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st-armand · 9 months

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Plug!Hobie x Fem!Reader Part 2

Authors Note: Vomited this out because I couldnt stop thinking about him <3, I was going to add perverted hobie a touch in there but opted to save it for another time.

Content Warnings: black reader, fem reader, drug use, use of the n word once, weed smoking, suggestive

Masterlist • Part 1

You message Hobie within the hour,

“Hey punk boy pull up here to get your food and shit.”

“Punk boy?” “Alright I’ll be ‘here soon”

You gave him the location of a train station a block away from your home, Hobie has no issues with not knowing your place, he’s seen the neighborhood, one that was here before the V.E.N.O.M. occupation, a remnant of old NYC.

Hobie arrives quicker than expected, not only because he can carelessly swing throughout the city, but he’s embarrassingly excited to get the chance to talk to you alone.

When Hobie throws you a text that he’s here, you jump up anxiously assuming you’d have a bit more time to get acclimated.

You throw on some slides and your adidas track pants to hurry to the station with a reusable shopping bag carrying 4 containers of food and the cash nestled inside a cute baggie you found lingering in your home.

He’s trying to be as inconspicuous as he can despite the fact the sticks out like a sore thumb, a random punk, and while he is black and easily fits into the community racially and ethnically, he knows he can be seen as an easy lick, especially to petty criminals and gang members who think they can size him up, he doesn’t want to get pressed with weed on him, even if he’s prepared to fight it’s still inconvenient for him. He leans on a bus stop pole (You know the exact lean I’m talking about too) back pressed and slightly arched, shirt riding up his abdomen.

When you do finally spot his lanky ass you’re mesmerized by his effortless persona, you wonder if you could ever have a mask as unshakable as his. He does see you staring, his eyes find you easily in at the busy intersection filled with food carts, fruit and vegetable stands, and of course elderly Latinas selling snacks, and all kind of cold treats for the muggy day.

When you do come up to him you’re not too sure how to break the ice, every possible starter interaction feels forced, uncomfortable or uptight, but you try anyway, you want your weed, you want to go home, and you kind of want him, but that can be explored on another day, you always get the people you’ve set your sights on and now Hobie is added to that arsenal.

“Hey punk boy, got your treats,”

“Well ‘bout time you showed up, feels like I been waitin’ forever”

He hasn’t, you both know that, he especially so consider it took only 20 minutes to swing to the area, but you don’t need to know that or his alternative identity as the protector of formerly NYC, New London.

You hand over the shopping bag with the food and money, and expectantly hold your hand out in a handshake (I do this with my plug, he dabs me up and we exchange the weed through our hands like that).

He looks at you confused, and instead rummages through his sling bag (I headcanon that very few of his pants have fully functional pockets, so he makes all kinds of accessorized bags to carry his stuff ) to give you a brown paper bag, a mason jar inside of it.

You look at it, then him as he’s looking over the meals you’ve packed, not even bothering to count the cash, he knows a person like you wouldn’t short him, especially with how desperate you looked for some bud earlier.

You inspect the mason jar, and gawk.

The slick bastard gave you and OUNCE, not even comparable to the food and money you’ve given him, there must be a catch.

“This ain’t what I paid for nigga.”

Another boisterous laughs ripples through him, “Consider it a welcomin’ gift, gotta watch over the community and hotties like you in it right? I always give freebies, plus it looked like you really needed it.”

You’re shocked by his generosity but it doesn’t fully absolve the apprehension you have.

The next few times you keep the same routine until one day you’re feeling extra bold, in an especially eye-catching outfit, you invite him to your apartment.

“Wanna come over to smoke with me for a bit?”

Hobie knows he has patrol in a few hours, and he prefers to not be inebriated while acting as Spiderman, but fuck he wants to be in your apartment draped in your scent, and letting the space fill with the earthy smell of marijuana, he wonders if he can keep your perfume on his body all night just by being your vicinity. Its safe to say he’s a bit smitten, and your unreadable personality draws him in the learn more about you.

“Yeah sure let me check if ‘m free” Hobie doesn’t check shit, just closes his eyes letting a few beats in time pass before opening them again. “Yeah I don’ have anyt’ing else to do.” You don’t call him out for his actions, you roll your eyes and huff in annoyance, but nevertheless you lead the way back to your place.

Hobie lingers behind you, taking in the surroundings of the generationally inhabited homes, some of them extremely derelict compared to the freshly renovated and constructed luxury apartments that the bourgeois New Londoners occupy a few blocks over, a blatant exhibition on poverty and gentrification.

He also can’t complain about the view of your hips as they switch with every firm step, or the way with certain moves over cracked pavements, causes your thong to peek out from the waistband of your jeans.

The pair of you finally make it back to your own family-owned home, he lets you take the lead to unlock the doors and usher him in, you hesitate, you want to tell him to get comfy but you hate when people except you sit on the old furniture with outside clothes on.

But Hobie is an extremely considerate house guest, he takes of his heavy doc martens.

(Yes I know about the N*zi history, but I also think that Jewish people and alternative folks who actively protect the their communities from white supremacy can reclaim them, also they’re great for stomping people out, I know from experience…)

And he makes no complaints when you lay a blanket over the sectional to cover the worn-down furniture. He rolls up wordlessly once seated (as any real man does, girls and gays don’t roll for themselves).

He doesn’t ask you to lick the papers sealant this time, but you wished he did so you can make an entire theatrical performance of it, especially when his gangly legs are parted so wide, tray in his studded lap—resonating clanks when the metal rolling tray hits them with every shuffle of his body, or how his pierced eyebrows furrow in concentrating, gnawing at the inside of his lip ring, you could get used to this sight.

You dawdle around the apartment, getting your own weed, straightening up any stray clothes including a few pairs of underwear that were strewn about within the piles, clearing the coffee table before sitting down on the other side of the couch causing it to sink around your weight.

“Thanks for rolling Hobie”

“You should never have to roll your own weed, ‘orgeous”

Now this you can get used to, you may not be entirely interested in a partner right now, but having a personal roller seems like an awfully great idea, especially if your rolling machine is Hobie.

Hobie silently hands you the first blunt, lets you light it, keeping close watch to the way you inhale, one, two, three puffs before opening your lips for the air to cool the vapor before inhaling it sharply.

You don’t cough, nor do you choke, an experienced smoker like himself he notes, mesmerized by your reddened heavy-lidded eyes, smoke billowing around you.

Hobie rolls his head along the back of the sectional, inhaling, holding the searing vapor in his throat, long neck and adam’s apple on display, the protrusion bobbing with every flex his throat, a slow exhale of weed smoke from his full, lipstick-stained lips swells in the space.

You’re spellbound by his neck and lips you want to litter his body in bruises and bites, and the high makes the urge to lick and pull at the sterling metal of his lip piercing, drawing his mouth closer to her own, but that was a fantasy for now.

In ambient space of your living room you talk about your ideas, and goals, rambling on about the mundane daily occurrences you both. Hobie adores the fact that you have similar politics to him, maybe you’re more a bit more rigid like a Maoist or a Marxist, or even unlabeled in the work you do political, you might have disagreements over how the world should look post revolution, but you confide in him that you feel protected with a figure like Spiderman handling N*zis and fascists, capitalist and villains of all kinds.

Hobie swells at the compliment, but he chooses to nod eagerly and gauge you more about Spiderman.

“You make the bloke seem p’etty cool, ya know?”

“Have you seen his outfit, Spiderman radiates cool! And he keeps crime to a minimum, despite the infrastructural damage afterwards” you’d laugh.

These visits start happening more regularly, both of your mind’s filled with lingering thoughts of each other and texts compiling of political discourse online, or news of other revolutionaries around the world burrowing through trenches, or with guerilla warfare, taking their freedom by their own means.

You love to send him photos of you smoking the weed you buy from him, lightly dimmed room, puffy lips with a line of soot from the joint marking them up, eyes glossed over, face illuminated by the selfie cameras flash.

He hoards these photos on a locked album in his gallery, but he’s recently taken to bringing along a film camera to snap a few shots of you lounging around the living room, light casting a glint across your irises that drape down your figure in a golden sliver of light, he can’t help but to engrain that visage of you into his brain, even if that means hanging it with his other captured memories.

(Remember my random headcanon about trinkets, I think when Hobie starts getting an influx of film photos he keeps them in a laminated photo album that he flips through when he’s feeling melancholy about his duties as Spiderman, it helps him ground him to the feeling of why he does it, and why he sacrifices his body everyday.)

He even lets you borrow the camera to snap portraits of him too, which he’s surprised your incredibly good at when he receives the final print from a friend who works at a film development studio. He gives you these photos and only a few of the copious he shoots of you, and you don’t pry about what he does with them either, when he hands you a few of the ones you took of him he says a quip like,

“Always wan’ you think’ about me luv” Or “ You ‘et see my ‘andsome face every day huh?”

Over time a friendship cultivates between the two of you, but who will push the boundaries between platonic to something more romantic, and possibly very sensual. Maybe the sensual part before the romantic, just to test the waters first.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie headcanons #hobie brown #hobie brown x black!reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv #atsv hobie #armands sanctum

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a-glimpse-of-fantasy · 2 years

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Your Dream(Duskwood Fanfiction) Chapter 3

⚠️ This story takes after the final episode of Duskwood. So if you haven't finished the game first, this story contains heavy spoilers. ⚠️

English is not my first language so please spare me the grammar mistakes.

You can read the chapter 1 from here You can read the chapter 2 from here

Hope you like it 👉👈

👉Bold sentences are text messages

Chapter 3 - What happened on that day?

He smiled faintly. Oshi thought it didn’t contain the usual bitterness he had when they talked about his pursuers. Then, just as he opened his mouth to answer, a text arrived on her phone. She quickly paid attention to him, ignoring it. But another one came yet again. She hurriedly grabbed her phone to put it on silent mode, but Jake stopped her.

“It’s alright, Oshi. Check what it is first.”

She hesitantly unlocked the phone to see that it was Dan who was interrupting them.

-Hey.

-Did you see a weird dude on your way maybe?

_A weird guy?

-Yeah. Earlier when you were here, this weirdo hoodie was staring at you. You know I might lose my job if I confront him and things escalate.

-Anyway, I was gonna talk to him once you two left. But the dude was already gone when I came back after seeing ya off.

_And?

-And Phil says he saw a black hoodie walking to Jessy’s on his way back.

-What do I know. Anyways double check to see if the doors are locked.

She leaned forward and asked, “Jake, were you at Aurora by any chance earlier?” His slightly surprised look was enough of an answer. “It seems like you left a trail. Dan says a guy was staring at me at Aurora earlier, and Phil saw a similar-looking man walking towards Jessy’s home.” She smiled as he sulked a little.

Oshi remembered the time Jessy asked whether Jake was in Duskwood. Her answer was, “No. He would stick out like a sore thumb there.”

_Thanks for the warning, Dan. He’s someone I know.

-Wtf? A weirdo in a black hoodie…

-Sounds like a certain hacker boy who went missing in a mine years ago.

_🙁

-Whatever. Don’t follow strangers thinking it’s him.

_Yeah. Yeah. I know.

_Thanks Dan.

She quickly silenced her phone and put it on the table so that it would not interrupt them anymore.

“Okay. I’m done.”

He nodded before continuing his deep voice calmly, “There won’t be pursuers after me anymore. So there’s nothing for you to be worried about anymore.”

“What?” She was genuinely confused. It was not like one or two men were after him. The government, a whole organization, was after him. How could he possibly take care of them alone in merely one year?

“What do you mean?”

Jake smiled. It was genuine. He looked genuinely happy.

“I…That day, fortunately, I could escape safely. It really was my luck. I never thought I would be saying such irrational things, but…I genuinely believe it was nothing but luck. I found a way out while I was going back.”

“But didn’t you say they would have possibly placed people at all the openings?”

“There was an opening. A wall had collapsed to form an opening just enough for a person to crawl out. I think it had been there since the explosion but went unnoticed due to its size. To make sure, I sent them a message from another area.”

"Another area?"

"Yes. That was to confuse them. Just in case, I had prepared it for emergencies like that time. Actually, I got that idea because of what Lily and you did that time."

He continued not before handing her the cup of americano again so that she would drink it before it cools down.

“After hiding for a while, I decided to put an end to it.” She leaned forward again to not miss any detail, “So I offered a deal.”

“Deal?”

“Yes. As much as they wanted to get rid of me, they did not like the idea of letting my skills waste in vain. It was clear as they had offered me to work for them many times, almost persistently in the past. But, of course, that was before I meddled in their work. Their most prominent reason for pursuing me for so long was that they doubted the possibility of me working for a foreign country sooner or later.”

“Foreign country?”

“I hope it wouldn’t look to you like I am boasting, but I would say I am quite skilled in what I do.”

“Skilled enough that a foreign government would take you in for a high price?”

She got goosebumps as he nodded, hesitant. Suddenly, it was as if they were in entirely different worlds. So far, the most severe problem she had faced in her entire life was the kidnapping case of Hannah. But for Jake…It would’ve felt like a child’s play. As he always said, his only obstacle was time. Alan Bloomgate’s words that she had no idea what she was getting herself into by involving with the hacker…

“Back to the main topic, I offered them a deal. I would work for them, and they would clear my name.”

“They agreed? That easily?”

“Well…it was not easy. I had to give up a few of my programs and techniques.” He stopped in the middle to look into her eyes, “Sorry. That isn’t of any interest to you. The important thing is that I managed to settle the situation without either party getting hurt.”

“So now you work for them. Thus, you are no longer in danger.”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn’t you do it sooner?”

At her direct question, his eyes shook a little. Jake looked down at the coffee cup, evading her eyes. “That…I didn’t want to negotiate with them.”

She nodded, “Yes. You said you were one of the good guys if I could call it that. That only meant one thing. You were doing the right thing, and they were in the wrong. You wanted to make a change. So why would you work for them all of a sudden? I don’t expect you to want me to believe that the pursuers who chased you for almost five years have suddenly become good guys.”

Jake quietly muttered, not raising the downcast head, “Sometimes, I am troubled that you are so quick-witted.”

She sighed in resignation as he kept staring at the coffee without another word. “Jake. Listen. I just…I want you to have a happy and safe life. As for your worries, I’d want you to worry about what you’d have for dinner tonight or having to go to work on the weekend when you were supposed to be lazing around.” Oshi stood up before moving to the seat next to Jake, taking his hand in hers.

“Jake…I just want you to have an… ordinary life. Even if I’m not in it.”

-To Be Continued.

Next Chapter

#duskwood #duskwood everbyte #duskwood fandom #duskwood fanfiction #duskwood game #duskwood jake #duskwood jake x mc #duskwood mc #everbyte studios #fanfic

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queen-of-the-vampires · 3 years

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Don’t Mess With The Queen

Characters: Klaus Mikaelson x Hybrid!Reader

Word count: ~1.7k

Warnings: none

Request by anonymous: Could u do a imagine where the reader is friends with the mystic falls gang and is a werewolf and finds out that she and klaus r mates?

Summary: People who you want to call your friends are planning on killing the love of your life. It’s your job to show them who’s really the boss.

Author’s Note: This is a female!reader. I did change this request a tad, but I hope you like it! I haven’t written for TVD in a while now, so please bear with me on this. After asking a few people, I have decided to end this on a fluffy note. I did write an angsty alternate ending, but I don’t know if the anon who requested wanted that or not.

No one knows why you’re really here. They all think you’re their friend, so they feel comfortable disclosing their plan right in front of you. You want to be friends with them because they seem like genuinely nice people, but they are so fueled by rage and revenge that they’ll do anything to get it… even plotting against your mate, your sire, the love of your life.

Stefan and Damon have spent their entire life fighting each other and putting their noses in places where it doesn’t belong. Elena and Caroline have always been the people who want to fix others, to make them better even if there is nothing wrong with them. Bonnie is always stuck in the middle of everyone’s problems, putting herself and others in danger for no reason.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Elena asks, taking out the last bit of weapons she has stashed in the Boarding House.

“First thing we need to do is pick a location. When is Klaus most vulnerable?” Stefan asks.

“Yeah, the last time we did that, Elijah betrayed us. That moonrock or whatever was our only chance to get him at his weakest.”

“You were one of Klaus’ bitches. What do you think?” Damon asks and turns to you.

“What?” you ask, pulling back from your own thoughts.

“You spent over two years sired to him before Tyler saved you. You must know things that can help here,” Elena says.

What she says is true. You were sired to Klaus for two years, but not in the way they believe. You were sired to him in the beginning when you were first turned by Klaus’ mother. You were a werewolf that was in the same village as Klaus and his family. You two became fast friends, always leaning on each other whenever his abusive father and your abusive mother decided to make you two their toys.

Everything was going fine until one of your own decided to kill the youngest member of the Mikaelson family. There was a family friend of Esther, Tatia, that she used her blood in a spell that would make them the Original vampires. Klaus wanted you to have the same thing, so without his parents knowing, he gave you some of that wine. You were the first-ever turned hybrid that came from a spell.

You and Klaus have spent every moment together ever since. What the gang of Mystic Falls doesn’t know is just how old you are. They think you were just another hybrid that he made with Elena’s blood, stuck with him against your will. Tyler found your pack in the mountains and proceeded to unsire every single one of Klaus’ hybrids. When Tyler got to you, that’s when you started to catch onto what he was doing.

If Tyler wanted to desperately to save you, then you were going to act like you wanted to be saved. You came to Mystic Falls and befriended the vampires in the town. Now, they all think that you hate Klaus as much as they do when really, you’re just as in love with him as you were when you first met him.

“He really liked hiding out in the woods, though, they’re usually on werewolf territory, so good luck trying to get there. It’s probably why you can never find him. The werewolves will get to you before he does. He hears chatter in the wind and he moves to another pack site.”

“That’s smart,” Caroline comments.

“Yeah, so you’re not going to find him there.”

“Guys, we need to figure out something, or else more people are going to get hurt,” Elena says. Sometimes, you really want to kill her so you don’t have to hear her speak. “Klaus needs to die.”

Hearing them talk about killing the love of your life enrages you a little bit. You could take every single person in here without breaking a sweat, but you don’t turn to violence just yet. You take out your phone to let Klaus know exactly what they’re planning. You’d be a bad girlfriend if you let them attack without warning him.

They’re planning on killing you, my love.

It’s cute if they think they can.

They seem hell-bent on figuring it out.

I’m not afraid of them if that’s what you’re worried about. They can’t hurt me even with their best player.

I’m worried someone is going to get very hurt. What should I tell them?

Tell them where I am. Let them come. If it’s a war they want, I’m only happy to provide.

Are you sure?

I’m always sure, love.

You put your phone away and look at the small group, getting up to join the elite circle.

“I do know where Klaus lives.”

“That would have been nice to know a little earlier, don’t you think?” Damon sneers.

“Damon, don’t,” Stefan butts in. “Where is he?”

“New Orleans. That place is crawling with witches and vampires, but he and his family are stationed there.”

“How do you know this?”

“Because he took me there once. The witches will know once you arrive, but most of them are scared of Klaus anyway that they’ll help you blend in. Everyone from that town knows the Mikaelsons are royalty, but their castle doesn’t have a lot of guards protecting it. If you want to get to him, that’s where you want to do it.”

“How do you know all of this? This seems awfully suspicious for someone who isn’t sired to him anymore.”

“He still thinks I am. He’ll call me every day and ask for something. He figures if he has a hybrid in another state that I can do his dirty work for him elsewhere. You want to get Klaus? That’s how you’re going to do it.”

“She does have a point. Better to take this fight to his turf than ours. He’s more comfortable there,” Stefan points out.

Now that they know a location, it didn’t take long for them to come up with a plan of attack. Of course, you told everything to Klaus as soon as you were on the plane to get to New Orleans. He told you not to worry about a thing because he’ll plan a little something for their arrival.

No one messes with the King and his Queen.

When you land in New Orleans, the gang is eager to carry out their plan of attack. Just like you said, the town is crawling with witches who sense you the minute you landed. Every single witch knows you by heart, so they’re confused why you’re with them and not with Klaus. Your love must have only told them the basic information instead of what was really going on.

“Okay, where is this son of a bitch?” Damon asks.

“The French Quarter is where he likes to hang out. You’ll want to start there. Caroline and Elena will blend in more since they’ve never been here, but you two might stick out like a sore thumb. Just be prepared. If anything, I know these guys so let me do the talking.” You pause right in front of the group and turn to Bonnie. “And Bonnie? These guys know you’re a Bennett witch. Try not to do magic unless absolutely necessary. Klaus has a thing with witches.”

You lead the group into the French Quarter while keeping your head down to avoid conflict. The group follows your lead until you reach the middle of the place you call home.

“Stay here,” you say and leave the group on your own.

You approach the small bar within the Quarter, and lean over the counter a tad, looking at the bartender.

“Is Klaus here?”

“I’m right here,” you hear your lover’s voice. You and the Mystic Falls gang turn to see him standing in one of the many doorways that enter the French Quarter. “I hear you’re looking for me?”

“Where in the world did you hear that?” Damon asks, giving you a side glare. You step away from the group and speed over to Klaus, standing just a tad behind him. He smirks and doesn’t break eye contact with the older brother. “Traitor.”

“It isn’t a betrayal if I was never on your side to begin with,” you state.

“What are you doing? You’re not sired to him anymore,” Stefan tries to appeal to you.

“My sire bond wore off in the tenth century. I’m a lot older than you think I am. I really did want to be your friend, but you’re all so driven by rage and revenge that you can’t leave us alone until we’re fixed to the standards set by you. Next time you plan to kill someone, you should think twice about who you let into your home.”

“We should get going,” Elena whispers.

“Always the level-headed one, Elena. Too bad you can’t,” Klaus grins.

Stefan and Damon try to leave using their vampire speed, but they are blocked by the spell put there from the witches in this town. It’s like a big spell to trap the four vampires and the one witch inside. Caroline steps into the sun and immediately screams in pain, seeking the shade to calm her burning skin.

“My daylight ring isn’t working.”

“Yes, you’re all trapped here. For how long is still yet to be determined. Welcome to the French Quarter ladies and gentlemen,” Klaus chuckles.

“I can’t use my magic,” Bonnie panics.

“The next time you even think about going after Klaus, I won’t be so nice,” you say.

Klaus wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, whispering something into your ear.

“Pardon us, we have other business to tend to.”

Klaus leads you away from the group, and only when you two are alone, does he turn you so that you’re facing him.

“You can relax, Klaus, no one is going to hurt you. Not as long as I am alive.”

“I can take care of myself, love,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, but isn’t it better when I do it?”

“Tenfold.”

“Always and forever, my love,” you whisper.

You lean in and press your lips to his, showing him just how much you love him.

wanna be tagged? add yourself to this document! if your tag doesn’t work, find out why! (not sure how much i will write for this fandom, but add yourself if you want!)

@essie1876 @choosemyname @cuddlyklaus @sotmperrie @akshi8278 @chynarosep101 @gh0stgurl @littlemissslytherinprincess @honeybums-blog @kendall-michele @tdntu0 @miraclesoflove @nasatonie @thelazywitchphotographer

#klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson fic #klaus mikaelson fanfic #klaus mikaelson fiction #klaus mikaelson fan fic #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson angst #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction #the vampire diaries fic #the vampire diaries fanfic #tvd #tvd fic #tvd fanfiction #tvd fanfic

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bucksfucks · 3 years

Text

amorosa // steve rogers

chapter two: seal the deal

chapter one // chapter two // chapter three

chapter four // chapter five

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

main masterlist

summary || after setting up a date with steve you fight back the urge to bail on account of your nerves. an agreement is reached and despite all odds, steve makes you feel relaxed and calm before you’re welcoming him back to your apartment after the night is almost over.

pairing || sugar daddy!steve x reader

word count || 3,111 words

warnings || financial struggles, sugar daddy dynamics, undefined age gap, unprotected sex, fingering, oral, heavy daddy kink, praise kink, size kink, dirty talk — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

You didn't know what to expect. You had never done something like this before.

As you rummaged through your closet, groaning at the struggle of finding something decent for tonight. You didn't own anything that would match what Steve was wearing, you barely had time to go out as it is.

Not to mention your financial situation didn't exactly let you splurge on the finer things in life, your phone screen had been cracked for over half a year. You'd been meaning to get it fixed, but you could never justify dropping more than a hundred dollars on something that still technically worked.

Your mind flashed back to when Steve dropped the hundred on the bar like it was nothing. Suddenly you felt self-conscious, knowing you weren't nearly good enough to be going out with a man like Steve Rogers, Vice President of Stark Industries.

Professional or not, people would be talking and giving you odd glances.

You settled on a comfortable, sleek pair of straight cut pants and a simple blouse. Steve had decided on a steakhouse, a steakhouse of all places for a single drink as he put it last night. Another groan as you slipped on the uncomfortable and only pair of heels you owned.

A simple black open-toed shoe matched your outfit enough before you grabbed your purse, slinging it over your shoulder.

The Uber would be here soon enough and while spending thirty dollars on a car ride to a place you'd have to try not to stick out like a sore thumb, the subway in heels just wasn't an option.

The entire ride there your leg couldn't stop bouncing, no matter how much you willed yourself to calm down, nothing seemed to help as you left the modest looking part of the city only to enter into an entirely different world.

Luxury brand stores lined the streets, expensive cars parked at their side as your stomach flipped at some of the sights.

You didn't fit in here, you were sure your driver was just as confused as you as they kept driving deeper into the city.

"Have a good night," he bid you as you thanked him, shutting the car door and letting the late summer breeze billow around you as you looked up at the restaurant in front of you.

Bluefin read in a fluorescent blue light as you shook your head, laughing at the ridiculous situation you were in. You pulled at the door, it was heavy and tall before a hostess prompted you.

"Do you have a reservation with us, miss?" She asked, eying you up and down as if she knew that you were a fraud, like you didn't belong; and she wasn't wrong.

"I uh, have one with Mr. Rogers." You stumbled over your words trying to sound as confident as possible. She nodded her head politely, asking you to follow her before she swiftly turned to lead you through the maze of tables.

You took in your surroundings, the dozens of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling to the gold plated booths and shimmering table legs. It was safe to say that this place was way out of your comfort zone.

"Mr. Rogers, your guest for the evening," she spoke sweetly, throwing you a small smile as Steve got up to greet you. He placed a kiss on each of your cheeks, the action causing your body to flush as his beard grazed your skin.

He smelled exactly like he did last night, though this time it wasn't as subtle. He smelled fresh and clean and you could get lost in those same dashing blue eyes again.

"I'm glad to see you again." Steve smiles, helping you into the booth before sliding in beside you. It was a very intimate space, his shoulder pressed against your as you placed your purse beside you.

Two menus were already placed in front of you, two glasses of water alongside a pitcher in the middle as you fiddled with your thumbs in your lap. Could he tell how nervous you were?

"It's nice to see you too," you managed to finally spit out as Steve smiled sweetly, he turned his body slightly so he was facing you, "this place has great seafood, I really recommend the crab cakes."

Your eyes lit up at the word food, you had been so nervous that it had barely crossed your mind. A waiter soon approached the table, "can I get you guys anything to drink?"

You felt like it should be you serving Steve, instead you just shook your head, "I'm okay with just water." You answered truthfully before Steve smirked.

"We'll take a bottle of champagne for the table, preferably rosé from 2012." It sounded like he was speaking an entirely different language. To you, wine was wine, if it got you drunk, it was good.

The waiter nodded his head, turning around to leave you both alone. You took a sip of your water when you noticed just how dry your throat was. Steve opened his menu and you followed suit before your eyes ran down the various dishes.

Everything sounded good and you heard your stomach grumble at the thought of the crab cakes and maybe even the butternut squash ravioli. Then your eyes ran to the prices, your heart palpated at the thought of them.

"Dinner's on me tonight, get whatever you'd like." It's like Steve had heard your internal monologue and decided to put an end to it. You were thankful for that, a wave of relief washing over you as his soft features made you feel safe.

"Thank you, really. I don't think I've ever eaten anywhere nearly this fancy," you joked, hoping the humour would absolve you of your awkwardness. Steve chuckled, low and deep as the waiter came with the champagne.

