#a few months ago i was going through my old journals and found a page i wrote in like 2013 talking about how | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

agendabymooner · 11 months

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mamma mia (again) ! daniel r. x ofc (måneskin member! ofc)

“they ask me why i’m so hot, ‘cause i’m italiano.”

summary: a series of video clips, but it’s only just danny ric being in love with a certain lester alessandro.

content warning: hint or two of suggestive comments (nothing detailed or graphic), use of explicit language, filler blurb or something, danny being a simp for few videos straight (“have my kids” type beat), lester being an etsy and pinterest enthusiast, literally posted this blurb from my phone so they’re crazy about their image limits 😩

note: THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THE 105 FOLLOWERS?! UHM? seriously, i’ve never been so happy. i honestly only started posting these because i have them ingrained in my brain and won’t let go until i write or make something. just indulging my imagination you know? enjoy xx

masterlist

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐁𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘 𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐏

【VIDEO ONE — daniel ricciardo is a gatekeeper】

[1st image: yeah, i dunno. everyone just found out that i made it official with my girlfriend and i’m pretty sure i just saw lando weeping in his room. max was the second to react to it and i’m so sure he recoiled. he did say that he didn't want to know what happened in imola few months ago.]

[2nd: interviewer: what happened in imola few months ago? daniel: *chuckles* wouldn’t you like to know - nah, i’m messing about. nothing happened in imola besides from me retiring to my bed early. i think we were both drunk when i posted that photo and i know it looks lewd but there's no way we could've done anything questionable.]

[3rd: d: but yeah. we didn't really want to catch that much attention until maybe i don't know... when we're married or something *chuckles* i: keep it a secret until the wedding? d: yeah. but charles, the absolute fool, posted videos during the concert with me in the background. It would've been real nice if no one caught onto it until we had a mini ric running and racing, you know? just to wreak havoc.]

【VIDEO TWO — daniel ricciardo talks about lester’s love language in his gq video】

[1st: i got this journal from lori. it has my initials "DR" on it for daniel ricciardo*laughs* it's one of those many first gifts that i’ve gotten from her throughout our first few months of dating. her love language isn't just shitting on my life -she has every single aspect of love language within her and this is one of them.]

[2nd: when she gave this to me, all she said was "you can write out your thoughts if you can't let them out through your mouth. *giggles* "she clearly had her thoughts sorted out that time especially when she showed me a page with an embossed phrase or nickname, "tasso di miele" - it means honey badger. she apparently bought the custom embosser from etsy and almost fought tooth and nail just to get it in time. *laughs even more* i love her so much, i honestly wanted to cry that day.]

[3rd: lori actually has a laptop with *laughs* itunes on it and she still got some playlists from 2010-2014? yeah. she’s put a lot of old taylor swift songs in my ipod during the christmas break. my favourite album right now is speak now. she loves red.]

【VIDEO THREE — lester hates ashy hands confirmed】

[1st: daniel: i think i should just cover my hands with gloves all the time. lando: that literally has nothing to do with anything that we're about to do. d: lori tells me that my hands are rough whenever she holds them.]

[2nd: l: or you know... you can just use a hand lotion all the time because your hands dry up real fast? d: ah that's true. i wonder if that's why lori just casually put a bottle of hand cream on my travel bag. the thing smells nice though. it’s chamomile.]

【VIDEO FOUR — it’s okay to spoil your partner; even if it’s an accent chair from her pinterest board】

[1st: d: lori just sent me a picture of an armchair from ikea. l: why was she randomly in ikea, by the way? I saw the text. d: window shopping. but anyway, she saw this armchair that she had on her pinterest board. she asked "pretty or no?" with the green velvet chair. l: what did you tell her?]

[2nd: word to word? I texted her "LOL you should see the accent chair I've gotten you for our flat in monaco." l: are you serious? *laughs* d: she wouldn't tell me what she wanted for her birthday. I only got a brief idea when she left her phone in my pocket once and gave me a free access to her pinterest boards.]

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urbanflorals · 5 months

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Here’s the first 2 chapters of what’s currently titled LYSSADRIEN in my docs 🥲

Amaryllis/Lyss fc - https://pin.it/3qdlH11

Maximilien fc - https://pin.it/7fPXm1X

Warning for language that’s it

Amaryllis

“So.” I start, palms down on the smooth, whitewood table. I glance between Darla and Celeste, smiling. “You must be wondering why I’ve gathered us here today.”

“I’m wondering,” Darla mimics my intermission, “if you’re just here to waste our time.”

I roll my eyes and Celeste hides her grin behind a glass of white wine. “It’s not. I swear.”

“Then…why aren’t you telling us?”

My smile widens. “Guess.”

The answers come simultaneously. “You got laid good last night.” “You want to watch another movie?”

“No!” I laugh, standing up straight and posing with my hands on my hips. I tilt my shoulders and beam. “You are currently,” I pause again, pursing my lips, “looking at the face of Pierre Rousseau’s spring summer campaign ambassador!”

“Ahh, Lyss, what!” Darla exclaims, rushing to give me a quick hug. Celeste gives me a small smile and nod of excitement, reaching out to squeeze my wrist.

“Ya girl’s first big contract,” I sing, soaking up the attention like I always do. Even if it’s only from my two best friends and not flashing cameras.

“When does the shoot start?” Celeste asks, swirling her glass of wine.

“Like, two months from now. And it’ll be mostly based here but I’ll have to be in Paris a bit too,” I explain, sitting back down.

“Oh my god, now I wanna write a section on you,” Darla gushes. Ever since she won a journalism competition a few months ago, she’s been on probationary period at Marie Claire. Her aspiration is to hit Vogue, and she’s not too far off.

“Please! Feel free to.” I flick my hair. “I need a Vogue debut too, and you’re my key to that.”

“As soon as the spring summer season starts and we see your face everywhere,” she says, “I’ll try my best to get you at least half a page.”

“If you’re going to be seeing my face everywhere I deserve at least two pages,” I tease.

“I’ll try, I’ll try,” she promises, squeezing my fingers.

I refill my glass, raising it with a bright smile. “A toast to me?”

“To you,” Darla rolls her eyes, smirking.

“To you,” Celeste echoes.

We down our glasses, and I laugh. “Okay, wait, but seriously though, which is my better side? Left or right?”

“Left,” Darla answers as Celeste murmurs something about a symmetrical face.

Amaryllis

I’d gone to Thayer to study business, but I was always doing small shoots for smaller brands then. By the time I graduated, I was walking runways for the smaller but higher end brands, and I was doing pretty well financially. I ended up upsetting my parents when I told them I wouldn’t be leading the business team in Anderson Holdings—the business my dear old brother founded—and instead got signed to IMG as a full-time model. It’s barely been a few months since graduation, but I’ve only ever been on a rise since then. And this, this contract with Pierre Rousseau is going to be big. Vogue big. Harper’s Bazaar big. Gigi Hadid type of big.

Two months pass quickly, full of meetings and seeing new people and basically preparing me for the onslaught of attention I’m going to receive very soon. As if I wouldn’t be able to handle it, I was made for the drama. As a girl, I was always the loud little drama queen.

Before I know it, I’m standing outside the Pierre Rousseau New York atelier, my excitement buzzing in the tips of my freshly manicured fingers.

I school my feelings and tuck them into a little pouch in my chest, dropping my smile. The problem with modeling is that we’re not allowed to be so expressive, we’re nothing more than blank canvases for people to showcase their art on. During my first two years of Thayer, I went through a lot of turmoil starving myself. I learnt that you can never be too skinny when it comes to the industry. I still keep my calories in check, but I’m much healthier now.

Only once I give my details to the person at the counter do they give a call to the atelier upstairs, and someone comes down to get me. She’s probably not older than me, with honey colored hair and a wide smile.

“Hi!” she says, her excitement written all over her face unlike mine. “I’m Mister Rousseau’s second assistant, Lily. It’s so nice to meet you.”

She holds out her hand for a handshake. I narrow my eyes and she drops her hand to her side with an awkward laugh, jabbing the lift button with her knuckles.

As we take the lift up to one of the higher floors, she rattles on about the next season and how excited she is and how I’d be perfect to showcase it.

I silence her as soon as we hit the tenth floor, barely even halfway there. “How many months have you been Mister Rousseau’s assistant, Layla?”

“It’s actually Lily, Miss. Almost three months. Why? Because if you’re worried about-”

“And I take it he has a track record of firing his assistants quite regularly?”

I finally get the girl to pause. “Well, yes, but-”

“It’s okay,” I say in faux reassurance. Then I smile. “I’ll make sure you don’t last another week.”

The lift doors open just then, and I step out before she does. My eyes widen to take in the wide space, pink lips parting in excited surprise. The entire space is white. White walls, white floors, white tables, white mannequins. But yet the room is so colorful, with yards of material sprawled across and basically spilling off every single table, draped on the many mannequins, sketches pinned up on an entire face of the wall.

“Miss Anderson.” A crisp voice with the slightest hint of an accent calls me.

I turn my head to the sound of my name, and I force my excitement down again when I see the current creative director of Pierre Rousseau. Straight from Pierre’s same bloodline, his grandson, now aging with salt and pepper hair, greets me with a nod of his head.

“Mister Rousseau, it’s lovely to meet you,” I allow myself a tiny smile as he shakes my hand. “Please, call me Amaryllis. Or Lyss, really, whatever works better for you. It’s a stunning atelier you’ve got here.” I force myself to shut up before I sound like an overexcited fangirl. Dammit, I probably do already.

“Amaryllis.” Pierre’s smile is warm and slightly unexpected. This is gonna be fun.

❦

Halfway through the afternoon of going through each sketch, each garment, each detail, a young brunette man walks into the atelier. He’s wearing a full suit even in the summery New York heat, oozing confidence as well as an expensive scent. Clearly he’s of a higher rank than the other designers here.

“Ah, Amaryllis. This is my son, Maximilien.”

Marcel Rousseau has a son?

Marcel continued, “He’ll be around most of the time to supervise and assist everything going on around here since I’ll be quite busy until the season starts.”

Maximilien’s eyes scan me from head to toe, his nose twitching slightly. He doesn’t offer his hand for a handshake, instead just dips his head in greeting. I mirror his gesture, raising my eyes to meet his hazel ones. There’s a silent message he sends me through his gaze—but I can’t decode it.

A few more hours pass as we continue to go through the entire theme of the campaign and other little details. Maximilien doesn’t say anything the entire time except for critical remarks about his father’s work and visions. Yet throughout the afternoon I can feel his gaze on me. Judging. Scrutinizing. Picking out flaws. I don’t let it affect me, despite the stream of uneasiness flowing through me. What if he finds something he doesn’t like and gets Marcel to find another ambassador? I shoo the doubts out of my head, hoping my confident facade holds up.

Marcel excused himself from the studio a few minutes later with a phone call, and that’s when I finally turn to address Maximilien. “Problem?”

“Yeah,” he answers noncommittally, not elaborating.

I frown and purse my lips. “Listen, I get that you’re going to be around a lot, and I seriously don’t like your vibes. And I can’t tell you to get out so I’m going to need you to fix your vibes.”

Maximilien scoffs and shakes his head, pulling a face. His nose twitches again. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

“Your”—I gesture in his general direction with one hand—“aura. It’s terrible.”

“My aura,” he deadpans, raising a single unimpressed eyebrow. “I thought you were a model, not a psychic.”

“I’m just sayin’. If I’m gonna be around you for the next two or three months, please just don’t make it any worse.”

“Me? I’m making it worse?” he retorts without a trace of hostility in his tone. His cool is something I could definitely use.

“Yeah, you. Fix your face.”

A smirk plays on his lips as he looks past my shoulder, but when he looks at me again the grin is gone. “As soon as you fix your attitude, Miss Anderson.”

“Amaryllis,” I grit, rolling my eyes. I hate anything to do with the last name, it’s only a constant reminder of what I could’ve been part of in my brother’s huge business and my disappointed parents.

He ignores me. I hate being ignored. Instead, he readjusts his cuffs and looks back at the sketches as his father returns to the room with a smile. “I see it’s getting late, we should wrap by for the day. It would be my treat if you two decided to join me for dinner.”

Maximilien and I lock eyes, and I’m sure we’ve got the same thoughts running through our heads.

Fuck my life.

Lmk what you think!

-💋

OMG OMG OMG AHHH WHAT THAT WAS SO GOOD!!!!!!!

I'M INVESTED ALREADY AHHH

It seemed to me like Lyss was very egotistical (is that the right word for it? idk) She was very confident tho

#AHH YESS I LOVED IT #Damn i wanna share some of my work now but i'm too scared lol #ems asks

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speakingagain · 3 months

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So I got that Shadow Work journal that's all over tiktok, but I got it like 6 months ago and then lost it till last week. I'm good at doing that.

Anyways, i did a few of the first exercises in the book and it asked about things from my childhood that still upset or make me angry. And as I filled out a few pages worth, I realized that I'm mad over something I had no control of from when I was like 6 years old. If I do my math right at 2:30 in the morning, that's 16 years. No. Wait...18? Hold up. 24-6.....18 years. Yeah. Okay, I was close.

Eighteen freaking years of being pissed off. That's shit that you would hear from the grumpy old man dying from liver failure would say. Not a 24 year old. That's a lot of hate to hold onto. And I had several pages of shit I'm still upset about.

I would never have considered myself to be an angry person. Ever. But my examples of "angry people" has been pretty... extreme. My sperm donor (father) is a very angry person. He always has been. I remember we came home one time from getting groceries and he threw a frozen solid box of lasagna at the family dog because it pooped inside because we had been gone for hours and had no way to get outside.

That was one of his calmer episodes too.

My little brother (step that technically doesn't count) used to run around screaming and breaking things because he wouldn't get his way. He once got so mad over something when he got picked up from the bus stop that he burst a blood vessel in his nose and had a really bad bloody nose. I didn't think that was actually possible, I thought it only happened to horny teenage boys in anime.

My soon to be ex husband has the emotional regulation skills of a toddler. He used to boast about how he put another kid's head through a window because they made fun of his sister. Or when his mom's car (that we had been using while she was out of town) got repo-ed, I was on the non emergency line too figure out what happened to the car and he came in screaming and breaking things. The woman on the other line asked if I needed help. That was when I first realized I was experiencing domestic abuse but I thought it was just a moment of weakness and her could change and I loved him so much that I would stand by him through these trials. "But Daddy, I love him!" Right? Yeah I know.

Anyways, that kind of thing was always normal for me. That's what I used to think of when they said 'angry person'.

But that's me. I am the angry person.

Now granted, I never hit anyone, or broke someone's stuff or anything like that. But that's honestly just kind of the bare minimum for being able to regulate your emotions. And I don't want to be angry. I hate being angry. It's so much effort. So I made a plan to work on forgiving.

First, I wanted to learn more about what it actually means to forgive. My father always told me that "God wants us to forgive and forget." And that never made sense to me because of someone hurts you, why would you forget they did it and just let them do it again? Turns out he's actually just a manipulative asshole, who knew?

My ex, when I would call him on his bullshit used to ask me, "how long are you going to hold that against me?" (My favorite was when he asked if we could take turns sleeping on the couch after I found out he was cheating on me for the last 2 years and I laughed and told him 'fuck no'. He genuinely couldn't understand why I would disagree to that, so I told him, "because I wasn't the one who couldn't keep it in my pants". He left the house for an hour and came back pouting.) He also was a manipulative asshole but he was also really bad at it. But him always asking this made me question what the difference is between holding someone accountable and holding a grudge and learning from the pain they caused you.

So I've been doing some research. And there's a lot of differences of opinions on the topic of forgiveness. Mainly between the religious definitions and the basic definition I found in Webster's dictionary. And then there's the psychologic mumbo jumbo to understand too. I actually haven't come up with a solid answer on when it crosses the boundary between remembering and learning from the pain to holding a grudge.

And I imagine I will get probably the same confusing answers if I ask those around me. Everyone has different beliefs and experiences so no one will have the same opinion on it. I'm wondering if it is a subjective concept, and it will have to be something I can only judge in the moment.

Or maybe I'm just still feeling the effects of being manipulated over it. Who knows?

The next step for figuring out how to forgive and move on is to look at things I need to forgive, and figure out if I need to forgive them, or forgive myself. So, I made a shit list.

So far, I have a few people on it because I kept falling asleep while writing it (shh don't tell my boss). I plan on adding more once I have more of a decent brain process and more than 3 hours of sleep.

I had three columns:

Who?

Did what?

Why should I forgive?

And it was really kind of cathartic and eye opening to write down things like "I deserve to be happy." "I deserve to be safe." "I deserve to be seen and heard." " I deserve to be healthy. " My 'Ah-ha!' moment or my 'oh shit' moment I guess.

I now need to decide how I'm going to get myself closure. For example, I can talk to my mom and tell her that her making comments about how much I eat makes me feel like shit and that some things just don't need to be said. But I'm not going to reach out to my sperm donor and say "hey, remember when you called me a wh**e because I wouldn't let you hold my hand?....the fuck you mean no? I moved out that night????" I'd get no closure and I'd probably just end up more pissed off than I am now.

It would be a waste of my time and effort and quite frankly, it would be like talking to a really dumb brick wall. So what else could I do?

Kick him in the shin? That's called assault and I wouldn't make it in jail.

Make a voodoo doll of him and have someone else kick him in the shin? While that sounds hilarious, I don't know any voodoo and I ain't messing with the shadow man.

So maybe I'll just write out a long ass letter and light it on fire while screaming "suck my dick" into the abyss. Seems cathartic enough? I dunno, that one may also require years of therapy. But we will get there eventually. Hopefully.

Any suggestions?

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tangiblejournal56 · 1 year

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10/7/11

In a state of anxiety, my head in circles right now, spinning suspicion & anger at my own carelessness & stupidity. I fear I may have left my journal at the Italian’s apartment, the one I use while at work to write things out before I put them down in this black book too heavy to lug around. There is not much written about him in there just yet but for a couple of paragraphs I was kicking around, among pages & pages about Boss, about Max, about various others & my own insecurities. I do not want him reading all of the prose I’ve written regarding Boss, as the Italian will immediately know to whom I am referring, & I do NOT want him reading about Max, as it will come off as more than what our relationship really is.

This is not what I wanted to deal with. Not when my feelings of desire for this boy are so fresh, & still quite strong. He’s the first bit of happiness & relief I’ve found in this city in a long time, & I do not have any desire to let that go just yet. Not when he can put this smile on my face.

It started a couple of nights ago. I was at work & he showed up for his shift, surprising me because we hadn’t worked together in a few weeks. I was pleased to see his smile, that rare display of his dimples, his comments, our flirting. We make eye contact & I can’t stop this grin on my face, my attraction to him unsubtle, my normally easy words sticking in my throat. His eyes get me into this nervous box, his dark eyes with bags beneath them as though he hasn’t slept in months. The way he keeps them half-closed & narrowed at me when we make our innuendos. Our advances had taken on a more insistent edge which I assumed was due to not having been around each other for a time. But my hands would shake when he was near, & I faked a sort of bravado so he wouldn’t be able to see the depth of my shyness. How it felt to be the center of his attention. Passing by me I would touch his arm in light affection, he would lightly run his hand across my back. He would head to the door to leave on a delivery, I would be helping a customer, & he would catch my eyes with his own, then that smile before he’d walk out. I’d look down, smiling to myself, & ask the customer to please repeat their order.

All of this touching & eye contact made me bold, & in my impulsive way I requested his phone number from a coworker. I sent him a message, something forgettable about creeping on him through the phone; he responded that it felt alright, asked to whom he was speaking. I let him know by offering that my dimples were cuter than his own. “Ha, you gave it away,” he answered. “And that’s arguable.”

