#imagine how shitty it must feel being cut off from your mother and watching your dad be a happy family without u im sick

[toriliashine]

just started playchoices terrorfest and the mc is going through it. accused of being a murderer, got punched in the stomach, wasn't even allowed to throw hands and ran away due to plot reasons, stalked, only half apologised to by her bitch sister, is given fugly 1st love interests [i hope this isnts a one LI love interest book bc im about to be the most emotionally unavailable girl ever] im crying.

[100hearteyes]

Part 2 of Clarke And Lexa Make a Porno, because why the fuck not.

Part 1.

"No. Absolutely not."

Anya's wolfish grin is no good omen. Lexa feels a sense of dread wash over her and tries in vain to assuage her nerves by holding her friend's gaze. Anya wouldn't look this sure if she didn't have some card up her sleeve.

Lexa throws a furtive glance around, checks that her co-workers are still focused on the German porn telenovela. It's only when she's sure that the action on-screen will keep them rooted for a while that she turns back to Anya, trying but failing to meet her eyes.

She overcompensates with another glance around the room and a low hiss. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but am I not too," she licks her lips, gathering the courage, "'vanilla' to do it?"

Anya shrugs like it's a no-brainer; crosses her arms and props her booted feet on Lexa's desk. "That's exactly the point. You're a lesbian Disney princess. Pretty sure if you started singing the whole fucking fauna of Capitola would follow you around."

Lexa levels Anya with a glare and tries to push her feet off the desk, to no avail.

(Seriously, what's it worth being editor if she can't even have her subjects' respect? She wishes this job was less about the headaches and more about the self-indulgent moments of microscopic tyranny.)

The feet might not budge, but Anya will. Lexa is sure of it. She draws herself taller and tucks on her most authoritative scowl. "I won't do it."

Anya plucks an imaginary cigarette from her mouth and throws it away without a care in the world. She reaches behind her and drags forth a heavy wooden box, filled to the brim with—

"My vinyls."

Lexa is in a daze.

She thought she'd lost all her vinyls to time and moving. She mourned each one of them for at least a year, cried many a night away clutching her record player to dear life, lamenting their shared loss.

They had a real connection.

But it turns out her vinyls weren't lost after all, and her tears were for naught. They were safe all along, albeit in different hands, and she'd known nothing of it, like a mother who lets her children wander about without aim nor authority.

How can she ever have kids if she can't even take care of her prized vinyls?

Lexa feels a prick of self-righteous indignation at the betrayal and puffs out her chest. "Why do you have all my vinyls?"

"I think you mean all my vinyls," Anya corrects with a lazy flurry of one hand towards the box.

"You don't even own a record player."

"How the fuck would you know?"

Lexa raises an eyebrow at her friend. "I come over all the time?"

"I could hide it while you're there."

"And then you'd never find it again, because that's what happens every time you try to hide something from me."

Anya shrugs and watches as Lexa picks one of the vinyls and turns it over in her hands, reading the track list on the back with the reverence one would a millennium-old parchment. Then she looks up at Anya with a stern glare.

"Over half of these were stolen from my house."

Anya shrugs again with infuriating nonchalance and Lexa wishes she had a pencil nearby just so she could snap it in two with one hand. Or stab one of Anya's eyes with it.

"Maybe I just rescued them from the actual malefactor," drawls Anya.

"We both know the real culprit sits across from me and has been wearing the same socks for the past three weeks."

Nailed it.

When she looks at her friend, however, all she sees is that same old resting bitch face that never seems to go away.

"Wow, Lexa," Anya deadpans. "Now you've really hurt my feelings."

Sometimes, Lexa wonders if Anya really has a rock where her heart should be. A supernatural, blood-pumping rock, of course, but a rock nonetheless. Or, maybe, Anya is a psychopath. Maybe the blood money theory wasn't so far-fetched after all. That would explain the brazen lack of empathy for everyone else's feelings, most of all Lexa's. What does it say about Lexa that her one true friend is someone who sneezes literally every time Lexa says 'I love you'?

Not that Lexa says it a lot. Only once or twice every few years.

Just enough to have noticed the pattern.

"Are you really trying to blackmail me with vinyls?"

Anya fakes an affronted gasp, laying a hand on her heart. "Would I ever. Think of it as... an incentive."

Lexa really does love Anya, despite her friend's... unique demeanor. Anya helps her come out of her shell — by taking up all the space and forcing her out of her own metaphorical home — and every once in a while she likes to make sure Anya is aware of her gratitude. Sometimes, though, things get really fucking weird.

Lexa would still do anything for her best friend.

"Let's imagine, hypothetically - very hypothetically," she stresses, although Anya's burgeoning smirk tells Lexa she isn't so easily fooled, "that I agreed. What would happen next?"

Anya takes her feet off Lexa's desk and sits up straighter, perhaps aware of the importance of this moment. This, Lexa decides, will determine her answer.

"Well first, I'd have to get you a costar. Then we'd sign some legally binding shit, find a crew, and make the damn movie. Simple as that."

Anya leans forward, looking into her eyes. In Anya's, she sees honesty and a pressing need to reassure. It takes some of the pressure off her shoulders right away.

"Look, Lexa, you can say no. But your name won't be on anything related to the movie and I promise no one in this shitty town will ever find out you did this."

This is why Anya is Lexa's best friend. And it's why Lexa would do anything for her.

Even star in a porno.

"Okay."

Anya's inner smile must be really, really big, because Lexa knows how hard she tries to tamper its outward expression — and still her lips manage to lift into a grotesque grimace. Coming from Anya, it's the equivalent of a blissful grin.

"Okay?"

Lexa nods and closes her eyes, bracing herself for a bone-crushing hug. It never comes. When she opens her eyes, Anya's resting bitch face is back on.

"What, did you want a fucking hug?"

It's a blessing to have her rude friend back, Lexa guesses, because seeing Anya almost smile is fifty shades of unsettling. So she rolls her eyes and rolls with it.

Her next question demands her full focus, lest she makes an even bigger fool of herself than usual.

Lexa breathes in, makes sure all her co-workers are still otherwise entertained, breathes out. Smooths out a non-existent wrinkle in her pants, wets her lips for courage.

"Anyway," she treads with caution, "do you have someone in mind for the other main role?"

It's fitting that Harper McIntyre's hit song One More Betyreyal (one of her less inspired titles, if Lexa may say so) starts playing in that moment, for the look in Anya's eyes speaks of nothing but danger. Lexa wonders how much planning went into this conversation, so Anya could plan all her gut punches in advance.

"Clarke Griffin."

No. No. Anyone but her.

Clarke Griffin is the new recruit, although Lexa hardly understands how there can be someone new considering the station is broke and they’re already overstaffed — and none of them make nearly enough money for how much they laze around all day.

Clarke came from out of town with a fancy degree and was directly hired as an editor. She voices the early afternoon newscasts and Lexa curses the one-hour period during which she's forced to cohabitate with Clarke every day.

Apparently, Clarke had taken a liking to unnerving her, be it by smirking at her every time she catches Lexa staring or by making all sorts of inappropriate comments — to her ear. Lexa hates how much it affects her, but how can she possibly focus on reporting about Lionel "Real Sight" Foster swallowing his own wooden eye or how Jasper Jordan rescued his own private parts from the jaws of two slats of an unassuming park bench if someone keeps doing everything in their power to distract her?

Lexa has a theory (an iron-clad theory, if she may say so herself), and it's that Clarke is trying to get her fired so she can take her shift. It's the best shift of the day. There is no other possible explanation.

"You know what, I take it back. Now you need to convince two people to star in your porno."

"Oh, there's no need." Anya waves her argument away with staggering nonchalance. "Clarke's already said yes."

Wait, what? "But you told me we'd need to get me a costar."

Anya shrugs and Lexa is now seriously considering revisiting her psychopath theory. "I lied."

"You conniving, lying b—"

"Careful," Anya cuts in with a raised eyebrow. "I am under protection of the Capitola Astrologers Union."

"Of which you are president, treasurer, and the only legal member," Lexa reminds her. "And I think any upstanding judge would love to know how exactly every other name on the list has joined said union posthumously."

"I am an astrologer, Lexa. I can communicate with the dead. It's in my job description."

"It scares me that you're not even aware you're describing an entirely different profession."

Lexa sits back, staring at the ceiling (and the chewing gum Murphy glued there a year ago — he could've been an Olympic jumper if he committed to work the way he does to being an asshole), trying to come to terms with a single, harrowing probability: she's going to star in a porno with Clarke Griffin.

"l don't understand why it has to be Clarke."

Anya leans forward, propping her elbows on her knees, expression serious and ready to talk shop. The last time Lexa saw her like this was— actually, Lexa doesn't think she's ever seen Anya like this.

"Look, I've done some market analysis and most girl on girl pairings are a blonde and a brunette." Anya raises both her hands and starts counting off fingers, "Brittana, Petramos, Holstein, Wayhaught, Supercorp, Joanarty, Choni, the inaptly named Shoni, Deanoru, Dana and Alice, Bette and Tina, Catradora, Villaneve, Clexa—"

"What's Clexa?"

"I don't know, some chicks from this fucking terrible CW show."

"Do you like it?"

"Do I like what?"

"Clexa."

"Dude, I don't even know their fucking names!" Anya exclaims, exasperated. As if she's the victim here. "The only Clexa I ship is you and Blondie. Naked. On my porno. Clarke and Lexa. Clexa. Havin' very hot sexa."

"Smart," Lexa deadpans.

"I know."

"Why can't it be Niylah? She's blonde, too."

Anya's smirk is five hundred shades of gross. "I know you'd love to get up close and personal with Niylah's knick-knacks, but no."

Lexa decides to let the comment fly for the sake of her own sanity.

"Why Clarke, though?"

"Because you two have chemistry, you fucking dimwit."

Lexa snorts. Chemistry. Lexa has never heard of something so absurd. She and Clarke have as much chemistry as Harper McIntyre and any semblance of originality.

Which is to say, none at all.

"She makes very inappropriate comments," she argues instead, knowing full well that pressing on the topic of chemistry will only open way for some trademark crass joke from Anya.

"Yeah," her friend agrees, like it's obvious. "Because she knows you love them."

She most certainly does not.

"I most certainly do not."

"You do. Your freakishly tiny ears go red whenever she flirts with you. Your step falters when she makes one of those comments, for fuck's sake," Anya observes, pointing in Lexa's general direction, before leaving forward and laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to tell you this, but you, my friend, are a walking lesbian cliché."

Lexa takes Anya's hand off her shoulder. "Can you please stop insulting my tragically conspicuous homosexuality?"

"Oh please," Anya scoffs. "I'm bisexual, I can say whatever I want."

"If my step actually faltered - which they don't - it would be because her comments are annoying, off-putting, unprofessional, inopportune, and... and inappropriate", she finishes lamely.

"And you fucking love them."

"I don't."

Anya leans back on her chair with an evil smirk, propping her feet on the table and crossing them at the ankles. Lexa tries to push them off to no avail.

"Legalities aside, it's very simple. Clarke has already said yes. I just recorded you saying yes."

Lexa sputters, "You what--"

"You're both legally bound now." Anya shrugs. "Look at it this way: it will be very educational. You'll finally learn how to make a girl come, and get paid for it. Sort of."

A beat of silence.

"Anya, are you aware that you say something at least vaguely criminal every five sentences? Something that could actually put you in prison?"

Anya clicks her tongue, sinking farther into her chair, and lowers her sunglasses to her eyes.

"I've got friends everywhere, Lex. Let's just say I've dipped more than my fingers in my fair share of pies, if you catch my drift." A second later, she lowers her sunglasses just enough to reveal her eyes. "That means my tongue. My tongue's been in a lot of pies, too."

Lexa doesn't doubt that for a second.

"What I need to know is," Anya adds, taking off her sunglasses and throwing them across the room, "will you dip your fingers in the porn pie?"

Like this conversation hasn't caused enough trauma for thirty lifetimes.

"If I say no, will you still give me back my vinyls?"

"Absolutely fucking not."

Lexa swallows, clenches her jaw, and thinks of all those lonely nights spent in the couch clutching her record player and sharing cookie dough ice cream with it, longing for long-gone times when she'd dance to the mellow voices of the likes Billy Ocean and Ella Fitzgerald.

"My answer is yes."

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Summer Nights (2)

A/N: Is that... is that...? The unbridled enthusiasm I’m hearing? Or are you trying to reach me with torches and pitchforks for being so untrustworthy? Assuming the first option.

Anyway -- Yes, as I promised, this is the second part of the Summer Nights which you would hopefully enjoy. Waiting for your feedback. It’s the INDEX if you need a refresher.

ALSO, I give a lot of credit to @drawlfoy and @bored-and-botheredwho helped me with editing this chapter and steamed off my emotional breakdown related to my writing (lmao). I love you so much gals and a big THANK U once more!!!

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: coarse language; alcohol; Narcissa turning into a shitty-mother (lol)

Tags: @war-sword @paradigmax @winnsmills @idkatee@bforbroadway @okaydraco

The next thing Draco knew, he was being woken up with a massive hangover in the snuggly, way-too-comfortable bed by the high-pitched squeal of his mother.

"You, darling, made a lot of trouble for yourself yesterday," Narcissa admonished her son, a glacial cool look on her face. Entering Draco's hotel apartment, she walked over to the window and opened the drapes with one swift movement, splashing an annoyed Draco with light. He groaned, not yet daring to complain due to his mother's livid mood, to say the least.

"You have no idea of what happened yesterday, do you?"

"Yyy-" was the only sound he could make. God, where to the fuck was he? He hadn't been this plastered in forever.

"Of course you don't." Narcissa shook her head and laughed nervously, although she made it plainly obvious there was nothing humorous about the situation. "You blacked out so hard in that sleazy bar there is no way you can recall anything from yesterday. Look at you -- you are squinting at me like I'm the sun!"

Draco nervously ran his finders through his disheveled hair. He was definitely not in the right mind to provoke the conflict. "I left you the note at the reception," he informed her, trying to slickly get out of the unenviable conversation. "Told the receptionist to hand it over."

Contrary to his mother's accusatory ascertainment, he actually had some glimpses of the previous night (or should he say an all-night rave?). There were for sure drinks -- a lot of drinks; a variety of kinds he didn't recognize from the magical world but still guzzled delightfully. The second recollection was dancing --which wasn't his intention, but with some luck of his -- got invited by some hot-looking chicks from across the table. And yes, he definitely remembers the swaying and the rhythmical moving of the hips along with some cheesy muggle vibes mixed with the smell of booze and weed. Maybe he even hooked up with one of the girls? The last thing he recollects before passing out, almost like through a haze, was seeing Narcissa's furious face screaming something incoherent at him. Overall, that's his all night wrapped in one.

"Do you think the mere note 'I will be fine' was going to calm down my shattered nerves? Draco Lucius Malfoy, I swear to our dear ancestors, I did not raise you to act so irresponsibly." She waved the finger at him warningly. “We come from rich history. You are the descendant from a line of successful forefathers who put their effort into building up our reputation. Do you think Lucius would approve of such unrestrained behavior? I’ve been already hearing of letting you be too careless. Is tha-"

"Mother, could we skip the lecture?" Draco snapped angrily, try as he might to suppress it. "I've heard it too many times. All I’m trying to have is a peaceful life. Without the prying eyes of the media and the meddling of my family..."

"And all I’m trying to have is an integrated, happy family to offer you support and love.” Draco opened his mouth to cut her in, but she shushed him with a wave, clearly suggesting 'Don’t even get me started’ meaning. “I’ve been- been trying  to get a job, going through the infelicitous job interviews and looking for a solution to help our household through the post-war crisis. Have you shown any interest in that? Any?"

"But mo-"

"The last thing I want to have on my mind is dealing with your ignorant, boyish transitional stages, and let me tell you -- you do not make it any easier for me," she said without taking a breath. She exhaled slowly and continued, this time forcing a softer tone. "I ask you one thing for this summer. Let it be an enjoyable time without unnecessary conflicts. We have come to the beautiful country as France. Let's make a good thing out of it."

Draco, who was already wide awake by the buzz of adrenaline, looked at her with a serious expression. Scanning her face made him suddenly realize how hard must it have been for her to bear everything, and seeing the bags of tiredness under her beautiful, hazel eyes stopped him from retorting. "Mother, no matter what happens, I'll always support you. Remember that."

Narcissa smiled. “Oh. I know, honey, I know.” This time she lowered her voice by two octaves, slowly sitting at the edge of the bed. “It’s just… people have been gossiping behind our backs lately, partly throwing the blame at us. All I’m trying to do is protect us from those tormentors. But your binge drinking is not making the deadlock any better, and it drives me mad.” She chortled a little bit and patted Draco’s palm. “So, until the rumors die down, all we can do is raise our chins high.” Narcissa ended, her voice encouraging yet plaintive.

The last thing Draco liked is seeing his mother on the verge of emotional exhaustion, like in this moment. He felt an instant surge of sympathy, so he quickly found himself locking Narcissa in the supportive embrace. She responded to the gesture by wrapping her arms around her son’s neck and stroking his cheek delicately with the back of her hand, just like in the old times. Both of them yearningly wished to come back to those years of frivolity.

