#'i felt hope because will was feeling false hope then i returned to the objective view that it's not there'

[gayofthefae]

If Mike lied and El heard Will then the only person who took that speech as romantic was Will and that is just PEAK unreliable narrator my GOD.

#stranger things #povs #byler #byler options #el and mike are unknowingly on the same page both knowing those words are platonic/bs meanwhile will is in the back like #they're so in love :'( #while mike cries in distraught over his crushing guilt and el uses her anger towards this to save max #and will is like #wow can't believe the power of their love did it :'( #the reveal that the ga were in will's pov the entire time is going to be SO sweet though my god #bc ppl have a tendency to think they're immune to the puppetry that is cinematography but no one is baby #not unless you stop and think through it first impressions always manipulated #'i felt hope because will was feeling false hope then i returned to the objective view that it's not there' #no babe you felt hope because it slipped through to will because of how overt mike was being then you returned because he crushed it in #himself.

[marimoscorner]

Consumerism & Witchcraft

Written by Marimo (he/they)🌿

I’ve seen a turn for the better in some witchy spaces regarding consumerism in the past few years, but overall it still tends to be an issue for us as a community. I’ve decided to try and breakdown the pitfalls I’ve noticed in my own journey, in the hopes that it will inspire and assist others. I’ve also provided alternatives and ideas on how to make small changes in our practice to help us better protect the Earth, stick it to the failing system and still acquire our bits and bobs we love so dearly.

As always, I am no authority on any subject nor am I perfect—but we’re all learning as we go, so let’s dive right in 🌿

A Preface

There are some things that should be made entirely clear before we begin:

You are not a bad person for wanting an aesthetic

You are not a bad person for unknowingly falling into pitfalls. Only if you continue to purposefully do so after knowing better

You are not a bad person for consuming content/objects or for not always making the most sustainable decisions. At the end of the day, we can only control our small part of environmental impact, while the rest is left up to the major corporations that make more pollution than any of us ever will

You are only human. Show yourself some grace and understanding that the internet so lacks.

My Experience in Consumerist Hell

I have fallen victim many times to consumerism in witchcraft. Starting my journey at the ripe age of about ten years old and heavily in the broom closet, I was quickly drawn in by the shiny rocks, the brand new candles and scents, the promise of new tarot decks and pendulums and other fancy, shiny new equipment. I was consuming an online aesthetic along with my ideals, and it distracted me from starting my journey by learning well.

I began to spend my birthday and holiday money on the aesthetic of things. While, granted, I still did buy a few literary resources now and again from my local secondhand bookstore—I was stubbornly ignoring the sage advice to learn and understand first before diving in headfirst.

I purchased statues, crystals, too many tarot decks to use. I purchased osteomancy bones I later returned to the earth, for I had not done enough research to know that that animal was mine to practice with. I had a tankard full of incense sticks, and even a growing pile of books that would not be read. While I liked to consider myself crafty with my homemade Maypole and various hand-bound Grimoires, something was becoming apparent: this was all a distraction.

The aesthetic I was partaking in was providing me with a false sense of progress and practicality.

When I’d go to do a tarot reading, I’d become far too overwhelmed with choosing a deck to read in the first place. When making an offering to a deity, I’d feel pressured to also bolster the altars of all the other deities I’d set up, and with my wide pool, the connections felt muddy. Often times I’d be off-put on a project or spell because I knew I needed to film it and it needed to look nice.

In the long term, I don’t have many of these items today. I’ve sold and donated a vast breadth of them. Feeling overwhelmed costed me a few years retreat from my craft to recuperate. However, what has stuck with me is the knowledge I picked up along the way.

So, What’s the Issue? TL;DR

I’ve noticed a few issues here in making these mistakes myself.

Consumerism absolutely distracts you from learning and your craft

Overconsumption leads to environmental damage. If everyone hoarded supplies, there would not be enough to go around. And with what gets thrown away every year…it paints an ugly wound on the Earth

We damage our learning abilities by not allowing ourselves to be anything less than perfect

The need for aesthetic creates barriers to entry within the community and creates a divide of haves and have-nots

You won’t be able to truly follow your individual path if you are only consuming and not creating for yourself

Consumerist culture promotes appropriation. Metaphysical stores carry items from closed practices (such as white sage and palo santo, or coyote bones) because someone is buying them. Don’t be that person, and find alternatives relating to your own culture instead

Consumerism can influence your spiritual decisions based upon monetary inclinations (where some may sacrifice a quality ingredient over a higher quantity of a lower quality ingredient)

So, what can we do?

Firstly, I want to clarify that I am not against collecting, nor am I against maximalism or the beautiful visual aesthetic we carry as a community.

I am an artist a very visual person and understand the longing for a beautiful home and workspace. However, this aesthetic shouldn’t come at the cost of irresponsibly harming the Earth or another community.

Thus, I’ve compiled a list of small things that I will be incorporating into my practice to make it more mindful and sustainable. I hope that you’ll join me in a few of them.

Minimize Supplies. While I used to have a huge selection of stationary for my Grimoire, I now limit myself to a simple pencil and watercolor set if I’m feeling artistic. This helps me actually use my Grimoire for study, rather than to keep perfect. It’s also friendlier on my wallet!

Thrift Supplies. There are plenty of perfectly good items that get donated daily. You can get high-quality candles and holders, old crystal bowls for altar offerings, spare crafting supplies, fabric for alter cloths and even clothing if you so wish—all for a fraction of the cost new and while saving the planet just a little bit more. Hell, you can sometimes even find good silver!

Share Supplies with your Community. You can create a sort of barter system with other witches in your area. Perhaps you create a sigil for them, and they provide you with a candle spell. Play to your strengths and grow together!

Look for Creative Outlets. Do you really need to go buy an altar statue that’s been mass-produced? Or can you give your deity the personal gift of a drawing, painting or even hand-modeled or hand-carved rendition? This will also deepen your connection to your craft and your magic, and make it more meaningful and stronger. If you really like something, though, go for it!

If you aren’t the artistic sort, consider supporting an artist before going to a large company. While I haven’t purchased from them myself, Blagowood on Etsy has beautiful deity statues carved from wood by their small team in Ukraine for a comparable cost to the standard mass produced metal statues. I consider this extra labor of love going into these pieces and those of similar small companies to be much better energy for my practice. I myself may put out some art prints and other handmade supplies in the future, but I will likely spread them around my community first.

Try Secondhand Books. While not available in every area and further still not as available for witchcraft and occult books, you may strike luck! Not only are secondhand books less expensive, but you’ll be supporting a local business. That’s not to say you can’t buy firsthand books, but some searching around may be beneficial to the earth and to your wallet in the long run.

Be mindful of where you source supplies and decor. If you are a fan of taxidermy decor, make sure that you source cruelty free. Bats can practically never be sourced without cruelty, so if a shop carries them, I’d be mindful of their other specimens. The same goes for if a shop decides to forgo a culture’s wishes and carry supplies sacred to them, such as white sage or dreamcatchers. Supporting folks who turn a profit off of others’ suffering is not something many would wish to include energetically in their craft.

Search the Wild for Tools. Find sticks, flowers and other plants out in the forest. Learn how to rockhound in your area for crystals. Your craft will be more powerful the more connected it is to the land you are surrounded by. Be sure to reference guides for safety and legality!

Get Creative with Purposes. If you are having difficulty finding exactly what you need by thrifting or searching, make another tool multipurpose if it would do the job good enough. Find supplies that are easy to source and work as substitutes for other ingredients (ex. Quartz as a stand in for other stones)

Spend more time Doing. Go out into the woods (safely) and advance your connection to the earth instead of worrying over the perfect item for your collection. Your craft will benefit

At the end of the day, all of this is your decision. Take what you like, and leave what you don’t. Even if we don’t agree, I thank you for your time and open mind. I will continue updating about how I incorporate these steps, and I will also hopefully post more on witchy crafting in the future.

I wish you well, and hope you’ll decide to follow along on our journey!

#pagan #pagan witch #paganism #witchblr #witchcraft #marimo writes🌿

[thelov3lybookworm]

You Think I Wanted This? (Part 2)

Part 1

Summary: The wedding day has arrived.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: Ehehe im so excited for yall to read this aaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh

anyways, enjoy!

•○🌑○•

If there was one word that could describe the situation around the palace, it would be chaos. But ten times worse.

The time was flying by, and it was getting incredibly hard to keep herself from screaming in frustration. The anxiety building up in her, the worries... it was hard to focus on anything.

The wedding would take place today in the great hall in just a few hours, and Y/n could not stop the tremor in her hands.

The only thing that comforted Y/n was the fact that Cam was now present with her, in the Palace, having returned from Basgiath during the leave granted before his second year.

Due to being the son of the king, he had been granted some leniency so he could attend Y/n's wedding.

That, and the books Y/n was forced to read, being a healer.

All alone in her room now, all she could do was read through the boring texts again, because that was the only way she could stop thinking about the inevitable ruining of her life.

A knock startled Y/n, and she glanced at the small clock she kept on her desk, frowning when she realised there was still, at the very least, an hour until the maids came to get her ready.

Standing, she called out. "Yes?"

"May I come in?" The voice was unmistakably female, with the confidence of someone far older an experienced than the owner of the voice should have been.

Y/n walked over, opening the door a crack to find Violet Sorrengail waiting, her hair in a messy braid hanging over one shoulder.

Y/n blinked, then opened the door wider, letting her in.

"Sorrengail, what brings you here?"

Violet took a deep breath, letting the door fall shut behind her before speaking.

"Did you ask to be married to Xaden?"

Y/n blinked, taken aback. "Xaden? Why would I want to be married to him?"

Violet sighed, frustration evident in the dark circles under her eyes and the tension in her shoulders. Now that Y/n looked closely, she looked like she had not showered or had a meal in years.

"I- you were staring at him that day like- like you wanted him, and then right after the king announced your marriage and..." Violet took a deep breath, looking like she would have a panic attack any moment. And despite the fact that this girl was involved with Y/n's soon to be husband, that they had something going on, maybe even feelings involved, all Y/n felt was pity for her.

Y/n sympathised with the girl, but there was nothing Y/n could do to comfort her than give false words of hope.

"Look, Sorrengail, there is nothing I can do. I am sorry, I truly am, but I can't put a stop to this wedding, if that is what you are here for."

"But you didn't even try!"

Y/n crossed her arms, rubbing between her brows, realising Violet had been trying to hold in her emotions all along and she was not here for a friendly chat over tea.

"I know the consequences I would have had to bear for objecting, and the wedding would still have happened because no one goes against the king's words."

"You are his daughter! He would have-"

"And you are a grown woman, who, I hope, understands what consequences are. So I am not going to sit here and explain to you what would have happened if I'd done what I wanted to two hours before the betrothal takes place." Y/n glanced at the clock to make sure she had the right timing before turning towards the door, reaching out to clutch the handle.

"You didn't even try." All anger had dissipated from the rider's voice, and the tears in her eyes made her look like she was ready to fall to her knees and beg for Xaden to be freed.

Y/n clenched her eyes shut, knowing if she watched Violet cry, she would do end up doing something very stupid, and that something was definitely going to get her killed.

"I am sorry Violet, but there is nothing I can do other than to tell you to return, go to someplace that brings you peace, and stay away from the palace for atleast two days."

The fire of rage again lit up in Violet's eyes, and she stomped forward just as Y/n opened the door for her to leave.

"Fuck you." Violet cursed, and Y/n did not bat an eye at the words as she clicked the door shut behind her.

With a sigh, Y/n returned to her desk.

Not long after, someone again knocked on the doors, though this time it was the servants arriving to get Y/n dressed up all pretty for the ceremony.

Y/n let go of her textbook and let the attendants fuss over her, the mannerisms of a princess that had been drilled into her since she was born keeping her from complaining everytime they pulled her hair too harshly.

Kept her quiet even when the corset was too tight.

Kept her quiet even when all she wanted to do was cry and ask what the purpose of all this was.

•○🌑○•

Violet's pov.

The crowd was silent, watching the bride walk down the aisle who only had eyes for the groom. Some of the held appreciation for what the girl had managed to achieve, some held scorn in their hearts for her getting married to the son of a coward and betraying the kingdom.

Her eyes remained unwavering, her long hair running down her straight back, hands clutching at the small bouquet of flowers.

She was beautiful, Violet had to admit.

The groom too stared at the bride, his hands folded neatly behind his back, and though his expression remained neutral, his eyes spoke volumes about his happiness regarding this marriage.

At least the two of them knew nothing could come out of this marriage, and no one would be disappointed after the outcome turned out to be hatred.

The moment the bride took her position at the podium, the priest started speaking.

After long minutes of droning, the bald priest finally asked the question that the groom, bride and Violet all dreaded.

"Do you, Xaden Riorson, take Y/n Tauri, to be your wife?"

Violet's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the tense Lieutenant, who, if possible, tensed even more as he answered.

"I do."

"Do you, Xaden Riorson, swear to be loyal throughout this marriage to your wife?"

At that, Xaden jerked, his head turning a little towards where Violet was standing, but then he stopped himself and stared again at his to be wife.

"I do."

The princess blinked in confusion, and her eyes slowly swept the crowd as she searched for something.

Violet moved, trying to conceal herself behind the pillar she was standing next to.

Of course, the two girls met eyes before Violet could be successful.

Violet watched as exasperation and pity filled Y/n's eyes, and Violet lifted her chin in confidence she didn't feel.

"Do you, Y/n Tauri, take Xaden Riorson, to be your husband?"

Violet watched as the princess swallowed and spoke, no other sign of hesitation or anxiousness in sight. "I do."

"Do you, Y/n Tauri, swear to be loyal throughout this marriage to your husband?"

"I do."

The lack of hesitation almost made Violet feel bad, because the certainty that dripped from the princess's voice told Violet that even if Xaden continued to pursue Violet behind close doors, the princess would stay loyal to him.

Almost.

"I now pronounce you two married. You may kiss the bride."

Violet held Y/n's stare until Xaden was right in her face, and then she closed her eyes, and let him kiss her.

Violet turned away, walking out of the huge doors and making her way to the flight field near the palace.

She knew she should have heeded the princess's advice, but she couldn't stop herself from seeing him get married by her own eyes.

Even if the bride was not who Violet wished.

•○🌑○•

@artists-ally @riddlesb1tch

Xaden Taglist: @sidrapotter @anniiittttaa @pirana10 @harrystylesfan2686

#xaden x reader #xaden riorson #fourth wing #fourth wing x reader #rebecca yarros #fourth wing headcanons #xaden headcanon #fourth wing fanfic

[ofheroesandvillains]

New Purpose

Halbrand x elf!reader

Words: 4k

Request: by anon – “I have a Halbrand x reader request/idea. Where the reader is an elf and she and Sauron fell in love in the really early days of middle earth. Because of this Morgoth killed her because she made Sauron soft. She then goes through the whole elf reincarnation thing and reincarnated to be alive during the rings of power. She’s now Galadriel’s friend and jumps off the ship to Valinor with her, meaning she ends up on the raft and numenor with Halbrand and Galadriel. She doesn’t remember her previous life but falls for Halbrand still. The rest is up to you 👀”

Thanks for the request, anon! ❤️

Warnings: Mentions of death. Injury and blood (nothing major). Lots of pining. Maybe a little ooc, but he’s in love, and she makes him soft.

I have almost finished the second (and final) part of this. This one was getting too long, and it felt right to split them. Been a while since I’ve done this much writing, so hopefully it’s not completely awful. Also, not my gif – credit to the creator!

You do not anticipate returning to Aman so soon. Námo had been clear when you awoke in his Halls – you have a greater role to play in the shaping of Middle Earth. For whatever reason, the fate of the one they call Sauron is inextricably tied to your own, and it is that fact that brings you and Galadriel together in the beginning and keeps you together long afterwards.

Galadriel herself is a guiding light in this unfamiliar world. Beleriand, you learn, now rests beneath the sea, and your home along with it. Your memories of the place have yet to return – after all this time, you doubt they ever will – but the thought brings with it a sense of longing for all you have lost. Even if you don’t remember what that is, you know it is much.

Having perished early in the First Age, you also know little of Middle Earth and its peoples, but the elves of Lindon are still quick to welcome you as a herald of the Valar. Though the lands are foreign, there are people there who knew you once, and it isn’t long before you find your footing in this curious new world.

The High King Gil-galad doesn’t object when you choose to accompany Galadriel to the Undying Lands – in his eyes, the evil has passed and your work on Middle Earth is done. While you know this to be false, it is an easy decision to make. It feels right, and your instincts very rarely lead you astray. For reasons you can’t explain, you know you must follow Galadriel on this final voyage.

She is quiet when the ship leaves the dock, offering only a curt nod to the elves of Lindon when they bid her farewell, but behind her eyes is a maelstrom. It worsens the further you sail into the open sea, until there is finally a palpable shift in the air, an otherworldly radiance that can only mean you have reached the threshold.

The clouds part, and down shines the inimitable light of Aman, its golden rays warm and welcoming. To your left stands Galadriel, her crystalline eyes wide with wonder as she stares at the spectacle. And yet, despite her awe, despite her longing, there is also a great sorrow etched into her brow. It reflects a truth she has known since you departed from Lindon – she will not return to Aman until her own work is done. Seeing its light has not swayed her mind, only strengthened her resolve to return when she finally deems herself worthy.

She turns slowly, catches your knowing gaze, and with one look communicates all her words cannot.

You send her a reassuring smile. “To whatever end, my friend.”

The ship nears its destination, the light shines brighter than ever, she takes your hand into her own, and you leap into the water – into the unknown – together.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The Sundering Seas are unforgiving. Your limbs slowly lose their grace from cold and fatigue, and you know as well as Galadriel does, that your chances of survival are dwindling. These seas are too vast, and your only hope of making landfall once more is if you are carried there by ship. Through nightfall and daybreak you have yet to see one on the horizon.

You don’t speak, opting to conserve energy, but Galadriel’s guilt and doubt are palpable and rising with the tide. They have plagued her mind for months now, and Elrond’s words surely echo in her ears when she casts searching glances at you from over her shoulder.

Will you lead more elves to die in far-off lands?

The thought isn’t as daunting to you as it is to her. You have, after all, died before, but you would not have such a thing rest on her conscious if you could help it.  

The skies darken once more, but not with night. A fog descends on the water and grey clouds converge to hide the sun. Despite the unease that suddenly broils in your stomach, you swim towards the coming storm and pray Ulmo shows your mercy.

When salvation finally arrives, Galadriel is the first to see it, and you stop to float beside her as it draws near.

It’s a foreboding sight – a heap of broken beams that protrude like the prongs of a dark crown. But as it approaches, the sky seems to lighten, and you share another look. Anything is better than nothing, it says.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A strong hand grasps your forearm and hauls you up onto the raft. You rest there a moment, on your hands and knees, limbs shaking from exertion and breath ragged. When you look up at your saviour you can’t help but smile in a mix of relief and exhaustion.

“Thank you,” you say, voice thick with gratitude.

You must look a sight, because he stares, eyes wide and lips parted, for what seems like an eternity. Then his hands are on you again, wrapping gently around your elbows and helping you to your feet.

Distantly, you can hear Galadriel conversing with the others – you hope she remembers her tact – but you find yourself transfixed by this strange man who has yet to say a word, who has yet to even blink, whose breath is growing increasingly shorter the longer he stares at you. You wonder if perhaps the sun has made him ill, if dehydration has addled his mind, because he looks at you as if you are some illusion.

You flush under his unrelenting gaze.

“I–I’m alright to stand now,” you say gently to avoid startling him – or worse, offending him. You know little of these people, and there is no reason to believe they are your allies in this.

His brow twitches downward, but his fingers slowly, reluctantly, slip away. At last, he blinks, and it’s as if a veil has been lifted from his mind. Despite his damp hair, tattered clothing, scraped cheek, and possible insanity, he looks quite handsome when he smiles at you.

“Name’s Halbrand,” he says, and his eyes seem to soften when you give him your own.

You think to ask Halbrand just how he came to be stranded on this raft, adrift in the Sundering Seas, but you find out soon enough.

You are old; old enough to sense danger before it appears. It prickles at your senses. Was this the calm before the storm? The raft rocks beneath your feet as large ripples crash into it, and something moves through the fog, something you have never before seen.

When the sea serpent comes, you find yourself thrown into the waters once more.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When the sea serpent comes, it brings with it a storm.

There one moment, gone the next.

With his heart in his throat, he can only watch as you lose your footing. It is almost unheard of for an elf, but your limbs still tremble with exhaustion, and the raft rocks treacherously beneath your feet. You slip on its slick surface, your head strikes the boards with a resounding crack, and though he scrambles to catch you, you tumble into the frothing waves before he can.  

A blur of white dives in after you.

His mind reels, it has been ever since you looked up at him with those unmistakably kind eyes – eyes he would recognise anywhere. For a moment he thought he’d strayed into another of his vivid dreams, and even now he is not entirely convinced he hasn’t.

But there is little time to waste on speculation. If it is real, if you are here, then there is a very high chance he might lose you again in the space of mere minutes. And that is not an option.  

He has a choice to make when neither you nor your friend resurface after an agonisingly long moment. Does he abandon the raft and retrieve you himself, or does he trust that the elleth won’t get the both of you killed?

He doesn’t like relinquishing control, least of all when the fate of something so significant hangs in the balance, but what hope does he have of returning you to shore if he loses the raft to the storm?

Thankfully, It is a decision he does not have to make. A golden head breaks through the waves with a loud gasp, and the tension rushes out of him in a shuddering exhale when he sees she is not alone.

When he pulls you from the water a second time, your body is limp and there is a bleeding cut on your brow that will need tending.

“She isn’t breathing,” your friend pants, collapsing onto the raft beside you.

