeming endless.

“Why can’t people leave us alone,” you said sadly to him one night. You were lying with him in a patch of grass outside the castle, head against his chest as his hand lazily traced patterns onto your bicep.

“They’re only jealous,” he sneered quietly. “People get mad at what they can’t have or what they can't understand.”

Draco’s patience with people was worsening each and every day. His housemates, regularly, would corner him in the common room and interrogate him with questions that made him want to rip his hair out.

“Is this some sort of prank you haven’t told us about, Malfoy?”

“A Hufflepuff? Have you gone mad?”

“Is she blackmailing you with something, mate?”

“Haven’t you thought about how that makes us Slytherin’s look?”

“She’s a blood-traitor!”

The questioning would always lead to him yelling and threatening everyone aggressively before he locked himself in his Prefect dorm or would leave the common room altogether in a fury. Those were the days he would find you after he calmed down and would hug you tightly, pressing kisses all over your face as he praised you with everything he adored about you to how happy you made him and how perfect you were for him.

You, on the other hand, were dealing with much worse. You never told Draco some of the awful things people would say to you when he wasn’t around. You would stand up for yourself very rarely, confrontation not really being your first approach to handling things but when the insults were bad enough, you were forced to.

You would always hear a variation of the same things said either directly to you or from obvious whispering, majority of them being from Slytherin and the occasional judgmental comment from others.

“Filthy Hufflepuff!”

“Can’t believe one of them is dating one of ours.”

“What does Malfoy even see in her?”

“You’d think someone who’s supposed to be kind wouldn’t want anything to do with such an arse.”

More than ever, Draco found himself giving you an excessive amount of compliments and reassurances that he thought would balance out the insults and criticisms you would tell him about or he would witness. Everything he would tell you was true, of course, but you always felt like he said them out of pity or like he had to.

“I appreciate you trying to make it better, but you don’t have to keep complimenting me, Dray.” You’ve said to him countless times.

And he would often respond with, “but I need you to know how I feel about you.”

Despite the constant uphill battle, your relationship with the platinum blond was everything you hoped for and more. Considering your friendship had started on rocky beginnings a year ago, you would have never thought you’d be with him now. You couldn’t thank the stars more for when your aged and nearly blind owl had flown straight into the back of his head, pecking at him while he tried to swat it away which then led to him giving you a piece of his mind and trying to hex your owl - causing you to try to hex him just as McGonagall happened to be passing by the fiasco that landed both of you in a months-long detention for reckless magic usage. It was in detention when the two of you were forced to spend time together and realized that the other wasn’t as bad as they thought.

Draco, much like everyone else, always believed Hufflepuffs to be weak and cowardly, too kind for their own good - but he quickly learned how common of a misconception that was the longer he knew you. You always fought for what was morally right, defended those you love and are loyal to courageously, and were sweet and friendly with everyone you talked to whether you knew them or not.

He gravitated towards your kindness and empathetic approach to everything. He loved to see the smiles you put on people’s faces or the way animals would randomly come up to you and immediately trust you enough to give them gentle pets that they always leaned into. He even loved the way you talked to everyone as your equals, something he rarely saw in his environment. Everything you did was a vast difference to what he saw on the daily from his cold and aloof peers, but it was a difference he enjoyed. He wished so deeply that everyone could see and understand how amazing you were to him and he was determined to make it happen.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked shyly as he held your hand tightly in his, walking you slowly over to his large group of his closest Slytherin friends that were all gathered around a bench under a tree in the courtyard.

The Prince of Slytherin believed that if he could get his friends to at least tolerate you, then everyone else would follow in suit. He only associated himself with the best and most influential of his house so if there was anyone that could improve his current situation; it would be them. You were a little uneasy about his plan, but later agreed when he had convinced you that his idea couldn’t and wouldn’t fail.

“Of course it is!” He exclaimed encouragingly. “Plus, I’m Draco Malfoy, they’ll like anything I tell them to like.”

“Okay,” you sighed, rolling your eyes slightly at his boast.

The closer you got to them, the more you felt your hands begin to sweat and the heat crawling up your face. They all began to turn towards the two of you, their eyes focusing on you and you only with a pointed gaze. You started to realize how greatly you underestimated how intimidating they looked. Especially the one girl who made it her mission to bother you every chance she could get - always from afar while she pointed at you and whispered something into her friend’s ears while they laughed or when she would pass by you and say something rude under her breath.

“Look what Malfoy’s dragged in!” Pansy Parkinson called out with a malicious smirk on her face as she eyed you.

“Give it a rest, Pansy,” Blaise sighed, “If Malfoy wants us to meet his little friend then so be it.”

“Not my little friend, my girlfriend,” Draco corrected angrily as the two of you finally reached the group. “This is Y/N and I wanted you all to meet her since I plan on having her around for a long while, so you might as well get used to it.”

“Long while? Poor thing can’t even introduce herself,” Pansy laughed tauntingly.

“I think Draco introduced me just fine right now but if you want, I’ll do it again to make you feel better,” you smiled a big fake toothy grin at her. “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

Everyone snickered at your response, watching for the girl’s reaction as her nostrils flared in irritation. Draco smiled to himself and gave your hand a quick squeeze, feeling proud that you found a way to talk back to her in the nicest way possible.

“Right, well, I’m sure you know this is; Goyle, Crabbe, Zabini, Pike, Flint, Nott, and...” Draco pointed to everyone, trailing off when he reached the only girl in the group, “I don’t think that one needs an introduction, she rather do it herself, right Parkinson?”

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, giving the blond a false squinty-eyed grin with attitude.

“So, you want us to be the nice to the Hufflepuff then?” Zabini questions, pointing a finger towards you.

“Yes, I want you to be nice to, Y/N,” Draco corrected again, his hand getting tighter in your grasp as he spoke. “That goes for all of you and everyone else in this bloody house. I don’t want to hear anything bad about her or us coming from anyone ever again or you’ll have me to answer to. I don’t care how friendly we are.”

“So he has to defend you too now?” Pansy spoke again, “Merlin, it’s a wonder how you Hufflepuff sort even survive in this world.”

Before anyone could say anything, you mustered up all the courage you had and stepped forward towards the irked girl in front of you.

“Listen, I don’t want any more trouble with you or anyone,” you rushed out. “I just want to go about my day without having to hear how disgusting and weak I am.”

She opened her mouth to retaliate but Blaise put a hand in front of her and pushed her back before she got any closer to you.

“Alright, we’ll try,” he answered for the group quickly in an annoyed tone, “but I can’t promise that for the rest of Slytherin. They really don’t like you guys together, thinks it makes them look bad. Eventually, they’ll get tired of it and move on to the next.”

“That’s as good as its gonna get,” Goyle guffawed, Crabbe and Pike snickering alongside him.

You sighed, looking up at Draco and slightly tugging at his hand while you silently begged him to take you out of there but he didn’t catch the hint and instead did the complete opposite when he had turned towards the only boy in the group who seemed to have brains.

“Zabini, can I talk to you really quick?” He asked gruffly. Blaise deeply sighed and nodded, the two boys breaking away from the group and stopping a few feet away before talking in angry hushed voices to each other.

You - all of a sudden felt very small and sick, your eyes frantically bouncing around the group as they watched you squirm. Pansy took this as her chance to step closer towards you, stopping a few inches away from you while a smirk made its way onto her face.

“Since you obviously don’t see the bigger picture, I’ll paint it for you,” she began contemptuously, “you and Draco really don’t belong together, at all. Sure, you might think everything’s fine right now, but what’ll happen when he gets tired of defending you and proving you to everyone. You think Hogwarts is your problem? Just wait until you meet the Malfoy’s. Do you really think his father would like or even tolerate a filthy blood traitor like you?”

You gaped at her, taking a few shaky steps away from her as her words hit you like a truck.

“Think about it, Y/L/N,” she gets in your face again, her hand reaching up to grip your shoulder tightly to hold you in place. “He needs to be with someone of his status, a pure-blooded Slytherin who comes from a good wealthy family who holds all the same beliefs as the Malfoy’s. If I were you, I’d end it before you ruin his life any more than you already have and end up leaving him without a family or his inheritance.”

“Are you trying to say that ‘someone’ should be you?” You question through gritted teeth, shrugging your shoulder hard out of her clawed grasp.

“I never said that,” she smiles, “but who am I to say it shouldn’t be?”

Pansy tauntingly walked away from you, a smug look on her face as she noticed just how obviously she had hurt you. You wanted to run away and cry, but you held it together for the sake of your last remaining dignity and so that you wouldn’t please your assailant even more than you already have.

Draco turned to stroll back towards the group with Blaise, his eyes landing on your shuddering figure and the broken look in your eyes as they met his. He looked around at the rest of the group who were talking amongst themselves, unknowing to them that Parkinson had just ripped a new one on you. She stood around them, looking at her nails with an uninterested look in her eyes and when she felt Draco’s eyes on her, she looked up and smiled at him innocently.

‘Bitch,’ you thought.

He slowly walked towards you, taking your hand and deeply frowning when you immediately slipped it out of his.

“What’s wrong?” His voice dripped with concern, his sad gray’s searching your face for any answer as to why you were suddenly acting so cold.

“I need to talk to you,” you breathed out. “Alone.”

He nodded, instinctively reaching out for your hand only for you to reject it again. He felt queasy at the response, his heart falling to his stomach as you turned around and began walking away. His legs were moving hastily behind you, a dooming tension had fallen between the two of you and he couldn’t for the life of him find a reason why.

Pansy’s words were like a game of pinball on a constant loop in your mind. Your thoughts were bumping and flying haphazardly as you tried to make sense of them and what you were about to do. And as much as you hated to admit it - the wench was right. You would never be able to offer Draco and his family anything that would ever be close to enough. You were just a sweet, regular Hufflepuff, someone far from who his family expected to date. And what if you did end up staying with him? You figured you would end up breaking up years later when he would be forced to marry someone else. Or in the slight chance, he fought against that, there was no way you’d forgive yourself if he lost his family and his future because of your own selfish needs.

You stopped at an empty corridor, sitting at one of the windowsills you regularly sat at with the platinum blond when the two of you snuck out at night to meet each other. Your head fell into your hands, your thoughts raging louder in your head and now through your body as you began to unwillingly shake. The held back tears had finally broken out in a waterfall of sadness, frustration, and grief.

Draco only watched, his heartbreaking at the sight as he kneeled in front of you, his hands resting on your knees while he tried to figure out what to say.

“Darling, please tell me what’s gotten you like this,” he pleads sadly. “If it’s about what Blaise said, I made a deal with him so he would try and help.”

“No, it’s not that,�� you answered, choking back the lump in a feeble attempt to try and get yourself calmed down enough to talk to him.

He sat back on his heels, his hand running down his face in distress as he racked through his brain for anything else that might have gotten you like this. He let you cry for a bit, feeling useless as he watched you go through an internal battle he had no clue about.

“Then what is it? Tell me and I’ll fix it,” he says softly when he saw your tears had finally been reduced to stray droplets on your face.

“You can’t,” you sniffle. Your hand weakly brushed over his paled slender fingers that were holding your knee gently. He turned his palm upwards for you and you placed your shaking hand in his while you basked in the final moments of his warmth. You regrettably slipped out of his grip before you spoke the words you couldn’t take back. “We can’t be together anymore.”

Draco blinked, his stomach dropping as soon as the words left your mouth. “What?”

You stood up, backing away from him as you shook your head. “Everyone was right - I’ll never be good enough for you, for your friends, for your family. You deserve to be with someone who makes your life easier, not harder.”

“Where did all this come from?” He asks incredulously, standing up from his spot on the floor as he painfully watched your slowly retreating figure. “It’s all rubbish is what it is. You’ve never made my life harder.”

“Draco, look around you!” You exasperated, your arms flailing around you. “You had to make a deal with your own friends for them to even be nice to me. Your house can’t stand me and they take it out on the both of us! And what about your parents? You know for a fact they would hate me, don’t even try and deny it.”

Pale hands ran through his hair, his fingers pulling at the platinum strands in frustration.

“I thought you didn’t care about all that,” he said woefully. “I thought you’d know by now none of it matters.”

“Well, I care now,” you answer back gloomily. “And you should too.”

There was a spinning and nauseating feeling in the pit of the Slytherin’s stomach, his heart violently jumping around in his chest as he let you storm away from him.

He let his back fall against a pillar, a deep and burning exhale falling from his trembling lips while he stared at a live painting across from him. It was of three women, the chalices in their hands supposed to be joined in a toast above them while they smiled gleefully in celebration, 3 of Chalices, it read in the caption below the frame. Instead of being in their usual position, they stared at him with pity in their softly painted eyes as they slowly raised their cups towards him in a way of showing their condolences.

He nodded curtly at them before he kicked himself off the wall and dragged himself towards the Great Hall where they were serving dinner and where he would undoubtedly find his so-called friends. He prepared himself to break the news to them, knowing they would be over the moon about it and as much as he wanted to join them in their delight, he couldn’t push away the large ache that had settled itself in his chest.

“We’re done,” he muttered dreadfully to himself, “it’s over.”

He was testing out different ways he could tell everyone the long-awaited news but they all left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“I think you’ll all be delighted to know, Y/N-” he tried again but he lost his train of thought when he spoke your name. It was like taking an invisible kick to his heart as if Peeves the Poltergeist had somehow crawled into his body and was wreaking his usual havoc on his insides.

The second he stepped into the Great Hall and saw his group sitting there, eating and laughing amongst everyone else, he felt sick all over again. There was no way he could stomach the triumph they were about to unleash, but he sucked it up and drudged towards them anyway.

“You look ghastly,” Pansy snickers, already having a feeling as to why he looked so rough. He stopped at the bench, hesitating to sit down because he knew he’d want to dash the second everyone started to relentlessly bash you.

“Deal’s off, Zabini,” the blond spoke lowly. “I’m not with Y/L/N anymore so it doesn’t matter.”

“You’re better off without her, Malfoy,” Blaise said delightedly. “Can’t believe you nearly had us associating with a blood traitor. It’s better that she’s gone.”

“Yeah, we ought to thank Pansy for that,” Crabbe laughed loudly through a mouthful of food. Pansy kicked his shin under the table, and he recoiled too fast, the food in his mouth getting shot in the wrong direction as he started choking.

“Pansy?” Draco repeated, his eyes falling towards the shying girl. “What did Pansy do?”

“What?” Crabbe coughed roughly, “did no one else see her talking to the ickle Hufflepuff?”

Pansy kicked him again and he wailed out a “stop kicking me, you donkey!”

Any ounce of sadness Draco had in his body was immediately washed out in rage. He wanted to flip over the table and scream at everyone in his path, but he only turned towards Pansy again and asked her calmly.

“What did you say to her?”

“I only told her the truth!” She said coyly, holding her hands up in defense.

“What” his fist had slammed onto the table making everyone sitting near the contact jump in surprise, “did you say to her!”

“The truth! Or are you too blind to see it too?” She sneered at him. “Do you honestly think the two of you would last? Look at who you are, Draco!”

“Talk to me ever again and I swear I’ll hex you,” he spat, turning hot on his heel as he stormed out of the Great Hall, his friends staring at his retreating figure in shock at the outburst.

Draco found himself rushing through stairs and corridors, his heart racing as he searched for the place he just knew you’d be. Now that he knew the full story, he needed to talk to you. Even if you didn’t change your mind, he wanted to at least try to fix what had been broken. The tall and bronzed doors were ajar, a small light filtering through the dark corridor he was nearly running down.

A mop of bright silver hair had peaked through the crack in the doors of the Hogwarts kitchen, worried gray eyes following in suit as they searched the room for its target. He found you hunched over a small dessert plate, a half-eaten cake being drenched in your tears that never seemed to stop. There was a house-elf next to you, looking up at you from the floor in concern while they patted your leg.

“Mister!” a scraggly voice croaked out from below him. He looked down to find a rugged looking house-elf staring up at him with furrowed eyebrows and hands on its hips. “Students are prohibited in the kitchen.”

“There’s a student right there,” he pointed towards you.

“She’s an exception!” the elf exclaimed wildly.

Draco shook his head before walking past the small creature, power walking straight towards you while it ran behind him.

“Wait till Gonpy tells the Headmaster about this!” The elf calls, “Gonby asks your name, sir!””

“Vincent Crabbe,” Draco answers mindlessly as he continued walking towards the far end of the room that very closely resembled the Great Hall and its vastness.

The familiar accent rang through your ears, your glassy eyes shooting up in surprise when you see the reason for your tears hurrying towards you.

“Before you say anything, you need to listen to me,” he starts desperately once he reaches you. “I know it was Pansy who put those thoughts into your head. I know you think you’re not enough for me. And I know you think I was always complimenting you out of pity, but you couldn’t be more wrong about any of that. I say all those things to you because I mean it. You are everything to me. You are more than enough for me just by being you. You make me the happiest I’ve ever been and sometimes I wonder if I’m even good enough for you. But you need to understand how much I love you.”

“Draco,” you breathe, heart leaping in your chest at his rambling speech, “I love you too. But what about everyone else, how are we even supposed to be with each other in peace?”

“To hell with everyone else,” he responds quickly, walking around the edge of the table so that he was now only mere centimeters away from you. “Do you want to be with me?”

“Yes, of course,” you blink at him, “but do you really think your parents would let this happen?”

“We’ll deal with them when the time comes,” he mumbles, his hand finding its way to your puffy cheek where he let it rest. “Besides, my mother likes anything that makes me happy, so I know for a fact at least she will end up loving you just as much as I do.”

You nodded happily, a new hope bubbling in your stomach as you lurched towards him and hugged the stressed boy against you tightly. The both of you let out a breath of relief at the same time from the contact, finally feeling back in balance after the short-lived sorrow.

He pulled away from you and leaned down into you, his lips capturing yours in a tender and passionate kiss. That was when the elves you had forgotten about had quickly stopped eavesdropping, scurrying themselves away from the table as they went to start cleaning up the kitchen.

It was minutes before you had finally pulled away, looking dreamily into the happy gray’s that gazed back at you. You admired him for a couple seconds, feeling very content before you reached up towards him again, tangling your hands in his hair and pressing another kiss onto his now swollen lips. He moved needily against you, pushing your body flush the table as he held you tightly against him.

“Ahem,” a small voice uncomfortably called out from below. It was the same elf who had chased Draco down the kitchen when he walked in, a frown on his face as he stared at the two of you. “Gonpy and the house-elves make food here!”

“I’m sorry, Gonpy,” you hurriedly apologize, ripping yourself away from a ragged breathing Draco as you bent down to shake hands with the elf. “Thank you for making me cake and letting me cry here, you’re a Hogwarts hero.”

“Gonpy thanks you, Miss Y/L/N! The truest, kindest Hufflepuff!”

Draco bit back a smile at the interaction. You stood up and reached your hand behind you for the Slytherin to take and as the two of you walked away, he yelled out a quick, “Thanks Gonpy!”

And once the two of you were near the exit, he wrapped his arms around you from behind and pressed his body against your back, lowering his mouth towards your ear and kissing the skin right below it before whispering, “do you want to go back to my dorm?”

You nodded eagerly, giggling loudly as the two of you stumbled out of the door underneath his hold and into the dimly lit corridor before pulling apart and racing towards the direction of the dungeons with his hand interlocked in yours.

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lcvemalfcy · 4 years ago

Text

Mission Accomplished || D.M

summary: pansy and blaise make it their mission to get y/n and draco together

pairing: draco x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, not sure abt anything else — please comment if I missed something!!

word count: 1.6k

a/n: pls ive been writing this since the beginning of feb but i didn’t know how to end it off

draco had taken an interest in you ever since you had laughed at a joke he mumbled during class, with no intention of being heard. he turned to the owner of the laugh, to see you sitting next to your friend with your hand over your mouth, trying to conceal your giggles. that’s when he decided that your laugh was now his favorite sound in the world and that he wanted to hear it more.

he hadn’t made his crush on you known, besides to blaise. he rarely even talked with you before, but he wanted to change that this year. he started off by greeting you whenever you two passed each other in the halls, to initiating small conversations with you during your shared classes, and now he was joining you in the library to read after he ‘coincidentally’ shared the same reading spot as you.

pansy and blaise entered the library together, in search of a book they needed in order to start on their astronomy project. they both walked to the aisle where the book would be found, pansy’s fingers gliding over the spines of the books as she searched for the one in particular. “do me a favor and help me find it?” she spat out to blaise, irritated that he stood there staring off at something she could care less about.

“is that draco with y/n?” blaise asked instead, noticing the familiar blonde boy sitting at a table across from you. this immediately caught pansy’s attention as she averted her focus from the bookshelf in front of her to the table you two sat at. “no way!”

“they are so into each other,” pansy silently squealed as she watched you burst out into giggles due to some awful joke draco had made, you seemed to have a thing for his jokes. “draco’s liked her for months now.” a grin appeared on blaise’s face, trying to hold in his laughter at draco’s lame attempt at flirting with you.

“and he hasn’t made a move on her yet?” pansy questioned. blaise shook his head side to side to answer her question when an idea suddenly entered her brain. “blaise we have to do something!”

“like what?” blaise was confused, unsure of what pansy meant. “forget the project, we have to set them up! mission y/n and draco!” pansy exclaimed. she excitedly grabbed blaise’s hand and dragged him to a table far from yours to create a plan, while blaise internally groaned, knowing how passionate she could become when it came to stuff like this.

being a prefect always was an advantage. and luckily for pansy and blaise who were both prefects, this made it easy for them to execute their plan.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

one foggy night, you threw a jumper and sweats over your body, preparing for your late night stroll around the castle. you liked to do this whenever you couldn’t fall asleep, finding that a walk seemed to be relaxing and calm the thoughts running through your head.

you exited your dormitory quietly, being careful enough to not wake your sleeping dormmates. you walked down the stairs and into the common room, feeling chills run up and down your body as you felt the temperature drop. you made it across, about to exit the room when you walked straight into something — no, someone.

“sneaking out again, y/n?” there stood pansy ahead of you. she kept a straight face, slightly raising her eyebrow in attempt to intimidate you.

“weren’t you just asleep?” you looked back and pointed towards the steps to the dormitories, confused as to where she came from. she was asleep in the dorm, right?

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to give you a detention,” she stated as you gave her a questioning look. “you’re not serious, are you? you know I’ve snuck out a million times already and never gave me one before,” you tried to reason with her.

“and that’s exactly why I should be giving you one, you’ve snuck out one too many times y/n. meet me for detention in snape’s classroom. saturday, 5PM, and don’t be late.” she left so quickly and was already gone before you could question her sudden change in opinion.

meanwhile, draco sat in the common room one afternoon, looking back and forth between papers as he copied goyle’s homework. with one question left, he was almost done and turned to glance at goyle’s paper one last time when it was suddenly snatched away from underneath him.

“what the hell?!” draco looked up to see blaise holding onto the piece of parchment he desperately needed in order to complete his assignment.

“really, draco? cheating? I’m absolutely flabbergasted and disappointed in you!” blaise overexaggerated and flailed his arms around, causing draco to furrow his brows in confusion. “I’m giving you a detention for going against your academic honesty!” blaise sighed and crossed his arms, dramatically shaking his head at his friend.

“what are you on mate? did you not just copy off of his homework before me?” draco was irritated as blaise prevented him from finishing his homework. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. now, meet me in snape’s classroom at 5PM on saturday for your detention.” and with that, blaise left, not giving draco a chance to hex him.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

it was now saturday, a few minutes before the clock struck 5PM. you were making your way to snape’s classroom, pissed that you had to spend your free time in detention.

arriving at your destination, you opened the door and entered the classroom, curious as to what pansy had planned for your detention. the first thing you noticed was an empty classroom, before turning to the back corner and spotting your favorite blonde. “draco? what are you doing here?”

“blaise gave me a bloody detention for ‘going against my academic honesty,’ whatever that means. you?” he raised an eyebrow as he waited for your reply. “pansy caught me trying to sneak out.”

he slowly nodded as you took a seat beside him, “don’t you find it odd that blaise and pansy never give slytherins detentions, especially not their own friends. and the one time they do, it happens to be on the exact same day at the exact same time?” he questioned as you thought it over.

“you’re right, that is a bit odd.”

after waiting a few more minutes for blaise and pansy to arrive, draco went to grab his bag off the floor as he stood up. “I have better things to do and seeing that they’re late, I’m going to go do those other things. care to join?”

