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yesimwriting · 3 years

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The Promise of Rain

A/n finally writing that Kaz Brekker x reader angsty-fluff where the reader is all sunshine-y and Kaz is dramatic as always lol

Might make this a blurb series bc i like this dynamic so much lol

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y reader

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Kaz has a conversation with the reader (who’s a runaway princess) about what happens to people who stay near him.

He once said that he didn’t believe in Saints. A moment later he conceded that perhaps they existed in order to appease Inej, but he was quick to tact on that if Saints existed they didn’t care about him. Inej and I had exchanged a look, she pleaded with me in silence to let him be. I opened my mouth despite the look in her eyes, but he had walked away before I could get any words out.

He believes that the Saints don’t care about him, but as soon as he was dragged in by Jesper, bleeding and more broken than usual, it had started to rain. The rain is a promise. The rain is a sign that he will wake up.

I tap a finger against the forgotten book on my lap, ignoring the dried blood I’ve been too anxious to wash off. When Kaz wakes up he’ll either scold me or partially tease me for waiting here by his bedside. The rain continues, cascading down invisible hope.

“Save your prayers, even for you the Saints won’t regard me.” Kaz. His voice is raspier than it should be and his slight condescension is blighted by the tired flatness of it. But it’s him. He’s speaking.

I tear my gaze away from the window, almost forgetting to tamper down my relief before finally looking at him. I haven’t known him long enough to see him in any level of defeat, but I’ve heard enough stories. The fictional exaggeration of those that fear him have made him seem so immortal. Some part of me must have internalized that because to see him like this, to see him so human is too intimate.

“Don’t be so narcissistic.” Something about Kaz always leaves me feeling challenged, like each comment is some kind of dare. I adjust my posture. “I wasn’t praying because I knew you’d be okay.”

His expression is unchanging. “So much faith in me?”

There’s a soft edge to his words, an attempt to twist some kind of awkward denial out of me. Some days I don’t think Kaz enjoys anything and then other days I think he enjoys any misstep in my words.

I shrug, pushing down the flood of relief still attempting to crawl out of my chest. “You’re always okay.” I scratch the back of my wrist idly. “It seems the safe bet.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve been taking gambling advice from Jesper.”

I half roll my eyes. “No--Jesper and I don’t play together anymore.” I let out an easy sigh. “Last time I beat him he bordered on a hissy fit.” There’s the slightest hint of upturning at the corners of his lips. “I should go tell Jesper and Inej you’re awake.”

“I think you should change out of that dress first.”

He was more likable when I thought he might die at any second. “Wow--Kaz Brekker the professional stylist.” He has no right to judge the formal gown I’m in. Yes, my outfit is ridiculous, but I’m only wearing it because the Crows needed someone they knew at a merchant’s party for a part of some scheme they wouldn’t share the details of with me. “Yes, I’m aware that this dress is more tulle than anything else, but I’m only wearing it because I was helping you.”

I wait for some retort about how he could have managed without my assistance or some kind of comment about how I didn’t need such a large dress to flirt and distract the guards as the Crows snuck into the merchant’s private office. “You fit in there more than you said you would.”

From anyone else, I’d consider this an insult. “I was making an effort for the sake of your plans.”

“I saw you before I went into the office, you knew the dances, the man took your hand.”

That’s the weirdest observation I’ve ever witnessed someone reflect on. “That’s how those dances tend to work.” I don’t hide the confusion in my expression. “How much blood did you lose?”

Kaz’s piercing gaze drops to the blanket on his lap. “Not a concerning amount.”

“Why do I feel like we have different definitions of ‘concerning’?”

His eyes flit upwards, a partial smirk playing at his lips. “We define a lot of things differently.” He pauses, “You defined the life you slipped into so easily tonight as something you could never do.”

“I can’t.” What is his problem? “One dance is different than an eternity of planning teas and marrying some man who only keeps me so I can rear his children.”

“You’d end up marrying someone who could give you things.”

He better not be implying I should be having children. I’m seriously starting to hope he did lose a significant amount of blood because that would be some kind of explanation. “I don’t want anyone to be giving me children right now, but I guess your concern is ni--”

“No, no,” he screws his eyes shut for a long second, “You know what I meant.” I stay silent. “You’re technically a princess, y/n, you could have more than the Barrel.” There’s an odd silence as he pauses. “Someone like you should have more than the Barrel.”

He speaks like his word is law. That’s the one habit of his I can never seem to forgive. Is Kaz telling me to go home? To go back to a mother who dreams of marrying me off and a father with a temper that often leads to violence? He may be Dirtyhands, but he is no one to tell me who to go back to. Not after I risked my anonymity to get him into that merchant’s office.

I shut my book and stand in one swift motion. “I’m going to tell Jesper and Inej that you’re awake.”

“Y/n.” I ignore him. “Y/n.” Again, I ignore him, approaching the doorway. The rustling of sheets leaves me frozen, hand on the doorknob. “Y/n.”

Without thinking, I turn on my heels while glaring. There’s no way he’s proud enough to have climbed out of bed wi--and he’s standing. Standing almost directly behind me.

“Kaz Brekker, I am going to say this one time and one time only.” I keep my words measured and my tone flat. No room for argument. “You just had nine stitches put in near your heart, get your ass back in bed before that is no longer your only injury.”

He pauses, lips pressed together into a tight white line. And then his mouth opens, pried open by an oddly light sound. Did he just--Did Kaz Brekker just laugh? He doesn’t laugh. I didn’t think he was physically capable, and now he laughs while I’m threatening him? I should hit him on principle alone and damn the consequences.

“Did you--” I’m gaping at him with a rage I am not accustomed to. “Did you just laugh?”

Kaz is quick to shut his mouth. “You did swear you’d get me to laugh one day.”

Saints--now he chooses to have some kind of sense of humor. “Not while I was threatening you for being an idiot after saying my lineage means that I’m meant to be trapped in the life I desire least.”

“I didn’t say that.” I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t deserve more than this because of your family, you deserve more than this because--” He cuts himself off with a sharp sigh. “Do you remember what happened the day we met?”

He had wanted to return me to my father for the money. I had managed to convince him I could be more useful working for him without profit. The first day had been tense, I had sworn to myself that I would hate him forever.

“I remember really hating you.” I remember thinking him beautiful despite his darkness. “I remember it started raining on our way here.”

“You had a hood, but you pushed it off your head to feel the rain.” I don’t remember that because indulging in the rain is instinctual to me. “You looked at the rain, and you smiled--and then you saw a woman with a child and you took off your hood and gave it to them.”

“What does that have to d--”

“Watching that felt like intruding on an intimate moment I had no business knowing about, but it wasn’t that to you. That moment was nothing to you because that moment was who you are.”

I don’t understand what he sees in something I can barely remember. “Kaz, what does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m the monster that children believe live under their beds, I’m the bastard of the Barrel, I’m someone who gets blood on everything near them.” His gaze is harsher than I’ve ever seen it as he focuses on the dried blood splotched across my hands and arms. “And then I can’t even help you wash it off.”

Those last words are the closest to broken I’ve ever heard him sound. “Kaz--”

“And you’re the girl who looks at the rain like it’s a gift from the Saints.”

Is he implying what I think he’s implying? Even if I believed him such a source of evil, even if I felt like touch mattered that much--why would he care? I keep the much more frightening implication at bay as I exhale. Clarity will only make this conversation worse. “That doesn’t matter.” The words leave me in a low whisper.

I stare at the ground until his silence is something I can no longer bear. Looking up as cautiously as possible, I take in his expression. I’ve never seen him look so--so enraged. “It doesn’t matter?!” He doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he’s practically seething. “I’ve viewed your presence here as temporary since you first came and despite that, when I saw you there…” The breath he lets out is practically pained. “When I saw what your life is meant to be--I didn’t want you to go.”

The admission breaks something hard in my chest. “I never wanted to go.” My eyeline drops to the ground. “I didn’t want to go when you were trying to make me, I didn’t want to go when it was only for that evening.” I swallow a lump of emotion restricting my throat. “When you were bleeding out and Jesper had to carry you back here I let myself imagine what it’d be like if you died. And it hurt. It hurt so badly I asked myself if I would rather never know you than feel that pain.”

“Would you?” His voice has gone hollow.

I finally look up again. “No.” That word leaves me more bare than any physical touch ever could.

“I stain everything that stays with me,” his voice has seamlessly shifted back to a tone meant for business, “Me wanting you to stay is more than enough reason for you to leave.”

My chest aches as emotions I’ll never be able to place a name to pound against my chest. “I’m a princess that ran away from her family and tried to befriend her kidnapper--you can’t possibly be narcissistic enough to believe that you’re what’s corrupted me.”

“Y/n,” his voice is gravely again, the way it was when he first woke up.

“No. What could you possibly think I’d say to that?” He’s insane--I’m not even sure I understand what he’s implying. “You know I’ll never agree with what you’re saying, so I have no idea what kind of reaction you’re looking for.”

“Maybe a genuine one.”

The comment is so frustrating I can’t help but roll my eyes. The irony of Kaz Brekker asking for a genuine reaction to an emotionally heavy comment is almost laughable. “My genuine reaction is that you’re acting like an idiot because I don’t agree with anything you’re saying, but calling someone an idiot after they’ve been stabbed in the chest is a little insensitive so I can’t give you my genuine reaction.”

Kaz half-scoffs, “You don’t agree? Y/n--are you hearing me!? I want--I want you to stay.” Even angry, the admission warms me. He lets out a frustrated sigh. “More than that I want--”

“What?”

He shakes his head once. “I want something that can never be because I can’t give what needs to be given to get it.”

“Kaz, if it involves me staying you don’t need to give anything for that because I don’t want to go.”

“I-want-you-to-stay-with-me.” The admission is pried from him by some invisible force. He speaks so fiercely the sentence comes out as one angry word.

He speaks so quickly a part of me is convinced that I misheard him. I watch him as he moves back to the bed, sitting down in a way so resigned I wonder if I blurted something out on instinct.

“Kaz,” this is embarrassing, “I wanted to stay with you even when I wanted to hate you.”

I take in his measured expression, the only thing implying any kind of reaction is the way his eyebrows draw together. “Don’t say that, you don’t understand what that means.”

“Why? Because you’re convinced you’ll ruin me?”

“Y/n, we’d be together with a wall between us, keeping us from ever touching.”

“I will tolerate any amount of damage you’re so convinced staying with you will bring, I will stay with you and never touch you and think nothing of it--but I will not stay with you just to stand in front of a wall.” I let out a tired breath. “I will stay with you but my one condition will be that you have to let me know you.”

Kaz’s intense gaze wavers. “The first thing you’ll know is that me allowing you to stay is a testament to my greed.”

I give him a sharp look, “It’s not greed if I want to be here.”

He half sighs, leaning against a pillow as he turns to look out the window. “It’s raining,” he muses, “The Saints must have done that for you.”

The sentiment is so soft my heart feels like it’s constricting. “I thought you didn’t believe in the Saints.”

“If they exist, they do so for people like you.”

I push past the emotion in my chest as I move to sit in the same chair I was in earlier. “I was honest when I said I didn’t pray for you.” I scratch the back of my arm, a coldness passing over me. “I didn’t pray because I knew you would be okay because you had to be.”

“They wouldn’t have saved me,” he mumbles, “Or maybe they would have for you.”

I shake my head once, staring at the rain with more fascination than before.

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker imagine #six of crows #six of crows x reader #six of crows x you #six of crows imagine #six of crows netflix #six of crows show #soc #soc imagine #shadow and bone #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone show #grishaverse #grisha #grishavers x reader #grishaverse imagine

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makeste · 3 years

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hello! I’ve seen some debate as to whether the 2nd meant allies in general would bolster izuku and although I do think that’s true (ofc any sort of support system that he lets himself rely on would bolster him) I feel like if that was what was meant it would’ve been made clearer? maybe instead of just katsuki showing up, the final panel would’ve had several students burst onto the scene. what are your thoughts?

agreed. and incidentally this is another big reason why it's not Toga. if it was her then Horikoshi wouldn't have devoted any time to OFA II's little hype speech. it just makes it kind of pointless, unless this whole time we've been sleeping on Toga's hidden ability to bolster Deku lmao.

but anyways, yeah. and I mean, Two's commentary here is really just acknowledgement of something we've long since known already. Kacchan is the one who will ultimately be able to reach Deku. we don't actually need a piece of dialogue to tell us this, because the manga has been showing it to us since day one. his resume is fucking stacked. I mean, let's go through it.

he is mean.

I love this you guys. I honest to god love it. because the thing is, if you ask anyone what Kacchan's absolute worst quality is, this would be the obvious answer, right? "he's an asshole" lmao.

but that's exactly what we need right now!! someone who's not afraid to tell it like it is, and won't try to sugarcoat things. someone who's not afraid to argue back and risk hurting someone's feelings. because right now Deku is walking all over anyone who can't do that. All Might tries to feed him lunch and he's like "nah I'm good, anyways bye." Endeavor tries to tell him to rest and he's all "I'm fine" and fucking hangs up the phone. nuh uh. enough of that. what we need is someone who will call him out on his shit. "hah!? don't tell me you're fine when it's obvious to anyone you can barely stand on your own two feet, dumbass."

he is stubborn.

kind of ties into the other thing, but yeah. right now we need a bullheaded asshole who won't take no for an answer if he thinks he's right. good luck trying to sweet talk your way out of this one, Deku.

he understands the situation.

this one is important, because in fairness, simply standing in front of Deku and saying "you shall not pass" isn't gonna be enough to actually accomplish anything here. ultimately he's going to have to be able to reason with Deku too. and so in that respect, it certainly doesn't hurt that Kacchan is someone who understands the OFA situation as well as anyone, and has always had clear judgment about it. he understands the threat of AFO ("they all died young"), and he understands the burden of All Might's legacy. he knows what Deku is dealing with, and that's going to give him an edge when it comes to finding that elusive-yet-critical talk no jutsu knockout blow.

he's been where Deku is now.

Kacchan knows a thing or two about burdens. granted, they've more often than not been ones that he's put on himself, but that didn't make them any less heavy. Deku right now is struggling not just with his feelings of responsibility, but also with all of the misplaced guilt that's feeding into it. AFO is targeting him. if innocent people get caught in the crossfire then that's on him. every minute that AFO stays out there getting stronger and causing more chaos is all on him, because he hasn't defeated him yet. and so on and so forth.

and Katsuki knows what that's like. because he blamed himself for what happened to All Might. that feeling of "if I'd only been stronger" is one that he's intimately acquainted with. that feeling of blaming yourself, of not being able to look someone you care about in the eye because you think it's your fault they got hurt. this is something he knows. this is a road he's already been down. and so if Deku tries to pull any "you don't understand" nonsense, Kacchan is uniquely situated to immediately shoot that shit right down.

he's immune to low blows.

lol I keep thinking of all the different counterarguments that Deku could make, and all the different ways in which Kacchan is perfectly equipped to handle them. anyway, so this particular thing is a very recent development, but very fortunately timed. so as we all know, Kacchan was a first class dick to Deku during their childhood. something which Deku, with his abnormally kind and forgiving nature, has never once confronted Kacchan about, even though he would have absolutely had the right. but anyway, so here's the thing though -- right now I fully believe that Deku can and will do or say just about anything in order to get Kacchan and the others to leave. and that includes hurting them in order to save them. so it would not surprise me at all if Deku goes as far as to throw Katsuki's old, cruel, selfish behavior back in his face as part of a last-ditch effort to get him to back down. desperate times and all that.

and maybe there was a time when that actually would have worked. but here's the other thing -- we know something Deku doesn't. namely, that Kacchan has recently leveled up emotionally and has finally unlocked his atonement quest. he finally understands that it's not all about him. which means that it doesn't matter even if Deku pulls out the big guns. he may hurt his feelings, but he's not going to scare him off, because Kacchan's focus right now is on atonement, not forgiveness. he's not doing this for a pat on the head. he's doing it because it's the right thing to do. and no amount of insults will be able to sway him from that.

he learned from the best.

I said this in another post a couple of weeks back, but yeah. Angsty Nomad Deku has nothing on early Kacchan in terms of pushing people away. early Kacchan was the motherfucking king of pushing peeps away. if you so much as LOOKED at this kid in such a way that SUGGESTED you might even be THINKING about possibly trying to save him, he would straight up throw a ten-year hissy fit lmao. Deku's "All Might, you don't have to tag along anymore"s ain't got SHIT on all of Kacchan's "STAY BACK DEKU"s and "I'D RATHER LOSE!!!"s and "OMFG HOW DARE YOU BE THE ONLY PERSON TO TRY TO SAVE ME FROM THIS RAMPAGING SLUDGE MAN WHO'S ABOUT TO SUFFOCATE ME TO DEATH"s. Kacchan is the undisputed goat here lol.

but anyway, so what this means is that he has accumulated a whole HOST of iconic lines and fateful parallels which he can throw back in Deku's face at a moment's notice. and the best part is that he learned it all from THIS EXACT MOTHERFUCKER, RIGHT HERE. what is Deku even gonna do!! argue against his own past actions?? "well, uh, I guess now that you mention it I should have just sat back and watched you die all those times" OH REALLY?? YOU DON'T SAY. THAT SOUNDS SO CONVINCING.

and so guess what, Deku -- if Kacchan was worth saving, then you're worth saving too. it's an ironclad argument. congratulations son you played yourself.

he always wins.

okay so real talk, we all know that what's really driving Deku right now is his fear of losing people. he's helpless against that. he saw Kacchan get stabbed right before his eyes and it fucked him up. he saw all these other people getting hurt and killed because he couldn't save them, and he straight up could not deal with those emotions at all. he's scared. he's more afraid of that happening again than of anything else. and AFO knows that, and that's why he's resorted to his current tactics, which have isolated Deku even further and caused him to push even All Might away.

what Deku is missing right now, and what he needs to have restored, is trust. trust is the antidote to fear. and when you're as scared as Deku is, it takes an extraordinary amount of assurance in order to ease those fears. basically you don't want to place your faith in anything less than an absolutely sure thing.

but Kacchan is exactly that. this is the exact type of situation that Kacchan's "aiming for the top" overkill confidence was made for. he's the one who never loses!! the hero who's going to surpass all other heroes!! Deku inherited All Might's compassion, but Kacchan inherited his determination. Kacchan is someone who brings reassurance. his confidence is unwavering. and in the end, I think it will be strong enough to pull even Deku back out from the darkness.

he is strong.

Kacchan is Deku's rival in every sense of the word, and I fully believe he's capable of matching him step for step even now. and so Deku can try to push him away, but Kacchan is capable of withstanding that force and staying his ground. Deku can try to run, but Kacchan still has him matched for speed. and as a last resort, Deku can even try to defeat him -- but Kacchan won't ever concede to defeat.

and all of this ties back into what I was saying about trust. because Kacchan is strong. strong enough not to die. strong enough to live. strong enough to not make others worry about him. and that's what Deku so desperately needs right now in order to finally let go of his fears. Deku needs someone who can get him to trust in others again, and to do that, he has to be able to trust in their strength.

and last but not least...

he has a secret weapon up his sleeve.

several, as a matter of fact. his hero name reveal. his apology, if he chooses to give it now (though I could see him waiting for a more sincere moment, rather than whipping it out now when it could be misconstrued as a manipulation tactic). but perhaps most importantly...

never underestimate the power of an iconic role reversal. because that's what I'm getting at here, if it wasn't clear lol. this probably would have worked better if I had a picture of him actually reaching out to Deku. but I mean, that's kind of the point lol. I don't have one because he hasn't done it yet. BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE. good luck withstanding that, Deku.

so yeah. look at all that. he really is a one-man Deku-saving army. which is not to say that the other kids won't have a part to play as well, or that it's not important for them to be there, because it is. but as far as the lead role goes, it's Kacchan. like that astronaut meme guy says. always has been.

oh and as a bonus he was smart enough to finally leave the mask at home today lol. LET DEKU SEE THE SINCERITY IN YOUR EYES. YESSSSSSS.

#bnha 318 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bakudeku #bnha meta #bakugou meta #deku meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #asks #anon asks

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

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A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Doctor Strange and y/n confide their tragic backstories in one another. Y/n struggles with her feelings for him.

Trigger warnings: abusive parenting, use of firearms, discussion of death and grief, mention of alcoholism

"On the outside, always looking in

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass-"

You stopped yourself before you could indulgently belt out the titular lyric.

"Ew, why was I singing that?" You muttered to yourself. "I don't even like that song."

You knew, subconsciously, that it was because you were trying to avoid what you really wanted to sing. For the first time ever, you had an audience. Someone was paying attention.

"Love of my life, you've hurt me-"

"Oh, come on, butterfingers." He interrupted. "Love of my Life by Freddie Mercury. Give me something hard."

"I wasn't aware it was classic rock trivia night."

"Then why were you staring straight at me while singing?" He smirked.

"Was I?" You cocked your head, expertly deflecting his implication. "I'm so spaced out I don't even know where I'm looking."

"It's Freddie Mercury." He insisted.

"Uh, yes and no." You corrected, drawing on your encyclopedic knowledge of Queen from one particularly weird summer in high school. "While Freddie Mercury wrote the song, it was recorded on a Night at the Opera. Which was accredited to the whole band."

"That's a nitpick," he shook his head. "I'm still right."

You couldn't wear your heart on your sleeve anymore. You could only distract him with 70s glam rock trivia for so long before he started to notice a pattern. Although a sappy love song was in your heart, you sang the anthem of the depressed theater kid.

You were staring straight at him, though. But who wouldn't? You studied his features only for artistic inspiration. His sharp jaw and high, high cheekbones were… inspiring.

You couldn't lie to yourself. You fell and fell hard.

"Butterfingers!" Master Strange called out from the other side of the sanctum. "I need you!"

You dropped your pencil and pushed yourself out from the chair. "Coming!"

You followed the voice into his chambers. This was a new development, you thought. Out of respect for his privacy, you'd never dared to snoop around in his bedroom. But this was practically a written invitation.

The room was spotless. Not a book or a scrap of paper out of place. Nor was there much to look at at all. A handful of picture frames, some magazines from when he was a surgeon, all featuring himself on the cover.

"Butterfingers!" He called again, as if he knew you were about to snoop.

"I'm here!" You yelled back, eyes wandering around the room. "What do you need?"

"I left my watch somewhere in the library!" He sounded disproportionately panicked for what was just a minor inconvenience. "I need you to go get it for me."

"What does it look like?" You asked.

"It's a $27,000 watch." He snapped impatiently. "It looks like one."

"Jesus." You cursed.

"Don't give me that shit, [F/N]." He ordered, slamming his fist down against the sink. "Just do what you're goddamn told."

"Alright, alright!" You put your hands up. "Fine, I'll get it."

You hurried down the stairs and into the library. On the floor between his favorite chair and a stack of musty old books was a slim, silvery watch with a plain black band.

You picked it up and examined it. Apart from the price tag, was there really any reason for him to be so worried about it? He knew exactly where he left it. Did he have reason to believe it wouldn't be there when he returned?

All you needed to do was flip it over to get your answer. You read the inscription on the back.

Time will tell how much I love you -- Christine

You should have known that his massive ego wouldn’t keep the women away forever. Hell, it certainly didn’t deter you. Much uglier douchebags have gotten far prettier girlfriends than they deserved.

You closed your fingers around the watch and sighed. The fantasy you created for yourself, of slowly, deliberately earning his love was shattered. Christine already beat you to it, it seemed. You tried to smother the part of you that resented this person for her exclusive right to Master Strange's affections. You didn't know her, but you loathed her. And you felt filthy for it.

With a heavy heart, you brought the stupid, criminally expensive little timepiece back to its rightful owner.

"Here's your all-important watch, master." You mumbled, placing it on the bedside table.

"I know I told you I would give you space to question things," He said, swiping it from the table and expertly affixing it around his wrist. "But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't question this."

You tried to sound as non-passive-aggressive as you could. You attempted a more forgiving tone, but you couldn't hide your hurt. "It's fine. I don't care."

"I didn't mean to get short with you, [F/N]." His voice softened. "I'm sorry. But this watch-"

"It's fine." You cut him off, peering at the floor.

"It was a gift." He finished anyway.

You felt the lump in your throat rising. You knew what the watch represented and you wanted to smash it to pieces. Along with the sting of rejection, you felt the sting of tears in your eyes. "I know. I saw the engraving."

"She died two years ago." He lowered his head.

Suddenly, all your ill will towards this woman turned into guilt.

