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stusbunker · 6 years ago

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Questions: Why?

A Supernatural Fan-fiction

Featuring: Sam Winchester x Female Reader

Setting: Starts in Season 9, Ends in Season 10

Chapter 3 of my Questions Series

A/N: Blood and violence this chapter, our reader is one tough cookie! This is a long one, it could have been two chapters, forgive me? These are being posted out of order due to Chapter 4: What If? being part of @ericaprice2008‘s Fluff Challenge. I hope you guys like how their story unfolds. Back to the reader’s POV. xoxo Stu

This was not your mess, even if the whole world was broke, you weren’t compelled to do the fixing. It was too much. Then why couldn’t you just stay away?

***

You didn’t hear anything from Sam or Dean after you left the Bunker. You couldn’t decide if it was such a bad thing; having left with sound reasoning. But knowing them and the life, silence and with it the unknown, never came up in your favor. After two weeks you suckered your way into a beat up Geo Prizm and hit the road, putting Lebanon and the Winchesters far behind you.

The grumble of an engine set your nerves on edge. You shook your head and got back to clearing tables. You had been waitressing for a few weeks to cover your hotel bill in nowhere Minnesota. The haunting you came to town to cover was remedied after two days. Though you hadn’t felt compelled to clear town just yet.

Watching the news with a hunter’s insight proved that circumstances with the angels had reached a tipping point and you found yourself silently reaching out to Castiel. Thoughts you couldn’t articulate and worries sent out to the unknown. You hadn’t known the angel like you had the boys, but his presence had eased you in a way you hadn’t felt since childhood. Even if Cas was working on borrowed Grace, you felt him hear you. He must have loved those pig headed fools too.

An impatient cough spun you on your heels and the saccharine smile you plastered on for customers immediately turned sour. A familiar face beckoned from the corner booth.

“Ah, there she is! Still putting the B-I-T-C-H in resting bitch face, I see,” Crowley jeered at you.

“Crowley.” You tilted your head, “how awful it is to see you again.”

“Now, now! Paying customer here,” the Demon tutted at you.

“Of course, what do you want?” You pulled out your order pad and pretended to take his order. Your stomach clenched as he took a sip of water, watching bemusedly as you tried to remain calm.

“Insurance,” Crowley snapped his fingers and suddenly two demons had your arms, while a third shoved a bag over your head before knocking you out cold.

***

Waking up in an unremarkable room bound and gagged felt like every hunters’ cliche, only adding to your annoyance and self-flagellation. Crowley had gotten the jump on you and now you had to deal with third string demons until you broke or they burned off your tattoo and rode you around like a free shuttle with curbside service.

Except, nothing really happened. A generic white dude that reeked of sulfur, (like he used it as conditioner) knocked you out once more. But when you came to, you were untied and a bag of fast food had been left behind. It went on like this for days. Food came sporadically and you made use of a bucket in the corner. You weren’t knocked out anymore and the wounds from your bindings began to heal. No one seemed to care about your presence one way or another. After a week of boredom and insanity-inducing silence, you heard a voice.

It wasn’t clear or loud, but it sounded like Kevin. That was the first day you cried. The loneliness was driving you to the brink and yet your old friend regret had decided to stick around.

Another week passed and you had lost your voice from screaming and singing old television intros, horribly off key. You would get an unamused thumping on the bulky door if you kept at it too long and once you even got one of the scumbags to open the door and face you. You were getting close to initiating your exit strategy. Another day and your pipes would be right as rain and then the real dramatics could start.

You never got your chance.

The screaming woke you from your nightmares. The ground rattling beneath your weakened body as chaos erupted behind the hidden walls of your prison. You hadn’t realized how many minions were wandering beyond those four walls until you heard each one die. One after another cries for mercy punctuated by the shocking crackle of a corrupted soul dissipating.

The voices began to thin out, movements getting closer to where you stood with your ear to the door.

“It’s not what you think lady!” your guard pleaded, reasonably. “It’s just some chic Crowley wanted to keep around. Not really top billing if-” a muffled groan ended in his throat. There was nowhere to hide, nothing to defend yourself with besides a small stash of salt packets you had saved from your various bagged meals. Terrified and curious, you crouched behind the heavy door and waited.

A voice like maple syrup called to you, “Don’t be shy. I just want a good look at you.” You rolled your eyes at the terrible placation. Two clipped steps later and she had stopped in the open doorway.

“Eh,” she whined disgusted at the condition of your cell.

Before she could see you, you slammed the door back at her with all the force your weakened body could muster. Your hand slipped down the rusty metal, leaving you to shoulder through. In your free hand you held the handful of tiny paper tubes, tossing them blindly at whatever the interloper was.

Then you were frozen.

And slammed against the wall like a fly after a swatting.

“Let me guess... Abaddon?” You spat out from clenched teeth. A million possibilities raced through your head, all with the same finish line, your funeral pyre. Crowley was a reasonable adversary, while Abaddon radiated evil. You closed your eyes and waited to see your family once more. To hear Rafe’s laugh and feel your mother’s embrace. Suddenly Sam’s wide smile flashed against your surrender and your eyes shot open. Ready to face the end with the courage of someone far bolder than you felt.

“That’s better, now you’re going to tell me every dirty thing Crowley kept you for, every thing that sap muttered in the dark and then I’ll end you. Almost painlessly.” Her beauty made her mirth all the more venomous.

“Almost? Not much for greasing palms are you, bitch?” All oxygen left your lungs and your eyes began to flood with red. What could have been two minutes felt like a month and then the infamous Knight of Hell released you.

“Humans, always so mouthy. You’re going to keep talking because a girl has a schedule to keep.”

***

You weren’t dead. The brokenness of your body and the pressure on your brain insisted that pain meant something.

Or you were and you hadn’t earned your reunion.

Okay, fair enough, if this anguish meant Hell. You knew what to expect. And Hunters were given the gold star treatment, even lesser known ones like you.

And yet, it still smelled the same. Sam and Dean had agreed that hell was like garbage and rancid meat, death, old fish and sweat all in one nauseating stench. You inhaled the same stale cement flooring and urine you had been smelling for weeks. There was a bit of copper in the air, but as you moved your mouth you realized it was just your own blood pooled and dried beneath your face. However you had kept breathing; you had been out for longer than was healthy.

Eventually you rolled over and sat up. Your elbow was shattered and the opposite leg was broken, she must have done it manually because there were deep nail-like gashes along your calf. You couldn’t remember everything you had spilled, but whatever it was, it was enough to leave you close enough to death to not bother finishing you off. You sniffled and started to crawl. It was one long hallway with a small set of stairs leading to a standard windowless Exit door, the red glow of the sign taunting and tantalizing.

You muttered to yourself, cursing everything from building design to demons to the cut of your eviscerated jeans. Jaw clenched, eyes dimming with blood loss and muscles screaming; you inched on. You shoved bodies of old vessels aside as you made your way toward the outside world. And then a haughty voice quipped behind you.

“Oh dear, she really did know how to throw a tantrum.” Crowley tisked as he looked at all of his dead henchmen. “Let’s get you home, shall we?”

“Don’t touch me you bastard!” You barked, voice throbbing in your dry throat.

“Fine, hands free,” Crowley rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers.

***

You awoke in your old bed in the Winchesters’ Bunker, still broken and doubled over in pain. Something wasn’t right, Crowley didn’t just do you favors. You sat up, dragging yourself to stand. Fuck, it hurt, hopping towards the door jostled every injury into focus. You grabbed the door knob like a life raft and screamed.

“Sam! Dean! Fucking Winchesters you better be home!”

You waited a minute, listening to the hollowness of the subterranean walls. Just as you inhaled for another round of bellowing, the door down the hall opened. Sam stepped out, gun drawn, hair matted and eyes puffy.

“Y/N?”

“Sam!” You winced, trying to meet him. He crossed the distance in four dizzying strides. “Oh thank God,” You fell into his arms, ignoring the way your body protested or the butt of the gun in your back.

He held you tightly, “How did you get here? Where have you been?” Looking over your defeated form, hand lingering near your cheek.

The questions were forgotten when you returned the once over, “What happened?”

He straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Dean’s dead.”

***

The weeks after losing Dean were quiet, with the exception of Sam disappearing whenever the hint of a demon came onto the radar. You knew Crowley had used you as a consolation prize, one that Sam was not going to accept gracefully. If you hadn’t missed Dean or knew the boys so well, you may have been hurt. But nothing came between them, not really. You knew Sam would never stop when it came to Dean and you respected him all the more for it.

But it was lonely in the Bunker, days spent healing when you could have been of use. To Sam, to Cas, to finding Dean. You should have been used to the solitude after your weeks in Crowley’s hostel. Now you felt encroaching and lost. You felt Sam’s weariness like a lingering rainfall. He never looked at you anymore, which was one of the things he did best, listen with his whole face. You had built that wall between you. He had no idea what to do with you after your trust talk and you weren’t sure you could improve the situation either. An impasse.

Castiel was failing and despite his best efforts he was unable to help in locating Crowley or Dean. His weakened form was hard to swallow, for everyone. You had another week of casts before you were useful, so you spent your time silently reading news articles and attempting to keep the bunker livable. When Sam came home with his arm in a sling, you couldn’t help but laugh in his face. You had become quite the haphazard and frustrated pair. If only the Dean sized hole wasn’t felt within every room.

***

Sam’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs. He was dragging a body, one whose tanned arms and fitted jeans you knew in an instant. Dean. You sprinted with your freshly healed freedom up to help him. Christ was Dean solid. Sam grunted out the story of his past few days, having kept you in the dark until he was certain. Which translated until he had to tell you. Your stomach pitched as the realization of what Crowley did hit you. He had bastardized your friend into this, manipulative and cunning to the last. He had won his war and took Dean as a boy toy trophy. The Mark of Cain as his right hand man. Fucking demons.

And now that was Dean. After you got him tied up and Sam caught his breath, you worked out what you needed to cure him. Sam was hopeful, which made you even more apprehensive, but you wouldn’t push him off his game. Not now. You couldn’t pose as a doctor, you had spent too much time as a patient at the local hospital. Which left Sam, who figured an early morning shift would be the best time to slip in to the blood bank for enough doses to do the job.

“Listen, Y/N, he doesn’t know you’re here. I am going to do this, alone.” He spoke so formally it almost bit.

“Sure, yeah, except he knows every button you have Sam. Demon or not, that’s Dean. He’s going to rile you up.” With your challenge, hoping he would let you help. Needing him to admit you were right, to admit he was scared, to admit anything.

“I’ll be fine. I’m not throwing you at another one of Crowley’s goons, Y/N. Even if it wears the face of my brother.”

You inhaled sharply, that’s what this was about. “Okay, but I’ll be out here if something so much as inches the wrong way. You tag me in, got it?”

“I forget how much you act like him sometimes,” Sam smirked, catching your eye and softening your resolve.

“Yeah, well, someone’s got to keep you in check. Go get the Real McCoy back already,” you patted Sam’s good arm and he straightened, marching into the dungeon.

***

The walls rattled with a sound like a feral tiger, or a gorilla call. Whatever was inside Dean, Sam was facing the monstrous nature of it. You paced outside the store room where the dungeon door was hid. It went on all day, Sam disappearing behind the shelves every hour. After the sixth dose you saw him flinch, his jaw was slipping and it burned your chest to see him like this.

