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millersdjarin · 2 years ago

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I Only See Daylight

Chapter Fourteen

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: E

Chapter warnings/tags: injuries, medical stuff, panic attacks, angst, negative self-talk/self-image, flashbacks, past emotional & physical abuse, lots of love despite all that though, violence, graphic (?) depictions of injuries, PTSD, scars, cults

Chapter length: 10k

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notes: SO sorry for the 2 week wait, y'all. the end of march is a crazy one for me, and i'm not all that well to top it off. hope this long chapter makes up for it! grab a drink, settle in, and enjoy❤️

and i can still see it all (in my mind); all of you, all of me (intertwined) i used to think love would be black and white; but it’s golden

Din is woken up by a soft scratching noise against the door.

You’re still in his arms, pressed against his chest now where he lies on his back. It takes him a second after he’s awoken to realise that he’s not wearing his helmet. He looks down at you, fast asleep against him, your head rising and falling with each of his breaths.

The kid coos outside.

He closes his eyes, sighs. The last thing he wants is to let you go.

His underwear is on the floor by the bed. Untangling himself from you as best he can without waking you, his feet hit the floor, and he pulls his boxers on, then opens the bedroom door just a crack, enough to pop his head around it. Grogu is standing there, and seems surprised to see him without his helmet on. Pleased about it, though.

He reaches out a hand like he wants to touch Din’s face.

“I’ll be out in a minute, buddy,” Din promises, keeping his voice low. “I just need to get changed, okay?”

Happy with this, Grogu turns and waddles off into the living area, lifting himself up onto the couch.

Din smiles fondly at him, then turns back to look at you. You’re lying on your side, still asleep and snoring, your hand laying against the mattress where Din just was.

Last night, it was like you thought he was going to leave. And he needs you to know that he won’t.

He wants to get back into bed with you, hold you, never let you go.

Instead, he gets dressed. For the first time, he hesitates before putting his helmet on.

It’s weird, unnerving, and he can’t let himself pay it any mind.

Din has been out most of the morning with Fett and a few of his soldiers.

“It’s just a few Pykes,” he’d told you that morning, pouring you a cup of caf. “Nothing dangerous. Shouldn’t take long.”

He was right about that part. But not about the not dangerous part.

Because now this is happening.

You’d been sitting in Fett’s lounge, enjoying your third mug of caf of the morning while overlooking the town below. Just a regular day, the suns shining, people going about their business in the streets, ships taking off in the distance. The kid is playing with a child-minder in the corner, fascinated by the selection of toys she brought out for him. You’d been enjoying watching the world go by, not worried for a second about Mando’s wellbeing, because you know how capable he is. And he’d told you not to worry.

That’s the last time you do what he tells you to do without question.

You hear a commotion downstairs, including Mando’s modulated voice in the midst of it. You know something is wrong, so you drop your mug, rushing over to the hallway and down the stairs towards the entryway, where you find the group of soldiers that had gone out on the mission, Boba at the front, with an injured and bleeding Mando hanging from his side.

“Mando!” You cry, only just catching yourself before you say his real name.

“I’m alright,” he says, but no, he’s not, he doesn’t even sound like himself, he can’t even hold his weight up—

“Get the doctor,” Fett instructs one of his workers, who nods and hastily rushes off down the hall.

You rush to Din, your hands frantically trying to find something to do, to help him, but all you can do is stare at the place on his thigh that is currently bleeding badly down his flight suit, crimson blood dripping down the beskar.

“I’m alright,” he says again, looking at you, at the fear on your face.

It all happens quickly. Before you can ask what happened, before you can tell someone to fucking get him sitting down and elevate his fucking leg, there’s a crowd of people coming into the room with a stretcher and a doctor in tow. They get him sitting on it, then lie him down, and it takes half a dozen of them to carry him down the corridor, and away from you.

You’re just standing there, your head swimming, and somehow his blood is on your hands even though you don’t remember touching him.

Shand comes to your side, looking like she’s going to try and reassure you, but you’ve already taken off down the hall, following the group of people who are taking Din away from you.

You jog to catch up, following them into a med bay tucked behind a sand-coloured door. It’s substantial, all white-walls, divided into sections with silvery metal dividers, beds between each one. It’s empty in here, Mando the only person currently in need of help.

Which is probably for the best, because he can’t get himself off the stretcher and onto a bed; he can’t put his weight on his leg at all. So everyone has to help him, which you know he’ll hate, you can see it in his body language that he’s not just uncomfortable from the injury, but from all these people fussing over him. From the fact that he can’t help himself.

“What happened?” You rush to his bedside, ignoring the woman who tries to tell you to go away. As if.

Mando looks up at you, his hands clenched tight into fists on his stomach. You stand by his head.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Din says, voice more strained than you’ve ever heard it, pain evident in the set of his shoulders. “I was standing too close to a detonator.”

“You what? A detonator?”

“I—shit,” his gaze moves to the doctor, who is currently looking in detail at the piece of—holy fuck, there’s a huge piece of fucking shrapnel sticking out of the side of his thigh, ripped right through the thick fabric of his flight suit. It’s only an inch away from the armour. Fucking unlucky. And to make it worse, there are smaller gashes around it, where metal has obviously struck him and fallen out, which is what’s causing the bleeding.

There are three people on him, pressing gauze into the open wounds, holding pressure to stop the bleeding. Another person is gathering a blood bag and an IV, readying the transfusion. Someone else is cutting into his flight suit, removing the plate of armour from his leg to allow them full access.

Then his skin is on show, and it’s fucking littered with cuts and bruises, some actively bleeding, some not—

“Holy shit,” you breathe, feeling light-headed again. You stare at his leg, wide-eyed, tears stinging in your nose.

Mando’s hand is in yours, then. Holding tight. “I’m alright,” he says, again, and it’s obviously a fucking lie because he is not alright! He is so not alright!

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I need you to step back,” the doctor tells you.

You look at him, more offended than you’ve ever been. Making a point, you hold Din’s hand tighter.

“I’m sorry, I need to stand where you are if I’m going to help him as best I can.”

“Cyari’ika,” Din’s voice is pained but soft, calling you to look at him instead of glare at the doctor. (Which is probably unfair; he’s only trying to save Din’s fucking life.) “I’m alright. Let them take care of me. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

It takes everything in you to let him go.

Your hands are shaking as you step backwards, pressing yourself up against the room divider.

The doctor moves in straight away. He asks Din if he can remove his helmet, check for signs of concussion; Din says no, of course. But he does accept the heart monitor they want to attach to his finger, removing his bloody glove to clip it on. He keeps his eyes on you the whole time, even when the doctor is asking him questions about what happened, how he’s feeling, if there’s anywhere else he’s hurting.

The room is alive with bustling chaos, but Din’s eyes are warm on you, even through the visor—as always—and you force yourself to focus on it, on the rise and fall of his chest. And then, once the heart monitor is hooked up and beeping away with each beat of Din’s heart, you focus on that, too.

You don’t know how long you stand there for, watching it all happen.

They stop the bleeding of the smaller wounds, stitch up the ones that need it. Then they go to remove the large piece of shrapnel, and the heart monitor picks up speed as they pull it out; you hear the squelch of it against his flesh, see the blood start to pour from the wound the minute it’s open, the way every muscle in him clenches against it. His breath hitches. He doesn’t let out noises of pain, but you can only imagine how he’d feel if you could touch him. How his face must be twisted in pain.

At first, his gaze on you had been for your own comfort. But now, as he stares at you, you can tell that he’s the one seeking the reassurance.

So, you don’t look away. You hold his eyes like you wish you could hold his hand. You clasp your hands over your heart, feeling it racing just as fast as his, and try as hard as you can to make yourself look reassuring. Comforting. Familiar.

At some point, the crowd of doctors and medical assistants thins out, only a few of them remaining now that the bleeding has stopped.

His leg is stitched up in seven places, bandaged to within an inch of its life. They had to cut through the entire leg of his flight suit. The armour that sat upon it is on the floor, kicked beneath the bed. It feels wrong. He removes it so methodically, treats it with so much respect and care. Now it’s just been haphazardly kicked beneath this hospital bed, and it’s covered in blood, and you know that that will upset him just as much as the injuries themselves.

But, he’s alive.

Covered in blood, cuts, and bruises, yes.

But alive.

“Can I…?” You take a tentative step closer to Din, looking at the doctor for affirmation.

He gives a polite smile. “Yes. Thank you.”

You’re at Din’s side in a minute, reaching out to grab his hand. You nearly knock the heart monitor off his finger. Your other hand lays flat on his chest plate as if searching for his heartbeat.

He holds your hand tightly, looks up at you.

“What the fuck happened?” You whisper, feeling suddenly weak in the knees. You’ve been holding back from him for the last fuck-knows how long, but now you can touch him again, now he’s here, and all the fear that you’d kept locked away for his sake as he looked at you for comfort is coming back.

“It was a bigger cell than we thought,” he explains, “they had detonators.”

“Fuck,” your head falls, presses against his chest plate. You take in the rise and fall of his lungs, the breathing you can hear through his helmet.

“I…saw one of Fett’s soldiers standing too close when it landed. Pushed them out of the way.”

You shake your head. “Of course you did,” you say.

He takes a breath to say something, but you’re both momentarily distracted by the doctor coming back into Din’s space, holding a chair out like an offering.

“I thought you’d like to sit down,” he says, smiling and placing the chair behind you. You feel bad for glaring at him now. “He’s stable, as you can tell. I’ll be back shortly to check his vitals, but for now, just rest.”

“Thank you,” Din says, so sincere and earnest that it hurts.

You sit down, pull the chair in as close as it can get. Your face hovers above his helmet, gazing right into his visor. He lifts his spare hand and brushes it down your temple and cheek, cradling your jaw in his palm.

“I’m okay,” he says.

“You’re not okay,” you protest, laughing humourlessly. “You’re very much not okay.” The blood bag is hanging above him, half empty.

“I will be,” he promises, brushing his thumb over your cheekbone.

“You told me it wouldn’t be dangerous.”

“I…believed it when I said it.”

A surprised laugh comes out of your mouth. You shake your head, disbelieving. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.”

For another second, you look down at him. Then, shaking your head again, you lean in and rest your forehead against his cowl. It smells of sand, blaster fire, and burnt metal. There are tears in your eyes, hanging painfully in your nose and throat.

His gloved hand carts back into your hair. “I’m okay,” he says, again, this time in just a soft whisper. “I’m here. You don’t have to worry.”

“I wasn’t worried,” you say, “I think I should have been.”

Footsteps enter the room then, and you both look up to find Boba and Fennec standing by the divider, both of them carrying their helmets under their arms.

For a second they look like they’re worried they’ve interrupted something. But you lean back from Din, sit in your chair, and they step closer.

“Just came to check in,” Boba says, looking guilty.

“The doctor says I lost a lot of blood,” Din explains, then gestures to the bag above him, “but I’ll make it.”

Boba nods once. “I’m sorry. I should have known it would be worse than it was.”

“You didn’t ask me to come along,” Din reminds him.

“No, but you saved one of my men. I owe you much.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“At least let me buy you a drink,” Boba says, then, with a glint in his eyes, “Well, once you’re up and about again, at least.”

“How long’ll that be?” Fennec asks.

“The doctor said a couple of days at most. But I heal fast; I’ll be fine in a few hours.”

“We can get you in the bacta tank,” Boba offers, but Din shakes his head.

“Can you get me in there in my full armour?”

“…We can clear the room,” Boba smirks.

“There’d still need to be someone to take him out,” Fennec points out.

Boba sighs. “Make sure you rest,” he says, abandoning the bacta tank idea. “If you need anything, either of you, you know where I am.”

Both you and Din nod. “Thank you,” you smile at him.

Boba and Fennec nod too, then turn to leave.

You look back at Din. “You’re not planning on resting for a few days, are you?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

“Have you?” You raise an incredulous eyebrow.

As if it’s his answer, he lets go of your hands and starts to push himself to sit up. Like a fucking idiot. He grunts with the exertion, and you roll your eyes, putting your hand on his chest.

“Stay there,” you tell him.

He stops. Looks at you. “I don’t do well lying down.”

“You don’t do well filled with shrapnel, either, but here we are,” instead, you reach down to the bed’s control panel, and push the button that lifts the top half of it up. He rises with it, slow, and you let go when he’s finally sitting up. “There. Happy?”

He takes your hand again. “Better.”

The door opens again, more footsteps coming close. Then, the child-minder pokes their head around the divider, and you see a glimpse of Grogu’s big eyes. “Sorry to interrupt,” they say, “but the Child has heard about what happened…”

Immediately you stand from your chair, rushing over to take Grogu in your arms. You turn him away from Din at first, and thank the child-minder, excusing them from their duty. “Alright, kid,” you say, holding him up in front of your face. You look over his shoulder to Din. “He’ll want to see you.”

Grogu cranes his neck, trying his hardest to look around and see Din. He protests when you don’t let him, an angry babble as he throws his fists down against your hand.

“It’s okay, Grogu,” you say softly, “you can see him. It’s going to look a little scary, but your dad’s okay, and you don’t need to worry. Okay?”

Grogu’s ears turn down a little, but he blinks, softens in your hands.

You walk back over to your chair, and place the kid on the bed beside Mando, who immediately scoops him up into the crook of his elbow.

“Hey, kid,” he says, obviously smiling beneath the helmet.

He looks at Din’s leg, then back to his helmet. Reaches out one hand, brushes it down the beskar, like he’s saying Are you okay under there?

“I’m alright, kid,” Din assures him, pressing his forehead into Grogu’s. Grogu closes his eyes, his palm pressed to the cheek of Din’s helmet. “I’m alright. Yeah, see? You can feel I’m alright, can’t you?”

Grogu coos sadly, his ears still turned towards the floor. But he relaxes at Din’s soft assurances, and leans down to press his head into Din’s cowl.

Din pats his back comfortingly, turns to look at you. You offer him a sad smile.

He reaches for your hand just as someone else comes in. This time, it’s the doctor again, and he’s carrying a clipboard.

“Alright, sir,” he says, “your vitals are looking good. But you’re going to need a couple day’s bedrest before you can be up and at ’em again.”

“I can’t do that,” Din protests. Because of course he does.

The doctor glances at you for just a second. “You’re injured,” he says to Din, cautious, like he’s maybe just a little bit afraid of his patient.

Which, you can’t blame him for, because when Din speaks again, he’s using his Don’t fuck with me tone (which, ironically, isn’t all that different from his I’m going to fuck you voice, but you digress), “I feel fine. I’ll be alright in a couple of hours.”

“…With respect, sir, you’re on painkillers at the moment, which will be making you feel better…”

“Great, so I can get up soon.”

“That’s…not exactly what I meant…”

“I have things that I have to do,” Din insists, almost growling now, “Do you understand? Are you going to chain me to this bed?”

“N—no, sir, I—I can’t force you to stay here, only recommend—”

“Right. So I’ll decide when I feel well enough to get up.”

Wide-eyed, the doctor glances between the two of you, holding his clipboard with white knuckles.

You offer him a smile that you hope is reassuring, and place a calming hand over Din’s. “Thank you, doctor,” you say. “I’m sorry, he’s just not used to being…well, still.”

The doctor relaxes just a little. “Yes, I understand. You were very lucky, Mr Mandalorian, sir, that the shrapnel didn’t hit any bone. So maybe you’ll be better sooner than we think.”

Din nods once, curt. “I heal fast.”

“Right,” he smiles, nervous. “The IV is giving you fluids, but it’s important that you drink enough when the transfusion is complete. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to call.” And then he’s gone, leaving just a little too hastily for it to be casual.

You turn to Din, and give him a Look.

“What?” He asks. “You were the one staring daggers at him earlier when he asked you to step back.”

“Because I was worried about you,” you protest, “and I was having a crisis. You have no excuse right now. You’re pumped full of painkillers.”

His voice is lilted with a smirk. “You were rude to the doctor.”

“So were you!” You find yourself smiling despite yourself. “You were very rude to him. He’s just trying to help.”

“I don’t appreciate people telling me I have to stay chained to a bed for days.”

“He literally told you that wasn’t what he was doing.”

“I’m a Mandalorian. Being able to fight is part of who I am.”

“Oh, so you’re the first Mandalorian to ever be injured?” You challenge, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re allowed to rest, Mando. In fact, you kind of have to, if you ever want to be able to fight properly again.”

He sighs. His helmet turns away, facing the ceiling. When he speaks again, he sounds surprisingly bothered. “I can’t afford to be hurt right now,” he says, so quietly.

“Hey,” you run your fingertips over his arm. “We’re safe here. You can recover as long as you need to.”

“I don’t need long. I’ll be fine in a few hours.”

You sigh. Gently, you take hold of his helmet, turning his gaze back to you. You stare at him for a long minute, taking him in, hearing the gentle beeps of his heart monitor. Tears sting at the backs of your eyes again, as memories of the last few hours come back to you. “You scared me,” you whisper, staring into his visor.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers back.

“The fact that you’re okay is the most important thing,” you say, “you know that, right?”

He shakes his head. “You and the kid are the most important thing.”

You look at the kid and smile. He’s still got his face against Mando’s cowl, and you can hear him breathing, just soft little puffs of air. He’s so content to just be here in Din’s arms and beside you, not even looking for mischief like he so often is.

“We’re all here,” you look back to Din and smile. “That’s what matters.”

Din nods. He’s about to say something, taking a breath, lifting his hand to brush against your face—

Bang.

A flash of orange light down the hall.

Rubble clatters all around, scattering across stone floors, falling into the medbday doorway.

Metal beams fall outside.

Screams.

It’s the loudest thing you’ve ever heard.

Din has shot up in his bed, leaning across to throw his arm over your body, cradling the kid between both of your chests. You look up at him, wide-eyed, and it seems like this little corner of the building is the only one untouched by the dust and rubble, by whatever the fuck just happened, the explosion—

“Are you okay?” Din asks you, running a hand over your face, searching for injuries.

You barely hear him through the ringing in your ears. Frantic, you nod. “Are you? Grogu, are you okay?”

He’s peering up at you with wide eyes, but he’s okay. All three of you are uninjured—at least, not from that fucking blast—but you can hear shouts and cries coming from the rest of the building, and then, a voice above them all—

“It’s an ambush!”

Fett.

Your hand flies to the blaster at your hip, dread dropping deep into your stomach.

Because you just know.

You know that Fett has enemies, that there are many people who still want to take him down. But you also know that a large portion of those people were taken out just this morning, and it’s really unlikely that anyone would launch an attack of this scale just after he and his soldiers took out a rogue cell mere hours ago.

So, naturally, your mind goes to places you wish it wouldn’t. That you wish it didn’t have to. And you just know you’re right.

Din is moving, trying to get down from his bed. He grunts and strains and you reach out, holding him down.

“You can’t move right now!” You argue, keeping your voice hushed, because you don’t know who—or what—is out there. “Din, you can’t.”

“I have to—”

“No. You have to stay here, and watch the kid.”

“I’m watching you, too,” you can hear the frown in his voice, “You’re not going out there.”

You’re about to say that you won’t, that you’ll stay to protect him and Grogu, but then there are footsteps running down the hall, and you see through the window one of Fett’s men, running towards the where the explosion came from. They trip, probably over some of the rubble. You hear them cry out and you stand, rushing to help them before you can even think twice.

Din shouts after you, tells you to come back, but you ignore him.

The man is on the floor, crawling backwards towards the wall.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, crouching down to his level. He’s got a cut on his eyebrow, and he’s clutching his arm to his chest, pain creasing his face.

“My arm, I—I think it’s broken,” he grits out.

You take hold of his good arm, help him towards the medbay door. “Come on, come in here,” you say, and he follows gratefully. “What happened?”

“There was an explosion at the front gates. A dozen people are trying to get in, saying something about—” he gasps in pain when he stumbles again and instinctively catches himself with his bad arm—“something about a girl.”

Oh, fuck.

Once he’s settled against one of the room dividers, you look across at Mando and Grogu, who are still on the bed, looking really fucking vulnerable and helpless and, kriff, you can’t let anyone hurt them—Mando can’t fight for himself right now—

Your hand finds its way to your blaster.

“It’s them,” you say to Din. “It has to be.”

He nods. He’s still trying to get up, keeping the kid in one arm, using his other hand to try and swing his injured leg over the bed. Blaster fire starts up down the hall, shouts of battle making their way through to you. “We have to get you out of here. There’s a back exit—”

“They’ll have covered the back exit!” You exclaim, feeling desperation rise in your chest and your voice, because they taught you that. You think back to the day Mando arrived on your doorstep, when you thought he was sent by Them. You didn’t bother using the back door, because you knew they’d be waiting for you.

Your heart is hammering in your chest. Mando has ripped off his monitor, so it’s just one long beep now, and flashing red on the screen above his head. He’s about to try and rip out the IV, but you stop him.

“You need that blood,” you say.

“No, I need to get you out of here—” He’s cut off when his foot lands on the floor, and it must send excruciating pain up his leg because he cries out, pulling back like you’ve never seen him do before.

“Stay,” you instruct, holding him down. “You have to stay here. I’m going to help them. I can fight.”

“No!” He grabs your arm before you can walk away, hard and tight in his gloved hand. His voice isn’t demanding. It’s desperate. “No! You can’t—stay with me, I can protect you here—”

You shake your head. “I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“They’ll take you!”

“No they won’t. Fett has a whole army. I’ll be fine.”

He says your name, both a warning and a plea, but your mind is made up.

If They get any further down the hall, they’re going to find Mando, and they’re going to find Grogu.

They’ll know who they are. They’ll take them, just to get to you.

And you cannot let that happen.

You lean in, press your forehead to Din’s. “I’ll be back,” you promise. “Stay here. Protect the kid. Please.”

And before he can protest, before he can grab you again, you’re running away and heading down the corridor.

The lounge is full of dust and rubble, the blast having come from just below it, blowing a hole in the floor. There’s no one in here, but the blaster fire is coming from downstairs, from the gate. Good, you think, They haven’t made it inside yet.

You drop down through the floor and land behind a pillar, using it for cover. Fett’s soldiers are dotted around the room, leaning out from cover every few seconds to fire their blasters. You take a second to peek around the pillar, trying to see who they’re shooting at, and where they are.

Your stomach drops when you see them.

Not your family. They’d never come to do their own dirty work.

But their people. You’d recognise them anywhere. Their faces, their clothes, their voices. Though you don’t know their names, you’ve been surrounded by them your whole life.

Fuck.

It really is them.

“Hold the line!” Fett shouts as he comes running down the hall from the gateway. “There’s only three left! Let’s finish it!”

His soldiers advance towards him, firing with newfound confidence.

You’re frozen in place.

Your heart is beating wildly, so loud in your ears that it almost blocks everything out.

They’ve found you. They’ve found you, and they’ve caused all this destruction, all this damage, probably taken innocent lives just to get to you. Din and Grogu are upstairs in the medbay. Din is hurt because you had to come here, because of you.

You should have just gone back when the blackmailer gave you the chance. You could have been the only damage done. Now, the damage is all around you. They’ve not only found their way into every corner of your life, but into every corner of everyone else’s, too. Everyone who has only ever tried to help you.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t focus.

Before the final blaster shot, something lands in front of you. Something small, round. A blinking red light on top of it.

It takes your mind a second to catch up to the fact that it’s a fucking concussive detonator.

You’re just about to jump back, about to scream, when all of a sudden there’s a wall of beskar on top of you, throwing you across the room and into one of the glass windows in the interior walls. You hear the glass shatter, don’t even feel it piercing your skin, going so deep into your flesh. There’s metal too, the structure of the window.

Your body falls to the ground, landing with a loud shout, and you’re not sure if it came from you or from the Mandalorian on top of you—in the haze, you don’t even know if it’s Din or Boba, just that it’s someone very hard and very heavy, someone very strong who has literally tackled you twenty feet away from the detonator—

Bang.

Not as big or loud as the initial blast.

But it sounds it. It feels it.

Pain spikes and spreads across your back. It’s blinding, white-hot, black spots appearing over your vision. The room is black and then it’s not, it’s dusty and then it’s not, it’s blurry and then it’s not—

The person on top of you rolls away. Someone is screaming, panting desperately for air.

It’s you.

Screaming at the top of your lungs.

The pain is like nothing you’ve ever felt. Not even close to everything They did to you, not to the knife in your shoulder by Din’s target, not the branch that stuck in your leg.

It’s fire against your skin, deep in your flesh. Every single one of your nerves is alight with it. You almost expect to not be able to feel your legs, but you can, the pain spreading right to your toes.

