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heavencanbeaprisontoo · 3 months

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The Other Shelby Girl

Platonic!Shelby Siblings x reader

Headcanon/Imagine for a second Shelby Sister. Explores dynamics with each sibling based on of the reader were their older or younger sibling.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, mentions of war, violence, period-typical sexism, over-protective sibling drama.

Arthur

Older Sister:

You are the third most respected woman in Arthur’s life, which is greater than it sounds. First was Mum, then Polly. To be succeeded only by Polly in Arthur Shelby’s eyes is precious. He’s always looked up to you, but didn’t always show it. After the war, Arthur would come to rely on you heavily for emotional support. There were nights he would come to your home and no be able to speak. Where he would seem to turn back into a little boy, crying into your shoulder as he begs you not to speak of this to the others. When Arthur met Linda, you were one of the few to be supportive. You are Arthur’s greatest advocate, but his pride and Tommy’s influence make it hard to help him. When you have a family of your own, it’ll only make things harder. You often feel like you have to take sides. Still, you do what you think is best.

Younger Sister:

Depending on just how young you are, Arthur might try to put on like he’s your Dad. Arthur doesn’t always know how to talk to you. You’re just a young woman, he doesn’t feel like he can talk to you the way he does with John or Tommy. He wants to tease you and pick on you as he would with Finn, but he can’t. The moment you hit out your bottom lip and look like your feelings got hurt, Arthur is a flustered mess of a guilty brother. You might resist his attempts at being fatherly, or welcome them. Regardless, you can see that Arthur just wants you to know he’s a safe space for you. Maybe if you ask him nice enough, he’ll teach you how to draw horses like he used to. No matter how old you get, Arthur is the brother that still sees you as a little girl.

Thomas

Older Sister:

Before the war, Tommy only saw you as someone who nagged at him. The meddling older sister warning him away from throwing curses at people and fighting with the cops. After the war, you became something far more delicate than that. You became something like his conscience. That pleading voice that begged for peace and forgiveness that grows fainter every year. As adults, you swear sometimes he hates you. The way he disregards you and keeps you at arm’s length. In actuality, he’s only trying to avoid the shame your hopeful gaze gives him. It was you who tried to get the brothers to hide from the draft. It was you who told him getting involved in London affairs would be dangerous. You who told him not to accept anything from the Russians. You were always right. Always good. He also feels he must protect you because you know him when he was soft and weak. Aside from Polly, you’re the last person who ever heard him laugh.

Younger Sister:

He lumps you in with Ada without really meaning to. You and Ada are both younger, and are both girls. As such, you both have similar problems that have his head aching and his trigger finger itching. Two pretty girls tend to attract a lot of scummy men. You’re both so stubborn about not needing anything from him, which is bloody absurd. Of course you need his help. Whatever money you’re making doing legitimate work isn’t going to be enough to keep you safe. You have never gone on a single date without someone Peaky Blinder watching you. Arthur tries to give advice like he’s your dad, and Tommy drops rules on you like he’s your dad. He has absolutely said the phrase, “And where are you going dressed like that?” Tommy will kill your ex-boyfriends if asked, he already knows why you want them dead and he agrees. The only thing he likes more than you accepting his help is hearing you admit he was right.

John

Older Sister:

He is the little brother who reads your diary and eats your food after being told not to. As a kid, John was Hell on legs. As an adult, John is still Hell on legs but with children. Growing up, you spent a lot of time picking John up from police stations and headmaster offices. John stresses you out like he’s being bloody paid for it. But, he loves you dearly and you forgive him more often than you should. John has called you “Mum,” as a joke many times but it’s not quite a lie. As an adult, he is far more respectful towards you. He is one to bow his head when you lecture him about fatherhood and how his drinking is going to harm his children. John respects you enough to take his cap off when he enters your home. However, he’ll still gobble down any treats you’ve left out in the kitchen and have the audacity to say, “What?!” When you shout at him for it.

Younger Sister:

John will not only read your diary and eat your snacks, but he will loudly announce your crush the moment he finds out. Any reluctance Arthur has about picking on you is nonexistent in John. He is a fully grown man who is unafraid to tease you with schoolyard chants in public spaces. Has walked into your room while you were reading just to slap something off of your desk and run. John has spent so long as the younger brother, he has to get his kicks where he can. That said, nobody better say anything rude to you. Ever. One time, a mate of his simply repeated a mean name he had called you and John slugged him for it. Nobody is allowed to annoy you but him. John is obnoxious in an almost biblical sense, but he is the one to see you cry and ask: “Who did that to you.”

Ada

Older Sister:

Yet another sibling to boss her around. Excellent! Ada is one who would resist you trying to take care of her. She doesn’t want to hear your advice! She doesn’t need it! Until her first heartbreak and then she’s sobbing on your bed waiting for you to come home. Ada hates to feel dependent on others, but she does trust you. There’s something special about having a sister. You understand each other in a way your brothers never will. The fear that builds as a man walks a few yards behind you out in the streets at night. How every romance has that bitter taste as you think about all that you’ll lose if you were to get married. Ada gets her best advice from you, but you’re also her security. You were probably the one to start taking her to the movie theater. It’s likely that Ada imitates you subconsciously. When you got your hair bobbed, so did Ada. When you started wearing heels, so did Ada. She denies it, but it’s obvious that she follows your lead.

Younger Sister:

Might be a sad thing to say, but Ada didn’t think much of you until she had Karl. You were just this clinging little sister that everyone thought she was supposed to take care of. All you did was follow her about town and put your nose where it didn’t belong. Tommy probably found out about her and Freddie through you. You don’t mean to be annoying, you’re just lonely. Ada couldn’t see that until she had a child and a home away from Small Heath. The dynamic flips hard when Ada comes back to Small Heath. Ada is all about leading you in “the right direction,” and is very serious about your education. She essentially begs Tommy to set aside money for you to go to university when you express interest. You want to be in with the Peaky Blinders, though. Oh, God. You’re in your rebellious phase and Ada wants to shake you till you forget all about jazz and pretty boys with guns. You both adore each other, but you butt heads over where your life is going and who should have a say in what direction it goes.

Finn

Older Sister:

Between you, Polly and Ada, he’s almost got a mother. As a young boy, Finn has actually called for you as his mother by accident. It makes sense. You were often left in charge of him. To Finn, you are all that he knows. It’s often left to you to make sure he goes to school and stays out of trouble. You’ve spent many afternoons arguing with his teachers to give him a second chance. Finn needs that, someone to stick up for him. That doesn’t mean he always likes it though. Finn wants to be a gangster, like his older brothers. You want him to do literally anything but that. When Tommy, Arthur, and John, pick on him too much you are the one to back Finn up. He used to like it… until he was roughly twelve. What used to be you coming to his rescue has become you inadvertently humiliating him. You try to back off, but Finn makes poor choices for himself which require you to come save him. Therefore, the cycle continues.

Younger Sister:

You are the only one beneath him in the Shelby Family Pecking Order, and he lives for it. When Finn has a bad day, he takes it out on you. Why not? It isn’t like he had anyone else he can push around and be the boss of. So, he’ll cut your dolls’ hair, call you names, and make fun of the things you like. But only if there’s other boys who can see him do it. When he goes too far and you cry, he has to answer to all of your siblings and Polly. Finn picks on you to soothe his own ego. When it’s just you and Finn, he’s very quiet. You two can spend hours not talking but be perfectly happy. Finn likes to turn on the radio and just sit, listening to music or the results of a boxing match. Sometimes, he vents to you about how Tommy wouldn’t let him do this or do that. You always listen to him. Finn usually takes these quiet times to apologize for past pranks or insults. You always forgive him. It’s odd to you how your accepting of his apology seldom puts him in a better mood. Truth is, he’s very jealous of you.

#peaky blinders #thomas shelby #peaky blinders x reader #arthur shelby #peaky blinders headcanon #john shelby #ada shelby #ada thorne #finn shelby #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders imagine #platonic

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minniepetals · 1 year

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cry me a river | the unprepared

— summary: no one is ever prepared to be broken, even if they think they are, and breaking again and again does not make you numb to the pain

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 7.0k

— warnings: slight ptsd trigger

— PART 23 / previous post / masterpost

“Would you be able to send this letter to the address written on it? Personally?”

The girl you saved is named Ester, and without fail, people whose lives have been saved often feel indebted to their savior, so you know it would be right to have a little faith in her when you give her this task.

And as expected, she’s nodding without question and goes on her merry way.

It was the first thing you asked of her after all, because when you told her you had no need for the help she wanted to offer you with the injuries you sustained at the party along with wanting to help you feel comfortable in Alexander’s mansion, you could tell she was immediately angsty and in need of wanting to do anything you asked of her.

Nice girls like her often get taken advantage of.

Well, that’s none of your problem.

You take care of yourself with the treatment Ester provided for you, treating the cuts from where the bullets managed to wheeze past you, and bandaging yourself up before leaving the room provided for you.

Little Kiwi comes barking at your feet before you even reach the grand living room and despite not one to give or show affection, you pick the little thing up albeit reluctantly.

“Kid, isn’t it about time you head to sleep? And don’t lick me again, please, that’s quite rude.”

You hear a gentle chuckle from a familiar deep voice and finally walk into the living room to find both Alexander and Asher already there.

“Dogs don’t necessarily understand rudeness, though he listens to you quite well,” Alexander notes at the obedient puppy in your arms. He doesn’t wiggle around or bark and remains nestled where you hold him. When you take your seat on the sofa with a small space between you and Asher, the old man speaks again. “I heard you refused treatment from my people.”

You clear your throat awkwardly. “Forgive me, I’m not used to foreign touches.”

He knows you don’t mean “foreigners” per se and narrows his gaze slightly, possibly out of curiosity. “You have quite the skills, young lady, for having an unknown name.”

“My name is Y/N,” you tell him, sitting up. “I am a Reaper, the Grim Reaper of South Korea. My father passed away about a year ago, he was a good friend of your son Karl.”

“Karl.” He rubs his chin thinking about it. “So why have you come to Norway? To meet up with Karl?”

“Karl and I have never been that close, sir.” Of course not, you hate that man. Seeing his face alone will make you want to punch him but you know better than that. So keeping yourself calm, you look away to the side where the windows are, covered by pretty rose gold curtains. “I came here because I quite like the way the sun never sets during this time. It brings me peace.”

“You’re on vacation?” He raises a brow, doubtful, and looks toward Asher for confirmation but the man just shrugs without giving him an answer.

“You could say that,” you reply, and the old man clears his throat.

“It takes someone special to dodge all those bullets without managing any fatal injuries,” he returns to the topic of the matter as he leans back into his seat, an ankle propped onto a knee. “My son never mentioned someone like you, or his good friend.”

“The skills I acquired were not from my father, sir.”

“So you had a different master?”

“I was trained by a Yakuza master. He goes by the name Kitagawa Daisuke.”

Kitagawa Daisuke. Anyone who lives in the darkness knows the name. It’s almost like saying Shakespeare and an immediate ding pops into one's head. Your master is that famous in the underground world.

“No wonder..” Alexander looks at you with fascination now, a small crooked smile curling along his lips, eyes brightening. He knows not just anyone can call themself a disciple of Kitagawa Daisuke and it just further proves a point as to how dangerous the mission will be when you finally go up against your master. That is, if time will allow it. Who knows if you’ll even survive this mission.

You’re just dancing around with death at this point and he’s leading the moves.

“Now that you mention it, you have a sort of aura that you exude in the way I’ve seen with Master Kita. You live up to his name, no disciple of his would have let the enemies’ move confuse her.”

He must be talking about how you managed to recognize the motives of the enemies when you realize the focus was not on Alexander himself but his grandson, Asher Larsen.

You give the man a small glance before looking down at the puppy who’s now slowly dozing off in your lap. You give him a small scratch behind the ear, doting on him a bit. Who would have thought even the enemies knew the life of a dog mattered more to Alexander than his own grandson.

So Asher was right when he said Alexander doesn’t have favorites, which means that if someone does manage to gain his favor, it wouldn’t just be in your favor but you’d have more eyes on your back more than before.

Sounds like a headache.

But it’s the only way you can get rid of Karl. Because if you gain Alexander’s favor, it’ll mean he won’t blink an eye when you tell him you want his own son dead.

“Master told me to always keep my senses heightened no matter the situation.”

He hums at the answer and in a way, you hope this little attention you’ve gained from Alexander is enough to gain a bit of his favor. They say Alexander doesn’t like people who deliberately kiss up someone’s shoes to get to where they want. He’s probably had enough of those people. He also likes people who have a backbone and knows how to protect themselves.

“How would you like to be my new caretaker for Kiwi?” The proposal Alexander gives has your head perked up his way, feeling a bit dumbfounded and surprised, but he continues before you can reject or accept the offer. “You’re here on vacation, aren’t you? I’m sure Kiwi would love to continue seeing you until it’s time for you to return home.”

Perhaps he knows a bit of your plan. Perhaps he doesn’t. Either way, he’s giving you a great opportunity to remain seen by his side.

“I know it may sound a lot asking a mafia boss but I quite like you, Miss Y/N.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” you shake your head lightly and look down at the now sleeping puppy in your lap before giving Alexander the answer. “I’d gladly accept.”

He smiles, satisfied, and when he leaves after taking the sleeping puppy from you, you’re left alone with Asher who had been silent the whole exchange between you and Alexander.

“I’m impressed, that was quite the feat. No one’s ever gotten this far this fast.” When you look at the man who’s finally speaking up, there’s a small curl up his lips when he looks your way, and you guess this man is usually stoic for the most part. How great you’re earning a bit of favor from both the grandfather and the grandson.

“I guess it’s just in my nature to have people join my side.” You give him a simple reply, one he does not refute, and the day ends with that.

You don’t get a wink of sleep at all staying there in that mansion and you know it’s because you’re in an unfamiliar place. You’ve never been good at adapting to something new. It took some time for you to settle into the Bangtan manor when you first moved there years ago, but unlike how it was there and back at your own manor, Alexander’s mansion gives you some sort of comfort you’ve never had before.

It’s probably the fact that night never comes. Your room has windows placed at a good spot, where the sun seems to shine through even though there are clouds blocking part of it. It isn’t as bright as it was when you first arrived at the airport but when it still lights up the sky around three am, you’re grateful for being here, in Norway.

Norway is pretty in a way Korea has never been and being here, despite the mission you’re on, gives you a sense of peace and calmness Korea has never given you. It’s a foreign country and yet something about it, something about the sun not being allowed to set and give way to the stars and moon, to the darkness, you have the urge to stay here if you could. Forever if possible.

But peace can never truly stay forever as long as you live this life.

You have people to go after, a revenge plot you’re on. Maybe when everything is over, if you manage to survive in the end and meet your last victim without dying, maybe then you can return here.

But first comes earning Alexander’s favor.

“You’re going to be in charge of taking care of his dog?” Hoseok’s face is a bit comical when you relay them the news once morning comes and you arrive back at the place Namjoon has provided for you. “Just what do you know about taking care of dogs?”

“Not much,” you admit as you scroll through your phone in hopes of learning, “but Alexander’s given me a bit of trust so I might as well take the opportunity. Ah, speaking of,” you put your phone down for a second, looking between the two Bangtan men, “don’t the two of you have some experience in taking care of dogs? You’ll teach me, then.”

It’s a request that comes out of nowhere, especially after just dropping the bomb on them, but it’s not like there’s anything else they can really do.

Namjoon sent them here in support for you and despite the awkward air around each of you, you’re one to ignore all signs and pretend everything is and has always been alright.

“Well an important part of a dog’s routine is taking walks,” Jungkook speaks up after being quiet for a while. His brows are slightly furrowed, thinking. “Mr. Larsen has actually given you quite the task.”

He’s right.

Taking a dog out on walks means being out in the open air where enemy eyes are everywhere. If last night proves that Kiwi serves more purpose to Alexander than his own grandson — and the enemies know that — then being the dog sitter isn’t just any mere maid’s job.

They have to be smart, agile, quick, and strong because they’re looking after what equals an heir.

You’re basically Kiwi’s bodyguard.

“Maybe this is his way of testing me.” It has to be. He couldn’t just have trusted a random stranger to take care of something that clearly means a lot to him. Though that begs the question as to why.

Is it because you mentioned Kitagawa as your master? He’s quite well known after all, and well respected at that.

Still, something’s a little weird.

But if you’re trying to get close to the old man, you might as well take advantage of this while not forgetting to remain cautious.

No one can ever be trusted fully. There is always an ulterior motive behind one’s action.

“I have a question, sir.” When you return to the manor a little later that day, the first person you go to is Alexander, who easily allows you into his proximity just minutes after you asked for his time. You thought initially it’d be a while until you get your reply, after all, he’s a Godfather who’s probably busy with all sorts of things, which is why it’s surprising the reply came so soon and was received well.

His butler didn’t lead you to an office, rather, you found yourself walking into a pretty greenhouse that sort of reminds you of the one back at home.

It’s massive in size though, that’s a difference, but you can clearly tell it’s being taken care of well in the way your Reapers takes care of your greenhouse.

“One moment, Miss Y/N.”

Alexander has his back turned to you when you find him towards a corner, with a water can in hand as he personally feeds the plants the amount of water needed with a serene expression on his face.

Kiwi, who had followed you when you were led by the butler, walks over to respectfully nuzzle against his master’s foot.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” The old man comments with a smile once he’s done watering the plants and places the can back in its place.

“It’s a surprise you’re able to keep them alive here,” you utter as you take another look around at the greens all around you. “I have one back in Korea, though my Reapers take care of them.”

Alexander takes a seat on a bench and Kiwi jumps over to lay on his lap. “Taking care of things personally brings me peace.”

“...Does it, now?” In a world where things are always chaotic, you suppose having somewhere to go to for peace is ideal. “I don’t have a greenhouse for personal taste though.”

“Do you grow poison?” He asks and there’s really no use lying.

“Amongst other things.”

He falls silent for a moment, a serene silence, and it’s strange the way he looks at you in a way no one’s ever done before. You’ve seen creepy old men before, met a couple of them personally against your will, but Alexander doesn’t remind you much of them. He stands out further, but in a way that isn’t bad at all and for some reason that brings you another sort of uncomfortable feeling you don’t think you’ve ever felt before.

It’s strange and foreign, and perhaps he understands the effect he’s made on you because he lets out a light chuckle.

“I used to be just like you, little one.”

Your brows furrow at his words, confused. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, sir.”

“Always in a rush, never stopping to revel in the scenery.”

Because there’s no time for that. Time doesn’t wait for anyone and the enemies certainly don't. You’ve finally gained some sort of peace after your father’s death but even then, letting yourself go in order to be free from the chains isn’t exactly as easy as one may think.

You’re rushing because you want to reach peace, because you want a moment in time when things finally slows down and you’re okay with it, with the clocks existing, with the time ticking.

Peace doesn’t come to just anyone willingly.

“You’re anxious,” Alexander notes and perhaps you’re uncomfortable because he sees through a part of you that only people you allow in sees.

This is why you hate old people.

They can tell so easily because they’ve been through things.

“If I let time catch up on me, there will be nothing left in front of me.”

“Is that what you believe?” He asks, a hand running through Kiwi’s fur as the little dog begins to fall asleep. “What if what you want is already in front of you? Perhaps you just don’t want to face it because you’re afraid.”

Afraid?

Afraid of what?

But maybe he’s right. Maybe you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“You’re running away.”

Yes.

This man certainly does make you uncomfortable.

Not like the creeps, not like Leehyun, but not like Mister Butler either. Though in a way, there’s something familiar that you sense in him in the way you’ve felt with Mister Butler. As if he has a window to see through your soul.

But you’re sure not all old people know everything. They can only guess from what they’ve been given and seen.

You decide to keep your guard up.

“The question you wanted to ask,” perhaps he felt you trying to run from him so he changes the subject, “What was it?”

Right.

“When I take Kiwi out on walks, I’m sure you realize there may be people out there who will take advantage of those times. I don’t know the streets well and I don’t know who means well and who wants Kiwi dead. So I wanted to ask; the people that decide to come after me during Kiwi’s walk time, do you want them dead or alive when I bring them to you?”

So blunt and straight to the point, Alexander chuckles at that, amused.

“I’m sure a disciple of Master Kita will come to understand who poses a threat and who doesn't. I don’t care about the lives of those who want my little puppy dead. It doesn’t matter who they are, if they come after him, kill them. After all,” his eyes are gentle when he looks down at the puppy, though there’s a glint of danger that flashes in the light of his eyes, “only people with evil hearts will want to hurt an innocent puppy.”

Evil hearts. What a strange way to put it that way.

You get too curious not to ask; “Do you believe we aren’t evil? A little kid might subject us to the same category as them. We all kill after all. It doesn’t matter what, it doesn’t matter who. Killers are all evil in the eyes of some.”

He doesn’t think much on it when he answers your question. “In my eyes, many of us, like you and I, kill only for survival.” You and I, he says. “If an apocalypse were to happen, you’d kill a zombie for survival, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t just it bite you and you certainly wouldn’t let them bite someone you care for. You’d kill them. For survival.”

He looks up, eyes as clear as day. “This business we’re in…we’re in the same boat.”

Killing to survive.

Killing because there is no other choice.

You don’t think you’ve ever met a man like him who seems so sentimental on life as if a part of him is satisfied with what he’s gone through but he also holds some regret, things he knows beyond you, years he’s lived more than you, and has gained wisdom from all the experience.

No one from this business has ever looked in the same lens as he does on life and you hate it.

You hate how it makes you feel.

So you drop the subject and leave the greenhouse, feeling that creepy sense of goosebumps on your body as you go.

When Kiwi wakes from his nap a little after, he comes to find you and you take him out on the walk you promised him before that meeting with Alexander.

The walk is nice, the scenery different from that of Seoul, and the breath of fresh air it allows you to intake with a piece of mind helps you remain calm and collected. Kiwi walks beside you without a leash, his little feet taking you down the paths as if he’s done this a thousand times before, with his little nose curious at every little thing around him.

He doesn’t ever stray away and you guess perhaps even the little one understands the dangers of what it means to be himself. In all honesty, you prefer cats over dogs but you have to admit this isn’t so bad — well, being in Norway helps, you guess.

In Seoul, the streets wouldn’t forgive you for taking a walk so carefreely like this.

But of course, Norway has its own dangers. You are taking care of a prominent figure of a powerful mafia after all.

