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bookishdream · 3 years

Note

Could you do a Kaz x reader where the reader have to "cheat on him" (not in relationship but like she goes to another gang) because someone's threatening her and when he discovers she was just trying to protect him and the gang she dies

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for a request, I've been wanting to write some angst for a really long time! I hope it is as hurtful as you wished, enjoy xx

TW: angst, blood, killing

kaz brekker x reader

Your hands were sweaty and shaking. You crossed your arms on your chest in order to hide that. You didn’t like being threatened, especially by some amateurs. But it wasn’t a threat against you, it was against your family in Novyi Ziem. You had to use your whole will power to not kill them right there and then.

“Why do you think I’d do anything you want me to?” you asked snapping your gaze between a woman and a man in front of you. “You don’t know anything about me and my family you assume I have.”

“Oh, y/n, but we know everything. For instance, your little brother is playing as we talking on your vast field, your parents are watching him with so much love in their eyes,” woman with blonde hair spoke first, describing the scene so vividly that you almost showed an emotion on your face. “maybe they have already forgotten about you? Maybe your mother is pregnant so they could fill a blank you left in their home.”

“Shut up, you think you’re so smart, aren’t you?” you snapped, face blank and mind filling with memories from times when you were as young as your brother was then, playing on the exact same field. “I will never betray Kaz, and you should know that.”

“Oh sweetie,” the guy beside walked closer to you, you made a step, in order to make some distance between you and them. “we’re not asking you to betray him, we’re asking you to leave this silly gang and join us, Pekka Rollins would be really happy if you did.”

“You two are much denser than I thought, if you think I want to make him happy.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Blonde said, making you shiver. “We have someone who would be pleased to kill this little family of yours. I don’t think you want them dead, even though they think you are, in fact, dead.”

You started to think about that. Crows were your friends and you love them. Inej and Nina always found various ways to make you cheerful when your day wasn’t the best, Jesper taught you how to use a pistol and flirted with you like his life depended on it. Wylan was like a sun in rainy days, even if you loved them, you also loved this boy and his stupid jokes. Matthias was funny to tease, he always was saying how awful you and the girls were, but you could also see this little twitch of his lip corner when he tried to suppress his laugh. And there was Kaz, your beginning wasn’t the pleasant one, you nearly killed him when you saw him for the first time, and in revenge he left you in the Barrel for the whole night, all alone. But after that, you started falling for him, and you fell hard. You couldn’t exactly point out when that happened, but you were sure you’d anything to save him from himself. He had tough personality, he cared only for money and how he could invest it to get the whole city only for himself. But he let you do that with him, barley sleeping and when you did it was in the same bed. Arm-length gap but you always were less exhausted than when you were sleeping in your own bed. You loved him and the rest of the Crows, but you loved your family more. And you knew what you had to do.

“Bitch.” You murmured. “Fine, whatever. Just stay the hell out of my family. And the gang.”

“We knew you’d make a right decision. Pekka will send money to Per Haskell in order to buy your contract. You won’t regret that.”

“I already do.”

After that day, you were about to start living with your new gang, family, like Pekka had said to you the previous day, he’d also told you to not worry about your parents and brother, that they were safe as long as you were working with him, willingly.

You wouldn’t call this willingly, but you guessed it was enough to prevent your family from any harm coming from Pekka and his stupid gang. You hated being here, you missed the Crow Club, late night talks with Inej and Nina, and helping Kaz with buying new ships. You wanted nothing more than to escape, but you couldn’t. Kaz and Crows could fight and kill, whereas your family was vulnerable, they couldn’t even hurt a fly. You spent the whole evening in your empty room. Window with grids making you shiver, you felt like a prisoner you were.

“We have a job for you.” The blonde girl who captured you came in, like it was her cell, not yours. “Behave and perhaps we’ll get rid of those grids.”

You wanted to punch her, you didn’t even know her name, it wasn’t even relevant, your hand was itching. You took a long, calming breath and looked at her, frowning. “I thought it was another week until you’d trust me enough to even open my window.”

“You’ve been here for two weeks. Plans have changed, we need you right now, so cut the attitude and come with me.”

You rolled your eyes and went after her, going up the stairs and leaving the place Pekka’s gang lived. You took another deep breath, smelling the awful scent of Ketterdam, smoke and money as Kaz used to say. Gods, you missed him.

“Where are we going?” you asked, falling into step with the girl, there were only the two of you, you assumed the rest will be somewhere where you were going. “What’s the job?”

“Can’t you just shut up? You’ll know when we’re there.”

You really wanted to punch her, still you said nothing, you wouldn’t get anything from her. It was dark on the city’s streets, buildings high enough to cover the moon, didn’t let its shine to light up the roads. You were annoyed and cold, your hair was swaying with the wind, goose bumps poking on your skin.

“Here.” Blonde said, handing you a pistol. “If you kill someone from ours, you’re dead before you take your last breath.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding your gun into the pocket of a coat you had. The metal was cold, making your hands even colder than they were before. Now when you had a real gun, not only your knife, perhaps you’d be able to escape. But where would you go? You were sure Kaz knew where you were, perhaps thinking you betrayed him, that thought only made you feel guilty in your guts, he trusted you and you chose people who you hadn’t seen for years over him. You had to escape, the cost didn’t matter.

When you came to the place, you saw a guy from Pekka’s gang and Kaz. Both of them were talking, but members of both groups had their guns or blades taken out. The Dirtyhands had his black coat, and his walking stick, as always. Jesper also was beside him, hands on his gun belt, ready to take them out and fire. You were more than sure that Inej was also there, somewhere on the roof or in the shadows, waiting and prepared to fight.

“We have men everywhere, two on roofs, one behind the bridge. All of them have guns pointed on you and your previous friends. I hope you know what that means.” The girl said, eyeing you. You only nodded, worrying too much about the Crows to even snap at her. “Good, now go and wait for a signal.”

You did as you were told, you hid somewhere behind a building, trying to recall every piece of information you gathered while snooping on guards or using the fact that they didn’t always close your doors. You had to find someone and tell them, you couldn’t waste any more time.

You poked your head out, searching for Matthias or Wylan. You doubted Nina would be here, since she was still working in the pleasure house. You were sure Wylan was there with his explosion ready to, well, explode. You cursed under your breath, when you couldn’t spot any of them, panic getting out of you with frustration. Someone from the Dime Lions would notice you’re not somewhere where they could spot you.

You crossed the narrow lane, as you noticed Matthias, you whistled hoping he would look into your direction. He turned his head and spotted you, anger on his face visible even in the dark. You cringed, knowing you’d get beaten up.

“You’ve got some nerve,” He said, his voice low. “after you started working with them, you have the audacity to come here.”

“Listen, I didn’t have a choice,” your voice so close to start begging him for forgiveness. “It was about my family.”

He looked at you wordlessly, confusion painting his face. Of course, he didn’t know you had a family, why would he. After a second, the ire came again. “You’re lying.”

“I'm not, I want to help you.”

“Oh, so now you did that to help us?”

“Matthias, I’m begging you, just let me tell you what I learnt.” You pleaded, your voice small. “Pekka wants to kill you as you’re standing, he has those new guns that can shoot you from really long distance.”

“What?” he looked alarmed, “We have to tell Kaz. Come.”

You let out a breath, it wasn’t the best look he sent you, but at least he didn’t leave you here. You told him everything you knew, he listened but his face still didn’t have pleasant expression.

You took out your gun, making your way behind the dumpster, hiding in shadows. You tried to calm your nerves, but the adrenaline had already kicked in. Matthias and you startled when you heard a shot, then another. You sent yourselves a knowing look, taking a step closer to the place where Kaz and the other guy were talking. Jesper had his guns out and Kaz was looking at the boy in front of him with disgust. You saw one of the Dregs were bleeding, you lifted your gun, targeting the closest one from the Dime Lions and fired. The bullet hit the girl in her stomach, making her stumble and fall to the ground. You hid yourself behind the wall and waited. Matthias sent you a look and you only lifted your arms, not knowing what to said.

After that, guns started firing, screams were everywhere. You saw the blonde girl that came here with you, standing with her pistol, aiming Kaz. You shot without looking, trying to hit her in an arm, you heard her scream and saw how the gun was laying on a ground. You looked up and saw that Kaz was looking at you, his face blank and unreadable. Jesper beside him, shooting people and screaming at Wylan to explode. The sound of explosion came from the roof, exactly where members of Lions were, you let out a shaky breath and made a step into the fight. Matthias fighting with his fists, slowly making his way toward Kaz, you tried to help him clear the path by shooting few people either in their heads or legs.

Your hands were tired, your head pounding but you were fighting hard, you had to make this in order to confess Kaz the whole truth. When you were close to him, he locked his eyes into yours.

“We have to talk.” You told him, lowering your tone. “Please.”

“This is not the best time to talk, y/n” the way he said your name made you shivered. It wasn’t an intimate way, it was with so much poison in only one word. “Why aren’t you fighting with your new gang?”

“Kaz, please, I’m trying to help.” You voiced, your eyes burning with sweat that slowly dripped from your forehead.

“Whatever.” He smacked an opponent with his cane, you only heard the sound of cracked bone and a loud thud when the enemy fell to the ground.

You two were fighting as you had before Pekka came into your life. Kaz understood you without any words, knew exactly where he should cover you because you couldn’t. Your movements were precise, keeping people away from Kaz’s vulnerable leg. You were fighting in a harmony, you kept your focus on people you had to kill, you shot them without any hesitation. When your bullets ended, you took out your knife and started stabbing everyone who wanted to stab you.

“I– “you paused, feeling a pain in your abdomen. You looked at Kaz, but he was looking at your lower stomach, you placed your gaze there and you saw blood. A lot of blood, then you felt pain, you stumbled, but Kaz placed his hand on your waist, slowly letting you fall on the ground. Your whole stomach was on fire, slowly burning you with its flame.

“Don’t you even dare dying here, messing my coat with your blood” he said, caressing your cheek. You chuckled, tasting blood on your tongue. “Don’t even think about it, y/n.”

“I’m–, please forgive me, Kaz” you murmured, hoped your words were understandable. “I was trying to save my family, but you’re my family too.”

“Y/n, I forgive you, but I’m begging you, don’t close your eyes” his voice filled with regret, eyes burning with anger, but you knew it wasn’t toward you. “Keep your eyes open.” He yelled at someone, but you couldn’t understand either it was Jesper or Matthias.

“Tell them I love them” you started to give up, your eyelids slowly closing. “I love you, Kaz Brekker.”

“Y/n, please don’t leave me” he tried to keep his voice from cracking, but he failed.

But you didn’t hear that, you had your eyes closed, hand that was laying on your stomach, now laying on the ground. He carefully removed his arm and got up. He spotted a blonde girl, smirking and looking at him, she slowly lifted her pistol, mockingly swaying it. She winked at him and still with a smirk, she left. Kaz made a promise he would kill her, he would do it for him. And for you.

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.13

Amends Through Timber

10/29/2019

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 6,020

Warnings: language, angst

A/N: This one actually got away from me. It was supposed to have more but this is where it went. Next chapter we’ll know the answer to everyone’s burning question. I hope you enjoy this one. Let me know what you like! If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Tags are CLOSED for this story!

“Are you hungry?” Nat sighs, leaning in your usual light blue seat to try and look at you.

The unending stress that you’ve been in since you got back to the castle is bad for you. You know this.

You breathe in slowly, letting the soft breeze from your open window soothe your clammy skin, stomach churning.

“Please stop talking about food, I beg you.”

Nat huffs a laugh. You peek at her and find her staring at you, sitting in a very relaxed pose with her arm draped over the back of her seat. You’d believe it was her throne if she told you it was, she the queen and you the lady’s maid. She’s so much better than you.

“Why are you laughing at my discomfort?” You pout, turning back towards the outside. The night is late, and the fire is still blazing.

You’re grateful for it. It’s quite chilly out and you’re cold despite the cold sweat on your skin. About three hours ago your stomach began to swirl, flipping upside down and then twisting uncomfortably fast until you rushed to a basin that Nat had brought in on instinct for you.

You’d brought up your dinner and now you’re waiting for the wooziness to pass.

“I’m not laughing at your discomfort. I’m laughing because you’ll be asking for food in twenty minutes. I guarantee it.” She claims confidently.

You can’t see how you’ll ever want to eat again with this nausea.

You groan and Nat’s expression shifts instantly from amusement to deep concern.

“Are you okay?” She hurries to her feet, moving towards you to place her hand on your lower back and the other on your arm.

“I’m fine. Just wish this would pass.” You sigh.

She glances towards the shut door—securely locked just as you’d requested—before she speaks. “This may not pass, Y/N. If you’re pregnant, then this might be something you’ll have to deal with for a few weeks. Maybe months.”

“How do you know?” You ask, curious as to how she knows when she clearly has no children.

“I’ve been around. One of my closest friends has a wife and three children. I was there to help her through all three pregnancies and births.” Nat explains and you’re so relieved.

Knowing that she’s been there for someone through something like this, three times no less, gives you such comfort.

“The midwife you sent for,” She begins, keeping her voice nice and low so that only your ear will catch the sound. It almost seems to blend in with the cool breeze, long curtains ruffling with movement. “…why her?”

“She’s not just a midwife.” You lick your lips, feeling your stomach begin to settle. “There were rumors that she was a witch but that’s not what she is.”

“Is she just an old woman?” Nat asks.

“No. She’s not just that either. I know that this might sound weird and…will you keep her secret? I will share it with you only so that you might understand why she is important.” You probe, checking to see if Nat is trustworthy.

You know she is. But with something like this? There’s a reason the idiots in your village referred to the old woman as a witch. Ignorance mostly, but there you are.

“Y/N, I will never betray your confidence unless I think your life is in danger.” Nat assures you, rubbing your back more energetically.

You relax again. “She’s always been able to feel things. What I was feeling but not just emotionally. She can tell when I’m ill and she was part of the reason that the warning for the plague went out so quickly when I was a child.

“See, she was with my parents when they passed, and she’d sent a man to deliver message to the King that there was plague in our village. If she hadn’t sent that man to deliver her message, we would have had to wait until my parents died to realize it was the plague and by then even more people would have become ill.

“Malibia owes her a great debt, though they do not know it.” You reach out to shut the window and move back to bed, hiking up your nightdress as you knee-walk to the center and drop down before pulling your blanket up around you.

Nat follows, helping you tuck yourself in.

“You mean she has special abilities?” Nat clarifies.

“You won’t hold it against her?” You worry, leaning to look at her face, taking her hand in your own. “She’s a good woman. I know her by sight and my one interaction with her right before I was pulled into this life. She’s been nothing but kind to me. She never judged me or hated me the way some of the others did when I was orphaned.”

“I thought you said she nursed your parents?” Nat checks confused by your words.

“She did. If she and I interacted, I do not remember it. I was too young, I think.” The old woman had watched over you. You’re sure of it.

Sometimes you’d come home after working on one of the farms all day without eating to find a portion of bread and some cold soup in a small cauldron.

You’d warm it up and dip your bread in the thick broth. Your stomach was happiest on those days when the old woman took pity on you as a child. The meals grew fewer and fewer the older you became and were able to fend for yourself better but sometimes, on particularly hard days you’d still come home to find a small cauldron of soup and the same slightly chewy bread.

It was a blessing.

“I won’t speak of it.” Nat promises and goes back to tucking you in.

“When will she arrive?” You wonder, eager to have your suspicions confirmed.

You’d been on the move with Thor when he’d asked you an intriguing question.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Have you bled recently, little bird? Here, I found these for you when I bought your dress.” Thor holds out his hand and offers you several long strips of cotton fabric.

“Why-?” You begin, staring at the rags with confusion.

“I also spotted some blood moss through those trees we just passed. Perhaps you should take some?” He points behind him and you realize what he’s saying.

“Oh, right.” You move around him but as you go, he drops his cloak around your shoulders and carefully turns you to face him so that he can fasten it around your shoulders.

“Take this too. The red will help.” He reasons. “And it’s still a little cold.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” You wonder up at him as he smiles, his blue eyes twinkling happily. “And how do you know so much about women?”

Thor chuckles. “I am a God of fertility, little bird. Also, my mother was very wise and thought all men of the Kingdom should have basic knowledge of female anatomy. Some took it more seriously than others. I’m glad I paid attention. We’ve been out here for nearly four weeks.”

You know what he’s saying. He finishes with his cloak then reaches up to run his thumb along your cheekbone, caressing the bump before he turns back towards the spot he’d begun clearing for camp.

You turn towards the trees he’d pointed to before and squat down to gather the moss and carefully place it between two strips of the fabric Thor had given you and then shove it into your small satchel. You make several of them before stowing the extras and then wander back as Thor gets the fire going.

As you watch him work, his cloak wrapped around you, you try to remember the last time you bled. It’s been a while. Normally you wouldn’t bleed seeing as you hardly ate good foods back home, but you’ve been with his Majesty for half a year.

In that time, since you ate much more and became much healthier, your body had begun regular bleeds…maybe it’s just the stress of this whole situation?

When you look up, you find Thor smiling at you from across a roaring fire, a knowing look in his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

“She’ll be here tomorrow morning.” Nat moves to take the basin you’d thrown up in, carefully placing a lid over it.

“Nat?”

She stops and turns to look at you.

“I don’t want to see him.” You watch her face, waiting for her to acknowledge your desire.

After watching you for a bit, she puts the basin back down and moves to sit beside you.

“I know that you don’t want to hear about her. I’m not trying to make excuses for him or…taking his side?” You can see her mind racing, she’s so desperate to tell you what she needs to in a way that won’t hurt you.

You give in and allow yourself to listen. For Nat. Because you love her.

Settling in against your pillows, you wait patiently.

“But when Thor brought you to us, you were unconscious. You’d fallen and hit your head and he was…”

“I didn’t fall off of a horse though.” You offer. “And I have no scratches.”

“How-?” Nat begins.

“He told me that day he gave me a tour of the castle. I asked him and he told me and then he grew angry because I brought her up.” You sigh. “Maybe I should feel worse that my injury will remind him of her, but I don’t. I don’t care that it will make him think of her. He cares naught for me so-”

“Y/N,” Nat says, a little sterner. “Steve isn’t thinking of Margaret right now. I mean, he is but he’s worried about you. His only thought since you left us has been for you.”

“I don’t believe you.” You tell her simply. “How can he be indifferent to me one day and suddenly care the next?”

“What about the flower he gave you?” Nat wonders.

“The flower he crushed underneath his boot? I think he made it very clear that he doesn’t want me in his life, Nat. He dragged me from his study. He told me that he shouldn’t have married me. That it was all a mistake.

“His Majesty doesn’t love me. I know that now. I can accept it now. If I am pregnant, then I will give birth to his heir. I will take the child with me somewhere away from here so that he won’t have to put up with me and I will hire the best scholars and raise my child to rule his kingdom with compassion and wisdom.

“He will never have to see me again and I will never have to feel like someone’s mistake, ever again.” You finish passionately.

During your little speech you’d sat up, rising off your pillows and now that you’re done, you fall back.

Nat blinks, weighing your words.

“You think Steve doesn’t love you?” Nat asks.

“I know he does not. Nat, I really don’t want to speak about his Majesty. Or Margaret. Please don’t make me speak of them again. Even my patience wears thin. My heart can only take so much disappointment.” You sigh, feeling closer to heartbroken again after saying your piece.

“Fine.” Nat sigh, getting up to pick up the basin again. “I’m sorry. I will keep Steve out for as long as I can.”

That doesn’t sound promising.

“Nat?” You sit up again as she stops at the door as Peter opens it, turning to look at you.

“Yes?”

“I’m hungry.”

Nat smiles, all tension from your disagreement vanishing as she nods. “I’ll see what I can find for you.”

Peter smiles at you as he closes the door. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t get in, your Majesty.”

