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celestialarchon · 3 years

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400+ Followers Celebration!

various genshin impact x f!reader

warnings: fluff/crack/NSFW implications, jokes and innuendos. reverse Isekai storyline and a LOT of attention on reader. SPOILERS FOR IN GAME. Archon spoilers!

As much as you tried, connecting and staying in reality was too hard. It was always the same outcome, finding yourself whisked away to another fantasy land through media. Normally your obsessions didn’t last long, but one game had completely sucked you in. Maybe it was the stress of the nightmare year 2020 or maybe it was the fact that Genshin Impact was everything you loved and more, but you couldn’t get enough. It was getting out of hand as even your roommates had began to play because of the way you romanticized the game. Acquiring most of the five star characters, building several strong teams, and finishing almost all the quests in roughly 5 months.

As an insomniac, it was easy to grind through the game until the sun came up. Sometimes you wondered if it was strange that an adult would be so enamored with a game but shrugged it off. It’d been a hellish year, you deserved to treat yourself.

Yet another night spent entirely on the dreamy land of Teyvat. You yawned and stretched as the sun peaked through the blinds and cursed yourself for not noticing the passing time. Removing your head set, you yawned again, feeling a wave of drowsiness wash over you. It was strange, you’d only been up one night and you were already so tired. Your home was quiet, all the roommates sound asleep as you crept into your bed under the covers. The stuffie you adored so much was soon in your arms as you drifted off, wishing to dream of traveling the world of Teyvat.

An extremely loud crashing sound woke you from your deep sleep. Instinctively you shot up, your arm moved on its own aiming for the space around you and swinging quickly and forcefully. Your fist made contact with something and you shrieked as the strange shadow crumpled. You flew out of your bed and away from the safety of your covers, grasping for the light switch.

Your panicked screeches only grew louder as the figure on the floor groaned and stood upright, still fumbling for the lights. Fingertips finally brushed the switch on the wall and you flipped the lights on. The sudden brightness blinded you for a minute and the mystery person as well. It hit you how stupid it was to turn on the lights in your room as soon as your eyes adjusted. Adrenaline was pumping through your veins as you rushed to the door. You could hear heavy footsteps from the other room. Other people were home you needed to get to them.

“Shiiiiit,” The strange person groaned again, “I drank too much.”

The voice was familiar and made you freeze for a moment. Mentally slapping yourself you darted out of your room but ran straight into a wall. Well, that’s what it felt like, but there wasn’t a wall outside your door. The force of the collision knocked you on your ass and you yelped as you hit the floor.

“Oh? What’s this?” The supposed wall turned to look at you, eyebrows arched as he stared down at you.

Your jaw nearly hit the floor as you looked up at the familiar man. That smooth voice, the long hair, the eyepatch. This had to be some sort of weird dream. No matter how hard you tried to move, your body wouldn’t obey. You heard steps from behind you and glanced back to see another Mondstadt troublemaker. A disgruntled anemo archon was slowly approaching you.

“Ehe, fuck, she hit me hard.” Venti giggled nervously.

“Poor thing,” Kaeya held his hand out to you, “Did the mean little twink scare you?”

The room was spinning, so you took the cryo pirate’s hand. Your jaw was probably still on the floor. His grip was strong and cool, it was bringing you back down to the reality of the situation you were in. Oh, the irony. You were not dreaming. Awestruck, you peered behind Kaeya into your living room to see even more Genshin characters just vibing. The esteemed geo archon was drinking from your favorite mug, two troublesome harbingers bickered in the corner of the room, a certain librarian was flipping through your books, both travelers were attempting to learn how to play uno. It was unreal. A pirate was flirting with a silver haired beauty.There was an astrologist examining your fish tank, an alchemist and a child terrorist asleep on your floor, and a fucking adeptus perched on your couch like a gargoyle.

Your roommates were nowhere in sight and your home was crowded by your fictional lovers. The absolute chaos of it all sent you over the edge. High pitched, clearly unstable laughter erupted from you. What else could you do? Cry? That wouldn’t change anything. All eyes shifted to you as you leaned on the wall, clutching your abdomen and giggling like a madwoman. Kaeya shifted away from you, allowing the others to get a good look at you.

Finally composing yourself, you stood up straight and introduced yourself, “Hello, why are you invading my home?”

“Hey girlie! I’m Childe,” The cheery harbinger nearly skipped up to you shaking your hand, “but you can call me daddy.”

Your face reddened at his bold introduction but you clicked your tongue avoiding his eyes.

“Hello, cutie. I’m Lisa.”

“Albedo, and this is Klee.”

“I tend to go by Zhongli.”

“Beidou! The lovely lady by my side is Ningguang.”

“Adeptus Xiao.”

They all introduced themselves so politely, you almost felt bad for acting a bit crazy. However, that feeling was quickly swept away by Kaeya and his sharp tongue.

“Kaeya, but I believe you already know that,” he smirked at you, “May I ask why you aren’t wearing any pants?”

“Oi, what?” You looked down and gasped.

Venti’s drunk ass had sent you into fight and flight mode so you had forgotten all about your night time attire. You were in an oversized Genshin Impact shirt without any pants on. Shoving Venti out of your way, you rushed to your room to dig for pants. Oh, how you wished you hadn’t forgotten about laundry. You hastily grabbed a pair of shorts that really didn’t do much except cover your underwear.

“I have shorts on now. You just can’t tell because of my shirt.” You declared entering the living room.

Some of the more promiscuous characters giggled at your embarrassment while Zhongli facepalmed and the most serious of them all, Scaramouche and Xiao, simply scowled. You sat on the end of your couch furthest from everybody else, nervous. Nobody had answered your earlier question. Apparently your discomfort was lost on the Adeptus Xiao, or he just didn’t care. He was in front of you in a flash, pinching your face and glaring at you.

“Why did you call us here you foolish mortal?” His tone was more annoyed than murderous.

Zhongli slapped Xiao’s hands away from your face and sat down next to you, “Be nice. She doesn’t know either.”

You nodded at this, and the room erupted in murmurs. Zhongli slipped his arm around you, patting your shoulder sympathetically. Lumine tossed the Uno cards down and glided to you, taking strands of your hair into her hands and beginning to play with it. Perhaps it’s because you played as both the travelers but the three of you seemed to silently click. Scaramouche and Childe began to argue again about something silly. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a certain bard and the charming Sir Kaeya raiding your liquor cabinet.

It was too overwhelming to argue. Lumine took her time playing with your hair while the others attempted to figure out how to go back to their own world. Xiao crept closer to you, truly like a cat. Beidou and Ningguang fawned over you and invited you into their relationship several times. You politely declined, knowing they’d have to go back to their world. It was disappointing and a bit frustrating.

Your wish came true but it was too good to be true. Albedo seemed to notice your silence. He gently maneuvered his adorable little sister off of him and approached you. His eyes were filled with curiosity, your silence only made his thoughts wander further.

“Can I experiment on you?” Albedo was blunt.

“Huh?” You blinked, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“I’m not sure if that was brave or stupid,” Childe snickered, “Has he always been this bold?”

“Tch,” Scaramouche rolled his eyes, “Thats a terrible pick up line, mad scientist.”

“Leave my cutie alone!” Lisa yanked Albedo away from you defensively.

The room was filled with protest at Lisa’s words. Zhongli merely sighed and pulled you closer. Venti’s dumb ass was floating around your living room hiccuping. Xiao was wedging himself between you and the arm of the couch. It was insane. Beidou and Ningguang noticed the two Liyue men snuggling up to you and marched over to the three of you.

Ningguang tried to pull you away from them while Beidou aggressively smacked at Xiao. Xiao was hissing at the beautiful captain and Zhongli was attempting to intervene. You shoved them out of your way and stood up, panicked by the attention. Lisa caught you as you tripped over your own feet but landed face first into her chest. She stroked your hair but was interrupted by Albedo grabbing your wrist and mumbling about experiments. The single moment Childe and Scaramouche got along was to pull you from Albedo but it became a quick tug of war over you.

Somehow, Klee was still asleep and Kaeya was just watching all of it go down.

“Cheeeeeeeeers, bitch bitches,” The Knight slurred.

“Enough.” Lumine and Aether both intervened.

Aether held his hand out to you, “You don’t have to pick now, but please say you’ll come with us?”

“You belong in Teyvat,” Lumine smiled at you warmly.

“So,” Aether continued “What do you say, outlander?”

All eyes were on you as the words left Aether’s lips. What would you do?

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babypandawrites · 3 years

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Allies, Pt. 4

The Storm

Pairing: Sokka x F Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 1,790 Summary: You find out Sokka’s ideas are more terrible than you originally thought.

-Navigation- | -Allies Masterlist- | -Atla Masterlist-

Getting abruptly woken up by something jumping on your face then your chest was not a pleasant way to be woken up. Y/n bolted up in a panic, reaching for her bow that had been laying next to her. “Huh? Uh… What’s going on? Did we get captured again?” Sokka spoke groggily next to her, he must have gotten woken up too. Aang looked between his friends. “It’s nothing, I just had a bad dream. Go back to sleep.” “Don’t have to tell me twice.” Setting her bow back down, Y/n spared Aang a quick glance, before deciding she was far too tired to deal with this right now. Seemed like Katara was going to talk to him anyways. She fell onto her back, and rested an arm over her eyes. “Are you all right, Aang?” Not falling back asleep immediately, she listened in on Katara and Aang’s conversation. “I’m okay.” “You seem to be having a lot of nightmares lately, you wanna tell me about it?” “I think I just need some rest.” She heard Sokka move around next to her. “You guys want to hear about my dream?” There was a pause. “That’s okay, I didn’t want to talk about it anyways.” When the others went silent, Y/n drifted back to sleep. The next morning, Y/n helped Katara pack up their things. Aang sat atop Appa’s head, pointing out to the sky. “Look at those clear skies, buddy! Should be some smooth flying.” Katara examined the bag they carried food in. “Well, we better smoothly fly ourselves to a market, cause we’re out of food.” Sokka looked at them alarmed. “Guys, wait, this was in my dream, we shouldn’t go to the market.” Y/n looked at him questioningly. “What happened in your dream?” “Food eats people!” The three looked at him unimpressed. “Also, Momo could talk.” He turned to look at the lemur. “You said some very unkind things.”

Once they’d gotten to a market, they got some food. Currently, Katara was judging the quality of some fruit while Y/n, Aang and Sokka stood off to the side. “Ah, it’s good! It’s perfect, I’m telling you!” The shopkeeper tried to convince her of the quality, but she didn’t seem to be agreeing. She shook the fruit, which made a swishing sound. “I don’t know if I like the sound of that swishing.” “Swishing means it’s ripe! It’s the ripe juices swishing around, eh?” “I think it’s true, Katara, swishing means it’s ripe.” Aang agreed with the keeper, though Y/n was skeptical like her friend. “I dunno about that.” Katara put the fruit back. “I just realized we’re out of money anyways.” The shopkeeper groaned, taking the basket of fruit that Sokka had been holding, kicking him as he walked by. Dejected, Sokka rubbed at the place he was kicked as they walked away from the stand. “Out of food and out of money, now what are we supposed to do?” “I could get some forage-” Y/n’s suggestion was ignored. “You could get a job, smart guy.” Katara said to her brother. “That also works.” Hands on her hips, Katara turned to look at Y/n. “You could get one too, you know.” They walked past a pair of old people who’d been speaking amongst themselves, but were easily overheard. “We shouldn’t go out there! Please, the fish can wait. There’s going to be a terrible storm.” “Ahh, you’re crazy! It’s a nice day. No clouds, no wind, no nothing, so quit you’re naggin’ woman.” Aang looked between the other three. “Maybe we should find some shelter?” Sokka scoffed. “Are you kidding? Shelter from what?” “This apparent storm.” Y/n glanced up at the sky. “That’s what my bad feeling must have been about.” “You had a bad feeling and didn’t say anything?” She looked at Sokka with a blank expression. “You guys never listen to them.” “My joints say there’s going to be a storm! A bad one.” “Well, it’s your joints against my brain.” “Then I hope your brain can find someone else to haul that fish, cause I ain’t comin'!” “Then I’ll find a new fish hauler and pay ‘em double what you get! How do you like that?” Sokka grabbed onto Y/n’s wrist, and dragged her over to the pair. “We’ll go!” The man pointed at them. “You’re hired!” Katara, Aang and Y/n gave him a look. “What? You said ‘get a job’ and he’s paying double.” The man looked at Sokka like he was crazy. “Double? Who told ya that nonsense?” Y/n ignored the old man. “Hey, why are you dragging me into this?” “You were told to get a job too!” Pausing, he leaned close to her ear. “And if we both do it, we both get paid. That’s double the pay regardless!”

Sokka was loading up the fishing boat that belonged to the old man, Y/n hesitantly helping him. She paused, looking up at the sky with worry. It’d begun to fill with dark storm clouds, and the wind was starting to pick up. Aang had been looking at the sky worried as well. “Sokka, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. I mean look at the sky.” “I said I was gonna do this job. I can’t back out just because of some bad weather.” Sokka continued to load up the boat. The old woman from before looked at the kids. “The boy with tattoos has some sense. You should listen to him!” The old man sat down some boxes, before looking over at Aang. “Boy with tattoos? Airbender tattoos… Well I’ll be a hog monkey's uncle! You’re the Avatar, ain’t ya?” “Y/n, come on help me out a bit here.” Sighing, she picked up a box, and followed Sokka below the boat's deck with it. When they came back up, the others were nowhere to be found. Sokka noticed this too. “Hey, they left without saying goodbye!” “You’re friends ain’t too polite, are they?” Y/n went to grab another box. “They’re plenty polite..” She was ignored, as Sokka agreed with the man. “I know! This one time I was-” The old man cut him off, handing him a box. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, get below deck.” The three went off onto the boat, and set sail to sea.

It didn’t take very long for the wind to pick up immensely, nor for the rain to start pouring down. Lightning struck in the distance, as a large wave hit the boat causing it to rock aggressively jerking them around. Y/n found herself gripping tightly on the boat's railing, as Sokka and the old man struggled to pilot the boat. “You know, Sokka, I think this will be a really good teaching moment for you if we get out of this alive!” “Yeah okay! I’ll never doubt one of your bad feelings again! Can you get over here and help us?!” “What the boy said!” She looked at them with an exasperated expression as the boat rocked aggressively, jerking the three around. “You want me to let go of the only thing keeping me on board?! Thanks but no thanks, I think I’m fine where I’m at!” The man looked at her. “Girly there isn’t going to be a board for you to stay on if we crash this!” Gulping, Y/n hesitated for a short moment, before letting go of the boats railing. She moved quickly to join the other two, but a large wave hit the boat. It jerked her back and caused her to tip over the boat's railing. “Y/n!” With a shout, she was able to grab onto the railing before she fell into the water. The railing was wet and slippery though, it was hard to keep a grip on it. “Sokka, help!” Sokka left the old man to pilot the boat on his own, and rushed over to the railing. He braced himself against it, before reaching out to grasp onto her wrist, catching her just as her grip slipped from the rail. “Gotcha!” He pulled Y/n back onto the deck, and she was quick to latch onto the railing for dear life, breathing out a relieved sigh. “We gotta get over there and help him!” “Are you crazy?!” Their grips on the railing tightened, as another large wave rocked the boat. The old man looked over at the two. “I ain’t gonna be able to keep this in control for much longer! Listen to the boy!” “Y/n, go! I’ll be here in case you get knocked back again!” She wasn’t very willing to let go of the rail, that had been horrifying and not something she wanted to happen again. But still, she hesitantly released the railing and ran over to the man to help him. This time she’d made it, and Sokka was fast to join them to help try and pilot the ship.

Suddenly- and thankfully -Aang jumped down onto the boat. After stopping a part of the boat that broke from hurting any of them, he grabbed onto the rope Sokka had. “Hang on to the rope!” He airbended himself back up to Appa, pulling Sokka, Y/n and the old man with him. They all landed on the bison safely. Behind them a shadow appears, the sound of rushing water could be heard. A giant wave was progressively growing behind them. Appa tried to fly away from it, but wasn’t fast enough, causing them all to get submerged. Aang drifted away from them, using his Avatar powers to create a ball of energy around them all, rising them from the water and back into the sky. Once they escaped the water, Appa took them all back to a cave. The old woman from before ran over to embrace her husband. “Oh, you’re alive!” Now frowning, she pointed to Aang. “You owe this boy an apology.” “He doesn’t have to apologize.” “Mmm, uh, what is instead of an apology I give him a free fish and we call it even?” “Actually, I don’t eat meat.” “Fish ain’t meat.” Sokka held out a hand to the man. “Seriously, you’re still going to pay us, right?” The old man raised an eyebrow, before dropping a fish in the boy's hand. He made a frightened sound, dropping the fish to the ground. Crossing her arms over her chest, Y/n looked at the man with a blank expression. “Really?!” He just ignored her. Breathing out a sigh, she looked at Sokka. “Next time we need a job, I’m picking it.” “That’s fair.” “Oh and uh… Thanks for saving me back there.” Pausing she rolled her eyes in a joking manner. “Even if it was your fault in the first place.” They shared a quick laugh. “Yeah, of course.”

#avatar the last airbender #atla #avatar the last airbender x reader #atla x reader #reader insert #sokka x reader #sokka x y/n #sokka x you #team avatar #slowburn #book one allies

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marauderssequels · 3 years

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“’...her mother Andromeda was my favorite cousin,’ said Sirius, examining the tapestry closely.” (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix)

in 1953, the second little Black girl was born. two-year-old bellatrix peered into the crib, chin already learning how to hold itself in the haughty manner her mother’s did. later, the tiny form in the cradle would learn to toddle about behind bella, following her as faithfully as her sister would ever follow voldemort.

bellatrix was her father’s daughter, and narcissa was her mother’s, but andromeda felt always caught in-between. she did not have the fair hair and dainty features of narcissa, nor the strong chin and determined build of bella. the day she stopped following bellatrix around, she learned that loyalty sometimes comes only so long as mindless obedience follows. without her little sister constantly admiring her and doing whatever she asked, bella’s proud little smile turned to a smirk whenever andromeda was near. they remained friends still for a long time after, but andromeda’s place in bella’s heart had fallen, and it would never find such high purchase again.

narcissa followed neither, imitating instead everything their mother wished her to be. andromeda could not remember a time her sister hadn’t worn gloves, mindful always of her pretty little palms. she acted out occasionally, it was true, but her fits of temper learned from her father’s stern gaze, and she became a little lady instead, spoiled and proper and everything their aristocratic family could have hoped for.

bellatrix was a leader; their father claimed he’d known it from her first wail, for even then her tone had been commanding. she led andromeda and narcissa through all matters, teaching them (though neither kindly nor patiently) how to size up one’s enemies and social prey, which families were to be associated with and which were to be ignored, who could be preyed upon and how to get away with it. narcissa practiced eagerly the subtler arts of the social games they waged against other children, while bellatrix wielded their family name as her brash blade. when that was not enough, there was always her anger, which crackled out of her like fireworks against anyone who dared challenge her. andromeda was never sure if bella meant to use her magic, or if it was like the times her own untamed magic sometimes shot out without warning.

in 1959, a little Black cousin was born. andromeda’s aunt named him sirius, and he was every bit as willful a child as bella must’ve been, once upon a time. when a screaming regulus arrived two years later, however, sirius took the mantle of brother more willingly than bella had of sister. he protected that little baby as watchfully as any two-year-old could, and andromeda loved them both.

bellatrix went marching off to school, but she did hug her sisters tightly before boarding the train. she squeezed andromeda’s hand and gave narcissa a small trinket, though she said little at the time. they watched the first of their little band ride off into a new beginning, and the two sisters went back home to tears in the night that neither would ever speak of.

bella changed, but in many ways, she stayed the same. andromeda sometimes wondered how everyone else was always so surprised by her later. the darkness in her sister had lived there forever; it blossomed, of course, but not from nowhere. she was no more unkind than she’d ever been to her sisters, not yet, but ambition was raking its iron claws through her embers and stoking up a fire.

a four-year-old sirius told andromeda she was his favorite. she laughed but hushed him, listening always for the creak of the floorboards beneath her aunt’s heels. one never knew where walburga might lurk in that ancient, miserable house.

two years later, andromeda no longer had to be left behind. she bought her school things and chose a pet and bounded up the train right behind bella.

a cold hand shot out, grabbing her wrist. a flash of black eyes, cold calculation and irritation- and then bella relaxed slightly, as though nothing had happened at all.

