#do tell me what characters should I add to this AU i really like it 💛 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brackenfur · 9 months ago

Text

okay so i kind of.......wrote a lot more than i really intended to, but long story short - years ago i had this headcanon/au of sorts that birchpaw/fall saw ashfur and hawkfrost at the lake together, standing over firestar. mostly because when you squint at that whole sequence it kinda doesnt add up in canon, but its not canon that birchfall saw anything - it's just me taking this what if scenario and expanding on a side character

anyways this was kinda a quick project so its not perfect buuuuuut i wrote something so ! enjoy :)

birchpaw is back at camp doing everything he can to avoid the worried looks of his clanmates when his mentor stops him.

"hey, birchpaw," the fur on the back of birchpaw's neck stands up, and he slowly turns to the other tomcat. "are you okay?"

birchpaw does the best he can to keep the nervousness out of his voice as he answers: "i'm fine, ashfur. really. i- uh, i mean, i really just wish i had...been faster, that i had..."

he can't look at ashfur's face. not now, maybe not ever again. he knows that as soon as he meets his eyes, he won't be able to stop asking questions:

what were you doing with a riverclan cat? why didn't you help firestar? did the other cat threaten you? did you-

"you did the best you could, birchpaw," ashfur tells him gently; he pauses, flicking his tail-tip, before murmuring: "come on, let's go over to the apprentice's den to talk. i can tell you're shaken up."

and you're not, birchpaw wants to say, but he's a coward. this is his uncle, his mother's twin, and he doesn't really know what he saw, anyways. maybe ashfur had been standing there, sure. and maybe firestar had been clearly injured, clearly dying - well, ashfur isn't a medicine cat. he couldn't have known that, even if birchpaw had been making a lucky guess. but maybe hawkfrost threatened him, or maybe he lied to him-

you don't believe that at all, he thinks.

but he follows his uncle all the same to the apprentice's den; whitepaw is comforting her father at the medicine cat den while leafpool treats firestar's wound. no one is around - they're all either out searching the territory to make sure hawkfrost didn't have any accomplices, or with firestar's family on the other side of camp.

"you did the best you could to get help as soon as possible, birchpaw," ashfur tells him softly; birchpaw is staring at the grass between his paws, not looking at the other tom. "everyone knows that. i'm sure firestar does, too."

"right."

"but i could scent your fear-scent," ashfur continues, "and it does seem like you didn't go straight back to camp after telling firestar about blackstar. why?"

birchpaw's whiskers quiver. he shouldn't be scared - if anything, ashfur should be worried. he's the one who didn't do enough to help.

but the look in ashfur's eyes. the blank, distant stare as he watched firestar gurgle at his paws.

even the badgers didn't look at sootfur like that after they killed him, birchpaw remembers.

"i....," birchpaw's voice wobbles. "i thought i scented another cat, and i was worried," he clears his throat, trying to stop the shakes, "about you. i thought- i thought maybe you were...in trouble, and i...."

ashfur is quiet for a long time; if birchpaw wasn't so scared - why should i be scared? he's my uncle and my mentor, he wouldn't....he'd never.... - he'd look up, joke with him. pretend like it's all a big joke.

but those eyes. that look. the sounds firestar was making.

"so you didn't go straight back to camp," ashfur says with a disappointed sigh, "and firestar lost a life."

birchpaw's heartbeat skips. his paws shake. "wait," he says, his voice becoming shrill. he doesn't want anyone else to hear, but- what ashfur's saying, it's not...that's not right. that's not how it went. "wait, i- i did go back, as fast as i could, and i told squirrelflight-"

"you waited to tell her, you mean," ashfur tells him, frowning. "and he lost a life because he lost too much blood."

"but i didn't....i'd never..."

"it probably wasn't your intention," ashfur murmurs. "but that's how it happened. what if it was his last life? firestar and i trusted you to do one simple task, and you couldn't do that. you can't even look your uncle in the eye when he's talking to you."

birchpaw quivers as he slowly lifts his eyes to look into his uncles. ashfur's dark blue eyes stare back at him, just as emotionless as they did hours before.

"that's better," ashfur tells him, but it doesn't feel better. all of this is wrong.

"i was just trying to help," birchpaw whispers. "i didn't....i saw..."

"what did you see?" ashfur asks him, with a tone that birchpaw's never heard him use before: it's low, angry.

it's terrifying.

"um," birchpaw stutters. "i don't- i don't know. i don't know what i saw."

i saw you. i saw you and hawkfrost.

"if you don't even know what you saw," ashfur says slowly, "then maybe you shouldn't say anything. not to me, or to your mother. not to firestar."

birchpaw slowly lowers his gaze. how did today end up like this?

"you didn't see anything out there, birchpaw," ashfur continues. "you're an apprentice - you don't know your left paw from your right paw."

"okay."

ashfur stares at him for a long moment, sighing. "i'm not trying to scare you, birchpaw," he murmurs, "but i don't want you to get in trouble for firestar losing his life. sometimes we make mistakes; i don't want this one to be the defining moment of your apprenticehood."

shame burns through birchpaw - shame that he can't stand up to his uncle and tell him that this is all wrong.

but more shame that there's a part of him, deep down, that knows ashfur is right. if birchpaw had been quick enough, firestar wouldn't have lost a life. hawkfrost would've been stopped quicker.

and maybe....maybe ashfur was just trying to help firestar. maybe in some way, he's embarrassed because he couldn't help him, either. is that what this is about? trying to save face, because brambleclaw once again saved the day when ashfur couldn't?

"i want to be a good apprentice."

"and i'll help you do that," ashfur tells him, his voice becoming warmer. "and we'll start by making sure that today stays behind us, forever. okay?"

"okay."

it doesn't feel okay.

the rest of his apprenticeship goes by largely uneventfully. ashfur isn't exactly the same as before he and squirrelflight drifted apart, but he never speaks to birchpaw the way that he did the day firestar was injured.

he becomes a warrior by the name of birchfall. he makes friends, falls into an easy routine. he even still spends time with his uncle - with each passing day, the events from that afternoon become a faded memory. sometimes it plays out differently in his mind - there's days where he thinks he did see ashfur try and help firestar. where he heard him tell hawkfrost to go away.

(and maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought it was back then if the memory keeps changing. if it really was so awful, wouldn't it be the same? was he just trying to make ashfur out to be a bad cat?)

everything in thunderclan is mostly calm, until ashfur gets lionpaw as an apprentice.

he's heard cats joke about being jealous when their old mentor gets another apprentice - how it's weird, seeing the cat who taught you everything teaching someone else the same things, telling the same jokes.

he's still ashfur's nephew, so he knows that his former mentor still holds a special place in his heart for him - but it's not exactly that jealousy that other cats talk about that he feels towards lionpaw.

he feels...strange, seeing them together; there's this weird fluttering feeling he gets when he catches ashfur's expression as lionpaw walks away from him.

sometimes he can hear a voice in the back of his mind, screaming at him to go and get between the two of them. to protect lionpaw.

but ashfur....well, it's ashfur. outside of that one afternoon moons before, he's a normal warrior. he wouldn't...

so birchfall does what he did over a year prior; he buries the feelings. he can't trust his eyes - that's what ashfur told him before. he doesn't know his left paw from his right paw.

(except that he's a warrior now, and a damn good one, so why-)

that changes one day, when the talk of thunderclan is how lionpaw and ashfur got into this huge fight - claws drawn, teeth bared. ashfur scratched up pretty badly, spiderleg had told him, shaking his head.

i knew that was going to happen, he's not a medicine cat or particularly gifted, but he knew. he knew, he knew, he knew, he knew.

i knew he was going to hurt him, birchfall watches as lionpaw trudges into camp, surprisingly fine physcially - ashfur is the one with the injuries, blood dripping on the camp floor as he trudges to leafpool's den.

lionpaw is standing there after all is said and done, after cats talk to him to ask him if he's okay. standing there in the center of camp, alone.

birchfall is only foxlengths from him, watching, and the thought slips into his mind easily: i should tell him that i know what ashfur is really like. that i saw the same look in his eyes that he probably saw. that he watched firestar die inches from his paws and did nothing to help him.

he almost does it, too. the memories from that day come back, flooding his vision - ashfur's dark expression. the white flash of hawkfrost's teeth. firestar's gurgles.

i'm so sorry, firestar.

"why are you staring at me?"

birchfall snaps out of it quickly; lionpaw is staring at him, amber eyes narrowed.

"what?" birchfall blinks. "i wasn't staring at you."

"yeah, you were," lionpaw tells him, shaking his head. "weirdo." lionpaw hisses under his breath.

and before birchfall can say anything, do anything, hollypaw and cinderpaw bound up to him to talk to him, stealing the moment away.

birchfall watches the apprentices for a couple more seconds before he turns away.

he didn't see anything that day. it's his fault that firestar lost a life, anyways. that's all anyone would be able to see - firestar is one pawstep closer to being gone forever because of him.

birchfall keeps his word for the moons to come; lionblaze becomes a warrior with hollyleaf and cinderheart. whitewing - his longest friend, the molly who withheld her warrior ceremony for him, just so he wouldn't be alone,

(and was there for him on the nights when all he dreamt of was the lakeshore, never asking him what woke him up shaking)

well, they become closer and closer until they're not really just friends anymore, and one morning she bounds up to him to tell him that she's carrying his kits. that leafpool had just told her moments before, and she couldn't wait to find him.

and it finally feels like maybe birchfall is at peace - maybe starclan isn't angry with him after all. maybe that one thing that birchfall didn't do years ago - it'll be okay. firestar is alive and happy, with grandchildren now.

the fire rages through thunderclan not long after, but thankfully there's no casualities - he grew up hearing the stories of the one from years ago, back in the old territory before he was born, and he's glad that everyone was okay this time.

well.

he heard berrynose say that everyone had been looking for squirrelflight, her kits, and ashfur for awhile - that ashfur had turned up, laughing. he wouldn't say what was so funny, though.

he didn't think much of it, until he saw the way ashfur was acting after the fire. the way he leered after squirrelflight and her kits; hollyleaf's eyes glaring back in defiance, lionblaze's hackles raised, jayfeather's avoidance.

i don't want any part in this, he thinks, focusing on whitewing and their future together. i didn't see anything. i don't know anything. ashfur isn't dangerous.

he repeats the mantra more often than he'd like; at night, he dreams of the lakeshore for the first time in years and wakes up shuddering against spiderleg's side. his older brother shakes him off, confused, but birchfall can't meet his gaze, or anyone elses.

i didn't see anything. i didn't see anything. i didn't-

and then just like that, one day ashfur is found dead on their territory.

someone said that a patrol found him in a river, throat torn out.

it doesn't feel real to birchfall until he sees his uncles body laid out in the center of camp, with ferncloud's muzzle pressed into his fur.

that's my uncle, he thinks as he watches spiderleg lead icepaw and foxpaw to their mother, trying to comfort her. he was my mentor.

you don't know what you saw. it's ashfur's voice, clear as day in his mind as he watches his clanmates gather around the tomcat. you don't know your left paw from your right paw. you're just an apprentice; how can anyone trust you after what you did?

firestar walks over to ferncloud and dustpelt, murmuring a few kind words to them. birchfall can hear his leader's voice carrying over the wind, mentioning something about dogs, about bravery.

he watched you lose a life, birchfall wants to scream, but he can't move. he stood there and watched you gargle for breath and did nothing.

birchfall shuts his eyes. no. no, it was because of me, because i decided to take too long to go back to camp, his mind can't decide what's right or wrong. it's my fault, that's what....that's what ashfur says, and...and now he's dead, so....

"birchfall," whitewing's voice is soft; he jolts, eyes wide as he looks at his mate. she leans against him, whiskers drooping. "this is so sad. i mean....ashfur, i just- i just talked to him yesterday. he was asking me about the kits, if i was feeling okay..."

you wouldn't want to be with me if you knew what i did, ashfur had never threatened him after that day, but birchfall knew that was what his uncle was conveying to him every time they talked after that day. that he could tell everyone, and everyone would know it was birchfall's fault that firestar lost a life.

or....or wait, maybe that wasn't right. not anymore.

maybe he should blame himself for not saying anything all these years. he could've told firestar and had ashfur punished, and he didn't.

the realization burns deep in his chest; he can barely register what whitewing is saying.

ashfur knew that if you said something, any cat could probably figure out that something about his story didn't add up, birchfall thinks, his heart thudding. and you were just too stupid to realize you could have said something years ago.

"birchfall?" whitewing says, frowning. "hey, birchfall. are you okay?"

birchfall's fur raises. "i'm okay," he tells her, taking a deep breath. "all things....you know, considering, i..." he shakes his head. "i'm gonna get some air, okay?"

whitewing touches her nose to his. "i'm here, you know that, right? i've been here for you since we were 'paws."

that stings more. i could have told you years ago, birchfall touches his nose back to hers, and turns away. i can't say anything now. she'd never trust me again, i kept this secret from everyone because i was too scared of my uncle. and now he's dead, and now....

birchfall resigns himself not to think about it anymore. he can't.

he can't. he won't.

after his daughters are born, birchfall wants this to be his new purpose in life.

forget about the lakeshore. the foxtrap. hawkfrost. ashfur. firestar is fine now; thunderclan is fine. sure, maybe there's been some earth-shattering secrets that have been revealed, but- all in all, they're mostly fine.

ivypaw and dovepaw mean the world to him; he can't imagine being without them.

he looks at them and wants to do right by them; they'll never know the fear he's carried for all this time, the same.

he'll teach them to say something if they see something; to be outspoken, brave.

but he can barely keep his head above water; it started when he met a cat from the dark forest one night. who promised him that he could make up for the mistake he made years ago; that he could do right by firestar. by thunderclan.

he trains every night but it doesn't make the shame go away. it won't scrub off after he bathes himself. nothing works.

it's not until the wall is lifted over his eyes - after his daughter, ivypool, a warrior grown - tells him what the true intention of the dark forest was.

all the moons he spent there, training, trying to prove that he could make up for what he did - gone.

and after the battle with the dark forest, both his mother and firestar are dead - killed by the cats that birchfall wanted to impress. wanted to show that he could be better, that he could be stronger.

how did everything go so wrong? he thinks as he watches his father crouched over his mother. dustpelt won't even look at him; he doesn't know about firestar, but he knows about the dark forest. and he hates him - despises him for training with the cats who are responsible for ferncloud's death.

he's right.

"birchfall," whitewing's voice jolts him out of his thoughts. "please. i want to talk."

it was inevitable - he knows that it's over between them at this point. he follows her out of camp regardless, deep into the territory. there's birds in the trees, chirping quietly amongst themselves, and everything is in bloom, yet nothing is beautiful to him at this moment.

whitewing turns to face him, her green eyes sad. "can you just tell me why?"

birchfal looks down at his paws, just like he did years before when ashfur told him to keep quiet.

"i'm sorry," he tells her, and she scoffs.

"i'm sorry isn't an explanation," she meows. "just....why, birchfall? why would you train with cats like that? and why- our daughter was there too, why wouldn't you try and convince her not to? what's wrong with you?"

i'm a coward.

"that's still not an answer," he hadn't realized he said it aloud. he finally looks up at his mate - probably soon to be ex-mate. "you need to talk to me. you're not a 'paw anymore."

and for some reason that burns more than anything else.

you're not a 'paw. you should have said something. you should have told everyone what you saw. and you didn't. it's your fault. all your fault. everything-

"i need to tell you something," he finally says; the story is bubbling at the surface. ashfur is long dead. firestar is dead. his family hates him. whitewing is going to leave him anyway; what else does he have to lose? brambleclaw might exile him, might not; he might not care what birchfall does.

whitewing is silent; birchfall opens and shuts his mouth a few times, trying to find the words, until he meows:

"i saw what happened to firestar on the lakeshore, that day when hawkfrost from riverclan died."

whitewing frowns; she looks taken aback, and blinks a few times.

"i....ashfur...he told me that he scented blackstar on our territory," the memory comes back hazy at first, but starts to clear as he goes on: "he said to tell firestar about it. i did, but....a few minutes later when i was heading back, i could scent another cat. and i remembered ashfur was out there, and i was worried for him, so i followed him and the other cat so i could protect him. and..."

the gurgling. the look on ashfur's eyes. the sound of the water lapping at the shore.

"ashfur was standing with hawkfrost over firestar's body. he was caught in the foxtrap and....ashfur, he...." birchfall shuts his eyes. "you should've seen how he looked. he didn't care at all that firestar was dying. i ran away, i didn't....i didn't know what to do. i thought maybe i didn't see anything at all, so i just told squirrelflight what ashfur had said about blackstar when i saw her. i thought....i thought maybe if she caught ashfur and hawkfrost, it'd....she'd know what to do, more than i would....."

birchfall stares at his paws. "when i got back to camp and brambleclaw had killed hawkfrost, ashfur told me....he said i didn't see anything, and it was easier to pretend i didn't see anything. and he was...he was right - i should've just gone back to camp right away. i should've just done the right thing, not been a stupid 'paw. i should've...it's my fault that firestar lost a life. he'd still be here right now if i just had listened back then, 'cus he'd have an extra life, and..."

birchfall trails off, shaking. "so that's...that's why i wanted to train at the dark forest. because i let firestar down. because i didn't say anything all these years, and i should've....i mean, what if ashfur had hurt someone else? and i just sat there and let it happen."

it takes him a moment after everything spills out to realize that whitewing is very quiet; he finally looks up at his mate.

she looks so sad watching him; and there's a bit of anger in there, too.

"he threatened you?" whitewing finally says; birchfall winces.

"i don't....maybe, it doesn't really matter."

"you were his apprentice and his nephew," whitewing tells him firmly. "of course it matters. he knew he was manipulating you, and that you just wanted to please him, so you'd do anything to make sure you wouldn't make trouble."

whitewing's tail lashes, and she shakes his head. "that- i can't believe he did that to you, that he made you think...."

"whitewing, it's-"

"it's not your fault, birchfall," her voice is gentle, yet he can tell she's holding back so much rage, rage for ashfur, pain for firestar's death. "if you really think for one second that you have anything to do with firestar laying in that clearing right now, you're completely wrong. that was tigerstar, first of all, and ashfur's fault years ago."

"but-"

"you went to help your mentor, and you were intimidated into keeping this a secret," she tells him, stepping closer. "and now you think that because you didn't say anything, that that's worse than what he did."

"i should have said something," birchfall tells her, harsher than he means to. "i mean - for starclan's sake, whitewing, i- i saw, and i didn't do anything. i'm no better than he is-"

"you are twice the cat that ashfur was," whitewing meows firmly. "and if i had even....if i saw him right now, i'd slash his ears for doing that to you."

whitewing shakes her head, looking at him. "all these years," she whispers, frowning, "all these years, and we- when you were in the apprentices den, having nightmares..."

"you couldn't have known," he mumbles. "i didn't tell you."

"and then....birchfall, i..." she presses her noses into his neck; birchfall is stiff from shock.

"i thought you were breaking up with me," he tells her, aghast; whitewing sucks in a breath, pulling away.

"what?"

"why not? after the dark forest, all of this...."

"i'm disappointed in you for training with the dark forest," she tells him softly. "but your mother is dead, and you....you've been holding this in for years, birchfall. i can put off asking you about the dark forest for awhile; i.....i didn't know. all these years, and i had no idea you were punishing yourself for ashfur's crimes."

when she puts it like that, a small - a tiny one, really, nothing huge - light begins to flick in his mind.

i've been punishing myself, he thinks, and it strangely makes a lot of sense - thinking about the lake all these years has felt like punishment. refusing to get close to firestar out of shame was his way of punishing himself, telling himself what he did was wrong.

"i don't know if i can tell anyone else," birchfall tells her in a whisper; whitewing nods, brushing her muzzle against his.

"that's okay," she meows, "because now i know, and now i can shoulder it with you."

"it's not a very romantic secret." he doesn't say it like a joke, but she still smiles a little.

"it's not," she shrugs. "but no one helped birchpaw back then; i'm here for you now."