“We would never know, would we, you don’t ever use yours,” I teased him. He always has such a look of contention on his face, as though he can’t wait to get out of the shop.

“I smile a lot when you’re around,” he replied, making me blush. “Maybe you should try to make me smile more.” I asked him how I might do this, as I know nothing about him. He asked if I would like to get to know him better.

He informed me of his last name, he is a twenty-four-year old Leo, in nursing school. We talked a lot, all through the night actually, messaging back & forth. Banter leading into innuendo, leading into admitting our attraction. I told him I liked him, & that he could do with that information what he pleased. He said he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with that information quite yet, he was uncertain whether he was looking for a relationship that carried any responsibilities. He did quite openly admit that he was attracted to me, & had the desire to see me naked. He also divulged that he is a very sexual person & not self-conscious about it. All of this heavy flirting, paired with our blunt attitudes toward each other led to a highly charged longing to sleep together. It was late & he had class early in the morning so he couldn’t pick me up. I could see his resolve slipping for a moment - “Tell me to come over & I will” - but I didn’t want to be the reason his head was heavy in class. He asked me to come over around nine the next day when he was done with class & before I had to be at work. “I could send you to work with a big smile…” This is not where the conversation ended, however. He engaged me in a round of phone sex, even sending me a picture of his standing erection - “Well here is something to think about.” He told me he was a very passionate lover, & I hoped this was true. I was tired of boys like Jacob & their casualness, their lack of foreplay. I wanted so much to be treated like a woman, something I hadn’t had in a long time, something that was rare even with Max. We said goodnight & I fell asleep in deep anticipation of the next morning, terrified he would be let down by the me in person versus the me over the phone.

He picked me up outside of the coffee shop near the deli, a pair of black-framed glasses I’d never seen before giving his face an added handsomeness. I was scared, not of him but of what his expectations were of me, whether this boy who was so honest about his own sexual drive & his active sex life would find me a great disappointment, the way I find so many to be. Inside his single man apartment we sat on his couch, talking about ourselves as he filled his skull-faced pipe with weed. I felt a little calmer after having smoked, the lines a bit more blurred, but I was too aware of how unintelligent I came off sounding in my high state. I apologized, telling him weed always causes an inarticulateness in me. Normally I wouldn’t have been so bothered by this, but he was surprisingly intelligent, well-spoken & had a lot to say about any subject. I was unused to this as of late, & I worried about how I came off, wanting this boy to think of me as someone worth his time.

Eventually he slid down on the couch, asked me why I was so far away. He pulled me down, then up against him, laying my head on his chest & stroking my hair, telling me I smelled good. We kept up a conversation but it was just background noise to our small motions of running our hands across each other. This to me made whatever would happen irrelevant, as this was more comforting human contact than I’d had in a long time. I hadn’t had this since Ryan, with the exception of Max, & with Max there was always that barrier, that line of knowing it wasn’t real because he didn’t really want me like that. With the Italian I felt the attraction, & there were no false pretenses.

He lifted my face towards his & began to kiss me, kissing that made any other thought escape my dizzy head. I’d so longed for someone to kiss me just as he did, with fever & passion & skill & force, I lost myself in it, became incredibly turned on. He crawled over me, still kissing, grabbing me with strong hands, pulling me against his body, stronger than I had thought. Running my hands through his short, dark hair, not struggling against but latching onto him in return. He didn’t try to take my shirt off which relieved me, instead pulling my breasts out over the low neckline. Bending his head to put his lips against them, my moans, his mouth on my neck, pulling my hair gently. I pulled at his shirt, asking him to take it off, revealing his perfect body. I say perfect meaning, perfect in regard to my ideally-shaped man, not skinny but not chubby, a few extra pounds on him so that he feels solid, nutlike I could break him in half. He had trimmed his body hair which covered him from chest to stomach. I asked him to never do that, to let it grow out. Tattoos on his chest & back, there was no end to my attraction to his body. Strong forearms, my very favorite part of men, & he very definitely had the body of a man. He pulled me into his bedroom & tossed me on the bed as he had promised the night before to do, pulling my pants off of me with ease & eagerness. Despite my reserve, he pushed my legs apart, burying his face in between, waves of heat & pleasure rippling through me. After awhile I pulled him up to me, & he kissed me deeply again, tasting of me & I wrapped my legs around him tightly. We switched to several different positions, each one a new surprise, a new wave of pleasure. I hadn’t anticipated this, though I’d hoped for it, begging the universe for this small kindness, for me to be made love to, not just fucked but truly made love to, like I’d been needing. I’d hoped so strongly that it would be something I would enjoy, not a regret that made me feel used. I’d been expecting the worst, & the relief I felt was immense. With it also came a feeling of apprehension, as this made him now dangerous. I could really start liking him & that wasn’t yet okay, for myself or for him. A harbinger of impulse decisions & symbolic actions, I allowed him to come inside of me, his colossal ecstasy written all over his face & coming out of his strikingly formed mouth.

After all was said & compromised, we went out for a cigarette, sweating in the morning sun. I couldn’t believe that it was only a quarter after ten in the morning. We got into his car & he drove me to the deli.

Exiting his car he told me to text him when I went on my three-hour break, intending that we might go back to his place again. All through work I was chipper, sleepy & disorganized from the weed but in great spirits. I confided to Claudia what had transpired, as she & Derek are the closest thing to friends I have here. She smiled, happy for me, telling me that all of the Mexican girls on the line there had crushes on him “because he looks like a man.” I smiled to myself, knowing the full extent to which he was, in fact, a man. Boss was working with me as well, but I barely noticed through the thoughts of the Italian, the image of his head between my legs eradicating any lasting remnants of the crush I had on Boss. My break didn’t come as early as I’d hoped, so we didn’t end up going to his house for a couple of stolen hours. He did however send me another picture of his erection, “just to let you know I’m thinking of you. I quickly closed the text, laughing & hoping none of my coworkers saw this.

When he came into work we made a lot of eye contact, secret smiles behind them, flirting as casually as we usually do, thrilling that no one had any idea of what our morning consisted of. I’d make up some excuse to grab something he was standing in the way of, “Oh, excuuuuse me,” I’d say sweetly, leaning my whole body against his to reach for what I could have easily asked him to hand me, just to make him stop & smile at me, amused. So much eye contact, double entendres, my stomach in knots. Even texting each other when he was out on deliveries.

It was arranged that I would go to his place when I got off work, he would drop me off & head back when the store called him in for another delivery. He picked me up at the coffee place when he went on break, & we drove to his apartment. We smoked again, & again he pulled me against him, lying down on his couch. I listened to him talk for a long while, fascinated with what he had to say, & he had quite a bit to say on any topic that came up. Honestly, I was still somewhat surprised that what he had to say was so interesting. Then we were kissing again, he was pulling my shirt off & telling me I was so shy, I needn’t hide my body. Saying all of these things I’d craved to hear. Because of this I was not so shy, I didn’t feel constantly self-conscious, I opened up a lot more to him & allowed more access than I have in years. He slid his hand down my pants, a big grin on his face, “How are you so wet already?” He carried me naked to his bed again, laying me across his blankets, pinning my arms over my head. As he drove into me he was kissing me, telling me I was so tight, making me cry out with pleasure.

We began talking a lot afterward out on his deck with our cigarettes. Telling each other about our lives. How he grew up, about his parents, little stories here & there. I disclosed the big bad about the baby. He accepted it easily, didn’t comment much upon it. I started liking him then. More than I wanted. He sat on my lap, looking down at me, bending to kiss me with his hands on both sides of my face. That smile. He took me home, & along the way I told him how I’d been surprised at how eloquent I found him to be & how much he’d had to say. “How do I come off?” he asked defensively, smiling sideways. I told him about how moody I’d thought he appeared at first, how I’d thought he didn’t like me. Then the day I saw him outside of his work clothes, in a meeting at the deli, how I’d started finding him unbearably sexy, & so I began flirting with him. He told me he was surprised I’d ended up being so intelligent, at which I smiled. When he pulled up to the apartment he gave me one more long, deep kiss & I went up to my bed, still smiling.

Texting throughout the day today, he sent me another nude, “just for you.” He was masturbating, thinking of me. Then I realized I’d left my journal at his place. He said he didn’t read it. He’s been completely honest & forthright & unapologetically blunt about everything else up to this point, so I should believe him. But outside of Max I’ve never come across anyone I felt I could leave my journal in the presence of without believing they would read it. This disturbs me, as I believe it would mean the end of this. Should that be the case, I will be bummed, but still appreciative of the fact that this boy made me feel better than I have in a long, long time. He’s been hands down the best lover I’ve had since Ryan, & it’s only been a day.

Fuck. I don’t want this to end.

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lonely-lost-soul · 3 years

Text

First Lady of the Court

Part 3: Ghostbur (C!Wilbur Soot x reader)

A worn journal was opened, the pages faded and yellowing, a pen was placed on the parchment and the owner began to write. The sun rose over the horizon, and the wind nipped at the writer's skin, but they didn’t feel it. They didn’t feel many of life's sensations anymore, sometimes he felt warmth but it was always fleeting. He titled the page:

"Things I Remember", by Ghostbur

-The smell of bread

- L'Manberg

- The Revolution

- Bullying Tommy (he's a child)

- Sparring with Techno as a kid

- The wind

- Being president

- People cheering for me

- Fundy growing up

- Niki

- (Y/N) becoming my first lady

- The van

- Tubbo building everything

- Phil protecting me

- Sally the salmon

- (Y/N) the new love of my life

- (Y/N) adoring Fundy and treating him as her own

- Philza stabbing me to death with a sword

- A large explosion

-(Y/N) crying for me, I don’t like when she’s sad

- The taste of salt

- Air in my lungs

- Winning the election

- A ravine

- Techno's armory

- Books

- Tunnels

- Arrows

- ./..

- I don't know

The ghost’s head snapped up to attention, up until a few months ago he was lost in a void of darkness. Pieces were coming back together for him, he was once Wilbur Soot the president of the country he fought and died for, but now he didn’t have a purpose. He wanted to find Fundy, Tommy and Phil let them know he was here and alright, well alright for a ghost. But most importantly he wanted to find (Y/N), her cries wouldn’t leave his head. It was bad, a bad, bad memory, he’d taken to holding pieces of blue to make him feel better, but even that didn’t help his mood.

Eventually, Wilbur had found Fundy, who wasn’t that thrilled to see him, much to his disappointment. When he found Tommy he was slightly more thrilled and Phil seemed to be relieved yet mournful, Wilbur didn’t understand why, he did a good thing. However he had yet to find her, Phil seemed to be the only one who knew but he was giving him nothing. He didn’t know why was it because you didn’t want to see him? The thought made him want to cover himself in blue and beg for forgiveness. He managed to find a brand new buddy in his mourning, a blue sheep he had dubbed Friend. You would love her, (Y/N) adored sheep she would love Friend, she could be a forgiveness gift. Yet, nobody would tell the ghost where you were no matter how much he begged and pleaded, he watched as his once-prosperous country got rebuilt. Tubbo was doing a fantastic job as president, everyone seemed happy and Ghostbur accepted that fact.

A few days ago, Ghostbur sensed something was wrong. Phil was acting weirdly distant and even though Tubbo was trying to dodge his questions, he couldn’t fathom what was going on, until he saw you. You had come in wearing Alivebur’s old jacket and Ghostbur immediately froze, your hair was slightly messy and you looked tired. You were still you, same gorgeous, beautiful you, if his heart was still beating it would’ve skipped a beat. The only difference he could find was that your eyes looked deader than his own, and he was a ghost, it made him ache terribly. He wanted to float towards you, to welcome you with open arms but for some reason, he hesitated. He watched as Phil made his way over to you, he wrapped you in a hug and you hugged him back, the two made some small talk before Phil rubbed the back of his neck. Your brow furrowed and he watched you blink in surprise, you looked over Phil’s shoulder and right through Wilbur. The ghost would’ve flushed if he had blood, instead he settled on fiddling with the cuffs of his sweater before holding up a hand in a wave. You stumbled back away from him looking over at Phil who gave a little nod, Wilbur watched you shake your head and his heart sunk. His father reached out to you and your face scrunched up, you were hissing at him, clearly pissed off. Phil whacked you on the back of his head and you glared at the older man, Wilbur felt a small nudge on his arm, it was Friend. He took a shaky breath and ran his fingers through her wool, at least she had his back, when he looked up again you were marching over to him.

God, you were hot when you were mad.

“(Y/n)! Darling! It’s good to see you-”

“You son of a bitch!” You spat at him, eyes suddenly blazing with life and fire, Ghostbur felt himself falter and shrink into himself. “You think you can just come back here after what you did to us! How you treated us, how you treated me!” Ghostbur’s face fell, he didn’t remember hurting you, he refused to remember that memory, but the way he clutched his blue said enough. “I loved you! I wanted to marry you!” You choked out suddenly deflating as tears began to well in your eyes, you cursed and covered your face with your sleeve. “I cannot believe I’m crying right now.”

“You need some blue?” Wilbur said in a soft, tender voice different than you last remembered. You looked out over your sleeve finally taking in his ghostly appearance, he was wearing his big, round glasses, eyes a soft grey. Blue seemed to be pooling in the edges almost like tears, he had a shaky smile on his features, the yellow sweater he wore was one you’ve never seen before, a large red gash sat on his chest. He watched you swallow thickly and take a step back from him, “I don’t remember what happened to make you hate me so dear.” His voice quivered and he heard you whimper, “But I am so sorry...you can call me Ghostbur, I want to be different from Alivebur. Though his love for you still lives in me.”

Ghostbur watched you let out a heart-wrenching sob as you fell to your knees in front of him. You were clutching the L’manburg pin on your lapel, knuckles white, hands shaking in petrification. He floated beside you and wrapped you up in his arms, the hug wasn’t unwelcome but it was cold, Wilbur knew you’d feel no warmth from it but he hoped it’d bring you some form of comfort.

“I missed you. So much,” You admitted with a sniff, and Ghostbur couldn’t help but smile sadly.

“I missed you too,” He ran a hand through your hair and you leaned into the apparition's ghostly touch. Ghostbur glanced up at Phil who had a tense smile on his face as he nodded slightly at the ghost, it read don’t hurt her again, and Wilbur nodded. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you, you need to meet Friend!” His eyes lit up a little as he looked around for his blue sheep, “You’ll love her!”

“I’ve been living with Fundy,” You answered his question and his brows furrowed, but Fundy had told him he had no idea where you lived. “We’ve been taking care of one another, just like I promised you we would,” You responded flatly, your voice had a flat affect and Wilbur shuffled uncomfortably in the air.

Where was your spark? Your lust for life and the good things? Was this his fault?

No. No, it couldn’t have been, he refused to accept that outcome.

Alivebur loved you just as much as Ghostbur did, he felt that love so deep in his being it was almost suffocating. So, he’d never hurt you, you don’t hurt the people you love and that’s a fact. So why were you so sad?

“That’s weird. Fundy said he couldn’t find you!” Ghostbur huffed, shaking his head at his son's actions, “My silly, little champion.”

“Ghostbur don’t call him that, he doesn’t like it.” You stated gruffly crossing your arms and his frown only deepened,

“What do you mean he doesn’t like it? Of course, he likes it, he loves it!”

“No Wil he doesn’t. Stop it.” You hissed and he flinched, your face fell a little and you turned away from him. You shoved your hands in the pockets of the jacket, “I need a smoke.” You muttered and his jaw dropped,

“That’s bad for you! You know that!”

“So what? It makes me fucking feel better. You’re not my Wilbur. Stop pretending you give a shit about me.”

“I do care! I love you!” He argued desperately, “I know I’m not him. I can never be him but that doesn’t mean I love you any less. His love transferred to me, please...give me a chance.” You looked at him up and down and he’s never felt more terrified in his entire existence, he needed your hope, he could fix you.

“You don’t understand how much he hurt me.” You whispered completely vulnerable, “he went crazy, blew up a nation, and left me alone.”

He. Meaning Alivebur, Ghostbur was glad he was distinguishing the difference between the both of them. He didn’t remember doing that to you, after all, Ghostbur didn’t do that to you.

“I’ll never leave you alone. I can promise you that, with my whole heart I swear it.” He took your hands within his own, he knew you could barely feel his touch. You closed your eyes for a minute before reopening them,

“I’ll give you one chance. One. So help me god, if you ruin that chance I will never speak to you again. That’s a promise.”

Ghostbur swallowed thickly, nerves prickling at his entire being, “I won’t waste that chance, my dear.” You gave a stern nod and rubbed the back of your neck with a tired sigh,

“So...Friend?”

Ghostbur’s entire demeanor changed as he introduced you to the blue sheep that had taken a rather strong liking to him. The sheep nuzzled at your chest sniffing at your clothing choice, you hesitated a little before running your fingers through her wool.

“She’s very soft.”

“I know right!” he chimed wrapping his arms tight around his sheepy buddy, he buried his face in her wool. Ghostbur saw a weary smile spread across your face which made him smile back at you in return.

Maybe this could still work out for the both of you.

Months went by and you had set up residence outside of New L’manburg, everyone understood why you couldn’t make a permanent home out of the new country after everything that occurred there. In between watching over an exiled Tommy, Ghostbur would come by and visit you, even though you hated to admit it the ghost of your former lover had won you over. He was just so innocent so unlike the man who blew up his own country, so much like the goofball you had originally fallen in love with, you were enraptured. When New L’manburg blew up you weren’t surprised, there was a dull ache in your heart when you heard the news from a sobbing Ghostbur but you couldn’t feel sympathy. What you did feel sympathy about though was Phil’s uncaring attitude towards Friend, it was the first time you heard Ghostbur get legitimately angry.

It scared you more than you wanted to admit.

Even so, you confronted your former lover; he didn’t like sadness and tried to push the feeling away. You tried to comfort him the best way you could but he insisted he was fine opting to take his blue and forget his sadness. That was another thing, his quote on quote blue, it never did sit right with you. Hurt, sadness, and pain are hard emotions to face but they create character and depth and ultimately shouldn’t just be forgotten so easily, after all, how will you ever learn from your mistakes if you don’t experience sadness. Ghostbur didn’t want to hear your reasoning and still took towards using the blue, you eventually gave up trying to convince him otherwise.

You were sitting outside on your porch, rocking on your porch swing a cup of cocoa in your hand. Ghostbur was sitting beside you, head on your shoulder humming a soft tune to himself,

“Darling?”

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?”

Ghostbur had asked so innocently it made your heart leap into your throat. Thoughts of Wilbur and his betrayal flashed across your mind, you wanted to scream and say no. That you’ll never let someone like that hurt you again, you were too strong, you opened your mouth but the hope in Ghostbur’s eyes made you close your mouth. This wasn’t the Wilbur you knew, this was Ghostbur, sure he was the ghost of Wilbur but they were so different. Ghostbur made you happy, he made you remember what it was like to be a good person, made you remember what it was like when you first met Wilbur. He made you smile and laugh, and he genuinely adored and cared for your happiness. You found yourself uttering a soft okay before your brain could comprehend your decision, the smile that lit up across Ghostbur’s face was illuminating. He floated over to you and cupped your cheeks, his pale hands were freezing, but it felt good against your scalding hot cheeks. Ghostbur’s eyes softened as he stroked your cheeks with his thumbs, he leaned forward and captured your lips in a soft kiss, the kiss was cold but not unpleasant. You felt him melt against you, and press desperately on to your lips, you couldn’t help but let out a little giggle you felt him pull away. He had the cutest pout on his pale lips,

“Don’t giggle at my kisses!” Ghostbur sounded so offended, you only laughed harder. “Stopppppppp,” he whined leaning against you dramatically.