“we don’t sit together,” she said, releasing her grip on andromeda. she showed her sister what people she should sit with, and she was gone.

another two years passed, with bella’s attention clearly no longer so focused on her as it had been before hogwarts. but that was fine; andromeda made a few friends and learned to be a good slytherin, though already the Black name had begun to chafe up against her. narcissa joined them, and it seemed as though she became the most popular girl in her year overnight. bella had her gang of slytherins that whispered already of dark marks and vengeance, and though bella had made the invitation- several times- andromeda had no interest in joining.

eventually, bella left school and entered into the lestrange family. andromeda was the maid of honor, and for the first time in years, bella looked at her like she loved her. both knew bella did not love her husband, but for a few minutes at the reception, bella and andromeda whispered to each other at a back table, and all felt as it had been before.

sirius would be making his own trip to hogwarts before long. already, he clamored for every detail he could wring from andromeda. pranking bella and narcissa had its fun, but he loved most the stories andromeda spoke of in her letters. they’d sent her owl back and forth since he was eight, and soon, he told her, it would be his letters going to her from hogwarts.

it was her seventh year before she knew it, and a muggleborn named ted finally put the feeling she’d had as long as she could remember into sharp focus. she knew her family was wrong, but she had a reason to fight now- and she did.

1972, the last time she saw her sisters; it was the night before her wedding. the tonkses were kind people, and it was to be a muggle marriage- she’d slip smoothly into his life and his world and his family, if only her own would let it go uninterrupted. she hadn’t seen bella or narcissa since graduating hogwarts, for she’d returned to ted’s home rather than her own after that. it had been a peaceful year, and the couple had since moved out into their own flat- nothing fancy, but ted’s job was steady and her own work felt worthwhile, and they were happy. she and sirius sent their letters, and he seemed happy too, finding his own home within the gryffindors.

still, it felt like she’d been waiting to hear that crack! in the next-door park ever since she’d left. andromeda stepped out into the night and watched two figures approach, and it felt to her that no time had passed at all.

both clutched tightly the wedding invitations she’d sent them, though bella’s had clearly been through more wear. a dark ruby glittered on her ring finger, so dark it was almost black, as her knuckles whitened.

“dromeda,” narcissa breathed, as they reached her. for a moment, andromeda thought her sister would embrace her, but she remained by bella’s side.

“this is enough,” bella snapped, her harsh whisper barely an effort to be courteous of the neighbors. “this has gone on long enough- come home, andromeda.”

andromeda steeled herself- but narcissa spoke again, gentle. “I’ve spoken with Father- all will be forgotten, if you’ll only come with us. they’ve been telling people you’ve been abroad-”

“no, cissy,” andromeda said, firm. “I have not been abroad, and I am not coming ho- going back.

bella glared. those eyes could burn holes into ordinary wizards, but andromeda was not just any witch. she had seen the fury behind those black eyes and knew all too well the harsh consequences of their direction, but she stood taller than them now.

the invitation was thrust into her hand, but the bony hand seized beyond andromeda’s palm to clutch around her wrist, just as it had all those years ago. bella jerked her sister roughly forward, revealing to her and narcissa the engagement ring gleaming against her skin.

“a common sapphire?” bella laughed; it grated against andromeda’s ears. “this is what you leave us for? a pauper mudblood and his-”

“let go, bella.” controlling herself, andromeda shook off her sister.

bellatrix’s face knotted up; she did not give second chances lightly, and andromeda knew already that she would never be given a third. instead, she turned to narcissa.

of course cissy cried. cissy always cried. it was easy to get her way like that, round blue eyes filling up and that perfect little pucker- but andromeda knew her too well. that night, however, cissy did not cry as she did for their father. she simply stared, tears flowing down her cheeks as she took no notice.

too soon, bella was gripping narcissa’s arm and turning on her heel, never breaking her glare for a moment until she’d vanished into the night.

she did not tell sirius. he wrote of regulus and three wild young friends, and she spoke of the wedding he had not been allowed to attend and the baby that arrived all too soon the next may. he promised to find a way to meet little nymphadora, but she gave stern warnings against it. in the Black family, one was not allowed mistakes simply for being thirteen and foolish.

he did meet dora eventually, and loved her as easily as he’d loved regulus. she was delighted by the dark waves of hair falling around his face, and promptly changed hers to match.

he came to visit for easter holidays every year, telling his parents he was staying at hogwarts. she heard about his separation from the family when he sent an owl from a friend’s house. it stung for a moment, that he had not come to her, but it was easier to drag an unruly heir from a disgraced relative than a family like the potters. what surprised her was that they never tried; firstborn sons were not an investment that pureblood lines gave up easily. things at home must have been far more dire than he’d ever let on to her.

their uncle alphard’s death gave andromeda and sirius each a small inheritance. finally, andromeda felt that she could breathe, not having to worry about securing nymphadora’s magical education. sirius had the means to move out on his own, and he chose an apartment not far from his cousin’s.

he told andromeda in quiet words what had happened to his brother. he never spoke of regulus again after that.

she watched him and his friends join the war. she and ted couldn’t risk it, not with little dora needing them, but she checked up on sirius every week in disguise. the times were dangerous and she could no longer bring nymphadora to visit, and he used his animagus form rarely, not wanting the death eaters or the ministry to make the connection. in the short hour-long visits they snatched up, they spoke over tea of the years they would spend after the war.

it had taken their siblings from both of them. as far as blood went, they were the last real family they had to each other, and they clung to futures where sirius could take nymphadora shopping for sweets and magical trinkets.

november of 1981, remus lupin turned up at her door. the war was over and voldemort had fallen, but the headline of the paper he gave her with shaking hands told a story she could not comprehend.

the sunrises of those tea-steeped futures died that day. sirius was locked away, and nymphadora grew up with only her father’s family.

at hogwarts, dora was fed the myths and lies of the traitor sirius black and his whole death eater family. she was taught to hate every single one, and andromeda did not know how to tell the story of the cousin who had railed against them all until the day he hadn’t.

in 1974, ted called from the garden, amused by something he’d found. she squinted through the window, peering through the evening’s darkness.

and standing among the peonies, a large black dog stared back.

#sirius black #andromeda black #bellatrix black #narcissa black #regulus black #andromeda tonks #ted tonks #nymphadora tonks #alphard black #bellatrix lestrange #narcissa malfoy #black family #black sisters

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givemeweasley · 3 years

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First Things First pt. 3

Fred Weasley x Reader

Warnings: angst to fluff no worries only happy endings here (this is also the last part)

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this! I put a lot of research into it even for smaller details about Ilvermorny or even the Gryffindor password to make sure it was all correct. Also for the last section I listened to Heart by Sleeping At Last (highly recommend)! Please let me know what you thought and I’m also taking requests :)

First Things First pt. 1, First Things First pt. 2

-----

You remembered the first time you made up-

You were miserable. There was no easy way to put it. In the week leading up to the ball you’d been eating your meals in the kitchens, studying for next semester in the kitchens, really just spending every free second in the kitchens since classes had finished. And sitting alone. Even herbology. You’d made a point to quietly sit on the other side of the classroom and not look at him even in the slightest.

The week leading up to the ball felt like a year. It only seemed longer when you overheard the house elves talking about who was going with who.

“I heard Mr.Potter is going with that Ms.Patil.” One of them whispered.

“Parvati or Padma?”

“Parvati.”

The whispering continued until one name caught your attention. You didn’t dare glance up, you could feel the house elves lower their voices and glance at you.

“The eldest Weasley twin is going with,” their voices lowered even more. You leaned forward a fraction, tilting your head in their direction. “Angelina Johnson.”

“They’ll be a right handsome couple.”

At that comment you heard a few house elves immediately fuss and shush the house elf who said it, but it was too late. You’d already heard. They were right. For what seemed like the millionth time in that week, your eyes welled up with tears.

Godric. You were so tired of crying. So tired of feeling guilty and angry at the same time. So tired of missing your friends.

You hated England. You hated Hogwarts. You hated these stupid kitchens and these stupid dungeons. You hated Yule balls especially. How simple everything would’ve been if the ball hadn't existed.

Maybe you could’ve spent your life pretending you never kissed him.

But you knew better. The kiss was never far from the front of your mind. Even if the memory now only brought pain.

Fred was right. You could’ve asked him. Why didn’t you?

You buried your head in your hands uncontrollably sobbing. You called him a coward. The only coward between the two of you, was you. He was better off with Angelina. She was incredible and they had so much in common. You could already see their wedding in your head.

It only made you cry more.

“Look what you did!” You vaguely heard one of the house elves whisper angrily. There was some shuffling around and pots clattering about before you felt the tap of a long finger against your elbow.

“Ms.Y/L/N?”

You looked down to see Jippy. His ears were flopped over, his wide eyes looking up at you kindly with a blue box in his hands. A white bow wrapped around it.

You unfurled yourself from the seat, your limbs achy and in desperate need of a stretch. “What’s this?” You asked taking the box from Jippys hands.

He nervously glanced back at the house elves behind him. They were all smiling broadly looking from the present in your hands to your face. Finally, he seemed to build up enough courage to say what he needed.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, we all noticed you’ve spent your entire week in here and-”

“Oh I’m so sorry!” You grimaced. They had probably needed alone time from humans and you’d done nothing but intrude on their continued generosity.

“No! No! That’s not it at all! We just knew that you hadn’t gone out to Hogsmeade to pick out a dress so we wanted to do something for you.” Jippy said, twisting his foot on the floor. But his smile widened as he glanced at the present. “Happy Christmas.”

The tears already in your eyes spilled down your cheeks. You had completely forgotten about purchasing a dress for the ball. Hastily, you wiped the tears from your cheeks before pulling the ribbon gently off the box. You lifted the blue lid.

Inside was the most stunning fabric you’d ever seen. It glittered silver reflecting off every light in the room. You gripped the shoulders of the gown and lifted to see the entirety of it.

Jippy poked his head into your field of vision. “Do you like it?”

As gently as possible, you folded the gown back into the box. You made a point to look at every single house elf in the room. “I love it. Thank you.”

Cheers rang out through the kitchens. For the first time in weeks, you laughed. Heartily. Until, you realized what Jippy said. You whipped your head to him.

“Christmas?”

Jippy froze, furrowing his brow. “Yes ma’am. It’s Christmas.”

Your eyes widened before lifting them to the grand clock on the wall.

7:03

You leapt up out of the chair causing Jippy to startle backwards. You reached your hand out to steady him before him fell. “I’ve gotta go! Adrians coming to get me at 7:45! Thanks again you guys!” You yelled over your shoulder, box in hand as you ran to the portrait.

Shouts of ‘good luck’ and ‘Happy Christmas’ rang out over your shoulder as the portrait shut behind you. Without thinking, you barreled towards the staircase hauling ass to Gryffindor tower. You were on the bottom floor, Gryffindor tower on the seventh. It would take you at least ten minutes to get there. Still, you ran up the stairs no matter how much your legs ached. You’d be damned if the beautiful dress in the box went to waste.

Finally, you halted to a stop in front of the Fat Lady. “Balderdash!” You huffed out, still catching your breath.

“Running from something, dear?” The Fat Lady asked as she swung open.

You didn’t take the time to answer. You shot into the common room and up the stairs trying not to notice several people lounging around already dressed for the ball. You did however slow enough to check the time on the clock over the mantlepiece.

7:16

Shit. Using the banister as leverage, you half pulled half leapt your way up the stairs to the girls dormitory. Not even bothering to head to your dorm, you swept into the nearest empty bathroom. Clothes came off your body faster than they ever had before. You wasted not a moment before hopping in the shower. If life had seemed slow these past weeks, it seemed to be catching up with you in the span of ten minutes.

Jumping out of the shower, you toweled off and threw your hair into the towel swinging it atop your head. You wrapped another towel around your body and grabbed your clothes and the blue box that was sitting safely on the counter.

You ducked into your dorm throwing your old clothes onto your dresser and gently sitting the box on your bed. Angelina and Alicia were nowhere to be seen. It made your heart hurt worse than you anticipated, therefore you tried to ignore it.

You threw on your undergarments and with a drying spell, dried your hair. With a few quick succinct movements and charms your hair was done. You examined your work in the mirror with satisfaction. Your hair fell perfectly around your face, a few well placed spells had made it seem like tiny stars were intertwined within it. You then brushed on some mascara and lipgloss, rubbing your lips together a few times.

Finally, you turned to the blue box still sitting peacefully on your bed. You lifted the cover once more, the dress looking even more beautiful at second glance.

Your fingers gripped the shoulders, pulling the entirety of the dress from the box. It glided along the edges before the bottom of the gown hit the floor. Trying not to stare at it too long, knowing you had limited time, you walked to the mirror and slipped into the shimmering gown.

The only thing about being alone meant you had to perform a summoning charm to pull the zipped from the bottom of the dress and into your hand which rested at the top of the track.

But the dress fit you perfectly. The transparent glittering sleeves continued down to your wrists. The neck dipped softly down your chest, not revealing too much but enough to compliment your skin tone. The waist cinched in just the right spot before softly flaring out. The material moved like water as you twisted. It brushed the floor gently before pooling at your feet. You looked more beautiful than you remembered ever looking.

Shaking your head, you checked the clock behind you.

7:45

Quickly, you pulled on a pair of black heels before taking one last glance at the mirror. As beautiful as you looked, something was missing.

You glanced at your dresser before grabbing it. You pulled it over your head doing your best not to mess up your hair and then tucked the pendant in the bodice of your gown. The fireworks heating up the valley of your chest.

You carefully made your way down the steps of the dorm, focused on the steps before you. It was rare you wore heels and you weren’t quite perfect at walking in them. You gripped the banister tightly praying you wouldn’t fall. So when your heel finally hit the floor of the common room, you let out a breath.

The common room was empty except for a few of the younger Gryffindors who weren’t allowed to go to the ball. You tried to ignore the few gasps and looks you felt as you crossed the room to the portrait.

You pushed it open half expecting the corridor to be empty. That you had accepted Adrian over Fred just to be stood up. It would serve you right.

But Adrian was standing there in his dress robes, leaning against the opposite wall of the portrait.

You stepped towards him, the lights of the hall dancing off your dress and the glitter in your hair. “You know I never asked how you knew where the Gryffindor dorms were.” You spoke up causing him to look up from where he was pulling at a string on his robes.

Adrian jerked to a standing. “You look beautiful.”

You are magnificent. Breathtakingly beautiful.

You blinked and Fred was gone. “Thank you.”

Adrian stepped forward, offering his arm. “Shall we, milady?”

A small laugh left your lips. “We shall.”

The walk to the Great Hall was pleasant. Adrian was a gentleman who asked all about your classes and what you got for Christmas. His arm was also a blessing considering the several flights of stairs you had to descend to get to the Great Hall. But he was slow, making sure to assist you when you needed.

The Great Hall was stunning. Barely recognizable. The walls glittered with ice and sculptures. Lights were floating around that looked like snowflakes. There were tables scattered around with frozen centerpieces. Some were flowers, others were elaborate carvings. There was music quietly playing while students shuffled into the fold. Adrian led you to a table that was typically on the Slytherin side of the Great Hall. He pulled out your chair for you and you graciously sat.

Adrian sat beside you and smiled widely. The room was stunning. Your eyes were bouncing from wall to wall, decoration to decoration, trying to absorb every inch of the beauty. You felt starstruck.

And then Draco Malfoy sat next to you. Followed by Pansy Parkinson. Your shoulders tensed as Draco smiled evilly.

“Well isn’t this a treat?” He said smiling broadly, looking you over. He leaned in close til his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “You look simply ravishing.” He pulled back smirking.

“Leave her alone, Malfoy.” Adrian rolled his eyes after taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. “Not tonight.” It was then that Lucian Bole and his date Patricia Stimpson sat down. It was at that moment you realized you were a Gryffindor sitting at a completely Slytherin table. You tried not to show a sliver of fear. You had a feeling they could sense it like blood in the water.

“So you actually got the American Gryffindor to come with you, Pucey.” Bole leaned back in his chair smirking, throwing an arm around the back of Patricia’s chair.

“I did.” Adrian smiled back at him.

You leaned forward trying to reign in your slowly building irritation. “My name is Y/N.” A tight smile lifted your lips.

Bole shrugged. “I know.”

“I think it’s a rather ugly name if you ask me.” Pansy spoke up. You were surprised it had taken her that long to insert herself in the conversation.

“Good thing nobody-”

“I think Dumbledore’s about to announce dinner!” Adrian spoke up over you. You glared at him, but he was already looking over at Dumbledore.

“He agrees with me, you know.” Pansy whispered just loud enough for you and Draco, who was sitting between you, to hear. You tried not to think about how much you wanted to smother her.

Draco smirked widely looking at your fuming face. You sucked in a breath, relaxing yourself. Your hand subconsciously reached for the pendant at your chest, still hidden by your gown. It calmed you just a fraction before you turned to face Dumbledore. Maybe if you ignored them they would be quiet.

You’d tuned in just in time for Dumbledore to announce dinner and how to get food to your plate. You put in your order and waited only a second before it appeared on the plate.

You desperately tried to eat your food in peace, but all you could hear was the sly snickers of Pansy and Draco paired with the constant Quidditch talk from Bole and Adrian. You had briefly attempted conversation with Patricia, but she gave you a disgusted once over before turning back to her food. If that hadn’t been a clear message about how she felt about a Gryffindor being at a Slytherin table, you weren’t sure what would.

You just picked at your food while watching the lights float around trying not to glance at the flashes of red you saw throughout the hall. You wondered what Angelina was wearing. What Fred was wearing. If they’d coordinated. If he’d held her hand while they descended the stairs. If he caught her when she stumbled. Maybe even kissed her because he couldn’t help it, she just looked so beautiful.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

“What did your plate do to you, Y/L/N?” Draco laughed loudly. You furrowed your eyebrows before seeing the knife in your hand completely stuck through the plate. You let go of the knife, pushing the broken plate and knife away from you. You felt a blush rise up to your cheeks unwillingly.

You pushed your chair back, turning to Adrian.

“I’m going to go use the bathroom. I’ll be back.” Adrian vaguely nodded continuing his conversation with Bole about the potential of increasing the weight of bludgers. You rolled your eyes as you stood and walked away.

“Awh, poor American mudblood probably peed herself too.” Pansy snickered from behind you.

Frustration built in your chest. This night, one that so long ago you were dreaming about, was turning out to be the most miserable you’d spent at Hogwarts yet.

You slipped out the doors of the Great Hall making your way to the furthest bathroom on the first floor hoping the walk would give you a minute to breathe. You shoved the bathroom door open angrily hearing it fall shut behind you.

Your hands gripped the edges of the sink as you stared into the mirror. Your mascara still looked pristine. Your lipgloss was still perfect. Your hair still spun up with the glitter still sparkling. You looked great.

So why did you feel so awful?

Enough with the pity party. Go out there and enjoy the dance, if only to show off the dress the house elves made you.

You shook your head and once again pressed your hand to the pendant still situated warmly against your chest.

Your heart ached for him.

Pushing the bathroom door open, you took a deep breath. You didn’t, however, expect someone to be waiting for the bathroom.

“Oh I’m so-”

Fred.

He was leaning against the wall looking down at his shoes, until you spoke up. He was wearing his black dress robes with a nice white button down and a black tie tucked underneath a burnt orange vest. His eyes lifted as he stood up straight. His brown eyes seemed to stare straight into your soul.

You began to take a step towards him when you realized you hadn’t spoken since your fight. Your arms seemed to wrap themselves around you of their own accord. Your eyes fell away from his, unable to keep his strong gaze. You simply stepped out of the way of the door to the single stall bathroom.

“It’s-um let me get out of your way.” You mumbled beginning to pass him.

But the softest touch brushed your forearm. “Wait.” The word was whispered. “Please wait.”

You stopped but didn’t dare turn around. You didn’t have the courage too.

I’m the coward. You so desperately wanted to say.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” The fingers still barely touching you began to curl around your wrist. Soft as a feather he pulled your wrist forcing you to turn to face him. You kept your eyes on the ground. The cobblestone underneath your feet had never been more interesting. “Please look at me.” His voice sounded desperate. But when you still didn’t comply his finger lifted to tilt your chin.

Finally your eyes met his. Tears in yours and pain in his.

“I’m sor-”

But your voice had finally found you. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Fred.” Your chest felt a fraction lighter at the release of the words that had been weighing on you for weeks. “You were right. I got mad at you for not doing something that I wasn’t even willing to do. That’s not fair.” Your voice choked. “You’re not the coward, I am.”

Fred's hand slid up to cup your cheek, and you couldn’t help but to lean into it. “We’re both cowards then.” His thumb brushed away a runaway tear. “I should’ve asked you. I should’ve brought up the kiss before Adrian asked you first. But I was scared that what happened in the Trophy Room was a result of you being vulnerable and needing comfort. That I had taken advantage of your hurting. I was scared to face the rejection that would’ve come if I asked you and you admitted that’s all it was.”

