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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Baby, It’s Cold...

Warnings: this fic includes dubious/nonconsent, fingering, lying, manipulation, and general Ransom naughtiness

This is explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: You go to meet your online admirer but not all is as it seems.

Note: Our Chris-mas fic is here! I tried to keep the holiday details as vague as possible and hope you all enjoy what I came up with. As a reminder, y’all chose Ransom Drysdale + Sugar Daddy + Silverfox (= yes please)

I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think! (Like, reblog, reply, leave some words, a gif, nonsensical emojis)

Your nerves wouldn't stop. It was the tap of your fingers, the urge to chew your thumb, and the way you shifted in your seat just when you got settled. The flight was long enough to calm down and definitely not long enough to prepare yourself.

You scrolled through your phone, offline for the journey. You swiped through the photos saved in your gallery. Hugh had paid for the ticket. A gift for the holidays he said; his gift, he added, was you. It was cheesy but it made you smile. He always had a way of surprising you. One moment, he was stern and demanding, the next he was flirty and fun, and sometimes, he could be sappy. He was different than any man you’d met; well you hadn’t exactly met yet.

It had started on your Insta. You liked to post pictures of pretty things; flowers, birds, critters, and the odd monument. Sometimes, even, yourself. He messaged you about some photo of a vintage book. It was random and awkward. You weren’t quite sure how you managed to bring the quality to text but you did always find a way.

But it continued and you got to know him. He knew a lot about books; he said he worked in publishing. As a photography student, you weren’t as impressive. You assumed he was older; a few years, he said. Well, that wasn’t so bad. He also suggested you keep some prints; it could make for a good coffee table book. You liked hat he humoured you but you were like any other arts major; you were waiting for your green apron.

As they announced the landing over the speaker, you buckled in. You played with the locked buckle. You had lied to your mother. You told her you were staying on campus for the winter break. What would do if she knew if you were meeting a stranger? Huh, you were meeting a stranger and you had kept it all a secret. Your romcom had just become a horror in your mind.

Well, you had the app on the phone. The one that would send your location if you didn’t log in within the next eight hours. But it could be too late by then. Shit, this was stupid. So stupid. You could hide and tell him you missed your flight. Well, fuck, you’d texted him just before boarding.

As the plane descended you went through every worst case scenario; catfish, liar, murderer… Hugh was hot as fuck and you had to admit, a rich guy with eyes like his, was way out of your league. You bit your lip as you looked at the pic of him at the beach; was it the abs that made you so dumb or the smirk?

The large wheels rolled over the tarmac as the pilot steered past the other planes and into position. You waited as disembarkment began and the attendants reminded passengers to remain seated until told otherwise. You felt the wine in your stomach swish. Hugh had paid for first class; you had enjoyed the complimentary drinks a little too much. The first had been for courage, the second for foolishness.

Finally, it was time to get up. Time to face your naivety. Why did these things seem like a good idea until the last minute? Rather, why did you think they were? This was like that blind date in your freshman year that turned out to be a prank by your roommates. Sophomore year saw you relocated.

What if the same was going through Hugh’s head? What if he was disappointed? It was easy to seem cooler than you were behind a screen. It wasn’t exactly like you broadcasted the fact that you spent all your time in the library or the fact that your study group was the majority of your socialization. Well, maybe you’d both be let down and you could laugh about it together.

You grabbed your carry-on and followed the rest of the passengers down the ramp and into the tunnel. You felt like you were in a movie or a dream. It was surreal. Had you really flown all this way to meet this online pal?

As you reached the escalators, you turned your phone off of airplane mode. There was a message waiting for you. ‘At the gate.’ It was all too real as you sent back an emoji and neared the belt to grab your bag. You extended the arm and rolled it behind you as you headed for the last barrier. You were waved through customs and met another set of escalators. You bounced your leg as you descended.

You got to the bottom and walked around as you searched those waiting around the gate. Blonde hair, you couldn’t miss it. Blue eyes, tall, broad shoulders… he was the type to stand out in the crowd.

“Hey,” you felt a large hand on your back and another on the handle of your bag. “Right here.”

The deep voice was the same from your phone calls. You smiled and looked over as he took your bag entirely and wrapped his arm around you.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here.” You turned to him and his hand rested on your hip as he faced you.

The air went out of you and your lips parted. You blinked and sputtered. “H- Hi.”

“You okay? How was the flight?” He asked.

You were in shock. Your entire body jittered and your breath was trapped in your chest. It was Hugh but he was about twenty years older than his photos. Most of his hair was silver, with only a few strands of blonde, and though he hadn’t aged poorly, the difference was stark. Handsome as he still was, he had lied.

“It was… fine.” You forced out. “I…” You shook your head and pouted as your thoughts raced, “Hugh, you’re… older than I expected.”

“Call me Ransom. Everybody does.” He leaned it, “Why don’t we talk about this in the car?”

You looked around. You couldn’t really just turn around and go home, could you? You lowered your chin and sucked in your lip as you thought. What else had he lied about?

“Sure,” you said thinly. “I…”

“Babe, it’s me,” he coaxed, “I’m exactly who I said I was. And you, you’re even more gorgeous in person.”

You glanced at him and nodded. You hooked your shoulder bag over your arm and he grabbed your hand as he pulled you with him. The wheels of your suitcase rolled loudly behind him as the buzz of the crowd drowned out your panicked mind. You let him guide you, in disbelief. You didn’t know what else to do.

You were outside as the haze cleared. You approached a car, sleek and sporty, though you were never good with types. Hugh, or Ransom, opened the trunk and dropped your bag inside. He went to the driver’s side and opened the door as you stared across at him. You mirrored him and lowered yourself into the passenger’s seat. The doors closed almost in unison and you stared through the windshield at the unfamiliar parking lot.

He cleared his throat and turned the engine. You snapped your belt into place as he shifted into gear. You flinched and crossed your arms. You peeked at him in the rearview and his hand crawled onto your thigh. His eyes met yours in the mirror and he smirked. You were paralysed as he steered with one hand and his fingers tapped against your jeans.

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he said, “Or… happy holidays. Whatever’s politically correct.”

He laughed and you only managed to choke on your spit. You felt like you should be mad but did you have any right to be? He hadn’t exactly catfished you. Not completely. And he had paid for your ticket and from what you could tell, he was just as rich as he claimed. Yet, that wasn’t exactly why you’d come. Sure, it was all just in good fun, you didn’t expect a whirlwind romance, but it was still jarring.

“Why don’t you just relax?” he purred, “I know it wasn’t too long a flight but flying always takes it outta me. And you’ll need your energy. I have lots of surprises in store for you.”

You nodded and leaned against the door. You hugged yourself and lifted your leg over the other and Ransom’s hand slipped away. He seemed unbothered as he sat back in his seat and turned his attention to the road.

The radio flicked on and filled the tense silence. You clung to the unknown lyrics to keep from drowning in fear.

🎁

Despite your doubts, you couldn’t help but be astounded by Ransom’s house. Almost four years in a dormitory and the Holiday Inn was like a palace to you, but his place was even more than that. A modern façade with a blanket of store across the sprawling yards which seemed to have been perfectly laid to match the straight lines of the structure.

You stayed in the car as Ransom climbed out and took your bag from the trunk. You jumped in your seat as he tapped on the window with his knuckle. You looked over at him and undid your belt. You got out, your bag dangling from your wrist, and he touched the small of your back again as he led you forward.

“We’ll have dinner and then you can open your gifts,” he said, “That’s when the fun will start.”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed as he unlocked the door with a code and ushered you in.

You watched him hang his jacket and reluctantly unzipped your own. You put your bag down but kept a hold of your phone.

“You’re nervous,” he intoned.

“Why did you send me those pics and not something more recent? You lied.” You said.

His mouth slanted and he raised his brows. “They were me. Not much of a lie.”

“Enough of one, don’t you think?”

He chuckled. “I think you at least owe me a little leeway. Considering.”

“Considering what? You offered to pay. Don’t hold that over me.”

“I’m not but… you’re young, you’re impulsive. I mean, you came all the way here and now what? You’re going to tuck tail and run home? Spend the last of that bursary money so you can hide?”

“Don’t patronize me,” you huffed as you stepped out of your boots.

“I’m not.” He said firmly. “I’m giving you advice and it’s hard to see when you’re young but we both know you’re smarter than your age. We both know what this is and me being older isn’t going to affect that.” His eyes roved over you, “Is it?”

You lowered your lashes and thought. You wetted your lips and looked down at your phone. You unlocked it and opened the app. You keyed in your password and turned off the alert. You’d come this far and you were fairly certain he wouldn’t murder you. Besides, your mother would kill you once she found out you’d come all this way.

“It’s just gonna take me a bit to get used to it,” you tucked your phone away, “But promise me, that’s it. The only lie.”

“Promise,” he said gently, “Now, dinner should be here soon so why don’t you get changed.”

“Changed?” You snorted, “What--”

“Up the stairs, the room at the end of the hall, there’s a red box on the bed. It should fit. If it doesn’t, I’m sure it’ll still look great on you.”

You smiled as your cheeks burned. He was older but he still had charm and had aged into his looks and not out of them.

“Alright,” you said, “I… what’s for dinner?”

“Another surprise,” he replied as he neared and leaned in, “I’m more excited about dessert.” His breath tickled your cheek, his lips too, and you shivered. “Now go, we’ve both waited long enough for this.”

You drew away and turned to head up the stairs. He tapped your ass and you squeaked. You looked back over his shoulder and he winked. “Can’t help myself,” he raised his hands, “But I’ll try.”

You continued up the stairs and tried not to gape at what had to be expensive art. The furniture was no less extravagant and as you entered the room at the end of the hall, you closed the door and pulled out your phone. You typed in Ransom instead of Hugh Drysdale and pages of results popped up. Editor, Publisher, and Owner of Blood Like Wine Publishing. Jesus Christ, were you really that daft?

Well, he was famous enough to reassure you he wasn’t going to kill you. You tossed your phone on the bed beside the box and carefully untied the black ribbon around it. You shimmied the lid off and revealed the red velvet. You lifted it up, a short little piece trimmed with white fur. It was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever seen but scandalous nevertheless.

You stripped as your nerves only got worse. You slipped into the dress, it was tight around your chest and the short skirt had a slit along the thigh. You wanted to laugh at yourself. There was a pair of heels at the foot of the bed and you sat to slip on the stilettos. You stood and wobbled. You felt so dumb but a glance in the mirrored door of the closet gave you pause. Not bad.

You slowly made your way down the stairs. You held tight to the railing and as you came to the bottom, you looked around at the airy halls. You wandered into the next room and back to the kitchen. You stopped in the doorway as Ransom looked up from the counter. He carefully plated the food from the containers surrounded by paper bags. Expensive, boujie take out.

“The other way,” he smiled, “Past the stairs. I’ll be in shortly.”

“Oh, okay,” you spun and caught yourself on the wall.

You found your way to the room across the hall. There was an artificial fireplace in the wall burning and a low table with two cushions planted deliberately on the floor. There was a bucket with ice and champagne in it and two glasses waiting. You crossed to it and touched the petals of the stemmed roses in the tall crystal vase.

You turned as you heard footsteps. Ransom entered with two plates. He passed you and set them down on the low table. He spun back to you and took in every inch of you. “Wow, you look… great.”

“Thank you,” you shied away and he caught your hands. He pulled you close as the candlelight gleamed along his silver hair.

“Come here,” his hand grazed your arm and he caught your chin, “Amazing.”

He brushed his lips against yours and pressed them more firmly. You let him as you heart hammered and he pulled away as he nibbled your bottom lip.

“Let’s eat,” he breathed. “Before it gets cold.”

You followed him to the table and sat on the cushion. It was difficult as your skirt rode up and you bent your legs beside you awkwardly as Ransom popped the cork. He poured the wine and you sipped at the foam. You could still feel the glow of the grigio you’d downed on the plane.

“So, did you bring your camera? Tomorrow we might go out and you can get some photos. It’s beautiful in the winter. Cold but makes warming up all the better.”

“Yeah…” You took a bite of the salad. “So, why didn’t you tell me who you were? If your age doesn’t matter, then--”

“You didn’t ask me for money. Not even when I mentioned it. Most women, I tell them who I am, they google me, and they do a poor job of tiptoeing around my checkbook.” He shrugged. “And I like you. I wanted to get to know you without everything else.”

“Get to know me?” You scoffed. “That’s what you call it?”

“My intentions were innocent. At first. I thought your pictures might make a good book and then I found one of you. Business isn’t everything.”

“Oh,” you fluttered your lashes, “It’s not?”

His hand snaked over to your thigh and he squeezed. He played with the fur along your skirt.

“I have enough money.” He said, “What I want isn’t so simple.”

🎁

You finished dinner and washed it down with the champagne as Ransom cleared the plates. As came back, you sat on your knees and watched him cross the room. There was a table stacked with presents in the corner. You only just noticed it as he looked it over and picked out one wrapped in gold paper.

He neared and held it out to you. You took it and ran your finger over the edge. “Your gift is in my bag,” you tried to stand and he waved you off.

“Later,” he said, “Open it.”

You slid your finger under a fold and tore. You slowly unwrapped the box; black and shiny. You crumpled the paper and dropped it on the table. You wiggled the lid off a revealed a pair of black furry cuffs. You giggled.

“Thanks,” you looked up at him.

“Stand up,” he said.

“W-Why?” You tilted your head.

“You gotta try them on,” he grinned, “Come on. Just a little bit of fun.”

“I don’t know, I never--”

“I know you didn’t come here just for steak so come on, get up.” He demanded, “And turn around.”

You bit down as you stared up at him. You wanted to laugh but the lines in his forehead warned you he was serious. He bent and took the cuffs from you and set the box aside. You stood, numb and shaky. You didn’t believe it. He wasn’t going to--

He spun you around and swept your arms behind you. You tried to pull away as he caught your left wrist in a cuff and quickly hooked the other. They closed tight around your wrists and he tugged on the link as if to test them.

You stared at the artificial flames licking at the glass. He cupped your ass and dragged his hands around to grip your hips.

“They look nice,” he purred, “Oh, baby.”

He bent and nuzzled your neck as he brought his arms around you and kneaded your tits. He pushed them up as he nibbled at your skin.

“These… are perfect,” he kissed you and teased your flesh with his teeth. “Fuck.”

He pulled down the top of your dress and bared your chest. You wriggled and he hugged your waist he kept you close.

“What are you doing, baby? Where are you going to go?” He tweaked your nipple, “Dressed like a little slut.”

“Hey,” you gasped and he retracted his hand to smack your ass.

He hushed you as his fingers crept down your thigh and he rolled up your skirt an inch at a time. “What are these?” He snapped your panties, “You don’t need those.” He pulled them below your ass and they fell to your ankles. “Let me show you what an old man does better than any kid.”

He reached around you and tickled your pelvis. He raised his head and inhaled the scent of your scalp as his hot breath glossed over your head.

“Don’t be shy now… or would you feel better with a camera?” He taunted. “Hmmm?”

“Hu--Ransom,” you uttered.

“Come on,” he forced his hand between your legs and flicked between your folds. “What did you think this was? How long did you think I’d wait?”

“No, but--” You gasped as he toyed with your clit, “Ransom.”

“Say it again,” he swirled his fingers.

You gulped and moaned as he rubbed harder. Your legs quaked around his hand as he slid his fingers further back. You felt your arousal slicken as he spread it over your cunt and poked around your entrance. He slid a finger inside of you as he wiggled his crotch against your hands.

“Is this what you came for? Or did you want all of me?” He pushed another finger in. “You want me inside you, baby? Stretching you?”

You groaned as he curled his fingers and pressed the hell of his hand to your clit. He rocked his hand and cried out. Your legs cramped as your feet curled in the high stilettos.

“It doesn’t really matter what you came for,” he pushed on your shoulder until you bent forward. He caught the middle of the cuffs and held you like that. “I’m gonna get what I want.”

You closed your eyes and whined as he pulled his fingers out of you. You quivered and he spanked you before he withdrew his hand entirely. You felt him fumbling behind you as you shook your head. As you had been since you met him, you were off-balance. You couldn’t decide if what he wanted was what you wanted too.

You felt a prod along your ass. He brushed his tip down your cheek and poked between your legs. He wetted himself on your folds and pushed along your entrance. Slowly, he slid into you, grunting as he sank past his tip. Deeper and deeper until you threw your head up and moaned. He filled you completely; painfully and delightfully.

“Yeah, you want me.” He hissed as he thrust and jerked your body. “You want to be mine, don’t you?”

You hummed as he moved against you, your shoulders straining as he tugged on the cuffs.

“Say it. Say you want to be mine.”

“Ah,” you moaned, “I want-- to-- I-- I’m yours.”

“You’re mine, baby,” he snarled, “All mine. Aren’t you?”

“Y-y-yes,” your eyes rolled back as he sped up.

He rammed into you so hard your legs buckled. He growled and followed you down. He bent you over the table as swept the bucket and vase out of the way. He got to his knees as he pinned you over the top and crushed your hips against the edge. Your cheek was hot against the cool table as he jolted you.

“Mine,” he grunted, “Baby, all mine…”

He rutted into you as his voice mingled with yours. You whimpered as your legs tingled and your core bloomed. You let out a feral whine as you came, convulsing beneath him as he gripped the table above your shoulder.

“You want me.” He rasped, “You want me to cum in you.”

“I-I-I…” You twisted your hands as you struggled to think; struggled to do more than murmur wildly.

“Fuck.” He swore and you felt him burst.

He slowed as he slapped the table and when he stilled, he held himself over you and his breath sent a shudder through you. He sat back on his knees and slid out of you. His cum spilled down your thigh and you slumped down against him. He pinched the velvet bunched around our waist.

“You got more gifts to open, baby,” he slapped your ass as he stood, “You think you can keep up with an old man like me?”

#dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #knives out #ransom drysdale x reader #fic #one shot #request #merry chris-mas #seasonal #holiday fic

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lilkermit14 · 3 years

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Lavender & Mint

Fem!reader x Pero Tovar

Synposis: In the conventional village of Cullfield lived an unconventional woman who served as an apothecary for the townsfolk. Stubborn and set in her ways, the woman of three tens remains unmarried and childless and plans to continue as such for the rest of her life, much to the horror and confusion of the village. But this unconventional woman has some surprises in store for her when an unconventional man named Pero Tovar rides into town, an event that will change both her and his plans forever—and may flip Cullfield upside down too.

Notes: Idk why I kept mentioning poop complications this chapter but I’m sorry and enjoy. It’s been a while but the CHAPTER is here. Please reblog!!!!

General Warnings: minor injuries, slow-burn, eventual smut, blood, childbirth

For this chapter: Non-sexual references to poop, mention pregnancy, murder, implicit brief reference to infanticide or child abandonment, pre-marital pregnancy and it’s complications in the 1400s, religious “morals”.

Chapter 5: Garlic

Last chapter // Next chapter

“When was the last time you passed bowels, Mister Ashdown?” you inquire, pressing on the old man’s stomach knowing you have found the root cause of his stomach issues. He blinks for a moment thinking as he lays on your observation table, before telling you, “quite some time I’m afraid.”

“I see,” you move your hands away putting your hands on your hips, “well, it seems that you just have a case of constipation––burdensome but not something hard to fix or that will have you laying on your deathbed.”

“You sure?” he asks, almost confused, moving to rise up from the table by himself only for you to come to his assistance. You clarify yourself, “Yes, you have many signs that point to it. It can be caused by a lack of competitive foods in your diet and is more likely with old age.”

“I’m not that old,” He interjects, but you compete, “Yes, but you're old enough for a blockage sir––you’ll be glad to know you’ll live to be truly old as long the burden is treated.”

He huffs now in a sitting position with legs dangling from the table, “so what do you have so i’ll shit.”

You huff at his language, “standard garlic will help move the process along, and I’m suggesting you make sure to eat more greens and berries to clear your system.”

You always assumed that you were let free to discuss any matters with your patients when they were the only ones in the shop, as no one else resided in your residence besides you. But that arrangement had changed and you were not the only one that resided in your home, “If my cock and bowels stop working just have someone put me out of my misery.”

You turn rigid and scandalized to see the face of Pero Tovar standing in your back entrance of the shop—entered unbeknownst to you through quiet steps and a lack of clear view. Mister Ashdown has no qualms defending himself, “I’m only five tens and if my cock doesn’t work how is my wife pregnant?”

You want to scream having to hear this conversation and did certainly not want to be reminded of the conversations you were subjected to by Farrah Ashdown. When the woman at four tens and five found out she was pregnant she spared no expense in telling you how it happened. You opted to rush him along before you could get his account of what he does with his wife, “okay sir here’s your supply get going now.”

“Enjoy the shit,” you hear Pero say and before mister ashdown can respond he is out your door. You turn to Pero fury and rage evident on your face as you are prepared to let the flames of hell loose on him. All he has is a stupid look on his face as he lets out the word, “what?”

“You bastard,” you begin pointing your finger at him moving towards him with menace in your voice towards a man that stands unbothered, “you do not talk to ANY of my clients in such manner especially in my shop.”

“Why is that hermosa? I would be rude to that man outside of your business, what makes your apothecary different?” He queries again with that name, only increasing your anger and distaste for him at the moment. With clenched teeth, you answer him, “I don’t care what you say to Mister Ashdown in town, but my shop is a place of respect––a place where anyone can come for health problems even if they are embarrassing. I want people to know they won’t be judged here because if they feel like they will be, they will come when it’s too late and I can’t do anything for them.”

Pero raises his brow at you, but lets you continue your rant uninterrupted, “When my mother was still alive, a young woman at ten and six came to us complaining of diarrhea, something she was embarrassed to talk about because it was gross and she did not want suitors to find out. Turns out she had sickness from a miasma––we took one look down the town well and discovered a deer had fallen in and died overnight.”

“That was lucky,” he comments, still invested in your story despite the vile nature of talking about excretion. You continue, “Yes, and we may not have caught it so soon if she didn’t come to us. The sickness is fast acting, in hours many more villagers could have been sick, but it was only her––and she lived.”

“Lived?” you smile at his question feeling pride at the healing powers your mom had and hope you live up to, “Yes, the sickness causes dehydration quickly but if you keep the person well hydrated and area clean to prevent reinfection––they will live. This summer she gave birth to her third child at my aid.”

“So their trust is important to you?” you give him a simple nod, glad he is understanding what you were asking of him. You turn to clean up the materials you had brought out to examine Mister Ashdown, not realizing that Pero was not done with questions, “Like how that woman came to you the other day crying in distress?”

You freeze––you had really thought the interest in Mariam had ended when William had first asked you about her the day after asking if she was okay. You nodded and told him it was just feminine needs and didn’t serve much interest in men, something that usually turned men away from asking questions. Well not Pero Tovar I guess, “Why was she crying?”

“It’s a complicated matt––”

“Things of safety are something I have to worry about you know,” He interjects, and you turn your head looking at him to see something serious cross his face, “I have to keep everyone in this village safe––you in particular hermosa––and I want to know if theres something you need to tell me.”

“Part of gaining trust is not telling personal information,” you counter, pulling together to formulate a lie, “It’s nothing of safety she was upset about something––she’s a friend of sorts to me.”

You can tell he doesn’t buy it––he can probably pull the full story together even though you doubt he’s heard a single thing about Mariam’s husband beating her––but he accepts, slouching and learning against a table in thought, “William and I may go for a short hunt––there's not much action in this town I’m afraid and we could use some fresh game.”

You nod, “If you catch any pigeon, I know how to handle it so it's not gamey.”

He huffs, “We're not very good hunters I’m afraid, so you’ll probably only get that or rabbit.”

–––––––––––––––––––

Pero Tovar had useful traits to him––like getting you pigeons––but he was mostly an annoyance. His mere presence always had you on edge, as you waited for something, something from him. It was usually something he said but if not it was his scent or stench rather of pine and something that was him. It was also his sloppy manner, the way he seemed raised with no table manners as he ate all your meals. He spoiled Mite, petting him and feeding him table scraps much to your despair. He was also too loud, his boots filling up the cottage and shop with noise, something that never usually happened.

