#and for a happy ending to occur the family must be reunited | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aweecrush · 3 years ago

Text

i. Tonight is their last night in Derry.

The air is warm, and around her, it’s nothing but singing, and dancing, and happy, drunken shouts. Ma’s threats must have worked in the end, because they all passed their exams: they made it. She could swear she heard something close to emotion in her voice when Sister Michael sent them off school for the last time. It was such an odd feeling, knowing they’d never come back this time. They all felt it, she knows.

Their bags are ready now. For the past few days, the house has been even crazier than usual, everyone remembering something important for her to note and keep in mind, finding something new that she would absolutely need to put in her bags. By the end of it, she’d thought her bloody head was going to melt, but she supposes it's better that it was all so mental and loud and relentless the whole time. She's not sure she would have been able to cope, if the reality of what is coming had had time to settle.

(She doesn’t think that they would have, either. It's far easier for all of them really, that unstoppable level of energy up a notch.)

Tomorrow morning, she’ll hop in the car, and leave the city that she has known all her life. Clare and James’ planes won’t leave before the late afternoon. Michelle and Orla will stay here. For now, at least - who knows.

He doesn’t say anything for a while - just sits there next to her, his arm pressed against hers. He’s wearing a t-shirt and so is she, and she can feel the warmth of his bare skin.

“I can’t believe it’s over.”

“Well, we’ll come back - all the time.”

She knows what he means, though. Of course she does - it kept her up at night these past few days, just like it must have kept him too. All of them, probably.

The days and weeks felt so long sometimes, and now…now, it seems like everything’s gone by way too fast. Now, it’s all over.

She only notices the tears in her eyes when she feels a gentle brush of his fingers against her forearm, and Erin finally turns her head to see his green ones looking at her, as soft as his smile. That’s what he is, isn’t he, their wee English fella - always so soft.

“Yeah, we will,” he promises. ”It’s going to be okay.” His voice is so comforting, too. It always has been.

And so, Erin tries to smile back and lets her head fall on his shoulder, and chooses to believe him.

ii. It’s so strange, not seeing them every day. Her family, the girls - even Jim down the street. She hadn’t realized how full and loud her days were before the silence that comes with her to Burmingham.

It’s not always like this, of course, far from it: there’s always a class, a party, a fun book club. Something to be part of. It’s thrilling so it is, and she loves it. Still, life away from everything and everyone she’s ever known isn’t as easy as she likes to pretend, and sometimes, it’s like she can physically feel the loneliness. What’s missing.

When the Quinn-McCool clan leaves after their first official visit, Erin can’t quite contain her tears. “It will be alright, love,” Da says, his arm comforting around her, his smell grounding as she hides her face in his coat. Ma puts a warm hand against her cheek, Granda kisses the top of her head and Aunt Sarah and Orla squeeze her so hard, she can’t quite breathe properly.

“We’re never very far, Erin love,” her Aunt says. Promises, really.

Aye - so they’re not.

iii. The first time they’re all together again, it occurs to Erin that she’s probably never been this happy in her entire life. James had to stay in London with his mum for Christmas, but when he arrives a couple of days later to spend New Year with them, her heart leaps into her chest.

The gang’s finally reunited.

That night, in the packed and sweaty pub, they all have to bundle up into a corner, pressed against each other. None of them seems to mind.

iv. “Do you have a fella at home, Erin?”

The music is loud under the neon lights shining around Tara’s appartement, and she has to talk a little loud to answer. “Not really, no. I mean - no period, actually.”

Her friend just grins. “Well, Paul certainly likes you.” She turns, and at the other end of the flat, the boy waves a little shily before going back to his conversation.

As Erin stands at the window talking to him that night, she laughs at his jokes, even though his brown eyes don’t quite feel right.

v. Time flies by, and before she knows it, they’re starting their second year.

Orla’s taken history and has joined Clare in Galway, where she’s still book deep into her law classes. She loves it, although they’re all afraid her number of cack attacks is only increasing. Erin can’t help but feel a little jealous that they have each other, but she’s glad.

James’ still in London, having the time of his life - all summer, he’d told them about the amazing classes he had, the movies he got to study, the craker teachers. It's nice to see, really. He's happy - she likes seeing him like this.

Of course, Michelle kept telling him to shut it and instead, talked their ears off about how well she was doing at making her way up the chain at the bar already, but some things never changed (it was always more soft now, her teasing, or followed by a friendly punch, a smirk. Things did change - just the right amount.) The thought of Michelle with so much responsibilities is a frightening one, but in fairness, it is impressive, how far she’s come.

Erin’s still wavering through everything - adjusting more and more each day. She really does like it here, now.

Some classes are a bit boring and she gets all red when she gets caught snoring once, she can’t stick her new roommate. She also finds out writing whilst in a terrible hangover is not all that class after all. Feck that - it’s absolute hell is what it is, no matter how cool and artistic it sounds. Paul always brings her cake with hot chocolate when it’s really bad, though. He’s sweet.

Sure, exams are always a pain, but they all call and cheer each other up as often as they can. It helps.

Life is good.

vi. They’re home for Easter break, and John Paul asks Erin out.

That one, she doesn’t see coming. None of the girls does, if the look on their faces is any indication. From the corner of her eye, Erin sees James get up from their table and head to the toilets.

“The nerve of that fella - after standing you up like this at prom,” Clare hisses, still staring angrily at the door he’s just walked out of.

“Aye, he’s still a ride though.” Taking another bite of her brownie, Michelle shrugs. “Might be fun. Besides, you need a rebound now, it’s time.”

She’s not sure she does, really. Truth is, the break up wasn’t that painful. “Christ but we are on a roll now, aren’t we: Erin breaking hearts all over the place -”

“I’m not.”

“ - Clare getting it on with sweet little Helen - ”

“It’s not - we’re just - ”

“ - Orla spinning that fella over,” and her cousin just smiles, oblivious, “James with his perfect girl, me with that Scottish block. Well done lads!”

Well. Maybe they are doing alright.

vii. It’s way too late to call, of course. He answers anyway.

“Hello?”

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping at this hour?” On the other end, she hears him chuckle.

“I was on my way to go hit some clubs, actually: you know, fast life of the city and all that.”

“Aye, I did hear Tuesday nights were always wild in crazy old London - lucky you.”

“I know, right. It’s getting hard, really: I mean, I’m getting dangerously sleep deprived at this point.”

“You spent all night at the movies again, didn’t you?”

James sighs, feigning defeat. “Busted.”

“Let me guess: Star Wars and Notting Hill?”

“Actually, no,” and she rolls her eyes at the pride in his voice. “I saw Star Wars last week, so tonight was just Notting Hill and a rerun of The Godfather.”

“Yes, so I’m still half right.”

“More like half wrong, but I’ll humor you. What about you?”

Erin turns the pink cord of her telephone between her fingers, eyes still to her ceiling. “Not much, really. Started to write my English essay but I couldn’t really concentrate, so.”

“Right. Is everything okay?” The badly veiled concern in his voice makes her want to cry, for some reason.

It’s so stupid.

“Yeah.” It is, really. She’s just -

There’s a beat, another. In the silence, she can hear his breathing a bit. It helps, somehow. “Just wanted to talk for a bit, I suppose.”

“We’ll do that then.”

And so, he tells her about Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant, details her how wasted he ended up last weekend celebrating his mate’s birthday (‘I karaoked Like A Prayer on top of a table - please don’t tell Michelle’), sounds half disgusted, half impressed by the lad he’s seen being chased naked down the street by the police the other day. She asks about his stepdad, and he tells her about their last lunch at his new place, all fancy and stuff.

Buried under her covers in the darkness of her bedroom, her phone glued to her ear, she smiles, and laughs, and smiles some more.

“It does it to me too, you know,” he says after a while.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Don’t always know why it suddenly comes and then goes, to be honest, but - yeah. I love it here, I do, but - ”

“It’s hard sometimes.”

“Yeah.”

“But you have Emily, right? She’s great.”

“Yes. I mean - ” There’s a pause that seems to lasts more than it actually does - gets heavier than it is. Than it should be.

It’s probably just her. “Yes, she is.”

Erin holds her covers a little closer around her body, and smiles. She’s happy for him - she really is.

“What about you? How did it go with that Danny fella?”

“It didn’t, really. There’s Matt now, I suppose.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.”

Holding back a shaky breath, Erin nods on her pillow. “Yeah - that’s good.”

viii. The night is grand.

Clare’s friends are loads of fun. It’s her idea that they come and visit her to end the summer on a high, and it’s nice, walking around in the sun all day, only having to worry about where they’re gonna go get drunk that day. Well. Get down right pissed, really.

Tonight is no exception.

Michelle’s snogging a lad in a corner, Clare’s at the bar, laughing at something Orla's doing, all pink cheeks and crazy blond hair. They’re dancing, too, and so is she, and so is James. His curls bounce on top of his head, and she laughs as he makes her swirl, then catches her, both their chests colliding in a soft oof. She can feel his warm hands at the small of her sweaty back, and her fingers clam to his shirt for balance.

The pub is packed, and it’s all smoke and beers and shouts.

She hasn’t felt this good in a long time.

His green eyes are dazed with alcohol and crinkling with happiness when he leans forward, forehead almost touching hers, and suddenly, it feels like they’re seventeen again. In another pub - on another drunken night.

She’d wanted him to close the distance then, to just erase it and kiss her. When he had, her heart had stopped. It still does a bit, whenever she thinks about it.

She wants him to do it again. She’s been wanting him to, all summer, and tonight, her head spinning and all inhibitions sent to hell, she can finally admit it.

“Erin.”

His voice sends shivers down her back. He feels - solid against her. Right. Exactly where he’s supposed to be.

And then, Michelle surges out of nowhere, dragging both Clare and Orla behind her, and it’s a mess of tangled limbs and giggles. When they all part, dancing and jumping all around, she misses his warmth against her.

In the morning, they all go their separate ways and back to uni, and that night is only remembered as the last summer party, where Orla drank too much tequila shots and Michelle nearly rode a Robbie Williams’ look alike.

ix. She meets Cilian in the library, during the first term. They talk about Beckett for an hour, and when he smiles, she notices the dimple on his left cheek.

She struggles a bit with courses - she’s always managed studies and the work she got on the side, but essays and projects are pouring down on her, and it’s been harder than before. It’s getting more and more interesting, though.

She also kind of sets a room on fire that one time, but really, it’s not her fault.

Mammy sends her a couple of photos one day, and she smiles at how grown up little Anna is getting. It feels weird, everything moving so fast.

It’s good, though. That’s what life is supposed to be: moving forwards.

x. At Christmas, she brings Cilian home. She’s never brought anybody home before, but he can’t get back to his family for the holidays, so. Plus, she likes him. She really does.

It feels a bit strange, and of course, Granda eyes him the whole time, but her Da makes sure to chat with him, and her Ma always smiles at him gently, and it goes well. He’s polite with her family, laughs out loud at Michelle’s coarse stories, finds he and Clare share the same favorite books.

They’re in their usual booth at the pub when James announces that he’s going to New-York. It’s an internship, and it’s absolutely grand, in this big movie company. He beat out twenty others applicants, and he’ll get to read scripts and attend production meetings all day, which basically makes it his dream job.

When Cilian offers to give him some addresses that he loved when he was over there, James accepts with a smile.

xi. The girls come to visit her for her birthday. They’ve been here before, and as always, it’s great. It feels…odd, a bit. Seeing three of them and not four, blowing her candles without him clapping along.

Still, she watches as Michelle and Orla dance with her friends from uni, as Clare happily chats with her new roommate Ashley, and she smiles.

(As it turns out, it’s a shame they don’t say a couple more days, when the big, earth-rocking news come. It would have been fun, seeing each other's faces when they hear about it.

Instead, they’re left with the next best thing as Michelle calls them all up.

“Can you fecking believe that?!”

All in all, it’s fair to say that Jenny Joyce’s wedding announcement arrives with all the gasp inducing shock and drama that she was probably very much hoping for.)

xii. As Erin crosses the gates, she can’t help the roll of her eyes.

A castle. Jenny’s tying the knot in a castle.

Of course she is.

July is shining bright, there’s a band playing in the middle of the court, where it’s all flowers and butterflies and glasses of champagne being handed by perfectly dressed, perfectly handsome gentlemen. She hasn’t crossed the front door yet, and it’s all already screaming ‘yes, I did plan the loveliest event of the year’.

Dear lord.

They’re here for the whole weekend, and she’s already checked into her room when the others start to show up, one by one. Her cousin first, hand in hand with Otis - Clare with an in awe looking Julie - Michelle. When James arrives, Orla actually tackles him to the ground, she’s so happy.

They’ve never gone so long without seeing him - ever.

As it turns out, Jenny’s beau and his family are even more loaded than she is, and they’ve spared absolutely no expense. It’s the best food they’ve ever tested at every course, the loveliest bedrooms, and activities and dancing and unlimited booze. They’re still not sure why they’re invited (‘So she can show off, that’s why,’ Michelle comments, happily downing her four o’clock cocktail nonetheless), but Erin’s sure glad they are.

She has to give it to the girl: it’s absolutely grand.

The actual ceremony takes place on the Saturday evening, and although they’ve all been raging a little over this and that and the whole marrying rich thing for the past two days, more out of habit than anything else, Jenny really does look happy.

When they exchange their vows, Erin even has to swiftly swipe a tear out of her cheek. James is the only one who sees. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” he whispers in her ear as all the guests burst out in applause and shouts. She smiles back.

She can’t believe he’s actually here.

That night, the party is even better than everything else has been, somehow - the highlight (of her entire life, probably) being her and James having to escort a drunk Sister Michael back to her room closing on three in the morning.

His face is still half shock, half absolute delight as they lean against the wall railing of the back garden overlooking the lake. The fresh air does wonders for her skin, all hot from the dancing - and the, well, carrying -, her head is spinning a little, and she can’t stop giggling.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he laughs. He’s tanned, and the green of his eyes are made that much enticing, somehow.

“The girls are going to be raging they’ve missed this. And when she talked about the - ”

“I know!”

“And then when fell and did the - ”

“I know! Christ.”

Their laughter slowly dies, replaced by the sound of the music further away, the whispers of a few conversations not far. They've been silent for a while when Erin turns to look at his face, still leaning on her forearms, as his gaze is fixed on the water underneath them.

“Admit it - New-York is class and all that, but it has nothing on this place.”

He chuckles. “It hasn’t, no. No rogue polar bears, no one to steal my tent, no luggage full of vodka being destroyed on the street - I mean, it was getting kind of boring, really,” and she laughs. “I did miss it a lot, actually.”

“Really?”

He’s told them about his cool, fancy abroad experience, of course, but she hasn’t had a chance to properly ask him anything yet. Hasn’t dared to, maybe.

He looks back at her for a second. Another. “Of course.”

“We were afraid you weren’t gonna come back, you know.”

“Well, technically, I haven’t even finished uni yet.” She shakes her head at his confused expression.

“Come on, James - if you had the chance? It wouldn’t have mattered, right? I mean, I get it: dream job, dream team, dream city. Michelle mentioned your friends were great. Your girlfriend.”

His face changes a little. That expression, she can’t quite read.

“Right. Well, as I’ve said, I really did miss it here. And she’s - she got a scholarship to study abroad, so she’s coming to London at the beginning of term, actually.”

Oh. “Plus, it’s - it was great, but I’m not sure I can actually see myself live there for real, though. It was only an internship.”

Inside, she can feel her tummy twist a little. A lot.

“Right. Good - that’s good.”

She’s not sure how long they stay silent this time. Not even sure why she speaks again. “Promise to call more often then, will ya?”

She means it to be playful, but it comes out more - real than she wants it to. He’s looking at her, though, and she feels like she needs to explain. “It’s just…you didn’t call.”

Well, twice. At the beginning, and then - never again, really.

There’s a beat, a few others, and she’s about to apologize and shrug it off, move on as if that didn’t matter, as if that didn’t hurt, when he speaks.

“I’m sorry, Erin. It’s just - you had your own life, and Cilian, and it was all going so fast over there, all the time. And that time difference thing is a bitch too, and I guess I just - ”

“You were real busy.” He’s got that hurt puppy expression now, and she smiles. “It’s fine, really. Just start picking up your phone again, American boy,” she shoulders him, and he smiles, nodding obediently.

“I will.” He looks down then, but before she can comment on how impressive Clare dance moves were tonight, he looks back up at her. “I did miss you, though. Really.”

Aye. She wants to tell him how much she missed him, too, but she’s not sure she has the right words for it, really. It doesn’t matter, though, because then he’s smiling again as he turns, facing her way.

“Also, you look really good tonight, but I’m going to put that,” he says as he shrugs off his jacket and starts enveloping her in it, “here, because you’ve got goosebumps all over your arms now, and seeing you turn blue once was enough for me.”

Again, the roll of her eyes is not even intentional. “For the last time, it wasn’t that bad, James. And for the last time, it wasn’t my fault!”

“Right. I’ll forever continue to think you falling into that pond was your own fault for drinking that much vodka, as will everyone - but nice try.”

Erin just groans. Really though, when will people stop bringing that story up? “It was ages ago - stop it already.”

“Not until it stops getting that look on your face I won’t. Also, not to be a drag, but it was barely three years ago.”

Was it?

“Shite. It all feels like it��s going so fast, though, isn’t it? And now Jenny is just making it worse, marrying the love of her life at 21 - I mean, that’s not normal, right? We’re supposed to still be getting pissed and figuring things out - that’s normal.”

“Sure.”

“I mean, I still call my Ma because I still have questions about laundry sometimes.”

“I know - she told me.” She punches him for the mocking smirk on his stupid face.

“Oh shut it, James,” although she’s laughing, too. “Seriously though…Doesn’t it scare you sometimes? How fast it goes? How sometimes - sometimes, it feels like everything’s unfolding a certain way, and you don't have time to even think about it, and you’re…you’re just not sure that’s what you want? Not even sure what you want?”

She’s sounding a wee bit mental now, she knows it. But he’s not laughing at her, and she realizes that this whole time, James’ been holding the front if his jacked closed around her body, his own body almost pressing against her.

“I guess it does, sometimes. But that’s just life I suppose. And you’re happy, right? With you friends - uni, Cilian? That’s what matters.”

She is. She loves her classes, and her friends are cracker so they are, and she likes Cilian. She really does. Sometimes, she thinks she could almost love him, one day.

Somehow, that’s not what she says.

“And you’re happy? With Lena, and her coming and all that?”

He should say it, too. He doesn’t.

She doesn’t know who initiates it, but she knows she certainly doesn’t stop it. She doesn’t want to stop it.

His lips are warm and soft against hers, so soft, it takes her breath away. He does.

That night, the sound of their breathy moans fill the room, her fingers get lost in his brown curls, his hands burn every inch of her skin, and she wants to remember everything. She’s not sure her heart's ever beaten this fast before - not sure she’s ever felt this much before.

(She knows she hasn’t.)

His face buried in her neck, Erin wraps her arms around him, their legs entangled, and lets herself get lost.

xiii. “And how is everything love? Still working hard I hope? It’s your last year Erin, you can’t get lazy now.”

In the background, she hears her sister shout something at the TV. She sighs.

“I’m not, Mammy. I mean, it’s getting harder so it is - I swear it’s like they’re trying to make us fail at that point - ”

“Erin Josephine Quinn - ”

“But I won’t! I promise. What about yous? Is Granda doing alright now?”

“Ach don’t worry love, he’s all up and about now - it was nothing to worry about in the end. Michelle brought him something to eat from her pub yesterday, the nice thing.”

“That’s sweet,” she smiles.

“She brought him a couple of Guinness as well - when I got back, the two of them were laughing like drunken imbeciles.”

Overall, everything's going well. It’s weird, thinking that the life she’s known for almost four years now is almost over. Exciting, too.

It is, and yet, in a blink of an eye, she’s posing with her whole family, smiling wide as her friend Nessa takes the traditional graduating picture.

xiv. “Erin Josephine Quinn, as I live and breathe - ”

She rolls her eyes as dramatically as she can, even though she can feel the smile growing on her face already.

Not that she can blame him, really. If someone had told her teenage self she’ll one day arrive in London with her luggages and ready for two years of Englishness, she probably would have laughed. Boked, more likely.

“Oh shut up, James.”

She still goes into his open arms - Christ, but she’s not seen him in…ages. Releasing a breathe she hasn’t realized she was holding, Erin hugs him back, her nerves settling a little at the concrete evidence that she won’t be completely alone in this big, scary town.

xv. She tends not to tell Granda that too much, but as it turns out, life in London’s not so bad.

It’s loud, really loud, but she does get used to it after a while, and there’s millions of things to see, to do. She finds a job, goes to the theaters more often than not, gets to know the best Irish pubs. Her flat isn’t that big, but it’s cute, central, and her roommate's nice enough, so she can’t really ask for much more.

James’ there most of the time, even though he has a life of his own, and it feels good - sharing a city with him. His first job is not everything that he wants it to be, but he works hard, and a lot. She’s proud of him, even though she wishes he wouldn’t put so much pressure on himself.

Her postgraduate studies are…fine. She still doesn’t know what she thinks of it, really - still doesn’t know what she wants. Until she does, it’s probably the best option, anyway. Clare agrees and always makes sure to encourage her whenever they’re on the phone.

“I still don’t get what possessed you to go surround yourself with so many English twats, but whatever suits you I suppose.”

When it comes to her new life, it’s fair to say that Michelle’s opinion is a little less enthusiastic.

xvi. Both of them go back to Derry for Christmas, and a few days later, all of them are on their way to London for New Year’s Eve.

2002. Feck.

The party's pretty class. They decide to go just them - no significant others whatsoever. Not that they really are lots of them running around, to be honest. Apart from Clare and Michelle, it’s single-city in their little group.

There’s some of James’ friends from work, and they all drink, and chat, and dance, and drink again, and again. If there's a night of the year to be absolutely pissed, after all.

Tom is there - he works opposite James, apparently, and he’s good craic. She’s seen him before, and they hit it off. She’s always suspected he might sort of have a thing for her, and tonight, he confirms it. She makes it clear she’s not interested though, not like that, and they hang out anyway.

She’s laughing her arse off with Michelle, both of them completely and positively wasted, when Clare comes running off, both panicked and buzzing with excitement.

“It’s almost time, girls! We have to find the others - quick!”

In the big, crowded flat, it’s nothing short of a mission, but it feels like they’re on an adventure, and they really get into it, Erin riding on Michelle’s back and Clare pushing through, showing the same lack of mercy as she did when president Clinton went to visit Derry, and she had to guard their spot.

They have Orla now, but the New Year is just one minute away, and they still haven’t located James, and the sense of urgency keeps rising and rising as the seconds pass dangerously fast - and then Clare makes a turn, and he’s right here.

Well, not right here. On the other side of the kitchen area, kissing a girl with high boots and ginger hair.

“ - 3, 2, 1 - HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

And just like that, another year begins.

xvii. Tom is really nice. He’s funny, and she likes spending time with him. Even more so than she thought she would, actually.

It’s going really fast, too. Cilian was her longest relationship, and it feels a little like that, but so much - well, faster. He’s a nice lad, though. It’s only been two months when he asks her to go away with him for the weekend, and she accepts with a smile.

James has someone too now. Not the girl from New Year’s Eve - someone new, who he’s just met. She seems cracker.

Erin has her favorite London spots now, and she gets along with all her postgraduates friends except for that snobby Jessica girl. She tries running but ends up quiting real fast, but her friend Sarah always drags her to her yoga thing, and she goes, although she makes a point of complaining about it every time.

That summer, for the first time in the history of the gang, they don’t get together. She sees Michelle really quick, and James catches Orla, and then his cousin, and Clare manages to squeeze a little time with each of them, but they’re never together at the same time.

It scares her more than ever, how things change. Particularly things like this.

xviii. “Jesus Christ - you’re wasted.”

He collapses on the sofa, head on her lap, one foot dangling on the edge, and chuckles like an eejit.

“D’you know what? I think I might be, Erin.” She rolls her eyes, equally amused and appalled.

Not that he’s the only one in that state, of course: the lights have gone down, the dancing part of the evening has started, and now, the whole party has turned into a shot contest.

“It’s really scary, how poorly you handle red wine - remind me to never let you go to France.” The jagerbombs probably didn't help much, but knowing him, the wine probably really was the major playing factor in that particular drunken mess.

“I think we’d have lots of fun if we went to France. Could be a revenge trip after that Paris shitshow and all that.”

“Could be, yeah - but let’s keep you here for a while.” He agrees with a nod, never one to start an argument, and Erin smiles as James closes his eyes, and sighs contently.

He’s very much a man now - a proper lad, as much as Michelle likes to pretend otherwise -, but watching him like this, happy and drunk and not a care in the world, all she sees the sixteen year-old boy again.

“You okay there?”

“I’m great. Never been better actually.”

She snickers, her own head spinning a little. “Is that so. You look a little tired though, English.”

He wrinkles his nose a little. “Well, to be honest, I guess I sort of am? And my stomach hurts. My head too, now that I think about it.”

She’s not really sure how much time passes as they just lay there among the conversations, and smoke, and pop blasting against the walls, a couple of her polished fingers running down his face to smooth the wrinkle between his eyes, her other hand buried in his curls.

She’s not really sure how much time passes before he speaks again, his voice almost too soft in the noise that surrounds them. “That helps, though.”

“Well, maybe I should stop it then - that would teach you to down Bordeaux like it's grape juice.”

“Technically, it is,” he argues. But he’s getting sleepy now, and his words come out as a mumble. Before long, he’s out for good.

Pete, James’ roommate, helps her to change his shirt, and get some water in him, and finally, finally manage to get him to bed despite his multiple, half-pronounced whines that he’s fine and could go all night long.

Right.

She stays for another hour before she decides to go home. Tom had only stayed for a couple ones at the beginning of the night before rushing to another party, so she gets her stuff, and heads to get a cab. Pete walks her out.

“Be careful with him, Erin?”

She smiles. “I know, I know - I should grab the wine right out of his hands instinctively at this point. I mean, he always says he’s getting better at handling it, but - ”

“No, I don’t mean that.” He chuckles a little, but his eyes don’t meet hers and his face turns serious. Concerned.

Her stomach flips.

“I just mean…James adores you, you know. He really does. And it’s - it’s not always easy for him.” He sighs, shuffles on his feet. “I know I’m drunk and I shouldn’t be telling you this - even sober, I shouldn’t be telling you this, because it’s none of my business, but…"

And then, he looks at her, his baby blues a little dazed, but focused.

“It’s hard for him, seeing you with other lads. It’s always been - always. And it’s even harder now that you’re with a guy he sees every damn day, but he’s still happy for you, because that’s just the kind of block he is. But it’s killing him, Erin. It is, and I just don’t think…You always being so close, and the drinks and the calls every day - and the moments like on the couch tonight…I just don’t think that that’s doing him any good. I know that it isn’t, actually.”

She must look rude, staring at him like this. Stupid, that’s for sure. It’s like - she can’t look away, though.

She’s just -

“I - ach, it’s not like that, Pete.” Her voice sounds shaken even to her own ears. She’s not sure why. “We just - we’re friends. We’re just friends, we’ve always been, since - ”

“Since you were fifteen. Yeah, I know.” He sighs, shakes his head.

Hers is spinning, and hurting, and she can’t think straight. “Did you know he was the one who planned the surprise visit they all made to you, back in first year of uni? I was there when he phoned the girls too, actually.” Pete looks back at her, and smiles, just a little. “You were having a hard time, what with being away from everyone again after the holidays, so.”

She didn’t know. He never said anything.

It doesn’t mean anything, though, because he’s just sweet like that, their James, and he’d do it for any of them. Pete knows that - she reminds him of that.

“Right. And did you know that he almost came to see you again? Beginning of third year - alone this time. I don’t know what exactly happened in that pub in Galway the summer before, but he was restless about it for weeks, so we told him to go, you know - to at least try. And then you phoned later that night and told him about that Cilian guy, and - well. He tried to move on after this, he really did - he literally ran away trying. But - ”

She’s not feeling well. She needs to sit, or…something.

She needs him to stop talking.

“I was here for all of it. I was here after the phone calls, after the reunions, after the holidays. The night he broke up with that girl not long after you arrived in London, because she told him it was you or her.” This time, Pete hesitates, just for a second. “I was here after that Jenny’s wedding. And I’m telling you, Erin: it’s not doing him any good.”

