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spotofimagines · 3 years ago

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Rivals Last ~ Jadon Sancho

A/N: So I had this in my drafts before he signed with man united but that's fine, we move, we adapt. A third piece for the @footballffbarbiex summer challenge. Hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: none - reader is female

Summary: You love both your brothers dearly, but being in the football world with them can make some things a little complicated.

gif by @archivesbvb - gif by @ermuellert - gif by @italynt

Being a footballer meant living in a special world. Being in a footballing family meant living in a special world too. Being the younger sister of Lucas and Theo Hernandez meant living in a really special world. But nobody told you just how crazy it would be for all three of those things to apply to you.

You truly love watching your older brothers play football. They teach you something new during every match you see; even though you play as a striker, their movements and handling of the ball always inspire you to play better. After all, it was their defensive skills that helped you become a good goal scorer growing up since they never let a tackle go unchallenged in the park and you had to find out how to manoeuvre around them. A lot easier said than done.

Currently Lucas is signed with Bayern Munich. In his time there so far, he has learnt the heritage, history, and importance of wearing the badge and defending its honour in every match they play, especially derbies. Having supported Lucas, it quickly became easy for you to support Bayern Munich too and celebrate their victories like it was your own team. You'd always managed to do it with the clubs both your brothers played for, letting the atmosphere of the fanbase carry you away.

You have just finished your second season in England with Manchester City women's team. You'd settled in nicely now, having learnt a lot of the English language and culture already. The experience was made so much easier because of the help given by your welcoming teammates and the staff that translated things into French and Spanish during your first months there.

Fans were a little disappointed during the 2019 summer transfer window when it was confirmed all three Hernandez siblings would be leaving Spain to play separately in England, Germany and Italy, joking that no one could know what might happen with you all so far away. However, to you, it made things easier, as Lucas and Theo would stop making so many awful jokes about each other's clubs, only to join forces to diss your club even more afterward. Now the only connection you have to the clubs you all play for is the want for your sibling to win with them. And it is a great feeling. A welcome change of pace.

But no new change to your life felt as good as your blossoming "relationship", situationship, whatevership, you have with Jadon Sancho.

It all started with you flirting back and forth on social media, which turned itself into countless hours of DMs no one else could see. You congratulated his goals and he congratulated your wins. All the light-hearted teasing and the warm-hearted compliments stayed in your own little bubble. The only thing peeking out was your silly inside rule that if you were going to comment on a post, it had to be emojis only, stretching to a few words if you really couldn't help yourself - but it would earn you taunts from the other for the rest of the night.

Some eagle-eyed fans noticed how you'd been liking each other's posts every time they appeared for a while now, but it just added to the fun and thrill you got from flirting with him so much.

You weren't meant to be forming a bond with Jadon. He played for your brother’s rival. He was supposed to be the enemy. Someone you should dislike with a snap of your fingers. Certainly not a boy to fall for like you have.

You couldn't help yourself. Lucas and Theo had helped you since you moved to England by being the steady rocks they always were, cheering you on from afar. Your new teammates had helped you since you moved to England by introducing fun things for you all to do together and taking you under their wings. But Jadon had helped you in a different kind of way. He gave you a new kind of comfort and reassurance when you talked. He became someone to turn to with all your interesting news and your curious problems. He told you the good places to visit around the city that he remembered from his time there and taught you English slang to make your teammates laugh. You spoke three languages to varying degrees now, and you'd managed to pick up more German vicariously through Lucas in two years faster than Jadon had done living in Germany in four years, so you'd clue him into rude German phrases you had asked Lucas about, alongside the French and Spanish swear words he used more often than English ones now when you text.

Even though a language barrier comes up once in a while, you have both learnt behaviours from each other and crave the contact you share. Jadon was starting to drop everything to send replies to you, a change his teammates have noticed and jokingly mock him for. Little did they know the unknown girl they joke he is smitten over is the sister of their rival.

Theo is the one in your family you usually tell about the boys you go out with; boyfriends and dates have been shared with him since you were 13 and doting on your first crush. He does the same with his girlfriends; asking advice and telling you more than you need to know at times. So, when you all went home for a bit of family time around Christmas, nothing could stop him from noticing the tell-tale signs that you had something going on. He already figured out through persistence that it was another player you were getting involved with, and his insistent questioning hasn't stopped in his search for who the player is.

But you keep it hidden from Lucas, and you don't know when you'll tell him. He has been your protector since you were kids, comforting you on sad nights when no one else was there, teaching you little secrets about how to navigate through the world, he even punched a boy who teased you once at school. The idea of telling him you were chatting romantically to another player would be trouble enough, but telling him it was a Dortmund player might just end up in another schoolground incident. You hadn't wanted Theo to know for fear he'd go dishing your dirt to Lucas, but he discovered it on his own and there was nothing you could do.

Who knows what might become of this thing you have with Jadon, and lord knows your eldest brother owns a hard as nails death stare that just might do Jadon in, but for now you actually quite like having the secret. A little mystery tucked away up your sleeve.

The rush you always get when Lucas calls your phone as you're typing a text to the Englishman, feeling as though the first words from the other end will be shouts of how he knows everything and he'll never speak to you again for keeping it a secret, fills you with dread at times. But it never is the reason he calls, and it turns out he is just making plans or has something funny to tell you. But the way your heart thumps as you go back to texting Jadon, that is part of the chase you have to admit you enjoy.

Hardcore fans online have noticed the past few months that when you do interviews in English, the odd slang term comes up during jokes - terms you hadn't used before and stem more from London boroughs than northen towns - so speculation of how you'd learnt these things easily coincided with dating rumors.

Lucas had seen the speculation online; seen fans trying to put your interactions with the Dortmund player together through both your instagram stories and comments and the tweets you both had liked about the other. Lucas had even grown suspicious of the little questions you asked him about Germany, German phrases and his lifestyle there, not knowing why you would need nor want to know those things. But Lucas doesn't believe it. He knows that you know better to mix with a Dortmund boy.

Sometimes an older brother just doesn't get it quite right…

Soon, the chance will come to really see if your connection is something you can build on. Jadon's new signing with Manchester United has been confirmed and he will be moving back to England. It is a great opportunity to get to see him more often, rather than the odd rendezvous point or clandestine trip during small breaks in the season. You'll spend more time face to face instead of over the phone. You'll get to wake up in his bed and him in yours, without needing to sneak away from hotel rooms afterwards. You'll maybe even get to go on a proper date, just the two of you, where you can flirt across the table your joined hands rest upon. Hanging out with Jadon won't be the first time you've spent time together in person. However, getting a full day with only the two of you where you won't have to pretend you hardly know who he is, and you won't have to pretend your eyes aren't meeting across the group of people you're in - it fills your stomach with knots and butterflies.

A certain pressure has fallen off you now Jadon has no growing rivalry with Lucas, but not completely. You won't be able to take back the way their teams made the other feel in the past, but the fact there won't be more of it next season comforts you a little. The biggest thing that will hold you back from going public before the new season starts will be the media, but that is an issue you can't even begin to worry about yet. You are too caught up in the excitement of being in the same town as Jadon to care. Rumours are spinning crazier than ever about you two as some of your liked tweets about his move got reposted by sports pages and fan blogs - now joking about him being your rival instead of your brother's - and yet it didn't stop you, no longer all that bothered about keeping a low profile now you both will be living away from Lucas. If he gets mad, all he will be able to do is shout down the phone, and whilst you never want that to happen, you know the time to flourish with Jadon and capitalise on the foundation you have already built is better than ever, brothers be damned.

There are big changes coming for the both of you, yet one thing will remain the same no matter the outcome of your relationship. You can't quite stop being football rivals.

#jadon sancho #lucas hernandez #theo hernandez #jadon sancho imagine #jadon sancho x reader #football #football imagine #oneshot #my fic #my og post

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emma-nation · 4 years ago

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The Devil In I - Bela x OC (Resident Evil Village AU)

“Step inside, see the Devil in I”

Summary: Aleena Novak is a 19 years old orphan who desired more than living in a village in the middle of nowhere. A talented artist with a big future ahead, she gets the scholarship of her dreams in United States. But everything changes when her twin brother, Auryk, steals an important artifact from Castle Dimitrescu.

In this adventure, Aleena will find way more than she expected.

“You’ll realize I’m not your Devil anymore”

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x OC

Genre: Between T and M (Trigger warning for violence, blood, abuse and eventual smut)

Tag List: @nydeiri

Notes: This is my first RES fic, so I'm sorry if I mess it up a bit. English is also not my main language, so a mistake or two may happen. I hope you enjoy it :)

Trigger Warning: Language, abuse, blood and violence.

Eastern Europe - July, 2009

"If he could learn to love another and earn her love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years passed he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?"

Mother closed the book, placing it on the bedside table between Auryk's bed and mine. Then, she lowered herself and kissed my forehead like she did every night. Her long, blonde hair tickled my face and left a trace of her sweet lavender fragrance in the air. I giggled.

"Good night, sweetheart," she spoke.

"Good night, momma."

"Cherish your last night as a six years old. Tomorrow you will become a..."

"Princess?!"

"A seven years old girl. The prettiest girl in the village."

"Pffft," Auryk let out a displeased grunt from his bed, covering his head with the pillow to avoid listening another word from the conversation.

"And you too," mother sat by his side on the bed and repeated her nightly ritual of kissing his forehead to wish him a good night too. "You'll become the most handsome and brave warrior in this village. Do you understand?"

"I hope so. Good night, mom."

"Good night, buddy."

Mother left the room, leaving us both in the dark. However, we couldn't sleep. Not because we were thrilled about our incoming birthday party as any regular child, but because we knew our lives were about to change. Seven years old was the age every child from our village was introduced to the truth and started being trained to fight the evil that haunted our lands. Auryk and I spent minutes, or maybe hours, in silence, staring at the ceiling.

"Leena?" He was the first one to speak. "Do you believe a spell can broken? I mean, like a curse?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I answered, feeling my thoughts starting to drift away. "Maybe we're doomed after all. Or... we could learn how to love the beasts."

The birthday parties always happened during the daytime, rules of the village. We could no longer be outside after 6 PM. Mother got help from the other women to prepare the treats and organize the decorations. Auryk was disguised as a pirate and I... I was Belle, from the Beauty and the Beast.

"So, what do you think you will be getting this year?" My best friend Elena asked while we were playing with our dolls. She was about two years older than us.

"I don't know," I shrugged. Being a merchant, my father always returned home with the most unusual gifts: a magical music box, a voodoo doll that had a life on its own or a fragrance that chased away the monsters - and everybody else too. "A new book. I'm hoping for a new book."

It was only by the end of the party Adrian Novak made his entrance. That was the mystery about him. Nobody knew when he would show up, or if he would show up at all. He still had that same annoying smirk on his face. The corner of his mouth holding a cigarette. The months away made his beard grow longer, as well as his dark hair. In the sunlight, the scar above his eye was even more visible.

"Auryk," he shouted, "come here, son. I've got something for ya."

My twin brother, who had been climbing trees with his friends stop frozen in spot for a second. I couldn't tell if he hated or feared that man. Maybe both. He slowly followed father's command, approaching him cautiously.

"Hi, dad."

"Happy birthday, son," father ruffled his dark straight hair with his strong and calloused hand. "It's about time you grow up."

He handed my brother a large package. From our experience, we knew exactly what it was, a shotgun.

"T-Thank you, dad."

"I'll be spending some time at home. Tomorrow we'll start practicing."

Auryk consented. He shot me a quick glance. From our twin bond I could tell my brother was far from happy. When he blew his candles that afternoon, he didn't wish for a weapon. We wished to be a normal child.

"What did you get, Leena?" He asked once we were locked in the safety of our bedroom.

"Pencils and a drawing book. Dad thinks I'm talented."

Not really. Adrian Novak would never allow his daughter to hold a shotgun. That was, according to him, 'a man thing'.

"Good, at least one of us got what they wanted. Happy birthday, sister."

"Happy birthday, brother."

4 Years Later - October, 2013

It wasn't easy to be the weakest of the twins. Although he was born first, Auryk was the tinniest. The one who was always getting sick or getting injured. The one who couldn't hit a single fucking target when he had the alcoholic breath of his father on his neck.

He aimed for a crow, sitting still on a fence. How hard could it be? Even the eldest man from the village could do any better than that.

BANG! He shot again. And missed.

"Again?!" Adrian angered, shoving him hard on the shoulder. "What the hell is your problem, kid?"

"I don't know, okay? This gun... it's heavy!"

"Heavy? And why do you think we've been exercising for all these years, huh?! We do not live in Disneyland, Auryk. We need to fight monsters, abominations. Someday I won't be home and you need to be prepared to protect our people. Do you understand?"

Tears started forming in the corners of the boy's blue eyes. He couldn't cry. Not in front of him. Crying was a sign of weakness and he couldn't be weak. Not right now. Auryk started to think about all the things he could be doing. He thought about the ocean, as he had seen on TV and books. He could feel the warmness of the sun on his skin. The sand between his toes. His mom and sister were also there, of course - they'd carry them with him everywhere. And he would study Math and Physics. There would be no guns, no monsters, no blood, only numbers, only formulas, only theories. He smiled. He no longer felt like crying.

"I'm sorry, dad," kindness was always the answer, his mother said. "But this isn't for me, you know? I don't like it. I... Remember that boarding school my teacher mentioned? I thought maybe I..."

His words were interrupted by a hard slap on his face. Auryk could taste a small amount of blood coming out from his lower lip.

"So that's what you want? To become one of those little fancy fags? Maybe you're not my son after all."

Adrian started walking away, leaving his son alone, sitting on the floor.

"I AM!" Auryk yelled, enraged. "I am your son."

"Then prove it."

"You shouldn't take so hard on him," Savannah poured her husband a cup of tea. "He's just a boy."

"He's eleven years old, for god's sake," the husband punched the table strong enough to make it shake. "He needs to man up a bit. You should stop spoiling him."

As I left my bedroom I found my brother sitting on the stairs. He didn't have to be so close to listen to the conversation between our parents, father's voice was loud enough to echo through every wall of our small and cozy home.

I sat down by his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Maybe you should do it, Leena. You'd do it better, I know."

"I'm not so sure. Remember when I tried to shoot a scarecrow and almost shot that old witch?"

"Come on, you aimed on purpose! I know."

Auryk finally let out a small laugh at the memory.

"You're good at everything, Leena," he spoke fondly. "You're an extrovert, you're everybody's friend, you can cook, you can draw and paint... you're a true artist. I'm a mistake."

"You're not a mistake, Ryk," I pulled my brother closer, resting my cheek against the side of his face. "We're only at the wrong place and you know it."

Going back to our bedroom, we pulled from the drawers the postcards our grandma Louise sent us from San Diego. Mom had been born in California and lived there her entire life, until she met father during one of his trips. God knows what made her fall in love with that man. Adventure? Danger? I expected better from myself when I turned eighteen. Otherwise, I'd never want to fall in love. Love could be my ruin, just like my mom's.

"Leena..." Auryk held the postcard tightly, "do you think... if he died... do you think mom would take us to nana's home?"

"I don't know, Ryk," I didn't want to think of my father's possible death. But I also dreamed of a better life. "Maybe."

"What the hell?" Father's voice in the kitchen made me jump in fear. I knew that tone. I grew up used to that. Something was wrong in the village. We had to hide.

"To the basement, now!" He emerged at the bedroom, holding a rifle. "Lycans were seen surrounding the area."

We barely had any time to react, mom came and dragged us both to the basement. Father left, carrying his arsenal of weapons as usual. There were other hunters in the village but we always knew how badly it could end. Somebody could always get seriously hurt. Or worse.

The basement had been carefully prepared for that kind of situation years before. It had a big bed, two armchairs, a heating source, some stored food and a shelf. Mom sighed and forced a smile.

"So," she walked to the shelf, "what is it going to be today?"

"Frankenstein," Auryk suggested. My brother loved mystery and horror. As if his life hadn't enough of it.

"Romeo and Juliet," I spoke. There was something about forbidden romance that always caught my interest.

"Okay. I... I'm gonna say a prayer and you two can read the books you picked by yourselves. What do you think?"

"Great!"

Mom kneeled down by the bed's side, holding a crucifix. I could join her if I wanted to, but I'd rather watch in silence. I grabbed my book, sitting on one of the armchairs and pretending to pay attention, while I tried to distract myself from the fact my father could be the Lycans' next prey. Or all of us, if they managed to break into our house.

"Leena?" I woke up hours later with my mom shaking me. "Leena?! Where's Auryk? Where's your brother, Leena?"

I had no idea. I had fallen asleep and apparently, so did mom. She checked for the basement's door, it had been locked from outside.

"No..." she tried to force it open. "No! I can't be..."

All Auryk had to do was to successfully kill and take a Lycan's carcass as a trophy to his father, right? That was what that old douchebag wanted him to do, to prove his courage, his manhood. We had his shotgun, a binoculars and a knife, that should be enough, but first, he needed a good plan.

Looking down to his hands, he had the most perfect idea. Without thinking twice, he sliced a cut through his palm, letting some blood pour on the ground. Then, he found a tall tree. He climbed it and observed. The smell of blood his trail left behind should be enough to attract a creature.

"Come on... come on..."

From a distance, Auryk could hear the sound of destruction and death. There was a battle going on somewhere nearby. Once again Lycans should have found a family or a group of hunters.

And then, he could hear it. The heavy footsteps, the screeching sounds, the sniffing. The mutant creature was only a few meters away from the tree. He aimed, but it was still too distant. He needed to move to a closer branch.

It all happened in one second. He was almost there, reaching for the spot he had picked, but his weight was too much for the tree's branch. In a blink of an eye, he was lying on the ground. His vision was blurred. His head hurt intensely, as well as his arm. It was broken for sure. He possibly had a concussion too. He tried to stand up and run but his legs wouldn't follow his commands. The Lycan was coming straight at him.

"AURYK!" His mother screamed behind him. "NO!"

Time seemed to freeze in that fraction of second. How did she manage to escape the basement? How could she have found him?

But without hesitation, Savannah threw herself on top of her son, protecting him from the jaws and claws of the monster. Auryk couldn't see much, but he could smell it. He could feel it. Blood. There was blood everywhere. He couldn't tell who it belonged to, he or his mom's.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A fast sequence of shots suggested the hunters had found them. The creature stopped moving, stopped howling. It was finally dead.

"M-Mom... it's dead. We... We're safe."

She didn't answer. Instead, he heard another familiar voice.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!" It was from his father. "Savannah! Savannah!"

"D-Dad..." Auryk tried to speak, but the words got lost along the way. "I... I..."

Adrian lifted him by his jacket, holding him inches above the ground.

"YOU KILLED HER! YOU KILLED YOUR MOM, YOUR STUPID BASTARD!"

"I..." tears streamed down the boy's face, his injured brain trying to process what had just happened. "I'm sorry.'

After he was thrown back to the ground, he was hit with a hard kick on his stomach. He turned his head around to notice a small figure hiding behind a tree, watching the whole scene in pure horror.

"L-Leena..." he muttered.

"This is all your fault, Auryk. You're a disgrace to this family."

And then, he passed out. Rumors said he was unconscious for days or maybe weeks. When he woke up, he wished everything had been a nightmare.

Present Days - July, 2021

Nobody mourned Adrian Novak when he died. Not his children. Not his village mates. No human being would ever feel any sympathy for a man who abused and blamed his eleven years old son for his mother's death. It had been two years since Adrian left this world and I couldn't feel any more free.

"Hey," I left another message on my brother's voicemail, "in case you've forgotten it's our birthday today. I'd like to have my twin home, you know? Call me when you get this message."

It was useless, I knew. Auryk would only pick up his phone when he wanted to. Or when he was too drunk. God knew where that guy would be at that time, probably waking up at some girl's bed or getting some rest from... working.

After grabbing myself a cup of coffee, I checked the door's mat. Bills, bills, newspaper and... California Institute Of Arts? I remember having an argument with Auryk about this matter at some point. He wanted me to fill the application and send them my portfolio. I insisted we had no money, not even to pay for the tuition. I won - I always win every argument by the way.

"Your damn son of a..." I placed the envelope on the kitchen's table. I was a coward, I confess. However, I didn't know which pain was worse - to be sure I wasn't good enough or to be sure I was, indeed, but I'd never have money to leave that hellhole. Anyways, I decided to leave it alone. I had more important things to do.

My morning routine: to go to the middle of the woods and do some training. My father used to say fighting wasn't a girl thing, but I was no regular girl. And never in this life I'd allow someone to tell me what to do.