You lent some time today to make more bread for the household, settling at your dining table and working the necessary ingredients for dough together. Mite lays in the corner, not doing his job as per usual and watching you with some sort of interest in the mannerisms of bread making, but he was likely just hoping for more food in the future. Kneading dough you begin to imagine the dough is Pero kneading your frustration into it. You press and it is his stupid broad shoulders that take up too much space. You pull, it’s the curls on the nape of his neck that are too unruly and untidy. You slam it down, it’s that stupid smile that appears on his face when you have entertained him. God you hate Pero Tovar.

“You may want to stop before you overwork the dough sweetheart,” You stop and see Mildred Becker staring at you with an amused look on her face. You huff Jesus, what does she want, “Sorry for my state, I didn’t hear you enter.”

“Don’t worry I understand too well––I always work out my anger into the dough,” you chuckle a little thinking about how a woman with too many children works out anger the same way as you––you definitely hate Pero Tovar, “I just stopped by because I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

You perk up, “Is Cateline suffering from baby blues again.”

“No, No thank the lord––we’ve been watching over her better this time,” Mildred rounds off, and you remember despite the grievances she gives you, she is a good mother to her children. She was the first to notice that something was wrong with her daughter after the birth and came to you to talk about it. From there Cateline was able to recover and enjoy motherhood, “Something with your house guest Pero Tovar has come to my attention.”

“What did he do,” You ask, prepared to beat Pero Tovar with your broom, but Mildred settles you, “nothing he did, just something someone is doing around him.”

You raise your brow at her beckoning her to continue, “You know Stanislava Rolfe?”

“Of course,” you affirm, surprised she is asking you such a question when you have treated everyone in Cullfield five times over. Mildred continues, “Yes well, She has begun to work at the Inn as a barmaid––she did well with charming Balthasar I guess.”

You were wondering why a poor farmer's daughter’s career path interested you, but you didn’t interject, “I happened to take a quick ale there with my husband, when I noticed something with her and Pero Tovar. You see she appeared extra flirtatious with him––and although barmaids usually are flirty with men in hopes for extra coin, it was more intentional.”

You frown, how could such a beautiful young girl be interested in such a disgusting brute, “Why is she interested in him?”

“Who knows? Many of the girls around Cullfield were excited to see unfamiliar battle-hardened men I supposed,” She ponders for a moment, “all we do know is that she is likely interested in him.”

“I don’t think he is interested in taking a wife,” You contest, brushing aside that Pero would have feelings for the young girl of two tens. Mildred just gives you a hardened stare, “He doesn’t have to be interested in matrimony to want something from her.”

“Was he showing interest back?” you dig trying to figure out the full extent of what you are formulating must be a whirlwind romance. Mildred hums, “no I suppose not, but sometimes men take persistent interest as a way to have a good time.”

You bite your lip remembering that Pero did not fornicate with prostitutes but barmaids, and feel a ball of ache and pain in your stomach at the thought. Mildred instates, “I came to you about this because I want you to try to stop it.”

“Stop it?”

“Yes, make it clear he is to not have such guests,” Mildred explains, and you can tell by her tone and expression you are in for some sort of story, “You know well enough that things go arigh when an unmarried woman gets pregnant, right.”

“Of course,” you remember the chaos that erupted in families when one of their daughters ended up pregnant, and the hasty weddings that came from it. But Mildred had a different story, “although most of the time it gets swept under the rug with a quick marriage and everyone just chooses to ignore it––horrid things can happen when there's not one.”

Mildred sits down at the nearby table, in clear thought of something dark and you go to sit down at a nearby chair, “When I was about ten and eight, and old enough to understand these things, a girl was taken advantage of by a soldier in our village. She was ten and six, and him far older so he should have had the wisdom not to mess with her. What mattered was after it happened, he left with his troop and was never seen in my home village again. She got pregnant, and tried to hide it at first––her mom was dead and she had no older sisters or aunts to go to, so she was afraid to go to her father. When it became too obvious, hate inspired awful things in the leaders of the village, and by the time she gave birth it accumulated.”

Mildred takes a moment to pause, emotions brewing inside her and you feel yourself frozen in place, “she tried to talk to them, pleading, saying he pressured her––persuaded her, but they all pointed and said witch and condemned her son too. She was burn’t at the stake, and her son––well he was never seen again.”

A pause fills the air as you sit in shock, digesting what Mildred has told you, “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

Mildred huffs, “I’m sorry too, I made sure to get a husband that would get me out of that village and landed a good one on the way––I had seen what that village did to women and children for the sake of moral value and did not intend to stay so my daughters could see too. Adultery is a two person crime that only one party, the feminine one, receives punishment for.”

“So that's why Pero and Stanislava are of such concern to you?” You assume, and Mildred nods, “Although I think Cullfield is of better standing, I don’t desire to find out what they would do if such a case erupted. The girl may be doing this because she intends to capture a man with a better job, but mercenaries rest for a few women and not those of ten and eight.”

“I can understand her intentions I suppose,” you contemplate, believing that she doesn’t hold much true interest in him, but for a better life. Mildred hums, “so is there a chance you can talk to Pero about it?”

“I already established that he is to not bring guests into my home, and I doubt they would find a secluded enough place otherwise,” you reassure, standing up, “I can even remind him today if you would like.”

“That would be good,” Mildred agrees, joining you in standing and allowing you to guide her to the door, “be on the lookout too if you see her come preying––even though he lacks true interest.”

“I will,” you say, and somewhere in your heart you feel prepared to beat Stanislava Rolfe with your broom instead of Pero.

________________

Gardening was no easy task but it was the most necessary task the runner of an apothecary and a household had. Today your tending to crops was more focused on your food supply rather than collecting the necessary ingredients to keep your shop running. You're pleased to see that the last of your harvest grew well, and know that your winter stock will last even with your house guest. You had already pulled out all the carrots, and beets, and had shucked the vines wounding your house of beans and brussel sprouts. You were now left to work at the tough vines of the gourds and squash, planning on leaving the single pumpkin for Pero to handle––who should be on his way home from helping Balthasar with something at his inn.

Standing up with the final gourd in hand––you see something that fills you with immediate displeasure and sickens you to your core. Pero is walking up to your house pursued by Stanislava. You don’t quite know why you feel this angry at him; maybe it’s because you gave him explicit reminders on conduct or maybe––something else. Seeing the near, and well hearing Stanislava, you attempt to think fast to try to get her to leave. Greeting them both in an unnatural kind manner, “Pero, Stanislava, greetings.”

Pero gives you an immediate strange look while his shadow is oblivious and greets you back, “I was just telling Pero this wonderful stor––”

“Oh I must ask how is your rash healing up,” You feel like clapping your hands over your lips the moment the words fly out of your mouth. Stanislava stops in her tracks staring at you blankly, “what?”

“The one I gave you the ointment for––on your groin,” Oh my God what were you doing.

Stanislava turns bright red, “Good thank you––I––I have things to tend to at home, good evening you two.”

Stanislava hurries off, and an amused smile erupts on Pero’s face, “thank you for finally scaring that crow off––she’s been yapping my ear off with nonsense for weeks––I guess you're my scarecrow.”

“Excuse me?” scarecrow, you were going to kill this man. He smiles, a genuine smile, “Yes you scared off my crow––like a scarecrow would. Plus you're covered in leaves right now.”

“Do not call me that”

“Fine mi espantapájaros”

“I swear I’ll smother you in your sleep”

“Is that a true promise for you? Like how you promised not to tell customers private information yet just shouted about the crow’s crotch rash,” at that your body works on it’s own, taking the gourd in your hand and flinging it at Pero’s chest. It was a magnificent shot, and caused the vegetable to break and splatter it’s internal organs onto Pero’s chest and neck. Pero steps back from the impact and looks down on the goop he’s now covered in, “Now, no good espantapájaros does that.”

You press your palm to your face, “Just cut the pumpkin for me and bring it inside, you could use a good bath anyway, your stench is disgusting.”

“I do not smell,” he retorts, and you ignore him, bringing inside your harvest. You really do hate Pero Tovar.

----------------------

Apothecary’s feelings––hate or nah yall?

Garlic is use to treat a lot of ailments in Arab traditional medicine, including heart disease, high blood pressure, arthritis, toothache, infections, and––as seen in this fic––constipation. Listen, I know the constipation part is true because I ate a pesto made with raw garlic and LORD did I shit. Anything else, not quite sure but hey worth a shot if you are desperate.

It is also seen as an immune booster for colds and coughs––in fact if you are congested from a cold putting a clove of garlic in each nostril can clear that shit OUT.

Garlic is also believed to help asthma symptoms. IDK if it actually is true but that’d be iconic because my mom loves garlic and she has asthma.

Garlic is my favorite seasoning. I put it in my soup. I put it in my eggs. I put it in my ramen. I put it in my burgers. I put it in my cooch––

taglist:

@poenariuniverse @harleyamidala @yespolkadotkitty @storiesofthefandomlovers @babybelou @legally-a-bastard @computeringturtle @clydesducktape @sixties-loser @buckysalefty @april-14-blog @prettylittlegoldfish @softpedropascal @maybege

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junova · 3 years

Text

↬ 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 | 𝐫. 𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞

abstract — the one where ransom gets a taste of his own medicine, but you happen to be so much sweeter than he’s ever been.

pairing — ooc!ransom drysdale x fem!reader

wc — 4.1k+ im so sorry lmao

warnings — cheating (if u squint its very vague), angst, fluff, slight self deprecation, ransom is kinda nice idk, i want a soft!ransom drysdale now pls, this is also very messy so read at ur own risk!

[m blabs] — howdy howdy! first time ransom fic. woot woot! still kinda finding my voice w writing so i hope you like it! <333

His mouth set in a hard line as you continued to curl into his chest, the span of your confidence seemed to be wiped away with a nightmare from the past. Part of him was upset you hadn’t told him anything, the blind leading the blind, as you stepped foot into his family event. Seeing the last person you’d ever thought would be there.

Surely by now, he thought you would trust him but it was more than evident you still didn’t. You persisted on hiding everything from him, anything you were sure might tick him off.

Well, Ransom wasn’t necessarily known for biting his tongue. Although, in your presence, he was learning what to say and where to say it.

It really surprised him. Not one woman had been able to tame him, not since he’d be fucking everyone in sight. His desire was endless and not one single individual would be enough for his fill.

Then, he found you drunk and sobbing on the concrete, right outside of the bar he was exiting. To this day, he still couldn’t tell you why he stopped for you. He never really paid attention to anyone if it wasn’t to his own benefit. Ultimately, meeting you was, even if he wouldn’t realize it then.

You flinched from his touch when he patted your shoulder, gently asking if you were alright. If anyone asked him, Ransom would surely deny he felt you pull at the strings of his heart in an instant.

He just knew.

Maybe it’s why it took him so long to accept it, to believe in what he felt for you. Definitely not because you did nothing but be the most wonderful human he’d ever met. More had to do with him.

Ransom dropped you off the first night you met in your small apartment downtown, definitely on the rougher side where he thought his Rolex sporting his wrist may get stolen.

A cute little thing like you living in a neighborhood like this — didn’t make much sense to him. Then again, it certainly checked out with his privilege why he didn’t.

Truly, Ransom didn’t realize how fortunate he truly was. Of course being a trust fund brat gave him the ignorance to live in an unmatched state of bliss.

He still remembers the moment.

Watching as you fumbled with your keys, finding it more than difficult to open your front door. It was cute, with your tongue poking out between your lips in concentration. Now, he wondered how he’d forgotten why he’d gone to get hammered at the bar in the first place.

“Here, let me help.” New to Ransom, he offered a giving hand. Grabbing the key from your jittering fingertips before unlocking your door. He tried to hand you back your keys, but you pulled him so close, your chest touching his own. Dragging two rapid hearts through your apartment.

“You smell like him.” A dopey smile on your face lighting every dark sight of Ransom, not that you’d know it did. “I smell like who?”

“My ex-boyfriend.” Your hands cupping his cheek, but you were too drunk to realize how Ransom flinched from your touch.

He didn’t push you away either.

“But he definitely didn’t look this good.” Defying all laws of his own nature, Ransom let you stay in close proximity to him as you felt him up. Your hand resting on his chest, traveling lower stopping at his stomach. “Definitely didn’t feel this good.”

He watched as you sighed, your puffy eyes were only slightly swollen and the mascara was still staining your skin with the rest of the makeup you wore. If anyone had asked him, you’d looked like a wreck but he still found you alluring.

Ransom always liked his women looking more than fucked out, usually from gagging around his cock. Not crying over a broken heart. Nope. He definitely did not like dealing with a woman's sorrow.

“He never let me touch him though. Guess that should have tipped me off.” You let your hands travel back up, wounding themselves around his neck before they applied more pressure — pulling him into you.

Ransom found you pretty confident for not even knowing anything more than his first name and the car he drove you in. You were definitely craving attention and maybe he’d be more than happy to oblige but the little voice in his head Dr. Shoal told him to listen to was being a pestering, little bitch.

What did Ransom want?

Right now he wanted to drown himself in some sweet ass pussy. He knew you would give yourself easily to him, especially in your drunken state. Clinging onto him like he was a vine.

The smaller part of him, the better part, knew you were drunk out of your mind. Absolutely plastered, but you had to stand there looking like a goddess.

He didn’t really know why he was letting you touch him, maybe in hopes the deeper, darker side of him would win like it always did. Ransom knew better, even if he tried to hide it from everyone including himself.

He liked you. From the very first moment, he knew he’d have to get you. Whether it cost your own sanity or his, Ransom didn’t care.

It’s why he left you drunk and alone, safely tucked into the comfort of your sheets with his number left in your phone. Even taking the liberty of texting himself from it.

He could never be too careful. Letting you slip through his fingers was simply not an option.

Thanks to him, you didn’t forget about him.

The next morning your memory only held vague images of a handsome stranger helping you home, thankfully he seemed to be nothing more than a doting gentlemen. The first for you to ever come across.

Until later in the afternoon the following day, Ransom introduced himself and checked up on you, worming his presence into your life.

Then he kept talking to you everyday, surprising even himself in the matter. Truly, he couldn’t help it. Part of him loved how gently you spoke to him on the phone. No one ever talked to him with such a level of care.

He always warranted yelling, usually he was the one who stirred the pot. He enjoyed it, and thrived in a chaotic environment. It’s what he grew up in. Ransom was more than comfortable with his own family yelling and cursing him out until the sun came up. He did just the same.

So, whenever you sweetly asked him how he was, it threw him off guard.

Not a single soul even cared or bothered to ask him anything. Truth be told, Ransom was a sack of shit treating everyone like they were the gum beneath his shoe. It didn’t matter who talked to him — Ransom was simply more superior in every conceivable way.

He would succumb to not a single soul. Paving his own way through life, with only the money from his trust fund of course.

Then the two of you fell into each other and he could pinpoint the exact moment he did.

The weeks and months blended together. He couldn’t really tell you why he was still lingering around, while he got nothing in return. You did get him off once or twice, but he wasn’t fucking you like he really wanted to.

Maybe it was the innocence in your eyes pulling his soul into the very little good he still had left within him. Or maybe it was the way your thumb dragged over his cheek when you thought he was in slumber, blissfully unaware of your touch.

More importantly his favorite thing, the way you let him hold you when the two of you cuddled. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, bouncy cheeks pressed into whatever knit sweater he decided to wear that day.

It was all the little things, unknowingly making him fall in deep like he never had before.

Unwelcoming to him, his mother came barreling in one Sunday afternoon, while you slept in his arms. Even as Linda screamed his name, you never jolted, out like a log. Safe in the peace he kept you in.

Linda looked annoyed, irritated he even had company in the first place but not surprised. What truly shocked her was they both had clothes on. Not truly believing Ransom was capable of such a sinless interaction.

He knew what she wanted; he didn’t even have to move from his position to continue a private conversation. Not that it would get him off the couch, and out of your embrace in the first place.

“I said no. Don’t know why you bothered coming here.” Linda angrily sighed. “You should at least show up.”

Ransom didn’t notice, but subconsciously continued to run his fingertips up and down your spine. Linda did. She noticed that he didn’t even care she was judging him, but let you remain unbothered sleeping in her son’s embrace.

“It’s for Walt. You need to be there.” She stepped closer, hoping the increase in her volume would wake you. “I expect you to grace us with your wonderful presence as does the rest of the family.”

The sarcasm dripped, attempting to coax him out of the four walls he never seemed to leave. Not recently, anyhow.

“I already told you, I can’t.” Now Ransom was irritated and he really wished she would calm the fuck down. It was one day, one event. There would always be another, that much wasn’t lost on him. “I have plans. Send him my best.”

Assuming it was the rumbling of his chest when he spoke, you moved jolting yourself in his arms, before remaining still again. His heartbeat continues to soothe you.

“You have plans? What else could be more important than your family?” The louder Linda’s voice grew the more you stirred, pissing him off.

He really needed to change his locks.

Even if he had no intention of going, he needed his mother to leave. Really for your own sake — trying to save you from Linda giving you a cold shoulder followed with a third degree burn.

“Fine. I’ll go. Can you just leave?” She accepted Ransom’s submission, before looking at your figure. Sound asleep and clinging to her one and only, sinking your claws into him.

She really didn’t like the way Ransom was looking at you. Linda was positive he would never be able to care about someone other than himself, but here he was, holding you close to his chest.

Almost like his life depended on it.

“Who is she to you?” With a raised eyebrow, eyes narrowing to you before meeting back with Ransom’s cerulean blues.

“I don’t know yet.” Ransom paused looking down at you, so beautiful. Holding a light so pure, so radiant; he hoped no matter how cruel he could be, he’d never act like that towards you. “Maybe someone I don’t deserve, but want to be better for.”

His rough, calloused fingers drawing mindless patterns on the exposed skin of your waist. He didn’t know what Linda said next or when she left.

Time seemed to stand still, his confession hitting his chest fiercely. He let himself sit with it for a moment, before you woke up. Enjoying a moment where he didn’t have to deal with anything, he didn’t have to say a word.

He could just enjoy the moment without eyes judging him or you questioning why his eyes seemed to shine just a bit brighter whenever you were around.

It was the first of many. Moments where he felt small pieces of himself chipped away into your care. Planes of existences within him no one had ever scratched the surface of.

Much like right now as you cried into his chest, begging for mercy.

Because you were afraid. Terrified you had made the worst mistake, an unforgivable one. You lied about your past and to Ransom it felt like more than a betrayal. More accurately he felt a dagger in his heart placed strategically with your murderous hands.

He’d never felt such empathy and pain at once. Maybe he’d never been empathetic a day in his life at all.

Until now.

To make matters worse, he knew his entire family was watching the whole scene from the window. It wasn’t from worry or concern for either one of you. Mainly all of them enjoying pain being inflicted on Ransom.

Linda of course wallowing in her ego, he could practically see her bask in her own pride. Another thing she’d been right about checked off the list.

The rest of the family watched the two of you fight with shiteating grins permanently stamped on their face. They’d never seen Ransom care about anyone but you. To watch the relationship he held so close to his heart blow up so publicly, only fueled the fire to Ransom’s rage.

Except Harlan.

Even through his hot, beating anger Ransom was trying his best to comfort you. To calm you down even if you had been the one to be caught red handed. Harlan couldn’t believe it, someone Ransom seemed to care about more than himself.

More than any of his family. Not that Harlan was offended. Well, maybe a little, but more so he was thrilled his grandson finally found someone he had to grow up for. Someone he had to earn, not buy.

No bribes. No schemes. No games.

Just you.

“Hugh, please talk to me.” How could he? It’s not like he had much to say. Maybe he did, he just wasn’t sure how to get the words out without hurting you or himself.

“I know I lied and I fucked up, but please — we need to talk about it.” Soft hands reaching for his own, but he brushed them off, his hands snaked higher on your waist. “We should have talked about this the moment you met me.”

Dead silence is all you were met with as he walked the fine line of pushing you away, leaving you behind and pulling you closer than he ever had.

“You’re right. I should have told you the truth but can you blame me?” He met you with solemn eyes and his own heart beating rapidly. “Yes I can.” Ransom was trying to act cold and distant but the two windows to his soul told a different story.

“That’s fair.” Even as he was holding you, Ransom still felt like he was a galaxy away. He was withholding himself from you like a turtle retracting into their own protection. A year ago, before he met you, he knew he would have never even recognized it.

Now, you made it possible for him to be aware of just how much he had changed. He broke old habits of his own just to please you so when you disappointed him, this unreachable high standard he held you to, it shattered his sense of self.

“Did you still love him?” Ransom questioned you. “I did. At the time, he’s all I ever really knew. I thought that’s what love felt like. The only image of love I had was the one he gave me. So, I ran with him and it crushed me.”

Ransom had to pretend the words you were speaking didn’t split him into you two. The image of you falling in love with someone else was enough to make him wanna strangle your ex.

His friend.

“Then we just got into one really big blow out. Right in the bar in front of all of his friends I had met for the first time that night.” You reached for a chunk of his sweater, clenching the material in your hand, like you were trying to convince yourself to let the words fall from your mouth.

“He told me how much I’d been irritating him and I couldn’t help but notice every girl he flirted with and touched right in front of me.” You tested the waters, placing both of your hands over his chest, the beat of his heart calming you down.

“Then I just cracked. It was only one of the many fights we’d been having over the course of the past few months. Everyone single argument pushed me closer to the edge, until the last one actually did.” You sighed, watching as he frowned.

“I ended things that night, before getting thoroughly plastered and soon enough crying on the cement. Wasted and lonely out of my mind, until I met you.” You moved your hand from his heart, cupping his clean shaven face.

“You made me realize I never knew what love really meant or felt like.” This piqued Ransom’s interest.

You said love.

Could a tragedy bring out the words Ransom craved to hear more than anything in the world?

Maybe you cared about him, more than anyone ever showed him. But loved him? How could someone be as hateful as him be worthy of someone like you?

Even if you had broken his heart, he’d done far worse to more people than he could count. He wasn’t really in a place to judge but it didn’t change the fact it still hurt. A lot.

“Hugh.” You heard him gulp rather loudly. “Yes?” His tone came out as more of a question than a response.

The silence he gifted you was unsettling at the very least. “You've barely said a word.” He was surprised he didn’t scurry off in his beamer the second he saw the guilt reach your eyes.

He was surprised he hadn’t let his anger take over and let the rage he felt inside body take it all out on you.

He was surprised he somehow couldn’t inflict a single hateful word towards you, even as you sat with his heart in your hands.

In pure bliss of just how much you owned him.

“I hate it. This fucking corner you’ve back me into. Not to mention for the prying eyes of my entire family to watch the show.” The sharp tone he uses sensoring you. “You used me just to get back at him.”

“Like I was some pawn in your game and I really even shouldn’t be mad.” He paused, trying to choose his words as carefully as he can. “I’ve done the same thing to so many different women. Used them and threw them out at my earliest inconvenience.” To your surprise, even Ransom’s, a single tear left his eye showing you how much you really meant to him.

You hated yourself for letting it get to this point.

“But you? I could never even think about hurting you. I could never live with myself if I treated you like everyone else because you’re so much more than that to me.” The tears continued to roll. The dame Ransom kept shut his entire life, opened because of you and he just wanted to make it stop.

He would give anything — even you.

He just wanted to not feel like a piece of shit for once in his life. For a moment, he thought he might have a chance to be something more than the picture he portrayed in everyone’s mind. You showed him maybe it was more complex than it seemed.

“I just assumed I was that for you.” You sighed in frustration, softly wiping his tears away. “You are, though. You are more than that.”

“Then how could you be so okay with lying to me?” The crease between his eyebrows only created more of an indention as he felt the anger trying to escape out of him.

You let the tension get to you first.

“Because I-I was scared if I told you the truth, you’d never tell me.” You puzzled him once again. You softly reach up between his furrowed eyebrows, the pad of your thumb smoothing it out.

“Tell you what?” His mind was clouded with the possibilities of what he could have missed.

“I can’t spell this one out for you.” You were tired of being the one to do everything first. Even if your intentions weren’t free from fault once you realized who he was, your feelings for him were anything but.

“I don’t know what you want from me. You only let me fall for you because you knew how much it would hurt him.” He bit back, growing impatient and tired. “Any other time, I would have cared. Probably would have been more than happy to assist. But you made me-”

Then Ransom cut himself off, jumping out of the swing and away from you.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I thought I could.” He literally sprinted to his beamer, but you chased him.

You were hell bent and just as crazy as he was. Maybe it’s why it worked for as long as it did.

“Hugh! Get back here.” You were running, thankful you’d gone for a more casual outfit today, the sneakers supporting your feet far better than the heels you’d usually wear.