It’s not the way he imagines feeling your lips against his after so long apart, but she is right, and propriety is the least of his concerns as he puts his mouth to yours and breathes air into your lungs.

Your body quickly jerks beneath him, and he turns you onto your side as you hack up a mouthful of water.

“Easy,” he soothes, pressing a reassuring hand between your shoulder blades. You look so small and frail like this – two things he knows you are not – and his protective instinct surges. 

He pulls gently at your shoulder to help guide you onto your back once more, and you catch his hand before it withdraws. Your skin is icy cold to the touch, and your bleary eyes blink up at him sluggishly.

“Halbrand…” you manage to mumble before your eyes flutter shut and your fingers slip away.

He smothers an irritated huff as he glances at your friend. Were you alone, he’d rid you of your soaked smock and let his heat warm you, but even now, as her eyes droop and glaze over in exhaustion, your friend watches him warily. He’s almost grateful for her protective nature – it is a relief to know you have found an ally willing to risk her life for you. But it also grates. He is not a threat, not to you, and he is far more capable of protecting you than she is. She will learn as much, in time.

Sleep slowly but inevitably overpowers her, and the moment it does, he lies down beside you and draws you into his arms. 

It has been a long time since he’s held you this way – too long – and it reminds him of all he has taken for granted. It reminds of the times you would kiss the hollow of his neck and trace soft circles into the skin of his sternum; the way you would press your ear to his chest and let his heartbeat lull you to sleep. Sometimes the warmth of you, the comfort of your presence, would coax him into the dreamworld as well, and other times it would keep him awake long into the night, so he could marvel at his own good fortune.

He holds your trembling body tight to his chest, careless of the sea water that drips from your clothes and seeps into his own. He is fire, in the end, and nothing has made him burn quite so brightly as you have. So, he guides your face into the warm crook of his neck and wills warmth into your bones as day fades to dusk and dusk to dawn. 

That is how the Númenóreans find him. And while they lift your friend from the raft and carry her below deck, they know not to touch you. It may be the look in his eye or the greedy way he clings to you still, but they make no attempt to part you from him and for that he is grateful.

In truth, he fears what he might do if they so much as try.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s barely had a day to come to terms with your appearance, or rather your reappearance, but he has plenty of time to think as he waits for you to wake.

Upon boarding the ship, the Númenóreans led him below deck and offered a spare hammock for your rest.

You lie there now, slightly swaying with each rock of the ship, and he just can’t take his eyes off you. Memories are never enough. They are ephemeral, and in the time it takes him to remember the curve of your jaw, he has forgotten the slant of your nose. You are never quite whole in his mind, not like you are now, and he is never quite whole without you.

Millennia have passed, and yet here you are. Why? And why now? Part of him doesn’t care for the answer, but the other part knows he must ask the question. The Valar never do anything without reason, and this is no small thing – not to him.

There is only one conclusion he draws that truly makes sense.

You are a sign; a peace offering. Stranded at sea with his ship besieged by a sea serpent, his path to repentance may have been hindered, but he had tried to do the right thing by returning to Aman, and perhaps that had been the sign they needed to show him mercy.

Your return is beyond mercy. It is a dream, a fantasy, a reward he doesn’t deserve but cherishes nonetheless.

But, he thinks.

There had been no hint of recognition in your eyes. No sign of the adoration you once gazed at him with. And though it hurts, he reminds himself that this human guise is not the fair form he donned in the First Age. It is not the form you had fallen in love with, and that brings new doubts to his mind.

Perhaps your return isn’t a reward at all, but a punishment. Perhaps you will never love him as you once did, and he will be destined to admire you only from afar, to pine and yearn and ache for you, and never be able to have you. Could he survive such a thing twice?

Even now, as he watches you sleep, face soft in rest, his fingers itch to hold you again, to stroke your hair, to trace your cheek. The last time he’d seen you, your body had been bathed in the fiery glow of a red dawn, broken and bloodied and empty of its soul. His Master’s mark carved into your flesh.

He forces the image from his mind with a clenched jaw. While he tells himself that the past no longer matters – that Melkor is all but dead, and you are very much alive – he has harboured this rage and agony and despair within him for millennia, and he will never truly be free of them.

He is pulled mercifully from his thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps. They come to a slow stop beside him, and he tears his eyes away from you for a moment to glance up at the Captain – Elendil, he recalls. There is clear nostalgia in Elendil’s eyes as he looks at you, a mingling of tenderness and grief that makes it clear this is a man who has loved and lost – and that is a pain Halbrand knows intimately.

“For your lady,” the Captain says softly, holding out a pouch and waterskin. This too feels like a peace offering, one Halbrand accepts with a grateful nod and murmured thanks.

The cut on your brow is still tender and open, but it no longer bleeds. You will heal well, as all elves do, but he flips the pouch open anyway. He wets a clean cloth and dabs gently at the crusted blood on your brow as Elendil’s footsteps slowly retreat.

You don’t react to his ministrations, and he’s almost grateful to have a reason to touch you again – there’s no telling if he will ever be welcome to do so again.

No, he thinks stubbornly, that will not be his fate. He has not spent an eternity praying for this chance only to squander it. The familiar spark of ambition was lit the moment he laid eyes on you, and it is exhilarating. An old challenge; a new purpose. For the first time in a long time, he is not content to simply roam without direction. He can see his destination. What he doesn’t know, is how to reach it.

And so, he spends the next several hours imagining how he will woo his wife once more.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It doesn’t go entirely to plan.

He is forced from your side when your friend wakes. Galadriel, as he learns her name is.

She watches him with thinly veiled suspicion and asks more questions than he knows to answer about the ship, the crew, its Captain, and their destination. What’s more, there is no subtlety in the way her eyes dart between your still form and his, perched on the stool beside you. He is too close for her liking and too far for his own. A stalemate, one he has a feeling will become all too common from this moment onward. This time, he will concede.

He hides his irritation with an innocuous smile.

“I need to stretch my legs, and the Captain doesn’t want her left alone overlong,” he lies. “Would you mind?”

His words have the desired effect. The tension leaves her shoulders, and she gives him a nod.

He wants to be there when you wake, wants to be the first thing you see, but the need to worm his way into Galadriel’s good graces outweighs his desire – it must if he hopes to worm his way into your good graces as well.

So, he stands and retreats into the cool night air.  

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

You dream of a man – the same man as always, but this time the image of him is clearer in your mind. Not by much, but enough for you to realise he is tall, his arms are strong, and his hair resembles silken strands of white gold. His face, however, remains a mystery.

You try to discern his features; the smile you hear in his voice, and the eyes you feel lingering on your form. But they are just beyond your grasp and obscured by a light that rivals that of Aman. He must be so beautiful.  

If not in face, then in soul, because you have never felt this way before. It is only in these dreams that you know love, and joy, and peace, and comfort. The waking world is for everything else, and much of the time you rue returning to it.

How you wish you could remember him. How you wish you could learn of his fate and perhaps find him once more.

Would he remember you? Would it please him to see you again? Or had too much time passed?

Gentle fingers grasp your chin. A gold band glitters on the index finger of his right hand. It is beautifully crafted, by what must have been the greatest of smiths. You know what it signifies, and so, you aren’t entirely surprised to find a matching band on your own finger – somehow, it even eclipses his in splendour.  

“You are troubled, my love.”

You can’t help but huff a soft laugh, it’s watery and distressed, and enough to prompt him into action. He pulls you into his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, and the other tracing soothing lines along your spine.  

“I fear I’ve lost you,” you mumble into his chest and feel it vibrate beneath your ear as he hums.

“Then I will just have to find you again, won’t I?” He says it so simply, so absolutely, as if there is no doubt in his mind he will do so.  

“Would you?”

“Would I?” Now it is his turn to laugh. Your eyes slip shut at the press of soft lips to your crown, and you wish to hold onto this moment forever. “Always.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s reluctant to admit it, but the fresh air does him good. Thoughts of you still swirl in his mind – they have done from the moment he met you, so that’s hardly new – but he’s regained some of his composure. It wouldn’t do to be so obvious around the Captain, around Galadriel, as he has already been, so he pulls himself together in this brief moment of respite.

For now, he must pretend – pretend he doesn’t know you, pretend he doesn’t love you, pretend he is okay with pretending.

It’s something he’s come to be quite good at over the years.

He heaves a deep breath and braces his hands against the gunwale as he stares out across the seemingly endless horizon. The waves have calmed, lapping gently at the ship’s hull, and they reflect the pale light of the stars and moon.

He’s paid the night sky more attention in recent millennia than he ever has before. The stars seem to shine brighter than usual this night, and he suspects he knows why. He swallows thickly – his pride is a heavy thing – and his lips curve in a small and humble smile. Gratitude costs you nothing.

“Thank you,” he murmurs into the night.

The stars twinkle, and he clears his throat uncomfortably. The sudden sound of muffled voices comes as a relief.

“—costs you nothing. If you won’t thank him, I will.”

He peers over his shoulder in time to see you emerge from below deck. There is a disapproving frown on your weary face he is all too familiar with – and glad to not be on the receiving end of for once.

Galadriel walks at your side, her lips set in a thin and equally disapproving line. You communicate without words when you realise you’re not alone – a pointed look, a raised brow, an exasperated huff.

He tries to ignore the swell of envy he feels at your familiarity with each other but takes solace in the fact that he still knows you better than she does. You have not changed, as he has, in your time apart. Unfortunately, that only makes him crave you even more – makes him yearn for that same familiarity, that sense of belonging and completeness he’s gone so long without.

He feels more like himself when he’s with you.

But one thing he has always been – then and now – is patient.

Your face brightens when you meet his eye, and he greets you with a charming smile as you approach him. “Awake at long last.”

“Yes,” you laugh lightly. “Galadriel tells me I owe you great thanks for overseeing my recovery.”

“Does she?” He can’t help but glance over at Galadriel dubiously before meeting your eye. She hovers in the background, fists clenched and jaw tight, and he almost smirks at the sight. If she is this unsettled by mere gratitude, she’ll surely be furious when you come to him with love instead.

“Well,” you smile, and it's wide and knowing and achingly familiar. “Not in so many words. But I am grateful nonetheless. Thank you.”

You give his forearm a gentle squeeze. It’s nothing to look into, a subconscious move to emphasise your appreciation, but his fingers still tighten around the gunwale at your touch.

Patience, he reminds himself.

“Happy to be of service,” he quips light-heartedly, and you share a smile.

No, he thinks, admiring the light in your eyes and the warmth in your smile. Whether you were reborn for his benefit or merely your own, it did not matter.

This could never be a punishment.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Almost done with the other requests too, so I’ll probably be posting them within the week! Anyway, I hope this was okay – let me know what you think!

#halbrand x reader #halbrand #Rings of Power #rings of power fanfiction #sauron x reader

[muninnhuginn]

Season Two Link Click Thoughts

I've put this below a cut because it gets long, but these are just my assorted thoughts on s2 in general. It's going to be waaaay more opinions than my usual speculationy kinda deal and contains spoilers for all of season two.

I hit character limit on my bullet points so I think that's my cue to leave it at that even though I have more thoughts honestly. I didn't even know that was a thing.

Pacing. I think pretty much everyone can agree that the pacing was... dubious. This series could have easily been shorter or had different meaningful content rather than repeated footage reuse for flashing back and overly extended fight scenes (episode 7? I think it was, was particularly egregious about this). I get there's presumably a fanbase for fight scenes and I won't contest that they were really nicely choreographed, but sometimes it felt like you'd take a break from actual events to spend ten minutes on a fight scene that didn't really... further anything else? I do enjoy recontextualisation and I recognise that that does require reusing some aspects of footage rather than entirely reanimating scenes when there's no need to, but at the same time, this is a series that is lowkey set up for binging. Flashing back so frequently when it's a series specifically engineered to make you binge it (hi constant cliffhangers) seems an odd recipe. I almost wonder how much of this was for production reasons, though maybe I'm overreaching here.

Linked to this is the overuse of cliffhangers. Season 1 had some cliffhangers, yeah, but it at least had breaks between arcs and more importantly, didn't repeatedly move the chronology of scenes purely to service an artificial cliffhanger.

Art and animation was mostly very nice. There were two episodes that did suffer art-wise (episodes three and eleven) with various off-model faces, but for the most part it was all pretty solid and I don't have any complaints about the animation. My favourite part of the art is still the almost rainbow outlines you get around objects. It made scenes like the Lu Guang speedboat one look gorgeous with the lights and colour on the water.

Mystery. Okay, so for all my qualms I genuinely think the mystery aspects were almost perfect. There were a couple of places I feel they somewhat 'cheated' but otherwise (the twin with the photo in the hospital doorway looking like tianxi in a close up shot. and then cxs/wj acting possessed in ep 6 but having their eyes appear normal at first and only having them changed the next episode. I'm fine with false negatives on the eyes when the audience isn't yet cued in on a possession, but in this case it looked like they were possessed up until the eyes showed otherwise)? Everything made total sense and tied together by the end. Even going into episode 12 we had a couple of gaps in scenes in Chen Bin and Liu Lan's death that I think it would be incredibly easy to overlook considering we "knew" what happened in them, but the hints were there in both cases that there was more to it and those hints paid off. Even Liu Xiao's identity worked just fine without the hat guy visual. All the hints were there about a younger favoured brother of the Liu family, Li Tianchen's new friend being a rich "Master Liu", him being abroad studying but stated as "soon to return" (which he then did). There are so many threads and they all tied together by the end such that even if I didn't always agree with the delivery, I do think this season is worthy of being called an excellent mystery.

Characters. So, okay, we introduced a whole host of new characters this time which was a choice. This sorta worked sorta didn't. The arcs of Qian Jin and the twins all tied together thematically and episode 9 was pretty explicit drawing the parallels together. However, we had characters like Qiao Ling not getting much new material at all despite a hopeful start with her scene about "wanting to be trusted".

Unfortunate implications (my head automatically goes to TV Tropes with this :V). Mainly surrounding the use of female characters as devices to propel the male characters. LTX is the most obvious instance (I shouldn't have to explain why), but Wang Juan was also treated as though she would be important and then largely shunted off to apply more pressure to XL; Liu Min's mum taking the hysterical role. On their own they may not be too bad, but I guess it's that it's combined with the stuff around Emma from s1 where the big 'twist' in the finale is killing her once there's a hope spot, and also added to how the mother in the Doudou episode is the one who's reverted to a younger age, whilst the dad is exhausted. Just a whole load of stuff that individually on their own don't necessarily mean anything but when put together forms a pattern I'm not super comfortable with? I do get the impression that show is well-meaning in terms of this stuff (QJ and LF especially point that way) but feel like it still fell down in a few places and could have done better with these aspects.

Lu Guang going back to save CXS confirmed. Admittedly I am incredibly biased to this type of plot, but I'm so glad they confirmed it. We haven't been given many specifics around when he went back from/to and I imagine we'll get more next season so I'm holding off judgement on all that for now (the paradox implications have me a bit worried but until we know more about the mechanics I can't judge). That said, I really liked the scene where it was comfirmed (the darkened shot of Lu Guang covered in blood my beloved) and am thinking that Qiao Ling having knowledge of Lu Guang's memories will mean she has to play a bigger role next season. There's no point in giving her that knowledge if it won't go somewhere. Relatedly, it seems like dying does pass on the powers and that's how we got LTX->QL and CXS->LG. It doesn't seem like Qiao Ling fully realises though if she has got Tianxi's powers (and it's been two months), but I suppose it's not exactly something you *would* realise if you didn't know what you were looking for or had previous experience with these powers.

I do genuinely think that this season was a case where the new characters were written around the existing ideas of the story and the themes which means they're interesting to analyse but I didn't feel like moments hit anywhere near as emotionally as season one? I think the parts where season two was able to approach season one's level of emotion were mainly around the twin's backstories. Meanwhile Qian Jin and Xiao Li's whole deal is interesting in theory but in practice I didn't have much reason to care for Xiao Li. Suffering to make the audience empathise only really "works" if there's more beyond that.

Lu Guang-Li Tianchen parallels make me sad. There are plenty of similarities in how they treat CXS and LTX respectively but I keep thinking of how their final choice in s2 is to either commit to preserving the past (Lu Guang with CXS) or to let go of the past (Li Tianchen with LTX and his mum). And how typically, clinging to the past is seen as a bad thing and letting it go a good thing. But in this case it's almost the opposite? I'm not saying it's healthy for Lu Guang to deny Cheng Xiaoshi's death, but I do think the story will eventually align behind him on this choice. And I think that Li Tianchen leaving the past behind in this case is more about trying to forget his trauma and in the process just digging himself deeper, deliberately choosing to forget the very person he fought to protect.

General s3 spec (keeping it brief). Li Tianchen confirmed that he obtained Liu Min's phone for Liu Xiao and it has info on it Liu Xiao needs but we still don't know what's on it beyond Qian Jin's comment about "family secrets". In terms of Liu Xiao himself, he didn't get much airtime but what he did have he made count. He mentioned about wanting to make "uncertainties into certainties" and the idea that there are "parallel lines". This pretty much sets him up against Lu Guang in terms of aim and seems to suggest our understanding of time travel mechanics is about to get a serious update next season. Also, the new "paranormal section of the police force" seems incredibly pointed. I don't really want it to get a huge focus honestly but with the way the scope has widened each season I don't think I'll get my wish.

#link click #link click spoilers #shiguang daili ren spoilers #long post #sorry I've just been sorta adding to this in a fugue state without checking any of the actual episodes for reference #so please forgive if my memory is blatantly lying to me. it does that.

[britneyshakespeare]

I began, by being singularly cheerful and light-hearted; all sorts of half-forgotten things to talk about, came rushing into my mind, and made me hold forth in a most unwonted manner. I laughed heartily at my own jokes, and everybody else's; called Steerforth to order for not passing the wine; made several engagements to go to Oxford; announced that I meant to have a dinner party exactly like that, once a week until further notice; and madly took so much snuff out of Grainger's box, that I was obliged to go into the pantry, and have a private fit of sneezing ten minutes long.

I went on, by passing the wine faster and faster yet, and continually starting up with a corkscrew to open more wine, long before any was needed. I proposed Steerforth's health. I said he was my dearest friend, the protector of my boyhood, and the companion of my prime. I said I was delighted to propose his health. I said I owed him more obligations than I could ever repay, and held him in a higher admiration than I could ever express. I finished by saying, "I'll give you Steerforth! God bless him! Hurrah!" We gave him three times three, and another, and a good one to finish with. I broke my glass in going round the table to shake hands with him, and I said (in two words) "Steerforth, you'retheguidingstarofmyexistence."

I went on, by finding suddenly that somebody was in the middle of a song. Markham was the singer, and he sang "When the heart of a man is depressed with care." He said, when he had sung it, he would give us "Woman!" I took objection to that, and I couldn't allow it. I said it was not a respectful way of proposing the toast, and I would never permit that toast to be drunk in my house otherwise than as "The Ladies!" I was very high with him, mainly I think because I saw Steerforth and Grainger laughing at me—or at him—or at both of us. He said a man was not to be dictated to. I said a man was. He said a man was not to be insulted, then. I said he was right there—never under my roof, where the Lares were sacred, and the laws of hospitality paramount. He said it was no derogation from a man's dignity to confess that I was a devilish good fellow. I instantly proposed his health.

Somebody was smoking. We were all smoking. I was smoking, and trying to suppress a rising tendency to shudder. Steerforth had made a speech about me, in the course of which I had been affected almost to tears. I returned thanks, and hoped the present company would dine with me tomorrow, and the day after—each day at five o'clock, that we might enjoy the pleasures of conversation and society through a long evening. I felt called upon to propose an individual. I would give them my aunt, Miss Betsey Trotwood, the best of her sex!

Somebody was leaning out of my bedroom window, refreshing his forehead against the cool stone of the parapet, and feeling the air upon his face. It was myself. I was addressing myself as "Copperfield," and saying, "Why did you try to smoke? You might have known you couldn't do it." Now, somebody was unsteadily contemplating his features in the looking-glass. That was I too. I was very pale in the looking-glass; my eyes had a vacant appearance; and my hair—only my hair, nothing else—looked drunk.

Somebody said to me, "Let us go to the theatre, Copperfield!" There was no bedroom before me, but again the jingling table covered with glasses; the lamp; Grainger on my right hand, Markham on my left, and Steerforth opposite—all sitting in a mist, and a long way off. The theatre? To be sure. The very thing. Come along! But they must excuse me if I saw everybody out first, and turned the lamp off—in case of fire.

Owing to some confusion in the dark, the door was gone. I was feeling for it in the window-curtains, when Steerforth, laughing, took me by the arm and led me out. We went downstairs, one behind another. Near the bottom, somebody fell, and rolled down. Somebody else said it was Copperfield. I was angry at that false report, until, finding myself on my back in the passage, I began to think there might be some foundation for it.

A very foggy night, with great rings round the lamps in the streets! There was an indistinct talk of its being wet. I considered it frosty. Steerforth dusted me under a lamp-post, and put my hat into shape, which somebody produced from somewhere in a most extraordinary manner, for I hadn't had it on before. Steerforth then said, "You are all right, Copperfield, are you not?" and I told him, "Neverberrer."

David Copperfield by Charles Dickens, Chapter 24: My First Dissipation

#i reread this passage so many times bc i just could not stop laughing #diana rereads david copperfield #frankly steerforth youAREtheguidingstarofmyexistence #a line i have not stopped quoting in five years #dickens #david copperfield

[vendettaparker]

Happier Than Ever [T.H]

“[...] that shit's embarrassing, you were my everything, And all that you did was make me fucking sad. So don't waste the time I don't have. Don't try to make me feel bad.” -Billie Eilish (Happier Than Ever)

Summary: After another disastrous date with your boyfriend, a handsome British stranger is left to help you pick up the pieces of your broken heart, and relearn your self-worth.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: swearing, slut-shaming, implications of drinking, typos (i’ll go back through later and fix them)

a/n: i’m so so so happy with how this turned out! Billie Eilish’s new album definitely gave me the motivation i needed to get this fic finished and out. i really love her new songs and i think she did a great job with this most recent album. i hope you guys love this fic as much as i do, and as always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! love you!