There are people rushing around you. If you could hear anything other than your own screams, you’d hear that the blaster fire has stopped, the fight is done.

You try to roll over, the pressure of the floor on your injured back more than you can take, but people are holding you down, someone’s hands on either side of your head to stop you moving your neck—

You try to push everyone away because you’re suffocating you can’t breathe you can’t see—

They slide something underneath you, a stretcher. The pain is indescribable.

Everything goes black.

You’re in a field.

It’s serene. Green pastures, rolling hills. Shindl birds fly overhead. A creek is flowing nearby. The sun shines in a clear blue sky.

When you sit up, you expect to see him there. A shiny wall of beskar, soft just for you. A green child, staring at you with wide, beautiful eyes.

But instead, you see Them.

Your parents. Standing beside you, looking down at you with nothing but disgust on their faces.

“Look at you,” your mother says.

You do. You look down at yourself, and are horrified by what you find.

Your arms, bleeding fresh, crimson blood. Cuts all the way up them. Your stomach, just open flesh. You feel welts on your back, warm blood dripping down your spine.

It’s the day that they did it to you. The Ceremony. No one else will ever want you, now. You are his forever.

“Don’t look at me—” You beg, and then, Mando is there in front of you, staring at you with his helmet on, covered in blood—“Don’t look at me, stay away, I—”

Gasps pull into your throat over and over, and it’s too much air and not enough all at once.

Then you feel it. The glass. It’s falling out of your back, coming from your flesh like it was made there, scattering around you in the grass and into the mud and over your skin—

You wake with a gasp.

Or, maybe you don’t.

Either way, you’re not in that field anymore. Instead, you’re lying on your side, staring at a metal wall. There’s a bright light above you. Not the sun. It’s white, harsh.

“Can you hear me?” A familiar voice says. You frown, trying to place it. Then he comes into view, the doctor from earlier, peering down to look at you. “It’s alright. You’re just coming around from some anaesthesia. Can you hear me?”

You nod. The movement stretches the muscles in your neck, sends pain shooting down your back.

The scars. Your family. They—it’s the day it happened—

No. You’re not there. You’re at Boba Fett’s home.

“I hear you,” you manage to say. “What happened to me? Why am I—why can’t I—”

“You’ve got injuries on your back and your right arm,” he tells you softly, pulling up a chair to sit by your bed so you can see him. “We had to place you on your left side. I understand it will be disorienting, but please, try not to move.”

Panic strikes your chest, but you do as he asks, staying still. It’s only because you know him from before that you don’t immediately suspect him of working for the enemy.

The enemy.

They found you.

“Grogu—Mando—are they—”

“Everyone is okay,” he assures you quickly. “No one was killed in the fight. Just some injuries.”

You look around as best you can, craning your neck despite the pain it sends through your nerves. You realise you’re in a private room, not the one that Din was in. It’s much smaller, dimmer.

The air is cold on your back. It matches the cold dread that hits you—a familiar feeling today, it would seem—when you realise that your back is bare. “I’m—what—what happened—”

“You fell through a window,” he explains, gently. “Mr Fett saved you from a concussive blast, but the window’s glass and metal framing injured you significantly. Some debris had to be surgically removed. Due to the…scarring on your back and arms already, some pieces were hard to remove, and many were too stubborn to be sutured.”

You screw your eyes shut. The scarring. The fucking scarring.

You’ve avoided it all these years. You don’t even look at yourself when you wash. You can’t remember the last time you properly looked at your arms, let alone turned around to look at your back in a mirror, looked down at your stomach.

And now, you’ve been scarred again. And you’re bare here in this room. Whoever treated you has seen you. All of you.

“Where’s…where’s Mando?” You ask, not daring to open your eyes.

“He’s just outside,” the doctor says.

“He got up?”

“He was there, when you were injured.”

Your eyes fly open. “What?”

He smiles just a little, shaking his head in disapproval. “It seems he’d tried to follow you into the entryway,” he says, “but didn’t get there in time.”

A heavy exhale slips past your lips. Your throat is raw. You remember, then, the way you’d screamed. The excruciating pain that went right into your spine, down every nerve. “Am I on painkillers?”

“Very much so,” he nods. “We kept you under until they started working. I…should tell you, ma’am, that your injuries are quite significant. It will take a while for you to recover, and you’ll need to be on medication for some time. Fett has offered use of the bacta tank, but we will need to get you more stable before that will be an option.”

Your mind is reeling, racing. All you want is to see Din, to see Grogu. To hold their hands and know they’re there and hear their voices.

But your skin. It’s on show. Some is bandaged up, but you still look a mess.

The kid alone would be traumatised by the sight of you, even if your existing scars weren’t bad enough. You can’t do that to him.

“I don’t want you to worry,” the doctor says softly. “Mr Fett has assured me that the threat has been neutralised, and security has been tripled. Not to mention the Mandalorian outside who hasn’t dropped his blaster since it happened.”

You almost smile at that. If you weren’t in so much pain, and at war with yourself over if you can handle seeing him or not, you’d smile.

“He’s been asking to see you,” the doctor says. “But…before we took you in for surgery, you were…talking.”

“I was?” You have no memory of it.

“You…didn’t want anyone near you.”

“…Even Mando?”

“It would seem so, yes.”

Oh, shit. The words you said in your dream weren’t just in the dream.

“He very much wants to come and see you. I…told him I’d ask your permission first.”

You screw your eyes shut. Guilt hangs heavy in your chest. You know that if the roles were reversed, you’d be fighting everyone who dared to stand in between you and Din. Hell, the roles were reversed just earlier today.

“You’re all bandaged up,” the doctor says carefully, sounding like he’s dancing around the topic of the aforementioned scarring, that he and the other doctors have not only seen, but had to operate through. “I can pull the blanket over you, if that will help.”

Kriff. He knows why you don’t want Din in here.

“Did he hear?” You ask, keeping your eyes closed as though that’ll keep all of this darkness away. “When I said I didn’t want him to see me?”

“I’m not sure.”

You’re surprised he hasn’t fought his way in here, actually; just barrelled right through everyone in his way. Though, if he heard that it was truly your wish to not have anyone near you, he’s probably respecting that over anything else. Despite the fact that he’s probably desperate to see you, as you would be him.

“He gave me this,” the doctor says into the heavy quiet.

You open one eye and see his hand in front of you, holding the commlink that Din gave you the day you took off with them. You stare at it. The doctor doesn’t need to say anything else. There’s a light blinking on the comm, signalling that someone is trying to get through it to talk. Tears hang in your throat and you don’t have the strength to swallow them down.

Despite the painkillers, your back and arm are throbbing, stinging, and aching. Your skin is covered with bandages, but there are still parts of your back exposed to the air, your wrist and upper arm out in the open for everyone to fucking see. You can’t even look down at yourself. You know that some scars will be visible. And, even those that aren’t, you’re still a mess. Wounded, bandaged up, lying here unable to move or roll over or cover yourself without it hurting. Just like you were back then.

“I can’t see him,” you find yourself whispering as a tear falls onto your cheek, sliding down to the pillow.

“He said he just wants to talk to you,” the doctor says softly. He’s still holding out the commlink. “We have more to discuss regarding your injuries, but I think seeing, or even just talking to, someone you care for will help your morale. I can give you a moment alone, if that’s what you’d like to do.”

You look at the commlink. To the doctor. Close your eyes.

You’re in pain. Your entire body feels like it’s on fire. You feel trapped, caught, and worst of all—hideous.

But you need to hear his voice.

With a trembling, weak hand, you reach out and take the commlink, grasping it in your fist. You tuck it up in front of your chest, hold it to your lips.

The doctor gives you a sympathetic smile. As he stands, he says, “I’ll be back soon. If you want to let him in, just tell me through the commlink. But you don’t have to.”

You give him a shaky nod before your eyes are closed again, and you wait until his footsteps have gone and the door is closing behind him before taking a long, deep breath.

You press the transmit button.

Your voice is thin and reedy, see-through like wet paper, ready to fall apart with the next tear that falls. You’re trying so hard to stop yourself from crying, even though the tears are forcing past your defences. “Mando?”

“Cyar’ika?”

The sound of his voice sends a rush of relief through you. “Hey,” you manage, weak.

“Hey, I—are you alright? How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been chewed up, digested, and shit out by a bantha,” you close your eyes in your best attempt to hold yourself together. Your throat hurts from the effort. Your hands are shaking. You hurt. It all hurts.

You just want to hold his hand.

“Sweetheart, can I…” his words fade. Through the distortion of his modulator and the commlink, you can only just tell that his voice is strained. When he speaks again, it’s just a whisper. “Can I see you?”

Even though he won’t see it, you shake your head vehemently. No words come that you can speak. You can’t say no. It feels like you’d be rejecting him.

“Cyar’ika,” he whispers, and you imagine him out in the hall, sitting down or standing against the wall, holding the commlink to his helmet and trying to speak quietly, keep the conversation just between you. Like it’s just you in the cockpit of the ship, in the middle of hyperspace where no one in the Galaxy can find you. “Why can’t I see you?”

A shuddering breath surprises you as it pulls into your lungs, loud and jarring. Tears release alongside it, a sob escaping your throat before you can stop it. “I—” you can’t, you can’t, you have to, he deserves to know—“You can’t see me like this,” you confess, a broken whisper. “I—I look…I can’t wear clothes right now. There are…parts of me you can see…I’m really injured, Mando, and I can’t…you don’t want to see me looking like this…”

“It’s more worrying to me when I can’t see you,” he says. “No matter how bad it is.”

You sob again. You press your fist against your mouth. Get it together.

“I understand not feeling ready to show me yourself,” he speaks again, this time even softer somehow, quieter, “I do. But—”

“You’ll be disgusted,” you manage to get out from behind gritted teeth, the effort of holding back every single sob that wants to wrack through your chest now hurting your wounds, spreading across your skin. “You’ve never—Mando, I’m scarred, okay? Not just from this. Before this, I am covered in scars. My family, they...” You don’t have the strength to hold back the truth from him anymore. If you’re not going to let him in to see you, he deserves to know why. Deserves to understand, to agree that he doesn’t want to see that, because why the fuck would he want to? How could he stand it? “It’ll work,” you breathe shakily.

“What will work, sweetheart?”

“What they did. My family. To make no one else want me. If you see me like this, with the scars they gave me, it’ll work.”

Silence.

Good, you think. He knows. He agrees.

But then, “There is nothing,” his voice is low, “you could ever show me about yourself that would make me want you less. That would change how much I—how I feel about you.”

Tears stream down your cheeks, salt pooling on the corners of your lips. Your eyes are screwed shut so hard that it hurts. Your back hurts, it’s on show, your scars both new and old, the most vulnerable parts of you…

“Please,” he whispers, all fuzzy and distorted through the comm, “let me be there for you. I promise, I won’t look at your wounds, any of them. I don’t need to see them. I just need to see you. Please.”

You’ve never heard him like this before.

Through the modulator and the soft buzz of the comm, you could swear it sounds like maybe he’s crying.

And the thought of that breaks your heart. Hearing him but not being near him is breaking your heart.

You think of the pain in your arm and back, feel the bandages. The shame that comes with every single scar; the shame you have carried for so many years, that will probably take the rest of your life to fade away. It certainly won’t be healed if, by some miracle, Din sees you and decides he still wants you. The shame is your own. It’s yours to work out. And you don’t see that ever happening.

But…

“Please,” he says again. “I just need to know you’re okay, Cyar’ika. I need to hold your hand, I need to tell you…” his voice chokes. “I thought I’d lost you today. Please, Cyar’ika. Gedet’ye.” The Mando’a falls from his tongue like a prayer, ged-et-yay. You don't know what it means, but you know he's pleading.

Another sob forces its way past your tear-soaked lips and onto your fist.

You don’t know at what point you decided.

In fact, you don’t even know if you have.

But still, the only word that you can form, “Okay.”

He’s there in less than a minute. You hear the familiar sound of his footsteps, heavy boots along the vinyl flooring. The door closes behind him and he’s limping hastily towards your bed, coming from behind you, which really just adds insult to injury—

You expect him to stop, to catch sight of your back and your arm and the fucking state of you and then turn and leave, but he doesn’t. He keeps coming closer, and soon he’s beside you, sitting in the chair that the doctor had been in.

You can’t open your eyes. Tears are pushing violently past your eyelids.

“Hey,” he says, so soft and worried and shaky. “Hey, sweetheart, I’m here. It’s just me.”

You know that. You know him, trust him. And yet you still can’t look.

Gently, his gloved hand reaches out, and eases your grip on the commlink. He carefully takes it from you, places it on the table by the bed, then replaces it with his hand, holding so tightly that you can feel his concern through the grip.

“Cyar’ika,” he says, his voice so close to you, “Kriff, sweetheart, I…you’re okay. You’re okay.” He breathes out, heavy and relieved.

One of your eyes cracks open. It’s blurred entirely by tears, but you can just about make out the outline of him, shiny silver beskar in the harsh, white light of the room. The sight of that alone is enough to open your eyes completely. Because he’s here.

Shit, fuck, kriff, he’s here. He’s not looking at your back, or even your arm, despite the fact it’s right in front of him, his hand holding yours. He’s just looking at you, at your face, hovering right in front of you as if he can’t ever look away from your eyes again.

“Hey, there you are,” he says softly and reaches out his other hand to brush pieces of hair from your face. They’re soaking wet, either from tears or sweat. Your pillow is soaking wet, come to think of it, and so are Din’s gloves now as he reaches out and wipes your tears away—

The dam breaks.

He’s here. He’s touching you. He’s looking at you with anything but disgust; even though you can’t see his face, you know that’s true.

Because it’s Din. You know him. He knows you.

A loud, harsh sob comes from your throat and hits the silence like a tank. It’s the first of many. The tears become too fast for Din to wipe away quick enough, so instead he leans in, puts his face right in front of yours, uses his spare hand to smooth over your hair. You cry, and cry, and cry, violent sobs wracking your chest, shaking your entire body.

Everything comes over you at once. The blackmailer from Coruscant, how you were going to leave Din and Grogu behind, then when Din found you and you confessed some of your darkest secrets to him. Every panic attack you’ve had since you escaped your old life, every moment that has been tainted in your memory because all you felt was fear. Din’s arms around you, his lips on your skin, how you wanted so badly to see him and let him see you but you couldn’t because of what they fucking did to you—

And then, today, Din getting injured and then the explosion, the ambush, your family’s people coming to get you no matter what they had to do. People fighting for you, Din fighting for you, even though you’ve given him every opportunity to say no and walk away, to decide you were too much—

And now your body is bleeding and scarred, and you’re never going to be the fucking same ever again.

Din lets you cry. You can’t let yourself think about how hard it must be for him. About how much you wish he could take his helmet off, kiss your forehead, hold you in the dark with no clothes separating you.

“I’m here,” he whispers as your loudest sobs begin to subside, quieting down to soft weeping, the tears still flowing just as freely. “It’s alright, Mesh’la. It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

Mesh’la.

Even now.

Even like this.

“Din,” you reach out for him suddenly, hand scrambling to find his shoulder. You just need him. Need him close, need him here.

“I’m here,” he says like a promise, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You don’t know when the crying stopped. When your body decided it was done shaking you with sobs so harsh that they drew dry wretches from the back of your throat.

But you’re just lying here now, feeling like you’re in a pool of your own tears.

Din wipes them away with his gloved hands. Then, his hands move from your face and your hair, and it’s only because you’ve got your hand against the cheek of his helmet that you feel him go to take it off, his hands clasping over each side—

Your eyes fly open. “Din,” you say, stopping him, “What are you doing?”

“I need to see you,” he admits, and his voice is so husky and strained and filled with tears—

“You can see me like this. I’m here. You don’t have to take your helmet off.”

“I—” he falters. “I…I want to kiss you. I can’t—I can’t let you lie here like this and just be sitting here like some kind of droid while you need me…”

“I’ve got you,” you promise him. “I know I’ve got you.”

“I want to,” even though he’s whispering, he sounds more sure of this than he ever has. “I want to. Just for a second. Just—just to touch you. To see you with my own eyes. For you to—to see me.”

“I don’t want the first time I see your face to be like this,” you whisper, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles. He nods, understanding. “But I can do this.” Then you close your eyes. Because you’re only human. If Din Djarin wants to kiss you, you aren’t going to say no.

Moments later you hear the soft metal thunk of his helmet sitting on the floor.

Then, warmth. The smell of his skin, sweaty after everything that’s happened, so familiar and perfect and comforting. He presses his forehead to yours, strange at this angle where he’s upright and you’re on your side. He’s taken his gloves off, too, and it surprises you when he brushes the backs of his bare fingers down your sticky, tear-soaked cheek.

“Cyare,” he breathes, shah-ray.

“What’s that mean?”

He shakes his head. “Beloved.”

Oh.

Your heart lurches, warmth blooming beneath and around it. Your hand finds the back of his neck, his hair, its favourite place to be. He’s so warm. Sweaty. Lovely.

“I was promised a kiss,” you whisper into the space between you, earning a near-silent chuckle from him.

He shakes his head again, fond this time, and then fulfils his promise: presses his lips to yours, his nose pressing into the hollow of your cheek. It’s a strange angle, and you can’t really open your mouth for him. So with both of your lips closed, you just linger there for a long moment, tasting your own tears pressing against his lips. It’s maybe one of the chastest kisses you’ve ever shared with him, but there is nothing but passion in it. You can feel the wrinkles in his forehead, his frown against your brow. He’s breathing slowly, carefully, like he’s trying to drink you in with every second that passes.

Kriff, you’re so grateful. That you get to have him like this. That this is something he wants as much as you do.

You’re probably never going to get used to that.

When he pulls away, he presses your foreheads together again, strokes his finger over the curve of your neck. “I want you,” he tells you. “All of you. No matter what.” It’s not suggestive, sultry. It’s a statement. It’s, I want you all the time.

Your heart hurts with the weight of it. It pulls on your scars, fresh wounds and old ones. More tears start to sting in your eyes, and you don’t have the energy to cry again, so you just kiss him instead of letting the incredible meaning of those words hit you any longer.

“Once you’re feeling up to moving around more, bacta is an option, if you feel comfortable,” the doctor—who you’ve only just learned is called Dr Garidan—tells you, standing at your bedside, right next to Din who’s still in the chair with his helmet back on. He hasn’t left since he came in hours ago. It’s the middle of the night.

“Did the debris hit any bone, or…her spine?” Din asks, not looking away from you.

Garidan glances at him like he’d forgotten he was there, then back to you, seeming uncertain. “I’m sorry, I should have said. I…will need you to step out for a moment, Mr Mandalorian, sir. I can’t give out information…”

“It’s alright,” you assure him, smiling tiredly. Exhaustion is weighing down every inch of you, your back and arm throbbing so much that it’s becoming simply annoying as well as painful. “He can hear it.”

“Alright, then. Well, nothing hit the spine, though it came close. One piece of metal did graze the shoulder bone, not quite fracturing it.” He gestures to the bandage brace you have wrapped around your shoulder that’s keeping your arm nice and steady.

“How long will it take to heal?” Din asks, and you’re honestly grateful Din is asking these questions for you; you’d been too scared to ask them yourself.

The look on Garidan’s face is not exactly comforting; he’s clutching his clipboard again, propping it against his stomach, and though he tries to hide it, he looks rueful. Bad news is written all over him. “…Many of the fragments went deep, as you know, hence the need for surgery. That, combined with all the damage to the skin that the smaller fragments caused, could mean that it takes months before the skin repairs itself.”

Your heart sinks into your stomach. You close your eyes, whisper, “How…how much damage is there?”

He hesitates. “A lot,” he says, soft. “Some parts of your arm nearly required skin grafts. If it doesn’t heal over on its own, then that will be the only option.”

Oh, fuck.

Tears are stinging at your eyes again. You’re so fucking tired. Your entire body is throbbing. You can’t deal with this right now. Skin grafts? Things not healing on their own? As if you weren’t already mutilated enough.

“Can we let her rest?” Din requests, sounding tired, too, but almost like it’s on your behalf. “Talk about this later?”

“No, it’s okay,” you force yourself to open your eyes again and look back up at Garidan, who looks genuinely sorry for all of this. “I want to know. Just get it out the way.”

He gives you a grateful, apologetic smile. “The good news is, if you spend some time in the bacta tank, the chances of healing on your own go up to around ninety percent. Not only will it help to fight off any infection, it will also give your skin the boost it needs to heal over those patches where it's been damaged or removed.”

Fucking hell. The window fucking removed your skin. It’s amazing, in the worst way, that They managed to find a new way to hurt you, to scar you, to ruin any semblance of self esteem you might have had, without even touching you this time.

“I understand that use of the bacta tank is…tough for you. We can make sure that only one assistant is in there with you to help you, and I can assure you that they are only interested in your safety, not the extent of your scarring.”

You blow out a slow, shaky breath. Mando’s hand is still in yours, gloved again, and you can feel his eyes on you even through the visor. So familiar. Comforting, even though all you can think about is how he must be seeing you. About the idea of taking your clothes off, being put in a tank, watched, helped out and clothed by someone else.

“You can take some time to think about it,” Garidan assures you softly. “There is no rush. For now, you should get some sleep. I’m about to swap shifts with my colleague, but don’t worry, you’ll be in good hands. How is your pain?”

“Fucking terrible,” you answer honestly as a tear slips down your cheek. You can’t wipe it away, your arm too sore, too restricted.

Din reaches out, wipes it away for you, and leaves his hand on top of your head, stroking his thumb over your hair.

Garidan leans over to the controller for your IV, and presses a couple of buttons. The beeping is loud in the quiet of the room. “There,” he says, “I’ve upped your painkillers for a few hours. That should help you get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a weak smile. “For everything.”

“Of course. Hang in there. I’ll see you at noon when I’m back in.”

Nodding, you and Din watch while Garidan heads out, closes the door softly behind him.

You turn to Din. “Where’s Grogu?”

“He’s being looked after,” Din assures you.

“Does he know…?”

“That you’re injured?”

Dread hitting you at the idea, you nod.

“He does. He doesn’t know how serious it is; I told him that you needed to sleep, like he does after he uses his powers.”

“Kid’s been through enough already,” tears are still falling from your eyes, and they just won’t stop, even though you don’t really feel like you’re crying. “He doesn’t need this on top of everything.” Neither do you, you don’t say.

Din shakes his head, swiping his gloved thumb over some tears on your cheekbone. “He’s okay, I promise. He wants to see you, of course, but he knows he’s safe and that we aren’t far.”

You nod. Your eyes fall closed, and you nuzzle the side of your face into Din’s hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. “’M glad you’re here,” you murmur as a sudden wave of sleepiness washes over you, the painful throbbing in every single wound starting to dull. Painkillers. Great things.

“Me, too,” he agrees. “Thank you. For trusting me.”

You’re still nodding, because it feels a bit like it’s lulling you to sleep, like Din is rocking you back and forth. You push into his hand, then pull it right up to your mouth, snuggling his forearm into your chest. It’s probably uncomfortable for him. If you weren’t rapidly falling into a drug-induced sleep, you’d tell him he doesn’t have to stay, that he can go and sleep in the actual bedroom you have upstairs, in the proper bed.

But he’s here, and you need him here. That’s all you can think about. If you could, you’d pull him into the bed, and hold him.

“For the record,” Din says, so soft and quiet that you could be imagining it as you tumble towards sleep, “you look just as beautiful as ever.”

Maybe you don’t literally fall asleep with a smile, but it feels like you do.

notes: apologies again for the wait, but i hope it was worth it! thank you for all your comments on the last chapter, and also for the birthday and well wishes on my update post last week. i appreciate you all so much. thank you for being here, for reading, for letting me know your thoughts, and for enjoying this story as much as i am ❤️ as always your comments help more than you know. all the love, always. xo

Mando'a translation:

Gedet'ye - Please

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@competitivedust @lostinsideourminds @gloryekaterina @ellesvoid @uncle-eggy @astronymity @leithatnight @domaniquessidehoe @dancealongthelightofday @loveslide @peqchsoup @jaguarthecat @starrynightsforever @djarinxore @rexamongthestars @babygirlrex0504

#din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian imagine #din djarin imagine #gif cw #my post #my post: fic #i only see daylight

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 2 years ago

Note

Hello, I would love size kink with overstimulation, and hand with Opie, please.

Masterlist

Gentle Giant

Contains: Fluff, smut, consent and kink negotiation, size kink, overstimulation, hand spanking, fingering, P in V, aftercare.

1K words

Comment if you want to be tagged/removed or follow #sp's kinkfest pick and mix.

Opie wants to prove he can be more than a teddy bear.