Maybe if it was someone with a normal childhood upbringing you would have just cut your losses but this was someone who chose to be called Ransom.

This was someone who chose to run away from love and care because the only affectionate way he knew how to treat someone was to throw money at them.

This was someone who had the communication of a ten year old because that’s when his own mother didn’t bother to mess with him anymore before sending him off to boarding school.

This was someone who didn’t know how to love — and to be loved.

By the time you caught up to him his was digging for his keys, but he couldn’t fucking find them.

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” Your tone was sharp and he knew you meant business. “For once in your life, stop running away.”

“Why not? What good has it ever done for me to stay?” His back was facing you, his broad shoulders stilled with the rest of his body. Almost like he was ashamed of what he was hiding.

“I can’t speak for everyone else. I can’t speak for your mother or for Richard. For Harlan or for anyone else you thought might abandon you and really did.” You inched you way closer until you knew he felt how close you were to him.

“I can only speak for me.” Giving yourself, the final piece of you to a man who might run away from it.

You were so close he felt your breath on his back, and it made him tremble. He was shaking, terrified of it all. You didn’t let him be for long.

Intertwining your fingers with his, as he kept them at his sides, rubbing your thumb along the palm of his hand.

“I’m sorry for the way I hurt you. Lied to you. You never deserved it. Never.” You thought it would be easier if he didn’t have to look at you while pouring your heart out to him. A theory proved to be right as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“You’ve done nothing but treat me like a princess. You’ve done right by me, more than anyone else I’ve ever met in my life. It made me feel inadequate. My dark secret, always looming over us like a dark cloud of my own personal doing.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t done the proper thing by us and made you feel like I used you. You had every right to feel it because I did.” You took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to face whatever the future held for the two of you.

“I never expected to fall in love with a trust fund, playboy brat.” You felt him take a deep breath, like a breath he’d be holding all his life could finally be set free.

“I love you, Hugh.” The next thing you knew he had you pushed up against the car, lips hungrily attacking your own.

All forgiven because you love him. You actually were in love with him.

He couldn’t fathom it really because you’d been the first. To accept him just as he was. The first to refuse to call him Ransom because you like the way Hugh rolled off your tongue better.

You liked how he felt on your tongue, too.

The first to tell him Fran and Marta should call him Hugh because you wanted to be the only one who got to. The first woman to cook for him, willingly and not attached to the Thrombey payroll.

The first woman he had ever fallen in love with.

The first one he’d stick around and not run away for.

So, he kissed you. Hard. Softly whispering how much he loved you into the kiss, because maybe he wasn’t ready to say it outright. Loud and proud.

Yet, he felt it with every bone of his body — no longer lost in the blues.

taglist: @tonystankschild @parkastoria @tinylumpiaa @brattycherubwrites

#im so anxious to post this #bc i dont really love it but.......#here we go folks.#i rewrote it too many times sksksk 💀#not doing it again #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fluff #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale one shot #ransom drysdale fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans x reader #m.writes

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marvelmana · 3 years

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-Mumza goddess of death prompt

TW: suicide attempt

So after Wilbur's revival Dream with his God compex realizes that the power to bring people back to life isn't enough. So while Wilbur prepares to break Dream out of prison, Dream sits down to remember what more was in the revive book. His eyes shoot wide open as he remembers a short but powerful ritual to summon the goddess of death herself.

So after Wilbur breaks him out somehow. Wilbur and Dream are met by the rest of the SBI family. They didn't come together. Tommy came to stop Wilbur and maybe kill Dream. Techno and Phil just came to get Wilbur so Sam doesn't kill him. As always with this family they start arguing and Dream runs away. They follow him to the L'manhole where he manages to preform the full ritual to summon the goddess of death. Now all the others are terrified because they don't know what Dream did. All they know is that the nice and chill night suddenly became the worst storm they've ever experienced and a weird portal looking thing has started to form on the glass. Tommy starts yelling at Dream to stop. Philza aswell because Dream doesn't know what power he's messing with. Dream explains that he knows exactly what power he's messing with and tells them what or...rather who he has summoned. To Dream's surprise everyone but Tommy seems relived that he's summoning the goddess of death. Tommy's worried because he has no idea that he's the son of the goddess. Before any of them manages to say anything a dark figure emerges from the portal with dark wings as she flies up to the night sky. The wind that had made it hard to stay on your feet suddenly stops and the portal disapears. Dream does his evil laughter and then does his evil monologue but gets cut off by the goddess of death striking him down with one hand and pressuring her foot against his neck. Phil watches her and falls in love all over again. But before there can be a wholesome family reunion Tommy draws his sword out and points it at the goddess' neck.

"Who are you!? What do you want!?" He yells demanding answers.

The goddess melts at the sight of her youngest. He's so cute with that diamond sword, thinking he's so cool. When she doesn't answer Tommy gets frustrated and yells at the top of his lungs

"ANSWER ME!!!"

He was meant to intimidate the goddess but his yell only comes out as a broken cry. The goddess' heart breaks as she sees all the pain and frustration in her youngest son's eyes. There's something in his eyes that is not supposed to be there. There's something that's not meant to be seen in the eyes of a 16 year old. Before she can ask, Phil steps forward.

"It's been a long time, love" he says and takes off his hat.

The goddess smiles at her angel.

"About 16 years, but who's counting?" She jokes completely unbothered by the blade at her throat.

Then the twins comes in to have a small talk with their mother. None of them mentions that she's their mother. Tommy slowly takes away his sword and starts backing away. He takes one look at the unconscious green man by the goddess' feet and then at his brothers and father. This is their business. He should get going. He only gets a few steps away when one of his family members ask where he's going. He tells them that he's going home. The issue with Dream seems resolved and they're all busy with and old friend Tommy doesn't know. At first the goddess is confused as to why her youngest doesn't recognise her. But then again. When he left the end he was only a few months old. The twins had been just around 7. The goddess, who's name was Kristin smiles gently at Tommy and slowly walks up to him. She tells him that she's his mother. Tommy looks at his father and brothers who nods confirming. Normally you'd think Tommy would be excited to meet his mum. But when all his family has brought him is pain, he's not excited to see what a new family member who's also a goddess, can do. So he does the most rational thing he can think off. He runs. He runs with fear of his life. Tommy doesn't wanna die again. The mere thought terrifies him. So he runs, hoping to find someone to help him, anyone. Tubbo, Ranboo, Puffy hell he'd even take the help from Sam now. As he runs past his house he looks behind him to see 4 individuals chasing him. He starts screaming for help as he jumps out the edge by the bench with a water bucket in hand. Kristin who doesn't know Tommy's incredible skill with water MLGs panics and dives after him with her wings. She catches Tommy before he reaches the ground. Tommy starts squirming in her grip hoping to get away. Kristin tries to reassure him that she's got him. Tommy begs her not to hurt him. Telling her that he won't get in her way, that if she just lets him go she'll never have to see him again. Kristin feels as someone shot through her heart with an arrow. And she tells Tommy in what she thinks is a comforting voice, that she's never gonna let him go and that he's safe. Tommy's beyond terrified but lucky for him Tubbo and Ranboo is on a walk towards them. Tubbo and Ranboo immediately gets their armour on and orders Kristin to put Tommy down and that if she hurts him, she's gonna regret it. Kristin gets put off guard by the sudden company. Tommy uses that to his advantage and gets out of her grip and runs past Tubbo and Ranboo who's like protecting wall in front of him. Wilbur tells them to fuck off and that it's a family buisness. That just angers Tubbo even more.

"Family buisness!!!?" He yells almost in shock "You gotta be kidding me! Tommy just started healing after everything Dream did to him and after everything YOU did to him!! Why can't you just let him rest!?" Tubbo yells in anger

That's when Kristin's had enough. She demands an explanation and Tubbo just answers "I'm not gonna explain shit. Who do you think you are?" To which Krstin stretches out her wings and says in a lower tone

"I am the goddess of death. Protector of the end. And his mother" she says and looks at Tommy.

Tubbo and Ranboo looks back at Tommy who just shruggs. Because honestly he has no idea if it's true or not. But Tubbo and Ranboo decides to play along. They answer with a bit of attitude what has happened to Tommy since he came to this server. Everything from the disc war, to L'manbrug, to exile, to the egg trying to kill him and then celebrating his death, to what happened in the prison. After everything is explained the goddess of death is furious. She shoots up in the air and Phil has a very troubled face expression. When asked what's wrong he tells them.

"A father's rage is strong enough to conquer the world. But a mother's rage is stronger"

Kristin is mad at the server for driving her family apart and hurting her baby. So with the power within her she pulls up the egg and it's roots, along with the enire prison, Eret with his castle and Dream's unconscious body. The storm comes back, this time with thunder and rain. Tommy sees this and is terrified. But he's also worried about Eret. It's true he wronged him but Eret has changed.

"We gotta stop her!" Tommy yells.

"She's the goddess of death, you can't stop her!" Techno yells.

But it's no use. Tommy grabs Ranboo's trident. He launches himself in the air and jumps from bits of earth and structures in the air. His main focus is to help Eret out. Eret is ready for his doom. He knows he's not been the best person. But before that happens he hears someone call out his name. It's Tommy. Tommy gives Eret the trident and tells him to get out of here. He hears distant screams of the eggpire and the egg. Tommy doesn't care that much for the egg. But as annoying as Badboyhalo is with his no swearing rule, he's a good guy and Tommy do have good memories with the him. So with no trident Tommy jumps between the rising blocks to get to the people. He sees Dream's unconscious body and for a moment he thinks about it but then shakes his head. Dream is not his priority. Tommy doesn't see himself as a hero. But he's not one to simply watch someone die if he can do something about it. Tubbo knows this. He curses when Eret gets down on the ground and tells them what Tommy did for him. Tubbo looks to Ranboo who nods. He brings up a water splash potion and splashes himself. His eyes widen and a foreign language comes out of his mouth. Tubbo grabs ahold of his husband before he can teleport away without him. Ranboo has gone complete silent. If you can even call him Ranboo anymore. Tubbo has only seen Ranboo like this once. It was terrifying since the half enderman hybrid had been walking towards Tubbo's cabin in snowchester where Micheal was. Ranboo had been covered in water scars and yet he wasn't talking. Just calmly walking towards Micheal. Before he could get there though Ranboo collapsed and woke up with no memory of how he got to Tubbo's cabin. So now, on a floating piece of earth, in the eye of the storm Tubbo had to trust whatever this version of Ranboo was. He called for Tommy but got no response. Suddenly the foreign language comes out of Ranboo as he points with his free hand to some egg rootes. Tommy's jumping between the broken peices towards peoplenof the eggpire.

"Let's go and help that idiot out" Tubbo says and Ranboo teleports them behind Tommy.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!?" Tubbo yells which scares Tommy. He turns around and smiles at the sight of maybe the two only people he trusts.

"I could ask you the same!" He yells back to be heard over the load weather.

"We came to help you. Ranboo can you get those guys back on the ground!?" Tubbo yells

Ranboo doesn't say anything but when he teleports closer and grabs badboyhalo and Hannah Tubbo knows he got through to him. Tommy's confused at how strange Ranboo was acting. Ranboo's not much of a fighter but still here he was, standing tall. And how the hell can he teleport without enderpearls? Tommy decides that there's a better time to ask. Instead him and Tubbo keeps the rest of the eggpire safe. During that the egg starts speaking to Tubbo and Tubbo is obviously trying to shut it out but it's hurting him. So once Ranboo gets back Tommy is quick to push his best friend onto his husband and yell at Ranboo to get him to safety. Tubbo doesn't get a chance to object before he's suddenly on the ground again. He struggles against Ranboo and begs his husband to take him back. Tommy knows what's keeping Ranboo from coming back. He can see it. So instead of wasting time, he makes a waterfall with his only waterbucket and puts the rest of the eggpire in it. In his head he repeats the same three words over and over again "Please don't drown". When the people is as safe as they can be in a situation like this Tommy turns to his mother who has definitely grown a couple of feet. Tommy gulps and watches as Dream's body literally explodes in front of his mum's dark eyes.

"Hey!!" He yells and draws his sword again.

Kristin turns to see where the voice comes from and her gace immediately goes soft. But it turns confused when she can't see the rest of the wronguns.

"I'm not gonna let you hurt anyone else!" Tommy says with his blade in front of him

"The mortals needs to be taught a lesson. You'll come to understand when you're older. You're just a mere child" she says calmly

Tommy smirks. He may be young, but he's not stupid. Tommy knows the blade would do nothing to his mother. So he takes a deep breath and holds the sword against his own throat. He doesn't want this. But he won't let his mother hurt people because of him.

"I may be young! But I have seen wars, I have witnessed my best friend's execution, I have been exiled, I have been tortured and somewhat manipulated. I'm not a child anymore!!" He yells

"You wouldn't. I can see the fear in your eyes son. I can feel it. You don't want this" Kristin says but her voice is everywhere as she gets closer to her son.

"I am not a child. I'm a soldier without a mission. Which makes me desperate. So if I have to die to protect them that's something I'll have to do" Tommy says and stares at the eyes of the beast

"I would never hurt your fatber or brothers" Kristin reassures

"I wasn't talking about those idiots. Listen this place is a hell hole! And sometimes it's hard to get out of bed. But you know what!? It's my home. You've just killed the guy who were the source of my problems. You've done enough!!" Tommy yells and pushes the sword closer to his throat. He can feel it slowly digging into his skin. The goddess of death panics and does a quick movement with her finger and before Tommy knows it he's flying in the air, unable to move an inch. His sword is still in his hand but he can feel an invisable force trying to take it from him.

"Tommy. Drop it!" Kristin hisses

Tommy won't drop it. He could see the fear in her eyes once the blade was pressed against his throat. If he could just move his arm he could put the sword back at his throat. But he can't the force pulling away his sword is strong. But Tommy's always been a fighter. He actually manages to withstand the force but doesn't notice the goddess shrinking in sice and flying up to him to grab the sword herself. After taking the sword she throws it down and stares at her youngest. One thing's for sure, her family is not safe here.

Good ending: Tommy and the others talks Kristin down and she goes back to the end but visits every now and then

Bad ending: Kristin sees how much this place is hurting her baby and the rest of her family. So she takes them to the end where they can't leave. Phil would've been able to, if it wasn't for one of his wings being broken.

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tomhiddelstonandzaynmalik · 3 years

Text

Love at first sight?

Chapter 8

Note: im using Celsius instead of Farenheit bc I get confused anddd for the fics purpose I made the reader from Arizona bc it's hot, sorry hehe.

prologue chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Warren Worthington III x reader

Word count: 1300 words

Warnings: language

"Worthington! Wait up". Warren stopped walking for his friend to catch up. "Yes, Monroe?". Ororo rushed from the main entrance to the end of the hall, where Warren was waiting for her. "So? Spit the beans!". She was referring to the meeting with The Professor, which had just ended a few minutes ago.

"Hell no! I'm starving, thanks to you! As far as I can recall, you did say you were going stop by the infirmary to bring me my breakfast, but you never came". Warren said resentfully. "Oh! Forgive me for trying to give you some privacy! I DID go over! but when I realized you were having a blast with "ms. mystery", I left!." Warren's mouth turned into a big "O" surprised by the girl's comment. "Shit, sorry I'm an ass. I should have known better than t-". Although Warren was showing great remorse for his actions, Ororo, on the other hand, seemed unbothered as he had cut his ramblings off. "Whatever, man. Listen up! Why don't I fix you something to eat in the kitchen while you tell me everything that happened, and not just with Charles". Her big brown eyes were beaming at him with mischief. After all, it wasn't likely of him to speak more than five consecutive words with strangers.

"Fine by me". The blond said, already walking to the kitchen. "Oh, by the way, her name is Y/N". He informed with a small smile creeping on his lips.

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"For real?" You said in amazement as the man with glasses who went by the name of Hank explained to you some medical facts about your mutation you've been oblivious to your entire life. "Are you telling me my hydrokinesis has been the reason behind why I'm always cold?". Your face in awe had made the man chuckle. "Indeed, Y/N. Your connection with water goes beyond expected. Your body temperature resembles the ocean's, which means, unlike the rest of us who have an average temperature of 35.5 C° to 37 C°. Yours can go as low as -2 C° with its highest in 35 C° ". You turned to your left side, inspecting the monitor showing your vitals, where you read the big bright numbers. "So, does 20 C° mean... ". "Just fine". The doctor said.

"No need to remind you about staying clear from desserts or, you know, fires". "Damn it, just when I was considering moving to Egipt". You had meant for the man to laugh at your joke. Instead, he shot you a disapproving look. "I'm serious, Y/N. You could die. The body can endure temperatures up to 50 C° before death, but you, anywhere up to 39 C° can be fatal".

Those last words were bringing back the multiple times you'd fainted without any apparent reason. Even during a spring day back in your natal Arizona, you could end up in E.R. The doctors had always told your mother it was a heatstroke, yet it never made sense. Yes, it was warm but not blazingly hot like it should have to suffer one. To your mom, you were only doing it for the attention. And after moving to Washington, when you were 5, the faintings stopped, making her believe more in her assumptions.

It also made you remember those winter days when you were little, where all your friends would be covered head to toe with fuzzy clothing whilst you had nothing more than some jeans and a crewneck. People always believed your mother had sucked at parenting for leaving you so exposed to the weather, but for the first time, they were wrong. Yes, she sucked at being a mother, but at least this time, what seemed to be a lack of caring coming from her was just you not being affected by the freezing air like everyone else.

You were about to ask furthermore questions the tall man with the glasses he could perhaps be able to answer when a bald man in his late forties wheeled in. "How is our patient doing, Hank?". He asked. "Better than expected, Charles. Although I would suggest staying in here for observation another 24 hours, just to be sure". Hank replied, straightening his posture as the older man came further inside the room. But why? Just as you were seeking an answer, he spoke. "Because I am the headmaster, young lady. Charles Xavier, at your service". What the actual fuck, how could he have- "Telepathy, that is how, dear". A foreign voice explained inside your mind as the bald man stared at you with knowing eyes. "Please, don't do that ever again! Not without a heads-up at least!". You yelled fearfully. The idea of having somebody else inside your head unexpectedly had to be the scariest thing you could think of, and after having seen your frightened self, the man spoke ordinarily once again.

"Certainly! But, before we continue, how should I call you, dear?". The man, Charles, asked you with a tender voice. " Y/N".

"Very well, Y/N. Now, has Hank told you anything about what we do in here?". "Not much. That this is kinda like a boarding school but for weirdos like us and that some are of you like to run around the city wearing matching bodysuits playing heroes". You said while sitting down crisscrossed on the medical bed. "Well, you are not so wrong, but we are more than that". With that, the conversation about a brighter future for you began.

You had been brought to Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters by luck, without any clue of what could be there to come for you. When you woke up, you'd thought for that place to be nothing but a fancy hospital and nothing else. Now, after your interaction with the headmaster, you were left with a lingering feeling of something you had never experienced before, hope.

Hope for a future away from the streets you've called home for almost a decade. A possibility to become someone you could be proud of being. To form bonds that could last more than a weak or two. Most importantly, the chance of not being so lonely anymore.

In conclusion, Charles Xavier gave you hope for making your wildest dream come true. Stay here, and you will live a normal life.

Both Charles and Hank left the infirmary wing for you to process the information at peace before accepting his offer of prolonging your stay. You'd been so concentrated thinking about all of it. You missed the moment your angel came in.

"By the expression on your face, I'm guessing Charles already asked you to stay in here". He spoke to you as he was reaching for the stool next to your side.

"How do you know that, Angel?". You asked, squinting your eyes in a questioning look.

"He told me after proposing to me the very same thing". Warren said.

"Well, are you?". You eagerly said.

"I don't know, are you?". If you were honest, everything about living at Xavier's sounded perfect to you. You would have accepted right away if it hadn't been for Charles himself who stopped you and made you think about it. After all, it was a 180° lifestyle change.

"Hell fucking yes! Why wouldn't I? It's not like you're allowed to live in a mansion every day" This was the answer which caused the mutant next to you to chuckle slightly. "Is that the only reason you're staying?". You would have said everything you'd been thinking about before warren showed up. Yet something in you told you. If you didn't, you could have plenty of time to do so.

"Not really, but if you decide to stay here, I might tell you all about them, Angel". You told Warren, who had now his eyes fixated on yours, those piercing blue eyes which seemed to be searching for something, what? You didn't know.

"Seems like we got a deal, Y/N".

#warren worthington x reader #warren worthington iii #archangel x reader #xmen x reader #xmen #hank mccoy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #peter maximoff #ororo munroe #jean grey #jubilee #kurt wagner #scott summers

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beewolfwrites · 3 years

Text

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Eight: Mad to Live, Mad to Talk

The eighth instalment of my Chishiya x OC/reader fic - you can find it here on AO3 too.

Thank you to the people who always leave likes and comments, seeing/reading them honestly makes my day :) xx

As for what I mentioned in my last update, I’ll add the references as a chapter at the end of the fic (because some of them will give away spoilers!)

Speaking of spoilers, you guys probably connected some dots (a la hoodie)

Sorry, I'll stop talking - enjoy!

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The drawl of his voice stretched like a lifeline, pulling me back to myself. Back to the bar.

Chishiya was slouched against the counter, idly watching the scene before him. His eyes dropped to the gun, before rising to meet mine. There was nothing in them, not amusement, not even cruelty. Nothing. They were emptier and darker than they’d ever been. And yet at that moment, I had never been more overjoyed to see him.

‘You should probably put that thing away,’ he said. ‘Hatter won’t be too happy if you start messing with her. He’s got high expectations of her.’

The man pushed the gun further into my skin, sending bursts of anxiety through me. I didn’t want him to pull the trigger accidentally. If he shot me in the stomach, it’d be a slow, painful death.

‘You know Chishiya, I’m pretty sick of you interfering all the time. You should stay out of militant business.’

Chishiya eyed the man with disinterest. ‘Militant business. It’s fascinating what you guys do. You take out the trash and dish out the sentence, but you never check the evidence.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ the man snarled. ‘Just shut up and stay out of this.’

‘What I’m saying is that you never bother checking to see if the ‘traitors’ are actually traitors. It’s surprisingly easy to slip a few cards into someone else’s room.’

The tension peaked, and I winced as the fingers around my wrist tightened painfully. Then just as quickly, he released me. He hissed a spew of threats in Chishiya’s face, then stormed off. I hadn’t understood a word, but either way, Chishiya was completely unbothered.

Now that we were alone, he barely even spared me a glance. I half-wondered why he was here. He wouldn’t have come to the bar just to help me. But I also couldn’t picture him as a drunk. As if to answer all the questions floating around in my head, Chishiya signalled to the bartender and said two words.

‘お水をください’ Water, please.

Knowing him, he’d say that alcohol clouds your mind and dulls your rational thinking skills. The bartender set the glass on the counter, but Chishiya didn’t walk away, but sipped his water.

‘Thanks,’ I muttered, although helping me was likely never on his agenda. ‘I’m guessing stuff like that’s pretty common around here.’

‘Well, there are only three rules,’ he said. With one side glance, he zeroed in on the hoodie Kuina had given me. ‘Right now, you’re not allowed to go roaming the city alone because you’re still new, and that makes you a liability. But the next time you’re in a game, you’ll be paired with one of the executives, or someone else with a high rank. If you ask, they’ll go with you to find new clothes.’

I didn’t know how he knew the hoodie wasn’t mine. But I had given up trying to figure out how Chishiya’s mind works.

Before I could ask, he spoke, catching me off guard once again. ‘Come on, Kuina’s waiting for us.’

----------------------------------------------------

That night, I had found out that Kuina and Chishiya were actually friends. Sort of. It was hard to tell. They hung around together and joked like friends, but instinctively I could tell that Kuina didn’t completely trust him. The days passed quickly, and despite the obvious tension between the militants and the other executives, I found myself actually enjoying it. It was hard not to, with hot water and all.

I spent my days pestering Chishiya to teach me Japanese properly (which he never did). And Kuina and I would chat about the real world. She told me about her mother’s sickness, and how she was desperate to get back to the old world so she could look after her properly. But when she asked about my own life, I filtered a lot of things out. I explained how I was visiting Japan with my brother, and how I had been trying to learn Japanese on and off for a few years just so that I could visit. But when it came to my personal life, I just couldn’t bring myself to talk about it.