For the most part, you had been following Kiwi and letting him guide you where his nose leads him, but when the two of you come towards a lake where lies a bridge at the center, the little puppy suddenly stops in his tracks, sniffs the air, before retracing back to you.

Your brows furrow slightly when he steps up to your feet, hiding in between them, and when you hear a small noise out of the ordinary and look up with a calm gaze at the sudden new presence that has now surround the both of you, an exasperated sigh leaves you.

So much for peace and quiet.

“Hey lady, what’re you doing with that dog?” A man asks in Norwegian.

“Dog sitting,” you reply in English.

They look amongst one another, confusion plastered on their faces probably because they’ve never seen you around before and when Kiwi grinds his teeth and growls lowly at them, you put a foot closer to him, trying to ease the little puppy.

“What happened to the old sitter? Dead?” He speaks up again, a brow raised your way. Perhaps he’s testing your ability to understand him so when he speaks in his language, you continue replying in English with perfect understanding of one another.

“Not dead. I’m just a temporary sitter.”

“And who are you? I’ve never seen you around Alexander before.”

“Just a common girl.” You take a small step back seeing the way he reaches for something in his pockets.

“You should know that the streets are dangerous.”

A little chuckle leaves you. “I wouldn’t be trusted with Alexander’s dog if I didn’t know that, now would I? Still, that’s a very bad idea,” you beckon at the gun he pulls out. “You wouldn’t want to do that.”

The corner of his lip curls upwards as he brings his gun forward to his face, playing with it just as his friends start to close in on you. “And why not? Are you afraid, little common girl?”

“Afraid?” You tilt your head back, laughing. “No, no, it’s not me who should be afraid.” He sends you a furrow in his brows at the way you look so relaxed and so you go on. “Alexander has already given me permission to eliminate anyone who poses a threat, which means I don’t have to go easy on you or spare your lives.”

“Really?” He scoffs, taunting you. “One against seven, you really think a little girl like you can take us?”

“Oh no, I’m not talking about me, though you’d be surprised I can totally take you.”

“What?”

“You should learn to heighten your senses, old man, maybe then you’d realize we aren’t the only ones here.” With that signal, someone from the group has their neck slashed from behind and another one gets shot right in the head.

One by one, they fall as you calmly pick up the scared little dog and stroke along his head to calm him down. He leans into your touch as the two of you ignore what’s happening around you, and once he finally seems alright again, you turn back to where Jungkook and Hoseok are standing, the enemies all dead on the ground.

You take one glance down at the dead bodies before checking the time on your watch. “I’ll inform Alexander and have his people clean this up,” you say as you reach for your phone. “Meanwhile, would one of you like to accompany me back to his mansion? Take on the role Taehyung took back at London?”

Jungkook comes along while Hoseok stays back and the walk back for the most part lies in silence.

Drama only occurs once you return to the mansion, hearing the sound of a familiar voice you haven’t heard in some time now. He shouts angrily you hear it through the halls and when you walk into the living room, you find Karl Larsen with three of his men behind him, reprimanding poor little Ester with Asher standing off to the side, looking bored and exasperated of his uncle.

No one stops him.

“Are you that incompetent? Just how useless are you that my father has to choose a stranger to take over your job? I told you to keep an eye on that mutt and you can’t even do that?”

Huh. Who would have thought Ester was actually Karl’s servant who had been assigned to look over Kiwi before you came in to take over temporarily? Though from the looks of it, when she cowers in fear under his demands, her head lowered, eyes tightly shut, shoulders trembling slightly, she doesn’t like this man so much.

Who does after all?

But she did look a lot more carefree living in this manor, looking after Kiwi under Alexander’s commands. Alexander isn’t known to bring just anyone in to work for him, which means Ester managed to gain his trust. He’s good at knowing who to trust, he wouldn’t just be easily swayed by his own blood’s opinions, so if given the chance, you believe that Ester wouldn’t hesitate to betray Karl.

She’s a sweet girl, you don’t doubt that.

Asher on the other hand, you aren’t too sure if a man like him deserves the benefit of the doubt.

He senses your presence though, unlike Karl and his men, and when he looks up to meet your eyes from the entryway of the living room, he stands up a little more straight, a small curl turning upwards upon the corner of his lips.

Maybe he’s just bored with petty family affairs and has no say in what his uncle wants or does. Family positions are important in the mafia after all.

“Where is she? The new girl?” Karl’s voice snaps back, his eyes bulging and you step towards them despite Jungkook’s caution, knowing the signs of that man. “Bring her to me now, you useless—”

His hand raises in the air and before it can come down at the young girl’s head, you grab his wrist mid-air with your left hand, stopping him successfully. “If you’re really that upset about the change, why don’t you bring it up to your father, spoiled old man?”

His brows furrow tightly when he looks your way initially, before his expression begins to cool and soften when he realizes just who it is that dared to stop him from punishing his subordinate. The strength of his arm weakens and he brings it back to his side, fixing the cuff of his suit, while a smirk plays on his lips as he keeps his gaze on you.

“Y/N,” the way he says your name makes you want to vomit and though for a second looking at that familiar, disgusting smirk on his face causes your mind to want to resurface the memories of all the things he’s done, you keep them back in, focusing on other things to not trigger it. “Look at you, you’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you. What are you doing here in Norway? Came to pay me a visit?”

He doesn’t know what happened to your father, you realize through those words, which is a bit surprising because of how close the two of them were, but then again, after the wipe of your father and his people, it kind of makes sense Karl never got word of your father’s death.

Both Asher and Jungkook are confused about the way Karl is acting so friendly and close to you, as well as the way he just naturally turns his attention from being angry at Ester to invite you to take a seat.

You follow him and settle Kiwi in your lap and see the way he glances at the puppy, a slight bitterness contouring his features before it disappears all too quickly.

He doesn’t like Kiwi, that much is clear, and with the way he addresses you, you can tell this man still thinks you of the naive little girl who would submit to just anyone without fighting back.

“Your words are a lot sharper than they used to be,” he notes, remembering the way you spoke to him. “Seems you’re finally growing into the woman that your father trained you to be.”

With a hand stroking the fur of Kiwi’s, you take a look at his three men. One of them is someone you recognize, the other two are completely new faces.

“Tell me then, how have you been since I left Seoul?”

One year, he came and left — not even one year but a summer, four months — and that was all it took for him to do all the things he’d done.

“I have news to give you, sir,” you say and he tsks at you.

“Come on now, call me what you used to call me. We were close, weren’t we? Don’t treat me like a stranger now, Y/N.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder and you bite your tongue back, resisting the urge to run from his touch. So with a tight grin, you give him the news he’s been needing to catch up on. “I am the Grim Reaper now..uncle.”

That amused expression on his face falls slightly, masked with surprise and confusion, and he takes one look at Jungkook who stands guard behind you, before returning his gaze back on you, flabbergasted.

“Your father’s dead?” He breathes, not believing it. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? How’d he die?”

Telling him the truth now would lead to an outburst from him and you can’t have Jungkook seeing that. Karl is a madman and if he knows of the truth here before strangers outside his and your people, he will definitely forget about the way your true relationship with your father is supposed to be kept a secret from the public.

“I apologize, uncle, preparations for his funeral and my succession took longer than expected.” Jungkook knows those words aren’t true but thankfully he knows to keep quiet.

“I could have helped,” Karl insists and you give him a pressed smile.

It’s strange the way he can’t comprehend just why the daughter of his friend whom he’s hurt many times did not want him involved in her family affairs, but you guess the minds of psychopaths are just like that. They can understand human emotions but they cannot feel them, and so they cannot emphasize with others.

“Do you not remember all the things you’ve done to me?” You want to ask him. “Do you not recall what you and father had done? Why would I want your help?” But you bite your tongue back just as Kiwi stirs from your touch, probably sensing a change in you.

The more you face the people who have done you wrong, the harder it is to keep the facade, you realize. Namjoon once said to stop before it all breaks you and you told him broken things cannot be broken even more but perhaps they can.

They can.

You’ve reached your breaking point before, not just once or twice, and yet it seems the world has just proven to you that glass can keep shattering and shattering until there is nothing left but dust.

Are you prepared to turn into dust?

You are. You’ve said it before.

“A broken glass can never mend itself to the way it used to be, the only thing it can do is break even more.”

You were prepared, your body was, but is your mind prepared? Will your mind ever be prepared?

No one is ever prepared to be broken, even if they think they are, and breaking again and again does not make you numb to the pain.

Kiwi whimpers on your lap, his head nuzzling into the palm of your hand when you stop stroking him. They say that dogs can smell human emotions and in turn, adopt them as their own, and hearing the distress whimpers, you try to return to Karl and give him a reply and yet nothing happens. You can’t even open your mouth to speak. You feel frozen on the spot.

Why now? Why now, whynow, whynow,whynowwhynow?

Footsteps are heard upon the silence of the room. “What’s making my Kiwi sound like that?” A low rumble demands an answer but you remain still, unable to move.

You feel paralyzed.

Kiwi looks up at his master’s voice for a second before going back to nuzzle against you and lend you his warmth, and while the people in the room stand up straight at his presence, Karl even going up to greet his father, you remain planted on the sofa.

Alexander ignores Karl to walk over to where his puppy is. He takes a glance your way, with Asher confused and Jungkook concerned and a little panicked because of the state you’re in, but rather than making this a big deal and reprimanding you for causing his puppy to sound the way he does, Alexander instead remains calm.

“Come here, Kiwi,” he calls, and though the pup hesitates at first, looking between you and his master, he eventually jumps up and into Alexander’s arms. “Karl, I’ll deal with you later. Right now I’m too busy to entertain guests.”

Though Karl looks like he wants to protest at first, he nods in reply, knowing he cannot talk back to his father. You were hoping he’d just leave it at that and go ahead with his men but for some reason, he just has to turn to you.

“My deepest condolences, Y/N. Let’s have tea to catch up next time, yeah?” Unable to grasp the situation, he reaches out to place a hand on your cheek, a smile on his face, before he arches his back straight again to bid Alexander goodbye.

In that moment, you stand, though it’s only because staying on that couch feels disgusting now having to sit still and do nothing when he reached out to touch you. You hate the touch, it burns you, but you remain silent when you stand a little behind Alexander, nodding Karl goodbye, and only once he leaves does the room feel a little easier to breathe in.

Just a little.

“Should I call Mingyu?” Jungkook asks when you return to the room Alexander prepared for you that first night you met him. He watches you with keen eyes and observance as you walk further into the room, away from the door, eyes still refusing to look anyone in the eyes, silent with a blank expression. “Or..should I leave the room?”

You don’t give him an answer but you’re thinking.

How far is it from here to the manor Namjoon prepared for you? A couple of minutes away by vehicle, which means it wouldn’t be that difficult for him to come here. But him coming here would mean a hassle because then you’d have to let the people here know that Mingyu’s one of yours and you don’t feel like interacting with anyone right now. A letter in your handwriting wouldn’t suffice either because they don’t know your handwriting.

You could honestly call Ester and describe Mingyu’s face to tell her he’s with you but that would mean interacting.

Jungkook could leave the room and yet the thought of him leaving gives a small dread in the pits of your stomach because you hate being alone and left in an unfamiliar place and right now he’s the only thing that’s familiar to you.

Familiar.

How funny that this familiar person left you to fend for yourself and gave you his cold shoulders when you needed him most.

And yet there’s no other choice.

So just like back in London when you familiarized yourself with Seokjin’s warmth and kindness for that split second, you turn around to face Jungkook.

He stands far from you, having not moved from the door since the two of you walked in, and a part of you hates that despite what he’s done to you, you know Jungkook is a man with natural kindness and would never do anything that would harm you on purpose. You see it in the way he keeps his distance, in the two questions he asked, how he doesn’t try to approach you, that unlike Karl who doesn’t know how to take a hint, he understands your fear of being touched by men even though you did allow Yoongi to hold you and poked Seokjin slightly on the shoulder.

He respects your boundaries. He always had, he always did.

So why did it have to end with him giving you the cold shoulders and pretending he hated you? Why did things have to turn out the way it did?

You’re so tired. Tired of everything.

“Come here,” you call for him, and you hate how even when you give him permission to come close, he still hesitates, concerned for the state of your mind.

When he approaches, his steps are slow, and once he’s inches away from you, you hold out the palm of your hand.

“I want you to help me with something,” you say, “you don’t have to do much, just..stay still and…and give me your hand.”

His brows are knitted, eyes staring down at your palm as if this isn’t a good idea. “I’m sorry,” he tells you, feeling conflicted. “Hoseok should have been here, we should have switched places. He would’ve been a better choice in—”

“I know Hoseok would have been the better choice but we can’t turn back time now can we?!” Your patience is starting to wear thin and when he flinches a little at the way you raise your voice, your own eyes widen at what you’d just done. Shocked at how easy it was to lose control, and when you begin to spiral out of fear for raising your voice at him, you put your hands in your hair, trembling.

“I’m sorry, please just…just help me, Jungkook. You have to replace what he did. I hate it, I hate his touch, and right now I’d rather feel your touch than his so please…please?” You look up at him, not caring that you’re pleading and looking desperate.

When he sees it, sees the way your eyes gloss over with a glaze of water, at your panicked tone and your begging for his help, he gives you his hand.

You take it and press his palm onto your cheek, over that burning feeling from where Karl touched you, and the peace that you yearned for doesn’t come right away. You struggle for a bit and your legs almost give in from the weakness but Jungkook’s right there to hold you up and bring you over to the bed so that you don’t have to rely on your legs.

He remains standing before you, watching as you rest your eyes while keeping his hand pressed to your skin.

It takes some time for the storm to wash away and for the calm to walk over but it comes, eventually, and when it does come, it isn’t in the way it is with Mingyu. Jungkook doesn’t give you the sort of calm that your second in command gives you, though you expected it because no one can replace Mingyu’s warmth.

The sort of calm Jungkook gives you follows with pain and grief over what had been lost all those years ago.

His warmth, his presence, his puppy-like self following you around, willing to do anything and everything for you. He’d always been such a quiet man who follows the rules well, who does everything with great effort, who is sometimes too naive and gets roped up in Jimin’s antics and gets scolded for things he didn’t do.

Always there to lend you his jacket when you shivered in the slightest way, always there to protect you from anyone that bothered you, noticing the smallest things, and though you relied on him for a lot of things, he relied on you in turn as well.

You understood him in ways the others couldn’t, the two of you in love like those two innocent little kids who were finding out what it meant to love someone for the first time. Soft and gentle, a bit awkward and clumsy.

“They didn’t have the drink that you like but I got you…” He walks back with a hand holding onto a glass of something for you to drink, but in the middle of his sentence, Jungkook’s expression falls. “...Something happened.”

Immediately, he’s shifting his head around to try and find who it was that approached you tonight but before he can get too far, you’re grabbing ahold of his arm and pulling his attention back on you.

“It…nothing happened,” you insist with a bit of panic on your expression, afraid of what Jungkook might do out in public like this, all the while trying to see if you can catch of glimpse of Namjoon anywhere on the floor. Thankfully he isn’t around, otherwise he’d be able to also tell something was wrong with one look your way.

There are days when hiding your emotions are easy and there are other days when it’s a little more difficult. Like on the days when people make you uncomfortable and you just can’t seem to hide it well. Those days are hard.

And Jungkook, who looks back at you, clearly doesn’t buy your little protest. “Y/N, I need you to just point out—”

“Please.” You squeeze his biceps, holding yourself close to him, pleading with your eyes as you look up at him, and Jungkook immediately recognizes just what those eyes are trying to tell him;

‘Don’t leave me alone.’

You’re frightened, he realizes, and after a small look around the room to check his surrounding, he brings you in close to him and keeps you by his side as he takes your hand and brings you around to an empty space where the two of you can be left alone together.

“Is there anything you need?” Is the first thing he asks you as he sits you down on a seat in the empty room, but you simply shake your head and squeeze his hand tight.

“Just you,” you say in a quiet voice, and Jungkook stays with you that night without ever leaving your side, all the while you simply hold onto the touch of his hand, the feel of it a comfort unlike any other.

His touch reminds you of those memories, of the past and the tears and the smiles, and though you hate the pain that it resurfaces, you’d rather revel in this pain than the pain of remembering the memories with Karl.

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forggywrites · 9 months

Note

I been thinking about make this request,basically platonic headcanons of Miguel with a gn reader that is very young(14-15) and have a symbiote, reader meets miguel due to him as spiderman rescues reader from some bastards that were experimenting with reader for the perfect symbiosis they had, the reader is very skinny and easily scared and the symbiote is very protective over reader, miguel is also very protective over reader and theach them how to control their power,basically miguel being a mentor/father figure for the reader Who admires him and want to protect the multiverse like him(like a sidekick).

If this is so Long youre Free to ignore

I LOVE this idea!

PLATONIC Miguel x GN teen reader w/venom symbiote.

I’m trying to make this as general as possible so anyone can read it, but sorry if I make any mistakes.

CW: use of y/n, Miguel might be slightly ooc, talk of human experimentation, kidnapping, abuse, violence, medical settings, venom needs his own warning.

—————————

It was cold.

So fucking cold.

The only color on your skin was dark blotches from struggling against your captors.

You were unsure of how long you’ve been locked in this dank room.

You had barely eaten or drank anything since ending up here, so you were multiple pounds lighter than you normally were.

Your muscles had lost a significant amount of definition from only moving when they moved you.

You didn’t know who they were or what they wanted, but you did gather they didn’t target you specifically.

The experiments were painful.

No matter how much you screamed or cried they never stopped.

After one of the first experiments you started hearing a voice.

The voice was deep and grainy, it told you that it was known as Venom and it came from space.

”These people took me as well… I can help you escape.”

You had ignored the voice, telling yourself it was just the trauma and isolation.

Until a particularly painful test.

Your entire body felt like it was burning, your screams were deafening.

Suddenly the restraints that held you down snapped, and you felt something ooze all over your body.

You were unable to control your actions. The lab was destroyed and your captors were all dead. Heads had been ripped off and digested by the thing controlling your body.

You watched as your much taller body escaped from the hellhole you had been kept in.

As soon as you got out the black goo dissipated, leaving your much smaller, frail body in its wake.

”You’re welcome” the voice rasped.

Your legs started to move, you ran as far and fast as you could, tears streamed down your face as you were finally free.

Before you knew it, you had ended up in a crowded city. You were unaware your tattered clothes were covered in blood.

Your tired feet tracked down the sidewalk, many avoided you, uncaring of your beaten and bloody form.

”Hey, kid-“ a hand landed on your shoulder.

Venom did not like that.

Suddenly your body was taken over once again, wreaking havoc on anything and everything.

People screamed as your monstrous form throws a tantrum.

Then you hear a thwip and your once again muscular arm gets pulled.

A man in a dark blue and red suit starts to face off with you.

His attacks were deliberate and calculated, quickly taking your exhausted form down.

You feel your head smash against the concrete and loose consciousness once more

—————————

There you were, in another lonely room. Trapped yet again.

But this time it was warmer, you were lying in a comfortable bed with tubes and wires running from your body to various machines.

The high pitched beeping was annoying you, so off came the wires as you tried to stop the noise.

But it only got worse.

A high pitched scream came out of the machine next to you, your body felt like it was on fire once again. You covered your ears as you screamed in pain.

With the noise a group of doctors and the man from before rushed into the room, attempting to reattach the monitors and calm you down.

Your arm reached out, wrapped in the familiar black goo, and shattered the machine. Stopping the noise and actions of the oddly dressed people in the room.

Venom’s goo retreated back into you, soaking back into your skin.

Everyone in the room was frozen. Not knowing what to do or how to respond to the outburst.

”Where am I?” You rasped out, your throat was dry and scratchy from dehydration and screaming.

One of the people left the room and quickly returned with a bottle of water. You gulped it down in no time, panting from the lack of oxygen.

”You’re in a secure location.” The man from before piped up, he was still wearing the odd mask and outfit.

The doctors and nurses attempted to restore what you had ripped out, but you flinched as a hand touched you.

They stopped again, not wanting more destruction.

”Please let them help you, you’ve been injured.” The man says.

You looked at the tall man in front of you.

”Why am I here?” You question him.

”You attempted to destroy the city.” He grunts

”No I didn’t! It was that thing those “scientists” gave me!” You shout, trying to defend yourself.

“I AM NOT A THING, CHILD. I AM VENOM. AND I HELPED YOU!” Venom screamed, though only you could hear him.

“What thing, and what scientists?” The tall man inquired.

”The black gooey thing, Venom. It appeared after one of the experiments the guys who took me did…” you trailed off, struggling to explain exactly what had happened to you.

The man stands for a moment, thinking. “Were you kidnapped?” He asked.

”I- I don’t really remember…” you look down, uncomfortable with all the eyes on you.

The tall man sighs and approaches you slowly, his mask suddenly dissipated before he started talking.

”I’m Miguel, what’s your name?” He had a small smile on his face, trying not to intimidate you more than he already has.

”it’s Y/n.”

“Well Y/n, I want to help you. Can you tell me what happened?”

—————————

After a long explanation Miguel told you that he needed to work some things out, so he left you under close watch by the nurses.

While he was gone you were given a small meal consisting of a sandwich, some carrots, and a cup of chocolate pudding. The doctors didn’t want you to eat too much as to not cause your malnourished body any harm, but you were still hungry.

Until you got to the chocolate pudding.

”That is amazing, I love it.” Venom says.

”it’s chocolate pudding.” You respond.

”I need more. I don’t feel as hungry anymore.”

—————————

When Miguel returned there was a pile of empty chocolate pudding cups on the bedside table and you were asking for more.

A nurse was trying to reason with you. ”Why don’t I get you some more carrots? You shouldn’t be eating so much sugar-“

”I need chocolate, that’s what he wants.” You argued.

”Hey kid. What do you mean by “it’s what he wants”?” Miguel questions you.

”Venom. He said chocolate makes him less hungry, and I was hoping if I kept eating it he’d finally shut up.” You avoided making eye contact with the tall male.

”Interesting… I did a little research and it seems that you’ve become a host for some sort of extra terrestrial being.”

“Well duh, Venom told me that already.” You give Miguel a deadpan look.

”It would have been nice to know that…” Miguel sighs. “We can start looking into removing the…”

”Symbiote”

”Right, Symbiote. We can look into removing the symbiote if you’d like.”

Suddenly the black goo emerges once again, taking over your face.

”I AM NOT GOING ANYWHERE YOU SPIDER SHIT!” Venom roars and then sinks back into your skin. Leaving you back to normal.