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said. "I can't imagine what it's like to lose someone who loved you so much."

"She had agreed to come to a speaking engagement with me. As a second chance, and-" Pain wrapped his voice. He closed his hand tightly around the watch and held it close to his chest. "Have you ever been in love before, [F/N]?"

From the way your heart ached, and how easily the thought of never being with him made you cry, you knew the answer. You'd been avoiding speaking it into being thus far, but you couldn't lie to yourself anymore.

"Yes." You whispered.

"You'll learn soon enough." He muttered. "It only brings more suffering."

The tears finally breached and you tried to blink them away. You didn't know what emotion was causing them: guilt, shame, contempt, anger, sadness-- they were all present.

"Master Strange, I-" you stuttered, tripping over your breath. "I respect what you've gone through, I really do, but it's not fair to take it out on me."

"You're right." He conceded. "I'm sorry. Please, go get some sleep.”

You nodded. “Right.”

You slept as late as you could get away with the next morning. In apprentice terms, that only meant sleeping until eight thirty. Your dailies could wait an extra hour while you laid in bed, feeling like garbage.

You stumbled down the spiral staircase in your pajamas. No bra, no makeup and no effort. You didn’t even run a brush through your hair. Why try, you thought. Why make an effort for the man who would never see you as anything but the help?

When you saw the piano, though, you did a full 180.

In the living area was a French cherry baby grand piano that definitely was not there before. You certainly would have noticed it before. You placed your phone on the counter and approached the new addition.

As if the memories were woven into the very muscles and ligaments of your fingers, you ran down a few octaves of C Major. The keys were smooth as porcelain and the sound that emanated from the instrument was next to heavenly.

A bright orange post-it note was stuck to the music rack.

“Love of my Life”, Queen, A Night at the Opera. 1975

Was this a request, or an admission of wrong? Whatever the case, it made you smile.

"You weren't being entirely honest with me, Butterfingers." He said, randomly materializing behind you.

You turned around on the piano bench and looked up at him. "What was I not honest about?"

"I'm so glad you asked." He sat down on the bench next to you, phone in hand. "Because when you said you used to play piano, you didn't specify you were actually a student prodigy."

Sure enough, on his phone, he was scrolling through your Instagram. Dozens of videos of a much younger [F/N] playing hundreds of different songs, singing with too many vocal runs and doing so with the entire content of her soul behind the music.

"Student prodigy is a bit strong." You turned your head to hide your blush.

He scrolled up and found a picture of a young, zit-faced teenage [F/N] holding an acceptance letter. "Last I checked, Juilliard doesn't give full-ride scholarships to just anyone."

You covered your face with your hands, smothering an embarrassed smile. "God, please. I'd rather you'd found my OnlyFans."

He raised his eyebrows. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd still rather hear your explanation on this. Why did you give up on something you loved?"

You looked at him in surprise. "You really want to know?"

"Well, I told you mine." He playfully nudged you in the side.

You took a deep breath in. "Well, it was about two years ago, now-”

"Cheers to you, [F/N]!" Your best friend Holly raised her glass of champagne in your direction. "Juilliard ain't gonna know what hit ‘em."

"I'll drink to that." You said, bring your own flute up to your lips and taking a swig. You wretched in disgust as the vile liquid ran down your throat. "Or maybe I won't."

"You're gonna have to get used to it." Holly nudged you with her elbow. "I think most professional musicians are alcoholics."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "I don't think that's right."

"Is too." She smirked. "Conductors are mad strict. Abusive even. Drive musicians to drink all the time."

You laughed. "Is everything you know about the world of music from Whiplash?"

"And The Perfection." She added.

"Thank you, Holly." You said, attempting to take another sip of champagne, purely for dramatic effect. "Very cool."

You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. "Hi, Holly. Enjoying the party?"

Holly took a step back. "Hey, Mrs. [L/N]. Yeah, it's great."

"I hope you don't mind," Your mom said, her fake nice voice eeking through her clenched teeth. "I need to borrow [F/N] for a few minutes."

Holly's face fell. "Sure. I'll catch up with you later, [F/N]."

Your mother tugged you off to the side. With a stressed huff, she began. "Jason is out in the fields with his ROTC friends."

"And what do you want me to do about that?" You asked, knowing her drunk self couldn't read your sarcastic tone.

"Could you go get him and bring him home?" She said, squeezing your upper arm.

"Are you kidding?" You spat.

"[F/N], he's drunk." She scolded. "Do you want him to get another strike on his record?"

"I don't care." You mumbled under your breath. "Have him call an uber. Hell, let him sleep it off in the field. Not my problem."

"You know what he's like when he's drunk." She rationalized. "He gets rowdy. It had better be you."

You tensed up. "No. Holly and I are going to the French Quarter. I don't have time to babysit Jason."

"Just pick him up on your way there?" She pleaded. "It won't take long."

You knew this wasn't going to stop. "Fine, but this is the last time."

You were both dressed far too well to be trekking through the swampy ass nowhere when you should have been fucking your way through the French Quarter. Luckily for your evening plans, all you needed to do was follow the sound of gunshots.

You slammed the car door shut and Holly followed suit. Finding him was the easy part. The hard part was hauling his drunk ass back home.

"Fun's over, shithead." You announced, heels sinking into the sod as you spoke. You didn't have much trouble projecting over the gunfire and getting their attention.

"Shit, [F/N]?" Jason sputtered, so drunk he could barely keep his head straight.

"Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you in that dress." One of his dumb fuck friends added. He jabbed Jason in the side. "Why didn't you tell me your sister's hot?"

"Buster, I-'' You clenched your teeth. "I don't care if you live or die, but my mom needs me to bring Jason home."

"If you get in the car now, we won't have to use the chloroform." Holly added.

Jason scratched the back of his head with the barrel of his gun, then pointed it at you. "You're gonna have to make me."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You exclaimed, hitting the deck. "What the fuck, Jason!?"

Jason and his dumbass friends laughed. "You should have seen the look on your face, [F/N]!"

"Put down the fucking gun-" You seethed. "And get in the fucking car."

He lowered the gun and looked like he was going to concede. Just when you thought he would cooperate, he stuck it up again. He keeled over in a fit of laughter when you and Holly panicked again.

"Look at them!" He shouted. "They're so fucking scared!"

You knew out in the middle of the swamp, nobody could hear you scream. So you used it to your advantage.

"Jason, you're going in the car, or under it." You raised your voice. "I will mow your drunk ass down like eight day old roadkill right here in this field and you will be LUCKY if anyone finds your bloated, shit-covered remains before the crocodiles get a whiff of you."

That seemed to get his attention.

"Sorry, boys." He pouted. "You heard her."

He had to 'get you' one final time, though. Only that time, the gun went off. Just centimeters from your ear. You clutched the side of your head, trying to drown out the deafening ringing with your screams.

You vaguely remembered Holly pistol-whipping Jason before loading you into the car to drive you to the hospital, leaving him desolate and drunk in the field.

"It was a one-in-a-million shot." The otolaryngologist tried not to sound impressed at what was clearly some kind of anomaly very few got to witness in a medical career. "When the bullet fired, the gunpowder traveled down your ear canal, burning the cells of your auditory nervous system and... singing your eardrum... clean off."

Your eyes widened. "Off?!"

The doctor lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Miss [L/N]. I'm afraid you'll never return to full hearing again."

You didn't want to kill the messenger. You knew she was only doing her job. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"If we could do a tympanoplasty, which, given the condition of the drum, is unlikely-" she began. "There would still be no way to fully repair the hair cells along the ear canal."

You took deep breaths to try and quell your simmering rage. "I'm leaving for Juilliard in three months."

"Hearing aid technology has improved significantly over the last decade." She said, a somewhat hopeful upturn in her voice.

That was when your mother decided to join in on the conversation. "Oh, we can't afford that."

You thought you were going to crush your teeth into bits from how tightly your jaw was clenched in fury. "Take it out of Jason's college fund, then."

"Oh, [F/N]." She said as if you had just told the funniest joke imaginable. "Please. That wouldn't be fair to Jason."

"You can afford to send that blithering idiot to the Citadel." You hissed. "You can afford to buy me a hearing aid so I can play piano."

"Beethoven was entirely deaf." Your mom pointed out. "And he became the greatest composer of all time. It's really just mind over matter, sweetie-"

"Sure, that makes perfect sense!" You plastered on a deranged smile, feeling driven to the brink of madness. "I can repair my destroyed eardrum with the power of positive thinking! Jason gets thirty-five thousand dollars a year to play soldier, but I have to just use my imagination."

She covered her face with her hands as if she was being attacked and went into kicked-puppy mode. "Don't be mad at Jason, [F/N]. He didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Fuck this." You said, releasing all your tension in those two words. "Fuck all of this. I'm tired of you defending that chauvinist asshole. The next time you see me will be when one of us is dead."

"Where are you going?!" She wailed.

You snatched your purse from the table and threw it over your shoulder. "I'm moving out."

“Disgraced at age nineteen?" Master Strange said, leaning back on the piano. "Let me guess, you turned to alcohol to cope?"

"You'd think, but actually no." You shook your head. The tone of the conversation had taken a sharp left turn from sadness to dry, apathetic amusement. "I probably would have if I could have afforded it."

"You missed out." He said. "Drinking a whole bottle of eighty year old scotch was definitely the highlight of my grieving period."

You'd never joined the clauses 'Master Strange' and 'drunk off his ass' in the same sentence before then. It was an odd mental picture for sure. One you needed to see to believe.

"I got desperate." You admitted. "Luckily, New Orleans had a lot to offer someone like me, so I didn't have to go far to find people claiming to have answers. But it was all essential oils, incense, binaural beats-"

"I'm sorry," he cut in. "What kind of dickhead suggests binaural beats to someone with only one functioning ear?"

You threw up your hands. "Right? Doesn't make sense. Anyway, I came across a woman named Mistress Fantina and she pointed me in the right direction. How to heal my body through control of my spirit."

He looked at you with that fascination of the human body characteristic of those in the medical field. "It worked, I assume?"

"I figured it out." You shrugged. "But I got so invested in the Mystic Arts that I forgot all about Juilliard. Became a full-time student. Ever since, I never once thought about returning to my old life."

"I suppose if I'd discovered this world because I had lost, say, my ability to perform surgery, it would be hard to leave it behind and return to the operating room." He thought out loud. Sighing, he closed his hand over his watch. "But no matter how medical science evolves, you can't reverse death."

You let the quiet linger for a moment.

#doctor strange #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x reader #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange #dr stephen strange #stephen strange x you #what if #what if marvel #doctor strange supreme #tw guns #tw abusive parent

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gaitwae · 3 years

Note

"I would rather die a thousand times;" with loki please?

Warnings: argument, hurt/comfort, cringey crying, ambiguous ending.

Summary: You decided to ask Loki if the two of you could ever have a romantic relationship. Loki, who knows this question might be from some weird Midgardian infatuation instead, gets defensive.

Tags: @make-me-imagine @thorfanficwriter @bwemph @myraiswack @rorybutnotgilmore @loki-snape-our-hero @wolfish-trickster @lucywrites02 @mostly-marvel-musings @winterfrostsarmy @superheroesandstardust @castiels-majestic-wings @geekns @lokis-high-priestess @natandersonnla @cozy-the-overlord @megthemewlingquim @frostedgiant @whatafuckingdumbass @thebookbakery @delightfulheartdream @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan @the-emo-asgardian @amwolowicz

Happy ending! I’m sorry for the (mostly) angst!

+-+--

The sun sank low beneath the horizon long before Loki had said a word. You were biting at your nails silently. The god was yet to make his decision. Time dragged on and on, ticking along with the clock on the mantle. The sound it made was horrendous. The sound of silence would have been worse. You wanted an answer, but it would take years and years before the two of you could reach an agreement.

You just wanted to know if there was a possibility.

“Loki?” you whispered. You couldn’t keep your mouth shut any longer.

“Hmm?” Loki picked up his head and faced you. He had that sad look in his eyes, again, his fingers curling nervously. “Oh, yes,” he said quietly. “I was still thinking, Y/N, I apologize.” He pulled his hands over his knees, then back over his thighs. “You really think that he’s out there, don’t you?”

“Who?” you asked, knowing exactly what he was referring to. You didn’t want to give in to his let-down — not when you still had some shred of honor left. You found your feet very appealing, suddenly.

“That man; the ‘One,’ you’ve called him.” Loki heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. He wiped his face. Your heart plummeted. Dipped. Your belly was set ablaze and your eyes felt scratchy. You knew what was coming. “Listen, I don’t know if we’d ever be… together, but I would feel much better if I knew your ‘One’ was still searching for you, too.”

“Loki,” you pleaded, “that isn’t fair.” You swallowed the tears down — if you cried now, it would show how weak you were — how much you relied on him. He would be scared off, wouldn’t he? Would he lose respect for you? Would he despise you? What would be the outcome? What would happen? “That’s not fair at all…”

“No, it isn’t,” he conceded. He turned his head away from you. You knew he couldn’t handle your tears well. His voice raised slightly as he continued, “But asking such a fragile question isn’t fair to me, is it?”

You felt the tears slip down. You wiped them away quickly, trying to regain your composure. “Loki…”

“Is it?” he snapped, causing you to jump. “Did you have to ask now, Y/N? Did you have to let your emotions get the better of you when we’re trying to escape this blasted planet?” With each word, more rage slipped into his voice, his tone, his whole manner. He was furious with you. You had upset him.

“Loki, I —”

“Asking me to be your partner is out of the question! I would be dead first, Y/N! The situation we’re in, the pressure we’re under, I would rather die a thousand times than put our lives at risk for your silly fantasy!” He threw his hands down. You didn’t remember them flying so high. “Dying like a hero is far better than dying to protect your flimsy, mortal heart.” His chest peaked, then fell harshly. “You change so frequently; I’m surprised you even figured out that you wanted me. Perhaps it’s the thrill of danger, yes? The possibility of becoming a legend? An idol? Or is that too much glory for you? Are you hoping for rescue? To be saved like you had been taught from so young?”

You couldn’t speak. You didn’t move. You didn’t know how; after all, you hadn’t really been on the receiving end of his scolding. Well, that wasn’t really scolding. That was just… degrading. He was insulting you, peeling away your confidence layer by layer with a steady glare. He was angry — no, he was embarrassed — at your query. If you knew he would react this way, you would have sewn your own lips shut. You thought you could trust him. You wanted to trust him. You wanted that more than anything.

“You’re being cruel,” you pushed out. “You have no idea what I want.”

“I know you’re a small, witless child,” he growled. Loki stood from his seat. You ducked your head and stared at your knuckles. He grabbed your chin, jerking your face up without hurting you. “You’re simply an… an insect in the grand scheme of things who imagines greatness for yourself. I’m something you haven’t attained, that you haven’t experienced. You don’t want me for who I am, but rather what. Y/N, you’re a dreamer. That is why you follow me. Yes?” The god’s eyes searched yours with a frantic need. You clenched your jaw, removing his hand from your face.

You said nothing.

“Answer me,” he spat. He dropped his arms, spreading his legs apart in a warrior’s stance. He was battling this topic more than you had imagined. Unless you were seeing things, Loki’s blue eyes were shining. His lips were tight against each other. Why was he losing his temper so? “Answer!”

You kept your eyes focused on his; you wouldn’t say anything, you couldn’t, your tongue wouldn’t let you. Your knees shook. Your hands tingled. Your cheekbones tingled, too. Your throat hurt. Your nose burned. The longer Loki saw your tears, the wetter his own orbs became. Your body hadn’t racked with sobs yet, but they were waiting to erupt any moment.

“Why could you possibly want a relationship with me, Y/N? I’m not yours to study, to toy with. Greatness cannot be the basis of love.” He looked between you and the door. His escape was too far away. The confrontation was hurting far too much — it was evident, written all over his face. “You can’t love me. Why would you?”

“Because you’re a hero,” you whispered. Your eyes followed him, but your limbs disobeyed every order to stand, to turn away, and walk out the door. Your last chance to spare your own feelings was slipping through the door. “If you weren’t, I would have been gone long before asking the question.”

“So… it is greatness,” he said quietly. “You want the persona.” He sniffed sharply, settling back into his chair. He raked his hands through his hair, once, twice, three times. He couldn’t sit still, but you still couldn’t move. “Not… me.” He wiped under his eye with his thumb. Finally, you understood why Loki was so offended by your question.

After all, who could ever love a man if he was a concept? What woman was loved wholly when the world focused on her beauty?

Your own heart shattered as you watched his crumble. Before you understood what was happening, you stood and walked to the prince. The forgotten prince. The prodigal son who had been thrown away, cast aside, and crushed like a cigarette under a boot. Once a bright flame, but quickly reduced to dying embers. Oh, and you had the nerve to ask him if there was a possibility of having his heart… you were like a child asking to hold something frustratingly delicate.

You held his head, petting his hair for him. Your lip wobbled, as did Loki’s. He shook his head with agony. He buried his face in your body, clinging onto your hips with arms wrapped tight. You kept running your fingers on his head, scratching his scalp, and playing with his hair. His arms shook against your person. He tugged you between his knees to grip you better.

“I love you,” your voice came, echoing the ringing thought in your nearly empty mind. “I would love you even if you weren’t a god; I would love you if you lived under a bridge and smoked gasoline.” You tried for some humor. Loki’s fingers dug into your shirt. “Your greatness comes from your heart, Loki. Isn’t that what matters? Your heart?”

His shoulders jerked forward, the pace faster and faster as a heart-wrenching noise escaped from him. You tightened your grip on him. His sobs kept coming, over and over and over. They weren’t loud — they sounded more like whimpers than anything else. It didn’t mean that the sound wasn’t enough to tear someone’s soul in half. It was tearing your soul in half. Seeing him like this… you didn’t know what to do other than to be his anchor. This was so unlike Loki; at the same time, this was Loki.

This was every piece of hurt he had been holding onto for who knows how long. You had just found the weak spot in his armor. Loki loved you deeply and you could care less if it was platonic or romantic. Your stupid selfishness had caused a breakdown…

Yet, it was healthy. He needed this. He needed this.

You didn’t need an answer tonight. You didn’t need an answer for a while.

This was more important. You’d rather die a thousand times than walk out on him in a moment of need.

The clock passed midnight long before Loki calmed. By the time he had stopped making that tear-jerking sound, the clock was seconds away from chiming. When he stopped shaking, it was almost one o’clock in the morning. You had moved to sit next to him then. Loki rested his head on your chest and shoulder. The only words spoken were your affirmations and your coos. For the Norns’ sakes, the crying was awkward; just by the way he stared off into space, you could tell he wouldn’t want to talk about this.

Ever.

“I’m sorry,” he said once it was over. “That wasn’t very… very heroic of me, was it? He laughed sourly. You continued to stroke his hair. “I wail like an infant and you’re still here…”

“I thought it was very brave,” you said honestly. “Breaking down in front of someone who might not truly love you? I’d just run away and hide.”

“You’re pushing it,” he mumbled, deadpan. “If this was me years ago, I don’t suppose I would have even let you see me like that. I would rather be dead, first.”

“I’m glad we solved something, tonight,” you told the giant in your arms. “But next time, I think we should talk about it slowly.”

“Agreed.” Loki closed his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, you’re excused,” you yawned. The clock ticked quietly. It was like a lure to sleep. You felt safe, squished in this seat with Loki.

If someone wanted to take you from Loki, you’d have to be dead first.

#gaitwae writes #loki #marvel #mcu #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki x y/n #loki mcu #mcu loki #loki x you #loki angst #loki hurt/comfort

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yelena-bellova · 3 years

Text

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty: Party on Pasaana

Plot: Poe, Y/n, Finn, Rey and the rest of the gang journey to Pasaana to try and find the Wayfinder.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: none really

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: I’M BACK! This is by no means my best or favorite chapter but it moves the story along and boy, is there a lot coming...Hopefully you’ve stuck around this long and if not, I’m not offended. Hope you enjoy!

----

Despite the fact that I’d spent my day fixing the Falcon, me and Chewie still ran every diagnostic possible on it before even thinking about taking her up. She was too temperamental to be treated any differently.

“You know I love flying with you, but don’t feel like you’re obligated to come with, Chew,” I said, closing up the last panel on the underside of the ship, “This one isn’t going to be a simple supply run.”

Chewie groaned in protest at my offer to let him stay on base, reminding me of the promise he’d made to Dad. That he’d protect me and he didn’t intend to stop doing that anytime soon.

I conceded to the Wookiee and emerged from underneath the Falcon. I found Rey finishing her repairs as Poe stood nearby, patting her on the arm, “We’re going with you. Chewie, you get that compressor fixed?” “No, I did,” I answered, dusting off my hands on my pants. The two of us still hadn’t spoken since our fight earlier in the day. “What do you mean you’re coming with us?” Poe separated from Rey, revealing Finn and the droids behind him, and led me to the side of the Falcon. He kept space between us, probably because he didn’t know where we stood after our fight.

“Do you honestly think we’d let you guys take this on by yourselves?” he asked.

“Poe,” I shook my head, “Rey and I don’t even know what we’re walking into, I don’t want to throw you guys in the line of danger.” “So it’s too dangerous for me to risk my life but not you?” he asked with raised brows, wedging me between a metaphorical rock and a hard place, “Y/n, we’re a team. If one of us goes, we all go.” I hung my head in frustration, these were the type of situations that I hated the most. I couldn’t protect everyone, that had been made clear, and I certainly couldn’t justify to Poe why it was okay for me to charge headfirst into a fight but not him. Though I’d try every time, even if it was bound to end in failure.

“Fine,” I relented, shrugging and letting my hands fall against my legs, “But I’m flying us there.”

“Understood,” Poe agreed, pulling a corner of his lip up in an almost smile, “I am sorry about today, y’know…It was stupid of me not to think about how much the Falcon means to you.” “Me too,” I sighed, remembering all the harsh words we had flung at one another in contrast to the white flags me were now waving. This wasn’t the first makeup we’d had lately. Not by a long shot. Poe and I had been fighting more than usual, tensions were high with all that was going on and our relationship wasn’t escaping un-scorched. There was never any doubt as to whether or not we still loved each other, but we needed to find better ways of dealing with our stress rather than taking it out on each other. “Chewie told me there was only one escape route and you took it. You guys coming back alive is more important than anything else.”

Where there should have been a kiss or intertwined fingers, there was only silence and our best attempts to smile. There was so much lying underneath the surface that we didn’t ever have time to deal with.

“I wish you’d tell me.” I tried my hardest not to look phased, “Tell you what?” Poe swallowed as he stared into my eyes, “Whatever it is you’re keeping from me.” Every hair on my body stood to attention and fear shot through my veins. I knew he’d become suspicious of me but we hadn’t addressed it out loud before. Once the words of distrust hit the air, it became a true issue. The bottom line of it all was if Poe knew I had been in contact with Ren, he would never trust me with anything ever again.

My tongue peeked out to wet my lips as I nervously shifted my weight to my other foot, “I need you to trust me that what I’m doing, I’m doing for the good of the Resistance.” “We don’t keep secrets from each other, Y/n,” he shook his head and placed his hands on his hips, “That’s not us.” “You wouldn’t understand it, it’s Jedi stuff.” He bit his lip and nodded sarcastically, “Oh, so because I’m not a Jedi, my little average brain couldn’t possibly understand whatever problem you’ve got? Thanks for clearing that up.” “Poe,” I took a step and reached out to grab his forearm, “I didn’t mean it like that. Just please trust me. Everything I do, I do it to keep us safe.” I watched the emotions flicker in his eyes, changing from confusion to anger to desperation to hurt. The thought of confessing to him came through my mind at least ten times a day, but it wasn’t possible. Selfishly, I didn’t want to watch him learn of my betrayal. He would never look at me the same way and I wasn’t ready to lose that.

“I trust you more than anyone,” he finally said, stiffening his voice to hide his emotions, “I just wish you felt the same way about me.” He shrugged out of my hand’s hold and made his way up the ship’s ramp. I chewed on my bottom lip and leaned my forehead against one of the Falcon’s legs. There was nobody on any planet in any galaxy who I trusted more than Poe. He was the best thing that had ever happened to me and the fact that he was beginning to doubt my trust in him was a sucker punch. This time he wasn’t at fault, he only wanted to help me shoulder the burden. But there was nothing he could do to aid in the mental torture I was inflicting on myself.