“Hey, I’ll go in for the next one. Give him a shock, keep him guessing.”

Sam was shaking his head as he squinted away his tears, “no.”

“I can’t sit by and watch him make you feel like this.” You crossed your arms over your chest. Sam closed his eyes and sighed, his breath rattling through his rib cage.

“Y/N. I can take it. I’m not putting this on you.”

“Would you stop?” You stepped towards him as he sat on the tabletop, legs barely holding him up. Your boots kissing, your eyes unable to meet his. “Stop trying to protect me, Sam. I spent weeks with demons, a few minutes isn't going to break me.”

“Do you think I am doubting you?” Sam’s voice shifted. “You’re one of the best damn hunters I have ever seen, Y/N/N. I just can’t put you both in this position. Dean would hate to have you see him like that, whatever he is now. And if it is killing him, I can’t put that on your conscience.”

It came out on a whisper, “Okay, fine, you win.” A genial roll of the eyes and a brush of finger tips over his calloused hand. There were too many words in his glance to reply. The heat from your chest had spread and your cheeks burned with a grin you hadn’t shared in too long. “Be safe.”

“Right.” With a smirk that could make a nun squirm.

***

After Cas showed up, the terror subsided as well as Sam’s restrictions. You were allowed in to help with more doses, and you were there when Dean resurfaced. He was shaky and processing, but he was back. Sam’s burdens were left at the door, despite Cas’s worry over the Mark.

You picked through the left over fries at the bottom of the grease soaked bag as Sam poured you both some stiff ones. Dean had called it an early night and his snoring could be heard from his room.

“So? What’s next on the Winchester shit meter? Angels? The Mark of Cain? New hair care regimen?” You teased, letting the golden liquid coat your tongue and trail down your throat. Sam chuckled, playing with his hair slightly as he thought. You shoved his chair with your foot as he gulped down the rest of his glass, a few drops falling down his chin.

The carefree mood felt indulgent and you knew Sam was trying to hover in the surface emotions for as long as possible. You shouldn’t have asked, but it was in your nature to be prepared.

“Just take it one day at a time. I guess?” Sam cleaned up the spill you caused and poured another round.

“Hey, thanks, by the way. After Crowley left me, like he did, it couldn’t have been easy dealing with my mess and looking for Dean. And I haven’t really been able to admit how much that meant to me. So, thank you, Sam, for being there when a demon, or two, left me for dead.” You raised your etched glass and toasted your long-term host.

“What are friends for?” Sam shrugged. “Anytime, you know?”

“Right, friends.” You nodded, plastering on a fake smile as the hope that had been winding through your gut deflated. You were just friends.

@dontshootmespence @ericaprice2008 @chucksnotonanyflatbread @madlu45 @sophieasaurus @veroinnumera @reid-fiction

Chapter 4: What If?

Please let me know if you want to be tagged! (Or removed) xoxo Stu

#sam winchester #questions #questions: why #sam x you #sam x reader #angst #violence #blood #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #spn #spn fanfic #sam angst #spn angst #sam winchester fanfic #fanfic series #spn fanfic series

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ronsenboobi · 6 years ago

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many deaths i’ll sing (assassin’s creed: syndicate)

novembre 2018: a character study of jacob frye throughout the events of sequences 8 and 9. spoilers, obviously. 4,232 words. read on ao3

I. bedfellows

The bravest man in London, he said.

Maxwell Roth was easy enough to read, from the start: a grandiose egomaniac of a dandy whose theatricality came as a surprise, when juxtaposed with the knowledge that he was one of the most dangerous men of London’s criminal underworld. It was enough to throw Jacob off-balance, like a discordant chord being struck midway through a dance he thought he knew—Roth was too bright, too lively, too familiar by half. Jacob had expected a lot of things when he made up his mind to meet with the head of the Blighters, and Roth was, by and large, very few of them.

London had been a sea of red when Jacob and Evie stepped off the train from Croydon; since then, he’d made it his own personal mission to remedy it, and he’d built the Rooks from the ground up to make it happen. There was an irony in knowing that it was a sort of forceful bloodletting that would lessen the Blighters’—and, by extension, the Templars’—hold on the city and make it so that Jacob’s life was less full of that red, and then he walked right into the lion's den. There was red everywhere he looked: the outside of the Alhambra, the thugs who surrounded it, the curtains, the velvet carpet. The splash of red around Roth’s neck.

It was like stepping into hellfire and taking a drink with the devil, and the devil poured the spirits himself and called his efforts the heroics of the bravest man in London.

Not reckless, not misguided, not sloppy. Brave. Such a small, unassuming word, yet Jacob struggled to remember whether he’d ever earned it from anyone else in his life, even once, and came up utterly empty.

Roth called him many things after that, but it was not so much the words as the faith and the pure delight at the trouble they stirred up together that left their mark. It made Jacob breathless, like he was racing to keep up rather than always running in headfirst, with Father or Evie behind him yelling to slow down and think, for once. He did think, and that had always been his problem: too fast, too restless. Roth, however, seemed to think exactly the same as he did in so many ways. Instead of coming head-to-head, they worked in tandem, the Rook and the Blighter opposed in the streets but united against Starrick.

Jacob wasn’t used to this sort of partnership; he and Evie worked well together—they always had—but they challenged each other. Everything she would have said no to, Roth met with an eager why not?

Those times were full of wonder and bewildered fascination and philosophizing, even, and once—just once—Jacob found himself thinking of how staunchly Father would have disapproved of this. He would have disapproved of Roth, he would have disapproved of their ends and their means; he would have disapproved of Jacob himself because it had become reflexive by the end of his life. For once, it did not matter. Jacob was his own man—and, for once, someone saw it.

II. games

The factory did not feel like bravery. It felt like a sickness, one that left violent nausea in his belly and a taste of poison on his tongue, sharp and choking—though perhaps that was from the smoke. The smoke seemed as though it would never leave his lungs.

Jacob stood watching the flames for what felt like half an age, so bright they danced in his eyes and so hot he could feel the air on his skin like he was still in there. He hadn’t hesitated, because he never hesitated. Headfirst. No time to dwell on his disgust, his disappointment, the sickening pull of betrayal. The children were all that mattered, then, the innocent lives he was meant to protect; Roth’s rage, and his own, were secondary.

He could not tell whether he was already shaking when he was handed the box, or it was the box that made him shake. Roth’s hand on the paper was like a voice in his head, like the claws of a raptor around his throat, and it gripped him tighter and screamed when he peered inside the box and met the lifeless black eye of that young crow. Once free, then caged; now dead.

His horror was quiet, but his rage, driven by sorrow and fear he wouldn’t admit to, was not so. Stormy steps took him up that alley, the rhythm of them a fatal chorus of one of us will die, one of us will die, one of us will die before I’m the one in that cage. He all but stumbled through the door of the fight club hiding in plain sight nearby, and today he had no cordial words for Topping as he began to take off his gear unprompted.

“Put me in that ring,” he said, forming the words around the taste of smoke, his voice raw. From the coughing, he told himself. It was the coughing.

Topping saw the intensity that clung to him and it translated to sterling in his mind, as it always did, and so he was happy to oblige. Jacob let the rumble of the fighting quiet everything inside him that he didn’t want to hear and did the one thing he was truly good at: he fought and fought and fought, fingers digging into muscle, knuckles cracking bones, until the sweat washed the soot off his face and he couldn’t smell the smoke on him anymore. The tang of blood replaced what lingered of the flames; red, always red, like the faded crimson of a Blighter flag hanging from the rafters, looming over him.

He fought some more and thought, distantly, that he would have that flag taken down if it meant burning the place—

No. That wasn’t him.

He stopped. The fighting went on without him.

Jacob sat on a bench amidst the dizzying sea of noise and sniffed, wiping the blood under his nose with the back of his hand. Looking down at his chest, he saw drops of red splattered across the outstretched wing of the bird on his skin, flying free. He wiped his hand across it, too, and thought of the baby crow in the box.

He knew what he was going to have to do, tomorrow—but for now, he let the rush take him until he realized his entire body ached.

***

Evie was asleep in her armchair when he stepped onto the train from the near-empty platform at St. Pancras, so weary his muscles shook as he moved. The book in her hand was still half-open and dangerously close to falling; he took the book, kept her page with a loose pressed flower lying forgotten on the table beside her, and set it down. His own gentleness surprised him, as though he’d forgotten he was even capable of it after a night like this. Evie did not stir, and he did not linger.

He hopped over to the next car and stood before the board Henry had helped him set up at the very beginning, his gaze passing over every thread that connected to Starrick. Nearly all of them, he had broken, but for one: the Blighters, with their hold over every part of London, still too strong over the Rooks to his taste when this began. Roth had almost made him forget that. He looked at the letter he’d pinned beside the map: that very first dinner invitation that he and Evie had both scoffed at before he went ahead and decided to go anyway, because he was reckless and impulsive and so intent on charging towards his goals that he didn’t think of the consequences.

The chance to have a little fun with the bravest man in London.

Jacob gritted his teeth and pointedly did not reach into the pocket inside his jacket for the new note—the one Roth had sent with the box containing his invitation—even though it would have gone on the board, had it come from any other target. But it hadn’t. He couldn’t leave it there, my dearest Jacob and all, for Evie and Henry and every passing Rook to see, so instead he rummaged around his things until he found a photograph of Roth he remembered seeing among the various files Henry had sent over. He pinned it to the board so mechanically it was almost as though it were only some prick like Twopenny or Cardigan he was only too happy to remove from Starrick’s power.

Tomorrow, he would be crossing it out in red, as he did all the others—or it would give Evie a path to Roth, if he somehow didn’t come out of this alive. If he managed to bungle this up, too, she would clean up his mess with her eyes closed, he knew.

He couldn’t tell what was worse about that thought, between Evie ending Roth’s life—it has to be me, he thought bitterly—or Roth doing so much as laying eyes or a finger on his sister. Not after all of this. Would he call her dear, too, or was that a privilege and a curse reserved only for him?

He’d get no answers tonight, and likely not tomorrow, either. Moving heavily, his limbs as though through molasses, he grabbed a thick wool blanket off of his sofa and went back into the next car to lay it over Evie, tucking it around her shoulders snugly. Maybe she’d think it was Henry who had done it, when she woke; maybe it was better that she did, to bring her closer to him. She would need him if the rift between she and Jacob were to grow.

As he fell onto the sofa, Jacob almost wished Agnes was around to ask if they had a bottle of laudanum on hand. He hurt like the devil.

III. stage

The Alhambra was burning, and Jacob felt numb. Yet his lungs were raw from the smoke and every inch of him ached from the tension and the fighting—he knew that, distantly, as though there was a wall of flame between his mind and his body.

For a moment, through the horror and the anger and the twisting, crippling, slithering sorrow, he had truly thought Roth and his thrice-damned theatre were going to take him with them. Hellfire and damnation, all sealed with a bloody kiss.

How could you do this how could you do this howcouldyoudothis—

Jacob forced himself to breathe as he watched the flames shatter the windows, the lights bursting in the letters that spelled the Alhambra’s name on its façade. Chaos and destruction: that was Roth’s legacy. Jacob thought that it would come to be his, too; it already was. He’d done so much wrong, too much, and the only thing that had kept the whole city from crashing down because of him was Evie.

The bravest man in London, indeed.