After running, climbing and doing a set of push-ups, it was time for combat training. Travelers from abroad taught me some different set of moves, I'd like to think I created my own fighting style. I was also very good with knifes, daggers or any kinds of short blades, they were useful during a close distance combat. My shooting was a work in progress, once or twice I'd miss the center of my handmade targets.

Then, like everyday, I'd go back home, shower and follow to my shift at the village's pub.

"Hiya, Leena," Gustav greeted me when I arrived. "I heard today is a special day... the day a little girl..."

"NO!" I stopped him. Gustav was my best friend. We had known each other since we were children and somehow, he liked to make my birthday a special - and embarrassing - event.

He placed a handmade fairytale-like book on the table. There were some edited pictures, mixed with some messed up drawings about my birth and childhood. He called it 'The Princess Who Carried The Light'.

"God, you're soooo stupid..." I rolled my eyes and moaned, before wrapping him into a very tight hug. "I love you, you know that?"

"I know. You'd probably marry me, if you weren't into girls."

We laughed together, as Olga, our boss emerged from the kitchen, bringing a cake with nineteen candles.

"Here's to another year," the older woman opened a wrinkled smile, "make a wish, my darling."

I fell pensive for a moment, besides having my twin brother back home, safe and sound, what else could I wish for? California, that scholarship, a new life... that's for sure.

"I wish for... a new life, a new adventure," I pronounced aloud while blowing the candles.

"Careful," a male voice spoke behind me, "words have power, little sister. You may get what you want."

"Ryk!"

I jumped straight to my brother's arms. I could swear that in only a few weeks he had gotten a little bit taller, and stronger too.

"I wouldn't miss my own birthday, right?" He smirked. "So, where's the cake? Please, chocolate... tell me it's chocolate."

"Your silly boy," Olga spread some icing on his nose. "Of course it's chocolate, as you love. And with cherries too."

Auryk responded with a satisfied smile. Olga and her husband, Kristoff, were those responsible for taking care of him after the Lycan attack, years ago. They sort of adopted him like one of their biological children.

"Oh!" The woman exclaimed taking a closer look at Ryk's forearm. He had gotten a tattoo. I hadn't been informed of those news either. Apparently, my brother had more secrets than I could even start to imagine. "This is... new. It seems like my kids are really growing up."

"And only now you noticed that, Olga?" Gustav joked.

Olga shook her head, grinning at herself and returned to the kitchen. The customers were starting to fill the pub. I stared at Ryk again, wondering what other secrets my brother could be keeping.

"So, what does that mean?" I pointed to his newly gotten tattoo, a strange and ancient symbol it seemed.

"Protection from the evil. This is what we need the most in our lives, especially in a place like this. What reminds me -" we turned around, taking a small box from the pocket of his jacket. "Your gift."

I took the black velvet box from his hands, it contained a golden necklace with a magenta gemstone as pendant. My blue eyes drowned themselves in the stone. It had a mysterious glow. Something hypnotizing. Something magical.

"Whoa..." was everything my mouth could pronounce. "And I bought you an Astronomy book."

Auryk stood up from his chair and went behind me, taking the necklace from my hands to wear it around my neck himself.

"This is supposed to protect you from any supernatural and inhumane beings. I won't lose you to them, Aleena. Not like I lost mom."

"Ryk, I... I can't even thank you enough."

"You don't have to. Just... stay alive."

First, I was overflowing with happiness. It either had to do with the fact my brother was home, alcohol, or both. Also, Olga should thank me. Most of the costumers of the day only stopped by the bar because of me. They absolutely loved me and knowing it was my birthday, they had to come and see me. A few of them even gave me some extra tips or a small gift, which was even greater.

"Okay, party girl..." Auryk helped me to get inside of the house as I tripped over the door mat. "Time to go to bed now. Don't you think?"

"Come on, Ryk! Have some spirit! You're home, Olga gave me the day off tomorrow, I earned some money..."

"You told Mrs. Hansen you secretly had a crush on her daughter during Middle School, you danced on top of a table, you're gonna get a hangover..."

"Party pooper!"

I threw myself at the couch. Auryk stood in front of me with arms crossed, looking like a father about to give his child a lecture.

"What?!" I yelled. "It's not like you've never been drunk before. Remember when you stole Adrian's..." I started to laugh, remembering the episode.

"When you were going to tell me about this, Leena?" He showed me the envelope. The Art Institute envelope. The one I had been struggling to open.

"Oh! I forgot. My bad, I didn't open it myself yet. I probably didn't get in anyways."

"You did."

I did?

"It's not like we have money to pay for my tuition. Also, how are we supposed to move to California, Ryk? I work at a pub and you..."

"I've gotten more than enough for that. You know that getting out of this place has always been the plan, since we were children. Leena, I've done some big jobs those last few months. I have the money to grant us a comfortable life in California."

"Smuggling, Ryk!" I raised my voice, saying aloud the information that was supposed to be a secret or not. "You've been stealing to grant us this life."

My brother stared at me in silence. I couldn't tell if he felt offended or embarrassed about my words.

"I'm getting out of here, whatever it takes," he ran a hand through his dark hair. "And you are coming with me. In two weeks, we move to United States for your enrollment."

"But..."

What I was trying to protest against? Leaving the village and starting a new life with my brother was everything I always dreamed.

"Look, I promise you," Auryk placed both of his firm hands on my shoulders, "once we settle down, no more smuggling."

"Okay," I sighed. "We leave in two weeks then."

There was a loud knock on the door. Being drunk as I was, I figured out I should have forgotten my purse at the pub. Or it could be a neighbor with some very stupid emergency.

Auryk opened the door and there was a strange looking man standing there. We wore sunglasses and a hat, behind his back he was carrying a giant hammer. According to the rumors and stories I heard from my parents, that was one of the Lords of The Four Houses, Karl Heisenberg.

"Auryk Novak?" He asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Come with me, kid. You've gotten yourself in big trouble."

#resident evil village #resident evil 8 #bela dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #bela x oc #resident evil fanfiction #the devil in i

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buckybeardreams · 2 years ago

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Sneak Peek of Becoming One Chapter 2!!

Tony didn't say much, pushing his food around his plate and wishing he was anywhere else. He didn't like the thought of being so far away from them, but he also felt undeserving of them. How could he possibly be good enough for Captain America and Sergeant Barnes, Cap's best friend and soulmate, his right-hand man and a world-renowned sniper?

They were both American symbols—heroes—and Tony was nothing compared to them. He was just some nobody, and it was eating away at him, making it impossible for him to eat his food.

His soulmates could feel his inner turmoil and kept stealing glances at him, but Tony didn't notice, their concern masked by his own feelings of inadequacy. It wasn't until Tony gave another sigh, heavy and burdened, that Steve couldn't stand it anymore.

"Tony?" Steve said when he could no longer restrain himself.

Tony looked up in surprise, almost like he'd forgotten where he was.

"What?"

"C'mere, angel. Come sit with me," Steve coaxed.

Tony bit his lip but pushed away from the table and slipped into Steve's lap. Steve relaxed immediately, holding his distressed soulmate enough to soothe him like a balm for his heart.

"There you go, sweetheart. That's better," Steve murmured. "You belong right here in my arms."

Tony whimpered, ducking his head into Steve's neck, blushing when his soulmates cooed at him.

Howard watched the interaction, and his lips twitched up into a smile. He still remembers when he first met his soulmate and how Maria took him from a clueless boy who spent his time chasing after women with no clue what he really wanted into a man who knew exactly what he wanted and was willing to drop to his knees and beg for it.

"Here, little one, you need to eat something," Bucky coaxed, holding out a small bite of french bread.

Tony pouted, lifting his head to glance at the offering and then hiding away again.

"Aw, come on, sweet thing. You wanna be a good boy for me, don't you? Take a bite for Daddy."

If Howard was surprised by that, he didn't make any indication of it, but Tony's eyes widened at the title. He lifted his head again to stare at Bucky in shock, and Bucky just smirked and pressed the bread to his lips.

"Open up, doll. Be a good boy and swallow for me, yeah?"

The words came out husky, and his eyes were hungry, and Tony felt an undeniable desire to give him what he wanted. His lips parted, accepting the bread tentatively and chewing it slowly, that deer-caught-in-headlights look still on his face.

"There you go, that's right, little one. So good for me," Bucky murmured.

Tony whimpered, and Steve nuzzled against his red cheek, pressing a kiss to the heated skin.

"You're so pretty when you blush, sweetheart," Steve murmured low in his ear, making Tony shudder and press closer to him.

Bucky fed him bite by bite, and Steve held him close. The moment was surprisingly intimate in a way that Tony didn't realize was possible. He didn't know that intimacy could happen outside of sex and kissing, things he'd never actually done but he had read about and seen on screens—Well, things he'd never done until today.

This was none of those things, but he still blushed and felt all squirmy, and Steve and Bucky cooed at him like he was something precious.

It was… a lot.

Tony loved it and was overwhelmed by it, but they were there to soothe and reassure him when his uncertainty swirled in his eyes and played apprehensive tunes through their bond.

.....

I should be dropping the second chapter tomorrow 👀👀

I also may or may not being working on a sequel, cuz this verse is just so interesting and the dynamics are so cute. I'm just not ready to give it up!!

#soulmates bodyswap au #stuckony #steve rogers/bucky barnes/tony stark #steve/bucky/tony #steve/tony/bucky #steve x bucky x tony #stevebuckytony #winterironshield #marvel #mcu #the avengers #bucky barnes #tony stark #steve rogers #winter soldier #iron man #captain america #sneak peek

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 4 years ago

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Californian Dream (Pt. 01 of 11)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.8 K

Summary: Being part of one of the richest families of California doesn't mean you're happy. Your life is boring, and you're surrounded by meaningless people and their meaningless talk. Even during Summer, with the break you have from college, there's nothing good going on. Nothing but the new pool guy, Billy, the most handsome man you ever saw. You were successfully avoiding him, not wanting to act like an idiot in front of the guy until Billy accepts to be your date for a fancy gala you're forced to attend. The night was going well, even better when he sneaked you out to go to the beach. But a gang of criminals breaks into the party, kidnapping the heirs to the wealthiest families, which includes you. So, for your safety, your parents want you to stay with Billy, living in his apartment until the criminals are caught. And that could take weeks, maybe even months.

Warnings: Light violence

Next part (02)->

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

Lemonade

Ignoring the meaningless chattering, you drink what's left of your water, then put the glass against your neck, hoping the cold will help with the hot weather. Summers in California are always this hot, and since you're under the sun, it doesn't help. Some of your friends, or better saying, the family friends, the people you grew up with, are here again, using your pool as if it was some kind of club they can attend. Standing on this badly shaped circle, you pretend to listen as Ryan goes on about some mansion he helped his father sell this weekend. He's excited, gesticulating a lot, and the others seem to be quite interested too. But not you. Honestly, you couldn't care less.

Through the corner of your eye, you see someone moving on the other side of the huge pool, behind some trees. Turning your head to see it better, you easily recognize the new pool guy, Billy Hargrove. He's been working here for only a couple of months, coming a few times a week to clean the pool or to fix something. You always pay attention to the staff, because nobody else does. You like to know them since they're working at your house after all, and that made you befriend a lot of them throughout the years. But Billy? You haven't even crossed paths with him yet. On purpose.

Billy is by far the most handsome guy you ever met, and you just don't think you can say anything to his face. He probably thinks you're one of the silly, rich chicks he meets on his job, and for some reason, it bothers you.

“(Y/N).” Ryan snaps his fingers on your face, dragging you out of your thoughts. “Are you in there? Aren't you listening?”

“Yup. Sorry, I tuned out for a minute.” Politely, you apologize. “What were you saying?”

“The gala. Who are you going with?”

“Uhm... Not sure yet.” Playing with the empty glass, you move your weight from one leg to the other. “I don't have any good options.”

“What?” Gisele exclaims, giggling. “Robert wants to go with you. Daniel would easily ditch his date for you. And Michael–”

“Don't wanna go with neither of them.” Cutting her off, you decide to just say it. Robert is the most hateful person you ever met. Daniel has been chasing after you for years, it doesn't matter how hard you try to make him understand you don't like him, and every girl he dates, he does it to try and make you jealous. And Michael is a manipulative jerk. All three members of the most prestigious families of California, and desired bachelors. And yet, you can't stand them.

“Who are you going with then? The pool guy?” Gisele gestures at something across the pool, and you know at who.

“Maybe. I bet he's way better than Michael, Daniel, or Robert.” This makes all the five of them laugh, in a very mocking tone. But you mean it. “I might go by myself. Who cares?”

“Are you crazy? Your parents will care, and people will talk, you know that.” Ryan rolls his eyes, lightly slapping his friend's arm. “C'mon, Antony, let's find (Y/N) a fourth option.” The two guys smirk and walk away, and you don't even bother to ask what they're up to. You don't care.

“For real now, (Y/N),” Alice says, running her fingers through her hair. “Gisele is right. The three guys are so into you, and Robert...” She chuckles, exchanging a glance with Gisele. “He's hot. He's... So damn hot.”

“Why don't you go with him then?” You ask her, taking a deep breath and already thinking of an excuse to get away from this conversation and back into the secrecy of your bedroom.

“Because I'm dating.” She answers as if it was the most obvious thing. As if she didn't have a different boyfriend every month. “James Whayland. The one and only, heir to the Whayland fortune? Do you happen to know him?” A rhetoric question, of course. Everyone knows who the Whayland are. “I'm so gonna marry him.”

“You must,” Gisele adds. “You'd be like, stupidly rich.”

And they go on with that, a conversation you don't even try to follow. A lot of girls do that, getting married to join the fortunes and shove more money into their pockets. Your mother herself did it, and she tries to push you into doing the same, pointing out the richest bachelors of California. But you'd never do that. You rather never get married than getting married without love. It's so obvious, yet, if you bring that up, it always becomes an argument. ‘Love comes with time’, she says. ‘Once you're provided financial stability, you'll learn to love the provider.’ None of that sounds appealing to you. You're hoping to fall in love one day. It hasn't happened yet, but you'll patiently wait.

“Hey, Earth to (Y/N).” Ryan raises his voice, and, a little annoyed, you look up at him.

“What?”

“You're welcome.” He says with a wicked smile.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you tilt your head to the side. “For what, Ryan?”

“For getting you the best date ever for the gala, sweetie.” He and Antony laugh, and soon enough the others follow. “The pool guy is taking you to a high society party. How amazing is that?”

It takes a while for you to even process what he's saying, but his mean tone makes you angry. He thinks he's superior to anyone who doesn't have a collection of fancy cars in their garage. “First of all, Ryan, the pool guy has a name, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. You're always close to the staff.” He emphasizes the last word, making a disgusted face.

“Second...” What? Second what? You know you can't go with Billy. That would get people talking. But then, the other options make you sick to even consider them. And honestly, you couldn't care less about what people say. It'll probably get you a hell of a lecture from your parents, a few weeks of gossips and mean comments, but that's it. Soon enough someone else will become the hottest topic. “You know what, forget it.” Putting the empty glass on the table, you walk away, ignoring how they call you, telling you not to be silly.

Maybe the guys are joking. Maybe they're just pulling a prank on you, but there's no problem with finding that out. Walking around the pool and into the garden, you walk around the supply closet, following the low noise of something being put into the metal shelves. The supply closet is open, so you patiently wait on the outside, barefoot on the grass as you move to stand to bellow a tree. Bouncing your leg, you look around, breathing deeply and trying to understand why the hell you decided to face Billy now. He's the only guy who works here you're making sure not to have any contact with.

“Good afternoon.” The voice startles you, and you immediately turn to face him. Billy is closing the closet door shut, eyes focused on you. And yes, he's far more gorgeous from up close. “May I help you, Miss–”

“(Y/N).” You cut him off, cursing yourself for doing so. “You may call me (Y/N).”

He simply nods, walking closer and stopping on a shadow spot too. “Do you need anything from me?”

“Uhm...” For a moment, you gotta think a little to remember what brought you here. “I just wanted to ask if maybe some two jerks came to talk to you... About a party... And... Taking a girl to this party...” Playing with your fingers, you wonder if he already thinks you're a total idiot.

“Yes. They said you needed a date for some gala.” Billy crosses his arms, not looking away from you. “If you need it, I can take you.”

Oh. Would he really do that? “Uhm... Look, Ryan and Antony meant it as a joke.” You gotta be honest, even if it means he'll give up the idea. “I mean, not for me, they're just... They're jerks. And they...” Holy crap. You have to get your shit together. “They thought it would be funny to make you think you could take me to this gala.” Taking a deep breath, you push the words out. “But... I would like it if you could because all my options suck. It's either Michael or Robert or Daniel, and you probably know they're all fighting for the award of the worst person on the face of Earth.”

“It might be really hard to make this decision. Might as well split the award in three.” He speaks up and you giggle. The staff don't usually speak like that about the families they work for. But Billy doesn't seem to care and you like that.

“Yeah. So... I know people will gossip about it but I'd be forever grateful if you could do me this kindness.” You're blushing now, biting your lip. “Because I know it's not your job or anything but I could pay you if you want.”

“There's no need.” Billy shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders. “It's a party, right? It will be fun.”

“Oh... About that...” Calling such events ‘parties’ is a misunderstanding. Almost a crime. “These things... Suck. It's super dull, full of rich people donating, trying to donate more them someone else just so they'll show off how rich they really are... You'll absolutely hate it. I do.” Gesturing at yourself, you give him an apologetic look. “I'd owe you for life if you help me get through it without having to put up with any of those assholes.”

Billy nods, looking down before his eyes meet yours again. “I believe I'll have to wear one of those suits right?”

“Well, I'll be in some uncomfortable dress, so we'll both be unhappy about our clothes.” Your mind goes to the lilac dress your mother made you buy, extremely expensive.

“Alright then. It's on Sunday, right?” You nod. “Should I pick you up?”

“Yes. At seven.” He gives a small nod before gesturing at the garden. “I gotta go now.”

“Sure...” Billy waves before walking away, and you stand there, wondering if you should go back to your so-called friends. You're sure Ryan will have that stupid smile on, eager to know what you and Billy have spoken about. And you won't tell anything, but you also don't want to deal with that shit right now, or else you might tell right to their faces how much of a jerk they are. So you decide to follow Billy through the garden, easily finding him by a particular big tree. He's opening a leaf tarp on a clean space on the grass before taking a fan rake. “This tree is dying.” You say, getting his attention. Billy turns around, furrowing his eyebrows. “That's why there are so many fallen leaves. See how some of them seem healthy, normal green leaves? It only happens when the tree is dying.”

“Then you should have someone cut it down before someone gets hurt.” He says, looking a little confused. “Shouldn't you go back to your friends?”

“Yeah, I probably should.” You're tired of all the things you should do, so for today, you won't do them. As silly as it may be. “Do you need some help?” You ask, stepping forward a little.

“No, I'm alright.” It sounds like a question, and you blush from the way he stares at you, for several seconds, before focusing on his task, raking the leaves to the tarp.

“Ok.” Whispering, you move to sit on a wooden table, one of the many you have scattered around the property. You try not to look at Billy too much, noticing how weird it feels to do this. You barely know the guy, he'll be your date for a gala, and now you're awkwardly seated here, watching as he works. Well, it is better than whatever your friends must be talking about now. “So... What exactly do you work with?” You ask, hoping to get any kind of conversation going. “I thought you just took care of the pool.”

“I work for a company. BJ's Associates.” Billy starts, and you take this chance to look at him. Despite the distance, you can see the sweat glistening on his forehead. “They send me to any place I'm needed. Some of them are scheduled weekly, others are random. And–” He makes a pause suddenly, giving you a look. “Are you bored yet?”

“No.” Shrugging your shoulders, you giggle. “I actually wanna know.”

He turns his head to look at the pool, which is a little distant now. Maybe he thinks this is some kind of move, and you wouldn't blame him, judging by the way the guys probably came to talk to him. “That's it. I clean pools, fix cars, might paint walls or something, clean gardens... The list goes on.”

“You know how to fix a car?” Raising an eyebrow, you move to seat on the table, placing both your feet on the wooden bench. “My car is making this weird noise and I'm sure it's not some normal noise.”

“How does it sounds like?”

“Like a clunking, I think... every time I hit the breaks, even when it's softly.”

“It could be some damage to the brake caliper.” He's quick to answer, and you raise your eyebrows, impressed. “Or it's badly mounted.”

“Damn, you're good.” You exclaim, giggling at his funny face.