It was popped then poured into the flutes and placed in ice before Steve picked his up.

"To new beginnings," he spoke. You picked up yours, "to new beginnings," you repeated his words, gently clinking the two glasses together before taking a sip.

You had never been a fan of champagne, but this one wasn't too dry nor was it too sweet. It was light and fruity and soon enough you knew it would be enough to quell the nerves.

When the food arrived at the table, the conversation seemed to flow much more naturally. Steve didn't say much, asking a question and letting you answer as he got to know you. You found yourself sneaking subtle glances in his direction, admiring his side profile or just how close he was to you.

As the bottle of champagne was nearly empty, you felt much lighter as giggles fell past your lips. You had leaned into Steve a little more as the night progressed, his large hand falling to your thigh.

"So," the faint echo of your giggle was still heard as Steve's expression turned to a much more serious one. "I think we should discuss our… business opportunity." And just like that, you had sobered up.

You nodded your head as Steve cleared his throat.

"I'd like for you to join me for things like these. Dinner, company events, fundraisers, yearly ski trips to the alps, you know, the boring stuff." You nearly guffawed at his words. The boring stuff? A trip to the alps? Boring? You could barely believe it.

Still, you nodded your head, a silent sign for him to continue.

"In return, I'll take care of all your bills and expenses. You'll have plenty of petty cash, we'll call it," he smirked. "All I ask is for your company." He concludes and you swallow, taking it all in.

"When you say company, do you mean… " You trailed off, not sure how to delicately ask him if he wanted to fuck you or not.

Steve leaned in, his face inches from yours as he squeezed your thigh, "that's exactly what I mean, Princess."

The pet-name caused your stomach to somersault as your breath got hitched in your throat. You're not sure if it was the alcohol coursing through your veins or if this was just the effect he had on people.

Probably a mix of both.

Whatever it was, it caused you to wring your hands in his collar as you crashed your lips onto his. He didn't hesitate, not even for a second as his hands went to cup your face. The kiss left you breathless, spinning, and feeling like you were floating.

"Is that a yes?" He asks cheekily and you can't find the words, all you can do is nod your head before Steve is forced to drop your face as the waiter brings him the check.

You readjust yourself in your seat, one leg on top of the other as you close your eyes to steady your breathing.

Steve grabbed his leather wallet, pulling out a flashy black credit card and handing it to the poor man doing his job without any regard. You bit your lip at the interaction, someone with his money and power, it made the throbbing between your legs only worse.

"Let me drive you home." Steve whispered meeting your eyes as you nodded, "oh it's okay, I can just take the train back." You said politely and while you didn't want to, you sure as hell couldn't afford another Uber trip.

It's not like you didn't want to take him up on his offer either, truthfully, you weren't sure how you were going to react all alone with Steve.

You don't fuck on the first date, but for Steve, hell you'd let him take you in the bathroom of this restaurant. God knows it's probably better maintained than your building.

"Please? I don't want you alone on the train at this hour, you'd have me worrying all night and I don't think you'd wanna upset me like that." There was a sultry undertone in his words as his lips twitched into a smirk.

You nodded your head, "yes, okay, thank you Steve."

When you stepped into the now cool late night summer air a shiver ran down your spine as the valet went to grab Steve's car. You stayed silent, kicking a pebble with your toe as you tried your best not to shiver.

You felt Steve drape his suit jacket over your shoulders, "chilly night, huh?" He joked, as you hugged it around yourself. This man was full of secrets, secrets you wanted to learn to lock away in your own mind.

"Here you are Mr. Rogers, have a great night." The valet said, acknowledging you both as he opened the passenger side door for you. You slipped into the warm car, an Audi, you recognized the four rings on the steering wheel as Steve got in.

The car was quiet, city nose becoming nonexistent as he put it in drive.

"Where am I going?" He asked, pulling out of the restaurant parking lot and into the bustling New York City streets.

"Queens," you said, admiring the lights outside of your window as Steve chuckled, "no way, I grew up in Brooklyn." Steve commented as you turned your head.

That surprised you. A guy like him? From Brooklyn? You guess you should've known by his subtle accent, but it made you smile as Steve continued his way to your apartment.

"Well, uh, thank you for dinner, Steve. Really, it was the best food of my life." You chuckled as he returned your smile. "It was my pleasure, you're good company." He joked, squeezing your thigh as a new wave of arousal running through you.

You both sat in somewhat awkward silence as you grabbed your keys from your bag, clutching them in your hand.

"Do you maybe wanna come up for a cup of coffee? Or tea? I don't really have much to offer." You chuckled, as he smiled, “that sounds lovely."

Steve followed you to the front of your building, the old, paint chipped door creaking open before you pressed the elevator button that only illuminated on good days.

Today was not that day.

You tapped your foot as you watched the numbers descent until the L appeared on the small screen, the bell dinging. You got into it silently, the only sound was your heels against the stained flooring and the electrical whirring of the elevator.

Steve kept a respectable distance, his shoulder brushing yours as the elevator car moved up to the eleventh floor.

You stuck your key into your lock, jamming it upwards as you fiddled to find the sweet spot before you managed to push the door open, "home sweet home."

The apartment was small, a little over five-hundred square feet, but it was more than enough for you. You decorated it with plants and art you'd find at your local markets. It felt cozy and like home, but you knew it was nothing compared to what Steve was used to.

You didn't bother turning on any of the main lights, a small light in the kitchen was all you needed as you were finally able to kick off your heels. You dropped to your true height, having to crane your neck upwards to meet Steve's eyes.

It was in this moment that you realized just how massive he was. Broad shoulders and long legs held him upright as his now darkened eyes looked you up and down. You had forgotten all about the coffee as you felt his gaze all over you.

"You look stunning," he whispered, stepping closer to you. "Words just don’t do justice." He added, snaking an arm around your waist.

"Let me show you just how beautiful you are to me." He breathed, mouth close to your ear as you gasped, nodding your head.

"Oh, Steve, please." You whimpered, your hands going to rest on his shoulders as he pulled you flush against his body. You could feel him hardening through his dress pants, pressed tightly against your hip.

"Call me Daddy tonight, Princess." Steve purred as your stomach flipped before his lips were back on yours. He tasted like the remnants of the champagne as his tongue explored your mouth.

"Daddy," you gasped, his lips working his way down your neck as he pushed you further into your apartment. You yelped when he tossed you onto the bed, the moonlight streaming through your curtains and onto the sheets.

"That's my good girl, you're bein' so good for Daddy." His praise sends goosebumps over your skin as his fingers begin working on your blouse. You can sense the urgency in his actions, both of your hands having one goal in mind; remove any and all clothing.

You barely have any time to stop and admire Steve's build. He's toned, lean and fit and you already love the faint chest hair as he works on your bra. It's discarded soon after, your panties being yanked off before Steve's standing naked in front of you.

"Fuck," it's a breath that falls from Steve's lips as he's right back on top of you. His nose traces down your chest, his mouth paying equal attention to both of your nipples before his mouth is floating above where you need him most.

Neatly decorated hair covers your mound as Steve places your legs over his large shoulders, spreading you open in front of him as he lets out a low groan.

"Princess, you're so wet. Is this all for me? Is this why you've been so squirmy during dinner?" He smirks, his question rhetorical as he uses his fingers to spread your lips open.

Your hips are bucking, fists around your sheets as you whine. Steve's tongue is wide and warm against you when it finally connects with you. A lewd moan slips past your lips when he swirls it tightly around your clit.

The attention to detail is mind blowing, his fingers slowly slipping inside of you as he works you open. There's nowhere in the world you'd rather be than right here with Steve's face buried between your thighs.

"You taste so sweet, Princess." He hums, moaning around you as your fingers tangle in his once neatly styled hair. You tug on the locks, a low groan in response that spreads warmth through your body.

"Daddy, pl-please, wanna cum." You're lost in the sensation of his fingers scissoring you open, his tongue flicking tight figure-eights over your clit.

"Cum for Daddy, Princess, cum all over my face." He growls, curling his fingers deep inside of you, breaking the coil as your back arches off the bed.

You feel like you've just ran a marathon, lungs aching for oxygen, and he hadn't even gotten his cock yet.

"Hands and knees, Princess. Show Daddy your ass," he growls, flipping you over as you prop yourself up on shaky knees. You're mewling, wanton and burning to feel how his cock will fill you up.

The bed shifts under Steve’s weight as his fingers dig lightly into the flesh of your waist, positioning your hips as his cock nudges your entrance.

“You think you’re ready for my cock, Princess?” He taunts as you wiggle your hips against him as he chuckles deeply from within his chest before slowly sinking into you.

You both moan at the sensation, your warm walls gripping around him as he stretches you out.

“Takin’ Daddy’s cock so well Princess—fuck, feels so good.” Steve grunts, his hips snapping against yours with a force that has you falling face first into the pillows.

His one hand goes to rest between your shoulder blades, keeping you planted firmly against the bed as he fucks you deep into your worn out mattress.

Your moans are muffled, you're thankful for the position considering your walls are paper thin and you'd rather not have your eighty-five year old neighbour Darleen hear about the mind-blowing sex you were currently engaged in.

"You gonna cum for Daddy again? Make a mess over his cock, hmm?" He whispers in your ear, voice hoarse and gravelly as your toes curl and you're cumming again for him.

Steve pulls out, fisting his cock in his hands before you're feeling his hot cum painting your back as you're reeling at the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You're pulled out of your post-orgasmic bliss when you feel Steve cleaning you up with what? You don't care, you'd do laundry tomorrow, throw it away, all you wanted was to feel Steve's arms around you.

He falls back into bed with you, his gentle eyes meeting yours as he chuckles, "if that doesn't seal the deal, I don't know what will."

tagging // @jennmurawski13 | @nakedrogers

any and all feedback is always appreciated! <3

#steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader smut #sugar daddy!steve #steve rogers headcanon #steve rogers headcanons #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers oneshot #steve rogers series

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falcor-thee-luck-dragon · 3 years

Text

Of Monsters and Men

Chapter 11- Much More

Summary: Deciding to let Geralt handle the child surprise on his own and rekindle your friendship with Yennefer while against all odds, fight with mages by your side, it’s time to protect Sodden from Nilfgaard.

Warning: blood, fighting Nilfgaard soldiers, angst, reader going a bit feral, eyy more backstory ft. Geralt

Masterlist

The next morning, in the early hours of the dawn did you, Yennefer, and a handful of willing mages set off in lifeboats for the distant shore. You sat in silence within the tight cluster of other bodies seated all around you, every mage dressed very distinctive from one another, their outfits less then ready for battle if you're being completely honest.

You could almost laugh, what exactly did these magical people have in mind when the time came to stopping Nilfgaard? They travel in their fancy robes and attire like it's time to go to court. But you digress, they may look like a fashionable lot, but they do know how to use their powers for destruction if need be.

Hopefully they won't shy away from turning a soldier to ash.

The boat ride lasted longer then you'd have liked, honestly why didn't you just fly across? Oh right, you wanted information about what's going to happen and you know, Yennefer.

Cursed that damned djinn.

Once the boat safely rested against the sandy shore did you get out with the rest of the other mages. Not caring in the slightest to help them pull it fully onto the grass beyond the sand, though you could have done it with one hand. Instead do you follow Yennefer as Vilgefortz questions her relentlessly about many things she simply brushes off, disinterested and annoyed.

It's another boring cluster fuck of hours before you can hear the telling noise of people as they prepare for battle. Once you find your way out of the woods do you notice the great castle-like structure of the Elven keep upon Sodden's Hill, it's crumbling white stony walls sticking out like a sore thumb against the greenery of the land. On the other side, a long bridge pathway leading to the other edge of the great pass, exactly where Nilfgaard is planning to go.

You follow the mages as you all make your way down to the grassy hill towards the tents below, Tissaia meets up with another mage, a man who welcomes you all with open arms, clearly he did not expect such company. But by the looks of it, is desperately going to need every single one of you.

You walk in step with Yennefer, Triss to your back as you shift your gaze from the spread out mass of tired refugee villagers, orphans, and scared old men. The atmosphere is dreary and tense, they all know what's coming and the sight of your group makes some of them even more nervous.

"These people," Starts the robed mage as he walks in line with Tissaia, "they have been pushed from their homes. They've seen the scorched earth, the fields of corpses stretching between Gemmera and this river. Such cruelty."

"It's Nilfgaards way." Replies Tissaia, "There's nothing like a higher purpose to permit men to do the unspeakable." If that isn't the truth.

"But it's all any of us have left. We have to defend it."

"That's heroic." States Sabrina much to your surprise.

You turn to her, "And stupid." They all stop and stare at you in puzzlement like you'd just kicked a helpless puppy and laughed about it, letting out a sigh you shift your scarlet eyes upon the man and Tissaia, "Take the children and hide before they get here so they may avoid more terror and death."

His brows furrow, "There is no more hiding from Nilfgaard. They have come from beyond the mountains to destroy the world." You stay silent, it's not worth arguing over at this point. He's already made up his mind.

Saving the slightly awkward moment, Triss steps in, "You still believe it can be saved?"

Everyone looks to the mage as he stares off into the distance, a look of hope in his bright blue eyes, "I suppose I do." He smiles before turning back to your group, "With some help." And just like that do you all make your way into the keep to further make use of your talents.

Countless arrays of glass bottles are set out and filled with some type of strangely smelling blue rock, arrows are constructed and set out up by the ramparts as you watch from your perch high atop a castle ledge. The preparations are made throughout the whole entirety of the day, the villagers and mages alike all working tirelessly together in a hopefully fruitful attempt at saving this dying stronghold from the Nilfgaardians.

The sun has kept herself hidden from the world hours ago, the beautiful welcoming blanket of darkness settling across the land for the time being. Your favorite time of the day. You watch as the mages and other villagers find their company with one another on a last night of peace before blood is most likely spilt tomorrow when the soldiers arrive.

Against all odds the atmosphere is quite happier and light, people telling stories over fires under the stars as they take their minds off of the impending doom. You've placed yourself a couple feet from Tissaia and Vilgefortz as they sit side by side on a stone ledge with their feet just about touching the ground, a drink in their hands as they reminisce about better times in their lives. You hold one knee up, your other leg dangling freely as you listen to Yennefer and Triss as they walk into view.

Triss snacks on an apple as she points towards your direction, "Is Vilgefortz to be our new daddy?" A small snort escapes you as your heightened hearing catches her jest. Not a second later does Vilgefortz happen to get up, leaving you and Tissaia alone, Yennefer parting from Triss as she stops in the grass. Unsure of where to go next, Tissaia takes this as a cue to raise her glass, "The ale won't disappoint. We should enjoy it while we can."

Yennefer turns to the two of you, a stoic expression crossing her features as she walks over, "It's the first thing Nilfgaard will destroy." She quips bluntly before sitting down in between the both of you.

Tissaia hands her a spare glass, "Must you always be so fatalistic?"

"It's only appropriate, seeing as we might die." Replies the violet eyed mage before taking a sip of the ale, still rather unenthusiastical about everything.

You chuckle, "Well maybe you two, I on the other hand plan on tearing these dogs to pieces."

Tissaia laughs, "All the more reason to live tonight."

Yennefer sets her mug against her lap, "Mmm. Like you." She retorts, looking knowingly in the direction of Vilgefortz as he converses with some soldiers. You look to Tissaia, a smile upon her slender face as she stares almost adoringly at the raven haired man. The three of you look to one another and begin laughing like young school girls who just found out about their friends secret crush.

It feels nice, oddly so.

Your laughter slowly dies down, a more heavy aurora laying over the three of you as your smiles vanish from your once happy faces. Tissaia sighs before excusing herself from the two of you, no doubt heading to seek out the man of the hour.

You sit back in a comfortable silence as a light breeze caresses your face before turning an eye to your friend, "Are you ready?" Your voice is steady and calm yet holding so much, Yennefer quickly turns to face you, her eyes full of apprehensive wonder, "To die." You finish with a raise of your brow, "If destiny decides to finally take us out that is."

She pauses for a moment to think it over as she watches some kids run by in the firelight, "Yes. I've lived two or three lifetimes already."

"But you haven't been satisfied in any of them." You point out as she frowns, her eyes downcast in the nearby fire light.

"But I've no legacy to leave behind. No family." She says sadly, "It's time to accept that life has no more to give." A tinge of disappointment in her voice as she sits next to you, feeling rather defeated with her life.

"You still have so much left to give." She looks to you now, a kind warm smile pulling at your features, "I know it, and I'm not just saying that because of well, you know. I've never really thought about it but you're kind of like me in a way."

She slowly nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, not sure where you're about to go with this, "How so?"

You shrug, "We're both half of something, two pieces that make us a whole being of vitality and raw power. You're half elf, I'm half vampire, two incredible immortal races that should not be fucked with." You playfully nudged her shoulder, "We don't always get what we want in life, she can be quite the bitch you know, and even though I'll never have a true heir of my own. Well I guess, if I can keep alive some of the good in this world while defeating the evil, that's good enough for me. My legacy is hidden within my actions and who I help along the way, it's all it needs to be."

She furrows her brows, "Thank you Y/N." Sincerity in her voice.

You let out a breathy laugh, clearly confused, "For what?"

"For deciding to come with me to this place, you could have left and fucked off to wherever you chose next. But you decided to stay, and well...maybe I do enjoy having you in my company....no matter how how scary those eyes of yours are." She teases.

You smile, "Not the djinn talking?"

"No. Not the djinn. I swear it." Says Yennefer honestly.

You softly hum in agreeance, "So do I. I think it just makes us want to protect one another, perhaps that's how we're drawn in. It's like I'm a beacon of light and you're a moth," You laugh, "or something like that."

"I think so too. Hopefully we don't end up dying, or well, I don't end up dying that is. Guess I'm not entirely sure if I'm ready." Inquires Yennefer uneasily.

"Is anyone ever? I can't die just yet anyways, I still have to see Geralt again, tell him I'm sorry for leaving and probably punch him for that damned wish. Gods I feel horrible..."

"You had every right to say what you did, and don't worry, I know you Y/N. You'll survive. I'm sure of it."

You lean back into the grass, your arms holding you up as you stare up into the dark starry night sky, "Thanks, very motivational. But hey, since we're out here and unsure for the inevitable future.....got any stories?"

Yennefer takes another sip of her mug before setting it down in her lap, "Got a few, but I'd honestly rather hear something from you." She lightly kicks your boot, "Is there any truth to Jaskier's ballad about when you and Geralt fought a Bruxa? From his tale, it appeared to be quite the story."

Rolling your eyes you scoff, "Oh yeah, that bard loves to make our hunts seem so glamorous and amazing, the famous White Wolf almost got his balls slashed off from the nasty fucker."

She hums in interest, "Do tell." You look at her with the most unamused face you can muster, she simply laughs at your lackluster reaction, "Oh come on, Y/N. Tell me all the gory details, I'd rather enjoy hearing about how your Witcher almost lost his prized jewels."

You stare a her before making a gesture for her to hand you the half filled mug in her lap, with a smirk she generously hands it to you, "Now. I can tell you the story." You add before taking a hearty chug, setting the mug down next to you in the grass as you let out a little hiccup, "Alright, so for this specific hunt we though it best to leave Jaskier or he would have without a doubt been killed on the spot, and blah blah we all would have sorely missed him." You lightly chuckle at the dark thought, "Anyways, the town nearby had been recently dealing with a very dangerous problem hiding in some nearby abandoned ruins of some burned down village...."

(Cue flashback)

It's daylight as you walk down an old dirt road leading to a recently destroyed village, the townsfolk living just across the river had told you and Geralt how some vengeful bandits took it upon themselves to burn and pillage the place after some hero wannabe killed their leader with a lucky arrow to the head. The next thing they new, every wooden house had been set ablaze in the dead of night as they raced outdoors to listen to the terrified screams emitting from within the woods.

The mayor claimed it was a horrendous display of revenge, only a lucky few had survived the torment, but something even worse then petty bandits had loomed over the land in the following month, brought upon by the lingering stench of death and blood. It had begun with high pitched shrieking in the dead of night, right were the ruined village was, some brave souls would investigate the next day to find the mutilated corpse of a male traveler.

More people would go missing for another month before you, Geralt, and Jaskier happened to stroll into town one autumn afternoon. No one at the local tavern, nor the mayor herself, would know what beast was taking all the men hunting for it. So with a suspicious curiosity did you accept her offer of coin in return for the death of the mysterious beast. The next day, with lack of a certain bard, did you and Geralt set off to explore the destroyed grounds.

You kick a loose rock and watch as the little boulder skids across the muddy trail while keeping pace with Geralt, "So, any idea what this hungry fucker might be?" You ask, turning to him with a wiggle of your brow, "I have a few ideas."

Geralt hums, turning an inquiring golden eye in your direction, "Considering this place has gone to shit in the past two months, dead bodies everywhere, could be a ghoul....or a wraith...maybe even a werewolf." His voice gravely and filled with a tinge of dark humor.

You chuckle, "A werewolf huh, now that would be quite the battle to witness, me and the notorious dogman, claw to blade. I'd have its head on a spike in an instant..."

"Would you now?" He teases.

"I would!" You lean in to lightly smack his arm, "What? Don't laugh...grrr ugh okay fine....after it put me through a couple rounds, I'd get there eventually. Then you'd be there to celebrate my victory with loud cheers of praise before taking me on the grass to thoroughly show me your ever loving gratitude." You cackle as he coughs awkwardly on his own spit, sending you an surprised but very amused facial expression at your more sensual implications.

"Right then and there, in front of the headless beast?" Wonders Geralt as you nod, a smile breaking out upon his handsome face, "Y/N, you are quite the woman."

"Course I am, best thing you've got." You sass with confidence before stopping dead in your tracks at the scent of something decaying. Geralt watches in curiosity as you sniff the cool air, your scarlet irises dancing across the burnt ruins of the village now that you're both so close, you raise a brow at him, "New flesh. Someone was just recently killed."

Your feet are quick as they take you past charred wooden houses and broken glass, all the way through the mess before you stand a few feet away from a large half caved in house, its entrance gone as it stands looming over all the other destroyed ruins. You turn to Geralt, "The dead one sleeps in here, the blood is a couple days old." He nods as you cautiously enter through the broken door, your eyes adjusting to the shadowy darkness as you walk into the room.

It's one large area with a crumbling ash covered fireplace at the far middle end of the wooden structure, you walk a couple more feet before stopping, Geralt coming to a halt at your side. "Nothings here." He confirms, his eyes still looking over the ashen room.

You shake your head, a smile upon your lips at his terrible observation skills, you turn around to face him before taking his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting his head towards the rafters. His eyes immediately lock onto the incomprehensible corpse of a man, or at least what was left of him, only his guts and a single arm hanging from the ceiling.

"That's lovely." Muses your Witcher bluntly as you release your touch, he lifts a brow to you, "Definitely not a wraith or a ghoul. I'm not even sure a werewolf would have done this, that is the charming work of something incredibly violent and depraved. Some creature that would not care for their victim in the slightest, and the victims...all men.." He looks to the side, trying to think for a moment, "just men. And it showed up after the burning, but then it decided to stay...now it kills for food and apparently pleasure too. Maybe this is a..."

"Bruxa." His golden eyes lock onto your causal stance, he sets a hand on his hip as you simply shrug, "I could smell the bitch before we crossed the bridge, wanted to see if you figured it out first. Wow Geralt, what a monster hunter you are, very good sleuthing work." You tease with a slow clap as he rolls his eyes, motioning for you to follow him out of the dying house so he doesn't have to spend another second in this gloomy old place.

Stepping into the daylight he turns to you, the ghost of a humored smile gracing over his lips, "I would have gotten there eventually." He sasses back, using your own words against you, "Maybe this Bruxa is a family friend."

You scoff, "I wish, these type of bloodsuckers are more feral and less elegant, they're a subspecies so I won't feel bad about killing it, not that that's ever stopped me before. But still, they're deadly cunts who kill whatever has a heartbeat, only silver will take them down." You take a step forward, pushing your pointer finger against his leather armored chest, "So you better be on your guard tonight, I'd rather not travel alone with the bard until he dies." You snort, setting your arm down once again, "Or I kill him first."

"I'll be ready." Confirms Geralt with a knowing tinge of confidence, much to your amusement at his self-assuredness, "The sun doesn't set for another couple hours, why don't we head back into town and tell our bard of the plans, hm?"

"Yeah alright." You reply, beginning to walk back the way you came, "Jask is definitely not joining us tonight. That idiot would be dead in a heartbeat, I mean seriously...these nasty bitches whole thing is appearing as harmless attractive women before...blah!" You pounce at Geralt, squeezing his muscular bicep before letting go just as quickly, "You're ass is dead. And torn to shreds like a piece of meat in a starving dogs cage, not a pleasant way to go at all."

Geralt chuckles at your dramatic antics as the two of you travel back to the town; Jaskier was luckily fine with staying behind, unsurprisingly he happened to have found himself a lady friend, who was all too satisfied once learning her new lover would be staying the night once more. Soon enough, dusk had settled over the land and you and your Witcher began the hunt.

Taking silent steps through the forest as you both walked across the beaten down trail leading into the sad abandoned village, the two of you go to stand behind a large oaken tree while your eyes wander over the broken houses. Your silver dagger clutched tightly in your hand as the other one presses against the rough bark.

Geralt's armored back touches yours as the two of you watch from opposite sides of the tree, "Y/N you hear anything?" Whispers Geralt.

"No."

"Smell anything?"

"No."

"See anything?"

"Ask me something again and I'll shove a stick up your ass."

"Noted."

Another fifteen minutes would go by before your superior hearing would pick up the supposed sound of something brushing past some leaves from the treetops across the destroyed houses. Your hand grips the dagger tighter as you listen more intently, it moves slowly, a branch creaks as it sits atop it. Then the wood creaks again, more leaves are brushed aside as you suddenly realize where this fucker is headed, the town!

"Oh, fuck." You whisper yell, not even aware that you just said that out loud.

"What? What is it Y/N, did you hear something?"

"The bitch is in the trees, she's going for town." You pause searching for your words, "Uh, be ready I'm going to lure her out into the open." You rush before taking a step forward, stopping to turn towards a confused Geralt as he studies your face, "Don't, uh...get bitten or killed. Love you, good luck."

He's left to his thoughts as you swiftly race across the muddy yard in a blur before jumping onto a half standing thatched roof, you stay low as your crimson irises scan the tree line in search of the Bruxa, it doesn't take long before you spot a beautiful pale black haired woman looking in the opposite direction as she stays perched on a thick branch. You smirk, your fangs showing in the moonlight as you decide to be as boldly annoying as you can.

Rising to your full height, you stare at the beautiful bastard before yelling, "Hey! You big ugly horse fucker!" The Bruxa immediately snaps her attention over to you, her yellow eyes glaring down at you before she turns from an attractive young woman into a terrifying lady demon.

She screeches, jumping down from her perch before making a hasty beeline in your direction, you jump, just as she narrowly misses your face with her long sharp nails. You gently land upon the muddy ground, the growling Bruxa eyeing you hungrily as she stands once again, her body facing you with great malice, lips curling in a snarl, hands balling into angry fists.

You smirk, feet planted firmly in the earth as you grip your dagger tight, "Come on you pale faced cunt, come get me." You taunt as she hisses in fury before darting in your direction, you twist to the side, slashing her arm as you skid in the dirt, facing her once more.

Her face whips around to find yours as she grunts in pain, the silver burning her skin as she charges you once more, this time you launch yourself into the air. Just as she grabs for your feet, missing them by mere inches while you quickly flip above her head, you land, facing her. But before she has time to attack you once again, Geralt races out of the tree line and slashes the back of the Bruxa with a fury enough to turn you on if not for the current circumstance. A blood curdling scream rips through the frosty air as she whips around with lightening speed, grabbing Geralt's sword less arm before thrusting him across the yard to your left.

Her feet move inhumanly quick as she follows her downed silver haired prey, instinctively you throw your dagger, it makes a strong thwack sound as it sinks into the pale flesh of the feral vampire's thigh. She stumbles back, falling to the ground as she screams in agony, all before standing up once again and keeping as still as a statue, staring you down like a wolf to her prey.