"Opie, just brush it into a bucket, some toads can make you sick if you touch their skin." He shook his head, cradling the amphibian.

"It will be fine y/n, I don't want to hurt him." Opie sounded so adamant.

"Alright then. You're very sweet you know." He walked through his whole backyard all the way over to a large tree by the fence to deposit the toad in a little patch of dirt in the shade.

"Can you go wash your hands now, I don't want you catching anything." Opie smiled and headed inside, coming out a few moments later to sit down next to you.

"What?"

You shook your head, "nothing, I just think it's funny that you're the size of a bear and in a motorcycle club, most people would think you'd be a hulking brute but you won't even risk hurting a little toad, it's real cute."

Opie smiled and leaned in close, his lips brushing your ear, "you better stop riling me up or you're about to find out how rough I can be."

You were lying in bed that night with you head on his chest, his heartbeat lulling you to sleep while the very tips of his huge fingers brushed the skin on your upper arm. "You right there?" Opie clearly had other things on his mind, the light touches not having the effect he wanted them to.

"I'm great, you have nice hands." He chuckled and rolled out from under onto his side, his hand covering half your face as he cupped it. You turned your head and kissed his palm and Opie's gaze turned heated as he ran his thumb over your lips.

"Do you still want to sleep?" You shook your head.

"No, I don't." He rolled on top of you and pressed his lips to yours, his hand coming to grip your hip.

"I think I have a point to prove to you." His became harsh as his lips moved down to your neck, sucking the skin into his mouth, you knew you'd have something there in the morning but it was hard to think when you could feel the strength behind his movements.

"Is this you proving a point?"

He pulled away from you, his eyes hard, "are you going to keep mouthing off?"

"Yep, I think I like you when you're pissed off." He sat back on his knees and yanked your underpants off before gripping the hem of your shirt and ripping it off, leaving you naked. Then he was pulling you by your upper arm to the side of the bed and he stood up, shifting so he was sitting on the bed with you over his knee.

"Do you want me to count?" He gave a negative grunt.

"I want to you stay quiet unless you're telling me to slow down or stop, understand."

"Yes Opie, I understand." His hand came down hard and fast, you swallowed, heat filling you as hi hand came down on your skin, again and again, Opie switching between left and right between soothing the skin with gentle strokes.

He started again, this round was a little softer and your fingers clenched the sheets as the sound of the strikes filled the quiet bedroom. When he deemed you had had enough, he went back to gently rubbing your skin before shoving your legs open and sliding his fingers through your slit, "wow you're wet, I should get rough with you more often."

His fingers ran through your slit, collecting the wetness from your entrance before sliding two of his large fingers inside as you gasped. He found your G-spot, pressing it firmly while his thumb found your clit.

Far too soon, he removed his fingers from your body and threw you on the bed, then he was hovering over you with a smirk. He flipped onto his side, taking you with him as he slung your leg over his hip and returned his fingers to your flesh. Even though your leg was on top of his hip, you still felt surrounded by him. With his thumb on your clit and his fingertips pressed to your G-spot, it didn't take long for you to reach the edge.

Opie's sped his fingers up and you moaned in his mouth as you came, but Opie didn't stop. He kept the same instant pace, his mouth on yours as he pushed you into another one. You tired to twitch your legs closed but it was no use, there was no way you were going to be able to even think about overpowering him. "Give me one more then I'll give you my dick."

Your nails dug into his shoulder as his fingers continued to their mission, "I can't, it's too much." He chuckled, not stopping even for a second.

"Come on, I know you can." His lips found yours again as he worked you up for the third time, Opie adding a third finger as you shuttered around him. In a flash, you were flipped onto your stomach and he was tearing your legs apart and slamming inside you, the sensation almost unbearably intense.

Time faded as he rammed into you, the sound in the room utterly obscene as one orgasm faded into another. The edges of your consciousness started to fade when you came again, unable to keep count as Opie's hand slid between your bodies to rub your clit, "one more then we'll be done." Opie's voice was tight as he encouraged you, seemly just as close himself.

His teeth sinking into your shoulder is what did it, you buried your face in the pillow to muffle the scream as you came for the last time, Opie following right behind you. He rolled off you, chuckling when you flinched as he pulled out. He pulled you into his arms with his chest at your back and pressed kisses to your skin.

"You need anything?" You sighed.

"I can't feel my feet." He chuckled and pushed himself up on his elbow, twisting to press a kiss to the side of your face.

"Sorry about that." You huffed and rolled in his arms, kissing his chest.

"We should shower." He wrapped his huge arms around you and hugged you to his body.

"Just wait ten minutes, I love you."

"I love you too Ope."

Fin

#opie winston #opie winston fanfiction #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy imagine #sons of anarchy fluff #samcro #opie winston x reader #opie winston x you #opie winston fanfic #ryan hurst #sp's kinkfest pick and mix

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grey-rambles · 3 years ago

Text

Of Insecurity and "I Love Yous"

Masterlist | Requests

This written for @lyssys, who said she wanted Wilbur to comfort her while she was feeling insecure, and I thought “Huh, relatable. Imma write that real quick”. I tried to use the insecurities she mentioned in the tags to inspire the fic, but it’s definitely more so my own experience with insecurity coming to the forefront in the reader’s thought process. Still, Lyss, I hope it lives up to your expectations!!

Words: ~1.5k

Warnings: Reader engages in negative self talk throughout the story, so if that will be upsetting, don’t read it. No pronouns or gendered language is used for reader, however they are depicted as wearing makeup and a skirt. Some swearing.

Notes: It’s 3:30am. I started this at like, midnight-ish. I have to leave for work at 7:30. Help me. (Also, if you can find the slightly paraphrased One Direction lyric in this, I'll write you a request :D)

Standing in front of the full length mirror in your bedroom, you frowned at the reflection looking back at you.

You were supposed to be getting ready for a date night with Wilbur, but nothing had been going right. The new skirt you had so been looking forward to wearing wasn’t sitting how you thought it would, and was only making your thighs look larger than they already were, and no matter how much you contoured, nothing was hiding the definitive round shape of your face.

Tears began to well up in your eyes. You just wanted to feel pretty, was that so hard? But no, you were stuck in this body with it’s wide hips and soft cheeks and five thousand other things you hated about it.

At least my eyeliner looks good, you thought bitterly, still fighting back tears, although not for much longer if I’m gonna keep crying like this. The longer you continued looking in the mirror, the worse the feeling of inadequacy got.

“Sweetheart? Are you almost ready to go?”

Wilbur’s voice in the doorway broke you out of your spiral. In the mirror, you could see him leaning against the door frame. He was dressed to go out, in black skinny jeans, a band tee, and a grey flannel top-- he had made some effort to style his hair as well.

He looks so good, your traitorous brain began whispering, what’s he doing with someone like me?

Wilbur had asked you a question, you remembered, and you scrambled to answer him before the silence dragged on too long. “I-I’m almost ready, just give me a minute.”

Shit. Your voice sounded so watery, there was no way Wilbur hadn’t noticed...

Sure enough, you watched in the reflection as Wilbur’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Is everything okay, love? You sound like you’ve been crying.”

You tried for a smile, shaking your head to clear it. “Yeah, I’m okay, don’t worry about it.” Your tone did not sound convincing even to your own ears. Wilbur made a dissatisfied hum behind you, before moving further in to the room.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you tight against his body, still facing the mirror. You squirmed a little to try and get him to let go, but he held fast.

“Wil, let go. I need to finish getting ready.”

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong.” As though to emphasize his point, Wilbur wrapped his arms even tighter around you.

You gave in rather quickly to his demands, but opted to try and downplay what the real heart of the issue was by only sharing a half truth. God knows you didn’t need to burden him with your stupid insecurities. “It’s really not a big thing. This skirt just doesn’t fit how I thought it would. I ordered it online, and the model in the photos must have had way skinnier legs than me, because it just doesn’t look very good.”

Wilbur pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “I think it looks lovely. The cut really suits you, and I love the colour.”

You smile, but it feels fake. “Thanks hon, but I think I’m just gonna change into something else, then we can go.”

You move to walk away from him towards the closet, but he squeezes you close again. “You look good, Y/N, seriously. Why do you want to change?”

You look away from your reflection towards the floor. “I just think that the skirt isn’t doing me any favours. My legs are already huge, and it just makes them seem even more so. I’d be a lot more comfortable in something a little less fitted on my thighs.”

Wilbur is silent for a second, still holding you tight, before he speaks again, sounding affronted. “I like your legs.”

“Okay, Wil, that’s fine. But I don’t,” you reply, patience wearing thin, “so please let me go get changed now.”

Wilbur doesn’t reply, opting instead to turn you around to face him. He has a stubborn set to his jaw, and his eyes are blazing. You get the feeling you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. “Why don’t you like your legs?”

You heave a dramatic sigh. “I don’t like a lot of things about myself, Wilbur, it’s just a fact of life. I’m usually pretty good at not thinking about it, but tonight I’m just having a very hard time seeing anything positive in my reflection.”

He looks heartbroken, and you feel a slight stab of guilt for having put the expression on his face with your silly little insecurities. Continuing on, you say, “C’mon Wil, this doesn’t have to be a big thing. Just let me go and I’ll get changed and we can still try and have a good night.” God knows that getting out and away from your negative thoughts would help, at least for a while.

Wilbur shakes his head, drawing you into a hug. You go willingly, a little confused by the sudden change in pace, but happy enough with this arrangement. Burying his face in your hair, Wilbur says, a little choked up, “God, Y/N, I’ve been a pretty shit boyfriend, huh?”

You try and pull away from his hold, alarmed by his words, but he only holds you tighter. “What are you talking about, Wil? You’re a great boyfriend....”

“Clearly I’m not!” he cries out, “If you don’t believe that you’re the most perfect creature I’ve ever laid eyes on!”

Oh Wil,” you feel yourself tearing up again, “I’ve had these sort of thoughts long before I met you. It isn’t your fault.”

He cups your face in his hand, raising your head up gently to meet his eyes. “I love you, Y/N. It hurts my heart to see you think so lowly of yourself.”

You sniffle, tears finally overflowing from your eyes. “I just don’t understand what you see in me,” you manage to get out between your sobs.

“I’ll show you,” he whispers, “I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life telling you every way in which I love you.”

Wilbur pulls you into his shoulder again, holding you safe and warm until your sobs finally subside. “I’m thinking we stay in tonight instead, yeah?” he asks, and you nod your head, suddenly feeling very tired.

He begins to pull you towards the bed, settling you down among the blankets. He’s quick to change into some comfy clothes, a soft looking sleep shirt and sweatpants. He then grabs one of his t-shirts and a set of your PJ bottoms, and helps you change into them, before joining you in the bed, drawing you in until you’re nestled tightly against his side.

“I want you to try something,” Wilbur says to you, meeting you eyes. “Next time your thoughts start getting bad like that again, I want you to think to yourself, ‘Wilbur loves me just the way I am’, okay? Could you do that for me?”

“I could try,” you say hesitantly, “but I don’t think that’s going to magically make everything better.”

“I never said it would,” he replies, “but you have to start somewhere. It’s going to be a long road to get you to love yourself even half as much as I love you, but I’ll be there with you until you do. Try it out now. Look at me, and say, ‘Wilbur loves me just the way I am’.”

You flick your eyes away from his and mutter quietly, “Wilbur loves me just the way I am.”

He once again tilts your chin up. “Good. Try again, look at me this time.

Your cheeks are absolutely bright red, you just know it from how hot they are. “ Wilbur loves me just the way I am,” you say again, a little louder this time.

He smiles at you. “Once more,” he says.

“ Wilbur loves me just the way I am.”

After this, Wilbur places a soft kiss to your lips. “Good job, my love. I’m sure that was difficult for you to do, I’m very proud of you.” He kisses you once more before settling more into the bed. “Let’s just stay here for the rest of the night.”

The two of you spend some time taking gently about everything and nothing, before you slip into a bit of a doze. You shoot up suddenly. “I have to take my makeup off,” you explain to a grumpy Wilbur as you remove his arm from around you.

“Hurry back,” he says sleepily. You nod, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, before moving quickly into the bathroom.

As you wash your contour off, you eyes trace the rounded lines of your face. God, why couldn’t my cheekbones be more defined? Or I could at least have some sort of jawline to speak of....

As your thoughts began to spiral back into that negative mindset, a quiet voice suddenly piped up in the back of your head. So quiet you could barely hear it over the negativity in the forground, this small voice whispered: Wilbur loves me just the way I am.

You smile, and return to bed.

Man, when I started this blog I really thought I was going to be primarily a Techno writer.... The Wilbur brainrot has really gotten ahold of me.... Hope you liked it!!

#wilbur soot imagine #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt x you #grey's rambles #help i'm so tired #hope this makes sense lol

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johnsamericano · 4 years ago

Text

𝔖𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔧.𝔧.𝔥 •3•

I hope this ain't getting shitty. Thank you for reading, sexy people. Send me a message or an ask if you'd like to be added to the tag list.

warnings: hungover jaehyun, age gap, hospitals, nothing too extreme.

sugar rush m.list.

taglist: @thoreeo @trustmahluv @sunny-nyu @nanascupid @silent-potato @painted-hills

Yoonoh woke up on a strange bed, the mattress stiffer than the one he had back home. He refused to open his eyes, fearing that the daylight would worsen his headache.

“Wake up, sunshine.” He groaned, all the memories from the past night hitting him like a truck. “Come on, I made breakfast.”

His eyelids finally fluttered open, frown softening at the sight of you in a messy bun and your cute pajamas.

“How come you look so fresh?” The dark circles under his eyes had deepened in the span of a few hours. Thank God he didn't have to work that day.

“I always look fresh.” You seemed to be more comfortable around him. Perhaps it was because you had to tuck him in last night. “Up.”

You tugged both of his limp hands, forcing him to sit up.

“What did you cook? It smells nice.” He scrunched up his nose like a little kid.

“Eggs, bacon, and hash browns.” Fast as lightning, he got up from bed. On his way to the kitchen, he noticed the blanket hanging from the edge of your sofa. Disappointment pinched his heart.

“Why didn't you sleep with me? You would've been more comfortable.”

You set two plates on the small table, pulling the pan out of the stove to serve them.

“You spread yourself all over the bed as soon as I laid you down.” You lied successfully. You didn’t have the heart to tell him you weren’t that comfortable yet.

You let the pan down on the kitchen counter, taking a seat in front of him.

“Do you still want to visit my father?” Sparkling orbs stared at him timidly, fearing his answer would be negative.

“I mean…” You hummed, trying not to give it as much importance. “I do want to go!” He quickly corrected himself, frantically shaking his hands. “It’s just that I don't want to meet your father like this.” He pointed at his bed hair, which had only become messier since he woke up.

“You’re acting like he's gonna see you.” There was a slight bitterness in your tone, along with a fake grin.

“Alright, let's do this instead...” Yoonoh sat up straight, clearing his throat as if he were about to give a speech. “We’ll have breakfast, you'll shower quickly, and then we’ll drive to my house so I can fix myself. How does that sound?”

“So I'm finally gonna see your mansion? How exciting.” You kicked his leg teasingly under the table, his cheeks inevitably dipping as he tried to suppress a smile. “I bet you have some peacocks in your backyard.”

“And there's also a dolphin in my pool.” He let out a hearty laugh, extending his arm over the table to grab your hand.

His house was most definitely not what you expected.

It was about the size of the one you grew up in, the decoration inside minimalistic. There were no expensive paintings framed with pure gold, only pictures of him and his family. There was a small backyard you could access through the French door in the kitchen. Half of it was occupied by a greenhouse.

“I had to donate the peacocks to the zoo.” He whispered as you looked through the glass door, squeezing your shoulders with his slim fingers.

“What a shame.” Hesitantly, he wrapped both of his limbs around your torso, letting his chin rest stop of your head. Your heartbeat was thumping loudly against your chest. Yoonoh surely felt it but decided not to comment on it.

“There’s a Tv in my room in case you want to watch something while I shower.” A hint of mischief adorned his honey-like voice. “Or you can come in and watch me instead.”

“Stop!” Your elbow connected with his ribs out of pure panic, making him bend in pain with his hands covering the injured spot.

“It was a joke...” He whispered, teeth gritting together.

I made him mad, you thought. Should you escape or face the consequences of his anger? All thoughts erased from your mind as he grabbed your calves, lifting you over his shoulder.

“Put me down!” You hit his back with closed fists, unable to see the expression on his face. “Yoonoh!”

He went up the stairs, proceeding to enter his room and throw you on his bed. Thousands of dirty scenarios crossed your mind before he threw himself on top of you, crushing your bones under his muscular body.

“My...ribs...”

“Oh, sorry, what is that?” To make matters worse, his fingers tickled your sides, provoking a fit of desperate giggles to escape your mouth. “I’m not hearing an apology.”

“Sorry! Sorry!” His hands finally stopped, giving you time to breathe. Nonetheless, he remained laid on your chest, using his forearms to lift his weight. “Aren’t you gonna shower?”

“I like you.”

The confession was so sudden, so raw it took you some time to finally react. But you had no words to give him an answer, instead, you combed your fingers through his long hair, massaging his scalp while waiting for him to speak up again.

“I never thought I'd be feeling more than friendly affection for you. Our agreement doesn't include love, after all. But I've started feeling like a teenager all over again. I can't help but get excited whenever you call me. Do you know how sweet your voice sounds through the phone?” He sighed, discouraged at your lack of response. “I guess you're not there yet.”

Instead of verbally answering, you planted a sweet kiss on his head, right where small, grey hairs had started growing.

“I’m not good with words.”

“That’s alright.” He snuck his hands under your back, holding you tightly as a sudden need to nurture you took over him. The mature image he had of you faded in less than a second, leaving behind a young, troubled woman. “I’ll shower quickly so we can go see your pops. I bet we’ll get along just fine, maybe even go golfing when he wakes up.”

“I forgot you're almost the same age. Creepy.” He smiled, though uneasiness started steering in his guts.

“Does that bother you?” He asked without giving it a second thought.

“I don't know yet.”

(...)

The man with high cheekbones and bruised skin laid limp on the hospital bed. Yoonoh had been working on his case for about a month, yet, it only started feeling real the moment he entered the room.

“This is my dad.” All emotions had escaped your eyes as if your soul wasn't there anymore. Only an empty shell.

“You look so much like him.” he was afraid touching you wouldn't be the right thing to do, so instead, he said: “He seems like a suitable golf buddy.”

Tension finally loosened its grip around his body as you snorted, pigment returning to your cheeks. Finally, he wrapped his hand around yours.

“He will wake up, y/n.”

“He’s taking his sweet time.” You glanced back at the laying figure, skinnier with every day he spent asleep. “I want someone to pay for taking away the last person that loved me.”

The last person that loved you. Would Yoonoh be able to fill that spot? Not yet, probably. He couldn't modify the depth of his feelings, but he could surely give you the vengeance you longed.

“Do you trust me?” With your eyes still glued to your father, you nodded. “Then I can assure you we’ll win the case.”

“I know we will.”

He sat silently with you, holding your hand without saying a word. The smell of alcohol and the beeping noise of machines made him nauseous. He hated hospitals. You noticed the change in his demeanor, his hand becoming cold while holding yours with strength.

“Do you wanna go?”

“No!” He smiled through the pain, scooting his chair closer to lay your hand on his lap.

He wouldn't agree to get his ass off the plastic chair. You had to tell him you were hungry for him to finally stand up, still clutching your hand like your father did when you were still a kid. His parental behavior caused several emotions to stir inside your guts, so mixed up you couldn't quite put a finger on any of them.

“What do you want to eat?” The tension finally left his body once out of the building.

“Soup.” You smiled while swiping your thumb on top of his knuckles. “I know a place, but to be honest, it isn't good. So we can go to the store and get the ingredients to- but you can't cook.”

“I’m up for a cooking lesson if you are.” He wanted to see your pretty smile again. Maybe making a fool of himself would help. “Let’s hit the road.”

“Wow, so cool.”

“I know.”

(...)

“Can you grab that can of chicken broth?” You pointed at the high shelf, letting go of Yoonoh’s hand to allow him to move freely

“I have a better idea.” He dragged you by the arm so you were standing in front of him, trapped between his body and the shelf. “I’ll lift you so you can reach it.” Matching his words, his hands grasped your waist, ready to carry you.

“Stop!” You slapped his hands repeatedly between giggles. Ignoring your complaints, he started lifting you. “Yoonoh!”

“Yoonoh?” A feminine voice had him placing you back on your feet in less than a second.

“Seryeong, I didn't expect to see you here.” His hands remained seated on the curve of your waist.

“Neither did I. I was surprised when Sungchan told me you'd left early yesterday.” She seemed a bit older than you but still younger than the man behind you.

“I had some matters to take care of.” She eyed you from head to toes with a smug grin plastered on her lips. Just by the look of her clothes, you could tell she was as wealthy as Yoonoh. You feared the scene would turn into a tv worthy drama.

“I’ll go get the chicken breast.” You tried escaping his grip, only to be pulled closer to his warmth.

“No need to. It's already inside the cart.”

Why am I so dumb?

“Does your father know about your little girlfriend?” She asked without hesitation.

“I guess.”

“And why didn't he tell me anything?” She cocked an eyebrow, his hands finally loosening around your body and allowing you to move from your position.

“Look, this is something you should talk about with him. Now, if you excuse us...” With a hand on your shoulder, he began pushing the cart to the next aisle, the chicken broth long forgotten.

“Is this some kind of arranged marriage situation?”

“Something like that.” His hands were tense while holding the cart, knuckles turning white from the strength used. “Before you start asking, I'm not really in the mood and I don't want to direct my bad mood toward you. Let's talk about something else, alright?”

Who was that woman that had the power to turn him into a literal raging ball of fire with just a few words?

#nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct smut #nct x reader #nct #nct scenarios #nct 127 #nct angst #nct jaehyun #nct fluff #nct jung yoonoh

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cupidbunny · 4 years ago

Text

Continuation of

Tags; Alcohol, arguing, angst, regret, hurt/comfort, anxiety attack, Mentions of Cheating, Childe’s real name

Major TW; PTSD attack mentioned in detail, please read carefully

It happened again. Yet another person flirting with your boyfriend as you stood near him in a crowded bar. Of course, he rejected their advances, stating that he was already taken but it made you furious. You chugged another shot in pure anger, tears stinging your eyes as you held them back.

Your back away from him as he went to the other side, seeming to go greet someone. You huffed in anger as you got another, the bartender eyeing you. You payed quickly, but it seemed as if she was more worried about your quick drinking.

You didn’t care, just enough to make the lights go out. Take away the pain of jealousy.

‘Idiot, idiot, idiot. Why are you dating him? He’ll leave you for someone more attractive anyways.’ The thoughts burned at the back of your mind as you chugged the last shot. You turned back and saw someone else going onto your boyfriend, pushing themselves against him. That did it.

You grabbed your things, paying and tipping the bartender as you rushed outside. Ajax barely noticed you because of the crowd, and quickly rejecting the person.

Once you were outside, you finally let the dam break, letting your tears roll down your face. Everything was so blurry, even before you were crying so it made it worse.

A small group of girls passed, asking if you were okay. You could barely hold yourself still as you shook with sobs. The girls got worried, pulling you over to a bench to stabilize yourself. You took some deep breaths and thanked them, lying that you were fine. You weren’t. But they left by the time you realized that. Your movement was unsteady and you wobbled as you walked. Home wasn’t too far though, right?

God, it was a miracle that you got home safely, stumbling on your things as you crashed on the couch. You groaned as you heard the door click and open, footsteps quickly approaching. You looked up, seeing the hazy figure of Ajax.

You wanted to hug him, cry into his arms, let him comfort you, anything. But your pride didn’t let you. And neither did he.

“Where the hell did you go? I was looking all over for you?” His tone sounded…concerned? Sounds were hazy

“Like it matters…” You made out, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Of course it does, I don’t want you leaving me like that!”

“But you can leave to go with some stranger? Nice bullshit.” You could hear him groan.

“This shit again? God, why do you always get like this-“

“I’m supposed to be okay with it? Seeing people just…smother themselves all over you?”

“I’ve already said it, let it fucking go! God you’re so-annoying!”

The moment he said that was the moment the room went quiet. He stood their, and you could sense that he…didn’t seem to regret a single thing he said.

“I’m going to bed. Go…calm down or some shit…” He muttered, turning away as the anger still radiated from him as he went to your room.

Tears pricked your eyes again as you started to cry again. You ran to the bathroom, closing the door as fast as you could. You tried to steady your breathing but you were shaking again, your breathing unsteady.

