#and then rise from the dead only to die on it again because I'm right | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wyn-n-tonic · 2 months ago

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That's a Real Fucking Legacy: The Marks You Saw

Pairing: Joel x f!reader (formerly Tommy x f!reader). Word Count: 2.1k+ Warning: Alcohol mention. Drugs mention. Emotional word vomit. Author's Note: And you can tell a friend to tell a friend...she's baaaaack. Not really but I have been dealing with some heavy stressors at work and in my personal life that has stunted my writing so it felt good to get something out that I'm actually proud of. I think? Anyway... no beta, we die like men.

“Do you ever see me?”

Leaning back, you assess the man across from you—the scar that’s nicked into his eyebrow, the freckles that are scattered like spray paint across his nose.

The deep brown, almost black, of his eyes that match his brother’s.

Your daughter’s.

“I'm looking at you right now,” you say and it’s immediately apparent that’s not what he meant.

But you knew that.

“No, sweetheart—“

“I asked you not to call me that,” you remind him. “That's not who we are to one another anymore, Tommy.”

A terse nod.

“And no, I do not see you when I’m with him.”

“Did you ever?”

Did you ever?

Did you?

It’s been so long.

Pushing out a breath, you suggest that maybe you did in the beginning. “I was devastated, Tommy,” you say. “I was imagining the worst things possible, I was having waking nightmares which”—you laugh—“says a lot given the state of our world today. Especially in the Zone.”

His eyes take on that glassy look, the one he gets when he thinks too hard or sits for too long. The same way his brother’s do.

Something you hope your daughter will never mirror.

“But never me? Never now?”

He’s so still, you wish he would move or stand—breathe. It’s still so weird to see him breathing, to see him talking. Instead he just sits there on the other side of the small living room where the only thing that seems to rise and fall is his gaze on every part of you not covered by the threadbare fabric of twenty year old clothes.

“Tommy, I saw you dead and then I saw white, hot blinding rage. But I didn’t go to your brother as a replacement for you, I went because you told me to. If you’re still holding a grudge, I suggest you find whatever’s left of a mirror and confront yourself about it because I didn’t do anything wrong and neither did he.”

“But—“

“Tommy,” you cut him off, “I will always love you but I will never again love you like I did.”

Another nod and he finally does move, readjusting himself slightly in the chair as if he’s uncomfortable. But this discomfort is his own fault. You tell him so as soon as he even dares to say it.

“At some point, Tommy, you have to find closure because we cannot keep having these conversations—“

“Because it’ll hurt my brother’s feelings?”

“Because it’s hurting you, it’s hurting me to hurt you like this over and over again. And, yes, it hurts Joel. If I had ran into your arms when you showed up out of nowhere, he would have stepped to the side and remained quiet and let you back into my life. He still would. He is still afraid that I will decide he is too far gone and too fucked up and he will wake up to an empty bed and an empty crib because I went back to you.”

“Because I’m so easy?” He asks. And, somehow, it’s the first time you smell the whiskey stuck so heavily to him.

At no point during the day have you seen him drinking. Not out in the gardens or the community center. He didn’t even smell like this when he showed up here and you didn’t think his presence was due to anything other than not wanting to be alone.

But that’s as far as memory can serve. Because your attention and all your senses have been occupied by other activities.

Like the smell of the stables when Miri wanted to see the horses.

Or the smell in the crook of her neck, the smell that lingers in her hair.

Pulling her sleeping form tight to your chest, you inhale it again—the soft baby smell that’s going away.

“You are far from easy, Thomas Miller,” you say. “An easy man wouldn’t torture himself like this. But that’s what you’ve always wanted, Tommy. You want to be some complicated soul who saves the day. You already did. Me, Joel, Miri… we’re all here.”

Tommy inhales, deep, and stands to his full height. “I should leave you,” he says, before laughing and pushing both hands through his hair. “I guess I already did that though, huh?”

“Tommy…”

Stopping at the door, he takes another deep breath, his broad back expanding and deflating just as fast as he says, “more and more, I see my brother wearing the same marks you used to give me but it’s different.” A hiccup escapes its way from deep within his chest and he turns until his back is to the door. “He is covered in you in every way I always thought I was.”

“Am I supposed to apologize?”

His head shakes. “No, I-I think I’m trying to apologize to you.”

Looking down again into Miriam’s fragile, sleeping face, you see all the parts of her father truly starting to take shape across her features. Golden skin with a smattering of freckles; a strong nose set against soft cheeks—perfect, gentle little girl who looks like such an imperfect but gentle man.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you say but when you look back for Tommy, he’s already slipped through the door to make the short walk back across the street to his own home.

Purple blooms beneath the golden skin just below his ear, in that spot that smells most like him. By now, it’s about as permanent as any tattoo ever was because you spend your days and nights putting it there.

But not just there.

He has marks along his collarbone, marks bitten into his chest and shoulders and the side of his hand.

Some happened as a byproduct of stifling your pleasure against his skin. Others because you didn’t catch the moans in time so he had to do it for you. But, if you’re being honest, all of them are a subtle way of saying back off.

Not just to the curious eyes of the horny, lonelier women in the compound but to the world, too.

After all, all these bruises sucked into his flesh are the same purple-red of the knotted scars that have risen like unwelcome mountains across his body.

Your way of saying lust-filled eyes can’t have him and neither can the earth.

Your way of saying mine.

He came home far too late with eyes way too tired. He showered, rubbed mint soap across his body and tried so hard to be quiet on his big, heavy feet. But you were already up, eyes open to stare at the wall while you waited for him to come to bed and the only thing that kept running through your mind is Tommy’s question.

“He asked me if I still saw him,” you whisper across the short distance between where you lay.

“You see him all the time,” Joel says lazily, one arm draped across your body. “Hell, you could go see him right now. Just open the window and throw a rock at his.”

“Joel, you know what he meant,” you say.

“I do,” he affirms. “And I think about the possibility enough already so I don’t need to commiserate it with the target of all my greatest fears.”

A beat passes and his breathing begins to even out and, when you ask him if Tommy is really his biggest fear, you hope he’s already asleep so he doesn’t have to answer it.

So you don’t have to hear it.

Instead, Joel pushes up onto his elbow, body coming to hover over yours as he flips you back into the mattress and says, “he is now.”

“Why?” You ask, circling the edge of one of those darker patches etched into his skin. “Why would Tommy be your biggest fear when you know what’s out there?”

He shrugs and the movement of his body slips your touch further down, over the ridge of the scar to shatter the illusion that it could’ve been just another one of yours. They all look the same in the dark.

In the dark, he was never hurt.

“My brother is always going to love you and he’s always going to think our daughter should be his,” he says. “He's always going to be the first one of us that you loved.”

“That Tommy is gone,” you say. You don’t know how many times you have to say it.

“I see the way he looks at you.”

“It should be the way I look at you that matters,” you tell him. “It should always only ever be the way that I look at you.”

Joel smiles, that lone dimple pocketing his left cheek, as he drops himself down across you and all of his weight from all of this world comes down with him as your arms wrap around his neck with fingers tangled into wild, unkempt curls that have gone so gray.

That’s when his breathing does even out, soft snores overtaking him as you keep lying there and looking at the ceiling.

In the dark, he was never hurt and it hits you then that the dark is the only place Tommy lets himself hurt.

Sunrises aren’t your thing but you’re already up and dressed by the time it comes around. Usually, by the time you wake, most of the compound is up and working—playing in the sun where you don’t like to be.

For so long, night hasn’t been safe. Not even back in Boston. But here? It’s safe for you. He was never hurt in the dark, your face was never gray and bloodshot in the dark. Miri never had to see her parents falling apart in the dark.

That’s where Tommy finds you. Sitting on the rickety old bench outside in his yard, watching your breath swirl through the air in the early morning light, your feet kicking like a little kid’s.

“You're up early,” he drawls. He sounds like shit.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you say.

“You want coffee?” He asks.

“That depends,” you say, “you still slipping Seth’s rust bucket”—your nose scrunches—“whatever he has the audacity to call that in there?”

Tommy smiles for the first time in a while. “It's alcohol,” he says.

“It's piss,” you retort. “And no, I don’t want that or the coffee it goes in. I just need to say something to you.”

He moves to sit before you stop him, pulling back further into the old, worn wood as you push your hand out. If he’s hurt about that, he doesn’t let it show.

“I’m giving you until the end of the day to toss every drop of everything you’re hoarding,” you tell him. “The pills, the booze. I find it incredibly disconcerting that we’ve made it this far in a world without everything that you’ve been able to find it.”

“Swee—“

“No,” you cut him off. “I let you do a whole lot of speaking last night, Tommy, and I let you hurt me. I have continued to let you hurt me and hurt my husband and I will not let you do that any longer. I don’t care that you’re a grown man, I don’t care that you blame me for this broken heart of yours, but I do care about you. Because, yeah, I put myself all over him. I dig my nails and my teeth and the heels of my feet into him every chance I get. But I do it because of you.”

“To make me jealous?” He asks, eyes narrowed.

Laughing, your head shakes. “Because I lost you,” you tell him. “All I had was a note that said you wanted better for me and all I thought about was how it really meant you wanted better than me. You pushed yourself out into this world without so much as a goodbye and you had no parts of me stuck to you reminding you to come home. I don’t make that mistake with Joel.”

“He's the better for you.” It’s not a question. Tommy Miller may be a lot of things but he is not a dumb man.

“Yeah,” you affirm, pushing off the bench to stand, “and I need you to get your shit together so you can find the better than me.”

He doesn’t speak, there’s no response even as you step back towards your own house across the street but it doesn’t matter and you won’t hear it.

Quietly, you push the door closed, toeing off your shoes at the entrance and pulling each layer from your body before crawling back into the bed you left an hour ago.

And if Joel noticed, if he woke up, it didn’t keep him that way. He doesn’t stir when you force your cold body back beneath his either. It’s enough to bring a very silent prayer forward from your lips to the same ceiling you stared at for so long last night.

The Tommy that could’ve been died in your heart a long time ago and it’s about time the one who scares Joel does, too.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #tommy miller #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller fanfiction #tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #wyn writes (poorly)#joel miller x you #tommy miller x you

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escapedaudios · 5 days ago

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God I need to bullshit another reason to get Scythe Audio to do heavy metal screams and growls in one of my audios again. If he wasn't already playing the Grimest Reaper in My True Love is Dead I'd invent a metal-themed slasher for him to play. Slash's gallery of rivals is already full of quirky villains with themes and gimmicks. A heavy metal slasher would actually rule.

Maybe I could just ressurect the lead singer of Bruderhof Death Machine as a ghoul and upgrade him from a side character that died after two minutes to a full character.

Uhhh ok I'm entering a stream of consciousness now. I'm gonna yap about My True Love is Dead. So far I have a few official character estsblishesd.

Killer Ride (aka the Route 66 Killer)

Motorcycle themed villain. She rides a ghoulish motorbike with a frame of bones called The Murdercycle. It's gas tank is filled with the tormented souls of her victims, and it's powered by their eternal screams. When the revs up her engine, you hear them wailing alongside the roaring sound of the engine. Her main weapon is a whip made from an oversized motorcycle chain with a dagger at the end, when she cracks her whip it moves faster than a bullet and makes sonic booms as it strikes. Her biker jscket has shoulder pads made from human skulls. She's campy and outrageous and larger than life cool and I love her even though she only exists in my outlines right now.

The Ace of Blades (aka the Great Plains Killer)

A rebellious slasher that defies the mandates of the Grimest Reaper. He's unspeakably evil. He spent 100 years in hell before his first ressurection as a ghoul. He spent so long in hell that hell itself follows him wherever he goes. Cracks bursting with flames and magma open in the ground where he steps. His weapons are two flaming sabers and his deceased victims follow him around as possesed skeletons and zombies bound to his vile will. They rise from the ground where his feet split the earth, and beg for death as they carry out his orders. He's the final boss and so unbelievably evil that even slashers find him despicable. Killer of virgins, killer of killers, and killer of all witnesses. There are no legends about him among mortals, because no one has ever survived him.

Demon Candy Undead (aka the Underground Killer)

Demon Candy, returned to life as a ghoul and servant of the Reaper. Enthusiastically obedient to the mandates of the Grimest Reaper, even more deranged and cruel than she was in life. Enamored by spectacle and flair, she records and disseminates her murders through VHS tapes that she leaves around for people to find. Dazzling and darkly glamorous, she's a charismatic showman that turns her cruelty into entertainment for the sick and twisted. Believers in her legend idolize her in a cult-like fashion, and capture living victims that they leave as offerings for her to collect and trap in her cruel games.

The Grimest Reaper

The master of Slash and The Basher. He never breaks a promise or a deal, but always makes sure that deals are in his favor. One of the only characters that is aware of worlds outside of his own. All universes have a Reaper. Some are kind ferrymen between life and death, others are cruel forces of terror. He is the most cruel one of them all. All who serve him must obey his mandates, or else be hunted down by his other servants with their souls devoured by him.

Some other reapers exist in my other universes! You've already seen one. Father Ernst from Der Wolfsjäger is an Angel of Death, though he'll never admit it to a mortal. It's only ever implied shortly before he appears, when Jäger explains that you can hear a holy choir of the dead singing when Death is near. Swan Song from Neon Memoriam is also a Reaper. She hasn't appeared directly yet, but she's been around. When Raven was dying in Neon Wings, she was there. The only reason Raven didn't die was because Crow was keeping her from taking Raven's soul, even though he didn't know it yet.