#i ended it a little abruptly cus i just needed to finish it lolll #wc #shark noises #if it doesnt necessarily flow well im sorry its just a quick project

260 notes · View notes

chuluoyi · 1 year ago

Text

UNHOLY MATRIMONY — 06

✩°｡ ⋆ a longer dream

- fushiguro megumi x oc/reader - oc/reader's character name is hara sena, pronouns still refer to “you” and i won’t mention it often—just for the sake of aesthetic rather than repeatedly writing "y/n"

in another life, in which fate is still screwing his life over, Fushiguro Megumi finds himself in an arranged marriage―with you.

genre/warnings: arranged marriage au, mild angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, descriptions of aggressive behavior (hair pulling, hand stomping—but not to the reader)

notes: an early release! please believe me when i said that i really wanted to add megumi's reaction in the previous chapter. i cut it because it got too long already.

oh and with this i’m announcing that unholy matrimony will be on break next week to ensure the best experience :( chapter 7 will be posted on november 6, i promise.

listen to: i will stay with you - gummy :)

series masterlist | next. love unspoken

This can’t be right.

Megumi must have heard wrong.

It was barely seven in the morning, he had just woken up, and the first thing he heard was... you were asking for a what? Divorce?

"What, why?" he immediately snapped.

You kept your head low. "Because there's no reason for us to be together anymore. This whole thing―" you gestured to everything around you as you tried to contain your emotions, "―started just because I have no choice but to obey my father so that he wouldn’t take my mom as a hostage."

Honestly, Megumi didn't understand. Maybe his brain was lagging because it was meant to be a tranquil Sunday morning. But he couldn't make the heads or tails of whatever you were spouting now.

"Now that my mom is no longer in the picture," you continued, your voice steady and your eyes devoid of doubt. "He has no other means to control me. He can't have his way with me anymore."

"Hold on—" He was exasperated. Nothing's making sense. "This doesn't necessarily lead to divorce. Sena, what are you thinking?"

“I’m setting us free, Megumi,” you interjected, fixing a fierce gaze on him. “Neither of us wanted this in the first place. And now we can do it. Zen’in must have a better bride in mind for you, or you could also ditch them altogether. We can go our separate ways.”

How had it escalated into this? Weren’t the two of you just spent the night? How did you spew all of these so callously?

Megumi clenched his jaw. “No.”

"Why?!" Now it was your turn to express frustration. Honestly, you really thought he would agree. You had offered him his freedom on a silver platter—so why didn't he take it?

“You are not in the right state of mind,” he asserted, his gaze fixed at you squarely. “You haven’t thought this through. You can't make decisions solely based on your impulses, Sena.”

“I have thought this through, Megumi!”

“Clearly, you haven’t,” he retorted firmly. “If that’s the case, then tell me, should we get a divorce, what would you do?”

You fell into silence, unable to give an immediate response. “It’s—I will—”

“See?” he let out a scoff. “Is your life with me so unbearable that you’re considering a divorce?”

Your brain short-circuited, evidently and truthfully you didn’t think that far ahead. Your primary focus was to alleviate the guilt in your gut, and you believed that returning to where it all began would be better for both of you, especially him.

But was your life with him that miserable? “No.” You stiffened, biting your lower lip. You didn’t want him to think like that. Living with Megumi was far from horrible at all; in fact, it was quite the opposite.

“Then what brought this on?” he inquired once again. His tone remained calm, but it was clear that he was holding his simmering anger back. “We are perfectly fine. So what’s the deal? Give me a straightforward explanation and I’ll agree with you only if you can explain what you will do from then on.”

Why must he do this? Why did he have to be against it so much? It took everything out of you to keep your resolve from breaking.

Your heart couldn't help but soar when he opposed your idea of getting a divorce. You found yourself hoping for something more, with him.

“We are… not fine.” You ran out of arguments to convince him, as the thought of staying suddenly made more sense, against your better judgment. “I… you—you didn’t want to be married to me—”

“But now I do!” His voice rang through the apartment, leaving you momentarily speechless, trying to absorb his words.

Megumi was at his wits end. As surprising as it may seem, he had developed feelings for you, and perhaps now, those feelings had intensified into something more intense. He had these passing thoughts about how to express his feelings, and certainly this wasn't the scenario he had in mind. However, now that things had escalated to this point, he must get this across somehow.

“I know you’re having a hard time. Losing your mother isn’t something you can get over so easily—I get it. I understand that, Sena.”

Tears welled up in your eyes.

“But I promise you,” his unwavering gaze held you captive. “You are going to be fine. We are going to be fine. Forget how we started—we have made it this far regardless of that.”

Staying with you meant he would remain embroiled in the Zen'in's successor struggle, a reality he was fully aware of. But the idea of you leaving was simply inconceivable in his mind.

Now you were openly sobbing. You were happy. You knew it was still wrong, but you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him the whole truth—the binding vow with Gojo. You just can’t.

You had never hoped so bad for a wrong to become right before now.

"You have me," he declared, and Megumi's hand reached for your damp cheek, cradling it gently. When your teary eyes met his, he fondly caressed your cheek.

“I will stay with you.”

That was the breaking point. You lost the hold over your emotions. If you didn't know anything else, one thing was abundantly clear—you had lived for this very moment.

And when Fushiguro Megumi pulled you into a searing kiss, you knew that life as you had known it had come to an end.

Because from now on, through endless maze, fear and loneliness, you placed your trust in him to be by your side.

"Tsk."

Naoya clicked his tongue at the first hearing held at his own Zen'in estate. Most of the elders had gathered in the main hall, with him sitting at the front row. The next seat next to him was empty.

"Can't we just start?" he spat impatiently, glaring particularly at his uncle, Zen'in Ogi—the father of the Maki and Mai—who was the head of the council to determine the next successor of Zen'in clan.

His uncle simply regarded him with a stoic expression. "We'll commence when Fushiguro arrives here."

To be frank, Zen'in Ogi harbored a strong dislike for Naoya. Not only was this young upstart trying to seize the position of the clan head that could be his by the order of seniority, he was incredibly disrespectful too. Given the choice—which he had, anyway—he still preferred Fushiguro even though he was an outsider rather than this manic twat.

"If the bastard doesn't come then it's his loss," Naoya hissed through his teeth. "Why should we wait for him? What a waste of time."

An attendant suddenly went into the room to inform that Fushiguro Megumi couldn't attend as he had prior engagements. Naoya sneered upon hearing that. "See? Even he doesn't take this the least bit seriously."

Zen'in Ogi vowed to wipe that smirk off his face, even if it was the last thing he did. To him, Naoya's behavior and lack of decorum during his brother's funeral was a blatant insult to their proud clan, and there was no way he would let him rule at the top, even though he was his brother's own flesh and blood.

Hence why he took great delight in seeing the shock on his face when he announced that the majority of the votes had gone in favor of Fushiguro instead of him.

"This isn't the final decision, of course," he remarked, casting a glance at Naoya's seething anger. "We will hold two more hearings, and by then, you can still cast your vote for the candidates you favor."

What the actual fuck—

"I advise you to get your act together, Naoya," Ogi whispered to him as the crowd dispersed. "You're hardly demonstrating why we should choose you with your rather... ah, unbecoming behavior."

Naoya clenched both his jaw and fists as his uncle walked past him. The nerve of that rotting bastard!

No one seemed to respect him any longer in this place. It seemed like everyone had started to think he could be overthrown from his rightful place.

So be it then. He just had to make it clear that he was the one in charge.

And when he spotted one of the serving girls, whom he had observed had been following several elders, and even himself, for several days now, Naoya finally had enough and pursued her as she hastened her steps.

But he was naturally faster and grabbed her hair in an attempt to catch her, causing her to yelp.

“Master Naoya!” she cried. “P-Please let me go—!”

“Shut up, you wretch!” he snapped at her with such fury that the girl could only tremble in shock. He then forcibly dragged her by the hair toward the disciplinary pit, paying no heed to her cries and pleas for him to stop.

He flung her across the hard tiles, and the girl curled up in fear. "P-Please... spare me..." she pleaded, her voice trembling with terror.

With an air of dominance, Naoya gazed down at her, and then he ruthlessly stomped on her hand, causing her to scream in agony.

“S-Stop! It hurts!” she sobbed. “P-Please!”

He crouched down, still keeping her hand pinned beneath his shoe.

“I’m acting o-on orders!” she shouted amidst the tears. “M-My mistress is the one w-who told me to come h-here!”

Naoya's lips curled into a sneer as he released his grip on her and then firmly grasped the young girl's chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

“Now, you fool, tell me everything.”

It was monumentally stupid. Megumi knew it, but couldn’t help but let his face burn in embarrassment regardless.

“Megumi.” You tilted your head to the side, eyes looking at him so innocently, yet hesitantly. “You want us to… uh, share one bedroom?”

The way you pronounced the word “share” was enough to drive him on edge. He knew it. You didn’t want it, but he wanted this, and yet he didn’t want to force you into it.

These three statements that negated each other made him want to crawl back to his room.

But as the saying goes, sometimes you have to fake it until you make it, right?

“Yeah, is there a problem with that?” And so faking his confidence it is.

“T-There is!” you hastily retaliated. “This is too sudden!”

“And what about it? Your bed is big enough for both of us. If not, then the one in my room it is.”

“But!” This inquiry was beyond you. Not that you were totally opposed, but this prompt change of situation left you reeling.

Okay, let us get it straight.

Confessing feelings to each other? Well, yeah, in practice, yes.

Marital status? Still wife and husband. Check.

And so, this was the cue for moving in together next, yes?

At least in the romance novels you read, yes. But quite literally, ever since Megumi’s dramatic declaration—that made you swoon amidst everything else, yes—the two of you found yourselves stuck in an awkward situation once again. He failed to look at you in the eye for two days straight after that, and now out of nowhere, asked you to share a room with him.

“Are you sure?” you asked, idly twirling a strand of your hair with your fingers.

“I am,” he replied instantly. "What's the issue here? We're married. We should have done this right from the start."

“Wouldn’t want you to burst from sheer embarrassment is all,” you quipped, successfully making him fidget. A smile tugged at your lips at his reaction.

"You could hardly even look at me," you added teasingly, and it seemed a vein on his face was on the verge of bursting.

“And you—”

You didn't have the opportunity to add more anecdotes to the list because suddenly your right arm was pulled, and before you could react, you found yourself cornered against the sofa.

"Well," Megumi's face was now inches from yours, his voice slow and laden with an indescribable intensity. His green eyes blinked, and suddenly, you found it hard to breathe. "Now, I'm looking at you, aren't I?"

What… is this situation? You could no longer think, and the only sound you heard was your uncontrollable heartbeats.

Even Megumi himself couldn’t keep the blush from creeping up on his face as he kept his hot gaze on you. When his cheeks began to feel as if they were sizzling and burning, much like the barbecue he had with Yuji the other night, he finally withdrew, moving away slowly. You took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully, your heart still racing.

"Stupid, don't look so scared," he grumbled before tousling the top of your head, causing you to wince.

Now he had truly done it, hadn't he? He had made it glaringly obvious just how hopelessly infatuated he was, or at least he hoped he had conveyed it to you.

“I’m not scared…” You looked away shyly. “Megumi, you idiot.”

“Why am I the idiot? You’re the one being so clueless.”

In his eyes, you appeared so petite and vulnerable. The way you puckered your lips made him want to pin you to the wall.

It was unlike anything he had felt before. This urge to protect, make you happy, and ruin you at the same time was just too much.

But in the end, the first two always won.

"Okay, forget about it," he said afterwards, prompting you to look up. "We don't have to share a room if you're that uncomfortable about it."

“Uh, but—” now you were the one stammering. “No, it’s—okay…”

He raised an eyebrow, not understanding what you meant, so you took a gulp of breath, suppressing your embarrassment.

“Let’s sleep together from now on,” you declared. “In the same room, okay? I’m okay with it…”

“Really, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

A reminiscent of what he told you just two days ago. You couldn't forget how those three simple words made you feel, as if you were granted a fresh opportunity at life, despite the hardships you'd endured.

In the ensuing five seconds, you locked eyes and then erupted into a chorus of laughter.

“It’s so stupid, why is it so hard?” you sighed, smiling all the way. “We can’t be stuck at this stage forever.”

Megumi looked at your smile and, once again, tenderly placed his hand on your head.

“Yeah, we probably shouldn’t,” he muttered. “But even this is enough for me though.”

“What is?”

A gentle, weightless sensation filled his chest, a welcome relief after enduring two weeks of shared suffering. Seeing you no longer as tormented fueled his desire to to sustain that newfound happy expression on your face.

“Your smile,” he replied simply. “Just keep smiling. That’s all that matters.”

You swore you felt your heart leap out of your chest at his genuine words. But, damn you, you concealed your emotions the only way you knew how.

“Okay, so now you can’t deny it any longer,” you huffed in a playful condescending manner. “You’re positively smitten by me, correct, dear husband?”

A sheepish snort escaped from him. “Yeah, yeah, wife. I’m all yours.”

Megumi was eager to walk down this road with you from now on. It wouldn't be without its challenges, as there were still many things for you to tackle. Your mother’s murderer, Tsumiki’s curse, Zen’in’s mess. Through it all, he had you in his thoughts. And as for you...

You were content if this dream would last just a little bit longer.

next : love unspoken

🏷️ taglist

@moonmalice @hellothere9597 @qtnfer @firstplaidpeachnickel @waddlingwanderer @chilichopsticks @satorus-slut @dcvilxswish @lees-chaotic-brain @tojirin @bluebreadenthusiast @pandabooster @cole-silas @becsmarvel @giuli-in-earth @fuckimgenderfluid @haitanisrarity @kimura-uzuri @bicchaan @lunavixia @stevenknightmarc @rory-cakes

#jujutsu kaisen #fushiguro megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi #megumi fushiguro #jjk x reader #fushiguro megumi x oc #megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fluff #arranged marriage au #fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #jjk megumi #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #fushiguro megumi angst #series: unholy matrimony

462 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

Text

To a Tea 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character: Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don’t @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

You don’t often miss work, but that week, a burst pipe throws everything off. A morning spent waiting on your landlord, then the next few hours for a plumber, has things a bit off kilter. Even the next day, you’re not quite back on point.

The patched wall next to fridge reminds you of the disaster and a dingy smell persists. You hope it doesn’t cling to you as you set off for your shift that day. If you can, you want to pick up some hours from others if their up for grabs. Harry doesn’t like Saturday’s, maybe he’ll hand over some.

You try to leave your problems behind as you catch a bus down to the city centre. You get to the tea shop five minutes before the hour. Jenna’s wrapping up the opening tasks as you go to leave your things in the back. You tie on your apron and unlock the front door for the first customers of the day.

At first, it’s a trickle. Never very much at all. The early risers who often come alone or if they aren’t, they don’t speak much or very loudly. The smell of fresh baking and the slow rising sun add to the lazy din.

“Thought the special was strawberry today,” you comment as you transfer macarons from a cooled tray to the display.

“Eh, it was but we didn’t have enough jam,” she shrugs. “Changed the sign, is all.”

“Ah, thought my mind was lagging again. Everything’s been off since yesterday.”

“Eh, how’s the apartment, anyhow? Marilyn said it was something about a leak?”

“Burst pipe,” you explain, “they took out the wall above the sink, buncha clanging all day. When I tell you this place is like heaven.”

She chuckles, “can be.”

“There’s a formal tea booked in the Marigold Room at noon,” she intones, “forgot to mention that. With Mother’s day coming up, suppose we’ll get more bookings.”

“Suppose,” you go to check the schedule hanging on the wall. “Party of twelve, wow.”

“I’ll man the till. Honest, since those ladies at New Years, I’ve hated doing them.”

“No problem, Harry should be here, shouldn’t he?”

“Well, he’s... called in.”

“Again?” You whine as you face her.

“Are you really surprised?” She scoffs.

“No one else to cover? Not even Louisa?”

“Nah, she’s on holiday still.”

You huff, “fine. Not much of a choose then, is it?”

🫖

The tea room is as close to raucous as you’ve ever heard it. You have your back to the rest of the shop as you balance the stacked serving trays with an array of sponge cake, fruit, and biscuits. It’s the typical assortment for a tea party booking.

You’ve already served the tea and the sandwiches, and dessert is the last bit, along with any further pots needed to be steeped throughout. With a partner, it isn’t hard to keep up, but alone, it’s rather overwhelming. Jenna does her best to assist but there aren’t many lulls around lunch time.

Beyond that, the tourists are chatty. You could hardly get away to fetch each course as they wanted to chat about the culture and your suggestions of what they should do next. It’s nice that they’re friendly but still stressful.

You put the trays on the cart and roll it around the counter. As you do, you nearly skid to a halt. In the rush, you hadn’t noticed him. Your eyes meet Raymond’s as he watches you. Intent, intense. You give an apologetic smile and nod in acknowledgement. Jenna wanted to deal with the main room, she’ll have to wipe down his table and do her best.

You roll behind the wall and into the Marigold room. You present the tray and grab it by the ring at the top, lifting it onto the centre of the table. You roll around to gather the empty plates and cups, taking two pots for refill.

You come back out and see Raymond standing, just as he was. He sees you too. Watching, hands folded, knuckles white, jaw set. He’s usually patient but you don’t know how long he’s been waiting.

You roll behind the counter and sigh, clearing off the cart as Jenna steams a tea latte.

“Can you wipe Raymond’s table?” You ask.

“Who?” She furrows her brow.

You glance over your shoulder toward the man in question and she follows. She rolls her eyes, “I tried, I wiped the the table. He didn’t sit.”

“Hm, well... did you wash your hands first?”

“Christ Almighty, what is he a child?”

“Jen, he’s just... you know, my mom’s the same. He can’t help it.”

“You can deal with him. I won’t be arsed,” she sniffs, “he was rude and you know I don’t got time for those ones.”

“Jenna, I’m kinda up to my eyes,” you dump the used bags from a pot. “I know he can be prickly but just wash your hands and redo the table.”

“Ugh, fine,” she sneers, “but you owe me.”

“Let’s call it even,” you retort as you pour boiling water into the pots mouth.

She shakes her head and huffs, “guess it is.”

🫖

It’s nearly three in the afternoon. It’s quiet. Harry’s on his phone instead of doing the cups and your wiping the empty tables to keep yourself moving. The door opens and you glance over to make sure Harry’s alert. He’s not.

Doesn’t matter. It’s him. Raymond. You stand and clutch the cloth tight in your hand as you greet him.

“Be right with you, Raymond,” you assure him.

He barely looks at you as he goes to wait next to his table. You go behind the counter and mutter under your breath in Harry’s direction, “...dirty cups.” You wash your hands and make sure to clink some of the empty porcelain in an effort to draw your coworker’s attention. He’s still entranced by his phone.

You take the disinfectant wipes and go back out. You approach Raymond as he checks his watch.

“How are you today?” You ask.

He grumbles and shrugs, “fine.”

“English Breakfast, black,” you declares as you finish wiping up, “usual.”

“So you remember,” he challenges as he steps close, closer than ever, before sidling around to sit.

“Of course, I always do,” you smile.

“And last time?”

“Last time...”

“Twice.”

You’re confused. What is he talking about?

“I came on Tuesday and you weren’t here. Then on Thursday, you didn’t even say hello.”

“Oh, well, I’m sorry, Raymond, it was a busy day. Tuesday, I had a personal emergency so I didn’t even know you’d been in--”

“I’ll have my tea now,” he interjects tersely.

“Right, tea,” you confirm and spin around.

“Crooked strings,” he remarks dully, “again.”

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #dark!raymond smith #drabble #series #to a tea #sweet and spicy #the gentlemen #au

205 notes · View notes

cabi-leodrann · 2 months ago

Note

Cabi! Big fan Joffrey here!

I wanted to ask, every time I see your art not only am I stunned by the quality, but also by the sheer uniqueness in style and character design. I've never seen a lamb designed quite like yours, it's so perfectly yours. What went into the inspiration behind the characters design, especially facially? Did you try and mimick a real lamb, or was there a more fantasy-element that you veered toward?