His promise is resolute.

~~~~~~~~~~

Earlier That Evening

They lapse into silence, both thinking about Hydra until Steve remembers that there was something else Thor wanted to say.

“What was the second thing?” He asks.

“What?” Thor seems confused for a moment.

Steve raises both eyebrows, waiting.

“Oh!” Thor shakes his head. “Right. The other thing.”

Steve waits, heart pounding.

Thor considers his friend for a long moment, then smiles. “It’s nothing. I’m sure my little bird will tell you in time.”

“Your little bird?” Steve asks, incredulous.

“Yes.” Thor nods. “My little bird. Do you not have a term of endearment for her yet? You’ve been married six months.”

Steve’s heart falls. He’s never called you anything other than your name and even that he’s only said when absolutely necessary.

“Oh, that’s right. You’ve been busy pushing her away. Making her feel unloved.”

“Alright.” Steve says, frustrated.

“Unwanted.” Thor continues.

“Okay.” He sighs.

“Like she doesn’t deserve to be here. Telling her that marrying her was a mistake.”

“Alright, Thor, I get it! I understand that I have been an utter bastard when it comes to Y/N.” He gets up and moves around towards Margaret’s corner, staring at the book that you’d touched. Looked at. The cushion you’d sat on.

You’d gravitated towards the corner, a shrine if he’s honest to his long dead wife. And then he takes in the view. Margaret’s pavilion with red daisies the clear focal point. All of this he did to make Margaret happy.

He hasn’t done anything for you.

“What if she doesn’t believe me?” Steve worries. “I’ve been horrible to her. She won’t know that I mean it when I tell her that I love her.”

“Do you love her?” Thor asks, leaning back in his chair again.

“At first it was just…she’s like a magnet. I wanted to be around her. It scared me. I haven’t felt like that since Margaret. Then as I got to know her, saw her with our friends, I saw her goodness. I became grateful that she married me. She made this castle feel like home again though…I brought up Margaret too often. Compared them.

“I didn’t realize I was doing it. I just…I miss her so much.” Steve confesses, looking at Maggie’s seat again.

“And you will always long for you first wife, my friend. That sort of love does not disappear.”

Steve is silent, reaching down to flip open the book that you’d touched. Maggie’s book on the economy. Outdated.

“I love the way Y/N takes everything in stride. She doesn’t pretend that things are not difficult, but she doesn’t shy away from them. She dives headfirst into whatever challenge she’s facing.” He smiles. “I hate that she neglects herself. I know why she does it and it kills me to think that she’s been depriving herself of things to make me happy.”

“You’ve been depriving her too.” Thor points out.

“Not on purpose. I…when Maggie and I were newly married I made her a promise that I would always be hers. That I wouldn’t stray. That it would be her until the day we died. I would never sleep with anyone else and I’ve broken that promise.” Steve sighs, dropping the book’s cover so that it falls with a puff of dust.

“No, you haven’t.” Thor argues.

Steve turns to look at him, curious.

“You promised her, what? That it would only be her until the day you both died?” Thor asks. “Margaret has died, Steve. Do you think she would hold you back from being happy? Do you suppose her spirit will return to punish you for loving your new wife? For giving into her?”

“You sound like Bucky.” Steve sighs, looking back out towards the pavilion.

“For good reason, dear friend. You are being an utter fool and your wife…the current one…love you.”

“How do you know?” Steve has seen it or, he thinks he’s seen it. What if it’s all just duty for you? You’d shouted it at him just before you’d run away but what if it had been yelled in the moment? Or maybe it was a figure of speech?

“Because she told me. And anyone with eyes can see it. She’s completely smitten by you and I can’t fathom as to why. I expect her attachment will only grow once you start treating her right.” Thor grumbles, bitter.

Steve turns to look at him, brow furrowed at the Thunder God’s frustration.

“You’d really take her from me?”

“If she would come. Yes.” Thor sighs. “As it is, she will not. Maybe once she leaves you, I’ll take her on as a lover? We may not be able to marry but she might bear my children?”

The image of stabbing Thor through the chest returns to Steve’s mind and only lets up when Thor’s booming laugh fills the study.

“I am joking, stop murdering me in your head.” Thor chuckles. “If you feel this way then why do you leave her in any doubt? What is stopping you? And don’t say Margaret because it’s not Margaret. Perhaps at first it was, but it isn’t anymore.”

Steve moves to sit back down, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“What if I lose her? What if…I let myself really love her and she dies, like Maggie? I don’t—I think I’d jump from the West tower. I can’t allow myself to love her if it means that I’ll lose her.” He shakes his head, imagining a life without you now and it scares him. His castle empty again.

No one to brighten it with soft smiles and your beaming laugh when you and Nat have your heads together, whispering amongst yourselves.

“Nothing lasts forever, my friend. In our line of work…you’ve struggled to overcome Margaret’s death because you didn’t expect it to be as mundane as it was. You expected to either lose in her the fight or die yourself, leaving her a widow, did you not?”

Steve shuts his eyes, reliving the memory of coming home to find Maggie sick in bed, dying from infection. So stupid. After everything they’d lived through, she’d been taken during a time of peace. From a small scratch.

His heart suddenly tightens, and he gets to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Thor asks, getting to his feet too.

“I need to check on Y/N.” Steve declares.

Thor reaches out and grabs his elbow to stop him.

“Not yet. We’re not finished, and I am fairly certain she may not want to see you.” Thor confesses.

Steve hates that he knows Thor is right. You probably hate him now.

Why does that thought terrify him? You can’t hate him. You’re his wife. He needs you.

Slowly he sits back down, and Thor does too.

“She will die, Steve. Someday, she will. As will you. You cannot let that fear keep you from living your life. That woman…your wife…deserves to be loved. If you will not give it to her, someone else will.” Thor promises.

Steve glares at him.

“I didn’t say it would be me.” Thor smiles.

“How do I fix this, Thor?” Steve wonders, wringing his hands between his knees as he struggles to devise a plan for this special kind of assault.

“First, why don’t you try and apologize?” Thor suggests. “Then, if she accepts your apology, you better make damn sure you show her what she means to you and leave her in no doubt of it. Our little bird is patient, but I think she’s just about done with you.”

Steve’s heart breaks.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a scuffle outside your door.

You hear muted grunts. A strange whisp sound. Like something flying through the air very quickly. Faster than you can imagine.

Your doors are suddenly pushed inwards and then you hear more grunting.

“Fine!” His Majesty shouts, and you jump, clutching your blanket closer to your chest as you try and recover from the sudden awakening.

Your mind is still fuzzy, but it quickly surmises that his Majesty was probably trying to get in and Peter was keeping him away.

“I said I’ll stop. Alright? Cut me out of this.” His Majesty says, muffled through your doorway but still clear enough to understand.

“I don’t trust you.” Peter says.

“Peter…” His Majesty growls.

“Fine. But if you try and go in again, I’ll web you to the ceiling.” Peter threatens.

You feel a surge of gratitude for him and make your way out of bed. Your fire is going out.

You quickly stoke it, poker in hand as your toes curl and uncurl against the large woven rug beneath your feet.

“Y/N?” His Majesty’s voice probes. It’s much clearer. His lips probably pressed as close to the seam between the two doors without actually being on it.

Your heart freezes and restarts, pounding fast and painful.

The last time he’d spoken to you he’d told you that marrying you was a mistake.

“I know what I said before you left…why you left.” He begins, and it’s so jarring that it feels like he’s reading your mind.

You sit slowly on one of your comfy light blue chairs, both angled towards the fire. You shift so that you can sit facing the doorway, hands clinging onto the arm of the chair.

“I’m sorry.” He sighs. “I have no right to ask for your forgiveness but I—You scare me.”

You scoff.

“No, Y/N…” Oh, shit! He can hear you. “I’m—this would be much better if I could speak with you face to face.”

“She doesn’t wanna see you.” Peter says firmly, insistent, and threatening.

“I know that.” His Majesty gripes. “But…”

He turns back towards the door.

“Can’t I come in to see you?” He pleads, agony in his deep soothing tone.

“No.” You reply, firm and angry. Since he can hear you, no point in denying him an answer.

He sighs.

“When I said that it was a mistake to marry you, I didn’t mean that I don’t want you to be my wife.” He begins, and you have the urge to scoff again.

Everything that he’s done until now has given you the clear indication that he truly and deeply regrets marrying you.

“I only meant that if I had not married you…I would not have made you feel so…the way I’ve been…the way you’ve been…I only meant that…”

“Say something!” You nearly shout, gasping with frustration at his inability to make sense.

You hear a thump as he clearly bangs his head against the door firm enough to ache but not to hurt himself.

“I love you.” He says.

Your heart is leaping. Your stomach is twirling, and you can’t believe your ears. You’re dreaming. You have to be.

“I never meant to compare you to Maggie. I didn’t realize I was doing it until you yelled at me and I’ve been trying to find a way to make up for the things I’ve said. I never meant to make you feel as if you aren’t good enough because you are. You are so good. Too good for me.”

Stupid idiot that you are, you cry. Soft quiet tears that you keep to yourself.

“You and Margaret are different people. She was the love of my life. The woman that I’d chosen to spend the rest of my life with.”

“I’m not Margaret, your Majesty.” You tell him, your voice slightly strained.

“Are you crying?!” He suddenly asks, another loud thump, this time a fist. “Please, please don’t cry anymore. I’m sorry. Please let me in.”

“Stop asking.” Peter growls.

You hear handle of your door wobble and then another scuffle.

Rising to your feet, you move towards the door and place your hands on the handle. Squeezing it tight so that your knuckles hurt.

Something hits the door and it rattles.

Startled you make to open it but then Steve grunts.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I won’t try again. Peter, let me go.”

“No.” Peter says. “I don’t trust you.”

“I promise. Okay? I promise I won’t try and open it again. I’m sorry. Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you.” You tell him, ignoring their fight as your mind reels with his previous confession.

You hear more shifting on the other side of the door and a final grunt before his Majesty’s voice is right beside you, clear as day through the seam between the doors.

“What don’t you believe?” He asks, voice soft, gentle. You haven’t heard him like this ever. Not with you.

“You don’t love me.” You say.

“I do.” You hear him run his hand against the door, caressing the wood. “I do love you. It may not be the exact same way that I loved Maggie-”

“I never wanted to take her place!” You say, raising your voice in frustration. “Did I ever say that I wanted to replace her?!”

“No. Of course, not my sweet. You didn’t. That was entirely of my own doing. I was the one that saw you as a threat to the love that Margaret and I had once shared. I never wanted to get married again, Y/N.

“Damn it, I wish you would let me explain this to you face to face, but I-I was forced to marry. My advisory council gave me an ultimatum. They told me that I had a year in which to get married.” He begins.

“I already know that.”

“Yes, I know. But what you don’t know is that I had hoped to marry Morgana because she was young.”

“What?!” You lean away in slight disgust.

“No! Fuck, this isn’t coming out at all the way I intended.” He rubs the door again. “I wasn’t ready to remarry. Even after two years, my heart was still resolutely pinned to Margaret’s and the idea of marrying anyone was detestable.

“I figured that if I married Morgana, young as she was, it would give me time to get used to the idea of having a new wife. She could grow into a young woman and if she decided to remain married to me then we could consummate our marriage when she was of age. Old enough to make her own choices. If not, then I could release her back to your parents, and I could marry someone more suitable then.”

“Oh.” You reply lamely. That does make more sense though.

He’d been betting on having years to work through his grief. To get used to the idea of living his life without his beloved wife. As much as you hate him right now, you can’t help but feel a little sorry for him.

“When I told the council of my intended bride, they explained further that I would also be expected to produce an heir within the year following my marriage. Morgana was too young. I…I couldn’t do that to her, so I wrote to your father to tell him that I could not marry her. I explained why and he wrote back rather quickly to tell me that he had another daughter. An older daughter that had been kept away from the castle.

“I accepted. I needed to keep my Kingdom safe and I was willing to do anything to do so.

“When I met you—I admit that I didn’t look at your portrait. So, when I found you standing in our throne room, in your blue dress, eyes full of hope and excitement I wasn’t prepared to be as drawn to you as I was.

“I wanted you. I hadn’t expected that. The more I watched you the deeper I fell for you.” He continues.

“You’re lying.” You frown.

“I will never lie to you.” He swears. “I fought my attraction to you with every fiber of my being. I clung even harder to my memories of Maggie and I pushed you away as hard as I could. The night we consummated our marriage—I felt as if I was betraying her. Breaking our vows to love and belong to only each other.

“And when I saw what I’d done…I never meant to hurt you. I wish I could take that first night back, but it is seared into my very heart and since that night I live in fear that I will hurt you again.” He whispers.

“But you haven’t been hurting me. Not in bed.” You assure him.

“No, but I haven’t been a good husband either. Can you ever forgive me for…Thor told me that-”

No!

“-That you were curious. That you were angry at me…that he…” His voice drops even further so that you have to press your ear to the seam of the door to hear him. “…he said you tasted…”

There’s a sudden BANG! against the door. A fist, you realize as you jump back a little.

“I should have made you feel that way.” He growls.

You never wanted Steve to know about what happened. You feel dirty suddenly. Like you’ve betrayed your own vows.

“I…I was curious. But I didn’t ask him to-”

“Did he force you?!” His Majesty suddenly asks, fury in his voice.

“No.” You shake your head. “No, I-I let him. I should have stopped him sooner but I-”

Another thump. His forehead this time.

“Let’s not talk about it.” He pleads. “I don’t want to picture it again.”

The two of you fall into silence, you lower yourself onto the floor slowly, sitting and waiting for him to speak again. When he doesn’t, you find your strength.

“I was going to leave you.” You say quietly.

“What?” He asks, shock in his voice. You hear him slide down so that he may be level with you on the other side of the doors.

“I’d already decided that I would stay until I became pregnant and once I had o-our child that I would take him and live somewhere away from you. I’d raise him myself and when he’s of age, I would send him to you. To take his rightful place. But at least this way I wouldn’t be here, bothering you the way I have.”

“You are not a bother, Y/N. And I am truly furious that I have made you feel as if you are. I wasn’t ready for you, that’s true, but you have been the best part of my day for months.” He rubs the door again. “And I will start showing you because you deserve to see how much I love you.”

Your tummy flips again and as much as you want to believe him, you’re not sure you can.

“I don’t know if I can believe you.” You admit, sighing in defeat.

“Somehow,” his Majesty begins. “Some way. I will prove it to you. Tell me how I can begin to prove it to you, my…”

He goes silent.

“Your Majesty?” You check, in case he left.

“Thor calls you his little bird.” He suddenly says. “What endearments might I use for you? You are my Queen, but you are so much more than that, despite how I might have behaved in the past.”

You’re startled, at a loss by what he means by asking you to choose your own nickname.

“Y/N?”

You swallow, “I uh…I don’t know.” You admit.

“Perhaps you might be my dove?” He checks, trying the name on.

You picture the bird, elegant lines, slender necks, regal stances. Still a little clumsy but pretty and beloved.

“No.” You realize, “That’s not me.”

“What then?” His Majesty asks.

And it comes to you, like someone has planted the idea in your head, but really, it’s a simple leap from dove.

“Pigeon.” You offer. Decided.

“Pigeon?” His Majesty checks, trying the name on. “But a dove is much more appropriate for a Queen. Pigeons are so common. That’s also what Bucky calls Samuel sometimes.”

“Yes.” You agree, with their grays and dull browns. The pest of the bird world. Hated by everyone but the ones who cook them to eat. “They are a common bird.”

“Very well, my pigeon.” He says, listening to how it sounds and then he actually chuckles. “For some reason, that sounds just right.”

“Stay away from me.” You tell him, turning around to sit with your back against the door.

“What?!” His Majesty panics.

“You asked me how you might prove to me that you love me. That I can trust you.” You explain. “I want you to stay away from me. For a while. Until I come to you.”

Silence follows your request and you can almost feel him warring with himself through the wood.

“I’ve been very angry, your Majesty-”

“Steve.” He cuts you off. “Please call me by my name.”

“I can’t.” You sigh. “It’s one of the reasons I’m so angry. I…I hear you. I know what it is you’re telling me now but after six months of not being able to say your name and feeling like a pebble in your shoe-”

“Y/N…” He groans, hating your words because they’re true.

“I can’t just change from behaving one way to behaving another. I will try and see it through your eyes. I promise, but I’m so tired. My heart…is spent. I have lived as a disappointment for you—even if that’s not how you truly saw me,” You add a bit more loudly so that he can’t interrupt. “It is how I felt, and it will take time for me to move past that.

“So, I need you to do me the favor of staying away.” You sigh, sleepy again. Emotionally exhausted.

“Is there no way that I might reach out to you?” He asks, “While I keep my distance?”

You think for a moment, considering your options. This door thing is too hard. Even talking with a barrier between you, you’re tempted just a little to open the door so that you can see him.

“You may send word through someone else. But I don’t want to speak with you directly or see you in person.” You clarify. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” He admits.

Silence again, for only a minute this time before he clears his throat, fighting a lump it sounds like.

“Before I leave you, can I give you something? You need only stick out your hand enough for me to hand it to you. I will not try to see you. I promise.” He swears, and after your heart thrums wildly for a few seconds, you shift so that you’re hiding behind the same door he’s sitting in front of.

You reach up and twist the handle, moving a little to allow it to open. You stick your hand out through the opening and wait with our palm up.

You almost jump when his hand comes into view and he places it over your own. He leaves it there, placing what he wants to give you within it, but then curls his fingers around your own, stroking your skin with his.

It’s intoxicating, his heated hand, rough with callous but gentle in its caress. Like a missing piece, with his touch, he completes your return home. Even if his declarations of love turn out to be a ruse, you know that this is where you belong. This is where you’re meant to be.

“I’m so grateful that you’re safe,” He sighs, relishing in your touch it seems as much as you are.

As if to prove that he means everything he’s said, he takes his hand back first and you quickly pull yours back in, shutting the door tight.

“Good night, my pigeon.” He’s smiling as he says it, amused with the name.

You hear him rise and leave. You wait a few minutes, clutching your hand to your chest as you urge your heart to calm.

“P-Peter?” You check.

“He’s gone, your Majesty. He’ll keep his word. He’s…Steve doesn’t break his promises.” He assures you.

Finally you turn your eyes back to your hand and stare down at your locket, a new silver chain, inside a new portrait of Tony, Pepper, and Morgana, and on the other a new one with you in your blue dress and Steve in his formal tunic, smiling as if it’s a promise of things to come.

#king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #medieval au #king!steve x reader fic #king!steve x reader fanfic #marvel fanfiction #medieval fantasy au #avengers x reader #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt13 #shreddedparchment #steve x you #king!steve x you

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morallygreyprompts · 5 years

Note

Hi!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Can you do one where the villain(s) are the parents of the heros sidekick and the villain(s) find out about their kid working for the good side and disapprove? Ily!

Haha! Hi!!! I sure can and thank you very much!

Pulling their scarf up over their nose and mouth and planning to run upstairs immediately failed. Getting home so late had meant both parents were waiting at the door for them. Sidekick swallowed hard and looked down, hoping to hide their blackening eye. “Where the hell have you been? Do you have any idea how late is?” Parent1 thundered.

“Sorry, I. I fell asleep at a friend’s house. They didn’t want to wake me,” Sidekick answered.

Parent2 frowned and took Sidekick by the chin and raised their head to the light, “What’s… [Sidekick], what happened?”

Parent2 carefully slid down the scarf to see all the bruising and little cuts.

“Who did that to you?” Parent1 exclaimed.

Sidekick shook their head and tried to slip past them, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you getting bullied, is that it?” Parent2 asked, blocking their entry, with concern etched across their features.

Sidekick pondered lying, saying they got into a fight with a kid over something stupid, but they knew they’d see through it, or they’d probably threaten the kid’s parents, and they didn’t want that to happen.

“I… I was with [Hero].”

“[Hero] did this?!” Parent1 shouted.

“No, no, they didn’t. I just-” No they couldn’t explain this, not now. Parent1 already looked ready to burst. They had to get upstairs and get away from this for now. They weren’t ready to tell them this.

“Just let me go, I don’t want to talk about this.” They almost got past, but Parent2 caught them gently by the wrist.

“Sweetheart, please. We’re worried about you. Please, you need to explain, it’s important.”

“No, because you’ll get mad and people will get hurt- I don’t want anyone to get hurt!”

Parent2 crouched down in front of them. “We won’t, we won’t get mad. We just need to know you’re alright.”

“Swear it,” Sidekick said, their eyes glossy with tears. Parent2 did so without hesitation, and Parent1 followed suit, albeit grudgingly.

“I… I’ve been helping [Hero]. I don’t want to be a villain, I want to help people.”

Sidekick’s parents exchanged glances, Parent1 clenched their fist.

“You’re the new sidekick?” Parent2 said quietly.

Sidekick nodded and let their head hang down.

“I’m sorry but I’m not like you both.”

“It’s not a matter of being like us. You’re choosing them over us! [Hero] would kill us as soon as look at us, and you’re working for them? I bet they don’t know who your family is.”

Sidekick stepped back and drew their arms in closer to their body. This was what they’d desperately been trying to avoid.

“They do, and they said they don’t care.”

“Lies! they’re going to trick you and use you to get to us. It’s one thing not having the same morals as us, but how could you be so stupid?!”

“[Parent1] that’s enough! You’re scaring them. Go on, get upstairs and calm down. This isn’t fair on them. We swore not to get mad.”

The damage had been done, Sidekick was trying hard not to cry and it wasn’t working. Parent2 smiled softly and wiped a stray tear.

“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Sidekick managed.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

“[Hero] already did,” Sidekick gulped.

Parent2 brushed some hair off Sidekick’s forehead, “well they’re not as good as me. Come on, please, you need more ice on that.”

Sidekick let Parent2 guide them to the kitchen table and sat them down. They knocked some ice out of the tray and put them in a teatowel. They saw Sidekick was shaking.