You ball your fists, not sure what to do now since your only weapon is gone, you shrug, "No hard feelings?" You jest before she growls, her feet bounding against the earth as she quickly tackles you to the ground faster then you're able to blink.

Damn, vampires are fast.

She bares her fangs doing her best to chop at your exposed skin, her hands trying to claw desperately at your everything as you hold her forearms tightly in your grasp, droplets of spit fall upon your face as you grimace in disgust. Geralt where the fuck are you? She angrily struggles in your fists as her face desperately snaps at your own, inches apart she just misses your skin, a moment later do you sigh in relief as she's ripped from your grasp and thrown across the rocky ground.

You jump to your feet, only to watch in awe as Geralt and the Bruxa fight with one another in the center of the destroyed town, she slashes and bites at him as he punches and gets in some hits with his silver sword. But soon enough does she have him on his back, his sword only a few feet away, just out of reach as she pounces on him in a fury.

Instantly she tears at his black pants, ripping them open from his lower right hipline to his knee, he kicks her away before she lunges for him once again. Geralt scoots back just as she smacks her taloned hand right where is crotch was, not even a split second ago.

"Y/N!" Shouts Geralt with wide eyes, "My sword."

Wiping blood from your nose you take swift steps forward, he braces for the worst right as you grab a fistful of black hair, yanking hard as you pull her to the ground, your other hand closing tightly around her throat as her yellow eyes expand in surprised rage.

You pin her down, squeezing tight as she squirms from beneath you, her thin muscled arms reaching for your neck as you force your face away from her sharp nails, "You get your fucking sword!"

He lets out an annoyed huff before scrambling for the fallen blade, grasping it in his strong hands as she digs her claws into your clothed arms, you yelp in pain, losing your grip on her neck. She shrieks again before you suddenly get cracked in the forehead by the bitch's own skull, you see stars as she uses this opportunity to kick you in the chest, hard. You let out a breathy gasp before stumbling backwards across the dirty path, your head falling onto Geralt's boots, he looks down as you stare up at him in a daze. Your labored breaths coming out as a wheeze.

You blink, trying to focus on his blurry physique, "Fucking ouch." You growl through clenched teeth as he hastily pulls you to your feet.

"Watch out." Warns your Witcher before leaving your side to tear into the furious Bruxa.

"Thanks for the forewarning, very helpful." He ignores your annoyed jest, conveniently slashing off the head of the damn bitch before your very eyes. He's breathing heavily as he towers over the bloody mess, golden eyes finding your irritated ones as you pick up your silver dagger, "Great work, bravo, well done." You deadpan, giving your man a less then enthusiastic round of applause.

Lowering the weapon to his side he glances down at his slashed pants before finding your eyes once again, "Almost got me." Chuckles Geralt with a small smile.

Rolling your eyes you break out into a grin, "Oh yes, then we would have really had a problem."

Yennefer snickers as you end the tale, an amused laugh falling from your lips as you sit up once again, "After that we told the town, which of course they were surprised but nonetheless ever grateful, giving us a nice bag of coin. Geralt got some new pants, Jaskier got some more writing material, and I got a solid reminder that I am not invincible when it comes to creatures like a Bruxa. Vampires, huh."

Yennefer nods, shaking her head as she smiles, "That's...more then I'd ever encountered. Better you then me." She muses.

You sigh, a small tired smile pulling at the corners of your lips, "Those were the best times though, hunting, traveling, being with those two idiots. I do miss them, a lot actually."

Her lavender irises fall upon your saddened gaze as you watch people converse happily with one another, a mother tucking her child into a makeshift straw bed, you suddenly feel much sadder then before, "You will see them again, I know it Y/N."

Shifting your scarlet eyes to her shadowed face, you lightly tap the edge of your mug, "Hopefully I won't see a Bruxa again, fucking cunts. But yes, thank you for the words of encouragement and...friendly counselling, I'm going to bed." You scoot off of the grassy ledge, standing on the soft earth as you turn to Yennefer, "Right here's good enough. Also, not to worry, I don't snore."

She watches as you lay upon the ground, others doing the same as the night progresses, deciding to follow your example she moves to lay a couple of feet from you, pulling a foresty green blanket from out of a nearby bag, "Won't you get cold?"

Laying on your back you look up at the stars, "I've never felt cold before actually."

She lays down, an amused burst of air flowing out of her nostrils, "Right, half vampire. Well, goodnight then you odd freak of nature." Playful sarcasm dripping from every word.

You lightly chuckle, "Night, you insane fucking witch." The two of you share a humorous moment together before falling into a comfortable silence, the both of you trying your best to fall asleep before the sun rises, bringing danger on the fiery horizon.

—-

You awaken to the shouting of men nearby, opening your eyelids do you raise yourself up into a sitting position as a massive fiery orange ball of light begins its decent from the great blackness of sky. Right in your very direction, you can hear it sizzling as your eyes grow wide in fear.

"Oh fuck!" You cry just as Yennefer throws her blanket to the side, reaching out her hands just in time to abruptly halt the death ball of enchanted flame before it can incinerate the whole yard of sleeping people. Her face is pained as she throws it to the left in mid-air, the tiny sun bursting into a beautiful explosion over the trees, safely away from everyone else.

In an instant are you up, both yourself and Yennefer screaming for everyone to rise and prepare for the beginning assault. The grassy grounds are covered in racing frantic bodies filled with frightful screams. Another fireball would be thrown at you all, and deflected just the same, nothing more coming about for the rest of the night. Nilfgaard keeping you all on your toes till the dawn.

Now here you are in the early hours of the morning, the sun illuminating the landscape as you follow the mages around the castle while they figure out a plan of attack. Everyone keeps low behind the walls as you'll quickly walk down some stairs, no roof to keep anyone adequately hidden.

"Stay low. We don't know what other tricks they may have." Warns Vilgefortz as you follow behind him, more mages rushing to a halt on the stone steps as you all look out over the forest in the direction that those damned flames came from last night.

"Maybe it's over." Says Triss, but you know better. This is just the beginning.

"No. Fringilla's just getting started." Whispers Yennefer.

"It hasn't been two days yet." States Sabrina, "How is Nilfgaards army here already?"

Vilgefortz gets up, "Doesn't matter. We can't wait for the Northern Kingdoms. We have to fight."

You chuckle, "There's only 22 of you left, those other cowards fled in the night like little mice chased by some housecat. Guess some heat was too much to handle." You quip as one mage stands, claiming with confidence that's he's not going anywhere, others agreeing as well. You suddenly feel uneasy, sorcery in the woods, snapping your attention over to the forest your crimson eyes go wide at the sight of white mist flowing throughout the trees, "Uh, what the fuck?"

"There coming!" Shouts a mage in fear.

"It's starting!" Exclaims another in excitement.

I hate magic.

In seconds is everyone up and moving to their assigned stations right before your very eyes. Leaving you alone to watch the strange unnatural fog slowly make its way closer and closer to the stronghold.

Times seems to go fast, in the next twenty-five minutes has the archers and people with slingshots wrecked havoc upon marching Nilfgaardian soldiers in the woods. No doubt giving them an explosive ending before their time in battle has even begun. Yennefer directs the mages assault from her position high up in the tallest tower with the best view. Your eyes shift from the nearing wood line where the real danger lurks to the grassy courtyard below where people are hustling back and forth, racing to their duties. You walk upon the castle ledges, high up above the sweating foreheads of the mages and archers as you make your way over to the tallest part of the Elven Keep. Gliding up to her level, you softly land with atop the wooden landing.

She appears quite distraught and panicky as you study her body language, she turns to you, tears in her lavender eyes, "Vilgefortz, he's..."

What is that fucking swooshing sound?

"Portal!" You shout, turning your body to look over the other ledge, just as you'd sensed, a large swirling portal has materialized from the earth. A second later do you watch in horror as arrows fly up from its center, thwacking into nearby mages and villagers. Killing them instantly.

Fearful tears fall from Yennefer's eyes as you feel a surge of rage forming within you at these grisly acts of violence. She quickly regains her bearings enough to telepathically speak to Tissaia before the heiress is cut off by something or someone in the woods. You can hear as more and more mages are being slaughtered from beyond the Keep's walls as they run to the stronghold for cover, Yennefer calls out to them but it's no use, they're already dead.

A gate has been breached!

You want to do something but you can't bear to leave Yennefer's side in such dangerous times, but hearing the screams and wails of agony from the brave people around you is enough to shift your mind. You must help them, now is the time.

"Triss! The gate! Can you buy us time?" Shouts Yennefer aloud, though you know she's speaking telepathically to Triss.

Tearing your eyes away from dying Nilfgaard soldiers and mages alike do you place a comforting hand on Yennefer's shoulder, she snaps her attention to you, almost startled, "I'll help Triss. Be careful, Yenn." She tearfully nods as you lend her a small smile in return.

Your feet move inhumanly fast as you run atop the castle roof, jumping down to the wooden balcony where the archers are, you race past them before bolting down the steps and into the grassy courtyard where a gate has been breached. Many armed villagers and a few Nilfgaard soldiers are currently fighting with one another, their swords clashing in desperate fury.

Across the courtyard is Triss who's struggling to cover the opened gate with thick vines as a couple dark armored soldiers get themselves tangled up in the process. A look of pure determination crosses your face as you unsheathe your silver dagger, your legs move quick as you take out a few soldiers on your way to aid Triss in her fight. Knowing you can't do much from behind the gate, you scale the stone wall with ease, falling to the grass below, you land atop the soft earth with the grace of a dancer.

A pained scream rips forth from Triss' throat as a Nilfgaardian soldier thrusts his flaming torch into her neck, in an instant have you sunk your blade into his skull, pulling the bastard away as you look down at Triss from behind the vines. Her screams of agony pierce your sensitive ears as she looks at you through glossy pained eyes, but the thudding of quickly approaching heartbeats alerts you to turn around.

Your scarlet irises lock with the green ones of a rushing soldier, his sword is bared as he charges you, adrenaline and hate coursing throughout his entire vessel. He swings the blade to his left in your direction, twisting around past him, you shove your dagger through his jugular and right back out again, a red spurt of blood bursting forth as a couple droplets dance upon your face.

The fresh scent is almost intoxicating, driving you into a more primal feeling, you turn with fire in your eyes to face three more ugly old bastards, weapons drawn and ready to strike. You hiss at them, bearing your fangs as pure fear flashes across their faces. In a blur do you end their pathetic lives before they even have a chance to realize what hit them. You hear another scream and race to the aid of a fallen mage, slicing through more Nilfgaardian men in a fury of blood and broken bones.

She fearfully thanks you, her eyes dazed as she carries herself to safety, though there is no safety here as moments later does your ear drums burst with the sounds of explosives shattering throughout the battlements where all the glass bottles of blue stone where being kept.

Oh, fuck.

Stones fly past your head as white smoke emits from the destruction, you can smell the blood and hear the cries of the ones most unlucky enough to be so close. No one alive is around you for the time being as you stand among the dead, your chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, some trickles of unfamiliar blood falling down the side of your face and hands. More red dripping off of your sharp silver dagger as you stand in the evening sunlight, the smell of smoke and blood on the breeze.

"Can anyone here me? Is anyone out there?" Calls Yennefer from inside your head, likewise to all the other mages, "If you can hear me, you need to get to the front line. More Nilfgaardians are coming to the woods. We can't give up. We can still fight." Her voice is tired and desperate, heavy with emotion as she makes a last fleeting effort to protect the Keep.

You catch her scent and the sound of her erratic nervous heartbeat as she emerges from the broken gate of vines, white fog pushing to the side as she walks into the daylight. She looks rough, her face and chest dirty, her left hand coated in her own blood from a wound at her side.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Races three unfamiliar heartbeats.

Three more men rush out off the bushes and whitish thick mist, heading straight for her, she thrusts her opened palm into the air. Twisting her hand, the men fall dead one by one at her beautiful display of chaos.

Her lavender eyes trail across the battlefield, landing on you, you're speckled with the ruby red blood of dead Nilfgaardian men. A mess of red coating your lips as a trail of it wanders down your chin to your throat from when you let yourself have a little taste of Nilfgaards finest.

You slowly walk over to her side, she swallows, her throat is dry, nonetheless you lend her a hopeful smile, "You're ability to still look this good covered in dirt and blood is honestly impressive." The tiniest of smiles gives you a small sign of hope on her face, "I've cleared this area but as you've said, more are in the woods. I can still hear them, they're close."

"Thank you." Her voice is hoarse as she lowly nods, her voice becoming distant as she looks out into the wood line, "I need to find Tissaia."

Tagged: @notahappytree @ashleyforeverareject @sokkasdarling @kmuir1@haleypearce @diegos-butt (@auds24 sorry idk why ur name won’t work) @a-girl-who-loves-disney

#the witcher #the witcher x reader #the witcher x you #the witcher x y/n #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt of rivia x you #of monsters and men fic #Yennefer of Vengerberg #yennefer

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athina-blaine · 3 years

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MoMM Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1 (Preview #2)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion!)

The Storm, Part 1 (Preview #1)

Martin lurched upright, sucking painful gasps through his aching teeth, his sleep shirt sticking to his sweaty skin. No light permeated the windows— he may as well have been in a tomb, for all that he could see.

Jon was out there somewhere. Alone. As was his mother.

I’m coming back to you. I’ll find a way out of here. I’m doing everything I can–

Liar.

Martin curled up onto his side, wrapping trembling arms around himself. Even though there was no one else to hear him, no one to stifle himself for, he drove his teeth into his lip until his mouth filled with the dull taste of copper.

A knock startled Martin from his troubled doze. A lone ray of light had managed to break through the storm, cutting through the lingering shadows of his room. The winds shrieked. The snow roiled and bellowed and pounded the windows. The white wall stood firm.

Nothing had changed. Martin curled in on himself, fighting the urge to tug at the wisps of his hair as his heart thundered against his ribs.

We share tea every morning and dinner every night. He’s back. We’re talking. I’m not lonely. I am not lonely.

So why had nothing changed? What was he doing wrong?

“Martin?”

Martin jumped. Jon’s face was peeking out from behind the door, and when their eyes met, he held up two cups of tea.

Martin had overslept.

“Shit,” he breathed, moving to scramble out of bed. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“Remain where you are, please.”

Head buzzing with exhaustion and grief, Martin settled back down. No point pitching a fit now when he’d probably just tip over. Jon would probably just push him back down again.

“You seem unwell,” Jon said as he sat at Martin’s feet, handing him his cup. Martin’s reflection stared up at him from the hot, dark liquid, blurred and unfathomable.

“I look that bad, then?”

“You look as if you slept poorly, yes. Maybe a change of pillows is in order?”

“No, no, it’s fine. It’s just ... one of those nights, I guess.” He sipped at his tea, desperate to leech any glimmer of warmth and comfort offered to him. And yet, the jasmine tasted acrid in his mouth.

Why are you lounging about like this, sucking on tea? a voice whispered. You should be figuring out a way out of here. There must be a way, and you need to find it.

“So,” Martin said. “Still no change in this storm, then, huh?”

“… That would appear to be the case, yes.”

“Yeah. I just, it seemed like …” Martin swirled the tea until the liquid nearly sloshed over the rim. “I mean, now that we’re talking again and everything, I assumed things would … get better?”

Cup half raised to his lips, Jon paused, his eyes unreadable. “You … assumed if we resumed communication, the storm would clear?”

Well, when Jon said it like that, the whole thing sounded silly. Martin’s cheeks heated. “I mean, this is all because of that one, isn’t it?” His hands tightened on the cup. “The Lonely? That’s what’s causing this, right?”

“I don’t remember insinuating as much.”

“What else could it be, though?”

Jon’s thumb traced the handle of his cup, silent, and Martin took that as his answer.

“So, we’re talking again, yeah? So shouldn’t it just … go?”

“I couldn’t tell you how the entities choose to manifest themselves,” Jon said, a new, hard edge threading his words. “To act like I could would be deceitful. I’m sorry to say, but I don’t think your plan will come to fruition.”

Martin’s chest panged at his tone. Plan? It hadn’t been a plan; that made it sound like Martin was … using Jon in some way. Martin had merely thought it was a bygone conclusion. And why wouldn’t it be? Want to get rid of an entity of loneliness keeping you trapped somewhere? Spend more time chatting up your beautiful host! Why wouldn’t that sort of logic work?

But of course it hadn’t been that simple. He was a fool for thinking it could be.

He just wanted Jon to give him an answer. To tell him to have hope, to tell him it was okay to have hope, despite everything terrible about their situation. He just wanted him to understand, and Martin was running out of time.

“Today’s the day,” Martin said, desperation thick on his tongue. “When I’d send my letter back to my Mum. I meant to tell you that before, but I … I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to jinx it or something.”

Jon pressed his lips together, and his eyes were so sad and pitying that Martin wanted to be sick. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have done something before now. Made a plan or …” Martin’s eyes returned to the safe murkiness of his tea. “But instead I’ve just been sitting around here and …” -drinking tea, reading useless books, making moon eyes at- “Do you think anyone would have told her by now? That I’m gone?”

“I-”

“No, God, why would you know a thing like that? Sorry, I just …” Martin sucked in a sharp breath, bottom lip wobbling. “I can’t decide which is worse; if someone’s told her already, or if she’'ll just be stuck wondering what happened to me.”

Christ, stop. This whining was only making Jon shift uncomfortably in his seat. But the image of his mother, alone in a too-small cottage she hated, that was too drafty and smelled like damp, waiting for his letter to arrive in the post- waiting, and waiting, and waiting-

“I should have been doing more. What was I even thinking? I thought things would just work out and I’ve just been sitting here-”

“You can hardly be expected to know-”

“I could have tried in the first place,” Martin said, aware his voice was creeping in volume and helpless to stop it.

And then, it hit him.

“What if I tried just ... leaving?"

“… I beg your pardon?”

A burst of impassioned energy welled up in his chest, chasing away the chilling emptiness. “What if I tried just leaving? Muscling my way through the storm?”

Confused laughter escaped Jon’s lips, trailing away under the hard weight of Martin’s stare. A crease diveted Jon’s eyebrows. “Martin, t-that ... That would be absurd-”

But Martin wasn’t listening, adrenaline sweeping through his limbs until he thought he could run. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that? That was a plan. “I could do it. The storm doesn’t have to be gone and so long as I’m dressed for it- If I leave now, I could make it to the post office before-”

“Are you hearing to yourself right now?” The ferocity of Jon’s tone snapped Martin out of his racing thoughts. “The only thing you’ll accomplish is getting lost. You don’t know the way, and you’ll freeze before you get anywhere useful. Martin, please, I understand your situation is-”

“You don’t.”

The sharp words lingered heavy. Jon pulled away, eyes wide, but Martin didn’t retract, or let himself feel guilty about his sudden volume. Jon needed to know; he needed to understand this was important. Important enough to try anything.

Taking a deep breath, a touch of steel hardened Jon’s jaw once more. “Then what of Phillipa, hm? Have you even considered her well being in this grand plan of yours? You’d force her through this blizzard carrying you on her back?”

Martin’s stomach sank, guilt twisting in such fierce knots that his anger was strangled in its own crib. No. No, he hadn’t considered Phillipa in this slapdash plan of his. She’d never make it through the storm, no matter how careful Martin was.

But without her, Martin didn’t stand a chance.

This is what happens, the voice said, louder now, when you get complacent.

Something brushed his arm. Martin flinched, but Jon’s expression remained steady and calm; it almost made Martin angrier, the sore, wounded cavity in his chest desperate to snap and argue until they were gasping for breath. So long as they argued, Martin still had a chance to be right- there was a way out of here they just weren’t seeing, and they could figure it out together if they just kept-

“It’s not your fault,” Jon said, and the shame that swept over Martin nearly choked him. He drained the last of his cup, trying to collect himself. The tea had gone cold.

“Thank you for the tea,” he said. Jon stretched out his hand for Martin’s cup, their fingers brushing, and Martin had to beat back a shiver. “I … I think I'm going to lie down for a little while. If that’s okay. Probably won’t be up for cleaning out the study later.”

“Martin, please, I’d hardly expect you to clean. Take your time.”

There was no judgment in his tone, no sneer to his lips, even with how brusque his words were. Of course Jon would understand. He’d understand how Martin was feeling better than anyone. Trapped. Helpless.

And Martin had gone and yelled at him for it.

Curling up under the sheets, Martin let the shrieking wind carry him back to a troubled sleep.

#tha magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #fanfiction #fic #preview #momm #starting to feel kinda sorta good with how everything's falling together #still so much work to do AGH #everyone be extra nice to be please ;w;

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mxndoscyarika · 3 years

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Honeydew (Marcus Pike/Moreno x OC) | Chapter 3

Summary: Erin He moves to DC after working for the FBI in Texas and runs into a hero in disguise; Marcus Moreno. Something about him is familiar, too familiar, yet different in a way that she can’t quite place. Although confused, she can’t deny her feelings for him; perhaps, after years of regret, she finally found the one.

Warnings: food/drink, death mention, mention of politics

Ao3

Honeydew masterlist

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

Author’s Note: Happy New Year, everyone! We made it! To celebrate, here’s the next chapter of Honeydew. I’d like to mention that this story takes place a few years BEFORE the events of We Can Be Heroes, so that’s why some things are a bit different from canon. If we make it far enough, there might be some allusions to the movie, but for now you can think of this as being set 3-5 years before the movie. Wishing you all a safe and healthy new year!

Erin locked her car and walked down the sidewalk to the entrance of the restaurant. She felt just a little bit overdressed with her pencil skirt and ruffled blouse, but it was a day full of meetings and she didn’t have extra time to change. Hopefully she didn’t stick out like a sore thumb.

When she walked in, she spotted Marcus sitting by a window, gazing out into the street. The daylight highlighted the curve of his nose beautifully, almost like a painting. His glasses framed his eyes perfectly, drawing attention to the warm brown of his irises and accentuating his strong jawline. The short beard on his cheek looked soft and kissable, though shorter than her Marcus kept his.

Her heart fluttered as she stepped into the dining area. Each step towards Marcus Moreno felt like one step further away from the past, from her Marcus.

But wouldn't her Marcus want her to be happy?

Stop getting your hopes up, she scolded herself. This isn’t a date.

Part of her wished it was. It was the same part of her that gravitated towards him after they met at Sachi’s party and filled her with warmth when he texted her for the first time.

She knew it was silly to develop feelings for him; he was probably too busy for relationships. After all, he had to take care of his daughter, Missy.

What if he already had a wife, too?

Her heart sank as she glanced down at his hands, which were clasped together on the table. Shining on his left hand was a ring.

Definitely not a date, then.

“Hi,” he greeted, his face lighting up when she approached. He rose to his feet to give her a hug. When they pulled apart, he took in her outfit. “Wow, you look...great.”

She blushed, hands still resting on his arms. “Thanks, you too. I must say, a suit looks good on you.”

“Oh this? It’s nothing,” he said, beaming. Before she could stop him, he pulled out her chair so she could sit. “I, uh, ordered you a coffee; you sounded tired on the phone when you called, so I figured you would want a little pick-me-up.”

In front of her was a mug filled with steaming coffee. It was a cappuccino–one of her go-to orders. When she wasn’t surviving off of plain coffee, she loved the warmth and luxury of the more elaborate form of caffeine. Sitting down, she asked, “Thank you. How do you know my coffee order?”

Marcus laughed softly, his cheeks flushed. “Lucky guess?”

“Very lucky, indeed,” she hummed, taking a sip. As she did, memories of a certain agent and cup of coffee raced back to her. It was such a lovely coincidence that both Marcuses managed to give her coffee in the sweetest way possible. Admiring his dress shirt and tie, she asked, “Are you coming from work, or do you always dress like this for lunch dates?”

She let out a breath of relief when he explained it was for work. The man sitting across from her was already beautiful–she wasn’t sure how she’d cope if he also wore suits every day.

Marcus explained that he worked for a group called the Heroics, which was the organization responsible for coordinating superpowered individuals to protect the world. There was a dress code for those working in the offices, though sometimes the heroes staying behind could be ready in their super attire.

The Heroics were a fairly new group, one that the government had seemed interested in working with. However, most of the information was classified and only relayed to those working at the Pentagon. With the rising concerns of police brutality and the acceleration of technology, the world was searching for a newer, better, way to keep civilians safe.

When she asked him what position he had, he groaned playfully. Even after all this time, his honeydew never rested. He tried to ignore what that meant for her during the past few years. “Isn’t this supposed to be our break from work, honey?”

“What, can’t a girl be curious?” she teased, tilting her head.

Marcus chuckled, heat rushing up to his face when he realized his eyes had fallen to her red lips. Without thinking, he reached across the table to take her hand into his. “How about this: I’ll tell you later if you can make it through lunch without talking about work.”

She huffed playfully. “Alright, you win.” Rubbing her thumb along his fingers, she asked, “What do you want to talk about, Mr. Moreno?”

Everything. He wanted to talk about everything. Yet at the same time, he wanted to talk about nothing; he just wanted to spend time with his best friend.

But he was Marcus Moreno, not Marcus Pike. Even if she was his best friend, he wasn’t hers.

“I guess I just want to get to know you better,” he said, shrugging. The corners of his mouth curved up in a soft smile. “What does Erin He, the FBI’s Operational Technologies Supervisor, do in her free time?”

“Not that I have much free time these days,” she began, “but, I like making things. Food and art, mostly. There’s a new art gallery opening nearby. I’ve been meaning to go but work has taken up a lot of time. That, and most of my friends aren’t really into that kind of stuff.”

Back in Texas, Marcus had introduced her to the prospect of viewing and enjoying art, not just creating it. At first she’d been hesitant–she never really enjoyed walking through museums or galleries–but listening to Marcus’s interpretations of the artwork, and then offering her own, made her reconsider it. Maybe it was the art; maybe it was the company and quality time that used to come with it. It became a part of her life, a treat to herself amidst the bright screens and headaches. It was her escape from the world, even if it was short-lived.

She just wished Marcus could’ve been there in her years after moving to DC.

Marcus smiled. “Well, I’d love to go with you someday. Maybe not during the week, but one day when Missy’s over at a friend’s house.”

At the mention of his daughter, Erin remembered his wedding ring. Her stomach churned at the thought of keeping him away from his family. Retracting her hand, she said, “Oh, right. Of course…. But wouldn’t you want to spend time with your wife?”

His brows furrowed with confusion, then he followed her eyes to his ring. He smiled sadly. “Oh, right. I forgot to tell you…my wife passed away a few years ago.” He tapped on the metal band. “I used to see this as a symbol of my marriage, but now I like to consider it a reminder of my daughter. A reminder that I have someone waiting for me to come home and provide for.”

There were days when he missed his wife more than others, like whenever Missy would come home from school with an art project made for Mother’s Day. Or when she’d want to try new hairstyles or try on clothes at the mall. It had been years, but there were just some things he couldn’t be no matter how much he tried.

“I’m sorry,” Erin said. Offering him a small smile, she added, “For what it’s worth, I’m sure you’re a great dad.”

She always knew what to say, always a step ahead. He’d missed that about her. “I don’t have the best track record with relationships,” he replied, letting out a huff of laughter. “Let’s just say that.”

“You’re not alone in that camp,” Erin replied. She played with the corner of her napkin. “Though I must say I’ve never made it far enough to have a kid of my own, so you’ve got that going for you.”

“Why not?” He knew dating while working for the FBI was always a tricky situation, but he never thought that she, of all people, would have trouble finding someone. She was sweet, hardworking, and smarter than everyone he knew. She was....everything he ever looked for in a partner. Having lunch with her, getting to relearn what it felt like to be her friend, was everything.

But he also knew her. He understood her dedication to her work, and why she worked long hours at the office. He did the same, too. Well, until he met his wife and had Missy.

Did Erin ever get to experience that feeling? The feeling of being home and content and loved? Did he take that feeling with him when he erased his identity from the world?

She was about to answer when a waitress came up to the table to take their orders. Once the waitress left, she turned back to Marcus. “Let’s just say there was an old friend, one that I can’t ever replace.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, so quiet that she almost missed it.