“lead the way, malfoy.” you grinned at him, gesturing your arm towards the door. he made his way over to the door, you following right behind him. you waited for him to open it, yet that never happened.

“the door won’t open,” he concluded after a few moments of him rattling the doorknob.

“what do you mean the door won’t open?”

“it means, the door won’t open.” you lightly shoved him out of the way, pulling out your wand and muttering alohomora. you became frustrated when you went to open the door and the lock still wouldn’t budge.

after multiple attempts to open the door, both of you realized it was no use. you guys were locked in.

you found yourself sitting on the floor besides draco, talking with one another for hours on end as you wore his jumper. he had politely offered it to you when he noticed you shivering due to the cold dungeon air, in which you denied it at first, but he kept on insisting.

you started drifting off, his words started twisting into gibberish and his voice became muffled. draco felt his heart warm when your head fell onto his shoulder. “oh c’mon y/n, don’t fall asleep on me.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just your jumper is so comfy and warm,” you lightly spoke as you snuggled closer into his body. draco thought his heart was about to burst.

suddenly, the door opened and entering the room was snape, who only stared at the two of you when he noticed his two students just casually sitting on his classroom floor. the sudden noise made you bolt awake.

“out.” his voice was curt and blunt, causing you and draco to rush to your feet. you hurriedly exited the room as draco mumbled a “sorry professor.”

you and draco ran down the hall, hardly able to contain your laughter when you entered the common room.

sitting on the couches before you and draco were pansy and blaise, who wore amused looks upon draco’s and your appearance.

“nice jumper, y/n.” blaise wiggled his eyebrows at the two of you when you and draco finally realized what was going on. “they did this on purpose, didn’t they?” draco spoke up beside you.

“I’m gonna get those little gits.” you ran straight for pansy as she yelped and ran towards the dorms, you following straight behind her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the following day at breakfast, pansy was fangirling over the sight of you two walking down the hall hand in hand. “mission accomplished, blaise! you were actually a good partner, we should do it again sometime. ooo how about daphne and theo?”

truth be told, you were glad blaise and pansy had done that as it allowed you and draco to realize your feelings for one another.

what you did not like, was the fact that pansy and blaise had the audacity to take credit for your relationship with draco. and while it may be true, you would never admit it to them out loud.

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco one shot #draco fanfic #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy one shot #draco malfoy fanfiction

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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years ago

Note

Loved your latest chapter and Im so excited to see what happens under the mountain!

I was wondering if I could request a one-shot?(up to you how long and you can do it in your own time)something along the lines of:

Feyre( from either ACOWAR, ACOFAS or ACOSF) time travels back to ACOTAR, but instead of finding herself back in her human body i the spring court, she's still in her fae body and ends up trapped in velaris, having to explain to the rest of IC who she is and why she cant go free their highlord(add some mistrust from the IC)

🙈🙈Id its very similar to what youre doing rn with your other fic but, if you find the inspiration sometime could you please do this? Ive wanted to read a fic for ages were feyre rime travels and meets pre-acomaf inner circle who dont know/trust her, but Ive never found a fic like that

Thank youuu

Hi lovely anon! It makes me so happy you enjoyed my latest chapter! I’m supposed to be working on a project for uni, but I couldn’t resist gratifying my lovely friends (because you're anon and won't be notified I was getting sad at the idea of you checking my blog and not seeing me respond) <3 I’ll admit I’m a bit scatterbrained at the moment, so I hope it’s okay!

I was having trouble brainstorming a reason for Feyre getting sent back in time because I didn't want to borrow the reasoning from ACoFD. So I was vague and twisted the pre-existing rules around the Ouroboros, and ended up getting quite carried away with the story since I don’t like not giving things a happy ending (even though it’s a little cheesy, sorry)

Anyway, I hope this is what you were looking for! I know you wanted the angst of not being able to save Rhys but... I couldn't just leave my poor bat-boy behind, you know? ;)

Also if this didn't quite scratch that itch, I'm always happy to take more requests

Word count: 4,446

The Ouroboros.

It was a massive, round disc—as tall as Feyre was. Taller. And the metal around it had been fashioned after a massive serpent, the mirror held within its coils as it devoured its own tail.

Ending and beginning.

From across the room, Feyre could not see it. What lay within.

She forced herself to take a step forward. Another.

The mirror itself was black as night—yet… wholly clear.

She watched herself approach. Watched the arm she had upraised against the wind and snow, the pinched expression on her face. The exhaustion.

She stopped three feet away. She did not dare touch it.

It only showed Feyre herself. Nothing.

Feyre scanned the mirror for any signs of… something to push or touch with her magic. But there was only the devouring head of the serpent, its maw open wide, frost sparkling on its fangs.

Feyre stared and stared, but all she saw was herself. There was nothing else. Then—

Feyre woke with a gasp, sitting up in bed to shake away the cobwebs of sleep and the strange, foreboding feeling that felt draped around her shoulders like a weighted cape, pulling her down. It hadn’t been a particularly horrifying nightmare. In fact, it was perhaps of the tamer dreams she’d had in the last year.

Yet something about it clung to her, perhaps a lingering agitation that she’d yet to retrieve the mirror the Bone Carver had requested. That must be it.

The bed space beside her was cold. The sun peaking through the window was not high, it couldn’t be long past dawn. However worrisome her own dream, her mate’s must have been worse to draw him from sleep so early. Worse still for him to sneak away.

Feyre rose from the bed, reaching absently for Rhysand’s dressing robe to wrap around herself. She always loved to steal her mate’s clothes, to be wrapped in his scent.

With gentle steps, she made her way to the study, where she could only assume Rhys had sequestered himself in the lone hours of the night. She’d noticed the weary draw to his shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. This war was weighing on him heavily, and he was nervous. Feyre wished he didn’t insist on shouldering the burden alone.

“Rhys?” Feyre called softly as she got to the study, knocking on the door before she cracked it open.

Peeking her head around the door, she was met with the sight of Rhysand’s abandoned study. The scattered papers and war maps that had become characteristic of his desk space were surprisingly missing. In fact, the whole space had been cleared away and there was a thick layer of dust on every surface as if no one had been in here in years.

Feyre frowned at the sight, and how different it had been just the day before. Where had all the dust come from? And more importantly, where was Rhys? Perhaps he’d taken a morning flight to clear his head.

Where are you, love? She called to him through the mating bond, but was met with silence.

“Who are you?”

The voice was cold and venomous. Feyre turned, coming face to face with Mor, whose face was twisted into a threatening scowl.

“Mor?” Feyre asked, confused by her friend’s cold demeanor. “What do you mean? Have you seen Rhys?”

Mor’s face turned deadly, a look Feyre had only ever seen from Mor in the Court of Nightmares. “Is that some kind of joke?” she snarled.

Then, before Feyre could process what was happening, Mor had gripped onto Feyre’s wrist and they were enveloped in darkness. They stepped into the House of Wind, into the dining room where Cassian and Azriel abruptly stood up.

“Mor?” Feyre questioned when the blonde didn’t release her steel grip. She looked to Cassian and Azriel quizzically. “Guys? What’s going on?”

Cassian crossed his arms, assessing Feyre with a hostility that put her on edge. “Who’s this, Mor?” he asked gruffly.

Feyre frowned as she watched Azriel reach for Truth-Teller.

“Is this a joke?” she asked, flitting her eyes to each of her friends. Where she sought that friendly warmth in each of their gazes she was met with hard stares, filled with distrust, ready for a brawl. She couldn’t make sense of it. Was this an act Rhys had put them up to?

“I found her in the townhouse,” Mor said. “I don’t know how she got in there. She was in Rhysand’s study.”

“And she’s wearing his dressing gown,” Azriel noted dryly. Cassian did a double glance, his eyes going wide, then narrowing with a rage Feyre had never seen from the male. Certainly never directed at her.

There was a whisper of shadow, then suddenly Azriel was behind her, Truth-Teller poised at her throat.

Feyre startled. “Azriel!” she said sharply. Even if it was a joke, Feyre couldn’t imagine Rhysand would sanction this kind of threat. And the energy in the room was off, the tension too thick. “Stand down.”

“And who are you,” he breathed in her ear, his voice coated in shadow and nightmare, “to command the Shadowsinger of the Night Court?”

“I’m your High Lady,” Feyre answered steadily, not letting Azriel’s shadows, nor cunning voice, shake her resolve. “Now, I don’t know what is going on with the three of you, or what strange joke you’re trying to pull, but you will listen to what I say. Put. Your. Knife. Down.”

“High Lady?” Cassian repeated with a snort of disbelief. “You’ve got balls, little girl.”

Truth-Teller danced across the skin of her neck, pressing lightly enough to intimidate without breaking skin. “Do you even know to whom you speak? You should be bowing before the acting Queen of the Night Court.”

Too stunned to properly resist, Azriel kicked his feet out to knock Feyre to her knees in front of Mor. His fingers slid into her hair, gripping it tightly to pull her head back as Truth-Teller resumed its threatening position at her throat.

“Breaking into the High Lord’s personal residence, impersonating a high position within the Night Court, lying to the Morrigan’s face,” Azriel listed, increasing the pressure of the blade with each transgression. “You throw our High Lord’s generosity and protection in his face, something we as his acting Court do not take lightly.”

“Acting court? Acting Queen?” Feyre repeated, feeling as if she’d woken to a different reality. “What are you talking about? Where’s Rhysand!?”

“We’re the ones asking the questions here,” Cassian growled.

Feyre looked to each of her friends, studying their faces. Beyond their militant expression, she could see their grief. Could smell it. She repeated, “where is Rhysand?”

She felt the snarl that rumbled through Azriel’s chest behind her, vibrating against her back. When the question was once again unanswered, Feyre abandoned all sense of patience.

Darkness exploded through the room. She heard Mor gasp as the walls of the House shook from the might of her power. Feyre folded into the shadows, winnowing out of Azriel’s grasp so she stood in the center of the three of them.

“Az, Cass, Mor, you are my friends and I do not want to hurt you. But I am also your High Lady and you will answer me this instant, where is Rhys? Where is my mate!?”

Siphons gleamed red and blue through the thick tendrils of night, illuminating the Illyrian males’ faces. Cassian’s jaw had fallen open, while Azriel was studying her through narrowed eyes, wisps of shadow surrounding him. Feyre wondered what they were whispering to him.

“Mate?” Cassian echoed, the first to break the heavy silence.

Mor took a cautious step forward, her countenance completely changed. Her pupils were blown wide, twin brown depths churning with sorrow and gentle astonishment. Azriel went rigid at Mor’s approach, but no one moved to stop her as she came face to face with Feyre.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered, taking Feyre’s left hand, eye fixed on her mating band. On the sapphire-star ring that once belonged to Rhysand’s mother.

All eyes befell the subject of Mor’s attention. Cassian swore softly in recognition.

“It’s my mating band,” Feyre answered measuredly, still puzzled that the inner circle, her family, didn’t seem to have any memory of it. Nor of her. “I won it from the Weaver, as was the task set by Rhysand’s mother. But you were all there for that. I don’t understand what’s going on. Where. Is. Rhys?”

“Under the Mountain,” Mor whispered, her voice soft and pained.

The darkness ebbed away like a receding tide. Feyre felt her heart sink as she tried to process this information. “He—What?”

“He’s been Under the Mountain for the last 50 years,” Mor said, firmer this time. “And if you were his so-called mate, you would know that.”

“No,” Feyre said, shaking her head vehemently. “No, that’s impossible. We got out. We—”

This was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare, and she just hadn’t woken up from it.

“Amarantha’s dead,” Feyre insisted, mostly in an attempt to console the unparalleled grief and panic that were raging inside her. “She’s dead, and Rhys and I got out.”

The grim faces of her friends said otherwise. They stared at her, in unbearable mixtures of pity and horror.

“I think she’s having a mental break,” Cassian said, not unkindly. “Should we get a healer?”

“Let me show you,” Feyre said meekly, casting her magic out to tap on their mental shields.

They all tensed, clearly not aware they’d been in the presence of a daemati. Trained well by Rhys, they all cracked their shields just enough for Feyre to send her conjured memories through. She showed them going Under the Mountain as a human, winning the trials and being resurrected, falling in love with Rhys, and eventually becoming High Lady of the Night Court. In turn, the three of them pushed back their own memories, of the current state of the world. Of Rhysand sacrificing himself so that his Court and Velaris would be safe.

A sob broke out of Feyre. “How is this possible? How am I here?”

It was Azriel who immediately went for the jugular. “More importantly, if you’re here as a High Fae, how is Rhys going to get out? How do we stop Amarantha?”

Feyre fell to her knees, grief-stricken by this realization. She was no longer human. She couldn’t stride in as Tamlin’s human lover and undergo the trials. Feyre had her powers, but they were untested. Would she be able to take on the whole of Amarantha’s court?

“What do I do? How do I save him?” she whimpered, staring in mute horror at her mating band.

Mor tentatively reached forward, laying a comforting hand on Feyre’s shoulder. “Rhys sacrificed himself to keep the people he loves safe. He wouldn’t want you getting yourself killed trying to save him.”

“I have to try,” Feyre answered desperately. “Amarantha she’s…” Feyre couldn’t bring herself to say the word, rape. Not to his family, who wear his sacrifice for them like an open wound. “She’s doing unspeakable things to him. He’s suffering so much. I can’t leave him to that fate. I have to try.”

With renewed conviction, Feyre accepted Mor’s outstretched hand and picked herself to her feet. “Rhys said it himself once. Amarantha’s biggest weapon is that she keeps the High Lord’s power contained. She can’t access them herself. But I… I have access to all the High Lords’ powers. And that bitch has my mate. My wrath will be plenty to take her down.” She faced her friends, who watched her warily. “You have my word as your High Lady,” she swore to them. “The High Queen of Prythian is going to fall by the night’s end.”

⟡⟡⟡

Winter had not yet fallen in the Mortal Lands. Feyre wondered if across the world, there was a version of herself curled in a bed with her sisters, clinging to any shred of warmth and survival.

That version of Feyre was very different from the version who strode up the sloping hills of the Spring Court with Azriel by her side. Rhys would be furious that Feyre had allowed him to accompany her. Should anything go wrong, it would destroy her mate to know his family had been put in harm's way after everything he’d done to protect them. Which was why it was only Azriel who came with, the only compromise she could reach with his Inner Circle, who insisted on coming with.

Who better to sneak into the Mountain with than the very soldier who taught Feyre the art of stealth. He was the obvious choice, since Mor needed to stay to rule the Night Court and Cassian was too heavy-handed to handle such a delicate task.

Their footfall was silent. Feyre wrapped them in the shadow of Night as they winnowed through the cave network. Her heart hammered in her chest, panicked to be back in the source of so many nightmares.

But Rhysand was more important than her fear. For him, she would not falter.

With the Shadowsinger by her side, Feyre snuck through the winding tunnels until she came to a familiar passageway. They slid into a massive, dark bedroom, lit only by a few candles.

To attack Amarantha in the throne room would be too messy. Too many variables to contend with, should Amarantha have enough wit about her to use any faeries as a shield. Especially Rhysand.

After several hours of waiting, the lock on the door clicked and swung open. Darkness swirled around the room as Rhysand took in the sight of Feyre and Azriel on the bed.

Immediately, the door slammed shut.

“No,” he whispered, voice dripping with horror. “No.”

“Rhys—” Feyre started, but her mate wasn’t paying any attention to her. He was looking at Azriel as if his whole world had shattered.

“Leave,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. This was no happy reunion between brothers. This was Rhysand’s worst nightmare. “Leave this instant, you stupid fool. That is, if you’re lucky enough to have avoided detection when you passed under her wards.”

“I took down the wards,” Feyre said. They weren’t particularly strong, either. Amarantha had gotten lazy, perhaps thinking herself secure with the only spell-cleaver under her control. Or so she believed.

Rhys turned that quiet fury towards her. “And who are you?”

“Your mate,” Feyre answered steadily, tipping her chin up.

Rhysand laughed. A desperate, humorless sound. “Then you are just as foolish as my idiot brother. And you have both sealed your deaths by being here. Do you understand that?”

Feyre scratched along those familiar adamantite shields. Rhys’s eyes flickered in surprise, but otherwise he looked unruffled as he cracked a sliver open for her.

It would be unwise to underestimate me, mate.

I wouldn’t be going around boasting about such a thing, if what you claim is even true, came his icy response. And I wouldn’t count on a few party tricks to save you, either.

And what if I told you, she purred, that I possess the power of all seven High Lords?

That, at least, garnered a reaction from the stoic male. He narrowed his eyes in disbelief, studying Feyre carefully. His gaze caught on her hands, at the lace tattoos that flowed to her fingers. And the mating band she still wore.

Feyre watched those violet eyes go wide, the silver constellations dancing in astonishment at the sight of his mother’s ring.

Where did you get that?

It’s a long story, love, but you’re going to have to trust me. She lowered her mental shields completely. Have a look for yourself. I’m telling you no lies. I am your High Lady, and I am here to free my husband.

She felt those familiar talons wrap around her mind. A foolish thing to do, to give a daemati unrestricted access to her mind. And if it were anyone but Rhys, it would have been. But his touch was gentle, and he took only the information he needed.

“I don’t understand how this is possible,” he whispered, breaking the silence of the room. Azriel had been waiting patiently, but looked relieved to be included in the conversation once more. “And I hate that you’ve put yourselves in danger for this, but it could work.”

Rhys considered for a long moment, then he looked between Feyre and Azriel and said, “do it when she’s sleeping. That bitch has been playing dirty for 50 years, you might as well level the playing field to give yourselves the best chance. Let’s do it tonight. I’ll leave the door unlocked, wear her out, and signal you once she’s asleep. Her spell prevents me from harming her, but I’ll make sure she’s restrained. All you have to do is drive the ash dagger through her heart, but have your magic ready for damage control.”

⟡⟡⟡

Feyre and Azriel waited in Rhysand’s bedchambers for his signal. There was a revelry tonight, as there was every night Under the Mountain, and Rhys was expected to be in attendance. Afterwards, he’d join Amarantha in her bed and make sure she was, in his words, “thoroughly exhausted”.

It was torturous for Feyre. To know exactly what the implication in those words were, to have to use her mate’s body in such a way. She wanted to roar at the Mountain, at the Cauldron, at anything that would listen, but instead she was next to the quiet, brooding Shadowsinger, and lamented in silence.

She’d begged Rhys to reconsider, to perhaps help them stage a more physical encounter that didn’t rely on his own suffering. But he’d denied any plan but the one he’d proposed, insisting it would cause him more anguish to but Feyre and Azriel in harm's way.

So they waited the long, agonizing hours until she felt a delicate pull at her chest. She’s asleep, Rhys called. Be on your guard.

He sent her directions to Amarantha’s bedchambers. There were guards outside, but Feyre and Azriel winnowed past them, cloaked in night and shadow.

Amarantha’s bedchambers were huge. Feyre had never been inside them before, but she was unsurprised to see they provided any luxury a High Queen could wish for.

Atop a large bed of red, silken sheets, lay her mate and Amarantha, both stark naked. The smell of sex clung to the air, Rhysand and Amarantha’s scents intertwined. Feyre thought she might be sick.

Even more sickening was the sight before her, of Amarantha’s arms restrained to the headboard in cloth. A clever way for Rhys to restrain her under the guise of sex, but horrifying nonetheless, to see the proof of what they’d been up to. The female was fast asleep, so convinced of her authority that she could fall asleep tied-up and not feel vulnerable doing so. How satisfying, Feyre thought, that such arrogance would be her downfall.

Feyre warded the room, putting up a shield of darkness so that no sound would break through to alert the guards. Rhys watched their approach warily from where he perched beside Amarantha, so still Feyre was convinced he held his breath.

He wouldn’t risk moving to wake her up, which terrified Feyre. Should something go wrong, her mate would be susceptible to Amarantha’s wrath. Naked, vulnerable, and completely under her control. It was such a dangerous game they were playing.

The room was as quiet and still as the bewitching hours of the night, their footsteps silent as they picked across the room. Azriel held the ash dagger. If Rhys could not kill Amarantha, his brother wanted to do it on his behalf. Meanwhile, Feyre summoned tendrils of night that carefully wrapped around Amarantha’s legs, slithering up her body like a snake, ready to constrict and restrain.

The female stirred in her sleep, perhaps feeling the ghostlike touch of Feyre’s magic. But she did not wake. Not as Azriel raised the dagger over her chest, and not as he plunged it down.

Amarantha’s eyes shot open as the dagger pierced her chest. She let out a shriek of agony and ire, moving to claw at her attacker. She raged against the restraints, spewing obscenities until they died at her lips as the blade sunk into her heart.

Rhysand’s chest was heaving as he watched the female still, then slump. He looked from her dead body, to Azriel and Feyre.

Feyre’s heart sank as she watched her mate process that it was truly over. There wasn’t a trace of elation in his eyes at being liberated, but she understood why. Rhys would finally be returning home, but as a much different man than the one he had been. He’d survived, but not unscathed, and he’d need time to process this.

Feyre came to him, reached towards her mate with the hand that bore his mother’s ring. Rhys looked to it, then up to her. His eyes were clouded with sorrow, with a melancholy she could only hope to chip away at in time. But she could see stirring beneath it was a breath of hope, perhaps the first he’d allowed himself in a long time.

“Let’s go home, Rhys,” she said gently.

Slowly, Rhysand nodded, moving to grasp her hand. She felt him jolt at the touch and, as she glanced at him questioningly, she saw his lips part in wonder.

I suppose you weren’t lying about being my mate, he whispered, the words a sensual brush in her mind. Thank you for coming to rescue me, High Lady.

Feyre grasped onto Azriel, and together the three of them stepped into darkness.

Then, they were above the House of Wind, tumbling through the night sky. Feyre unfurled her wings before Rhys could move to catch them, worried that her mate would struggle after 50 years without flight.

Both males stared in astonishment at the sight. Rhysand’s eyes danced in awe as Feyre, albeit clumsily, carried them to the training ring on the roof.

Rhys snapped his own wings open as they landed. Feyre watched him tilt his head back in rapture as he felt the wind against his wings for the first time in decades. Then he opened his eyes, his expression shifting to reverence as he beheld the night sky.

“I was beginning to think I’d never see it again,” he whispered, his voice a heartbreaking blend of exaltation and disbelief. “And for this gift… for my salvation to be courtesy of my mate and of my brother… I’m a bit overwhelmed,” he admitted sheepishly.

Feyre hesitated. If this was the Rhysand from before, the one to which she was mated and married, she would come to comfort him. But this version of Rhys had only just been freed from enslavement, and she didn’t know what he needed.

As though sensing her hesitation, Rhys cast his eyes back to the sky. “I know they’re all waiting for me downstairs, but I’d like a little bit of time with the stars. Will you let them know, Az?”

Azriel nodded, though he seemed conflicted. His reunion with his brother was perhaps not as merry as the male had expected. But right now, she knew the Inner Circle would hardly deny Rhys anything. Perhaps for a long while yet. So Azriel headed downstairs to inform their friends, who were sure to be anxiously awaiting their arrival.

Rhysand regarded Feyre carefully once the two of them were alone. “Mate and High Lady,” he mused. “You seem to wear many hats.”

“You forgot ‘wife’,” Feyre said lightly.

“Yes, and ‘Salvation’, ‘Queen Killer’, ‘Most Beautiful Female in Prythian’, it seems there’s many things I could call you. Could we start with your name, perchance?”

Feyre was shocked. She’d assumed he’d taken such information out of her mind earlier, but it seems he’d been even more respectful than she’d expected.

“Feyre,” she answered. “My name is Feyre.”

He looked wonderstruck. “Feyre,” he repeated, testing the name on his lips. A gentle smile curled at the corners of his mouth, the first she’d seen from him yet. He extended his hand towards her. “Would you like to watch the stars with me, Feyre?”

It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. Her hand found his with all the casual grace of a dancer, as if it were a routine they’d been perfecting their whole lives. Their fingers interlocked and as one, they stared up at the dazzling night sky.

This reality wasn’t perfect, Feyre thought. This Rhys was different from her own, and he still had a lot of healing to do. But if she could be there for him, to help him in a ways she hadn’t before, then she would be grateful to the strange eddies of the Cauldron for bringing her here. For allowing her to end his torment early. For giving them this extra time.