I turned on my heels to go find my mother but froze at the sight of her and Rey locked in an embrace. I could sense the sadness in Rey that came with leaving her, the only mother figure she could remember having. Watching as she turned away, clipping Uncle Luke’s lightsaber to her belt, I took my cue to say my farewell.

“We’ll check in when we can, if we can,” I stated, partially as a commander but also a daughter to her worried mom, “Who knows, maybe we’ll be back in time for dinner.” A lame attempt at humor, yes, but there was nothing I wouldn’t do to try and make her smile in the most concerning of hours. “Look out for each other, don’t take too many risks,” she instructed, taking my hand in hers, “And come back in one piece.” There was some feeling in the air that I couldn’t put a name to, but it was there nonetheless. I never liked leaving Mom but with the stakes as high as they were, I felt a new sense of dread. I wasn’t immune to fear of losing my life and the reality of something happening to me and leaving her on her own caused a new urgency inside me to come back alive.

“I love you,” I whispered, squeezing her hands tight as tears began to fill my eyes, “So much.” “My darling,” I could hear the emotion in her voice that she was pushing down, “You are the greatest love I could have ever asked for.”

There wasn’t much more that could be said as I bent down to hug her, there was so much meaning inside our few words. We’d survived for a year as a family of two, something we were never meant to do, but we’d somehow done it. Mom’s health had begun to worsen with her age, but the incident on the Raddus had forced what was natural to happen prematurely. She got tired quicker, she required a cane sometimes and needed my help more often, though she always tried to avoid asking. I didn’t think it possible but we’d somehow grown closer in the last year, which made it all the more important that the mission go right and I return safely.

She whispered against my ear, “May the force be with you.” I pulled back with a watery smile, “We’re gonna need it.” With a kiss to her cheek, I forced myself to head back to the ship with a deep pain in my chest. It felt like I was tied to both the Falcon and Mom, the more distance I put between her and I, the more I began to hurt. It lit yet another flame of determination inside me to come back victorious.

Rey had waited for me outside the Falcon, attempting to act like she hadn’t witnessed the tender moment. The two of us shared a hopeful smile before we walked up the ramp together. When we arrived in the cockpit, it was apparent that it was going to be a tight fit. Rey moved to take the empty co-pilot’s chair with Chewie standing in the back, waiting to be called to action. Poe and I didn’t bother to make eye contact choosing instead to bury our pain for a later date. I gave Finn a good natured slap on the shoulder before sinking into the captain’s chair. I’d flown the Falcon hundreds of times by now and yet each time I took the controls, I felt like a child way out of their depth. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, there was no time to waste on fear. All that mattered was the mission.

“Next stop,” I narrated as I readied myself to lift the ship off the ground, “Pasaana…” ————

“You sure this is it?” Poe asked from the front of our group.

“I followed the coordinates perfectly,” I panted, already missing the jungle heat as opposed to Pasaana’s dry kind, “Right, 3PO?”

“Mistress Y/n is correct, these are the exact coordinates that Master Luke left behind.” We rounded the bend of the hill we’d climbed to find the least likely scenario on a planet we’d thought remote; a party.

“What is this?”

“The Aki-Aki Festival of the Ancestors,” 3PO explained, “This celebration occurs only once every 42 years.” “Well, that’s lucky,” Finn commented from beside me.

“Lucky indeed, this festival is known for both its colorful kites and its delectable sweets.” Under normal circumstances, I have had all the patience in the world with the droid I’d spent my whole life around. But now, overlooking the obstacle that would make it harder to find the Wayfinder and ultimately save the galaxy, I joined my friends in staring him down. “3PO, read the room.” “Let’s get down there,” Poe directed with a thumb tucked into his holster, “This is gonna take way longer than it should.” Having spent the better part of my life traveling, I loved getting to immerse myself in different planet’s cultures. It was one of the reasons my diplomatic skills were so highly tuned, I knew how to connect with all different types of people. So there was a small part of me, though stressed, that made a note to take in the sounds of the Aki-Aki’s chants and the array of colors in the crowd. I wasn’t the only one interested in the details either…

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” a wide eyed Rey commented as Finn and Poe passed us by.

“I’ve never seen so few Wayfinders,” Finn retorted.

“Take in what you can, we won’t be back for another 42 years,” I bumped Rey with my hip before following our group.

“There’s always random First Order patrols in crowds like these, so, keep your heads down,” Poe turned to look back at us, zeroing in on the only one tall enough to stick out, “Chewie. Let’s split up, see what the locals know.”

Rey was too taken by her surroundings to fully register what Poe was saying and Finn had gone with my boyfriend, leaving me to follow along with them. As soon as I did, Poe turned to me, “What are you doing?” “…Coming with you?” “We’ve gotta cover as much ground as possible,” he gestured over towards a grouping of tents, “Try talking to some of the traders, see if they know anything.” Thinning my eyes at him in shock that we were on a mission and Poe didn’t want me with him, I decided that now wasn’t the time to fight back. “Fine, Bee,” I called to my boyfriend’s droid hovering near Rey, “You’re with me.” The two of us made our way through a couple vendor’s booths, unsuccessful in getting any information about the location of the Wayfinder. I didn’t even have to do much talking with them, my senses could tell me whether or not my question brought up any memories. Which was good for me because I wasn’t in the mood to do a lot of chit chatting. Bee must have picked up on my silent frustration because he nudged me in my calf, urging me to talk. “He could have said it about ten other ways,” I vented, “But instead he had to make it sound like I was doing something wrong by going with them.” You know how he can be when he’s stressed. “I’m stressed too,” I cried, gesturing to my chest, “And maybe I wanted to go with him because I feel a little less worried when I’m with him. It’s never mattered what’s going on, we’ve always partnered together on missions. Clearly he doesn’t need me this time.” Didn’t you two have a fight before we left? Do you think it has something to do with that? I sighed defeatedly, “Probably…Or the fight we had earlier today, or the one we had just before he left a few days ago…” There was no shortage of examples I could have given as to why Poe didn’t want to be around me. “Things aren’t great between us right now.”

Maybe you should talk to him about it.

“Not right now, Bee. There’s bigger things at hand then Poe and I fighting. Nobody here knows anything, let’s go find the others.” When we made it back, Finn and Poe were engrossed in a conversation with an Aki-Aki. He turned his focus to me, “Got anything?” “I’d probably be a little more enthusiastic if I did, Dameron,” I remarked, taking a spot across from him instead of next to.

He looked between me and Finn, who was trying to remain focused on the Aki-Aki in question, “Whoa, what’s going on?”

The saddest part of why I was angry was the heart of the matter, Poe and I weren’t functioning like the inseparable couple we’d been for the last year. We were functioning like soldiers, ones who bickered at any chance we were given. And while I wanted nothing more than to talk to him about how I felt and ask him when things had gotten like this, not even love could come before war. I looked up at him, the frustration and hurt clearly painted clearly across my face, “Nothing that matters right now, I’m gonna go question some others but don’t worry, I’ll do it by myself.”

Just as Poe was opening his mouth to reply and I was ready to turn away, Rey came running in our direction. “We have to go. Back to the Falcon, now,” she ordered.

“Why?” Finn asked. “It’s Ren.”

Despite the anxiety running through my veins, I took a contradictory step forward. “He’s here?”

“He’s on his way,” Rey answered, her eyes wide and locked with mine.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” Poe began tracing our path back to the Falcon with his eyes, “It’s back this way.”

We ran through the festival with our heads on a swivel, until Poe shot his arm out as a barrier when we came face to face with a stormtrooper. “Freeze! Hold it right there. I’ve located the Resistance fugitives, all units report-“ A dart whizzed past us and landed perfectly in the trooper’s eye. We turned to see a figure holding a crossbow standing behind one of the tents, dressed in robes and his face covered with a helmet. “Follow me.”

With no other options in sight, we trusted in our mysterious savior and followed him. We climbed into his vehicle slowly rolling through the festival. “Leia sent me a transmission,” his modulated voice said before speaking in an alien language to the driver. “Okay, how’d you find us?” Finn asked what we were all thinking. The man reached to take his helmet off and I was greeted by a face I hadn’t seen in years. He grinned, “Wookiees stand out in a crowd.” “Lando!”

Chewie moaned his excitement at seeing his old friend and shoved his way past us all to hug him. “It’s good to see you too, old buddy,” he laughed before turning to me, “Look at you, the princess is all grown up.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and breathed for the first time all day, “I can’t believe you’re here.” “This is General Lando Calrissian,” 3PO said from behind us.

“We know who he is, 3PO,” Rey gently admonished.

“It is an honor, General,” Finn said, a big smile gracing his face. “General Calrissian,” Poe spoke up, “We’re looking for Exegol.”

Lando looked between our crew before centering on me, “Of course she’d send you.” I scrunched up my nose and tilted my head, “I didn’t give her much of a choice.” He shook his head with laughter, “You’re her daughter alright…” he flicked his wristlet on and a holo of a Wayfinder appeared, “Only two were made.” “A Sith Wayfinder,” Rey said, “Luke Skywalker came here to find one.” “I know,” Lando chuckled, “I was with him, Luke and I were tailing an old Jedi hunter,” he changed the image on his holo to a creature, “Ochi of Bestoon. He was carrying a clue that could lead to a Wayfinder. We followed his ship halfway across the galaxy here. When we got to his ship, it was abandoned. No clue, no Wayfinder.” “Is the ship still here?” I asked.

“It’s out in the desert where he left it.” “We need to get there, search it again,” Rey suggested.

My posture straightened as the sound of ship engines filled my ears. I peered out a window to see a small bunch of First Order ships flying towards the festival grounds.

“I got a bad feeling about this,” Lando muttered before turning to us, “Ochi’s ship is out past Lurch Canyon. Go!” “Thank you, General,” Poe said before beginning to help each of us out of the crawler.

Chewie moaned his happiness at seeing Lando again, something he reciprocated. Before taking Poe’s extended hand, I quickly embraced my non-biological uncle. “We’re on Ajan Kloss, come join us. We need pilots.” “My flying days are long gone,” he gently declined before taking my hands into his, “But do me a favor, give your mother my love.”

“I will, as long as you consider coming,” I said before kissing his cheek and allowing Poe to help me out. My heart ached to walk away from another member of my family…

“Can’t believe I never put it together that you’re a princess.” Poe said from beside me as we sprinted through the desert. I was hoping no one had noticed Lando’s long standing nickname for me.

“Of a planet that ceased to exist long before I was born,” I panted, “I don’t think that counts for much.” “Doesn’t matter, I’m still going to call you Your Highness,” Finn called from ahead. “There,” Poe pointed, “Those speeders,” he tossed his gloves off, slid beneath the vehicles and began hot-wiring the vehicles. The yelling of a group of Aki-Aki, presumably the owners of the speeders, made him hurry through his work. “We gotta go!”

Finn, Poe and 3PO hopped into one while Rey, Bee, Chewie and I crowded into the other. I didn’t have time to look back as I began steering but I could sense that Poe was surprised that I didn’t come with him. The urge to turn around and yell at him for the exact same thing that had happened moments before was strong, but once again not our highest priority. What was important was the stormtroopers tailing us. Rey took over on offense while I piloted us, it wasn’t until her cry of my name that I turned around. The troopers were flying through the air using jetpacks, something none of us had ever seen.

“I can’t get a clear shot!” Rey yelled.

“Switch with me!”

She continued firing her blaster as she moved to the front of the speeder where I let her take the wheel. I ducked down next to Bee and calculated what angle I needed them to be at for my plan to work.

I’ve got an idea. “Bee, not now,” I shouted over the engine, turning back to the problem at hand. Ignoring my ignoring him, Bee began tapping away at a stray canister in front of us until it shot up into the air. A yellow explosion burst from the canister in front of the stormtroopers. When one emerged from the cloud, his disoriented driving sent him off a ramp like cluster of rocks. Rey turned and took a perfect shot, the trooper’s speeder exploding in the air.

“Never underestimate a droid,” she grinned.

“He’s doing my work for me!” I replied, standing back up and nudging Bee, “Now where’s Poe and Finn?” “Y/n, look,” I joined Rey at the front of the speeder, “Ochi’s ship.”

Parked atop a large structure of rocks was a modest craft that hopefully contained the answers we needed.

Rey’s face turned serious, “I’ve seen that ship before.”

“Y/n! Rey!”

I whipped around to see Poe and Finn’s speeder flying up behind us, “You get all of them?”

As I inhaled to answer triumphantly, the speeder was thrown forward and us with it. We flew through the air before landing roughly in a pile of dark sand, the screams of the rest of our group following directly after. I rolled over with a groan and looked up to see one last trooper whizzing through the air. Finally getting to go through with my original plan, I got to my knees and raised one of my hands, force pushing him into one of the cliffs.

“So they fly now,” I exhaled, falling back on my heels. As soon as my full weight landed in the sand, it began collapsing into itself.

“What the hell is this?” Poe exclaimed, I looked over to see the same sensation happening to him.

“Sinking field,” Rey cried, “Try to grab something!”

I struggled against the pull of the field to try and reach a piece of our smoking speeder, but my torso was already below the surface making it nearly impossible. I had landed somewhat near Poe and tried to wriggle my way to where he was, him already doing the same. I stretched my arm out as far as it could and barely brushed his fingers when his head dipped down below the surface. “Y/n!” he called out just as I lost sight of him. “No!” I yelled, throwing my arm into the pit and fishing around to try and grab him. “Rey, Y/n,” Finn said frantically, “I never told you tha-“ he disappeared into the black sand, lost to us. “What? Finn!” Rey called, it was the last thing I heard below my body was pulled under fully.

What followed was pure darkness, I kept my eyes squeezed shut as to not get anything in my eyes. In a flash of panic, I flailed about and tried to swim upwards back to the surface for a breath of air. All I could do was struggle and pray that I met the bottom, I didn’t want to die in a pit of sand. After a few seconds, I crashed through something hard and my back hit open air. I fell to the ground with a groan, Bee’s beeps and squeals a homing beacon in the dark. “Poe,” I sat up, feeling around the dimly lit cave for him, “Poe…” “I’m here,” he replied, I could barely make out his silhouette as he crawled on his knees to me. His gloved hand wrapped around my arm, making his close presence known, “Are you okay?” In a rare moment of tenderness, something we hadn’t felt in a long time, I reached up and laced my hand through his curls bringing his forehead down to meet mine. “Where’s everybody else?” Poe pulled me to my feet and unsheathed his flashlight, “Rey! Finn!”

“You didn’t say my name, sir, but I’m alright,” 3PO said, coming in from the other side of the cave.

The sand seeping out of the ceiling of the cave followed by loud grunts sent Poe and I bolting towards it just in time for him to catch Rey and ease her down to the ground. “You all right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “Where’s Finn?” “Where’s Chewie?” I asked, rotating my head rapidly to try and get a full scope of the cave. On cue, Chewie dropped harshly from the ceiling with a moan, I ran over to him and helped him sit up.

Finn climbed out of a hole behind us, “I’m good. What is this place?” He stumbled towards us, the four of us huddled together for a relieved reunion.

Poe had one hand on Finn’s shoulder and one clutching my waist, he pressed a quick peck to my temple. “I thought we were goners,” he panted, I savored the feeling of being close to him even if it had taken thinking we were going to die to get there.

“Which way out?” Finn asked.

I squinted as I looked at our surroundings, “Can’t see a thing.” One step ahead of me, Rey unclipped her lightsaber from her belt and ignited it, lighting our path. Poe stepped forward as well, clicking his inferior flashlight on as if it would make a difference next to the luminous weapon. Shaking my head at my boyfriend, I ignited my own saber and followed Rey, “We need to hurry if Ren’s on his way. “So what was it?” Rey asked as Finn joined us.

“What?” he replied confusedly.

“What you were gonna tell Y/n and I?” A beat passed, “When?” “When you were sinking in the sand, you said ‘I never told you…’” Rey spelled it out for him.

He inched closer to the two of us and lowered his voice, “I’ll tell you later.” “You mean when Poe’s not here?” the man in question asked from behind us, staring Finn down as he squeezed between the three of us.

“Yeah,” Finn replied confidently.

“We’re gonna die in sand burrows and we’re all keeping secrets?” Poe deliberately turned his head to look at me when he hit the word ‘secrets,’ a wave of guilt washing over me.

“I’ll tell you when you tell us about all that shifty stuff you do,” Finn fired back, referring to to hot-wiring of the speeders and no doubt something else he’d seen Poe do recently.

“I do not wanna know what made these tunnels,” Poe commented as he took the lead at the front of our group.

Ever the helper, 3PO jumped in to give an answer. “Judging by the circumference of the tunnel walls…” Poe turned to the droid, “I said I do not wanna know. Not,” he realigned his focus ahead of us, spotting something in the shadows, “What’s that?” “Is that a speeder?” Finn asked. “An old one,” Rey answered as she got a closer look. “Wonder if it still runs,” I said, running a hand over the dusty vehicle, “We’re gonna need a way out of here.” “Perhaps we will find the driver,” 3PO said hopefully. I think they’d be dead by now.

“Yep, BB-8, I think dead too,” Poe responded to his droid’s astute observation.

“Oh, my,” 3PO pointed towards the symbol on the front of the speeder, “A hex charm.”

“What’s a hex charm?” I asked, shining my saber over the detail and getting a look at it myself.

“A common emblem of Sith loyalists,” 3PO answered. “The Sith…” I mumbled under my breath, running a finger over it and catching the dust in my hand.

“This was Ochi’s?” Finn asked. “Luke sensed it,” Rey stepped forward, “Ochi never left this place.” “And he ended up down here,” Finn continued the train of thought.

“He was headed for his ship,” Poe completed the sentence, “Same thing happened to us, happened to him.” I followed Rey who was hot on the scent of something, the two of us spotting the skeleton at the same time. “So how did Ochi get out?” I took a breath, “He didn’t.” The four of us moved as one to examine the carcass, mangled and broken into pieces but clearly bearing resemblance to a creature. “No he didn’t…” Finn muttered.

“Bones,” Poe said from beside me, turning away for a second to stifle a gag, “I don’t like bones.” “Bones? Never a good sign,” 3PO commented.

My eyes flitted over the scene while Rey searched deeper, spotting a bump in the sand with Bee and helping him to unearth it. She pulled out a unique carved dagger, I could sense the same thing upon seeing it that she could. “Horrible things…have happened with this,” she trembled. “The writing…” I crouched down next to her, running a finger over the weapon and trying to figure out what language the script was written in, “I don’t recognize it, 3PO?”

The loyal droid came forward and took the dagger from my outstretched palm. “The location of the Wayfinder has been inscribed upon this dagger,” he announced, “It’s the clue that Master Luke was looking for.” “And? What does it say?” I asked with a hopeful smile.

3PO turned to our group, “I am afraid I cannot tell you.” “20.3 fazillion languages and you can’t read that?” Poe asked in confusion.

“I have read it, sir, I know exactly where the wayfinder is,” the droid responded, “Unfortunately, it is written in the runic language of the Sith.” “And?” I asked, inklings of impatience seeping out of my voice.

“My programming forbids me from translating it.” “So you’re telling us the one time we need you to talk,” Poe shook his head, “You can’t?”

“Irony, sir,” the droid answered, backing up to face us head on, “I am mechanically incapable of speaking translations from Sith. I believe the rule was passed by the Senate of the Old Republic.” I wasn’t listening, none of us were listening as he went on, instead focusing on the large serpent that had appeared behind 3PO with a growing growl. The four of us took a startled step back and held out our various weapons. It let out a meaning roar followed by a loud hiss, alerting 3PO to its presence. “Serpent! Serpent! Serpent!” Surprisingly, Rey placed a hand on top of Poe’s blaster and lowered it as the serpent showed off its razor sharp teeth once again. Keeping her eye trained on the beast, she blindly handed her lightsaber out for Finn to take. “Rey…” he cautioned, gripping the weapon tight in his grip. I could sense what she was sensing as I watched her approach, the serpent was crying out in pain more than anything else

“I’m gonna blast it,” Poe said quietly, his blaster once again aimed at the snake.

“Don’t,” I whispered, contradicting my words as I kept my saber activated in my hand, ready to fight if necessary. Rey kneeled down next to the snake, her eyes still locked with it as she laid her hand over its body. It snarled at her but she didn’t flinch, shutting her eyes and doing what I suspected she would do. She healed whatever wound the serpent had, receiving a small non-threatening moan in thanks. It snaked away down another pathway of the cave, revealing an exit that lit the cave up with the sunlight of Pasaana.

Bee rolled forward to ask Rey what she had done as she rubbed her hand, “I just transferred a bit of life. Force energy from me to him. You would’ve done the same.” “Luckily, we won’t have that problem again,” I said as I deactivated my lightsaber and clipped it back onto my belt, helping Rey up after, “Nice job.” Our group climbed out of the hole and we got a good look at the rock structure that displayed Ochi’s ship we’d seen during our speeder chase. “Looks like we’ve got our ride,” Poe commented as we walked up the rocks.

“We cannot possibly fly in that old wreck,” 3PO interjected.

“We gotta keep moving, find someone who can translate that dagger,” Poe replied, “Like a helpful droid.” “I suggest we return to the Millennium Falcon at once,” the droid said as forcefully as he was capable of being. “Troopers’ll be waiting at the Falcon,” I said, pausing my steps to try and shove aside the pain I felt at the thought of leaving my beloved ship behind, “We’ll find a way to get it back.”

Not more than two seconds after I spoke did each hair on my body stand up straight and a cold wave run through my body. I twisted to look out upon the miles of sand and rock, sensing the familiar presence of Ren yet not being able to see him. Rey and I shared a look, concern mixed with understanding that someone had to deal with it. I could feel that it was her that needed to confront him, I wasn’t the only one that shared a complicated history with the Supreme Leader. I nodded understandingly to her, the two of us not needing to speak a single word.

“What is it?” Finn asked, approaching the two of us. “I’ll be right behind you,” she said, handing Finn her staff and bag, “It’s okay.”

She passed by both of us, heading back down the way we’d come to go deal with our problem. “Let’s go,” I directed, turning back towards our new ride, “She’s got this.” The rest of us climbed the rest of the rocks until we hit Ochi’s ship, opening the ramp and heading into the heart of it. “Let’s see what we’ve got,” Poe said, switching on the flickering lights, “Let’s get those converters fired up.”

Finn, Poe and I marched to the cockpit, swiping at dusty cobwebs that adorned the ship. Poe flipped open the shutters and started her up proudly while Finn and I were more focused on looking out the windows for Rey. “Where is she?” he asked me.

Poe interrupted before I could form an answer, “Guys, help me out over here.” “Chewie, tell Rey we gotta go,” Finn ordered the Wookiee, who looked to me for confirmation. I gave a short nod and ran off the assist Poe in getting the ship up and running.

“What is she doing?” he grumbled as he sat down in the captain’s chair. “She’s helping us out,” I sat down in the seat next to him, “Trust me.” “That’s all I get?” he asked annoyedly as he flipped various switches, “Another Jedi thing I wouldn’t understand?”

“Are we really doing this right now?” I snapped, pressing a few buttons to help prep the ship.

“We wouldn’t have to if you would just tell me what’s going on,” Poe shot back, his voice raising to match mine. “It’s Ren,” Finn interrupted our fight, anxiety creeping into his tone. He bolted out of the cockpit leaving Poe and I to ourselves. “Finn, wait!” I yelled, taking off after him before he tried to intervene. I caught up to him outside of the ship, “Finn, you’ve gotta let her do th-“ My feet stopped as I spotted what Finn saw as well, Chewie was being loaded into a First order transport along with the dagger. Finn and I dropped to the rocks, crouching down and watching the scene unfold as the Wookiee pushed forward into the ship, hunched over and handcuffed. My natural instinct was to run and free him, but I knew that spelled too much potential danger for us all. And with Finn’s hand tightly gripping my arm, there was no way he’d let me go. It was one of the worst tortures I had to endure.

“We need to find a way to stop the ship,” I said quietly through my unshed tears, “If Poe could get that thing in the air…” “If we fire, the whole thing goes down,” Finn ended the idea as soon as it had been born.

I buried my face in my hands and rubbed furiously, my mind spinning with adrenaline and worry. The sounds on an approaching ship caught my attention, I rose to my feet and followed the noise across the rocks. Yards away from us stood Rey, lightsaber ignited with her back turned to the ship that undoubtably belonged to Ren. She took a running start as the craft advanced toward her and what happened next even I could hardly believe as I watched it. Rey flipped up in the air, letting her arm hang down and slicing off one of the ship’s wings. While she landed gracefully in a cloud of dust, Ren’s ship split violently until it was just the round cockpit rolling across the field of sand before exploding against one of the rocks. My breath caught as the flames engulfed what was left of his ship, I searched for any life left in the wreckage, sensing that he wasn’t dead yet. With my focus momentarily on Ren, I hadn’t noticed Finn had climbed down the rocks and was calling out for Rey.