I can't specifically put my finger on it, but it gives me vague Warframe vibes. It's such a beautifully odd design and I can't get enough.

Love your work, love everything you do, can't wait to see what's next!

Hope you're well, stay safe, take care!

First of all, your ask is one of the biggest compliments I ever had in my life, I will keep it forever. You're an absolute chad! Second of all, those are very interesting questions, and I will be very happy to answer to them!

It started more or less with this drawing I made *look at the date* 2 years ago apparently. Way before I even thought of an AU- I didn't had much in mind, beside doing something that looked cool tbh.

I was very happy with the flow of it, and how it came out. And when I drew the Lamb again, I would try to nail THIS design.

The thing is, with time, I had a really big problem: Lamb looked way too young when I thought of them more as an adult. I had too much of the original game design guiding me, making a Lamb that was too cute and childlike for what I wanted. (And also, the head did not go well with the rest of the body holy shi-)

Came those drawings! I was happier with the look, Lamb was older! And I found the colored design quit nice! (I used a sheep picture as reference, but I don't think I used it well, compared to now. I used the reference for details, when I should have gone for overall shape first.) I still wanted something simpler to draw tho. The colored design was nice for an illustration, a one time gig, but I got pretty annoyed pretty fast at trying to nail the face every time. And from those attempt, you get the sketches on the right. (I also wanted to get away from other artiste's interpretation of Lamb, and at the time of those drawing, I didn't felt like I was away enough)

From those previous sketches, the idea for THaB started to emerge. I also still had problem with Lamb's design. Especially the hair. I was inspired by black hair, which is usually not a problem, but I was never happy with how it looked on Lamb specifically. I can draw black hair, I can draw black characters, but this mother-fucker would never feel satisfying to draw or finish 👀

And one day, as THaB was solidifying in my mind, I made a series of sketches that I posted! And one of them was the most important in Lamb's final design. This lil guy! (this design didn't came out of nowhere tho, Lamb was evolving into this as I kept trying. But I wont show those sketches, because those are spoilers =3)

And soon after, I made a comic that was supposed to only be a one shot, just a POV of Lamb and there reaction to Nari' telling them to die for him. But you know, things got out of hand lol

As I continued the comic and doodles on the side, I finally made myself a reference board, with real life images that were close to the vibe of this head drawing. (And I cannot stress enough how those references solidified Lamb's design as a whole. Draw with references, it is life changing. The more reference you get, the more your visual library will get diverse, and the more interesting detail and shape you will add to your art in general.) (I'd also add this: understand what you are drawing, make research and stay curious for every bit of info on everything. You never know when these nuggets of knowledge will help you as you create)

As I kept drawing the Lamb, they evolved! Things changed, slowly, like the shape of the nose, the shape of the eyes, how the hair flowed. You see those change at the face, but also on the body! As the idea of THaB's Lamb got clearer, the design got more specific. (I also got better at drawing! This comic make me draw way more often then before, and it shows)

Something before I finish: the other Cult of the Lamb character's design are way more inspired by their animals, when Lamb is more in the human spectrum. I thought of changing Lamb at some point, to make it fair/coherent, but I loved the design too much to change it again. This AU is something I do for fun, and even if it would have been more logical to change them... I don't want to-

As for the vague Warframe vibes: I play the game! And I found the character design absolutely stunning. So I am definitely influenced by the game without knowing it lol

Thank you very much, again, for your kind words! I also wish you the best, and see you next post =D

TL;DR: Lamb design, at first, wasn't inspired by much, beside the game and my style at the time. But as I retried to make them, added more intent, they got more refined. What really nailed the idea was to have real life references on the side.

#cabi ask #long post #cotl lamb #this took a lot of time to write holy shit #but it made me take a look at older drawing and made me realise how much I got better in 2 years #so it was worth it #and again Thank you Thank you Thank you Thank you

70 notes · View notes

ymechi · 10 months ago

Text

Who is the real Creator?

Hello! I have a bit of an announcement to make I don't think everyone has seen the previous post but an anon asked me if I will continue the series and to be honest I don't think I will. This series was made on a whim and was really fun to write except I hit a roadblock. I am unsure where to continue with this I feel like I have written enough and not sure where to go from here story wise, that is why I decided to discontinue the story. Thank you everyone who commented and liked I enjoyed seeing your guys reactions. For now this is the last chapter. If I ever decide to continue this or make a new series I look forward to seeing you guys there!

-TW: cult au, yandere, impostor au, mentions of being hunted down, mentions of trauma, self harm (nothing major), OOC character

-Gn reader and darling (please tell me if I mess this up message me and I will fix it)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, this is part 6

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The beat of their heart was as loud as a drum. Reader could even feel their head vibrate in tandem with the marching drums they had heard before when they were younger. Their vision felt blurry and their head was light. The fading sun outside the windows caught their eye. Reader felt nauseous.

They were such a coward they had left Nahida and Wanderer to clean up after them as they ran away. Reader wanted to help her not add more trouble yet here they were weak and unable to speak.

Distantly they heard a gasp.

"Reader! Are you okay? Oh no- Traveller come quick!"

Two blurry figures came closer to Reader. They idly noted one of the figures was floating. . . Ohh, it was Paimon and Aether.

Seeing the two somehow calmed them down and they tried to take deep breaths. With a calmer and clearer mind, they noticed that both stared at Reader with worried expressions.

Reader gave a wry smile.

"Hi Paimon, hi Traveller."

The two said nothing staring at Reader and then at each other coming to an agreement of some sort.

"Paimon thinks you should sit down first," she said, trailing off and looking down.

Reader also noticed Aether was looking down as well to the side, it was then it dawned on Reader they were looking at their sliced palm. They subconsciously tried to hide it but stopped midway bringing it forward towards the duo.

"I guess you two were also summoned but were late haha," they said with a flat laugh.

Traveler continued to look at them with a worried frown and Paimon who usually had a positive expression looked even more worried. Reader's wry smile seemed not to work sadly.

"P-Paimon is still not sure what is going on but Paimon thinks you should sit down first. . ."

"I agree let's get you somewhere to rest first."

Aether reached his hand out as an invite and Reader felt too weak to reject him. He took their hand and guided them further down the hall towards a seating area where guests could sit. There Reader was able to sit down and calm down.

"Thanks, I do feel better."

Aether smiled and nodded while Paimon's eyes sifted from looking at them and then at a wall.

"Uhm- so Paimon has been wondering. . ."

It was obvious what she was referring to. They held the sliced palm with the other hand almost cradling it.

"Sorry, I did not mean to keep it from you guys. . . I just found out recently as well, I-I hope you are not mad."

"What! Why would we be mad? You are the creator- Oh no should we bow?" Paimon said looking at Reader then around as if someone would pop up and admonish her.

Traveler shook his head at his companion's antics and gave Reader a sad smile.

"I hope you can forgive out-"

"Oh no stop there!"

Reader jumped out quickly from their seat causing the duo to step back (the other to float back) in shock. Reader stepped forward and looked at them with a serious expression.

"I don't care if I am some creator or whatever and I don't care about that formal shit, especially when you two are my friends!"

Reader was not sure where this outburst came from. Was it because of the stressful day? Was it having to see people you did not like or was it because of having to watch Wanderer act subservient for so long?

"So no your grace or bowing!"

The two still looked aback. Suddenly Reader felt embarrassed shouting at them when they were concerned about her.

"W-well uhm, sorry, yeah I should not have shouted. . ."

Reader wrung their hands together but stopped when they noticed the sliced palm. They looked down at their shoes.

"Paimon. . . Paimon thinks of you as a friend too," she said and her cheeks turned red.

Reader smiled at her and Traveller sighed but gave the floating girl a smile.

"If that is what you wish for then who are we to say no?"

He sounded a tad bit too formal for Reader but it would have to do for now.

"None of that now, how have the two of you been?"

Paimon opened her mouth about to answer Reader's question but she was interrupted unexpectedly.

"Your Grace-"

Reader's heart skipped a beat and not the good kind. The calm they experienced before was gone and their body froze again. The one who spoke was unmistakably the retired geo Archon. He looked frazzled and looked at Reader in a way they could not decipher.

"Your grace I. . ."

"That is enough I had already told you they were not ready to talk to you yet."

Nahida came afterward it looks like she rushed over to where they were. Her face was stern and it looked so out of place compared to her more relaxed and curious features. Reader's stomach clenched. Zhongli looked as if he wanted to argue with her. His face took on a harsher stance as he looked at her.

No.

They would not let him.

"Whatever it is you want to say it's with me leave her out of this."

Their hands were shaking but they held them together. Nahida looked surprised at them and Reader wanted to reassure her it was going to be alright. Aether from his side approached them and stood between the Archon and Reader. The implication that he was willing to defend them from one of the strongest beings in Teyvat was not lost on Reader. They did feel safer by having him on their side and Paimon as well.

"Your grace I," Zhongli paused his gaze on Reader with a guilty look that made them feel uncomfortable, "If I had known if only. . ."

"That does not matter anymore," Reader interrupted him.

He looked at them and flinched.

"Save your what 'ifs’, you did what you did and I won't forget it."

The unexpected venom that came out of Reader surprised even them. Zhongli had taken to look down he looked ashamed, how dare he? Now he wants to act all guilty. Reader scoffed.

"You have done enough damage for today, I suggest you leave neither me or the Dendro Archon are in a mood to deal with you," Reader said and crossed their arms.

They idly wondered if the meeting had gone awry for her to come here. Nahida looked thoroughly surprised.

Zhongli opened his mouth to speak but Reader beat him to it.

"That is all I have nothing more to say."

"I think I will take it over here with Mr. Zhongli and the rest."

They nodded at Nahida. Reader tugged at Aether's scarf for him to follow them.

They entered Reader's new room and their muscles went lax. It felt though as if they had carried a heavy boulder. They threw decorum away and sat on their desk stool.

"Sorry, I think I need a bit of rest."

"It's okay Paimon doesn't think anyone would handle talking to a guy that tried to kill as well as you did."

Aether glared at Paimon and she jumped up in the air while still floating.

"Maybe Paimon should not have said that. . ."

Reader looked at her and shook their head with a smile.

"It's okay, you sort of reminded me I did something pretty cool huh?"

Paimon's expression eased and she nodded.

"While Zhongli is our friend what he did to you was unforgivable so Paimon thinks he ought to get kicked around for what he did."

"Heh, it seems like you can speak some sense from time to time."

It was Wanderer who had entered when the door was still unopened. Paimon did look angry at his remark.

"You! What do you mean Paimon always says things that make sense!"

"Yeah sure," he said with a mocking smile and crossed his arms.

"You came early did something happen?" Reader spoke.

Wanderer uncrossed his arms and shook his head.

"No Lesser Lord Kusanali came back with the funeral consultant and told me to look out for you."

Ohh, Reader's heart melted a bit. They really had a good friend, next time they should make her something as thanks.

"Paimon has a question are you planning to announce it to everyone that you are the creator?"

Aether looked at Reader more intently as well. It seemed he was interested in the topic.

"No, I rather not, we decided to let the acolytes know for now their words hold some sway if they could calm the public down after the 'fake' left."

Aether had a thoughtful expression and nodded at Reader's answer. Perhaps he guessed Reader was not in the mood to talk about this particular topic and left it a that. Reader was once again thankful for their friend's thoughtfulness.

"Sorry for all the drama today take a seat what have you two been up to?"

Aether smiled and sat down while Wanderer ever the polite one bought fruits and left to get some tea. The Traveler and his companion told them of the many new adventures they had and the people they met. After Wanderer came back with the tea all of them sat down and listened as Paimon did a dramatic retelling of a recent commission they took on.

"I see everyone is having a fun time."

"Nahida!" Reader went out of their seat to check on the Archon.

"I hope there was not too much trouble are all right? Did something happen?"

"No worries I am fine and nothing happened it took a while to convince some to leave, there were acolytes who wanted to meet you."

Reader grimaced.

"Yeah sorry, next time I won't run away like that."

Nahida shook her head.

"No, it is part of my duty, there is no need for you to do it if you don't feel like it."

"You shouldn't have to shoulder this," Reader argued.

"Lesser Lord Kusanali is right if you are not ready it might do more damage to your health," Wandered interjected.

At that Reader could only be silent. They felt so helpless.

"For now let Nahida handle it you can be there and see how much you can handle," Wanderer said after sighing.

Reader wrung their hands together and looked at Nahida with a guilty look.

"If it's okay with you could I?"

"Only if you think you can handle it."

For now that would be their solution.

Reader ushered Nahida to take a seat and poured her some tea. Paimon took it upon herself to start over her tale once again since Nahida was there and the Wanderer scoffed at her which caused them to bicker for a few seconds. Reader could only laugh behind their hand. The rest of the day was spent comfortably talking.

"It is getting late Paimon doesn't want to intrude any longer."

The Traveller nodded as well.

"Wait you both could stay in my room?"

Traveller and Paimon looked surprised.

"We don't want to interrupt your resting time there is also only one bed."

"The bed is big enough for all of us we can have a sleepover?"

Reader wrung their hands together. It was just, they did not want to sleep alone today.

Traveller and Paimon looked at each other they must have had a silent conversation.

"If you are okay with it Reader."

"Yeah it would be nice I haven't had a sleepover in a long while Nahida and Wanderer you could join in if you want to." They said with a smile.

"I've never had one before but I would love to try it out."

Wanderer was silent for a while before he quietly answered.

"I will join then. . ."

Reader smiled it almost hurt their face. They gathered a lot of pillows and extra blankets just in case. Reader took the middle while Nahida was to the right and Paimon to the left. Respectievly Aether took Paimon's side and Wanderer slept next to Nahida. It really did feel like a huge sleepover. Reader slept soundly that night sourrended in warmth.

Extra:

Reader felt warm and fuzzy images of Christmas lights surrounding their vision. the lights were blurry and smudged. Gentle snow started to fall blanketing the ground in white. The blanket that surrounded them kept them warm and they snuggled closer to it.

The stars above twinkled and They watched with interest as they changed shape and colour. Then a star started to fall, no it was a snowflake. A huge giant snowflake was falling towards Reader and they tried to struggle but it was in vain as the blanket held them in place. With horror they watched as the snowflake landed on their head.

It was rather soft and it did not hurt but the snowflake was beginning to limit their breathing. Reader tried to open their mouth to breathe in more air.

With a gasp, they woke up.

The thing smothering their face was not a snowflake or anything nefarious but rather Paimon herself. Somehow she had ended up on their face. They struggled to shake her off and after a few seconds of prying she rolled off to the side.

She was still asleep her mouth open and she mumbled something about food no doubt.

Reader sighed.

They blinked a few times as they looked out to the window where the sun was shining. It was already morning.

Reader was rather in a bind, literally. Nahida had curled up in her chest, she looked so small and cute Reader’s heart melted and they wanted to pat her head. Their feet somehow got tangled up with Wanderer’s and to the side Aether was hugging their arm.

They could not get up.

”If I was in a different room I would still be able to hear your squirms.”

It was wanderer who woke up. His voice was hoarse. Now that they thought about it Reader had no idea if he could sleep or if he even needed to.

”Sorry,” they said whispering.

Wanderer sighed and came closer towards Reader shutting his eyes.

Wait, was he not going to get up at all?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @resident-cryptid @probablynoposts @esthelily @mitsukashi @charming-mage @chaoticfivesworld @irisxiel @dulcedelechenginamo @yu-ulda @samohxt2-0 @pinkpainc @vianitry @dreamlessnight @kurayamioterasu @fantasyhopperhea @victoria1676 @liansh3ng @game-savvy @uchihaeirin @awelygirl @klemen-time @synthe4u @deadgirldreaming @quacking-simp

251 notes · View notes

katareyoudrilling · 9 months ago

Text

The Sweepstakes: Javi Gutierrez (Porn Star AU)

Series: The Sweepstakes

Pairing: Porn star Javi Gutierrez x Female Reader

Summary: It seemed like a great idea at the time, but now you’re not sure you’re brave enough to claim your sweepstakes prize.

Word count: ~3.2k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: reader is a full-figured gal, vague body descriptions, body insecurity, some ass smacks, ass worship, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PiV (there is paperwork)

A/N: Huge thank you to @burntheedges for all her help with this! Javi is a new character for me as is some of the subject matter I’m writing about. I hope I’ve done both justice! Spanish translations are at the end, but everything should be able to be understood in line with context. I hope you enjoy!

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – link in bio or ask me to add you!

“There’s a kitchen to the left and a bathroom here,” Erin opens a door to show you a spacious full bath. “The production room is at the end of this hall, which is where I will be if you need anything.”

You nod along and follow her down the hall.

“And of course, here is the room where you’ll be doing your scene!” She opens the double doors with a flourish.

It’s so… bright in there. Is it always that bright?

You look around the large bedroom. A bedroom you are very familiar with, as it is where your favorite porn production company films many of their videos.

You wrap your arms around your torso, feeling exposed even though you’re still fully clothed.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

You entered a sweepstakes you never expected to win. You saw the ad after a particularly satisfying session with your vibrator. It said, “Enter to win a night with your favorite performer!”

Your favorite performer had just given you a fantastic orgasm. In your dopamine haze it seemed like the best idea you’d ever had. You’ve never had an orgasm with a partner, but he gets you there every time. Could he do it in person?

The “he” in question was none other than Javi Gutierrez. The friendliest porn star there ever was. Sunshine incarnate. You wondered and then you clicked submit.

Now, seeing the room in person, faced with the reality of the large bed and sunlight filtering through the curtains… your brilliant idea doesn’t seem so brilliant anymore.

Erin leads you into the room and continues, “Since you’ve opted not to be filmed, we have removed all the cameras except one.” She gestures towards a tripod in the corner. “The lens cap is on though, it’s just for sound. We will be monitoring the feed just to be sure everyone is safe.”

“I… I don’t know… if I can do this,” you choke out, your breaths coming faster and faster as panic builds in your chest.

“Hey, it’s ok.” Erin places her hands on your shoulders and captures your darting gaze. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. If you just want to meet Javi and call it a night, that is completely fine. He really is the sweetest.” She smiles at you, and you let out a long exhale, allowing your shoulders to relax slightly.

“He won’t be upset?”

“Upset? No. Our performers are all very aware of how intimidating this is and would never judge anyone for backing out, Javi especially. I know he is excited to meet you, though.”

“Me? Why?” That’s just ridiculous. One of the most beautiful men in existence is excited to meet jiggly, squishy you?

“He’s excited to meet everyone, all the time, but we did show him your photo and tell him a little about you from your paperwork. I believe his exact word was deliciosa.” She winks.

Delicious? What? Javi is always so complimentary to his scene partners, telling them how beautiful they are and how good they feel, but none of his scene partners look like you.

“What do you think? Want to meet him?” Erin asks you gently.

You nod. “Yeah, I guess.” If Javi is who you think he is, then he will at least be friendly and kind.

“I’ll send him in in a few minutes. Make yourself comfortable and remember, we are here for you, however you want this evening to go.” She leaves the room, closing the doors behind her.

You face the bed, the space you’ve traveled to in your mind so many times now real in front of you. You’ll just meet him, and it will be fine. So what if you’ll never know what it’s really like to be with him. So what if this once in a lifetime opportunity passes you by.

You hear the doors open behind you and quickly turn around only to be blinded by the gorgeousness that is Javi Gutierrez.

He’s wearing a white tank top that shows off his broad, muscular shoulders, lightly freckled from the sun, and loose linen pants that hang low on his hips, revealing a thin slice of tummy and happy trail. His skin positively glows in the setting sun. His hair falls softly in ringlets of brown and gold around his handsome face.

“Hello, I am Javi.” He introduces himself with a wide smile and open arms. You allow him to gather you into his broad chest, too stunned that this is happening to even introduce yourself properly. You mumble your name against him.

His scent fills your nostrils—citrus and the ocean breeze—and you breathe it in greedily. Too soon he lets you go and steps back. A look of deep concern fills his chocolate brown eyes as he considers you carefully.