All of the sudden, she feels his hand in hers, and Erin realizes that she’s - zoned out. He looks a little worried, and he squeezes her fingers, and it hurts.

In her chest, it hurts, and she doesn’t know why.

She manages to focus on him again, just like he’s telling her to, and that’s when she realizes that she’s shaking a little. That she can't breathe properly.

“Erin - Erin, calm down. I’m sorry - I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t.” She nods, somehow, and his face softens even more at that. He’s still holding her hand, and she holds on.

“I just…He has a girlfriend - he has Eva now.”

“I know.”

Erin finally looks back at him, the lights of the living room reflecting on his face. With a small smile, Pete sighs.

After a moment, he grabs her beanie for her, a gentle hand on her elbow. “Come on - let’s get you a cab, yeah?”

xix. She hasn't seen him in a week.

They have work, and other things, and they had nothing planned anyway.

She doesn’t manage more than a couple hours of sleep the entire time.

xx. November 24th, 2002.

If she had to guess, she’d probably say that this is the day everything goes to shite. Then again, maybe it did a while ago. Probably.

Definitely.

Not that she knows it at the time, of course. There’s no reason to suspect otherwise, after all.

(She’s been feeling like a ticking time bomb lately, feeling like her head - her chest - could burst any time. Every damn day.

She didn’t think it would all go down like this, though.)

She’s agreed to a drink with Tom’s mates, only realizing that it would be with his workmates that same morning. It’s good, though. She’s not sure if Pete talked to James about their conversation, but she’s thought about it, and it’s - Pete’s wrong, and it’s all fine. In any case, she doesn’t want to start avoiding him and make it weird.

Especially when there’s no reason to. Plus, she hasn’t seen him in a few days now, and that’s not usual. She misses him.

When he walks through the door, her stomach feels like jelly.

It goes well. It always goes well with those lads, and today…It goes well.

That is, until, taking another generous sip of his pint, Curt starts telling them about his new place - and the one he’s leaving behind.

“It’s really great, I’ll miss this flat to be honest. Actually - wouldn’t you two be interested?”

It takes Erin a second to understand that he’s addressing them. Her and Tom.

“What?”

“Well, it’s a great place for a couple - we really did love it with Rita. Plus, it’s not far from the office, not far from your UCL Erin, so - just saying.”

“You did say you were thinking about switching flat, honey,” Tom smiles, his hand squeezing her shoulder.

Conversations are still going all around their table, but in a second, and for what should be such a small, casual thing, too, it’s like everything resolves around that particular exchange. All she can see, Tom expecting, clueless expression, Curt’s curious one.

She can’t see him, her eyes fixed on them instead, but she’s never been more aware of James’ presence not so far from her. Of his eyes on her.

When she says yes, she sees him get up from his seat in her peripheral vision as Tom envelops her in a hug that feels far too tight.

xxi. James moves a few weeks after that night. Los Angeles, this time.

His old team from New-York got him an interview for this replacement gig where he’ll be covering someone’s job while they’re off traveling all around the world or something. For a year, apparently.

He really hated his job in London.

xxii. Clare’s visiting this weekend.

It’s a surprise, too - she only calls once she’s at Victoria’s Station. Erin rushes so fast out of the café she’s working in, she literally falls on her own face.

The pub is packed and warm, her best friend is sitting right in front of her, all pink cheeks and shiny hair, and for the first time in a while, Erin smiles a real smile.

God, how she misses them.

“I’m taking her to meet my parents soon, actually.”

Erin stops mid sip, smirks. “Really?”

The girl’s entire face reddens, but her eyes are shining. “Really.”

“Aye, Clare, that’s so great! You have to introduce her to my Ma too though - she’ll have my head if you don’t.”

She’s sure Mammy will like her - Laura really is grand.

“How about you? How’s Tom?”

“I wouldn’t know, really. We kind of...split up.”

In front of her, her friend nods, almost knowingly.

“I thought as much, yeah. Just a feeling,” she adds at Erin’s questioning glance.

She looks down at her drink, then, and there’s a couple of beats before Clare speaks again. “That’s not the reason you look so sad though, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on, Erin.”

It’s probably because they’ve known each other for so long - since they were wains, really, three and barely standing on their two feet. But the second Clare says the words, blue eyes fixed on her, Erin understands.

She knows. Of course, she knows. She’s always been the brightest, after all.

Erin doesn’t want her to, though. She’s not…she doesn’t want to talk about it.

Her breath is short.

“You know, I always knew there was something going on between you two. Ever since our last year back home, really. I think the others suspected something too, actually - well, Michelle, at least. And I wasn’t sure when, what with you two being a pair of eejits, but - I always knew it was going to work out at some point.”

In her chest, there’s that feeling again. The one that never leaves now, not really. “And I know there were boyfriends, and girlfriends, and the whole distance thing, but every summer, every holiday back home, I thought - ‘right - this is it.’ I definitely did after you all came to visit me that year - and then, same after Jenny’s wedding. And then when you came to London, I could have put all my money on it so I could.”

Clare’s eyes turn even softer, somehow, and Erin realizes that she’s crying.

“What happened, Erin?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it. What did happen?

How did she end up here, on a bench in a Camden pub, her life a complete mess and her heart broken? That wasn’t the plan - that was never the plan. She’s not sure at one point it all went to shite like that.

As much as she’d like to pretend otherwise, the answer’s simple, though.

“I fecked it all up.” As usual.

“Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell - I did, I fecked it all up, and now…Now he’s gone, and he’s not coming back this time.”

“You don’t know that.”

Feck but it hurts, so much, and maybe it’s not a bad thing, because at least it’s distracting her from the fact that she’s full on sobbing now.

Feck, feck, feck.

Her trembling hands hide her face, and Clare’s gentle ones come to rest on her forearms. Christ, but she’s pathetic.

“I do. I was so stupid - I was stupid, and scared and a coward. I fecked it all up, and now he hates me.”

Clare snorts. “James could never hate you, Erin. It’s actually quite clear it’s the opposite.” She can’t talk now, and so she just shakes her head. She doesn’t understand.

“Erin.”

When she finally looks up, Clare’s looking straight at her, unwavering.

“He doesn’t hate you. Now, tell me everything.”

xxiii. Finishing her second year of postgraduate doesn’t feel like such an achievement. It doesn't surprise her, though: she’s known for a while now that it wouldn’t.

The job she picks up at this newspaper doesn’t pay all that much, but it’s enough to cover the roof over her head, the food in her fridge, the beers at the pub, and it gives her time to write on the side, so it’s perfect, really. Plus, her colleagues are nice, and her own age. They have fun.

xxiv. Spring comes and goes. So does summer.

She gets to spend quite a lot of time back home - listening to Anna’s ramblings, Ma and Pa bickering, Aunt Sarah’s fortunes, Granda's shouts. Writing. Michelle and her drink so many free pints ‘on the house,’ she’s not sure how said house doesn’t go broke.

It feels good.

xxv. And so, there's work, her mates, her projects moving along more than she would have thought. The girls visiting more often, a lot of back and forths to Derry. On paper, it's not a bad year, really. It shouldn’t have been -

But the thing is, acknowledging the fact that you’re in love with your best friend, that you have been for years and that you can’t pretend otherwise any longer when he’s thousands of miles away and you’re not even sure he’s ever going to come back - it does brings a cloud over the whole thing.

She’s grateful, of course. For everything that she does have, and for Clare listening to her call after call. For him being so perfect yet again, and not leaving her without news, making sure to always call. But she misses him so much, it’s all she can think about, every day, and she finds herself looking up the price of transatlantic plane tickets more and more often.

And then one day, he calls to tell her he’s coming back. It’s ridiculous to say that her heart stops, but it does.

He insists that it’s fine, that she doesn’t have to, but when his plane lands back home, Erin’s already waiting for him in the airport. She has to.

(And she knows - she knows she’s pathetic, and dramatic, and a lot more, probably, but…She does. She does have to see him.

She’s not going to run all over Heathrow with some romantic music playing in the background, and confess her love, apologize for being such an eejit, and beg him to say that maybe, just maybe, he does feel the same. Despite popular belief, she knows life is not a movie - that there’s a lot more, that it's not as simple.

She will tell him, though. Soon. And for now, she really, really needs to see him.)

As the first people start to appear through the gate, she can feel her heartbeat speeding up. Again, and again, it’s excruciating really, and - and then, there’s James, all green eyes, denim jacket and wild curls. As soon as he sees her, there’s also a huge grin on his wee face, and she thinks hers might very well be just as bad.

She almost tackles him to the ground, but he catches her, his arms around her holding her up, and Erin thinks she might cry, she’s so happy. She does, really.

“Ach, you have to stop disappearing like that, you eejit.” She can feel his laugh against her chest, his smile on her neck.

She tightens her arms even more.

"If I promise I will, will you let me breathe again?"

She gets off him, her witty response already on her lips, but then there’s an arm on his shoulder instantly replacing hers. Attached to it, a girl, a smile.

She’s gorgeous.

“You must be Erin!”

And that is how she meets Amy’s, James’ new, American girlfriend.

xxvi. Obviously, she can’t tell him now.

“Obviously, this doesn’t change anything: you have to talk to him.”

Well.

“Clare - ”

“He deserves to know, Erin. It’s bad enough you’ve let it go that long - it’s time.”

Ach, that stings a little. “That’s not fair…I didn’t - know. I didn’t really know.”

“Right. And now you do, and I’m telling you: you owe it to James to tell him the truth. To yourself as well, actually.”

“He’s happy. He’s…he looks happy.”

He does, and she’s gripping the receiver so hard, her knuckles are turning white.

At the other end of the phone, Clare sighs. “Look, Erin, I don’t know if that girl’s the one. I really don’t. I don’t know how long it will last, I don’t know if they’ll break up tomorrow, if he’ll marry her. But…” Her voice is softer now, and even though she knows she’s frustrated, and determined, Erin can hear the compassion in it.

She drags her arm accross her face before she looks more stupid than she already does.

“But I do think that after all these years, he deserves to know. And truth is, whether or not he feels the same is not the issue here, because I know that in any case, he’ll want you in his life, and you’ll want him in yours. And for this to work, you have to be honest. I’m not saying it will be easy - I’m just saying, it’s a lot better than having to sit across from him every day and having your heart broken, and wondering. You can’t move on unless you go through with it, Erin.”

xxvii. She hears him before she sees him. The night is kind of cold, but the fresh air does wonders for her face.

Jesus, but it’s hot in that flat.

“You know hiding up won’t help for long, right? You will have to blow your twenty-five candles at some point.”

She groans, even though she can’t help a smile. He comes to lean next to her then, the London’s lights all laid out underneath them, and even in the dark, she can make out his mocking smirk. “It'll be alright - you still have a good couple of years left.”

When he winces from the elbow she puts in his side, it’s her time to look smug.

From there, they can hear the distant noise of the conversations, the laughs. Saturday Night playing. She’s not sure how long they stay like this, looking down at the city. The relative silence of the rooftop feels good though - soothing.

“You okay? You look a little out of it tonight.”

She shrugs, smiles. “I’m grand. Just, you know…Quarter of a century and all that, I suppose.”

“Come on - you’ll be fine.” He bumps his shoulder gently against hers, his scent suddenly everywhere, and Erin feels her chest tightens.

She feels like crying.

It must show, because when he speaks again, the concern is evident in his voice - the worry. It makes it even worse, and she hates herself.

“Hey, it’s alright. Michelle was only joking when she said it’s all downhill from here, you know. I mean, look at her: she passed that milestone a few months ago, and she’s now at her best drinking-wise, work-wise, and - and I will never be able to unhear this - shagging-wise.”

He’s teasing, of course, and she’s chuckling, and he’s smiling because he managed to make her, and Erin wishes he’d stop there. That they’d change the subject, which he’ll never do, because it’s James, and of course he won't stop until he knows she's alright. Always the knight in shining armor, that English.

They should head back to the party. She should lead them there.

Before she brings herself to, though, he speaks again. “Out with it now, Erin. What’s going on?”

They really should head back downstairs. And then, and yet -

“I’m not with Tom anymore.”

There’s a small pause, barely a second. A hesitant one.

“I know. I’m sorry about that.”

He sounds a bit taken aback. Why wouldn’t he? It was more than a year ago now.

“I broke it off right after you left. The very day you left, actually.” She should stop now. It’s still time to stop. “And - the day I met Paul, when I went and talked to him at that party, I was really missing you. A lot. And I was also really missing you when I broke up with him.”

Next to her, she can feel his whole body tense.

Her breath’s short.

“I don’t think there would have been Danny if you hadn’t had Emily, I don’t think I would have jumped into such a serious thing with Cilian if I could have stopped thinking about what could have happened when we went to visit Clare. It felt wrong, bringing him home, and - and it all felt so right at Jenny’s wedding.”

“Erin - ”

“It did. For me, it did. And when I came to London - well, I could have gone anywhere I suppose, couldn’t I? When I came here, I guess I was hoping…and then one minute I was telling Tom I wouldn’t go out with him, and the next, everyone’s yelling ‘happy new year,’ and we find you in that kitchen with that girl, and I go back and tell him the exact opposite. Like an eejit.”

“Erin, please stop - ”

“I think I'm in love with you, James.”

She finally looks at him. He does the same, and the yearning for him pushes on her chest so hard, it hurts. “And I don’t know why I’ve just said that, because I don’t think I am - I know. It took me fecking forever to admit it, but…but I do know.”

She’s never been more sure of anything.

It’s all a little too much now, and she lets her eyes focus on the city lights once again, lets the air fill her lungs. Tries to, at least.

“And I apologize, because I also know that you probably don’t want to hear this, that it’s fecking everything up. That you have someone, that you’re happy now. And it’s fine - really, it is.” Feck, but she’s crying now. “I’m not trying to change that, I am happy that everything’s going so well for you, I swear I am. Shite - I don’t even know why I’m crying, it’s just… I’m a bit drunk I think, and - ”

“Is that why you’re saying all of this?”

His voice is…odd. It’s not surprising, given what she’s saying, but it’s - distant.

It makes her look up to him. “Because you’re drunk?”

He’s staring at the ground beneath them, although she knows he’s not really looking at it. She shakes her head, even though he can’t see it.

“No.” She’s barely had one drink, really. “I’m saying it because...because it’s true.”

“Sounds familiar though, doesn’t it.” He chuckles, not an ounce of humor in it. “I mean, you’ve just said it: at that pub when we were in Glasgow, at Jenny’s wedding. At that party too, when we were still in school, the very first time - always a lot of alcohol involved."

“I just - ”

“You just what, Erin? Feel lonely, and need someone to comfort you until the next perfect lad comes along?”

“It’s not like that - ”

“What's it like then? Please, explain to me what exactly this is, Erin, because it’s been ten years, and it’s really starting to look like whenever you're in the middle of a romantic crisis of any sort, or lack of actually, you have a habit of coming to me pretending to feel things that always, always disappear come the morning, before running off with a brand new fella the very next day.”

He looks so angry - so frustrated. She’s never seen him like that. He’s never looked at her like that.

She can’t cry though. Jesus but she can’t - she has to stop.

Please God, make it stop.

But he continues, and her stomach twists so much that she feels like throwing up. “Not that I blame you, really: I mean, it does always seem to work out for you in the end. But the truth is Erin, I’m sick and tired of being the idiot who always comes running as soon as you whistle for him to, only to end up like a prick who should have known better.”

No. No, no, no -

“You’re not - James, you’re my best friend, and - ”

“Am I?" He’s looking right at her, his green eyes filled with - so much.

She can’t breathe. "Is that why I’ve earnt that special treatment all these years?"

She wants to stop him, tell him that she’s sorry. Tell him she hates herself too, beg him to forgive her. She wants to say all of this and more, so much more, but she can’t breathe, and she can’t talk, the words stuck in her throat.

He looks away, and she wishes she hadn’t seen the new pang of hurt that crosses his face before he buries it in his hands.

In the darkness, she can see them shake, almost as much as her own.

"Jesus Erin, every time - you do this every fucking time! And your timing is always impeccable as well, I mean - it’s impressive at this point, really.”

He turns back to her, his eyes almost dark. “How do you do it? How does that happen exactly? Do you sense it or something? ‘James might be happy, time to swoosh in and fuck everything up’?”

“No! Of course not - James, please, I swear, I’m not trying to mess everything up, I just…I wanted to say something for so long now, and I know it was still too late, but before that - I didn’t know before, I just didn't realize it at the time I think. I was stupid, I was so fecking stupid, I know that now, but - ”

“Pete told me.”

There’s a beat. Another.

“What?”

“After the party at our place - before I left for Los Angeles. Pete told me what he said to you.”

Right. She always thought he did, really.

It physically hurts now, the way he's looking at her.

“Yeah. So which is it, Erin: you didn't know, or you just didn't care?”

So many times, she's imagined this moment- fantasises it. How she'd apologies, take responsability for her stupidity/ Let him know that. As much as her mind would often wander off to what might happen if he did feel the same, if he forgave her, she always knew it wouldn't be as easy, no matter what direction their relationship would take. She knew. She thought of everything he'd say, each thing she'd respond to explain.

It hurts so much though, the pain still visible behind his rage, his voice - the fecking regret.

She was confused. Trying to pretend she didn't feel what she felt because it could never lead to anything, and then because she was scared. Stupid. Scared.

She does care. She always will, when it comes to him.

But she's not even able to offer him that, and as the tears roll down her cheeks, and something breaks between them, he averts his eyes (disappointed, frustrated, hurt, hurt, hurt) and Erin feels something breaks in her chest, too.

He swallows, does that thing with his lip. Scoffs.

“Jesus. You know, I've been in love with you since we were sixteen. Maybe even before that actually - I don't know. And I've watched you swoon over David Donnelly, and John Paul, and all the others, and even though it felt like someone ripped my freaking heart out every time I saw you with one of them, I never said anything, because - because it was still worth it. If I still got to see you, if I still got to speak with you, be in your life…it was, no matter what.”

It’s happening - the worst possible outcome of this whole mess. She knows it before he even says it.

It doesn’t mean she’s ready when he does. "But I don't think I can do it any more. I thought it would stop at some point - when we went to different cities, when we met new people. Built a life. I was hoping time would just do its work or something because really, it’s ridiculous: you can’t be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back for an entire lifetime. But nothing’s changed, and - I can’t do this anymore,” he says again. “Pretty sure it’ll kill me if I have to go through it again.”

He looks back at her. All trace of anger is gone now. Somehow, it's a hundred times worse.

The silence is deafening.

“I - I understand,” she manages after a while. An eternity.

She’s not sure anymore. “Thought you might never see me again. I had it coming, hadn’t I,” and it comes out more desperate than she means it to.

It’s difficult, though, right now - keeping control.

“I uh - I get it. I really do, but I just need you to know that - I do. I swear, I do love - ”

“Please, don’t say it Erin -”

“I love you.”

She wishes she could stop the tears, making it all look like a rehearsed, pathetic piece, much too aware of what it looks like. Sounds like.

But she’s not trying to make him pity her, or gain sympathy, she just has no control anymore, none over years and years of suppressed - everything. And most importantly, she does. She does love him, and it’s so important that he knows.

“I love you. I know I fecked up, and you’ll probably hate me if you don’t already, and you don't want to hear it but - I really need you to at least know that.”

He snorts. "Hate you."

In the tamed light of the night, the one that’ll probably haunt her for the rest of her life, the lines of his face are well defined, his Adams’ apple the only movement visible from him, the only indication of what’s going on inside.

He’s beautiful. It’s such a stupid thing to think about in this particular moment, and yet - he is. He really is, and the certainty that she might never see him again after tonight is unbearable. And so, Erin looks at him while she still can.

She’s not sure how she’ll go on, if she doesn’t remember every detail. Every line, every shadow.

“Why now, Erin?”

The words are so softly spoken, it’s almost funny, how they manage to cut through a silence that’s become so thick. So heavy.

“I dunno.” She doesn’t, really.

Why did she? Why didn’t she wake up when she was 20, when she was 18. When she was 16, and she fell in love with the wee English fella that had just entered her life.

Christ.

She wishes she could say more. She wishes she could answer better, explain, but the truth is, she doesn't know what to say. There’s no excuses, no rationality. She doesn’t want to pretend there is. He deserves better.

She wishes she could talk to him, though.

But the words are stuck in her throat, her eyes glued to his green ones, sad and angry and so many more things at the same time. She can’t.

Way too soon, she watches as James mumbles his goodbye, and Erin finds herself standing on her deserted rooftop, her fingers cold, her heart broken in what feels like a million pieces as the boy she is in love with turns away.

(Is, has always been. Will always be.)

xxviii. “Dear James,

I know you don’t want to see me. I don’t blame you, really. You probably don’t want to read me, either, and I’ll understand if you just stop now and tear that letter up. Maybe you should. Heard my letters can be pretty boring, actually.

It’s not the first one I write to you. The first’s still in Derry - in my diary. I didn’t think I’d ever show it to you, or tell you about it to be honest. But after you almost left the city to go with your mum that day, after you almost left us, I felt the need to have it on record or something - that I couldn't imagine that place without you. That I didn’t want to. Looking back, maybe that was when I started realizing - well, everything.

I won’t get into all that I’ve said the last time we spoke. I meant all of it, including the fact that I’m not trying to ruin anything for you. I swear I’m not - please know that. I just want to say what I couldn’t that night. Or all the years before that, really.

Which is that I’m sorry. I’m really sorry it took me so long to understand, and to get it together. I’m sorry I’ve been such a coward, and so selfish. Pete did talk to me, and from that moment, I should have - well, there’s so much I should have done. And said. Even before that. I’m sorry that I didn’t, and most of all, I'm sorry that I’ve hurt you all this time. If you only choose to believe one thing from all of this, please pick this one, because that’s the last thing I’d ever want to do, James. I’m really sorry.

I hope that one day you’ll forgive me for all of this, including me telling you all that out of the blue. Ten years is a long time though, I think I just really couldn’t go on pretending any more. Truth is, I thought I owed it to you as well, because no matter what, you’re my best friend, and the person I’ve loved the most.

Aye, I’ve probably sent you to sleep now. I promise I won’t write any other letters - life is shitty enough as it is, isn’t it.

Erin, xxx”

xxix. She’s been 25 for a whole month.

Life’s been absolute shite for just as long.

xxx. Groaning, she finishes her paragraph, and bends down from her chair to pick up the pages that have once again slipped out from that stupid desk of hers. Not that putting them back changes anything to the chaos around her, really: the place looks post-apocalyptic.

It’s not really her fault though. Well, she has been alone in the flat for a week, and technically, she’s also been setting up a very questionable yet functioning organizing system for her ongoing articles and draft all over the living room, papers and forgotten empty tea mugs everywhere. But in her defense, work has been absolutely crazy lately, and well - she had to adapt.

Which is good - she wants it that way. Actually went above and beyond to get as many articles as possible. If Gary’s surprised at her demand, and at the speed at which she’s been delivering, her eyes a little red from exhaustion and her smile a little stiff, he doesn’t say anything. She’s grateful.

When she’s not writing for work or trying and falling to sleep, she focuses on her book. Christ but it’s weird, articulating that thought.

She’s writing a book.

It probably won’t amount to anything, but Erin finds that she doesn’t care that much. Maybe it won't - it surely won't, but she’s been saying she wants to for years, almost a decade, and it’s time to own up to what she wants, and act for a change. So, she does. And even if it does turns out to be shite, she’ll just write another one, this time with more experience.

Plus, it feels good, writing. It’s about the only thing that does, lately.

She’s getting a move on though. Her roomate has sworn she’d, quote, “beat her to death with a stick” if she came back to find her drowning in a pool of self pity, so she’s trying - to go for a beer after work, to go down to the coffee shop and work there sometimes. To go read at the park, or to the movies. She keeps her word - she stays busy. (Distracted.)

It’s almost three that afternoon when there’s a knock at the door, and she smiles. Clare has warned her that her (“very late, I’m so sorry Erin, but you’ll absolutely love it”) birthday present will be arriving soon.

Finishing her sentence really quickly, she gets up, tying her mess of hair in a bun and making sure her jeans are buttoned, and opens up.

And that’s when her heart almost jumps out of her chest.

“Hi.”

It - takes her a second.

A few, actually.

“Hi.”

She should probably say something else. Anything else. She definitely should, in fact, she just - can’t.

James saves her from herself.

“Sorry to show up announced, I just…Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah - uhm yeah sure,” she finally manages to shake herself. “Come in.”

When he brushes past her, she gets a whiff of his perfume, and the familiar smell and the sudden realization of what’s happening set off a wave of relief and - so much more.

Feck, she’s missed him. She does miss him.

“Were you working?,” he asks, gesturing towards the papers scattered on the floor.

“Kinda. I mean, yes I was. But I was about to take a break anyway, so.”

“I won’t take long.”

Please do. Please, please, please, stay.

“It’s no trouble,” she says instead. “Do you want something to - ”

“I’m sorry.”

They haven't looked at each other in the last, very few seconds since he's entered, and her eyes snap back up to meet his.

She can't read them.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. About your birthday, about…” He sighs, and she thinks he’s frustrated with himself.

She’s not sure why. “I was a dick - I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“You - James, you have nothing to apologize for. I - ”

“I do, actually. It was much easier to pretend otherwise, but - I do. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have snapped. Especially when I was being such a hypocrite.”

Her brain is not functioning that well, that’s for sure, but she’s so hyper focused on him, she does see it. The way his chest rises with difficulty. The way his face both softens and falls at the same time.

The step he takes, closer to her. “I blamed you for everything, but the truth is - I never said anything either. All these years…I never said anything. And apart from almost jumping in a plane one time, I never did anything. I literally ran away instead - twice. So I’m the last person who can come at you about being a coward.”

Around them, nothing’s changed - at least, she doesn’t think so.

Yet, it’s becoming harder to breathe.

“At least you actually had the courage to do something in the end. And I’m sorry I was such a fucking prick when you did.”

“You’re not a prick,” she breathes. Without even realizing it, really.

“Pretty sure Michelle would disagree with you on that one.”

He smiles at her, then, and she smiles back, and for a split second, it’s like everything fades - the fight, the heaviness.

For a second, there’s just - him. That look. The warmth in her entire body she only feels when he’s around. And then -

“I broke up with Amy.”

He’s looking straight at her.

Her brain short-circuits.

“What?”

She vaguely realizes that it’s her own words she’s just heard. That her heart’s racing in what is probably a worrying way.

Everything’s going on so fast, and she’s not - She doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“I wasn’t being honest with her anyway, was I. Not with her - not with the others.” He takes a breath, almost imperceptible. “Not with you."

She’s not sure how long they stay like this, staring at each other in her messy living room, the sound of the city acting as a back noise filling the otherwise silent room, her remaining breakfast still on the coffee table.

She’s not sure of anything.

But James moves, then, and her watery eyes follow his as he looks down to his jacket pocket, his fingers slipping inside.

“I didn’t want to read it. I was afraid that you’d tell me you’d never want to see me again, and that I wouldn’t be able to pretend I could come here to apologize for being such an idiot for the past ten years. I cracked right before I knocked at your door, though.”

It’s stupid, because she knows what it is. Of course she does. Yet, when he takes out her folded letter, her stomach does a somersault inside.

“I don’t think your letters are boring, by the way.”

He finally looks back up at her, and it takes her a second to do the same. When she does, the look on his face is…well.

Her fifteen years-old self would be appalled, but again, she doesn’t have the words for it.

She doesn’t understand what’s happening.

She freezes.

“Did you mean it?” He's getting even closer now, a slight hesitation in his steps. An anxiousness that reflects on his face, in his eyes.

There’s something else, too - there's so much.

He stops, so close, she can almost feel his breath on her skin. "Because - because I did.”

She barely has time to pray that he’s referring to the part of that terrible night that she hopes he is, that he’s confirming it. “I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen, Erin. And I haven’t been able to stop.”

Christ, but her vision blurs.

“I don’t want to stop.”

She doesn’t understand - With a final step, James closes the distance, his forehead against her, and she doesn’t want to understand, to believe what she thinks he’s saying, because it’s all too much. It’s like the air has been knocked out of her, but she doesn’t want to let herself believe, hope, because there’s no way he can forgive her, and there’s no way -

If she lets herself believe this is actually happening, and it’s not true, there's no way she’s not going to survive it. She knows she tends to be dramatic - she knows.

But she won’t.