‘It’s happening again, no no no no, not again’ Your mind screamed as you held yourself. The memories came back to you, your last relationship that left you broken. The day they left you, and hurt you the most. The day that played over and over again, rendering you useless as your felt the pain rush back again and again as all you could do was sob. And sob. And sob, wishing someone would save you. But no one did. You passed out from it all, from the exhaustion most likely.

Ajax had gone to bed, closing his door as he heard you slam the bathroom door shut. He stood for a few moments, letting everything sink in and feeling a wave of regret wash over him. He shouldn’t have done that, you were already hurt and he was supposed to comfort you. He sighed, sitting on his bed for several, long moments before getting back up. He sighed, opening his door and then knocking on the bathroom door.

“[Name]…I’m sorry okay? I…I didn’t mean to say that shit. I was angry, and…I should’ve comforted you instead…” He waited a fee moments before calling for you again. He grew more panicked as you wouldn’t reply the more he called. He eventually opened the door with brute force and saw you on the floor, passed out with a look of pain. A wave of emotions crashed over him as he quickly grabbed you, picking you up and being you to your room. He set you down on the bed, quickly making sure that you weren’t hurt as he realized that you were still crying in your sleep. His face changed into one of regret, hurt, and other negative emotions. Mainly hate, but for himself. For leaving you alone, for doing all this.

He wrapped his hands around you, holding you tight to his chest as he tried his best to comfort you. Somehow, you slowly started to calm down, your breathing returning to normal as you finally stopped crying. Ajax smiled, at least a bit relieved to see you okay. He ended up awake for most of the night, making sure you were okay.

You woke up with a pounding headache, and felt Ajax with his arms still around you. He smiled weakly, his bags dark.

“You’re awake. Do…you want breakfast? Or something for your hangover?” You didn’t want to fight, too tired to do so. You simply nodded and he kissed your forehead as he slowly slipped out of bed. You missed him already.

He walked back in, with food and something for your hangover as he cupped your cheek in his hand. Once you finished your food, you got ready to speak but he beat you to it.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done…that. I should’ve been there for you [Name]….” He trailed off, seeming as if he he didnt know what to say.

“It’s…okay. I just…I don’t want it to happen again. I didn’t want to seem…pushy but it hurt me a lot.” He nodded as you spoke, since you’ve told him before what ‘it’ was.

You two talked it out, spending the day together to make up for it. It was nice to be back in your boyfriends arms.

So, I’ll probably write a fluff about this later, but I hope he wasn’t too ooc. Also, the ‘it’ was your past lover cheated and basically ridiculed/gaslighted about it. What Childe did reminded you of that day, which sent you into an attack. {He knew abt the partner but not the trigger}

Self indulgent once again <3

#childe x reader #childe x gn!reader #angsty #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #genshin x gn reader #genshin x reader #read tags #childe #tartagalia x reader

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marblesphere · 4 years ago

Text

Xiao x reader

!Angst Warning!

Slowly and gently, I can see how he tucks the loose lock of her hair to her ear. I can also see how she blushes at his gentle gesture. A small barely noticeable smile on his lips. I clench my fist tightly, I feel the Qingxin flower's stem crushed in my palm. I want to walk away from the irritating scene, but my feet are rooted on the ground. As if some force prevented me too.

It took all my willpower to tear my sight from them. "Xiao…" I whispered to the wind, hoping he would notice. But alas, the harsh reality proved otherwise.

10 years. It took me ten years to befriend the so-called vigilant yaksha. The only remaining yaksha. The yaksha which is said to be the coldest amongst all of the adepti in Liyue.

I met Xiao when I was 6 years old. I was lost in a forest near Liyue harbor. I remember Granny Ping said to call Adeptus Xiao if I ever had any trouble. So with a snotty nose, I wail out his name. A gust of gentle breeze blows before a tall big brother (at that time) in teal arrived. He frowns at me. I still remember my hand, which was full of snot and tears, grabbed his long sleeves and cried to it, effectively soiling the pristine cloth.

He almost flung me instinctively, but I know how hard I grabbed it and I am still a Liyue citizen. Xiao kneeled and with an awkward pat on my head, he lifted me up easily. Without a word, he jumps high. I can still vividly remember the breeze blowing my face. I stopped crying immediately and realized how high we were.

Tears were replaced with small giggles. From the position we were, I found my parents shouting my name. "Papa and mama." I leaned my body, wriggling out of his arms.

"Don't move." That was the first time I heard his voice. It's so beautiful that I shut up immediately. Xiao maneuvered and landed near to my worried parents.

"Mama, Papa!" I rushed to them right after Xiao put me down. My mother quickly hugs me tight, afraid if I were to disappear again.

"Where were you?! Do you know how worried we were?!" Papa scolded.

"But Papa, Adeptus Xiao took me home." I wriggled out from my mother's embrace and looked behind me, only to find empty space.

"Adeptus Xiao was with you?" Papa asked bewildered.

"Yep. Granny Ping told me to call for Adeptus Xiao if I had trouble. I did and he came. He jumped so high and I could see you." I excitedly told them my tale.

Not long after, I finally found out not many people can meet the elusive Adeptus. But I was determined to meet him again. To thank him and befriend him.

So, I ask the most knowledgeable person in this world, Granny Ping. Granny Ping told me that Qingxin is his flower. I want to pick one, but it only blooms in high peaks which is impossible for me. So, the next best thing is buying from a florist. Granny Ping also told me where to give the flower. Wangshu inn. Thus, I made it my mission to go there everyday to give him a Qingxin flower.

In Wangshu inn. As expected, I couldn't meet Xiao, instead I met the owner. Verr Goldet. After hearing my reasoning to visit the elusive Adeptus. She told me to put the flower on the balcony on the highest floor. I will stay there for hours without meeting him. And I do this everyday for almost a month.

Maybe Verr was taking pity on me. She told me to help her deliver a plate of Almond tofu to Xiao. And thus, our second meeting. I was so excited that I almost fell flat smashing the tofu to the floor if not for his fast reflex.

Xiao frowns when he sees me. "Adeptus Xiao, thank you." I smiled as I gave him the flower.

"Don't come close to me." He frowned.

"But, I want to." I shook my head. "Granny Ping told me you have protected us. I want to thank you." I pouted.

"...I am just doing my job according to the contract. I don't need any thanks." He said.

"Even so, I want to thank you." I said persistently.

I think that was the time he gave up explaining to a small naive kid. From that day on, I meet him everyday with a Qingxin flower and a plate of almond tofu. Of course, I still have to call him or else he won't show up even with almond tofu.

After a year, he softened up a bit. At least, I don't need to wait for him on the balcony. He will always be there by the time I reach the balcony with a flower and a plate of almond tofu. Another year and I can even manage to slip a Qingxin flower to his hair. And the second year of our meeting is truly the start of my happiness. Xiao gave me a small trinket made from sage technique to ward off evil. Every year following that on my birthday the small trinket will increase, a crystalfly, a leaf butterfly, you name it. And last year, he gave me an amulet. The amulet I have never taken it off since I wore it on my birthday.

In exchange I too, so persistently celebrate his birthday, since he won't tell me when is his birthday, I just mark the date we met is his birthday, not until a few years later he finally grumpily told me his real birthday.

I started learning martial arts and cooking courtesy from Xiao for the former and Smiley Yan for the latter.

10 years of hardwork, 9 years of nurturing feelings, all of them have gone to the drain. With just one appearance of this girl. No, she is not a traveller with a fairy. She is just someone from Qingce village. Xiao met her when he was patrolling around the area. Just in a month she undone all my hardwork. Now they are a step away from being lovers.

I made my way back home. For the first time in 10 years, I didn't go to Wangshu inn, no I didn't go to meet him. A fresh Qingxin I have picked and a plate of almond tofu are laid forgotten on the table. Fresh tears finally flowed down from my eyes. It hurts. It hurts so much looking at them. It hurts so much seeing him smile at them. The smile that I thought only I could see.

'It's not yours anymore.' A sickly sweet voice whispered

'He is finally happy. He finally rid himself of you. You are just a worthless girl. You don't deserve him.'

'The love of his life is not you. It will never be you.' The sickly sweet voice cackled gleefully.

That night I succumbed to the negative emotion of mine.

The next day, I resolved to investigate that girl. I have realized I am not good enough for him. That's why I want to make sure she is good enough for him.

'You just want to make yourself better if you find a flaw in her. What a liar.' The voice back in my mind echoed.

I shake myself, trying to get rid of those voices. First, I will obviously start from Liyue. I heard her parents are doing business in Liyue and she sometimes tags along. And today, she didn't come. Perfect. I have double checked in her parents' shop.

But every answer I get from them lowers my spirit. In the end, I can only summarize her in one word. Perfect. She is so perfect. All of the people I ask from will sing a praise to her. It's almost impossible for a perfect human like her to exist. But she is, and now she could even open the vigilant yaksha's heart in the span of a month.

To clear my head and the annoying voices in my head, I make my way to the secret place I have found a few years back. Inside the forest where I first met Xiao, there is a small patch of Qingxin flower field deep inside the forest. Qingxin flower, which is said to only bloom in the highest peak, somehow can grow in that patch and only that patch. The area around it is also safe from hillicurls or slime. Xiao said he never detected any malicious intent around the small field. Thus, that area became our secret spot.

Either Celestia likes to mess with me or I am just that unlucky, I met the perfect girl. She is surrounded by hillicurls. I frowned, I materialized my weapon and took a step.

'Why don't you just leave her alone. She is powerless. If the Hillicurls get her killed, then no one will be with your precious Xiao again. You can have him all by yourself.' The sickly sweet voice is tempting me with that.

I stop dead in my tracks. Indeed, If she is dead, then Xiao will have no one but me. It will be just the two of us again. I take a step back and turn myself.

'Good. This is what you should do.' The voice cooed.

"Kyaaa!!"

I grit my teeth and spring back to act. I rush to the group of hillicurls, which fortunately just 3 of them. I swipe their feet using my polearm. "Run!" I barked at her. She flinches at my harsh glare and voice, but finally starts running.

I quickly engaged with 3 hillicurls. I am not a pro, but Xiao taught me enough to defend myself. I panted after I finished the last hillicurls. I am just glad I didn't get any deep injury. "Kikiki!" A small fireball flew past me.

I cursed my luck. A pyro abyss mage is waving his staff and 3 small monster heads are firing flamethrowers at me. I barely dodge it. "Kikiki!" Then another cyro abyss mage comes out.

I gulp. This place might be my grave after all.

*3rd POV*

Yue Mei is just picking herbs by herself. She giggles at the thought of the famous vigilant yaksha literally swept by her feet in their first meeting. She fell in love at the first sight. She glanced at a charm on her neck. She is really grateful for this charm. She made a wish a year ago in an adepti abode. And that adeptus gave her this charm. She is told to wear this everyday, everywhere she goes. This charm will help her.

True to his word, after she had worn this charm. Everyone has become nicer. They gave her a lot of free stuff and some even started to court her. She was shy at first, the attention she got was really overwhelming. But, she already has an ideal man. A man who is strong and handsome. And her ideal man turned out to be Adeptus Xiao.

She blushes again remembering him. Their last meeting ends up with Adeptus Xiao tucked her hair back to her ear. This intimate gesture is really making her happy. Soon, she will confess to him soon. And they will become a couple.

But, her daydream is short lived. A group of hillicurls suddenly appear and surround her. Fear gripped her entire being. "A...ade...adept…" She is too afraid to even call the yaksha. One of the hillucurls raises its club high. "Don….'t… Kyaaaa!!!!" She let out a blood curdling scream as she closed her eyes.

But the pain didn't come. When she opened her eyes she saw the hillicurls on the ground and a girl wielding a polearm glared at her with such hostility. "Run!" She barked at her. Yue Mei flinches at her harsh tone. But her feet finally gained their freedom as she ran away to the direction of Wangshu inn.

Her feet are tired and trembling. She collapses on her knees. "Adeptus Xiao." She whimpered. A familiar breeze whirled, and Xiao came. Looking at the trembling form, Xiao frowns, "What happened?" He kneeled in front of her.

"Hi...Hillicurls…" She managed to stutter.

He hisses, knowing those monsters targeted someone under his protection. "Where are they?"

"There…" She pointed to a direction. "A girl...wielding...polearm...is...holding them...off…" She said shakily. The entire time she clutched her charm.

"A girl… wielding polearm…" His eyes widened. A girl wielding a polearm. The only one that comes to his mind is "[Your Name]..." He whispered. Somehow his mind becomes clear, as if the fog in his mind has been blown away. Xiao quickly summons his own spear.

"Don't!!!" Yue Mei quickly grabbed his hand. "Don't...leave...me alone." Tears streamed down her eyes, making her look so pitiful. This usually invokes some kind of protective instinct from the opposite gender. But, unfortunately for her. She is dealing with this the one and only Conqueror of Demons. Now the spell has been broken, he is not as nice as previous him except to a certain mortal.

"Release me!" He growled as he glared at her, more specifically at her charm.

She flinches at his harsh tone and glare. She stares at him wide eyed. He never used this kind of tone with her, not even on their first meeting. Her hands loosen up. And Xiao quickly disappears from her, leaving her all alone.

Xiao rushes to the direction that the girl pointed to. His mind is racing with what ifs. He finally arrived, but [Your Name] is not on sight. There are only 3 dead bodies of Hillicurls. He calms down a bit. She can handle herself just fine if it's only 3 Hillicurls. But, when he observed more carefully once again, his blood ran cold. Not far from him, a puddle of red blood is spotted, along with two dead abyss mages.

His heart thumped loudly, looking at the trail of blood moving to a certain direction. To the direction he is so familiar. His mind starts racing with a really unpleasant outcome.

"~~~♪ ~~~ ♪" The wind brought a familiar tune.

"...Xiao...where are you…?" He heard it. Her voice. But her voice is so weak, like she will disappear forever. Xiao has never rushed this fast. Right now in his mind, there's only she has to be alright.

*1st Pov*

"Hah...haah…" I panted as I stabbed my polearm to the ground, using it to stabilize my body. The puddle of blood on the ground beneath me is proof it's too late for me. 'If I were to die… At least let me choose the place.' With that in mind, I dragged my feet to our secret spot no, my grave. The small patch of Qingxin flowers.

I drop my body in the middle of the patch, hissing from the pain. But the smell of Qingxin is calming me down. It feels like Xiao is with me.

"~~~♪ ~~~ ♪" with my shaky voice, I started humming a tune. This song is passed down from generation to generation in our house. Apparently this song is some kind of a prayer back in the ancient times. My eyes are blurry now being soaked by blood. "...Xiao...where are you…?" I couldn't see anymore. I reach out my hand, hoping he will grab it. Then a miracle happened. I can see Xiao grabs my hand and pulls me up. I can feel the pain has started to dull and then disappeared, I feel so light, so free. I can see him clearly. Hand in hand the two of us wander to wherever we desire.

"Thank you for coming." I smiled.

#Xiao x reader #Angst #Genshin Xiao #genshin x reader

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axwalker · 4 years ago

Text

CREEP 3: You're just like an angel

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

Synopsis: Drake is a hurt, angry teenager. After being rejected by Lexie, he spends two years bullying her until he discovers the horrible truth behind her rejection.

MASTERLIST HERE

In this chapter: Lexie gets to know more about the boy hiding behind the monster.

A/N: This is Lexie’s POV. We’ll be in Drake’s head in the following chapter.

A/N 2: Thank you to my beautiful prereader @burnsoslow

Your suggestions made all the difference! LOVE YOUU ❤️

A/N 3: Thank you to @mskaneko for the edit that closes this fic. It’s gorgeous! I love youu ❤️

Words: 5,108 🙈

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love, abuse, bullying.

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express love.

This is a dark love story. If you think this might trigger you, PLEASE do not read it.

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS --As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapters. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic; please do not hesitate to ask!!

LEXIE

Watching Drake put my duffel bag on the back of his motorcycle, my pulse is getting out of control on my neck. This is happening. I’m leaving home. I’m getting out, and I’m never coming back. And Drake Walker, my tormentor, is helping me. He actually defended me. The fact that I’m being helped by the person who called me a future trophy wife this morning makes this moment even more surreal. He’s had this tormented expression on his face for the last half an hour that’s stupidly making me want to hug him or make him feel better. For what, though? I don’t know. I don’t owe him anything, and still, I have this pressing need to wrap my arms around his neck and tell him everything will be okay.

When it comes to Drake, my emotions have never been truly logical. One second I hate him, and the next, I’m whispering his name in the darkness of my room, my fingers sawing against the wet cotton of my panties. My feelings for him are incredibly confusing…but I know asking him to back off was the right move. Even if I secretly miss his presence everywhere I turn. In my unstable world, there was something comforting about knowing he would always be there. Watching me. Hating me. Wanting me. That last part was never in doubt. He’s made that clear many times. That if I wanted, he would “give me a nice long hate-fuck in the back of his trailer.” And he’d always say, “No one has to know, baby,” in that deep, hoarse tone that keeps me up at night. Makes me shove my fingers down the front of my panties and struggle to breathe, sweating through my covers to an orgasm. I’m having those particularly sexual thoughts when he looks over at me, and I don’t quite manage to hide my lust. His movements slow, a dark eyebrow arching as he fixes on my mouth, my breasts. I’m a real hot mess right now. Beaten and bloody, but there’s no denying he’s still attracted. It’s always there in the rise and fall of his chest, the clicking of his jaw. The tenting of his jeans. How many times have I turned in class and—avoiding his gaze—locked eyes with his jeans instead? At least that’s one thing us poor fuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck.

Well, if I thought sympathy was a strange emotion regarding this boy, jealousy is even more confusing. Why should I care that he’s been with other girls? Obviously, he must have been with hundreds of girls to get good at sex. It’s none of my business, is it? I’m almost rid of him. And I don’t want to be jealous. Still, when he holds out his hand to help me onto the bike, I ignore it with a raise of my chin and climb on myself. You’re almost rid of him, Lexie. Get a ride and say goodbye. Unfortunately, I may have been a little overenthusiastic in asking to be taken to a motel. I’ve never been to one, but I know a credit card is required—and I don’t have one of those. Nor do I have enough cash in my wallet for more than one night. I need to figure out an alternative plan fast. Still looking damned tortured, Drake places his helmet on my head and gently buckles the chinstrap. Swallowing loud enough to hear over the passing cars. Helmetless, he brings the engine to life, the vibration so exhilarating; I wrap my arms around his middle on reflex.

I can feel taking a deep breath. “Lexie…” He can’t see me, so I give in to the impulse to press my cheek to his leather jacket, absorbing the warmth and his smell, earthy and so masculine.

“Yes?” Drake clears his throat, his voice even more profound. “My dad left me a cabin a few towns over. Near Portavira lake.” He pauses. “It’s very rustic, but I’ve been fixing it, so it’s clean, and it has a bed and some supplies. I could take you there. You’d be safe.”

It’s dangerous to start accepting more favors from him, but what choice do I have? My father made sure that I’m helpless. He did it with my mother and now me. Isolated us from everyone who might be a friend. I’ll accept his offer, but only because here and now, I promise myself I’ll find a way to help myself in the future. To leave my father and his house of horrors in the past. Maybe it can’t be done entirely alone. Maybe accepting help is the only option. That doesn’t mean I’m forgetting the way he treated me. Yes, I’m attracted to him but I also hate him. He’s made my life miserable for two years and I won’t let him --or myself, forget that. Maybe he’s hiding right now but I know Drake--as my father, has a monster underneath. His monster might not slap me or make me bleed but that doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous. Poisonous words can hurt as much as one well-delivered blow.

“Okay,” I say, feeling him relax. “Thanks.” I’ll accept his help for now and leave as soon as I can.

He responds by turning on the engine of the bike again. That’s when I hear my father yelling my name from the back door of the house. His hands are tied behind his back, and he’s limping, blood coming out his nose.

“Alexis Jade O’Brien! You get your ass back here right now, or you’ll never be allowed back! You’ll be dead to me!”

He has to be joking; he’s been dead to me since the first time he hit me. I look back at the pathetic old man with every ounce of rebellion I have. Baring my teeth, I give him the middle finger and dismiss him. Forever.

“Good girl,” Drake murmurs a second before driving away. I don’t look back a single time. We drive for half an hour. After twenty minutes on the highway, the trees grow denser and denser, the road deserted. We don’t pass a single car on the way to the cabin, which comforts me when I should be worried. Shouldn’t I? I can’t allow the last two years of em2otional battle to mean nothing. To melt away in the face of tonight’s act of kindness. I meant what I said. I need Drake to leave me alone. To release the hold he has on me. I’ve cut one negative force out of my life tonight. The last thing I need is a replacement. But as I grow tired against his strong back, his woody and manly scent lulling me, encouraging the trust he doesn’t deserve, I worry leaving him might be easier said than done. Especially when we arrive at the cabin, and he lifts me off the bike, cradling me to his chest like I’m made of crystal, a moment too long before settling me onto my feet. It’s hard giving up his warmth, but I push off his chest, creating distance between us. He watches me back away like I’m breaking his heart.

“There is a shower inside,” he says quietly. “You can finally get the, uh…” He blows a breath. “…the blood off.” The sun sets as we stand there. It’s nothing like the light of the night we kissed. This time it's brighter, more intense. It must be the higher elevation.

“You’re not hurting anywhere else?”

“I’ll be fine.” Why is he breathing so fast? “What’s wrong, Drake?”

“What’s wrong?” He fights through a humorless laugh, sliding his hand through his hair. “Where do I start? Most urgent is…I know you’re going to want me to leave you here alone, and I don’t think I can. Look, if you want to lock the doors, I’ll sleep outside on the ground, Lexie, but please don’t ask me to go.”

He’s right. I was going to tell him it’s OK to go back to his trailer. There was a convenience store with a payphone a mile down the road. If there is no working phone in the cabin, I can still make calls, if necessary. I’m not sure what my next move will be, now that I’ve run away from home. But I know I’ll never be able to think with a clear head as long as Drake is around, looking at me like that. “Drake…”

“It’s just that once I leave, I know that’s it. You’re going to shut me out again. And this time, it’ll be your choice.” He paces away, still raking his fingers through his hair. “I deserve to be cut off. Fuck, I know that. Believe me when I say I hate myself right now, but if there was something I could do to make up the last two years to you, even just a little—”

I shake my head. Nothing can make up for the two years I spent loving him while he tortured me. There will be nothing between us.

“I understand.” His fingers rake his hair one last time. “You can go in the cabin. I’ll sleep outside; that way, I’ll be sure your—father won’t be back.”

Despite myself and my better judgment, I worry about him. “Outside? It’s cold and dark; I can go to a motel.” At least for one night, I’ll figure out what I’ll do after tomorrow.

“No way. Look, I won’t be able to sleep anyway. Just go inside and try to rest; I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.”

Used to what? Sleeping outside? “Isn’t there a couch or something?”

He shakes his head. “The cabin was in ruins until six months ago when I started working on it. There’s only one bed, but there’s a rug next to the fireplace. Please don’t leave. I—I need to know you’re safe.”

I know Drake would never abuse me physically. I might be naïve, but I just know he would never do it. And as much as it’s difficult for me to understand why I feel safe with him here. Still, I have to be smart, my instincts tell me to trust him, but my instincts have been wrong about him before.

“Does the room lock?”

“It does with a bolt that can’t be opened from outside. But you’re safe with me, Lexie. I swear.”

It’s his miserable look that makes me decide. “Okay, if it locks, I can stay here.”

We go inside, and he leads me to his room. When my bag hits the floor next to his bed, I get even more nervous. I just left everything I know behind me and have no idea what’s coming next. School will be over in a few weeks, but I can graduate earlier, thanks to my credits. I’ll need a job, save some money, get an apartment and apply for college in Cordonia. It’s overwhelming.

I don’t want to cry in front of Drake. I don’t want to show him I feel weak, sad, and pathetic, but something inside of me suddenly breaks, and before I can’t do anything to stop it, I’m sobbing.

Drake is sitting on the bed in a second, and he’s pulling me into his lap, trying to calm me down. “Shh Lexie, it’s okay. Cry all you need to. I’m here. It’s okay,” he repeats in a litany as he rubs my shoulders, kisses my cheek, then my nose. Why do I feel so safe with him? Why, after everything he put me through, do I want to be here with him more than anywhere else?

“Let it all out, Lex. You’re so strong, baby.” He takes a cloth handkerchief from his pocket and uses it to gently clean my tears. The piece of fabric seems so incongruous in his rough hands that I can’t help but smile a little.

“Is this yours?”