“I’m sorry Ghostbur.” You covered your mouth with your hand, “You’re just too cute.”

You watched him freeze at your genuine compliment, a smile broke across his features,

“No, you’re cute!” Ghostbur cooed floating around you and wrapping his arms tight around your waist. You leaned into his touch with bright red cheeks,

“You’re a goofball,” You whispered softly, he nuzzled his face into your hair,

“I love you.” You froze in his arms and tensed up, reality crashing back onto all at once. Did you really kiss your dead lover's ghost? The lover who was a fucking asshole to you and blew up an entire country.

Not a girl boss moment.

“You don’t have to say it back,” Ghostbur was quick to add, “I know how hard this is for you. There’s no pressure with me my dear, I just want you to know how I feel.” He pressed the sweetest of kisses to the side of your head. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes, not out of sadness, out of shock. You couldn’t believe Ghostbur was once Wilbur, the same man you yelled and screamed at you before his death, Ghostbur was wonderful. Ghostbur was kind and sweet, gentle and tender, one day you’d be ready to say you love him, just not yet, not when everything is so fresh.

“Thank you Ghostbur. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

“Anything for you my dear.”

Months turned into years and you had officially fallen in love with your clingy ghost and his blue sheep. You knew he loved you to absolute bits, there were many occasions where Phil and Technoblade came up to you and begged you to get Ghostbur to stop gushing about you. You only turned red and smiled fondly, they scoffed but ruffled your hair, overall both were happy to see you smiling again. You hadn’t kept up with the dramas of the SMP, all your information was from Ghostbur, which happened to be not all that reliable.

You loved him but he was so naive, Tommy and Tubbo had defeated Dream, taken two of his cannon lives, and locked him in Sam’s prison. When Ghostbur told you a smile overtook your features, finally the bastard was getting what he deserved.

Isolation.

Tommy was growing closer with Ghostbur again too, which you couldn’t help but be happy about, he too deserved to heal from the trauma Wilbur had inflicted. You trusted Tommy, even when everyone else didn’t you tried to have his back and showed you he cared in his own weird way. Which mostly meant not stealing your shit, which you weren’t complaining about, today, however, he seemed tense. You both were walking the Prime Path on your way back to your abode, Tommy was loud and rambling, but they were different from his usual ramblings.

“Tommy?”

“What is it, women? I’m in the middle of my heroic story!”

“Are you alright?” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes and saw him go rigid. He cleared his throat shaking away his nerves,

“Fuck you talking about? Of course, I’m okay bitch. Don’t interrupt me again!” He scoffed nose high in the air, you narrowed your eyes and he shrunk under your gaze. “I just…” He rubbed the back of his neck, you thought about his resurrection and assumed it had something to do with that, your gaze drifted to the white streaks littering his hair.

“Hey...it’s okay. Just know I’m here for you,” You assured with a smile. You reached up to squeeze his shoulder, he looked shocked at the affectionate gesture,

“Obviously I know that! Don’t assume things bitch!” Tommy shouted shaking off your hand, you shook your head with a smile and let Tommy continue his story. If the young boy wanted to tell you, he would on his own terms. That night Ghostbur had come home absolutely shaking with excitement,

“Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo said we’re going on an adventure tonight!” Ghostbur was absolutely glowing, you couldn’t help but smile faintly at his antics.

“Don’t have too much fun.” You chastised teasingly, ghostbur giggled in delight as you pressed a kiss to his cold skin. “Stay safe, don’t let them bully you too much.”

“They don’t bully me,” he huffed but he leaned in for another kiss. Ghostbur had discovered he loved your kisses, even though they were probably cold to you all he felt was warmth. If he was a hybrid like his son his tail would be wagging, and if he was alive he’d be bright red. “I love you (y/n), of course, I’ll stay safe. I promised you I’d never leave you remember?”

You flushed and nodded, “I remember. I’ll see you when you get home.”

“Until then my dear!” He took your hand within his own and kissed the tops of your knuckles. You flushed pink and he sent you a cheeky grin,

“Get out of here loverboy! Don’t keep the children waiting!” You shouted as he floated out the door with a giant wave,

“I’ll be sending you kisses!”

“Ghostbur oh my god, go already!” You giggled with a fond roll of your eyes, he laughed loudly and floated out the door.

You should’ve told him you loved him. It’s okay, there would always be tomorrow.

You were getting ready for bed when Tubbo called you over the walkie-talkie, he was frantically apologizing and pleading for you to come to the crater that was L’manburg. Tommy then stole the walkie talking and started shouting about Ghostbur and your heart sink into your chest. He didn’t make a whole lot of sense but you put on a coat over your pajamas and ran in the direction of the once-prosperous nation. When you got there Tubbo and Tommy were a mess, Ranboo was trying to calm them down and Friend looked uncomfortable.

Where was Ghostbur?

You opened your mouth to call out to the boys when a pair of arms snuck around your waist. They were warm and real, pale hands caressed your abdomen,

“Hi, darling. Did you miss me?” Warm lips handed on your neck, “I missed you.”