“I thought you were going to hate me,” and feck, she’s sobbing now.

She can’t see his face, but she feels his small puff of air on her chin as James chuckles.

“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

He kisses her despite the tears and the snot that’s probably here and despite the mess that she is, and it’s desperate - desperate, and perfect. Yet, not enough.

She holds him as close as she can, her arms so tight around his neck, it hurts a little. It probably hurts him too, really, but he doesn’t seem to mind, and she just - One of his hand keeps her close, the other lost in her hair, his lips softer than they have any right to be against hers, and Erin’s never felt so much before.

Her heart keeps skipping beats.

“I’m sorry,” she says between kisses as they reluctantly part to breathe, just for a second. “I’m so sorry, James.”

“I know." His lips barely leave hers before he’s kissing her again, and again. “I’m sorry.”

“I did mean it.” She threads her fingers in his curls, molds her body into his as best as she can. When she leans away, just a bit, he groans and leans back in for her lips, and it sets off the butterflies in her stomach. "I'm so in love with you."

At that, his half opened eyes leave her lips to meet hers. In the ten years that she's known him, she's never seen him smile quite like that.

"You are, huh."

They have so much to talk about - she has so much to say to him.

But as James holds her close, clinging to her like he's afraid she might slips away, Erin just takes in his happy, smug little smirk, the crinkles of his eyes, and pushes on her tiptoes to kiss him again.

a year later.

He wakes up slowly, gently.

The early afternoon sunshine comes to tickle his face, and he scrunches his nose a little, his well inherited eyebrows furrowing in that way that’s oddly enticing. He rubs his face against her skin, burying it even better in her neck to escape the source of his growing annoyment, and she lets her hand travel on his shoulders, his upper back before moving it back to his curls.

They’ll have to add curtains for the living room to the list of things they still need to buy.

Dropping her book on the wooden floor, Erin let her eyes wander over the room, the big plant put on the corner for the time being. The still very much unpacked kitchen a little further, the boxes here, scattered all around the couch.

Against her, James moves a bit, his body warm and heavy. She moves her now free hand up his arm, wraps it around him to hold him even better, a wave of affection for him washing over her. The window’s open, and she can vaguely hear music coming from somewhere on the street. Their new neighborhood is absolutely cracker.

In his half asleep state, James tightens his hold on her.

“What time is it?,” he mumbles after a while, lips moving against her skin.

“Dunno. Around two, I think.”

She massages the back of his neck, heart fluttering when he sighs heavily, content.

“We have a lot of unpacking to do.”

“We have a lot of unpacking to do,” she smiles as he looks up at her with those half open green eyes of his.

“We’ll have to get up from the couch soon.”

“Aye.”

She runs her thumb along his jaw, and he closes them back, all but purring as he hides his face again, his fingers moving lazily under her shirt, his touch warm on her back.

“Five more minutes, though.”

Chuckling, Erin drops one, two kisses on the top of his head, his scent filling her senses.

“Sure, baby.”

As his lips graze the skin of her throat, she holds him even closer, and closes her eyes.

It's okay - they’ve got time.

Also on AO3.

#jerin #derry girls #james x erin #erin x james #I started this story soooo long ago now #I can't believe I'm finally posting it #there was only a few parts missing but life got in the way #I wanted to publish it before series 3 #so publishing before the end of series 3 is now the next best thing #I had to rush which I absolutely hate #but hopefully some of you like it anyway #(very au #of course #but the idea would not leave me alone)#fanfiction

62 notes · View notes

regencyslxt · 4 years ago

Text

We Meet Again

1178 words.

Imagine reuniting with Colin after a sudden meeting in Italy.

Colin Bridgerton always said he wanted to travel. He had made that clear from the moment he knew he could. His mother was not as enthused but nevertheless was happy her son found something he was passionate about pursuing. And soon enough, after Daphne had married and settled into life, he made his way to Greece. From there we went to Croatia and after that he found himself in countries like Italy and Montenegro experiencing all that life had to offer. The only downside? He had no one to share it with. Yes, he made friends along the way, but he couldn’t bring them with him. That was until he reached Venice, the city of romance. How cliché it all was. In what world does somebody manage to meet a person so amazing and find out they were returning home, to the same city a few days later. Colin struggled to contain his surprise when he bumped into you. You were gorgeous. Your hair framed your face perfectly, the dress you were wearing wrapped around your body as though it was made with you in mind. He could not take his eyes off you as you stumbled through an apology about how you weren’t looking where you were going. He just laughed.

“It is quite alright, Miss. It happens to everyone. I am just glad you bumped into me, as I would have hated to miss the chance to meet such a beauty.”

Your cheeks may have already been pink due to the heat, however that did not stop them from darkening. You introduced yourselves to each other and started to walk through the streets of Venice admiring the buildings surrounding you. You both found pleasant company with each other and agreed that since you now both knew of each other you would arrange to meet upon your return to London. After several hours of constant conversation and laughter, you went your separate ways. He may have been excited to leave London but now he found himself counting down the days until he would be able to see you again.

…

You had returned to your home in London three days later, Colin still very much at the forefront of your mind. Your mother welcomed you home warmly and immediately started planning a party to celebrate your return. You knew this was her way of bragging to all the women in town about how you were now ‘so experienced in life’, that’s what she’d always say before you had departed.

“Oh sweetheart, life has so much to offer! You must go and experience it before you settle down.”

“I always wished I could travel.”

“Tell me if Italy is as perfect as they say.”

You could have sworn the only reason she encouraged you to go was so she could live vicariously through you. You loved traveling but a large part of you was glad you were back, home just has that feel that could not be replaced by the rivers, cathedrals, and other landscapes that you witnessed.

Your mother was soon restless with excitement as she gathered the staff to start arranging all the details. Your excitement was not for the party itself but rather who would maybe be there.

…

Not long after the party started, you found yourself speaking to Lady Danbury. She truly was a remarkable woman; she was even better company. You were discussing the nightlife in Greece when she suddenly looked over your shoulder and smirked.

“It seems a certain gentleman cannot stop looking this way, and I highly doubt it is because of me.”

You turn in the direction she is looking and spot the man who had been occupying every one of your thoughts since the evening began. You turned back to face her, unable to hide the growing smile.

“It also seems as though you have no complaints about the matter, child,” she laughs.

“Mr. Bridgerton and I crossed paths in Italy. I have been patiently waiting for our meeting since the moment we parted,” you explain, wringing your hands together.

“Well, it is a good thing you have been looking forward to it because he is making his way over to you now. I shall leave you be, but please do find me later and inform me of what occurs,” she winks as she heads towards Lady Bridgerton, most likely in the hopes of finding out if Colin has told her anything.

A hand gently taps your shoulder and you spin around to meet his eye.

“Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Miss. Y/L/N. It is a pleasure to see you again,” he admits.

“I must say the same, I can only tell so many stories about my travels so many times.”

He chuckles, “I understand how you feel, every unmarried woman in this room is apparently so very interested in what I have to tell until I start speaking.”

“And what is it you have been telling them?”

“That I was stung by a poisonous bug and now whomever I touch gets infected…it has severely declined the number of dances I have had to endure for the sake of my mother.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at his revelation, “Oh my goodness, have they really believed you?”

“Yes, they really have.”

“I was not aware so many women in this town were so gullible.”

“What is it you have been telling the men that come your way? because I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t accepted a single offer tonight.”

“Oh? Have you been admiring me all night then Colin?”

“Oh, no…I- just, I- um…”

“Calm down I jest, I jest.”

He lets out an uneven breath and takes a sip of his drink. His nervousness easing.

“If you must know, there is only one person I would be willing to dance with tonight. Unfortunately, he has not yet asked me, and I fear he may not get the chance before his family leaves,” you say as you take notice of his family gathering their belongings. His mother, however, is still very much in conversation with Lady Danbury. The latter looks towards you and nods subtly. What a woman she was.

“In that case he must make haste to do so,” he places his drink on the table behind you both and offers you his hand.

“May I have this dance Miss Y/L/N/?”

“You may.”

You both make your way towards the center of the room amongst the other couples of the evening and find comfort in each other’s embrace. You could only hope the butterflies you felt in that moment were felt by him also. Your mother was looking upon the both of you proudly, having never seen such love in your eyes before. Lady Bridgerton looked at the scene and although she was aware of Colin’s tendency to flirt with anybody and everybody, she knew you were different. They only hoped that by the end of the season there would be a wedding, one filled with complete adoration. Little did you all know, they would get exactly what they wished for.

#imagine #x reader #bridgerton imagine #regencyslxt #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton #colin bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton fanfic #colin bridgerton imagines #colin bridgerton imagine

258 notes · View notes

antebunny · 3 years ago

Text

April 30: rebirth

(Also called Bargaining–idea is taken from an old Loki fic with the same time travel premise).

When Jiang Yanli dies, Wei Wuxian goes into denial and just runs from Nightless City. He goes back to the Burial Mounds and feverishly works on a time travel array. Within the month he completes it and prepares to travel back in time, but there’s a catch. He first activates the array and then spends the next several hours going through the ritual, while outside the Siege of the Burial Mounds begins. The Wens know what Wei Wuxian is up to so they understand why he’s not bothering to protect them. He completes the ritual just as Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan burst into the cave. They’re both there, at the front, in order to protect Wei Wuxian, but by the time they arrive it’s too late: the array is fading and Wei Wuxian is already dead. He barely sees them in the entrance when he dies, which leads him to (logical) conclusion that they’re there to kill him.

Here’s the catch: Wei Wuxian gets to go back, rewrite time, and change things. He decides to go back to the day before he got kicked out of the Cloud Recesses. But when time finally arrives at the time he activates the array, everyone gets their memories back. Although a lot of people will remember dying, it’s preferable to actually dying. Then Wei Wuxian has to conduct the ritual again, to ensure that this is the future that stays, and seal the deal with his own life. Basically, in order to change the future Wei Wuxian has to die. And obviously because he's Wei Wuxian, he decides that that’s okay so long as everyone gets to live.

So Wei Wuxian comes back to life with a golden core and cries for a solid minute, scaring tf out of Jiang Cheng, before he gets a grip. Then he proceeds to yell at Jin Zixuan, not get kicked out, and live life like everything’s normal. He enjoys the next six months of peace, and then he gets to work. Once the year is over, he goes on a very long night hunting trip, kills the Xuanwu of Slaughter, and sets up the cave for use. A year later and they’re at the archery competition, where Wei Wuxian still places first, meets Wen Ning again, and doesn’t pull off Lan Zhan’s forehead ribbon.

Then Wen Ruohan is ~mysteriously~ assassinated and the Wens declare war on all the sects in revenge. When the Wens come for Lotus Pier, there’s no personal vendetta, and Wei Wuxian hides in the shadows and drowns all of them. Then he pretends that he got knocked out and was unconscious somewhere hidden from the main battle where Jiang Cheng finds him. They win the war, and Jiang Fengmian and Yu Ziyuan are still alive and bickering with each other, the Jiang sect is still strong, etc. etc. Wei Wuxian personally hunts down Wen Zhuliu early in the war, before he can cause any damage. Then he also kills Jin Guangshan, blames it on the Wens (does it make sense? No. does anyone care? No) and Jin Zixuan commits fully to the war. Jin Zixuan learns to appreciate Jiang Yanli during the war, and since they’re already engaged they get married soon afterwards. Jin Guangyao gets taken in as Jin Zixuan’s younger brother, and since Jin Zixuan is a decent person who doesn’t want him to commit crimes but also needs Help, it goes a lot better. Meanwhile Wei Wuxian finds the DafanWen and they move to the Xuanwu cave, which Wei Wuxian has prepared. Also the carcass of the tortoise should scare anyone away.

Wei Wuxian sticks around to see his sister get married, takes Lan Zhan on a tour of Lotus Pier, at the end of which Lan Zhan proposes. Wei Wuxian is confused but figures that Lan Wangji must like this version of him that hasn’t used resentful energy as far as Lan Wangji knows or recused the Wens as far as he knows, or done any of the things that Other Lan Zhan hated him for. The Wens ask him to adopt A-Yuan, which he does after talking about it with Lan Zhan and after they get married. So now Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji are married and they have an adopted child. That part was all the fluff and fix-it, cue the angst. The date of Wei Wuxian’s death draws near, and Wei Wuxian starts getting moody and antsy, starts drinking. Yu Ziyuan yells at him, of course, and everyone else worries over him. It is during one of these blackout drunk sessions that Wei Wuxian tells Lan Wangji that he fully expects Lan Wangji to regret marrying him in the future. Lan Wangji swears up and down that he won’t, and Wei Wuxian kinda critiques himself and calls himself selfish, for marrying Lan Wangji and raising a kid when he knows it’s not going to last.

Basically Wei Wuxian starts getting skittish and disappears for periods of time to the Burial Mounds, where he acquires enough injuries that Lan Wangji suspects that someone is hurting him, which Wei Wuxian vehemently denies, but Lan Wangji is still Onto him. He goes to Jiang Yanli, who says that Wei Wuxian has been acting differently ever since he came back from the Cloud Recesses, seemed to know things that were going to happen before they did, disappears at odd times and incidents that occur when Wei Wuxian is missing, and they get Jiang Cheng, who recalls that one time Wei Wuxian woke up in the middle of the night and just bawled, and after that didn’t lose his temper on Jin Zixuan, pulled back on his most crazy antics.

Still, none of them suspect the exact day, so on that day, Wei Wuxian gets up, tells Lan Wangji he’s going to train the Jiang juniors, and then just…disappears. Night comes and Lan Wangji is already worried, according to the juniors he never showed. Yu Ziyuan accuses him of slacking, but then Lan Wangji barges in crying, holding a note. In it, Wei Wuxian doesn’t tell him about the time travel, but says that Wei Wuxian is going forever, and Lan Wangji will understand why tomorrow. He understands that it’s too much to wish for that Lan Wangji won’t hate him, after how selfish he’s been and what a terrible person he’s been, marrying Lan Wangji and pretending it can last, but he hopes Lan Wangji can still look back and remember him fondly in the future. He apologizes again and tells Lan Wangji again that he didn’t mean to tarnish Lan Wangji’s reputation or saddle him with a child, but A-Yuan is here now and he knows Lan Wangji loves A-Yuan. He leaves a similar cryptic note for Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli, apologizing to all of them for things they don’t understand.

Lan Zhan immediately begins searching for him all through the night, and then in the morning everyone blacks out and suddenly has memories of a different past couple of years, for most people starting with Wen Ruohan getting assassinated. People don’t immediately suspect the Yiling Patriarch, because they think he was simply never created in this timeline, and lives as Head Disciple Jiang and Lan Wangji’s husband, but Wei Wuxian’s family know better. They immediately rush to the Burial Mounds, and find it guarded by corpses. Inside the cave, Wei Wuxian begins conducting the ritual, also crying because he really had a happy life this time and he really really doesn’t want to go, but he can’t bear to revert to the original timeline, not when everyone is still alive here, so he continues. Yu Ziyuan and Jiang Fengmian find out about the whole yiling patriarch thing and jiang yanli is just like…i don’t care. Jin Guangshan is dead and can’t care, Jin Guangyao doesn’t have a vendetta, Jin Zixuan does what his wife says, and Jiang Yanli is alive so Jiang Cheng has no beef, plus he sees the lengths Wei Wuxian went through to save everyone. He also understands the letter now, then he and Jiang Yanli confront Lan Wangji like…do you no longer love him? Lan Wangji of course reacts poorly to this accusation and denies it. They leave A-Yuan behind and go to the Mounds with the intention of convincing Wei Wuxian that he doesn’t have to run away and they want him back.

They arrive in the cave just as Wei Wuxian is finishing with the ritual. But of course, parallels, Wei Wuxian looks up to see them standing in the entrance of the cave and thinks that they’re there to kill him, but also can see how distressed Lan Wangji looks and attempts to reassure him that he doesn’t have to kill Wei Wuxian! You know, his husband in this timeline! Because Wei Wuxian will do it himself! Wei Wuxian makes them fight some corpses while he rushes to finish the ritual, because they seem keen on stopping him (“i know you disapprove of demonic cultivation but this is the only way to save everyone”). Lan Wangji tackles him away from his ceremonial knife, and Wei Wuxian fights back (still has golden core!) they both fight desperately (“i have to do it myself Lan Zhan, otherwise I would let you do it”) over the knife. Jiang Cheng insists that there must be another solution, bc he doesn’t want Jiang Yanli to die. Then Wen Qing and Wen Ning walk into the cave, and Wen Qing like the genius she is, proposes the Alternate Solution. (What is it? Idk. just a magic solution in which Wei Wuxian doesn’t have to die). Wei Wuxian pauses in the middle of fighting Lan Wangji (“i don’t have to die?” he asks while Lan Wangji is busy shattering the knife and then he and Jiang Cheng pin him down so he can stop trying to kill himself in front of them. “Nope,” says Wen Qing, the only person with brains here). So Wei Wuxian sits on the floor of the cave, tied with deity-binding thread (Wei Wuxian: let me go Lan Wangji: not until you promise to go with wen qing’s version of the ritual Jiang Cheng: unless…do you want to leave? Wei Wuxian: no!) (What’s the solution? Maybe all of them sacrifice something important to them, maybe they just…all use their power to BS their way through a solution? Again, I don’t know).

So Lan Wangji unties Wei Wuxian and they hug and kiss and they all head back to Lotus Pier, where they eat a celebratory dinner, and reunite with A-Yuan, and Wei Wuxian celebrates the fact that he can live this happy life and not owe the world anything/need to go through the ritual.

The End!

#mdzs #the untamed #antebunny's april prompts #spring fest 2021 #fic outline #my writing

53 notes · View notes

imaginesandinserts · 4 years ago

Text

Irreverent Pt. 44 - Wasteland

Title: Irreverent Pt. 44 - Wasteland Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: ~12K

Irreverent Series Masterlist

The door lies ajar, waiting for you. Aaron had disappeared past the threshold and out of sight, and your feet felt firmly planted to the floor, unwilling to move. The dread you're feeling about this upcoming conversation, overpowering everything else. You're not quite ready to talk to him immediately, the conversation with the team was still incredibly fresh as you try to make sense of the night's events so far.

John showing up out of the blue had been cathartic in a way, and you're not sure why you hadn't at least somewhat anticipated it. You knew you should've called him after your father's death, but back then you'd been so caught up in the torrent of everything else - with Aaron coming back and Emily being alive, the Senate hearing and you and Aaron not talking, mixed with the fear of the repercussions of you killing your own father. Reaching out to John hadn't been an immediate thought. By the time it occurred to you, it felt like it had been too late and you didn't want to stir up old wounds for no reason. You and John had done a remarkable job at a clean cut - you'd never once reached out and neither had he, respecting your decision.

Seeing him again - it was like your soul reuniting with its twin. Telling him everything had been so easy - he had been the one to see you through the worst time in your life. He had been the only other person equally devastated by Julian’s death. He’d been your friend and confidante. When you’d told him about your father, it had taken him a moment. A moment to process the gravity of it all. But then he’d looked at you and he was so proud. No one else had ever understood - not Aaron, not Derek, not Emily. None of them understood that you had executed the only option. If your father could get Doyle out of maximum security in the Balkans, there hadn’t been a hope in this world that he would be truly punished for his crimes. Simply seeing him arrested would’ve never been enough. The Bible says an eye for eye for a reason. You’d had no choice. John knew. Only he knew.

When he’d leaned down and kissed you afterwards, you saw it for what it was. It hadn’t been a resurgence of all of your old feelings for one another. It was new, hopeful - it had been the two of you how it was meant to be, freed from the shadow of Julian’s disapproval, family responsibility, and your father’s betrayal. But it wasn’t the same for you - not anymore. Not until Aaron had you understood the difference between a soul your own recognizes as its twin and one that it chooses as its partner.

John had taken it well, all things considered.

You could imagine after how you'd ended it, after the shock of it all wore off, how upset he must've been. The anger he must've felt. You'd ignored his feelings for the duration of your intimate relationship with him, finding it easier to shove them to the side in favor of keeping your head down and focused. It was only in the aftermath, after you'd removed yourself from the one track mindset you'd adopted in your charge towards bringing your father down, that you allowed yourself to really think about how badly you must've hurt him. You knew you had to remove yourself from his life in order to cause no further harm - for the both of you.

John would forever hold a place in your heart. No matter how much you’d tried to ignore it for the duration of your relationship with him, you had loved him. He had been your love for years and years - starting as a childish crush and morphing into so much more. There were days during your relationship with Matthew - early on - when you regretted not ignoring Julian’s ultimatum to John. You’d nearly had a moment of weakness at Dom and Katie’s wedding - nearly asked John to not only be your first kiss but to be your first everything. But you’d known that he wouldn’t have been content with just that. Not then. You’d been far too in deep with doing the right thing by your family then.

Of course it had come to a head when you’d realized that this could be your life - a life of being Matthew’s wife and being your father’s puppet. The Thanksgiving that Matthew had proposed, you’d gone home with the full intention of telling John you wanted out - out of Matthew, out of your father, out of everything. You wanted him. But then, he’d been with Cece again and he’d smiled when he spoke of her, his beautiful blue eyes twinkling with this happiness - that joy that comes from something new that is wonderful in the most unexpected of ways. You couldn’t do that to him then - not if he was properly moving on even when you’d been unable to after four years. Then of course Matthew had proposed and what else was there… You’d said yes because he’d asked.

After Matthew, after how he had treated you in the final months of your relationship, it was like you shut down. The number of times you left halfway with some guy, the number of times you tried to convince yourself to just close your eyes and do it with someone else, just once - just once to get it over with so you could move past the Matthew thing. You weren’t able to. Try as you might, Matthew had flipped something in you and you weren’t able to turn it back on your own. It would've taken a miracle for you to trust someone like that again. John had been your miracle. His grief-stricken face, his soft lips, his gentle touch. How could you not have trusted him? Even afterwards, when you realized that you needed more. More than was fair to ask of him. More than you could give back. He had given you everything. Done everything. Been everything.

That final time, you’d gone back to him thinking you could finally give him everything too. He deserved it. He deserved you at your best. Even when, afterwards, you realized how intricately linked he was to Julian - how you couldn’t separate the two of them in your mind if you tried. They were brothers. They were brothers far more than Dominic and Julian had ever been. John, however, even then, when you knew you were breaking his heart and yours, he had been nothing short of perfect. You owed him so much.

Getting over him was the hardest thing you’d ever had to do.

Your arm is throbbing once again, so you make your way towards the kitchen, the sound of your heels echoing against the marble flooring. You take a couple more of the painkillers, downing some water, as you continue to stare at the opening to the bedroom, one hand clutched around the pendant dangling from your neck as your fingers fret around it.

You feel as though you’re staring into a dark pit while you try to gather your wits about you for the upcoming conversation with Aaron. You know - so very completely - how hurt he must be. Seeing John kiss you and then subsequently learning that you'd told John one of the biggest secrets of your lives alongside the rest of the team - none of this was easy. You'd had a near meltdown when an intern had so much as flirted with him - and that was an intern who meant absolutely nothing. A stranger. He'd watched as someone who knew you at least as intimately as Aaron himself, kissed you. The two of them were probably the people who knew you best in the entire world and you'd always gone out of your way to not bring up John to Aaron. You know how you sometimes feel threatened by his connection to Haley - which is entirely irrational in and of itself, and yet it is there. You'd never wanted him to question his place and prominence in your life. John might know the old you, but Aaron knows you now, and no one could hold a light to him when it came to that. It's that thought - the belief that Aaron knows you even if he doesn't know everything about you, that gives you the courage to go to him.

You walk gingerly towards the bedroom, trying hard to tread softly so your heels don't hit the floors quite as thunderously as before. You're almost reluctant to cross that entrance. Only the dim lights around the perimeter of the room are on, casting shadows all around.

Aaron's seated at the edge of the bed, still fully dressed - sans jacket, which you'd left on the couch outside - feet resolutely planted to the floor, elbows rested on his knees and arms crossed loosely in front with his head bent downwards, staring at his own shoes. He doesn't look up as you enter, even though you're certain he can hear and feel your presence in the room. You carefully close the door to the room behind you, being deliberate to avoid anymore unnecessary noise in order to not bother any of the rest of the occupants.

"Aaron." Your voice comes out so low that for a moment you worry that you'd spoken only in your head and not out loud.

He doesn't even look up.

You falter. He's not even acknowledging your presence. The balls of your feet hurt while you stand near the doorway, thinking through your next step as you watch him sit on the bed, motionless.

He's entirely in the right to be angry with you, and you know you need to allow him to be upset. He can't be made to feel like he somehow has to console you. In that moment, you make a deal with yourself. You will not cry. Not a single tear will fall in front of him, because you know Aaron. You don't want him to feel manipulated or otherwise influenced by your feelings and your emotions. He is far too affected when you're upset and will do everything within his power to make you feel better. He deserves to feel through his emotions without putting his needs on the backburner for you.

Making up your mind, you move towards him, stopping right in front and lowering yourself to your knees at his feet. Your heels dig into your behind, which you ignore.

You look up at him, placing your hands on his knees and forcing his typically warm brown eyes to meet yours. "I'm sorry, Aaron. I'm so sorry you saw that. I am so sorry," you breathe out, trying to maintain your composure and keep your hands from shaking.

He looks up at you sharply, his eyes flickering over your face, trying to understand what you’d just said. "Are you sorry that it happened or are you sorry that I saw it happen?" he rasps out, his throat dry and scratchy.

You're taken aback by his words, unsure of how to respond, realizing your slip. It was John though, and as much as you love Aaron, you have a very difficult time saying no to John for anything. Four years ago, if he had asked you to stay, you would have done it for him. When he'd kissed you, you hadn't pushed him away, despite not responding in kind. You couldn't bear to reject him that way. When the two of you had both seen Aaron standing across the street, when you'd told him that you were with Aaron, John had been entirely contrite, apologizing profusely, offering to go talk to Aaron himself if that would help at all. But, you can't bring yourself to lie to Aaron, and your subsequent silence tells him everything he needs to know.

You can see the faint glimmer of tears in Aaron's eyes before he turns his head away from you and blinks. You have to bite your lip and force yourself to focus on the stinging pain from that in order to prevent your own tears. You promised yourself that you wouldn't.

"I think I need some space," he says turning back and looking at a spot on the wall above your head, his words a whispered sigh. He won't look at you anymore.

Your hands are tight fists as you take in what he'd asked for, your heart threatening to burst out of its cage as it dawns on you exactly how bad this is for Aaron to ask for space. The two of you have never done that before. Arguments get resolved by bedtime. You both stay in the room and you talk it out until either one person gives in or you arrive at a compromise. Never once have you gone to bed angry with Aaron. It might work for some couples, but that had never been the case for you. But, if that's what he needs, of course you'll give it to him. You'd give him whatever he asked for.

You exhale on a shaky nod, lips tight so as to prevent the choked whimper in your throat from materializing. Dropping your hands from his knees, you push yourself up on your own, wobbling unsteadily in the heels, your eyes trained firmly on Aaron as you slowly back away towards the bathroom. Maybe if you just took a shower and he had a chance to sit by himself and think, he'd be ready to talk.

You look at him a final time as he continues to stare past you, before closing the door to the bathroom behind. You don't lock it - you never lock the door when it's just the two of you.

You turn on the shower, letting the loud rush of water be your cover as you finally allow yourself to fall apart. Stumbling out of the heels, you sink to the floor, thighs meeting your chest as you drop your head to your knees, unable to hold in your tears any longer. You can feel yourself tremble as you're fully wracked by sobs - the overwhelming feeling of dread and impending doom taking over any rational part of you, as your breath swells and your lungs struggle to pull in any air at all.

Your mind is a swirl of the past week - of Aaron and you that first night in this very bathroom, of him holding you after you made the deal with Terry, the night up on the roof where he pledged forever to you, his face after the fire. On a loop - Aaron being giving and kind, Aaron comforting you, Aaron loving you, Aaron worrying about you. He was perfect. You were anything but.

At least ten minutes have passed, if the small clock on the counter is accurate, before you have enough control over yourself in order to stand up and slip out of the dress, resorting to yanking it off clumsily since you couldn't reach the zipper without help. You catch sight of your reflection in the mirror - your makeup had bled down your face and your previously sleek ponytail is held together barely after you'd run your hands through it only minutes ago out of frustration at your inability to stop crying.