#escaped audios #scythe audio #my true love is dead #I kind of went off the rails here #didn't think I'd yap this much #der Wolfsjäger #neon memoriam

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teambyler · 8 months ago

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Will's anti-Vecna song should be David Bowie's "Heroes"

We know from the new BTS pic that he has headphones and a Walkman. Like Max, he might be fending off Vecna:

Max's anti-Vecna song was highly personal to her. It helped her through her guilt and depression and feeling like she deserved to die.

For Will, "Should I Stay or Should I Go" is cute, but it doesn't have emotional weight. It might have helped a child Will in the Upside Down in s1, when it made him think of home and Jonathan, but he's all grown up now. He's changed.

If Byler becomes realized, David Bowie's "Heroes" is the perfect song for Mike and Will's relationship that would help Will resist Vecna. It's canon that Will likes David Bowie: kid Mike prefers the androgynous rock star over Kenny Rogers (s2e1).

@surferbeto on YouTube comments:

This is a heroic love song. Bowie starts out crooning but pretty soon he ramps up and belts it out hard. This song is about risking getting shot by East German border police and dragged over barbed wire for love. This is about young love against impossible odds. It's about that gloriously tragic fantasy... of giving our life in some grandly romantic way to save the life of our beloved. Maybe by taking a bullet for them and dying in their arms in the shadow of the Berlin Wall.

Having David Bowie's "Heroes" in the show would call-back to Peter Gabriel's somber 2010 cover from s1, when Mike hugged his mom thinking Will was dead. But Bowie's original is defiant, triumphant, and bittersweet. (Seriously, if you haven't yet, listen to it before reading further. It's perfect.)

It would play when Mike and Will have their first kiss. Their song of losing each other is now of finding each other.

If Byler is realized, it could play as Mike and Will dare to hold hands in the school hall, as we fade out to the end credits.

Will would put it on his Walkman. If Will and Mike are bullied for their relationship, "Heroes" perfectly expresses their defiance and willingness to love each other despite the harm that might come to them.

It's the song that would most help Will in case he gets Vecna'd. It doesn't just remind him of Mike; it culminates his journey over the five seasons. As a kid he told Jonathan he's not a baby, not just a victim. Despite seeming shy and weak, he has a huge amount of quiet courage, but his struggle in s3 and s4 was largely internal. ("I'm not gonna fall in love.") Show creator Matt Duffer says about s5: "Will's going to be a big part and focus... We're starting to see his coming of age, really... You're starting to see him come into his own." If Byler becomes real, then his fight becomes external, confronting the homophobia in Hawkins and the literal hell threatening his friends. He will rise to the occasion.

"Will really takes center stage again in [season] 5," Ross Duffer told Variety. "This emotional arc for him is what we feel is going to hopefully tie the whole series together. Will is used to being the young one, the introverted one, the one that’s being protected. So part of his journey, it’s not just sexuality – it’s Will coming into his own as a young man."

In s2, Will only allowed Mike to protect him because he didn't feel pitied by Mike; Mike saw his strength. A stronger Will will pay him back and protect him from the twin dangers they face.

It's Will's turn to be the hero. His fight for others is his fight for himself. "Heroes" perfectly expresses his journey of defying all odds to fight for HIS RIGHT TO LOVE.

-teambyler

#byler #will defends mike with a gun #stranger things #vecna #speculation #song #should i stay or should i go #david bowie #heroes #headphones #walkman

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alwayslurkinginthebackground · 2 months ago

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Get in the Truck - A Pedrotober Drabble

Day Five of Pedrotober: Esquire Outtakes Pedrotober hosted by @norththelemon and @alyssamariag. View the full prompt list HERE and view my entire Pedrotober drabble catalog HERE.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: E because this is mostly just filth. With a hint of angst. I can't not write angst apparently. Unprotected p in v, oral, they fuck in a truck here, y'all. Honestly probably could have made it hornier but I had to go touch grass after writing it.

Word Count: 1324

a/n: WHEW It's been 8 million years since I last wrote smut but this Esquire outtake would not let me rest until Joel was written into it. This one is dedicated to the wives of Joel Miller. You know who you are. <3

"Get in the damn truck."

You cross your arms in refusal, standing your ground as Joel glares daggers at you, one arm slung over the side of the truck bed, the other braced against the open door. You can see the tension in his shoulders, you always can when you fight, but you're not about to give in. Not this time.

"Make me."

"For the love of god, why are you so fucking stubborn?" He walks back toward you, but you're practiced in the art of Joel Miller, and you don't move a muscle even when he's right in front of you. His broad frame towers over your much smaller one. "Get. In. The. Damn. Truck." he grits out again, teeth clenched.

He'd called you stubborn, but truthfully you'd learned from the best. "I'm not getting in that truck until you tell me what the fuck we're doing." His expression shifts to something unreadable, just for a moment, but you catch it, the way the pain flashes behind his eyes.

"LET'S GO!" Ellie interrupts as she plows into the garage with her backpack in tow, hopping in the front seat and shattering the tension between you and Joel. He holds his position for a moment and then you both resign to the excitement of the young girl left in your charge. Joel opens the back door so you can slide onto the bench seat. You ignore him as you slip in.

"Get in the damn truck."

His voice is as rough now as it was the first time, even when it sounds as a harsh whisper against your ear. Your gaze flickers to Ellie's sleeping form on the other side of the smoldering fire, and when you look back at where he'd been just a moment ago, you realize he's already halfway to the truck.

He's opened the door to the backseat by the time you catch up to him and you slip inside, the space becoming crowded the moment he joins you. "What the fuck are we doing, Joel" you ask him again once the door is closed, but he leaves you in an odd silence that feels suffocating.

"We're taking her to Tommy," he returns as though it's the simplest of tasks. As if crossing the country would be easy without the presence of infected and raiders and FEDRA in every major city across what used to be called a country. As if he has any idea of where his brother actually is.

"And you just expect me to be okay with this? With risking my life to go on this wild goose chase?" you inquire, your voice quickly rising in volume and intensity. "Joel, you know how often people talk about a cure. It never pans out. What if we do all of this, put our lives at risk, put her life at risk, only for it to be for nothing anyway?"

"We don't know that," he insists. "We owe it to Tess to..."

"Tess is dead, Joel."

Quiet hangs between you, and you wonder why you used to find solace in its intensity before the outbreak. Back when you'd sit in your car before work trying to compose yourself before going in.

"Tess would have wanted us to see this through," he grumbles, the same ache in his voice that you'd heard earlier.

"And she also wouldn't have wanted us to die trying."

You sit in silence again, and you can't tell if he's being stubborn or if he's actually contemplating your point.

"Tommy, then? Think this is the way to find him?" You wince at the sound of your own voice, aware of how much his brother's disappearance has hurt him. Made him feel so undeniably unworthy of any kind of love.

"Fuck no," is his response, followed by a low growl. His hands find your waist in a grip that makes you want to wince and pull away. But you can't. Not now. Not when you can already feel the heat pooling between your legs.

"Then what is it?" There's a sense of finality to your tone. An unspoken ultimatum stands as the only barrier left between you. He has to tell you or this is as far as you'll go. There will be no more getting in the truck. No more protecting the girl. No more of whatever the relationship you two share is. "Joel?" you ask again.

Instead of an answer, his lips are on yours as he shifts you back against the passenger side door. Your hands are collected in one of his calloused palms as he pins them above your head, the glass of the window cool against your skin. Your mind screams at you to stop him, to remind him that this isn't why you're here, but your body disagrees.

This is exactly why you're here.

It's already hot in the truck despite the chill in the air outside, and your mind flashes to your high school boyfriend and the shit job he'd done of getting you off in the back seat of a truck not unlike this one. You're thrust back to the reality of something much better as Joel works his way down your jaw, chapped lips against smooth skin. You struggle against his grip, a silent request for him to let your hands roam his body the way you want them to.

He refuses, instead guiding your hands to the headrests on either side of your shoulders. "Don't move them," he instructs, and you can do nothing but obey.

Your mind is fuzzy as you struggle to remember why you were angry with him in the first place. It's hard to recall when he's between your legs, dragging your jeans down your thighs. Impossible to remember when he's there, fingers pressed against your center, gathering the slick and pressing inside. A distant memory when he drops down to eat you out like it's what he needs to survive.

And maybe, you consider for a moment, it is.

His name falls from your lips again when you come, dulled by the sound of your heart beating in your ears. Your shoulders scream in pain from the awkward angle and the way the door handle presses into your back, but you can only focus on the way his tongue continues to circle your clit.

He laps at you until your hand falls from where he'd placed it to push him away from your overstimulated body. It's dark in the truck, but you can feel his eyes on you when you realize your mistake.

"I told you not to move."

Joel hauls you against him, your knees digging into the worn seat on either side of his hips as he forces your hands on the headrest behind him. "Keep them there." This time, you follow his order, even as he lifts you just enough to pull his cock from his jeans so you can sink down onto him, your body shuddering as he fills you.

"Please," you whisper, your head falling to his shoulder as his hands sit firm on your hips, preventing you from moving the way you want to. He holds you there, stretching you until you feel like you've forgotten everything. Forgotten why you were mad, what you were doing, where you were going.

Why you were going.

"I need you," he grunts out, one hand slipping between you to rest against your stomach. "I need you here." He presses his hand against you and your fingers dig into the headrest behind him, nails biting the fabric as you feel him filling you. "Do you feel that? Here."

And you do. you finally understand. It doesn't matter why or how or where or when. You'd do anything for him if it meant you got to feel this. He might be willing to risk his life for a lost cause, but you'd simply be willing to risk your life for his.

#pedrotober #pedrotober 2024 #the last of us #joel miller x reader #I need to go touch more grass

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 7 months ago

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hi hi!! saw the list of wips and was curious about the keegan ones :3c

also pls don’t put me in the basement i have finals next week and like three pieces i gotta work on!!!! and ig the petri dishes gotta be in the right conditions

no, no finals. only basement. mine now. <3

keegan number 1 for the wip ask game: soulmate keegan-- takes place during the mission "clockwork," for the cod: ghosts enjoyers!

It burns where he's gripping you. Sears your neck at the throat. It hurts so bad you white out for a moment. The man's arm tightens across your shoulders, pinning you to his chest, and you grab his forearm. He hisses in pain. Instantly, you both know what just happened: he soulmarked you; and you, him. He burned his handprint into your throat--the first place he touched you. You burned yours into his arm--singeing him through your gloves and through his disguise. Keegan knew his soulmate probably existed in the world somewhere, but never thought much about what it would be like to know her—if he ever had the chance at all. Still, finding his soulmate here and now--a Federation soldier in a Federation base, of all things--triggers an instinct in his mind that compels him to keep her from harm. That instinct wars with the need to carry out the mission at all costs. But his grip doesn't lessen. Instead, he tightens his arm around you, trying to keep a cool head. He drags you past his teammates--Logan, Hesh, and Merrick--and into an adjacent empty room. You can barely see anything, but you hear shouting and the exchange of gunfire. You struggle against his hold. "Let go of me!" "I'm not gonna let go." He shifts his grip to pry your head back, exposing the glowing soulmark formed at the base of your neck. His breath falls over the mark, and it glows hotter. Neither of you can ignore this. You're his soulmate. But here? Now? You're supposed to be an enemy; you're part of the Federation. He's not even supposed to let you live. But he's definitely not gonna let you die.

and keegan number 2: keegan in the cold-- with medic!reader. warning: keegan is mean.

"Why would you say that?" "Because I want you to understand who you are," Keegan hisses. "You can't handle using a gun because you're scared. You can't tell Hesh how you feel because you know he'd reject you. You'd be dead if I hadn't pulled you to safety. You're nothing without me. You're pathetic." You keep your mouth shut until the sting from his words fades. What he's saying isn't true. He's pissed and looking for control wherever he can get it because that's the kind of bastard he is. You will your voice to soften from anger into condescension. "Do you want that to be true, Keegan? Would it feed your ego?" "What I want is for you to admit that I was right," Keegan retorts, his tone growing more aggressive as you refuse to rise to the bait. "Admit that you rely on me. That without me, you'd be dead. That you're weak and pathetic and need me to be your shield. It's the truth, isn't it? Say it." "It sounds like you want it to be true." ”It sounds like you're avoiding the question.” "You want me to tell you I'm worthless?" “I want you to tell me I'm right." He leans closer, invading your personal space. "I want you to show me some gratitude for saving your life. Maybe treat me better than the dirt on the bottom of your fucking shoes." That takes you genuinely by surprise. Anger still simmers in your gut. But you tamp it down. You keep your head cool and your voice even. "Thank you, Keegan, once again," you bite out, "for saving my pathetic life. Happy?" "Thank you isn't good enough," Keegan growls, his tone dangerously low. "Keep talking."

wip ask game / more Keegan / masterlist tag

#but also hope your finals go/are going/went well!! boy do i not miss finals week. good luck! hope it's easier & less stressful than expcted!#ask #mine #tag game #snippet #soulmate keegan #cod #cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod ghosts #keegan #cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ x you #keegan p russ x reader #keegan p russ x you

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cherry-romper · 5 months ago

Note

reno worrying about captain/platoon leader!reader and fussed over them because they’re always so selfless and reckless in battle. he worries a lot because of his habits with kafka and he just doesnt want to lose reader. angst to fluff please!! thank you:)

Reno x platoon leader!reader

Warning; mild swearing

Contains; angst to fluff, NB!Reader.