She watched a shooting star dart across the sky and smiled as it passed. There was nothing she could wish for except that her mate find peace in all that he’d endured the last half century.

His deep, velvety voice cut through the silence. “Do you often wish on stars, Feyre?”

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He was watching her with a heart-wrenching wistfulness.

“Only when I have a wish worthy of the stars.”

“And do you?”

Feyre looked to the northernmost star, which shined brightest in the sky. “I wished for a light in the darkness,” she told him. “I don’t think the stars would ever begrudge such a wish.”

Rhysand nodded solemnly. “It’s true that they would be begrudging themselves in doing so. But I see no need for you to wish for such a thing.”

Feyre looked to him. He was still watching her, but something in him had shifted. He was smiling at her gently, that lingering sadness already receding. “Why’s that?” she asked cautiously.

That gentle smile widened, showing off his brilliant teeth. “Why, Feyre, to find such a thing, all you’d need to do is look in a mirror.”

#prompt fill #anon request #Feysand #Feysand fic #Inner Circle #Feysand fluff because I can't help myself #mentions of rape #Mentions of SA #acotar #acotar fic #time travel

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mintseesaw · 4 years ago

Text

love like that

Prompt: You fainted during your shift in the hospital. And Dr. Min, whom your colleagues have no clue of your relationship with, has to be the one to check up on you. Pairing: doctor!yoongi x doctor!reader Genre: fluff, fluff, lots of fluff, established relationship au, drabble Word count: 1.5k rating: pg-13 Warnings: reader’s disregard of own’s health, imposing of punishment, literal spoon feeding if it makes you cringe lol a/n: something light before I update aurora ;) wrote this in honor of my fave yoongi look so far which is pretty obv on the banner haha

As you come back to consciousness, your eyes flutter open, only to shut them close at the blinding hospital light pointed directly at your line of vision. The pristine white walls illuminating the ambience of the sickly familiar room only gave you a dizzy spell.

Still dazed with the remnants of being unconscious, you couldn’t seem to find the last bit of your memory and why you’re lying in a bed inside a familiar facility instead of being the one to check the patients up, yourself. With your eyes closed, you heard a familiar voice spoke, breaking the oddly cold silence, “You okay?” “Why am I here?” You manage to ask with your desert dry throat and a pounding head.

“You fainted.” Yoongi responds briefly. Right, you did! When and where did it happen, again?

”That doesn’t mean I have to be here. How long was I out?” “About 6-7 hours. Your blood pressure dropped, so is your blood sugar. You’re sleep deprived and you haven’t been eating?” He answers in his usual thickly low, professional tone. If you only cared to listen closely, you’d notice he sounded like a father scolding his child for skipping proper meals over sweet treats, than a caring boyfriend that he actually is. You also fail to see the way his forehead creases, him sporting a cute pout while he scolds you with his deadly, monotonous tone.

The nurse, who is on the other side of the bed currently administering a vial medication through your IV, didn’t miss the coldness seeping through Dr. Min’s voice as her thumb slowly pushes through the end of the syringe.

However, the proximity between the two doctors picques her curiosity. The terror senior cardiologist and the junior resident are physically too close to only be labeled as mere colleagues. On your second attempt, you squinted your hypersensitive eyes. Blurry sight steadily adjusts to the familiar figure. As your vision becomes clearer, you finally get to see your boyfriend, Dr. Min, clad in his usual knee length white coat. The undone buttons of the white fabric lets you have a glimpse of his inner dress shirt and the black pair of slacks his lean legs adorned.

Your eyes remain glued on him, not minding the faint sting of the thick liquid as it seeps through your veins from the back of your right hand. The intimidating, gorgeous doctor that you luckily call your boyfriend returns the same longing gaze.

Prior to your fainting spell, the last you’ve properly seen and talked him was two days ago, when he had arrived at the hospital which was only an hour left of your shift.

“I didn’t notice, I guess I was just... occupied?”

Unexpectedly, he flicks your forehead which stung more than the medicine flowing through your veins. “Idiot, you almost got yourself killed.”

“Yoongi!” You whimper in protest.

Yoongi crouches his upper body, dipping his head low to soothe the now reddish area on your forehead with the supple pair of his lips.

He would not want to go through that frightening moment, again. He had seen the worst of the worsts, but having to experience the same thing that his previous patients’ families had endured turns out to be his own nightmare.

Yoongi received a call from a junior resident several hours ago. Ironically, your colleague chose to call Dr. Min out of all the cardiologists in the hospital. The junior resident assumed your case isn’t just a mere fainting spell of fatigue.

He rushed his way to the hospital, furiously driving his car like a maniac. How could he not? When your colleague suggested to place you in ICU if your blood pressure continued to drop. With you remaining unconscious, medications and supplemental fluids had to be administered through your IV to help normalize your vital signs. Fortunately, your body has responded with the medications. “You should eat before I leave.” He murmurs, peppering your skin with his warm breaths.

You didn’t respond, having other intentions in your mind. Lightly tilting your head up, you hover his parted lips. From the looks of it, you two seemingly forgot you have other company inside the room. At the unexpected sweet display of affection, the nurse quietly gaped as you both became too outworldly with each other.

“Only if you’ll eat with me.” You propose. Then Yoongi draws back, pulling the retractable board up over the bed as a makeshift table. Swiftly, he places the tray there which carries the hospital prepped meal that includes porridge, soup and side dishes.

The flustered nurse cleared her throat, silently excusing herself to give privacy to the newly discovered love birds.

Yoongi darts his eyes to the female staff who refused to meet his gaze. Adjusting his heavily graded specs on the bridge of his nose, he takes the chair beside the hospital bed.

Having no sense of will to consume food, you unwillingly pull yourself up. Yoongi then hands you a water bottle, which you took in his hand and eagerly chugged down half of its content in no time. But then the unappetizing food in front of you makes you scrunch up your nose in disgust.

Peaking on your left to look for alternative food that is a little appetizing than the ones Yoongi served, you found nothing else. Other than his daily dose of caffeine. You had enough of it for the day, but you‘d rather have another one or anything else other than that meal.

“Can I have some of that?” “What,” Yoongi pauses, only to follow where your gaze has been directed. When he realizes what you were referring to, he sternly objects, “No, not until you’ve completely recovered.”

Pouting in defeat, you silently huffed, crossing your arms against your chest. You really have no full intent of eating the food, but when you meet Yoongi‘s warning peer, you’re forced to mimic his movement as he obtains a spoon.

Holding the silverware between your fingers, you silently watch him scoop a generous portion of porridge in his spoon, thinking he would eat the porridge himself. But he held it forward, near your lips. The slight arching of his eyebrow made you slowly part your own lips, as if he has this mythical power over your body.

I thought I asked him to eat with me? And not make me eat?! You silently complain.

Yoongi didn’t stop pestering you with the porridge, almost force feeding you with his deadly stare. Something that you didn’t want to mess with ever again. However, on the sixth spoon, you finally had the courage to push his arm away, not liking the way it is making your stomach oddly churns.

“You barely touched your soup.” He proceeds to scold you, coaxing you with another spoonful of porridge.

Whining, you shook your head. “No more,” Then you lean your back against the headboard to increase the proximity in between. “Can you release me now? I have to attend to my patients. What about the meeting with my team? Oh God, Professor Kim—”

“You are my patient, baby. You need to be closely monitored until tomorrow. Don’t worry about your shift for now, your superiors will understand.” “But do I have to be here alone for the next 24 hours?” You gloomily asked, sulking. Realizing there’s no way for him to stay with you here considering he has one of most hectic schedules among the senior residents. He chuckles softly, reaching out to smoothen your protruded lips with his thumb. Gone is the terror doctor from the cardiology department.

“I’m afraid so. I would stay here with you if I could. However, I have an operation in about fours hours’ time. But you’ll go home with me tomorrow so I can watch you over.” “Really?” Your eyes instantly light up, loving the idea of you and him sharing an apartment. You considered the thought before, however, you think it’s too soon for you two to live together. And you understand that Yoongi strangely craves the isolation, so you have not brought up the matter. Unless he asks you to. Technically, you’ll only stay with him for a couple of days.

Still, this is a progress. “Hmm. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He whispers, taking in the elation dancing in your eyes. He cups your cheek, thumb rubbing indefinite paths to the expanse of the soft muscle. “Which reminds me, you won’t be spared with forgiveness this time.”

“W-What?” “Ten,” emphasizing his next word with a slap on the side of your scrub suit clad hip before continuing, “for each round. You like being punished, do you not my love?” You yelp, eyes rounding from shock. “I will make sure you’ll be sore enough, you won’t be able to come to work for a week, baby.” He promises, his orbs growing dark as his mind starts to reel with lewd fantasies of you. His warning alone had you instantly weak in your knees, the familiar heat rapidly spreading in your stomach, and all you could do is fist his white coat, groaning achingly in need.

Yoongi smirks, knowing full well what the sound means, then invades your mouth in a searing kiss.

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thinking1bee · 4 years ago

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When it Reigns Part 6

Requested by Anonymous

Pairings: Kara Danvers x Reader

Tags: Angst, Kryptonian!Reader, Parent!Reader, Parent!Kara, Estranged Parent, Graphic Depictions of Injuries, Blood, Humor, Bad Dreams, Memory Loss

Everything Taglist: @sammy90682 @nobody13 @owloftheshadows @captain-josslett @camslightstories @worldovart @finleyfray @acertainredhead @sammm9068 @reginassecretlover

You followed Elizabeth outside of her home and into the barn.

“Where are you taking…”

Your question died on your lips as soon as you voiced it. Inside of the wooden structure was a spaceship, dusty and forgotten in the hay, and Elizabeth went around to turn on more lights so that you could see it better.

“You asked about your birth mom. I lied. I didn’t adopt you,” she explained. “I found you in this. One day, this crashed a mile from where we are now and when I looked inside, I found you, a giggling baby.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, a million questions going through your mind at a mile a minute. “I don’t understand,” you finally said.

“I didn’t either. I didn’t know where you were from or who left you in this thing, or even why. When I saw you, you looked so helpless that I took you home.”

You stared at her with your mouth agape. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“I swore that I would tell you when you turned 18.”

And then that never happened because she got kicked you out. You pressed your fingers against your temples to assuage the growing headache.

“I thought that maybe, you would be better off on your own not knowing.”

“That I’m an alien???” you demanded.

“Y/n, all I wanted was for you to have a normal life.”

You couldn’t stop the scoff or the roll of your eyes. She’d flip out if she knew that you were married to one, and thanks to her, this woman that dared to call herself a mother, your life had been anything but normal.

You eyed the space pod, your hand reaching out tentatively to touch the metal, and like the ship recognized you, it powered up, the engine whirring to life as the ship lit up. You gasped in shock as you tried to absorb what was happening. You kept touching it as you circled around it, feeling the contours of the edges and bends. Then you watched as a latch of some kind opened. Out of it came some sort of crystalline rod. You approached it and reached out to touch it. When you did, it too, lit up, and after wiggling it from side to side, it disconnected from the pedestal it was seated on. You twisted and turned it in your hands, watching as a bright light flashed on and off inside of it. It was a beacon, a map that would tell you where to go next.

You nodded in determination as your grip tightened around it. You knew what you had to do next. Elizabeth sighed and you looked at her.

“Be careful,” she whispered to you. All you could do was nod. In all the years that you knew her, this was the most helpful she had been. A part of you wanted to say thank you but…you didn’t want her to think that you owed her now. Besides you were doing just fine without her and as far as you were concerned, it was going to stay that way. You turned towards your car and left her there to live all alone.

***

It wasn’t too long before you found yourself in the middle of nowhere. Literally, the middle of nowhere. The beacon brought you to the middle of the desert, and as you neared your destination, the slow flashing inside the beacon turned into blinking. That had to mean that you were getting closer, right?

You were walking, the hot sun beating down on you and you could have killed for water. You wiped the sweat from your eyes and cursed the sun. It was way too hot for this.

Suddenly, the ground started to shake. Your immediate thought was an earthquake, after all those were common in California, but the idea was immediately dashed the moment rocks started to grow from the ground. In the shape of monoliths, rocks started to sprout in varying directions, cross crossing and zigzagging on top of each other until it formed a structure. You watched, with your mouth hanging open, as you stared at the towering fortress. It was intimidating and it radiated mysteriousness and power.

You took a deep breath, and with trepidation, walked inside. The inside was dark and dank, despite having just grown right before your eyes. You walked around, looking at everything, and noticed a strange insignia carved into the base of the rock. You continued to look, observing the ominous looking place when you saw a particularly flat slab of rock with a hole in it. You looked at the beacon in your hands and then at the hole, noticing that the hole had the same shape as the beacon. Coincidence? You approached the slab and fit the beacon inside of the available opening until you heard a click. The moment it happened, the room lit up and right in front of you, a figure appeared. You stared at it, a sense of familiarity and fear filling you as you both recognized the figure and backed away from it.

“You’ve come. I imagine that you have questions and I have answers.”

“I know you, you whispered. “Ive seen you in my dreams. What are you?”

You didn’t expect an answer. The figured never talked, and you wondered why you were talking to it now, but when the figure removed the hood of its cloak to reveal its face, you gasped.

“I am science. I am a friend.”

Okay? Well, she finally said something to you. This was very real. This was not in your head. All of this was happening, and it was happening so fast.

“Where am I?”

“This is the Fortress of Sanctuary, a building made from a piece of your dying planet. A piece of Krypton.”

Your eyes widened. “Krypton? Oh my god, my daughter was right. She said that I had powers a-and I didn’t want to believe it. I’m like Supergirl.”

“You are so much more than that,” the woman said.

“Then who am I?” you asked.

“You are a culmination of centuries of work, a being designed for one purpose: to execute justice.”

“So, I’m a hero?” you asked, clarifying that you heard her right.

“They will not call you that. They will call you WorldKiller. They will try to contain your power, but they will fail. You will show no mercy to those who oppose you. Your justice will burn the world of man.”

Horror filled you as she said her words, your eyes widening as she spoke with nonchalance. She made it seem like you two were discussing the weather over a cup of coffee, but no. She just told you that you were going to burn the world to the ground! Of course, you were going to have some choice words for that.

“No, no!” you blurted. “I’m not a Worldkiller. I have a life, a daughter, a wife! I have a company to run, I ave to be there for my family! I’m a good person”

The woman frowned. “Your offspring, among other things, was an unfortunate error.”

You whipped your head around to look at her, your fear immediately morphing to anger.

“Your powers were supposed to manifest when you came of age, but she delayed the realization of your destiny.”

“Angel is not an error!” you snapped.

“You will soon forget her,” she continued saying. “You will forget all mortal trappings.”

Forget Angel? Forget Kara? No! That couldn’t happen. They were the reason you kept going. Without them, who were you? What were you?

“No this can’t be right?” you whispered in fear. You ran your hands through your hair as you swallowed thickly.

The woman smiled, her dark eyes radiating pure evil, and you saw it. You could see that this woman had a whole agenda planned out and somehow, you were at the epicenter of it. Coming here was a mistake. Elizabeth was right. You were better off not knowing anything about yourself.

“It is time for you to emerge,” she said to you. “It’s time for you to Reign.”

The moment she said those words, something happened to you. A shrieking noise, one loud and powerful, assaulted your ears. It grew louder and louder, the noise getting more and more deafening until it was all encompassing, until it was all you could hear. You grunted and gasped as you covered your ears, but it didn’t work. It was like the horrendous sound was coming from inside of you. A horrible foreign warmth settled over you brain like a blanket. Something was trying to take you over.

“No!” you screamed. “NO!”

But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much you fought, you were losing this battle. You slapped repeatedly at your head, gripping it with shaking hands as you willed the noise to go away, but it didn’t. Slowly your world faded to black, and all you remembered was Kara and Angel, and how you couldn’t bare the thought of forgetting about them.

***

When you stood up again, the noise was gone, and you faced the mysterious woman as your eyes glowed a scarlet red. You were no longer Y/n Danvers, but an instrument of destruction designed to carry out and fulfill your destiny. You were Reign and you were ready.

“I have awoken,” you whispered in Kryptonian.

Part 7

#supergirl fanfic #kara danvers x reader #reader insert #angst #injuries #blood #humor #bad dreams #memory loss #estranged parent

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orionwhispers · 4 years ago

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Tear In My Heart // Alfie Solomons

(A/N - hehe im back. im working on a bucky oneshot and a tommy series but both of them are super long and i wanted to take a little breather. this was supposed to be a drabble but you know me... ive got a few more ideas for shorter imagines like this with tommy and alf, requests are open! hope you enjoy. pls reblog and comment. love u see u soon xoxxo - also this is like the smuttiest thing ive written even though its not explicit but wow who am i)

warnings: violence, mention of fights and blood, protective alfie, heavily implied smut, lots of terrible language.

You knew something was wrong when Ollie practically crashed through the door. He took off part of the frame and made the hinges tear from the wood, nails and screws clattering onto the ground. The afternoon had been wonderful, perhaps too wonderful, and as always, real life found a way to shatter your rose tinted glasses.

It was starting to fall into autumn, the air chilly but comfortable, the streets slick with rain and the leaves turning into a sweet, buttery caramel all around you. The house was silent save for the birds singing in the trees and the rattling whip of the wind against your windows. The quiet was a perk of having house out in the country, far away from anything and anyone. Just the way he liked it.

Because to him, all he needed was his girl.

Well, and his dog.

The sun had barely risen when you got up - much to your husbands protests. You felt him stirring from beside you, a solid wall of warmth as he snaked his arms around your waist and pressed sleepy, half drunk kisses onto your spine. You laughed tiredly as his hands curled over everything they could reach, long calloused fingers roaming against your bare skin. He grumbled as you swung your legs from under the duvet and onto the floor, throwing on his white cotton shirt and letting it fall to your knees, trying to ignore the threats he was mumbling about what he was going to do to your boss for making you come in so early.

He made one last feeble attempt to grab you, exhaustion clouding his brain so he could do no more than swipe at the top of your thigh, making you laugh at his wandering hands.

“Stay.” He said, voice raspy and muffled by his pillow.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Alf.” You sighed playfully, grabbing your strawberry slip dress and beaded heels and fur coat, darting into the bathroom to wash up and change. Through the noise of the running water you could hear the bed springs creak as he shifted, the entire frame groaning almost as much as him. Cyril watched you with his big chestnut eyes from the doorway as you fluffed up your hair and patted on coffee coloured lipstick, pinching the apples of your cheeks for a little flush.

You rummaged through your handbag as you made your way to the bedroom door, lost in your thoughts until you heard him speak, all low and gravelly and sending shivers up your spine.

“Oi. C’mere you.”

You rolled your eyes but walked into his outstretched arms, his body completely slumped and covered in thick duvets and pillows, just his tattooed skin and coarse, tousled hair poking out from underneath. He pulled you close into him, smelling like green apples and rum and sex and sea salt, like home. He mumbled something that you couldn’t quite make out, the sun starting to shine through the cracks in the curtains and as you started to get up he tugged you in tighter, placing messy, sloppy kisses down your throat and onto your collarbones.

You smacked his shoulder, grabbing his jaw and holding it still, placing a kiss on his lips, feeling him smile against your mouth.

“Bye, my love.”

“Hmph.”

You made it halfway down the hall before you heard: “Fred is driving you. Don’t even bloody think about walking alone at this time.” Followed by grunts and groans and finally deep, throaty snores.

———————————————————-

You accompanied your boss to a few meetings, taking notes and helping him check stock. After a few hours filled with cinnamon lattes and finger cramps and ink stains, he took you aside at the office and gave you the rest of the day off. You were a little suspicious, and had a feeling his good deed might have had something to do with your slightly intimidating husband, but you accepted it nonetheless and headed to Camden after lunch.

The air was brisk and you pulled your scarf tighter around your throat, dodging puddles and fat droplets of rain as they dropped from the trees. You stopped off at a little cafe on your side of town, buying turkey sandwiches, a garden salad and a platter of seasonal fruit, ignoring the fried sugar donuts and sausage rolls and thick, crispy cuts of bacon. A routine check up to the doctor had lead to Alfie being told that perhaps a healthier lifestyle would benefit some of his ailments, so despite his grumbling and childish ways you were doing your best to make sure he was eating his five a day - no matter how much he protested.

But at the last second you grabbed a cherry jam donut. His favourite.

The rain had become torrential by the time you left, the clouds morphing into a block of ashen, sooty grey, teetering on black. Once upon a time the impending storm would have made you feel nervous, the rattling trees and flashes of lightning had been the reason for many sleepless nights when you were a child, but now you looked forward to it.

Because now it meant something different. You, Alfie and Cyril curled up in bed, the fire roaring and flickering a brilliant orange gold. Your husbands arms tight around you, squeezing softly every time there was a clap of thunder, his kisses warm and protective across your throat, knowing that he’d never let anything hurt you. Drinking tea spiked with rum and playing cards, listening to the rain against the windows, feeling the white burst of lighting every time it struck the sky. Falling asleep next to each other, Alfie always waiting for you to doze off first, unable to sleep unless he knew you were alright.

You had once hated storms, and now you wished for them.

Your umbrella was totally battered by the time you got to the bakery. The bottom of your dress was damp from puddles and your shoes were on their last legs, the satin ruined and black with mud, but you didn’t care, walking through the side entrance with a smile bigger than the moon. A few of the old boys saw you instantly, straightening up and grinning at you, welcoming you with whisky soaked aprons and calloused hands. Back when you and Alfie started dating he had all but forbidden his staff from looking, talking, or even thinking about you, but over the years you had formed a close relationship with his workers - something about your warmth and light easing up the darkness. At first Alfie huffed and puffed about it a little, but he couldn’t exactly blame his men for loving you - he was a perfect example of how you brought a strong man to his knees after all.

“Is he upstairs?” You asked George, one of the distillers. As soon as he nodded you left, your heels clicking against the cool basement flooring. You didn’t bother knocking as you approached the big, intimidating door to his office, instead just grabbing the brass lion head knob and twisting it, hearing the hinges whine in protest.

“What the fuck?” His voice was as deep and rumbling as a low tide, his tone so dark and sharp that it might have scared you, if you didn’t know him as the man who fed the ducks fresh bread at the park and cuddled Cyril when the vets had to give him an injection. “How many fucking times do I have to ask you lot to fucking knock. I mean it’s a - ”

He stopped short when he saw you, eyes going wide and lips twitching upwards just a little. He slipped into business mode whenever he sat at the leather chair behind his desk, but you always managed to chip away at his foundation.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” You laughed, walking around his desk to see him, his legs naturally opening to let you stand in between them, his eyes following every curve and line of your face, settling on the natural rosebud flush of your lips.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He mused, ring clad fingers darting around your waist and pulling you in. He toyed with the buttons on your dress and the jewellery around your neck, his fingers rough and large and as hot as a fire. His day had been shitty so far, but seeing the sparkle in your eyes and the loose curl of your hair had made everything much, much better.

“Hmm.” You said, leaning into his touch, batting away his hand as it slipped somewhere a little too low. “Marcus gave me the afternoon of so I thought I would come and surprise you.”

He blinked up at you, all wistful and love drunk and making your knees turn into blackcurrant jelly. “Did you now?”

“Yep.” You smiled, brushing your nose against his before pulling back and teasingly shaking the paper bag of baked goods in your hand. “And I bought gifts.”

“Yeah. Yeah. In a minute.” He barely registered them, instead dragging you into him, pressing kisses to your lips and letting you wash away any thoughts from his brain, not stopping until he was totally, completely drowning in you.

——————————————————-

That was how you ended up cross legged on the sofa, devouring your new novel and sipping on the rose and oolong tea Alfie kept in the cupboard for when you visited the factory. You could hear the rain pattering down the windows around you, mixed with the scratch of Alfie’s fountain pen and the sound of him rifling through his papers. It was fun to watch him as well as listen to him, the way his eyebrows raised when he read something he didn’t like, the twitch of his nose and the way that he ran his fingers through the coarse hair of his beard, moulding it to a peak at the bottom of his chin.