“They got Chewie! They got him!” he pointed to the skies, I looked up to see the transport containing him had taken off.

“No,” I mumbled to myself, sticking my hand out to stop the ship using the Force. Rey had the same idea and aided me in my efforts. At that moment, a familiar cloaked figure emerged from the flaming wreckage, slowly making his way towards us. I could feel his stony, emotionless stare even with the great gap between us. Even so, I kept my focus on trying to pull the ship out of the sky. Ren extended his hand as well, creating resistance for Rey and I that only made us try harder. The three of us stood locked in our stances, throwing the ship from side to side as we battled for the life inside.

Then suddenly, the fight was over. From Rey’s outstretched hand came thick strands of lightning that wrapped around the ship. It took mere seconds until an explosion ripped the ship apart.

“Chewie!” Rey shrieked in horror. “No!” Finn cried.

I dropped to my knees in shock, watching as the wreckage floated to the ground, Chewie buried somewhere inside. One loud guttural sob escaped my lips and I clutched my stomach, crying out for the loss of another part of my family.

“Guys!” Poe’s voice broke through my grief, “We gotta go! They’re coming!”

Through my tears, I looked above to see Poe standing above me next to the ship and heard the noise of incoming fighters. I had to summon the strength to rise to my feet, my eyes drifting back to Chewie’s fiery grave one last time. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. I spared a final look to Ren, who I could sense was just as shocked at what had happened as I was. I sensed something in him, the same thing I had sensed when Mom had been thrown out of the Raddus. Sorrow. I wished I could have said I cared, but all I felt towards him was anger. He had contributed to Chewie’s death.

As Rey and Finn approached, I snapped back into action and climbed the rocks, Poe helping me and pulling me up the final foot. We bolted for the ship, racing to the cockpit and taking our assigned seats. He had gotten the thing in flying shape and as soon as we had everybody on board, Poe lifted it off the ground and shot us into the sky and away from the fighters. It was only when I knew he could manage without me that I slipped out of my chair and out of the cockpit.

A distraught Rey was waiting in the hold for me, she stood as I entered, “Y/n, I’m so-“ I breezed past her and Finn, I ignored the droids, I didn’t even think to go to Poe for comfort. Instead, I locked myself in the refresher and let my tears freely fall, mourning the loss of my life long friend.

----

A/N: I promise the next chapter will have little more going on...Let me know what you thought or if you’d like to be tagged ☺️

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crystaljins · 3 years

Text

River lead me home | 09 FINAL

Characters: Kim Seokjin x reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: Ever since coming to the human realm when you were child, nothing seems to fit, and this was just supposed to be a simple roadtrip to help you find yourself.

Is that too much to ask for?

Spin-off to A long journey home

Rating: Teens

Genre: Adventure, fluff, angst

Notes: Ahhh. We’re finally here. At the ending.

I feel like so much happened since I started writing this fic. I’ve been through so many ups and downs, and so have my characters. And you guys are probably the same; I wonder what adventures you guys went on as I posted this? I hope they were fun ones.

Anyway, thank you for sticking around for this long journey home. I hope you enjoy the final chapter, and I hope you enjoyed following these guys on their adventure.

Till next time, my loves.

Tags: @blue1928 @veeparkersstuff

Masterlist

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 FINAL

It’s a long journey home. The three of you stay with the mice long enough to see the first of the recovered victims poke their little noses out of their burrows. The mayor, a harried, round little mouse with hay coloured fur and absurdly long whiskers, cannot express his gratitude deeply enough, other than to procure the three of you a comfortable stay in a nearby inn.

The journey back is only slightly less fraught with danger. The Saishtas think the two of you are dead, and not long after you part ways with the mice, new begins to circulate in the local areas that the might, evil Saishta queen has died and that her kingdom has fallen into disarray. You come across one or two of the insidious lizardpeoples after that but none of them approach or acknowledge you. Why bother, when they failed to save their queen?

After hearing that news, it’s more of a relaxed journey. You all head on from town to town, purchasing supplies and another bed roll for Jungkook. Jin is strangely eager to spend what little currency you have on the most comfortable bedroll he can find, and when Jungkook suggests he just continues to share in the interest of saving funds, Jin nearly has an aneurysm.

Jin’s behaviour is probably the strangest part of the journey. He’s not cold or standoffish like he normally is when having a crisis, but he’s definitely gentler. More reserved but also warmer. It’s not unwelcome. In fact, you can’t help but wonder. If the war had never come, would this be the life you had with Jin? Endless adventures amongst the thrilling dangers of your home realm?

You bring the thought up to Jin and Jungkook one night, while the three of you huddle together over a fire, snacking on some of the dried meats you’d purchased from the last town.

Jin looks surprised at the thought.

“I’ve always thought it would be you and Taehyung going on the big adventures.” He points out. “The two of you were never able to hold still, even for a moment.” His smile is warm and fond as he recalls your childhood.

“You’d have been dragged along.” Jungkook counters through a particularly chewy mouthful. “You’d probably be married to (Y/N) and forced to follow her around keep her out of trouble.”

Oddly, you expect Jin to flush, or protest, or attempt to strangle Jungkook. You certainly feel a bit flushed at the thought. But Jin is unfazed- he merely offers a secretive smile and tilts his head curiously at you. You couldn’t decipher the look if you tried, but it has your throat feeling tight.

You change the conversation topic after that, but it’s not the only way that Jin has changed. A few days later, the three of you are attempting to cross a little slippery creek when you lose your footing.

You stumble over a few rocks and land on your hands and knees. Even in the deepest part of the creek it only comes up to your mid-thighs when you are on all fours.

Jin skids to a stop beside you, crouching before you in the water. He doesn’t seem to care about the way his clothes become soaked.

“Are you hurt?” He demands. You take stock of your injuries- a scraped knee, a bruised shin, the palms of your hands rubbed raw. Nothing that won’t be gone in an hour or two.

“I’m fine.” You reassure him.

He nods awkwardly for a moment and then offers “I could kiss it better?”

It takes you a few blinks to comprehend his words, and even then, it makes you re-evaluate the severity of your injuries.

“What?” You demand, shocked. He shrugs and looks away.

“Like when we were kids. I could kiss it better. You used to always refuse to stop crying until I kissed you. We could try that again.” He offers nonchalantly. You must have hit your head. It’s the only explanation. You can only stare, your mouth dropped into an “o”.

“I guess that’s a no.” Jin finally says, oddly sulky in the way he says it. “Just thought I’d offer.”

You wish you could say that it’s the strangest of his behaviour, but it’s not. The rest of the journey goes like that- if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think Jin was flirting. Albeit, in a weirdly awkward, tentative way. Even Jungkook notices it.

“Do you think he’s finally gone mad? Maybe the extreme social media detox has made all his brain cells shrivel up and die.” Jungkook whispers conspiratorially one night while the two of you wonder a small village that is throwing a little festival. Colourful lanterns line the streets and the various creatures that inhabit the village are dressed in bright colours. Jin had decided to stay back at the inn but the two of you had wanted to explore.

“It’s the only logical explanation.” You concede, as much as it physically pains you to agree with Jungkook in anything.

“All I have to say is, if this is how he flirts I have no idea how he gets so many dates.” Jungkook laments, and your eyes widen.

“Stop.” You laugh. “He’s not flirting. It’s Jin. He thinks of me like an unwanted houseplant.”

“What if he didn’t, though?” Jungkook asks suddenly. His gaze is probing, and the mood is oddly serious for what you thought was a joking conversation.

“What?” You ask, caught off-guard.

“What if he’s actually flirting? Hypothetically. What would you do?” He questions.

You go silent, as you contemplate your answer. Honestly, you’re not stupid enough to entertain the thought of Jin liking you back. But something about Jungkook’s earnestness has you genuinely considering it.

“I don’t know.” You finally admit. You sigh, suddenly feeling tired.

“Can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks, tentative and almost gentle. He tilts his head curiously. “Do you like him?”

The question startles you. It feels like it’s been so long since you came to term with your feelings that you forgot not everyone else was aware of your revelation. Honestly, even to yourself it had filtered to the back of your mind. An unchanging fact, rarely acknowledged. The sky is blue. Jungkook is annoying. You are in love with Kim Seokjin.

“I do.” You finally admit. You’re reaching the end of the street where most of the festivities are taking place- the crowd is thinning and more distance separates each lantern.

“Then, if he were flirting... wouldn’t the answer be that you’d date him?” Jungkook asks. He’s pulling a face like he’s working out a rather complex maths problem. “Why don’t you know what you’d do?”

The two of you settle at the end of the street. Roughly hewn chairs are scattered randomly across the little square. In the corner, a large, greyish being snoozes, and a small group of little humanoid trees laugh over something and chatter in a foreign language.

“I feel like there’s too much to sort out first. Like... to date him I’d have to be better. I’d have to have a job. And I’d have to have apologised to my mother. I’d need to stop spongeing off the people around me. And maybe live out of home. Be a proper, human adult.” You list. “The me that I am now... I couldn’t date Jin. I’m not... I’m not...”

“Good enough?” Jungkook finishes the words gently. There’s a sad look in his eyes, and it surprises you.

You nod.

“Yeah.” You admit, and your voice is oddly choked. It’s weird- you had thought you were at peace with your feelings. You were meant to be happy with whatever scraps of affection Jin threw your way. But you’re not- there’s a deep, miserable ache in your chest that won’t go away.

Jungkook uses his sleeves to dab at the tears you didn’t even know were slipping down your cheeks.

“For what it’s worth,” Jungkook offers. “Jin doesn’t actually care about that stuff. The only reason he makes a big deal out of it is because he thinks you’ll be happy if all that stuff works out.” He tells you. “And hey. Someone once told me that the best things are the scariest to start- maybe this is one of those times?”

After that, you call it a night, and Jungkook doesn’t bring the topic up again. But you can’t forget his words. The closer to the portal the three of you draw, the more the ache in your chest grows; the closer you get to going back to normal life. What happens to you and Jin when you step back into the human realm?

What if Jungkook’s words are true? Would you... would you have to return to normal? Could you have more? Is it stupid that a part of your stupid, traitorous heart longed for it to be true with each new step towards home?

There’s a surefire way to find out; if you ask him. But you can’t. The words die in your throat every time you even consider it. You remember how he freaked out when Jungkook suggested it earlier on the trip. He likely already knows your feelings despite your denial, and it is only your constant denial otherwise that allows the two of you to exist in this strange limbo. If you stopped denying them, he’d have to address those feelings and then what? It would be back to square one- the avoidance and awkwardness as you cling to the shambles of your friendship.

You can’t go back to that- you’ve fought so hard to fix what is between you, to salvage things. Would it be worth risking it, just in the hopes that you and Jin could be more?

The night before you reach the portal, all the nerves and worries you have build up to the point that you find yourself gazing up listlessly at the canopy overhead. The branches interlace and you can perk glimpses of the stars beyond. This is the last glimpse you will get of these stars. You have already decided you won’t come back here. It’s time to stop looking back and only look forward.

Yet, despite your resolve, despite everything, sleep evades you. Tomorrow, real life awaits. An existential sort of dread has gripped you.

With a sigh, you sit up. To your right, Jungkook has curled into a tight ball as he peacefully rests. But to your surprise, Jin’s bedroll is empty. You’re surprised you didn’t hear him move.

It doesn’t take long to locate him. Only a short distance away, where the vegetation is a bit lighter and a clear patch of sky shimmers overhead, Jin lounges peacefully. He gazes thoughtfully up at the sky overhead as the starlight gilds his face in breathtaking silver.

Wordlessly, you step towards him. A twig snaps beneath your feet and Jin whirls around in surprise. When he spots you, he smiles and gentle pats the open space beside him.

Awkwardly, you settle beside him, hugging your knees to your chest.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He questions, his eyes closed serenely. The soft sound of wind and distant sounds of wildlife filters through the night air.

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice heavy with a sigh. He blinks open one eye to peer curiously at you. It’s the most relaxed and open you’ve seen him in a long time. “What about you? You couldn’t sleep either?”

Jin shrugs.

“I could have.” He informs you. “But I thought I’d enjoy my last night in this realm instead.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. Jin has made it clear throughout the trip that this journey has been anything but enjoyable.

“Enjoy?” You say, only slightly incredulous. He nods and opens both eyes to stare up the sky.

“I’m as shocked as you.” He concedes. “This place has only ever meant bad things to me. It’s why I could never understand your fixation with it.”

You grimace.

“I kind of get it now, though.” He admits, before you can complain to him. “It’s a pretty beautiful place.”

“What changed your mind?” You ask, your curiosity piqued. Jin shrugs.

“You did.” He answers simply.

“M-me?” You’re not sure why you stutter; perhaps it is the strange look to his eyes as he turns fully to face you. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his cheek against them, watching you lazily.

“Yup.” He says, as if it’s the easiest confession in the world. “When I used to think about this place, all I could think about was the night we fled. My dad didn’t even time to wash the blood off his hands. He grabbed me by the wrist and held on so tight I had bruises. I didn’t want to remember that. I didn’t want to remember the place that had caused us so much pain. And you... you were such a shell. I felt like one of my best friends had died in this realm and I was so angry at what it had taken from me.” His gaze is distant with recollection. “And then I was mad at you, because you couldn’t forget no matter what I did.” He gazes at you. “But now it’s finally given me something.”

You’re startled, by his heartfelt words. You’ve always known Jin hated this realm, hated the way the beings of this realm had driven you all out. But you didn’t know you had such a huge role in his opinion of it. “You.” He finishes. “So I guess I can’t really hate this place after all.”

You’re struck speechless in that moment, and your heart swells with an overwhelming feeling. You already know you love the man before you, but in that moment, you’re shocked at just how much. A feeling bubbles up at the base of your chest- your heart feels fit to burst.

“What do you mean?” You ask- is this feeling hope? What does Jin mean, when he says the realm gave him you?

Jin merely shrugs.

“I’ll let you speculate.” He tells you, shooting you a coy smile, an oddly cheeky look that he’s given to his friends before but never to you. But then his expression shifts into something more serious. “I think there are more pressing things to discuss first, though. Like why you’re sitting here with me instead of sleeping?”

The warm feeling from earlier instantly evaporates as you recall the reason for your melancholy.

“I guess I’m just nervous.” You confess. “About going home. I’ve... I’ve really enjoyed this trip. And I’m excited to go home. But I’m just so...” you struggle to find the word. “So...”

“Nervous?” Jin suggests. He shuffles so he’s just a bit closer. His shoulder brushes yours- if you extended your neck, you could rest your head against his broad shoulders. A strange electricity buzzes through your body at the thought- it reminds you of your fight over the fungus a few days ago. The air had felt strangely charged then as well.

“Yeah.” You admit, swallowing past a dry throat. “There’s a lot to do, back home.”

“Back home?” Jin echoes, and then his smile turns warm. His mouth carefully forms the word “home” and his eyes wrinkle into two joyous crescent moon shapes. “I guess there is.” He acknowledges. “But you’ve already made the first step. You’re calling the human realm home.”

That startles you. Obviously, it is your home. But you hadn’t realised how instinctive that had become until this moment; at some point the human realm had stopped being that uncomfortable alien place, and had become the place you’re meant to go back to. Home. Jin watches you process the words carefully before he speaks again.

“You don’t have to be nervous.” He tells you softly. The tone to his voice is oddly vulnerable and delicate. Something delicate hovers between you like the flutter of a pixie’s wing. “You said you wanted to work things out together, right? So, you don’t have to be nervous because I’ll be there with you.”

He looks away and his expression is surprisingly shy. “I know you said I don’t have to be the guy with it all worked out, but I still want to try. It makes me happy. Being there for you. So even if you’re nervous... we’ll work it out together, right?”

It is that exact moment that you figure it out. Earlier, you had been uneasy at Jungkook’s line of questioning. You didn’t feel worthy of Jin’s love and affection, and that made you afraid. Because you couldn’t bear to lose him. You still can’t bear to lose him. But gazing into the warm eyes before you, you know you won’t ever lose him. The two of you have braved death together- you’ll make it through anything.

You feel lighter then, and you offer Jin a smile.

“Thank you.” You whisper. Jin smiles back.

“Any time.” He whispers back to you in answer.

Sleep comes easily after that, and so too does the end of your journey. All too soon you stand before the portal back home.

The trip feels like it’s taken a thousand years and no time at all at the same time. By your calculation, the entire journey has taken almost a month, with all the detours and misadventures. That means almost six hours have passed in the human realm. Jin has almost definitely missed his dinner plans, and your mother is probably starting to wonder why you aren’t home yet.

“What will you do, when you go back?” Jin asks. Jungkook has already stepped through and you’re surprised that Jin is making conversation now, of all times.

“Apologise to my mother.” You say easily. “What about you?”

“I’m going to save my snapchat streaks and apologise to Joon.” Jin shares. He’s nervously twisting his fingers together. The energy he gives off is like an uneasy teenager about to do a huge public speech. It’s a big contrast from the person her was last night. Like he’s bracing himself for something.

You thought you’d be bracing yourself too. On the other side is hard work and futile dreams and a bleary, dull city.

But on the other side is your mother, your friends, your family. Your evil cat waits for you on the other side; the life your father dreamed of for you is on the other side. You had thought that so much in your life is wrong, and now that the portal is here, you realise that it’s not. It’s just life. Things go wrong and things go right. Like the path of a river, cutting through the vast, unknown wilderness. You had been thinking of it this whole time like you’d flip a switch and things would be easy. But that’s not what it’s going to be like on the other side of this portal, and it’s not really what you want things to be like. It’s an adventure of a different kind.

And it’s an adventure that you want to share... with Jin.

You remember what Jungkook had said- the best things in life are the scariest to start. And you’re scared now. No, you’re terrified. But if you’re this scared, then you know that this moment is going to be huge. Life-changing. You can’t keep the words in a moment longer. You don’t want to. You’ve spent too long running and fearing and hesitating and overthinking. But you’re confident, that the two of you will survive this even if he doesn’t feel the same way, and you’re ready to take that risk.

The river loves those who take the plunge.

“Jin,” you call, and you thought that if you ever did this that you’d be lost for words. But you’re not. Because you’re finally ready. Last night had solidified that for you. The words come easily. “You remember how you said that I look at you a certain way?”

You turn and face him, and he looks bewildered.

“Like you’re my hero.” You recall. And then you steel yourself and meet his gaze. It’s the same eyes you’ve known all your life. The same eyes you want to look into for the remainder of your life. “It’s because you are my hero. No, actually, it’s more than that.” You assert, and he just stares, completely dumbstruck. “I look at you like that because I love you. Because I admire you and think you’re strong and brave and kind, and even if you’re not the guy who has it all together, I still feel the same way. And I lied when I said I just wanted you to be my friend. I thought it was enough, but it’s not- I want to be your partner. I want to be your best friend. I want to be your girlfriend.” You say. And then you summon all the exciting fluttering feels in your chest and let it pour into your smile. “I love you, Kim Seokjin.”

Before you stands something you never thought you’d see. Kim Seokjin, the mastermind behind the Jant, is completely speechless. And then slowly, very slowly, he opens his mouth to give a response.

“Are you dead?” Jungkook demands as the upper half of his body appears once more through the portal. “It’s been like 30 seconds in that realm which is approximately ten years in this realm if my maths is correct!”

You spring back from Jin. You’re startled at how far you have to step back- had you really been standing that close?

“R-right.” You stutter. You feel like you’ve been caught cheating on a diet or something equally scandalous. “We’re coming.”

Jin just looks annoyed.

“No we’re not. Give us a minute.” He snaps at Jungkook, placing a palm against Jungkook’s head and shoving him back through the portal none-too-gently. He then turns urgently back to you. “What did you just say?” He demands. His intensity has you cowering slightly- your bravado from earlier leaves you.

“I said “we’re coming”?” You recall, attempting to divert the topic, but Jin steps closer.

“No you didn’t. You said you love me. And that you want to be my girlfriend.” He accuses.

“If you knew, why did you ask me?” You grumble. And then your expression softens. “But yes. I did say that. And it’s ok if you don’t feel the same. I know you could have any girl you want and I won’t be mad if you want someone else.” You reassure him quickly. He just stares, offering you no indication of whether he’d processed your words. It’s uncomfortable, but you suppose your words were going to be uncomfortable. You’re changing the very nature of your relationship by voicing them aloud. “But if you were willing... maybe you could give me a chance?” You trail away.

Still, Jin just continues to look at you blankly. He looks like he’s a robot that just encountered a programming error. Hesitantly, you reach out to tap his shoulder, just to make sure he hasn’t died or suddenly been transformed into stone.

A hand shoots up. It grabs your wrist, halting its movements. Jin’s eyes bug out of his head.

“YOU’RE TELLING ME NOW?” He all but screeches. You flinch- you hadn’t anticipated a jant in response to your confession. “YOU HAD THE WHOLE TRIP TO SAY YOUR FEELINGS AND YOU SAY IT NOW? YOU COULDN’T HAVE WAITED ONE DAY?”

His nostrils flare as he releases your wrist so that he can point accusingly at you.

“You had all your chances! You could have said it on the way to the forest spirit! Or when the Saishtas were chasing us! Or when we landed in the ravine! You’ve had literally the whole trip and you wait until right before I’m going to confess?” He spits out in that rapid-fire way that you’ve never seen another person be able to replicate.

And then you process his words.

“Wait-“ you say, hoping to abort the jant so that you have enough time to comprehend what he’s saying.

It’s no use.

“Seriously! I had a whole plan, (Y/N)! We were going to go to dinner and I was going to buy you flowers and I was going to ease you into it! But no! You just had to beat me to it, and for what? For what? So that you can make a half-assed confession right before we step into an alley next to a brothel?” He laments.

“It’s not half-assed-“ you protest, because you’d poured your heart out to Jin.

He steps in menacingly.

“Take it back.” He demands. Your eyes widen.

“What?” You cry, defensively. To your credit, you only cower a little which is an impressive feat for someone on the receiving end of a jant.

“Your confession! Take it back!” He orders.

“No!” You argue back. “I’m not going to do that.”

“You are!” Jin counters. “You’re going to take it back and we’re going to do it properly, over dinner, and you’re going to have washed hair and I’m going to-“

You don’t let him finish whatever stupid thoughts were filtering through his brain. If he wants a proper, romantic confession, then he’s going to get one! You hear a sharp intake of breath from him as your lips press to his. They’re slightly chapped after such a long period of rough travel, but the sensation is still pleasant. Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel like you’re about to burst.

It takes Jin a moment to respond. But when he does, it’s with an intensity that is almost frightening. You’re startled by the way he pulls you close. It’s like the electricity from last night, but multiplied a hundred-fold. If you thought your heart was ready to burst before, it is nothing compared to the way molten lava fills your chest when his hands come up to gently cradle your face and deepen the kiss.

When you finally recall that oxygen is something you need, Jin pulls away and searches your gaze. His hands slide down to your waist, resting delicately along the flare of your hips. His face is bright red but his eyes are determined.

Something about the way he is looking at you has you feeling shy.

“That was weird, huh?” You stammer, trying to cover the way you feel so completely overwhelmed. “Sorry.” Your heart is dancing in your chest. It’s all too much for one person to feel and you’re just not really sure what to do with the sensation. Did he feel it too? This weird tension, like you’re a balloon about to pop?

Jin doesn’t break eye contact and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips.

“Hard to say.” He finally says, breaking his long spell of silence. He then grabs at either side of your face, puckering his lips obnoxiously. “I think we need to try again to be sure.”

You barely have time to protest before he’s attempting to pull you in for a second kiss, although you slap a hand over his mouth to halt his advance.

“Wait!” You accuse. “You can’t just kiss me and not respond to what I said!”

“I already told you.” He snaps. “Your confession doesn’t count until we do it properly. Now if you excuse me-“ He grabs you by the elbows and tugs you back towards him, attempting to kiss you once more, but you stop him with a hand pressed to his chest. His expression turns pleading. “Just one more time.” He requests.

You swallow, and gaze into his eyes. It’s not an unfamiliar look, you realise. He’s looked at you like this before, but you now realise what the emotion was behind that look.