“I just–”

“(Y/N)!” Amelia's voice reaches you, and Billy stops talking, resuming his job. “I've been looking for you.” The old lady, with her gray hair tied up on a perfect, sophisticated bun, comes to the table you're at, a tray with a jar and six glasses on her hands.

“I've been here chatting with Billy.” You tell as she lays the tray down. “And no, I won't go back to the pool.”

“They're talking about James Whayland.” She starts, rolling her eyes. Amelia is the only one in this house, well, the only one you know who understands you. “Alice Martin was talking about marrying him...?”

“Yup.” A stronger wind messes with your hair, so you use a hand to keep it away from your face. “Something about joining their fortunes and being the king and queen of California. Some shit like that.”

“Poor Alice.” Amelia breathes out, taking a glass and pouring some lemonade on it before handing it over to you. “That Whayland kid is not the nicest guy on Earth.”

“Poor James!” You giggle, putting your glass down and serving her some lemonade too. She doesn't like when you do that, since she's here to serve you. Amelia, the woman who raised you is here for nothing else than to serve you. So unbelievable it almost makes you laugh. “Alice isn't nice either. She can be very manipulative to get what she wants.”

“Don't I know?” She mutters. “Well, I must go. Serve this to your friends.”

“No, no, no. Take your glass and leave the rest. If someone complains tell them I'll drink the whole jar.” Taking the tray from her hands, you place it down on the table again.

“Alright, Miss–”

“(Y/N). Honey. Bunny. Anything, but not this formal stuff, ok?” You correct her, and Amelia gives you a bright smile.

“Alright, (Y/N).” She repeats before turning around and walking away, cordially greeting Billy.

Taking a sip from your glass, you smile to notice Amelia's lemonade is as good as always. A little too sour for your parents taste, but you like it better this way. Your attention goes back to Billy, still dealing with the fallen leaves, despite being almost done. If you ask, he might say no, so you just pour another glass before jumping to the ground, making your way over him. “Here.” Raising your voice, you get his attention. And once again he has this confused expression on his face when he sees the glass. “Lemonade. It's hella hot out here and this might help.”

“Thanks.” Squinting his eyes a little, he takes the glass from your hand, taking long sips, drinking almost everything.

“Sorry if it's a little too sour. I don't like much sugar on it and Amelia knows so...” When he's done, he gives you back the glass. “Why are you looking at me like that? I swear I'm not a ghost.”

“That's not it. I'm just not used to being treated like that by the owners.” Billy's voice gets a little darker, and he pronounces the last word with certain anger. But you can imagine exactly why. Most of the people you know aren't very fond of their employees. They're just the people they pay off to do what they can't do by themselves.

“I know how some of the families can be mean.” Drumming your fingers on the empty glass, you stand there, staring at Billy, just now noticing the deep, beautiful shade of blue from his eyes. Involuntary, you breathe out, smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing!” You burst out, clearing your throat and finding your legs again, making the way back at the table. “I–”

“(Y/N)!” A shout startles you, and when you turn at the source of the voice, you see it's Gisele. “Get back here! You won't guess who just got here.”

“If it isn't Michael Jackson ready to perform Beat It, I'll be disappointed.” You mutter, only loud enough for Billy to hear it as you walk back to the pool.

“Call me if it's him,” Billy says and you giggle, giving him one last look.

It's not Michael. Well, it is, but not Jackson, just Michael Rothford. He stands by the pool, where everyone gathers around him. Trying not to look pissed, you move closer, offering a polite, fake smile. “Good afternoon, Mike. How have you been?”

“I'm way better now.” He answers, and you try to ignore how everyone moves a little, giving you more space to move closer to Michael. He takes your hand, giving it a shake, and awkwardly squeezing it softly. “I'm here to ask, once again, for you to let me take you to Sunday's gala.”

The two idiots, Antony and Ryan start giggling, and you know exactly why. “Sorry, Mike, I can't.” Pulling your hand away, you cross your arms. “I already have someone, so...” Thank God you have the perfect excuse, and it's not even a lie. You're so damn relieved you won't be forced to attend to such a boring event with someone like Michael.

“Who?” He snaps, suddenly pissed. “Daniel is going with that Angela chick. Robert, you can't stand. Andrew isn't in the country, Willian–”

“You don't know him, alright?” Cutting him off, you sigh.

“Oh, shit,” Ryan mutters, and you give him a look. He has a hand covering his mouth, trying to control a laugh. “You're really going to the gala with the pool guy.” Antony burst into laughter, and the others try to control themselves not to.

“You rather go with the staff than with me?” Michael sounds offended as if he was punched in the face. “Are you kidding me, (Y/N)?”

Quickly, you try to think of something to say. You can't say the truth, that he's a hateful human being you can't stand being next to. But nothing comes to your mind. “No, I'm not. I... Actually wanna go with Billy.”

“Honestly, (Y/N), screw you.” He barks, and before you can answer, he grabs both your shoulders and pushes you straight into the water.

Everything happens way too fast for you to process, so there was no way you could tell him you absolutely can't swim. So the moment you hit the water, you just sink, your body moving to the bottom, way too far from the surface. You do try moving your legs a bit, uselessly. But you're suddenly pulled, strong arms moving you through the water until you finally reach the surface, gasping for air. Breathing fast, the terror finally starts kicking in, and you push yourself up, stumbling a little, ignoring all the hands that offer help. Once you're out of the water, seated on the edge, you finally see who saved you, Billy, also pushing himself up, only with a lot more grace than you. You exchange a glance, and his hand is the one you take, pulling yourself back to your feet.

“You can't swim?” You hear Michael's voice, a curse caught in your throat. “I never met a Californian who can't swim.”

Not minding the small crowd around, you make you walk to Michael, losing no time before slapping him right on the face, the loud noise of your wet hand colliding to his cheek startling some of your friends. “Asshole!” You yell before storming away, embarrassed, still struggling to catch your breath, feeling cold thanks to your soaked clothes.

“Hey.” Someone calls, but you ignore them, walking fast into the house. “(Y/N).” Your arm being grabbed makes you stop walking and turn around, ready to make hell rain on whoever it is, but your fury melts away when you see Billy. “Are you ok?”

Taking a deep breath, you relax a little, nodding. “Yeah, I just... Got scared.” He lets go of your arm, but you don't step away, looking into his blue, calming eyes. “Thank you, though. You saved my life.”

“Can't believe he threw you at the water like that.”

“See why I need you to take me to that stupid party?” Crossing your arms, you pace around. “I can't even begin to imagine how it'd be to spend the night with that prick.” Looking down, you notice how you and Billy are dripping, soaking the white floor. “I gotta go change, and you should... I don't know. At least you got to enjoy the pool for a while.”

“I'd rather enjoy it when you're not drowning.”

“Yeah, that would be better.” Shyly smiling, you give a step backwards. “I gotta go... But thanks again.” Stopping in your tracks, you decide to be just a little brave. Stepping closer, you tiptoe to place a quick kiss on Billy's cheek, before turning around and rushing upstairs to your bedroom.

@multific @dontxfearxthereaper @nope-thanks @nikkixostan @shinydixon @alwaysadreamingoptimist

#imagine billy hargrove #imagine billy #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove #stranger things imagine #imagine stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

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procrastination-queenie · 4 years ago

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Anchor ⚓|| JHS

Pairing: Husband!au Hoseok x Wife!au reader.

Word count: 1k +

Warning: slight angst, brief mention of sex, very slight smut. Super fluffy.

Synopsis: As an artist, Hoseok came to understand that in order to appreciate art, you have to focus on the little details, and that was no different when it came to your relationship because it's a piece of art in itself. Or Hoseok reminisces on his favourite moments with you.

A/N: Edit is taken from the application Nichi, I only added a few stuff.

If you're interested to read something similar to this work for Hoseok, click here.💛

When they asked Hoseok how you both made it so far, he was at loss for words that could describe the magnitude of love, care, understanding, sacrifices, communication and patience that your relationship held. His brain displaying vivid images, a video of your memories spent together from the moment you met till the present day. No matter how he tried to conjure up words that describe the feelings he felt, he would never do it justice.

Your soft lips planted small kisses all over his face in a silent urge to wake him up. He smiled at the feeling of your lips that you made sure to moisturise before you went to bed. His head turned lazily to capture said soft lips in an idle good morning kiss that; even though it was nothing special, yet it took his breath away. The look in your eyes every morning with the sun rays accentuating your warm eye colour made him get lost in a non-existent dreamy world of fluffy clouds and cosy feelings bubbling inside his chest. He pulled you into his arms, basking in the warm silence of the morning before you both had to get up and begin your day.

Hoseok loved how you preserved your innocence in a harsh world. You were not some kind of angel, but your insistence to teach yourself to be patient and to learn to always see the good in the bad amazed him, and he slowly found himself infected by your persistence to become a better person because as you always told him: "nobody's perfect, Hobi, but we can always aspire to become whatever is near perfect," He found himself agreeing with you; however you were the only exception. To him, you are perfect.

The child-like behaviour that took over you when you were surrounded by kids never failed to draw a big fat smile on his lips. After running around, chasing your little cousin in an attempt to try and catch him, you settled on one of the bean bags next to Hoseok as your little cousin settled in the one in front of you. His small body lied on the big bean bag, small feet kicking at your knee, eyes looking at you with mischief from underneath his heavy lashes as he suddenly burst into childish babbles, making you chuckle and start to imitate him. The action made your other cousin, his sister who was only older than him by two years, join in with your babbling. Hoseok looked at you in admiration; he felt lucky to experience such private and sweet little moments with you. That night before you departed from your family's house, your baby cousin was sound asleep in your arms, a scene that made Hoseok's heart full as his eyes engraved the memory in the back of his mind. Something that like any other couple you both dreamed of and that is to start your own family...someday.

Apologizing was never an issue to you, seeing that you grew up owning your mistakes and taking responsibility whenever it was your fault. "I am sorry," you whispered kneeling in front of Hoseok looking right into his eyes. Sincerity evident in your glistening eyes, you set your hands on his knees as you waited for his reply. Sometimes he wondered how your ego never stood in the way of you apologising. "I am sorry. I promise I won't do it again," you apologised again for the discomfort that you've caused your husband. Hoseok sighed as he hugged you in a tight embrace, he could never stay mad at you, never. "It's okay Jagiya," he kept saying, rubbing your back in soothing circles to calm your silent sobs. "I am sorry,"

"I know, Jagiya. It's okay,"

Being intimate nowadays to some young couples like you represented nothing but wild, crazy, sex. You realised how it became a non-existent competition between whose husband or boyfriend made his partner feel better whenever you hang out with your friends. When it came to you and Hoseok, you vowed to never share such intimate details; it was something about the both of you that did not concern anybody else. You both also agreed to cherish those moments like how you both held hands when you both reached your peak. Your wedding ring glistening in the soft glow of the soft light that engulfed you both, catching Hoseok's eyes, reminding him that you were his and he was yours. He adored the way your lips met his in a desperate kiss, silently telling him how much you love him. Your muffled moans, like a rare good piece of music to his ears. The way you circle your arms over his shoulders pulling him close for a few seconds before the two of you pulled apart from the heaving and sweaty embrace. This was a world of your own that no one has the right to invade its borders. Exclusive only for both of you to enjoy and experience.

Communication was also the main contributor to your relationship. Hoseok remembers during Jimin's wedding when he made a toast saying "Hobi hyung and y/n are like role models to me. The way they loved and doted on each other isn't like anything I have ever seen before." Hoseok took your hand in his, lightly squeezing it. I love you, you turned your head smiling softly at him, your smile saying I love you, too back. Your eyes searched his face with a look of adoration before you pecked his lips and settled your head on his shoulder. Jimin was right; the boys rarely witnessed any of you raising your voice in anger towards the other, instead, you would both try and talk to each other. The fact that you were aware that communication is an important element to any relationship made you stand against so many hardships that could've broken you up. "So, here's to Hobi hyung and y/n for being my favourite couple of all time," Jimin said raising his glass, making his wedding attendees burst in laughter and awes.

Life wasn't always easy on the both of you, just as there were ups, there were downs as well; nevertheless, you remained stronger than ever with each others' embrace, not just physically but also mentally. Hoseok sighed as you pulled him into your chest, tears escaping down his face. Your warm embrace was enough to put his fast heartbeats in sync with your steady ones. You didn't say anything, you didn't need to, you just pulled him into your arms ready to stand and fight against what was bothering him. Hoseok also didn't need anything else other than the reassurance of you being there for him. "Do you want to talk about it, baby?" You whispered softly, running your finger through his chestnut hair. Shaking his head, he put his head into your neck, body entangled with yours in a beautiful mess on your sofa. "I just want you to keep on holding me," he answered back. You closed your eyes for a moment, sighing. If that's what he needs then that's what you're giving him. I am right here, love you tried to put your thoughts into action by rubbing his back and running your fingers through his hair now and then. He placed a small kiss on your neck as a silent thank you.

One of the things that you loved about your relationship was sharing what you both loved to do together.

You sat between Hoseok's spread legs, his arms circling you in a tight embrace as you read a book that held a small collection of poems that you really liked. Hoseok kept on slowly placing passionate kisses along your face starting with the side of your forehead, your cheek, your jaw, till he reached your neck and nibbled lightly on your skin. "Hobi!" You whined turning to look at him. " What, love," he smiled at your pout, "please, focus," you said trying to sound serious as you turned your attention to the poem that you were reading. "Baby, I am focused," he said continuing with his distractions making you giggle as you turned your whole body into his embrace, circling your hands around his neck with the poetry book still in your grasp. He felt the cold pages that flowed with art slightly touching the back of his neck. You looked all over his face before leaning in, kissing him, softly biting his bottom lip as you slowly released it. A playful gaze underneath your lashes was displayed to him as soon as you opened your eyes. You pecked his lips one last time before turning in your original position with a smirk on your pretty features. "Focus," you said again continuing with your reading, leaving Hoseok in a complete daze. He chuckled, before pulling you closely and nestling his head beside yours as his eyes scanned the poem you were reading.

"Y/n!" Hoseok whined as you yet again made a wrong step making you both stumble and fall on the floor of the dance studio. Lately, you've been wanting to try learning tango. Something which made Hoseok not hesitate for a second and jump immediately at the chance of dragging you to his safe haven, the dance studio. You laughed at your failed attempt with Hoseok hovering over you shaking his head with a smile on his face. "I am sorry, turns out it's not as easy as it looks," you said calming down from your laughter. "Baby, it is easy you just need to pay attention," he said pulling you up with him. "Come on. Let's try again," Not a few minutes later Hoseok whined your name, again, as he pulled back from your laughing figure, pulling slightly at his hair in frustration. Your laugh echoing throughout the studio put a small smile on his face as he shook his head. "Baby, no don't be frustrated," you whined playfully running towards him, jumping to wrap your legs around him. Hoseok holding you by your thighs while your hands rested on his shoulders. He laughed at your attempt to lighten up the atmosphere as you sensed his failure to help you learn a few moves. He looked up at you, chuckling when he was faced by your excited gaze and your small smile that he knew would burst any moment into a big one any second now. You leaned in to give him a kiss to encourage him which he reciprocated with so much love. Pulling back you push yourself off him, "let's try again. I promise I'll get it right this time," you said pecking his jaw. He nodded, his eyes no longer held frustration, but determination mixed with adoration to help you learn. That's how it always has been with you and Hoseok.

Shaking his head slightly to come out of his bubble, he looked at the interviewer still incapable of describing your relationship. Maybe someday when you both grow old together, he would consider writing a book to try and convey his feelings for you because by then you both would have learned more about each other and experienced every dimension of the other. So, for now, he was satisfied with his short answer which he knew that only you and he understood that it held so much more than the simplicity of it, "I don't know, I guess that's what love does, right?" He said smiling into the camera...

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yellowocaballero · 4 years ago

Note

hi i know it's been the hottest of seconds but director's cut for the prophetic spring if you're still doing these? 👀

Sure! I’ve spoken a lot about the prophetic spring, but I’m fairly certain I could give some meta information about my intense life-long obsession with Tim Drake. Dude has been showing up in my fics since I was 14.

But actually, the ficlet I wrote ages ago might be more interesting? So here it is. Exploring a dynamic that was WAY underserved for how important it is: the Steph, Cass, Tim dynamic!

No CW that haven’t appeared in the prophetic spring, but specific mention for drug addiction and drug depiction, as well as references to molestation, abortion, torture, and suicide. Story under the cut.

Tim stared down into the toilet bowl. It was a little yellowed. He needed to clean it.

He stared at the small baggie of pills in his hand.

He visualized dropping it into the bowl, flushing it. Possibly mutating an alligator, or giving the race of mole people that lived in the Gotham sewers a nice surprise.

Tim sighed, and pocketed the drugs. Maybe tomorrow.

A month after the incident with a runaway foster kid and a, in retrospect, kind of embarrassing fake fight with his older brother, Tim got a text from an unknown number. To make matters worse, it was at an insane hour of the day - noon.

Texts from strangers were hardly uncommon. Tim had an extensive contact network, growing larger by the day, but he had set up a Google Voice on his computer so they were all routed through a program there. Being bothered at all hours of the day on his phone was hardly his idea of a good time. The only people who really had his real number were his bullshit ‘friends’ and his asshole ‘family’. He hadn’t even given his number to his ‘friends’ - he had given it to Kon under strict confidentiality, and then Kon had given it to all of Young Justice. Asshole.

405-555-1998: dropping by in three hours so make sure ur presentable :)

As Tim had just woken up, most of his brain was occupied by a single whuh?

Just as his mind swirled in sleepy confusion, his phone buzzed again.

405-555-1998: B1706XQE45

The code checked out. It was an ally, not an unknown or an enemy.

Tim groaned, covering his eyes with an elbow. He needed coffee.

****

The coffee was a new thing - rather, it was something he had drunk plenty of growing up, because there had been nobody around to inform him that coffee was bad for developing brains. Growing up completely unsupervised was probably why Tim was a drug addict now. He could totally blame this on his parents never loving him.

Not a drug addict, Tim thought to himself anxiously as the coffee sputtered into the extra large gallon pot. Just someone who...uses drugs...in an unhealthy way. Substance abu - substance user, who just used it maybe as a bad coping mechanism. Not that Tim had good coping mechanisms, but it was better than sawing off heads or becoming a drug lord. When you thought about it, it was either being a serial killer or doing drugs, so logically it means that he should do more drugs to decrease the amount of fun little murders he does -

Tim made toast.

The coffee was a new thing, because he was trying to use it to replace the drugs. He had cut back. The stupid little sorority that called themselves the Birds of Prey had been talking to him about it. He had agreed to try. It was best to set expectations low, so he couldn’t disappoint. Actually, Tim loved disappointing, maybe he should set them higher. Maybe he could make inspirational speeches about how he was a good guy now? Ha ha.

The three hours had been a deft move. The texter knew noon was his average wake-up time at best, and the three hours gave him enough time to sober up if he had been high or drunk at the time. Tim didn’t like to start popping the minute he woke up, but - well, sometimes he did. Or sometimes he was awake at noon because he had been on an all-nighter drug binge. They hadn’t given their name, either, which meant that it was somebody who he wouldn’t want to see.

He could bounce, escape to some corner of Gotham until they gave up. Except he had the sense that whoever had gone through the effort to get his number wasn’t the type to give up. Almost nobody Tim knew was the type to give up. His ‘friends’ and his ‘family’ never gave up. On anybody but him.

A voice in his head, not quite yet suffocated, sounding altogether too much like the Replacement, echoed in endless attempts to get him to come back. Oh, whatever. Kid was a try-hard. He needed better taste in made up families.

Over the next three hours, he debated his tactics. If he wasn’t escaping and the texter was playing the buddy card, then the situation probably wasn’t dangerous. He strapped in his armor under the baggy pyjamas that he never took off anyway, and spitefully made no effort to control his hair. He did put on make-up, an old hand from keeping CPS off Bruce’s trail - man, he should have pretended Bruce was molesting him, that would have been funny as fuck - to hide the bags under his eyes. No use looking pathetic.

He hid a few more weapons around his apartment. He anxiously checked his phone, staring not at the new texts but at Harley’s offer sent a week ago. He still hadn’t replied. He didn’t know what to do with it.

As if he could ever feel safe sleeping under the same roof as her?

As if he ever felt safe anywhere?

Maybe he had nothing to lose. That was the greatest part about this, the most wonderful aspect of what he had done to everybody in his life. When you have nothing, you have nothing to lose. That’s freedom, or so Janis had always told him. She knew what she was about. Overdosing on heroin at 27 - that was understanding what it meant, to have nothing. To be free. He was almost jealous.