Word Count; 2010

Hey! I've been really sick over the past few weeks, plus I just turned 21, so I've been really busy and exhausted, but I'm back to writing! Sorry its taken me so long, but I'm burning thought all the requests now <3 Thank you for this one, anon, it was fun to help me get back into writing <3

Where was everyone?

Your communication system had been jammed but some unknown source. Desperately, you filtered through every channel requesting back up at your location, but no one answered. You didn’t know how long you’d been out here; time had seemed to stop. The sensation of rain hitting your skin was the only thing saving you from going insane.

A groan from you comrade pulled you out of your frustration. In the chaos, three of your squad had been badly wounded. One by one, you’d dragged them into a back alley out of harm’s way. The alley’s openings were obscured by smoke. There was no way to tell if it was safe to leave; not that you squad was in any fit state to move.

Out of some cardboard and bin bags, you’d created a makeshift shelter for them, an attempt to keep them out of the rain. You were no medic, as smart as you were, without guidance you could only give them the most basic treatment.

Kneeling before one of your squad, you whipped some of the blood off his face. He winced at the contact, flinching away from you. Giving him an upside-down smile, you mouthed an apology.

Looking to the other members of your squad, you sighed. They’re in a bad way, if I don’t get them medical attention soon, I don’t think they’ll make it.

The calmness of the rain was interrupted by a clatter out in the street. Without hesitation, you entered a fighting stance, scanning the entry to the alley for any signs of movement.

Putting one foot in front of the other, you stained your eyes to see what had made the noise. Avoiding any debris on the ground, you continued your advance. Protecting your squad was your only priority.

The clatter came again, only this time it was clearer, like the sound of broken glass being kicked. You steadied your breathing, keeping as quiet as possible, stopping at the edge of the opening to see if the origin of the sound would reveal itself. Tightening your grip on your gun, you narrowed your eyes, ready to fire at the first thing that moved. Alas, the sound didn’t come again, nor did any movement.

Unsure if you should let down your guard, you looked back at your squad. None of them were conscious anymore. Your heart ached at the sight. You knew if they didn’t get help soon, they would surely die. No matter what was out there, you had to face it, for their sake. It what you were trained to do, right? Save people? This was just another one of those times.

Braving the smoke and fog, you pushed forward. You could barely see more than 10 yards in front of you, it felt like you were walking the wire; one wrong move and you would be dead. You knew these streets, you’d grown up not too far from here, but they were unrecognisable with all the death and debris.

Curled Yoju carcases lined the street, their cores ripped from their bodies. Beside them, buildings lay crumbled, a reminder of their path of destruction. Smoke continued to rise from pipes and fires, the stench of burning stung at your nose. You pressed on, scanning anything you could for movement, mentally noting the way back to the alley in your head.

The further you got the thinner the fog became; it was easier to see your surroundings. There was less destruction here, you assumed that meant another squad may be around. You hurried up your steps, still on guard, but impatient to get help to your friends. While sweeping over the lessoning debris, your earpiece began to crack.

“Hello?!” you stopped in your tracks, pressing hard on your ear hoping to find a signal “can anyone hear me?”

Racing forward, the cracks became clearer. Stay…extrac…0600…yoju still…don’t move.

You heart pounded in your chest, did that say yoju were still present? Raising your gun again you scanned your surrounds, your mind fearing the worse.

The streets seemed too clean and the wind too quiet for your liking. The feeling of eyes on you creeped up your neck making you hairs stand on end. You circled around yourself, scanning windows, fences, walls, doors for anything out of the ordinary.

The only cover you could see was an overturned car about 30 yards to your left. Taking a breath and bracing yourself, you dashed over to it, sliding along the floor just in time to dodge a projectile from a nearby building.

A screech erupted through the air, and the sound of skittering feet made your skin crawl. You’d been fighting centipede type Yoju, and five of them were clambering their way to you. One crawled along the side of the building, screeching and snapping is large grotesque pincers.

The thing about these yoju is, they’re practically blind. They rely on their other senses to detect their prey. When you had called for help, you gave away your location, and now the fire of your bullets only put you in more danger.

You’d suffered injuries too in the earlier battle, so your combat power wasn’t as good as it needed to be to survive, you could barely pierce their exoskeleton. In that moment, you decided the best thing you could do was run, all the while trying to find a signal to get medic to your squad. You’d made peace with death long ago, you had no issue dying for others.

As you ran, one of the yoju threw itself on the car, crying out at the absence of food. The stomp of your boots alerted the others of your location and they switched their direction. Shooting what you could at them, you aimed for their legs, hoping to slow them down.

“Is anyone there?!” you screamed, gripping hopelessly onto your earpiece. You boots pounded at the floor, turning corner after corner, your lungs burning for air. “This is Y/N of the fourth division, does anyone copy?!”

A few cracks from your ear made your eyes widen. “This is…shina…what…our position?”

Hope. You recalled the co-ordinates of your squad members and screamed them as loud as you could, over and over again, all the while dodging limbs and pincers.

All you could do was hope they’d got their location. You neared another alley way, if you were quick enough, perhaps you could lose them. Before you could duck into it, a figure emerged from the darkness, a familiar head of white hair dashed past you. Within a few quick blasts, the yoju were no more.

Turning to look at your friend, your shoulders dropped with relief. “Reno,” you breathed, throwing your arms around him, unbelievable happy to see a familiar face. He held you close for a while, happy to be reunited with you.

Your lungs burned with every breath, as though the air were made of fire. He let you go but kept a hand on your shoulder as you bent over trying to ease the pain. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you at all?” He asked, scanning your body for signs of blood. You shook your head, trying to coherently tell him about your squad.

“I heard you on the radio,” Reno started, you looked up at him, still gasping for air, using his arm for support, “I also heard those guys,” he pointed over to the eviscerated yoju. “Y/N, what were you doing? We evacuated that area nearly an hour ago, it too dangerous. We’re waiting on reinforcements. Everyone’s been put on standby.” He knitted his brows in confusion, trying to read your clouded eyes.

“Do they know?” you wheezed, “do they know about my squad?” The shock on Reno’s face told you all you needed to know. You closed your eyes, sorrow for your squad mates paining you more than your own wounds. Reno shook his head, “I heard you trying to tell us the co-ordinates, but the line kept cutting, I’m sorry. Not even I can get a good signal out.”

“But we can try now!” you shouted, clinging to his shoulders, “we can try again!” You pleaded with your eyes, “Reno, they’re going to die. My squad are going to die!” The rain hid your tears, but he knew you were crying. He took a moment to gather his thoughts. He wanted to help you more than anything, but going back into there in your state was a death sentence.

“Im sorry, Lieutenant. Reinforcements will be here soon. Captain Ashiro has ordered us to stay put. There’s something out there. It’s jamming our communication system, no one can get a clear line of communication. It’s not safe. I’m sorry, but we can’t get them any help yet.”

While he talked, you shook your head backing away from him. “We have to try! I can’t leave them like that!” He watched you with pitying eyes, trying to lead you back into the alley. He gently grabbed your hand, beckoning you to follow him. Yanking it away from him, you glared daggers into him.

“I’m going back,” you stated, steading your breathing as best you could, stumbling away from him.

“No, you’re not,” Reno almost laughed at your state. You could barely breath, let alone walk, there was no way he was letting you go back in there. He moved to block your path, using his body to try to guide you back into the alley. You danced around each other, every step you took, he mirrored.

If you went left, he went left. If you ducked right, so did he. He did his best to keep from touching you, but he wasn’t against using force to get you back to safety. With your stomps, he stomped. With your lunges, he echoed. “Stand down, Ichikawa,” you demanded, stopping in front of him. Frustration threatened to erupt out of you.

“I can’t do that, Lieutenant,” Reno tried to keep his voice as calm as he could as he swiftly swiped your gun away from your grasp, throwing it down the alley.

“What the fuck?!” You draw the knife from its sheath at the base of your back, pushing him up against the mouth of the alley, holding it to his throat, your anguished eyes stare at him unfocused.

“I understand,” pressed against him, you meet his sympathetic gaze, “I’ve lost too.”

You stay there for a moment, letting the sound of rain trickling down envelope you. Taking a deep breath, you remove you knife from his throat, tossing it down the alley. Unable to meet his eye, ashamed of your outburst, you whisper an apology to him.

You stumble back a bit, letting your arm fall to your sides, taking in the carnage and dust around you. He was right, there was nothing that could be done. Defeated, you lean against the wall beside him, slowly easing yourself down to the concrete. Bringing your knees to your chest, you hug them, slowly letting reality take hold.

Allowing you face to fall to your knees, “I can’t lose anyone else,” you whisper between sobs.

“Neither can I,” Reno counters. Lifting you head to look at him, you find him crouching next to you, a sad smile on his lips. You watch him with glassy eyes, unsure of what to make of his statement. Searching for the right words to argue with him, you mutter out stammered ‘but’s.

Shushing you, Reno takes a seat next to you, pressing shoulder to shoulder. “I can’t lose you, Y/N, not when its avoidable. Once reinforcements arrive, you have my word that we will get medic to your squad. I promise you.”

You nod your head, giving him your best smile. You head feeling heavy, you lean it on his shoulder, fighting unconsciousness. Reno brought his arm around your shoulder to bring you closer, using his hand to stoke your hair. Finding comfort in his warmth, darkness took hold of your senses, all you could do was have faith the Reno would follow through on his word.

#kn8 #kn8 x reader #kaiju no. 8 #kaiju no 8 x reader #reno ichikawa #reno ichikawa x reader #reno x reader #ichikawa x reader

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what-have-i-unleashed · 2 months ago

Text

inspired by both mermaid-coded dust and this flavor of doomed kist

i'm mashing my two toxic tragic kist posts into one and here's what comes of it i guess... extremely jumbled thoughts

(cw: toxic one-sided relationship, obsession, suicidal ideation)

so dust is in love with killer, but he cannot say it. not because he's mute - he is - but because he doesn't want either killer or nightmare to know. it's a weakness, easily exploitable. so dust keeps it close to his soul, learning to mask his emotions like killer does. everything is fine, really. if he thinks about it hard enough, he gets to see and interact with killer almost every day. he knows killer doesn't have eyes for anyone else. it makes the pain in his soul somewhat more bearable. he can only watch his light in silence, unable to say the words, but at least this closeness to killer is what only he can have.

and he treasures the little moments he has with killer. when killer is exhausted and falls asleep, dust has the opportunity to engrave every detail of killer's face to his mind, every curve, every angle, every edge. every time killer laughs with joy and glee, dust perks up at that. every time killer is injured and dust has to take care of him, he takes note of how light killer is leaning on his shoulders - he takes note of the scars and cracks running on the bones of the person he has to bandage and heal over. what he can do, again and again, is remember. what he has is memory, and he intends to protect and hold close every piece of it.

everything is fine. until it isn't.

killer disappears one day without a trace. nightmare rages while his minions hurry to hide away from his wrath. yet dust remains in killer's lifeless room, hands tracing every surface of the furniture there. the room is nondescript, lacking any personality - the only sign that this is killer's room is his collection of souls and dust on the shelf. and yet, killer didn't take them with him when he disappears.

maybe he's dead, a part of dust whispers in defeat.

do you really think so, another part scoffs in disbelief.

it doesn't matter either way. dust relocates his room to killer's. nightmare doesn't care, but horror and cross do send dust some looks when he announces it. it doesn't matter - his feelings for killer are useless now, it's like mourning for something that never was. all he has left of killer are the memories.

and one day, on a mission nightmare sends him to, dust sees a familiar face again. he does a double take, unable to believe what's happening in front of his eyes. it's killer, and not just any - it's his killer. he would recognize that face anywhere. and killer is happy, genuinely so. in such a way that dust never sees before. he's with someone dust can't recognize, holding hands, leaning in with such comfort. he's happy.

and dust.

dust is...

he's...

you don't know how you feel. because the next thing you know, nightmare is there, his face sporting an gleeful expression only reserved for his unfortunate victims.

ah dust, good work finding the traitor, you hear nightmare say. but nothing is right. nothing about this is right.

killer can't be here, happy with someone else. killer is supposed to be his light out of the deep dark below where he belongs.

you should kill him, your brother says. you should have killed him a long time ago, when he pulled you out of our universe.

don't you miss home, brother?

don't you miss us?

you've hidden your feelings for everything for so long that they're burning you inside out. at this pace, you'll die - if not of a broken soul, then of your own destructive magic.

there's only one way to cure a broken soul. you know it, right?

and you're staring down at killer, your hands around his throat. you'd make him drown in his own blood. and you'd lean close, just close enough that you can almost give him the kiss of death. and you'd have turned yourself and him to your false namesake by the time the sun rises on the horizon.

but you hesitate. because you love him. you love him so much it's killing you alive. and you can't bear to die in a world without him.

and so you let him go. you watch him slip away from your hands, swept away by the new wave of his life.

time stays frozen for a moment before you feel your skull crack on the pavement. something grabs you by the leg and swings you harshly to the other side of the road. if you had a voice to laugh, you would. you spit blood, feeling strangely relieved. this is the price to pay to see killer again. how familiar. it's like everything is making sense again.