“Don’t you mind, your parent, alright? They’re just scared, they have a lot of history with [Hero], none of it good… Here.” Parent2 carefully placed the tea towel on a bump on their forehead. Sidekick held it in place while their parent cleaned the few scratches and scraped that had started to bleed.

“I’m not mad at you, sweetheart, alright? I know you’re better than being a villain, but this, with them, you need to stop. You don’t have to be bad, I’m not saying that but tonight proves that you’re going to get hurt and I can’t bear to see you hurt. That of course and your parent is right. It’s dangerous for you to know [Hero]. I don’t think you’d want to lose us, would you? Because, really, that’s all [Hero] is aiming for. And I don’t want to lose my little boy/girl either.”

Sidekick bit their bleeding lip, unsure of what to say or do. Parent2 sighed, “I’ll let you think about it, but there are other ways of being good without working with them.”

Parent1 came downstairs, looking a lot calmer than before. “I’m… I’m sorry I shouted.. Are you alright?”

Sidekick nodded slowly. Parent2 gently took the tea towel from their head. “How long ago was it since you got the bump.”

“A good few hours and I didn’t blackout or anything. Really, I’m fine.”

Parent2 nodded and kissed the not marked side of their forehead, “alright… Go on to bed, Sweetheart. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Parent1 gently ruffled their hair as they went past, the closest they usually got to saying ‘I love you’.

They left their door open to listen to what their parents had to say.

“[Hero], of course, it had to be bloody them. I’ll kill them, I swear-”

“Shh, you’ll do no such thing. You swore to [Sidekick] you wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“They don’t count,” Parent1 answered gruffly. Sidekick heard the door open.

“You walk out that door and go after [Hero] and I can guarantee you will lose that kid for a long time, maybe forever,” Parent2 warned. “Please don’t break that trust. Hurt [Hero] and [Sidekick] will stay with them all the more- I’ve asked them to cut ties and stay neutral, there is no need for this to go any further… Please.”

Sidekick heard the door slam, and they had no idea if Parent1 had left or not.

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inspired-by-the-music · 4 years

Text

Chapter 18: Letting Go

Ae-Young’s POV

After waking the next morning in the pillow fort we made the night before, Key decided that dressing me up for a day out was the way to cure a broken heart. I didn’t find that I preferred to be left alone to my thoughts, so I agreed without the slightest objection.

“Oh, this is new,” he said when he pulled the blue sundress out of my closet. He examined it closely and gushed, “It’s pretty—”

He must have watched my face fall. Gathering its connection to Kyuhyun— or You-Know-Who, as Key had taken to calling him after watching Harry Potter— he amended, “Pretty— pretty ugly. Seriously, whoever bought this has terrible taste.” To prove it, he dropped it into the floor.

Although I was grateful for his attempt to mind my feelings, I narrowed my eyes at his actions. Rising from my bed to pick the dress up from the floor, I said, “I chose it, you goober. And it’s beautiful, so I’ll wear it.”

“Fine, fine.” Key turned away from me and focused instead on finding a pair of shoes. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re, like, impossible to read?”

As I stepped into the bathroom to shimmy into the dress, I countered with a small smile, “Maybe you’re just illiterate.”

His laughter made my heart a little lighter. “Fiery! That’s my Ae-Young. Keep this up— I don’t want to waste my time doing your makeup if you’re gonna cry it all off.”

“Fine, fine.”

. . .

Kyuhyun wasn’t supposed to be at that restaurant down the street from the firm on a Saturday, but I didn’t want to risk bumping into him before I got my emotions under control. But will I ever stop feeling this way? It didn’t seem likely or even possible. Then, does this mean I can never stand to see him again?

Key insisted, “I want to try that coffee you’re so obsessed with,” and he couldn’t be persuaded otherwise. Not even the torrential downpour outside would convince him to get brunch somewhere closer to home, so I found myself in one of the last places I wanted to be.

Being in the place where it all began was too much to handle considering how everything had changed. I was no longer who I was when I walked in there months ago to discuss an uncomfortable arrangement— and being there made the difference between past and present too painfully clear to tolerate.

I was turning to leave as Key requested a table for two when my eyes were drawn to him. He was sitting at our table in the corner, the one we sat at every time we visited the restaurant since the beginning. He was reading a book and stirring his coffee, continuing with his routines as if his world was completely undisturbed by my absence while mine— mine—

Key tried to contain my temper, calling, “Ae-Young wait, the hostess has to take us to a table,” and reaching for my hand. Once I tugged out of his grip, once he realized who I was walking toward, he hissed, “Oh shit,” and dashed out of the restaurant, I assumed, to give me privacy.

It didn’t matter that the restaurant was filled almost completely with old couples. I had no objection to causing a scene in front of a bunch of strangers— it was embarrassing myself around people I knew that would make me a blushing, stuttering mess.

As I approached Kyuhyun, I planned to comment on the weather, but when he looked up at me with eyes wide and surprised as if I was the last person he ever expected to see, the still-fresh wound re-opened.

Before I could stop the bleeding, I blurted— wanting him to feel for himself the injury he caused— “What the hell, Kyuhyun?”

This was a nice restaurant, remember— the kind of place where every woman wears pearl earrings to match her pearl necklace, the kind of place where every man wears a tie, the kind of place where I, the only person under the age of 30, looked out of place. At my language and tone, the patrons silenced and turned toward me. Their curious disapproving stares burned into me, but Kyuhyun didn’t seem to notice.

His eyes were fixed unblinkingly on me. “I— what?”

Furious at how he could just gawk at me, I defaulted to a habit I developed during our time together and twisted at my engagement ring. I can’t wear this anymore. Rather than crying at the realization as I would have last night, I yanked it from my hand and demanded, “Did you ever plan to get your ring back?”

Before he could answer, I threw it onto the table. He watched, not breathing, as it rolled onto the floor. He picked it up and put it on the side of the table closest to me. “No.”

I wheezed, “So you never planned to see me again?”

“No—” He stuttered and closed his book without marking his place. “Wait, yes— no— I don’t know.”

My face burned. How can he respond to me with broken one-word answers after he detailed my faults to Dad at length? How can somebody who has taught me so much through careful explanations be speechless at the time I’m most confused? How can he struggle this much to explain himself?

Glaring, I suggested, “Since you’re not feeling too articulate today, let me explain things as I understand them. You can feel free to pipe up with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ whenever you feel like it.” I took his blinking as an okay and started, “You agreed to marry me while I was away at college because you respect my father.”

Instantly, he agreed, “Yes.”

“Then, you agreed to ‘court me’ to humor me.”

He thought for a few seconds before shaking his head. “No, I agreed to court you because I wanted to have a better relationship with you. I wanted you to be—” he fumbled for a word— “comfortable with me.”

“Whatever,” I said, unconvinced. I didn’t pause to consider how to phrase the next portion, which is probably why it came out so tactlessly. “You kept all this— this shit I sent you years ago in your desk at work for God knows how long like it means something to you—”

His head tilted as he likely wondered how I knew about the drawer. He recovered just long enough to counter, “It does mean something to me!”

Kyuhyun never yelled before, so it should have been enough to silence me, but I had gone deaf. “ — And you spent every day with me, made me fall deeper in love with you than ever— and that’s really saying something because I have loved you with my entire being for my whole life—”

He didn’t react except to drop his jaw, but I would have continued even if he dared to speak.

“ — You made it impossible for me to enjoy another day without you, and then you broke up with me through my Dad?”

The only vocal response came from the other patrons who murmured amongst each other. Feeling somewhat vindicated that they shared in my surprise, I laughed at nothing funny. “I mean— who does that? I guess it makes a little bit of sense, though. You started it through him, so it makes sense to end it through him with absolutely no regard about how I would feel.”

“I—” Unsurprisingly considering his behavior that day, he faltered, dumbfounded. “Can you repeat what you said?” Realizing that I couldn’t or wouldn’t, he asked, “Did you say that you were in love with me?”

Too angry to be ashamed, I answered, “It’s not so much a past tense thing. I don’t think I know how to not be in love with you.” His shocked expression was on my last nerve, so I snapped, “You don’t have to pretend to be surprised! I know it’s been obvious my whole life. And I understand that you still think of me like I’m a kid, so I don’t expect you to love me like I love you. I know you can’t. But you could have told me yourself. You shouldn’t have asked Dad to break my heart for you.”

“That wasn’t—” He held his reddening face in his hands briefly before trying to explain, “On the first day, you sad that this whole thing was such a shock, and you said that you wanted to focus on your career, and — I know that was a long time ago, but when you got that job offer, all I could think was that I was holding you back. You would resent me for it sooner or later—”

I wouldn’t resent you for something like that. I would give it all up for you. But I will resent you from running from me, I will resent you for breaking my heart without so much of a good-bye, I will resent you for never telling me how to feel okay when I’m not with you.

“ — and even if you never resented me for it, I would resent myself.”

As if it would return things to how they had been before, as if I didn’t know that this specific job was not to blame for how things had ended, as if it would cure the still glaring fact that he wasn’t in love with me, I said, “I turned the job down.”

Almost angry, he asked, “Why?”

“I didn’t want to go so far away from you,” I answered, and he frowned. “Don’t look at me like that. There were other reasons, too. I didn’t want to leave my father and Heechul again. And the job wouldn’t pay enough to cover travel expenses. And then Key offered me a job, so it was the right decision.”

He wasn’t convinced by my reasoning. “I never want you to turn down exciting experiences for me, and that’s all our relationship would be for you: a cage.”

“I don’t think—”

Like everybody else always did, he interrupted me. Why did nobody care what I had to say? Why did their opinions matter more? Why didn’t I speak up more often in spite of this? Why didn’t I refuse to be silenced for another minute?

“You’re so young,” Kyuhyun said, sounding very much like he had at the beginning, “you can’t even imagine what you would be giving up to be with me. You don’t know how many pieces of you are out there waiting to be discovered. And I— I can’t be the one who keeps you from finding yourself.”

Before I could carefully consider what he said as I always had, I asserted, hands drawing into fists, “I know who I am! I know I’m immature in all the ways you told my Dad—”

“I didn’t mean those things—”

I didn’t listen to what he said. Instead, I finally shouted, “Don’t interrupt me! It matters what I think too, whether you want to listen or not, so I’m going to say it!” As if seeing me clearly for the first time, he snapped out of his daze. “The things you told my dad were true. It doesn’t matter how old I get— I won’t be the wife you deserve, so maybe— maybe this is best. I’d rather you be with somebody you truly love. I mean, obviously, I wish that someone was me, but—”

The entire room gasped when I stopped mid-sentence, especially following my outburst about saying my piece, but I couldn’t continue.

What am I doing here, begging for something that never existed? If this makes him happy, who am I to object, even if it breaks me? I can learn to be okay. I can learn to let it go. I can make myself into somebody new. I liked who I was before— I loved who I was with him— and I can learn to love who I am now.

One day, I won’t be hurt that it’s over; I’ll just be happy it happened, and I’ll be able to remember with a smile the things that hurt me now.

I won’t beg like this for things that are not meant to be.

Making up my mind, I bowed. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, Kyuhyun.”

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lonelyandlovelorn · 5 years

Text

Confused

A/N: I’ve been MIA for like 2 weeks or more, I don’t remember, sorry about that. Here I am with some good old Dean, I hope I can be forgiven.

Genre: fluff

Warning: minor cursing

Word count: 1900

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem reader

Summary: Sam notices something weird with Y/N and Dean and he starts to pay more attention to them.

Masterlist

The first time Sam noticed it, Dean was leaning into the trunk to grab something. He just heard Y/N mutter, “Damn,” under her breath before he whipped his head to her. She was completely oblivious, staring at Dean, and Sam had an idea about what was going on, but didn't want to jump to conclusions. For all he knew, she wasn’t checking out his brother, she just really liked his car.

From that point, he watched them a little more closely. He paid attention to how they talked to each other and when they looked at each other, especially when one of them wasn’t paying attention. He was hoping to find longing looks, or at least be able to see them checking each other out, because the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He was watching them both like a hawk, studying their every move for about a week before he gave up. Maybe he had been wrong about what was happening.

About two weeks after he had given up on his study of his two bunker-mates, he had almost completely forgotten about it. He definitely would have, if it hadn’t happened again.

Dean had made dinner, Y/N’s favorite. It never stopped surprising Sam how good his brother was at cooking, but he was at least used to it enough to stop commenting on it. Y/N, however, was always very vocal about how much she loved his food and the fact that he made her favorite. She was smiling adoringly in his direction while he talked to Sam about an upcoming case. While he was definitely paying attention to the conversation, he couldn’t help how often his gaze wandered to the female hunter who was admiring his brother in between bites. He realized that she didn’t so much check Dean out as she simply paid attention to him. This honestly made Sam really happy for his brother, that someone looked at him like he was a good person, not just someone to have fun with, or worse, someone worthless.

They finished up their conversation and Dean pushed back from the table. Y/N went to stand up too to take dishes into the kitchen, but Dean just stopped her by grabbing her plate and saying, “I got this,” turning towards the kitchen.

Y/N watched him for a second before whispering, “Shit,” under her breath. Sam had already been watching her this time, so he was sure of what had just happened.

Even if he knew what was going on though, he was still going to ask. “What’s wrong?” He regarded her, waiting for a response. She tore her eyes away from the direction Dean had gone to shake her head at him.

“Nothing,” she said quietly, turning to walk towards the bedrooms in the bunker.

Sam wasn’t sure what he had proven to himself, but he was reassured that he hadn’t been crazy that first time and was reinvigorated in his study of Dean and, more notably, Y/N.

They were in the middle of a hunt and Y/N had been hurt. Dean had kicked the things ass into next year before scooping her up from the floor where she was slowly bleeding out. They got her to the car and drove back to the bunker as fast as they could without getting arrested. Thankfully, their hunt had only been about 40 minutes from the bunker, a drive that was almost cut in half with Dean’s frantic driving. When they got to the garage, Dean was quick to grab her from her place across the backseat and carry her to his room. He didn’t really think about where he was going, he just knew where everything was in his room and it was the closest. Sam had run into the bathroom and grabbed a first-aid kit, while Dean grabbed a bottle of whiskey. Sam left it to Dean to fix her up, seeing how freaked out he was right then, but also how much he wanted to be the one to help her.

They both cursed under their breath when Dean cut the bottom of her shirt open and they saw the large gash on her side. The eldest Winchester quickly got to work cleaning the wound and stitching it up, operating very mechanically but impressively steadily.

As he finished stitching up her side and wiped the excess blood from around her wound, Sam noticed Dean let out a shaky breath before he took a quick swig of whiskey before leaving to wash his hands.

Y/N was still out, but was definitely breathing, so Sam knew she would be okay. Since the worst was over, he thought back on how worried Dean had been. Of course both of the brothers loved you like family, but they both knew how tough you were and neither usually freaked out the way Dean had at something like this. While it was definitely going to leave a nasty scar, there was no doubt in his mind that you would get through it.

After he had gotten most of the blood off of his hands, Dean returned to stand beside the bed. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m gonna put her in some clean clothes,” obviously telling Sam subtly to get out of the room. He grabbed the first aid kit and turned to leave, watching Dean rummage through his drawers and grabbing his favorite shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He smiled softly at how worried his older brother was before walking out the door and shutting it behind him.

Of course she woke up fine the next day, although she was definitely feeling worse for wear. Dean had kept a vigil next to her bed all night, which Sam found out when he went to check on her in the morning. Dean was leaning hunched over the bed with his head on his arms next to her. Sam smirked a little and went to the kitchen to make a small breakfast for everyone.

When he got back to the room, she was just starting to stir. Feeling movement, Dean quickly sat up to watch as she woke up, wincing and blinking as she obviously felt the damage done to her abdomen. She tried to sit up, but Dean was quick to stop her from moving too quickly, offering his help to get her to the edge of the bed. Once her feet were on the ground, the brothers quickly decided that they could all just eat in the room, not wanting her to strain herself too much. Dean grabbed her plate and set it on the nightstand. Y/N looked at him as he crouched down to her eye level and asked if she wanted booze or meds. She opted for meds and Dean walked out of the room on a mission for advil and a glass of water. Y/N’s eyes trailed after him and Sam witnessed it for a third time. She looked down at the shirt that she was very aware was Dean’s favorite along with some soft sweatpants, her face softening as she simply said, “Aw hell.” She pushed the hair out of her face and reached for her food like nothing had happened.

Sam tried to question her about it later but she simply strayed towards Dean and said she was really tired. He had to give it to her, it was probably the best way for her to get out of whatever conversation Sam was going to try to have.

At this point, Sam knew that at the very least, Y/N had feelings for his brother. She definitely wasn’t the first, but this seemed different than Dean’s usual love interests. For one thing, she was an absolute sweetheart to both of the boys, specifically Dean, but also knew how to take care of herself. She didn’t expect Sam or Dean to do anything for her and she never asked them for anything. She was good. Sam thought she would be good for Dean.

The trouble now was whether or not Dean felt anything romantic towards her. He knew his brother cared deeply for her, but he cared deeply for a lot of people, even strangers. That didn’t necessarily equate to romantic feelings, especially not for Dean.

He finally got his damning evidence one night when he walked in on the two on the couch. They were both sprawled out lengthwise, Y/N between Dean’s legs with her head on his chest. Sam knew that, while neither would admit it, they were both cuddlers. It was completely possible that they had fallen asleep sitting on the couch instead of laying. All he knew for sure at that moment, was that they looked really cute and that he needed photographic evidence.

Y/N was a heavier sleeper than Dean, but Sam was trying to be quiet either way. Unfortunately, he apparently wasn’t quiet enough because Dean began to stir. Not enough to jostle Y/N awake, but enough that Sam noticed he was awake. Sam backed away a little, hoping Dean wouldn’t notice him. As his eyes slowly opened, Dean looked down at the weight on his chest, smiling softly at her. While still gently grinning at the girl laying on him, Dean quietly uttered a, “Son of a bitch.” Obviously feeling that he was being watched, he looked up at Sam and realized he had been watching him. Instead of acknowledging what had happened, Dean whispered, “What the hell man? Why are you staring at us like a weirdo?” Even though he sounded annoyed, his face had a distinctly pink hue to it.

“Sorry, you guys were just too cute, I needed a picture.” That earned him a glare. Betting on the sole fact that Dean wouldn’t be willing to wake Y/N to come after him, Sam backed out of the room, smiling at Dean and waving. Dean just rolled his eyes and seemed to settle back into the couch, closing his eyes.

At least Sam now knew definitively that they were into each other. Now it just came down to what to do about it.

Sam wasn’t normally one for meddling, but the way they were blatantly pining after each other was driving him insane.

Finally, it all came to a point one day when they were in the war room. Y/N was walking through completely without paying attention, bumping directly into Dean’s chest. She looked up at him and they locked eyes like they were in some kind of romcom where they make eye contact and fall in love and live happily ever after. There were about ten seconds of silence where they just stared at each other before Sam snapped.

“Godammit, would you two just kiss already and get it over with!” He hadn’t necessarily meant to explode on them, but it was getting ridiculous.

They both stared at him wide-eyed before Dean smirked and turned back to Y/N. “Don’t mind if I do.” No matter how cocky he sounded, they both looked nervous and the kiss was obviously very soft, nothing passionate or Dean-like about it. As they both pulled back, they both whispered a curse.

Sam rolled his eyes, but all he could really think to say was, “Thank Chuck, finally. You guys are cute or whatever, but that was just exhausting to witness.”

Y/N was blushing before, but seemed to come to herself as she flipped him off and leaned up to kiss Dean again.

#dean winchester x reader #reader insert #spn #supernatural #dean x reader #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #x reader #fem reader #lonelyandlovelorn

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ambitchiovs · 4 years

Text

lenny back at it again… i warned y’all about the intros dump. anyway, off to this bitch:

&&. isn’t that [ DEBORAH ANN WOLL ] walking around the hamptons? oh no, nevermind it’s just [ ADELAIDE MONTSERRAT ]. y'know, the [ 19 ] year old [ CIS FEMALE ] known to be quite [ CHARISMATIC and DETERMINED ] but also [ CUNNING and RUTHLESS ]. currently, the police has them as [ A PERSON OF INTEREST ] in the case of samantha wheeler, because they [ WERE PART OF SAMANTHA’S FRIEND GROUND ]. but they go on about their life as [ A STUDENT ]. i wonder what secrets they’re keeping? [ lenny/23/gmt+3/she/her ]

TW: eating disorders, addiction, mental disorders, possible suicidal thoughts/mentions

DON’T YOU EVER TAME YOUR DEMONS, ALWAYS KEEP THEM ON A LEASH.

In the eyes of Adelaide Montserrat, there was never a girl to be found. If you dare to pry, you will not find what strangers see when they pass her by the crowd. You will look into a bottomless void that threatens to swallow you whole and it will look back at you with smiling teeth. Little Addie, once a girl with pink tutu’s and ballerina shoes, was never one to be meddled with - she would captivate all her teachers and classmates with rosy cheeks and a clever tongue beyond her years, but there was nothing warm or kind about the little girl whose parents held so close she nearly choked to death.