You finally stand under the steady stream of hot water, letting it scald your skin as you try to burn away the memory of tonight - of John's kiss, of Aaron's face afterwards, of his unending silence and empty stare. You scrub your skin harshly and lather the shampoo vigorously through your hair - the disappointment in yourself for having been the cause of Aaron's pain, propelling you to take vengeance upon your own body as penance.

There's a part of you that expects him to enter the shower after you as he often has before. Slipping in behind you and taking you in his arms, telling you all is forgiven and that you're both alright, before meeting your lips and erasing even the impression of another's lips against yours to dust. What wouldn't you give for that to be the case.

Your fingers have pruned considerably and the steam in the bathroom is starting to suffocate you with its heaviness before you feel prepared to face him once again. You dry yourself off with a fair amount of trepidation, as the anticipation of speaking with him builds. You find an old pair of pajamas in the closet, foregoing grabbing the pair in your go bag so that you can emerge fully clothed, instead of appearing to be attemping some sort of cheap ploy for his forgiveness.

You steel yourself in front of the door, fully dressed, semi wet tendrils of hair falling down your back as well as by the side of your face. You open the door and exit back into the room, only to find it empty. You think maybe he'd gone to speak with Rossi or maybe even Emily - get some sort of outside perspective on the matter. You can't fault him for that. Either one of them would only help. However, as you make your way into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, you notice that his jacket that you'd set on the arm of the couch is also missing.

He'd left.

*------------*

Aaron had stared at the closed bathroom door after you'd disappeared behind it. He hadn't heard the clicking of a lock, so he knows you've left it open for him if he so chooses.

His mind is reeling from everything and he hates himself for acting so cold towards you while he processes it all. It's very much like how he was with Haley when they would argue - he'd shut down emotionally and take the time to process his feelings and then discuss them with her afterwards. While that wasn't necessarily unhealthy, it wasn't how things worked between you and him. You two talked. He explained his thought process to you because you would also at least understand his reasoning even if you didn't always agree with it. He could tell you why he was being a certain way or why he'd made a particular call and instead of getting upset with him about it or refusing to even consider his reason as valid - which was how it often went with Haley and ultimately led to him withdrawing explanations around his decisions - you listened. You gave him the time and opportunity to talk through his rationale and if you had logical or even emotional reasons for disagreeing with him, you'd explain too. Fights with you were nothing like fights he was used to in a relationship. With the pure standout exception of the time after you'd resigned, you'd never once raised your voice at him and he was cognizant of never doing the same.

His vision had blurred after you'd crossed the street and approached him. Things had felt hazy around the edges.

The walk back to the apartment had been miserably long despite being maybe only five or ten minutes. He finds himself shutting you out because that was an easier way to keep himself in check.

He hadn't expected to feel the rage that he did. Disappointment and sadness was one thing - hurt feelings, sure. But anger was simply not a feeling that he associated with you and he's not sure where it's stemming from exactly but he knows it isn't just about the fact that he saw someone else kiss you. It's not about the kiss because that's how he keeps framing it to himself - someone else kissing you. There had not been a single thing that made it seem like you had kissed back and in his gut he knows you hadn't. So it's not quite the kiss itself that he's angry about, but it is something.

Aaron had listened intently when you'd explained to the team why you'd told John about the Doyle mission. How he'd been the only person you'd had in the aftermath of Julian's death - how he was the only one that understood. That John deserved to know. Aaron wanted to challenge that - what exactly had John done that earned him that particular privilege? Not like he'd know even if John had done something especially remarkable - you'd never spoken to him about John. Not to him at least. Morgan apparently had known. Aaron hadn't. He has to wonder why that is. What is it about John that makes you not want to talk to Aaron about him?

He'd gone into the bedroom afterwards and waited for you, unsure of what to expect. His head feels heavy and he just slumps down as he waits, the coiling pit in his stomach feels like lead. He'd give just about anything for this entire week to have never happened. He should've just told you to stay home and enjoy your time off and none of this would've happened. If he could close his eyes and wish it all away, he would. In a heartbeat. He would.

You'd walked in and then before he could quite bring himself to look up, you'd crossed the floor and were right in front of him. The next second you're kneeling at his feet and that surge of panic he feels comes out of nowhere because what was this. He couldn't have ever imagined you kneeling in front of him in this manner, in such obvious repentance, and he doesn't want this. He doesn't want this at all but he's entirely frozen as the panic winds itself around his veins and squeezes tight, holding him in place. You tell him you're sorry - you're sorry that he saw. You hadn't wanted him to see. So, are you sorry that it happened or sorry that he saw? When he asks you, your silence seems to stretch out for an eternity as the panic gives way to the much uglier rage that he had pushed down outside the bar earlier. He can't possibly ignore what you said.

He needed space. He'd never quite needed that from you before, but right then he'd never felt more disconnected from you. He couldn't understand anything you'd done that night - from leaving with John, to telling him about Doyle and your father, to being kissed by him, to the apology you'd given Aaron. None of it made sense to him. He had to force himself to ignore the look on your face when he said he needed space. That entirely broken and confused look that would tell him you were in the same dark place he was because this wasn't you and it wasn't him and the two of you just…existed with one another so easily it was like there wasn't even another person there. So how could he possibly need space from you?

Before he could stop himself, he'd left the bedroom and was downstairs in front of the building. He had needed a moment to clear his head - fresh air - before he spoke with you again and he really didn't want to risk misspeaking and inadvertently making the situation worse. Hearing the shower turn on in the bathroom, knowing you'd left the door unlocked in the hope that he might just decide to let it all go - he couldn't just give in to that quite yet. He wasn't able to even if he tried.

Aaron could feel the rage boiling in his chest again as the scene of John kissing you plays over and over again in his head. You had allowed it. There was really no way around that. Maybe he hadn't known and maybe you hadn't reciprocated. Maybe. But you'd allowed it. You'd allowed him to get close. Allowed him to lean down. Allowed him to meet your lips. Allowed him the chance to linger. Allowed him to move away at his leisure. You'd allowed it. All of it. What the fuck was he supposed to make of that?

You were sorry that he saw - he can't help but repeat that over and over in his head. Did you even feel remorse that it happened at all? If your apology was to be taken at face value, then no. He can't help the rage that thought induces - the idea that you were perfectly alright with someone else kissing you. Not just someone else either - John. John whom you had gone with so willingly. John who you had gotten matching tattoos with. John who had known you in New York and likely knew all about you. John who had been there for you your entire life and had history with you that Aaron couldn't hope to compete with.

To top that all off, you had gone and told John about the Doyle mission. A classified mission. You hadn't even simply told him the high level details that he had carefully articulated in the case. You had told him everything - the cleverly disguised secret that he, Morgan, and Prentiss all kept for you. You had left them all open to implication and they'd all just trusted you. While he trusted you too, you could've at least asked him or talked to him about it beforehand? You could've run it by him and see if maybe it wasn't such a good idea. Yet you hadn't. You'd just gone off and told him and he was supposed to be alright with it. Accept it.

He walks a couple of laps around the block of the building, the night chill forcing him to burrow into his jacket further. It smelled like you - the scent of fresh pears and freesia mixed with the sweet vanilla citrus smell that seemed to always linger on you no matter what, invades his senses and he suppresses an audible groan at the memory of that scent wrapped around him. They say smell is the best memory agent and Aaron was very much struggling to repel the memories the scent of you carried with it. He didn't want to think of you in that way.

He'd walked a couple of blocks further and found himself back outside the bar the team had been at earlier. Wanting a reprieve from the chill and perhaps a drink to calm his nerves, he enters into the warmth of the bar, gratefully taking off the jacket as he goes. He finds a spot to one side of the bar top opposite from anyone else and waits for the bartender to notice him. The bartender appears to be engaged in a conversation with a regular and Aaron isn't immediately successful in getting his attention. Before he can attempt again, he feels and then sees from the corner of his eye, a body slide into the stool right next to him, despite there being quite a few open seats down from him.

Aaron turns to see the same man from earlier, his leather jacket in one hand and a crystal glass of amber liquid in the other, settle down next to him. He freezes entirely. Aaron had not prepared for this possibility.

He watches apprehensively out of the corner of his eye as John settles in, and then turns to the bartender. "Tom," he calls out in a familiar manner, "Can you get this man here a drink?"

There was an ease with which he carried himself, Aaron notes. He's a regular at this place too - likely had been with you. He's undoubtedly nervous, the slightly tensed shoulders and fidgety fingers giving him away. He hasn't quite looked in Aaron's direction entirely yet, and Aaron wasn't about to be the one to initiate whatever this was. He watches as the bartender - Tom - turns away from the other customers and grabbing a bottle of the same top shelf scotch you keep stocked at home, he settles a glass in front of Aaron and pours out two fingers worth. He also refills John's glass at his indication, before turning away.

Aaron stares at the drink in front of him, shoulders very tense, waiting. The drink was an obvious gesture of peace, but the loop of John kissing you earlier is on repeat with drums on in his head. His hands tighten into fists, resting on his thighs, jaw clenched tightly, the warmth in the bar becoming just this side of too much.

"We didn't get a chance to be properly introduced earlier," John says, finally breaking the silence, his voice a little heavier and his speech indicative of him having already had a couple of drinks prior to Aaron's arrival. "John Hawthorne," he says, pointing to himself, "and you're Aaron Hotchner."

Aaron blinks, entirely unsure of how to react, apprehensively looking up until he meets John's eyes. Aaron nods once, slowly, eyeing him carefully, trying to work out exactly what his agenda was. John was tense as well, looking at Aaron cautiously. It was a near bizarre situation to even be sitting here side by side with this person and Aaron felt wholly unprepared. He's not sure what life experience could possibly have prepared him for this - with Haley he hadn't even confronted her directly.

A part of him wants to just get up and walk away, but he feels compelled to stay - like no matter what happens next, he should see this through. He turns away from John and lifting the glass, takes a sip of the scotch. The familiar taste sits on his tongue and then rushes down his throat, leading to a pleasant burn in his chest that really warms him up. At least now he knew where you acquired a taste for good scotch from. He briefly wonders what else you'd gotten from John, before shaking that particular train of thought away.

John mirrors his action, as though drinking a shot of liquid courage, even though Aaron is quite certain by now that this is well past his first drink. However, he's a pretty large guy and it appears to have only loosened him up rather than making him drunk. Aaron is careful not to look too closely at the tattoo on John's wrist. It's familiarity serves only to cause a pang in his chest, a physical reminder of how very intimately he knows that date which he really didn't care for at the moment. It was a bit ridiculous how viscerally physical of a reaction he has to even memories of you.

Apparently having drawn the strength he needed, John continues. "I'm sorry," he articulates, "about earlier," undoubtedly referring to the moment when his lips had touched yours merely an hour or so prior. Aaron wondered whether the outline of the two of you under that street lamp was burned into the cement pavement underneath. His eyes had bored into you hard enough. It was a possibility.

Aaron bites his tongue to avoid reacting outwardly. It was an apology, sure. So far, a better apology than yours had been, discounting the fact that John hadn't gotten down on his knees.

"I didn't know she was with someone. I am sorry if that caused any problems for the two of you."

Aaron grunts, finally acknowledging that he'd heard and takes another sip, choosing to focus fully on savoring the taste of it on his tongue before allowing the burn to settle in his chest. He really had nothing to offer there - even if words were possible he wouldn't know which way to string them together.

"Though," John breathes out a humorless half laugh, "I guess it did cause problems if you're sitting here with me and not back with her."

Aaron's jaw clenches at the jab, whether intentional or not. Perhaps the two of you had gone to the same pretentious day school where they taught how to craft together not-so-great apologies.

John backs up a little, clearly picking up on how that had gone over.

It's quiet for a bit as the two of them drink silently side by side. Aaron has nothing to say to John. Yet, at least. His thoughts go back to what you'd said earlier to the team - how John had been all you'd had after Julian died and you learned the truth. He feels his intestines coil with the realization of how entirely alone you'd been then. You'd been twenty two years old, all alone, fresh out of an engagement with your entire world crashing around you. Julian's death was one thing, but finding out that it was your father who'd made the call was soul wrenchingly horrifying. You'd gone overnight from being a Harvard graduate with her entire life in front of her to questioning everyone and everything. John had been there - he had apparently been the one person you could bring yourself to put some faith in.

"She told me, you know," John says, his voice a near mumble that Aaron has to strain to hear over the noise in the bar. "About what you did for her - with her father...thank you."

Aaron finds himself nodding. Of course you'd told him that as well. He looks at the man next to him carefully. Seeing John sitting there - despite everything - that was proof that the two of you would seemingly do anything for each other. Aaron doesn't know if he could've sat there in John's place. But John had sat and apologized and that was a lot more than most people would be able to do. Aaron knows he's doing it for you.

"That vengeance, that drive to conquer him, for a while that was the only thing that kept her going - as ugly as it was, it was something," he adds. "The pain of losing Julian and finding out the truth about him, it was all too much for her." His hands shake a bit around his glass. "There was a time - back then - when I'd go to bed every day scared I'd lose them both."

There's something about John's words that prickles a thought in Aaron's brain and he turns to look at John, his eyes downcast, fingers fidgeting with the rim of his glass, shoulders hunched and turned ever so slightly away from Aaron. He was the picture of a man who had said too much, and Aaron finds himself going back and dissecting that confession. He'd been afraid to lose both of you…

It's quiet again while Aaron broods on what was just said and John sits stoically beside him, keeping him company in his meditations.

Aaron couldn't discount the importance - that position John held in your life. He was more struck by the fact that, despite the significance of John in your life, he'd hardly ever heard of him. He's left feeling like there were two versions of you - the one that you showed him and the real version. The version that had been systematically sequestered away in Manhattan these past few years as though it had no significance to the person you were today.

He realizes that was at least a large part of the anger. The entire week had been a walk down memory lane for you, revealing all of these parts of your life that he knew about in only the vaguest of senses. He had been led to believe that he knew everything there was to know about you and he was confronted with the reality that that might not be the case. It had all culminated with John, but truth be told, John had merely been the tipping point. He'd been feeling odd about this the entire week, from the moment you'd mentioned you still maintained a residence in New York.

He looks at John again, whose head is bent over, shoulders hunched as he focuses on the drink in his hand. Aaron can feel that your secret is safe with him, despite not knowing him at all. You trusted him. That's what mattered.

"She seems happy," John says, speaking up again as he turns to look at Aaron, having felt his gaze, a small smile on his lips in contrast to the sadness Aaron can see evident in his eyes. "I didn't really see her happy until that last time, and I know that you and your team are the reason for that happiness - that you especially are part of that."

Aaron has to suppress the smile that almost appears on his face. He covers it with the glass of scotch in his hand, bringing it up to his mouth once again. It was somewhat validating to have someone who knew you so well attest to your happiness - yours and his and your collective happiness. Aaron hadn't been around for your lowest points - he'd run when Emily died and in the aftermath of your father's death he'd been estranged from you. John had been there after Julian. Of all people, he had been witness to the wasteland that you'd inhabited in the aftermath.

John had been there. He'd been it for you.

Aaron thinks he finally understands what you meant when you said that you were sorry that he saw it happen - he's pretty sure it would've happened no matter what. He can't quite blame John for seeing you after God only knew how long, thinking you had finally vanquished the evil that was your father, seeing you happy - he might not be alright with what had happened, but he could follow the thought process.

The ill will Aaron had felt towards John was slowly lifting. The good scotch definitely helped.

"You know that last time, she seemed lighter and happier than I'd seen her in two years. She came for Christmas and it was like having her back - it was what I'd been waiting for that whole time. She told me about some kid's birthday party she was going to - we talked about what presents a two year old would want and it was funny because she had no idea," he said, a fond smile on his face.

Aaron chuckles, surprisingly even himself. "I'm pretty sure that was our son Jack's birthday," he says, before realizing his own words. He did think of Jack as yours - has forever. But it was one thing to think it, and another to verbalize it to a near stranger. Especially this one.

John seems momentarily surprised but takes it in stride, and Aaron can't help but feel his respect for this man grow. It would take a lot for someone in his position to not react to a statement like that.

"How'd he like the Lego Death Star?" John asks, remembering what the two of you had landed on as an appropriate present.

"We spent a few weekends building it. It still sits in his room," Aaron replies, allowing his shoulders to ease up.

John smiles. "Good. She would've never come up with that on her own, you know. She was looking up stuff online and was about to buy one of those little car things, but I figured not all parents want their toddler zooming around in a scale replica Lamborghini."

Aaron actually laughs at that. Of course that's what you'd thought to get for Jack, never being one to do anything small. As much as Jack would've loved that, him and Haley would've had their hands full running after him.

It was good to know that some things about you were still very much the same as they'd always been. That birthday party had been towards the beginning of you, him, and Jack hanging out together. In the early days, that’s primarily what happened. Aaron had been fresh out of the divorce with Haley and he was struggling with Jack. It made him feel like a poor father - one who couldn’t take care of his son by himself. Over time it had gotten a lot easier, but those first few months of his and Haley’s arrangement had only been bearable because of you. You’d helped make that transition so easy. You had such a natural and effortless relationship with Jack from the start - he’d envied it. Both him and Haley had struggled in the beginning, as he was sure that all new parents do. It’s likely a lot easier when the child isn’t entirely your responsibility. However, regardless of that, having you around with Jack had helped a lot. He remembers how you’d gotten him a Smithsonian family pass, and it had resulted in you being asked to accompany the two of them as the pass accommodated up to four people. In that time, he often fantasized about asking you out - just you. Without a Jack in one hand and a bag of snacks and juice boxes in the other. But he didn’t think it would go over well. You were there for Jack. Any friendship you and Aaron had was a byproduct of that. Over time, sure, things had changed. But there was always that nagging voice in his head that told him that you were with him because of Jack.

He’s driven out of his thoughts by a friendly nudge to his shoulder. Aaron shakes himself out of his reverie, a little surprised by how at ease he felt around this guy. He didn’t think that would have been possible an hour ago and yet here he sat beside him, having a drink together, sharing a laugh. It was truly a strange turn of events.

John nods towards the empty glass in front of Aaron, “Another?” he asks, eyebrow quirked up in a manner that feels far too familiar.

Aaron notes the time on his watch, realizing he’s been gone far too long - longer than he’d meant to be away for.

He shakes his head and stands, grabbing his jacket, before turning to John. “Next time,” he says with a slight uptick of his jaw, sticking his hand out.

John appears surprised by Aaron’s words, and it takes him a second to react. However once he does, his smile reaches his eyes and he shakes Aaron’s hand firmly.

*------------*

Realizing that Aaron had left had pushed you into a near panicked state, and you'd had to force yourself to not go to Emily’s or Derek's rooms and simply cry. He'd left and that was not something you'd been prepared for at all. If he'd left - he'd been unable to be around you for even a second more - that could only mean the worst.

He'd needed space. This night had been a lot - for both of you - and he had said he needed space. You'd thought that meant like half an hour so you'd taken an extra long shower. But now…did that mean more? Did he mean that he needed space from you entirely?

You do your best to control your breathing as your brain goes into overdrive. It was much harder without him there to help you, rubbing your back and whispering soothingly into your ear.

You needed something to focus on, so you decided to move the laundry from the washer to the dryer before doing another run through of the bedroom and closet gathering any remaining dirty clothes. You manage to sweep both the common spaces and the bedroom while you wait. Wait and think. There wasn’t much else to be done.

If Aaron wanted space - true space - if he wanted a break or even to break up (the thought alone made you want to curl up into a ball and lie on the floor again) - however if that was what he wanted, he was well within his rights to demand it. While you might not think you'd cheated, there was a possibility that Aaron had, especially after you'd admitted that you'd done nothing to stop the kiss, merely hadn't reciprocated in kind. But perhaps that was enough. With Aaron especially, someone who valued loyalty so highly, it might be enough.

There's always been a part of you that thought there was more to his and Haley's divorce and Aaron was never one to speak ill of Haley, but sometimes you wondered. Derek had told you that Aaron had requested a transfer at one point, which had somehow gone away very close to his and Haley's divorce.

Maybe it wasn't even the kiss though, but everything else around it. Bringing up all of the stuff with your father, John, Julian - stuff that for the most part is not brought up anymore. You've noticed - how could you not - that Aaron has struggled this week upon learning a lot of your past. You know the stalker thing bothered him even if he didn't vocalize it. You know the photographers bothered him even if he played along. John definitely was part of the reason for the upset currently, and in many ways John was periphery to everything else. You were the eye of the storm - your very presence brought with it chaos. It was too much. It was all far too much for any reasonable person to want to handle. You were too much.

It would be a lot for a normal person - someone with a laidback job who could afford to extend themselves to the specific brand of bedlam that you tried to sell in a pretty package. But for Aaron - the man who already carried the burden of the world on his shoulders - it was far too much to expect for him to bear this as well. You shouldn't. A better person - a good person - would leave him in peace. A peace that can't ever really be achieved when your mind itself is the source of tumult. Sure, you put on a good act, but Aaron can see through the cracks, you're sure. This week had given him a front row seat to exactly how fucked in the head you really were. Good girls, normal girls, they don't invite stalkers, they don't have paparazzi following them, they don't have ex-whatevers showing up just to be told about the secret mission where they murdered their own father.

Not for the first time, you find yourself thinking how much better off Aaron would be with someone else - someone sweet and kind whose hands were clean. You had far too much red in your ledger to make up for. Things he didn't even know about. Things no one knew about.

You try to do your best to compartmentalize. As difficult as it was in this case, you needed to separate your feelings from reality and manage them individually if possible. If Aaron's intention would be to end it, then what? You'd have to sit down and talk to Jack - hopefully together. Explain that things would be changing a bit, but that it wouldn't change anything between you and Jack. Knowing Aaron, by now, he'd want you to be in Jack's life still even if he might not want you in his. The primary goal for the both of you would be to ensure that Jack's life didn't lose the stability it had.

It would be easier for you to move out rather than to have Jack and Aaron move. But then Aaron would get all weird about staying in your home even though it's been his and Jack's home as well. But initially, at least, it would be easier for it to be just you - until you can help him find a different place. You could easily just stay in a hotel temporarily. You're away a lot lately anyways. Make things easier on Jack, Mrs. Avery - their routines didn't have to change. Speaking of Mrs. Avery, you'd need to talk to Aaron about working something out for her payment - right now Aaron paid for her but that was without rent and she wasn't exactly cheap. You could change the stipulations of the trust to cover any of Jack's expenses - assuming Aaron was alright with that.

Then there was the matter of the Christmas in Paris booking - you'd have to contact your travel agent and figure that out. Maybe you could rebook it and Jack and Aaron could still enjoy a trip, maybe even Europe still. Jack had been really looking forward to it. He wanted to have scones in England and croissants in Paris. That kid was just as much into pastries and dessert as you were. Aaron blamed you for that entirely.

But then - he'd promised he wouldn't leave you. Aaron was good at keeping his promises. He might also feel some sort of odd obligation to hold himself to that promise he’d made to you in the beginning. That he wouldn’t break your heart. In which case, maybe it was up to you to rip off the bandaid. Do what he couldn't. It would be less painful for you both in the long run. Cut your losses now, before too much was invested. You'd only moved in together and while there were days you felt like you were practically married, that really wasn't the case at all. He wouldn't have to wait as long as he had after Haley. It wasn't a divorce really. A breakup. A simple breakup. People breakup everyday. In a few months or a year he could find someone else. Jack was an adorable child. Anyone would love to be around him.

Breaking your own heart was allowed.

You would be alright, you told yourself. Eventually. You would have to work out some sort of agreement with him about Jack. Maybe every other weekend. But you would be alright. Eventually. It would suck of course in the beginning, but well, you were busy. You'd been debating the whole partnership with Clyde and telling him you were out after this assignment wrapped up, but that didn't necessarily have to be the case. You could transfer. You could move entirely. The world was your oyster. You'd just have to figure out something with Jack.

When it came to the team, McKinney's redesignation of you couldn't have come at a more opportune time. More likely than not this was one of your last cases with the team, so it shouldn't change the dynamics there too much. Emily and Derek would try to blame him, but you'd sit them down and explain that it was your fault. You were the culprit, the reason it didn't work out, not him. He had done his best to put up with all the baggage you came laden with and truly it wasn't his fault. It was just too cumbersome to help carry for any person. Especially if they came with heavy crap of their own.

The dryer beeps and you go to take out Aaron's load of laundry out and carry it into the room, dumping it onto the bed so that you can fold it while it’s still warm, to avoid wrinkles. He hates wrinkles.

It would be alright, you chanted to yourself repeatedly. Everything would be alright. He would end it, and you would survive. You could survive it. If he couldn't, you'd have to do it for him, and that would take its toll, but it was better for him and for Jack. It would be alright. You just had to keep telling yourself that. You've survived worse than being broken up with by Aaron Hotchner. This too shall pass and all that.

You get up to grab Aaron's go bag from under the settee so that you can put his clothes away in there. It feels empty save for one thing rattling around in there at the bottom, and you're about to unzip it and put everything away, when you hear the door to the bedroom open. You'd been so focused on the task at hand that you hadn't even heard the elevator come up.

You turn and see Aaron, who looks at you apprehensively. You feel your stomach clench at the sight of him. Setting his bag down you silently move out of the way, shifting towards the bed.

There’s a beat where he just watches you from the threshold and it is overwhelmingly tense. Then he enters, closing the door behind him silently.

Aaron proceeds to where his pile of fresh laundry sat on top of the ottoman and he starts changing, shedding his clothes. You avert your eyes, instead focusing on the pattern of the duvet cover, following the lines there instead.

Was he expecting you to speak? He'd been the one to say he needed space, and you weren't sure it was your place to be the first to speak up now. He had seemed to make it clear that he'd rather not hear what you have to say, and you can't blame him. You'd apologized and even that hadn't been quite right because you'd messed up and stated the truth.

"I'm sorry."

You look up at the sound of his voice. He's changed into his pajamas and for a second you find your eyes trailing over him entirely before you snap yourself out of it. This could be the last time you see him like this. You blink to refocus on him as he stands, arms crossed, leaning against the wall. At least he was talking to you. He doesn't seem angry really but you find yourself unable to otherwise read him.

You must look confused, because he clarifies, "I'm sorry for leaving."

You nod, standing up. “It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice incredibly hoarse, forcing you to clear your throat.

A large sigh leaves him as he shifts and begins to walk closer. You brace yourself. Here it comes.

"Y/N, this week - this entire week - I feel like there are so many things I don't know about you."

Suddenly all you can hear is the blood roaring in your ears, as you force yourself to nod. You have to ball your hands into fists to hide the shakiness, nails digging into your palms.

"I don't think it can go on like this."

Right - of course he's right. It couldn't. You can't expect people to be confronted by your past and all the weird, messy, ugly, scary stuff and want to stick around. Before, maybe, he'd thought of you - outside of the whole business with your father - as just that girl that works with him. Now, however, he wouldn't be able to look past everything as it confronted him too head on. So he was going to do it. He was going to end it. This was it.

You nod again, your vision blurring at the edges as you continue to stare at him. You can feel the air rush away from you and the walls feel like they're closing in.

I can't do this.

"I - I'm sorry," you manage, before quickly brushing by him and running to the bathroom, closing the door behind you, clicking the lock into place.

I can't do this.

I can't, I can't, I can't.

Your breathing becomes harsher by the second and the tears are there and your hands are shaking and it's really, really hard to think or stop. The blood was pounding in your ears and your heart was thudding loudly and you wanted it to stop. You’d give anything to make it stop. Silence. You need complete silence. How do you claw your way out of your own body to achieve it?

Your hands cup your face, feeling the tears there despite trying to stop. You can feel your nails dragging down your face, fingers trembling on the way down. Why was breathing so hard right now? You can feel your windpipe closing while simultaneously feeling bile in your throat.

On the other side of the door, Aaron's eyes had widened as you came towards him, and then quickly rushed to the bathroom. He worried for a second that you're about to be sick. However, he then hears the click of the lock behind you - that's when he starts to actually panic.

He tries knocking on the door, softly calling your name to avoid being too loud and waking anyone else. All he hears is the sound of you breathing far too heavily and he needs to get in there dammit. His knocks become more urgent the longer it goes on.

He has no idea what's going on. He'd anticipated a conversation with you - the two of you were good at that. You could talk things out. He was calmer now. He'd tried to talk and you'd been listening and then all of a sudden, he didn't know what happened.