At two on the dot, a polite knock echoed through the apartment. Tim looked up from where he was relaxing on the couch, with all of the possible entry points in his line of sight. That wasn’t a knock he had memorized, and he had memorized everyone’s knocks.

Nothing for it. He’d have to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Maybe he can pull the insane sociopath schtick again; that had always been effective in ditching his parents. Tim sighed, walked over to the door, swiped his thumb against the keypad, undid the three deadbolts, and opened door only to see -

Stephanie Brown, hands propped on her hips and smiling widely. Cassandra Wayne, standing right behind her, serene as ever.

Tim closed the door - or he tried. Steph had expected the move, and the minute he had opened the door her foot had jutted out and blocked him from closing the door. Effortlessly, she wrenched it back open and stepped into his apartment, forcing him to press against the wall and scowl as insane women infiltrated his space.

“Wow,” Steph said loudly, “this place looks like a wreck!”

Tim groaned.

***

The thing with Steph and Cass was this:

How to describe it?

The sister he had never expected, the best friend he had never thought he would have. Cass was his twin, Robin’s shadow, the other side of his mountain. Bruce had adopted Cass barely five months after he became Robin, and Tim had unabashedly resented her for stealing Bruce’s attention so quickly. He had always liked her more, but Bruce had liked everyone more than Tim, so maybe it was no surprise. She was sweet, kind, gentle, and no trouble. Tim wasn’t any trouble either, but he couldn’t be the rest of it if it bit him in his ass.

Robin was the brain. Cass was the muscle. They were a team so closely linked, conjoined at the hip, that Tim couldn’t remember a patrol ever done without her. Bruce had let them start patrolling alone at fourteen (“You didn’t let me work alone until I was fifteen, and I was an assassin,” Damian had spat), and they had been an unbeatable team. Robin’s hand-to-hand was weak, but nobody ever got through Batgirl. Batgirl struggled with technical knowledge, reading and writing and investigating and chasing down leads, the only area where Tim had ever excelled. Together, they had almost been as good as Batman. Sometimes, Tim had let himself think that they might be better.

They had been so similar. Everyone had always said so. They’re both so quiet, the Justice League had said. Emotionless little freaks, the Rogues had said. Neither of them blink, their schoolmates had said. But there had been nothing to say, not between them: they could have a conversation without words, without even Sign. Cass had known every twitch of Tim’s body, had understood him down to his core. Nobody else ever had. Everybody had always called Tim inscrutable and impossible to understand - but to Cass, Tim had been an open book. She knew every inch of him. And she had loved him anyway.

And Steph! When Steph had found them when they were fourteen veering on fifteen, and from then on it was as if she had always been there. She was so big, so smiling, so much, and she had never apologized for any of it. Nothing scared her. To Tim, that was the perfect vigilante - somebody who was scared of nothing, who never hesitated, who was good.

Not even Bruce could intimidate her. When Tim was fourteen, he had thought that was the most amazing thing in the world. Bruce intimidated everyone, but Steph had just stuck out her tongue and kept badly backflipping off roofs anyway. Through twin convincing, Tim and Cass had convinced Bruce to give her a chance, and Spoiler had slot into their dynamic perfectly. She was their best friend, always.

She wasn’t good at hand-to-hand at first, but Tim had improved by then, and they could cover her. She improved faster than he had, and judging from the reconnaissance footage Tim had frantically consumed after he came back to life, she was amazing now. She was wickedly smart, practical and down to Earth. If Tim was better at hacking into a computer, Steph was the one who found the post-it note with the password stuck under the desk.

But more than any of that, she had brought the social skills. She had brought the calming presence, the sweet hand to victims and civilians, and her good humor was infectious. Steph was good with people. She was a born leader. Resilient. Brave. Everybody liked her. Everybody loved her. Tim had. She had loved him too. She could have done so much better than Tim and Cass, weird little societal rejects, but she had chosen them as her family.

It had been the three of them. For as long as Tim’s life had meaning, for as long as he had been loved, they had loved him. Tim had grown up alone, in a world of one, and they had infiltrated it. They had expanded it, and they dragged his life into more than just Tim. Into Tim-and-Cass-and-Steph. Into Robin-Batgirl-Spoiler. Into meaning, and love.

Tim hated them. And he wanted them to suffer.

“That’s the Stephanie Brown I remember,” Tim sneered, closing the door behind him. Steph had quickly thrown herself onto Tim’s couch, clearly somewhat surprised at how comfortable it was, and Cass had perched daintily on the arm. Cass had always refused to sit like a normal person - she would rather sit on the backs of sofas, or on the arm, or perched on chairs like a bird - “If I had known you were coming I would have jumped cities.”

“We would have chased you down and you know that,” Steph said cheerfully, like she said fucking everything. “Besides, if you had known we were coming you would have gone into witness protection. You’ve been avoiding the fuck outta us.”

“Wonder why,” Tim said, injecting as much mean-spirited sarcasm into his voice as possible. “I need more coffee, don’t go through my shit.”

The apartment was small, and the kitchen had a cut-away wall where he could see through into the living room. Stephanie hated nothing more than being ignored or looked down upon, and if he dismissed her and didn’t react then she’d grow infuriated with him and leave. He couldn’t fight with her, because if it came down to a battle of rhetoric or emotions she’d win single-handedly. She was so good with words. Cass...had no weaknesses.

Which was inconvenient, because it was Cass he absolutely had to get rid of as soon as possible. She was very emotional, and more than a little sensitive. Especially to rejection. If he was cruel enough to her, she’d start crying and leave. There was only one problem with that.

As he jammed more grounds into the machine he watched the girls out of the corner of his eye. They weren’t talking or whispering to each other, both fully aware of how well Tim could read lips. They weren’t even having one of those body language conversations they could only have with each other, aware that Tim could crack that too. Instead Stephanie was casually sprawled on his couch, looking for all the world like a middle aged dad watching the football game, looking around the room. Cass, as usual, was zoning out. Or, of course, looked like she was zoning out - Tim could tell that she was waiting for something to happen, and was preparing herself for it.

Shit. Tim fought the urge to gnaw on his fingernail. Cass was going to be a problem.

He risked another glance backwards. She could see him, so she knew. Fuck. He had never been on the other side of her mind reading. It was fucking inconvenient. Psychics should be shot on sight.

The coffee sloshed into the biggest cup he could find in his kitchen, and Tim began draining it immediately as he leaned over the cutaway. He kept the cup held up to his face, obscuring it. Face covered, everything under the elbows covered - best he could do without preparation.

“This little field trip sanctified by Sgt. Brother?” Tim asked, sipping the scalding hot coffee. Not hot enough. He needed - he needed - they’d see -

“We’re nineteen, we don’t need his permission for everything we do,” Steph said, amused. So she was going to speak for Cass - hardly unusual, as whenever they were all together Steph tended to be the only one who spoke - but seeing as Tim was Tim then it was definitely a strategy.

“He lets his precious baby sisters knock on the door of drug lords for fun?” Tim sneered.

“If they’re incompetent and retired, sure!”

Tim gritted his teeth. Don’t rise to her bait. Don’t. She was the best person in the family at getting a rise out of their enemies. He didn’t stand a chance.

“What do you want?”

“We thought we’d take you roller skating at the rink,” Steph chirped.

Tim stared at her.

“Or the pool,” Steph said, faux-thoughtfully. “Or just the mall?”

Fuck this. Tim headed for the door, ready to walk out of the building barefoot in his pyjamas. He tugged at the doorknob, only to find that it wouldn’t open.

Tim breathed in through his nose, then out through his mouth. There were other exits. He was not trapped. Had his apartment always been so small? He could have sworn that it was bigger.

He turned around slowly. Stephanie was grinning at him, twirling what looked like a small plastic cylinder. Tim recognized it instantly - fancy League tech. Overrides all electronic locks and controls them. They all used it to trap perps and heighten their fear tactics. Tim jammed his thumb on the keypad. Nothing happened.

Cass glanced at Steph, and made a small motion. Tim couldn’t interpret it. Why couldn’t he interpret it? Did they have a new code? It was Cass. When nobody else had understood her, Tim always had. Now they had their own language, one that Tim couldn’t interpret anymore. Tim was lost in translation, always drifting.

“We aren’t bringing you in,” Steph said, just as light as ever. No trace of pity or caution or gentleness in her voice: just relentless cheer. “Literally all we want to do is talk. Play a board game, maybe?”

Tim’s eyes flickered to the hidden panel in the wall next to him where he had stashed a gun and a sword.

“Bro,” Steph said, “you really don’t want to escalate this.”

“Do you think you can take me?” Tim asked curiously, letting his hand drift to his arm. He shook his long pyjama sleeve down to cover his wrist. “That’s pretty cute. Last time I checked, you’re the shittiest at hand-to-hand in your team.”

But Steph just rolled her eyes. Shit, wasn’t he supposed to be ignoring her? He couldn’t, not so long as she kept pushing and pushing. Not so long as she was in his house. “Leave off. Just because Jay and I are the last people in the fam who weren’t trained in Mystical Ninja Arts doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. Hands in the air, by the way.”

Stephanie was overly sentimental. New tactic. He raised his hands slightly in the air, caught reaching for the weapon hidden in his armor. “Incompetent enough to let me die.”

There. Finally. Thank god, Tim thought he was losing his touch. The muscles clenched in Stephanie’s jaw, and just a twitch of her eye - banishing a bad memory. “Everybody’s been saying you’ve turned rude. I guess you’ve just been avoiding us because you don’t want to hurt our feelings, right?”

“I didn’t remember a lot when I was first resurrected,” Tim said casually, despite the fact that he had never told anybody about the first awful six months. Something about Steph and Cass just pried it out of him, like invasive surgery. Or an autopsy. “I remember everything about those six months, though. Homeless. Practically retarded. Brain damage does that to you, you know. I lived on the streets, did you know that? It was a miracle I lived through it.” He gasped, as if he was remembering something. “I slept on 34th street! You lived near there, didn’t you? Maybe you even walked by me.”

Steph went white. Cass’ expression froze. He was pushing hard, but these two wouldn’t react to anything less. Steph could trade barbs better than he could, even now.

“It’s a good thing Talia found me,” Tim continued. “She was the only one who cared.”

That did it. Steph tensed, leaning forward, and even Cass stiffened. “Is that what she told you? How can you believe her?”

Tim just shrugged, walking back to the kitchen and hiding his body language again. He took an extra loud slurp of the coffee, just to be annoying. “Talia never lied to me. She said that nobody cared enough to save me. And guess what!”

Steph’s jaw clenched again. She was a hot head. A fierce temper, an impulsive girl who jumped in feet first and sanity second. Woman, now. When had that happened? “Cut that shit out. We all know what you’re doing. You’ve been doing it to everyone. Did you think Connor didn’t warn us?”

Snitch. Tim slurped his coffee again. “Connor’s been telling everyone to give me space.”

“Yeah, everyone but us.” She stood up now, ignoring the flicker of a frown on Cass’ face, and folded her arms. A challenge against the world. Against Tim. It didn’t matter. “You don’t believe half the shit you’re spewing. You’ve never believed your own bullshit, Tim. You’re just saying it to drive everybody away. It’s not going to work on us.”

“Why?” Tim asked innocently. “You’re too thick?”

“Because we love you!” Steph cried. Tim rolled his eyes. As if he hadn’t heard that one before. “Saving Richie proved it, you aren’t as insane as you keep pretending you are. You know what you’re doing is wrong, you just don’t care.”

“Wow, you caught me.” Tim took another long swig of his coffee. It was making his hands jittery. Good. “Local genius aware of his actions. Call the press. Call Uncle Clark, he needs a scoop.” He arched an eyebrow at Steph. She hated that expression of his - she had always found it so aristocratic and pretentious. Joke’s on her, he was pretentious. “Do you mind if I go do a line? I’m not high enough for this conversation.”

If she had told him who she was, he would have done a line anyway just to spite her, and she knew it. “You don’t want to try,” Steph said stubbornly, “but you’re trying. You don’t want to care, but you care. You don’t want to feel it, but it hurts so much you can’t bear it. You can’t get anything past us, Tim. It’s always just been us. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Doesn’t that mean -

“What that means,” Tim said, and he found the words scraping his throat. He found himself talking a little louder than he meant to. The coffee, you know. Made you jittery. “is that you should have saved me. If you loved me so fucking much, you would have been anything other than useless. You’ve always been the most useless girl in the world, Steph. You couldn’t save your crook of a dad or your junkie of a mom. You couldn’t save your baby and you couldn’t save me. You’re ghetto trash putting on airs, and everyone can smell it on you.”

As soon as he said it, he tensed. He shifted his stance, ready to throw the coffee and spill the scalding liquid on her. Obscure her vision. It would take a second for her to vault the cover, so he could duck down. From there he could get the gun, shoot the window, jump out the window. She couldn’t win. Tim had the most powerful weapon in the world in his disposal and that was his infinite, burning hate. His hate for Steph and Cass burned him to the ground, and his world with it, and he was going to burn them to cinders because he couldn’t do anything else.

But Steph didn’t move. Cass got off the sofa. She walked up to Steph, and gently pressed a hand on her shoulder. She squeezed. Steph exhaled, long and shaking, and nodded at Cass. She walked into Tim’s bedroom - hey! - and shut the door.

Then Cass stared at Tim, and there was no more need for words. Not between them.

Tim vaulted the cut away wall, aiming for her feet first. Cass didn’t dodge - that would imply that she moved like an object moved. She moved like water moved - swift and supple, with such infinite grace and precision that it was like she wasn’t human at all.

But he had gotten better. He didn’t spend two and half years trained by the League of Assassins in crochet. Tim lashed out with a foot, she dodged again. He threw a punch, she moved. He feinted, clearly leaving her an opening, and she didn’t take it.

Bitch.

Cass shoved away his coffee table, sending it skidding across the floor and opening the floor space. The rug became their arena, tight and intimate, no room for maneuverability. Tim acted and she reacted, Tim lashed out a sweep kick and she jumped over it, Tim tried to grapple and she broke his hold. She never threw him to the ground, never pinned him. She just moved.

She was good, but not good enough to toy with him and win completely. The way to win against Cass was to leverage your height - Tim was taller than he once was, although that wasn’t saying much - weight, and strength against her. A couple good hits and she was down.

The issue, of course, was hitting her.

He got a hit in. It was much easier when she wasn’t even fighting back. She rolled with it effortlessly, taking the impact to gain a little space between them. She breathed deeply, sweat rolling down her neck. Tim used to take a cold compress and press it to that neck. She used to smile at him. Thank you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said.

“Too bad,” Tim said.

Fights weren’t like in television, long and choreographed extended scenes to entertain and thrill. When Ro - Tim was in a fight, a real fight, it was typically finished in less than a minute. The only way that a match can get long is if the other person was deliberately tiring you out - a risky strategy - or if you were of completely equal strengths with similar fighting styles. Or if it was a spar.

As Tim tried to hit her again and again, he realized that it was a spar.

No, not even that. It was a conversation.

Tim grabbed her wrist, and said: I want you to hurt. Cass broke the hold, telling him that he can’t. Tim leveraged the motion and kneed her in the back, telling her that the only goal of this fight was pain. Cass let the impact take her down to the mat, an incredibly disadvantageous position, but rolled out of the way just as Tim tried to exploit the opportunity. I’m not scared of you. Tim hit again, and again, and again, failing every time. I want you gone, Tim said, and this is the only way I know how to do it.

This is what Tim said: as much as I once loved you, I now hate you. The infinite depths of my love, my twin sister, how we moved in perfect sync. I hate it all. As much as I cared, I now hate. Feel this hate. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass said.

They moved in perfect sync, even now. Cass couldn’t predict his movements before he made them, like she used to - his training was different now, developed and refined. But Cass knew the League of Assassins too, had been trained by them just as he had, and they were written into her bones when they were only carved into Tim’s. After his third patented Talia move, she adjusted to fit his style, and their fight metamorphosed into more of a dance. Like they used to.

“Why not!” Tim screamed, the stupidest possible thing to do in a fight, but Cass didn’t take advantage of his exhale. He lashed out a fist to cover the opening, but it was lazy and over-extended, and she dodged easily. “I’m going to kill you!”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tim desperately tried to call the green to his vision. It was so easy. All he had to do was tap into that rage. Talia had called it blood lust. Said it was normal, even good. But it wouldn’t come. Where was it? It was his only friend.

Desperately, Tim went in for another punch to the face - Cass’ jaw was the weakest part of her body, an old injury - but he over-extended again, and this time Cass took the opportunity. She grabbed his arm and pulled him forward, dropping him to the mat. She didn’t try to twist him around, instead landing him on his back. Bad move for her.

She kneed him in the chest, putting her full hundred and thirty pounds on him. She twisted his hands behind his back, pinning him, and Tim could do barely more than wheeze.

He looked at her in the eyes for the first time. They were infuriatingly calm. Her hair was tangled and clumped with sweat, but she wasn’t breathing hard. Her expression was placid and serene, as if she was watching one of her stupid fucking nature documentaries instead of pinning her brother to a hard and scratchy rug in a shithole apartment, three years after he was tortured to insanity and shot himself in the head.

So much time had passed. So much had happened, nasty and festering and putrid, and Tim had let it happen. He had made it happen. There was a rot in Tim, and it had eaten him up until there was nothing inside. If you cut him open, would it spill out? Would it infect her, infect Steph? Could he make them suffer?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Cass repeated. “So don’t be scared.”

“Scared?! I’m not fucking -” Tim wheezed, cut off by the lack of air as Cass pressed down.

“I’m sorry you’re scared. I didn’t mean to leave you alone. But I did. I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to kill -”

Cass pressed down on his chest again, cutting him off. She had finally done the one thing nobody in Tim’s life had ever figured out: how to make him shut up. “You can be as mean to me as you want. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll stay.”

Tim wheezed. In that, maybe, Cass heard something, because she continued as if he had spoken. Or maybe she just wanted the chance to talk. It had been stolen from her for thirteen years, and it was valuable to her.

“You do not have to be kind. You do not have to hug me, even if I want you to. You do not have to be my brother. I know it hurts too much. But you are me. I am you. You do not even have to try for that. I do not have to give it to you. You have it.”

Tim couldn’t help it. He cried a little, and then he couldn’t stop.

Cass got off him, but she kept her promise. She didn’t hug him. She just propped him up against the sofa, holding his hand, and didn’t speak. At some point the door creaked, and he felt Stephanie next to him.

This is why, Tim thought hysterically, he had been avoiding them.

He knew this would happen. There was no hiding from Cass. There was no posturing, no pretending. She didn’t want anything from him. She never had. There was nothing he could say that would drive her away, because Cass did not listen to the words people spoke. She spoke only for clarity, when she could not afford for her words to be misconstrued, and for the comfort of others.

Cass knew that he had been lying out of his ass. Cass knew that he wasn’t as insane as he pretended, as cruel as he wanted to be.

He couldn’t make Cass hate him. Shit.

None of them said anything. Nothing needed to be said, not between the three of them. Cass might be having a silent conversation in Sign with Steph, but he didn’t care enough to open his eyes and look. When they had first met, it used to make Steph so mad that Tim and Cass were having ‘secret conversations’. She had poured over her dictionaries, learning as quickly as physically possible so she could keep up. Everything Steph had, she had worked hard for.

Steph was in college now. Premed. She wanted to be an ER doctor. Steph wasn’t a genius, she had to study hard. She wouldn’t be able to superhero in med school, so she was ready to hang up her cape for a few years until she achieved her dream. Steph said that she could do just as much good as a doctor as a superhero. She hadn’t always wanted it. When they were kids and Bruce used to ask her what she wanted to do when she grew up, in his awkward faux-dad way, she had always shrugged and said that she might be a nurse.

“Why not med school?” Bruce had suggested, between sleepy spoonfuls of oatmeal. She used to spend more nights at their place than at her own. Her mom hadn’t noticed.

Steph had just shrugged awkwardly, nibbling her whole-wheat organic toast that she would stare at suspiciously. Rich people, she would say, sighing. “I would never be able to afford it. And no way I’m smart enough.”

“You’re good enough,” Bruce said, which was the closest he ever came to praising somebody. “I’ll pay for it.”

Steph had gaped. Cass had eaten her Lucky Charms smugly. Tim had rolled his eyes. “An in-the-know doctor for the vigilante community would be invaluable,” he had informed her, pretentious and callous. “We could use you.”

“You deserve it,” Cass had signed.

“You have a bright future, Stephanie,” Bruce said, buckling under the panic of being a responsible adult. “I would hate to see you waste it.”