History goes, her father — her biological father, anyhow, was a very powerful politician before he dropped dead. Nobody really knows what happened that night - all everybody seems to know is that all her loved ones seem to fall like dominoes. Her father died when she was 16, during a robbery. The men were never caught, but little Adelaide was left bawling into her mother’s lap. Surprising as it may be, she was actually the product of a one night stand and poor lack of judgement, or so her mother likes to tell her - but Catherine Montserrat was no fool, and she took him for all he had - and as it turns out… That was a lot.

That doesn’t come cheap, for Adelaide, anyways. Being a part of a new family meant she now had a new player to share her inheritance with - and damned if she didn’t do everything she could to throw them off the board. In the eyes of her parents, she could do no wrong - she was pure and pristine and everything they hoped their little girl would be. You’d assume being the younger sibling meant competing for attention - but she never competed. She never even considered it a competition. She won, plain and simple. Her half brother, that man who called himself her “father” now were but pebbles in her shoes, nuisances she had to navigate through to continue on with her luxurious lifestyle. They didn’t understood her, didn’t particularly wanted to, and it was easier to smear on some foundation and bake it with powder than let explain why her skin was cracking. It was easier to strap on those old ballerina shoes and put on a show until her toes were bleeding, than to try and show them what was behind the curtains. And all jewelry in the world, all praise, all money and countless designer bags she accumulated every year could never fill up that gaping hole, that detachment she felt towards the outside world and inability to connect with things and people - even those supposedly closest to her.

You see, Adelaide didn’t lose, because she tailored the game to her whims and batted her heavy set of lashes to make it seem fair. And if she did lose - the game be damned; she’d destroy it and any evidence of her failure with the wrath of a woman scorned. She didn’t want to be a little sister, or a daughter, or something for men to gawk at. She wanted to be something else. Anything other than this vile thing dripping with self-loathing , cloaked in a veil of perfectionism. Something that wasn’t rammed into this golden mold before she even took her very first breath.

Addie’s behavior as well as their parents favoritism only blurred the lines between love and hate between the half-siblings, complicating her understanding of relationships even further. And it certainly didn’t help that her new brother was just as stubborn and competitive as she was. The children were picture perfect, carrying on the legacy of their parents on their backs as if it weighed no more than a feather - while whatever had been good or soft in them began to rot.

But just who is Adelaide Montserrat? The reincarnation of the Virgin Mary to most. The girl with perfect hair, perfect hair and a perfect family. In truth, Adelaide could be seen only as a terror taken human form to those who opposed her, and a perfect, exemplary girl for those who keep a safe distance. What she is, what she truly is, is a game of smoking mirrors - a fragmented girl, scattered into so many pieces to cater to the whims of crowds, that now, when she looks into a mirror, the image that looks back is something recognizable; distorted.

Fueled by her own securities and desire to obtain perfection, paired with the crowd of rich kids that were offered to her as friends growing up, it didn’t take for things to escalate; by the age of only fourteen, poisoning their blood with alcohol, snorting up enough cocaine so she had to carry around wipes and kicking each other in the stomach while crouching over the toilet became somehow ordinary. Encouraged, even. All that deep-rooted self-hatred had to spill someway, somehow. She grew to resent how boys were granted more freedom, more room to misbehave and make mistake. She resented girls for being themselves, for not wanting to scream every second of every day. And she resented Samantha for how genuinely she could smile - for how easily everything came to her, and for how she was everything she could never be; while she was lying in a grave she dug herself - shackled to the image of perfection she’d crafted, held to the highest of regards, expected to never falter nor stutter. It was hard to define the relationship between her - one moment Addie was sweet, the next she was cruel. And as to that unfortunate Halloween night, she claims they parted ways before she could see anything.

All the harder she tries to cling to this illusion of control, the deeper she dives into that well. Parents often say kids will “grow out of it”; their fits of rage, their apathy towards other children, their unwillingness to share, their manipulative, spoiled ways of obtaining what they want- but Addie never did. Somewhere inside there’s still that little girl who’d rather break her toys in half than to share it with other kids. Who’d bump into other little girls at school, and tell the nurse they tripped. Who’d rather set her arm back in place herself than say “you were right”. The little girl who’ll sit in an empty throne all alone, built with the bones of the people she once claimed to love.

PERSONALITY-WISE:

Adelaide is emotionally unstable and has a very competitive, volatile, manipulative personality; she doesn’t forgive, and she sure as hell doesn’t forget, and she can lash out in incredibly ruthless ways due to her extreme lack of empathy for hers. Her addictions and unwillingness to ever speak to anyone in depth about herself only worsen the state of her BPD. Despite all this, on the surface, she can seem like just like any other pristine, privileged girl. It’s not usual for people to find her charming - she does exude that sort of magnetic aura that’s very easy to fall for, because people tend to see what they want to see - and therefore, it’s easy for her to adjust her personality to the expectations of whomever she’s trying to captivate. In a way, her entire personality has merged with her addiction: being friends with her feels a lot like moment of high in exchange for an eternity of sorrow.

She can be a loyal friend, to some extent, although she’ll never put anyone above herself. She’s also very insecure and prone to fits of rage (in private) whenever she doesn’t get what she wants (think broken mirrors and glasses), as her self-image is heavily dependent on what she can achieve and how others perceive her. Deep down, this all stems from jealousy - she so desperately wishes she could connect with other people and things the way everyone around her does, but in the end she can’t, and she’s left feeling like an outside looking in. If she’s miserable, why shouldn’t everyone around her be too?

HIT ME UP TO PLOT U COWARDS !!

for reals, though - i know this was unnecessarily long, but oh well. you can be ex friends with her? don’t know why they’re not friends anymore - but i’m willing to bet it’s addie’s fault.

maybe some sort of competitor? academic or otherwise.

maybe there’s some poor ex out there who knows what a headcase she actually is? but probably can’t say much bc they fear for her life lmao.

she wouldn’t openly date anybody who could reflect poorly on her reputation, so secret hookups??? give me someone who’s getting sick of being used pls. ( she’s a closeted bisexual. society isn’t very welcome to the idea rn ) so girl crushes yes pls let girls have crushes on her. let her manipulate them bc she knows. i need.

also gimme someone who deals drugs to her tbh, bc this needs to be kept SUPER lowkey, but it’d also be hilarious bc she wouldn’t have to fake her personality around them & it’s like bitch what the fuck this girl is dr jekyll and mr hyde.

i’d love love to see a fake relationship - but i don’t mean the ‘secretly have feelings for each other’ - i mean the… secretly despise each other but they’re image-obsessed people and like being seen as the golden couple.

oH and pls someone give me a… dare i say sisterly connection? mostly, a girl who idolizes her or puts her on a pedestal, that she might or might not have a soft spot for ( which in addie’s handbook just means she’ll be that much crueler whenever she feels like it tbh ) & see it as some sort of protegee.

idk i’m open to anything, these are just suggestions thrown at the wall here. the point is… plot w me u cowards. and yes, my muse does bite.

#hamptcns:intro

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worseandworser · 5 years

Text

Beautiful

This exists thanks to @rodionismyhero <3 Thank you <3

Ship: Razumikhin/Raskolnikov

Summary: He was sure that wherever, whenever Rodya happened, so would Dima — and this way he was forever doomed with the prospect of following the man around like an overeager puppy.

But metaphysics was not his area — it was Rodion’s — and neither the point Razumikhin was looking for.

Rating: Explicit (warning for Lemon)

Warnings/tags: Modern setting, College AU, engineering student!Razumikhin, philosophy student!Raskolnikov, the very first time I post smut off-anon pls forgive me

read on ao3

If one made a list of problems in Razumikhin’s life, somehow it would always go back to Rodya being his friend. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the guy — which he did perhaps a bit too much; Dmitri couldn’t think of a plane of existence where the two of them hadn’t crossed and become at least acquaintances. The amount of appreciation he directed to Raskolnikov couldn’t possibly cease just because of a dimensional switch. He was sure that wherever, whenever Rodya happened, so would Dima — and this way he was forever doomed with the prospect of following the man around like an overeager puppy.

But metaphysics was not his area — it was Rodion’s — and neither the point Razumikhin was looking for.

People called their friendship ’weird’; yes, they had the guts to look Dima dead in the eyes with a sorry smile and call it weird. A stupid term, Rodya told him once, while he rambled about whatever Foucault's book he had been reading recently, and Razumikhin agreed. They weren’t weird — the grumpy hermit intellectual who ends up in a relationship with the extroverted jock everyone loves, or whatever. They were unbalanced. Both of them were, not as a duo but as individuals: Razumikhin was unbalanced for giving Rodya sovereign over his body, heart and soul, and Rodya for… well, being Rodya.

Which could be either a curse or a blessing — Dmitri was sure the only reason his friend hadn’t confronted him yet on his feelings was that said friend was Rodya.

He didn’t understand how the hell it happened. One day he was strolling down the streets, bumped into an undergrad from a completely different faculty, and then bang, he was lying awake at night thinking about mysterious dark brown eyes. He spent all of his high school years sleeping throughout history lessons, but when Rodion explained how Nietzsche’s books influenced eugenics in Nazi Germany he didn’t even blink. Raskolnikov opened his mouth and he felt as if the Universe was being peeled right in front of him. He was torn between listening attentively and wanting to shut him up using very unorthodox methods.

Rodya wasn’t objectively beautiful — he was skinny, lanky even, dressed like a mix of hipster and beggar, and had this perpetual frown that sometimes merged into an I’m-about-to-pass-out expression. Although the affection happened at first sight, the attraction took a while to rise. But when it did, Dima’s pathetic admiration-slash-crush turned into a full-on abyss of, what, feelings and such. Reprehensible.

Rodya would kill him if he found out.

Razumikhin couldn’t help it. He’d run all the way across the campus to have lunch in the cafeteria next to the Philosophy and Social Sciences faculty, just so he could sit next to Rodya for mere forty minutes. He’d cancel plans because Rodya was not in the mood to meet people, and would sit next to him in the library for hours even if he wasn’t that much of reader himself. He started studying quantum physics because once Rodya told him it was more interesting than numbers and calculus, and he could now name four presocratic philosophers (which was more than he ever thought he could do). He’d do and give up anything, if it would make his friend slightly happier.

And that included, apparently, storming out of a party Dmitri had been really excited to attend.

You see, perhaps he shouldn’t have brought Raskolnikov to an event organized by engineering students that was full of, well, engineering students. Rodya never failed to bring up how much he despised ‘number freaks’ and variations, how ignorant they were when it came to anything besides doing maths. He’d said that to Razumikhin’s face many times before and, even if Dima knew he was referring to others and not himself, it had always struck a nerve. Dmitri thought he could make him change his mind, or at least be a bit more open-minded, if he introduced him to his friends. A party had seemed like a very good excuse to do so — Razumikhin had insisted over and over again, and when Rodya finally relented… Let’s just say he smiled throughout the rest of the day.

Now, however, the only thing he felt was guilt. With some sprinkles of annoyance — at his friends, for saying those ridiculous things to Rodya, and at Rodya for taking everything so personally. But mostly at himself: he should have known better than to bring an antisocial to a social environment.

The fact Rodya accepted, though, still reverberated through his whole being — he’d wouldn’t go for himself, but he was willing to swallow his pride and fears to stand next to Razumikhin for a couple of highly stressful hours.

“Rodya, wait!”

Dmitri trailed behind his friend, watching him stomp and run at the same time — which was impressive, how did Rodya manage to do both? The alcohol he had ingested was barely enough to keep the cold at bay, but Raskolnikov’s portion seemed more than enough to make him stagger a bit.

“Please!”

Ok, so Dima’s friends were idiots, and they were the only idiots in the story. He wanted to know what the hell kind of mental gymnastics Rodion had succeeded to make that got him angry at Razumikhin. Unless it was not only— he couldn’t discard the possibility that he had done something that distressed the man, after all, Rodya was… sensitive. And sometimes Dmitri’s actions or words could mean much more to the other than they did to himself.

When he finally got his hands on the man’s upper-arms, Rodion did stop — but kept trying to twist away from grip.

“Stop trying to pull away!,” snapped Dmitri, “I just want to talk!”

Keeping his eyes on the ground, Rodya relented. “Let me go.”

“You won’t run away if I do?”

The man shrugged. Razumikhin figured it would be the closest to a positive answer and let go. “What happened?”

Rodya blushed, out of anger or embarrassment or whatever else he was feeling at that moment. “You saw everything!”

“About the political argument, yes, but what else?”

Still refusing to meet Razumikhin’s gaze, Raskolnikov stuffed his hands inside of his coat’s pockets. “I didn’t like the party, so I left.”

Stormed out, thought Dmitri, but I suppose that’s just semantics.

“If it was just that, you wouldn’t have told me you were leaving.”

He never did. It always hurt a bit, it made him feel… unwanted. Not that he expected Rodya to depend on him to leave whenever he was uncomfortable, but a warning would be very welcome. For friendship’s sake, of course.

“Whatever. Your friends are neanderthals.”

“Sure,” Razumikhin rolled his eyes, “where are you going then if you don’t like the party?”

He shrugged, “The dorms, probably. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.”

And Dmitri followed him — like he always did.

It was yet to exist a place more empty than Raskolnikov’s bedroom. He lived alone — Razumikhin had the vague impression Rodya would rather live on the streets than have a roommate — which was a revolutionary act of itself, since very few students were granted such privilege. But he seemed to abdicate of all benefits that came with having a room of his own. There were no decorations of any sorts, just four beige walls, and a small window; the bed was always undone and some stacks of books and notes were scattered around the floor. When Dmitri had asked him about bringing people over, Rodya had stared him as if he was an alien.

They hanged out sometimes in here, though. Dima would bring snacks and beers and they would sit and talk, talk, talk. It appeared to be their favorite thing to do — talk, talk, talk.

But today they were silent — there were no drinks or snacks, much less available topics. Dmitri kept throwing glances at Rodya throughout the whole way there, trying to figure out if the man was still irritated or just pensive. In turn, Raskolnikov seemed to not pay him attention at all. Even when their sides brushed as they walked, or when Dima’s glances lingered for too long. He invited Dmitri in, and it was probably more out of habit than wanting to spend more time with a friend. But today things felt different — the alcohol, perhaps? — and Razumikhin caught himself anticipating an implosion — Rodya’s silence would become too much and he would bleed inside, leaving Razumikhin to clean after his hemorrhage.

As soon as the door was closed, he felt the hot-and-cold air around them curl around his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Rodya’s head tilted to the side. “What for?”

“For taking you to a place you obviously didn’t want to go,” Dmitri clarified, “I was being selfish.”

“Don’t apologize for things you don’t need to, it kills all the purpose of an apology and makes you look like an idiot.”

Dmitri had an idea of what he looked like when he was listening to anything Rodya said — mesmerized, impressed, now adding the flush from the alcohol so he was probably looking like an idiot with or without the apology. And he felt like one, when the tension grew so tight it almost took his breath away. Raskolnikov stared at him from under his bangs, brown eyes shining like amber under the sunlight. It was that same sickly gleam he always carried around, as if instability was an inherent aspect of his soul and it reflected on his physical body. Beautiful, Razumikhin thought, just like he always did. Because it truly was.

Razumikhin was the one who did it — because there was no way Raskolnikov would be able to, even with all the random spurts of self-confidence. No, he took the step that closed the distance, he put his lips over Rodya’s, he put a hand on the other’s nape to try to find a better angle.

But it was Rodya who gripped his lapels and turned the kiss into a fight.

The sharp intake of breath came from Dmitri’s surprise, and the groan from the indescribable feel of Rodya’s tongue against his. They stumbled together — thank god, no books were stepped on — and Raskolnikov’s back hit the wall with a thud that reverberated through Dmitri’s ribcage. The angle was wrong again and Rodya was obviously not practiced enough and they were both stinking of alcohol and smoke and it was sublime. Razumikhin was still stuck on oh my god I’m kissing Rodya but nothing stopped him from gripping the other’s hips and shoving a thigh between his parted legs.

Despite ego and pride, Raskolnikov whimpered, the hold on Dmitri’s clothes shaking and being quickly substituted by arms tightening around Razumikhin’s shoulders. Rodya rolled his hips, and Razumikhin swallowed all his moans eagerly. Beautiful, he thought once again, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, and Dmitri had a soft spot for pretty things.

Razumikhin interrupted the kiss to fumble with their belts, then the pants’ button, then the zippers, and he could feel Raskolnikov’s startled eyes glued to his face as he did. He almost stopped, but Rodya was reaching to get both his pants and underwear out of the way and that should be enough for consenting, shouldn’t it?

what the fuck is going on what the actual f

And that was it— the kiss became a mess while Rodya seemed frantic to tear Razumikhin’s shirt, fisting and pulling, sobbing between their lips as if he couldn’t breathe. Dmitri was burning, from head to toe and his spirit was probably in flames too, but who cared. It was so fast and twisted, completely unexpected and out of order. Which was exactly what made it right, at least in Razumikhin’s opinion.

Dmitri was too far gone now, and Rodya seemed to be a few steps ahead. Their hips rocked together, their cocks rubbing maddeningly and Razumikhin was drunk on the other’s gasped pleasurable sounds. Realizing his hands could leave the bony hips they rested on, Dmitri sneaked them under Raskolnikov’s shirt, sliding up his ribs — the man squirmed, but didn’t pull away — so he could thumb one of Rodya’s nipples, twist them between his fingers. Rodya moaned, arching up against the touch and tugged at Dmitri’s shirt until the man got the clue.

The seconds they spent apart felt like millenniums.

Without the barrier of cloth, Razumikhin pressed their chests together. Too far gone to care about proper kisses, he dipped to mouth at Raskolnikov’s exposed throat — pale like marble, untarnished, begging to be covered with possessive purple blotches. His hands slid down his friend’s lithe body to cup his ass, then grip to help their exasperated thrusting. Harder, faster, now, now, now—

“D-Dima..!”

Rodya trembled underneath him, scratching at his back desperately, and Razumikhin could feel the warm spurts against his belly. His breath hitched as he saw the man’s features contort beautifully, beautiful, beautiful, and it wasn’t long before he followed suit.

It was only when it was over, when their legs gave away beneath them, that Razumikhin felt the worry creep on him. He looked at Rodya, sitting by his side with his knees pulled against his chest — he was entirely in disarray, and Dmitri probably wasn’t much better. He wanted to pull him closer, but when he put his arms around the other’s bare waist he met stone-cold eyes.

“Don’t ask me to leave,” said Razumikhin. Begged.

“You can’t stay here.”

“Do you really hate me that much?”

Rodya’s cheeks, already pink from their previous activities, turned a few shades darker. “Don’t say that.”

“Let me stay,” he insisted, “let me stay, and we’ll talk things over tomorrow.”

There was a sigh and no more protests, then Rodya’s forehead bumped against Razumikhin’s shoulder.

“Okay, then.”

#crime and punishment #fyodor dostoevsky #raskolnikov x razumikhin #raskolnikov #razumikhin #razumikhin x raskolnikov #fanfic #I AM SO SORRY DOSTOYEVSKY #I HOPE YOUR REST WAS NOT DISTURBED BC I WROTE THIS

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sunflowercheol · 5 years

Text

A Holly Jolly Christmas

Huang Renjun

[Day 1]

pairing: Huang Renjun x Female Reader

genre: angst/fluff

warnings: none

word count: 2,481

———————-

"Hey, Y/N is here!" Doyoung announces once he opened the door and saw you. You smile as a couple of the members cheer and come up to greet you. "Hey Y/N, how have you been?" Kun asked once he let go of you. "Oh, you know, school and clubs and trying to balance my social life in between! Rough, but I'll survive," you smile at Kun as you both head into the kitchen, where he resumes helping Taeyong, Johnny, and Jaehyun cook dinner. They each greet you with hugs before going back to cooking. "Go relax or go hang out with the Dreamies, Y/N. The food will be ready soon," Doyoung tells you after walking into the kitchen. You walk out of the kitchen and the members you pass by greet you, forgetting about having to decorate until Johnny comes out of the kitchen to ask if they had finished decorating. They rush back to what they were doing, and you giggle and walk away to leave them be.

After looking around for a while, you give up on trying to find Renjun and decide to help Sicheng decorate as he seemed to struggle with untangling some Christmas lights. When you reach him, you realize that he had managed to tangle himself up with the string of lights which causes him to fall and makes you laugh. Your laughter ended up getting the attention of most of the Dreamies, which made them run to you.

"Y/N!!!" Donghyuck tackles you into a hug. You both fall on the couch that was behind you. "DOGPILE," Jisung screams as he got on top of you both causing Jeno, Jaemin, Chenle, and Mark to get on top. You scream for them to get off of you because you can't breathe at the same time that Kun and Taeil had rushed into the living room to see what was going on. They hurry to get the Dreamies off of you when they see what is going on and start scolding them for almost squishing you to death. Once everyone calms down and gets back to what they were doing, you move over to Jaemin, who was closest to you out of everyone else, to ask about where Renjun is. "Oh, don't worry he's just talking with his family back home!" Jaemin tells you right when Yukhei starts giggling and pointing right above you both. You both look up and both blush when you see the mistletoe that one of them hung up in the doorway earlier.

"Well, people just say a kiss I’ve never heard someone say WHERE to kiss," Jaemin whispers to you. He whispers something else as he grabs your head and kisses your cheek softly. He pulls away when you both start giggling. The other members start cheering, since the angle made it seem like you both had actually kissed. You roll your eyes, and you both walk over to sit on the couch with the members who finished their part of decorating the dorm, waiting for the older members to finish the meal.