"I promise I'll try to be better," Draco said with certainty. Seeing Narcissa’s eyes light up in gratefulness and the smiley dimples form on her features, he assured himself it was the right thing to say at that mother-son moment.

“How could I be so lucky to have such a wise boy,” she muttered proudly, kissing Draco at the top of his head. “But perhaps you should not restrain yourself too much during the holiday. I give you the partial alibi per se. Just keep it under control.”

Smiling, Narcissa got up, straightening up her impeccable posture as in the habit of the high-status woman. For the first time in that day, Draco noticed how elegantly she was dressed up: the black, partly lacy dress stopping at the level of her knees; the shiny-white pearl jewelry perfectly matching her entire outfit; dark yet not defiant high-heels; andhair fixed up in the tight bun. In Draco’s opinion, she looked too prim...even for herself.

"Mother, are you heading somewhere?" he asked curiously.

“Well…” she started, blushing. “I’m going to see my old friend in the coffee shop. I haven’t been there for ages, so it’s one of the chances to meet up with them. Hopefully, you are going to take care of yourself for a few days.” 

"Days?" he asked, shocked.

“You didn’t expect me to travel from town to town, did you?” she laughed lightly. “Bordeaux is quite a route to overcome. So I might be settling there for a few nights. Do you mind it, darling?”

Was he positive about the information? Did he mind? Partly yes. He didn’t imagine the prospect of wandering around the alleys of France on his own, especially on the first day of being there. But from the other side, seeing the joy painted on his mother’s face as she told him about the planned get-together made him feel less skeptical. Plus, getting rid of the extreme supervision for a few days wouldn’t be such a disaster as well.

As he calculated now, the ratio about the idea was 90% pro and 10% against.

"Of course not," he said simply, smiling at his mother.

"I knew you would understand." The crease of uncertainty on her forehead disappeared, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Meanwhile... I have already booked you the brunch downstairs but seeing as you are not in the wholesome state, I might order a delive-"

"Don't..." Draco opposed, rising from the bed and throwing the nearest shirt he could find over his head. "I'll come down. Some fresh air may be a cure for a hangover. Oh, and speaking of hangovers -- do you happen to have an anti-hangover potion?"

Narcissa let out a quiet chuckle and clapped her hands, seemingly satisfied with herself. Her tranquil gaze landed on the cupboard. "As a matter of self-preservation, yes, I do. Try searching inside the bedside cabinet."

He thanked her and then they talked with each other a little bit longer until Narcissa took the pocket watch out of her handy purse, noted the time ("Merlin's Beard, I am so tardy! I'm going to be alone on the platform if I stay here a minute longer!), and –a little startled with her inadvertency – hurriedly declared she should get going ("I really should get going Draco!”). Pecking her son twice on the cheeks as a farewell, she rushed towards the door and, for the last time, turned around to blow a brief motherly goodbye kiss. She left in such a hurry that the only sign indicating her presence in the room a few seconds ago was her familiar perfume lingering about in the air.

Draco gathered his clothes, and after half an hour of very difficult preparations while dealing with the consequences of yesterday's actions -- because the potion finally hits after two to three hours -- he found himself in front of the hotel's restaurant. As he walked in, he had to admit the room enchanted him with its lovely atmosphere, which brought back the memories of his first Hogwart's magical feast as an eleven-year-old boy.

With the large windows allowing plenty of light in, the entire space was in the classical style. The whole floor was clad with marble tiles in the white-like color; the walls were purely white and, apparently, someone must have put a lot of effort not to let a single dust spot appear in there; the ceiling was created in the concept of the sky resemblance making an impression of the real clouds hovering over heads. Three enormous chandeliers made a very good fit with carved wooden tables and similarly-looking chairs.

"Sir, would you like to make an order?" The decently looking waitress walked over to his table, with a white apron around her waist and green, deep eyes staring at him. "I'm Laura, by the way. I'll be serving you today."

He nodded, not really paying much attention to her primitive attempts of having a chit-chat. Cursorily glancing at the menu, he decided on having a french bagel with melted cheese and a coffee which was a specialty of the house as was written in the recommendations. The waitress scribbled something sloppily in her notes, smiled briefly, and then strode away.

The restaurant was almost fully emptied, and the only things heard in the background were a heated discussion of the couple beside the table and a composition of french, old songs prepared specifically for the guests.

Draco let out a small sigh of boredom, thinking yet again about the scenery of today. The only ideas that crossed his mind were either lounging in his stuffy hotel room or finding another hang-out spot to drown his sorrows.

After the War, he had found out it was pretty easier not to give in to any of the memories, blurring them out with the support of Scotch as a coping mechanism. Pansy and Daphne, his childhood friends, had tried to talk him out of it, kindly offering some tenderness and a chance for a conversation. But he had eventually stopped caring about any of that bullshit anymore.

That's why perhaps he'd just--

"Hi!" said a cheerful voice behind him, making him jump slightly at his seat with surprise. At first, he thought it was a mistake; that he must have been deemed as someone else considering he didn't know anyone around, so was in the opposite way. Turning around, however, made him realize it wasn't entirely the truth. "Do you remember me?"

"Hello." Of course, he remembered her. It was the receptionist from the previous day, whose name he didn't bother to memorize. Although he planned on avoiding potential candidates for a talk today, he said truthfully, "Yes, I do. You work here, right?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, smiling. "Can I join?"

For a moment, his sluggish brain did not process what she was asking about, and that made him frown. The girl probably comprehended what it was about because she explained, reading his confused expression. "...the table".

"Oh," he said, feeling more than embarrassed for his dumb reaction. "Yeah, help yourself."

"Thanks," she mumbled, pulling out the chair to make some room for herself. "Tough night, huh?"

The inquiry made him suddenly realize she must have witnessed the whole scene yesterday -- him asking her for a favor, Narcissa drilling her out for any clues about his disappearance, his arrogant attitude, and scurrility as he spoke to her. For sure, if she were smart enough, she would deduce what the situation was about.

He couldn't help it, but a wave of shame pierced through his body, and his stomach rolled slightly.

"A little," he answered minimizing a dimension of the spree, almost like a lie, and then he shook his head. "Listen, sorry about yesterday. I might have been...rude."

A small smile of courtesy formed on her lips. "I presumed you were a little off. Happens..." she said tentatively, gripping both of her hands together. "Oh, and about yesterday -- you lost this at the lobby." She took his wand out, and Draco's stomach made a second roll, the heartbeat hastening like a speed of light. He quickly tried to bring his face to the natural expression, but the girl had noticed that, and curiosity filled her eyes. "I thought I should give that back. In case it was valuable or something."

Fucking great... How was he supposed to elucidate that?

His throat felt so dry he couldn't let out a word of excuse. The moment was so mortifying to him he just reached for the familiar wand and nodded politely in gratefulness.

"Mhm..." Draco hummed, barely audible and momentarily deflated. "It's just... Something I've been training with..."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dolt?!

"Oh," the girl unconsciously flipped her hair off the shoulders, probably trying to make sense of the information. Furrowing her brows, she put her hand under the chin. "Are you a magician?"

"Kind of..." he agreed, not happy about the reputation he had just created for himself, but at the same time satisfied he didn't have to make up more explanations.

Luckily for Draco, the uncomfortable pause was rescued by the arrival of the food -- thank Merlin -- and even though he hadn't been hungry at all, now he felt an unexpected appetite to eat up the awkwardness. The girl probably caught a hint it was about time to end an encounter because she grunted.

"Listen," the girl started, clearing her throat yet again. "I better get going. But..."

The next thing Draco knew was that she was reaching to her pocket again, this time taking out something similar to a quill, only without ink. He assumed it must some kind of muggle invention, only a mechanical-like version. The girl uncorked it and suggestively drew out her hand, clearly signifying he should bring his hand closer as well. He obediently did.

"France is a big city," she said, glancing at him and sounding serious. "If you ever needed someone to show you around, let me know."

Without any preamble, her soft, delicate fingers grasped his forearm (he made sure to give her the right one), and with a few scrawls on his skin, she looked at him merrily, blushing slightly, and then left a table.

He stared after her for a while, looking at her curls bouncing behind her back as she walked away at a slow, monotonic pace. After a few seconds, she disappeared out of his sight, letting him finally peek at the note she had left:

'Call me, Y/N,' and a nine-digit number attached.

XOXOXO

A/N: I know this part might have contained too little Draco x Reader momento, but I promise it’ll get better as a plot develops. Also -- is it only my impression, or is Narcissa as changeable as the weather in Germany lol.

[problematicfavesareproblematic]

Forgiveness is Divine

Ron Speirs x Reader One Shot

Requested by the effervescent @hbo-monster-bob​ (my first ever request oh my lordy!)

Summary: you get hurt and Ron loses his cool in front of the wrong people. Now he fears he may have truly lost you. 

Warnings: mention of injury, potty words, a bit more angst than initially intended, some good ole RemorsefulButTryingHisVeryBest!Ron Speirs, some shitty dialogue i probably should’ve spent more time on

~ ~ ~ ~

He’d really fucked up. 

Even as he had ranted at you, he’d known how badly he was fucking things up.

But you...you’d made him worry. You’d scared him.

While helping Malarkey and Bull drag a wounded NCO into a trench, a bullet had ricocheted off of someone’s helmet and buried itself deep into your left bicep. The shock of it had made you drop, unable to catch yourself between your unresponsive arm and your death grip on the NCO’s vest.

Ron had thought you’d died.

He’d been sure that he’d just watched you die in front of him and then he was being fired at and he’d gone numb and gotten himself and his men out of the line of fire.

Hours later, he’d caught sight of you at the med station with one of the medics fishing around in your bicep for the fragments of the bullet that had stained your jacket beyond use with your blood.

You’d initially given him the soft smile you’d always saved for him when he stormed in, the fact that you were alive and safe eclipsed by his rage that you’d made him worry so badly.

His mother had once compared his temper to a tsunami- wild and destructive and overwhelming to those foolish enough to cross its path.

“The only difference between you and your father is that you stick around long enough to see the carnage you’ve created. My only wish for you, my sweetheart, is that you learn to own your mistakes and make them right again…..”

Ron had disappointed both of you with what he’d done next.

He’d let you have it.

He’d shouted and scolded and criticized you for your ‘carelessness’, tearing into you for abandoning your position of relative safety in favor of ‘playing a hero’. 

Ron had called you incompetent and reckless and questioned your sanity. Your smile had slipped from your face and he’d watched as you began to close yourself off to him, eyes becoming cold and detached despite the pain you must be feeling as the medic tweezed the deeply embedded shrapnel from your bicep. 

If you had been alone he knew you would’ve snapped right back at him or (at the very least) told him to calm down and find you when he’d remembered how to behave like a grown-up.

This brought him to his second fuckup, he’d done it in front of people. 

No, it was worse than that.  

He’d questioned your competence in front of three of your superiors (and several NCOs….and six of the medics).

When he’d finally run out of steam, you’d stared at him with a cool indifference that he’d only seen you slip into when you were dealing with something/someone you loathed. 

It was a look he’d never had cast his way before. And now that it was?

Ron felt about two inches tall. He hated it.

After making him suffer your silent and baleful glare for an agonizing two minutes, you’d turned to the (incredibly uncomfortable) medic and let your hateful expression melt into your regular, relaxed one.

“Any instructions for me, Doc?” you’d asked politely, and when the man had given you some gauze to repack the wound later you’d popped down off the table you’d been sitting on and walked past him like he was little more than furniture.

His outburst had gotten you taken off of the frontlines- away from the action and away from him.

When he’d asked Nixon where they’d put you, the other man had scoffed and given him an answer along the lines of “somewhere where her ‘incompetence won’t put others at risk’. Jackass.”

Welsh was significantly more helpful, telling Ron they’d sent you to Battalion for some extended desk duty (after scoffing at him, of course. Ron hadn’t realized just how quickly word had spread about his outburst).

Not that knowing where you were made much of a difference. 

He could be sitting right next to you and you’d still carry on as if you were alone, and when you did look at him it was so detached that all of his words of remorse died in his throat.

It was horrible.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

After reclaiming a hamlet on the airborne’s way to Germany, Ron had realized that you weren’t going to budge or relent in your indifference. 

Your willpower was clearly steadfast- you wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t at least a little bullheaded.

He was going to have to come to you. 

He had to try to make things right, even if you hated him for it...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

When Ron had knocked and not received an answer, he’d decided to come in anyway.

You didn’t look up at him as he closed the door behind him, keeping your eyes firmly trained on the typewriter in front of you as your fingers flew across the keys. 

A neat stack of (what he assumed to be) freshly typed reports for Sink rested beside your still-smoking cigarette on the table, and from the slope of your shoulders Ron could only assume that you’d been at this task for hours.

Clearing his throat, he tried to ease you into conversation.

“Want me to take those to Battalion for you—?”

“No. I don’t.”

Well, at least that was more than you’d said to him in the past week. 

Ron had never imagined he would ever be the sappy type to miss the sound of someone's voice. Of course, that was before he met you. Before he’d started to care for you in the way a man cares for a woman, rather than the care a CO has for his fellow officers.

Not that he’d told you that. Not yet.

And now he may never get to- considering you’d refused to speak to him for the last three weeks about anything other than urgent work matters…..

You brought your cigarette to your lips and pulled from it deeply as you read over all that you had typed so far, the angry tick of your clenched jaw the only sign that you knew he was still there.

Even as you despised him, Ron still found you beautiful. A vengeful divinity with a glare that could cut glass and a stubbornness that rivaled his own.

He walked over to stand behind you, reading over your shoulder and realizing that it wasn’t reports that you had been working on….but death notices

You’d once told him it was your least favorite thing to do, that you’d gladly take latrine duty for the rest of your life if it meant you never had to write another.

“Soul sucking,” you’d called it, a night when the two of you shared a cigarette while on patrol. Your nose had been red from the cold and your eyes a little glassy from unshed tears, but you’d given him a sad smile when you’d noticed the grim look he was giving you. “I can’t remember the last time I wrote something that didn’t begin with ‘We deeply regret to inform you…’

Ron used to know how you felt about everything, and if he were being honest with himself he liked knowing how you felt about things- good or bad. For all the men you were the consummate professional, bright and even-tempered and nurturing.

But with Ron, you let yourself be a person. 

A brilliant, passionate, driven person whose complicated thoughts and feelings complimented his own so well he’d briefly considered changing his stance on the concept of soul-mates.

With a grim weight in his chest, he realized that all of those feelings toward you may have to be changed to the past tense.

Stubbing out the cigarette with ink-stained fingers, you pulled the letter from the typewriter and added it to the pile. He watched as you picked up a pen and began crossing names off a list he hadn’t seen before. You’d gotten through three of the five pages and it was already two in the morning.

Guilt flooded him when he realized that you’d been having to do this for at least month. 

If he hadn’t understood your anger towards him before, he certainly did now.

“Y/N…” he began, not surprised when you sniffed and made to get more paper for your next batch of death letters as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s late, you should rest.”

Silence as you secured another sheet of paper in place and centered it.

Ron waited a few more seconds before he took another step closer to you, hand hovering over your shoulder hesitantly.

I owe my mother a few apologies if this is how she was ever made to feel with my father.

When he placed his hand on your shoulder you immediately stiffened, fingers freezing where they rested over the keys like you’d turned to stone.

He’d expected as much, yet it still stung.

Ron says your name again, more softly than he thinks he’s ever spoken to another person in his life.

“You need to rest—”

“Are you issuing an order, Lieutenant?” Your voice was sulfa powder on an open wound- searing and sharp. 

Your head has turned minutely in the direction of his hand on your shoulder, and if a glare could cause burns he’s sure his hand would’ve been ash by now.

He shakes his head. “No, no I’m not.”

You seem to nod in acknowledgment, only stopping when his thumb kneads into one of the tight knots along your trapezius. Ron sees your jaw tighten again, but he doesn’t take his hand away.

Surprisingly, you’re allowing it to linger where it is as well.

“Good, Sink’s commands outrank yours anyway. Besides, it’s not as if I have to be anywhere in the morning. You made sure of that—”

You cut yourself off when Ron steps up beside you and crouches down, eyes trained forward so all he can see if your profile. 

“Please,” he whispers, moving his hand from your shoulder in favor of taking one of yours in between his calloused palms.

With an awful surge of hope, he decides to put it all out there, knowing just how easily you could reject him and leave him alone again.

Maybe I don't want to be alone, not like I used to.

“I thought you were dead, Y/n.”

You sigh ruefully at that, closing your eyes with a grimace.

“Hey, look at me—”

For the longest time you don’t, but just when he thinks you’ve shut him out again you let your eyes open and allow your doubtful glaze to fall on him.

You may as well have embraced him, considering the overwhelming relief he felt as he looked into your eyes.

“It, it was….I shouldn’t have spoken to you as I did—”

“You didn’t speak to me at all.” You nearly hiss, the deep breath you took the only display of just how furious you were beneath the surface of civility. Ron’s chest tightened uncomfortably when he caught your lip quiver, yet when he made as if to comfort you, you gave him a look that shut him right up.

You weren’t finished yet.

“You were out of line, Speirs. You had no right to speak to me like that—”

“I know...”