“Fred, do you want to know what the boggart said before you started to hear it?”

Fred furrowed his brows. “What does that have-”

“It told me that you- that it- would never love me. That I wasn’t worthy of its affection.”

which was also the first time you said it.

“Fred, I’m so in love with you.” Your hands lifted to rest on his chest, gripping his shirt. “I have loved you since the day I was sitting at the breakfast table reading my letters from my friends and you suggested buying them gifts at Hogsmeade. I love every dumb joke you tell me in the middle of class when I’m trying to take notes.” One of your hands made your way to brush a bit of hair out of his face. “I love every smile you give me. I love every time you throw fruit at me at breakfast just to test my reflexes. I love the way you sing and dance when you’re drunk after a winning Quidditch match. I love you, Fred Weasley. All of you.”

Your heart was pounding. You had just spilled your soul out to him and more than anything you needed him to say something.

But he didn’t. Instead his fingers left your face and drifted down your neck. The trail of his touch sent shivers running through your body. Finally his touch rested on your collarbone.

“Fred?” You whispered desperately searching his eyes. But his gaze dropped down to your neck. Before you could say anything else, his fingers dipped underneath the chain resting on your neck. With a gentle tug, the necklace was slowly lifted from underneath your dress. His fingers slid down the chain until they clutched the pendant.

Fred softly cleared his throat.

“I saw this through the window of Gladrags Wizardwear. It was resting on the neck of a mannequin. I ran inside and asked to know how much it was despite probably being absurdly expensive and knowing me and George were saving for the shop. The clerk that day leaned down on the counter and asked me to go grab it. When I got back with it he asked me what I saw inside the pendant. I was confused but I told him I saw a Wampus running around within it.” Fred’s hand reached up tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He asked me who it was for and why I wanted it. So I told him it would be for you because your house at Ilvermorny was Wampus- and he cut me off. Said I could have it free of charge under one condition.”

“What was it?” You asked breathlessly.

“He told me to ask you what you saw. He said the necklace was like Amortentia but instead of smell it showed you something that reminds you of the person you love. Y/N, I love you. I think I loved you from the moment you doubted whether I was good at Quidditch. I can’t get you out of my head. Seeing you cry that night in the Trophy Room because of words you thought I was saying to you broke a piece of me. These last few weeks have been hell without you. I’m so mad for you, ‘Merica, that I can’t stand it.”

Then he kissed you.

It was just as amazing, if not better, than the last one.

Your lips pressed together as if they were never meant to be apart. You reached up, gripping the back of his neck pulling him closer. Fred’s arms wound their way around your waist tightening until your bodies were flush together. Every corner of your body was in tune with his. Every movement of your lips together felt like breathing again.

So much so that you almost forgot you had to. You pulled back sucking in the air. Both of you panting. You licked your lips tasting him. That thought alone almost sent your lips back onto his. He seemed to have the same thought as his mouth descended. But you stuck your hand between you, pressing against his mouth.

“Wait. I need to tell-” You panted. “I need to tell you what I see.” Your hand left his mouth as you reached between the two of you to grab the pendant. You lifted it to your eyes watching as the fireworks exploded before your eyes in the same shade of red as Fred's hair. You looked back up at him, a small smile on your face.

“I see fireworks, Fred.”

-----

Lastly, you remembered the first and last time you said I do.

You thought the NEWTs were stressful, they had nothing on the feeling rolling through your gut that day. You paced the floor, already dressed in a stunning white gown that accentuated every part of your body. Yet, so many things could go wrong in the span of an hour. So what your hair was done? So what your makeup was complete? Who cared that you were already at the venue and you had personally seen to that everything looked perfect? What if the officiant didn’t make it? What if you fell while walking down the aisle? What if the groom didn’t show up-

“Y/N!” Ginny yelled, halting you in your tracks. “If you pace anymore you’re going to wear a hole in the rug.”

You squeezed your fingers before nodding and gently sitting down taking care not to wrinkle your gown.

“I’m just nervous.” You sighed trying hard not to reach up and fiddle with your hair.

“About what?” Angelina laughed, leaning on the doorframe in her bridesmaids gown. “Fred is stupidly mad for you. Hell would freeze before he would let anything go wrong. Besides what matters most is at the end of that aisle. Not me, Ginny, Iris, Louisa, Hermione, or any of us really.”

Iris nodded. “She’s right you know.”

“I know. I just- I can’t help but feel like this isn’t real. And something is going to take it all away from me any moment.” You weren’t sure if it was the raw break in your voice that rendered the room silent or if it was the reminder of Fred’s near death nearly a year ago.

Ginny stood up abruptly. “Alright everybody out.” She waved them out of the room despite the protests.

You furrowed your brow preparing to ask what she was doing, but she beat you to it.

“I’m going to get Fred.”

“But-”

“I’ll close the door so he can’t see you. And under no circumstances is he to come inside.” She smirked. “I want to see him cry when he sees you walking down the aisle.”

And with that she shut the door behind her. The thought of Fred being so near made you equal parts more nervous and more relaxed. Your hand smoothed out your dress, trying to keep yourself busy in anticipation. You didn’t have to wait long.

A knock sounded on the door. You leapt up trying not to run to the door.

“Y/N?” Fred’s voice filtered through the door. You pressed your hands on the door, wanting nothing more than to open it and throw yourself in his arms. But you agreed with Ginny. You wanted him to first see you when you walked down the aisle on the way to becoming his wife. “Y/N? You in there?”

“Yeah.” You replied.

“Ginny told me you were nervous.” His voice had a slight wobble to it that made you respond immediately.

“It has nothing to do with you!” You hesitated. “That’s a lie.”

“Are you afraid I’ll leave you?”

The words sat on your chest heavily. “Not willingly.” You whispered. The memory of seeing him almost die underneath the weight of an entire wall would be forever seared behind your eyes.

“Can I open the door?” Fred whispered back.

“You can’t come in.”

“I won’t.”

The door pushed inwards and after opening about six inches, a hand stuck through the crack. “Give me your hand, love.”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you placed your left hand in his. You felt his hand tug your upwards. His lips pressed against your knuckles, kissing them gently.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not even death will stop me from marrying you. I’ve been hoping for this day since-” A laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “Since that moment in the Trophy Room.” Fred lowered his voice a fraction and pressed a kiss to your palm. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but I promise that I will do everything in my power to make sure you never have to see anything like that again.”

You blinked away the image of him underneath the rubble. Thanking every force of nature that he was alive and was about to become your husband.

Your fingers reached out and cupped his face rubbing your thumb over his clean shaven cheek. “I love you, Fred.”

“I love you back, Y/N.” He shifted your hand until it rested over his lips and then pressed another kiss onto your palm.

And then he sucked your thumb into his mouth.

“I also can’t wait until tonight when I can peel that dress-”

“Alright!!” Ginny shouted. “Time’s up!”

You jerked your hand back inside hearing Fred groan from the other side of the door. “Five more minutes, Ginny!”

“Are you joking me right now? You’re about to be with her for the rest of your life, you can wait-” she paused, “thirty more minutes.”

“But-”

“Shoo!” Fred’s groan followed him all the way down the hall.

You stepped back from the door right in time for Ginny and the rest of your bridesmaid to come strolling in.

The next twenty minutes passed pretty quickly. Touching up your makeup, checking to see if anything had been missed, and just talking with your best friends. As much fun as you were having talking with your friends, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t vibrating with excitement when Ginny checked her watch and stood smiling broadly.

“It’s time!”

“Yes!” Louisa shouted, pumping her fist into the air. Ginny, Louisa, Hermione and Angelina all walked out of the room grabbing their bouquets. Iris handed you yours before walking with you out of the room.

“How you feel, kid?” Iris whispered. You looked at your best friend. A genuine smile on the lips of someone who saved smiling for when the occasion was truly deserving.

“Happy.” You squeezed her arm gently. “So incredibly happy.”

“Well then let’s get you married.” Iris leaned over pressing a kiss onto your cheek, before handing you to your father. Hermione had been paired with Ron, Louisa with Lee, Ginny with Harry, Angelina with Danny, and finally Iris with George with your flower girl being Bill and Fleurs baby girl who was being carried by her mother.

When the doors opened, one by one you watched your friends disappear through them. Your heart felt as if it was about to jump out of your chest and run down the aisle without you. But your fathers hand on your arm settled you just a bit.

“You ready?” He already had tears in his eyes. You nodded before wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. “Fred’s a good man. I wouldn’t let you go for anyone less.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

And then the music started. He held his arm out and you wound your own around it as you stepped to the doorway.

And saw Fred standing at the end of the aisle.

A smile lit up your face. Your father led you forward, but you ached to ditch the slow pace and sprint to the man who waited for you at the end. With each step, a memory of the two of you flashed before your eyes. Every kiss, every laugh, every touch, every smile, every tear, every moment.

You knew you should’ve at least acknowledged the other people who were standing in the room, but you knew it would cause you physical pain to pull your eyes from the most beautiful man you’d ever seen in your life. A man who was crying wearing his simple black tux. He was still smiling but the tears were slipping down his face softly and onto the floor.

Finally, you and your father reached the end of the aisle. You barely noticed your father giving him your hand or Iris taking your bouquet from your hands, all you felt was Fred. You reached up wiping the tears from his eyes, like he had done for you so many times.

“We are gathered here today…” But the officiant's voice drowned out as you stared at Fred. Your eyes flickered down to his lips as he mouthed a sentence. You are breathtakingly beautiful.

You mouthed back, not caring if anyone saw. So are you.

“I believe you two have prepared your own vows?” You and Fred both nodded. One of Fred's hands left yours as they reached into his pocket to pull out a sheet of paper. He unfolded it one handed before glancing back up at you. Then George tapped him on the shoulder handing him something else. Fred smiled, you could tell he had forgotten.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I wasn’t even sure where to begin these vows. There is so much I want to give you, so much I want to do with you. Ever since I saw you all those years ago, I knew I wanted you to be a part of my life forever.” He took a deep breath, glancing down at you. “You are my entire world. Being next to you makes me breathless. I am so madly in love with you.” His hand tightened around yours. “I want to be with you when you’re happy, when you’re hurting, when you’re angry, when you’re excited, when you’re perfectly healthy, and when you’re sick. I want to be with you when you accomplish the big things and when you fail. I want to be with you when you love me and even when you hate me. I want to be with you even if some enchantment turns half of you into a giant squid.” A small giggle slipped past your lips thinking back to one of Fred’s failed products taste tests. “I want to have children with you and make a family. I want to grow old with you. I just want to be with you in whatever way you’ll take me, love. I can promise that much.”

The tears in your eyes were spilling in waves now. Fred reached up wiping a few of them away before slipping the wedding band on your finger.

For the first time since you had seen him, you turned away to face Iris who was standing behind you. Her hand was already outstretched holding the sheet of paper holding your vows and his ring. You mouthed thank you before turning back to your fiancé. The paper had already been unfolded, so you began to read.

“You are-” you glanced back up at the man who was about to become your husband. You dropped the paper and grabbed the hand you were forced to drop in order to hold your written vows. You stepped a fraction of an inch closer to him. “You are magnificent.” Fred’s smile wobbled at that. “You are all that I could have ever dreamed up. You are handsome, kind, brilliant, loyal, loving, gentle, and best of all hilarious. Whenever I’m around you every single one of my worries just melts away. You are my solid ground, my anchor. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to live without you-” Your voice broke off, but Fred’s fingers massaged your own steadying you. “I never want to remember. Fred Weasley, if you’ll have me, I will spend my last breath making sure you’re happy. You are the man I love and also my best friend. And I love you more than I have words to express.” And then you slid the ring on his finger, your hands shaking the entire time.

“I now declare you bonded for life!” The officiant said. “You may kiss the bride!”

Fred’s arms wound around you like they had done a thousand times before, while yours stretched up around his neck pulling him down to you. Your lips collided somewhere in the center, molding themselves to each other. You vaguely heard shouts and cheers ring out. It was then that you realized you were kissing your husband. You were married. To Fred Weasley.

Fred pulled back just enough to speak. “Mrs. Weasley.”

You giggled. “Mr. Weasley.”

And then his mouth was back on yours again as you laughed against his lips.

-----

“The end.” You whispered, running your hands through his hair. You began to stand when a tiny hand grabbed your finger.

“What happens after the end?” The tired voice of your child called. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his small forehead. You glanced up at Fred who was leaning against the doorframe, silhouetted by the light from the hall. It was him who answered your son, but his eyes were on you.

“They lived happily ever after.”

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#Fred Weasley x reader #Fred Weasley #Fred Weasley fic #Fred Weasley imagine #George weasley #harry potter #Harry Potter fic #hogwarts #ilvermorny #fw #x reader

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cyber3lf · 3 years

Text

in another world

say it back sequel

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ✎ synopsis: it has been two years since your last encounter with oikawa. you thought he was gone for good, buried deep in the past, and will just live in your mind as a faint memory but unfortunately, you were far from being right with that statement.

pairing: oikawa x fem. reader

genre: angst angst angst

word count: 2.4k

warnings: cringe, sappy stuff LOL don’t come @ me

*unedited

.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇

you didn’t know how you got yourself into this mess. how you let kuroo drag you to his dumb party that he hosted. who throws a reunion party and invites their team’s rivals? besides the point, there were more people than you had expected. you scanned your eyes observing the room filled with people having a good time. the flashing lights were hurting your eyes a bit but you got used to it. although, it was hard to make out the people’s faces since of the horrible flickering colored lights.

“cmon, let me introduce you to some people,” kuroo grabbed you by the wrist so you wouldn’t lose your way in the crowd. you gave in at first and let him drag you around but as the bright tinted illumination beamed across the room your eyes widened when the source hit a nostalgic figure you thought would be long gone from your world, let alone be in the same room as you. you stopped in your tracks, eyes widened in horror and a rush of anxiousness ran down your body.

“what the hell is he doing here?” you couldn’t help but think to yourself. you have been content for two years and suddenly your ex appeared out of nowhere. ever since your last contact with oikawa, you had been miserable for a long time. nothing was able to bring you out of your misery. you despised him and felt bitterness in your nerves when someone would mention his name in a conversation. you hated him. but you couldn’t blame him for everything he has done. of course you had to take some credit. your foolishness and feelings has gotten the best of you. even after that date you thought maybe he would come up to you and apologize. yet you were so far from that concept. however, the universe eventually showed sympathy towards you and gave you signs that you were better off without him. in other words, you were just hit with a fat reality check that you and oikawa were never meant to be. conceivably in another world or in other cases just a figment of your imagination.

“and this is lev. you know lev right…” kuroo’s voice trailed off, noticing that you weren’t paying attention to what he was saying for the past 10 minutes. “y/n what the hell. did you listen to what i was just saying?”

“huh?” you snapped back, your attention turning back on kuroo who had a very irritated look on his face, crossing his arms and tapping his finger. “yes i was.” you retorted to your tall friend.

“ok who was the last person i just introduced you to?” kuroo bickered back.

“tori nakamoto?” kuroo kicked you in the leg, “ow! what was that for?”

“what is the matter with you? why are you so off tonight? loosen up.” kuroo complained. at times you would act like this, not listening to what your best friend was saying and wandering off to dreamland or play vigorous, humiliating thoughts from your past. like just now.

you rolled your eyes and apologized under your breath. you hoped that whatever you just saw was just your imagination. nevertheless, you still glanced over in the direction you last saw the figure. you were about to turn your head away and a let out a small gasp but you weren’t quick enough to turn your attention back to what kuroo was saying. and as cheesy as this sounds, your eyes locked with him for three lengthy seconds. “it was like the room was lit up again” is what you would have thought two years ago.

‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙　

oikawa was in much shock as you were. probably even more shocked. he couldn’t believe he would ever see you again. and quite frankly, he wanted to see you again. more than anything in this world. after your guys’ last encounter, he brushed off the feeling of these perplexed thoughts of not pulling you back in, holding you tightly and kiss you. anywhere. even if it wasn’t on your soft, full lips. but needless to say, there were more fishes in the sea. hundreds of them and he attracted a lot of them. and obviously, like the guy oikawa was, he took as many girls out as he could until he felt the satisfying warm energy they equally radiated as you did when he was with you. it was one after another and no one could meet the expectation he held. oikawa was a determined man however, and he was not about to give up. and no matter how many girls he came up to ask them out, oikawa couldn’t bring himself to even spare you a glance let alone talk to you. he wanted to explain himself. about how shitty of a boyfriend he was in the past couple weeks, why he treated you the way he did, and how he was wrong for taking his anger out all on you and pushed you away especially times when you needed him the most.

he didn’t realize it until the day of graduation day that he wanted nothing more in this world but to be with you, wake up by your side, hugging you and smell your rose-like scent, comb your hair with his hands, taking out all of the tangles and listen to everything you had to say whether it was you ranting about something ridiculous or about how great your day went. oikawa had to talk to you, even if he had to think twice about what he was getting himself into.

‧̍̊˙˚˙ᵕ꒳ᵕ˙˚˙　

“kuroo… uh,” you started, looking back to see if oikawa was staying where he was at and just to your dismay, the lean figure was walking in your direction. “kuroo, kuroo, kuroo,” you tapped your friend’s shoulder, eagerly trying to get his attention.

“what the hell do you want woman,” kuroo almost spat out his drink.

“where’s the bathroom?” you asked smiling at him innocently but also in a hurry. you have not been near oikawa since forever and you had planned on keeping it that way.

“around the corner on your left…” kuroo described suspiciously. “hurry though, i have more people i want you to meet.”

“in your dreams kuroo,” you rolled your eyes and sped through the crowds almost tripping three times on your way to the restroom. man was this party packed or what? on your way, you grabbed a slice of cake and locked yourself in the tight, small room. you waited for a solid 10 minutes until you couldn’t handle the claustrophobic atmosphere and opened the door quickly while checking both ways for any brunette with shaggy like hair before you could come out of your hiding.

“are you gonna plan on avoiding from me forever?” a familiar cocky voice piped up. oikawa.

“i had to use the restroom,” you muttered under your breath, not looking in his direction, and wanting to roll your eyes in disgust. you got up quickly and headed in the opposite direction from where he came from but you weren’t quick enough. he grabbed you by your wrist and dragged you towards the direction you were just about to head towards. you were stubborn and tried to loosen his grip but he was stronger.

“oikawa let go,” you pleaded, trying not to sound weak but more rather annoyed and irritated. he wanted nothing to do with you and now he’s trying to get you alone with him. after more fussing about letting you go, oikawa did. but he lead you guys up to a room and shut the door. “what the hell do you want?” your question sounded more like an order, although you rather much not want to hear about it and move on from here. but before you could say anything else, your former lover sat down on the bed and pulled you into a hug making you sit down next to him. your heart raced at an incredible speed.

“please,” oikawa started, “can we stay like this for a bit?” he buried his face in the crook of your neck. although you were very upset that a jerk like him who happened to date you in highschool, ghosted you out of nowhere, and now just started to talk to you out of nowhere, you decided to stay for his sake.

“i’m sorry,” oikawa apologized, “i missed you so much.” he looked up at you, now cupping your face with his hands examining all the details on your face with the moonlight shining in through the windows with meticulousness and held it with so much care like you were fragile.

“bullshit,” you snapped back at him, striking lightly at his hands to get him to stop touching you. if he was really sorry, he would’ve stopped you from leaving on the day at the amusement park. you know. if he was really sorry, he would’ve texted back that night. if he was really sorry, he would’ve called and asked for a reschedule for another date. if he was really sorry, he would’ve changed his poor attitude towards you as a boyfriend and acted like a real one. you wanted the oikawa you first fell in love with again. but nothing is perfect and will go as planned in life. and your relationship with him was one of them.

“i mean it, y/n” oikawa said, lifting his head up and meeting your eyes, his tone of voice getting more and more serious as he spoke, “ever since you left i couldn’t stop thinking about you. and i know this is so sappy and mushy for you to hear but i really, really mean it. and i know i haven’t been the best boyfriend you could’ve asked for yet i still want to be with you. i miss your touch and voice--”

“then why didn’t you say so sooner?” you asked quietly. this time, wanting to know the answer. you looked down at your feet while saying this to hold back tears. you were frustrated to say at the very least. who wouldn’t be?

“huh? i’m sorry i couldn’t catch what you were trying to say--”

“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO SOONER, OIKAWA?” along with shouting, tears streamed down at your face, making the mascara you were wearing, run a little around your eyes while you were wiping it. and as for oikawa, he was startled by your blaring attitude. you weren’t ever like this especially not towards him. but what could he have expected? and although you were physically the one who left him, he emotionally left you first which hurts just as much, if not more.