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Love is like a contractual agreement,” Your sister had told you once, “you promise to be faithful and love him, and in return, he is faithful and loves you. It’s a very simple concept at its core.” You were only eleven when she began to shed her wisdom and insights on love, and since you were so close, you ate up every lie she fed you.

In the end, she never knew anything about love. She probably never even felt it. She just wanted to give you hope. Hope that maybe love in your life would be different. She had just called off her engagement to her boyfriend after finding out he was married. That was the hardest day of her life. And though it wasn’t hard for you in the same sense as it was to her. It taught you something more valuable than she ever did. It taught you that she had no idea what love is. She never knew, and your whole life she kept telling you that love was perfect and happy, but in reality, love was messy and complicated, and it hurt more than it healed. 

At least, that’s how Ryan was. 

After you realized your sister was giving you false hope, you did what no twenty-something year old should do; you settled. 

You settled with your high school sweetheart even though you knew the flame was dying. Even though you were unhappy most days and alone most nights. You settled. You settled because this must be love. If love isn’t perfection and bliss, then this must be it. This must be as good as it gets.

“Are you ready to order, Miss?” The waitress asked as she strolled up to your table. 

“Sorry,” You shook your head, “a few more minutes, please? I’m waiting on someone.” 

The waitress gave you a kind smile, but you could already see the pity behind her eyes. You tried going to this restaurant with Ryan last week, but he canceled last minute. The unfortunate part was that it was the same waitress as last week, and it’s like deja vu, being forced to relive the embarrassment of that night. 

“Take your time,” The young woman said, before strolling off, no doubt to tell her coworkers how sad it was to watch you sit there all alone, again. 

You let out a breath, trying to calm yourself so you didn’t end up crying. That’d just make it all the more embarrassing when you inevitably would have to leave, most likely without your dignity. 

“You alright?” The man at the table next to you asked. 

He’d been there for almost ten minutes after you, and already him and his whole party were ready to get their appetizers after getting their drinks. He was with four other men, and the entire time they had all been joking around and laughing, having an amazing time, the complete polar opposite of how your night was going.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” You looked over at him, finally taking in all his features. The fluffy brown hair, the soft, warm, hazel eyes, the crooked, yet perfect nose, and finally the one crooked eyebrow, crazy, yet enticing. 

Tom had been sitting with his friends all night, and though he was having an objectively good time, he couldn’t help but notice how alone and sad you seemed. The minute he walked in his eyes darted to the beauty at the table in the back. He’d never admit it, but he requested a booth when the waiter initially offered them a table, just because he hoped luck was on his side to seat him next to you. 

“Are you sure?” Tom asked, leaning slightly more towards your table and away from his own, “I just can’t help but notice you seem a little...down?”

“Is it that obvious?” You chuckled awkwardly. 

“A little,” Tom shrugged, with a light chuckle of his own. 

You let out a groan and covered your face with your hands, “this is so embarrassing,” you complained, “this is the second time in two weeks my boyfriend has skipped out on a date.”

Tom gave you a sympathetic smile, “Well, he sounds like an ass,” he said, shaking his head, “Um, I mean, respectfully.”

You laughed and waved the comment off, “No you’re fine. He’s been a bit of a dick lately if I’m being honest.”

“Well, before I continue bashing your boyfriend with you,” Tom said with a boyish smile, “my name’s Tom.” He held his hand out across the small aisle way between the tables for you to shake. 

You happily shook his hand, “I’m (Y/N), it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“The pleasure is all mine.”

“Wow, funny and a charmer?” You raised your eyebrows.

“I’m kind of a catch,” Tom shrugged with a laugh.

“Oh, I can tell,” You assured him with a nod, “cute too.” Tom’s cheeks heated up at your compliment and turned red, “sorry that was out of line,” You shook your head, “I mean, I barely even know you. I swear, I’m never this open or flustered, it’s just been a rough night—well, week actually.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Tom assured, “you’re very pretty.”

“Thank you,” You smiled and looked down to cover the rising blush that was no doubt covering your cheeks as well now. 

“Tom,” Harry nudged his brother whilst you were looking down.

“Not now,” Tom dismissed, still too enamored with you. 

“Just go sit with her, mate,” Harry whispered harshly.

“No, that’s too weird.” Tom nudged him back, “she’s waiting for her boyfriend.” 

Harry rolled his eyes before shoving Tom out of his seat and onto the floor next to your table. 

“Ow, you div!” Tom yelped as he tumbled into your table. 

“Oh my God,” You gasped as Tom sat up, “are you okay?” You asked, getting out of your chair and bending down to help him up. 

“Gee, Tom,” Harrison said as he and the boys began to laugh, “you’re so clumsy.” 

“Yeah, wow, we’d hate to have you spilling our drinks or anything,” Harry laughed, “maybe it’s best if you take a minute to compose yourself.”

“You’re all divs,” Tom frowned, “the whole lot of ya.” 

“You can sit here if you want,” You motioned to the empty seat across from you, “I doubt it’s gonna be taken anytime soon.” 

“Thanks,” Tom smiled as he took the seat across from you, “it’s nice to know at least one person here isn't out to get me.” 

The waitress came back around just as Tom was taking his seat, “Can I get you two started with some appetizers?” she asked kindly, handing you and Tom a menu, “We have a new special,” she smiled brightly as she opened the menu for you and pointed to the new item, “it’s Maki coated and fried, served with spicy hollandaise sauce and topped with fresh green onions.” 

You were about to decline and hand her the menu back, but Tom beat you to it, “Sure, we’ll take an order of that. And some champagne when you get the chance,” He said with his signature boyish smile.

The waitress wrote it down and left with a wave while Tom skimmed the menu.

“You didn’t have to do that,” You said, “you should be having dinner with your friends right now.”

“And leave a pretty girl all by herself?” Tom scoffed, “I’d never. Besides I’d much rather spend this time getting to know you, (Y/N).”

Your name rolled off of his tongue so perfectly. It was smooth and sounded like pure honey dripping from his lips. You’d never outright loved your name before, but now, hearing from his mouth, it nearly made you a narcissist with how much you adored it. 

“There’s not much to know really,” You said sheepishly, “I’m just a girl with a shitty boyfriend, sitting alone in a five-star restaurant.”

“Most girls don’t say that,” Tom pointed out, making you chuckle. 

“True,” You nodded, “what do you want to know?” 

The waitress dropped off your champagne just as the conversation between you and Tom began to take off. 

“I don’t know,” Tom shrugged, tell me something crazy, something you’ve never told anyone else. Or something sad, something that stuck with you your whole life.” 

“Hm,” You pondered for a moment while the waitress came by with your maki, “thank you,” You smiled at her before she strutted away. “Well, something crazy is, I’ve never been out of the country. I’ve always lived in the States, but I’ve also always wanted to travel, I just don’t have the time or the means to.”

“Really?” Tom quirked a brow, “That’s crazy, my job has been traveling all over the world. I’m somewhat envious of people who don’t need to constantly update their visa.”

“What do you do?”

“I act,” Tom said proudly, “I’m not that famous though, only been in a handful of films.” 

“He’s lying!” Harry called, “He’s Spider-Man.” 

“Shut up, you twat!” Tom waved his brother off. “I mean I am, but it’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, don’t sell yourself short,” You smiled, “that’s amazing. Marvel is such a cool studio too. I’m a film student, so I’m a bit of a movie geek.”

“But you’ve never seen Spider-Man?” 

You shook your head, “I’ve seen the Tobey Maguire one if that counts?” 

“It most certainly does not,” Tom gasped, “you have wounded me, woman.” 

“My sincerest apologies,” You giggled. 

“Is the happy couple ready to order?” The waitress asked as she strolled up to the table where you and Tom were giggling like little school girls.

“Oh, we—we’re not—uh, we’re just friends.” You and Tom stuttered simultaneously. 

“Oh, my apologies,” The waitress said softly, a little glint of disappointment in her eyes, “what can I get for y’all today?”

“You go ahead, love,” Tom smiled at you, “my treat.”

“Oh, really, I couldn't.” You said, pushing the menu away, “I honestly should get going; I’ve taken up enough of your time tonight.” You smiled politely at Tom and the waitress before you began to rise out of your seat.

“No, darling, really it’s no bother.” Tom insisted. “You’ve had a rough night, it’s the least I can do.” 

“Really it’s fine,” You assured, “I don’t need you to take pity on me.” 

“I could at least call you a cab or walk—”

“Babe,” Ryan startled you, rushing up to give you a half-hearted hug, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Ryan…” You wiggled out of his grip, the waitress and Tom standing idly by, “I texted you the location three times.” 

“Oh, you know how I am with navigation, babe.” Ryan slurred, wrapping his arm around you and pushing you back into your seat. The smell of liquor was evident on his breath, and the effects were clearer in his actions.

“Actually, I was just leaving—”

“No, no,” Ryan dismissed, “I’ve missed too many dates, let’s stay. Look you already got champagne, perfect!” 

You gave Tom an apologetic look as he stood and Ryan shoved past him to take his seat. Tom just nodded before taking his seat back with his mates. 

“I’m so sorry,” You whispered over to him.

“It’s alright, love, I’m just glad you—”

“Babe,” Ryan huffed, “come on, stop flirting with that ass.” 

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention back to Ryan, “I’m not. I was just thanking him for keeping me company while I waited for you.” 

“Good, now get back over here. Come on, you're the one that wanted to have a date so bad.”

You settled back into your seat properly and Tom turned back to his table. He ignored the sympathetic glances of his mates and quickly got back into conversation with them. While you sat dully in your chair, trying to find the little spark you had with Tom in Ryan. 

“Are we all settled and ready to order now?” The waitress asked.

“Yes, I’ll have the New Zealand lamb,” You said, “medium rare.”

“Of course,” The waitress said, writing it down in her little black notepad, “and for you, sir?”

“Shit, I’ve barely got to look at the menu,” Ryan hiccuped, “um, do y’all have steak fries?”

“Yes, we have regular steak fries or sweet potato steak fries.” 

“Ew, gross shit. Uh—” Ryan rubbed his eyes and peered at the woman, “I’ll have a large plate of those, extra salt, extra-crisp, yeah?”

“Of course,” She said, “I’ll be right back with those orders.” 

You envied how she could just walk away. How she could just get away from his stench, while you had to sit, miserable on a date you had planned. The regret was stronger now than it had ever been. 

“How was your day at work?” You asked Ryan, as he scrolled through his phone.

“It was alright, stupid bitch receptionist messed up one of my meeting times.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sure it was an accident.”

“Yeah, I know it was. I just implied it, god, are you slow today or something?” Ryan scoffed with a chuckle.

“Sorry,” You cleared your throat, “I’m just a bit tired.”

“Yeah, you look it,” Ryan said with a smirk, “I like that dress on you, though. Is it new?”

“Yeah,” You smiled, “I didn’t think you’d notice,” You looked down at the shimmery backless dress. It had puffy sleeves that met your elbows and a hue that was glimmering with a tint of purple. 

“How could I not,” Ryan said with a faux smile, “you look like a slut.”

“W-what?” You gasped, holding a hand to your chest, “Why—what—why would you say that?”

Ryan had always made snide comments about your outfits before. It’s always, “That shirt shouldn’t be cropped, you don’t have the figure for it.” or “That top is too low cut, your tits are hanging out.” sometimes it was even, “Your makeup makes you look like a clown.” For once you thought maybe you’d gotten it right. You’d gotten it just the way he liked it. What a stupid thought. What a ruse.

“I mean seriously. Look at yourself, no wonder that dick from the next table over wanted to keep you company, he probably just wanted to get into your pants tonight.” Ryan scoffed, motioning over to Tom’s table.

Tom was in too deep of a conversation to notice the brewing tensions and mentions of himself, but Harrison noticed, and Harrison was livid.

“Mate,” Harrison garnered Tom’s attention and nodded over to your table, where the look of hurt was so blatantly etched onto your face.

“I-I just—I just wanted to look nice for you tonight.” You sniffled, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye with your napkin, “I just bought this dress. I thought it was appropriate for a date.”

“If you were a whore maybe.”

“Hey,” Tom said sternly, drawing Ryan’s attention, “what the fuck man?” 

“I’m just being honest with her,” Ryan defended, “I mean, man to man, you thought she looked nice tonight, right?”

“I did,” Tom agreed, “because she is a beautiful girl and from the short time I talked to her I could tell she had a lovely personality, which is more than I’m sure anyone could say for you.”

“You’re fucking stupid if you think for a second I believe you weren’t just talking to her so you could fuck her later.” Ryan laughed, “I know exactly what you’re thinking.” 

“Really?” Tom raised a brow, “So you know that I’m thinking you’re an arrogant bastard right now?” 

Ryan’s face dropped and turned into a red, angry scowl, “I don’t have to take this shit,” he seethed. “Come on, (Y/N), we’re leaving.” 

“No,” You said, “you’re drunk and I don’t want to be around you right now.” 

“Really,” Ryan raised his brow, “Is that how it’s gonna be? Fine, good luck paying the bill then, I’m closing the bank account, bitch.” Ryan stated, spitting on you before storming away. 

You wiped your eyes from the tears that were running down your cheeks and sullying your makeup. 

“I’m sorry,” You said to Tom as you stood up and began to gather your things, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you tonight. Enjoy your evening.” You gave him a small smile before going to the front desk to sort out your bill.

“(Y/N), wait—”, but you were too embarrassed, too dead set on leaving, that you had already made it to the front of the restaurant by the time Tom had gotten out of his seat. 

When he too made it to the front, you weren’t there, only the hostess and a few stray waiters and waitresses.

“Where did the girl who was just here go?” Tom asked, “She had on a shiny dress—”

“She just left, sir.” 

“Damn it,” Tom ran his fingers through his hair, “do you know where she went or anything?” 

“I believe I just saw her hail a taxi.” The hostess said, “But we took down her information and she’ll be back tomorrow with cash to pay her bill.” 

“No need,” Tom shook his head, “I’ll pay for it.” 

“Are you sure? It’s a bit pricey—”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Tom said, placing his credit card onto the table. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

It was the next morning when you woke up and immediately began throwing away photos and gifts, anything really that had any connotation of Ryan. You were so busy snuffing out his memory that you momentarily forgot that he was still there. Until he woke up with a migraine and demanded Aspirin and water.

“Babe, come on,” Ryan whined, “I was drunk, I didn’t mean any of the things I said last night. I hardly remember it.” 

“Drunk words are sober thoughts, Ry.” You said as you began to pack his things in a bag, “and don’t act like you haven’t said shit like that to me before. I want you out of here in the next two hours. Your clothes are in this blue bag and your personal belongings are in these trash bags. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops.” 

“You’ll call the cops?” Ryan scoffed, “On me? Really? We live together, you can’t kick me out.” 

“You’re living in my apartment, Ryan. I have every right to throw you out on your ass.”

Ryan’s face of anger quickly turned into remorse, but you kept stoic. This needed to happen. It was so long overdue. Last night, even if you never saw Tom again, you felt a spark that you haven't felt in years. You realized that this wasn’t love anymore; it was submission. It was the way people felt when they have given up on themselves, and you were no longer going to be that person.

“Babe, I’m sorry, okay? I swear I am. Come on, let's go out to breakfast and we can talk and work this out. You can’t just throw away a four-year relationship.” Ryan begged.

“See!” You yelled “that's exactly it! I have wasted years of my life with you. Four years stuck in an endless loop of torment. It’s torture being stuck here with you! It’s hell! My personal hell! I have missed so much of my life trying to fix you; trying to fix us! I missed my mom’s birthday for the past two years, I missed my dad’s retirement party, I missed my sister’s funeral, all because you held me back!” You yelled as the hot tears began to stream down your face, no doubt making you look manic, “I’m done letting you hold me back, so get the fuck out!”

Ryan was gone within the hour. It took a lot of screaming and a momentary dial to 9-1-1, but finally, he was gone. And as shitty as the situation was, you didn’t feel nearly as sad as you did when he was with you. You were finally free, and with that freedom came happiness. The happiness you hadn’t felt in so long. 

So there you sat, just enjoying the peacefulness of your apartment. Ordering takeout for yourself, watching the shows you wanted to, calling your mom back home. The little things you never realized you took for granted so long ago. 

Then the doorbell rang.

You opened the door, wallet in hand, only to be met with the honey-dipped brown eyes that helped you in more ways than they’d ever realize.

“Did someone order Chinese?” Tom said with a smile.

“It’s you.” You said, not realizing how wide you were smiling until your cheeks hurt. “I thought you were an actor?”

“I am,” Tom said, “that’s probably what led the delivery guy to hand over your order so quickly. I ran into him on my way up, made me snap a photo with him.”

“How did you find me?”

“I may have snuck a peek at the paper with your info on it at the restaurant last night.” Tom said sheepishly, a light branding of pink covering his cheeks, “too stalkerish?”

“A little,” You chuckled, standing aside to invite him in, “you’re not going to kill me though, right?”

“Tom Holland? A murderer?” Tom gasped in faux offense, “Darling, you must stop bruising my ego like this.” 

You laughed and took the food out of his hands, “I’m sorry, but a girl can never be too safe.”

“True, I mean, I’m not sure if I’m happy you let me in, or disappointed that you didn’t question me more.” 

“Well, I’m happy,” You smiled, “I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Tom said, scratching the back of his neck, “Your boyfriend didn’t hurt you or anything, right?”

“Ex-boyfriend,” You corrected, causing Tom to smile despite himself, “and no, he didn't hurt me.”

“Ex?” Tom asked, just to be sure, “as in, not anymore?”

“Yes,” You chuckled, “as in, not anymore. Also as in, you are free to stay and eat crappy Chinese food and watch South Park with me.” 

“I’d be an idiot not to, darling.” 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

✧tags & moots✧

@ptersmj @princessofguineapigs @peterbenjiparker @cherrytholland​ @itsapeterthing @justapurrcat​ @thirstiestpotato @kelieah​ @iovebug​  @rosyparkers @parkers-gal @starktonyx​ @celestialholland  @hollandcrush​ @scarletspideyy @blissfulparker @spidernerdsblog @spidey-sophie @spideyspeaches @peterparkers-bad-youtube-apology @andilovetowrite @sinisterspidey @asonofpeter @arlo-sanders @boiolay @letssee2468  @white-wolf1940 @fandom-life-12 @hollandsdream @annathesillyfriend @lovelybarnes @miseryholland @wierdteenagenerd @hollandprkr @arvinsescape @super-not-naturall @allthisfortommy @selfcarecap @misshale21 @morganwilliams @loveaffaire @illicitparker @tomfknholland @pogueslandia @tomshufflepuff @harryhollandsgirlfriend @hollandlover19 @worldoftom @hollandsrecs @lauras-collection @lolooo22 @namoreno @thenoddingbunny-blog @bi-lmg07 

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland smut #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fandom #tom holland fanfic #peter parker smut

[astromaki]

part 2 of 5000 $ - shoto todoroki x fem!reader (1597 words)

part 1. (previous)

tw ; minors dni, angst, nsfw, toxic relationship, mention of cheating and breakup, shoto is a complete bastard here

you finally did it.

you broke up with him a week ago. for real this time, not like the last hundred times you'd yelled at him that he was a heartless jerk. just so he could get you into bed the second you calmed down.

no, you threw him in the trash the day after that party. by message, but it was a start.

even your social media status had gone from 'in a relationship' to 'single <3', you'd even reinstalled tinder, and accepted follow requests on instagram from those boys in the same class as you in college.

and shoto seemed to have abandoned you too. no news from him, and you hadn't even run into him on campus in the last few days.

so why did it still hurt to think about him ? why did your lips refuse to say his name ? and why the fuck did your sheets still smell like him despite the many machines ?

so you could tell that you felt a little joy when you saw this message.

he had sent you this two days ago.

and it's been two days, you've been wondering if it was a good idea to see him again right away.

never mind, you were already at his door. besides, you didn't have to talk to him, just take back what belonged to you and go home. it couldn't go wrong ? right ? it's ridiculous, you even had to convince yourself now.

you knocked, once, twice, three times. you could hear someone inside. and you knew he didn't have a roommate. this rich kid could buy the whole building if he wanted.

fuck. you just had to go in and get your stuff, and it's like you were never there. he wouldn't notice you were there.

you opened the door, and were surprised to see a second pair of shoes at the entrance next to shoto's sneakers. which is more like a pair of rather feminine shoes, pumps.

a strange feeling made you shiver. it wasn't like you to track down your exes, but you don't remember seeing a new girl with shoto on social medias.

slight, imperceptible sighs escaped from his room a little further into the apartment. bed squeaks, that male growl you knew all too well.

fuck. fucking hell.

you knew what it was, you knew what those noises were, who was causing them. why he had asked you to come and get those so-called forgotten things.

and yet you still walked to his room, your brain screaming at you to turn around and stay away from that boy and his unmitigated evil. your heart telling you the opposite, to keep going to find out if he still cared about you. no matter how small, you wanted to know, you had to know, if you ever meant anything to him.

or if you were just a joke, that he could throw a little money around.

"shoto, fuck, yes, right there oh fuc-"

you felt tears welling up in your eyes when you finally saw shoto vulgarly fucking a girl in that room, where you used to spend all your evenings.

but that wasn't the worst part. it was that he had taken your best friend to bed, ochako.

