#My past was not fair. It wasn’t acceptable at all. I shouldn’t be alive right now | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

oh-ranpo · 3 years

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i’ll be there.

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader summary: the one where bucky just needs someone to talk to. word count: 3.4k+

It started with a phone call.

It was late, and you were almost asleep when your phone started buzzing restlessly on the nightstand next to your head. You didn’t bother checking the caller id as you reached for the receiver and lifted it to your ear, hitting the accept button in the process.

“‘llo?” you greeted groggily, but you were met with silence. Your brows furrowed slightly as you pulled the phone away from your ear to see who was calling, and your heart stuttered in your chest when you saw Bucky’s name lit up on your screen. It wasn’t like him to call so late. It wasn’t like him to call at all. “Buck?” You pressed. “Bucky, are you alright?”

You could feel a pressure on your chest as you waited for a response, and finally, after a couple more seconds, you heard a heavy breath release on the other end of the line.

“I’m sorry it’s late. I probably shouldn’t have called, I just… I didn’t know what else to do.” You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by that, but despite the fact that it was already well past 2am, you weren’t going back to sleep anytime soon.

“Don’t apologize, I just wasn’t expecting to hear from you,” you murmured as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position before leaning back against the headboard of your bed. “What’s going on?”

That first phone call, he didn’t say a lot. You could tell that he really just needed someone to keep him company to help distract him from the thoughts and nightmares that were swirling through his head, and you really didn’t mind being the one to provide it. You and Bucky had been friends for a while, but you had never considered that you might be the one he went to when he didn’t know where else to turn. That had always been Steve, and now, you assumed that would be Sam. It made the most sense anyways. And yet, you were the one that found themselves listening to his gentle breathing as you waited for him to share what was on his mind.

You thought that it was just a one time thing at first, but then, you started receiving phone calls at all hours of the night a couple of times a week. Sometimes, it’d be earlier - around 9pm or so - and sometimes, it’d be just as the sun was rising and the ringtone of your phone would wake you up just before your alarm had the chance to.

“Please, don’t feel like you have to keep answering,” Bucky pleaded one morning when he just received a simple sleepy grunt as a greeting. “I know it isn’t fair of me to keep waking you up like this.” But really, you didn’t mind at all.

Your life was pretty calm, and while you did have to go to work, starting your day or ending your night with a conversation with a friend wasn’t something that you had a problem with. The only time his phone calls came late into the night was on the weekends when he knew that you wouldn’t have to be anywhere the next day, despite the fact that you told him to call you whenever he needed someone. You weren’t about to cast him aside just because you might feel a little groggy the next morning.

It took him a couple of hour long silent phone calls before he started sharing some of the reasons for why he was in need of company in the first place. Mostly, it had to do with the nightmares. He would never share specific details, but you were able to gather enough from the little tidbits he would share that they had to do with his Winter Soldier days. Your heart ached in ways you couldn’t explain as you tried to imagine what that might have been like - to be a stranger in your own body, and have to relive the memories of something you did but couldn’t stop. He didn’t say it, but you knew that seeing those people and seeing what happened, it broke him a little bit each time. They were things he could never take back, lives that he could never save, and it was eating him alive. You didn’t know how he did it.

While he talked, you listened quietly, and when he would fall silent, you would remind him that the Winter Soldier was gone, and that he wasn’t him anymore. The freedom he had gained during his time in Wakanda was the beginning of his new story, and that things would get better. The scoff that filled your ear told you that he didn’t believe you, and for the moment, that was okay. You knew that it would take a while of convincing before he believed you, and you were more than willing to stay patient enough until he did. That’s what friends were for, and if he was going to allow you on this journey with him, you intended to see it through.

Once the floodgates opened, the phone calls started coming more regularly and at a more set time. Every night, your phone would light up at 9pm, and every time, you knew who was on the other end of the line. When you answered, Bucky would greet you, his voice sounding a bit lighter each day, and you would let him dictate how the conversation would go from there.

Even though you weren’t sitting across from him, you could usually tell how things were going to play out depending on the tone of his voice and the speed of his speech. If he was quiet and didn’t say much, you knew that he was having a bad day. If he started telling you about something that had happened to him earlier in the day, you knew that he was feeling a little more peaceful. It was the little things that you picked up on, and those little things helped you better communicate with him. You were never pushy. You never pressed for answers that he didn’t want to give, and you found that, usually, he would eventually give them to you if you were just patient enough.

“You probably think I’m crazy, don’t you?” Bucky chuckled dryly one night, about a month into your new phone call routine. You were sitting at the dining room counter, a cup of hot cocoa warming the palm of your left hand as you held your phone to your ear with your right. For a moment, your lips downturned in a small frown at his question.

“Why would I think that?” You asked gently, and you could hear Bucky sigh.

“Why wouldn’t you? I’m a 106 year old man who can’t seem to function properly in the real world. and I still need someone to chase away my monsters when the sun goes down.” The vulnerability in his voice made your stomach churn as you leaned forward against the counter, bracing yourself for the direction the conversation was now heading.

“What happened to you doesn’t make you crazy, Bucky. You are not the product of your circumstances, you are James Buchanan Barnes and you always have been. So, no, I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re doing the best you can.” You couldn’t see the small smile that formed on Bucky’s lips as his eyes went glassy, but you could hear the small, murmured ‘thank you’ in response. You still weren’t sure if he believed a word you said, but you hoped that your words brought him at least a little bit of comfort.

After that particular night, things took another turn. You never told anyone about the phone calls that you and Bucky shared because you saw them as something private. If he wanted to share it with people, he could, but you didn’t feel like it was your place. He was trusting you with what little vulnerability he was willing to show, and you weren’t going to give anyone else any unwanted access to that side of him. You just thought that you were being a reliable friend by picking up the phone and listening. So, imagine your surprise when, less than a week later, instead of your phone ringing at 9pm like it usually did, there was a knock on your front door.

At first, you were a little annoyed that someone would be stopping by just when you were expecting Bucky to call you. While you didn’t tell anyone about the calls, you still looked forward to them. You loved hearing his voice or just knowing that he was sitting on the other end of the line. The conversations you shared had brought the two of you inexplicably closer, even though you could see it if you were watching the two of you together in public. You thought about ignoring it, but when a second, lighter tap filled the room, you knew that you had to at least see who it was. You could lie and say that you were getting ready for bed and ask them to come back later. It was 9pm, surely they’d understand. Only, when you moved to open the door, you were surprised by who you saw standing on the other side.

Bucky gave you a sheepish look as he stood in your doorway, a pair of dark-wash jeans and a leather jacket adorning his body. He lifted his right hand to rub the back of his neck nervously, and you could tell that he was uncomfortable standing there, as if he was unsure whether you would be happy to see him or not.

“I hope it’s okay that I stopped by,” he murmured softly. “I know I usually call but I was in the neighborhood and I-“

Bucky stopped mid-sentence when you stepped to the side and gestured for him to come inside. A look of relief filled his features as you gave him a welcoming smile and allowed him to step around you before closing the door behind him.

“You’re always welcome here, Buck,” you grinned as you led him down the hallway and towards your living room. “You should know that by now.”

Bucky hadn’t really planned to stop by your apartment, but in the moment, it had just felt right. He had been walking the streets, trying to clear his mind, and his feet had led him here, to the doorstep of the one person who seemed the most capable at keeping his dark thoughts at bay.

Like with the phone calls, Bucky sat silently on your couch at first, his gaze shifting from a random spot on the wall across from him to his gloved hands. You watched, and then tried to focus on something else when you felt he might become uncomfortable with your staring. You hadn’t expected him to ever move past the late night phone calls, but having him sitting next to you now gave you hope that maybe things were getting better.

It wasn’t that things were getting better, it turned out, it was just that Bucky had really begun to trust you. You broke down walls that only Steve Rogers had ever managed to climb over before, and he found it easier to open up to you than Sam, and especially his therapist. You were an objective third party in all of this. You weren’t an Avenger and you hadn’t been put in the same situations that he had so you were able to give him a new perspective. Sure, you didn’t understand the trauma or the guilt that swirled inside of him, but you always seemed to say or do the right things that helped silence it, if even for a couple of hours.

Eventually, Bucky would just start talking about his day and he would ask about yours. The conversation would stay light, and often, he’d leave without touching on some of the deeper things that he usually talked about on the phone. You figured this was because sitting in front of someone and saying those things was far more intimate than saying it through the phone. He didn’t have to see your face and you didn’t see his when he opened up the darkest parts of his mind, so you understood. Either way, you were enjoying his company, and judging by the fact that he kept coming back, you could only assume that he had truly grown to enjoy yours as well.

In those lighter conversations, you could start to see a part of Bucky that you hadn’t really seen at all in the couple of years that you had been friends. He had always had a little edge to him - a hard exterior so that the outside world couldn’t get in and nothing inside of him could get out. However, after about a week of his nightly visits, you could see the tension in his shoulders was gone, and he would lean back against the couch in a far more relaxed way than he ever had before. A smile would form on his lips when he would reminisce on young Steve memories or when he shared something stupid Sam had done on one of their missions. The Winter Soldier was a mere blip in his memory during those nights, and you felt lucky that you were the one that got to see the slow change first-hand. You had also started feeling other things for the man you considered a friend, but you knew it wasn’t the time or place to investigate that any further.

“This is nice,” Bucky murmured one evening on one of his better and more upbeat visits. “It’s nice to sit here and just relax, you know? There hasn’t been a lot of peace lately, and…” His voice trailed off as you could see a cloudy look fill his eyes. You watched as he seemed to lose himself in his thoughts for a moment, but then he was able to pull himself back as he shook his head slightly and his gaze fell to his hands. “It just feels kinda normal.”

Your heart lurched in your chest at his words, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out for him.

“Hanging out with a friend is normal, Buck,” you replied gently. “It doesn’t matter what time of day or how it’s done.”

Slowly, Bucky lifted his eyes back to meet yours, and there was something in his expression that you couldn’t quite track. Sam always teased him about his scowl and his staring, but this time, it wasn’t anything like that. It was more open and you could see a mixture of sadness, relief, and maybe… hope? You couldn’t be sure.

“Everyone needs a friend like you,” you heard him mumble as he turned away, and your heart thundered in your chest as you had to hide your smile behind your hand.

You lost track of how many nights in a row he had started coming over, and eventually, it almost became implied that he was going to stay. You didn’t exactly live close to one another, and as the two of you stayed up later and later, and you hated the idea of him walking across the city back to his apartment when it was so late.

“You can stay here,” you offered when a small yawn slipped through his lips and you caught sight of the time on the clock on the wall. “I have a spare bedroom.”

Bucky had looked at you skeptically for a moment, and you weren’t sure that he was going to accept. You knew that the nightmares played a factor, but it only made sense to you that he be in a place where he would feel safe should he have one. You didn’t say as much, but you hoped that he would have the same thought as you.

“I can sleep on the couch,” he replied, and while you wanted to insist that he sleep somewhere more comfortable, you didn’t push it. You had seen his apartment and knew where he slept, and you would let him choose his own level of comfort while staying with you.

After that, the two of you became practically inseparable. Your friendship took on a whole new meaning as you hung out in the mornings, evenings, and any time that you weren’t at work or he wasn’t busy with other things. He would stay at your apartment religiously, and it almost began to feel like you had a roommate after a while. A roommate that preferred sleeping on the couch to a regular bed, anyways. You knew that Bucky didn’t want to impose, but you never gave him a reason to feel like he was. You made him feel welcome, and you always made sure that he knew that you didn’t mind sharing your space with him.

“So, how long has it been?”

Sam had come over to your apartment that evening for a nice homemade dinner that you had offered to make, and while him and Bucky sat on the couch while you finished things up, Sam had posed the question.

It wasn’t like your new bond was a secret. Anytime anyone was around the two of you, they could see it. They could see the way Bucky lit up around you, and they could sense the comfort and reassurance that rolled off of you every time you spoke to him. To some, it could seem like a normal friendship, but knowing how Bucky was when it came to letting people in, those that knew him knew that whatever was happening was something special.

“How long has what been?” Bucky asked, annoyance slipping into his tone as he replied. Sam looked over at him and gave him a knowing look.

“How long has it been since you’ve felt like this about someone? And before you say you don’t know what I’m talking about, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Instinctively, Bucky glanced over his shoulder towards the direction of the kitchen where he could hear you moving around. A smile quirked up the corner of his lips as he thought about the last couple of months and how close the two of you had gotten. He couldn’t deny that his heart had become quite invested, but he also knew that was a dangerous situation to find himself in, so he never brought it up.

“It’s been a long time,” he answered honestly, even though he didn’t really want to dive much deeper than that. “If ever.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose at Bucky’s response, and almost immediately, a smirk formed on his face. Bucky rolled his eyes as he looked away, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam’s smile soften.

“Does it scare you? I mean, I know that has to be a lot.”

Bucky sighed as he focused on his hands - no longer gloved and hidden away - as he tried to piece his thoughts together. He knew that he probably should be scared, especially with everything he knew about love and caring for another person. However, it just wasn’t there this time.

“With her?” He started before lifting his head to meet Sam’s gaze once more. “Not at all. For the first time, with this one thing, I’m not scared at all.”

He could tell by the look on Sam’s face that he hadn’t expected that response, but before he could say anything more, you entered the room and all of Bucky’s attention was stolen away from him. Bucky moved to stand up as you told them both that dinner was ready. You could tell from the way the air felt around them that they had been talking about something important, but neither one of them offered to share what it was. As Bucky moved passed you, he dropped a kiss to your temple as he thanked you, and his arm snaked around your waist for a quick side-hug before he guided you back towards the dining room.

It was easy. The slow transition from hesitant late night phone calls to whatever was happening now was so seamless, you could hardly believe there was a time where things weren’t like this. When you looked at Bucky now, you saw a man with a traumatic past who was moving forward towards a better future. If you asked him, he would say it was only because you had been there to help, but you couldn’t take that much credit. Everything he had done, he had done because he wanted to. You were just the lucky one who got to be there to celebrate with him when he finally came out on the other side.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes story #bucky barnes fic #james buchanan barnes #marvel #marvel fic #marvel story #marvel imagine #the winter soldier #the winter soldier fic #fluff #angst

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stardustprompts · 3 years

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the burning god - r.f kuang sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !! some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw : ptsd , addiction , death , murder , nsfw , language

‘do you think I’d ever let anything happen to you?’

‘you’re terrified. that’s why you’re fidgeting. you’re scared.’

‘soldiers are worth more than civilians, it’s just math.’

‘don’t cut off the head of the snake if you can tame it.’

‘none of this— our villages, our people, our freedom— will survive under their intended world order’

‘i’m the least terrible option you’ve got.’

‘I don’t mean to call you stupid, because I love you, but that plan is so stupid.’

‘i’m not sorry for this. you shouldn’t have gotten in my way.’

‘that wasn’t an insult. just being frank.’

‘they’re bullies. weakness is what they want to see.’

‘bad moral is a big weapon. don’t underestimate it.’

‘i’ve gotten you this far. trust me just a little longer.’

‘i’m not crazy right? this is clearly a trap?’

‘how do you think history will judge me if I throw away it’s fate for one person?’

‘it felt like you’d put the universe back in place. like you were balancing the scales. didn’t it?’

‘you don’t fix hurts by pretending they never happened. you treat them like infected wounds and then, maybe, you have a chance to heal.’

‘it’s not justice, it’s chaos.’

‘this is a revolution. it’s not a fucking tea party.’

‘cut me a fucking break. i’ve been fleeing for my life.’

‘I shouldn’t have counted on his virtue. but he didn’t count on my survival.’

‘they’re never gone. do you understand? they still come for you in your sleep. only this time they’re dream-wraiths, not real, and there’s no escape from them because they’re living in your own mind.’

‘your pain will always be mine.’

‘i’m not living my whole life like a beast on a leash.’

‘I should kill you. why can’t I kill you?’

‘you don’t behave rationally around her, you never do.’

‘’all right’ is not a term anyone would use to describe you.’

‘I used to hate myself for living, too. I didn’t think it was fair that I’d survived. that others had died in my place.’

‘it’s not fair. I should be in the ground with them.’

‘it doesn’t go away. It never will. but when it hurts, lean into it.’

‘this life you’ve chosen, you won’t get many moments like this again. but it’s the nights like this that keep you alive.’

‘give up, darling. trust me, this is easier. this is so much easier.’

‘you know, I think I’ve figured out where you get all that self - righteousness.’

‘their blood is on you. you killed them.’

‘I hate you. I wish we were all dead.’

‘do you think he loved you? do you think he ever loved you?’

‘this story will end. the way it was always meant to.’

‘I just want to sit for a second. in peace. can I do that?’

‘I don’t know, I thought maybe— maybe they’d realize that they need me.’

‘you are so bad at this. it’s cute.’

‘people are attracted to power, darling. they can’t help themselves. power seduces. exert it, make a show of it, and they’ll follow you.’

‘I killed him. and I don’t feel bad about it.’

‘stop pretending to care about ethics, it’s embarrassing.’

‘at some point, you’ll have to convince yourself that you’re above right and wrong. morality doesn’t apply to you.’

‘fear turns into despair, despair to panic, and then panic into utter submission. it’s incredible, the power of psychological warfare.’

‘knowing what I’ve done? yes, it hurts. unlike anything you could ever imagine.’

‘they want to erase us. they want to make us better, to improve us, by turning us into a mirror of themselves.’

‘any culture or state that diverges is necessarily inferior. we are inferior, until we speak, dress, act, and worship just like them.’

‘people pay you less attention when you don’t leave a trail of bodies in your wake.’

‘i’m just telling you what’s right in front of you. you know I’m right.’

‘you seem to have mistaken me for a dullard.’

‘it’s a tragedy we’re on different sides. you know that. we would have been so good united.’

‘he’s tried a million different things to break me. but he should have remembered he never figured out how.’

‘lost my mind for a bit. just starting to get it back now.’

‘you think we should just surrender. that we’d be better off under their rule.’

‘that’s the implication of your logic. and I won’t accept that. I can’t.’

‘i’m sure you said whatever you needed to to get them off your back. I don’t care about that.’

‘everything you do convinces them you should not exist.’

‘I did what I had to do to give him the only chance at peace he’d ever get.’

‘you are the worst thing to happen to this country. these people deserve better than you.’

‘you were only ever fighting to survive. I was fighting to win.’

‘we don’t need peace right now. we need blood.’

‘I don’t know what’s insane anymore. I just hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘there is no turning back. i’ve waited too long for this.’

‘I can’t take that from him. not even if he’s happier like this.’

‘there’s more, there’s something you’re not telling me, I deserve to know.’

‘let go of the man you remember. you’re never going to get him back.’

‘in times like these, you can’t let sleeping threats lie.’

‘if we ever feared him, it was because he was great, and great rulers always inspire fear in the hearts of the weak.’

‘you don’t get to forget. whatever you did, you don’t deserve to forget.’

‘she’s not a person anymore. she’s rage.’

‘it’s not just about the enemy. it’s about what the world looks like after.’

‘you’re trying to protect your people. I understand that. but I’m trying to protect mine.’

‘i’m not crawling into oblivion with a whimper, and you should have known that before you came here.’

‘I don’t care what else happens up there. but you come back to me.’

‘what’s this? finally developing a conscience?’

‘I know what you did. I know everything. and I don’t care. the past doesn’t matter. ____ is in danger now, and I need you.’

‘nature can’t be altered. only held at bay.’

‘don’t take on the burden of an entire nation. it’s too heavy. and you aren’t strong enough.’

‘you should know by now that when you leave your enemies alive, wars don’t end.’

‘she told me I’ll never be afraid again.’

‘that’s power. and you’re not giving that up. I know you. you’re me.’

‘I know how humiliation feels. keep your secrets if you want. but there’s nothing you can say that will make me think any less of you.’

‘i’m not going to survive this war.’

‘do you want me to say I’m sorry?’

‘what did I tell you? you were never meant to serve.’

‘if you try that shit, I will kill you.’

‘good luck. don’t do anything stupid.’

‘keep down. and when you get the chance, run.’

‘you never want to hurt them. but you have to. you have to put them through hell, because that’s the only way anyone else will survive.’

‘I would have spared them if I could have.’

‘I wasn’t a person to you, I was a weapon, and you needed me to work.’

‘it’ll never stop hurting.’

‘you love them like your own family, and a knife twists in your heart every time you watch one of them die.’

‘see this through to the end. that’s the least you own to the dead.’

‘I wish things had been different.’

‘I so hate when you’re right.’

‘you kill me and you accomplish nothing. your world as you know it will end.’

‘i’m not going to kill you. you don’t deserve that.’

‘why does everyone think this war is over. am I the only one with eyes?’

‘it’s hard to prioritize the enemy that you can’t see.’

‘don’t call me crazy.’

‘you are being crazy. you’re acting like a fucking maniac. shut up for a moment and face the fucking facts.’

‘they can’t do this to me. I was supposed to win.’

‘we built an entire nation. we don’t have to let it collapse.’

‘what he wants is what we all want, which is to stop killing our own people.’

‘we’re about to have the world we fought for. can’t you see it? it’s so close, it’s just over the horizon.’

‘you can come back. I’ll bring you back. we’re in this together.’

‘we’re trying to broker a peace here. let’s not start off with death threats, shall we?’

‘i’m just trying to make this less painful for everyone involved.’

‘you can’t do this for me. I won’t let you.’

‘it’s not for you. it’s not a favor. it’s the cruelest thing I could do.’

#the poppy war series prompts #the burning god prompts #the burning god sentence starters #literature prompts #literature sentence starters #rp memes #rp prompts #rp sentence starters #weeeeeee I did it <3

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nat-20s · 3 years

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Wonderful! Au Part 7! (also on ao3 here) another episode only installment, and obnoxiously fluffy! Have fun!

~*~

Martin, tired: Hello everybody! Welcome, or welcome back, to a very low energy episode. We have had, as the kids say, A Week Tm.