“Erin said maybe you want to leave.” His deep voice is so gentle and soothing. “It is ok if you do, but I hope not.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “Say what? That I would be sad not to get to fuck you?”

“You don’t… really want to do… that with me. It’s ok.” Your cheeks heat as you stutter your answer.

“Of course I want to, why would I not want to? You are so beautiful. Bonita.”

“No I’m not, you don’t want this,” you gesture towards yourself, your tummy, your ass.

“I do want this. What is wrong with this?” He looks genuinely confused. “May I touch you, bonita?”

“I… I guess.”

He takes your hand and brings it to his lips then trails kisses up your arm. You shiver as his mustache brushes against your sensitive skin.

“¡Que linda! So beautiful and soft,” he murmurs as he gets to your shoulder, dropping your arm and placing his hands on your waist. “Why would I not want more of you to fill up my hands?” He slides his hands around to your ass, bringing your fronts together. You can feel his length hardening between you and your mouth falls open in surprise. He squeezes your ass, “This. You. Are beautiful. And I do want to fuck you. Te deseo, bonita.”

He closes the distance between you to press a kiss on your mouth, currently open in shock. He teases your lips and chin as his hands knead your ass, pulling you against him. One hand travels up to palm your breast. He finds the hard point of your nipple and you gasp as he pinches it.

“Do you not want the cameras because you do not think you are beautiful, bonita?” he whispers against your skin as he drags his angular nose along your jawline.

You nod as you whimper. The idea of watching yourself like that… it makes your insides churn. You just knew when you saw the question in the paperwork that you would never want to watch it, so why record it?

He pulls back and holds your gaze intently. “It is your choice, por supuesto. But I hope I can make you feel beautiful tonight. With me. Will you stay?”

His smoldering gaze is hypnotic and you find yourself replying, “Yes, I’ll stay.”

“Bueno, this makes me very happy.” The smile that lights up his face confirms his words.

You find yourself smiling back, your insecurities taking a backseat to the fizzy excitement now bubbling through your veins. His joyful presence is contagious.

Javi returns to your mouth, no longer in teasing nips, but with intent as he draws you into a deep kiss. His tongue slides against yours with languid, knee-weakening strokes. He leads you backwards until you feel the bed against the backs of your legs and directs you to sit. With your head tilted back, he continues to explore your mouth, standing between your legs, his large hands cradling your face.

He steps back and pulls his tank top over his head. He moves to return to your kiss, but you stop him with your hands on his chest. You have to see him, touch him, this beautiful man you’ve fantasized about so many times.

“You’re gorgeous, Javi,” you whisper reverently as you drag your palms down his golden chest, delighting when his nipples pebble under your fingers.

“Gracias, bonita,” he chuckles softly. His fingers trace your jaw and the shell of your ear as you explore his body. “Undo the tie,” he murmurs as your fingers trace the edge of his trousers. You can already see the shape of him through the thin material, straining to be released.

You bite your lip and Javi groans, “Fuck. Those lips, ay, son deliciosos.”

Carefully, you tug at the drawstring knot, it gives way, and his pants slide down his beautiful legs, revealing the full glory of his nakedness to you. His cock bobs in front of you and your mouth waters at the site. You shift, squeezing your legs together at the ache building at your center.

His glorious length, hard… for you. It boggles your mind.

“It’s so sexy, you looking at me like that,” Javi growls. “I can’t wait to fuck you with this cock.” He strokes himself in front of you. He’s so thick it sends shivers up your spine.

You look up at him and lick your lips. “Can I taste you, Javi?” The boldness of the request surprises you even as the words escape your mouth. You’ve become brave so quickly in the presence of Javi’s obvious desire.

“Absolutamente. Whatever you want. I am here for you.” He smiles down at you as he stands in front of you next to the bed.

You take him in your hand and stroke lightly from root to tip, then bend over to retrace your path with your tongue. Javi’s approval rumbles in his chest as you lick and taste your way along him, ending with a swirl of your tongue over the head of his gorgeous cock. Grasping him firmly in one hand you draw him between your lips.

Javi caresses your neck and cheek as you pump him into your mouth. You close your eyes and focus on remembering the salty taste of his skin on your tongue. You never want to forget.

You lose yourself in the rhythmic action, stroking him with your hand in time with your mouth until your jaw aches. You pull back to catch your breath only to have his mouth on yours again.

“Your turn, bonita,” he practically growls into your mouth. “I need to taste you. Por favor. Lo necesito.”

You remove your clothes with his help. You want to look down, away from his face, so you don’t see his reaction to you, but you force yourself to meet his gaze. What you see looking back at you is pure lust and desire.

Goosebumps rise over your skin at the intensity of it, your nipples pebble and your pussy throbs.

“So soft,” he whispers reverently, cupping your breasts. He squeezes and moans before taking your nipple in his mouth. He presses you back, so you’re laying on the bed. Out of habit, your arms move to cover your body, to somehow make yourself smaller.

“Don’t hide from me, bonita.” Javi gently takes your wrists and pins your hands out to the side. “Let me see you. You are so beautiful. Quiero verte.”

Sincerity shines from his kind eyes. You take deep breaths and relax. You want to trust him.

He kisses your lips then travels down your neck, sucking at your pulse point and making you gasp. He gathers your breasts in his large hands and nuzzles into them before taking each peak in his mouth. He travels across your belly, licking and nibbling at your roundness, before grasping your thighs in his hands and licking a broad swipe up your slit.

You moan as his warm mouth envelopes your cunt and his tongue nudges at your sensitive bud. “Delicioso,” he groans between licks. He slips a finger inside you, and you instinctively roll your hips into him.

Him stroking you inside and out is divine, and you try to sink into the sensations and just enjoy, but a thought keeps worming its way back in. Your mind won’t let it go, so you clear your throat, “Um Javi? I need to tell you something.”

“What is it, sweetheart? Are you ok? Do you not like it?” he kisses the inside of your thigh, looking worried.

“No no, it feels so good, don’t stop. I just… I… fuck…” you lose focus, distracted as he resumes dragging his fingers in and out of your pussy, circling your clit with his thumb.

“I have read your papers, have you changed your mind about something?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… I’ve never… come with a partner.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs into your skin, continuing to stroke you, “Do you come when you watch me?”

“Every time,” you moan as his fingers find a spot deep inside that makes your arch off the bed.

“Then we will see. It is ok if you do not.”

“I want to. With you.” You do, so so badly.

It’s something you’ve thought about a lot. It could be a matter of skill, but you can get yourself off alone just never with a partner. You have a suspicion that how you feel about your body might be the reason. None of your partners have ever said anything to make you feel badly, but you haven’t exactly let them appreciate you either, assuming that they wouldn’t.

You cover yourself, turn off the lights, only partially undress, in the hopes that a partner won’t notice what you look like. As if they haven’t been looking at you in all the moments leading to the bedroom.

But Javi didn’t let you do that. In this bright room, you bared yourself to him and he said you were deliciosa.

“You have my word, I will try very hard,” he places his free hand over his heart, sealing his promise with a nod, making you giggle. “And we have things to help, if you need them. It is ok. I will take care of you.”

“Thank you, Javi, oh…” you cut yourself off with a moan as Javi dives back into your cunt, sucking your clit into his mouth and making your hips jerk.

You decide to believe him and work to clear your mind. Your eyes drift close as you focus on the pleasure he is pulling out of you. His warm tongue strokes wide and firm, circling your clit in determined strokes. You let your body respond how it wants. Your hips rock into him with each stroke of his tongue, seeking that perfect pressure. It feels amazing.

But you don’t come.

Before you can get frustrated, Javi kisses his way back up to your tits and gathers them in his palms. “Look at you in my hands,” he moans, mouthing at your soft flesh, swirling his tongue around each nipple. You take the opportunity to run your fingers through his silky hair, twirling one curl and then another.

He groans in appreciation when you tug slightly. The sound goes straight to your core.

He looks up at you with a wicked grin. “Roll over, bonita.”

He rolls you on to your stomach, kneeling across your outstretched legs. He gently smacks your ass cheek, sending ripples through your body. You gasp and your pussy clenches around nothing.

“Yesssss,” he hisses and he smacks you again. “Look how you bounce for me.”

He takes handfuls of your ass cheeks and kneads and squeezes them together. Suddenly you feel his cock slide through the cleft of your ass. You try to twist to see him but can only get glimpses of him staring down at you, slack jawed and wrecked.

Your body is making him look like that. It makes you feel powerful, and you wish you could watch him enjoy you. For the first time, you regret not allowing the cameras.

“Fuuuck,” Javi growls, sliding his cock between your ass cheeks. You whimper and whine pinned underneath him. “I could come like this, bonita, you feel so good.” He lets your ass cheeks fall apart and smacks them again before gathering you back up around his cock. “So juicy and plump. Fucking amazing.”

You’re drenched with arousal and unable to relieve any of the pressure.

“Fuck me, Javi, please,” you beg.

“Sí, bonita, I will fuck you,” he growls.

Javi scoots back and rolls you over then wedges himself between your legs.

Taking his cock in hand he glides himself through your slippery folds, nudging at your clit with each stroke. You whimper as he teases you until he notches himself at your entrance.

He eases himself into your channel. He’s a lot to take and works his way in gently, watching your face for signs of discomfort.

You let out a guttural moan as he bottoms out in your cunt. “So good Javi, you’re so big. Fuck, I’m so full.” The stretch of him is glorious.

He pistons his hips slowly at first as you both savor the drag of him through your walls. Gradually he speeds up until he’s slamming his hips into you.

Every thrust reverberates through your body. Your breasts and tummy wobble, but you don’t try to stop them.

“Look how you bounce when I fuck you,” Javi groans, continuing his relentless pace, “ it’s so sexy.” His fingers dig into your thighs as he presses you open.

“Yes Javi, more… yes… please.” You beg nonsensically as your orgasm begins to sparkle at the edges of your awareness.

“You need to be filled up, don’t you bonita? You need to be stretched around this cock. That’s it. Fuck. You feel so good.” He moves a hand in between your bodies to circle your clit and you cry out.

“I think I’m close, Javi,” you whine. He circles your clit faster continuing to drag his thick cock in and out of you.

“Let go, bonita. Let me see it.”

You tip over the edge, an edge you have never found with a partner before, but you’ve never felt so desired with a partner before and so free in your body. Javi’s skill with his cock and mouth and fingers is unparalleled for sure, but what does it is the look in his eyes and his filthy words when he fucks you.

He has made it so clear that his arousal is not despite your body, but because of it. And he made you believe it too.

“Bonita?”

“Mmmm?” you mumble as you come back into your body, the aftershocks of your orgasm spacing farther and farther apart.

Javi is next to you, holding the back of your hand up to his lips as he peppers it with kisses.

“I have a question.”

“What is it?” you crack one eye open.

“Can I go get Erin to set up some cameras? For the next one?” he asks, eyes wide and hopeful.

You bite your lip as a shy smile spreads across your face. “Yeah, ok.”

“Deliciosa.” He smiles in return before bounding out of the bed towards the door, leaving you giggling on the bed.

You stretch out while you wait for him to return, feeling more at home in your body than you have in a long time. You wiggle your fingers and toes and smile to yourself. The next one is going to be fun.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Translations: Deliciosa/o/son deliciosos – delicious, they are delicious Bonita – beautiful Que linda – how beautiful/pretty Te deseo – I desire you Por supuesto – of course Bueno – good Gracias – thank you Absolutamente – absolutely Lo necesito – I need it Quero verta – I want to see you

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist – in reblog

#the sweepstakes #javi gutierrez #javi g #javi gutierrez x reader #fav g x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal

185 notes · View notes

yuri-is-online · 3 months ago

Note

Thinking about the future kid au and Jamil!Yutu (help his tsum is so cute, i love the tsum events)

Like...you said Jamil! Yutu wishes he wasn't born so his dad wouldn't have been executed because some Asim relatives guilted him (desoite them being the ACTUAL reason he died)

Needless to say his relationship with his dad is complicated , but I can't stop thinking about Yutu being of two minds about his parents like "I'm gonna get in the way of your plans for the evening because I don't want either of you to get close and eventually die because of me" but also somehow everything he attempts doesn't work

Because Jamil isn't one to give up easily (none of the boys are) and he just- feels so much freer and happier than he ever has when he gets to trade snarky comments, silly puns and honest praise with Yuu. And he won't let this mysterious guy get ik the way of that, he pretends to enjoy his remaining years at NRC to the best of his ability thank you very much. Plus he's working on gaining his freedom and Yuu is his number one cheerleader at this don't tell Kalim tho he'll be sure to cranck up his enthusiasm if you do ofc he won't stop talking to them nor dreaming of what could be, it's all he has to avoid going mad

Yutu however is losing his mind because every time there's danger he gets reminded of his dad's corpse being dragged around and he keeps worrying this time his dad will die trying to protect Yuu from harm

Little does he know Jamil would rather give his life protecting Yuu than any Asim because that's his CHOICE and that's the person who chose HIM over everyone else. Cue Yutu recovering from the battle, looking around frantically for signs of either of his parents and seeing Yuu patching Jamil up, bantering lightly and sharing such soft looks. They look so happy despite their bruises and suddenly Yutu gets this nauseating feeling of dread because he can see why they fell in love, which means maybe he's too late to stop it now

And then Grim complains that he's hungry after the fight and they both share this look and Yutu gets the little sadness of "oh, this is what it would've been like"

Just- aaaaaaahhhhhhh this au is so good and so angsty but also I wanna add just a little bit of fluff for these poor boys (my original thought was of Yutu seeing his parents meeting in the town and following them to try to sabotage their not-date only to end up making each scenario more romantic until he gives up when they start dancing in the middle of nowhere and he recognizes the dance from when Yuu taught him many years ago)

Happy Birthday Jamil (so sorry this is late), the tsum part of this post really shows you how old it is I am so sorry. Jamil is a real cutie though, his birthday message this year is him thanking Yuu for being someone he can trust to give him something without having ulterior motives. Post OB! Jamil should have a special sort of respect for Yuu I think. He understands what it is like to have to care for someone who makes a lot of problems against your will, but maybe not that you could love that person in the way Yuu loves Grim. Lots to think about with JamilYuu, lots to think about... so this one gets to have two parts as well whoops.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, CW lots of self hatred and thoughts of death, body horror, major character death, bullying, and brief mention of suicide. This post features some o.c.s created by @archetypal-archivist for this ayuu. More information about the ayuu can be found here, here, and here. Masterlist can be found here

The early morning is a sacred time for your little family. When Yutu was little you would sneak into his room to make sure he was still asleep. He never was, he'd developed some sort of sixth sense for when his favorite person was home and would wait patiently snuggled into the red scarf he used as a security blanket to surprise you.

“Boo!” The scarf would go up in the air and you would let out an exaggerated gasp of surprise as your son giggled in manic delight. “I got you!”

“You got me!” He'd been little enough to lift up into the air then, you miss those days even though they were difficult.

Your son still “spooks” you when you come home in the morning. His former blanket has become a part of his wardrobe, and he's much too big for you to lift up over your head anymore but he's not pretending to be asleep anymore either.

“Boo!” Today Yutu has made some tomatoes and eggs, you think you smell coffee but that's not a smart thing for you to be drinking right now.

“Thank you, little light.” You settle down at your kitchen table and Yutu excitedly tells you about his plans for the day. When he does this you always feel lucky, as if you didn't expect him to be such a normal and happy child. As if there was something other than poverty and your illness that would hold him down and deny him any sense of self or success. Yutu has never felt like there is anything he cannot do so long as he tries, he's very ambitious, your little light. You've told him more than once you hope his spark never dims, that you are so proud of him for not letting his circumstances dictate his goals.

There's some relief in knowing you aren't here to see him hiding behind his scarf again. It would hurt you to see how fast he shrinks away from the lich descending from his throne, putrid rotting flesh assaulting his nose even through the silk guard. This is his fault, he can find no other logical explanation. You would disagree, he has no idea what the corpse in front of him would say, but neither of you lived to see what he has. He's not so full of himself that he thinks the world ended with his birth, but yours most certainly did.

Yutu is a smart and polite child, the sort of little boy who makes old ladies swoon and insist that his parents are so lucky to have him. That was a point of pride for him before arriving in Twisted Wonderland. He never had too many questions about his father, he could see he wasn't the only one of his peers who was being raised by a single parent which was enough reassurance for him. Maybe he'd meet his father one day, maybe he wouldn't. He was much more concerned with making friends and learning everything he could.

He loves school in general, but his favorite subject is the stars. It starts with him trying to amuse himself while waiting for you to come home from work and evolves into a hobby as he gets older. His first proper expensive present is a refurbished telescope you spent a lot of time researching and asking questions about. That's the first chip at his self confidence when he's alone in Twisted Wonderland; you worked so hard for that gift and he didn't bring it with him. Sure, he didn't know what was happening but he knew something was off. He should have grabbed it and kept it close…

Star gazing isn't his only hobby, he really likes cooking and experimenting with coffee. He took up cooking because he was tired of waiting for you to come home and make food and expected it to be boring but there's something fulfilling about eating food you've made yourself he really likes. The fact it makes him more attractive to his classmates is not something he thinks about at all, not one little bit. You've never found him making extra food for a particular “friend” with a familiar determined smirk on his face. “Your father used to do the same thing.” You say it absentmindedly, the look of embarrassment you're met with is also quite similar. “Not. Another. Word.”

Money is tight, but Yutu still finds ways to participate in extracurricular activities. He wants them on his college applications, sure, but he also wants friends, his own little group of people who won't care too much about his parent's reputation. Cooking club and drama class end up being his home base, you've got an unwilling front row seat to so much pointless highschool drama it gives you a headache. He likes playing pickup basketball with his friends but joining the team isn't something he got a chance to do before getting isekaid.

The little bits and pieces you remember about his father make him out to be extremely normal. You remember his favorite food, that he liked cooking and playing basketball. You tell your son he takes after his father in how talented he is; Yutu is proud to be like his father, he assumes that he will get the full story from you someday. Maybe his dad died, maybe you never told him that he was going to be a father out of fear and never got a chance because you lost your memories in a tragic accident. Either way, Yutu is sure that one day he will find out who his father is and he'll be able to help you reconcile your relationship, whether it's by processing his death or reconnecting your friendship.

There's nothing particularly special about the day you remember. He felt like trying something new with his hair and you had offered to turn his scarf into a turban, memories of fireworks sparking your hands into motion while Yutu tells you about what his teacher wants the school play to be this year.

“Careful!” Yutu whines as you pull his hair through the cloth.

“I am being very careful.” You laugh, the look on Yutu's face is familiar. Just like... “Jamil bought this for me, you know.”

“Jamil?” Yutu has never heard that name before, but he can tell it's important. He's never heard you sound so tender before.

“I think we were joking about push presents and he was offended thinking he had to wait until you were born to get me something nice.” There was meant to be a matching piece of jewelry with Yutu's birthstone he thought you didn't know about, but then… how could you have forgotten that? You were going to make fun of him for how sloppy Yutu's birth was making him. He was losing his touch, the old Jamil never would have been so obvious with a surprise.