Wilbur was back.

~~~ @blossom-702 @mayempress @thatguythatsshy

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itsmeevie01 · 3 years

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A Moment in Time

ok, so. a little disclaimer before we get into the good stuff. Cannon is in no way whatsoever being followed in this. honestly? im not even sure that i REMEBER cannon at this point. that said, cannon is non applicable. at. all.

moving on. YES, i WILL finish B!DBWM stuff eventually. but uh...not today. i just mentally cant. it. will. come. when. my. brain. can. handle. the. world. that. i. had. tailored. for. it.

ALSO this is going to be kinda sporatic, but the goal (not end all be all but) is to have this wrapped in a pretty little package and finished (at least on my end) by the end of february.

and now....onto the stuff you came here for!

---

Marinette was running late to school when she met him. She ran into the boy and stumbled back, flailing to catch herself before she fell. He looked down at her owlishly, before looking around. By the time he had returned his gaze to her, the teen had pulled herself back together. He smiled and nodded at her, before moving to go around. When Marinette had pulled herself together enough to call a short “sorry!”, He was already gone.

That was three weeks ago. Now, she was looking at a picture of their interaction, where it blared on the front page of the newspaper that Jagged had sent her. When Marinette had received the package, she had been confused. Jagged wasn’t supposed to send her another demo for a few weeks. They were still working on singles. When she had opened the box and found five different American publications with her on their front page, the teen designer had shrieked. With shaking hands, she picked up the top one and studied the headline.

HAS BRUCE WAYNE’S WARD FOUND PARISIAN LOVE?

The bold text was catching, sure, but Marinette was caught on WHO it was placing her with. Someone she had never met. The second one had a picture of her next to Jagged at an event, and a picture of the boy next to a blonde girl. The headline wasn’t much better than the first.

TIMELINE OF THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN MDC AND THE HEIR TO WAYNE INERPRISES.

The teen snorted. She was starting to see the pattern. Putting the tabloid down the girl moved onto the next one. This one had, once again, a zoomed in picture of the five second interaction between her and a stranger. The title, however, was different than the first two.

ALL OF BRUCE WAYNE’S CHILDREN, AND THE INSIDE SCOOP ON HIS NEWEST DAUGHTER

She squinted, laughter bubbling up a little as she observed the piece of fiction. Whoever the Bruce Wayne was, Marinette hopped that he was able to combat this, because she had no intention of letting this fly.

Tim and Bruce were staring at the pile of papers in mild shock. When Jared had reached out to them in mild panic, they had been confused. His panic had been explained when the rocker had arrived carrying a stack of tabloid literature a foot thick. When he had thunk’d the stack down on Bruce’s desk, the businessman’s shock had been more than notable. When Tim had picked up the first few publications the initial look on his face was mirth, but it quickly morphed into shock, then panic. When he handed the top item to Bruce, the older man frowned. When the second pamphlet made its way to his hands, Bruce paused. His next move was to call the Wayne family lawyers. when he turned back to his old friend, all the faces in the room told the same grim tale of what was to come.

When Tim found out that it was Jared’s niece that he had accidentally run into in the brief moment in Paris, he wasn’t sure whether he should be more stressed by it, or if it was by pure luck. When Bruce’s friend went on to explain that the girl would probably already suing the reports and papers that had published the rumor, the young CEO was impressed. To have a lawyer on hand like that was…surprising, considering that she couldn’t be older than 18.

When he asked the rocker if he thought the girl would let anyone go after her, he laughed. Then, Jared Stone explained that the girl was known in Paris for squishing rumors with surprising efficiency.

That evening, Bruce invited his childhood friend home for dinner, and the star spent the evening telling stories of their capers as children, with Alfred grimacing in agreement with the stories. Partway through dinner, Jared’s phone went off. While the rest of the family tensed, glancing to Alfred, their guest frowned at his phone before rushing to answering. “Hey Little Rocker! How’s Pari- oh. So, Penny was more efficient then I thought she’d be. I- yes I figured that you may want to hear. Do- No! Marinette, what!” here, the man paused, his head cocked to the side, his eyes screwed up in thought. “No luv! Sue them within an inch of their lives! You more then have that right.” Here, the rocker paused before he laughed. “Tell that buzzing bee of yours that she’s a good friend. Alright, Miss Mari. I’ll ring you when I’m back on that side of the Atlantic.” He laughed again, “See you soon, Marinette.” The table stayed quiet, waiting for the man to give an indication on the status of the conversation. “Well, Brucie, expect to hear from my niece in the next few day, or at least, her team of lawyers.” the Wayne patriarch blinked before nodding in hidden surprise.

When the family was talking during patrol that evening, Tim grumbled. The 18-year-old was still taken aback that the press had even seen the momentary interaction almost a month ago. As his brothers listened in, many of them started to make fun of the teen. When Jason tuned in, he dropped in the middle of tale. At his confusion, Tim sighed and started over, again. While the family was laughing over his run-in with the press, the former Robin shook his head and silenced his family. He had a feeling he wouldn’t live this one down for a while.

Originally, Jason had found Tim’s predicament hilarious. Of course, the kid had to have the worst run-ins with the press. Then, he had picked up one of the many tabloids with the story. When he had seen the pictures, all mirth left the resurrected vigilante. The noirette that was looking up at him from the page? Yeah. He knew her. Better than anyone else, actually. With shaking hands, the young man paged to the story. What he found was…illuminating. So. She had been adopted. In France. In Paris. After forcing his lungs to draw breath, Jason pulled out his phone. He had arrangements to make.

The day after Jagged had sent her the gossip rags that were considered journalism, Marinette strode into school with a scowl so ingrained in in her features that anyone who didn’t know her would think the expression was permanent. When she stalked into the Lycée classroom, Chloé grinned at her from where she had settled in the front row. Marinette nodded at her friend as she slid in next to her. Lila came skipping in moments later, a cruel smile playing on her lips, before falling when she saw the bone quaking scowl resting on her nemesis’ face. “oh Marinette! Did something happen? Did…did you anger your parents? Did they find out about all those men?” the other girl huffed before turning to her. Lila froze as she was met with the iciest glare that she had seen in years.

“oh Lila. That’s so cute. It almost sounds like you still think that your little stories affect me at all. That’s…adorable.” The Italian girl shrunk under the younger girl’s stare. Suddenly, she understood why people had been warning her to leave the teen alone. this girl, she was brutal. “lucky for you, you’re not the one I’m after, this time. My lawyers have bigger fish to fry.” The newer addition to the classroom gulped, her throat suddenly very dry. It occurred to her that maybe Marinette had let her take control of the class. After all, if they turn that easily, why would she want them for friends. The smaller girl nodded as she watched the realization run over Lila’s face. Raising her eyebrows, the Eurasian girl motioned her classmate along, sending a cruel smile after her.

Chloé waited until the little liar was gone before giggling at her friend’s reaction to the girl who had become their daily annoyance. “I’m guessing you saw what’s been running in the American news? I thought it wouldn’t take long for you to respond. Are a plethora of lawsuits on the way?” Marinette giggled slightly as her severe demander giving way to the internal glee that was consuming the teen over the sheer chaos that was to come.

When Jason touched down in Paris, he tensed. The atmosphere in the city was less carefree than he remembered. There was an air that actually reminded him of Gotham. Tense. Waiting or the other shoe to drop. The expectation that your day was going to go wrong set from the moment one woke up. Pulling out his phone, the Gotamite looked up the address to the bakery that he had found when digging online. If today went the way he was hoping it would, the bakery would be his only stop for the day. Of course, he didn’t count on Gina.

When she called him over from where she was standing by her bike, Jason had to smile. The woman was part of the reason that he wasn’t still camping out in Gotham, waiting to kill a certain billionaire. Once the spry biker had latched onto his arm, the young man knew that his mission would have to wait just a bit. After all, he owed Gina almost everything he had.

#maribat #sibling!jasonette #platonic jasonette #timari #ml x dc #mlb #bamf marinette #chaotic marinette #oh shit i did a thing #theres more to come #my writing #a moment in time fic

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iliveiloveiwrite · 3 years

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A Reader Lives a Thousand Lives // D.M.

Summary: How could you describe your affinity for books? How could you explain what they mean to you? Draco tries to understand; he’s tried to understand for years.

A/N: I’m going to be honest: I’m struggling. I don't have writer’s block, but I am so busy atm that I feel awful about not being so active. I’m a key worker in the latest lockdown and my workload has tripled. On top of that, I have be tested twice a week and that’s enough to drain you completely. This isn't a long fic, and it probably isn't my usual standard, so please forgive me.

Warnings: book talk, lots of fluff, dates, friends to lovers, pining, mutual pining, dialogue heavy

Word count: 2.1k

How could you describe your affinity for books?

They had been there for you in times where not even your closest friends could offer you the best advice. They were there for you with every shift of your mood; you knew that you could turn to your shelves and somewhere, nestled between paperbacks and hardbacks, there would be the perfect read for your mood.

Put simply, books were your life.

Friends and family would fondly chuckle whenever they saw you, nose deep in whatever book had caught your attention. They knew not to disturb you. Instead, they knew to be there when the inevitable end would fall upon you, dragging you through its cliff-hanger or perfectly wrapped up ending.

Draco Malfoy had known you years, and he had never known you not to have a book in your hands or in your bag. On occasion, he had known you to carry a book in both, wanting something there in case you finished your current read.

He’s tried to understand your love of books. He’s a reader himself, but he has never understood how you could lose yourself in a fantasy world so quickly. Magic runs through your veins, yet you find it easier to read of fae and vampires instead of the witches and wizards of old.

Draco gave up trying to understand you long ago; deciding simply to admire you from afar. He cherished the friendship with you; adored it even, and if that meant he had to spend his only free weekend from work in a book shop with you, then so be it.

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In Wizarding London there weren’t many places that catered to the publications of both muggle and magical authors. Flourish and Blotts was an excellent bookshop, but only housed books by wizards and witches. If one wanted something written by a muggle but did not want to wander into muggle society, they were best off wandering down a cobbled side street in Diagon Alley to Page Turners.

Draco knew the moment that he opened his front door to you this morning, that he was going to wind up walking through the front door of Page Turners. He had just finished his first chart review when his doorbell rang, and your knocking began. He made sure to put the lid on his fountain pen before answering the door to you.

Dark brown shelves line every wall, bordering the shop before giving away to shelves centred in the middle of the room. At first glance, the books seemed chaotic – hardbacks tucked in between smaller paperbacks, but upon closer inspection, it was clear that the books were doubled. For every paperback, there was its hardback equivalent. It looked like it shouldn’t make sense, but the further you walked into the shop, the more sense it made.

Every reader is particular. There are those who will only exclusively read paperbacks, preferring how portable they are. But there are those who much prefer hardbacks, wanting nothing more than to admire the foiled covers and sprayed edges that one can only get on special editions. The set-up of the shelves perfectly catered to that.

“Draco,” You gasp, trying your best to keep your hands to yourself until you found the books you wanted to take home with you, “Have you ever seen a place so wonderful?”

Draco’s eyes don’t leave your form as he answers, “I don’t know, I’ve seen some spectacular sights in my time.”

You don’t respond to the light flirtation, but Draco doesn’t miss the smile that crosses your face. You refuse to admit just how he makes your heart race with comments such as that; they fall from his mouth so easily that you often find yourself tied up in your emotions, wondering when on earth your feelings had turned from platonic to romantic.

Inhaling that all too familiar smell of worn leather and paper, you feel Draco’s presence behind you as you potter through the store, taking in the sheer amount of choices before you. “What’s your favourite book?” You ask absentmindedly, eyes still pouring over the surnames of authors.

He shrugs, shamefully admitting, “I haven’t read anything other than a medical journal in years.”

“Still,” You argue, “You must have a favourite book.”

He’s silent, pondering your words as he thinks back to the last time he was able to relax and read something that wasn’t for work. He thinks back to his childhood, practically hearing his mother’s voice in his ears as she recites her favourite fairytales before sending him to bed.

“It’s been so long,” He whispers, casting his gaze across the shop, in awe at the sheer amount of books he has not read.

“Then we should find you a new book to read,” You decide, stating your words with conviction as you reach for the blonde’s hand, beginning to pull him through the stacks of shelves like a woman on a mission.

“When would I have the time?” Draco argues, refusing to let go of your hand as you stop in front of a shelf filled to the brim with books.

You arch an eyebrow, “I think if I were to ask the nurses at St. Mungo’s, they would much prefer it if you would read a book instead of taking work home with you every night.”

“How do you know I do that?”

You snort, laughter brightening your eyes, “Because I know you, Draco.” Your expression turns more serious, “You need to take some time for yourself, Dray. You can’t work this hard all the time and not expect some repercussions.”

“I’m taking time for myself right now,” Draco counters, gesturing between you both with his free hand. He wasn’t going to let go of your hand until he had to; he enjoyed feeling your skin against his too much.

You roll your eyes, “You would be sat at home finishing charts if I hadn’t have shown up on your doorstep demanding your attention.”

Draco refuses to answer; knowing full well that you’ve caught him out. Before you showed up at his front door this morning, he had in fact been planning on spending the day in his office, finishing charts and then reading the latest journal on healing potions.

It hits him like a freight train then – how much time he has dedicated to his work, how much of his life had already given it. Draco adores being a Healer; much preferring this job to what was expected of him from his father. He walks into St. Mungo’s with anticipation and excitement settling deep within his bones because no two days there are the same; he doesn’t know what cases are going to land in his lap.

Yet, he gives so much of himself over to it that there is little left for him to enjoy. It happened slowly; Draco supposes. Taking a few charts home here and there, for him to finish in the comfort of his office, but then it spiralled into staying hours after his shift had finished, working on budgets and chart reviews, making sure everything is up to the standard it should be for the only magical hospital in the British Isles.

Before long, he hadn’t had a free weekend to himself in close to a year. If he wasn’t working at the hospital, he was working from home. If he was at the hospital, he was taking case after case. It wasn’t until Mary, the Head Nurse, had cornered him that Draco agreed he would take the weekend to himself – no charts, no reviews, no nothing. Mary even checked his bag before he left the hospital.

“You’re right,” Draco admits, the words rushing out of him in one breath.

“I usually am,” You tease, a wide smile on your face, “But what am I right about this time?”

“I don’t take time for myself. I don’t do anything for myself.”

Your gaze softens as you squeeze his hand, “Let’s find you something to read. If we don’t find something here, we’ll think of another plan.”

Draco nods, squeezing your hand in return. “Lead the way,” He offers, curious as to what books you would choose for him.

It doesn’t take long for you to find what you think Draco would like. You stick close to his interests, knowing just how much they have changed from your shared time at Hogwarts.

Offering him three books, you explain, “One is written by a muggle doctor, he explains twelve cases that he worked on specially as he battled an illness he didn’t know he was going to survive. The second is a classic novel, also written by a muggle author that I think you should read when you have more time on your hands – it’s Victorian so longer sentences, longer headaches. The third book is a mystery book that I enjoyed, and I thought you would too.”

“Thank you,” Draco murmurs, taking the small pile of paperbacks from you, holding them close as he gazes over their covers, wondering what exactly what is about him that drew you to these three particular books.

“What do you think?” You ask, a note of vulnerability in your voice. Choosing books for others had never truly been your strong suit despite how much you read.

Draco remains silent for a moment as he flips the books over in his hands, reading the blurbs. You chew on the inside of your cheek, worry settling in your gut. There had been an ulterior motive to you showing up on his doorstep this morning; he needed to leave the house and go out. Having known him years, you knew that Draco would spend his only free weekend of the month working, and you were not standing for it any longer. He didn’t have to choose the books you had picked out; Merlin, he didn’t to read at all, but he needed to do something else other than work.

“Well?” You prompt before sighing, “You don’t have to read a book, Dray. We can find something else; I just don’t want you to spend all your free time working.”

Draco looks up from the books, a small smile on his face, “I’ll take them. I like the sound of the first one you described.”

The smile that graces your face at Draco’s words tells him that he had made the right choice. The anxiety leaves you in a rush, leaving nothing but relief behind.

“What about you?” Draco asks, turning the subject back to you, “What are you going to buy?”

You shrug, “I’ve already picked a few but I wouldn’t mind looking for more. That is, if you’re okay with that?”

Draco is more than okay with that. He follows you around the shop, taking the basket of books from you when it looks to be getting too heavy.

“Why do you read so many books?” Draco asks before he can stop himself.

“A reader lives a thousand lives,” You murmur, flipping through the pages of one particular paperback. Draco resists the urge to roll his eyes when he sees the cover: a half-naked man wrapped up in a passionate embrace with a scantily clad woman. Romance novels were your current obsession, reading through dozens of them and still not getting your fill.

“Let me take you on a date,” Draco asks suddenly, the first notes of shyness creeping into his voice.

It’s as he watches you flick through the pages of the book in your hand that draco realises he has done this for years. He has watched you for years fall into fictional worlds and come out the other side with a new part of you for him to discover. He has watched you fall in love characters only to feel foolish once he realises the keen sting of jealousy is over a person who does not and will not exist.

Draco has watched this for years, and as he watches you add the romance novel to your basket, he realises he could do this for a lot longer. He wants nothing more than to ignore his work for the weekend if it meant he could troll around bookshops with you, watching you find more fictional worlds for you to fall in love all the while loving you just as intensely.

“What would you have in mind?” You counter, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, giving in to the butterflies raging in your gut.

He smiles, nonchalantly leaning against one of the bookshelves, watching as you reach for spine after spine. Draco knows exactly what he would plan for your date, but he would be damned if he was to tell you. Instead, he crosses his arms and leans forward, “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out.”

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Books mentioned:

Twelve Patients: Life and Death at Bellevue Hospital by Eric Manheimer

Dracula by Bram Stoker

The Glass House by Eve Chase

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General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @probably-peeves @big-galaxy-chaos @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @awritingtree @haphazardhufflepuff @stupxfy @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @sarcasticallywitty15 @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank @theweasleysredhair @theonly1outof-a-billion @phuvioqhile @moatsnow @storyisnotover @himooonlight @missmulti @amourtentiaa

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @dracomalfoyswifey @sycathorn-slush @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @aspiringsloth20 @just-a-belgian-girl @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley @dracosathenaeum

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy imagine #Draco Malfoy

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swan-of-sunrise · 3 years

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Specs and the Flyboy (Chapter Seventeen)

Summary: (Y/N) and Jack follow up on a new lead and make a startling new discovery.

Pairing: Jack Thompson X Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Seventeen Kent, England (Previous Chapter)

“Now I remember why I enjoy living in Los Angeles.” (Y/N) grumbled, switching on the windshield wipers and squinting through the down-pouring of rain. “Don’t you just hate the rain sometimes?”

Jack shrugged beside her, his nose buried in a large map as he replied, “Yeah, I guess so. This rain’s pretty tame compared to the stuff we got in the Pacific, though; that was like takin’ a hot shower in the middle of a humid summer. Definitely not something I missed when I shipped back home.”

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “You’re right, that sounds a whole lot worse. How much farther until the turnoff?”

“It should be coming up in less than a mile-urgh, sorry, kilometer, and it should be somewhere on your left.”

They continued driving through the rain, the comfortable silence between them only permeated by the sounds of the rental car’s radio signal cutting in and out. Their visit to the SFC had been more fruitful than either of them predicted it would; for one, they managed to steal an entire classified file detailing Michael Carter’s undercover mission within Hydra and for another, that file contained not one but two hidden messages. One was in the form of a code while the other had been written in invisible ink; as it turned out, the final code from ‘M. Carter’s’ file that had stumped (Y/N) for so long was actually a cypher for the code on their newly-acquired file. It had taken (Y/N) nearly a week of staring at various number and letter sequences to crack it, only to be left with straightforward coordinates that led directly to Gravesend, Kent.

Unfortunately, the invisible message hadn’t been quite as useful to them; (Y/N) and a slightly-disgusted Jack had used a candle to heat the urine-covered page and reveal a paragraph of code but no matter what she tried, she couldn’t decode it. She and Jack had poured over all her translation journals and brainstormed every possible style of code but it looked like nothing she’d ever seen before; the code didn’t even resemble any of the ones Michael had invented to conceal his intel. Maybe Peggy and I can work on it together once we return to the States, she thought with an inward sigh, frustrated that she couldn’t use the skills she’d spent years honing and perfecting to help further their case.

“You’re kinda quiet over there, Specs. Everything okay?”

Glancing over at the man beside her, (Y/N) nodded and gave him a fleeting smile before turning her attention back to the road, feeling her face beginning to warm at his concerned tone. “Just lost in thought, that’s all.”

Something had shifted between her and Jack after she’d confided in him about Freddie’s death; he’d been more considerate and thoughtful whenever they spoke, a far cry from the smug and self-assured man she’d first met all those months ago, and for nearly a week now they’d slept together in the same bed. They’d often joke that it was because their hotel suite was too drafty but (Y/N) knew that it was really because sharing a bed had resulted in the best sleep either of them had experienced in a long while. When their unspoken arrangement had first begun, she’d warned herself not to get used to it but she’d failed spectacularly in that regard; as much as she wanted to solve the case for Peggy’s sake, she was dreading the day when Jack would inevitably return to his old life as Chief of the New York SSR and she’d be left alone once again.

“You sure you’re okay? You’ve got that little line between your eyebrows that you only get whenever you’re worried ‘bout something.” (Y/N) looked over at him in surprise and he merely shrugged. “It’s another one of your tells, Specs, along with fidgeting your hands.”

“Geez, remind me never to play poker with you.” She chuckled to herself before looking back at the road. “I was just thinking about these coordinates. Why would Michael bother coding the coordinates of a small town like Gravesend?

Her partner shrugged beside her. “I’ve got no idea, but that’s why we’ve come prepared for anything.” He patted the shoulder holster that was hidden underneath his navy-colored raincoat; her own gun was tucked into her clutch, alongside her various lock-picking tools, her tube of 103-Forget Me Not lipstick and the camera-pen Howard had lent her before they’d left Los Angeles.