‘話せば長くなる,’ I told her. It’s a long story.

The days seemed to dry up under the heat of the sun, and sure enough, my visa was due to expire.

Sitting cross-legged on my bed under the late afternoon rays, I couldn’t help but feel apprehensive after my last game… my first Hearts game… meeting Niragi and Aguni… the laser tag guns… the ball pit… the teenage girl. It had all collected into one big mass, and my throat tightened at the thought of the blood, the darkness.

No, I tried to tell myself. It’s different now. We’ll be put into teams, and I won’t be alone. We’ll clear the games together.

With slightly more resolve than before, I climbed off the bed and quietly left my room, only my stomach dropped when I saw the nasty surprise waiting for me on the other side of the door.

Niragi was leaning against the opposite wall, and the moment I exited, he shot me a grin. I had no idea what he was doing there, probably militant business, so I nodded at him in acknowledgement, then headed down the hall. I knew something was seriously wrong when I heard his footsteps stalking behind me.

‘Niragi,’ I greeted him.

‘Shorty,’ he replied, now walking beside me. ‘You really shouldn’t ignore people, you know. It’s rude as fuck.’

What does he want with me of all people?

‘私を待っているとは知らなかった,’ I told him honestly. I didn’t know you were waiting for me.

‘Ch, as if. I waited there for half an hour. Where the hell are you off to anyway?’

I held out my bandaged arm. ‘これがまだ痛い。だから医療室ではアンに会う.’ This still hurts, so I’m meeting An in the medical room.

Overall, it had healed pretty well. But after the laser tag game, and being kidnapped by militants, the wound had partially re-opened again.

‘I’ll go with you.’

Why??

My gut instinct was telling me to run away, far away.

We turned a corner, stopping in front of the elevators. When the doors pinged open, the group of girls inside immediately stopped talking once they laid eyes on us. They darted out of the elevator, leaving it empty for Niragi and I to enter. I tried not to feel nervous around him. If he wanted me dead, he’d have just shot me already, so it couldn’t be that.

‘どうして待っていた?’ I asked, slowly. How come you were waiting?

Asking Niragi questions felt like a life-or-death situation. Last time I was rude to him he kicked me in the spine. The man was like a loaded gun; he had to be handled with care.

However, he didn’t reply, and the lingered between us until the elevator stopped at the basement floor. We headed down a long, dark hallway, with exposed cables and pipes suspended from the ceiling. This was starting to feel like a really, really bad idea. Seeing the medical room door, I sped up instinctively, but Niragi’s hand grabbed my shoulder, pulling me back and yanking me around. The movement sent shooting pains down through my injured arm.

‘Chishiya,’ Niragi said, eyes glinting with malice. ‘You’ve become pretty chummy with him recently.’

Wait… what?

‘That’s not…’ I hated the way my voice stuttered. ‘そうじゃない.’ That’s not it….

He clearly wasn’t buying it. ‘Tell me what he’s up to. He’s an arrogant little shit and I know he’s up to something.’

Niragi’s grip was too tight, way too tight, and I could barely think straight through the pain. ‘違うよ,’ I insisted. You’re wrong.

‘Am I? I don’t think so, Shorty. You’d better tell me now before I put a bullet in you.’

I didn’t know whether I was scared or annoyed. My heart hammered in my chest, but I was getting pretty sick of his ridiculous questions. I tore away from his hold, inspecting the sleeve for any spots of blood that could’ve seeped through.

‘Stop doing that! クイナのパーカーを台無しにしたくない.’ I don’t want to ruin Kuina’s hoodie.

His brow furrowed a little at this, but I ignored it. Someone like him probably didn’t care about getting blood on his clothes.

I didn’t know how to say what I meant in Japanese, so all I could do was tell him in English. ‘You’re right about one thing. Chishiya’s awful. But you’re wrong about everything else. He can’t stand the sight of me, except when he’s watching me suffer. So even if he did have some kind of plan hatched up, he wouldn’t bother telling me.’

Niragi pulled away and stood up fully. Despite his visible irritation, he was listening all the same.

Perhaps he knows a little bit of the language?

‘And even then,’ I continued, ‘if he was planning something, why would he bother? You know as well as anyone he’s just in this for his own survival and being here at the Beach is his best shot. It wouldn’t make sense.’

A dangerous look worked its way onto his features. I thought right then and there that he’d attack me, kick me with his boot like he’d done before. But he did the exact opposite. With one hand, he twirled his fingers in a strand of my hair, before softly tucking it behind my ear.

I held my breath as he leaned in. ‘Everything you just said,’ he whispered, ‘is complete bullshit.’

Then pulling away quicker than I could flinch, he readjusted his rifle on his shoulder and took off back down the hall. Then he suddenly stopped, as if remembering something, and looked at me over his shoulder.

‘That hoodie you’re wearing… it’s Chishiya’s.’

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I must’ve looked like I’d seen a ghost, because when I finally entered the medical room, An immediately asked me if I was feeling ill. I tried telling her that I was perfectly fine, but she insisted on taking a bunch of tests to make sure I wasn’t going into septic shock. I couldn’t tell her that it was closer to actual shock.

Even when I finally left the medical room, I still couldn’t shake it off. Except now, the surprise had worn away, leaving sheer humiliation in its place.

Did Kuina steal it from his room?

When he met me at the bar, he must’ve seen it and wondered where I’d gotten it from. And when he had mentioned asking one of the executives to go shopping with me… he had probably assumed I’d been in his room and taken it.

Oh god…

I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. I wanted to scream and tell him I’m sorry. I wanted to rip the hoodie off and push it as far away from me as I could. But I couldn’t. I still didn’t feel comfortable being so exposed.

‘It’s fine,’ I tried to convince myself, ‘everything’s fine.’ I got into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.

My visa’s due to expire tonight, so I can get a new one for myself. I’ll just explain everything to him. It’s almost game time anyway, so he might be in the lobby.

As the elevator doors opened, I wiped any tears away with my hands, careful not to dirty the sleeves, and headed to the lobby. It was packed with Beach residents, either wishing their friends luck or preparing for the games ahead. I found the little table at the front and took the slip of paper with my name on it.

Group Two.

Then I stepped back, leaning against the wall as my eyes searched the crowds. Sure enough, I spotted a white hood, the thin tendrils of grey-blond hair visible beneath. I waited until he took his slip of paper before I stepped forward.

But there was no need. His eyes locked onto mine from across the room, as if he had clocked onto my presence immediately without showing it. He trudged through the masses, coming to a stop in front of me. I couldn’t help but rub my arms nervously.

‘I’m sorry,’ I blurted out, ‘Kuina gave me this hoodie, and I assumed it was hers and that she was letting me use it. But I just found out from Niragi that it’s actually yours. I didn’t steal it or anything, and I’ve definitely never been in your room. I’m so sorry, I had no idea.’

Chishiya didn’t seem surprised at all, or if he was, he was an expert at hiding it. ‘I know,’ he said, at last. ‘You couldn’t have known where my room was anyway.’

Thinking about it, he had a point. When I started wearing this, I hadn’t even left my own room, so I couldn’t have been in Chishiya’s.

‘I guess you’re right.’

I felt his warmth against my side as he leaned on the wall next to be me. ‘But what I told you at the bar that night still stands,’ he said. ‘Tonight, you’ll get the chance to go looking for any clothes or personal items you want.’

‘Once I get some of my own clothes, I’ll wash this and give it back to you, I promise’ I told him. ‘I just need to find out who the executive in my group is.’

‘It’s me.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because the executives create the groups,’ he said. ‘And I happen to be supervising you. Normally, when a new member arrives, we do an aptitude test. We observe them in a game to test their abilities, but I’ve already vouched for your abilities, and there were only two executives with an expiring visa.’

‘That’s….’ I trailed off, then something clicked. ‘Wait, who was the other executive?’

Ignoring my question, he went on. ‘Since I’ve already seen your abilities, your only test will be to survive. If you can do that, I’ll go with you to get whatever supplies you need.’

I tried to keep the smile from my face, but I couldn’t hold it back. ‘Sounds like a deal.’

‘Time for the games!’ a voice called out, excitedly, and the whole room erupted into cheers. The masses of Beach members piled through the doors, trying to find their assigned cars and groups.

At the same time, I hadn’t moved at all. I couldn’t keep my eyes from Chishiya’s. He was looking back into mine with that same calculating emptiness. I could see the cogs turning, but I didn’t know what they were turning for.

Then as quickly as it happened, the moment was gone as he left, disappearing into the crowd.

#alice in borderland #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x oc #chishiya x reader #chishiya alice in borderland

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cathrrrine · 3 years

Text

Otherworldly | SPN x The Witcher

Originally from my AO3

CHAPTER 2 - If It Isn't The Butcher

----

“She sent us here?”

The three of them were now seated in a tavern, not unlike the bars they were used to, but a little less cleaner than what they preferred.

”Atë sent us here.” Red confirmed. She recalled the conversation she had with her sister.

—

”She’s not here for games. She’s here to destroy the world.”

Red turned to her sister, Natalia, who looked as disheveled as an unattended child; hair messy, bags under her eyes, food staining her shirt and crumbs from the sandwich she ate before stuck at the edges of her mouth. She hadn’t showered or eaten properly for days, engrossed with her research on Atë.

Red, the ever caring sister, handed her a cup of coffee. ”Drink.”

”You’re not listening-“

”Drink. Then I will listen.” Red repeated. It wasn’t a request. Natalia sighed, knowing full well that her sister wouldn’t take no for an answer. Her hand reached for the cup, much to the satisfaction of her sister, and she took a sip of the warm beverage.

”Good. Now, what did you say?”

”Atë. She’s here on a mission to take what isn’t hers.” Although her words made Red’s spine shiver, she did not display her fear. Instead, she took the hair brush on the table and ran it through her sister’s hair.

Both of them had red hair, Natalia’s a few shades lighter than Red’s. But although they had the same hair colour, they didn’t share the same texture. Natalia inherited their mother’s straight and silky hair, while Red took to their father’s soft and curly hair. The two of them inherited the red from their father, who was a kind yet stern man.

Both their parents were dead now. They were all they had left. Well...except for the Winchesters, who came into their lives a few years back.

“She’s done this before. In 1834, look.” Natalia showed the proof from her laptop screen. Indeed, it was true. It was a report about a woman with a description that matched Atë’s. “She burned houses, people, crops...she took babies just to murder them. Atë kills and conquers.”

“There’s no doubt she came back to do this again. She wants to cause chaos. That’s all she knows.”

“There’s also something else.” It took Natalia a few clicks on her laptop. “It’s been said that she can send people to another universe.”

“What, like with aliens and shit? ”

“Maybe. It’s not impossible. If we’re not careful, she’ll send us off to wherever she wants to. And then we won’t be able to save the world from her antics.”

They shared a look. Fear was evident im their eyes.

“She’s extremely powerful.” Natalia sighed. “But we need to fight her.”

—

“This wasn’t an accident. She does this to people. Goddess of Mischief, remember?” Red scoffed, taking another swig of water. She would’ve gone for ale, like the white-haired man who lead them here, but she didn’t have any money. At least, none that were worth in the world she was in. So, instead she asked for water, which was fortunately costless.

“How do we get back?” Sam was worried, Red noticed. He never really put his emotions on display, but she’s known him long enough to point out his tells. If he was worried, his eyebrows would knit together subconsciously and he would constantly run his hands through his hair.

Red put her hand over his, and he looked up at her with a smile in his eyes. He intertwined their fingers together, and she stroked his hand with her thumb. It wasn’t an uncommon thing between them. Every time they noticed the other was nervous or scared, they would reach for the other’s hand.

“We have to find a witch.” said Red. “If we were back in our world, Rowena would be able to help us. We need to find someone as powerful as her.”

“Do they even have witches?”

“We could always...” she trailed off as her eyes landed on the person she was looking for. “...ask.”

“Him? Are you kidding me?” Dean shook his head disapprovingly. “He didn’t want anything to do with us.”

“I could ask.”

“No.” Sam gave her hand a squeeze. “He could kill you. We don’t know him.” It was a joke, but there was a hint of truth in there.

Red returned the squeeze, as if to say ‘Don’t worry’. Then she stood up to walk over to the Witcher’s table before they could protest further.

“Not much for company, I see.”

The man ignored her, but she knew he was listening. “We need your help.”

“I’ve helped you enough. You want any more of my services, you pay.”

She started to feel hopeless, but at the back of her head she heard her sister scolding her for giving up too early. “You know we don’t have the money. We’re not from your world.”

He acted as if he was unbothered.

“Listen.” She seethed, frustrated with the way he was treating her. “All we need to do is find a witch. Then you can leave us from there. You said you’re a Witcher, do you know anything about magic?”

The corner of his lips twitched, a laugh threatening to start. “Witchers hunt and kill monsters. What you’re looking for is a mage.”

“A mage?” Red took the seat across him and sat down, forcing him to look in her eyes. “We’re looking for a powerful one. Can you lead us to them?”

His amber eyes seemed to glow in the darkness of the tavern. He wasn’t completely opposed to the idea of helping the three strangers, but he did not like the idea of stringing along dead weight. He had jobs to do.

“No.” He hummed, downing the glass of ale right after to avoid looking at the woman in front of him.

“No? Seriously?” She didn’t yell, but it seemed like she was close to it. “Okay, what do you want? Besides money.”

“I want you to go away.”

“We don’t know anyone else in this world.”

“You don’t know me either.” That was true. They didn’t even know each other’s names. He stood from his seat and grabbed his things, making a beeline for the exit. She followed suit, hot on his heels.

Red was pissed off. “At least tell me where I can find a mage!”

“Pay.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She groaned. “Haven’t you heard anything I said? We’re lost! We don’t know anything about your world.”

They were already out the door, him at the front, trying to block out her voice.

“Look, please, just listen to me. Our world is in danger. We need to go back to save it.”

He knew a few things about saving. At this, he stopped in his tracks, contemplating. Red almost cried in relief when he did.

“If we don’t get back soon, the world- our world, will suffer. There’s someone who wants to destroy it and we’re the only ones who know how to stop her.” The last part wasn’t completely true. They were the only ones who knew what she was going to do to their world, but they didn’t know how to stop her yet. “Please.”

He turned, hearing the desperation in her voice. He gazed into her eyes, filled with a fire that he recognised all too well.

“Oi, that’s the Butcher!” A voice cried from their right. It was a man, obviously drunk, and he was dragging along a sword. The Witcher sighed, a scowl starting to creep on his face. He knew he would face something like this.

“If it isn’t the Butcher.” Another voice yelled. Red went silent, recognising the venom in the tone of the random man’s voice.

“Butcher?” She whispered.

At least half of the townspeople stopped in their tracks when they noticed the ‘butcher’, and a few men crowded around them.

“Get inside.” The Witcher growled to Red, but she couldn’t hear him among all the noise that the crowd was causing. The tension was thick, and Red reached slowly for her blade, ready to defend herself.”

“You’re no welcome here. You know that.” The drunk man slurred.

“I was here for a job. I seek no trouble.”

“No trouble? You’re presence is trouble itself.”

“Back off. I was just leaving.” But the drunk man wasn’t listening. He took his sword and swung. The Witcher dodged it, taking out his own sword from it’s sheath. They fought, the Witcher obviously winning, but he wasn’t planning on killing anyone today. He waited for the right moment before throwing a forceful punch his way, knocking the drunk man out immediately.

Red watched as the scene unfolded, not realising when a couple of men crept up behind her.

“You a friend of his?” One of them breathed, close to her neck. She whipped her head around, her face inches away from his. She took two steps back, trying to assess the situation.

“So what if I am?” She questioned.

“Then you just found yourself some trouble, missy.” In the blink of an eye, he swung a blade her way, missing her by inches when she managed to dodge it in time.

She rolled her eyes. “Can’t I get a break?”

Red attacked him, plunging her knife into his thigh. It wasn’t enough apparently, because he stood up fine, pouncing at her once again. She was quick to twirl her body around and kick him in the face, so hard that she could feel his teeth through her boot.

He fell, spitting out blood. It was a move that she used frequently while hunting, and it never failed to knock her victims out—whatever the species.

Another man moved to attack her from the back, this time she was caught off-guard. He had wrapped his arm around her neck, choking her. Just as she was struggling to stab him, his suddenly grip weakened. Red turned around to see Sam, holding a piece of hard wood that he used to hit the man on the head.

They shared a wordless grin for a second before resuming the fight. Dean had also joined, kicking and throwing punches. There were at least a dozen of men who were attacking them all. Why? The three humans didn’t have a clue. But they fought anyway.

Red turned to look for the Witcher, and was surprised when she found him struggling in a chokehold. He seemed strong enough to hold his own, but she ran his way and punched the side of his choker’s head, feeling the crack of her knuckles as it connected with his skull. It was enough to disorientate him.

“I had that.” The Witcher grumbled.

“Oh, yeah, sure you did.” She taunted, turning back to the man and kicking him in the stomach, then again in the face.

The Witcher stared at her, millions of thoughts popping into his head. Maybe she wasn’t dead weight after all.

Maybe he would consider helping her.

#YEAH I SUCK AT FIGHT SCENES OKAY #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #just realised i tagged the others as xreader....it's not an xreader fic #im too lazy to go change them #sam winchester #sam winchester x oc #dean winchester #dean winchester x oc #supernatural x oc #supernatural x the witcher #spn x the witcher #so many x's #witcher netflix #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia #geralt x ofc

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et-lesailes · 4 years

Photo

title: break point

pairing: ransom drysdale x personalized reader

word count: 3050

summary: when your ex boyfriend’s mom comes to you in need of help for his horrible behavior and attitude during his house arrest, you give in and see what you can do. things definitely do not turn out as planned.

themes: angst, smut

taglist: @evanstush, @tanyam93, @bval-1, @wonderwinchester, @patzammit, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @sammyslonglostshoe, @jadedhillon, @bohemian-barbie, @whysparker, @sebastian-i-stan, @sebabestianstan101, @lille-kattunge, @teller258316, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @xoxabs88xox, @heyiamthatbitch, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @bangtan-serendipity, @troublermalik, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @bookish-shristi, @kind-sober-fullydressed, @gingerninjaprincess16, @straightforwardly, @denisemarieangelina, @frencchfries, @xlanawriter, @littlemoistcarrot, @pottxrwolff, @arianatheangelworld, @ifuseekamyevans, @southerngracela, @nsfwsebbie, @rororo06, @savemesteeb, @raveviolet, @hurricanerinwrites, @captainamerica-is-bae, @shaddixlife, @tessa-bl, @marvelouspottering, @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc, @thegetawaywriter, @dwights-new-plague, @rynabarnesrogers, @fckdeusername, @doloreschanal, @ssworldofsw

notes: thank you so much @capsicleimpala for requesting this, i absolutely loved writing it and it was such a creative idea! i really hope you love it :) also, in this story, fran survived lol. i don’t think ransom would be able to only have house arrest for being a direct murderer, even with a rich lawyer hehe *** for anyone interested in commissioning me, please check out this post !

When you hear the television inside as you’re in the process of inserting your key into the lock of your upscale apartment door, you freeze. Last time you checked, you didn’t have a roommate, and you definitely didn’t have a significant other hanging out in there. Your heart starts racing. Should you call the police? Ever since making it big in tennis, competing in all sorts of national and international tournaments, you’ve had a lot of crazy fans vying for your attention. Some do it in sweet ways, and others… not so sweet. However, no one’s actually ever showed up at your home.

You take a deep breath and twist the lock, pushing the door open anyways. There’s no way the man at the front desk would just let anyone walk right up. Perhaps it’s maintenance?

But no. Instead of seeing a worker dressed in uniform and fixing a leak, you see Linda Drysdale lounging in the armchair of your living room, legs crossed with a naturally unamused demeanor as her blue eyes flicker across the flat screen TV. She glances up at you as if she’s lived there her entire life, eyebrow lifted. “Finally. I didn’t realize tennis practice took so much time, how many methods can possibly be involved in hitting a ball back and forth?”

You look at her in disbelief for a few moments, trying to process that your ex-boyfriend’s mother is inside your home right now despite the fact that you and Ransom broke up three years ago. You aren’t even offended by her words; you’re aware of how blunt and straightforward the seemingly harsh lady can be- she was practically a true mother-in-law to you when you and Ransom were dating. You finally speak. “Linda. What are you doing here? You can’t just- how did you even-”

“The young man in the lobby clearly isn’t getting paid enough. A twenty was all it took. Might want to move somewhere else before he just casually allows a serial killer to walk in.” She rolls her eyes, then mumbles under her breath, “Or my son.”

“What?” you ask, and she shakes her head, looking up with a slight authoritative smile crossing her lips. “We need to talk, Y/N. I’m just going to get straight to the point. My son is ruining his life, as per usual, and I’ve had enough of it. I did everything I could to get him out of this damn lawsuit, to keep him out of jail, and he’s just-- Christ, he’s an ungrateful brat, that’s what he is.” She looks fed up, the sharpness in her eyes seeming as though she’s ready to strangle the man. “Drinking himself to death, fucking a new girl every night, on every single drug you can think of-- he’s a little piece of shit, even without being able to leave the house.”

“And you’re telling me all of this, why…?”

“Because he loves you.” She states simply, and you hate that the words make your heart race. “I know he still loves you, and that you’re the only girl on this planet he’ll ever love. He’ll listen to you, Y/N,” she insists, “and so you need to go see him. Better yet, just date him again. He was a significantly better person when he was with you.”

You look at her shocked, slowly shaking your head as you let out a quiet scoff. “Linda. He tried to kill someone. He’s the reason your father died. How can you ask me to go back to him? Why do you even care what happens to him, after everything he did?”

“Because he’s my son. And maybe you’ll understand one day, when you have a child of your own. But what I understand is that you could turn him into someone his family can approve of. Or, at least, even tolerate.” She adds with a roll of her eyes before continuing, “He tried to be good for you, Y/N, you know that.”

“Good?” You look at her incredulously, starting to get a little heated. “He told me he didn’t want to be with me anymore just because I was trying to have my own career! He couldn’t stand me putting so much time into tennis. He hated me playing tennis. That’s not what a “good” boyfriend does, okay? It’s not my responsibility to fix him back up when he couldn’t even be a support for me in the first place.”

She quickly waves her hands, frowning slightly. “Okay, okay. Fine, don’t think about getting back together with him. Just see him, at least. Please.” She sighs deeply, looking down for a moment as she rubs her temples before looking back up at you. “I’m begging you here, Y/N. I can’t just stand here and watch this boy waste all my hard earned money for his own selfish needs. Hell, if I could, I’d just stick him in jail now if I could. He doesn’t deserve this freedom at this point.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you look away. “What a nurturing mother,” you mumble under her breath, and although she hears you, she doesn’t remark on it. She sighs again instead, looking at you somewhat frustrated and helpless. “Just go over to his house, only for an hour. Talk to him. Convince him to stop being such a prick.”

You look at her somewhat frustrated, but finally sigh. You are the only one who’s ever been able to get through to Ransom, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t concerned when you heard the news. The Ransom you knew was an asshole, but he certainly wasn’t a murderer. Something clearly changed in him since you broke up with him, and so maybe Linda was right.

“An hour.” You finally agree, though give her a warning look. “And if he gets disrespectful or crosses any lines, I’m leaving. I’m not a miracle worker, Linda.” She looks relieved nonetheless, immediately nodding her head. “Of course. Thank you, Y/N.” The two of you stand there for a moment before she lifts an eyebrow, looking at you. “Well? Get over there before he gives himself alcohol poisoning.” You blink, about to protest but sigh. You figure it’s best to get this over with anyways- if you don’t, you’ll be up all night stressing about it. “Fine. But you need to leave first, you can’t- you can’t just hang out in my house when I’m not here, you know?”

“Oh, I’m leaving. This place is a shoebox.” Linda looks around somewhat disdainfully before pausing, looking to you with a smile. “But you’ve… decorated it very well.” You roll your eyes, gesturing to the door. “Goodbye, Linda.”

Her smile remains as she nonchalantly waves, heading out the door.

As you come up to Ransom’s door, your heart is racing. You can hear loud music and obnoxious giggling from inside, no doubt Ransom is throwing some kind of get together- or probably more of an intimate gathering featuring scantily clad women who throw themselves at his good looks and money. You glance over at his BMW shining in the driveway, barely scoffing to yourself. Of all the things to keep intact, he would make sure it was his car. You were with him when he bought that car, and it was probably one of the only “girls” he had ever loved in his life.