"don't think i didn't see what you did back there, dust," nightmare growls at you, holding your pathetic body up in the air by your (probably broken) shoulder. "you let him get away." the pain is excruciating, but it can't extinguish the elation in your (disgusting) soul.

i want to see him again, you mouth to an audience of no one.

you're crazy, your brother chides you. you'll choose him over me? over us?

you don't reply to your brother. you get dropped onto the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. nightmare looms over you, tentacles swishing back and forth dangerously, as you hold your (worthless) soul to him. a deal with a devil. you don't have anything else to offer anyway.

you don't care what happens to you, as long as you can see killer again. you watch impassively as the dark tentacles poise over your soul, a wave of apathy washed over you. only determination remains, its red glow cracking over your fragile soul.

you will see killer again.

if you can't have him, then no one can.

#cw toxic relationship #cw obsession #cw sui ideation #let's see how the people judge this one #i had to stop myself multiple times over writing this rip me #dust sans #murder sans #killer sans #nightmare sans #kist #love affair #colorkiller #< implied anyway but you can interpret it differently #sanshipping #sanscest #utmv #undertale au #fic: mermaid bunny

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gauloiseblue · 6 months ago

Text

Despicable Man

(Perv!Graves × Reader)

[Dead Dove: Do Not Eat | Adult Content MDNI]

A continuation of Oral Fixation

TW: power abuse, unsolicited filming, rape threat

A/N: I just watched S1 of The Following (it sucks), and warren kole just infected my brain with mean!Graves. I just have to write it down, or I'll die of brainrot. Again, mind the tags. Don't read it if it's not your cup of tea.

This is the fourth time you hand in your resignation letter, and the third time he rips it to pieces.

"Can I give you some advice?" He said with a sneer, "If you want my attention, you wouldn't get it by writing these letters. You're wasting your time."

A vein pops up on your forehead, and you slam your hands against the table.

"What's wrong with you?" You shouted at him, "It's not a game, Graves. I'm not playing whatever it is you're playing, I'm quitting!"

"Whoa." He lifts his hands in a mocking manner as he leans on his chair, "You talk to your boss like this?"

"You're not my boss." You hissed.

"Legally, I'm still your boss." He pointed out, and you swore you felt your blood boil, "So don't talk to me like that."

"You think I fucking care?" You spat, "You're not my boss anymore because I'm leaving. Sue me all you want, I'm not gonna stay in a company that threw my grievance letters into the trash."

"Watch your mouth." He warned you with a tone that made you freeze. "I can still punish you if I want."

You open your mouth to speak, before you decide against it.

"Where do you think you're going?" He called out when you turned your heel, before striding towards the door.

"I'm leaving." You retorted, voice dripping with venom.

"No you're not." He stated. "Sit down."

"I'm not gonna sit down and listen to your bullshit." You glare as you push down the door handle, "I've had enough of it, I'm leavi—"

Your feet come to a halt when you see a man standing outside the door, blocking your way out. You recognize him from his black mask and athletic build—he's the commander's guard dog, Graves' most loyal bodyguard. You instinctively take a step back, as the man slowly stalks toward you.

You rattle your brain as you try to think of the reason why he's here, and why he locks the door behind while his eyes stay on you. Until you hear a voice from behind—saying the same words you've heard before, only it's darker, more dangerous this time.

"Sit down, (Name)."

Your hands were seized by the man before you could protest. He drags you from the door, and to the large desk where his boss sits. His grip on you is so strong, that it's impossible to escape him. And when he pushes you down to your seat, you lift your head and snarl at the man across the table.

"What's the meaning of this?"

He tilts his chin in a mocking manner, before he rises from his seat and walks round the table. "What's the meaning of this?" He purses his lips as he pretends to think, "I don't know, you tell me."

You jeeringly scoff at his question, "So is this how you take care of your problems? By threatening them until they withdraw from the case?"

"Oh no, not at all, mon cher. In fact, I want to help you."

You look at him as if you're listening to a mad man's ramble, but he only smirks as he continues.

"You see, I've… reviewed all of the accusations that you wrote against me, and I must admit, you're good at using the right terms." He uttered, "But, you forgot one thing. To win a case, you have to have concrete evidence."

When he turns his gaze on you, you feel your blood run cold, as you catch the subtext of his words.

"And the video that you sent as evidence? It doesn't have my face, mon cher. How are you gonna convince them that it's me? That it's my hand that slipped under your skirt, as I cornered you against the counter? Mind you, it's merely a touch, it couldn't be counted as sexual assault."

A satisfied smirk spreads on his face, as he sees resentment begins to fill your eyes, as well as bitter tears.

"You're smart, (Name). I always like that about you. You stubbornly wanted to prove my wrongdoings, you even brought a hidden cam for it. It's a shame the angle was wrong." He leans closer to whisper in your ear, "And it's a shame that no one cares."

Your glare turns dagger as he pulls away from you.

"Now that it didn't work out, you tried to leave the company. Guess what, mon cher? You need my signature for it." You clench your fist when you hear him chuckle, "In the end, you still need me for your escape."

He lets out a derisive 'whoa' when you're thrown back to your seat before you could punch him. You struggle against his bodyguard's grip, while you scream at him.

"Fuck you, Graves. Fuck you and your arse licking dogs."

"Alright," He sighs as he flicks his wrist, "Shut her up."

Your protest soon turns into a muffled shout, as your mouth is covered by a big hand. You wince when the grip on your jaws becomes too tight, and you claw the arm that slings around you from behind.

"Where were we? Oh." He rummages through his pocket, and pulls something up. Your eyes widen as you recognize the two items from the clink of the metals.

"As I told you before, I want to help you. But my service doesn't come cheap." He sneered as he stood in front of you, "You know that, do you?"

You start to thrash against the man's arm, trying to get away from him. But he seizes your hands so easily, and you watch in horror as he locks the handcuffs around them. Leaving one and a half inches of space between your wrists.

"There we go." You saw him smirk, before your vision came to a blur for a second. By the time you realize it, you've stooped on the ground, with a sore pain on your knees.

The man had pushed you down from your seat, and you heard the heavy drag of the chair from behind. You raise your head to protest, but the word dies down the moment you spot the handycam on his hand.

"Say hi, (Name)." He grinned as he pointed the camera at you.

The dark lens reflects your face, wide-eyed, and mouth agape. If a picture could show a thousand words, then it must've captured the paralyzing shock of your stare.

"You're insane." You whispered in disbelief, while he placed the cam on the table.

"You keep saying those words, darling. But do you even know what they mean?" He bends down to check the device, "What's insane for you, (Name)?"

An immediate answer comes up from your thought, but it dies down the moment it lands on your tongue.

"No words to say?" He sneered, "Where'd that attitude of yours have gone, hmm?"

He slowly circles around you, with a hungry flare in his eyes.

"Now, where were we?" You heard him flout, before you flinched at the sudden pat on your head. "Oh, right."

He seizes you by your chin, which makes you shout at the rough treatment. The urge to spat at him comes up to a boiling point, until you see the prominent bulge inside his pants.

"As I was saying, I'll help you get clear evidence for it. My face is already in the video, so the jury will no longer have to guesswork." He said with a smirk, "Of course, it'll become invalid if we're just conversing, right?"

The sound of click snaps you out of shock, and you watch in horror as his belt slips out of the loops.

"It'll be easier for you if you comply. But if you don't, we can always do this the hard way." He spoke in a low tone, as he shoved down his pants, "Open your mouth, or I'll ruin that pretty hole of yours."

#cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #graves is an asshole in here #graves x reader #phillip graves #graves cod #dead dove do not eat

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ellewritesalright · 1 year ago

Text

Nine Long Years - Part 6

Nikolai Lantsov x Rietveld!reader, Kaz Brekker x sister!Rietveld!reader (platonic)

Part 5 --- Masterlist --- Part 7

Synopsis: After watching your brothers die, you found yourself working on the Volkvolny. In the many years since then, you somehow became the queen of Ravka while your brother somehow survived firepox and life in the Barrel, rising through its ranks. In disguise during a diplomatic trip with your husband Nikolai, you meet Kaz Brekker for what you think is the first time, only to find out that he is your long-thought-dead little brother.

Author's Note: Hi! It's been a while, huh :) ? Get ready to buckle up again cause this part is another 10k words of mess and destruction <3 Hope you're ready for it. Also this part picks up directly after the events of part 5 and then takes place over a few months, so I hope it makes sense to y'all

Warnings: heartbreak, mentions of death, angst with minimal fluff in this part, mentions of sickness, panic attacks, firepox, mentions of the Hertzoon con. and if i'm missing something pls lmk

Word Count: 10,020

……….

FIFTH YEAR

You had a bag packed and ready by dawn. All you had to do was find a horse, then you'd be headed far away from this camp and the people you'd devoted so much of yourself to. Even if it pained you to leave them, it would pain you more to stay; so you snuck out of Tolya and Tamar’s tent and into the camp. You quietly approached the stable area. Not everyone was awake yet, but a few soldiers were up and roaming already. Still, no one noticed you as you went along–or, you thought no one noticed. As soon as you laid hands on one of the horse's reins, a voice called out to you.

"Leaving so soon?"

You turned and saw Mal with his arms crossed.

"Wouldn't have anything to do with your captain and Alina's engagement, would it?" He asked.

"What's it to you?" You countered, dropping your hands to your sides.

"Well, I'm pretty sure you and him are involved. So if you leave, what's stopping him from wanting a real relationship with Alina?"

You rolled your eyes. "He can have a real relationship with whoever he wants, I don't give a shit."

"But I do." He pursed his lips and sighed. "I care about Alina, and this whole… situation with Sturmhond is stupid."

"Prince Nikolai, not Sturmhond," you corrected. "And I rather think he'd call it 'mutually beneficial' for him and the saint."

"It's a sham is what it is."

"Well, take that up with him, not me." You turned back to the horse you planned on stealing.

“Back to the topic, though. You're leaving?"

"You're staying?" You sassed over your shoulder.

"I love Alina. No matter how angry I am with her or with Nikolai right now, I love her. So I'm going to protect her and stand by her, even when we don't see eye to eye."

You glanced back at him, voice quiet. "How can you do that?"

"Because it's always been her and me. Together. And I would rather be with her and be miserable than be without her and be devastated."

"I don't think I can do that for Nikolai," you admitted, eyes drooping to the ground.

"Do you love him?" Mal questioned.

More than anything, you wanted to say, but all you could manage was a shaky nod.

"And how would you feel without him?"

"Terrible." You felt your blood boil at the thought of it. "But having him like this–in the night, behind closed doors–when she'll have him in every way that counts? I can't live that way."

"She won't have him like that," he scoffed. "She loves me as much as I love her, and she wouldn't have him in any way other than ceremonial. I mean, it's like a stupid show for the Ravkans, for saint’s sake."

You whipped around to him, bordering on incensed. "And when they're married, when they have to have children--heirs--what then?"

"It won't come to that. I won't let it,” he ground out, his face going red.

"You can't stop it, Oretsev."

"Just watch me, Rietveld." He looked as angry as you felt, but he took a breath and made his next words calm yet firm. "I won't let it happen. And if you stick around, there's even less of a chance it will happen."

"I can't watch this 'show,' as you put it. It hurts too much just thinking about it all; seeing it would kill me."

His face softened. "Rietveld, please, stay with us. At least until we make it to Os Alta. You could find a job in the city, or you could always stand as a private guard–that’s what I’ll be doing. And if it ever feels like too much, come talk to me. Vent to me. I’m on your side here–I hate this all just as much as you do.”

You considered his plea. You didn’t realize how this would affect him too. It felt like the lash of this engagement had only cut you, but it was selfish to not realize how others around you were bleeding. This sort of thing hurt everyone involved, not just you–though admittedly it hurt some people more. With a frown, you realized how Alina and Nikolai must also be in pain.

But despite your deeper understanding of the situation, you couldn’t feel sorry for Nikolai–he was the one who’d dealt the blow, and he would have to lick his own wounds.

“I’ll stay,” you told Mal. “But I swear I’m not going anywhere near Nikolai. I’ll only be here to stand guard of Alina with you.”

“You realize they'll likely have to spend time together and you’ll have to see him?”

“All I have to see is Alina, he’ll be peripheral from now on.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Thank you.”

You nodded at him and squared your shoulders. “Where is the saint then? I’d like to start working.”

……….

At first you thought the journey to Os Alta would be no big deal, that you would be able to handle how he rode side by side with her or in a pretty little carriage while you were riding ten feet behind at all times. And it almost was no big deal, for the most part. Alina didn’t seem swayed by his joking or small talk, she was too proud to let him in after he’d lied about his true identity all the time he was at sea with her and Mal.

But it was when you stopped in all the little towns on the way to the capital that things became rough. Nikolai put on a show for the Ravkans, charming them left, right, and centre. And his pretend affections--if you could even call them pretend considering how real they looked–slowly showed more blatantly in front of the townspeople and First Army escort. His hands would linger on Alina’s as he helped her off her horse; his eyes would watch her softly, as though she was the light of his life; he spoke of her to his travelling companions and hosts with a reverence and care that made your stomach twist each time you overheard it.