Around him, Leicester Square was still spinning out of control, but Jacob stood frozen in the cool night air that the fire slowly corrupted with smoke and heat. Darling, what a night!

He couldn’t be sure what it was that made him want to be ill; he couldn’t even tell whether he was most furious and disgusted at Roth or himself. At long last, he made himself turn away from the flames and walked shakily to the fountain to dip his hands in the water. He made no effort to wash the blood off of his hands, but he splashed his face until he felt like it was his own again and his eyes stopped watering from the smoke. He passed the edge of his sleeve over his nose and mouth, still so tender from the fight club, and he didn’t want to think of being kissed and tasting the metal of his own blade.

He made to sit on the edge of the fountain; instead, he slid down until he was on the ground, his knees folded towards his chest and his back against cold stone. He took off his hat and ran his hands through his hair, his whole body fidgeting restlessly as he sniffed and fought back pointless, childish tears. He pressed his fingers into his eyelids and struggled for breath. The last time he’d been like this, it had been after Father died, but Evie had been next to him, her legs stretched out and her shoulders slumping from the shock and the grief. She had reached for his hand and held it so tightly he’d thought she was going to break his fingers.

Jacob didn’t know how to be alone in this, but he didn’t know how to be with her anymore, either, and certainly not with the ghost of Maxwell Roth filling every little space he’d left open inside himself to linger between them.

***

It wasn’t until nearly dawn that Jacob returned to the train—in the blue hour of twilight, as the painters called it. He sat on the empty platform at St. Pancras again for the better part of an hour before the familiar locomotive came in, and by then he could barely feel his own legs as they stretched out before him. There was a pinkish line of sunlight hugging the horizon. He watched it reach higher, inch by inch, so weary that his gaze was distant and his mind blank; he didn’t have it in him to find it pretty.

He could only be glad that it wasn’t red, but then he was standing in front of his board and dipping a brush into the red ink to smear a cross over the photograph of Roth, the leader of the Blighters, the last line of defense Crawford Starrick had that wasn’t himself. In the end, it hadn’t been much of a defense—Roth was, to his last, in it only for chaos and for Maxwell Roth. Jacob had learned that the hard way.

Defeated, Jacob went to bury his left hand in his pocket, only to find that it wasn’t empty. He pulled out a mask, gilded and glimmering, hard and blank. He didn't remember picking it up. Part of him wanted to walk out of the car and toss it out onto the rails, but instead he cut a new length of twine—red, red, always more red—and wrapped it around the nose, through the eyes, to pin beside the map of London. The curtain had fallen. So, too, would the Blighters.

Jacob breathed, again and again, and wondered if he would ever feel once more what it was to breathe without agony burning through his chest. Sleeping was hell, too, even though he’d come to find the train’s vibrations and stops comforting. He lay unmoving on his back and slipped in and out of the fog. So many times that he lost count, he woke with flames in his mind and the lingering resistance in his hand of his blade slicing through flesh and a cold, bloodied mouth against his. Dawn had barely passed him by, pale and grim behind a grey-white sky, but it still felt as though he’d been restless through a night-long fever.

Henry came aboard and found him staring blankly at the board from the couch; it turned his gaze to the new photograph. “The leader of the Blighters is dead, then?” he asked, his surprise passing smoothly over his face. Jacob didn’t blame him for having missed it, with how fast it had all happened.

“Do you know me to get ahead of myself, Greenie?” Jacob said. It was meant to be sarcasm, to point out that he had no reason to mark a target as dead before the fact, but he was so, so tired and it came out all wrong. Henry could all too easily answer in the affirmative, especially if he’d been basing his impressions of him on Evie’s word as much as what he saw for himself.

Henry opened his mouth. Before he could speak, Jacob rolled over onto his side, so painfully he almost wanted to scream, and faced the window. “Don’t answer that,” he said.

“Good work,” Henry said uncertainly to his back. His steps were quiet on the plush carpet Agnes had bought as he walked to the next car.

It had been too personal to be work—too strangely, uncomfortably intimate—and it certainly hadn’t been good, but Henry was probably more concerned with what mess Jacob’s actions had unleashed this time, anyhow.

IV. jokes

Jacob had liked the songs, before. It might have been that he liked the drinking, mostly: the laughing with his Rooks, arms around each other’s shoulders as they swayed happily to the music, the triumphant brandishing of their bottles and tankards as they sang along. He liked being a part of something that wasn’t the Frye name or the Brotherhood, and this was something he had built himself; he was a part of London as London had become a part of him.

If London’s way of toasting him for ridding it of the people who poisoned its streets was a lively ditty to help send them to Hell where they belonged, it was only fair that Jacob should sing along.

The one about Pearl had felt a little distasteful, perhaps, but he’d sung anyway. He didn’t feel so inclined towards being a proper and respectful young gentleman for the sake of a woman who had manipulated and used him and delighted in it to Starrick. It had hurt Jacob’s pride, certainly, but his disdain for her felt righteous because he had needed to make it up to the Brotherhood for his carelessness. If he had his way, no one would ever know of it—not Henry, not George, and certainly not Evie—but for Father, if he was looking down on him and clicking his tongue the way he did when his footing was too heavy.

Still, it felt like a lesson: delight in the poetic nature of an Assassin aiding the Templars by some underhanded machinations, and meet your end at the point of the Assassin’s blade.

So he sang along and welcomed that the people should use Pearl’s death for their amusement like she had used him for hers, and it did not keep him from sleeping at night by any means. It was a good, properly cheeky song, besides.

They wrote one for Roth, too, but to this one, he did not sing along. He’d been doing his damnedest to be himself again since that cursed nightmare of an evening, to find the same satisfied irreverence in his advancement as with everyone else—it almost worked. Still, there was always something empty, and yet so heavy, that stubbornly kept a semblance of normalcy just out of his reach.

As he drank, he half expected Evie to burst in and tell him some institution or other had fallen apart because of him again, but the only thing that was crumbling without Roth was the Blighters. The Blighters, and the part of Jacob Frye he’d built up with admiration and terms of endearment. It was to their advantage, this time, that the Blighters should be crippled like this. And Jacob wouldn't let anyone see him bleed.

The folks at the pub, they sang of Maxwell Roth as they had everyone else before him, because they didn’t know and they couldn’t know what it cost the man who had cut the rope and put the blade through his neck. Jacob listened, tense and queasy, but he couldn’t sit through it. The piano felt like an erratic heartbeat, the words drenched in overly chipper poison, and then—

“—and Maxwell Roth, he then received a very bad review!”

Jacob snatched his hat up, slammed a banknote—not counterfeit, thanks to Evie and none to him—down on the table, and left.

***

“And I am sorry this doesn’t involve something you can destroy,” Evie said.

For a moment Jacob’s ears filled with the thundering roar of fire, again. Like it wasn’t enough, or perhaps because she didn’t know her words drove home something too painful that he already knew, she cut deeper: Father.

Of course Father had never approved of his methods or much of him; that wasn’t new information. But Father was dead, and so was the only man who’d ever shown him approval. Evie was what remained.

Father was right, she said.

It hurt worse than it did whenever their father called him reckless, and it hurt worse than it had when he finally opened his eyes and saw the sort of man Roth truly was. Evie was still here, but she would soon be gone.

Jacob couldn’t even resent her for it; he had only himself to blame.

V. rook and queen

The mission did not wait for him to stop feeling miserable; perhaps that was his saving grace.

When Abberline met up with him in the royal guard’s uniform, the ridiculous bearskin hat in his hands, there was something in Jacob that leapt for joy for the first time since the Alhambra. No matter everything he said, all the necessary chastising that his position demanded of him, Freddy seemed to trust him—and Jacob had never, for one second, thought to distrust him.

(Not that it was a mark of his good judgement, all things like Pearl Attaway and Maxwell Roth considered, but Freddy was the better man. Of that, Jacob was certain.)

Like the Rooks, it felt like he had finally built something that was meant to last. Even amidst the chaos and the destruction left in his wake, he had a few things that were solid and steady and that he didn’t owe to Evie or Henry or his father or even George. All this was his, and he wasn't about to lose them like he was to lose Evie.

There was a moment—once, suddenly, one fleeting impression—where that delighted something made him want to grab Freddy’s face and kiss him. What stopped him wasn’t shame: it was that he didn’t want to force it the way Roth had forced his blood onto his lips. If it were to come to pass, better it happen by meeting halfway, somewhere between words of charming sarcasm and reprimands made out of habit, so steeped in familiarity that they only came as half-hearted.

Shame wasn’t for irreverent fools like him. For once, it felt comforting to be so.

***

Jacob was tired of choking because of Roth’s smoke, and now Starrick’s hands. As he dragged himself back to his feet shaking, knowing that Evie would need him to fight in her stead like she fought in his, he heard Starrick speak: “The rook falls, and now the queen.”

Those disdainful words echoed through the vault. They broke through the clamour of the unrelenting battle between Starrick and Evie, rang in Jacob's ears in the spaces between his coughing and his ragged breathing. Starrick's voice was so smooth, so soft even when it was so sharp, and so utterly pretentious.

Jacob almost wanted to laugh, and he wondered if Evie did, too. Had the situation been any other, Evie may very well have primly informed Starrick that it was no use making any sort of reference to chess where her brother was concerned.

When they cut the Shroud free from his shoulders, Evie's blade buried itself deep in Starrick’s chest. “Queen takes knight,” Jacob hissed. His own blade followed—a mere four seconds later—and Evie said, low and dark, before Jacob was even finished speaking: “Rook takes knight.”

They looked at each other and wrenched their blades out in tandem; Evie stepped away, and Jacob caught Starrick to lower him down on the ground. They stood over him and heard his dying words together. It was done.

When they were outside again, eyes squinting in the bright early morning light, Jacob was smiling as though everything had washed away with a tide that had seemed like it might never come. He’d meant it when he told Evie he’d missed her, more than anything he had ever said in his life—and now they were at each other's side again, as it always had been. Evie had Henry at her arm and Jacob was without smoke in his lungs.

He could breathe.

The knighting was secondary in his mind when he glanced sideways, still kneeling, and saw Evie gazing not at Henry but past him. She was looking at him, her little brother, with a smile and a light in her eyes so bright she didn’t even need to speak for him to feel it to the bottom of his spirit.

But she still spoke, coming to his side again as the queen's carriage rolled away.

“Father would be proud of you,” Evie said, her hand steady on his shoulder and her smile gentle. She meant it, too.

Jacob smiled back, but said nothing. Perhaps he would be; perhaps not; perhaps any pride Father might have felt would only be a product of that which he had for Evie, not for him. As he stood beside his sister, Jacob found that it didn’t matter so much to him anymore what their father would have thought; he was dead and gone and Jacob had tortured himself overmuch with the dead, by now.

He heard the pride in Evie’s voice, saw it in her eyes. That was more than enough.

#assassin's creed: syndicate #assassin's creed syndicate #jacob frye #evie frye #mawd does a write #mawd plays ac:s

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softstraykidsimagines · 7 years ago

Text

Boyfriend!Seungmin Stray Kids

ALRIGHTY

Our lovely fluffy Seungmin

He’s lowkey becoming bias wrecker for me whoops

Let’s get started!!