He shrugs. “My dad collected them. After he died, my mom gave all his stuff away. This handkerchief is the only thing I have left of him. And this cabin.”

“I’m sorry, Drake. I don’t want to ruin it.”

He smiles. “Ruin it? Impossible. If anything, now it's even more special to me.”

The softness in his eyes looks so sincere it scares the hell out of me. I can’t let myself forget who Drake really is. I stand up from his lap and put my bag on the bed.

“I’m really tired; I’d better go to bed.”

“Okay … can I just look at your wounds?” he asks as he inspects my face. “You have some nasty cuts,” he adds, his fist clenching.

When I nod, he takes my hand and leads me to his bathroom. The room is as simple and modest as expected. Block walls, no tiles on the floor, no curtain on the shower, and an old toilet. A million years away from the white marble bathrooms in my house.

He follows my gaze and blushes. “I’m sorry. This is not what you’re used to. I—uhm, I’m slowly putting it together when I have time and some money. I’m good with my hands.” I look at said hands, and there’s no doubt he’s good with them. They look big and calloused. Capable and rough but so gentle with me. I want them all around my body. As if he had listened to my silent demand, he grabs me by my waist and sits me on the counter next to the sink. My legs part on instinct, and he puts himself between them. We don’t talk for two long minutes until he opens the faucet and wets a towel.

“I just got the water running this week; Come on.” Gently --almost reverently, he washes and cleans every cut, every injury. Softly he brushes his thumbs over my face. He doesn’t speak as he does, but there’s a tension between us. A raw feeling that has always been there.

“Tell me about yourself,” I blurt out, desperate to break the moment.

“There’s not much to say. Sorry, Lexie!” he exclaims when I wince. “Does this hurt?”

“A little. I. need a distraction. Why do you live alone? I know your dad is –uhm, gone, but where’s your mom?”

“Gone too.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Drake.”

“Don’t be. She was a bitch. She died in a car accident two years ago. She was living in Texas back then.”

“I don’t get it. Two years ago, you were here in Cordonia.”

“Yeah, she left me after my dad died. Took my sister and left me here. Reminded her too much of my dad, she said.”

I remember Jackson Walker. Everyone in Portavira does. He was Liam’s dad's bodyguard and died protecting him. But that was five years ago. If his mom left just after his passing, that means Drake has been living by himself since he’s thirteen years old. It can’t be.

Drake turns around and opens a box in the corner of the room. When he turns back, he’s holding a Band-Aid.

“I keep these around. Construction can get nasty sometimes. Come here, Lex.” He cups my chin with one of his big hands while he cleans a cut next to my eyebrow. His touch is leaving goosebumps all over my skin. I hate to be this affected by him.

I clear my throat to avoid the embarrassment of talking in a squeaky voice. “So, who were you living with?”

“No one. My aunt got custody when my mom left, but her husband didn’t want kids. He made her choose between him or me, so I’ve been living on my own since I’m thirteen.” My heart breaks then. Not only at the fact that he had to live by himself when he was still a child, but at the way he says it. Matter-of-factly. As if it was the most normal thing in the world that his mother, his aunt, and his uncle abandoned him. As horrible as my dad is, I’ve never had to fend for myself. And my mom loved me so much. If cancer hadn’t taken her away, she’d be here fighting for me. Drake has no one. I can’t help the tears glistening in my eyes. “Hey! Don’t cry, Lexie,” his thumb moves from my eyebrow to my cheek as he wipes the tears off my face. ”I prefer to live by myself than go to a foster house. And Leona checks on me now and then.”

“If your mom died, where’s your sister?”

He takes a deep breath but doesn’t pronounce a single word for a few minutes. Finally, he clears his throat and speaks. “Savvy was with my mom in the car. She died too.”

I want to say something. Anything. But I can’t. Nothing seems like enough. Sorry is such an empty word—a stupid cliché. I’m horrified at my own muteness, so I do the only thing I can think of. I hug him. At first, he just stands there, his arms hanging at his sides. But soon, I can feel him giving in, his heart beating hard against my chest. He encircles his arms around me, wrapping me in the tightest hug possible. I don’t know who’s comforting whom anymore. I only know that I love being here, and I hope it’s giving him a little solace, this hug.

It doesn’t mean I’ll forgive or even forget what he put me through, but no one deserves to go through that kind of pain alone.

“I’ll be outside, Lexie,” he says when he finally lets me go. “If you need anything, anything at all, just call for me, okay?”

“Wait!’ I yell, so he turns around. “Are you really going to sleep on the floor?”

He shrugs. “I don’t mind. I just want to make sure you’re safe,” he hesitates as if he’s going to add something important. “Good night, Lexie.”

“Wait,” I feel my cheeks redden just thinking about what I’m about to propose. “You can sleep here, I-I know you won’t hurt me.”

“Never,” he says, a determined look on his face. “I would never hurt you that way, and you have no idea how much I regret how I’ve treated you in the past. But I’ll be okay sleeping outside. I know you’ll feel better sleeping here by yourself.”

I can’t deny that. I meant what I said about trusting him not to hurt me, but I can’t forget what he did either. “At least take this pillow and the blanket. I’ll manage with the pillow and the cover left.” He hesitates, so I insist. “Please. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.”

After taking them and giving me one of the saddest smiles I’ve ever seen, he closes the door behind him and leaves me alone in the room. I lie on his bed, incapable of sleeping. The pain in his eyes when he told me about his little sister haunts me all night long.

The following day I toss around in bed, confused and angry at myself. I can’t have feelings for Drake Walker. I can’t forget the insults or the anger in his eyes, the hurt that his words caused me every -single time. I just can’t. I hate what happened to him. I genuinely do, but iI have to think about myself. Denying that I’m attracted to him would be preposterous. Our chemistry is strong and undeniable, and it doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Maybe that’s it. Perhaps I just need one night with him, so I can move on with my life. Get him out of my system.

When I finally leave the bed, I find a note under my door: Went to buy some groceries, be back soon. DW

I go to the room where I assume he’s going to build the kitchen. For now, there’s only a more-than-a-few-years-old microwave and a cooler. I open the cabinets, but there’s barely anything there.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door. I feel my heart slamming in my chest; if it’s my father, I have no means of defending myself. I’m about to escape through the back door when a woman’s voice starts yelling.

“Open up, Drake. I’m not in the mood today.”

I open the door because the voice sounds familiar. I recognize Leona, the principal’s assistant. And I know she’s related to Drake.

Leona arches an eyebrow when she sees me. “Ms. O’Brien, what on earth are you in my nephew’s cabin? Does your father even know where you are?”

“I’m 18. I don’t have to tell my father where I am.” I answer in a much bolder tone than I feel.

She shrugs, clearly uninterested. “Well, I brought this to my nephew. Tell him I want those signed by next week. We’re not going to lose thousands of euros because of some dumb nostalgia.”

She hands me a big manila folder, I take it, but she doesn’t let go. “Maybe you’re the one who can convince him.”

“Convince him about what?”

“His father Jackson left him this piece of land, but it isn’t worth a dime without cattle or money to invest in it. But, a couple of months ago a big company approached us, they wanted to build a landfill here. Drake refuses to sell. He thinks he’s going to honor his dead father by rebuilding this old piece of crap, but he will never have the money to do it.”

“Never.” The deep voice that comes from the entrance startles us both. “This was my dad’s dream. He wanted a ranch, and one day this place will be one,” Drake says, “I told you already, Leona. I won’t sell; I don’t care how much they’re offering you to convince me.”

“I’ve never denied that they’re offering me a commission for the sale, Drake. But I still think it’s the best move for you.” Leona leaves the papers on the table, turns and leaves the cabin.

“You love this land?” I’m genuinely curious.

He slowly nods. “It’s all I have left of my dad. He’s the only person that ever gave two damns about me.”

“That says more about your family than about you, Drake.”

He looks directly at me. His gaze doesn’t leave mine for a long minute. I want to get closer to him, to touch him. Not only to offer some comfort but because my body reacts to him in the wildest way. Just standing next to him in the kitchen, I feel my heart beating faster, my hands trembling harder, my sex getting wetter. The response he gets from me is maddening. And it’s making me insane. There’s no freaking way in hell; I’m going to have feelings for Drake Walker.

“I- I need to take a shower. I’ll eat later.” Without giving him any time to respond, I run to the bathroom and shut the door. I open the shower and get inside, desperate for some release, anything that’ll take my mind off him. His stupid perfect smirk and deep eyes. That voice of his, intense, soft, and deep at the same time. Those big hands, calloused and capable. Hands that I just know would know precisely how to touch me. Before I realize it, I’m coming as quietly as I can. Sadly, my relief only lasts a few minutes, my body needs him --Drake Walker, and no substitute would do.

When I come out, he’s waiting for me with a hot cup of coffee and a couple of white chocolate-strawberry muffins---my favorite kind.

We eat in silence, but I don’t feel the weight of it as I usually do. Ours is a companionable silence.

After breakfast, we decide to take a hike next to the lake. A bit of exercise and the lake’s breathtaking landscape might be exactly what I need to stop thinking about my father and the confusing feelings I have for Drake.

“I think I need a job. Do you know how I can get one?” I hate that I’m so spoiled, but I’ve never lifted a finger in my life. I have no idea how I can get a job.

“Uhm sure. Here in Portavira?”

“Actually, I was thinking of moving to Cordonia city after graduation. “Drake stops walking for a second. “It’s too late to enroll for next semester, but I can get a job and start college next year.”

He finally starts walking again and nods slowly. “What do you want to do?”

I blush. My dreams don’t include being famous or rich. All I want is a good, quiet life. Falling in love, having a family. Doing a job I’d enjoy and traveling as much as possible -even if it’s on a low budget. “You’ll think it’s dumb.”

Drake looks at me. “I swear I won’t, Lexie. There’s nothing you can say that I’ll find dumb. It’s just not possible.”

“I love books. They offer you new worlds. They allow you to escape and be someone else for a few pages. You can never be alone when you’re reading a book. I’d love to have a job where I would be surrounded by books. Maybe become a librarian and then open a bookstore one day.”

Drake nods but doesn’t reply. I knew he would find my dream stupid.

“I know it’s not much-“

He stands in front of me and tilts my chin until our eyes meet. “It’s amazing, Lexie. I was just thinking how great you’d be at it. Remember the top 5 assignment for Mr. Daniels?”

Of course, I do. Mr. Daniels, our English teacher, asked us to make a list of our five favorite books and recommend them to the class.

I nod. “Yeah”

“Well, I read all the books on your list. I checked them out of the school’s library and fuck, I loved them all. Especially the one from that Krakauer guy.”

“Into the Wild?”

“Yep. I really enjoyed it. The way that guy Christopher reinvented himself spoke to me.” He holds my gaze. “You’d be an awesome librarian, Lex. You would also be an amazing writer. I remember that short story you wrote for Mr. Daniel’s class. The one about the lonely girl and how she traveled through time with her mind. You have no idea how much I loved it.”

I can’t believe he remembers that story. We had that assignment more than a year ago. “I’ve always wanted to write, but my dad thinks my stories aren’t good enough.”

“Your father is a dick. Your stories are amazing.”

He looks at me in a way that makes my knees weak. The intensity in his eyes is overwhelming, so I feel it again. The connection with him. The desire. Maybe the only way this would go away is if I give in to it.

“There is something you can do for me,” I say, surprising myself. As soon as those two words are out of my mouth, though, I know there is something I need from Drake.

And he’s the only one who can give it to me. “Get you out of my system.”

He stands still as a statue. “What?”

“Get yourself out of my system.” It starts to rain, and it makes me speak louder, feel bolder and freer. “For two years, you provoked me, insulted me, stalked me, bullied me…” He makes a frantic sound, his eyes slamming shut. “And yet, I still—I still can’t stop thinking of your hands that night in my garden. How big and warm and rough they were. I can’t stop imagining you taking off my clothes. Even the ugliest things you’ve said to me, I imagine you saying them in my ear while you…while we…”

Drake falls toward me a step, clutching the center of his chest. “Lexie—”

“Please, get yourself out of my head. One night together. Okay, Drake? So I can get on with my life knowing fantasy was way better than reality. That I built up some unrealistic idea of what we’d be like together that we can’t possibly live up to.” My throat closes. “Get me on the road to forgetting you. Please.” As we walk, I can see the mixture of devastation and hope in his eyes.

“And what if reality lives up to the fantasy?”

“It won’t,” I say fast, with conviction. It couldn’t possibly live up to it. And yet I suck in a nervous breath when he crosses the divide between us, every cell in my body craving him. Fight or flight. In a matter of moments, he’s gone from wounded animal to determined predator, the rain causing his dark hair to hang low over one eye, dripping, his hands ready at his sides.

“Are you so sure, Lexie?”

Damn my hesitation. “Yes,” I whisper. “You’ll prove me right in one night. I can move forward without feeling like I’m leaving something behind.”

“What if your fantasies come true tonight? Could we ever move forward as…as an us?”

I can’t believe what he’s suggesting. “There can never be an us, Drake. Not after everything that’s happened. I’ll never change my mind about that.” I shake my head. “How can you think I would?”

“Maybe I think if I want it hard enough, it’ll come true.”

“It won’t,” I whisper, starting to ask myself if I’m making a mistake. Opening myself up for even more heartache and pinning for this man than I’ve already lived through. It feels like a lifetime’s worth. “One n-night.”

“No backing out from this point on?” My heart beats urgently.

“No backing out.”

He’s silent so long; I’m not sure he’s going to respond. And then, all at once, he reaches me in two strides and scoops me up into his arms. I realize he’s going to bring me into the cabin, “I’ve been studying you for years, Lexie O’Brien. I’ve been hanging on to your every sigh, every expression, and mood. Years. If you don’t think I’ve obsessed weeks of my life away over how you’d like to be fucked, baby, you’re sorely mistaken.” We reach the house in a matter of minutes, and he doesn’t stop; he just keeps going until we’re in his room. And oh God, I have made a severe miscalculation. Because Drake’s showing me exactly what’s always been in my heart and mind when I thought of us together, it’s my fantasy come to life, the two of us wrapped in the arms of the other. And as he turns me, urging my legs around his waist, his ravenous mouth bearing down on mine, I realize I might never recover from this.

#axwalker writes #tw abuse #tw toxic love #tw violence

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spenciegoob · 4 years ago

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Cracked Mirror

A/N: hi, I continued to see a bunch of “season 2 Spencer would be so scared of season 12 Spencer, so I decided why not write them meeting? let’s do it, baby super angsty :P it took everything in me to not tag ‘how it should’ve gone’ but basically this is ‘how it should've gone.’

Summary: Spencer Reid? Meet a very much older Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Season 15 Spencer & Season 2 Spencer

Category: Angst

Content Warnings: no ship, mentions of drug addiction, drug abuse, Tobias Hankel, Maeve, mentions of Jeid

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

_____

Spencer 15:

The smell was always the first thing I noticed when I woke up from a restless sleep. It meant I was alive, that the terrors that danced across my eyelids like a ballad of the doomed were not real. I never believed in the Higher Power, but if there was an Evil Spirit, it possessed my mind the second my guard fluctuated.

The smell, however, the one made up of stiff air that paralyzed you and blood you weren’t sure was yours, that smell meant I got to live another day.

It also meant I could still die.

But now I woke up in a startle because I wasn’t supposed to be here. I escaped this place before, I made it out. Did my only indicator of life just turn into my own personal Hell? Was I finally gone, seconds ago hoping for rest only to come to the conclusion that I would never get the chance?

I was back in a gray jumpsuit, and what scared me the most was how quickly I got up to make my bed.

“Reid, you have a visitor.”

Spencer 2:

They say every person in their career has a moment that changes the way they view their job forever, and I would’ve liked to continue to believe I had mine already, when I put away the first unsub that didn’t deserve the life they were unfortunately gifted to live out. I know I couldn’t sleep much after.

But now that I hurry past empty cells and recreation rooms on my way to a stone box with a killer, I changed my mind.

This was my moment.

I had to keep up with Hotch, and I wish it was because I was scared of getting lost, but it wasn't. If I lose Hotch, I’m afraid I’ll lose my life.

We just had to reach the interrogation room, and we’ll be fine. We just have to talk to... to who?

Who are we here to see? Why am I here?

“Hotch.” The older man stopped his fast pace to turn to me exasperated. I would have that expression too if someone stopped me in a place like this, but here I am, feet stuck to ground like a fear-inducing glue because I can’t remember why I’m here.

“What’s wrong, Reid?”

“Why am I here?” Hotch didn’t get angry, or confused at my question. Instead, Hotch’s face turned into something that was a prized rarity at other times, but right now, it ran my blood cold.

He nodded at me, his face visibly relaxing with understanding, and kindness spreading from his eyes into mine.

“You have someone here you need to see.”

And then he just continued the path we were on until we reached a metal door with a window not large enough to see who was waiting for me on the other side. I didn’t get too close, giving myself a 5 foot head start in case I needed to run, but Hotch would never put me in a position like that, right?

He would never use me as a pawn in a game of life or death.

“Whenever you’re ready.” By the time all the questions flooded through my head like a tsunami that made it to the tip of my tongue, Hotch was gone.

The invisible magnetic field between myself and the door was a force backed up by science. I felt the way it tugged me forward, like negative and positive electrons charming me with the song of the buzzer unlocking it.

When I was ready, he said. Would I ever be ready for the feeling that washed over me? I felt the weight of the world rest on my shoulders, stuck in an ocean made entirely of resin, slowly hardening around me to keep me trapped.

But I still grasped the cool metal doorknob, and I wish I took a deep breath before entering. It was the wrong call on my part, because I walked in and all the oxygen left my lungs in a flash.

The air in the room felt different. It hung with the purpose of imprisoning those who dare breathe it into their lungs. Enchantment and intoxication were meant to hold beauty and grace, leading the charmed to a fulfillment in life worth living.

But the eyes of Medusa were in the room with me, and I was stupid enough to turn to stone.

“Who are you?” How could I ask that? I knew the answer by looking into his eyes. I say his, because they weren’t mine. Sure, they had the same hazel color, and the same round, boyish shape, but they looked so dull. Sadness, the kind that moves mountains and starts wars, was buried deep in the beholder, casting a shadow over his soul.

I didn’t stare for very long. I couldn’t.

“You know who I am.” His voice was worse. “I know why I’m here. Sit down.”

“I- I just... Absolutely not! This is- this, I- I can’t. I have to get out of here.” Insanity! It had to be. I was staring at a person I didn’t know, yet knew every little detail about, and I couldn’t breathe.

“Sit down before you panic.” There was no point in lying and saying I was fine, he knew it would be a lie. We weren’t just profilers.

So I sat, taking my time to round the table and pull the chair farther back to establish a far enough distance between us. He did the same. Of course he did.

“Answer my question,” I whispered, looking down at the place where the leg of the table met the top.

“There are far better questions to ask me.” He was right, there were more pressing matters at hand, but how do you ask someone what landed them in a jumpsuit when you were terrified of the answer?

“Did- is time travel a thing?” The second the question left my mouth, I realized how absurd it was, but so was staring into the cracked funhouse mirror I was currently stuck in front of.

“Come on, we don’t have much time, and that’s what you want to ask me? Dig deeper.” Is this how Morgan feels when I’m always right?

How could I dig deeper when it all went so far that the only thing consuming my soul was a bottomless black hole? The memories flashing from projectors all around me as I sank further until eventually my oxygen ran out. Going deeper meant letting the weight of my heart push against my chest like a rock thrown into the depths of the ocean, but I suppose he would follow me.

“What happened?” I looked up to see him take a deep breath, leaning back in the chair with careful contemplation. There was something more though, something that lingered the second we met eyes.

Jealousy. There was nothing of myself to be jealous about, however.

“We made too many mistakes.” We. Only one of us was in the jumpsuit. There had to be some way to avoid that, right?

“God, this is insane!” I promptly shouted, standing up frantically. “You’re the prisoner here, not me, okay? I didn’t do anything. You did. How am I even here? What is happening, I don’t understand.” At the end of my yelling, I was so far out of breath that I had to lean against the wall. “What is this?”

“Tobias Hankel.” No no no, it can’t be. Am I dead?

“Sit down.” I listened immediately this time, too exasperated to care about being cautious about it.

“You’re with him right now, and from what I can tell, you’re probably in a drug-induced dream.” My head shot up at the mention of Tobias’s coping mechanism for myself. “When you wake up, I don’t expect you to hold onto hope, but for that quick second you let go, don’t feel guilty about it. It will eat you alive if you do.”

“You’re insane.”

“Maybe, but I’m right, and you need to listen to everything I’m telling you.” I was never one to make demands like this.

“And if I do? Will it stop me from becoming you?”

“No, probably not.” Before I had the chance to get angry again, I watched the way his eyes started to glisten with tears. I watched him crack a little bit more, adding to the already gaping slashes across his heart. How many more until he breaks?

“Leave them in his pocket,” he continued after taking a grounding deep breath. “You don’t need it.”

“What are you talking about?” Secretly, I knew what he was meant, because after this nightmare ended I would be back in a far worse one silently begging to return to this interrogation room.

There were so many thoughts running through my head that it was hard to focus on just one. Plus, I wasn’t really getting any context here.

“I don’t think I can give you many details. I don’t even know if we’ll remember this, or how I got here, but we don’t have much time. There are so many things you need to know.”

“I know practically everything.”

“No you don’t, kid. You know nothing.” He suddenly stood up, walking over to the wall on our left, leaning a hand against it and hanging his head. “When you feel like something is wrong with him, don’t keep it to yourself. Tell Hotch, request time off, do whatever you have to do. Just, go visit him.”

“Who?”

“You’ll know.” There was so much guilt in his voice that I felt it in my chest. It was like a hole was drilled into me, leaving my heart exposed to vultures who wouldn’t hesitate to rip pieces from me.

“What about my mom? Do I... you know?”

“No, you don’t, but promise me something.” He turned to look at me again, hazel meeting hazel. “On days that she’s lucid, tell her everything. Tell her what you ate for breakfast, and that one time Morgan fell trying to kick a door open. Tell her about the dark parts, about how much you love her. Tell her everything.”

“Oh God is she-”

“No. I don’t think I should be telling you that, but no. Don’t think like that.” As if remembering something, he rushed back over to sit down, pulling his chair in and leaning over the table. “Stop running every negative outcome of every situation in your head. Be careful, but don’t be so careful it becomes reckless. That’s how people get hurt, including you.”

“Is that what happened to you? Is that how you ended up here?”

“No. I’m innocent, always was. I ended up in here because I let myself get blinded by a fantasy I had no business dreaming about. There’s going to be times for you to have dreams bigger than yourself, but the second they start to become nightmares, you have to pull yourself back. Don’t get trapped, kid.”

“You know, Morgan calls me ‘kid’. I don’t really know if I like it or not.”

“You’ll come to love it, but with Morgan, don’t push him away. He’s one of the only few people in this world that won’t scrutinize or judge you, and you need to be honest with him.”

“Why?” After asking, I immediately regretted it, because his answer was the one I’ve been dreading the most.

“Because things are going to hurt you, and it’s okay to ask for help every once in a while.”

“What things? Tell me,” I begged, rushing my words and internally cringing at how desperate I sound, but I needed to know. I needed to know the truth.

“When you fall in love, tell her.” He casted his eyes downward, staring at his hands rough and calloused from the years, kind of like Hotch.

“Is it... is it JJ?”

“No,” he let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head softly. “You’ll learn one day the difference between being in love with someone, and just simply loving them.”

I couldn’t help the disappointment spread through me for a second, but I quickly gained my composure when I remembered I’m sitting across a profiler.

“This is too much.” My brain was starting to hurt.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.” A question crossed my mind causing my hands to stop their fidgeting for just a moment, but as quickly as it came, it was gone and my hands resumed. He caught it though. Of course he did.

“What was that thought?”

“My d-” I cleared my throat before continuing. “William. Did he ever...?” I let the words fade out, hoping that he would understand where I was going. He did. Of course he did.

“No.” He took a deep breath, eyebrows furrowing and jaw clenching tightly. “He didn’t.”

“Oh.” While I was disappointed, he looked angry. As sick and twisted as it was, I wish I was more like him. Even with the despairing look in his eyes that came with agonizing memories, he was the man everyone expected me to be.

He looked at me as if he also wished the roles were reversed. Of course he did.

The edges of the room slowly started to get fuzzy, my vision blurring for a second. “You’re waking up.”

“Can- can I ask you something?” Even though I was terrified of the answer.

“Of course.”

“When did it all go wrong?” He let out a long sigh before running his hands down his face.