You kept yourself busy, preferring to spend your time with the horses or sitting in the corner listening to the gripes and gossip of the First Army soldiers. If ever Nikolai glanced at you and you caught him, you always glared back until he looked away first. Sometimes you saw a glimmer of hurt in his eyes from your harsh stare, but you couldn’t allow yourself to feel bad for him. This was his doing, after all.

Sometimes Tamar or Tolya would sit with you. They would all glare at Nikolai just like you did, though you tried to dissuade them. Well, you didn’t try very hard to dissuade them; you would give them each a look if you ever caught them doing it, but you never said anything as you were silently grateful that they sided with you. The twins had known Nikolai longer than they’d known you, and you felt weird being the reason they were icy with him. And yet, you kept repeating to yourself that this was his doing, that they were also upset about the way he treated you.

The arrival at Os Alta could not have come sooner. You were glad to be in a more permanent spot, though you couldn’t say either building would ever feel like a home to you. You were used to the open decks and low ceilings of schooners and ships, or the modest rooms of inns, or even the little farmhouse you’d grown up in. The Grand and Little Palaces were greater than any building you had ever seen. When you’d been in Ketterdam, you thought the exchange was the most massive place in the world, but now you knew you were wrong; the Grand Palace stood three intimidating stories high, with marble and gold inlaying almost everything.

It was odd picturing Nikolai’s youth here. You couldn’t imagine being a child in a place like this; how impersonal it all felt to you, with its glimmering white walls and landscape oil paintings, but how much worse it would have been to be a kid here. You supposed that was why Nikolai had made an effort to fill the captain’s cabin on the Volkvolny with all manner of cozy blankets and furniture and knick-knacks he’d acquired from his travels.

Luckily for you, though, the only times you had to be in the Grand Palace was when you were on guard for Alina and she had a meeting or had to attend dinner over there. Most of your time was spent with Alina in the Little Palace. While still massive, the Little Palace had much more charm to it, with its lovely carvings and pearl embellishments. On days when you weren’t guarding Alina, you’d taken to sitting by the lake and watching the Second Army summoners training.

And, now that you had more officially started working as a member of Alina’s guard, the times you saw Nikolai were more manageable. Most times you saw him, there were royal officials or army generals around, so he had dialled back his smittenness with Alina compared to when you were all on the road. Moreover, he barely spoke to you, though you supposed that was because you never spoke to him. The most you conversed–though it was one-sided–was a short greeting and nod from him before you tilted your head away to watch whatever Alina was doing. He didn’t push it beyond that; he didn’t dare, knowing the anger you carried last time you two spoke.

It felt slightly odd to you that the last time you’d actually talked to him was weeks ago when he told you of this engagement with Alina. You’d never gone that long without speaking, not since you first met him. Even before you were his second in command, he made it his mission to speak to you and every crew member on the Volkvolny at least weekly.

His greeting to you today was the same as it had become as of late. You were with Alina at a meeting of First and Second Army generals in the Grand Palace. At the end of the meeting when almost everyone had cleared the room, Nikolai approached you.

“Rietveld,” he smiled at you, giving you an almost awkward nod. But rather than keep it at that, he also said, “You look well.”

You wanted to scoff. You’d barely gotten any sleep the night before because of your nightmares. They’d returned since you started sleeping by yourself again. Night after night, you kept waking up having relived your brothers’ deaths, and there was no one with you to help you through it.

You tilted your body away from Nikolai, doing your duty as you looked at Alina. You knew she was safe since she was just speaking with Mal, but you needed the poor excuse to turn away from the infuriating man beside you.

“I thought you might like to know that a team of Fabrikators and I are rebuilding the Hummingbird after the crash through the fold. It will be docked at the lake behind the Little Palace, so you’re welcome to visit it any time, to see how it progresses.” He spoke with all the confidence he usually exuded, though one look at him and you knew better; his eyes were nervous as he extended this small gesture of goodwill. He was worried about what you might say or do, you just knew it.

You almost said nothing, but as you looked into his eyes, you let out a short huff and grumbled, “Well let’s hope this one flies better than the last.”

“Truly,” Nikolai grinned, pleased that you’d given him a response.

You looked at Alina again and noticed she was leaving the room, so without another word, you left Nikolai.

……….

It was happening again.

You were on the streets of the Barrel, hurrying to reach your brothers after a long and stressful day of work. You wove through the alleyways, your feet moving like air; you were weightless–drifting. There was a light scraping, the prodding of the Bodymen's hooks against the cobbles, and a horrible thought came to your mind. You tried to move faster, but your feet were still drifting. All you knew was that you had to get there faster–had to say goodbye to your brothers.

Suddenly, something shifted and you were upon the tall stack of crates Jordie and Kaz were hiding behind in their time of illness. You stepped up slowly, only to see Nikolai sitting there in the place of your brothers.

He lay in a heap on the cobbles; weak with firepox, and mumbling nonsensically. Your feet could not move fast enough to be with him.

You crumbled down to your knees beside him. And you reached for him, but he used what little strength he had still left in him to push you away. You tried again, but he swatted you back with a sick wail in his throat. Again and again, you reached for him, trying to hold him in your arms, to touch his forehead or grab his hand, to comfort him in whatever way you could, but he always evaded you.

And then when you finally got hold of his shoulders and leaned in to look at his face, he shoved you away with a great force. You were knocked down beside him, and his face turned angry–hateful.

Suddenly, he shouted at you, "This is all your fault!"

You woke up with a start. Sweaty and shaking in the dark, you rushed to light your bedside lamp. The dim flame brought you some comfort, but as soon as you started to dwell on the images you’d dreamt, you felt nausea gripping you tight. You could taste the death in your mouth, stirring a sour, stale sickness inside you. You sat on the edge of your bed, your body doubled over and your head between your legs as you tried to shove the rot away.

You tucked your knees up to your chest as a sob tore through you. It was moments like this that made you most angry over Nikolai’s engagement; moments where you used to rely on him to help you, but where you couldn’t anymore. Since that trip to West Ravka a year and a bit ago now, he was the one to pull you out of any nightmares and back to the warm reality of his arms around you. But now for the last two months, he was all the way in another stupidly grand building. And engaged. And utterly unavailable to you.

You huffed, shoving to your feet despite how weak your limbs felt. With a cloak over your pajamas and your boots to protect you from the autumn evening chill, you travelled out of your stifling bedroom, through the tall halls of the Little Palace, and out into the open sky of the outdoors. You gulped in the crisp air, clearing your lungs of death as you listened to the crickets. You looked out at the lake behind the Little Palace and spotted Nikolai’s new flying boat modelled after the Hummingbird. The bobbing boat beckoned you closer.

In the moonlight, your boots crunched towards the short dock on the lake. It creaked underfoot as you approached the boat. Kingfisher was written in scripted lettering on the small vessel’s stern. The deck wasn’t too large, though there appeared to be a cabin beneath it, judging by a small circular window on the port side. You noticed the flicker of candlelight through this window, and before you could turn tail and run back in the direction you came from, you heard his voice.

“Can’t sleep?” Nikolai called out to you, appearing from the open hatch of the cabin

You gulped, not wanting to meet his eyes. You muttered, “Something like that.”

“I can’t sleep either,” he said.

He stepped towards the ramp that connected the ship to the dock. You ignored how he wrung his strong and greasy hands on a cloth. You also ignored the sweat on his brow, ignored the memories of all the times you’d once worked beside him. All the times you’d admired the concentration sculpted along his beautiful face. He wasn't dressed like the prim prince you'd seen the last couple of months, he looked more like the privateer you loved.

“Would you want to come aboard and look around?” he asked softly, his voice reminiscent of all the nights you’d once spent with him by your side.

You nearly shook your head, nearly said you should go back to sleep. But the lingering fears in your mind kept you from returning to the Little Palace. All that was there for you was nightmares and a Nikolai that despised you. At least this Nikolai spoke softly, with a lingering affection.

Silently, you climbed the ramp and boarded the Kingfisher. Your arms crossed as you took in the sails and rudders, the fine lacquer keeping the fine wood intact. The sway of the waves beneath brought you some peace. It was too long since you’d sailed.

“Come check this out?” Nikolai asked of you, tilting his head towards the stern.

You stepped over to the back of the boat, keeping a secure enough distance beside him as he braced his hands on the wheel. You eyed the lever that would adjust the sails so that Squallers could lift the boat. The designs were updated, but most everything looked the same as it was on the Hummingbird. Nikolai pointed to the back mast.

“When I pull the lever now, this mast will only tilt halfway, allowing smoother steering than the last one did,” he explained, his eyes alight. He looked like a kid on the first wintery day of snowfall.

He looked over and caught you staring at him. You turned away as soon as you could, but the damage was done. The soft adoration in his eyes snapped whatever tough resolve you’d built up over the last few months, and you took a sharp breath. It came out in a shaky exhale, and you brought your hand to your mouth.

“This is all your fault!”

The words he cried in your nightmare flashed through your ears, and you felt your throat tighten. You started sobbing, nothing held back as hot tears dripped down your face. You heard Nikolai sigh softly as he realized you were crying. Without hesitation, Nikolai brought you into his arms, holding you under the watchful eye of the moon. You should have been strong enough to push him away, to remind the both of you what you’d lost. But you just weren’t strong enough. It wasn’t in you to push him away like he had pushed you away in your dream.

"What’s wrong, my darling?" He murmured into the crown of your head.

“Nightmares.” There was so much more to your pain, but this was all you could say.

His voice fell to a whisper, "Oh, darling."

He held you close, swaying you for a moment as you stood on the deck, then he ushered you to the cabin hatch. He brought you below deck, sitting down on a plain bench with you as a lantern burned in the corner. As you sat there, you felt the boat swaying gently, rocking you.

Nikolai's one hand caressed your back, rubbing warm circles into you, as the other cradled the back of your neck, holding you securely as you leaned against his chest. He smelled like salt, grease, and pine; it was a combination so familiar and so Nikolai. You forgot what it was to breathe him in.

There was a bubble in your throat, an aching pressure on your larynx as you sobbed into his half-laced shirt. You tried to keep it inside, tried not to let the bubble burst and the truth come out, but you hadn’t been good at hiding things from him ever since the first night he saw you cry.

“I just miss you,” you whispered, praying he didn’t hear you.

His hand stilled on your back for a moment, then he kept rubbing along it. He heard, then. And yet, he didn’t say anything. He just held you to him as you kept crying.

The scent of him lingered as you stayed in his arms. Even after you shut your eyes and felt your brain slowly falling asleep, you could smell him. The boat kept rocking, and soon enough your body fell asleep in the comfort of his familiar arms.

……….

You could hear birds when you woke up. The air smelled crisp. Your eyes blinked open, looking around at the cabin of the Kingfisher. It looked bigger in the light of dawn. You lifted your head off of Nikolai's chest.

A sick form of embarrassment took root in your chest. There was no humiliation quite like falling asleep in the arms of someone you swore you were done with. And he awoke with you, just as light a sleeper as he'd always been. He smiled softly at you, and you had to look away and get up lest you do something even more stupid.

"I should go," you said, straightening out your cloak as you went to the hatch. It was still dawn, the sun had barely risen, but you needed to be off of this ship and back into your room before people started waking up.

"Or you could stay," Nikolai replied quietly, standing with you. "We could talk about us? About last night?"

"There's nothing to talk about, Nikolai," you huffed.

"Darling, you were sobbing last night. I haven't seen you as bad as that since that time we were stranded in West Ravka." Nikolai sighed, stepping a bit closer to you. You let him grab your hand. "I made a promise to myself that night that I wouldn't let you cry alone ever again.”

You pursed your lips, saying something he knew. “You’ve already broken that promise."

“I know. I know I have, so the least I can do right now is talk and listen to you until you’re better.”

“I’m not going to get better," you scoffed.

He knew that too, you were certain of it, but he didn’t dare say it aloud. Instead, he said something much more stupid. “If I knew the people of Ravka would accept me as their king I never would have–”

“Stop,” you said tiredly, dropping your hand from his. You folded your arms around yourself. “I don’t want to argue right now. You’ve made your choice, and that’s that.”

Nikolai went quiet, his eyes dropping to the floor. You took a breath and climbed up the hatch, into the open air, and into reality. You walked across the deck, but stopped at the ramp when he cleared his throat and called your name.

"I have a test flight of the Kingfisher this afternoon." He gave a weak knock to the mast, a paltry smile on his face. "You're more than welcome to come watch.”

“I’m on duty later, I’m not sure I can come.” At your sides, your fingers balled into your cloak.

“I invited Alina already. She said she has Grisha training, but she might be able to make it.”

You nodded politely. “Then perhaps I’ll see you again later.”

“Perhaps.”

You turned to leave but he called your name again. You looked at him, watching his nervous eyes.

“I… I hope you know that you can always come to me when you’re hurting. I’ll never turn you out,” he said softly. “Or if you’re not upset but you just feel like talking to me, I’m here for you.”