“you know what, if you ARE really sorry you wouldn’t have shut me out when i’m trying to talk to you. if you ARE really sorry, you would’ve texted me back that night after i left, if you ARE really sorry and want anything to do with me again you would’ve tried to hold our relationship together, if you ARE really sorry--” but you didn’t get the chance to finish as you were ranting on about how dense and ignorant he was in the past and how he still is because now, you felt a pair of soft, delicate lips crashed onto yours.

you wanted to resist. push back and slap him for doing what he did but you couldn’t bring yourself to it. instead, you closed your eyes and kissed him back and found yourself wanting more of this forbidden fruit you thought you would and should never get to taste again. you slowly brought your hands to his neck and hinted at him that he can continue. you don’t know if the act of you kissing him back was through lust or love. but it didn’t matter to you at that very moment. you just wanted him. your lips were moving in sync to his movements. abruptly, he grabbed you by your waist and pulled you closer until you were on his lap. every second, your breath was shared between one another as he bit your bottom lip every now and then, the both of your guys’ hands tangled up in one another’s touch. you ran your hands through his thick brown toned hair and a tear slipped down on your cheek. you missed his touch so much, yet after some time of repeated, heated actions, you couldn’t bear this anymore. you knew it was wrong. if anything, doing any more intimate stuff with him could lead you back to square one. you worked so hard trying to bring your mental health back up and you weren’t going to let him ruin it again. you had to cut him off and right now is the right time.

“oikawa,” you tried pulling away from his touch but his grip on your waist increased. “oikawa stop. really,” you said again, raising your tone of voice. the kiss deepened. “oikawa.” your harsh voice came out like a snap rather than a warning. this time, oikawa stopped and stared right into your glossy orbs giving you the sign that he has his full attention on you. you noticed that in the corner of his eyes there was a small tear merely planted on his lashes. he wanted to cry which made you more guilty saying what you had to say, “i can't do this,”

“y/n—”

“no. oikawa. move on. you know staying together is only going to hurt the both of us. so please just move on,” now it was you again with tears in your eyes.

“please just give me another chance. i want to do better for you. you’re the only who can truly make me happy please y/n.” during your two years of maturing mentally, you could tell the words that rolled off of his lips meant nothing but lies.

“i have to go. it’s getting late,” you got up and walked out of the door without looking back and somewhere deep down, you were hoping he would pull you back and stop you unlike two years ago. and sure enough he never stopped you this time either. but nothing would anyways. not even after he finally said “i love you” as you closed the door on your way out.

“maybe in another world we were meant to be. just not this one.”

a/n: PLS THIS IS SO CRINGEY IM SORRY FOR BEING ALL MUSHY XJXJ

edit: also privating this if it flops until i find the motivation to undergo MAJOR editingT_T

#haikyu #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyu oikawa #oikawa #oikawa angst #toru oikawa #oikawa x reader #angst #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa x fem!reader

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fandomficsnstuff · 3 years

Text

Late - Part 1

Spencer Reid x Reader

(Warnings: The reader gets kidnapped, so there’s a lot of dark stuff there, there will be a part two as a conclusion, what happens, we’ll see;3)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sighed heavily as you looked at the clock on your phone, a frown on your brow as you put away your phone, wrapping your arms around yourself in attempt to get warm in the cold night air, your eyes scanning the streets, watching each face pass you, but none were his, pissing you off more. You were about to leave when you heard your name being called out to you, seeing him come running towards you, panting as he stopped right in front of you “I’m so sorry, I know I’m late and-” you put your hand up, cutting him off from his apology, and he saw the look on your face, his own softening as he saw that you wasn’t angry, you weren’t mad at him for being late again, for the 20th time or so, you were just sad. You looked down at your feet and shuffled them quietly, not saying a single word, which just made Spencer feel worse. “(Y/N) I-” you held your hand up again, stopping him as you gently shook your head, finally looking at him, tears threatening to spill over the corners of your eyes “don’t, Spencer, just don’t, alright?” you looked down again, hearing Spencer sigh as he wanted to apologize again, so he opened his mouth, but you knew him too well, looking up at him and shaking your head once “don’t, because I’ve heard it all before, I know what I signed up for when we got together, but this is the day you’re meant to be off, you know I hate to sound selfish but you were meant to spend this day with me, and you're two hours late, what have you even been doing for two hours?” you looked back up at him with a frown, you didn’t mean for your words to sound as harsh as they did, but you had literally been standing in the cold for two hours in a dress and heels, makeup on and a light jacket because you were meant to be inside.

“I was… I was reading a-”

“Case file, should’ve guessed” you mumbled the last part, looking back down before sighing, your eyes meeting his again “listen Spencer, I care about you, I really do, but this is the fifteenth time you’re late and-”

“Twentieth…” Spencer mumbled, making you frown as you studied him “excuse me?” you asked in a low voice, Spencer’s eyes not meeting yours “twentieth time…” he mumbled, making you scoff, another sigh escaping your painted lips before you walked to the edge of the street, waving down a taxi. You opened the door, about to get in the backseat when you turned to face a defeated Spencer, and your heart ached, not just for him but for you as well “take care of yourself, Spencer” you mumbled before getting in, telling your address to the driver, not even watching Spencer as you drove off, you couldn’t, you knew you’d jump out the moving car and run to him if you did.

You had only been driving for a few minutes when you noticed that you were definitely not near your apartment, a frown making it’s way onto your face as you looked around for a street name, your eyes catching the driver’s in the rearview mirror, seeing a nasty look in his eyes “uhm, I’m sorry but… you’re going the wrong way” you quietly said, seeing him only glance at you before back to the road “no, I’m not” he said in a disturbing voice, your eyes glancing at the door, seeing the lock in place, and you bit your lip in thought before faking a smile at him “oh right, sorry, I must’ve seen the wrong address, sorry” you said in a sweet voice before getting out your phone, dialing Spencer’s number, hoping and praying that he would pick up, and you nearly cried when you heard his voice “(Y/N), I’m so sorry I-”

“Hey Steph” you said in a cheerful voice, hearing Spencer pause on the other end, but you knew something was wrong with your driver, so you had to somehow get him to understand what you were doing “(Y/N)? Is everything alright?” he asked suspiciously, he was a genius, if only he was a telepath too, “yeah I’m on my way back, guess what? He didn’t show, again. No I’m fine, I just feel lost, like he’s not taking me where I need to go” you said the last part a bit too harshly, but the sinking feeling in your gut continued to grow, and finally it clicked for Spencer. You heard him scramble past a couple of people, apologizing, it sounded like he was inside, because you heard no cars on his end, which meant he was either home or at the bureau, either way suited you right about now. “Keep talking to me (Y/N)” he said on the line, you heard paper shuffling like he was hurrying to get something to write with, and you forced a laugh “of course, you know me” you said perhaps a bit too nervously, catching the eyes of your driver, whoever he was, and you felt even worse, quickly looking out the window “yeah, we’re just going past-” before you could say the street name felt yourself being knocked forward, the car stopping abruptly and your forehead slamming against the seat in front of you. Turning you saw the man, now wearing a hood of sorts, turn and face you, an angry look in your eyes as he reached over and hit you in the face, a groan escaping your lips at the pain, feeling the right side of your head throb in agony, and you remember yelling something and hearing something Spencer said on the phone, but you don’t remember what you yelled or what he said, or if it even was to you, and the next thing you knew, everything was black.

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You groaned as your eyes slowly opened, squinting at the light that was shining directly in your face, your head was throbbing with pain and you couldn’t move your arms or legs, that’s when you realized that you were tied down to a chair, leather straps being placed tightly around your wrists and ankles, the chair you were forced to sit in was made of metal and bolted to the floor. Once your eyes adjusted to the lights you looked around, seeing a room with tiles littering the floor and walls, the ceiling was made of concrete, so you assumed that behind the tiles was concrete as well. You looked at your wrists, seeing the leather bonds made you huff annoyed, why couldn’t he have used rope or tape like most bad guys? It’s easier to get out of. Your train of thought was cut off when you heard a lock shift, your eyes looking behind you, as much as possible, seeing a man come into your view, slowly making his way towards you and in front of you, the light from the lamp still blinding you, it was pointed right at you.

You jumped as the door finally closed with a heavy slam, and you realized two things, one; It took a long while to close, meaning it was heavy and you could get out without having to pry it open if you left right after him. Two; he was careless enough to not close it behind him, that meant he was either alone and would be for a while, or the person living with him was far away or couldn’t get up to investigate what was going on if you made noise. There was also another thing your hyperaware mind noticed, the room was cold, damp, no windows at all, thick heavy steel door, no natural lighting; you were probably underground, maybe a basement or an old bunker.

You squinted as he moved the lamp closer to your face, blinding you even more, so you didn’t stare directly at it. You could see his silhouette behind the light, his head tilting like he was examining you, studying you, and that’s when you heard his voice, it wasn’t the same from the taxi, this one was different “strange… most fight, scream and cry, beg for their worthless lives” it sounded muffled, like it was behind a mask, not a ski mask but like a mask made of plastic, like one of those Halloween masks you and Spencer dressed up in for fun on Halloween, you remember him once taking his entire stash of masks to work and you remember him telling you how Emily squealed when he threw a head at her and how Derek didn’t like Halloween because of the masks. You winced at you were poked with something sharp, it wasn’t enough to poke a hole in you, but it sure as hell didn’t tickle either, but you continued to look away from that light “LOOK AT ME!” he shouted, making you flinch as you closed your eyes, the first traces of true terror filling you, up until now you had been scared, yes, but Spencer had told you to not give in, they like the fear their victims display, but you couldn’t help the whimper as you felt the corners of your eyes fill with tears, but still, you refused to look at him, not even when he grabbed your face roughly, trying to turn it, the lamp now being pushed out of the way, lying on the floor with a broken bulb from him shoving it out of the way.

“Look at me” now his voice was disturbingly calm, like he had two personalities, one was the loud, angry one and the other was this one, calm, composed, and it freaked you out more than this whole situation, it meant that he was unpredictable, he could lash out at any moment, you remembered Spencer telling you this as well. Forcing yourself to breathe normally, as hard as it was with how fast your heart was going, you opened your eyes but still didn’t look at him “I’ll look if you answer a question, deal?” you asked, you tried to not let on how nervous you were, you really did, but it was fucking hard with a phychotic killer gribbing your face, wearing a mask and lashing out of nowhere. You waited silently, feeling his grip on your jaw loosen, and he finally let go, you let out a heavy breath of belief, your eyes closing for a moment as you heard a chair being pulled up and his voice “deal” he said, and you mustered up the courage to look at him, the sight horrifying you, and you couldn’t stop the look that crossed your face, your eyes wide in horror and mouth open in a silent scream, tears welling up in your eyes as you heard his laughter ring out.

His mask was made from pieces sewn together, faces cut from people and sewn together, one part of a mouth belonged to one person, and the other belonged to another person, sewn together like one, and you studied it as he continued to laugh maniacally “like it? Made it myself” he stated proudly, leaning back in his chair comfortably, watching you carefully, and you had to swallow the vomit that forced it’s way up into your throat, trying to regain your composure, which was easier said than done. You tore your eyes away from him and closed them, doing everything you could to forget the horrid thing he wore like clothes. You were too lost in thought to hear him lean forward, your whole body jumping as he gently slapped your cheek “come on, you had a question, right? Ask me” as he said the last two words he slapped you hard, a gasp of surprise leaving your lips, something else inside of you taking over as you stared him right in the eyes, staring past the horrid mask he was wearing and straight into his deranged eyes “I do, yeah. What kind of a coward can’t even kidnap a woman himself?” you spat, you knew it was a stupid thing to say, but it surprised him, you saw his entire body freeze, and perhaps that’s when you should have stopped, but you didn’t “you couldn’t even kidnap me yourself, I bet you couldn’t kidnap any of those poor people you’re wearing. You know what? I know you couldn’t, you’re just a pathetic little man who can’t even talk a woman into his car, you’re a sadistic piece of shit who’s too cowardly to do anything himself, I bet your mom still lives with you, what are you 40? 45? I bet you’re 50, a 50 year old kid who lives with his mom, lets her wash his clothes, brush his teeth and wipe his ass when he’s taken a shit! You can’t even show your own face!” you spat, still staring into his eyes as his hand instantly wrapped around your throat, squeezing, even as you began to lose air, your brain being starved of oxygen and your body growing heavy you still kept your eyes open, despite every fiber in your body telling you to look away, you didn’t.

You gasped for air as he let you go, pacing in front of you like he considered killing you right then and there, a few grunts leaving his mouth out of anger, but eventually he yelled and flipped a nearby table, his back turned to you as he took off his mask, turning back to you and now smirking, which gave you a sick feeling in your stomach, watching him slowly come closer with his mask in his hands, and slowly he lowered it onto your head, putting the mask on you and you almost threw up, your whole body shaking but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of trying to run, it was pointless and probably what he wanted. You finally got a good look at him, his real face, he had a shallow face, no real jawline, like his jaw had been removed or cut in some way, making him look less masculine, he had brown hair and you noticed that he didn’t have a traditional masculine hairline, at least it didn’t seem like it, you noticed that he had painted hi forehead with the same colour has his hair, as if he had a feminie hairline. He had brown eyes form what you could tell and he was… wearing makeup… he wore makeup to make his cheekbones look bigger, more protruding, noticeable, and he had pierced his own earns, you could tell due to the blood and how awful the actual wound looked, it looked like it was torn open, as if he had done it with a needle and shaky hands. He looked to be in his 40’s perhaps early 50’s, so you were right about that part, he had clearly been colouring his hair to the brown colour it was now, probably to make him look younger and hide the grey hair that would have been showing, and it was well done, except for the physical proof that he was indeed not in his 30’s, which probably angered him, it made him look odd, this 40 something year old who shows all the signs of aging except his hair.

You watched in anger as he leaned in closer, kissing the dead lips that covered yours and you cringed in pure hate and utter disgust, watching him lean away with the same stupid, disgusting smirk “I like you” was all he said before leaving, leaving you with the mask on, and once you heard the door close you screamed, flailing your head around in an attempt to get the mask off, doing every possible movement with your head and finally it fell off, landing at your feet and you quickly leaned to the side of the chair, feeling whatever you had in your stomach come up, leaving your body as you threw up over the side, feeling weak and sick to your stomach, or well, what was left of it.

You leaned your head back against the chair, closing your eyes as you faced the ceiling, feeling the first tears to actually leave your eyes, running down your cheeks and landing on the floor below you, a sob escaping your lips as you continued to cry in as much silence as you could muster. You didn’t know if he was careless about his victims making noise, so you did everything you could to muffle yourself, but it became increasingly harder the longer you thought about your situation, you had no idea where you were, who this guy was, what his real goal was besides probably taking off your face and dumping your body in an alleyway. You were no profiler, but it was almost like he wanted to be a woman, the mask and the faces it was made from, from what you could tell it was only feminine features, smooth skin and he had sewn eyelashes onto it, thankfully fake ones… the lips were painted in a classical red lipstick, and some of the skin looked… older, like the pieces were cut up and sewn together with months in between them. You gave the mask a hateful look, spitting on it before leaning your head back again, feeling tears still run from your eyes and down your skin, landing on the tiles underneath you.

#Spencer Reid #Spencer x Reader #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds FanFic

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janekfan · 4 years

Note

I'm a little hesitant about this prompt, because it might need a longer story to fill it, but based on reading your fics it may be to your taste for h/c? I've seen a few Geraskier stories where Geralt is cursed to lose his sight and hearing, but I'd be interested to read one where it's Jaskier who's cursed instead. You seem to like exploring growth in stories, and I could see Geralt having to step outside his comfort zone, learning to help and support Jask while they try to break the curse.

I was inspired by this prompt because in my youth, when families go to water parks and things, my mother insisted on holding my glasses so I wouldn't lose them, not realizing I cannot see hardly ANYTHING without them, just colors. She left me like half a dozen times in a throng of people and it was scary. And even though I kept telling her I couldn't SEE HER, she wouldn't listen. I felt scared and stupid because I couldn't keep track of my family.

So I hope you enjoy :D

Thank you for the prompt! @obscurebookwyrm

Sankofa

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25965268/chapters/63119659

“Geralt.”

“Hm.”

“I. What do you want me to say?” Jaskier’s grip on his lute tightened and he had to forcibly relax himself so as not to snap it in twain. “That you should have gotten hit with it instead? That you should be the one waiting for the effects of a curse to take hold so that I? The mighty bard can be the one to protect us both?”

“Hm.”

“Need I remind you that had you not pissed her off, we wouldn’t even be here?”

“Hm.”

“Fine. Leave me at the next village and I’ll just succumb to whatever this ends up being while you continue witchering or whatever.”

“Hm.” Roach picked up her pace and he could hear Jaskier curse Geralt’s stubbornness as he loped after them.

Geralt was angry. Angrier than usual with the musician and definitely not impressed with his self sacrifice because now, if anything, he would be an even bigger liability. It was bad enough he fumbled along behind him, constantly jabbering, writing the most ridiculous songs. But now, Geralt had to wait and see what would become of him now that he’d been hit with some unnamed affliction. Geralt refused to admit that Jaskier was right. That it was better that the stronger of them was curse free and able to continue on unimpaired.

But he was now an even larger inconvenience and Geralt hadn’t thought that was possible.

And yet.

As brave a face as he was putting on, he could smell the sour scent of anxiousness as Jaskier filled up the silence with more talk about inane things, stray lyrics, random observations, all because he was nervous.

Nothing happened yet. Maybe nothing would happen at all.

“Geralt.” Even and steady, Jaskier’s voice hovered somewhere to the left of him. There was something strange about the quality of it and it immediately set Geralt on edge.

“What?” He couldn’t help the exasperation, it had been a long few days, and he felt Jaskier tense beside him on his bed roll.

“There.” He paused and Geralt knew if he turned to look at him he’d be worrying his lip between his teeth.

“What?” They were late as it is, the sun three fingers above the horizon already.

“There are no stars.” His whispering was shaky and trembling. Fear. It was flooding Geralt’s sensitive nose. What was this lunatic on about? Of course there weren’t any stars.

“It’s late morning. Of course there aren’t.” He rolled his eyes and began packing up camp. They’d eat on the move to make up for lost time. He nudged Jaskier with the toe of his boot. “Get up. You’re wasting daylight.”

“Daylight.” His hand was hovering over his face and he kicked him a little harder.

“Yes. Daylight. Move or stay here, but I’m leaving.” Instead of following his directions, Jaskier swallowed a few times, blinking hard and staring at his palm in between. “Jaskier.” Growling, grabbing the collar of his chemise and slinging him to his feet himself, confused when his arms shot out for balance and he nearly fell. “What are you--are you drunk?” No. He’d smell it. But it was all becoming a little too clear and Geralt didn’t want to be the one to say it aloud.

“No.” A weak exhale, a disbelieving laugh. “I’m. I’m blind.”

Blind.

The curse.

“Are you sure?” Geralt was a hair's breadth away from his face, examining his eyes, blank and vacant and staring off into the distance despite their proximity. There was nothing wrong that he could tell. Still the same cornflower blue he was so familiar with.

“I think I’d know.” He scoffed.

“Then we’d better get moving.” Geralt couldn’t help it, the thread of anger twisting around his words just happened. All Jaskier seemed to do was slow him down and get in the way. “Find a way to break this thing.” It took the bard three times longer to pack his belongings and Geralt became more impatient every time he dropped something or stubbed his toe or lost his balance. He knew it wasn’t fair. But this was all the bard’s fault in the first place and he’d have to deal with the consequences.

Jaskier played his lute even more and was even slower, not yet sure on his feet without the advantage of sight. Geralt saw that he kept his ear canted towards Roach’s hooves crunching on the stones, using her as a guide and he wondered if maybe Jaskier should be riding her instead. The music he was picking out on his strings was simpler and felt more like practice than anything new and he realized that he was comforting himself with easy exercises and wondered how long he’d insist on doing it.

All day, it turned out, and Geralt was just about on his last nerve, turning his irritability into action by setting up camp and batting Jaskier out of his way, finally just sitting him in the dirt. He stoked up the fire, tossed down Jaskier’s bedroll and stalked off to find dinner and clear his head before he started yelling.

When he returned with a brace of rabbits, Jaskier was gone and Geralt swallowed down the spike of panic in his throat, dropping his catch and looking for signs of a struggle and instead finding odd marks that looked like Jaskier had crawled across the ground. And he found him, cowering amid Roach’s legs, a dangerous spot for probably anyone else, but she was as calm as ever, letting him stroke the length of her forelimb. There were drying tear tracks on his face.