He would hate to see any of them waste their future. He had hated to see what Tim had become. He knew that. The last time he had ever seen Bruce, it was just to disappoint him. Bruce was the only parent he had ever had, and his standards were so sky high it was impossible to do anything other than disappoint.

The fact of the matter was this: he loved Cass and Steph more than he loved Bruce. He could hate Bruce. He could hate himself. But Cass and Steph…

Bruce had ear-marked a lot of money for Steph, both for whatever continuing education she chose and for her future. It had raised a lot of questions among the lawyer team, but ultimately she had been written off as another of his strays. Tim had left her a lot of money too. There probably wasn’t any point: when she married Cass she’d have equal access to the fortune. Rich people, Stephanie used to whisper in awe, looking at organic toast.

Cass was majoring in dance. She wanted to be a ballerina.

Tim’s future...Tim’s future…

“Or we can watch a nature documentary,” Steph said out loud. “If we all promise not to say a fucking word.”

Incredibly, unmistakably, irrevocably, Tim groaned. “Not the fucking bee one again.”

“I like the bees,” Cass said serenely.

“If you aren’t going to get out of my house can I at least smoke up?” Tim asked miserably.

“I brought gummy bears,” Steph said, chipper as ever, “which are way better.”

“I’m going to the fucking bathroom,” Tim grumbled, which everybody knew was as good as a yes.

“If you take anything I’ll know,” Cass said serenely, and also threatened.

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Steph and Cass high-fived, and Tim sulked angrily to the bathroom. He took a second to look at himself in the mirror - looking for Tim Drake, failing, as always - before opening it and grabbing his baggie of pills.

He looked at it. He looked at the toilet. He looked at the baggie.

He didn’t flush them. He put them back in the medicine cabinet. Tomorrow. He’ll do them tomorrow. Not today. He can hold out for 24 hours. It’ll be fine.

For a wild, stupid, insane second, Tim wondered if he could say that tomorrow too. If tomorrow he would look at them and say: maybe tomorrow. And the day after that. And the day after that…

If there was a future, for a fuck-up like him.

The faint strains of Cass’ stupid fucking bee documentary began playing through the thin walls of his shitty little apartment, and Tim turned out the lights of his bathroom and closed the door, locking it securely behind him.

#i write a lot of shit i don't post and i don't feel the need to post it a lot of the time #but sometimes im like. ah yeah that does exist maybe they'll care #my writing #tim drake #batman #batfam #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #do not FUCKING get met started on tim cass and steph im OBSESSED

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hwauas · 4 years ago

Text

🎭: "belladonna"

jung wooyoung | 정오영 - 2,086 words

you couldn't believe this day came. the adrenaline was rushing through your veins. Wooyoung, the Jeong Wooyoung, coming over tonight. you spend the day preparing your house, cooking the dinner, and of course getting ready. you needed everything to be ready, and to be perfect.

the table was ready. some flowers in a vase. two plates, two cutlery sets, and two glasses for water. you dispatched few pearls on the white tablecloth. you created a soft atmosphere thanks to candles on the table, and little lamps in the rooms. you made sure all your apartment was cleaned. everything needed to be at its place.

it looked like you were having your boyfriend over. but Wooyoung wasn't your boyfriend. and would never be your boyfriend. who would like to date someone like him? it was just a formal dinner between you both.

of course, over the year, you learnt to stop having pity for wrong people. your work forced you to build your heart into a heart of stone. people were bad. and you couldn't do anything for them. it was the path they choose, and so they chose the consequences. they were aware few people — or nobody — would appreciate them. and these person would slowly turn themselves into agressive and antisocial, becoming lonely, so lonely. this is how it works.

Wooyoung was one of them. he was searched by a lot of mafia gangs. sometimes for little crimes: swearing, assaulting, or for some debts. but also for big crimes: stealing important informations from these gangs, spying on them.

among these mafias looking after him, the popular S-SK band of mafias. according to rumors, S-SK was for Seoul-South Korea. yet, any informations ever leaked before about that or something else.

anyways, Wooyoung was clearly involved into the dark side of the city, and even S-SK was chasing him. you were doubting about something or someone saving him. he was in too big troubles.

tic. toc. tic. toc.

the clock announced 8pm, and quickly after, the doorbell announced someone was here. Wooyoung, of course.

you didn't really like the fact you were having someone's like him over. but you had to do it for your boss. it was just an evening. just a moment, before getting rid of him.

“y/n. thank you for receiving me.”

Wooyoung entered your apartment and removed his shoes.

“i was surprised when i was told to come here instead. weren't we supposed to meat at your boss's place?”

“yeah, that's right. but there is a hold-up. he asked me if i was okay with seeing you without him and i just couldn't cancel this dinner less than twenty-four hours before. i hope you don't mind?”

“not at all. i appreciate you didn't cancel. i'd have get mad. thank you.”

you faked a smile, and asked him to follow you to your living room. you made him sit on your sofa. and after giving your dear Wooyoung something to drink, you sat besides him, on the sofa.

“so. about this deal. what is it?”

Wooyoung asked as he sipped on the whiskey you gave him.

“oh come on. we have so much time to talk about this. don't be this formal.”

Wooyoung only sighed and sank into your sofa.

“when did it all started?”

“start what?”

by his behaviour and the tone of his voice, you recognise a nonchalance. he was annoyed — you cut him to the quick.

“being... bad. stealing, spying on, having debts on purpose. all that.”

you had a serious gaze on him. you knew you needed to have a control on yourself not to help him — anyways he was a lost cause. you just needed to stall for time.

“i don't remember when exactly. i was just... young. it started with little things. and i was failure to my parents. they never encourage me to do something. the only one that believed in me left. since i've never been a fan of school, i never did anything by myself to study, to work or anything. you know.. just people here and there got me into this. and i'm not complaining. i have somewhere to sleep. something to eat everyday. somewhere to take showers. clothes. it's enough i guess.”

he was avoiding your gaze, looking straight in front of him. there was the turned off TV.

“who left? who was he, or she?”

you were curious about what he just told you. it was very intriguing: you needed to know more about this for your own pleasure.

“San. a friend. my best friend.”

Wooyoung sipped on his whiskey again, and so you did on yours. you didn't really know what to say.

“but you don't need to know much about him, right? so leave him alone.”

with that, Wooyoung finished his glass of alcohol in one gulp. you understood what does this mean: you couldn't ask anything about this San anymore. you then stood up and went to the kitchen. Wooyoung wandered around to find the dining room, and sat on a chair in front of a plate. the atmosphere got him less tensed, and you immediately knew you did good.

you came back with the dish, and served you both. it was steaming, yet once you came back from the kitchen to put back the dish there, you both started to eat.

“so i was saying, about-”

“about the deal. i know. this is what you're waiting impatiently since you arrived here, Wooyoung. okay. then let's discuss about this.”

you didn't say anything, wanting him to go first. after all, he was the one obsessed with that. right?

“so, since this agency is holding files we are both interested in, but since their security is very strong, i thought about infiltrating someone in there. we can pretext it's for an internship, for few days. but then, the person there has to be very cautious.”

Wooyoung didn't say more after, and continued to eat. it seemed he was liking what you've done.

you waited longer, hoping him to continue — which he didn't. you then frowned, and stopped eating for a moment.

“what for?”

“the security. all the parts in the building are well secured.”

he rolled his eyes, as if you asked the dumbest question ever. but you were too focused on his lips to notice this. Wooyoung was eating everything. and this fulfilled your heart with joy and happiness.

“do you think somebody will make it through the whole security system to steal the files?”

”of course.~”

you kept in mind all the informations he gave you until now, eating your plate till it was empty. you were thinking again and again about what he told you. you had to remember everything. every single details. but you wanted to stare at your victory too.

“i'm getting thirsty. can i have some.. water.. please?”

Wooyoung's voice was very low. every words seemed hard to say.

“of course, Wooyoung.”

you sat up and went to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from your fridge — one you prepared on purpose for him before, meticulously. you came back, and opened the bottle to pour it in his glass.

“by any chance, you don't have any information about the security? where are cameras? where are stocked the videos? where is their room to look through these cameras? any motion detector, or metal detector?”

Wooyoung tried to drink, but he couldn't swallow more than three times. he gave up for the moment, and just focused back on you.

“i do. it's in my phone. but as long as i'm not sure we're both into this, i won't show anything.”

his voice got raspy, and he ended up almost whispering. you faked a reaction, worrying about him.

“are you okay? you wanna lay down maybe..?”

you asked with fake worried eyes. but deep down, you were happy. everything was working. everything was going well.

Wooyoung nodded. he took a deep breath as he was trying hard to keep his head up. his pale skin under his dark clothes started to shine: he was sweating. drops here and there were forming, rolling, and disappeared somewhere on his clothes.

you stood up and went by his side. you tried to get him back on his feet, and almost pulled him through the rooms to lay him down on your sofa — but you knew this position wouldn't help at all. you made sure he was comfortable in your sofa, and left to clean the table. once you were in the kitchen, far from him, you couldn't help but squeal in happiness.

“y/n: 1. Wooyoung: 0.”

you whispered to yourself, all happy about what you achieved. you were cruel, but you were loving this part of you — even though it already scared you in the past.

“oh please don't scream like that! my head! it hurts even more!”

Wooyoung tried to shout out, but it hurt him even more than the squeal you did. since you knew what happening to him, you knew this noise you made have been altered: the sound seemed closer, stronger, and higher.

“i'm sorry.”

once again, you used your talents to fake your emotions. worry, and guilty about your squeal. you put down the bottle of water and the glass on the coffee table.

“i'll get you some medicines. and a wet towel. wait for me.”

you rushed through your apartment to get these. once you were in your bathroom, the door closed, you took out your phone to call your boss. of course, you tried to stay as discreet as possible. you even put a random towel in the washbasin and turned on the tap to pretend you were indeed moistening the fabric for him.

“about time! i thought you would never call me!”

“i'm sorry boss. it got a little bit longer. but everything's fine. he ate everything. and i managed to gave him water too. and of course, i watered the poison down in this water too.”

you said with shining eyes. you were proud of yourself. it was an another mission you accomplished.

“okay but the way you're getting rid of him, i don't give a fuck, Belladonna. i wanna know about the informations you've got from him.”

you tried to sum up all the informations your boss needed. anyways, you would meet him to tell him everything in details.

and you smiled as your boss again complimented your work.

“i knew you wouldn't disappoint me. you're not the best S-SK member for no reason.”

you finally hang up with him quickly after. looking at your reflection in the mirror, you offered yourself a smirk. you made sure to arrange your top, making sure to reveal a tattoo on your collarbone. the words 'S-SK : Belladonna' were written here, under your skin.

you were a member of this mafia band. Belladonna was your code name, and somewhat your new identity since you chose this path.

even though you did horrible things, you would never ever give up on S-SK.

you took the towel, and barely wrung it. you came back by Wooyoung, slowly dying in your sofa. and the first thing he noticed what your tattoo. the fear slowly appeared in his eyes, and all over his face.

“S-SK..? Belladonna..? i trusted you..! how could you..!”

Wooyoung tried to do something, but he was too weak. even screaming was hurting him even more.

“shhh, honey... the poison is taking the leads. give up. you have no chance.”

“the.. poison..?”

“the belladonna, honey. why do you think my code name is Belladonna? because i kill with the belladonna, of course.”

you put the towel on his forehead. it would change nothing. of course.

“belladonna, a flower. isn't it paradoxical that a flower.. so precious, so delicate, so beautiful.. can kill a human? i look harmless. but i kill. just as you, i'm a bad person, Wooyoung. you're not the only mafiosi here, honey.”

as Wooyoung finally gave up, you took his phone from his pocket. you left your apartment, locking him up in there. anyways, as he was dying, he couldn't do anything.

you texted two S-SK members to ask them to get rid of the corpse for you. and of course, your boss and you would use Wooyoung's information without any misgivings.

in this life, the strongest makes the rules.

it's killing.. or being killed. and guilty or sorrow weren't feelings anymore for you. a S-SK mafia.

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heresathreebee · 4 years ago

Text

Dirty Water

Benny 'Borracho' Magalon x Robyn Banks (Black!OC)

Summary: Robb met a couple of shady characters calling themselves cops. Well it just so happens they are, and they're worse than she first thought.

Masterlist

Word count: 2.5k words

Rating/Warning(s): +16 Mature | kidnapping, mild torture, tied up, wanna be clear: IRL I do not condone hooking up with a person who kidnapped you or was complicit in kidnapping you, it just don't work out like that in reality

AN: so basically I'm gonna write and post this in whatever order I please, then go back and figure it out later. Since my brain has jumped back on the Pascal bandwagon, it's hard to focus outside of his body of work but I'm still coming back to this story with relative ease.

Just when she'd started to warm up again, a another shower of ice cold mop water was pitched over her head. Robyn sputtered and coughed, trying not to swallow the suds in her mouth or let them see her cry to keep the dirt out of her eyes. From the shadows that danced beyond her eyelids, she could tell the alleged cop who called himself Nick was crouching in front of her.

"Last chance, sweetheart," the dirty cop said. "Tell me how you know Tony D'Onofrio."

Fuck.

Seven years ago, two federal agents walked in on officer Robyn Banks being sentenced to traffic duty. She didn't mind– she was fed up with the secrets her colleagues were forcing her to keep anyways. Maybe stepping down could help her clear her head, maybe give her time to compartmentalize those events and feelings. Only now could she say that the rest of her career was already out of her hands.

"Those agents on that file? They approached me about D'Onofrio. Said he was my moby dick. Made a big deal about 'justice' and 'law and order' and 'the sanctity of the badge." Robyn spit more mop water onto the floor and continued, "I told them I didn't know what the fuck it had to do with me and they just sorta looked at each other."

The blond man– Nick called him Z, she thinks– crossed his arms. "Quit jerkin us around, Banks, get to the fucking point."

Nick held up a hand. "Easy, tiger. I asked for a story and that's what I'm hearing. Keep going, Robbie."

Robyn scowled on the inside. "They told me he was my father. More like a sperm donor than anything, he probably didn't even know I was alive."

"Now that is interesting," Nick purred.

He cut the zip tie binding her arm to the rolly chair and handed her a towelette to wipe her eyes. She dared not reach for the tie on her other arm, lest her captors think she's pulling a move to escape. Instead she dabbed the sweat and mop water that soaked into the skin of her neck and face to pause and think about her next words.

"That was the basis of the deal. I join their investigation undercover, see if I can get somewhere with my connection, and help them put one of the biggest crime bosses on this side of the coast away for good. In exchange, I get to call the shots, they'd put in a good word with my CO and elevate me to detective status instead of beat cop."

"Thought you liked being a beat cop," the one in the silk flamingo shirt said.

"Apparently nobody believes that."

"So," Nick steepled his fingers beneath his aquiline nose in thought, "your end of the deal wasn't even your idea? How does that work?"

"Sounds like she got something else out of it," the bald man in the white polo accused.

Robyn glared at him, but she didn't contradict him. If she wanted to be listened to, she needed to stay calm. Stay calm, stay alive. Go home with the minimal amount of PTSD.

"Do you want me to tell you what happened or not?" When nobody raised any more objections, she continued. "I agreed to their terms. Next I know, I'm climbing the criminal ladder, dropping bread crumbs about my parentage, two years goes by, yada yada yada, and then bam. I have a meeting with the heir apparent to the Italian mafia.

"At that meeting I told Tony D'Onofrio he knew my mother and that I knew they had been dating around the time I was born–"

"Conceived–"

"Yeah that– he stared at me for so long I forgot how to breathe and then… he… believed me."

A pin dropped somewhere in the empty parking garage. A dog barked wildly a mile away but could still be heard in the silence that followed. Robyn still couldn't believe he'd bought it either.

"He just… believed you," Nick said skeptically.

Robyn could do nothing but shrug. "I never got the details, I couldn't ask my mom about it and Tony never gave me any indication that he knew about me before that meeting. He just asked me what I wanted and did it."

Nick dragged his eyes over her form, shivering and glistening, and then-- "what did you ask him?"

Robyn felt her eyes gloss over as she tried to remember what mysterious force compelled her to say the exact right words. "I told him all I wanted was for him to know, to see him with my own eyes and know he was real. I said I didn't need any favors or special treatment. I just needed some closure."

That was all. And the agents had been fucking furious with her. They had accused her of using them, of being a traitor and a spy for D'Onofrio or a mastermind cat-woman type villain and all manner of other terrible things. They were ready to pull the plug on the whole operation when Tony had offered her a better job. A job where she would come face- to- face with every schmoe on Tony's payroll.

"Tony offered me a job 'running errands.' Not quite in his inner circle but higher in his ranks than I had any business being," Robyn said. "Most of the people doing these jobs were kids, easy to get around the city undetected and reliable. Now he knew I wasn't a kid but I guess he wanted to see more from me, put his best eyes on me to see if I was legit."

Nick nodded and stood up (his knees popping like broken branches). He walked over to Murphy in the flamingo shirt and passed a few inaudible words between them. Robyn wasn't skilled in the art of lip reading, and failed to catch anything from Murphy except the word 'pointless.' It rubbed her the wrong way, sending a spark of fear through her that quickly dulled back into the numbness of being helplessly bound to a chair. She needed to finish this soon before she completely cracked.

Nick returned to her side, chasing some pepto bismol with a flask of what smelled like tequila in it. "That's a very sweet story, Robbie, really it is. But… what I wanna know is why you're not in this file."

"That's not what you asked me," she griped, then backpedaled into, "I'm trying to tell you why I'm not in the file. But in order to tell you that, I have to tell you what was left out of the file first. I'm getting to the point, I just… there's a lot of shit to sift through."

Nick nodded like a patient father (yeah, right). "Just the good parts then."

"Yeah," she nodded quickly, "just the good parts..."

"The good parts, uhm. Well he did learn to trust me. I barely had to do anything just… let him try to kindle a relationship between us. I started calling him dad at his request, nobody bothered me or questioned me after that and I didn't abuse it, expect on the downlow giving info to the feds. He liked that about me– he liked me. We'd talk about my mom and he'd let his guard slip, started taking me to his meetings and asking me to deliver his important paperwork."

"I let him think I was with him and documented everything I could for six more years." In truth, she had had some doubts. About putting him away and the vacuum of power it would create, about the dichotomy of good versus evil, about her career. In that last year, she had actually warmed to the idea of becoming a detective and getting to do work with her own moral backbone and not someone else's. "We made the arrest January 19th and put him away for a dime."

Nick leaned so far forward in his chair Rob had to lean back. "This is the part where you wrap it up, sweetcheeks."

Robyn gulped. "Gomer and Valentine pushed me out. They'd been acting really strange at the end, wearing these shit eating grins and looking at each other, and then they iced me out. Had me fired on the grounds that I was too close to the perp, used a fucking Christmas photo for evidence. There went the Italian mob's heir and seven years of hardwork, and I wouldn't even be mentioned by name in the case file. No testimony, no credit, just a dishonorable discharge and dumped on my ass in the streets."

"Wow." Nick rubbed a hand down his face like he was the exhausted one. "That's quite the story, princess."

He looked at each of his mates, every face stonier than the last. Especially the silent one's, the latino guy. Then he looked back at Robyn and smiled with a lot of teeth.

"I do have some questions though, if you'll let me." Sure like I have a choice. "Now it wasn't public knowledge you were in on the investigation, but I find it hard to believe your dad's lackeys didn't know it was you who turned him in. And what I find even harder to believe is that they'd let you live for it."

Robyn said nothing. There was a part of her that didn't quite grasp it either. When she had arrested him, when she'd slapped the cuffs on him herself and read him his Miranda rights, after the shock of her betrayal wore off, Tony had congratulated her.

"I'm proud of you, kid. You may be a narc but at least you got your head straight. You got guts, kid."

As far as she understood it, his last order as the leader of the mafia was not to harm her in any way. Nobody bothered her. They still knew her face on the streets, sent glares her way but never touched her. One of his underlings had come to her place and suggested she skip town permanently just to be safe. It was not a courtesy she ever expected from anyone let alone a man with a reputation for high profile robbery and murder.

She didn't know what to expect. "I guess he really did love me." And Nick left it at that.

Robyn was unbound, blindfolded, and dumped right back onto the street those so called cops had snatched her from. Her legs shook as she walked the last block to her place, utterly miserable and in desperate need of some sleep. Maybe tomorrow she could figure out what the fuck her life had come to. She showered (and cried) and picked up the half drunk beer from her fridge and brought it out on her front steps, taking a sip of the flat beverage and wishing it was something stronger.