…

“I don’t think he wants to leave…”

”Well that was kind of obvious.” Miguel sighs.

—————————

It had been a few days since your arrival at the “secure location”, which after enough bugging of Miguel, you found out was the spider society. A place where spider folk like him from hundreds of different universes came together to protect the multiverse.

You had started trusting Miguel, and he the same with you. It was odd to others to see such a cold man being so caring and protective of a child who had “tried to kill him”.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of Venom, but when he realized you had a certain knack with the alien he stopped trying to convince you to separate from him.

Soon enough you started to train with Venom, Miguel helping you along the way. Miguel taught you hand to hand combat, self defense, and so much more.

Once Miguel believed you were ready, you started to go on missions with him. You met many other Spider folk and even made some good friends along the way.

Miguel knew that Venom needed phenylethylamine (or PEA for short) to survive. And since the only places you could get that was from brains or chocolate, he made sure there was always a large stock of chocolate around for you and venom, at least until he could develop something to give you the PEA you needed in a different way.

Miguel was glad that he had gone out on patrol that day, knowing that if he didn’t, he might not have met the kid who changed his life for the better.

—————————

Thanks for reading y’all! This was WAY longer than I was expecting, but hey, I got into it. I might make some separate or more headcanons with this reader/scenario.

(Also I got my first dose of testosterone done this morning, so your boy is finally on T!!!)

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wingedcat13 · 1 year

Text

Synovus: A Wishing Star

[Canonically, this takes place before ‘Call Me Menace’ - which is why there’s a notable lack of Alexandria and Minerva in this segment. This was requested by an Anon, with the prompt of Synovus being asked for by a Make a Wish child, through the Make a Wish foundation.]

[Trigger warnings for childhood cancer, descriptions of illness and hospitals, and discussions of suicide. Reference is also made to the possibility of substance abuse. Unlike most of my writing, for this, I cannot promise you will find this ending happy.]

“Your name came up today,” Rosie called up to you, laboriously walking laps around the cafeteria.

“Of course it did.” You replied laconically, keeping a careful eye on her progress from a perch in the rafters. Your shadows were ready to catch and steady her if she stumbled, though you both pretended you were too occupied with your knitting. “I am an incredibly interesting person. On a completely unrelated note, tell Dr. Grouch that he will receive payment shortly.”

That wasn’t an epithet, ‘Dr. Grouch.’ It was genuinely the man’s name. Dr. Jeremy Grouch, a pediatric cancer specialist, who had the good fortune of being the best choice for you to kidnap when Rosie had finally told you why she’d been half-joking about retirement. He was no longer your ‘guest,’ having returned to the mainland full time a few weeks prior, but he still communicated with Rosie quite often.

A bark of laughter had Rosie pausing, out of breath, to brace herself against the wall. She turned to rest her back against it, but since she didn’t sit, you didn’t jump down to see if she was alright. Even if you had stopped knitting.

“Not for the money.” Rosie assured you, when she had caught her breath enough to reply without wheezing. “He thinks you’re more than generous.”

“Dr. Grouch could stand to live up to his name a bit more.” You tsk’ed, “I kidnapped him, forced him to work for me. He didn’t even haggle.”

Not that this would have done him much good in the beginning. Historically, you did not respond well to threats or extortion. But you did respect a good hustle, and you were fairly certain that Dr. Grouch had been aware he could’ve pushed for more of a reward once Rosie was declared in remission. He hadn’t taken the opportunity.

“He isn’t hurting for wealth.” Rosie pointed out. The sardonic note to her voice had made you smile. You and your minions were in the business of exploiting greed and committing evils, but that did not make any of you less inclined to judge others for anything less than your own morality demanded. And that often included each other.

But Rosie’s tone shifted, becoming something lighter, “He said one of his patients asked to meet you.”

“What?”

“One of his patients wants to meet you.” Rosie repeated patiently. “Wished for it, even.”

You forced your tone to remain light, glad you were up in the rafters where she couldn’t see your body language. “Well, there’s a rarity. How many people ever say ‘I wish to meet Synovus?’”

Rosie sighed. “Usually just people who want to kill you.”

“Are we certain that isn’t what the child wants? I’m assuming it’s a child, adults usually know better.” You picked up another stitch, fumbled it, did it again. This time it stuck.

It wasn’t the idea of a child trying to kill you that had you so… disoriented. You’d been responsible for the deaths of a lot of parents over the years - you wouldn’t be surprised if there had been hundreds of vendettas sworn against you, or all villain kind, or even the heroes who had failed to stop you, over the years. But kids - children - you had a soft spot for.

You remembered too clearly what it was like to be young, sheltered, and out of control of your life. It was debatable, some days, how much of that still applied to you in some way or another.

“I’d bet on the kid.” Rosie remarked.

“I-“ You twirled one knitting needle, intending to point it at her, and snagged it in the trailing end of your yarn instead. It didn’t matter, because she couldn’t see you. “- take offense on the child’s behalf that you would doubt them.”

“Oh yeah?” Rosie perked up, “Offended enough to defend their honor in person?”

Frowning, you set down your knitting again. “What are you asking me here, Rosie?”

“I want to know if you’ll honor the kid’s Wish.”

There was something in the way she said it that gave you pause. You mulled it over.

“When you say ‘wish,’ you don’t just mean a general expressed desire, do you.”

It wasn’t much of a question, but Rosie answered anyway, “Nope. I mean the Wish. Apparently they hadn’t wanted to say anything, because they didn’t think anyone would let them, but they were talking to Dr. Grouch, and asked where he’d been -“

You groaned. You’d been assured of his adherence to HIPAA, but hadn’t pushed too hard on the ‘never tell anyone where you’ve been, ever, on pain of excruciatingly over described death’ angle. Maybe you should’ve.

“- yeah, I know, but apparently he only told the kid and asked them to keep it a secret, and the kid ‘lit up like it was Christmas.’” Rosie relayed this information, complete with air quotes, without moving from the wall.

To avoid thinking about the idea of being anyone’s last, true Wish - the big W, the heart’s desire, the crown of a bucket list - you instead thought about how Rosie had trapped you. You couldn’t just disappear because then she’d be alone, and could still collapse. You couldn’t call her physical therapy completed for the day yet either, because she hadn’t finished this lap.

Evil, your minions. Absolutely evil.

You sighed, sure Rosie would feel it, even if she couldn’t hear it at this distance. “Very well.” You conceded, morose. “When are we meeting this little miscreant?”

—-

Hospitals were not easy for you to break into. Not when you were in costume, at least. You could get terrifyingly far in a white coat with a coffee cup and a clipboard, but that came down to timing and confidence and an aura of ‘fuck off, I am incredibly busy’ that you’ve always felt most doctors cultivated on purpose.

That didn’t really work when you were in all black with a cape and a helmet. And this was a children’s cancer ward, so it wasn’t like you could just wait till everyone went home. Windows didn’t open up here either.

So you’d had Dr. Grouch let you in from the helipad on the roof.

“You’ve taken the precautions I requested?” He asked, as you paused outside of the ward itself. “Fully clean, as you would have for Ms. Rosie? You will not touch anything you do not have to, and will call for assistance if she seems overwrought?”

“Yes, Dr. Grouch.” You replied, accepting another antiseptic wipe for your gloves. “I am here to answer a summons. That is all. I swear that your charge will not come to harm from me.”

You did not point out he had been the one to arrange this meeting. His face made a strange expression, as though he were surprised, and surprised at being surprised, and a bit disappointed in himself for that sequence of events. Still, he recovered quickly.

“At least I do not have to remind you to wear a mask.” He granted, in an attempt at levity. Luckily for you both, you didn’t actually need to reply, because he was already triggering the ward doors for you to enter.

While Grouch moved to the ward station, motioning to calm the various staff on duty, you moved with purpose for the room you’d been directed to earlier. Grouch was telling the staff that he’d found someone willing to stand in for you, as a way of reassuring them. You weren’t sure they’d buy it, but it really wasn’t your problem for the moment.

You moved quietly. You weren’t sure whether or which other rooms were occupied, and you didn’t intend to scare anyone who hadn’t requested to see you tonight. For that same reason, you double checked the number on the door you opened, and lifted it faintly on its hinges, that it would open smoothly and as silently as you could make it.

The room beyond was dim, if not completely dark. The corridor behind you was also dimmed for the night cycle, trying to give the ward’s occupants a chance at sleeping, though the ward station was still well-illuminated. You made sure its light wouldn’t give you a halo or shadow as you entered, and quietly shut the door behind yourself.

You aren’t familiar enough with hospitals to say whether this room is average or not. Tiled floors, the bed that is also a gurney, sparse furniture, windows on the far wall. There are signs of life here, in the form of some decaying flowers on the dresser, with several cards propped around their vase where the bed’s occupant can see. A television is mounted near the ceiling on an extendable arm, but it’s off for now.

There’s a few sources of dim light - the distant aura of the streetlights casts the bars supporting the windows on the wall across from the bed. A floor light illuminates the tile enough to show any potential tripping hazards. The odd blinking light on the medical equipment provides a dash of color to the gloom.

And in the bed, there is a lump curled on its side, as far as the IV line and monitors will allow it, blankets pulled tight over the shoulder and tucked near the chin. Dr. Grouch told you some basics about the patient before you reached this floor, so you know who you are supposed to be meeting. You feel bad for waking her, but you’ve been assured she doesn’t sleep well anyway, and is likely awake. Judging by the faint rustling of a body’s small movements, that judgement was accurate.

You are reminded of Dr. Grouch’s planned lie, out in the hall. You do not want this child to think they are being tricked. So you stay where you are, in the deeper shadow of the door-well, and you summon your shadows to life.

The window frame shadows make an excellent trellis for your branching additions - they stretch out, forming words in deeper darkness than the natural shadow from which they are woven. If you are mistaken, if this is the wrong room, if the girl sleeps, you won’t have disturbed them.

But you see the streetlight illuminate the planes of a too-sharp face as it turns to focus bleary eyes on what you’ve written.

Hello, Loralai.

At fourteen years old, Loralai should still have the roundness of youth. She does not. Nor is she quite skeletal, despite the advanced nature of her illness. It almost seems, in the half light, as though a slight push would be all that was necessary to send her in either direction: back to the hale softness of health, or further on to the sharp stillness of death.

She blinks. Her eyes widen, then narrow, then widen again. You belatedly wonder if perhaps she needs glasses. Or what if she’s dyslexic? Your shadow-words are hardly the easiest things to read. Damn it, Synovus, now is not the time for posturing and-

“Synovus?” Asks a breathless, whispering voice.

“In the flesh.” You reply, because you are a melodramatic moron. Still, your voice is quiet, and you remain unmoving.

There’s some more rustling. The bed is already mostly elevated, so Loralai doesn’t need to try and sit up so much as readjust how she’s sitting. There’s a click of a lamp - and then there’s a real light source in the room, even if it’s dulled by the lampshade.

You step forward as Loralai rubs the spots from her vision with one hand. There’s an IV catheter taped to the back of it from some recent event, the bruising around it just beginning to ripen. You don’t remember what that might mean, if anything.

As she gets her vision back and examines you, you turn your helmet, pretending to survey the room. Eyes bright with curiosity flick from the helmet to the cape to the patterns of padding over your torso. She does not seem scared, but then, why would she be? Dr. Grouch had informed you she was well aware her case was terminal. You may be a specter of death to some people, but this child has already started staring down the real thing.

“You are Loralai Weber?” You ask, turning back to face her directly.

She nods, leaning back against her pillows. You can see exhaustion on every line of her too-young face, but it seems not to have any power over her at the moment. “Yes. I didn’t think you’d actually come to see me.”

You gesture aimlessly, “I am not often asked for.” You reply candidly. “You’ve piqued my interest. And.. one could say I was in the neighborhood.”

Loralai’s expression brightens, “Are you going to attack the hospital?”

You frown. The prospect seems to excite her. Still, you keep your voice casual, noncommittal, “Not tonight, at least.”

“Damn.” Loralai sounds disappointed now. You muffle your amusement at her cursing as she continues, “Any time soon, maybe? Like, in the next week?”

She can’t see you raise your brows, so you tilt your head to one side, “You sound almost hopeful, Ms. Weber. Why could that be?”

Loralai averts her gaze for a moment, plucking slowly at the top blanket of her bed. This is the moment of truth, really. You spent hours trying to figure out what you might be asked for:

Could you kill someone for her? A doctor, a nurse, another patient who was really annoying? Or could you attack the hospital, so she could help you wreak havoc, and have the chance to feel as powerful as a Villain? Alternatively, what if she were the one to stop you? You were dreading the deathbed request that you ‘turn good,’ but that doesn’t seem to be forthcoming. Maybe she simply wishes to witness a hero battle up close, and needs you to initiate it. Or-

“I want you to kill me.”

You freeze. Most of you, anyway, as your stomach seems to have left out the ground floor entrance. You had not anticipated this. You feel like you should have.

Remorseless for your shock, Loralai continues, managing to look directly at your helmet face as her words spill over each other, “I know I’m dying, and that I don’t have long left, but I’ve been dying for months, and I just feel worse and worse every day, and I - I want to die fast, not slow. I want it to be over. You - you could make it quick for me, couldn’t you?”

You have not been inclined towards religion for a very long time. Yet, in this moment, you see the appeal of dropping to your knees and offering a fervent prayer of gratitude to whoever or whatever might be listening that you gave Dr. Grouch your word in the hall. You do not want to answer Loralai’s question, or know what your answer would be. You refuse to acknowledge the burgeoning answer within you.

The horror of it all still threatens to overwhelm you. The shadows in the room thicken, automatically reaching for you to provide shelter from unfortunate truths and uncomfortable conversation. This is why she asked for you. Because you are evil. Because you are terrible enough to meet a child face to face and kill them at their own request. Because you are not beholden to law, morality, or sympathy.

The black pit of despair yawns, and it is only by the barest shred of your willpower that you stay out of it - as awful as you feel in this moment, as much as you know you have only delayed your own suffering, the fact remains: you are not the one dying here.

It does not matter how you feel, looking at someone younger than you were when you finally found freedom, and knowing they will never reach the same age, the same feeling. It does not matter how you feel about their request. Loralai Weber sits in a hospital bed, terminal at 14 years old, and she is suffering badly enough to seek the Scourge of the West Coast.

So you scrape yourself together, and move to the end of her bed.

“May I sit?”

Loralai nods, brow still furrowed, and shuffles her feet so you can avoid accidentally sitting on them. You perch there, partially leaning on the rail at the foot of the bed, and watch her for a long moment.

“Yes.” You say, finally. “I could make your death swift. There is little you could do to stop me.”

You have Loralai’s undivided attention. When you stop speaking, she waits. The clearer it becomes that you will not say more, the further her face falls. “Could.” She says tonelessly. “But won’t.”

“No.” You confirm quietly. “I will not.”

“Why?” Loralai cries. She tries to gesture to herself, to the room that she’s in. “You’ve killed so many people! What’s one more to you? Why not me? Is it - do you want me to suffer, is that it? Would this be too merciful for you?”

You let her yell, and gesture, even when she comes within several inches of you. “No, Loralai. I do not want you to suffer. But nor do I think this would be an act of mercy.” You avoid addressing the issue of your body count.

Loralai looks offended and confused, gaping at you for a moment. “Does this look like a life worth living?” She demands.

Your answer is without hesitation, “Yes.”

The girl’s face contorts with incredulity, then despair, then anger. Her eyes are increasingly red-rimmed, and there’s a wet quality to her wavering voice when she responds, “Fuck you.”

Grimly, you brace yourself for much worse before the night is over. She hasn’t ordered you out yet, so you have to attempt to explain. Even if you cannot give her what she wants, you can be an outlet for her anger, and the face she cannot show to her doctors.

“There are cards on the dresser.” You point out.

“Classmates I’ve never even met.” Loralai responds flatly.

“Flowers, too.”

“Another parent bought some for the whole floor after their kid bit it. It’s a pity gift to make them feel better, nothing to do with me.”

“You still have family.”

“So they should get the honor and joy of watching me die? Paying a fortune for every extra hour I sit here and wait for it to be my turn?”

“It is worth it, to them.” You explain, matter-of-fact. “Every penny. Every extra shift. Every loan. Every night on your fold-out couch. How did you convince your mother not to be here tonight?”

Loralai flinches. “She has a bad back.” She mutters, “She - it’s better for her to be home, in a real bed. And so what if it’s worth it to them? What if it’s not worth it to me? Can’t I choose how and when I die?”

You sigh, “If that were true, the world would be full of immortals. And suicides. You realize that is what you asked of me, yes? An assisted suicide?”

Loralai draws back at the word, but doesn’t deny it. “It’s not like it would be anything new for you.”

The truth of that statement is painful. For a moment, you hear a distant ringing with no physical source. You are acutely aware of the shadows in this room - their patterns under the bed, on the wall, the sky behind the window, in the spaces under your skin-

“I am not your tool.” You rasp, before remembering that Loralai couldn’t possibly know about your past. She is a teenager. A hurt one. They always have a gift for striking true, even when they lash out blindly.

You take a deep breath, and suppress the shadows again. You don’t want to know how far up your arms they reached before you regained your senses. “And I will not be baited into killing you either. You are right - I’ve killed. Plenty. I will again. But I do so for my own reasons, and not because someone asks me to. You asked for me by name, Ms. Weber, out of all of the villains on the West Coast, so I’m guessing you know that.”

Loralai opens her mouth to respond - then looks away.

“You have every right to be angry.” You continue into the silence, “With me, with the people around you. With the doctors and nurses for how often they check in and the poking and prodding they do. With the kitchen for the quality of the hospital food. With your parents for not sparing you this life, or being overbearing in their concern, or not being able to balance what it is you really need.”

You pause. Loralai doesn’t respond. You continue, “I would be angry. I would be furious with every car that passed by and honked its horn, because I’m stuck up here dying, and they only care about the stupid traffic. And I would be even more angry about the fact I can’t tell anyone that without becoming the bad guy, who can’t take their situation with grace.”

“But you won’t kill me.” Loralai says finally, “Before I do something I regret. Or become a husk of myself.”

This time, it’s your turn to remain silent. Loralai turns to look at you, even if she can’t find your eyes in the mask. She’s crying now, but so far managing to hold off actual sobs, “Why can’t I be selfish? Just once?”

You offer her your hands, and aren’t surprised or offended when she doesn’t take them.

“You should be selfish.” You tell her, and the ferocity in your voice takes her aback. “You should be as selfish and greedy as you can. You should seize every moment - every conversation with your parents, every breath of conditioned air, every chance you get to actually smile. Even if you only get one more of those, Loralai, it’s one more than you would get if I did what you’ve asked. Dying isn’t selfish. It isn’t selfless either. It just is, the same way taxes are due and commercials always take too long and the drivers outside your window have road rage. It’ll happen whether you want it to or not. Don’t lean into it.”

Converse to your own advice, you lean towards Loralai, adding, “Kick the bastard in the balls.”

On reflex, she gives you a confused, watery half-smile.

“Yes!” You cry, as though this is a great victory. “Just like that! Rip and tear your joy from the universe.”

That wins you a snort - though the amusement doesn’t last.

“I’m not strong enough to do that.” Loralai deflects, turning a hand over in your general direction. “I’m not like you. I can’t literally steal happiness from - banks, or whatever it is you rob.”

“Banks.” You admit, “Though usually their corporate offices instead of the average buildings. Irrelevant, however: how many of my fights do you actually see me win?”

Loralai frowned. “Uh….”

You don’t leave her hanging long, “It depends on your definition of ‘victory’ really - but if I count it like the heroes do, where a victory is when I have my opponent in my custody, I haven’t won a single fight in over ten years. My track record is abysmal.”

(This is not strictly true - but it does count for your fights with heroes. Interpersonal villain matters you handle rarely make the news.)

“So, what, you’re bad at your job?” Loralai says bluntly, sarcasm tingeing her voice.

“I’m fantastic at my job.” You can’t help the rebuttal, it’s too much in your nature. “Because even if I don’t take down the hero who comes after me - and let’s face it, they’ll keep sending them endlessly, it’s exhausting - I still do what I set out to do. Sometimes that’s steal something. Kill someone. Make a scene. On bad days, just get out and away. And if you use that metric, well, darling, my track record is spectacular.”

Loralai considers this for a moment, staring into the middle distance between you. It’s impossible to figure out what she’s actually thinking of.

“Your metaphors suck.”

Well okay then. “My metaphors are elegant contrivances -“ You give up when Loralai gives you a look, and sigh instead.

Still, what you’ve said seems to have made some difference. Loralai has stopped crying, and she doesn’t feel as.. raw, as before. You hope it’s the right kind of difference, and that you haven’t just chased her further into a shell. You wait for her to break the silence again.

“So you think I should live, for the people around me?” She challenges, indicating the flowers and cards. You both know that’s only a fragment of your argument, but you’re willing to play ball.

“Nope.” You reply succinctly. “I think you should live for you and your own experiences. However, I think you are currently in a position where you have to see your joys in others before you can see them for yourself. If they anchor you, use it.”

She’s staring at you now, expression unreadable. “And you think that will get better.”

You almost answer ‘yes’ - but you know that isn’t quite what she’s asking. There’s a second half to that statement that is a question, left unspoken: ‘will it get better before I die?’

And for all of your lies, you answer her honestly. “I don’t know.”

Loralai nods. You want to clarify, to explain that even a chance is a chance worth taking. You want to give her some of your own rage at the world, the defiance that makes it possible to simply refuse to die. The conviction that let you kill a god.

No, maybe not that. You’re not sure that would be a blessing after all.

“Okay.” She says, after several moments. “Fine. I get to live. For now. But when I die -“ Loralai’s attention abandons the far wall and the middle distance, zeroing in on you, “- if my life gets any worse between now and then, if I don’t get any more good stuff like you’ve described, I’m haunting you.”

You believe her. “I believe you.” You say solemnly. “And there are few things in this world more terrifying than a teenage ghost. No, that isn’t sarcasm, I’m serious. Once-“

—-

You spend the rest of the hour telling stories of the teenaged ghost you’d met once in New Orleans, back when that wasn’t quite anyone’s territory. It’s not nearly enough time to share all of her stories - but it is enough that you remember her fondly, and smell the faint scent of bergamot and citrus that always heralded her presence.