No one realized that Renjun had finished his phone call with his family and was watching you and Jaemin from the top of the stairs.

———————-

"I want us to forget all the negative things and just concentrate on this happy moment in which all of us are here together enjoying tonight," Taeyong cheers with his cup. Everyone joined in before they dug into the delicious food that the older members had prepared. You look to your right to see Renjun avoiding you by turning most of his body towards Sicheng, who was sat on his right. You poke his shoulder causing him to be startled.

"Hey, how are you? It’s been a while hasn't it?" You talk to him hoping to figure out why he seemed a bit distant.

"Oh, I'm good. Just busy with stuff. The normal, you know?" He says a bit cautiously. You try to look into his eyes, but he keeps his head a bit down, making it a bit difficult to make eye contact with him. "Mmm, are you sure you're okay?" you push a bit. "Yeah, no worries," Renjun smiles a bit and turns back to Sicheng when he sees Jaemin nudging you from your left.

"I think he's a bit upset that he isn't home with his family. Maybe we can cheer him up after dinner?" Jaemin quietly suggests. "Yeah, you're probably right," you smile at him and continue eating. Throughout dinner, you felt a bit weird because he seemed okay with the other members except for you and Jaemin, you just didn't know why.

You and the Dreamies start clearing the table to get ready for the game time that was planned to happen after dinner. You start taking a pile of dishes into the kitchen and right when you place the dishes down, Jisung scares you causing you to bump into the dishes. This causes a knife to fall, and out of instinct, you catch it before it falls but not without accidentally grasping it by the blade.

"Y/N!" Jisung screeches. He rushes towards you and starts apologizing frantically. Jaemin rushes into the kitchen and sees you dropping the bloodied knife on the counter and Jisung rushing to get you napkins and apologizing even more.

"Taeyong, get in here," Jaemin yells as he goes up to you and grabs your hurt hand. He takes the napkins from Jisung and presses down on your wound waiting for Taeyong to come.

"Taeyong is changing, what's wro-," Yuta's eyes widen as he sees the bloodied knife, your bloodied hand, and you crying. "What happened?" Yuta raises his voice as he comes up to you to inspect your hand which causes curious members to come and try to see what the commotion was about.

Jisung started to explain what happened when Yuta just cut him off. "Tell me after, let's get this to stop bleeding first." Yuta tells you to follow him to Taeyong's room, so he can get the first aid kit. As Jaemin pulls you to Taeyong's room, the members who wanted to see what was going on gasp when they see the bloodied napkins and the never-ending bleeding of your hand. You see Renjun behind Chenle looking worried and wanting to follow but didn't when he saw Jaemin. You and Jaemin go in Taeyong's room to hear Taeyong curious as to why the first aid kit was needed and why Jaemin was shouting for him. Taeyong looks up when he hears your sniffles and looks down to your bloodied hand causing him to push Yuta out of his way to get the first aid kit in the bathroom. Yuta and Jaemin took this as their sign to leave, leaving you and Taeyong in the room.

"Come here, Y/N" Taeyong tells you, motioning you to sit on the toilet seat and starts pulling out the supplies from the first aid kit.

———————-

"There, that should do it!" Taeyong sighs. "Please be very careful next time, I'll tell the Dreamies to stop being so rough on you."

"No! It's okay Tae no worries! I know Jisung didn't mean any harm. Please don't blame him for what happened, he looked really shook up when this happened," you explain. Taeyong puts everything down and pulls you into a warm hug.

"I know, but I will at least tell them to be a bit more careful okay?" Taeyong ruffles your hair—making you pout—and starts cleaning up the mess he made. "Stop pouting and go let the rest know that you aren't about to die."

You chuckle and thank Taeyong as you open his door only to run into Renjun. You step back in surprise, "Renjun!" He pulls you into a sudden hug and you feel his pounding heart as you hug him back. "I was so worried please don't do that again," Renjun tells you as he pulls away from the hug. He softly grabs your hand and pulls you into his room before you have any chance to respond. He lets go as soon as he closes the door behind you both.

"Renjun I know this is probably not the time, but please talk to me. Why were you so distant to me and Jaemin during dinner?" you quietly ask him as you sit on his chair. He slowly sits on his bed as he faces away from you.

After a few moments of silence, you hear his soft whisper. "I saw you and Jaemin kissing."

You sigh as you go to stand in front of him. Once you are in front of him, he looks down and refuses to make eye contact with you. "Renjun. Please look at me?" He slowly looks up at you and you reach for his hand, which he lets you hold. You sit down and softly caress his hand making him break the eye contact to look at your intertwined hands.

"We didn't kiss. He kissed my cheek, but I am assuming that by a different angle, it looked like he did, which means that his plan worked," you furrow your eyebrows. "Your plan?" Renjun asks carefully.

"Yeah. Jaemin said that he was going to kiss my cheek in a way that made it seem like he actually did kiss me." You explain. "Oh, now that makes a whole lot of sense," he chuckles.

"Now that we cleared that out of the way, will you tell me why that made you so upset?" Renjun clears his throat. "Well, there is something that I have been meaning to tell you. I-" Renjun gets cut off by someone barging into his room. Jaemin and Jeno came barging in with excited expressions.

"Come on guys!! It's snowing! We're all going outside to play!" Jaemin and Jeno pull you both up and drag both of you downstairs, where some of the members were getting ready and others were rushing out of the door already bundled up. Kun walks up to you with a bundle of clothes in his arms, handing it over to you. "So you won't freeze to death," he smiles and walks away after you thanked him. You place the clothes down on the couch and start bundling up to enjoy some quality time with all of the boys.

———————-

You waddle out of the back door after putting on your gloves only to be smacked with a stray snowball. "Sorry!" you hear Taeil yell. You laugh seeing him being attacked by most of the younger members as he tries to defend himself by throwing snowballs in every direction, which explains the stray snowball hitting you. You feel a slight shove from behind you, and you turn around to see Jaemin trying to hide from Donghyuck.

"Get back here! I know that you were the one who shoved snow down my shirt!" Donghyuck screams as he comes your way to get back at Jaemin. You laugh when Jaemin takes off running in a different direction before Donghyuck could reach him. Jaemin ends up tripping over a snow covered statue, which allowed Donghyuck to catch up and tackle him to the ground. You leave the two wrestling in the snow and head towards Chenle and Jisung who had started making a snowman.

"I swear he makes it so obvious at times. When do you think Renjun will tell her?" you overhear Chenle ask Jisung as they both were facing away from you. You stay back a bit wanting to hear what they were talking about. "Well, I don't know if he decided not to, but I did overhear him telling Sicheng that he wanted to tell her tonight." They suddenly turn around, and their eyes widen before laughing awkwardly when they notice you. "Hey Y/N. Wanna help us build this snowman?" Jisung awkwardly asks you, hoping that you didn't hear anything.

"Yeah, sure why not?" You walk over to them and start making the head, while the other two were finishing the body. "So. Did you hear what we were talking about?" Chenle breaks the silence. Jisung hits him and gives him a look. "Um yeah, a little bit. What exactly were you two talking about?" They look at each other and right when Chenle was going to say something Renjun pops up from behind you scaring you a bit. "There you are! I was looking for you! Now let's get back at Mark!" He smiles and pulls you towards Jeno. Jeno smiles at you and points at the pile of snowballs. "Aim for Mark and Jaemin, they are on the same team." You grab one only to be hit with a snowball from behind you. You stand up to see Renjun looking away suspiciously.

"Renjun? Did you just throw a snowball at me?" You narrow your eyes at him. "Nope," he looks at Jeno, trying to hold back his smile. You throw the snowball at him and run away, but not before grabbing a couple more. "Oh, it's on," Renjun yells as he grabs snowballs and runs after you.

———————-

As all the members walk back inside, you stay behind seeing Renjun smiling as he doesn't move from his spot on the ground. You go sit next to him without interrupting the nice silence that fell between you both. "I missed hanging out with you and being able to see your beautiful face every day," Renjun breaks the silence as he keeps his eyes closed. You look to your right blushing as you felt his hand suddenly grab yours. You look back at Renjun to see that he is now sitting up and smiling at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I'm really sorry I was so rude earlier today. I just. I thought I had lost my chance," he quietly explains as he continues playing with your hand. He suddenly gets up and pulls you up afterwards. "Let's head inside. I heard them talking about making some hot chocolate," he smiles at you, intertwining your hands together. You happily smile at each other and both start heading back inside. Once you reach the door, you felt his hand tug you back. You look back to see him looking up at something. Looking up, you see a mistletoe above you both.

"Wow," he chuckles. "I hope you don't mind this kiss." He grabs your cheeks and slowly leans in to try and see some confirmation come from you. You smile and close your eyes, leaning in the rest of the way. He smiles in the kiss and pulls away a bit too quick for you.

"I have been waiting for this moment for way too long," Renjun softly smiles as he grabs your hand and softly holds your hurt hand.

You smile and look down at your joined hands. "Me too. Let this be the beginning of our holly jolly Christmas."

#ppallicherrybomb's 12 Days of Christmas #huang renjun #nct renjun #nct dream renjun #renjun scenarios #renjun imagines

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enviilove-blog · 5 years

Text

Blood Runs Black

Growing up I have always loved the dead of night. There was something soothing about being engulfed in darkness as if it were cradling you to sleep. The older I got, I started to realize this sense of security was a lie.

This is the type of darkness that plans and calculates the outcome of your life. When you would finally succumb to its cries or turn a blind eye. The harder you fought it the stronger it became.

As an adult I became aware of the sense of forbidding that had started to surround me. No matter where I went the darkness followed. I moved to a small town in Texas with a population of no more than 300 people.

My house was on a deserted block with nothing but an abandoned elementary school and church near me. When I first moved in I loved the solitude of not having to deal with any day to day neighbors. But as the weeks went by, that familiar feeling started to creep in again. At first it was little things. Shadows that would glint across the yard at night that I gave no second thought. I would tell myself it must be the wind shaking the tree, even when my mind would scream at me that the night air was in fact silent with no movement. It wasn't until the late nights of coming home from working the bar that the darkness became braver in its advances. Every night at 3 a.m. as I was walking onto my porch to unlock the front door I would see a shadow pass quickly by through the four stained glass windows on the side of the abandoned church next to me. As if someone was running to let the others know of my arrival. Even at this point I would tell myself it was all in my head and that I was just tired from work.

If I had kept my guard up and listened to what my brain was constantly telling me, I would have seen the signs and escaped before it was to late. But then again that wouldn't be much of a story now would it.

It didn't take long for them to venture in for a closer look at me, no longer trying to hide their ominous presence. They would loom around the edges of the fence around the house. Like it was a small force-field they weren't aware they could overcome, or maybe they were just bidding their time. It was at this time I decided to get a closer look at one of the shadow figures but whenever I got to close they seemed to evaporate, leading me to continue to think that it might be my imagination just running wild.

A few weeks of this could drive anyone to the brink of anxiety. It started getting harder to go to sleep at night when every noise would cause me to jolt out of bed and turn on the flashlight on my phone to investigate. But still I would come up empty. I became obsessed with these figures. Losing all sleep to make the rounds around the house, peeking through every window to try and catch them in the act. But it seemed that my heightened sense of paranoia drove them off and made me long for their return to prove to others it wasn't all in my head.

It was about a year later that I began to lose control of my life. The dark ghost like figures were now beyond the fence and were whispering to me in the night making the fear grow. I quit my bar gig to start working during the day, so I would be in the house before the sun went down. It became a ritual to lock up the house and make sure the windows were secured. For now, it seemed as if they respected the fact that my home was my own. But for how much longer? It seemed like the more time that passed the closer they would move in, as if they were becoming more and more curious with their subject. I had stopped talking about them with others. Every time I would try to bring it up in conversation I would be met with silence and those judging eyes that were almost as bad as the gazes from the figures.

It wasn't until October when I noticed that something was not right in my world. One particular night as I sat in the living room trying to drown out the thoughts in my head with the background of the TV, I noticed a faint noise coming from the bedroom. My legs felt like rubber when I got up to go investigate, not bothering to flip on the light switch as I enter my room slowly till I come to a halt in the center of the dark room. It didn't take long for the silence to be shattered by a squealing noise against the glass that sends goose bumps up my spine as my hands shoot up to cover my ears. This does nothing to block the noise as it begins to get louder and shrill, making me want to rip my own ears off just to make it stop.

I run back into the living room trying to escape it, but the sound is following me now from window to window growing louder by the second. It makes me fall to my knees, my nails digging in so deep over my ears that I can feel blood trickling down the sides of my neck as I cry out, begging for it to stop at the top of my lungs.

I use all my strength to push myself off the ground and head towards the front door, fumbling with the locks that are slipping between my fingers because of the blood on my hands. I stop dead when I notice that all is quiet now and the shadows that were going back and forth between the windows have disappeared. I take a deep breath as I push back the paper that was covering the tiny window on the door and steal a glance outside. Standing on the porch is nothing but tall black figures trying to coax me outside, but I was frozen in place. They were no longer the dark translucent ghosts I had grown accustomed too. They were much more sinister now with blood red eyes and gnarled teeth that gleamed in the moonlight. These now solid figures could interact with my world it seemed. But something was still stopping them from being able to enter the house, so they were trying to lure me out. But for what? Why were they so fixated on me? Was it because I believed in them and was able to see them? Or were they just feeding on my fear and needed me so that they could finally be alive.

I couldn't let them win, but I was so tired of fighting them. I stood there for what seemed to be hours and it wasn't until the sun started to creep on the horizon did they finally angrily leave me to my fears.

For the first time in my life I was truly terrified and knew that they would return the next night to finish what they started.

I tried to get as much sleep as I could during the day, but my mind took so long to shut off I barely got three hours of rest. I woke up leaving myself with plenty of time to prepare myself for the events to come. I sit idly by the window as I watch the sky change colors with the setting sun. Once it goes black I gather myself and slowly unlock the front door inching it open. The only sound I hear in the night is the beating of my heart that was begging me to leave this town. But I couldn't turn around no matter how badly I wanted to flee. I was fed up with letting the fear control my life and I was ready for this.

I turn to go inside leaving the door wide open as I sit down on the couch and begin scribbling away in my notebook trying not to lose focus when I start feel the temperature begin to drop. I don't bother trying to look up because I know they are standing there in the doorway whispering among themselves.

"I know why you are here." I tell them trying to not let my voice break.

Their whispers become more intense as their eyes light up in the dark, a bloody grin spreading across their nonexistent faces.

I rise from the couch shaking and inch my way closer to them.

"Is it going to hurt?" the words barely escaping my lips.

Still no response from them except for an outstretched limb that starts to take on the from of a hand with long sharp fingers. I reach out to them wanting to let them overcome me. I was physically and emotionally drained at this point and maybe they will take mercy on my pathetic soul and make it swift.

My fingers tips touch the closest one and a light inside of me lights up. I wasn't going to let it end this way. I pull back at the last second, this infuriates them, and they let out a piercing screech as they advance inside swarming around me with their mouths wide open and their teeth graze my skin, drawing blood. I fall to the ground, but this doesn't stop their howls of rage. I crawl to the room and grab my phone trying to hastily punch in 911. After a few rings a voice answers on the other end, I tell the person on the line what my name is but the figures grab me like a rag doll before I can give them the address as I am being dragged back while screaming at the top of my lungs. My hands frantically reach out trying to grab hold of anything as they pull me out the door way. Once outside they release me and the front door slams shut behind us.

Sprawled on the porch I use what strength I have left to stand up and face them. I wasn't going to give up this easily. I reach into my pocket and pull out my retractable knife, the figures notice this and reach out for it but before I could rethink things I swiftly jab the knife into one eye socket and then the other. Their howls ringing out into the night as I clutch my bloody face in my hands, the world becoming a permanent darkness. Now standing barefoot on the porch maniacally laughing uncontrollably, I can hear the voices of officers yelling at me asking what had happened as they press something to what's left of my eyes until the ambulance gets here.

They load me onto a gurney while trying to stop the bleeding from the damage I caused. They try to soothingly explain to me that they won't be able to save my eyes.

None of what they say can get through. I just continue to laugh as I slowly lose consciousness and tell them before I completely pass out.

"I won."

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jaeminlore · 7 years

Text

Island Princess » Shin Hoseok

- summary: can I request a prince wonho scenario where the reader is the long lost princess of the neighboring kingdom and w/ wpnho it’s love at first sight? words: 3870 category: fluff + angst author note: once again thx to marissa for helping me get started w this. also this is highkey inspired by barbie and the island princess bc i loved that movie so yeah enjoy

Wonho awoke to the feeling of slender fingers raking gently through his scalp. For a moment, he thought he was back at his castle, where his mother would sometimes wake him up by running her hands through his hair. That option deteriorated quickly when he tasted sand in the roof of his mouth.

That’s right, he thought, suddenly remembering what had happened.

He had been traveling, something he had been doing since he was a teenager. Exploring the world and its wonders had to be Wonho’s favorite activity. He even had his own ship: a small fishing boat with a crowded hold underneath for him to sleep in. All he used the boat for was transportation. Otherwise, he was on land, exploring whatever new continent he had decided to land on this time. In between his exploring, he often had to visit with the higher-ups and socialites of the land and discuss business. That was the deal he had made with his father: as long as he carried out his princely duties, he could explore.

Usually, there were no casualties. Somewhere between Aruba and St Lucia, however, there had been a storm. It was horrible, and Wonho hadn’t expected to live through it. He had been thrown overboard, and was unfortunately carried away from his boat. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t even sure he had survived the storm.

It was possible he was on Heaven’s shores, and the comfort he was receiving came from an angel.

He suddenly retched, fully awake now as the action painfully strained his already dry throat. His eyes opened widely, stinging from the salt encrusted around the lids.

He was on all fours now, dry heaving and coughing up sand. The comforting hand had lowered to his back, patting him assuringly.

“There you go, pal,” spoke their voice.

Wonho looked up, and the first thing he wanted to ask was if you were, indeed, an angel. It wasn’t hard to imagine. Not when your eyes were bright and merry. Not when your smile seemed pure and innocent. You even wore a white dress, albeit tattered and dirty, over what looked like cotton trousers. “Are you an angel?”

You snorted, rather un-angel like in Wonho’s opinion. “No. I’m Y/n. Welcome to my island.”

Wonho sat up and squinted against the sun as he observed the small island. It looked rather empty, save the vast forest in the middle of it. Water surrounded all sides, and it made Wonho queasy to think of staying here long enough for the tide to draw in. “Did you see my boat? Do you know where it could be?”

You reached out a hand to calm his frantic figure struggling dizzily to get up. “Relax. Your boat came in before you did. I swam out and dropped the anchor. It showed up up on the other side of the island, you know. I can’t believe you drifted this far and actually managed to arrive on the shore. Unfortunately, it looks like your motor is broken or something.”

Wonho took in your words, counting himself lucky that he managed to stay alive. “Were you shipwrecked too?”

“Years and years ago. I must’ve been around five years old.”

“Oh, no,” Wonho groaned, bracing himself on all fours and struggling to control his breathing. “How am I going to get home?”

Fortunately for Wonho, you didn’t take his words offensively. Instead, you wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him up onto his feet. “There you go. We’ll get you to my hut. You can heal there.”

Wonho wasn’t sure what you meant by “heal”, until he felt a warm liquid ooze down his side. He looked down, “I’m bleeding.”

“I know. You must’ve hit some coral or something while you were floating around. I’ll patch you up nicely when we return home and make you some soup.”

“You have food here?”

“How else would I be alive?” you laughed, “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Most people call me Wonho.”

“Well, Wonho, I’m glad you washed up on my shore. It gets pretty lonely here.”

“I can imagine.”

You set Wonho down on your makeshift bed and began rummaging around your small one-roomed home, searching for any healing balms you had made recently. Once you found the paste, you turned back towards Wonho, who was propped on his elbows, admiring your hut. “So it’s just you?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” you replied, sitting beside him. He unbuttoned his shirt as you talked. “There was somebody else with me. A woman. She — I don’t know how to say this — she left when I was asleep one night. By the time I woke up to the commotion of the ship, it was already out of earshot. They couldn’t hear me.”

“How old were you then?”

“I don’t know,” you answered, spreading some balm over his wound. “Maybe eight years old?”