“Is that such a bad thing? You're giving me a gift.” Jamil is looking up at you confused, but it's not Jamil, it's your son. Your little light who- "You look so much like him." Your hand shakes, the world around you fades to black and Yutu begins to scramble.

~~~~

When Yutu opens his eyes he's in a dark room in front of a mirror with a mask hovering in a sea of green flame, there is noise buzzing around him that must be conversation, but try as he might he can't reign himself back into focus. You are still, eyes glassy and unresponsive to his calls. There is a man shaking him, trying to pull him to his feet as he calls for... the word he uses is healer and that allows Yutu to settle himself. "... a healer and take Yuu to the hospital wing immediately!" The Headmage snaps and a woman with brown hair immediately bolts to obey. The person next to her reaches out, but does not follow; the boy's presence is throwing cold water over a particular part of the crowd they would be wise to keep watch over. That isn't the right word so Yutu must be dreaming, he gives the man in the fur coat his attention and obeys, stepping forward to allow the mirror to judge his soul.

"Scarabia." If Yutu was not so convinced he was dreaming he would notice the way the person who approaches him looks, the meaning behind the fur coat's insistence he stay put and wait for him in the mirror chamber. But he does not. So when that person extends their hand, welcomes him to Scarabia and asks him to follow he thinks nothing of it. This is all a bad dream, you will shake him awake and tell him more about Jamil.

Not that he really needs to wait.

The first hit is a slap, the second is a basic fire spell but he doesn't know that when it sears his skin. He doesn't even know why these students are so angry, doesn't recognize his own last name he just thinks the word Viper is being used as an insult. When smoke begins to surround him he assumes the other students have decided to stop toying with him. He's going to die. He just found out his father's name, magic is real, other worlds are real, you are dead. You are dead and there's a foul smelling smoke around him; he's never really thought about what it would be like to die but Yutu finds himself surprisingly calm. "We'll be together soon, [parent]... father are you waiting too?"

"I would hate to waste a necklace on the likes of you." An authoritative voice cuts through the smoke, Yutu recognizes this person as his attackers scatter. The strange one who tried to stop the woman who ran off after the man in the fur coat spoke. They are wearing a lot of jewelry, necklaces and bracelets with strange symbols that seem to thrum with power in a way that sends a shiver down his spine. A rueful smile crosses their lips for a brief second. "Not that it would be a waste of course." Their focus turns to the cause of the smoke, a kerchief they give one more good shake before tucking it back into a pouch with even more strange necklaces wrapped around it.

"Where am I?" Yutu sounds so small, he curses himself silently for it but how else is he supposed to feel when the mysterious stranger looks at him with so much pity?

"Exactly where you belong." They say with authority, as if they are attempting to shut out any doubts before they can form. "But, as much as it shames me to suggest it, that might not be the safest place for you right now."

Misbah is how this person introduces themselves. Their friend, who is beyond stressed to see Yutu so disheveled and insists on healing him before allowing him to see you, is named Sehrish. Explanations can wait until Yutu has had time to say his goodbyes, but the look the older students exchange when you ask them to make sure your son isn't treated like Jamil once was tells him there must be a lot of them. Of the three adults, no one agrees how to give him those explanations either. The only thing they do agree on is that it is unsafe for him to be in Scarabia right now, but there won't be a problem with Ramshackle Dorm even if it's name suggests to Yutu that there really probably should be.

Crewel takes him there, explaining along the way who he is and what he was to you; a professor turned reluctant mentor who cared very deeply about Yuu and Jamil's future. He's reluctant to think of himself as a grandfather, he's just not that old he insists and Yutu laughs just the little bit, but if Yutu has questions about Yuu and your time at the school he is more than welcome to ask. On his father he doesn't say much, simply that he is dead. Murdered actually, but the use of that word is complicated by the circumstances of it so Crewel does not suggest Yutu speak of his family to anyone other than Misbah and Sehrish. Yutu learns, later much later, that Crewel didn't wish to traumatize him further. That he wished to take his time in explaining things. A good idea, but no one that realistically was going to work.

Ramshackle Dorm is unlike the other dormitories at NRC, all the students save him are magicless exactly like his parent. They all know a lot about his parent too, much to his surprise you are something of an idol to these people. None of them mind that he can use magic, it's just neat to be able to talk about the magicless prefect with someone who also thinks they're super cool; some of them have family or family friends that went to NRC while you were here and saw how you handled the overblots, others learned of you when they came here as refugees and were offered a place in the program. "Ramshackle is for misfits and outcasts!" A particularly messy third year proudly tells him when he asks him why they don't mind. Yutu doesn't really know how to feel about that. He never manages to figure it out.

Sehrish is a graduate student and Misbah is a fourth year, which as Misbah explains to him means they spend most of their time "in the field." They wished to say everything from the start, Sehrish wanted to explain herself and her family but did not think herself qualified to say anything more. Was uncertain of how her story would make him feel, afraid of it. The Scalding Sands is their primary focus, that would have been his homeland too had Yuu not been disappeared. Currently it is under the rule of a phantom of the Sorcerer of the Sands, one of the Great Seven Yutu will learn about as his classes progress. Misbah does not hesitate to tell him that this phantom once possessed his father when he was a student, and it is believed that this time it is possessing his corpse. It's a thought that sickens Yutu, how could this have happened? And why?

The why is explained to him in parts. Sehrish starts with the history of the Al-Asims, of the city they helped to build and the relationship between her family and his. She describes his father's burning resentment of his station matter-of-factly. His father was a servant from a well liked and respected family, but that reputation came at a cost. The respect was not for him or his talents, it was for how well he served his master and it drove him mad. The desire for freedom and recognition transformed into a phantom, his parent had fought against it and seen it defeated but somehow it had returned to rule over the Scalding Sands.

Overblotting is something Yutu thinks he has begun to understand, his professors have focused on it heavily so he knows what a phantom is. He's even seen a few small ones, but a phantom large enough to rule over a kingdom resembling one of the Great Seven is... frightening. The other students are all more or less aware of their existence and Sehrish takes the rest of her time to explain where and who the other Phantoms used to be. "We don't know why this happened." But people have theories. There is a timeline he learns from other students whispering behind his back, how his parent disappeared and then suddenly Kalim Al-Asim was murdered.

The living Al-Asims aren't at NRC, there is a rival school across the Island where they chose to stay. They don't speak to Sehrish, the only people he can speak to with any level of authority are the one or two older servants who worked with his grandparents. They speak fondly of the Viper family, though of Jamil they offer little specifics. Murder is again the word used for what happened to him, quietly after looking over their shoulder. Yutu had an Aunt named Najma. She was lively, talked about Jamil's business and constantly made fun of him while being proud of his accomplishments. The Vipers were an honorable family. They didn't want trouble. Did not want to rock the boat. But his father must have otherwise he wouldn't have wanted to overblot...

Yutu wasn't quiet before Twisted Wonderland. He thought of himself as outgoing, you would be so sad to see how small his friend circle has gotten. As time passes, as he fights smaller phantoms, ventures into the Queendom on his first real mission, as he looks in the mirror and realizes he has scars now. His scarf has protective sygils embroidered by Misbah to repair the holes, he's met a merman with pointed teeth who mixed him a drink and told him a story about his father that made him sound... human in a way that scared him out of asking for more.

Yutu has seen what his father became, looked a rotting corpse into what remained of it's eyes and listened to it try to speak with a windpipe welded together by ink. The lich sorcerer of the sands is his father. Yutu has spent enough time listening to his Ramshackle dormmates explain their medical studies to see he died young; there are traces of poisons in the hairs he returns to Idia that make even him shudder. He will never get the full story, never get more from his classmates or the Al Asim representative he meets when returning Kalim's body about how this happened. Just that it was deserved, that none of this would have happened if Jamil had known his place and never obtained his freedom. That isn't something Yutu can bring himself to agree with. His father had every right to want the same say in his life that you had worked so hard to give him, and you...

If you asked Yutu when he started feeling like he did not deserve to exist, he wouldn't be able to give you a specific answer. He certainly never felt like he didn't belong in your world, the general sense of disbelonging he felt he always attributed to his ignorance of his father's identity. But that was a fixable problem, he so firmly believed he would one day get to meet his dad and other family and then all those burning cultural questions would be patched up. But Twisted Wonderland was another matter entirely, the harsh welcome made him feel unwanted even if the Ramshackle students went out of their way to try and mitigate that. But all of that acceptance, all of that love was tied to you. The living Al Asims looked at him and saw a pest, expected him to show deference and repent for his father's misdeeds, while the older servants saw a tragedy. A child so fondly spoken of and wished for but doomed to wander in a broken world none of them expected to survive. Either way, the only message Twisted Wonderland had to offer him was one of rejection. Whenever he made up his mind, by the time he made it to the past and was settled into your version of Ramshackle Dorm he was determined to keep you from making the mistake of staying with his father.

Part 2

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper x yuu #future kid au

75 notes · View notes

restlessmaknae · 11 months ago

Text

sun, star, moon // sung hanbin

When you start university, everything is new and scary, until you find your safe haven in a cosy corner café and a cute barista working there.

➳ Characters: barista/uni student!Hanbin x uni student female!reader/you

➳ Genre: the fluffiest of fluff, uni au, barista au, slice of life

➳ Words: 2.9k

➳ Warning: mention of food, stress

➳ A/N: This story was very much inspired by Hanbin's tattoos (the title might have hinted at that...), and even though there's some info out there about what they mean to him, this story is purely fictional, so the explanation in the story is also just part of the storyline.

Also, thank you @dat-town for bearing with me while I was gradually falling for this boy 💕

➳ Taglist: @dat-town, @s00buwu

It was spring when you first met Hanbin.

You had your first semester at university, all nerves and excitement, looking around the unfamiliar city and being in awe at how different it was compared to your hometown. Apart from visiting your grandparents in different cities, you had never travelled much, let alone spent time away from your parents. It was exciting and terrifying all at the time, and you didn’t really know how to be an independent and responsible adult (the one that you should have been), but you tried your best to find your footing.

After orientation week, your very first class was at 8am which meant having to grab coffee to keep you awake after tossing and turning in bed for hours the previous night, not knowing what to expect on your very first day. You stayed at a student accommodation a bit further from the city centre, and there was a cosy little café on the corner, so you hopped in to get your daily dose of caffeine before getting on the bus.

As you stepped inside, the little bell above the door signalled your arrival cheerily, and the sweet fragrance of freshly baked goodies wafted through the café. You stepped up to the corner, and while the boy in front of you was making his order, you examined the hand-written menu on the chalkboard behind the counter, pondering over what to get.

You were next in line in no time, and as the boy stepped aside, you found yourself face-to-face with the barista who smiled at you gently. There were no dark circles around his eyes despite the early hour, and his cheeks lifted slightly when he was smiling. He ruffled his jet-black hair when a few stray locks fell into his eyes and blinked at you patiently.

“Good morning! What can I get for you?” He inquired politely as he stepped aside, so that you could see the chalkboard behind him better. You smiled at him, grateful, already making up your mind about your order.

“Good morning! I’d like a medium almond latte and a…” Your voice trailed off as you looked at the pastry display counter, wondering if you should get something to munch on between your morning classes. There were a few baked goods that you had never tried before and they looked heavenly, but you wanted to stick to something familiar for the sake of your stomach on the first day of the semester. “An almond croissant to go, please,” you added, and looked back up at him, only to find his smile widening upon your order.

“So a medium almond latte with an almond croissant,” he noted, but there was a playful edge to his words which made you realise that it must have sounded pretty funny. You weren’t crazy about almonds, but you liked almond latte the most, and that croissant seemed really good.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you bobbed your head, your heart warming at the sight of his smile, before telling him that you would pay by card. While he was preparing your order, you tried not to stare too much, but it was difficult when he had such kind and gentle features. Anyone who looked at him could tell that he was a good-willed person, plus, add his broad shoulders, toothy smile and delicate features to the mixture, and boom… it was impossible not to look at him while he was busy concentrating on doing your latte, his dedication written on his face.

When he caught your gaze, his lips curled upwards timidly, and you couldn’t tell whether he was more shy or you were. You were sure that your face flushed, but you hoped that he deemed that it was because of the slightly warmer temperature in the café, not because of him.

“Here you go,” he said as he put the cup of coffee and a paper bag with the croissant on the counter in front of you. “Have a lovely day!” He wished with a tender smile when you reached for the goodies, and you reciprocated it, wishing him the same.

Little did you know, that was just the first of your many morning encounters with him.

It was summer when you realised that you had fallen for Hanbin.

Throughout the semester, the little café had become your favourite spot around your student accommodation. It was where you got your morning latte, and it was where you worked on your assignments when you needed to get out of your small room to not get crazy there. Hanbin didn’t work every single time you were there, but the other baristas were just as kind and friendly. You also got to know that the woman who sometimes worked behind the counter was Hanbin’s mother, and she was also the one who owned the café. When you talked with her, you realised where the boy had gotten his kindness and consideration from.

On the other hand, when Hanbin was there, you always felt a bit more safe, a bit more comfortable. You couldn’t really pinpoint what it was about him - maybe his gentle smile or the way he gently patted your back to wake you up when you fell asleep on your laptop or the way his voice was like a lullaby, something that could envelope you in its warmth -, but you couldn’t go against what you were feeling. You just didn’t know whether he felt the same way about you because he seemed to be equally kind to all the customers.

Hanbin was a university student too, yet he helped out at the café whenever his schedule allowed him to do so, so it wasn’t rare to see him going to class or to come from class when you were already there. Since you usually saw him in a neutral coloured shirt with an apron in front, you never really paid much attention to how he dressed, but when he was off-work, he wore cotton shirts, light cardigans, casual jeans and such. He looked good in everything though.

However, on the very last day before you would go home for the summer break, Hanbin offered to walk you back to your accommodation. You hadn’t planned on staying past opening hours, but you had managed to doze off while scrolling on your phone, and the boy had to wake you up, explaining that it was time to close the shop altogether. Since it was late, he suggested walking you back, and despite your initial protests (that it was a well-lit street, that it wasn’t that far…), you gave in.

As you walked side by side, you stole a few glances here and there, and that’s when you noticed it… he wore a V-neck shirt this time, something that exposed the front of his chest a bit, and you couldn’t help yourself from noticing the tattoos on his skin. When he caught you staring, he also looked down and let out an audible ‘oh’ sound.

You immediately jumped in to apologise.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare. I just thought you had something stuck on you, I have never noticed that you have a tattoo…” You justified hastily, your voice trailing off at the end when you saw the boy’s laid-back expression. He didn’t look frustrated or amused, he looked how he usually looked, and that put your mind at ease. His following words even more so.

“It’s okay. I had it made there on purpose, it doesn’t bother me.”

Truth to be told, you had never been curious about others’ tattoos, but the sun, star and moon symbols on him made you wonder why he got those specific symbols. You didn’t know whether you had the right to ask about them, but since Hanbin was still looking at you, as if he was expecting you to say something more, you decided to go for it.

“What do they represent to you? If you don’t mind me asking, of course,” you clarified immediately in case it was a personal topic to him, but he didn’t seem offended. If anything, he seemed glad, and as you were walking under the dim lights of the nearby street lamps, the silence occasionally overthrown by the noises of traffic around, he let you know about the answer. How he believed that there’s light, darkness and beauty in everything, and how the universe was always there, watching, and he believed in it, that certain things happened for a reason as part of the universe’s calling.

You were in awe, not knowing how to profoundly phrase what you wanted to say to him, and he must have misinterpreted your silence because he added a few seconds later:

“I know it may sound silly…”

“No, no, that’s like… so beautiful that you think that way,” you voiced out, and you weren’t sure that you got your message across, hence you continued. “I also believe that what’s meant to be will happen, and that the universe has its own ways to make things happen.”

Hanbin smiled gently, somewhat relieved, and you reciprocated it, thinking that maybe this too… maybe him too… they were all part of the universe’s plan.

It was autumn when you started getting closer with Hanbin.

The leaves might have turned, but your feelings for Hanbin had not changed, if only they had grown more. The truth is, the only thing you had forgotten about when you had bid your goodbye prior to summer break had been to exchange contacts. Since you had seen each other multiple times a week at the café, there had been no reason for you to stay in touch to keep the other updated about your days. On top of that, even though you had tried to look up his name on SNS, there had been quite a few Sung Hanbins, and some accounts were private while others didn’t have a profile photo.

So you had left it at that, clutching onto your memories with the boy, catching yourself daydreaming more and more often during the summer. Those months had never seemed so long before, and you had wondered whether you had crossed his mind as much as he had crossed yours. Your heart had fluttered whenever his wide smile, gentle voice or considerate actions had come to your mind, and it had been funny how he hadn’t even been there, yet, you had felt as shy as if he had been there in front of you.

With the autumn semester finally starting, your feelings came back in full force, heightening when you met at the café again. It was heartwarming how - despite the months without seeing each other - the place still felt like your little safe haven and how his smile still triggered the same reaction from you.

Afterwards, you cherished each and every meeting, each and every smile, each and every giggle and each and every slight touch. The boy also picked up the habit - or rather continued - of walking you back to your accommodation if he had the chance to do so, and you wished that walk could have been longer for it always felt like such a short span of time that you could spend together. Until he suggested going to a dance festival with him, and there was no turning back from there: you started hanging out outside of the café too, visiting the riverside on weekends, visiting exhibitions, attending concerts, going to the cinema and checking out other cafés and restaurants. Anything and everything that came to your mind, and that you thought the other would enjoy.

All because by that point, you knew each other well enough to suggest such things.

It was winter when you became official with Hanbin.

Even though the weather had become colder, your heart had never been warmer. Being with Hanbin was like constantly being bundled up in a warm blanket, being taken care of and feeling all fuzzy. He was the epitome of a comfort person: whenever you felt down, he was there to listen to your concerns, he was there to cheer you up when you were questioning your choice of major, he was there to wake you up when you fell asleep on your notes at the café, and he was there to keep you safe from careless cyclists passing by on the walk to your accommodation.

Since both of you were university students - albeit went to different universities -, you could bond over group project members that annoyingly slacked off, professors that seemed to get stuck in the past century with their presentation style, exam questions that seemed to ask the most unnecessary details from the hundredth slide and so on. It felt like sharing the same experience, and even if you studied different subjects and went to different institutions, that was just one more reason you enjoyed talking to him. He could talk so enthusiastically about topics that interested him (when it seemed like there were stars dancing in his big, bright eyes), and you loved his optimistic mind-set and hard-working personality.

However, both of you needed to let off some steam from time to time, so this particular week, you decided to walk to the top of the Namsan Tower, to take in the view of the vibrant city and its shining lights (including the Christmas decorations the city was dressed in since the beginning of December).

“Ah, I feel so out of shape,” you breathed out with a semi-nervous giggle as you were making your way up to the top. You did have weekly aerobics classes at uni, and you did walk a lot, but it seemed tiring to reach the top on foot, maybe because of your big coats and the slippery ground.