Why did it sound like an apology?

Taking a deep breath, she changed the subject. “Well, it was a long time ago, anyways. I’m just happy that I met you. Tell me, Marcus: what do you like to do in your free time?”

They talked about everything they could think of, basking in comfortable silences once the food arrived. It was all easy; almost too easy. But Erin couldn’t help but let it wash over her. It had been a long, long time since she felt at peace with everything. There was just something about the way Marcus smiled that was comforting, like a hug from an old friend. His humble–almost shy–demeanor only served to draw her in. She quickly realized that, at the end of the day, he was just a man trying to do right by his daughter.

When the bill arrived, he didn’t hesitate to slip in his card and give it back to the waitress. “Don’t worry about it, honey. It’s my treat.” Winking at Erin, he said, “Maybe next time.”

---

After lunch with Marcus, the day passed in a blur. The meetings were long, but not as unbearable as she expected. Even the piles of feedback on her desk didn’t feel as daunting as they usually did. When she left the office, the weight of the folders in her arms weren’t as heavy.

Erin had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when her phone rang, buzzing against the counter. She didn’t even need to glance at the screen to know it was him; she had a special ringtone set up.

Putting the call on speaker, she answered, “Hi Marcus!”

“Hey Erin!”

Warmth filled her chest as he thanked her for having lunch with him. His voice was as soothing as ever, even through the phone. She could have listened to him talk all night.

“I had a great time, too,” she replied, beaming. Sitting on her kitchen counter, she must’ve looked ridiculous with her hair in damp tendrils. Thankfully, Marcus hadn’t decided to do a video call. “I mean it. I don’t think I’ve had that much fun in a while.”

A soft chuckle. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t bore you too much.”

She scoffed. “You could never.” Maybe to some he would be boring, but to her? He was everything. His late wife was a lucky woman, and Missy was a lucky girl. Marcus was everything she ever wanted; he was kind, thoughtful, secure. And although they’d parted ways with nothing more than a promised call, she never felt so happy.

“Actually, I was wondering–”

He stopped as a little voice piped up near him. It must’ve been Missy, his little girl. Erin could just barely hear her ask, “Who is that?”

Biting her lip, she listened on as Marcus chuckled softly and bashfully answered, “She’s, uh, a friend of mine.”

“Is she a girlfriend?”

“N-no,” he stammered, laughing nervously. “She’s just a friend.”

“Is she pretty?”

His answer made her cover her face and fight to contain a squeal. “Yes, she’s very pretty.” A pause. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, sweetie? Why don’t you get in first, I’ll be right there.”

Erin waited patiently as silence settled in the kitchen once again. Her cheeks were hurting from smiling, and she was sure she’d feel it the next morning. He thought she was pretty!

Marcus returned with a sigh. “Sorry about that, Missy can get a little curious sometimes.”

“It’s alright,” she replied, hoping she didn’t sound too giddy. “She’s cute. What were you going to ask me?”

Silence. Then, he said, “Oh, right. I was wondering if, maybe, you wanted to get dinner sometime later this week?”

Her heart raced as she realized what he wanted. It had been so long; what would she wear? Did he already have a restaurant in mind? Did he really want to take her out to dinner?

Was it a date?

Already deep into the whirlwind of questions, she realized she hadn’t responded yet. Without thinking, she said, “Yes. It’s a date!”

You couldn’t have been more subtle?

She braced herself for the rejection, but it never came.

“It’s a date,” Marcus repeated softly, almost as if he were saying it to himself. A soft laugh. “I should probably, uh, go check on Missy. We can figure out the details of our date later, alright?” His voice somehow turned even softer, like velvet. “Goodnight, honeydew.”

Erin yawned, the day’s exhaustion finally setting in. Maybe those files could wait until the morning.

“Goodnight, Marcus.”

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ttttaehyungie · 4 years

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sincerely, but no longer yours | chapter 1

sincerely, but no longer yours | ex!kim namjoon x reader

☘ genre | angst, exes au

☘ summary | It started as a coping mechanism as getting the words out provided a form of catharsis. But now you can’t stop writing these love letters, even with the knowledge that they’ll never get sent. After all, who writes love letters to their ex?

☘ word count | 4k

☘ rating | PG-13

☘ warnings | some fairly heavy angst, breakup

☘ a/n | ok SO I’m finally working on a multi-chap for the first time in forever :o and ofc this is the first series that i’m working on in this blog! alsooo am kinda ashamed to admit that i’ve actually NEVER finished a series ever 🙈🙈 sooo this is a challenge from me @ myself 🤭 so yes come along with me for this ride hahahah and pls kick my butt if i leave this series as another one in the unfinished pile

You can have Manhattan, ‘cause I can’t have you -- Sara Bareilles, Manhattan

Pulling your jacket around you a little tighter to keep the bite of the night air at bay and hitching your duffel bag a little higher up your shoulder, you board the bus. The bus conductor asks for your ticket and you let go of it for the first time since you bought it, giving him the flimsy paper that’s now imprinted with the shape of your thumb under the stress of your tight grip as you held onto it like a lifeline. After a quick inspection, he passes it back to you and you take it from him wordlessly.

“Hey.” You look up at the conductor in surprise, gaze finally torn from where it had remained on the ground all this time. “You alright?”

You don’t allow yourself to consider the question lest the tears come and you cause a bigger scene than you already have. With a tight-lipped smile that probably isn’t fooling anyone, you nod at him, and traipse to the back of the bus before he can probe any further.

The comfort of the back corner of the bus brings you the tiniest smidge of relief, especially after you place your duffel bag on the seat next to you, creating a barrier between you and the rest of the bus. Not that there would be many people, if any at all, at such a late timing. Nonetheless, the little bubble created by your makeshift barricade brings you some security as you settle into your chosen seat gingerly, as if you would shatter to pieces if your movements were too rough. Your emotional state sure feels that way, fragile and on the brink of falling apart any time now.

You’re not sure how much time passes before the bus doors finally shut and it begins pulling out of the bay. It carries a sense of finality. You’re really going home. The cityscape, drenched in the black and orange hues of nightfall, goes past as you watch through the window- slowly at first, then becoming a blur as the vehicle picks up in speed. The plans you had for the weekend are now truncated and left behind with the city.

The emptiness hits you once again when the bus pulls onto the freeway and the city sights are completely gone. Only the inky black of the night sky accompanies you now. You are alone. On this bus, yes, but in more ways than that too. You let that fact sink in.

It’s too dangerous to let your thoughts overtake you right now, so you occupy yourself by playing Sudoku puzzles on your phone, which has strategically been placed on airplane mode. The methodical problem-solving that the puzzle requires of you submerges your mind in a sea of numbers. Which is your intention. And before you know it, the bus is slowing down and you look up from your device to the familiar scenery of your hometown. On any other day, it would fill you with warmth, but right now it doesn’t.

Now having arrived at your destination, you gather your belongings and alight from the bus. It’s just a daypack and your duffel bag which is bursting at the seams with how many items you crammed into it. You would have brought a suitcase if you knew, but how were you to predict the events of tonight? Though, you surmise, you should have seen it coming and could have prepared yourself better.

You’re trudging home and you’re maybe ten minutes away when it begins raining. Great. As if this day could get any worse. It makes your clothes stick to you in that cloying way and the chill from the night has you shivering almost violently now. But you plough on home, only focusing on getting one foot in front of the other and repeat, repeat, repeat.

Finally at your front door, it’s a struggle to get the key in the door with how badly your hand is shaking. Whether it’s from the cold or something else, you’re not sure anymore at this point. After countless tries, you finally manage to jam it in and turn it quickly so you can just get into the safety of your home.

The noise that results from the way you throw your duffel bag and daypack down, your rain-soaked jacket quickly following suit to form a messy, wet heap in the middle of the entryway, announces your arrival. Hoseok pops his head out from the archway that leads to the living room, the sounds probably interrupting his late-night Netflix binge.

“____?” You can hear the concern in his voice, and you refuse to look at him, instead focusing on wrenching your sodden shoes off of your tired feet. “Where’s Joonie?”

The mention of his name causes something like a switch to flip in you. Your brain finally, finally catches up with reality, and the numbness you lulled yourself into for the past few hours dissipates just like the pricking of a balloon. It leaves you gasping in pain, the way the emotions suddenly come flooding through you. The hurt viciously demands to be felt.

With a shaky exhale, you look Hoseok in the eye. The gravity of tonight’s events finally cements itself in your brain and the tears you’d been holding back come spilling out uncontrollably as you mumble your next words out brokenly.

“We broke up.”

It’s been weeks since you and Namjoon broke up. The constant cloud of desolation that plagued your every waking moment in the immediate aftermath of the breakup has finally eased up somewhat.

Being a high school senior turned out to be a lifebuoy in some ways, giving you solid things to cling onto in the midst of your emotions of loss and confusion. It’s not healthy, you know, but the academic content provided a sense of constancy that you sorely needed and the rigor of it all kept your mind from wandering too far into the depths of your sorrow.

Yet you knew this could only go on for so long. At some point, these emotions will eat you up from the inside out if not acknowledged and sorted out. Pain is just like that, it will gnaw at you with subtlety but with certainty. Repressing the feelings is just simply unsustainable.

You’re really lucky to have an older brother like Hoseok. That first night, when you finally broke down and let the tears turn into sobs that wracked through your entire being, he’d quickly gathered you up into his arms and had given you a shoulder to cry on. God knows how long you spent in that state bawling seemingly endlessly, but Hoseok had let you just get it all out without asking any questions, the immensity of his patience and quiet strength of his presence lending you a pillar of support that you desperately needed at the time. Later that night, when you were showered and tucked in warm under the covers, you watched through puffy eyes as he unpacked your belongings from your duffel bag and carefully wiped them dry or chucked them into the laundry basket as was appropriate.

When he reached for your daypack, you stopped him. You were barely able to croak out your opposition, your throat raw and wrecked from the earlier barrage of emotions. Still, Hoseok caught it, and nodded empathetically. He respected your wishes for privacy and only wiped the exterior of your daypack down before leaving it in the corner of your room.

And in the corner it remained. Aside from your absolute necessities, which was really just your keys and your wallet, you’d procrastinated unpacking your daypack. Till now, that is.

Not that there was much to unpack anyway. Most of the possessions you’d retrieved from Namjoon’s dorm room that night had been hastily dumped into your duffel bag in the single-minded mission to get out of there as soon as possible. You know exactly what items remain in the daypack- a bottle of water, a pair of shades, some chapstick, surprise tickets you’d bought online to a movie from that fateful weekend that went unused, and an envelope tucked away safely in the inner pocket of the bag.

The daypack and its contents weighed on your mind the same way it sat in the corner of your room- silent, untouched, yet unbudging. It’s plain silly how afraid you’ve been to confront these items, items that are inanimate and void of meaning apart from what you yourself have ascribed to them. In an attempt to hold off the full brunt of your misery, somehow you’d deluded yourself into thinking that leaving the daypack as it is would preserve things as they once were. You lived in self-denial, as if the breakup had not happened. As if the weekend trip just had not taken place at all, and was waiting to happen instead. The daypack was waiting for you to sling it over your shoulders as you head jovially out the door to the city and to the arms of your boyfriend.

But no. You heave out a sigh. Things have changed. You and Namjoon are no longer together. Holding onto a delusion is ridiculous, and you need to move on. And the first step to doing that is to get rid of this centerpiece that your fantasy revolves around.

The items in the bag get dumped onto the carpeted ground of your room unceremoniously as you unzip the daypack, turn it upside down, and shake out the contents. Whatever mystique you’ve built up around these simple items is now shattered as they lay scattered on the floor. The shades and chapstick return to your dressing table, the bottle of water and expired movie tickets get dumped out. And the envelope… you throw it into your desk drawer and slam it shut before the temptation to tear it open overtakes you.

That was the first of many letters that were written, but never got sent.

You never intended to make it a thing. It just… happened one day. Staying focused on school and college applications could only provide so much distraction from the whirling emotions bottled up inside you. No matter how tightly you attempted to keep a lid on it, wistful nostalgia still crept up uninvited.

And naturally so. This neighborhood, your high school, heck even your own house is filled with the ghost of the memory of him. Namjoon had been a significant presence in your life before he was even really yours. You still remember the day Hoseok brought his newfound friend home, Namjoon’s lips pressed tightly together in his attempts to keep his sniffles and tears in, his knees scraped, bruised, and bleeding from what looked like a pretty hard fall on the playground.

“Mum!” Hoseok had called out. “I need band aids!”

“Hello,” Namjoon mumbled when your mum came hurrying out of the kitchen to see what was wrong. “Sorry to be a bother.”

Namjoon had always been a klutz, but it was his clumsiness that had birthed the close friendship between him and Hoseok. After one too many accidents on the playground, Namjoon had been too scared to go home to face the inevitable reprimanding that would come. Hoseok had offered to patch him up at yours instead, and the camaraderie that arose from that incident had sealed their friendship as an unbreakable one. Unfortunately, as big as Hoseok’s heart was, his little seven-year-old hands were not the gentlest. From your spot at the top of the staircase, peering through the grills, you saw how Namjoon winced at Hoseok dabbing antiseptic on his knees, and you came bounding down the steps to rescue the stranger that sat on your family’s sofa and that had somehow wormed his way into a soft spot in your heart with his teary pout.

“Hoseok,” you demanded, your tiny hand outstretched and waiting, voice tinged with petulance. “Give me.”

Hoseok relinquished the first aid items to you and watched as you cleaned his new friend up, your brow furrowed in careful focus, little hands fumbling but your touch delicate. After you applied the twin band aids on both of Namjoon’s knees with all the meticulousness that a five-year-old could muster up, you patted his thigh and smiled at him.

“All done!” you declared. And you’d never forget the sight of his dimpled smile beaming up at you in response.

If only you could. You shake your head, as if it would shake the memories away. The paper before you on your desk remains as blank as it was twenty minutes ago when you sat down to get started on revision. But having known Namjoon for over a decade made it too easy for you to just get swept away by the deluge of memories of him. You tried to keep it in, but it kept leaking out. And perhaps that’s what you need- to just let it out.

The first touch of the pen to paper has you pausing, wondering how you were even supposed to start. But the moment you begin- Dear Namjoon, - everything comes spilling out in prose. Hardly having to pause what with the way your thoughts just keep flooding out onto the paper, the inked words flowing out in streams, you finally let go of the firm grip you’d kept on your feelings up till now and express your frustration, your loss, your confusion all out in one huge cathartic spew. You write till you feel emotionally dry, but in a satisfying way, chest feeling lighter than it had in weeks. But as your ballpoint pen swirls the complimentary closing- Sincerely Yours- you can’t help but laugh at the sardonic humor embedded in it. The sincerity in your words is irrefutable. But you’re no longer his.

Folding it up and sealing it away in an envelope, you chuck the letter into your desk drawer where it joins its predecessor. Now with a clearer mind, and a renewed focus and vigor, you’re finally able to set to work on the mountain of revision materials that await you.

The first letter was a gushing myriad of feelings. But the subsequent letters solidified into one obviously discernible emotion- anger.

Once you came to terms with the fact that he’s not coming back, and that he basically threw away the relationship, it had you boiling mad. How much had you sacrificed for this relationship?! You’d basically shuttled back and forth between your hometown and the city almost every other weekend to visit him on campus, juggling your family and your grades and your friends back home and college applications just to make your long-distance relationship work. And how did he repay your efforts? By withdrawing from you and refusing to talk things out despite your gentle, persistent probing. You’d heard that he’d been in a slump and confused about the future- Hoseok, while his best friend, was your brother after all- but you’d never imagined he’d be confused about you.

And so you took your rage out on paper once again, your words harsh as you wrote candidly. It’s not like he’d ever get to see it anyway.

But anger is tiring. After penning a few letters full of scathing lines you’d never have the guts to actually spit out in person, your wrath was quelled and soon gave way to grief.

In the same way with your anger, you chose not to deny your sadness, but leaned into it instead. The end of your relationship was something worth mourning, you decided, and you let yourself embrace the sorrow fully and deeply. It was especially difficult knowing that he was still in contact with Hoseok, while you had been completely cut out of his life. But you can’t blame either of them- you can’t demand that they revoke their friendship over what happened between you and Namjoon, nor would you ever desire for that to happen. Hoseok, on his part, managed it to the best he could, taking his phone calls in a room separate from you. But you can’t control the wave of dejection that runs through you whenever you spy Namjoon’s name on his caller ID.

You’re used to the routine by now. Whenever the emotions get too overwhelming, whenever there’s just too much that you want to say to him but that you can’t, you engage in the therapeutic act of writing your letters. Then you seal them up, and chuck them away, out of sight and out of mind. The grief gets easier to deal with too, especially with the excitement of receiving college acceptance letters and your high school graduation date that’s drawing closer and closer.

Of course, that in itself brings its own strand of sadness too, as you imagine having to separate from your friends and family and leave your childhood home behind. But the notion of getting to carve out the path to your future leaves a giddy anticipation that overshadows all other feelings.

And in that strange, paradoxical way that time seems to pass in- every hour ticking by so slowly, but the weeks whizzing by in the blink of an eye- it’s just as your five-year-old self had once proclaimed, “All done!”

Your life now packed into boxes that are piled into the car, one last check of your room to ensure that nothing important is left behind, a final look at the place you called home for all your life up to now, and you’re off to college. As you watch the sight of your neighborhood through the rearview mirror pull further and further away till it disappears entirely, you know you’re leaving tons of memories behind. Memories of Namjoon, yes, but also memories of your growing up years with your family and friends who have made you into who you are today, able to venture out and face the world with courage and confidence.

Maybe it’s that experience of individuation that has you finally accepting it. No more whirlpool of emotions, no more anger, no more grief, no more emptiness. Just peace. You’re single, separated from Namjoon. And you’re ready to take on the world and live your life like the boss woman you are.

“____,” Hoseok wails, pouting as he approaches you with outstretched arms. You barrel into him, relishing the warmth of his embrace and stowing it away for the days ahead. His eyes rove over you as he holds you at arms length so he can take you in for the last time in a while. He sighs. “My baby sister is all grown up and going to college and away from me.”

You laugh. “I’m still in the country, Hoseokie, it’s not like I’m halfway across the world. You can come and visit anytime.”

“But you’ve never lived further than a minute’s walk from my room. How am I supposed to deal with you being hours away from me now?”

“You’ll get over it soon, you big baby.” You duck out under his arms and slap his butt with the playful affection that’s always characterized your sibling relationship. Your parents are waiting by the door of your dorm room and you go over to give them their share of goodbye hugs.

“Thank you for all the help with moving and unpacking today,” you say, voice muffled as you speak into your dad’s chest. He strokes your head and you lean into his touch and savor it.

“You’ve got one more box there, you sure you don’t want our help with that?”

“No, it’s fine, I can handle it.”

It gets increasingly hard to hold the tears back and the difficulty only spikes tenfold when you turn to see your mum holding back tears of her own. Her perfume and her own natural scent that lies underneath that that you inhale as you hide your face in her neck while the two of you hug very nearly pushes you over the brink. But you manage. Knowing your family, it’s a given that someone will shed tears at some point, and you’re all (barely) holding it together for each other.

Hoseok comes up to hug you from behind so that you’re now sandwiched between him and your mum, which only prompts your dad to envelop all of you in his arms too.

“If it ever doesn’t work out- not saying that it won’t, because you’re super smart and the most driven kid I’ve ever known- but just, IF ever,” Hoseok rambles into your hair, “you can always come home and teach at the dance studio with me, ok?”

“Thanks Hoseokie. But you know I have two left feet, so I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“They’ll make an exception for you. I’ll make them make an exception for you.”

You laugh and extricate yourself from the group hug through a series of wiggles that only provides further proof of why you’ll never make it as a dance instructor the way your brother has.

“Ok, it’s getting late and you guys still have a long drive ahead of you.” You shoo them out of your room. After your final goodbyes, you return to your room quickly, knowing that the sight of their figures leaving would be unbearable.

Needing a distraction, you busy yourself with unpacking your last box of belongings. It’s nothing too difficult- your family had spent the afternoon helping you with the major to-dos like wiping things down and setting up your larger decor and lighting fixtures (read: copious amounts of fairy lights strung everywhere) just the way you liked it. All that remains now are some photos with friends, the few pieces of jewelry you owned, your humble make-up collection... and a shoe box stuffed full of letters that you didn’t dare to leave back at home where it would be at risk of being discovered by prying eyes in your absence.

Finding a place for your various items was a simple task to complete. Within ten minutes you were done unpacking, washed up, and tucked into bed for your first night ever living apart from your family. You roll over onto your side- your sleeping environment may be different, but your side-sleeper habits will never change.

As you peer out the window and take in the campus sights that seem foreign now but that you know will become familiar in time, you’re struck with a funny thought. What a turn of events your life has taken.

This is not the dorm room nor the campus you thought you’d be attending all those months ago when you were making your way down to the city. You’d embarked on that trip in gleeful anticipation at being able to deliver the good news to Namjoon, only to have that trip abruptly cut short, and the news remained in an envelope that never got to its intended recipient.

That weekend triggered a rerouting of your life, setting you on a new path that had brought you here to this campus instead. Not that you regret it, or feel like you settled for something less, not at all. You’re at peace with your decisions. It’s just an intriguing thought that things could have turned out so differently if that one weekend hadn’t happened, is all.

On impulse, you clamber out of bed to retrieve the shoe box that you’d shoved into the corner of your closet. Rifling through the stack- wait, did you really write this many letters?- you finally find the envelope you’re looking for.

Tearing it open gingerly, you pull out the sheets of paper contained within. It’s a rueful kind of feeling that washes over you as you skim over the words that you’d written back in what feels like an entire lifetime ago. The excitement you had felt at the prospect of the long-distance aspect of your relationship finally coming to an end after two long years was blatant in your letter.

But when it became obvious that Namjoon had gotten tired of trying to make things work, what you’d initially thought of as the golden ticket to saving your relationship turned out to be fool’s gold instead. You pull up the second sheet of paper- a photocopy of your acceptance letter to the same college your then boyfriend was attending- and you can’t help the ‘what if’s that fill your mind as you run your thumb over the college emblem.

Guess your dreams of a future where you lived in the city and where Namjoon was still in your life would remain just that- a dream.

Or so your naive college self believed.

#btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #btsbookclub #btswritersguild #ficswithluv #bts fic #bts angst #bts exes au #bts x reader #namjoon fic #namjoon angst #namjoon exes au #namjoon x reader #knj fic #knj angst #knj exes au #knj x reader

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anxiouslymalicious · 4 years

Text

Losers Club Plus One Part 10

A Richie Tozier x daughter!reader series

Read the previous part here or go here for the full series masterlist.

A/N: Hi there! It’s been a while, I know, and I’m truly sorry! There has been so much going on in my life and I simply lost my motivation to write. However, thanks to a very dear person, I have regained said motivation and I am here to give y’all some content! The next part is already being worked on and I hope to publish it very soon!

Anyway, this is about 3k words long. I hope you enjoy!

“Bill, we’re at the library. Where are you?” Mike asked the second Bill answered his phone. The incomplete Losers Club Plus One was gathered around him, trying to listen in on what they were talking about. To say that they were worried was an understatement. But the fact that Bill had picked up was relieving, to say the least. It meant that he was still with them. It meant that IT hadn’t gotten to him. It meant that he was more or less safe. It meant that Bill was still alive and not doing anything too stupid.

“IT took a-a little k-k-kid- IT k-killed a little k-kid right in fucking front of me.” Bill sounded distraught, heartbroken. He had been crying, probably still was crying. Y/N, who was close enough to Mike to listen in on the conversation, especially felt a strong urge in her to just hug the man and tell him that it wasn’t his fault. Because it really wasn’t. But Bill thought differently. It was his fault that Georgie was taken by IT, Georgie had been taken because he hadn’t been there. And Dean, the little kid, had been killed because Bill hadn’t been fast enough. It was Bill’s fault, in his mind, and it would always be.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Mike jumped out of his seat. He had known Bill when he was a kid, he knew that Bill often made stupid decisions, and Mike was sure that Bill’s want to protect the Losers from IT was kicking in just then. If there was one thing each of them remembered about Bill, it was his unintentional heroism as he was trying to protect his friends.

“Look, just come back to the library, we can talk about the plan-“

“I’m gonna go kill IT. I don’t want any of you to get near IT. I’m gonna kill IT.” Bill said through gritted tears before hanging up, falling into a quick jog towards Silver. It was only a matter of seconds until he and Silver were fast enough to beat the devil. And the devil, they would beat.

“He’s gonna fight IT alone. Alone!” Mike said, almost as though he was concluding the very short call he and Bill just had. Mike was scared. Not only for Bill who was driven to do the stupidest things, all by Pennywise, but he was also scared for the rest of his friends. The people who had once gone down the drain with him, explored the sewers with him, fought IT with him. But most importantly, he felt scared for the new generation. Because if they failed now, if the ritual didn’t work and all of them were to end up dead, what hope did the children have left? IT would continue to attack children, eat children, tear families apart.

“What?” Richie mumbled more to himself than anyone else. And, almost as though he had the same train of thought as Mike, he looked at his daughter. The girl he had watched as she grew up and had taken care of nearly every day of her life. He felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach as he thought of the things IT would do should he and his friends fail to kill IT once and for all. Or, should she be able to escape Derry, the things she would have to live through as she got back home to LA. Would she be able to provide for herself? Who could she go to once he was gone? How would she handle all the paperwork? And oh, all those moments ahead of her that he was going to miss. Graduations, relationships, first jobs, first travels, all the accomplishments and big events in her life that he would miss. The moments that would fill her with pride but also shatter her heart if he wasn’t there.

Y/N looked up at Richie. Her mind was blank with pure worry. She hadn’t thought further than what would happen to Bill just yet, but maybe it was for the better. Maybe it was better that she didn’t worry her head with too many consequences and the horrors of IT, the true horrors of IT that she had yet to face.

“It’s- it’s about the group. The ritual doesn’t work without the group. Doing it together was why it worked.” Mike’s fear was growing, steadily consuming him. Like a shadow covering the little light of hope, he had left after noticing that the remainder of his friends had come to the library. He had felt so hopeful when he saw all of their faces, despite the horrid circumstances, in the library, knowing that they had gotten their tokens, knowing that they would face IT with him. He had trusted Bill to come back as well, he knew that Big Bill was known to stick to his friends. Leaving them to fend for themselves was not like Bill. Not at all. This wasn’t Big Bill talking, this was Bill, the author with the childhood trauma, talking. The man who had no idea how to properly end a book. They needed to show him how it’s done.

Y/N was gnawing at her thumb. It was sore and it stung a little, but it provided her comfort. Not much, but every single bit of comfort was more than welcome. Eddie saw, and pushed her arm down, hoping it would pull her out of her thoughts and get her to stop hurting herself. A million arguments as to why she shouldn’t do that, shouldn’t nibble at her nails when she was nervous, ran through his mind, he was ready to spill them out, but he bit his tongue. Y/N surely didn’t need that right now. She needed someone to take care of her. She needed her father.

With anxious eyes, Eddie searched for Richie.

Richie, lost in his thoughts and fears, wasn’t one to quickly notice. He didn’t even properly listen in on what the Losers were talking about. He heard Ben speak. Voice raspy, heavy with worry. Then Bev. Her voice was airy, light like she didn’t want anyone to hear her words because she didn’t want them to be true.

Richie looked up. He noticed that he hadn’t heard either of his loves speak up in a while. His gaze landed on Eddie immediately.

The man had slung one arm very awkwardly around his daughter, almost like Eddie wasn’t sure of his role in that particular moment, nor did he seem very confident with it. Both Eddie and Y/N were looking at Richie with raised brows and huge eyes. They resembled a pair of helpless puppies in a way.

With a few quick strides, Richie reached the pair and pulled his little girl close to him. Y/N leaned against her father. It felt strangely foreign and yet so natural to be so close to him. Her whole body seemed to still be a little confused with what was going on, how to feel about Richie, how to act around him. But Y/N knew him. And she knew his comfort. Richie was something to hold on to. Someone who had always been there. Father or not, she needed to feel at home. And that was exactly what Richie was.