People passed below her on the streets, never once looking up. The traffic never disappeared but it did lull this time of night. She didn't mean to– barely noticed she was doing it– but she found a pack of cigarettes in her overcoat and lit one up.

"Next time," she promised herself. I'll try to quit next time.

Just as she was beginning to ease the tension that had been weighing on her all night, a man climbed the steps to her building and pointedly slowed down to a stop a few feet away from her. She chanced a glare at him and found him no stranger which was somehow infinitely worse.

"Fuck off," her nerves got the better of her, "I told you everything, can't I at least get some sleep first?!"

The man lifted his hands in defense, carrying a bottle in a brown bag in one of them. He was, well, he was the handsome one. The Cuban with the neck tattoo and broad shoulders. His eyes seemed a lot softer now Despite the dark setting.

"Swear on my life, I'm not here for Nick." He took a single step up, waiting to see how she'd react, and when she didn't run, he took another and set the covered bottle down next to her before backing off. Still skeptical, Robyn carefully unwrapped the thing, revealing an expensive looking wine label. Dark red. "It's an apology," he explained with his hands in his pockets, "Nick thinks he's this big, clever actor but he can be a real bully when he drinks."

Robyn gave him the 'do I look like an idiot' eyebrow and he had the decency to look at his feet. "We could really use your help with this, Banks. Nick forgot to mention the part where Tony was put on parole for good behavior. He'll be out tomorrow."

"He what." That's just the thing isn't it? The case that ended her career permanently and he just got to walk off after only serving two years of his sentence. That was the real crime here. Robyn gritted her teeth, gripped the neck of the bottle and squeezed. She started shaking it like it was her criminal father, or the weasel federal agents who took her credit, or the dirty cops who kidnapped her tonight.

Borracho looked concerned. "Do you need a corkscrew or– "

Robyn shrugged off her jacket and looked him dead in the eye as she wrapped it around the base of the bottle and gently banged it on the porch step until the cork exploded into the air (along with a third of the bottle's contents but whatever). Borracho raised a hand to protect his face from the spray, and turned away to hide a silly grin.

"Nevermind," he said, shaking the excess drink off his hand. "Listen, if he calls you about anything, please let us know."

He pointed to the bag, which had a phone number on it. "Don't let your work be in vain."

"You try that line on everybody?" Rob was feeling a little facetious in the face of mercy, over tired from the revelations, and pissed off by these fucking pigs. "Your good cop, bad cop routine needs some balance. Did you know I was kidnapped today? Now this wine is a start but you'd better step it up, good cop."

He started to walk away but she called out, "I got Nick, Z, and Murphy. Clocked 'Gus' by the name written on his underwear. Which one are you?"

"Benny," he threw back, and disappeared into the nighttime traffic.

"Benny," Rob scoffed. "Cute ass."

Robb drank the equivalent of two glasses, then passed out from exhaustion. She slept dreamlessly and tried to forget last night had ever happened. Benny, in the meantime, returned to the office where his crew was huddled around a phone receiver.

"Don't appreciate you throwing me under the bus, B," Nick growled from his seat.

"Shup up and drink this," Benny pushed the glass of raw eggs closer to his boss' hand, a so called 'hangover cure'. Nick shrunk back a little.

"Told you she'd be sweet on him," Z elbowed Murphy in the ribs and ignored his protesting 'um actually I said that.'

"Wouldn't call her sweet," Benny said, grunting as he took up residence at his own desk. "She looked like a feral cat."

Nick laughed. "Yeah well don't go getting mixed up with that pussy, B, we've got work to do."

It was gonna be another long night for everybody.

#three bees writing #god it's been so long #i don't know what to call this series #benny borracho #benny borracho x oc

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callmeunstable · 4 years ago

Text

Angels & Demons - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Characters: Reader, Godling, Savilla, Jaskier

Summary: After finding a friendin Jaskier their friendship get tested. Unsure of the danger ahead Alva tries her best to live in the village.

Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Death

Words: 2.000+

A/N: Hey! This is the fourth part of my fic. It took really long this time due to personal problems. I’m sorry but it probably will happen again. Thank you for you patience and enjoy!

Disclaimer: GIF’s and PNG’s are taken from Tumblr and are not mine! Credits to the creators!

Tags: @marvelbrat @charliestuff

Song:

“Did ya hear the rumors?”

“The folks are saying the Nilfgaards want to overrule Cintra.”

“That’s never been a secret, mate. Cintra will fall and we all know that.”

“Got to hell. Our Lioness is strong. Don’t ya ever doubt her skill.”

These were the latest accusations browsing around the village. Cintra, the kingdom Alva was currently staying, was about to fall. The men were right when they're saying that. Even Savilla was under tension these days. She said they could arrive any day by now.

The Lioness was the Queen of this state. Calanthe of Cintra, known also as the "Lioness of Cintra" and "Ard Rhena" called by the Elders. The mother of Pavetta, and grandmother of Ciri. She was known for her bravery and beauty. That is at least what she figured while serving in the tavern. She heard tons of rumors but couldn’t understand what that meant for her.

Sevilla had already started packing the most important goods and she collected all the money she received. Rarely spending anything except for once. She bought two horses. They weren’t expensive she said and necessary for traveling.

When the Nilfgaards want to overrule Cintra the will stop here. Their town was called Walen. It’s close to the capital of Cintra. Where the Queen and the King had their castle. It may be a small village but you will get everything you need in this town. Food, animals, tailors, and a blacksmith.

Overall this village was not a poorly town. It had more than enough money to keep everyone well fed through the winter, which was a rare thing in this century. They didn’t necessarily depend on other nearby villages. They made everything they could need by themselves. Sevilla already had a plan figured out. James was still living in his forest and promised to alert them directly if he’d see something unusual and he would try to save them some time. In the beginning, Alva didn’t understand why the had to take all these precautions until the mage explained it to her. The Nilfgaardian Army was strong and powerful. They raided villages, stole their good, and raped the women. Their goal was to overrule Cintra, which means they wouldn’t hesitate to torture the people living here to receive any information they would mark as useful.

It was horrible and disgusting but it was the way this world worked. You have to protect yourself because nobody else will.

The job at the tavern kept her busy. It was quite fun now that Jaskier decided to stay. She liked his singing and his humor, even if sometimes he’d get on her nerves. He was flirting with every woman he could come across and needless to say, it didn’t stay with flirting if the girl agreed.

Gladly Jaskier understood rather quickly not to tease Alva's patience because she didn’t care about the girly behavior this world was used to. She was quick with grabbing any nearby object and chasing the bard with it. Once or twice even with his lute.

She would consider them both as good friends, which is why she was asking the bard about his plans when the Niflgaards arrive. “They don’t scare me. I’m not scared of anything. I could even get some new stories to tell in my songs.”

The bard was sometimes naive but he assured Alva that he knew what was coming and that he will be prepared.

Another day another workday for Alva. It was all peaceful and quiet, especially in the mornings. She liked that shift a lot. But not today. She was the first server to enter and she quickly realized that. Dozens of mugs were laying on the floor, bear and gin spilled everywhere.

“Was there a party I don’t know about?” Alva let that question settle in the room, soon recognizing that no one was there to talk to.

“All right, fuck all of you then.”

“Why you gotta be so mean all the time?”

The mumbling sound of Jaskier's voice broke the silence and Alva spotted his hat in one of the corners of the room. The rest was hidden behind a barrel. He looked rather ruff. His Jacket was thrown on the chair beside him and his shirt was unbuttoned pretty far down. Thankfully he had his pants still on.

“Because you're sleeping quietly in your corner while I have to scrub the floor that you probably spilled you drink on.” Alva throws her bag at Jaskier, hitting him right in the belly.

“That was uncalled for. And to be exact it wasn’t only me. The men last night were enormously friendly and gave everyone a drink for free. Let me tell you it was fantastic.”

“Glad to hear you had a good time. Did you earn more than usual.”

“Probably. Can’t remember if I shall be completely honest.”

That sounded like typical Jaskier.

Alva grabbed some towels and a bucket, filling it with water and soap. She dipped one into the liquid and searched for her target. Jaskier was standing a few meters away. His back was facing her.

“Don’t you know that turning your back to someone is just plain rude.” And with these words, the towel was being thrown, right on Jaskier's head. But the bard didn’t seem to mind the wet cloth sitting on top of his head.

“What the hell are you doing Jaskier?” The girl made her way over to him, to take a look at the interesting thing Jaskier was concentrated on.

She didn’t like was she was seeing. Jaskier had opened her bag and grabbed one of her leather notebooks, Sevilla gave her exactly 3 of them, so she could keep track of this world and for anything else, Alva wanted to write down.

“You lied to me!” Jaskier let out an offended sigh. “You are a bard yourself and you didn’t tell me? I'm deeply offended, Alva.”

Alva tried to snatch the book out of his hands, unsuccessfully. “Jaskier, I will kick your ass! Give it back!” Jaskier was probably about 1 ½ head taller than Alva. That made it far more difficult.

“Why would I? These are amazing. Why did you hide them from me?”

“I’m not a bard Jaskier. I just like to write songs, get it?”

“You have to sing for me sometime or at least allow me to use some of your poetry.”

“For Christ's Sake Jaskier give me the book or I will kick you in your balls and that is a promise.”

Jaskier's shocked eyes stared her blank in the face. “No need to threaten me. But I've heard worse than that.” The bard still didn’t give the book back. Alva was struggling to get hold of his arm, that he held far up in the air.

“That’s so romantic. May I quote ‘I've been hiding for so long, these feelings they’re not gone, can I tell anyone?’ What a poet you are little girl.”

“Jaskier I’m begging you, please stop!” Alva knew what the next line read. And she knew in which time frame she was captured. This will not end well.

“Why this is adorable! ’Afraid of what they'll say, so I push them away. I'm acting so strange.’ Does someone have a crush on good ol’ Jaskier?”

“Jaskier you don’t want to read further trust me.” Alva stopped reaching for her journal. It wouldn’t change what would happen next, she was too small and Jaskier to stubborn.

“’ They're so pretty it hurts. I'm not talking 'bout boys, I'm talking 'bout’ … oh.” There it was. Would he hate her now? Was she about to be abandoned from this village? She had no idea what would happen next.

“I’m sorry, Alva. I didn’t me to intrude your privacy.” Jaskier looked ashamed. That was a surprising sight. He quietly closed the book and handed it to her. She grabbed it and stuffed it bag in her back.

“You’re not going to tell anyone, are you?”

“No, don’t be afraid. I don’t mind that. It’s just a bummer, I thought you had a swarm for myself. I guess I was wrong.” Jaskier let out a friendly laugh and scratched the back of his head.

“Wait, you don’t hate me?”

“Why would I? I mean I’m fond of women myself so why would I blame you? I’m just a little bit disappointed. I thought maybe I had a chance to win you over, at least for a night.”

Alva punched Jaskier softly in his side.

“You’re a douche. But if you want to know. I still think men are attractive. But in my opinion, women are as well. So why exactly decide?” Alva tried her best to explain Jaskier with the easiest way that she’s bisexual.

“Does that mean I still have a chance of winning you over?” Jaskier's typical smirk was setting and he wiggled with his eyebrows.

“Technically yes, but no thanks.”

“That was disappointing.”

The day went quietly after this. Alva was happy about the fact that Jaskier didn’t mind her sexuality at all. He was indeed a great friend. He kept it a secret as he promised. And he didn’t change one bit.

A couple of weeks later they were walking back from the village that was next to Walen. It was a one-day march but it didn’t bother them. Sevilla sent Alva to get herbs she ran out of and Jaskier gladly announced himself as her companion. He didn’t want her to get lost and a woman should never walk alone, in his opinion.

It was only about a half an hour walk left, they were just arriving in the forest of James when they saw black smoke rising from the direction they were heading. “What the hell?” Alva didn’t understand what that was supposed to be. It was new to her that the village people used smoke signals.

“That’s not good.” Jaskier started to run, Alva behind him. What’s happening? “Why are we running?”, called Alva so Jaskier was able to hear her through the cracking branches they were running over.

“I think Nilfgaard reached Walen! Hurry!”

Anxiety was crawling up her throat. This couldn’t be real. Sevilla warned her but she never took it that seriously. She thought this would never happen.

“Alva!” The familiar voice of James was ringing in her head. The Godling used this method a lot to talk to Alva without needing to be seen.

“What is happening, James?” “Nilfgaard raided the village not even ten minutes ago. You need to run away! Not in the direction of the village! It will be your death!” The Godling was panicking like a child. His voice sounded helpless.

“I have to make it. I need to see if Sevilla is okay. Can you shield us? I beg you, James.” Alva needed to flee with Sevilla, she was not going to leave her there. “I try my best. But there are too many. You won't have much time.”

“I don’t need long, just help us!”

In the far Sevilla's house came in sight. It looked like normal, only the pots and jar outside the house were broken.

“Be quiet. I saw some soldiers not far from here. It's Nilfgaard. We have to leave!” Jaskier was pushing her in a bush, trying to have at least a little bit of cover. Screams and cries became audible. Uncontrolled and painful.

“Sevilla had a plan. I need to get her. We have horses. You can come with us Jaskier. But I need to get Sevilla, do you understand?” Alva was determined.

She was not going to leave her. She was like a mother to her, all this time. She gave her a home when anyone else would have left her to die. The girl pushed the fabric of her dress aside, grabbing the hidden dagger.

“You are crazy! Going in there.”

“You will not stop me.”

“Alright then. Let’s go, you crazy girl. When we die, at least we’ll die together.”

They were slowly approaching the cottage. Trying to make out any sound.

“There is no one around you. You can enter.” James was back in her head. Alva didn’t hesitate anymore, breaking through the door.

It was horrifying. Everything was broken. All of the herbs were ripped out of their pots. All of their clothing was laying ripped on the floor. The fireplace was burning and tons of papers were stuffed into it.

But the worst thing was yet to come. Sevilla was laying on her stomach. The back part of an arrow was sticking out of her back.

“Sevilla!” The girl let out a shrieking scream. Jaskier quickly covered her mouth and held her in his arms.

The was so much blood. All of her clothes were colored in a dark red. She wasn’t moving anymore.

“Alva, you need to listen to me.” Jaskier was grabbing her face and trying to get her to focus. “I know this is hard but you have to grief later. She wouldn’t want you to die here. You told me she protected you, I understand. But we have to leave.”

Alva was frozen, not even noticing her tears falling to the floor. “I can't keep them away much longer Alva!” A panicked voice ripped her out of her trance state.

She wouldn’t want her to die. She has to live for her. “T- The rug. Under the rug.” Jaskier pushed the carpet aside and a hatch became visible.

Jaskier opened it and there were 6 bags stuffed together. Each of them grabbed three.

Alva was still looking at the corpse of Sevilla. She was lost in this world once again. No help to escape it.

“The horses! Where are they, Alva?” Jaskier started to panic like the girl.

“Behind the house in the shed.”

Both ran outside, with a last glance at the mage they left. The horses were still outside, visibly unsettled.

“Help me saddle them. Hurry up!” They fixed the straps and secured the bags. While doing that a not fell out of the pockets attached to the saddle. Quickly picking it up she stuffed it on the inside of her pants.

“You need to ride with this dress. Are you able to do that?” Jaskier wanted to make sure the girl stayed focused. It was the most important thing at the moment.

“N-no, I can't. B-but.” She held up her dagger and sliced the fabric of her legs. Ripping every single part of it off her body. Anger was building up in her body. “Stop that! We don’t have time for one of your outbreaks. Get up! Now!” Jaskier helped the girl on the horse and fastly climbed on the other one.

The horses picked up on speed. They could sense that they were in a dangerous situation. Alva looked back at the small village she called her home. But now she has to travel into the unknown with a bard my her side.

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thetriggeredhappy · 5 years ago

Note

I absolutely love your writing! If you're taking requests, could you maybe do a speeding bullet soulmate au?

thanks a lot pal! and sure thing, i’ve actually had something half-finished in my drafts for soulmate!au for a while. in this AU, it’s the classic “your first words to your soulmate are written on your wrist”, with a minor twist–if your soulmate’s words are on your left hand, that means you will need to speak first. if it’s on the right, then your soulmate is the one who has to speak first before you say your words. this adds a little bit of clarity in-universe, since you can see your phrase is something simple like “how can i help you” and if you’re speaking second you can shoot them back with something buckwild. it can lead to people being more or less extroverted–knowing your line comes second means you can say whatever without being worried that it’ll be written on some poor sap’s skin, and knowing your line comes first means you don’t have that luxury. also limitations like “must be speaking exclusively to that one person” (unless polyamory), “can’t be through a phone or writing”, and “must be identifiable as the person” (do with that what you please). anyways, i like soulmate AUs and put a lot of thought into them.

actual fic is below the cut, and again, you’re very kind

”Are you doing alright, mate?”

To be honest, that wasn’t the worst line that Jeremy could’ve gotten, but fuckin’ seriously.

It wasn’t as bad as his brother Joey, he had “Your shoe’s untied” on the left, and Petey got the nightmare scenario and just got “Hey, how’s your day?” on the right, but the thing that really frustrated him was that it wasn’t even the reaction phrase. That was the opening phrase, meaning they had to say that to him first before he could respond with his own line, and if they were asking if he was doing alright that had to mean something bad was gonna happen and he’d probably look stupid in front of his soulmate and not have a good response or whatever because he’d just, like, fallen in the harbor or something.

Turned out, by the time Jeremy was twelve, he was starting to find out that bad things happening to him was gonna be a consistent issue. He had bad luck, worse than all his brothers combined, and over the course of all that time he got an awful lot of “Are you okay, dude?” and “Are you alright?” from a lot of people. But none of them ever got it exactly right,

missing the crucial few words, nobody ever saying “mate”. Nobody ever asking him that in a voice that felt dark orange.

“Y’know,�� his Ma said to him one day when he was sulking, twenty-two and still soulmate-less and with a terrible time at job hunting to boot considering his most recent cast, luckily on his left arm so he could still glare at his mark. “It does have a hint at least.”

“That I’m gonna be a total klutz forever?” Jeremy sulked.

“That your soulmate isn’t gonna be an American, sweetheart,” his Ma corrected gently. “He’s probably gonna be British, or Irish, something like that. They’re the only ones who say “mate”, right?”

“Didn’t you also think my dad was gonna be a Canadian?” he asked suspiciously.

“Honey, I’m not magic, I don’t know everything. I thought it was unrealistic to think it would be someone actually from France,” she said, a little haughty.

She was one of the lucky people to get a really specific phrase, in a language that wasn’t her own no less. It was in French, and when he’d asked as a kid what it said, she’d laughed and said it meant “I promise I had a much more intelligent line to say, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten it.”

She always said his dad had died, and worn the traditional covering to show that someone’s soulmate was dead, to hide where the words had gone black. But once or twice he’d glimpsed her wrist, and to be honest, the words looked more navy blue.

“Why the heck am I gonna talk to a British person?” Jeremy asked, sulking again.

“World works in mysterious ways, J-Bear,” his Ma shrugged.

She was right. Because a few months later, he was in a particularly terrible situation, and he received a phone call asking if he wanted a job.

”I’m seriously, actually, 100% going to murder you.”

It hadn’t shown up until he was four years old, which Mick’s parents had a bloody field day with, and once they were good and tired of dealing with that conundrum they moved right along to address the fact that in reply to whatever their son was going to say, he was going to promptly be threatened.

Great.

He ended up baking under the sun just like everyone else in his god-forsaken country, which only made the bright, cherry-red phrase stand out all the better. His mum tried to be supportive, honest she did, but even getting bullied at school every other day never led to him finding anyone, and she wasn’t all that surprised when at age nineteen he packed up the bare essentials and left home without a word.

He had an idea in his head. He’d heard before of people, terrible people, who used the idea of soulmate to do… bad things. To manipulate people, to make them stay in bad relationships because they thought this one person could and would solve all their problems. And if his soulmate’s first words to him were a threat…

He’d admit if he was asked that he was a lonely person. He didn’t ever seem to fit with anyone. Nobody ever seemed to understand what he meant once he started actually talking, being honest. And he didn’t know if he would have the strength to get out of a bad situation if he was promised up front that this person would understand him. He was pretty sure he would put up with a lot of bad things just for the sake of genuine connection.

So he decided he wouldn’t ever find his soulmate. He’d go off to do hunting and tracking in fuckall nowhere and nobody would ever bother him and he’d never need to deal with a soulmate. He didn’t need one. He’d be fine alone.