"you're so fucking good, i -" he says in a low voice.

he had already created that crack in your heart. but now ?

his blue and gray eyes finally met yours, his gaze was nothing but arrogance and contempt. the only things he ever felt for you. and even though he was fucking your best friend, busy pacing back and forth, he had the nerve to look you up and down. a smirk lit up his face.

and that asshole finally said the three words he never disdained to say to you.

"i love you ochako," he finally said, looking you straight in the eye. you're the best sex i've ever had. "

his words were spoken clearly, slowly, so that they were articulate for you to hear. a mixture of anger, and sorrow suddenly overtook you

as if you had come back to reality, you suddenly left the room. your steps were disordered, you had lost all your balance, gravity seemed to be slightly stronger. your hands dropped some objects on your way.

what was wrong with you? why?

ochako had finally noticed you after her orgasm, and weakly called out your name, as if begging you to come back would make things better. that he was cheating on you was one thing, but with her ? the one who had pushed you to leave him?

you could hear heavy footsteps following you down the hallway to the front door. and a muscular hand grabbed your wrist to turn you around in one simple motion.

obviously, who else ?

"so you just walk into people's houses without knocking now?"

wow, how did he manage to make you hate him a little more every time he opened his mouth ?

"stop it. don't mess with me. you sent me a message to come in today to get my stuff." your voice was firm.

his face was as haughty as ever, yet he already seemed a little more natural and relaxed than the other times. you would have found it attractive if it wasn't after a romp with your best friend.

"ah, that's right. and so it's okay? you got everything? "

his deceptively kind voice made you want to scream. to take anything and throw it at him. he still had this annoying habit of driving you crazy even after you'd broken up. you wanted to hurt him like he'd been hurting you for months.

but your shaky, broken voice didn't reflect your desires. you were about to cry.

"i don't understand why? why you're being so mean to me. i'm not stupid, shoto, i know that you invited me here today just to see you fuck her."

his face hadn't changed, nor had his eyes. he was glaring at you miserably. as usual.

"i was hoping we could talk if i came to your door so we could maybe work things out, get off to a good start." and it's true, that message he sent you had falsely given you false hope. and you had fallen off the deep end.

a slight sigh escaped his lips. that slight sigh that made the cup overflow.

"why do you care ? we broke up, right ?"he said it in such a carefree tone.

"fuk you shoto. fuck you. you don't even realize how fucking toxic you are! you throw money around to get what you want, you fuck with people and play with their feelings! you're a fucking asshole. and you're a lot like your father for someone who hates him deeply. "

your words of hatred and anger that you had been building up for weeks, for fucking months, poured out on him like a lava flow.

it was mean, it was sincere, and it hurt shoto. it hurt him to see that he had done too much this tim.

his emotionless gaze watched you get angry, cry, push him, hit him, dry your tears that he couldn't tell if they were of melancholy or rage. he saw you push his hand away as he tried desperately to calm you down.

you couldn't see it, too busy screaming and drying your tears, but you managed to wring a sincere expression from shoto.

he was just panicking. he was panicking because he knew he had crossed the point of no return. that not even $5,000 or $10,000 or even $50,000 would bring you back.

his love, full of flaws, who never knew a healthy role model from his parents, would not be enough to make you stay. not to leave him alone.

because we know the cliché, the rich boy who didn't know how to love. didn't even know how to make the one person who always cared about his own selfish self, stay. but that was shoto though. he was that boy who only had toxic love to give.

but please don't leave him for good, he was begging you mentally.

if he had put his pride aside to express himself or even make you understand, maybe you wouldn't have left.

"i hate you shoto todoroki. i fucking hate you. but know that you'll end up alone, you and your stupid money. and i'll be the first to laugh. "

fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck.

" i- y/n just wait- "

he didn't think you'd hate him so much. the young man knew he was just an asshole with a fat bank account. he just thought that by fucking your best friend he'd get you to come back to him, out of desperation, out of a desperate love.

he didn't think he would feel such a pressure on his chest when he saw you slam the door, leaving him alone in the apartment with your best friend and a big hole in his heart.

he didn't think he'd regret his actions. he was a rich guy who always wanted what he wanted, whether it was money or sex. so you were easy. right ?

he never imagined that he would miss your perfume, your exasperating smiles, that he would miss you.

you were barely gone, and he knew he would miss you.

a/n ; i've never written such a nasty shoto sorry 😟 kinda want to leave this story like this...

please lemme know what you thought about this second part, should i make a third one ? (+ reblogs are appreciated <3)

🔖 taglist; @deepestranchgoopdeputy @kizuatonoaiko

#bnha x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #shoto todoroki x you #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x y/n #shoto x you #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki angst #shoto smut #shoto torodoki #todoroki x y/n #todoroki shoto x you

[rcksmith]

Invigorating — Five Hargreeves

Request : “Hii so i was thinking about some fic/headcanons where five discover that his powers are stronger when he is with reader.”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here!!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

I hope I got close to what you wanted. I thought it was better to do it in fic, but it was just out of personal preference, I hope you like it, I found it very adorable to write. Love u❤️

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Five Hargreeves/Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Nothing, just fluff.

— — — — —

The superhero life was a mess. Behind all the glamor of HQ’s and the romanticization of the media, there were only people trying to cope with their own lives when everything that was expected of them was nothing short of extraordinary. All the Hargreeves brothers knew this. And they carried the weight of the whole world on their backs. It was like trying to breathe with a rock pressed against your chest, purging all hope of relief.

They would never have a normal life, with normal parents or friends. They would always be chained to that sentence that came with their powers. Sometimes, late at night, some of the Hargreeves wondered how much smoother life would have been had they not been born extraordinary.

Five stopped imagining fantasies that would never come true from an early age. He viewed situations with objectivity, coolness and calculus. But life at the Hargreeves mansion was not easy and the only way for him to deal with the traumas and pressures was to push them under the rug. Then Five started to scoff when the brothers talked about having a normal life.

Who did they want to think about it? They would always be circus attractions. They would never have a normal life. So it was better to get over it, because you can't miss what you never had, and it was stupid want to live a false normal life. They would never be normal, it was the curse of the Hargreeves, and Five accepted that.

But you revoked all of his sentences. You were absolutely normal. Typical life, family, friends and routine. And when you came into the life of the Hargreeves and brought the breath of relief that everyone needed, Five felt that rock be lifted from his chest whenever you were close.

And then he knew normalcy. Five tasted the sweet taste that was enjoying a ray of sunshine, a summer breeze, a sunset, all the normal details that you inserted into his life and that now ... now he had something to miss.

During the months, your presence, for Five, was a sigh of relief amid all the claustrophobic, and he felt a certain envy when he saw how Klaus had a way with dealing with people. How he and Alisson always knew what to say, how to act, and how to captivate you to the point where you want to spend more time with them.

It was hell for Five. because you presence calmed all his nerves, your energy soothed the restless air and removed the rock that prevented him from breathing. Five realized how much he liked fresh air. And he didn't know how to make you want to be close to him too. He felt at peace when you were close. And it was an overwhelming discovery.

“Here it is.” You said, handing Five a mug of coffee, without him even asking.

That was one more thing that made you wonderful in his eyes. You two never had a long conversation, but you knew enough, and whenever you were in the kitchen, helping the Hargreeves for breakfast, you knew exactly what to give him.

Okay, to be fair, you knew exactly what to deliver to everyone. For Klaus, passion fruit juice and hangover aspirin, big and fat pancakes for Luther and Diego, Waffles for girls and strong black coffee for him. It wasn't like Five thought you were treating him in a special way.

But... whenever you gave him coffee and your midday sun smile, that was the best part of the day. And he wished, deep down in his soul, that it was special.

He nodded his head. And he drank the coffee knowing that the taste would be nothing short of excellent. Five concluded that you had a habit of turning everything you touched into gold.

“Are you going to see training today to wait for us?” Alisson asked you.

It was Friday, and Alisson, Klaus, Vayna and you had agreed to go shopping after them training. It was not new you and them to go out together, but it was new for you to watch their training. It was nothing formal, just routine, so it was easier to wait for them finishe than you to leave and return.

“If it's okay with you guys.”

The brothers agreed and Five thought it best not to show any reaction. He told himself it was because it didn't matter whether you saw a workout or not, but, deep in his soul, Five knew it was for fear that if you focused your attention on him, you would end up listening to him fast heartbeat.

But if he knew that everything would start in that training, he would have thought twice about going.

You were sitting on one of the mats in the garden, sometimes reading something on your phone while the brothers practiced the training. It should have been routine for them, as usual, but they all had difficult missions last night and felt exhausted to do their best.

Five came to know his own limits, he knew when his body was entering the last reserves and that it would no longer hold its powers. It was like a big battery that he needed to recharge to keep working. He felt the sting in his muscles, a warning that Five came to understand that signaled that his powers were going to fail.

Five was already orchestrating strategies to dodge Diego's knives when, already knowing that it wouldn't work, he tried to teleport. But the blue flash swallowed him up and when he took him behind his brother, and Five felt his muscles revitalized, the shock left him stunned.

It had never happened. But it hasn't happened again in weeks too.

Five spent days trying to understand how his powers took a turn and then retracted the same stake when he trained again. The bite always hit him in the muscles and then his powers left him in the hand. Five could no longer find the invigorating sensation that followed the hooks.

The second time his powers got stronger was when Luther was pissing him off. They had arrived from an exhausting and difficult mission, and that time you asked them to come to your apartment for dinner. Because you knew that the negativity of the mansion would not do well for a situation that had already brought out the best in the Hargreeves. Always the good person. You knew how to alleviate a situation with the smallest of gestures, and it made you look wonderful again in the eyes of Five.

After dinner, Luther was teasing Five, throwing cushions at him across the room, while everyone talked and rested in the living room. You made them feel like it was just a normal end of day. That they were just tired after work, traffic, and not because they were damn superheroes who fought a nuclear leak and terrorists. It seemed to Five that everything was easy and charming with you.

Then, when Luther threw another pillow at him, and Five felt the sting in his muscles, but tried to teleport to strike back anyway, the invigorating air ran through his muscles and the blue flash swallowed him.

Once again, Five was surprised. And suddenly, he forgot why he teleported.

His mind hummed like a propeller, trying to understand what the hell was going on. And that's when his eyes were drawn to you, like magnets.

The world was seemed to run out of breath, the atmosphere slowed and he followed every move you made until your eyes met his. It was instantaneous. A hot desert wind swept Five from head to toe, and brought the hot, overwhelming thought “It's her.” You were doing it. You were the one who left him invigorated. You removed the rock from his chest and he could breathe. His powers were reacting to you, and the realization it that stunned Five.

You smiled for him and went back to talking to Vayna, oblivious to the overwhelming discoveries that flooded Five.

The third time your presence showed that his theory was right was when you two were alone. It was Tuesday night. You were making cocktails with Klaus and laughing when he gave his verdict:

"I am happy that you are beautiful and intelligent enough to know that you must think about several other professions, because you would definitely make a terrible bartender." Klaus put aside a drink you made after making a face.

You laughed, throwing an olive at him.

“Why beauty would help me?”

“Prostitution, perhaps.”

“KLAUS!” You looked at him with amused indignation and you two laughed out loud.

“I'm going to get something good. Don't get out of here.” He stood up, taking his coat.

“Be careful!”

“I always do, baby.” He shouted at the door, leaving.

You laughed at nothing, cleaning up the mess you had made on the counter, throwing the used lemons in the trash.

That was when Five appeared. The mission mask on his face, the uniform slightly scorched.

“Hey.” You smiled as soon as you saw him, your heart beating faster. “All right?” You pointed to his clothes.

“Fire” Five say, sitting on the stools at the counter you were on and opening the bottle of vodka.

You gave him a glass, and Five thanked him silently while filling a shot and turning it all over at once. You couldn't get your attention off him. His hair was black as the background of the galaxy, his lips were red with drink, the mask adorned his eyes. God, he was beautiful and you felt that you could no longer reason consistently.

This always happened when Five was involved. He is a god of Olympus who had the power to destabilize you with just one look. Now, however, the mask delivered that he could swing you just in the presence.

In fact... that mask just made everything more mysterious and attractive. You felt something humming inside you, like a harp string that connects your heart to your belly.

“What?” Five's voice brought you out of the trance, revealing that you were looking at him for too long.

“N-nothing” You tried not to blush.

You turning around to put away the other bottles that Klaus and you had removed. But the floor was damp from the melted ice cubes you both dropped. And you was so stunned that you slipped.

As soon as the world spun and the wind hit your face, you were prepared to fall to the ground when a blue flash protected you and firm arms held you.

The breath drained, the callus increased, and Five was absolutely sure that it was you who made him stronger. You were the one who reinvigorated his powers because when he came out of that fire, the sting in his muscles hit him hard, and he knew he hadn't been able to use his powers anymore.

But when you looked up at him, and Five felt your warm skin on his hands, he knew he couldn't stay away from you anymore. He thought about doing something, his body was screaming for you, but he didn't have a chance. Your fingers touched the corner of his mask, gently contouring the left edge.

“You're Gorgeous...” Your whispered was a breath, but Five could hear.

Then he leaned over and pressed his lips to yours, because he felt he couldn't live any longer if he didn't. And when you kissed him back, his whole battery was recharged and that rock that was choking him was destroyed in millions of pieces.

As soon as you were apart enough to breathe, your fingers removed his mask and curled your fingers in his black hair. And this time, it was you who brought your lips together in the most passionate kiss.

#five fanfiction #five hargreeves #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x you #five x reader #five x y/n #five x you #the umbrella academy #five hargreeves imagine #number five fanfic #number 5 imagine #number 5 x you #number 5 x reader #number five x you #number five x y/n #Five Hargreeves x y/n #Tua fanfic #tua five

[muffinbeliever]

When the Stars Align [08]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Soulmate!Reader

Word Count: 5801

Warnings: language, angst, sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), ANGST, lots of crying, theres dom/sub vibes if you squint, did i mention angst?

Summary: Soulmate!AU– Everyone has the first words their soulmate says to them tattooed on their wrists. You and your cat are living a normal life in Fort Collins, Colorado when three men come bursting through your door, completely changing your life. Reader-insert story. Starts around S06E08, but Sam has his soul, and it doesn’t really follow the series from there

A/N: APOLOGIES ! i have been absolutely swamped with work and exams. i wrote an extra long chapter full of angsty tears because you know i live for angst. i am so sorry for my irregular postings i'm trying to work on it.

Masterlist | When the Stars Align Masterlist

You snuggled closer to the object in your arms, eyebrows furrowing when you realized it was a pillow and not Dean’s bare chest. Despite last night’s unhappiness with your soulmate, you couldn’t deny that you loved waking up with him. Too tired to open your eyes, you patted your hand around the other side of the bed, frowning when cool sheets met your touch. You groaned and cracked your eyes open, squinting them not only because of the puffiness from crying but also from the bright beams of light streaming through your window.

The door opened slowly, and Dean peeked into the room, his wet hair indicating he just showered. When he saw you were awake, he gave you a tentative smile, unsure of how you would react.

You couldn’t ignore the feelings of hurt from last night, but you knew you were being irrational. Besides, you didn’t know how long he was going to stay for, and you didn’t want to ruin your time together. You could be mad at him later. You returned with an equally tentative smile and watched his face relax.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he said, his voice as smooth as honey.

“Good morning,” you responded sweetly, patting the bed next to you, wanting to be close to him. He happily obliged, the scent of his cologne filling your nose. The bed dipped beneath his weight and you curled into his side. Silence fell between the two of you, and you debated your next words.

“Bean,” you started, and he hummed in reply. “I’m sorry about last night. I overreacted and I know that it wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just is what it is.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, nervous that bringing last night up would result in another argument. Dean’s large hand rubbed across your back, and you relaxed under his touch.

“You didn’t overreact,” he murmured into your hair. “I shouldn’t have sprung it on you so suddenly. I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t know how to find the words or even start that conversation. I’m sorry for ruining our date.”

You leaned your head up, his worried expression filling your gaze. Your heart was no longer pounding; instead, it tightened at Dean’s pain.

“Last night may not have ended in a way that we both wanted it to, but by no means did you ruin our date, Dean. I’ve never been out like that before and it was amazing. There isn’t anyone else that I would want to do that with,” you reassured him, hoping your affectionate words wouldn’t scare him away. A hint of a smile danced on his lips before he leaned down, capturing you in a bruising kiss. And God, this man could kiss.

His hand stopped it’s soothing rubs against your back and instead travelled further south, gripping your ass. His tongue was wonderfully playing with yours, his soft lips like pillows. You ran your hands through his slightly dampened hair as he shifted under you, rearranging so that you were straddling him. You could feel how hard he was under his jeans, and you took the opportunity to press against him, slowly grinding your hips, eliciting a noise from Dean that shot straight to your core. He flipped you over expertly, taking control of the situation. His hands were exploring your body, rolling your pebbled nipples with his thumb and forefinger. You shamelessly moaned as he trailed kisses down the side of your neck, nipping at special spots that made you cry out.

You tugged at his shirt and as he tore it off in a hurry, you quickly unbuckled his belt in a swift movement. He slipped off the t-shirt that donned your body, immediately pressing open kisses on your chest as his fingers danced at the waistband of your underwear. You arched your back, a silent gesture of want.

“Patience, baby,” he breathed against your lips, and you couldn’t help the whine that escaped you. He chuckled darkly, and you gazed into his eyes, his pupils blown wide with lust.

“Please,” you whispered, pathetically. Dean smirked.

“Please what, sweetheart? Use your words,” he commanded lowly, and you could feel yourself getting impossibly wetter. He looked down at you, drinking in the sight of your almost-naked body that was writhing with want.

“Please touch me,” you whined.

“Touch you like this?” he asked with false innocence as his fingers grazed your rib cage, his light touches making their way up your body, kneading your breasts. You let out a struggled moan, frustrated with his teasing.

“Or should I touch you like this?” he whispered hotly into your ear, and before the words could fully register in your mind, his fingers dipped below your underwear and into your wet heat. You moaned loudly as thumb lightly circled your clit while his fingers pumped inside you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and his lips were on you in an instant. You could barely think; how could someone be so good with their fingers? The room was filled with your breathy moans and the slick sound of Dean’s fingers in you. You felt your climax approaching, and Dean could feel it too. Suddenly, his fingers were gone as was the light pressure on your bundle of nerves. You whined at the sudden loss of contact.

“When you cum, sweetheart, I want it to be on my cock,” he said roughly and your eyes rolled back in ecstasy as he buried himself in your tightness until he was fully unsheathed. It only took a couple of well-placed thrusts before you were seeing stars, incoherently rambling as he worked you through your orgasm. The snapping of his hips was relentless, and by the time you had come back down from your high, there were only a few seconds before you could feel the pressure building inside you again.

“One more, sweetheart, I know you can do it for me,” he encouraged, and you shook your head, tears forming from the overstimulation of his fingers rubbing your clit and the fullness of his cock. He muttered praises in your ear as you came again, and his thrusts became sloppy as he drove himself over the edge. Spent, he collapsed on top of you, the comforting weight of his body caging you in against the bed.

The two of you laid there for a minute, catching your breath and allowing for your heart to stop racing. Dean pressed a light kiss to your neck before he rolled onto his back next to you. A glance at the clock told you that you had a little over an hour before you had to leave for work. You looked to your right and found Dean already looking at you, a twinkle in his tired eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently, and you nodded with a smile on your face.

“I wasn’t too rough was I?” There was slight apprehension in his voice. You placed a hand on his cheek and your heart fluttered when he nuzzled closer into your palm.

“I like it a little rough,” you admitted with a blush. He flashed you a wide smile and leaned in to kiss you.

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman,” he muttered against your lips and you giggled. He pressed a firm kiss to your lips before pulling away, getting off the bed in search of his boxers.

“Why don’t you go shower and I’ll cook us some grub?” he offered and your heart warmed at the gesture.

“Only if you make bacon,” you teased and he gasped dramatically, his hand clutching his chest.

“As if I would make anything else,” he retorted and you rolled your eyes playfully. You hopped off the bed and walked to the bathroom, uncaring that you were naked. You debated on taking a shower but instead threw your hair into a bun and opted for a hot bath, as your legs were still a little wobbly from your previous activities.

You hissed as the water made contact with your sensitive skin, but soon you were fully emerged, your muscles relaxing into the warmth. Leaning your head back, you sunk deeper into the tub, letting your eyes close. There was a slight clatter of pots and pans coming from the kitchen and you heard Dean quietly curse followed by the tapping of Meatball’s claws against the hardwood floor. You chuckled, envisioning a spooked Dean accidentally stepping on Meatball’s tail and an equally frightened Meatball scampering away. You laid there for a while, the exact time, you were unsure, but you guessed about fifteen minutes if the light pruning of your skin was any indication. Despite how comfortable it was, you didn’t want to keep Dean waiting. You quickly washed yourself before climbing out of the tub.

The tub quietly drained as you brushed your teeth, and you observed your reflection. Despite your tears from the night before, your face wasn’t puffy and your eyes shined brightly. You put on lotion before making your way to your bedroom. You pulled on a soft pair of leggings and a worn sweatshirt. You threw your towel into the hamper and glanced around your room, a smile quirking on your lips when you realized that Dean had already made the bed.

You wandered into the kitchen, a full pot of coffee sitting on the counter as well as a plate of eggs and pancakes. Dean was at the stove finishing up the bacon when he turned to you and winked.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you. When Dean grabbed your empty plate and made his way over to the sink, you protested but he silenced you with a look.

“You gotta get to work. I’ll clean these up,” he said and you sighed, knowing he was right.

“I’ll cook dinner then,” you compromised and he smiled at you. You gathered your purse and keys and Dean kissed you on the forehead along with a whispered promise to see you later. Meatball was sitting by the front door, his tail swishing with slight irritation and you frowned, knowing he was probably jealous from the lack of attention. You picked him up in your arms and brushed your hand over his soft fur. It took several seconds, but soon Meatball’s purrs filled the air and you placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head before setting him back down.