When you spoke to her more regularly, you teased her about being a ghost who smelled like Irish Spring, and she ensured your cape got caught on everything it possibly could. You feel a tug on it, as you are moving to leave, and understand the prompt.

“Here.” You tell Loralai, unclasping your cape from your shoulders, and draping it over the bed.

“Does this have magic powers, or something? Is it bulletproof?” Loralai lifts it’s edge, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. She’s in higher spirits, but the bags under her eyes have deepened. She’s also cold, though you don’t think you’d be able to get her to admit it.

“Nah.”

“Then why would I want it?” Remarkable, how little your status matters to teenagers. You aren’t sure if it’s your curse or a trait of the species.

“Capes are cool.” You reply confidently.

There are other reasons too - it gives your ghost friend an anchor to stay with her better, it’s warm, it will remind her this wasn’t a dream. If her family needs to, they can sell it to cover some of the medical bills, since (unlike some heroes and villains) you rarely leave a trace behind, and collectors would love to get ahold of one of your capes. Actually, Tallflawes might even buy it at an exorbitant price, just to taunt you with it. But this isn’t a lie: capes are cool.

“Whatever.” Loralai says sleepily, resting back on her pillows, your cape tucked up under her chin. “Goodbye, Synovus.”

“Goodbye, Loralai Weber.” You say gently. You aren’t sure if she even notices your shadows flip the switch on the bedside lamp, returning the room to darkness. Your shadows muffle your exit back into the hall.

You leave as quickly as possible, after that.

—-

The good thing about being a dramatic fool on purpose, is that when you are having a public meltdown, it can appear as though you are simply performing again. The shadows contorting and swirling around you? Ah, Synovus, making an entrance. Disappearing between one blink and the next to the unobservant, because you’ve turned and booked it into the dark? A classic exit.

Your minions know you too well for that facade to hold. They also know you too well to ask.

You stalk down the halls, lights seeming to ripple in your wake with the amount of shadows you’re dragging, like a toddler with their blanket on their way to throw a tantrum. But you skip the training room. You wind up in the kitchen, as Oflok watches from a distance.

You spend an indeterminable amount of time staring at the collection of alcohol. You don’t indulge, because you are terrified of what might happen if you lose control of yourself. You know you are a walking bomb. Your minions can partake as they like, however, and today, reminded of how destructive you are, you want very badly to join them. To get wasted beyond memory.

“I want you to kill me.”

You get as far as reaching up one hand for a bottle. You don’t know which, you didn’t bother to read the labels. You lower your hand. Spin on your heel. And leave.

—-

It’s Rosie and Doll who hover in the corner, silent witnesses while you dig through the cabinets in the infirmary. You grab the first ampoule of a drug that looks like it would force you out of your mind that you can get your hands on. You have a tray laid out with syringe, bandages, tourniquet, disinfectant wipes, before you realize what you’re doing.

“Does this look like a life worth living?”

You walk out without a word.

—-

The grave at the bottom of the island is not well tended. It is not a monument to be remembered. This is the third time you have visited it since you stopped obsessively checking for signs of disturbances, in case it’s occupant decided to crawl back out.

You tell the empty space about Loralai Weber. What she looked like, what she asked of you, what that means. This time, you’re free to cry, though whether it’s for her or yourself, you’ll never be able to parse. By the end, you are screaming in the dark cave, knowing it’s all pointless at this stage in the game.

The man in the grave could heal himself, when he wanted. And very rarely, when he was convinced it was ‘appropriate,’ he could heal others too. He wouldn’t have counted Loralai Weber as ‘appropriate’ for his gift. You would. It doesn’t matter, though.

It’s the one part of his powers you never inherited.

—-

[Thank you for reading Synovus: A Wishing Star - if you want to read more of Synovus, you can find the rest of their stories on my blog, in the pinned post. Further, if you want to find out more about the Make A Wish Foundation, you can read stories of children they've helped (in rather different ways than Synovus) on their website, or donate here.]

[I do not have a personal story to share for Loralai's inspiration. However, I did tap into my experiences as a chronically ill individual, and the mental state I experienced both before and during treatment. There are still days I wonder as Loralai does - but I wholeheartedly believe as Synovus says: This life is worth living. It is for you too.]

#synovus #synoverse #Synovus: A Wishing Star #tw cancer #please dm me if you feel additional tags are necessary!#reader discretion advised #tw suicidal ideation #tw implied child death #tw self destructive behavior

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babybluebex · 1 year

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𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: series masterlist | a new preacher comes to your town, and you’re overwhelmed by him. you try to keep away from father james, but, the more you see him and the more he kisses your hand, the more you realize that staying away won’t be so easy. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jamie bower x fem!reader (rpf) 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 7k 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: rpf (real person fiction), smut MINORS DNI, p in v sex, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, heavy breeding kink (the last line of the song is literally "i'm coming inside" are u kidding me), preacher kink, praise kink, religious themes, age gap (reader is early 20s, jamie is 34), jamie has a huge god complex omg 𝐀/𝐍: i’ve been working on this on again and off again since the music video came out in august, so take it before it drives me more insane than it already has lol

All morning, you could have sworn the preacher was looking at you.

It was a hot summer Sunday morning, one where you wore your nicest dress, just as your mother had told you to. You had forgotten how hot it got at home; after being at college for the past few years, you had gotten acclimated to the big city, and you couldn't remember what home was like.

To be honest, you had been dreading church. You had lied to your parents when you told them that you had kept up the habit while at college, and you despised the thought of wasting a good Sunday morning, even though you were on vacation. No matter what, you had gotten up and gotten dressed, and you were tailing behind your parents as they led the charge into the church.

The building itself was miniscule, surrounded by the desert on all sides, set apart from the rest of town. Your hometown was small, so small that people usually only lumped it in with the nearby biggest city and didn’t know that your town even existed on its own. But it did, and, in a town like that, everybody knew everybody else’s business.

Which made the preacher all that more confusing to you.

You could vaguely remember your mother telling you about the appearance of a new preacher at your church after the former pastor retired. It had been months ago, and you only remembered the name she had told you: James Bower. There were other details as well, something about him being young and British, but you didn’t really listen too closely to that phone call with your mother. She had been going on and on about church and you tended to tune that out.

“Mom,” you said quickly as you approached the church, seeing the door hanging open, welcoming everyone inside. Standing at the open door was a man, dressed in a black suit with a white shirt, a black hat covering his head and shading his face. He was older than you, but also younger than your parents, and he was shaking hands with every man that walked in front of him and setting kisses on the ladies’ cheeks. “Who is that?”

“Oh, that’s Father James,” your mother told you, sucking at the back of her teeth for a moment. “I told you about him, he replaced Father Nicholas.”

“Yeah, I remember you telling me,” you said softly. “He’s just… Younger than I thought.” And, by the flashes of a sharp jawline and deadly eyes that you could see as you approached, he was far more attractive than you would have taken a man like him for.

“He’s good,” your mother said carefully, as if she was controlling her tongue. “Cares about what he preaches about, really believes it.”

“That’s good,” you mumbled.

Finally, it was your turn to be greeted by the preacher, and you were struck uncharacteristically silent by him. His voice, a deep baritone timbre, got under your skin as he greeted your mother with a kiss, and he gave your father a firm handshake. “And who do we have here?” Father James Bower asked, his steel-blue eyes cutting you with his gaze.

You could tell instantly: this man would be trouble. “This is our daughter,” your mother said. “Visiting from college.”

“Ah, yes,” Father James said, his lips stretching into a smile. He took your hand in his, his skin rough and dry but lovely to feel, and he pressed his lips to your fingers, greeting you with an old-fashioned kiss. “Your mother told me stories about you.”

“Good stories, I hope?” you chuckled lightly, and Father James’ smile stayed as he dropped your hand.

“Only the best,” he told you.

“I’ve heard about you too, Father James,” you said, and you watched something flicker in his eyes, a quiet kind of recognition, although what he was recognizing, you had no idea.

“Good things?” he teased, and you smiled coyly at him. Two could play that game.

“Oh, no, awful things,” you said, and your mother laughed. “Just the worst.”

“I guess I’ll have to redeem myself,” Father James said. “I think Marjorie saved you lot a seat in the front; what a dear.” Your mother and father surged ahead, finding the seats that Father James indicated, but a quick and tight grip to your wrist kept you in place.

Father James held you back, his thumb smoothing nicely down your wrist, and he lifted your hand back to his mouth, kissing your fingers again. “And that’ll be Jamie to you, love,” he said softly, barely loud enough for you to hear. “You can drop that James business.”

“If you say so, Father” you said softly.

“Don’t call me that, either,” he said. “Just Jamie.”

“Jamie,” you said and you sighed out a deep breath. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

The service was odd. By all accounts, it was a perfectly good service, normal by all means, but something about the young and handsome Father James (or Jamie, as he told you) leading the sermon was different in a way that you couldn’t tell if you liked or not. Your mother was right— he obviously cared about what he preached, that morning’s work set on the sin of temptation, and he raised his voice and delivered his sermon with an expert hand.

But he was looking at you the whole time. He was borderline staring at you, and you shifted in your seat, wondering what was the matter. Of course, you could think the obvious— that he was thinking of you as he preached on temptation, you, the pretty young thing that had walked through his doors— but it felt wrong to even consider that Jamie would stoop that low. He was a man of God, no matter how unconventional he looked with his rings and gold bracelets and the tattoos on his middle fingers.

You got to speak with him further after the service, while everyone was leaving the house of God. You stepped outside with a shiver, despite the sticky heat, and your mother grabbed your hand as she told you that she was going to bring the car around. “Maybe you should go to talk to James,” she said. “He always looks so lonely, and it seems like he likes you.”

“Likes me?” you echoed.

“He didn’t kiss my hand twice,” your mother said with a shrug. “He didn’t ask me to call him Jamie.” You followed your mother’s gaze to just on the other side of the small wooden bridge, to a little garden, where Jamie stood, looking out of place in his all-black attire, looking down at the ground as his hand rubbed his chin.

“Are you encouraging me to find romance with your preacher?” you asked with a smile, and your mother rolled her eyes.

“Maybe not romance,” she said. “You’re too young for that. But friendship, definitely.”

You weren’t too young for that, you knew it, but you understood what she meant. Don’t fall in love with the preacher. That should be easy. You approached him quietly, not wanting to startle him if he was lost in thought, but he turned those devilish steel-blue eyes to you in an instant. “You,” he said lightly, dropping his hand.

“Me,” you shrugged. “I, umm, really liked your sermon.”

“Thank you, love,” Jamie said. A moment passed where he watched you, and he suddenly said, “You’re lying to your parents.”

“Excuse me?” you asked. “What do you mean—”

“You don’t go to church when you’re at university,” Jamie said quickly. “I can tell, you looked completely lost the whole time.”

“Is it that obvious?” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself, and, when Jamie nodded, you muttered, “Fuck!”

“How long are you in town?” Jamie asked. His hands drifted to his pants, digging into his pocket, and he extracted a lean carton of cigarettes, along with a lighter. He was quick to push a cigarette in-between his lips, and you watched as he lit it up.

“Oh!” you said quickly. You were staring, just like he was. “Umm, just until Friday.”

“One more week,” Jamie laughed, blowing the smoke from his mouth. “I bet you can’t wait to go back to your friends and your little sinful ways, can you?”

“What makes you think I live in sin?” you asked. The exchange felt playful, not necessarily too mean-spirited, and Jamie grinned around his cigarette.

“I know girls like you,” he said. “You wear your little dresses and sing your little hymns, but it’s all a disguise to cover up the way you really live. I bet you’ve even kissed a boy, haven’t you?” He put on a shocked look, like he was truly disappointed, and it made you laugh.

“You’ve got me figured out,” you chuckled. Then, a boldness washed over you, and you couldn’t control the way you added, “And I’ve done a lot more than kiss a few boys.”

Jamie raised his dark eyebrows at you, plucking his cigarette from between his lips. “You have?” he asked. “Anything you need to repent for? I am a preacher, after all, I can help.”

“No, nothing like that. I just…” You shrugged, and mumbled, “Okay. You’ve got me. I haven’t done anything like that.”

“Why did you say you did?” Jamie asked, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled. “To make you like me, I guess. Guys like girls who know about that stuff, right?”

“Oh, little lamb,” Jamie cooed softly. “I used to run around with some bad guys when I was your age, I’ve got the marks to prove it, and I had my fill of girls who were trying to impress me. I like you more, knowing that you’re a good girl who hasn’t done anything of that sort.” He smoked for a moment, blowing it at the ground, and he added, “You should be going.”

“Why?” you asked. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t,” Jamie said. “But I might.”

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I really want to kiss you,” Jamie told you, and your heart slammed against your ribcage at his confession.

“Is that…” you began. “Is that allowed?”

“Allowed, yes,” Jamie said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. “But, frowned upon? Very much so.”

“Why?” you asked. “Is it me?”

“No, darling, it’s not you,” Jamie said. “I’m a man of God. I can’t just kiss any girl, I need to have intentions about it, and my intentions… My thoughts about you… Are less than worthy of a man like myself.”

Lightning rocked your belly, and you took a step backwards. “Oh,” you said. “I understand. Umm… Yeah, it’ll be good if I leave.” Jamie nodded silently in agreement, finishing up his cigarette, and you mumbled, “Will I see you on Wednesday? At night service? I bet my parents will make me go.”

“Yes, you will,” Jamie replied. He hesitated for a moment, his mouth open, obviously wanting to say something, and he finally added, “Wear something white.”

“Why?”

Jamie looked at you with those paralyzing blue eyes, and he said, “You’re as beautiful as an angel. You should dress like one.”

You hardly got any sleep that night. Between bouts of nightmares— nothing you could remember but left you with a nasty feeling when you woke up hyperventilating— you were plagued by the idea of Jamie.

Every time you closed your eyes, you could only see him. His blond hair, his blue eyes, his plush lips, that smile that bordered goodness and badness. As you laid awake in your small bed, the tiny one you had grown up in, you wondered what he was doing. Was he asleep, as you too should be? Maybe he was up, working on a sermon. A selfish part of you allowed yourself to think that, perhaps, he was awake, thinking of you.

That idea made your thighs tingle. You knew how terrible it was to think of your preacher like that, but he had said it himself. His intentions with you weren’t worthy of a man of God. Jamie had basically confessed to wanting to kiss you and maybe even more, and you hadn’t been brave enough to challenge him on it. You regretted your timidness, and you buried your head under your pillow as you tried to get any sleep at all.

This routine continued for days. Nightmares, then Jamie. Jamie, then more nightmares. You didn’t see him during the day, so you were left with only the memory of your two tiny interactions. You could remember the way his blond hair had swayed in the wind as he smoked, the faint hint of his cologne carrying on the air as he kissed your hand; you couldn’t escape him. You knew that, the next time you saw him, you had to tell him.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long to see Jamie. Wednesday night came around quickly, and you tore apart your closet looking for the little white sundress that you knew you still had from when you were in high school. You’re as beautiful as an angel, his accent rang in your head as you tugged the dress over your head, and you sighed at yourself in the mirror. The irony wasn’t lost on you— dressing like an angel, yet still tempting the preacher. You wondered what he would do when he saw you; would he try to kiss you again? Maybe he wouldn’t do anything, and he would keep up the game of cat and mouse that you had. Honestly, you liked it. Being wanted was nice, but there was something fun about being desired and not being allowed to act on those desires. It made everything sweeter.

Your parents didn’t say anything as you exited your room, grabbing a thin sweater just in case it was cold in the sanctuary (it never was, but your mother urged you to come prepared). The car ride was quiet, and your hands shook as your father parked in the small lot, steadying yourself for meeting Jamie.

He stood at the door to the church again, greeting everyone as they came in. He wore a dark wide-brimmed hat, his usual suit, the shirt buttons done all the way up to his slender throat. He looked cool and smooth, and he grinned like a cat when he saw you. You had never felt more like a mouse in your life, and you gratefully took his hand into yours.

“My, oh my,” Jamie said, his eyes scanning your frame. You should have felt uncomfortable under his gaze, but you didn’t, despite the obviously hungry look in his light eyes. Even if he hadn't told you about his intentions, it wouldn't be hard to figure out why he was looking at you. “Who is this vision in white I see before me?”

Your face went warm, and you managed to mutter out, “Thank you, Father.” Jamie did his usual kisses to your fingers, which only served to make your face go even hotter. You felt like everyone was looking at you but somehow, Jamie’s soft eyes soothed you. It seemed like nothing bad could happen so long as you were in Jamie's arms. Knowing this, you tugged him close by his hand and pressed a gentle kiss to his smooth cheek, and you heard him draw in a quick breath at your meager affection.

“Thank you, little lamb,” Jamie told you. His cheeks tinged just a shade of pink, not even enough to really call it a blush— if you didn’t know any better, you would have attributed it to the heat and dry air. “I’d like to speak to you after the service, if that’s possible.”

“Of course,” you told him. “Am I in trouble?”

“Oh, no,” Jamie said. “Quite the opposite. I’d like to discuss our relationship; or where I’d like it to go, that is.”

You swallowed thickly, nervously, and you said, “Alright. I’ll see you then.”

Like on Sunday, Jamie’s sermon was beautiful. He spoke with power and grace, and you could hardly believe it when the end of it came. You could watch him speak for hours and never get bored of it. You stayed sitting in the pew as your parents stood, and your mother furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Are you alright?” she asked, and you picked at the bottom of your dress.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I’m alright. Jamie just said he wanted to talk to me after the sermon.”

“Oh,” your mother said. “What about?”

“I’m not sure,” you lied. “I think he might try to ask me on a date.”

Your mother ground her back teeth; you could see her annoyance. “Make good decisions with him,” she said. “Don’t let him be let astray.”

“I won’t, Mom,” you told her, your stomach twisting. You knew that you absolutely were leading him astray, but maybe he had a good plan on how to keep your relationship pure. Based on the way he was talking to you on Sunday, though, there was no way you could stay pure with him. “Jamie is good, I won’t do anything bad to him.”

Jamie stood at his altar as everyone slowly filed out, making kind conversation with the people who approached him, and you watched him as you chewed on your bottom lip. He looked so good, and you crossed your legs as you waited. Finally, the last person left, the heavy wooden doors banging closed behind them, and Jamie turned his gaze towards you.

Silently, he stepped away from the altar and towards you, the heavy heels of his boots clicking against the creaky wood floors. “You look beautiful,” Jamie told you as he sat down next to you, pulling off his hat and ruffling up his blond hair.

You nodded anxiously. “You do too,” you told him. “Very handsome.”

“Thank you, little lamb,” Jamie said. “Now, I wanted to speak to you about… Us. I think it’s obvious that I can’t go on being polite and nice with you.”

“Is it?” you asked. “I mean, you said you wanted to kiss me—“

“You sweet girl,” Jamie said with a little pout. “Did you really not know? I want to ruin you.”

“Oh,” you said sharply. “I-I mean, I figured, but I didn’t want to say anything and assume a-and then make a fool out of myself.”

“No fools here,” Jamie said. His hand touched your thigh, his hand impossibly warm against you, and you laid a gentle hand on top of his, letting your fingers nudge his. “I like knowing what you’re thinking. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Honestly?” you asked with a sigh, and Jamie nodded. “How badly I wish you would kiss me.”

Quickly, he leaned into you, and he pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was gentle and simple, and you leaned into him as his hand raised to gently touch your cheek. His rings were cool against your skin, and you pressed yourself closer to him as he held you carefully. He tasted like cigarettes and warm skin, all man and all Jamie, and he gently smoothed his teeth against your bottom lip, biting just enough to make you smile, before he fell away from you. He didn’t pull away completely, though, touching his forehead against yours and taking a deep breath. “Good,” he whispered. “Now I’d like to do something else.”

“What is that?” you asked.

“I think I’d like to make love to you,” Jamie told you. “Only if you want that, though.”

You nodded quickly. “I want that,” you told him. “But, um, I’m a little nervous.”

“Because you’ve never done it before?” Jamie asked, and you nodded quickly. “We don’t have to. I’d be happy to take you to dinner and drop you off back at your house, leaving you completely intact.”

“Or…” you started. “You could fuck me here and now, and give into temptation.”

“Oh, I’d love to do that,” Jamie said softly. He tilted his head, as if contemplating kissing you again. “I’d really love to… Tell me to stop and I will.”

“I won’t,” you breathed, and you met him for another kiss. This one was instantly more, instantly hungrier, his warm tongue snaking between your lips and into your mouth as he held you close. His hands grabbed your waist and he tugged you close, and he broke the kiss to take a deep breath. His hands smoothed down to your thighs, and he pulled you into his lap, your legs parting wide to envelop his hips. He pulled at your pretty sundress as he kissed you again, and you carded your fingers through his hair as he claimed you again, chasing you into a hungry kiss.

Your hips rocked down onto his as your knees pressed into the hard wood of the pew, aching just a little, and Jamie’s hand pressed into your ass and shoved your hips down onto him as his bucked up into you. You felt his hardness through his trousers, pressing up into you, and you gasped at the feeling. “How long’s it been?” you whispered, and Jamie pressed his forehead to yours again before stealing another quick kiss.

“Years,” he mumbled. “S’nice not to have to do this myself.”

“You masturbate?” you asked with a giggle. “Naughty preacher.”

You yelped as his hand came down onto your ass, spanking you hard, the sound of it reverberating through the empty sanctuary. “I’m a grown man,” he growled through gritted teeth. “I have needs. As of Sunday, though, I’ve been insatiable.”

“Lucky me,” you smiled, and Jamie gave you a half-smile, more of a smirk than anything. “You gonna fuck me hard?”

“Keep talking to me like that and I just might,” Jamie chuckled. “You have no idea what I’ve imagined as I fucked my hand. It’s like I told you, I want to ruin you.”

“Ruin me,” you begged him, leaning forward and kissing his smooth neck. Your hands fell from his hair and down to his shirt, and you started to unbutton his shirt. The more skin you exposed, the more ink you saw, and you gaped at him as you smoothed your hands down his shaved chest. He was covered in tattoos, all on his chest and sternum and belly, and your mouth watered at the sight of them. “Oh my God…”

“I told you, I used to run around with a bad crowd,” Jamie told you, his hands pressing upwards into your dress. “Rock music and girls, it was… But this is better. You are better than all of that.”

“You flatter me,” you laughed. “You haven’t had me yet.”

Jamie shrugged. “I know a good fuck when I see one,” he said. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Stop it,” you mumbled as you blushed, and Jamie grabbed handfuls of your ass, rucking your dress up past your hips. “What made you want to join the church?”