During when he has a crush on you

Ohhhh boy

He’s gonna be insanely shy

It’s adorable

He’ll try to do little things to make you happy

From complementing you

To buying you something small like a key chain

But it’s always something meaningful

Something that reminds you of him

Let’s not discard the fact that anytime he actually does something like this for you

He’s gonna sprint away before you can even thank him properly

And he’ll hide somewhere so that you can’t see or hear him squeal with joy

Ok it’s official I am soft for Seungmin

You don’t really have too much doubt about him liking you

You’ve picked up remarkably fast how shy he is with you compared to when he’s with the rest of SK

And you figured he had an ulterior motive when he happened to just “think of you” and buy something

Or when he teases you but quickly apologises and tells you he doesn’t mean it

He’s just not very subtle

So you’re rather upfront with him one day when you ask

“Soooo, I’ve been wondering…. why have you been so sweet to me? With all the nice gifts and stuff?”

He would immediately go red in the face

His eyes would go wide

And he’d just stand there a moment with his mouth hanging open not knowing wtf to do

And you feel kinda bad tbh

No one likes being in such an awkward situation so the way you just asked him out-of-the-blue seemed almost cruel

He finally managed to stutter out

“W-well umm…. I k-kinda… sort o-of l-like you…?”

It deadass took him a whole 30sec to finish

And you’re doing an Irish jig on the inside cause

WOOT WOOT he likes you too!!

“I really like you too, Seungmin” you say quickly before he can run off in embarrassment

He looks at you hella confused like

The person he’s liked for so freaking long likes him back?? Or is he dreaming??? Whatishappeningrightnow????

SeungminHasStoppedWorking.jpg

So you tell him where you want to hang out in the future

And there we go you’ve successfully planned your first date woohoo!!

Dates with this bean are soft and laid back

Ice cream dates

Coffee dates

Just wandering-around-for-no-reason dates

It’s so relaxing

Of course until one of you holds the other’s hand

Then it’s skyrocketing heart rates

And pink cheeks

At the end of your 2nd or 3rd date, he’d finally muster the courage to kiss you....

On the cheek haha you thought

As you’re saying goodbye

Leaving you flustered af as he runs away yelling that he’ll text you later

I don’t think he’ll have the guts to kiss you first tho

It’s up to you my friend

You’ll be sitting on a bench somewhere, just talking

And he just

Randomly

Pokes your cheek.

And you look at him like wtf man why

And he just turns away grinning

So you get cheeky, planning on making this sudden burst of confidence melt faster than snow in the sun

So you swoop in and peck his cheek

He blushes like crazy but he refuses to let you win

So he looks at you a moment

With a slight smirk on his face

Seriously where did all this confidence come from he was a shy child a minute ago tf?

And he kisses you right on the nose

Needless to say that surprised you

And spur of the moment

You decide you’re gonna kiss him smack on the lips

His eyes are wide as all hell

But he relaxes a split second later, kissing you back softly

You both part smiling slightly

Before he whisper-screeches, hiding his face in his hands, all embarrassed

And you also blush like crazy, also fighting the urge to run away

GAH THIS IS SO CUTE

When he introduces you to the rest of the group

My god

It’s gonna be chaos I swear

Everyone’s gonna welcome you politely and enthusiastically

And then they’ll start poking fun at Seungmin

“AWWWW they’re so lovely! How on earth did you get them to date you??” Says Jisung

“I bet he pays them” replies Minho, cackling

“Must have been a lot of money” chipped in Changbin, enjoying himself

All the while Seungmin makes a face like ‘this is the shit I need to put up with all the time good lord’

“Come on guys! Of course y/n didn’t agree to this for money” yells Jeongin

Seungmin is about to thank him when he finishes:

“They obviously came to meet me through Hyung” and he sprints off at top speed with Seungmin hot on his heels screaming bloody murder

“Please take care of him, y/n” Chan says quietly while the other boys guffaw at the two youngest’s behavior. “He really likes you”

And that’s exactly what you do

You guys have got each others back

No matter what

Someone tries to offend you in any way, shape or form

And he’s there in front of you like a human shield ready to fight

If he gets sick you’re there as quick as a flash with everything he needs, all the way from cold remedies to recipes for hot soup

While you’re making sure he’s not burning up, he’ll just whisper

“Can I just cuddle you? I swear I won’t sneeze on you”

So you just lie there holding each other the entire day

He keeps his promise and doesn’t sneeze on you btw

When you’re sick, he’s not gonna know what the hell to do

Lost puppy

He’ll run around trying to find the right meds for you (he’ll take the time to read each label to make sure it’s the right one)

He’ll try to make soup it doesn’t work

But after a while he’ll calm down and sit with you to watch something on TV

Apologising that he couldn’t make your fav meal

Makes up for it by buying takeout

Man I want takeout now :(

He can sometimes feel down about the day

Something might have happened at the fansign/performance, he might feel really tired and fed up with work

So it’s your job to be there and comfort him

You just wrap your arms around him and sit with his head on your shoulder

And he cries silently with you, grateful that you’re with him

Guess who’s emo while writing this

Sometimes days can get bad enough that he starts to shut you out all-together

Seungmin isn’t the direct type

He isn’t gonna start an argument because he’s stressed

He’s gonna avoid any kind of conflict

So he avoids you, ignores you, refuses to talk to you when he’s too upset

Because he doesn’t want to lash out and hurt you

But he’ll notice when he does this that it actually does hurt you

Almost more than an argument would

Because you want to help

And he won’t let you

So he’ll eventually come to talk to you, his head bowed and eyes glimmering with tears

And he’ll just hug you, asking for you to forgive how stupid he can be

RIGHT back to fluff because I don’t want to cry rn

He loves to teach you to sing his parts in every song

He feels you can understand his work better and be closer to him

You two will end up sometimes randomly singing his part in a song at the top of your lungs in the dorm, in turn pissing off the rest of the boys

You’ll both have singing competitions: who can sing the highest, lowest, longest, or most dramatically

And you both end up collapsing from laughing too hard

He’s gonna try to speak English around you

Just so he can practice

Have you heard his awesome accent during ASC that is a yes from me I don’t want to forget that

He might ask you for help but he’s mostly too stubborn and proud to so he’ll struggle for a while until you ask if he wants a helping hand

“Hey, need help for the pronunciation, there?”

“Nope! Nope it’s fine! I’m fine! Toooootally fine” :D

You two like trying to learn new recipes to cook for the rest of SK

It’s actually super fun

And you both manage to make a few dishes without setting the dorms on fire *applause*

And you make breakfast for them too: fried eggs! now I’m really hungry aw man

And the boys are already teasing you talking about how you’re couple goals and how well you two go together

Making the both of you sprint back into the kitchen, giggling like children

Seungmin is gonna ask you to meet his family first

But it doesn’t scare you that much

For a good reason:

He’s an angel, so he must have been raised by angels logic

You meet them and they melt when they see you

You chat, they share pictures of Seungmin when he was little he’s gonna be close to crying from embarrassment because “COME ON YOU JUST MET”

His sister adores you

Tells you about the pranks she’s pulled on her poor bro in the past

Which warrants a death glare from Seungmin

All in all his fam are your fam because they love you as much as they love Seungmin

He’s a lot A LOT more nervous about meeting your parents

He’s pretty damn close to fainting when the day to meet up comes

Pale as sheet istg

So you gotta be there for him to cling onto like a baby koala

Save this boy I beg of you

Nearly hides behind you when he first greets your parents

Basically leaps out of his skin every time someone raises their voice even a little bit

But he gets a little calmer after a while

And starts to genuinely smile and laugh

By the end of the day he’s a happy squish with no sign of nervousness

Success!

In the evenings he likes to buy a crap-ton of snacks and sit with you to binge watch your fav show

You two will probs have a competition to see who can catch the most food in their mouth sigh

He loves when you poke his left cheek

He’ll act cute with you if he’s asking for something

And it’s so freaking hard to say no damn it!!

He’ll have a fucking heart attack if he sees you wearing one of his hoodies or denim jackets like how many does he actually have??

But he’ll love it

He’s gonna grin from ear to ear saying how cute you look

Will not let you go throughout the night

Just wants to cling to you and snuggle you to death the entire evening

You’ve probs already guessed that he is definitely not gonna be the first one to say ‘I love you’

Nah he’s way to shy and lowkey scared to

But I bet you’re gonna do it kinda by accident

You guys have been having a dance competition

He’s gonna be jumping around all energetic and happy

Because he’s having the time of his life messing around with you

And you’ll accidentally let slip:

“You’re such a dork! This is why I love you so much”

And both of you stop laughing and stare at each other

While you’re mentally going OH SHIT WHAT HAVE I DONE

But Seungmin suddenly screams like a little girl

He can’t contain himself

Runs at you at full speed

And tackles you into a bone-crushing hug

Making you both topple over onto the floor laughing

Without letting you go, he’s gonna say, all giddy “I love you too!!! I was scared to say it but I’m not anymore I do love youuuuuuu!!”

And the rest of the day you’re both skipping around, making SK wonder wtf happened to the two of you

“Are they possessed or something?” -Hyunjin

“Who even knows with those two” -Chan

“Guess we’ll never know” -Felix, chuckling

Half the time they don’t get at all what happens between you two lmao

When Stray Kids are away, Seungmin’s gonna want to FaceTime you whenever he’s free

He’s a pouty boy who misses you senseless and forgets how to function like a proper human being when you’re not around

SK are having to tell him specifically what to do every other minute because he keeps daydreaming about when he gets to see you again smh

He’s gonna be so.freakin.hyper on the way back from wherever the boys were

No one wants to sit next to him on the plane because they know all he’s gonna want to do is talk about you

And they get enough of that on a regular basis anyway

But they’re happy at how energetic he is when they land and he can finally see you

He’s gonna Naruto run to you and hug you so tightly whispering how much he missed you

And you’ll be laughing like

“It’s been two days, buddy”

“Yeah but it feels like AGES! It’s been an eternity and I was going insane!!”

Seungmin most likely won’t go public about your relationship until after a year to a year-and-a-half

Wants to make sure you’re 100% ok with it

Because he knows there will be a bit probably a lot of drama on the net about you

He’ll post a cute selfie of the two of you

You’re both smiling happily

And he’ll caption it: ‘Hey everyone!! This is y/n, we’ve been together for quite a while now, and I wanted to introduce you! I hope you welcome them warmly!’

The internet isn’t going to shut up about you for an eternity holy shit

The entire universe ships you two

You’re the adorable smiley couple

That everyone

And I mean everyone

Loves to bits

A/N: YAY! It was really fun to write about this adorable fluff ball :D

Also, there aren’t NEARLY as many Seungmin GIFs as there should be!

Hope everyone has a lovely day!! And feel free to request anything! Ciao <3

P.S: I love this GIF so much it’s not even funny

#stray kids #seungmin #kim seungmin #stray kids seungmin #imagine #stray kids imagines #seungmin imagine #stray kids seungmin imagine #kim seungmin imagines #jyp #jyp entertainment #boyfriend

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benbarnesescape · 7 years ago

Text

Shift In Seasons - Winter

Modern Day Caspian AU

Warnings: PG 13

A/N: You thought I was going to let it live in sadness. No, I’m not that cruel…..at least not in this moment. And modern day Caspian is literally my only salvation at this point. Also doesn’t the above photo look like young college Caspian

The heat was overwhelming. It was taking up every crevice and nook that could be occupied in the large stadium space but no one paid any attention to it. Didn’t matter because the room was on fire.