“We’re almost there. Hang in there!” Hanbin cheered you on with his hands balled into fists and a bright smile that reached his eyes. You smiled back at him, and maybe it was because of the dazzled state you were in or the uneven ground beneath you, but you felt your feet slip, and if it hadn’t been for Hanbin reaching for you, you might have fallen onto your back.

“Are you okay?” The boy asked, worry painting his features solemn, and you hated to see that tight line of his lips, so you bobbed your head right away and reassured him that you were fine. He seemed to believe you, but still didn’t let go of your arms. Instead, he slipped his fingers into yours, and pulled you with him as he took the next step towards the top.

You were thankful that you were dressed up warmly, your fluffy scarf covering half of your face, because you were sure that you were flushed like crazy. Even though you had been progressively more intimate with each other - you squeezing his hand when he was talking about something vulnerable because you noticed that it helped him to feel better, him wiping your tears when you broke down in front of him when you were questioning your choice of major, him placing his hand on your back to keep you from falling when a stranger pushed past beside you on the escalator, you helping him with his necklaces when they stuck on his shirt and slightly grazing his skin -, you had never hold hands like this before.

You made your way to the top while holding hands and staying close to each other, and it was definitely worth it. The view was stunning, and as you were taking photos of the scenery, tiny little white flakes fell from the sky.

“Hanbin, look! It’s snowing,” you shrieked excitedly like an overzealous kid, and grabbed one of the snowflakes that melted in your hand in no time. You really didn’t expect this, especially with such perfect timing.

“It’s the first snow,” he noted with a childlike smile that mirrored yours. For a few minutes, you just stood there, watching in awe how the objects and the scenery around you got a thin layer of white - like frosting on a cake.

Then, when your eyes met his, you couldn’t stop smiling. It was truly beautiful, and that warm, fuzzy feeling was there yet again, sending tiny little fireworks through your body. These feelings exploded even more when the boy stepped up to you, and helped to tuck your hair into your beanie and under your scarf, so that your locks wouldn’t get attacked by the sudden snow.

Your heart was hammering away rapidly, and you felt like you could burst any moment as he still just stood there, not stepping back. When he just kept looking at you like that, eyes warm, smile warm, hands warm, you didn’t have it in you to back away either. Instead, your lips pulled into a smile when his fingers slipped down to your hands, and he intertwined your fingers.

“I like you, y/n,” he confessed in that kind, caring voice of his, and there was no use doubting his words. His eyes spoke for themselves.

“I like you, too, Hanbin,” you answered within a heartbeat, and in that moment, you knew.

The universe was really watching.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this story of mine! Let me know what you think!

If you want to read more stories of mine, let it be for ZB1 or for other artists, consider signing up for my taglist here.

Hope you have a lovely day/night! Take care! ❤️

183 notes · View notes

nanaminokanojo · 7 months ago

Text

ACCIDENTALLY IN LOVE | part 30

-meet cute? a cheesy musical number? forget it! love makes itself known to you through a minor car accident, a broken arm, and a treacherously charming temporary chauffeur

CHARACTERS: sukuna x you/reader | jjk characters

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 30 next>>

A/N: Contains prose with panels in between. 6th panel is a video.

“I can do it, you know,” you insisted again

“Not having it. I should make sure you’re getting the best care.”

You arched a brow at him, sitting stiffly beside him, not really seeing how it was easier when he said, “Prop your legs up on my lap.”

“Huh?”

He didn’t explain any further and instead stood up, carrying you bridal style and propping you on the couch so your back was against the armrest while he gently placed your legs across his lap. “That wasn’t so hard, was it.”

“N-no, but –”

“No buts.”

As he moved around you, you couldn't help but stare at him. His usually intimidating demeanor softened as he meticulously put the ointment on the abrasions on your leg with a cotton swab. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers deft and precise, eyes intense as he focused on his task. The room was silent except for your steady breathing. At that moment, Sukuna's care and attention just took center stage.

“You do this often?” you teased. “With other girls, I mean.”

He shook his head. “Consider yourself special.”

“I’m only special ‘cause you nearly killed me.” You laughed at your own joke, not meaning anything by it, about to swing your legs off of him when he held onto them, his hand quickly but very gently settling on the shin of your right leg. “I…I’m sorry. That wasn’t a nice thing to say.”

Sukuna leaned towards you, placing his free hand on the backrest. You met his gaze, not liking the turmoil that seemed to swirl in his dark eyes which, you noticed, were flecked with dark garnets and amethysts with the way the sun was shining on him.

“I’ll never hurt you,” he told you softly. He closed his eyes in agitation before flashing you an apologetic smile. “Not intentionally, anyway.”

“Stop saying it that way.”

“Hmm. What way?”

“Like you’re considering the possibility that you would.” You mustered all the courage you had, reached out and cupped his face, making him look at you. “You’ve taken care of me better than anyone so far. I am grateful for that. Don’t ever forget it.”

He placed his hands over yours. “How are you this gracious? It’s unsettling.”

At that, you felt your heart stutter. It’s happening again. “Is that bad?”

Sukuna laughed. “How is that even bad? I swear to god, you worry about the weirdest things. It’s good. It’s just that…”

“Just what?” You withdrew your hands, looking away. That overwhelming feeling akin to being submerged in cold water made its way from your toes to your chest, making it hard to breathe. “People hate me, you know? They hate me because they think I’m just pretending. I acted out once because I was too tired to deal with anyone, and they all started leaving, telling me I’m a –”

He didn’t like what he was hearing. “That’s ridiculous.”

You shook your head, trying to compose yourself. “But I admire you, Sukuna. You show everyone the real you, and they like you for it.

Unlike me, you thought, concealing the thought with a smile, but that was short-lived when he said his next words.

“I like you.”

TAG LIST: @catobsessedlady @kyo-kyo1 @junehasnotbeenfound @lavender-hvze @guacam011y @eyered @hellomeow12 @its-princessmara @light-yagami-l @domainofmarie @mythoscalliope @noble-17 @pheonix-eclipses @weebbuscuit @sukunasbudussy @lu-c1na @vinnieswife @the-haitani-baton @iaminyourfloors @needtoloveoutloud @r-ryuko09 @somestardeww @swirlingcurses @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @bronze-metal @iluv-ace @kidd3ath

PHOTOS/IMAGES/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS GO TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

125 notes · View notes

pjsk-headcanons · 5 months ago

Text

PINNED!!!!

Headcanon submissions are currently open!!!

hi! i thought a blog like this would be fun. i was inspired by @/projectsekaitakes.

layout by @frurin here

blog run by @jyakkopotto-saddo-gaaru

you can submit through asks!

(apologies in advance if we ever misinterpret something you tell us, we're either distracted or very tired while queueing things. you can tell us in asks or messages if we get something wrong!)

Rules:

You are not allowed to have more than 5 headcanons in the queue/askbox. dont feel too stressed or guilty about this, its not really a big deal. if you lose track, just wait about a day and you should be fine.

You are not allowed to complain or hate on the headcanons in the replies or reblogs. you are, however, allowed to give your own.

I. e., "Honami can't stand the smell of car exhaust." can have people in the replies saying, "i always thought she would hate the smell of lemons"

You are not allowed to submit headcanons exclusively about gender/sexuality/romanticism. those can get oversaturated really quickly, so to avoid it ive decided to not allow them, sorry. you can send shit like "akito is a little whore slut babygirl" and I'll probably post that since it doesnt really have to do with actual identity or orientation.

Don't misgender Mizuki or erase her representation.

No sexual headcanons. sorry! I'm okay with that stuff, but im also aware that many people aren't so let's not do that here! again, more jokey submissions are okay (read: akito is a little whore slut babygirl) since that isnt really explicit but I'd rather not do anything past that.

No asks that perpetuate harmful stereotypes.

No use of the word "Latinx". you can use latine or latino instead!

AU headcanons are allowed! in fact, i would love them! all i ask is you make a lil note about it before the actual headcanon so people have Context

please notify me if i don't tag something correctly! I'll try to add trigger warnings for everything but i might make mistakes!

if a hc includes a ship, I'll tag that ship. i may tag a group of two or more characters that dont have a name (i.e. shinonome siblings, white day trio, etc.) with "[ship name] hc" (looks at akian) but ill only tag things with the actual ship tag if the characters are explicitly stated to be something other than friends

[note: the tag for kohane headcanons is #kohampster hc]

most of all,

have fun! that's what fandom is about!

#pinned #pjsk #prsk #project sekai

76 notes · View notes

sparklecarehospital · 1 year ago

Text

been reflecting on my year a bit, and i was thinking about something. i think i know what the best thing i did for myself this year was.

making cometcare public. making the ask blog.

ive had this AU stirring in my brain since 2019, ever since i got really attached to doomi during the haunted arc. one reason i went so long without revealing pollarrydoomi as a ship to readers was because doom's crush wasn't public information until late 2021.

i had kept his crush a mystery for 3 years, but revealed it after a fun experience where people figured out who it was through guessing. i'm pretty sure i did a poll about it? asking people to guess who they thought it was, and uni won the vote, meaning everyone had already figured it out.

after pollarrydoomi was revealed and i started drawing art for it and people made fanart for it, i still couldn't post any of my AU art because ally wasn't public and she and howie were in the AU. in july 2022, for the comic's birthday, i revealed ally as a character to the readers. others around the time had started to notice characters i had in pfps and i ended up telling everyone i did have pollarrydoomi ship kids, but i didn't make them public.

in november 2022, i revealed eve on toyhouse. after her reveal, i would soon reveal sly as well in december 2022 on my birthday (revealing sly as a birthday present to myself is such a funny gesture now that you guys know how important he is to me). over the next few weeks i revealed cream, frosty, and marco as well. all of the main cometkids except chem.

then one day someone out there suggested that i make an ask blog for the cometcare AU. it was such a spontaneous decision, and i didn't even really know what i was gonna do with it at first. i was just kinda messing around. but when i made the blog i realized that if i wanted this AU to be experienced in complete authenticity, i couldn't make uni cis.

so i revealed uni being trans through the blog, despite the fact i'd gone so many years without ever revealing her identity. why did i do it? there's a lot of reasons. not wanting to make her a "dad" in the AU contributed, but also i felt like it wouldn't be detrimental to the story to confirm a character being trans. it also made me (and the crew in general) a lot more comfortable being able to properly refer to uni with her actual pronouns.

making the ask blog really changed me, because finally i could share this little family and comfort story i'd built in my brain with the world and make it real and make content for it and let people consume it.

but what stopped me most of all?

i've said it many times before... but i felt like it was cringey.

i felt like making an AU with 93985893844 fankids in a ridiculous complicated polycule wasn't something a Serious content creator should do, and i was really worried the reception would be negative or people would think it was stupid or something. i did NOT expect it to become as popular as it is. the blog actually has more followers than the MAIN ASK BLOG for the canon comic. it was received SO POSITIVELY and the fact it was just kind of blows me away.

it means so much to me. being able to share the most special thing in my life with people and for people to actually like it and have fun with me and want to see it, and for me to be able to not have to follow strict professionalism about spoilers and chronological storytelling, and being able to change and add in things whenever i felt like it. it's such a freeing experience.

when i was a kid, i used to make stories and OCs and i didn't take them as seriously as i do the sparklecare reboot. this kind of turned into my entire life and career kinda, so i had to take it more seriously. but making this AU honestly just makes me feel like i'm a kid again, it makes me feel like i can have fun and literally do whatever the fuck i want without worrying what people think or if it's realistic or if it makes any sense.

i know though, that some people don't like pollarrydoomi. and i know why. whether it's because of being attached to barruni (of course, they're the canon ship and main characters, i get it) or just having discomfort with the idea of shipping doom with anyone when canonically he hasn't experienced a redemption arc... i get it. i know not everyone likes it.

and that's okay! people are entitled to having their own feelings about content. i understand it. and i've come to accept that's always going to be the case with anything i do with these characters.

but i'm still going to do this for myself. i do this because it makes me happy to just have fun and not worry about being serious all the time. it feels good, especially when it's with characters that are really really important to me.

cometcare is genuinely the most special and important thing i've ever made for myself, it's such a huge piece of my identity and it makes me who i am. and being able to make this story public and share it with people and share these things that have been in my brain for so long with others means so much to me.

that's why i think it was the best thing i've done this year. it's kind of literally changed my life to be able to talk about them. it's made me happier than i've ever been making content. i'm not just making it to entertain myself alone anymore, i'm making it to entertain others like i do with other stuff. and the fact people actually like it still is unbelievable to me.

so, i guess my outlook for next year as it comes is to continue to stop taking everything so seriously. i can tell my stories however i want to. i hope others can realize they can do this too.

please make whatever you want, whenever you what, as much as you want, even if it doesn't make sense or if it's "cringe". you will be so much happier when you realize as a creator you DON'T have to take all of this so seriously. the comic still exists and people read it even if i'm doing this. You Can Do Whatever You Want And Nobody Can Ever Stop You. the only person who can stop you is yourself when you let your inhibitions get in the way of your ability to create things for yourself.

have fun! life is too short to take everything you do seriously

#text #cometcare au #pollarrydoomi #long post

188 notes · View notes

rambleonwaywardson · 4 months ago

Text

Clegan Olympics AU - "Pour Toujours"

Masterpost Read on AO3 - Sous Le Ciel de Paris

Author's note: This will be the last chapter of the main story, but it's longer than the others :). I will add an epilogue when I can get around to it, and I might continue doing drabbles when I have the time because I love them so much. For now, thank you so much to everyone who has read and supported this little AU throughout this Olympic season. It's been a lot of fun, and I hope you've fallen in love with these versions of the characters as much as I have.

Let's get on with some much needed damage control!

---

Believe it or not, John knows he fucked up. And he knows he fucked up bad.

So he doesn’t really expect anyone to pick up when he calls Marge the day after the equestrian team was scheduled to land back stateside. He called Gale twice last night and got no answer. He knows he deserves that.

He also knows he deserves the irritated “What do you want” when Marge answers her phone, but he’s shocked to hear someone’s voice on the other end of the line at all.

“I fucked up,” he stammers out.

She laughs mirthlessly. “Oh you figured that out did you?”

He tries desperately to explain what happened even though he knows it sounds weak. Even though he knows it doesn’t even begin to make up for the heartbreak he caused Gale. The heartbreak he caused himself. He tries to explain the way things ended in Paris, that he panicked, that he couldn’t think or breathe, that he felt paralyzed by the way everything crashed down around him and he was out of energy to hold it up. He tries to tell her, “It wasn’t just Gale. I wasn’t talking to anyone, Marge.”

That’s when she stops him, and he doesn’t know if it’s because she’s fed up with him and his stupidity or because those were the words that made her believe him. He knows the equestrians continued hanging out with the gymnasts long after he left. He’s glad for that, really. He’s happy that this ragtag bunch of Olympians found a lasting friendship with each other that would survive with or without him. He is. But he also wonders if they talked about him. He wonders what they said.

He wonders if he was simply the villain in this story, or if anyone came to his defense. He doesn’t know which possibility hurts more.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” she tells him. She’s angry, but he hears sympathy in her voice, and that gives him the smallest bit of hope for fixing the mess he left in his wake.

“He won’t answer me.” Texts. Calls. Nothing.

“I know.”

Bucky nods and bites at his lip nervously. Of course Gale tells Marge about it. She probably knows every single thing that happened. She’s probably the one that had to pick up the pieces, listen to Gale wonder whether or not he should keep trying or simply let Bucky go.

“Can you tell me where to find him?”

“You did to him exactly what he told you he was afraid of,” she accuses, instead of answering him. The frustration rises in her voice once again, and Bucky knows all he can do is sit there and hear it. He’ll take the blows, because they’re entirely his to take. He knows he deserves worse.

“You let him get close to you,” Marge admonishes him. “You let him love you. God, John, he was so in love with you. Then when things got a little hard, you asked him for sex one more time and then you fucking left. You left, just like he was so worried you would, and you told him you’d call. But you didn’t. You just fucking disappeared. Do you know what that did to him?”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. Because he knows. He knows. And it breaks his heart to think of Gale hurting and confused and blindsided like that. It breaks his heart to know he caused it. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, but it comes out so quiet he doesn’t know if she hears him.

“He was sitting there, wondering what he did wrong, John. Wondering why he wasn’t good enough. Not understanding why you left. Not understanding if any of it was fucking real.” Marge scoffs. “I saw you together. Even I thought you would be good for him. And then you fucked it all up in the blink of an eye.”

“I know,” Bucky says, stronger this time. He wonders if Marge can hear the way his voice is thick with regret, tight with pain, the way it shakes because he wants nothing more than to put the pieces back together like they were before he blew it all up in their faces. “I hate myself for it, Marge. I never meant to hurt him, I was just so… fuck. I… I love him, Marge. You have to believe me. I love him.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Why?

That question rings in Bucky’s ears, resounding through his empty apartment like a ghost knocking on his walls. Why did he do it?

Why?

He sighs and puts his head in his hand, because he’s trying to work through it himself. He’s been trying to work through it ever since he left, and he keeps coming up short because there’s just so much. Too much to put together into any coherent explanation. Too much to sort through in his anxious angry brain. And none of it is an excuse and yet all of it is a reason.

He opens his mouth to speak, to try to explain, but before he can, Marge cuts him off. “Don’t answer that.” She sounds as defeated as he does, sad and angry and hurt. Tired. He wonders how much damage control she’s had to run in the last week. It makes him feel sick. “I’m so pissed at you,” she all but growls. “But I understand, too.”

Understand?

How can she understand when he barely does?

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut against tears that are threatening to break free. He has never in his life been a crying type, but he’s barely been sleeping. He’s eating like shit, his knee is killing him with every move he makes, and his anxiety is at a peak. He misses Gale so much, and he’s filled with so much regret that it threatens to tear him in half, and he thinks that might be better than sitting here in this depressed sludge of his mind for one more moment.

He takes a deep breath in a pathetic attempt to control the nervous energy coursing through him. He glances at the medal boxes just sitting on his kitchen table. He hasn’t figured out where to display them, yet, so they sit there and taunt him with the globally celebrated feats that he might never be capable of again. Sure, they called him the greatest male gymnast of all time. But if he goes out now, like this, he’ll be nothing but a washed up has-been who stood on top of the world stage for one golden moment.

Beside one of the boxes is a photograph – a legitimate, printed photograph. The one of him and Gale on that last good night before his rings final, when they sat cuddled together on his bed in the Village with their friends gathered in celebration. They each have a medal around their necks, Gale’s arm wrapped around him, holding him close. They look so happy. Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever been that happy in his entire life.

Curt, in dramatic fashion, had the photo printed when he came home after closing, and he left it here for Bucky to stare at, in hopes it would remind him of what he needed to do.

It worked.

“Where can I find him?” Bucky asks again. He presses his fingers to his lips and sniffs quietly, hoping she can’t hear it. “Please, Marge. I need to find him.”

Marge hesitates for a long moment, and Bucky fully expects her to hang up on him. He wouldn’t blame her. But then she sighs. He can picture her pinching the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes, gathering all her mental strength. “I’m going to help you for one reason and one reason only,” she states. “He has never been as happy as he was with you. So I’ll give you one chance to get your head out of your goddamn ass.”

She gives him an address that he scrambles to write down, not even giving him a chance to repeat it back, like she’s decided that if he didn’t bother to listen carefully enough the first time then he’s not worth the trouble after all. He’s about to thank her profusely when she says, “Come today or not at all.” And she hangs up.

He calls Curt immediately.

Curtis Biddick is the only person that Bucky has interacted with since coming home other than their coach and their team doctor. And that’s because Curt didn’t give him a choice. Because Curt knows he’s a goddamn self-destructive idiot that needs to be defused every hour on the hour so he doesn’t implode his own life. He stayed in Paris through closing, even though he did offer to go home with Bucky (to which Bucky said “fuck no” because he was not about to take this time away from his best friend).