Jon, equally tired, but fond: Is that as the kids say?

Martin: I don't know, and perhaps worse, I don't really care. I guess I could ask Jeremiah next time he's over, but I'm not sure if that would actually help.

Jon: Shockingly, I don't think two year olds have their finger on the beating pulse of youth culture.

Martin: Hmm, maybe not. Speaking of Jeremiah, he's part of why the format of this episode is gonna be a bit different than our regular. On top of me dealing with a frankly obscene amount of inventory management, and Jon being swamped with grant writing-

Jon: I never want to look at proposal guidelines again-

Martin: we were on babysitting duty for our favourite neighborhood hellion-

Jon: Hey, Jeremiah is a very sweet kid! I know he's a toddler, but we shouldn't be slandering him anyway.

Martin: One, we're not even using his real name, I don't think that counts as slander, and two, exactly, he's a toddler, he's by default a hellion.

Jon, teasing: This coming from the person that actually wants one?

Martin: I..look, if anything, the last few days have shown we should not be permanent parents.

Jon: But?

Martin:...There's no but.

Jon: I don't believe you! Are you lying for my benefit or the audience's? Because someone spent the last five days wearing one of the largest grins I've ever seen, exhausted as it may have been.

Martin: Okay! Fine, I admit, I liked having a kid around. I still think it would be a bad idea to do it full time, but I dunno. I wish we weren't both only children or something. We would make such good uncles.

Jon: Should I should have taken that teaching job after all?

Martin: Perhaps. After all,

Martin, singsong: An English teacher, is really someone!

Jon and Martin, singing together: If only you, had be-come one!

Jon: Honestly, though, I was considerably underqualified. I'm much more suited to my current job, even if it doesn't have quite the same impact on the "shaping of the next generation" or whatnot.

Martin: Wait, you actually care about qualifications now? When did that change?

Jon: This coming from Mister "master's degree in parapsychology"? And it was probably around the time that the world ended from taking on a workload I was ill-suited for.

Jon:...

Jon: Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Martin: Oh, of course. Definitely nothing literally apocalyptic in our pasts, no siree, nothing to see or speculate about or make weirdly involved forums for here. Uh, anyway, long introduction not so short: Both of us have been averaging about 4 hours of sleep, so any sort of actual research was not on the table.

Jon: If any of you are wondering why we didn't just say that we're both very much worn out and thus we'll be taking a week off, it's because we're both deeply, deeply stubborn.

Martin: It's one of our best shared qualities that has never caused any conflict between us, ever.

Jon: In fairness, sheer stubbornness does account for, what, 75% of the reason that either of us are still alive? And it hasn't caused a major conflict between us in a good three years.

Martin: That's true. We've become a deeply boring, relatively conflict free couple. Which fucking rules, by the way. To all the couples out there: I highly recommend being boring. It is so nice. We've gotten to go to the farmer's market so many times.

Jon: You do love the farmer's market. I would say that it's the access to fresh produce, but I think you just like the attention that one yarn seller gives you. Can't believe you would take advantage of a crush to get discounts on wool. How did I marry such an opportunist?

Martin: Ollie does not have a crush on me. They're just friendly to everyone.

Jon: Bullshit. I certainly never get an extra skein or stitch markers or delicate fabric cleaner tossed in my bag. Actually, I think I've been charged more for committing the crime of having married you before they could.

Martin: I'm..70% sure that's not true, but every sentence we speak, we stray further from even pretending to be on topic. So, to everybody listening, this is the itty bitty episode! Basically, we're only doing small wonders and user submissions. If you want details or backstory for things we like, too bad, come back next week. Jon, I believe you're first this week?

Jon: Oh, right. My first small wonder is cat names.

Martin: Delightful, but unsurprising. Though, I would've expected either more or less specificity. Why cat names as opposed to pet's names in general, or, like, military title names?

Jon: Well that's simple enough. I've simply never met a misnamed cat, even if the name itself wasn't to my personal tastes, and I think that speaks to the wonderful universality of cats.

Martin: This, of course, implies that you have met animals that were misnamed.

Jon: Oh, I have. I once met a papillion dog named Meatball.

Martin: Now I know you don't like food names in general for pets, but are you sure that Meatball didn't suit the dogs personality? I've known some "Meatballs" in my lifetime.

Jon, only half-mock offended: Of course it didn't fit, Martin. She was a lady. A nervous, jittery lady, but a lady nonetheless.

Martin, laughing: And what, you've never met a dignified cat with an undignified name, or vice versa? Would you be okay with our cat being named Meatball?

Jon: I would be upset if our cat was named Meatball, because we named her and we're above that sort of thing, but, technically speaking, she could have been Meatball in another lifetime and it wouldn't have been wrong. You see, all cats are a mix of both extremely austere and little baby idiot.

Martin: Oh, is that the scientific terminology?

Jon: It is. Now, while there's probably some amount of, er, normative determinism or confirmation bias or something that results in a cat with a more dignified name seeming to possess more of that austerity, as all cats have both, any name can, potentially, fit. Hence why it's wonderful.

Martin: I..accept your proposal for now, but I think more research needs to be done. Maybe we should visit the shelter this weekend and test your hypothesis.

Jon: Hmm. I think we may need to visit multiple shelters, actually. A large sample size is necessary for any sort of veracity, obviously.

Martin, imitating Jon tone: Obviously.

Jon: Glad you agree. What's your first small wonder?

Martin: Tofu!

Jon: I..didn't realize you liked that much?

Martin: Well, I don't get it very often since I know you can't stand the texture, even though it is not like 'worse scrambled eggs', and you're a horrible food thief-

Jon: Lies and slander. We readily share. If I'm a horrible food thief, you have committed the exact same, if not worse, crime as myself.

Martin: Well, we are thick as thieves.

Jon, groaning: You're thick as something alright

Martin: Rude! My beloved husband-

Jon: -uh huh-

Martin: whom I love and trust with my most tender of hearts-

Jon: -an oddly cannibalistic turn of phrase-

Martin, badly suppressing laughter: Oh, my god. I want a divorce, then I can put tofu in as many dishes as I like. I'll triple my protein intake.

Jon: It'd never go through. I'll burn the papers. No, wait, I'll burn down the legal offices where the papers are kept.

Martin: Hmm. While my experiences with it have been, uh, varied to say the least, I do have to admit that arson is one of the more attractive crimes of passion. I suppose I'll take you back.

Jon, flat: I'm so very grateful.

Jon, genuine: You do have yet to actually tell me why you think tofu is wonderful, love.

Martin: It's just a good food! It's neutral enough that you can toss it in pretty much anything with a sauce, you can bake it, you can fry it, whatever. Plus it's what? two? Three quid? I spent many years of my life living off the cheapest, saltiest approximation of noodles you could imagine, and half a pack of tofu, a little bit of sesame oil, and some green onions went a long way to both making it more filling and less sad.

Martin: Plus, I feel like it often gets decried for being something it's not? It's so often viewed as a meat substitute or the vegan alternative option, and so when people try it, they often go in with a false preconceived notion of what it's going to be like, and then end up disappointed. They're all like, 'ugh, this doesn't taste like turkey!' and yeah, of course it doesn't. It's the oatmeal raisin cookie of the protein world, a perfectly good and tasty treat on its own, but if you want chocolate chip, it's not gonna work.

Jon: Martin you don't even like oatmeal raisin. I'm the only one that ever eats them out of the multipacks.

Martin: Well, yeah, but I don't like oatmeal raisin because of its flavor, not because I think it should be chocolate chip and fails. It illustrates my point. Also, just for balance, is your next small wonder oatmeal raisin cookies?

Jon: No, though, maybe one of these weeks. They are good. But no, um, my next small wonder is being married.

Martin, let out a high bark of a laugh: Being married is a small wonder?!

Jon: Small wonders doesn't mean a lack of importance! Or even significance in our lives. Half the time we even end up spending just as much time chattering on about them as the things we actually research. But, yes, I didn't feel like researching the concept of being married. For one, a lot of the history of it is depressing and patriarchal, and for two, it's not something I really feel any need to elaborate on. Being married. I very much enjoy it. I recommend it for anybody that's found someone that they want to marry, and who wants to marry them. I really recommend being married to Martin Blackwood, I think I would enjoy it significantly less if it was to anybody else, but one: we typically try to make the wonderful things in this show applicable to more than just ourselves, and two: I got there first, so I believe the appropriate thing to say here would be; neener neener and/or everyone else can go suck it, Ollie.

Martin: Well...

Jon: Well, what?

Martin: Saying you got there first is technically not true-

Jon: What?!

Martin, laughing like a bastard: Sorry, sorry! Couldn't resist! Jon, you already know that you're my first real realationship, how would be married before fit that?

Jon: Hence my surprise at the notion! I cannot believe you! I give you my trust, my earnestness, and belief-

Martin [only laughs harder]

Jon: and you throw it in my face for a bit. I take back everything, being married is a nightmare, because sometimes your partner thinks he a fucking comedian and you just have to put up with him because you love him and want to live the rest of your life with him or some such nonsense. Not worth it, if you ask me. My turn to ask for the divorce.

Martin: Babe, hate to break it to you, but both of us are guilty of doing bits that the other doesn't like, it's an integral part of a healthy marriage, and secondly, you knew who I was long before I proposed. You should've said no when you had the chance.

Jon: Hang on, you proposed?

Martin: Yeah? This isn't part of a bit, of course I proposed. I'm even pretty sure you were there. The whole visit back to Scotland trip? I finally made you a sweater and said it was because we would now be immune to the boyfriend curse?

Jon: No, no, I remember all that, but it wasn't the proposal. It was a reaffirmation of the proposal. We had already decided to get married.

Martin: Well, yeah,, I wasn't just gonna spring that on you, we had had conversations beforehand-

Jon: No, I mean, I had already proposed. I asked you to marry me a good three years earlier, and you said yes, which is a proposal by any definition that I know.

Martin: Jon, love, darling, apple of my eye, fire of my soul, I mean this in the nicest way possible, what the everloving fuck are you talking about?

Jon: In the ambulance ride when we, uh, moved here. It was the thing I said to you the second I saw your eyes were open.

[An audible pause is left in the recording.]

Martin: That does not count.

Jon: How does it not count?! I asked you to marry me, you very emphatically said yes, that's the de facto definition of an accepted marriage proposal!

Martin: It doesn't count because you were half-delirious with blood-loss, and I had a traumatic brain injury that the hospital was very surprised I made a full recovery from. No court in the world would consider anything we said then more than pain driven ramblings, let alone, I dunno, contractually binding.

Jon: Well, I knew what I was saying well and clear. Just because it was desperate doesn't mean it wasn't sincere. I didn't realize that you weren't as cognizant when you accepted.

Martin, snorting: Yeah, didn't really need to be cognizant to say yes. I've wanted to marry you since the train ride to Scotland.

Jon: Wait, really? Martin, we hadn't even been on a date.

Martin: And yet we were on the lamb together, which I honestly think is more romantic than sitting in some restaurant somewhere trying to get through icebreakers. Also, back up, from your perspective we've been engaged since 2019? What did you think we were doing in the interim?

Jon: Uhh..

Martin: Yes?

Jon: There are people that have long engagement periods, and it's not exactly like we were in any sort of position to get married for awhile. Especially not that first year.

Martin: Okay? And?

Jon: And..I sort of thought you had changed your mind. For awhile. Was rather surprised that you kept living with me, considering that, on the worst nights, I was convinced you were going to storm off and leave me forever any minute now. Hence why your proposal was rather relieving.

Martin: Oh, Jon, love. That is so very ridiculous, and so very you, and so very close to many of my own fears and doubts. Do you have any idea how terrified I was to float the idea of marriage to you? Half the time I was convinced I was just meant to keep you company until you found someone better. And, Christ, we'd, from your perspective, been engaged the whole damn time. Fuck.

[Jon, after a beat, starts laughing. It has a slightly hysterical edge to it. Martin joins in. It takes a minute for the laughter to subside enough for them to speak again.]

Jon: I'm rapidly realizing that our entire romantic relationship would've been, if not more successful, a hell of a lot faster if we weren't both complete fools.

Martin: You're realizing that now? I think I've known that since the CV incident. I've definitely known it since the Lonely.

Jon, with a slightly tired chuckle:Yes, yes, something probably should've tipped me off earlier. Shockingly, observation of our own personal romantic trends is not always a strong suit of mine.

Jon: Anyway, please tell me you have another small wonder, this has gotten wildly of track.

Martin: Since we're talking about marriage anyway, I think my next small wonder is having a shared reference in your wedding vows. Our friends had "I have been, and always shall be, your friend" in theirs, and I made Jon cry with a slightly altered Lord of the Rings quote in ours.

Jon: First off, we were both openly weeping long before that point, secondly, I defy anybody to have been through half of what we have and then have the love of their life look them in the eyes and tell them "Leave you? I never intend to. I am going with you, if you climb to the moon" without at least tearing up.

Martin: There wasn't a dry eye in the audience, either. Granted, the audience was only 20 people, but that was also literally the only time I've seen Eloise show a strong emotion, so I'm pretty smug about it.

Martin, soft: I still feel exactly the same, you know. If you're climbing to the moon, I'll make sure the rope is strong enough for two.

Jon, soft: I know, love.

Jon: Though, to be fair, the moon is also significantly more pleasant than many places we've been.

Martin: God, I hate how much that's true. Look at this barren, oxygenless rock, at least it's not actively trying to kill us. Practically a honeymoon location.

[Martin sighs]

Martin: I am so tired. Let's do the user submissions then take a very long nap.

Jon: Please.

Martin: So, first submission is from Josie; They find it wonderful getting cards from their friends. They say they're lucky to have so much love in their life and have friends that care enough to send them things. That is wonderful Josie! We have a drawer in our house dedicated to every loving card we've ever received since the move, and they're always such a nice reminder of the people in our lives.

Jon: We should really organize that drawer, but, yes, agree with the sentiment. Even the cards from people that are no longer in our lives are lovely, I think. Those connections are very much meaningful for both of us, whether they're active or not.

Martin: That's very true. Next submission is from Lys, who submits the sound of leaves crunching under your feet in the fall. Ah, that's a classic.

Jon: I just felt myself relax imagining it. I wish it was autumn.

Martin: Don't we all? Alright, for the last submissions, I'm grouping them together as they follow a similar theme. Jadwiga submits the feeling of waking up well into the morning with the sun shining through the window and your cat laying next to you, and Oran submits when a dog falls asleep with its head in your lap.

Jon: I can heartily recommend at least one of those, considering that's how we try to wake up most mornings. The Duchess is a dutiful darling girl who spends every night with us, and she's usually still there when us humans rise.

Martin: I bet you'll agree with the other when I finally convince you to get me a dog for my birthday.

Jon: It hasn't happened yet, so I wouldn't hold your breath.

Martin: But you don't even dislike dogs! You're just as happy to pet them when they pass by as I am.

Jon: Being fine with an animal isn't the same thing as wanting to adopt one for yourself! We don't even know if The Duchess would put up with a dog.

Martin: I bet she would. I bet we could get a big senior dog who's the calmest animal you've ever met with those soft eyes and a little grey on the muzzle and she would cuddle up in an instant. And we did say we should visit a shelter or three this weekend..

Jon: I think you're rather callously taking advantage of my exhausted state, but I suppose we can look.

Martin: Hell fuckin yeah. So, I think that'll close out the episode, and as we always say at the end, uh, go take a nap and get a dog. Not necessarily in that order.

#wonderful! au #jonmartin #tma #jon sims #martin blackwood #my fic #thank you to everyone that submitted!!!#also; i am offically out of ideas for installments #more may come later but i make no promises!

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plus-size-reader · 3 years

Text

Changing

R x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1280 words

Warnings: none

Summary: Perry’s sister gets left behind in the pharmacy, instead of Julie, and ends up having to rethink everything she knows about the world.

——————————————————————————————————

You always thought you understood the dead.

They had always taught you that the dead were nothing more than vessels of death and destruction. All they knew how to do was kill, and that was all it would ever be.

Until recently, you’d come to accept that.

Perry seemed to believe that all they would ever be was killing machines, but that couldn’t be the case. If that was all they were, R would have let you die there in that pharmacy.

The rest of the people in the compound seemed to have it all down, they seemed to understand, but you just didn’t. They could have killed you all, could have ripped you apart, but that didn’t happen.

Frankly, you refused to believe that it would.

If R was going to kill you, he wouldn't have gone through all the trouble to keep the others from hurting you. He wouldn’t have done any of it and it just didn’t make any sense.

How could everything you’d come to believe since this had all happened been wrong? How could they have been this wrong all this time?

“You know, where I come from, they would have killed you right away” you hummed, staring at the ceiling in the dark. You had been trying to sleep, of course, but it wasn’t gonna happen.

Not after the past few days you’d had. Everything in your life had been flipped on its head, and the last thing you wanted to do was go to sleep when it was all crumbling around you.

Since your dad died, Perry had been insane over this whole thing. He hated the dead, for taking everything from you, and if he knew where you were right now, he’d never believe it.

Really, you weren’t sure if he’d believe it even if you were to show him yourself. This just wasn’t something any of you thought was a possibility before today.

It shouldn’t have been.

...but here you were anyway.

“My brother, Perry, he hates the dead. He thinks you’re repulsive, no offense” you sighed, rolling over to face where he was laying on the floor. You had no idea if he was even comprehending what you were saying, but there had to be something there.

In the past few days, he’d only been getting more and more easy to communicate with. There was a light behind his eyes when he looked around him that wasn’t there before.

It was almost like he was changing.

“N-none taken” he decided, a small shrug of his shoulders alerting you to the fact that he had, in fact, understood what you were getting at. What you were going through, it wasn’t new to him.

No one understood how much the living people hated him more than he did.

“It’s just, I’ve never seen a corpse like you...are there even any others like you?” you wondered, gingerly sitting up on your elbows to get a better look at him.

Until today, you didn’t think there was anyone like him anywhere, not out here, but now that he was sitting right in front of you, you weren’t sure.

Maybe you’d just been blind, this whole time.

This time all he did was shrug, not sure just how to answer your question. The short answer was no, he assumed, but he didn’t know well enough to say that without going back there.

Something had changed, recently, but he wasn’t completely sure what it was yet. He’d been here with you, instead of back at the airport with them, so he didn’t know what they were up to.

All he knew was that something was different.

“Fair enough. I’m just glad you found me instead of one of the others then” you decided, that had to be enough for now. Whatever was going on, you would get to the bottom of it, but not tonight.

Not right now.

Right now, you had far more pressing matters at hand, like the fact that your clothes were soaked through and you hadn’t slept in hours. Not even R could keep you from total exhaustion.

That wasn’t something he had any control over.

“Me t-too” he tried, only stumbling slightly this time over his words. He was getting better at that, at least. You hoped that Perry would believe it, when you got the chance to show him.

Something was most certainly different.

“I guess I should probably get some sleep, before the sun comes up again” you sighed, flopping back down on your back but even you had to admit that you didn’t believe what you’d said. Sleeping wasn’t an option with everything you’d been through, especially not in one of these creepy ass old houses.

Even before the world fell apart, you’d always hated them.

There was silence between you for just a moment more as you tried to close your eyes, only to decide against it a second later.

Everytime you closed your eyes, all you could hear was the creaking of the walls and the wind whistling outside the window.

It was hardly the ambience you’d been hoping for, not that you could really afford to be picky, all things considered.

“R?”

There was a grunt from the floor, a sound you’d grown to associate with him in the time you’d been together, in answer.

It may not have been the sort of communication you were used to but it worked for the two of you.

You’d gotten used to it.

“Can you come up here? I can’t sleep” you asked, feeling strange asking, even though it wasn’t really that big of a deal.

There wasn’t much that could happen between you in a way that would be awkward or uncomfortable.

He was dead, a literal corpse on the floor, and yet, you were searching for comfort within him.

It wasn’t really where you thought you’d be today.

Still, R wasn’t going to ignore your request. It was uncharted territory for the two of you but if it would help you sleep better, he didn’t have a problem with it.

How could he? This was the closest he’d been to another person, a living person, in as long as he could remember.

It was the best he could do.

“Is that o-k?” he asked, once he’d finally made up his mind and got into bed next to you. You had no idea what was going on, or why this seemed to be the best plan, but it just did.

With everything going on, you understood more about R than the rest of the world around you. It didn’t make any sense and it certainly brought you little comfort, but it was just what it was.

You were doing your very best to just keep your head on straight, to get out of here without being eaten alive, and along the way, this had gotten a lot more complicated.

“Yes, thank you” you allowed, scooting over in bed to make room for him. You weren’t really sure how this would all break down in the morning, or what this was in the first place, but it didn’t matter.

Not right now.

Right now, all you had to do was get some sleep and knowing that R would be by your side until morning did serve to bring you some comfort. If nothing else, it was a start.

Tomorrow was a new day but when the sun came up, the world would still be different. The dead were changing and that was going to change everything else as you knew it. All you had to do was convince the others of that, before it was too late.

#warm bodies #r #warm bodies movie #warm bodies x reader #warm bodies x ps reader #warm bodies x plus size reader #warm bodies imagine #r x reader #r x ps reader #r x plus size reader #r imagine #warm bodies movie x reader #warm bodies movie x ps reader #warm bodies movie x plus size reader #warm bodies movie imagine

275 notes · View notes

eelistolvanen · 3 years

Text

Bruises that you left behind - Travis Konecny

A/N: Soo, I recently came up with the idea for this fic. It’s nowhere near finished but I figured I’d post the first part. Let me know if you like it and want more :)

Words: 3k

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, no proofread

Summary: Two years after getting your heart broken by the love of your life, you run into someone from your past life. And you have to face the fact that you can’t run away forever but have to face your past and everything that shattered you. (I know this is vague but I don’t want to spoiler this...)

Italics indicate flashbacks.