The score on the board were nearing the triple digits and it was only the second quarter. Both teams had been on the heels of the other since the start of the game. Dark blue and silver clashed with the orange in black in the room, people of all ages yelling out for their teams in heated enthusiasm, cheering them on to no end.

And in the middle of all of this stood you.

You were on the wrong side of the bleachers upon Susan’s whiny request but that didn’t matter. You rocked the dark blue and silver jersey proudly as you sauntered up to her, catching cat calls and dirty talking. If she was going to make you dance with enemies better to do it wearing your team's armor. You had also thrown on a cute fitting sweater dress for afterwards, planning to go out and party and wanting something easy to change into.

“I said I would sit with you, didn’t say I’d sit and cheer for your team. Especially because Peter would kill me.”

She had scoffed, reminding you that just because you were dating her brother didn’t mean you had to be obnoxious about it. Which meant that you had to be just as much so just to get under her skin.

You both had been screaming at the top of your lungs, beers always filled as you laughed and joked among your neutral friends. It was why you had missed him, that long dark hair that normally hung down his neck now cropped short, splayed in different directions from his hands running through his hair. Don’t know how you had missed the Xenos on the back of the jersey, the most unique last name in the history of the world, constantly being yelled out.

Probably because you were drunk and happy to see Susan in what seemed like months and your team was winning.

Exaggeration on the was. It was in the last quarter of the game, two minutes on the clock that the rebound had been thrown by Peter and intercepted by no other than Xenos himself. A beautiful throw swishing through the hoop as the buzzer signaled the end of the game had killed the hearts of many young Duke students and alumni in the gym. Susan was screaming at the top of her lungs, tugging at you as he turned toward you a huge smile on his face as Peter high fived him before moving off so his teammates could celebrate with the man of the hour. You knew that smile. Knew those twinkling eyes, that chiseled jaw. Knew him.

Caspian Xenos the X. Only someone with a long ass pretentious name could be the star athlete at a pretentious school. Not like this ever caught up to Caspian. Instead he laughed along with teammates, high fiving strangers as he got carried to the locker room, his natural humbleness emitting off of him.

Susan had only barely noticed that you were distracted, not overheated from your loss and had to mumble,

“What is it?”

You turn to her, shaking your head incredulously before letting out,

“You didn’t tell me that he transferred to Princeton.”

Her eyes tell you that isn’t the only secret she’s kept from you.

Caspian’s Perspective

The party, for all its hype and excitement, was dull. Sure they had beat a top ten school and sure that meant great things for them when they had to revisit playing them in the spring for March Madness but he was over it all. In all of his youthful lameness, he actually wanted to go back to his room and read a book, content by himself.

He never really was one for parties.

He only used to go to parties because you wanted to go, wanted to dance and socialize and be the light in a room of darkness and he had lived to make you happy.

But that was then.

He had to go to the party. Outside of being a top athlete and leader on campus, he had promised Susan. Though the details of their relationship were still muddled, he had promised her and no amount of awkward hook-ups could trump his loyalty to her as an old friend. And she had a surprise for him despite the outcome and he was curious.

Which was why he was slumped in a couch in a far off part of the house, sipping a beer slowly as he watched one of his teammates play a video game. Sure it was lame to play video games at a party but he had exhausted all of his social energy earlier and wanted to hide from all the women throwing themselves at him.

There was obviously more problems he was not willing to deal with if he was trying to avoid women but he was going to attest it to tiredness.

“There you are!” Susan’s voice booming over the faint music of the frat house was what first grabbed his attention. Susan, for all her distinctive beauty, mingled with the rest of women who had been weaving in and out of the room and for a second he ignored.

Only for a second.

Because she wasn’t alone. On her heels, finishing a red solo cup and donning leggings and a tight fitting sweater dress was you.

You had worn your hair in a pony tail, trying to contain the curls on your head when you made contact with him.

And damn were you pissed.

“Heeeyyyy!” Susan squealed, wrapping her arms around him. She tried to deftly place a kiss on his lips but he maneuvered past it easily, his eyes never breaking from your own as you took in the scene.

Susan smelled of Southern Comfort and Coca-Cola and he wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same concoction in your cup.

“Look who I found.” Susan said in a sing song voice and he waved. Not a hello or how you’re done. Just one solid, awkward wave.

So the awkward dance began.

“Thought you were in Berkeley.” you say, placing the solo cup down and he shakes his head.

“Transferred in late October. Princeton offered a better sport scholarship.”

A nod.

“Thought you didn’t play basketball.”

He winces. That was true. And explained the start of your frustration.

“Changed my mind. Have a knack for it - like you said.”

Now you wince. Then there’s only silence, the sound of the bass and faint sound of gunfire prevailing over the space. The silence doesn't live long. Susan has picked up on the awkwardness of the situation and stands in front of both of you, drunkenly stomping her foot before exclaiming,

“Ok lets just put it out there. He moved back and we started hooking up. Figured it was fine since you were on again off again with Peter and when we started sleeping together you were back on with Peter. So Peter and i didn’t tell you - you said you didn’t want to ever know anything about him after graduation. Doesn’t mean we can’t all be friends now.”

The fire in your eyes says otherwise, your hands balling into fists says even more. He can't tell if you’re going to punch her or walk away but whatever has just happened probably had happened before as he catches that Peter isn’t around.

“Where is Peter?” he says naively again and you growl, shaking your head.

“Who knows. Probably getting drunk and bitching about me. We got into a fight because of you and how you always fuck things up.”

Then you turn on your heels and you leave, leaving you and Susan in the isolated room alone.

“Damn man, she is not your biggest fan.” his teammate comments and he can’t help but sigh and mutter,

“Shut up.”

He loses you for the rest of the night. Doesn’t know where you’ve snuck off to and if it wasn’t for Susan adamantly insisting that she was your ride, he wouldn’t stay. But he has to remedy what’s started.

When he confronts Susan about it, she smiles at him sheepishly, her cheeks toasty from the drink in her hand as she sways,

“I was tired of lying to her. And tired of you trying to figure out whatever the hell you’re trying to figure out with us and you.”

That had been two hours ago. Now it was nearing 1:30 and he was exhausted to his bones, the weight of the game finally catching up to him and his buzz from the beer transferring his energy to sleep. He’s walking out of the house, half asleep when he spots you. You're bundled up in a jacket, your arms around yourself with your phone in your hands. Obviously waiting for someone.

“Y/N? Are you ok?”

You turn to him, your long lashes blinking against your tear stained cheeks and he knows you're not. Knows those sad, Bambi eyes anywhere. Doesn’t know what compels him to take off his jacket to throw over you, the cold east coast air nipping at his skin in the darkness but he does.

He’s always hated seeing you cry.

“What happened?”

You roll your eyes to the sky, as if to will yourself from answering before you break down in tears and he’s drawing you closer to him, rubbing your back and shushing you.

“Susan left with some guy and Peter is drunk and pissed at me and I’m stuck in stupid New Jersey and I’m going to miss my train in the morning because I’m stuck in New Jersey at this stupid university with you.”

He chuckles at the last comment, drawing you closer before he pulls away and says,

“Listen, I know this isn’t ideal or anything. Being stuck with me in New Jersey but it's snowing again and it's cold and late and I’m more than happy to host you at my place.”

You throw him an incredulous eye as he continues in a hurried breath, “I can sleep on my fonton. My roommate is out and my bed is comfortable and it's just so I know you’re safe.”

You huff, looking back down at your dying phone before giving a slight nod.

“Fine. Ok.”

Reader POV

He was different. So similar in all the ways an old lover could be but so different. Mature. His growing shadow fit his jaw, peppering it so he looked more like a man than an insecure boy. His voice carried more weight in it, confidence and knowledge. He had been at Berkeley for two years, Susan had told you as you both took shots of cheap whiskey and coke in her car outside the frat house, before he decided to transfer back home. His dad had a heart attack and after that, well, he just wanted to be closer.

He had always been close to his family.

He pulls up to a small house that’s a ways back from the campus and you quirk an eyebrow.

Young 21 year old males didn’t live displaced from party town. They immersed themselves in it. As if knowing your thoughts he say softly,

“I don’t like living on campus. Too many people trying to be in your business and always partying. I like being able to choose when I want to turn on my social self or not.”

You give a nod as he turns off his car, the black luxury jeep starting to cool off in the winter air.

“Seems odd for a guy who wants to discover himself.”

He gives a small wince, closing his eyes as he squeezes the steering wheel. It was a low blow but he never apologized for that night. Instead he ignored you. Ignored you for a whole goddamn year as you wallowed in grief publicly, ashamed of yourself. Angry at him.

“I owe you so much.” he finally whispers and you sigh, shaking your head.

“You don’t owe me a damn thing Caspian.”

You open up the passenger door, ignoring the way he curses under his breath as he follows you out of the car. Its peaceful where he lives, the snow falling quaintly on the frozen grass and he stuffs a hand in his pocket as he barrels for the door. He’s still only wearing a long sleeve as you’ve taken his jacket hostage. Not wanting to admit to yourself how you love the way you’re re-bathing in his scent again.

He unlocks his door quickly and you scurry behind him as he shuts it, the warmth of the house greeting you as he flicks on lights.

The house is small but surprisingly neat. A large plasma TV sits central in the room with a dark grey sofa. A lazy boy to the right. Some decorations of Europe and sports hang from the walls. The kitchen is also surprisingly clean and if it wasn’t for the random sport paraphernalia, you’d easily mistake that two college boys lived here.

“Trains may or may not run in the morning. Ice on the tracks. But you can stay here until Susan is ready to get you,” he walks to the kitchen as he begins to fill a glass of water and you shrug out of his jacket, hanging it on his coat rack followed by your own as you turn toward him. You kick off your boots before entering the house more. The room is spinning slightly and you’re mildly still feeling the buzz of your drinks but the confident elixir has now powered its way through your veins and you can’t help but spit out.

“Why didn’t you apologize?”

The question takes him off guard and his head snaps up at you, his dark chocolate eyes piercing into yours and he holds his breath. You think he’s not going to answer and then he says,

“I was ashamed. Ashamed that I broke your heart and I was being selfish for breaking your heart.”

“Just that?” you ask, trying to bite back the pain and he shakes his head slowly.

“And maybe….I don’t know….maybe I thought….we were going to break up at the end of the year anyways so why not get it over with.”

You roll your eyes, mad that all the pre-adolescent feelings were bubbling to the surface. You both were 21. You had to move on

“You don’t make those decisions on your own Caspian. You talk to the other person.”

“I know.” he mutters.

“Seriously. You don’t just choose to stop loving the other person because you think it's the best decision for your relationship.”

“I know.” he says a bit louder and you cross your arms, rolling your eyes again in disbelief.

“Do you? Because that didn’t stop you from breaking me into an insecure little woman who dates Peter. Peter, who has the ego the size of Manhattan!”

“I KNOW!” he slams his fist on the countertop, dropping his head down. You’re taken aback by his outburst but stand your ground.

When he looks up at you, his face is calmer as he says in a crisp voice,

“I never wanted to break you. I just wanted you to be free of me while I figured out how to be a man. Wanted to know how to be a full person so I could love you the right way when I was.”

The statement takes you off guard and you walk toward him, standing across from him in the kitchen. You lean against the counter top as you eye each other squarely, his jaw set in that way that always made you want to kiss it gently. You give a large sigh before saying,

“You were good enough for me.”