His words made your blood sting. You knew he didn't mean to make you mad, that he was being sincere and kind, and yet you couldn't stop the low-boiling rage that seeped into your veins. Why he couldn't just say that he missed you and that he had made a colossal mistake, you didn't know. Why he felt the need to cloak his regret in some twisted extension of goodwill, you also didn't know.

If you were even angrier, you might have called him a coward, but instead you shook your head and gave him another polite smile.

“Thank you, your highness, but don’t ever expect me at your door.”

He frowned and glanced out at the lake. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that. You know we’re beyond formalities.”

“I’ve nothing else to call you now besides formalities.” You turned on your heel. "Have a good day, your highness. I won't bother you like this again."

"It wasn't a bother," you heard him mutter as you descended the ramp and hurried back to the Little Palace.

……….

Your day wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Sure, you woke up in Nikolai’s arms, but other than that nothing of note happened. You guarded Alina, you escorted her around, then you came back to the Little Palace.

As you were turning down your bed for the night, you heard a soft knock at your door. You expected it to be one of the twins challenging you to a game of cards before bed as you sometimes did with them. So you gently called out for them to come in.

It was not Tamar or Tolya. Or even Alina or Mal, the only other people whose quarters belonged in this wing of the Little Palace. It was someone who was not supposed to be here.

"No," you shook your head at him as you glanced back and saw him. You hadn't snapped at Nikolai this morning, but as he shut the door behind him you felt the urge to chew him up and spit him out. "Are you crazy? What are you doing here?"

"You said you wouldn't bother me, but I made no promises not to come and bother you," He said with a playful shrug. "Besides, last night reminded me of how terribly I sleep without you."

"You shouldn't be here, you'll be caught," you said quietly, though with a measured level of anger.

"By whom? The twins? Mal? Alina? They all know our feelings for each other, and they won't care."

You crossed your arms. "Well, I care. Staying with you on that damned boat last night was a momentary lapse of judgment, not an invitation to make this into a habit."

"To me, it's just a way to sleep better," he said softly, stepping a bit closer to you. "I would rather have four hours of high-quality sleep with you in my arms and have to sneak back to the Grand Palace while it's still dark. The alternative is tossing and turning alone in my bed because I feel so incredibly alone I could scream."

“I don’t care if you’re lonely! I don’t care!" You stormed up to him, glaring a hole into his beautiful hazel eyes. "I'm lonely too, but I don’t cry about it to you. Because what good would it do? Would it change your mind? No, it wouldn’t."

Nikolai raises his brows slightly, a signal he's about to talk, but you cut him off with a huff.

"So, your highness, no matter what you say to me, no matter how badly you want me to, I will not warm your bed. Not if there is no real future with me by your side as anything more than a mistress that you hide away from the world!”

He opened his mouth to try to speak again but a loud knock on the door cut him off before he could.

You raised a hand in front of him in a halting motion. “Don’t. Don’t say whatever it is you’re going to say. I don’t want to hear any more on the subject or I will leave Os Alta. I will pack my things and head for the coast. Because I won’t do this. I… I can’t.”

You ignored the tremble in your lip as you watched him stand there, dejected. Something in the way he stood made him look like a small child after a scolding. It was almost enough to make you feel bad for lashing out at him. Almost.

Another knock at the door made you take a breath, and you stepped back from Nikolai again.

“Come in,” you called out.

The door opened to Tamar, Tolya, Mal and Alina standing in the hall. Great, you thought, you’d woken everyone with your yelling. With your luck, all of the Little Palace heard your grievances.

Tamar and Tolya came to your side, not-so-subtly standing between you and Nikolai. Mal and Alina remained in the doorway.

“Is everything alright?” Tamar asked, carefully looking between you two.

“Nikolai was just leaving,” you muttered.

“Good. I’ll walk him back,” Tolya said.

“I’ll go too,” Mal piped in.

Nikolai shook his head with a sad little frown. “I don’t need you to–”

“C’mon, your highness.” Tolya ushered him from the room.

The last you saw of him was an ashamed glance he cast over his shoulder as he passed Alina in the doorway. Once he was gone you approached the summoner.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you said to her. You looked at Tamar. “You and the others as well.”

“It’s alright.” Alina gave you a paltry smile. “If you want me to, I can punch him again.”

“Same,” Tamar said. “Or I’ll get Tolya to do it. That would be a spectacle.”

You chuckled. “That won’t be necessary. But thank you.”

When you looked at Alina again you saw a guilty gleam in her eyes. She almost matched Nikolai’s levels of shame as she wrought her hands. Then she suddenly hugged you.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled beside your head.

You wrapped your arms around her.

It wasn’t her fault, though you couldn’t deny that you resented her a little. She would have the greatest love of your life, living in the peaceful eye of a hurricane, while you would be caught up in the worst storm imaginable, peering through to them with desolate eyes as you tried not to lash out and harm them.

But it still wasn’t her fault. It was squarely on Nikolai. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything to her, to so much as accept her apology.

Alina let go of you, and she and Tamar said their goodnights.

You couldn’t sleep, so you lay in bed, watching the stars through your window.

You recalled starry nights at sea, when the sky and the water were one with twinkling specs of white on the darkest blue you’d ever seen. Nights when you were happy, wrapped in a warm and familiar pair of arms, and the worst kind of storm you knew of only involved heavy rain on the deck of a ship.

……….

As luck would have it, there was a hunting party leaving the next day. Mal was going, and after the fiasco with Nikolai the night before, he invited you to join him and the group of nobles and high-ranking military faces on this hunt.

You gladly seized the opportunity to be away from the palace for a spell, and now you were riding horseback alongside Mal. The last time you'd ridden beside him was the road to Os Alta, but you shoved that memory aside. Nikolai was there then, putting on the show of his engagement for the Ravkan people. Saints, no matter what you were doing or what memory you carried he always seemed to linger, staining your mind and your every moment.

You shut your eyes for a second, your grip tight on your reins.

"Everything alright?” Mal’s voice reached your ears.

You glanced at him. “I’m fine.”

“Rietveld,” he started, eyes darting around before he lowered his volume. “I hope you can enjoy yourself this week. You deserve the time away from it all.”

“I know.” You nodded. “I just… I don’t know how to get through this.”

“Well, you’re faring better than our lovely prince.”

Were you though? You might have been the one to reject him last night, but you were also the one who broke down in front of him then passed out in his arms the night before. You supposed neither of you were taking this well.

“And how are you and Alina?" You asked quietly.

He turned his eyes ahead. "We're…"

You nodded after a long moment when he could not respond. "Yeah. I get that."

"It's a bit shit, isn't it?"

"A whole bucket-load of shit is more like it."

He shrugged in agreement.

……….

While you could admit it was a marvel watching Mal tracking, the hunting part of the trip was not nearly as interesting as the evening dinners. You'd be sat at tables between Ravkan lords and generals and dignitaries, listening to their stories and answering their questions. Speaking with them reminded you of your time with Lady Trokowsky; so many of them were as curt and prim as her. And though some of them were also a bit pompous for your liking, you held your own in their conversations. Plus, when there was wine and good food, even the most irritable guests were made tolerable.

"Were you really a sailor, Ms. Rietveld?" One of the lords asked you on the third night. "Grigor here says you were, but I can't imagine you at sea."

"And why's that, my lord?" You raised a brow. "Do you not think me capable?"

"Oh, not at all! Aside from our esteemed Oretsev here, you've shot the most game--I think you are very capable indeed. I just can't envision a young woman as refined as you in the life of a sailor."

"You think I'm refined? My lord, you flatter me," you said, smiling politely and tilting your glass at him. That was what Lady Trokowsy used to do when paid a compliment; you took your cues in manners from your time with her. You noticed Mal leaning forward in his seat.

"Ms. Rietveld is more than accomplished. If I'm not mistaken, she knows five languages, she can track and divide large sums all in her head and without paper, she's quite gifted with a sword, plus if you're bleeding and broken she's great to have around when there's no corporalniks nearby."

The table guests all nodded their heads, murmuring in approval, and you gave a slight look of thanks to Mal. As their new favourite hunting guest, his word meant a lot to these people. You were grateful for their good opinion; you hoped perhaps one of them might offer you a job or help you once you one day decided to leave Alina's guard.

Dinner carried on, with many of the guests asking you more about yourself or even just your opinion on local matters or the state of the war. They all seemed pleased by your answers, and you left for your tent that night feeling good about yourself and your future. Mal walked with you, and he nudged you with his elbow.

"We've got a future diplomat on our hands," he smiled.

"Well, you helped out quite a bit."

"I said one thing. The rest of that was all you, Rietveld. You charmed them all by yourself."

You sighed at his words. A small grin took up your face. "I kind of did, didn't I?"

"You definitely did." He turned to you as you stood outside your tent. "I'm glad you came on this trip. And I'm glad you got to see what kind of life you might have ahead of you."

"And what kind of life is that?"

"A life of rubbing elbows with the Ravkan 'elite.' You're already pretty good at it, but it's nice practice for once you're one of them."

You gave him a look. "Mal, that's never going to happen."

"It will once Nikolai marries you," he smirked.

You frowned at his chipperness. "He's already engaged, remember?"

He lowered his voice, looking around to check if anyone was nearby. "Alina's not going to marry him. Trust me. She doesn't want that life. When all is said and done, she won't go through with it."

"And you think he'd just marry me?" You asked in an irritated whisper.

"Yes. He loves you."

"I have nothing to offer him. At least Alina's a saint."

"He loves you, Rietveld," Mal repeated.

You looked at him, saw the certainty in his eyes, and had to look away again. You hated how sure he seemed. How confident he was, even though you knew better and he should know better too. Even if Alina didn't end up marrying him, Nikolai wouldn't marry you. The last few months had shown that. He would no doubt choose a princess or a very rich man's daughter, of which you were neither of those things.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Oretsev," you muttered, then ducked into your tent.

……….

Alina was there to greet you and Mal when you arrived at the Little Palace. But unfortunately, Mal kept riding to the stables, practically ignoring Alina. You had no idea what happened there between them to have him ice her out like that; all trip Mal had only complimentary things to say about Alina. Still, you supposed if any of the hunting party asked your opinion of Nikolai you would only say favorable things.

Regardless, Alina was there to offer you a hug and walk with you inside the Little Palace.

"How was your trip?" She inquired.

"Good. It was nice to be away for a bit," you said, remembering the tense circumstances before you'd left. "And nice to spend time with Mal. He's a good friend, even if he embellishes a bit."

"Saints, he embellished what exactly?" She raised her brows worriedly.

"Well, he was talking me up to some of the guests and he made me out to be some daring and sophisticated hero."

"Why's that?" She chuckled.

"No idea why. At one point he even said I went to the university of Ketterdam and graduated top of my class. Meanwhile, I was never educated past fifteen years old; I was raised on a farm, for saint's sake."

"Well, I'm glad he talked you up." She smiled at you. "I'm sure it made those stuffy lords and generals more pleasant to be around if they thought you were admirable."

"I suppose it did." You looked at her. "He talked you up too. Turned more than a few of them on to your side as the new leader of the second army."

"He did?"

"Yeah, he's really good at all of that."

A gentle silence filled the air. You weren't sure if it was because you'd told her what Mal got up to while they were apart, but she decided to talk about what Nikolai had been up to. Apparently, he mostly spent his time fine-tuning the Kingfisher or a number of other inventions he'd set up work on near the Summoner Pavillion.

"Also, last week he did something odd," Alina said as you arrived at the wing where both of your rooms were.

"Odd how?" You asked.

"Well, we were meeting with the royal family's jeweller." She saw the quizzical curve of your brow and added, "For Nikolai's birthday next month."

You pursed your lips. "Oh. Right."

"Part of the preparations was getting fitted for outfits and choosing which royal jewels and crowns to wear. It was a lot." She sighed. "And when we were going through the royal jewels, that’s when he did something odd."

"Oh?"

"The jeweller was showing off different crowns and tiaras for me," Alina blushed slightly, "and when he pulled out some sapphire crown, Nikolai lost it for a second."

The mention of a sapphire crown made your face burn. Could it be the crown you'd helped Nikolai recover? The crown he'd once put on your head and called you moya tsaritsa--his queen? Your heart hammered in your chest.

"He…" You furrowed your brows. "He lost it? What do you mean by that?"

Alina leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice despite how you were alone.

"Well, I wouldn't compare it with other people's losing it, but for Nikolai, it definitely made him lose it. He's usually so calm and everything, but he looked upset. He got all pale and then he looked at the jeweller and sternly said something like 'I told you very specifically not to put that crown in the selection.' And when the jeweller said that the queen wanted me to pick from everything, Nikolai started to go red, and he said 'I don't care what my mother said. This crown isn't to be worn.'"

Your lips parted slightly, and you glanced away for a moment, parsing out what she'd said.

Had Nikolai really been that upset over seeing that sapphire crown on display? You cared to know what upset him about it. Was it the sight of it? Or was it the thought that Alina might have picked the crown he foolishly thought you would one day wear? You weren't sure. You didn't even know if he had actually thought you could be his queen; but regardless, he had to know now that you weren't an option.

Alina chuckled slightly. "That's odd, right?"

"Yeah…" You said softly. "Odd."

……….

It was your first day off after you'd gotten back from the hunting outing. So, like most of your days off, you decided to take a walk on the Little Palace grounds. There was a pretty path behind the lake, and you were admiring the changing leaves of the trees all around you. It was understandable then that you didn't notice someone's sudden presence.