“You fucking humiliated me! In front of Winters, Moose, and Sink- not to mention every single goddamned man in that tent—”

‘I know—”

“What in the fuck were you thinking? Do you have any idea how hard it’s been getting them to see me as anything other than something to fuck or mock? Years, Ronald! All gone like that—!”

You cut yourself off again when you start to cry, biting the inside of your cheek in an attempt to regain composure.

You were right, he hadn’t been thinking about that at all. 

He’d never thought much about the immature comments he’d overheard from the NCOs and replacements, never considered that any of those childish innuendos had ever been said to you directly.

“I didn’t intend to…..when you got shot I wasn't able to do anything—”

You furrowed your brows at him and made a face. “I didn’t need you to do anything. I’m not even in your company.”

He feels as if he’s about to lose you again. The idea makes his throat feel uncomfortably tight and his blood is beginning to run cold.

Make it right. I have to make this right….

“I know you don’t need me to take care of you,” he says quietly, looking down at your hand in his and bringing it to his lips so he’s speaking against the curve of your knuckles. “But I think I need to do it for me.”

When he looks back at you he sees that your eyes are wide, one or two of your tears have spilled over and down your cheek.

“Jesus, I’m….Ron—” you begin, but stop when he shakes his head minutely.

“You know.” He interrupts. “I know you’ve got to know by now….”

Of course you know. You’re one of the smartest people he’s ever met. If anyone could read his true intentions through his blunt demeanor, it would be you.

But he’s glad that you don’t ask him to elaborate further. You seem just as content as he does to leave it unnamed.

You roll your lips together a few more times before taking a shaky breath. 

“That doesn’t mean you get to treat me like that.”

He hums in acknowledgment. “You’re right. It doesn’t. Forgive me.”

You open your mouth to reply, but a yawn catches you unaware and Ron can’t help but smile slightly at the simplicity of the action. 

When you raise your left arm to hide your yawn into your elbow you hiss in pain, and instantly Ron is anxious again.

“You okay?” He asks, and you nod despite your grimace.

“Yeah, yeah. I just forget sometimes.”

When you lower your arm he watches as you take a deep breath and turn back to your work.

“I’ll do them.”

You whip your head to look at him, another yawn interrupting your questioning gaze.

“What? No, don't be silly. I’m almost done….”

Something in the look he gives you shuts you up, and when he gives your hand a squeeze you seem to sigh in defeat.

“You’re not going to leave me alone until I go to bed, are you?”

He gives you a smirk. “Good guess.”

Standing up from his crouch he gently coaxed you into a standing position, nodding his head away from the desk and towards the darker corner of the room where your makeshift bed is set up. 

You give him a tight smile. “Gotta rebandage the arm first….oh-kay then.”

The rolled gauze is barely out of your pocket before Ron takes it from your hand, pointedly looking down at your covered arm.

“Ron...you really don’t have to—”

“I know that, but I want to anyway.”

And because you’re infinitely more forgiving than any mortal being could ever hope to be- more forgiving than a beast like him deserved, you let him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~  

Sitting beside you on the floor, Ron was careful when unwrapping your old bandage, trying as hard as he could to keep his touch light.

The injury was red and bruised and angry but it was healing- just as the medic had promised. You’d have a scar, but you didn’t seem to mind that possibility.

You said his name quietly, and he realized he’d been staring.

When his thumbs ghost around the curve of your bicep you shiver, and when Ron looks back at your face he sees a light blush dusting your cheeks.

“I’m fine,” you say, exhaustion apparent in your voice now. “Stop looking at me like that—”

“Like what?” he says with a small smile, setting the clean bandage over your wound and feeling a pleasant tightness in his chest when you snorted a laugh.

“Like... like you’re a disappointed babysitter.”

Ron laughed at that, shooting you a look before starting to wrap the strips of gauze around your upper arm.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence as he tended to your arm, and every so often you offered him your cigarette to take a drag from.

Things still felt somewhat precarious between the two of you, yet Ron also felt that something more significant had been established in the dingy office you’d been assigned to stay in.

In the morning, Ron would approach Sink and Winters and see if he could get you back from battalion HQ. Not as a man who cared for you, but as a soldier who’d made a mistake and grievously misjudged another soldier’s character.

Anything to ensure you didn’t have to sit in this room another day and write to the families of dead soldiers.

When he’d finished bandaging your arm, you gave him permission to help you maneuver it back into the sleeve of your sweater. He felt your eyes on him the whole time and he swore he’d never known a feeling so sweet.

Your eyes are heavy with slumber already, but you still try once more to discourage him from finishing your paperwork.

“I can do it in an hour or two, just a quick nap—”

“If you were this reluctant to sleep as a child, I’m starting to get why so many of your babysitters were ‘disappointed.’”

Ron lifts up the pile of blankets you’d reluctantly allowed him to find for you, and despite your protests, you scoot yourself underneath them and fold your arms across your chest like a petulant teenager as he tucks them around you.

“Children tend to mirror the behavior of those in positions of authority,” you say offhanded, almost sounding like you were directly quoting from some textbook on child psychology. “Maybe one should look within themselves and explore what unfavorable quality they may be projecting upon the blank canvas of youth….”

You laugh at the furrowed confusion on his face.

“You must be a poetic drunk.” Ron offers, and from the grin on your face he knows he’s on to something. “Go to sleep, before you start reciting Shakespeare or something—”

“Twelfth Night or Romeo and Juliet?”

“Y/N.”

Ron’s fingertips brushing across your cheek instantly quiets you, your eyes trained on his face as he allowed himself to openly admire you for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and you nod.

“I know you are.” 

When he sees the obvious haze of sleep start to curl around your gaze, Ron knows he needs to let you rest.

“Wake me up in an hour?” you ask, something in your tone of voice seeming to acknowledge the slim chance of him agreeing to your request.

“Maybe. Sleep.”

With a half-hearted glare, you mumble something equivalent to ‘yeah yeah, okay’ and turn your head away from him and close your eyes.

Ron stays where he is, stroking at your hairline in the same calming way his mother used to do for him when he’d had a bad dream as a child.

If his mom were here now, he imagined she’d be proud of him.

Maybe he wasn’t fated to be distant and cold and cruel like his father.

For the first time in his life, Ron let himself begin to dream of life after all of this.

The only thing he knew for sure?

He’d do anything- everything in his power, to make sure you were a part of it.

~ ~ ~ ~ TAG LIST TAG LIST!

@mrseasycompany​, @itswormtrain​

(Love you guys! hasta la pasta, my dudes!)

[kai5621]

Deja vu [Heisenberg x OC]

Warning: age gap, slow burn, platonic to romantic relationship. Grammer issues (english is my first language criiii) . Child abuse, family abuse, death (not major character ). Eventual smut (maybe?）

Note: OK !!!! SO after drawing a bunch of RE8 OCs I finally could resist my self writing my own story about it. Cuz damm Heisenberg stole all my heart and I have no complains about it.

This is my first time writing a fanfic, so I will try my best !! And lastly-----

HEISENBERG DESERVES SOOO MUCH MROE LOVE.  

And here’s a little potrait thet I drew for the oc (as for why I didn’t draw heisenberg as well, is bcuz im shit at drawing males ┭┮﹏┭┮)

1.

The first time Heisenberg met Erin, she was only eight, can barely reach his waist and always be smiling everyday, like an every single child would at her age. She came to this shitty village with her dad, which claims to be her only family member. They are obviously foreigners to the villagers, as no one remembered there’s anyone in this place would have a such strong British accent, therefore they must be new.

Their family history has remained a mystery to most of them, oddly enough, only a few people who are about eighty or ninety years old do recall their family name, and were quite surprised to see that Erin’s father is back here again. Although every single one of them would shoot him with fierce glances that are not so friendly, even towards Erin. Except for Luiza, but even though her kindness was mainly for the poor little girl.

“I don’t understand, Charles. If you decided to leave this place before with such determination, why bother came back?” She asked her father sternly, while watching Erin just quietly standing behind him. She was thin, with a long, dark raven hair tied into a loose pony tail. But she does look endearing, those big, innocent watery eyes could gain everyone’s sympathy.

“That’s none of your business, and why does it even matter to you?” He seemed annoyed when answering this question, he roughly grabbed Erin’s wrist, without looking any of the people here, he just simply left, leaving others remain in silent confusion. Some younger villagers did ask Luiza about Erin’s origin, but all the time she just shooked her head, signed heavily.

 “May mother Miranda bless that little girl. She does not deserve such man as her father.....”  

Of course, Heisenberg would never missed such local news from the village. He did pay a visit to the new “guests” before informing Miranda and his siblings. The appearance of new faces surely hooked his curiosity quite high, but to be honest, he doesn’t even understand why he was that excited, as surely they would probably just end like the locals here, worshiping Miranda like she’s an actual god, and then would went missing mysteriously but eventually end up on her cold, metal operating table, with chest being cut open, blood splatters all around the body, while the Cadou parasite just devouring the remains.

Didn’t someone mentioned the family also has a daughter? Ah, then perhaps that lucky little thing would go to his sister’s castle and can becomes one of the “maid”. Just another victim, Heisenberg thought to himself, he could not hide his grin back. Holding his hammer at the back of his shoulder, he walked quickly to that infamous cottage where the new family is settled, a few quite whispers can be heard during his journey, the villagers were all surprised to see the presence of the metal lord, and naturally inquiring behind his journey.

Just like before, Heisenberg ignored all of them,

When he finally reached the shabby wooden door, of the cottage, he didn’t even bother knocking, just pushed the door wide open violently, using his ridiculous strength meanwhile announcing his arrival.      

“Well, well, there’s been news all around the village about the new family, and I thought I could a pay a little visit, to get to know the new members! You are welcome, by the way......”

 But when all he saw was a little girl standing by the dinning table, looking confused and stunned at him, his smug smile disappeared quickly, and even the eyes behind his dark specs were filled with momentary surprise.

“Uh, sir?” She asked quietly, putting the tray of cookies down on the table in a panic.

“Are you.... my father’s guest? I’m really sorry, he will be a away for a quite long time, and I’m not sure if.....”

 He stood there for a moment, and then realized that she must be the daughter, although she’s much much younger than he anticipated. He cut her off before she finished the sentence : “Huh, so you don’t know who I am ?”

 She looked so lost, after blinked her eyes a few times, she nervously said : “Sorry sir, I’m afraid I don’t.”

 Heisenberg was never good with children, never, he didn’t really know what to do, after all he wasn’t expecting to meet a child who probably doesn’t even know what a dick is. So, they just stood where they were before, and staring at each other awkwardly in silence, to a point that even the little girl started to feel uncomfortable. She looked around quickly, trying to find something that could resolve this situation, then her eyes fixed on the tray of cookies on the table.

“Um, maybe...do you want to have a cookie, sir?”

The man with the hammer went speechless, he coughed a few times, put his hammer down next to the door frame, and blankly replied back with a tiny bit of fluster.

“Alright then. ”

   2.

It was fucking ridiculous.

Heisenberg would never imagined himself sitting in a old cottage, eating chocolate cookies and drinking teas like a normal human, while chatting with an eight years old girl.

Yes, he’s never good with kids, why would he? Being brought by a psycho bitch means he shouldn’t have any sympathy towards anything, everyone in this village had a good taste about his temper before, even his “Lord” title makes it too intimidate for anyone to have any contact with him. Thus, he never had a decent conversation with anyone else besides his cursed family. Frankly speaking, they were not really conversations, more like endless quarrels.    

He had a quick look around in the room, when Erin went to the kitchen to make tea. This place is shabby, there’s no doubt about it. No painting, no decorations, only an old wool blanket laying down on the floor of the living room. He could see a few photo frames on the bookshelf, cover by dusts. He tried to have to closer look, but all he could see was three people standing together, presumably a family photo that was taken a long time ago.

“Here’s your tea, sir. And there’s milk and sugar.” She was holding a big tray, walking carefully towards table and almost got tripped by the chair. Heisenberg almost chuckled at her clumsy yet cute actions, but he remained silent, and finished his ninth cookie.

“Well, thanks, little one.” He said simply, then started to sip his tea. He saw Erin was standing next to the table like a lost little lamb, he can’t help but chuckled a bit, gesturing her towards the seat across him.

“ Oh come on, no need to be so frightened! I won’t eat ya.”

She was a bit hesitate at first, but eventually took his offer, sit across the table facing him. Although the teapot blocked half of her face.

“So....” Heisenberg started again, with his smug smile back on his face: “You are new here aren’t you, with your family.”

“Yes. Me and my father came a week ago, from England. But he used to live here, at least that’s what I know. ”

That made his curiosity even higher. An outsider, that originally lived here, how interesting, and how did they even escaped this twisted place.

“Where’s your father now?”

This question let her seemed a bit troubled, she shooked her head, looking disappointed : “I don’t know, sir. He said he’s busy, and that’s it.”

His grin became wider:  “And didn’t your daddy tell you, that do not let strangers come into your house while you are alone?”

To his surprise, she did not seem scared, but instead she tilted her head as she was a bit confused, and answered him back politely.

“But I didn’t let you in, sir. You just opened the door and, broke in........”    

 Heisenberg burst into laughter right after he heard this answer, it was really loud, even the teapot and the cups on the table started to shake a bit, but thankfully Erin didn’t notice, she was completely stunned by his reaction and didn’t know what to do. She thought she probably offend him by saying that. But the truth is, Heisenberg is not mad at all, this child’s unintentional boldness is exactly what he likes.  

“ Oh yes! I did break into your house, and aren’t you scared?”

“Should I be scared?” She calmly asked him back, filling his cup again with more tea. “I was tho, but you seem like a nice guy. At least I don’t think a bad person would eat my cookies and having tea with me. If you want harm me you would've done this way earlier.”

He could have so much fun with this kid, Heisenberg though to himself. An outsider was rare enough on its own, no praying, no worshiping, and he won’t hear all those “Miranda bless us” shit. Although, it’s quite ironic that his first decent conservation in 20 was held with a freaking child.

But he’s not complaining. He finished his tea, looking around the room for the last time then shoot his glance back on her. He stood up, ignoring the girl’s skeptical look, Heisenberg chuckled a bit.

 With that, he simply waved his hand, and left the house.

“Well, thank you for your service little one, I’m afraid I must got now. But I’m sure we will meet again soon.”

 He grabbed his hammer by the door frame, opened the door in a swift motion.

“And send my greetings to your father, will you, little one?”

[jaskierswolf]

The Grass is Greener pt.2/3

CW: Still shitty parents being shitty.

Previous

Jaskier was pacing around the living room. If the carpet was any good he probably would have been wearing a hole in it, as it was the carpet was coarse and worn down already. He was practicing his guitar fingering on his thighs, a nervous habit he’d picked up years ago and had never managed to shake.

Geralt, lovely, gorgeous, ever patient, Geralt was sitting on the sofa with Ciri babbling away in his arms, watching Jaskier have a little bit of a breakdown.

“What’s the time?” Jaskier asked for the thousandth time.

“Approximately three minutes after the last time you asked.” Geralt chuckled and bounced Ciri on his knee.

Jaskier turned to glare at his new pretend boyfriend, and maybe hopefully future real boyfriend. Well, he meant to glare. What actually happened was that he got lost in Geralt’s stunning amber eyes that were looking at him with such affection and amusement…

It was going to be hard to forget that they weren’t actually dating if Geralt kept looking at him like that, but Jaskier reminded himself that Geralt was just getting into character already. Jaskier supposed he should do the same.

“How long have we got?” He asked.

“She’s due at four?”

Jaskier nodded and chewed on his lip.

“About twenty minutes.” Geralt grunted. “Sit down, Jaskier.”

Geralt’s voice left no room for argument so he did. He plopped himself down cross-legged on the carpet where he was standing.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “On the sofa.”

Jaskier blushed. “Right, yes. Of course.” He scrambled up to join Geralt on the sofa, keeping a safe distance away from him.

He didn’t want to assume anything just because they were fake dating.

Geralt hummed. “I don’t bite.”

“Pity.” Jaskier heard himself saying before he could stop himself. “I didn’t mean that!” He buried his head in his hands.

Geralt just laughed. “I don’t bite unless you ask nicely.”

Jaskier wanted to die.

He was pretty sure this was how he was going to die.

He groaned and hide behind a pillow. “Geralt!”

“What? You’re my boyfriend. I’m allowed to say things like that.”

Jaskier’s heart felt like it was going to explode. “Geralt!” He whined.

“You started it.” Geralt reminded him.

“Yeah well, I didn’t mean to.” He snapped. “Oh god, how are we going to convince my mother this is real?”

Geralt hummed. “Hold Ciri?”

“What?” Jaskier stared at his new friend, and yes they were using friend now. Only a friend would agree to this nonsense.

“When your mother arrives.” Geralt added. “And you’ll probably have to kiss me.”

Jaskier’s brain drifted as he pictured that. He had imagined kissing Geralt far too often and now the man was sitting in his house, on his sofa, and talking so frankly about them kissing as if it were the normal thing to do. God he wished it were their normal.

“We should practise!” He blurted out.

Geralt scoffed. “Practise?”