Something breaks between the two of you. Caspian strides over, grabbing your waist and pulling you flux toward his body. His lips fall down on you, caging you expertly as he kisses you. You sigh into it, relaxed and at home for what feels like years, your hands easily combing through his locks. He pulls away, tugging at your bottom lip before he whispers,

“You’ll always be too good for me. Too good because you’re perfect.”

Then he’s kissing you again, his tongue coaxing into your mouth as to tangle with yours. It slow and patient as he begins to push you backwards. His other hand finds your backside and lifts you easily, never breaking the kiss as he carries you to his bedroom.

You’re half aware of the flick of the lights in his room as he gently lays you down on the bed, hovering over you as his mouth leads a trail down to your neck. His hands catch under your sweater dress, breaking away fast enough to tug the thick material over your head. He takes just a moment to take you in, watching the way your breath rises and falls as you watch him nervously and he gives a soft smile before leaning down to kiss you,

“So beautiful. The most beautiful woman in the world.”

You blush, kissing him again, memorizing his taste as you pull at the hem of his shirt, urging him to pull it off. He does so quickly, before his mouth returns to your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin as he nips down to your collarbone. His kisses move further, kissing teasingly down your breastbone and you giggle as his hands move to grab your soft breast, squeezing the tender area before you both feel it.

It's a low buzz in his jeans and he moans, shaking his head back and forth between your breast before pulling up.

“Mind if I check this? I don’t want to ruin the moment but if it's one of my teammates….they’ll harass me until I pick up.”

You smile, nodding as you run your hands through his hair and he sits back enough to dig his phone out of his pocket before he looks down, his face instantly frowning. He swipe the phone to answer and mumbles,

“Peter? What can I help you with?”

Peter. You had almost forgot about him. Your sorta boyfriend that you were mad at. Technically you probably shouldn’t be sleeping with his best friend.

“Y/N?,” he flicks his eyes toward you and says, “Yea, I know where she is. Was abandoned outside a party so told her she could crash at my place to be safe.”

There’s loud shouting and Caspian rolls his eyes and you sigh, looking for your dress. You know whatever magic was going to live in this moment had died.

“I didn’t - listen Peter, you were the one who abandoned your girlfriend in Jersey. Not me. Yes, like I said my place. We were just….watching a movie until she passed out. Yep she’ll be here. All right I’ll let her know. BYE PETER.” he hangs up the phone and throws it on the bed before he looks at you. You turn, pulling your hair loose and fluffing it before saying,

“Should probably go on the couch and start that movie you lied about it.”

He watches you, his dark eyes trying to read you as he nods, getting up and grabbing his shirt.

“Probably.” he’s mumbling again, eyes cast down and you know you hurt him.

“Caspian….we…..I…...this shouldn’t…” your still drunk and tumbling through the words but he shakes his head, grabbing your hands.

“I know.” he assures you, before moving past you.

You both don’t say a word until Peter shows up.

#ben barnes #king caspian x reader #caspian au #the chronicles of narnia prince caspian

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shianhygge-imagines · 7 years ago

Text

REQUEST: Rinne [Ignis/Reader]

@seaofcinder Sorry for the long wait, and sorry for the utter trash I wrote as a response to your request a month or two back... I’m not sure how to write a witty character, as I’m not really sure how to outwit Ignis... unless you’re pulling a total Ardyn... which is difficult. But I do know how to write sappy and fluffy stuff... So I’ve kind of left out the witty and kept in the “reader does something to surprise the Chocobros.”

ADDITIONALLY! WHOEVER SENDS ME A MESSAGE PRESSURING ME TO WRITE AGAIN... I WILL DECIDE TO GO ON ANOTHER HIATUS.

“Rinne” = “Reincarnation”

“Rinne” by Miyano Mamoru (Ignis’s Japanese VA)

Also just finished Episode Prompto... my bright sunny Chocobo child...

Also, I had no idea that work would take up 80% of my time. Holy shit....

|Masterlist Link|

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

Where is the resolution that I’ve had up until now? Although, there hadn’t been much there The river where two meet is now colored green The result of mixing blue and yellow

[ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα]

You’d known each other since childhood. Your earliest memory of your beloved had been when you were six, and him eight. You were a rowdy child back then. Always disobeying orders given by your parents, maids and butlers, but it was all in good fun. Just like when you’d gone sprinting through your family manor looking like you did the day you were born. You’d been given a bath, but before the maids could put a single article of clothing on you, you’d swiftly dodged their arms and ran out the door. Perhaps it hadn’t been the first incident in which you’d ran through the manor in the nude, but it was the first incident when your family had guests over. The manor employees had all rushed to grab you before you could sprint out of the residential hallways, but in vain, as you’d grown rather skilled in evading capture. And then, imagine the horror and embarrassment on your parents’ faces when you’d sprinted into and out of the foyer just as they were greeting their long time friends, the Scientia Family. And imagine the bafflement on Ignis’s parents’ faces when he’d excused himself to quickly chase after you.

Perhaps you would have never noticed that your best friend had been giving chase had he not yelled after you in a scolding tone, “Y/N! Stop running and put some clothes on! This is embarrassing!”

You’d only paused to turn around and grin cheekily at the bespectacled boy before resuming your nude parade. “It’s too hot to wear clothes!” you exclaimed, running in and out of rooms swiftly to evade your friend.

“Be that as it may,” the eight year old started, his vocabulary and speech much more advanced than your own due to his various tutors, “It’s not proper for you to run around naked!”

“Party-pooper!” You complained, getting out of breath.

Coming at a loop, you faked a motion before moving to turn down the West Wing, hoping to catch Ignis off guard and escape. However, Ignis had known you since you were born and had observed your behavior and mannerisms for so long that he didn’t fall for your tricks, eventually catching you in his arms. “I have you now!” Ignis exclaimed theatrically, laughing like the villains in the story books that your parents read to you.

You struggled against Ignis as he dragged you towards your room, where the maids were no doubt waiting to dress you. “Unhand me, villain!” You yelped with a laugh, enjoying the fun that only came when Ignis played with you.

“You shall not escape me!” Ignis roared playfully in the best villain voice he could make, finally managing to drag you into your room, “You shall get dressed like a proper young lady, or this villain will make you pay!”

Your eyes locked with his playfully, yet still challenging, “Oh yeah?”

His eyes locked with your own, challenging you back and calling your bluff. Because clearly, it was Ignis who had the upper hand in the situation. “No, Y/N. Don’t you dar-!”

“I DO DARE!!” You screamed, twisting in Ignis’s hold to snatch the glasses right off his face, throwing Ignis’s guard off enough for you to escape his hold and sprint down the hallway, hollering and yipping at your victory. But your small victory was short lived as, halfway down the hall and out of Ignis’s line of sight, you tripped over a carpet, and were sent sprawling forward, landing on your face, but careful not to break Ignis’s glasses.

“Ofph!!” You cried out as your face planted almost comically, except the manner in which you face planted did look like something out of a cartoon.

Ignis winced as he rushed after you, knowing what came next when a child face planted. “Y/N… you’ll be okay… so don’t-”

“WAHHHHH IT HURTS!! IGGY!!!”

“-cry…” Ignis finished, though his statement and plea went in vain as you were now sprawled on the floor rolling around in a crying fit. With a heavy sigh that resembled the exasperated expression of his older counterpart, Ignis calmly knelt next to you. And with a simple motion, requiring very little work on his part, for you practically rolled right into his outstretched arms, pulled you into his embrace. “There, there, Y/N. You’re fine. You’re okay. Cry it out if you must.” Ignis whispered with a soft kiss pressed to your forehead. “I’ll be here to help you feel better.”

You had a very low tolerance to pain despite your tendency to participate in horseplay, and this intolerance to pain changed very little as you and your beloved grew up.

[ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα]

One more time I’m not done yet Is the water on that side clear? I’m sure that in the past We dwelt in the same river It’s been a while, huh? It has been tens of thousands of years I have passed through a great many eras And chosen this star In order to meet you If I could change my form like the wind Would I be able to appear before you once again?

[ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα]

“No!”

Ignis sighed heavily, standing before you with an alcohol swab as you sat upon the marble kitchen countertop, dangling your legs on either side of your boyfriend’s hips and dressed only in a towel. “Y/N, the cut will get infected if you leave it be!”

You’d been singing at the top of your lungs, having stepped out of the shower in your apartment to pour a glass of water, when Ignis’s sudden entrance through the apartment door, had you jumping in surprise. The glass had slipped from your hand and shattered promptly on the tiled floors as you scrambled sideways from the door, stepping over the broken glass barefoot, cutting your delicate feet as a result.

After hearing your curse and seeing the blood on the floor, Ignis swiftly made his way to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you to take a seat on the kitchen counter, where you sat by his stern stare as he set about cleaning the broken glass. And now, the two of you sat in a rather erotic position, if you said so yourself, at a firm stand still, neither of you willing to give up. You didn’t want to use the hydrogen peroxide to clean your cut up feet while Ignis wanted to disinfect both of your feet thoroughly after making sure the glass was gone from your feet.

“But Igni-” you’d started to complain again, when your loving boyfriend (though you should say that he was your sly boyfriend), pressed his lips against your own as he pressed the swab of cotton against the bottom of your feet. The sting of the peroxide brought tears to your eyes, escaping in tiny streams down your face as you wrapped your bare arms around Ignis’s shoulders.

Perhaps at another time, you’d normally marvel at your beloved’s ability to multi-task, but now, you were perfectly content with basking in the attention your boyfriend gave you. Although it was only to silence your complaining, Ignis’s kisses were the best remedy to the pain coming from the bottom of your feet.

Once Ignis had finished wrapping up the bottoms of your feet, he pulled away slightly, his eyes catching yours in a half lidded stare. “There. Nothing to worry over.”

You groaned, shifting forward to rest your head against Ignis’s shoulder. “Iggy?”

“Yes, my love?”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” you whispered, shivering from the pleasure built up in your core, and turning your head sideways to look into his beautiful eyes.

“I shouldn’t have done… oh” understanding registered on his sculpted face as he saw the lust in your eyes, and your boyfriend of three years coughed in embarrassment, a red tint coloring his cheeks. “Well then….” the Prince’s advisor cleared his throat, loosening his tie before looking you in the eyes with a startling yet erotic intensity. “I suppose we shall have to cancel our dinner plans this evening.”

[ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα]

I’m not interested in something Like one-hundred percent happiness For it is an adult’s obsession To repeat a childish farce

[ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα]

Ignis knew that you would be the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but like with everything, he had to have some form of control. And if there was one thing that was beyond his control, it was the possibility of you getting injured. If something were to happen to the one he loved most, then the bespectacled man could never forgive himself. So, instead of introducing you to the waves of violence that nearly dominated his life, Ignis sought to protect you from the horrors of the world. Leaving you in Insomnia to travel with Noctis to Altissia, believing that you would be safe in the city ruled by a dying king.

And when Insomnia fell, it was the hope that you had somehow survived that helped him continue on his journey across the sea. That, while you held a place in the depths of his heart, that hopefully the defeat of the Niflheim Empire would bring about a world where you could live in safety.

[ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα]

You’d barely escaped the ruined city with your life. The people around you might like to think that you were innocent and naive, unable to protect yourself. But it was a position you’d wanted to put yourself, to have people underestimate you. Because your family was involved heavily in the world of politics, the less that people knew about you, the better. In such a world, you wanted the upperhand. At the time of the siege on Insomnia, you’d left everything behind except for your family heirloom, the Unnamed Blade. It’d long since gone dull from disuse, but it was better than running out unarmed.