You being the other one, of course. You know that at one point, Ransom Drysdale loved you. You can’t help but wonder if that’s still the case.

You take a deep breath and ring the doorbell. The talking and laughing doesn’t stop; these girls are clearly unbothered, but you hear footsteps.

And then he appears, dressed in a t-shirt and perfectly fitting jeans, his brown hair slightly tousled and his cocky smirk across his lips- until his intoxicated brain registers who you are. He blinks in surprise, smile fading from his lips for just a split second- then quickly returns to his normal self, most likely realizing he absolutely must look composed and confident. “Y/N. I knew you’d come crawling back to me eventually. Took you a while, though, I’m kinda busy right now.”

You stare at him for a few moments; you thought you’d be nervous and apprehensive, but now, as if by magic, any feeling of uncertainty slips away. It’s almost impressive how he has this effect on people, but within less than one minute of this conversation, you’ve already had enough.

“Shut the fuck up, Ransom.” You find yourself saying, suddenly pushing right past him and grabbing his arm in the process. “We need to talk.” You practically drag him into the kitchen, ignoring the confused and even irritated looks of the half naked women on his couch clearly having been in the middle of enjoying his attention. It’s surprisingly easy to maneuver him, most likely because he’s a little too drunk.

“Wow, hellcat. You really missed me, huh? Unable to find anyone who’s a better fuck than me, I take it? Alright, alright, I’ll squeeze you in. I have to say, I definitely missed your tight little-”

He’s cut off by a sharp sting on his cheek when you slap him across the face, his lips parting into a shocked ‘o’ almost immediately as his blue eyes stare at you in complete shock. Even you’re a little shocked upon where this sudden boldness is coming from, but you decide you’re on a roll and that there’s no need to question it. You came here to say something, and you’re going to say it. You don’t even let him respond. Not that he has the words to, anyways.

“Who the fuck are you anymore, huh? Why are you acting like this? And not just a douchebag fuckboy, either, but a full on killer? What the hell is going through your brain?” you practically scream at him, and he blinks in surprise before his features suddenly become defensive. “What, do you think it has to do with you? Our break up? You think I’m just so tormented, torn apart, that I’m not over you?”

“I- no, when the fuck did I say-”

“Well then why are you here, Y/N? Why do you, of all people, need to be here right now? Who are you to come show your concern and your goddamn disgust when you’re the one who dumped me?!” His voice is just as loud as yours if not louder, the vein in his neck bulging from anger, his eyes practically a shade darker. You throw your hands up in frustration, retorting, “Why does that even matter, Ransom? Can I not be concerned that the former love of my life turned into a goddamn murderer? Am I not allowed to be a little confused that my ex-boyfriend turned into a fucking psychopath?”

“Former, huh?” His voice suddenly gets low, dangerously low. “So that’s it? You found someone else? Some prissy, preppy tennis playing fuck who lets out the same little grunts and groans out on the court, in the bedroom too? That your type, Y/N? A skinny little-”

“You were my type, Ransom!” you practically scream now, glaring up at him in complete fury. “You know what my type was? Confident, funny, manly, someone who wanted me to be safe and someone who was so thoughtful he remembered everything I liked and disliked, who wanted to do everything he could to make my life better because he knew how to be selfless! Do you even know what that word means now?!”

“Well maybe I became this way because you decided to prioritize tennis! You don’t think that’s a little damn selfish?!”

“Are you-- God, you know what? Maybe you’ve always been this fucking ridiculous, and maybe I was blind. Maybe this is all my fault, Ransom, because I trusted the wrong person. I can’t even fucking believe I-”

And then his lips suddenly crash against yours, his hands grabbing your waist and pinning your small frame against the cool counter, a husky growl of frustration escaping his throat as he kisses you. Rough. You gasp, starting to press your hands against his chest, wanting to push him off… until you don’t. You’re kissing him back fiercely, though still angry as ever, moving your hands to grip his muscular biceps as you dig your nails in. “I fucking hate you,” you hiss against his lips, and he scoffs in between kisses, barely groaning from the feeling of your sharp nails leaving indents in his skin. He’s turned on, and you know it.

“No you fucking don’t.”

There’s no need for foreplay. There’s no time or patience for that. After easily sitting you up on the counter, he pulls your shirt up over your head only to connect your lips again, his teeth pulling on your lower lip roughly as he unhooks your bra and tosses it aside. His hands find your gym shorts and shove them down- he quite literally rips your underwear off, making you let out a muffled squeal of surprise into his open mouth. When you feel his fingers slide up your thigh and rub up against your wet folds, you let out a shaky gasp, moving your hands to grip his shoulder blades through his tee. “O-oh…!”

“You’re fucking soaked for me, cupcake.” His other hand moves up to grip the back of your neck, fingers curling into your brown locks. Despite the distraction of the haze of pleasure rushing through your brain and body, you can’t help but note his fond pet name for you. Every time you got stressed, you’d bake- Ransom would always lovingly make fun of you for this, hence how “cupcake” began. However, he doesn’t give you much time to dwell on this- perhaps on purpose. He’s most likely realized he fucked up, God forbid he show any sign of affection. You let out a short moan when his broad fingers rub your clit, his other hand using the grip on your hair to tilt your head up so your brown eyes are locked firmly onto his blue ones.

“You like that? You see what you’ve left behind for these past few years? You couldn’t possibly have forgetten how good I fuck you, right?” he speaks through husky breaths, panting just as much as you as he rubs. You moan lewdly, though your teeth clench in frustration. “Just fuck me already, Ransom, stop… stop fucking talking…”

He snickers and suddenly stops rubbing, leaving you feeling slightly disappointed despite the fact you asked for it. Hastily unbuckling his belt and pushing down his jeans and briefs, he wraps his fingers around his throbbing length, groaning lowly to himself as he pumps his shaft. Pressing it against your entrance, he wastes no time in thrusting inside you, gripping your hips tightly as a grunt of pleasure escapes his throat.

“Fuck. Fuck. I forgot… how fucking tight… your pussy feels around my cock…” he groans with half shut eyes as he bucks his hips forward, tilting his head back. “God damn!”

“Ransom!” You hear a girl’s voice come from the kitchen doorway, gasping from both surprise and pleasure as you look up- normally, you’d be embarrassed, but right now, you couldn’t care less. You’re still riding the rush of adrenaline from your rage towards this man, but before you can even comment, he sharply yells at her, “Get the fuck out of here, and take your damn bimbo sluts with you- I don’t fucking need any of you anymore!”

She stares at both of you angrily before grunting in annoyance, whirling around. You moan as Ransom thrusts into you even rougher, your hands sliding up under his shirt to feel his skin, nails once again digging in to relieve your tension. “Mm… mm… don’t… fucking stop…!” you cry out as you hitch your legs high up around his waist, letting him get a better angle as he continues fucking you in the middle of his kitchen. Your body is practically being rocked upwards from how powerful he is, your head buried into his neck as you bite and suck desperately only making him groan even more.

“You still on birth control?” he breathes out gruffly into your shoulder as his hands cup your ass, his teeth nipping and biting harshly. “You still getting checked regularly for STDs?” you retort breathlessly, though to be honest, you’re not worried about that despite his recent history. He may treat his things like shit, but he keeps himself well maintained all to uphold his little rich boy image. He’s actually much more hygienic than one would imagine, and has standards with the women he sleeps with despite coming off as such a playboy.

“Yes, just let me fucking know if I can-”

“Yes, yes, I’m on birth control, come inside me,” you whine demandingly, moving your hands up to grip his brown hair tightly, messing it up even more than before. He smirks, grunting louder as he uses his hold on your ass to rock your hips towards his, the sound and feel of skin slapping putting you into overdrive. “Ransom…! Shit, Ransom, I’m close, fuck, I’m coming!” He groans just from hearing you, chest heaving as he keeps going, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Come for me, doll, fuck…!”

Your release combined with the sensation of his inside you is euphoric. As much as you hate to admit it, you missed sex like this. You certainly haven’t had it since you broke up.

He pulls out with heavy breaths, staring at you for a few moments. You swear you catch a glimpse of the old Ransom, the one you fell in love with, the one who would never actually hurt anyone despite coming off as such an asshole.

“Don’t push me away.” You suddenly speak quietly through uneven breaths, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck as you stare up at him.

His hands are still holding your hips, those pacific hues studying every inch of your face with all types of conflict and concern spread across his sharp, handsome features.

“I don’t want to.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale x you #rhee commissions

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youralternantpersonality · 3 years

Text

Please Take Me

Request: Yes by anon. Embry Call x Reader: Hi! Could I please have a request where Embry saves the reader’s life, and in doing so imprints on them?

A/n: It’s been a minute since I wrote something. So, thank you to whoever requested this! I hope it is what you wanted, and I hope you like it. This request helped me remember what I miss and enjoyed the most about writing. So, double thank you, my love!

Enjoy!

***

You know how they say, always pay attention to your surroundings. Especially at night. And if you're a female (even though it does happen to males too). Yeah, well, guess who decided to not pay attention exiting the grocery store after my shift. My boss, Lenny, asked if he could walk me to my car and I refused. One, because he’s kind of creepy—he’s nice, but he just looks at you like he’s shocked at something. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him blink at least 3 times in a conversation I had with him. But secondly, I was exhausted.

I had 3 Karen’s and their husband Bob come into the store to complain about the quality of the meat, the long lines, or just because I had an “attitude.” And of course, I had to kick out at least an additional 4 people for not wearing a mask.

“It’s my right as an individual to not wear one.” Yeah, Dick and Barbra, it’s also my right to kick your ass.

“We have the right to not serve you, so go put on a mask or don’t come back. I simply don’t care.” I turn to the phone to make an announcement. “Security, please come to the front. We have a D.A.A.M.” D.A.A.M—Dumb Ass Anti-Maskers. But yeah, my day, like most days, was just peachy.

I always park my car on the side of the parking lot. Right next to the exit way and within eyesight of the security footage. I was halfway there where suddenly, I was pushed to the ground. I looked around and saw no one or thing around. So, I calmly got up, and I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I sprint to my car and unlock it. As I get in, I take a breather and turn on my car. I look in my rearview mirror, and I see dark red eyes looking back at me. Neither one of us moved. You know how you’re in so much shocked as something that if you look away, you’ll be afraid you’ll never see it again or you question if you ever saw it.

Yeah, that’s what is happening now. Neither of us blinked, moved, or exhaled. It wasn’t until a creepy smile formed on its face that I reacted. Before I could scream or move towards the door, they had their hand wrapped around my mouth.

“Drive, and don’t do anything stupid little one.” I nod my head and slowly drive off back towards my home near La Push but just beyond Forks' line. I slowly drive to buy myself some time to find an escape. But apparently, he already knew what I was thinking.

“Don’t even think about it, my little rabbit. Take a left up here.” I follow his orders, and he leads me to a wooded area. I park my car close to the street, and we get out and head towards the woods. I’m not sure how far we’ve gotten, but I know as I look around, all I see is darkness, tall trees, and I can’t hear the passing cars on the main road.

“Let’s play a game, shall we?” he says, squeezing my arm, whispering into my ear. I look up at him, and he smiles and chuckles.

“Don’t worry, my little rabbit, we’re just going to play a nice game of ‘Hound and the Heir.’ You know that child game. Do you know or remember how to play?” he says, circling me. I nod my head, yes, tears coming down my face, not excited for what’s going to happen next.

“Good! How about I be generous and let my little heir go first. Ready…” I know I’m not going to make it.

“Set…” I say a quick prayer.

“GO!” I take off. Not sure where I’m going, not sure what direction I’m heading. All I know is, it’s better than where I was before. In the meantime, I scream and cry for help.

“HELP! SOMEONE HELP ME!” I scream into the night—to no one. I hear the demon’s laugh around me. I don’t know where but I try to push myself more to get out of here. It wasn’t until I felt a pair of hands push me into a tree as I was jumping over its root. I slam my right shoulder and scream in pain. The bastard grabs me, lifts me up effortlessly, and tosses me to the ground, landing on the same shoulder. This time, I heard a pop.

Like the Hound he is, he creeps up to me, and just as he is close, he lifts his head and looks behind me, and backs away. I look behind me and see giant wolves breaking through the trees, growling.

“Son of a bitch…” he says and takes off. They all go after him, except for the silver-white wolf. She stays behind and looks at me. She waits until a big black, dark brown and a dark silver wolf comes back. Three other figures come out as men. What the fuck is happening?

“Don’t worry, you’re okay. We’re going to take you back to our place and get you cleaned up.” Says the smaller one with the babyface. I just want to pinch his cheeks.

“Like hell you are! Who the fuck are you guys?! What the fuck just happened? I just got kidnapped, and all of a sudden, I’m supposed to be okay and just allow a set of random strangers to take me again?” What kind of backward hell is this?

“We promise, we’re not going to hurt you.” Says the leaner one, I turn to him to say a snarky remark, but it gets caught in my throat. Hot fucking damn… “Be cool bitch, be cool…wait…”

“There's 4 wolves and 3 shirtless guys. What combination of that says ‘safe’ to you?” I ask him. Instead of giving me an answer, he just stares at me. I look at the others as they're looking at him. The babyface one and another one that resembles a chipmunk starts laughing, and the wolves look irritated or unbothered. Regardless, I move to get up but end up falling.

“FUCK! SON OF A BITCH! My ankle!” I say, staying on the ground, trying to cradle my shoulder while trying to not put pressure on my right ankle. It seemed that’s when Mr. Fuck Me woke from his daydream and came over to me.

“Here, let’s get you to Emily’s house.” then proceeds to effortlessly lift me up as if I am a feather.

“Holy shit, you're strong…don’t fucking drop me.” He smiles down at me and laughs,

“I promise I won't.” He turns to everyone, “We’ll see you guys there. Yes, Leah, stay behind.” He says, talking to the white wolf.

“Great, I’m stuck with a psycho who talks to animals… What is this? The Wild Thornberry’s?” I look around. He smiles,