When he eventually turned to killing people for money, some part of him deep down wondered if he was just getting too lonely and giving in to what fate had in store for him. If becoming an assassin was the most pathetic, fucked-up bid for someone’s love that had ever happened in history. People did threaten to kill him a lot in that line of work. And more often, people actually tried.

Eventually he got a job offer out in America, more consistent pay and all for the same job, less moving around required, and he took it. He was getting up there in years, and he had a feeling that if he hadn’t found his soulmate by the time he hit thirty, he never would.

Jeremy got a new name: Scout. And his new coworkers—“teammates”, as the very pretty lady who unfortunately didn’t ask if he was doing alright had specified to him—were from all over the place. And he’d had high hopes for a minute as he realized one of his teammates was Scottish, but when he spoke face-to-face with the guy he’d instead greeted him with a cheerful “Pleasure to meet you, lad!” and his reply of “Yo, so you’re the Demoman?” had elicited exactly no response, so that was a bust.

He spoke to the Pyro, as briefly as possible since they freaked him out, but they’d similarly not seemed to react to what he first said to them, and neither had any of the rest of the team. Hell, the Heavy had outright brushed him off up front and the Sniper had given him exactly one up-and-down before he’d left entirely.

So cool. Great. New job with people who didn’t care. Nice.

And he found out more and more as time passed that they very much didn’t care. Most of the team could hardly tolerate him for more than ten minutes at a time, Spy he could barely put up with for two sentences, and even though he eventually got to be better friends with Pyro, and Engie eventually started putting up with him more, they still got annoyed with him pretty quickly. Pyro basically ignored him once they reached their limit, and Engie would essentially kick him out of his workshop.

And… to be honest, he didn’t feel totally comfortable talking to them about certain stuff. He felt a little bit like he’d get laughed at. And his once-every-two-weeks phone call home sometimes wasn’t enough to deal with various stresses and he usually was more interested in hearing their news than complaining anyways.

He didn’t know why he went out to the watchtower. Maybe because he was out for a run and it just happened to be in his line of sight. Maybe because it occurred to him that Sniper could keep a secret, wouldn’t tell the guys about whatever he ended up talking about. Maybe because he felt like he didn’t really have any other options.

Anyways, he ended up climbing the watchtower, asking Sniper if it would bug him if Scout sat around and hung out for a while. Sniper didn’t reply, just glancing at Scout over his shoulder briefly before returning to his scope. And then Scout made it exactly three minutes before he started in on talking. “I dunno I just think it’s funny that Spy thinks I’m rude when he’s always the one starting shit for no reason—“

And Sniper didn’t interrupt him, didn’t say anything, didn’t chase him off. He sat there, staring down his scope, occasionally pausing to take a drink of his coffee, for about two hours. Two hours of Scout just talking, thinking out loud.

It was nice. So nice that Scout cut himself off, eventually said goodbye and left the tower again, sure that Sniper would get tired of him and he’d never be allowed back up there again.

It became a weekly thing, every Monday Scout would go up there and talk to Sniper. Talk at Sniper, more like. And Sniper would listen.

One of the days, Scout said something, something he couldn’t even remember, because it was overshadowed by the thing that immediately followed it—Sniper laughing.

He’d never heard Sniper laugh before, he didn’t think. Not in the real way, anyhow. Sniper didn’t talk much. He’d occasionally mention something over the comms, and once or twice Scout heard him cheering along with the rest of the team when they won a match, but overall, he was a man of few words. So getting him to laugh…

He thought about it a lot.

Sniper didn’t entirely get why Scout started talking to him.

He tried so hard—so hard—to be left alone. He put on a scowl and wore the brim of his hat low and carried his knife off the clock and didn’t say hello or goodbye. He wanted to be left alone. He deserved to be left alone.

Scout, apparently, didn’t notice. And halfway through Sniper trying to figure out what to say to get the kid to leave, he started telling some story about his brothers back home, and…

He never got around to it. He never… got around to telling him to leave. And once Scout had that foothold, had that… constant nature, that consistency, once Sniper knew to expect him every Monday two hours after the team dinner or half an hour before sunset—whichever came first—he found himself…

God damn it. Enjoying Scout’s company. He liked some of the phrases Scout used. He talked in an interesting way. It was pleasant to listen to. And he was honest, uncomfortably honest at times. He told Sniper about all sorts of things that he figured it was safe to say nobody else knew about.

He talked about his family. His mum. His dad, who died, and then later he corrected himself to say his dad, who disappeared, who probably left, words in navy and not in black. He talked about growing up in the bad part of town, about never being allowed to walk home from school without at least one of his older brothers there until he was eight, when he started carrying a knife on him because sometimes none of his brothers showed up for him, until he was twelve, when he just started running there and back every day after baseball practice to save the trouble. About shoplifting, about getting a job delivering newspapers the second he was legally allowed to, about older brothers going in to work sick and Ma working two jobs to try and support them all when they got too sick for work, too sick for anything for a while. About what he did with his paycheck—he kept some pocket change for himself, to buy records sometimes, or posters, or snack foods for when dinner sucked, or fast food or drinks at the bar when he had time on the weekends. The rest of it—every goddamn penny—went back home. One day, maybe his Ma would never have to work again.

He wanted to tell Scout about his own sad life story. Climbing up the tree outside school and throwing rocks at the bullies who chased him, starting to skip classes and smoke towards the end of his schooling just to try and look a little more intimidating. About his dad scoffing at him when he tended to use a gun to chase off predators from their flock of sheep instead of fighting them hand-to-hand like a good Australian. About running away from all of his problems, and how killing animals, especially people, seemed to be the only thing he was ever any good at, and how sometimes that really did bother him, a lot.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t convince himself that Scout cared, somehow. Visits jumped up to twice a week, Monday and Thursday, same time. It was hot for a while, and he went into town one Sunday to pick up two cases of beer, hauled a cooler up into the watchtower, and left three beers next to where Scout sat and three next to himself about ten minutes before the kid showed up. When it started getting cold at night, he brought up his own quilt like he always did, but brought up the spare as well, left that on what he’d mentally started thinking of as Scout’s Crate. Scout drank the beers, and used the blanket, and would talk for his two hours and then say goodbye and not mention anything to Sniper when they went out to battle the next day.

It…

He didn’t like that he enjoyed it so much. He didn’t like looking forward to it, didn’t like perking up when he heard the ladder rattling, didn’t like hanging on to every word and the increasing frequency at which Scout was making him laugh. He didn’t like how much harder it got every time to bite his lip and hold back from chiming in.

He was a killer, he reminded himself. A hermit from absolutely nowhere Australia who didn’t deserve the company of other people. This was the best thing that could’ve happened to him, and he couldn’t push his luck. If he pushed his luck, then he’d drive Scout away and be left alone again. Scout only talked to him because he was quiet anyways, because he was a mystery. Remove the mystery, and the draw would be gone, and he’d be all alone again. Already this was selfish; he should just shut up and be grateful.

He stared down his scope and drank his coffee and was grateful.

A bad day at work, followed by a bad weekend, had Scout hesitating at the base of the watchtower.

Some part of him was rational, and knew he was being ridiculous. But another, stronger part of him couldn’t seem to make his feet move, was repeating a steady mantra to him.

Not wanted.

Sniper didn’t like him. Sniper didn’t want him around. Sniper was just too polite to turn him away, too nice, and was annoyed with his constant talking and wished he would go away but didn’t have the courage, didn’t want to be rude. He wasn’t wanted. Or maybe Sniper just pitied him, maybe Sniper just heard his assorted sob stories and thought, man, poor little idiot kid, might as well set out a blanket for him and let him talk. Maybe Sniper was collecting everything he said for blackmail.

The worst idea to run through his head: maybe Sniper had never been listening to him in the first place.

If Sniper wanted him around, he would’ve said something, right?

Scout didn’t go up into the watchtower that day, or the following Thursday. He didn’t bother looking for Sniper in battle, sure that Sniper would be ignoring him the same way he always did, pretending he didn’t exist the same way he always did.

When he went to the store that weekend, hoping to pick up some chips and soda, he found himself staring at a six-pack of beer. He didn’t even particularly like beer, usually, he preferred other drinks. But he was looking at this six-pack of beer, and he wound up buying it.

It wasn’t some cheap garbage, it was craft beer. It was more expensive.

He drank exactly three of the six and tried not to think about it.

Scout was gone. He never showed up. Sniper ended up getting so freaked out about it that he went to check the Medbay, sure that something bad had happened. Medic was there, working on something bloody, but not Scout. And Scout wasn’t in the workshop either, or the workout room, or the rec room. He got a lot of strange looks from his teammates as he asked around. For some, it was the most he’d spoken to them in months.

He was halfway to Scout’s room when he realized he was probably being strange, manic. Scout was allowed to not want to come visit him. He wasn’t offering anything. In all the time—six months, he realized, they’d been doing this for six months—that Scout had visited, all he really had to gain was Sniper occasionally humming or laughing, and exactly three beers on the hotter days and a tobacco-scented blanket in the winter. There was no reason for Sniper to expect him to show up on the little schedule that had been established. He started to feel silly.

Then he didn’t show up on Thursday either, and…

He felt worried, of course he felt worried, obviously he felt worried. One of the only good things to ever happen to him, and it just stopped showing up one day. And he wanted it back. God, he wanted it back. Two days and he already felt more lonely than he ever felt in his life. Maybe having felt even the smallest glimmer of companionship had made him soft, but damn it, he wanted to feel it again.

He made a decision.

Scout was lacing up his shoes before battle on Monday when a pair of boots stopped in front of him. This wasn’t strange. What was strange was that it wasn’t the calm amble of Engie, the sturdy stride of Heavy, the confident stomp of Soldier, or the crisp stride of Medic. No, it was an awkward shuffle. A rough clearing of a throat. He looked up, and it was Sniper.

He froze up. “Uh,” he said. “Hi.”

Sniper was looking at him. That was strange. In something like 95% of their interactions, Sniper was facing away from him down a scope, occasionally viewed in profile as he took a sip of beer or coffee, depending on the weather. And the other times were in battle itself, both of them otherwise preoccupied. But now Sniper was looking at him, thumbs shoved in his front pockets. After a second he moved to take off his sunglasses and immediately glanced off to one side, tapping them against his palm.

It looked like a nervous tick. This was strange. Sniper was never like this. Scout was confused.

Sniper glanced towards the rest of the team, all a short ways away, chatting amongst themselves at various volumes. When he spoke, his voice was rough and low and quiet. If Scout had to describe it, he would call it a dark orange.

“Are you doing alright, mate?” he asked, tone hesitant.

Scout remained frozen. Stared. Stared.

“It’s just,” Sniper continued, stumbling awkwardly with his words, unable to make further eye contact with Scout. “You haven’t come around in a while, and I suppose I just got… worried, that something happened—“

Scout got to his feet, whirled around, and angrily started digging through his locker, jaw clenched. He eventually pulled forth a pocket knife and angrily started ripping the grip tape from his right hand. He didn’t say a word.

“I’m sorry,” Sniper said quickly, holding up his hands, taking a step back. “I, I just thought it was odd is all, I didn’t know if—“

Scout silenced him by holding his now-bare wrist directly in Sniper’s line of sight, a few inches from his face, Sniper flinching back minutely at the motion. When he realized what he was looking at, his eyes widened. He looked at Scout. Scout looked at him.

“I’m seriously, actually, 100% going to murder you,” Scout said calmly, matter-of-factly, and Sniper had never thought about it before, but he would absolutely describe Scout’s voice as a bright red. Shaking hands moved to undo his watch, and he held his own wrist, the left, out for Scout to see.

Silence for a few seconds. “I—“ Sniper started to say, but was cut off by Scout.

“I cannot believe that you’ve never once since I’ve met you ever talked one-on-one with me. You’ve never said a fuckin’ word to me, Snipes,” Scout said, more than a little pissed off.

“I didn’t realize,” Sniper defended, a little weakly. “I thought… I thought I had.”

“Man, how many people can say they fuckin’ monologued to their soulmate for hours and hours before meeting them, huh?” Scout asked, hands on his hips now.

“I’m sorry,” was all Sniper could think to say.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” Scout declared, glaring at Sniper hard. “I’m gonna meet you after work like usual at the watchtower, and you’re takin’ me to go get pizza, and I’m gonna eat pizza while you talk about yourself. You’ve got about—“

He did some math in his head.

“Somethin’ like sixty hours or so of talkin’ to do to make it even,” he decided. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Sniper agreed weakly. Scout moved to sit down and start lacing his shoes up again, but before he could get to it, Sniper spoke again. “I’m… glad you’re okay.”

Scout looked back up at him. The sudden influx of nervous honesty on Sniper’s face made him feel surprisingly guilty. “Sorry. I just… got all up in my own head. I figured I was probably pissing you off, so I stopped going.” A pause. “I wasn’t pissing you off?”

“No,” Sniper replied. “Not at all. I… liked… having you around.”

Scout fought hard against the smile threatening to take hold. “Good to know,” he finally said.

“And I should’ve said something earlier,” Sniper continued, words flowing forth in a rush. “I should’ve told you, I should’ve—let you know. I really should’ve.”

“Well,” Scout shrugged, and finished tying his laces up, and stood to face Sniper head-on. “Now you told me.”

A pause between them, Sniper clearly working very hard to maintain eye contact.

“It doesn’t have to be pizza,” Scout amended, picking at his remaining hand’s worth of grip tape. “It can be anything. I just wanna hang out, like, away from base.”

“Like a date?” Sniper asked, slowly, hesitantly.

“Sure,” Scout shrugged.

A pause again. “Pizza’s fine,” Sniper seemed to decide.

“Alright,” Scout said, and smiled at him. “Alright. I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah,” Sniper agreed, and took his cue to walk away. He stood off to one side of the rest of the team, moving to take a drink of his coffee. His wrist caught his eye, and he looked over the words again, and for the first time in his life, they didn’t bring him dread. They brought him hope.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #speeding bullet #sniperscout #my fanfiction #shut up me #everybody talks #sorry if parts of this are a little weird or hard to read I'm in a weird brainspace today #requests sometimes help keep me distracted at least

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xx-eatmyheart-xx · 5 years ago

Text

I'm a little late with this one but I kinda had a little block. Hope you like it! 🌸

@obsessedandthirsty @electroma89 @sanguinandoscrivo

-Abigail

4 - New Starts

The streets of Gotham were busy with hurried people every single day of the town's painful existence. No one seemed to care for anyone and that's why when those no ones were walking towards their destination, whether it was their working place or their own homes, their attention never cared to focus on other no ones like Arthur. It looked like he was invisible to every single person that passed near him and his swinging sign, nobody seemed to notice his cheerful dance in front of the music shop.

And well, nobody seemed to see the group of little vandals steal the bright yellow sign from him, nor did them give a single fuck when he was chasing the kids and screaming for others to stop them.

He hated that city.

He hated being invisible, he hated being a no one, he hated running after those stupid teens.

And now he was hating being beaten up by them, curled up on the ground, without any type of power over the situation.

While his vision was getting blurry, his thoughts were limpid: he was thinking of Y/n. Arthur had gladly found out that he was able to concentrate on her smile so hard that the pain would slowly fade away, as if it morphed into a simple background buzz. Surely a little annoying, but still a lot more bearable.

"Hey! HEY!"

Arthur couldn't understand if something had scared them away or if they were simply done toying with him, the image of her bright eyes was blocking out everything else from his mind. But as his sight was leisurely coming back with an imperceptible ring in his ears, he had started to line out a thin silhouette at the end of the dirt alley running toward him.

The apparently unreal phantom became a lot less imaginary when a hand reached down to Arthur and a pair of arms helped him sit on the ground, feather-like hands holding his sore shoulders.

"Oh lord, Arthur? Arthur can you hear me?"

The clown nodded, a little confused, and as he was gaining back his sight, the voice lulling his aching body seemed awfully familiar all of the sudden.

Was it really her?

His eyes finally managed to center on the person holding him: a worried look met his own and a tear escaped the beautiful irises that were staring at him.

Did he really run that way? Was he really that close to her shop?

Or was she just passing by?

Could he seriously have been so lucky?

"Arthur tell me something!"

She was so so worried.

When was the last time someone looked at him with true and pure concern?

He couldn't remember one.

He shook his head, still a little disoriented.

Please don't let it be an illusion.

Don't let her be an illusion.

"Y-Y/n I... I, them, I I..."

Words failed him as the anxiety and the stress of the fresh abuse were beginning to make their way to his brain. His throat was immediately dry, in a moment his lungs couldn't remember how to work properly, leaving the poor man agonizingly breathless.

Why was she there?

"Haha... Ha... Hahaha... Hahaha-"

A smack echoed through the alley as his own hand harshly hit his mouth in a hopeless attempt to suffocate the uncontrollable fit of laughter.

Y/n saw his body bending over and painfully starting to shake uncontrollably, his face had contorted into a grimace that screamed pain so loud she could feel it scratching her skin.

He wanted so bad for her to just run away, scared of his bizzarre and horrific behavior like everyone else.

Everything would've been so much easier.

Why was she still there? Why was she looking at him like that? Was she going to make fun of him? Was he really crying in front of her?

Was she-

"It's okay"

Her hug was firm and warm, arms grabbing his convulsing body and securing it against her own.

What?

----------------------

Arthur had to take a few minutes breathing with his face buried in Y/n's neck but at the end he had managed to calm down. It was a first time for him, he knew no one ever stroked his hair while he was having an episode, it all had felt so different and strange.

It had made him feel uncomfortably safe.

She hadn't cared for the tight grip he had on her, nor did she complain about the smudget makeup on her jacket. And now that he was sitting on her couch with a cup of hot tea in his hands, everything felt even more safely surreal.

It had started to look so impossible to him for her to be that kind that at the end of the story he was sure that was real: he couldn't be able to hallucinate someone being so gentle with him.

His mind couldn't do something like that.

It could picture a hug, a kiss, the two of them cuddling in his bed, even Y/N naked in his shower.

But that?

He could never have imagined it.

It was too much for him.

He didn't deserve that.

"How are you feeling Arthur?"

Still, she was standing in front of him with a beautiful smile on her delicate face and a bag of ice in her hands. Y/n sat right beside Arthur and put the bag on his shoulder, relieving the ache that a big bruise was giving him. Things like that remembered him how skinny, how powerless, fragile and useless his body was. His dark place was suffocating him once again and once again he was letting it take control.

"Y/n"

"Yes, Arthur?"

He had fell silent once the fit was eventually over, that was the first word after almost an hour since then.

"Earlier, in the alley... That was... I have..."

His voice trailed off, abandoning the sentence little by little.

Why was it so difficult with her? He didn't have his little card with him but he totally could explain his condition. Then why there was no way words would come out?

"A neurological conditon, I know"

He was unexpectedly confused one more time that day.

"How do you..."

"I... I knew a... person with a very similar condition"

"but we can do something about it, right, doctor?"

The screams were echoing through the white walls of the empty hallway, were Y/n could hear them loud and clear.

"I'm sorry to tell you that ma'am, but that's a neurological condition, we can't help that"

Another scream, another torturing cry of pain.

You could hear her head bashing against the wall as if you were in that same room.

"isn't there something we can try?"

"we tried everything"

Foggy memories were passing by in front of your eyes as the buried fear threatened to climb out of its grave.

Arthur could not replace her, being his friend wouldn't bring her back.

He could not redeem your mistakes, nothing could delete what had happened.

But you did still care, and yes, even if he did remember you of her, it was not because you wanted a second chance, but because you really saw something in him.

And whilst your brain was full of something you hadn't thought of for a long time, you could still see the now bare face of the clown. He was completely zoning out, all Arthur could focus on was how your apartment was just like he had imagined: lovely and welcoming, just like you.

The two of you had your minds in two completely different places even though you were looking at the same thing, your living room. But it was okay, it was pleasant, safe. You were just enjoying each other's company.

His sight was scanning your little open space, with the kitchen in a corner and the sofa where you two were sitting right in front of it, only the TV and the white furniture where it was standing dividing the two spaces. The carpets, the pictures on the wall, the color combinations and even the textures, everything there made him think about you, every little piece of that space remembered him of your ethereal being. Since your first encounter, the scrawny clown had discovered that contemplating the idea of you made his chest warm, almost as you had a calming effect on his anxiety.

Maybe he should've said something.

"Thanks again Y/n"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want"

Arthur tensed a little and squeezed the cup in his hands as he frantically answered, a gesture that you quickly registered. He was so nervous now, you had the urge to hug him tight but succeeded in restraining yourself from doing it.