“I grew up going,” Jamie told you as your hands fell to his pants, playing with his belt but not undoing it. Your heart beat deep inside your chest at the prospect of undressing him and seeing his cock, a sort of anxious glee making your heart race, and you listened intently as Jamie told you his story. “Me, my brothers… But when I was young, your age, I rebelled against it and had a sinful lifestyle, all of that that I told you about… But I got tired of that. I got tired of existing just for pleasure and sin, and I turned back to the church to guide me. But then you— You came into my life just a few days ago, and I already know that you’re what I was made for. I was made to guide you, to help you… I’m not supposed to be here like this, but I can pray for forgiveness for this one night.”

“I’ve never believed in this sort of stuff,” you admitted. “But maybe, with your guidance, I can find a way to come back home.”

“I’d do anything for you,” Jamie said. “Now, little lamb, I need to be inside you.”

“Need you too,” you mumbled, and you finally resolved yourself to open his pants. You undid his belt and tugged it out of the loops, and your fingers shakily went for the button and zipper, pulling it down. “Jamie, I’m a little nervous.”

“That’s okay,” Jamie said. “That makes me feel better, I’m terrified. But I need you more than I’m scared of you.”

“Me too,” you told him. You took a deep breath and reached your hand down into his trousers, and your hand was quickly filled by his hard cock. He felt thick and heavy and hot, and you pulled him from out of his pants to get a proper look at him. His cock was flushed red, uncut, with a bead of creamy pre-cum already leaking from his tip. “Oh, wow.”

“Like what you see?” Jamie chuckled. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a girl all mooney-eyed over my cock. I almost missed it.”

“It looks really…” you started. “Umm… Big. Will it fit?”

Jamie laughed, his big smile on display for you. “Will it fit?” he repeated. “Of course it will. I’ll make it.”

Your skin prickled at his words, and his hands moved from your ass to your front, nudging your panties aside with his slender fingers. His rough fingertips slipped against your skin, feeling you and the little bit of wetness that you had leaking from you. You had been wet ever since Jamie had first kissed you, and Jamie leaned up and gave you another quick kiss as his fingers danced at your cunt. “Are you ready, little lamb?” Jamie asked, and you nodded quickly before he sank one, long finger inside you.

You gasped, grabbing hard at his shoulders to keep yourself upright, and Jamie leaned in and kissed at your neck as his finger stroked you from the inside. “Jamie!” you squealed, and he grinned into your neck.

“Does that feel good, little lamb?” he whispered, and you nodded, digging your nails into his skin. “Good, good girl. Make it hurt, baby.”

“Jamie,” you groaned as he withdrew from you for a moment before pushing back in, fucking you slowly on his finger. “Want more, God.”

Jamie continued to kiss your neck as he pushed in a second finger, the stretch of your pussy around him making you whimper in pain and pleasure. Make it hurt, he said. It certainly did, but you loved it. You looked down at yourself, and you drank in the sight of his tattooed fingers plunging deep inside you, the cross on his middle finger shining with your wet. It was so sinful, but Jamie was right; you could pray for forgiveness and God would grant it. Maybe you could even pray together.

“Need you,” you moaned and worked your hips down onto his fingers, taking him deeper. Your body craved him in a way you had never felt before, hot and needy, and you squirmed in his arms as you tried to get more of him.

“It’ll hurt if I fuck you now,” Jamie told you, and you kissed him deep, tasting every inch of his mouth. He grunted a bit, then tugged away from your mouth, and he pulled his fingers from you, pressing his hands to either side of your face. “Darling, I know you’re needy, such a sweet little thing you are, but I’ll fuck you when I’m ready. And I’m not ready yet.”

You pouted and whined, and Jamie pouted back at you, mocking you. “I know, little lamb,” he said. “But I want to take my time with you and savor my sin.”

“Savor your sin,” you scoffed. “Please, Jamie, I’m ready!”

“I like the way you say my name,” Jamie mumbled, as if he were really thinking about it, and his hands danced in your hair, pushing it back from your face. “If I put my cock in you now, you mustn't get upset at how quickly I finish… It’s been years for me.”

“I won’t,” you said softly. “I won’t be upset with you.”

“Alright,” Jamie agreed. “Open your legs a little wider, you’re gonna ride my cock.”

You did as he told you, parting your thighs even more severely than before, and he grabbed tight at your hips. He guided your hips with his strong grip, his azure eyes watching your every move, and you held his shoulders tightly as he touched the burning head of his cock to your quivering hole. “You ready?” he asked, and you nodded eagerly, your belly flipping. It was really about to happen; you were really about to give your virginity to your preacher. And, God, you had never wanted anything so badly. “Put your full weight on me, don’t be afraid to.”

“Okay,” you agreed, and Jamie continued his guidance, pulling you down further and further, his hot cock sliding between your sticky folds and into you. The first intrusion punched the breath from your lungs, and you gasped, and Jamie smiled wickedly. This man was no angel; he was a devil, maybe even the Devil, come to corrupt you and bring you into his palace of sin. You loved the hot flame in your chest, and you sealed your fate with a kiss, biting his plush bottom lip.

“My sweet lamb,” Jamie mumbled, pulling his lips from your teeth. “Feels like heaven inside you… Fuck, this is just what I wanted.”

Without warning, Jamie bucked his hips up into you, burying himself up to his balls inside your cunt, and you gasped loudly at the sudden fullness. You had never realized how empty you felt until you were full of him, and suddenly the world seemed to snap into sharp perspective. Your life had been dull without him, not so shiny and bright; your life, you, had been empty. It wasn’t God’s love that could fix this feeling; it was Jamie’s love. Intentions be damned, you needed him. You would get on your knees and worship your lover and, knowing him, he would relish the prayers of his name and make you pray louder.

“Jamie,” you whimpered, hanging your head and hiding in his warm neck. He smelled good, like the musk of a man and cigarettes and cologne, and your cunt throbbed around him. He was unmoving inside of you, letting you adjust to the size and feel of him, and you tugged at the blond ends of his hair. If you looked closely, really studied him, you saw that there was a hint of mousy-brown peeking from his scalp. Dyed hair; not what he seemed, a wolf in sheeps’ clothing, intent on devouring innocent little lambs. “Jamie!”

“That’s it, little lamb,” Jamie whispered, kissing the side of your face as he grabbed hard at your ass, surely leaving bruises in his wake. “Who’s fucking you, love?”

“You!” you sobbed. You felt tears prick at your eyes, and Jamie’s controlling ways came back, tugging you up on his cock until only the head of him remained inside you, then he pushed you back down, burying himself deep inside you once more. “Jamie, God!”

“Which one?” Jamie growled in your ear. “Me or Him?”

“You!” you cried again. “Always you! I’ll always choose you.”

“Good girl,” Jamie told you, and his hand landed on your ass in a quick smack. It stung, but it only heightened your sinful pleasure, and you moaned as you allowed your tears to fall. “Confess your sins to your god, tell me what you’ve done.”

“I lie,” you whimpered. “I cheat, I steal. I’ve done so bad, please forgive me.”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Jamie grumbled in your ear, and he bit your neck, sucking hard on the sensitive skin. You knew he was leaving his mark, dark and ugly, on your skin, but, for someone as beautiful as he was, it would be alright. Your ground your hips down onto him, feeling his cock throb inside you, and his hands fell from your hips to stretch along the top of the pew, pressing his fingernails into the polished wood. His head tilted back just so, exposing the smooth and pale column of his throat, and he moaned softly, lightly. “Just like that, love. You’ll make me cum quick like this… I’ll forgive you, darling, you’ve done no wrong in my eyes. All the best lambs are led astray at times, it takes a powerful shepard to bring them back.”

“And that’s you?” you sniffled.

Jamie’s head whipped up, his fallen eyes snapping open, and he examined your face, the tears streaming down your cheeks and your sputtery lips. You gasped out a sob, still riding his cock, and Jamie touched his hands to your arms, pulling them around his neck. Your front pressed against his, the straps of your dress falling from your shoulders, and Jamie laid a gentle kiss on your spit-covered mouth. “That’s me, lamb,” he said. “So long as you pray to me, I’ll lead you where you should be.”

“Jamie,” you keened into his warm hands, feeling them explore your body, up your dress and down the front of it. Even his fingers were greedy, and you balked at the touch of him to that special nerve, sending shocks down your spine. “Jamie! Oh my God, fuck!”

“Keep saying my name,” he said. “You’re doing so well for me. When we’re done here, I’ll take you home, have you pray to me all night. Would you like that? Just you and your god, all alone, worshipping me as I worship your body?”

“Yes!” you sobbed. His cock was so deep inside you, driving you wild, and you squeezed your arms around his neck to draw him into a kiss. Now you were the greedy one, chasing him with a million kisses, and Jamie smiled his winning grin.

“Already devoted,” he said. “You’ll never stray very far again, will you?”

“Not as long as you fuck me like this,” you told him, and his fingers continued their harsh circles on your clit. Your cunt spasmed at the feeling, your entire body unsure what to do with itself, and you could taste your oncoming orgasm. You could tell that your lover, your god, was close too, and he gnashed his teeth as he pinched your thigh, making your legs open wider.

“I’ll fuck you better,” he said. “In bed, I’ll kiss you all over and really worship you, I’ll take my time with you. Fuck, sweet thing, I’m cumming inside, I have to.”

“Please,” you begged him. “Give it to me, please, I need it.”

“I’ll worship you all night,” Jamie whispered, controlling your body as you rode him. His hot cock was heavy as he fucked in and out, the drag of him making you feel lightheaded, and you sniffled up your tears as Jamie whispered in your ear. “You’d like that, won’t you? Just you and me…” His eyes squeezed shut, his eyebrows lifting in ecstasy, and, when he spoke next, he was breathless. “I’m cumming, lamb, I’m—”

You felt his release coat your walls, your throbbing cunt milking him for every drop, and you moaned with him, singing your holy hymn. His fingers rubbed you through his orgasm, drawing you to your own finish, and your hips stuttered as you squealed and, for the first time, came. The hot lightning prodded at your thighs and belly and the base of your spine, and you gushed around him, covering you and him with your release. Your breaths came in short gasps as you tried to control your quivering body, and Jamie held you close, matching his breathing to yours. His inked chest was slick with sweat as he pressed himself against you, and you shucked off his jacket and unbuttoned shirt to get to his bare skin. Jamie laughed at you and smoothed his hand down your hair, and he kissed your forehead.

“Good, good,” he whispered. “Such a good girl. Come here, you’re just shaking like a little leaf.”

Jamie’s grip was tight around you as he held you, his cock now soft inside you, but he made no move to pull out. “Not exactly immaculate,” he mumbled, and he placed a kiss below your ear. “But it’ll do.”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Oh, God, I love you.”

“I love you so much,” Jamie whispered. “My sweet lamb. Come home with me, please, let me worship you.”

“Of course,” you said. “Anything for you. Only…”

“What?” Jamie asked. "What's wrong?"

“I think my parents are waiting for me,” you mumbled. “I told them that you were wanting to speak with me and nothing more.”

“Hmm,” Jamie huffed quickly. “What a talk, huh?”

You giggled, and Jamie helped you up, your legs shaking as you stood. He fell from inside you, his soft cock just as beautiful as him hard, and you both busied yourself with fixing yourselves back into a presentable state. Jamie replaced his wide-brimmed hat to hide his messy hair, but there was no hiding what he had done to you. Bites on your neck, marks on your skin, bruises on your thighs. If this was what worship with him was like, it might be worth it to invest in a good painkiller.

“Jamie?” you said softly, touching your tender neck, and he stood to his full height, examining you. He tsk-ed his tongue a few times as his fingers touched your neck as well, and he reached for your abandoned sweater, helping you pull it on.

“It won’t hide them,” Jamie started. “But it’ll do.” His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the solid black heart on his chest visible through the gap, and you smiled at the thought of him. Your handsome man, your God, your inked and pierced and tatted rock-and-roll God. “I don’t mean to scare you with this, lamb, but if you think that this life would suit you, we could… Well, let’s say that you might not be leaving on Friday.”

“No?” you asked. “I’d be staying here with you, I suppose?”

“Only if you’d like,” Jamie said quickly. “If you want, you can go back to your life in the big city and forget about this small town, it’s what I would do.”

“But what if I don’t want that?” you asked. “What if I want to be… I don’t know, your muse? Your Mother Mary? What is a simple girl to a god?”

“You can be whatever you wish to be,” Jamie told you. “I’d marry you right now, in fact, to keep you. But I guess we should probably try to at least act like we’re courting like a normal couple instead of getting married within three days of knowing each other.”

“But couples back then used to do that all the time,” you said quickly. The thought of marriage excited you, wearing his ring and carrying his name and maybe even his child; it was all so invigorating. “My grandfather proposed to my grandmother after a week of meeting her.”

“A week does not three days make, little lamb,” Jamie chuckled. “How about this? We’re together, using whatever title you’d like and makes you comfortable, and, after enough time, we can tell the church that we’re getting married.”

“How much time is that?” you asked.

“Enough time for those hickies to fade, at least,” Jamie said, pressing his thumb to one of the marks on your neck. “Does that sound nice?”

“Yes,” you said. “It does.”

Jamie walked you to the front door of the church and he opened the door for you. You saw your parents’ car idling in the small lot, all alone, but, before you could say anything, Jamie pressed his palm to your cheek and kissed you gently. Only his lips pressed to yours, no snaking tongue or wandering hands, and you gasped gently. “Jamie, my parents can see—“

“This was our first kiss,” he told you quickly. “We spoke about how you wished to be closer to God, and I asked you to dinner, and I couldn’t control my urges and kissed you. Now, I’ll make a face and turn away, regretting what I’ve done.”

“What an actor I’ve got,” you giggled, and Jamie smiled against your mouth. The kiss finally broke, and Jamie smoothed down his jacket on his body as he assumed the anxious energy of a man who wasn’t sure of his actions. “When will I see you next?” you asked.

“Tonight,” Jamie said. “For dinner. I’ll pick you up at your house.”

“Alright,” you said. “Umm… Goodbye, my God.”

“Goodbye, my lamb,” Jamie said, and you felt his steely blue gaze on you as you turned and made quick time to your car, sliding into the backseat.

“So,” your mother said slowly as you slammed the car door shut. “You and Father James…”

“He said he could see me struggling with my faith,” you lied quickly, your neck burning with the marks he gave you. If you craned your head and looked at yourself in the rearview mirror, you could even see the red patches that would bloom to purple overnight. “And he helped me pray.”

“And what else?”

You swallowed thickly. “He asked me to dinner,” you said carefully.

“Did he?” your mother asked smoothly. “Anything other than that kiss?”

“I-I didn’t ask for him to,” you said quickly. “He just… Did. And he apologized for it.”

“Are you still going to dinner with him?” your mother asked, and you nodded quickly. “Be careful. Father James might be a holy man, but he’s still just a man. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” you said. “Not so long as I have him by my side.”

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cwritesforfun · 10 months

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TSITP: Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader: this is me trying

Inspired by the song this is me trying by Taylor Swift and some songs from folklore and just Taylor Swift songs in general so let me know if you like this style of quick story:) here is a link to the song

Y/N = Your Name & S/N = Sister’s Name ** I do not own the TSITP characters or plot!** Yes, I do change the plot a bit.

Lyrics from songs in italics - let me know how many songs you can count

Y/N’s POV

Cousins Beach has always been a beautiful place to visit over the summer. My family has been friends with the Fisher and Conklin families since I was young. I was always closest with Belly, as we were the only two girls besides our moms. Steven was friendly enough. Jeremiah always knew to bring the party to us and was there if you asked, But, Conrad, Conrad was there no matter what. I never had to ask. When the rest of the kids walked together, he would walk by me so I didn’t have to walk alone. He would help me calm my anxiety by walking on the beach with me. He would save me from uncomfortable social situations. When my dad died, he would text me every week (I told him every day was too much). I truly appreciated him more than he ever would know because when I break it's in a million pieces. I was hurting so much, but I had him. My family sold our old home when my father died, but Laurel lets us stay with their family every summer now. It was very sweet of her to do that and it also means endless summer sleepovers with Belly. It can be a little mentally taxing to not have a space to decompress after a long day socializing, so I tend to go on runs after dinner around the beach. My twin sister, S/N, joined me once, but now she prefers partying with Steven.

This year, everything is different. Belly is being entered into the debutante ball. I went a few years ago and my escort was Conrad. I wonder who will take her this year. Susannah has breast cancer and I can tell it’s taking a toll on Conrad a lot. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he keeps pushing me away.

Dinner tonight has been tense. Belly somehow snuck out to the party at the beach. And it's hard to be at a party when I feel like an open wound. I was there because S/N wanted me as her moral support if she was rejected by guys or girls, but I mainly hung out with Jeremiah because he’s funny to watch when he gets drunk. I did see Conrad drinking and smoking off to the side. He glared at me when I got another drink. I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me. No idea what his problem is. He won’t talk to me. It's hard to be anywhere these days when all I want is you...

And since that happened, the family is torn. Belly was in no real danger since I was with her at the party and watching over her, but my family didn’t like the idea of a small girl watching another small girl. They said it was unsafe for us to be alone, even though we were with other people at the party. Conrad’s parents got mad because he was supposed to watch everyone as the “oldest” sibling there. The funny thing is, Conrad and I are the same age.

I watch as Conrad storms outside after dinner. I watch his dad follows him outside. Susannah leans over to me and says “Go outside and check on Conrad, will you? I know his father can be a bit direct and Conrad doesn’t always respond best to that. He’ll need you.” I get up and walk through the back door outside. I hear Mr. Fisher say in a slightly raised voice “You’re the oldest. You’re supposed to look out for the younger kids.” UH OH! I exclaim “Technically, we’re the same age.” Conrad says “Go away, Y/N.” Mr. Fisher says “Conrad, apologize right now.” I reply “It’s okay, Mr. Fisher. Um... could you tell my mom I’m going on a run and I’ll be back after?” He nods and I storm past them to the house.

I change, put my headphones on, and run on the beach. I collapse on the beach at the end and put my feet in the cold wet sand. It feels amazing here. I take off my headphones and watch the waves wash over the beach. It’s weird but fuckin’ beautiful.

I hear footsteps and wonder who they sent to check on me. I hear “May I join you?” I see Conrad and I ask “Oh so you finally want to talk to me now?” And my words shoot to kill when I’m mad. I have a lot of regret about that. Conrad sits then asks “Uhh something like that. I’m sorry. Do you want water? I figured you would be thirsty after the run. I was waiting to see you run by.” I reply “I will gladly accept, thanks, Conrad.” He replies “Of course.”

I look at the water and exclaim “Sorry for snapping a minute ago. I just get in my head sometimes and I know it was rude of me to say that. If you didn’t want to talk, I shouldn’t have tried to push you.” He replies “It’s alright. You’re the only one who cares enough to try.” I look at him and see tears staining his cheeks. I reach over and we hug. He rests his head in the crook of my neck and just lets all his tears out. I can tell he has been holding them back by how his tears ricochet.

Eventually, Conrad pulls away from the hug and says “Everyone either doesn’t try to talk to me or they seem afraid of me. I feel like I’ve lost everyone and I have no one left. No one makes me feel like I’m worth anything. I just ... I’m hurting and I miss when days were better. My dad ... he said that I should’ve been a better example. He could smell the alcohol on my breath and he wants me to shape up. He doesn’t see that this is me trying.” I take his hands in mine and say “Conrad Fisher, you’re worth more than gold. You have a wonderful beautiful soul and you deserve so much happiness. I’m sorry to hear how you’ve been feeling, but I want you to know I’m here for you. I’m here for a crying session, a good escape from reality, and I can beat up someone for you if you need me to.” He half smiles and says “But you’re a small girl and they’re not good at defending themselves.” Ahahaha throwing our parent’s words at each other, are we? I half smile and say “And you’re just the oldest sibling who too many people expect too much from.” He nods and says “It’s too much.” I reply “The past few years, when times were tough and I didn’t see a reason to keep going, you were the light in my life. You were a person who helped me see how wonderful life could be amidst the worry and grief. This place on the beach is where we would often find each other when my anxiety got really bad. I don’t know if you remember. But... this is our spot where we let go and allow ourselves to really feel what we feel.” He looks out and wraps his arm around my shoulders. I lean against him and I feel his arms tracing patterns on my arm. We talk more and the sun fully sets.

I pull away from him and we stand up. We start walking back to the house and Conrad exclaims “Thank you for letting me talk and feel and be myself. I would be lying if I said that was it for my problems.” I stop walking and ask “What’s wrong, Conrad?” He stops, looks down at the ground, and says “Nothing is wrong. Well to me, it’s not wrong. It’s stupid really. I don’t know why I feel the need to tell you because it could mean I lose you.” I take his hands in mine and say “You’re scaring me, Conrad. Please tell me what can’t you tell me that means I no longer want in your life.” He replies “I am so very in love with you, Y/N.” HOLY BLEEPING WHAT?!?!? He quickly drops my hands and says “Just forget I said that, please. We’ll be friends and I can move on. Just don’t tell everyone please.” I put my hands on both sides of his face and say “I love you too, you big idiot.” He smiles and we kiss. Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long...

#conrad fisher #tsitp #tsitp fanfic #tsitp x reader #tsitp conrad #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x y/n #the summer i turned pretty #fanfiction #fanfic #Conrad fisher rec

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princesachicana · 2 years

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𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (conrad fisher x blind!reader)

description: your first summer at cousins beach leads to so much more.

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You had lost your sight at the very young age of three, the aftermath of a terrible accident. You lost your mother in the process. You remember waking up in the hospital scared. Hearing voices and people shuffling all around you and not being able to see was terrifying. You cried until your throat was dry, the doctors and nurses attempting to ease your shock and fear was appreciated now that you were older. But imagine being three years old waking up and not being able to see? On top of being told “your mommy is in a better place now.”

Your aunt took you in after that. She of course already had a family of her own. It wasn’t easy hearing her kids exclaim “I love you mommy.” every night. You would do the same. You’d snuggle a teddy bear that the doctors said “your mommy angel wanted you to have this.” you would speak lowly so your cousin’s wouldn’t hear “I love you mommy” only you never got a response back.