Home.

“Oh, we’re not going to like this, are we?” Eddie asked, making Richie and Y/N listen in on the conversation around them again.

Y/N looked at the group. Everyone suddenly seemed much tenser. Arms crossed, faces cold, almost sorrowful looks in their eyes. Sighing, and then-

“Fuck.” Y/N whispered as something clicked in her mind. Shit was about to go down.

Derry had turned dark. Very dark. But not only the sky had lost its light, the occasional lightning on the horizon being an exception, but the town itself seemed to change. It was like the town had become one of ghosts. Barely a soul left a trace. Very few windows were lit. It was like time had stopped around Derry and no one was alive, or at least truly waking anymore. Everyone except for the Losers Club Plus One.

Y/N found herself feeling more and more like she was asleep. She couldn’t say it had been since arriving in town. Coming to Derry was strange. It was like she had started reading a book from the middle. She had a very small knowledge of what has been happening and tiny snippets of explanations were thrown her way, but nothing really. It just wasn’t enough. And the more she lost herself in the book, the twisted storylines and the even more confusing actions of the characters, the more she felt like nothing was real. Like whatever was happening wasn’t really happening and she had actually fallen asleep while reading a book.

But every book also had an ending. And not all of them were happy endings.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, squirt?” Richie broke the silence in the car. Richie and Y/N were riding together, just like Mike and Ben and Bev and Eddie. All of the pairs were ready to beat silver. Desperate to beat silver.

“Don’t know… Just… This place, I guess. It’s strange, isn’t it?” Y/N looked at her father. His face, every now and then illuminated by the scarce light of the streetlights all around Derry, seemed so young, yet he didn’t act like he usually did. Even Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier seemed to be intimidated by the situation he found himself in.

“It is. And I never missed it.”

“You couldn’t even remember it until Mike called.”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

“So you didn’t want to remember Eddie either?” Y/N smirked.

“Damn you, squirt. Sometimes I really wish your mom would have swallowed.”

Silence.

“Do you think things will change when we get home? Like between us?” Y/N asked curiously. But there was a sliver of hurt in her voice. Richie sighed.

“I don’t think anything is going to change unless we make a change. If you don’t want things to change between us, they don’t have to. We can act like Derry never happened when we get home. We can forget about all of this.”

It was strange hearing Richie speak all wise and serious. But it felt nice. It felt nice knowing that he took Y/N and her worries seriously and didn’t just flip them off as irrelevant.

“I don’t think I want to forget.” Y/N mumbled more to herself than to her father.

Richie’s car caught up with the other two. He hadn’t noticed how far they had fallen behind until he noticed that he could barely see the other cars before them. That’s when he sped. And it felt nice. It felt like he finally regained at least a little control over something. The last time he felt so powerless and so small compared to the world was when he entered the house on Neibolt Street for the first time. When he saw how Eddie got hurt. When he tried to reposition Eddie’s broken arm and was trapped in the same room as IT.

When the group split up for the first time.

When everything somehow shifted. And they were the world’s oldest 13-year olds.

“I can see Bill!” Y/N exclaimed, sitting up straight in her car seat, hand shooting to the seat belt buckle.

“Fuck.” Richie said as he watched Bill pushing a bike away. Was that silver? Richie was sure that he somehow had gotten his trusted bike back. How exactly, Richie didn’t know. Things had a way of coming back in Derry. But it wasn’t important. What was important was getting back together.

“Bill!” Beverly yelled, effectively stopping Bill. He turned to look at her just as he was about to enter the house.

Y/N felt like she was trapped inside a bad horror movie. The house she was facing was dark, the wood it was made of looked like it defied the laws of nature as it still stood. Y/N felt like she should feel silly, she should not be able to take this house seriously. It was the definition of a bad idea, but somehow, she felt compelled to show respect. Something about it felt intimidatingly evil. She knew the house would be no good, but she didn’t expect the place they would fight IT in to be looking as shabby yet scary.

“No!” Bill yelled back as he watched the group step closer to him and the building. They all were there. Bev, Mike, Ben, Eddie, Richie, even Y/N. Y/N, who was just a little older than they were when they first encountered IT.

Bill felt tears stinging in his eyes. He didn’t want to risk his friends’ lives again. And he for sure didn’t want to be the reason another kid had to go through what he and his friends did. Or – worst of all – he didn’t want to risk seeing another kid die because of him.

“N-no, you guys, no. I st-st-started all this. I-It’s m-my fault that y-you’re all here. Th-this curse, this fucking thing- It’s inside you all. It’s s-started growing the day I m-m-made you all go down to the barrens. Bec-cause all I cared about was finding G-Georgie. Now I’m gonna go in there, I don’t know what’s gonna happen, but I c-can’t ask you to d-do this.” Bill sounded distraught.

Y/N, subliminally, wrapped her arms around her father’s right arm. Richie acknowledged it, pulling her a little closer, but remained silent as they watched Bill fall apart with the pent-up guilt. The guilt he had been living with, sometimes more and sometimes less consciously, over the past 28 years.

Bill made eye contact with Y/N. He looked at her and saw so much potential in her. So much life, so much she had yet to give the world. And he felt sorry that she was there. He felt sorry for the pain she had endured over the past hours. Physically and mentally. Bill felt sorry for the wounds and the scars that, ultimately, he was to blame for. Because none of this would have happened if he had listened to his father. If he had stopped looking for Georgie. Or better yet, if he never acted sick to avoid playing with Georgie.

Had Bill not been so selfish, Georgie would still be alive.

“But you’re not asking us.” Y/N told Bill. “We’re here because we want to be. All of us could have left, we are free to go. But we didn’t.”

Bill sighed, running a hand through his hair to push it back. It felt sweaty, his whole head felt heated and the slight breeze of evening air felt nice. Relieving.

Richie looked funnily at his daughter. A part of him was scared she might tell the story of how they almost left if it wasn’t for Stan the man. Another part of him, however, registered that she wanted to be there. Be there, at Neibolt, with them. And it scared him to death. Nausea washed over him again and Richie had a hard time not showing just that.

Beverly picked up something from the ground. Something long and rusty. To all the Losers, it seemed to make sense, seemed to be a missing piece from a puzzle. Only Y/N watched on, visibly confused.

“Well, we’re not asking you either,” Beverly replied.

“We didn’t do this alone then, Bill. So, we’re not gonna do this alone now.” Mike added.

“Losers stick together.” Ben.

A pregnant pause. The air was thick with tension as the Losers made it clear that Big Bill wouldn’t go in there on his own. Like they had proven to one another once before. When they were nothing more than a mismatched group of kids that fit together perfectly.

The only sounds outside the house were crickets chirping in the night, an occasional roll of thunder and the wind lightly blowing through the grass. No one dared to speak up. No one dared to say another word. But not all words had been spoken yet. Each Loser was just waiting for the next move. The words that would decide how they were to proceed.

“So, does somebody wanna say something?” Eddie broke the silence. And with that, decisions were made. The Losers would, once more, stick together.

“Richie said it b-b-best when we were here last.” Bill replied, looking at Richie expectantly. Richie now looked taken aback. He couldn’t remember ever saying the right thing at the right moment. Even Y/N looked at her father, a hint of curiosity on her otherwise confused face.

“I did?” Richie asked, still not remembering. He felt the Losers’ eyes on him, all of them waiting to hear the familiar words again. Richie thought for a moment.

“I don’t wanna die?” he asked. His daughter loosened her grip on him and shrugged a little.

“Very reasonable.” She mumbled to herself.

“Not that.” Bill’s voice sounded hoarse. A few moments of silence as Richie thought again, trying to remember what he said that day.

“You’re lucky we’re not measuring dicks?” The Losers looked at Richie, unimpressed. Y/N, however, had to fight back her giggle, but a tiny snort escaped the girl. She couldn’t hold herself back at the unexpected and yet so typical statement from the man she grew up with.

“No…” The Trashmouth whispered to himself as his friends failed to answer. The group seemed to ease up a little despite the situation they found themselves in.

“Let’s kill this fucking clown?” Bill grinned at that. The Trashmouth had found his words.

“Let’s kill this fucking clown!” Richie repeated, this time more eager. With that, the group found their spirit. The Losers Club was back and ready to kill a bitch. With that, the Losers entered the house that they knew was potentially the last place they would visit.

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ofheroesandvillains · 4 years

Text

Home (Hearth) - Geralt

Words: 4k Warnings: none really. Summary: Geralt returns to Skellige. Kind of a prequel to Hearth, but I guess it can also be read as a stand-alone.

Hi folks! I gotta be honest, I feel like my writing just isn’t cooperating at the moment so I’m sorry for the delay in Dorian...again (there’s loads of Jaskier shenanigans in the next part though!). Hope you’re all staying safe!

(gif not mine)

It was an unfortunate fact that Geralt didn’t often visit the Isles of Skellige. His work took him to all corners of the world, but there was a particular feeling that crept into his heart when he thought of Skellige—an eagerness he hid even from himself.

When the ship pulled into dock that afternoon he felt it swell in his chest, and it showed in the way his eyes searched the crowded streets. Geralt shook his head at his own foolishness; no one was aware of his arrival. And if they were aware, they had other matters to attended to.

A great celebration was underway, the King’s daughter was to be wed and his services had been requested in exchange for a hefty amount of coin. Even without the coin, Geralt knew he would have obliged. As the flowery poets and bards of the world liked to preach, there were more important things in life than gold—and his treasure was hidden away in Skellige.

“This way, Master Witcher!” Lord Balden called out from ahead.

He was a stout old man with a soft heart and an overactive mind. Geralt had stumbled upon him by chance in a haunted old church on the Continent. Lord Balden had fancied himself indebted ever since Geralt had saved his life, and had naturally requested his services across the seas as well.

Geralt didn’t bother telling him that he knew exactly where he was going—that these were streets he’d longed to see for years. He just followed.

———

Lord Balden had shown him to his room and then promptly disappeared, rambling on about guests and decorations as he went.

Geralt would give credit where it was due—it had been a beautiful wedding, as was expected whenever royals flaunted their riches about, but most seemed to be more excited for the feast that followed. Stuck-up lords and their prim and proper ladies had come undone under the influence of alcohol, stray hairs sticking to sweat-slicked skin and dresses fluttering about as they danced amid drunken laughter.

The noise grated on Geralt’s nerves, but he’d long ago grown used to the assault on his ears. Still, he tucked himself away in hidden corners, on the periphery where no one could bother him as he nursed an ale. He watched the crowd with sharp eyes, anticipating danger and searching, though he’d never admit it. He hadn’t seen her yet—near impossible considering her friendship with the royal family—but he was certain that she had somehow managed to avoid his line of sight.

It was a game she played in their younger years, trying her hardest to evade his sense. Her power alone would give her away, but she didn’t know then that he was hyperaware of her presence. He didn’t needs his eyes to see her. He could smell her on the wind, taste her happiness in the air. He could feel her without touch, hear her without sound.

And for a brief moment Geralt felt a weight settle in his chest. If he couldn’t sense her then perhaps she wasn’t there. Perhaps she’d left Skellige and hadn’t told him. It had been years after all and ambitions changed, people changed, and he feared that even if he did see her, he wouldn’t recognise the person she’d become.

His grip tightened around his tankard, and his shoulders tensed with the new presence he felt at his back.

“I’m told there is a great Witcher among us.”

Geralt’s eyes slipped shut for no more than a few second—long enough to suppress the shiver that threatened to snake down his spine and send goosebumps skittering along his skin.

“Oh yes,” she continued, draping a gentle hand over his shoulder, “a hero of the highest calibre. The stuff of legend, found only in song and story.”

Geralt hummed, eyes unblinking as she took the seat opposite him. Beautiful. It was just a fact he could slot away with the sky being blue, and the grass green. But there was a saying old mothers would tell their daughters when husbands went off to war. Distance, Geralt knew, really did make the heart grow fonder.

Her eyes glittered with amusement.

“You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find this brave and noble warrior, would you? I would like to enlist his help.”

“Is that right?” Geralt lips curled at the edges and he raised a brow. “He doesn’t work for free, you know.”

“Of course he doesn’t,” she gave him an indulgent smile. “A favour then.”

“Two,” he bargained.

“Two?” Her eyes narrowed. “I think he’s overestimated the difficulty of this particular task.”

Geralt shrugged nonchalantly.

“The difficulty doesn’t concern him.”

She arched a brow, curiosity in her eyes. “Then what does?”

Geralt rested his elbows atop the table, and her eyelashes fluttered as his thumb gently swiped a stray off her cheek.

“The fact that it’s you,” he said, before softly adding, “and I’ll take what I can get.”

She tried to fight back a bashful smile, but knew by the warmth in his gaze that he’d already seen it.

“Charmer,” she teased, trying to ignore the ghost of his touch.

Geralt’s lips twitched.

“It’s good to see you, little mage.”

“I thought you’d gone and forgotten us,” she said, and though he could hear the humour in her tone, it wasn’t without an equal amount of sorrow. Perhaps a normal man would have also missed the way her smile faltered, the way she couldn’t quite meet his eye with the admission, but not Geralt.

He could tell her of those long journeys across the continent, the way the scenery would blur into nothingness until all he could see were the streets of Skellige. He could tell her of the strangers he met, the women he’d try to find her in and the men she’d enrapture the moment she stepped into the room. He could tell her that not a single day went by that he didn’t think of her, that he didn’t wish to return to her…

“You’re a difficult woman to forget.”

She smiled, a full and beautiful smile that would have sent a normal man’s heart racing. Geralt golden eyes greedily took in the sight he’d been deprived of for too many years.

“Ah! I’ve found you at long last, my lady!”

Her smile faltered at the interruption, if only for a moment.

“Lord Dalvis,” she greeted with a polite bow of her head, “I was unaware you were searching for me.”

“All my life,” Lord Dalvis shot back with what he must have thought was incredible wit.

Geralt’s jaw ticked at the sound of her laugh and he eyed the man who was looking at her like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Traditionally handsome, if a little scrawny—certainly no warrior—but a sight better than the other lordlings scattered about the hall.

“Yes, well, how can I help you?” She asked.

Lord Dalvis’s eyes softened and he cleared his throat.

“I was hoping for that dance you promised me, my lady,” his dark eyes darted to Geralt nervously, and he shifted when she didn’t answer for a few long seconds.

Whatever comfort Geralt felt at her clear moment of indecision was quickly forgotten when she rose from her seat.

“A promise is a promise,” she conceded, eyes apologetically flicking over to Geralt. “I’ll be back soon,” she reassured him, giving his shoulder a squeeze for good measure.

Geralt sighed as he watched the young lord lead her away.

——— It turned out that Lord Dalvis was only one of many, and if Geralt thought his night couldn’t get worse than watching her ridiculous suitors flock to her without pause, he was wrong.

He’d lost count of the amount of men and women who’d approached him with lust in their eyes, or a pouch of gold in exchange for the head of a political rival. Then, of course, were the ones who whispered insults behind his back.

What strange eyes, very exotic, they charge double for that kind of thing down at the brothel. I can make it worth your while, Witcher.

He’s a nasty man, really, no different from the monsters you hunt, I swear!

Who invited the mutant? Filthy little things, can’t believe he was allowed past the front gate.

He stood out like a sore thumb in a place like this, and in any other situation he would have left by now, but if he left he’d miss her. And he’d been missing her long enough. When she finally did return, breathless and exasperated, Geralt was holding his tankard so tightly his fingers had dented the metal.

“Forgive me. They’re worse than nekkers, they are,” she huffed with a small laugh.

Geralt’s answering smile was tight and she took notice immediately.

“I really am sorry,” she continued her brow furrowed in concern. “Lord Dalvis has become a dear friend to me, I didn’t have the heart to turn him down. You do understand, don’t you?”

It was foolish of him to think that she’d be locked away in a tower somewhere barred from seeing a man other than himself, but the minuscule, irrational part of him flared bitterly. He scolded himself inwardly. How many nameless, faceless women had he been with, women that weren’t her? Even that wasn’t a thought he was glad to have.

“Of course,” said Geralt, gruffer than he would have liked, and moodier than she deserved.

He felt guilt settle in his chest when her shoulders slumped. Geralt sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he began. “Seems I’m bad company tonight.”

He stood then, though he wanted nothing more than to stay close to her. He cleared his throat and stared off at the crowd to avoid the question in her eyes.

“You should find your lord,” the words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but they were genuine. “You’re dear to him too.”

He left without another word, slipping through the crowd with more ease than a man of his size should have displayed.

“Geralt…” she called after him.

He ignored the confusion that laced her tone, and kept his gaze ahead and his feet following the same path. If he gave in, he’d have to speak, if he spoke he’d say too much, and if he said too much, he’d be handing her a hammer and his heart to shatter beneath it.

Skellige may have been her home, but it wasn’t his. He had no home, no place to call his own, nothing he could offer her that would make him a better choice than a lord whose heart raced like a hummingbird’s at the sight of her. He would give her anything she asked for, and he’d give it to her here, in Skellige. Not in some foreign land she’d neither seen nor heard of.

She deserved better than a Witcher and Geralt feared she knew it. Why would she choose him and his life of uncertainty over the comfort of home?

———

His feet led him outside to the balcony. It was only slightly quieter than the main hall, and if Geralt turned away from the view of sparkling waters and the kingdom laid out before him, he could see the merrymakers clearly through the ornate windows that were entirely too tall to be practical.

But he didn’t turn away, instead leaning against the balustrade with a deep frown unconsciously settling on his features.

“You look like a man with regrets.”

Geralt sighed, no matter how nice it was to see his old friend. It had been so very long, and if there was one thing that kept him sane at the thought of leaving her in Skellige, it was the knowledge that her half-brother was there to watch over her.

“Not now, Mousesack.”

“Oh, dear,” he chuckled, “I’m certain of it now.”

“I said, not now.”

“Yes, I heard you the first time.”

Geralt’s jaw ticked, and he shot his old friend an irritated look.

“Oh, cheer up, Geralt.” Mousesack clapped a hand on the Witcher’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You’re not here often enough to greet us with this terrible mood. The night is young, enjoy yourself! You’ve been missed far too much to be sulking over here on your own.”

Geralt glanced over his shoulder to the dancing couples.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Mousesack’s brows furrowed as he followed Geralt’s gaze, and realisation dawned on him. He laughed.

“If you truly think so, then you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

Geralt looked back to the druid with an arched a brow. “You thought I was a fool?”

Mousesack scoffed. “Still do. And I’ll continue to do so with each day you spend pining in the shadows.”

“I don’t pine.”

“You do. Incessantly, and unnecessarily.” Mousesack’s expression softened. “She’d give you the world if you asked it of her.”

That was debatable at best, thought Geralt.

“She has a life here, a duty.” Geralt looked at Mousesack pointedly. “Family.”

“Not much of a life when it’s spent counting down the days until she sees you again. Her duty is little more than a distraction from those thoughts, and her family will remain her family no matter where she goes.”

Geralt was silent for a long moment as he contemplated Mousesack’s words. “You sound like you’re trying to get rid of her.”

Mousesack scoffed with a frustration he’d been bottling for too long.

“You don’t know what it’s like, watching her wither away. This is the happiest I’ve seen her in years, and it’s no coincidence that it happens to be the day you returned.”

It was rare for Geralt to experience remorse, but it was etched into the crease of his brow when he looked back to the dancing couples and realised that, though she twirled around with practiced ease, her smile was empty and her eyes were too busy drifting around the room to focus on her partner. She was looking for him, just as he had been looking for her.

“I know you don’t come back here for me, old friend,” Mousesack continued gently. “If you love her, tell her. I can’t keep watching the hope leave her eyes each time you set sail, and she’s too far gone to accept the stableboy’s proposal at this point.”

Geralt frowned, blinked out of his guilt-ridden stupor and sent Mousesack an offended look.

“The stableboy proposed?”

Mousesack shook his head in exasperation. Good to see his priorities are in check.

“The stableboy, the innkeeper…Lord Dalvis will soon, no doubt.”

Geralt’s jaw twitched and his eyes narrowed at the horizon.

“I’ll tell her.”

Mousesack snorted.

“Good.”

———

When he entered the hall once more, he knew for certain that she was no longer there. Lord Dalvis was glumly sitting by himself and her presence hadn’t lingered. Uncertainty was something he tried to ignore in life—it often was the difference between life and death for someone like himself. But as he walked to her chambers, his thoughts were a jumble.

He would tell her tonight—the secret they both knew but never spoke of. He would tell her his greatest desire and his greatest weakness, and then…then he didn’t know what he would do. He didn’t know what she would do.

Geralt didn’t have all that much time to think on the matter. His long strides had seen him to her room entirely too quickly, and the door eased open of its own accord as soon as he approached it—a silent invitation.

The room was dim, and bathed in the golden glow of candlelight. It looked as it did the last time he’d seen it, but he was certain that she’d grown more beautiful, and the evidence was right there in front of him, wrapped up in a pretty little pearl-coloured nightgown that left little to the imagination and glimmered in the candlelight.

The task had been difficult from its inception, and she’d introduced an entirely new obstacle it seemed. Geralt watched as she wordlessly fluffed a pillow, her face unnaturally solemn. She hit the pillow with more force than necessary, panting between strikes until he caught her wrists.

She glared down at the pillow as if it had wronged her in his place, and Geralt gently urged her to face him. She stared at his chest for a moment before she sighed.

“You’re upset with me,” she finally said, brow furrowing. “I just can’t figure out what I’ve done.”

Geralt tilted her chin up with this thumb and forefinger and gave her a sad smile.

“You haven’t done anything.”

“Then what is it?” She asked with a desperation that made his stomach churn with guilt once more. “I…I don’t understand. It’s been years and I thought…” she trailed off with a frown. “I thought you’d be happy.”

He opened his mouth, ready to reassure her that yes, he was happy. But he didn’t. Instead, he told her the truth.

“Do you know why I stayed away from Skellige as long as I did?”

She stared down at her feet, the question itself seemingly bringing tears to her eyes. As if the idea of him intentionally avoiding the islands was one she hadn’t even considered. She shook her head, not trusting her voice. His own voice was quiet when he spoke; his words a confession he once thought he’d take to his grave.

“I used to torture myself with thoughts of you. Knowing that if returned I could see you, touch you,” he stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers, “and still not have you. But I ached for more than just the memory of you. I still do. That’s why I’m here.”

She held his calloused and scarred hand to her cheek, goosebumps prickling at her skin as her eyes slipped shut and a tear rolled down to meet the thumb that would swipe it away.

“You know my heart, Geralt,” she said, voice thick. “You’ve always known.”

“I never wanted to be selfish with you. You of all people…you deserve more than I can give you.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy and cheeks moist. But there, behind the reflection of candlelight in the dark of her pupil was a flicker of another kind—hope.

“Can you give me yourself?”

It was a question that held the weight of the world. To say yes would condemn her, and to say no would be a lie. His head fell forward and their lips brushed as he answered.

“I can.”

He felt, more than saw, her smile, and despite his reservations he knew it felt right.

“Then you’ve given me all I need.”

He dreamt of having her in his arms like this a thousand times over, imagined the taste of her lips, the feel of her skin. He never imagined how intoxicating it would be. Her arms thrown over his broad shoulders, her soft body pressed against him, surrounding him as he surrounded her. He could have lost his senses in that moment, he almost did until he realised his feet were moving in the direction of her bed and she was leading them there.

“You’re sure?” He managed to ask between kisses.

“Yes.”

Geralt paused, his hands caught her waist and he pulled back for a moment. She blinked owlishly at the loss of his lips.

“Really sure,” he took a steadying breath, his control a moment away from slipping, and when she met his gaze he had no doubt that she was aware of how it had darkened.

“Because once I have you…” his jaw clenched as he watched her fingers ease the straps of her nightgown off of her shoulders. “Once I have you you’ll never be free of me.”

“You’re not leaving without me,” she whispered.

“No,” Geralt agreed. “No, I’m not.”

Her nightgown fell to the floor.

———

It was a quiet morning in Skellige, the day Geralt would depart. The wedding celebrations had lasted all week and he suspected that most were still nursing hangovers and sleeping their days away to catch up on the nights they’d lost.

He couldn’t judge them too harshly, he’d lost several nights too, albeit for other reasons. His lips quirked when he heard the squabbling siblings following behind him.

“…yes, I already told you, I’ve checked it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with double checking.”

“No, there isn’t. But this would be the fourth time and that’s a little unnecessary, don’t you think?”

“It’ll also be a little unnecessary when you’re on a ship back here because you’ve forgotten something.”

“Unlike some, I don’t need a ship to travel half way across the world.”

Geralt snorted, regretting doing so when the small chest perched upon the other two he was carrying swayed to the side.

It turned out that the favour she needed her brave and noble Witcher to see to was helping her cart her luggage to the port. She had no intention of staying behind. It was decided the moment she heard of his arrival, and she’d be going with or without his approval.

“Careful with that, my love!”

Despite his exasperation, Geralt couldn’t help the small smile that crossed his lips. When the last of her belongings were loaded onto the wide-eyed and pot-bellied captain’s ship, Mousesack caught Geralt in a hug.

“Protect her for me?”

Geralt nodded, though they both knew the request was merely a formality. “With my life.”

They both turned when a loud scoff sounded behind them.

“Don’t be so dramatic. If anyone is protecting anyone, it’ll be me.”

Mousesack and Geralt shared a look and shrugged.

She did have a point.

Mousesack clapped Geralt on the shoulder and grinned at his little sister. “Well then, she’s your problem now. I expect to see you both here soon, understood?”

She wrapped him up in a tight hug as the captain called out that it was time to leave.

“Of course. It’ll be like I never left.”

They shared a watery smile, and Geralt cleared his throat, an apologetic look on his face.

“It’s time to go.”

With a shaky smile, she nodded at her brother and accepted the steadying hand Geralt held out to her as she boarded the ship. She stood waving to her brother until the dock was out of sight and Skellige was behind them. Never before had she considered the vastness of the seas, how isolated and alone they could make one feel—nothing but flat horizon on all sides.

But she wasn’t alone. There was a hand holding her upright until she could manage a few shaky steps herself, and a broad chest that pillowed her head as they looked out across the horizon together—one filled with wonder and opportunity. Something new and exciting.

“Where will we go?” She asked and he gave her hip a reassuring squeeze.

“Wherever you want.”

“Hm…somewhere quiet. I think I’ve had enough of Kings and courts, I want a dog,” she mused, glancing over her shoulder at him with a smile. “That, and I think I’d quite like to keep you to myself for a while.”

Geralt hummed, his chest rumbling against her back. “I think I’d like that too. You still owe me two favours after all.”

------

Tags: @dinchenrockt @notyouraveragemochii @alwayshave-faith @no-shxt-sherl @szhead31 @comicbeginning

I am very bad at keeping track of my lag list, but I didn’t tag anyone who only asked for a Dorian tag. I’ll figure a better system out soon!

#geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt imagine #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #geralt

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bubble-tea-bunny · 4 years

Text

until you count all the petals

[sylvain gautier x reader]

author’s note: this is the third fic in a row that has to do w flowers and i promise that was a coincidence lol. inspired by my favorite song from my favorite group :’)

word count: 8,176

i. the sky is blue and we’re over

Sylvain’s not sure what he would call the two of you.

He tends not to label things, never much a fan of assigning names, and it’s because labels imply a degree of certainty, of commitment; commitments that came with consequences if it all went south. Strings are too messy, and, he reasons, why bother with snipping them when he could avoid getting wrapped up in them to begin with? Love’s a ball of yarn but he’s not a cat.

With these factors taken into consideration, he finds himself startled, shocked even, like lightning has shot through his veins, to realize on a nondescript afternoon with the sun high in the sky and a gently billowing breeze, that you’re different. It is especially surprising because he arrives at this conclusion while he’s alone. This wasn’t an instance where the guy looks at the girl, really looks at her, and suddenly his chest tightens and he swallows hard because the light shines on her differently now and he knows with certainty—she’s the one.