_______________________________

Hannah peaked her head trough the door. “Y/N! You’re still here? Shouldn’t you be at home by now?” She send a confused look. Y/N gave her a soft smile. “I’m just finishing up something, Han. One of my students is a little behind in class and I’m trying to figure out ways to help him. And you’re still here too. ” “You’re too kind for your own good”, Hannah replied with a quiet sigh “I would be long home if it wasn’t for this parent talk I had tonight. You should go home too, it’s late.” “I will, once I finish this” you reply with a glint in your eyes. Hannah knew better than to argue with you. Everyone knew how stubborn you could be. Hannah send you a final wave. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night Y/N!” “Good night Han!”

You stayed for longer than you probably should have. And you were definitely feeling it the next day. Thankfully you had a free afternoon. So you did what you usually did on a Thursday afternoon. You sat in your favourite little café and were preparing for the upcoming week. While the café still screamed Philly, it was far enough out of the city to be quiet. It felt so local and intimate, nothing like the big, busy city. That’s probably the reason you loved it so much. Most costumers were locals and by now you got to know a couple familiar faces. You had been living in this part of town for about a year now. And while you were reminded of your old life every now and then – flyers jerseys being worn by the locals, banners hanging around your part of town, a familiar face in the newspaper- that life seemed far far away now.

The ringing of the doorbell ripped you out of your thoughts and let you focus back on the computer in front of you. You hadn’t gotten very far today. Somehow you head was somewhere else, definitely not focused on the task at hand. You also hadn’t noticed the man approaching you’re table. Only realising his presence as he slipped into the seat across from you.

“Y’know I knew you couldn’t hide from me forever. I couldn’t believe my eyes the other day, I thought I was dreaming, when I saw you walk out this door.” He hadn’t changed that much in the last 2 years, eyes still as pretty as ever, still wearing that cheeky little smile of his. For a moment you froze, unable to get a word out or even move a muscle. But your wall wasn’t down for long. “What are you doing here, Nolan? This isn’t your part of town.” You cringed at your ice cold reply, but was he really expecting you to welcome him with open arms?

“Well yeah, I admit it was a fluke that I saw you the other day. I’ve been around this part of town a lot recently.”

You really didn’t care about his stories, you weren’t best friends anymore, you couldn’t even consider him a friend really. A stranger with shared memories maybe. It hurt you to pack up your things and get up to leave but you couldn’t sit here and make small talk with Nolan. You might have left that life behind but that didn’t meant that it wasn’t still haunting you. You could see the disappointed look on Nolan’s face once he realised what you were doing. But he didn’t stop you. Of course, he didn’t. Sweet, loving Nolan, he never met you with anything other than kindness. But here you were, walking out on him again.

“You know, I don’t remember us breaking up too, Y/N.” The sadness in his voice was unmistakable.

“Leave it, Nols!” you muttered just as your voice cracked. Tears sprang into your eyes as you left the café in a hurry.

_______________________

The bar was beyond crowded. It was a Friday night and if it were up to you, you’d be curled up on the couch with a glass of red wine. But somehow Hannah and some of your other friends managed to drag you out of your house. Now you were squeezed into a booth, somewhat tipsy, and were listening to your friend Liz complain about some guy. To be honest you were actually enjoying yourself. A night out with your friends was exactly what you needed right now. Hannah looked up behind you, as you felt someone approaching your booth.

“Hey Kelsey, how is it going?” Hannah asked with a smile on her face. You vaguely remember the brunette approaching your table as one of Hannah’s neighbours. You’d seen her around but never really held a conversation with her. “Hey Hannah, hey girls! I’m just dropping this drink off.” She replied as she placed a tall glass in front of you. She gave you a gentle smile. “Nolan said it is your favourite.” It was a Long Island Ice Tea and it used to be your favourite. Not anymore. You accepted it anyway.

“He’s here?” you replied probably a bit to sharp as Kelsey slightly winced. She nodded her head towards the bar. You turned around and looked straight into Nolan’s eyes. As if burned you flinched and turned back around just as quickly. Kelsey gave one last wave before turning towards the bar.

The rest of the night was torture. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the bar and go home. Just as you were leaving the bar, seemingly escaping any other run in with the past, you felt his presence behind you. As soon as you were outside he spoke up.

“Give me a chance, Y/N. I know you’re angry and mad and hurt, but I don’t deserve this. Not this silent, cold shoulder treatment.” You knew he was right. He’d never done anything to you. He let you cry onto his shoulder when your heart broke. When he broke you. Nolan was nothing but supportive, the greatest best friend any one could ask for. And then you walked out of his life, without as much as a goodbye.

You turned around, tears in your eyes. God, it hurt to see him like this. So full of sorrow, so hurt. “I can’t Nolan. I’m so sorry.” With that your voice broke and you turned around and did the only thing you knew. You ran away. Again.

________________________

It was Sunday morning, almost lunchtime as you dragged yourself out of bed. You still hadn’t recovered from this week, let alone from everything that happened the Friday prior. Not feeling like making breakfast you decided you treat yourself to brunch at the café.

The doorbell rang as you entered and you were so hungry you took a beeline straight to the counter. As you ordered your food and paid, you started walking towards your usual table. Only to find it occupied.

“Y/N! Come sit down, we need to talk.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself. “Just let it be, Nolan. There’s nothing to talk about.” But before you were able to fully turn around and find another way out of this, he’d already grabbed your wrists and pulled you towards the table. You let yourself fall into the booth defeated.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Nolan.” You could hear him sight audibly. “Fine, then we’ll talk about something else.” You looked up at him and realised it wasn’t worth fighting him. So you decided to take the lead, at least this gave you the chance to dictate the conversation.

“Soo, you and Kelsey, huh? Are you like together?” You internally cringed at you passive tone. Nolan’s face lit up. “Yeah, she’s great you know. I feel like she could be the one.” Your mood started to lighten up. “That’s good. I’m happy for you Nolan, I really am. I know how much you wanted to meet someone special. The one, huh?” He chuckled lightly. You really were happy for him, if someone deserved all the good things it was Nolan. “When I met her, I just kinda knew, you know?” You stayed silent. Oh, you knew. You knew what it felt like to meet the one. Nolan quickly identified the look of sadness on your face. “I mean, yeah… She means a lot to me.” You gave him a thankful smile. He knew you didn’t want to talk about him. He reached across the table and took your hand in his.

“I just… Y/N, you were my best friend, you still are. Don’t push me away. I know your hurting but I’m your friend.” You knew this was coming. But you still wished you could run away from it. But you couldn’t. Not this time. Nolan didn’t deserve this. “You’re also his friend!” you tried to keep your emotions at bay but it just flowed over. “That’s not fair and you know that. I didn’t just lose one friend that day. I lost two. My two best friends.” His voice cracked and he turned his head to the side so you wouldn’t see his watery eyes. You felt a sudden lump in your throat. You never thought about how he felt. God, you were so selfish. “I’m so sorry Nolan. I was a shitty friend.” He gave you a sad smile. “No, I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve what happened. I get why you left. Why you ran away. Get away from it all, let the dust settle, start again. I just always thought that I’d hear from you. Maybe that you would come back even. But I got nothing. No call, no text, nothing. I had to call your sister to know you’re still alive but that was all I got.” You were crying silent tears now, slowly you stood up and moved over to hug him. “God, I’m so sorry Nols. I wanted to, I just couldn’t. I needed to restart my life. And you were such a big part of the life I used to have, I just didn’t think I could handle the pain.” He squeezed your shoulders. “Just promise me not to run from me again. Don’t shut me out, you weren’t the only one hurting.”

That evening you were standing in front of your drawer. It seemed like it took you hours to muster up courage to open it. You hadn’t touched it since you moved in. And you hadn’t touched it’s content in over 2 years. Slowly you pulled it open. A wave of emotions crushed over you. All the memories kept flooding back. In this drawer was all the stuff you weren’t able to throw away. You just couldn’t bring yourself to it. All your memories of your life back then. Your hand moved over it’s content. Until it landed on the little velvet box. You took it out and opened it. Instantly tears started to fill your eyes as the memory came flooding back, knocking you over.

“Y/N, you’re the most important thing in my life, you’re my best decision, my greatest friend and adventure. You’re the love of my life.” Slowly Travis took a knee in front of you and pulled a little velvet box out of his pocket. “I love you so much, Y/N! Will you marry me?” with that he opened the little boy and revealed the most perfect engagement ring. You couldn’t contain your excitement, nearly knocking him over as you tried to kiss him. “Yes, yes, I will marry you!” Thankfully he caught you and lifted you up, kissing you. As he slipped the ring on your finger he softly muttered “I can’t wait to marry you, Mrs. Konecny!”

_________________

The following week was thankfully less stressful. On Thursday, when you had you’re afternoon off, Nolan just so happened to have an off day. He was currently sprawled out on your couch, taking in his surroundings. “I like your place, it’s nice. When did you move in?”

You froze. Your hand was hovering above the water bottle you were trying to grab out of the fridge. You knew you had to tell him the truth. And you also knew he wasn’t going to like it.

“A bit over a year ago.” You grabbed the water bottle and turned towards Nolan, just as you heard him suck in a deep breath. When you looked at him you could see the tension that had risen up.

“A year ago? A year, Y/N?! You’ve been back in Philly for an entire year and you couldn’t even send a text that you’re back?”

God, you hated to disappoint him like that. You knew it was wrong to not reach out to him, he’d done nothing wrong. Still, you didn’t feel strong enough to let someone from your past life back into your new life. You felt like this was the only way to move on.

Before you could reply something, he continued.

“So when were you going to reach out Y/N? I mean eventually you would-“ He paused, studying your face. Of course he would be able to read you like an open book.

“You weren’t.” The utter disappointment in his voice nearly took your breath away.

“No.” Your voice was so quiet, you weren’t he even heard you. He didn’t need to, he already knew the answer. In one swift motion Nolan rose to his feet, taking a few steps towards the windowfront of your apartment. He dragged his hands through his long hair a couple of times before turning back to you.

“Why? I was your best friend Y/N. Why?”

“I already told you Nolan, I couldn’t.” You barely got those words out before Nolan spoke up again.

“But why? I get that you needed time away, that you needed to restart and I also wouldn’t have blamed you if you never returned to Philly. But I just never thought you would cut all ties with me. I always thought our friendship would survive this, that one day at least the two of us would be back to normal.”

You didn’t know how to start. How could you let him down easy with this. How could you tell your best friend that you planned on never seeing him again. Slowly you sat down on the couch and waited for Nolan to join you.

“You have to know I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to leave you without saying something but I was in so much pain, so angry and hurt I wasn’t functioning properly. And at first I wanted to call you, reach out to you. But I just thought that I needed to have some time by myself for a while. And the longer it took the harder it got. I felt like I had to completely leave this life behind, so I could move on, so that it would hurt less.” Tears were rolling down your cheeks and your vision had started to get blurry. Everything that you had buried deep down was starting to resurface.

“I’m sorry Nolan. But I just felt like I had to leave this life behind me. Everything from this life, him, you, the team, my friends that I’d made here. You were such a big part of my life then, I couldn’t think about you without being reminded of him. So I realized I had to let it go. All of it. Even my best friend.”

You body was shaking with sobs now. Nolan pulled you into his chest, keeping you close. One hand soothingly stroking your hair.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to be collateral damage, Nolan.” You mumbled into his chest, sobs still raking your body.

You stayed like this for a while. Nolan stayed silent, letting you cry into his chest. It took ages till you felt yourself calm. You had let everything out. Of course you had cried before but not like this. The last time you’d been crying like that was a bit over 2 years ago while Nolan held you close and whispered countless “It’s going to be okay” into your hair. I hadn’t helped though. His words empty promises, that the both of you knew weren’t true. In that moment, 2 years ago, your heart truly shattered. And no matter how hard Nolan tried, there was nothing he could do to fix it. To late, the damage had already been done, just a few hours prior.

“Gosh, you look so beautiful Y/N!” Your sister Lauren tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I still can’t believe this is happening, sis. You’re getting married!” You had never seen you this happy. And you’d never been this happy either. You had dreamed of such a wedding since you were little. Suddenly all your Pinterest Wedding boards had seemed to come alive. You were smiling ear to ear.

There was another knock on the door, like there had been so many others this morning, but you didn’t really realise the new presence until Nolan was approaching you. He had a weird look in his eyes and as he came closer you realised that his eyes were slightly watery. Before you could say anything he had wrapped you in a hug. You felt like he was going to squeeze you to death. As he pulled back you could see the sad smile on his face. Something was wrong.

“You look so pretty, Y/N. My beautiful best friend.” You could see that he was trying to masque his feelings but you knew him all too well. Panic set in.

“What’s wrong?” You searched his eyes for answers but he only had eyes for the ground. “Nolan, what’s wrong? Did something happen to Travis?” The blood in your veins seemed to freeze. Suddenly the room started spinning. Still no answer from Nolan. “Nolan! Please, what’s wrong with him?” Finally Nolan seemed to be ripped out of his trance. When he lifted his gaze up to look into your eyes you could see the tears running down his cheeks. “He’s fine, Y/N. He’s …” “He’s what?” you pushed. You knew from the look in his eyes that the answer was going to shatter you.

He slowly shook his head. “He’s not coming, Y/N.”

Part 2

#travis konecny #travis konecny imagine #travis konency fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #travis konecny x reader #my writing

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honeymooneyy · 3 years

Text

Missed You

When Sirius came back, Remus felt as if he was living in an alternative reality. Everything he had believed for the last decade was wrong. No, Sirius did not murder his best friends. No, Peter wasn't dead and he had been the one to murder James and Lily. No, Sirius wasn't going back to his childhood home.

And that's how Remus ended up hiding in his bedroom, trying to compose himself. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Sirius Black was sitting on his living room couch, watching the telly Remus had switched on in a panic.

Remus wasn't completely sure what the Order had expected him to do. But they had shipped him off to Remus, considering the two had been dating - completely disregarding the fact that it has been more than a decade since the two have even seen each other.

Taking another deep breath, Remus slipped out of his bedroom and to the living room where Sirius was sitting patiently. When he turned to look at Remus, his heart dropped. Sirius was here in his apartment, but at the same time, this man sitting in front of him wasn't Sirius.

Sure, he had the same dark hair and silvery eyes as his best friend, but the similarities ended there. His hair was matted and Remus knew that Sirius would have never let it get to that point if he had a choice. He cherished his hair, often claiming it to be his best feature. His eyes lacked that playful shine, instead just watching Remus with an empty stare, his dark circles looking painful. Just his whole demeanor had changed - gone was the confident boy whose personality took up the whole room. Instead sat a sad man whose happiness had been stripped of him.

Remus itched to grab a hold of his twitchy hands - no, just hold him in general. Instead he busied himself with a list of things to do.

"Are you hungry? I can make you some food before I leave to get you some clothes and toiletries. Shit, you don't even have any shoes, I'll get some, I don't think your shoe size changed, right? Merlin, how would you even know? Ignore me." Remus knew he was ranting, but he couldn't stop himself.

"I'm fine. I know this is asking a lot, but do you know what happened to my stuff?" Sirius glanced around the room, obviously noticing how much their once shared apartment had changed.

Remus cringed at his words, "I'm so sorry, I didn't- I don't have it. I thought you had- I didn't think you were coming back."

"S'okay, I shouldn't have expected you to keep it." Sirius' voice was still croaky and he had to clear his throat every couple minutes.

Without a word, Remus just turned for the kitchen and grabbed him a glass of water. When he handed it to Sirius, he ignored the way it sloshed onto his lap in his shaky hands or the way it dribbled down his chin when he drank it sloppily. When he wiped the back of his mouth with his jacket sleeve, Remus noticed the state of his clothes.

"Here, let's find you something better to wear," Remus began, turning to walk towards his room. "I don't have any of your old stuff, but I'm sure you can fit in mine."

Sirius followed him wordlessly. That's another thing Remus noticed in the past couple hours he had gotten Sirius back - he rarely spoke, only really talking when he needed to. But to be fair, he had just escaped Azkaban a couple weeks ago, and the past night or so had been tiring. With the dementors and Dumbledore and the Order, the poor man was still in the clothes he had been wearing since he escaped.

Opening up his closet, Remus sifted through his many sweaters for one that would be the most comfortable for Sirius. When he turned around with the softest one he could find and a pair of sweats, he was surprised to see him looking at the dresser. On top were a couple photo frames and knick-knacks littered around.

Sirius reached for one of the four of them, his fingers brushing over James' face and then his own. Upon realizing Remus was watching him, he flinched back, bringing his arm back to his side.

"It's okay, you can look at them," Remus assured gently. "I have tons more if you want to see?"

It had been easy to throw away Sirius' stuff back when he was consumed by anger and betrayal. But all the photos of their memories at Hogwarts? He couldn't even bring himself to look at them, instead stuffing them in a box and into the back of his closet.

"It's fine, I don't want to bother."

"Sirius. I don't mind, really." Remus handed him the clothes which he accepted gingerly. "You aren't bothering me. I wish there was more I could do."

Sirius just gave him a nod before glancing down at his clothes then at Remus, panic filling his face. Remus made the decision for him, heading towards the door and shutting it behind him. He released a sigh as it shut.

God, he missed his old Sirius.

He resented Azkaban for what they had done to him. Furthermore, he resented the Ministry. How do you let an innocent man rot in jail for so long? Was there really no way for anyone to have known it wasn't Sirius who did it? For god's sake, someone could've gone back with a time turner to see what happened. But internally, Remus was slapping himself for not knowing.

How could he have stood by and let his best friend - his lover - be accused of such a crime and go to jail? How could he have blindly believed that Sirius would actually betray them - his family.

Remus' thoughts were interrupted when Sirius emerged from the bedroom in the new clothes. When reaching Remus, he straightened his back a bit, clearly trying to mend the damage Azkaban had left. It broke Remus' heart.

"Would you like some tea before I leave?"

Sirius' eyes widened and his voice shook, "You're leaving?"

"Just to get you some clothes and stuff. I'll be back," Remus promised.

"It's okay, I don't need any right now. Please just stay?" Sirius pleaded and Remus knew he couldn't disagree. Especially not right now.

"Okay. I'll make us some tea then?"

Sirius nodded, trailing after him as he went to the kitchen to set a kettle on the stove. As Remus grabbed Sirius' favorite mug, his stomach dropped. Yes, he knew now that Sirius was innocent, but what was he doing these past few years? How could he have let himself keep Sirius' mug and who knows what?

Deep down, Remus knew the answer. He was always going to be in love with the Sirius he grew up with. When Sirius was locked away, Remus pushed away the memories of the Sirius he had spent the last couple years with - the war-struck Sirius. Not the one who pulled pranks with James or brought him chocolate frogs after full moons or the one who stayed up all night after Remus had a nightmare.

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he set the little table with the tea, sugar, and a tiny pitcher of milk. Sirius sat across from him, pulling his cup towards him while Remus busied himself with adding sugar to his tea. When he glanced up, he realized Sirius was still sitting there, staring at the tea.

“Sirius?”

Sirius’ sorrowful eyes flickered up, and his voice was small, “It’s been thirteen years since I’ve had tea. I don’t even- I forgot how I take it.”

“That’s okay, Padfoot, I remember,” Remus assured, the nickname rolling off his tongue. “Two sugars and a bit of milk.”

“Two sugars and a bit of milk,” Sirius echoed, watching Remus stir it in. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, it’s just tea.”

“I’m sorry I’m just here and you have to deal with me. I know I’m not the same.” Sirius’ voice sounded so dejected it pained Remus to see him like this.

“I’m not dealing with you, Sirius. Did you forget that we’re best friends? It might’ve been thirteen years, but that doesn’t change anything. I’ll always care about you.” Remus couldn’t help himself, he rounded the table to pull Sirius up and into a hug. “I’d never be upset that you changed. It’s been more than a decade, and you were literally living in hell on earth.”

Sirius melted into the hug, burrowing his head into the crook of Remus’ neck. His voice was muffled, but Remus had no problem hearing him, “It’s been so long.”

Remus had to stop himself from pressing a kiss to his head. “I know.”

“I hated it there, Remus, I hated it. All they do is feed on your happy memories, I’ve forgotten so much. I don’t even feel like myself, this isn’t Sirius. I lost Sirius so long ago.” His voice was breaking and he clutched the fabric of Remus’ shirt. “I missed you.”

Remus just held him tighter as he felt the tears press against his skin. “I missed you more than anything. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I wish I had done something.”

Sirius immediately pulled away, heat in his eyes. “No. It’s my fault, I switched Secret Keeper. If I hadn’t then James and Lily would’ve been alive, Harry could’ve- Merlin, poor Harry.”

“How could it be your fault? It’s not your fault for trusting Peter, he was our friend. He was our best friend. We couldn’t have known.” Remus reached out to take Sirius’ hands in his own. “It’s no one’s fault but Peter’s.”

He knew Sirius wanted to argue, but he just gave a nod. He fidgeted with Remus’ fingers before dropping them, returning back into his shell. Remus knew he couldn’t blame him. They had to take things slow.

And for Sirius, Remus would do anything.

#marauders #wolfstar #wolstar fluff #sirius black #remus lupin #post azkaban #harry potter #prisinor of azkaban #sirus x remus #wolfstar reunited #hp #order of the phoenix #remus x sirius #marauders fanfiction #woflstar fanfiction

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zodiyack · 4 years

Text

Good Intentions with Bad Outcomes

Requested by anon: Could you write for shelby sis who fights with tommy and in his anger he says something really hurtful to her and she leaves. Tommy doesn't take it seriously cause he thinks she'll be back soon anyways but she stays way a couple weeks because she had to hide from someone? and when she comes back everyone is angry at first till they realize that something's off with her and she tells them later on? With a fluffy family end? Sorry if it's too specific:)

Pairing: Tommy + Shelby!Female!Reader, Shelby & Gray family + Shelby!reader (no romance)

Warnings: Swearing, angst, reader being best friends with Esme that’s a warning and we all know it, fluff, smol sexual reference, mention of homophobia + abuse, mention of blinding; Peaky Edition™, slight straying from request(?)