It takes a couple more minutes for you to truly calm yourself down. You can't cry in front of Aaron. You’d promised. You can finally make out him calling your name from the other side. If you'd been trying not to freak him out, that had obviously not worked out too well.

Releasing a shaky breath, you wipe your face, splashing some cold water to hide the more obvious evidence of your little breakdown. You'd convinced yourself you could face him, but he'd surprised you. It was okay. You knew now, going in. You'd be ready. You can do it.

With a trembling hand, you unlock the door and turn the knob, nearly running straight into Aaron. He looks thoroughly agitated, as though he was minutes away from breaking down the door and you feel your heart clench. Even moments away from ending it, of course he’d still care so much. No. You will yourself to become numb to it all. Numb to him. That was the only way to make it through this. Feel. Nothing.

You take another deep breath as he backs away, allowing you room to exit the bathroom, and you close the door behind. You look up at him, immediately regretting looking into his overly concerned, warm brown eyes. Why did he have to look at you like that right now? He really needed to work on appropriately timing his concern for people.

You look away quickly. You nod at him shakily, half attempting a smile, but what even was a smile? "It's okay," you tell him, your voice nearly robotic, nodding again, unsure which one of you you're really trying to convince. "J - Just do it."

Aaron looks at you, a perplexed expression mixing with his worry as he stands incredibly close to you. Why was he standing so close?

"Do what?" he asks, reaching out towards you, his large warm hand brushing some of the hair away from your face, pushing it behind your ear.

You look at him sharply, trying hard not to lean into his touch. Something clicks in that moment as you watch him standing far too close to you. He's not moving away either. He'd just touched you. He wasn't…he didn't know what you meant when you said…

He wasn't.

But does that mean that you have to be the one to do it?

You shake your head, taking in a shallow breath as you try to wrap your brain around what was happening. Or not happening.

"I was trying to say, earlier," he starts, still looking at you apprehensively, as though he could see past your cover up job in the bathroom, "that I don't like feeling like there are a lot of things about you - about your life - that I know nothing about. While I understand th - that is something that happens over time, I just feel like there are some gaps that I would like filled."

You find yourself trying to comprehend what he'd just said, trying to rewire your brain from fight or flight mode to actually listening to him. He just wanted to…know things. He said nothing about the kiss.

"That's it?" You look up at him, certain that it could only be some sort of trick. A bait and switch. But that's not really an Aaron thing to do. So, if he was being sincere…

"I'm not thrilled about tonight,” he concedes, his lips a thin line. “But I understand how it happened. I get that John is important to you.”

You nod again. It feels like your brain is working only in slow motion because the simplest of things are taking a while to really work their way through the processing channels. He gets that John is important - he genuinely seems to believe that.

"Now I understand that filling in the gaps - that isn't an overnight thing. But over time, I would appreciate it if you could just be a little more upfront and tell me these things. Even if you think they don't matter. That they're in your past. Just tell me, please?" he asks, his eyes pleading with you.

You weren’t losing him. He wasn’t trying to end it. It didn’t feel like he was doing it merely out of obligation. So...that was good.

You find yourself nodding fervently, trying very hard not to cry. He just wanted to know things. Maybe it would be too much, maybe. But tonight had been a lot too, and he'd handled it well enough. Afterall, the two of you were standing there now. Together. That had to count for something. He said it didn't have to be immediately. You could tell him over time, everything. It was Aaron. He'd likely understand - he was good at that. Especially with you. And well, if it was too much, maybe you'd cross that bridge when you get there because at least for now, you'd have him.

It was selfish - delaying some sort of inevitable. But maybe it wasn't. You stood to lose a lot more if you didn't just take a leap of faith. Believe that he'd understand. If anyone could, it'd be him.

"Oh sweetheart, come here," he says, both of his hands reaching out towards you and wiping at the tears that had fallen regardless of any attempt on your part to keep them at bay.

"I'm sorry," you wept, letting him grab onto you and pull you closer. He was so warm. He was always so warm. He lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed, sitting down with you in his lap, allowing you to calm yourself as he soothingly rubbed your back.

"I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't cry," you mumble against his neck, tightening your hold on him.

Aaron shakes his head, reassuring you that it is alright, and takes a deep breath that you can feel in his chest. His hands, soft, warm, and pleasantly calloused rub circles on your back under your shirt. You just want to melt into him, let the wax of your being meld with his.

You can feel his breath against your skin and you can’t help but press a kiss to the side of his neck while you continue to cling to him. It’s different with Aaron because with John, you’d never actually feared losing him. With Aaron, the thought of not having him one day eats away at you, constantly.

Aaron’s still comforting you and you can’t help but feel bad about it. Today was still your fault and you want to make sure that everything is truly alright. You want to be certain that he feels good about the two of you. That’s what was most important.

"Are you sure you’re alright with everything?" you ask, moving to look at him, your hand cupping his face, thumb rubbing over cheeks.

He nods, but you can see that there's something. Something else bothering him. Something that he seems reluctant to voice.

"It's okay, just ask. It's okay," you reassure him. It was better to just get it all out now. One fell swoop.

He worries his lip as he looks at you, as though wondering how to get it out properly. Swallowing, he asks, "Would we be together if it weren't for Jack?" He eyes you nervously, as though he’s afraid of the answer and even more afraid that he voiced the question as all.

Aaron doesn’t feel great about asking this now, but he agrees with you that it is better to get all of this out of the way so that the two of you can return to being on the same page. No matter what, he doesn’t think it will change much, but he wants to know for his own peace of mind - understand where he stands.

You still, your shoulders tensing and your brain going into hyperactive mode again. That wasn't what you'd expected at all. Did Aaron think that you were only with him because of Jack? Had you done something to make him feel that way? You know he's entirely serious about the question as he looks at you. You can see the insecurity and nervousness that had sat behind this question and you wonder how long he's felt this way. How long this has eaten away at him.

With a short sigh, you shift slightly. You want to be honest about this, because you know it's important to him. It’s important to you as well - for him to never question exactly where he stands when it comes to you.

"No," you reply. You can see him recoil almost immediately, so you're quick to continue. "But not because of what you might be thinking,” you say quickly, tightening your hold of him and forcing him to stay still. He pauses and nods, urging you to go on. “Aaron, I'm not playing house here. If I wanted a kid, there's other options. Adoption. Me not being able to have a kid - that's mostly speculation. It could still happen."

He nods, but you know that he's still focused on that No from a second ago.

"Aaron, before I joined the team, Emily had been there an entire year. How often did the two of you hang out together?"

Aaron looks at you, starting to piece together where you’re going with this. He shakes his head. They hadn't.

"Exactly,” you emphasize, cradling his face in your hands. “Because you don't do that, Aaron. You don't just let people in. I got in because Jack and I bonded first. You let me in because of Jack. You let me see you with the walls lowered - you let me see you beyond Agent Hotchner. You let me see you. That would've never happened without Jack. You keep your walls up at work so high that hardly anyone can traverse them. Jack was my ticket in. So no, if it weren’t for Jack, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be together. I would’ve always been Agent L/N to you,” you finish softly, looking into his eyes to make sure he understood.

He takes a breath, processing what you've said. You're right. He knows you are. It was silly to think you were with him just because of Jack. Jack isn’t even around and you’re wrapped up in his lap. He can’t help but feel a little stupid for even questioning it at all. However, part of him is glad he had. Even if he should’ve just known, it was good to have it confirmed nevertheless. Hearing you explain it that way made a lot of sense. Sure he was friends with the team, but he was really only good friends with Rossi. You were right - he didn’t go out of his way to have intimate relationships with his coworkers. Even now, all the parties and hangouts, he’s pretty certain you’re at the center of most of the team socialization. You’d bridged the gap between him and the rest of them.

"Anything else?" you ask somewhat teasingly, a soft smile gracing your face as you look at him fondly. He might be a bit of an idiot when it came to realizing that people loved him and cared for him with no hidden agenda, but well, he was your idiot. To think that you were with him because of Jack was laughable at best. You had Jack even before you and Aaron were together. It was about Aaron. About how his arms wrapped around you. About how he made you feel. About how simply being around him made your heart sing.

He shakes his head, a smile finally breaking out across his lips as he leans in to capture yours. It’s an affirming press of his lips to yours as he holds you to him as closely as possible. It feels like coming home.

Maneuvering the both of you around, he places you next to him on the bed, pulling the blanket around both of you. You curl into his side and he can feel your fingers run lightly against his stomach as you’re pressed against the length of him. He reaches for your hand, lifting it up and looking at you disapprovingly as he notes the indentations in your palm. You hide your face from him a bit as he brushes over the marks lightly with the pad of his thumb.

Something prickles at the back of Aaron's head as you snuggle into him. Something John had said to him at the bar. The way you'd responded to him taking space, how you'd planned to not cry in front of him, instead you'd done laundry and evidently cleaned. It was telling. You'd obviously planned out a contingency plan. An exit route for yourself. It was something that was most often seen in people who… The actual realization hits him - what John had meant when he said he'd almost lost you.

He looks down at your peaceful face, burrowed into him, your legs entangled with his as much as humanly possible. His breathing must've changed, because you look up at him curiously.

He shakes his head, trying to smile so as to not worry you. He couldn’t quite believe it and he definitely wasn’t sure he’d arrived at exactly the right conclusion. But he wants you to know…just in case. "My world wouldn't be the same without you in it,” he breathes out, looking at you with immense care and love, so that you know. So that you know that it won’t be easy on him if you weren’t around. So that you can’t rationalize away your absence. Because it would be felt. It would be felt harrowingly.

You smile at his words, entirely unaware of the intention behind them, reaching up and quickly pressing a kiss to his lips. He can feel your smile in your gesture.

Burrowing back into the warmth of the blanket, a soft laugh and eyeroll escape you and he looks down curiously. "Penelope was wrong," you shared, your words slightly muffled against his chest. "You're totally a Hufflepuff."

Aaron looks at you, his face marred with confusion. “What the hell is a Hufflepuff?" he groans, rolling over so he can face you and hold you tucked into him.

The only response he gets is a peal of laughter, reverberating through his ribs and the warm press of your lips to his chest.

*------------*

David Rossi woke up early the next morning. Clubbing and drinking till late at night was for children. He wasn't quite so young anymore, and instead of nursing a hangover, his body decided to be wide awake at an inhumane hour.

He gets dressed, and instead of trying to finagle your complicated coffee machine, he heads down to grab one from one of the street carts.

He's paying the man for the coffee, when his eye is caught by a photo in one of the papers. He leans in close, just to make sure he's not seeing things. But no, he wasn't.

There you were and there Aaron was, dipping you down, his mouth latched onto yours.

He laughs and looks back at the man, holding up the paper in his hand. "However many copies you have of this, I want them. I want them all."

#aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #irreverentseries #hotch x you #hotch x reader

93 notes · View notes

dracoqueen22 · 4 years ago

Text

For SunnySidesof Blue who requested Prowl's first call to Bluestreak once the consorts are able to communicate with the outside world again after the honeymoon.

Safety in Numbers

Optimus Prime has many qualities about him that Prowl finds appealing, acceptable, and worthy of trust. He does not, however, have the talent for foresight. Which is why Prowl is the one to first remind him of the danger he has not only put himself in, but his Consorts and their extended family.

If he was a Prime willing to fall in line with the Senate’s desires, Prowl would not have bonded him so readily. Optimus, however, is not, and this will cause friction. As soon as the Senate learns he is not keen to bow to their whims, they will seek out leverage.

The Senate, also, is not the only threat to their safety. There will be many organizations attempting to move against the Prime in the coming decades and centuries, especially once it becomes clear that Optimus is a Prime of a different caliber.

Optimus Prime has a certain degree of protection being that he is the Prime. His Consorts are afforded a similar safety by that connection.

Their families however…

“You are, of course, correct,” Optimus tells him after Prowl points out what should have been obvious, and Optimus frowns, not at Prowl but at himself. “I should have thought of this sooner.”

“Chromia is already here,” Prowl points out. “I understand you are already making plans to reunite Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, but there are more to consider. My brother, for example.”

Optimus nods, elbows on his desk, fingers interlaced. “What would you have of me to keep him safe?”

Prowl draws in a heavy ventilation. “I want him here, if he’ll come. I did not leave many friends behind in Praxus, and they thought sending me to you would solve their problems. Once they learned it did not..”

“You’ll have too many enemies to name,” Optimus finishes for him. He looks at Prowl over the top of his hands. “This estate is more than large enough. If your brother chooses otherwise, I’ll ask Chroma to arrange trustworthy protection.”

Once again, Prowl is confident in his decision to give Optimus Prime a chance. He is truly nothing like his predecessors.

It’s after the evening gathering when Prowl returns to his quarters -- more than large enough to house Bluestreak if his brother so chooses -- and sits in front of his communication console. He dials a comm so familiar to him, and waits for it to connect. He has only been in Iacon for a day, but this is the soonest he could contact Bluestreak and reassure him.

Bluestreak answers so swiftly he must have been waiting by the comm. “Prowl!” His face fills the screen, relief palpable in his expression. “How are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did he hurt you? Are you safe? You look okay, but--”

“I am fine, Bluestreak,” Prowl says, gently ending the babble. “Much better than either of us could have hoped. Optimus Prime is a much better mech than I thought.”

Bluestreak squints at him, studying his face in the screen, but he must find whatever it is he’s looking for because he nods. “And you’re not being forced to say this, right?”

Amusement threatens to tug at Prowl’s spark. “I am not,” he reassures. “I will be happy to tell you more details, but I don’t wish to do so over a comm.”

“A letter?” Bluestreak asks, his sensory panels starting to drift down into rest. His armor, however, remains defensive. Agitated.

Has something happened already?

Prowl shakes his head. “No. In person.”

“You’re coming here?” Bluestreak asks, and his optics light up, a smile splitting his face. “The Prime is going to let you visit?” His sensory panels bob.

Prowl doesn’t bother to fight his own smile. “How are classes?” he asks instead.

Bluestreak flinches, barely perceptible, and his smile wavers. “I passed,” he says with a shrug. “I didn’t score as high as I wanted to, but I passed. I guess that’s what counts.” He tilts his head and squints. “You didn’t answer my question though.”

“No, I did not,” Prowl confirms. He cycles a ventilation and crosses his arms. “Optimus Prime means to make things very difficult in the political arena, Bluestreak. He will soon have enemies all across the planet.”

“Oh.” Bluestreak works his jaw and realization dawns on his face. “You don’t think I’m safe here?”

“Right now, yes. In the future… probably not.”

Bluestreak gnaws on his bottom lip and raps his fingers on the top of the console. “So what does that mean? Do I have to go into hiding or something?”

“Or something,” Prowl echoes, which is enough to prompt Bluestreak to offer a snort a laugh. He is always amused by Prowl’s informality. “I would prefer if you came here.”

Bleustreak stares at him. “Wait. You want me to live in Iacon?”

“Specifically here at the Prime Estate with me,” Prowl says. “I can arrange for you to have private tutors, or you can enroll in one of the universities here, but I would feel better if you were here--”

“Yes,” Bluestreak says.

Prowl pauses. He’d expected some hesitation, perhaps the two of them discussing the pros and cons. Bluestreak had made no secret of his desire to graduate from the same program where Prowl had earned his certifications. While something similar could be found in Iacon, it was not Bluestreak’s initial plan.

“When can I come?” Bluestreak asks.

“Are you sure?” Worry starts to infest Prowl’s spark.

Something must have happened.

Bluestreak smiles at him again, but it’s not as bright as it ought to be. “Positive. It’s not like I’m leaving anything behind, and well, I can learn what I want to learn pretty much anywhere, right?”

“Right,” Prowl echoes.

Now is not the time to pry into his brother’s behavior or what might have occurred in Prowl’s absence, though he has his suspicions. Prowl has made many enemies in Praxus, and not all respect the position of Consort.

“When can I come?” Bluestreak asks. “I’ll be ready. I promise. I’m going to start packing as soon as we get off the comm.”

At least Prowl doesn’t have to fight for this.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” he says, and offers his brother a reassuring smile. “I have much to tell you, but I’ll save it until you get here.”

Bluestreak beams. “I can’t wait.”

***

#Bluestreak #Prowl #Optimus Prime #Consortium AU #The Prime's Consorts series #series: The Prime's Consort #raw unedited fic #draco writes #draco writes fanfiction #open mic night answers #flash fiction fills #transformers #transformers au

22 notes · View notes

primasveraas-writing · 4 years ago

Text

Finnpoe- “the wave, to the ocean”

Poe dies after a lifetime spent together. Finn deals with the aftermath of losing his partner and other half. It's the hardest thing he's ever done.

WORDS: 3030

XXX

Poe dies on a quiet summer evening. Their bedroom, packed with children and grandchildren, is silent aside from muffled cries. Outside their home, crickets chirp, overlapping and loud, enough so that Finn is thinking of their noisy chorus when his husband takes his last breath.

Everything and nothing changes- the Damerons have been mourning preemptively, and Poe’s death is not sudden. There is only sorrow in missing him, rather than the opportunities lost with the end of a life. They cry and comfort each other, as they have done for so many days prior, and they do not need to conjure up funeral plans. Poe wrote his first will when he was 19, and since then, he merely edited and revised his wishes as his life evolved.

Finn experiences his first second, night, week, as a widower. He and Poe spent a lifetime together, and then there is nothing.

Nothing is not nothing. It’s the unification of his entire family, of old friends and beings from all corners of the galaxy. Decades worth of meeting, knowing, loving people. That is the relief to the pain, that he may be surrounded by all the lives he and Poe have touched. His children don’t leave his side.

Distinctly, Finn is aware that he needs them as much as they need him, but this is a role he has always struggled with. He hesitates to ask for help from the people who have just lost their father. They love and know him, but they cannot break through his veneer.

He can hide his grief with a gentle smile or a hug. It’s easier because he means it, but these moments are a droplet of joy amongst an ocean of sorrow. Still, on the surface, all appears well.

When Finn learned the ways of the Force, he became well attuned to the feelings of others. He knows the warm light of happiness, the fire of anger, and the stormy turmoil of pain. He knows that, try as one might, these feelings cannot be hidden or erased. He’s felt the pain of widows and the bereaved. It’s a beacon in the Force, overwhelming and blinding.

Rey can hardly look at him. He can feel her pain, he knows the hurt of his children. Finn knows that Rey must be drowning in his sorrow. He is lost, and he knows that Rey can feel this turmoil just as clearly as he lives it.

Yet she is the last to depart even after duty calls his children away. Weeks fade to months, and although there is no ground beneath Finn’s feet, something like normalcy returns.

It is not quite true that Rey leaves Finn. He examines what’s left of his life before him, and then he cannot stay on Yavin, in a place that still smells like Poe, every inch of their house defined by their life together.

Finn finds a quiet corner of the galaxy, and he goes. Rey discovers a brief holo explaining why he’s left, and that is all. There’s a few frequencies she and his family can call on, but no coordinates with which to find him. It’s him and BB-8, and Finn is really, truly alone, for the first time since he was 21.

In his new bed, it’s less strange to wake up alone. The mattress is smaller, and the sun shines in at a different angle than it did in his room on Yavin IV. Sometimes, there is still a phantom warmth next to him, and in the moments before Finn fully wakes, he can feel Poe there beside him. He’s not sure, but Finn thinks that he talks to Poe then. It makes his heart ache when he realizes, like a black hole in his chest weighing him down and sucking him into unfathomable depths of despair, because reality quickly sets in and he is talking to thin air.

He misses Poe. He wishes, more than anything, to hear his laugh, to have a conversation with him about the weather or something trivial, to hug his husband or hold his hand. He misses the warmth of his embrace, and he remembers the comfort that came along with it, but Finn remains cold and alone. Unreachable by design, by space and depression and grief.

Finn will heal by himself, first. He will experience every part of this pain, and that’s how it will be. The tide must swell before it can recede.

In the beginning, beautiful things do not inspire him to live. The sun shines after rain, and Finn thinks to himself that he would be at peace, if he rejoined the Force at this moment. He wouldn’t be without Poe any longer. That would be good. That would be easier.

So he waits to do just that. It has been so long since he’s lived without his family that Finn doesn’t expect to last long without them. He settles down on a small farm by the seaside, and a boy from a local village brings him food every week. He spends most of his days reading or watching the waves crash on the rocks below him.

Finn waits to die and he waits for the grief to lessen in the meantime. It follows him wherever he goes; it is his only companion, aside from a lonely droid and a child who doesn’t ever stay for longer than five minutes.

He misses his children. They are insistent on finding him, on visiting at the very least, but Finn declines every offer. He doesn’t want them to see another parent waste away, or for them to be pulled under by his grief. It is better, for everyone, that he is alone.

Finn weeps more during that period than he ever has before in his life. It hits him suddenly, making his knees weak and crumbling his resolve. He falls to the ground, hands covering his mouth to muffle the sobs. No one is there to hear him, but the sobs fight their way out anyway, and they always stop too soon, before any true release of sorrow can occur.

The beach, which is mostly jagged pebbles scattered below the cliff where he lives, is where Finn goes when he ventures to leave the house. He wonders, more than anything, if Poe would have liked it here, if they could have settled down here like they did on Yavin IV. It rains a lot here, too, but the air is dry instead of humid, and the air tastes perpetually of salt. Crickets still sing him to sleep every night, but they are joined by the rhythm of waves against the shore.

Finn likes this, though he thinks his husband would have never quite adjusted to this change. It’s peaceful here, but noisier than Yavin. It’s colder too, which Poe had never enjoyed.

Had never. Poe, in the past tense. This is easier to accept than the reality it belies. Now, he is away from the empty house and the grave. The only evidence of his loss is grief and memory, so perhaps this is why Finn thinks that maybe, just maybe, he could fly back home and find Poe waiting for him.

It is three months before Finn realizes: he is waiting for Poe. If he died, he would be reunited with him; if the grief disappeared, it could only mean a reunion. He is waiting for what may never come.

And he lives. And the grief never goes away.

Something like spring happens, half a cycle into his stay. The boy tells him in broken Basic that this means more rain, which Finn is surprised to discover is possible after endless days of downpour. After this comes planting season, which Finn surmised after living on a farming moon, with his husband who was raised on a farm. The boy laughs at him when he says this. Finn smiles for the first time in months.

It rains, and Finn lies in bed, wrapped in the blankets he brought from home, listening to the torrent against the roof. The cadence is different; the roof here is simple and stone, but if he closes his eyes, he can nearly imagine that he’s on Yavin, that Poe is beside him and they’re enjoying a lazy afternoon together.

This type of thinking hurts more than it heals. It happens on the nights that Finn cries himself to sleep. He longs for the past and impossible comforts, and the gaping hole in his chest widens.

His heart is dead weight in his chest, and it is cruel that he lives. There is nothing to live for. His family is strong enough to mourn him and live, and he has already shaped the galaxy into a place for them to thrive. There is nothing left for him in a universe devoid of his soulmate.

The boy and his family are harvesting the first of their crops. In addition to the plain bread and simple staples delivered to him at the beginning of the week, Finn receives a bag of purple berries and some other orange vegetables. He thanks the boy, who cites his mother, so Finn passes his thanks to the whole family. The next week, even more are entrusted to him, and Finn gains the impression that they have a surplus. When he grumbles that he’s only one person, that he can’t possibly eat this much, and that his droid can’t be expected to help him eat, the boy laughs at him again. Finn realizes he hasn’t talked to him beyond a brief thanks every week and a passing conversation once or twice. BB-8 is often powered down, too. It’s been a long time since Finn has heard laughter, or held a conversation.

He’s brought some sort of sweet bread the next week, made from the purple berries. Finn’s never had it before. It’s odd, to have lived so long and to still learn new things, especially in a place so lonely and from a being so young.

He asks the boy his name before he goes. It’s Becke, and he’s eight (this information seems attached to his introduction). Finn hadn’t known before. He hadn’t asked when he first arrived, only inquired to Becke’s mother if she knew anyone who could bring him groceries. She had nodded, and gestured to the blonde boy reluctantly holding her hand. He spoke the best Basic out of their family, and he needed to get out of her house more often.

Becke smiles at him, most of his teeth missing. It reminds him of a young girl, and her children that kept her parents and grandparents perpetually exhausted. Finn understands why his mother appointed him to this task.

Becke leaves that week, and this time, he hollers his goodbye over his shoulder as he retreats.

Finn smiles again.

Summer and fall mean that Finn is stuffed with fresh harvestables. Becke tells him about his afternoons helping on the farm, in short, slowly extracted sentences. Sometimes Becke comes in chattering (or complaining) about the work, and sometimes, Finn dares to ask a few questions. A rounded conversation takes a month and a half, but they both readily accept this pace. It’s enough for the attention span of an eight-year-old talking to an old man and the old man in question.

Becke talks about his family, and what he’s learning in school. It’s menial, yet Finn cares in the way that kind people do when a child talks. There are concerns and viewpoints only applicable through the eyes of a child, and it’s simpler than loneliness and pain, and one day, Becke spends an hour showing Finn his attempts at juggling with the fruit he brought that morning. He’s not exceptionally good at it, but Finn encourages him, and it is the lightest he’s felt since before Poe died.

The next week, Becke invites him to dinner with his family. Finn declines, but the week after that, another invitation is extended. He accepts.

Their communication is limited, but gestures and fragments of sentences are enough. They get by; Finn learns that Becke’s father and two older brothers have the same sense of humor as the boy- there is laughter to be found in even the most miserable of circumstances. Finn finds it hard to complain around them, especially when Becke’s mother, Ola, keeps loading his plate up with food, even once Finn starts protesting that it’s too much for him. The other men laugh, and Becke’s father tells him that no one can resist his wife’s will. So, he will be fed, and fed well.

By fall, Finn regularly makes the trek to their house for dinners. He helps Becke with his homework. Ola herself visits Finn, and the next afternoon, Becke arrives with cleaning supplies. Suddenly, Finn is not just looked after, he is cared for. He laughs and he talks, and he does not have to think of the grief and the pain.

He lives.

Sunset on the ocean is one of the most beautiful things Finn has ever seen. Orange light weaves through the tall grass on the edge of the cliffs and turns the water below golden. The skies fill with purple and pink clouds, mingling to create colors Finn has never dreamed of before.

He hopes, every evening, that he lives to see the next day’s magnificent sunset.

Finn knows that he could stay here forever, that he may live to see Becke grow into a man, that Ola will cook and clean and feed him until the end of his days. He is happy there, after thinking that he could never be happy again. There are simple and wonderful things, and Finn enjoys them all.

But as Becke gets older, and as the years pass, Finn thinks of his own grandchildren, how they must be growing and learning. They are without their Abuelo and their grandpa, and he does not get to see or know them.

If Finn returns, he will be reunited with those he loves most in the universe.

He will also have to face an old life, one that should have Poe in it but does no longer.

The choice is neither quick nor sudden. Becke is twelve; Finn is happy worlds away from Yavin.

But there is more. He misses his children’s laughter and the light of his grandkids. He misses his home and the richness of life in the jungle. He misses Rey and her eternal optimism, her smile.

He is not complete without these things. Infrequent, broken calls are not enough.

If he was meant to outlive Poe, then Finn must face that. He will do it, at last, with his family at his side.

Becke and Finn both weep when he leaves. He’d planned to do so on a sunny afternoon, but became delayed by last-minute repairs, so he hugs Becke and his family goodbye as the sun wavers just above the horizon. Its dying sunbeams illuminate Becke’s face, then the boy scrubs the tears off his cheeks. Finn manages one last goodbye before boarding his ship, and he watches the small family wave goodbye before they go, flying low towards the sunset before taking off to the stars.

He contacts his eldest first and tells her that he’s coming home. She breaks down in tears over the call, and promises to meet him on Yavin. They’ve missed him, she says, and they’re glad he’s coming home.

His children- three out of four who could make it in time- are waiting outside his house. They embrace him, holding him tight, and Finn does his best not to cry too excessively. He’s welcomed home, which matters most, and they’re glad to see him.

It hurts, to be back in the hastily dusted house. There are holos of Poe on the walls. His youngest son has Poe’s mannerisms; his youngest daughter has his same cheeky smile.

But he loves them, and it’s worth the pain.

He and the brunt of the grief are together again; he’s only a few klicks away from where Poe is buried. His children cling to his hands, and ask him how he is. BB-8 explains all of what he can of their absence, and when it’s Finn’s turn, all he can say is that he couldn’t stay.

Their acceptance of this fact hinges on Finn’s promises that eventually, he was happy. He was cared for and not truly alone. He came back to them.