“I love you.” You tell him. “I told you like this because yes. I couldn’t wait one more day. I don’t want to wait another day without you knowing. I love you.” You say one more time, just for good measure.

His expression crumbles and he sighs in resignation, before pulling you tightly against him. His embrace is warm, and secure. It’s no different from all the other times he’s hugged you in your life, and yet nothing is the same.

“Fine.” He says, into the crook of your neck. “But I’m not saying it back until we have a proper date.”

He pulls out of the hug and the love in his gaze is overwhelming. It’s not a confession, per se, but his intent is as clear as day.

He loves you. You know he does.

“Deal.” You say back, and his response is his eyes crinkling up as he offers you that special smile, the one that he only shows when he’s really, truly happy. “But you’re paying.”

“How about we save any important conversations for the side of the portal where we’re not in constant mortal danger?” Jungkook demands, his head once more poking through the portal. There’s an awkward silence as he glances between the two of you, and then he groans. “Seriously? You had the entire journey to sort this out and you waited until now? You couldn’t even just leave it until after dinner?”

“Sorry!” You apologise quickly, going to follow Jungkook’s lead through the portal. But a hand wrapped around your wrist stops you- you hadn’t even noticed Jin had grabbed you.

You turn to gaze questioningly at him, and he shrugs, shifting his hands until he can interlace his fingers with yours.

“Wait. Let’s go together.” He requests, then pauses. “Can we?”

Something about this moment feels monumental. Huge. You’ve braved enemy encampments, crossed mountains. You’ve gone free-falling into giant ravines and overcome furious forest spirits.

And yet this moment feels like the start to your biggest adventure yet. From this point on, real life starts. You smile at Jin and he returns it.

“Yeah.” You say. “Let’s go together.”

Jin’s reply is covered by Jungkook’s annoyed call through the portal:

“What did I just say? Hurry up!”

~Fin~

#castlebangtan #thebtswritersclub #kim seokjin x reader #jin x reader #seokjin x reader #writing

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bigballofstress · 4 years

Text

To Share an Armchair (Tom Holland x Actress!Reader)

Description: You and Tom appear on Conan to promote your new movie together, Spider-Man: Homecoming. Little do you know, Tom has a bit more planned than your usual run-of-the-mill interview.

Prequel to The Interview

I took a deep, nervous breath, my hands wringing together as I looked out into the absolutely packed audience.

“You’ll be fine,” a warm, comforting presence appeared behind me. I turned quickly to see my best friend, Tom, smiling down at me. “They love you, and you love them.”

I smiled a bit. He always seemed to know just what to say to make me feel better.

Tom and I had been working together since the filming of Captain America: Civil War, where I’d played another of Tony’s young recruits. Now, with the new Spider-Man movie coming out, we were sent to advertise the release. So, there we stood, on the set of Conan, ready give yet another interview. Except, this time, we’d be promoting the movie by ourselves. “I’m just not very used to going out there without an older cast member or producer or something,” I sighed.

“Just be your usual funny, witty, charming self, and I promise you that everything will turn out well,” Tom reassured me.

I nodded firmly in an effort to strengthen my resolve. “Thanks, Tom.”

“Anytime, sweetcheeks,” he grinned. I rolled my eyes playfully at the cheesy nickname that he had taken to calling me ever since our second week of filming, claiming that my ‘cheeks were too sweet to be called anything else.’

“And now, please welcome Tom Holland and (Y/N) (L/N) to the stage!” Conan shouted. Tom walked out, and I quickly followed. The lights were practically blinding, and my ears were ringing from the very, very loud cheers. I shook off my fears and muscled my way past the almost overwhelming scene to grin and wave with both hands to the audience before moving to take my seat.

The only armchair available was already occupied by a certain web slinger. I pouted and crossed my arms. “I was going to sit there!”

“Well, I’m already here. Sorry, sweetcheeks,” Tom smirked up at me, settling further into the very comfortable looking chair.

I frowned. “Aw, c’mon, Tommy! Pleeeease?” I tilted my chin down and sent him my best puppy dogs.

Tom shook his head. “Hey, you can sit anywhere you want, but I’m not moving.”

My lips immediately quirked upwards. “Ok!” I quickly responded before plopping myself down sideways across Tom’s lap with my legs hanging over the other armrest. His hands reflexively went to my waist in an effort to stabilize me. Tom stared at me in shock, and I just grinned back triumphantly.

I turned to look at Conan, who was watching the whole ordeal go down with an amused smile. “Hi, Conan,” I grinned.

The tall man chuckled. “Hi, (Y/N).”

I had to flip my head upside down to look at Andy, as the armrest that my back was leaning against was the one facing him. “Nothing personal, I just really wanted the chair.”

Andy scoffed in fake hurt. “Yeah, sure. Just pretend you’re not repulsed by me.”

“Well, I am a pretty good actress,” I shrugged, pretending to think it over.

Conan barked out a laugh, and I grinned, straightening back up and settling further into Tom’s lap. “So I guess (ship name) is real?” Conan chuckled, wiggling his eyebrows.

My face went bright red, and I scoffed. “Yeah, just about as real as Candy,” I bit back in an attempt to misdirect from my extreme embarrassment.

Conan laughed his big belly laugh again. “No, (Y/N)’s just unbelievably stubborn is all,” Tom added with a slight shake of his head.

“I’ve heard a few rumors, though, about the two of you,” Conan continued. “A lot of people are talking about a recent incident involving gymnastics?”

I groaned and hid my face in Tom’s chest. “Yeah, she was just so graceful,” Tom chuckled.

I hit his arm with a pout. “Oh, shut up. It really hurt, ok?”

Tom grinned and turned to Conan. “You see, we’ve had a wager going on for quite a while over who was the better actor. So, when we got off set early one day, we decided to prove it once and for all. We each invented a character for the other to play. I was supposed to be a foul-tempered, incredibly avid fan of some sort of predatory bird--”

“The eagles, Tom,” I rolled my eyes. “You were playing a fan of the Philadelphia Eagles. Anyways, Tommy here had decided to make me a world class gymnast. You know, because I’m so experienced.”

“Whoever was revealed to be lying about their identity first would lose the bet,” Tom continued. “And he or she would have to do one thing the other asked, no matter what it was.”

“It didn’t go very well,” I sighed, cringing slightly at the memory. “And I still maintain that I won, by the way!”

Tom shook his head. “Not a chance, sweetcheeks. You see, we were talking to a wonderful young lady on the street when I noticed (Y/N) getting a bit excited. Turns out, she’d noticed a Philadelphia sticker on the woman’s bag. So she started raving about how much I loved the Eagles and all of the Philadelphia teams. Naturally, I began talking of her supposed experience in gymnastics. The woman was rather impressed and asked if she could see her do a flip.”

“Meanwhile, I can’t do any sort of gymnastics to save my life,” I scoffed. “So instead of flipping, I asked Tom what sport the Eagles play.” The audience laughed a bit. “He couldn’t respond, and voila! I win!”

“Not quite,” Tom chuckled. “That woman didn’t say a word until you tried to do a flip and landed directly on your bum. She caught you first, pointing out that you weren’t a gymnast. Only afterwards did she say I had no idea where Philadelphia even was.”

I frowned. “Yeah, but she knew you were faking it first.”

“Those weren’t the rules, sweetcheeks,” Tom grinned. I rolled my eyes.

I’d barely taken notice of the loud laughter until Conan spoke up again between chuckles. “Here’s a clip from the new Spider-Man: Homecoming in theaters July 7, check it out!”

While the clip played, Tom grinned and poked me in the side. “You know, I still get to ask you that favor.”

“Fine, I concede. What do you want, Holland?” I rolled my eyes again.

“You’ll see in just a moment,” he answered, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

I snorted softly in an attempt not to laugh over the preview being played. “What the heck was that?”

“I was being mysterious!” He defended.

“You looked like you’d lost all control over your facial muscles,” I smirked.

Tom frowned, but before he could reply, the lights came back on. So instead, he turned to look at our host. “Conan, before we go, can I ask a favor?”

Conan nodded. Tom gently picked me up while he stood, placing me back in the seat. He walked towards the edge of the stage. I leaned over to Andy. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” I stage whispered.

“Yeah, but I’m not telling you. You didn’t want to sit next to me,” Andy responded with a humph, crossing his arms. I laughed at his antics.

Tom had returned by that point. In his arms was the most adorable little creature I’d ever seen in my entire life. “This is Firestar,” he said, holding up the absolutely precious chocolate lab puppy. “She’s incredibly stubborn, so I thought you two might get along.”

“Tom, I can’t believe you!” I squealed, accepting the puppy without hesitation. She immediately started trying to lick my face.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to call in that favor you owe me.” I glanced up at him suspiciously. Tom just smiled. “Go with me to the premier? As my date?” Tom stood before me nervously, his cheeks bright red, while he anticipated my answer.

My eyes widened, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t believe he’d actually just asked me out. Of course I had fantasized about this, but I never actually thought it would happen.

“Say yes!” I random shout from somewhere in the crowd startled me out of my trance.

My face broke out into a huge grin, and I nodded quickly. “Of course I’ll go with you, you big dummy!” I said, hiding my immense excitement behind the small joke.

Tom’s nervousness melted into happiness, and he rushed forward to hug me, taking care not to crush the puppy between us.

“Tom Holland and (Y/N) (L/N), everybody!” Conan shouted above the cheers. “Now officially (ship name)!” The cheers and screams got even louder, and I laughed, almost having to cover my ears. We were both soon ushered off the stage to make way for whoever was next to appear on the show.

When we finally had a minute to breath, I turned to Tom. “I can’t believe you got me a puppy,” I laughed. My smiled was still plastered to my face, and I had a feeling it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

“Everyone gets flowers,” Tom shrugged. I laughed and shook my head. “So there is one other thing I need to know before we can go on a date.”

My brow furrowed slightly, and my smile wavered. “What is it?” I asked warily.

“What color is your dress? I have to know what I’m matching my tie to.”

I pursed my lips in pretend anger, despite the smile that still managed to peak through. “You jerk, you really had my scared!” I hit his arm.

“Ow!” Tom complained. He grabbed my hand as it was gearing up to hit him again and pulled me into another hug, still softly chuckling my hair. I grinned and cradled my new puppy to my chest, who’d already fallen asleep after all the excitement. I was going to go on a date with Tom Holland. Maybe I’ll even get to be his girlfriend!

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland reader insert #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #avengers cast x reader #avengers cast #avengers cast reader insert #avengers cast imagine #avengers cast x you #avengers cast x y/n

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ibijau · 3 years

Note

xisang 13, bc i need to see it happen sjhdjshdhhdb

warning for drug use. And for probably somewhat inacurate depictions of getting high? I try to research a bit but welp

The dried leaves had a rather unusual shape, and a distinctive smell that made Nie Huaisang wrinkle his nose when he took a sniff.

“They’re medicinal,” Lan Xichen explained as he prepared a pipe. “Wei Wuxian found them on a trip and thought they might be helpful. Do you want to try?”

“What is it supposed to cure?” Nie Huaisang asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

It wasn’t that he suspected Lan Xichen of keeping poison around the Hanshi in case some unwanted visitor came to trouble his seclusion, giving him a chance to settle scores, but… Nie Huaisang hadn’t survived this long by being overly trusting.

“It helps you relax,” Lan Xichen said with affected nonchalance. “You look like you could use it.”

Nie Huaisang hesitated and watched as Lan Xichen calmly lit his pipe and sat with it on his sofa. The smell was stronger now that the leaves were burning, heady and nearly unpleasant. Nie Huaisang knew he ought to have gone away and returned at a later time, when Lan Xichen was in a more cooperative mood. Who knew when he’d have such a chance again though, with how protective Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji had become.

“I suppose I’ve had a little more stress to deal with than usual,” Nie Huaisang conceded, still eyeing the pipe suspiciously. “You’ve heard the news, perhaps?”

Lan Xichen pulled on the pipe, then nodded slowly, exhaling smoke.

“Chief Cultivator Nie Huaisang. What a fate for the boy who used to pretend he’d gone blind whenever he had to study politics.” Lan Xichen chuckled. “What a punishment you’ve created for yourself, Huaisang.”

It felt odd to hear Lan Xichen’s laugh again, especially on such a subject. Nie Huaisang had to fight an impulse to grab some of those leaves and take them to a healer from his own sect to see what they really were. It was unlikely that Wei Wuxian would have willingly given Lan Xichen anything that might harm him, but to see him so relaxed felt wrong.

Even as a youth, Lan Xichen would never have leaned so casually against the armrest of a sofa, nor allowed himself to look at others with such open judgement, no matter their fault against him. It made Nie Huaisang uncomfortable to see him like that.

“Er-ge, I assure you…”

“Don’t call me that,” Lan Xichen lightly scolded, inhaling more smoke. “I have killed both of my sworn brothers now, I’m no one’s brother but Wangji’s… and only as long as I tolerate Wei Wuxian, I suspect.”

“Now you’re being unfair,” Nie Huaisang protested. “Your brother cares for you, regardless of how you feel about his husband. Anyone who knows Wangji knows how much he loves you, and…”

“Would he kill for me, I wonder?” Lan Xichen said, laughing again. “Ah, Huaisang, you’ve really raised the bar of expectations toward younger brothers. Now I’ll be cross if I get murdered and the killer isn’t brought down in a dramatic reveal that cost him his life. Or her life? I could get murdered by a woman. They’re capable of it too, after all. I think I’d prefer to be killed by a woman. Usually, they have good reasons for it. What would you prefer, Huaisang?”

“I’d prefer if you stopped smoking this,” Nie Huaisang hissed, annoyed and worried at once. “I don’t think it’s good for you.”

Lan Xichen laughed once more, lounging on his sofa and looking at Nie Huaisang from under heavy lids. He looked miles away from the warm but severely restrained man Nie Huaisang was used to. It wasn’t a bad look, though it definitely was a worrying one.

“It just relaxes me,” Lan Xichen insisted. “You should try it. When is the last time you’ve relaxed, Huaisang?”

“A while,” Nie Huaisang admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was starting to feel a little difficult to think clearly. He wondered, too late, if the leaves’ effect could be felt through their smoke alone. If so, he was in trouble already and needed to leave. The matter he had come to discuss wasn’t so urgent that he should have risked his health, perhaps even his life, over it.

If he had been wise, Nie Huaisang would have left.

He couldn’t quite bring himself to it though, his eyes drawn again and again to Lan Xichen, relaxed and seemingly content.

“Smoke with me,” Lan Xichen lazily insisted. “It’ll be fun, you’ll like it. You need to have fun sometimes, Huaisang.”

It would be unwise to agree. Dangerous even.

But it had been over two years since the death of Jin Guangyao, and in that span of time, Lan Xichen had never once expressed any interest in seeing Nie Huaisang, nor answered his letters. A better man than Nie Huaisang would have known that it was only the burning leaves making Lan Xichen say this, and would have left quickly.

Nie Huaisang had no interest in being a good man though, and he wasn’t above taking advantage of a moment of weakness to spend time again with one of the few people he’d ever counted as a friend.

Nie Huaisang went to sit on the sofa, next to Lan Xichen’s feet, and opened his hand to ask for the pipe. Lan Xichen smiled as he gave it to him.

The first pull on the pipe was a little too strong and made him cough, which in turn made Lan Xichen laugh, as if he’d never beheld anything funnier. Combined with the somewhat unpleasant earthy aftertaste it left on his tongue, Nie Huaisang thought of giving up.

“Give it a little time,” Lan Xichen advised, casually dropping his feet on Nie Huaisang’s lap. “It can take a moment to feel the effect, and then you’ll relax.”

Nie Huaisang stared down at the feet resting on his thighs. It suddenly felt a little harder to breathe, and he wasn’t sure he could blame it only on the pipe.

“Does your uncle know about this… medicine?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“I’m a grown man, I don’t need my uncle’s approval,” Lan Xichen retorted, melting a little more against the sofa, looking rather like a capricious child. “Try again, and then pass it back to me.”

Nie Huaisang obeyed.

It would have been hard to say whether he was relaxing or not, but after a few moments had passed, Nie Huaisang found it a little harder to think clearly. The only thing he could focus on was Lan Xichen, the way his slender fingers held that piper, how his lips parted to blow away smoke, his eyes slightly red but sparkling with life in a way they hadn’t in so long.

Nie Huaisang had missed him, he realised.

He hadn’t necessarily missed the man Lan Xichen had tried to become, impartial to a fault, distant like the moon, a perfect little Lan. But he had missed who Lan Xichen used to be, before everything went wrong. The teenager who was the only other person to make Nie Mingjue smile, who teased with such subtlety that most people missed it, who poked fun at Nie Huaisang’s laziness but never tried to make him be more than he was. The war had ruined that by forcing him to rise to power too soon, and then Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang had trampled what little had remained of that lively young man until only the shell of him remained.

There wasn’t much that Nie Huaisang bothered to regret, but allowing his brother to die, allowing his friends to lose themselves…

If he had tried harder, if he had tried at all…

If he had done this, if he hadn’t done that, if…

A thousand ‘if’ taunted him that he usually tried to ignore, but he couldn’t draw his mind away from them, not when every thought felt heavy and complicated.

Trapped among the memories of failures, Nie Huaisang barely registered movement on the sofa until he felt himself pulled down, his head resting on Lan Xichen’s chest.

The distant notion that this was a scandalous position, that Lan Xichen would hate him for this when he returned to his senses, only worsened Nie Huaisang’s growing anxiety. His heart was beating too fast, too hard, enough almost to make him dizzy. It was nothing at all like the relaxation Lan Xichen had promised, and Nie Huaisang’s panic increased as he wondered if he was being poisoned. If Lan Xichen had taken the antidote beforehand, if he had made himself immune to the toxin, if…

“Am I going to die?” Nie Huaisang asked in a trembling voice that hardly sounded like his own.

Lan Xichen hummed. With the hand that wasn’t holding his pipe, he started running his fingers through Nie Huaisang’s hair.

It felt nice, and more intimate than anything had a right to be.

It wouldn’t be so bad to die like this, held close and touched almost tenderly.

“You’ll never die,” Lan Xichen replied with an aborted yawn. “I won’t allow it.”

“Then what, immortality?” Nie Huaisang scoffed.

“Hm. Yes, doesn’t that sound nice?” Lan Xichen chuckled, sounding absolutely delighted by the idea. “You, me, and all the time in the world to do as we please.”

It did seem like a wonderful plan. Nie Huaisang felt his earlier panic recede somewhat. It was so comfortable to be like this, warm and cozy and close. He remembered being like this sometimes with his brother when he was little, after a nightmare or just when the mood struck him. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to be this close to anyone, and right then it seemed like such a silly decision. People were nice to be close to. Lan Xichen in particular was very nice to be close to. It was only a shame that…

“We can’t be immortals together,” Nie Huaisang sighed, forlorn and whiny.

“Why not?” Lan Xichen asked, offering the pipe to him, holding it for him as he took in some more of the smoke.

“You hate me now,” Nie Huaisang reminded him, exhaling the smoke and watching the patterns it formed in the air. “I think you’re trying to kill me with those leaves.”

Under him, he felt Lan Xichen’s laughter, almost powerful enough to dislodge him.

“I haven’t killed you that time you made me redo your accounting five times in as many weeks,” Lan Xichen pointed out. “And that was so annoying I really considered it. So don’t worry, if I didn’t do anything then, I’ll never hurt you.”

“Hm. I remember that,” Nie Huaisang mumbled. “You did look like you wanted to kill me. I almost felt sorry.”

“Only almost?”

“Hm. You’re very handsome when you’re angry. I was too busy trying to not get horny to really be sorry.”

The hand in Nie Huaisang’s hair stilled for an instant, before resuming its repetitive movement. Nie Huaisang briefly wondered if that had been a wise thing to say, but since Lan Xichen didn’t explode with anger or disgust, it couldn’t have been so bad.

“Think I’m sleepy,” Nie Huaisang muttered, nuzzling against Lan Xichen, chasing the warmth of his body through the layers he wore.

“Then sleep, A-Sang. You do look so tired.”

“I am. Will you sleep too?”

“Hm. I might,” Lan Xichen yawned, stretching to put his pipe down on a nearby low table. “If I sleep, will you still be there when I wake up this time? Or is this just another dream?”

“Too good to be a dream,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, closing his eyes. “In my dreams, you never want me to stay.”

“And in mine, you always leave,” Lan Xichen retorted with another yawn, before dropping a kiss on Nie Huaisang’s hair. “So try to be there when I wake up this time.”

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #this one kinda got away from me because i was just happy to manage to write again oops #not sure if it's any good but I had fun writing it and that's what matters #Anonymous

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hayleysstark · 3 years

Note

For your prompt event: Merlin accidentally hurting Arthur with his magic post-reveal and freaking out about it? (I love your writing!)

oh my god op YOUR MIND!!!!!!!!! im losign it,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Arthur had all of ten seconds to get out of range and, as it turned out, ten seconds wasn't nearly enough.

To tell the truth, he knew it was all his own fault—he hadn't tried or, at least, he hadn't tried hard enough, mostly because he didn't want to get out of range, he didn't want to run away, and he certainly didn't want to leave Merlin behind to face the mad old witch entirely on his own. For all his magic, for all his power and know-how and strange, old-soul wisdom, Merlin was a right idiot most of the time and, while Arthur trusted him to take down an obviously mediocre, middle-of-the-road sorceress alone, he most definitely did not trust him to be smart about it. He didn't trust Merlin to be smart about most things, come to that, but magical battles with evil sorcerers was settled firmly at the top of the list.

But it didn't do an ounce of good, because Arthur couldn't get near enough to land a blow on the old woman, and he couldn't even get near enough to watch Merlin's back like he should, like he usually did in these sorts of situations—the spells flew far too thick and fast around the quiet green grove, blinding bursts of color and light flashing like suns and stars in the deep shadows of the wood, curses rebounding like stray cannonballs off the trees and boulders and branches—no, he could only stand there, sword in his hand, out on the edge of the battle, completely useless.

All of a sudden, the old witch stopped, her wrinkled hands still held out in front of her, and she said something—it didn't sound like magic, it didn't sound like a spell, and it didn't look much like magic, either, it looked like she was talking to Merlin, like she was talking and she wanted him to talk back, but Arthur couldn't hear the words over the whispers and rustles of all the sorcery in the grove—and it must have been magic, he realized, hardly half a second later, because a high, howling wind whipped up, right in the middle of the forest, on a cloudless, sunny day.

She must be a bit better than mediocre, then, she must be a bit more than middle-of-the-road, if she could call up storms like Merlin could—

The wind picked up, stronger and stronger until the shriek of it was all Arthur could hear, until the force of it nearly ripped his cloak from his shoulders and clawed the sword from his hand, until it pushed him back, farther and farther away from the old witch, away from Merlin, until it finally grabbed him up in its screaming grip and slammed him, with a nasty crunch, back into the nearest tree.

As near as Arthur could figure out, from the flashes of blue sky rushing past over his head and the fleeting glimpses of Merlin's bone-white face and terrified blue eyes, he had come back 'round on the way back to the castle, but he hadn't stayed awake long enough to remember much, and Merlin had, apparently, defeated the old woman mere moments after Arthur had blacked out, but he never heard the whole of it, and Merlin never told him.

All he could say for certain was, when he had finally opened his eyes to find himself in Gaius' chambers, in the rickety white cot reserved solely for the very ill, the old man had forced him to choke down a vast number of horrible potions and medicines before he had allowed Arthur to settle back in his own bedchamber.

It had seemed an awful lot of fuss for nothing but a broken arm and a few bruised ribs, and, if he had to make a guess, he would say the whole thing had upset Merlin rather more than he had thought it would, and certainly a great deal more than it had any right to—the idiot had turned into the perfect servant in the week since, nothing but yes Sire or no Sire or let me get that for you, Sire, not one gripe or grumble or complaint to be had, and never more than ten steps from Arthur's bedside.

And he didn't make a face when Arthur told him to muck the stables, and he didn't breeze in to work a half hour too late Arthur's breakfast in one hand and a sheepish smile on his face, and he didn't throw the curtains wide and shout good morning like he wanted to wake the entire castle, and he hadn't spilled wine in Arthur's lap even once, and he hadn't used his magic to heat the bathwater, or scrub the floor, or make the bed, and Arthur's armor had literally never shined brighter, a dazzling silver gleam out of the corner of his eye, glinting and flashing in the light of the sun through the open window.

It was absolutely unbearable.