Curt texted and called him every day all the way from France, reminding him to eat or ice or heat or drink water. He sent him random shit to try to make him laugh, asked how he was doing, if he’d checked in with his therapist (to which he said no and Curt forced him to schedule an appointment right there and then). And if Bucky didn’t answer his calls, he’d call their coach to see if Bucky was in the gym. If he was, he’d insist on talking to him, and if he wasn’t he’d tell their coach to drop by Bucky’s apartment.

Bucky doesn’t think he deserves that kind of concern either, and he told Curt as much. But Curt looked like he wanted to slap him in the face through their facetime call, and he told Bucky that he may be stupid, but he still deserves someone to care about him.

His therapist says the same thing.

Bucky can’t really comprehend that. He doesn’t see where in this equation he deserves any kindness.

Even so, Curt was the one to confront Bucky about what he did to Gale. He was the one to tell him how much it destroyed the young equestrian, leaving him adrift and despondent. “He wasn’t the same the rest of the week,” he said. “Tried to hide it I think, but Benny said he was a wreck every night. Had to be dragged outta the room some days. Lost interest in a lotta things that he was used to doin’ with you, literally anything in the Village.”

Curt was the one to emphasize the fact that everyone else was there to pick up the pieces of Bucky’s mess when he couldn’t be bothered. And he was the one to yell and rage at Bucky and tell him he was being ridiculous and selfish and flat out stupid. When he arrived home, the first thing he did was stop by Bucky’s apartment, thrust that photograph at him, and say, “John Clarence Egan, quit the goddamn pouting and call your boyfriend right fucking now.”

So Bucky did. He called Gale right there while Curt watched. Gale just didn’t pick up.

And why would he? Why should he? After days of nothing, in what world would Gale be won over by a single phone call? Bucky may not really know what to do about this whole love thing, but he knows it doesn’t come cheap.

So now, even though he doesn’t owe Bucky a thing and Bucky probably owes him his life in exchange, Curt agrees to drop everything and drive Bucky the hour and a half to the address Marge gave him since the doctor wouldn't clear him to drive. “You don’t deserve me,” Curt tells him when he shows up at Bucky’s door for about the fifth time in two days. Bucky wholeheartedly agrees, and then Curt pulls him into a tight hug, and Bucky thinks maybe things will be okay.

He keeps zoning out on the way there, thinking about all of it. The event finals, the sprain, the doctor telling him he might be done. He thinks about Gale’s face when Bucky said he was leaving, the way it fell even as he tried not to show how much those words hurt. He thinks about Gale trying to make light of the situation, and Bucky just… didn’t. He thinks about Gale texting him with less and less frequency because Bucky couldn’t dig himself out of his hole. The guilt hangs over him like a storm cloud.

He thinks about Gale, and their time together in Paris, like a montage in a romance movie set to sappy music. Meeting him on the plane, seeing that beautiful blonde haired angel glance over at him so shyly. He thinks about the way they fell into each other’s lives like they were always meant to be there, like they were made for one another. He thinks about nights spent walking together under the beautiful Paris sky. Taking silly pictures and videos everywhere they went. Standing with his arms wrapped around Gale on top of the Eiffel Tower, looking out over a city of lights.

He thinks about Gale’s arms around him, the feeling of his soft hair rubbing against his cheek when he buried his face in Bucky’s neck. He thinks about the sound of Gale’s heartbeat as they lay together in bed, little moments where nothing mattered but the two of them. He thinks about Gale’s little half smiles, and the times he let himself laugh so freely because of something stupid Bucky said. He thinks about the way he’d look at Bucky like he was an amusing puzzle he had to figure out, but also like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever set eyes on.

He thinks about Gale until it makes him want to cry again, because what on Earth has he done?

“You were right, Curt,” he says out of nowhere when they’re about 15 minutes out. “I think I made the biggest mistake of my life.”

Curt reaches over to pat his knee. He tells him that all they can do is try.

Bucky knows that none of it can justify what he did, but he was a complete mess after event finals.

“It’s time to start thinking about what comes next, John,” the doctor told him that day in Paris, after he won gold on rings. He won gold, and in the same breath he fucked up his knee again. He was told his career might be over. Again.

“What do you mean?” he asked, even though he knew full well what she meant and it made him feel physically sick, the world tilting off-kilter around him, the ground simply falling out from beneath his feet.

“We have to see what the damage is, but we have to prepare for the possibility that your knee may never be strong enough to be competitive again. I’m sorry, John.”

Bucky felt like he was wading through quicksand after that, a ticking time bomb strapped to his back, weighing him down, counting down the seconds until self-destruction, except he didn’t know when that would be. He was getting kicked out of the Village anyways, since his events were over. The doctor told him he needed an MRI when he got back to the states, and he couldn’t stand waiting for it. He couldn’t stand the idea of trying to keep up with the energy of Paris when he couldn’t even walk and this possibility of an end was looming over him everywhere he went.

He felt hollow.

Broken.

Scared.

He doesn’t like to feel scared. He doesn’t like to feel broken. He needed that MRI asap because he thought it was the only thing that could stop making him feel those things.

Looking around the Village that day, he saw all the athletes celebrating and walking and running and biking and laughing… and he was stumbling his way back to his building alone, on crutches, trying not to fall apart. His swollen knee throbbed with every hobbled step.

Who is he, if he isn’t a gymnast? What’s left for him to do?

The pain made him feel sick and the anxiety made him feel sick and the world swirling around him with the bright colors of the Paris Olympics made him feel sick. And then there was Gale. He wanted to see Gale, needed to see Gale. But his brain was all fucked at that point and he couldn’t think straight and he was so damn angry at everything.

At life. At the sport. At the doctors. At these other gymnasts and athletes who didn’t have to face a premature end to their careers for the second time. But mostly, he was angry at himself. He hated himself more than anything else.

What is he worth, if he’s not a gymnast? To the world? To other people?

To Gale?

So many people before only wanted him for his body or for his fame. So they could say they slept with World Champion gymnast John Egan, or that they went out with an Olympic medalist, like it gave them bragging rights to fuck an athlete that they didn’t actually bother to get to know. Like he was nothing more than a name and a piece of ass with a sweet smile and a few medals on his wall.

He went along with it for a while. And over time, he started to believe that maybe that was all he was worth after all. Maybe he didn’t get that happy ending. Maybe he was married to his sport and everything else had to be secondary. Maybe he wasn’t worth getting to know. Maybe he didn’t deserve someone good, someone who loved him for him.

Maybe he deserved all the bullshit he got.

But that’s the thing: he knows Gale isn’t like that. He knows what Gale gave him was real and whole and for all the right reasons. He knows Gale cared about him in a way that no one else ever did. He knows it in his bones, better than he’s known anything in his entire life. Gale is the absolute antithesis of everything and everyone that spent years tearing Bucky down, and for the first time in Bucky’s life, he actually felt like he might get a happy ending after all.

But after finals, Bucky was so lost in his own twisted mind, his own past, his own pain, that it didn’t matter what, rationally, he knew to be true.

As far as he could tell, if he wasn’t a gymnast, he wasn’t anything.

It broke his heart to tell Gale he was leaving. It broke his heart to say goodbye. He had to walk away as fast as he could so Gale wouldn’t see him cry, hear the quiet sob that wrenched its way out of his chest. Because he didn’t want to leave. It was the last thing he wanted. But he’d already decided he had to.

When he made it home, he went to the gym once a day to see the kids there, talk to his coach, and check in with the doctor. Other than those few hours, he didn’t talk to a single person. He went quiet, just slipped away into the darkness. All his friends were still in Paris, living it up without him anyway. He answered Curt’s texts when he could stand the guilt, picked up the phone because he knew Curt would just send their coach to bang on his door if he didn’t.

He stared at his phone every time he got a message from Gale, and he couldn’t bring himself to answer.

And even now, he doesn’t know why. Everything just hurt too damn much and nothing made sense and maybe, somewhere, he really, legitimately thought Gale would be better off without him. He thought he didn’t deserve someone as beautiful and lovely as Gale Cleven. Because the truth is, not calling Gale hurt more than calling him would have, but maybe he deserved the hurt.

He stayed alone in his apartment for most of the day every day. It’s a walk-up – not exactly easy to get in and out of on crutches. He ordered takeout for dinner every night because he couldn’t be bothered to cook and didn’t want to deal with the hassle of going out, and he didn’t eat much other than that. Mostly, he moped around, agonizing over his past and his future and debating over whether or not he should call Gale or if he’d fucked it up too bad at that point. All he wanted was to fall asleep in Gale’s arms, but he knew he didn’t deserve it.

He slept a lot anyways, avoiding the life that tried to continue on around him.

He got drunk one night as he watched the Olympics on TV and scrolled social media. Looking at all the posts about his re-injury and all the posts about his disappearance. All the posts wondering what happened and all the posts agonizing over a suspected “Clegan” breakup. He woke up sick the next morning. Didn’t do that again because, if nothing else, he refused to dip back into the way he went off the rails after losing his sister.

His sister. Who would be so disappointed in him, if she could see what had transpired in the last several days. His sister, whose death he still blames himself for. The only person other than Curt who ever knew how to ground him. Who made him so afraid of losing people he loved, so afraid that the people he loved would leave.

He also knows she’d smack him and tell him to get his act together.

The day of closing ceremonies, he got his MRI results back. A full MCL tear. Getting that news helped Bucky to think clearly for the first time since he came home. It provided perspective on the situation, gave him something solid to wrap his head around after days of everything floating about as a “what if, what then.”

An MCL tear. Of the outcomes that were possible, this one is among the most manageable. The team doctor remains concerned that his knee may never be stable enough to compete. But she also told him that, if he lets his knee heal and sticks with a strict recovery regimen, it’s possible he’ll come back as strong as ever. Not guaranteed, but possible.

Having that news gave him something to focus on, something to hope for. It helped get his feet back on solid ground, shoved breath back into his lungs. It finally slowed the way his head had been spinning like a nausea-inducing carnival ride ever since he left Paris.

During closing ceremonies, he pulled out the Team USA outfit and put it on – that badass racing jacket that he’d really been looking forward to wearing as he walked with Gale and his friends into the Stade de France. He took a picture of himself in it to post on social media, saying he may be at home, but he’s still celebrating his country with pride. He even managed to watch the ceremony on TV, and he saw his friends walk out into the stadium in the exact same outfit. His whole team was there – Curt, Croz, Alex, Brady – along with Benny, Marge… and Gale.

He froze, leaning forward to get a better look at the screen, when he saw Gale walk out, the camera focused right on him. He looked like an angel as he smiled and laughed, his hair messily styled and his eyes bright. That racing jacket fit him perfectly, and Bucky knew they would’ve been the hottest couple in that whole stadium if he’d stayed.

He wishes he’d stayed.

The whole world fell in love with Gale Cleven this summer, but not a single person fell as hard as Bucky did.

Bucky thought about texting Gale, telling him he looked great and he was glad to see him having fun. But then he realized how long it had been, how long he’d spent not texting because he couldn’t get his shit together. And he realized that Gale looked legitimately happy out there without him, and maybe it was better for Bucky just to… not. Better for everyone to move on.

And then Curt came home and absolutely fumed at him over his stupidity. He told Bucky that Gale was heartbroken, that even though he made the best of the ceremony, he wanted nothing more than for Bucky to text. That he wanted nothing more than to make sure he was okay. That as much as he was hurt, he was so goddamn worried, too. And that bit of information made Bucky shatter again.

He fucked it all up, and he is painfully aware of all of it. He regrets every second. Not that any of it is an excuse. But that’s what happened.

“Bucky?”

Bucky realizes that Curt is saying his name, and he blinks and shakes his head, trying to snap out of it. He realizes that he’s sitting in the passenger seat of Curt’s car, gripping his good knee so tightly with his fingers that his knuckles are bright white. He looks at Curt.

“We’re here,” Curt says. He motions forward, through the windshield, and Bucky follows his gaze.

They’re parked in front of a massive horse barn with a sign out front that reads Harding Eventing. Underneath, in smaller lettering, it says A U.S. Equestrian Facility. Lush green fields stretch out across the Earth on all sides, lined with black wooden double fences. To their left is another barn structure with windows lining the walls from end to end. The doors are wide open to reveal an indoor arena, a few horses and riders working inside. Beyond that is a perfectly maintained outdoor arena, enclosed by a low white fence with a blue judge’s box at the far end. Behind where they’ve parked the car, there’s a cross country course that stretches out further than Bucky can see.

The farm is buzzing with activity, horses being ridden around the grounds or walked in and out of the barn, grounds staff doing maintenance work on fences or gardens, people shuttling equipment inside from the trailers that had yet to be fully unpacked after arriving home from the airport yesterday. Bucky spots Kenny, carrying a covered dressage saddle inside that he presumes is Gale’s.

Bucky opens the passenger side door and steps out onto the gravel driveway, taking it all in with a deep breath that smells like hay and sweet grain. Curt comes around from the other side and hands him his crutches.

“John Egan,” a vaguely familiar – and very displeased – voice calls. “The heartbreaker.”

Bucky looks up in time to see Neil Harding sauntering over to them from the indoor ring, a scowl on his face. Bucky tries to hold his head high and stand up straight, but the crutches make it difficult. He doesn’t smile in greeting, because he’s sure Chick knows everything.

He would be right. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kick you off my property right now,” Chick says. He stops in front of Bucky, standing tall with his arms crossed over his chest in a way Bucky can’t. It makes Bucky feel small for once in his life. Chick glances at his brace and crutches, but there’s not a lick of sympathy on his face. Not that he was expecting any.

“Marge told me to come,” he replies.

Chick works his jaw as he stares at him, then glances at Curt. “Gale’s not here. You’re gonna have to wait.”

Bucky frowns. “Where is he?”

Chick motions to the woods beyond the edge of the farm property. “Somewhere out there. Been gone all morning.” He narrows his eyes at Bucky, his voice pitching low. “That’s what he does, you know. When he’s upset.”

Bucky nods, because Gale told him that before. Told him that when he can’t stand the world anymore, when everything hurts too much, he takes his horse, and he goes out into the wild unknown. Just like he did as a kid growing up in the mountains. Just him and his horse and the Earth beneath their feet. No worries. No pain. Just the breath in his lungs and the sounds of the woods.

He’s been out there all day because of Bucky.

“How long has he been gone?”

Harding checks his watch. It’s 1pm. “About five hours now.”

Oh. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Harding shakes his head and shrugs. “Never know with him. You can ask Marge. She might have an idea.” He points into the barn and watches as Bucky and Curt make their way towards it. “John?” He says. Bucky turns back around, resting his weight on one crutch. “I’ll let him decide, because I know how much he loved you. But know that if I had it my way, you wouldn’t step foot on this property again.”

Bucky nods tersely, meeting Chick’s gaze. He’ll fight for Gale as much as he can, but in the end, if Gale doesn’t want him, he’ll go. No matter how much it hurts.

He turns to go into the barn.

Marge is standing against the door of one of the stalls in the middle of the long aisleway, chatting with someone on the other side. She looks up when she hears the tell-tale clomping of Bucky’s crutches on the rubber-matted floor, and she walks down the aisle to meet them halfway. She offers him a weak smile, and he feels relieved to have someone here not acting like they hate him, even though he wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“Hey, Marge!” Curt says excitedly, walking up behind Bucky. “Long time no see.” As in, a couple days.

Marge smiles a bit brighter at Curt and pulls him in for a hug. Then she glances over at Bucky, and she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Come here,” she says. He swallows and frowns, looking at her skeptically, but she holds her arms out, waiting, and he hops forward. Awkwardly, he wraps one arm around her while trying not to hit her with the crutch. She doesn’t seem to care, though. She hugs him tight and whispers in his ear, “I’m pissed at you. But are you doing okay?”

“Could be better,” he whispers back, and she rubs his upper back comfortingly before letting him go.

When she steps away, Bucky realizes that Benny has stepped out of the stall she’d been standing next to, and he’s watching Marge hug him with distaste. Bucky nods to him. “Benny.”

Benny glares back, looking like he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what. Or like he wants to generally stab John in the neck. Who can really say. Instead, he looks at Curt. “Hey! What’s up, man?”

I deserve that, Bucky thinks.

Marge takes pity on him, though and pulls him aside so Benny and Curt can talk. “Gale’s been out all day,” she tells him. “Brooding.”

“I know,” Bucky says quietly. “Chick told me.” Then a terrifying thought pops into his head. “How do you know if he’s safe?”

For half a second, the entire planet is going up in flames around him. If he loses one more person he loves because he was caught up in his own shit…

Marge puts a hand on his shoulder, though, seeing his panic. She pulls out her phone and opens an app, waving it at Bucky. “We have a ride tracker. We turn it on when one of us goes out on the trails. It tells me his location, and it senses if he falls or something so I can get him help.”

“Has that ever happened?” Bucky asks nervously.

“Once,” Marge shrugs. “He was fine, though. Fell off into the creek and broke a rib.” That… doesn’t make Bucky feel better. Marge points to Gale’s location on the app. “He’s heading home. I’d say 30 minutes, an hour at most, if he doesn’t decide to wander off somewhere else.”

—

Marge is kind enough to show Bucky around the immediate farm area – the barn and the indoor and outdoor arenas where they train and host the occasional event or dressage show. She even takes him into the tack room. “Basically that whole corner is Gale’s,” she says, motioning to a collection of saddle and bridle racks bolted into the wall in three-high columns. There’s two dressage saddles, two jump saddles, and even a western saddle. One of the racks sits empty, awaiting Gale’s return. Next to a cabinet full of saddle pads, polo wraps, and support boots, there’s an assortment of ribbons hanging on the wall, ranging in color and size, many of them pretty blue first places.

“Whoa.” Bucky looks around, eyes wide at the amount of no doubt expensive equipment, meticulously organized and near spotless. “I didn’t know he had all this.”

“Not that you deserve to know,” Marge says behind him. “But Chick took Gale in when we were in college. Gave him a place to live in exchange for farm work. Horses to learn on. Prospects to train. Everything he could need to succeed. We all ride here, but the place belongs to the two of them.”

Bucky runs a hand across one of the dressage saddles, which he recognizes from that day Gale rode for him. “I’m glad he has someone like that.” A father figure. Someone to learn from and go to for help, someone who can show him the way after he spent so long fearing his own father and having to figure this life out on his own. No wonder Chick looked like he wanted Bucky’s head on a pike.

As he looks at all of the ribbons on the wall, Bucky notices that, stuck to the cabinet of saddle pads and wraps beside him, there’s a number of photographs. All of them include Gale and one horse or another. One picture, newly taped up in the middle, is from Paris: Gale, Whiskey… and John. Together. Gale has a medal around his neck, and he’s laughing as Whiskey tries to play with it and Bucky kisses him on the cheek. It was taken by Kenny right after Gale's final jumping round.

Bucky lightly rubs a thumb over the photo, and Marge watches him, but she doesn’t say a word about it. Gale’s only been back for a day. And yet he chose to stick this up there, where he can see it every time he gets his tack. Even after what Bucky did to him.

Bucky feels so guilty, and at the same time, he feels butterflies in his stomach.

When he steps back again, Marge starts to ask if he wants to see the beginning of the cross-country course, but then she looks at his crutches and thinks better of it. She asks if he needs to sit, but he says no even though his knee is killing him.

So instead she takes him to Whiskey’s stall, which is marked with a brass plate engraved with the name “Hundred Proof.” There’s two pretty Olympic ribbons hanging on the outer wall along with a framed photo of Gale and Whiskey in front of Versailles. Someone, presumably Marge, taped two cut-out paper Olympic medals beside the ribbons, since Gale’s actual medals are no doubt being kept somewhere safe.

The mare seems to recognize Bucky, the only other living thing here that doesn’t hate his guts right now, and he’s grateful for it. She stretches her head through the open top half of her stall door and nuzzles his arm, making him laugh and apologize for not bringing muffins this time.

“Gale didn’t take her out with him?” he asks.

Marge shakes her head. “They all get a couple weeks off after the games. And Gale never takes her out in the woods for too long anyway. He wishes he could, but he can’t risk her getting hurt out there.”

Bucky tries to reach his hand up to scratch the mare’s nose without losing his balance on the crutches. When it’s just a bit too precarious, he carefully leans one of his crutches against the wall so he has free motion with one arm. Whiskey bumps his shoulder, as if to say, What the fuck did you do?

Bucky smiles sadly and closes his eyes as he pets the side of her face. “I’m sorry, girl,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.” He thinks about Gale, and the way he always goes to the horses when he’s upset. The way he tells them everything.