“G’Geralt?” His voice was small and wavering, barely above his shaking breath.

“Who else would it be?”

“I didn’t know where you’d gone.” He didn’t leave the horse. “I, I called out. But. And then. There’s a lot of noises in the woods at night.” This laugh was self deprecating, as though he knew how ridiculous he was being, like a child hiding from shadows.

But his whole world was in shadow.

“You’ve camped before. It’s foolish to be afraid.”

“Y’yeah. Of course it is.” He extricated himself from his position beneath Roach, petting her neck, and Geralt let it be. “Thank you for your protection, good lady.” She lipped the collar of his doublet and he rested his cheek on her velvet nose for just a moment before stumbling back to his bedroll.

“Here.” Jaskier looked confused. “The rabbit. Dinner?”

“Oh, uh.” He reached out, drawing his hand quickly back when he burned the tips of his fingers and slipping them into his mouth for a second. “Ha, it’s hot.” Geralt yanked his wrist and pressed the stick he’d roasted the meat on against his palm and watched Jaskier’s fingers wrap around it reflexively.

“Just eat. We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”

They didn’t. Not the next day, nor the day after that, but Jaskier was trying to adjust more and more each day despite how he seemed to be withdrawing. It was easy to forget he was blind and Geralt was easily frustrated by his sense of direction, or rather the awful lack of it. More than once, he’d misjudged the path and toppled into the bushes. Twice, Geralt had come back from a hunt to find him trapped in the corner of their rented room. He’d gotten turned around and hadn’t been able to figure out how he was boxed in by the bed, the small table, a chair. Jaskier laughed it off.

He’d been upset each time.

At the market the next day, Geralt told him off handedly that he was heading to the blacksmith, and to catch up when he was ready, because usually he wanted to dither about at the stalls looking at some trinket or another. When he’d finally realized, tapping his foot and waiting for a blind man who didn’t know his way around this village to somehow find him, he followed his scent, laced with terror, to an alley where he’d pressed himself up tight to the wall, protecting his back. They didn’t speak, Geralt just grabbed his wrist and dragged him back to the room. Told him to stay there if he couldn’t figure out how to find his way around.

The hurt on his face cut like a blade.

“Get down and stay down.” Geralt shoved Jaskier’s face into the dirt, both of them narrowly avoiding decapitation when the beast attacked out of nowhere. Caught flat footed, Geralt found himself pinned to the ground, struggling under the weight of it and hooking his thumbs in the corners of its maw to keep the teeth from closing around his head. Fetid breath came closer and closer and he thought for a moment this might be it when the resounding crack of a tree limb colliding with the side of its skull stunned it enough for Geralt to kick it off him. He used the momentum to roll and draw his steel sword, cutting off its head with a wet and sickening squelch.

“Geralt?” Jaskier, covered in black ichor and mud, stood swaying in the road, clinging to a length of splintered wood, blind eyes wide with shock. And then, panting with horror, Jaskier fainted dead away.

He’d lost him again.

“Fuck.” Geralt didn’t know where or how long ago and began retracing his steps, scenting the air and picking up the faintest traces of the oils he’d used last night in the bath. It was tainted by the smell of fear, acrid and sharp, and he ran.

Saw Jaskier pinned up against a wall by a larger man than he, a broad, ugly hand clasped over his mouth and a knee between his thighs. He was struggling to breathe, high pitched whimpering slipped from behind his attacker’s palm and he grabbed a fistful of hair to slam the back of Jaskier’s head into the wall behind him.

The brute didn’t notice the knife slipped between his ribs until it was too late. He’d die in this place and Geralt wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.

“Who--” He sobbed, choked. “Geralt?” Tears cascaded down his cheeks, slipped off his chin.

“Who was that?” Why couldn’t he be kind to Jaskier when he needed it most? Why did he let his own fear of the situation manifest as blame?

“He’d. Solicited me in the tavern and I told him no.” He shuddered. “I thought he might be following but.” He swallowed with a wet click. “You were walking so fast, I lost the sound of your steps.” Drawing a sharp intake of breath he swept a hand through his tousled hair, trying to calm himself down. Geralt could hear his heartbeat hammering madly away behind his breastbone.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jaskier flinched at his volume, hugging himself around his middle and casting his face to the ground, and if Geralt was a stronger man he would tell his bard that this was not his fault. That he was scared of what he almost let happen.

“I. You were angry.”

“What?” With the heel of his hand, Jaskier scrubbed at his face. His bruised face, the imprints from where he was held darkening around his mouth and neck.

“You said I needed to figure this out and. I.” Had been snatched off the street by a predator and very nearly badly hurt. “I forgot my dagger back at the inn.” He took a deep breath, and then another. “I’m sorry, that was. That was stupid.”

“Hm.” It wasn’t. He should have been safe with Geralt in broad daylight. This time he took his hand, laced their fingers together and squeezed. “Let’s go.”

Exhausted from his earlier panic, Jaskier could barely stand when they reached the room, and Geralt helped him the last few steps to the bed, divesting him of doublet and chemise to expose even more bruising. He should have killed the guy slower. Much slower.

“Sorry. I’m sorry you have to do this.” Barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have. This curse.”

“Hush.” Geralt wrung out a cloth in the wash basin, touched it to his face and caught him when he jerked away in fear and surprise. “It’s alright. Just me. I’m going to get you cleaned up, Jaskier.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Muttering, he reached for the flannel.

“I know. Just. Relax, alright?” He swept it up his arm, lingered at the space between his neck and shoulder. “I’ve got you. I’m. Going to do better, Jaskier.”

“What do you mean?” This time, he allowed the touch and Geralt dabbed at a cut on his lip before rinsing and wringing again.

“You’ll ride Roach. In towns, I won’t let you out of my sight.” Jaskier was relaxing, blinking sleepily.

“You can’t babysit me all the time, Geralt.” Though he detected the hope that he wouldn’t have to keep doing this alone beneath his voice.

“No. But I can take care of you until we find a way to break this. Like I should have been doing from the start.” Jaskier’s head was nodding as he fought to stay awake. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Geralt let Jaskier sleep in. The man was dead to the world, bruises stark on his pale skin, and no doubt exhausted from the day before and trying to manage as a newly blind being basically traveling alone. They had to get moving. Maybe Yennefer would understand how to break this curse or at least point them in a direction. But they had to find her first.

“Jaskier.” There was no response, not even a twitch, and Geralt spoke his name louder, and louder still before shaking him awake and dodging his flying fist. “Jaskier!” Nothing but panic in his face and Geralt was tired of seeing that there. He settled his hands over his shoulders, cupped his neck on either side. “Jaskier, what is it? A bad dream?” That wasn’t uncommon after an experience like he’d had.

“Geralt?” His breathing picked up, tears lined his dark lashes. “I.” The witcher snapped his fingers on either side of his head and watched his stricken face stay the same. “Geralt?” This time he drew Jaskier into an embrace, hugging him tightly and allowing him to do the same.

Because he couldn’t hear.

#prompt #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geraskier #Jaskier #Geralt #Blindness #Deaf #Curse #hurt comfort

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damedamedame · 3 years

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aoinene week ; day 4 & 6 prompt - pride + future

- “don’t you ever forget my worthless pride.”

warnings : like one mention of fire but not an actual fire

notes : oh god yeah im super late but here’s pining lesbian aoi as compensation. the title’s a birthday present for oikawa tooru since it’s his bday <3

(and and the setting is like a college au wherein aoi and nene haven’t met yet so um ehe)

Being anxious wasn't out of character for Aoi. However, despite being the perfect and pretty woman she was, it was crystal clear how awkward she looks right now. Although it wasn't her original idea to spend her Saturday on a Pride Event, she still thought going here was a horrible decision.

"Maybe I shouldn't have come..." She mutters under her breath, unease settling in her stomach at the judging glares she knows she's getting. Or, maybe everyone's attention wasn't on her this time, though it definitely felt like it. "Hey, Akane, can we go ho- Akane?"

The brown-haired man seemingly disappeared from her side out of nowhere. And, coming from him of all people, was as rare as a blue moon.

'Wait. Does that mean I was talking to myself this entire time?' Grumbling, she tugs at her hair in absolute frustration, cursing at how she even bothered to come. 'Stupid. Stupid Akane.'

The only reason she even came was because of him. Akane once fell completely and overly in love with her charms but acknowledged how uncomfortable she got when he tried his advances on her and backed off. She truly admired how he stopped flirting with her any chance he got. But, she did not appreciate how perspective he was. Especially at how he examined her blushing reaction when a girl told her she was stunning. Then proceeding to figure out she might be a little more into girls than she had intended. Which, by the way, he realized before she even informed him.

She recalls the feeling of utter astonishment at how he had mentioned it when they were walking back to their homes. After that, she quickly speed-walked forward out of embarrassment with her face in her hands. 'That was the most iconic moment of my life.' He told her the next day, smirking smugly at himself. She resists the urge to pinch his ear until it turned red.

Aoi crosses her arms, looking around to check if Akane was anywhere nearby. Alas, the coffee-colored man's hair (who was, coincidentally, obsessed with coffee) wasn't near her at all. 'Great. Now he's probably wandering around shouting my name and disturbing everyone.'

All of a sudden, her laments seemed to cease at once. It's as if her logical reasoning instantaneously shut down at the sight of her. The silver-haired woman who walked right past her with bright amber eyes and a golden grin on her lips. 'She... resembles a daikon...' She blushes, gazing at her intently. The daikon, who paused beside the telephone, turned to look at her with curious eyes. Her cheeks echoed of ones engulfed in flames. Her breath hitches the moment they lock eyes.

As nervous as she was, she wasn't one to lose face over a pretty girl. In spite of her soul about to leave her body, she stumbles her way over to her with a sheepish smile.

"Y-You look hot," Aoi hears her stammer out, her remaining bit of sanity disappearing into the wind. "T-That is, That is because you're wearing that coat, yeah! Uh, um, my name is Nene, Nene Yashiro." The girl flushes at the realization of her words, bowing with her fists clenched.

"Aoi Akane." Nene stops bowing when she responds and starts fiddling with the strap of her shoulder bag. "It might've been better if you didn't correct yourself, you know." Aoi winks innocently, acting as if her whole face wasn't pink.

"Would you believe me if I said I had to make up that excuse on the spot?" Nene laughs skittishly, gripping the strap tightly.

"Only if you treat me to cake some time?" Aoi snorts, twirling her hair like she hadn't a care in the world. The exact opposite of what she felt inside. In fact, if you listened closely, you could hear a loud scream coming from all of her veins. Nene nods eagerly, finding her phone from inside her bag.

"Yashiro!"

"Yashiro-san!"

The eager nod swiftly turns into her dropping her phone on the ground with a fumble of her hands as they hear two distinct voices shouting her name.

"I am so sorry!" Nene scrambles to pick up her phone as the two boys stride up to both of them. Aoi observes them in silence. One of the boys wasn't very tall, roughly at height with herself, and had choppy, black hair. The other boy was scrawny with spiky blonde hair that bothered her every single time she even took a glance at it. "Akane-san, these two guys are my friends, ahaha."

"Boyfriends...?" Aoi bites the inside of her cheek, tension overshadowed in her eyes.

"What!? No, no, not at all!" Nene waves her hands profusely. Blondie looks at her in concern, attempting to soothe by saying 'C-Calm down, Yashiro-san..!' while not looking very tranquil himself. The brunette's eyebrow raised at the adamant refusal, saying how he's 'as handsome as that donut in that shop from before.'

"This is Kou," She points to the blondie with the shy smile on his face, "He's totally in love with this one guy from the photography class." That comment only made him burst into flames, making the rest of them snicker at his expense.

"And this guy is Amane," She then points to the brunette with a smug grin, who then pulls Aoi closer to him to whisper something in her ear. Nene groans and pushes the stunned girl away from him. "He pushes people's boundaries, as most people do."

The next few minutes strayed with lighthearted nonsense chatter. Aoi takes a look and melts at Nene's laughter now and again. Once the sun starts to glow quite glaringly, and the heat becomes much more unbearable, they start hearing a sound. Particularly a chant of 'Ao-chan! Ao-chan! Ao-chan!' The mentioned girl feels her stomach drop with dread.

"I have to go before he starts plowing through the crowd." She jeers sadly, the trio not knowing whether what she just said was a joke or not. "... Not a joke, unfortunately."

Before Aoi leaves to calm a wrathful childhood friend of hers, Nene grabs ahold of her wrist hurriedly. Looking back at her pleading face, she swore she could explode into fireworks then and there.

The moment Akane had found her through the countless amount of people in the crowd, he had dash and catch her from tripping over the concrete over how doozy she was. How her rationality ceased to wash over her? He didn't know. But, he had a feeling it was something about the array of numbers written on her arm.

notes : theyre girlfriends, your honor

#aoineneweek2021 #aoinene #toilet bound hanako kun #aoi akane #nene yashiro #THIS TOOK THREE DAYS OH MY GOD #take a shot every time i say looks #im so tired omg #and im not late wdym??

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ambii15 · 3 years

Text

Untitled Clexa Fic

Recently I’ve opened a very old WIP that has been sitting in my google docs. I read it over and my brain just started running with ideas for it. I’m thinking this is a possible new story for when I finished Shattered Reflections and would like to see if anyone is interested in it to be a future fic! (I think I’ve posted this on here previously but I can’t seem to find it in my archive anywhere so if I have, oh well. Here’s to reading it again!) This is only a small portion of it but please, enjoy!

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The sirens didn’t help with the nightmares.

Neither did the screams.

Pillows only blocked so much of the noise before it became too much of a steady muffled buzz in her ears. Not even the headphones now laying dejectedly on the floor seemed to work. It was almost as if the sounds were engraved in her mind. Playing on that old time record player that seemed to drone on for hours on end.

But the noises were the least of her problems.

The real fear was the bites —biters. It was like something out of a horror movie. The dead rising and stumbling uncoordinatedly through the busy streets of Los Angeles, rotting teeth sinking into ripe flesh and pulling screams of agony from the poor souls trapped beneath them. The military was supposed to control it, orders for everyone to return to their homes and stay there until everything was right again.

But it never happened.

They became mostly overrun save for a few posts that were able to keep things together long enough for some backup to arrive. Not that it was helping. Each day was different. Each day the sirens were less and less and the screams were more and more. Hope was dwindling on the horizon along with the setting sun, becoming nothing but little wisps among the darkening sky, barely able to dance among the stars.

And hope wasn’t the only thing she was running low on.

“Shit.”

An empty soup can was slammed against the counter, the last tiny crumbs from some stale crackers bouncing beside it. A dejected sigh sounded from the sole occupant of the apartment. She had only had a few rationed goods when everything started and now she had nothing. She knew no other apartments on her floor had anything in them. She’d already searched through every single one of them with little to nothing coming from them.

There were other floors.

But there was no guarantee they weren’t overrun by biters.

And with nothing more than a few flimsy kitchen knives, she would be no match if a hoard was waiting for her.

Weeping blue eyes peered over her shoulder to stare at the family photo hanging by the entryway of her kitchen. With her mind and body completely defeated, Clarke slumped against the counter before falling to her knees. Sobs racked her body as she slowly curled into herself, trying to keep herself from screaming out in sorrow.

“I’m sorry mom, dad. I’m not strong enough to do this. Not by myself.”

With shaky hands, Clarke opened the drawer to her left and reached inside. After grabbing what she needed Clarke slowly turned and sat on the dirty floor, back meeting the cool wood surface of her cabinets. She stared at the object in her hands, slowly examining it as the setting sun coming from her kitchen window bounced off the shiny metal blade.

Maybe the flimsy kitchen knives would be her savior after all.

Clarke flexed her fingers around the handle of the knife as she lowered it to the skin of her wrist. Her chest began to rise and fall in rapid succession as panic set in. The tears that lingered at the corners of her eyes finally fell along pale cheeks before splashing against the slant skin of her arms.

Clarke took a steadying breath.

She could do this.

Just before Clarke could slide the blade across her wrist the sound of her front door busting open caused her to yelp and defensively hold the knife in front of her. She jumped to her feet, hands shaking as she prepared herself to come face to face with biters for the first time. Clarke had only seen them from her living room window, watching them stumble and chasing things around the streets below her. She was nowhere near ready to have one looking her right in the eyes.

Her breathing stilled, waiting for the sounds of groans and uneven footsteps to sound through her living room and into her kitchen...but they never came. Clarke calmed her breathing, carefully switching the blade to her other, non-sweaty hand for a better grip, before easing forward with light footsteps.

As she peered around the corner of her kitchen entrance, Clarke never imagined she’d be looking right down the barrel of a rifle.

“Don’t move.”

The words were whispered but quick and harsh. The voice was one of a female, probably around Clarke’s age if not a few years older, if she had to guess, but the rifle blocked her view of her face. Clarke shakily raised her fingers from her knife, leaving only her thumb to hold it against her palm in a show of surrender.

“I-I won’t hurt you. Just...don’t shoot,” Clarke responded as she began to bend to slowly lower the weapon to the floor.

The barrel of the rifle moved impossibly closer to her forehead causing Clarke to stop in her tracks.

“I said, don’t move,” The woman growled and Clarke could see one of her hands shifting along the rifle’s handguard, the other with a cautious finger hovering over the trigger.

“Okay, okay. I’m just going to drop this,” Clarke whispered as she went to drop her knife.

“Stop,” The woman commanded before she could drop it. “Do you have any other weapons? Guns? Machete even?”

Clarke wanted to laugh. If she had even one of those things why would she choose a lousy kitchen knife to defend herself at a time like this?

“What makes you think I have a gun or a machete? I thought biters were breaking in and I’m defending myself with a kitchen knife. You really think I would choose this over either of those things?”

The rifle lowered slowly, revealing a strong jaw, smooth skin smeared with dirt, brunette hair pulled back by braids, and eyes green as a vast forest. Clarke clung to those eyes, feeling herself get lost in them and the tension easing from her body unconsciously.

“Have you been bitten?”

The words barely registered in her mind as those green eyes searched her face before dropping to search below Clarke’s neck. Clarke could feel her cheeks warm under the slight smudge of dirt covering them.

“W-what?”

The strange woman used the barrel of the gun to push Clarke’s flannel open, successfully showing off milky skin caked in weeks of dirt. If it had been any other day, if there weren’t biters crawling around the streets or the fact that there was a gun pointed at her chest, Clarke would’ve punched the woman for exposing her in such a way.

“Bites? Were. You. Bitten?” The woman snarled, eyes bouncing between Clarke’s face and body. “I won’t ask again.”

With her flannel now hanging around her elbows leaving her in nothing but a black cami, Clarke glanced down at her own skin as if to confirm for herself that she had no bites.

“N-no. I haven’t been bitten,” Clarke began slowly. “To be honest, I’ve never even come face to face with a biter. I’ve only ever seen them from my window.”

Green eyes darted over to the window Clarke had weakly gestured towards before landing back on her. The muscles in the woman’s jaw clenched before raising her gun back towards Clarke’s face.

“Are there any others here with you?”

From her position, Clarke was still able to see the picture of her family hanging on the wall. Blue eyes clouded over in sadness and drifted down to the dirty floor of her apartment.

“No. It’s just me.”

Clarke kept her eyes to the ground, resigning herself to whatever fate this beautiful saw fit for her. Just mere minutes ago she was ready to end her own life. What should it matter to her if this stranger chose to do it for her?

“Keep the knife. You’ll need it.”

The knot that had formed in her stomach since the moment her apartment door had opened suddenly eased. Hazy baby blues snapped up from the floor as the woman stepped around Clarke and into her kitchen. Clarke watched as the stranger started moving around the empty cabinets in search of food that Clarke knew would not be there. She almost wanted to laugh when the woman let out a string of curses as she opened the last cabinet.

“There’s nothing here,” Clarke chimed. “There’s nothing on this floor at all. I’ve checked.”

The rifle that had been shoved in Clarke’s face now bounced against the woman’s chest as she turned to face her. They exchanged glances across the kitchen, neither choosing to voice just how bad of a situation no food was at a time like this.

“You’ve been in here since it all started?”

Clarke’s eyes finally explored the full form of the woman who now leaned back against the counter. She wore a simple black t-shirt covered with a few dark stains which Clarke assumed to be blood. A black leather jacket, which was surprisingly clean, hung over her lean shoulders and Clarke almost blushed as her eyes drifted down to gaze at toned thighs wrapped in dark denim.