And it was obviously much more than the usual mother-hen impulses Merlin fell into when Arthur got hurt, because he certainly hadn't acted like this even when Arthur had gotten a bite from the Questing Beast, when Arthur had, very literally, cheated death, and survived the unsurvivable!

No, this was bigger than all Merlin's girlish little fits and frenzies of fear, this was more than his everyday panic over nothing, and Arthur was not going to put up with it one moment longer.

"All right," he said, eight days out from that fight in the forest with the old witch, his arm still wrapped firmly in a simple white sling, and the bruising on his ribs a touch lighter now, and certainly less painful, "out with it, Merlin, what is it? What's gotten into you lately?"

"Sorry?" Merlin said, flatly, and he didn't even look up from where he had crouched down to pick up all the dirty laundry scattered 'round the chamber. "Not sure what you mean."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Don't be an idiot, Merlin, you and I both know that suits you a bit too well."

"Yeah," Merlin said blandly, stuffing Arthur's brown trousers in his basket, "just one of my many gifts, Sire."

"Merlin," Arthur sat up a little in his seat, and put down his quill with a soft swish of the long white feather on parchment, "what's going on?"

"Nothing," Merlin said at once. He tossed a pair of socks in the basket, too. "It's nothing."

Arthur waited.

Merlin straightened up and turned his back on Arthur to pluck a red tunic up off the floor and plop it down in the basket with everything else.

Arthur waited a bit more.

All of a sudden, Merlin stopped, with the basket perched on the end of the bed, his hands still clinging to the wooden rim, and finally, Arthur thought, with a rush of relief, finally, he's going to stop being such a girl and just tell me—

Merlin sniffled.

Arthur's insides turned to ice. Oh, God, no, this was a mistake, this was a terrible, awful, horrendous mistake, and now Merlin was having feelings, and what if Merlin wanted to talk about those feelings, couldn't he just give Merlin the day off and let him sort it out on his own time, wasn't that a thing he could do, or would that be "insensitive" and "rude" the way Guinevere always told him, would that make him a "bad friend" the way Guinevere always told him—? "Um," he said, a little blankly, and a lot desperately, "y-you don't need to—you shouldn't—erm—"

"I—" Merlin wiped at his face with the back of his hand, and turned to look at Arthur, his eyes red and puffy, his cheeks sticky and stained with tears, "—I-I'm sorry."

"For crying?" Arthur said, rather weakly, and also rather hopefully.

"I should have said it sooner, but I thought you were going to—to bring it up, and I thought you were going to be angry, so I-I just waited and waited, but you didn't—"

Not for crying, then, Arthur concluded dismally, before he scraped up the last remnants of his dwindling-in-the-face-of-a-crying-Merlin courage. "Why on earth did you think I'd be angry with you?"

"I did this to you," Merlin said, looking for all the world like a deeply repentant puppy left out in the pouring rain, waiting to be kicked. "I hurt you. I-I used my magic to h-hurt you."

What? Arthur blinked a bit dazedly at Merlin while he waited for the words to make some sort of sense. "Hang on," he said, slowly, mostly to make sure he had this absolutely right, "you were the one who called up that wind? You were the one who—?"

Merlin blinked back, just as dazedly. "Y-You didn't know?"

"I thought it was the witch!" Arthur said, thoroughly baffled now. "What in God's name did you do that for? You never do storms unless it's—!"

"I got angry," Merlin said miserably. He sniffled again and wiped at his nose now. "I—I got so angry, she—she said some things that made me realize she was—she was somebody that had done really awful things, she had—she had hurt someone I know, she'd hurt her really badly, and I lost my temper, and—" he flicked a mournful glance up at Arthur from under his wet lashes, "—and it just happened, and Arthur, I'm so sorry!"

Arthur almost crumpled right back down in his seat again. Merlin had conjured up that wind, not the old witch, and oh, that made sense now, didn't it, he had thought, even then, the old woman hadn't seemed strong enough for magic like that, he had thought she hadn't had the power for a thing like that, and he had been right, and—

—and if she was so mediocre and middle-of-the-road, what on earth had she done in her past, to make Merlin so furious with her? "Is she—?" Arthur raised his head to look at his friend on the other side of the room. "Is she all right? The friend that the witch hurt? Is she all right now?"

Merlin stared blankly back at him, blue eyes wide and wet. "That's—?" he scrubbed at his nose again. "That's what you're worried about? Not the fact that I almost killed you?"

Arthur almost laughed. "It's a broken arm, Merlin, and it's not even my sword arm! Honestly, I hardly think I'm going to drop dead all because—"

"It's not funny," Merlin snapped, his every word sharp as a knife when it rolled off his tongue. "It's not funny, Arthur, this isn't a joke! I almost killed you! I almost killed you because I lost my temper! Because I lost control!"

"Yes," Arthur conceded, "but everyone loses their temper at some point, I wouldn't worry about it if I were—"

"Well, you're not me!" Merlin bit out. "And count yourself lucky on that, because when you lose your temper, you don't have to worry that you'll wipe out the entire kingdom, or—or level a whole forest, or put all your friends in danger just because you can't—!"

"M-Merlin," Arthur said, too startled to stay silent any longer, "of course you're not going to—"

"You don't know that!"

"No, I don't know that!" Arthur said sharply, a bitter burn of fury in the back of his throat, because what the hell was wrong with this idiot, why the hell couldn't he see—? "You're right, Merlin, I don't know that, I don't know for absolutely certain that you are never going to do something horrible, but I trust that you won't! I don't know, I can't tell the future, I'm not a Seer, but I trust you to do what's right and to never take it too far, and isn't that enough for you?"

For a moment that felt very much like forever, Merlin only looked at Arthur, his eyes still red, a few stray tears still trailing lazily down his wet cheeks. "But look at what I did to you," he whispered. "You can't honestly tell me you're not angry with me."

Arthur let out a soft, heavy sigh, and rubbed a hand down the side of his face. Yeah, sure, he was a bit put out, but mostly he was put out that he had gotten stuck in bed for three days straight, and that Merlin had decided to hedge around the problem for so long when he could have come to Arthur and told the truth straight-out, but it was like he had said to Merlin—everybody lost their temper now and then, it was hardly some sort of bone-deep sin Merlin had to atone for every day for the rest of his life.

"You can't honestly tell me," Merlin said, and even softer than a whisper now, softer than a breath, "that you're not scared of me."

Oh. Arthur's chest squeezed with something almost like pity. Oh, that's what this is, that's what he thinks, that's what he's so worried about— "Merlin," he said, and he meant it, "I'm not scared of you. There's nothing in you to be afraid of."

"Except the magic that could have broken your neck," Merlin snapped, voice high and tight and still thick with tears. "You don't have to pretend, Arthur, you don't have to put on some kind of front for me, I understand, I get it—"

"You can't swing a sword without almost impaling yourself on the blade," Arthur pointed out. "You can't go an entire day without tripping over your own boots and falling flat on your face. There's nothing in you to be afraid of, and trust me, I'm not flattering you when I say that."

Merlin stared at Arthur like he had never seen him before, his eyes enormous in his tear-streaked face, one hand halfway up to dry the damp trails on his cheeks again. "Y-You're not—?"

"For God's sake, no!" Arthur rolled his eyes. "One time, I heard you say sorry to a butterfly!"

"I startled her," Merlin said, at once, and scrubbed at his eyes again. "I hit the branch she was resting on with my elbow, and I startled her."

Arthur had to bite back a smile. "Yes, I'm absolutely terrified. Shaking in my boots, Merlin, please don't kill me with your evil temper and big bad sorcerer powers."

Merlin turned a little pink. "I'm sorry," he said, hoarsely. "I really didn't mean to hurt you."

"Yeah, I picked up on that, believe it or not."

Merlin went a touch pinker, but he pushed on valiantly. "I-I didn't realize you were near enough to get hurt. I should have been more careful with you."

"Careful with me?" Arthur echoed incredulously, half-offended and half-amused. "Tell me, Merlin, how is it that I'm the one who got thrown into a tree, you're the one crying about it, and you still manage to make me sound like the delicate maiden in this situation?"

Merlin wiped at his nose again. "Should have known you'd be all right," he said, finally, and unless Arthur was very much mistaken, he could swear he saw a small smile tug at the edge of the idiot's lip. "Should have figured your thick skull would cushion the blow."

"Merlin—!"

#merlin #bbc merlin #fic #filled prompt #sweetteaanddragons #this is uh. bad. but on god we're posting it lads

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nkatr84 · 3 years

Text

Obi Wan/female reader oneshot Part 2

Waiting

Let’s shift the POV to Obi Wan’s shall we? (P.s. This is like the first fanfic I’ve written in years, first Star Wars one, first time writing Obi Wan, first reader fic and the first fanfic I published on tumblr. Enjoy!)

Obi Wan would never forget the day he met you. One minute he had been ready to take his seat in the booth at the diner of Master Qui Gon’s old friend. The next he was catching you in his arms and the stopping the milkshakes mid air.

Your eyes had caught him off guard. He had never met anyone outside the temple that eyes just glowed with the light side of the Force like yours did. And he certainly had never met a girl outside the temple that made him blush when you looked at him. He had found himself watching you every few minutes.

Master Qui Gon had noticed.

“Pretty isn’t she Padawan?” He had asked Obi Wan as they were leaving the diner.

Obi Wan had blushed again at being caught trying to stare at you until the last possible moment. He had shrugged,

“I suppose she is.”

“Obi Wan I’m not going to send you back to the Agricore for being a teenage boy noticing a pretty girl!” Qui Gon had laughed throwing an arm around his shoulders.

“But such actions lead to attachments don’t they Master?” Obi Wab had asked.

Qui Gon gave him a smirk,

“If you’re lucky my Boy.”

Seeing his confusion, Qui Gon had sighed. Forbidding attachments may work for some Jedi, but Qui Gon believed in the Force. That the Force was about finding balance. To not fear the Dark side nor let it consume you. That trillions of beings loved and had families every day because the Force willed it. It was just Life.

“It’s natural. To desire. To want. To love.” Qui Gon told him.

“But the Jedi are supposed to be above such things.”

“Obi Wan, I know you’re dead set on being the perfect Jedi, but maybe you can pretend I might know what I’m talking about?” Qui Gon quipped.

“Sorry Master.”

Obi Wan began to suspect that Qui Gon kept taking him back to the diner just to force him to gawk at you. Especially when he prompted him to talk to you. But he knew nothing about girls outside of the temple. You didn’t know anything about lightsaber techniques or mediation or the Jedi texts. Your shy smile sure did make his palms sweat though. He kept to small talk less he make a fool of himself.

When Qui Gon started taking him on more missions, he hoped he could focus back on his training rather than the way his heart began to pound when he saw you.

Then he met Satine. She was so different than you. Much more serious . Yet quick to tease him. More vocal. More passionate. She taught him how to flirt. Making him come to the conclusion that you must not be interested in him. That he had imagined your interest.

And after getting separated from Qui Gon and forced out on the run from the various bounty hunters after her, he soon would trust Satine with his life. She started to question if he liked Mandalore, despite its politics. Talk about the future. Their future together. He got used to the idea of sharing his life with someone. It sounded nice.

Yet...it was always Satine’s plans when she spoke of the future. As if she just assumed he would drop everything to be with her. He tried not to let it bother him. But it was a bit frustrating because she didn’t presume he would leave the Order either. She was a bit contrary that way.

And while the rush of adventure and survival fueled their romance, he has a hard time picturing a quiet moment with Satine. To just be Satine and Obi Wan. That’s when he would wonder what you were doing back on Corescant.

So it was inevitable when the running ended and he finally lowered his inhabitions to kiss Satine. Only to sigh your name. Satine had shoved him in a lake.

Also inevitable was going back to the diner as soon as he returned. But he felt too guilty to tell you of his adventures. Guilty because he still liked you. While also having feelings for Satine. A guilt that returned every time he saw Satine again and vice versa.

So he buckled down on his commitment to the Order. To Qui Gon’s chargrin. He soon felt guilty about that after his master’s death. But your faith in him made him feel better. That’s when he allowed himself your friendship.

Over the years he stayed just outside your orbit. Far enough away to not tempt himself. Yet close enough to see that you didn’t have a high opinion of yourself. That you thought yourself plain and dull. You just worked too much that’s all. Which was saying a lot coming from him.

Satine also came back into his life. Multiple times over the years. And his feelings for the Duchess of Mandalore were just as strong as what he felt for you. Even to a point that he confessed he would have left the Order for her, if she had asked. Never letting Satine know he’d do the same for you.

Finding out you had to work extra jobs to survive stirred up his longing to take care of you. The sight of you in that dress stirred up a different kind of longing. A longing that made the damn war more tolerable at any rate.

He was old enough at that point to admit he loved your figure. Somewhere Qui Gon was saying, “I told you so”. Anakin did so in person.

“Nice dress huh Master?” Anakin had asked over the music that night. Infuriating smirk on his mug.

“Shut up Anakin.” He had told him. The clones weren’t much better. Wondering why a cute girl like you was still single. Saying they wouldn’t mind coming home to a girl like you. Sentiments he reluctantly but silently admitted to himself that he shared. Maybe that’s why he had kissed your cheek that night. To test the waters as it were.

Yet when he was tasked to go undercover as Hardeen he took the plunge. For the first time in his life he could pretend to be an ordinary man. Granted Hardeen wasn’t much to look at, but making you blush by openly calling you pretty made all the difference.

When he heard you confess that you returned his feelings, he couldn’t stop himself. He tried to explain. Explain how he was pulled in three different directions. Explain what drew him to you. Yet still kept finding himself back in that diner. Back to you.

Then Anakin and his impeccable timing had all but stopped him from revealing his identity to you. Without a moment to spare Obi Wan took one last risk. He kissed you.

He swore he had become one with the Force that moment. You just felt right. He would hold on to that moment all through his mission. Promising himself to confess everything once he got back. And he did.

He just hadn’t counted on how he had hurt you.

He still had his command and the war to think about. Even indulging in Satine’s company again. But anytime he had leave he would walk in Dex’s, looking for your face. Worried you had quit, Obi Wan asked Dex about you.

“You know Obi Wan. I don’t know much about being a Jedi. But I do know that kid has been waiting for you for twenty years to figure out that’s she’s in love with you. Every since that day you had caught her when she tripped.

But she knows how important the Order is to you. How much good you do. She doesn’t think that she’s important enough to compete with the Force. Let alone a Duchess. Doesn’t even think she’s important enough to live life outside of work. She just survives.

But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want respect. And unless you respect that girl for who she is you can forget about me helping you get back in her good graces.” Dex had lectured.

“I understand.” Obi Wan had sighed making to go.

No sooner had he stood, Dex had stopped him, saying while stroking his chin,

“Now if I were to get sick one day, I’d have to call my best waitress in on her day off to close the diner. One day being...Tuesday?”

Obi Wan had smiled conspiredingly,

“Here’s to your health then my friend.”

But he didn’t make it to Tuesday. Satine had called for his help. Darth Maul had returned. Imprisoning her and taking the throne of Mandalore for himself.

He saw Satine’s face everywhere for months after she died. Even in battle he just went through the motions. He avoided the diner altogether. Woke from nightmares of Satine lying in his arms confessing her love with her dying breath.

Until one night, she had chuckled and smiled, telling him,

“Obi Wan. I’m not the only one who loves you. I know now you’ve been torn between us. Don’t make my mistake my Love. Tell her how you feel. No disguises. No half truths. Just you. Believe me. You’re more than enough.”

“I promise.” He swore, kissing her fingers.

“And do hurry my Love. Something is coming that will hurt you far more than losing me. Or her. Something terrible.” She warned.

Which is when he finally woke up. He called Dex to make the arrangements. And that was how he found himself sitting across from you. Telling you his decision. He would complete his duty for the War effort then leave the Order. But you surprised him yet again. By telling him you loved him. All of him. Which included his connection to the Force.

When you reminded him how fear of losing someone lead to the Dark Side, Obi Wan swore he saw Qui Gon out of the corner of his eye, a look of approval on his face. But he wasn’t there.

“Right as always my Darling.” He had conceded. Then kissing your hand. He wasn’t sure how he was going to make up for over twenty years of making you wait for him. But Obi Wan Kenobi couldn’t wait to try. Despite the nagging feeling from the Force that their love was not done being tested just yet.

(And...there’s probably going to be a part three...fair warning)

#disney #obi wan oneshot #obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi #star wars #obi wan fluff

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dothwrites · 4 years

Text

part vi of mafia!au

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v

COMPLETE

---

Recovery is slow and excruciating.

Castiel’s body has never rebelled against him to this extent. His muscles refuse to do their damn jobs and function. He’s relegated to his bed for days on end, while being forced to endure Sam Winchester’s lurking and Gabriel’s overly effusive attempts to cheer him.

All of those would be fine, except that he hasn’t seen the house’s other occupant, Dean Winchester, except in short glimpses, as though Dean is the rarest of all animals, only seen from a distance.

Which is fucking bullshit, because he can hear Dean’s voice, echoing through the tiny confines of the house, after Dean thinks he’s asleep. Clearly, it’s not the concept of social interaction which Dean finds daunting, but rather, the concept of social interaction with him.

It’s infuriating.

It wouldn’t be as bad if he thought Dean’s avoidance was due to hatred or indifference. But even though he’d been fairly hazy that first morning, he’d seen how Dean’s whole face brightened, he’d felt the hard clutch of Dean’s fingers in his. The look on Dean’s face...Castiel doesn’t want to put a name to it, doesn’t dare try to define it, but he knows for sure that it wasn’t hatred or apathy.

Which means Dean is staying away from him for some other reason and that...

That’s bullshit.

So Castiel does what he’s been doing his entire life and pushes everything aside in favor of a single minded pursuit. This time, he pours all of himself into the mission to get his fucking body to do what it’s supposed to do. He starts with minuscule goals, such as getting out of bed and pacing around his room, but it’s still too much for some.

“Are you sure you should be doing that?” Gabriel asks, a little sourly, as he stands in the doorway of Castiel’s bedroom.

“Are you sure you should be poking your nose into my business?” Castiel asks back. For all that Gabriel is the elder sibling, they’ve never been under any delusions as to who was actually suited for this business. Gabriel is too flighty, too interested in frivolous pursuits and the mundane workings of everyday life. It was always Castiel who could sink his teeth into a problem, who could take it apart, hold the bloody pieces in his hands, and see how they could be sewn back together into a new animal.

“Whatever,” Gabriel concedes, putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “On your own head be it.”

Castiel sneers after Gabriel as he turns to leave. He’s just in time for Dean to poke his head out of his room. It would be comical, if it weren’t so infuriating, to see how quickly Dean’s eyes bulge and his face reddens. Castiel is afforded one swift glimpse before Dean retreats into the safety of his room, slamming the door closed behind him.

Castiel rolls his eyes and starts another circuit around the room.

---

His body might be stubborn but Castiel continues on his conquest of it. Soon, he’s walking laps around the house, followed by short jogs around the property. The safehouse is far enough in the country that, as long as he’s careful, he can exercise outside without garnering too much attention.

The Winchesters and Gabriel watch him with varying degrees of concern.

“I already told you, I’m fine,” Castiel grunts, massaging at his sore calves after a midnight run. “Besides, we can’t afford to stay here forever.”

Judging from the shifty look on Gabriel’s face, this is not the first time someone has mentioned this fact. He also notes that his brother proposes no solution, which means that no one has either managed or bothered to come up with one. Typical.

Castiel’s impatience and ire increases when he considers the reason they haven’t yet moved on. They’re waiting for him to recover, which is an unconscionable burden on his mind. Every minute they spend in this house, waiting for him to get his shit together, is another minute he’s putting them all in danger.

Gabriel lingers in the doorway, saying nothing, yet watching Castiel with an intensity usually only reserved for cupcakes and candy. After a few moments it starts to grate on Castiel’s nerves, yet he waits until he’s fully done with his post-run routine to speak. “Something else you needed?”

“When are you going to talk about it?” Gabriel asks, much too kindly for Castiel’s liking.

“Talk about what? What do to next? I’d love to do that, if it were possible to get you, Sam, and Dean in the same room for longer than five minutes.”

“When are you going to talk about Naomi?”

Castiel’s blood freezes.

“I might be an idiot, but I know enough. I know who Dad’s attack dogs are, and I know how they work.” Gabriel swallows, unwontedly serious. “I saw the marks, Cassie.”

Castiel’s hand makes an aborted jerk to the crook of his elbow where the scars are still livid against his skin. He catches the movement before it has a chance to amount to anything and forces his hand back down to his side. He can still feel the phantom ache of needles pushing into his skin, still remember how it felt when the road forked and reality went one way while his brain went another.

He hasn’t told anyone, but sometimes, he’ll catch movement out of the corner of his eye, turn, and find nothing there. He tries to tell himself that this happens to everyone, that he’s fine, that he’s normal, but there’s always the insidious creeping fear down his spine--What if he’s losing it? What if Naomi fucked him up permanently?

What if he’s never the same?

If he doesn’t have his mind, if he doesn’t have his body, then he’s useless. He can’t protect anyone. He has nothing to offer.

“I’m fine,” Castiel croaks, once he realizes Gabriel is still waiting for an answer.

One eyebrow ticks upwards. “Yeah, once more until I actually believe you.”

“I already said that I’m fine. I don’t know what else you want.”

Gabriel throws his arm wide. “For you to stop trying to run yourself into the ground? For you to stay in a room longer than ten minutes? For you to acknowledge that you maybe have an actual problem?”

Castiel sniffs, retreating into haughtiness to hide his hurt and anxiety. “Well, I’m sorry if I choose to concentrate on more important things, like trying to get well enough to protect us all.”

Gabriel gapes at him. “To protect...” He looks over his shoulder, like he expects to find the Winchesters supporting him. Upon finding no one there, he turns back to Castiel. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dean and I are fairly good at what we do. Even the stringbean can hit the broad side of a barn. We’re fine.”

The deliberate inflection of his voice suggests that Castiel is somehow not lumped into the general category of ‘fine’.

“Fuck off,” Castiel growls, as a more appropriate comeback fails to materialize. He storms past his brother, hitting him in the shoulder as he makes his way to the bathroom. Gabriel doesn’t try to stop him, but Castiel knows he’s still watching.

Some of his righteous rage is lost when he looks down the length of the hallway and finds Dean standing at the opposite end. He spares a single, startled look at Castiel before he scampers back towards the living room. Castiel’s temper worsens at the sight of Dean’s retreating back.

Dean is a confirmed killer, a man who’s known the feel of a gun in his hand since he could walk. He’s seen Dean in action and admired his skills and ruthlessness. Now he’s watching the same man running scared. Castiel can’t think of anything more pathetic or more frustrating.

Now in a profoundly foul mood, Castiel slams the bathroom door shut. The sound echoes through the house. He twists the knob of the creaky shower, turning the heat all the way up so that steam billows throughout the room. He steps underneath the spray, ignoring the tendrils of pain licking across his body, his tender, scarred skin protesting the rough treatment.

He pushes away the ever present nip of worry (what if Gabriel’s right, what if he’s weak, what if he’s broken beyond repair) and scrubs at his skin until tiny pinpricks of blood well up, and then he scrubs some more.

---

Matters come to a head a few days later.

No longer content with pushing his body through runs, Castiel’s taken to shadow boxing in the house’s basement. He dances around the dank, mildewy space in his bare feet, tossing punches and kicks at imaginary enemies. His muscles scream at the exercise and threaten to collapse and tear, but he pushes on anyway.

His thoughts are spiraling ever downward, dovetailing with his exhaustion. Castiel’s so lost within their grip that the opening of the basement door escapes his attention. Even the weary creak of the step doesn’t catch his attention. He’s formed bad habits in his convalescence. In his world, such laziness gets people killed.

When he catches sight of Dean standing at the foot of the stairs, he jumps in surprise. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks red, and he hides his shame with snippiness. “Did you need something?”

Castiel paces around the basement, grabbing a bottle of water, just to give his hands something to do. He tries to unscrew the top but gives up after two tries. He doesn’t want Dean to see how badly his hands are trembling.

“You know that we’ve got your back, right?” Dean finally says. Castiel stops pacing. He wasn’t expecting that.

Despite his surprise, he recovers quickly. “Coming from a Winchester, that isn’t exactly inspiring,” he sneers.