For Sylvain, it’s the flowers. He’s in the greenhouse and there are sunflowers being cultivated in one of the planters. They’re a new addition, but day by day their stems have grown, shooting up from the soil, like hands reaching for the sky. Their golden petals open, and he swears that corner of the greenhouse feels the slightest bit warmer from the multiple tiny suns. It’s when he sees them and that warmth rushes over him that he is reminded of how he feels when you’re around. And he likes it, wants to feel this way forever, and he wonders if this is the sensation of strings wrapping around his heart.

The sound of his name pulls his attention from the sunflowers and he spots you walking into the greenhouse, a wide smile on your pretty face. But sunflower or smile, smile or sunflower, Sylvain is inclined to think they are the exact same.

He meets you in the middle and offers you his arm. As you exit the greenhouse, absentmindedly you wonder if your favorite shop in the nearby town has your favorite pastry in stock today (they rotate their menu). Why don’t we go check? he asks, and you’re quick to agree. The way your eyes light up is cute.

Sylvain is still hesitant to make any sort of decision as to where your relationship stands, because you have avoided putting a name to it too, but, at the very least, he could say that the two of you are… something more.

Your favorite shop does indeed have your favorite pastry available, and you barely stop yourself from buying three. Sylvain laughs and says he’ll buy three if you want, but you resolve to start with one, and if you’re still craving them, you’d get back in line for more. But both of you know that you will. And so does the baker. This isn’t your first time there. After the food is paid for, he lowers his voice and says he’ll keep two extra in the back for you. This particular baked good is popular, and you’re grateful for the kind gesture.

The gooey frosting sticks to your lips with every bite and your tongue slips out to lick it off. You hold out the pastry to Sylvain, a wordless offer for him to take a bite since he hadn’t gotten anything for himself, but he shakes his head. His own sweet tooth is more than satisfied by you. That’s what he tells you, and he can’t help but laugh when you roll your eyes and lightly punch his shoulder from across the small table. Then he’s reaching out to you, using his thumb to swipe the bit of frosting at the corner of your mouth that you’d missed. He brings it up to his mouth and the sugar melts pleasantly on his tongue. The blush dusting your cheeks reminds him of cherries.

You discuss everything from training and sore muscles to gossip from around the monastery. Sylvain shares the scoop on who’s dating who, and you listen attentively, head occasionally tilting and eyes occasionally widening to learn of unlikely pairs. Some you doubt the validity of, but he promises it’s all true. You sit quietly in thought, gaze dropping to the two pastries on your plate. Huh, you mutter, envisioning one couple specifically that you found hard to believe. Who would have thought?

Sylvain has his head resting on his propped up hand, watching you in amusement. Movement from over your shoulder draws his focus up, and there’s a woman exiting the antique shop next to the bakery. She’s coming this way along the sidewalk, and their eyes meet, and the grin he flashes is instinctual. The response he is met with he is very much accustomed to, her own eyes momentarily diverting, a sudden shyness overcoming her, before she slips him one more quick glance with a tiny smile, and then she’s walked past, continuing on her way.

He turns back to you, but you’re already watching him, and his brows furrow in confusion when you say you’re not really hungry anymore and suggest you head back. He’s even more confused when, instead of gathering up the pastries to bring back to the monastery, as you typically do, you take them over to the next table and ask if the people there want them.

After giving them away, you join him where he’s waiting on the sidewalk. You don’t reach for his hand on the walk back, so he reaches for yours, but it’s a few seconds before your fingers curl to properly grip his. A subtle delay, but unusual enough for him to notice immediately. The sudden change in mood makes him feel like he’s been spun in circles. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he wishes he did.

His wish is granted upon your arrival back at the monastery. The sun is setting and the lake glitters with the last of the daylight. It’s romantic, and he’s about to stop you by the docks, turn to you and steal a kiss in the peacefulness of dusk and run a hand through your hair, soft locks the golden rays of golden hour because this time of day doesn’t look this good on anyone else. Not the way it does on you. But you’re the one to stop first, and his strides are halted by your linked hands.

Your fingers loosen but his hold on your hand keeps you connected, and he’s still smiling like nothing’s wrong. It’s when you don’t reciprocate that it drops and he asks what’s wrong.

And it’s not quite what he wants to hear when you say I don’t know. Surely there was a reason to explain your listlessness. Something like that doesn’t just spring up from nowhere. But what could it be, that you can’t really put it in words? Concern starts to creep up his spine like an unwelcome winter chill, and your hand slipping out of his now slack grip to drop back to your side does the talking for you.

Quietly he says your name, an upward inflection towards the end like it’s a question. You’re staring at your shoes and he’s staring at the crown of your head and even for his worries about what’s happening, what you might say, he can’t shake the thought of fashioning you a crown of flowers.

“What are we, Sylvain?” you finally inquire.

Pulled from his train of thought, Sylvain blinks. “What do you mean?”

“This.” You motion between you both. “You and me… Are we just a temporary fling?”

The mere suggestion stings and Sylvain shakes his head. “What? No—”

“Then are we together?”

The implications of the question catch him off guard. He’d always thought you were on the same page: no labels, no titles, no boyfriend and girlfriend. Just… you and him. Nothing more, nothing less. But your impatience is clear as day with how you cut him off, and he still doesn’t understand why you’re bringing this up. But he knows you’re aware of his hesitation to call things like this by name, and you’d been fine to follow along until this moment, so he’s slow to respond to your loaded question.

“Hey, come on,” he murmurs, taking a half step forward to be closer. “You know you’re the only one for me.” He’s skirting around giving a direct answer, and hopes that you leave it at that, but you don’t, and when he tries to reach for your hand, you take a half step back to be farther away.

“Do I?”

The doubt present in your tone stops him short, and whatever else he might’ve said dies in his throat. Your frustrations are becoming more apparent as the conversation moves along, your eyes shining from the sunset and cutting through him like newly forged steel. Sylvain wracks his brain for what could have been responsible for the soured mood, entirely unlike the atmosphere of this afternoon.

“Is this… because of earlier?” he asks uneasily.

You don’t say anything, but your lack of reply lets him know he’s right. He scoffs like it’s a silly concern, smiling to try to allay your irritation. “That was just a quick glance. She didn’t mean anything.”

It’s the wrong answer to an unspoken question. “It’s not the first time you’ve done that.”

“Done what?”

“Flirt endlessly with practically every girl you see!” This is the most emotion you’ve displayed during your talk, your volume rising slightly, and Sylvain’s thankful the two of you are alone so no one hears what has quickly devolved into a full argument. “So no, I don’t know that I’m the only one for you. I can’t know!”

Every word is a punch in the gut and there’s a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. Sylvain’s mouth opens then closes then opens again but nothing comes out and that’s because you both know he has no defense. What you’ve said is true. He’s always flirted, always talked pretty to pretty girls and taken delight in watching them swoon. He likes to have them wrapped around his finger. Not even the less successful attempts, which leave him standing alone, staring at the back of their retreating figure, are enough to discourage him. It’s habit for him to sweet-talk his way into girls’ hearts, to stay there for a few weeks, days, hours, then take his leave and move on.

This habit is precisely what’s jeopardizing whatever sort of relationship he has with you, the prettiest girl of all. And maybe this is one of those stories where the guy looks at the girl, really looks at her, and knows that she’s the one, because it’s been much longer than a few weeks and never has he thought of leaving you behind.

But it’s too little too late as you stare up at him and he feels you drifting farther away despite the physical distance in between.

“What I said to those other girls were just empty words. They don’t matter to me,” he tries to reason. “Not like you do.”

You’re unsatisfied, however, and shake your head.

“Are you really ready for a relationship, Sylvain?” you ask with a hushed tone now, and his heart squeezes when you say his name. “Because I don’t think you are.”

His silence following your declaration is enough to cut the strings, and even if he did have words, you no longer have the patience to hear them.

———

ii. my friends tell me to give up

It’s almost frightening how you’re able to carry on as if he doesn’t exist. Whenever you’re both in a common area, you never so much as glance his way. Sylvain, on the other hand, isn’t coping very well.

Over the ruckus in the dining hall he can pick out your laugh easily, and a part of him deep down perks up the way it had before whenever he heard or saw you. His eyes shoot to where you sit at a table across the room. One of your friends appears to be telling a captivating tale that has you and your fellow housemates thoroughly entertained. Sylvain sees his mouth move but he can’t hear what he’s actually saying that has you all laughing. It’s impossible to hear much aside from clanking silverware and jumbled chatter. Sylvain’s ears have just been trained to listen for you.

The seat to his right is pulled back as Annette sits down with her plate of food, but Sylvain is too preoccupied staring at you to turn and say hello. Annette doesn’t expect any greeting, but she does sigh when she notices where he’s looking. Sylvain hadn’t officially announced what had transpired between you both; such was his prerogative when it came to any relationships. Since nothing was really ever “official,” he explained, there was no official start or end to make note of.

But Annette, as well as their mutual friends in the Blue Lion house, could surmise that whatever he had with you was different, even if he refused to put any sort of name to it. They began to suspect this when one whole moon had passed and you were still on his mind. Typically, the trysts which he discloses with them are with different girls, and there’s always that moment of trying to pair the name with the face before he continues on with the story, lamenting only half-seriously that She’s nice and all, but we just weren’t meant to be. (Not that it would matter much to figure out exactly who the girl of the week was anyway, since they would inevitably repeat this process all over again a few days later.)

When you came into the picture, you were a constant. For a long while at least—a lot longer than any of them gave Sylvain credit for. It’s been Sylvain’s nature to woo multiple girls at once, keeping them separated so as to prevent any conflict of interest, but over time it became noticeable that among the multiple names he would mention, yours came up again and again and again. And his friends began to wonder if you were it for Sylvain, that both of you were, in his words, meant to be, and maybe Sylvain didn’t want to acknowledge it because he didn’t want the commitment that came with it. Or maybe he was genuinely clueless to his own feelings, unfamiliar with love in any sense, especially the deep kind which flourishes in the deep hours of the night, a companion to silence and reflection.

Perhaps it was both, Annette thinks. He was oblivious until one day, something changed (he’d never shared the details, and no one had ever pried), and though he didn’t say it out loud, she noticed the light in his eyes when he talked about you. It was bright, instinctual, and, if she had anything to say about it, was almost love.

Now, Sylvain’s shoulders sag and his head rests on his hand as he watches you, hoping you’ll look this way, and the whole picture is one of dejection. Had the cutting of ties been what it took for his feelings to finally be truly realized? Life could be awfully cruel…

The chair across from Annette is pulled back with a grating scrape, wooden legs against wooden flooring, and Ashe sits down. His eyes are also drawn to Sylvain, as if a dark aura were surrounding him, and he frowns. A quick glance behind him in the direction Sylvain is staring confirms his suspicions immediately, and he bites his lip like he’s holding back words, wanting to speak but hesitating.

Sylvain notices Ashe’s pause and his eyes slide briefly in his direction.

“I know you want to say it, Ashe.” He’s blunt, tone flat. “So say it.”

Ashe releases his bottom lip. “Maybe it’s time to let her go.”

Annette holds her breath following this remark, anxious for Sylvain’s reaction. She doesn’t know why she’s nervous; he won’t get mad or yell. He’s been nothing but despondent since you stopped talking to him a couple of weeks ago, a perpetual raincloud hanging over his head. It did well to sour the mood of anyone who got near him, and if he noticed the effect it was having, he didn’t react or do anything to fix it. Some of those in Blue Lion were patient with him, giving him adequate time to process what happened. (Though what was that exactly? A break-up? It seemed like it, but Sylvain would never call it that.) Others, conversely, were less willing to wait for the storm to pass, hardly fans of being soaked to the bone.

Those who attempted the task of taking Sylvain’s mind off of you were far from successful. Where once mentions of a pretty girl in one of the other houses whom they’d seen glancing his way would cause Sylvain to perk up and seek her out, keen to snatch her heart up, for a day or a week or however long he fancied, such remarks now blew right past him, the faint whistle of a narrowly dodged arrow he doesn’t care enough to search for and see where it landed. The less patient among their friends have, therefore, given up. There could be no use helping someone off the ground if they weren’t looking for assistance.

Annette and Ashe were two people still holding on, but even they are gradually coming to terms with the futility of talking with what might as well be a brick wall. The absolute last resort that would pull Sylvain from his slump is if Dimitri were to say something, particularly in regards to how this is affecting Sylvain’s performance when training. Sylvain’s not at that point (yet?), so Dimitri has remained one of the patient few, but it would be better, of course, to avoid that kind of conversation entirely.

But Sylvain’s too busy running in circles around the thought of you to spot the hand offered to help him stand. He doesn’t say it, but Annette and Ashe don’t need him to because they already know what words refuse to surface: he doesn’t want to let you go.

What he does choose to share aloud is preceded by a sardonic laugh. “It’s ironic,” he starts, “that I’m the one who was dumped.” You’ve turned the tables on him. Does it usually hurt like this?

A singular issue that has remained at the forefront of his dilemma has to do with your own feelings. Was what you felt about him the same as what he still feels for you? His cynical side urges him to reason that no, he was the one making a bigger deal out of this than it was and it’s his fault he’s heartbroken. That’s the only way he could explain why you’re all smiles and laughs in the days that have transpired since the argument, a drop of sunshine warming the earth where you walk. Meanwhile he’s downtrodden in the shade, just a little too far out of your reach.

And yet he can’t shake the notion that you had to have felt just as seriously about your relationship as he had, because your outburst had stemmed from his aversion to exclusivity. Even if you didn’t say it, the problem you took with his coquetry implied your desire for something more too—that being the chance to maybe call him yours, with all the strings and none of the stray glances or flirtatious words shared with other girls. Should this be true, it was still his fault that your relationship is basically in shambles; his propensity to woo and impress with no thought to commitment, no thought to what you might think despite knowing deep down that you were different from the others, had pushed you away. So he’s paying the price. Being nobility means nothing; he’d never have enough money to pay in full for something like this.

Still, he wishes you would look at him, at least once. He feels like a lovesick puppy and maybe he should be embarrassed because as far as anyone else is concerned, he doesn’t get hung up on any one girl for long, but they don’t know you like he does. They don’t know the way you make his stomach do flips or the way your grin has him wrapped around your finger. The more you pass him by, the more he pines for you, and maybe you know and that’s why your eyes never search for his; you’re intent to move on, whatever your feelings for him may have been. The sun’s not fond of rainstorms either.

———

iii. it’s only you for me

Life starts to return to normal, slowly but surely. Sylvain’s in a slump less often these days, and he’s smiling a little more, joking around a little more. Though his training had never suffered after your relationship came to an end, he throws himself into it extra hard now, giving it his all. It’s the ideal distraction, and Dimitri has even commended his discipline and sharp improvement. Annette observes him with a knowing gaze but says nothing. The last thing Sylvain needs in his process of getting over you is to hear your name.

What truly begins to mark the return of the Sylvain they’re all familiar with is his flirtatious remarks with any cute girl that catches his eye. However, for every ounce of his enthusiasm, not everyone is interested (perhaps they’re aware of his track record), but that doesn’t discourage him. Where one might not care to give him the time of day, another is, and he pulls them in with silken praises and honeyed words murmured over the wispy tendrils of steam floating from their cups of tea.

Felix won’t admit that this past moon had been… uncomfortably quiet, with Sylvain in the state he was. It was strange to see his friend so reserved and contained, lost within his own head. Usually Sylvain would talk his ears off (or come very close to doing so) about his shenanigans and all the other monastery gossip Felix never cared to find out about himself. Now that the period of atypical quiet has passed, and Sylvain’s regained his voice and his confidence, well, Felix also won’t admit that he had missed it (but just a little).

Today he is an unintentional witness to Sylvain’s latest efforts of wooing another student; Felix doesn't know who she is, and he doesn’t plan to ask Sylvain later. They’re sitting across from each other at one of the tables in the reception hall, close to the wall. Sylvain’s broad-shouldered figure dwarfs her much smaller form, and Felix can’t see what he’s saying, but based on the girl’s bashful smile she hides behind her hand, it’s a string of saccharine remarks that Felix fears will make his teeth rot should he actually be able to overhear their conversation.

A few seconds is all it takes for Felix to grow tired of this display, and he sighs, prepared to continue his walk in the direction of the training grounds. But it seems the invisible hands which keep the world turning would keep him right where he is, and it’s in a fit of irony that perhaps the one person least interested in Sylvain’s love life also serves as an unintentional witness to his yearning, to his regression, and to his downfall.

Felix sees you around the monastery often, and he only made note of all the times he did after you and Sylvain began to spend time together more consistently. Prior to that, he had no idea who you were. The instances he had spotted you following whatever it was you told Sylvain that had left him so gloomy, were marked by slight confusion, for you carried on as if nothing were wrong, as if you didn’t have that talk and separated yourself from Sylvain entirely. And it left him to wonder, the tiniest bit curious, if maybe you were the one stringing Sylvain along. But for what purpose? To show him how it felt to be picked up, treated like gold, then abandoned in the dust? If so, you were more spiteful than you looked.

The speculation doesn’t make sense if what Sylvain had told him was true. Felix pretends he’s not listening when Sylvain talks about girls, but he is, and he remembers especially what Sylvain said about you. It wasn’t just Sylvain waxing lyrical when he declared that what you felt for each other was different. You were more than just some girl he took a brief interest in, and it was your equally enthusiastic reciprocation of his feelings that made Sylvain start to feel like he could have a real relationship. He never did tend to wear his heart on his sleeve, but with the way he spoke of you, he showed it off proudly. He’s usually guarded enough that Felix took this as a sign that your own feelings really were genuine.

And so, all those factors considered, Felix thinks he’ll never understand how, despite how strongly you had also felt for Sylvain, you are hardly affected by the break-up (Sylvain would never call it that but Felix isn’t blind nor the one in denial). You haven’t met Sylvain’s gaze since then, not once.

Well, until now, as you pass through the reception hall. Perhaps it was an accident, but that’s all it takes for Sylvain to slip back to square one. It’s a quick meeting of the eyes from over the shoulder of the girl Sylvain is talking to, and you never once pause in your steps. You almost look indignant to have caught his attention, inwardly scolding yourself for allowing your eyes to wander.

You walk right past Felix, kicking up a small breeze in your wake due to the hastening of your steps, and Felix looks from you over to Sylvain, who says something to the girl—excusing himself?—before standing up and following after you. He walks fast too, intent to catch up to you, and he doesn’t spare Felix a glance either.

Felix sighs. Oh dear…

Once out of the reception hall, Sylvain looks left and right. He barely catches sight of your figure turning the corner into the garden, and this time he breaks into a run, his wide strides carrying him to you swiftly.

“[Name]!” he calls out, and he doesn’t care for the stares he draws from other students. “Wait!”

You don’t turn around at the sound of your name, and in a desperate attempt to get you to finally look at him, he takes hold of your arm, hoping that you’ll stop. His grip is gentle, and you could easily pull away, but you don’t, and he’s breathing a little harder from the short run but also from the fact you’re standing here, in front of him, watching him and there’s no spark in your eyes like there had been once, but at the moment he’s just happy that you’re looking at him at all.

“What do you want, Sylvain?” you ask quietly.

He swallows, his breath returning to normal, and your eyes slide down to where he’s still holding your arm. His fingers uncurl from around your white long-sleeve and there are small wrinkles where they once were. There’s silence as Sylvain tries to put a sentence together because he realizes he doesn’t have anything to say. He didn’t actually think you would stop. And the longer you stand there, the more he panics, worried that you might leave and he’ll have wasted his chance to get you back.

“I’m sorry.”

He hopes you don’t ask sorry for what because there are so many things, and while part of him is ready to list them, to voice his regret and admit his feelings aloud, thereby undoing all he had ever done to keep himself from getting attached to one person, the other part of him is too scared to do it because he’s never felt like this about anyone and it’s frightening how painfully his chest tightens when you say his name, even when you say it with indifference.

You shake your head. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

But there is and somehow it hurts more than you act like there isn’t. Are you really so prepared to move on? Frantically he searches your gaze for any longing or any sign that you don’t want to completely forget about what the two of you had. Surely you had been thinking about him too, in some capacity? Do you miss him at all?

“Please,” he begs, but he can’t begin to properly describe what it is he’s begging for. “Just give me another chance.”

You almost look as if you’re going to say no, your jaw set as you stare up at him. Yet he finds an inkling of hope in your several seconds of silence because you appear to be considering what he has said. His heart is pounding and could this be it? Could you be coming back to him? It might be slow, tentative, but Sylvain will work with that. He will give you your time and space to process, and he won’t mess up again.

You break eye contact to glance to your right, in the direction of the gazebo, and it’s a signal for Sylvain that his hope was probably too ambitious. To decide on something like that right now was unrealistic, and his impatience gnaws at him but he meant it when he said he would give you space.

“Can we talk about this another time? I have to meet someone.”

Another time. Sylvain nods his head a little too eagerly. “Yeah. Of course.”

You give him a time and place and when he says goodbye, you only halfheartedly respond with a wave. He remains where he is as you walk the rest of the way to the gazebo in the center of the garden and slide into the chair across from a guy Sylvain doesn’t recognize. At the sight of you both, his stomach feels heavy and his shoulders sag and maybe you don’t miss him.

———

iv. until you count all the petals

Sylvain arrives ten minutes early.

He understands why you chose this spot. It’s far from wandering eyes, the only people likely to come this way being the guards as they make their rounds. It stings a little to be treated as something to be hidden away, but he doesn’t blame you for it. If anyone aware of what had happened between you were to spot you together, it would only invite questions you might not be keen to answer.

What exactly were your expectations for the conversation you will have? Sylvain knows what his are, but from what he can tell thus far with the way you have chosen to handle this, picking a quiet place to talk, your own are the complete opposite. If you wanted to avoid anyone seeing you, then that implies you have no intention of taking him back. Otherwise, you would have no problem if the whole academy were to observe you together.

With a huff, Sylvain shakes his head in an attempt to rid himself of these negative thoughts. Be all that as it may, he wouldn’t set himself up for failure by overthinking and acting paranoid. Even if his assumptions are correct, he would still do his best to change your mind. He’s coming to you as a different person now, one that is sure of his feelings and, for the first time in his life, ready to put a name to what you two have because it is different and it’s special and the biggest regret Sylvain has is that he hadn’t realized it sooner. He wishes he hadn’t been so afraid to accept it.

The minutes tick by and he grows increasingly nervous. He hadn’t exactly prepared a speech beforehand, and usually he’s good at winging speeches, especially the flowery kind, designed to tug the heartstrings, but he doubts that will cut it this time. There are many things he wants to say, and there isn’t a lot of time to say them. All that he feels for you is an incoherent jumble, too strong to constrain to concise sentences and he wants to show you, not tell you. He wants you to understand the depth of his affection through the gentle graze of his fingertips along your skin, through his pounding heart as he holds you close, your ear to his chest. And he wonders if you’ll get it then, that you’re the first girl to render him speechless.

“Sylvain.”

As if shocked, Sylvain twists around. He hadn’t heard you approach. You’re standing a few feet away, hands clutched behind your back, a polite stance like you’re talking to a stranger. He doesn’t say anything immediately, unsure of how to greet you or if he should greet you. Should he just get into his spiel? But then he remembers the bouquet he’s clutching because your eyes are drawn to it, and he notes with embarrassment that in his absentminded pondering, he’d been squeezing the stems. Luckily none are bent out of shape, and he holds the flowers out to you.

“I got you these.” Smooth, Sylvain.

Your blink and tilt your head, confused as to why he would present you with a gift when the conversation you’re about to have hardly merits one, but you accept it anyway, graceful as always. “… Thank you.”

You bring them up closer to your face so you can smell them, and Sylvain’s smile is hidden behind the flowers. When you lower them again, you inform him you can’t stay for long. You’re meeting someone in the library to work on an assignment, and he’d like to know if that someone is the guy he saw you having tea with the other day, but he keeps silent about that. Perhaps you do have somewhere to be, or perhaps you don’t and you’re lying because you just don’t want to talk to him more than necessary. Either way, Sylvain is strapped for time, and he needs to make the best of it.

“I won’t be long,” he promises. “Just… until you count all the petals.”

And that wouldn’t take long at all. The petals of the flowers he gave you are large, and easily counted. Upon this remark, the corner of your mouth lifts in an almost-smile, and your focus shifts downwards to the flowers you hold. He can’t tell if you’re counting but doesn’t stop to ask.

Instead, he starts to spill his heart out to you. “I messed up big time, I know. And I meant it when I said I’m sorry. I should’ve been less afraid to accept what I felt for you.”

You purse your lips and look up at him. Quietly, you inquire, “What do you feel for me?”

Sylvain can feel his pulse pounding in his ears. You’re watching him closely, but it’s not scrutinizing or investigative, simply… curious. Curious to know if he’ll actually say it now, if your feelings had been valid and he had genuinely felt the same because when you called everything off, it certainly didn’t feel like he did, and he hates that he put you through that kind of heartbreak. You were the last person to deserve that, and the gravity of his series of screw-ups settle heavy on his shoulders now. This is his last chance to redeem himself, if you would even grant him that.

Though he understands this, the words don’t leave him easily, the final struggle in breaking past the walls he has created for himself. His mouth opens then closes, nothing coming out at first. He’s trying to find the words and you’re a patient person, but it doesn’t extend that far with him, not anymore, and he understands that too. No answer would still be an answer, and as his silence stretches on, you too open your mouth to speak, perhaps to say a farewell for good. That one second feels like eternity and the dreadful thought of you walking away now is what breaks down those barriers, and he’s desperately reaching out for you where you stand on the other side.

“I love you.”

Your mouth promptly shuts, and now you’re the one who’s speechless. He’d actually said it. The surprise on your face betrays the fact you really didn’t think he would, and to be honest, he’s a bit surprised too. Never has he confessed something so heartfelt to another, preferring to keep away from anything that intimate. Such a statement isn’t to be taken lightly, and he has always understood its importance, of what it means to say that to someone with such conviction that the heart squeezes so hard it begins to crack. It’s to this that he owes his sudden shortness of breath in the following quiet, waiting apprehensively for any sort of response.

You don’t reply with words first. There are subtle changes written upon your face, whether or not you notice. Your features soften, your eyes not as guarded as they were, and he has greatly missed the fondness which settles in them. Eternal summer rests deep in his soul and you’re the sun that will never set. Your eyelashes kiss the smooth skin of your cheeks as you glance down. Now poised for a reply, your mouth opens, lips glistening, and he would like very much to kiss them. But that’s a mere passing thought and he remains in place, bracing himself, crossing his fingers for the best while mentally steeling himself for the worst.

Please say you love me too.

“Fifty-eight.”

That certainly didn’t sound like I love you too.

Sylvain’s brows furrow. “What?”

You lift your gaze to him. “There are fifty-eight petals.”

Well, it was a response. Not one Sylvain had wanted, but it was better than none at all, and you’d upheld your end of the agreement: you listened until you counted every petal.

He tries not to make his disappointment visible but you know him so well you can detect the smallest cues. His eyes break contact with yours, and for a moment it looks like you’re going to say something, at best a reciprocation of his affection, at worst a rejection of it, but you stop yourself, glancing down at the bouquet.

“I… I have to get going,” you state instead.

Sylvain nods. “Right.”

You part ways with awkward waves, and you don’t say See you later. It might be reasonable to assume that this is your way of telling him you don’t feel the same way, that it ends here and it ends for real, but he doesn’t make that assumption. There aren’t fifty-eight petals. There are seventy-two. He counted them earlier. You’d mentioned a random number, and if you hadn’t counted, that meant you’d been willing to listen from the start. Perhaps you weren’t as antsy to get away as he had previously assumed, and you had wanted to hear what he had to say.

He stares after your retreating figure but he doesn’t feel dread to see you walking away, flowers in hand. His breaths feel lighter, coming to him easier, and maybe he’d convinced you, or at the very least, is on his way to doing so. In any case, he would gladly wait, allowing you all the time you need to think.

———

v. prettier than a flower, she left

He hears you before he sees you.