A throat cleared ahead of you on the path and you instantly snapped into focus. Your eyes landed on Nikolai and you almost sighed but then your jaw tensed instead. Since you got back you had seen him while on guard, but you hadn't been alone with him since that night he'd snuck to your room. You were afraid that the furious nature of your last conversation would only continue if you spoke again.

He gave you a slight smile and a polite nod. His hands were clasped behind his back. You took in his clothes, the slightly unkempt way his fine shirt was tucked, and the grease spot on his trousers. He must have been working on the Kingfisher again when he saw you walk by and chose to follow you. Still, he didn't look like he was in the mood for an argument either, not with his diplomatic smile.

"How was your hunting trip?" He asked, finally breaking the silence between you.

"Fine," was all you said.

He nodded, shifting his weight on his feet. "I hope you weren't too bored with all the lords and generals. I know how dreadful those trips can be."

"It was fine, really," you said, crossing your arms. "Mal is a good friend to have around those sorts. He and I spent all the time while we weren't shooting to talk up our little saint; to win public opinion of her."

"I didn't think Oretsev was clever enough for that," Nikolai grumbled, the annoyance of his words hidden under a smile. "Using influential lords and the likes to bolster the public's opinion of Alina… good on him, I suppose. It's a smart tactic."

Something about his words, or perhaps his slight irritation and the fact that he had no right to be irritated, irked you to no end.

"You hypocrite," you scoffed. "You frown down on Mal for using these lords and changing their opinions to help your fiance, and yet it's you who's engaged to her just to use her sainthood to bolster your claim to the throne."

Nikolai chuckled lightly. “And she is using me so that my family doesn't declare her and all the other Grisha enemies of Ravka. I wasn't frowning down on Oretsev for using these hunting parties. Using people for one's own advantage happens all the time in politics.”

“So I’ve learned," you said, your eyes narrowed slightly on him. You watched him for a moment. "Were you using me?”

“What?” He turned to you, his eyes turning from slight amusement to a blinking bewilderment. “Of course I wasn’t using you,” he said softly. “Do you really think I was using you?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Nikolai. You told me you wanted us, now and always. You put a crown on my head and called me your queen.” You tugged your simple chain out from under your shirt and let Nikolai’s ring dangle on it. “You gave me a ring that I, very stupidly, believed meant something… And then you made me feel like an idiot for thinking you could ever be mine–that I could ever share my life with a prince.”

"You still wear the ring?" His eyes seemed hopeful.

"I… that's what you've latched onto?" You blinked at him.

He stepped closer to you. His eyes were earnest. "I'm sorry. I wasn't using you. It was always love between us; I wasn't going to exploit that."

"No, instead you broke it."

You saw it on his face. Yes, I broke it, was written in the mournful line of his mouth as his eyes drooped to his shoes.

"If I could take it all back," he said quietly, "I would. And you would be happy and I could stop worrying and it would all be back to the way it was before."

Your fingers balled up at your sides as you scowled. "And how was it before? You expect me to believe you would have married me once you were back to being a prince? When you were still Sturmhond you were so ashamed of me that we didn't even let the crew know we were together!"

"I wasn't ashamed–" he started but you stepped closer to him, eyes furious.

"Why would I believe you'd ever let the royal court know you wanted to be with a common sailor?"

"Because I would!" He exclaimed, a desperate glint in his eye as he brushed his hands through his hair. "Because I love you and--despite what you think–I am not ashamed of that love. I never have been."

He took your hand, and--ignoring the urge to break free and slap him or shove him into the dirt–you let him. He took a breath, letting his eyes meet yours again once he was ready.

“What I’m trying to say is that I–"

Nikolai cut himself off at the sound of footsteps approaching. He dropped your hand and took a step back, and you pretended his actions didn't sting. The approaching footsteps turned out to be Vasily, and you kept down the groan you wanted to make.

"Vasily," Nikolai nodded.

He put on a charming smile, though his chest rose and fell quickly. You didn't need to read his mind to know what he was thinking because you were thinking the same thing--how much had his brother seen between you two? It was a wonder with the way Vasily stared so skeptically at you both.

"Who's this you're speaking with, brother?" Vasily asked, sleazily eyeing every part of you besides your narrowed stare.

"This is Rietveld," Nikolai answered calmly, though you noticed how his hands were desperately trying to not ball up at his sides. "She was my second in command at sea, now she's one of Alina's guards."

He sneered as he glanced between you and Nikolai. "Ah yes, one of your… crewmates. Seems quite pretty for a sailor. I think you spoke about her before… didn't you say she was Kerch?" He addressed you. "Are you Kerch, girl?

"Yes," you replied with gritted teeth. He bent a superior eyebrow and you added, "Moi Tsarevich," with the bow of your head.

"A Kerch sailor," he mused. "I wonder where you met her… Was it Ketterdam?"

"Yes, brother," Nikolai said, his words carrying a careful twinge of annoyance.

"Such a pretty thing… I wonder, where in Ketterdam could you have found her?" He made no attempt to hide how he watched you like you were a piece of meat. "Did you pluck her from the Barrel?"

"Vasily," Nikolai warned with a low voice.

"I imagine she came from somewhere lush and expensive, at least I hope you didn't buy her out of one of the cheap brothels. Though she does have the scowl of a cheap whore."

Nothing more could be said on the topic, as Nikolai's fist came in contact with Vasily's jaw. You heard an ugly thwack sound, and Vasily stumbled backwards, landing on his ass on the dustiness of the dirt path.

"You filthy mutt!" Vasily spat. "You nearly knocked all my teeth loose!"

You expected Nikolai to straighten out with a diplomatic apology, sarcastically citing a lapse in judgment or pretending his arm had spasmed. You expected him to act as prince, but at this moment he was privateer instead. He bent down beside his brother and grabbed him by the collar.

"If I ever hear you speak about her like that again, I will punch you so hard you bite off your own tongue," Nikolai threatened. "Am I understood, brother?"

"Some brother you pretend to be–"

Nikolai's grip tightened. "Am I understood?"

"Yes," Vasily sneered.

Nikolai let go of him and stood to his full height, dusting himself off. He was back to being a dignified prince. "Good."

Nikolai glanced at you then glanced down the path in the direction back to the Little Palace. You took the hint, and silently but with quick steps, the two of you walked along.

The image of Vasily in the dirt brought you joy, though you couldn't say the same for the way Nikolai threatened him. Nikolai's actions frustrated you to no end, making you frown as you walked. It wasn't his job to do that, to fight for you, but he was a fool who treated it like his duty.

Once the Little Palace was in sight, you spoke to him.

"I've dealt with worse than Vasily, I don't need you to defend me," you asserted.

He looked at you. "I know you don't, but I wanted to."

"You don't get to anymore," you said, "you have a fiance to defend instead now."

Nikolai scoffed. "He called you a whore, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Let it slip by. Defending me is not worth the wrath of your brother."

"Please, I've already earned his wrath just by existing." He smiled. "And besides, it was nice to give him a whack like that. He deserved it for what he said."

You wanted to agree with him that Vasily deserved a whack, but you held firm. It was hard to tell if you were just being contrary for the fun of it or if you meant it.

"You shouldn't let him get under your skin," you muttered. "Don't do that again, Nikolai."

He slowed and you slowed with him. Stopped in the shade from the Little Palace, he looked at you, his stare earnest.

"I could tell you I will only let myself lash out at him just this once, but I would be lying." You thought he might hold your hand, but as he reached for you he thought the better of it and clasped his hands behind his back. "I would be lying, because if he–or anyone else for that matter--speaks about you like that again, hitting him would be the least of what I'd do."

……….

FIFTH YEAR - KAZ

Kaz didn't know why he was in Lij.

He hadn't been in his hometown since he moved away from it at nine years old. But he was walking the harbours of Ketterdam on his day off from the Crow Club and saw a boat travelling down the coast to the southern farmlands of Kerch. Next thing he knew, he was sailing away from Ketterdam.

Then he was in his old, simple little world. Acres upon acres of farmland, a town square with market vendors and people who smiled at other people without trying to steal their wallets… it all seemed so foreign to him now.

He went up the hill to his old farmhouse first. It had sat in disrepair for a few years now since his siblings moved to the city. The fields were wildly overgrown, but it still looked like a plot of good land. Kaz trudged through the weeds to the barn out back. It only took him four seconds to pick the lock on the barn door. The inside was empty, but it still looked alright.

He didn't dwell for long, though. He stood in the barn, shut his eyes for a moment, breathed in the farm air, thought briefly of his family--of how he missed them--then he left.

He relocked the barn, instinctively leaving it how it was found, then set out on another path down the hill.

Kaz passed by the well-kept house of Old Lady Trokowsky. How that Ravkan bat frightened him when he was younger. He had no idea how his sister managed to visit with her every other day just to read to her and keep her company. As Kaz recalled, her tongue was always so sharp, and she would shout at him and Jordie from the upper porch above her front door whenever they got into the slightest bit of mischief.

He wondered for a moment if she was still alive; in his memory, she seemed ancient, after all.

A broken post on her otherwise perfect fence caught his eye, and he nudged it with his foot.

"Rietveld? Jordan Rietveld!" A worn voice called out as soon as his boot made contact with the post.

Kaz's eyes snapped wide in surprise, and he instinctively straightened out at the memory of reprimands gone past. He looked up to the porch above her front door, and sure enough, sitting there by the railing was Old Lady Trokowsky. He would have smiled at the sight of a familiar face if he wasn't so frightened of her.

"Jordan Rietveld, what are you doing to my fence? And what are you doing back in Lij? Your family's supposed to be in Ketterdam!"

Kaz blinked up at her. Did she really think he was his brother? That he was Jordie?

"Well, young man?" Her gravelly old voice called down to him again.

He felt like a child under her eyes. He was fourteen now, yet he felt like he was six and following along with whatever trouble Jordie was getting into.

Trokowsky waved an arm in a resigned manner. "Oh, come inside, boy. I've got hot chocolate and cookies that I'm too old to stomach now. Eat and talk with me, Jordan."

Kaz paused at the gate. He wanted to pass by and head back to the town, but he felt a strange desire to go into her house. The closest he'd gotten to the house was standing in the doorway with Jordie when Da would sometimes send them to fetch their sister home early; the inside of it was always a mystery to him.

He passed through the gate and went up the stone path. It felt like he'd get in trouble, but he opened the front door and peered into the front hall. A caretaker for the bat came down the stairs to greet him. She directed him up the stairs and straight to the front where Lady Trokowsky would be waiting on the upper porch.

His eyes roamed the walls as he went upstairs. All these Ravkan portraits and plaques adorning her house--the burgeoning criminal in him told him he should swipe something, but he ignored the urge. His sister had always spoken highly of Trokowsky, despite how the bat would shout at him and Jordie, so he would respect his sister by respecting the bat's belongings.

He stepped onto the upper porch and noticed immediately that her eyes had a slight wispiness to them that no doubt impaired her vision. Cataracts, if that was the right term. This was likely why she didn't recognize him as Kaz but as his brother.

"Ah, Jordan Rietveld," she greeted in her worn voice, gesturing to the rocking chair beside hers. "It's been years, hasn't it?"

Kaz nodded and took a seat beside her. "Yes."

"How are you, boy? How is the city treating you?"

Like hell.

That's what he wanted to say. He'd been chewed up at spit back out by Ketterdam. He was rising through the ranks of the Dregs, but not without a few scrapes and tussles. He'd grown to be a swindler and a scammer, though he supposed that information would be quite useless to this old lady.

"Very well," he lied, feeling compelled to smile for the bat. "I've just been promoted at work."

"Oh, isn't that wonderful?"

She did something that was nearly a smile. Her wrinkly face tightened slightly with the weak force of her mouth muscles, stretching her lips in a kind position.

"And how is that young brother of yours? Is he still as much trouble as you?" She chuckled fondly.

"Kaz is dead," Kaz said bluntly. He almost didn't realize he said it at first, but then he noticed Trokowsky's face fall.

"Oh dear… I'm sorry to hear that. Your sister always spoke so highly of her baby brother," she said with a sad coo.

Kaz glanced away over the balcony. "Well, she's gone now too. Moved across the world."

"I suppose that explains why she stopped writing to me." Trokowsky sighed. "I thought she might have passed in that plague–what a terrible, terrible bout of firepox it was this last time…"

If only she knew, Kaz mused, holding back a wry smile.

"Do you ever see her? I'd love for you to tell her I say hello and that I miss her company," she said softly.

He didn't have the heart to tell her the truth. "I see her every few months. She comes to visit me in Ketterdam, or I go visit her in Novyi Zem."

"Oh, good. I'm glad to hear that." She smiled again. "Your family has suffered enough without being separated by something so trivial as the sea."

It seemed as though Lady Trokowsky might have said more on the matter, but a sudden coughing fit wracked through her. Kaz's body recoiled from her wheezing. It brought back memories of plague.

He balled his gloved hands into fists and he looked away from her as he waited for her coughing to end. She recovered from her fit, and he stayed long enough to finish his hot chocolate and eat three cookies while he listened to a couple of stories from the bat. But he didn't stay much longer than that. Trowkowsy grew tired, in need of an afternoon nap as the elderly sometimes need. She gave him a kind parting smile as her caretaker wheeled her to her room.