Dean doesn’t try to hide his flinch. Castiel feels an irrational stab of guilt at that. “I just thought you should hear it from someone who wasn’t your brother,” he says, already turning to go back up the stairs. “But you have all three of us. Him, Sam.” Dean pauses for a second. “Me.” He continues on quickly, like he wants Castiel to forget about the slight emphasis he put on himself. “Anyway, you don’t have to do this every day. Take a day off before you kill yourself.”

Castiel’s upper lip lifts reflexively. So, Dean’s joined forces with Gabriel. Next, he supposes Sam Winchester will find him and urge him to talk about it, you’ll feel better if you get it all out in the open.

“Stay,” he says, brain running ahead of his common sense. Dean pauses, his foot already on the step. “It’s no good shadow boxing. I need a partner.”

Dean wants to argue. Castiel can tell by his hesitation, the twitch of his fingers, the way he closes his mouth on whatever he was going to say. Castiel waits, head cocked to the side. He doesn’t quite smile in victory when Dean makes his decision, but he must give off the impression of it, as Dean’s expression darkens.

“You know this isn’t doing you any good,” Dean says, as he sheds his flannel overshirt. The fabric has barely hit the floor before Castiel is on him, swinging at his head in a wild, haymaker punch. Dean blocks him easily, but the suddenness of the attack surprises him, as he lurches backward.

“What the hell?” he spits, a mixture of fury and worry spread across his face.

Castiel dances back, shifting his weight between the balls of his feet. His fists are held up close to his jaw, elbows tucked in close to his sides to protect his ribs. Within seconds, Dean copies his movements, but with slight differences. Castiel keeps himself contained, taut, muscles coiled in a defensive posture. Dean is looser, his left hand lazily extended, though Castiel doesn’t fall for the trap. That left hand can just as easily block blows as it can land a stinging jab.

When it comes to Dean Winchester, there are dozens of traps, and Castiel seems to have fallen into all of them.

They spend several long minutes circling each other, exchanging tentative jabs in a dance of blocks and dodges. They learn what blows the other considers threatening and what the other will shake off.

Castiel changes the tempo when he aims a low kick at Dean’s hip. Dean twists out of the way, but when he turns back to Castiel, something in his face has changed. His eyes have hardened, his fingers curled purposefully into his palm. Castiel understands. Dean was just passing the time earlier, indulging his whimsy. For whatever reason, now he’s made up his mind to act.

“You need to take it easy,” Dean tells him. He moves easily into Castiel’s space, each motion screaming aggression. He bats away Castiel’s jab; Castiel blocks Dean’s punch. They fall apart, sharp eyes raking over the other in a search for weaknesses.

“You need to mind your own business,” Castiel replies. He has to concentrate on speaking; already he’s a little short of breath, though he’d rather chew off his own fingernails rather than admit that to Dean. “What I do is none of your concern.”

Dean falters at that. His defenses lower, which allows Castiel to dart in, landing several snap punches to Dean’s ribs before Dean regains himself and forces him back. Something dangerous flashes in the depths of Dean’s eyes, and a vicious satisfaction rises in Castiel’s chest. This is what he wanted, this is the Dean Winchester that he--

The thought hits him, unbidden and unwelcome, and Castiel freezes. His inattention gives Dean the opening he needs. Where Castiel fights with precision and accuracy, Dean favors overwhelming force. It’s a strategy which works well for him and he uses it to devastating effect, foregoing fancy footwork and devious punches for a simple, unavoidable attack. Dean puts his head down and charges, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist in an attempt to throw him to the ground.

It’s a perfect storm: His muscles, still not where they were before, falter. His balance, another casualty of Naomi’s untender mercies, isn’t enough to save him from catching his heel against an irregularity on the cheap mat he’s laid out. Dean is a hurricane, a typhoon, and underneath his onslaught, Castiel tumbles backward.

Castiel’s back hits the ground, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. His head slams into the ground, and his vision spins for several, vital seconds. By the time he regains his equilibrium, Dean is already atop him, knees clamping in hard against his ribs. One of Dean’s hands wraps around his throat, fingers flexing in warning.

“Enough,” Dean says tightly. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, enough. We get it, all right? You’re a big badass who doesn’t need anyone. We get it.”

If he weren’t staring so closely at Dean’s face, then Castiel would miss his quick flash of emotion. As it is, it’s there and gone before he has a chance to really examine it, but for the moment, it’s enough to know that it exists.

Castiel slumps back onto the floor, allowing his exhausted muscles a moment’s respite. Dean, ever cautious, doesn’t relent. Smart man. Ruthless. Focused. He’s a killer, Dean Winchester, and whatever is broken in Castiel’s brain is drawn to that part of him, just as much as it’s drawn to the well-hidden, softer aspects of him, like his obvious affection for his brother and his insistence on protecting civilians.

But for all of his admirable qualities, Dean Winchester is still just a man. Castiel tips his head back, baring the vulnerable stretch of his throat to Dean’s gaze. It’s a deliberately submissive gesture, one designed to draw the eyes. He feels the exact moment Dean loosens his grip, distracted, and it’s that moment that Castiel acts.

He bucks his hips up in a single, sharp motion, while striking out at Dean’s elbow. With his support gone, Dean buckles. While there are countless activities which Castiel could imagine partaking in with Dean slumped overtop him, he’s not interested in any of them. Instead, he uses Dean’s momentum against him, rolling them until their positions are neatly reversed.

Dean snarls and curses, but Castiel has him pinned, much more securely than Dean did him. His knees presses down on Dean’s right wrist, immobilizing his strongest arm. Castiel leans forward. With his superior position, he doesn’t need to hold back his panting, doesn’t need to feel ashamed for the several beads of sweat which slip down from his forehead to the tip of his nose, to fall upon Dean’s throat.

“I don’t need your permission to do anything,” Castiel says, once he thinks he can speak without wheezing through a sentence. “I’m not weak, I’m not broken, I’m not whatever else you three think I am. I’m fine.” Before he can stop himself, the words come tumbling out, the ones which he’d meant to keep close to his chest. “So you can stop running from me, or whatever it is that you’ve been doing. I’m fine.”

Emotion twists across Dean’s face again, and this time, Castiel is in a position to examine it. Surprisingly, when he’s forced to put a name to it, the definition he comes up with is guilt. He tilts his head to the side in confusion, only realizing after he sits back on Dean’s stomach that he’s left himself vulnerable to an attack.

Dean doesn’t take the opening. He lays passively underneath Castiel and doesn’t try to squirm away, doesn’t push him away, doesn’t do anything. If Castiel had to guess, then he would say that Dean enjoys being there. Or at least, he would if he could get that awful, hangdog look off his face.

“What is it?” he asks. There’s something there, writhing underneath the surface of Dean’s expression, something that probably shouldn’t see the surface but it has to.

Dean turns his head away. It’s a childish move, one that irritates Castiel, as it’s an extension of what Dean’s been doing for days. He’s avoiding Castiel, running from him, which is infuriating. Dean Winchester is many things, but a coward, he is not.

“Answer me.” He takes Dean’s jaw in his hand and forces Dean to meet his eyes. He stares at Dean, the same stare guaranteed to make hardened criminals think twice and civilians piss their pants.

It makes Dean blink, but it’s enough. That blink starts an avalanche, and eventually, Dean’s whole face crumples. He blinks, hard and fast, green flickering in and out of existence.

“It was my fault.” Dean’s voice comes out as a tortured whisper. Castiel holds Dean’s jaw prisoner between his fingers, now allowing Dean to turn away. At first, Dean jerks against the restricting hold, but once the first wall crumbles, all the rest fall quickly, and Dean stares him down.

“What was your fault?” Castiel asks, when no more information is forthcoming.

For a moment, he thinks Dean will pull away, but Dean surprises him. It’s obvious that he’s struggling with his admission, but it comes. Haltingly, in little fits, but it comes.

“If it hadn’t been for me...Fuck, Cas, are you going to make me say it? If it weren’t for me, then you would be fine. You’d be with your family, head of the family, and you’d be...” Dean forces a swallow. His eyes perform a swift sweep of Castiel’s figure, down to his chest, where the scars still linger.

“It fucking killed me to see you like that.” Dean’s hand rises and Castiel doesn’t move to stop him, not even when Dean’s fingers sneak underneath the hem of his shirt to stroke against his skin. His breath catches as Dean’s calloused fingertips catch against the scabbed edges of his wounds. Every instinct screams for him to move, to run, to flee, but he forces his muscles to inaction and allows Dean to explore him through touch. “God, Cas...You were...”

Dean looks up at him. His expression is naked and raw. Castiel feels exposed just witnessing it. “You’re a fucking force of nature,” Dean whispers, pressing his palm flat against the quivering skin of his belly. “You’re a goddamn hurricane, and...”

When he stares at Dean, Castiel sees an unfathomable, looming wave rising in his eyes, the same wave which he feels swelling in his own chest. He leans forward, and Dean’s hand slides from his stomach to his back. The skin there is marred as well, and he gasps softly as Dean’s thumb strokes over a particularly deep wound.

“It was my choice,” Castiel whispers. He’s hovering low over Dean, their chests almost brushing. He’s close enough that if he wanted, he could count the freckles dotted across the bridge of Dean’s nose. Dean blinks. From his vantage point, Castiel can appreciate the thick curtain of golden lashes fanning across his cheek.

“I made the call, not you. I knew what had to be done, and I did it. You think I could have been happy there, knowing you were dead? That I’d had a chance to stop it and did nothing? Every second was worth it because that was another second you were safe. I made the choice, and I’d make it again, in a heartbeat. Don’t take that from me.”

“Goddammit, Cas,” Dean breathes. His hand is heavy against Castiel’s spine, but for once, Castiel doesn’t bristle at the restraint. “I’m not worth that.”

Castiel’s mouth is not made for smiling. In fact, sometimes he thinks he’s forgotten the knack of it. But around Dean, his face moves easier. An actual smile, not the sarcastic, threatening expression he usually plasters on his face when he feels like intimidating someone, tugs at the corners of his lips.

“Lucky for both of us, you don’t get to make the decisions,” Castiel whispers.

He’s not sure which of them moves first. Either way, the end result is the same. His lips crash into Dean’s and Dean receives him with a low moan of delight, his mouth opening automatically. Castiel cards his fingers through Dean’s short hair, tugging at the strands as he maps out the interior of Dean’s mouth.

The first time he kissed Dean, he’d been selfish. He’d been standing on the edge of his darkest moment, and he’d wanted something golden to take with him, something to hold through the horror. The second time he kissed Dean, he’d been half out of his mind, clinging to the barest hint of reality. He hadn’t even realized Dean was kissing him until it was over.

This time...

The third time he kisses Dean, Castiel takes his time.

---

The atmosphere in the house relaxes.

Castiel stops pushing himself quite so much, and his muscles, glad for the reprieve, begin working as they should. Day by day, his strength increases, and Castiel takes full advantage of this.

Dean enjoys being pinned and Castiel aims to please.

The four of them hold contests--who is the quickest draw, who’s the best shot, who has the best accuracy with knives. Sam Winchester, it turns out, is a damn good shot, especially when Castiel considers his youth.

The four of them work well together. Their personalities clash, sometimes terribly, but they also complement each other, pragmatism warring with emotion, brawn matching brains. Castiel laughs as he looks around the room, realizing that, for possibly the first time in his life, he’s comfortable. Amazing, that he can relax in a room with two Winchesters, but there it is. He trusts Sam and Dean, more than any member of his family, to watch his back.

(No doubt Dean would throw in an off-color comment about being all too happy to watch Castiel’s back, but he chooses to ignore Dean’s rather childish sense of humor.)

The question naturally arises, as to their next move.

“The smartest thing to do would be to split up.” It’s Castiel who says it, because it’s always Castiel who retreats to the fortress of cold logic. Three pairs of betrayed eyes stare him down. Castiel returns the stare. “It makes the most sense. There’s four of us; if we all split up, we’d stand a better chance of escaping. We could start over. Be whoever we wanted to be.”

(Gabriel’s been fighting against the Novak name since he was old enough to know there was something to fight against. Sam Winchester has never wanted the mantle of the Winchester family; he’s dreamed of something else, something altruistic, far away from the dark cloud of John Winchester. Dean...All Dean knows is duty to his father, but Castiel already knows that he’d follow Sam wherever he went. And Castiel...well...He can always try to take back the Novak family. No doubt he’ll fail, but he’s a weapon, a hammer. He doesn’t know how to be anything else.)

“Fuck that,” Dean says, crude and succinct as always. “Your splitting up plan, not your be whoever we want to be plan.”

Dean leans forward. His eyes lock onto Castiel’s. It’s as though they’re the only two people in the room. “Look at us. We wouldn’t have gotten you out if we hadn’t worked together. You wouldn’t have been able to get me out if we hadn’t worked together. You, me, Gabriel, Sam...we’re just better together.”

Dean’s words touch something vulnerable in his chest, something Castiel has never bothered to acknowledge. What else was there for him, other than a life of violence? There was no room in the Novak family for love, no room for freedom.

Dean makes him dream it’s possible.

“They’ll look for us,” Castiel says, in a last ditch attempt at realism. “Not only the Novaks. The Winchesters too. They won’t like the idea that people are capable of defying them.”

“So let them come.” It’s Sam’s voice, ringing clear from the table. He might have come to this house as a child, but he’s matured in the time since he’s been here. Castiel trusts him just as much as anyone else sitting at the table. “Dean’s right. If there’s four of us, then we stand a better shot. We’ll watch each other’s back.”

“Careful there, Samsquatch,” Gabriel hums, his eyes dancing over the rim of his glass. “Your back is a little big to watch.”

Sam shoots Gabriel a disparaging look and Castiel has to struggle to bite back his laugh. How could he dream of giving this up? These people are his friends, his...

His family.

“So we go. We’ll go somewhere new, make our own destinies. Team Free Will.” Dean takes a drink from his glass.

“Nifty title, but I think you’re leaving a few steps out,” Gabriel says. “I’m all in favor of Team Free Will, but exactly how are we going to make our way in the world?”

Gabriel’s eyes cut to Castiel. It’s Castiel who always has the answer, Castiel whose brutal logic always comes rushing forth at times like these.

And this is the time for logic. Both the Novaks and the Winchesters have considerable financial resources, and they’ll stop at nothing to regain their lost sense of pride. If they’re found, then the best they can hope for is a quick death. Castiel might have tucked the majority of his finances away, but his funds won’t stretch nearly as far or as long as he’ll need them to. They’ll have to get jobs. Or else...

Maybe they could move to a different city and start their own family. Maybe, one day, they could come back here and take back what’s rightfully theirs.

Castiel glances over at Dean. They could run this town. They could have it all.

“I don’t know,” Castiel finally answers, ostensibly answering Gabriel, but never looking away from Dean.

“I guess we’ll make it up as we go.”

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas #deancas fic #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #gabriel #mafia!au #part vi of vi #finally done #complete #dothwrites

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benscursedkid · 3 years

Text

synopsis: “just in case you ever foolishly forget; i’m never not thinking of you.” — virginia woolf, selected diaries

genre: future fic, travel fic, lovers to exes to ??? to lovers again, kinda considered a five times fic but its debatable, fluff, angst

pairing: talbott winger x reader (no house specified but if you wanna pull my arm i’d say it’s probably either a slytherin or a ravenclaw)

word count: 1.952

part: prologue, i

a/n: am i starting another series? sorta. don’t i have tons of wips and requests i should probably write first? yep. will i finish this? who knows. do i feel kinda bad? maybe just a little bit. but this idea has been sitting in my drafts for over a year so. enjoy!

hogwarts castle, scottish highlands - june 30th, 1991

Of course you would find him here, you think, alone and in silence.

Away from the party—far away, just as you assumed—and tucked into a tiny corner of peace and serenity. It feels very much like that calm before the storm everyone always talks about. This night simultaneously marks the end of an era and tiptoes onto the precipice of a new one. And while you’re not sure where you’ll fit in it now that your story has been told, you do know that you will always have a place here. Beside him.

You push up on your toes yourself, trying very hard not to disturb his moment. It looks like a landscape, your mind whispers, a perfect scenery.

The sky is dark, but the moon and stars are out, shining and twinkling so bright it turns the night sky from an inky black to a deep blue. From the vantage point, you can see the grounds of Hogwarts Castle rolling far into the horizon, visible only thanks to the distant fireworks that crackle from above. They light up the sky in bursts of red and yellows and purples, illuminating his face as he sits, quietly, in front of the only window the Astronomy Tower offers.

The gentle smile you find there is one even you don’t get to see as often as you’d like and it compels you into hesitation, hovering just slightly outside the door. You smile and observe for a moment. This is a sight you never want to forget.

“You planning on standing there all night?” Comes a low, rumbling sound and it doesn’t even take a second for you to recognize it. Your smile softens.

Slowly, you stride forward, stopping next to him and offering him a careful look. He meets your eyes earnestly and you take that as consent enough to take your seat to his left. Your legs fold underneath you as you squirm a little and settle right in front of the window. Instinct calls for you to watch the sky and you decide to do so for a while.

A beat passes. “I didn’t know you heard me come in.” You reply nonchalantly, maybe a twinge of curiosity sliding off your tongue, but you don’t pick at it long.

He shrugs, the faintest hint of a smirk cracking his lips apart. “Hawk eyes and ears, remember?”

“Ah yes,” You click your tongue as you concede. “How could I forget.”

It is not a question, but rather your dry attempt at a joke. However, as always, it is one he recognizes and appreciates for all its simplicity and he grins just so. He makes no further move to comment, but a thought comes to you, one you are surprised you have never considered before given the frequency with which you employ his company.

“Do birds even have ears?”

He laughs at this, but it is light and airy and more breath than bowel. Your own chest lightens at the sound and you instantly crave to hear it again. “Yes, they do,” He states simply, his chuckle being swallowed into the silence that is broken only by his words and the muffled eruptions of fireworks. “Just because they are hidden by feathers, does not mean they aren’t there.”

“My mistake.” You admit and Talbott shakes his head in remote amusement. And despite the admittedly short distance that still remains between you as you allow your shoulder to bump his, a warm sense of intimacy blooms in your chest.

Again you fall into companionable silence, something not all that uncommon between you. Most days, you may not allow yourselves to dwell in it so deeply, but something about tonight leaves you complacent. Tonight you are simply out of words and you find that you are okay with that. There is nothing that you feel you need to say.

Of course, there is actually lots to say, but you don’t feel the need to say them. Not right now, anyway.

And so you sit. Watch the fireworks. Lingering in the air around you is the illusion of time passing as you lose yourself to comfortability. For once, there are no threats, no imminent dangers, no uncertainty and you feel possessed to keep that feeling around for as long as you can.

But from beside you, Talbott swallows and, without looking away from the open window, he murmurs a, “It’s pretty.”

You refrain from arching an eyebrow at this, turning your head to look at him. He does not follow suit. Truthfully, you are surprised he elected to speak. “Yes,” You agree and you know it’s sickeningly cliché but you notice that you are not talking about the skyline. “It is.”

Talbott seems to catch onto this too and finally turns to offer you a similarly arched eyebrow. It lifts up in a manner that tells you he is shocked you would venture with such a line, but is not in the mood to question it. You grin. After a sigh, he grins back.

Leaning back, you roll your shoulders out, giving him a small side-eye. “Though, I have to say, I didn’t expect you to be a firework kinda guy.”

For a moment, he doesn’t seem to know what to think of that but eventually he says, “They’re better from far away.”

You snicker darkly at that. “Lots of things are, Tal.”

“Yeah,” He nods, his focus shifting back to the show. “Maybe.”

You take this prolonged moment of ellipses to chew on your response. Just by glancing over at him, you can tell there is something else he means to say, but perhaps does not have the words he needs to string it into a reply. Considering your options, you are about to change the subject when his eyes flick over to yours.

It’s a color you’ve found that—after years of friendship and the slightly newer, unspoken agreement of something more—you can never admire without thinking purely of him. From the moment you met him, you knew that the color would never again represent anything but the shadows of Talbott Winger’s soul as though the shade was only ever created just to color his eyes. To you, it is not even a color anymore. It is its own, unique thing that you can no longer hope to describe with any measurement of accuracy.

Sometimes you can’t quite tell if it’s red or pink or somewhere in between, but you know that it reminds you of paint. Of the playful, light-hearted, and absent-minded mixing of colors that turn haphazardly into a masterpiece. Being of the unintentional kind, you’d have to say that it is of the best kind.

Talbott, for his part, doesn’t seem to notice your idle admiration and nervously clears his throat. “I’d like for this to be different.”

“This?” You have no choice but to question, not exactly sure if you are daring enough to trust logic and common sense and rationality where things like the heart are concerned.

“Us.”

All at once, your throat goes dry and your lips part as if to speak but have in an instant forgotten how. A chill shivers down your spin and you feel the blood inside you run cold. Suddenly, there is an “us” to be worrying about. Granted, the two of you may have been unofficially together for longer than you actually remember now, but now he has said as much.

Now that he has cared enough to put it into words, it is like as if from nothing it is very suddenly and very terrifyingly real.

In spite of yourself, your head hangs and you seem suddenly unable to meet his eyes any longer. This causes Talbott to frown and you are justly ashamed to admit you pretend not to notice.

Instead, with nothing else to do, you reach over to grab his hands. Your fingers slip through his, interlocking in the way they always do and it gives you the strength you need to push the words past your teeth.

“I don’t want this to be the end either, Tal.” You confess and, though the news sounds encouraging, Talbott slouches at this. His eyes that had just held the reflections of hope and discovery only moments ago, are now shrouded in darkness.

“I know,” He tells you, and you know that he does, but his voice dips with something akin to resentment. It leaves a burning whisper of phantom regret on your skin as his words puncture through the sense you had talked into yourself several times already. It drags something inside of you down and you can almost feel the heaviness of your heart—or what’s left of it, anyway—in your ribs. “And I know that’s not enough.”

The unspoken, though it should be does not need to be said to be heard. You can hear it just fine in the way he bites his lip to keep from saying more, afraid of ruining what is already so fragile and—

When did it get so fragile?

You shake your head as though it will help any to discard the bad thoughts. “There’s nothing for me here anymore, Tal. You know that.”

“I’m here,” He says, his voice and expression hard as though he himself doesn’t need convincing, it’s just you. “I’m here, MC.”

And it hurts to hear. It hurts to hear because you know he is and you know that if you called, he’d still be here. He’d be right here. But when you think about where you belong, and what’s next for you…

He’s not there.

It hurts because it’s not enough. He is not enough for you.

And he must know it too, or perhaps he sees it, written across the knot between your brows and the frown lines by your mouth, for he only nods once you open your mouth to speak. Resignation hangs on his shoulders and he lets out a deep sigh that sounds like the tragic ending to your story all on its own.

With imperceptibly shaky fingers, he tucks his hand even further into the crevices of yours and squeezes. Then, after a moment of consideration, he brings them up to his lips to press a feather-light kiss to each fingertip. You wait as he does so with a heavy heart.

“It’s okay,” He says and no it’s not. “Just know that if you ever get into trouble, which I’m sure you will because if you don’t find it somehow it always finds you—” You almost want to laugh here but your lips feel like two pieces of string sewn together. Shut. “—you can always call me.”

Still, you try for a smile anyway. “The auror’s office won’t mind?”

“I don’t care,” Comes his immediate reply, each syllable pronounced with such conviction it leaves no room for doubt. “I won’t mind.”

This time, your lips lift easier and your head falls against his strong shoulder of its own accord. The world spins and adjusts as you settle, the firework finale bursting into glittering strands in the sky before you.

And as the final night of your seventh year at Hogwarts runs on pretty displays and borrowed time, your head tucked against his shoulder and your hand interlaced tightly with his, your mind races on. It pieces together infinite truths and untruths and possibilities about what the future might hold for you.

Maybe Talbott is right. Maybe some things are only pretty from far away.

But even if it is to forever remain as only a part of your past, you’re sure of at least one thing: this moment, right here, will be one of your favorite parts.

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

Text

Motion Sickness Chapter 61

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(Weiss PoV)

I sparred with my sister. She sent her Beowulf at me. It pranced along the generated training ground terrain at me. A bunch of prismatic cubes with glowing blue edges.

It entered a room of my glyphs and I used my pseudo-telekinesis to slam it around against each black glyph until it dissolved.

Winter tried to summon something else but I made my knight little and had it sweep her leg. Knocking her to the floor before she could try anything else.

I let a little giggle escape me.

Winter had never seen it coming. She looked down at my little knight in shock.

Big things weren't always the best application of my semblance. It reminded me a little of Jaune who sometimes held onto his own semblance just for the speed and strength improvements rather than spending it in a flashy display.