As you got older her death was easier to deal with. Your aunt filled in the maternal figure that you lost. She’d been there for every doctor appointment, every specialist who swore you’d get your sight back if you paid them, she’d been there to hold your hand once you got anxious in public places. She never once treated you any different than her “real” kids, you were hers no matter what. Of course you both still talked about your mother. She’d tell you stories from when they were teenagers, ones that involved boys,sneaking out and skinny dipping.

Boys.Boys.Boys

That was a sore topic once you reached the age of fifteen. Boys teased and picked on you for simply being blind. The god awful ones would joke and say “we’d be able to cheat on her, she can’t even see!” The bullying never got to you though. Yeah, some of the comments sometimes dug deeper than the others but ultimately you came out stronger than the snobs that tried to be the class clowns. For the first two years of high school you attended a regular public school. That was until your aunt found an amazing school for the blind in California. You remember the summer, where you took a trip to cousins beach to celebrate.

It was a nice experience, you had never been to the beach before. But the sounds of the waves and the feeling of the water as it raced to the shore made you feel at home. The first night in cousins beach, you made a friend, Isabel “belly” Conklin. you were ecstatic it wasn’t every day that you made a friend so easily. That day you spent all your time with her, she’d nudged you every time a cute boy walked by “he’s cute look!” And of course that would be followed by you laughing out loud reminding her that you actually couldn’t see!

“You’re gonna love the boys or hate them either one!” Belly giggled as she held onto your elbow, guiding you to what you guessed was her beach house. “Helloooo” belly called into the house as you both walked in. It smelt fresh maybe citrus? Or was that lavender? “Hey, who’s this?” A voice sounded from around the corner. “This is y/n I met her today on the beach.” Belly explained, leading you over to a couch. “Nice to meet you, I’m Steven.” You smiled, he seemed genuine. “Nice to meet you!” You held your hand out in a nice gesture.

Only it wasn’t the same boys voice you heard that also took hold of your hand. “The names Jeremiah beautiful.” The boy oozed confidence and that made you laugh out loud. “Okay…nice to meet you Jeremiah…I’m y/n I’m not sure if you heard.” You said as he placed a kiss onto the back of your hand.

God you loved them already, they didn’t walk on egg shells with you. Most people when meeting you, they’d be almost scared to approach you. Maybe they were nervous? Maybe they never experienced an encounter with a blind person? You didn’t blame them, though it did make you feel out of place. But with your new friends? You felt good.

That rest of the day was spent in the Conklin’s beach house. You met a few other people like Taylor, Shayla. The Conklin’s and Fisher’s mothers though? they were the sweetest. “Oh look who decided to show up!” You knew that voice belonged to Steven. You were currently sitting on a pool chair besides Taylor and Belly, explaining how blind people pick out clothing. “Hey, who’s this?” The unknown voice had you startled for a second, but you threw on a polite smile. “I’m y/n…” you held out your hand just like you did everyone else.

“Conrad” The name was spoken so softly you almost didn’t catch it. When his palm met yours, it was like fireworks went off in your stomach. “Nice to meet you” you stuttered, god how many hands did you shake today? And when the boy sounded attractive was when you acted like an idiot! “Okay! am I the only one who noticed that?” Taylor piqued up once you heard Conrad’s footsteps get further away from you. “Well you’re gonna have to explain it to me because you know….” You gestured towards your eyes.

Taylor gasped muttering an “I’m sorry” you let her know you didn’t take any offense, you told her that it’s actually funny when people forget that you’re blind for a second. “Conrad totally has the hots for you.” Belly spoke joining the conversation. “What?! we..literally just met?!” You argued, though the smile on your face made it obvious that you liked what she said. “So? and the way you reacted to my observation let’s me know that you have the hots for him too!” Belly declared nudging your shoulder. All you responded with was a shake of your head, Conrad Fisher would never like you right?

You fell for him faster than you intended to. Conrad Fisher, was everything you’ve ever wanted in a male companion. He made you laugh, he complimented you, he didn’t make your blindness a laughing stock. He treated you amazing. It was nearing the end of your first summer at cousins beach, you’ve already told your aunt that your definitely coming back.

“Its fitting that you’re finally teaching me how to swim on my last night.” You said standing awkwardly in the pool.

“I know, though I’ll miss you hanging onto me the whole time” Conrad spoke, slowly coming up behind you. His hands gently grasping your hips. Though you’ve never seen his face, the feel of his touch warms something inside you. “Oh really?” You turn your body towards him, legs coming around his waist, arms around his neck. “Yeah, I like the feel of you in my arms” he whispers softly, his forehead touching yours.

“I like it too” You reply, bringing up one of your hands you trace his face with your fingertips. Starting with his eyebrows you trace everything you can’t see, you know he’s handsome bringing your fingers down to his lips you smile. “You have nice lips I could tell.” Conrad let out a soft laugh, he’s silent for a moment like he’s contemplating something. “You should test them out.” Was he hinting at what you thought? Did he want you to kiss him? You really hoped so. Because you would be embarrassed if it didn’t turn out that way.

The air was tense neither one of you going in for the kiss just yet. “Are you going to kiss me connie? or am i gonna have to..”Your next words died in your throat as Conrad connected his lips with yours. The kiss was full on passion, his lips were soft and warm. Conrad’s lips parted just slightly allowing his tongue to slip inside. The moan that you let out had him feeling on top of the world. He’d finally gotten his girl.

You were the first to pull away, smiling like a fool. Conrad was the first to speak though. “You’re so pretty.” he lands a chaste kiss onto your forehead. You’ve been described your looks multiple times throughout your life. Although right now as Conrad compliments you, the only thing you can wish for is to see yourself through his eyes.

And as you lean in once more and kiss him tenderly, all you can think about is you and Conrad Fisher are forever.

TWO SUMMERS LATER..

“I’m so glad we left the party, if one more person came up and asked me ‘what exactly does a blind person see?’ I was gonna flip!” You rambled scrunching up your face, Conrad thought you looked cute when you did that. “I can’t protect you from all the stupid fucks in the world I’m sorry princess.” the kiss that he planted on top of your forehead calmed you.

Late night beach dates were kinda you and Conrad’s thing. The beach at night feels entirely different than the beach during the daytime. Yeah someone might argue and say “a beach is still a beach.” But to you and Conrad at night the whole atmosphere is changed. Their isn’t the crazy crowds of families, children and surfers. It’s peaceful and serene, you like the way Conrad describes the way the moon bounces off the ocean.

Your head lazily rests against Conrad’s broad shoulder, you listen as the ocean meets the shore every couple of seconds. “Where do you think will be in ten years?” The question has been on your mind for awhile now. Conrad clears his throat no doubt he was thrown off by the random question. “Well obviously you’ll already be my wife, we’ll have a beach house of our own hopefully.” His fingertips slowly massage your hip that’s peeking out of your tank top. “And we’ll definitely have babies, maybe like four.” You gasp immediately shocked by the statement.

“Conrad fisher wants to be a baby daddy?” You feel him nod his head immediately “Only if you’re my baby mama.” Damn sighted people, they were so lucky they would be able to see the smug smile you know that’s plastered on his face. “Okay, I’ll be you’re baby mama.” The words are told as a joke, but also a promise of a whole life time together with the love of your life.

And as your boyfriend gently grabs your face pulling you into a soft kiss, once again all you can think about is how you and Conrad Fisher are forever and a lifetime.

TAGS: @gillybear17 @snowsharkk @tessastle @conradsupporterr @alyssa-cabrera @eranthisphiny @xoxoloverb @lostaurorax @lanisdreams @alexzluvz @lalaland-notfound @liltimmyst @unsaidjaelineose @buckys2thicc @lilygreennn @t8lzw @medusaslilsister @1-800-stilinski @yazmi710 @j-brielmalfoy @ashcannotwrite @colbysbrocks @exonct07 @multilover19 @mimisparkle12

@littlefreaksatellite @vintagebitc

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anxiouspineapple99 · 7 months

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Strange Magic

Pairing: Dragon!Hardcase x Force Witch!Reader Rating: Safe for the Breakroom Fluff, slight humor, touch of angst Prompt: "I know what you did!" Summary: The time you accidently turned your boyfriend into a dragon Word Count: 2503 Suggested Listening/Inspiration/Song Title:

“Babe, whatcha doin?” Hardcase asks as he wraps himself around you and looks over your shoulder at the array of supplies you had spread on the counter. He smelled of fresh air and sunshine, he had been out hiking with a couple of his brothers.

“Magic,” you tease with a smirk. You could feel his chuckle vibrating out of his chest, through your body.

He kisses your cheek lightly, with laughter his voice he tries again, “I know that, but what kind? And do I get to help?”

“The good kind. I do need you for this,” you answer.

“Well, I don’t think any of this is for eating. So not the food kind,” he pauses teasingly, “So the sex kind?”

You laugh, “Who told you about that? No, but maybe we can arrange some of that later. And that’s not what I meant!” You turn your head long enough to give him a quick kiss.

“Babe, you only do good” he murmurs into your ear before surveying the supplies laid out. He indicates a jar with chunks of resin inside ,”You use that a lot, what is it?”

You hand him the jar and answer, “Dragon’s Blood.”

“Dragon’s Blood?” He says, “I thought they were made up.”

“It’s not really Dragon’s Blood. It’s just what they call the sap from a kind of tree.” You take the jar and opening it, put a couple of chunks into a mortar. “Dragons aren’t real anymore. Our beliefs are that they were real. When I was a kid I was obsessed, I guess I still am. Here, can you grind that up?” You hand him the mortar and pestle.

Hardcase takes them from your hands with a grin, “tell me about the dragons.” And leans against the counter starting to grind up the resin. “This smells really good,”

“One of my favorites. According to the stories it was very important to dragons, but no one knows why. It was so long ago and no one wrote anything down about them. Just accounts later that they gathered this resin in particular.”

“What happened to them?”

“They were shape shifters, they could be human or dragon. There are hundreds of stories of how a dragon would fall in love with some maiden or young man or another and stop shifting,”. You explain.

“Why would they stop?” His eyes wide.

You shrug, “no one knows, just like no one knows what they used the resin for. There are many families that like to boast that they are descended of dragons. It’s a bunch of kark. Likely many people are, all over the galaxy, it doesn’t matter. What most figure is that each generation was a little less dragon until over time they just were gone.”

“Really sad, being a dragon would be awesome! I really like this though,” he handed the mortar and pestle back to you.

“After the spell we could make some soap with it, if you like,” you offer and he nods enthusiastically.

A few days later they had to leave, another battle on another planet. You hand him the wrapped bar of soap, intending on him opening it later once on the ship. He rips it open immediately to inhale the scent. “It’s really good, thanks,” he says, kissing you on the forehead as he stuffed it into his pack and slung it on his back. Seeing the anxiety in your expression he, as always, felt the need to wipe that away. “Come on babe, give me a smile to remember all the good things I have to come home to,” he wraps you in his arms, kissing you as your heart overflows when he calls this his home.

Hardcase pulls back until the tips of your noses were touching with an impish grin. “And when I get back we can make some more magic,” he said as he pressed you closer to himself. His hands wander down to your butt to squeeze and kisses you again.

“You’re awful,” you exclaim with a laugh, pressing a hand to his chestplate.

“Not what you said last night,” he teases, taking in your widened eyes, warm cheeks, and laughing smile. “There’s my sweetheart,”

There is a call from Rex from the top of the rise between the houses, answering calls from the others as they headed towards him.

With a quick kiss and an “I love you,” he was running to meet his brothers. Turning to see you wave and call “I love you” as he reached them.

The clouds had covered the sky all day. A desperate feeling of foreboding had tormented you all day. You paced. Friends, other troopers’ partners, showed up at your door with no explanation. Sky, Five’s partner, followed closely by the twins that had charmed Tup and Dogma. They flowed in after that.

Tea is made and cups held in hand while staring off into the middle distance. Silence prevails. Rain spits and splatters on the windows off and on.

As night falls the rain intensifies, thunder and lightning clash overhead. Dasha, Jesse’s girl, cooks food to do something with her hands. It goes cold on the stove. People shift spaces, put an arm around another, squeeze shoulders seemingly at random.

You become more nervous, on edge. You start pacing again. Two others do too. The silence is broken by Kaida, Rex’s sweetheart whispering a chant. A prayer to the force. Your eyes widen and zero in on the other two pacing with you. Sky and Dasha.

Others join in the chant, it’s in time with the three sets of footsteps. It gets louder. A coven of witches chanting a prayer, a spell, to the rhythm of the pacing while wind howled outside. Rain thrashing the walls, thunder cracking the sky open. It feels like a rising wave coming to sweep you away.

You are on a ship, blaster fire, the chatter of droids. Fives yelling, Hardcase yelling back. You’re next to him as the other two take off. As he sends them off with a yelled warrior’s blessing. You hear his much quieter apology to you. You don’t know if he knows you are there or if he hears your “I love you” before the explosion that makes everything go black.

You wake in your bed with the sunlight streaming in. Kaida and one of the twins sleeping in chairs and the others on made up beds on the floor around you. You are confused as to if it were a dream or not. You could still sense him, the ribbon of feeling bright and vibrant as the day he left.

A data transfer message comes in a handful of days later.

‘Hardcase is safe. He is very insistent that I pass that along ASAP. We will arrive in four standard days.’-Captain Rex

“Maybe he knew you were with him,” Kaida suggests when she passes on the message.

“Was I there? I thought it was a vision,” You shrug.

“If he was annoying Rex enough to get him to send a message before they switch to the shuttle. You were there and Hardcase knew. Rex doesn’t like risking the system like that,” Kaida points out.

“Babe! Babe! Babe!” He yells as he runs towards the cottage, skidding on the gravel walk to a stop before opening the door to burst in. Others might have thought the action was born of clumsiness, but you knew him well enough to know that he was at a full sprint and knew exactly when to stop to slide to that near stop.

It wasn’t a stop, because he opens the door and was inside before you could come out of the kitchen. You half run to him, almost unnecessarily because he has you scooped up in his arms and is giving you an exuberant kiss even as tears of further relief wet your face.

When eventually you pull away you smack his chest ineffectually, hitting the blank plastoid. “I know what you did! You scared me half to death!” You hiss as your heart clenches again at the realization that his armor was as blank and unmarked as a shiny.

He nuzzles into your neck, “Sorry, cyare. I’ll tell you about it later, it wasn’t great. But then it was. But let me show you what I can do!” And he had set you down, disentangling himself and was removing his armor at top speed.

You are slightly stunned and baffled as he strips to his underwear and is leading you outside. “You’re going outside in your underwear.” You state the obvious.

He shrugs, “can’t do this inside, I would definitely break something! And I’m wearing more than we all were at the naked dancing thing anyways,”

You rub your eyes one handed, wiping away the dampness of the tears and laughing. He never could fail to pull a laugh out of you. “That’s not the same!”

“I’m covered and I don’t want to keep destroying clothes,” he answers, “come on!” Very confused you follow him out. He stopped you and took a few steps back, “stay there and don’t panic.” Before you could ask why he said,”just trust me.” And you nod in answer.

Then before your eyes his form shimmers with force energy then shifts. Before your mind could register what had happened your legs give way beneath you and you sit down hard on the ground. He had shifted into a dragon, a real dragon.

Easily the size of a fathier and a shimmering bronze. And as if just in case you had forgotten who this was a pattern very like his tattoos in a brilliant iridescent blue ran across his scales.

His clearly barely restrained excitement shifts to anxiety as soon as he sees you sitting wide eyed on the ground.

“Hardcase!” The shout comes from just over the rise as Rex approaches. “Should have put binders on you,” then follows with a tirade of mando’a that you couldn’t grasp other than he was supposed to wait for his brothers to show you.

Tup and Dogma were by your side as Rex spoke and helping you to your feet. “You okay?” Dogma asks. You nod. All had adopted each other’s partners as new siblings and were very protective over each of you. Tup wraps an arm around you and gives Hardcase a dirty look.

Your attention shifts to Rex and him telling Hardcase off. You gasp. It was almost like a force vision, but not. Shimmering in your mind’s eye when you looked at Rex was another dragon. Golden and stern looking as human Rex was currently.

Hardcase had heard your gasp when you saw. And again he was back to the barely concealed excitement.

“Rex, it’s okay. I just wasn’t expecting…”you begin.

“That’s exactly why we told him to wait,” Rex said, as he approached and looked you over. He seemed satisfied that you were okay.

“We’ll be fine, go on,” giving Rex a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You three have ladies waiting for you,”

Rex presses his forehead to dragon Hardcase’s saying, “behave yourself,”

Hardcase rolls his eyes. “Don’t sass me, vod’ika,” Rex tells him “You brought a new vod in this family and better believe you’ll answer to me if she is upset,” Then to you, “he acts like I can’t tell”

You are still distracted by the appearance of him and the other two in your head. But you recover. “Rex, I’ll be fine. Promise,”

He nods once and heads over the rise to go to the cottage where Kaida lived, with the other two in his wake headed to the neighboring house.

You turn back to Hardcase, “How?” you ask. He nudges your shoulder with his snout. “I didn’t do it, I can’t turn people into dragons. It’s not how force magic works,”

He huffed, and nuzzled against you. Ignoring the how for awhile you accept the dragon snuggles and stroke his face. He makes a purring sound of sorts.

“I guess this makes you think you are even more bad ass huh? Bet Jesse is jealous,” you say. Hardcase makes a sound that clearly communicates his amusement.

“Do you think since we can see the others they can change too?” He pulls back and nods enthusiastically, making you laugh at the similarities. Then he nudges your shoulder again. “I didn’t do it, Love,” he nudges your shoulder again. “We’ll figure it out,” he seems content with that. “After you can actually talk to me,”

After nodding again he spreads his wings to their full extent and then lays on the ground. “Yes, you are very pretty” you guess what he wants. The sound he makes is somehow pleased but impatient at the same time.

“What?” You ask. He looks skywards then back at you. It takes you a moment but you say, “oh no, Rex told me about the jet pack incident!” He snorts and shakes his head. After another moment he tilts his head and looks at you wide eyed.

“I don’t know why you think making tooka eyes at me will get you your way,” you huff.

He nuzzles against your abdomen again, clearly looking for you to stroke his scales again. As he does it comes clearly into your mind ‘Because it does. Like I’d ever let you fall.’

“Fine,” You sigh, trying to consider exactly how you were going to do this with any sort of grace.

‘You heard me?’ his voice is incredulous inside your head. ‘You’re like a dragon whisperer or something?’

“Coming from the actual dragon?” you ask. “Give me a hand up,” he lets you put a foot on one clawed hand and lifts you to where you can slip onto his back. You are no sooner holding on securely and he was in the air.

“I know how you did it!!!” Hardcase yells as he runs naked out of the shower, dripping fragrant soapy water everywhere.

“Love, you are dripping all over,” you say into your pillow.

“But I figured it out!” he said, sitting on the bed and nudging you. “Don’t worry about the mess, I’ll get it later! Babe, it’s the soap!”

“Soap?” You ask.

“The one we made before I left. You said dragon’s blood was important to them … us… but you didn’t know why. Maybe this is why!” He said, excitedly.

Your half asleep brain scrambled to keep up, it made as much sense as anything at this point.

“Can we atleast try?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you shake your head, waking up.

“I’m going to go clean up!” he kisses your cheek and is gone back to the shower presumably to rinse the soap off before cleaning the mess he had made.

You pick your com up off the bedside table and call Kaida. “We have a lot of work to do,” you tell her as soon as she answers.

#submission #pineapple's 2023 halloween party #Spotify

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szasfuckingwife · 2 years

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THINKIN ‘BOUT YOU

Hanma Shuji x Fem! Reader

Warnings: ANGST, pregnancy mention, mention of abuse, angst to comfort!

Pt 2 of: Pink Matter

Hanma was alone. The woman he loved walked out of his life, his longtime friend still appears in his nightmares after his death, his child…he had no one. There wasn’t anyone there to support him emotionally or physically.

He missed you. He missed you so much. You were like his world. Without you, what could he do? Nothing. Frankly, he found it hard to even get up in the morning.

“This is [Y/N]. Sorry, I’m not available right now. Leave a message after the beep.” He’s heard those same sentences for weeks now, all he wanted was to hear your voice.

Shuji sat on his bed, hair draped over his eyes and phone to his ear. “Hey. It’s me..again. This is like the fiftieth time I’ve called..”

He tried to find the words. He wanted to scream and shout how much he loved you. But something was holding him back.

“The house feels really empty without you. I- Just..please call me back. Please, [Y/N].”

After he put down his phone and sunk into his bed, all that was on Shuji’s mind was how scared you looked of him. He would never ever dream of hurting you or even scaring you.

He needed you so bad. Yet all he did was push you away.

This wasn’t the first time you’ve aborted a baby. You remember how mad Taiju looked when you told him, it was stupid. What did you expect from him?

“Taiju..” Your weak frail voice startled him as he thought you were asleep. Taiju was sat on the couch but turned his head to see you.

The way you stood. It was weird, you were all fidgety and nervous.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

You inhaled and closed your eyes. “I’m…I’m pregnant.”

Taiju’s heart stopped. What do you mean you’re pregnant? This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I mean, you guys were only kids. He still had a life to live.

Again, what did you expect? He had a lot on his plate and all you were doing was adding to it. What was he supposed to do? Drop everything and help you raise the baby?

“We’re going to the doctor.” He stood up and grabbed his jacket.

Your brows furrowed. “What..? Why?”

“Why?” He looked at you and you could see a vein on his forehead. He was mad. “Are you seriously asking me why? You are pregnant and we are kids. I’m not raising no kids, I already had to raise Hakkai and Yuzuha, I’m not doing it again.”

“But I thought we could raise it. Together.” You whispered.

He stepped closer to you. “We aren’t raising nothing because you’re going to the hospital and you’re gonna get rid of it.”

You shook your head and stood there with tears welled up in your eyes. Taiju was furious now and grabbed your wrist with his large hand, pulling you towards the door.

“Taiju, no! Please! I don’t want to-”

“FOR GOD’S SAKE, [Y/N], GROW THE HELL UP!” He roared in your face. It was no use. Whether you liked it or not, you were going to that hospital and you were going to get an abortion.

You wondered how differently your life would’ve been if he never had laid his hands on you. If he was nice and appreciative to you.

When Hanma bursted out like that, you saw him and Taiju as the same person.

And you never wanted to feel powerless like that again.

You stayed at your moms place after the argument with Shuji and you didn’t even need to explain what happened, of course you could stay.