You’ve just finished with choir practice and you call out a goodbye to your friend, who’s decided to stay behind in the cathedral for a bit longer. You, on the other hand, are striding past the tall and wide open wooden doors, the gentle wind today ruffling your clothes as you step outside. The air is cool and you don’t notice him standing there.

Sylvain’s off to the side of the entrance to the cathedral, leaning on the brick wall. He grins in amusement when he discovers you haven’t spotted him. He stares at your back for a few moments but doesn't let you get very far before he’s speed walking to catch up to you. His shoes clack quietly on the cobblestone but you don’t have time to react to the noise before he’s taken hold of your arm to grab your attention.

You gasp in surprise and turn around, eyes wide, and once you register who has stopped you, you let out a deep breath and set your free hand over your heart.

“Sylvain!” you exclaim. “You scared me!”

Sylvain laughs and continues to laugh even after you playfully hit him on the shoulder, so lightly that he very well could have imagined it if he hadn’t just watched you do it. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.” With the hand still wrapped around the crook of your elbow he tugs you close, and because you aren’t prepared for this, you stumble forward and fall against his chest. You collide with a quiet oof!

“What happened to us meeting at the reception hall?” you ask, and as you do, you brace your palms against his chest to try to push away and increase distance, at least to give you adequate space to tilt your head back to look at him, but he’s got both arms wrapped around you now, and given that he’s stronger, he doesn’t budge.

You give up and stop your pushing, and he chuckles at your small whine of defeat. “I couldn’t wait any longer to see you.”

“I was going straight there. It’s a five minute walk.” Accepting that so long as Sylvain wanted to hold you like this, you would remain right where you are, you bring your own arms around his torso. You’re careful not to dig your fingers into the fabric of his blazer, not wanting to wrinkle it.

“Five minutes is too long when I could just wait for you here.”

He almost sounds offended that you imply that he could possibly wait for an extra five minutes before he could see you again, and it’s your turn to laugh. “So needy,” you tease.

Sylvain won’t deny it. There’s nothing to hide and by this point, the whole academy is aware of your relationship. You’re part of the monastery gossip now, the likes of which you enjoy talking about while sitting outside the bakery in town. Before, he might have resented the idea of being so openly wrapped around a girl’s finger, because that was supposed to be his thing. Sylvain didn’t get tied down to just one person. But before, he also hadn’t fully realized what he was missing.

He’d rearrange the stars for you, would scoop them from the sky to stick to the ceiling of your room if you asked him to, so sweetly with that sweet voice of yours. And maybe in thanks you would sing him to sleep, gently running your fingers through his hair and he’d drift off wondering how he he could be this lucky, to be in love with the moon and to be loved back.

His attention no longer strays to other girls, and for many at the academy, this is a complete turnaround from when he could hardly keep his attention on just one. So if anyone were to remark that he seems different now, or tease him with a Who are you and what have you done with Sylvain or some such joke, he won’t argue against it or act like this is merely temporary. You’re not temporary. And he’s less inclined to say that the way he is now is “different.” It’s more that he knows himself better these days, and knows that life is better with you.

Neither of you has kept track of how long you’re standing there, and Sylvain is only pulled from his thoughts by you asking him to let go so you can start the walk to town. You like when he holds you, you tell him, but the day and all its sunshine is too beautiful to waste just staying here.

Sylvain nuzzles your hair and smiles and he’s certain you can feel it. His arms around you loosen, but you don’t immediately pull back, as if you can sense he still has things he wants to say, murmured against your form so the wind can’t eavesdrop. He murmurs that he loves you, and it comes out so easily that it’s a wonder that there was once a time he’d struggled to share those words with you.

You lean back slightly to look up at him and even in the shade they are bright and glittering. Your mouth curls into a beautiful grin that he’d like to kiss. He bends down, closing the distance, and as you’re about to meet he thinks he feels you say it back—I love you—whispered in one quick and silent breath, a burst of heat against his lips.

“Sylvain?”

What? Were you saying that?

“Sylvain.”

It didn’t sound like you. But then… where was that coming from? Who was calling him?

“Sylvain, wake up.”

Wake… up?

Sylvain’s eyes slide open and through blurry vision that has yet to come into focus, he spots Ashe stand on the opposite side of the long dining table, leaning forward and bracing himself on the dark wooden tabletop. Sylvain groans and sits up, stretching out his spine after having fallen asleep in a position that wasn’t the most comfortable. Ashe’s smile is sympathetic, sorry that he had to wake him up. He was sleeping rather heavily.

“We have to get to class,” Ashe tells him. “The next lesson is starting soon.”

The hustle and bustle of the dining hall corroborates his statement. The students who had lingered and spent the entirety of their lunch period here are cleaning up, and a chorus of chairs being pushed back into place echoes through the room. With a huff, equal parts one of inconvenience at having to get up and one of disappointment that he’d simply been dreaming, Sylvain stands up and follows Ashe outside.

The weather has taken a turn for the gloomy. A thick blanket of clouds paints the sky gray, and it’s the sort of overcast sky that’s difficult to look at. Ashe wonders aloud if it might rain, but Sylvain has no response to offer. He’s still trying to regain his bearings in time for lecture, but it’s slow progress when he’s still hung up on his dream. It had felt so real, and that’s what hurts the most. For a moment, he almost believed that everything had worked out, and he wishes that he could’ve remained forever within his own head, suspended in time, where that short and blissful period could stretch to eternity.

As per usual, no matter the amount of noise, the level of commotion as students scramble to get to their classrooms, Sylvain can hear your laugh above it all. His eyes find you walking across the courtyard, uncaring for the possibility of raindrops falling from the sky.

You’re with that guy again; you have been more often as of late. Sylvain never did catch his name. He must’ve said something funny because you grin widely, looking up at him with a sense of admiration Sylvain can pick up effortlessly despite the distance. He knows that what you must feel for him is real, that what you feel for him is something like love, if not love itself, because you used to look at him that way.

You hadn’t given him a direct response after his confession, and he hadn’t pressured you for one, not wanting to risk pushing you away further. But his heartfelt admission mattered little because he truly had been too late, for you’d been swept off your feet by another, and the most you could give by way of apology was a final glance when Sylvain saw you both, arm in arm, walking to the front gates of the monastery to take the path into town. It was a shock, certainly, that it was you who initiated eye contact, but it was your merciful goodbye. You’re always sweet like that, even as you break his heart.

Sylvain’s gaze slides from your faces down to your linked hands, and it’s the last he sees of you two before you disappear into your lecture hall. He’s close behind Ashe as they step out into the courtyard, and Ashe exclaims he thinks a raindrop hit his head. While his pace quickens, Sylvain’s stays the same, and he takes a hand out of his pocket to hold it out.

A drop of rain falls into his palm, and then another, and he’d really like a sunflower right about now.

#sylvain gautier x reader #sylvain gautier imagine #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem imagine #fire emblem three houses x reader #fire emblem three houses imagine #sylvain gautier #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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sergeanttucker · 5 years

Text

Anger

Summary: Quentin is angry. Really angry. He lets out his frustration in the bedroom. (I suck at summarys)

Warning: Spider-Man FFH SPOILER!! (a little at the end), SMUT, rough smut?, bit of knife action, language

Word count: 2554

Request: 31D + 41D either Jake Gyllenhaal or Quentin Beck idc, full smut if your cool with that, thanks// 31. “Face down on the bed. Now.” 41. “Use your teeth.”

AN - I decided to go with Quentin because I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with RPF smut. Hope you like it, dear Anon!

AN2 - Feedback appreciated.

Requested from this list! // Requests are open

(Gif just because)

The sound of the front door slamming, followed by quick steps, echoed in the quiet apartment. (Y/N) wasn’t bothered by it. She knew Quentin would be home soon, even if he arrived earlier than usual. She stood in front of the body length mirror, brushing her hair as the bedroom door opened. “Hey, babe. You are ear…”

She was interrupted as he grabbed her shoulders and turned her around before slamming her against the mirror that hung on the wall, a startled squeak left her at the impact. “Shut up.” He grabbed her jaw in one hand, pressing his thumb and finger into her cheeks before he pressed a hard kiss to her lips, tongue pressing into her mouth to tangle with hers.

(Y/N) was shocked and didn’t respond for a moment. He has never been this forceful when it came to time in the bedroom. Not that she minded, it turned her on to be honest. His hands were hard and demanding as he gripped her thighs and hoisted her up, her legs wrapped themselves around his hips. He broke the kiss and began to bite her neck, sucking a mark there as his hips rutted against hers.

(Y/N) hissed at the sting, a quiet moan left her lips. “Quen…” A big, warm hand clamped over her mouth, keeping her from talking. “I said: Shut. Up.” His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, cold as they stared into her own. She nodded mutely as her eyes flickered between his, trying to find the reason for this sudden change of behavior but he didn’t give her an answer and instead stepped over to the bed and dropped her there.

She lay on her back, propped up on her elbows as she watched him tug his shirt from his body before his hands went to his belt. The clinking of the buckle sounded louder as it actually were in the room and (Y/N) swallowed heavily as he held it in his hands before he made a gesture with his hands. “Turn around. Hands together behind your back.” Sharp words who didn’t allow her to argue, and she quickly turned around with her hands on her lower back.

He secured her hands with the belt, tight enough so she couldn’t free them but not tight enough to actually hurt her. “On your knees, face to me.” Another command she quickly followed. Her eyes were fixed on his but as he opened his pants and let them drop to the floor, they fell briefly to the bulge in his boxers. They snapped back up to his face as he cupped her cheek with one hand, thumb stroking over her lower lip. “You know what I want.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to answer, but as Quentin quirked an eyebrow at her, she quickly shut it again and just nodded. “Go on then.” Her eyes dropped down to his boxers again and she wondered how in hell she was supposed to free his erection with her hands bound behind her back. Apparently, her confusion was written on her face because she heard an impatient sigh come from his lips. His voice was hard as he barked instructions. “Use your teeth.”

His hard tone sent shivers down her spine; she could barely contain the mewl that wanted to escape her throat. Leaning forward, (Y/N) pressed light kisses to his stomach, tracing the skin above his boxers with her tongue. Biting into the waistband, she tugged his boxers down as far as she could without falling from the bed. An annoyed sound left Quentins throat at her weak attempts, but he said nothing and just shuffled them down the rest of the way alone.

His hard cock sprung free, bobbing right in front of (Y/N)’s face. She licked her lips at the sight and leaned further in, pressing a soft kiss to his tip. The hiss that hit her ear encouraged her; she wanted to hear more of the sounds she loved so much. Sticking her tongue out, she licked a stripe from the base to the head, flickering her tongue over his sensitive tip to get a taste of the pre-cum that already gathered there.

She hummed as the salty taste hit her tongue and sucked his tip into her mouth, slowly lowering her head to take more of his length. Quentin let her go at her pace at first but he quickly grew impatient and gripped her hair to guide her further down until he hit the back of her throat. Groaning at the feeling of her throat constricting around his cock, he held her down as she tried to lift her head.

“That’s right. You will take everything.” His voice was only a grumble as he continued to hold her down until her eyes watered and her salvia dropped from the corner of her mouth. He pulled her head back up, and she took the opportunity to take a deep breath before he pushed her down again.

Once he was satisfied with how she worked her tongue over his cock, he pulled her away from his cock and tugged on her hair to make her stand up on her knees. His eyes were still hard as they stared into hers. He watched a tear run down her cheek and quickly searched her face for a sign of discomfort, but the only thing he could see was desire and raw lust.

He stroked the tear away and pressed a harsh kiss to her lips before he leaned back up to his full height. “Stay right here. Don’t move.” He pointed a stern finger at her and waited for her nod before he disappeared from the room. He came back only a minute later with a knife in hand. (Y/N) swallowed hard at the sight of the shiny metal in his hand. What was he about to do?

“Turn around. Face down on the bed. Now.” (Y/N) watched his face for a second longer before she turned around and dropped her torso to the mattress, keeping her ass up. She watched Quentins movements out of the corner of her eyes, breathing heavily as he kneeled behind her and dragged the cold metal over one of her ass cheeks. A gasp escaped her throat as suddenly cold air hit her wet pussy, Quentin had cut through the flimsy material of her panties instead of taking them off the common way.

A cold finger swept through her folds, causing her to gasp as it bumped against her clit. Quentin sucked his finger, which was drenched in her juices in his mouth and groaned at the taste. “Always so delicious…” His words were only mumbled, and he probably talked more to himself than to her. He bucked his hips against hers, his cock perfectly nestled between her folds to soak himself. (Y/N) whimpered at the friction and tried to press back against him, but Quentin gripped her hips tightly and slapped her ass. “You will take what I give you. No more, no less. Got it?”

(Y/N) whimpered and jolted a bit forward as his hand met her skin. She nodded and clenched her hands to fists as another hit echoed in the room. After two more hits, her skin turned a slight red, and she was sure there would be handprints the next morning, but she didn’t mind. She was desperate to finally get filled and stopped herself from begging, knowing he wanted her to be quiet.

Quentin stroked her ass with one hand and gripped his cock with the other, circling her entrance before pushing in just his tip. (Y/N) couldn’t hold back the needy whine when he pulled out again, circling her clit with his tip before dipping in again. Her breath grew uneven, her thighs shivered. The teasing was almost too much for her, tears of frustration and desperation welled up in her eyes and just as she was about to break his rule of being quiet, he pushed into her, bottoming out in one stroke.

It was unexpected and (Y/N) couldn’t stop the moan that tore out of her throat, her mouth formed a perfect O. Quentin didn’t give her time to adjust and instantly started a punishing pace. His hips snapped against her ass, filling the room with the sound of skin slapping against skin. He had never been this rough, his grip on her hips were sure to leave bruises and he delivered one slap after the other to her already sore ass.

Quentin angled her hips a little upward, hitting her g-spot with every punishing thrust. Endless moans fell from (Y/N)’s mouth, for a second she was worried that Quentin would be mad at her moans, but apparently, he didn’t care about her pleasured sounds as long as she didn’t talk.

Quentin pounded relentlessly against her g-spot, it didn’t take long and (Y/N) could feel an orgasm creep up on her. Quentin could feel it too, as her walls clenched around his cock. He grunted deeply at the feeling and gripped the back of her neck, pressing her further into the mattress. “Don’t you dare to cum now. You will cum when I tell you to.”

(Y/N) whimpered and screwed her eyes shut, trying to will her release away. In the mood her boyfriend was in today, she didn’t dare to disobey him but the way he filled her so perfectly, stroking every sensitive spot insider her, it was hard to do as he said.

Quentin pulled out of her abruptly and ignored the disappointed whine from (Y/N) beneath him. He turned her around on her back, (Y/N) hissed at the sheets rubbed at the red and sore skin of her ass but at least she could look at him now. He was panting slightly, his chest heaving with each breath as he grabbed the knife he had dropped beside him earlier.

He trailed the metal over her thigh, leaving slight red marks behind as it travelled up to the hem of her shirt. A startled yelp left (Y/N) as Quentin gripped the last piece of clothing that covered her and cut it all the way up between her breasts. He dropped the knife as his eyes wandered over her flesh. He always took the time to admire her beauty. He felt her perfect soft skin beneath his fingertips as he stroked up her sides and then cupped her breasts, squeezing them slightly. Sure, there were stretch marks here and there, but to him they only made her more beautiful.

His eyes and facial expression softened for the fraction of a second, giving (Y/N) a glimpse of his usual soft and loving personality. But as soon as it came it was gone again, and he gripped her legs and wrapped them around his hips before he positioned himself at her entrance and once again bottomed out with one stroke.

(Y/N)’s mouth opened in a silent scream as he resumed his punishing pace and pounded into her. She arched her back at a particular hard thrust which tore a loud moan from her lips. Her still bound hands dug into her lower back, adding a slight pain to the immense pleasure. Quentin groaned at the sweet melody she sang only for him and leaned down to her, one hand stayed at her hips as the other rested beside her head to steady himself, fingers tangling in her hair.

He pressed his lips against hers and pushed his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her pleasured moans. The kiss didn’t last long, both of them too out of breath. Quentin panted as he pressed his forehead against hers and stared into her eyes, his hips never stopping their movements. “You want to cum, don’t you?” (Y/N) moaned again and nodded frantically, knowing not to talk. An evil grin spread across Quentins face as he saw how desperate she was. Her face was scrunched in concentration and he knew she tried to hold her release back. He could feel how tense she became.

Quentin lowered his face and pressed harsh kisses to her jaw and neck. He nibbled at her sweet spot, sucking a mark there as he increased the pace of his hips. Soon he was panting and groaning so much he had to stop working on her neck. “Fuck…” His voice was breathy as he mumbled into her shoulder and he pushed his hands underneath her to loosen the belt around her wrists. Finally, her hands were free, and she instantly wrapped them around his neck, hands gripping his hair tightly as she moaned his name.

Quentin didn’t seem to mind that she broke his rule. His only response was a growl as she tugged on his hair. “Quen… Please… I need to cum, please.” Her breathy beg was like music to his ears, and he crept his hand between their bodies to rub harsh circles around her clit. She could barely concentrate on the kiss he pressed to her lips; the need to cum occupied her every thought.

Quentin had finally mercy on her. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered a breathy command. “Cum, for me.” Instantly, (Y/N)’s legs tightened around his hips and her mouth opened in a silent scream as her release washed over her. The clenching of her walls was too much for Quentin to bear, he bit into her shoulder, muffling his groan as he came into her.

He continued to rock into her, riding out both their orgasms until (Y/N) whimpered from oversensitivity. They stayed like this for a few moments longer, Quentin still locked inside of her. (Y/N)’s arms and legs were wrapped around him, holding him close as he breathed heavily into the crook of her neck. She stroked over his back, calming him down from his high.

As his senses came back to him, he lifted himself from her and took his shirt from the floor to clean both of them up before he lay down beside her, resting his head on her breast. (Y/N) wrapped her arms back around him, stroking through his slightly sweaty hair.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Her voice was soft. Of course, she wanted to know what was going on, but she didn’t want to pressure him. “Stark fired me.” His voice was laced with anger, but he stayed calm and slung his arm around her middle to press her against him. “Do you remember the project I worked on for so long?”

“Yeah, I do. Binarily Augmented…”

“…Retro Framing. Yeah. He uses it as therapy technology.”

“I’m sorry. I know how much it meant to you.” She felt stupid for saying something like that, but she didn’t know what else she should say. “The worst part is, he calls it B.A.R.F.” He scrunched his face in disgust as he remembered how his former boss stood on stage and told everyone the name of his technology.

“B.A.R.F.?” She was surprised. She thought someone like the famous Tony Stark would come up with a better name. Quentin just nodded as his thoughts ran a million miles. “I will pay him back. One way or the other.” (Y/N) pressed a kiss to his head. “I know, Love. And I will be right by your side.”

#quentin beck x reader #mysterio x reader #quentin beck smut #mysterio smut #quentin beck x reader smut #mysterio x reader smut #quentin beck fanfiction #mysterio fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel smut #quentin beck #mysterio #jelly writes

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gi-maeve-rose · 4 years

Text

Dark Matters

Chapter 2: An Old Friend

“Man, I fucking hate Elf Town,” Daryl complained from the passenger seat of the police car.

Nick huffed a sigh, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m aware. You say that every time we drive through.”

“Because I hate it every time!” Daryl groaned in distain as he watched the expensively dressed elves go by. “Those Magic feds couldn’t come out to the station? It’s not like they ain’t been there before. They know where it is.”

“You read the email, Ward,” Jakoby reminded, glancing at his partner. “If they were to come out too close around the time of the Wand incident, people are gonna start suspecting things.”

“It’s been two years, man. And isn’t it suspicious that two LAPD officers, the ones who were involved with the Wand incident, are going to Magic Task Force HQ?”

Nick said nothing. He understood Daryl’s apprehension. After their traumaticing encounter with the Inferni, and the revelation that Daryl is a Bright, all he wanted was for things to go back to normal. or as close to normal as possible. No one knew about Daryl being a Bright except Nick and the two MTF agents, Kandomere and Montehugh. Not even his family knew.

“I can’t deal with this shit again, Nick,” Ward continued. “We almost died last time. You did die.”

Nick grunted. He hated being reminded. The scar was reminder enough. “The sooner this is taken care of, the sooner we can go back to our normal lives.” He pondered for a moment. “Well, normal-ish.”

Daryl scoffed, and the rest of the ride was silent. Whatever it was the agents needed from them, he knew it was Magic related. And it was going to take a while.

Although having gather as much information as possible for the moment, Kandomere paced his office once more with more files in hand. Perhaps he missed something. Another, a different, elf involved, maybe not an elf at all? He was desperate for it to be someone else, anyone besides-

The landline on his desk buzzed and he stopped pacing to answer.

“Agent, the LAPD officers are here,” a woman informed.

“Thank you, send them in.” He quickly shut the files away in his desk and sat in his chair as Jakoby and Ward entered.

“Thank you for coming out on such short notice,” he started as they sat. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called for you in the first place.”

“something Magic related?” Daryl asked. He already knew the answer, yet he still so foolishly hoped otherwise.

Kandomere sighed. “The Wand was stolen.” Daryl and Nick stared in disbelief, so he opened his laptop to the security footage so they could see for themselves.

“Fuck...” Ward muttered, running a hand over his face. Kandomere nodded somberly as he shut the laptop. “So, what? You want us to go looking for it?”

“Of course not,” Kandomere reassured. “You two got lucky retrieving it from Leilah, and you only got accidentally roped into that one. You’ll get yourselves killed if I send you out purposely after these people.”

“Then what?”

Nick kicked his partner’s foot and shot him a warning look. Now was not the time to get an attitude. Daryl glared at Nick and rolled his eyes with a scoff.

Kandomere, although annoyed, kept his composure. “I need your assistance.” He handed them a background check sheet. “I have reason to believe this elven woman might be affiliated with the two in the footage.”

Nick handed Daryl the sheet. “Do you want us to bring her in for questioning?” he asked.

Kandomere shook his head as he stood from his desk, grabbing his car keys. “We’re going to go to her. We’ll take my car.” Anxiety hit him like a freight train the moment those words left his lips.

Daryl and Nick followed after him. “So we’re your muscle?” Daryl asked with an eyebrow raised. Kandomere said nothing and continued walking, earning a cocky grin from Ward. “Hear that, Nick? Big, bad Magic fed needs some bodyguards.”

“My partner, Montehugh is busy with gathering more information,” Kandomere spoke sternly, clearly annoyed. “And I need you because she’s a Bright. If she were to try any funny shit, I figured having another Bright may be useful.”

Daryl’s smug smile turned into a scowl at the reminder. He looked over to Nick who only shrugged in response. Daryl shook his head in displeasure as they reached Kandomere’s sleek, black 2020 Audi S7.

The trio found themselves driving through East LA. It was more diverse with humans, orcs, centaurs, and many other creatures of the like. It’s also an area you’d least likely find an elf passing through, let alone living.

Daryl stared out the backseat window in confusion. “Some shit really must’ve gone down with her if she’s living out here.” He looked at Kandomere, who kept his eyes on the road ahead. Daryl’s worry was confirmed. “What happened?”

“That’s not pertinent to this, Officer Ward,” Kandomere answered firmly. “We’re to go in, get the information we need, and get out.” All the while praying that he could keep it at that.

Daryl and Nick didn’t buy into it. There was a history between him and this woman, but they knew better than to pry.

After another short while of silent driving, they arrived at their destination. They pulled into an apartment complex parking lot, taking an open space in front. Two orc children and one human child played in the grass, their parents socializing with each other on the patio. The orc father was the first to notice the car, very out of place in this part of the city. He stood from his seat and approached the three men as they exited the car.

“Good afternoon,” Nick greeted, feeling it was best that he took over for now. “This is Agent Kandomere, with the Magic Task Force. This is Officer Wa-”

“Officers Ward and Jakoby, with LAPD,” the orc resident finished. Yeah, I’ve heard about you guys. Especially you.” He held his hand out to Nick. “The name’s Markus.”

Nick smiled and shook his hand. Daryl and Kandomere gave each other a relieved glance. Perhaps this would go over easier than expected.

“So what can we do for you? You guys look like you’re far from home.” Markus asked.

Kandomere felt the question was more directed toward him, seeing that he was an elf and all. But he didn’t pay it any mind. “We’re looking Ynshael Cortez. Goes by ‘Shae’?”

Markus nodded with a chuckle. “Ah, I should’ve guessed. She sticks out like a sore thumb around here.” He turned toward the entrance and pointed them in the right direction. “Through that door, up the first flight of stairs, door on the right.”

Kandomere nodded in thanks before heading toward the door.

“She’s not in trouble, is she?” Markus called after.

The three men stopped and turned back to face Markus. “Do you have relations with her?” Daryl asked.

Markus shrugged. “Her and I don’t talk much, but she’s good friends with my wife and she nannies the kids in the area. The kids definitely seem to love her.”

A moment of relief washed over Kandomere. Shae hadn’t been up to no good after all these years. Or so it seemed. Sadly, he still couldn’t rule he rout just based on a good word.

Kandomere nodded again. “Thank you.” He continued to the door, this time faster. Was it the anticipation to see her, or did he just want to get this over with? It had been over a decade since they’ve spoken, let alone seen each other. How much had she changed? Would she even remember him? The things they’d been through together? If she did, would she even want to see him? They hadn’t exactly left off on good terms...

Before he knew it, the three of them stood just outside her door. Kandomere pushed aside the bothersome thoughts. This was business. But though it was such, he found himself paralyzed.

“Agent Kandomere?” Nick tried. Kandomere didn’t move. Daryl huffed in annoyance and knocked on the door himself, the sound shaking Kandomere from his stupor.

The first thing they heard was a large dog barking, then a woman’s voice. “Titan, hush! I fucking swear, I never wanted to fight a dog before, but you’re testing my limits, dude.” The clicking of the locks coming undone could be heard from the other side. The door opened. “I love you, but seriously. Can I he-” She stopped the moment her icy blue eyes, smudged with eyeliner, caught Kandomere’s.

Kandomere felt a lump in his throat. It really was her. Wavy black to blond hair falling over her prominent collarbone, a grey, ripped up Metallica crop top hung loosely on her torso, falling off her shoulder. A pair of black spandex shorts hugged her full hips.

She was exactly the same, except... Different. She now sported multiple piercing on her ears, a piercing on one side of her button nose, and one decorating the center of her bottom lip, drawing attention to their plumpness. And so many tattoos... Yes, it was her, exactly the same, yet different.

Kandomere cleared he lump in his throat and pushed away years of suppressed feelings (and the rather new suppressed feeling in his trousers). “Hello, Shae,” he managed to speak as professionally as possible.

“No...” A knowing sharp-toothed grin grew on her face. “...way.” She propped her elbow on the doorway above he rhead and placed a hand on her hip. “Kandomere? Is that really you?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Art by: @morphinetunee

Taglist (open):

@morphituu @faeylinn @nheireii

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~

I do not post to any other website! Please do not repost my chapters to any other website unless I give you my written permission!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bright or any of the characters except for my OCs!

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nelllraiser · 4 years

Text

liability | solo

— - “our minds distort our mirrors”

contents: gore, death mention

The attendant had given her a strange look when she offered him her ride tickets, as if he were looking for whoever she’d come to the carnival with. After all, why would someone go into a Hall of Mirrors alone? “Just me,” Nell offered him succinctly, not entirely having the emotional depth to say anything more at the moment. She just wanted to get this over with, to see what she’d come to see. Of course, there was no knowing what she’d see, exactly. But Morgan had promised her visions of the past, the future, or perhaps even things in between. Personally, Nell was hoping for the future.