The bookstore was quiet and fairly empty, but you weren’t surprised. As the weather grew colder, people normally stopped coming in as frequently. Only at the peak of Christmas shopping did you see a lot of your customers in the winter. It was a day filled with stocking books and shared giggles with Thomas. The atmosphere between the two of you was back to normal, something you were grateful for. You didn’t want to lose Thomas as a friend. You were still full from the breakfast Dean had made, so by the time lunch had come around, you decided to go home for a little bit rather than eat.

You walked into your house, Dean’s voice echoing from the kitchen. He was on the phone. You weren’t sure who he was talking to, but he didn’t sound very happy. You couldn’t make out the words he was saying other than the occasional “son of a bitch”. The call ended when Dean sighed and said, “Alright Sammy, I’ll see you later.”

The kitchen was silent after that, and there was a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew that he wouldn’t be staying for much longer. Were you going with him? Did he want you to go with him? Are you guys together? This wasn’t a one-and-done type of thing was it?

“I thought I heard you walk in,” Dean’s voice came and you jumped. So lost in your thoughts, you had failed to notice him leaning in the doorway of the kitchen, a small smirk on his lips. He pushed off the wall and walked over to you, cupping your face in his hands and placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“If I had known you were stopping by, I would’ve made lunch,” he said, his eyes held mild concern and there was a slight frown when he noticed that you were drowning in thoughts.

“Sweetheart,” he said, and you shook your head, eyes filled with tears.

“You’re leaving?” You whispered, and his face fell. There were word lines on his face and his eyebrows furrowed. The small part of you that hoped he would bring you with him was crushed, and you understood that he was leaving you behind, again. He pulled you into his arms and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“Y/N, you know why I can’t take you with me, right?” His voice was thick, and there was a sharp pain in your chest when you realized that he too was holding back tears. You were tired of arguing with him. You were tired of the tears and the angst. You just wanted him.

“Be careful,” you whispered, defeated. You could tell he was taken aback, probably expecting you to fight. You stepped away, wiping the tears from your face.

“Be careful, Bean. I’ll be here when you get back,” you said with a sad smile. Because it was true: you’d spend forever waiting for him if you had to.

“I—,” he paused, before shaking his head, clearing his eyes of tears, “I’ll come back for you.” He promised, and you giggled while tears streamed down your face, your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. He wiped the tears from your cheeks and gave you a deep kiss.

Kisses with Dean weren’t unusual, but they were nothing like this. This kiss was filled with emotions left unexpressed and words left unsaid. It was filled with the missed time between the two of you and hope for the future. You weren’t sure when you would see him next, but you were sure that you would remember this kiss for the rest of your life. It was the perfect goodbye kiss, and that is what made it so hard.

He left soon after, not needing to pack anything, as he didn’t have much with him in the first place. With teary eyes, you watched the Impala’s tail lights until they reached the end of your street, turning left and out of sight.

While the reassurance of him returning comforted you, it didn’t keep the tears from escaping your eyes and the sinking feeling in your chest. Deciding to take the rest of the day off, you shot Thomas a quick text telling him that you wouldn’t be returning from your lunch break. Instead, you turned the TV on and cuddled with Meatball on the couch, seeking comfort in your feline companion. If you didn’t know any better, you would think that Meatball also missed the green-eyed hunter, as he kept staring at the door as if expecting Dean to walk through.

Time quickly passed and before you knew it, the sun had set and Meatball was meowing for dinner. You quickly began to regret not fighting Dean more, at least asking him to stay for one more night. But he left in such a rush, you didn’t want to be selfish and keep him to yourself when there could be someone out there whose life depended on him.

The events of the day left you without an appetite, so you filled Meatball’s bowl before retreating to your room. Your eyes fell on the dark henley that was laid out on the bed, and you smiled at the kind gesture. As if on cue, your phone rang and you giggled when you saw a goofy selfie of Dean fill your screen along with his contact name “Batman”.

“I wasn’t aware I had the hero of Gotham’s phone number,” you answered, teasingly.

“Not just Gotham, sweetheart,” came Dean’s low voice and your heart pounded in your chest. How was it possible for you to get this excited over a phone call?

“When did give me your number?” You asked, and Dean chuckled.

“This morning while you were knocked out. It was quite a sight; I took a couple of pictures to commemorate the moment,” he said, and you scrolled through your photos, immediately finding several photos of you sleeping, your mouth wide open and your hair sprawled everywhere. There were a couple of you by yourself but others were with Dean, him making silly faces as you slept.

“Creep,” you joked.

“I can’t help that you’re adorable while you sleep,” came his smooth reply.

“Did you see my gift?” He asked, changing the subject. You nodded before remembering that he couldn’t see you over the phone.

“Yeah, I found it right before you called,” you said, picking up said gift and holding it to your nose. You inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar scent of cologne, leather, and whiskey. For the next couple of hours, the two of you talked about everything under the sun, enjoying each other’s company. You found out that he was a few hours outside of Sioux Falls, and that the normally almost 10 hour drive was dramatically shorter due to the Dean’s speeding. After lightly scolding him about his disregard for his safety, you proposed that he take a plane if he wanted a shorter trip, but he confessed his fear of flying.

It was nearly midnight by the time the conversation lulled, and you were laying comfortably on your bed in Dean’s henley. It was a comfortable silence filled with Dean’s deep breathing and the purr of the Impala’s engine, and you quickly drifted off to sleep.

The next few weeks passed by fairly quickly. Although you missed Dean’s presence, he made up for it with daily calls and endless texts. Every morning, you would wake up to a sweet text from Dean wishing you a good day. The two of you were faring well considering the distance. He would keep you updated on his hunts, as well as Sam’s wellbeing.

You were happy again, Thomas noted as he observed the smile that always graced your face whenever you were talking to Dean. Despite his lingering feelings for you, Thomas truly wanted you to be happy, even if that wasn’t with him.

However, there were some nights that left you feeling empty and those nights were the hardest. You muted your microphone and cried yourself to sleep, not wanting to cause Dean any pain. As the time apart grew, so did the frequency of those terrible nights.

Nearly three months after Dean had left, you were slowly starting to unravel. You began to isolate yourself again, turning down lunches with Thomas and opted to stay in your house when you weren’t at work. You often spent your weekends staring at a blank wall thinking about Dean for hours on end.

You were unsure if it was your imagination running wild or not, but you could’ve sworn that your soulmate was getting more and more distant. Your nighttime calls were getting shorter, often ending before you had fallen asleep, and Dean’s voice seemed to be sharper. You rationalized in your head that he was particularly stressed about this case and that once it was over you would have your goofy partner back.

When you woke up one morning without a text from Dean, you knew that your suspicions were correct. He was pulling away. You wished him a good morning and waited all day for a response that never came. Maybe he was just busy?

At 9:57 PM, your phone rang loudly, startling you from your trance. Your eyebrows furrowed as you saw “Batman” flash on the screen and your heart leaped out of your chest, a wave of excitement but also anger rushing over you.

“Where have you been?” You immediately asked when you answered, not even allowing him to greet you. Your voice was icy, upset with the way you were shut out all day, and Dean knew that he was in trouble.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice defeated, and you knew something was very wrong. There was a deep sigh before he continued.

“Sweetheart, I have to go away for a couple of days and I won’t be able to contact you,” he said and a million questions raced through your mind, but the most prominent of all: why? Conflicted with where to even begin, you let out a shaky breath that you weren’t aware you were holding in.

“Where are you going?” You asked weakly.

“I just gotta finish this case, and I’ll be back before you know it,” he rushed out. You opened your mouth to speak again, but Dean hastily cut you off.

“I gotta leave now, but I’ll see you soon,” he paused, “I’m sorry.”

“De—,” you called out, but it was too late. He had hung up on you. Furious, you tried calling his phone, only for it to go straight to voicemail.

“Dean Winchester, you will answer the phone right now and explain what is going on,” you demanded, before texting him variations of the same command. You tried calling Sam, but much to your anguish, his phone also went straight to voicemail.

“What the fuck,” you muttered, wringing your hands as you tried to figure out a way to contact the brothers. There was no way for you to track them, and you didn’t even know Bobby’s last name, only that he lived in Sioux Falls. You got on your knees and prayed to Castiel, begging for his help, but when there was no flutter of wings nor a handsome man wearing a trench coat in your home, you did the only thing you could do. You cried.

You thought it had hurt when Dean left the first time, but it was nothing compared to the pain you had felt now. This time, you had a glimpse of happiness, a peek into what your future could have held. A future with pancakes and forehead kisses, late nights in bed and early mornings curled around him. You had gotten used to his witty comments and snarky replies, his teasing and affectionate nature. You had finally began to see yourself being happy for the rest of your life with this man, only for it to be taken away, and you hadn’t the slightest clue why.

A day passed without any contact from the brothers despite the numerous calls, texts, and prayers you had sent. You had no idea where Dean was, how long he would be, or if he would even come back. For all you knew, he could’ve just left you, deciding that he could no longer do long distance. Unable to bare being alone in your lonely house anymore, you drove to Thomas’ apartment.

You knocked heavily on his door and noted the look of surprise in his brown eyes, before Thomas recognized your tear-stained face and disheveled look.

“What did he do this time?” Thomas growled, as he stepped aside to let you in. Not in the mood to talk, you merely shook your head as you felt tears welling in your eyes again. Thomas pulled you into a protective hug, and as much as you wanted to find comfort in the embrace, you were disappointed when the smell of lemons and fresh laundry hit you instead of cologne, whiskey, and leather.

Thomas pulled away once you quieted down, dragging you to the couch and insisting that you stayed there while he made you a cup of tea. You glanced around the room, taking in slight differences since the last time you were here. There was an unfamiliar jacket resting on the back of a chair as well as a pair of shoes by the door that you’d never seen before. When a shirtless man walked out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, you remembered Thomas mentioning a few months back that his brother was staying with him for the foreseeable future.

Thomas’ brother, you had forgotten his name, swept his dark eyes over the living room, spotting you on the couch.

“It’s about time Tommy found a girl,” he remarked with a smirk. Something about him made the hair on the back of your neck stand up and sent shivers down your spine. Thomas had briefly told you that they don’t really get along, but that he still wanted to help his brother out. You shook your head, clearing your mind of thoughts.

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you introduced, “I work with Thomas at the bookstore. We’re just friends.” You clarified and noted the man’s eyebrows raise.

“Just friends, huh? I would’ve thought Tommy would mention working with such a beautiful woman,” he drawled before sticking out his hand.

“Dylan,” he said firmly and you looked warily at his hand before shaking it, very much aware that he was practically naked in front of you. Luckily, Thomas stepped into the room, a cup of peppermint tea in his hands.

“Dyl, go put on some clothes,” Thomas instructed, before looking back at you, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Dylan rolled his eyes and sauntered out of the room.

“Sorry about him,” Thomas said. Not wanting to cause any trouble between the brothers, you shrugged lightly before taking the tea.

“What’s wrong?” He kindly inquired, sitting next to you on the couch. You took a sip of your tea before setting it down, letting out a shaky breath. You spent the next hour explaining what had happened with Dean: how he had to leave suddenly for work and the past several months with the phone calls and texts, leaving out the more intimate details. You then told him about Dean’s changing moods and the strange phone call. You told him that you had tried many times to contact him, not mentioning Castiel, and how broken you felt without Dean by your side.

You were a crying again by the time you had finished, reduced to a bumbling mess, unattractively wiping your face with the sleeve of Dean’s henley that you wore for the past two days. It had long lost its scent, but knowing it was his still brought you a shred of comfort.

Thomas cooked your favorite pasta, and Dylan joined the two of you at the table for dinner. Hoping to get your mind off of Dean, you got to know Dylan more, asking questions about his career and his life in Fort Collins. You learned that Dylan was a problem child and he was at boarding schools for most of his life. He dropped out of college early on, much to his parents’ disappointment. He had gotten in trouble with the law for petty theft as well as drunk driving. He was now staying with Thomas as he worked at the mechanic, fixing cars and saving money until he could get a place of his own. Despite your initial impression of the man, you had learned that outside of his snarky demeanor, he was actually quite a decent guy. Him and Thomas weren’t very close as a result of Dylan being five years older and not around for the majority of Thomas’ childhood.

As the pasta disappeared along with two bottles of wine, the three of you delved into deeper topics. You learned that Dylan hadn’t met his soulmate yet and he was afraid he never would. He had a long history with women, and Thomas pegged him as a one-night-stand type of guy. You told him about Dean and the rollercoaster that was your relationship. You successfully avoided questions that directly asked about Dean’s job and the details of his life. It was nearly midnight when your phone rang.

You sucked in a breath, your heart pounding when you saw Sam’s name on the screen. Why was he calling you, after all this time? Why didn’t Dean call you first? Did something happen? You quickly excused yourself from the table, rushing into the living room before answering. “Sam?” You said, shakily.

“Hey Y/N,” came Sam’s tired voice.

“What’s going on? Where’s Dean?” You demanded, furious at your soulmate and his brother for leaving you without a clue as to what was going on.

“Dean didn’t tell you?” Sam asked, his voice twinged with confusion.

“Tell me what?” You asked, your heart racing at the endless possibilities running through your mind. However, none of them was remotely close to what Sam revealed.

“Lisa and Ben,” he said, and you flinched at the woman’s name, “they were kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped? By who?” You asked incredulously. Sam began explaining how demons came after them and how Ben had called Dean. You didn’t mean to, but you tuned out the younger Winchester, caught up in your own thoughts.

Did Lisa tell Ben to call Dean? Is this why he left? Did he have unresolved feelings for this woman? You collapsed onto the couch. You couldn’t cry anymore even if you had tried. No longer buzzed from the wine, you processed everything that Sam had told you, anger rising in your chest.

“Where is he?” You asked, not caring that you had cut Sam off. He sighed before answering.

“The hospital.” The hospital? Why on Earth was he in the hospital?

“He’s not in the hospital, he’s at the hospital. He’s uh… he’s taking care of some things,” Sam said, and you didn’t even realize that you were thinking out loud.

“I see,” you clipped. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Lisa and her son were the unmentioned things and that Dean still deeply cared about them.

“Y/N,” Sam said, “I’m so sorry; I thought you knew. Dean said he took care of everything.” You scoffed.

“He told me that he was leaving and that he would be coming back later,” you said coldly. You took pity on Sam, the tall man always kind towards you and it wasn’t his fault his brother was an idiot.

“Tell him I am expecting a call when he’s done with those… things,” you said before hanging up. You resisted the urge to hurl your phone at the front door, and instead screamed into a couch pillow before rejoining Thomas and Dylan in the kitchen. Thomas took one look at your face and pulled out the whiskey and three glasses.

You winced at the harsh burn as the alcohol entered your body, throwing back glass after glass in hopes of numbing the ebbing pain in your heart. He didn’t want you. He wanted her. He left you so he could be with her. You should’ve known he wasn’t over her, with the way he kept hiding things from you, how he hid their relationship until recently.

It wasn’t long before you were a drunken mess, Thomas insisting that you sleep on the couch as you were in no state to go home. You barely protested, knowing that you would rather be with Thomas in his apartment than in your house by yourself, sleeping in a bed that you and Dean used to sleep in.

A loud ringing from your phone woke you up. A pounding headache and an achey back signaled that you were hungover and on the couch. You didn’t remember passing out, nor did you remember Thomas bidding you a goodnight. You squinted your eyes at the clock on the wall, wondering who would be calling at three in the morning.

You scrambled off the couch as your phone continued to ring, seeing Dean’s face on your screen in that stupid silly picture he took that you hated to admit you loved. Wanting nothing more than to scream at your soulmate, you unlocked the door and crept outside, not wanting to wake up the whole apartment with your yelling.

“How convenient of you to call,” you said cooly when you answered.

“Sweetheart, I—,” Dean started before you cut him off.

“Don’t sweetheart me, Dean. Do you know how worried I was? How confused I was? You suddenly up and left me without a single explanation, and I have to find out from your brother two days later that you were saving your ex-girlfriend? You were in such a rush that you couldn’t explain it over a text or a voicemail?

“God, I cannot believe that you did that! Why did you keep this from me? Do you still have feelings for her? You asshole, you said you didn’t love her!” You screamed, absolutely done with the whole situation.

“What’s next? You’re going to apologize and tell me that she meant nothing, and that you only want me, but the next time another girlfriend of yours goes missing, you’ll be leaving again, without a single word?” You were out of breath now, your chest heaving. The other end was silent, before Dean spoke again.

“It wasn’t like that. I was trying to protect you,” he reasoned and you exploded again.

“Protect me? You keep saying that but all you do is leave me and hurt me. Don’t lie to me Dean, you were trying to protect her and her precious son,” you said venomously.

“You know what Dean? I’m done. Go be with Lisa and that kid. Go live out that perfect life that you had tried to before,” you said, suddenly exhausted. You couldn’t keep doing this. You couldn’t keep fighting with him.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re upset,” he started, “Hell, Sam punched me when he found out you didn’t know. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you, I guess I didn’t want you to worry, but God I’m so stupid. I promise I’m done with Lisa. I had Cas remove their memories of me, so they can live a normal life away from all of this stupid supernatural bullshit. I don’t want her, Y/N. I want you.”

“No, Dean. You don’t get me. Don’t you understand? You chose her. She may not have any memories of you but you sure do have memories of her and the year you spent together. The year you played family. How dare you even be jealous of Thomas, when you’re with her?” You were tired. It was cold.

“I’m done, Dean,” you whispered defeatedly into the phone. “Please don’t call or visit. I don’t want to see you.”

“Sweeth—,” you hung up before he could even get the word out. Bubbling over with anger, you threw your phone to the ground and watched it shatter into tiny pieces. You rushed back inside, throwing yourself on the couch and sobbed until the sun rose.

Taglist: @akshi8278 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @lanea-1 @slamminmine

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[ikeromantic]

Piano Lessons

An ObeyMe! Lucifer fic, approx. 1800 words. G/N MC, Fluff.

The infernal grand piano squatted in one shadowed corner of the music room. To any human, at first glance it looked no different from the version in the human world. A dangerous assumption, you knew. If an easy one to make. This instrument was capable of compositions that would drive a mortal listener mad, or even cause death.

You thought that would be reason enough to be given a pass on your Devilish Music I, but Lucifer didn’t agree. In fact, he considered your ignorance of the instrument and its compositions an opportunity. And that was how you found yourself in the House of Lamentation’s music room every afternoon when RAD let out.

Lucifer was already waiting on the bench. He looked up as you came in, lips compressed in an expression of near-constant disapproval. “You’re late.”

“I’m on time!” You glanced at the clock on the wall.

“If you aren’t five minutes early, that counts as late. Now come here and sit next to me.”

Arguing with Lucifer was futile. Besides, you did want to sit next to him. During your time in the Devildom, you’d developed a bit of a crush on the eldest brother. One that had you working hard to be on the receiving end of his rare smiles and sparse compliments.

Today you were hoping to impress Luci with your rendition from Certovski, Faust’s Mistake. It was one of the mortal-safe pieces you could attempt without risking your mind or your soul.

“Fingers on the keys.” Lucifer’s red eyes followed your hands as you tried for the appropriate position. “Elbows out. Move your left hand in.”

You did as instructed, but apparently you were still off. He reached for your hands, positioning them. Part of you wanted to fight him on it. The rest of you just enjoyed the feel of his hands on yours. His skin was always so warm and smooth.

He frowned. “Focus.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled. With your hands in place, you ran through the demonic scale. Some of the tones were too low or too high to hear. You could feel them though, shivering your bones and raising the hairs at the back of your neck.

Your warm-up didn’t get any objection from the Prince of Pride, which meant you were doing well. A quick glance showed he wasn’t frowning any more. Good.

Lucifer stood and began to pace behind you. “What are you going to play for me?”

“I’ve been practicing Faust’s Mistake.” As if he didn’t know.

“Then begin.”

You take a breath. This is it. You try to psych yourself up. All that practice will pay off. All those evenings you gave up gaming with Levi and Mammon, the weekends you stayed in instead of going out with Satan or Asmo. You could play this in your sleep.

Your hands float across the keys, the melody pouring from the hidden strings, describing the terrible bargain Faust made. The fast, tripping notes gave way to the long, slow sounds of regret, and finally, to the clashing finish.

Sweat beaded your forehead as you lowered your hands to your lap. The tension in your chest stopped your breath as you waited for Lucifer’s judgement.

“That was . . . not bad.”

From anyone else, you’d take this as a criticism but from Luci? It was a gold star. You smiled over your shoulder at him.

The left corner of his lip turned up in a slight half smile. “I’m impressed you memorized the whole piece in such a short time. I can tell you’ve worked hard.”

You felt like if he gave you one more compliment, you might completely melt.

“But -”

Your heart sank.

“I didn’t feel the tension, the passion of the moment in your rendition. You were too focused on technical mastery.” Lucifer sat down beside you, his hip brushing yours. “The Faustian epic is classic. It must evoke the emotion of the moment, the story, that birthed it. Let me show you what I mean.”

His hands went to the keys. “This is from earlier in the story. The Fall.” He began playing in a low octave, a heavy, slow rhythm that made your heart pound. Or perhaps that was just from sitting so close to him.

Lucifer kept that going as he began to layer higher, lighter notes atop it. These sounded almost playful, innocent. If not for the ominous beat beneath it. “Here we have naivete. The mortal at play, unaware of the trap laid for him.”

You nod.

“The music is the story, the story lives in the music. Now -” The lighter notes began to slow, creeping closer to the lower octave. “The mortal becomes aware of the nearness of death. The lingering, slow demise that comes to all men.”

Your breath slows in time to the music, and you can almost feel the weight of your years, few though they are. It is as if you lived a century and now your bones are heavy and your body is weary. Your eyelids drift half closed.