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace, @simonsbluee, @peakysputain

Tags just for this fic: @mzcrazy2

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

He snapped.

It was just a small argument, at first, but Y/n wouldn’t stop digging. She fought first, he tried to reason with himself, but he knew it was his fault. He was going to apologize, as soon as she dropped the act and came home.

He waited in a chair by the door.

Any moment now. Just a couple seconds and she’d come bursting through the door, admitting her defeat and accepting her brother’s apology, perhaps even apologizing herself.

He checked his pocket watch.

If not now, maybe, and preferably, before 4 am. Tommy grew tired with each passing moment. He knew Pol would kill him if anything happened to Y/n, and he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself either, so he told himself to sit by the front door and wait for her, but sleep just seemed far too important. It was something he didn’t get much, and it wasn’t like he could stop himself.

So he slept on the couch. Like a baby, might he add.

However, his awakening was not as peaceful as his sleep. Polly slapped his leg rather harshly with her glove. Her eyes were beat red and her heart was racing faster than the horses her and her family bet on. “Wake up, you bastard!”

“Whatever seems to be the matter, Pol?” He rubbed his eye sleepily and sat upright, but yet again was attacked by his aunt’s gloves.

“You know damn well what’s the matter!” Tommy gave her a look of confusion. “Your sister is missing, goddammit!”

He chuckled, loudly. His amusement earned him more attacks from the gloves as Polly glared down at him, “What the bloody hell do you think is so funny about Y/n being missing?”

“She’s not missing Pol, she’s too fucking chicken to run. Just, relax, alright Pol? She’ll be back in what, five hours?” Thomas smirked at his aunt before grabbing his coat and walking out the front door. He went on his way, walking back to his own home.

“Tommy! Like I’ve said, he’s just a friend!”

“Yeah? Just a friend? Look at him, he just wants to get in your knickers, Y/n/n!” He laughed with his older and younger brother, watching the boy, their sister’s age, flush red with eyes the size of saucers. He noticed his sister look away, equally embarrassed as her guest. “Is that what you are, huh Y/n? A whore? Look at that brothers, our baby sister’s become a whore!”

Y/n grunted and pushed past them, trying to get out of the room, but Tommy grabbed her arm. His teasing smile was long gone. “Y/n/n. Send. Him. Home.”

“You lost the right to call me that when you called me a whore.”

Weeks had passed. Still no sign of Y/n.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you too! Whoring around with some kid-”

“Thomas! I’m not a fucking whore! You may keep your sanity by sneaking around with those women, but I can assure you, brother,” she spat the word with a certain venom to her tone, “none of the whores in the whole bloody fucking world could show you how much of a worthless, sad, piece of shit excuse for a brother you are. Lucky for me,” she leaned in, speaking through clenched teeth, “I’m no whore.”

Y/n grabbed her coat and ran out the door, flipping Tommy off in the process of her exit mission. The shocked expression lazily covered with a horrible attempt of a blank look on Tommy’s face was priceless. He never expected nor meant for it go this far.

That’s when she left. That’s when he laughed to himself and waited by the door, telling himself over and over that she was only kidding around. That she was going to come home.

It had almost been a whole fucking month.

He finally saw the truth.

She was either missing, serious about leaving, or had, as much as he didn’t want to think about it, died. And he was the one who had to break the news to his family. When he did, many different reactions were shared.

Esme, who held a close bond with Y/n, slapped Tommy with small “cat-fight” hits to his arm until John pulled her back. John refused to look at Tommy, full of his own guilt for not stopping the joke before it got too far. Arthur drank his sorrows away, but not before bowing his head in shame as well.

And as for Polly, she gave Thomas a disappointed, disapproving glare and hit his arm, similar to Esme, but with full force, figurative steam coming from her ears accompanied by the tears flowing from her brown orbs. The action spelled it out better than words could’ve. Not that she would’ve said anything about it anyways, as she currently wished to be on something, anything, worse than “not on speaking-terms” with her nephew.

They knew Y/n was at fault as well, but she wasn’t there at that moment, so Tommy was facing his punishment while they had their free time. Esme baked Y/n’s favorite Romani treats, the reasoning quite obvious when Pol and Ada had pointed it out,

“You’re going through a grieving process. She may not have died, for all we know, but you feel that you lost her, and it’s hurting you intensely.”

Some days, Ada joined in, baked her share, and brought them back to her house. Today, however, it was just Esme.

Or so she thought.

The feeling of unease washed over her. A chilly wind blew into the room. She’d had her fair share of the supernatural, but this presence felt alive. Esme’s hand reached for the knife before she spun around, dropping the blade at the sight in front of her.

“Y/n- what the bloody hell...?” Y/n tried to walk over for a hug, but only managed to get half way before Esme snapped back to her senses and hit her friend over and over again with one of her aprons. “Where” hit “Have” hit “You” hit “Been!?”

“Oh you know...exploring.”

“Fucking hell, Y/n, you grew up in Birmingham, in fact, you’re still growing up, here, in Birmingham. So tell me. What’s wrong? If you decide not to tell me, just know that John’s sleeping upstairs, and don’t, for one second, think I won’t go wake his lazy arse up.”

“Oh yeah, sure, Esme, maybe get him to tell Tommy to get that stick out his ass, would you? I mean, it’s got to be painful with how far up there he makes it out to be.”

Esme frowned, remembering what Thomas told them all. “Oh hun... you should’ve told me and came over here! I’m sure John wouldn’t have minded, and if he would’ve... well that’s too bad for him, innit?” Y/n giggled softly and began to smile, causing Esme to cheer with joy. “See! Come, I’ll make you some tea!”

“Well? Where the fuck were you!?” Polly inspected Y/n for injuries, finding bruises along wrists.

“Nowhere, I’m fine. I just fell into some trouble and, like Arthur taught me, won.”

Arthur chuckled proudly, “Attagir-”

“No. Tell us the truth, Y/n.”

“I am.”

Polly leaned closer to her niece. They held eye contact, Y/n could see the tears threatening to spill over her Aunt’s lower eye lids. She inhaled, preparing to speak, hesitated, to up the dramatic effect, and finally let a word free. “Liar.”

“To be fair Pol, she had been at my home for the past week-”

A gasp and a cough, both from Pol, sounded in the room from shock. “She what?” she drawled.

“My point is, Aunt Pol, my small home, all the little ones, there would be some points where she’d trip, ya know? Even Esme gets some bruises like that-”

“Mhm. It’s totally from the small house.” Arthur chuckled into his cup, snorting when Pol flicked him on the back of his head. “Anyways, she said it Pol, she’s fine. No broken bones, no bloody noses, John gave an explanation for any bruises, she’s fine.”

“I’m with Polly on this one. She didn’t seem all that well at our home, John, and she didn’t run around enough to get bruises. Sorry, love.” She winced apologetically at her sister-in-law.

Y/n shrugged and walked from the room, trying hard to keep the emotions inside. If she didn’t cry, they couldn’t know that she had lied. Not that it was any use, Pol was already onto her and her siblings were giving her suspicious looks.

Tommy followed his younger sister and closed the door behind himself. “Y/n/n. Are you alrig-”

She hugged him, tightly. Thomas could feel his shirt dampening from his sister’s tears. Y/n broke, despite her plan not to, she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Her sobs were painful for Tommy to hear. His protective and brotherly instincts kicked in as he processed the muffled cries of the voice belonging to the girl he watched grow up, the girl cared ever so deeply about, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tightly.

“Tommy... I couldn’t help him.”

“Who?” She looked up at him with sad expression. He remembered the night. He called his sister a whore for joking purposes and with the intent of preventing her from ending her night with a broken heart, it didn’t help that he was slightly drunk, and he didn’t realize she’d take it to heart. “I-”

“It’s alright, Tom, you had good intentions, they just didn’t have the best of outcomes.”

“Y/n/n, I shouldn’t have called you that, no matter my intentions.”

She hugged her brother again, both Shelby siblings unaware of the door opening and their audience that stood on the other side of it. “Tommy, you wanna know what happened? I was like you, had good intentions, but a bad outcome.”

“What’s this of bad outcomes?” Pol stepped forward, tears spilling over the brims of her eyes and a small smile upon her lips. Y/n began to cry harder, and Polly wrapped her arms around her after Tommy moved out of the way. She rested her head on Y/n’s and mumbled soft affirmations as her hand moved up and down her back soothingly.

“Tells us what happened, dear, from the start, okay?” Y/n nodded, separating from her aunt and sitting in the middle of her clan, who sat on either the sofa or a chair.

“The boy Tommy assumed was into me, was being abused. I was trying to help, prevent him from being hurt anymore than he already was. His father hated him because he... he likes boys. I figured, if I hung around, his father would think the opposite and leave him alone. But one day he slapped him, right in front of me. I got so mad, I- I- it was like I- like all I could see was red-”

“Deep breath, there’s no rush, little sister.” Arthur rested a hand on Y/n’s shoulder reassuringly, earning a kind and appreciative smile from the girl.

“Thank you, Arthur. I hurt his father, so I wasn’t lying about that part, but he got back up. Illia, the boy, helped me out of his house and ran with me. We got pretty far and ended up staying at a small abandoned cabin, a good place for us while we were in hiding. He managed to find a place with his grandmother out of the UK, who could care less about his romantic or sexual preferences in gender, and that’s when I started for home. We went our separate ways and our hiding was no longer necessary.”

“I have a question.” Ada raised her hand, in attempt of getting her family to notice her. Y/n nodded and awaited her older sister’s question. “If you were free from hiding...why didn’t you come home right away? Why’d you stay with John and Esme for an extra week?”

“Yeah, I’d like to know that too. We all thought you’d died, Y/n.”

“Oh...” She looked down, wiping away some of her tears, “I didn’t want you to get mad at me. Or have Illia hurt due to certain lovely trios attacking before thinking. He didn’t kidnap me, but if I came back after news of him fleeing Britain spread, you’d probably assume such.”

Polly sat beside her niece with a soft smile and pulled her into yet another hug. “It’s good to have you back. You’ve missed so much, and we’ve missed you. What do you say we eat dinner as a family today, celebrate your return?”

Ada walked over and joined the two women, wrapping her arm around Y/n as well.

“Get over here, all of yous. I don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to hug all of us, right now it’s about Y/n-”

“Pol,” Arthur chuckled heartily, “We’re not gonna argue, we missed her too.”

Tommy was first to step up, stopping in front of Y/n. He pulled her into him, welcoming her into a warm hug, then Polly wrapped her other arm around Tommy, Ada mirroring her Aunt. Arthur found a spot, as did Esme and Finn. John muttered something along the lines of “to hell with it” and finally joined in on the family hug.

That night, they celebrated, just as Polly said. The girls exchanged gossip with Y/n about what she had missed, the boys teased her, with lighter jokes this time, and shared the news the girls failed to inform Y/n of. By the end of the night, everyone had passed out in the living room with smiles on their face, adults with alcohol in their stomachs, all apart from Y/n and Tommy.

“Tommy?” He grunted in response to his sister, fidgeting with the glass in his hands. “I’m sorry.”

Tom paused, inhaling slowly. The entire time, he thought she was the own who owed him an apology, at least a small one. But he was the one who said the words. He was the one who watched her leave without chasing after her. “Don’t be. If anyone here should be sorry, it’s me.” He looked over to her, the siblings holding eye contact, “You’re not a whore, okay? I never should’ve said that, even if it was true or not, it wasn’t kind of me. I hurt you because I misread your friend’s intentions and-”

“Good intentions, bad outcome.”

“Y-yeah. But my intentions were not needed, Y/n/n. They were something I should’ve kept to myself, but I did it with Ada too, and now she and I have... well a relationship that’s not as strong as ours.”

“Tommy,” she knew what he was trying to say, “you could never ruin our relationship. We may fight, but at the end of the day, your my big brother.” She moved closer to him. “I look up to you, admire you, shit, I wish I was you sometimes.”

“You don’t want to be me, trust me.”

Y/n laughed. “You’re right, I don’t want to be you. I don’t think having a stick up my ass sounds the most comforting-”

“Oi, watch what you say, Miss Blinder, you’re messing with the rest of the world now.”

He tickled her, but stopped when she held up a hand and made a face. “Wait- Peaky Blinders..?” He nodded. “No- you aren’t- Tommy!” Thomas shushed his sister with a chuckle that matched hers, pure happiness in the Shelby home.

“Yep. You’re a Blinder now, sister.” He raised a shot glass, “May all your good intentions have greater outcomes.”

“No, actually.”

“What?” He stopped his hand before the glass could reach his lips, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

She smiled at her brother, raising her own glass, “I prefer the good intentions with bad outcomes, after all, if this is the aftermath of a good intention and it’s bad outcome, I’d be more than happy to make sure all my good deeds had bad endings.”

“Careful there sister, one should be wise about how they phrase such a promise.”

He didn’t believe in bad luck, nor God, or really anything, for all Y/n knew. That’s what he led others to believe- yet it was like he was warning her about the possibility of bad luck. Beliefs aside, his words were showing a hidden genuine concern to his sister’s.

“I suppose a few good outcomes are acceptable.” They clinked their glasses together and drank their drinks with matching smiles.

It felt amazing to be back, even better to be back and offered with an opportunity to initiate revenge for Illia. Being a Peaky Blinder had many perks, like the infamous line that was known for being the first thing one hears after losing their sight.

The line that brought motivation to her good intention that could end with a very bad outcome for herself instead of the person she planned it for, had she gone through with it before being presented with the razor dawning cap. The line she’d finally be able to say. The line that could, should, and would be the last thing the evil bastard heard.

Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years

Text

The Shivering Days

Author: @rosegardeninwinter

Prompt: Lost in the woods with you. Cool air, leaves starting to fall, a little blanket of snow. You make a shelter, cuddle inside to keep warmth as it’s cooler now … enjoying it so much you don’t want to be found … because I’ve got my love to keep me warm. [submitted by @katnissandpeeta125]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: Thank you to my sweet sister Bethy (she doesn’t have a Tumblr) for doing a once over on this, as she’d much rather be watching historical documentaries. I took a little liberty with this prompt, and it’s a tad more angsty than I thought it was going to be. This story piggybacks off of this drabble, where Katniss and Peeta resolve some of their post-Game differences pre-Tour. You don’t need to have read it to understand this, but all the same. Enjoy!

___________

“Thank you, by the way,” I say. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about the woods.”

Peeta shrugs and buries his hands deeper in the pockets of his coat. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s prettier here.”

Prettier than the arena, he means. It is that. We’re in what my father would call “the shivering days” where everything seems to flicker and waver and change more than usual. The sunlight, peeking out from a cloud bank for a heartbeat, then gone again. The leaves, quaking and trembling in the breeze, rustling like gossip. People, teeth chattering, hands fidgeting for warmth, always moving.

But for some reason, he liked these days, my father. I can remember him standing almost exactly how Peeta does now, breath a cloud on the air, turning a slow circle to take everything in. The leaves overhead are a purple kind of red — a rich, decadent kind of color I’m sure they’d love to replicate in the Capitol, but never could. There’s a light snowfall, not more than a wisp here and there, but enough to remind us that November is nearing. Two months until the tour — and two weeks since I found Peeta on the floor of his bedroom, disoriented by phantom pains in his lost leg. I stayed with him until morning, both of us getting cramped sitting against the side of his bed, and he’d wheedled me to stay for breakfast, as a thank you. We ate toast and milk in the awkward tension of estranged friends, but it became harder, after that, to avoid each other’s gazes when we met in town.

“Can we talk?” he asked on Wednesday, catching me on the way home to get thread for my mother. “Not for long. If you don’t want. But I need to say something to you.”

Flicker. Waver. Change.

“Okay,” I said. “But not here.”

Even now, I’m surprised he made the trek out here with me. Maybe I shouldn’t be. I know I shouldn’t be. A handful of poison berries says he’d follow me into the grave if I asked. Guilt squeezes around my lungs like a vice and I cough, pulling Peeta from his reverie.

“You alright?”

“Just cold. Here, let’s go down further. There’s a place we can sit. Out of the wind.”

Peeta smiles, a small smile, but it sends a hundred confused emotions rushing through me like a sip of strong tin can coffee. “I don’t know how you don’t get lost out here.”

“My father knew these woods like he had a map on the back of his hand.” I pull my fingerless glove loose and hold my hand up to Peeta. “We had the same hands, he and I.”

His hand comes up to brace mine, like an old superstitious Seam Granny doing a palm reading. Two weeks ago, I would have drawn away sharply, but I don’t. “So the veins are rivers,” Peeta says with a playful note to his tone I don’t think I’ve heard since the cave. “And the knuckles are hills?”

“Something like that,” I say, feeling the back of my neck prickle with a blush. Peeta lets my hand go. I slip my glove back on. “It’s only a short way,” I say, and dart a few paces ahead of him, trying to parse out my thoughts as I lead us to the little dry gully that will protect us from the wind — and from any surveillance.

What are we doing? No. Forget that: what are we? I was willing to lay down my life, my dignity, almost anything, to keep Peeta alive in the arena, but hurt feelings and miscommunication have us feeling like broken-hearted teenagers after a date to the Harvest Festival gone amiss, rather than allies who survived a deadly game together.

I pause at the top of the gully. It’s deeper than I remember. I turn to Peeta. “You might … do you want a hand down?”

He’d be well within his rights to scowl at me over the implication that his prosthesis leaves him any less capable — but he doesn’t. He nods and accepts my hand. I steady him as best I can with my slight frame, remembering another time not unlike this when I helped him drag himself to our cave. But right as we’re reaching the bottom of the slope, my foot catches on a branch and I go down, taking him with me. I yelp as I roll head over feet into a pile of yellow leaves at the bottom of the gully, and Peeta lands directly on top of me, half squashing the air out of me.

“Off!” I squeak, batting at his shoulders with my hands until I realize that his back is shaking. On instinct, my hands stop their assault and fretfully hover around his hair. Is he crying?

“Peeta,” I fuss. “I’m sorry. Are you alright? Is it your leg?”

He lifts his head from where it’s pillowed on my ribs, and I see that his eyes are teary, but with laughter.

“It’s not funny,” I protest, even as my own laugh escapes me. “We could have been hurt!”

“Oh, I’m fairly sure we’d have survived,” he jokes darkly. “Given our track record.”

“Peeta,” I say. The snow that was coming in starts and stops is picking up now, soft flurries coming down on Peeta’s hair. I don’t try to push him away anymore. The warmth of his body against mine is such a nice feeling, I push all the past months’ frustrations to the side.

“Sorry. I know that wasn’t funny.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I was saying.” I take a deep breath. “What … what I said on the train … I never meant to hurt you.”

“No, Katniss. You shouldn’t be apologizing to me.”

“But I should.”

“No, you shouldn’t. You were doing what it took to survive. To help us both survive. It wasn’t fair of me to hold you to anything you said in the Games.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t care about you.”

“Katniss,” he says, “I know. I know you care. I haven’t known you for very long, all things considered, but I get the feeling that Katniss Everdeen isn’t the type of person to sacrifice her life for someone if she didn’t care about them … at least a little bit.”

“Only a very little bit,” I say softly. His eyes are bright robin’s egg blue against the autumn tones of the world around us.

“Well then.” He sighs. “Can we be friends, Katniss?”

Flicker. Waver. Change.

“Friends.” It’s a weighty answer. I’ve never been very good at friends, and after what Haymitch warned me about before our interviews … being my friend is like painting a target on your back. But refusing Peeta won’t keep him any safer. We’re in the same cart, he and I. We held out those berries together, didn’t we? And it’s like he said. I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t care. Besides, he’s the only person in all Panem who understands what we went through. He was there. He helped me through it, held me through it. I’m not sure friends is even enough for what we are to each other, what we ought to be, after all that … but friends is a start.

“Friends,” I repeat, an affirmative. “Yes.”

Peeta nods, looking relieved. I feel the same, like a great burden has been lifted from me. Which is a little ironic given that I’m still pinned beneath Peeta’s—my friend’s—body. But I don’t try to move. Not even when he leans down and presses his forehead to mine. I welcome the contact. It’s soothing, steady.

He rolls away at last, helping me sit up. We’re both damp now, and our clothes are covered in twigs and leaves.

“We have to climb back up,” I lament. But I’m not dreading it. I have my ally back. I’m not alone.

“No,” he says, offering me his hand and pulling me to sit beside him on a fallen log. “Let’s stay a while. It’s quiet here.”

Quiet. He understands what a luxury that is too. My mind hasn’t been quiet since we came back. I crane my head back to look up at the trees. Red and orange against gray. Like fire against steel and glass buildings. I shudder.

“You cold?”

“Something like.”

“I get it.”

His arm goes around me and I sink into the half embrace gladly. Our shoulders press, our hips, our legs. I feel the anxiety in my body melt at the contact points, and I nestle closer to him. He smells of whatever he must have been baking before he met me: spices and sugars and … Peeta. Homey and comforting and good. He points to the foliage above.

“It’s my favorite color. Orange.”

My heart skips. Leave it to Peeta to distract me with something so ordinary as a favorite color. I glance back up where he points, and I don’t see fire in the vibrant hues. I see —

“Like a sunset,” he says.

“A sunset,” I echo.

“Yeah.” He bumps my side with his, playful. “Alright, friend. I’ve told you my favorite color. What’s yours?”

I smile.

Flicker. Waver. Change.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #rosegardeninwinter #submission #prompt

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jonogueira · 3 years

Text

Peace

AO3.

Summary:

The Inquisition marches to the Adamant Fortress.

Cullen makes sure Alma comes back alive, and Alma makes sure to let him know when she is back.

TW: none (angst/fluffly)

Notes:

I want to thank @kemvee for being my Beta in this one shot.

Cullen could feel the tension in the air. His skin tingled with anticipation, and his muscles tensioned with the proximity of combat. His body was as ready as it would ever be, but his mind…

He watched her from a distance. She talked to Leliana about things he could only guess. Hawke came to her side and her hardened expression softened for a split second. Carver joined the family reunion and the trio leaned forward, touching each other’s forehead together.