In no time, they reached the small town of Gravesend and the heavy rain had thankfully lightened to a faint drizzle as she parked the car. There weren’t many people outside but just to be on the safe side, (Y/N) and Jack walked arm-in-arm down the sidewalk, looking every part the happily married couple; their cover allowed them to easily observe and investigate the town without drawing suspicion, and to keep up appearances, they engaged in small talk as they walked but their focus was entirely on their reconnaissance…well, almost entirely.

“I’m serious, Flyboy, I think it’s very sweet that you call your grandmother ‘Gam-Gam!’” (Y/N) insisted, watching as her partner’s blush deepened. The nickname had slipped out when he’d made an offhand comment about one of the houses looking like his grandmother’s, much to his embarrassment and her amusement. “Listen, would it make you feel better if you knew that I have a special nickname for my grandmother? If I tell you what it is, though, you’d better not blabber to anyone else in the office about it…”

Jack raised a challenging brow at her. “Okay, then. What do you call your grandmother?”

“I call her ‘Ram’, because when I was little I couldn’t pronounce certain letters very well.” Her own face flushed as Jack’s azure eyes twinkled with amusement. “There, are you happy now?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I just…” He trailed off, his expression growing serious as he nodded his head towards something in the distance. “I think we just found out why these coordinates are important, Specs.”

Furrowing her brow in confusion, (Y/N) followed his line of sight and nearly gasped aloud at what she saw; at the end of the street stood a sign that read ‘Attwell Airfield’ and an arrow pointing towards the right. “Well, I’ll be damned…” She looked up at Jack and quirked her brow. “How do you feel about a little snooping around?”

“You took the words right outta my mouth.”

When they were sure that no one was looking their way, (Y/N) and Jack made their way down the end of the road and turned right; they walked down the road for several meters before they came across a small path that led off into a line of trees and bushes. Exchanging a look, they followed the path and slowly made their way through the vegetation towards the direction of the airfield.

“Strange that an airfield was never mentioned in any of the files we got on Thomas Attwell,” Jack commented, his eyes scanning their surroundings for any signs of trouble. “You think it’s new?”

“It’s possible. If I were heading the new Secret Empire, I’d certainly want a private means of traveling.” Shrugging, (Y/N) ducked underneath a low-hanging tree branch and glanced over at her partner walking beside her. “It’s also possible that it’s been around for a while now. Thomas Attwell’s brother was an R.A.F. pilot during the war, remember? It could be family-owned, like the orangery back in Los Angeles.”

They continued their trek through the forest of trees, soon reaching the edge of the vegetation; careful to conceal themselves behind the trunk of a wide tree, they examined the airfield; it was on the small side, similar to descriptions she’d heard of the one Howard owned in New Jersey. The airfield’s hangar was only a few dozen meters away from the tree line but from their spot, it was impossible to see if any planes were situated inside of it.

Just as (Y/N) opened her mouth to suggest they get a closer look, two men dressed in tactical gear and holding rifles rounded both corners of the hangar; they passed by each other right in front of the building’s back door and disappeared around each corner. When she looked over at Jack, he was alternating between looking down at his wristwatch and back up at the corners the two guards had appeared from; without glancing away from his task, her partner quietly asked, “How fast can you pick a lock?”

“Between two and five minutes, depending on the type of lock.”

He nodded. “That’ll have to do. When I give the signal, follow my lead.”

The two of them waited with bated breath until finally, the guards appeared around the corners again. They remained still as the two guards disappeared from view, only moving when Jack motioned with his hand to go; they quietly hurried to the hangar’s back door, and (Y/N) knelt down in front of it to determine which tools she’d need while Jack kept watch beside her with his gun at the ready. It was a sturdier lock than the one she’d picked at Fieldman Family Orangery – obviously she’d need to use something better than a hairpin – but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. Hurriedly rifling through her crowded purse, she selected the appropriate tools and quickly went about picking the lock, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. After a tense minute or two, the door unlocked with a faint click; since she knew that their time was running out, she jumped to her feet and followed Jack through the doorway, careful to close the door shut behind them.

“Storage room,” Jack lowly stated, his gun at the ready as they crept between rows of plane components and mechanic’s tools; careful not to make any noise, (Y/N) pulled her gun and camera pen out of her clutch before cramming it into her raincoat’s pocket. “This way.”

He led them through the storage room and through an open doorway into a larger, less cluttered space; the cavernous room was nearly empty save for a row of large wooden crates, the sides of which were stamped with the familiar horse-and-vine symbol of the new Secret Empire. Once they made their way over to the crates, Jack holstered his gun and carefully pried the lid off of one of them.

“Looks like we’ve finally found all that stolen gold.” (Y/N) glanced up from the stacked and marked gold bars, meeting her partner’s gaze with a raised brow; he nodded and watched as she used the camera pen to take several pictures, replacing the lid while she tucked the camera pen into her other pocket.

The sound of approaching footsteps forced the two of them to hastily drop behind the crate, and they both held their breaths as a man called out, “Okay, this is the last of it; you guys go grab the others while I let the boss know we’re about done loading the plane.”

“C’mon, let’s move.” Jack quietly spoke as the voices and footsteps faded away, and they both hurried across the large room to a set of metal stairs; since they couldn’t go the same way the voices were coming from, they immediately climbed the stairs and ducked into the room behind the windowed door. When it was clear that they were alone, they lowered their guns and took in their surroundings; the room was on the smaller side, with a desk pushed against one wall laden with various radio equipment and papers, and across from it was a massive window. “All clear; looks like a radio room.”

Already reaching into her pocket for her camera pen, (Y/N) tiptoed to the desk and examined the papers strewn across its surface; there were several telegrams and documents but what instantly drew her attention was a marked map, the edges of which were filled in with sequences of random numbers.

“They’re loading it into a cargo plane,” She looked over to where Jack stood by the windows and met his concerned gaze. “All that gold’s gonna be headed somewhere real soon and I’d bet anything it’s going to Leviathan. We need to find out exactly where that plane’s going, fast.”

Careful not to disturb any of the papers too much, (Y/N) began snapping photographs of them with the camera pen. She was in the middle of taking a photograph of the unusual map when all of a sudden, the sound of a gunshot echoed throughout the hangar and was soon punctuated by the shattering of the radio room’s window, causing her entire body to freeze up in shock.

“Get down!” Jack shouted out and before she could even think to move, he tackled her to the floor and covered her body with his own as more gunshots rang out and glass rained down on them. Raising his head a few inches, her partner’s eyes frantically searched hers and his free hand shot up to shield her face from more shattering glass. “Are you hit?”

“I’m fine, but we need to go!” They both crawled over to the window once he rolled off of her, mindful of the glass while they both clutched their guns in their hands. Their backs were pressed against the wall and gunshots continued to ring out as (Y/N) got an idea. “You go back around to the hangar while I draw their fire!”

Jack didn’t look too happy about it but since there was no time to argue he nodded, keeping low to the ground as he made his way to the radio room’s door. She moved so that she stood beside the broken window and waited until Jack left the room to peek around the window’s edge and opening fire, managing to hit two guards before she was forced to duck for cover.

“Dammit, these guys just don’t quit.” (Y/N) grumbled to herself, darting around to fire off a couple more shots and moving back just in time to avoid the fresh barrage of bullets. She didn’t dare look, but she heard the sounds of a scuffle breaking out in the hangar below and assumed that it was Jack taking care of the guards. He certainly took his time there, she thought as she finally released the breath she’d been holding.

“Well, you’re certainly not who I expected to see.” Whirling around, (Y/N) raised her gun at the smirking dark-haired woman standing in the open doorway; the woman’s brow rose, seemingly unperturbed by the gun pointed directly at her chest. “That’s too bad, I’d hoped that Peggy and I would get a chance to catch up.”

A chill went down (Y/N)’s spine at her words and her fingers tightened around the handle of her gun. “Dottie Underwood. So, it’s true, you’ve begun working for the Secret Empire.”

Dottie smirked. “Begun? Oh, honey, we’ve been friendly for quite a while now, ever since they commissioned me to steal from a New York bank’s safety deposit box.”

“The Arena Club pin? The Secret Empire was behind that?”

The Russian spy rolled her eyes in obvious exasperation. “Yes, that’s what I just said. You SSR types are pretty dense, aren’t you?”

“Not dense, just very thorough.” (Y/N) held her gun higher. “Dorothy Underwood, you’re under arrest.” With a quirk of her brow, Dottie took a step forward. “If you take another step, I won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

“Do you wanna hear a secret, Agent (Y/L/N)? You’re all out of bullets.”

Squeezing the trigger of her gun, (Y/N)’s eyes widened in surprise when it only made a faint click. Dottie took full advantage of her shock, kicking the gun out of her hand and striking her hard in the stomach with her heeled shoe; (Y/N) flew backwards and landed hard on her back, and she scrambled to her feet as the Russian assassin moved in for another attack. (Y/N) blocked her punch and yanked her down before kneeing her in the torso. Recovering quickly, Dottie backhanded her face and grabbed her arm, flipping her over her shoulder and onto her back once again.

The wind was instantly knocked out of (Y/N)’s lungs and while she laid their coughing, Dottie stood over her with a taunting smirk on her face. “You’re too easy; Peggy would’ve at least made it a challenge.”

“We’ve got Thompson, Underwood, time to go!”

(Y/N)’s eyes darted over to the radio from where the familiar voice of Thomas Attwell had emitted, fear clutching at her chest as Dottie sighed in disappointment. “It’s been swell, Agent (Y/L/N), but I have a plane to catch.”

With a swift kick to (Y/N)’s side, the Russian assassin snatched up the papers on the desk and quickly fled the room; (Y/N) struggled to get to her feet and once she finally managed it, she clutched her stomach and limped over to the radio room’s broken window. There was a large cargo plane at the opposite end of the hangar, and she watched as Dottie strode up its extended ramp beside Attwell, who was carrying an unconscious Jack Thompson over his shoulder.

“No!”

Ignoring the pain of her injuries, (Y/N) hurried out of the radio room and down the metal stairs, stopping for a brief moment to grab one of the dead guard’s rifles before staggering into the hangar. The plane’s ramp had closed and it was already taxing down the runway; she aimed the rifle at one of the plane’s wheels and fired, cursing when the shot missed. In desperation, (Y/N) ran through the hangar as fast as she could but she was too late, for the plane had already taken off by the time she reached the hangar’s opening.

“Jack…Jack…” (Y/N) gasped out, her vision blurring with tears as she watched the plane disappear into the clouds; she felt something brush her foot and when she looked down, she recognized it as Jack’s fedora. Reaching down, she gently picked it up and after staring at it for several moments, she finally allowed herself to cry.

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A/N: That ending though...wow. I’m sorry for the cliffhanger but I had to! Thank you guys so much for reading! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I created a Spotify playlist for this series and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21pWY7OiMFj8LaYpxhtVtW

Chapter Eighteen

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up @fluffymadamina @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @marvel-jackt-loki-buck @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @theserenityspace @seeing-but-not-observing @supervoldejaygent @momc95 @brooke0297 @kinda-c0nfused @outoftheregular @mads-weasley

#jack thompson x reader #agent carter #jack thompson #peggy carter #daniel sousa #howard stark #dottie underwood #michael carter #marvel cinematic universe #strategic scientific reserve

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wastelandcth · 3 years

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Lay it On Me - cth

part of nation of two

summary: Petra stays up one night while Calum's away thinking back on all the happy moments she wishes she could relive. Meanwhile, Calum's dealing with the fear of loving someone after so long.

author’s notes: I hope you guys enjoyed chapter one of Nation of Two and that you enjoy a closer look into Calum and Petra’s little world!

warnings: Not much, just two lovestruck fools missing one another.

masterlist || request || previous part || next part

Sometimes, Petra’s life felt like it was something out of a cheesy romance novel, she felt herself craving to reread the pages that made her cheeks flush and heart race. The pages that had made up her life. She’d stay up at night when she was alone, staring up at the ceiling as she tried to relive the moments she’d treasured so much. She wasn't sure how long she'd been doing this, maybe she had done so her entire life trying to remember the little details of precious moments so they couldn't slip past her.

Most recently, those memories included Calum and his soft laugh.

If she closed her eyes and focused, Petra could almost live through the flower shop exchange. She could feel her heart race as she turned the corner into the vase aisle and was met with a familiar face of a stranger. Calum had been wearing a shirt she'd remembered seeing him wear at some show online, the soft white shirt lined with red fitting his arms and chest so snug it made her lose her breath. His hair was blonde and cut short, making his jaw seem soft and the perfect place for Petra to kiss. His tanned skin was smooth and the tattoos on his arms decorated him like a piece of art. If Petra really concentrated, she could still smell his cologne, the woodsy scent that seemed to be mixed in with something sweet. It wasn't too strong, but she had been close enough to Calum that she could smell it over all the flowers in the store.

When Petra opened her eyes again, the darkness of her room brought her back. The moonlight was filtering in through her window and gave a soft blue hue to everything. Her arms spread out at her side and she felt a pang in her heart as her left hand didn't bump into the warm body she'd gotten used to being there. Calum had been gone for almost a month now, leaving the side of his bed cold and empty. He'd been busy with work and Petra appreciated when he'd have the odd minute or two to call her so they could catch up, even if it had to be two in the morning and her sleep-filled brain could only come up with strange answers. Not that it mattered too much because before the conversations turned into anything meaningful, Calum was saying goodbye and promising to call when he could next.

But Petra still loved him. She loved Calum and the short phone calls, where the only thing that mattered was that he ended them with a quiet I love you and kissy noises. She loved the Calum who was living his dream every night out on a stage in front of thousands of people. The Calum who at the end of every show would snap a picture and sent it to Petra with another cheesy pickup line or a joke he'd heard that day. Petra was in love with the Calum who would call her in a rush and babbled out some story where his brain worked faster than his mouth and his giggles warmed Petra's heart from halfway across the world. Even in the darker days, when they both craved to feel the touch of the other and their usual happy interactions were clouded over with a pang of sadness. Petra knew it would all be worth it when she was in the arms of her lover in a week's time.

"Can't sleep?" Calum's groggy voice rang out into the darkness of the room.

"I got too used to having you sleep next to me, jerk," Petra laughed, her eyes falling back onto the small screen next to her head, "You're seriously not gonna let me see your new haircut yet? I'll see it all over the internet by lunchtime tomorrow, you know that?"

"Yeah, you might," Calum laughed, "It's a surprise though! You love surprises,"

"I also love running my hands through your curls," she snorted and shook her head, "I just miss your cute face."

"I miss your cute face too," Calum chuckled, letting out a sigh as Luke called his name out from outside the tour bus, "I've got to go, but I'll talk to you soon, okay? Try and get some sleep, darling."

And with that, Petra was thrown back into the silence of her dark room. The sun would be up in a few hours and that would mean she definitely wasn't getting any sleep so she closed her eyes and begged her brain to let her drift off. Eventually, her breathing evened out and the pillow she'd been using as a replacement for Calum lulled her into sleep.

Arpeggiated chords rang out from the room next to the entrance where Petra had been standing, the chill from outside hitting the back of her neck as she pushed the door closed with her foot. The house was warm and Petra could smell the soup that was brewing in the kitchen but her legs lead her towards the soft music that was playing in the living room. In the corner of the room, near the big windows that show the snowy landscape that Petra had been out exploring just a few minutes earlier, Calum was sat by the piano. His eyes were focused on the keys in front of him, his fingers working over them as if he'd played the piano his whole life. With every note he played, Petra felt herself drawing closer and closer to him, her hands landing on the softness of his shoulders with a soft squeeze.

"How was your walk?" Calum asked, the soft music coming to a stop that left the house feeling empty and Calum was glad Petra's hands were on him, the shiver he'd felt earlier replaced with her warmth.

"It was nice," Petra mumbled, her hands massaging his shoulders and working Calum as he'd worked the keys a few seconds ago, "I like it here."

"I do too," Calum mumbled and leaned back against her touch, "I like being here with just you and the snow and the piano."

"It's nice," she agreed, her eyes looking out the window as the snowfall began again, "Complete opposite of our beach dates,"

"We can just stay in and watch the snow, eat some delicious soup," he mumbled and hit a few more notes on the piano before standing up to wrap his arms around Petra, "Maybe watch a movie or read a book."

"That sounds lovely, we can keep warm by the fire and hope that no bears find this place too cozy and try to break in," Petra laughed.

In the haziness of her sleep and the sunlight hitting her face, Petra could still hear the warmth in Calum's voice when he'd read to her that night next to the fireplace. She could still feel the way his arms were wrapped around her as he read about the highlands of Scotland. How his voice felt like a warm blanket and how the grassy hills of the Scottish countryside filled Petra with the urge to explore them with Calum. As the memory of her dreams slowly faded and the sunlight warmed her face, Petra found herself alone in bed, wishing she could hear Calum's soft voice and his best try at a Scottish accent.

Calum had been staring out the window of the tour bus for hours, watching as the landscapes changes from desert mountains to a lush forest with trees that went back as far as his eyes could see. He'd been sitting in the backroom for so long the sun had gone down and the stars were twinkling above him, the room now dark and the bus silent as his bandmates slept the night away. Calum usually never had trouble sleeping on the bus, he was usually exhausted from the busy days tour had him working. But ever since the start of this tour, where he'd left Petra behind for a few months while he left to promote the latest album the band had released, he'd had trouble sleeping.

The silence on the bus hadn't helped either, it had made Calum's thoughts louder and even the movie playing quietly in the back room hadn't stopped his thoughts from running faster than the cars that sped past them in the night. Calum was exhausted, how could he not be when the band had done back-to-back shows for the past week paired up with endless interviews during the day. The only time the band had a real break was during the drives between stops and even then, it was only a few hours spent sleeping or reviewing what that next week would look like for them as a band.

Calum had noticed how tired he looked. He saw it every morning when he washed his face in the tiny bathroom, how his eyes were puffy and the darkness under them gave away just how exhausted he was. He saw it when the label sent them promo clips to approve and his smile didn't reach his eyes. He saw it when the other guys laughed and joked around with one another while he stood off to the side, quiet and yearning for a nap. He was pretty sure that if he could see how tired he was, the rest of the world could see just how far gone he was. And that meant that Petra could see how tired he was.

Fuck, Calum missed Petra. She had been such a constant source of Calum's happiness in the months leading up to this promo tour that Calum hadn't realized how much he'd miss having her around. Petra's name meant rock, something Calum found ironic since she was the one who was always grounding him, and in many ways, Petra was his rock. She was the one that Calum found himself drifting towards when he needed to feel more like himself again. She was the one who would always hold his hand when he needed it and would listen to Calum's mumbling whenever he'd decided to let his brain talk. She was his rock and Calum missed the hell out of her.

He'd been trying to write more while on tour, figuring he might as well put his insomnia to use. His old journal had been used up and Calum had been regretting having to buy another one. That was until Petra had shown up with a going-away present, the brown paper bag she'd been holding was decorated with flowers and hearts. At first, Calum had been confused, because he didn't know going away presents were a thing and he hadn't gotten Petra anything. But after she'd kissed his cheek and told him it was nothing serious, Calum's nerves settled and he opened the bag to find a leather journal, much like his old one, with his initials stamped on the side of the binding.

"So you can keep writing those pretty songs," Petra had mumbled, her cheeks flushed as she played with the bracelet that Calum had given her a few weeks back, "Or just to keep your mind off of things."

Calum had been writing in the journal every chance he got, the unlined pages filling with song ideas and little doodles that Calum found helpful. He'd write about his day sometimes, whenever something memorable happened that he wanted to remember in order to tell Petra or his mom later on. He even sometimes sketched what he saw out the window of the tour bus, although those were never really any good. It wasn't until that night that Calum had been lost in the landscape that he noticed a page near the back of the book had been folded. It was only on the top corner, a fold so small Calum had wondered if he'd done it himself on accident and it wasn't until he turned to the page that he realized what had happened. The page, which had been filled with doodles and handwriting that wasn't Calum's, warmed his heart and made him smile for the first time in weeks. His fingertips traced over the words, almost as if he could feel Petra's touch through them, almost as if he could see her writing in the middle of the night much like Calum did nowadays.

"I know you might be tired and stressed. That you might miss home and Duke and everything that brings you warmth. But your dreams will always be important to not only you but those who you make come true as well. I don't know when you'll read this or if you'll even find it while you're away but I hope it brings a smile to your face. The world deserves to see that pretty smile you reserve for only special moments. They deserve to hear your thoughts and that laugh that makes my heart race. I hope you don't mind that I stole one page from your notebook, it seemed like a fitting gift to give you, better than a piece of paper in your coat.

Thank you for letting me into your world and letting me find your love. I'll forever be grateful.

I love you to the end of the universe and even further.

Petra."

Calum's smile, the one he'd reserved for Petra apparently, hurt his cheeks. He'd reread the note over and over, soaking in her words and if he closed his eyes and tried hard enough, he could almost hear her saying them to him herself. The promo tour might long and lonely, but that didn't mean that Calum hadn't had a piece of home with him the entire time. With a deep breath and his blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Calum walked back to his bunk. The journal was tucked under his pillow as if Petra herself had been captured between the pages and Calum could just open it and see her again whenever he felt alone.

Calum's eyes felt tired and the more he relaxed on the bunk, the more he realized just how much his life had changed since finding Petra. He'd never had to deal with leaving a loved one while touring. He never had to deal with the time zones fucking up his calls or having to wait hours for a text back from someone because they were asleep as he was waking up. He never had to worry about whether his partner was missing him and much as he missed them. But then he met Petra and that all changed. Leaving her bed that morning had been hell, he'd dragged himself out of the apartment, trying not to convince himself to turn around as he hit traffic on the highway and go back to the warmth of her bedroom. He'd closed his eyes and held her a little longer as he'd said goodbye to her by the kitchen that morning and it was all so new and different that Calum hadn't expected to have it hit him so roughly.