“Naw, let’s just say you’re life is about to get interesting, cutie.” He says, then smiles and winks at me. Um, sir…please fuck me.

~~~

“And that’s it,” Embry says nervously.

“That’s it?” I asked, questioning as if what he told me was enough to not have a billion questions.

“Yep.” I shake my head.

“How does it work? Does it hurt?” he smiled,

“Yeah, at first it did, but it gets better over time. You should see us when we first phase. You know how when a baby deer or giraffe is born, they can barely stand, and they wobble all over the place. That’s what happens to us. Only we’re over six feet with big heads.”

“Speak for yourself. Paul's head is the biggest.” Jared says, interrupting us. We were at Sam and Emily’s house, and it had been a month since the terrible day in the woods. Embry brought me back here with Leah to get cleaned up. Ever since, he never left my side…not that I was complaining. It was just weird; I never had or even actually wanted someone to be around like he is. Hell, I can barely stand to be around my own family.

“Anyways, you’re giving me a ride one of these days.”

“Not while you’re hurt…” Embry said in a monotonous stern voice…Zaddy. Let me stop…

“Fair enough. Now, is there anything else I should know before I ask questions? I would prefer to have all the information out now; that way, we can move forward.” Everyone—Jared, Sam, Emily, and Embry—becomes quiet.

“And, that’s my cue. I’m going to see how long it takes to annoy Kim before she kicks me out of her house. Good luck!” Jared says, grabbing 3 cookies and a biscuit before running out the door. Sam and Emily give words of encouragement to Embry and leave.

“Embry…what’s going on?” I said, looking at him. He clears his throat.

“Well, there is one other thing. Just to let you know, it’s completely voluntary. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. You are 100% in control between us. Okay?” he says nervously. I look at him suspiciously. I nod my head for him to continue. “Well, there's this thing called imprinting. You know…you know how after a while, you couldn’t figure out why but you felt like you wanted to be around me—for us to be close to one another?”

“More like need, but sure, continue.” He shakes his head and smiles.

“Well, there's a reason behind that. You know what mating is, right?” I nod my head.

“Like eagles when they mate for life. Right?”

“Yeah! Exactly! Well, that’s what happened that night in the woods. When I looked at you like a deer looking at headlights. I, uh, I imprinted on you.” He says nervously. I start feeling conflicted. On the one hand, I'm glad like a mother fucker that I get to have Embry in my life, but on the other, would he have wanted me without imprinting?

“I know what you’re thinking, and honestly, I actually already did like you.” He smiles as I looked at him, confused. “Last year, at the beach. You were walking back to your car while I was walking with Quil and Jake towards the water. We kind of passed each other. I don’t think you noticed me, but I saw you and thought you were the most amazing person I’ve seen. After that, I may have tried to go to the beach as often as possible to see you, but I never did. It wasn’t until the day in the woods that I saw you again. so my initial reaction was both happy because I finally found you again and because I found you.” He says, holding my hand. I started to tear up and smile.

“That’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.” I laugh and reach in to hug him without hurting my shoulder and ankle.

“I’m glad. So, it’s up to you, Y/n. Whatever you want us to be, I’ll be that and there for you always.” I smile and place my left and on his cheek.

“I want you to always be in my life Embry call.” I smile back at him. He grabs my wrist and kisses it and rubs circles on the back of my hand. We eventually start closing the distance between us.

“May I kiss you?” he asked quietly. I nod my head, and he smiles. “I’m going to need verbal consent, love.” I laugh at him,

“Yes. Yes, you may kiss me, please.” And he does. It was gentle, and it felt like home. Then it really felt like home when we heard whistling, hooting, and other unnecessary noises coming outside of the sliding door. We turned to look, only to see Jared, Paul, Jake, and Quil being stupid. I hit my face in Embry’s shoulder as he gave them the finger.

Who would’ve thought that my life would go from boring to adventurous all because of a vampire? I could honestly say I would have it any other way…like for real, I would have instead met Embry at the beach, but at least I can say I have met the love of my life.

*Masters List is in the description bar*

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mercuryislove · 2 years

Note

It is once again the best day of the week! Happy Friday!

🪞 for Anwei

👄 for Yixing

👁 for Ciaran

👀 for Azetahn

👖 for Andhira

happy friday and also saturday and i might as well say sunday too!! my weekend has been super busy so far and SOMEHOW I'm still dealing with the lingering cough from my weird sinus bug thing last week!

🪞 How does your oc perceive themself? Do they believe themself to be attractive, unattractive, or average? Does their view of themself affect their self-esteem, oar they unbothered by their physical appearance? If your oc does have things they're confident or insecure about, what are they?

Anwei has lived long enough to no longer give a damn about what other people think of her looks. When she was growing up, she cared way too much and it warped her self-esteem for years and years and years. She used to hate being tall because her mother always said that boys didn't like tall girls (um. news flash mom she is GAY), and she hated the shape of her jaw and her nose and her dark brows because people used to say they were too “masculine,” so she spent a lot of her teenage years trying to mask it all. Then one day when she was like 20 she woke up and said “WHO GIVES A DAMN?” and quit plucking her brows and dyed her hair cotton candy pink and started wearing platform heels and made sure everyone knew that she didn't give a fuck about everyone else's opinions anymore. (Except her mom. And her mom was fucking mortified that she would dye her hair such a garish color.)

These days, she doesn't try to stand out (except when she's hosting a party lmao) and she doesn't try to blend in (except when she's hiding from people that want her dead), and she truly could not care less about what other people think. She wears clothes that are comfortable and functional, and she styles her hair to keep it out of her way, and like. what the fuck is self-esteem? She knows she can't really change what she looks like and that in a few decades, trends around the world will be completely different, so why bother? She is happy just to be herself. But she really does miss being able to dye her hair weird ass colors. And the platform boots, if only to tower even further over Ciaran.

👄 What is your oc's smile like? Is it bright and wide, or thin and reserved? Does your oc wear any lipgloss or lipstick? Do they chew their lips?

Yixing has two distinct smiles. There's the “professional” smile that he uses with most people he knows. It's like a customer service smile where he squints a little bit and smiles without even showing his teeth, and people eat that shit up. They LOVE it. He whips out the customer service smile to haggle with people and get discounts and to get free drinks and to get his way. Mari tells him he should use it sparingly because people might get used to it and he won't get what he wants with it anymore, but that doesn't stop him lol. And then there's his genuine smile that he only uses when he's around people he's comfortable with (or when he's like. stupid drunk lol) and he smiles with his WHOLE face and it's goofy and toothy and he kind of sticks his tongue out a little bit too and he doesn't try to hide his crow's feet or the creases in his forehead. And honestly that's the smile that people should really get into because it's just um better lol.

Also he is a notorious lip chewer, especially when he's nervous or deep in thought, so his bottom lip gets a little chapped sometimes. Anwei makes him a lip balm to help with it but he always forgets to use it on his lips because it works great for dry hands too and he cares more about that lol

👁 What is your oc's eye color? Do they have any eye-related habits, like winking or rubbing their eyes? Do other people tend to notice their eyes?

Ciaran's eyes are black. Technically, they're just really really dark brown, but they reflect virtually no light even in the brightest sun. It's kind of spooky. (Anwei's eyes are the same, for the record.) It's his distinguishing feature for sure. To make it even weirder, he likes to make eye contact for an uncomfortable length of time, and he doesn't blink often. It definitely freaks people out. Typically, people have trouble holding his gaze because the uncanny nature of his eyes is too much.

👀 What is the first physical feature people notice when they see your oc? Why?

Aside from his height (he's 6'4” which is honestly not that tall in his family because his mother is seven feet tall lmao), the first thing people notice about Azetahn is probably his smile. He has a warm and open smile that he gets from his mother. He's very friendly and wants to make friends with everyone he meets, so he's hardly ever without a smile on his face. People might also notice his eyes. He has his mother's eyes for sure. They're dark brown but in the sunlight they're crimson. It's a distinct trait from her side of the family. (Andhira's eyes are similar but not nearly as remarkable.) The Maram family that Tahire comes from is kind of famous for that because there isn't another family of vampires with such a distinct eye color. It makes it very hard to hide who they are lol

👖 What type of clothing does your oc generally wear? Why? Do they have any signature accessories?

Andhira, like everyone in her family, has expensive taste lol She is always dressed well, always wearing designer labels, and everything is tailored to fit her. She's a big fan of heels and long skirts and sheer fabrics and anything with a good drape, but she generally prefers a suit for formal wear over a gown. She likes to wear dark colors (burgundy, royal purple, emerald green, etc) and wouldn't be caught dead wearing pink or pastels under any circumstances. She always keeps her nails manicured, never very long, prefers to paint them black or red. If that doesn't count as an accessory, she also has an extensive collection of designer sunglasses and she would never leave home without a few pairs to spare. Why does she dress this way? Um, she wants to look her best always and make people jealous when she enters a room because she KNOWS she's better than anyone that could ever hope to make her acquaintance. Also she wears sunglasses religiously because even though she can go out in sunlight, her eyes are very sensitive to it lol

#oc talk #in case it isnt obvious im obsessed with dark eyes #virtually all my characters have them lol #i think i can count on one hand who doesnt have dark eyes #anyway i think ive said it before that anwei was like. a pastel goth back in the day lmao #i crack up at the thought all the time

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bwemph · 4 years

Text

The Measure of Things | Chapter 2 | Loyalty

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: The longer the Mandalorian stays around, the more you find your thoughts wandering back to the man in Beskar. Max takes notice and his jealousy grows fiercer, leading you to invite him and Mando to stay in your already crowded home.

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: Toxic relationship, mild swearing, bar fight, first taste of Soft Din™

“Mando? You up?” You asked, wavering before the makeshift curtain, a tablecloth strung up between your room and the living room in your attempt to give him some privacy while he slept on the couch.

“Yes.”

You peered through to see Mando looking into the pram.

The small child was standing up, reaching out its three-fingered hands to the Mandalorian with a tiny laugh.

Mando never struck you as the type to keep a child around, leaving your interest piqued, especially as he continued to interact with the kid like it was one of his own. It made your heart melt, the way he was so gentle.

You stepped through the curtain, gazing into the baby’s large, brown eyes. “Strange little creature, isn't he?”

Mando nodded.

The child reached toward you now, showing its little teeth in a smile. It cooed as you obliged and picked it up to cradle tenderly and closely to your chest.

“Does he have a name?” you asked.

“Not one that he’s told me. He doesn’t speak.” Mando laid a gloved hand on the child’s back. His soft touch lingered for a moment, eyes trained on the child from behind his visor.

“How did you two cross paths?” you asked.

He sighed. “We met on the job.”

You laughed softly, bouncing the baby a little bit. It giggled and pulled at your vest collar.

“He was a quarry, actually,” Mando confessed.

“What, this little guy?” You took a moment to gaze at the child again. It stared back at you with a tiny smile, looking between you and Mando. You handed him off to the Mandalorian. “He can’t do that much damage, can he?”

“You’d be surprised.”

With a small laugh, you said, “Well, I have to get to the shipyard. I have the pieces to fix the engine today. Still waiting on the fuel tank parts, though.” You gestured to the compact kitchen through the curtains. “Help yourself to anything in there. Make yourself at home.” You started toward the door.

“Thank you, y/n. You’re very kind.”

You stopped with a smile, hand resting on the doorknob. “Of course, Mando. You’re my friend, and my home is always open to my friends.” Before leaving, you popped your head back in. “Also, I could use an extra set of hands down there a little later today if you get the time.”

“Gotcha,” Mando said with a nod.

*****

To your dismay, Mando hadn’t shown up to help on the Crest, so the day passed slowly with only the company of HE-27.

You found your thoughts wandering back to the Mandalorian if you weren't careful. It was hard not to wonder about him. He still never explained what exactly he was doing on Rabadus of all places, but it was the code not to discuss your business with others.

He never held back before, though.

Then again, things weren’t the way they were before. They wouldn’t be like that ever again either, especially since you had left the Guild.

Besides, you had Max and a steady job and a sweet little house to call your own. And Max had been talking an awful lot lately about settling down soon with you, having a few kids. The thought still made your stomach turn, but you couldn’t really place why. You wanted to be a mother more than anything! Well, almost more than anything.

Beep, beep, beep!

You clicked a button on your watch to shut off the alarm. Time for a lunch break!

Finally, you could ease the gnawing in your stomach.

You climbed down from the ladder and wiped the grease off your hands as best you could, hurrying so you could meet Max for lunch.

You stumbled down the hall to the café where workers and pilots would dine between flights and shifts. Emerging into the large room where a hundred voices reverberated off the walls, you picked out Max sitting at a table behind a group of cargo pilots.

You caught his eye and perched across from him.

“Hey, you didn’t stop by this morning,” you said, picking at the salad that Max already had laid out for you.

Max only shrugged in response. “I figured you were busy with the Mandalorian. I didn’t want to get in the way of your doting on him.”

Something about the way he said that struck you like a knife to your heart. Maybe it was the bitterness.

You rolled your lips and shakily exhaled, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “Max, I told you there’s nothing to be worried about.”

He huffed a breath, waving the matter off again. “I’m getting something to drink.”

“Hold on, let’s figure this out. We’re not done talking about this.”

SLAM!

Max brought his fist down heavy on the table and raised his voice. “You do not tell me when I am done talking.”

You saw fury for half a moment, then his shoulders loosened up a little. His eyes remained red hot, though. They felt like they would burn through your skull if he kept looking at you like that.

Your eyes dropped to the table when his gaze became too heavy.

He grit his teeth and leant in close to you. “If you love me, the Mandalorian will sleep at the hostel tonight. This conversation is over.”

Alongside the way your heart raced at his outburst, you felt your coworkers’ gazes heavy on you and Max as he got up and went to the fountain to fill himself a drink. Embarrassment showed itself hot on your cheeks, your eyes trained on the leafy dish in front of you in hopes of the curious gazes leaving you alone.

Fighting tears again, you turned your face away from the more populated side of the room and squeezed your eyes shut.

You had lost your appetite.

Finally, you gathered the strength to look up again. Maybe you could still smooth things over with Max.

Searching the room again, your eyes found Mando first, who was crossing to the corridor leading to bay two.

He wound between the people crowding the café, dodging those who weren’t careful about where they stepped.

You found yourself watching closely at the way he carried himself as if he were on the hunt in any old cantina on a nowhere planet. Despite the way he strode with a purpose, he skillfully led the child in the pram around people, glancing back at it every so often to make sure it was indeed still snuggled up in its blankets. The baby looked up at each person they passed with wide eyes, smiling and waving. Mando certainly drew more than a few gazes with the little one.

A rather petite woman took a meandering step backward, her nasal laugh piercing through the noise.

While Mando moved to stop her from bumping the child’s pram, he brushed shoulders with Max, who stiffened up and instantly turned on his heel.

“Oh, sorry,” the woman apologized, going back to her conversation.

Then Mando turned around, face to face--or rather, visor to face--with Max, who was fuming.

Max looked Mando up and down, squaring up.

Shit. You knew what was coming.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, tin can,” Max said, trying to make himself look as intimidating as the Mandalorian was in his suit of Beskar.

“Tin can,” Mando muttered after a long pause, closing his fingers on the brim of the pram and tugging it along behind him.

Max moved to stand in the Mandalorian’s path, but he pushed past without a word.

You stood and moved to stop what was about to happen, but you were too late.

“Hey!” Max said as he grabbed Mando’s arm.

The Mandalorian turned fast, pulling free from Max’s grasp and drawing a blaster in one swift movement.

The scene drew eyes very quickly, and the café grew very silent.

Max stiffened and eyed the pistol. “What’s your deal, huh? You come to this planet, try to steal away my girlfriend, and now you’re threatening me?”

Mando lowered the gun, securing it again in its holster, but maintaining eye contact with Max the whole time. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, okay? I’m just trying to get back to my ship.”

“Then do it,” he growled.

Max watched after Mando as he took the pram and continued toward the hangar.

Then, as soon as the Mandalorian’s back was turned, Max lunged forward and grabbed the Mandalorian’s cape and landed a punch in his side.

Mando grunted, pushing the pram away. It closed and launched out of the fray all in one movement.

In an instant, the café was in an uproar as Max and the Mandalorian tussled. A few blows were exchanged, but Mando was obviously going easy on Max. Any minute now it would be over when Max learned his lesson.

You hoped, anyway.

You rushed forward to stop them, but as quickly as the fight started, it ended when Max’s eyes widened as he backed off in a sudden movement.

“What’s going on in here?” A booming voice called across the cafe.

That was the voice of Carduel Stantin, and he had clearly seen what just went down in the midst of his staff.

The round, red faced man marched forward, telling his employees to get back to work if they so much as looked at him.

“Get back to work, all of you!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the otherwise silent café.

Max moved to retreat to his hangar, but Stantin stopped him.

“Not you, Melau. See me in my office.” Stantin jerked a thumb in the direction of his office, then turned to Mando. “My apologies, sir. I hope you know that Max here is not representative of our staff.”

“Of course not. Thank you.” He nodded to Stantin and watched after him as he escorted Max out of the room.

You stumbled across the café, pushing past a few straggling employees. You peered at the little green baby as it stared back at Mando, perfectly unharmed and unbothered by the scuffle.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Yeah. Your boyfriend packs a decent punch, though.” He rubbed his side.

You dropped your head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry about him. I don’t know what his problem is.”

You looked up to see Mando eyeing you silently, but intently. “Ready to get back to work?” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah, you showed up just in time to help me with the rudders.”

*****

You laughed softly, watching the child toddle around the room to explore every inch of the environment.

“I guess I should have baby proofed, huh?” you quipped as Mando dashed over to move the child away from an electrical socket.

“Once he gets a lay of the land he won’t be this much trouble.”

It was the first time since he had arrived that Mando was letting the kid wander your home as it pleased, and it was very intent on learning about and getting into everything he could.

The baby plucked a trinket from a shelf above its head without even touching it. Mando explained before that the child used this strange ability that is used to stop a mudhorn from trampling them both flat. You watched in amazement as it used the same power to lower down the small metal model of a droid into its reach, teething on the silver body.

“No, hey, put that back,” Mando chided, standing to put the bauble back.

“It’s okay,” you said, reaching out and closing your hand delicately around Mando’s wrist. “He can have it.”

Your hand remained there as he settled next to you. You took the opportunity to notice how the form of his arm felt meeting his gloved hand, and the muscles and tendons that shifted beneath the rough fabric.

Recognizing your fingers had lingered a moment too long, you withdrew your hand and held Mando’s gaze, a small smile forming on your lips as you tried to imagine what his eyes must look like under that visor.

Knock, knock, knock.

You snapped out of your trance and stood, brows furrowed.

Opening the door, you were met with a familiar intense gaze.

Max’s eyes scanned you as he let himself in and surveyed the room. “Hey, sweetheart.” He spotted the child, who gazed right back at him with big brown eyes, its ears perking up a little at him. “What the hell is that?” He crouched to get a better look.

“Max, what are you doing here?” you asked, moving to stand between him and Mando, who picked up the child and placed it back in the pram.

“I need to talk to you,” he shot a glare at Mando, “privately.”

“Oh, okay,” you said, feeling some kind of hesitation rising in your stomach. “Let’s step outside, then.”

The sky was a rich purple, still somewhat lit up by the setting sun. A few particularly bright stars began dotting the sky as you stepped out onto the dry, cracked dirt just below your doorstep.

Max closed the door behind you two and turned, arms crossed. “Why is he still here?”

You wrung your hands and looked at your feet. “The parts for his fuel tank--”

“Look at me when you’re talking.”

You wrenched your gaze from the dirt to Max’s half-snarl. “The parts for his fuel tank won’t be here until the end of the week, and we won’t be finished with the engine until tomorrow.”

Max ran a hand through the blond waves falling into his face. He huffed a sigh and turned away from you for a moment.

Turning back, he said, “I told you he sleeps at the inn tonight! You know I don’t want him to stay with you.”

“You wanna know what I know? You’re jealous.”

His hand clamped down on your forearm and yanked you forward so you were toe to toe with him. “I’m not jealous!” he all but shouted. “He’s dangerous! You never know what he could do to you when you let your guard down!”

A shaky breath left your lips as you tried to calm your racing pulse. You swallowed hard. “Max, please.”

“I see how you look at him. I’m not stupid! You’re being stupid.” He loomed over you, arms crossed. “That guy is a mercenary. He doesn’t belong anywhere! And if you think for even a second that he could give you anything more than I already give you, you’re totally naive.”

Your eyes dropped again. You chewed your lip to bite back the tears that threatened to spill over. “Max, please,” you repeated.

“No! I can’t keep leaving you alone with him.”

Your voice broke as you spoke. “Then stay.”

He fumed for a moment longer, but had no rebuttal. “Fine, I will.”

You nodded, feeling relief wash over you now that the matter was laid to rest.

“Let’s go inside,” Max said, taking you by the arm and pulling you toward the door.

“Wait,” you said, stopping in your tracks, “you have to promise me something.”

“What?

You hated the icy cold way he said that. You took a deep breath in and worked up your courage.

“Promise me you will at least try to get along with Mando?”

Max mulled the question over, then sighed and nodded. “Fine. But if he so much as lays a finger on you, I am not responsible for what happens next.”

“Please, just be nice.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be on my best behavior. My statement still stands, though.”

They stepped back inside where Mando watched the baby prance around and stopped it from getting into trouble. He stood as you entered.

“Mando,” you began, glancing between him and Max, “Max is going to be crashing here for a while if that’s okay.”

He looked Max up and down and nodded once. “I have no issue with that.”

“We won’t be having any other issues, right?” Max said, squaring up to Mando again.

You lightly touched his arm, then hugged it in an effort to get him to relax. He didn’t react. You sought a breath as the tension continued suffocating the room.

Finally, Mando spoke. “None at all.”

*****

That night you lay awake in bed, listening to the sound of Max’s breathing while he wrapped himself around you as big spoon.

You couldn’t ever sleep when his breath was hot in your ear like that. It was loud and irregular, never one consistent rhythm, and it kept you awake. He even snored a little, pulling you from your very light sleep.

He did hold you tightly, though, and that was enough. Max was enough, he was your everything, and you knew you could lose everything if you accommodated for Mando much longer.

You owed the courtesy to Max anyway, for taking you under his wing when you arrived--crash landed, rather--on Rabadus. He housed you and fed you and even helped you get promoted at the Base. When there was nobody else, there was Max. Really, there still wasn’t anyone else. Not here. This planet was barren and hostile toward you. He was all you had, and you really did owe him your loyalty at the very least.

Then again, you owed Mando many times over for his loyalty as well. He saved your life on countless occasions. He was an ally, a friend, who had even been there for you when you lost the people closest to you. He knew what that was like. He understood. And he never talked down to you or shamed you on those nights when it hurt and when you cried. The least you could do was give him a clean place to sleep and a roof over his head while his ship was being fixed.

And perhaps you did look at him a certain way. Maybe you treated him a little too kindly. But the only shame you felt about it was in knowing Max was upset with you, not in the way your eyes always wandered back to the man clad in Beskar, not in the way you would always imagine his eyes under the helmet gazing back at you, and not in the way that you desperately wished it were your dear Din Djarin’s arms around you right now.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #pedro pascal #star wars #star wars the mandalorian

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tobswrites · 3 years

Text

Other Side-oneshot

Another bnha Kiribaku Fantasy AU because I love dragon Kirishima, and because I was heavily inspired by this creator’s animation please check them out, and read their plot in their description!

There was tales of dragons so old, one might believe they were just legends. Dragons that once co-existed with the humans, beings that shared their magic to all of the world. They were creatures that had it all, power, strength, wisdom, they were freedom.

Katsuki grew up under his mother reign, groomed and raised to be the next ruler of the small kingdom. Trapped forever behind the castle walls to delegate with the other kingdoms surrounding them, pretending to be modest compared to the others, follow a fake protocol to keep their alliances, sign papers and rule when the citizens become unruly.

He hated the entire concept, he would love to be king one day sure, but to never even experience the world outside of his kingdom was torture. To not be able to explore and make a name for himself, a name that wasn’t already tied to royalty or was influenced by his mother.

No, he wanted to prove not only to the world, but to himself that he is worth the title of king.

How can a king delegate with kingdoms when he’s never been, how can a king prepare for a problem that has yet occurred in his life, how can he be a king making hastily decisions if he has not been in battle? He has no real experience besides that of his mothers, or that of lectures that come from books and rules.

Anyways, back to the dragons, Katsuki had heard of the tales and legends, of stories and the narratives. How it’s been about a millennium, perhaps even longer depending on the book you opened, that dragons were seen last.

People, humans and all other greedy creatures alike were obsessed with the dragons, of their scales that make of great armor, of fire so hot to melt the toughest of metals, their ability of flight and rule over the skies unlike any other. They had strength not only in their height, but as well in magic and in energy.

Not to forget they were so beautiful. Creatures no one could take their eyes away from.

But they disappeared for thousands of years, because greedy bastards could not keep their hands off them. Many were stolen from their homes, raised from eggs to slaves, fancied in chains and jewels a like. Used in war and controlled to gain power. They were slaughtered for their scales and talons, killed for their fangs and horns. Used to decorate their walls and become trophies to sick fucks.

The dragons of course were not weak, but they were tired of hiding, tired of running and fighting, they wanted to live in peace and so the main population had flown away, dwindled in numbers. So that they did not become of what happened to the unicorns, they left. The last dragon ever seen was a slave girl, who’s died after the constant war of obtaining her.

Some say she died by accident, others have been told that she killed herself, for she did not want to be trophy any longer.

Katsuki, when he was young, remembered a promise he had made with Deku, that the two would not die until they see a dragon with their own eyes. He doesn’t know what that idiot has been up to since he left the kingdom, following in the steps of man they both admired, while Bakugou had to stay in the castle, he was sure as hell going to see a dragon without him.

There was a mountain range, called Takai Mountains, rocks that even penetrated the clouds. And just above those clouds, were rumored to be the home of the dragons. Only of course no one survived to confirm those rumors.

Either they lost their way up or died coming back down.

Since dragons were not the only creatures living in those mountains. Bakugou should know, since he is currently trekking in unknown territory.

Bakugou was not one to fight meaningless fight, to only kill when hungry, to only kill to defend. So avoided the animals living in these mountains as best as he could, but rams were nasty assholes, constantly pushing things off cliffs and rocks. They were seven feet tall, horns curved off their thick skulls.

He had to kill one through his hike up the mountains and used as much as he could of the animal to not have the sacrifice be a waste. He dried meat, cooked it, used the ram’s fur for warmth. He had to only kill one more animal at the end of his trip out of defense, an owl griffon.

Its feathers were soft and warm, using it for the outer top of his red cape, he was able to rest easy on hard gagged rocks, and keep warm when the air’s cold winds picked up.

His slow trek to the top of the mountain also helped with him become accustom with the thin air. Soon, he was able to reach the top. Even to him, the foggy, thick clouds were hard and scary to maneuver through, but as soon as he broke out of that fog, he was greeted with a sight he believes many people have yet to seen.