“Yeah,” Clarke nodded as her eyes lingered on the dark timberland boots the stranger wore. “After the military called for a mandatory stay-at-home order I never left, but almost all the people in the building didn’t listen because they thought the city was unsafe. That’s why all the apartments are all empty...well at least on this floor. I don’t know about the others.”

A sudden dark chuckle slipped past the woman’s pouty lips.

“So you haven’t left this floor for what? Almost two months?”

Clarke’s eyes rose to the ceiling, silently trying to count the days in her head but failing.

“Honestly, I don’t know how long it’s really been. I barely had any food to begin with, no weapons to defend myself, so I just chose to hole up in my room. Sleep the days away and hopefully wait for the day that help comes.”

This time, a bitter laugh sounded through the kitchen.

“Help isn’t coming. It never was.”

And the last of Clarke’s hope was crushed. Not that it hadn’t been already. If she was honest with herself, Clarke knew long ago that there was never going to be any help after the military in the city fell. If their numbers in Los Angeles were overrun...there was definitely no hope for any other cities.

“I...I kind of figured that. After the military, after watching all those things cover the streets, I had a feeling there was nothing -no one- left. I guess part of me was just hanging on to that hope that maybe something would change and someone would come...maybe that’s the only thing that’s kept me sane this long. The thought of being saved.”

The strange woman absentmindedly pushed at the empty soup can Clarke had discarded earlier as she processed her words. After a few beats of silence the woman pushed herself away from the cabinet, hands pulling her rifle back into her grasp and moving over to the little window in Clarke’s kitchen and peering down.

“You can’t sit here and wait for someone to save you. You have to save yourself. Because no one else is coming.”

Clarke glanced curiously at the intricate braids woven through the woman’s hair and suddenly felt the need to know if she wore it the same way before the biters.

“But you’re here,” Clarke found herself suddenly saying.

She didn’t know why she said it. Maybe because it was true. Here was this woman, armed and fierce looking, like she knew what she was doing, standing in Clarke’s empty kitchen. Clarke lived on the fifth floor and if her fear was right, that there were biters on the floors below her, then the woman obviously had to sneak around them or fight them off to get here. Whatever the case was, it meant she knew what she was doing...and Clarke needed someone like that to help her learn to survive in this world.

That thought was jarring to her. Not even minutes ago she was ready to leave this world, but now? Now Clarke found herself staring at this woman and thinking that she could have a chance at living. That maybe she could be taught how to navigate this new world and fight back.

Survive.

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Please let me know if you’d be interested in me continuing this story in the future! I look forward to writing more for this little universe that’s running around in my head once my other fic is finished! :)

#clexa #clexa au #clexa zombie au #clexa are soulmates #clexa fic #Lexa Woods #clarke griffin #lexa #clarke #untitled clexa fic

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artxyra · 4 years

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If your ever bored, (I'm sending 2 requests because they were too long) can you do one of my requests? The class goes to Gotham for whatever reason. Marinette and Lila have an argument when Two-face comes in. Mari is tired of Lila and grabs him to be her lawyer, the bats as judges, and some random people on the street as the rest of the 9 judges. Can have a ship but isn't necessary.

@i-is-mysterious, so I did this instead of doing my Japanese homework.

“Well, some of you wouldn’t believe this but somehow, a French exchange student managed to capture the attention and the hearts of many Gothammites today.” The News reporter states at the desk. In an OTS next to her, there is an image of what looks to be Marinette Dupain-Cheng sitting in what looks to be in a courtroom setting and next to his Harvey Dent, better known as Two-Face. “Let’s just say stay tone as I tell you about this extraordinary tall tale.”

Marinette Dupain-Cheng could not take Lila’s bullshit anymore. At first, it was fun and dandy, humoring the poor Italian native as she goes on with her day-to-day life, but for some reason, today was not the day to tolerate the liar.

“Will you shut the heck up!” Marinette screeches to the horrid hairstyle that is on top of Lila Rossi’s head.

Lila stares at Marinette, tears swelling her eyes as if on-demand rather than genuine. “How could you say something like that to me, Marinette. I’m only trying to explain to our friends that I know Batman personally and have helped him saved Gotham a few times in the past.”

The class looks between the two teens as if waiting for something huge to happen. Well, that didn’t take long…

“No, you’re making this a bigger mess than it needs to be. The only people Batman work with are the Justice League and whoever the hell is the current and former Robins. What you’re declaring to our class is nothing but a load of shit.” Marinette seethes gesturing to the class and the number of confused pedestrians.

Well it is at this moment when Nino decides that listening to this problem was only going to lead to a larger mess and turns up the music playing from his phone into earphones.

“Well it’s true, it not my fault that your jealous, Marinette. I can’t believe you think that I am lying about stuff like that.” Lila places a hand over her chest and tries to look for sympathy.

“Yeah, right, and I’m Ladybug.” Marinette sarcastically retorts.

Just then the doors blast opens. Goons of all heights swarm into the room, with guns blazing. Everyone not apart of the shutting gets down onto the floor. Lila begins to squirm saying all sorts of nonsense about the Bat-family and how they will save her. Marinette rolls her head and examines the room.

The goons, now forcing those into a concern talking into an earpiece, all of it was something that Marinette could understand nor hear. She sees that Nino’s was fumbling with his phone as Alya tries to take it away to film this drastic situation. Only for the earphones to unconnected from the phone. Loud music burst out from the speakers. It’s Teeth by 5 Seconds to Summer.

Marinette, feeling the beat, gets up. The goons turn to her aiming their guns at her. They yell at her to get down on the floor, sending a warming shoot, it misses. Her classmates call for her to get back down, but Marinette was already dancing to the music.

“Fight so dirty, but your love’s so sweet.” She winks at the goons before sending one to the ground by a kick in the stomach. The gun goes off, sending bullets into the ceiling. She shrugs her shoulders, before twirling to the next goon. Three bullets fly past her, not even one hitting her but the wall behind her.

“Late night devil, put your hands on me.” Marinette sings another line of words. More goons’ advances on her.

Nino seeing what she was doing grabs his phone back and turns the volume up. Marinette’s feet tap to the beat as she song continues so does the speed of her defensive attacks.

Another goon down.

Marinette dives low before swinging her feet into another goon’s legs.

“Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand. You’re looking at me like you don’t know who I am.” The song rears closer to the end, when everything suddenly stops.

There standing at the large opening of the newly made entrances stands Two-Face with his hand on a cigarette. He puffs out the smoke.

“You girl.” He calls out.

The music comes to an abrupt stop. Marinette’s body staggers with the sudden loss of rhythm. She turns around and points to herself. Narrowing her eyes, she purses her lips, before a smirk sneaks its way onto her face.

She stalks towards him before roughly grabbing his wrist.

“You’re a lawyer, right?” She asks motioning for her classmates to get up.

Two-Face is taken back, he stares at the teen girl before him. “What of it?”

“I have a problem that doesn’t want to go away and seeing as we’re in a courthouse…” Marinette’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Two-Face, let the students go…” There you have it, people, the Batman himself and the rest of the family have arrived. Just a little later than normal.

What happened next, no one knows how a small teen from France manages to get everyone inside a courtroom with Batman as the judge and the rest of Bat-family being the jurors. Lila stands shitless with Mlle. Bustier as her supposes lawyer.

“Order in the court. This evening we will be going off the case of the plaintiff Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the defendant Lila Rossi. Today’s trial is about slander and defamation. Overseeing this case is Judge Batman.” Nightwing states to the court.

Hush whispers echoes within the room as the views watch in anticipation.

“Your honor, my student is not at fault with any of these charges.” Caline Bustier says, pleadingly.

Batman’s response to that was a grunt, nothing more, nothing less.

“As you can see, B-man, my client has documentary proof that the defendant Ms. Rossi has claimed to in contact with various amounts of celebrities and superheroes, you included on that list.” Two-Face states pulling out a large file that magically appeared from nowhere. Let’s not talk about where.

Two-Face hands the Judge the file. Batman looks over the file. He sees names that he too is personally familiar with such as Jagged Stone and his own sons’ names.

“Objection, your honor, my student as a lying condition. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” Caline cries out as Lila grips the edge of her seat.

“Your honor, I would like to call Lila Rossi to the stand.”

“Objection.”

“Overruled.”

Lila takes her place on the stand. She could have sworn that Nightwing was smirking at her as she lied her way through the bat-a-rang. Yes, a bat-a-rang was used instead of a bible, where’s in Gotham here people. That and this is no regular court appearance.

“Lila Rossi, was it? Don’t answer that, you claim that Marinette has been bullying you since your return to school.”

“Well yeah, Marinette threatens me in the bathroom, she even slapped me in the face. Then it started to go all downhill from there.”

“I don’t believe you, seeing as there are no health records stating that you had any physical injuries to your being. My client, on the other hand, has multiple claims about being injured on school property. Why is that?”

Two-Face then hands Nightwing a different file containing evidence regarding medical information. Once again don’t ask how they manage to obtain that information.

“Objection!” Mlle. Bustier calls out. “This information was never made public. How did they even get their hands on it?”

Once again Batman only grunts.

“Hey B-man, this information is legit, Ms. Rossi never had any claims of a physical injury only Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Nightwing whispers to the judge.

Batman turns to his jurors and raises the gavel.

“I have heard enough. Miss Rossi, you claim that you have helped me and my partners when you have never set foot in Gotham before this trip. Jurors, you have less than five minutes to decide her faith.”

Lila begins to protest. She calls to her teacher for help. The class, bless their naïve little minds, only sit down with popcorn in their hands.

Marinette turns to Two-Face with a smirk on her face and holds out her hand. Two-Face hits it, causing the teen’s hits to widen as she tries to hide her discomfort.

Five minutes later, Red Robin stands to the judge with a piece of paper in hand.

“We,” he yawns, “the jurors have decided that Lila Rossi is guilty of all counts of charges against her.” A random person hands the vigilante a cup of coffee. He sips it longingly.

Lila screams in shock. She tells them that she has immunity only for her claims to go on death’s ears.

The day ends with Marinette sitting on her balcony with a cup of coffee in hand with Adrien beside her.

“Did you have to dramatic today?”

“It was fun, wasn’t it? Watching her dig her own pit, but little did she knew was that the class was only humoring since her return. Everyone knows that I’m the queen of the school.” Marinette proceeds to drink her drink all while Adrien stands there eating a croissant.

#ArtXyra answers #maribat #ml x dc #no ships #miraculous crossover #dc crossover #mlb x dc

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lixie-lovie · 3 years

Text

{ Mysterious Stranger | Skz }

h.hyunjin x Reader

Chapter 1: The Letter

Genre: Dark!au, Thriller-ish, Fantasy!au

Warnings: Small mention of blood, but otherwise none!

Word Count: 2.3k

Note: I am kinda sorta really excited about writing this story and although this is only the first chapter I hope whoever reads this enjoys! Not a very long chapter, but I should be posting more regularly! (hopefully lol) This is definitely different to anything I have ever worked on, so feedback is super appreciated! <3

Chapter Song: d.r.e.a.m. - ab6ix

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I came rushing down the stairway into the subway stumbling over my own feet in the low light. I was trying hard not to drop the bags of groceries I was carrying and also not miss my train. Breathing heavy, I took a quick moment to stop at the bottom of the stairs to listen intently for the incoming train. I quickly brushed my hair out of my face with my one free hand as I looked around and took in my surroundings. I noticed there was only one other person seemingly waiting for this late night train ride. As I slowly shuffled my heavy bag higher on my hip I felt my brow start to sweat even though the chill of the night air was enough to fog my breath as my breathing became shallow. I felt my eyes unconsciously glancing back at the tall man shrouded in darkness a few times only to notice him already facing my direction.

Strange, I thought as he wasn’t looking towards the train or even the clock on the far wall. Rather, I could almost make out a dull glow coming from the piercing eyes glaring in my direction from under the man's black hood. It felt as though his stare could cut me in half. By now I was too aware of how slowly the time was moving and how vulnerable I must seem in such a hurry with so many things preoccupying my hands. I began to shuffle my feet nervously and grip the straps of my bags tighter. My eyes darted to the clock, the mysterious stranger, and then the nearest exit repeating this pattern more times than I could count. I knew I couldn’t run, I had nowhere to go and no time to wait for another train. My mother was poor and sick and needed these groceries and the medicine I had picked up only minutes before running my way into this predicament. I found my thoughts drifting as I locked eyes with the man. There suddenly was a rumbling moving through the heels of my feet that rattled the key-chains connected to my bag, startling me to notice the train was quickly approaching. This notified me that I would have to find a way past this wall of a man.

As the light from the train rounded the corner, my eyes darted swiftly back to the man and noted the sleek, black line of ink spreading from under his right eye down his cheek and under the collar of his blank, torn black hoodie. He removed his hands from his pockets and just before the doors to the train opened I saw a glint of light reflect off of something in his hand. Something metal, I concluded as I took swift steps in a wide arch to reach the doors of the train as they opened for me, hopefully welcoming me to their grimy state and the undeniable safety of other people. My heels clicked loudly in my ears as my breathing became labored and I could feel the bread in my grocery bag slowly mushing between the tightened grip of my freezing fingertips. Just as I approached the door to the train I heard a loud ring and they opened for me, welcoming me to the few straggling, tired people occupying the area. Then, suddenly, I felt a rough, calloused hand wrap around my delicate wrist, pulling me roughly backwards. I gasped harshly and spun around only to be face to face with the man himself. His hood was down and his long, blonde hair stood out in the dim train light and my eyes went wide as I felt something cold and metallic be pressed harshly into my palm.

“It all starts now.” The man said in a gruff, tense voice as he released my wrist and pushed me harshly through the now closing train doors. I looked down as I saw his hood quickly fly back over his head and his body seemingly disappear into the shadows. My eyes darted down to the object in my grip and in my hand sat a dagger. A small and intricate dagger that was sharp enough that just from my rough grip a small line of blood from my palm was now sitting upon its blade. I noticed an engraving on the hilt of the blade, the same words the strange man had uttered to me before and got lost in thought while looking at the way my reflection was looking back at me in the polished silver metal shining in my hand. DING! Suddenly, we were stopping again and my mothers face flashed in my mind as I cursed to myself lowly and slipped the blade into the pocket of my bag while rushing to my mothers. Sadly, now I was late and unable to rid myself of the curiosity handed to me just moments prior.

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All I could hear over the bustling traffic while crossing the street to my mother’s tiny, antique apartment was the deep thrumming of my own heightened heartbeat and the sound of my feet pounding on the pavement as I rushed, already late to bring my mother the things I had gotten from the store.

I slowed my pace as I approached the door and quickly began rummaging through my bag looking for the spare key. As I was continuing my search I allowed my thoughts to drift back to the man I had just encountered and the odd experience, wondering if the situation had even occurred or was just a figment of the imagination of my overworked and tired mind. As my hands fumbled around until they found the next pocket on my bag I bit my lip in anticipation of getting a glimpse of the strange dagger again. Once my hand felt the dagger, still lying on it’s side, gleaming in the dim blue-ish light of the streetlamp behind me I let out a breath of relief. I then realized the keys were lying with the dagger and quickly reached for them. As I finally grasped the cool metal key between my fingertips there was a sudden crash that sounded from inside the apartment. I whipped my head up at the unexpected commotion and rushed to get the door unlocked.

My hands shook as I turned the ornate silver handle. I took a few cautious steps into the house and called out to my mother. When there was no response I began moving more hastily, ducking my head into every doorway possible looking for my mother. I finally reached the living room last. My movements became more and more rushed the longer I couldn’t find my mother. That was, until I took my first few steps into the living room only to hear a sharp cracking noise come from under my feet. I quickly looked to the floor as I heard more scraping and crackling coming from the movement of my shoes. “Broken glass?” I questioned no one in particular, “What the hell?”

My eyes slowly trailed up the length of the floor in front of me as I noted that the whole floor was littered with broken glass. I called out for my mother as I quickly began to take hurried, albeit significantly lighter, steps forward until I noticed the large window, that used to rest peacefully on the far side of the room, shattered. All that was left of the once protection from the outside were a few dangling, cracked pieces of the weathered glass and the now torn white curtains flowing from the chilly breeze outside. I gasped and rushed to the window to inspect, but when I looked around there was nothing unusual to take in besides the window itself. I then turned to quickly search the room for what could have caused the shattering of the window or a clue as to where my sickly mother could be. It wasn’t until I found myself approaching my mother’s rocking chair that I really noticed something off.

There, on the old, worn wooden chair, slowly rocking in the wind, sat a fairly small eggshell white envelope with a blood red wax seal pressing it closed. I furrowed my brow as I reached out to examine it, but as I scanned the chair again in the closer proximity I noticed the small trail of bloody fingerprints, still wet. I gasped harshly and looked over my shoulder quickly before grabbing the envelope and turning to pull my phone out of my bag. I quickly searched for the right person’s contact and dialed. Pressing the phone to my ear, I swiftly did another sweep of the house to make sure there was nothing I missed and made a b-line for the front door. As I made it out of the house the person on the other end finally picked up.

“Seungmin! Thank you for picking up.” I breathed out, relieved. “I need you to come pick me up. Something’s happened.”

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An hour later I was seated at my favorite late night diner fiddling with the straw of my vanilla milkshake while Seungmin was tiredly rubbing his eyes talking to the grandmotherly waitress with the white hair and kind smile that had known us both since our first visit here around the age of six. Seungmin was still in his too large white t-shirt and blue and grey checkered pajama pants with more than averagely fluffy hair from being woken up after working a long shift this weekend. I had never seen Seungmin at work, but I knew whatever the job was it had to be tiring as he was always working long shifts at random hours and constantly had new bumps and bruises that he rarely ever told me about unless I asked. He said he does odd jobs for different contractors and I never had the heart seeing his too tired face to question it much.

Because of the unknowns of his work and his constant sleeping when he was off, it had become mutually known that I wouldn’t be the one to contact him unless the situation is dire. On a normal occasion he would send me one text to let me know he was alive, I would respond asking if he needs groceries again, and his next message would be hours or days later once he had rested and received word of his next job to let me know when he was free to take me to lunch and then scurry off to at each new opportunity. However, recently those unprompted lunch dates have been slim to none, as have his days off, so he came quickly to my call, knowing it must be something extremely important if I would willingly ask him to be out of bed on a day off.

He smiled at me softly for a moment before turning to yawn into his hand while using his free one to make a small circular motion towards me that I interpreted as “go on, tell me what’s wrong.” At this, I sighed deeply and reached down by my ankle to grab my discarded bag. I pondered for a moment on telling him about the experience with the man at the subway station, but my pressing anxieties and worries about my mother spurred me to grab the letter, not the dagger, to hurriedly pull out. I flipped it over in my hands under the table for a moment while explaining what occurred at my mother’s house up until finding the chair. As I got to explaining what I found Seungmin was seemingly no longer tired and instead shoveling his food into his mouth swiftly while looking past me, seemingly in thought with the way his brows furrowed deeply. My gaze became more concerned as I raked my eyes over his face and I bit my lip as I pulled the envelope containing the letter out for him to see. As I handed it to him I noticed his hands were shaking and I assumed it was for the same reason as mine, out of worry for my mother. He swiftly opened the envelope and read the big bold letters printed there. Then, more surprisingly, his eyes drifted back to the envelope itself as he quickly drew it back towards his face before turning it over. Upon notice of the ornate wax seal that sat there he gasped and threw his hands down against the table, rattling the silverware and dishes loudly and jarring me out of my curious state, making me yelp softly. He then moved his gaze to bore into mine before saying something that left me further confused.

“We have to go. Now. They know where you are.” He said this soft and sternly, whipping his head around to see who else was in the diner. I don’t remember anyone but us entering or leaving. He grabbed my bag quickly, shoving the envelope inside before throwing some money onto the table, leaving a little extra tip (so kind even in such a panic, I noted). He then reached for my wrist and began to pull me towards the exit. In such a panicked and hurried state I didn’t dare defy him and only tried my best to keep up with his quick pace. However, the concern and rising uneasiness in my chest didn’t stop my head from turning ever so slightly to eye whoever might have been dining with us so late tonight. What I saw left me gasping harshly for air and stumbling over my feet to try and remain balanced.

Sitting there, staring right into my eyes, in the same outfit I had seen him in before was the man. The mysterious stranger. He sat silently with his black hood resting over his head twirling a blade much like the one lying in the beat up bag on Seungmin’s shoulder and as Seungmin was rounding the corner, with me in tow, I thought I had caught a flash of teeth, what could have been a grimace or a smile.