And when you’d managed to leave the burning city, you’d attempted to get to Galdin Quay and hopefully catch up with your beloved. You’d gotten the location and timing wrong, and before you knew it, you were in Galdin Quay, hearing of the destruction within Altissia, brought upon by the Hydraean’s wrath. Of Lunafreya’s death and Noctis’s near death.

“What do you mean all ships out of Lucis have been suspended!” you snarled in disbelief at the calm attendant. “I need to get to Accordo, now!” The ports were a mess, crowded with individuals begging to be let back into their homes, all equally as worried about their loved ones as you.

[ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα]

-Somewhere in Accordo-

Ignis sat silently, the tension surrounding him was suffocating, not to mention the helplessness he felt at losing his sight. How would he be able to fight by his friends’ side? How would he be able to cook? And upon hearing the sound of children’s laughter, Ignis’s mind wandered toward Y/N. Perhaps his affliction would be temporary, and his worries are unfounded, but the lingering ‘what if’ of never seeing your face ever again had Ignis’s heart in shambles. Would you still want to be with someone that could barely take care of himself, much less you? Of course Ignis new that the scars on his face was not a matter that could be cause for you to leave him. No, you were never that shallow. “How am I to protect you now, Y/N?”

[ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα]

There were heavy protests as you were led away from the ports at Galdin Quay. Internally, you were absolutely furious, and externally… you were equally as furious, twisting and turning to escape the hold of various guards. By now, you understood that there would be no ships heading out to the neighboring nation, but you refused to be manhandled.

“Oh dear, that isn’t the proper way to handle a lady, now is it?” it was a very suave voice that broke through the flurry of incoherent shouts, and when a guard shouted abruptly, letting you go as he was sent flying backwards, your instincts told you that danger was near. And sure enough, before you stood the smug Chancellor himself.

“Ardyn Izunia.” the name fell from your lips as you cautiously eyed the hand extended to you.

“How rude of them,” Ardyn tsked with a smirk, head tilted to the side as he openly assessed your worth. “To treat a lady, such as yourself, in such a disrespectful manner. A shame.”

You knew very little in regards to the sly Chancellor, only that Niflheim was Lucis’s enemy, and therefore your own. Eyeing the extended hand, you begrudgingly shook it, not wanted to take a chance and anger the man before you. Call it womanly intuition, but something was off about Izunia, and you didn’t want to find out what. “With the situation across the sea, and the destruction brought about in Altissia, I’m not surprised that they’re being cautious.” though it won’t stop me from being annoyed. You finished the statement in your head. There was no reason to be completely forthcoming with the man.

“Ever the diplomat, you Lucians.” The smirk didn’t leave his face, though the comment sounded as if it were meant to be an underhanded comment. “Though I wonder if you would be so rational if you knew what happened to your betrothed.”

Your eyes narrowed, “What happened?” It was common knowledge that you were engaged to Ignis, especially because he was the Prince’s advisor, and you, the daughter of one of the wealthiest noble families in Lucis. There was no point in denying it in front of the Chancellor’s face.

“Oh? You don’t know?” ‘don’t’ as in still do not… that one question was spoken with a hint of mocking humor as, clearly, you didn’t know all that happened across the sea.

Fed up with the games that Izunia was playing with you, you allowed your diplomatic mask to fall, a snarl decorating your face. “If I knew, then I wouldn’t have asked. Stop with your games, Izunia.”

The red violet haired man had the audacity to look affronted, taking a dramatic step back and placing a hand over his chest, “How rude. And I was about to bring you to your beloved Count Scientia.” A pout appeared on his face, as if he actually cared about your words, “My feelings are hurt, Y/N.”

Crossing your arms with an unimpressed expression, you blandly commented, “I’m not here to entertain your theatrics. If you have business with me, then get to the point.” You weren’t normally this bitchy, but you were agitated and frustrated.

Ardyn merely smiled cunningly, and held out his arm, “I can do better than tell you, my dear. I can take you to your beloved.”

“And how can I trust that you don’t have anything nefarious planned for me?”

“A valid question, My Lady. You can’t trust me.”

Looking back at the docks of Galdin Quay, you weighed the risks for a brief moment before linking your arm with the Chancellor’s. “How are we getting across the ocean?”

Ardyn only chuckled before pulling you closer, whispering in your ear, “Close your eyes.”

You didn’t want to, but a dizzy sensation overcame you, and you found yourself closing your eyes anyway, desperately trying to stay upright. It felt as if your being was being crushed and stretched in some weird narrow space. And when you feeling stopped, and you found yourself about to open your eyes again, you heard Ardyn hum in surprise.

“Too bad you survived the trip.”

“Wha-?” You weren’t given enough time to question his words when contact was made with the back of your skull, sending you into unconsciousness.

--------

“... -/N…”

You groaned, a pain registering vaguely from the back of your head. Your head throbbed, and you couldn’t hear well. The voice calling you like an echo in a really long tunnel.

“Oh… Ign… gon… freak… Wa… yo… don… ow… et…”

Who was making so much noise? Everything hurt, and the muffled echoes were making things worse.

“-ake… Wake… ake… up… Wake up!”

“Lemmesleep…” you mumbled your complaint, giving in and responding to the pestering voice.

A gasp of breath… an inhale of pain… then silence… and you smiled peacefully, “... thanks…”

When you’d fallen back to sleep, Ardyn smirked from his position inside Prompto’s cell… “Sleep now… and dream… for the nightmares will begin soon.”

What will you do, little lamb? The man who loves you can no longer see you. Can no longer protect you as he once had. Will you still love him? Will you become a burden? Can you endure in this new world without light?

-----

The next time you came to, fully aware that you were lying on some sort of bed instead of vaguely awake, it was to the sound of metal releasing. A loud hiss of air and a grunt from around the corner. The back of your head still hurt like a son of a bitch, but the pounding and muffled hearing was gone. Or at least enough where you heard the voices coming from down the hall.

“Of course I was.” A man from the sounds of it, as you took in the scene of the cell around you. “What kind of question was that?”

“Of course… That’s why you came, like I believed you would.” A second voice spoke, sounding weak with fatigue.

Then you remembered the same voice calling out to you while you were still mostly unconscious. It had been a man as well, but you couldn’t quite pin the owner of the voice. The man had been familiar, or his voice was… but in your current state of mind… confused, pained… you couldn’t remember.

While lost in your own thoughts, you didn’t realize that the conversation outside of your cell had ended, until you heard an exclamation.

“Wait! Oh man, I almost forgot about her!” it was the man that had been yelling at you to wake up.

“What are you talking abou- Hey!”

There was the brief sound of hurried footsteps before you found yourself face to face with four familiar faces.

“Ignis? Prince Noctis? Gladio? PROMPTO? THAT WAS YOU?” You questioned rising from the cell cot unsteadily as the four men struggled to get the doorway open.

“Y/N? Is that you?” You heard Ignis inquire with a tone of panic and alarm. “How did you get here?”

You were about to retort when your eyes landed on the scars decorating his face before shifting to the cane. “Ignis... “ The door opened and you lunged forward taking your lover’s face into your hands. You weren’t going to ask if he could see. You weren’t going to ask how it happened. You already had an idea from what Ardyn had implied and from the facts before you. Instead, you stood upon your toes and pressed a needy kiss to your lover’s scarred lips. “I’m here for you, Ignis.”

In your haste, you didn’t notice the tension within everyone’s body, only focused on the feel of Ignis’s against your own. “Y/N…” You heard your lover whisper in disbelief as his legs seemed to give away, nearly bringing the both of you to the floor if not for Gladio hold the both of your up. “You’re here…” His arms were around your waist, wrapping around to cradle your head and pull you closer.

You wanted to be snarky, to comment on how Ignis always had a way with words. To tease him for being speechless upon being reunited with him. But you didn’t. All you wanted was to stay in his arms forever. Even through the hardships to come, you were ready to stay by Ignis the entire way. Maybe he didn’t need you to be his eyes, but you would be next to him, fighting. You were tired of letting everyone do all the work for you. It was about time that you gave back as much as Ignis and the others had given you. “I’m here, Ignis. I’m not leaving.”

“Speaking of that, Y/N.” How did you get in here anyway?” You heard Gladio asked, looking disturbed at your sudden arrival in the Niflheim Capital.

“Who else do you think?” Prompto sneered at the thought, “Our friendly neighborhood Chancellor, of course.”

“Of course it was Ardyn.” Noctis muttered angrily, “Can’t he leave the people we love alone?”

“Uh… to be fair…” you paused, wanting to take back speaking up immediately as all heads turned towards you. “I… kind of did go with Ardyn willingly…”

Their reactions were immediate, expressions morphing in disbelief, distress, and surprise.

“WHAT?” [Noctis]

“ARE YOU INSANE?” [Gladio]

“NO! Y/N!” [Prompto]

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO GO WITH STRANGERS!” [Ignis]

“I’M SORRY!” [You]

[ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα]

I have passed through a great many eras Will I be able to appear before you once again?

[ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα] = [ΩχΣψΘμΞνΔβα]

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

#requests #shian imagines #shianhygge #final fantasy xv #ignis scentia #ignis x reader #gladiolus amicitia #noctis lucis caelum #prompto argentum #final fantasy xv imagines #ffxv imagines #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn izunia

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namjoonchronicles · 8 years ago

Text

Tumbleweed, Her #15 - [BAP] Noir!Au

[A/N] There’s a part of me in Youngjae.

The Lunacy: Yoo Youngjae

Do you believe in karma?

They told him to be normal. They screamed at him to ‘toughen up’. But jokes on them, because he’s been screaming at himself the exact same words, only louder, a lot harsher. Yoo Youngjae is born in a successful family. Parent’s are pharmacists, and it was only natural that he ends up the same way. He was an only child and although he was a well driven and descriptive writer of the college, he was forced to set away that dream of his. Leave it, buried under his beautiful brain.

And the first person to realise this potential of his, was you.

He enjoyed that look on your face when you read the prose he wrote in his sleepless nights. The genuine awe, the comments. Your genuine appreciation of the arts in the form of words.

“And he looked at her, with steely eyes. ‘Your father will chop my head off!’, and she shot, ‘No he will not!�� ‘I would, if I were him!’ he roared,”

“And the couple was given the much needed silence and he slowly smiled, ‘You’d still marry me even if I’m without a head,’ a glint in his eyes that says more than words could ever.’” You read out loud.

“Youngjae, this is...wow.” All you could say and all you needed to say.

“Youngjae…” you called him out, “Yoo Youngjae, what have you done?” You looked at him and closed the handwritten book and set on your lap as you watch him blush. “Yoo Youngjae, you should be out there, writing! On billboard, fan-signing events. Make girls swoon over your gorgeous writing, Youngjae, what are you doing with your life. You know very well, you don’t belong behind this counters no matter how smart you are.” You raise your voice a little, to ensure that the messages come across. Youngjae shakes his head with a smile lingering on his face, he extended his arm to grab his white coat and he sighed, “You know me very well.”