Kaz waited in the main foyer until the nurse came downstairs again. He procured a Crow Club card from his pocket and handed it to the caretaker.

"Please let me know when she passes," he nodded to the caretaker.

Then he left and went down to the town square again, heading for the municipal office. He tried to acquire his family's farm back from the township. He didn't quite have enough money to buy it back yet, but he knew he would put it under Jordie's name when he did. Or perhaps Jordie's middle name would lend itself better as the ink on a dotted line. Either way, he could not secure the deed today, so he found his way to a ship bound up the coast to Ketterdam, back to the city of thieves and barterers.

A few months later, Kaz received a short letter. Lady Trokowsky had died of her old age.

At her funeral, the name card on the grandest bouquet of flowers gifted was simply: "The Rietvelds."

..........

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to like, reblog, and comment on this new part--I really appreciate the feedback! If you want to be tagged in this series or to be added to the Nikolai taglist please comment on this part or send me an ask. Otherwise, I hope you have a great day/night :)

Part 7

Masterlist

Taglist: I will reblog this part with the tags because there's too many of you to tag and tumblr won't let me do it all at once

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov fic #grishaverse fanfic #nine long years

304 notes · View notes

fallinforerling · 2 years ago

Text

LOVE ISN'T ETERNAL. chapter 3 - jb

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ masterlist

ೃ⁀➷ jude’s taglist

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The “sleepover” as you called it earlier, turned into a mess of insults directed at Jude, lots of crying and hushing, Nikki yelling that she should have kicked his ass when she had the opportunity, and, finally, you switching between laughing and crying.

It was so surreal and stupid; the whole situation was just bizarre. Against your own judgment, you begged Nikki for more details about what she saw at the club as soon as she arrived. Turns out she spotted Jude right away and thought nothing when she didn't saw you with him; maybe you were in the bathroom. But as soon as she saw him flirting with some girl for a couple of minutes, she knew you weren't anywhere around and he was definitely planning on cheating. She just waited a bit more until he did something, so you could have proof.

Not like it mattered anymore. You two weren't together and today confirmed what you feared the most: he was over you from day one. What a joke.

“Our relationship was absolute bullshit to him, wasn't it?” You said after your cries calmed down, feeling something similar to anger starting to build up inside you. “That's why I never got to meet half of his friends. Why bothering? Almost a year! Did I waste ten months of my life on a douchebag?”

You didn't got a response. Nikki and Mia were just listening, letting you get off your chest everything you were keeping for yourself the past week. You were angry, so so angry at him... But you still thought about him with such love. It was so stupid from you to do so.

“I want to hate him...” You whispered after a while, sighing when some tears fell from your eyelashes. “I think I'll hate him eventually, right?”

“Or even better: you'll stop caring about him,” Mia replied, rubbing your shoulder softly. “That's the best thing that will happen to you. Stop caring about him or what he does. I know it's going to be kinda difficult due to him being a famous person, but… Meh, if Selena Gómez did it, I'm sure you're able to do so.”

The three of you laughed at the last part.

“If I have you two by my side, I'm sure I can do it.” You grabbed your phone from the carpet, taking a deep breath. “I'll delete his number and block his Instagram. I don't want to drunk text him someday and embarrass myself beyond repair.”

“That's the mentality, babes. You do that and I'll prepare us something to drink.” Nikki cheared, walking towards the kitchen. Her shiny black dress kept sending sparks of light all over the room everytime she moved.

“Is she still drunk?” You asked, rubbing your eyes. You were tired of being sad.

“Oh, yeah. She is totally wasted.” Mia stood up, grabbing your hand with a smile. “Let's get wasted too or this will be too boring for her.”

You laughed a bit, feeling thankful for your friends and their support.

“Good idea.”

What happened the rest of the night? Neither of you remembered. But you were fine with it because at least you got to forget all about Jude for once.

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Something was making a lot of noise, and your head wasn't appreciating any of it.

“What the fuck is that?!” Nikki shouted right above your left ear, making you cringe away from her voice. “Tell it to stop. My fucking head is killing me.”

“Only yours?” Mia whispered from your right, sounding like a dead person. “I think it's your doorbell, honey.”

“Is it?” You asked, confused and, you suspected, still a bit drunk. The three of you stayed quiet until the deathly sound started again, confirming that it was your doorbell. “Oh yeah, it is my doorbell.”

“Go ahead, then. I'll love life a bit more if my ears can stop bleading from that bloody sound.” Mia's voice was so raspy it scared you.

“Yes, sir.” Better to obey than die from her hangover mood.

You shuffled around the bed until you found a clear space where you could get off of it. As you rise to your feet, it was clear you were still drunk. Fucking hell. Step by step, you made it to the door, where whoever it was behind it hadn't stopped ringing. It better be good.

“Yes?” You said between grinning teeth, facing a middle age guy with the nastiest face on earth. Of course. “How can I help you?”

“I have a package for you, miss.” He said after a few seconds, taking a look at you that, it seemed, wasn't pleasing, because his face kept a horrible expression the whole time. “Sign right there and I'll be out of your hallway as fast as I can.”

Huh. At least he was sincere.

“Sure…” In the middle of sighing, you realized you haven't ordered anything in a long time. “Do you know where this come from?”

“Miss, I don't get paid enough. Good morning.” Those were his last words before giving you a medium package and take off down the hallway.

“Asshole...” You whispered. As you closed the door, you studied the package. It was so normal-looking. Soft, even.

You were curious, but the hangover was stronger than anything else. The fog of sleep was off your brain, letting you check the time without feeling dizzy. Eight in the fucking morning. God, that deliverer was indeed a freaking jerk.

Leaving the package behind, you ran to the kitchen, feeling the sudden need to drink as much water as possible. When you were at your third glass, Nikki's and Mia's steps were evident behind you.

“Having a good morning, ladies?” You asked after a moment, enjoying that you weren't the only one suffering and looking like a hot mess.

“Of course. Your doorbell wake us up and now I'm in a state between wanting to eat your whole fridge and vomit all over this carpet.” Mia's words were flat-toned, but neither Nikki nor you could help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah, laugh.”

While she proceeded to scan the kitchen, Nikki eyed the package with curiosity. Then she looked at you, silently asking what was that.

“I don't have the slightest idea. The asshole that delivered it didn't tell me who sent that. I guess we'll have to open it.” You paused for a moment, worrying about one possibility. “I hope that's not my stuff from Judeʼs place.”

“Iugh.” Was all that came from both of your friends. You gave them half a smile before reaching for it again, grabbing scissors from one of the drawers.

“Let's find out.” With patience, you opened it with a clean cut, grabbing something similar to clothing from inside of it. “Oh my god...”

“Ah! Is this hell on Earth? Why is that devil boy chasing us around?” Nikki shouted.

Staring back at you, a blue jersey with “Bellingham” written in big white letters at the back greeted you. Good, not even 24 hours, and you were, once again, being reminded of your ex. Then it hit you. It wasn't Judeʼs jersey.

“Oh no...” You whispered, taking the shirt in both hands so you could see the number. 27. “It's not Judeʼs.”

“What do you mean by that? It says Bellingham.” Mia said, peaking inside the package to find a scarf and beanie. “What's this? Some sick joke?”

“No... It's... Oh God. It's Judeʼs little brother, Jobe. He doesn't know we broke up, he wants me to attend his match next month. I completely forgot that he even promised to send me a jersey with his number and some goods from the club.” Mia passed you the scarf, which read “BIRMINGHAM FC” in white. “How do I tell him? He got out of the way to send me all of this.”

“Poor kid,” Mia said, looking at the jersey with attentive eyes. “Wait… How old is this little brother?”

“Uh… Seventeen, why?” Nikki looked instantly disappointed by it. “Gross! That's illegal, Nikk!”

“I know! I thought he was like a year younger... You know, revenge fuck and all that.”

“I'll ignore you even suggested that shit.” You said with a laugh, gathering your new goods. “Hell, I think I'll have to break the news myself. Seems like Mr. Dickhead isn't brave enough to tell his brother.”

“Doesn't matter, maybe you can still attend and make him super uncomfortable.” Mia said, laughing at her own idea. “I bet he'll be pissed off by that.”

You didn't respond, but that was a good suggestion... If you were the revenge type of gal, which you weren't... Right?

“I'll text him.” You said instead, heading to the room so you could get your phone.

“Check the photos!” Nikki said before going into the bathroom. “And hand me something to wear!”

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You wished you could be a coward and just send a text to Jobe telling him the whole truth, but he was your friend and deserved better than that.

The morning (and hangover) went away faster than you expected, and since that little “Can we meet up today?” conversation the two of you had, Nikki and Mia were long gone. Now you were getting ready to do what you didn't want to. Face your problems.

You were meeting Jobe at a nice little park where few people went at this time of year, so the conversation was secured and private. For your own sake, at least.

When you were about to finish the very much needed makeup (yep, the dark circles were still there) your phone buzzed. You picked it, noticing various messages.

✉️ Nikki: Destroy that cunt.

✉️ Mia: Don't completely destroy him, that thing it's his brother at the end of the day.

✉️ Nikki: Meh, that's not a good reason

✉️ Will be taking it into consideration.

✉️ Jobe: Getting there in 20, okay?

✉️ Same!

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The weather was amazing if you considered the fact of being in London and in autumn. The trees looked amazing and the park, as you prevented, was almost empty. You noticed a small group of girls by a nice tree, but they were too far away to bother.

Jobe's figure was so recognizable that it didn't take you long to find him by some benches. The last time you saw him, he was a lot smaller and not that broad. Teenagers.

“Hey!” You said when you were close enough.

He turned with a smile, keeping you on the spot for a second. Yeah, he still looked a lot like Jude. You smiled back, feeling like an asshole.

“God, I thought we were never going to see each other again.” He said dramatically, pulling you into a bear hug. “What's up? It's been months.”

“I know.” You smiled again, wanting to see anything but his face. “You're taller!” Pointing the obvious was better than going straight into the subject. At least while you guys were still greeting each other.

“Hell yes I am. 6'2. I'm officially taller than your hobbit of a boyfriend. Also, why didn't you come to last night's dinner? Jude told us you couldn't make it because you were sick but in my opinion… You look far from sick.”

You smiled along because you couldn't believe Jude made up some lie instead of telling his family the truth.

“About that...” You said, assuming that ripping the band-aid off was the best way of approach, no matter how uncomfortable it may be. “I need to tell you something... Can we sit?”

He seemed to read the sudden change of atmosphere because he agreed.

“Sure, what's up? You seem worried.”

You both sat on the nearest bench, giving you the time to breathe deeply and wander your eyes around the park before looking at Jobe again. The space was almost abandoned, except for the small group of girls. They were all giggling and pushing each other while holding their phones. You wishes you were that careless again.

“Your brother and I broke up.” You said suddenly, feeling great once the words came out of your mouth. “Well, he broke up with me.” You laughed a bit, not knowing why.

“He did what?!” You didn't expect Jobe's sudden scream, making you jump on the spot.

“God! Jobe, don't scream like that!” You pushed him without actual force.

“Maybe I heard you wrong… Jude did what?” You stayed silent, looking at his angry expression with a half smile. “That cunt… Why did he lie to us, then? When did this happen?”

“A week ago when I was visiting him.” You shrugged, feeling a bit dumb for venting to him. “We were just arriving home- I mean, his place, and just as I took a sit on the couch he said that we should break up. I got up immediately, then ask what did he say. He repeated it and proceeded to tell me his reasons. I kinda acted by impulse and got out of there within an hour. He offered to let me stay with him, pay for my hotel, or even pay back a ticket. It sounded like…” You paused again, not wanting the keep showing weakness toward the subject.

“Charity?” Jobe suggested.

“Yeah, like pity mixed with charity. So I rejected that and took a taxi to the airport… Well, that's what happened. So, I'm sorry for not telling you before. I thought he was the one for that job.” You held his arm lightly, smiling a bit. “Now that you know that… I don't think I'll be able to attend your match, honey.”

His face fell a bit, but recomposed instantly. His eyes were determined when he took the hand you put on his arm, holding it on his.

“You are coming.” He said, smiling when you looked at him with doubt. “I don't care that Jude broke up with you. You're my friend and I want you there. Also, I spend money on that package, I won't let it go to waste.”

“You're such an asshole!” You barked, laughing. “But okay, as you wish, my lord. But don't expect me to acknowledge him.”

“I wasn't expecting you to do so... Also, he doesn't deserve it either. You're coming, and if he feels uncomfortable, then he'll have to deal with it.” This time, he was the one to make a pause before laughing. “God, Mom is going to be so mad at him... You are her favorite daughter-in-law.”

“I'll miss her too.”

“You can still visit while he's at Dortmund. Mom and Dad will always greet with open arms.” He got up, giving you an smile. “Come on, let's get something to eat. I need to tell you a few things.”

“Oh! Is that about the girl you liked?”

“Shhhh! Don't say it out loud. God, you're lucky that you're still family.”

You laughed at his blushing cheeks, feeling grateful that at least you didn't lost your little brother.

Jobe was right. Life was more than Jude, even when he kept popping up on your mind and aspects of your life.

It was going to be okay. You could do this.

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