Lucifer continues to play, the ominous chords grow louder and the higher tones fade until both melodies close in on each other.

There is a subaudible component now, and though you can’t hear it, you can feel it move with the pulse of your blood. An arrhythmia that pulls you into the moment. The music surges beneath your eyelids, a spiral of red across a dark abyss. A false light.

“Here Faust decides his soul is worth less than his earthly pleasures, and denies Death its due. You can hear the strains of rage from Death’s denial beside the demon’s triumph. And there, Faust’s -”

The music stops but you can still feel it inside you. Something slick and warm slides down your cheek.

Lucifer’s voice, demanding. Trembling. “Wake up. Open your eyes this instant.”

You wish you could obey. You’d like to but the music holds you where you are. Limbo. A space bereft of everything but the music. Death and the demon, Faust’s lust and greed.

“Please.” Lucifer’s voice is gentler than you’ve ever heard it before.

You feel the pad of his thumb against your cheek. A sudden burst of magic like static on a distant radio. Then silence. Your mind slips under a dark, quiet ocean.

The water is warm. Peaceful. You can feel it cradling you. Stroking your hair, your cheeks. The touches become more insistent. Pushing you toward the surface. Toward wakefulness.

“I am sorry. Please. If you open your eyes, I will do . . . I will do anything, anything you want. I won’t make you practice anymore. I’ll give you a - a bigger room.”

The voice belongs to Lucifer, you’re sure of it. But it doesn’t sound like him. When has he ever pleaded, begged, for anything? You realize it is his hands on your skin, stroking your arms, your face. Then it hits you. The music. It wasn’t safe for your mind and now . . . was this real?

You open your eyes.

Lucifer’s face is the first thing you see. He is so close, you can feel his breath on your cheek. His eyes are wide and damp, and full of concern. You are held tight against him, like a child.

“Can you hear me? See me?” His fingertip slides along your jawline, a delicate touch.

“Yes.” Your voice comes out throaty and low. Rough as if you’d been screaming.

His relief is palpable. He squeezes you tighter, pressing your face to his chest. “I . . . I apologize. I got carried away with the music. And you’ve taken injury because of it - because of me.”

The words are halting, stiff. Hard for the proud eldest to say, and yet, for you, he does. “It’s okay,” you croak. “It was beautiful.” And it’s true. Some remnant of the cursed melodies still echo in the chambers of your heart. Haunting you with a promise that has no words.

“I will see you are fully recovered.” The briskness returns to Lucifer’s voice.

You try to push yourself up, off his chest. He doesn’t loosen his hold on you.

“Stop struggling. Are you uncomfortable?” Lucifer adjusts his grip, sliding your head to the crook of his arm. “Is that better?”

It isn’t, really. But at least you can see you aren’t in the music room anymore. Lucifer must have carried you to his chambers. He must have been worried, but you don’t know why. You feel alright. You try to sit up again.

With an exasperated look, Lucifer partially lifts you. He doesn’t release you. “Didn’t I say to stop struggling? You need to relax until you are . . . repaired.”

“I feel fine,” you tell him.

He frowns. “You are still bleeding from your ears.”

You lift a hand to the side of your head. It comes away red and wet. “Oh.”

“It will take a few days for the effects to wear off.” The concern in his scarlet gaze frightens you more than the blood.

“Will I be ok?”

“Mostly.” He looks away. “Until then, I will keep you here and see to your needs. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Does anything hurt?”

You shake your head. This, you discovered, was a mistake. The shadows of the room move with your vision, growing one direction and then the other. Wide swaths of darkness that catch your eye.

“Are you seeing things?” Lucifer looks back at you. His thumb caresses your cheek.

“N-no.”

“Rather, tell me what you are seeing. And don’t lie about it a second time.”

There is a flicker of warning in the crimson depths of his gaze. You tell him about the shadows, and the way the music still sings in you.

He frowns. “If the effects do not fade, I may have to keep you in my rooms forever.”

You note that he doesn’t sound annoyed at this prospect. But he didn’t ask you, and his assumptions don’t sit well. “You can’t lock me up, Lucifer.”

“I can.”

Wrong tactic to take. You amend. “It probably isn’t a good idea to burden yourself with caring for me. You have a lot to do. Diavolo needs you.”

Lucifer knows what you’re up to. He has millenniums on you, after all. He smiles and brushes the hair back from your forehead. “I have informed my brothers, and the Prince, that you fell ill yesterday afternoon. I’ve taken time off to care for you.”

Your mind takes a moment to catch up. “Yesterday?”

“Yes. I cast a spell to knock you unconscious when I realized what I’d done. It helped, briefly. But you started screaming some time in the night and . . .”

You realize he’s been sitting here, holding you, for hours. Warmth blossoms in your chest. A happiness completely out of place, all things considered. But despite the blood loss and possibly permanent madness, you feel loved. Cared for.

Lucifer seems to read your mind. He says nothing, just places a light kiss on your forehead.

Neither of you need to speak. He knows and you know and words just complicate things anyway.

He stands, still holding you, and carries you to bed. When you drift back to sleep, it’s with your head on his chest, his arm around your shoulders to pull you close.

#obey me shall we date #om #om lucifer #otome guys #otome #devildom #obey me lucifer #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

[summer-time]

Searching perfection

Summary: Crosshair gather up his courage and decide to talk about his feelings for you.

Pairing: Crosshair/fem!Reader; mentioned established Hunter/Cyare

Tags: mention of alcohol; fluff; sweet!Cross; jealous!Cross; reader is without description; kissing; a little smut at the end (but like, not really?)

The music was blasting from the speakers, a low and steady beat that was common for the '79 as it was the obscene number of clones into the bar, all of them dancing, and drinking.

It should be a relaxing night, Crosshair thought, a relaxing trip to the bar to drink cheap alcohol and empty his mind. But no, of course it couldn't go as he imagined.

"You should stop gripping your glass so hard and go to her."

Crosshair glared at Hunter's Cyare, boring his eyes into their skull: if it was so simple, he would have gone to her hours ago, instead of keeping his burning jealousy in cheek and gluing himself to the chair. He didn't want to make a scene, particularly because nothing had happened, nothing relevant. But.

A Reg was animatedly chatting with her, hands moving around his head and smile on his stupid face; and she was also smiling, asking questions Cross couldn't hear. He wanted to punch that Reg so much but he couldn't. He had no right.

He gulped down his drink, eyes never wandering around but locked to her frame near the counter.

"Stop moping around and talk to her." - he glared again, this time at Tech. They didn't understand, it would kill him if she didn't reciprocate his feelings; Cross didn't think he could watch her kiss - or worse - with someone else.

"I swear, if you don't go to her, I'm shoving the two of you in a closet and I will not let you go out until the day I die! Go to her! Talk! Move along, chop, chop!" - with an irritated sigh, his vod and the menace that was Cyare stoled his drink, and they shoved him off of his chair, in the direction of the one person that could tie up his tongue.

He gathered up his courage, alcohol helping him lose some stiffness, walking towards his objective: when he arrived, he strangled the urge to sneer at the Reg, breathing deep to keep his anger down and concentration up. He catched her attention when his fingers ghosted near her back, skin tingling because he wanted to touch her so much.

"Something came up, I need to talk to you." - he needed to talk to her alone, so a false indicator of a fake mission could help him take her away. And he obviously succeeded.

He urged his arrogant smile down when he watched the disappointed Reg starting to mingle away in the crowd, without counting the promptness on how his Mesh'la had closed the conversation. With a fake casualness, he slipped his - much bigger - hand into her own, guiding the two of you out from the crowd of the bar, and near one of the quieter alleys.

"What's happening? What's the mission?" - he wanted to keep her eyes on him, only him. Both of you had at least two drinks - as toast with all the Batch - and he had seen the Reg buying one for his Mesh'la. So, it didn't surprise Crosshair that her cheeks were red and hot, while her pupils were wide open, languid in an innocent way that made his cock stir on attention.

He waited a few seconds, gently manhandling her figure and caging it between his tall frame and the alley's wall. Cross noted her slight confusion and steeled himself.

"I lied." - he attempted to not twitch at her troubled expression, mouth ready to fire questions upon questions.

"What? Cross? I don't - just, what's happening?" - her tone was still confused but there was line of something under her voice.

And more he kept silent - he didn't know how, didn't have the words ready - and more her confusion transformed in anger and annoyance. But how could he voiced his feelings if he didn't know the right words? And more seconds went in silence and more his Mesh'la tried to understand what was going in his head.

But then she tried to slip past him to return to the bar. Maybe to that damned Reg. And no. Just, no. He couldn't let her escape, not before an answer.

So he gently grabbed her arm, stopping her in her struggles, before taking a quick breath and sending a prayer to whatever forces in the Universe.

Don't allow me to screw this up. Please.

"I don't want you to go to that Reg." - Cross started, deep voice rought and sore. He needed a glass of water. Badly.

"Why." - a challenge. Tone of voice neutral but not hostile. His Mesh'la knew him well; but under all her defensive pose there was some curiosity. He began to run his thumb in soothing circles on her left hip, searching her skin under her gorgeous shirt.

He closed the small space between them, keeping his gaze into her eyes, pupils impossible large - black almost devouring the iris - catching her quicker breathing, the way her fingers grasped at his black shirt, her open mouth - inviting, ready for him...

"Because you are mine Mesh'la."

He kissed her. Hard and long, like he was a man starving for days. Cross parted from her sweet lips only when he felt a burning in his lungs, oxygen running low.

But he didn't wait for more than a few seconds, searching only for her response: she could stop him and he would. Begrudgingly and pained but he would. And then he would run away, from her and her sharp wit, her kind eyes and cutting mind.

But no. She was still there, breathless and hot, and with a small smile, as she feared something. Cross didn't wait for her mind to coming up with some strange phobias. She had made a choice, she stayed and didn't stop him. She brought her face closer, something like hope in her eyes.

He kissed her again. He tasted her lips - red lipstick smearing from the sheer force of the kiss - and then he licked her mouth, hot and invating, intoxicating as if it was his favourite drink. The sweetness of her Fruit Cocktail mixing with his more sour taste.

Flawlessly balanced. Perfection.

Crosshair brought his right hand into her hair, near the back of her neck, to keep her head still. He swallowed her low moan when he pressed the fingers of his left hand on her back, caressing her cold skin with languind strokes.

Finally. He dreamed about this, particularly after the heater of the Maradeur broke down during a mission and his Mesh'la had spent her time under their entire collection of blankets or attached to one of them.

Little did she knew that Cross had greatly enjoyed her body pressed on his back. He didn't catch any sleeping but he enjoyed feeling her chest pressed on his spine, fingers curled into his blaks.

When they broke up the kiss again, he nipped at her neck, still keeping her head firmly with one hand and stroking her back with the other.

"Cross" - he sucked harder at her skin, grinning at her gasped voice and needy tone. He kept sucking, gently biting into her throat, tasting her cold skin and sensing her crazy pulse.

"Cross please." - she moaned after he sucked a particular spot under her jaw and near her ear. Interesting.

"What it is Mesh'la?" - he hummed, kissing her face and shivering when her cold fingers found their way under his shirt.

Bedroom. They needed a bedroom because he wanted her, now, but not in this uncomfortable alley, not where someone could see them.

"Please Cross... - just, I need -" - he grinned happily again, lips locking in a quick kiss.

"I know what you need. C'mon Mesh'la, let's go home." - he couldn't wait to have her under him, naked and perfect, panting and moaning only for him.

His Mesh'la. Perfect.

#star wars #star wars tbb #writing #tbb writing #the bad batch #summer sing #tbb crosshair #crosshair x reader #crosshair x you #tbb

[stolen-pen-name23]

13 for the prompts? (If it hasn’t been done yet) with obi wan and qui gon because yes 💜

I sure can! Thank you for the prompt! // From these prompts.

So I think I'm going to actually write a prequel chapter (or 2) for this fic later, so keep an eye out for that!

Anyway, here ya go:

---

As a Jedi connected to the Living Force, Qui-Gon has greater respect than most for life — human or otherwise. So for a practitioner of the Living Force, it is a little unusual for him to feel this homicidal.

No, Qui-Gon has rarely felt rage quite like this.

Of course, he does not want the people… No, wait. "People" is too kind of a word for them. He does not want the vermin slavers who did this to his Padawan to die. He just wants them to suffer for a bit. Suffer like his Padawan is currently suffering — and maybe a bit more after that.

“Let me go!” Obi-Wan screams, pulling on the restraints holding him in place on the bed. Neither Qui-Gon nor Vokara Che had wanted to do this — not after Obi-Wan had just been freed from chains — but he was clawing at his skin and objects around the room had started floating with every aimless gesture of his hands. “Please, Master, let me go,” he begs, his voice raw from screaming.

“Soon, Padawan, soon,” Qui-Gon soothes. “The drugs just need to work their way through your system.”

The logic was lost on Obi-Wan. The young man before him, just barely 18, looks as though he has been betrayed.

“Let me go. Please let me go. I need to stop it, I need…”

“Stop what?” Qui-Gon prods, hoping that humoring his padawan will help him work through it faster.

“Stop him.”

“Who?”

“The man!” he says it plainly like it is a well-known fact who the man is.

“What man?”

“The man with the scar on his eye.”

Qui-Gon tries to think through everyone he knows. He can’t think of a single person with a scar on their eye.

“What is the man’s name?”

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan says, frustration mixing into the fear that hangs potent in his Force presence.

“Why do you have to stop him?”

Obi-Wan stops straining against his bonds and his eyes clear momentarily. The sudden stillness feels heavy — like something lying in wait.

“He will tear everything down,” Obi-Wan turns to look at Qui-Gon and his eyes are clear and certain. “Everything.”

A chill runs down Qui-Gon’s spine.

Then the fog returns. Obi-Wan strains against his bonds once more.

“Let me go. Let me out. I’m not supposed to be here!”

“You are exactly where you need to be, my Padawan.”

“No no no no no.” There is a crazed look of hysteria in his eyes. It is so unnatural an expression for his Padawan, Qui-Gon almost cannot bear to look. But he looks anyway because he swore to stand by his Padawan’s side through all things, even this.

“Stop!” Obi-Wan screams. “Stop it! Please! I don’t want to hurt you!”

Qui-Gon shifts uncomfortably. “Who are you talking to?” he asks.

“You were my brother!”

What?

“You… Obi-Wan, you don’t have a brother,” Qui-Gon stutters. Who is he talking about?

Obi-Wan tosses his head to the side and then tosses it again until he’s looking at Qui-Gon.

“Let me go!” Obi-Wan yells.

“So there’s been no change huh?” A female voice cuts in.

Qui-Gon jumps. His attention was so fixed on Obi-Wan, he didn't notice Vokara Che slip into the room.

“What the hell did they drug him with?” Qui-Gon growls, his anger threatening to spill over at just the thought of the slavers and what they did to Obi-Wan.

“We’re still running tests on his blood. But we narrowed it down to some sort of hallucinogen.”

“I could have told you that,” Qui-Gon mutters.

Vokara fixes him with one of her strongest glares.

“Apologies, Master Che,” he amends. “I am just concerned for him.”

“I know,” Vokara says. Qui-Gon is grateful that she does not tell him to release his anxieties to the Force. He is not quite ready to part with them yet.

“Do you have any idea how long this will last?” Qui-Gon asks, hoping this nightmare will end soon.

“It’s hard to say. It depends on his body and how fast it works through the drugs. Hallucinogens can last six hours or they can last as long as fifteen hours.”

“It’s only been three hours,” Qui-Gon says, feeling sick at the possibility of his Padawan enduring this for twelve more hours.

Vokara squeezes his shoulder in sympathy. “He’s a strong boy,” Vokara said. “A strong young man, I should say,” she adds on. “He’ll make it through this. I can’t say for certain without knowing what exactly is in his system, but most hallucinogenic drugs don’t cause any permanent damage.” “Most?”

“What I’m saying is that I think your Padawan will be okay. I have him on an IV so he won’t get dehydrated, which is usually the biggest concern with hallucinogens.”

Qui-Gon turns his attention back to Obi-Wan. Sweat has matted his hair and his skin is a sickly pale color. His screaming has turned into sobbing.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he cries. He pulls at the restraints. “I don’t like these.”

“We don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Vokara says calmly. She runs a scanner over Obi-Wan’s body and looks at the readings. Whether it is good or bad, Qui-Gon is not sure. Her expression gave nothing away.

“If anything changes, please come get me,” Vokara says.

Qui-Gon nods. “Of course.”

Vokara takes her leave and Qui-Gon gives his undivided attention to Obi-Wan.

“Let me go,” Obi-Wan begs again.

“I can’t,” Qui-Gon says. “You heard Master Che. It’s for your own safety.”

Obi-Wan groans. “What is happening to me?”

Qui-Gon’s heart feels like it is breaking open in his chest.

“I’m so sorry that this is happening to you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says “You’ll be okay soon.”

“But what’s happening?” Obi-Wan asks. Qui-Gon is hopeful that this moment of partial clarity lasts. Obi-Wan has been giving him false hope over the past few hours. Moments of clarity, all chased away by delirium.

“You’ve been drugged,” Qui-Gon says.

“Oh. I feel weird. I feel… not good. Hot.”

“Do you want some water?” Qui-Gon asks.

Obi-Wan looks like he’s going to answer, but his eyes glaze over and he is no longer looking at Qui-Gon.

“I keep seeing…”

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asks.

“I see…”

“What do you see, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asks, hoping he’ll be able to help Obi-Wan realize his hallucinations aren’t real.

“No!” Obi-Wan screams.

Qui-Gon’s hope vanishes. With a sigh, he begins stroking Obi-Wan’s sweat-drenched hair, smoothing it out from all of his tossing and turning.

Hours of begging and screaming and pulling at restraints pass until it seems Obi-Wan’s body is exhausted beyond its limits. His howls turn to whimpers. His sobs turn to hitched breaths. And finally, he passes out. Qui-Gon sighs a breath of relief and prays to the Force that when his Padawan wakes up, he will be his Padawan once more.

***

Qui-Gon can sense Obi-Wan coming back to consciousness before he even notices him stirring. He squints at the bright light of the room and groans.

Obi-Wan tries to move his arm but is held back by the restraints still keeping him down. Panic sets itself in Obi-Wan’s widened eyes.

“Why am I… M-Master?” His chest heaves with growing panic and he starts pulling at the bonds with renewed vigor.

“Hey, hey, Obi-Wan. It’s me. You’re alright,” Qui-Gon says, moving into his line of sight. Obi-Wan stares at him, unblinking and terrified. “What do you see right now?”

Obi-Wan hesitates. “I see you. I… I see this room. There’s not much in it.”

“Okay, good. Can you take a few deep breaths for me while I got get Master Che?”

“You’re leaving?” Obi-Wan asks, his voice going an octave higher.

“Only for a moment. You need to get looked over before I can let you out of those things,” Qui-Gon says, gesturing to the restraints with disdain.

Obi-Wan eyes the restraints and nods his approval.

Qui-Gon races out to find Master Che and she follows him back to Obi-Wan’s room.

“Hello, Obi-Wan,” Vokara says in greeting. “Are you feeling better?”

He nods glumly but does not offer her much else.

“All right, well I’m just going to perform a quick examination okay?”

Obi-Wan nods his consent and Vokara gets to work.

“I’m going to take these restraints off of your hands and ankles all right?”

He nods vigorously and Vokara undoes the buckles. When his hands are freed, Obi-Wan rubs his wrists. They’ve been chaffed raw and the skin is an angry red.

Vokara does not judge. She does not say a word about the welts. She simply takes a jar of bacta gel and rubs it on Obi-Wan’s wrists.

“Those should feel better in a few hours,” she says. Vokara follows the gentle administration with a blood sample. She runs a scanner over his body.

“Your vitals are normal, which is a good sign,” Vokara says. “I’m going to run your labs, and after that, we can see about letting you go home to rest.”

No protests, no haggling, no complaints come from Obi-Wan at the prospect of staying in the halls of healing even longer. Even Vokara raises an eyebrow at this.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better?” she asks. “Any nausea? Headache?”

“A little,” he says softly. Vokara exchanges a glance with Qui-Gon at the admittance.

“That’s pretty normal,” she says. “Is there anything else bothering you? Any other pain?”

“Just tired.”

“That’s to be expected after what your body has been through.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to run these labs, but let me know if your headache gets worse or if you feel like you need to throw up.”

He nods obediently.

Vokara leaves Qui-Gon alone with his Padawan.

Obi-Wan’s face scrunches up in concentration.

“What is it, Padawan?”

“There was something… something important…” Obi-Wan starts. Some of his earlier panic starts to return and his chest begins to heave. “I saw it. I just… I don’t know...”

“Hush, it’s alright. None of it was real,” Qui-Gon soothes.

“No!” Obi-Wan says forcefully, and for a moment, Qui-Gon worries the drug has not completely left his system yet. “It was… it felt…”

“How did it feel?” Qui-Gon asks.

Fear, sorrow, and anguish all flash across Obi-Wan’s eyes. His fingers dance in a nervous tapping pattern on the frame of the bed.

“How did it feel?” Qui-Gon asks again.

Obi-Wan stops tapping his fingers.

“Like the end of all things.”

The young man is still, as though he is afraid that the next move he makes will set his visions on a path to fruition.

“You need to stay grounded, Padawan. Stay in the here and now.”

Anger flared in the Force — white-hot and foreign.

“Oh yeah? You try to stay grounded after you get kidnapped by slavers and then drugged with some unknown substance that makes you question everything you see and feel,” Obi-Wan snaps.

Qui-Gon gives him a moment. He needs a moment.

Obi-Wan’s face crumples and he buries his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice muffled by his own hands. His shoulders shake. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright, Padawan. You’ve been through a lot in the last 48 hours. I will not fault you for taking a tone with me.”