He watched you as well. When you got so into your book that your brows furrowed and your nose wrinkled. The way your hair was loose and wild, your stockings a soft pink under the stormy sky, your eyes wide and frantic, desperate to read as much as you could. He smiled at the way your leg bounced, how you tried to pick the stems from your strawberries with one hand but then accidentally squished them, the juice running down your wrist. He especially liked the way you were using his winter coat as a blanket, drowning in the fabric like a child, the collar snug around your chin.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You heard Ollie before you saw him, the crash of his laced black boots thundering up the stairs, the way that he collided with the door rather than opening it first. You and Alfie stood up at the same time, his eyes immediately darting to you, gesturing for you to get behind him.

“Eric’s here.” Was all the boy said, and you watched the colour drain from Alfie’s face.

“Eric?” You said, “Eric Martin?”

Your question lingered in the air as the two men walked around one another, gesturing wildly and talking under their breath; Alfie completely frantic and flustered. You had only heard of Alfie’s new business partner in passing, the two of them had spent the better part of a year talking through agreements and shipments and trying to manoeuvre a deal where the two of them could co exist happily - Alfie’s rum and Eric’s stolen goods sharing a boat so that the city checks would be easier. Alfie had never been particularly quite when it came to business. He liked to include you and get your opinion on things, he trusted you most of all anyway, but he had been secretive when it came to Eric.

You had heard through Ollie and rumours at the club and whispers in the factory that this “Eric” was a man not to be trifled with. Apparently he was unpredictable and violent, and he belonged to one of the major crime gangs in Cambridge. None of this scared you though, many people thought the exact same of the man you shared your bed with, and you knew a side of him that nobody else saw. The gossip was barbed and cruel though. They said he was conniving and underhanded, and that his last two wives had been admitted to hospital with broken and fractured bones.

So Alfie tried cutting him out as much as he could, never wanting to say his name or talk about him in the safety of his home, not with you around. Your home was his solace, and he wouldn’t taint his life with you in blood red - you were too important. You never thought much of it, but watching his reaction, his sudden overprotectiveness and stern frown and rattled demeanour, made you just a little bit frightened.

“What the fuck does he want?” Alfie snapped, pulling your coat over your shoulders frantically and starting to button it up, then helping you tug on your boots and lace them.

“He’s pissed about the Brighton shipment, he says his liquor didn’t get there on time.”

“Stupid fucking...” Alfie’s voice trailed off like smoke, something downstairs on the factory floor clattering loudly followed by distinct, angry shouts. “We told him it was too risky with the police there, he should have fucking listened. We were due a meeting next week, tell him to fuck off and come back then.”

“He won’t listen.”

“Make him.”

“I...” He started, but Alfie cut him off again, standing next to you and taking your face in his large, calloused hands.

“Right, pet. Stay here for a little bit, and when it clears up, Ollie will take you out the back, alright?”

“Alfie...” You started to protest, before exhaling and sighing as he turned to his protégée.

“You got that, Ol? Nothing is to happen to her.”

You were getting a little hot with being ordered around, but the visible anxiety swimming across their faces like the midnight sea was enough for you to close your mouth. Instead of agreeing with his boss, Ollie shook his head, sucking on his lower lip as he tried to think of a way to convey the sincerity of the situation.

“He’s really angry, Alfie. You need to go down, now. Before he decides to come up.”

“Yeah, alright.”

Your fingers clenched, and you darted out to tug on the edge of his sleeve before he left.“Alfie. Please be careful.”

There was a smog of anxiety in your stomach and warning signs ringing like alarms in your mind as he pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his lips brushing your hairline. You chewed on the edge of your lip as he left, and you wondered how your blissful afternoon had turned into this: your body shaking with nerves as your husband descended down the stairs and into the belly of the beast.

Ollie reached out and touched your shoulder, trying to help you feel calm but his face was the colour of tepid dishwater, paling by the second.

“He’ll be fine.”

You crossed all of your fingers and toes.

———————————————————————

About twenty minutes passed, and the shouting had gone from ear piercingly loud to a low hum, which you found oddly comforting despite everything. You watched as Ollie fiddled with his pocket watch, the two of you waiting until it was safe to head downstairs.After a moment you heard the sound of the giant metal door opening, the one right at the front where the workers came in and the bakery goods were delivered, a clear indication from Alfie that Eric was leaving.

Ollie leapt up and smiled faintly at you, edging you towards the door as you swung your handbag across your chest. You scoffed a little as you walked, turning to face him.

“If Eric is gone, why can’t I stay?”

Ollie merely rolled his eyes, his hand migrating to your lower back as he all but pushed you forward. You might have been able to get away with ignoring Alfie’s orders, but he certainly wouldn’t. “You know Alfie won’t want you here after that. There’s no use fighting him about it, he’ll want you back at home.”

You sighed but conceded, allowing yourself to be guided down the staircase. At least at home you could distract yourself and have Cyril with you, his big treacle eyes were the perfect remedy to a bad day.

You were right beside the back door and ready to leave when you heard a voice cracking like thunder from behind you, something as sharp as a knife and as loud as a church bell. You both froze instantly, every nerve in your body feathering, your heart aching to know that Alfie was alright.

“You little fucking liar.” Cut around the room like barbed wire. “How long were you planning on hiding this shipment from me?” There was another crash, and you could hear liquid trickling and dribbling into a puddle, followed by the sweet, sour smell of alcohol.

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re on about mate.” It was Alfie speaking now, his voice lowered to a dangerous octave, and you could picture the lightning like anger on his face. “Calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down? You’ve been sending things off without my knowledge!”

“I said. Fucking calm down.” The sound of a hand slamming down on wood, as fierce as a slap on the face. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

There was another scuffle: rapid footsteps on the floor, the crack of knuckles and the smell of ash. A couple of the boys darted in from the other room, their shirts untucked and hands turning red. You watched them curiously, stepping forward on unsteady heels to try and pinpoint the commotion. You felt Ollie's hand reach for you but you leapt out of his grasp, at the same time a body flew from the next room and landed in a heap next to barrels of aged rum and whisky, the wood heaving from the strain.

You glanced at the man on the floor, his body oddly contorted, his bald head glistening with sweat and his body reeking of putrid alcohol and cigarettes. This was obviously Eric. Your eyes widened in disgust at the drunk, violent man taking swings at whoever he could, wanting nothing more than to get away from him. You saw Alfie emerge from the shadows, his gaze flitting straight to you, his hands swollen and his face flushed with visible anger at the man sprawled on the ground.

Before you could retreat, Eric’s wide, black eyes landed on you, practically bulging out of his head with adrenaline and anger and excitement. “ You know, Alfie.” He asked through bubbles of saliva, scrambling to his feet as best he could, lunging for you. You saw Alfie and a few of his best men move forward, hands ready like cocked guns to strike if they needed to. Eric ignored them, wanting to pack as many fatal blows in whilst he had the chance. “Everybody at the club talks about your little whore of a wife, Solomon’s.”

The room fell deadly silent. His words didn’t affect you at all, but you felt a pool of dread settle in your gut and you stepped backwards, warning him with your eyes. He was at the back of the room, but you could still feel the anger vibrating from your husband, and you heard him smack his lips as he tried to calm himself down.

Eric ignored your alarmed glare, spitting onto the concrete and looking you up and down with pure disgust and shameless lust. “You know that people only do business with you to get to her?”

“Don’t. You. Fuck - ” Alfie’s boots thundered like a stampede, his voice as dark and raspy as midnight, his words sharpened like butchers knives.

“Maybe I’ll have a go at her. Maybe it’ll teach you a little respect. If I have a go at that smug little whore and slap her around a little and....”

He didn’t finish his sentence, Alfie’s cane smashing against the side of Eric’s head with enough momentum to send his teeth flying, small milky white canines lying a few feet in front of you in a pool of sticky blood. He made some kind of noise from on the floor, his hands coming up to protect what was left of his face, his polished shoes desperately trying to grip onto something to help him up. There was a second hit. And then a third. Each accompanied by ear splitting cries, and the sound of flesh against stone.

“Don’t you ever, ever, speak about my wife like that again.” You could just about make out Alfie from the darkness, his silhouette mighty and terrifying, leaning over the shattered body on the floor, filled with a hatred that seemed to overpower him.

“I - ” Eric tried to speak but only blood pooled from his mouth, his body weakened and damaged from the attack. He tried to cover himself with his hands but failed, another ear piercing crack echoing around the room.

You lunged forward, wanting to stop your husband before he went too far. “Alfie! Stop! You’re going to kill him!”

He blinked up at you, his pupils swallowed by black. His gaze lowered from you onto the wailing man on the ground, his words playing on a loop in his brain, digging their nails in every time the record restarted.

He had said those evil things about you.

He glanced at Ollie, finally opening his mouth to speak. “Take her home.”

You struggled in Ollie’s grip, desperate to see your husband and knock some sense into him. Your heart hung heavy in your chest, equal parts terrified that he would either end up hurt or in a more dangerous situation than the one he was already in. You fought hard but Ollie’s hold was tighter, his fingers squeezing you tightly. He tried to be kind but forceful as he pulled you out into the alley, your heard turned back to face your husband, watching as him and the shadow on the floor faded to a dull, awful, obsidian.

—————————————-

You were certain you were going to make holes in the wood. You had been pacing back and forth the living room floor for almost an hour, and Cyril had abandoned his mission of trying to cheer you up, and instead watched you protectively and cautiously from his wicker basket beside the sofa.

You had chewed your sunshine yellow nails down to the wick, and your heart hadn’t stop thumping since you had left the warehouse. Ollie had left you to your thoughts, keeping watch outside to make sure nothing harmed you, and also that you didn’t harm somebody else.

Dealing with hysterical women wasn’t really his forte.

There had been no word from Alfie since you had left, and so you watched the teal wall phone endlessly, hoping that it would ring and you would know he was alright. You were greeted with nothing but ice cold silence, and so you resumed your pacing, biting down on the skin of your thumb until you could taste blood.

Right before you were about to lose all control and demand Ollie take you to see him, you heard the crunch of the gravel outside, and saw lemon headlights flash against the wall. Cyril’s head lifted quickly, and his tail began to thump, but your feet turned to concerted and you were unable to do anything other than wait.

You were as still as a spectre as you stood facing the door, your body prickling with anxiety and adrenaline. A car - you assumed Ollie’s - coughed and spluttered over the rocks and into the road, leaving you alone with Alfie. You heard the key in the lock, practically felt the metal ridges running over your spine as he pulled and twisted and finally came inside, the sky a gloomy, smoky grey, rain falling so harshly it was almost hail.

He was shaped so strongly, his figure so barbed and brawny and beautiful. You felt totally mortal beside a man like him, and he looked even more so like a God when you saw him under the icy white lamp light in the hall.

He was covered in blood. Soaked in it, really. It was matted in his hair and in ugly brown splotches across his once pristine shirt and under his fingernails and smeared across his boots in a shade of red you had never seen before. It was obvious he had tried to clean himself up judging from the uneven patches and water marks, but he had given up, deciding to risk everything and drive through the streets like an abattoir worker, just so he could see you as quickly as he could.

You let out some kind of noise and stepped forward, he caught you effortlessly, the way that he always would.

“Alfie.” You said, wide eyed and innocent and good, and he felt like a sinner holding something so angelic in his arms.

“I’m alright. I’m alright.”

There was blood in his beard, and a plum sided bruise turning nightshade on his upper arm. “Oh God, Alf.”

He shook his head, pulling you in and smelling the orange and cinnamon of your shampoo and the vanilla perfume on your neck and felt the softness of your hair and the curves of your body. The day had been bad. It had started so wonderfully and ended up shattered and splintered into something so awful and malevolent, and now there was nothing he wanted except you, his home.

“We need to - ” You started, but he frowned, his arms engulfing you and tugging you in. He pressed his lips to whatever flesh he could find, open mouthed and desperate, sucking and biting and aching for you.

“No. No.” He whispered into your neck, his voice so small and desperate that your heart throbbed. “I need you, my love.”

You knew what he wanted. How we got when he was like this. Touch starved. Greedy. Insatiable. How he wanted nothing else but the feel of you under him, the weight of your ribs and the feel of your body and love consuming him until nothing was left. Fuck his back and his cane, he needed to claim you and mark you and show you just how badly he needed you. He needed to find religion at the alter of your pliant, yearning body. Show you how much he loved you on the cold kitchen tiles with the rain casting grey shadows and his lips biting your own as the thunder clapped above.

————————-

The tap was still leaking.

Alfie had promised to fix it weeks ago and yet it still dribbled lukewarm water continuously, you didn’t mind for once though, the soft noise it made as it bounced into the water was somewhat calming.

His legs around you were as thick as tree trunks and covered in curly, coarse hair. His arms were tight around you, and you played with the jewels on his fingers as you both relaxed, letting the hot steam cover you both. You were cradled in front of him despite your instance that his back would hurt and it would cause more harm than good. He simply got in the water and dragged you on top of him, letting the pink bath salts do their job.

You hadn’t really spoken since you’d made love like teenagers on the kitchen floor. Afterwards, he tugged you on top of him and held you close, the two of you skin to skin, letting your pulses synch and breathing calm all whilst he stayed warm and throbbing inside of you. Needing to be joined with you for as long as he could.

Then you ran a bath and filled it with all of the expensive lotions and potions you had stockpiled. Cherry and rose and sweet mint and chocolate and lime, things that might have clashed but would easily cover the smell of sweat and sex and thick, coppery blood. The two of you sat in the water, not speaking but filled with love, despite all of the unspoken tension in the air.

You felt him shift behind you. His huge body sent water and bubbles lapping wildly over the tub edge, coating the floor in marshmallow pink. You giggled softly, and the sweet, angelic noise gave Alfie the final push to tell you everything.

“I know what you want to ask me.”

“Hmm?” You murmured, letting round, iridescent bubbles fall through the cracks in your fingers, knowing exactly what he was about to say but feigning innocence anyway.

“You want to know if I killed him.”

You didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need to, he continued anyway.

“I did.”

The bathroom fell silent again and Alfie could feel you stiffen under him. You knew from the moment he swung his cane across Eric’s head that he would be buried six feet by the end of the day, but it still hit you like a punch to the windpipe to hear the words aloud.

“Does that bother you?” He asked after a moment, the words thick and raspy, as though they had been stuck in his throat like congealed honey.

“I’m not sure.” You said finally.

It was the truth. You weren’t sure.

You knew he had killed people before. You knew what the war had made him do, what it had turned him into. You weren’t stupid, either. You knew that he often came home with dirt under his nails and blood splattered on his boots and that glazed look in his eyes that made your stomach tie itself in knots. You knew because you had been there through it all, cleaning him up and disinfecting his wounds, talking him down when the memories of gunshots and trenches got too loud, listening to him tell you all of the secrets that lingered in his mind like flies around a carcass.

But if you were being honest, you didn’t care that he had killed. You never judged Alfie or his choices, you understood the way his brain worked and how he made his decisions. Most of the men had been awful. Abusers and violent thieves and con men with dirty intentions. This was the business you had signed up for when you fell for the six foot man with questionable morals but a heart of solid gold. There was no way you were turning your back on him now.

It wasn’t murder that scared you, it was the possible repercussions that led you to sleepless nights and bloody, bitten lips. You were terrified that one day everything would catch up to him, and it would be your husband that ended up in a coffin. He was so powerful and dangerous and magnificent, but he wasn’t invincible.

You were about to say as much but he continued, the water sloshing around the two of you. “Don’t let it bother you. I’d do it again. Kill a fucking million men if I had to. If anyone talks about you like that - if they even think it. They’re gone. Bloody scum. The lot of ‘em.”

You sighed, shifting up and grabbing his hand under the water. You rubbed circles across his palm, conveying your love through actions. “I don’t want to be the reason you have blood on your hands.”

“I’m a big lad right, I can make my own decisions.”

“I know you are Alf, but you know how I worry.”

“Listen to me, right.” He muttered, the candles flickering clementine, his fingertips pressing gently onto the bare flesh of your hip. He cleared his throat, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his belly. “After the war I had nothing - and then I met you and fuck me you changed everything.”

He paused, reminiscing internally about how you met and your early dates, thinking of toffee kisses and giddy, pure love and fucking in back alleys and winter walks and finally feeling something after the war had shot everything right out of him. “And you are my wife. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

You tugged on his big toe, making him wince and playfully hit you, the air lightened just a little bit, but enough so that the two of you could breathe. “I don’t care that you killed them, Alf. I never have. But God, if something were to happen to you! What if the police start looking? What if...”

A million fucked up scenarios of your beloved in silver cuffs and a bullet in his head made you feel completely nauseous, but he held you tight, grounding you back to reality.

“I’m not going anywhere. And for the cops - they should be thanking me. Got rid of a lot of nasty criminals without them getting their hands dirty.” He pressed kisses to the back of your neck, the tip of your spine, the crook of your ear. “I promise you, my love, everything will be alright.”

The future was uncertain, but you knew that when you married him. Some days were just bad.

Clouded in darkness and tinged with blood and rust. Your relationship had always been a little unconventional, a little rough around the edges and at times, like a small wooden boat on a rough sea. But despite everything your love had been unwavering, as solid as a steel, the kind of dreamy infatuation that people longed for. For every bad day and every fight and every knot that wound itself in your belly - there was also so much good. Sleepy kisses and pillow talk and sharing the parts of yourself that no one else saw. A language without words, the safety of his arms, the home in your hips, domestic mornings and a love that could last through anything.And in that moment, with the storm starting to ease and the sky starting to lighten and his arms around you and Cyril starting to whine for his dinner downstairs...

It was enough.

Because you weren’t just the girl he would kill for. You were the girl he would live for.

#alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons headcanon #alfie solomons oneshot #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons x reader #writing #alfie solomons hc

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gaveherhearttotheliontattoo · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Wrong Winchester Turned Right (Part IX)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Female)

Word Count: 2474

Warnings: Very brief mention of self-harm

Prompt: So not really a prompt, I was on Pinterest and I looked up fanfiction prompts and this popped up from a user who I can’t find the account of… Anyways reader jumps on the back of who she thought was her best friend in public but ends up quickly realizing her mistake.

Note: Holy moly has this been a long time coming! I hope y’all enjoy it, a lot of work went into this with the assistance of a beta reader. I’m not caught up on Season 13 yet so that’s why it’s not keeping up with the show. Hope you enjoy.

(Read Part I Here, Part II Here, Part III Here, Part IV Here, Part V Here, Part VI Here, Part VII Here, Part VIII Here)

“She’s still in her room,” JoAnn had said the minute she opened the door.

“Sam, can you stay with JoAnn while I go check in with Allison?”

After Sam led JoAnn towards the living room you found your way up the stairs and to the only closed door. You knocked but heard nothing. You tried the door handle and it turned slowly in your grip. As you pushed the door open you took in the view. The sun crept through the closed blinds, offering the only form of light in the dark room. You saw a shape on the bed and realized JoAnn might have overreacted. Perhaps Allison hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep and was knocked out cold. You pulled your phone out, turning the flashlight on to get a better look around.

You walked around the room and everything seemed in place. No clothes on the floor, no crooked papers, not even a single strand of hair in the brush. You kept turning until you got near the bed but you straightened when you saw the shape was no longer laying there. You moved towards the door, intending to escape, but the lights flicked on and the shape from the bed was standing in front of you in the shape of Allison Waters. Her eyes looked hollow and dark, her skin pale. She reminded you of-

“Well, well, aren’t you pretty. She’d like you.”

“Who would?” Your skin was crawling. Allison just continued to stare at you. “Allison, can you tell me what happened?”

Allison turned and left her room. What had just happened? Where was Allison going? Shaking yourself of those thoughts you followed Allison. You watched her walk out the back door towards the woods. You stopped at the edge of the woods. Your dream came back to you, and so did your past.

“(Y/N)!” You turned and found Sam running towards you. “What happened? Why are you out here?”

“Allison’s gone, she walked out in the woods. She looked sick.” You glanced back at the woods and then started walking back to the house with Sam. “Sam, remember how I said something about this case feels familiar and you basically shot me down?” Sam opened his mouth to interrupt but you held up your hand. “This isn’t an ‘I told you so’ moment but the way Allison looked, there was something about her appearance that struck me as something I’ve seen before.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it here. Let’s go talk with JoAnn and then head back to the motel.”

“Are you okay?”

“Sam, just, not now.”

------

Twenty minutes later Dean found you curled up on the bed facing the wall. He sat across from Sam who was scrolling through his computer.

“What happened?”

“We might have a lead but she’s been off since she watched Allison walk into the woods.” Sam closed his laptop. “She told me about her dream and everything that happened this morning. Nice bruise by the way.”

“She’s tough.” Dean pushed himself up and sat down behind you on the bed. “(Y/N), will you talk to me? What’s wrong?”

“(Y/S/N).”

Sam jumped up and moved to the other side of the bed kneeling in front of you. “What did you say?”

You looked at Sam, recognition flashed through his eyes. “She looked just like (Y/S/N). Sam it was like reliving the past.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean looked between you and Sam.

“(Y/S/N)-”

“(Y/S/N) was my sister.” You sat up and pulled your knees to your chest. “She was sixteen when she disappeared. I was only twelve but I knew what was going on. She was gone for a week and when she came back she wasn’t (Y/S/N) anymore. She hid in her room, stayed quiet, would disappear for hours before coming home and hiding in her room again. She was my big sister so I tried to spend time with her but she ignored me.

“One day I came home from school and found the house open, dark, and quiet. I don’t know what made me do it but I walked through the house. There wasn’t anything out of place so I thought someone just forgot to shut the door all the way but then I heard muffled crying coming from my parents’ room. I pushed the door open and found my sister standing over my father and my mother cradling his head in her lap. As my sister turned to look at my intrusion her eyes were dark and her mouth was covered in blood.”

You took a deep breath as the images of your father laying on the floor covered in blood and your mother crying over his lifeless body resurfaced. As you fought the tears you hugged your knees tighter and dropped your chin. You looked between the brothers and your heart constricted. The look of pain in their eyes nearly made you stop but you knew this was important to resolving this case.

“She killed him and then she used this extra long finger nail to slice my mother’s throat. I should have run but as I watched her kill our mother I snapped. I grabbed the item closest to me, which happened to be the candlesticks my parents got when they got married. When I hit my sister with it she hissed.” You laughed and shook your head. “She actually hissed. When she wrapped her hand around it to take it away she screamed and pulled her hand away, it was burned. I had no idea what the candlestick was made of. I had guessed steel or iron so I hit her again with it and ran. I went to the kitchen and grabbed whatever knife I thought I could use.”

“It’s like you were born to be a hunter,” Dean said.

You turned your eyes on him. “I never wanted this. I had no choice.”

“Sweetheart, none of us choose this life.” Dean chalked this up to just another thing the two of you had in common.

“I killed her.” You paused. “I killed my sister and then my mother because my sister turned her into whatever she was. I took off, ended up with Jody Mills, until I was eighteen. I tried to avoid the hunting scene but I couldn’t do it. For years I tried to find the bitch who turned my sister but I never could. I have a fear we’ve just found another one of her victims.”

“You never said how you came across Sam?”

“Jody.” You ruffled Sam’s long hair, smiling when he frowned. “Jody called me after everything happened with her family and she found the two of you. Somewhere down the road, when the two of you took your break, she connected us.”

“Do you know what this creature is?”

“I had initially given up but after meeting Sam I decided to pick up the research again. We thought it was a vampire, that’s where I got stuck initially, but it’s not. It’s like this cousin to the vampire, a Baobhan Sith. It’s a Scottish Folklore. Supposedly they only come out once a year to feed and only at night but I haven’t heard about anything that resembles her antics since everything happened with my sister. Well, until now that is.”

“What else do we know about this thing.”

“Men find the woman to be very attractive and she keeps them interested by asking them to dance. After that she goes for the kill. She kills women too but when she does that they become one. She prefers hunters. I’m sure that means animal hunters not us but it’s true. I didn’t see the beauty, but maybe that’s because I’m a woman. Finally, we can kill them with iron.”

“Great,” Dean said, happy to finally be getting some sort of lead. “What’s next?”

“I use myself as bait to lure her out.”

Dean jumped up and glared at you. “Are you crazy?” Recognizing those weren’t the best choice of words he crossed his arms and looked at Sam, then you. “There is no way we can let you do that. You could get yourself killed!”