I let my little knight dissolve. And Winter rose back to her feet. She whipped her scimitar at me.

I flew at her. Launching myself towards her using a spiraling glyph behind me. I thrust my rapier at her stomach. She leaned to the side. I slashed the narrow tip of Myrtenaster at her stomach where I perceived a hole in her defenses.

She blocked it with her scimitar. It was a wide sweeping gesture that forced me to take a step back. Her weapon unfused and became two, one in each of her hands.

She twirled as she brought the weapon around her body. I ducked the first and met the second. My rapier was slightly longer than her cutlasses. It gave me an edge I didn't squander as I forced her to take a step back using three quick thrusts.

She spun and tried to sweep my lead leg with a low kick. I turned my knee inwards and met the blow at the same time I push-shuffled closer to her and put her off balance with my shoulder. My center of gravity was lower than hers. I capitalized on that with a brutish, inelegant shoulder check. The sort Jaune would have had no qualms about using against me or Yang.

Winter stumbled back and I tore a chunk of her aura away from her with a thin slash of my weapon, cutting through it as she stepped back.

Point me.

"That was unrefined of you." Winter seemed to scold me.

I shrugged. "It's only unrefined if it doesn't work," I returned.

"If I would have known you were going to do something like that I could have capitalized on it."

"But you didn't know. Couldn't have known. That's what made it a good tool. The element of surprise. Besides you over extended with that kick. You lost accordingly because I was able to punish it. If I let you get away with those sorts of attacks without punishing properly, I'll lose."

"That's what made it a good tool," she echoed my words.

"Not good enough," I shot back.

She lowered her weapons at me in response. "Your inelegance will only take you so far. Sloppiness is not the path to victory."

I stayed silent. I'd do what I had to do to win. That was the real path to victory. If Winter was bound up by strings like worrying about how elegant she looked doing what she did, then she would lose. I would emerge victorious because I was willing to do whatever was necessary. Even if that meant being a touch brutish. That’s how Jaune leveraged his edge over me. He was willing to be brutal.

My sister spun as she came at me and I met the first scimitar, then I transitioned my blade sideways to meet the second. Then I made the Titania edge vertical but to the side to meet the next.

She meant to keep me in block the entire time while she rained precise blows against my defenses.

It might work too, she had multiple blades to bring to bear and it felt a touch like all I would be able to do is narrowly keep up.

My chance would come, however. If I stayed patient. There. A gap, perhaps an artificial one but still an opportunity I couldn't slip by me. I thrust my blade forward and she caught it on both of hers and attempted to disarm me with a subtle twist of both her weapons at the same time.

I countered by stepping in closer and sliding my weapon against both of hers straight up at her face. She stepped back rather than get hit, and freed my weapon up once more.

I twirled and slashed at her, high, low, high. She blocked each attack in turn.

I stepped back and I waved Myrtenaster. Pinpricks of light emerged from it and raced towards Winter. She shattered the light easily with a motion of her blade.

Our weapons collided and she slid down my weapon towards my wrist. I twisted vertically up and out of the way, using the guard on my weapon to my advantage. Her weapon slid over and past my wrist without colliding with me. One of them did at least. Her off hand weapon slipped under and into the aura of my stomach. She spun with it, slicing upwards as it bit into my aura.

Point her.

It was mostly because she had two weapons to my one but that was no excuse to not concede the point.

"You've improved by wide margins," She said. "And you're only getting better all the time. You're making such sloppy attacks work for you."

"Thank you," I replied. I was doing well enough to match Winter. It was all that real combat experience I had against the agents of Salem that made the difference. Winter was used to fighting opponents who were her inferior. The opposite was true for me.

"That wasn't meant to be a compliment."

"We all slip up sometimes."

She laughed a little and smiled.

"You know I am always here should you need to talk."

"Whatever about?"

"Your Jaune Arc for one. The turncoat."

"I don't view him as a turncoat. Elsewise would Salem not have the relic of knowledge? Why then would she send agents to steal it from us?"

"You still haven't accepted it yet."

"And I may never. That's hardly a weakness of me considering the facts that have been presented thus far."

"And yet you handed me his description along with that of Salem's other agents."

"In the hopes that you may find him and we can get to the bottom of this mystery. That hardly means I view him as one."

"I too was betrayed once. By a teammate no less. It took a great deal of counseling and therapy for me to come to grips with what happened. And I hardly view that as a weakness. Perhaps you require the same thing. It is something I want you to closely consider."

"I have no intention of talking to a stranger about Jaune. It doesn't feel right."

"Then consider talking to me."

"When you've already written him off? Salem doesn't have the relic. That means something. And I learned a great deal from him. About the world, about fighting, and about myself."

"I learned from my teammate as well. Just know that you aren't alone in this. I know what you're going through."

I didn't think she did. Mostly because I, myself, wasn't sure what I was going through. Between Ruby and Jaune, that is. That wasn't Winter's fault, however. I didn't blame her for it a single iota.

It just meant that what I was going through I needed to lean on Ruby to understand. Of everyone in the world she would get it. She was in the know and unbelievably empathetic besides.

I just nodded to Winter but stayed quiet and readied my weapon for another bout.

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I manned a wall of Mantle. Overlooking the frozen tundra. It was ruined by the presence of Grimm.

There had been a mine collapse and that was leading to a miner's strike across Mantle. That much negativity was drawing the Grimm in spades.

I summoned my Knight outside the wall and directed it with a wave of my hand. It met one of the elephantine Grimm and stopped it in its barrelling tracks. They wrestled for an impossible moment before my great knight flipped it over onto its back.

It let out a trumpeting call and the enormous sword was brought down through its chest, it's exposed underbelly a great weakness of black flesh rather than the white plate armor that covered it's back and sides.

I felt the elephant get added to my collection of possible summons. Another monster I had slain, if only indirectly.

I could feel the rage of the protestors behind me. I hoped that my father would compromise and meet with the strike leaders soon. I knew him and he only responded to shows of force. The sort of collective action I'd seen in the streets which bordered on riotous had to be the sort that he'd now to.

Surely.

Despite that I was unconvinced. My father always had an angle and he'd broken up strikes before. Bribing leaders, making threats, calling in the military, or making brief concessions before returning to the previous status quo. And here I was defending him incidentally.

I hated that. I reminded myself that it was Mantle and Atlas I was defending from these Grimm. Not my father and his shady business practices.

The riots felt hot at the hairs on my neck as I directed my silvery specter to wrestle with another Goliath. It felt like their breath was right behind me. I knew that that wasn't the case. Kilometers separated me and the pocket lines.

Things may not work out how I thought. Maybe my father would really give in. But there was a build up in supply of dust. My father had been hurting for people to sell it all to. Surely he had a great deal of the energy propellant in the warehouses around both cities.

That meant he could afford to wait and eventually the fire in the belly of the strikers would die down. Then he could return to business as he had before.

The oversupply caused by the embargo would be beneficial to him in this case. I wasn't sure how much of that my teammates understood. I had been raised with proud conversations about strike breaking at the dinner table.

I cast a half dozen points of explosive light at a Chimera that hovered near the walls and it fell down. I rotated the barrel of my sword and I used dust, air and water in combination, and called up an ice storm from a glyph which pierced it's hide and sent it to withering ash.

The storm I called bowled into many smaller Grimm as well. It scattered a dozen Beowulfs into charred flakes.

I swept Myrtenaster over my head and called another great glyph to life. I rotated the barrel of my weapon again and the blade glowed yellow. A dozen lightning bolts jumped from the corners of the glyph into a group of Gryphons making their way towards the wall.

Much like the monsters before them they were dissolved by the force behind the electricity. With dust to augment my spells I may well be the strongest member of team RWBY. I was no slouch with the power of nature behind me.

It made me wonder what I would be like with the power of a maiden behind me. Would it be like I had a buffet of dust behind me at all times or would the power be entirely divorced from my semblance? Either seemed possible. Or it might be something completely different from both those options. I would have no idea until I became a maiden. If I became a maiden, that is. There was always the chance that the agents of Salem would win again. There was the possibility that I could die the next time we clashed, as Ren and Nora had.

Speaking of it was possible the agents of Salem were behind this strike. Sure it might benefit the workers, but not if we couldn't hold the wall against the Grimm.

I summoned my knight in mid-air in a spiraling glyph next to a Chimera in flight and my silver warrior brought it's sword down on the Grimm mid-flight and divided it in two.

I would hold this wall. It was my duty to defend the people from the Grimm that might come this way. That was all I should be worrying about for now. I was sure of that but I couldn't help but let my thoughts wander. I was backed by a regiment of robotic troopers and Atlas security soldiers.

They lined up and with short controlled bursts they brought Grimm down which were beneath my attention. Together we moved and slowly cleared this section of tundra of all black and white threats.

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I was watching over a patrol of machines. United we were overlooking the protests at the mines. They'd put me in charge of a batch of machines and I was to make sure that no fighting broke out between police and protestors.

Under no circumstances was I to fire upon the crowd, however. I understood how important it was. I was here to hold the line and remind people that the Atlas Military was watching.

Protestors held signs like Dust Lung Laws Now , and Give the Scabs Nothing , and even Save Our Pit.

I stood opposite a line of people fifty persons thick. It was spilling out onto a wide asphalt street. It had brick buildings on either side and the people were marching straight down the road and shouting. "No dust! Or bust!"

There was a little faunus girl with bear ears right out in front and screaming. She couldn't have been older than nine. Was that how old Blake had been when she started out? It was a chilling thought. As emotionally abusive as my parents had been I had been safe and sound in Schnee Manor.

Some of our family had been disappearing but that had been an abstract worry to a little girl who was being physically and emotionally abused by her parents. Even if she hadn't known it at the time. And I hadn't known it at the time.

I ordered the machines to line up against the walls of the street along the stores that made up either side. It was better to be out of the way of the marching crowd.

Someone set a trash can on fire and I watched in horror as it was thrown through an SDC storefront. Glass shattered everywhere and the people cheered as the building started to burn from the inside out. A group of machines set about moving people back from the burning building and putting out the fires.

I saw the man. A young boy really in a purple hoodie and black jeans.

"Arrest him," I ordered the machines. The boy dispersed through the crowd and the boy shuffled into it and vanished amongst the protestors. "Damn it."

I jumped high and landed on a glyph. I looked out into the crowd and saw the purple shape shuffling into the throng of people.

I blitzed forward on a wave of glyphs and landed on top of him. I held him down as people shouted around me. They booed me. I was surrounded by a mob of people set against me and firmly on the boy's side. They probably would be even more against me if they knew I was a Schnee. Someone threw a rock at me and it missed. It was the little girl with bear ears. I looked away. The machines gathered around me and took the young man into custody.

He was put into handcuffs and carried away by the blank faced robots. I watched them go and was returned to being surrounded and alone by a mob which disliked me and might hate me if they knew a little more. My glyphs weren't exactly subtle. But they were fast. I was booed as I moved about.

"Dirty Schnee."

"Money grubbing Schnee!"

"Schnee!"

I caught the words out of the mob. I was recognized, at least a little.

I bounced out on a set of glyphs to the rooftops and watched the crowd move.

The robots put out the fire and kept the swarm of people back away from the SDC storefront.

"Beat the Schnee with glee!" They shouted with fists moving forward.

I could really only watch from my vantage point and wait and see if they needed more interference.

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-WG

#rwby #ff7 #ffvii #motion sickness #weiss schnee #winter schnee #whiterose #white rose #whiteknight #white knight #cloud strife #clloud!jaune arc #sephiroth!Jaune arc #lancaster #war of the roses #ruby rose x jaune arc x weiss schnee #jaune arc #ruby rose

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theweasleyslytherin · 3 years

Text

i knew you (ron weasley x reader) part 8

part 1/masterlist

summary: Ron inexplicably broke up with Cassiah Black just days before their final year at Hogwarts, leaving them both with broken hearts and no future plans, but too stubborn and too proud to fix things. The centuries-old rivalry between their Gryffindor and Slytherin houses only make things worse, and friendships are truly put to the test. Will they find their way back together before the year ends, or will the end of their time at Hogwarts be the last time they ever see the each other?

warnings: angst, drug/alcohol use, SMUT ;)

CHAPTER 8 - baby look what you’ve done to me

*smut warning ahead!! you're welcome ;)

Nothing happened in the way I wanted Every corner of this house is haunted And I know you said that we're not talking But I miss you, I'm sorry

i miss you, i'm sorry, Gracie Abrams __________________________

Cassiah left the locker room shell-shocked and humiliated, with the watchful eyes of nearly the entire Quidditch team on her as she did. She had known Ron would be jealous – upset even – but she'd hoped it would be more in the angry-sex, revelation-of-hidden-feelings type of way. She had never expected this... Ron had never been genuinely angry with her before about anything less trivial than him being late for a date. Never like... this.

Instead of making things better and moving towards a happy ending, Cassiah had managed to make things a hundred times worse. Actually, a hundred times might have been low-balling it.

She hated herself for doing that to Ron, for letting that mean, vindictive part of her brain rule over her. She had never once acted with the explicit intention of hurting another person before this. On the contrary, she had always considered how her actions might potentially indirectly hurt people, and had let that dictate her actions to a fault. That had been something Ron had always told her he loved about her – her big heart. There was no way he still thought that highly of her now. Not after what she did tonight.

She retrieved her notes from where she'd folded them and tucked them into her pocket. She entirely expected them to be wrinkly and dirty with food stains and stray ink marks, and she wouldn't have been mad – that's just how Ron was. But when she unfolded them she found that aside from the creases from her own folding, they were in just as immaculate shape as they had been when she gave them to him. She'd surely been expecting them to have gotten beat up in his bag over the past few days, but no. He'd taken such care of them...

Now she felt even worse. Here Ron was, trying to be respectful, and she had completely disrespected him.

But also... had she?

Sure, she'd intentionally led him to believe that she was in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to make him jealous, but aside from the fact that it was a lie – which Ron did not know – was it disrespectful for her to be in a new relationship? The more Cassiah thought about it, the more at peace with herself she felt. Even if it hurt Ron to see her with someone new, he had ended things with her on his own accord, and she had every right to date without regard for his feelings when he had disregarded her feelings entirely when he broke up with her. Ron wasn't in charge of her anymore (not that he ever really was).

She felt bad that her actions made Ron feel upset on the night of his big win. Her timing could certainly be better. But in the long run, Cassiah knew she wasn't a villain here. Just because Ron hadn't spilled gravy on her notes that she'd lent to him as a favor, that didn't make him a saint. That was the bare minimum. If Cassiah wanted to publicize a relationship with Malfoy, that was her right as a single woman.

When she finally returned to her room, Draco was waiting there for her. This came as no surprise – they'd planned to meet tonight after the match to let each other know how their little scheme had played out for the both of them.

From the look on Draco's face, Cassiah didn't wanted to have this conversation.

Draco was relaxed back in Cassiah's desk chair, looking all too pleased with the world for Cassiah's liking. It wasn't that she didn't want him to be happy — she truly did. She just didn't want to have to look at it when she'd never been more miserable. Even though she wasn't entirely in the wrong, Ron still had made it clear tonight that he hated her, and that was the worst feeling in the world.

Still, she had to be a good friend to Draco and listen. Merlin knew he'd listened to her enough over the last month to make any man lose his mind. Surely, she could bare 3 minutes of his gloating.

"How did things go with Pansy?" she chirped, trying to act excited on Draco's behalf.

Draco fought back a wide grin as he sat up straighter in the chair, "Definite progress. She stormed up to me after the game and totally flipped me off."

Oh. That's... not exactly what Cassiah was expected, but also not entirely surprising. "And that's a good thing because?" she queried.

"Because everyone knows that Pansy is the meanest to you when she wants you," Draco explained as if it were the most obviously thing in the world, and he had a point. Every time Draco and Pansy had dated before, it had started as a hate-fueled hookup.

Cassiah felt Draco's icy eyes examining her face, her body language, her demeanor, and she shifted awkwardly between her feet, not exactly sure how to break the news.

"Ron totally hates me," she burst out, her eyes immediately filling with hot tears, "I ruined this amazing night for him and we got into a huge fight in the locker room. Draco, it was awful!" she cried as Draco rose to pull her into a hug. "I've made things so much worse than they were before. The other day when I gave him the notes, I felt like there had been progress, and now all of that is gone. He probably feels better about breaking up with me than he ever did before, based on how he seemed tonight."

Draco shook his head and forced Cassiah to look up at him, "Listen to me, Cass. Ron will come around."

Cassiah looked at him, eyes big and confused, and whimpered, "What-"

"Maybe not as your boyfriend. But he doesn't hate you, and he's not going to be this mad at you forever, I promise. He'll realize that he can't be mad at you for trying to move on from him when he's the one who forced you to."

"Yeah, you're right," Cassiah sniffled, finally pulling away from Draco's arms. She wiped under her eyes and smiled softly at him, "I'm sorry you didn't win the Quidditch match. I know you boys were working pretty hard all week."

Draco shrugged it off, a smirk playing across his lips, "It's alright. I think I'm about to score somewhere else, anyhow." He winked and Cassiah screamed, punching him the arm and telling him how gross he was for talking about her friend that way.

When the laughter died down, Cassiah plopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She and Draco sat quietly for a moment before she sighed and sat up again, brushing her hair behind her eyes.

"I think we need to call off the deal," she said suddenly, and Draco snapped to look at her, bewildered.

"Cass, everything with Pansy is so close to working out. Like so close," he pleaded, but his tone showed that he had already accepted defeat. He wouldn't pressure Cassiah to do something she didn't want to.

"I know, and I'm sorry," Cassiah confessed, running her fingers through her hair with stress, "I just know that things aren't going to get any better with Ron if I keep doing things to purposefully piss him off. He's going to be mad at me, and I'm going to feel bad about myself for having bad intentions against someone I care so deeply for."

"I still don't get the whole caring-deeply-for-a-Weasley thing-" Draco kidded.

"But I care about him," Cassiah explained, "And I don't want to make an enemy out of him. I'd much rather be friendly, because I can work with friendly. There's potential there. But not with enemies – I can't work with enemies."

"If that's what you really want, then we'll stop. I can find another way to get through to Pansy," Draco conceded. "Even though I did have some pretty genius ideas to mess with him and Potter."

_______

Ron was fuming.

He was so angry he barely even remembered the walk back to the dorms; he'd been blinded by white-hot rage.

Now, with the sounds of the music and cheering from the celebration happening in the common room, he had something else to be mad about. This was supposed to be his big day. He'd practically won the game for them. This was his celebration, and he couldn't even enjoy it because he couldn't stop thinking about Cassiah and Draco.

How long had they been seeing each other? How long had Draco had feelings for her? Was it serious or just a fling? Had they had sex, or just messing around?

If he was being honest, the last one was what was really bothering him the most. The idea of Cassiah being physical with someone else made him feel physically nauseous. They'd both come to believe and said out loud that they never wanted to have sex with somebody else again, that this was it. Since she sadly wasn't his first, Ron wanted Cassiah to be the last person he ever had sex with.

Sex with Cassiah... Merlin, there was nothing better.

Sex was always a stronghold in their relationship. When their sex life was good, so was everything else. In the locker room, Ron had been reminded for half a second just how good things between the could be.

He'd been standing there, shirtless and sweaty, with Cassiah backed up against the cool lockers. She'd looked up at him through those big, hazel eyes and thick lashes, and his heart had softened. She'd let her glance fall down to his lips, his chest, his abs, and something else hardened. Despite how furious he was with Cassiah, his body remembered this position, and was hungry for her.

There was nothing but a mere few inches of space between their lips. Ron could feel the heat that was radiating between their bodies, the electricity that was pulsing in the air.

So he closed the space and kissed her. He'd grabbed her face and held her still and finally crashed their lips together after so long. His other hand snaked up to hold the both of her hands above her head against the lockers. God, it felt good to be in control after so long.

They were both quiet except for their harsh panting, neither one wanting to make a sound and break the magic of the moment. That is until Cassiah pulled away from the kiss and Ron felt her lips hover over his ear. Her hot breath sent shivers down his spine, and his bit his lip when he felt her tongue run over the shell of his earlobe. Then suddenly, she sucked his earlobe into her mouth and nipped at it and Ron let out the filthiest moan of his life, "Nnngh, ohhh Cassie baby..."

Apparently, Cassiah remembered exactly what buttons to push to drive Ron crazy after all this time.

When she'd finished her teasing of Ron's sensitive neck and ear, Ron decided that it was his turn. He reached below and grabbed one of her legs, harshly hiking it up to hook around her waist. Bloody fucking hell, he loved whatever sick bastard had invented uniforms with knee-high stockings. They framed Cassiah's long, tanned legs like a glove and then pinched her thighs so perfectly that he just wanted to bite.

Ron trailed his right hand up her leg, snapping the stocking against her flesh, and continued on. He gave her a thigh a squeeze before letting his fingers dance ever-so slightly over her skin, causing her to let out a sigh and her eyelids to flutter. His fingers teased slightly at the spot right where her thighs met her core before pressing against her center through her panties, which had already grown damp. She whined slightly, rotating her hips under his touch. Ron needed to be inside her right now. But he had to tease her a little first. She wasn't completely off the hook for her behavior earlier.

His fingers pushed her panties aside and found her clitoris right away. He was an expert on Cassiah's body and hadn't forgotten. His fingers on her were unrelenting, drawing tight circles that he knew would drive her crazy on the line of pleasure and over-stimulation. "Ron," she let out a high-pitched broken moan, "Ron please, I can't- I can't-"

He continued for a moment before letting up, swiping his fingers through her folds to gather up her wetness. He pulled his soaking fingers out and brought them up to his lips, sucking and humming in appreciation at the taste.

"Ron, I need you," Cassiah breathed heavily, her cheeks flushed and breasts heaving underneath her low-cut Slytherin shirt.

"Should've thought of that before you ruined my match," he shot back, "Thankfully I can think of a way for you to repay me."

She whimpered, anxiously awaiting Ron's punishment. "Bend over," he'd ordered, featuring at the locker room bench where his bag was sitting.

Cassiah immediately obeyed, leaning over the bench and looking back at Ron over his shoulder. He knew that innocent look in her eyes was anything but the truth and it just made him want to fuck her more. He unbuttoned his uniform pants and pushed them down just enough to take out his cock and give it a few good pumps.

He ran the tip of his cock through her slit, teasing her and lubricating himself with her slick. She cried out at the feeling over his head pushing into her, and then moaned his name as he bottomed out.

He left her with little time to adjust because he couldn't hold back, but he knew his girl could take it. He set a brutal pace, pounding into her from behind and she was hovering over the bench.

He felt her walls quivering and heard her cries and knew that was was nearing her peak. He was thankful for that because he knew he wouldn't last much longer–

"Godrick, Ron, I-I'm so sorry!" Neville shrieked, immediately spinning around and facing the opposite wall.

Ron felt his face and ears turn bright red and he thought he might pass out from embarrassment, despite the fact that his cock was still throbbing under the covers.

"Neville, bloody hell! Why aren't you are the party?" He spluttered, trying to hide even farther under the blankets than he already was. He'd let his imagination run wild, and he couldn't help but be a little pissed at Neville for having the world's worst time and barging in right when he was about to... well, you know.

"I could ask you the same question," Neville reasoned, now blindly searching through his stuff with one hand covering his eyes.

"You can uncover your eyes now, you massive twat," Ron threw a pillow at Neville, but both boys knew he was mostly joking. "And I think you know why I'm not at the party," he reasoned, blushing again.

"Well," Neville replied, awkwardly running a hand through his hair, "I reckon you might as well come join it now, considering."

Ron raised his eyebrows in half-amusement, half-annoyance, "Yeah, I reckon so."

Neville stood there, waiting expectantly for Ron to follow him. Both boys just stood there for a moment, waiting.

"Well, get out then, and let me get dressed!" Ron shouted, shooing Neville out the door. He threw on his sweatpants and his Quidditch jersey and mumbled to himself, "Merlin, I am getting so drunk tonight." _________________

I'm so sorry this chapter took so long guys! I was super invested in watching 24 hour news coverage of the election, and Thursday was actually my 21st birthday so I've spent the weekend celebrating that with my family. I'm back now though!

next chapter should be coming tomorrow!!

let me know what you think so far!! so much love, xx

tag list: @theamazingspideraj @girl22334 @mariellelovescupcakes

Published on my Wattpad (halebscallison) and my Tumblr (theweasleyslytherin).

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