Obi-Wan offers him a strained laugh and he wipes at his eyes before looking back up at Qui-Gon. “I just…”

“Tell me, Padawan. Anything.”

“Is this real?”

“Yes, Obi-Wan. This is real.” Qui-Gon grabs Obi-Wan’s hand and squeezes it. “Feel this?”

Obi-Wan nods.

“That’s because it is real. You and I. Here and now. We are real.”

Obi-Wan takes in a shuddering breath. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Qui-Gon reaffirms.

Obi-Wan nods. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Qui-Gon reaches over and tugs on Obi-Wan’s braid.

“Hey!” Obi-Wan exclaims, rubbing his scalp. “What was that for?”

“For scaring me,” Qui-Gon says, giving Obi-Wan a faux look of reproach.

“Apologies, Master,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.”

Obi-Wan grins at him before yawning.

“You should get some rest.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head, but he yawns again.

“You are obviously tired,” Qui-Gon says, unimpressed. “Why don’t you want to sleep?”

“I don’t…”

“Yes, Padawan?”

“If I fall asleep, will you stay?” Obi-Wan finally says, his voice quiet and his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “You don’t have to,” he quickly adds on. “I just. I don’t want to be alone and I’m still not sure if any of this is real and I want it to be real, but I—”

“Of course I will stay,” Qui-Gon says. “You’re real, I’m real, and I’m staying.”

“Thanks, Master,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes fluttering closed.

Qui-Gon stays and keeps guard over Obi-Wan’s dreams.

#my writing #tw non consensual drug use #tw mentions of slavery #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn

[scapegrace74-blog]

New Ways of Turning into Stone, Chapter 4

A/N  Some strong reactions to the last chapter, which I admit caught me by surprise.   Writing is a funny craft, where you spend a lot of time and effort trying to show your reader exactly the picture you have in your mind, but then also have to surrender to each reader’s interpretation of what you wrote.  That said, some interpretations miss the mark entirely, and for that reason this chapter is entitled “False Assumptions”.   Trigger warning for childhood disease.

Jamie’s weekly appointments continued through the grey slumber of late April and into the wakening month of May.  Thursday became Claire’s favourite day of the week, for reasons she didn’t care to scrutinize too closely.

With regularity came a certain brand of predictability.  Their appointments took one of two forms, she realized.  Some days Jamie was full of life, witty and exasperating by turns.  He would spin long yarns about some trivial aspect of his life, fascinating tales that turned out to be nothing more than surface reflections, revealing little of the murky depths beneath.  He was also adept at using his considerable verbal charm to draw her into divulging more about herself than she ought.  Those visits left her equally frustrated and challenged.

The rest of the time her patient arrived with a weary slump, the thousand watt bulb of his personality dimmed to an occasional flicker.  Given his offhand comment about whisky and women, she tried not to ponder if he was hungover or suffering from the effects of an all-night hook-up.  From a diagnostic point of view these days of low ebb were beneficial because Jamie was far more likely to offer some nugget of inner revelation, truth sneaking out through the cracks of his weakened defences.

“I was away on business, in Hong Kong, when my Da passed,” he said on one such afternoon, the skin below his eyes drawn tight and the copper in his hair somehow muted.

“Did it happen suddenly?” 

“No’ really.  Jen had been at me fer months tae come hame, sayin’ that Da was workin’ himself tae death.”   Jamie looked out the window, eyes reflecting the overcast skies beyond.  “I ignored her.  Too wrapped up in my own grand self tae pay any heed.  Twas Ian, my brother-in-law, who called tae say Da had dropped in the pasture.  Massive coronary.  I caught the first flight back, but he was gone before I landed.”

She watched Jamie’s face closely as he spoke, but beyond the understandable emotion of reliving the sudden loss of a parent, he remained inscrutable.  The urge to draw him out overcame the deference she paid to Jamie’s well-defined boundaries.

“Do you think you’re to blame for his death?” she asked, half-expecting to be met with silence or a nimble deflection.

Jamie shook his head ruefully.

“Nah.  I dinna think I’m tae blame.  I ken it.  I was the only surviving son, ye see?  In the Highlands, tradition is everything, an’ a Fraser man had worked those lands fer generations.  I was only meant tae complete my studies abroad, an’ then return tae Lallybroch and take o’er from Da.  Instead, I left my sister an’ Ian tae watch o’er the farm while I played the business tycoon.”

“Is Lallybroch still in your family?” she wondered aloud, the name rolling about in her mouth like marbles.  

“Jenny and Ian couldna keep it.  I wasna well enough tae object, an’ they sold tae a developer.  It’s some kind of corporate wellness retreat now,” he finished with a distasteful grimace.

For every disclosure Jamie made, two more questions arose in its wake, like hacking away at a many-headed Hydra.  She wished she could delve further, but the chime from her computer announced the end of the session.

“Will I see you next week, Jamie?” she asked as he reluctantly rose to leave.

“Aye,” said with a sad smile.  “I’ll be here.”

***

The following Tuesday, Claire took the afternoon off work to perform an errand she’d long been avoiding.

Her departure from the Royal Hospital for Children had been so precipitous, she hadn’t filed the necessary paperwork to close her employment file.  The Human Resources department had been pestering her to complete the process for months.  The threat of holding up the transfer of her accreditation finally forced her hand.

To her great relief, the personnel offices were nowhere near the actual wards.  They lay at the end of a long white hallway broken by large windows looking into a series of meeting and activity rooms.  Her plan was to get in, sign the damn forms, and leave without running into any former colleagues or patients.   

The sun slanting into one of these sparsely furnished rooms glanced off the top of a bent head, causing it to glow like a freshly minted penny.  She stopped and stared, trying to reconcile the image of James Fraser seated in a too-small plastic chair, surrounded by a group of hospital-gowned children.

He must have caught sight of her while she stood gaping.  Running to the door before she could find the motor function to turn around, he called out joyfully from behind a blue hospital mask.

“Doctor Beauchamp!  Fancy meeting ye here.”

She mumbled something incoherent, damning herself for the blush she felt enveloping her cheeks.   Behind Jamie, a row of dewy eyes watched on.   She recognized the paper-thin skin and missing hair of chemotherapy patients, and a salty knot rose in her throat.

“Can ye spare a few minutes? Ye’re jes the pair of steady hands we need.”

She longed to decline, to disappear, to come up with a plausible excuse why she couldn’t enter that room.  Her heart thumped angrily in her chest, warning of its fragile state.

Seeing her conflict, Jamie extended a welcoming hand.

“Come, Sassenach.  The lassies would love tae meet ye.”

The space smelled of sterile laundry and sawdust.  With a habit borne of years of practice, Claire disinfected her hands in the small utility sink and donned a spare mask from the nearby dispenser, all while wondering what the hell she was doing.

The children were seated on colourful chairs arranged around a low table, its surface covered in pieces of pre-cut lumber, colourful pots of paint, a glue gun and all manner of cheap decorations such as you would find at a craft store.  The little girls ranged in age from pre-school to young teen, but they all looked at Jamie as though he’d hung the moon as he addressed them.

“Ladies, I’d like ye tae meet Doctor Beauchamp.  She’s a braw doctor but I bet she kens next tae nothing about woodwork.  Ye’ll have tae show her how it’s done.”

A chorus of nervous giggles was the only response.  Claire knew from experience that being a medical professional wasn’t going to endear her to children who spent much of their lives being essentially tortured in the name of science, hoping for some kind of miracle.

“Hello, everyone,” she waved meekly.  “You can call me Miss Claire, if you like.  Now, whatever are you doing with all this wood?”

It turned out that Jamie was supervising the construction of a half-dozen birdhouses.  He had pre-cut the lumber for easy assembly, but was assisting each girl to create a custom masterpiece that would hang outside her hospital window.  With the patience and steady manner of a primary school teacher, Jamie led the group through each step.  

A waifish girl of perhaps six sat directly to Claire’s left, her bare scalp covered by a brightly coloured bandana, offset by a huge pair of peacock-blue eyes that glimmered above her mask.  Eyes that were the mirror of the ones that visited her office every Thursday.  Something heavy settled inside her ribs.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” she asked in a low voice as she pushed an open pot of sky blue paint away from the table’s edge.  Small hands busied themselves pulling apart a package of cotton balls that looked suspiciously like the ones kept in the hospital’s supply cabinet.

“Margaret Murray, Doctor, errr, Miss Claire,” came the timid reply.  

Not Fraser, then.  But that didn’t necessarily mean anything.  She snuck a glance across the table at Jamie, who was just then teasing the youngest girl by tickling her cheeks with a fake feather.  Despite her heavy thoughts, she couldn’t help but smile.  That smile faltered when she noticed that the inside of Jamie’s elbows bore a matching set of fresh bandages.   A series of puzzle pieces tumbled into place.

Perhaps sensing the weight of her scrutiny, Jamie looked their way, whistling in admiration when he saw Maggie’s near-complete birdhouse.

“Tis a fine hame ye’ve built fer yer wee birds, Maggie.  What is all yon white fluff for?”

“Tis clouds, Uncle Jamie,” Maggie replied with the certainty of childhood.  “I dinna want the birdies tae miss the sky, even when they arenna flyin’.”

Claire watched the words hit him as surely as though they had been bullets.  A frozen gasp, a shudder that travelled the length of his body and the crest of tears that he tried valiantly to blink away.

“Aye, ye’re right, a nighean.  Any bird would be fair honoured tae sleep in yer skyhouse,” he managed to reply, voice bouldery with contained emotion.

When each birdhouse was complete and left along the window ledge to dry, Jamie set his small crew of helpers the task of clearing up the mess.   Claire stood next to him as he loaded his tools back into a small carrying case.

“Thanks for inviting me to join you, Jamie.  It was... well, it was unexpectedly wonderful,” she admitted.

“Ye’re most welcome, Doctor Beauchamp.  We couldna have managed wi’out yer steady hand manning the glue gun,” he teased.

“You’re not my patient here, Jamie.  You don’t need to use my title,” she said, a bit vexed by his formality.

“Aye, but it doesna feel right tae call ye by yer given name either.  An’ Miss Claire is jes weird.”

She had to acknowledge that he had a point.

“What was it you called me earlier?  Sassa-something?”

“Sassenach.  My Da woulda skelped my hide if he heard me call a lady by that name,” he said ruefully.

“Why, does it mean something terribly offensive?”  She was almost afraid to know, having enjoyed the delusion that Jamie felt as fondly towards her as she did towards him.

“Nah, tis jes an old-fashioned word for an English person in Scotland.  Seemed tae suit ye, is all.”  He shrugged, seemingly embarrassed by the explanation.

“Well then, Sassenach it is.  When I’m not on the clock, that is.”

Jamie’s eyes danced above his mask the way they did when he smiled, and she imagined hers replied in much the same way.  A long moment passed when nothing was said, neither of them looking away.

“You’re her platelet donor,” she said at last.  “Maggie’s, I mean.”

“Aye.  Every week while she’s in hospital for chemotherapy.  Tis the least I can do.”

It was an explanation that fit all the facts, but one that she never would have guessed.  Jamie had always worn long sleeves to his appointments, but she was certain the weeks when he was haggard and worn out coincided with the times he was donating the litres of blood necessary to distill into the platelet concentrate that would then be injected into Maggie’s body, helping her combat the poisonous effects of her chemotherapy.

“Whisky, women and song?” she prodded, relieved and yet frustrated that his offhand comment had kept her from seeing the truth.  “Why didn’t you just tell me, Jamie?”

“I didna want yer pity, Sassenach.  Fer once in my life, tis no’ about me, ye ken?  I didna want ye lookin’ at me like I was some kind of hero.”

She held back her reaction that his was a textbook definition of heroism, and instead asked the next obvious question.

“Are you a compatible bone marrow donor as well?”

Jamie shook his head slowly.  Although he was a close match, he explained, it wasn’t close enough.   Maggie’s older brother, Wee Jamie, was a perfect match but the law prohibited him from becoming a donor until he was at least sixteen, in seven long years.

“We’re jes tryin’ tae buy her enough time,” he said sadly before stepping out of the room, explaining he’d be back momentarily.

Claire stood in a daze, running through everything she’d assumed about Jamie in light of these newest facts.  A light tug on her hand drew her back into the moment.  Maggie was looking up at her with wide, trusting eyes.

“Are ye the Sassenach lady Uncle Jamie and my Mam argue about?”

“I suppose I might be,” she replied, curious what had been said between the siblings that Maggie had overheard.

“Are ye a heart doctor?” Maggie continued.

“Well, no.  Not exactly.  I’m the kind of doctor who helps people who are sad, and I try to find a way for them to be happy again.”  It sounded so easy when explaining it to a six year old.

“Sometimes Mam and Da talk about Uncle Jamie when they dinna ken I’m listenin’.  I’m verra good at sneakin’,” Maggie confided, and Claire couldn’t help but smile.  What a precious child.    “I’m sure you are,” she replied warmly, a hand coming to rest gently on the tiny cloth-covered head.

“Mam says Uncle Jamie is more stubborn than a mule and that he canna see past his own big heid,” Maggie continued.  Claire couldn’t say that she disagreed with that assessment.

“But Da says Uncle Jamie’s heart has been broken too many times, and thas’ why he’s given up on living.  Can ye fix his heart, Miss Claire, so that it isna broken any more?”

She couldn’t have stopped her tears if she tried.   She knelt on the floor and gathered Maggie’s thin, fragile body in her arms.

“Oh, Maggie.  I’m certainly going to try.”

#my writing #outlander

[anncanta]

Free will argument

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing, John Seward

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Mature

@alma37 @hopipollahorror @ravenathantum @flutteringphalanges @ladyhaley28​ @dragatha @khyruma​ 

Read on AO3

Or read below

Zoe's voice trailed off in her head, and Agatha went to the window.

Light rain glittered in drops on the bushes and benches of the hospital park, the evening sun peeped through the rare clouds. Slowly Agatha put on her jacket and dialed the number she found in her grand-niece's phone.

‘Jack, get me out of the hospital. I'm discharging myself.’ It sounded confident. The young man on the other end of the line tried to object, but Agatha said: ‘Hurry up,’ – and dropped the call.

They rode in the taxi in silence. They stopped once – at an antique shop. Digging through Zoe's memory, Agatha found this little store in Soho, selling all sorts of unnecessary trifles along with false antiquities and pseudo-magic nonsense.

Climbing out of the car, Agatha returned five minutes later. Leaning over to the open window, she put the bag with aspen stakes on Jack's lap and, going around the car, got back.

She did not know why she was going to Dracula and did not know what kind of reaction she expected from him. And she really had no idea what she was going to do.

‘You don`t look very surprised.’

‘You don`t look very dead.’

‘I`m getting there.’ Agatha walked through the open door and, staggering slightly, sat down at the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jack follow her apprehensively. She heard her own voice telling how easy it was to find Dracula's apartment.

When Dracula grabbed the guy by the throat, Agatha woke up abruptly.

‘Let him go,’ she said, feeling the pain rise inside Zoe's body in a hot wave. Why is she here?

‘Why?’ Dracula turned to her with interest.

The pain squeezed her chest and then gone. Agatha swallowed.

‘This is England,’ she said, catching her breath. ‘Conversation preseeds dinner.’

So little time, Agatha thought, looking at how Dracula threw the young man away and, turning to her, leaning with both hands on the table. Almost unconsciously, she mirrored his pose, inside fleetingly noting that she had never been in a more stupid situation.

Except when she died aboard the ship, which she herself blew up, hoping to kill the vampire. Agatha frowned, shaking her head. She needs to concentrate. She thinks about the wrong things.

‘– waiting for someone?’ Jack's voice came to her through the fog in her head.

‘Lucy Westenra.’ The name of the girl Dracula killed brought Agatha back to reality. She raised her head. ‘Do you expect her to rise up and come to you? I have to disappoint you – she was cremated.’

Agatha was surprised by Dracula's reaction. Anger, disbelief, irritation – and a shadow of horror suddenly replaced each other on his face. Did he really feel something for that child, Agatha asked herself distantly. Most likely, however he just…

Dracula's ferocious monologue was interrupted by a sharp ringing at the door. He paused, looking first at Jack, then at Agatha with a victorious smile.

‘You underestimated... hmm... vampires' liveliness,’ with flashing eyes, he said and went to open. He turned around halfway. ‘Dr. Seward. She was your friend, wasn't she?’

Agatha spent the next half hour desperately battling nausea, pain, and fear. The scene with the ill-fated, half-burned Lucy was disgusting, and Agatha almost regretted bringing Jack with her.

It is better for old acquaintances to meet in private.

‘...at least she died well. This is a rare quality, believe me.’

Agatha shuddered.

‘Quality or taste?’ she asked, turning to Dracula.

‘Oh, taste,’ Dracula nodded mockingly. ‘Her taste was unique. I've never seen anything like it before. It was as if she was in love with death.’

‘That`s it!’ Having doused Agatha simultaneously with pain and heat, understanding came. ‘That`s everything.’ She looked at Dracula, frozen in bewilderment. She turned to the tear-stained youth. ‘Jack, go away.’

‘Dr. Helsing, I can't…’ he protested. ‘I will not leave you…’

But Agatha did not listen to him.

‘I need to speak to Count Dracula. It's very personal,’ she said, looking Dracula in the eye. ‘He wouldn’t want anyone else to hear it.’

‘Why not?’ Dracula asked.

‘Because now I know exactly what you fear most,’ Agatha said. She straightened, returning his victorious smile. The pain receded, she suddenly felt at ease.

‘Well, I don’t know,’ Dracula looked at her with childish delight.

‘I know you don’t,’ Agatha replied.

‘Dr. Seward, you may leave,’ Dracula said without turning to Jack.

‘Get out,’ said Agatha.

She glanced at Jack. He looked at her questioningly, as if he expected her to explain everything to him and tell him what the hell was going on here. Agatha sighed slightly.

To tell the truth, she was not sure of anything. Least of all – how what she just realized will help.

‘Today is going to be a beautiful day,’ she said to Jack with her eyes pointing to the curtained window. Deciding that he understood her plan, the guy nodded and left, finally leaving them with Dracula alone.

For some time after his departure, Agatha stood with her head bowed. Pain, faintness, and weakness returned again. I can't do it, she thought.

For just a second, she let go of the expensive tabletop, on which she was leaning so as not to fall, and found herself in the center of some kind of hurricane. She was hugged, held close to Dracula, and he showered her face with kisses. Agatha froze, slightly stunned from all this and from amazement without even trying to escape.

Dracula hugged her with both hands, stroked her head, touched her vertex with his lips.

‘I missed you... I missed you so much,’ he whispered into her hair, laughing.

His lips were unexpectedly warm and soft and he was strong and she was so tired. So confused, so worn out. A stranger in this time, in this place, in this life, and in this body. Pressing her cheek to his shoulder, Agatha briefly allowed herself to just be where she was. She felt good.

Unexpectedly, this thought sobered her.

‘Let me go,’ she said emphatically. He, oddly enough, obeyed instantly. ‘What do you mean – you missed me?’ looking up at him, asked Agatha.

‘That means that I badly wanted to see you.’ He smiled. Agatha frowned in annoyance.

‘You set it up. Zoe... you offered her your blood.’

‘She wanted it herself.’

Agatha flared up.

‘Do not try to confuse me!’

‘It's not that easy to do.’ He took her chin. ‘Agatha,’ he said, looking at her carefully, ‘tell me what you understood about me.’

This simple request uttered without irony and the usual mocking subtext suddenly made all her diligently accumulated anger disappear.

Walking around Dracula, Agatha slowly, overcoming sharp spasms twisting her body, went to the curtained window. She raised her hand and jerked the curtain down.

After waiting for the fuss and screams to subside behind her, she turned around.

‘It`s one hundred and fifty million miles away. What would it do to you?’

Dracula sat on the floor, shielding his hand from the sun, and looked blankly.

Suddenly softening, Agatha walked over. She dropped down next to him.

‘Have you ever thought,’ she asked, ‘why are you the only one of your... kind who is afraid of the sun? Why could Jonathan stand it and why was the girl in your basement not afraid of it? Like the cross, by the way. And Lucy Westenra, by the way, came here before dark.’ Agatha watched his expression slowly change. ‘Why?’

He frowned.

‘I do not know. I thought it was –’

‘Just habits,’ she said. ‘The things which you taught yourself to be afraid many centuries ago, so as not to think about the most important of your fears.’

She turned around, leaning her back wearily on him. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, and in some incredible way, this gave her strength.

‘All your fears lead to one,’ Agatha said, closing her eyes and throwing her head back on his shoulder. ‘Lead to the fear of death. You are a warrior from an old line of warriors, and therefore you hate this fear and are ashamed of it. That's why you came up with all your superstitions and signs.’ Lord, the pain was terrible. Agatha grimaced. ‘Simple as two times two.’

He kissed her again, now somewhere on the cheek or temple. Agatha did not have the strength to resist and argue: Zoe's body was slowly fading away, she every minute waited for the blessed night to fall on her.

Agatha did not remember her last death. Her awakening in the twenty-first century was abrupt and rather awkward. Waking up in a body that she shared with a frightened and lost grandniece, Agatha spent the first few days looking around and trying to understand what was happening and what to do with all this. It was not easy to establish contact with Zoe – she was exhausted and stubborn, overflowing with a sense of guilt. It took three months before her weakened mind was able to listen to something other than itself.

Agatha reproached herself for missing the time. Perhaps she should have been more persistent. Perhaps then young Lucy Westenra would be alive.

It was easy to explain to Zoe why Agatha went to Dracula. Much harder – to explain it to herself. She did not have any means and even physical strength to fight him, and no support, except for a frightened young man, gripped by double grief – because of the loss of his beloved and a friend he was about to lose. Why did she do it?