“I already talked to Sam about it, and besides it is neither of your choice to make.” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up. Sam stood up, stuffing his hands in his pockets. You looked between the brothers. “This is my fight and I’ll do it with or without your support.”

You walked out of the motel. There was a park only a few minutes down the road and you figured you could find a comfortable place to think without the sulking Winchester Brothers around. Who were they to tell you what you could or couldn’t do with your life? This was your battle. You were the only one of the three with a real connection to this case.

When you got to the park you took a seat on a bench and pulled out your phone. It hadn’t stopped buzzing since you walked out of the motel room. You shut it down and surveyed your surroundings. You saw kids being pushed on the swings, the giggles filled the air around you. You watched parents running with their kids, holding their infants close. The world kept turning. None of them knew of the monsters lurking in the shadows, the monsters hiding in the forests, and you wish you didn’t know either.

------

Dean tossed his phone at the wall, turning as it shattered. What did he need it for, it’s not like you were actually going to answer his calls.

“That was stupid,” Sam mutters.

Dean turns to him, arms crossed over his chest. “No this plan is stupid!” Dean raked his fingers through his hair. If he pulled any harder he would be bald before he went to bed. “I’m going out there.”

Sam stepped in front of the door, using what little extra height he had to try and intimidate Dean. “And doing what?”

“I can’t just let her go out there alone. Jesus, Sammy, she’s… I… She means a lot to me. If anything happens to her I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself, ever.”

“Go get her, tell her we support her, but that we want to work this out first before anyone does anything rash.” Sam stepped away from the door. “Then maybe when we kill this thing you two can stop dancing around each other.”

Dean shrugged his jacket on, pocketed his wallet, and snatched his keys off the end table. Shit. “I shattered my phone, she turned hers off, how am I supposed to find her?”

“Look for the nearest park first.”

Dean didn’t bother asking why, instead he left the motel, hoping he wasn’t too late. He’d told you he liked you but he was falling fast and deep. You’d only known each other for a couple of weeks but it didn’t seem to stop him from hoping for more, a lot more.

------

You kicked your legs out, back, out. The swing rose higher. But no matter how high you got you always came back down, and right there was the forest. It was like it was calling to you every time you stared at it.

“If you swing any higher you’re going to fall on your head.”

You drag your feet through the gravel, stopping the swing. “How’d you find me?”

Dean dropped onto the swing next to you, twisting to look at you. “Sammy suggested the park.”

“Kid’s been around me too long.”

“If you’re going to do this-”

“There’s no if, Dean.”

“Would you just let me finish?” Dean stared at you, waiting for you to answer. After you gave a slight nod he continued. “If you’re going to do this, we’ll support you, but we’re going to do this as a team.”

You’d been prepared for a fight. They’d both been so upset when you left, but here Dean was, trusting you. Your heart fluttered and you resisted the urge to place a hand over it, instead reaching out for Dean’s hand. “This means a lot to me.”

Dean looked at your hand. The act had been so simple, yet intimate. His heart kicked up a notch and he wasn’t sure how to handle that response so he stood up, pulling you with him. “We should get back before Sammy starts to worry, but before we get back I need to make a pit stop for a burner.”

“What happened to your phone?”

“I may have gotten a little angry.”

“I was in a dark place, for a long time.” You hesitated. Glancing up you found Dean’s emerald eyes soft, welcoming. “When I couldn’t find the person responsible for all of this I started to blame myself so I turned to self-harm. One day Jody caught me struggling to bandage myself up, but rather than ask me questions and judge me she finished bandaging me up and gave me a hug. I started to see someone who knew the world and helped me start working through some stuff. I met Sam only after a few sessions and I thought I was okay, but researching again reopened the wound and I got in my head. Sam found me one night on the bathroom floor and took me to the hospital to get bandaged up. Sam made sure I went back to my therapist, but since all of this has started I haven’t been able to go see them. I could always call or text but it’s been busy.”

Dean stared at you. He’d always considered you tough, strong, but he found your resiliency even brighter now. His hands were reaching for you before he knew what he was doing. He pulled you into his arms and sighed as you wrapped your arms around him. Dean whispered, “You’re stronger than you know.”

You pulled back, putting your hands in his. “Thank you. Not something I like to bring attention to.”

Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Sighing, you held onto Dean’s hand as you walked to the closest store and picked up a new burner as well as a few snacks. You continued hand in hand to the motel room, Dean squeezing tight as you walked into the room and found Sammy scowling at his computer.

“I’m going to lose my mind over this case. (Y/N), I need more information on this,” Sam paused and stared at the screen, “Baobhan Sith. Whatever else you can give me that you found in the past or remember because based off of what I’m finding, this creature shouldn’t be around for another 70 or so years.”

#dean winchester #spn #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #wrong winchester turned right #sam winchester

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pedros-mustache-main · 5 years ago

Text

a series of fortunate events

summary: the three times the line between friends and ~something more~ is blurred and the first time that line is demolished.

word count: 1.5k+

warnings: language, mention of harassment

a/n: dang right i stole the title from my favorite children’s book series! what’s it to ya?

the first time it happens is completely by accident. you’re mates––nothing more––so when he asks you to go with him to the oscars you tease him about his lack of a proper date, but ultimately say yes. it is the oscars after all. you find your dress (a pale lilac chiffon gown, only eighty pounds on the clearance rack at h&m), begrudgingly allow him to purchase your plane ticket, and pack you bags.

after a long flight and full saturday of sight-seeing and overpriced meals in the city, sunday evening finally rolls around. you get ready in the comfortable silence of your hotel room. introvert that you are, it’s easier to get ready alone knowing you’ll be out until the wee hours of the morning. plus, the solitude gives you a moment to collect yourself in private. you’re nervous, naturally, but it’s likely he’s ten times as nervous as you. the thought forces you to get your emotions under control; you’re here to be a support, not a burden.

he knocks on the door at five p.m. sharp. grabbing a pair of earrings, you hurry to the door and pull it open, turning your back as you search for your shoes amidst the pile of clothes on the floor.

“that would be a riot if i forgot my shoes,” you say dryly. one hand shoves the back of your earring into place while the other tosses a shirt out of the way. “could you imagine me showing up barefoot?”

you rise from where you’re crouched near the floor and turn to face him. what you see stills the air in your chest. he’s painfully handsome in his suit, and there’s a part of you that likes his short hair, but that’s not what stops you.

he’s staring at you with a mixture of awe and adoration. so much so, heat rises to your cheeks at his open gaze. you want to look away because if you don’t soon you’ll surely start to sweat, but you can’t. his stare holds you frozen.

clearing your throat, you motion to your gown. “i got it on sale.” it’s lame, a foolish attempt to ease the heaviness in the room. if anything, as his eyes move from your face to your body, the heaviness only grows stronger.

“it’s... nice.”

a moment longer and you know you’ll burst, both out of confusion and excitement, so you find your shoes, slip them on, and shove him out into the hall with a quip about being late.

still, once you crawl into bed well past midnight, buzzed and content, you replay his look over and over because friends don’t look at each other that way and the idea alone sends a nervous thrill down your spine.

ii.

the next time it happens is barely worth mentioning, but it’s kept your wheels spinning and your heart thumping for days despite the moment’s smallness.

you’d gotten coffee together, caught up on a few weeks, and shared a laugh. it’s nothing out of the ordinary. but there’s one moment––the moment that nearly drives you to insanity––which you cannot shake.

from his place at the table, he can see out the window over your shoulder. as you talk, he watches the road outside, his eyes trailing the passersby. he’s always been that way, a people watcher. you like his thoughtfulness, but sometimes it can drive him to distraction.

you snap your fingers in front of his nose. “hey, earth to gwil. i’m just about to get to the best part of the story.”

“wait.” he sits forward, grabbing the hand still hovering in front of his face. his fingers curl around yours, and he squeezes your palm in a silent message. “that lady dropped her grocery bags and that guy’s about to help her.”

you twist, hands still entwined, to look out the window. sure enough, an older woman, tomatoes and fruit and cardboard boxes littered around her feet, is helped by an older man. the scene is sweet, like something about of a film.

you face him again. “that’s cute.”

he sits back and shrugs before taking a sip of his coffee. “finish your story.”

as you finish, your hands remain meshed together on the tabletop.

iii.

the last time is happens––and when you know one of you has to make the first move or else you’re fucked––is on holiday. your families have gone to the shore as one large unit for years and this summer is no different.

one evening, you follow him, your sister, and his siblings to a nearby pub. you’re tired after a long day of doing nothing, but he convinces you to come. something about trivia night and the smile on his face, the eagerness in his voice, breaks you down despite your initial protests.

you’re just grabbing another pint from the bar when a hand slaps your ass. you jolt out of surprise, beer sloshing over the rim of your glass to wet your arm. torn between the offender and the trail of beer spreading across the counter, you freeze, uncertain. the offender takes the mute reaction as encouragement, and he leans against the bar next to you.

“hey.” his breath is foul, a mixture of bad beer and garlic. you cringe and reach for a pile of napkins. “nice ass.”

“fuck off,” you mutter.

“just bein’ friendly, that’s all. you don’t gotta be so uptight.”

“i’m not uptight.” you level him a glare and upturned brow. “i’m simply not attracted to anyone who thinks a good pick up line is slapping a complete stranger’s ass.”

“is everything okay here?”

on some level, you wish he would let you handle your predicament on your own. you’re a big girl. surely you can handle an asshole without someone coming to your rescue. but he looks concerned, his eyes darting back and forth between the offender and your angry features. he sidles up next to you, weaves his arm around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and gives the offender a once over. he’s taller than the offender, which not uncommon for him, and tonight he uses his height to intimidate.

worry flashes over the offender’s face. he gestures between you and your rescuer with a meaty finger. “you know him?”

before you can answer, he answers for you. “she’s my girl.”

you feel your face react before you can stop it. your eyes go wide in surprise, your jaw slackens but doesn’t fall open, thank goodness. the hand you slowly bent around his back goes hot.

he’s just playing a game, you tell yourself. he doesn’t mean anything by it.

the offender huffs, pulls at his beer, and sulks off.

his arm remains snug around your waist, his fingers fluttering over the exposed skin of your hip. you shift, nerves forcing you to look elsewhere.

“thanks,” you say. “but i could have handled it.” that’s the pride speaking, but also the anxiety.

he moves to help mop up the spilled beer. “sure, but i meant it––you’re my girl and i look out for you.”

you still and look up at him under your lashes.

your mind is made up.

iv.

later that same night, you resolve to demolish the line between friend and lover once and for all. you’re tried of wondering and dreaming. you’re already too far gone to care about the repercussions. god, you think you probably love him already.

the house is quiet, asleep, as you tiptoe your way across the floor where your sister lays on her air mattress. he’s lucky enough to have scored his own room this year. he was fastest out of the car when you parked, and he beat his brothers to the loft above the cabin. it’s semi-exposed––you can peer down over the railing to the house below––but he’s alone and that’s enough to keep you moving.

he’s awake, which surprises you. there’s no door so as you round the corner, you can see him sitting cross-legged on his bed. a small table lamp shines across the book in his lap. his hair is mussed, as if he’s woken from an unhappy sleep. the floorboards creak under your feet, and he looks up, sleepy eyes peering through his glasses. when he realizes it’s you, he sits up straight.

“hey,” he whispers.

“hey.”

“couldn’t sleep?”

you shake your head.

“me neither.”

he sets the book aside and rubs a hand down his face, elbows propped on his knees. his sleep shirt––a godawful t-shirt with the phrase dad jokes? i think you mean rad jokes written across the front––is too small for his muscular shoulders. it tightens around his back as he moves.

“gwil, i think...” you nearly loose your muster when he looks at you. years of memories play through your head, and you wonder, if he rejects you, what will come of those memories.

but then he stands. he reaches for your wrist, circles his long fingers around it, and pulls you close. you stumble toward him. just before he lowers his head to kiss you, his fingers propped under your chin, he smiles.

“me too, kid.”

#gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee imagine #bohemian rhapsody #j writes

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spicysoftsweet · 4 years ago

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A Very Important Episode starring Hisoka

Or the one where Hisoka learns Bungee Gum is not a food group.

A/N: We all know that Hisoka likes candy and Bungee Gum but we would like to encourage Hisoka to make healthier choices and prevent diabetes complications. There will possibly be a part 2. I hope this is educational.

---

This time Hisoka had actually done it. He’d actually managed to fuck up his entire body beyond what he could repair with Bungee Gum or Machi’s services - which she was charging higher and higher for - and now he was somewhere almost unthinkable - an emergency room.

“Illumi~~~~” he half-sang, half-whined now that he was finally lucid, after undergoing an exploratory laparotomy to stabilize his profuse internal bleeding - the surgeons had been in awe of just how much of his body had been purely synthetic due to Texture Surprise exclaiming that he’d be an incredible case to write up - and being amped up full of pain meds. He probably didn’t need the pain meds, but it was fun to go in and out of consciousness; he couldn’t remember the last time he had an actual night of sleep.

His unwilling friend sat at the side of his hospital bed, legs crossed and focusing his jarringly large, black eyes at the fluid and blood that was being transfused into him by IV drip. A small part of him was surprised that Hisoka could be transfused with regular looking blood and regular looking fluid. He was almost sure that he was made up purely of nonsense and Bungee Gum.

“Illumi~” Hisoka moaned dramatically a second time. His gaze slid now to him, with lips pressed into a flat line of distaste.

“Don’t ever use my name as your emergency contact again.”

Illumi had to hide the fact that he was impressed Hisoka could spell clearly enough to make out the letters of his name and had actually retained his phone number. He had been surprised to get a call, but made his way over as soon as he had finished gutting an enemy and stringing them up for display as requested in his latest contract. The idea of Hisoka being dead was incredibly alarming, for he did enjoy his health and company, but also sparked a morbid curiosity in him. Could Hisoka actually die?

“But you came, didn’t you?” Hisoka teased, with a shit-eating grin.

He had him there.

There was a soft knocking on the door, and a young woman in a white coat, followed by a taller man wearing a pair of scrubs came in. The young woman glanced at Hisoka and then Illumi, visibly wincing at the hard stare of the latter in the semi-dark room, then raised her badge to introduce herself.

“H-hello, I’m Dr. Rhgyl, I-” her eyes flickered to Illumi briefly, unsettled by the fact that he hadn’t yet blinked in the past two minutes, then shifted back to Hisoka, whose devilish smile was almost more unsettling. “I was one of your surgeons and am here to answer any questions you have.”

She turned to Illumi, and gave a nervous nod of the head. “And who is in the room with you, Mr. Morow?”

“My husband,” he said, in a sickly-sweet voice. Illumi gave him a glare, then crossed his arms.

“Sure,” was all he said.

Sure, what? What is sure? Just answer the damn question... The poor young doctor’s face fell as she already knew this was something she’d have to spend unnecessary minutes during her already excessively long call night clarifying in her documentation. She turned to her nurse behind her, who gave her a small shrug.

“So uh, Mr. Morow, how is your pain?”

“It’s wonderful!”

The doctor again tried to conceal her internal screaming, and continued to keep her professional smile plastered on her face. “In that case, please let us know if you have any more pain, and your nurse will take care of it.”

“We do have one other issue, however, “ she added, making sure to communicate this next part as clearly and effectively as possible. Hisoka perked up in surprise, and Illumi continued to sit perfectly still, as still as a statue. “Your blood sugar. Your blood sugar was extremely elevated, and we were concerned about a diagnosis of prediabetes or diabetes.”

“Diabetes?”

“We expect you to make a fast recovery… surprisingly fast in fact, but we would still like you to follow up with a primary care doctor about your blood sugar. We’ll draw a lab test to check how your sugars were for the past 3 months, called a Hemoglobin A1c test, and then we’ll have your primary care doctor follow up the results and help you with strategies to have better control.”

Illumi turned to Hisoka, who he could tell that whatever the medical team was telling him was going in one ear and out the other, and he was now only thinking about either his next fight or Bungee Gum based on the elated smile on his face.

Bungee Gum.

Bungee Gum was the fucking problem.

As the doctor and the nurse finally exited out of the room and Hisoka went back to telling Illumi battle stories, Illumi started to clear his schedule in his head, to figure out when he could best drag Hisoka to his follow-up appointments, which he would have to make for him. Someone had to be the adult in this relationship.

---

Hisoka’s new primary care doctor, another similarly young woman, but less easily intimidated as the tired one from the hospital sat at a computer, pulling up his chart to review his lab results from his hospitalization.

Illumi and Hisoka noticed how she visibly paled as she scrolled, then turned to Hisoka and gave him a reassuring smile, that looked to reassure her more than them.

“What is it? Am I dead?” Hisoka asked. Illumi gave him a look to quiet down.

“Well, you’re diabetic, all right... Your A1c is 14%.”

“Is that bad?”

She swiveled in her chair to face him, hands in her lap.

“Well, diabetes is diagnosed at an A1c of 7%. So... unfortunately, yes.”

Hisoka started counting on his fingers and Illumi forcefully put his hand down.

“Hisoka, listen to the doctor. Diabetes is serious. My great-grandaunt was diabetic.” Illumi said in an even, impassive voice.

“Oh, how old was she when she was diagnosed?” The doctor asked, attempting to build rapport with the patient and the patient’s loved ones.

Without skipping a beat, he replied, “206, exactly. She loved nothing more than to unwind with Mountain Dew after her assassination missions. She ended up on dialysis.”

The doctor seemed to be at a loss of words briefly, so she turned back to Hisoka, pulling out a pen and a notepad to focus on rather than lose her cool.

“So, uh… let’s start by talking a little about what you usually eat,” she began. “What do you eat in a typical day?”

“Hm... “ Hisoka didn’t usually keep track of what he ate, so it took him some time to come up with an account. “Ah! Okay, so in the morning, I usually skip breakfast, but sometimes I’ll have some Bungee Gum.”

Odd choice, the physician thought, but she nodded and wrote that down, allowing the floor to Hisoka to speak.

“For lunch, I try not to eat too much, but I also have a couple pieces or ten of Bungee Gum.”

Hm…

“Oh and for dinner, I have a bowl of gummy candy if I’m feeling particularly peckish and also Bungee Gum.”

She looked up from her pad and paper to see Hisoka looking blissfully unaware that he had just revealed that he subsists solely on sweets. She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to pull at her hair repeatedly. This would be a ton of education, and she still wasn’t exactly sure what exactly Bungee Gum was.

---

Illumi parked his custom Ferrari minivan, purchased entirely for this shopping trip, outside the Costco Wholesale, and gave Hisoka, a long, hard look.

“Do you have the list?” Illumi asked, hand outstretched as Hisoka handed over a partially crumpled sheet of paper, outlining the basics of a balanced, carbohydrate-controlled diet for people with diabetes.

Hisoka looked outside to the large building, then looked back at Illumi. “Isn’t this for families? I thought we were shopping for me only, and sometimes you when you come over.”

“I don’t know, the butlers told me that they come here to stock the kitchens. It seems from the website that this store provides high quality bulk goods for very competitive prices so this will be an appropriate next stop.”

This was just one out of countless stops today - Hisoka had spent the earlier part of the day searching frantically for sugar-free Bungee Gum in every supermarket in a 25-mile radius unsuccessfully, and demanding to see the manager every time, only to kill them when they told him they didn’t have his particular brand. Illumi warned him that there would be no such shenanigans any longer.

They stepped out of the car and walked right past the door greeter who was waiting eagerly for them to present their membership card only to recoil once they both turned to look at him in unison with intent to kill.

The first things Hisoka noticed as he walked in were the multiple little free sample kiosks at the aisles every so often and curiously wandered over to them.

“Make sure to avoid anything glazed or with a sauce,” Illumi called after him, poring through the list as he wandered over to the produce aisle. He didn’t understand the draw of free samples; if he wanted to try something, he would simply buy it.

Hisoka made his way to Illumi and Illumi’s overfilled grocery cart about a half-hour later after wandering the entire store, arms filled with small paper cups and tasting spoons. It was clear that he had sampled literally everything, possibly twice or thrice. Illumi let out a sigh and moved to the front of the store to check out.

Keeping Hisoka’s blood sugar low would be a daunting task, but he was determined that by the next visit to his PCP, he’d have some improvement in his A1c. Texture Surprise can only replace so many amputated limbs at once. He’d just have to buy every supermarket’s supply of Bungee Gum and possibly halt every single production chain devoted to it or something similar. A pain, but it was worth it. Hisoka was annoying as all hell, but still, he was worth it.

#hisoillu #hisoka #illumi #bungee gum #hunter x hunter #serious business #serious writing #crack fic?#remember to eat a balanced diet

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volganic · 4 years ago

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Song of Awakening

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] || [AO3] || [discord]

i didnt mean to take two months to update but ive been playing among us and now i have ideas for an among us au that i’ll never write

“I have to go back to the woods!”

“Absolutely not.”

They spent the better half of the morning bickering with each other: Link needed to complete his mission — the sole reason for leaving the castle — and Volga wouldn’t allow it. The dragon argued he was unconvinced that Link’s grief had fully passed for his fallen comrades; a wandering mind would only land him into more trouble if he wasn’t careful. Pinks and oranges of the early dawn bled into blue, and Link was growing impatient with Volga’s stubbornness. He folded his arms and stared the dragon down.

“I’m going back.”

“I won’t allow it.”

“I’m flattered that you think I need your protection, but I really don’t,” Link huffed. “If I don’t finish my tasks in Faron Woods, even you can’t protect me from the general’s wrath.”

“I would never keep you from your duties as the hero, but you are no hero yet,” Volga snapped. He rose from his seat with his spear in hand, drawing closer to take his turn to intimidate his smaller companion. “One Manhandla sapling is of no danger to you or your army — let it sprout. You are lying. There’s nothing in those woods for you except another death wish.”

The Hylian refused to listen, bristling in his spot. “That’s where you’re wrong, Volga. There’s something else in there too, and after I kill the sapling, I’m going to find it.”

“Then I shall accompany you—”

“No!” Link put his foot down to interrupt Volga from spouting out another excuse or insult. “I can handle it alone from here. If I can’t do it, it only goes to show that maybe I’m not worth bearing the Triforce. I have to prove myself worthy.”

Their eyes fell downward to Link’s gauntlet. Where Link might have considered the outcome of his last venture into the woods as cowardice, Volga saw it as means to survive. The Triforce was a sign of status; if this was how Link wanted to prove (to nobody but his goddesses) himself as worthy, Volga could allow it.

The spear in his grip slackened. With a grumble, he spoke. “Very well. If it puts your mind at ease, I will honor your decision.”

Link’s posture relaxed as his face broke into a sheepish smile. Maybe he’d win a lot of arguments from this point on if he used this excuse. He adjusted the holster holding his blade behind his back. “I’ll hold you to it; don’t think I forgot how you managed to sneak up on me last time.”

Volga turned away and grunted in response.

“Hey now,” the Hylian approached, placing a tentative hand on Volga’s arm, “I appreciate all you’ve done for me, but I also need supplies from the village below. As much as I like suffocating against your dragon body at night, I think I can manage a night of sleep with a decent bedroll!” Volga shot him a glare. Link smiled a bit wider, but his expression softened. “In all seriousness, thank you. You’re really a great friend.”

Link gave the dragon’s limb a quick and gentle squeeze — a wordless promise to return when his mind was clear.

——

The sun had yet to reach its highest point when the Hylian managed to enter the deepest part of the grove. The environment was serene, peaceful — a little too quiet for his liking. There were dangerous creatures that lived in these woods, he knew, and to not even hear the song of a bird or the buzz of an insect’s wings through the air perturbed him. The only sounds that reached his ears were the leaves rustling against the breeze with the occasional sound of twigs and gravel being crushed under his boots.

The wooden bridge that led to an old Hyrulean outpost creaked underneath his weight, threatening to give out from the lack of use. It was useful back when he and Impa had led their small brigade when they had first encountered Lana, but the lack of upkeep since those few months had left the fortress withered and decaying, succumbing to the depths of the forest. Even if it had been months ago, the magic that lived in this place left it looking as if it hadn’t been used in centuries.

Careful to cross the bridge through the other side of the outpost and to another keep, Link found what he was looking for — sort of. A Manhandla sapling in bloom lay in the center of the clearing where sunlight could seep through the branches overhead. Upon closer inspection, Link found that the bud itself had been ripped cleanly out of the plant. He took his sword in hand and approached it even closer, leery of finding it in hiding. The tip of his blade poked and prodded and turned the leaves over to find any evidence of the carnivorous creature.