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#stray kids #skz #hyunjinau #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #seungmin #dangerous!au #mysterious stranger #straykids x reader #thrillerau #chapter 01 #erika posting again? never heard of her lol #my finger slipped oops

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starlightsearches · 3 years

Text

The Runaway—Ch. 3

It was supposed to be like any other bounty. Just another job. But when Din Djarin meets a runaway trying to escape a tragic past and a bleak future, everything changes. (Set after the events of Season 1, no spoilers for Season 2)

Masterlist

Din Djarin x f!reader (no y/n)

Series Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, mentions of abuse.

AN: Near-death experience in this chapter, but that’s the only extra. Feedback is always appreciated!

Din squints into the darkness, hardly able to see even with the adjustment his visor makes to the steadily dwindling light. He doesn’t show it, as he leans up against the rough-hewn entrance to your makeshift home, but there’s a stiffness to his muscles after the journey here—his legs aching underneath the weight of the armor, and the sun had been inescapable, beating down on both of you like the wrath of god. Although it’s setting now, the heat hasn’t abated in the time since and underneath his armor Din’s clothing is clinging to his skin.

“It’s around here somewhere,” Din can just make out your shape now, a dark smudge against blacker surroundings, but you move with confidence and quiet surety as you search around the small space. “Ha! Here it is,” there’s a faint click, and the little hovel you’ve led him to is filled with a yellowing light that stutters against the walls before steadily growing brighter. You swing the flashlight around in small, sweeping motions and Din takes it all in, his heart shriveling in his chest like a life-vest with a leak.

“It’s not much,” you say quietly, watching him out of the corner of your eye, “but it’s far from the worst place I ever lived.” Din doesn’t want to know what those places were like.

You’re hunched over, practically in half, but the dirt of the roof still scrapes at the top of your head, little crumbles of dust nesting in your hair as you move. He has no idea what stuff you’ve planned on grabbing—there’s nothing here worth taking. You’ve got a meager supply of food, stacked against the far wall, high off the ground to keep it away from any pests, but no table, no place to build a fire. There’s no bed, either, just a mat and a blanket so threadbare it seems to be made of holes. He can’t take his eyes off the blanket, the blood draining from his face; for a moment, he thinks he might be sick. His fingers curl in on themselves, twin fists resting at his sides, and he wishes that your father were here, right now. He’d end him.

“Hey,” Din turns at the sound of your voice and finds you kneeling at the edge of the back wall, near the mat and you’re looking up at him expectantly—Din wonders how many times you’ve tried to get his attention. You wait for a moment, and he nods to show that he’s listening. “Can you help me with this?” He’s not sure what this is, as you point at the wall—a gesture that gives him no helpful information—but he agrees, the child following closely behind as he takes his first step inside.

Din crouches, but only manages one or two half-steps before falling to his knees, which is all it takes to cross the distance from the door to the place where you kneel. You push the flashlight into his empty hands before lowering yourself to the ground.

Starting in the bottom corner of the room, you rest your palm against the wall, stacking your hand one over the other with careful precision and Din shines the flashlight in your direction without asking any questions. About halfway up the wall, you begin to move towards him, walking your hands along the wall until you’re leaning over him, your body stretched across his without ever moving close enough to touch.

The light falls across your face, your lips moving silently casting strange shadows on the wall behind you before you stop just on the other side of him, the tip of your finger carving a soft x in the wall. “There,” you say quietly, just a soft puff of air against the side of his mask.

You lean back, taking the flashlight from his hands, sitting back on your legs, looking at him expectantly. Din is at a loss.

“I need you to hit the wall where I marked,” you say, characteristically cryptic, “really hard.”

Din looks at the wall, examining it more closely; unlike the rest of the packed-dirt structure, this side seems rock-solid underneath the caked-on, crumbling dust. He hits it hard enough, he could break some fingers, at best.

You see his skepticism through the mask, shuffling a little closer, “it’s a false wall,” you say, retracing the x with your fingers, “I built it myself when I first came here—couldn’t just leave my stuff out in the open.”

“Why didn’t you keep it under your mat?” Din asks, still hesitant. That was the standard procedure for most of the criminals that Din had encountered, although he’s not sure that you fall into that category. Thieves among thieves will target their own if needed, but it’s futile to try and steal from anyone who sleeps on top of their possessions. Especially when there’s a blade under their pillow.

You roll your eyes at him, “because that’s the first place everybody looks.” Din makes no move to do as you’ve asked, and you examine him more closely, your eyes searching the mask for the answer to a question that you haven’t yet asked. There’s a pause, a shift in the momentum of this conversation, this partnership, “don’t you trust me?”

Din sighs, rolling his eyes at you and he thinks some part of you knows because you smile as he pulls his fist back, his eyes on the carved x.

“Then again, my hands could have grown in the time since-” you blurt out in warning, but Din’s already loosed the punch. He closes his eyes, unwilling to watch the impact, waiting for the snap of bones, but it doesn’t come, his hand crashing through the wall amid a shower of dirt.

It’s not a large break in the wall—Din can feel both edges of the space you’ve created without much movement, the tips of his fingers brushing the back wall while his wrist is still visible. He pulls his hand from the crevice, brushing the dirt from his glove and you fill the place immediately, shining the light and digging around in the illuminated opening.

“Here,” you shove something into his hands, still focused on the crack in the wall. Din takes it, glancing down.

His eyes blow wide when he sees the item—a necklace like a collar, made of woven gold and blood-red gemstones. It’s caked with dirt, but still sparkles in the evening light, each stone throwing fractured ruby streaks against the walls of the room.

“Is this real?” Din asks, unable to keep the awe out of his voice. He’s not sure what kind of material the necklace is made of, but it looks expensive. He starts the mental tabulation: fuel costs, food, repairs that need to be made. New weapons to be purchased, toys for the kid. Maybe even an upgrade for his armor.

Before he can finish the thought, you’re shoving more jewelry his way—handfuls of glittering stones and expensive metals. Din sways on his knees, light-headed.

“I think that’s the last of it,” you turn to face him, shifting into a sitting position. You hold your hands out, and Din lets the collection fall into your waiting palms. You begin to sort the baubles into small piles, brushing the debris from each sparkling surface. Din stops your hand as you’re about to place a set of delicate silver bangles next to a jewel-encrusted hair pin.

“What is all this?”

Your eyes flicker with confusion, trying to interpret Din’s response, and honestly, he’s doing the same. His hand stays on your wrist, his grip loose enough that you could break it if you tried, but you don’t, your stare fixed right where his eyes would be.

“You told me you didn’t have anything left. That you sold it all.” His voice shakes as he looks at the extravagant spread, the necessities and indulgences he had been calculating earlier multiplying ten-fold. With this sum, you could buy . . . anything. But when he looks at you, your expression pained, he’s immediately chastened. There were some things that had no price.

“I lied,” you say gently, watching as the child wanders over to inspect the treasures. Din moves to grab him before he can reach any of it, but you hand him something to play with—a simple golden chain—and he’s mollified for the moment, pulling at the object with his little, green hands.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You both pull your attention away from the kid when Din speaks, and you sigh, brushing a few stray hairs away from your face with a rough hand.

“I didn’t know if you could be trusted. For all I knew you were going to take it all and turn me over to my father anyways.” A huff of air escapes Din’s lips at your statement. There’s plenty you’ve left unsaid, words that weigh heavy on Din’s shoulders, a trust that he can’t fully fathom. It’s not just your life that you’ve placed so fully in his hands—it’s his, too, and the kid’s. With this, and the bounty your father had offered, he could buy a better life: no running, no danger, no bounties. He could find the child’s people, make sure he was safe. And then, after that, he could do anything.

You knew all of this, when you brought him here. Din feels very small, sitting on the floor of this dingy dirt hut in the middle of nowhere, and this choice, this offering, feels much too large.

You push the piles towards him, scooping them all together in your hands. “I want you to have it,” you say through shaky breaths, “for helping me.”

Din makes no move to take it, although he could. He grabs the strap of his satchel instead, tossing it into your lap.

“Hold onto it for now,” he commands, “I don’t take any payment until the job is completed.”

You don’t move, lips parted and eyes on him. He thinks he might see the barest hint of tears pooling at the corners of your eyes, but they fall closed, and for the first time, Din can see what this means to you. You want to live. You want to be okay.

You begin clearing up the jewelry, packing it into the satchel, slinging it over your shoulder. That’s when Din hears the noise, footsteps crunching over the terrain outside. He stops you with a finger to his lips, pulling the flashlight towards him and flipping the switch, throwing the room into darkness.

His visor adjusts to the shadows and his eyes follow soon after. You seem to know that something is wrong, and he can see you in the eerie green light that the mask offers as you pull the child into your lap, looking up at him with wide, worried eyes.

Din moves quickly, back on his feet and out the door in mere moments, scanning the black horizon with careful eyes. He catches their flickering light source first—three people, he assumes based on the cadence of the footsteps and the soft chatter between them. The shortest one carries the torch, walking a few steps behind the others, and Din stands casually, waiting for them to notice him. His hand hovers over his hip, and he unlatches the strap on his holster.

“‘S that you, Mando?” The familiar voice, one that grates like gravel against his ears, calls over the distance between them. He was right before; three people approach, but the man in front is the only one he recognizes, and everything gets more complicated.

“Hello Tate,” Din keeps his voice even, folding his arms over his broad chest, and the light from the torch flickers dangerously off the beskar. He hopes you’re hidden from view, with the child and the satchel. Din could get you all out of this with relative ease, as long as none of them notice your presence.

“Greef told us you were on the runaway job,” Dev says, and then he chuckles, “he actually told us not to bother.” He shifts his weight, leaning on one leg more heavily than the other. He’s got a blade in his hand, but his grip is casual, and he rests it against his hip. The other two have weapons as well—the zabrak on his right has a dangerous-looking club slung over his shoulder, and the twi'lek on his left carries a blaster in the hand not holding the torch. None of them seem too eager to use them just yet, and he’s not planning on giving them any reason. Still, he shifts again, resting his hand on his own hip, just above his blaster. Better to be safe.

“We decided to take our chances anyways,” Tate continues, eyeing the change in Din’s posture, “and with a bounty like that, can you blame us?” The others laugh, but the smiles don’t reach their eyes. “Somebody on the way to town told us to look for her out this way. We thought we might find you here.”

“The place was empty when I arrived,” Din gets straight to the point, “I think she might have left it abandoned. I’ve been waiting for her to return.”

Tate smiles, “I thought you might say something like that.”

It happens quicker than the light flashing against his armor—weapons are drawn and he’s got the barrel of a blaster resting at the edge of his mask. Din keeps his own blaster aimed at Tate, but he watches the others in his periphery, tracking their movements.

“You gotta get a more subtle look, Mando, if you’re gonna be tellin’ lies like that. We heard from a few different people that they saw you chasin’ the girl out of the cantina.” He steps closer, twirling the blade with surprising dexterity given the meatiness of fingers, and from this distance, Din can see the dirt caked into the creases of Tate’s face, see the shadow of a beard growing over his skin.

“So now I’m forced to wonder,” Tate continues at a whisper, “where you’ve got her stashed if she’s not here, hmmm?” Din keeps silent, shifting his grip on his blaster, putting the slightest amount of pressure on the trigger.

“Where is she, Mando?” he asks again, but his gaze flickers to the zabrak, a movement so minute he almost dismisses it, until he shifts to check on the twi’lek. Din lets out a low sigh through his nose. Tate thinks he’s got the upper hand on him based on numbers alone. In his mind, he’s already won.

“She back on your ship?” he asks again, growing impatient with Din refusal to accept defeat, “she out there with that little green freak you stole?”

The sound of the shot booms in response and Tate stumbles back, hand at his midsection, checking for the burn of the blaster bolt, but it’s the twi’lek who falls, eyes rolling back into her head before she lands with a thump, the blaster falling from her hand.

Din’s already aiming again, for Tate this time but the shot goes wide as the zabrak catches him on the shoulder with the club. His knees buckle and he fights to stay standing, blocking the next swing with his forearm. Wood clangs against beskar and Din grunts at the impact, pain sparking through his armor.

He’s hardly recovered before he hears the metallic slash, feels the burn in the open space where the pauldron meets his chest plate, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees red.

One of them hits him in square in the chest, and then there’s a boot at his neck. He places one hand at the heel, but the other isn’t cooperating—a strange tingle travels from the tips of his fingers up to his shoulder, and it burns, dead at this side.

“Gonna ask you one more time, Mando,” Tate leans over him and Din sees black around the edges of his vision, fighting for every breath, “where’s the girl?”

Din says nothing, willing some kind of life into his arm, struggling against the weight of the world for one more lungful of air. He hopes you’ll keep the kid safe.

There’s a streak of red that shoots across his vision, and it’s funny to him; no one ever mentioned that as a part of dying, but he’ll accept it. There’s another—he lets his eyes fall closed. And then the weight is lifted, and he can breathe again, and he falls into a deep and restless sleep.

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x you #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #mando fic #the mandalorian #my writing #the runaway

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noladyme · 4 years

Text

Chess. Chapter 2

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

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TW: abuse, language, blood, sexual themes, harassment

The soldiers around me were scrambling, confused. I missed this, I admitted to myself.

G.I. – Flag, Boss Lady had called him – stood, mouth agape, still pointlessly aiming his silly gun, and I couldn’t help myself. I quietly snuck up behind his tall frame, got on my toes, and whispered.

“Cat got your tongue?”.

He quickly spun around, rage in his eyes, and I jumped back, as he struck towards the direction of my voice. His hand swiped at my midsection, fingers reaching the cut on my stomach. He felt it, and I moved backwards quietly, still concentrating on keeping up the mirage, through the pain. Looking at his fingers, he saw my blood on them.

“Goggles!”, he yelled. The Tweedles, and the soldiers storming out of the vans, put on some weird looking glasses. Flag put on his own, and turned towards me, looking straight into my face.

“There you are”, he smiled. Panicking, I ran. I could hear voices behind me, yelling at me to stop. Confusion hit me, as I didn’t hear any gunfire; but fear won me over, so without hesitation, I kept going.

Narrowly avoiding being grabbed by a Tweedle, I scaled the hood of one of their vans, stomping across the roof, and jumped onto the ground behind it.

“She’s outside my 30 foot range”, a voice behind me shouted, as another closer voice answered; “I still got her in sight”.

How are they seeing me?, I questioned myself, realizing their googles must have some temperature device connected to them. They must have gotten those from the Bat. Fuck, I thought. I just had to stay far enough away from them, so that my projection could blend in with the surroundings.

Knocking over a trash can, I sped down the sidewalk. Behind me I heard Flags voice.

“I got her. 20 feet ahead!”, he thundered, running impossibly fast, closing up on me.

I gotta quit smoking, I thought, feeling my heart desperately pump blood and oxygen through my system; keeping me moving, but also keeping up my mirage. I knew I wouldn’t last forever. I’d run out of energy too soon, having to keep up speed and invisibility.

Turning around another corner, I was greeted by a busy street, full of taxicabs and trucks. As it was after midnight, most normal people had gone inside, and were now sleeping behind their rolled down curtains. Had they been looking outside, they’d see a group of soldiers, clad in grey, storming down the street, machineguns lifted, aiming at someone who wasn’t there. I couldn’t help but see the humor in the scene.

Flag was gaining on me, his men following close behind. The sidewalk was cleared of people, except for the occasional lady of the night, offering her service to the cabdrivers. I ran into the street, and almost got hit by a truck whose driver couldn’t see me.

“Shit, she ran into traffic”, Flag yelled. “Spread out! 3 o’clock, 15 feet”. I wanted to smash his stupid glasses into his handsome face.

Crossing the street, I turned, and ran down an alley. My chest heaved, and I had a metallic taste in my mouth. It was a dead end. I was greeted by a graffitied wall, displaying the image of a large grinning mouth, with golden teeth. “Ha Ha Ha” was written in bold script underneath it. This was Clown territory, and for a hot second I didn’t know whether to be more worried about that, than the soldiers behind me.

“Just stop, Chess!”, Flag called behind me. “You have nowhere to run. Just come with us. Now”. His gun raised, he stalked towards me, an angry sneer on his face.

In a corner of the alley, I saw an old dumpster, under a fire escape. “Don’t even think about it”, Flag said, voice calm.

My energy was almost gone. I knew I wouldn’t be able to make the jump, if I had to keep up the mirage. I allowed my body to reappear to him.

“I’m not going with you, Joe”, I said with a shaking voice.

“It’s Flag. Colonel Rick Flag. We’re not here to hurt you, but I will shoot, if you take another step”.

“No you won’t”, I said, and ran for the dumpster. I heard a gunshot, and felt the wind from the bullet graze past my head. I jumped onto the dumpster, bended my knees, and sprang upwards, grabbing at the ladder above. I almost reached it, but fell short a few inches, fingertips lightly touching the bottom of the ladder for a millisecond; before I fell back towards the ground, landing hard on my side. Pain shot through my hip, and not a second later; he was on me.

I screamed, growled and hissed, as he pinned my body down.

“Relax, kitten. Just stop”, he said, holding my wrists above my head, and intertwining his legs with mine, holding them in a painful position; worsening the pain in my hip.

“Get of me”, I shrieked. “Let me go. You’re hurting me!”.

I twisted my torso, forcing him to reposition his legs, and lock around mine. He drew my right arm down, and behind me, then forcing it upwards. His other arm locked around my torso, and I used my – now free – left hand, to claw at his face behind me, getting a hold of his hair.

There we were, wrestling in a weird bearhug; as his hips grinded forward, his groin meeting my backside.

“You’re enjoying this, you pervert”, I hissed.

“You wish”, he answered, and forced my right arm further upward, drawing another scream from me.

I made a last desperate attempt to break free, knocking my head backwards, aiming for his nose, but only meeting air; as his head was moved to the side.

“Give. Up.”. His voice was cold and determined.

He repositioned his body, one strong arm around my torso, holding both my arms in place in front of me.

“Get the tranq’”, he called, as a Tweedle came running towards us, with what looked like a piercing gun. I began to shake, not liking where this was heading. Flag grabbed the gun, held it to my neck, and pulled the trigger.

“Just sleep, now”.

Suddenly the world started to blur. I opened my mouth, but not a sound came out of it. I blinked once, but immediately regretted it, as opening my eyelids again was near impossible.

Behind me, I felt Flag loosening his grip on me. “That’s it”, his voice sounded, from far away. I felt his hand sliding down my side, then moving towards my stomach. Finally, opening my eyes, I looked down, head spinning; as he slid his hand down the front of my waistband. Strangely enjoying his touch, I was weirdly disappointed, when his hand moved up again, pulling out the money clip from before. “Get this back to the man at the club”, his faraway voice said.

He let go of me, and I rolled onto my back, breathing slowly. “Tease”, I chuckled at him. The last thing I saw, was him sending me a crooked smile. Then everything went black.

---

Everything after that happened in glimpses. My body was lifted from the ground, and placed in a truck.

I must have been out of it, because the next thing I remembered was my ears popping, and a sharp pain from a needle, being forced through my skin, stitching up the bleeding gash on my belly. I heard helicopter sounds, and felt the weird weightless emotion, of being lifted into the air, and flown; somewhere.

Next it was another vehicle, bumping down a road full of holes. I gasped from the pain in my hip and stomach, and tried to move, but my wrists were firmly held in place by cuffs, attached to the gurney I was laying on. Black again.

Sounds of gates. The smell of wet dirt. Something or someone growling. An accented voice yelling “We got a new toy, mates”. The smell of burning wood. Loud giggles from a voice I knew I’d heard before.

I finally came to, as my body was unceremoniously discarded on a hard floor. I opened my eyes, Examining the room, eyes reaching the door. Catching my breath, I tried to reach for it.

In the door opening stood the woman from the van in the alley, next to Flag, who’s eyes – for the first time – would not meet mine.

“Welcome to Belle Reve”, the woman said. “Once you’ve settled in, and come to your senses, we’ll be back to talk to you”.

I opened my mouth, and tilted my head, trying desperately to come up with a clever answer, but she interrupted my blurry train of thought.

“Y/N. I know you won’t believe me, but this is for the best. Welcome to the first day of your new life”.

The door slammed, and I heard them walking away.

I screamed. I banged the door. I pleaded. I called the people outside every profanity I knew. But it was no use, and I knew it. They’d caught me, and I wasn’t going anywhere for the foreseeable future.

Looking around the room, I saw that it was more prison cell, than hotel accommodation. In one corner there was a hole in the floor, with what was left of a toilet roll next to it. There were no windows, and the only thing resembling a bed, was a thin foam mattress, covered by a smelly blanket.

Suddenly, the lights went out, and it was pitch black.

“Hi, honey”, a voice called. “Look up. See that tiny red dot in the ceiling?”. I did. “That’s me. My name is Griggs, but you can call me Captain. All my best friends do; and, oh, we’re gonna be bffs in no time”. The snarling voice cackled, and then died out.