“I can’t tell you the exact moment, because even I’m not sure. I can tell you that even when it doesn’t feel like it, you’re alive. You survived, and on some days that’s all that’s going to matter.”

“Do you smell that?” Please say yes, because the smell of burning fish hearts and livers was burning my nostrils and clouding my head.

“Wake up, Spencer. It’s okay.”

“Wait!”

Spencer 15:

My eyes shot open only to be met with blinding lights that seared my pupils. The beeping coming from the machine next to me was the second thing I noticed, and the third was a very alarmed Penelope.

“What happened?” My voice was raspy, and my throat burned intensely.

“You don’t remember? Spencer, you collapsed.”

“Oh.” I couldn’t think of what else to say. Logically, I knew I probably sustained a head injury from the explosion, but when I tried to think beyond that, my brain got fuzzy.

“Are you okay? You know, besides the whole passing out thing?”

“Y-yeah, I just.” I stopped talking. Just what? Penelope hummed curiously for me to continue, but I couldn’t.

“I think I got a second chance.” No matter how vague it was, how little she knew of what that truly meant, Penelope beamed with joy at my answer, and I smiled right back.

“I’ll go get the doctor.” And when she left, I stared up at the ceiling, hoping that the scared kid I used to be took my advice.

____

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fortisfiliae · 4 years ago

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Promised Part 17 - Tom Riddle x reader

Summary: In this story, Tom didn’t grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader’s sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Disclaimer: Please be aware that I don’t condone any of this in real life. (GIF is not mine)

Warnings: None, finally

Word count: 1.2k

Part 17 - Epilogue

The year after the incident at the chapel in Ramsbury went by very uneventfully compared to your last year at Hogwarts and the weeks after, even though so much was changing. Boring was certainly not the right word to describe it. Everyone involved had wished for a bit of peace and was more than happy to live a quiet life for a bit.

Marvolo’s body had been buried appropriately. A small bribe had been enough to make the Mediwizard who had examined him confirm that he had died naturally, of old age. Marvolo had been right after all, they must have really been a bunch of quacks in St. Mungos.

Morfin wasn’t to be found anywhere. Gaunt Manor had been empty, apart from the two house-elves, when your family, Tom and you had gone there. He must have apparated to the manor after Nagini had attacked him, however. A great amount of Galleons and some potions were missing from his chamber when you searched through it. Hokey and Scrook wouldn’t tell anyone what they had seen - they were still loyal to their Masters. They didn’t want to be freed either, even begged not to be given proper clothes. So Tom gave them to Hepbzibah Smith, an old witch who was known to be an avid collector of magical antiquities and was looking for elves to serve her.

Since Morfin wasn’t there to inherit any of Marvolo’s riches, they were passed down to Tom directly. He owned Gaunt manor now, as well as the mountains of Galleons that were locked up in the Gaunt’s vaults at Gringotts. While Gaunt manor had been tempting to pack your bags and move into, both of you didn’t fancy the thought. The house was linked to countless haunting memories for Tom and despite its enormous size, it was way too cold and rigid for your liking and reminded you too much of the Gaunts themselves.

So Tom sold it to a wealthy family, muggles as far as you were aware, which must have made Marvolo turn over in his grave one last time.

Tom bought a house in your home town shortly after, smaller yet still as boastful as you had expected it to be. It even had a telephone installed, which you didn’t mention to him after you had given him a look when you had seen it, to which he had just shrugged and rolled his eyes.

You didn’t move in with him immediately, as your parents didn’t allow you to leave your home unmarried. They allowed you to visit him, though, and you did so as often as you could.

Life had gone on as it always did and you had gotten a job right after school. The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers had reached out to you after they had seen your grades and gotten a letter from Professor Slughorn. They had asked if you wanted to be trained to become a Potions Master, which was an honour not many witches and wizards were granted with. It hadn’t taken long for you to accept, so you were in close contact with one of their tutors, a witch by the name of Guiliana Toffana.

Tom had taken on a desk job for the Ministry, which paid well even if it wasn’t the most exciting work to do. He had plans though, wanted to work himself to the top one day. And for all you knew, there was no one stopping him from doing so.

Camille had started working as an assistant at Ollivander’s Wand Shop in Diagon Alley. The year had been hard to bypass for her, as she wasn’t able to see Ben as often. They sent each other owls almost daily and the only thing you worried about was that none of you were in Hogwarts anymore to help Ben out with Herbology. Tom had suggested that your little sister Elsie could help him study, as she had started her first year and had been sorted into Gryffindor.

On 1st July 1946, one year and one day after your almost-wedding, Tom invited you over to his house. You would have lied if you had said you weren’t expecting it. And he met your expectations by getting down on one knee. He asked you to marry him again, 366 days after he had done so the first time. And your answer was different now.

Only a few weeks later - you would have never thought it to be possible to organise a wedding this quickly, well, what a bit of pocket money was able to do - the big day had come.

It couldn’t have been more different from the day in Ramsbury. Your whole family, even the distant aunts and cousins, as well as all of your friends had been invited. Everyone gathered in a small castle north of the Peckforton Hills in Cheshire, where the ceremony and subsequent celebrations were to take place. Even muggles would have described the place as magical. Its old walls and lush, green lawn inside the courtyard reminded you of Hogwarts a lot.

You wore an elegant white dress, not Mother’s, but one that you had picked out yourself. One last look into the mirror before the ceremony would begin and, you even had to admit to yourself, you had never looked better.

Father had to help to calm you down before you entered the chapel with him. Walking down the aisle with the music playing and all eyes fixated on you was scarier than fighting the Gaunts had been. But Father was there by your side, leading you up to the altar safely.

And the moment you spotted Tom waiting for you there, all nerves were soothed. He bit his lip while you approached him slowly, his eyes wandering up and down your figure. A smile, one that even reached up to his eyes, formed on his face and didn’t seem to leave after he had taken in the sight.

Ben, his best man, stood behind him, and only watched Camille, your maid of honour, from the side as tears of joy ran down her face.

The officiant’s speech got drowned out by your thoughts, as you lost yourself in Tom’s eyes, standing face to face with him in front of all of the guests. The way he looked back at you, deeply but still collected, led your mind to wander.

Love surely wasn’t like it was described inside a book, no, but when the people involved were honest and trusting, it could turn out to be even better than words were able to ever describe it. You both had changed so much since you had gotten close. And you were going to change with every day that you would spend together. There was much work to be done still, many compromises to be made and a lot of healing yet to start. But you were sure that with an open heart and a tiny bit of luck, you were going to make it. And you couldn’t wait.

Time had passed by so quickly until now and it would pass by equally as fast from now on. Every day was just another grain of sand falling down the hourglass that was life. But now that every grain had Tom in it, they seemed to drop differently. Happier, more meaningful and full of expectation for what’s to come. Every grain was to be cherished and the two of you promised that to each other when you both said the words. “I do.”

The end.

Well, we’re done :’) I’m a bit sappy, it’s hard for me to let this story go. I actually can’t believe I pushed through and really finished it. 43k words, a short novel. Wow. And I wouldn’t have been able to do it, if all of you hadn’t liked, shared and commented on this story. I really need the feedback and you all were so kind and gave it to me. So, credits to you, we made it. And as always, thank you for reading!

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danniburgh · 4 years ago

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Rushingly Bittersweet (Javier Peña x f!reader) part 15

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: After the fall of Escobar everything starts happening way too fast for Javier; his raise, his new office, his new team, the Cali cartel’s operation, the sudden arrival of a new agent that was transferred to his team for no apparent reason, the way he was falling in love with her almost unintentionally.

And he couldn’t seem to stop any of that.

Word count: +4.1k

Chapter warnings: smut! unprotected sex (p in v), some rough touches, javi being soft and... secrets???

A/N: This chapter is set between season three, episode seven and eight. // yet another long one with plot but we have love!!!! keep bracing yourselves, next part is gonna be HEAVY

ao3 // fic index // Masterlist // fic playlist

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓 let me know if you wanna be tagged

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gif: @bestintheparsec

After you landed in Bogotá you and Javier hopped into his suv without even saying a word to Feistl and Van Ness.

You knew he was as or more exhausted as you but he still drove all the way to your building with a blank expression; you drifted off again in the passenger’s seat and when he pulled over he grabbed your hand to wake you up.

When you opened your eyes he pulled your hand to him and grabbed you by the nape of your neck, you whined out in surprise as he smashed his lips on yours. His mouth moved hungrily, his tongue invaded your mouth without your permission, you tried to keep up at the same time your body was waking up completely. You pushed him away by the chest when he bit your lip way harder than you would have liked.

“What’s going on?” you asked him, his face quirked in frustration, his brow furrowed, his eyes darkened by something else than just lust.

“Just let me touch you” he whispered and threw himself to you, his hand landed on your hip and the other on your breast, tugging hard through the shirt you were wearing, his shirt. You smacked his hand away again.

“Javier, stop!” he separated himself from you “I like things rough, I really do, but this is angry and I need to know what’s going on inside here” you raised your hand to his temple.

“Please, just let– just let me touch you” his voice was thinner than a thread, you cupped his face and he leaned into your hands, he looked incredibly tired, frustrated and angry, he grabbed your wrists and brushed a finger against the back of your hand, closing his eyes. You knew he was furious about what happened in Cali, you could see it in his body language, and the way he didn’t talk to anyone on the way back, not even with you, you could see it in the way he was forcing himself to move without breaking something or punching someone, he was just seeking physical contact, you knew that, that was something you had learned about him in the very short time you had been… whatever you were, he was a very touchy person, so it was logical that he wanted to touch you after feeling incredibly negative emotions about something going wrong at work, and then you wondered if that was why he was always going to brothels, just to fuck the negative feelings off.

You moved your hands from his face to his neck and pulled him to you over the console in the middle, he let out a big sigh and dropped his hands to your waist and pulled you to him, clenching you in his embrace. You felt Javier hiding his face in the crook of your neck and you just held him, you moved one of your hands to his hair, waiting until he wanted to let go, just realizing your headache had disappeared.

Javier felt the fog inside his head clear slowly, he stopped thinking about everything that had gone wrong in the last ten hours and started thinking about when was the last time he had been held like that before you, thinking how good it felt to get drunk in someone else’s scent, to get drunk in your scent. After he relaxed his body he still cling to yours, loving the contact way too much to let go. He allowed himself to think more about you, to think on how fast you had become something… else, someone important, someone that felt real, someone safe, who he could really be himself with, he smiled slightly when he realized the amount of intimacy that was in the embrace you were entangled in, he wouldn’t rather have that with anybody else.

“Do you feel better?” you whispered to him when he started moving his hands through your back “you wanna talk about it or do you want something else?”

“I want to be inside you” he murmured against the skin of your neck.

“I’m pretty sure that can be arranged” you tugged his hair slightly and felt his smile on your skin.

Less than three minutes later you were opening your apartment’s door with Javier’s mouth nibbling on your neck and his arms wrapped around your waist. His touch wasn’t hurried like the kiss he had given you earlier, his kisses were now patient, slow and wet, waiting for you to open the door.

Once you did he walked you inside and he even took the time to appreciate your space and give you a small smile when you turned around in the embrace to face him.

“See why I like yours better?” you whispered before he could close the distance between your mouths, curling your arms around his neck.

“Your’s cozier” he mumbled, ripping a smile out of you then kissing it.

He pulled you impossibly closer to him, your chest was on his and his hip brushed your body, you could feel his bulge getting harder through the fabric of his jeans and your pants. You walked backwards towards the living room without breaking the kiss, his lips were taking your breath away and giving it back slowly, you could feel the warmness of his hands squeezing ever so slightly your waist and you thought you couldn’t get more wet.

You bit his lip softly and he let out a groan that made your legs feel like they were made of clay. Javier broke the kiss and snaked one hand through your body to cup your jaw. His gaze was pinned to yours and you let out a sigh when you noticed his pupils incredibly dilated, making his gorgeous brown eyes look black. His lips moved as if he was about to say something but was hesitating to, you saw his eyebrows relax and gave him a soft smile. You wanted to think that you knew what he was about to say and at the same time you were telling yourself that you didn’t. Even if you were reading it in his face, you lied to yourself that he wasn’t telling you anything.

Javier was sure you could read his expression and again, as he did everytime he got to be alone with you, he was counting on it. He had no words, he was bad with them in situations like those, so he was really trusting that you could read in his adoring gaze what he was feeling in the moment.

Your breath hitched and for a moment your instinct told you to run the hell away, but he kissed you again and you hated him for making you forget everything about everything. Even about yourself.

He tugged at your/his shirt and started unbuttoning it.

“Please wear my clothes everyday” he muttered against your lips, making you giggle.

“I could but they look better on you” you whispered back as he opened the garment that had quickly become one of your favorites of his, and slid it off your shoulders. His lips traced kisses from your mouth to your jaw and then to your neck, you tilted your head to the side to give him access to it and sighed when he gently bit the skin between your neck and your shoulder. His hands were roaming freely through your back and his fingers swiftly unhooked your bra, you took it off and moved to unbutton his shirt while one of his hands cupped your breast and his thumb played with your nipple. He was still attacking the skin of your neck and drawing out moans from your throat when you forced his hands away from your body to take his shirt off, he obliged and took a step back to strip off of it, letting out a groan at the brief loose of contact, you stood there for a moment, admiring his naked torso, your sight was blurred with desire for him but before he could grasp you and kiss you again you grabbed his hand and guided him to your room with a smirk adorning your face.

Javier stood in front of you and cupped your face in both hands to steal your breath away once again, your hands slid from his chest to his waist to unbuckle his belt and work on getting him out of his insultingly tight jeans. He shivered under your touch once your hand got inside his pants and you brushed his erection with your fingers painfully gently while the other played with the hem of his pants.

“Take this off, please” you whispered, without a word he obeyed and pulled them down along with his briefs to his ankles, stepping out of them and forgetting the garment on one of the corners of your bedroom.

You didn’t hesitate to follow, you smiled to yourself when you remembered you hadn’t had the chance to change out of your clothes since the night you slept with him for the first time and that somehow turned you on even more.

Javier was pumping himself while taking the sight of you stripping out of your clothes and shoes, you bit your lower lip at him and without a second's notice, his lips were flush against yours once more, his hands, hot and heavy, wrapped themselves on your waist, you turned him around and walked towards the bed. Your palms rested on his chest and once you knew the back of his knees hit the edge of the mattress you pushed him delicately and made him sit in front of you.

He immediately buried his face on your chest and started leaving soft wet kisses on your skin, his saliva felt incredibly hot on you and you sighed when his mouth got hold of one of your nipples.

You straddled him, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting your hands play with his hair and burrow themselves in the short brown curls.

Javier moved from one breast to the other, his arms trapping you against him, you let out a gasp when he gently tugged your nipple with his teeth.

You could feel his hands exploring the skin of your back, sending shivers down your spine, you tugged softly the hair of his nape to make him look at you and you kissed the bridge of his nose, he smiled at you and you slid your hand to brush the wrinkles in the corner of his eye with your thumb.

“You’re really pretty” you whispered, moving your hips to the front so your core grazed slowly against his erection, he closed his eyes and moaned out loud.

He had never been called pretty before without any other adjective after it, and he felt quite surprised at himself because he liked it. Javier didn’t consider himself as a conventionally handsome man, he knew he had an appeal, he had worked on his flirt game for years until almost perfect it, he knew what he could offer and he knew what he could do to somebody, but the idea of him being perceived as other than handsome or hot never crossed his mind. Yet, hearing it in your voice, he settled in the fact that he didn’t want any other person to call him like that but you. There were a lot of things he only wanted to happen with you. And the sudden realization that you, somehow, even with the little time you’ve known each other, knew exactly how to love him, hit him like a scorching wave of hot air.

One of his hands left your back and got between your bodies to align himself up to you, there would be another time to play more and to get to know your body in other ways than just burying himself inside you, but in that moment he needed to feel you clench around him, he needed to anchor himself to you and you only. You felt him throb as he looked at you and rubbed the tip through your wet folds; you sighed in anticipation and patiently waited for him to slide inside you. He filled you slowly, you could feel the way he was stretching you as you sank into him, his eyes not leaving yours and his free hand covering your upper back to hold you close to him.

“Perfect” he mumbled against you, resting his forehead against yours as his now freed hand snaked to your shoulders and placed itself on your nape, you felt a familiar sting in your throat at his praise, you wanted to tell him you weren’t at all perfect. And again, in that moment, with him inside of you and making you feel fuller than ever, with his large hands cherishing as much of your skin as they could reach, with his smoky breath mixing with yours and his tired eyes taking you in, there wasn’t another thing you wanted more than to tell him the truth.

You started rolling your hips slowly and almost absentmindedly, Javier let out a sigh and closed his eyes, letting you take control of him again, he tightened his embrace and you could feel the thin layer of sweat that made his chest glisten under the daylight that came in through your bedroom window.

He kissed you, his plush lips moved softly on yours, you let his tongue enter and roam around your mouth as one of his hands traveled down to your hip and gripped your flesh lightly to guide your movements. His kiss was making you forget every thought you had inside your head, the way he was leading your hips made him bottom up and reach higher inside you, grazing against that specific sweet spot that made you shudder on top of him, you sighed his name once, twice, three times against his lips and he smiled.

Javier moved his hand from your hip to the small of your back and stood up, he turned around to lay you down on the bed, hovering over you, still filling you, still kissing you. He leaned on his elbow to avoid crushing you with his body, you wrapped your legs around his waist and he started rocking his hips, dangerously slow, incredibly steady, as if he was trying to reach further inside you, as if he was trying to bury his whole body in you.

He savored the feeling of your core accommodating itself to the new angle, he took in every single one of the noises you were letting out, his hands tried to roam all over your body, his eyes outlined the shape of your body under his and he tried to memorize every sensation, every gasp and moan and shudder, yours and his, he tried to breathe in as much of your scent as he could, he broke the kiss and tried to store in his mind the way your face quirked in pleasure, your eyes closed shut, your mouth half opened, your cheeks blushed and your forehead covered in a barely noticeable layer of sweat.

You realized you had your eyes closed when he kissed your lids, then the bridge of your nose as you had kissed his before, then each cheek, then your chin, and finally your lips again. You tried to remember the last time you had felt that full, the last time you had felt as cared and worshiped as you were feeling under him and you failed. You snaked your hands on his back and dug your nails smoothly on his skin, he groaned and you thought of that sound as one of the most beautiful things you had ever heard.

He tried to lift your leg higher on his back, you let out a gasp, feeling a tug on the muscle of your calf.

“Ouch, ouch” you whined, Javier stopped moving and opened his eyes to look at your face, frowning.

“Did I hurt you?” he whispered worrily, you smiled and shook your head, trying to move your leg from his grip.

“Cramp” Javier smiled at your chuckle, he pushed himself back and kneeled on the bed, pulling out of you almost completely, he grabbed your ankle and stretched your leg, you laughed when you felt your toes curl.

“Does it hurt?” he smirked at you, you shook your head again, watching him as he put your ankle on his shoulder and started massaging your tightened muscles. You moaned at the touch, at the loss of him inside you and at the relief in your muscle and threw your head back on the bed, he kept kneading your flesh and you laughed again. “what?”

“I just realized how tired I am” you muttered, he chuckled.

“You wanna stop?” you looked back at him with a playful frown, fuck no. His smile grew wider and he placed two kisses on the skin of your calf “better?”

“Much” you bit your lip “c’mere” you opened your arms for him and he leaned down forward, you reached down to grip his cock and align it again, he got inside easier than before and without a second thought renewed his movements, rolling his hips to bottom up rougher. You moaned his name again and the burning sensation inside you made you close your eyes.

Javier’s picked up the pace and started thrusting faster, in a way you could feel him graze against your cervix.

“Harder” you sighed, if you hadn’t closed your eyes you could had seen the satisfied smirk that crossed his face, he bit his lip as he shifted on top of you to rock inside you with more strength, he let out a moan when he felt your breath hitch and your walls clench him in, he could feel you were close so he slid his hand from the mattress to your breast, cupped the flesh and played with a nipple “more” you breathed out he leaned closer to you and licked your lips open, the wet brush of his tongue made you clench again and his hand snaked to your clit, rubbing painfully slowly with one finger.

You stopped breathing for a brief moment when you felt a bundle of flames forming inside your lower belly and as if he was reading your mind instead of your body he circled his finger faster.

“Oh my– Javier!” you cried his name like a prayer as you felt your body explode from the inside out on his ear made him lose rhythm for less than a second.

“Come on, preciosa,” he felt you shaking and clenching and gasping and panting under him and when your walls tightened around his throbbing length for the last time as you rode out your orgasm, he let go, spilling himself inside with a loud moan, “oh, baby” he crashed on top of you and you held him against your body, the thought of you being his crossed his mind ever so briefly and he smiled with his face hiding inside the crook of your neck, your hand burying itself on his sweat-wet hair, his hand brushing your shoulder, your chest rising in need for air, you felt his lips brushing lightly on your skin and for the briefest of moments you felt three hazardous words wanting to slip out of your mouth.

Not now, not today. Most probably, not ever.

You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until you felt the loss of his body weight, you opened your eyes and found him sitting next to you, just looking at your body, bare and spreaded out on the wrinkled duvet. He smiled at you and without a word stood up and walked naked out of the room, you sighed for the thousandth time that day and grinned when you heard the shower turning on.

A half hour shared shower later that was hot and steamy solely because of the water, he was getting dressed while you were standing in front of your closet with only a grey pair of dress pants and a white bra on, browsing for something to wear to the meeting you had later with the ambassador. You pulled out two button up blouses and held them next to each other, one was baby blue and the other plain white.

You felt his arms curling around your naked waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, his stubble grazing over the shoulder bone, he pressed his chest against your back and you smiled at the comforting sensation of his body heat against your nearly bare back.

“I like the blue one better,” he whispered, you let out a chuckle.

“You think?” you tilted your head to consider his choice, he took advantage of your movement and buried his face on your neck, he hummed in affirmation as he licked over your jugular, making you moan and laugh at the same time “Javi, stop, it tickles”

He chuckled, let a gentle kiss just below your jaw and broke the embrace so you could put on the blue shirt.

“I have to go home to change” he brushed his mustache with his thumb as he looked at your deft fingers buttoning the shirt, you nodded.

“Have you seen my phone?” he looked around the bedroom floor.

“Your satelital?” you asked as he walked out of the room into the living room.

“No, the other one, I can’t find it” he lifted your/his discarded shirt from the floor and threw it to the couch when the device wasn’t under.

“Maybe in the truck?” you suggested, he walked in back and raised an eyebrow “why don’t you go check, I’m gonna dial so it rings” he hummed, agreeing, took a step closer to you, gave you a quick kiss and walked out of the room, you followed him and went to grab the phone from the kitchen wall, you saw him getting out of your apartment and waited a few minutes to let him reach the suv. You dialed his phone number and he picked up at the third tone “where was it?”

“Under the seat” you chuckled “a’right, pick you up in fifteen, okay?” you frowned, in the middle of his sentence the line cut for less than a second, barely noticeable, you had heard something like that before.

“Great, what are you gonna wear?” you asked, stalling, trying to make him talk more to maybe hear the cut again and confirm what you were suspecting, you listened and gripped the receiver as close to your ear as you could, you heard him getting inside the truck and starting the ignition, the line cut again, you choked down a grunt.

“I don’t really care” he replied, his voice cut again, you tried to keep the line open for a few more seconds.

“Wear something pretty” you tried to tease him, you heard him chuckle and the line cut again, fuck “see you later, handsome” you hung up the phone and disconnected the telephone wire you took down the whole thing off the wall. You put it on the counter and found the small hole to open the cradle. Inside, beside the circuits, the button pad and the amplifier, there was a small black square connected to the commutator. “fuck” you hissed, taking in out, it could be held just on the tip of your finger, it was significantly smaller than the other’s you had seen before.

For a moment you actually put thought on who would have tapped your phone and laughed humorlessly because you already knew the answer. You put the little device on the counter and shook your head, intercepting your home phone was stupid as fuck because you never used it.

And then, like flicking a switch, it came to you. They knew that. They didn’t just tap your phone. I was almost certain that they had wired your house.

“Shit” you hissed again, louder. Where the fuck would the microphones be hidden?, you started roaming around the outlets on the walls, looking for something slightly moved or out of the ordinary.

You walked inside your bedroom and towards one of the end tables, the one with the lamp, you moved it and found a thin gray wire sliding inside the socket on the wall “dammit” you grumbled. Your fingers followed the wire to the base of the lamp, you lifted it and under it you found an almost too small microphone. Right in the bedroom.

Right in the bedroom where you just made love with Javier, screamed his name and gave yourself to him for the second time.