From the looks of it, either someone had done his job for him, killing the Manhandla sprout — or someone was bold enough to pluck it while in its sapling stage and grow it elsewhere.

While he was no botanist, the Hylian knew that it had to come to either of those outcomes; Manhandla in its sprouting stages weren’t mobile yet at this size. His mouth fell into a puzzled frown. Mission accomplished? As an added measure, Link staked the tip of the Magical Sword into the ground underneath where the Manhandla should have been, uprooting it from the earth. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure there's no chance of another one growing in its place, he thought, covering his nose and mouth with the folds of his scarf as his heels dug into and tore the leaves of the plant, cautious of its toxic dust.

Now it was mission accomplished.

——

The doors to the fairy fountain deep were heavy as Link pushed them to open. Clearly they haven’t been used since Farore knows when, kudzu and overgrowth nearly sealing the doors shut. If it weren’t for his sense of direction leading him astray from the forest path, fear of getting lost in these mysterious woods, and the crumbling staircase leading him there, he would’ve never found it.

The air inside the fountain was... different. It smelled wet, but held a crisp clean air about it as if unbothered by time outside of its doors, even with the scuffle with evil forces not so long ago. The Hylian tentatively stepped inside with sword in hand, half-expecting to be ambushed by something. Or someone. He couldn’t shake the feeling of someone watching him as he moved to the middle of the room, watching for any shadows that moved behind the stained glass window on the fountain’s wall. When there was no promise of a threat, Link sheathed his weapon and approached the edge of the fountain. Despite the withered and crumbling rock around the edge, numerous flowers floated across the water as if they were freshly picked.

Strange, he thought. Rumor had it that the Great Fairies often made themselves known to those of pure in mind and soul – something he would definitely argue he possessed. His ears picked up the faintest echo of a woman laughing, but paid it no mind – whoever it was, she was too far away for him to consider her an immediate threat. Delicately Link splashed his hand in the water, pulling some of the flowers toward his direction. The tips of his fingers barely grazed its petals before the water in the fountain began bubbling.

Uh oh.

Link staggered backwards as a torrential wave of water erupted from the shallow water of the fountain. An infectious and jovial laugh assaulted his ears and a large shadow obscured the streaks of sunlight that poured the window. He felt dazed for only a moment, clothing soaking wet from the eruption and the water that dripped from the ceiling before he lay witness to a rather giant woman now in front of him. She studied him with a sultry eye and hummed pleasantly.

“O, hero of Hyrule,” she cooed, beckoning him with a manicured finger, “come into my fountain! Don’t be shy.”

His face flushed in embarrassment with the sudden realization that this was the Great Fairy. He never expected her to be not only outrageously “tall”, but voluptuous and seductive; the stories he had heard from merchants who had set up shop outside of the castle walls about the fairies did her no justice. Link pushed himself up and brushed off any rubble (he had to look at least somewhat decent in front of a lady) and obeyed, stepping over the edge of the fountain into its cool waters. Immediately whatever worry that lingered in his body seemed to wash away much more effectively than the springs on Death Mountain.

“What brings you here, my hero?” The Great Fairy invited him to sit closer to her. Link inched over and brought his hands up to sign. She leaned forward and delicately pushed his hands down. “There’s no need for that,” she winked. “I know what gifts the goddesses have bestowed upon you, and your secret is safe with me.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but quickly quashed it. Inhale, exhale. “How do you know about it?”

“Oh, my love,” she laughed cheerfully, “I know many things. I might be the closest thing to Hylia herself! It’s a wonder that people pray and come to me for guidance.” The Fairy stretched out on her stomach, hovering only inches above the water and giving her undivided attention to her guest. “I know that the guardian of Eldin is the one to have awakened your divine gift, and that he is keeping a close eye on you as your mentor. I can only hope that he continues to treat you well.”

Link sighed wearily at the mention of his friend — Volga would have easily objected to coming into any fairy fountain. “He does… in his own way.” A pause. “Do you know anything more about him?”

The Great Fairy chuckled softly. “That I am not inclined to say, dear hero.” Link then decided she knew more than she was letting on if she knew that they were friends in the first place. “You’ve come to seek me for guidance, have you not?” she asked, changing the subject. “How may I be of service?”

“Do you know anything about the witch, Cia? And Lana? What are their goals? What can I expect?” The Great Fairy cupped her hand under the water to slowly pour it over his head, sensing his unease. Nervously, he rubbed the back of his neck, shivering with the feeling of the cool water trickling down his collar as it alleviated his nerves slightly to prepare him for any life-changing revelations. “Do you think I’m prepared enough to take the role of the legendary hero?”

“My love,” she began, “I offer guidance and assistance, not opinions or visions of the future. I cannot tell you exactly what you must do to fully prepare yourself for the coming battle. I will be here to assist you when you need me the most in your most dire hour. What the goddesses have intended for you is out of my control. Your fate is in their hands.”

Link feared for the worst, expression growing downcast with the answers he was given. “However,” she interrupted, “I can tell you that it is more than admirable that you have come so far in your ordeals. You make a fine hero as you are now. I have no doubt that you will do only the best for Hyrule… even if you are grounded on his mountain.” She winked, her pink lips spreading into a sincere smile. Link could only smile back feeling how infectious hers was.

“Thank you.”

“Always a pleasure,” she purred, reaching out to affectionately prod his cheek. The Great Fairy then rolled onto her back, dramatically throwing an arm over her face. “You must go now if there’s nothing more I can do to assist you, as much as I’d love to keep you here for myself. Your soul is bound to another, after all.”

Link felt his cheeks burn with the thought that the Great Fairy – the Great Fairy! – had found him appealing, but shook those thoughts out of his mind. Of course, legend always had found the hero bound to the princess. At least, it always presented itself that way. It wasn’t a destiny he would have personally chosen for himself, as he hasn’t had much interaction with Princess Zelda in the first place, but if the goddesses dictated it, so be it. As long as he served for Hyrule, he would serve for her. He stood silently and stepped out of the fountain with that in mind.

“You will find your other half in the most unlikely of times, my love — in fact, you might have found it already!” she exclaimed suddenly when Link neared the entrance. He blinked and turned to look at her to ask what she meant, but she cut him off. “Please, do not hesitate to come see me again. It gets awfully lonely here.”

The Great Fairy made her exit with a dive and a splash into the short pool of water, laughing all the while. Link turned away to save himself from getting drenched again, finding that the woman was indeed gone, nothing but freshly picked flowers and a few silent fairies fluttering over the water’s edge in her wake.

——

“Massster! Human isss back! He bringsss thingsss!”

Volga turned away from the ores he had been attending to when the sound of the younger Lizalfos scouts pattering after their chieftain echoed off the rock walls. Their arms were filled with items that definitely had no place in his caves. He grumbled at the sight; Link might have been simple at first glance, but the items he had gathered in excess proved that he was going to be a pain in Volga’s side.

“Where is he now?”

“Bottom of mountain! Climbing ssslowly!”

“He may be a friend to our clan, but he will not treat you like his dogs,” he scowled, gesturing for them to drop whatever items Link had pushed onto them to the side. The scouts obeyed without a second wasted while their chieftain apprehensively drew to Volga’s side.

“He asssk nicely. We help.”

“The boy is more capable of carrying his own rubbish up the mountain.” Volga’s frown remained. The chieftain stood patiently for any more orders. The dragon released a drawn out sigh and waved his kin away. “You have my leave to go. I will take care of the rest.”

With the clear dismissal, the chieftain scurried off further into the chambers of the caves, leaving Volga with his hoard of ores — and Link’s hoard of belongings. The dragon turned to the discarded items with a look of disgust. He left his own pile to sift through Link’s things; what on earth could he possibly need? Underneath the pile of clothes including his green tunic, there were a number of small bottles of potions, larger flasks of fragrant soups and broth, a few rupees here and there, a mirror — useless, useless things!

“What are you doing?”

Volga turned back to the entrance of the cavern. Link stood there with an incredulous expression having caught the dragon red-handed going through his things. He looked so different outside of his uniforms, clad only in a longer sleeved shirt that made him look like someone he wasn’t: someone lost; someone vulnerable; someone who shouldn’t be within his domain. Volga carelessly tossed the small mirror back into the pile. “You’re able to handle yourself, so why, I wonder, you use my kin to transport your rubbish up the mountain, I’m curious. Clearly it wasn’t worth the time.”

Link’s mouth formed a small frown. “If I’m offered help, I’m not gonna turn it down.” He pushed the sleeves up of his shirt up to his elbows and pushed through Volga to tend to the bottles. As callous as they were treated, none of them were broken. “I could have brought more, you know.”

“Essentials, I understand and commend you for. The mirror, however, is excessive.”

“Old habits die hard,” said the Hylian with a small hum in his voice. “I like mirrors. Appearances are important to keep up within the castle walls: I can’t act my part as a captain if I don’t look like one.” Carefully he picked up the round mirror and looked himself over in it. He couldn’t bring himself to look for too long; his hair was in disarray and dark circles began to form around his eyes from lack of proper sleep or rest; the exact opposite image of a hero.

“If you have the strength to uphold your title, appearances mean nothing. As battered and broken as you look now, I’m well aware of what you are capable of.” The dragon strode back over to his own belongings, taking one long glance at the ores in their respective pails. He had more than enough to trade. “It’s well into the evening. You need to rest.”

Link nodded in agreement. “I also told you I’d bring my own bedroll. The caves are a little warm for me, and it’s not too cold out—”

“Sleeping outside?” Volga asked. “To leave yourself exposed? I think not.”

“You’re free to follow if you want, but I’ve already made up my mind,” Link announced, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck and tucking his bundle underneath his arm as he made his way back outside. The rest of his belongings wouldn’t move anywhere. It took a good amount of restraint not to laugh when he heard Volga’s heavy footsteps following him a few paces away, but that didn’t stop him from smiling at his companion when he found a decent spot to settle down. “I take it you’ve never slept outside of the caves?”

“Why would I?” he bit back, crossing his arms over his chest to brave himself from the gentle breeze tickling his cheek. The temperature wasn’t at its lowest yet; Link really was a fool if he thought only a blanket and scarf were enough. “They offer all the protection you could need.”

“That’s true, but only if you’re either a dragon or have the means to survive in the heat.” Even with the fireshield earrings, the caves provided a little too much warmth. Waking up feeling uncomfortably sticky from sweat wasn’t necessarily pleasant. “I’ve never thanked you properly for the earrings before, but you nearly burned my ear off when I had the chance. So thanks for that, too.” Link’s face twisted into a pout at the memory, but it didn’t stop him from patting the grass next to him to invite the dragon closer. “At least here outside you can see the sky.”

“And that leaves you exposed to the elements, too, boy,” Volga said with a tone that clearly painted him as annoyed. Regardless, Link took satisfaction when the dragon made an effort to humor him by taking the spot next to him at least an arm’s length away. The dragon removed his helmet and held it to his chest as he laid down. It felt strange being so close to home, yet so far away, left vulnerable to the bitter cold that crept underneath every crevice of his armor. A puff of smoke left his lips to try and regulate his body temperature. The sound of Link shuffling around in his bedroll couldn’t drown out his amusement. “Is there something you find funny?”

“No.” Though the scarf around his neck concealed most of the Hylian’s face, it was obvious that he was lying. Volga held his stare, but turned away when it was clear that Link wasn’t going to budge. This was stupid. He couldn’t fathom why he continued to play in Link’s games, but he never had also expected to take him under his wing. It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch, but keeping Link so close seemed to soothe it, and, despite the immaturity he displayed more often than he should, the Hylian was slowly fitting into his hero role. That enough was satisfactory.

“Have you ever been to the village below?”

Volga’s eyes remained closed. “No. I have no interest in mingling among those beneath me.”

“Do you even have friends?” Link propped himself up on his arms. “And before you say your scouts or chieftains, they don’t count. I mean anyone outside your tribe.”

“I have you,” Volga said, “but sometimes I wonder if I’ve made a poor choice in keeping you as a friend.” He tilted his head and cracked an eye open, knowing full well that his comment would strike a nerve. In a huff, Link turned over and pulled the covers up to his ears. It was Volga’s turn to laugh quietly. “I have you, and I have ties with the Goron Patriarch. I wouldn’t have as grand of a collection without him.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that one.” Link turned onto his back. “It wouldn’t hurt to expand your horizons. I heard that merchants are supposed to stop by and trade in the village tomorrow.”

“I’d rather not. They have nothing I could possibly want.”

“Now you’re just being a killjoy, Volga.” Link chided with a yawn. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Enough.”

“Oh, come on—”

“No,” he interrupted, “I mean to say ‘I’m old enough’. I doubt you would believe me should I reveal my true age to you, which is why ‘enough’ should be a sufficient answer.” Volga let the words hang in the air for a moment for Link to absorb it, followed by, “You should be resting, boy, not spewing whatever thoughts are bouncing around in your mind with answers you can’t comprehend. With your duties to your army fulfilled, we resume ours in the morning.”

“One more question?” Before being given the chance to be shot down, the Hylian asked, “What’s your favorite color?”

The dragon remained silent. Of all things, that’s what he wanted to know? Whether it was out there to annoy him, or purely out of innocence, Volga didn’t know — and didn’t know how to answer it himself. As a dragon, instinct had told him to curb the favoritism to ward off those with prying eyes, as thieves were around every bend to steal whatever he coveted most. As for favorites, he realized then he didn’t have many — a favorite weapon? A favorite meal? A favorite song? — much less narrowed down to a specific color. He lived in a world painted in reds and oranges and yellows and greens with splashes of golds and silvers and a bioluminescent blue, but none of it appealed to him.

Volga craned his neck to look back at Link, unsure of how to answer and unsure of how Link would react, only to find that either he had taken too much time mulling over his response, or the Hylian was more exhausted than they had initially thought. Link had succumbed to the fierce grip of sleep. Under the covers of his bedroll, Volga could see Link’s chest rising and falling, his breaths light and evenly spaced; finally at peace. Without the expanse of the ocean staring back at him waiting expectantly for an answer, clarity had struck through Volga, and he knew his answer. The words poured out just above a whisper:

“I’m fond of the color blue.”

#hyrule warriors #volink #YEAAAAAA #fic

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years ago

Text

heart of stone (7/?)

AO3

Unlike most of his peers, Damian isn’t excited at all about moving out. There’s a lot he loves about living at home-having a mom who cooks him his own meals, not having to pay bills, living withing walking distance of his best friends and a not having to do his own laundry. All those little conveniences are things he’ll miss sorely when that day comes, but the biggest reason has nothing to do with any of that. No, the reason he dreads moving out is because he’s not sure if he’ll be able to find a roommate that will put up with his constant singing around the house. Especially around audition time.

Which is why now, he’s practicing his rendition of Dressing Them Up in his bedroom, his mom being incredibly cool about the whole thing downstairs and Janis on Facetime, earbuds in and bopping along with him and giving him more enthusiasm than the actual audience probably will.

“You sound great.” She’s sitting cross legged on her hospital bed in a sweater and leggings, her face more bare than it was yesterday, but her eyes still bright and laugh lines creased around her eyes and mouth. She’s still her.

It was tough, seeing her for the first time, but weirdly, it wasn’t nearly as tough as he thought it would be. Once he got past the strangeness of the hospital environment and the little emotional hiccup she had with Cady, he knew she’s still her. Hard situation, uncomfortable new world, but still his Janis.

“You think so?” he says. “I don’t know about this song. All the forums say it’s a really good song to audition for the Emcee with.”

“And it’s your party piece,” she tells him. “Remember freshman year, you sang it for my grandpa?”

“I miss your grandpa,” he sighs.

“I’ll let him know. He calls me weekly now.” She shifts on the bed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Before he even realises what she’s doing, he checks her arm. No IV in there. Why does that make him feel better? “So do you think you’re going to change it?”

“Should I?” he asks, looking through his music. “The audition’s tomorrow. I don’t know if I can research and learn a new song by tomorrow.”

“Then don’t,” she tells him. “You’re overthinking it.”

“You’re telling me off for overthinking,” he says rather indignantly, raising an eyebrow at her. “This is the same girl who texted me at 2 in the morning for my opinion on a dog meme to send to Cady.”

“I needed a second opinion,” she says.

“Thought you didn’t need opinions,” he teases.

“Maybe I need yours,” she says softly, the grin on her face lighting up the screen. “Dick.”

“Don’t even love you,” he replies, blowing a kiss softly to the screen. Janis giggles, hiding her face behind her hand.

“Okay, you have the scene worked out as well?”

“I think so.” He picks up the extract from his bed. He’s done it for everyone, Janis, his mom, Janis’ mom, Cady, even the plastics. He learned that day that Gretchen is amazing at giving weirdly specific compliments and also knows more about theatre than he’d have guessed. Maybe in another life she’d be a drama geek like him. “It’s just an audition anyway. They’re not looking for the finished product. Just potential.”

“And you my good man are 6’2” of raw mother fucking potential.”

“Janis, language!”

“Raw mother freaking potential. Sorry, mom.” Somewhere behind the phone, Janis’ mom says something and Janis chuckles, rolling her eyes. “I’m not allowed to cuss in here. Since this is a ‘children’s ward’.” She quotes the word with her fingers. “Which is apparently where I belong.”

“You are a children,” he reminds her.

“I am older than you!” she spits back, laughter shaking her voice. She leans back on the bed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. The joke slips from her face, leaving soft sincerity in its place. “Are you nervous?”

“I don’t get nervous.” She raises her eyebrow at him, of course. By now she can see into his brain like there’s a little window on his forehead. It’s why he can’t bullshit with her, and conversely, why she can’t with him. “A little. I just really want a good role, you know. It’s our last show.”

“Which is why you’re going to ace that audition so hard,” she tells him. “Just don’t drink dairy in the morning and do your breathing before you go in. And stay away from the candy!”

“Pity you’re not here to remind me,” he says.

“True, but I did take the liberty of passing on all the info to Cady,” she tells him. “She knows what to do.”

“You’re a hero, babe.”

“Don’t I just know it,” she says. “Are you going to do the whole ‘dress for the part you want’?”

“Of course.” He runs over to his wardrobe and shows her the outfit he’d picked out for tomorrow, black silk waistcoat and black skinny jeans, his dance shoes in his bag. “What do we think?”

“Oh, that’s so sexy,” she tells him. “We need to bring waistcoats back to the collective again. I miss them.” Before he can answer, she looks beyond the camera, nodding along to a conversation he can’t hear. She casts an anxious glance at him, so quickly that he would have missed it if he blinked. “Okay. Okay, yeah fine, I know. Okay fine.” She turns back to him, letting out a long exhale that makes the hair on his arms stand up. He can’t help it; he has built-in parental instincts and they’ve been heightened ever since Janis went to hospital. So much so that even when she flashes up a peace sign and grins, it’s hard for him to grin back. “I have to bounce. Go get a good night’s sleep, ace it tomorrow, and tell the drama club that my services are still available.”

“I’ll let them know,” he says. He sits on the bed, tucking one leg under his body. He’s reluctant to let her go, their time together so precious now. “I love you, honey pot.”

“Love you more, bitch.” Her face freezes and then she’s gone. Not gone, he corrects himself. Just… not around for him right now.

“Okay,” he exhales, giving himself a shake. She’s fine. She said she was fine, she looked fine, she is fine. And she will be fine. She even said that she might be well enough to come see him in the show, all things going smoothly. The thought alone is enough to make him smile. Of course she will. The show won’t be for months anyway. He just has to get through this first. So he picks up his music and bounces down the stairs, ready to treat his mom and sisters to yet another rendition.

*****

It’s just after second period when the nerves do start to kick in. He’s not scared or intimidated, he can’t be he approaches auditions the way Cady would a calculus test, as a thrilling challenge to be overcome and a way to improve, whatever the outcome. But like he said to Janis, it’s his last year. He’s not gotten parts before but would be different. He wouldn’t throw a fit or leave the show if he didn’t get it, those types of divas make him cringe so much it hurts. But he can’t shake the idea that it wouldn’t be as special if he were in the ensemble in his last year. Besides, this is his part. Always has been.

“Hey.” He jumps off the floor, so wrapped up in his own thoughts he’d barely noticed the person sliding up beside him. He’s even more surprised when he sees who it is; Regina, wearing a lacrosse jersey over her white dress and a smile that’s uncharacteristically apprehensive. Since when did Regina George doubts? More to the point, since when did Regina talk to him? He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t even know his name until Cady told him. He just assumed he was ‘Janis’ gay friend’ to her, nothing more. The same way she’s nothing more than ‘asshole Queen Bee I’d punch given the chance’ to him.

“Hi,” he says flatly. Her smile falters at his tone, and he has to hide his own smirk behind his locker door. Someone clearly isn’t used to not being given the golden treatment.

“So… how’s Janis doing?”

And the surprises keep on coming.

“You care?” he snorts.

“Yeah, I do.” Her tone is more defensive this time, the familiar anger that’s become her trademark making an appearance. Somehow, she sounds more natural this way. She shakes her head and tosses her dark hair over her shoulder. “You’ve talked to her recently, I’m guessing.”

“Of course I have. She’s my best friend,” he fires back, suddenly finding himself on the defence. Heat prickles on his skin and he wants nothing more than to get out of this conversation.

“I just… wanted to know how she’s doing,” she says, her voice quiet and her arms crossed over her chest. He closes the locker door and looks at her, trying to find some semblance of the ruthless predator he knows rather than the timid, vulnerable creature before him. It’s unsettling, seeing her like this, and he’s almost certain it’s a trap. “So how is she?”

“She’s great.” He slams the locker door closed and now it’s her turn to jump. “Janis is doing great. And she’s being let out for a week on Friday. So, she’s great.”

“O-okay,” she replies. She picks at her nails, her eyes growing wide. It’s only when she takes a step back that he can breathe again. She gives an attempted smile and it doesn’t look right on her face. “That’s cool. That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah.” He puts his bag on his shoulder and pushes past her. Admittedly, he does feel a little guilty here. Regina’s a horrible person, but she’s still a person, right? Maybe she is worried about Janis, that there’s some sincerity beneath the make-up.

No. Of course not. And if Regina wanted his respect, she should have started back in middle school. And in any case, why is he even thinking about Regina? He’s got way bigger things to worry about today than her.

He checks his phone at lunch, finding nothing from Janis. Which is normal these days. Normal re-adjusted pretty quickly and she’s just finished another round right about now, so she’s probably resting from that. Besides, no news is good news, as his mom likes to say.

“Damian. Damian!”

“Woah, yeah, I’m here.” He shakes his head, grabbing the side of the table. He really needs to tune back in today. Cady is sitting beside him, her hand on his shoulder and her eyes big with concern.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am,” he says, patting her hand. “Just daydreaming, kid.”

“Okay.” Silence settles over them, tight and uncomfortable. It hurts. Janis’ absence hasn’t rocked their friendship at all, but at the same time it’s felt like there’s been something missing since the start of the year. And that there’s constantly something going unsaid with them. “When’s your audition?”

“T minus four hours,” he tells her. “They’re after school.”

“Speaking of I see you’ve broken out the two-litre bottle of water.”

“Are you kidding me?” he asks. “Honey, I am a professional.”

“A professional drama queen,” she teases. “You think you’re ready?”

“As I can be. My mom and sisters all gave me a standing ovation,” he says proudly. “And I think my cat liked it.”

“I mean that’s all the validation you need,” she says. “When you go into your first Broadway audition, all you need to tell them is how highly your cat recommends you.” They burst into laughter as Karen and a forlorn-looking Gretchen sit down next to them, Karen holding the other girl’s hand and looking helplessly at Cady and Damian.

“Hey, what’s up, Gretch?” Cady asks. Without a word, Gretchen slides a crumpled sheet of math questions over the table and lets out a huff. Despite trying not to look, Damian can’t help noticing the score at the top, and the “see me” written at the bottom. Cady’s face falls instantly as she takes in a sharp breath. “Well, it’s just the second week. And it’s one homework.”

“Oh, what’s the use,” Gretchen sighs. “I’m never going to get it. It’s all so complicated. I wish I had a brain like yours, Cady. You’re super great at math.”

“Well you’re good at stuff too,” Cady responds.