He hadn't expected to push all his defenses down and become so vulnerable for someone before. So when his plane had taken off and the city had become a blur of streets and then hidden beneath clouds, Calum wanted nothing more than to be back with Petra. But he had her note, safe in the journal with his initials and the page smelled like her perfume so maybe it'd be okay. Maybe Calum would smile a little brighter during the meet and greets and he'd chuckle a little louder during the interviews and make sure he spoke his mind a little more often. Even as his eyes squinted at the dim screen in front of him, his fingers typing out a message to the love of his life, he couldn't believe how lucky he was to have Petra in his life. With his phone set next to him and his heart happy, Calum's eyes closed and for the first time in weeks, he got some well-deserved sleep.

Petra woke up a few hours later, alone once again, but her heart warmed at the sight of the notification on her screen. She knew that Calum had been having a rough time on tour recently and she was hoping that he'd find her letter soon. The message she'd hidden in the middle of a journal he'd held so close to him ever since it became his. Even the chilly air that was coming in from the window Petra had left open couldn't stop the warmth that she felt inside her, knowing that Calum had gotten her message. He was always laying down his love for her, showing it in different ways like how he held her closer whenever he was near or how he'd tell her all about his day even when the rest of the world thought of him as a silent man. Petra knew that it wasn't true, that the Calum she knew and loved would talk off her ear if given the chance, which she often did give him.

She knew that he would have a hard time being away, he was a homebody and he'd be gone for a while, so with shaky hands and a heart full of love, she'd written down the words she'd so rarely had the courage to utter to him, the words she held so close to herself in fear that he'd slip away. But Calum was always surprising her and it hadn't been too much of a shock to know he appreciated the message. Calum's love was always finding her, even when the bed was lonely and he was miles away. She'd been staring at the message for while, her fingers ghosting over her screen as her heart raced and her smile widened with every reread of it.

She'd reply eventually, once her cheeks stopped blushing and her smile stopped making her jaw hurt. But for now, the early morning sun lulled her back to sleep and her eyes closed slowly. She hoped that she'd dreamed about the snowy cabin and the hills of Scotland again, but really, any dream with Calum in it would be worthwhile.

"Thank you for the beautiful words, you've always known exactly what to say when I need it the most. I love you forever, rock."

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#calum hood x reader #calum hood x oc #calum hood blurbs #calum hood imagines #calum hood fics #5sos x reader #5sos x oc #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #5sos fics #calum hood #5sos #5 seconds of summer #gemma writes #nation of two ch #5sos oneshots

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frostedfaves · 3 years

Text

Haunt (7)

Masterlist

Pairing: civilian!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: Three women on a bridge, two pairs of feet on the ledge, and one problem that’s easier to solve than you think.

Warnings: angst (but maybe fluff later? 👀), ghosts/demons, slightly graphic blood mentions, attempted bridge jumps/suicide, funeral/car crash/death/grief mentions

A/N: I won’t say that this is the last chapter because I do have an idea for an epilogue...it’s just a matter of whether or not I can execute it properly. anyway, can’t wait to hear your thoughts on what I hope is not a shitty (almost) conclusion!

Previous part

“Hey, I thought you were at Wanda’s tonight?” Mia asked, greeting you with a smile as you passed her on the way to your room.

“I am. I just have to grab something.”

You closed the door behind yourself and opened your closet door, using an old storage bin to climb up and reach the tallest shelf. Once the locked box was safely in your hands, you stepped down and grabbed the key taped to the back of your dresser on your way to the bed. The journal and newspaper tumbled out as soon as you unlocked the top, and you took a deep breath to distract yourself from the sudden wave of nausea.

“There.”

You looked up to see a shadowy finger pointing at the picture in the article, and seeing the wreckage again in your conscious state seemed to knock the air out of your lungs.

“That’s home.”

“That’s not home,” you snapped as you met her eyes. “That’s nothing but a grim reminder of what used to be.”

“It’s home, and you’re going there.” When you blinked, you saw a flash of Wanda bleeding out in the same spot you left her, and you gasped as your eyes opened again. “Glad to see I have your attention. Let’s go.”

You quickly made your way out of the apartment again, leaving the light on in your room because you were afraid of what you would see in the dark corners. Once you were in your car, you began your drive down to the place you hadn’t seen since the accident, parking a few feet away from the stop sign with an upset stomach and a heavy heart. As you got out of the car again, you noticed the pole you’d crashed into had been replaced and all the glass and debris were long gone.

“Why am I here?” you questioned, keeping your voice low to match the atmosphere of the nearly silent neighborhood.

“You’re supposed to be on the bridge.”

“The crash didn’t happen there,” you recalled, but you found your feet moving toward the metal staircase anyway.

Your heartbeat seemed to line up with your echoing steps as you made your way up to the bridge, and a sinking feeling told you that this may be the last setting sun you see. Your eyes watered in the orange light as you faced the crash scene again, managing to keep your eyes on it as you climbed onto the ledge and took a seat.

“Why are you sitting?”

“Because I don’t want to do this,” you exhaled as you began to cry again. “I know why you brought me here but I don’t want to do it.”

“Well, I didn’t want to die because you don’t know how to look both ways in an intersection, but here we are.”

“I looked both ways, but the other driver was speeding! How is that my fault?”

“I told you--begged you--not to leave me behind and you did.”

“For fucks sake!” you yelled as you turned your head toward her. “I had to call for help so you wouldn’t die in the car!”

“Instead, you let me die alone in a hospital room. Huge improvement.”

You dropped your head to watch your fingers run along the concrete, listening for any kind of noise from the surrounding area and sighing when there wasn’t a single sound to be heard. Part of you was certain that the being beside you had something to do with that, but you couldn’t be bothered to ask anything else when you knew it might just start a fight. You hated the way it made you feel, taking you back to that very night when you were walking on eggshells around your extremely intoxicated best friend.

“Get up,” the voice suddenly snapped, and you groaned once you recovered from the shock.

“I told you I’m not ready!”

“It’s either you or her.”

The sound of car doors closing came from your left, and you seemed to move on autopilot as you stood up on the ledge, keeping your eyes on the pair as you did so. The wave of nausea grew taller and lasted longer, and you felt the familiar trails down your cheeks headed for your chin.

“Don’t come any closer,” you finally managed to say, feeling a bit of relief when they stopped.

“Baby, please come down,” Wanda choked out, and oh how you wish she hadn’t spoken. Just hearing a second of her soothing voice made you want to run into her arms and never look back, but you knew who would pay the price if you did that.

“I can’t...I have to do this,” you sobbed as you heard the voice from the other side encouraging you to hurry in an angry tone. “It’s the only way to stop her.”

“Y/N, I know it seems that you’ve made up your mind…” You watched Mia pull something from her pocket and hold it up in the air. “...but if you give me a chance, I think I may be able to change it.”

You squinted a bit to try and figure out what she was holding without allowing her to come closer. Every bone in your body yearned to gravitate toward the pair, knowing that you’d feel safer and comforted once you were surrounded by their warmth, but the furious protests stopped you from doing so.

“I’ve had too many chances,” you fought back, frowning when you noticed Wanda locked eyes with Mia for a second before facing you again.

“If you’re going to jump, then I’m coming with you,” she told you calmly as she climbed onto the ledge a short distance away, and you instantly panicked.

“No, you can’t do that!”

“Why not?” she challenged you.

“Because I love you, and I don’t want you to die, especially not like this. You deserve so much better.”

“So do you!” she cried out as she dared to take a step toward you. “Why do you think I’m here?”

“No, Wan, I have to die,” you insisted as you took a step back. “I’ve loved every second of being with you and you’re nothing short of perfect, but I should’ve died a long time ago with my friend. She didn’t deserve to go alone.”

“If she was really your friend, she wouldn’t want this for you.” She took another step, and you found yourself falling into her comforting gaze. “She’d want you to live the life she couldn’t.”

“I hear her everyday, and I don’t think she agrees with you.”

“Okay, so I’m not a therapist obviously,” Mia cut in as the two of you faced her from the ledge. “But are you sure you aren’t just hearing the voice of your own guilt?”

“What?” was all you were able to get out as the raging voice behind you seemed to quiet down.

“You told me that she kissed you and confessed her feelings for you before you left the party. No matter how angry or emotional she was in that moment of you turning her down, she wouldn’t be haunting you like this if she really loved you. Whether it was friendly love or more.”

“Don’t listen to her. She wasn’t there.”

You turned to the other side to glance at your ‘friend’, who seemed to look a lot less like her now. Bitterness and rage became evident in her expression, which really seemed to help Mia’s point. You almost never saw her direct those emotions toward you, even when you’d done something wrong. Still, you had to be sure.

“What were you going to show me?” you asked as you turned to look at Mia again.

“It’s the obituary from the funeral,” she explained as she began unfolding it. “I know you didn’t go, so I thought maybe you’d like to hear what your best friend really thought of you. Her parents included a page from an old journal they found.”

You listened with tears in your eyes as you heard the girl who was once the first and last person you spoke to everyday describe you with words you’d never even considered for yourself. With each sentence, it was more and more obvious that she’d been in love with you far longer than you realized, and the thought comforted you more than it hurt, to your surprise. As the dam broke and breathing became a bit harder, you turned to the entity one more time and a look of understanding seemed to pass between the two of you. You understood that you weren’t in the company of a friend, and she understood that you could no longer be fooled.

“I’m sorry,” you addressed Wanda as you carefully approached her on the ledge, grabbing her hands as they stretched toward you. “I know I’ve put you through hell in the last few months, but I promise to only make you feel as loved as you’ve made me feel, even at my lowest.”

“You already do, detka.”

You couldn’t help but grin as she wiped away any lingering tears with her thumbs before stepping off the ledge and pulling you down into a bone-crushing hug. A breathless laugh escaped you as Mia crashed into you from behind, and you sat there in a comforting silence for another few minutes. You tossed your keys to Mia once you pulled apart after she offered to take your car home, catching a glimpse of the daunting presence as you looked out onto the street below. She was staring at you from beside the pole that replaced the one you crashed into with blood pouring down her side, and just when you felt yourself getting a bit worked up again, Wanda’s warm fingers squeezed yours and reminded you of the safe haven you’d been gifted.

“Thank you for making it in time,” you told Wanda once you were sitting in the car. “You always know the right thing to say or do and when, and I thought maybe it was a side effect of teaching small children for years. Really, it’s just a side effect of being a perfect angel.”

She let out a surprised giggle at your words and leaned over to kiss you for the first time in hours. She didn’t let it go far, simply pulling away and lacing her fingers through yours again as she drove off the bridge and began heading home.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m really glad I ran out of paprika.”

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#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x fem! reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #avengers x reader #avengers x you #avengers x fem!reader #avengers imagine #avengers #the avengers #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #marvel

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hooniee · 3 years

Text

— ꒰‧⁺celsia *ೃ༄

↷ jungwon x reader ⋯ ♡ᵎ:

↷ genre: romance | mystery ⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷ warnings: mention of blade to cut open book! | not proofread!⋯ ♡ᵎ

↷synopsis: (y/n)’s boring life gets a little bit better, finding a mystery journal⋯ ♡ᵎ

⇢˚⋆ ✎ author note: hello! this is for @enhypenwriters event of the month! strangers to lovers <3 this one out of the three stories i made! this one was definitely fun to write and maybe i’ll expand on it later! enjoy!ˎˊ-

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .*

“celsia’s kingdom was-”

the abrasive scraping of white chalk on the chalkboard had come to a halt. the bell chimes, the more petite hand of the clock was precisely striking 3:00 pm.

ms. jeon glimpses up before allowing a long-awaited sigh, laying the chalk in its corresponding place. dusting off her hands of residue, she concluded our class.

“alright, guys! let’s stop there, we’ll proceed where we left off tomorrow.”

the class arose from their seats, bowing to her before she exited. classmates exalt their breath and stretch their bodies from being restrained in a desk for the prior eight hours.

the rackets of shuffling books being shoved in bags and hurried footsteps came from every corner of the school. chatter goes throughout regarding how dull ms. jeon’s history lesson was.

“who even cares about the past anymore?”

“the princes were never found right?”

“you guys up for some norebang? at han’s?”

while your classmates debated on what karaoke place they intended on hanging out at, you hastily shove the remainder of papers in your bag, not minding if they would be creased.

readjusting your hair slightly, you rise from your seat and attempt to quickly boot it to the door.

“(y/n)! don’t you want to come with us?”

someone seized the end of your sleeve. you turn around to see shin ryujin, the class president, and someone you could view as a friend.

her freshly tinted grey hair nevertheless had a shock factor on you.

“sorry ryu! i have to get to the library,” you warmly took her hand and squeezed it, before dashing off.

“this girl,” ryujin sighs

"where is (y/n) going?" vice president asked ryujin

"library again"

you had quietly forced your way through the masses of people before having a hand tug at your blazer, causing you to lightly tumble back.

you turn to see heeseung.

“(y/n)! where are you going in such a hurry? i was just about to try to find you to ask you if you wanted to come to the arcade with us? we invited some of our friends from saebom as well,” heeseung interrogates.

sunoo pops up from behind him, “come on (y/n)! i’ll be so much fun, please it’ll be so much fun.”

sunoo was your classmate while heeseung was your upperclassman. sunoo and you were selected to be lab comrades last year and have been friends ever since. that's where he introduced you to his remaining friends, heeseung and underclassman, ni-ki.

as much as you desired to accept their proposal, you remember the library and time was ticking before it closed.

you bowed your head, “i’m sorry guys! but i have to do something important. what about we all hang out tomorrow? you can invite your friends from saebom and i’ll treat all of you guys to a meal? how does that sound?”

sunoo pouts, “alright then”

“get there safe,” you bowed your head.

“see you-” before heeseung could complete his sentence, you had already fled off.

“where is she in a hurry too?” ni-ki abruptly enters the discussion, studying your disappearing silhouette

“OH MY, don’t give me a heart attack ni-ki” heeseung holds his hand above his heart.

“whatever grandpa,” ni-ki snorts before sprinting

“what did you just say to me? get back here,” heeseung commences chasing after him

“i wish (y/n) would have come,” sunoo shakes his head before attempting to catch up with them.

you eventually arrive at the library, catching a few breaths in and noticing ms. kim sitting down in her normal spot.

you take a deep breath, before entering the library. the tiny bell above the door executes a noise, gaining ms. kim's attention.

she glances over to see you and smiles widely. she gets up from her seat to welcome you, “(y/n), you’re here just in time! the new books are on the back table, left side.”

“thank you ms. kim!” you bow to her, with a big smile on your face.

glimpsing round, the library was moderately bare except for two or three students that were distributed from tables.

you headed back to see the fresh heap of new history books that rested on the small birch polished table.

these weren’t unspecified history books, they were royal books.

ms. kim was a historian before a librarian so she was capable of getting her hands on some books about the disappeared royal family from centuries ago.

you smiled at the collection that grazed your eyes. you choose a book that was nearly the measurement of a binder.

you had tenderly dusted off the cover, as you open it. you slightly cough at the quantity of dust the books have garnered

the publication titled read, “celsia, the royals”

the backbone of the book had been fastened back together, implying you must be cautious when reading.

turning each rusted paper sparingly, you could observe the old castle in which the royal family had occupied before it grew abandoned.

it was a beautiful interior, built out of the most luxurious rose quartz that anybody could fancy of in that era.

the chandelier that draped in the main room was constructed in the purest gold that was handcrafted by only the best chandelier.

their disappearances were continuously something that was whisked beneath the rug.

we studied briefly about it in history class but we always end at a set point because there was nothingness beyond that.

there remained no traces of foul play at all, it was like everything had vanished inside the castle. all belongings of the families were taken and the only items they could find were some rings that showed to be discarded.

there were three rings, made for the three succeeding crowned princes.

sapphire; purity, wisdom, and chastity

assigned to the oldest of the sons as he was waiting to be the next crowned prince, a face and personality that reflected purity

ruby; nobility, purity, passion

assigned to the middle son, fascinated about archery. the desire to be the greatest hunter in the kingdom. a soul abundant of passion

and lastly,

emerald; wit, eloquence, and foresight

assigned to the youngest son with a voice that could put the whole town to slumber. though the youngest could wield the responsibility like the oldest son.

you softly caress the pages while browsing through the information. it was practically always the identical facts but you couldn’t help but learn how each historian put it in their own words.

you had gingerly closed the book before proceeding onto the next one.

this book, strangely, didn’t have a name.

the cover was made of brown leather, with J, engraved on the silver button that fastened the book closed.

matter a fact, it wasn’t like a textbook but as a diary

‘who has diaries like this anymore?’ you thought to yourself.

you shrug the thought aside and undo the clasp.

brushing at the pages, you could scarcely obtain any of the words. they were inscribed in cursive and it seems that the ink has smudge.

flipping through the so-called journal, you could gain some phrases.

“castle”

“my older brother”

“rose quartz”

to you, the messages didn’t correlate with anything considering the smudged ink left the words in ruins.

flipping to the end of the diary, you scan the back of the cover.

if you happened to not spare a secondary glance, you wouldn’t have noticed that petite tear that was sliced into the leather.

peering closer, you could see the incision that was nearly flawlessly adhered together.

you were further too curious to place it down, so you went to ms. kim to check it out.

“is this all you want to take home (y/n)?” ms. kim inquiries, scanning the book and your library card.

“yup! that’s all for now,” you chirp.

she pauses for the receipt and fixes it on top of the diary.

“see you (y/n)!” ms. kim waves.

you bow before hastening home, diary in hand. you quickly fish out your keys from the backpack.

the door unlocks before you barge in and toss your bag on the floor. you slide off your shoes and quickly speed to the kitchen.

“where are they? where are they?” you ransack around the cabinet

“ah! there they are,” drawing a sharp box cutter.

setting the diary on the countertop, you open it to the back page. you mindfully compose the incision larger beginning from where the adhesive is and all the way down.

“got it!” you shout, placing the box cutter down.

you thoroughly unfold the slit a little wider to see a piece of something in there. you pull it out to reveal a photograph.

you smile, thinking it was probably a journal of someone’s life story and this photograph has special meaning to them.

you glance over and your eyes widen as you examine it.

"that's not-"

you squint your eyes at the worn photograph and go straight to the lamp, shining light to see more precisely.

your mouth drops wide open when you realized it was true, clasping your left hand over your mouth.

though the photograph’s colors were faded, there stood the three princes wearing suit colors that matched their rings.

it was a miniature photograph that could comfortably fit in someone's wallet.

sapphire; puppy-like, doe eyes that are filled to the line with love

ruby; the fairest skin, plump lips that were painted red like his passion

emerald: sharp eyes that won’t deceive, dimples that mark his cheek

‘did i just find one of their journals?’ you question.

no photographs of the princes or royal family were ever recovered. it was rumored that they had a significant family portrait, but even that was nowhere to be found in the castle.

holding tightly to the photograph, you hasten to your laptop. there was no rush but the adrenaline that was elevating in your heart said otherwise.

you had opened a new browser tab and started typing swift.

“photograph on the missing three princes”

“celsia’s crowned princes”

“celsia royal family photos”

no matter how much scowering on the internet you did, you couldn’t find any traces of this photo anywhere.

you were gazing at the screen for hours, working to find any data you could.

your eyes became weak as the room grew dim but yet, you still didn’t budge from your spot.

‘maybe i should try the news tag’ you thought.

you clicked on the tag and the first article that popped up

“belongings of the three princes are being found after centuries"

browsing through the article, the grip on the photo became tighter.

it didn’t make sense to you. for centuries, they’ve never attained anything in the castle or anything about the castle. now suddenly, items of the three princes were coming into play.

it appeared like they were planted there on purpose, but it would be impracticable. the whole royal family would be deceased by now.

you looked at the photo one more time to admire the handsome princes. though all were handsome in their own way, emerald caught your eye.

sharp eyes and sharp jaw, yet the eyes hold so much sweetness and the smile holds so much grace. he caught your eye the second you studied the photograph.

emerald was someone interesting.

you cried, “only if guys looked like this in my school.”

the clock ticks, making you look up at it. it just became 8 pm.

you yawned. you desired to do more investigation but tomorrow's test in history was retaining you back.

that clicks in your head.

‘i’ll just ask ms. jeon! maybe she’ll know something’ you made a mental note, as you had just physically printed it on your brain.

you decided to call it a night, eyes dropping down from the intense amount of looking at the computer.

the next morning, you were depleted with your brain being over-exerted last night. you made sure to get up a bit earlier to study on your way to school.

you were ready were putting your shoes on, the photograph caught the corner of your eye.

you debated whether you wanted to keep it at home or take it with you.

‘it would be safe here but what if someone tries to break into my house?’

irrational thoughts came to mind and in the end, you decided to seal it in the journal and bringing it to school with you.

before any second-guessing, you shove the journal into your backpack and rush your way to school.

you wanted nothing other than history class, last period. your mind was tingling with problems that needed solutions.

you hardly made it when the bell went off. you rushed up the stairs, to study hall, seeing ryujin already there.

ryujin sees you and flashes a smile, signaling to you

“(y/n)! over here,” ryujin pats down the seat next to her.

you smile, heading over and sitting down.

"sorry for leaving so suddenly yesterday, the library got new books! you know? the usual" you acted cool

"no problem. i know you well, book nerd," she snorted.

letting out a big sigh, you bring out your history textbook to aim to recall as sufficient information as you could in this brief 25 minute period.

ryujin resumes playing on her phone before she peers over to you. she corks her eyebrow in puzzlement.

“what are you doing?’

now it was your turn to be confused, “studying for our history test for ms. jeon?"

“ah you didn’t hear? ms.jeon isn’t here so that means no test, isn’t that amazing?” ryujin cheers.

the news disheartens you ever so little.

thought you didn’t have to cram information, your heart sinks a little with your curiosity raging as a furnace overflowed with gold.

why did this tug at your heartstrings? it was simply because you were curious right?

“yeah that’s amazing!” you shakily cheer.

you restlessly bounce your leg and illogical reasoning surge your brain.

‘i need to ask her now! but why do i? why do i feel so anxious? my heart feels like it’s beating out of control’

and your head wouldn't stay still even when ms. jeon class rolls around, the time ticks by way too slow.

“and make sure-”

the bell jolts you out of your seat and you immediately gather up your things. if people were to see you, they might think you were being pursued.

you were strained as is and you try to bolt out of school before someone clutches your wrist.

“where are you going?”

you turn around to see heeseung clinging onto you

“home?” you cork an eyebrow.

why was heeseung asking an impractical question? it was a wednesday, where else would you be going?