“Yes! It makes sense!” He grinned at Geralt and waved his hands at Ciri. “Go put her in her cot or something.”

“Shouldn’t we work on a backstory?” Geralt asked not moving.

“We’ve been dating for six months. You asked me out when you gave me a lift to work that time and we went to an open mic night for our first date. At the end of the night you kissed me and I’ve been in love with you ever since.” Jaskier explained hurriedly. “Now kiss me!”

Geralt still didn’t move. He stared at Jaskier with narrow eyes, his gaze so intense that Jaskier felt like all the air was being sucked out of the room. He licked his lips and tilted his head at Geralt. “What?”

“You’ve thought about it.” Geralt stated.

Fuck.

He supposed he had come up with that rather quickly. Luckily he was used to making up shit for his songs and poems.

“Geralt,” He sighed and patted the mechanic on the shoulder that Ciri wasn’t resting on. “I’m an artist! Stories are my trade, I simply just muddled the truth around. Easy as pie!”

Geralt hummed and stood up.

Jaskier leaned to watch Geralt as he moved over to Ciri’s cot, Jaskier’s mouth suddenly felt dry and he was fairly certain he was about to have a heart attack. “Geralt? Where are you going?”

Geralt didn’t answer. Instead he gently put Ciri down in the travel cot that he’d brought over. She squealed a little as he attached the rattle toys on the bar across her lap but settled down quickly.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked again, more quietly this time as Geralt stalked back across the room, never taking his eyes away from Jaskier.

Jaskier’s heart was racing, he was almost sure that Geralt must be able to hear it. He could feel it in his chest, right down to the tips of his fingers. His tongue flicked out between his lips in anticipation and he smirked when he noticed Geralt’s gaze drop down to his lips. God, this was actually going to happen. Geralt was going to kiss him. He shuffled forward so he was on the edge of his seat. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the air crackle between them and Geralt leant down to kiss him.

Jaskier kissed back with as much passion as he could muster. This may just be the only chance he would have to kiss Geralt and he was not going to waste a single second. He gripped onto Geralt’s t-shirt, hoping to prolong the moment for as long as he possibly could.The kiss deepened, Jaskier parting his lips instinctively to let Geralt’s tongue explore his mouth. Geralt tasted like sweet coffee and there was a small part of Jaskier’s mind that panicked. Should he have brushed his teeth first? or had a mint, that was what people did he films right?

But Geralt’s hands were in his hair and all doubts left him. Their noses bumped slightly as Geralt moved closer to him. Jaskier couldn’t help the moan that escape his lips. Geralt pulled away with one last bite to Jaskier’s lower lip that made him feel weak at the knees.

“Practice enough for you?” Geralt smirked as he brushed his thumb along Jaskier’s cheek.

Jaskier was breathless, not to mention speechless. He nodded, blinking up at Geralt and wondering what the fuck had happened to his life?

This was probably all some ridiculously realistic dream, right?

Geralt rolled his eyes and went back over to pick Ciri up.

Jaskier shamelessly let his gaze drop to watch Geralt’s arse as he walked away, like the man had said they were boyfriends now, he was allowed to do that.

He swallowed as the power of speech came flying back to him. “Well, I think that went rather well, don’t you think?” He raised an eyebrow at Geralt and flashed what he hoped was his most charming smile. Geralt hummed, which Jaskier took for agreement. “At least we don’t have to worry about chemistry.” He mused.

Geralt didn’t reply. He just handed Ciri to Jaskier. Jaskier squeaked but took the baby in his arms. She was still babbling away and reached out to Geralt with tiny little hands. Jaskier peered down at the tiny human and chewed his lip. God, she was so fragile, so tiny. She watched the world around her with an intelligence in her eyes that surprised him. He’d not spent much time around children before, he’d just assumed babies were just, well, a bit useless? And it had been a few weeks since he’d seen Ciri, she hadn’t been nearly as alert before.

She had more personality now. She clearly loved her father and she was not best pleased to be dumped in Jaskier’s arms and started to whine, not quite a cry but definitely not happy baby noises. Jaskier cooed at her and caught her little fingers in his hands. She gripped onto his finger and stared up at him with the most adorable pout.

“She’s amazing.” He whispered as he stared back.

Geralt hummed. He was watching them both with a peculiar expression.

“Yeah.” He grunted.

Jaskier laughed. How was it that the man could go from unbearably charming one moment to completely ineloquent the next? And why did Jaskier find it so endearing?

He opened his mouth to say something but he was cut off by the door bell ringing.

“Oh shit!”

He ran to the door, balancing Ciri awkwardly in his arms. “Geralt can you make sure there’s wine in the fridge?” He called back as he reached the door.

“What kind?”

“Any!” He groaned and then plastered a faker-than-his-boyfriend smile on his face. “Mother!” He greeted the woman the door.

She scowled at him, then at baby Ciri, which was just rude, and swept into the house like the hurricane that she was. “Julian, why are you holding a baby? Babysitting, I assume. I always knew that you weren’t cut out to be a musician.”

“Mother!” He pouted. “This is Ciri. I’m not babysitting, actually there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

“Oh Julian, you didn’t get a poor girl pregnant? I assume you asked her to marry you. Where is she?” She asked sharply and Jaskier was approximately ten seconds away from matricide when Geralt came out of the kitchen.

His long hair was still tied up in a bun, but now he had a tea towel draped over his shoulder and he looked suspiciously like he’d been doing washing up… but Jaskier was certain he’d finished all of that before they’d started on the garden. Still it all felt so domestic all of a sudden, like Geralt was meant to be in his house, in his life, doing the washing up to help clear up before meeting his mother.

He smiled soppily at his not boyfriend and then turned back to his mother feeling a lot more chipper than he had before.

He really just needed to focus on not getting his heart broken. He was pretty certain that it was already too late for that.

God, Geralt was just so handsome and now he was kind as well. It was quite frankly, not fair!

“Mrs Pankratz?” Geralt asked with a half smile.

Wait. Since when did Geralt know his surname? When had he told him that? God it must have been when they moved into the house over a year ago!

His mother looked stunned and nodded. “And you are?”

“Geralt Rivia. Jaskier’s boyfriend.” Geralt reached out to shake her hand.

Ciri squealed in Jaskier’s arm. “Oh hey now, buttercup. It’s just my mother.” He cooed. “Did you want to go back to your dad?”

Ciri cried again and gripped onto his shirt.

“Alrighty, not just yet then.” He laughed and grinned up at Geralt.

Geralt walked over, gently stroked the fine blonde hair on Ciri’s hair and then kissed Jaskier’s cheek. His heart flipped in his chest and he leant into Geralt’s side. “Geralt.” He whined with a pout and buried his face against Geralt’s shoulder. “Not in front of my mother.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t have a boyfriend.” His mother peered at him with sharp blue eyes that were so similar to his yet full of ice and steel.

Geralt growled. “Clearly, he does.”

“Julian would never keep it from me.” His mother’s voice had risen to a shrill squeak and Ciri began to cry.

Jaskier panicked and began to sing, rocking the girl in his arms. Ciri’s cries settled into more of a distressed whine but it was a start.

“And yet, here I am.” Geralt stared down at his mother with a fierce expression. “I wondered why he didn’t want me to meet you. It’s starting to become clear.”

“Ah Geralt, let’s not cause a fuss.” Jaskier hummed. “Dinner! I was thinking we could order in. I know you’ve never really liked my cooking, Mother.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t make an effort for your mother.” She spat back and stalked out the room, probably to go and inspect the rest of the house.

Geralt stared at the door after her with a thunderous expression. “What the fuck, Jaskier?”

“Geralt Rivia. Meet my mother!” He announced with a wave of one arm, he was getting the hang of this carrying a baby lark.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier nodded with a sigh, bouncing Ciri in his arms and she started to giggle again. “She’s my mother.”

Geralt scowled. “You were going to do this alone?”

Jaskier nodded. “I didn’t think I had a choice, but I’m glad you’re here. You didn’t have to do this, any of this. We barely know each other.”

Geralt’s scowl was now ever-present. “I wanted to. You’re… a good neighbour.”

Jaskier sighed.

A good neighbour. Not even a friend.

He’d promised Geralt he wouldn’t fall in love with him, which he guessed he wasn’t technically breaking seeing as he’d sort of maybe been in love with him for months already.

“Come on then.” He took Geralt’s hand as if they were the partners that they were pretending to be. “Let’s go charm my mother.”

Geralt grunted, clearly not convinced. Jaskier just laughed.

“This was your idea, Geralt. No backsies!”

“Fuck.”

_____

Next

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

And This Is How It Starts | Susan Pevensie x Reader Soulmate AU

Warnings: Slight homophobia, shitty friends???

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: Everything your soulmate loses, you receive. Turns out, Y/N’s soulmate is very forgetful. 

Request: helloo. can you write a sapphic susan fic please! take it whatever way you'd like :)

A/N: I’m not sure how many people read Susan fics, but I really like this one :D

masterlist | narnia playlist | read on ao3

“Gross, can you guys please cut it out?” Y/N stated, watching her best friend suck faces with her soulmate. She was on his lap and their make out session was starting to grow more intense than Y/N was comfortable with. Hannah pulls away from Alex with an exaggerated groan. 

“You’re just jealous you’re still stuck in the ‘lose it and receive it’ phase. Not my fault you haven’t found him yet.” Her voice was light and teasing, but Y/N couldn’t help but fell her heart rip. 

“I’ll find her eventually,” Y/N sighed, taking a book out of her schoolbag. It was a small, very beat-up copy of The Hunger Games. 

“Her?” Alex responded, tearing his gaze from Hannah’s face. “How do you know it’s a her?” 

Y/N opened the book delicately to reveal “Susan Pevensie” written in perfect cursive on the back of the front cover. The book had multiple stains on it, most likely tea judging by the color, and the same perfect cursive riddled the pages. Whoever Susan was, she adored this book with her life. Y/N’s fingertips lightly traced the writing before turning the book for her friends to see. Hannah scrunches her face at it. 

“It could be his friends, you know. Like she lent it to him and he lost it,” Alex kisses Hannah’s cheek. 

“Or this Susan girl is his girlfriend,” Hannah smirks.

“Or,” Y/N was growing frustrated. Whenever she hinted that her soulmate might be a girl, everyone dismissed her suspicions. “My soulmate is Susan Pevensie and she keeps losing her things. And besides, this book is really loved, she wouldn’t just give it to someone.” 

Hannah scoffed, tossing her hair in a very I know everything, and you don’t kind of way. “Fine, believe what you want. Not sure why you would want a girl soulmate anyway, I know I wouldn’t.” 

“Well, yeah, of course you don’t. You’re straight,” Y/N flipped to a random page and read the gorgeous handwriting that was scrawled in the margins. Her mouth twitched slightly at how perfect the script was. 

“What? And you aren’t?” 

“No, I’m not.” Y/N’s eyes didn’t move from the page as she spoke. The teens sat in silence. “Is there a problem?” 

“No! No, of course not,” Alex answered quickly. ‘I guess we just, uh, didn’t expect it… I guess.” 

“Well, surprise. Now that that’s out of the way, do you guys like The Hunger Games?” 

The two grew even more uncomfortable at the sudden tension they were feeling. “No, not necessarily.” 

“She seems to. A lot. And there’s a cute little strawberry bookmark on page 47,” Y/N sighed dreamily picturing what Susan must look like. Based on her cursive alone, she must be absolutely jaw-dropping. 

“Has, er, Susan lost anything else recently?” Alex asked. Y/N nodded excitedly, digging in her bag again. She pulled out a set of keys with a feather pendant keychain, a light pink lipstick, a glass water bottle, and a small fabric coin purse. Y/N grinned down at the items then looked back towards her friends. 

“Oh, she must be quite forgetful. Do you have any other stuff?” Y/N’s grin brightened even more. 

“Oh, loads, this is just what she’s lost within the past week,” The keys jingled as she moved her hands. “The keys must’ve really ruined her day. I wonder what they’re to.” 

“Hopefully somewhere in England. Where’s the money from?” Hannah gestured to the yellow coin purse. Y/N shrugged and tossed it towards her friends. It was rather small, barely the size of Y/N’s palm, and it had a gorgeous diamond quilt pattern. 

“No clue. I haven’t opened it if I’m being quite honest.” Alex’s noble fingers undid the clasp and looked inside. 

“Well, it’s definitely British currency, which is helpful.” He tipped the pouch and emptied the contents into his hand. As expected, a variety of different coins came toppling out, along with a folded piece of paper and various pins. “Can I have this?” 

“No, you cannot have my soulmate’s belongings. Give me that,” Y/N grabs ahold of all the bag and its contents. With her hand cupped like a funnel, the pins and money fall smoothly into the coin purse. Y/N discards the pouch into her bag and begins to unfold the paper. 

She had expected the paper to be riddled with text, like a to-do list or a small reminder. Instead, it appeared to be a little photograph of a family. The paper itself seemed to be fragile as if it had been handled a lot or had gotten wet, so Y/N handled the photo with care. 

The scene depicted the smallest of the group, a little girl, giggling up at the oldest as the other two looked on with large smiles. Y/N turned the photo to look at the back, just in case any date was included with the photo. In the same gorgeous script as the book, Lucy laughing at Peter because Ed insulted him “in the name of justice.” June 15  was written in black ink. Y/N turned the picture over frantically and scanned the faces of the family. 

Susan was absolutely beautiful; her dark brown hair was styled in effortless waves and her lips were painted with a cherry red color. Her eyes were wrinkled in the corners, due to her contagious smile, and she looked like she was filled to the brim with happiness. Y/N had never seen such gorgeous baby blue eyes. 

The poor girl was speechless, her mind running a mile a second and vision focusing on only Susan’s portrait. 

“She’s gorgeous,” Y/N murmured breathlessly. 

“Who is?” 

Y/N looked up at her friends, turning the photo to show them. 

“Susan, my soulmate.” 

~ 

Susan read over the essay that sat in her lap, taking in every detail of the writing. It wasn’t hers, but it was her soulmate’s misplaced homework. The topic wasn’t overly exciting, an analysis of a book Susan hasn’t read, but just the way her soulmate wrote captivated her. Y/N L/N, which was the name written on the top of the paper, had such a poetic way of writing. It was as if she was telling Susan a story, rather than writing about an 18th century novel. 

“Reading the essay again, are we?” Peter snickered from next to her. Susan would have hit him with the paper, but she didn’t want to risk damaging it. 

“Yes, what’s the problem with that?” 

“Nothing, Su, I just don’t think rereading missing homework is going to bring Y/N any closer to you. It’s over a year old.” Peter had found his soulmate when he was young, so he didn’t quite understand his siblings’ desire to find their other halves so quickly. 

“Not physically, but I already know a lot about her from this one paper. I know her handwriting, how she talks, the way she feels about some things…” 

“Yeah, how she feels about classic literature. Not exactly groundbreaking.” Peter sunk deeper into the couch cushion in an attempt to get comfortable. 

“Maybe not to you, but to me it is. You don’t have to be such a happiness drain, you know.” Susan was growing more frustrated by the minute. She didn’t want her older brother to snatch the paper away from her, so she gently creased it and placed it into her notebook. 

“I’m just taking the piss.” 

“Well, it’s not funny. And shouldn’t you be doing your wash? We leave for school tomorrow.” Susan stood up, lifting her bag off of the floor and onto her shoulder. 

“Yes, alright mother.” 

~

“Y/N! Are you coming?” Hannah hollered over her shoulder. She was walking towards the train station with a large group of her friends. Y/N waved her off. 

“I’ll meet you there! Save me a seat, yeah?” Hannah shrugged her off and continued the conversion she was more invested in. 

Y/N sighed, watching their backs disappear into the distance. She never quite liked the group Hannah was friends with, so them leaving her out never quite bothered her. Especially when she could get sandwiches for the train ride. 

The teen was waiting at a crosswalk when she spotted her. Susan was stood at the newspaper stand outside of the corner store Y/N was going to. She looked stunning as she flipped idly through a Vogue magazine. The sun shone across her hair and Y/N thought she looked similar to an angel. 

When the light turned green, Y/N scurried across the street in order to meet her love. However, she paused a few paces away to steady her breathing. 

“Excuse me, are you Susan Pevensie?” Y/N spoke, voice shaking. Susan turned around, utterly confused. Y/N was right in her assumption; Susan was in fact an angel. An angel that looked even more heavenly in person. 

“Yes, and may I ask who you are? And how you know my name?” 

“Oh, right, um I’m Y/N L/N. I’m not sure if you know who-” Susan’s eyes widened and she couldn’t help but cut Y/N off. 

“You’re my soulmate.” Her red lips were slightly agape as she took in Y/N’s appearance. “Excuse my bluntness, but you’re even prettier than I imagined.” 

Y/N’s cheeks grew hot and her fingers fumbled with the buckles on her bag. She was much more nervous than she had hoped, but Y/N couldn’t help it. Once the bag was open, she gripped Susan’s possessions and held them out. 

“You need to keep better track of your things, love.” Susan’s perfectly manicured fingers brushed Y/N’s as she took back her book and keys. Y/N’s legs felt like jelly. 

“How could you possibly know what I looked like?” 