It looked like snow, hills and hills of snow that seemed to never end. Breathtaking and beautiful, all of it was a look to never tear away from. That is until he heard a sharp sound, cutting the skies above the clouds. Looking up, he couldn’t hold his giddy smile, laughing in excitement as the dragons who still flew high above him flying towards their home, which couldn’t be far.

Turning to see the directions the dragons were heading, he was quick to take out a dagger and shoot it from his hand, hitting a rock just near a face he saw from the corner of his eye.

There, standing unbothered by the dagger that was inches away from scaring his other eye was a man. Large in stature, red hair, long with the tips a black. His face was worn of either age or tiredness. Bakugou thinks it’s the latter.

“You’re a dragon.” Bakugou is quick to say, looking at the man’s features. He sorta feels bad for throwing the dagger now, but still, the dragon shouldn’t have snuck up on him like that. The man had ears longer than any elf he’s seen, red and thick with black piercings, small loops unlike the green quartz studs Bakugou wore.

His horns were large as well, both a dark red and shaped uniformly. Sharp and and not all dull at the points. He wore a leather vest, lined with fur. He also wore a scarf, thick like the rest of the man’s clothing, it was a plain scarf, but it caught Bakugou’s interest, nonetheless.

“And who are you?” The dragon growled, crossing his arms and watching the human carefully.

“Bakugou Katsuki.” The barbarian king says with a cocky smile.

“Kirishima.” The red head says, but there’s a look of distaste. “Why are you here?”

“Have many reached this point?” Bakugou asks his own question instead, causing Kirishima to sneer at the blond with even more disgust.

“No. Is that why you’re here? For fame? For a title to be able to reach the peak of Takai?” The mountains were very much known to be the mountains of the Kings, and so it wouldn’t be a surprise if that was why Bakugou was here.

Either way, Kirishima could not let the man pass this point.

“No, I’m here for you.” Bakugou answers truthfully, causing the dragon to look surprised.

“For me?” Does he know? It wouldn’t be possible, the human barely knows where he is, he looks too excited and there’s never been any..

“Well, not you specifically,” Bakugou says, waving him off, “any dragon would do.”

That causes Kirishima to growl even louder, any dragon? Was this man like of those stories told by his ancestors before him? The greed that had infested the creatures below to take things that did not belong to them?

“For what?”

“For companionship.”

Okay, wait what?

“You’re a dragon, right?” Bakugou asked, taking a step forward, curious, “I want you to travel with me, to lands never seen before to worlds only written in the books of myths and legends. To see more than the walls that contained me for years.”

Kirishima’s change of look from distrust to confusion and curiousness helped Bakugou become forward. The barbarian king was known to anger and irritate people quickly, but he wants this man to follow him. If he can get a dragon to follow him, then he can do the impossible too.

“You are a human, aren’t you? You do know you humans are beneath us, creatures not worth following, creatures not even worth talking to.” He dryly laughs.

Bakugou snorts.

“What?” Kirishima’s smile is quick to disappear.

“You’re not just some dragon huh?”

“What impression did I give you?”

“A guard doesn’t ask questions first, a citizen doesn’t look as calm as you do to an outsider, to a different species completely, especially if us humans have yet made it up these mountains for years.”

Kirishima glares, his fist clenching tighter than before.

“You sorta remind me of me.”

“How so?”

Bakugou was always one to ask questions later, always one for a fight when he was younger. But those years have passed him, and he’s tired of the same routine. Not like he would admit, but if he saw a dragon at his door step, in his kingdom he would act like that fucking nerd and ask all sorts of stupid questions, be calm and rational, be intrigued but feign indifference.

“You’re royalty, aren’t you?”

Kirishima’s entire body stiffens, and he curses at himself for reaction so blatantly.

Bakugou laughs at the dragons reaction, but then he stretches his right hand out, unsheathing his talibon sword with the other.

“I know that look in your eyes, the look of longing and the feeling of ache at the very deep of your soul. You’re bored, you’re tired of the same shit. Right here, right now, I’m giving you the offer, follow me and I’ll cut you free from your chains.” He raises his sword up to show a representation of how easily Bakugou can do that for him.

There’s walls that surround Kirishima too, sure he’s not allowed to be outside his own home’s boundary, and sure he did sneak out to look out to the horizon only to find Bakugou there, admiring the view as he was.

“You’re bored of this shit aren’t you? Grey rocks and blue skies, don’t you want to see what’s further beyond?” he slices his sword backward, pointing the blade to the clouds far from the mountains. “Trade it for something more colorful.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Kirishima has never left this mountain, not when he was a whelp, and not when he was a drake. He was raised above the clouds, and was forbid to see anything beyond them.

“Then live a little crazy.” Bakugou quickly replies back, a feral grin growing on the man’s features, “Don’t be a king to some dumb fucks who need to be ruled. Risk it, and maybe you’ll be able to see it all.”

“You don’t know what youre saying.”

“Of course I do, you play the part of king, you sign shit, and you either agree with a new law, or disagree. You decide the fate of your people, strapped to a chair all fucking day with the same issues and shit people have dealt with for millions of years.”

Kirishima takes a step backwards, turning his view from Bakugou, already feeling conflicted with this man’s words.

“You can either stay here Kirishima, stuck in a fucking cage, or take this key I’m giving you, and fucking fly the hell out of here.”

Kirishima scoffs, looking back to Bakugou looking a little more pissed, but Bakugou’s smile doesn’t falter.

“I hate to tell you that I’m actually happy with this life you think I’m trapped in.” uncrossing his arms, Kirishima walks towards Bakugou, but the man looks completely fearless, and that fucking grin of his won’t leave his face. “I admire you though, this whole thing you got going for you.” He motions towards Bakugou’s entirely with his hand, looking at the shorter man up and down. “Really I do.”

“But?” now it’s Bakugou’s time to cross his arms, his sword swiftly maneuvered so that it rest easy in his hand, not cutting or jabbing into anything on his body.

“You said it yourself, I’m a ruler, a dragon of high status, to run around with a human?” Kirishima laughs, saying it out loud even helps his conflicting emotions.

“I’m okay with this title I get to play, a soon to be king, now that’s what I want.” His growling increased tenfold, his wings sprung to life behind him, and Bakugou was sure they weren’t there before. Before Bakugou’s eyes, the man disappeared and in front of him was something magnificent.

Kirishima was huge, his scales beautiful and glistening in the sun, dull and intimidating in the dark. His entire body was packed with muscle, and the dragon was radiating heat. Bakugou had to stagger a step back from the sheer force Kirishima’s energy had given off.

This wasn’t just some royal dragon, this had to be the king of dragons.

“I don’t need a key because I’m not in a fucking cage.” He snarls at Bakugou, his large head only inches away from the smaller male, yet the blond looks far from intimidated. He looked at Kirishima with only adoration and amazement.

“If I were mixed up with you,” he says, breaking the silence since Bakugou hasn’t retorted, his breath taken from him the second Kirishima turned, “I’ll be the talk of the dragons.” They would disown him, they would have him banished from this land, afraid that he’ll bring back the humans to overtake them and disrupt their community.

“Look at you Kirishima,” Bakugou takes the extra step, closing the distant between them more. “you have the eyes of someone who lost all his fight. Damaged and broken.” Spreading his arms, he looks at Kirishima with a sense of genuine care, “at least with me you would live a little, even laugh a little, give me the chance to give you that freedom.”

At the same time he says so, a large dragon shoots up from the clouds, just at the edge of the cliff they stood on, springing towards the skies. He doesn’t see them, at least Bakugou doesn’t think they do. He also internally laughs and cheers at the great timing the other dragon soars into the sky.

Distracted with the flying dragon, he doesn’t see Kirishima change back to his human form effortlessly.

“It’s a deal worth taking Kirishima.” Bakugou says, looking at Kirishima carefully, “But I’ll leave that up to you.”

#kiribaku #kiribaku fantasy au #dragon kirishima #tobswrites #fanfic idea #oneshot #Otherside #dragon kirishima eijirou #barbarian bakugou katsuki #questions?

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puckinghell · 4 years

Text

Let It Snow | William Nylander

Summary Request:

alternatively, our flights get cancel and we’re two strangers who rent the last available car together (it might be a little dangerous but we’re living on the edge)

and

we always carpool home for the holidays from college but a storm hit and now we’re taking the last room at the local b&b

and

we don’t know each other that well but i found out that you’ve never been sledding skating and feel like it’s my personal mission to change that

Words: 10k (I’m SORRY) Note: So, a few things: I wrote most of this when I was either drunk or sick, so excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes. Second of all, you guys wanted one long thing instead of parts, so here’s 10k of word vomit. Third of all, this is cliche central, and I’m not even sorry. And lastly, I know Will’s family doesn’t live in Calgary anymore but I very well couldn’t have them drive to Sweden.

---

“I hate snow.”

It’s meant to be mumbled under your breath, for nobody to hear but you; you didn’t even really mean to say it out loud, but it kinda slipped.

You really hate snow.

The guy that’s sitting opposite you looks up. So far, he’s been engulfed in his phone, but now there’s an interested look on his face as he takes you in.

“Why?” he asks.

As if that’s a totally normal thing to ask a complete stranger in the middle or a crowded airport.

You shoot him a dirty look, take a sip of your coffee before answering him, your voice deadpan. “Have you looked around you?”

The guy looks, as if he actually hadn’t noticed before that the airport around him has been getting busier and busier, the people there more annoyed and miserable looking by the second.

“Oh,” he says.

Yeah, oh.

You huff and return your attention to the announcement board again, hoping the message is going to magically change.

It doesn’t. Flight delayed, it says.

“Are you going to Calgary too?” the guy asks.

Now it’s not really his fault: he hasn’t personally caused a huge snow storm to hit Toronto and he’s probably just trying to be nice, but you’re already in a bad mood.

So you snap: “No, I’m just sitting here for shits and giggles.”

“Never mind,” the guy mutters, and his eyes fix on his phone again.

Great, now you feel like shit about that.

However, the universe needs to give you a break. This has literally been the worst week of your life and it’s only Thursday: the only thing that has pulled you through so far is knowing you’re going to see your dad, and now it’s looking like that might be going up in flames.

“Excuse me, may I please have your attention,” a voice sounds over the speaker at your gate, and you perk up in your seat. “We regret to inform you that, due to the upcoming snow storm, all air traffic in this area has been cancelled until further notice. Your flight will not depart today. For more information, you may contact the information desk.”

“Fuck.”

The guy opposite you raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t want people to start a conversation with you, you might want to stop talking to yourself.”

He stands up leisurely, as if the cancelled flight is no bother to him at all, and grabs his suitcase. He points to the board, where it now says Flight cancelled instead of Flight delayed – fucking fantastic – and motions at it, as if to say “what can you do”.

“How are you so chill about this?” It’s more that you’re wondering out loud than actually wanting an answer, but of course the guy grabs the opportunity.

“Well, it’s still four days to Christmas, and Calgary isn’t on another continent. It sucks that there won’t be any flights anytime soon, but you can’t change the weather.” He smiles. “I actually love snow, personally. And a little snow has never stopped me before. So I’m gonna rent a car and drive to Calgary.”

You stare at him. “Drive? To Calgary? That’s insane.”

“I mean, not as insane as spending Christmas away from my family,” the guy reasons, and….

He might have a point. You could stay here, and be miserable alone, or you could drive to Calgary and spend time with your dad like you planned. You could be enjoyed your dad’s pancakes, drinking hot chocolate by the fire place watching Elf, within a mere 40 hours, if you put the gas pedal down.

It’s, objectively, insane.

“I’m gonna rent a car too.”

“Great,” the guy says, jovially. “We can walk together then!”

And that was not really your plan, but to be fair, you don’t really know where you’re supposed to go to rent a car and this guy is walking as if he does this every day, so you dutifully follow him.

You take this time to look him over; he looks funny, in sweatpants with white sneakers – in the snow! - and a hoodie with a coat. He has a beanie on and there’s a few blond streaks of hair escaping from under it. He’s wearing thick black framed glasses. The suitcase he has with him has the Gucci logo on it, and you find yourself wondering if it’s real.

The guy is dressed like he’s either super rich but doesn’t care, or is slightly blind and got a 13 year old high school boy to pick out his clothing at a weird second hand shop.

“What’s your name?” the guy asks, and you frown.

“Why do you care? I wasn’t aware we were going to become best friends in the time it takes to walk to the rental car booth.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, remaining completely unbothered as if you didn’t just snap at him. “I’m Will.” He glances over at you, seemingly amused. “It’s just a cancelled plane, you know. Not the end of the world.”

“It’s not just about the plane.” You almost tell him about the week you’ve had, but you decide it’s not worth the trouble. After all, you’re just going to rent a car and then you’re going your separate ways, and you’ll never see him again.

That’s the plan, at least. But it wouldn’t be this time in your life if your plan didn’t get ruined.

“I’m sorry, miss, that was the last car we have available,” the woman behind the computer says, right after she’s handed Will some keys. “Everyone is trying to get outta here by car, now that the planes aren’t going.”

You nearly, nearly, start to cry.

“What do you mean the last car? Surely you have a car somewhere,” you beg. “Any car. A bike. I don’t care. I have to get to Calgary for Christmas, you don’t understand…”

“I understand,” the lady interrupts, the friendly facade sliding off her face. “Unfortunately, I cannot help you. Have a good day.”

Have a good day?

“Look, lady…”

You’re about to yell at her some more when you feel someone tap your shoulder. Of course, it’s Will, beaming down at you with the keys to your last option in his hand.

“Yelling at her won’t work, you know. It’s not gonna make you feel better or stop you from being in a mood.”

Something inside you snaps.

“In a mood? You wanna know why I’m in such a mood, Will? I’m in a mood because this Monday, I got told my residency at the hospital I work at might not be available to me next year, because they’re cutting personnel at the department. On Tuesday, I ran my legs out of my body for 15 hours before they told me that I shouldn’t come back after Christmas. On Wednesday, my boyfriend of almost a year broke up with me because he’s looking for different things in life, whatever the fuck that means. And the only, only thing I was looking forward to was seeing my dad again, and now this stupid snow has ruined that for me as well. So excuse my mood, but I will yell at whoever I want to!”

Will blinks at you, then raises an eyebrow. “Feel better?”

Slowly, you exhale through your nose. You do, actually, feel better, and Will seems to know that because he’s grinning.

“If you’re done yelling, I was gonna ask you…” he trails, “do you want a lift?”

---

Arguably, this is a bad idea. You don’t even know this guy. He could be literally anyone.

“You could be a serial killer,” you tell him, putting on your seatbelt and sinking into the passenger’s seat. “You could drive me out of the city, murder me, dismember my corpse and leave me in the woods.”

“Hmm,” Will hums, as he starts the car. “I could, but that would massively delay my arrival time.”

You kick up your feet on the dash and play with the radio; the only songs you’re getting are Christmas songs, and that’s just not the right mood. Of course, as soon as you settle on some station that’s not playing Christmas music, Will frowns.

“Do you hate Christmas? Cause if you’re the Grinch, I’m gonna have to kick you out now.”

You look out the window; Toronto traffic is bad as always and you’re standing still barely out of the airport.

“I’m not the Grinch. I just don’t love Christmas.”

“How?” Will exclaims. “Christmas is the best holiday of the year!”

“I prefer Halloween,” you say, and Will rolls his eyes.

“And I’m the serial killer.”

“Christmas is overrated. I don’t care for trees in my house, creating a mess, Christmas movies are cheesy, Christmas songs are objectively bad and everyone is just stressed around Christmas time, trying to find gifts and decorate and wear stupid sweaters and go to parties with people they don’t like.”

You don’t tell him that you also don’t like Christmas because when your mom left, she said she would send you a Christmas gift.

As if that made it okay for a mother to leave her 12 year old daughter behind.

“Grinch,” Will mutters under his breath. You reach out and smack his arm, and he yelps in surprise. “Hey, don’t hit the driver, we could crash!”

“We’re literally standing still.”

“I could accidentally press the gas!”

“Then you’d be an idiot!”

You sigh and drop your head against the headrest, staring out of the window at all the headlights surrounding you.

It’s gonna be a long trip.

For the first few hours of the drive, it turns out the not be the worst. First, you and Will talk about your families a little: he’s got four siblings and his parents are still “very grossly in love” (his words) and you tell him that you’ve got just your dad and grandma left.

You don’t tell him what happened with your mom and he doesn’t ask, which is probably good judgement from his side.

Most of the time, however, you nap and Will drives or you drive and Will sleeps; you both decided that you want to get to Calgary as fast as you can, and not stopping is the way to do that.

It feels like it’s been days, but in reality you’ve only been driving for about 8 hours when Will stretches beside you and yawns.

“We should stop for gas,” he says, “and get me at least two liters of coffee to inject into my veins.”

“Probably a bad idea,” you deadpan. “That volume of liquid into your system would probably kill you instantly, and if it didn’t, the caffeine would give you a heart attack. Also, if you have to pee in an hour I’ll kill you.”

Will grins. “No good outcome possible for me, then, huh?” He points out the window. “Gas station.”

While you’re driving down the lane, he turns to look at you.

“You’re a nurse,” he says, and you frown.

“Yeah, I told you that.”

“I know, but like, you’re an actual nurse. I didn’t think about what that meant. But that’s really cool.”

You sigh. “Well, yeah, but if I don’t find another residency I’m gonna be half a nurse. And that won’t pay the bills.”

“You’ll find one,” Will says, easily enough, as if it’s a mere fact, and for the first time since you got the news, you feel some of the anxiety in your stomach settle.

It’s probably strange, that the fact that this guy, who you have only spent one day with, can tell you it’s gonna be fine and you believe it.

Maybe it’s because he seems truly genuine in his conviction. Maybe it’s because you’re just that desperate.

“Coffee?” Will asks, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get it, you fill the tank,” you say, because you really want to stretch your legs. You spend your time wandering the little shop, getting two large coffees and also a few snacks for the road – what else is there to do in a car but eat and nap – and when you finally reemerge, Will is talking to someone next to the car.

“So awesome to meet you, dude, huge fan,” the man says. You watch as Will scribbles something on a napkin with a pen.

“Anytime. Sorry I don’t have paper.” Will smiles at the man politely as he hands him the napkin.

“No problem!” The man seems very excited about the napkin, and as he walks back to his car, he looks at Will again over his shoulder and waves. Will waves back, then turns to you and makes grabby hands for the coffee.

“Gimme!”

“What was that?” you frown, holding the coffee out of his reach. “Who was that?”

“A guy,” Will deadpans, “and a napkin. Coffee, please?”

You don’t hand it to him but he somehow manages to snatch it out of your hands; he’s faster than you’d think he’d be, and he’s back in the car before you can ask again.

Luckily, he’s stuck with you in this car for a while.

“That wasn’t just a guy,” you say, stubbornly. “He was really excited to see you. Does he know you?”

“I don’t know him,” Will answers, and that’s about the best deflecting you’ve ever heard.

“Not what I asked.”

Will sighs. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Do you watch hockey?”

“Hockey?” you repeat dumbfoundedly. “Like, where people skate after a piece of rubber? No, why?”

“But you know hockey is a pretty big deal in the city, yeah?”

You don’t know why Will is pressing the issue; you’re more interested to find out who the man is, but Will seems very intent on this line of conversation, so you decide to let him get away with it for now.

“Yeah, my boyf… ex boyfriend is a big Maple Leafs fan.”

Will snorts, but before you can ask what he means by that, he points to your phone, that’s laying in your lap.

“Google Maple Leafs number 88.”

“Why, is he hot?” you tease, but you do as he says.

William Nylander, your screen tells you, and beside it is a picture of Will.

“Kinda,” Will says blankly.

You look at Will, and then at your screen. Then back at Will. “That’s you,” you bring out, and Will chuckles.

“Well, yes. Does that explain enough to you?”

And it does. You might not watch hockey – you don’t really watch sports anyway – but you know from your ex how big a deal it is to some people, and you can imagine what it must be like to be a Leafs player living in Toronto.

You also remember your ex screaming at the television screen.

“Rough season so far, huh?” you say. “That why you wanna go to Calgary so badly?”

Will smiles, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Yeah, kinda. I mean, new coach, new opportunity, I’m excited, it’s just…” He pauses, seems to ponder his answer. It doesn’t sound like a rehearsed media answer, when he finally speaks. “I really need that new start, but I need a little break to empty my mind a bit, first. Put it into perspective, I guess. My dad is really good at helping with that, and so is my brother. Alex plays in the NHL too, and my dad used to. It’s… They know what it’s like, but they’re not on my team, so they offer more of an outside view.”

“You can tell me?” you offer. “I don’t know shit about hockey, so I’ve got an outside view.”

Will is laughing, then, and his eyes are twinkling and the car feels strangely small, suddenly.

“What do you do when you suck at your job for a while, and everyone loses their faith in you, and then you get better but nobody believes in you anymore?”

For the heaviness of the question, his tone is light, and he’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in beat with the music, as if he asked about your holiday plans.

You think of your mom.

“When I was little, I used to patch up my dolls with plasters and tell my mom I wanted to be a nurse. She said I couldn��t because I fainted at the sight of blood.” You shrug. “You just have to show them, I guess.”

Will nods slowly, then breaks into a smile. “Did you really faint at the sight of blood?”

“Shut up,” you chide, and the mood is lifted. It’s getting dark outside and you know you’ll have to start napping soon if you wanna take over driving in two hours, but for now you’re perfectly happy listening to Will’s chatter and the soft rumble of the engine in the background, as the car speeds down the highway, getting a little closer to Calgary with every passing minute.

---

Your eyes flutter open to darkness around you, and the car sitting in the parking lot of a gas station.

You turn just enough to see Will: he’s behind the wheel, eyes closed, his mouth slightly agape as his head hangs back.

The car is surrounded by snow: white flurries of it floating down to the ground, hitting the car.

For a second, you wonder why you’re not cold. Then you catch sight of Will’s coat, draped over your legs and stomach. You can’t help but smile at it, and then you close your eyes again.

The situation feels safely serene and safe, and you might as well take advantage of that and get some more sleep.

---

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of Christmas music coming from the speakers, Willy’s voice singing along.

“Not the time for Christmas carols,” you groan, and Will laughs.

“It’s always time for Christmas carols, Y/N,” he chides. You hear rustling, and you finally open your eyes.

“I stopped for a few hours,” Will says, “just to get some sleep. But we’re up and running again.”

Ah, that explains the scene you woke up yesterday. You glance at the clock: 7am. The sun is slowly starting to rise.

“It’s too early for you to be this happy,” you grumble. You haven’t had any coffee yet and that means you’re really not in the mood to have Will radiating energy around you.

“How are you not this happy?” Will asks. “Look outside!”

Outside is the road, but you understand what he means. Everything is covered by a thick layer of snow.

“It’s… white,” you say, because that’s about as far as you’re getting.

“It’s beautiful!” Will’s eyes are lit up with excitement.

“You’re insane,” you state, because that has been proven by this exchange.

“No I’m not! Snow is amazing. It’s beautiful, and it’s fun. Everything gets better in winter.”

You crank up the heat in the car and rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Everything does not get better in winter,” you frown. “First of all, it’s cold. Everything is slippery because of the frost, the snow turns to yellow mush within a few hours. You have to shovel the driveway.”

“Or you could build snowmen with it. You can go skating on the ponds. Have snowball fights.”

You snort. “Snowball fights? What are we, 12?”

Will’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re never too old for a good snowball fight.” His voice is fond as he continues. “I play in the snow with my younger siblings every winter when I’m home. That’s like, the best part of Christmas.”

And, well…

“I can kinda get that, in concept,” you say softly. “There was never really anyone to play with me, I guess.”

Will’s eyes are a little sad as he glances over at you, but he doesn’t say anything. You appreciate that: you’re not ready to share anything more and it’s like he senses that. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Hey, have you ever been skating?”

“Nope,” you say, and the grin Willy shoots you is a little wicked.

“We’re changing that today.”

---

What Will means, apparently, is that it’s a good idea when you’re halfway between Toronto and Calgary to stop in a small little town and find an ice rink.

“This is insane,” you protest. “We’re losing time!”

“We’ve got 48 hours til Christmas,” Will shrugs, “and only an 18 hour drive left. Come on, after this we’ll drive straight through. It’ll be fun.” His eyes are shining and you can literally feel the excitement buzzing off of him, and, well…

Skating did always seem like fun to you. When you were younger, you asked your dad to take you once, but renting skates costs money so it never happened. You remember the disappointment in your dad’s eyes as he had to tell you no, so you didn’t dare ask again.

“I’ll buy you hot chocolate after,” Will coaxes. You don’t understand why he wants to go that badly: he spends most of his days on the ice, anyway, surely he’d be happy for a break.

“Fine,” you grumble, and you can’t help but laugh at the smug look on Willy’s face as he pulls the car to the side of the road.

The rink is small and filled with people. There’s a lot of small children that are skating behind little chairs, and you can picture yourself being there too.

“I’m gonna be so much worse than them,” you whine, at the same moment one of the kids falls onto the ice. A woman helps the little girl up and she goes right back at it.

You don’t think you’re gonna be that brave.

“Oh, shush, I’m not gonna let you fall,” says Will, and you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

This whole situation is so freaking cliche, and you are not going to fall for it.

You rent skates for you and Will brings his own, because of course he brought skates in his suitcase. You’re struggling with the laces on the bench next to the rink, mostly to stall for some time; your heart is beating fast in your throat and your hands are a little clammy.

“Need some help with those?” Will is sitting sideways on the bench, and he’s grinning at you amused while you struggle. Feeling a little bold, you swing your leg into his lap.

You can tell he wasn’t expecting it because his eyes widen slightly, but then the grin only broadens and he starts carefully lacing up your skates. You watch as his fingers work the laces expertly – it’s clear that he’s done this a million times before – and then, his hand curls around your ankle.

“Other one,” he orders, and you switch legs.

Finally, the skates are on and Will hops to his feet, extending his hand and helping you to your feet. You’re already wobbling and you’re not even on this ice yet.

“If I break my leg, I can’t drive,” you say, mostly because the thought pops into your head.

Will rolls his eyes. “You’re not gonna break your leg.”

“If I hit my head and have a concussion, I can’t drive either.”

“Y/N.” Will’s voice is firm enough that you look up at him. He’s frowning. “You’re not gonna break anything, or hit anything, or fall. If you really don’t want to do this, we can leave now, but if there’s any part of you that agrees that this could be kinda fun, I promise you I’ve got you.” His eyes are a little shiny as he adds: “Trust me?”

And it’s stupid, you know it is, because you barely know Will. You’re pretty sure you’d have found out if he truly was a serial killer or any other type of psycho, but you can’t be sure he’s not irresponsible – although he did pull over in the snow – or prove that he’s trustworthy in any way.

And yet…

“I trust you,” you say then, and the blinding smile that crosses Will’s face is worth the fear in your heart when you place your first foot on the ice.

You can feel it slipping right away, but Will literally hops on the ice next to you, two feet planted firmly on the slippery surface, and places his hands on your hips, steadying your waist. In a reflex, your hands curls around his biceps, and once again you are reminded that holy shit, he’s a professional athlete.

“Wow, easy,” Will hums. He slowly guides you further away from the door, and your other foot adds to your first, and then you’re gliding.

You can’t call it skating: Will is moving backwards and pulling you with him, but you’re not necessarily moving on your own.

The first round goes like that, and then you decide to be brave and start moving your feet.

To be fair, Will keeps his promise. He never leaves your side, his hand firmly on your lower back even when you do start skating yourself, ready to catch you whenever you stumble – which is a lot.

“I’m doing it,” you yelp excitedly, when he finally lets his hand hover a little away from you. “I’m skating!”

Will laughs. “Proud of you, babe.”

And it’s probably just something he says; he probably calls a lot of people babe, it probably means nothing, and yet…

“Help,” you manage to squeak, and then your arms are waving in the air and your feet are slipping from under you and you try to maintain your balance, but you can pinpoint the second it’s a lost cause.

For a split second you’re plummeting towards the ice, but then two arms are wrapped around your waist and you just kinda… hang there.