His eldest corners Finn and tells him, with her jaw firmly set, that they missed him and in some ways, they lost both of their fathers at once. Finn bows his head and apologizes, but he could not stay. Without Poe, he had to learn to live again. He had to want to live again, and he couldn’t do that while so haunted by loss.

She doesn’t understand, not fully, but she accepts this and tells him she’s glad he’s home. He is too, and the joy of being back with his family overpowers the grief.

It’s storming, hours later, when they hear Rey arrive. She barges through the door, drenched, and wraps her arms around Finn, tears shining in her eyes. She missed him and she loves him, she murmurs, then she pulls back and offers him a watery smile

Finn had forgotten how much her presence lights up a room. Yavin hums with an energy that he has not felt in many years, and it rushes over Finn in excited waves. He can sense all the life nearby, from the frogs in the trees and the vines in the jungle, all the way to the tree standing over his husband’s and his parents’ graves.

There is beauty and life and death and pain. Finn can feel it all, and he knows it well. It’s pervasive throughout his life and his family and his home.

It’s a part of him and part of everything, and Finn understands. It will ache inside his chest then destroy him, and finally build him back up. Finn understands that he lives and will die loving and missing Poe.

But this is not the end.

“Picture a wave. In the ocean. You can see it, measure it, its height, the way the sunlight refracts when it passes through. And it's there. And you can see it, you know what it is. It's a wave. And then it crashes in the shore and it's gone. But the water is still there. The wave was just a different way for the water to be, for a little while. You know it's one conception of death for Buddhists: the wave returns to the ocean, where it came from and where it's supposed to be.” -The Good Place

#peep the hmp kids lol #finnpoe #finn #stormpilot #stormpilot fanfiction #stormpilot headcanons #stormpilot fanfic #finnpoe fanfic #finnpoe fanfiction #finnpoe headcanons #finnpoe imagine #stormpilot imagine #poe dameron #finn x poe #angst #star wars #Star Wars fanfic #star wars fanfiction

37 notes · View notes

theomengirl · 4 years ago

Note

hey this may be slightly strange but could i have levi with twin boys where one of them gets constantly picked it and made fun of and the other gets into fights all the time (probably with whoever was making fun of his brother) and how levi deals with those two? thank you so much!!

Thank you anon for such a lovely request and no, it’s not strange! The scene where Eren plays hero everytime Armin gets picked on instantly crosses my mind when i read your req lol. I’m sorry this took quite a while but i hope you’d like it! ❤️

- Troublemakers -

scenario: Levi got his hands full dealing with the twins

The troublemakers are at it again.

You could tell the moment when they got home. Fynn, who has bruises on his face, made his way inside while holding his brother younger by two minutes, Albie’s hand in his tight grip. The latter’s face was flat as he let himself being dragged inside the house by his brother.

You hurriedly approached and sat them down on the sofa. Holding an ice pack you got from the fridge, you started to apply it to the older one’s cheek in hopes the swelling will reduce, he hissed as soon as the cold towel made contact with his skin. Your other free hand grabbed another wet towel and used it to clean Albie’s face off of dirt, luckily he’s not wounded.

You took a deep breath before you speak while switching your glances between the two. “Now, who wants to talk first?”

“He meddled with my fight!” Fynn immediately pointed his finger at Albie. The accused one remained unbothered, taking the towel from your hand.

“Is that true, Albie?” you asked.

“He’d be turned into a pulp if i hadn’t intervened,” he said, cleaning himself up with the towel.

Fynn irked at the answer, his eyes were shooting lasers. “What?”

He stared at his brother. “You’re weak. I had to beat those guys for you or else, you won’t survive. You can’t even throw a punch at them everytime they push and insult you. It’s the fact, face it already.”

“I don’t need your pity,” Fynn’s blood boils.

“I wasn’t pitying you.”

He couldn’t contain his anger as he was about to get physical with Albie, but you get between the twins and stopped him before things become messier.

“Enough, you two!” you yelled. “Fynn, go to your room and keep on applying the ice pack. Albie, watch your words and apologize to your brother.”

The twins glared at each other. Heavy tension filled the household.

“I wish you’d never been born,” Fynn said coldly. He stood up and went upstairs to his room.

Not long after, Albie also headed to his room at the second floor as he doesn’t want to bump at the idiot on the stairs. You could hear him muttered it also sucks to have you as a brother as he walked off.

You plopped yourself down on the sofa. It really is hard. You always knew there’ll be fights between them but you didn’t expect it’d occur frequently. Did you and Levi’s parenting somehow went wrong?

The twins actually share their parents’ personalities. Fynn takes after you. He’s hot-tempered and easily rattled, he says what’s on his mind and a bit melancholic. In contrary with Albie who’s more like Levi. He’s laid-back and calm, but often gets salty and sarcastic.

Ever since they were born, they’ve always been treated equally by you and Levi. Setting up clear family rules, carefully looking after each child’s needs, coaching them how to get along well. Even both of you and Levi never get into a heated argument in front of the kids as it would set a bad example. So, what made them hostile towards each other?

You shook your head in frustration and head to your husband’s study room.

~~~~~

Levi heard someone knocking on his door.

“It’s me.”

“Come in.”

He noticed your troubled face as soon as you came in. “I bet it’s the brats again.”

You nodded hopelessly. You bent your body a little low and wrapped your hands around Levi’s neck while he remain seated, smelling his cologne. He instructed you to sit on his lap, working on the reports for hours has surely taken its toll on his body and he needs his wife to relieve it off of him, but he must deal with the two not-so-little-anymore Ackermans first.

You told him about what just happened as he strokes your hair. He clicked his tongue as he perceived the story.

“You go rest. I’ll call you once i finish teaching those kids some manners.”

~~~~~

First stop; Fynn’s room.

He was curled up on the bed, his back facing the door. He turned around at the sound of door creaking and frowned at his father’s visit.

“What’s with that face? Not happy to see your old man?”

He avoided Levi’s gaze. “What is it?”

Fynn offered some space on the bed for Levi to sit. Levi begins his attempt to reunite the brats twins. “Mind telling me what really happened everytime you guys bicker?” he emphasized on the word.

Now that he realized it, they never actually told their parents what was the sole reason of their fight.

Fynn was reluctant, but he finally spoke. “Those kids said i’m a failure as an Ackerman.”

Levi was about to go on rampage when he heard his kid is being insulted.

“I never got better whenever we train in combat. I didn’t agree with their statement so i challenged them, but...” he started to sniff. “b-but Albie always gets in the way and it gets worse for me. They told me i’m not cut out to be the son of Humanity’s Strongest Soldier because i’m such a wimp, only Albie does because he’s a natural like you, Dad. I hate him for that and his cockiness,” he ended his sentence and bawled his eyes out.

Levi quickly embraced his older son. He patted his bum. “Oi, those fuck- those guys are wrong on so many levels. What do they know about you? Tch. That’s fine if you can’t keep up with what i taught you. It’s all part of learning and i won’t ever get tired of teaching you until you excel by yourself. Albie, he did that to protect you. Once you become better, pay him back by protecting him too. Brothers are all about protecting each other, haven’t i told you that, brat?” Fynn looked up to face his father and nodded.

“And one more thing, Fynn Ackerman, your Mom and I are beyond proud of what you’ve become. Never underestimate yourself because you’re our biggest pride.”

He ruffled his son’s hair and he smiled widely. Now, let’s hear what the other has to say.

~~~~~

Second stop; Albie’s room.

He glanced as soon as Levi entered the room.

“Oi, Dad.”

“Don’t oi-ed your father, you brat.”

He grinned. This kid’s legit got his traits.

Levi sat beside him and asked the same question. To his surprise, Albie was really chill, unlike Fynn.

“Well... i don’t even know myself,” he scratched the back of his head. “He always goes about how i’m such a show-off or cocky. I saved his ass-“

“Language,” Levi warned.

He flustered. “Sorry, Dad. I saved him because he couldn’t do it by himself, was that wrong? Would he prefer to be beaten up instead? He should’ve realized that it’s not about pride whatsoever. You said that we should be there for each other, i only did what you told me. Also, those kids don’t know a damn- sorry, nothing about our Dad but that idiot let it got to him. Geez,” he stopped his rants.

Albie has a point. Maybe it’s only a matter of misunderstanding between the two. Fynn was hurt by strangers’ words and feels inferior. Albie on the other hand, is somehow shows natural skills when it comes to training and he prioritizes logic over emotions, that’s why he couldn’t relate. Levi decided to just get the facts straight between them and it will all turn out good.

“Guess i don’t have to worry that much about you. You’re fine as it is,” he let out a sigh of relieve. “But hey, do something about your sarcastic tone and don’t be so hard on your brother, okay?”

Albie raised an eyebrow. “Is it wrong? Mom said i’m a carbon copy of you-“

“Yeah, you are,” he made a mess of his son’s hair. “Anyhow, don’t forget that your Mom and I are the luckiest to have you in our lives. Got that?”

“Are you acting sweet now, Dad?”

Levi looked at him in disbelief. Did he just get teased at by his own son?

“Let’s talk it out between you two brothers and you’re not going anywhere until you two made up. After that, let’s do something to cheer your Mom up.”

~~~~~

You woke up to someone showers you with kisses all over your face, maybe not just one person?

You opened your eyes, slowly adjusting to the lights after your nap. There, you saw them. The twins and Levi -who was holding a tray, hovering around you. You noticed the tray was full with food.

“What’s this? Dinner in bed?” you chuckled.

“Sorry for making a scene, Mom,” Fynn said, glued to your left arm.

“Me too, Mom,” Albie was on your right arm.

Your mouth formed an ‘O’. “Is this your way of saying sorry, then? By spoiling me?”

“It was Dad’s idea, but he made us do the work.”

“Oi, how dare you guys take credits,” Levi complained.

You giggled at the sight happening before you. Maybe you would ask Levi later about how he tamed the twins, but for now you just want to enjoy some quality time with your family. You reached out your arms to hug Fynn and Albie, your two sweethearts, realizing that they’ve gotten quite big.

“You’re forgetting someone.”

Levi put down the tray and snuggled his body to your arms, not wanting to lose to his kids.

Again, Levi Ackerman got A+ for parenting.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot imagines #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #i stan dad! levi

186 notes · View notes

omgrachwrites · 4 years ago

Text

Still in Love with You - Sirius Black

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Request: ‘Heyya could I request a slytherin reader x sirius black where they get married after hogwarts but then the potters die and he goes away to azkaban and angst but then they reunite in an order meeting and fluff in the end? Sorry if this is to much lol. 💚’ @slytherpuffbitch

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of death

Words: 1419

A/N: Thanks for the request love, I hope this is okay and I hope that everyone enjoys it! And I know that the order wasn’t formed again this soon but for the purpose of this story I’ve changed it up a bit! Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think, also please let me know if you want to be added to my Marauders taglist, I love you all! xxx

The very best day of your life and the very worst day of your life occurred within a mere six months of each other. The best day of your life was when you and your soulmate were wed in that beautiful springtime garden, – neither of you wanted a church wedding – beneath the cherry blossom tree. Sirius had looked even more beautiful that day with sparkling grey eyes and the pink blossom petals that had fallen into his long ebony hair.

When his warm hand cupped your jaw and his lips met yours, you knew that this was it; you and Sirius would be together forever. Nothing and no one would ever come between you. If someone had told you when you first started at school that one day you would be married to Sirius Black and you were going to be friends with a load of Gryffindors you would have hexed them for merely mentioning it. But, here you were in front of all your friends, promising to love Sirius for the rest of your life and you couldn’t be happier. The wedding party was held beneath a marquee in a meadow full of flowers and it really was beautiful to be there with all your family, your friends and your godson Harry.

“I love you,” Sirius whispered in your ear that night as he held you beneath the velvet night sky that had been sprinkled with stars.

You smiled as you gazed up at him adoringly and you pressed a lingering kiss to his lips, “I love you too Sirius, did you ever think we’d be here?”

Sirius grinned as he rested his forehead against yours, “of course I did, from the minute I fell in love with you, I told James that you were the girl that I was going to marry. At first he wasn’t so keen because you were a Slytherin,” he joked, “but they love you, James and Lily, they really do and so do I.”

Six mere months later, the worst day of your life started with a blazing argument between you and your husband, and it finished with your best friends being murdered and the love of your life had been arrested for the crimes of mass murder and betrayal. Though the evidence was damning you refused to believe that Sirius murdered so many people and betrayed James and Lily. Something inside of you told you that he was innocent.

For the next couple of years you stayed in your job with the British Ministry of Magic but eventually you transferred to America. You had to get away from England and make a brand new start. Years passed by, years when you thought of nothing but Sirius and then that fateful day arrived when Sirius escaped from Azkaban. Hope and happiness bubbled in your chest; all you wanted to do was run home to your husband to show him that you still loved him. But you couldn’t go home, you were too scared, thirteen long years would have taken their toll and there was no way that Sirius was still the same person. You missed Remus but he came to visit you often.

Months later you received an owl from Remus, ‘Dear Y/N, Sirius is innocent – I’m sure you always believed that – it was Peter, Peter all along. He faked his death and betrayed James and Lily, and pinned it on Sirius. Join the Order and come home, we all miss you. Love, Remus.’

At first you were furious at Peter for ruining your marriage and a future with a man you loved more than anything. Then, the relief set in, here was confirmation that you had been right, Sirius was innocent. Tears pricked at your eyes as you clutched the letter to your heart and you hurried to reply to Remus.

‘Dear Remus, you’re right, I did know that he was innocent but it’s nice to have the confirmation. I’ll join the order, of course I will but I can’t come home, Remus you know I can’t. Love from Y/N.’

For a while you could serve the Order quite easily back in America, until today. Today you were going to be attending an Order meeting at Grimmauld Place and to say that you were nervous was an understatement. You smiled as you stepped out of the fireplace and into the kitchen, dusting yourself off.

“Good eve-“you trailed off when you locked eyes with Sirius and the breath was stolen from your throat and your heart began to ache.

He was still so handsome, how was that possible after all those years in Azkaban? His hair was a little longer and his cheekbones were more prominent. Those grey eyes that you loved so much were still so beautiful but they had a haunted look to them now and it broke your heart. His eyes should be so full of happiness. A look of surprise dawned on his face and you forced yourself to say something.

“Sirius,” you breathed.

He didn’t answer you; he just lifted a bottle to his lips as he looked away from you with a pained expression.

“Let’s get started shall we?” Remus spoke, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

During the meeting, you hardly heard what Remus or McGonagall was saying, all your focus was on the beautiful man sitting opposite you, the man you still loved, you had to explain yourself. As soon as the meeting was over, Sirius left the room and your heart jumped into your throat as you ran after Sirius and into the hall.

“Sirius, please wait!”

He must have heard the desperation in your voice because he turned to look at you with a sigh and he gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Y/N, it’s good to see you.”

He was speaking to you so formally that it broke your heart, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come home before now, I just couldn’t,” you finished lamely as you fiddled with your wedding ring that you swore around your neck.

Sirius let out a humourless bark of laughter as his pained eyes looked at you, “why did you stay away? Did you think I was guilty?”

Tears sprang to your eyes as you heard the hurt in his voice, “no of course not,” you sniffled as your eyes found the floor. You felt gentle fingers against your jaw and Sirius tilted your face up so you could look at him, grey eyes sweeping over you in concern, “I was scared,” you whispered, finally admitting your truth, “I was terrified that you wouldn’t love me anymore.”

Sirius’ eyes softened, “oh sweetheart. I have loved you since 5th year, since the moment you told me off for interrupting your study session,” he chuckled, “I love you now like I loved you then, and in fact I love you more. The thought of you kept me going in Azkaban,” he shuddered, “I still love you. How could you think that I didn’t love you anymore?”

Your eyes widened at his confession, he still loved you? “The last conversation we had was an argument and then I lost you, I lost you without telling you that I loved you. I was scared that you’d be holding it against me.”

Sirius gave you a genuine smile as he cupped your cheek, “I can hardly remember what that argument was about. All that I know is that I still love you.”

You smiled as your thumb rubbed against his bottom lip, he looked older but in his eyes you could see the old Sirius begin to emerge, “I’m so sorry Sirius, for everything, for not believing in us, for James and Lily and for the fact that you were in that dreadful place for so long.”

Sirius grinned as he shook his head and he rested his forehead against yours, “we can talk about all that later,” he promised, “Y/N, do you still love me?” he asked almost shyly.

You gripped the front of his shirt, feeling the soft material between your fingers, you captured his lips with yours, his lips were different now, they were slightly chapped but they were still warm. Sirius smiled against your lips as he kissed you back, cupping your cheeks. After a few minutes you pulled away from each other slightly breathless.

“Yes, I still love you.”

Sirius beamed at you so beautifully that you could have cried, “we’ll be a family again Y/N, I promise. I love you so much.”

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

Marauders taglist: @slytherpuffbitch @kashishwrites @siriusblackspam @smiithys

82 notes · View notes

worryinglyinnocent · 4 years ago

Text

Fic: Fascination

Summary: In a cursed Storybrooke, Mr Gold can't tell why he's so drawn to the pregnant librarian. There's a hole in his memories. A librarian-shaped hole.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling January moodboard prompt, available here.

Rated: G

Fascination

Mr Gold was not sure what it was about the little librarian that made him so fascinated, but there was definitely something about her that always drew his eye whenever she walked past the pawn shop. And since the library was almost directly opposite the pawn shop, such an occurrence happened quite a lot.

He supposed that the most obvious reason for his interest in her was the fact that she was very obviously heavily pregnant, and in addition to that, there seemed to be no significant other on the scene. Still, she didn’t seem to be at all perturbed or worried by the thought of entering into motherhood in a solo condition. In fact, he had never seen her anything other than bright and cheerful whenever she met people in the street, and from her interactions with the children who patronised her library, he knew that she was going to be an excellent mother when the time came.

He wasn’t quite sure why that was so important to him, or why it gave him a warm feeling in his cold and hardened heart when he thought about it. It was almost concerning how much he found himself looking forward to the day when he would see her with her baby in her arms or in a stroller. He wanted to meet the little one, and he had no idea why.

He didn’t make any mention of his fascination to anyone else in the town, of course. Hardly anyone ever came into the shop and noticed his abstraction for a start, and when he was making his rent rounds it was really not an appropriate topic for discussion.

The library and by association the librarian’s apartment above it was one of the few buildings in the town that he did not have an owner’s stake in, so he never got to speak to the little librarian face to face. He was only vaguely sure what her name was: Annabelle, Isabelle, something like that.

Nevertheless, when he went home to his very large and very cold home that felt very empty despite the fact that it was crammed to the rafters with stuff, he felt an odd sense of loss at being separated from her over on the other side of town in her snug little apartment. He just wished that he could remember what the connection between them was, because he was certain that there must be something causing these strange feelings. It was as if there was a gap in his memories somewhere. A little librarian-shaped gap.

The dreams didn’t help, of course. Odd, misty dreams that felt more like those missing memories than they did dreams. A huge castle and a little librarian - although not a librarian now, a little maid in blue and white. A castle crammed to the rafters with stuff, just as his house was. And in it a little maid in blue and white - although not a maid now, the lady of the castle in her own right, glowing with happiness and impending motherhood. Every time he woke up from one of these strange dreams he was left feeling even more confused than before, wondering if there was any truth in the visions that had swum before him in his slumber or if it was just his fancy, his subconscious desperation for love and company manifesting itself in this way, a desire that he had long since tried to suppress completely in favour of remaining aloof and retaining his reputation and hold in the town.

Then Emma Swan arrived.

When everything that had been lost and buried under layers of curse returned in a flood and all those memories fitted neatly into that little librarian-shaped gap, it took all of Rumpelstiltskin’s many years of keeping his guard up not to let slip that anything had happened. If he was sharper and meaner than usual with the people whom he passed in the street on his way home, well, it wasn’t exactly out of character for Mr Gold. (It wasn’t exactly out of character for Rumpelstiltskin either, because he was so many things to so many people that absolutely nothing was out of character for him.)

Once he was safely back in his own home, he sagged back against the door, looking up the stairs as if he were back in the Dark Castle in the Enchanted Forest and was looking up the main staircase towards his workroom in the tower where he knew that he would find Belle tidying up.

Belle.

After everything that had happened, how could he have forgotten her?

Well, he knew how, of course. It was the curse. She had forgotten him, too. They were all doomed to this life of forgetfulness, but his little failsafe had worked, and now he remembered - better late than never.

Belle was here. She was all right. Just as Regina had promised that she would be. And their baby was safe and well too.

With the flood of all his memories of his previous life, he saw the progression of their relationship as if it was all on fast-forward, and he had barely had time to register one scene flashing in front of his eyes before he was bowled over by the next one. He saw their tentative courtship through those first few months in the castle together, a flirtation that it had taken him a very long time to recognise for what it was and even longer to believe could be real. But Belle’s patience, kindness and perseverance had paid off, and their relationship had begun in earnest, going from strength to strength.

He remembered now, the torrent of mixed emotions that had buffeted him when she had told him that she was pregnant, and her calm and firm reassurance that he was not going to make the same mistakes of his first experience of fatherhood, that they would find Bae, and they would all be reunited as one big happy family, and that this child of theirs would be a symbol of hope and new life, starting afresh whilst never forgetting what had come before.

Rumpelstiltskin had been very much looking forward to that fresh start, but the curse’s casting was inevitable, and so it had arrived and torn them away from each other just before their child was born.

Still, even as it left him gasping for breath, the memories gave Rumpelstiltskin a new resolve.

Belle had to remember, by any means necessary.

“Good morning, Mr Gold.”

It seemed strange to Rumpelstiltskin that Belle should show no fear or loathing of him like the entire rest of the town did, but then again, Belle had never held any fear of him in all the time that they had spent together, and he was beginning to think that her bravery and her steadfastness were things that no curse would ever be able to erase. To do so would be to completely erase Belle herself.

“Good morning.” He still didn’t know her name in this world, but hopefully that wouldn’t matter. He needed to make her remember her old name and her old life, what did he care for her new one?

“What can I do for you today?” She was as bright and wonderful and sunny as she had always been back in the Enchanted Forest, and perhaps that was Regina’s gift and curse all in one. Belle was fundamentally unchanged in her demeanour. She was bright and happy, and she would have her baby and live a nice normal life - but she would be separated from Rumpelstiltskin, and thus separated from her true happy ending. What she thought of as happiness would always have something missing from it, something that she would never be able to define and would come in time to resent.

“Mr Gold?”

Belle was looking at him inquisitively with her head on one side, and it was at that moment that Rumpelstiltskin realised that he hadn’t answered her question and had just been staring at her for the last few moments.

“I, erm…”

“Can I help you?”

He hadn’t come into this with any kind of plan, and now he was really feeling the lack of one. This wasn’t like him, he had plans and contingency plans coming out of his ears, but he had been so eager to see Belle again in the full remembrance of her identity that all of his usual carefulness had gone completely out of the window.

“I’m…” He couldn’t very well say that he was a) the father of her child, b) Rumpelstiltskin and c) going to attempt to give her True Love’s Kiss to wake her up because she was currently under a curse.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to, for at that moment, Belle let out a sharp hiss of pain, touching her belly.

“Are you ok?”

She nodded. “Yes. He’s kicking. Really quite violently.” When she looked up, there was a huge smile on her face. “I haven’t felt him kick for…” She shrugged. “Ages.”

Of course she wouldn’t have done, because time had been standing still for the last twenty-eight years. At least being in stasis like this meant that she wouldn’t have been suffering too much from pregnancy complications.

“Do you know he’s a boy?”

Belle shook her head. “No, but I feel it in my bones. I’m sure he’s a boy.” Evidently another kick came as she moved her hand, and Rumpelstiltskin was quite alarmed as she grabbed his own hand, the one not clutching his cane, and pressed it against her stomach. She’d done it often enough in the Dark Castle when the baby had been kicking her then, but this was different; he was a stranger to her now.

“Feel that? It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Rumpelstiltskin could indeed feel the pressure of a little foot against his palm, but as well as that, he could feel something else. Something altogether entirely magical, something which he shouldn’t have been feeling in this land without magic at all.

Suddenly, Belle’s hand tightened around his with a little gasp.

“Rumpel?”

Her voice was barely more than a breath, but something inside Rumpelstiltskin shouted with relief.

“Hello, Belle.”

“Rumpel, is it really you?”

He nodded, and almost staggered as Belle threw her arms around him.

“How long have you remembered?” she asked.

“Just last night. The saviour arrived in the town and time started moving again. My failsafe worked. But how can you remember?”

No kiss had occurred, nothing momentous like that had happened to break the curse on Belle, and he could tell from the lack of commotion outside that it was not broken for the rest of the town or else there would definitely have been a lynch mob coming for Regina. And for him, most likely.

“I think…” Belle looked down at their hands, clasped over their child. “I think our baby recognised his papa.”

Rumpelstiltskin could only look on in amazement. They had always known that their child would inherit his magic, but he had never for a moment believed that it could have been the cause of the curse breaking for Belle and her remembering everything. His son was going to be a marvel indeed.

Belle just laughed and went up on her toes to kiss him, and everything else flew from Rumpelstiltskin’s mind immediately. They would have to be careful; they could not let Regina know that they remembered, not yet at least. But for now, they could rejoice in each other and in their reunion, and in the child that had brought them together in more ways than one.

#rumbelle fic #A Monthly Rumbelling #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #Rumpelstiltskin #cursed Storybrooke #cursed Rumbelle #Fic: Fascination

43 notes · View notes

aueua · 4 years ago

Text

Marona’s Fantastic Tale (2019) AU where the dog lives and others are happier. Idea bounced with @mushrium a few weeks back; details under cut.

Yes, I am aware that hardly anyone knows of this movie (but maybe more’ll know it now due to the streamer albeit even then this is unlikely to be a proper fandom, maybe, maybe not). Doesn’t matter. This now exists for archiving purposes.

First and foremost: Spoilers abound, don’t seek further if you don’t want them by any means - with that said, also good luck if you aren’t aware of what the movie is but I’ll do my best to give some context as necessary. (Post-edit: No clarification. Very sorry.)

See also: The movie is not for everyone but it can be appreciated artistically for its fluidity and variety of styles. There is also a lot of symbolism and the dog narrator is impeccable. I love Nine. I love her, I do.

Okay! Here we go.

Recall the [Lost Dog Sign] that is posted some scenes after Nine (protagonist, dog) left Manole (red and yellow, acrobat entertainer) and she’s picked up by Istvan beloved (Tumblr nose, big guy). Istvan may be driving and potentially distracted; however, he absolutely sees that sign. And it doesn’t quite click, not yet. He’s worried about his mother, his wife, himself, this dog. Dog... Dog! This doesn’t register until he’s arrived at his ill mother’s home. That dog on the wanted sign looks eerily like the one he just picked up... and come to think of it, it did seem well cared for...

So he fudges around, figures out what the number is.

An answer. And with one thing leading to another, Istvan figured that this guy is sincere: He loves this dog much like he does. (But he believed that Manole loved her more, deserved her more, and it isn’t likely he can bring her quite anywhere...) So. They meet up. Guy really is nice, but Istvan can see it - the acrobat’s nerves are a bit shot after all that worrying and desperation to find this dog again. Ana (dog), was it? (There was an inkling that he should call her Sara but Ana is also quite the nice name. It’s fine. And thank goodness, that he did not name her, since goodbyes would be worse.)

They part, and that is that. Istvan checked on his mother, returned to his choking snake of a wife (yellow skin ostritch, black fluff); Manole reobtained his beloved boy (girl, he knows), managed to get a contract that allowed him to work with her in the La Circe (???) troupe thingamabob since it was either them or nothing. Both of these two keep in touch with each other as Istvan is worried and, admittedly, attached to the dog after those moments in the dumps viva la his loneliness. Plus Manole’s a fun personality. He’s considered going to see one of his acts, once, but his wife’s a bit overbearing.

A bit overbearing, as in a time skip occurs and he still had yet to leave her toxic self, nor could he bear to see his mother but still stuck it through.

Come to think of it though. Manole is obviously happy, and so is the dog. He can’t recall a moment with his wife recently where he felt... happy, sincerely. Perhaps in the past, when he’d strum his guitar and skate around - free and without the exhaustion of judgment and micromanagement? He deserved better. There’s just no right timing, though, as he can’t find the motivation to work himself up and tell his wife they need a divorce for both of their own sakes.