“You lost a picture of your family. Well, I suppose a coin purse with a picture folded inside. Still, a picture was lost and I saw it.” Y/N rambled, making Susan giggle. “I’ve been looking for you for ages,” 

“And I you, darling.” Susan placed her belongings into her bag and embraced Y/N. Y/N didn’t quite know what to do; Susan smelt of rose petals and honey and her hair was so soft as it brushed against Y/N’s cheek. All the same, Y/N wrapped her arms loosely around Susan’s waist. 

“Am I allowed to kiss you?” She whispered into Y/N’s ear. Y/N could have fainted on the spot, but she squeaked out a small yes. 

Susan kept her arms wrapped around Y/N’s neck as she kissed her gently. Y/N’s thumbs danced across the floral patterned fabric that covered her hips as she kissed back. It was light and fleeting, but it still made Y/N feel like she was going to burst. The pair pulled away and looked into each other’s eyes. Susan’s were even bluer in person. 

“Can I buy you a sandwich?” Y/N croaked, cutting the tension. Susan giggled happily. 

“As long as you let me cover the dessert.” 

[holylulusworld]

The right guy

Summary: Dean is more than a rebound guy to you and his brother doesn’t like it a bit.

Pairing: AU!Dean x Reader, former AU!Sam x Reader, Sam x Jess (mentioned)

Warnings: angst, language, arguments, jealous Sam, OOC Sam

A/N: Sequel to Rebound Guy

 Six months later…

Jessica Moore, daughter of Mr. Marcus Moore and Karen Moore,

 and Sam Campbell, son of Mrs. Mary Cambell,

 request the honor of your presence

 at their wedding

 on the twenty-eighth of May, two thousand twenty

 at two o'clock in the afternoon

 Regency Hallway Ballroom

 Lebanon, Kansas

 Dinner & dancing to follow

 Black tie & robe required

Dean has to reread the invitation he got to his brothers wedding thrice to be sure Sam didn’t even name his father. While he sulks silently, ready to rip the invitation into tiny pieces you snuggle closer to him.

“What killed your mood, Baby?” Leaning your head against Dean’s shoulder you glance at the envelope in his hands. You recognize the handwriting – it’s Sam’s. “Sam…huh?”

“He didn’t call or talk to me for over two months again and now he sends me an invitation to his freaking wedding. See, he didn’t even name our father.” Dean sniffles, as you crawl onto his lap to cup his face. “I know dad and Sammy, they had bad blood but this…this is…”

“Sam should be ashamed, Dean. This has nothing to do with arguments or living the life you want. Naming only his mother is…”

Nodding Dean tosses the invitation onto the table to place his hands at small of your back. “Your father found his mother's murderer if anything this is worth to be named.”

“I know…” Dean sighs deeply, not understand how Sam could be that cold-hearted to not name John.

He knows that his father was far from being good at parenting but Sam became the man he is thanks to his father. “We should do something else than attending a wedding we are not wanted at…”

“Dean, he sent you an invitation…” You try to find a way to survive Sam’s wedding and to not let Dean down. “I…I hate to attend this wedding too, Dean. Sam, he made me feel like I am not good enough.”

“You’re not the one who fucked up, Y/N. It was Sam’s fault and I must admit.” Pecking your lips Dean grins up at you. “I love he lost you ‘cause it’s my win…”

“Can I be honest, Dean?” Humming Dean runs his hands up and down your back. “I loved Sam, but he gave me the feeling I have to fake things sometimes.”

“Orgasms?” Now you snicker. Dean has the talent to distract you from intrusive thoughts. “I dare you to fake anything with me, Sweetheart.”

“Nah. This wasn’t about sex. In the beginning, it was a wild ride, ya know. Unlike you, Sam lost interested one day. I thought that like other pairs…” 

You know you sound like a fool and stop to find excuses. “I think I knew the moment Sam stopped kissing my neck in the morning or to drag me into the shower to have a quickie that he had someone else on his mind. I was just too chicken to confront him…”

“I’d like to drag you into the shower right fucking now, Sweetheart.” Licking your lips, you wrap your arms around Dean’s neck. “You’re a red-blooded woman and I love it. When you bend over my car, I want nothing more than to marry you or fuck you right there and then…”

“Difficult decision, Mr. Winchester. How about we stay with fucking me over the hood and keep the marrying me part for later…” Dean nods eagerly, already sliding his hands down your ass to grope it roughly when the doorbell rings.

“Son of a bitch! Can a man not have dirty sex on his car with his girl on a Sunday morning?”

Reluctantly shoving you off his lap Dean gets up, but not without having a good look at your ass in one of his boxers. “Love you are wearing one of my shirts, Sweetheart.”

While you give Dean a wink, already walking toward the kitchen when he opens the door, your boyfriend freezes. Someone he didn’t want to see after getting the invitation leans against his doorframe.

“Did you get my invitation?” Sam looks over Dean’s shoulder to get a glimpse of you only in your panties and one of Dean’s shirts. An unreadable look on his face Sam watches you place a tray onto the table. 

If Sam would be honest, he would admit that deep down inside he had hoped that you and Dean broke up. That his elder brother was only a rebound guy to you but here you are, beautiful as ever, maybe even more beautiful while you are wearing the wrong man’s shirt.

“I got it like three days ago.” Not giving away he’s disappointed, hurt even, Dean crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Won’t you let me in?” Sam’s eyes are still glued to you when Dean clears his throat and you look at him, recognizing Sam lusting over you. “Dean?”

“I have to discuss this with my girlfriend before I let you in. We invite people…together.” The door closes and you can’t stop the snorts leaving your lips.

“So…we invite people together now, Babe?” Dean shrugs, glancing at your exposed legs, suddenly too aware of what his brother was staring at the whole time.

“How about I change into something less revealing and you can talk to your brother. I’ll stay in the bedroom…”

“My girlfriend will not hide in a room to avoid my brother. If you want me to attend his wedding and let him in, you’ll stay by my side. Sam can’t come here and ruin our Sunday morning rituals only as he wants me to attend his shitty wedding.” A smile on your lips your cup Dean’s face to kiss him softly. 

“I’ll change and we can have breakfast. Thanks to you, I don’t want to kill your brother any longer…” Pecking Dean’s lips again you smirk.

“Why?” While you walk toward your shared bedroom, sway in your hips you turn around to give Dean a wink. “Y/N?”

“I’ll tell you later, Dean. Now let your brother in as the ‘bend me over your car’ part ain’t off the table.” Dean nods eagerly, a dirty grin on his lips. “Love you, Babe.”

“Love you too, Sweetheart.” A love confession leaving his lips easily is something Dean never imagined before but here he is, head over heels for you, his brother’s ex-girlfriend…

“Rules.” Dean glances at the bedroom door, waits for you to come out while he makes sure Sam will behave. “No staring at my girl, no mentioning of your past or pulling shit like last time.”

“Okay…fine…” Sam licks his lips, hearing the door open.

“I mean it, Samuel.” Lump in his throat Sam looks at his brother. Dean never called him Samuel before, not a single time. Not when he found him after he left. Not at John’s burial.

“Y/N and I met without knowing you were her ex. Cut the crap and live with the fact that your ex-girlfriend, the one you dropped for Jess, is my best girl now.”

Dean’s eyes follow Sam’s when you step out of the bedroom. Both men look you all over, drink your outfit in while you only have eyes for Dean. Wearing shorts, a crop top, and no shoes you walk toward Sam, offering your hand with a faked smile.

“Samuel. What brings you into our simple home?” Your smile turns cold. You saw the look on Sam’s face. Dean is a simple guy, doesn’t need fancy furniture, just like you.

All you needed to feel comfortable in his apartment was a few fluffy pillows, a new mattress, and decorative crap – as Dean calls the fairies on the bookshelf or the colorful vase you placed onto the kitchen counter.

“Y/N…” Sam chokes out watching you sit next to his brother, not him. Dean’s hand places yours onto his thigh and you smile at the gentle gesture. 

“I…I wanted to say I am sorry for the way I ended our relationship and my reaction the last time we met here.”

“What’s past is past, Samuel. If I am completely honest, our relationship never fulfilled me.” You can see Sam’s face fall when you lean your head against Dean’s shoulder. “I have to thank you for treating me like trash.”

Sam looks at you, surprised by your words. “Thank me? I don’t think I understand…”

“Well, without you acting like an idiot I would’ve never met my soulmate, the man loving me the way I am, Sam. Without you, I would’ve never gone to a bar to get drunk and forget I wasted years on a man not loving me enough to support my dreams.” 

Your words are like daggers to Sam’s heart, but he must admit – he brought it upon himself. 

“So…thank you, Sam.” Your smile is genuine now and it makes Sam realize, you mean what you said. Dean is the man holding your hand, and he’s the person getting to see you smile. “I hope you are as happy as I am about your decision to end us.”

“Yeah…uh—ahem. I am happy, very happy.” Sam is not very convincing but you let it slip as you don’t want to cause trouble between Dean and his brother.

“That’s the reason I am here, to be honest. We need confirmation that you will attend our wedding.”

Hopefully, almost desperate Sam looks at his elder brother, the last family he’s got left. “I don’t know if you want a Winchester at your wedding.” Dean tries to control his anger and disappointment, tries to ignore Sam did not name his father. 

“You’re mad about the names on the invitation…I get it.” While Dean squeezes your hand, you try to encourage him to let his frustration out.

“Wouldn’t you be mad if your brother, the only family you have left not only changed his surname but also pretended for years to have no family. Then he sends you an invitation to his wedding and doesn’t even name his father…” 

You tried to keep your mouth shut but you saw the hurting in Dean’s eyes and just can’t stop your tongue from slipping. “That was low, Samuel. Even if you and your father didn’t get along well, you could’ve named him. He wasn’t a monster, only a man on a mission…”

“A possessive bastard.” Sam retorts and Dean gives him a warning glare. “He wasn’t a father, rather a drill sergeant.”

“Yes, he was. John Winchester was a possessive bastard, determined to find his wife’s murderer. And yes, he wanted us to become cops, but this isn’t a reason to change your surname. You did it as mom’s family was wealthy and dad was just…”

“Simple…” You whisper. 

“He was a simple man, found happiness in simple things like watching his son become a lawyer.

You know, he was there and watched you from afar as he knew, just like me, that he wasn’t allowed to be a part of your life. When he called you, it was out of desperation to see his son one last time before cancer killed him.” 

Huffing Dean looks at the invitation, and his hands shake when he opens the card. “Not even now you can give him a tiny bit of respect, Sammy. All dad wanted was for you to forgive him. If you would’ve come here only once, you…”

“He was stubborn. Dad would’ve never forgiven me for not following his lead. He wanted me to become a cop.” Sam talks back and Dean, well Dean drops the invitation.

“John Winchester was a stubborn man, a proud one but, he would have apologized to you for the pressure he put on you. With his last breath, he said two things.” Dean is close to tears and you need to squeeze his thigh to help him bring the words out he told you months ago.

“Dad, he said that he loves me and that he’s proud calling me his son and then he said I shall tell you that he’s sorry. That he wishes he could’ve said goodbye. His last word was Sammy and then he was gone…”

“He did…” Choking on his words Sam tries to read his brother's expression but over the years, he lost his brother, just like his father. Now a foreign man sits in front of him with watery eyes and Sam can only blame himself.

“I shouldn’t come to your wedding, Sammy. I know you did it out of…I got no clue why you did it but…” Dean gives his brother a sad smile when he places the invitation into his hands. 

“You will be happier if you keep on pretending, I never existed, just like dad. There will be so many people you are genuinely interested in, you won’t need me – the brother you didn’t want any longer, at your wedding.”

“Dean, please don’t say things like that. I left because of dad…not you.” Sam tries one last time, but Dean laughs bitterly.

“Odd. Last time I checked you didn’t contact me since dad died and even before, you did not waste a single thought at me. Go ahead, live your life and keep me out of your family, as I am a Winchester and you aren’t…according to your invitation.” Storming out of the room Dean slam the door shut behind him.

“That wasn’t the best result…” Sam sighs deeply, still holding the invitation in his hands. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” 

“Dean…is he more than a rebound guy to you? Do you love him?” Surprised you look at Sam, meet his hazel eyes for the first time since he entered your home. “Y/N?”

“Yes. Dean is so much more than a rebound guy, Sam.” Smiling you look at Dean who reenters the room. “Dean is the right guy. The one I was looking for…”

“The right guy…” Dean mumbles.

“I know that I can’t force you to come to my wedding, Dean but please rethink your decision. There’s still time and I don’t need an answer today.” 

Placing the invitation and a card with his phone number onto the table Sam looks hopefully at his brother. 

“I know that I messed up big time, Dean but the invitation wasn’t my idea. Jess ordered them, just like everything else and I just saw dad wasn’t on it... She believed it’s the right thing to do to avoid questions…”

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll think about it, Sammy. Let me think about it and I’ll call you next weekend. If you can wait that long.” Sam nods, even get up to hug Dean tightly. 

“I hope you will come. I need you at my wedding, brother.” Sniffling you look at Dean who doesn’t know how to act around his brother. “Please…”

“I will call you, promised…”

Part 3

SPN Forever Tags

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[unpopularly-opinionated]

FINALLY FINISHED NARUTO AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Honestly, and this might sound harsh, but I think I give the series overall a 6/10. Being generous, I’d say it’s maybe a 7/10, but I’m deducting one point because I’m almost positive the only reason I’d rate it that high is because despite all it’s flaws, after watching 720 episodes across two series and 10 movies, you’re just going to be attached to the characters and show regardless of how you feel about it.

I know it’s super popular, or was anyways, and I can absolutely see why, but there were just too many issues that bothered me personally. It’s frustrating because I want to like it, I really do. There’s so many elements at work here that are so just perfectly me that it’s almost weird that I don’t like it, but I don’t. Obviously I liked it enough to spend hours upon hours watching it, but I think I just kept expecting it to get better at some point, and that point never happened.

More about my issues with it below...

I don’t know how to frame this (I never do) so it’s mostly just off the cuff.

I’ll start with the easily dismissible criticisms, the movies. Obviously all but one of the movies are non-canon (and I’ll get to the canon one shortly...), and they’re made by other studios so it’s not entirely fair to criticize the series based on them. I’m far too used to this weird format from Pokemon and their non-canon movies, so it wasn’t a huge deal to me. I will say that, much like the Pokemon films, almost all of the Naruto films followed the same exact format: Naruto goes to a location we’ve never heard of before and will never hear of again and is forced to protect someone abrasive and annoying until the enemy is defeated and they become BFFs that we’ll never see or hear from again.

I’d say, in order from best to worst:

Road to Ninja - Naruto the Movie

Naruto the Movie 2: Legend of the Stone of Gelel

Naruto Shippuden: The Movie 3: Inheritors of the Will of Fire

Naruto Shippuden: The Movie - Bonds

Naruto Shippuden: The Lost Tower

Naruto the Movie: Ninja Clash in the Land of Snow

Naruto Shippuden: The Movie

Naruto the Movie 3: Guardians of the Crescent Moon Kingdom

Naruto Shippuden the Movie: Blood Prison

The Last: Naruto the Movie

Yes, you read that right. The one canonical movie I put in dead last. Originally I thought that position was reserved for Blood Prison, which offended me because of just how utterly contrived the plot was and how out of character everyone needed to act to get it moving. But somehow, The Last took last place because of just how bad of a movie it was that for some reason has the audacity to be canon. And look, I know why it’s canon. It’s where Naruto and Hinata ‘officially’ get together and it ‘explains’ some missing plot elements from the series (more on that...), so of course it’s canon.

But come the fuck on, the last movie in the franchise, the one canonical movie, the one that may or may not take place after the Great Shinobi War, I.E. the big final battle of the series, has Naruto going into the fucking hollow earth through a cave portal that takes him to the moon, which is falling because the man on the moon is an incel and hates earth? What kind of methamphetamines were the writers on for that one. The Hinata and Naruto bits were fine, but holy fuck was that plot bad. They may as well have put Naruto in a spaceship and sent him to Mars to fight Martian Shinobi, I mean if we’ve already crossed the line, why not run a marathon beyond it.

The movie was meant to explain away a one-off line made in the series, that admittedly I did sit and ponder whether or not they’d ever explain it, about the Sage of Six Path’s brother, Homura, who went to go live on the moon after they defeated their mother Kaguya. It was mentioned so briefly and only once that I thought for sure it wasn’t ever going to be brought up again. I also wondered where Byakugan came from since we’d gotten an explanation for Sharingan and Rennigan during the series, but never for Byakugan. I actually don’t mind the explanation that it came from Homura’s bloodline, I think that tracks well enough. The man on the moon bit was...odd, but when I thought of how strong Homura was, I didn’t think much of it. I actually thought he somehow was going to still be alive and he’d come down to earth after they defeated Kaguya, but that never happened.

Here’s the rub though, and one of my issues with the series as a whole, which is that the show seemed to keep writing itself into these weird corners where they’d be forced to do something completely nonsensical, purely because they were the ones who wrote them into those corners. It would’ve been simpler to just say all visual jutsu was derived from Kaguya’s power, or the Homura died so there’s no man on the moon, or that Tsunade died so Kekashi needs to become Hokage, etc. They didn’t have to write themselves into these scenarios, but they did anyway and the end result was them having to write complete and utter nonsense to rationalize why they did it in the first place.