You pulled it out with a frustrated grunt, rolled it on your fingers and stuffed it inside your pocket.

How you didn’t see it coming was beyond you, you knew what they were capable of, but didn’t actually think they would doubt you that much.

Everything was starting to get messy, and before you could wonder how much time those taps had been inside your house, you knew you had to call them out. You knew from there the only way was down.

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darling-cas · 4 years ago

Text

Hoax (an original story)

I amaze myself sometimes.

My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.

This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.

I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.

I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.

Until next time...

Cas.

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

The air was midsummer sweet.

It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.

And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.

His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.

Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn't been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.

The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one.

Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.

In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.

Even now, when the sky wept tears of sorrow, its beauty never vanished.

The weather came on suddenly, as he passed the welcoming sign for Higdon's Harbour. The roads became slick, a ghostly fog settled in, and the colours were muted a few shades darker by the clouds above. Rivers trickled down the mountain side, disappearing into shallow ditches. Waves started to leap and jump to catch the increasing wind. All while the sky cried on and on.

Jake drove on through the town. Classic rock thumped softly in the background and raindrops tapped on the roof of the car. He had planned not to stop for the night until the next town over. He had driven through several rain storms since the start of his trip, and this was nothing.

But the cracks in the sky's broken heart continued to grow with exceptional pain. Tears of despair quickly turned to tears of anger. The beating on the car became more aggressive as the wind wailed daunting threats and the ocean frantically waved its arms.

It became too much, too quick. Jake was used to driving through bad weather, but not seaside storms. Not gusting winds and sideways rain. Plus, he decided, he was already making good time. So when the flashing green neon sign reading Beaumont Motel came into view, he didn’t hesitate to pull off the road, into the parking lot, and turn off his car.

A bell jingled above as Jake pushed open the door. He stepped into the warmth of the lobby, drenched through his clothes and soaking the carpet under his feet.

“Turned nasty out there real quick, didn’t it?”

Jake threw off his hood, shaking out his damp, blonde hair as he caught sight of an older woman with long grey hair smiling at him from behind a wooden desk.

She pulled her beige cardigan closer around her, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “Looking for a room, hun?”

“If you happen to have one available,” Jake replied, walking towards the desk and setting down his backpack. Judging by the lack of cars in the parking lot, he was more than confident there were plenty of empty rooms. Still, he glanced at the woman’s name tag and flashed her a smile. “Vera.”

“Oh, hun,” Vera chuckled. Her fingers tapped away on the computer that looked too new to be in the small, tacky, lobby with flower-patterned wallpaper. A lobby that was decorated with simply a small sitting area off to the side, a dusty fireplace warming the room, a dark wooden desk, rouge carpet, and outdated lighting fixtures. “I think I have one or two available. For how long will we be seeing your handsome face around?”

“Only a night,” Jake said. “I’m just passing through.”

“Storm pushed you off the road, huh?” Vera turned around and grabbed a key off one of the hooks on the wall. “It should only last the night. Nightly storms are common for us during this time of year. Here you go, hun.”

“Thank you!” Jake took the key before picking up his bag once more, throwing it over his shoulder.

“If you’re looking to warm up a bit, Kay & Elle, the pub next door, is open for a few more hours,” Vera informed him, fixing her wool cardigan on her shoulders. “A lot of the locals inhabit the place, but we’re friendly folks here. I’m sure they’ll keep you entertained for a bit.”

“Thank you for the suggestion!” Jake pulled his hood back over his head. “Have a good night, Vera.”

She waved him off with a dazzling smile. “Enjoy your short time at Higdon’s Harbour.”

Rain beat down around Jake as the lobby door closed behind him. The sticky air promised an onslaught of thunder and lightning, but it had yet to develop. With a glance at the metal key in his hand, Jake made out a marked 9 engraved at the top. His toes were cold as he quickly made it to the door and inserted the key before pushing the door open and stepping into the musty smelling room.

It was just as drab as the lobby. The double-bed was dressed in off-white coverings. Cream walls, dark carpet, and tacky seaside pictures. Along with two side tables by the bed, a small TV on top of a mini fridge, and a bathroom door on the far wall.

It wasn’t the nicest looking room he’d ever stayed in, but he would also be lying if he said he hadn’t stayed in worse before.

With a tired and uncomfortable sigh, Jake tossed his bag onto the bed, peeled off his wet coat, and padded off into the bathroom.

He never really thought of going to the pub Vera had mentioned. His only plans that evening consisted of taking a scalding shower before crawling into bed. Maybe watching some TV or reading the book at the bottom of his bag to spice up the night.

Yet, once the two former items on his agenda were checked off, an uneasiness fell over him. Neither the TV nor his book could hold his attention. The bedsheets itched his legs. His heart thumped in his chest, just fast enough to be noticeable. He couldn’t sit still.

Lightning flashed outside and Jake’s head whipped in the direction of the window. The pub came into view; the two porch lights twinkled in the dark and laughter sounded in time to the pounding storm. It shimmered in the lightning’s afterglow, the rain creating a silver mist of magic around the stone building.

Jake tossed off the sheets and threw on some clothes and his damp jacket. The pull in the pit of his stomach pushed him towards the front door without Jake even really realizing what he was doing. But he chalked it up to boredom and the anxiety of being knocked off his schedule.

He left the warmth of his room behind, almost crashing into a figure as he gently closed his door. An apology was on the tip of his tip tongue when a feeling of nausea washed over him. He felt dizzy, stomach turning. But it was gone between one blink and the next, along with the person. Jake got a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye followed by bells and laughter as the door to room 8 snapped closed.

The thunderous weather started to overload Jake's senses and the urge to get to the pub was greater. With his head down, the figure fading from his memory, Jake made his way across the parking lot.

A drink or two would kill some time, he thought to himself. At least it would help settle the uneasiness and put him to sleep.

The mist around the pub seemed to glow as Jake drew closer, but he was too busy keeping the rain out of his eyes to pay much mind to it. Warmth shot up his arm as he pushed the door open, a jingle filling the room.

The smell of liquor and smoke tainted with the slight scent of sweat greeted Jake as he stepped over the threshold of Kay & Elle. The low rumble of a banjo filled the space, bouncing off the wooden rafters, mixing with the low mumbles and chuckles of the clusters of people scattered around the room. It wasn’t a full house, but crowded enough given the storm outside.

With his footsteps sounding off the wood floors, Jake made his way to the dark-oak bar. He received a few stares and nods of acknowledgment as he walked by men and women alike, sitting at tables and standing by pool tables. As he walked past, he took in the stone walls, the empty stage in the back, the shimmering yellow lights, and the photos of fishermen, smiling ladies, and vast landscapes littered throughout the walls.

He took off his jacket, his heart having settled from the moment he entered the pub. Jake wasn’t a man who believed in faith, but in his bones, deep in his marrow, he knew this was where he was meant to be, for whatever reason.

“Well ain’t you a fresh face,” the elder man behind the bar remarked as Jake sat in one of the barstools, just a few seats down from a hunched over figure nursing a glass of whiskey.

Jake placed his wet jaket on the chair beside him as he chuckled. “Hard to be a stranger in this town.”

“Small-town life, my boy. Everyone knows everyone.” The man threw a towel over his shoulder, his dark hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, causing the wrinkles on his slim, tan face to be on full display. His green eyes sparkled in welcome and his smile pulled at the faded scar on his left cheek. “Passing through?”

The dim lights jumped and danced off the many bottles lining the wall behind the bar. A muted glow hugged the bar, the music changing to the beat of a fiddle.

“I am, but the storm took me off the road for the night,” Jake explained.

“You staying at the Beaumont?”

Jake nodded. “The woman, Vera, recommended I stop by for a drink.”

The words tasted bitter, full of half-truths and false tales. But Jake wasn’t sure why, just as he wasn’t sure how to explain his need to be sitting in the pub at that particular moment.

“That woman,” the elder man chuckled with a shake of his head. “She sends more business this way than any billboard ad ever could. Well, have a drink while you’re here…"

“Jake.”

The music skipped a beat as the fiddle played a harsh note. The air turned bitter and cold. Jake’s limbs urged him to run, screamed that he made a mistake, scolded him for giving his name so willingly. But it was a reflex; the word leaving his lips before he understood what was happening. An impulse came over him, the same one that pulled him to obey the man's demand and order a drink.

No one seemed to notice the odd behaviour, aside from the hunched over figure a few seats down. His depthless brown eyes flashed to Jake, grey hair falling across his pale, sweaty forehead. There was a look of pain and madness in those eyes. Jake opened his mouth to say something when a draft of beer appeared in front of him. And suddenly he couldn’t remember why his limbs felt tense or why there was a cold sweat on the back on his neck.

“Nice to meet ya, Jake,” the bartender smiled with a gleam in his bottle-green eyes. “Name’s Murphy.”

“Likewise,” Jake raised his drink before bringing the glass to his lips, downing half of it in a few gulps.

The hunched man tipped back the last of his whiskey, slamming the glass hard on the bartop.

“Murphy,” he spoke in a husky voice, like the sound of asphalt and gravel.

A flash of irritation, with just a hint of sadness, came over Murphy's face. He didn’t say a word as he quickly prepared another glass, sliding it gently in front of the stranger.

“Take it easy, Harold. That’s your third now.”

Harold grunted, shooting back half the glass without a word.

Murphy sighed, every other emotion but worry washing from his face for the smallest moment, before he turned back to Jake with a smile on his lips.

“So, where were you headed before the rain knocked you off track?”

After another smaller sip of beer, Jake explained his mountain travel plans and his desire to reach the great peak that waited for him at the end.

“Good on ya. Do it all now while you’re still young and can move about,” Murphy said with a chuckle. “This a solo trip? Or are you with someone special? Perhaps they’re waiting for you back in your room?”

“No,” Jake chuckled, ignoring the grunt of clear annoyance from the man a few seats down from him. “Just me.”

A glimmer appeared in the old man's eye. “So no one speical then? No sweetheart waiting for ya?”

Glass rattled as Harold slammed his empty drink back down on the bar.

Jake cast a sideways glance at the stranger. Restlessness rushed through him as he slowly sat up straighter. Tension gripped his limbs as Harold turned to look at him. Those unnaturally dark eyes shined with intensity. They held so much knowledge, so much pain, so much fury that Jake couldn’t look away.

“Don’t waste your time with such things, boy,” Harold grumbled, voice rough and firm. His brows were pulled together so tight they were touching, as the bar cast his face in shadows of back and grey. “Love is pointless.”

He said the word love with such hatred, Jake felt as if the stone structure surrounding them would cave in and collapse.

Murphy, for his part, looked just as on edge. It was a fact that did little to calm Jake's sudden nervousness.

“Harold,” he sighed. “Let’s take a moment-”

“There is one thing that is certain when it comes to love,” Harold continued, eyes gazing unblinkingly at Jake. “It is nothing but pain. Love is made up of pain and heartbreak and bitter ends. It is a useless and pointless part of the whole damn human existence.”

A hush fell over the bar, as if even the other guests could sense the mood Harold had brought about. The upbeat tone of the fiddle suddenly switched to a soulless wail. . A shiver ran up Jake’s spine and he begged his body to turn away, to dismiss the man and be done with it. But he couldn’t. His unmerciful gaze pulled him in and suddenly Jake was drowning in the scent of liquor and smoke and dead leaves and depthless seas.

“You fight so hard." Harold gripped his glass, and a crack started to appear. “You fight with all you have and give yourself completely and it's no good. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you do is good enough. Love is about fighting a losing battle and in the end, only one person suffers the consequences. And it's usually the one who fought the hardest.”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was firm, loud, booming over the music as Jake jumped back in his seat. He didn’t realize how intently he’d been listening to Harold. How he was hanging on to every word like it was air. Or how, while talking to the terrifying man, for the first time since entering the town, Higdon’s Harbour glowed with colour.

An angry, remorseless, pulsating red colour.

Harold held Jake's gaze for a moment longer, intense eyes cast in complete shadow, before turning back to the bar.

“Thanks for the advice,” Jake found himself saying, voice shaking more than he'd like to admit. He didn’t mean to speak, the words simply rushed out of him with an aftertaste of smoke.

Clearing his throat, Jake downed the last of his beer before pushing the glass towards Murphy for a refill.

A hush fell around them for just a few moments, the tension already starting to subside. Jake felt his shoulders drop as he slowly sipped his beer and Murphy slid Harold a glass of water. After some small talk with the old bartender, Jake felt himself able to breathe once more. His body started to relax, the fog lifting from his head. He was breaking the surface and forgetting all about the darkness of the ocean and the murdered limbs of the trees on the forest floor.

While on his third drink, Murphy started to get busy with the other parties of the bar. Tables started to ask for refills, and drenched couples walked through the door, the wind roaring behind them. He drifted more and more between the bar and the tables. And it was about that time that Jake decided he would soon be calling it a night.

“You shouldn’t have stopped, boy.”

Ice crawled up Jake’s spine at the sound of that sandpaper voice. Murphy was off to some seemingly remote corner of the bar. Jake couldn’t help but notice that every new body who walked in stayed far away from the bar, from him, and from Harold.

Jake gripped the tall draft in his hand, foam and condensation running through his numb fingers.

He turned to face Harold, those black soulless eyes dragging him into the abyss. He was in a freefall, too much rushed through him all at once. A thumping started at his left temple and his heart dropped to his stomach as he fell and fell and fell from the bowels of the sky through the open arms of the corpse-like trees.

“You shouldn’t have stopped,” Harold spat, teeth clenched and head hung low. “You should get out of this cursed town before they get you too. They know you’re here. They knew you’d be here before you knew you’d be here. They got to the rest of this damned town. They got her. Get out before they get you too, boy.”

Fear rooted Jake in place. Fear for what, he couldn’t tell. But in the back of his mind, in the depth of his soul, he knew Harold was right. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have stopped. Yet, the thought of leaving caused his heart to clench and spots to form behind his eyes. Without his control, he found his lips forming the words -

“Who are they?”

The lights flickered with the time of the thunder clashing outside. The fiddle faded out and the haunting strings of a violin floated through the room, accompanied by a soulful woman's wail.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t provoke this man. He should just pay his tab, get up, and leave. But it was unexplainable, much like the whole night had been. He simply couldn’t help himself.

Harold completely turned to Jake. The harsh lines on his face caught the glow of the dim lights. His eyes burned with unattainable wisdom and passion. Jake's heart started to race, limbs locking into place as he noticed the music slowed. Along with, somehow, every other body and soul in the bar. A haze filled the room, a mist blurring and engulfing everything that was not Jake and was not Harold. Even the storm seemed to hush, with only the woman's cry continuing on.

“Let me tell you a story, son.” Harold’s voice turned mystical, the words floating in the air between the two. “Cause I’ve lost my friends, my family, this whole damn town, and yet no one will believe me. They think I’m a nut-case, a man full of grief. But I ain’t, you hear? And maybe you’ll believe me. Maybe you won’t. But they took my wife-”

“Your wife is missing?”

Jake’s pulse jumped as Harold leaned in close, his blood-shot eyes burning crimson red. “For years now. Cause they took her.”

“They?” Jake repeated, feeling physically ill.

Harold nodded. “The fairies.”

He should have laughed. He should have backed off. His mind should have been yelling at him that the man was senile, crazy, insane. He should have bid him goodbye, called over Murphy, and been done with this place, this man. This man who was staring at him with all the earnestness in the world.

Fairies.

The word danced around in his head, bells and whistles suddenly joining in with the escalating violin. Suddenly, the whole town made all the sense in the world and yet, none at all.

“Fairies?” Jake spoke slow and steady. “They’re just folklore. A myth.”

Even as he said it, the words turned to dust on his tongue. He wanted to wash the taste out with his beer, but found he genuinely couldn’t move.

“The Harbour Fairies,” Harold whispered. “Nasty creatures. And if you believe they’re just a myth, you’re as foolish as the rest of them. If you believe there isn’t more to this world, that we’re the only beings here, you’re blin. These aren’t just some little buggers who pick your berries and sprinkle dust. They are savage, mischievous demons.”

Jake started to shake his head, mostly to clear the fog that had started to form. “I don’t-”

“We here grew up wearing our clothes inside out and carrying bread in our pockets to stop the little people from leading us astray,” Harold spoke with more urgency than Jake had heard all night, “But little good it did. Everyone was blinded by what was right in front of them. These creatures play tricks. Oh, they love tricks. And not the fun kind. No, the kind that leads you over a cliff or dead at the bottom of the sea. They are unpredictable forces of nature who lead you in the woods, and suddenly you're never heard of again.”

“And they got your wife.”

“They stole her,” Harold spat the words into the air. His gaze flicked towards the red-head who walked past them, beer in hand, before he spoke again. “They took her from me. Everyone here believes she ran away, but I know. I caught them you see, I saw it with my own two eyes. One day she was in the garden, the next…”

… she walked into the woods, never to be seen again. Jake knew because he saw it himself. He watched it play out in Harold’s aged eyes. And suddenly he was inserted into a story that was not his. He didn’t feel right; too tight in his skin, eyes unable to properly focus on the greys, blacks, and whites of the world. But he still watched.

A grass-stained seven year old boy cradled the arm of a pretty girl with messy blonde hair. They sat in a treehouse, feet dangling over the edge, kicking at the clouds. The girl had tear-tracks running down her cheeks and dead flowers stuck in her hair. She was biting her lip, nodding as the boy spoke.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” he whispered sternly.

“I didn’t mean to,” her lips trembled, gaze moving to anything but the boy before her. “It wasn’t my fault.”

The boy shook his head as he ran his hand over the forming bruise. “You gotta be more careful Cathy. What if something were to happen to ya?”

“Then let's get out of this town, Harry,” a seventeen-year old girl twirled in the headlights of an old pick-up truck. The waves crashed against the shore in the distance, the sun tenderly kissing the horizon goodbye. The girl’s blonde, messy braids whipped around her shoulder, dress bunched at her ankles. She stood before a brown haired boy, grass-stains on his jeans, leaning against the red truck. “Let’s pack up and leave after graduation next week.”

“And go where, Cathy?” The boy shook his head. “I have a job lined up on the boat and you have-”

“Nothing! I have nothing!” She threw her hands in the air. “I ain’t got nothing lined up. Just my next shift at the diner. I want to go to school, you know I do. But papa-”

“Don’t worry about your father,” the boy grabbed at the girls skirts, pulling her so close their hips touched. “I told you, I’ll protect you from your papa.”

The girl bit her lips, forest green eyes glancing over the boy's shoulder. Her face was tender but the look of caution never left. As if she wanted to believe the boy holding her but her heart refused to pay heed. “Promise?”

“I do.”

Applause thundered across the crowd, the waves beating against the rocky cliffs. The man lifted the woman's veil, tucking a piece of messy blonde hair behind her ear before gripping the back of her neck. He leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. Whistles and wails filled the air, a screaming violin starting to play as the newly-weds walked down the aisle.

She held on her husband’s arm like a life-line, biting her lip as her father clapped the bride-groom on the shoulder. Her eyes darted around the crowd, the same look of caution from five years ago still masked her face.

It was a look that never left her face, a look that was forever present in the back on her eyes. It was the only thought Jake found he was able to form; the look of a woman who was scared. The look of a woman who was holding a secret.

And maybe she was, for that look stayed with her for all the years to come, Jake noticed. He watched Harold's and Catherine’s life play out before him, just as Harold described. The twenty plus years together. The moments of tender love, the moments of bitter fights. The squealing laughter and howling sobs. The funerals and the weddings, The slamming bottles and doors leading to nights together and alone. It wasn’t the best marriage, but what marriage is, Harold said.

They never had kids, their life centred around just the two of them, their fading love and the growing tension. Every second leading up to that moment, in a garden of muted yellows, reds, and oranges.

Flowers in her messy hair, a near fifty year old Catherine knelt before a bed of dirt. Sunglasses covered her eyes, dirt stained her knees, finger nails, and cheeks. She was silent as she worked.

A door slammed in the distance. “Catherine!”

The tension became electricity in the air. Catherine’s head snapped up as footsteps made their way to the backyard.

Jake noticed it at the exact moment she did. The wind switched directions, bells jingled off the tree tops, mystical laughter floated out from the forest on the other side of the garden.

Catherine turned slowly. The flower fell out of her hair. She tossed the sunglasses onto the ground and her bruised, deep green eyes glowed against the muted world. She walked towards the tree line, footfalls light. Laughter bubbled past her own lips and, between one step and the next, she was gone.

“... the forest swallowed her up and I knew they got to her.”

Jack was back in the bar. Everything rested as it had, and he himself wasn’t even sure if what he had just witnessed was real. Surely not, but the description and details felt real, tangible. As if, for a moment, he truly stood in Harold's memories.

“The forest was the only way out,” Harold’s eyes were wide, urgent, and the brightest things in the whole bar. “It was either through the house or the forest. And she’d been acting out for years. Always in the garden, out on her own. They got her, it's the only answer. But,” a pause, eyes shifting. “I know where she is.”

Jake swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. “You do?”

“An island just a few miles out in sea. A rocky cliff, that's where they stay,” Harold nodded, talking more to himself than Jake. “She's there, with them. I’m taking my boat out tomorrow morning. I’m going to get her and-”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was enough to make Jake jump back. He never noticed how close he had been leaning towards the old man. Just as he never realized how tightly he was holding his warm, untouched third glass of beer. He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his jeans as the pulsing in his left temple grew stronger.

As he looked around the pub, Jake took in all the faces looking his way. Eyes bounced between him and Harold, whispers and murmurs accompanying the flute and violin pair. It was only when Murphy loudly, purposely, cleared his throat that the inhabitants of the bar started to look as if they weren’t listening.

“Harold,” Murphy spoke softly, placing a hand on Harold’s tense shoulder. “I think it's time to head home, friend.”

There was a fight in Harold’s eyes, Jake could see it. That bloodshot, haunting, soulless gaze held a fire and life to them, ignited by the hatred for creatures that couldn’t exist. But the moment Murphy spoke, the moment Harold looked around the pub and saw all the eyes on him, the fire vashined. It was as quick as releasing a breath, there one minute and gone the next.

Harold held Jake’s gaze. There was still so much left unsaid, unanswered, and Jake found he didn’t want him to go. His mind and soul craved to know more about fairies and their secret world.

A laughter echoed off the rafters, and Jake realized for the first time that night how terrified and exposed he truly was.

“Tomorrow morning,” Harold grunted as he stood, the invitation loud and clear. Jake didn’t understand why Harold was inviting him along but it somehow made all the sense in the world.

With no other parting words, with not so much as a glance at any other living soul in the pub, Harold walked out. Back hunched as he disappeared over the threshold, rain and wind howling as they swallowed him whole.

A hush carried on throughout the pub for a few heartbeats. Until the flute faded back into the plucking of a guitar. Someone cheered, laughter followed, and soon the lively atmosphere of the bar was back once more. As if the haunted man with an implausible story wasn’t present a few moments before.

“Is it true?” Jake found himself asking, tongue sliding across his chapped lips. He turned in his chair, facing Murphy, who now stood behind the bar. He hoped his shaking hand wasn't noticeable as he raised his beer to his lips. “About those… about the fairies.”

The word tasted like strawberries and metal on his lips.

Murphy glanced up for the glass he was cleaning, scar strained across his cheek as he pursed his lips. “They’re urban folktales. Myths passed down through all the generations of the Harbour.”

“And his wife?”

Murphy paused. He let out a sign, placed the glass under the bar before turning to Jake. Worry and concern shinned in his eyes.

“She left him,” he explained softly, mindful of the ears around. “Packed up and left, just like that.”

“Just like that?” Jake raised an eyebrow at Murphy’s hesitation.

“There were… rumours about cheating and drunken fights but…” Murphy took a breath, crossing his arms on the bartop as he leaned in close. “Look, Harry's a good guy, difficult but good. Our families know each other well. And Cathy… well she had a hard life with her father. She wasn’t all there before she left and Harold took it hard. He still won't get help and has himself convinced the Harbour Fairies are behind it. Says he’s seen things with his own eyes that explains it.”

Jake swallowed, leg bouncing restlessly. “He’s going out tomorrow morning-”

“Yeah,” Murphy nodded solemnly. “We’ve tried to stop him, talk sense. But he won’t listen. And he’s at the age and point now where we've given up - what can ya do.”

A lot. Jake glanced around the pub, taking in the numerous people laughing, chatting, drinking. He didn’t know these people, he shouldn’t judge, but they could be doing something to help that man. He may be talking crazy but… was he?

The more Jake studied the bar, the more it felt like a fog was lifting. The pieces were falling into place. The math was suddenly starting to make sense. And Jake refused to acknowledge the answers that were before him.