The path her life had taken thus far was one she knew well, and perhaps not one she was all that interested in reliving at the moment, not when it seemed she’d just been making mistake after mistake as of late. The most recent set of them had started all of nearly a year ago in the form of August Thompson and her summoning a demon in the depths of a Peruvian forest. Then Montgomery and Bea’s death. Did it count as two mistakes when it had metastasized from the original one? Or was it still just one? She decided it didn’t matter as she entered the first hall, and looked into the mirror. It was a familiar face, though she was already much changed from the girl that had returned to White Crest nearly a year ago. Compact with lean muscle, dark hair, a mouth that could turn as easily into a grin as it could a scowl, caught somewhere in between. Her arms were the most obvious change, the scars of the skin grafts and multiple attempted healings and reopenings sticking out like a sore thumb. Her skin was mottled, marred in a way that made her arms look like they’d been patched together, a quilt of slightly varying skin tones and textures, rough scarring in places, and smooth, shiny, skin in others. She’d been physically stitched back together after the resurrection, but what of the rest of her? Nell remembered what it had been like to shatter, to feel the very core of her world somehow both implode and explode, and she’d tried her best to pick up the pieces. To fit them back in the spots they’d been before. But the puzzle had changed, hadn’t it? The shapes and empty slots they were meant to fit into didn’t slide into place like they had before, so instead she’d had to jam them into place, folding and mashing them until she made them fit. She refused to be broken, to be anything other than something that could be turned into a tool to achieve the ends that she wanted, needed.

But perhaps in doing that she’d made yet another mistake. The resurrection hadn’t gone as planned, she’d put blood on Adam’s hands, and then another old mistake had decided to surface. Her mistake to ask Remmy to the Ring, her mistake to confront Jax, her foolishness in believing that all the monster catchers had the same rules she did, the error she’d made with Jared and Ronald on his farm. How many mistakes was she allowed until she had to face the fact that perhaps she was poison, her own rottenness infecting the lives of others like a slow-spreading disease. Her latest past was muddled, and with the Ring gone, and no clear direction in her life, there was no future that she could see for certain. But the mirrors...maybe they give her something to work with, something to work towards.

There was still nothing as she stared into her reflection, dark brown eyes simply boring into themselves with an intensity that was often intimidating when she wasn’t smiling. And she certainly wasn’t now. “Give me your worst, then,” she demanded of the mirror, ready to sift through whatever it might want to show her until she found what she was looking for, even if she herself didn’t know what that was. As if ready to rise to her challenge, the mirror shimmered, her present self melting away until she was faced with her childhood self. The young Nell was playing with a deck of cards, shuffling and practicing sleight of hand while Bea and her mother were close by, beautiful eruptions of fire springing from her older sister’s hands. Nisa cooed at her eldest’s creations, and Nell seeing this, toddled over to the pair of them. “Mommy, look!” she began excitedly, doing her best to get the cards situated. “Pick a card!” Nisa spared her a quick glance, the matching brown of her eyes reflected in Nell’s. “Sweetie, I told you- it’s Bea’s lesson right now. I’ll get to you later.” But Nell knew what that meant. Later had yet to come, and seemed to never arrive when it came to her mother and teaching Bea the ways of fire magic and stage work.

“No,” a present-day Nell replied fiercely. “I know where I’ve been. I know my past. Show me what I want.” These childhood memories of being ignored weren’t what she was looking for. She wanted answers, something to show her that maybe all these mistakes had been worth it, to give her a sliver of hope that she wasn’t the terrible person she feared she was. Trying to focus her intentions, Nell figured her attempts to shape the mirror’s path and magic were worth a try. “You will show me what I want,” she nearly growled between gritted teeth.

For a split second, it seemed to work, and another version of Nell appeared before her. Older, scars on her arms, as well as a collection of even more scars she didn’t recognize. Old enough to have crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes, but young enough to still be a woman in the prime of her life. Her gaze searched over the stranger before her, trying to discern anything she might be able to glean from the future version of herself that would give her guidance or hope. But nothing happened, she simply stood there, as still as a rock while the witch waited for something, anything to happen. Finally, frustration got the better of her, and a fisted hand banged against the glass of the mocking mirror. “Do something!” she yelled. Nothing happened. Or at least...nothing appeared to happen for a long moment. Then— from the corner of her reflection’s eye, something began to appear, pooling in the corner of it. A freckle? No, it was too dark for that. It gathered there, pooling before it dripped, ruby red down the front of Nell’s face. Blood. Suddenly, a twin tear trail of the blood dripped from her other eye, joining the other as they fell. Surprised and confused, the real Nell looked down, only to find that the rest of her future self had changed. Where her hand had been resting at her side before, it was now outstretched in her direction, cradling something in the center of it. A heart. A human heart by the looks of it, still beating as her future self’s hand closed around it, squeezing the bloodied organ until it deflated, and squished over the sides of her palm. The reflection’s lips had moved as well, stretched into a sharp smile as the rest of a scene began to unfold around her. A man, some ten feet from her reflection self, still standing with a look of horror and pain on his face, a hole where his heart had been literally wrenched from his chest. But Nell’s hand hadn’t been bloodied before she’d squished the heart, and there was no sign of any regular entry or exit wound on the person’s chest. Just a gaping hole, as if the heart had wormed its own way out through sheer force. Nell had done that? Without so much as using a knife or otherwise? Her reflection only smirked back in a silent answer.

It should scare her, worry her that her future self seemed to be so unmoved by the death of an unknown man, that she seemed to be reveling in it. But instead...all Nell could think about was how powerful she looked, holding a man’s heart in her hand and ripping it out as if it were nothing more than picking flowers from a field. This was the picture of a witch who didn’t have to watch as her sister was beheaded, who wasn’t cajoled into being a prisoner by an over-confident gancanagh, a woman that no one would even think of trapping in cages underground to steal memories from her mind against her will.

So in awe was she of her future self, that she almost didn’t realize the face of the man she’d killed begin to shift, to turn from one she didn’t recognize into one she very much did. His eyes shifted to brown, hair finding some medium color between dark blond and brunette. Adam. The power-hungry pride instantly dropped from her chest to a rock in her stomach, forming in a way that made her feel as if she might be sick. But as soon as she recognized the face, it was already shifting again, the mirror twisting it into another set of features she knew. This time, blond hair, blue eyes as the face of Jared stared back at her. “No,” she began in horror, taking an instinctive step back from the mirror. The blonde hair lengthened, eyes shifting again to match the color of Blanche’s. “No!” Nell yelled, hand fisting at her side as she now glared at her reflection, utter anguish etched into her face. She wouldn’t have done this, couldn’t have done this. Her friends meant everything to her. The body began to change once more, the bridge of Winston’s nose beginning to form, but it wouldn’t get the chance to finish. A loud crash rang through the Hall of Mirrors as Nell savagely screeched in denial, in anger, in pain. When she looked down again, it was to a broken mirror, her reflection back to normal and cracked around the shattered pieces of glass, her real, physical hand now bloody at the epicenter of it all. Her chest heaved with her breathing, and she grimaced as she carefully extracted her hand from the mirror, the pain nearly lost on her as she tried to deny what she’d seen. “I won’t- I won’t hurt them,” she whispered to herself, so quiet that she wasn’t even sure she’d said the words aloud, but fervent enough to burn as they passed over her lips. But hadn’t she already? August’s murder for Adam. The farm and Ronald for Jared. Asking Blanche to help with Bea’s ghost. Ripped the heart right out of them. All of them.

Nell turned sharply on her heel, refusing to stay in this cursed place any longer, turning her back on the future the mirror had shown her, and on the confirmation that all she did was hurt and maim and destroy those that she loved most. Ignoring the alarmed words of the attendant as she exited, she brushed past them, cradling her hand as she began to magically scab it over, watching the blood harden into place as, fixing the damage she’d done. She’d fix it. She’d fixed Bea and now she would fix the rest of it— fix herself so she could fix her friends, and make sure that no one hurt them ever again. Not Montgomery, not Ronald, not anything else that so much as glanced their way, and most certainly...not herself.

#// here have the solo i manic wrote at midnight last night #wickedswriting #solo #self para

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soundofseventeen · 5 years

Text

Under the Umbrella (Kim Mingyu)

Alright y’all...you have my full permission to condemn me for never being on. I meant to have this posted like two weeks ago, but moving is hectic. Anyways, a happy late birthday to @notprincesscharming and @mingyulonglegs and I hope y’all like this! -Bee

Word count: 4962

“Y/N, don’t forget the umbrella,” Joshua called from the kitchen. “The news said it was actually gonna rain today.” He came into the living room, holding a bowl of popcorn, calmly sticking them into his mouth one by one. He eyed your casual attire, wondering if you’d be able to make it without getting wet.

You shook your head as if reading his mind. “They’ve been saying that since...forever ago and it’s been nothing but hot weather. I’ll live.” You sighed when your roommate shook his head at you, and went back to find said umbrella and came back out with a small huff and he nodded approvingly. You had just opened the door, stepping outside and only stopping when you remembered. “Do you need anything?”

“The will to live might be nice! I’m ready to drop out or get hit by a bus….I’m fine with either option at this point.” He flashed you his famous devil may care grin. “Anything will be better than this torture.”

You pulled out all the won in your pocket and waved it at him. “Sorry pal; the best I can do is an energy drink and maybe some ramen if you’re lucky.”

“I can live with that. Make sure it’s not that low carb shit though! Last time, I had a crash so bad that I slept for two days.” The engagement ring on his finger reflected against the sun and it shone on your face, making you turn away with a grimace. The wedding was a week away and you couldn’t believe how soon so many things that’d change. At least you knew that this would always be intact.

“You take what you get and you don’t complain!” You laughed and closed the door, ready to head to town for the week’s groceries since Joshua would be doing the cooking for a few more days. The sky was blue but a hint of the gray clouds colored around it. Rain had been in the forecast for sometime but it had yet to fall and you knew once it happened, the last traces of the humid weather would disappear for the remainder of the year and the cold would take its place.

Normally, you’d be thrilled to bring out your sweaters and blankets and parade down the streets in your favorite boots but lately you couldn’t find yourself to move past the summer or the adventures it brought. You could still taste the watermelon when you speared it with a toothpick and ate it while you waited in the laundromat for the washer to finish its last spin cycle and you could hear the songs playing on the radio while you roasted marshmallows and swatted the pesky mosquitoes while the campfire crackled happily with the attention. And you could smell the sunblock as you rubbed it on your skin even though you didn’t plan on leaving the shade. These memories you couldn’t let go of just yet and you hoped it could stay like that just a little longer until you could accept it. Especially when those expressive brown eyes and warm smiles that lit your soul from the inside out seemed dedicated to searing themselves deeper and deeper into your heart until a permanent mark took its place. You dusted the nonexistent dog hair off your shirt, hoping to shake it off.

The grocery shopping didn’t take as long as you expected it to, so you took the long way home, picking up a few extra things on the way back, even cutting your roommate some slack and picking up some takeout so he wouldn’t dirty the kitchen you spent a long time cleaning up. You didn’t enjoy the hot breeze that hit your face but it still hinted at the summer weather and for that, you were grateful. You walked past a popular restaurant, pausing when you recognized Minghao and nearly waved at him until you saw that he wasn’t alone. Your breath got caught in your throat and you struggled to get it out, your lungs failing you. Your hands trembled a little at the sight and it took all your power not to drop all the items in your hand and turn around. Minghao saw you and he waved, but you couldn’t. You merely walked past the window, not bothering to turn back until you were sure you wouldn’t see either of them. You faked a smile and a good mood for Joshua (which he bought, bless his soul) as you chatted (or rather gloated at how you were right and you didn’t need the umbrella) at the table and when you went outside to take the trash out, you looked at the evening sky once more.

Not a hint of rain.

The relationship you had hadn’t always been this way and you didn’t think you’d even make it as far as it did. You and Joshua had agreed to travel abroad together to experience a life outside of your home while you continued your studies, deciding that you needed a culture shock at least once in your life. You lucked out when you moved somewhere you could still speak English but the same couldn’t be said for others. That’s how Joshua met Kim Mingyu when they became roommates for a year.

Mingyu was someone who understood the basics of English but often had trouble communicating so the pair became fast friends because Joshua spoke Korean almost as well as Mingyu. It’s not that you didn’t have an interest in getting to know him, but you stayed in your dorm a lot, often studying and refusing to leave the place when your social anxiety kicked in, especially when it felt like you couldn’t relate to your own roommate. But when you started spending more time in their dorms, it seemed inevitable to befriend him as well.

He piqued your interest when you saw the photographs hanging all over the place and how good they looked even if he wasn’t a professional. He took a lot of candid pictures Joshua and many other boys you recognized both in your class and around the campus, and you noticed the captions on the back, writing the dates and the activities and the food stains that contrasted against the whiteness of the Polaroid he sometimes used. You were confused when you saw yourself in some of the background photos because you couldn’t remember Mingyu ever taking out a camera in your presence. It surprised you even more when you found out it was more of a hobby than a passion for him.

You weren’t sure what sparked the movement but you just knew that one day he was your best friend’s roommate and the next, he showed you his private world that included bass playing and poetry slams his other friends helped him write. He left after a couple of semesters due to him still being undecided in his major, but exchanged social media to keep in touch with each other’s lives. He was a great friend and even though it hadn’t been meant to have him around for a long time, you were satisfied in knowing you could watch him grow and cheer for him from afar. After all, it was a big wide world and you didn’t expect to cross paths with him again, not when he was destined for great things and his lack of posts on his social media proved it.

Over the school years, you and Joshua hopped around from university to university and meeting new people and being introduced to new things. You two dated around, although no serious commitments ever came out out of that, which sometimes bothered you because of the pressure to find someone hit you out of nowhere but Joshua often encouraged you to shrug it off and have fun. You wanted something serious but also your wanderlust always won in the end and you knew finding someone who was okay with you seeing parts of the world with your best friend was nearly impossible.

Your luck seemed to change when you arrived in South Korea. Tired of always asking your parents to transfer money into your bank account, you obtained a work visa to provide for your necessities and Joshua followed suit. You finally managed to move out of the dorms and into your own apartment with him as your roommate. Granted, you struggled in the beginning but anywhere seemed like a better option than sharing a place with someone you didn’t know.

It didn’t surprise you when Joshua casually announced he was going on a date one night you were doing calculus but you wondered why it had taken so long. When the first date turned into a second and then a third, you felt lonely because he didn’t stay home as much, even though he tried not make you feel left out and you appreciated that. However, you knew that you couldn’t hold onto him forever, especially because he seemed serious about this one. So you sucked it up and let Joshua be, keeping your emotions to a minimum.

One day, while at the hardware store, you were browsing the aisles, looking for the paint section because the living room needed a new coat when you saw a familiar face. He stuck out like a sore thumb even after not seeing him in a few years. Kim Mingyu carefully balanced the bird feeders in his arms and when he struggled to hold onto them, you found yourself running to help when one nearly toppled to the floor. His eyes widened when he saw you but he treated you like an old friend as he chatted away about the old lady near his house who was too old to replace her old ones and your paint was long forgotten. Just before he left, he said it had been good to see you again and it was a small world to wind up there of all places. You left home with a good mood at seeing him even though you exchanged nothing except a small catchup on your lives.

A month later, you found out you worked next door to each other when you had gone out for lunch and you saw him leave a local clinic for his own lunch. He called your name, flashed you a smile and waved you down, heading in opposite directions and all, and you ended up eating at a Japanese restaurant he swore was the best in the area. From there, not only did you try to time your lunch breaks to at least see him, but you finally managed to get his phone number although you quickly realized he was busy outside of work too. He had hobbies that included building cabinets and desks and painting them, and often checked in with the ajumma in exchange for learning her recipes. (He said it was good for future résumés.) He had switched to online courses so he’d have more time to do things so whenever you saw him during the lunch hours you couldn’t meet up, you’d see him with a laptop stuck to his face as he typed away.

The first time he asked you to hang out with him after work happened at the last minute. With work being slow, you were allowed a couple of hours earlier than usual when he had walked out, his phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear as he locked up, assuring someone it’d be okay. He had spotted you the moment he hung up and asked if you were busy. When you told him no, he apologized for asking you last minute but he had planned to go to a concert with his friend Seungcheol, but his sister had broken her arm and they were currently at the hospital and if you’d like to go. You thought about it a moment, quickly weighing out the pros and cons, and agreed. You texted him your address and he promised to pick you up within 30 minutes. Joshua wasn’t there so you wrote him a note not to wait up for you and that you had your keys in case you arrived later than planned and Mingyu whisked you away for the afternoon.

You two hit it off and before you knew it, he became part of your everyday life and you managed to balance school, work, home and now him. He began calling you weekly to see if you’d like to accompany him to do laundry late at night and most of the time, you said yes. Though most of the time he worked on his assignments, he made sure to bring the seasonal fruit in a container for you two to snack on until you complained you were hungry and he dashed to the McDonald’s across the street for a last minute meal. He invited you to a lot of other places that recommended or required a plus one and you went along with him whenever time allowed.

It took you a lot longer that you wanted to admit that he was someone who couldn’t be alone. Most of his personality trait revolved around the fact that he needed constant companionship and it wasn’t a bad thing but when you asked him about it he shrugged and said he liked being around people. But he did, however, invite you to an animal shelter and he rescued a pup that he fell in love with immediately. And then you figured out he liked helping others, felt a sense of responsibility and pride when he looked after people, and when you brought it up to him another night, he gripped the insect repellent little too tightly which made it slip from his hands and fall with a dusty crash next to Aji who woke up scared from her nap. He never thought of it like that and with a shy smile, he placed his hand on your knee and explained his dream to become a nurse to feel that sense of belonging in the world while Ed Sheehan sang contentedly in the background.

Joshua met him again and the two often made plans to hang out when their schedules lined up. Apparently they had a ton of mutual friends and they spent a lot of time together, often making a party out of study dates. You didn’t accompany them those times, instead taking advantage of the peace and quiet to catch up on your work, sleep or latest Netflix binge until your roommate came back.

Joshua noticed the sparkle in your eye whenever he saw you with Mingyu or whenever Mingyu stopped by, but he never said anything in fear of you denying it and pushing Mingyu away because it had happened in the past with a few others. However, he knew it wasn’t his business to interfere with your love life so he let you be, watching you slowly fall in love Mingyu, but also wondering if you’d ever make your move. He could tell that while watching Mingyu spraying your back with the sunblock and begging you to join him for a swim, he’d be your one that got away and he remained unsure if you’d be able to bounce back from that. That was one heartbreak Joshua would not know how to handle.

You swore you could never do that, but it was dusk and you saw him fiddling with the bass trying to keep the somber timbre between Hansol and Wonwoo rapping about hope despite the hopelessness they painted and you could feel Joshua wrapping his fingers around your hand as he let their words of affirmation sink in. You squeezed his hand back in reassurance, his breakdown still fresh in your minds and only let it go when you stood up to give Mingyu his well deserved standing ovation and you realized just how far you fell into the rabbit hole. He met your gaze bashfully and looked away just as quickly, a rare thing for someone as confident as Kim Mingyu. You threw a stray flower in his direction, to which he caught by the pink petal and fumbled out a meek, “thank you,” and walked offstage before anymore attention would be on him.

He might have not been the brightest crayon in the box, with the way he’d suddenly exclaim at a bruise he barely noticed while you talked about the possibility of failing one of your classes or whenever he called you in the middle of the night when you were dead asleep and asked if you wanted to go have dinner because he had just finished building the ajuma’s house for her blue jays (but you rejected those offers most of the time). Rather, it was the way he talked a hundred words a minute when it came down to him teaching Aji a new trick to when he raved about how Soonyoung was his favorite person for giving him extra guacamole so he wouldn’t have to ask for more. And your favorite times were when he’d swipe his eyes happily when he told you about the recovering drug addicts and alcoholics and how long they had stayed sober.

Just like that, you could feel the ache in your chest because you were just one of many of Mingyu’s admirers. He treated you the way he treated everyone else: with common courtesy and basic respect. You could easily find him having a meal with one of his coworkers while on break the same way you knew his everyday hobbies that included people. You didn’t let it get to you; just being his friend was more than enough. You merely smiled when it was your turn to spend time with him, feeling like the luckiest person walking the planet because you had been blessed with an angel...with respects to Jeonghan of course.

You kept him close, often letting him fall asleep during a movie when he overworked himself, and turning the air conditioner on as low as it could go because he radiated more body heat than you ever could and then covering yourselves with a blanket so he wouldn’t get cold and helping him make dinner when he didn’t have enough to go out and pretending you were in a relationship, because when he’d pick up whatever he was cooking with his chopsticks, and blowing on it so he could feed it to you and get your opinion, you couldn’t help but feel how domestic it was, especially if you managed to get sauce on your face somewhere and he’d clean it off with a napkin.

And then somewhere between your own mental breakdown from stressing out over everything and Joshua one day telling you he’s getting married, Mingyu also dropped the news he’d be leaving at the end of the month to Japan to pursue a cooking career which turned your life upside down and you went out of your way to shut him out so the goodbye could be easier. It worked some days, like when you agreed to open or close at work so you wouldn’t bump into him and joining a couple of study groups so you wouldn’t outright fail your classes and even accompanied Joshua to see the caterers that interested him the most. You’d be so tired at night, Mingyu wouldn’t even cross your mind as your head hit the pillow and your eyes closed involuntarily and you brought your blanket as close to your face as you could. And some days, it felt impossible because a piece of Mingyu always seemed to be everywhere: the grocery store, the gym you passed by on your way home, the park and you could recall the details, even the insignificant ones like Mingyu tying tying his shoe and jumping in surprise at the bee that flew in his face, mistaking him for a flower. (Could you blame the bee though? He bloomed fully with the light in his eyes and the clean smell from all the soaps and detergents and fabric softener he threw in the washer, and how beautiful he was to marvel at. You would’ve done the same thing.)

The leaves finally started changing their colors, the department stores breaking out the scarves for the cold weather, the coffee shops with their infamous pumpkin spiced everything, and the night crept in earlier with each passing day and yet, the warm weather remained as if not quite letting you let go of Mingyu either.

And even when the first day of autumn officially arrived with promises of rain in the forecast, you still sighed heavily and wondered when the summer would be over for you.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Joshua said on the other end of the line. “We’re still looking for homes and the person who owns the venue might be late.”

“You have three days until your wedding and-never mind. Be careful both of you. You have your key, right? Okay, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You hung up and immediately went to your room to pick up the (overdue) library books as well as the ones neatly stacked up on the kitchen counter. You were thankful that the librarian working today was familiar with you and wouldn’t charge you the late fees and for that you were grateful.

This particular day brought the time of firsts. You woke up in the morning feeling well rested and okay, and when you opened your window, a cool breeze greeted you. You even checked the weather app, and for the first time in a long time, there was no rain scheduled in the forecast. With that, you burst into a sleeping Joshua’s room and announced the good news, and running out to search for your favorite slipper socks and blanket for the special occasion. You didn’t work and you had finally caught up in most of your classes so as a reward, you binge watched all your favorite movies with your roommate until he had to get ready for the final wedding preparations and hopefully find a place to live. He asked you to come with him, especially because the temperature rose and he found it difficult not to laugh at you for getting carried away but you declined, savoring the day until reality kicked in again. That happened sooner than expected when you saw your books and cursed yourself and gave in, switching out of your pajamas for a pair of shorts.

Chan snickered at you when you sheepishly handed him the books, and as part of the deal, handed him his favorite packet of gum in exchange for the override and after picking out new reads, saw you off with a sarcastic yet happy, “See you next time!” and stuck a stick of spearmint gum in his mouth and blew a bubble.

You hadn’t even been inside long but when you stepped out, you noticed the sky had turned a dark gray color. The cold air picked at your skin and you rubbed your hands up and down along your arms to keep warm. It wasn’t a long walk but you didn’t know if you’d be able to handle it. You stopped long enough to put the books into your backpack when you felt the raindrops...and you groaned. The one time you didn’t bring your umbrella and this happened. And you hated the meteorologist in charge of the Seoul weather for not doing their job properly. It fell long and hard with the pent up energy of not doing it sooner.

You had yet to get up but you didn’t have the strength to, feeling overwhelmed as if you had just experienced a betrayal. You were supposed to enjoy the change in climate, not suffocate in it. And just like that, it stopped…but not really. It still fell around you, but it wasn’t pelting you like before. You looked up to see none other than the Kim Mingyu shielding you and himself from the rain. He offered his hand to you, and you hesitantly took it as you stood up.

“What are you doing out here dressed like that? You’re gonna get sick.”

“I didn’t know it was gonna rain. I...had to turn in some books and got some new ones.”

“Doesn’t Joshua hyung take care of you?” The tone he used surprised you. It sounded bitter, almost angry even.

“Joshua had some stuff to do for the wedding,” you mumbled, staring at the wet ground. You didn’t doubt that a few minutes, it’d be pooling at your ankles and you knew that you had to leave. Fast.

“Oh.” He stayed quiet for a moment, but not making an effort to move. “I haven’t seen him lately but please tell him I’m sorry that I’m not gonna be able to attend the ceremony.”

“Mingyu-” You were at a loss for words. “He’s one of your best friends. You need to be there.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t. It’d…” He struggled to say thoughts out, only to fail and choke on them. “I can’t go. He’s one lucky guy.”

You nodded. “I agree. It’s what he’s wanted.”

“Is it what you want though?” He asked.

“Huh?” You looked up at him in confusion. His eyes, often telling the stories of his emotions, stared at you intensely, and you wondered if for a moment, he could see the inside of your soul.

“Does he make you happy?”

“Well, yeah. Mingyu, he’s my best friend-”

“Do you know that he’s cheating on you?”

“What?”

“While you’re over here, probably coming down with a cold, he’s out with someone else. I saw them earlier. They were laughing and holding hands and kissing I’m sorry you had to find out this way, but I can’t come to your wedding knowing that he’s gonna hurt you later in life and-”

And you laughed. So hard you cried and with those tears came all the emotions you’ve been repressing and you cried for everything and he held you with the arm that wasn’t holding the umbrella. “Mingyu…” you had to catch your breath before you could speak properly. “Mingyu, I’m not marrying Joshua.”

“Oh thank God you’ve come to your senses.”

“Mingyu, I never was. I could never, not even for all the money in the world. I love him, I really do, but not like that. Don’t you know that by now?”

“But you guys...are always doing things together...I heard you once when he called you about the flavor of cake you wanted...and how you’re always showing up everywhere together....”

“Mingyu, we’re roommates and friends. It has never gone beyond the platonic level.” Except for one drunken kiss you shared a long time ago, but it was a dare. You had witnesses. “We do a lot of things because it’s convenient for us too.” You took his hand and wrapped your pinkie around his. “He’s happy and I’m happy just the way we are.”

“So you’re not in love with him?” He wiped the last of your tears with his sleeve, looking hopeful.

“No...just you.” You dropped your gaze, not wanting to see his reaction, but wating to hear the rejection.

With that, he dropped the umbrella and took your face in his hands, not caring about getting wet. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to hear you say that.” He pressed his forehead to yours. “I thought, I thought-”

“It’s just you,” you assured him. “It’s always been you, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something as much as this.”

He finally closed the distance between you, enveloping you in a kiss with so much love, it left you breathless. “Let’s go home.”

Mingyu laughed as you stepped on him again but didn’t say anything. Since the band played at the reception, he hadn’t let you take a break and while you had gotten a little better, you still had a ways to improve. He kissed your cheek at the effort, and finally cut you some slack and returned to the table, holding your hand proudly the whole time.

The room was alive with music, the laughter and squeals of the children as they ran across the floor, some of them bumping into the dancers, the compliments of the place and the critiques of those family members who wouldn’t have been pleased even if the venue was made of gold, and still you looked around at everyone, the face of the married man who was still gonna be your best friend, to his friends and their dates, smiling at Vernon and his love, just because you knew their history and how his love denied they were together, even though you could see the Hansol’s ring around the neck, loud and clear for the public to see. (You could hear the conversation despite the noise. “I’m gonna smack you right now. Just walk away while you have a chance.”

“You need to let go of my hand first.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“Sucks. ‘Bye.”

“Chwe Hansol, come back and give me attention. I’m not done holding your hand.”)

As Joshua clinked his glass to get everyone’s attention, he caught your eye and smiled at you. He stated his speech about his move with you and even though many things had changed, things were relatively the same as well. He was uncertain about his future but one thing remained clear: with his love, he could face anything.

And you looked at Mingyu again, staring at you with a smile on his face, and you kissed him softly. Because as long as you had him, the world could hurl whatever it wanted at you.

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