Wonho hissed, and you weren’t sure if the reaction was from your words or from the balm. “Eight? Why would she leave a child alone?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember much before the island. I don’t know if she was my mother, or a relative, or a kidnapper. I can never remember.”

You began to tear the thin sheet under Wonho’s form. Once you tore a strip long enough, you wrapped it around the man’s torso, tying it tightly in the front. “If this starts leaking or bleeding, let me know.”

“Thanks,” Wonho said, already in the process of buttoning his shirt back up. “If you want to leave, we can. Once it’s fixed, my boat will sail us back to my kingdom. You can stay with me until you get settled.”

You tensed at his words, feeling a strange sense of urgency that you couldn’t quite place. “Kingdom? Are you a prince?”

Why does the thought of a kingdom comfort me? your thoughts swirled around your head like an annoying gnat you couldn’t bat away.

“I am,” Wonho answered. “I won’t make you go if you don’t want to, obviously. Although, I don’t know why anyone would want to stay here by themselves.”

“You kind of get used to it,” you admitted. “Now, try to get some actual rest. Dinner will be ready when you wake up.”

“You never answered my question,” Wonho said, pulling your thin blanket over his body.

“That’s because I don’t have an answer yet.”

Wonho was much more beautiful to look at then the sea. While he was sleeping, you unknowingly stopped to watch him.

It had been a long time since you had seen another human in the flesh, so you weren’t sure if his beauty came from actual attration or just the fact that he’s the first boy you’ve seen in over a decade.

While he slept, his black hair fell over his face, matted down with sweat. He surely wasn’t used to the tropical climate you experienced every day. Your mind went to only a few hours ago, when you were running your fingers through his soft locks in the hope of comforting him. Now you wished you could do it again.

His skin looked beautiful too. You thought back to his toned abs and chest and felt warmth spread through your cheeks.

Unsure of how to wake him, you merely tapped him on the shoulder. “Wonho? You need to eat something.”

He stirred a bit, incoherent mumbles escaping his lips before he finally opened his eyes and looked at you. “Hello, beautiful.”

You were taken back by his choice of words, unsure of what to say. You didn’t own a mirror. The closest thing you had to seeing yourself was the water’s reflection, which never worked. So you often wondered if you were pretty. “What color are my eyes?”

“What?” Wonho sat up, wincing slightly. “Your eyes? Y/e/c, why?”

“I just never knew, is all.” You shook your head to dismiss the subject, “It’s nothing. Um, I searched your boat and found your clothes and some blankets and pillows. Is it okay that I brought them here?”

“Of course,” Wonho replied. “It probably gets cold at night, doesn’t it?”

You laughed mirthlessly, “Yeah. Especially when the tide is in.”

Wonho suddenly glanced down your figure, his eyebrows furrowed. “Aren’t you cold now? Your clothes are wet.”

“Well, I had to swim to get to the boat. I took everything one at a time and wore a life jacket so I could hold them above the water while getting back to shore.”

“You didn’t need to do that!” Wonho said, exasperated. He stood up and grabbed his favorite blanket, a large wool one that he took everywhere with him. “Here, use this.” He wrapped the blanket around your shoulders and held it closed at your front. “Next time let them get wet. We can just dry them.”

“Okay,” you said, unable to stop yourself from looking into the prince’s eyes.

He seemed mesmerized too, in his own way, and pulled you closer to him. “Y/e/c. They’re mesmerizing, you know. One day I’ll take you to a place with a mirror, and you’ll get to see just how pretty they are. How pretty you are.”

“I’m not sure I’d like that,” you admitted shakily, warm under Wonho’s gaze. “It’s kind of nice not knowing. It gives me confidence.”

“Oh no, darling,” Wonho insisted, dipping his head so that his nose bumped against yours, “You have to see. I dare say that with your looks, you must’ve been a princess in your past life.”

Your heart began to beat faster, but no longer because of Wonho’s sweet words or close hold. This was because of what he called you. It felt familiar, as if you had been called it before. “P–Princess?”

“Yeah,” Wonho pulled away and sat back down, ready to have his bandages checked. “You can be an island princess.”

As much as Wonho liked you (which was a lot) he wasn’t sure he could stand the island. It was the ultimate game of survival, he quickly learned. All you did day in and day out was rummage for food and cook it. After that, you had time to wash up and eat, but that was it. You had no time to do anything else. If you wanted to spend the day doing something else, you’d have to give up a meal.

Wonho was afraid of the storms as well. They were good, since they were the only way you received clean water, but they were loud. Wonho already hated storms, but sitting in the middle of one and just waiting for it to be over? Terrifying.

You didn’t seem afraid at all. In fact, it was like you couldn’t even hear the roar of the thunder above you, or the bright lightening that struck a bit too close to your hut for Wonho’s liking. He had to wonder if you even felt the very foundation of your hut shaking from the wind.

It was around midnight, and the two of you were sleeping on your makeshift cots, staring up at the bamboo ceiling and struggling to ignore the rainwater that seeped through the cracks.

You were asleep, Wonho was sure, but he couldn’t even close his eyes. He turned on his side and watched you, already feeling guilty for what he was about to do. “Y/n? Can you wake up?”

Your eyes opened quickly. “I’m already awake.”

“Oh. Well, can I tell you something?”

“What is it?”

“I’m afraid of storms. I feel like crying right now.”

You looked at him. “I used to be afraid too. Especially after I was left alone. The loud cracks of thunder terrified me and made me want to hide away. Unfortunately, you just get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it,” Wonho said, jumping once more as thunder clapped loudly overhead. “I want to go home, where it’s safe.”

“I know,” you whispered, “and to me, that’s scarier than the biggest storm.”

Wonho felt his heart break at your words. Even though it had only been about a week, he too had grown attached to you. The thought of leaving you made him upset. That’s why he couldn’t leave until you went with him. He wouldn’t leave you alone. He didn’t think he could.

Without another word, he lifted your arm and positioned himself under it, so that his head was rested on your chest. He wrapped his arm around your middle and pulled you as close to you as he could. It was easy to be vulnerable in the dark, especially when the sound of thunder seemed to drown out any words uttered in moments of weakness.

“C'mon,” you coaxed Wonho. Goosebumps ran up your leg as you stepped into the cold waves of the morning. The wind blew your hair this way and that, often obstructing your view. You pulled Wonho along with you, his large hand wrapped around yours.

He sighed, and you knew it was because he could never say no to you.

It had been around a month (Wonho had been charting the days) since he washed up on shore. Since then, Wonho had gotten more used to the island life. After he fully healed, he spent day in and day out working on his motor. Fortunately, he had a toolbox and motor oil in his boat, as he always did. All he had to do was repair the motor and then convince you to come home with him.

You wanted him to rest for the day, so you convinced Wonho to help you search for crabs. They were something easy to make, since you could boil them. Wonho reluctantly agreed.

“It’s cold!” he yelled as you pulled him in. “Why are you making me do this?”

“Because we have to eat tonight!” you replied.

“The quicker I get that motor fixed, the quicker we both can get home and eat to our hearts content. Have you ever had some really nice seasoned chicken?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe when I was little.”

“It’s my favorite,” Wonho said, his smile growing. “The castle cook used to make it for me all the time back home.”

There was that word again, and that tug in your chest, making you long for something unknown. “Can you tell me more about the castle?”

Wonho’s entire face brightened. “Yeah! There are four kingdoms. I’m the prince of the Piscis Kingdom. We’re close to the sea, and our main businesses are seafood and boating. You’d love it there. Our castle is the smallest, but it’s filled with pretty fountains and cushioned sofas.”

“What about the other kingdoms?”

“Well there’s the Equus Kingdom. They pride themselves on their purebred horses. Then the Stellae Kingdom. They use the stars to dictate how they rule. It’s pretty risky, but it works for them.”

“The last one?” you urged him, hoping something might reenter your brain. “What’s the last kingdom called?”

Wonho frowned. “The Flos Kingdom? They are still having a grieving period, so we’ve been respectfully keeping our distance.”

“Why are they grieving?”

“Their daughter was taken years ago. I can still remember that day like it was yesterday. I was nine, and my mother woke me up urgently. We traveled all the way to Flos, where all four kingdoms had come to search for the princess, who was no where to be found. We searched day and night but nothing came up…” Wonho looked up, recognition in his face, “How old did you say you were when you got shipwrecked.”

Tears were already streaming down your face. Feelings of relief, panic, and heartache filled you as you watched Wonho’s reaction. “That’s why I thought those terms sounded familiar. Castle, Kingdom, Prince… Wonho, I think I’m the lost princess.”

Wonho pulled you in his warm embrace, hoping to comfort you however he could. “But the princess’ name isn’t Y/n.”

“That’s what the woman called me. I guess she named me after we arrived.”

Wonho ran his hands down your arms. “Do you know what this means, Y/n?”

You smiled, feeling as if a crushing weight had just been lifted off of your shoulders. Years of wondering who you were and where your memories pieced in finally came together in your mind. “It means I’m going home.”

Wonho fixed up the motor as quickly as he could, only stopping for quick naps or meals inbetween.

Meanwhile, you struggled to pack up the things you wished to bring with you. As much as your island might’ve seemed like a prison, it was the only home you knew. It meant the world to you, and you weren’t sure you’d ever be okay with leaving it permanently.

Once your bags were packed and the motor was fixed, the two of you set off, watching your island get smaller and smaller. “I can come back, right?”

“Sure, you can,” Wonho comforted you. He interlocked his fingers with yours. “I don’t see why anyone wouldn’t let you.”

“What if my return makes the news and everyone wants to come visit the island I lived on? What if they turn it into a museum or something?”

Wonho squeezed your hand reassuringly. “Well you see, the great thing about it is that we don’t have to tell them anything about the island. I can say I found you in Aruba, at one of the inns I was staying at. We have the entire trip back to make up a story about how you bravely escaped your kidnapper and have been working to buy a boat and return to your kingdom this entire time.”

“So it can just be our little island?”

Wonho’s ears turned a slight shade of pink as you looked at him. “Yes,” he leaned down to peck your nose, causing you to giggle. “Our little island.”

You were shaking when you saw the docks. Your grip on the prince’s arm tightened. “Wonho? You aren’t going to leave me, right?”

“I won’t. We can just go see your parents and then you can choose whether you want to stay with them or go with me.”

“I want to go with you,” you replied instantly, burying your face into Wonho’s chest.

Wonho chuckled, sending a vibration down his chest. “At least meet them, Y/n. It would make it fair.”

“Okay,” you agreed nervously.

It was as if you and Wonho were attached at the hip, for you refused to let go of him as the two of you walked down the square. The place seemed familiar to you, but not enough to make you leave the only person you knew in the world.

“Would you like a strawberry tart, dear?” a plump lady asked from the side of the road, her vending cart filled with baked goods.

“N–No thanks,” you whispered, eyes wide at the arrangements of sweets. After living on seafood for over a decade, you wondered what a strawberry tart even tasted like.

You followed Wonho’s lead all the way to the palace gates, where your resolve began to crumble. “What if they don’t like me?” you asked. “What if they’re mean?”

Wonho turned to you, his gaze softening. “Y/n, look at me.”

You reluctantly lifted your eyes to meet his. He pressed his forehead against yours, allowing your breaths to mingle together before he answered, “Your parents are some of the nicest people I have ever met, and to this day they have never stopped searching for you. But if something feels off, or you’d just feel safer, you’re still welcome to stay with me. I won’t leave unless you tell me to.”

You nodded, “Thanks, Wonho.”

There you stood, hand in Wonho’s and eyes trapped on the couple in front of you. They were waiting for you to speak, but you didn’t know if you could.

The king looked regal. He looked like a man who had been through wars but still remained strong for his people. He looked like someone you could depend on.

The queen looked so beautiful. Everything about her seemed gentle and kind, especially her eyes. Her head was cocked to the side as she spoke, her voice like honey, “What is it, dear? What’s wrong?”

You broke then. Tears flooded your vision as you choked out, “It’s me. I’m your daughter.”

The queen immediately burst into tears, her hands cupping her mouth. “How? Where did you go? Did Prince Wonho find you?”

You nodded, eyes cutting to the king, who was struggling to hold in tears. “Wonho found me. I came back as soon as I remembered who I was.”

“My daughter,” the king spoke, choked up. His voice was rough and gravelly, but there was familiarity there, as if he had sung you lullabies when you were a child. He walked forward and outstretched his arms, “May I?”

You didn’t answer, but merely let go of Wonho’s hand and ran to your father. You soon felt your mother hugging you as well.

For awhile, it was just the three of you sobbing. Unsure of everything and not quite believing that the present was happening.

Your mother pulled back first, clearing her throat before she looked at Wonho. “How do we repay you for bringing her back to us?”

Wonho looked surprised at the notion, and his gaze drifted towards you. “Just give me a few minutes alone with her. That’s all I ask.”

The king and queen respected his request and left the room, signaling at a few servants to begin prepping a room for you.

Wonho grabbed both of your hands. “You’re staying, aren’t you?”

You nodded. “I need to be with them. I have to learn more about them and who I was. I have to know who I’m supposed to be.”

Wonho smiled and looked upwards in an effort to hide the obvious pain in his eyes. “I guess I should’ve seen this coming. It’s good, you know, that you aren’t closing yourself off to people. It might be awkward at first, but I’m sure you’ll come to love them just as all the kingdoms do.”

“Don’t think you’ve gotten rid of me,” you said, a coy smile on your face. “I still have to try that seasoned chicken you talked so highly about.”

“Right,” Wonho laughed. “I’m just a carriage ride away, you know.”

“I know.” You paused. “I love you, Wonho. I hope you know that by doing this I’m not leaving you.”

Wonho cupped your face then, and pressed his lips onto yours eagerly and roughly, as if to show how much he needed your words to be true. “I love you too,” he breathed against your lips before kissing you again, as if sealing a promise.

When the two of you parted, he smiled bashfully. “I’ve wanted to do that since I met you, if we’re being honest.”

You hummed and wrapped your arms around his neck casually. “If we’re telling the truth, I think you should know that you have an awesome body.”

“Stop, I’m blushing.”

“Good,” you teased, leaning in to kiss him once again.

»the end«

#monsta x fluff #monsta x imagines #monsta x imagine #monsta x scenario #monsta x scenarios #monsta x au #monsta x angst #wonho scenarios #wonho scenario #wonho au #wonho angst #wonho fluff #wonho imagines #wonho imagine #shin hoseok scenarios #shin hoseok fluff #shin hoseok imagines #destwrites

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wlw-solidarity · 6 years

Text

Punching Strangers

This is my Fairy Tail Valentine Exchange fic for @a-girl-with-a-writers-mind I haven’t written any Fairy Tail content for a while but this was pretty fun to write. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Natsu ends up punching a complete stranger at the bequest of a pretty girl and maybe kinda sorta falls for said stranger.

Natsu has always been a bit, well, spontaneous. He once convinced his friend Lisanna to go sky diving with him despite her fear of heights, and even got his two closest friends to go on a last minute cross country road trip last summer because he got bored. However this one was first.

As the guy stumbled away, clutching his bleeding his nose in his hand and yelling something about telling his friends about this Natsu couldn’t help but want to take a step back and possibly evaluate what had just happened.

He felt someone place a hand on his arm and say sweetly, “Thanks so much for doing that.”

Oh yeah, that was right, he thought as he turned to his side and saw the pretty girl standing beside him who had come up to him only a few seconds before and asked him to punch that guy. Now Natsu knows that he kinda looks like a punk, he did have his hair dyed pink and wore ripped jeans but he was a big softie, and also a sucker for pretty girls with cute faces who asked him to punch random strangers apparently.

“Uh I have to ask,” Natsu said as he shook his hand because that guy’s face had been kinda hard and his knuckles still stung a bit from the blow, “Why did I have to punch that guy?”

“Oh right, um, of course,” the girl said, stuttering a bit, man she was really cute. “He’s this guy from my stats class; he’s been causing me problems ever since the term started.”

“What kind of problems, if you don’t mind me asking,” Natsu asked, raising his brow. Did that guy deserve more than a punch to the face?

“Oh just being really pushy after I declined his offer for a date, and uh, before I saw you he had been following me for a solid five minutes after class let out,” the girl said, looking a bit sheepish.

“God, what a creep,” Natsu said as he shoved his hands in his pockets hoping it make the girl feel a bit more comfortable. “He totally deserved what he got then.”

“Thanks again,” the girl said before she stuck out her hand. “My name’s Lucy, Lucy Heartfilia.”

“Natsu Dragneel,” Natsu said with a smile as he took her hand, man it was soft, okay now was the not the time to be trying to fall in love with a girl he had just met. “It was no problem; I’m your go to guy for punching jerks.” No,no, no god why was he trying to embarrass himself?!

Lucy actually giggled, thank god because now he didn’t have to urge to go and jump into the river, and it was plus that her giggle was super cute.

“I might hold you to that if I ever have another problem with some guy.”

“I’d be happy to punch a creep any day,” Natsu said, rubbing the back of his neck, why was he being so awkward, he normally had no problem talking to people.

“Well I’ll see you around,” Lucy said as she hugged her notebook close to her chest. “Thanks again.”

Natsu waved after her as he let a sigh escape from his lips; there she goes, probably to never grace him with her presence ever again.

/////

Natsu did in fact see Lucy again, two days later to be exact. He had just left his last class of the day and ran into someone while he was checking his phone. Erza had been blowing up his phone during class about something; he never did get to find out why though since he ended up getting sidetracked.

“Oh crap sorry, sorry,” Natsu said as he watched as the poor person he had bumped into spill their books to the ground.

“It’s no problem,” they said as Natsu bent down and picked up one of the notebooks. He knew that voice.

“Lucy?”

The girl looked up and sure enough it was the same girl he had punched a random stranger for.

“Natsu, right?” Lucy said as she took the notebook from his outstretched hand.

“Yep,” Natsu said as he stood back up and offered her a hand. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“It’s no problem,” she said as she took his offered hand.

Natsu pulled her up and sure enough that awkward silence began to settle between them but Natsu wasn’t going to have it this time, no, he was going to have a normal conversation with her dang it and it was going to pleasant.

“So, are you coming from class?” Natsu asked, almost smacking himself in the face because wow what a great starting point.

“Oh, yeah, my British Literature class,” Lucy said. “It was my last class of the day thank goodness; I was up half of the night writing an essay for the class. What about you?”

“Oh just English, I’ve put it off to the end of the year and I’m totally regretting it.”

“Oh, well since we’re both coming from class maybe we could go somewhere and get some food together,” Lucy said as Natsu brain paused because wait a second, what was going on right now?

“I didn’t get to talk to you much the other day since I had to get to a class,” Lucy said as she shrugged. “I kinda would like to get to know the guy that will punch someone if a random stranger asks them to.”

“Oh, well, uh, yeah sure,” Natsu said, doing his best to not sound too flustered. As he followed after Lucy to some little café on the edge of campus he couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

/////

“Soooooo, how’s the essay?” Natsu asked, his head resting in his hand as he watched Lucy chew on her pen while she read over the essay he was supposed to be turning in during the next class, which was in only two hours.

Lucy hummed as she flipped to the last page. Uh oh.

“Please tell me that wasn’t an “I need to rewrite this entire essay” hum,” Natsu groaned as he let his head fall against the table. He had already rewritten the thing three times, it was their final and since he had barely managed to make it through the term with a passing grade he needed a really good grade.

“No, no,” Lucy said as she tucked her pen behind her ear and handed the essay back. “It’s actually not bad, compared to the others you showed me.” Lucy took a sip of her drink. “I’m sure she’ll give you at least a B.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Natsu said as he lifted his head off the table. “What would I do without you Lucy?”

“Probably come close to failing English,” Lucy said, looking at him from over her cup.

“Uh speaking of you,” Natsu said, trying not to cringe at what he had just said. Maybe he should just abort his mission and try again another day….no, no he needed to do this now. The year was almost up and soon they’d be away for three whole months, he needed to do this now. “I was wondering if you might wanna, uh, do something with me Friday, like go out for dinner or something.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lucy said. “I don’t see why you’re asking me ahead of time though; we always end up hanging out on Friday.”

“No I mean, like, do you want to go out with me on Friday, like a date,” Natsu said hoping this didn’t end too badly.

“Oh,” Lucy said, her cheeks tinging pink slightly. “Sure, um, what time?”

“Oh, I, uh, definitely haven’t planned out that far,” Natsu said, chuckling nervously. “Is seven good with you?”

“Yeah, yeah seven is great. I’ll be waiting.”

“With baited breath I’m sure,” Natsu teased before bursting out laughing with Lucy following in suit. Okay, maybe that hadn’t been too bad.

/////

Natsu was going to die, metaphorically of course, as he stood in front of Lucy’s dorm. He could do this; it was going to be fine. He had planned everything out.

Raising his hand up he knocked on the door and waited for Lucy. She threw the door open causing Natsu to take a step back in surprise.

“I’m ready,” she said as she stepped outside of the room and closed the door behind. “So, what do you have planned?”

“Oh, you’re in for a real treat,” Natsu said with a grin as he offered his hand out to Lucy, who quickly took it. “You’re about to have your socks blown right off.”

“I’m not wearing socks.”

“Minor detail,” Natsu said as he led her off to what he could only hope was a successful first date.

/////

“So, what’s the plan?” Lucy asked him as they walked across the quad.

“It’s a surprise,” Natsu said with a wink as he took a left turn, he hoped he didn’t get lost like he did last time.

“Oooo, are you going to punch some guy again, like how we met for the first time,” Lucy asked jokingly, fluttering her eyelashes at him

“Oh wow, how romantic,” Natsu said with a chuckle. “I’ll have to remember that idea.”

“Okay but seriously, if you go up and punch some random guy I’m bailing,” Lucy said as the two began the trek up the biggest hill on the edge of campus.

“Do you really think I’m making you walk all the way up this hill just to punch someone?”