“Yeah,” Karen agrees. “Like you’re super good at English. And at picking out clothes.”

“I don’t think Ms Gardner will appreciate me picking out clothes,” she says glumly. “Besides, I need to get better at math this year. For one thing, my dad will totally kill me if I get another C.”

“Well… hey why don’t I tutor you?” Cady offers, changing Gretchen’s entire demeanour in an instant. She sits up and gasps, a smile breaking out across her face and lighting up the cafeteria.

“You would? Really?” she squeaks.

“Of course! I mean, I did all this stuff last year, so I know it well. What do you say?”

“Oh, thank you so much!” She reaches out the table and grabs Cady’s hand, and judging by Cady’s face, it’s stronger than you might think for Gretchen’s slight frame. “This makes me feel so much better.”

“What does?” Regina sits down beside her, looking from Cady to Gretchen and funnily enough, avoiding Damian entirely.

“Oh, Cady’s going to tutor me in math,” Gretchen explains.

“Oh, cool,” Regina says. “You know that’ll look great on a college application.”

“Yeah. I mean of course that’s not the only reason I’m doing it,” Cady replies, smiling at Gretchen. “But I know. All I’ve heard since we got back is ‘college applications’.”

“Me too,” Damian sighs. “And I am not looking forward to telling Miss Meyer I want to do theatre.” He rolls his eyes and mimics shooting his head.

“Oh, hey Damian, Cady?” Karen asks. “Can I ask you something.”

“Um… sure?”

“What kind of muffins does Janis like?” The four of them all fall quiet, Damian looking to a confused Cady before back at Karen, who seems to be the only one who sees the sense here.

“Muffins?” he echoes.

“Mm-hm. Well, I want to bake her muffins to cheer her up, and since you two are her besties, I thought you’d know,” she explains. “Trust me, there’s nothing worse than bringing someone the wrong muffins. One time my cousin brought my other cousin muffins that weren’t her favourite and I was so, so ashamed for her.”

“Oh, okay,” he says. Karen nods severely, apparently taking the muffins incredibly seriously. “Um… she really likes raspberries I guess. Oh, and white chocolate. That’s one of her favourite combos.”

“Perfect!” she chirps. “I’ll start shopping for those tomorrow. I told my mom about her and she said she might like something sweet.”

“That’s… really nice,” he says. Life with the former-Plastics is a surprise even after spending the summer with them. He isn’t sure how ‘former’ he’d consider them, especially Regina, but they’re softer than they were a year ago. Gretchen more caring, Karen more kind. Or maybe they were always like that and he simply didn’t notice.

As they get up to leave, he takes out his phone and checks it. Still nothing from her.

He walks Cady to her next class, the two of them being on the same floor.

“Should I wait for you until your audition’s done?” she asks him.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he says, patting her on the back. “Go live your life, little one.”

“Okay, but…” She rests her head on his shoulder and warmth sparks in his fingers and a stupid grin crosses his face. “Would you like me to wait until after your audition? We can go to the donut place after?”

“Did Janis tell you to do that?” Grabbing donuts after auditions to unwind has been their tradition since middle school.

“Well, yeah,” she says, shrugging innocently. “Just thought it would be cool. It’s what you always do, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah of course, totally. That’d be awesome.” They stop outside her history classroom. “Okay, I will see you later.”

“I’ll be in the library,” she explains. “You can meet me there?”

“Awesome blossom.” They have a quick high-five before he sets off down the hall to American Literature. As he goes, he finds a small but fierce sense of anxiety sparking in his chest and he can’t work out what it’s for. Probably the audition. After all, no amount of experience can chase away the terror of this process. Waiting around, learning and re-learning lines, sitting by his computer waiting for an email and fighting through crowds to see the cast list. He puts up a confident face, but that will never stop shaking him.

He takes out his phone again, just to check the time and location again. There’s nothing from Janis again, which is fine. Completely.

“Damian Hubbard.” He halts and looks up at the face of his Literature teacher, Mr Bock. He’s not great, but he’s not awful either. Once upon a time he may have actually liked kids. “Is that phone meant to be out during school hours?”

“No, sir,” he replies, sliding it back into his pocket and hoping for the best.

“Well come on, you’re in my class next and I won’t have anyone being tardy.”

“No, sir,” he repeats, doubling his pace and making it into the classroom, looking up at the clock as he does so. Just three more hours to go.

*****

He spends the time waiting for his slot breathing and doing small vocal warm-ups, enough to get him ready but not enough to irritate anyone else. As well as consoling a fearful looking little freshman kid. There are few things in the world that warm his heart quite as much as seeing new faces in auditions and watching them bloom during the show. He always makes sure to build connections with each and every one of them, taking up the role he wished someone had done for him. By the time Damian’s name is called, the freshman is grinning and his hands are nearly steady and he even whispers ‘good luck’ before he goes in.

“Afternoon all,” he greets the panel; Miss Petersen, the director/oldest drama teacher, and the perky little new one, fresh out of teaching college and rearing to go, as well as the choreographer and head of the drama club. Three familiar faces and one new, all smiling back at him. Something he tells every freshman; they want to cast you. He hands the sheet music to the girl at the piano and takes his spot, always remembering to smile and compliment her.

“Hi Damian, how are you?” Petersen asks.

“I’m great,” he replies. He clears his throat slightly, not having realised how tight it was. Did he not warm up enough? “Ready to go.”

“Okay so what song have you picked for us today?” the new teacher asks. Miss Hadsell, someone said her name is. She’s cute, with wide dark eyes and blonde hair in a messy braid. He wonders if she also takes art, he hasn’t seen her around the art room.

Then he remembers he hasn’t been in the art room this year.

“I have picked Dressing Them Up from Kiss of the Spider Woman,” he says brightly, bringing himself back. Here and now, that’s what matters.

“Good choice,” Miss Petersen says. “And you’ll be reading for the part of the Emcee?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Okay.” She grins at him, although it doesn’t really do anything to bring his focus back. What is wrong with him today?

He takes two deep breaths, and then another, and quickly shakes out his hands before nodding to the pianist. Once the song starts, he’ll be fine. Lost in the music, laser focussed. And he is. After missing the first note. He’s never missed a note before. Still, he manages to pick up the rest of it and keep going, throwing everything into it.

But it doesn’t feel enough. Like something is holding him back. Every time he’s sang this song before it’s come as naturally as breathing, the movements coming from him, not a character or persona. Now nothing feels right. Like he’s on a string and someone else is moving his limbs and every gesture is artificial.

By the time he finishes, it’s almost a relief. And he’s never thought that about performing.

“That was great!” Miss Hadsell says. “You must love that song a lot.”

“It’s an old favourite of mine,” he agrees. He can still bring this back. Maybe it was better than he thought.

He reads through two scenes for them before he’s asked to leave. At least those are stronger, partially because he knows them like the back of his hand. He feels more himself in them, or rather he feels more like the character. Even if his mind’s still a little fuzzy, it clicks for him. If only it could have happened earlier.

Rather than running right to the library and Cady afterwards, he sinks down onto a bench in an empty corridor, wringing his hands together. He doesn’t remember ever feeling that nervous or having an audition like that. Not even when he was a kid. Being in drama clubs since he could walk chased away the strong jitters that could affect him like that. So what happened in there?”

You know a voice in his head whispers. He goes to wave it off, but he can’t quite do it. Because what if there’s some truth in it. He’s worried about Janis, he’s only human. But he has it under control. She’s getting what she needs and she’ll be back with him by Christmas, and they’ll move forward like nothing ever happened. He presses his fist into his palm and bites his cheek. He’s handling it, and his own issues have never affected his performances before. Why would they now?

There’s no point in worrying now, he tells himself. It’s over, so just go home, tell everyone it was fine and whatever happens, happens.

It’s with that mantra that he gets up and heads to the library to pick up Cady.

*****

The next day is Wednesday and when he wakes up he’s suddenly immensely excited and won’t pretend he doesn’t know why. As his mom likes to say, ‘Wednesday is halfway to the weekend’. Which is enough of a reason to be happy in itself, but this means something more. It means it’s two days until Janis gets out of hospital and three days until they hang out again. They arranged it a few days ago; a movie night in her place, just like always, with blankets and pillows and junk food and an equal balance of musicals and old sci-fi and horror. So he can’t not be excited, so much so that it’s enough for him to block out the memories of his audition yesterday.

So when he half-walks, half-dances into the kitchen, it’s justified, and what’s more, his mom picks up on it.

“Someone’s in a good mood,” she remarks.

“Sun’s shining, birds chirping,” he replies as he puts on the coffee pot and pops bread into the toaster.

“Did you talk to Janis at all last night?”

“A bit.” He pours himself a cup and one for his mom. All the milk in his and one sugar for him, black and two sugars for his mom.

“How’s she doing?”

“She’s fine,” he says. “You know her. Tough as hell, fighting anything.” His phone vibrates in his pocket and it brings an instant smile to his face. “As a matter of fact that’s her now… oh…”

Janis’ message is a picture of the medical student, Jackson, fiddling with her IV, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Below is the caption ‘forgot to send you this yesterday. Thought you might enjoy’. And a winking face, of all the emojis.

‘Appreciated, thank you,’ he texts back. ‘Though I am debating the ethical ramifications of this.’

He probably won’t get an answer for a while. She tends to sleep in in the mornings.

“Her poor mother,” his mom sighs, seemingly to herself. He looks up at her, her hands tight around the hug and her head shaking. “I mean, poor Janis as well of course. No one deserves to go through that. But if anything like that were to happen to you…” She runs a hand through his hair, a fond smile along with her sad features. “God knows what I’d do.” There’s a small moment, a sigh, and then she kisses his head.

“Mom, you’re so mushy,” he sighs, not meaning any of it. Mushy is a well-established Hubbard trait passed from mother to son and he’s not ashamed of it, not at all. It’s that exact mushy-ness that gives him the capacity to love his friends the way he does and let them feel it every chance he can. He’d never trade it for anything. “I have to get ready. Don’t want to be late. Love you!”

When he gets into homeroom, Cady is bent over her notebook with her pens out, which strikes him as odd. Surely the study bee Cady Heron isn’t catching up on homework already. He’s not even catching up on homework yet.

“Hey.” He pulls on her ponytail, a far more amusing way of getting her attention that tapping her shoulder. She grins and looks up at him, stretching out her arms. “What are you working on?”

“Trying to make a schedule for tutoring,” she explains, handing it over to him. The page is divided into seven days and those into hour long slots, and true to form, everything is colour-coded. School is green, Mathletes is blue, and so-called ‘Janis time’ is purple. Her name is written in silver glitter pen rather than black ballpoint, and there’s a little star doodled in the corner. It’s nothing short of adorable, and Cady’s cheeks go pink as he knowingly catches her eye. “Gretchen says she can’t do weekdays, so I might squeeze her in on Saturday mornings.” She takes the page and tilts it, scrunching up her face. “Wonder how many more I can fit in.”

“How much tutoring does she need exactly?” he asks.

“It’s not just Gretchen,” she says, shrugging. “I just thought, well, why not expand it. See who else needs tutoring? I could make some money off of it. And it looks great on-”

“The college applications,” he finishes, earning an eyeroll from her. Still, they both smile. “I think that’s a great idea little slice. As long as no-one’s faking stupid to score a date with you.”

“Oh hush,” she chides, swatting at him playfully. “Besides, no one would dare. Half our grade is kind of terrified of Janis.”

“We all know she could still kick their collective asses.”

“Even hopped up on chemo, she could.”

“Yeah, completely.” Something shifts inside him, and suddenly his smile feels more plastered on that natural. Keep it together, he tells himself. “So has anyone gotten back to you about tutoring?”

“I haven’t put the word out yet,” she says. “Although I did make this!” She reaches into her bag and hands another page to him, this time with a photo of her in the centre and “Tutoring Services-Math and Science, specialising in calculus” printed below it, and her phone number and email address in a different, cursive font below. And true to form, she decorated it with little ClipArt lions and tigers. “What?”

“Nothing.” He hands her it back. “It’s just very you. And if I needed help with math, I’d call you in an instant.”

“You flatter me,” she jokes, putting it back in her backpack and dropping it on the floor. It catches his eye and he doesn’t understand why it would for a second, but then he remembers. She bought this backpack the day they went to the mall. She picked the white one with the little frogs. Janis had laughed at it, affectionately calling her a ‘permanent child’. That was the day Janis had passed out. The day she had overslept. The day before she had gotten that doctor’s appointment. And all the while, none of them knew the truth. None of them had put the pieces together.

“Damian?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nods quickly. “Yes, you should definitely do that.” Across from him, Cady’s eyebrows are shot up, her mouth half open. He’s blown it. Whatever ‘it’ is.

“Okay,” she sighs. “Um… are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay.” He leans back in his chair and tosses his head. “Look at me, I’m the King of Okay, baby girl.”

“I know a bad Doctor Who reference when I hear one,” she tells him. She taps her pencil on the desk. If she knows a Doctor Who reference, then he can recognise a tell. She’s building up to something. “Look, it’s okay if you’re not okay. I mean what’s going on right now with Janis… it’s rough. It’s okay if you’re a little out of it. I am too.”

“Well that’s fine, but I’m not.”

The words shock him as soon as they leave his mouth. He wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t said them at all, rather someone behind him, and he wishes that were the case. He’s not like that. Those words are sharp and he’s rarely ever sharp. He made himself a promise never to be sharp or cruel or nasty unless absolutely necessary. He’s put in so much work over the years building up his cheerful, warm persona and it took a while for it to become fully natural. Apparently, he still needs work, because Cady’s face is falling at his outburst and she’s turning around him her chair and his gut is twisting and churning with guilt.

“Caddy, wait.” He reaches out and grabs her shoulder. “I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that. It’s just-I’m so sorry, Caddy.”

“Hey.” Cady takes his hand and wraps her own around it, giving it a comforting squeeze. “It’s okay. Everything’s a lot right now.” Is it? Well, it is anyone can see that. But he’s coping, he’s sure of it. He woke up today so full of happiness he may have burst. How did he go from that to this in the space of an hour?

“Yeah,” he simply says. He runs his thumb over Cady’s knuckles, still shaken from what he said. He grips her hand tighter as if that can make sense of it. “I’m sorry.”

Despite Cady telling him it’s okay, a bad feeling follows him around all day, guilt combined with something else he can’t figure out. It leaves him feeling nauseous and uneasy all through his classes and even during lunch with his friends. It sits there all day, right in the pit of his stomach and wearing him out. By the time his first class after lunch starts, all he wants to do it go home. That very last bell is music to his ears and he barely remembers to bid goodbye to his friends before bolting out the door.

His hands are cold and unsteady as he pulls books out of his locker, his heart beating quickly and faintly beneath his shirt. He checks his phone, his messages empty, and makes a mental note to text Cady later before closing his locker and heading to the front gate. Hopefully by the time he gets home he’ll have come back to himself.

“Damian!”

Oh god, he thinks, suppressing a sigh. Ms Towers slips out in front of him, a file held close to her chest and her glasses perched on her head. She’s the school guidance counsellor, someone he’s never really interacted with. All of his issues were either fixed or in the process of that by the time he reached high school. She sure had her work cut out for her when the Burn Book was released though.

“Um, hi,” he says.

“Could I grab a quick word with you?” she asks.

No you cannot is what he wants to say. The school bell has gone, I’m free now.

“Sure,” is what he says instead, and his body follows her into her little office and even takes the seat she offers. It’s only when she sits down that he turns off autopilot. “Is this going to take long? Only I’ve got a lot of homework.”

“Not long at all,” she replies. She clears her throat, pretends to fix some papers on her desk, and leans forwards on the desk, her hands clasped beneath her. “Damian, what you’re going through is very difficult.”

“That’s indeed one word for it.”

“And the schoolboard is fully aware of any challenges you might be facing this year,” she goes on. “You probably know your teachers are all aware of the toll this may take on your schoolwork.” He hadn’t actually thought of that before. “But there are many support systems in place outside of the classroom. I want you to know that if you need any of them, we would be more than happy to schedule something for you. You could talk to me, or one of my colleagues on the care team, during one of your free periods maybe once or twice a week? Or if you want, our pastoral care team would be more than willing to talk to you in the school chapel-”

The image of Damian sitting in a church sitting on a pew talking to a priest about anything is so ludicrous to him that he actually bursts out laughing in her face.

He’s really being the resident asshole today, isn’t he?

“Sorry,” he replies, making a show of clearing his throat. “Something caught in my throat. You know how it is.”

“Oh, of course. I can get you some water if you like.” He shakes his head, taking his own bottle out of his bag, and gives her a gesture to keep talking. “Just if you want to avail of any of these services, they’re here. We’re all here for you Damian. So… do you think you might?”

“I appreciate the offer,” he says. His hand wraps tightly around his knee. “I really do. But I’m fine. I don’t need any school therapy or anything like that.”

“I don’t mean therapy,” she says. “Well, I could. But just if you needed a quick chat. This is a hugely stressful situation.”

“I know,” he snaps. He takes a deep breath in. He feels as though his insides are shaking, like a town caught in an earthquake. “I know. But I’m fine. I’m coping. And I have my own people anyway. I’ve got my friends; I’ve got my mom.” He stands on sore and unsteady legs and puts his bag on his back. “Besides, everything’s fine. Janis is coming home this weekend and we’re going to have a movie night and it will be exactly like it always has been. So we’re all good here.”

He lets her nod before bolting out the door. He doesn’t let anyone slow him down this time as he runs outside, down the front path and out the school gates, only starting to slow down when he’s off that street.

All the while, he doesn’t let himself think about Ms Towers’ offer, because doesn’t need it. He’s good. He’ll make himself good if he has to. He’s had enough practice at that after all.

*****

Saturday night takes forever to come around. The clocks on the wall tick by too slowly no matter where he is. Janis must get home late on Friday, because at some time after nine she posts a video of her dog cuddling her on her bed with the caption ‘I missed this boosh so much’. While Maxie takes up half the screen, he can see the smile in her cheeks. She looks good, healthy, happy, and that’s the main thing.

But finally the time comes, and he’s standing on her doorstep with a rucksack full of treats, DVDs, and the sleepover essentials. Butterflies flutter in his stomach, something he hasn’t felt since the early teens, and he has to hold back his arm lest he press the doorbell again.

“Hubbard!”

“Sarkisian!”

The moment he’s in her house, he envelopes her in a hug, letting her head rest in his shoulder and his hand rubbing up and down her back. His knees buckle in relief once she’s back with him, back hugging him. Sure he’s seen her before back in the hospital, but that was too alien. This is home. This is real.

“Missed you, dork,” she whispers.

“Missed you more,” he replies. When they finally let each other go, he sees her dressed down, blue and green galaxy leggings and a deep purple sweatshirt with a cartoon dinosaur on the front. Sleepover wear.

In the living room, Laura is setting up a bowl of popcorn and a try of tortilla chips, as well as a litre bottle of water and one of lemonade. She brightens up at the sight of him, hugging him lightly like you would a family member.

“Nice to see you, kid,” she tells him. “Hey how were the auditions? Janis told me they were this week.”

“Oh yeah,” he replies. It’s an effort not to wince. “They were fine. You know.”

“Well, we’ll be expecting front row tickets,” she tells him. “And a discount.”

“Sorry Laura no can do. Janis knows the importance of providing funds for the drama club.” Behind her mom, Janis nods as she fiddles with the DVD player.

“Oh, Janis, hon, let me do that.”

“It’s fine,” she replies, force behind the words. “I’ve got it. Besides you’re the one always asking me how to work it.”

“Fair enough,” she mutters. “Well, you two enjoy your night. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”

“Cool. Thanks Mom.”

“Do you want me to take the dog out?”

“We can keep him. I think he’s missed Damian anyway.”

“And I’ve missed him,” Damian adds in. Maxie is pawing at Damian’s legs, his head rubbing against his legs and his tail wagging.

“Okay, just make sure you keep him calm. Otherwise he won’t let you sleep.”

“We’ll keep him calm,” Janis promises. “He’s a good boy.”

Laura mutters something to the contrary as she leaves, the door clicking shut behind her. Janis rolls her eyes at her.

“She’s so mean to the baby,” she says, patting the ground. “Come here Maxie-boy. Isn’t mama just the meanest and nastiest to the poor baby boy?”

“Should I leave you two alone?” he asks, only half-joking. Janis looks up from where she was making kissy faces at her dog and chuckles.

“I missed him,” she says. “Can you blame me? Imagine not letting your dog into the hospital with you.”

“It’s lunacy all right.” He kneels down beside her, opening up his rucksack. “Okay, I brought chocolate peanuts, I brought mini pretzels, I brought sour gummies. And to top it off, I brought your faves… crispy NemNems!” He holds up the box of M&Ms, wiggling them in her face. She bats them away, grinning.

“Perfection. Okay, what do we watch first?”

“You pick. That’s the rule after all, remember?” he reminds her. “Your house, your rules.”

“Okay. Then I pick…” She holds up the DVD to him; A Nightmare On Elm Street and wiggles her eyebrows. One of her favourites, which just so happens to be one of his least favourites. He’s not a horror fan. It’s one of the few disagreements they have.

“Deal. But I may have to hide behind your hair.”

They settle themselves on the couch, a pair of blankets resting on the heater behind them and Maxie plopped on top of them for extra warmth. His little head is on Janis’ lap, demanding pets, and she is only too happy to oblige. He snuggles further into her with his paws up on his legs and whimpering whenever she so much as shifts.

“Someone missed you.”

“Yeah he did,” she replies, her voice fond. “You know when I came into the kitchen last night he peed himself because he was so excited.” She leans down to the dog and starts speaking in what they call her ‘Maxie-voice’. “Didn’t you to a peepee on the floor and Daddy had to mop it up?”

“Awww. Also ewww.” Janis digs him the ribs even as she laughs. Maxie is oblivious to this, his ears pricking up as he looks between the two of them. Damian cracks open the snacks, already commandeering the tortilla chips (what can he say, he’s a carb lover) and placing the rest of them delicately between them before opening the M&Ms and handing them to Janis.

“Oh, thanks…” She picks a few out of the bag while holding the dog down with the other hand, lest he eat something he shouldn’t.

When he looks back in the bag, it’s like no-one took anything. Sure enough, there’s probably only three or four in her hand right now. And they’re one of her favourite things in the world, ever. She’s hidden them under pillows at sleepovers before. Before he can stop, she notices him looking and gives him a shrug.

“I’m just not that hungry,” she explains, taking a sip of the water. “It’s fine.”

It’s fine. There you go. She said it’s fine, so it’s fine.

Despite that reassurance, and against his better judgement, he doesn’t stop taking peeks at her as the movie goes on. It’s probably a good thing he doesn’t like this movie. She picks at the food she would normally be fighting him for, eating a pretzel here and there and nothing else, only long, slow drinks of water. The hair on the back of his neck pricks up at it, his instincts once again kicking in.

Maybe instead of instincts, he thinks he might just be paranoid. Janis said that she hadn’t had much of an appetite recently. It’s just a side effect of the medicine. Nothing to be worried about, surely, especially with the way her eyes are wide and her grin is excited and bright, the way she jumps at scares she’s seen ten times over and ‘ooh’s at Freddy coming down the hall. She even calls him a ‘magnificent bastard’. Why should he focus on what she’s eating when she’s still her and is in good spirits? With that in mind, he turns his attention to the movie, properly this time, accompanied by Janis’ rantings and commentary.

When he does lose focus on Freddy Kruger again, it’s nothing to do with Janis or ‘instincts’, but rather nature calling, courtesy of a half-empty lemonade bottle on the floor. He stretches his stiff legs and turns to let her know, probably having to tap her to pull her out of the movie… only to find her curled in on herself, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Her hand rests limply on Maxie and her chest rises and falls slowly. How long has she been like that, he wonders.

“Janis?” he whispers. Nothing. “Janis.” She doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch. That’s her for the night.

She looks younger in sleep, especially without make-up. And a lot less tough. It’s easier to see her as the little girl he met crying in a bathroom all those years ago. But she was tough even then, and she’s even stronger now. He rises slowly, careful not to wake her. Maxie is still awake, but antsy at sitting down for too long.