Kekashi becoming Hokage doesn’t really make any sense, like at all. They literally bisected Tsunade during the war but willed her back to life when they could’ve just as easily killed her then and there since she’s largely irrelevant to the rest of the series after the war, and then it would’ve made more sense why Kekashi, the man who on numerous occasions said he didn’t want to be Hokage, would then be forced to become Hokage as he’d be the next strongest (eligible) shinobi after Tsunade. I feel like it was all meant to be a payoff to Obito’s dying words to Kekashi which told him to become Hokage, which even then I found myself asking why the fuck would he say that? Kekashi almost was Hokage once before and was so relieved when Tsunade woke up from her coma so he wouldn’t have to.

Also can we talk about how bad that final episode was? I mean don’t get me wrong, it was cutesy as fuck and actually brought a tear to my eye (when Naruto asked Iruka to be his dad I fucking lost it, I won’t lie), but they cut it off before the wedding? Before the aftermath? Before he becomes Hokage? Like I understand Boruto exists, but I don’t feel like that’s a justifiable excuse for ending your long-running series on merely the assumption that he’ll become Hokage in the future. Maybe if the show was a whole 500 episodes shorter I’d be comfortable with it ending on a vague, yet hopeful ending, but when I’ve spent fuck knows how many hours on this series you bet your ass I’m expecting some mother fucking payoff.

Also do not even get me started on Sasuke. What. The. Fuck?!?!? My guy literally just sends a note via carrier pigeon to the wedding? That’s it? Did I just fucking hallucinate the last 720 episodes or wasn’t Sasuke supposed to be like the second main character??? The absolute absurdity.

This isn’t even much of a comparison because it’s so much shorter than Naruto, but it’s all I got in the moment, but imagine if at the end of Return of the Jedi, Han Solo just decides to fucking dip. He’s just not there. He and Chewie hopped into the Millennium Falcon the moment the Death Star was destroyed and just dipped. No longer in the movie, just gone. Didn’t say anything to Luke or Leia, just up and left. That would be insane.

It’s even more offensive knowing him and Sakura end of together. My. Fucking. Gods. This has been the relationship I’d been dreading since the start when it became abundantly clear they weren’t doing even the barest minimum to actually establish a relationship between them. As it is, when I watched The Last, I thought to myself: “Well, Naruto and Hinata’s relationship hasn’t been the most well-developed relationship I’ve seen, but it’s still leagues better than whatever hatchet job they’re going to pull to convince me Sasuke and Sakura end up together”. We didn’t even get the hatchet job. That’s just how little of a shit they gave. They did not even bother pretending to give any explanation as to how I’m supposed to believe they end up together. I’m quite literally just supposed to believe it because I know it will happen. There’s no rhyme or reason to it, it’s just something that is and therefor I must accept it. Absolutely ridiculous. As it stands, the show gave us more reasons why Sakura and Lee should end up together than they did for her and Sasuke. Fuck, I’d even buy Sakura and Inu before I’d buy Sakura and Sasuke.

I could go on, I really could, but it’s late and I’m just looking forward to putting this behind me. At some point, probably not too soon, I will watch Boruto. As it is, my watch schedule is pretty thoroughly booked up for a while. I can’t foresee myself ever watching this again. I know I sound harsh on it, but I wanna reemphasize that I want to like this show. It’s not a show I think is bad period, it’s a good show I think was just done rather poorly. It all felt very off-the-cuff, much like this shitty review. I don’t know what the manga-to-adaptation pipeline looked like when the show was live, but clearly something got fucked up somewhere.  This really feels like the Fullmetal Alchemist to Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood, and I can’t help but want Naruto to get the Brotherhood treatment...if such a treatment even exists.

[shoutoismybaby]

Enouement- Ch 1

Pregnant!Reader X Bakusquad boy (He is a secret until next chapter! Can you guess who it is?)

Enouement- The bittersweetness of having arrived in the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

Hi! This is inspired by all of those unexpected pregnancy AU’s that I love reading, but it always made me sad they were only a one-shot, so I turned it into a chaptered series! I hope you enjoy and tell me who you think the boyfriend is!

(also special thanks to @liliesoftherain for helping me with this story, a true MVP that you should follow)

masterlist/ part2

***

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was a one-time thing, an accident. After being together for 2 years you both had finally turned 18 and decided it was time to take the next step in your relationship. You didn’t think that this would happen. You were careful every time after, neither of you thought that this would be the outcome of a one-time thing. He COULDN’T know this was the outcome, he couldn’t know that there was any outcome at all.

But there was, and it sat there in your shaking hands, a small test with two lines. Tears welled up in your eyes as you muttered to yourself about how this couldn’t be happening. You were on winter break, graduation was only 3 months away!

Could you hide it until then? You could only be about 2 months now, so no way that would be possible. Should you even hide it in the first place? Could you even take care of a baby? Did you want to give up your dreams of being a hero for a baby? And what about…

No. You couldn’t do that to him. You could never ruin his dream, a baby would set him back so far. He would never be able to forgive you. Even if he did, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself. Not only that but he totally was not mature enough to even think about being a parent. Those thoughts only left you with one option, abortion. You knew you couldn’t talk to your parents about it, or you felt like you couldn’t anyway. They would be so disappointed in you. Not only that an abortion sounded so terrifying to you.

Would they have to reach inside of you? Suck the baby out?

The thought of it made you nauseous.

“(Y/n), you alright?” you heard your mother’s voice from outside the door, “you’ve been in there for a while.”

“You having diarrhea?” Your dad laughed, and you hear the ‘ow’ that left his mouth after being elbowed by your mom. You quickly wiped your eyes and tried to clear your throat,

“Yeah,” you tried to figure out an excuse, “I was um, just fixing my hair.”

The last few days of winter break went by pretty smoothly, though you couldn’t help but feel like puking every time you thought of the test you had buried into your trashcan. Going back to the dorms was nowhere near easy, however, morning sickness hit you hard and excusing yourself from class in time to run to the bathroom was one of the most difficult things you had ever accomplished. Luckily for you, no one seemed suspicious of your changing behavior. In fact, your boyfriend just thought your increased appetite was cute. Part of it was probably due to being in different classes, you used to hate being in class 3-b, but at the moment it was giving you the time away from your boyfriend that you feared would reveal your secret.

“Hey, (Y/n), you okay?” your boyfriend’s happy voice broke through your thoughts. “You’ve been spaced out a lot recently.”

“Yeah I’m okay,” you tried to bring yourself back to the present, “it’s just that even though it’s only been a couple of weeks since break I’m already worried about our final.”

It wasn’t a lie. While you were worried about the exam, your biggest fear wasn’t about knowing the answers. No, you were terrified at the thought of not being able to take it in the first place.

“What do you mean, you've got nothing to worry about babe!” His chipper attitude brought a much-needed smile to your face.

“Yeah, you’re like totally smart!” Mina agreed, the rest of the Bakusquad you spent most time out of class with made various noises in agreement. 

“Thanks, guys, but I’m more worried about the application portion. I heard the teachers won’t be wearing any restrictions thi-” Your phone buzzing on the table cut you off. Your boyfriend picked it up for you,

“It’s your mom,” he said, handing it over. You stood up and ruffled his hair gently,

“I’ll be back,” You answered the call once you stepped out of the cafeteria, “Hey mom, what's up?”

“Hey honey, I just have a question.” Her voice sounded shaky and a nervousness built up in your stomach.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Your father and I just decided to get started on some cleaning, he wanted to beat the neighbors to spring cleaning, you know how he is.” Her laugh didn’t comfort you as much as it usually would.

“Yeah,” was the only way you could respond. You could tell that she was upset, but what was it about. “Is dad okay?”

“He went into your room to get your trash today.”

Your heart sunk.

“Mom I-”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Her voice broke and tears sprung up into your eyes. 

“I was scared! I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me, it was an accident and I didn’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do!” Your voice sounded strangled as you struggled to not sob in the middle of the hallway.

“Honey if you have this baby,  your hero career will be ruined. You might not even be able to graduate at this point.”

“I know that,” you sniffled and wiped at your watering eyes.

“But Does your boyfriend?” It was a reasonable question but it caused a sharp pain to shoot through your chest.

“No,” You walked over to the window to watch the snowfall outside,

“(Y/n), you need to tell him,” Obviously you knew that, but you just couldn’t.

“He’ll hate me! I just- I don’t… I don’t want the baby. I want to be a hero, and I can’t ruin his life like that.” You could hear her sigh as you wiped at your eyes.

“Listen, I’m going to pick you up from school, and we will figure out what to do okay?” You could only mutter in agreement before wiping your eyes some more. You turned away from the windows and back to the doors of the cafeteria only to let out a startled gasp. Standing in front of the doors was The Bakugou Katsuki.

“B-Bakugou, I don’t know what you think you heard but I can assure you it’s definitely not what it seems li-”

“You’re pregnant?” His eyes were blown wide open, and while you had seen him shocked in battle before, you had never seen him look so agape. Your once loose grip on your phone tightened to the point your hand ached in protest. The soft fabric of your shirt as you held the device close to your chest did little to comfort you as you began to shake.

“No, it’s not like that, I just..” Your grip on your phone slackened and your arms dropped to your sides, Bakugou wasn’t going to believe whatever shitty excuse you came up with, so you gave up.

“You’re fucking pregnant.” His eyes pierced through you and you couldn’t help but look down at the ground in shame.

“Yeah,” Your headshot up along with your hands, phone abandoned in your pocket, “but you cant tell! No one can know.”

“You’re not going to tell him?” His brows furrowed now, looking deeper to how you were used to seeing his face,

“Who knows what he would do if he found out! Hate me, leave me, give up on his dream to take care of the-” You pause, some part of you can not bring yourself to say the word once again. The whole situation was already too real for you. “I just need to deal with it by myself, then it won’t matter and everything can go back to feeling normal!”

“Is that what you want?” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle,

“What are you talking about, what do you mean?” You scrunch your face in confusion. Not only did you have no idea what you were going to do, but now Bakugou was acting weird. As the blonde moved to open his mouth he was cut off by the bell. You both knew that your conversation would have to end there as people were about to walk through the door, and the relief caused your body to slacken.

The rest of the day went by pretty fast, other than hero training which really wore you out. You walked as slowly as possible to avoid seeing your parent’s faces again. You knew they would be in the parking lot of the cafe across the street, and they would be so disappointed in you. So you lingered about once school ended, spending some extra time hanging out with the Bakusquad. You were trying to be as normal as you could, but that unwavering stare you felt on your back just made your nerves skyrocket. You wanted to say you were being paranoid, you really did, that Bakugou glared at everyone. Yet the longer he looked the more unease you felt that wasn’t one of his normal stares

Would he ruin everything for you? He understood that this wasn’t his place to tell right? Plus, when had the Bakugou Katsuki ever cared about things that weren’t supposed to involve him? Still, he did what he wanted when he wanted, and that was that. His extremely strong set of morals is what guided him in life, despite what some liked to believe. He was definitely going to let your secret spill. If he did that then..

Oh god, you needed to get rid of this baby. It could ruin everything you worked for, and you couldn't imagine living without your boyfriend by your side. He was such a happy guy who lit up every room he walked into. His smile was contagious and he always knew how to cheer you up. This time though, you knew that this was something you would have to deal with without him, even though you hated the idea of keeping a secret as big as this. You two were so honest with each other, you were open books the other could read at any moment. But if he knew about the baby..

You must have cradled your stomach without thinking because everyone started looking at you weirdly,

“Is your stomach upset (Y/n)?” Your boyfriend was at your side, concerned for you as always. You wondered if he could tell something was wrong.

“Maybe you should head home and rest, we can’t afford you getting sick!” The group agreed with Mina, and strangely that included Bakugou.

“Yeah, you should go home to your parents.” He grumbled the others teased him about caring for you, but you saw the look in his eyes. You knew what he was thinking.

With that, you turned and headed towards the gates of UA high.

***

Please tell me your thoughts, I love feedback! And maybe if enough people like it ill create a tag list?? Now that we’ve reached the end, do you know who the boyfriend is?

[fangirlingincamouflage]

Blind Hope Chapter Six

Title: Blind Hope Author: Rosie Dayze Word Count: ??? (I can’t remember) Pairing: Nick Jakoby x Reader Chapter Rating: PG-13 Themes: Angst, Plot, affectionate frustration Disclaimer:  I do not own Nick Jakoby, he is the intellectual property of Netflix Originals. I make no money from this fanfiction. TW/CW: Descriptions of pain, long term hospital stay Previous Chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

You Are Here

Chapter 7

Looking back, it was easy to ignore his messages for the first two weeks. You had work to get lost in and pain meds to dull everything. Between your cracked ribs, the stitches in your head, and fielding calls from people who meant well but took up too much energy to talk to, it was pretty easy to act like you had every intention of responding to Nick, without ever actually getting around to doing it.

"I'm awake," his first message said. "They said you already were released. What happened? Are you okay?"

It hurt. It hurt to read. It hurt even more not to respond. But you did it. You told yourself it was for the best. Being with you is what got him hurt in the first place. Sure, you could blame bigotry, and you'd be right, but that doesn't erase what happened, and that you were at the core.

"I know what happened was scary. Please, just talk to me." Another message says. "I just want to know you are safe."

You don't respond to that one either. You know what you'll say. You will tell him that you are perfectly okay. That it's fine. Just a scratch. Sure, your head got busted open and you are on some impressive pain killers. And yeah, you have to change the bandage twice a day because stitches are no joke, especially those on the head. And sure a chunk of hair is missing from where they shaved it to put said stitches in place. But does any of that really compare to what he went through?

"I'm okay if that's what you're worried about. It looked worse than it was."

You know exactly how bad it was. It wasn't like you just gathered your stuff and left after Nick's mother stopped in and delivered her bomb of truth. In fact, once the shock of her words had worn off you'd gotten yourself pretty riled up with a lot of thoughts that centered on how-dare-she. You'd gathered up[ all of your things, and stormed up to the Intensive Care Unit, you'd argued with a nurse, you'd begged and pleaded until they let you in to see him. And, if you are being honest, compared to Nick all you had was a scratch. Tubes were shoved up his nose, forcing him to keep breathing while needles fed him medication and hydration. The natural blue splotches on his skin did their best to hide the bruising, but it was too easy to see that the damage had been done. Gone was the coppery vest, all he wore was an ugly hospital gown and medical tape. One eye was swollen shut, one hand looked like it had seen the wrong side of a hammer. Or, more likely, a boot. He'd whimpered when you'd touched him, in pain despite being pumped full of who knew what.

That's when you had decided that Elizabeth Jakoby had been right. Being with Nick would have been selfish. Yes, he made you happy. Yes, his kisses made you light up. But was any of that worth the pain it put him through? No. Of course not. You needed to leave. And you needed to cut the relationship off. He'd get over you. He'd find a nice orc woman to settle down with. He'd be happy with his garden and his badge. He didn't need you. And he certainly didn't need another trip to the hospital.

So you called June and let her mother you into bed, and promised yourself that no matter what messages Nick Jakoby sent, you'd just ignore them. Sure, you knew it was bad form to ghost him. But you also knew that if you tried to actually break it off, it would kill something inside of you. Some tiny glimmer of hope that there were still good people in the world.

Those first two weeks were easy. They came before the new flower delivery, and the card that only had "I'm sorry," written in his hasty, blocky script. And then came the uber eats driver delivering from the Indian place you'd had your very first date. And then came the movie tickets and a little notecard saying "I'll be here, at seven this Friday. I hope you will be too."

You made yourself sick throwing the ticket in the garbage. You'd even poured week-old leftovers on top of it to keep yourself from digging it out. That night you invited June and her wife over and the three of you watched cheesy movies until dawn, if only to keep you from dwelling on where you rather would have been.

You got your stitches out. You were given a clean bill of health. Your hair grew back. Two weeks turned into two months, and then into half a year.

You went on dates. Some weren't too bad. Somewhere horrible. But no matter how nice the date was, or where you went, all you could think about was sharing a loaded waffle with a guy who saw the greatness in the universe. All you could do was reach up and feel that scar on your forehead and wonder 'what if?'.

"This is ridiculous." June flopped herself down on the couch. She was wearing her favorite orange and yellow pajama set. She had a plate of chocolate cake in one hand, and a fork in the other. She was eating her feeling since the love of her life was out to sea again. It made for a good excuse to buy a cake and have a sleepover. You are pretty glad that you have a best friend who still likes sleepovers. "You should call him."

"Listen, June, I know you thought we were perfect for each other but-"

June's demielf eyes narrow to cat-like slits. "Oh please."

"June, it was just two dates."

"And?"

"How much can you really know about a person in two dates?"

"You know when I decided I was gonna marry Em?" she asks.

"Well, you proposed on-"

"Date one."

You pause. "What?"

"I knew before the end of date one that she was the person I wanted to be with for the rest of my life. I knew it like I know the sky is blue and Versace does bold prints." She waves her hand through the air.

"That's not possible."

"Oh, it is. I realized I was doing everything I could to make her laugh because the sound of it was the best music I'd ever heard."