Your mother loved Shuji as if he were her own son. He had flaws, yes, but she loved the way you two complimented each other. It reminded her of her husband, your father. They were young when they had you and not too long after, he died in a car accident.

Surprisingly, your mother wasn’t as broken as most people would be. She was content because he left her the most amazing gift someone can offer. A child.

“Dinner’s ready, love.” She knocked on the door of the room you stayed in.

“Thank you, mom.” You sighed. With one scroll, you saw how many times Shuji called you. The amount of voicemail he left. You picked one at random and listened to it.

“The house feels really empty without you. I- Just..please call me back. Please, [Y/N].”

It was time. Time to reconcile and heal. You called him back and after a couple of rings, he answered.

“[Y/N]?” He sounded tired, he must’ve been asleep.

“Hi, love.” You replied.

That name. Love. He longed to hear it for so long.

“I’m so sorry, [Y/N]. I didn’t mean to scare you. And I know I’m not him. I just..I’m struggling. I miss you-”

“Shuji.” You interrupted. “You can say all this when I see you.”

He shot up out of bed. You wanted to see him. “When and where?”

“The park? At twelve?”

He agreed and hung up the phone. This was it, his second chance. Maybe his 100th considering how your relationship was. But at least it was one more chance, his redemption.

Before meeting Shuji, you had one pit stop. In order for you to move on, you’d have to make amends with the one person you thought you’d never speak to again.

“Do you have a moment?” You asked Taiju after he answered the door to you. Of course he still lived in that apartment he dreamed of buying with you.

“Y-Yeah, my girlfriend is asleep so-” “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.”

You entered his home and sat on the couch. It felt so homey, so loving. Nothing like how it would’ve been had you stayed with him.

“Would you like tea?” He asked. He knew you liked coffee more, why would he ask that?

“No, I’m fine.” You replied. “I just wanted to say that I forgive you, Taiju.”

Taiju looked at you with wide eys and a beating heart. All these years he’s been killing himself over the immense guilt he felt but you just removed it all.

“I’m not saying how you treated me was okay but when I saw the way you looked at your girlfriend two weeks ago, or whatever, I realised that you changed. I’m glad. I’m proud. You are not your mistakes, Taiju. And no matter what, I’ll always support you.” You spoke. Taiju’s cheeks were now tear stained as he sat opposite you.

He felt so..so guilty. But you, being the bright angel you are, chose to forgive him.

He sniffed. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t deserve it.”

You knew. You knew that most people wouldn’t hesitate to punch him or kill him or make sure his life would turn into nothing but utter shit.

Of course you knew.

After a few more words, you decided it was time to leave and finally see Shuji. He wished you well and walked you out the apartment.

“Be good to her, Shiba.” You said. “I know you can.”

And after one final hug, you walked out of Taiju’s life, for good.

“Hey…” Shuji looked up and saw you. As always, you looked gorgeous. He swore he never saw true beauty until he saw you for the first time. “Can I sit?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” He moved his bag and you sat. “I’ve missed you.”

Your hand stroked his cheek. “I’ve missed you more.”

Shuji sighed. Now, he finally had to say what was on his mind for so long. But it was harder now that it was in person. Hanma Shuji had never been so vocal with his feelings, but for you, he’d change.

“I’m sorry. I know that must’ve been hard for you. I should’ve been supportive, but I wasn’t. I was a dick..A stupid one at that. I’ve never loved someone this hard, it’s all still surreal how much I love you.” He felt sick saying that, what happened to that passive, violent, non emotional delinquent?

“I don’t care if it’s something as small as an ant or as big as the fucking moon. It’s us together versus the problem. I want to be with you, [Y/N].”

Tears were already down your face. Fuck, you loved this man so much. You had already forgotten about his flaws. You just wanted to kiss him and drag him to your shared apartment and cuddle till the sky turns dark.

“I’m sorry about not telling you about the baby. It was dumb. Stupid. It’s just..I didn’t think we were ready. Yes, we’re married but…I don’t know.” You held his hand tightly in yours. “I didn’t think anyone would want a baby with me..because of him.”

Shuji cupped your face with both of his tattooed hands. “I’ll never be him. And of course I want a baby with you.”

“You mean that?” You asked and he nodded.

You’ve never loved a man like you loved Shuji and you don’t think you ever will.

4 YEARS LATER

The sun blinded you as you woke up. It was Sunday, it was Shuji’s birthday. As you peered over at him, you noticed how beautiful he’s gotten as the years went by. He’s still that same boy that decided to speak to you on one rainy night.

“Baby, wake up..We have to wake up your dad..” You whispered at your daughter who was snuggled in between the two of you. She blinked a couple of times and smiled at you.

She stole her father’s entire face. She had his smile, his nose, even his laugh. It didn’t help that she was a carbon copy of how he used to be : crazy and outgoing.

“Papa! Wake up! It’s your birthday!” She nudged her father a couple of times before your husband groaned at all the noise. “It’s your birthday!”

“It is..”He yawned. Shuji’s toned muscles wrapped around you and his daughter as he pulled you both in for a warm hug.

“Do you want to see your presents, daddy?” She asked.

“No need.” He kissed the both of you on your foreheads. “I already have all I need, right here.”

{I feel like i rushed this}

#tokyo revengers #hanma shuji #hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuuji x you #hanma x reader #hanma x you #shuji hanma x reader #hanma shuji angst #hanma shuji fluff

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14buddy22 · 2 years

Text

Chocolate Cupcakes

A/n: I am so sorry for writing angst. This piece made me cry. I promise I’ll have some fluff in the future. Italicized are flashbacks

Warnings: Car Accidents, Blood, Death of a Child, Cemetery, funeral, casket, sad hotch hours (let me know if I missed something?)

WC: 4.8K // Masterlist

You walked into the BAU and for the first time since that night, you were scared. You were starting a new job in a state that you swore you’d never call home.

Well, it had been your home since the day you were born, but you never wanted to call this home. Your definition of home was different, you defined home as the place you found comfort in, that could be a house, apartment, person, or child. People talk about home being in the state you’re from, but you didn’t find comfort in Virginia, at least not anymore.

You looked around the office and made your way up to his office, you saw his name on the plack on the door. You read it about 10x before you were going to open the door. No one else was around, but Chief Strauss said that he’d be in the office early.

**22 years ago**

“Aaron Hotchner. You’re the love of my life. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know we’re young, but I don’t care because I know what I want.”

“I want you, too. I don’t want anyone else. So, marry me?”

You looked at him. He was perfect. His jet black hair, his brown eyes. You were hoping that whatever future children you had, looked like him. He was perfect. While he preferred they looked like you, you were secretly hoping that they looked like the perfect combination of both of you.

“Yes, yes I’ll marry you, Aaron.”

He slipped on an engagement ring. It was beautiful, even if the diamonds weren’t real. You two didn’t have a lot of money going into college, but you didn’t care because you loved him.

After a celebratory night, you quickly found yourself sitting on the bathroom tub of you and Aaron’s college apartment. You saw the two pink lines that had shown up.

The minute you told Aaron you were pregnant, he was ecstatic. He was so excited to be a father, and the minute you told him, he began making plans for the baby. It was going to be hard being full time college students and parents, but he was going to be in a frat and knew he’d have many friends that’d be willing to help.

You were laying in bed with him when you were 8 months pregnant. You two talking about anything and everything.

“Aaron, promise me no matter what, you’ll always love me. No matter where your job in the FBI takes you, you’ll always come home to me and our little one.”

“I promise.”

You realized you were standing far too long outside his door, with his blinds shut, you were hoping there was no way he could see you.

You wondered if he remembered the promise he made. If he remembered you. You didn’t know he’d be working for this unit when you applied. You tried to stay far away from the three possible units you knew he was interested in. But when an opening came up, you applied and were contacted by Erin Strauss. She didn’t tell you anything about the BAU except the fact that they were very good at what they did, and that they were a very close family. Oh, and that Aaron Hotchner was the Unit Chief.

You never thought you’d hear that name again. You wanted to run out of that office because hearing his name once made you so happy, but now, it only brought pain to your heart. Pain that you didn’t know you’d feel after what happened all those years ago.

You knocked on the door and you heard his voice telling you to come in. You put your hand on the door, bracing yourself for what you were going to see. You hadn’t seen him in so long.

You opened the door and saw his office, immediately drawn to a picture of him and a little boy. He lifted his head up from the file he was reading and when he made eye contact with you, he immediately stood up.

“Y/n.”

“I’m your new agent. Chief Strauss hired me last week.”

You tried to look around his office, for any sign of pictures, drawings, a wife, kids, but you saw nothing. He only had plaques and awards up.

“Aaron. It’s-It’s been a while.”

He walked over to you and hugged you. He filled into his body. He was tall back then but not muscular. He had just turned 40 not too long ago, you always wished him happy birthday, even if the card never made it out of your bedroom.

He was more handsome than ever. Whoever he had, if he had someone, they were lucky. This was the man who was your husband, until he wasn’t.

“My team doesn’t know about my past, our past. I want to keep it that way. They know I’ve been married, but they know I was young, that was it. We’ve got a case we’re flying out of town for, do you have your go bag? The team’s meeting on the jet.”

“Aaron, you’re rambling.”

“Sorry, I just. I never thought I’d see you again, especially what happened to us. We’re heading to a case in Minnesota, I’ll introduce you to the team on the jet. After our case, I want to talk to you. We haven’t talked in 18 years.”

“I know, I want to talk too. But if you think that’s why I joined your team, I had no idea you were the unit chief. But I promise you, I’m damn good at what I do.”

“I don’t doubt that one bit.”

You had been working at the BAU for 3 months now. You and Aaron never had that conversation that you wanted to have. Both of you were too afraid to say something. You did learn that he had a son named Jack. He’s 8. Him and his wife were divorced, she was cheating on him. It broke your heart, but when you and Aaron ended things, it wasn’t because of that.

The team noticed how Aaron would defend you in certain situations, how much on edge he was ever since you joined. The team had two theories, either you knew Aaron from the past or Strauss sent you into the team to get any dirt on anyone. The only person who knew the real thing was Dave Rossi.

Rossi was Aaron’s partner when he first started in the FBI. Aaron had fallen apart after one case and Rossi was there to pick up the pieces. He learned all about you and everything that had happened. When Rossi heard Aaron’s story, a piece of Rossi’s heart broke for everything you two went through. You two were only 22 years old.

A conversation between you and Aaron was nearing closer and closer. You knew after this case, especially how it started and how it was going.

“I’m not a mind reader! You have to talk to me, as your unit chief, as a friend, as your ex-husband.”

I’m not a mind reader.

It made your blood boil. You began to yell at him. He didn’t deserve it, but you were yelling at him because you once found comfort in him. You didn’t really know anyone on the team. They had tried a few times to get you to go out and hang out with them, but you didn’t want to, you just were there to do a job and go home.

“Y/n, you have to control yourself in the precinct. I know our past is hard and sometimes it can be seen through cases, but we have to be here for the families, the local precinct. You can’t be thinking of what happened all the time.”

“You want me to forget about her, don’t you? You don’t have a trace of her in your office, no drawings she made for her daddy, no pictures of you and her. You want to forget that she ever existed. But I’m not you, Aaron.”

You don’t remember everything you said, all you know is that you yelled at him, he yelled back and the team watched from outside the room. The conversation brought you back to the one you had, the one that ended it all.

**18 years ago**

“It’s been 3 months, Y/n. I need you.”

“3 months. This is a timestamp for you? 3 months and then we can just have sex again. After everything that’s happened to us? You just want to have sex and forget about everything for 5 minutes while you get off.”

“How can I forget what happened to us? How can I forget that our beautiful little girl is DEAD.”

“I guess by having sex.”

“No, I want to love my wife. You deserve some love. You’ve been so hard on yourself. We’re 22 years old and have lost our daughter. I’m not saying let’s make some more kids, but just. Let. me. Love. you. Let me hold you close. I figured you were distant because I wouldn’t have sex with you, but you know what. I am not a mind reader.”

“You’re taking classes on how to be a profiler! Aren’t they mind readers?”

Aaron shook his head. They say the death of a child is a stressful thing for parents. You refused to believe it, until you were living it. Aaron and you had become distant. There was no one to blame but yourselves.

Losing your child was hard on both of you, but it was even harder to know that you and Aaron weren’t going to get through this. You finally had to have a talk with him. Once you calmed down, you looked at him.

“I know this isn’t working, Y/n. I know it, you know it. I just thought that maybe we could reconnect. It would help be a little better. I’ve been reading articles on how to help get us through this. Everyone grieves at their own pace. For you to assume that I just want to forget about our daughter, you must not know me the way I thought you did.”

You looked up at Aaron. You had lost your daughter and you were going to lose the man that had brought you so much happiness in your life.

“It’s over, Y/n. It’s so over. There’s no coming back from this. I’ll have a lawyer send you the divorce papers. I know you won’t ever want to see me again. I’m sorry. I’m sorry we don’t have our little girl in our lives anymore. I’m sorry that you see me as some monster for just trying to love my wife. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He walked over to you and kissed you, kissed you like it was his last breath, kissed you like it was the last apology he’d ever have to you, kissed you as if he knew that no matter what, you two would never see each other again.

You stormed out of the room and into the precinct locker room. Tears streaming down your face. You were requesting a transfer. You needed to get the hell out of his unit, get the hell out of this state.

Hotch looked at his team and they all came into the room where he was standing. Had he been standing there a long time? How much had the team heard? Rossi looked at him and went to open his mouth.

Morgan said, “What the hell is going on between you two?”

“It’s none of your business right now. I just need to get (Y/L/N) out of here.”

Aaron was usually never like this toward his team, but now that you were around, he seemed to be more on edge, but maybe it’s because of the fact of what happened all those years ago. He followed you to the precinct’s lockeroom. He saw you crouched down on the floor by the sink.

He knelt down and whispered your name. You didn’t want to look up at him, but he was still your boss. You owed him an apology for embarrassing him infront of the precinct and in front of his team. This was his life now, it wasn’t the life he was in 20 something years ago.

“Can I sit next to you?”

You moved over just enough so he can slide in right next to you and the sink. He pulled you into his side and you cried hard. 3 months of not saying anything to Aaron was starting to overwhelm you and you finally broke down.

Once you pulled back and wiped your tears, well enough for you to calm down, you looked at him. He had been crying too.

“You moved on. I don’t know how you did it. You got married and had a kid.”

“It was hard, it took me 10 years to move on. But, I couldn’t spend the rest of my life drowning in my sorrows. What happened to us was terrible, had none of that happened, I would still be with you. Part of me regrets walking out on you because I could’ve helped you. I’m sorry we ended things the way we did.”

“You want to know what hurts the most, Aaron? We had our baby girl in our life for 3 years, then she was ripped from us. But, how we left things, we went our separate ways. But what hurts the most is seeing you survive this. Getting married, having another baby. All while I drowned in my sorrows, you moved on. That’s my fault because I could’ve done the same, I should’ve done the same. But no guy wants the mom who’s kid is dead and that she cries everytime there is some little memory of her.”

“I do. I want her. You know how many times I’ve wanted to ask Garcia where you were. But I decided against it because I didn’t want anyone to find out who you were. Too much pain to tell them about what we went through. I’m tired of the bullshit condolences and then everyone looks at you.”

You and him chuckled and he said, “And you’ve been in my office, what? Like two times? You haven’t seen my desk, you haven’t seen my bedroom. You certainly haven’t seen the inside of my wallet.”

Aaron pulled out his wallet and pulled out a picture of you, him, and your daughter.

“I’m sorry for showing up in your life 3 months ago. I know you never expected to see me again, but I think I needed some closure. I’m sorry for lashing out on you because you didn’t deserve that. I’ll apologize to the precinct and to the team, and then I’ll request a transfer when we get back into the BAU.”

“I know what today is. You may think I have forgotten what today is, but I remember.”

**21 Years Ago**

Going into labor was rough. You and Aaron were 19 years old. You and him were scared, you didn’t know what it was going to be like raising a baby. You two were just babies yourself. Aaron’s frat buddies were great. Your baby was going to be blessed with all the bonus uncles they were getting.

After 15 hours of labor, your beautiful girl had entered the world. She had Aaron’s eyes, your hair. Aaron had kissed you as your baby girl laid on your chest.

When your little girl was cleaned up, Aaron held her. He began to cry immediately. He loved his little girl so much, if only you two knew how much time you were going to have with her, you would have loved her so much more. Not that you didn’t love her, you two loved her so much that you would just cry at the sight of her in your arms.

Aaron was rocking her back and forth and he whispered, “Happy Birthday baby girl. Daddy loves you.”

“She would’ve been 21 today.”

“Our baby girl would’ve been 21.”

For the first time in 18 years, he kissed you. You two sat there for a little while, tears still falling down both your faces. You did realize you still had a job to do and the team to tell how you and Aaron know each other.

You and him stood up and wiped your faces. You walked back out and the team looked at you and him.

“On the jet, we’ll explain everything, promise.”

Once the case was closed, you got on the jet to return home.

“I know I haven’t been truthful with you all in the 3 months I’ve been here. That’s my fault, but Aaron and I do know each other.”

Aaron grabbed your hand and took a deep breath. You began to tell the story.

“We met in our freshman year of high school math 25 years ago. The nerdy soccer player was a sight for sore eyes, trying to flirt with everyone. But, I soon saw myself falling in love with him. 3 years later, we were graduating high school, engaged and then getting married. But shortly after, I found myself pregnant.”

You squeezed Aaron’s hand and paused for a moment. Aaron continued, “We were 19, expecting our first baby. We had talked many times about having kids, but we didn’t think it’d be so soon. We were over the moon excited. I was in a frat and they all chose to love our baby as well. We had a beautiful baby girl.”

You and Aaron paused, tears coming to both of your eyes. From the blurred vision, you could see the team looking at you, their thoughts processing as if they know what you and Aaron are about to say.

**18 years ago**

You and Aaron were hit from the side. Car tumbling off the side of the road. You did whatever you could to try and get your daughter. Aaron was yelling. He hopped out of his seat and saw your cut on your forehead. He was bleeding too, but you both didn’t care. You were trying to get to your daughter.

Whatever you tried to do, nothing could stop the pain that caused when you and Aaron were getting your daughter out of the backseat of the car, hearing her whimper “Mommy, Daddy. I hurt.”

Aaron was trying to stop the bleeding that was coming from all over your daughter. You held her, telling her it’d be okay.

But then you heard her say, “I’m tired Daddy.”

Aaron and you looked at each other, knowing your daughter was about to die. He grabbed your daughter from your arms and he said, “Daddy’s right here baby girl, Mommy and Daddy are going to get help okay, but daddy needs you to stay awake. Mommy and Daddy love you so much.”

You and Aaron were trying to get her to stay awake and trying to save her life. But you two were 22 years old. Panic and grief and adrenaline was all taking over. When the ambulance finally arrived, it was a scene that would make others’ throw up.

Your little girl had closed her eyes and you and Aaron just cried… No, not cried. SOBBED. You two sobbed. Your little girl, your entire world, was gone. Just like that. You didn’t care that you both had concussions or that you had a huge gash on your forehead. You just prayed that it was all a terrible nightmare.

But it wasn’t.

“Please, please baby girl. Daddy needs you to open your eyes.”

The paramedics knelt down and said, “Sir, we need to put the little girl on the ground.”

“Aaron, let them do their job.”

Aaron looked at you and then the paramedics began CPR. You were sobbing. There was nothing. No pulse, no sign of life in your little girls’ eyes, nothing.

Just sobs overtaking your body. The paramedics looked at you and you and Aaron heard the words you dreaded to hear.

“I’m so sorry. There was nothing more we could do.”

You and Aaron collapsed into each other’s arms and grabbed your daughter’s body. Just crying over her, praying to whoever was listening to bring your little girl back. But, to your luck, nobody answered your prayers.

You were crying in your seat as you heard Aaron talk about the car accident. The whole team was crying.

“I didn’t purposely show up in the BAU to do this. I just-”

Garcia said, “No sweet cheeks, I wish you would’ve told us. Both of you. Hotch, you should’ve told us a while ago.”

Aaron kissed your hand and you whispered, “I’ll put in my resignation when we get back, you don’t need someone to complicate your lives anymore.”

Rossi said, “Nonsense. If anything, we need you in our lives, just like you could use us in your life, only if you let us.”

Aaron looked at you and you smiled. You said, “Okay.”

Reid said, “How old would she have been?”

Aaron said, “She would’ve been 21. Today’s her birthday.”

He pulled the picture of your daughter out of his pocket and he passed it to the team. Garcia and the team began to cry more.

Morgan said, “She’s beautiful.”

When you landed, you got in Aaron’s car. He didn’t give you a reason, he just told you to get in. You and Aaron went to the store. You didn’t realize what he was doing at first until he went to the bakery. He grabbed her favorite, chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles. He grabbed a birthday balloon and we paid.

He drove you two to the cemetery. A place you two had not been to together in 18 years. You two sat in the car, not budging to get out because you knew you two were going to cry. So you sat in silence, just a few more minutes. You both knew what each other were thinking.

**18 years ago**

You and Aaron sat in the car. You had just watched them close the casket on your beautiful little girl. Yours and Aaron’s parents had to pry you both away from the casket. All you wanted was 5 more minutes with her. But you couldn’t because she was gone and you two were still here.

It wasn’t yours or his fault for the crash. You both knew that, but it somehoe did feel like that because you two were the ones in the front seat. You two took her out past her bedtime to go watch fireworks.

If you knew how your day was going to go a week ago, you would’ve never gone out. But you were pulled back to reality when you felt Aaron grab your hand.

“We need to go out there. Everyone’s waiting for us.”

“I’m not ready to say goodbye to our little girl, Aaron.”

“I know, and neither am I.”

You and Aaron were only 22 years old. You’ve experienced more love and loss than most at age 22. Well, that may not have been true because you didn’t know everyone, but to you and Aaron, it felt like you had.

You got out of the car and stood around the casket. It was so small. You never wanted to see something so small ever again. But the line of work you and Aaron were going into, you knew that that wasn’t going to be a possibility.

You felt Aaron squeeze your hand, both of you crying as the Priest gave one last prayer over your daughter. Everyone had said goodbye to your daughter. Only you and Aaron were left. You stood in each others’ arms, tears falling down both your cheeks.

“I’m not ready, Aaron.”

“I know, neither am I.”