Instead you stood up and walked up to the counter in you kitchen, took a piece of paper, wrote something on it, and went back to the couch to give it to Arthur.

"Call me whenever you want to"

He had lost count of how many times you had him confused that day. On the little piece of paper perfectly ripped there was noted a phone number, clearly yours.

But why would you do something like that? Was that a cruel joke?

"You're my friend, I just want to help... And get to know you a little better. So you can call me both when you're not feeling well and when you just want to talk"

"I... Am just confused. Why would you...?"

"Cause this city is horrible. Every single person in this city is horrible. And you're the only one that has showed a little interest in someone else rather than yourself. When you get to know someone new in this city the first thing they say is how rich or poor they are, it's all about money, all about them and them only. It's a never-ending herd of egoistic assholes. But when we had the chance to talk, when you were performing in my shop, you told me about your mother, your dreams and how happy makes you hearing kids singing with you. And that is so rare here in Gotham that I don't want to lose you in the crowd"

Wow.

Where you real though?

You had left him simply speechless. Over the years he had never ever heard someone talk about him like that, in all honesty he had never heard someone talk about someone else like that.

You were really special, weren't you?

He was able to see right through you smile. There was just a honest and kind interest in him, and although it had always seemed impossible for him that someone else could care for his well being, the expression on your face was melting each of his doubts away.

He had always been the one that cared for others, first being his mother, and how it seemed like someone wanted to take care of him.

His smile grew little by little, bringing a tint of almost invisible rose on the man's cheeks.

"Thank you, again"

There were no other words to be said, his expression was enough for you to understand his gratitude. After a minute of contemplating your handwriting, Arthur stood up and turned to face you.

"I'm afraid I have to go now"

"Sure, let me get you to the door"

Said door wasn't that far away, but it was still nice having you with him till there. Saying goodbye was kinda... Sad. Yeah, sad was the right word, for both of you. Arthur had to go back to his reality, once home he had to wash off the little residues of the makeup that were still staining his skin, get dinner ready for his mother, put her to bed and spend the night in his room, staring at ceiling, hoping morning would come soon. And then start all over again.

But what about you? What would you have to go back to?

He wanted to ask you so bad.

Well, maybe...

"Goodnight, Y/n"

"Goodnight, Arthur"

#joker #joker 2019 #joker arthur fleck #joker movie #joker fanfiction #arthur fleck #joker x reader #joker x you #joker x y/n #jokerxreader #fanfic #x reader #joaquin phoenix #joaquin phoenix joker

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unofficalauthorss · 5 years ago

Text

Lover of Mine - Draco Malfoy/Luna Lovegood; postwar

Based off the song “Lover of Mine,” by 5 Seconds of Summer (https://youtu.be/iTQjrThcY6o)

Pairing: Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood

Word count: 2692

(A/N: Hello! Thank you for whoever takes the time to read this. I adore this song and I adore Druna. This is my first time posting anything like this on here. Enjoy!)

“Lover of mine, maybe we'll take some time. Kaleidoscope mind, gets in the way. Hope and I pray, darling, that you will stay. Butterfly lies, chase them away…”

Draco settled into the deep crimson chair as his stormy eyes followed the ray of sunshine before him; he wasn’t sure what she had been doing, though he knew better than to question her - instead, he laid back, admired, and let his mind roam. His long, pointy nose scrunched up as she reached into her box and pulled out a jar of Merlin-knows-what, she placed it onto a massive wooden desk as she hummed peacefully. The jar consisted of what he assumed to be a tiny, bug-like creature; he swallowed the urge to demand her to throw it away. He knew, reluctantly, that he had to be patient and understanding with her (two words that nobody other than Luna herself would use to describe Draco), for it was going to take some time for them to adapt to their new life of living together. While he could never truly understand, Luna’s kaleidoscope mind was what he loved most about her. Her mind was bright, colorful, and ever changing - he could never keep up, no matter how fast he ran. She always had something interesting to say, which almost always left him at a loss for words. Draco was what he considered ‘practically intelligent’, but he could never compare himself to her wonder and knowledge.

In Hogwarts, most students had known the Ravenclaw as ‘Loony Lovegood’ - the thought made Draco’s heart twinge, for he had been the one to curse her with the name many years ago; at the time, he had never expected the dreamy eyed girl to dance her way into his cold, lifeless heart. He had always been nasty to her, even after he fell for her in his sixth year. Though he loved her kaleidoscope mind, it always seemed to get in the way. With the overwhelming pressure from his parents, fellow Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord, he made Luna swear to keep their love affair a secret. A disgrace in his eyes, star-crossed lovers in hers. He would continue to spew hurtful and hateful words at her in front of his Slytherin mates, criticizing her strange clothing (that he loved so dearly), her peculiar behavior (that made his heart skip a beat), and of course, the fact that she was a Bloodtraitor. The corners of his mouth raised slightly as he recalled a night in the Room of Requirement, a very long time ago…

“I’m so, so sorry Luna,” Draco pressed a kiss to her temple, pain evident in his silver eyes. “I didn’t mean those awful words - you know that, don’t you, Luna? I adore your lion headdress, I adore those radish earrings, I - I adore you.” He pleaded. If Pansy, Blaise, or Theo had heard these words, he would have been as good as dead.

Luna only smiled brightly at him, “Oh Draco, of course I know. Those are only butterfly lies.”

“Butterfly lies?” He questioned, his arm wrapping around her waist to pull her close. He felt relieved that she knew he hadn’t meant what he said, and that he had to pull a show in front of his classmates.

Her smile was as dreamy as her eyes, letting Draco know that she truly was okay. “A butterfly lie. Something small, meaningless. The lie flutters away as soon as it leaves your lips, such as a butterfly. You have to say those lies, so that nobody knows how you really feel…” her eyes fell down to his left arm, where she knew his Dark Mark lay. Draco didn’t say a word, he simply pulled her frame into his and laid his rough lips upon her soft ones. He hoped and prayed that she meant every word she said, and that she’d stay with him until the end.

“Dance around the living room, lose me in the sight of you; I've seen the red, I've seen the blue, take all of me. Deep to where your secrets hide, where we've been a thousand times, swallow every single lie. Take all of me…”

He stood slowly, eyes still focused on his love before him. She had unpacked her entire box of strange jars and little trinkets, and was about to move onto the next box when a gentle hand reached out for her. Luna stumbled slightly as she was pulled into a pair of strong arms, and Draco couldn’t help but notice the concerned look on her face. He lifted a hand to her cheek and caressed her pink skin, “Is everything okay?” His eyes examined her over, just to make sure.

“Oh, I’m quite alright - I just can’t seem to find my left shoe. It’s my very favorite left shoe,” before she could finish her sentence, he spoke again.

“Perhaps the Nargles have taken it. Never mind that for now… dance with me, Luna, will you?” His hands settled on her waist.

Luna laughed sweetly at his response, her expression lit up the room. She knew that Draco thought the existence of Nargles was nonsense, though she thoroughly appreciated his gesture. “Dance with you? I thought you’d never ask.” Her slender arms wrapped around his neck and rested her head onto his chest. He swayed them back and forth; they danced to no music, only to the sound of gentle footsteps and racing heartbeats.

The Room of Requirement had been Draco and Luna’s favorite spot the year they fell in love. To Luna, it had been a bright and wonderful room where they could escape and truly be themselves. It was where Draco would lay his head on her lap for hours, as she spoke of her father’s theories and her childhood memories. They had been there a thousand times, though it had never settled well with Draco. Sure, he loved meeting with her, but it would only remind him of how awful he truly was. The Room of Requirement was a room deep where their secrets could hide, it swallowed every single lie.

One late night, deep in the Room of Requirement, Draco had been pacing the room as Luna was settled on the couch, fiddling with the butterbeer cap necklace around her neck. “Why do you stay, Luna?” Anger fired through his voice. “I’m not a good person! I’m sick, I’m twisted! I’m vile and I’m a bloody coward…” his voice faltered at the end, tears brimmed his eyes as though they were afraid to fall. Luna sprung to her feet in a hurry and was soon by his side.

“It’s okay to feel broken, Draco. It’s normal to think nasty things about yourself sometimes… but it’s not true, you know.” She reached out for his hand, he felt his nerves instantly calm. “You are everything, Draco. You matter, you matter to me. You are strong, determined, and kind-”

“Kind!” Draco scoffed, but immediately lowered when he watched her flinch out of the corner of his eye.

“Your head must be filled with Wrackspurts, Draco, because you are certainly confused on how amazing you just are.” Her small hand squeezed his.

His defeated eyes fell, three single tears slid down his pale face. He lifted his head to meet her eyes, “Take all of me?” His voice was broken and helpless.

Luna pulled him into her arms, and placed a kiss at the top of his head. “Always,” she whispered.

“I'll never give you away, 'cause I've already made that mistake. If my name never fell off your lips, again, I know it'd be such a shame. When I take a look at my life and all of my crimes, you're the only thing that I think I got right. I'd never give you away, 'cause I've already made, already made that mistake…”

Draco allowed a soft chuckle to leave his lips as they danced their way across the floor of their recently purchased cottage; they did their best to not trip over any items that have yet to be put away. He gazed lovingly down at his Ravenclaw, feeling a sense of peace and serenity. The war had come to an end just a little over a year before, yet he was still adjusting to his new way of living. He would have done just about anything for his Luna, including a dreadful dinner party with Potter, Granger, and the Weasley clan. He would feed into her theories, he’d allow her to decorate their home however she pleased. Everyday he took a step closer to being the man his father never wanted him to become, and he was proud of it.

Luna looked around their half-furnished home, an astonished look dancing in her eyes. The reality hadn’t fully settled in on her yet; today they would start a brand new chapter of their lives. Though she always seemed so happy and bright, she carried a set of doubts and worries with her, just as anyone else would. She peered up at Draco, “Perhaps it could be the Nargles… but this just doesn’t feel real…” Her voice was light and airy, despite the worried look in her eyes. “I’m afraid this isn’t real, Draco. I’m afraid you’ll leave me again, and that this will all crumble down before us.”

Draco’s smile fell as his hand moved from her waist to underneath her chin, tilting her head up to look at her soft features. “Luna, I’ll never give you away…’cause I already made that mistake. I was a proper git, but I promise to you that I’ve learned from my past…” He felt his heart break as she remembered the pain he drug her through.

“If my name never fell off your lips again…” Luna felt small tears slide down her cheek, suddenly too overwhelmed with worry to finish her thought.

“I know it’d be such a shame; but Luna, that will never, ever happen.” He raised his hand to settle on her cheek, he wiped away her tears as he did so. “When I take a look at my life, and all of my crimes, you’re the only thing that I think I got right. I will never make that mistake again.” He embraced her into his arms and left a kiss at the top of her head.

“Lover of mine, I know you're color-blind. I've watched the world fall from your eyes. Ohh, ooh, ooh. All my regrets and things you can't forget, light them all up, kiss them goodbye…”

Draco held her as close as he could manage, allowing her to have her moment of weakness. He had hurt her very badly in the past, and yet she was still color-blind to who he truly was. He had always viewed himself as a monster, a horrible person who didn’t deserve someone as soft and sweet as his Luna. She was color-blind; she only saw the good in his heart, the good that nobody else had ever been able to see before. She had been through so much, no matter how much he tried to protect her from the world. He watched the world fall from her silvery eyes the day she found out her father died, leaving her an orphan in the midst of a fiery war. There were very few people Draco had cared for, but Luna - she cared for everyone, and she had lost too many of the people she cared for at the hands of a Lord he had once served. He wanted more than anything to take away what he had done, to take away her pain.

Luna lifted her head slowly, and behind her tear stained face, was the same happy girl he had always known. “I’m sorry for crying, Draco. I love you, and I trust you.” She ran a gentle hand through his blonde hair.

“But, all of my regrets and the things you can’t forget-,” Before he could finish, her lips had crashed onto his. He pulled her closer, allowing the kiss to linger for a few more moments, but too soon had she pulled away.

She smiled at him defiantly, “We’ll light them up and kiss them goodbye,” Luna leaned in for another kiss.

“Dance around the living room, lose me in the sight of you. I've seen the red, I've seen the blue, take all of me. Deep to where your secrets hide, where we've been a thousand times, swallow every single lie. Take all of me...”

As much as Draco wanted to get lost in the sight of her, his past relentlessly haunted him. Though the healthy and beautiful girl shined before him, he could see the red, see the blue…

“Come on Draco! Do it! Curse that witch, do it for us Draco! Curse that filthy blood traitor!” His aunt Bellatrix wickedly laughed as she skipped around the main room of the Malfoy Manor. Draco raised his wand, doing everything he could to stop his hand from shaking, and to make the fear leave his eyes. Luna Lovegood was tied up in the center of the room, her clothes filthy with dirt. He couldn’t stand the sight of red blood and purpley-blue bruises that covered her skin. He wanted so badly to take her and run away to somewhere safe and sound - but he couldn’t. If he didn’t do this, the Dark Lord would have the both of them killed.

“Go on Draco,” his father encouraged, an evil smirk on his thin lips.

Luna’s sad eyes met his and she gave the smallest of nods, as if to tell him to do it. He knew if she could, she would tell him to curse her, and that everything was going to be okay.

“Crucio!” Draco shouted as he flicked his hawthorn wood wand, immediately looking away from her. He couldn’t dare to watch her, the painful screams that left her lips were punishment enough.

Bellatrix approached Draco and roughly turned his head to take in the scene before him, she held his head as strongly as she could. “Oh come on, nephew! Have a little fun, watch her squirm!” Draco bit back the tears as the love of his life screamed helplessly, withering and spasming as every inch of her body filled with the most unimaginable pain. “I love you,” he mouthed to her. He now understood why it had been called an Unforgivable Curse.

Draco quickly shook the nightmarish memory from his mind and focused on what was in his arms. Together, they would forget the past and live out their happy ending. All that mattered now was that Voldemort was gone, his father was in Azkaban, and that they could be together freely. Luna was no longer in pain, and she was living happily in the cottage he had bought for them. He stepped away from her, causing her arms to fall to her sides. “I’ll never lose you again, Luna.” He shoved his hand in his pants pocket as he fiddled for something. “You are my everything; you are my love, my best friend, my reason to live. You’re the reason I can stand being in the same room as Potter and Weasley,” He joked with a small chuckle. He watched as her pale cheeks painted a light shade of pink. “You are the most beautiful woman to ever grace me, you are the reason I breathe. Luna, you are the reason I am no longer ashamed of who I am.”

“Oh Draco,” Luna gasped as she watched the man before her pull out a navy velvet box from his pocket.

Draco moved down onto his right knee, he opened the box to reveal the most stunning ring Luna had ever seen. “Take all of me?”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #imagine #harry potter imagine #draco and luna #druna imagine #druna #hpimagine #lunalovegood #fluff

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thefloatingstone · 5 years ago

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I really like your blog! I specifically like the stuff you reblog because it's so in tune with my interests that I can browse for hours while forgetting that this is in fact NOT my dashboard! I hope you're feeling better and talking to someone.

Thank you very very much, Anon! That’s really flattering, and I’m really glad you find my blog so enjoyable. Sometimes I worry I reblog too much and that people may only be following me for my art and become disappointed by my blog as a whole. So it’s really nice to hear.

It’s been a couple of weeks, so I am feeling better, thank you. And I am talking to somebody, I promise

Thank you, anon

It’s really rough, I won’t lie. And it’s been rough for a very long time. But I do hear you on the “it’s impossible to NOT find somebody who’ll click with me.” But I do sometimes fall into the thinking of “how is it possible that there are 7 billion people out there and I seem to struggle in finding anyone irl to even have a conversation with.” But that’s a thought pattern I don’t really want to entertain right now.

Also, it sounds weird to say, but thank you for saying it’ll get worse before it gets better. Because that kinda.... makes it feel more real, you know? It’s way too easy for my brain to just think nice things people say are “empty platitudes”. So when something feels a little more down to earth, it hits me a little harder. So thank you.

Thank you so much @under-the-dragonz-tail. Things are better now. At least for right now. But thank you for sticking with me while I was in a really bad place, and for reach out.

Thank you Anon.

thank you

Thank you @nina-thegamergirl And thank you for the good vibes and sending me some kind words. Nothing has changed yet, but I’m hanging in there a little better now. Thank you for messaging me and making me feel less alone and isolated

@torrikor We may not talk a lot but I still consider you a friend

This legit made me crack a tiny little bit the first time I read it.

Thank you Anon

Thank you @vass-junk It’s really difficult to try and fight feelings when they punch down that hard, but things are better now, at least for now. And thank you for caring about me, even if just in a tumblr fandom sense.

Thank you so much @sin-cognito Things are better now.

While I was trapped in a pit of depression and literally could not keep up with tumblr and did nothing but stare at youtube for 2 days straight, I couldn’t remember who said these things, but somewhere in that pit my brain was clinging onto the things you mentioned, specifically “nobody can predict what tomorrow brings” and how you pointed out that all my negative thoughts all started with “I feel”. So while in that terrible mindset, those two things really hit me and gave me some sort of grounding, and I remembered them clearly despite the rest of those 2 days being kind of a blur.

So I sincerely want to thank you very much for that. It definitely helped, probably more than you realise even after hearing me trying to explain it.

Thank you for being there, and for sending me this message, and for looking out for me and showing me that in whatever way, I’m not completely and utterly alone, even if I am all by myself.

oof. I know that feel. That’s been happening a lot lately.

Thank you @readingatdawn7. And thank you for writing something even after tumblr tried to sabotage you! The move was really hard coming off the back of a year of really hard things. I’m still not sure if it will be alright in this town, but I’ve been making plans and taking steps to change things and I hope they can come to fruition soon.

@legademacinderheart It’s more than just consolation, believe me. And even if online connects can’t replace ones in real life, they do a TOn just to let me know there ARE people out there who actually exist in real life who actually do care, even if just through fandom or because I can draw.

I don’t think I fully realise how lucky I am to have that, and how much worse it could have been if I didn’t.

@xxtc-96xx Thanks TC!

Thank you @itmestine and honestly? Even if it took a year and a half, it’s somehow comforting to hear it happened at all. I still don’t know if it’s even possible for me to find some form of irl friendship here, but I am trying. It’s difficult, but I’m making an effort not to spend all of my time in my room working. Even if it’s just driving to the mall to get groceries or going to a favourite place to eat. I am making a large effort not to just sit by myself all the time.

Somebody suggested getting into a DnD game which can be a good way to meet people. But I haven’t tried it yet. I’m concerned about asking on the town’s facebook page because I’m worried I’ll get marked as some sort of “““satanist”““ for wanting to play DnD. But I’m also worried about starting my own game and inviting people to it because I don’t know how to DM and I feel I’m too awkward and shy to be the person heading a game.

I’m going off topic now though. Thank you for sharing with me. It does give me a little bit of hope.

@54viruses Have I told you how jazzed I am that you’re on tumblr now? Because I am really REALLY jazzed to see you on tumblr!! I was REALLY happy and excited when I saw your avatar pop up on my notifs here! And I’m super happy to see you around

And thank you so much man. And I legit can’t even believe you remember the mayo rice balls. Holy shit.

(I still love them)

@sketchehkimmeh Honestly? that whole “go to a coffee shop” thing just to be around people even if not directly interacting is a really good idea. A coffee shop I really like is moving to the mall around the corner from me, and I’m hoping once they open I can start spending a lot of time there, if only to write fanfics or something. (I’m hoping a change in environment might help the writing thing)

And don’t worry, I am seeing a therapist and he’s helping me with stress management and anxiety problems. He can’t really help me meet other people, but it’s at least one extra person I can speak to.

Thank you for sending me some words of encouragement.

And thank you to everyone else as well. I know I’ve had bad spots in the past before, but this was.... probably the worst I’ve had. I certainly can’t remember being that low before. I’ve never reached a point where I literally shut down and couldn’t do anything but watch youtube while lying in bed for 2 days straight.

Your messages did help though. I read them on my phone as I was notified of them, even though I didn’t have the energy to scroll through tumblr. I don’t know if I fall into that headspace again if I feel they’d be as effective as I do re-reading them while I’m feeling better, but I remember in my fugue state that your words and messages and just the very very simple fact that people cared enough to SAY things to me helped an enormous deal, even if it just meant it chased away dark thoughts and the adrenaline pumping through me for 5 minutes, it was 5 minutes feeling better than I had been previously.

So that you again. I’m sorry I took so long to respond. I was in no condition to do so when you guys sent these, and when I started feeling better I just wanted to ignore those feelings and try get back to normal again.

But thank you.

#C-Puff answers #long post #Anonymous

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