You can't help but remember Nick's laugh, and the way it came out too loud and honest. Your heart sinks into your stomach.

"And I wanted to keep ordering food, just so we could stay there longer," June continues.

After your first date, you and Nick just walked, walked until the only place you could go was home. You'd never wanted the night to end.

"But what really sealed the deal was how bad I wanted to see her again, even when we'd just said goodnight."

"But," you say, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest. "Couldn't it have just been an infatuation? Wasn't it just potential? Time and effort are what made it love, not your first date."

June shrugs. "Sounds to me like you are trying to convince someone in this room, and I'm pretty sure it's not me."

You lapse into silence as the words ring in your ears. Who are you trying to convince? You know that you had an amazing time with Nick. You know exactly what it felt like to laugh with him, run your hands across his shoulders, kiss him. You know that it was the exact mix of easy and heart tingling. You know that if ever there had been potential for something great, it existed in those two nights with Nick Jakoby.

"It doesn't matter," you say. "I wont get him hurt again."

June sets her plate aside and takes your hand in hers. "Sweetie, I get that. I do. But..." She takes a deep breath. "Listen, I don't know if you are ready to hear this but I'm going to go ahead and say it anyway."

She shifts her place on the couch until she is facing you, your hands cupped gently in her own. The look she gives you is one of kindness, but no-nonsense. It's a mother's look.

"I feel like you are about to ground me for doing something dumb," you say, trying to be light-hearted.

"Kind of. I mean, I do think you did something stupid."

You start to pull away. "June-"

She takes your hands again, more firmly. "You did. You did do something dumb. I love you, hun. I really do but this time? This time I think you screwed up."

"How? By protecting him? By making sure he never has to be in that hospital bed again? June, you didn't see him it was...it was-" You can't even bring yourself to say how bad it was.

June's hands tighten ever so slightly. "I know, sweetie. I know. It sucked. I know how seeing you hurt made me feel, and I can only imagine that it was worse seeing Nick like that. And I can only imagine how guilty it made you feel. But honestly? None of that matters."

"Why not?"

She blows out a soft breath. You can see a hard line of tension in her shoulders. She closes her eyes and when she opens them they are filled with a steady resolve. "Because you didn't even give him a choice. And hun, that was shitty." Since you rarely ever hear June curse, you know exactly how much she must mean this. "I know why you did it. I get it, but I don't really agree with it. You hurt yourself, which was your choice. But you hurt him too. You didn't give him an explanation, and you didn't give him closure." She holds up a hand before you can interrupt. "I'm not saying every person you go on a date with deserves a point by point explanation for why you don't want to see them again. But we both know that Nick wasn't just some date."

"I knew he'd try to talk me out of it."

June shrugs. "Maybe. Probably. But after getting hurt the way that he did, don't you think that he deserved the chance to try?"

Guilt drags at your stomach. You shake your head and pull your hands out of her grip. She lets you.

"I don't know that I'd have been strong enough to tell him no."

June shrugs. "Maybe because you shouldn't have."

You make a sound in the back of your throat and reach for the remote. "Come on, the show is-"

The words you were going to say die in your throat. The screen is filled with a news broadcast. A pretty woman you barely notice is talking about a fire downtown. The words Bright, officers down, possible magical terrorism hang like an ugly miasma in your ears. A picture of Nick superimposes itself over the fire.

You don't even remember getting up. You don't remember grabbing your coat. All you hear is the jingle of keys as you head to the hospital you ought never to have left him at.

[tomorrowsdrama]

Hyena Ep. 16

I’m baaack!  Kind of.  I think I hit that point in my quarantine life where I kind of lost my mind so I went on an unexpected hiatus that lasted longer than intended.  I know it’s been over a month after the finale of Hyena but here are my ramblings.  This post is super long so I’ll save my thoughts on the series as a whole for another post.

Objectively, it was a pretty good finale that was entertaining and wrapped up the important plot lines.  We even got some sweet otp moments (more on that later) and satisfying smackdown of the bad guy.  But subjectively?  Personally?  Purely based on my selfish expectations?  I wanted more romance!  More sexiness!  I wasn’t expecting a wedding or anything like that but, not even one kiss?  Or a long embrace?  Why????

I mean, how can you give me all this sexy chemistry in the promos:

And then not make use of it in the finale?  That’s just not fair I say!  I feel bamboozled!

Ep. 16

Anyway, let’s talk about the parts I enjoyed of the finale.  This is mainly (99%) going to be about the moments between Geum Ja and Hee Jae.  So on the morning of episode 16, way back when, I woke up so excited for the finale.  Since this was the last episode, surely there will be a kiss!  And surely it would be epic given the chemistry between JJH and KHS.  I mean did you see that kiss in episode 8?  So when we started off the episode with the scene of Hee Jae telling Geum Ja he didn’t want to see her hurt anymore, I was amped.  Yes, we’re starting off strong with the romantic scenes I thought.

How can you not fall for him?

Geum Ja, you are not a gangster, you do not need to show your story through the scars on your body.  Joking aside, it’s sad that she’s been through so much in life that she has the scars to prove it. 

I love that Hee Jae says this half-sarcastically but you can tell that he truly does not want Geum Ja to go through any more pain/suffering.  And it’s his sincerity that makes Geum Ja smile so softly.  And this is where they kiss right?

Nope, he gets a hearty bro punch in the shoulder.

Cut for lots of caps and ramblings.  It’s a bit of a mini novel, you’ve been warned!

Mmm I loved how many scenes of concerned Hee Jae we got in this episode.  

Geum Ja screams from a nightmare and Hee Jae immediately runs into the office to check on her.  The only way he could have reacted so quickly is if he was sitting outside the office guarding Geum Ja which...AHHH I think I’ve just died and gone to hurt/comfort heaven.  Just look at JJH’s face.

EEE!  I audibly squealed when Geum Ja said this.  Ok, now I’ve truly died.  Geum Ja?  Asking to be comforted?  By Hee Jae?  What?  This is major.  She’s finally letting down her walls a little bit around Hee Jae and allowing herself to be vulnerable.  Keep on leaning I say!  Lean all the way into bed.

Omg and then she showed concern over Hee Jae’s own emotional state despite her own trauma.  His dad totally betrayed him just a few hours ago so Hee Jae’s having a pretty shitty day too.  But of course, Hee Jae is only concerned about Geum Ja.  Ahh, how many times is he going to make me swoon in this episode?  

Feet piled on top of each other?!  Are they finally in bed together?

Of course not.  Unfortunately, this isn’t that type of drama.  SIGH.  But this is still very sweet and squeal-inducing.

Have I talked about how much I love JJH’s little sly smirks?

I love that these two fools can’t stop worrying about the other.  Geum Ja knows better than anyone how deep emotional scars caused by a parent can be.  On top of that, Hee Jae’s father was someone he respected and loved, so the blow is even bigger.  I just really like it when my otp show how much they care about each other, ok?

Look at that smile on Hee Jae’s face.  It’s like there’s no other place he would rather be than next to Geum Ja. 

No, please don’t.  Y’all are not 12.  Please get at least a queen size bed with plenty of room for two adults to move around in and do...adult things lol.

And then.  AND THEN!  Geum Ja takes the initiative and turns over towards Hee Jae.  She’s finally the one taking the first step towards him without any prodding.  And Hee Jae smiles to himself and follows her lead to turn over also.  And then the two fools smile lovingly at each other as they fall asleep.  Omg, excuse me, I need a moment.  I’ve temporarily passed on to the other side from sheer otp happiness.

This moment was just too good.  I literally raised both my arms up into the air and cheered when I first watched this episode.  I thought, wow the writers are feeding us so well.  They’re showering us with so many romantic scenes.  The otp caring for each other?  Being tender with each other?  Sharing a “bed?”  I don’t want to ever get off this love train, keep it coming!  This is only the first third of the episode so surely it can only go up from here.

And then it ended on a comedic note.  I guess I should have seen that coming.  This is SBS, not TVN (or JTBC from the looks of The World of the Married).  Hah, well I suppose they both had a pretty tiring day so it’s understandable that they would not have much energy to do anything else.

It’s the little everyday things like asking if she’s ok that get me.

(JJH I thirst for you.)

Suuuuure you are.

Lol, he wouldn’t be Hee Jae if he didn’t pull something childish/petty.  At least Geum Ja is amused by it and finds it cute now.  Get you a man who can be both your emotional support and amusing bratty boyfriend.

Geum Ja does end up meeting Hee Jae for dinner and he can’t help but smile a little.  Gosh, it takes so little from Geum Ja to make him happy.

(damn, look at that profile!)

So some time during this episode, Geum Ja’s adoptive father died off-screen from the stab wound he sustained while stopping her assailant.  At first, I went “Huh, that’s it?”  But then the more I thought about it, the more I liked how matter-of-factly it was treated.  It’s certainly consistent with how Geum Ja deals with things.  Also, she faced her demons/him in a previous episode so you could say that she already resolved that chapter of her life.  

Still, you could tell that she’s not completely unaffected by it.  KHS’s acting in this scene is so good. You can tell there’s more to it than what she’s saying just by the little subtle changes in her expression.  I can only imagine the many complicated feelings she must be experiencing.  

On the one hand, he’s the worst part of her past life and surely deserved to die.  But on the other hand, unintentional or not, he died saving her.  Geum Ja does not state this with any affection or sentimentality in her voice.  It is merely something that happened.  Thank goodness the writers did not try to redeem him in the last minute.  One good deed does not make up for all the violence and abuse inflicted on her and her mother.  

Anyway, all that muddled history and emotions would make anybody conflicted.  They really handled it the best way they could - simply state what happened and move on.  No hate, no praise, no sadness.  He was a terrible man who paid the ultimate price and died.  I like that Hee Jae understands not to push the matter any further and changes the subject.

Bro, you’re delusional if you think you still have a chance with her.  

And then we get to the ubiquitous Big Shareholder Meeting that we see so often in dramas.  I love how Geum Ja is so ballsy in everything she does and she does it all in her comfy tracksuits. Of course the Big Shareholder Meeting does not go as planned and Song Pil Jung gets arrested.

God I love the look on Geum Ja’s face.  It screams “is this guy still talking to me?”

Can I just say, I love how utterly brutal Geum Ja is in her rejection of Kevin Jung.  Woof, ouch.  If I ever heard that from someone I liked, I would be so devastated and embarrassed, I’d find a dark hole to bury myself in and lick my wounds.  But of course, Kevin, like all the other men who fall for Geum Ja, seems to be into it.  It takes a certain type of man to go for Geum Ja and apparently that type is a total masochist who likes getting rejected and their heart ripped out.  I mean, to each their own.

I like whenever they do their power couple strut.

A bro fist bump?  Really?  Hm, I never really fist bumped the guys I dated but that’s cool I guess.  They’re going in to destroy Song Pil Jung so I guess a fist bump is appropriate.

Hm, I don’t know.  It seems like you’re the one who got arrested.

Bro.  Mister.  Are you for real?  Did you forget all the shitty things you did to her?

Yeah, that’s kind of a big deal I think.

SO. SATISFYING.  Whew honey, this exchange gave me life.  My skin has cleared, my bank account is full, and I’ve lost 5 pounds.

Yessss I am all for this nerdy JJH in glasses and turtleneck sipping on expensive instant coffee aesthetic. 

The couple that taunts together, stays together?

Hahahahaha, Hee Jae talking about being professional at work? Hahahahha.

I live for jealous Hee Jae because he’s extra ridiculous whenever he’s jealous.  In this scene he’s getting jealous over Ju-Ho calling Geuma Ja “noona” and it’s like come on, they’re foster siblings.  Let him call her noona.  Side note, Netflix translates “noona” into Eun-Young, Geum Ja’s real name, and it irks me.  Couldn’t they have just translated it into “sis” instead?

Now we’re around the 55 minute mark and I’m thinking, okay this is probably where it’s going to end.  This is when it’s going to happen.  They don’t have that much time left in the episode.  All right, give me us all that we’ve been waiting for.

(Good looking main stays looking good.)

You can’t ever accuse Hee Jae of not being committed to Geum Ja.

We finally get an explanation for why Geum Ja always stared at that huge building

Haha, can you expect anything less from her character?  At this point, I’m looking at the remaining time and thinking, ok then, when’s that kiss gonna happen?

SHRIEKS WHAT ARE THOSE HIDEOUS THINGS ON HIS FEET?!  On another note, I’m sure Kim Hye Soo must be so glad she doesn’t have to wear those gigantic heels anymore.

Omg, ok, this is it.  We’re getting shots of beautiful sexy people strutting and being playful with each other.  They’re setting up for a romantic ending kiss.  Ok, time to prepare myself.

Yes, put your arms around each other.  We’re getting closer now.

Oh, ok.  I guess this will be a far away in the distance kind of kiss.  That’s ok, too I guess.

Oh, wait.  Never mind.  Looks like we’re going to get a frontal view of the ending kiss after all.  Even better!

What?  That’s it?  What?  Did I miss something?  This can’t be.

Oh whew.  An epilogue.  Ok, this is when it’s going to happen.

Hahaha, they’re totally using the vloggers to advertise for their law firm.  I love how Hee Jae has loosened up on what he thinks a proper lawyer should act like and it’s reflected in his more flamboyant wardrobe choices.

These damn fist bumps again.  All the time spent fist bumping could have been spent hugging and kissing.  Priorities, people!

Hah, like hell Hee Jae would ever leave Geum Ja.

Haha knew it.  Boy is more whipped than whipped cream.

This pretty much sums up their dynamic.  SIGH I’m not going to get my kiss am I.

Oh no.  That caption can only mean one thing.

Yeeep.  That’s it.  This is the end.  Finito.  

Well.  All right then.  You know, the first time I watched this episode, I felt very disappointed that there was no final kiss.  I mean the last time we saw them kissing was in episode 8 at the midpoint of the drama.  This drama was clearly a rom com/screwball comedy so it only seemed fitting that there would be one last kiss scene.  That’s how you end a romantic drama!  But alas.

Actually, upon re-watching and re-capping this episode, I realized that even though we did not get any kiss scene, the writers still gave us plenty of sweet moments between Hee Jae and Geum Ja.  We got to see their lovely progression into becoming partners who supported and trusted each other so that was nice.  Even though they’re clearly together now, it’s nice to see that they still have their playful bickering dynamic.  So objectively, it was a nice ending.  I just personally wanted more smooches.

If you made it through this entire post, thank you for expending so much time reading my ramblings and congratultaions on having so much patience!

[heir-of-talon]

So I have commissioned these busts of the characters. I will post a bust of the person whose POV the chapter is written in ❤ Some may be spoilery but hey! It's just fanfiction 😉

HEIR OF TALON 2

Warnings: explicit/underage/violence

Summary:

After slaying Elder Wyrm and becoming CEO of Talon Ember works very hard. Slowly changes are creeping in, that threaten her relationships with Garret and Riley, her sense of self and her sanity.

Life at the top

Ember

I woke up with a yelp. The bed sheets and my shirt were rumpled and soaked through with sweat. I reached for a glass of water on the night stand and drank trying to wash away tightness in my throat tasting salt of my tears mingling with contents of the glass. It was just another nightmare I tried to calm myself, but at this point I had little doubt that these were true. As was ensuing weeks of captivity, when Gerard found more and more horrid ways to torment Ember after he learned, that she could heal quickly from injuries that would have killed anybody else. His lord and his men, formed a group around her, torturing her and slowly learning her secrets... Bloodlettings so they could bathe in her blood and become resistant to harm and disease. She has suffered it all without even feeling tempted to shift, because there inside her... a spire, only remaining reality of her happiness, of their destiny. No, she could still salvage him, she would endure and once he was out of her body she would shift and fly them both away to safety, to another world if need be, there was nothing she would not do for him, her little Dante. Her love though betrayed so cruelly have found new anchor and she would preserve.

And then... birth of their child, ten men with swords and kludges awaiting, hitting her, bleeding her and Gerard... he tossed his son into flames right after he nearly ripped him from her body amid her agonizing cries.

Hatred. All consuming, all destroying all mighty. She shifted and ripped them apart limb for limb, the men, the women, the children, anyone within the vicinity of the estate. She had nothing left for humans, the vile, cruel, mindless creatures...

These dreams always filled me with grief and despair. But I was not her. Or was I? Sometimes I was not sure anymore. I would better get up, it was going to be another long day.

Vipers were resisting my changes to the organisation and demanded to be allowed to form their own organization apart from Talon, my bare ass! I tossed my shirt aside and hurried to bathroom where I laid down in the bathtub and turned the water on. As warm water crept higher and higher covering my body I relaxed and garish details of the nightmare started to fade. My thoughts were sharp and clear again. No way I was going to relinquish control of Vipers, I will sooner get them all killed. But how do you do this exactly? The only way is to get them to kill one another and then maybe set the last one up to a surprise date with the Order? This would require some serious diversion though, to make sure they accept the orders and don't figure out the game too soon... Hmm maybe later, as the last instance, for now I would rather regain their obedience. Hot water have filled the tub to the brim and I ceased to think giving up to the utter delight of being submerged in relaxing warmth.