“home? aren’t you coming with us to the arcade? we invited our friends from saebom as well,” heeseung asked, troubled

your mind clicks. you have plans with heeseung and his friends today. you weren't in the best headspace and entirely blanked.

“ah right! i’m sorry, i forgot. let’s go,” you stiffly smile.

“you’re fine. sunoo! ni-ki! ready?” heeseung calls them over, swinging his arm over your shoulders.

sunoo rushes over while ni-ki trudges behind. ni-ki yawns while sunoo squeals at your presence.

“is (y/n) coming with us today?” sunoo cheers linking arms with you.

“yup, and she’s treating us to a meal,” ni-ki smirks

“you boys are going to be the death of me,” you groan, recognizing the deal you presented yesterday.

heeseung laughs and you make your way to the arcade. you guys, the disordered and noisy quadruplets, stumble in.

the arcade was a generous size than the ones you've been to previously. they had more selections of machines and the building was coated in bright colors.

it’s jammed with students in diverse uniforms from all around town with their friends. probably trying to shake the pressure of exam season.

“heeseung hyung!” someone calls out.

“jay!” you glance over to see a boy with bleach blonde hair with silver, swaying earrings, coming over with three followings behind him.

they do a bro-shake, asking each other's day before jay’s eyes land on you.

“oh i don’t think we’ve met before, i’m jay,” he stretches his hand out to you

jay was a few inches shorter than heeseung, stocky rings on both hands, a few piercings on his ears, and someone who was attentive to his fashion.

“i’m (y/n). nice to meet you,” you softly shake his hand

the three boys jostle jay aside before speaking.

“we haven’t met her either, let us,” a soft voice intervenes.

you glance up and at that moment, you assumed your eyes were playing tricks on you.

meeting with the pair of doe eyes that were meant to be captured into a photograph.

your heart sinks to your abdomen, blood drawing through your veins so harshly, causing your whole body to flush.

'there was no way that this was them?' you soothed the uneasy thoughts.

sapphire

“i’m jake! it’s nice to meet you”

his gummy smile reflects the happiness from his tone

ruby

“park sunghoon,”

he bows his head, fair skin that gleams that only princes could accomplish

emerald

“i’m jungwon, it’s nice to meet you”

his sharp eyes turn into small crescents, dimple prominent.

you glance around at the three boys.

"jungwon or jake?"

you vaguely remember the notebook, having the engraving of J on the button of the diary.

"the book addressed his older brothers. that indicates it would be jungwon since he was the youngest and jake was the oldest"

you bow to them, wanting to see if getting a glance of their hands would lead to anything.

no rings on

right, the rings were founded in the castle. they wouldn't possess it on their body.

“it’s nice to meet you too, i’m (y/n)”

glancing at them, you see capture something from the arcade light. on all of their left ears, hangs an earring that correlates with their colors

gold chain with a small, round sapphire on the end

silver chain with a small, triangle ruby on the end

rose gold chain with a small, heart emerald on the end

it was them. this couldn't be a coincidence.

emerald or jungwon was standing directly in front of you

“let’s go play some games guys!” sunoo shouts before he drags you.

sunoo breaks our introduction. grabbing your arm, he pulls you away to an air hockey table.

sunoo plays against ni-ki as you watch. jay and heeseung verse each other on the basketball game.

you watch around the arcade, observing the happy smiles of people. you smile too before feeling a tap on your shoulder.

you turn to see jake, sunghoon, and jungwon. the three princes.

it became quiet for a minute as you look eye contact with jungwon before sunghoon talks up on the behalf of his younger brother.

“um, jungwon has something he has to tell you,” sunghoon says before bumping jungwon ahead.

“u-um,” jungwon stutters out.

you smother a laugh. one of the crowned princes of celsia kingdom was in front of you, stuttering and reddening.

“don’t be nervous jungwon! i don’t bite”

“can i have your number?” he blurts and now it’s your turn to be startled

'that was unexpected'

“s-sure,” you stutter out as he hands you his phone.

his phone wasn't anything out of the ordinary. an iPhone 8 plus and there was nothing that symbolized he was a prince. the home screen packed with several games.

you enter your phone number and hand him back his phone.

he bows and the three princes are about to leave before you stop them.

this could be awkward if this was synchronicity but you were practically sure it wasn't. reactions will tell the truth.

“jungwon! i need to say something to you, can you come closer?” you smile.

he's confused but complies, leaning into you.

you whisper in his ear, “ whether this applies to you or not, i’m onto you, emerald prince”

he lets out a choked sound, alarming you. you smirk, bowing and heading towards jay and heeseung who were near to destroying the basketball machine.

'bingo'

jake tugs jungwon back and the three of them head to one of the secretive corners of the arcade.

“what did she say?” jake questions

"yeah, what made you choke up like that? you never get surprised like that," sunghoon examines.

“she’s onto us,” jungwon grunts.

sunghoon and jake look at each other, eyes widening in the process.

“b-but how? we made sure no traces of us would be found-” sunghoon rambles.

the three princes grew anxious together, questioning how they could meet you again.

this was the secret that they were expected to remain to the three of them and now an added person knows.

“i don’t know! but she somehow knows and we can’t let her tell anybody,” jungwon groans

"we have to do something," jake sighs.

you felt holes being pierced onto your back, generating an unsettled vibe within you.

“i’m keeping an eye out for you (y/n) “ jungwon flashes.

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amphxtrite · 3 years

Text

2 • Hideaway.

chapter summary: Cedric finally catches the chance to talk to you, hidden away in the shelves of the library. What starts as an innocent attempt to befriend you ends in your walls crashing down, but Cedric is willing to change and listen.

series summary: alone almost everyday from the moment you were born, thrown to the side by everyone in society because of who your parents were and who you were said to be, a death eater. Your parents were to of the most powerful dark wizards ever known and because of that you were shunned everywhere you went. When the hufflepuff golden boy sees you for the first time and falls, but is he willing to be judged, feared, and hated, and how far will he go, To Be At Her Side.

warnings: swearing, flashback, breakdown, mentions of wanting to be dead.

taglist: @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @hoe4cedricdiggory @queenl04 @persephone-archives @0niko-san @annasdani @joalinbenefits @awritingtree

word count: 2.2k

enjoy <3

__________________________________________

Hideaway.

a place used as a retreat or a hiding place.

The Hogwarts library was a grand room, filled top to bottom with books of all kinds; Fantasy, romance, science fiction, history, anything you could imagine, could be found in the pages of a thick leather bound journal or thin paperback with a cracked spine.

Most students took the library for granted, preferring to spend their time at Hogsmeade or around the lake, but for you, anywhere with too many students was a disaster waiting to happen.

The library was your hide away, a retreat from the prying eyes of the student body. A place you could smile, read and do whatever you pleased without judgement. Madam Pince had practically left this place for you to roam, she was far enough away where you could be at peace from her constant shushing, and because of the lack of students most days, it was usually just you.

The past few months, you’d been slipping into the deep bookshelves to hide yourself, immersing yourself in the text of the wise witches and wizards who had come before you, reading their stories and spells and learning all they knew.

Your safe space became the closed shelves, home smelt like old books and wood, tranquility came in the form of muggle stories and old journals.

While you sat stowed away in a far corner of your hideaway, eyes scanning over the stories of old Greek heroes, Cedric sat in the great hall, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

He had barely seen you since the incident in potions all those months ago, winter had arrived, and he felt strange saying it, but he missed you.

He missed the girl whom he’d never even spoken to.

He missed your eyes filled with strength, holding yourself with pride despite what people believed.

He missed your hair that frames your face so perfectly.

He missed you although he barely knew who you were, and he wanted to see you more than just a quick glance in class before you disappeared through the door.

Cedric wasn’t proud of it, but he began following you after your last class with him, to see where you snuck away to.

The first couple tries resulted in him losing you through the crowd, but he’d managed to catch you slipping into the library on a Saturday morning during breakfast.

His hand hovers over the door knob, mentally debating if he should enter, try his luck at talking to you.

It was Saturday, Hogsmeade weekend. No one was going to be in the library today, he should be alright.

Pushing open the large door, Cedric readjusts his eyes to the dim lighting of the library paired with the bright white light streaming through the windows.

He made sure to be quiet, closing the door and slowly walking through the room, using his lightest steps in hopes not to be noticed.

Pince must’ve been at breakfast because besides the small ruffle of pages being turned in the distance. The library was completely silent.

A small yellow light flickered in the corner of Cedric’s eye, guiding him as you lay unaware, nose stuck in a book.

He follows the sound of paper being turned, and light breathing.

He begins his ascend up a stairway to the second story of the library and through the shelves where he saw the flicker of light.

His heart began to rush as your breathing grew closer. His hands were clenched into fists and his face was flushed. This was it, he was finally going to talk to you.

You sigh in content as you set down the muggle classic ‘To Kill A Mockingbird.’ You lay for a couple moments just staring at the ceiling as you shook your head, maybe you didn’t have it as bad as what others dealt with in the muggle world.

You sit up and pick up the small novel, slipping it back into place on the shelf.

“Harper Lee. I’ll have to read up on her.” You mumble to yourself as you skim the old spines.

Your thoughts are cut short when a shiver runs down your spine and you sense a presence behind you. Swiveling your body, only the sight of rows upon rows of books make themselves present, but you knew better than to believe you were alone.

“Who’s there?” You ask no one in particular.

You’re about to open your mouth again, when a mess of brown hair, pokes out from behind the science fiction shelf.

“H-Hello.” The boy spoke, finally revealing himself from the shelf.

You recognized the boy as the one from your classes. The one you gave the note too.

He doesn’t give up does he?

“If you’re here to make a snide remark, please leave me alone.” You sigh, pulling a random novel from the shelf as you turn and retreat back to your spot.

“I-I would do no such thing.” the boy states, beginning to follow you. “I’m Cedric, Cedric Diggory. We have potions and transfigurations together!”

“I’m aware.” You nod, trying to ignore him.

You almost felt bad for the boy, Cedric. He obviously hadn’t planned this far and his mind was frantically searching for words.

“Look I’m sorry for coming around like this I just-.”

“I don’t need your pity Diggory, now please just leave me be.” You remark, sitting on your blanket laid neatly on the floor.

“No please, y/n right?” Cedric smiles extending his hand.

“I know you know my name Cedric. Everyone at this bloody school does.” You hiss, voice laced with venom, surprising Cedric and causing him to step back.

You don’t mean to be cold, but you were not in the mood to make friends. This was bound to end in disaster, and you didn’t need to add another person to the long list of failed attempts.

“I-I understand, I was just-.”

“Oh that’s rich.” You scoff.

Cedric can see your attempt at being rude, but for some reason, he isn’t hurt by it.

Your eyes are jumping around him, refusing to meet him. Your leg is shaking up and down anxiously. Your hand is massaging the area on your chest your locket should be.

You were nervous.

Cedric takes a deep breath, refocusing himself.

“Look y/n, I just wanted to talk to you, try and become your friend.”

Your eyes flicker down, doubt and fear swim through them as you shuffle away from Cedric, trying to make yourself as small as possible, hoping he’d grow bored and leave.

“W-Where’s that locket you always wear?” He attempts, only causing you to flinch back further and drop your hand from your neck.

“None of your business Diggory.

Cedric wasn’t about to give up, and he took a seat on a chair at a desk not too far from you.

“I-I’m not interested in making friends.” You murmur, cursing yourself for your voice, cursing yourself for being weak.

“There’s no need to be afraid, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

Your mind is thrown into a distant memory that haunted you, and your head begins to spin.

The horrid day the aurors surrounded your house.

Your parents clutched you close to them as the wizards holding wands to their throats ripped you from their grasp.

“Take the child for a moment.”

Unfamiliar arms encased you before placing you on the carpet, leaving you as you bawled for your parents. You could only see them being disapparated away as your mother's locket appeared in your hand. Your last piece of her and your father.

The large boots of ministry workers and auror’s stood before you, discussing amongst themselves what to do with you.

“There’s no need to be afraid, I’m not here to hurt you.” One remarks, lifting you up, but holding you an arm lengths away.

“There’s no way people will be safe around her.”

“Her parents have probably already brainwashed her.”

“Can someone shut her up?!”

That was the last thing you heard before the sleeping charm was cast on you.

Your vision goes red, your fists clench and without thinking you pull your wand from your pocket and stomp forwards.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me, but you ruined my life! You’ll never know what I fucking went through because of your ignorance. I was a child you asshole, I was three and you fucking took my parents from me and left me to die at that god forsaken orphanage!” You scream, eyes clouding with tears as you press your wand closer to someone’s neck, but it slips your mind, who.

“They may have been evil, but they were all I ever had! You should’ve just killed me there, it would’ve been better than living this life!” You rage, bringing your wand to meet their neck.

Cedric stands with his hands beside his face in surrender, his breathing heavy as he watches your grip on your wand tighten and your tears stream down your face.

“Y/n, I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. P-Please don’t hurt me.”

Cedric’s eyes squeeze shut and after a couple moments of silence the sound of wood cluttering on the floor signals him to open them again.

Your hands fly to your face as your legs fail you, dropping you to the ground as you back yourself into the nearest wall, tucking yourself into a ball.

“I-I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry.” You sob, pulling your hair and using your palms to wipe the tears.

“Y/n!”

“No! Stay away from me! I’ll only make it worse.” You sniffle, trying to escape Cedric’s gaze.

“Please just leave me, I’m a monster Cedric, leave before I do hurt you.” You sob, hiding your face again.

Cedric ignores this and slides to the floor next to you, pulling a handkerchief from his book bag and holding it to you.

“No, y/n it’s not your fault. I made you remember something. Didn’t I?” Cedric sighs, sitting in front of you.

“Does it matter? I could have killed you! I’m just like them.” You shout, turning away from the hufflepuff as he turns with you.

“Y/n, look at me. Please look at me.” Cedric pleas.

“You’re afraid of me, admit it.”

“Y/n, I-”

“Admit it Cedric.” You cry, pushing yourself farther away.

“It's not your fault I made you cry y/n. I’m sorry.” Cedric apologizes, gently pulling your hands away from your tear stained cheeks.

“D-don’t touch me. I could have hurt you Cedric. I can’t forgive myself for that.” You whimper, turning your head to avoid his kind grey eyes.

“I’m fine y/n, look at me. You didn’t hurt me, just scared me is all.” Cedric smiles, attempting to reassure you.

“What have I done?”

Cedric’s smile drops at your comment.

“Y/n.” Cedric lifts his hand to wipe the tears from your face.

“No, please don’t.”

Cedric sighs and drops his hand, opting to take your hand into his instead.

“You could never hurt me y/n, please don’t do this to yourself.”

“Oh it’s too late for that Diggory. I’ve been doing this my whole life.” You smile incredulously.

“I’ll always be the daughter of the l/n’s. I’ll never be able to change that. And you saw what I did. I’m just like them.”

Cedric opens his mouth to deny your claim, but you cut him off.

“You know what's funny too? I still miss them, I still wish they’d come to hold me, but I guess that’s just the childhood loneliness talking.”

“Y/n.”

“How could they bring a child into this world after everything they did and expect it to be okay? How could they leave me here?” You whimper as a fresh wave of sadness hits you.

“I’ve been alone everyday of my life Cedric, treated like an animal, a threat, a monster.”

You take a deep breath and allow the tears to flow freely.

“I feel like I’m just payment of a debt my parents owe, l-like I’m nothing.”

Cedric listens intently, slowly stroking the back of your hand and offering the handkerchief to you again.

You shake your head.

“I-I’d like you to go now.” You mumble, retracting your hand from Cedric’s warm grasp.

“Please don’t push me away y/n. If you don’t want my pity I understand, but I really do want to be your friend.” Cedric smiles gently and extends his hand out to you.

Your eyes flash in fear and doubt again, but you accept his outstretched hand.

“You understand how hard it’s gonna be for me to trust you?” You state.

Cedric nods his head.

“You’re not going to be afraid to be seen with me in public?” You push, remembering the first day he saw you.

Cedric freezes for a moment, knowing what you’re referring to, his head fights with his heart, but he knows his answer. He pushes his own fear aside and smiles.

“Why would I? You’re my friend now right?” He chuckles, earning himself a small grin from you.

“You have a beautiful smile you know.”

Your eyes lift from their spot on the floor into Cedric’s bright grey ones.

“T-Thank you.”

Cedric nods, sitting in peaceful silence beside you as you slowly catch your breath.

“Any chance you’d like to meet here tomorrow?” Cedric suggests, scratching the back of his neck.

“I-I’d like that.” You smile, sniffling into your sleeve.

#cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #harry potter imagine #cedric diggory imagine #harry potter #cedric diggory fluff #cedric x y/n #cedricsbrowncurls #angst

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catte-bard · 3 years

Text

FFXIV Write 2021 #13: Oneirophrenia

Urianger in his few months of knowing the pixies felt there were two very important facts about them. They were rather friendly, little creatures. And they were mischievous little devils. Fond of mayhem they were always trying to find little tricks to play on visitors to Il Mheg.

And Urianger was their favourite playmate. The mysterious elf who spoke with a funny voice and who had taken up residence in one the old mortal dwellings. He absolutely delighted them. Mortals never stayed in Il Mheg; they feared the fey and usually tried to pass through quickly when traveling its roads.

Today he had been making notes of the different kinds of flora that bloomed the land. Making quick sketches—though his hand wasn’t as talented as young Master Alphinaud’s—as well as jotting notes down about them.

Fascinating, it was all incredibly fascinating. He had theorized that Il Mheg must be somewhere geographically where Ishgard is on the Source. And yet it possessed a completely different clime.

He had been studying the plant life, curious to see if there were any similarities to those on his home shard. However, much of the flora seemed to have evolved in its own way separate from those on the Source. Which he supposed would make sense. The First’s history had been carved out in a different path from the Source. It had experienced its own eras, its own disasters, tragedies, and other impactful events. And so the flora and fauna and even the landscape itself would’ve adapted differently.

“Urianger!” A chipper voice suddenly popped into existence.

“Good morning to thee, Kenn Beq.” Urianger hummed as he scribbled something down in his journal about the tree he was resting under.

“What are you doing this time?” Kenn Beq asked, flitting close to look over his shoulder. “Oh what pretty pictures! Uri likes flowers! Lemme see! Lemme see! Don’t be shy now!”

And with a flick of their wrist, Urianger’s journal was suddenly lifted out of his hands and into the air. The Archon let out a noise of protest. It seemed the pixies were in a mischievous mood today.

“Kenn Beq.” Urianger fiercely said as if reprimanding a child. “Return that at once.”

They merely giggled at him and leafed through the pages. “Oh calm yourself. I only want to look. Oooh, Uri seems to be a scholar as well. Kenn Sul, come look!” They then called and another pixie popped forth.

Kenn Sul and Kenn Beq were perhaps the equivalent of twins in the world of mortals. The other pixies explained that the pair had been “born” together. And thus the two of them together were the source of much mayhem.

In truth, Urianger always found them rather endearing. Perhaps, reminded of another set of twins he knew well; and thus tolerated their presence. However, today he was in no mood to entertain these two.

“Oooh, how pretty!” Kenn Sul fawned. “You should have told us you liked flowers, Uri.”

He sighed. “Aye, I wish to learn more about thou’s land. And I’ve found the best way to learn about one’s surroundings is to observe the plant life. Now if you would be so kind.” And he stretched out his hand, waiting for his book to be returned to him.

The twins shared a look. And he did not like the smirks on their faces. The pixies were like children, he’d decided—very naughty children. Always scheming something wicked.

“Oh fine.” Kenn Beq agreed and sent the book floating back down to him.

“Uri, if you like flowers we can lead you to some very special ones!” Kenn Sul then said. “Ones that aren’t in your pretty book yet!”

Kenn Beq clapped their hands together in excitement. “Yes, yes! Oh I love those! I would love to see them in your book!”

Urianger eyed them warily. Wisely wondering if the two were up to any tricks. One had to be careful when trusting a pixie. Sometimes they were honest creatures and sometimes they would lead you straight into the jaws of a hungry draco.

And these two were no exception. Nay they were much worse!

“I am too busy for games, my friends.” He shook his head. “Mayhaps another time.”

And Kenn Sul made a stomping motion in the air, crossing their arms. “But it is no game. We mean it!”

“Yes!” Kenn Beq added. “There is a flower patch on the far end of Il Mheg that we know you want to...to sturdy? No that’s not the right word for it? Um Kenn Sul, what was it scholars like Uri did again?”

“I believe it was study.” Their twin offered. “Oh you were quite close!”

Kenn Beq did a twirl in the air at the praise before turning their attention back to Urianger. “Come, come! We’ll show you. And if it’s a rotten trick of ours then you’re free to cuff Kenn Sul across the head a few times as punishment.”

And with that Kenn Beq flitted off.

“H-hey!” Their sibling called after them as they followed. “Why do I have to take the brunt of the blame?!”

Urianger sighed; he could just stay here and return to his studies. Perhaps even return to the Bookman’s Shelves for a lunch. But he felt the twins would take offense to that. They would come pester him until he agreed to come with them on their little adventure. And if not that, they certainly would find a cruel trick to play on him.

And so against his better judgement, he tucked his journal under his arm and followed the tittering fey.

“See Uri!” Kenn Sul proudly announced when they had arrived at their destination.

The pixies flew excited circles around him, pointing at a cluster of shrubs with bright purple flowers blooming on them. Indeed he had never seen these flowers on his travels before. And drew closer out of curiosity. Upon closer inspection he found the flowers’ petals were also speckled with yellow like little freckles. And the flowers themselves were about the size of his entire hand.

“How fascinating.” The Archon hummed and opened his journal to take notes. “And what are these called?”

Kenn Beq came flitting up to rest upon his shoulder. “The mortals that lived here long ago had a name for them—I don’t remember what it was though. We pixies however call them Dreaming-While-Awakes.”

An odd name. He’d have to poor through the tomes at his home to see if he could discover its proper one.

“Are they poisonous? Or dangerous at all?” Urianger tilted his head. He knew many flowers were deceptively beautiful and here and the land of fey one could never be too careful. Just the other day a pixie had warned him to stay away from a cotton-like plant that was said to sting like nettles despite its soft appearance.

“No.” Kenn Beq said, casually swaying their legs. “We’ve never seen it harm mortals before.”

He nodded and assuming Kenn Beq’s knowledge could be trusted, he made note of the observation in his journal. And out of curiosity reach out to touch one of the soft looking petals.

The moment his finger brushed against the petal the flower shuddered and sprayed out a cloud of what he assumed to be some kind of mist or pollen. And then it closed up at once, curling itself into a tight little bud.

Urianger startled, coughing and hacking on the strange concoction it had assaulted him with. The smell was absolutely horrendous, it burned his throat and made his eyes water.

Faintly he could hear the twins laughing at him. Accursed little imps! He should have known better! However, before he could berate them for their trickery, they quickly flew off.

Whatever ailed him seemed to finally dissipate after a few agonizing minutes, though Urianger still suffered from its effects. Do not rub your eyes. It could spread the irritant and damage sight. His studies reminded him. And so he kept his hands away from his face.

It took a moment, but the burning seemed to abate to a more tolerable level. He paused for a moment, doing a mental well-being check. He didn’t seem ill or in any pain—the only thing plaguing him were eyes and a slight headache. But otherwise he didn’t seem to be in any danger.

It seemed Kenn Beq had not lied in that regard. The spray probably was some sort of defense mechanism for the plant. To keep itself from being eaten. He made a note of this within his journal before turning to head home.