“Where is she then?” Jake asked, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. “His wife. Catherine.”

“No one knows,” Murphy admitted. “She got out of this town, that's for sure. And no one has heard from her since.”

“No one checks in?” Jake couldn’t hide the disbelief from his voice. “No one’s tried to find out where she is or what happened.”

Murphy watched Jake for an uncomfortable moment. His eyes looked him over, mouth twisting as if to say something. But then his lips shut, he blinked, and he shrugged before pointing to the still full glass in front of Jake. “You want another?”

Jake's breath caught in his throat. Claws bit into his spine. His skin felt too tight as a breeze brushed the back of his neck, red flashing in his vision. The room was too small and too big all at once. He didn’t know why he was feeling such a way or what had brought it on. But his gut knew it was because of this town.

And he knew he wanted to get out.

The door to the pub shut as a couple walked out, but the noise still rattled against Jake’s bones as he shook his head.

“No,” he stood up, hand shaking as he pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar. “I think I’ll call it a night actually.”

Murphy picked up the money, either not noticing the odd behaviour or choosing to ignore it as he smiled. “Well, Mr. Jake, I hope you enjoy the rest of your short stay. Maybe someday we’ll get to see you passing through the Harbour again.”

“Who knows,” Jake gave a nervous chuckle, “It seems anything is possible.”

He left the pub in shambles. The smell of ashes and fowl fish followed Jake as he made his way to the door. Tables were knocked off centre, chairs were tipped over. The banjo played too loud and slightly off key. Men and women alike stumbled over one another, drinks spilled onto the floor. Even Murphy’s slicked back pony was a mess, falling into his dark, sweat covered face.

The illusion was breaking, the corners being pulled back to show something ugly and monstrous. Something those who inhabited Higdon’s Harbour refused to acknowledge.

Jake stepped over the threshold, blood pounding through his veins. He welcomed the rain beating down on his face, the wind biting through his damp jacket and nipping at his icy skin. The door to Kay & Elle closed with a thunderous bang. The banjo and hysterical laughter was replaced by sorrowful wind and wailing rain.

He stood there for a moment, face turned towards the sky as he tried to will air into his lungs.

He needed to get out of this town.

Whatever force pulled Jake towards the pub earlier was controlled by a demon. He didn’t know what purpose it served him, to hear about Harold and the fairies… fairies that shouldn’t, didn’t, couldn’t exist…

Someone squealed and giggled across the parking lot. With a jump, heart in his throat, Jake started to make his way back to the safety of his room.

And he was almost there, just a mere few steps away, when his body suddenly felt as if it were stretched too thin. Nausea overcame him and his head spun. The rain pierced his skin like devilish needles and the wind sang a woman's lullaby in his ear. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, thunder crashing as someone bumped into his shoulder.

It was an innocent tap, the woman clearly too captivated by the lady on her arm to notice him. But it did all the damage in the world.

“Oh!” She gasped, the sound like a thousand bells. She grabbed his arm, full-lips pulled back in an apologetic smile as all the air vanished from Jake's chest. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn't breath, the pulsing in his left temple was suddenly magnified by ten. The warmth of her hand on his arm spread through his whole body. He no longer felt the wind and rain beating against him, he was too allured by her auburn curls, high-cheekbones, and hazel eyes that glistened like moss coated in morning dew.

She was the most hauntingly beautiful creature he had ever beheld. And every part of his being begged him to run.

“Are you okay, Jake?” Her partner spoke up. They were holding one another so close, arms locked tight, it was as if they were one. Gravity pulled them together; where one moved the other followed. A simple stranger such as himself could not doubt their adoration and love.

Jake ripped his gaze away from the red-headed woman and looked at her partner. He took in her slim face, the dirty dress, and messy blonde hair pinned back with a flower.

It was then that Jake noticed that both women were completely dry.

It was then that Jake realized they knew his name.

It was then that his eyes met the blonde’s green ones, and he saw it all.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” a seven year old boy with grass stains on his knees told the six year old girl with a bruised arm.

“I didn’t mean to,” she trembled, and Jake realized she wasn’t avoiding the boys gaze. She was looking at someone else. She was looking at the young auburn haired creature standing a few feet away, invisible to the boy and eyes tense with worry. “It wasn't my fault.”

Be more careful, the boy told her at the exact moment the creature met the girl's gaze and said, I know. I’ll protect you.

“I told you,” said a seventeen year old boy as he gripped a sixteenth year old's skirts. “I’ll protect you from your papa.”

You know he can’t, Cathy, The auburn creature said, standing over the boy's shoulder as she held the girl’s green-eyed gaze. I’ll protect you from them both.

The blonde trembled. “Promise?”

With all the power of the forest and the sea. I promise.

She was there, always there. She did all she could to keep her promise. But it seemed even she was limited in her abilities.

Jake watched Harold and Catherine's life play out once more. As the twenty plus years faded together, the moments of tender love vanished. The fights were more frequent, more aggressive than Harold let on. He stumbled home in the dark more than once, eyes bloodshot and words slurred. There were many years of fights and screams. Fists were thrown and bones were broken. And the red-head was there through it all, helping as best as she could. She cared for Cathy, tried to protect her, but it wasn’t enough.

Run away with me, Cathy. It's the only way.

And run she did.

It wasn’t a laugh that called Catherine to the forest that day in the garden as Harold’s raging voice bellowed off the walls of the house. No, it was not a laugh at all, but her name, spoken in bells and chimes, love and warmth.

Catherine stepped over the threshold of the forest, laughter on her lips, as she jumped into the arms of the beautiful red-headed fairy.

She didn’t leave, wasn’t taken. She willingly left her delusional old life for one of magic and wonder and respect.

Jake stumbled back a step, shaking off the hand of the creature before him. His head was spinning, his stomach turned and his vision blurred as he truly saw the two ladies before him. As he noticed the glow around them, the electricity that danced in their wake.

This town, these people… how could anyone let a woman suffer as Catherine did and not do anything? How could they not see what was right in front of them?

And these creatures, the fairies, Harold painted them as the demons and yet, this fairy was Catherine’s saving grace, her lover, her protector...

They shared a look, the two lovers, before turning back to him. They didn’t say another word as the fairy smiled at Jake, white teeth flashing, and blew him a kiss. They turned to leave, Catherine giving him a wink over her shoulder, before disappearing into their hotel room. Right next door to his.

Jake stumbled as fast as he could to his room, slamming the door behind him as he tried to catch his breath and will his mind to understand what the hell was going on.

It took him a few moments to realize, for the first time all night, he was completely dry.

----------

Light had yet to transform the morning sky when Jake sped out of the Beaumont Motel parking lot. The rain had stopped and the winds were whisked away. Grey clouds lingered in the sky, suffocating the rising sun on the horizon.

What was once a piece of art to Jake was now the ugliest thing he had ever seen.

The mountain reached its claws to the sky, holding all the trees and buildings in the palm of its hand. The roads swerved in and out of its fingers, weather-worn homes running up the forest-speckled hills, trying to escape. The ocean leaped for joy as it played with the rocky cliffs, trying to capture and destroy anything it could reach. The boats bobbed in the water, begging to be let free, while the docks pointed their fingers to the open sea, luring in any desperate and lonely souls to the corrupt town.

The ocean was painted an angry blue against the grey light. The white-capped waves pounded against anything in their way. What Jake once thought was a place of harmony, he realized now, was an illusion.

The image had been shattered, broken beyond repair.

The land had won after all, he realized now. It had conquered Higdon’s Harbour and all within it. There was no agreement, no compromise to live in peace. For nothing could truly defeat nature.

The land cackled against the last remains of the raging storm winds. For it knew the game it was playing; it knew who truly ruled the town. And it was not man.

Jake made it out before the first kitchen light flickered on. Before the inhabitants of Higdon’s Harbour woke and started about their delusional lives. His heart pounded in his chest the whole way, hands shaking as they gripped his steering wheel. Even when he passed the city line, his body refused to relax. Not as the sound of chimes echoed on and on and on in his head.

By the time Jake remembered Harold, he was long gone. And he was too far out to turn back. Too far out to hear the news, or see the headline of the Higdon’s Harbour newspaper that morning. And to hear the otherworldly laugh that accompanied it.

Man Crashes Boat Off Rocky Cliffs In Desperate Search Of His Wife.

#oringinal character #original writing #original story #fairies #tog #acotar #fanfiction #tog fanfic #tog fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #cas writing #personal

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theweasleysredhair · 4 years ago

Text

Wait For It [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 3488

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: ‘Death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes. And we keep living anyway. We rise and we fall and we break and we make our mistakes.’ [Based on ‘Wait For It’ from the musical Hamilton].

WARNING: major character death, other character deaths

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @starlightweasley @slytherinsunrise @valwritesx @hufflrpuffforfred @cappsikle @kiwi-sloan @potter-redheads @pigwidgexn @twinkyjohnson @sarcasticallywitty15 @tyyyweasley @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @wonderful-writer @marauders-loving-queen @vogueweasley @marvelettesassemble @thisismynerdyself @gcdric @loony-loopy-lupinn @tinylumpiaa @locke-writes @pussytalenteditdocartwheels @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whiz-bangs78 @heart-of-tempered-steel @oh-for-merlins-sake @heavenlymidnight @aylinw3asley @vivianweasley | message or send an ask to be added/removed!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: got a bit carried away with the angst... prepare your hearts guys - i cried a lot and i’m the one who wrote it. anyways lil shoutout to haley @wand3ringr0s3 bc she let me talk out this fic idea and also she’s the queen of angst fics. anyways enjoy x

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

Love;-

His ginger hair was illuminated by the light from the fire, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief and lips curled up into a cheeky smile - one you adored on him, one that made your heart race.

He sat beside Lee, retelling the story of one of his more outrageous pranks, waving his hands in enthusiasm as you smiled at him. You weren’t quite listening, too caught up in his voice and how passionate he was, your heart beating fast as you pulled a knee up to rest your chin on as you watched him.

The conversation moved on quickly from there, but you couldn’t bring yourself to remove your gaze from the eldest twin, moving to lean on George’s arm as you listened, but making no move to join in with them.

“I can’t wait to ask her.”

The words piqued your interest, and you almost jolted from your seat as you heard him say those words, feeling like your heart was in your throat.

Who was he talking about?

“She’s... she’s amazing. She’s smart, she’s funny. She’s fit. If she says yes to me, I’ve hit the jackpot I reckon,” Fred grinned, leaning back into the sofa. His eyes flickered over to you for just a moment and you smiled back at him absent-mindedly.

You couldn’t help it. You loved him.

Lee nudged Fred, wiggling his eyebrows at him, “When are you gonna ask her to the ball?”

Fred cleared his throat and sat up straighter, and you caught his gaze, a small - very hopeful - part of you praying he was going to ask you, and ask you at that moment.

When his gaze moved swiftly onto George, you finally looked away, staring at the fire. And though you knew, deep down, that he wasn’t talking about you, you hoped.

“Tomorrow.”

You’d wait and hope with all your heart he’d pick you.

***

You’d felt nervous all day, a ball of negative energy curling in your stomach as you wandered through your lessons aimlessly, heart clenching every time you saw Fred speaking to a girl, hoping he wasn’t asking her, yet knowing he might be.

You thought studying in the hall was going to be an easy hour, sitting by your close friends, including Angelina and Alicia, the twins and Lee sitting a little further up the benches, near Harry and Ron.

There was some mumbling, and then you heard Ron hiss, “Who’re you going with then?”

You slowly looked up, so as to not draw attention to yourself or show yourself as interested, however as you glanced over at the boys, you noticed Fred staring.

And for a moment, a small gap in time, your heart leapt as you thought he was looking at you. His brown eyes caught yours and he winked, and you felt your throat closing up, thought maybe there was a possibility of him asking you.

He threw the scrunched up ball of paper in your direction, and you held your breath, a smile curling onto your lips as the paper flew towards you. You practiced how you’d say yes to him in your head, imagined what you’d wear, how you’d do your makeup. What colour his tie would be - the same colour as your dress, you’d hope.

And then the paper sailed past your eyeline, hitting Angelina on her shoulder. Your heart sank, blood rushing through your ears as you watched Fred ask her to the ball, felt the pain in your chest growing as watched her nod.

It was one thing knowing he didn’t feel the same about you as you did about him, another to know he felt that way for someone else. More specifically, one of your closest friends.

You ripped your gaze away from them and stared down at the paper in front of you, quill nearly breaking from the force you were applying to it, throat closing up as you blinked away your tears, not wanting anyone to see.

The study time felt like it lasted hours, your hands shaking as you packed your things up and headed straight for your common room, burying yourself under the blankets on your bed and screaming into your pillow.

You were sure you were in love with Fred Weasley, as certain as you were that the sky was blue and grass was green. Your happiness grew when you heard him laugh, heart pounding whenever he was near.

He loved Angelina though.

Tears soaked your pillow as you tried to put your heart back together somehow. Tried to be okay with it.

But how were you supposed to get over a boy you were never with? How were you supposed to fall out of love with someone that didn’t love you?

Your chest ached, eyes sore from wiping away tears, yet they still fell.

And so you sat, crying over a love you never had. And most likely never would.

Death;-

“How’re you feeling?” Fred asked as he joined you in a secluded area of the castle. The battle preparations were ongoing, with everyone quickly projecting all the protective spells they knew on any part of the school they could.

You looked out and could see a swarm of black figures heading towards you in the distance, making everything seem that much more real, that much more scary.

“Scared,” you admitted glancing up at the redhead, who nodded.

“Me too,” he confirmed. He opened his arms and pulled you into his chest, into a warm hug. You closed your eyes, breathing in his scent as your arms wrapped tightly around him.

You both stood there for just a while, his hands rubbing your back reassuringly, and you decided, in that moment, you needed to tell him.

You needed to tell him you loved him.

Needed him to know, before you both set off fighting. Needed to know if there was chance for you both - if this was another reason to fight.

“I need to tell you something, before it all starts,” your voice was quiet, but you knew Fred heard as he pulled away to look at you, his hands still holding your waist as he focused on you.

“What is it?”

“I-“ you hesitated for a moment, swallowing nervously as your gaze dropped to the floor. Fred lifted your head up gently with his thumb, a touch that set your skin alight, one that sent shivers down your spin.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, in contrast to his usual booming voice, a concerned look set on his features as he looked down at you, his brown eyes showcasing his worry.

“Please don’t hate me,” you replied, just as soft. You squeezed your eyes tightly, feeling him grab one of your hands in his as the hand on your chin moved to cup your cheek.

“Darling, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

You bit your lip, reopening your eyes and catching his gaze, your heart pounding as you tried to think of the words you wanted to say, “I don’t want to go into this battle without you knowing, so I- I guess what I’m trying to say is... well, I’m in love with you.”

Silence is odd, having the ability to be both comfortable and tension-filled depending on the company and context. Usually, silence around Fred was comforting, knowing he was there without either of you having to say a word. But this silence, the silence that hung over you, made your heart leap to your throat, and you swallowed harshly, wincing at the wide-eyed look he was giving you at this revelation.

His hand dropped from your cheek and he stepped away just a little, just enough that you swore he probably could’ve heard your heart crack, before he finally spoke, his voice a shaky whisper, as if he didn’t know what to say, how to reply.

“Y/n, darling, I love you...”

You felt your eyes widening a little, heart beating fast now due to his response. You didn’t think you’d ever hear him say those three little words, ones that held so much meaning. The beginnings of the battle around you faded, and you could only think about how you loved Fred, and Fred loved you. Everything was going to be okay - you had each other.

Just as you were going to step forward, a watery laugh nearly escaping your lips, you realised he was still finishing his sentence, that he hadn’t finished answering you.

“... but only as a friend.”

His voice was gentle, but his words cut like glass, sharp pieces hitting your chest and ripping your skin, the words reverberating in your head. And suddenly warm tears were falling down your cheeks - you’d let yourself get your hopes up, let yourself imagine a life where you loved Fred and he loved you. When in reality, he didn’t love you.

He wasn’t in love with you.

You took a shaky breath, nodding at him as you pressed your lips together, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stepped back away from him.

“I know,” you whispered, looking away from his gaze, feeling embarrassed, above anything else, trying to force a smile onto your face, “I-I know... I just- I needed to tell you.”

You swallowed, shaking your head. You felt stupid. He’d never shown he was interested, you didn’t know why you’d ever thought there was a chance.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, before reaching out towards you, a look of sympathetic despair crossing his features as he tried to bring you closer to him.

As his fingers brushed yours and you pulled away as though he burnt you, he felt his heart clench, taking a shaky breath as he watched one of his closest friends pull away from him, tears lining his vision as you moved further away from him, his hand hovering mid-air as though he still wanted - needed - you to be near him.

“Love, please. I-I can’t lose you. Please, let’s just- Let’s talk about this. After all this- please. Don’t walk away, I-I need you Y/n. I’m sorry I don’t lov- but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I care about you so so much,” his lips were trembling, tears falling freely as he reached out again, a sob escaping his lips as you hesitated, allowing him to take his hand in yours for just a moment.

“It’s okay, Freddie,” you whispered, though he and you both knew it wasn’t okay, and possibly wouldn’t ever go back to the way things were before you told him you loved him, “I just- I need to be alone.”

“We’re going into battle, I need you to know that I-“

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head, “I can’t do this.”

Fred tried desperately to get you to stay. He didn’t want to watch you leave, to watch you walk away from him. Not like this, not when you were both about to risk your lives fighting in a dangerous battle, where one wrong move could cost you your life.

“But I-“

“I need to go,” You pulled your hand from his and turned on your heel, wiping your tears away quickly as you ran off.

Fred’s mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something, as if he wanted to call after you, before closing it again and shaking his head sadly, wiping a last lone tear that fell down his cheek before shoving his hands into his pockets.

He’d find you after the battle and speak to you, he decided.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

***

You were tired. The battle wore on around you as you stumbled through the fallen pieces of the building around you, overwhelmed at the fighting and overcome with the realisation that you were basically a bunch of kids trying to fight in a war you tried to prevent.

You hadn’t seen anyone for a while, being towards the back of the school, only fighting the occasional death eater who wandered close to you. You were hiding out after a particularly nasty hex left a gash down your arm, trying your best to bandage it up as best you could.

You hoped everyone was okay, had already passed by Colin Creevey lying on the floor as you found somewhere to hide. You’d almost stopped for a moment, hoping he was just unconscious, however the angle he was lay at told you otherwise, and you forced yourself to move on before anyone came back.

Still reeling with emotion from your talk before the battle, you’d shot spells carelessly at death eaters, hoping it was enough to keep them away. To keep you alive.

You turned the corner, wand raised, your eyes scanning the scene as you tried to find somebody - anybody.

And that’s when you saw it.

A flash of light, and you felt yourself running towards it, stumbling over the rubble, dodging spells in desperation. It hit the wall, the ginger boy stood underneath unaware.

You screamed out his name, the sound somehow cutting through the spells and fighting, your lungs burning as you willed yourself to run faster.

It played out in your mind in slow motion, the light, the stone crumbling, falling.

Fred turned at the sound of your voice, a smile etched on his face from something Percy had said, but just before you could push him out of the way, the wall fell.

You halted, barely metres away, nearly losing your footing as you choked out a sob, tears streaming as you stared at Percy, who had the same stricken look on his face.

Neither of you spared a glance around you before rushing towards where the eldest twin once stood, desperate to find him, to make sure he was okay.

Removing the pieces of rubble with a desperation you didn’t know you could feel, until you found a tuft of ginger hair sticking out between two broken bricks. Your heart clenched, stuck in your throat as you revealed his face, his last smile etched onto his features.

You didn’t hear the scream that left your mouth, didn’t feel Percy gently moving you so he could remove the stones from on top of the rest of Fred’s body.

Your eyes wandered across his face, his freckled skin, the slope of his nose and down to his chapped lips. Tears fell onto his face as your hands rested on his shoulders, gripping onto the fabric of his sweater, sobs racking through your body as you ignored the battle going on around you.

“Wake up, Freddie, please wake up!”

Your pleas went unanswered, the ginger boy laying before you still, his face unwavering.

“No, please!” You sobbed. You didn’t notice Percy’s hand on your shoulder, or his heartbroken mentions to move his little brother away from the fighting - to move you away from the fighting.

You clung to Fred, not wanting to let him go, not being able to, “You gotta wake up, Fred. This isn’t funny, this isn’t a good prank. Please wake up. Please just-“

You ran a hand through his hair and wiped your tears off his cheek, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for walking away. Please. We need you. George needs you. I need you. Please.”

Your voice cracked as you spoke to him, white noise filling your ears as all you could focus on was the sight of the boy laying before you, cuts across the side of his head, his brown eyes once shining, now dull. You grabbed his hand, holding it in yours, refusing to let go.

You weren’t sure when Fred’s body was taken from you, when he was moved into the Great Hall, too shaken up to think of anything but the thought of the wall falling over and over again, playing out in your mind like a cruel nightmare, each time you were too late, barely metres too late, seconds too late to stop it.

You sobbed into George’s shoulder, his head resting on yours as you both cried.

Before anything, Fred was one of your closest friends. One of your best friends. And now you’d never get to see him smile again, never hear his laugh or get to play silly pranks with him.

You’d never hug him again, never hear his flirty comebacks and witty jokes.

And as you felt George’s clutch tighten on you, both as broken as the other at losing the person you loved the most, a grief-stricken sob escaped your lips, causing George to pull away a little to see if you were okay, his eyes bloodshot, tears streaming down his face, still so caring after losing his other half, your bottom lip trembled as you thought back over everything.

You had walked away from him. Your last words bouncing around your head - I need to go. In your haste, you never said goodbye to the boy you loved. And now you never could, would never get the chance.

George squeezed his eyes tight as he brought you closer to his chest, you grabbing a handful of his t shirt in your fist as tears streamed down both your faces. You mumbled something inaudible into his chest and he moved to hear you better. The same words fell out of your mouth over and over, between broken sobs and falling tears,

“I’m sorry, I was too late.”

Life;-

The first few months after the battle were difficult. You saw him in everything - in every bit of laughter, every bright colour, every joke.

You saw him in George, who’d tried his hardest to forget. He’d smashed all his mirrors, tried to dye his hair, before you found him, collapsed in a ball of sobs in the middle of his flat, whispering, “Please, bring him back.”

After living his entire life with Fred in it, he didn’t know how to live without him.

You relied on each other to get you through, taking it day by day, trying to mend your hearts, broken in different, yet very similar ways.

The nightmares were the worst.

Waking up in cold sweats, seeing the wall collapse in front of you, knowing you were too late and didn’t get to say goodbye to the boy you loved. Knowing if you were just a few seconds earlier, George would still have his twin brother by his side, laughing and making jokes like usual.

“The worst part isn’t remembering. It’s easy to remember. The worst part, the hardest part, is those times I forget to remember. I forget that he’s not here, that he’s gone. And then I remember and I feel so guilty,” you’d told George, half a year after the battle. It was nearing Christmas, a time you both used to love, yet now you were apprehensive, didn’t know how to do Christmas without Fred.

George had replied sweetly, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you. And whilst it didn’t feel the same as the way Fred had hugged you before the battle, the feeling was comforting, warm and familiar, “He knew you loved him. You cared for him, watched over him to make sure he didn’t do anything too stupid. And now he gets to return the favour and watch over you.”

“He’s really gone isn’t he. He’s just... gone.”

The night you’d gone through his things with George was difficult. It was sad, sometimes overwhelming, but you also got to sit and just remember, reminding yourselves who Fred was.

With every Weasley product you found, with every photograph you came across, every sweater, broken quill and long-forgotten sketch, your sad tears began to turn into happy ones, laughing with George about your times in Hogwarts, about better days gone by.

It was funny, that even though he was gone, he could still bring smiles to your faces.

Maybe that’s why he was so special, why it hurt so much to lose him. He made the people around him happy, through everything.

You visited him often, needing to apologise, to properly say goodbye. Or just to feel like you were close to him again. To thank him for all he’d done, for allowing you to love him how you did. For being such an important person in so many people’s lives.

Wiping a tear that fell down your cheek, your hand reached out to hold onto the gravestone before you for balance, smiling through your tears as your fingers ran across his name, engraved on the stone.

‘Fred Weasley

1st April 1978 - 2nd May 1998’

You kneeled down, placing a single flower across the grass in front of the stone. It’d been years since you’d lost Fred and somehow the pain got worse every day.

But you knew, with time, things would get better. You’d find your happiness, and learn to move on.

All you had to do was wait for it.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines

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