“I don’t know, but I wished you had told me we’d be getting a work out in, I would’ve worn better shoes,” Lucy said as Natsu glanced down at the heeled boots on her feet. Maybe he should’ve warned her about the little walk. At least they were almost at the top of the hill.

“Here we are,” Natsu said, spreading his arms out wide once they reached the top.

“While this is a lovely view I have to ask, what do you have planned?” Lucy asked him as she glanced over at him from the corner of her eye.

“Well,” Natsu said as he moved so he was in front of her, “I know how you talked about how much you love stars and I know you’ve mentioned at least twice that you know all the major constellations or whatever so I thought we could go up here and stargaze, and well you to tell me about the constellations because honestly I only know about the big dipper.”

A wide smile crossed Lucy’s face. “Natsu Dragneel, you’re going to know at least seven constellations before the end of tonight.”

The two sat up on the hill with Lucy pointing out every constellation she could find and telling Natsu every story that want along with it as Natsu nodded along. Halfway through Natsu was able to gather enough courage to reach out and place his hand over Lucy’s.

Lucy sent him a smile before wrapping her hand with his and giving it a squeeze. Leaning against his side she pointed out another constellation and Natsu honestly couldn’t imagine anywhere else he would rather be.

#fairytailvalentinesficexchange2018 #fairy tail #i love nalu but honestly its the only thing that kept me in the fandom until the end and still keeping me hanging by a thread now #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #au #my writing

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moriarty · 7 years

Note

hey weren't you writing an evak fic? can we have a peek?

sure. he’s an unbetaed 1/3 (which is to say, i’m pretty bad at punctuating dialogue) that is my take on the fighting scene in s4

Outside it was cold and bright, and Even enjoys the chance to slink away from the crowded room for a few minutes, even if he and Isak were not and could not be alone yet, would have to wait a few more hours, at least, before making their excuses and heading home. It wasn’t bad, being with all of their friends. The singing had not been bad at all. The shock, though, had still to wear off.

When the door to the karaoke place opens and Elias and the other boys join them on the street, it feels inevitable. Even had known, from the second he’d locked eyes with Mikael and Elias across the room, that it would all be coming to a head today.

They talk quietly among themselves for a while, and Even watches. The boys - his boys too, now - haven’t stopped talking about the russe bus the girls had gotten into, and something else about someone named Sara that he misses the tail end of. It isn’t long before Even can feel Isak honing in on his dispersing engrossment, attention sharpening as he looks to where Even’s Bakka friends now stand. The air charges. Even feels present and future hitting him at once, and distantly, as if from the depth of an ocean away, he feels panic start to wrap around his lungs.

Nothing grand happens. His old friends walk up to them, nod heads in greeting, and stand looking at Even. Even understands he should be the one making the first move, but he’s stuck, eyes flitting from Mikael’s bowed head to Elias’ unsure stance.

“How’ve you been?” is what Elias asks after a few moments in which they all stand exchanging hesitant looks. “Sana said you asked about us. Did she tell you hi?”

Even sees the smile in his eyes and relaxes a fraction. Mikael’s silence speaks for itself, and that’s cool with him. Even understands not everyone is as forgiving as Elias, and he wouldn’t ask anything of Mikael that he wasn’t interested in giving, not anymore.

“Ja. She also told me you’ve been giving your parents some grief,” he says, voice tilting in a teasing accent.

Elias scoffs. “Of course she did. Can’t stop herself from dissing me at every opportunity, can she.”

“Well, is it a lie?”

Elias smiles. “Not really. Have you ever heard of Sana lying?”

Even bursts out a laugh, and Elias’ smile grows. He glances at Mikael, looks at Even again, and bumps shoulders with him to get his attention. “You aren’t going to say hi? Weren’t you telling me that you missed him?”

Mikael finally snaps up, glaring at Elias with wide eyes. Elias just shrugs, as if saying, “What?”

Even feels himself standing to attention at that, and his eyes don’t leave Mikael for a second. Mikael looks up at him, finally, and gives an awkward smile, then laughs.

“Hi,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Hei,” Even answers, voice quiet.

“I, uh,” Mikael’s eyes travel from Even to Elias and back, and he coughs. “I was looking at some old footage the other day. And I found Regnbue. Do you remember that?”

Even feels surprised laughter leave him, and shakes his head a little. “Ja, of course I remember. That shit took me ages to edit. Didn’t we have about 100 takes of that kiss scene?”

Mikael laughs right along, comfortable now that the first words had been spoken. “Whose fault was that? Even “Fincher” Naesheim, master director?“

Even rolls his eyes, finally looking at his Nissen boys and at Isak, who stands looking at Mikael.

“Guys, these are my old friends from Elvebakken. Elias, Mikael, Adam, and Mutta. Hey, man,” he nods at Adam, who winks, and at Mutta, who gives him a huge smile and braves the distance, grabbing him in a hug. Even doesn’t hesitate, and looks at the boys with an arm still around Mutta’s back. “These are Jonas, Mahdi, Magnus, and Isak.”

He nods at Isak with warm eyes. There’s a split second of silence before they’re nodding and raising their hands in greeting, and the boys greet them back with ease. Even sees Jonas give Isak a sidelong look.

Conversation sparks between them all with ease, and they end up pairing off to talk after a few minutes, the divide a natural result of Magnus’ and Adam’s exuberant back and forth about, of all things, the dance girls, and of Even, Elias and Mutta’s quiet conversation over a shared acquaintance.

Even remembers to check on Isak only after the shouted “What?” comes from where he and Mikael had ended up standing together, and by then, it’s too late. He swivels around to look at him, and catches sight of Isak grabbing Mikael by the collar. Mikael stares up at him, unflinching.

“Isak?” Even asks, kind of yells, stepping towards him, but Isak seems lost to communication. He sees Jonas trying to pull him away from Mikael, but Isak stands his ground. Even’s heart is trying to beat up and out, and he feels like he’s about to vomit it onto the concrete. He doesn’t know what’s happened, how anything could have happened in such a short amount of time, but he only needs to look at Isak for a second to understand that this isn’t a simple strife.

Mikael says something that’s too low for Even’s hearing to pick up on, and he swears he feels before he sees Isak’s control snap. Reality as it happens seems to take on a movie-like quality before his eyes, and he sees Isak’s arm sling backwards, in slow but unsteady motion. Half a second cut - did he blink? - and Isak’s fist is making contact with the edge of Mikael’s jaw.

Everything fast-forwards.

Elias, calm until that exact moment, looks from Mikael’s wide eyes to Isak’s wild ones, and if Even had thought the situation had been precarious, balanced on the edge of something terrible, it’s nothing like the feeling that swoops in and grabs his heart then. In a split second, he reaches with his left hand for the hood of Isak’s sweater, pulls him back with a kind of strength he had not felt himself use in a long time, and he’s quick, and it would’ve been enough if it were anyone but Elias, but fuck, he isn’t quick enough.

It’s a shock, even though he had caught the movement as it had begun, still a shock even when Isak’s body is being shoved toward his chest with the impact of the punch, still a moment distilled in desperation even as he manages to pull Isak away from the fight, get his hands on the sides of his face and look at all of him, from his closed eyelids to the blood coating his face to the fingers he’s holding against his nose to try and stop the flow. Everything blurs at the edges of his vision.

“Isak?” if it’s a whisper or a shout, he can’t even tell. The only thing he can hear are the sounds Isak is making, so loud it’s as if they’re coming from within Even himself. The world is static. “Baby? Baby. Talk to me.”

His hands tighten over hot skin, and he can feel Isak try to speak, but his only response is a series of rapid gasps. Even looks over his face with panicked eyes, speeding over shoulders, arms and hands, looking for things he can fix and things he cannot, relieved, at the end of his inspection, not to find many that fit the latter.

He touches Isak’s arm in a caress. “We need to go to the emergency room,” is said quietly, and he can’t even take a moment to marvel at the steadiness of the voice that seems to come from his mouth before he looks at the boys - who are by their side now, but when did that happen? - for confirmation, and grabs Isak with gentleness but intent, steering him in the direction of what he calculates in his mind is the closest ER to where they currently are.

He barely notices Sana’s presence and subsequent absence. He doesn’t know where Elias, Mikael, Adam and Mutta are. The words he’s hurt thrum through him with sickening pressure, and his body moves without conscious thought.

Even tries to makes sense of what happened, but the knowledge is nebulous, and any understanding seems to escape him as soon as he’s glimpsed it. This is the first time since the words “I’ve decided my life is better off without mentally ill people” had left Isak’s mouth that he feels the distance between them so acutely. What was Isak thinking? Why had he done it? Why, for that matter, had Mikael?

He puts Jonas in charge of filing the paperwork, though not before finding the nearest nurse and doing his best to impress on her that he would not have Isak in the waiting room one second longer than necessary, not when he could see the floor being stained with red. He supposes his intensity is convincing enough, because it’s a matter of minutes before they’re being ushered into a room. A man wearing a white coat is sat by a table when they walk inside, and a different nurse is pulling Even’s attention from Isak with gentle words.

“We’re going to need you to give him some space now, okay?” He looks at her in mild incomprehension, and the doctor appears in front of them, smiling benignly at Isak before turning to Even.

“Seems like you boys got into some trouble,” he says, and looks back at Isak. “Well, let’s not keep you waiting now. If you’ll sit by the examination table, we can start.”

His voice is smooth, and his inflection is casual. Even realizes he still has his arm tight around Isak’s shoulders, and relaxes. Paints a quick smile on, and guides Isak to the chair. The examination is quick, no broken bones detected, and the first aid is quicker. There isn’t much to do in these cases, the doctor explains, except try to stop the bleeding. You’re going to feel this for a few days, he continues, looking at Isak and swiping gauze over his upper lip one last time, but I’ll prescribe you painkillers to help with the worst of it.

They walk back into the waiting room and are received with noise, Jonas being, uncharacteristically, the loudest.

“So, what did he say? Is your nose broken? Is anything?” Jonas asks, looking over Isak’s face, and then turning to Even for answers when Isak is silent for a beat too long.

“Well?” His stare is steady, but the way tension sticks to his frame tells Even all he needs to know about the state of his mind.

“It’s all fine. There’s going to be a damn lot of bruising, and it’s going to hurt. But that’s it.” He smiles a small thing, but it seems to reassure all three of them with an immediacy Even allows himself to feel surprised by.

Isak clears his throat in the silence that follows, and turns to Even. His eyes are indecipherable.

“Should we go?”

Even takes his hand, and nods yes.

#skam #anon #im sorry 2 people on mobile i cant make the readmore work at all

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kalendraashtar · 7 years

Text

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part VII)

Part VII – “You bleed just to know you’re alive”

Twenty-eight

Why do sirens cry in blue and red?

Are they calling for help, for the crushing urgency, the need to rob time of time itself? Or are they warning us to look away, to prepare ourselves because tragedy is upon us – we might as well be next?

Even after many years, I’d recall their grieving sound. The way my hands pressed upon Claire’s belly, blocking the exit of her life with my palms. The screams around me, senseless, enhancing my growing despair. How her eyes never left mine – daring me to stay with her, to keep death at bay.

The paramedics came. They could have taken from seconds to a lifetime to reach us – I wouldn’t be able to say. Time skipped and jumped, a leaf on the fury of wind, fragile at the thought of flying.

“I need you to step aside, sir.” A small man told me with assertiveness, trying to dislodge me from my position, kneeled next to Claire on the ground. His gloved hands were already evaluating her pulse, placing an oxygen mask on her face.

“I will not leave her side!” I growled, ferocious. He gave me a serious look, but didn’t make any further attempts to take me away from her, certain I would strike and maim any man foolish enough to try. He was right.

They quickly bandaged her abdomen with a pile of snow white compresses, held tight against her body by a bandage skilfully applied. Claire tried not to moan, but I could see her pain in every ragged breath, in the sweat that dripped from her brow.

The ambulance flew across the roads of Edinburgh, transporting us to the closest trauma centre. The driver had opened his mouth – about to object my presence – but was shortly discouraged by my menacing glance and a shook of head from the short paramedic.

“Hold on.” I repeated to Claire, like a mantra, holding her band – being almost thrown to the opposite side of the ambulance as the vehicle raced to the hospital, jumping on speed bumps and sliding on the curves like a car in hot pursuit. “Dinna die on me, mo nighean donn. I won’t let ye, do ye hear me?”

“I’m… not… too keen…. on the idea… either.” She puffed haltingly, making a weak attempt of a smile, which almost broke my heart.

“Woman of thirty, victim of an armed robbery, gunshot wound to the upper right quadrant with no exit wound – she’s losing blood fast.” The paramedic announced, as they erupted through the emergency doors, a team standing by to receive them. “Glasgow fifteen, she has been responsive during transport. Her blood pressure kept dropping, the saline is wide open but ineffective fluid challenge.” He informed to a man with brown hair and olive eyes, who nodded in acquiescence, leading the gurney carrying Claire to a trauma room as I followed closely.

“Denzel.” Claire whispered to the young surgeon, as he started to unpack her abdomen to access her injuries. “Is that you?” He looked at her face, surprised at hearing his name, and his eyes opened in shock.

“Claire!” He touched her face in greeting, as nurses hurried around, preparing trays and drugs that might be necessary. “Dear God! What happened?”

“Do ye know her?” I asked, grabbing her hand in spite of a nurse’s protest, prepared to shoo me away from the secluded room.

“Of course.” He looked at me with concern in his calm eyes, as he started to palpate her belly. Claire hissed in pain and he pursed his worried lips. “I met Claire during medical school in Boston and was very pleased when she decided to return to Scotland and be a resident here, as I am. You really shouldn’t be here, sir.”

“Please…” Claire pleaded, closing her eyes for a second and licking her chapped lips. “Let Jamie stay…just a while longer.”

“Alright.” Denzel Hunter patted her hand in reassurance. “As long as he doesn’t faint on me.”

“How… bad… is it, Denny?” She asked, her eyes more unfocused and glassy. “I’m…fairly…sure…it went through…my liver.”

“And I’m sure you’re right - brilliant even in this situation, my dear. I’ll ask Doctor Myers to come in to operate.” Denny smiled, skilfully inserting a catheter on her jugular vein.

“I’ll be dead…before…he gets here.” Claire said sheepishly, raising her brow. Her face was hazardously pale, her whiskey eyes shining even brighter, her orbs dilated from pain and blood loss. “It has…to be you. I trust…you.”

Denny nodded, solemn, checking her pupils with a small flashlight, as she suddenly became unconscious – the monitors around them going crazy with alarms. “She’s bleeding out! Let’s move people, hang that saline wide open and two units of blood on the rapid infuser!” He commanded, concentrated in the wound’s trajectory. “Do you know her blood type, by any chance?”

I didn’t know her blood type – never had the chance to ask her, that information amongst a million other precious details of her that I knew nothing about. I didn’t know her birthday, even though I knew the position she slept in. I didn’t know her favourite dish – even if I was aware she preferred sneakers than high heels. I almost choked at the realization of the lifetime of things I could be robbed of, so devastatingly – left wondering, forever, because the time we had been offered hadn’t been enough. Knowing how much I loved her – and yet knowing so little of the one I loved.

“I dinna ken.” I admitted, gripping my fists, fighting the urge to curl into a ball and weep on the floor, stained with her blood.

“That’s alright.” Denzel assured me, throwing away compresses soaked in blood. “Let’s go with O-negative! I need a blood gas test as soon as possible and someone call the OR, let them know we’re coming! I want to be doing the first cut in less than five minutes!”

“Is she going to be alright?” I fearfully asked him, reluctantly letting go of her hand as a nurse took blood from her wrist with a fine syringe.

“She’s going into shock from the blood loss.” He explained in a steady voice. “I need to repair the damage right away, before she’s too unstable to endure the procedure. We’ll take her away now.”

I approached her, feeling numb as if my own blood had been turned to ice in my veins. I kissed her forehead, my lips hot against her perspired skin.

“Don’t leave me, Claire. This time I’ll beg.” I whispered in a broken voice. “Don’t leave me.”

****

I roamed the strikingly white corridors, incapable of sitting any longer in the waiting room outside the OR, where other husbands, daughters and mothers gathered, hope and fear lurking inside their eyes.

I came upon the small chapel, whispering of shelter and tranquillity in the half-light. I sat on the wooden bench, my hands entwined in prayer – I was ready to surrender to His will well enough, but was intent on offering a bargain.

“Lord, ye gave her to me.” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the cross where he had been martyr, symbol of the most loyal of loves. “I canna make sense of it in any other way. When my need was greatest ye set her upon my path so she could heal my soul. All along I was meant for her.” A warm tear streamed down my check, too raw to be contained. “And I intend to love her well the rest of my days – to care for her and make a home of her heart. I shall repay the gifts bestowed upon me by loving her to the best of my abilities. So I ask ye now – dinna take her away.”

I clenched my teeth, fighting against the sobs that threaten to wreck my body. “For if ye ever loved, ye know this – there’s this place inside me that only exists as long as she walks the earth. Once she’s gone, the part of me that lived in her light – the best, the one that makes me myself and no one else - will die with her.” My voice was unhinged, resounding in the naked walls, pulsing as the chambers of His heart. “I’m none so brave as I was before, ken?” I added very softly. “Not brave enough to live without her anymore.”

I heard footsteps approaching the door – I didn’t bother to clean away the tear tracks on my cheeks. I didn’t turn either – I knew who had come to bring me news.

“Does she live?” I asked aloud – the hint of pain, of shaped glass an inch away from shattering, creeped into my voice.

“She lives.” Denzel Hunter sat next to me, sighing in tiredness as his bones found comfort in transient rest. “It was touch and go for a while, but I was able to retrieve the bullet and repair the vessels – she lost a bit of her liver, but it will regenerate itself with time.” His outline was sharp, softness mixed with edges, akin to a bust of an angel descending from grace to speak of hope to the lost crowd. “It will be a slow recovery – but she lives.”

“Thank ye.” I closed my eyes and bent my head, my body shaking from supressed grief, as I let go of the leash I had been using to keep myself together. “Thank ye.” I repeated. I didn’t know if I was thanking Denzel Hunter or God – but to me, in that moment, they were one and the same.

He squeezed my shoulder in silent acknowledgment and left me alone – to cry for joy and gratitude, for my heart had been saved.

****

I sat by her side as soon as she went to a room in recovery. I jumped each time a monitor bleeped, startled to the point of panic – but she slept peacefully, her lips still hauntingly pale.

I knew sleep wouldn’t touch me – my task was to watch over her. To guard her. To will her back to me.

I marvelled with each heartbeat – found terror in the infinitesimal space between each and every one of them. I talked to her in the Gaidhlig, the language of my dreams, in which I could best tell her all my heart. I brushed her hand with inquiring fingers, learning the lines of her to make sure they were still the same. I kissed her lips softly, remembering the promise of her laugh.

And as the moon rose outside, I watched the circuit of air inside her lungs, the tiny movements of flesh and bone, adjusting to the challenging rhythms of life. I watched her breathe again and again, until she opened her eyes to look at me – and I discovered that I too could breathe again.

#A Lifetime of Her #Part VII #You bleed just to know you’re alive #Twenty-eight #Modern AU #Jamie and Claire #Outlander fanfiction #Using Iris by Goo Goo Dolls #Denzel Hunter #Canon lines

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ruffsficstuffplace · 7 years

Text

The Keeper of the Grove (Part 10)

Winter was curled up in a tiny, shivering ball on the backseat of the cab, her Eluna plushie nestled right up to her face. The rest of the toys she had on her were arranged around her body like a wall, or sitting on top of her like sentries. For lack of space to fit all of them, Weiss sat on the front-side seats, spun around to face her sister.

The special edition Keeper of the Grove plushie—the one with much more intricate detailing and real, malevolently glowing rubies for eyes—was in the trunk, back in its box, face and lid down. They could swear they could feel her evil stare boring through Tony's hull, the authentic leather seats, and into their souls, but neither commented on it.

On the shelf behind Weiss' head was Tony, his face turned outside to the city skyline outside, talking as he drove.

“This is why I don't like big businesses,” he grumbled. “Back then in the old days, you walked into a store, everyone in the place knew you by your first name, and you knew theirs, too! I mean, sure, corporations have changed the world for the better, and I'm just an AI talking based on subjective experiences, and personality parameters and memories encoded into me, but still! You gotta ask:

“Is it all really worth HUGE slip-ups like this happenin'?”

When the sisters didn't respond, Tony looked back at them. “Hey, you two been awfully quiet—everythin' alright back there?”

“Just peachy!” Winter replied. “So long as I've got Eluna with me, everything's going to be just fine, because when the Keeper breaks out of the trunk and comes to get us, she's going to come to life, use her Starlight Spear, and save us all~!”

She laughed, then cried, then buried her face into her plushie once more.

Tony and Weiss looked at each other as her muffled sobbing filled the cab.

He turned back to Winter, his projector generating a holographic arm to rest on the top of the front seats. “Look, Winter, I'm a firm believer in face your fears and all that jazz, but isn't it a little, I don't know, too much to be haulin' your nightmares around with you like this?”

Winter pulled her face out of the Eluna plushie. “I prefer it this way,” she sobbed. “I'd rather a constant reminder that the Keeper is always just around the corner than being surprised like that ever again,” she continued, before she buried her face into her toy once more.

“Oh Ellie, your fur is so soft, and warm, and fluffy… and so good at absorbing my tears and snot, too!”

Tony looked at Weiss, unamused. “Okay, something is definitely up! And don't you lie to me, little ladies—I've known you both since you two were just bumps in your mama's belly! Plus, the bio-sensors in this cab just got updated!”

Weiss tried to remain silent, but Tony's incessant staring broke her down. “The Keeper's after us...” she mumbled.

Tony grimaced. “And I guess it ain't the doll in my trunk, huh?”

Weiss shook her head.

“Aw, phooey!” Tony snapped as he turned back to the skyline. “I wish they never got rid of those lines of code that let me talk bad about people...”