He noticed the sadness and regret in her eyes when she watched them walk away, getting lost in the ocean of people ready to give their lives for a greater cause. To make sure the ones they loved stayed safe.

He envied the soldiers around him.

He envied them because they could march and fight, battle and die in peace. Knowing that their deaths would be a fair price so the last wisp of their souls would remain inside their lovers’, partner’s, and loved ones’ beating hearts. That they would live a long and happy life. A life with a beautiful future and hope.

He envied them…

But most of all, he felt sorry for them.

He felt sorry for them because he knew exactly what it was they were feeling.

The sense of dread and loss. The impending doom leaving feather-like touches on his overly-sensitive skin.

The lump in his throat making it difficult to breathe… To utter the words his heart wanted to shout into the cold morning air. To curse the sun that rose little by little, bathing the view in front of him with its warm rays and decorated the sky with a breathtaking portrait. Painting everything around in hues of orange and red. Reminding him that in a few hours that hue spread on the ground, sand and walls would instead be the crimson hue of the fresh, hot blood of their enemies, friends, lovers ...

Cullen felt sorry for them… He felt sorry for himself.

When he accepted his role as Commander, he didn’t expect to find her again.

Her.

The one to whom he had given his body, his heart, and his soul. To whom he had promised forever until his last breath. The one he left behind without a last goodbye. The one he hurt so deeply that her beautiful, pure heart drowned in sadness and distrust. The one from whom he desperately awaited for forgiveness.

His mind visited the past. His ears heard her whisper his name in that tone that made him feel loved and wanted. His fingers traced the freckles on her heated skin. His nose touched her soft lips to claim them in a chaste kiss. His eyes watered when he saw the hatred in hers.

He lifted his head to look at her. To see the woman she had become. The Mage, the Warrior, the Hero, the Herald, the Inquisitor, the Love of his life. The woman he would love until the end of times. The only one who could break him without any words. The one he would gladly die for that and any other day.

His lips curved into a sad smile, and then it was gone.

Cullen observed Nathaniel gather the last pieces of her armor and approach her. When the Warden started to help her, Cullen found himself making his way through the sea of people. His steps firm on his path and his mind set on his goal. If anything happened to her, he wouldn’t forgive himself. He had to make sure she was prepared, even if she dismissed his help. Even if they had to argue, he wouldn’t let her push him away.

He didn’t care that they were surrounded by the Inquisition army. That he was their commander and she was their leader. She had to survive for the future of Thedas… and maybe to argue with him one more time. He would be forever grateful if she graced him with one small smile.

He took the last of her armor in his trembling hands, and their eyes met in a wordless conversation. Not for the last time, he prayed.

She studied his features, and he begged her in silence. Her answer came when she lifted her arm for him to take.

There was quietness between them. Peace that once came when they lay in each other’s arms.

Cullen’s fingers found every knot. Every forgotten flaw in her armor, and he made sure to correct them. To send her out there prepared for anything and everything. To be protected when he couldn’t be by her side.

The only words in their speechless conversation came from his whispered prayers.

He asked and pleaded. He implored the Maker to keep her alive and safe. To not let any harm come to her. To be able to see her even if it was the last thing he would do. To be by her side when he couldn’t. To be her protector where he had failed. To never abandon her as he had.

His fingers wavered on the last lace. His tongue tied on his final word. His eyes closed, defeated and hopeless when she looked at him with unreadable emotion in her eyes. His heart stopped when she took a step back from him. His soul died when she spoke her last words to him.

“The Maker abandoned me a long time ago. There is no salvation for the likes of me, Rutherford. May He bring the peace you so desperately seek.”

He watched her once again walk away from him with death as her best and only friend.

He didn’t pray anymore.

Cullen accepted what she had accepted a long time ago. He closed his eyes and ordered himself to forget about her. To just let her go.

He let his eyes stare into the heavens, and a single tear, filled with all his sorrow, rolled down his face.

–––––––––––––––

Alma felt her knees touch the ground. Her lungs fought for air, and her mind ordered her to breathe. Breathe and forget what had just happened.

She cursed him once, then twice. She was the one who was supposed to stay back. To fight the Nightmare demon and end it all.

She was just so very tired.

Tired of everything. Of all the demands. Of all that was expected of her.

She had to be an example as a Mage. The perfect Hero for her nation. The one blessed by the Maker himself. The leader that would save them all.

Only a few knew the truth.

She was just a woman. A tired, hurt, dying woman.

One that grasped and tried and regretted.

All she wanted was to disappear. To go back to a time when everything was so much simpler. When there were no burned corpses, no spiraling tower, no blighted monsters or demons falling from the skies. No whispers in the back of her mind reminding her that her death was near and everything she still wanted to do were just wishful thoughts.

Things she shouldn’t think about.

Not think about the fact that she had never learned how to swim. About the family she couldn’t be with. Her beautiful niece who she adored so much. Of how much she loved to sleep outdoors and watch the starry night sky. Recite the recipe she learned to cook with Wynne. The friends she had to part ways with. The family she once wanted to create. A daughter and a son that filled her dreams. The lover that left her behind. Think about the man she wanted to hate but couldn’t stop loving.

She dismissed the hand that tried to help her stand. She was too sensitive. The anchor flared in anger, and her body jolted in pain. She could still see Stroud fighting the demon when the rift closed at last.

She cursed him again and then she thanked him.

She thanked him for his sacrifice. For giving her a chance. A chance to atone for her mistakes. To maybe be able to dream again.

There was shouting and people talking to her. Words her brain wasn’t capable of understanding.

Her eyes prickled with hatred.

For her, for him, for them.

She wanted to damn them all.

She was tired, her body begging to rest… but once again she was denied her simple request.

“Inquisitor… Where is Stroud?”

She balled her fists by her side. Ordered her emotions not to spill through her eyes. She breathed slowly and deeply.

“We will honor his sacrifice and remember how he exemplified the ideal of the Grey Wardens. Even as Corypheus and his servants tried to destroy us all from within...

“The Grey Wardens will join the Inquisition and help with whatever we can.

“In War, Victory. In Peace, Vigilance. In Death, Sacrifice.”

“Inquisitor,” Cassandra called by her side but gave up when Alma looked at her, and the warrior saw the exhaustion in her soul. “Get some rest. We will deal with whatever is needed.”

She thanked with a nod and marched out of those cursed walls.

The hair that had been perfectly tied was half loose and poked in all directions. Her muscles ached and complained. Her lips allowed low groans to escape her mouth. Her eyes, bleary, saw nothing but blurred pictures. Her feet moved without command. Her body cursed her mind. And her mind cursed her soul.

The rain started out of nowhere. She looked up at the sky, narrowing her eyes against the thick droplets of water. The stars hid behind heavy clouds, ashamed of the blood bath below.

Alma closed her eyes and allowed the water to wash her armor. She remembered once asking him to dance with her in the rain if one day they left the prison’s tall grey walls and how he had chuckled at her. Promising with that kind smile only he had… have.

She glanced to the right, and her wild hair stuck to her cold skin. In between the wet strands, she noticed him inside his tent. The light from the lamp against his body made his shadow appear on the fabric. Showing that he had started to remove his armor.

She closed her eyes once again and allowed the relieved sigh to escape her. His prayers reached her ears, and she smiled. His words had stuck to her while she walked into and around the fade. His face, selfishly, the only thing that made her want to leave the place. His fingers against her the only thing she sought.

She wanted to hate him, and she did, but the mere thought of him… the mere sight of him, made her heart fill with hope. Made her want to have him in her arms again and never let him go. Made her want to beg for his forgiveness and to allow her to stay with him. To stay with him forever and ever... and then beyond.

She giggled, she chuckled, she laughed. She walked to him, letting her heart lead the way. She stopped by the entrance, and she then allowed herself to pray.

She asked the Maker for one more chance. For one night to forget about everything and remember about them. To be a woman and a man. Madly in love. Together again.

She reached for the fabric, but her hand hesitated, fingers curling with indecision. She was suddenly scared. A little girl covered in soot once again.

–––––––––––––––

She was safe. She was back. That was all that mattered at that moment.

Cullen cleaned his face with his gloved hand, smearing blood on his cheeks.

When he heard she had been thrown into the fade, he panicked. He fought his hardest trying to find a way to get her back. Alive.

He cursed the Grey Wardens. He cursed Clarel. He promised he, himself, would kill Corypheus with his bare hands if necessary.

And there, amidst the fight, he heard the horn. It was over. She was back.

The rain poured on his tent, the wind shook its thin walls and brought coldness with it. He adjusted his bed, throwing the covers over it so it would be warm when his time to sleep finally came… If and when he went to bed that day.

Afraid of the inner demons darkness would bring. The cherished memories of her and him. The painful feelings he wanted to bury, he lit the lamp on his table.

Cullen relaxed his shoulders and started to take his armor off. One knot at a time he removed. His muscles ached to no end, but he wanted to be rid of the extra weight as soon as possible. He knew there was still a lot to do, but that fight was over. He left the thought of other battles to come for another day.

He rolled his neck and saw his surroundings brighten with the sudden lightning bolt. A shadow on his tent's entrance caught all of his attention. Sighing, he headed to whatever waited for him.

Cullen's eyes widened when he saw Alma standing there. She was soaked to the bones. The curls he loved so much were stuck to her face. The water dripped from her chin onto her dirty armor. And her parted lips trembled.

He took a step in her direction, but her eyes never met his. They were focused on the inside of his tent, in a silent request to enter. Moving to the side for her to get in, he noticed the soldiers examining the scene in front of them.

Alma stood in the middle of the place. Waiting for something he didn't know. Something he was afraid would be one more thing separating them.

"Inq-"

She finally looked at him, and what he saw broke his heart.

She looked so fragile. Nothing like the woman who marched into battle that morning. The fierce soldier who brought courage to the army's heart. The leader who inspired her troops.

No.

Alma looked no more than just a woman in need of comfort. Rest from everything and everyone. A place to feel safe.

Cullen closed his lips and the space between them. He towered over her hunched figure and didn't move when she placed her hands on his chest. Looking up at him. Searching his face. She closed the gap and rested her forehead on his chestplate.

His hands slowly raised. One to softly hold her in place, the other to massage her scalp. Without noticing, he nuzzled his nose into her hair... just like he used to do... when she was his, and he was hers.

He sighed. A regretful sigh.

Her fingers found his belt and then his vest. He observed her focused eyes pull them off his shoulders. She moved to his gloves, and her fingers traced the scars in his hands. She caressed the callouses and planted a delicate kiss on his palms.

The vambraces and pauldrons were next. The curass was meticulously examined for any damage and then removed. Her hand traveled his chest down to the hem of his shirt and when it was off she then folded and laid it on the table beside them.

Without a single word, he saw her kneel and start to untie his boots, which were placed underneath the table.

She stood in front of him. They gazed at each other. Seeing nothing more than a man and a woman in need of redemption. A new start.

Alma placed her palm on his chest and walked around him. Her trembling fingers gently pulled his undershirt off his body. Her lips caressed the scars on his back before her hands encircled his body and embraced him. Her cold cheeks pressed against his skin. Her ears listening to his heart.

Cullen couldn't stop himself and brought her knuckles to his mouth. A tender kiss he planted on each and every one of them, hearing her sob behind him.

It was his turn to take care of her. He faced her and removed the armor just as she had done to him. He found every scar on the visible skin and kissed them, murmuring apologies and compliments. Asking for forgiveness and begging for a chance. A chance to be her comfort. Her safe haven.

Cullen stood in front of her. His soul bared for her to see. His heart in his hand for her to take. He looked at her. So small and so big. Unreachable.

Alma took some cloth and cleaned the blood on his cheeks. Her eyes never meeting his. Never answering his pleas. Her lips never soothing his broken spirit.

She cleaned his skin and then... then she cried.

She cried, and she begged. She sobbed and urged for him to forgive her.

Forgive her for pushing him away when all she wanted was to have him near. As near as they had never been.

For wasting precious time. Time she didn't have. Not anymore, not like she wanted.

She circled his neck with her naked arms. Her lips whispered supplications. They confessed her love for him.

She held him, afraid he would let her go, and Cullen pulled her closer. Burying his nose in the crook of her neck. Revealing he had dreamed about that day for so long. Having her in his arms, telling him she still loved him. That she wanted him as much as he wanted her. That she was still his and would always be.

He cupped her face and kissed her. Thanked her for coming back for him. For loving and letting him stay. He told her she didn't need to apologize, she needed her time, and he understood. He understood that so much depended on her. That so much was expected of her. He told her he understood, and then he asked her to stay.

For a future for her and him. Them.

Stay with him that night and all the others to come. To let them have what was taken from them. He looked into her eyes and told her with all his being that he loved her and would always do. He kissed her one more time and took her in his arms.

Gently, he placed her in his bed and laid beside her. Her body in his arms and her lips on his.

Cullen rejoiced when she said she loved him always and forever. That there was, and there would never be anyone but him. That she was staying with him, and there was no way he would get rid of her.

He heard her lips word her worries and ask him to not leave her. To never hurt her again. To be his comfort and his safe haven.

To be his for that night and all the other to come. To let them have what was taken from them.

A future with him and her. Them.

Cullen chuckled and laughed. He pulled her near and kissed her. He admitted he missed her more than anything.

And there, with their bodies intertwined, they finally found the peace they had been seeking for so long.

I hope you liked.

Likes and reblogs are super appreciated!

#cullen rutherford #alma #alma amell #peace

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boxoftheskyking · 3 years

Text

Pick Up Every Piece, Part Two

how do you write Wei Ying? All talking. How do you write Lan Zhan? Run on sentences, of course.

have some exposition. everyone is a mess, wahoo.

Part One

---

Lan Zhan’s iron is broken.

There’s no reason it should be—he keeps it clean and returns it to its original box after each use, and it’s barely three years old. But no matter what he does, it does not heat. He shouldn’t even need to iron his shirt in the morning, but deadline on deadline (and budget cuts on budget cuts) mean that he hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in six days and hasn’t done laundry in a week. There are dishes piled up in the kitchen sink, so he’s started avoiding the kitchen entirely on his way to crash into bed so he doesn’t have to see it.

Things break, Lan Zhan accepts this. They wear out, come to accidents, disappoint you, die. But there’s no reason for this iron not to work. There have been no odd smells, the plug is fine—he’s tried three different outlets—and it’s barely three years old.

He stands in his closet in an undershirt and boxers, one hand pressed flat against the heating element, and allows himself a two minute breakdown.

There’s no reason for it. He’s done everything right, ticked every box. He started writing at age ten and hasn’t stopped since. He was top of his class at university, edited every school paper he had access to and founded two more, he got his masters. Even factoring in nepotism—which he doesn’t like to do, because it makes him feel like a cheat—he’s gone about as far as he can as a journalist. He’s won every major award, and with his uncle as managing editor he has more freedom than most in terms of how he writes and what he covers. He served the Republic, fought for two and half years and got a Sunshot medal for it. And yet, after ten years in his chosen field, everything is dying around him. No one pays for papers anymore, no one cares for the truth anymore. Political pundits on TV and radio have taken over the readership; citizens still traumatized by war just want someone to tell them what to think, tell them everything is fine now, tell them to ignore the injustices and messes and misfortunes that surround them. When he started at the Gusu Herald there were fifty people on staff—now they’re down to under twenty, including editors. All the small town papers in the area have closed, but there’s hardly the staff to even consider local stories these days. Lan Qiren tries to hold out as the last family-owned paper in the area, but corporations are circling. It’s like he spent his whole youth building a shining bridge across a canyon, only to find the other side barren and dead, miles of cold steel and no light on the horizon.

He turns the iron and presses it against his chest, imagines it suddenly turning on, the satisfaction of the burn.

Then he unplugs the iron, puts it back in its box, and pulls on the wrinkled shirt. He pulls up the blackout curtains to let a little of the thin 7am light into the bedroom. There’s no reason to still have blackout curtains in Gusu, but he got used to it years ago and once he gets used to things he tends not to change them without reason. But he’s got plants now, gifts from his brother, and he’s trying to keep them alive. It shouldn’t be that difficult to do, he is conscientious and meticulous, but then his iron shouldn’t be broken either.

No one comments on his wrinkled appearance when he gets to work, which irks him. There is the familiar sound of phones ringing, printers going, file cabinets slamming open and closed in every direction. It’s calming to him, but he can’t help but notice how much quieter it is now than when he started. Part of it is the new computers—when he started here they were still on electric typewriters which were deafening. But mostly it just feels . . . empty.

Not completely empty, not yet.

“Hey, hey Lan Zhan,” Lan Meiling waves him over to her desk, where a half dozen reporters are gathered around a computer printout. “Did you see this? Jin Zixun’s the new head of the Trade Commission. Just announced.”

Lan Zhan winces and looks over the report.

“But we’re not a monarchy, right guys?” Liu Dong snorts, shoving Meiling’s shoulder.

“It’s not a monarchy, it’s the other thing,” Wang Tengfei says, tapping his chin. “What’s the thing where it’s not passed down by birth, but you still appoint all your family members? That’s a thing isn’t it?”

“That’s just Jin Guangshan,” Liu Dong laughs. “But hush, hush, treason.”

“Come on, what’s the word for it?” Tengfei asks again.

Meiling takes the paper back from Lan Zhan. “Wasn’t he the one who paid for his grades in college? I get them confused.”

Lan Zhan nods. “That was Jin Zixun. Who’s got the story? There should be clippings. ‘92, I think, or ‘93.”

“Who covered that? Any of you?” Su She leans over the cubicle wall, knocking the photo of Meiling’s family onto her desk. There’s no reason for him to be here; he doesn’t cover politics. He’s had the local court beat for the past three years, and has spent those three years writing the exact same story five times a week with different names and charges plugged in. Lan Zhan is completely sure that he’d cover a person fined for unpaid parking tickets and a person arrested for smuggling baby unicorns with the exact same level of interest.

“Wei Ying wrote the story,” Lan Zhan says. The group falls silent, a troubled glance flying between all but him. “Before the merger, in the Gusu Times. Lan Shu can pull the clippings for you. It was a series, I believe.”

Lan Meiling coughs. “You can find a different reference, Liu Dong. Someone in Qinghe must have covered it.”

“It was a good series,” Lan Zhan says. He’s being needlessly stubborn, but that’s nothing new. “Wei Ying got the school registrar on the record.”

Liu Dong scratches the back of his shaved head. “Yeah, but. You know. I’ll call over to Qinghe.”

“It was a good series,” Lan Zhan says again. It’s awkward enough to break up the group, everyone shuffling back to their desks or the coffee maker. Lan Zhan has that uncomfortable feeling that he’s supposed to want to apologize for something. It’s a feeling he gets a lot, and he hates it. He doesn’t want to apologize—he has nothing to apologize for. Wei Ying was a good reporter; he wrote good stories. Everything that happened after that doesn’t change the fact that he was good at what he did.

Su She follows him over to his desk, so his day is about to keep getting worse. Lan Zhan prides himself on being rational, and he has many rational reasons for disliking Su She. He’s a half-assed writer, he wouldn’t know a decently placed comma if it was unveiled to him on a pedestal by the gods, he is a busybody and a gossip, and he lives to take credit for other people’s work. He’ll offer you the phone number of one of his “connections” and then whine about how he deserves a shared byline.

But on many levels beyond the rational, Lan Zhan hates the guy. He hates the way he pronounces words, his laugh, the smell of his lunch, even his handwriting. And he’s always there.

“You knew him, didn’t you, Lan Zhan?” Su She leans on his cubicle now, though there are no photographs to knock down.

Lan Zhan’s instinctual response is Don’t call me that, which is ridiculous because it’s his name. But he hates the way his name sounds in Su She’s mouth.

“What?”

“Wei Ying. You knew him before the scandal, didn’t you?”

Lan Zhan takes an even breath. “Yes.”

“Did you work with him?”

“He was at the Times, before the merger. He never worked at the Herald.”

“But you knew him in school, right?”

If Lan Zhan wanted to be fair (he doesn’t), there’s no way for Su She to know that this line of questioning is particularly painful. He distracts himself from the sting of it by considering all of the answers he won’t be giving.

Yes. He gave me half a handjob in 1989 and I’ve thought of it every day since.

Yes. He called me his soulmate one day in the library at Gusu University and I’ve thought of it every day since.

Yes, I read the story that ruined his life before it was published, because he came to my home and asked me to read it and he was so proud, skinny and manic and over-caffeinated and burning, burning, burning, and I looked at him and I recognized the same thing that burns in me, the thing that keeps me coming back to this sad beige office every day, that makes me want to fight the inevitable like swinging swords at the sea, and I didn’t tell him not to publish. I told him it was a good story. It would not have stopped him, me telling him not to do it. But I could have tried. And I’ve thought of that every day since.

He just nods, instead.

“Is he still alive, do you think?” Su She asks casually.

The question stops Lan Zhan. “What?”

“No one’s heard from him since the war, have they? Could have died somewhere. Plenty still missing. I heard he went West, maybe, and the fighting was—”

“He is not dead.” Lan Zhan doesn’t know this for sure. But he would know, surely. Wouldn’t he? The thought honestly has not occurred to him in all these years, that Wei Ying might have died.

“Are you in touch?” Su She has a habit of asking questions like this, flipping from casual conversation to an interrogation. It makes him a terrible reporter.

“I served with his brother. He has not mentioned that Wei Ying has died. I have work to do, Su She.”

It bothers him, even after Su She leaves. He hasn’t seen Jiang Cheng in a few years, and they do not write or call each other. Jin Zixuan writes to them all about once a year, and he visits when he’s in Gusu, but he has always been the more sentimental one of the three of them, the survivors. But he thinks that Jiang Cheng would tell him if Wei Ying had died.

Perhaps he wouldn’t. Jiang Cheng was not at school with them; he may not think of Lan Zhan as a person to notify in the event of his brother’s death. Would anyone think to let him know? It wouldn’t make the papers, probably, so how would he know? Wen Qing, perhaps. If she remembered. If she is also alive.