You sat for a few more minutes, tears threatening to spill from both of your eyes. From the time you were working with the BAU for 3 months, you or him didn’t dare to bring it up. Not wanting to re-open any wounds that may have been lingering. You also didn’t know how much his team knew, but now they knew everything, and they were very supportive.

Aaron opened the car door and got out. You two walked hand in hand to your daughter’s grave. You both sat down next to her grave. You put the balloon down and put the cupcake down as well.

Aaron said, “Hey baby girl. Look who’s together. Mom and Dad.”

You cried. You thought you wouldn’t cry anymore but hearing Aaron talk to her only brought you back to that terrible day 18 years ago.

Aaron said, “I know it’s been 18 years, but I’m still not over it. I handled it a lot differently than your mom did, but you know that. I tell you everything everytime I come here.”

Aaron looked over at you and he stuck out his hand. You grabbed it and he began to cry too. Two parents, still grieving. Yes, it had been 18 years, but you grieve in your own ways. You don’t think you’ll ever be over losing your daughter, neither will Aaron. But you could only hope that you and Aaron would become closer from this, not running from each other anymore.

“Hi baby girl. Mommy should’ve never yelled at Daddy. We needed each other and we pushed each other away. If you were still… still alive, we know you’d be yelling at us. Heck, we know you’re yelling at us from up there.”

Aaron said, “Daddy really misses you. I look at your picture that you made me everyday before work. I can’t believe you would’ve been 21 today. I hope you’re somewhere up there, getting drunk and having fun. I hope you look like your mom. I PRAY that you don’t have any boyfriends.”

You and him chuckled. You two took a deep breath and Aaron said, “We brought you your favorite. We’re gonna sing to you.”

You lit the “2” and the “1” candle and put it on the cupcake while you and Aaron sang softly.

Aaron wiped your tears and as soon as you were about to blow the candles out, they went out.

You looked at Aaron and whispered, “She’s here.”

Aaron cried into your neck.

“I know.”

You held the back of his head and you both sat in silence for a bit. You shared the cupcake, something you did on her 1st, 2nd, and 3rd birthday. It was a tradition. One that you were picking up again.

Aaron whispered, “Come on, it’s time to leave.”

You both knelt and you kissed her headstone while you cried more.

“I love you baby girl.”

Aaron kissed her headstone and said, “Happy Birthday baby girl, Daddy loves you.”

And with that, you two walked back to your car, hand in hand. You got in the car, not a word spoken between you two. When you turned the radio on, yours and Aaron’s wedding song came on the radio. You looked at him and held his hand. For the past 18 years, you had hated your home, but what you’ve come to realize is that your home was Aaron, you never hated your home when he was in your life.

You walked into Aaron’s apartment and sat on his couch. He put a VCR tape in and pressed play. He sat next to you and pulled him into you.

You looked at the screen and saw the video from your daughter’s first birthday party. You both began to cry.

You looked up at Aaron and he whispered, “I know. I miss her, too.”

**20 Years Ago**

It was your baby girl’s first birthday. You and Aaron couldn’t believe it. You two had so much fun planning the party and when the day arrived, she was showered by love from so much of her family and our friends.

When it was time to sing happy birthday, you brought out the cake while Aaron was holding her hand in her highchair.

Everyone began to sing happy birthday, your daughter just smiling so much. You had leaned against Aaron and he wrapped an arm around your waist. You leaned down to kiss him and your daughter started clapping.

Once the song was over, Aaron said, “Blow out your candles baby girl.”

Your daughter looked at Aaron and he blew the candles out and said, “There you go! Look at my big girl! You’re 1.”

You had given her her chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles. Your daughter looked at you, then looked at Aaron.

Aaron said, “Watch daddy. Here, look at Daddy and mommy.”

You and Aaron took a bite of the cupcake and then Aaron took some frosting and put it on her nose. She started to laugh and then started to eat the cupcake.

You and Aaron sat with her while she ate her cupcake and you and Aaron shared a cupcake.

“To new traditions. Every birthday, we split a chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles.”

“It’s a deal, Aaron.”

You leaned over the table and kissed him then you both kissed your daughter.

Aaron grabbed your daughter from her high chair and kissed her on the cheek.

“Happy Birthday baby girl. Daddy loves you.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner #dave rossi #penelope garcia #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #sad hotch hours #aaron hotchner angst

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transandersrights · 1 year

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happy Friday :D for DADWC this week, perhaps some modern AU Anders? 😊

(I take prompts! See info here)

Ty for the prompt!! I took this as an excuse to write ~850 words of Anders in my big DA modern AU for @dadrunkwriting. Content warning for a discussion of an injured child (injured in an accident) and emotional abuse (by a templar).

“Welcome to my pride and joy!” Anders span a full circle, arms outstretched as he indicated the room. “I’d call it cheap and cheerful, but it’s free and we’re based in Darktown, so…”

“Skint and simple,” Lirene surmised. Anders laughed. “Illegal and impoverished?”

"Not illegal,” Anders corrected. “Look.” He pointed in sequence to a poster stuck on each wall of the single-room clinic, which read, in large black and bold letters: ‘ANDERS VALEN DOES NOT HAVE A MEDIAL LICENSE. HE HAS FIVE YEARS OF CIRCLE TRAINING, EIGHT YEARS OF HYBRID CIRCLE/TRADITIONAL MEDICAL TRAINING, AND TWO YEARS OF FULLY QUALIFIED PRACTISE. BY CONSENTING TO TREATMENT BY ANDERS VALEN, YOU FOREGO ANY RIGHTS TO COMPLAIN TO THE FREE MARCHES MEDICAL ASSOCIATION.’

Lirene blinked. “Dubiously legal, then. But you’re just… offering this?”

“Of course.” He said it so simply. Like it was obvious; like people weren’t, two blocks over, being forced to pay hundreds for treatment or wait three months. “There’s a lot I can’t do, of course, with no equipment and no authority to prescribe anything, but if there’s anyone you think I might be able to help…”

“I’ll send them your way,” Lirene confirmed. “What can you do?”

“Emergency healing,” Anders said. “Injuries, mostly. I can give advice or instructions, and there are a few diagnostic tests you can run with magic even if machines are more precise. I can ease symptoms of illnesses, too — but I can’t cure them. Infections still need antibiotics, but if a kid can’t breathe with a chest infection I can ease that, if you want an example.”

“Right.” She wrote as he spoke, but honestly she was most of the way to convinced already. He was a persuasive young man, clearly sure of himself, and clearly should have been qualified, but… “One last thing, so I know what to tell people. Why aren’t you in one of the Lowtown or Hightown clinics or hospitals, charging more than most can afford for a hybrid approach that heals faster than a traditional doctor?”

Anders grimaced. “They’ll leave as soon as they come in if you don’t warn them in advance, right?”

“Depends on how desperate they are,” Lirene said. She saw a lot of desperate people, these days — including people who would go to quacks just if there was a chance of fixing something. All she could do was inform them as to what they were getting into. “But if you can give me something to tell them, I’d hear it now.”

“Alright.” Anders sighed. “I worked emergency care in Central, and I was earmarked for all mage patients that came in. You get cases where kids have been hurt for or because of their magic, so seeing someone like me— meant to be good, right?”

“Of course.” Lirene didn’t need to be told twice when it came to what mage kids had to deal with in Kirkwall, even now. She saw it in the news plenty, and from experience she imagined actually living it was worse. “So, something happened?”

“A lot of somethings.” There was a hard edge to his voice when he spoke, something that just hadn’t been there when he was showing her the clinic earlier. “Sometimes there were kids who’d injured other people as well as themselves. Didn’t matter how injured the other party was — if someone else got hurt, then when the mage kid came into the room, they had to have a Templar escort.

“They were always brutes — nasty when they thought no one was looking. Even when they were meant to be looking after a kid in one of the most difficult experiences of their life so far. These kids are being rushed in to see urgently, and one of them that night? It was past midnight. Poor kid was crying his eyes out, electricity burns all up his arms. He’d zapped his mum hard enough that she was out cold, so he was unaccompanied other than this Templar. Six years old. Could barely get a word out, and the Templar shouted at him to speak up.”

“Bastard.”

Anders chuckled darkly. “I’m glad someone agrees. Anyway, I told the woman to fuck off, get out of my examination room. Legally, the kid had to be accompanied by a Templar, but the woman was so heated I had to— well. I called someone from security I could trust, and he removed her anyway. Boy stopped crying, all the healing was done in five minutes, and I returned him to his lovely handler. I lost my license for breaking the law; endangering the hospital by removing the confessed perpetrator of a magical crime from Templar custody.”

He looked furious, and Lirene was sure her expression mirrored his own. It was patently unfair, and… well, she knew it couldn’t have been the whole story, but it was enough of one that she knew what to tell anyone who came looking for her advice.

A free clinic for anyone willing to seek out a mage healer, manned by a doctor who lost his license in a miscarriage of justice for protecting a child. It certainly wouldn’t earn him any enemies in the kinds of people she saw on a daily basis.

#da drunk writing circle #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age 2 #dragon age anders #anders

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phoenix-downer · 4 months

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I Really Could Stay Chapter 2

I Really Could Stay: ~1250 words. Kairi finds out Sora won't be home in time for Christmas and wonders about their future together.

Story Info: Sora/Kairi. Set Post-Canon. Alternating POVs. Established Relationship. Light Angst, Romance, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Christmas.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

No matter the time of year, the Mysterious Tower always felt eerie and spooky. The sky was a miasma of multicolored gasses and the grass outside was unnaturally vibrant. It never withered and wasn’t covered in a blanket of snow the way Twilight Town currently was. If Kairi didn’t know today’s date, she would’ve thought it was the middle of summer. This place never changed.

After hitting her pauldron to make her Keyblade armor disappear, she dutifully climbed up the winding spiral staircase of the tower. The halls were empty except for Donald and Goofy, but she knew Master Yen Sid was well aware of her arrival. Time to report to him that her latest mission had been a success.

She found him seated at his desk at the top of the tower as per usual. He was very pleased by her news, but his news for her was not so pleasing.

“Sora isn’t back yet?” She couldn’t help the disappointment in her voice. It was December 23rd already, and she’d rushed back from her mission in the hopes of surprising him and going home together. He was supposed to be finished. Had something happened?

“My apologies, Kairi,” Master Yen Sid said, and to his credit, he did sound sorry. “Something of the utmost importance came up, and I had to send him and Riku on another mission. I don’t expect them back until the day after Christmas.”

“I see.” Well, there was no point waiting around the Mysterious Tower for them then. Donald and Goofy were still here, so she’d ask them to give her a ride home. That seemed less lonely than taking the Lanes Between by herself. And at least she could spend Christmas with her parents if not her boyfriend.

As she walked down the stairs, she pulled out her Gummiphone and sent Sora a quick text.

Hey, sorry you got sent on another mission 🙁

His response was fast. You’re sorry? I should be the one apologizing. Sorry I hadn’t yet, Riku and I just landed a little while ago

Not your fault this happened 😔

What if I told Master Yen Sid no one of these days?

I know you wouldn’t. You have too big of a heart for helping people

There was a long pause, and then the … typing symbol popped up. I know. That’s why we’re in this mess

Hey, don’t you ever apologize for your big heart 😤

Sorry, gotta go. We’ll talk about this more later, I promise

Kairi sighed and slipped her phone into her pocket. Not even their text conversations were safe from interruptions. She found Donald and Goofy and joined them on the Gummi Ship. They were happy to give her a ride home, but now she was wondering if it would’ve been better to be alone with her thoughts.

“Gawrsh, Kairi, I’m sorry Sora ain’t back yet,” Goofy said, eyeing her sympathetically as Donald steered the ship through the stars.

“It’s okay,” she said as she worked on her latest project, a knitted red scarf for Sora. He complained about the cold when he was sent to wintry worlds, and she wanted to give him something that would help. The matching cap was already finished.

“Master Yen Sid is working him to the bone,” Donald muttered. “Sora’s gonna burn out at this rate.”

“Him and Riku both. Gawrsh, they’ve been on a whole lotta missions lately for a feller.”

“How do you guys balance personal time with work?” Kairi asked sadly. Sora was definitely struggling with it, and so was she. Each time they said goodbye was harder than the last. Her gut instinct was that this life just wasn’t sustainable long term. Something would have to change.

Goofy scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Well, it helps a lot that my son Maxie is grown. It was a lot harder when he was just a kid. His mom died when he was pretty young, so there was a lot of me stayin’ at home with him ‘til he was older.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Kairi said. No words could ever make up for a loss like that, but she still wanted to express her condolences.

Goofy smiled sadly. “Thank you, Kairi. My wife was a special lady, and I miss her a whole lot. But it doesn’t hurt so bad anymore, and Maxie and I still have each other.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Donald, what about you? How do you manage?”

“Daisy and I have a very clear arrangement,” Donald said.

Goofy put his hands over his mouth, but he couldn’t contain his chuckles. “Only after you missed one too many dates.”

Donald shot Goofy a glare. “When I’m home, we go on dates every day. When I’m gone, I send her letters at least once a week. And it helps that she’s got lots of stuff to do around the castle to help Queen Minnie.”

“I’m glad that works for you,” Kairi said. She and Sora texted each other all the time via Gummiphone and tried to talk on the phone every day. But it just wasn’t the same as being with him.

And now that they were older, she wondered what their future would be. They wanted to get married, but when? And if they had kids, she would be out of commission for at least a year per kid from the pregnancy, childbirth, and postpartum recovery alone. That meant she wouldn’t be able to go on any missions during that time. If Sora wasn’t around, she’d be like a sitting duck for any kidnapping attempts in the later stages of any pregnancies, too. And once the kids were born, it wasn’t like she could just dump them on her parents or Sora’s parents and go running off whenever she felt like it. Kids needed their mothers around.

There was no getting around it. Kids meant she’d be giving up her life of adventuring and Keyblade combat and all that entailed for good.

Was she ready for that? Would she ever be? She sure wasn’t right now, but she couldn’t help but worry about the future.

Say she was ready several years from now. A bleak future appeared in her mind, one where she was home alone with the kids, for months and years on end, because Sora had to constantly keep leaving to fight. What kind of life would that be? He’d have to give up everything too if he wanted to be a good dad.

What if he didn’t want that?

“What’s on your mind?” Goofy asked. “I can practically hear the wheels turnin’ from here.”

The knitting needles clacked together as she started a new row. “The future.”

Donald chuckled. “Now that’s a scary topic.”

“You’re thinkin’ about Sora, aren’t you?” Goofy said.

“Yeah. I miss him a lot when we’re separated like this. Especially over the holidays.”

“Well, maybe you can do somethin’ special together when he gets back. I know it doesn’t compare to him bein’ here on Christmas, but it’s the time you spend together that counts.”

“Yeah! This one time I was a day late for Daisy’s birthday. She wasn’t happy with me, but I made up for it with an extra special date.”

“An extra special date, huh?” Kairi set the knitting needles and partially-formed scarf down on her lap. “I could do that.”

The conversation turned to fun date ideas after that, and by the time they dropped her off, she was feeling slightly better. Still, what she wouldn’t give to have Sora home for good, safe and sound.

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whump-me · 6 months

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Whumptober Day 23: Stalking

This is a standalone story in my original Mind Games universe, a modern-day sci-fi/fantasy thriller setting about ordinary humans with superhuman abilities and the people who want to use or destroy them. Full description in my Whumptober masterpost, which is linked in my pinned post.

This story contains: nonbinary whumpee, death whump

Words: 1600

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The streetlights glowed like candles as Linden ambled down the sidewalk. The city was closing up for the night, its rhythm slowing. Traffic had eased to a steady trickle, like a burbling stream. Shops and restaurants went dark as employees closed up for the night, preparing to go home for a hearty dinner and an evening with their families.

Some places, of course, stayed open late into the night. The rich aroma of beef stew drifted out from a restaurant’s doors. A few doors away, easy laughter spilled out from a bar. And the streetlights remained. The light never went out in the city completely.

Linden had worn their jacket this morning, thinking they would need it. But now they kept it tied around their waist as they let the late-spring breeze caress their shirtsleeves. This was the best part of the year. The April showers were gone, and the punishing heat of high summer was yet to come.

If a person had to die, this was the best type of night to die in.

Linden shot a quick sideways glance at a darkened store window, trying not to be obvious about it. That quick look was enough to reveal the dark silhouette behind them. The person had been following them since they had left work. Always a few paces back, never so close as to alert Linden’s lizard brain that they were being followed. Whoever was following them, they were good. Well-trained. But Linden knew how to spot a tail.

And of course, they had been expecting this one.

Linden paused in the glow of a streetlamp. They let the light rain down on their face, and imagined it warming them like a flame. They didn’t need the warmth, not in this weather. But the warmth of a candle, or of a hearth fire, wasn’t just physical.

Then, with a soft sigh, they slipped into the narrow space between two buildings. They ducked out of the light and let the shadows swallow them.

When the person who had been tailing them entered the alley, Linden was waiting for them. The figure’s eyes widened with alarm. A man, Linden saw now. A young one. Too young for this kind of work.

His eyes went to Linden’s hands, searching for weapons. Linden opened their empty hands. “I’m not here to fight you.”

The man broadened his stance, blocking the exit. Linden shook their head. “I’m not going to run, either. It’s all right. I know you were sent to kill me.”

The man blinked at him. Apparently he hadn’t been prepared for that one.

“It’s all right,” Linden repeated, their voice gentle, like they were coaxing a stray dog to their hand. “You’re from PERI, right?”

The man didn’t answer. Linden hadn’t really expected him to.

“I know you’re not supposed to answer that,” said Linden, “so you don’t have to. Although I’m not sure why it matters, seeing as you’re going to kill me anyway. But you don’t have to confirm it for me—I already know who wants me dead. PERI isn’t happy about all the families I’ve helped go into hiding. The families with Enhanced kids—kids your bosses want to turn into PERI operatives.”

Linden had been one of those kids once. Taken from their family at eleven. Sent through two years of operative training. They hadn’t even known they’d had the Enhanced gene before then. It activated spontaneously in some people at a younger age than that, but not in them. If PERI didn’t make a habit of monitoring routine blood tests from pediatricians’ offices, Linden might have gone through their entire life ignorant of the fact that they had the potential to develop a psychic ability.

PERI had drugs that could switch the gene on manually. They hadn’t told Linden what was happening. Not until Linden had woken strapped to a hospital bed, their head filled with visions of the future.

PERI also had ways of convincing people to work for them. It worked better the younger the person was, but eleven had still been plenty young. The brainwashing might have taken if an anti-PERI team of rogue Enhanced hadn’t rescued them first.

Since then, Linden had used their ability to find families PERI planned to target. It wasn’t easy—the visions came where and when they would, and resisted Linden’s attempts to control the timing and subject matter. But Linden had tricks for doing just that, largely thanks to the two years of training PERI had given them. They supposed they owed PERI a thank-you for that.

They had learned to refine their gift in other ways, as well. For instance, they could tell when the future could be changed, and when their vision would come to pass no matter what they did. As painful as it was to abandon a child to be abducted by PERI, they had learned to let the latter go.

Their vision of tonight was one of those futures that couldn’t be altered.

“It’s okay,” Linden said with a reassuring smile. The man—the boy, more like—looked like he needed it. God, he was so young. “All those kids’ lives for mine—it’s a fair trade. I’m content with the choices I made that led me here. I’ve already seen how this ends, and I’ve had time to make peace with it. I won’t fight you.”

His would-be assassin watched him in wary silence. One of his hands went to his side, reaching for a weapon Linden couldn’t see. But Linden had already seen the dagger in their vision. They had seen the way it would slice across their throat.

It would be quick. At least they knew that for a fact.

“Just do me one favor, all right?” Linden asked.

The man said nothing. But he didn’t draw the dagger yet, either. He waited.

“I’ve seen a few ways this can play out,” said Linden. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you do it here. Don’t wait until I get home. Don’t kill me in front of my family.”

They had seen how that version of tonight would play out. That one brief glimpse of their son’s face had haunted them more than the knowledge that they were watching their own death.

The man kept on blocking the exit, as if despite everything Linden had said, he still thought they would run. Linden supposed they couldn’t blame him. His body was tense, and not in a way that meant he was prepared for a fight. His muscles were locked up, defensive. Linden wasn’t a fighter, but they had spent enough time around fighters to understand the difference.

The man’s face was pale. Was this his first assignment? God, Linden hoped not. They hoped their assassin had enough skill to make this easy on them.

“I know you’re probably not used to actually talking to the people you’re going to kill,” said Linden. “Assuming you’ve even done this before. You look young enough that I’m honestly not sure.”

“I have.” The man finally spoke. His voice was high and defensive.

“How many?” Linden asked.

“Three.” His face drew together in a forbidding scowl, like he expected Linden to mock him for the number.

“Three,” Linden repeated. “It’ll get easier. That’s what I hear, at least. By the time you get to fifty or so, it’ll barely register with you at all. I’m not so sure that’s a good thing, mind you. I hope you get out before then. But I’m not here to recruit you. I’ve seen the versions of tonight where I’ve tried. You never listen.”

The man’s face was an impenetrable wall. He fell back into his silence. He clutched the dagger’s hilt too tightly, and still didn’t pull it free from his belt.

“I know you’re doing what you have to do,” said Linden. “You were trained to this from childhood, and PERI training is effective. I know—I’ve been there. Either that, or you were born in one of their labs and raised to be an operative from birth, and if that’s the case, you really never stood a chance. I guess you could have signed up with them as an adult, but if you did, they probably had something on you. You were in debt, or they threatened someone close to you… anyway, whatever it is, it’s got to be big enough that you can’t walk away.”

They were talking too much. Delaying the inevitable. They had seen a dozen versions of this night, and they had done the same thing in every one.

They closed their eyes and took a deep breath. The warm breeze smelled like the city at night. It smelled warm, and quiet, and full of gentle glows and friendly laughter.

“Do it now.” Despite their best efforts, their voice shook. “Before I decide to be a coward about this.”

When the pain came, it was a relief. Hot and bright and sharp and final. There was no more wondering when the end would come.

It didn’t hurt as much as they had thought it would.

As their blood spilled onto the cracked concrete of the alley, as they sank on numb legs to the hard ground, the breeze brushed their hair away from their face. They smiled.

If a person had to die, this was the best type of night to die in.

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Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

Ask to be added or removed from my Whumptober 2023 taglist.

#whumptober2023 #no.23 #stalking #oc #fic #death whump #nonbinary whumpee #my writing #my writing: Mind Games #my writing: whumptober 2023

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