“Cursing my father isn't going to change anything,” Weiss muttered. “Believe me, I've tried plenty of times...”

“It'd make me feel a whole lot better, though!” Tony replied.

They were reaching the loading bay closest to Manor Schnee once more, and the cab slowed down.

Tony sighed, and looked back at the sisters. “Look… girls, if'n the next time I see you two is in the news about how the Keeper got you… you two have been some of the best damn passengers I've ever had, alright? Even if your old man keeps trying to lobby me outta the personality roster...”

Weiss looked down as her eyes moistened, Winter burst into another round of tears.

“We love you too, Tony,” Weiss muttered as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

Tony's hologram shimmered and broke. “Go on, get on outta here, you two!” he sobbed. “You enjoy however much time you got left here! Oh, and say hi to your mama for me—your fratellino, too, if he ain't already someone else's kid.”

“We will, Tony,” Winter blubbered. “We will.”

Eluna remained in Winter's arms, and the Keeper stayed in her box for the ride home, the latter suspended in a stasis field on the dashboard. Both sisters couldn't help but flinch every time the rover hit a particularly bumpy patch of road, and the container jostled about slightly until the stabilizers kicked in.

They made it back into the garage a little before sunrise. The missing rovers and the jet were all back, but there were more drones than ever flying about and a suspicious absence of human or cyborg personnel, even for there.

“Good morning, Mses. Schnee!” a drone greeted them as they stepped back out of the rover. “Ms. Winter Schnee, you have an extremely large shipment from The Plushie Palace awaiting teleport confirmation. We regret to inform you that it cannot be handled by human staff due to a large number of absences, but a more than adequate amount of cargo lifters and worker drones have been prepared in their stead!

“How should we proceed?” the drone asked.

“Confirm the teleport, take the ones from the rover, and bring them all to my room,” Winter replied flatly as she walked past, Eluna under one arm and the Keeper in its box under the other. “Keep them in their crates, I'll handle the unpacking and organizing myself; I need a long, time-consuming distraction right now...”

The drone beeped, humming as it followed them it beeped with a different noise. “Teleport successful! Would the Mses. Schnee like breakfast? However, we also regret to inform you that your father, Mr. Schnee, is unable to join for sudden, important business.”

“No thank you, we're not hungry,” Weiss replied as she followed after Winter.

“Response logged—have a nice day, Mses. Schnee!” the drone chirped happily.

As Winter and Weiss stepped back onto the elevator, they remembered just why exactly human personnel were still a popular hiring decision many managers insisted on, in spite of the low costs and ease of acquiring AI drones that could do the same job.

They stepped out of the elevator and back into the halls of Manor Schnee, bright and flooded with warm sunlight.

The healthy glow only made the lack of people all the more stark and ominous, the cheerfulness of the bots' voice modules more unnerving than pleasant. It didn't help that the remaining human staff were either nervous and wary, couldn't care less as they went about their duties, or were chipper and happy, wondering out loud on why exactly everyone else passed on the generous sums Jacques Schnee had boosted their salaries to.

Winter and Weiss met with a train of cargo lifters and worker drones just heading out from her room, one of them reminding her that she could summon them at any time, especially since they had to leave several of the crates them stacked outside her door lest her bedroom become a crowded storeroom.

“You really sure you want to tackle this all by yourself?” Weiss asked as she and Winter stepped back into her room.

“I'll manage,” Winter replied, skirting around the perfectly stacked and balanced towers to her bed. “I've been trained for and handled much more complex logistical problems in even worse conditions.

“Though all that's going to be after I sleep the day away again, with the Moonlight Huntress herself watching over me!” She looked affectionately at the Eluna plushie still nestled in her arm. “But first, I need to decide what to do with her...” she muttered, looking at the boxed Keeper in her other arm.

“Ugh—just throw it away!” Weiss cried as she sat on the side of Winter's bed and took her shoes off. “That thing's just going to give the both of us nightmares, Eluna or no.”

Winter nodded as she carefully set Eluna down on her bed. “Right… might as well have some sweet dreams while we still can,” she muttered as she opened the box.

Unlike earlier, she didn't scream, accidentally throw it into an unfortunate victim's face so hard that it made their nose bleed, before falling to the sidewalk wailing hysterically whilst clutching her Eluna plushie, but she still flinched and felt a chill run down her spine.

Not helping was the morning sun making the ruby eyes of the Keeper plushie glow even brighter and more menacingly than they did at night and under artificial lights.

Winter pulled her out, throwing the box to the side. “Not sorry to say I'm not going to miss you in the slightest,” she growled to her face, before she threw the plushie right out the open door of her balcony.

She turned to watch it sail over the railing, then disappear to the floating gardens below.

Instead, she saw it stop in mid-air, invisible hands turn the toy around to face their owner.

“Oh hey! I never knew they made Keeper dolls that looked like this!” a too familiar voice said. “Oooh, man, these eyes are SO much cooler than the buttons...” the Keeper plushie was lowered, the actual Keeper gasped. “Oh Eluna! Is that an actual, limited edition Eluna plushie?”

Weiss and Winter felt their blood run cold as the plushie moved into the room, and stopped at the foot of Winter's bed, just between the two sisters. “Ooohh… these are SO rare, I never thought I'd be able to see one of them up close!”

The voice paused.

“Why does it smell like tears, snot, and despair…?”

Winter blinked. “Can you please hand me my Eluna plushie?”

The Keeper toy was put down on the bed, and the Eluna plushie floated over to Winter. “Here you go!”

Winter took it and nodded. “Thank you.”

She began to make a long, continuous noise, starting as a quiet whine, gradually growing louder and louder to a wail of pure anguish, occasionally broken by hysterical sobbing.

Weiss felt the Keeper wince. “… Uh… she scared of me, too?”

“To put it lightly...” Weiss replied flatly.

Winter let out another wail of distress. “Could you please not just talk like that while you're invisible? It's freaking me out even more than you already are!”

“Oh, okay”--the Keeper plushie was picked up once more, the toy's face turned to Winter--”how about this?”

Winter started crying even harder. “No! It's even worse now!”

“What if I move the head around while I'm talking, like this?” the Keeper asked, doing just that.

“Nope! No! No, no, no, no, no, nooooo... you know what? You just tell us whatever it is you were going to tell us, just let me curl up on the floor,” Winter blubbered.

The Keeper politely kept quiet while she did.

“Okay!” Winter sobbed, as she hugged the Eluna plushie to her chest, “you can talk now!”

The Keeper plushie “nodded.” “Alright! First up: your security still really sucks, especially now that all the cyborg and human guards are gone.

“Second: we're getting a LOT of comms-chatter and seeing a lot of recruitment advertisements on the Grid for more expeditions into the Valley, which also really sucks.

“And third: I was prepared this time and had dinner before I left home, but do you have any food on you? I didn't think you were going to be gone all night this time, and now I missed breakfast...”

Silence.

“It's okay if you don't have any!” the Keeper added. “I'll manage.”

Winter whimpered.

Weiss groaned. “Okay, first of all: how are you able to listen to our networks and access the Grid?”

“Uhh… with the terminal I have back at the Valley?” the Keeper replied. “We're a lot more advanced than mud huts and spears, you know. Well, actually we still do technically have mud huts and spears, but they've got Grid access, power, and HoloVision, just like you guys.”

Winter made a little choked dying noise. “Sorry,” she whispered, “please, continue.”

Weiss stared at the Keeper plushie, unsure of how to react. “… Second: we both tried to talk to my father, but he refuses to believe you exist, or that the threat you're making is very real.”

The Keeper sighed. “Ugh, yeah, I noticed! I broke into his office earlier last night, and he wouldn't believe I was actually there, just kept calling me a 'stress-induced hallucination' or something. I even pulled the hood of my cloak to show him my face, but he just threw a paperweight at me and thought I was one of your drones when I yelled 'Ow!'”

Winter balked. “Father SURVIVED looking at your face...?”

“I didn't have the mask on at the time,” the Keeper said, pointing at the skull-like face of her plushie self. “It makes actually talking to people really hard, you know? Have you ever tried to talk to someone who just peed and popped himself? It's pretty much impossible, not to mention really, really gross...”

Both sisters just stared at the Keeper plushie.

“Anyway, could you keep trying to find some way to get him to stop all these expeditions? Even if we see just one rover heading over to the Valley, there's going to be--”

“CONSEQUENCES.”

The Keeper coughed and cleared her throat. “Sorry, had to use my Scary Voice for that... kind of an unspoken rule amongst Keepers…”

Silence.

“… Soooo… I'm just going to go now...” the Keeper started to place the plushie of herself back on the bed.

Winter yelped, the plushie stopped in mid-air. “Keep it!” she blubbered, tears streaming down her face, “so at least I know where you are when you come to visit!”

“You sure?” the Keeper asked, holding the plushie out to Winter, its ruby red eyes looming ominously over her, glinting from the sunlight.

Her eyes widened.

As a special, limited edition Keeper of the Grove plushie and a hysterically screaming Winter zipped through the halls of the manor, leaving a trail of spooked humans and malfunctioning drones in its wake, so hastened the Ruin of the family Schnee.

#rwby #white rose #fanfic #the keeper of the grove

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ahzrenbooks-blog · 7 years

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The Alves: Chapter Two

What Jona Didn’t Know

A map was unfolded on the table in the stateroom, not the only ornament, but certainly the most beautiful among the war trophies, empty wine bottles, and frayed tapestries that absorbed some of the coldness of the stone-built room. The map showed an absurdly detailed drawing of the northern Alves, something the poor artist must have worked on nose-to-parchment for months over. Hallon bent over the table, one finger circling an area on the map listlessly over and over. A heavy scowl played on his face, an unavoidable expression even in joyful times. His lips were stiff from an old ugly scar that blemished one side of his face.

Hallon Beorn, Baron of Telmut, also called ‘The Brightsmith’ had never been vain. The mark was accepted as a consequence of fighting with his own family. Back when Telmut was a contested state and the Beorn rule was threatened, his father had chosen to abdicate rather than endanger his family. Hallon saw this as dereliction of duty, and the moment he was of age he’d returned to Telmut with the support of most of his people. He’d had to kill an upstart cousin to regain his title, even though he considered himself more of a craftsman than a warrior. He wore that death now, the blow landed by one of his cousin’s soldiers, although the man had chosen to side with him after the fact. For some, battles of land and ownership would never be about more than money. But those that could be bought often favored the strong as security was a greater boon than coin alone, as it ensured longevity enough to enjoy the spending of it. Since then, because of the guilt he felt and because of the grimace he bore, Hallon spoke gently and carefully. He chose to discredit his appearance as an ugly and angry man by acting the opposite.

He sipped his wine absently, too nervous to realize that his cup had already run dry. Without thinking, he growled and shoved his goblet toward his servant. Then he straightened and sighed, giving his tired eyes a rub.

The servant, at least a decade Hallon’s senior, startled such that he bumped an end table bearing the wine flagon. It sloshed alarmingly before he picked it up. “Apologies, my lord. My mind is not in the right place now.”

“Neither of ours are, Garth. Don’t worry about it.” Hallon grunted again, though in a more friendly manner. “Does it always take this long? Something could have gone wrong by now,” Hallon said quietly, his speech marred gently by his scar.

“If anything had gone awry we’d have been sent word immediately,” the servant replied. “My wife was in labor for five hours at least, upon her time. It often takes longer.”

Hallon gave him an admiring look. “How did you bear the wait? I feel like bees have infested my body. I can hardly stand still. And what’s pitiful is that I’ve been through this once before. I can’t recall how I managed a state of calm that time either.”

“I was in Sabry upon my lord’s business, so I was saved the wait.”

“I had you delivering a message during the birth of your child?” Hallon growled with quiet surprise. “How callous of me.”

“In all honesty,” Garth replied, “I didn’t mind being sent away. It saved me the anguish you feel now. I was able to return a week later, and my little girl was handed to me like the loveliest homecoming gift. There’s nothing like walking in caked with road dirt and sweat, tired and hungry, and having this little person you helped make grin up at you for the first time ever, knowing that she’s yours.”

Hallon’s stomach clenched in fear and warmth flooded his face. ‘I’m almost a father for the second time. But it feels like I’m on the eve of battle, facing an army I know nothing of with a dry baguette in place of a sword. I’ll just have to do as I’ve always done, and make the best of it.’ “Hadna’s tits, I’d rather be back in the smithy.”

Garth smirked in response and refilled Hallon’s cup. “There’s nothing for you to do, my lord. This is woman’s work. And I doubt there are any hands more capable than Miss Phia’s.”

“Aye, but if I lost Lucca it would be the death of me,” Hallon replied fiercely.

“Your Lady is strong,” Garth said. “She’s a young and hardy-”

There was a brief loud knock and the door was flung open so hard it slammed and shivered against the wall. Lucca’s smallest lady in waiting stood there, her eyes overflowing and red, her grin bittersweet. The heaviness of the door, which ordinarily took an armored guard a moment to open, was as naught in the face of her excitement. “You have another son, Milord! And Lady Beorn has come through it just beautifully! I thought you’d hear it straight away - the good parts.”

“Thank the Gods,” Hallon hissed, leaning his full weight against the sturdiness of the table. He began to pick up the wine cup, then realized he didn’t need it now. He took a deep breath to collect himself and faced her again, noting how she was wringing her wet handkerchief. “You said the good parts? Out with it, girl. There’s nothing worse than waiting for the hammer to fall.”

“Just one thing, my lord. There were twins, only… One was born dead. But the survivor has got the healthiest of lungs, and started yelling the moment he was birthed. He’s lovely my lord, and we think he’s going to turn out blonde, like his lady mother! He’s already got a few strands of cornsilk. He’s just beautiful, so that’s softened the grief a bit for his mother at least.”

“Thank you, Vanessa. It’s good luck to have twins. But I wonder what it means when only one survives?” Hallon pondered. He swallowed a knot of grief and focused on the good. “Did Lucca have any difficulty?”

“Much and more, but she’s no longer bleeding. We’ve had the placenta out and it don’t look like nothing abnormal. Phia says she’s well out of it,” Vanessa said, tucking her hair behind her ear shakily. With big dewy eyes she finally asked, “Would you like to meet your new son?”

“I would, dear girl.” Hallon presented his servants with a rare hideous grin, ten-fold more terrifying than his scowl. He gave Garth an overwhelming bear hug, kissed Vanessa directly on the mouth, and laughed coarsely.

Vanessa grinned back, curtsied with a little dip of unbalance, and scurried down the hall. Despite her pace Hallon kept right on her heels the whole way. Miss Phia poked her head out of the bedroom they’d used as the birthing room and stopped Hallon with a curt wave. She pressed her hand to her chest and gave him a demanding look. A Baron, nay, even a God could not pass her unless they obeyed.

Hallon grunted annoyance, but took several seconds and deep breaths to calm himself. He didn’t want to disturb his wife with overeagerness in her state. Only then did Phia let him inside. The babyish burbles reached his ears immediately. The room took on a soft fuzzy feeling, and odd smells invaded his nose; not disturbing, but very present. He crept to his lady’s bed, giving her his sweetest smile as she opened her eyes with effort.

“Oh, I missed that scowl,” Lucca murmured warmly.

Hallon felt his chest fill with emotion the moment she looked at him. He brushed Lucca’s damp hair back from her forehead, content just to rest his calloused hand on her brow for a moment. He felt his eyes prickle and water, then looked at the child and his wife in awe, his heart thudding with the depth of his gratitude for that moment.

“Oh Lucca… He’s perfect,” Hallon gasped. “Look at those tiny fingers! I forgot babes were this small and defenseless.” He lapsed into adoring silence, and for the first time in months his fears stilled. The future ceased to exist, and all time converged on the moment. He leaned down to kiss his son’s forehead for the first time, and smelled the untarnished sweetness of the babe’s head. The couple cooed over the baby for a while, and every new movement or adjustment it made sent a new wave of amazed possibility and devotion through them.

While they were distracted, Miss Phia took a tiny blanket-wrapped bundle from the crib where it’d been laid aside and turned to leave, but Hallon rose from the bedside to stop her. He caught Phia by the arms, then pulled a corner of the blanket back. The sight of the poor dead twin stilled him for several minutes, as though he had become carved of stone, and finally he signaled for her to remove it. He scratched his beard as she left, his back turned to the birthing bed.

“My love, a pair of boys would have been a wonderful thing. But one did survive.” Lucca murmured. “And Jurick is hale and eager for a brother. He grows like a weed.”

“I know,” Hallon replied, brushing at his cheeks quickly before he turned around. He gave Lucca a sad sort of smile. “It’s just a pity to lose a child. But we must be thankful for what we have, and not too spooked by what might have been. I could have lost you with the baby, but here I have you both. I just wanted… to pay my respects. You understand.”

Lucca nodded wearily. “He was much smaller than little Marek. He’ll have a quiet ceremony with only the closest of heart, but he won’t be buried unnamed.”

“You named them both?”

“I did, love. I whispered it over him, so he’d know,” Lucca said, and sniffed. She retained the tears she didn’t want to shed, and instead rested her hand on her living son, cradled sleeping against her chest.

“Marek, is it?” Hallon grinned. “After the philosopher and wizard, Marek Simeon, who discovered how to craft artifacts out of lodestones.” Lucca had named their first son as well, giving Hallon no say. He’d had no argument, and no reason to regret that decision since.

“His face looks wise to me for some reason,” Lucca said.

A shrill voice came from the hallway where the servants waited. The manner of the voice was Jurick’s unmistakable imperious bluster. At three, he already mimicked his favorite men, head thrown back and shoulders upright as though prepared to manage the keep right then and there. It seemed to him that to know a thing or a person was to own it. He talked constantly to people, interested in everything they had to say, even if little of what he said back made any sense yet. Now he wanted to know if his brother was here, and if his mother would tell him a story to make him feel better, ignoring the fact that the person he was afraid for was the person he expected to quiet him. His nurse kept him outside despite him trying several times already to sneak into the birthing room.

The nurse peeked into the room. “Would you like Jurick in now, my lord?”

Hallon gave his wife the choice. It was her strength he worried about. Lucca nodded.

“Bring him, but first tell him that he should keep his voice down and refrain from jostling his mother,” Hallon acquiesced.

There was a quiet conference outside the door. Then the woman let Jurick lead her in by the hand, straining almost at the edge of her grasping fingertips. The boy tip-toed along dramatically. He forgot to be quiet the moment he saw Lucca with her precious bundle. He pressed his hands to the bedside and jumped up and down, giggling.

Hallon swooped him up, fast as a fisherman’s net, and hugged him tight. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and held back the corner of the baby’s blanket so Jurick could see Marek’s face.

“He’s pink as a worm,” Jurick said. “And fat.”

Hallon laughed at the face his wife made. “He should be fat! It means he’s healthy. This is your brother, Jurick. You’ll help us take care of him, won’t you? Since you’re the oldest, you should protect and teach him. You’ll have a playmate and a friend to study your lessons with. It’ll be fun, won’t it?”

“Yes, papa. Is mama okay?”

“He heard the screams and was afraid,” the nurse whispered, leaning toward Hallon. “I tried to tell him it was alright, but he wouldn’t sit still; not for a minute.”

“She’s going to be tired for a few days. She’ll stay here in bed with babby, but you can visit as much as you like as she feels better,” Hallon said. “Let her rest, now.”

“I want a story!” Jurick demanded.

“Hush now, quieter than that. What do you say when you want something?” Hallon asked. “You don’t just order people around.”

“Please, I want a story,” Jurick demanded, in exactly the same tone, but at a minutely lower volume.

Hallon shook his head, then brought a chair close to the bed and sat so they wouldn’t overcrowd the bedside. He pulled his son up onto his knee. “I’ll tell you one. Mama is too tired. Then we’ll go outside and ride a bit to clear our heads.”

“Can I ride by myself? I want my own pony. I’m old enough, now that there’s a littler boy.”

“Goodness knows, son. That’s not how it works. One day you’ll have your own, but for now you’ll ride with papa,” Hallon said. “Now… Er…”

“Now and then there comes a great event that we must remember, because it teaches us something about ourselves,” Lucca suggested, as a point to start the story with. “There was once a grasshopper.”

“Yes, a grasshopper,” Hallon said, taking over now that he knew which story Lucca meant. “As you know, grasshoppers sing to greet the dusk, and to warn of storms. But there was once born a grasshopper with a special voice that made all other insects stop and listen.”

***

Miss Phia hummed quietly as she knitted by the hearth. She rocked Marek’s bassinet gently with her foot, keeping time. In only three hours the day nurse would take over for her, but until then, she was content to mind her business and feed Marek when he woke to bawl about his hunger. The newborn had fine strong lungs that filled the nursery with their wails, but for now he was soundlessly asleep.

At least, he had been.

Phia didn’t notice his awakening this time because he didn’t make a sound at first. Baby Marek looked at the shadows playing on the walls and his new mind stored the information. He didn’t know what they were yet, but he also didn’t know enough to be afraid.

He felt a telltale wetness, and nearly cried about it, but something else yet made a demand on his attention. Something else his size, lingering in the light. Something his shape. His new mind couldn’t tell if it was a thing that belonged or one that didn’t. To him, everything belonged and was in its right place.

Only the thing that was him-shaped was not being rocked by a kind lady. The thing did not have a bed. It was made of darkness and it moved strangely, flailing arms in a way that meant nothing to him yet.

When Phia finally took note and realized that Marek was awake, she saw him staring at nothing. Just at the floor close by the hearth, covered by the rug. She couldn’t imagine what he was looking at. Perhaps the pretty pattern, although it was a bit ratty and needed to be replaced. His attention so entirely focused on that one spot gave her a chill up her spine. She stopped rocking, and at the cessation Marek seemed to realize something new and began crying. Phia picked him up and found him in need of a diaper change. The uncanny feeling went away, and she forgot about it when the day nurse relieved her.

#my writing #fantasy

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