“Come here, kid,” he says quietly to him. He lifts Janis’ hand a little and coaxes him off her, patting his knees until he reluctantly climbs down. He settles beside her instead, sitting beside the couch like a little guard dog. “Good boy.” Next he takes the blanket from the heater and throws it over her, making sure to tuck it over her shoulders. That’s what moves her, and for a second he panics, but she only murmurs something and burrows into it. His heart swells in that moment, and he presses a swift kiss to her head.

“Good night, kid,” he whispers, even if it’s still light outside.

He doesn’t go home after that. He sticks around all night, despite Janis’ mother asking if he wants to go home. Neither one of her parents are surprised she fell asleep, telling him she’s tired a lot in the hospital. Her dad heaves a sigh before telling him that’s how they know it’s working. Damian nods, unsure of what else to say, and heads back to the living room. The idea of leaving her alone in there unsettles him for whatever reason.

He slides Cabaret into the DVD player, the volume at 2 and the subtitles on. At least if Janis does wake up, it’ll be to something she likes. For now he bounces between watching the movie and watching her until he gives up entirely. He changes spreads himself on the couch next to him, the light from his phone the only light on in the room. As he does start to doze off, a mere four hours after Janis, he starts thinking about what her dad said. If this is how they know everything’s working, then he can take it. Because it means she’ll be okay at the end.

#mean girls fanfic #mean girls broadway #mean girls the musical #damian hubbard #janis sarkisian #cadnis #cadnis ff #mean girls ff #despite that cadnis is barely in this chapter ....#fic: heart of stone #look its a damian pov!

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iamkatehardy · 6 years ago

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Dream Team (Eames x Reader) - Part 1

Tags: @sparklyreaderx , @titty-teetee , @iv-nyc , @but--dear-this-is-not-wonderland , @eap1935 , @ellar21 , @tiredoffeelinglost , @marvelgirl7 , @captstefanbrandt , @harleyquinns , @bsotstory

(Request : Hey. Eames lover here, I’d really love something where the reader and Eames are working on a really intense extraction with Dom and the rest and got paired up to go get information together. Anyway, they flirt the whole time and she teases him a lot so he’s really distracted during the final briefing at the end of the day. When Dom lets them go he pulls her aside and NSFW content ensues? Maybe with the prompt of 168? You’re the best. Love your writings! -A Fan - @itsfknshelby )

Summary: You meet Arthur to hear his proposition and on the way you meet Eames. Is he charming enough to convince you to understake a seemingly impossible mission?

Dream Team – Part 1

“I got a proposition for you.” – You couldn’t quite get those words out of your mind; whereas in a way they aroused your innate curiosity, at the same time they left you uneasy.

The wait seemed eternal; your stomach was in knots, making the mere acts of breathing or thinking straight incredibly difficult. Arthur’s words could have countless meanings, and all the reasonably possible scenarios crossed your mind on your way to the meeting spot. Before entering the hotel you stared deeply at your reflection in a window; straightening the exquisite dress that hugged your silhouette, you took the opportunity to breathe deeply, in an attempt of quieting your busy mind.

As you met Arthur by the bar, he turned around with two drinks, gently grazing your skin while handing you one; entwining his arm with yours, he escorted you to the table where Dom and Eames were enjoying their ridiculously fine bourbon.

“I must say that I’m profoundly disappointed; I thought I’d find a romantic dinner for two or something, a truly great proposal….” – The corner of your mouth quirked up in a teasing smirk.

“Another day, perhaps, but not today.” – Arthur pursed his lips for a second, before he gave you a half-smile.

“But then I saw Dom, meaning we’ll probably be talking a little business... Am I right?” – You gave Dom a narrow eyes appraisal look.

“As per usual.” – Dom got up and walked around the table, sliding his arms around you and hugging you for a second.

“And that’s Mr. Eames; forger, master of disguise, escape artist, and as much as I hate to admit it, a creative genius.” – Arthur introduced the man sitting on your right, Eames, who rose from the table, his hands going to the top button of his suit jacket to fasten it, like a true gentleman. – “Mr. Eames, this is (Y/N), an old friend.”

“You brought half of the team. Was it to impress me or to intimidate me?” – You turned to Arthur, before observing Eames with great interest as he came closer

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” – He had an elegant British accent; his voice was raspy and hot, like music to your ears. He took your hand, lifting it to his mouth and brushing a gentle kiss across your knuckles. The feeling of his luscious warm lips on your skin made you tingle, especially when his intense gaze traveled from your hand to your face. A charming man can be dangerous, especially when he knows it, and Eames knew it; a tempting smirk spread over his mouth.

“Pleased to meet you too.” – You gave him a polite nod and a flirtatious smile in response.

He stepped behind you, pulling the chair out for you. Eames was not your cup of tea, but you had to admit that he had the proper social graces of a gentleman, not to mention he was actually extremely attractive, maybe enough to make you consider switching your cup of tea.

“Thank you.” – As you prepared to take a seat, he brought it back in, before returning to his seat and unbuttoning the top button of his jacket once again.

Arthur and Dom took their seats.

“It’s been two years, three months and twenty six days since our last meeting. If my memory serves me right and it you know it does…” - Cocking your head to the side, you folded your arms over your chest. – “You gentlemen told me to get it together, start a new life, go straight… I did. I retired. And here I am, in some island in the back of beyond, just enjoying life, surrounded by flamingos. Why exactly would I leave this little piece of heaven behind, huh?”

“We’re working on something big...” – Dom started explaining.

“Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, I really do, but I’m not made for extractions, my last experience speaks for itself. You’ve got Arthur, he’s a clever man, and he can plan things down to the infinitesimal detail… And you’ve got a new forger, even Arthur compliments him, he must be good.” – You shrugged.

“If we want to succeed, we will need to assemble a dream team…” – Arthur then proceeded to say.

“And where would I fit in that team? Why would you need me now?” – You looked him dead in the eye. – “We go back a long way, Arthur, there’s no need to beat around the bush.”

He gestured for Eames, who put an old picture of a man on the table, sliding it towards you.

“Mallory Hanson.” – Eames said lowly.

“Gosh, your accent is disturbingly beautiful, even when I’m no idea what you’re talking about…” – You smirked, before taking a deep breath.

Nibbling his bottom lip, he gave you a side look and went back to focus on his explanation.

“Our patron sent us after information on Mallory Hanson, a sort of archenemy of his. The problem is Mallory Hanson died years ago.” – Eames tapped his fingers on the edge of the photo.

“I can do a lot of things, but being a psychic isn’t one of them.”

“He is legally dead, not actually dead. Hanson faked his own death in an accident, disappeared, and now he’s hiding under a new identity, off the radar, God know where. That picture is over ten years old, when he was last seen as Mallory… I believe he is currently known as The Spectre in the underworld, does that ring a bell?” – Leaning back on his chair, he observed you.

“I’ve heard he’s the kind of guy you don’t want to mess with, that’s what I’ve heard, Mr. Eames.”

“To mess with him, we’d have to find him…” – Dom added.

“But that’s where you come in.” – Arthur laid his hands flat in the table, leaning forward. – “(Y/N), you see things others don’t, you make associations others don’t, you have connections others don’t, and you work with intelligence assets very well. You’re the girl for the job. Forget the extraction if you want to, but help us get to this guy, I’m asking you.”

“Hanson’s out there, living some cover life he created. He likes a life of luxury and ostentation, meaning he won’t just lay low… There has to be some kind of trail.” – Eames turned to you.

“You found me, you can find him.” – You quirked an eyebrow slightly.

“It was extremely hard, dear.” – Eames smiled. – “It took months… But not as many months as we spent trying to track The Spectre, unsuccessfully.”

You sighed, burying your face in your hands.

“Anybody around you for ten minutes can tell you still got the bug.” – Arthur teased you.

He was right, you missed the old times; the challenge, the rush, the pleasure.

“I know I’ll regret this…” – You stared up at the ceiling panels. – “Regardless of my answer.”

Eames took a deep breath, laying his hand on your arm, as a last-ditch attempt to try and get you to accept.

“They say it’s better to regret what you’ve done than what you haven’t.“ – His thumb lightly rubbed your arm.

Arthur felt a lump on his throat; staring at Eames he cleared his throat. Eames got the message and put his hand back on the table, but an expectant look was still in his sparkling eyes.

How were you supposed to say no?

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sineluce-velius-tristitia · 6 years ago

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Into the Deep End

Newt didn’t know what possessed him to come.

Maybe it was to see for himself that the most dangerous Dark wizard is properly locked up behind a cage. To assure that the man who had done horrible, despicable things had been properly apprehended; that there was no chance for Gellert Grindelwald to hurt another person.

But it wasn’t because of that.

Righteous, good intentions aside, Newt is terribly curious of this man.

A wizard of great power and influence, of genius and charm that attracts people enough to become his fanatics. A wizard of whose past is intertwined with Albus Dumbledore.

Newt stands there, in the bowels of MACUSA’s holding cells, practicing long acquired skills of stealth to sneak around unnoticed by the guards assigned just for a single—but incredibly dangerous—wizard.

He’d left his creatures with Queenie, not quite trusting but the alternative of leaving his creatures unguarded for any span of time was unbearable. The memory of his case being impounded was still entirely too fresh and a wave of fear at the mere thought made him a bit more paranoid.

Easily getting past the guards, Newt is surprised to find that nothing else is set up as defense. A superficial scan of the wards told him why. They had focused too much on keeping someone in rather than putting just as much effort in keeping unwanted people out. As it stands, Newt wouldn’t have any problems going in as long as he was careful.

It seems finding the cell he wanted wouldn’t be an issue. All the cells are unoccupied except for one.

He stops right in front of it, a frown knotting at his forehead still quite unsure why he had risked sneaking into one of the most guarded part of MACUSA. Pardoned he may be for smuggling his creatures and risking the Statute, he is still on thin ice.

“I don’t suppose staring into nothing would solve your problems, Mister Scamander.”

The voice is raspy and hoarse but lacking none of its confident lilt. Even with a heavily protected door between them, Grindelwald is every bit the wizard who had taunted and tortured him in the subway. Absently, Newt noted that a silencing charm was not one of the spells cast on the cells.

With a side glance to where he had come from, Newt cast a privacy charm around them, one that wouldn’t interfere with the wards.

The silence from the other side of the door was quite unnerving but even then, Newt doesn’t say anything. He stood there, arms crossed and hunched over, staring at the door separating him and Grindelwald.

Newt wonders why he could not muster fear or anger at the man who had taken his creatures away from him no matter how short of a time it had been. Wonders why there’s nothing but curiosity for a man who caused so much unneeded violence.

I’m not one of Grindelwald’s fanatics, he had said to the man. And he wasn’t. But a part of him always had been curious what made them fanatics. There has to be a reason why a single wizard could amass such a following.

Then, quite sudden and out of the blue, laughter full of mirth rang from the other side. It’s surprising, and the malevolent undercurrent of it made Newt shudder unconsciously.

“I seem to have underestimated you, Mister Scamander. But, ah, I see it now; what makes Albus Dumbledore so fond of you. Is there anything you wouldn’t do for your creatures?” Here, Newt scowls but still doesn’t talk. “I’ve seen what you do for them, walked through their homes and admired how seamlessly they exist. Danger doesn’t seem to be a word you adhere to.”

There’s a bitter aftertaste in his mouth as he swallowed when reminded by the fact the man had trampled over his case—his home. Nothing had been out of place when he had checked, not even the obscurus Grindelwald had taken out.

“I think it’s time for you to go now.” Newt could hear the smile from the man’s tone of voice. “We will meet again.”

It’s six months before Gellert Grindelwald made his presence known again.

Newt isn’t the least bit surprised the man had managed to escape. What does surprise him is when he finds a herd of thestrals loitering about in the street near his home in London. There’s a young chimaera too, affectionate enough that it lets Newt near without fuss.

“Hello, little one.” Newt coos as it climbs up to his shoulder. It leans on his fingers when he reached up to pet it. Pickett curiously peeks out from the lapel of his coat and climbs up to where the chimaera had settled. They had a staring contest before Pickett huffed and settled back down to his favorite place.

Newt chuckles affectionately, “Pickett seems to like you well enough. Now who might you be?” A small scrap of parchment is stuck on its back and Newt quickly reads it.

His name is Antonio. Keep him with you. You may do as you please with the thestrals.

The handwriting is unfamiliar. He couldn’t think of anyone who would send him anything of the sort and it’s more than suspicious. Perhaps he should send word to Theseus at the least. But contact with his brother isn’t something he wanted to do unless it was absolutely needed.

“You weren’t sent by someone bad, were you?” Newt asked of the thestrals and Antonio.

The small chimaera merely made a high pitched guttural sound at the back of its throat in response.

Newt smiles before clicking his tongue, calling the attention of the thestrals nosing curiously at the potted plants of the neighboring houses. He frowns when he noticed how thin they looked—thinner than how a thestral should be.

“Oh you poor dears,” Newt sighed, nuzzling one of the creatures. “We should get you somewhere more suitable for your needs.”

He leads them to his home where he had spent months in when the Ministry sanctioned his travelling ban. It’s roomier than his case but Newt missed being able to travel, being able to set his creatures free to where they belong instead of cooped up in a beautiful cage.

They may be replications of their home but it was a cage nonetheless.

A cold nose nudged his cheek and Newt smiled wryly. He can’t keep a herd of thestrals in his home. Perhaps he could send them to Hogwarts once they’re in perfect health.

It’s another month before the monotony of scouring through London and getting rid of his tails was broken when Antonio—who had taken residence on his person just as much as Pickett had—suddenly jumped down from his pocket and ran through the streets.

Newt, already used to such behavior from his other creatures, quickly scampered off to follow the chimaera.

He manage to catch up to the creature near an alley and had only managed to cradle him close to his chest, ready to scold him running off, when a hand grabbed his shoulder and the familiar feeling of apparation swallowed him.

They appear on a rooftop of some building, the wind whipping away at his overcoat.

“I did say we will meet again, Mister Scamander.”

Newt barely managed to cover a flinch of surprise but he does back away from the voice. Standing before him, head tilted to the side, is Gellert Grindelwald. There’s no trace of the months he spent in MACUSA’s custody.

It hits him that this is the first time he sees the Dark Lord as himself. Nothing in the Dark wizard’s face or body but the mask of Gellert Grindelwald. There’s nothing to blindside Newt this time, nothing to defend himself with, no barriers of any kind. Except, perhaps, Newt’s own ignorance.

The other wizard seems to be waiting for a response so Newt composes himself, “You did say that.”

In his hands, Antonio wriggles about and peeks up at Newt and then to Grindelwald. To his bemusement, Grindelwald reaches out a hand. “May I?”

Newt stares, unsure for a moment, before he realizes what the Dark Lord wanted. Instinctively, Newt lets Antonio out of his grasp, watching as the little chimaera crawled over to Grindelwald’s hand willingly. It was strange, seeing the intimidating wizard holding the creature carefully.

“I’m glad to see you’ve kept Antonio.” Grindelwald lifted the creature to Newt’s shoulder and let it go. “I’m afraid I can’t keep such a needy creature with me.”

Indignation churned in his gut but Newt tempered it down, focusing instead on the realization that Grindelwald had been the one who sent Antonio and the thestrals. He had to be cautious with what he says to the wizard. He says instead, “Antonio had been a good companion.”

Grindelwald hums, “I can see that.”

“What was it you needed with me?” Newt finally asked, absently petting Pickett and then Antonio.

“Nothing.”

Newt furrows his brows and looked closer at the other wizard. “Yet.”

A smirk tugged at Grindelwald’s lips. “Nothing yet, yes. When the time comes, you will give it to me.”

Newt had no idea what it is. But the conviction in the Dark Lord’s voice kept him from asking. It was curious how despite being cautious, there was no immediate urge to flee. Even lesser was the urge to interfere with whatever the wizard is planning.

“Until we meet again, Newton.”

There was a possibility that Newt refused the Ministry’s deals because he couldn’t seem to muster up the will to fight against the Dark Lord.

He had seen how the man fought, had been in close enough proximity to say that he could not repeat what he had done in that subway months ago. Not for the lack of trying but for the certainty that Grindelwald wouldn’t commit the same mistake twice.

“There would come a time that everyone—everyone—has got to pick a side. Even you.” Theseus had said.

I don’t do sides. He doesn’t. Especially now.

Newt knew that travelling to Paris isn’t such a good idea.

But with Credence alive, Newt couldn’t appease his conscience quite well. And even then, he had to clear things up with Tina.

Going to Paris isn’t such a good idea but Newt will do it anyway. And, glancing at Jacob who was recounting his and Queenie’s romance in the last year, Newt wouldn’t deny the speck of happiness at the familiarity of the situation. He missed his friends and he missed venturing out of the country. This time, hopefully, there wouldn’t be adrenaline of a chase and troubles of Dark Lords.

But considering who and what Credence is, Newt wouldn’t count on it.

The moment Antonio started fussing, Newt knew what was coming.

“Hey Newt-”

“I-I’m sorry Jacob,” Newt turns around to face Jacob, causing the other man to stop in his tracks. “But could you please, uh, hold this for moment-” He hands him the feather that they are using to track Tina, now encased in a clear box.

Jacob takes it with a puzzled expression. “Okay…”

“Yes thank you,” Newt tries to smile. “I’ll be back in a jiffy. Stay here. Or, uh, actually, you can find a café to stay at. I’ll find you.”

Then he walks over to an alley before letting Antonio scamper up his shoulder. “Where to now?”

With the squeaked directions from the little chimaera, Newt finds himself outside a house. He steps up to knock on the door and was greeted by a striking woman.

They look at each other, the woman sizing him up before inclining her head with an unreadable though pleasant expression. “Come in, Mister Scamander.”

Newt does so, brushing off the surprise at her knowing his name. “Thank you.” He muttered.

There’s a surprised gasp from inside and Newt turns to its direction.

“Newt?” Then he was engulfed in a hug that had him shifting in discomfort even as he recognized Queenie’s golden curls and soft voice. “Oh I’m so glad you’re here. It’s been so awful. Is Jacob with you? I’m so sorry I didn’t know what else to do.”

He pats her back awkwardly, spying the black haired French woman smirking at them.

“What – what are you doing here Queenie?” Newt asked as Queenie finally let him go, a niggle of worry finally settling in his stomach.

Her distressed frown brightened up into a smile as she gestures at the woman, “I was lost and she helped me. She’s been so kind to me but I uh…” Her face fell and dismay colored her voice. “You don’t happen to know where Tina is, do you?”

Newt’s shake of head wasn’t really needed but he still did so.

You need to leave.

“Oh, why do I-”

“Newton,” Newt turned just as Queenie drew her wand.

“You stay right there,” Queenie bit out, unconsciously pulling Newt behind her. “I know what you are.”

“Queenie.” Grindelwald strode nearer, arms raised to show that he is harmless. It doesn’t quite work but the man doesn’t put it down. “We’re not here to hurt you.” The man titled his head. “Nor will we harm Newton.”

Newt closed his eyes, resigned that he’s too late to have Queenie escape.

Please put your wand down, Newt spoke in his mind clearly. He may not know what the Dark Lord has planned but Newt didn’t want to aggravate the man though he seems to be more amused than anything else. Pleased, even.

Queenie’s stance wavered and she turned to him, confusion and betrayal clear on her face.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Newt whispered. This seems to amuse Grindelwald even further so Newt turns his attention to him. “Please let her go.”

“We will,” Grindelwald appeased but satisfaction lurked behind his mismatched eyes. “We only wish protect the innocent. To let her know that we are here to help.” His attention drifts to Queenie who is trembling. “It is not your fault that your sister is an auror. I wish she were working with me now to a world where every witch and wizard is able to live however they want. To love freely.”

Before Newt’s eyes, he sees Queenie’s resolve waver. She looks at him, a desperate attempt to keep her head straight. But even Newt isn’t sure what to believe so he grips her hand and moved his gaze away from her.

I’m sorry was all he could think.

“Go now,” Grindelwald said. “Leave this place.”

Obediently, they did.

Queenie tags along as Newt returns to Jacob.

They have a tearful reunion, both apologizing for their actions (and thoughts on Jacob’s part). But Grindelwald’s influence had taken root. Newt can see the determination in Queenie’s eyes.

He smiles, though, because Queenie and Jacob clearly belonged together.

A man passed by and the feather they had been following earlier that day ruffled excitedly and pointed at the man. Newt let it free, watching as the feather zoomed past them and back onto the man’s hat.

“Come on.” Newt muttered as he followed the man.

His reunion with Tina wasn’t quite as touching as Jacob and Queenie’s.

They manage to get Mr. Kama out of the sewers with them and the Zouwu safely inside his case. When they settled in the safe place professor Dumbledore had given him the address to, Queenie had finally gotten irritated enough at the tension between them.

“Tina!” Queenie huffed, glaring at her stoic sister. “Newt here was going to say something important.”

Newt froze from his spot halfway down his case. He slowly turns his gaze up at Queenie’s expectant look to Tina’s equally as expectant look.

“You really are sisters.” He blurted out, nerves having caught up with him. Somewhere in the room, Jacob purses his lips and palms his face. Queenie glared at Newt. “I- I’m sorry. I-” Queenie tapped her foot in impatience. “I wasn’t uh, there had been a misunderstanding, Tina. It’s my brother- Theseus and Leta are the ones who are going to get married.”

Queenie’s happy clap was the only noise heard in the silence filled room. Newt took the opportunity to go down his case to take care of the Zouwu.

Newt sees Credence again in the Lestrange Mausoleum.

It’s only him and Tina this time, having left Queenie and Jacob to guard Mr. Kama. Though they seem to have been unsuccessful.

There’s tension in the air, one born from familial disagreements. Newt felt distinctly out of place as Leta told her story, feeling as if he was encroaching on something he shouldn’t know. It doesn’t shed light to who Credence is and the look of disappointment in the boy caused sympathy to twist his heart.

His attention is broken by Antonio wiggling out of his pocket.

“Antonio?”

His startled whisper called everyone’s attention. Newt followed Antonio to where a passage opened at his touch. The chimaera croaked and scampered up his shoulder and settled there, anticipation making him absolutely still.

Beyond the revealed passageway was a large gathering of wizards and witches.

At once, Newt realized Grindelwald’s plan.

The fire of protego diabolica burned brightly as it danced to the whims of the Dark Lord.

Aurors who were unable to protect themselves got burned, dying with piercing screams that cut off as the curse ate them away.

Newt watched with a horrified fascination, following the motions of his brother as they defended against the flames. Queenie and Jacob were ways away and he could see her crying, screaming at Jacob in despair.

At the other side, Credence makes his way to the flames, barely held back by the maledictus.

Newt is rooted in his spot, watching as Credence crossed over, Grindelwald greeting him with wide arms. His eyes are drawn to Queenie, anguish and desperation clear on her face as she crossed over the blue flames. Their eyes meet and Newt lets out a huff, half hysteric and half resignation.

“Newton,” Everyone seemed to pause at the call. Newt heard Theseus’s breath hitch and felt the way his brother’s hand gripped his arm tighter. “It’s time, I should think.”

Newt clutches his eyes shut, taking in deep breaths as he gripped his case tighter.

“What does he-” Newt pulls away from Theseus’s hold. “Newt don’t!”

He avoids look at anyone, feeling Tina, Leta, and Theseus’s eyes burning at him. Grindelwald’s expectant, triumphant gaze seemed to be the only thing that doesn’t burn. Antonio is purring as his shoulder and Newt reaches up to pet him.

With surprisingly steady gait, Newt walks down the steps.

Time seemed to slow and the distance between him and the platform seemed to be longer than it looks.

“Newt!”

Newt pauses and turns to his brother only to have the flames come between them. Between Newt and everyone.

Leta pulls Theseus back and Newt catches her eyes. For the first time in years, Newt smiles at her. “Please take care of him.”

Then he walked away, towards Grindelwald’s expectant gaze. This time it seemed faster than it should. The flames are warm, comforting even as his heart broke at the screams of his name.

He doesn’t stop walking until he stands close to Grindelwald. So close that there was barely space between them. Antonio jumps from his perch on Newt’s shoulder over to Grindelwald’s. The Dark Lord reaches up and cradles Newt’s face in his palm.

Smugness and triumph swirled behind mismatched eyes.

And then they were gone.

#fantastic beasts and where to find them #grindelnewt #fbcog #fanfic #one shot #lmao i haven't updated shit but i made this #cross posted in ao3

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