And then his wife gave him the ultimatum: Her, or that stupid acrobat with the dog and his mother.

Well, well. Fine. He doesn’t need to pack much, and he doesn’t need to say anything. He’s rearing to go. The wife? Cocky. All until she realized quite quickly that he was serious, dead serious, and she begged and pleaded and smothered herself all over him trying to get him to obey her every whim just like before. That it was a joke, an act, a test to see where he would be really happy but she needed him and who else would indulge her needs and fluff up her ego with the beefcake of a man?

Too bad! He’s gone, but he’s also an incredible mess and it was incredibly short-notice and maybe he should’ve thought things out better, but he’s free. He’s never felt so relieved. It’s quite cold, dark, and alone, but everything seems so much more colorful and bright now but also he really should find a place to say and strangely, his immediate thought is to call up Manole -- but he’s asleep, isn’t he? Or working? He shouldn’t bother him, he should go to his mother. But...

He called. Decided that if he did not get an answer, he would let him know another time (never, really). And nobody picked up. So as he’s ready to drive out, he gets a call: It’s Manole. He picked up, and he heard the groggy-confused voice of an acrobat ringing out with the delightful barks of Ana in the background to give him the image that oh, she must have woken him up, and oh, he’s smiling. They chat for the night. As in. They meet up again, and the two take a quiet stroll out with Ana, and Istvan gets to vent, tell his story. (His little audience is quite expressive too, he noted. Loose red strings of disbelief and high-pitched barking. Dramatic flailing of arms, a growl.)

In the end, they have to rest. Manole and Ana depart (with Manole insisting that they continue their little interactions and that Istvan finally comes to one of his showings, he swore he’d make it worthwhile - Ana agreeing in her little pip), and Istvan is home. A home of memories. Bad, good, but a place that made him nevertheless and he supposed... he should probably go to that therapist Manole recommended. He gave his word that she was fine; she had helped him back then, too, when things were dire.

Solange was her name. And oh, she was understanding - the best, at least for his circumstances. He revealed his feelings, and she helped him through most of it - enough that he was in better shape than before. Enough that he can lift his head high even with his impressive stature. But - he did ask, out of polite curiosity. What was it that made her want to be a therapist?

And it was an easy answer, the way she’d told it. A deadbeat father, a single mother with a cat and her father - her own grandfather. She had been... rebellious, in a sense, and she was a menace to her family. They had financial issues, relationship issues, the works. It was only until they’d discovered the (grand)father dead that things really started to change. Viva la insurance money, they were able to handle most of the debt and loans. She felt more inclined to... help, seeing as how badly-shapen her mother was, mourning and all. And during that - she realized it was something she wanted to pursue wholeheartedly.

Overall, they’re happy. Istvan and Manole eventually get together (after a long amount of time, only when Istvan was ready to open himself up again - easier, when he’d started acting as accompaniment as (a tech) crew and occasional musical act in the streets and they realized how well they clicked). Ana thrives (with a few other secret nicknames that the others gave to her; well. She doesn’t mind.) Solange occasionally helped out in using her artistic skills with some of the advertisements.

They’re all comfortable. They’re living.

That is all.

SUMMARY:

・[Overall] The canon diverges with Istvan actually noticing and recognizing the missing dog poster Manole put up. Manole and Ana are reunited. Istvan eventually divorces his wife and gets therapy from Solange, and Istvan is later friends (or more than that, ah-heem) with Manole.

・[Manole] Acrobat for that dreamy circus, but with a dog.

・[Ana] Dog! Beloved! Living! Happy! SO Happy. Maybe gets to meet her old litter of siblings again.

・[Istvan] No more toxic wife that tries to control and restrain him with false affections and silly desires built on creating a dumb image! Musical fun time! Also lifts and flexes.

・[Solange] On good terms with mother now! Grandpa is deader than dead but it’s for the better, promise. Insurance money and her mother made her realize she’d wanted to be a therapist. Occasionally does art for Manole’s circus thing.

No I did not proofread this. I do not care. I have self love, and this is, in fact, indulgent.

#[ watched it a second time earlier ahehe ]#[ ''I bet there's an au about this!'' -> The fandom does not exist therefore no. The AU doesn't. ]#[ (hashes out a whole verse after the movie like clowns) :handshake: ]#mushrium

23 notes · View notes

prettyflyshyguy · 4 years ago

Text

Oops I wrote more C virus stuff

I got super energised and spent all night drafting up a one-shot about what happens when Ashley reunites with Leon post RE6 in the C-Virus AU cannon. It’s unfinished and is very much a draft, but I’m excited so I wanted to post what I have so far. I intend on compiling a bunch of these together and putting them up as chapters on AO3 and Fanfic.net once they’re edited, featuring various different characters.

You came this far just to become a Monster - The Aftermath

A brief summary: Ashley visits Leon while he’s stuck in quarantine. It gets a bit emotional.

I’m assuming the President in RE6 was the same in RE4 despite the uh long time difference between the two games. It’s 9 years and I’m Australian so I know nothing about American politics but I think a president can only serve 8 years in one stint so uh maybe he’d just been elected in 4 and was just running out of time before he died in 6? I’m rolling with that for the sake of my head-cannon/AU storylines. It makes sense given Leon was described as being good friends with him, and we can assume the friendship started once he got Ashley back home safely after the events of 4.

Given Ashley was 19/20 during RE4 she should be 28/29 post RE6 depending on her birthday.

The conversation with Hunnigan echoed in her mind as she walked down the labs corridor.

“While pursuing Chief Security Advisor Simmons, Leon became infected with the C Virus. He’s OK, don’t worry. It’s just we’re still running tests to make sure he’ll stay ok.

I know the report I gave you didn’t have much to go on in it, I’m sorry. I wasn’t allowed to provide you with much more information. You’ll just have to wait until you can see him for yourself.

He’s happy to talk with you, you can go down to the labs today if you’d like.”

“He’s happy to talk? You mean I can’t see him?”

The warm smile was betrayed by the sorrow in Hunnigan’s eyes.

“He’s still adjusting to everything. He’s spoken to a couple of our doctors and he’s dealing with a lot of internal negative emotions right now, about what people think of him. I don’t think the tests are helping.”

Hunnigan reached out and gently held Ashley’s hand, squeezing it lightly.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be happy to have you visit. It’s what he really needs right now. Trust me.”

Standing outside the viewing room door, holding her keycard at the ready, she steeled herself. The way the security staff described the setup, Leon had access to a shutter system on the viewing window, giving him control over how and when visitors can see him. It allowed him much needed privacy given his life since coming home was endless tests and scans and scientists.

Tapping her card against the reader, the light flicked green and she heard the lock release. Pressing down on the cold handle, she slipped inside. There was a small coffee table near the viewing window, the shutter was down. A few chairs were on the far wall, she pulled one up to the window and sat down. On the table there was a remote control, it looked custom made for the setup. It only had a handful of buttons, the most important of which was a ‘call’ button that she was told would alert Leon that someone was in the room, and a ‘mic on’ button. The room had an inbuilt microphone and speaker system to allow comfortable communication even if large groups were there.

It felt uncomfortably sterile. Worse than a hospital. She looked up to the top left corner of the room, where a security camera stared back. She was also told Leon had access to the feed. She wondered if he was watching now? Hunnigan said she’d call ahead. Was he waiting for her to do something first? Would he be upset that she was so hesitant?

Shaking off the feeling she hit both buttons on the controller and flashed a smile and a wave towards the security camera, for good measure.

A moment passed before she heard a light clicking sound on the intercom, before a voice emerged.

“Ashley, hey…”

She was surprised that he sounded so… Normal. She wasn't sure what she expected, no one had given her any information other than that he’d been infected but he hadn’t lost his mind. There was an extensive report written about the events that went down, she’d been able to convince the BSAA to let her read a copy of it but it was heavily redacted. Particularly the parts pertaining to Leon.

“It’s… good to see you.”

She was relieved to hear the sincerity in his voice, despite how slightly rough around the edges he sounded. He was Leon, that hadn’t changed. But she could tell he was different all the same.

“It’s good to, uh, hear you, haha..”

Her feet shuffled, she started bouncing one leg. Looking longfully at the window glass with the shutter still closed. She was fine with phone calls but this was making her nervous. It hadn’t been that long ago that they’d last spoke, that they’d last caught up in person.

“I’m sorry, about your dad. I’m sorry I couldn't make it to the funeral. I’m sorry for everything, Ashley.”

“It’s ok, Leon. You did everything you could.”

Despite the lack of contact, the uncomfortable fog in the room was palpable for both parties. Her leg bouncing rate increased. Shuffling could be heard over the intercom speaker. They each heard the pain in the other’s voice. The wound was still fresh and very deep.

Not wanting to have that conversation to a wall, Ashley attempted to change the subject.

“So how are you holding up? I mean with the tests and everything. Hunnigan said you shouldn't have to be in isolation much longer.”

“Uhh yeah… It’s fine. I’m doing fine.”

She let out a small sigh.

“You can’t bullshit me, Leon.”

Silence.

“You’ve been stuck inside that room for almost three months now. You must be tired of it, and lonely.”

She paused, before continuing.

“When I got back from Europe after you rescued me, they kept me in isolation for precautionary testing for two weeks. They were paranoid I guess. I know for you they didn’t need long to clear you of any issues. Those two weeks were the worst of my life.”

“Worse than being injected with a mind-controlling parasite?” he joked back.

“Much, much worse.” she playfully replied, “I didn’t have a strong, capable, and handsome government agent to save me from a bunch of creepy scientists in hazmat suits.”

She heard what sounded like a muffled laugh. A smile crossed her face.

“Unfortunately for me the only ‘strong, capable, and handsome’ government agent I know is limited to Visitors on Wednesdays only.”

This made Ashley giggle suddenly, the first time she’d properly and genuinely laughed since before the C-Virus incident even occurred.

“When I came home, Dad was so worried. He just wanted to make sure I was gonna be ok. He was always so busy and worked so hard. He just wanted to make sure he could change something for the positive. In the end you made sure that happened. You and Helena.”

A tear rolled down her cheek and gently dropped off her chin. Followed by another.

“I’d known Simmons for just about my whole life, he’d had family dinners with us, we’d visit his house frequently. Dad had confided in him about so much I just… I can’t believe he’d betray us like that. I can’t believe he would be so selfish.”

The tears were making it hard for her to see, her words were mixed in with sharp breaths as she began to sob.

“He killed dad and all those people, after everything, he just fucking killed him and killed everyone else and burned it to the ground all for what!! And now he’s gone and I don’t know what to do, Leon I just don’t know what to fucking do!”

She cried for a moment, letting the anger and the grief flow. Purging her system, letting it out. As she started to calm down she pulled a packet of tissues from her bag, to clean her face.

“I want to make a difference. I want to do something, like dad did.” she said slowly through strained breaths.

“I never want to feel helpless and small ever again. After you rescued me in Europe, after everything you did to stop Simmons, I want to do something for the world too.”

She glanced up at the security camera, as if it would respond back somehow. Hoping he was watching.

“You and dad made me realise what I wanted to do with my life, what I cared most about. I even changed my college degree to International Relations when I got home but I mean, you already know that. Now with the BSAA here, I’ve asked Hunnigan if she can help me shift my career slightly, and work with you and everyone else here.”

“Really? You want to work for the BSAA?”

She nodded, not knowing if he could even see. Taking the moment to have a drink from her water bottle to gather herself.

“... I’ll put in a personal recommendation, if they’re still accepting those from me after everything.”

“Thank you Leon, I’m sure they will.” Ashley smiled.

“Well if they let me do anything, once the tests are cleared, I’d like to go visit your old man with you. If you don’t mind. I couldn’t be there for the funeral so… “

“Of course Leon,” she wiped a tear from her eye, “I’d love that. I’m sure dad would too.”

“I think you’d be great here, we need more people like you Ashley.”

“Of course, someone needs to be around to stop you getting into more trouble right?”

She was hoping for a smart ass response, a laugh, a quip, something. Her comment was met with silence. Her heart sank.

“What happened to you, Leon?”

He avoided responding, she could hear more slight shuffling noises.

“I know you feel uncomfortable, god knows I would too. Everyone’s talking about you, saying you’re a hero. You and all the others that worked together to stop the C-Virus from spreading. You saved people's lives.”

“... I don’t think you’d be calling me that if you could see me right now.”

The most she’d gotten to read about the effects of the virus on him were small comments about carapace and ‘external structural changes’. In all honestly she had no idea what he looked like, if he was even recognisable. She didn’t really know how to ask, besides the fact she really only knew Hunnigan well enough to be confident posing the question.

“I wouldn’t know. No one’s shown me any photos of you. I have no idea.”

He was silent again.

“But you’re still you, in the end. Does it matter what you look like?”

“It does when you look like a monster.”

She recoiled slightly at the tone of his voice.

“When I was in China, when it happened. It didn’t really matter to me. People's lives were at stake, Simmons was out there, I embraced it in the moment because I couldn't let people down. I needed to do something. I couldn't just give up and avoid facing the world. But now? I’m stuck in this cell and every few days I get more needles poked into me and more scans and more people asking me stupid fucking questions and I just.”

He paused suddenly. Breathing for a few moments.

“I can’t deal with all of this. I’m as good as a lab animal now. And why would anyone think any differently if they saw what I’ve become.”

“C’mon, don’t say that.”

Suddenly the shutter began to move upwards, a brighter light from the room beyond the glass spilling in. It took Ashley a moment to adjust before she could fully stare at the figure sitting opposite her.

“If you were in trouble and the thing that came to help you looked like this, would you still call it a hero?”

#Leon Kennedy #Ashley Graham #C Virus AU #Resident Evil 6 #Resident Evil #fanfic #fic #Look I got way to excited about this and just knew exactly what I wanted to write #so have this very rare burst of Text from me #I'm enjoying practicing writing interactions between characters and focusing a lot on the interpersonal relationships #I'm trying to pack a lot in there #nods to other characters #reflections of the past game events #how things might change in a characters psyche after they experience something big #I hope you enjoy and if you have any feedback I'd love to hear it #because this is a draft and its almost 6am and Ive been awake a long time

47 notes · View notes

9r7g5h · 5 years ago

Text

Also, something to consider - Ruby, at the end of this, is so full of anger and rage that she goes to her father, shaking, unable to hold it all in. So he teaches her that she doesnt have to. She can channel those feelings forward, turn them back against the world instead of inward, and by the end of it she ends up taking levels in barbarian.

Specifically, barbarian of the path of Ancestral Guardians. She doesnt even know that she is at first, she's just a normal barbarian, trying to get a handle on the anger and rage and fear, but then in the middle of a battle she's knocked on her ass, her bow useless at such close quarters, and there's a sword coming right towards her, she's going to see Jet again, she's missed her so much, I'm sorry Mom, Dad, I didnt mean-

The sword stops, close enough to graze her skin, but not enough to break it. Its held in an spectral hand, and smirking down at her? Speaking in a ghostly voice that's just loud enough to be heard, still with all the snark she had in life?

Jet smiles down at her little sister and pushes the sword away, helping her to her feet. Surrounding her are their aunts, more then ready and willing to help out one of the last remaining Rock family members, and between them all, the tide of the battle turns, especially with Jet once again at her back.

And this is something Ruby can do at any time. So, when things calm enough, and she can get her parents together in the same room? She reunites the family. Reunites her father with his lost sisters, her mother with her lost lover, and she with her lost sister, the entire Rocks family in the same room for the very first time.

Its rough, lots of tears and ghostly, semi-corporial hands wiping them away, trying to help bring about the peace that was never given. The sisters scolding and praising Amethar in turn, Laz apologizing for leaving Caramelinda, ghostly kisses on her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, Jet apologizing to her parents and the two of them just glad to get to see her again, even if she's way too young and spectral.

Its glorious, in it's own way, to have them all together again.

And after the war, it's a regular occurence. Caramelinda and Amethar dont wed again - instead, Caramelinda and Laz start up some strange, ghostly courtship, because even in death their love for each other has never wavered, and even though Laz knew that she would most likely die in the war, she chose to be selfish and accept the betrothal to Caramelinda, because she couldn't pass up the chance to love her. Amethar reunites with Catherine Ghee, his first wife, and begins building a life with her, the first woman he loved, having accepted that Caramelinda never loved him, just married him to keep the peace. He's happy she's happy. And whenever his sisters come to visit, he's happy to spend time with them, making up for the years that he lost without them. And Ruby once again gets to see Jet, seeks her council as the years go on and she becomes the queen she didnt want to be, but must for the peace. They support each other again, just like the did for the entirety of Jet's life.

And, even though it takes a while for him to accept, eventually, scruffy old chocolate rabbit, carrying a peppermint pig that's more then happy to jump into Liam's crying arms, accepts Ruby's call, and comes to see the rest of his living family.

#D20 #Dimension 20 #ACoC #d20 acoc #a crown of candy

203 notes · View notes

joontier · 5 years ago

Text

The King’s Guard | Chapter 2

–> Pairings: kim seokjin x reader; jeon jungkook x reader

–> Rating: R

–> Genre/warnings: M U C H A N G S T; y’all I even cried while writing this sksksk why do I torture myself like this; slightly graphic mentions of dead people, mentions of blood, super slight gore; suggestive language, SMUT AGAIN (voyeurism, shit why do i expose myself too much, petting, unprotected sex, kitchen sex)

–> Word count: 8.8k

–> A/N: Korean vocabulary used will be placed at the end of the chapter :-) Also, all history indicated here is fictitious, then again, it is fan fiction after all. ALSO, GOOD LUCK WITH THE END OF THE CHAPTER ;) tell me whatcha think!!!

The King’s Guard - Masterlist || navi.

The King’s Guard | Chapter 2

The warmth in the room makes you stir in bed, the sun’s rays attempting to peek through the paper windows creating too much discomfort for you to continue your beloved slumber. As you turn your body, you see a scroll accompanied by a carnation on your bedside table. Hastily reaching for the scroll, your other hand clutches onto the blanket to cover your chest.

Your stomach drops. With trembling hands, you open the message. No, No, No. NO!

“My love,

Truthfullly, I do not know where to begin, nor do I know why I am writing this in the first place. What I can be somehow certain of is that I do not have full confidence that my plans shall come into fruition. I guess this letter shall provide me with the least solace for my judgments. The matters of the south have cost me sleepless nights and days, moments that I could regrettably have spent with you, and for that I am truly sorry. It pains me that you might have perceived last night a selfish act to heed to the wants of the flesh but know that every word I have uttered during our throes of passion was not made in jest.

I will not have to lie – you carrying my children, the two of us finally creating a family – the thought alone gives me unparalleled happiness. In the near future, I desire twelve children with you representing the twelve lunar animals, that is, if you allow me to do so. I will be satisfied with eleven, if you must.

Great is the pain that I have to bear with my decision, but great too is the weight of my duties to my country. You of all people have reminded me of that. It is treason against the country for me not to find a way to make amends, yet is treason against my heart to have left you like this.

Alas, I too am scared myself with this journey that I must take, but your love and prayers shall give me strength. My queen, I ask you to not worry much for I did not come unprepared, for I have brought with me the greatest warriors known to our nation, and they shall stand by my side, should the time come that our peaceful exertions shall lead to one of violence.

If, however, may our ancestors and the gods forbid, that the circumstances shall not permit me to return to you, the only love of my life, I cannot ask you remain alone without me in this cruel world because that would be most selfish of me. Live and indulge yourself in the pleasures of life, my dove, continue your flight in this world even if it no longer has me in it.

If I truly have gone for good, I want you to be happy. I am begging you to be happy. Find a man that shall love you from the tiny mole by your forehead to the tips of your toes. Find a man that shall cherish you for your entire being, find someone that shall bestow upon you love more than you deserve, just as you have done the same to me and to the people around you.

Let this reassurance console you that the happiest days of my life have been from your love and affection, and that I die loving only you and with a fervent hope that our souls shall be reunited after this and will have to part no more. Just because I would have passed away does not mean I am not with you, I will always be here looking over you, keeping you safe. Should the day come that you succumb to the sadness of my loss, just close your eyes and I will be by your side in an instant.

This is goodbye to your kisses that shall continue to linger on my lips even if I could not have them again. This is goodbye to your caresses that have kept me warm during the harsh, cold winters. This is goodbye to your endless patronizing that has grounded me through the many decisions I had to make. And finally, this is goodbye to you, my angel, my sweet carnation.

With every word written comes forth a tear, and I fear that I may not finish this letter without wetting the entire page. I will have to leave shortly, and now I will leave your security to the hands of our new captain. He has my trust.

Know that I would have traded a decade of my life just to spend ten more breaths with you. I love you, my queen, with all that I was, with all that I am, and with all that I ever will be.

Seokjin”

A loud, broken sob escapes your lips. Your cheeks become wet with tears, visible wet patches staining your blanket. You let yourself fall back to the bed, body crumpling in anguish. How could you have let him go? You curse at yourself for letting sleep take over you again earlier, when he was already at arm’s reach, so close to forbid him from leaving.

You stay like that on the bed for a few moments, body quaking with distress and clutching onto the piece of paper close to your chest. This was it. Although there was still a part of you that Seokjin will come home to you in one piece, your brain is already betraying you with images of your husband covered in blood, left lifeless in the middle of the road.

Crying harder at the image, you try to muffle them with your blankets that vaguely smell of Seokjin. Your chest constricts. You already know he had intentions of visiting the south even with your constant reminders of the dangers of the south. Your heart clenches when you recall the one time you had argued about it.

‘It’s a lost cause, Seokjin.’ You already felt that one thing was going to lead to another and this conversation was definitely going to end up in an argument.

“What I am I supposed to do here then? Stand and join festivities while my own people are being attacked by rebellious troops? While riots occur on the daily? While there are people dying of hunger on the streets?”

“No! I- That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what am I to do then?!”

“I just—If you go there…” You hiccup, unable to continue when your lips start to tremble. You choke as you suppress a sob, covering your face with your hands as you start to bawl your heart out. Seokjin flees toward you, apologizing profusely as he had probably scared you with the risen pitch of his voice. “Shhh,” he engulfs you in a hug, pulling you close to him.

You begin to calm down after some time, the warmth of Seokjin’s body easily consoling you. Your husband doesn’t let go when you finally catch your breath and your grip tightens around his waist, creasing his durumagi.

With your voice slightly muffled as your mouth is pressed against your husband’s chest, you continue talking, knowing that Seokjin will have no problem comprehending your words. “I’ve lost everyone because of them Seokjin. My father, my real mother, my friends…” you sniff, wiping your cheeks with the sleeves of your jeogori. “Please,” you beseech, “I can’t lose you to them too,” your voice cracks at the thought, eyes brimming with tears once more.

“I won’t let that happen, love.” He doesn’t know that.

You feel your chest starting to heave again, Seokjin slowly guides you to the bed, seats you both, and lets you lay your head on his lap as he rests his own on the wall adjacent to the bed. Gently, he strokes your hair until you finally, truly calm down this time, silent tears now rolling down your cheeks.

The words are heavy on your lips, every emotion rolling off your tongue as you say the words you dread the most. “They’re going to kill you Seokjin.” You take his hand and rest it against your cheek, his hand still seemingly larger with the way your two hands are clutching onto it. You continue with bated breath, “Maybe even before you enter the southern gates, maybe even before you get a single step out of the capitol...” Your voice comes down to a whisper when you repeat your earlier words. “They are going to kill you.”

You tilt your head a little to take a good look at your husband. You see the faint stubble just under his chin. He probably hasn’t shaved yet with the lack of free time on his hands. Shamelessly, you always imagine what he’d look like with a beard but you’re willing to bet your life that he’d be just as handsome as he is now. He keeps on shaving it, much to your dismay, countering that he doesn’t want you to feel and discomfort or itch when he kisses you. You’ll have to leave your bearded Seokjin fantasies somewhere in the future. If the future still has Seokjin in it.

In the past, the five major cities of Korea never got along. It was more of an unspoken rivalry for years on end between the kings and their subjects. People from the east took pride on their agricultural lands and livestock, the westerners’ livelihood depends heavily on lumber, northerners brag about their coal mining and fishery, the south leads the nation’s masonry and defense, and finally, the capitol is the center of textile and is otherwise known as the home of the scholars.

Combined together, this nation would have been unconquerable. But these royals are still human beings and human beings are vulnerable to temptation, constantly fueled by the idea of acquiring something that another does not have.

Unfortunately, a nation with citizens that had no sense of nationalism was the perfect target, the easiest to penetrate for the colonizers. The promises of an alliance to a foreign nation seemed to great an offer to decline. Fools. Just like that, the foreigners tricked each king to go against the other cities – their own people, their own blood. Empty promises drilled into empty heads. Blinded by inane vows of wealth and power, these people who call themselves leaders never knew they were being deceived altogether.

That is, until King Seokwoo of the capitol, Seokjin’s father, realized the deception early enough to stop the war but too late to pacify the nation’s internal turmoil. With his heart and dignity on the line, the brave king of the capitol had gone to the other kings to make them realize their mistakes, their greed, and their shameless thirst for power.

Nobody wanted to believe him at first, not when he too was a part of it all. He apologized in court – the one thing a king never does. He put his pride on the line for the country he loves, bowing his head in front of the other kings, and their respective advisors. King Seokwoo knew he was going to lose his credibility like this with his heart and pride on his sleeve, but only he knew, and only he understood, that a king should not be loyal to the throne and the power it holds, but to his country.

Only when he revealed the scrolls of plans he stole from the colonizers that they collectively decided to temporarily set aside their present caprices and decree a pact for the good of the nation. For once in a very long time, the kings had agreed on one thing.

That night, they had agreed to choose a king to lead the fight against the colonizers – the king who would lead Korea back to greatness. Three kings, in honor of Seokwoo’s bravery and humility, chose him to be the leader of the nation. Only one king of a city voted against Seokwoo as King of Korea – your father.

“My Queen?” A soft voice calls from outside your door. Haesoo.

“Leave, Haesoo.”

“Jungjeon-mama, please. You have not left your room all morning, and lunch—”

“I said leave!”

You recoil the moment the words spill from your mouth. You hadn’t meant to snap at her, she was your favorite court lady after all. She was stubborn, above all things, and you likened her to your younger self that’s why she earned your favor the most. But her adamancy only causes her more trouble, especially in times like these. Perhaps her slight insensitivity came with her youth? You’re certain that you’ve caused worry because of your audible wailing earlier, but company was the last thing you needed right now.

“Yes my Queen.” She replies, voice small.

You don’t know how long you stay in bed like that, watching your chest rise and fall under the covers with every breath. Your head is swirling in emotions – fear, anger, misery. As you continue to stare into the ceiling, your stomach grumbles so you deem it wise that you have at least one meal for today - just enough to satiate your hunger and give you strength to face the rest of the day. But not before indulging yourself in your favorite bath first.

You stay much longer in the bath today – letting the water cause wrinkles in the pads of your fingers. Shoving your husband’s image to the back of your head temporarily, your thoughts drift to other the other predicaments you have to face while Seokjin is away. ‘You have to be strong,’ you mutter to yourself. For Seokjin. For the future. For Korea.

The court ladies get startled when you suddenly rise from the pool, one of them hurriedly draping a towel over you. You let her lead the way to a dressing room where your royal garments are neatly folded on a table. Staring at your reflection on the mirror, your eyes linger on the red marks littered across your torso. You feel your chest constrict one more time. Taking a deep breath, you repeat to yourself. ‘For Seokjin. For the future. For Korea.’

Chaeyoung waits until you have worn your undergarments and helps you with the rest of your hanbok. You can feel the nervousness radiating off her, clammy hands tying the ribbons on your dress. You can’t really blame her; this was probably the first time they have seen you this cold and distant. You usually made small talk with the court ladies, genuinely curious about their individualities and because they’re the closest you can get to your subjects.

Certainly, Seokjin’s leave also has the whole palace on edge. Everybody was aware of what was going on in the south, and with their king’s sudden absence this morning, word has been going around in the palace. You’re thankful that the palace workers are discreet with their whispering, but these wooden walls were never thick enough to maintain secrecy between two people.

You leave the room as soon as Chaeyoung finishes and you come face to face with a familiar red and white uniform. “Wangbi,” Captain Jung greets as he bows his head. “Captain.” You acknowledge, finding yourself looking up at him when you do so – he was taller than you expected him to be.

“I am under the King’s orders to watch you wherever you go, my Queen.” He tails after you when you start walking.