Because there is free will in the world. Agatha smiled without opening her eyes, remembering how she argued about it there, in the wine cellar, with Dracula. He convinced her that she was looking for violent passions and great adventures, deliberately choosing the dangers – and he believed that she was right in this. Her position, however, rather confirmed his words – even if Agatha did not know what exactly was happening, one thing was obvious: he kidnapped her and kept her with him.

‘What would await you in the monastery, Agatha?’ he said during one of their conversations at chess. ‘Monotonous days, hard work, and prayers to someone you don't even believe in.’

‘I believed in Him thanks to you,’ Agatha answered, and he smiled incomprehensibly and strangely.

Agatha opened her eyes.

‘I lost,’ she said quietly. ‘I lost because I teased the wolves.’

‘I wouldn't jump to conclusions,’ there was a whisper in her ear, and the warm lips moved down to the base of her neck. They played and teased and caressed her until…

‘Will you ever leave me alone?’ Agatha asked, looking up from the chess table in front of her. She opened her mouth again, about to say something harsh, and suddenly realized that the pain was gone. During the three months that Agatha spent in Zoe's body, the pain became so familiar that it was as if, after the even creaky sound that tormented her day and night, there was suddenly quietness.

She looked at Dracula. He sat without saying a word, as the last time, demonstratively clutching a glass of blood in his hand.

‘It's poisoned,’ Agatha said, pointing to the glass.

Dracula was still silent.

‘What do you want?’ Agatha asked almost plaintively. Confusion and fatigue hit her at once. Dracula put the glass on the table, stood up, walked around it, and stopped in front of her.

‘Agatha,’ he said softly. She got up. He smiled. ‘I want to offer you... a choice.’

Agatha frowned. It didn't take a big mind to understand what he meant. Zoe's blood was poisoned, but apparently not enough to kill him. She looked into his eyes.

‘Either I will finish you off, and your death will be quick and easy,’ Dracula spoke her thoughts out loud, ‘or let me convert you.’

The last word made her recoil. Turning away, Agatha walked around the small room several times before remembering that it was impossible to escape from it. Desperately, she looked at Dracula. He stood where he was, not trying to speak to her or stop her. And that moment she clearly realized that he would not force her.

She went up to him again.

‘I have about ten minutes left to live,’ she said softly.

‘That's enough for me,’ Dracula assured her. ‘Although, judging by your blood, you have at least two weeks.’

He was serious. And it was more frightening than all his previous bullying. Agatha ran her hand over her face.

‘You want to make an animal out of me. If only to save me, and you could continue to play with me, you are ready to make me a primitive creature driven by hunger.’

‘I'm glad that you think so highly of me.’ Now in the voice of Dracula, there were familiar, risible notes. ‘But your prejudices prevent you from seeing the essence. At this time, the vampire no longer needs to be a hungry animal,’ he said impatiently. ‘You don’t even have to kill to live. My lawyer delivers blood to me at my first order. Given the required parameters and the talents that I am looking for. Yes, he is quite inventive,’ Dracula smiled in response to the dumbfounded expression on her face. ‘You don’t have to hide, you’ll no longer be an outcast. It would be all the joys of this world before you, including the sun.’ He raised his hand and stroked her cheek. ‘Hate me, if you want, leave me by slamming the door – whatever you want, please. But allow yourself to use this chance.’

Out of place, Agatha imagined what would have happened if she had actually stayed in the monastery. Probably, she would have lived a peaceful life, which would have found its completion in a modest cell on the slope of long fruitless years. She looked at Dracula. He tore her out of that life by the roots, throwing in the face of the self-confident and naive nun the consequences of her own impulsive actions. He killed her, returned her after one hundred and twenty-three years, and offers her... a life without him. Shaking her head, she laughed.

‘Why are you sure that you will succeed?’ she asked without preamble. ‘If I remember correctly, you told Jonathan that most of those whose blood you drink die. How then are you going to?..’

‘Jonathan helped me understand how simple everything is,’ Dracula replied with a smile. ‘And difficult at the same time. Free will, Agatha,’ he said, seeing that she still didn't understand. ‘It's all about free will.’

Agatha frowned, but not because he was now literally quoting what she was thinking.

‘Lucy… you told her something… that in four hundred years she was the first to give you her blood voluntarily. She wanted you. She wanted to stay with you. Like that girl in the basement, probably. But Jonathan,’ Agatha said immediately, ‘Jonathan definitely didn't want that. He begged you to let him go.’

‘He wanted to leave me,’ Dracula agreed. ‘But also – before he died, he swore that he would do everything in his power to stop me. But what could an exhausted, almost drunk dry, sick person do to me?’

Agatha's eyes widened.

‘To fight you, he had to become your equal,’ she said, barely audible. ‘He became a vampire because he wanted to.’

‘Like everyone else,’ Dracula nodded. ‘It's a pity that I realized this so late.’

Agatha just brushed aside another dark joke. Turning away from Dracula, she stared ahead of her for a while.

When she looked at Dracula again, her gaze was direct and open, and she did not need to say a word. He already understood everything.

The next thing Agatha saw was the sun's rays. They shimmered, shone, covered her body from head to toe, spread a sheet of bright light under her. Fascinated by this incredible sight, she did not immediately realize that she was naked and was lying in the arms of a naked Dracula, who touched her shoulder with a kiss.

‘It always seemed to me that the conversion had to be... painful,’ she gasped in amazement.

Dracula smiled, looking up.

‘After all this time, did you think, I`d let it hurt?’

#dracula 2020 #bbc dracula #count dracula #agatha van helsing #dragatha #fanfic

[tofeartheunknown]

Back to December

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Request by @caritobbg

Not edited.

I only made the call because I had no other choice. I was relieved to hear Sam's voice on the other end of the line. After all, it's been three years since I've spoken to either of the Winchester boys.

"Hello?" Sam's groggy voice caused an involuntary smile.

"Hey, Sam. It's Y/N." I heard shuffling and assumed, along with the groggy greeting, I woke him up. "Sorry for calling at..." I looked at the alarm clock, "four in the morning. Oh God, sorry, I should call back later." I apologized. I lost track of time after midnight.

"No, no. It's really great to hear from you." I could hear the surprise in his voice. "What- ah, what's going on? Is everything alright?"

I cannot deny that I've missed the brothers. In particular, the one I wanted to avoid calling at all costs. I'm not sure I could have had this conversation with him, if he would have answered the phone, that it.

"Everything's fine. Well, not completely. Listen, I'm in Denver, and there's a Demon in town. I've been here for two weeks and I can't seem to catch him. Bodies keep dropping. I've narrowed down his hunting ground, but I think I need some help here." I bit my lip, awaiting his response. I mean, come on. I was with them for five years before leaving, no phone call, text, email, or letter, then all of a sudden call and ask for help.

"Why didn't you call Dean?" Seriously? That's his response. I couldn't stop the sigh that escaped.

"You know why. Besides, he probably wouldn't pick up the phone." His grunt told me he agreed.

"Alright, tell you what. Text me what motel your staying at and I'll talk to Dean." He sounds more awake now. I hear water running and assume he's making coffee.

I couldn't hold back my shock. "Really?! That's great, thank you!" I stood from the small couch.

Sam let out a small laugh. "Yeah, no problem. We'll be there tomorrow."

"See you then." I hung up after that, hoping to finally get some sleep.

I remember that night as if it just happened. Sam, Dean, and I just finished a hunt the night before. Dean and I decided to celebrate by getting a motel room for just the two of us. Sam understood out need to be alone and assured us he would be fine by himself for the night.

"This is amazing." I mumbled, cuddling closer to Dean on the motel bed. Porky's, Dean and, coincidentally my, favorite movie was playing on the TV.

"Yeah, we haven't had time for this in months." Dean agreed, his hand rubbing my arm that laid across his torso. "Too bad we have to pack up tomorrow."

This was news to me. I didn't think there was already another case. I hoped to spend at least a few more days like this with Dean.

I sat up at looked at him "Why so soon? We just finished here." He didn't seem to notice my disappointment.

"Well, Babe, monster don't take days off." Dean said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You know that. You grew up in this life, just like Sam and me."

My disappointment turned to anger. "Dean, you said it yourself, we haven't had any time to ourselves in months. We can afford to take some time off and relaxe." I stood from the bed, my tank top and jeans lay beside my feet.

"No, we really can't." Dean's raised his voice, not enough to disturbed the rooms next to us, but enough for me to realize an argument is starting.

"Five years, Dean. That's how long we've been together, and nothing's changed! It's the same thing year after year! Is this all I'm gonna get?" I was fuming. He doesn't understand that I want more than he seems to want out of our relationship.

This isn't the first time we've had this argument. But this is the first time I lay it all out.

"What are you talking about?!" Dean asked, now sitting at the edge of the bed.

"I mean, it was fun for a while. Hunting all the time together. But that's all it is now! Sure we get these little nights, but... I need more." It's the first time I've admitted to him. "Let's be honest here, we're falling apart, Dean."

Dean scoffed, clearly oblivious to the issues we've had recently. We've drifted apart, mostly due to the fact that we haven't been on the same page in a while.

"So, what? You wanna get married now?" He asked, his arms spread and an eyebrow raised. It was my turn to scoff while pulling on my jeans.

"No, smartass! I want an actual relationship with you!" I shout, pulling my tank top over my head. I sat on the edge of the bed and shoved my shows on, not bothering with socks or tying them. I was far to upset to care.

"What do you think we've been doing all this time?!" Dean yelled, putting his jeans on, knowing I'm about to leave. " What do you want from me? I got you flowers, got us a room, and took you to dinner? I don't know what else to do!" He sounded utterly desperate for answers, watching me pack my duffle bag.

"I want to feel like I'm not the only one holding us together!" I spun around as I yelled. "It's always one hunt after the other with you! I get that it's what we do, but I can't do just that anymore!" I felt the tears fall before I felt the stinging in my eyes.

Dean followed me out the door, my bag on my shoulder. I didn't even notice Sam step out from him room next to ours.

"Where are you going?" Dean's voice was slightly panicked, our fights have never gone this far before.

"Anywhere but here." I turned back to him. His glossy eyes almost too much to handle. "I love you, but I can't live this life with you anymore. I need more than this, but it seems like you don't. I'm sorry..."

Dean, shaking his head, let his tears fall freely. "Don't do this, Y/N, please." He whispered. His hand came up to cup my cheek. I grabbed it and moved away.

"Goodbye, Dean."

I never spoke to or saw either brother after that night. Walking away has been my biggest regret. But, now I have to get ready to meet them at a diner in town.

The butterflies in my stomach are raging as I parked a few spaced down from the all too familiar impala and the two bodies leaning against it. It's now or never, and though never sounds like a much better choice, I know this has to happen.

I stepped out of my car and pulled my bag over my shoulder. Sam, unsurprisingly, was the first to greet me, walking up with a large smile. Dean wouldn't look up from the ground, knowing it was me. I can't blame him, I could hardly look at him myself.

"Y/N." Sam opened his arms, a bit hesitant, not really knowing where we stood. But I walked right into his arms fully returning this much needed hug. I really did miss this. Sam was like a brother to me, and it hurt walking away from him too. "It's good to see you." He said, pulling away.

"It's good to see you too." I smiled up at him before looking over at Dean. I do my best to control my breathing, ignoring the tightening in my chest. "Both of you." I finished, hoping the green eyes would finally catch mine. Unfortunately, it was a false hope.

"We should get inside" Dean grumbled, then he began making his way to the diner entrance. I frown, pushing against the moisture threatening to gloss over my eyes.

A hand landing on the middle of my back, I looked over to Sam who gave me a sympathetic smile. "Give him time, trust me." He assured me, guiding me through the doors Dean went through.

"The Lexicon bar" I handed Sam my notes while we waited for our food. Dean still hasn't said a word to me, and even though I expected nothing more from him, it still feels like a dumbell is sitting on my chest. Dean glanced over the papers as well, so at least he's taking this seriously. That hasn't seemed to change.

Sam handed the papers back and I slid them in my bag. "OK, so what's the plan?" He asked, shooting the waiter a short nod and thanks when he sat our food in front of us. He picked up his veggie burger, while I picked at a few of my fries and Dean didn't even touch his. If this was under any other circumstance I would be shocked.

"I was thinking I play bait." Sam opened his mouth to object, but I quickly continued speaking. "You two can keep watch and catch us as we leave. All victims were found in the back ally. All female, no specific type. All victims participated in the bars open mic, starting from ten p.m. to one a.m.. I'll go one tonight while you stake out the crowd."

"How are you sure he'll choose you?" It is the first time Dean has actually acknowledged me since they got here. My palms begin to sweat any throat grew dry. I took a gulp of my drink.

"Well I don't exactly, but I do know how I could appeal to him more." I picked at my food more, avoiding eye contact.

Sam and Dean glaced at each other. "After we finish we'll go to the motel and start preping." Sam said before biting into his burger, starting off a very awkward lunch.

"There's not a day that goes by where I don't think about Dean. I messed up. I walked away and it's the biggest mistake I have ever made. Now, seeing him, it brings everything back. I never stopped loving him, and I honestly believe that I will love him for the rest of my life. After the hunt, do you think you can take my room tonight. I need to get him alone, I need to apologize. I need to at least try to get him back. I don't want him to leave without knowing how I feel." I explained to Sam as we waited for Dean to gather the rest of what we needed for the hunt. I'm wearing a knee length (color) dress, my Demon knife strapped in it holster on my thigh.

"He hasn't been the same since you left." Sam started. "You thought he was obsessed before, he's constantly seeking out hunts now." Sam sighed, leaning against Baby's passenger seat. "He won't admit it, but these three years have been absolute he'll for him. I hear him say you name in his sleep at night." He looked at the open motel room door, watching Dean assemble his gun with devil's trap bullets, just in case. "He'd still go to the ends of the earth for you." Sam has absolutely no idea how much that crushes me, but also gives me hope that Dean will hear me out.

I wiped a fallen tear from my cheek just as Dean walked out, closing the door behind him. I've noticed the looks he's given me since I've changed clothes. "Let's get this over with." Dean mumbled while taking off his jacket. He handed it to me, knowing I was getting cold in the fall weather. I stared at it on my hands for a few seconds before pulling it on. Sam was right, he does still care. Before I could thank him he was already in the car. I got in after Sam, who shot me a knowing smile. Dean started the engine and we were on our way to the Lexicon.

Once we stepped inside our plan went into motion. I gave Dean his jacket back and made my way to the open mic sign-in sheet. There was only one other person on the list so far. I put down an alias and the name of the song I was going to perform. I've been thinking about it since we got to the motel earlier. I Taylor Swift's back to December came on the alarm clock radio as I got ready in my room. I realized how insanely similar out situation is to the song lyrics and decided it would be best to portray my feelings to Dean disguised in a song. It felt like it would be easier.

Once I got back to the boys we begin to briefly go over the plan. "Okay, Dean, when open mic starts keep an eye out for anyone talking to the participants after they sing. I'm second on the list." I explained. "Sam your on stand by at the front of the alley way out front. Dean or I will send a text when it's go time." I finished, taking a drink of the water Dean bought me, remembering that I don't like drinking on the job.

"Good luck." Sam advised, patting me on the shoulder before walking out of the bar.

"So, how are you so sure the demon will target you- and why can't we just let wait to see if he walks out to the ally with some else? Dean implored, he seemed concerned cause hope to swell some more in my chest.

"Every victim sang a heart break song of some sort." I answered, avoiding eye contact. Silence falls between us for what feels like forever, although it was about a minute. "Look, can we talk after-" Dean cut me off.

"We probably should be seen talking. It needs to look like you're here alone." Dean proceeded to take a sip of his beer before nodding over to the bar. "I'll be keeping watch at the bar." He stated, turning away and leaving me to watch him walk away. The same thing I did to him three years ago.

"Next up we have Diana Troy." The bar owner announced into the mic, holding out hit hand and helping me onto the right five by seven foot stage. I've spoken to him many times using this alias for the investigation. However, I'm not surprised he doesn't remember me he tends to take his ownership of the bar for granted most nights.

I muttered out a small "thank you," before adjusting the mic stand a bit. I tried not to think of the seventy or so eyes on me as the music started.

"I'm so glad you made time to see me

How's life? Tell me, how's your family?

I haven't seen them in a while

You've been good, busier than ever

We small talk, work and the weather

Your guard is up and I know why"

I see that night replaying in my head exactly how it has almost every night since I left.

"Because the last time you saw me

Is still burned in the back of your mind

You gave me roses and I left them there to die"

I could feel Dean's eyes without even looking for them. When mine found his the power of the chorus hit me hard.

"So this is me swallowin' my pride

Standin' in front of you sayin' I'm sorry for that night

And I go back to December all the time

It turns out freedom ain't nothin' but missin' you

Wishin' I'd realized what I had when you were mine

I'd go back to December, turn around and make it alright

I go back to December all the time."

My eyes never left him until the song ended. I didn't even know I was crying until a tear fell onto my arm. As people clapped I made my way off stage and to the bar. As I was almost to the bar, some one grabbed my arm and spun me towards them. Bingo. We found out guy. Or, rather, out guy found me. Though there is no proof that he is the demon, I just knew it had to be him.

He wore a white dress shirt and black pants, his eye hung a bit loose on his neck. He looked like a working man, and had trusting, kind blue eyes. His short black hair slicked back with a little gel. He had olive skin and a lean figure. He looked harmless. It took restraint for me to not pull my knife on him now. I have to wait to get him outside.

"That was absolutely beautiful." He praised, his hand still on my arm. I sniffled, wiping away the remaining tears.

"Th-thank you." I mumbled, itching to remove his hand.

"My name's Gerard. What's your story?" The Demon asks with a charming smile. My brows furrowed at that.

"What do you mean?" I thought for a moment and decided to guess before he has time to answer. "With the song?"

'Gerard' nodded, leaning against the bar. "I don't mean to pry, but you seem really upset. I can only assume the sing meant something to you." He explained, finally removing his hand from my skin.

"I-uh..." I looked at the floor indecisive of what answer to give him. I could lie and make something up, or I could just tell him the truth. It's not like I'll see him again after tonight, so what harm could it do. "I messed up. A while ago. I left the one person I loved most in my life during a stupid argument." I took a shaky breath. "I don't think I can ever find someone who made me feel as alive as he did." I knew Dean could hear every word I said. He's standing a few feet behind us and it's not like this is a whispered conversation. I need to talk to him, so I need to speed this up. "I should just go." I moved past 'Gerard' only for him to grab my hand.

"Let me at least walk you to your car." His insisted in an innocent, concerned voice. "You never know who could be out there waiting for a vulnerable women to walk past them all alone. There are some real monsters out there" He pushed, the irony gave me chills. I nodded, letting him lead me towards the side exit. I stuck to my naive role and let his guide me without protest.

As soon as the door shut behind us, I was pushed against a wall and 'Gerard's' eyes went black. "Do I look stupid?" He glared at me. I just shrugged the best I could.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" I question with a raised brow. I didn't try to reach for my demon blade yet. I'm just waiting for the distraction.

The Demon put his hand up and made a fist. My throat tightened and my oxygen is cut off. I quickly brought my hands up to my throat, because that's what people do when they can't breath, even though it does absolutely nothing to help. I was beginning to panic until I heard someone yell.

"Let her go!" I was Dean's voice. I looked aver the the demon did and felt relief as oxygen began pouring back into my lungs. Dean's gun pointed towards the demon distracted him enough to let me go.

"Now, it that anyway to treat a lady?" Sam asks, standing next to Dean with his arms folded. I slowly pull the knife from my thigh holster and creep up behind the demon.

"Oh, so it's three humans against one demon I'm so-" I plunge the knife through his back watching it slice through to the other side. He lit up like a Christmas tree for second before going limp. I pulled the knife out and watched him fall onto his side. I quickly rolled him over and opened his shirt. There are four bullet holes in his chest surrounding the stab wound.

"How did you know?" Dean asks from above me. I look up to see him and Sam standing there and looking at the corpse.

"I had a feeling." I mumbled, I've learned to trust my guy over the many years of hunting; I tend to be right. "Let's clean this up." I muttered before helping Sam picked up the body and take it to Baby when Dean pulled up to the curb.

I slipped into the boys' room right after Sam left to get dinner. Dean glanced over, putting down the gun he was cleaning and standing from his chair. "Can we talk, please?" I stared down at the floor, my hands in my pockets.

"Did you mean it?" Dean's question caused me to look up. He must have seen the confusion in my eyes because before I could even respond he continued. "The song you chose. Did you choose it for me?"

I hesitated, swallowing the lump forming in my throat. "Yes. Just hear me out!" I was quick to stop any protests that may come out of his mouth. "I hate myself for walking out on you. It was the biggest mistake I've ever made. An-and if I could go back to that night I would have stayed. Since I left I haven't been sleeping well, I see you when I close my eyes and some night I still cry myself to sleep." I took a shaky breath, not caring to wipe my tears away.

Dean's eyes grew glossy with his own tears. "I wanted to hate you for leaving. But all I could do was hurt. People say it gets easier, but it never did for me. I've tought about you every day for three year, Y/N." His voice cracks and sobs break through my lips.

"I'm so sorry." I cried, covering my face with my hands. I was so distracted by my own pain that I couldn't here Dean making his way over to me. When I felt his arms wrap around my shoulders I just fell into him. I could tell he was crying by the way hid chest shook. I latched my arms around him tight. I never want to let go of him again.

We stood in each other's embrace for a while, feeling as thought we're the only thing keeping each other stable and upright. We we finally pulled apart we sat next to each other on the bed.

Things can't go back to the way they were, but at least now we can start picking up the pieces of one another, one day at a time. I'm never letting Dean Winchester go again.

Note- Not the best ending, I apologize , but I haven't written anything in forever, and this took me such a long time because of that.

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