He feels it like an itch on his skin, something unsettled in his stomach, the idea that Wei Ying might not have survived. He would know, wouldn’t he? He’d feel it, the change in the fabric of the universe. Food would taste different, his voice would sound different. He’d feel it in the moments between sleeping and waking.

He makes a cup of tea and boots up his computer. They all have emails now, which is still a relatively new part of the morning ritual, but he doesn’t mind adding it as he checks his mail, his answering machine. He had a deadline yesterday and isn’t swamped this morning, so he takes down phone numbers and flips through his calendar on autopilot while he thinks about Wei Ying.

Wei Ying probably remembers him. He definitely remembers him, it would be ridiculous for him not to, but Lan Zhan doubts he remembers their college years the same way.

(His fingers in Wei Ying’s hair, shoved against the wall in someone else’s dark bedroom, cheering and laughter from the drinking game just downstairs, cheap beer on his breath, everything spinning, spinning, his first time being drunk, his brain singing out kiss him, kiss him again, more, more, more, this is your chance, Wei Ying’s left hand on him, awkward and surprisingly tender, Wei Ying’s voice slurring in his ear “Lan Zhan I’m so glad you’re here, I’m so glad, I’m so glad I found you, Lan Zhan,” before the door bursts open and they spring apart, before Wei Ying ruffles his hair and says, “You probably won’t remember this, huh?” before they leave the party separately, before weeks of silence because what do you say to all of that, before Wei Ying and Wen Qing get together and Lan Zhan says, “I’m happy for you,” which is a lie, a lie, a lie, before Wei Ying and Wen Qing split up and Lan Zhan says, “I’m sorry to hear that,” which is a lie, a lie, a lie . . .)

He could do some digging. It probably wouldn’t be too difficult to find him, and it’s not like Lan Zhan lacks resources. But every time the thought crosses his mind it feels like too much, too violating. If Wei Ying wanted to be found, he would not have disappeared. And if Wei Ying wanted Lan Zhan in his life, he knows where to find him. Lan Zhan is not the one who left.

That’s a bitter thought, and unfair.

The story of Wei Ying is not complicated, and it’s not secret, but it’s never told right.

They’d met in college, when Wei Ying transferred to Gusu in junior year, in a psych class of all places. Lan Zhan had a double major, because psychology and journalism was a logical pairing, and Wei Ying was meant to take a broadcast concentration but had broken his wrist falling off a roof and couldn’t work any of the equipment.

Lan Zhan hadn’t known what to do with him at first. Wei Ying had grabbed him for the first group project a week into the semester, declaring, “We’re kindred spirits, you know,” before writing his phone number left-handed on Lan Zhan’s arm. Lan Zhan did not know. They had barely spoken before this, but for the rest of the semester Wei Ying sat by him and they studied together and Lan Zhan pulled strings to get him onto the university paper. And Wei Ying had grinned at him one day in the library, sleep-deprived and rumpled, when Lan Zhan had finished his trailed-off sentence, and said “Ah, my soulmate.”

They were kindred spirits, Lan Zhan believed. Lan Zhan decided he wanted to be a reporter when he was ten and learned the truth about his parents. After an entire childhood of being lied to, he decided his calling in life would be to tell the truth, no matter what. It made him odd and prickly, and usually lonely, but gave him a reputation of fearlessness and ferocity that he would never regret.

Wei Ying was different. He wasn’t so invested in the truth from a moral or political perspective—he was cheerfully amoral back then, in a teenage kind of way—but he loved information and he loved being right. Puzzles and secrets attracted him, and Lan Zhan watched them open up for him like lotus flowers at every turn.

Lan Zhan settled into their friendship in a way that was unexpected, he began to rely on Wei Ying’s opinion, began to think of things from his perspective when he found himself stuck. And then he’d gotten drunk at a midwinter party and kissed Wei Ying and ruined all of it. It wasn’t Wei Ying’s fault. Lan Zhan had panicked and run and then left for break and never given Wei Ying his home number, and then when he returned Wei Ying wasn’t single anymore. He’d gone to Yiling with Wen Qing and her brother and come back someone’s boyfriend. (Wen Qing! Older, beautiful, stern and razor-sharp, who Lan Zhan had hero-worshipped, the part-time advisor to the school paper who turned down more offers than either of them would see in their lifetimes. That Wen Qing!) And Lan Zhan didn’t know how to handle it so he just . . . let it go. They stayed in touch while Wei Ying moved back to Yunmeng for a while, then got a job at the Times after the war started, and Lan Zhan joined the Herald and went to grad school, always Wei Ying reaching out first. But even after they were both single again and living in the same city, they just stayed apart.

It would be easy—completely unfair, but easy—to blame Wen Qing for all of it. But all she’d done was the same thing Lan Zhan had. Loved Wei Ying, and failed to stop him. If anything, Wen Qing is better than he is—when Wei Ying fell, at least she fell with him.

The downfall was not complicated, and he should have seen it coming. When Wei Ying showed up at his door in the middle of the night with a crumpled print out of his story, Lan Zhan should have seen where it would lead.

It was 1994, three years into the war, and Lan Zhan was in training with the cultivator corps in Lanling. In retrospect, that’s likely how Wei Ying found him—Jiang Cheng was in his unit and must have given the address. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he didn’t stop Wei Ying. Everything was so unreal, the war, the devastation, the training, cultivation itself. Everything he’d known about life, the country, physics, what is possible and what is just a legend, all of it was thrown out into a whirling storm of adapt, adapt, adapt. It was chaos, and Lan Zhan became very good at chaos.

The story would have been a bombshell in any year—over a dozen former assistants, interns, and even one sitting representative accusing the Acting President of the Republic of misconduct and abuse. Rumors about Jin Guangshan were older than his political career, and illegitimate children were hardly rare in government, but Wei Ying had been the first to get multiple accusers on the record along with recordings and photos. Wen Qing, the youngest managing editor in the country and one of only two women, had agreed to run the story.

It was a good story. A really, really good story.

But there was a war on, and Acting President Jin was the only protection the country had against the usurper Wen Ruohan and his army of traitors. Not that Jin Guangshan ever left Carp Tower himself—that’s what the oldest son was for.

The blowback was immediate—Wei Ying was forced to retract the entire story and resign, Wen Qing was fired and the Gusu Times lost every advertiser and investor on the books. It was only natural for Lan Qiren to buy it up for pocket change, the merger he’d been looking at for years. All of the women named in the story issued statements accusing Wei Ying of lying, of doctoring evidence, of hiring actors that looked like them to fill his false story with fake photos. All statements made after visits from high ranking military officers, of course. He’d heard rumors that Wen Qing’s brother had enlisted and they used him for leverage, which wouldn’t be surprising. He hadn’t expected Wen Qing to give up without a fight.

Wei Ying had written to him once, just after he disappeared, with no return address.

It’s my fault, it said. Lan Zhan, it was all true, the story was true, but I’m still a liar. I told them I could protect them all, if they went on the record. I promised. I promised Wen Qing. And I couldn’t. I’m sorry, Lan Zhan, I never wanted to be a liar.

And in the end, it meant nothing. Few enough people were getting daily papers, much less actually reading them, and with the immediate retraction, reams and reams being taken off newsstands by military police, it was barely a drop in the storm that was raging. Outside of the newsrooms themselves, at least, where Wei Ying and Wen Qing were nailed up on the wall as a cautionary tale. Free press, up to a point. Sometimes Lan Zhan thinks about what would happen if the story broke today, the impact it could have. But after the retraction, you can’t go back. He can’t think about it too long or the rage overtakes him. Rage for Wei Ying, for Wen Qing, for every person in the article who was smothered and tossed out with nothing. The kind of rage that doesn’t fade, can’t be extinguished.

Lan Zhan shakes himself. Wei Ying is alive. Wen Qing is also alive, most likely. Su She is an idiot.

He only has one message on his answering machine.

“Hey, Lan Zhan, it’s your cousin Lan Liang. Listen, I’ve got something I want to talk to you about. I don’t know if it’s your thing, or if you choose what you cover or whatever, but there’s a kid gone missing here in Moling and some very weird stuff going on at the building sites. I don’t have all the details, but it’s my uncle’s daughter-in-law’s foster kid. Cops aren’t giving them much, so I said I’d call you. I don’t know if the kid went wandering and got hurt or got lost or what, but maybe someone from the Herald can cover it, get the public interest up. Maybe someone knows something. I don’t know. Probably a long shot, but I said I’d call, so there you go. You can reach me at—”

Lan Zhan takes down the number neatly in his calendar. He can call after the 10am meeting, maybe drive out to Moling in the afternoon. The rage is still there, banked and contained and ready to be useful.

Part Three

#assorted writings #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #cql #pick up every piece #Just getting! shit! written! who! cares! if! its! good!

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hyunjilicious · 4 years

Text

Kaer Morhen. Geralt of Rivia imagine

A/n: This contains 0 spoilers for the TV shows. However, it contains mentions of smut and violence. Also a tad bit of angst.

Summary: Geralt and y/n and a few others prepare for a battle. Losing Yn is one of his biggest fears, and tried to do everything in his power to make sure that won’t happen. 3.7k

Warning: i was too lazy to edit. i will tho, soon. Tell me what you thought please!!! I loved writing it and i love hearing your opinions!

"And what happens if the shield falls?" Triss asked, roaming around the room with her arms crossed, carefully studying you up and down.

"The shield won't fall unless I do" you spoke with confidence, dead set on doing everything in your power to keep the castle, Ciri and everyone else involved, safe.

"Then, no" Geralt commanded, pushing himself off the wall, "No way we're doing it this way"

"It's already settled" you countered, knowing that was the only way you could help. Even as one of the most powerful sorceress the Continent has ever seen, with elven blood running through your veins, in combat, you were still a weak link. You needed space, and safety to recover your stamina, so standing on top of an isolated tower and casting spells from there was the best option.

"Nothing's settled" Geralt huffed, "There's no telling how long the fight will last or how strong their army will be, you can't keep that shield up on your own"

"I can" you said with confidence, "And I will"

With that you stormed off. After years of going through this on again off again wannabe relationship, Geralt knew better than to bug you when you clearly wanted to be left alone. The night was done, yet he decided he'd get a head start of the roof work that was scheduled for the next morning, as something about your attitude was obviously making him rather uncomfortable. You stood in front of your bedroom window, projecting his image on the glass in front of you. Dangerously close to the edge, he made his way tile by tile across the roof, and despite noticeably giving his best, he failed at giving the structure the stability it needed. You chuckled, a silent sigh also escaping your lips - you wished he was inside the castle, in the same room as you - yet your pride didn't let you admit it, even to yourself. His raspy grunt reached your ears, and it wasn't from your projection - he had realized on his own that he did a piss poor job, and shouldn't have even tried to being with. Seeing as he would soon be making his way inside, you killed the spell and moved to your bed.

When Geralt passed through the door, you looked up from a book you had just opened, "Nice of you to finally join me"

"Y/n" he sighed, unbuttoning his black shirt and sliding it off his shoulders, "I-"

"Yes, yes" you cut him off, "You're mad at me, but to be completely honest with you-"

"I'm not mad!" he yelled, voice all hoarse, proving his words wrong. He walked to the foot of the bed and leaned on one of his legs, "I'm not mad" he corrected himself, this time on a much more reasonable tone, "It's just that I get the feeling this is a sacrifice"

"If it means it will keep Ciri alive and far away from The Wild Hunt, then call it whatever you want"

"You love her, don't you?" he asked, for the first time in days, avoiding your stare. However, he did it for you. He knew how much it would take for you to admit such a thing, even to him. He kept looking away, willingly giving you the upper hand and allowing you to believe you were strong enough to face him. After all these years, you still came first, no matter what.

"Geralt-" you sighed, the pain in the pit of your stomach making your voice sound weaker, "I-"

"Decades ago-" he cut you off, "When we first met, everyone said you were power driven and ruthless, when all you wanted was a child. All this time-" he said, shaking his head in disbelief, "I thought you gave that up"

"I never give up" you said, clearing your throat. Tears were coating your eyes, but no matter how much a weakness sign you considered it, you didn't turn away, "Let alone on a child. Especially Ciri"

"Y/n" Geralt said softly, grabbing your elbow, "We can still find other ways"

Not at him, but you were angry. The situation, and especially the wait, the calm before the storm, were driving you crazy, and with controlling your emotions, you never had a good history. "I don't care who comes, however many mages they may have, how big their army is or how revolutionary their weapons are, if they can do it, so can I. I'm not gonna grab a sword and try my luck, or cast spells in the middle of the field, it's a sure way for me to die. I will do everything I can to keep this castle and everyone inside it safe, and no one can stop me"

With that you walked past him, and opened the door, "Now come, Lambert and Eskel promised us some extravagant Toussaint wine and they're waiting downstairs"

Geralt followed you without fighting back this time. You were all expecting to have at least two days until the fight, so whether he did actually give up and accepted the fact that you were going to have your way, or if he just decided to post pone the argument, was above you, and to be fair, at that hour, you didn't even care. You all drank, and had a good time, well, as good as the times allowed. There was a strange atmosphere in the air, giving the impression that you all sat down to make sure no one would be taken away without a proper goodbye. None of you would have admitted it, but you were all thinking it. Crach an craite turned out to be the soul of the gathering, Dijkstra's never ending stories seemed much more appealing after a few glasses of wine, and at about 5am, almost everyone was back in their rooms, sleeping or making up for lost time.

Earlier that evening, you had no intention of joining the others in drinking, you wanted Geralt all to yourself but after the talk you had, you needed some space. However, the alcohol washed out the bad taste his words left in your mouth, and now, as you two found yourselves all alone in your shared bedroom, your initial intentions were starting to show again. He welcomed your lips against his with longing desire, holding onto your waist harder than you would have normally accepted. Your weight was as none in his hold, and he carried you effortlessly to bed, laying you down gently before climbing on top of you. His muscular body towered over your fragile frame, and as always, having him wrapped around your finger aroused you to no end. There wasn't time to waste on foreplay, even if you were sure he enjoyed it as much you did. Geralt lewdly hurried to explore the skin your black leather attire showed, dragging his lips along your collarbones, before biting down into your shoulder, for the sole purpose of hearing your moans.

"Geralt" you sighed, grabbing the sides of his face so you could look into his eyes.

His teeth sank deeper, making your cry out his name again.

You felt his chuckle tickle the skin at the base of you neck, just before he looked up, "You're so beautiful" he said in awe.

Wanting to keep your composure, you controlled your facial expression, but your cheeks still reddened. The smile that materialized onto his lips proved that he knew exactly what kind of effect he had on you. When your lips connected, it felt more electrifying than ever. Unlike times before, you allowed him to take full control. Geralt didn't question it at all, but you knew he sensed something.

Everytime it was you on top of him, riding his cock into the depths of the night as his longing stare burned your skin. It was always you the one who pushed his buttons and never allowed him to finish whenever he needed. You always had to push him, even just the tiniest bit. You rarely ever did what he asked you without making him beg for it. You saw him on his knees in front of you, calling your name in what was probably the most needy tone he was capable of. The sight of him squirming under you, with his eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, fists clenched and thighs convulsing, was your favourite of them all. However tonight it was quite the opposite. He had you on all fours, crying out his name. He kissed away the tears of pleasure that ran down your temple, and smiled proudly when you, for the first time begged him to let you finish. Three times. That night was all about what he wanted; he loved you in all the right ways, sending you on pleasure spirals with every chance he got. After ruining the sheets while he went down on you, lapping away at your core, you clenched your thighs on each side of his head in some pathetic attempt to control yourself. With a smirk, Geralt's lips moved from your clit to the skin of your left inner thigh, leaving inflamed purple marks all over your warm skin. When it came to the second orgasm, he had you panting on all fours as he clutched a fistful of your hair into his hand, pulling your head back. His lips treated the your shoulders and neck in all the right ways as he pounded deeply into you from behind. Your moans decorated the night, and it ended with another round, this one slower and more passionate than anything before. He was laying on top of you, moving every so gently against your now sensitive body. When his lips weren't longingly loving yours, his cheek was pressed against yours, his breath fanning onto your ear.

After that, after you both came down from the heights of pleasure he worked so hard for, you just collapsed into each other, and tried to get some sleep, "I love you, Y/n" Geralt said, right before dozing off.

"And I love you" you answered, with deep honesty.

You would have never admitted it to him, but as you both laid in bed, you realised this sudden change of character was coming from your hidden fear of not ever seeing him again after the battle that was to come. As he feel alseep with his face tucked deeply into your neck, you knew he was thinking just the same. Your mind didn't allow you to rest without taking a quick peek at his thoughts, and the taste of blood engulfed your senses as you bit your lower lip in order to stop yourself from crying. A small cottage, quite poor and mostly empty, with a strong fire lighting up the main room was what you saw first. Then you saw yourself. And him. Snuggled into each other in a dark corner, sleeping, and with definetly less worried looks on your faces than you had now. You couldn't pull away from his thoughts just yet, you kept watching as Ciri with Vesemir came moments later. The four of you sat down at a table, eating ridiculously festive food. Geralt's left hand was on your thigh, and when he kissed you, even if it was just a dream, he imagined you tasted like garlic. That thought alone watered your eyes. Back when you two had just met, in unknown circumstances, you mentioned to him that you couldn't expect people to take you seriously if you smelled like garlic, despite it being one of your biggest pleasures. At that time, he laughed it off, kissed your lips and with a shake of his head, continued the conversation. Never again had you two talked about this, or had you eaten garlic, yet this was on his mind right now. Damn him. You didn't want to die. You lived a long life and achieved more than most people could even dream of, but for Geralt and Ciri, you wanted to live.

You stormed down the stairs of the castle, screaming at the top of your lungs, "They're coming! Everyone wake up!"

In a matter of seconds everyone rushed downstairs, strapping their swords and getting ready for a fight you were most likely destined to lose. Ciri's life was at stake, and none of you was willing to back down. Previously, you had pondered, and came up with the best defence strategy.

"Remember," you said, facing each of your allies in turn "Aldair albeeh mirva. Anything happens and you need help, chant this"

Shortly after revising the plan, everyone went to their spots, waiting for the attack, while you rushed to the tower. Knowing the Wild Hunt wouldn't come rushing towards you from a distance, you counted on a locating spell, that even though couldn't pin point their exact location, was able to let you know how close they were. When crystals of ice appeared in the air around you and you were able to see your breath due to the drop in temperature, you put up the first shield. This was the easy part, keeping the frost away. Now, you gathered all your power, and worked on locking a second shield, one that was designed to force the armies to come in in waves, giving your people time to fight them off without getting surrounded.

Struggling with this task, there wasn't anything more that you could do. It was draining your powers at an alarming rate, but you were dead set on keeping the shields up until you could no more. The fight went on for almost two exhausting hours, there was no way for you to know if everyone was alright and no way to stop and check. Everything around you was a blur, the sound of the fight going on below you was muffled as you concentrated every inch in your body to make sure your defence wasn't cracking. Despite being all in, body and soul, you still heard it.

"Aldair albeeh mirva"

Fuck. It was Eskel's voice. As you tried to figure out his exact location, you heard it again.

"Aldair albeeh mirva"

And again. And again and again. Muffled. Unclear, and screamed by different voices. Triss, Keira, Dijkstra, Geralt. They were all losing their battles.

"Um, Geralt?" Lambert huffed as the two of them fought side by side, "Is Y/n ok?"

"Why?" Geralt called with exasperation, turning to his fellow witcher, "What happened?"

"Look around you, man" he wailed, pointing to the sky, "The force shield is down. We're surrounded"

They retracted to a more isolated corner, speaking to each other just above a whisper, "We called for her, she knows what she's doing!" Geralt said and despite not showing much emotion, he said it more to convince himself than his friend.

"Brother, she didn't answer" Lambert spoke dramatically, breathing heavily. Silence settled as he didn't want to say anything more, afraid he'd set Geralt off. He was too late. In a fit of manic rage, Geralt sprung forward, rushing straight into the battle.

"Cover my back" he yelled over his shoulder, "I'm heading to the tower"

Eskel sighed knowing how bad of an idea it was, but after shaking his head, he drew his sword, ready to jump back into the action. They were surrounded, casting signs after signs, their stamina running out and muscles starting to cave. With every passing moment and with each of the wild hunt's knights killed, they were closer and closer to caving. Their blows weren't as precise anymore, not as strong, and nowhere near efficient enough to keep up with the enemy's army. Following a heavy blow into the small of his back, Geralt fell to the ground, sword slipping out of his hand and landing meters away. Before he managed to regain his composure, Eskel threw himself on top of him, and generated a shield, held in place by the sign of Quen, strong enough to keep them alive for just about 30 more short seconds. Each blow received weakened their defence, and once Eskel couldn't hold the shield anymore, it exploded with a blast, throwing the knights and their hounds just a few steps behind. It was no where near enough. All this stunt did was buy them about a minute more, as before they knew it, their throats were surrounded by countless of sharp sword tips. Incapable of feeling emotions, Geralt's eyes still watered, Ciri's and Y/n's faces being the only thing on his mind. Realizing there was no way out, he gritted his teeth, and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes were the merciless fangs of a ghostly hound, jumping towards his jugular at full speed.

Then nothing.

Nothing happened. Nothing bit him. No blade pierced his body, and filled with confusion, he creaked his eyes open only for his jaw to drop. The hundreds of fighters that were surrounding them were now hanging in the air, slowly rising to the sky.

"What the fuck-" Eskel muttered, turning from side to side.

Geralt paid no attention to him, and in the distance, between the floating bodies of his enemies, he spotted Y/n, high up in the air. With her head thrown back and arms raised horizontally, she levitated about 10 meters above the sea of still warm corpses. Her fingers moved slowly within a ball of purple gas. Geralt was too far away to see, but her veins pumped rage and chaos forming little sparks of fire all around her frame - her lifting the soldiers off the battlefield being just the beginning. Looking to the side, it wasn't hard for him to spot his allies.