I was alone.

---

I don’t know how long I screamed, but my throat hurt, and after a while, my voice was hoarse and disappearing

I counted seconds, but lost track, I decided to feel my way around the room.

A scratch and a howl from the speaker next to the red dot interrupted me.

“Careful, sweetheart. We didn’t have time to cat-proof the room for you. There might be some exposed wires on the floor. Old buildings, you’ll understand”.

I crawled to the mattress, curling up in a seated position on it.

“It’s funny, I thought cats could see in the dark”, Griggs voice said. “Here’s the deal. I know you can make it so we can’t see you, so I decided to make it so that you can’t see anything”. I could hear him smile.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get three square meals a day, and I’ll be watching you through this fancy thermal camera Waller gave me, that makes it so I can make sure you’re perfectly safe”. He was leering at me. I could hear it. “I’ll be looking, or some of my guys here will. You’ll never be alone. Whatever you do, we’re here, keeping you company”.

My body was quivering. A small hatch in the bottom of the door opened, and someone slid a small box into the room.

“That right there is a prison grade uniform. I heard that you’re a dancer, so you’ll want to be able to move in it. I made some adjustments to it, just for you. Now put it on. Go on. I’ll turn on the lights, so it’s easier for you”.

The lights flickered on, and cut into my eyes. Inside the box was a tank top, cut, so that it would cover barely more than my chest. A pair of stained orange shorts, and worn slippers completed the outfit.

“I’m not wearing this”, I called out into the room.

“Come on, honey. You don’t want to piss me of”.

“Fuck you!”, I yelled, and kicked the box into the corner.

Loud music, some kind of weird trance/dubstep mashup, with a pounding bass played loudly enough for me to cover my ears.

“Put on the clothes, and put your own clothes in the box”, Griggs voice boomed. “This is my house, sweetbutt, and you’ll respect your host!”.

The music became impossibly louder, and I dived for the box, grabbing the clothes.

“That’s it. Now turn towards the camera, and let me see you”. I did as asked, and started to strip down to my underwear. I was still wearing my glittery dance bra, and ripped jeans; shedding the later, to reveal my black panties underneath.

“Now we’re talking, huh, boys”, Griggs voice laughed; and I heard other voices in the background, jeering along with him.

Quickly, I put on the prison “uniform”, and put my own clothes into the box, pushing it out of the hatch, that had reopened. The box disappeared, and was replaced with a small bowl; filled with small brown pellets, floating around in some water.

“Kibble time, puss”.

The lights went out again, and everything went silent.

#rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag imagine #rick flag fic #suicide squad fic #suicide squad imagine #amanda waller

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vicegrips-fr · 3 years

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Pink Martinis

The night is only just beginning and the boys are trying to enjoy themselves before the evening rush when they are rudely interrupted by a man neither of them knows.

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This is the first in what I hope to be many lore posts featuring characters from both The Velvet Fang and Neo Necropolis. Apologies if this is too long for some of you and I hope you enjoy! Warnings: Language, drug mentions, alcohol, brief violence, etc.

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- Part one -

It’s all about the thrill.

Neon lights, the smell of sweat and spilled alcohol, bodies grinding together to the sound of loud music, drugs passing between hands, and men being led to back rooms. All of these things are thrilling in their own way, but none of it comes close to the rush you get from spilling a little blood. Your blood, their blood, it’s all part of the game and the game is violence; pure and simple violence. Azizi used to live a life of violence. That is, until he came here to the middle of bumfuck nowhere in the Wasteland. He- no, they had no choice. It was run or be killed and there’s no doubt in his mind that Chaka would have delighted in choking the life out of him.

The thought of it, those strong hands around his throat, both disgusts and entices him.

It’s almost like you have a deathwish.

“Hey Zi!”

Azizi turns his head to the source of the sweet and familiar voice, a smile playing about his lips as he moves over from where he’s leaned back against the bar. As per usual Gogo is dressed all in neon and animal print, the colors and patterns clashing in such a way that it both draws your eyes in and repels you for fear of going blind. “Hey babe,” he replies languidly, “You look good.” At that Gogo gives a twirl, his thick wavy hair bouncing around his shoulders. “Not as good as you,” he shoots back with a girlish giggle, “But like, thanks!” Smiling, Azizi turns his attention onto the bartender, his face illuminated in the pinks, purples, and blues of the neon lights dancing all around them. “Two pink martinis, Cyr” he drawls, elbows propped up on the bar as he leans over it seductively. Cyril is a frightening man to behold. Equal parts handsome and haunting with bright pink eyes all over his body. Or, well, one can assume so anyway. Of the many eyes that cover him only the ones on his face, neck, and tail are visible; the rest are hidden beneath his smart clothing. “Sure thing,” he replies, voice lightly accented from the Starfall Isles, “Just don’t snort anything off the bar while my back is turned. I just cleaned the damn thing.” Azizi throws his head back and laughs, the gold bangles on his arms clinking together lightly as he stands up straight. “No promises, eyes,” he purrs softly, “Me and self control aren’t friends. And besides, you clean ‘the damn thing’ every two seconds.” Cyril rolls his eyes, all of them. “Addict,” he replies not unkindly. “Neat freak,” Azizi says without malice.

They’re both right about the other. Azizi is an addict and Cyril is an obsessive cleaner. In the end habits are habits, it’s just that some come with worse consequences than others. “Mm, pink martini,” Gogo coos, mind occupied by other things, “I wonder how they like, make it pink in the first place.” Azizi quirks a brow, a look of amusement crossing over his face. “World’s greatest mystery,” he replies fondly, “So, how many tricks are banging on your door tonight?” Pausing, Gogo counts on his fingers with his tongue between his teeth. “Three too many,” he answers finally, “But like, it’s cool. At least with the regulars who book in advance you know what to expect.” Another pause. One, two, three, four seconds pass. “Although there was that one time that a regular asked me to-” “Two pink martinis,” Cyril interrupts, sliding the pretty pink concoctions in front of the boys. “Thanks Cyr,” Azizi grins, “And hey, for the record I was a good boy and kept my snow off of your bar. Do I win a prize?” Cyril snorts at that, waving a dismissive hand in his direction as if to shoo him away like a pesky cat. “How about my gratitude?” he replies breezily. “Ew, gross,” Azizi murmurs, “That’s a shitty prize.” With an impish smile he tilts his drink just enough to splash the bar with the liquid inside. “Oops,” he says, tone sharp and teasing, “My bad.” Cyril, who is busying his hands cleaning a glass that’s already spotless, frowns. He’s used to this sort of thing by now; used to how Azizi likes to push people's buttons; used to how the man enjoys getting into fights and starting shit. But Cyril never takes the bait and Azizi doesn’t expect him to anyway- he’s just being a little shit. “Asshole,” Cyril chuckles, mopping the alcohol off the bar until it shines like a diamond again. Azizi shrugs, popping the cherry from his drink into his mouth. “And yet you still love me,” he sighs wistfully, “Some might even say you’re a glutton for punishment.” Before any of them can continue their conversation, a man approaches the bar with a look on his face that promises trouble. He’s of average height with a slim build and dressed in a suit that screams this is the nicest thing in my closet. The only truly unusual thing about him is his eyes, cyan blue. It’s unusual because most of the clientele in The Velvet Fang are from around the area, their eyes various shades of threatening reds. “You two,” the strange man says, so close now that Azizi can smell the sweat beneath the cologne he’s used to try and cover it up. “I’m sorry but do I know you?” Azizi asks, nose wrinkling in disgust as he takes a step back just to get a breath of air that doesn’t make him gag. Gogo’s mismatched eyes grow wide and he follows suit, taking a step backwards and bumping into one of the barstools, sending it clattering to the floor. Neither one of them recognize this man, but it would seem he recognizes them. “Yes- Uh, I mean no,” he stutters out, the wild look in his eyes on full display in the light of the neon sign that hangs above the bar, “You’re Chaka’s boys, aren’t you? I’d recognize the two of you anywhere and-” He pauses, the expression on his face shifting from slightly wild to confused in the blink of an eye. “Say,” he continues, brow furrowing, “What the hell are you two doing all the way out here, huh?” Anger seeps into every one of Azizi’s pores. Perhaps he should be frightened, shaken up from being recognized by someone from the home he was forced to flee, but all he can manage is anger. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snaps, gold canine catching the light as his lips peel back into a snarl. “You think you can just waltz up to us and start asking questions?” The man’s lips part again but before he can say a word Azizi holds up a hand to stop him, eyes hard. “Fuck. Off,” he snarls, the threat of violence clear in his voice, “It’s none of your fucking business why we’re here. Get lost, asshole.” Gogo lets out a whimper, hands flying up to cover his mouth. Violence is not something he likes or handles well. The sight of blood is enough to make his stomach feel queasy, the sound of bones breaking so horrific it makes him want to pass out, so all he can hope is that it doesn’t come to that. Annoyed, Azizi turns away to go back to his drink but is stopped by a hand lashing out to grab him by the wrist, forcing him to spin around again. Whoever this man is, he’s clearly on something and he’s got a lot of nerve. “Don’t speak to me like that,” the stranger growls, his grip tightening until he knows that there will be bruises left behind in the shape of fingers, “You think someone like you can say that shit to someone like-” Crack. Without hesitation Azizi drives his right fist so hard into the man’s face that the bones breaking in his nose can be heard over the music. To the shock and horror of the people around them the man falls to the floor in a heap. Gogo’s eyes immediately go to where his best friend is holding his injured hand, tail lashing anxiously behind him as he lurches forward to his side. It’s a miracle he doesn’t faint, but it’s different when it’s Azizi who’s the one that’s hurt.

“Oh my god! Azizi!” he cries, gently taking Azizi’s hand in his own and turning around to examine the damage, “Are you like, okay? Holy shit!”

Looking down at his right hand Azizi can see where the knuckles are already beginning to swell and bruise. The bad news is that it hurts, the good news is his hand doesn’t appear to be broken. Good for him and for the tricks; such is the nature of his work.

“I’m fine, babe,” he replies to Gogo, eyeing the man on the ground like he might have to go in for round two, “Just some bruises, that’s all.”

Thinking quickly, Cyril grabs ice from behind the bar and rushes over to help the pair. If that asshole wants to try something else- and, frankly, he’s high enough that he might- then he’ll be there to put all six feet of himself between them. Finally the injured man does stand, wobbling back and forth uneasily on his feet before locking rage filled eyes with Azizi.

“You’re gonna fucking regret that,” he grunts, “Just wait until Chaka hears what you whores have been up to. Just you fucking wait-”

“Out!” Cyril barks, “Out before I call in the big guns and have you hauled out of here by your hair!”

Grateful, Gogo mouths a thank you to Cyril before going back to fretting over his Azizi. He’s no medic but the bruising looks severe to him, so he holds the ice against the wounds in a desperate attempt to stop it from getting worse. Really he should be used to this, used to the threat of violence and the fear. How many fights has he seen Azizi gets into, heart pounding in his ears as he watches in abject horror, powerless to help or to stop it? The answer is far too many times.

“As if Chaka would give you the time of day,” Azizi sneers, “Do your worst.”

But the truth is he is worried, if only just a little bit. If word gets back to Chaka that he’s here then-

You belong to me, Zi. Do you know what that means? It means you’re never going anywhere I don’t want you to go. You try that shit and watch what happens. It’s not just your ass on the line, is it?

Still the threat of violence, a little blood spilled... it’s thrilling, right? He feels alive, like waking up after a long nap.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, “Fuck.”

To be continued...

#flight rising lore #flight rising #flightrising #lore: the velvet fang #sorry if i missed something in the warnings!#still trying to get back into the groove of writing and posting lore on here

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chase-the-windandtouch-the-sky · 4 years

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This was a prompt I received that I stupidly responded to the ask already, but here is the fic! The prompt was that Joe has nightmares from a time when he and Nicky were separated for a week. It was a crazy coincidence because I had been writing in my large WIP IN EXILE, SEEING YOU OUT, Nicky mentioning that a week was the longest they’d been apart, after being shipwrecked. So, here is the fic, my lovely Anon!

Usually sleeping was nothing more than a utility. Joe always found being awake was far more entertaining, the only good parts of being asleep was being able to hold Nicky as close as he possibly can. It was like slotting into place, holding Nicky. Nicky also insisted on being by the door, his hands wrapped around Joe’s and a gun hidden beneath the pillow. It was a solid, warm presence on his chest, and it always reminded him that Nicky was here with him.

It was good to be reminded.

It was very rare the two were separated. In fact, he could count on one hand the amount of times they were away from each other for more than a day. Sometimes because of a mission, once because of a poorly timed ferry disaster.

And once because of an actual disaster.

Joe tries not to think of it too much. It’s a painful memory, and a terrifying one. Except after long battles and long fights, Joe holds Nicky a little closer. As tightly as he can. If it ever hurts or bothers Nicky, the man never says anything. If anything, Nicky clutches his hand tighter, as if he knows. Knows that Joe needs the grounding. Knows that he has to hold him close.

The nightmares don’t come often, but usually after a particularly difficult battle, it’s all that’s his subconscious can conjure. So when they are back in a safehouse, blood washed away from their skin, clean sheets, clean clothes. So when his eyes close, face nuzzling into Nicky’s neck, he stills his concern by listening to his loves heart.

He wants it to be enough.

His mind has other thoughts.

They’re on a tradeship in 1623. Joe had managed to talk his way on board, even though he was pretty sure these people were one step above pirates. Fortunately, Nicky stopped his concerns with traveling with the wrong people somewhere in the 1200s, and merely watched amusedly as Joe got them safe passage. The two of them are topside, Nicky always insisting that they are near the water.

“It is a beautiful night, isn’t it my love.” He says quietly, moving closer. The two are not touching, having experienced the wrong end of poor manners in that regard. Nicky said he didn’t care and Joe said fuck em, but neither of them can steer a ship by themselves. So, they put their anger aside and stand close enough for their shoulders to touch. “The moon is particularly beautiful.”

Joe looks up where at it, bright and sharp in the sky. “It is. Thought I’d much rather watch you talk about the sea.”

Nicky’s face scrunches into something fond and loving, turning back to face him. “But you know how much I love hearing your voice.”

“Well, you can’t be selfish, Nicolo. Watching you talk about the sea is like speaking to God, only I find you much more desirable.”

Nicky can’t help but laugh, bright and clear. Joe always is amazing when he laughs. If starlight could make a sound, it would not have a chance against his love.

So Nicky tells him about growing up on the water. The way he would fish in the summers and would dip his feet into the water. Neither of them have been able to go to their hometowns, hundreds of years later. They both have fond memories with the places and aren’t sure if they’re ready to change that. It was who they were, not how they move forward.

But Joe does like this. When he hears Nicky think about the things he loves. It makes him want to go, but it’s for Nicky to share, just as it is his to share his home. He can’t help it, he reaches out and wraps his hands in his loves and listens.

The rain starts to pick up and Joe frowns, watching it roll down his cheeks. “I know you like sleeping topside my love, but I think we should go to drier land.”

“I think you are right.”

The events that happen next are too quick for Joe to comprehend.

After the fact, he unscrambles them to try and put the pieces together. The events, he realizes later, go like this:

One: lightning strikes.

It strikes against the cloth of the sail, a fire lighting up the sky. Nicky and Joe turn quickly at it, eyes wide. “My god,” Joe breathes, the fire soon engulfing the entire ship. He instinctively grabs Nicky’s arm – to pull him close. “W-We—”

Two: the ship hits something.

It’s a sharp, jarring throw. The two of them break apart by the force of nature, the only thing strong enough to do so. Joe launches against the railing, a sharp pain in his gut as he feels a few ribs break. They start to snap back, but not before he sees Nicky sprawled across the ship, trying to get his bearings. The lightning is all around them, illuminating Nicky’s face as he looks across the ship to Joe.

“Yusuf!” Nicky calls from across the ship, his words terrified in a way he rarely hears.

Three: he loses Nicky.

It’s slow and fast all at once. Joe’s noticed that time has a tricky way of doing that, speeding up and slowing down at the most inconvenient times.

The ship is thrown, the fire rages, and a wave washes over the railings. Joe wraps his wrist around a rope and is tossed a but manages to stay aboard. He shakes his head dazedly, blinking a few times to get the world back in focus. He looks over to where Nicky was on the ship’s deck, sprawled out.

He’s gone.

“Nicky,” he chokes out salt water, the worlds barely understandable. “Nicolo!”

Unwrapping his arm from the rope, he sprints across the ship. “Nicky! Nicky, where are you? Nicky!”

He shouts his name hundreds of more times.

Nicky never answers.

***

The next time Joe is conscious, he’s on a beach. The sand is in his hair, his skin feels bloated, and he’s far too hot. He lets out a strangled cry, but its so raspy. He screamed himself hoarse for Nicky. Then, he found himself in the sea, salt water filling his lungs. Then he died. He died again and again and again. He hasn’t moved from the hot sand.

He died once more.

After a while, he manages to clamber to his feet, his skin on fire and singed. His limbs feel broken and messy, Joe lifting his head to the sky. “Nicky,” he calls, but his voice barely registers.

So he tries again.

And again.

Joe isn’t sure of a lot in life. But he is sure of Nicky.

And he’s sure he’ll find him.

***

It’s the first night he hasn’t had Nicky pressed against him in two hundred years. Joe can’t fall asleep. The sky is clear and the moon is out, as innocent as a night can be. He looks at the moon, the same bastard moon the two of them were looking at the night before. His eyes water. “Fuck you!” He shouts at the moon. “Fuck you!”

He’s not entirely sure how sane he is if he’s yelling at the moon.

But he’d trade it.

He’d trade the fucking moon to have Nicky back. To have him pressed against him.

The moon doesn’t offer a trade.

Joe curses at it some more.

***

On the fourth day, Joe is losing hope.

Nicky would be so ashamed. He wanders the island, trying to find him, forgetting to drink water and sleep. He died a few more times, almost hearing his loves voice whenever he came back. “This is so reckless, Yusuf. How can I find you if you’re dead?”

“Ah, my dear love, I am trying to find you. How can I think of things like water and food when I am focused?”

“Oh my love,” he would be so exasperated. “I need you alive. A little help would be nice.”

“Then why don’t you come here and help?”

Joe is on his back, talking to the sky.

***

On the seventh day, he goes to the edge of the island. “Nicky!” He shouts.

Like all the other times, no one answers.

A light rain starts, just like that night. It starts to rain harder, and Joe’s desperation and anger grows with it. “What do you want?” He calls to the sky not for the first time since being alone.

The rain is heavy. He can barely see bast his own hand, his entire body chilling to ice. He wonders what they did to deserve this. If it was a cruel twist of fate to have someone, only for them to be taken away. Joe looks to the left where his blade is.

Maybe humanity didn’t deserve what they were trying to do. They would try and protect, and this is what they got in return? Blinking, a few tears roll down his cheeks. “What do you want—” he says, broken. “What do you want in return? To bring him back to me?”

“I do not know?” A voice says behind him. “I would imagine it is what I want.”

Joe shuts his eyes.

He can’t handle this being fake. He turns and there’s a silhouetted figure ahead of him. He lets out a broken sob. “Please.”

Before he can even lose it, there’s a pair of hands on his face and a pair of lips against his. Nicky kisses him with a ferocity that takes his breath away. The man pulls him close, hands gripping tightly at his shirt and pressing his hands against his back. It’s as if there is no space small enough for him.

And there isn’t.

As Joe reciprocates, he thinks that the moon has nothing on the man in his arms.

***

He sits up with a jolt, a thin layer of sweat on his brow. Nicky startles under him, propping his head up on his temple. “My love, what is it?” Nicky asks sleepily, turning so that he can see him.

Joe is breathing heavily, the taste of salt water on his tongue. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry for waking you.”

“It’s not nothing.” Nicky says, brushing Joe’s curls aside. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Joe sees the fire. He sees the waves. He tastes the ocean. He feels the despair. “No,” he says quietly, his voice raspy. “I would… I would just like to hold you.”

Nicky surveys him for a moment, his attention fully on him, sleep nowhere in sight. Joe looks back, his mind on that ship. When whatever examination Nicky is doing is over, he grabs Joe’s arm and wraps it around his chest. “I’m here.”

He says it, but Joe doesn’t realize how much he needed to hear it.

So he plays it over his head like a mantra, until sleep takes him to a kinder shore.

#the old guard #the old guard fanfiction #joe x nicky #joe #nicky #yusuf al kaysani #yusuf x nicolo #nicolo di genova #fic prompts #lindsey writes #drabbles #I hope you liked it anon!

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