“And does that include the private royal baths Captain?” You turn to face him again.

He gets flustered at your question, quickly averting his gaze from you. Looking down, the captain shakes his head, muttering under his breath something along the lines of ‘security’ and ‘king’s orders’.

You don’t know what urged you to tease him like that – probably because of his innocent-like features that makes him so tease-worthy, but since his arrival and inauguration as captain of the royal guards, you can’t help but get drawn to the man. Sure, he was attractive with attributes of youthful exuberance on his face, that, and that he was a finely built man, taut muscles hiding underneath those silken robes. At least, that’s what you presume from listening to the whispers among the court ladies.

They also said he’s had quite the reputation from where he came from in the East, famous for his looks and even more famous for his ways of luring skirts to his bed. So, you’ve heard. Genuinely surprised at how these rumors even came out in the first place, it still makes you laugh when you recall the obscenity of it all, despite the court ladies supposedly being the spitting image of modesty observed in the palace.

The rumors are true. You could easily attest to that as you have personally witnessed it once, how the captain could easily captivate women with his face alone. But his charm wasn’t the reason why you seem to magnetize towards the captain.

During their inauguration day, as you were too preoccupied with how dashing your husband looks in official robe, you hadn’t been paying attention to the event, let alone the emotional speech that the captain shared to the crowd. It was only when you caught sight of the scar on his left cheek that got you so curious. You wonder where you’ve seen that scar before. He looks familiar. He feels familiar. You can’t put a finger on it right now, but you certainly feel like you’ve known Jung Jungkook from somewhere, sometime in your past.

You don’t realize you’re lost in your thoughts when a hand suddenly pulls you back by your elbow, stopping you from walking straight to a wall. “Jungjeon-mama!” The lady beside you exclaims. “My Queen, are you okay?” The captain behind you asks, his grip now loosening on your elbow. You nod sheepishly, dismissing the whole fiasco with an awkward cough.

“You can go ahead, Chaeyoung. I’ll be back by sunset. Make sure dinner is ready by then.” The court lady nods curtly in acknowledgment and bows before leaving the both of you. You turn your head to look at Jungkook who continues to stand by your side. “Shall we?”

“Lead the way, your Highness.”

You plan on spending the rest of your day in one of the most serene places in the palace. Besides yours and Seokjin’s garden, the doltap shrine is another place you head to for peace and quiet. The shrine, complete with a mini pavilion, is situated on a small hill, surrounded by the beauty of nature – a place so perfectly serene that only monks and royalty are allowed to visit to maintain its tranquility.

It’s significantly father than any other house or office in this palace that it requires quite a tedious, long walk and a boat ride across the Gaeun river. This is why you rarely visit the shrine, but on the days that you do, the wearisome trek is always rewarding. It’s perhaps part of the whole process of meditation, you presume, as the shrine is a place where you offer your greatest, deepest prayers.

The captain trudges behind you, unable to cope with your leisurely pace. He quickens his steps when he sees he’s falling behind, but when he deems he’s walking too close to you he slows his pace once more until he has to catch up again. You become curious at his strange feat, unable to stop yourself from asking him about it.

“Captain, have you not taken a leisurely walk like this before?”

“My deepest apologies, Mama. I am really not used to a pace like this.”

Who knew the greatly feared captain could be so mildly…amusing? Jungkook gets surprised when you let out a giggle after having stared at him for a moment at his confession. He is unable to stop the small smile etching into his face at the beautiful sound, deciding it’s something he wants to hear all day long.

“You are a mirthful one, Jung.”

There is a skip in the man’s heartbeat when he hears you say his surname – or, at least, the surname he’s been using since his arrival at the capitol. He supposes it satisfactory that he’s made you comfortable around him, enough for you to call him by his alias. Not like you were going to be on a first name basis anyways. Jungkook found it easier to keep up with your pace after your verdict.

You were beautiful. Well, you still are, and probably will be for a very long time. He wonders if you already had your portrait painted. It used to be a hobby he thoroughly learned and enjoyed from where he’s from and now it has blossomed into a business around his past village, selling portraits for a few silver coins. He takes pride in his paintings, having learned the skill from the virtuoso himself – his father. He was the first man in Korea to add colors to a drawing, bringing forth life to an inanimate illustration.

Even if Jungkook painted you though, it would probably be useless for him to do so, because a portrait - even if done on the finest paper or painted with the brightest colors, could never capture your real beauty, nor give justice to it. In the past, he had heard stories of what the queen of the capitol looked like, but none of these rumors had prepared him for the genuineness of it all. Your beauty was indescribable, but Jungkook only knew one description that fit you the best – that you are the epitome of a woman’s unadulterated pulchritude.

Jungkook could not question why the king is absolutely smitten with you, admittedly, the rest of the nation is. If you were a lady that belonged to the same class, he would have tried to capture your heart from the very start. Maybe in another life, perhaps. But to him, it wasn’t just your pretty face that made you so riveting.

Unlike any other woman in the nation, you were headstrong, refusing to submit to the societal morals and principles. You were the only woman who would stand proud and tall amongst a sea of men, and one gaze from you had the power to intimidate both man and woman alike. Undoubtedly, you were raised like that: to be the queen – with your childhood nurtured with doctrines and routines only afforded to a king in the making. That fact he knew all too well.

When you look to your left, he spots a red mark on your neck, just below the smooth slope of your jawline. He flushes at the sight of the rose-colored blotch staring back at him, the base of his neck turning red at the recollection of the events last night. Jungkook can see your lips moving as you talk but he can’t seem to hear you, let alone take his eyes off the love bite on your neck.

“Captain Jung?”

Jungkook coughs to mask his surprise, “Sorry, Jungjeon-mama. I thought I saw something in the woods. It must’ve been a squirrel or a small animal.” You nod your head in acknowledgement and reply, “We still must be wary. There are…people…who do not mean well…” your words fade, voice cracking at the thought of your husband. Jungkook notices your anxiety.

“I will protect you with my life, my Queen. Please do not worry.”

“Of course, Captain Jung. I believe you.” Giving him a small smile, you continue walking, your shoes softly squishing against the green dewy grass. It’s a beautiful day today: the sky is clear and the sun is out, compared to your heart which is now clouded with storms and thunder. You shall try not to dwell on your emotions today.

“So, enlighten me Captain.”

“Ah, but Mama, my life may not measure up to yours in terms of adventure.”

You raise an eyebrow at his reply. Your life story isn’t known to many, even a number of the citizens don’t even know you are a southerner. Gazing into Jungkook’s eyes, you look for any mysterious truth hiding beneath them, but you’re only faced with his curious doe-like eyes. You’re conflicted if you’re supposed to feel disappointed or not if he was truly a part of your past, but you’ll have to leave that for another time.

“Surely, it can’t be that uninteresting.”

“If you insist, Jungjeon-mama. But don’t complain if you fall asleep before we reach the shrine.” The captain knows he’s pushing the line by teasing you like this, but the way you roll your eyes at him tells him you feel otherwise.

He tells the story he’s practiced endless times lacing a few truths from his past. “Well, I belong to a family of four. My parents work in the fields and my brother and I would play in them all day long until my mother would call us back in for supper. During the Great Colonization, my father used to serve King Donggeun of the East…” He steps aside to make way, a hand shooting out to help you to an elevated part of the head of the bridge. You place your hand on his gratefully, your feet taking quite the leap.

He continues with his monologue, “My mother always told us that she never thought father would never survive the Great Colonization. Even before the pact, there had already been attacks on the borders, the rivalry too much for people who call themselves citizens of the same nation. He had come home greatly wounded one night and my mother was crying so much that she could barely treat my father’s wounds. He had even offered her a literal bloody hand with the treatment, causing my mother to cry more, complaining about how he could have found pleasantries at such a grievous time.”

“Thankfully, the pact has been completed before things ultimately became worse. He was called to fight again to drive off the colonizers, but with the people from all the cities fighting as one force, casualties from our troops were only at the minimum. He has fought side by side with King Deonggeun and even saved the late king’s life at one instance. He had been promoted to a higher rank since then.” He pauses his narrative momentarily when your hand hooks around his elbow, clutching onto him as you go down a light slope to where a narrow dock is situated.

The captain tries not to be obvious about his astonishment at your actions as he places his hand over it, supporting your balance when you place a foot inside the boat. “But with a promotion in the military ranks comes more visits in the palace, and more visits in the palace only lead to one thing: King Donggeun taking an interest in my mother.” Your hand flies to your mouth to mask your shock. And just moments ago, he thought his life wasn’t supposedly as colorful as yours?

When Jungkook finally seats himself, he grabs at the oars and starts to row. It would have been fun if Haesoo had gone with, as you would inevitably tease her with her ogling the captain. She would’ve gushed at how his muscles must ripple underneath the uniform, or how his chest puffs out with every row. As your favorite court lady occupies your thoughts, you reckon that you owe her an apology later.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened next?” The captain lets out a chuckle at your wide-eyed curiosity. “Of course, Mama. I am a man of manners. A story must have a beginning and an end.”

“King Donggeun tried to conceal his feelings at first. But the rumored loss of his wife was too great of a sadness for him to bear. And he longed for the kind of comfort only a woman could give. Soon enough, father noticed the king’s longing looks, knowing all too well the sentiments the king hid behind his eyes. After all, he too was a man in love and a firm believer of the famous saying ‘the eyes are windows to our souls’.” The captain says the words with such drama that you fail to suppress the giggle that escapes your lips. Jungkook’s own lips twitch, chest beaming with pride with the fact that he has made you laugh twice today.

“Things kept in hiding will always come out, one way or another. And so, the king ended up confessing his feelings to my mother. He had begged her to be his concubine, even when they both knew she was tied to another. She fled from the king’s arms that night in fear and confusion, telling the whole confession to my father with teary eyes.”

The captain slows his rowing, creating small ripples against the clear water.

“That same night, my father learned that love meant having to constantly make sacrifices for the better, even if we end up losing that which matters most in our hearts. What the king wants, the king gets,” the captain’s lips fall into a tight-lipped smile. “There was too much at risk, my father couldn’t say no to his own king. Needless to say, even if we did eventually get to live nearer the palace, mother’s visits became less frequent, and soon our mother became only a figment of our imagination.”

Each word of the captain struck at your heart. You had never expected so many shared similarities in your past. His eyes are swimming with emotion. Not once had you seen a royal guard like this, looking so vulnerable, so human in front of your eyes.

“With nothing to lose, the three of us left the eastern city and headed to the capitol. We begged for food and slept on the streets for days until a family took pity and welcomed us into their home. When the father of the family introduced himself as a royal guard, my father offered his services as payment for their kindness.”

When you’ve reached the other side of the river, Jungkook sets the oars aside before guiding you up to the dock. You wait under the shade of a nearby tree until he’s fixated the boat properly onto the dock. He approaches you, dusting his pants with his hands. “Where were we? Ah. The kind family. I, too, have also had a realization here in the capitol. Happiness does not last for long, so we have to learn how to live each day with glee and gratitude.” You both continue the walk, with each step getting closer to your destination.

“A few days after our arrival, my brother caught this incurable illness. We had consulted every physician in the city, but all our efforts were in vain. My father and I had to lay him to rest just when we thought we had started a new life here in the capitol.”

“My father? Like I had mentioned during our inauguration, my father sacrificed his life for his country. Because he loves our nation, and because he loves us. All he wanted was a bright future for me, and for my mom as well, though he’d never admit that out loud. He never stopped loving her, even when she exchanged her family for the kind of life we could never give her.”

“Well, Mama. Are you sufficiently enlightened now?” You stay quiet at first, reciting a prayer to the gods and to your ancestors and you place another stone on the pile of rocks.

“I am Jungkook. I am.”

The journey to the south was filled with dread from the very start. The troop left the capital in silence, every man anxious of what is to come. Or rather, who awaits their coming. Seokjin had not said anything before they exited the gates of the capital because he knew words of encouragement would have done nothing to soothe the disquietude evident amongst them. The company had chosen to take a shortcut through the woods, one that will allow them to reach their destination within a shorter period of time.

They already have been traveling for quite some time, yet it feels like they have been for days. There are far fewer villages near the woods where there are to pass, but Seokjin had not expected this particular village to be so different from the others.

Dust rises when the horses halt, Seokjin abruptly putting up his fist in the air. It’s eerily quiet. Empty stalls of goods stand with no merchant behind them. Houses feel empty, with no person coming out and about. A gust of wind passes them, like an omen being whispered into their ears. The hairs at the back of Seokjin’s neck rise.

“What happened here?” A guard from the front asks.

“Jeonha, look!” Another shouts, pointing to a nearby house. A boy comes forth and walks, limps rather, towards them. Seokjin dismounts from his horse and takes a few steps forward. He lets the child come to him, the king lowering on his knees to receive the child. The child approaches Seokjin with a steady pace and with one final step left, he loses all his strength and falls. Luckily, Seokjin’s reflexes are quick enough so he catches the child before he falls to the ground.

“It’s quiet now,” the child mumbles. He takes a deep breath, body quaking with exertion as he does. “They came here…took everything…killed everyone and…s-south,” Seokjin holds him tighter as the boy’s breathing shallows, “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He consoles, tears swelling in his eyes as he gently rocks the child in his arms. The boy’s chest stops heaving and he finally closes his eyes. The king’s fingers fly to the child’s neck, looking for a pulse. None. Seokjin’s brows come together in anger, his beautiful face contorting into one of rage.

He stands, the boy in his arms now seemingly smaller and lighter than before. “Namjoon, with me. The rest of you, check the village. See if anybody is still alive, go over every house, every room, every corner. If you see a southerner lurking around, bring him to me.” Seokjin orders. “And I’ll execute him myself.”

As the troop disperses, Seokjin commands Kim Namjoon to look for a shovel and follow him to nearby open lot afterwards. Thankfully, the king doesn’t need to tell the guard what to do. As Namjoon digs a hole, Seokjin gently lays the child on a wooden bench while he looks for a cloth to wrap him in. His heart breaks for this child – that the young boy had to go through so much at such a young age, and now at the time of his death, he couldn’t even be afforded with proper burial rites.

The burial was shorter than expected and Seokjin ends the rite with a prayer to his ancestors and the gods above. The pair sit beside the child’s makeshift resting place for a while, both in deep contemplation. Their reverie is cut short when another guard calls from behind, “Jeonha,” he calls again, breathless, “there is something you must see.”

He leads the pair through the woods and towards a small clearing, where the troop has gathered around. “What’s this?” Seokjin takes his steps cautiously, the group beginning to make way for the king. Once the path clears, Seokjin stops in his tracks. From his peripheral, he sees Namjoon’s failed attempt to not gag at the scene before them.

The villagers. The stench. The message.

Seokjin tries to close his eyes, wanting to forget he even saw something this terrible. But no, the image has already etched itself into his memory forever. He can’t even imagine what type of human would have the guts to do this…monstrosity?

Scattered across the clearing are the villagers, stacked on top of each other, the formation with a similarity uncanny with the rock formation in front of them. The villagers were piled behind the doltap, where one muddy hand from each pile reaches out, holding a scroll with the words written with the villager’s own blood. “You can never keep us out.”

Seokjin’s hands ball into fists as he realizes what instigated this massacre. During the height of the turmoil in the south, he had sent out a proclamation weeks ago to implore the entire nation to remain strong and as one amidst these trying times which put their patriotism to the test.

The doltap is a stack of stones, usually erected at village entrances – a natural representation of guardians of the village, keeping away the bad and inviting the good. It had been tradition for people to pile rocks on top of each other along with symbolisms of their intentions placed near the stack.

Since the proclamation, the citizens had been placing more and more objects in front of their shrines, like a bowl of rice grains or the emblem of the south. Inevitably infuriated with this new practice, the southerners wrecked village after village in rage, leaving nothing but desolation in their wake. These people are but a number from the villages they victimized. Seokjin is lucky this is first and only village he will see.

The sky is a purplish pink by the time they have finished the burial rites for the village. “The sun is setting,” Seokjin announces to the group, “we will take shelter and camp there, by the woods. It will not be smart to individually use the houses here.”

Nobody could sleep a wink that night, especially not the king. He supposed no one could ever, not when you had just witnessed such a horrific sight. He continues to stare at the moon, head swarming with endless thoughts. As he rests his head against the bark of the oak tree, Seokjin’s thoughts race to you, what could you possibly be doing in this hour, if you were thinking of him right now. If you’d taken supper or skipped your meals today. You always did that when you were upset, and he had no doubt you were.

“Namjoon,” Seokjin calls to the trusted guard. Namjoon has been like him the whole night, staring into the distance, curious what the future might hold for them.

“Namjoon.” He calls again, this time with a louder voice, successfully getting the younger man’s attention.

“Jeonha,” Namjoon turns, “my sincerest apologies, but the moon seems to have a wonderful glow tonight. Might this be a good sign?” The guard bows, shame coloring his face as he got caught preoccupied with other things on his mind.

“I too fervently wish for that…I…” He was not about to make the same mistake to Namjoon. Seokjin gets frustrated at the thought of always being a step behind the enemy. He’s made this mistake with Minseok, and he wasn’t about to do the same with Namjoon.

“You wanted to say something, my King?”

“I…I just wanted to thank you, for always being loyal to the throne.” Seokjin is all too aware of what the people are saying. They are his people after all. He ought to know them best. They’re blaming him for these agonizing events, if he just hadn’t sent that proclamation, then this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

“Only because the throne is worth being loyal to.” Namjoon replies, not missing a beat.

“So,” the king moves to a lighter topic, not wanting to ruin the illustrious mood afforded by the bright sky like this night. “how is the romance in your life? Haesoo, is it?”

The younger man gets caught off-guard, startled at the king’s sudden inquiry and knowledge. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, jeonha,” Namjoon looks down, cheeks starting to tinge with a blush. ‘He can’t give this away’, the guard thinks, suddenly all too aware that the king is sitting right beside him. As all of them had taken a pledge of loyalty to throne and the throne alone, so a relationship between workers of the palace was considered taboo, at least, until Seokjin’s reign.

“Namjoon. I am speaking to you as a friend. And even if I did speak to you as king of the nation, who am I to take control of the matters of the heart? You yourself can’t seem to help it. What more of I?”

“Jeonha, please tell me. What does love feel like?”

“Love comes in many forms, my friend. In fact, it’s everywhere. Personally, I think it’s what makes the world go around, if the studies and calculations of astronomer Lee is correct. What we’re doing right now is love, love for our country, our citizens. The memorials we hold for our late relatives is also a commemoration of our love. Love is not exclusive to human relations though, there is love for animals, love for nature…” The king turns to face the young guard who blinks owlishly back at him.

“I know that wasn’t the kind of love you’re asking about. I’m getting there, worry not, my friend. I just needed context.” Seokjin looks away, partly embarrassed at himself. “As I was saying… there is one kind of love however that I treasure the most, and for me, it’s the kind of love that enraptures you the most: the love for a special person. I hate to say this, but it’s something so complex that it’s indescribable. It makes you feel plenty of emotions all at the same time. For instance, when you see her, you feel your heart pumping out of your chest, or sometimes your heart constricts at the realization that she’s yours and yours alone.”

“That wasn’t that much of a help was it?” Seokjin sighs defeatedly.

“Can I be honest with you, jeonha?” The king nods. “No, not really.” The pair chuckle at that, both relieved that at least they found something to laugh about tonight.

Heaving a sigh, Namjoon turns to face him with glossy eyes. “Well, it is unfortunate that we are not lovers then. Yet. Then I shall ask her to be my betrothed, if we come home.”

“When, Namjoon. When we come home.”

The two continue return their eyes to the moon. It looks bigger tonight. Astronomer Lee says bigger moons bring about luck to all those who look upon it, Seokjin fervently hoping that this journey might somehow be in their favor.

You’ve been tossing around in bed for quite some time now, unable to sleep. Perhaps a cup of milk would do the trick, you thought, pulling the covers away from your body. You wrap a robe over the flimsy garment you usually sleep in and head over to the secret door of your room. It’s been specifically designed to blend in with the wall, only to be used in worst-case scenarios.

Sliding the door open, you creep out of your room, dragging your cotton-clad feet against the wooden floor to make minimal sounds. You head to the bridge connecting your hanok to the palace kitchen. You don’t realize you’re too concentrated on not making noise that you don’t notice the body in front of you. “Jungjeon-mama?” the guard asks, peering down at you. “I’ll just get something from the kitchen, I will be quick.” Discretion could only last for so long. He bows and moves out of the way.

Rummaging through the kitchen as quietly as you can, you silently curse at yourself for not bringing a lamp with you, now all you can do is sniff at the vessels of liquid, hoping that you’ll uncover the right one. Thankfully, you manage to choose the right vessel in no time. As your eyes had adjusted to the light, you manage to grab a ladle and a nearby bowl with almost no noise at all.

As you pour yourself some milk, you return the cover and rest your behind against the table.

You figure it’s time to apologize to her. As you open your mouth to call, a male voice beats you to it. “You’re so beautiful.” Mouth parting in mild surprise, your eyes widen, searching for the voice’s owner. You couldn’t make out who’s voice it belonged to as it was said just barely above a whisper, and you continue peeking through the small space when your eyes land on the captain.

Your hand shoots over your mouth as your lips fall wider apart. It’s finally happening! But wait… you stand up straighter in realization. Namjoon? You’ve heard the guard has been harboring affection towards your favorite court lady for quite some time now. Seokjin was first to notice it, pointing out how Namjoon would sneak glances at Haesoo whenever you were together, both parties walking as one. You heart clenches at the perplexity of the situation.

Surely you’re not meant to stay here and watch the spectacle? Milk was what you came here for, you remind yourself, but like always, curiosity gets the best of you. Jungkook takes another step towards Haesoo, who seems frozen at her spot. Do something lady! You watch as the captain slowly reaches out his hand, the back of his fingers gently caressing the lady’s face. Haesoo leans towards the man’s touch.

“May I?” Jungkook asks, eyes searching for any signs of doubt in Haesoo’s. The girl nods curtly and without waiting any further, Jungkook closes the distance between them. Watching their lips move in sync, you take this as your cue to leave, that is, until you hear a pot clanging against the floor. Your line of vision suddenly returns to the couple to check if someone got hurt, only to find out quite the opposite.

Jungkook has already backed up Haesoo to lean against a table adjacent to the wall. The captain lifts her with ease to sit on the table, Haesoo pulling her knees apart so she could properly hold onto the man, her nimble fingers pulling at Jungkook’s hair. The captain starts smothering her with kisses all over her cheeks, jaws, and neck like a frenzied, starved man. You can’t look away, not when Haesoo is failing miserably at her attempt to keep her whimpering at bay.

Jungkook’s fingers work deftly in undoing the ribbons on her hanbok, lips still trained on lavishing her skin with kisses. As the garment falls easily from Haesoo’s shoulders, Jungkook’s large hand palms her breast while the other is busy kneading the expanse of her thigh. The captain revels in Haesoo’s pliancy, with the girl tilting her head back at Jungkook’s ministrations, begging him for more.

Her hanbok is completely off her torso now, the silk bunching up at hips. Jungkook takes this moment to take a hardened nipple between his lips and swirling his tongue around it as a hand squeezes the supple flesh of the other. Haesoo mewls at the captain’s actions, back arching, words no longer needed to show what she wants, what she desires.

This is wrong. You aren’t supposed to be watching such a private moment, let along seemingly enjoying it. Like Haesoo earlier, you’re just as frozen in your spot as she was.

You no longer see much of Haesoo torso, considering their proximity, but you see Jungkook’s hand removing itself from the assault on her breasts, traveling to her core. She shivers when Jungkook’s fingers swipes against her folds and raising his fingers under the moonlight seeping through the window, observing how wet the tips of his fingers are due to the court lady’s essence.

“Look at you,” Jungkook murmurs in a low voice, watching the slick coating his fingers. “So wet and ready for me. I bet I’d slip right in hmm?”

“Please,” Haesoo begs, hiding her face between his shoulders in pleading. “I need you.” Jungkook seems to have no problem complying, abruptly bring his pants down to his thighs.

You don’t see much due to the lack of light in the room and their compromising position on the table, but this seems all the more thrilling like this. You reprimand yourself, as if Seokjin was lacking in bed. But you have not tried being intimate anywhere else but your room and his office – and the thought of doing it at such a common place like the kitchen where anyone from the palace could easily enter excites you in the strangest way possible.

Surely you can’t be going crazy, can you? Is it normal to find such a spectacle so strangely arousing? The sight of two lovers getting intimate?

Jungkook gently lays her down on the table, pushing her down by her shoulders. He parts her legs wider before adjusting his stance and slowly thrusting his hips forward. Your jaw slackens the same time with Haesoo. You feel your own nipples harden at the sight, the sensitive buds trying to pry through the material.

He pauses for a moment, letting Haesoo adjust to the feeling as his head tilts back, the lady’s velvety walls clenching wonderfully around his cock. When Haesoo tilts her hips, Jungkook takes this as a sign to start moving, each roll of his hips earning a whimper from the writhing girl beneath him. A few more slow rolls and Jungkook thrusts harder, faster, the sound of skin slapping ricocheting against the walls.

A gasp escapes your mouth when the captain maneuvers her legs to rest against his chest and the two stop at once, heads shooting up to look for where the voice came from. Haesoo winces when Jungkook pulls out and puts his pants up.

You flee from the kitchen at once, Jungkook abruptly looking for the intruder, he catches a glimpse of your white-clad figure run towards the door and he briefly questions himself who could you possibly be, but the royal seal at the back of your robe is a little too hard to miss.

Seokjin’s eyelids start to droop, sleep finally taking over him when he hears rustling behind. Namjoon, equally alerted by the sound, stands up and looks around. “Jeonha, we might have company. Please stand.”

It’s awfully quiet now, and the two of them are unsure of its because the troop has fallen asleep or… or if the unspeakable happened… They take a few cautious steps in separate ways, eyes scanning every tree surrounding them.

They wake the troop in silence, warning them of possible danger coming their way. Namjoon orders the company to stay more vigilant than usual, especially in the dark where they won’t able to see if an enemy is lurking around or not. Suddenly a guard falls to the ground, a bow lodged in his back.

“Watch the trees!” Seokjin shouts before chaos ensues. Men coming from all directions charge towards them, the sound of steel clashing against steel echoing throughout the forest. Seokjin’s troop is outnumbered greatly, he realizes. They have to escape before everyone gets killed. “Guards, fall back!” his arms are getting tired too but he can’t find the strength to give up, not when he sees his men falling one by one.

Time seems to slow down around him as he watches each royal guard get shot or stabbed to their death. He backs up slowly, bumping into Namjoon. “You ready?” Seokjin asks, finding it difficult to breath. There’s a slit in his sleeves, a cut a few inches long, feeling the blood trickling down his arm. “’Til death, jeonha.” Namjoon nods, wiping away the blood on his lips with his sleeve.

A group surrounds them – ten to two. “Now!” Seokjin commands, screaming as he charges against the men. He gets kicked at the back, the king falling on his knees. Seokjin’s head bows at the pain, but he plunges his sword to the soil, using it to support his weight as he stands up from his knees. He swings at them, the armed men laughing when he blindly thrusts the sword in the air. He’s been cut again, this time across his pectoral, the stinging pain felt until the tips of his fingers. His vision is getting hazy by the minute. He can’t give up.

Seokjin falls one more time to the ground, his arms bearing all his weight. He sees Namjoon’s body on the side – lifeless. He musters all his strength and attempts to push himself back up one more time. Before he manages to get on his knees, a blade of a sword points at his neck, one more move and the steel will pierce through his skin.

He follows the blade of the sword ‘til he looks up to a masked man with… blonde hair? His eyes narrow at the sight. It was his first time to encounter a man with hair of such color. The man pulls the mask over his head, a healing scar cutting through his right eyebrow and down to his cheek.

“Yoongi?”

“Told you, you can never keep us out.”

That’s the last thing Seokjin hears, as he feels the blade slicing through his abdominals. He falls to the ground, clutching onto his stomach as he spits out the blood accumulating in his mouth. His chest is heaving, everything is hazy. He’s losing consciousness.

The image of you smiling is the last thing he sees before blacking out.

[taglist] : @aretha170

#bagtanhq #ksmutclub #btsghostie #bangtanarmynet #hyunglinenetwork #bts smut #bts angst #jeon jungkook #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #seokjin x reader #bts scenarios

196 notes · View notes