Keira was in a trance, on top of the castle's wall. Before Geralt got a chance to rush to her, Triss came running, ushering everyone inside, "Shelter, now!!" she screamed, voice cracking.

"Y/n?" Dijkstra who had just joined them asked.

"Yes" approved Geralt, "And Keira. We can't leave them"

Triss was in no way in the mood for their antics, "She's gonna burn them to ashes and we're gonna fucking die too if we don't move! And now!"

Somewhat relieved, Geralt, along with every other still standing member of their group, ran into the castle. "Are we even safe here? And Keira?" he asked.

After catching her breath, Triss looked at everyone in turn and explained, "Keira is keeping the frost away so y/n's spell won't be as difficult to cast. And yes.." she sighed, "We're safe here, y/n will redirect the flames upwards"

He didn't like this. Not one freaking bit. Rushing to the window, he saw y/n now fully surrounded by that violet gas. Every piece of glass in the castle was trembling, the floor shaking as bits of cement and stone were falling from each of the corners of the room. He wanted to object but he knew going out there was not an option. After a few difficult breaths, everything before his eyes went white. Everyone was thrown off their feet as a loud explosion pushed them meters back, all slamming into the walls behind them. Nothing was audible except for a loud plain ringing deep inside his ears. Geralt found himself literally paralyzed for what he thought were a few seconds, but as soon as he found himself able to stand, he rushed outside. It was now way past dusk, meaning he'd been out for at least a few hours. Once again, and harder this time, panic enveloped him tightly.

Outside, grass was no more. The walls were black with ashes, with Keira standing in front of them, her back towards the castle.

Geralt stepped over burnt corpses, making his way to her. As the sorceress heard him approach, she turned to him, face white and a few too many layers of unshed tears covering her eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. "She's gone"

Heavily bleeding, your feet trembled one in front of the other, carrying your weight the last thousand of feet before reaching the nearest location you could only hope was safe. Around you, laid a deserted village at the foot of the Baarg mountain. At this point you couldn't afford being wrong, so you trusted your gut and walked through a gap in a fence, circled around the cemetery, and followed a path that led you to an empty cave. You sighed with relief, and felt a tear roll down your cheek as you pushed through the darkness, using the last bits of magic left in your body to light up a torch you found laying around. Tens of years ago, this cave used to belong to an elven mage, the only one in history to ever manage to control not only space, but also time. His legacy was so infamous and controversial, that his names was banned from use. This however, didn't stop tens of hopeful magic creatures from trying to learn his ways. It relieved you to no end to see that no one had actually reached this point. Having a story this famous; errors and fake facts were destined to be spread. If not for Geralt and his many connections, you wouldn't have known about this place either.

The entrance to the deeper levels of the cave was guarded by a pack of rock trolls, which took very little magical effort to convince to obey you.

"If any one comes looking for the elf's cave, this isn't the right one. If any one comes looking for me, I'm not here unless Geralt of Rivia asks. Geralt of Rivia, in flesh and bones, not anyone else"

“Trolly knows, this cave not good”, the creature groaned, "Geralt of Rivia good. Everyone else bad. Trolly likes not if you not Geralt are"

"Perfect" you sighed, and walked further into the cave. Seconds later, you had made it. All the knowledge you ever needed was inside there. Every potion, herb, recipe, crystal or spell book, everything was at arm's length. As soon as the door slammed behind you, you fell to your knees and crashed onto the floor. After 13 days of walking through dangerous unknown woods on the exact other side of the continent, you were happy to finally close your eyes within safety.

#henry cavill #henry cavill imagine #the witcher #the witcher imagine #geralt of rivia #geralt smut #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia imagine #geralt one shot #witcher imagine #witcher one shot #geralt imagine

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duelistkingdom · 3 years

Text

you’d come back to me

chapter six: simmer

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Summary: Seto Kaiba has been presumed dead for four years after the events of Dark Side of Dimensions. His return causes both unresolved feelings of grief to be brought to the surface and the past to be dragged right back up. In hopes of helping Seto move on and reintegrate back into society at large, Mokuba asks Yugi to work on Spherium II with Seto. Never one to leave a friend hanging, Yugi agrees. Over the course of the project, Seto and Yugi both come to terms with their mutual grief and grow towards a better understanding of each other.

Rating: T

Ships: Yugi Mutou/Seto Kaiba, Mokuba Kaiba/Rebecca Hopkins, Katusya Jonouchi/Mai Kujaku

Warnings: aged up characters, grief, references to suicide

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Seto didn’t want a birthday party at all. Mokuba may have been okay with people knowing his birthday and Yugi might be fine letting the whole office know when his birthday was, but Seto preferred to keep his birthday to himself. Unfortunately, Mokuba insisted upon it and had claimed that normal people let others throw parties for their birthday. Seto had doubts about that but he was in no position to argue with Mokuba. Currently, Mokuba held all the cards and Seto had none. He couldn’t argue with Mokuba whenever Mokuba constantly reminded him that he had let Mokuba think that he was dead for four years. Seto wondered if he’d ever make up for that.

Rebecca still wouldn’t take his side on anything. In fact, whenever Seto had an opinion, Rebecca made sure to have the opposite. In fact, she seemed to think that a party was a great idea. He had no idea how she could claim that every time she threw a party, she acted like her entire life would fall apart if something went wrong. He kept that to himself because Rebecca had a habit of making his life hell when he disagreed. He was surprised to realize that Mokuba had invited Yugi and his friend group. “Why would you invite them,” Seto asked as Mokuba pinned a banner up under Rebecca’s careful observation. “I thought they didn’t like me.”

“Must you grump about everything,” Rebecca snapped. “You should be grateful that anyone wants to show up to your party at all.”

“Be nice,” Mokuba said as he finished pinning the ‘Happy Birthday’ banner in place. Mokuba was under the impression that all Rebecca and Seto needed was to talk things out. “They’re coming because I asked them to. I don’t want you guys to hate each other.”

Seto wasn’t sure how that translated to them attending his birthday party. It must be something else that he didn’t understand. He wanted instead to spend time alone and focus on the weird feeling that he was physically turning nineteen but since time went on without him, he was legally turning twenty-two. He wanted to fixate on it. He imagined that was probably another reason Mokuba would not let him be alone for the day. “It’s not that I hate them,” Seto said, pouting as if he was a child. “They hate me.”

“Yugi doesn’t hate anyone,” Rebecca countered with a roll of her eyes as she adjusted her mini skirt. “You’re projecting, you know. You hate yourself so you’re assuming that Yugi hates you too.”

“No I’m not,” Seto sputtered, angry that Rebecca would be so presumptuous. Then again, he supposed he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Rebecca did nothing but make assumptions of him. “I don’t hate myself! Where would you get that from?”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “You might be able to fool yourself but you can’t fool me,” she said in a singsong voice. “Seriously, you need therapy, dude.”

“Rebecca,” Mokuba said gently before Seto could counter that it was her fault that he was in therapy. “Why don’t we go pick up Seto’s cake together?”

“But I’m right,” Rebecca complained as Mokuba took her arm. “He would be so much happier if he just admitted he’s got issues and got therapy!”

Seto was grateful as Mokuba took her out of the apartment, preventing him from pointing out that he very much was in therapy already. Now he could focus instead on how weird he felt about his birthday and what it meant in this context. He had been gone for four years. It had only been a few hours for him. He wanted to know how that worked. He wanted to fixate on Atem both being happy to see him and unwilling to properly interact with him.

Atem had asked him how he’d gotten there and then he had sent him back without even accepting Seto’s second challenge after Atem had easily dispatched him. Everyone else had moved on and Seto was still feeling the grief. He had been frozen in time and then ejected out to a new world that he didn’t understand. He felt an ache in him that he didn’t understand. And he recalled that Atem had said the place they met wasn’t actually where he was. He’d explained it as where life meets death and that those who were still alive could not stay without dying.

He had looked Seto in the eyes and said “I will not have your blood on my hands too.” Seto had no idea what that meant. He couldn’t think of Atem as anything other than a pure being. He’d been chasing Atem down for so long that he didn’t know what to do when he wasn’t doing that. It was supposed to be his twenty-two birthday and yet here he was, still physically nineteen. He’d missed turning twenty. He wanted to complain that it wasn’t fair but really… wasn’t it all his fault? He was the one who bolted when things started to get too hard. He’d let an obsession nearly drive him into an open grave.

The imagery unsettled him so he pushed it out of his mind. He’d been trying so hard to avoid putting those two together. He supposed that was probably why Mokuba had been so concerned and had welcomed him back as if nothing had changed. It was probably why Reiki acted as if Seto was about to kill himself. He supposed now he had time to fixate on Mokuba’s new life that he wasn’t around for. Mokuba, who had taken over Kaiba Corp when he was fifteen. That was his fault. He’d left and told Mokuba he was in charge. Something squeezed in his chest as he remembered Mokuba had begged him to promise that he’ll come back. He’d made no such promise. How did Mokuba manage to build such a normal life when he’d done this to him?

How could Mokuba allow him to stay in his home as if he’d never stuck a knife into his heart? Seto still didn't know how Mokuba could be so kind. It was better than he deserved.

“I know it’s his birthday,” Rebecca said with a frustrated sigh as she looked at the cake that Mokuba had put a lot of money into. She knew that Mokuba would never admit to his complicated feelings towards his brother; yet she wanted Mokuba to say that he was fucked up from Seto abandoning him with the company. She’d heard the story and had been disturbed by how Seto had done basically the same thing that Gozubora had done to Seto right to Mokuba. Mokuba had every excuse why it wasn’t the same thing but Rebecca knew better than that. “I still think you’re being way too nice to him.”

“He’s my brother,” Mokuba said with a frown. Rebecca knew that there was no point in arguing anymore - at least for today. She noticed what Mokuba refused to see and she hoped that one day she could get him to admit what he was really feeling. “Please. For me?”

Rebecca sighed, shaking her head. He’d been making such good progress in unpacking his trauma until Seto showed up again. It was like the walls started boarding up again. “Fine,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and glancing out the window of the bakery. For a moment, she wondered if Domino City would ever truly feel like home. She still felt guilty for leaving her grandfather alone in Arizona. It was something she’d never say outloud to Mokuba, however. He had more than enough to worry about without adding her to the list. “I'll be nice to him today but I make no promises about tomorrow.”

“I swear I’m fine,” Mokuba said, shaking his head as the baker placed the cake right into Mokuba’s arms. She didn’t understand how he could claim that when she saw him better than anyone else. He might be able to lie to Seto and he might even fool Yugi, but Rebecca was smarter than both of them as far as she was concerned. “You really don’t have to worry about me.”

“How about this,” she said with a teasing grin forming on her face, “I’ll stop worrying about you when you get therapy.”

Mokuba sighed, shaking his head with a slight smile on his face. Got him, Rebecca thought as her arm twisted through the crock of his elbow. He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow. “You know, you’re really annoying sometimes,” he teased, well aware that this was not the first time that Rebecca had been called annoying. “Has anyone told you that?”

Rebecca laughed, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “Oh, all the time,” she said with a wink. “So how is therapy going, anyway?”

“It’s going alright. I’ve got another appointment scheduled this week,” Mokuba siad and that was enough for her to drop the subject altogether as they headed back to the car.

If it wasn’t for Mokuba, Yugi would not have bothered going to Seto’s birthday party at all. In fact, he found that he was doing more and more for the young CEO without even stopping to question if he should. However, this definitely called for moral support. It was the only reason Yugi got dressed today and headed out to Mokuba’s apartment.

He’d been avoiding the place since Seto got back. He’d had a lot of thoughts about how it might feel if Seto came back. He’d been so close to moving on from both Atem and Seto when Seto had to come crashing back into his life, ripping open old wounds again. Seemed no one was better than Seto at throwing salt and lemon over ripped open skin and rubbing it right in. It stung and Yugi thought his heart might bleed out on the floor if there was any justice in the world. His heart stubbornly continued to beat, as it had when Atem left and left him with half a heart in hand.

The blood in his veins continued to pump even when Seto had gone missing four years ago. And he continued to feel after Seto came crashing back into his life. He hated that he couldn’t seem to stop feeling. Not that he was willing to admit this to anyone but his therapist. His therapist, who was trying to get Yugi to open up a bit more about his dead ex boyfriend. He’d thought he’d been making progress. Yugi could’ve sworn he had moved on. He checked his phone, firing off a quick message to the user saggithedarkclown about what to look for in building a proper beatdown deck for the current meta. He could’ve sworn Jonouchi had that user. The only conclusion he could have for that was that Jonouchi must have sold it to someone.

He could easily ask Jonouchi for more information about who he’d sold it to but he didn’t really want to know and make whatever he was feeling towards the user. Knowing a name would make it real. He’d stay at home talking to them then go to Seto’s birthday party. He sighed as he adjusted his hair in the mirror, deciding to let the messy spikes loose for once. He’d put it off long enough and left his apartment, taking the familiar route to Mokuba's apartment.

Yugi had been relieved when Rebecca and Mokuba had started dating. Rebecca’s inappropriate crush on him had always made him uncomfortable. It was good that she’d found someone closer to her age. And he couldn’t think of anyone better than Mokuba for her, really. Mokuba and Rebecca, in Yugi’s opinion, made a very sweet couple. Of course, it’d be just his luck that neither Mokuba nor Rebecca were home while Seto was. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Seto at what was supposed to be his birthday party. “Kaiba,” Yugi said, short as he neatly kicked off his shoes by the door. “Happy birthday.”

Seto did not respond right away. It seemed like he was going to say something when there was another knock at the door. Seto opened the door and revealed that it was Ryou. “Hey, Kaiba, happy birthday,” Ryou said, a gentle smile on his face and a gift in hands. “I got you a present.”

“I can see that,” Seto said, short. “Mokuba had told me to direct any presents to that table over there.”

Seto gestured to a table where there were already a few presents on them. Yugi had to imagine they were all from Mokuba and there was a squeeze in Yugi’s heart. Mokuba had been trying so hard to make Seto feel like he’d never been gone. And yet Mokuba couldn’t wipe the past four years off his face. He could shrink back to his fifteen year old height. No matter what, those four years will have always gone by and Seto would not have been there for any of them. “Looks like Mokuba already got a few things,” Yugi noted, wondering what one would get for the man who had everything. “Where is Mokuba, anyway?”

“Went to get a cake,” Seto said, glaring at Yugi. If Yugi had been who he was six years ago, that glare might’ve scared him. But Yugi wasn’t fifteen and neither was Seto. Yugi instead straightened upright, once again wishing that at least he’d gained a few more inches in the past four years. “Why’d he invite you, anyway?”

Ryou stepped between the two of them before Yugi could retort back. “We’re here because we’re glad you’re back, Kaiba,” Ryou said lightly, clearly attempting to diffuse the situation. “We used to all be friends, remember? We’d like to give you the chance to be friends with us again.”

Out of respect for the fact that Ryou didn’t like confrontation, Yugi decided to avoid letting his anger towards Seto get the better of him. He had four years to think about all the ways Seto had made his life miserable, after all. Even now, Seto was still making his life miserable. He was grateful to see Mokuba and Rebecca come in through the door shortly after. “I’m back,” Mokuba called as Rebecca took the cake from Mokuba. “Rebecca said she’s going to play nice today.”

“Consider it your birthday gift,” Rebecca said before mouthing ‘I’m going to kick you in the shine tomorrow’ with a bright smile. “We got cake! And I see guests are already starting to arrive.” Once again, Rebecca glared at Seto before mouthing ‘if you ruin this, I will kick you so hard you’ll cry’ to Seto. “So it just leaves Jonouchi and Anzu, right?”

“Why is Jonouchi coming to my birthday,” Seto instantly complained.

“You should be grateful he even agreed to come,” Rebecca said before Yugi could jump in with a defense of Jonouchi. “He thought it would be good to have a fresh slate.”

“A fresh slate is exactly what this is about,” Mokuba said, throwing an arm around Seto with a bright grin. As usual, he was trying so very hard to be okay. “The past is the past, Seto. We can move forward.”

Seto looked over at Mokuba and Yugi noted that for once, Seto seemed softer than usual. He sighed before looking away. “Fine,” Seto said. “Fresh slate.”

The knock on the door came and Rebecca bounded over to answer the door. The door swung open and Anzu moved to immediately pull Rebecca into a hug with a bright smile. “Becca,” Anzu said with an excited tone. Anzu and Rebecca had gotten closer as Rebecca taught Anzu English and Anzu helped Rebecca with her Japanese. Yugi could not discern what Anzu was saying to Rebecca as his English was a little rusty. He caught “theatre” and “dance company” and “Black Magician Girl”, leading him to assume that something exciting related to Anzu’s dream of playing Black Magician Girl on Broadway. Perhaps either an audition or… maybe she’d gotten the role? He’d have to ask later. “I brought you a gift, Kaiba,” Anzu said, switching back to Japanese. “Happy birthday! It’s so good that you’re back!”

She stated this as if Seto had been on vacation instead of assumed dead. He figured this was mostly for the benefit of Mokuba, who very clearly wanted things to go well today. “Thank you,” Seto said stiffly as Anzu placed her gift with the rest of the gifts. Yugi vaguely wondered what Anzu wound up getting Seto for his birthday. He knew she’d stressed over it, asking him what she got someone who could buy themselves anything they wanted. Yugi hadn’t been able to give her any advice. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

He was much nicer to Anzu, Yugi noted with surprise. Then again… Seto had never really been nasty to Anzu, had he? He wondered why that was. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, nudging him lightly. “It’s your first birthday in four years! Of course that’s worth getting a present for!”

Seto tensed up and Yugi instantly wondered what Seto was thinking. His heart clenched. He bet Atem would’ve known what Seto was thinking. Atem always seemed to know exactly what Seto was thinking. Yugi supposed if it was Atem, he’d know. Yugi could only guess. He thought that perhaps Seto might be uncomfortable with the attention and did not feel like celebrating his birthday. The other thing that Yugi knew for sure was that Seto would never tell Yugi if he’d gotten it right. “Thank you, Anzu,” Mokuba said, stepping in. “Really glad you could make it from New York City to the party.”

“What are you doing in New York City, anyway,” Seto asked and Yugi was surprised to note that Seto seemed genuinely curious. It was then that Yugi realized that Anzu had left for New York City after Seto had gone missing. They hadn’t known it at the time when they were waving Anzu off. Mokuba had kept the news a secret for the first few weeks until it became clear he could not hide the news anymore. Yugi had been the first he told.

“I was studying dance in New York City at Julliard,” Anzu said with a light shrug. “However… as I was telling Becca earlier… I got an audition for Black Magician Girl!”

“Anzu, that’s amazing,” Yugi said, reflexively. He and Anzu had to learn how to settle for a long distance friendship. No longer could he just go over to her and talk about how he was feeling. And well, no one deserved good things more than Anzu. Still… Yugi didn’t like that one of his dearest friends was so far away. “Congratulations! I just know you’ll get the part.”

“You better save us tickets for the show when you get the part,” Ryou said with a light grin, giving her a quick hug. “If any of your costars happen to be into the occult… you know where to direct them.”

“Right to your shop, of course,” Anzu said with a bright grin as she settled down into her usual spot on the couch. It gave him time to note that her sense of style had shifted yet again. He smiled fondly - Anzu was always trying out the latest fashion trends. “How’s business, anyway?”

“Never better,” Ryou said, a grin shot at Yugi. Yugi knew that a lot more people had gotten into the conspiracy theories that surrounded the events of Duelist Kingdom and Battle City. Yugi wished people would stop trying to figure out what happened then. It was difficult to explain as was without adding the broken heart to the mix. “I keep pestering Yugi to Duel again because it’s good for business. But all he wants to do is still play exhibition matches.”

Yugi noted the strange look on Seto’s face. Did Seto already know this? He wouldn’t be surprised if Seto had done his research on what was going on with Duel Monsters. “Must explain all the time Yugi has on his hands,” Seto remarked.

Before Yugi could ask Seto what he meant by that, Jonouchi entered holding a bag that was too small to contain anything sustainable, alongside Honda and Mai, who had what looked to be a single card. He supposed he should just be grateful that Jonouchi showed up with anything at all for Seto, even if it was probably a rock he’d found on one of his hikes. Yugi was, however, very surprised that Honda had bothered to get Seto anything. He knew that Honda was already stretched pretty thin working for his dad. “Alright, the party can really start,” Jonouchi said, holding his arms out and spinning around. “I’m here!”

“Really thought the real party starter was me,” Mai teased as she shoved the card into Seto’s chest. “Here, I got you a birthday card. Happy birthday, jackass.”

“I thought we were supposed to be nice to Seto,” Rebecca complained, immediately rushing to give Mai a large hug. “Don’t tell me I could’ve called him a jackass this whole time!”

“I don’t care,” Seto said, a frown on his face. “It’s whatever.”

“Okay, everyone, please be nice to Seto, it’s his birthday,” Mokuba said, sounding rather tired that he had to say this yet again. Granted, it seemed that not everyone was paying attention to what Mokuba had to say. Anzu and Jonouchi were talking about something that got drowned out in the increased din of the space. Yugi could hardly note who was talking to who, actually. As per usual, Mokuba’s apartment had become a hot spot for everyone to hang out at. “Seriously, it would mean a lot to me if we tried to keep this a nice party.”

Yugi was surprised when Seto had gotten up and tapped his upper arm. He spun around, staring up at Seto, a raised brow. What on Earth could he want? “Can you stop messing with my things,” Seto said to Yugi, an annoyed look on his face. “It’s getting annoying.”

“What are you talking about,” Yugi asked, surprised by this request. “I haven’t messed with anything of yours.”

Seto looked up, as if asking the heavens for patience. He pinched the bridge of his nose before stating, “I mean that I want you to stop changing the Pharaoh’s deck.”