He wonders how much Whiskey knows, how much he’s told her, how many tears have been cried into that soft mane because of him. Or was Bucky not worth Gale’s tears?

Everyone keeps saying Gale was heartbroken when he left. Is that true?

Marge lets him stand there for a good while, just petting this horse that he at one point hoped would be a permanent fixture in his life. Gale once told him that horses are the best therapy, that they can absorb everything you’re feeling and just leech the pain away by their presence alone. It does make Bucky feel better, even as he feels the guilt enveloping him. I’m sorry, he thinks, over and over and over.

Then Marge tells him, “He’s back.”

They leave Whiskey’s stall and walk back out to the front of the barn, where sure enough, Bucky can see a horse and rider coming up the path from the woods beyond the outdoor ring. At first glance, he wouldn’t have known it was Gale, but as they come closer, a silhouette becoming real, he realizes he knows the set of those shoulders, the motion of those hips as the horse walks towards them.

Gale isn’t on a massive warmblood decked out in English tack. And he’s not dressed in the riding clothes Bucky is used to seeing him in – the tight riding pants and polo shirt cinched with a belt. Shiny black tall boots and a sleek Charles Owen helmet. Instead, he’s on a smaller gray horse in western tack with a saddle bag strapped to the back of the saddle, a water bottle jammed into the front pocket. He’s dressed in faded jeans, brown cowboy boots, and a white t-shirt that clings to his sweaty upper body. A black cowboy hat hides his face in shadow.

In any other circumstance, Bucky would be absolutely drooling over this look.

Even through the shadow, though, he can see the way Gale’s eyes narrow, the way he hesitates when he sees him standing there with Marge. He can see the moment the surprise shifts to anger. When he hops down off the horse and pulls the reins over her head, Bucky waves awkwardly anyways.

Gale looks at Marge. “You could’ve asked.”

She crosses her arms defensively. “You disappeared for the entire morning. He called.”

He looks at Bucky. “You called her?”

Bucky nods and opens his mouth to say something, but Gale puts a hand up to stop him. “I don’t wanna hear it, John.”

Bucky feels the little bit of hope that had been holding his heart together crack apart again. “Gale, I-”

“John, please.”

He hears the pain in Gale’s voice, and it kills him. He stands there, watching as this man he’s in love with walks right on past without a second glance, leading the little gray horse towards the barn. “Wait, can you…” But Gale won’t hear it, just keeps on walking.

“Gale, please.”

Nothing.

“I love you!” Bucky blurts out into the peaceful quiet of the farm, because if nothing else, he at least needs to speak that into the world. Gale stops, the mare halting beside him. Bucky goes on. “I love you so fucking much, Gale. And I-”

Gale takes his hat off and whips around. His face is angrier than Bucky’s ever seen in the few weeks they’ve known each other, and he points the hat at Bucky. “Don’t say that, John,” he warns. The mare jumps a bit beside him at the sudden motion, and the few people nearby try to act like they’re not watching them. Watching this train wreck, wondering what’s about to happen. “You don’t get to come here and say that to me. You don’t.”

“Gale,” Marge says calmly, stepping towards him.

Gale turns on her, still full of anger. But something in his expression fades into pure hurt. “Why did you let him come here?”

Marge reaches out and pushes away the hat that he’s pointing at her, and Bucky watches him deflate the littlest bit. Gale takes a deep breath as he puts the hat back on his head, and he puts his hand on the mare’s shoulder. He mutters an apology to her and strokes her neck, calming her down.

“Cause you’re both idiots,” Marge tells him. She looks at Bucky when she says it, too. “You’re both being stupid. I know he hurt you, Gale. I’m mad as hell at him for it. But he was hurting, too, and you know that.”

Bucky… didn’t expect that. At all.

“He left,” Gale says quietly. He won’t look at Bucky. He won’t even look at Marge. He looks only at his horse.

Marge puts a hand on his shoulder. “He came back.”

“He threw me out like a piece of trash. Like he never gave a damn about me at all.”

Bucky might actually cry right now. He takes a deep breath and swallows against the lump in his throat to keep it from happening.

“I think you should hear him out,” Marge suggests. “Please?”

Gale glances back over at Bucky, who shuffles his feet and winces when he trips on a piece of gravel, sending a burst of pain through his knee that he’s momentarily worried will cause the tears to fall. Gale’s mouth does a weird thing where it kind of wants to smile at Bucky’s clumsiness, but he won’t let it, forcing it to frown instead. “Fine. It’ll have to wait until I get Lucy taken care of, though.”

Bucky nods hurriedly. “That’s fine,” he insists, cringing at the way his voice goes all high and desperate.

Gale nods once, turns on his heel, and starts heading for the barn again. Bucky scrambles to follow, tripping over the gravel on his crutches, and if Gale notices, he just keeps right on going without so much as looking over his shoulder to see if Bucky’s okay. Marge reaches out to steady him instead. “I’m gonna go meet Benny and Curt in the ring.” She points to the outdoor, where Benny is walking around in a circle on a horse that Bucky doesn’t recognize, chatting with Curt, who stands in the middle. “Don’t… say anything stupid.”

Bucky holds back a scoff. He’s the king of saying something stupid.

By the time he finally manages to hobble into the barn, Gale already has the gray mare, Lucy, hooked up to the cross-ties in the wash stall at the end of the aisle, bridle replaced with a leather halter. He’s heaving the saddle onto a saddle rack attached to the wall outside the wash stall. The saddle bags lay in a pile on the floor beneath it, empty water bottle discarded and tipped over on the rubber matting.

Bucky leans against the wall, peering into the wide open wash stall with its temperature-controlled hose, overhead heating lamp, and cabinets full of supplies. These horses really are living in luxury. He looks at Gale again, taking in this rugged western cowboy version of him. “Didn’t know you still rode western, too.”

“Mmm,” Gale nods as he runs his hands all over Lucy’s body, checking for anything abnormal. “More comfortable for long rides.”

“You really just… go out there for hours at a time?”

“Yep.”

“Don’t you need food? Water?”

Gale motions to the saddle bags. “Snacks. Horse treats. Water. First aid. We take a lot of breaks, too. Wade in the creek to cool off.”

Bucky stares at Gale’s hat, which is admittedly a really great look on him. “Shouldn’t you wear a helmet?”

Gale doesn’t so much as glance at him. “You don’t get to lecture me about safety.”

He walks around Lucy to grab the hose and adjust the water temperature. He sprays his hand first, waiting for it to get cold enough in this summer heat. Then he aims the stream of water at the mare, washing off the sweat and the dirt from the trails. He ignores Bucky as he does so, working his way down one side from Lucy’s neck to her back to her hind end. Then he moves to the other side to do the same. Bucky watches his every move.

“So, who’s this?” He asks.

Gale finally glances over at him, if only for a second, and it makes Bucky’s breath catch when those pretty eyes meet his. “Her name is Lucy. Lucy In The Sky. She’s an off-track thoroughbred. Little side project for me.”

“Side project?”

Gale frowns, like Bucky is a pesky fly that won’t leave him alone. He really doesn’t want to be dealing with him right now, but he doesn’t have a good reason not to answer questions about the horse, at least. He sighs as he wets a rag and starts using it to wipe the sweat off Lucy’s face, which she wholeheartedly protests against by throwing her head up higher in the air. He shushes her and gently guides her nose back down as he wipes around her ears. “She came through a local rescue after she came off the track last year. I’m entering her in the Thoroughbred Makeover in October. A competition for retraining retired racehorses. We’re doing eventing, but she’s been good with western tack, too. Been taking advantage of that I guess.”

Before Bucky can say anything, he goes on. And that’s okay. Bucky’s heart feels light when he sees the way Gale smiles a little bit, playfully rubbing at Lucy’s nose the same way he does with Whiskey. “She’ll never be Olympic level. She’s already seven years old and needs too much work. But she’s a good girl. Sound mind. Adaptable. That’s why I take her on the trails. She’ll go far for the right person.”

“Not you?” Bucky asks.

Gale shrugs. “We’ll see. Thinking of selling her. A lot of the makeover horses are trained to sell. But I don’t know if I can bring myself to.” Not after Apollo, goes unsaid.

Bucky holds tight to the sound of Gale’s voice, feeling calm and safe just listening to him talk even though he knows, if he doesn’t manage to make this right, it might be the last time he ever hears that beautiful sound. They continue in silence after that, Gale using a sweat scraper to get all the excess water off the mare while Bucky stands there and bites his tongue. Finally, unable to hold it in anymore, he sighs and says, “Gale, I-”

“Not yet,” Gale cuts him off.

Bucky nods and bites down on the inside of his cheek, trying not to bounce or twitch with the anxiety running through him.

It’s another ten minutes before Gale so much as speaks to him. Kenny comes by and asks if Gale wants him to take Lucy to her stall, but he shakes his head. “Can you get Whiskey ready for the farrier?” he asks instead. Kenny nods. Then he waves awkwardly to Bucky, who awkwardly waves back, and he slips away without making eye contact. Because apparently everyone here knows that something bad happened last week in Paris.

Gale walks Lucy back to her stall without another word, and Bucky follows. It’s the stall next to Whiskey’s, where Kenny is picking the other horse’s hooves out, and the two mares nuzzle each other as Lucy walks past. Once inside Lucy’s stall, Gale grabs some colorful bell boots that he straps over her hooves to protect her shoes, then sprays her all over with the bottle of fly spray hanging on the door.

With one final scratch on the forehead, Gale tells Lucy to be good, closes the door, and he walks away again, putting a hand out to signal that Bucky should wait. He comes back a minute later with Lucy’s saddle and a small bucket of water. After he sets the bucket on the floor, he smoothly flips up another saddle rack by Lucy’s stall and slides the saddle onto it. A western saddle is a whole different beast from the English saddles Bucky saw in Paris. Bigger and more ornate, with patterns carved and stitched into the smooth leather.

Gale looks at Bucky as he points to the tack box in front of the stall. “Can you open that up and grab the saddle soap sitting in the tray?”

Bucky nods, glad to be helpful, and does as he’s asked. When he opens the box, there’s a small tray laying across the top filled with various treats, grooming supplies, clippers, and whatever else Bucky can’t identify. Beneath it is all sorts of equipment. Lead ropes, a folded saddle pad, rolled up polo wraps, a grooming kit, a collection of various medical supplies for both horse and rider, a helmet. It takes a second to locate the little jar of saddle soap in the tray, but he does. He hands it to Gale, who unscrews the lid to reveal a small sponge, which he dunks in the water bucket before rubbing it around in the soap. He sets to work scrubbing the saddle.

“I threw some jolly ranchers in there this morning,” he says. “You can give them each one if they’re not melted.”

Bucky can’t hide his amusement, not that Gale’s looking at him. Muffins. Sour patch kids. Now jolly ranchers. Gale adds, “Whiskey likes green. Lucy likes red.” Because of course they have favorite flavors.

Gale reaches a hand towards him, making a grabbing motion. Bucky rolls his eyes. “Color?”

“Blue.”

Bucky searches for the candy in the tray, picking out the correct colors and unwrapping them. He drops the blue one in Gale’s waiting hand. Both mares stick their heads out of their stalls when they hear the crinkling, and Bucky smiles as they pluck them out of his palm, lips twitching. First Lucy, then Whiskey, who shoves him in the shoulder again after she’s done. Kenny chastises her as he clips a lead rope to her halter. Bucky thinks he sees Gale smile the littlest bit, too.

The groom opens the stall door and leads Whiskey out, down the aisle to the other end of the barn, and Bucky just stands there quietly on his crutches, watching Gale work. After a minute, Gale pauses, shifting the candy to one side of his mouth and biting down until it breaks in half. He looks back up at Bucky and motions to the box in exasperation. “You can sit down, Bucky. I know you’re in pain. I can see it all over your face.”

Bucky doesn’t know if he should smile or frown, but he nods. He closes the box and sits down, sighing in relief now that he can get the crutches out from under his arms and rest his legs – one in pain because it’s ruined, the other in pain from compensating.

He thinks about the fact that Gale just called him “Bucky,” not “John.” He wonders if that means anything.

They’re silent for a while again before Gale says, “I trusted you, John.” He doesn’t look up from the saddle, but his hand slows down as he says it, like admitting that fact takes up too much bandwidth in his brain.

“I-”

“No.” Gale puts a hand up. He scrubs at the saddle hard with the other, making soapy water dribble down across the leather. “I’m gonna talk this time. And you’re gonna listen.”

Bucky nods, shutting his mouth.

“I trusted you. I don’t take that lightly. I told you I wasn’t a fling kinda guy. I told you I didn’t just wanna mess around. I told you everything, John. Maybe I was naive to do that. But I… I thought we had something. I thought…” he shakes his head, and the hand holding the sponge drops away from the saddle. He lets the sponge fall into the bucket of water as he stands up straight again, hands on his hips. He takes the cowboy hat off his head and sets it on the box next to Bucky, and he wipes his arm across his sweaty forehead.

He looks Bucky in the eye. “You said you were in love with me on national television. And then you left. You fuckin’ ghosted me. Do you know how much that hurt?”

“I know,” John says, his voice rushed and tight, panic rising up in him again as he’s faced with the very real possibility that he broke this beyond repair.

“You ended up being exactly who I wanted to avoid,” Gale says sadly, and that… that is a knife to the heart.

Bucky shakes his head, biting his lip as he takes a quivering breath. He reaches a hand out before he thinks better of it, and it drops lamely back into his lap. “No,” he says. “No. I’m not. At least, I swear I don’t want to be. Buck, I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you how… God, it was the biggest mistake of my life, leaving you that way. I knew it when I left, but I felt like I had to. I have felt awful every single day, but…”

He runs a hand over his face, frustrated at the way his eyes feel wet again and his face feels hot. He looks at Gale desperately, and Gale stares back, waiting. So Bucky takes a deep breath, and he tells him everything.

He tells him about the doctor in Paris. About the potential for his career to be over. He tells him everything that was going through his mind then, the fear and the worry and the dread and the self-hatred. Self-deprecating words pounding around in his brain, screaming at him that everything was over. He tells him about going home, feeling sick with anger and regret, and the misery he felt every time he so much as thought about Paris or the Olympics. He tells him how he ghosted everyone, hiding away in his apartment. He tells Gale how he thought about him every single day, wondering if he should call or if it was too late. He tells him about Curt finally trying to talk some sense into him.

He tells him how much all of it hurt, and he couldn’t process any of it anymore. Couldn’t hold himself up. Couldn’t live under the expectations and the pity of a sport so focused on John Egan and his comeback. He couldn’t cope with the fear of losing Gale, along with everything and everyone else, so he pushed him away instead.

“I’m not… the most emotionally well-rounded,” he admits meekly at the end. “I… I blew it all up, huh? That’s what I do, Gale. I self-destruct. Ask Curt, he’s been dealin’ with me for years.”

Some of the fight has gone out of Gale’s stance in the time it took for Bucky to beg and plead and sort through all the fucked up emotions he’s been feeling in the last week. Bucky feels like he’s been talking for hours; he doesn’t know how long it’s actually been. A good ten minutes at least. “I wanted to be there for you,” Gale says. “I loved you.”

Bucky nods and rubs a hand over his face. He tries not to get stuck on the word “loved,” past tense. Not present. “I know. Now. I couldn’t really understand that before.”

“I was a wreck after you left.”

Bucky looks up at that, and he feels a wave of emotions crash into him when he sees the pained expression on Gale’s face. Pity and sadness and betrayal. But also love.

“The others held me up. I tried to have a good time, and I did. But I… I was a mess. Couldn’t think straight. Marge and Benny probably had to pull me up off the ground a few times. Whiskey probably got sick of me cryin’ on her.” Gale looks embarrassed to admit it, and it pains Bucky to hear it. But he’s glad that Gale is telling him, in a way. “And even then,” Gale chuckles, shaking his head as he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Even then, I just kept worryin’ about you. Hopin’ you were okay. All alone here.”

Regret sinks deeper into Bucky’s chest. He knows he should’ve called. Should’ve at least told Gale he was alright.

Except he wasn’t. Neither of them were.

Because the moment they met, they became parts of a whole. And Bucky went and ripped them apart in a way that would never let them be whole on their own again.

Bucky scoots over on the tack box, dragging his crutches around to lean them against the wall of the stall beside him. Gale hesitates, but he grabs his hat, puts it back on, and sits down. Their shoulders press together. They can hear each other’s breathing. Uncertain. They both stare at the floor below, avoiding eye contact again. “I really, really didn’t mean to hurt you,” Bucky says quietly.

“You told me you didn’t know how to do this,” Gale recalls. “Relationships.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Bucky insists. He never thought it was an excuse, even when he couldn’t get his head on straight.

“No,” Gale agrees. “But you have to learn somehow.”

Bucky glances over at Gale’s knee, where his hand is resting, palm up, waiting. He looks up at Gale’s face – the way he’s biting nervously at his lower lip like he’s the one that needs forgiving – then back at his hand. Carefully, Bucky twines their fingers together, and he closes his eyes in pure, unfiltered relief at the feeling of Gale.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he thinks aloud.

Gale shrugs. “That’s not for you to decide.” Then he admits, “I missed you at closing. We all did. Even other athletes kept askin’ me about you.”

“Looked like you were having fun.” All the athletes seemed psyched for the celebrations at the end of the Games, decked out in their closing ceremony uniforms, many of them wearing their medals. All the countries were hanging out and having their picture-perfect moment together in the Stade de France, celebrating each other with breathtaking musical and dance performances to wow the world. It was a whole massive party over there, Paris style. Bucky is still disappointed that he made himself miss it, but he isn’t sure if being there would have been better or not.

Would Gale and his friends and the magic of Paris have pulled him out of his little mental storm cloud? If he’d stayed?

Gale shrugs. “It was fun. We had a great time.” Then he looks at Bucky, and Bucky looks back. Blue on blue. “I still wished you were there every second.”

“I wished I was, too.”

Gale swallows and nods, letting that sit. Then he motions to Bucky’s screwed up knee with his free hand. “What’s the verdict?”

“MCL tear.” Bucky presses lightly on the joint, feeling the sharp twinge of pain. “Shouldn’t need surgery this time.” He sees the question in Gale’s eyes when he says that, and he smiles weakly, but it doesn’t hold. “If I’m lucky, and if I behave myself, it’ll probably heal well enough to keep competing. Big ifs, but I’m gonna give it all I’ve got.”

“Give it enough time to heal this time,” Gale advises.

Bucky nods. “I plan to. I’ve got four years this time instead of one.”

Gale hesitates, flicking his eyes away, then back to Bucky, away again. “I want you in LA with me,” he finally says. “We’ve both got more medals to win.”

Bucky’s heart swells, and he smiles, for real this time. “I want that, too.”

When Gale’s eyes find his once more, he squeezes Bucky’s hand. “Can you say it again?”

Bucky furrows his brow. “Say what?”

“That…” Gale bites his lip. “That you…”

Bucky’s smile goes crooked in that cute, dorky way that Gale first fell in love with. He reaches his free hand up to take Gale’s hat off his head, so he can see those perfect blue eyes. Then he strokes back the strands of sweaty hair stuck to Gale’s forehead, and he rubs his thumb across his jaw. “Gale Cleven,” he says, taking a deep breath. “I love you. I love you so much. Je t’aime pour toujours.”

Gale quirks an eyebrow, surprised at the french. “Pour toujours? That’s a long time.”

Bucky squeezes his hand. “I will love you for as long as you let me. If you’ll take me back.”

Gale’s eyes flutter closed, and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile. When he opens his eyes again, Bucky knows for certain that everything is going to be okay. Gale’s fingers play with the soft curls behind his ear, and he looks at him like no one has ever looked at Bucky before – with deep, dedicated love. “For forever?” he asks.

Bucky nods. “Pour toujours,” he repeats. His pronunciation is a bit off, even though Gale can tell he spent a long time practicing, and that makes Gale smile.

“Ever the drama queen,” he teases.

“I mean it, doll,” Bucky insists. He leans in and kisses Gale gently, softly. With love and care. A promise. Everything that the kiss before he left Paris wasn’t. When he pulls away, he says, “Meeting you on that plane was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Gale rests his forehead against Bucky’s, then he untangles their fingers and stands up. Bucky watches, worried for a moment, but Gale extends his hand towards him. Bucky takes it, letting himself be pulled to his feet. Gale steadies him, making sure his knee is okay, and then he closes any remaining distance between them. He wraps his arms around Bucky, nuzzling against his neck like the shape of it was made just for him. Bucky’s hands instinctively move down to hold Gale’s waist, like they belong there. And they both just rest against each other, holding each other up. Putting each other back together, right in the middle of one of US Equestrian’s greatest training barns.

The summer heat is suffocating, and it smells like hay and grain. Gale is sweaty against him. Birds chirp in the overhead rafters. Lucy is stretching her head out as far as she can over her stall door in an attempt to nuzzle at Bucky’s hair, and she knocks his crutches over in the process, momentarily scaring them all. Bucky can hear voices and the clip-clop of hooves as Curt, Benny, and his horse walk back into the barn. But he and Gale stay right where they are, and Bucky wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I love you, too,” Gale whispers against Bucky’s shoulder. “I’m still mad at you, just so you know. But I love you so much it hurts.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and buries his nose in Gale’s soft hair. “It doesn’t have to hurt anymore. I’m here. I’m not leaving. I promise.”

He wants to stand here and hang on tight forever.

Pour toujours.

And for the first time, he really, fully believes that forever with Gale Cleven is exactly what he wants. Not only that, but it’s something he deserves. It’s something they both deserve. And it’s something that they can have, if they choose.

Paris was only their beginning. This, right here, is the start of their future.

55 notes · View notes