“Thanks,” you say dryly. You’re hanging in Will’s arms as he’s hysterically cackling out laughter above you. It takes him a few seconds to compose himself and pull you up.

“Majestic,” he giggles, and he tightens his grip on your waist when you slap him in the chest.

“Rude,” you grumble, but you can’t help the smile that’s tugging at the edges of your lips.

It’s weird, but suddenly you notice how close he is, and when his eyes travel to your lips the smile falls from his face and you can tell he noticed too.

You stare at him, and it’s like the air is charged with something; your heart is beating in your throat and you swear he’s moving closer.

Oh, you think, we’re gonna kiss.

Strangely enough, the thought doesn’t send panic to your throat the way it did when your ex kissed you the first time, the way it always has when someone kissed you. Instead, it’s like everything inside of you goes calm and quiet.

You want him to kiss you. And it’s a little scary how not scary that is.

You’re interrupted by a small voice.

“Mister Nylander?”

Will startles, yank back fast enough that you nearly tumble straight back down to the ice, but one firm hand on your waist keeps you standing. He turns around then, to face the little girl that spoke: she can’t be more than five years old and is wearing a helmet with a cage, holding a hockey stick in her hands and staring at Will with wide, starstruck eyes.

He bends down into a squat – on skates, literally, how – and smiles at the girl.

“Hi, yes, that’s me. You can call me Willy, though. What’s your name?”

“Amanda,” the girl beams. “Can I get your autograph, mister Willy?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Willy says. “How about I bring my friend here to the safety of the ground and I shoot some pucks with you, huh?”

Amanda looks like someone just offered her the entire world and everything in it. “Please,” she says, and Will quickly guides you towards the side of the rink.

“I won’t be long,” he promises, and he almost looks apologetic, which…

Which is ridiculous. Because you can tell that him just being here made that little girl’s day, and you think of the things you wanted as a little girl and the heroes you never got to meet, and…

“Take all the time in the world, please,” you say. “I’ll go get myself that hot chocolate.”

For two hours you sit at the side watching Will with the kids. Somehow after Amanda more and more kids appeared and now he’s created somewhat of an impromptu hockey team because they’re all playing and the adults cleared the rink.

It’s entertaining, to watch Will with the kids. He’s a good teacher, and you can see them hitting the net more and more as time passes on, and he clearly makes it fun: they’re all laughing and screaming and at one point, a few of them tackle Will to the ice, where he rolls around and pretends to be unable to get up, yet hops to his feet the second the kids get distracted.

It’s insane, how comfortably he moves around. Like, you knew this, because he’s a professional hockey player, of course he can skate, but you didn’t really think anything of it until you see it in action. He’s obviously not even trying to do anything fancy, and he’s probably not trying to be fast either, but he is, and he stops without problem and turns in any direction and even jumps over a puck, at some point.

You can’t lie. It’s kinda hot. But then, you’ve always had a thing for people who were clearly good at something.

For example, your ex was a really good painter. He was also really good at being a lying, cheating bastard.

Before you can go too far down that rabbit hole, there’s commotion on the rink, someone crying and then Will’s voice, too loud: “What happened?”

When you look up he’s kneeling in front of a little boy, who’s crying and staring at his hand.

You jump up, worrying, but Will has already lifted to kid in his arms and is skating towards you now, with big strides.

“He took a skate to the hand, we’re gonna need some bandages,” he says, and a parent yells something about getting a first aid kit while Will puts the kid on his lap on the bench. “Can you look at him?” he asks you, worry evident in his voice even though he’s clearly trying to remain calm. He’s a little pale, but you don’t have time to deal with that right now.

“Hey, buddy,” you coo at the kid, kneeling in front of him, placing your hand on Will’s knee to steady yourself. “What’s your name?”

“Tim,” the kid cries. “My hand hurts!”

“I know it does, Tim. But the good news is that we can fix it,” you promise him, examining the hand. It doesn’t look too bad: there’s a cut, but not deep enough to perforate anything more than flesh, so you’re not too worried.

The first aid kit arrives and so does Timmy’s dad, who doesn’t seem too bothered. “He falls all the time,” he says, “that’s what hockey is, isn’t it?” He preens at Will, who dutifully ignores him in order to talk to Timmy in a low voice.

You wrap up Timmy’s hand and tell him to take it easy for a few days, and then before you know it you’re in the car and Will is holding the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are turning white.

“Do you want me to drive?” you ask tentatively. There’s no answer, but Will isn’t turning on the car. “He’s gonna be okay, you know.” Silence. Another try. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just can’t believe,” Will starts, but he seems to choke on the last word and lets the sentence die, drops his head and inhales sharply. It takes a while, but finally he speaks, a little more composed. “I hate when parents tell their kids that hockey is about pain and sacrifice. It can be, sometimes, but it shouldn’t be, not for a little kid. It should be about fun, and learning skill, and being with teammates, and loving it. It shouldn’t be about falling and injuries.”

He sounds so frustrated that it tugs at your heart strings, and for a split second you allow yourself to wonder what Will was told by his dad, when he was a kid himself.

“He wasn’t even trying to soothe him,” Willy bites. “He was too busy fawning over the presence of a professional hockey player, and I don’t… I don’t wanna be the person these idiots believe I am.”

“And you’re not,” you blurt out. “Will, these kids had so much fun with you.”

Will smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I just… Me and my brother, we always had fun skating. My dad told us it was important to always have fun. But I’ve seen it happen to friends. They were so passionate about hockey, but their parents pushed them, wanted them to be better too quick and told them to suck it up when the skates hurt their feet and it just fizzled out, you know? Until one day it wasn’t any fun and they quit.”

“It’s a shame,” you echo. “But your dad…?”

“He was hard on us, sure.” Will shrugs, smiles for real this time. “Pushed us to be better. But he always made it fun.” He turns to you. “Your dad… He stood behind your dreams?”

You remember you told him your mom didn’t think you could be a nurse, and you laugh. “The blood thing, you mean? Yeah, he didn’t agree with my mom. He always told me I could be whatever I wanted to be, and if I decided I wanted to be something else, I could be that, too. He’s always been there for me.” You shrug. “I’m lucky to have him. My mom… She left when I was 12. And I…”

You stop, for a second, wondering if you’re really gonna tell this to a complete stranger. But the thing is, Will doesn’t feel like a complete stranger anymore. Talking to him feels more comfortable than talking to most of your friends, and you can tell he really cares about what you’re saying, and you just, you want to tell him, so you do.

“I don’t like Christmas because my mom left right before Christmas, and she said: ‘I might not see you for a while, honey, but I’ll send you a Christmas gift.’ She didn’t, and I never saw her again.”

When you glance at Will, he’s frowning, a deep crease edged into his forehead. “That’s messed up.”

“Yeah, but, it was a long time ago. I’m mostly over it, I just never learned to love Christmas the way most kids do, I guess. My dad tried to make it fun for me, but it was always the reminder, you know, that I didn’t have a mom and other kids did.” You laugh, a little bitterly. “And then this year my ex-boyfriend dumped me on the 16th. My mom left me on the 17th. So I guess December is just not a good month for me.”

“Your ex is an asshole.” Will says it with such force, gritting his teeth, that you can’t help but reach over and put your hand on his knee.

“It’s okay,” you muse, and the tension leaves Will’s shoulders as he carefully wraps your hand in his.

His hand is warm and a little rough and there’s something hammering in your chest, and you wonder how it’s possible that you met him two days ago and he’s already making you feel more than your ex-boyfriend ever had.

You guess you never really liked that guy as much as you told yourself you did.

“It’s not,” he says, but he doesn’t so upset anymore. “And if he was here, I’d punch him in the face. But I’m glad to see you didn’t let him hurt you too much.” Will grins. “And now you’ve been skating, so, like, fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” you echo, and Will starts the car.

18 hours to go. And then you’re in Calgary, and you’re gonna see your dad, and you’ll probably never see Will again.

For some reason that thought leaves a sinking feeling in your chest.

---

“Psst.” You groan as someone softly tugs your arm. You try to turn around, but there’s something digging in your back and you can’t quite get there. The tugging gets more persistent. “Hey, Y/N.”

“What?” you grumble, finally forcing yourself to open your eyes, and it’s only when you see Will’s face in front of you that you realize you’re not in your bed. You’re in a car, it’s pitch dark outside, and you’re standing in front of a lit up building.

“Snow storm is getting really, really bad,” Will says. “We have to stop for the night. It’s not safe to keep driving.”

You’re about to tell him to stop being such a baby, and you’ll drive, no problem, when you risk a glance out the window and see… nothing.

Literally, almost nothing. Just a big building, and some lights that could be from streetlights or UFOs, for all you know, because there’s a big blanket of white covering your sight. Snowflakes are streaming down in a curtain, and you can hear the wind howl around the car.

Okay, yeah, maybe it is unsafe to drive.

“Where are we?”

“Hotel,” Will says. “I checked, only hotel within 10 minutes of the highway. Pray that they have a room for us.”

He leaves you in the seat to wake up a bit more, and goes to get your luggage; he swings your bag over his shoulder and hauls his suitcase out of the trunk, and finally opens your door.

“Come on.”

You grab his hand and let him pull you out of the car, although you walk in front of him to enter the hotel. The woman behind the desk looks up as you open the door.

“Please close that behind you,” she says, friendly enough, “I swear if that cold comes in I might freeze, here.”

“Hi,” you say to her, “I know, it’s bad, right? We were hoping you have two rooms available for us, so we can escape the storm?”

The woman types something on her computer, then frowns. “I’m sorry, it’s very busy at the moment. Lots of people stopping in from the highway. I have one room left, if you’d like? Double bed.”

Oh, fuck. You’re not sure if you’ve quite wrapped your head around in, when Will chimes in next to you.

“Cool, we’ll take it.”

“We…” you start protesting, but Will raises an eyebrow and looks at you with so much attitude that it shuts you up.

“Would you rather freeze to death in a car?” he asks pointedly. “I’ll take the couch or the floor, or whatever, chill. I promise I won’t murder you in your sleep.”

Getting murdered is not what you’re worried about, to be honest. You’re worried that sharing a hotel room with Will is just gonna make these feelings in the pit of your stomach worse.

But there’s not really another option.

“Fine. We’ll take it.”

“You know,” Will chirps, when you’ve got the keycard and he’s taking the luggage up the stairs, “there’s a lot of girls that would kill to be forced to share a room with me.”

“That’s because they’ve only looked at your face, and don’t know your personality,” you drawl, and you know you’ve made a mistake when Will’s face lights up.

“You think I’ve got a pretty face?”

“Not what I said,” you answer quickly; too quickly, because Will is looking way too smug as he takes the keycard out of your hand and opens the hotel room door.

The room itself is nothing special. It’s small, but the bed looks comfortable and it’s warm, so you’ll take it.

“Shotgun on the bathroom,” you say as soon as you get in, and Will rolls his eyes but dutifully flops on the bed and starts typing on his phone while you find your toothbrush and disappear to the bathroom.

When you walk out, Will is laying sprawled over the bed, although he’s luckily still on top of the duvets. His hoodie has ridden up a bit and his sweatpants are – dangerously – low on his hips, so there’s a strip of skin showing.

Your mouth goes funnily dry, all of a sudden.

The thing is. You might not have wanted to be stuck in a hotel room with a guy you met at the airport only 2 days prior, but if it had to happen, Will is not a bad guy to be stuck with. He’s, objectively, very hot – you’re not blind – and he’s funny, and easy to talk to, and he’s been nothing but nice, even when you were a teeny tiny bit rude to him at the airport.

Did you mention he’s very hot?

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, jumping up from the bed.

While he’s doing that, you lay in bed and scroll through Instagram on your phone. Maybe you stalk Will on Instagram, only for a little bit, and you find a picture of him with his siblings that’s so cute it has you smiling at your phone.

“What are you smiling at?” Will’s voice surprises you so much that you drop your phone on your face with a yelp, and the sound of his laughter rings in your ears as you bury your red hot face into the pillow.

You hadn’t even heard him open the bathroom door again. Luckily, you don’t think he saw, but you lock your phone just in case.

Then, you look up, and if you thought you couldn’t be any redder in the face, boy were you wrong.

Because Will is wearing boxers, and nothing else. Now, you think to yourself, as you glance at him before shamefully returning your gaze to your hands, if you had a body like that, maybe you’d be more keen on showing it off too, but…

“You’re gonna be cold,” you tell him, and you can hear, more than see, his eye roll as he says:

“Okay, mom.” Then, he opens the closet and takes another duvet out. “I’ll be fine, I have this.” He grins a little cheekily, as if he fully knows what he’s doing to you. “Normally I sleep naked, but…”

“But not today,” you squeak, and he’s laughing again.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he’s getting to you, you throw the second pillow at his head and then roll to your side.

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight,” he answers softly. You listen as he potters around the room; probably tries to get his ‘bed’ for tonight as comfortable as possible. Finally, the lights click off.

You can’t sleep. You know it the second the lights are off, and Will’s breathing evens out. Your mind is going a million miles per hour and there’s so many things that happened, that you’re going to have to overthink before you can sleep. What’s not helping, either, is the fact that Will keeps tossing and turning.

You’re starting to feel a bit bad. You’re in a bed that’s big enough for two – maybe even three, it’s that big – and Will is laying on a cold, hard floor, with just one duvet and a pillow.

Outside, the wind is howling, and you know if you looked out the window the entire world would be covered in white. The room is warm enough, but you picture how there must be a draft, so close to the floor, and suddenly you can’t take it anymore.

It’s selfish, to make him sleep on the floor all because you’re worried about wanting things you can’t have.

“This is stupid,” you say, sitting up. “You should just sleep in the bed.”

For a second, it’s quiet. When Will speaks, he sounds unsure. “Are you sure? I mean, the floor isn’t great, but I don’t mind, I promise, if you’d rather not…”

“Look, we don’t have to, like, cuddle, or anything.” You can feel yourself blush but in the darkness of the room, there’s no way Will can see, so you keep talking. “You stay on your side, I’ll stay on my side, and it’s basically the same distance as having you on the floor. Just, the floor is cold, and uncomfortable, and there’s no need to…”

“Okay,” Will cuts you off, and he jumps up, duvet in hand. He’s grinning as he slides into the bed, curling the duvet around himself. “You don’t have to convince me, I was just being a gentleman.”

You snort. “Don’t do it again, it freaks me out.”

“You drive tomorrow, then,” Will hums, and it already feels better, to hear his voice right next to you instead of from somewhere at your feet. He sounds better, too; lighter, and more comfortable. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Hmm?” you answer, finally closing your eyes.

“If I had to cross the country in a Kia during a snow storm with anyone from that airport, I’m glad it’s you.”

You think of what you were thinking before, and smile.

“Me too, Willy, me too.”

It’s quiet again, and Will’s breathing starts evening out. For some reason, you still can’t calm down: you try to match your breathing to his, but it’s too shallow and you can feel your heart beating in your chest.

“You’re fidgeting,” Will says then, his voice loud in the quiet room. Only then do you notice that you have been twisting the duvet between your fingers time and time again. Will goes to lay on his stomach and turns his head to you. “You okay? I can sleep on the f…”

“It’s not you,” you interrupt him. It is, of course, but not in the way he thinks.

“Okay,” Will says slowly. “Then what?” Before you can answer he reaches out and slowly wraps his hand around yours, causing your fingers to dis-attach from the duvet.

And, the thing is…

You could tell him to mind his business. You could tell him a lie, or something that’s kinda true but not the real reason.

Tomorrow, you’ll be in Calgary. On your dad’s couch, drinking hot chocolate. And Will is gonna be in his own house. And then after Christmas, you’re both flying back to Toronto, but you’re not stupid. Will is a famous, and really attractive, athlete. You just got out of another failed relationship. You’re not good at relationships, turn out; you don’t even know if you really believe in love, anymore, don’t know if you even think it’s worth it to try.

But right now, you’re here, and he’s here, and you swear you’re not imagining the way he looks at you, sometimes.

You’ve had to deal with cancelled planes, problems at work, a dumb ex boyfriend, and this stupid everlasting snow, ruining your life one day at a time. So, you might as well give yourself this one thing that you want.

“Or, it is you,” you say, and you can feel Will stiffen beside you. “But it’s not that I don’t want you in this bed with me. In fact, it’s kinda the opposite.”

You can feel your cheeks flush: you’re not good at this, don’t really know what to say.

But then Willy grins and suddenly he rolls around, his body now hovering over you as he pushes himself up on his forearms.

“So does that mean I finally get to kiss you?” he hums, and you answer by pressing your lips against his.

---

Hours later, you’re both naked, a mess of tangled limbs in sheets, and Will’s chest is rising and falling with every peaceful breath. You close your eyes and bury your face in his neck.

Outside, it snows, and it snows, and it snows.

---

You wish you could enjoy the next 10 hours.

First, you spend 2 hours getting showered and ready – it would’ve been a lot shorter if Will hadn’t slipped in the shower with you, so it’s his fault if you’re late – and then you have breakfast at the hotel while Will tells you more about his family.

His face lights up when he tell you which Christmas gifts he’s got for his siblings and it’s adorable.

Then, you drive. The final 6 hour drive, and it flies by so fast you would’ve believed it if someone said it was just 2. You drive the first few hours and then Will takes over for the last part, and you chat the whole way there.

At some point, Will starts singing along to Christmas songs, and you don’t even change the channel.

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,” Will croons; you can’t help but laugh and then you’re both laughing and singing along at the top of your lungs.

You wish it never had to end.

“So,” says Will, “this is your street, huh?”

You decided he would drop you off and take care of returning the rental car, and you’re almost regretting that decision cause you would’ve liked those 20 extra minutes with him. However, you know that that is, objectively, insane, so you ignore the knives that are being ran through your heart when Will parks the car on the curb.

“Home, at last,” he says, softly. He’s not smiling anymore. “So, when we get back to Toronto, we should…”

“Don’t,” you interrupt softly. “We both know this is where it ends for us.”

At this, Will frowns. “It doesn’t have to.”

“Yes, it does.” You swallow heavily, try to get rid of the lump in your throat. It doesn’t feel right but it is, and you need to let it end here before you end up with hopes that will crash and burn and expectations that will never be met.

“What if I don’t want it to?” he asks quietly.

As much as Will might believe he wants to see you again – and you don’t doubt that he’s being truthful about that - it’s just not realistic.

People don’t meet the love of their life in an airport after a cancelled flight, don’t live together forever after long a cross-country drive, don’t live happily ever after after a snowed in hotel.

People do leave their husbands and kids the week before Christmas, they do cheat on you, they do break your heart.

Snow might make things seem more magical, but after all, it’s just frozen water.

“But I want that.”

Will’s face falls, his eyes sad and honest, but he nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks for the drive, then.”

His voice is distant, now, cold and impersonal: you know you deserve it but it hurts, anyway, and you scurry out of the car, take your suitcase out of the trunk.

You’re standing next to the car, ready to walk down the driveway, when the window opens.

Will’s head pops out, and he sends you what you think is meant to be a smile. It’s not a real one, and he still mostly just looks sad, but he’s trying, you think.

“I know December is a hard month for you, but I truly do hope it’s gonna get better. Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

The window closes and the car drives off, and something inside of you breaks.

“Merry Christmas, Will,” you whisper with tears in your eyes. You could’ve stood there for hours, but the front door opens.

“Y/N?” your dad’s voice calls. “I’m so glad you made it, you won’t believe the snow we’ve had…”

---

There’s a blanket on your lap as well as Snuggles – your dad’s cat – and you’re drinking tea while Elf plays on the television.

Your dad has been talking excitedly all through dinner, but now it’s quiet as he watches the movie. He seems happy, light, and it soothes something inside of you.

Sometimes you worry about him.

It’s not until the end credits roll that your dad turns to you. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks tentatively, and that’s all that you need to hear in order to break into tears. “Oh, honey,” he sighs, then takes your hand in his. “What happened?”

You have no idea where to start.

“Dad,” you whisper, “do you think you can die from a broken heart?”

Your dad smiles sadly, shakes his head. “If you could, I would’ve been gone by now, probably,” he jokes, but it doesn’t land. “Is this about that boyfriend of yours?”

And, well, the funny thing is, you haven’t told your dad about the break up, but it doesn’t even matter. Your heart is broken and it has nothing to do with your ex.

So you tell him about Will. You tell him about how you almost weren’t here, tell him about cancelled planes and one lone rental car, about how he went from Will to William Nylander right back to Will, about coffee breaks and sleeping on the side of the road and skating and the little kid who hurt his hand, about snow storms and a hotel room with one bed – not about anything else from that night, though – and finally you tell him about goodbye.

When it’s all said and done, your dad frowns. “You keep saying it had to end. But honey, it sounds like you really like this guy.”

You do, oh God, you do.

“Why would it have to end?”

You don’t say anything, but as always, he knows exactly what you mean.

“Just because it ended for your mom and I doesn’t mean it always has to end, you know. Sometimes it’s worth to try.” He pats your hand. “I think you should call him.”

And that’s when it hits you. It doesn’t really matter if you’d wanna call him.

You don’t even have his phone number.

---

“Y/N! Patient in room 11!” your colleague yells. “I’m going to the kid in room 4 if you need me!”

You sigh and throw down your clipboard. You have no idea why the hospital is so busy; it’s December 28th, which promises a disaster on New Years Eve, which is usually your busiest day of the year.

Fireworks, man.

You’ve been on your feet for 9 hours but you don’t even really mind. Just the thrill of working in a new hospital has been keeping you going; it might have something to do with the fact that this hospital will let you finish your residency, too. They called you the day after Christmas.

Some might call it somewhat of a Christmas miracle.

“I’m on it,” you call back, then start making your way to room 11. You nearly bump into the doctor you’re working with today, and she halts you by putting a hand on your arm.

“Are you a Leafs fan?” she asks.

It might be the weirdest thing someone has randomly asked you; the conversations you have had with this woman have ranged from “can you get me some blood from the vomiting boy” and “in what room do I find the catheters” and now she’s asking you about your sports teams?

Your heart clenches tightly as you think of Will.

“Not really,” you answers. That seems to be the right answer because the doctor smiles and waves towards the room, telling you to enter. You’re still confused by the whole exchange when you walk into the room and nearly trip over your own feet.

“Oh,” Will says slowly, “that’s quite a coincidence.”

It’s like your tongue has grown two sizes; you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of what words to say, when suddenly you notice something.

“What the hell happened to you?”

There’s blood all over the hand he’s clutching to his chest, and his face is white as a ghost. Next to him is an equally pale guy wearing a Leafs sweater, who is staring at you with wide eyes.

“Uhm, I fell,” Will says sheepishly. “Turns out snow is quite slippery.”

It hasn’t snowed in Toronto in days.

“He didn’t fall in the snow,” the guy next to him grumbles. “I tried to wrestle the remote out of his hand and he fell into the Christmas tree and sliced his hand open with an ornament.”

“And Kappy has just promised to clean everything up, right, Kap?” Will asks with a sly smirk. Some of the color is returning to his face, which is more than you can say for his friend Kappy.

“Okay, well, let me have a look,” you mutter, and you gather some of your supplies before sitting next to the bed.

If you try very hard to avoid Will’s eyes and focus completely on the gash on his hand, that’s between you and the hospital room.

“So, first aid, huh?” Will asks. “Found a new job? Told you.” He sounds stupidly smug, so you raise your eyebrow and press the gauze to the wound. He inhales sharply. “That’s mean.”

“I’m trying to clean it,” you tell him sternly. “Sit still. God, Timmy was a better patient.”

“Hey,” Will protests, offended. “I’m a perfect patient.”

When you see how deep the wound is, you wonder how it’s possible that Will is still so chatty, and you also feel a little nauseous; it’s always different when it’s someone you care about.

“I’m gonna go get doctor Summers,” you say, and your voice is a little unsteady.

You’re probably imagining the edge of disappointment to Will’s voice when he says: “Yeah, okay.”

While doctor Summers examines Will’s hand, his eyes are fixed on you, and you keep yours fixed on your shoes. There’s so much you want to say to him, so much you want to do, but this is not the time or the place and also you have no idea how to start a conversation like that.

You tune back into the here and now when you hear the word “surgery.”

“It’s not a real surgery,” doctor Summers says, “I just think we need to set a bone and we also need to stitch up the muscles.”

Will is a little pale again as he nods.

You get send away to prepare the necessities for the procedure and when you come back, Will’s friend is gone.

“He’s gonna pick me up when I’m done,” says Will, who sees you looking. “Are you gonna… Are you gonna be here, while she does it?”

“Nope,” you answer, and this time you’re definitely not imagining the way his face falls. “Are you gonna get in trouble with the team for this?”

Will pulls a face. “I’ll probably get a stern talking to from Kyle.” When he sees your expression, he laughs. “My boss.” He sighs, looks out the window.

It’s started snowing, again, because apparently the universe loves taunting you.

“You know what the worst thing is? I ruined my tree.”

“That’s definitely not the worst part,” you roll your eyes. “It’s after Christmas, you should’ve probably taken it down anyway.”

“I couldn’t take it down yet,” says Will, his face completely serious, “there’s still one Christmas miracle I’m waiting for.”

He’s staring at you intently and you can feel your heart beating in your throat.

There’s no way he means…

But what if there is?

You make a decision then, and when Will is getting his hand worked on in a different room you run to the cafeteria.

“Hey,” you yell at the lady behind the counter. “I’m gonna borrow this for a second!”

She looks at you like you’re a crazy person and you can’t blame her: you’re literally standing in your scrubs, screaming at her from the middle of the cafeteria after having just yanked a tiny Christmas tree from the table.

“Okay?” she yells back, and it sounds more like a question than a blessing, but you take it and run anyway.

Room 11 is still empty; although Will’s coat is still lying on the bed, so he must be coming back. You take the tiny tree and put it on the bed side table, plug it in.

There’s only about 10 lights in the tree, but when you flick off the big lights, it still looks pretty Christmassy.

And so, you wait.

To say you’re nervous would be an understatement; there’s every possibility in the world that Will has changed his mind since you last saw each other, and the last thing he wants is you confessing how much you like him in a hospital room after just having destroyed his hand, but you have to try.

Every time you think about bailing, you hear your dad’s voice in your head.

Sometimes it’s worth it to try.

This is one of those times.

“No strenuous activities, take it easy…” Finally you hear doctor Summers voice and you stand up.

The door opens tauntingly slowly, and there is Will. At first, his eyes widen as they catch the Christmas tree, and then his head swivels around and he sees you; a slow smile spreads across his face.

“A Christmas tree?” he asks.

“Well,” you smile, “you did say you wanted a Christmas miracle…”

“But you don’t like Christmas,” Will points out.

And that’s true, but…

You take a step closer and Will raises an eyebrow, questioning but not looking like he wants to run away.

“I don’t,” you admit. “I didn’t. But then something happened… Or, well, someone happened. And now I’m thinking that I might have to give Christmas a chance.” You’re standing right in front of Will, now, and he had all the time in the world to back off but he didn’t. Instead, he’s looking at you with an amused expression on his face, the corners of his mouth curled into a tentative smile.

“I think there might be a few things I have to give a chance,” you finish.

“God,” Will breathes. “I really hope you mean us.”

Instead of answering, you kiss him.

It feels somewhat familiar and yet as if you’ve never been kissed before: there’s fireworks in your stomach and everything feels warm and fuzzy, like nothing matters except for the feeling of Will’s lips on your lips, his chest pressed against yours.

“Y/N!” someone yells from the hallway, and you reluctantly pull away.

“I have to get back to work…”

“Okay,” Will whispers, pecks you cheek quickly. “But we’ll talk…”

“I’m done with work in an hour,” you interrupt.

Will nods. “I’ll tell Kappy he doesn’t have to pick me up.” He grins. “Unless you’d rather not drive in the snow?”

“Shut up,” you tell him, but it’s with nothing but fondness.

You’re already running to the hallway, ready to see the next patient, when you hear Will yell after you: “You said you hate snow!”

And that’s kinda true, but…

Sometimes, even if it messes up your plane, or gets you stuck in a snowstorm, or makes you fall on your ass…

You just have to let it snow.

#william nylander #toronto maple leafs #winter prompts #william nylander imagine #william nylander one shot #nhl fic #nhl imagine

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