Yugi’s blood ran ice cold. His hands balled up into fists and it took everything in Yugi to not let his blinding rage take over. “That’s not Atem,” Yugi said, a lot more shaky than he thought he’d be. He knew eventually Seto would probably figure it out. He wasn’t expecting Seto to confront him about it. “You and I both know Atem’s dead.”

“I could have you fired,” Seto said, an ugly look twisting upon his face as Yugi reminded him that Atem was dead.

Yugi took a deep breath, steadying himself. “You aren’t CEO anymore,” Yugi shot back, angry that he’d threaten his job like that. Over his stupid obsession with a dead man. Yugi didn’t understand why Seto would want to talk about this here when Mokuba was stretching himself thin to try to make tonight go smoothly. “You gave it up four years ago when you abandoned us all!”

Seto spluttered and Yugi knew he was being unfair. But Seto wasn't being fair either. Why should Yugi split hairs and dance around the truth of the matter when Seto was trying to pick a fight? Seto owed Yugi more than a few deck changes on a blasted AI as far as Yugi was concerned. He was shocked by the depth his anger went. He supposed it was because he kept pushing it down in an attempt to make things nice. “You…,” Seto started, clearly at a loss for words. “You don’t understand anything.”

“I don’t understand anything,” Yugi repeated, incredulously. How could Seto claim that? No one understood the pain of losing Atem better than Yugi. Yugi, who didn’t even have the guts to kiss Atem goodbye. He remembered each feather light touch that Atem used to give, each of the soft assurances. Worst of all, he remembered ‘I want to be with you forever’ and the sting when Atem didn’t stay. He remembered stolen moments at night under the cover of darkness. When it was just him and Atem in the world and nothing else mattered. “No one understands better than me what it’s like to lose Atem. No one. Not even you can understand what I went through when Atem died, Kaiba. Don’t you think I was hurting too? I literally lost part of my heart the day he died. I thought I might shatter when I watched him leave, after he had said he wanted to stay. He used to live right here,” Yugi said, pointing right to his heart. “What do you do when someone who lived in your heart is gone forever?”

Seto didn’t have a response and it was only then that Yugi realized he was starting to cry as tears spilled down his cheeks. Only then did Yugi realize that he had also started yelling half through this. And yet Yugi couldn’t find it in him to care. He didn’t care that Seto looked at a loss for words. He didn’t care that he had told Kaiba that his pain didn’t matter at the core of that speech. “Yugi,” Seto started and Yugi didn’t care what Seto had to say to explain himself. “That…”

Anzu stepped between them this time, glaring at Seto. “I think enough’s been said,” she said shortly before turning to Yugi, eyes full of concern. Anzu had loved Atem too. Yugi knew this. It had killed Anzu too when he left. He haunted everything, didn’t he? Yugi had that numb realization that Atem had managed to leave cracks in every single one of them. “It’s okay,” she said gently, pulling Yugi into a tight hug. The kind she gave him six years ago, with no care for her own pain and a spasm of guilt filled him. Anzu didn’t have to comfort him, but she did. He returned the hug, allowing himself to sob. “You’re okay.”

“Well,” Mokuba finally said, clearly rattled. “There goes the party.”

Yugi’s comments had rattled Seto a lot more than he had ever wanted to admit. He stared up at the ceiling in Mokuba’s apartment as he worked through what Yugi had revealed to him. He figured it made sense that the Pharaoh and Yugi had been close. He just didn’t think it involved actual romantic feelings. He thought back to the bedroom the Pharaoh had dueld him in and the outfit that Yugi clearly programmed in. He’d been blind this whole time. Yugi had dropped hints about the true nature of his relationship with the Pharaoh and Seto hadn’t wanted to see it.

It was a hard thing to accept. It was even harder when he thought of the lingering hug that Anzu had given Yugi. Why did that sting? It made sense that Anzu and Yugi might develop a relationship in his absence. Anzu and Yugi always had something between them. He wasn’t a fool, after all. Not only that… Anzu had always been so much better than him. She’d called Seto out all the way back in Duelist Kingdom when he’d dismissed Yugi for saving his life. Seto had stood on that ledge and, at the time, he’d believed it had been Yugi who had refused to call off the attack. He’d learn the difference as he reexamined it. The Pharaoh had to have been the one to call the attack and Yugi had to be the one to refuse to call the attack. Yugi was compassionate, after all.

The more Seto reexamined the past, the more questions he had. This, in itself, was a question. How long had Yugi and the Pharaoh been lovers? When did Anzu and Yugi’s relationship develop - before or after he left? Was everything more complicated than Seto assumed it to be? He’d assumed that everything was straightforward. He assumed that Yugi was simply the vessel for the Pharaoh. He never considered that Yugi was one half of the component to who the Pharaoh was. Clearly there was more to learn here. He needed to know more.

He briefly considered how the Pharaoh had shattered his heart and Seto had to put it back together again. Mokuba had been the missing piece then. He thought again of Anzu. Anzu had a heart that had been put together correctly the first time, like Yugi. Unlike him, she’d never once been considered incomplete. She’d never been considered a monster. In many ways… if he had to pick someone for Yugi after Atem died… he’d probably pick Anzu. And after she’d been the only able to put Yugi back together after he started to cry...

That had been his fault. He’d made Yugi cry. Seto wondered how anyone stood to be around him when all he did was shatter those he… it’s not that he cared about Yugi. He just didn’t like to see him cry. He didn’t even realize when he’d fallen asleep. And in his sleep, he dreamt of Yugi’s kind face and of a world where he might actually deserve Yugi.

#fic: you'd come back to me

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roseworth · 3 years

Text

Only Fools Do What I Do

listen i know i said i wasnt going to make anything for today but i started thinking about this last night right before i fell asleep and i really wanted to make it :)

word count: 2055

relationship: eugene/rapunzel

description: Right after Eugene "left" Rapunzel, they both need to come to terms with their separation and loss of hope. Rapunzel travels back to her tower, and Eugene is stuck in a prison cell. All they can do is think of each other and reflect on where they went wrong.

@autumn-ravenclaw @gleamful-lanterns for new dream appreciation week day 3- date (he calls the day they met a date so im counting it lol).

title inspired by FOOLS by Troye Sivan

AO3

Rapunzel felt like an idiot.

Mother had told her that the world was cruel, yet she still had the nerve to be surprised. She should have known better. If she had never left her tower in the first place, she wouldn’t be hurting like this right now. It would have been better to just listen to what her Mother told her.

She could have given Eugene his satchel back as soon as she realized that he wasn’t after her hair. She could have even gone back on one of the many instances he tried to convince her to. She was stubborn and didn’t listen to anything but her own naive thoughts about the world.

And look where that got her.

She hadn’t slept all night. She and her Mother were traveling back to the tower after the disaster that was her trip outside. Mother had tried to tell her that he was just using her, but she refused to listen.

She realized she was still gripping tightly onto the small flag of the kingdom Eugene had bought her. She hid it away, making sure Mother wouldn’t see it and take it away from her. She just wanted one small reminder that it was real, that she really did leave her tower.

But was any of it real? Had he really been manipulating her that entire time?

The previous night at the campfire had felt genuine. She thought that they had truly connected. And they had spent the entire day in town together. That had easily been the best day of her life, and she knew she would keep that memory held in her heart forever. She just thought that he had felt the same way. Every time he had smiled at her and she felt her heart flutter, was that really all part of the ruse?

As she ran her thumb over the small piece of cloth she held in her hand, she tried to be angry at Eugene. Of course she should be mad. He had left her behind, and had told those ruffians about her hair. The memory of him sailing away, crown in hand, was burned into her mind. He had made her trust him just to betray that trust.

Mother told her that she shouldn’t have expected anything more from a conman, and maybe she was right. He never really cared about her, and he had sold her out at the first opportunity he got.

It just didn’t add up. He had the crown, she had given it to him. If that was all he was after, why tell the thugs about her hair? Did he really want to add salt to the wound that badly? Eugene wouldn’t do that. Or maybe he would. Apparently he had been lying to her the whole time, so she didn’t even know what he was really like.

Her mind wandered to their moment underneath the glow of the lanterns. 18 years of dreaming culminating into one perfect moment, and she spent it with him. She remembered everything he had said to her, and the way she felt alive, maybe for the first time, sitting near him and looking into his eyes.

She had misread the signals. Mother had told her time and time again that she was too naive to be in the world, and this was why. She had thought Eugene could really care about her, but it had all been a scam.

Just that thought made her eyes well up with tears. She tried to blink them away, but they were already quietly streaming down her face.

He never cared about her. All their time together had been a lie. Their time together at the campfire. Their day in town. Their almost-kiss under the lanterns. It had all been a part of his scheme to get the crown back.

Her Mother had stayed quiet their entire walk home. Rapunzel knew she was disappointed. Not only had she betrayed her Mother’s wishes, she had also forgotten everything Mother had ever told her about the world.

She tried to wipe away the tears that continued to fall down her face, but they wouldn’t stop. Every breath hurt to take. Every step felt like a mile. The grass she had been so excited to walk on now seemed like it was mocking her from under her feet.

The world was just as cruel as Mother had described, and she had fallen into its trap. She was stupid to believe she could be any different than what Mother had always told her she was.

When they finally arrived back at the tower, the sun was starting to peak up in the sky. Mother took a deep breath. “Here we are, safely home again!” she singsonged.

Home. The tower was the only home she had ever known, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. She had felt so at home with Eugene in just the span of a few days. Now that she was back at the tower, it felt distant and foreign. She couldn’t remember a time that she really felt happy inside the tower. At least not as happy as she had felt outside of it.

She took a shaky breath, wishing that she could stop crying. It felt like there was a hold in her chest as she remembered what the past few days had been. She was so happy. But none of it was real.

Her Mother groaned beside her. “Oh, please, Rapunzel, will you stop crying? It’s very unbecoming,” she berated. “Besides, you have no right to be upset. I told you what would happen, why are you surprised?”

Rapunzel sniffed and nodded, trying to brush away her tears yet again. “I’m sorry, Mother.”

Mother hummed in acceptance, then started leading her back towards the tower. “Come, come, My Flower, let’s get that dreadful braid out of your hair.”

Eugene felt like an idiot.

She was in danger right now, and it was all his fault. He should have known that the Stabbingtons wouldn’t be very accepting of his change in heart. If they hurt her, he was the reason why. She would have never gotten caught up in this mess if it weren’t for him.

He could have just thrown the satchel towards the Stabbingtons and left, not bothering to make conversation with them. Hell, he could have thrown the satchel into the water the second she tried to give it to him.

He should have at least told her where he was going. Now not only is she in danger, she thinks that he had given her up. Maybe he didn’t deserve for her to know the truth, though. No matter his intentions, it was his fault that she was at the hands of the Stabbingtons now. She had every right to hate him for that.

He hadn’t slept all night. Distantly, he realized his hand was stinging. He was pretty sure he had punched a wall in frustration earlier, but his mind was racing and everything that had happened since he had woken up tied to the boat was a blur. He had been pacing this tiny cell for hours trying to think of a solution. He couldn’t escape, not for lack of trying. He had wanted to pick the lock to get out and find her, but there were guards on every side of the corridor. He had no chance of getting out unseen.

He had even tried to talk to the guards and try to get them to let him go, but they refused to hear him. He honestly couldn’t blame them though. Saying that he needed to leave because the Stabbingtons had kidnapped a girl for her magic hair sounded a little bit crazy.

She didn’t deserve any of this. She was the best person he had ever met. She could light up the world just by smiling. She had just gotten to experience the world for the first time, and now she was going to be torn away from it. All because of him.

There was no way for him to know where she was, or if she was okay. He hoped she was able to get away from the Stabbingtons, but he honestly doubted it. The Stabbingtons were not above hurting her to overpower her if she had something they wanted. And clearly, she did have something they wanted.

How did they even know? Were they following him the whole time? Maybe they had been there when she healed his hand and told him about her power. But if that was the case, why would they wait so long to reveal themselves? Surely it would have been easier to take them by surprise at the campsite.

Nothing was adding up, but his thoughts were too clouded to try to piece everything together. The only thing he could think about was the fact that Rapunzel was in danger and there was nothing he could do about it.

He wanted to take a breath, but his body wouldn’t let him. He just continued his nervous pacing back and forth as if that would help him come to a solution. He couldn’t stop imagining her, lost and hurt somewhere and wishing for some way out.

He hoped she was cursing his name right now. He hoped she was angry, wishing that she never met him. He hoped she hated him as much as he hated himself. Because he deserved for her to hate him, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he thought that she didn’t hate him for everything he has done.

A lump started to build up in his throat. He tried to ignore it or swallow it away, but it was overwhelming all his senses. It had been years since he let himself cry, and he didn’t want to start now. But his face was heating up and the tears were making their way out.

All at once, it was like all the feelings he had kept at bay for all these years were flowing out of him. He cried because he was alone in this cell, he cried because she was in danger wherever she was, he cried because there was nothing he could do anymore. He had fucked up, and there was no turning back.

He tried to quell his sobs to no avail. The universe kept dealing out more blows, and his brain was screaming at him. Every decision he had made led to her getting taken by the Stabbingtons. If he hadn’t even started thieving 15 years ago, she would be safe and okay right now. It wasn’t fair that she was paying for his mistakes.

The tears rolled down his face and hit the dusty cell floor below him. His entire body was shaking, and all he wanted to do was scream and cry and curl up in a ball until everything was okay.

He couldn’t help her. He couldn’t do anything. He had been useless all his life, and the only good thing he had ever done was help her see the world outside that god awful tower, and even then she did most of that on her own. If anything, he had been a hindrance to her.

He furiously tried to rub his eyes to stop the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. Why couldn’t he have been better? Why didn’t he do more to stop the Stabbingtons?

One question had been running through his mind all night, and he had been chastising himself over and over. Why didn’t he kiss her when he got the chance?

That was the least of his worries, but the question was still haunting him. He would likely never get the chance again, and he had the opportunity to right there. It was the most simple mistake he made, and it might not have made a difference, but now he just has to live with the fact that he could have and he didn’t.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the door to his cell open. He turned to see the Captain standing in the doorway. “Let’s get this over with, Rider.”

“Where are we going?” he asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. The Captain’s silence confirmed his suspicions. “Oh.”

#ah yeah the classic post first date deathly despair #New Dream Appreciation Week #tangled #new dream #fanfic #my writing

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binniedeactivated · 4 years

Text

saint. || soobin (3.8)

pairing: soobin x reader genre: au word count; 2k

he wished he could’ve walked into that station and looked like a man that day. but that plan immediately failed. his eyes were wet and puffy he could barely speak because he was crying way too hard for his conscience. his vision was slurred and he choked on every word that sputtered from his lips. he places his hands on the desk, sobbing.

“just arrest me please”. soobin cries. the woman at the front desk was immediately alarmed at his plea.

“sir is there something I can help you with?”. she says very concerned with the state that he was in.

“the mia howard case--it was me just arrest me I did it”.

with the familiar name the administrator made a quick call to the officers who were dealing on the case. “someone will be here to talk to you in a moment sir”. she promises hoping he’d get the help he needed. a couple of moments later a female officer appears, guiding soobin to a chair behind her desk.

“what seems to be the problem?”. she says with a furrowing eyebrow.

soobin palms his face, sobbing into his hands. “just arrest me I was the one who set up mia howard that night”.

“you’re choi soobin?”.

soobin nods becoming choked up once again. the officer grabs him a few tissues, “i’m sorry but I can’t help you with that, kid”.

“what do you m-mean you can’t help me? I’m a horrible person I deserve to be arrested”.

“mia howard is not pressing charges against you. she didn’t identify you. the case is closed and unavailable for reopening”.

“s-so what happens next? e-everyone involved is walking away scott free?”.

the officer shakes her head, “the guys who raped her is still facing time for home invasion and rape”.

“what about me?”.

“if the victim is not pressing charges we close the case. after that, there is nothing we can do”.

“fuck”.

“hey, regardless of what you claimed you’ve done soobin, you don’t have any charges on your record. i recommend you use this time to turn your life around for the better”.

she assuringly pats him on the back. soobin sniffles as he stands up in his chair nodding before she guided him out the door. soobin makes a detour on his way home, deciding to go somewhere else instead. he pulled into the driveway of the familiar house and knocked on the door promptly. it opened.

“hey, who are you?”.

“are you mia’s mom?”. soobin had asked. she folded her cardigan over.

“yes who are you?”.

“I’m choi soobin, someone she goes to school with”,

“listen if this is anymore traumatizing to mia’s health just drop it, please. these officers and all of this questioning is giving her severe anxiety attacks and I just don’t want anymore of it”.

soobin purses his lips, “I’d like to offer to pay for any medical bills she has”.

“that’s sweet of you soobin but I can’t let you do that. you’re just a kid and those bills are way too high”.

“if theres anything I can do to pay mia back for this trauma it’s at least this. I’ll cover all of her medical fees and it won’t leave a dent in my pockets, trust me I can pay them. and if it’s okay my parents know some really good psychiatrists and I’d like to enroll mia into their sessions. I don’t care how long she goes, weeks, months, or even for the rest of her life I’ll pay for it. If there is any medicine she needs I will go out of my way to make sure she gets it”.

her mother stares at him in awe. she was taken aback by all of this. of course she wasn’t pleased with the fact that soobin had done this to her daughter but she appreciated his efforts to fix it.

“are you sure?”.

“yes. I have a checkbook in my car and I’ll talk to my parents tonight for the information about the sessions and enroll mia as soon as possible”.

her mother hugged him gratefully. the medical bills were eating her alive and she just wanted mia to get better.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

his chest ached badly and to make matters worse he was puking from his occasional crying. he was alone. and he hated it. he missed you--god he wished you just give him another chance. he didn’t mean it. but it hurt even more when you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with him. you blocked his phone number and profile on every possible thing he could contact you on.

“are you puking? what are you pregnant?”. yeonjun insults while he shuts the door behind him. soobin exhales and rubs his face in front of the toilet bowl in the school bathroom. the school was the meeting place for everyone before they took a coach bus to the ski resort.

“shut the fuck up yeonjun”.

“we’re about to leave. I shouldn’t even have told you I should’ve let them leave your ass here”.

soobin exhales before coming out of the bathroom stall with a giant hoodie and a hood over his head. “you really have to get a grip”. yeonjun comments. soobin rolls his eyes and exits the bathroom with him. the two grabbed their suitcases and began boarding the bus. the sisters were going over the rules and his heart only wrenched. not only was he sitting alone due to yeonjun finding someone else to sit with. soobin glanced over at you sitting with taehyun. the two of you just talking casually, something he wished he could do with you. he didn’t want to come. he knew he should’ve stayed home but he only attended because you were here.

“I wonder what the cabins look like”. you mutter along the way.

“I heard they were luxury cabins, like the furnished ones with wifi and all that”. taehyun replies.

“that’s a relief”.

“did you think we were going to be in a hut or something? it’s cold out there”.

you laugh a little, “no. i’ve never been skiing though. I’m kind of scared”.

“it’s like a roller coaster but your skating instead. it’s fun though”.

“I’m going to ski into a tree and embarrass myself”. you whine. taehyun chuckles. “no you won’t. plus if you run into a tree you might be as dumb as you think”.

“how?”.

“for watching the tree get closer to you and not moving the hell out of the way”. you laugh again and just accepted yourself as dumb because it was something you’d do. being around taehyun helped control your emotions better. of course you weren’t okay without soobin. you missed him more than anything else but you had to do what was best for you.

luckily, you were assigned to the same cabin as taehyun and some other kid named kai. it was two stories. there was a kitchen on the same floor as the living room and upstairs were three bedrooms. you weren’t hesitant to call the best one. “it’s mine! fair and square!”. you yelled to a complaining kai and taehyun.

“you know what, since you’re a girl fine!”. kai exclaimed.

it was cold at the ski resort and it required you to bundle up way more than you were comfortable with. since the majority of the senior class were adults the sisters allowed them to do things outside of their small activities. the juniors however had curfew and were supervised. you were getting settled in your room until it was time to go to your first activity for the night which was held outside of the cabins.

through the snow you walked with taehyun to the meeting place. since it was late, the sisters decided that you all would ski tomorrow. in order to get everyone acquainted however they set up an activity where different groups of students would sit around a campfire and chat while drinking hot chocolate.

it was cold and the warmth of the fire kissed your skin beautifully. but things weren’t too beautiful when you saw soobin coming to sit next to you. you roll your eyes scooting further from him. wondering why he was assigned to the same group as you instead of taehyun.

the rest of the group was talking amongst each other and having a good time until your assigned instructor arrived.

“i’m sorry”. he spoke with his eyes pasted on his folded hands. “I should’ve told you”.

“I don’t care how sorry you are”. you spat in absolute disgust.

“i know i’m a horrible person for what i did but I changed and I’ve been good to you. what can I do to be worthy of a second chance?”.

“you’re never going to be worthy of a second chance”.

“why not?”.

“because you lied soobin. you think just because you’re here apologizing to me that it makes everything okay?”.

“you knew I wasn’t perfect when you met me”.

“I didn’t know you were completely heartless either”.

“I’m not trying to justify what I’ve done by any means. I know it was a horrid thing to do. but i’m really trying to make things right here”.

“make things right and then what? lie to me about something else?”.

“i’ll stop trying to sugar coat things and be upfront from now on. I’ll tell you everything I’ve done”.

“you should’ve done that from the beginning”.

soobin makes an effort to grab your hand and in exchange you throw your last bit of hot chocolate on him.

“you deserve to be in prison”. you hiss.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“she’d never let you fuck”.

“she almost did, once”.

“and what happened? you chickened out?”.

“no she did”.

“you’re a punk man”.

“I hate her stupid ass attitude but her body and her innocence, it’s sexy”.

“so what are you going to do? just sit here and let this opportunity go to waste?”.

“fuck no. before this trip is over, her virginity will be mine”.

#txt au #txt #soobin #choi soobin #choi soobin au #choi yeonjun #choi beomgyu #kang taehyun #bugsbinnie #saint au #choi soobin smut

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