“And you should know that this pharmacy will go bankrupt without a successor, and my family will go berzerk.” Youngjae glide his eyes to meet your and gave you a sweet grin. “This talent will go to waste, Youngjae.” You stood up right after he did. “No, it won’t. I’ll go on Tumblr and write anonymously under a pen name. No one will know it’s me, and my parent’s will never find out, I’ll still run the pharmacy, everybody wins.” He said, and walked to aisles full of supplement drinks and medications.

“Not you.” You stopped in your steps. “You don’t win that way. You’ll be hurt. You’ll want to escape a prison you can’t break free from. You’ll feel that you waste your life away and in thirty years to come, you’d come back to this day and say to yourself, ‘I wish I had it differently. I wish I did what I wanted.’ Because Youngjae, we lived our whole life listening to what our parents wants us to be, don’t you think it’s time to do what we wanted to do?” You asked him, a worried expression on your face.

“There’s too much risk.” He shook his head, hanging them low. “You’ll lose yourself.” You replied, as quickly as he did. “I’m fine with hurting myself.” “I’m not fine with that.”

Youngjae shakes his head, and he overlooked at Daehyun who has fallen asleep with his phone on his chest, they’re still at the hospital, resting well before they embark the journey back to the city. Feeling bored after many hours in the car, he walked out, and shut the car door as gently as he could. The birds are chirping, and the memories of yesterday and what he saw are slowly blackening out. He entered the hallway, yawning, both hands in his pocket. He wore a sky blue dress shirt, two top button left unfastened, and a beige long trousers, looking like a typical pharmacist walking in the hospital halls. He heard a loud siren coming from outside, he guessed that he would be etching steps towards an emergency department, based on the chaotic atmosphere of medical staffs rushing in and out.

People crying, yelling, and miscellaneous noise coming from all corners, it disheartened Youngjae but he kept walking. He had a change of heart as the noises gets louder, so he made a detour to the toilet first. And in there, he washes his face, and find himself deluded by the sound of running water from the tap. “Guilt.” A voice came from the side. The lights flicker all of a sudden and when it steadies, Youngjae turns to see a patient standing up straight at the tap next to his. He had an eerie smile on his face. The kind of face you see and you’ll know almost certainly that he’s not right in the head. The red tag on his wrist gave Youngjae his name, Kim Himchan.

It was easy to see a patient, since they wore the uniform with the hospital’s name on them.

“It only exists when you have a heart. When you don’t have one, you don’t feel guilt. You won’t feel anything,” Himchan raised his right arm and Youngjae could see clearly that there’s blood dripping down his elbow, although covered by his long sleeves. Youngjae stopped breathing and with his wobbly leg, he screamed for help, falling upon the exit. His eyes wide, he was panting. “Someone’s in the washroom, he had blood. He had blood! There’s blood!” Youngjae starts to crawl on all four, he rested his back to the wall and hugged his legs. Then he begins to violently shake. The medical staffs surrounded him and some of them ran into the bathroom.

They brought in a stretcher and brought out the said patient. And at the same time, Youngjae was having an episode of extreme breakdown. He couldn’t speak and he began to talk nonsense. Daehyun came out of nowhere and held his face, trying to look into his eyes, but Youngjae’s iris were wide, he wasn’t there. His body is, but his emotion isn’t. He was really afraid. He showed extreme fear and because of that Daehyun threw himself away, because he hadn’t seen anything like it.

Flashes of blood come into Youngjae’s mind, and he heard cries of a young boy. It was himself. He was having flashbacks of him. Youngjae was being whipped with a iron pipe. It caused his body to be black and blue. He was locked in a wooden cupboard, his nails digging on the wood, making scratching sound as he cried for help. He remembered sweating, having nothing to eat and drink, for days. When he was freed, the abusing continues. “I have to be a good boy. I have to be a good boy. I have to get all A’s. I have to. I need to.” He would chant to himself. He heard doors open and closed and he’ll instinctively hide underneath the bed. But the man, proved to be ulterior, caught him by his hair and pull him out, mercilessly. “Please save me! Save me!”

He screamed the same words.

The commotion rendered everyone into a panicking state and you quickly realised what’s going on. You instantly got on your knees and next to Youngjae’s convulsing body. You grabbed his face and set your lips next to his ear and you started to sing whilst crying. Yes, you started singing softly.

“Why do birds suddenly appear, everytime, you are near. Just like me, they long to be, close to you…”

Daehyun looked at you, wide-eyed. And then, Youngjae visibly calmed down. Tears fall on each side of his face. You cried into his shoulder as you cooed him. The nurses gave him tranquilizers and he was sedated to sleep and rest as long as he could. “Who was the patient inside the bathroom with him?” You heard one doctor say, but didn’t stay around to listen to the answer. Daehyun looked at the bed next to Youngjae and recognised his face, right away. “Kim Himchan.”

But he wasn’t there for long, because under a strict command, he was immediately treated in a secluded and private area, away from cameras and public. What was the Congressman’s son doing in a hospital?

He find it odd.

Youngjae woke up to an unfamiliar surrounding. Only the sound of the ECG filling his ear bud. He hikes up a lungful of breath and he shakes his head for what seemed hours complete knock-out. He heard the door to his opened and closed. “Oh, you’re awake!” You exclaimed, mouth full of biscuit crumbs, standing by the door, “I’ll go get the nurse.” And before Youngjae could say anything, you were already out there sprinting down the hall, and he heard your footsteps rather clearly than he wanted to.

The doctor came with the nurses and you. He ran his flashlight over to Youngjae’s iris, scan through his vitals and introduced Youngjae, the house pharmacist. Youngjae shook his head in disbelieve, “This is a rather embarrassing situation where a pharmacist meets a fellow pharmacist, in a condescending atmosphere.” The pharmacist, female, and attractive greets him with a iridescent smile, ungenuine, to say the least.

“Well, that means I can skip introductions. Risperidone is found in your system, any explanations, on why that would be?” She sounded feisty, and there’s a tone in her that makes you think that it’s probably not her first time meeting Youngjae. But then again, maybe that’s just you. You turned to look at Youngjae and his charming face, that looked tired. His lips discoloured from him biting it as his eyes shake to his lap. He was contemplating. He was about to say things he doesn’t want you to know about, and you hate the fact that you’re such a good face reader.

“I have schizophrenia,” he stammered, reluctance in his voice, and he adds, “...with mild psychosis.” He clenched his eyes shut, the way that normal people would react when they’ve been found out to reveal something they’ve never intend to. You couldn’t respond. His voice sounded like pieces of words in your head, and it echoed before it actually made sense. Then, all the memories with him started to unveil.

The song he usually sings when he’s alone in the pharmacy, the tune he hums along too, that song you sang to him when his attack came-- it was his remedy. “Why do birds, suddenly appear...everytime, you are near…” The words wrote themselves in your head. You always wondered why that song played every time you walked in his pharmacy. It calmed him. The song, they soothe him. “Yes, I’m a little cuckoo in the head. What I really need is a psychiatrist, not a pharmacist.” He arrogantly say. The pharmacist stayed put. And for awhile, you thought you’ve probably been right after all, and the next words that came out of her mouth, cemented your earlier belief.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” She weakly said, a sad smile flashed across her face as she rests the writing pad covering her middle. She was very attractive, and there’s no way Youngjae could have missed that. Or so you thought.

Youngjae’s eyes remains unaffected. He darts them away, to save her face. “Class of 2013? Seoul University. We’re from the same batch.” She clarified. But Youngjae responds remained aloof. “So what do you want me to say? Sorry, your batchmate is insane?”

You lightly touched his wrist as he immediately stopped talking. To tell him, that he’s out of line. And that he shouldn’t behave that way. Youngjae lay back down, threw his head into the pillow again, “...I’m going to need what that doctor gave me to go back to sleep. Another hour would be good.” He murmured. “Hours, Youngjae? You’ve slept for days.” You raised your voice a little, and the pharmacist took it as a queue to leave. Which you were glad, since her presence here seems to bother Youngjae a little. And Youngjae isn’t easy to be bothered. “That was not nice, you should at least pretend that you knew her.” You sat on his bed, watching him turn to his side, facing away from you.

“She’s not very significant for me to remember. I don’t remember faces, I remember souls.” Youngjae said, and...

“Go.”

He said. “Leave.”

You sighed softly.

“Leave me, like everyone else does, once they got to know what I am. A lunatic,” Youngjae sternly say.

You placed your hand on his shoulder and squeeze them a little. You leaned your face to his shoulder, nuzzled your nose to the fabric that’s covering them and whispered softly to him, “You’re exactly like the rest of us. Just...wired differently. You don’t scare me, at all.” You brushed your lips on his shoulder before sitting up straight, “...I need my best friend back. Tell me when he’s here.” You said, upon leaving. Youngjae buries his face into the pillow, finding comfort in the resonance of his thoughts.

You came by everyday. Yongguk went back to Seoul to work, Jongup is being ignored for all the needed reason, and Junhong is attending rehabilitation therapy to help him recover his muscles. You were stuck here, just waiting for the next step. Your loneliest moment is back, and you prayed that ‘it’s’ not here to stay, because you dreaded it.

Youngjae found you seated by the cafeteria, scrolling down your phone, a tired expression on your face. He studied your face, every blinks, every lashes, and how your fingers delicately swipe the screen of your phone. Sensing someone had been watching, you were prepared if it was Jongup, you’d be glad if it’s Junhong, but it was Youngjae...so you were astounded. Have you ever felt strange, looking into the pair of eyes that you’re familiar with, and felt like you’re looking at a stranger?

Like, you’re not sure who you’re looking at?

It was that kind of feeling.

Youngjae blinks, and looked at the clothes he wore. This ugly hospital uniform. Then he looks up at his angel, sitting across the room. And instantly, you knew, that it was Youngjae. Your best friend, Youngjae. You push your chair back as you jog a little, approaching him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and pressed your body on his. You missed this physical contact. “I’ve missed you.” You murmured into his shoulder.

“How are you not frightened of me? I only trouble you. You should have hated the sight of me,” He softly said, sitting right next to you by the bench. “Because,” you turned to him and handed him a juice, “...If I hate you, I won’t have anyone I like.”

“What happened with Jongup?” “What didn’t happened with Jongup.”

It wasn’t an answer. “Jongup had priorities. And it ain’t me.” Youngjae sips into his drink, “...then, forget him.”

“I wish it was that easy. Jongup has a hold on me, Youngjae. I can’t explain it. I guess I have eyes for bad guys.” Your gaze dropped to your lips to the hands that Jongup used to hold tight to his chest when he sleeps. Those days are gone, now. Maybe you should have enjoyed it while it last. “I wasn’t in love, until I love Jongup.”

And with that. And with that alone, Youngjae understood so much.

“He said, there’s no future between me and him. He said, he doesn’t want to commit. He said… he wasn’t in love. He was just there to have me, and nothing more. He said those words, Youngjae. He said them, with no glint of remorse in his eyes. And that’s how you kill a person. Not with knives, not with bullets, not guns. But by loving someone who doesn’t love you back. That’s how you kill someone.” You angrily wiped tears that are falling on one side of your cheek, and you braved a smile as Youngjae stucked his gaze on the brick road next to your feet.

“And you know what’s worse, Youngjae?” You added a sad chuckle, “...I said the exact same thing to Yongguk, a long time ago. Every word. Every tone. Every intention.”

Do you believe in karma? Youngjae does.

Next: Part 16

#tumbleweed her #bap mafia au #yoo youngjae #bang yongguk #moon jongup #choi junhong #kim himchan

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