During the walk back he did not encounter Kenn Beq or Kenn Sul again. The pair of them smartly staying away from him while his anger was still hot. On the morrow they’d probably come bearing gifts of apology, usually polished stones from the river that they thought were pretty.

And so his walk had gone undisturbed. However, about halfway he had to pause. The throbbing in his head had grown steadily worse. Going from a dull ache to a full on piercing pain. A side effect from the flower?

He groaned, clutching at his head with a hand. He winced at the sun beating down on him. was it always so bright? It made him feel nauseated under its beating warmth. Had that flower been poisonous?

Gods, above he felt so dizzy—the world was spinning and—

“You alright love?”

A voice snapped him from whatever was ailing him.

“You’re not looking too good. What tried to drink Thancred under the table? Though I have to say that’s not a very hard feat to accomplish.”

That voice…

His head still ached and he had to squint through the bright sunlight at the figure before him. It couldn’t be and yet...it sounded like her. It...it looked like her.

He could feel himself trembling as his lips parted to form her name. It couldn’t be. It was impossible.

Yet there she stood grinning at him, hands propped on her hips. “Come on then, up you go.” She insisted. “We need to get back home;?don’t want to be out here in the dark, do you?”

Finally. Finally he had the strength to form her name on his tongue. “Moenbryda?” He whispered incredulously.

She cocked her head. “Were you expecting someone else?”

Once again he was left speechless. How? How was this possible? This had to be a trick! Some cruel, cruel trick done by the pixies. He felt angry. He felt sorrow he thought he buried welling up within him again.

Abruptly, Moenbyrda’s smile fell and was replaced by an expression of concern. “Are you alright, love?” She asked moving forward to cup his face between her hands. And Urianger was surprised to find her touch warm. So real.

“How…” Urianger managed to find his voice. And he could feel tears misting in his eyes. “How are you here?”

Moenbryda seemed surprised and even offended at that. “Urianger...I’ve always been with you. Don’t you remember?” A frown furrowed her brow as she placed the back of her hand against his forehead. “Hmph, that flower must’ve done a number on you, eh? You’re positively burning up. Come on, let’s go back home and prep some tea. That always makes you feel better.”

“But…” Urianger began to protest.

“Hush my dear.” Moenbryda told him and patted him on the cheek. “It’s all going to be okay. You just need to rest.”

Something in her words seemed to soothe him. The emotions rattling within him stilled. And suddenly he felt so tired.

“Right...right.” He murmured, feeling dazed and let her lead him back home.

This felt strange. Like it shouldn’t be happening. And yet...her hands had felt so real against his cheeks. Her fingers felt so real as they entwined with his. And her voice, her sweet voice—he could never mistake it. It was her.

And yet it couldn’t be. Back and forth his mind warred like that. Illogical and logical fighting to dominate his mind which right now felt as if a fog had settled over it.

It didn’t feel right but Moen had promised all was well. And well...he trusted her.

They had made it to the Rising Stones.

Wait...that’s not right. Is it?

He couldn’t ponder on it much longer before Moenbryda dragged him inside. She had settled down at a table and quickly shooed him away, insisting that he start a kettle for them.

“And why am I making the tea when it was thee whom suggested it?” Urianger had asked.

And Moenbryda grinned that wonderful smile of hers. Wry and filled with mischief. “Because you need something to occupy your mind, silly thing. You’ve walked the whole way here with a blank look on your face like your head was suddenly empty.” She teased. “You need something to do to get that brain of yours working again.”

He merely shook his head and wandered over to the stove to prepare the tea. Cheeky. She was always so cheeky. And that was one of the things he loved most about her.

The thought tugged at something at the back of his mind. And the dizzy spell that had ailed him earlier had suddenly returned. The elezen had to lean against the nearby wall for a moment to get his bearings. Why was he feeling so nauseous all of a sudden?

“Is everything alright, Urianger?” he heard Moenbryda call out to him. “You haven’t been acting well since that incident with that flower. Funny thing must be messing with your head.”

“Yes...the flower.” He murmured and clutched at his head. Something about that was making his head throb again. What had Kenn Beq called it? Something wasn’t right. “The Rising Stones. How...did we get here? We were just in Il Mheg.”

“We walked here, obviously. Are you feeling okay?”

No. Not at all. Something...something wasn’t right.

“I am fine.” Urianger reassured, shaking his head to clear it. And with trembling hands he turned his attention back to his task. Right...he needed to put the kettle on to warm the water—

Two cups of tea sat before him. Warm and with steam rising up from them. How? Had he already brewed it and just wasn’t paying attention?

“Uri!” Moenbryda called impatiently. “Are you going to hog it all for yourself?”

He pushed down the nauseated feeling rising within him and turned to carry the cups to his waiting companion. This was nice. How long had it been since the two of them enjoyed a nice tea and chat together?

Again the tugging at his mind came. The flower. Il Mheg. Sitting here in the Rising Stones didn’t seem to fit with it. His sluggish mind swept it away. Focus on tea with Moen not that.

The two of them chatted pleasantly. Reminiscing in old memories and recounting stories of their time after graduating the Studium. It was a pleasant time and Urianger felt he had not had genuine laughter in so long.

He couldn’t help but to feel he was forgetting something though. Something that kept nagging at the back of his mind. It had been tugging on him ever since meeting Moenbryda again.

There was something about her. Something about this day. This very moment. And every time he tried to focus on it he was left feeling dizzy.

“Mm you always made the finest tea, Urianger.” Moenbryda praised as she took a long sip. Knocking it back as if it were a tankard of ale. “Always could taste the care you put into it.”

“Preparing tea is an art.” Urianger replied as he took his own sip. Puzzlement welled up within him. His tasted so plain. Had he put enough herbs in it? “Master Loiusoix taught me that important lesson. “

Moenbryda hummed. “You were always his favourite.”

He set his foul tea aside, no longer having the taste for it. “Do not pretend that he never had a fondness for thee.”

She merely shrugged at that and crossed one leg over the other. “Do you miss him?”

The question seemed out of nowhere and surprised Urianger. He scowled and looked down at his lap. “Aye.” He admitted. “Every day, I long for his wisdom and his guidance. For there are some days where I oft wonder if I am taking the right steps. And if I am taking them down the right path.”

Moenbryda hummed thoughtfully. “And me? Do you miss me?”

That question was odd that it made him jerk his head up to see...her fading.

“Moen?” He whispered in worry.

She was fading. Fading away again.

Something...something was wrong. He felt hot all over and that piercing pain in his head from earlier had returned.

“Moen…” Urianger reached out to grasp her hands. “Moenbryda, what is wrong?!” Desperation made his voice hoarse.

And his dear friend stared at him sadly. And yet she smiled. “Ah told you that silly flower was messing with your head.”

The flower? Yes...yes he remembered now. The fog was slowly lifting and his head was clearer.

Kenn Beq had called something peculiar…Dreaming-While-Awake.

“This isn’t real.” He admitted to himself.

“No.” Moenbryda beamed. “But at least it was nice while it lasted.”

He stared at her sadly and when to grab her hand this time his fingers brushed through it. He closed his eyes with a grimace. Of course, he should’ve known better. Known that such a perfect moment could only exist within the confines of his mind.

“Oh don’t be sad, dear.” Moenbryda consoled. “I told you before, I’ve always been with you.”

“Yes…” He agreed, closing his hand into a fist and looking down at the table. “But only within mine dreams.”

“And within your heart.” She told him.

“And within mine heart.” He repeated solemnly. “I suppose it does answer thine question though. ” He murmured, looking up at the empty air where she’d once been. “I do miss thee terribly.”

When he came out of the strange vision, Urianger found himself lying in a field. Likely somewhere in between where the flowers had been and the Bookman’s Shelves. He hadn’t seemed to travel far in his stupor.

He groaned, wincing at the piercing pain in his skull. Now seeming a thousand times worse with him being awake. He awoke feeling sweaty and hot. And when he tried to stand he instantly regretted it, forced back to his knees as he retched up the contents of his stomach.

Twelve, allow me strength to make it back home.

This would be the last time he trusted the fey on botanistic excursions.

Journal Entry No. 63

Dreamer’s Neem (the the pixies seem to dub it Dreaming-While-Awake)

A beautiful looking flower that grows to about the size of a grown Elezen male’s hand. A light shade of purple and dappled with yellow freckles it seems to grow on shrubs in isolated patches around Il Mheg.

As a defense mechanism against creatures that would try to prey upon it, the plant sprays the aggressor with an agitating powder before closing in on itself. It should be noted that this powder contains a very potent hallucinogenic agent that causes truly powerful visions that seem to affect all the senses.

The former human inhabitants seemed to have used the flower for recreational purposes. Similar to the use of milkweed on the Source. It should be noted however, that while the plant may not be deadly it is best to avoid it. The effects of its defensive powder could prove to be overwhelming to individuals not familiar with the plant.

It should also be well noted that an individual exposed should be given cool water and broth for the rest of the day. The after effects of the hallucinations may leave them weak of stomach. And solid foods could agitate their condition.

Have care for thee whom wouldst seek out this plant. For the vision it offers may not always be pleasant. Speaking from mine own experience it was rather tame. Though other accounts I hath read indicate more nightmarish experiences. How lucky I was in mine own…

#ffxivwrite2021 #final fantasy xiv #Urianger Augurelt #writing

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supraveng · 4 years

Text

The One with the Slumber Party

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

AN: this is my entry for @smol-and-grumpy #superfriendstitlechallenge

When you realized you were reading the same page for the 4th time you decided it was time to turn in. Closing the book you looked over at the boys "I'm sorry guys, but I'm gonna have to turn in, my brain can't take any more Latin" you told them as you rubbed your temples. You weren't sure how long the three of you had been researching but you were sore and needed to stretch as you stood up from the chair. You could feel Dean's eyes on you as you twisted from side to side trying to remove the strain on your muscles for sitting so long. Glancing at him, you see him licking his bottom lip before pulling it between his teeth. A sight you know you will be dreaming about shortly after your head hits the pillow, but you do your best to pretend to ignore it and act as naturally as possible. You mumble a quiet goodnight before heading out of the library, you miss the questioning look on Dean’s face as you walk towards the hall to your room.

Nearing your room you hear hurried footsteps and turn to find Dean rushing towards you. “Baby, what’s going on? Where are you going?” he asks, looking concerned.

Did Dean just call you baby? Ok, that’s my mind playing tricks on me. “I’m going to my room, to sleep, that’s why I said goodnight” you respond a bit confused by the question.

“But why aren’t you coming to our room? Did I do something? Are you mad at me?” he asks stepping closer to you and caressing your cheek.

Ok, what is going on? I must be dreaming “Uhm, our room? Wh-What are you talking about?” you gulp.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on? You moved into my room months ago. Why are you going back to your old room? Are you feeling ok?”

“I... I don’t know what you are talking about.... Why would I m-move into your room?”

“Baby, you are worrying me. Are you feeling ok? Did that witch do something to you?” he searches your face.

“What witch? We just got back from a werewolf hunt. I’m really tired Dean, I think I just need some sleep”

“Sweetheart, the last werewolf hunt was 6 months ago. We just got back from a witch hunt, but we ganked her, so if she threw a spell on you before that, it should wear off soon….I hope” He kisses your forehead before grabbing your hand. “So if you don’t remember the last 6 months, then we need to jog your memory, right?” he says with a sweet smile.

“Okay, and what does that entail?” you ask following behind him to his your shared room.

“Well, might I suggest a slumber party? I know you are tired, but I wouldn’t mind reliving the last 6 months, especially when it comes to us” he bends down to leave a chaste kiss to your lips and you freeze.

“Wow, you really don’t remember, do you? So our first kiss, our first time, all over again? That turns me on a little bit sweetheart” he winks at you as he pulls you into the room.

Even looking around, seeing your belongings mixed with Dean’s so seamlessly, you still don’t recognize the room as yours. “So what now, Dean? What type of slumber party do you have in mind?” you ask with a giggle anticipating a lewd comment that only Dean could make at this point.

“Well, sweetheart” he states walking up to you and placing his hands on your hips and pulling you closer. “I was thinking about going through your journal, I’m hoping you’ve written something about me, and looking at pictures we’ve taken. But I’d love to show you all over again, how much you mean to me. How much I care about you” as he leans down and kisses you with more urgency.

Is this really happening? He’s a better kisser than I imagined over the past few years.

“So, I’m going to grab my phone, ask Sam to take a look into what could have caused this, then I’m right back here and we can enjoy our night” he states with a wiggle of his eyebrows. You can’t help be laugh at him “ok, I’m gonna change into something more comfy”

Dean winked and left the room, just as he mentioned you found your journal on what you assumed was your night stand. Flipping through back to the werewolf hunt you began reading to see if there was anything about Dean or this new relationship the two of you had begun.

You’re not sure how long you were reading through your entries, completely absorbed in the info that you were hoping would jog your memory, only to leave you more confused. Finally, Dean came back in with a tray of snacks.

“What’s all that?” you asked with a smirk. “What’s a slumber party without snacks? I got popcorn, your favorite gummy bears, some beef jerky and beer!” he states proudly as he sets the tray on the bed and snuggles up next to you.

“Anything in there helping you remember...us?” he looks at you hopeful. You shake your head in defeat and keep going through the pages. “That’s ok, how about we look here” handing you his phone. ”there’s bound to be something in here that will help you remember. Here this was last month, date night, you looked so sexy in that dress.” Looking at the picture you hoped it would help but nothing seems familiar.

After a few hours of looking at pictures and him telling you about funny instances that have happened since you officially became a couple, you felt more happy than you had in years. This was real, Dean was yours, but you couldn’t remember for whatever reason. A knock on the door interrupted your laughter when Sam’s head popped in.

“So, from what Rowena said, the side effects from the spell the witch casted, shouldn’t last more than 24 hours after we killed her. If it does, she’ll come and see what she can do to get your memories back. So, hopefully you’ll be back to normal by tomorrow afternoon”

You gave Sam a grateful smile “thanks Sam, I’m sure it will wear off eventually”, he nods before ducking back out in the hall. “How about you get some sleep and come morning, if you don’t remember, we’ll try something a bit more physical to help you remember?” Dean tells you with a mischievous grin.

“Alright Winchester, I’m exhausted, is it ok if I sleep here? It still feels like I’m invading your space.” you tell him while biting your lip.

“I won’t be able to sleep without you in my arms, sweetheart. C’mere” Dean pulls you close so that your head is resting on his chest and his arms are wrapped around you.

You’re so comfortable, that you fall asleep almost instantly. Tomorrow would be even better, remembering everything between you and Dean would make everything better.

Dean’s POV

“Damn it Sammy! Why would she go after that djinn alone?! I can’t lose her, she doesn’t know what she really means to me!” I’m so frustrated and just hoping to find her in time to save her.

#spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #spn fanfiction #spn au #superfriendstitlechallenge #dean winchester #dean winchester au #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfic

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thetomorrowshow · 3 years

Text

Slower Than Words Ch. 22

First - Previous - Next

Hey all! It’s good to be back! The break was much-needed, but I’ve missed interacting with y’all. Have a relatively calm chapter!

cw: food

Weeks passed, and Patton realized that lip-reading was harder than he thought it would be. Patton practiced every single day, studying the diagrams in the book and taking down notes on everything. Remus had at first practiced with him by saying a phrase and having Patton guess, but they had quickly realized that it was too advanced at this stage. Now, Remus held up a notecard with a phrase or word and said it. After going through five different different notecards, Remus would start over again without displaying the notecards. This helped Patton grasp it much quicker, and he had advanced to picking up several words that his therapists spoke in everyday conversation.

Sometimes, when he felt really excited, Patton would mimic the diagrams in the mirror, making the mouth movements for his own name, Remus's name, and Virgil's name. He already knew what his own name looked like, he found—he'd been unknowingly able to recognize it for years.

Patton always had the same translator at his doctor and therapy appointments, so he asked her a few questions about lip-reading and speaking. The woman was able to answer, usually, but there was rarely any time to get into a conversation. The woman did recommend some online resources and teachers for learning to speak, which Patton passed along to Remus. Patton didn't really understand the whole online thing yet. Virgil had tried to explain it several times, but it didn't make a lot of sense. Where did all of the information come from? Who put it there, ready for everyone to use? How was it usable?

Patton had learned how to use the internet in basic terms. He knew how to look for something in specific on Google, and he knew that Youtube was a thing because Remus liked showing him videos from it. Youtube had captions, unlike the television. Patton had found himself watching a lot of comedy videos, sometimes writing down the best jokes from them. He had a cheap blue notebook that he wrote the jokes and his notes in, and he kept it under his bed, like he used to do with his journal back ho—back at the cult.

Patton had researched the cult briefly on the internet, but had quickly become upset at seeing his own face on the cover of one of the articles that popped up. He'd closed it after seeing that several of the scientists, as well as the two prophets, were facing legal charges. That was all he'd needed to know.

Well, not really all. He'd been looking for any mention of Virgil. The one he'd read had mentioned him briefly, if not by name, and was now written in Patton's notebook: Investigations began after the appearance of two young men, both of whom required immediate medical care.

One was Remus. The other had to be Virgil. That meant Virgil was alive somewhere. Patton wondered if Virgil too was reading the articles, seeing that Patton was out, wondering how to find him.

Gosh, Patton missed him.

Right now, Patton was following along with a video on tongue movements for forming different letters. He wasn't sure that he was getting the S quite right, he'd have to ask Remus later. He took a few more notes on how to do it, then folded his notebook closed and took Father's laptop off incognito. Remus had taught him how to turn on and off incognito mode with a little wink, and now Patton used it almost every time he was on the laptop, which was only while Father was at his second job. For some reason, Patton felt that he wouldn't be allowed to do this.

He was just in time out of Father's room for Remus to get home from work, shooting him a fingergun (Virgil used to do those all the time) before throwing himself onto the couch. Patton longed to shake his shoulder, ask him for help practicing, but Remus was always tired right after work. Patton wasn't sure what he did, only that he was trying to find something else that paid better, so sometimes he would be out for hours after he was supposed to be home looking for a new job.

Patton slid into his room, flicking the light switch to turn it off. He rarely sat in his room with the light on, it made him uncomfortable. It almost felt as though someone was watching, though he knew that it was just a response developed from a traumatic situation, as his therapist had told him.

He'd barely been in his room for thirty seconds when Remus wandered in. He gestured to his mouth, and Patton watched carefully as he spoke.

“You - - - - to eat pr - - - - -.”

“One more time?” Patton signed. Remus repeated himself, but Patton still didn't pick it all up, so he asked Remus to sign it.

“You need to eat protein,” Remus signed slowly. “Diet time.”

Patton wasn't particularly hungry, but a part of regaining his body mass and retraining his body to eat normally was eating six or seven small, 'enriching' meals instead of three big ones. Remus was right, Patton realized as he checked the clock—it was time for his protein supplement, a meal usually made up of beef jerky and peanuts. Yay.

The weeks turned into months, and Remus decided that it was time for Patton to get some real world practice. Sure, he'd been going to therapy and all, but those folks rarely talked to him. It was time to play to Logan's weaknesses.

He brought it up over dinner one night, when Patton had already gone to bed. It rubbed him the wrong way that Logan sent him to bed instead of letting him stay up and talk to his pops, who had only been home for ten minutes. Sure, Pat had a schedule or whatever, and he had to follow it to stay healthy, but it should be his own decision. Still, there was nothing Remus could do about it. Except maybe this.

“So, when's your next day off?”

Logan shrugged. “I believe I have the morning of next Wednesday off, but that's all for next week. Why?”

Remus twirled his fork through the cheap macaroni and cheese, pretending to not be too interested in the outcome. “Just thinkin'. Pat's almost out of books again, we should probably make a trip to the library.”

Logan smiled softly at the suggestion—or maybe at Patton's name. There was no telling with the man.

“And his therapist's been saying he needs to go to a new place for enrichment or something like that. Wouldn't—”

Logan's face had already shuttered. “Absolutely out of the question. I cannot—”

“Lo, he really wants to,” Remus pleaded, letting his fork fall to the table. “He's gotta get out of this house. And what better place than a quiet library, where it's easy to watch him and sometimes there's a cop hanging out?”

“Remus, I—I can't,” Logan said, his face still stone, but now his eyes had grown sad. “I cannot, in good conscience, allow Patton to be in an unsafe environment. If I lost him again. . . .”

“You won't,” Remus cajoled. “I'll come too, watch him be safe. Just imagine how much he'll love it! Father-son bonding and all that crap!”

Logan looked down at his plate, clearly thinking deeply. Remus could almost see him weighing the options in his head. Internally, his heart rabbited, but externally Remus was the picture of calm. Hopefully. Maybe. He was probably not, but he could dream.

“I'll consider it,” Logan said eventually. “You are correct in assuming that the library is a place I would very much like to share with him. Tomorrow after tutoring Andy I will stop at the library and inquire after safety precautions. By Monday, I will have my decision.”

Remus leaned back, picking his fork up again. That was as close as he was going to get Logan tonight. If he continued to push it, Logan would completely shut down the conversation and then there'd be no chance of getting Pat out of the apartment.

They'd been watching a stupid black-and-white movie a week or three ago, and one of the characters had said a line that Patton had obviously related to. Remus had looked over to see tears brimming after the old man on screen said, “I thought I was supposed to be getting fresh air. So far, I've been in a train and a room, and a car and a room, and a room and a room.”

That probably really sucked for Patton. Remus went stir-crazy in this tiny apartment, and he was able to leave whenever he wanted. Patton left three times a week, and went straight to his appointments and then straight home. One of his doctors had actually just switched over to doing virtual appointments, so Pat was only leaving twice a week now. Kid had to be going insane.

Patton felt a bit like he was going insane.

He marked a tally in his notebook every day, one for each day that he had been out without Virgil. It sort of was a continuation of his tallies in the cell, but he couldn't remember where he had left off, so he had just started anew.

He had just filled a second page of tally marks. It had been months since he'd escaped, even longer since he'd seen Virgil. Every time Remus tried to tell him that everything was going to be okay, or Father told him that everything was okay, Patton felt anger simmer in his stomach. It was not okay, it couldn't be okay, it would never be okay without Virgil. Even if he had to be trapped in this horrible apartment for years, it would be wonderful with Virgil by his side.

Every day, he followed the same schedule. Therapy exercises, meals at precise times, lip-reading studies, regular reading, bed at ten PM. It was terrible.

He couldn't help but feel excited, though. He was leaving, at least for a little bit! Father had asked him if he wanted to go to the library with him tomorrow, and Patton had thought his heart was going to drop out of his chest. Both Father and Virgil had told him about libraries, and how beautiful they were, and how many books were always there.

Patton was finally going to a new place, and it was the library. All of the anger he'd been feeling over the past weeks had washed away, replaced only with anticipation. Even with Father there, this had to be the best thing to happen in months.

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