***

"Autumn and Cobalt are here to see you ma'am" my assistant's Rose voice sounded through intercom. "Let them in" I grunted, not at all happy. After momentary relief in the bath I have developed a nasty headache and painkillers did not really work on dragons. I was not sure if dragons should have headaches, I have not been sick one hour of my entire life before I have become CEO of Talon.

"Hello Firebrand, you look positively awful, what the hell happened to you?" Riley strode to my office and unceremoniously sat on a chair in front of my enormous desk pulling another chair closer and indicating for Autumn to sit next to him. This irritated me, I was the CEO, this was my office and he come without notice and behaved as he owned everything here. "I had a hard night" I said slowly "so this better be important" I gave them a tight smile.

"It's about my egg" Autumn said. "It's in hatchery now, and I don't want my baby to hatch there. I want him to be born free, not to spend his childhood in an isolated facility being drilled by Talon like we did." She talked calmly and was obviously at ease, while her ridiculous request literally made me seething inside. I waited till she was finished and replied. "How do you imagine to hatch a dragon egg and then rear a hatchling, unable to shift for two years and to stay reliably shifted for another ten in the middle of human society?" I asked calmly. "How are you going to feed it until it can shift? How are you going to avoid it being seen?". Autumn stared at me surprised by coldness in my voice.

"Easy Firebrand, this is why we came here. To find alternative solutions for these... challenges" Riley's voice was calm but he was now watching me with slightly narrowed eyes and I could hear him thinking hard. But I could not let Autumn take that egg away. These four eggs was all the organization had left. We've sustained substantial loses when the laboratory exploded, every dragon counted for survival of our race. "We were thinking about it for quite a while actually. There's four eggs that need to be reared. There probably won't be any new for some time now, as Talon's members will no longer be forced to mate and dragons breed extremely rarely on their own volition, being immortal, territorial and such. So we just need to provide these four hatchlings with a place to be in two years. It should not be that difficult..." "Oh you've got it all figured out, don't you!?" I cut him off. I was furious at his shortsighted sentimentality. "And who is going to provide these hatchlings with education and training? Their mothers, who's never set their foot outside of the breeding facility?!" Autumn looked as if I've hit her, but I didn't care. These hatchlings were important for the organization, now that the vessel program was abandoned. If they were raised outside of the organization will any of them wish to serve it? Will they even be suitable for our purposes? "What are you talking about?" Riley was furious now. "They will be instructed and influenced by our entire community. Just because you won't have total control over every moment of their lives, doesn't mean they will not turn out just fine". He took stunned Autumn by her hand and rose to his feet. "Come, we've must have caught ma'am CEO on a bad day." And then to me. "Do not think that you've heard the last of it Firebrand. This is important, this is the freedom we've been fighting for all this time. And I will not relent, just because you get to be the boss now!" He left with scared Autumn in tow leaving me to my headache and grim thoughts.

I pressed intercom button. "Rose? I am taking off the rest of the day. Tell the Archivist to schedule new date for meeting with Vipers" "Yes, ma'am." I dragged myself out of the office and staggered when the heat and sunshine of the day outside hit me. I could not remember being out in a middle of a day. Ruling Talon was consuming all my time and energy and throughout last few months I begun to see the point of the control and discipline within the organization, as dealing with Riley's rouges, Jade and other free spirits was clearly the most annoying part of my new situation. I could not remember the drive home. To a vast top floor apartment furnished by Rose to impress an empress as she has phrased it. I had no time to interfere and only added piles of discarded clothes to the setting. And these were cleared every day by a maid. So I entered my lavish suite kicked off my ballerinas, flopped on white leather sofa and closed my eyes.

***

I woke up with a start that made it clear, that my headache was still there. It was evening and someone was knocking on my door. I insisted on no Gilas in the building I lived in, just as I insisted on living among normal, if wealthy people, rather than in a fancy all Talon apartment complex few blocks from the HQ. Now I was suddenly reluctant to open the doors. "Ember?! Are you in there?" Garret. I sighed and dragged myself to the doors. "Hello commander" I tried to smile. "Come in and fix this shitty day". He did not smile just stepped over the threshold taking in my surely messy hair, crumpled suit and tired face. "What is wrong?" He asked dropping his duffel bag at the doors and pulling me into strong embrace. I closed my eyes breathing him in and feeling my headache and confusion melting away. But after a way too brief moment he pushed himself away to arms length and looked into my eyes. "What is going on Ember? You look so tired. And you missed the meeting today, the Archivist would not tell us anything, but Rose told me you went home feeling unwell so I come to check up on you."He said. "Wait a minute. What meeting?!" I felt an ugly suspicion rising. "Meeting with Vipers." He looked surprised and worried that I would ask. "The Archivist spoke in your name and got them in line, no worries. They are allowed to leave the organization under a long list of conditions, that shortly sums up to not killing, assaulting or terrorizing anyone ever and attending monthly meetings with their rehabilitation supervisors, new units consisting of one Talon employee and one Order's employee. Of course the agreement is only valid after you've approved it. From the looks on their faces no one is leaving for some time." He smiled to his thoughts.

I had plans for Vipers and this was not exactly what I would have gone for. I should be furious about Archivist bypassing me like that. But somehow it did not matter much. No, when Garret was here I was just relieved and thankful that things were taken care of. Suddenly I could breath freely and I thought that if only I could stay in his arms long enough I would heal and become whole again, the way I was before leaving Talon and the violent time that followed. I leaned in to kiss him and he answered crushing me to his chest. Then he lifted his head again and asked "Have you eaten?" Seemingly abandoning the topic of my bad looks. "No, I slept since noon. " Suddenly I could feel how hungry I was but at the same time I did not want to release him. "How about we order some tapas and eat here?" I pointed to the couch. He peered down at me and truly smiled for the first time since he saw me and I had a hard time trying to stay focused. There was my Garret, this intoxicating mixture of desire and disbelief in his gray eyes. "Give me a second to change, make yourself at home commander. Maybe order food, I want wine boiled chorizo, meat balls with tomato sauce and bacon wrapped dates big pile of each."

I winked at him and rushed to my bedroom and beyond to the walk in closet the size of an average apartment on Manhattan, as the real estate agent described it. There I quickly shed my office clothes and changed into oversized multicolor sweatpants and a knitted crop top. I turned and felt sudden apprehension about going back to the living room. My headache was on its way back and I just wanted to run as far away from Garret as possible, I sat on a chaise long in the middle of the closet. The boy was a nuisance putting it mildly, making me reckless and weak. The thoughts popped in and out of my head along with a passing stab of migraine until I heard his voice coming from somewhere close.

"Ember?" I exited the closet and found him standing at the doorstep to my bedroom. He quickly stepped outside, when he saw me, and I rushed to grab his hand. He sent me that worried look again. "Are you all right?" "Yes, was just changing." He looked me over doubtfully. "Food is here." He said. "Wow, that was fast." I chuckled slightly confused.

We ate talking about things we've been doing since we've last seen each other almost a month before. Garret got in touch with Order's Academy and tried to persuade them to provide much needed reinforcements sooner, than they meant it was possible. More and more survivors of Night of Fang and Fire surfaced all around the world and it was difficult to maintain his position as their leader. I sat buried neck-deep in documentation on Talon, that the Archivist deemed best suited to give me insight and understanding of Talon. I was also struggling to establish satisfactory level of authority. In other words both our lives sucked badly and we could not see the end of it. Afterwards I turned on some music and we went to the couch. Garret sat down in one corner and I nestled between his legs leaning sideways against his chest. I wanted to touch him, kiss him talk some more.

***

"Ember, better go to bed it's past eleven." Garret was shaking my arm lightly. Have I fallen asleep? Again!? "Don't leave me!" I blurted. "Stay with me Garret". He shifted under me. "My leg is sleeping. " He said and tried to stretch. "Let's go to bed then." I rose and he followed collecting his bag from the floor by the doors. I pointed him to guest bathroom and hurried to my own to brush my teeth. Then I slipped into the closet to change into shorts and oversized t-shirt with Toothless serving as pajamas. As soon as I slipped them on I rushed out and waited for Garret in the hall. He come out soon wearing only black boxer shorts, he was lean and tan, his hair bleached by the sun.

I felt my stomach twist with longing and dread, at the sight of him. I wanted him so much, yet I did not feel fit for passionate lovemaking. I was tired and haunted, Talon required things of me, that I doubted, he would accept. Going on like this was a torment for both of us, but we could not see any alternatives right now and I would not accept ending the relationship either. Garret was the only ray of sun in my existence, he loved me and I needed him, completely and desperately. Around him I was myself, battered and wan but myself, when he was gone I did not know who I was anymore.

I strode to him and hugged him tightly, which he returned with a purr. Then I caught his eyes and said solemnly "Garret I love you and I want to be close, but I have not been feeling well lately... And I know, that we don't see each other much, but I can't go all the way tonight. Actually I... might not want to do anything tonight" I felt lame, but he brushed hair off my temple, his expression soft. "It's okay. We are not obliged to do anything Ember. Let's get you to bed." He lifted me up and carried me to my bed, that was neatly made with fresh linens. He put me on the floor and lifted the comforter for me to crawl in. I laid down obediently and patted the pillow next to me. Garret slid under the covers beside me and the warmth of his body engulfed me as he put his arm around me and turned the bed lamp off. In the relative darkness of my bedroom with Garret so close all worries and problems seemed insubstantial, only his heartbeat was real, only the scent of his body and the warmth of his skin mattered. For the first time in weeks I fell into deep dreamless sleep.

[babbushka]

Mind & Soul (3/10)

The story of how one man fell out of love and into it again

Charlie (Marriage Story) x Reader

word count 5k ; warnings: nsfw, mild injury, Infidelity, Affairs/Cheating, Angst, language 

                                                     --------

The thrill is gone The thrill is gone I can see it in your eyes I can hear it in your sighs Feel your touch and realize The thrill is gone

A month ago, the divorce proceedings had started.

Which Charlie thought was kind of messed up, considering Nicole had left him six months prior to that.

Six months out in Los Angeles fucking California, six months playing actress in shitty independent theater productions, six months getting tanned and bleached blonde and and and.

And now she is back, and it’s been a month, and Charlie hates every second of it, just wants it to be over with. The divorce proceedings had been easy, dividing up the stuff, cutting all ties. He had never been so happy, to cut all the ties.

They would sell the house, split the profit 50/50 and all the shit inside it. There had been a prenup, signed and notarized so money wasn’t a concern, and Charlie thanks his lucky fucking stars he had had the foresight to do that, because he knew – somehow he just knew – that Nicole would try and milk him for every penny he had otherwise.

The only thing left was custody.

And that…that had been the big pain in his fucking ass, the thorn in his side, the elephant in the room.

Because after six months of fucking off to LA, she was back, and she wanted her son.

Charlie wasn’t going to just let her take him.

He thinks of you, how you looked that morning, gorgeous, skin warmed with sleep. He wishes he could have married you instead, instead of the cold woman sitting at the other end of the room, standing behind a wooden podium where she’ll try and make every case against him. He wonders what you're doing, it's the middle of the day after all. He imagines you're lounging in the sunlight of your living room, imagines you reading or writing or watching something. He'll call you, he decides, once the statements are done with, once they have a break to prepare their cases.

The judge comes into the room, and everyone stands up. It’s a race to see which of the two is more polite, and Charlie finds himself with his shoulders straight and square before Nicole can even steady herself in her brand new heels, not yet broken in.

She must have bought them special for the trial, and Charlie does his best not to grit his teeth.

The judge has a seat and waves them to sit as well, lawyers shuffling their papers around to try and get organized.

He knows this is only the opening statements, he knows this is only the beginning, but he’s still nervous. So fucking nervous that she’s going to win, going to take everything away from him. He has to take a deep breath, think of you just to calm down.

The judge regards them both, milky blue eyes peering over half moon glasses, and when he speaks it’s with the age and wisdom of someone who has been doing this a long time.

Charlie wonders how many people he helps split up. Wonders how many children he has to decide the fate of. He thinks it can’t be easy.

“You know how I like to start these things?” The judge asks, hands folding into one another as he gives them both a solid look.

“No.” It’s a rhetorical question, but Nicole answers it anyway, something that makes the Judge’s mouth twitch. Charlie can't tell if it was going to be a frown or a smile.

“I like starting them off,” He disregards her comment, “By having each one of you say something nice about one another.”

Well, that certainly isn’t something that Charlie expected, and for a moment his mind races, tries to come up with something, anything.

“Nice.” He asks, less of a question and more of a confused statement.

“Nice.” The judge nods, and Charlie does his best to swallow any sarcastic remarks.

It’s quiet for a moment, a long moment, neither one of them wanting to volunteer to go first. They hated each other now, after all.

This was divorce, after all.

“Mrs. Barber,” The judge prompts, when the silence has gone on for too long, “What do you love about Charlie?”

Charlie doesn’t look at her, doesn’t dare turn his head towards her, just holds his breath and listens. When was the last time she had said anything good to him, about him? He can’t remember, wonders if she even has anything to say, anything real.

Nicole chews the inside of her cheek, no doubt pissed off that this is how it’s starting, especially after their cold greeting only minutes ago.

“What I love about Charlie…” She says, picks at the skin around her nails, speaks clearly but only because she doesn’t want to have to repeat herself, “He loves being a dad, it’s frankly, almost annoying how much he likes it. He cries easily in movies, he’s very competitive. He’s very clear about what he wants. He’s – ”

And her voice breaks there, and Charlie is almost afraid she’ll cry. Such a fucking actor, he thinks, trying to play the sympathy card, everything just some game.

“He’s a great dresser; never looks embarrassing, which is hard for a man.” She offers finally, when she’s collected herself, gotten a grip, when the crocodile tears have absorbed back into her eyes. “He takes all of my moods steadily, and he doesn’t make me feel bad about them. He rarely gets defeated, which, I feel like I always do.”

The judge seems to wait for more, but when none comes, he turns to Charlie.

“Mr. Barber?” He cues, and Charlie has to think, has to really think.

He had loved her once, didn’t he? Had tried to fight for her, a long time ago. He feels foolish for it now, if only he had known, if only he had seen then what he sees now.

“What I love about Nicole.” He starts, sounding too much like he’s reading from a poorly written script, like he’s a kid standing in front of the class about to tell them what he did that summer, “She’s a great dancer, it’s infectious. She is a mother who plays – really plays. She gives great presents, she’s competitive. She knows when to push me and when to leave me alone.”

It’s not nearly as poetic, as well thought out as Nicole’s, but it’s honest.

At least it’s honest.

“That’s it?” The judge asks, and Charlie nods.

“That’s it.” He replies dryly.

He doesn’t care enough to look at Nicole for her reaction.

And with that, it begins, opening statements in full swing. Nicole goes first, because she’s the one who is making the case, she’s the one who is trying to convince them all to take Henry away from him. He still doesn’t quite believe how she has the nerve, but then again, yes he does.

“The only thing that a parent wants is what’s right for their child.” “For a long time, I thought that what was right for Henry, was for me to remain with Mr. Barber, as his wife. About seven months ago, I realized that no, it wasn’t what was right, it was what was easy. So I did the hard thing, and I left, left to try and make something of myself, something that I had been denied for many years, in an attempt to build a better life for me and my son.”

“I believe I’ve finally achieved that. I believe I am finally at a point where I know myself, I know the sort of person I want to be for my son. I am his mother, and I love him very much. I love him very much. And I believe Henry is young enough to still need me, need his mother, in a way that all children do. Not to say that he doesn’t need a father, but, how many children grow up without one and turn out perfectly fine?”

“I left Henry. I left him, and I know that that’s an awful, horrible thing to do. For six months all I thought about was how I was leaving him for him, for the sake of him and his happiness. But I’m his mother. I’m his…I’m his mother.”

And the fucking waterworks are back, of course they are, of course. Charlie sits at his end of the room and he watches her cry, and he feels not a single ounce of remorse or need to comfort her, because he’s seen those tears, seen them up on stage, seen them on television pilots and acting reels.

That’s all that she has to say, apparently, because she’s stepping down, and something awful in Charlie wishes she would trip.

He feels guilty about the thought, feels guilty about a lot of things, and almost has half a mind to apologize out loud, but he doesn’t. They’d think he’s crazy for it, if he did. He wonders if they think he’s crazy anyway.

But it’s moot point, because the judge wants to hear from Charlie, so up to the stand Charlie goes, hand on a book he doesn’t believe in swearing up and down that he’s telling the truth.

It’s a much different view, from the stand. A view that makes his stomach twist, because he’s directly in front of Nicole now, put right in her line of sight.

“Please state your name for the records.” The judge says, and Charlie sits up straight, tries not to let the panic, the anger, the sadness show.

“Charlie Barber, your honor.” He says easily, because that one is easy, at the very least.

“Why are you here?” The judge asks, and this one is easy too.

“To request full legal custody of my son, Henry Barber.” Charlie responds, says the words he’s been practicing for a month now.

“And what makes you think you’re capable of achieving that?” Nicole’s lawyer asks, and this one.

This one is the hard one, this one is the one he doesn’t know how to say, how to go about it without sounding like an asshole.

But for six months he’s been taking care of his son, for six months he’s been the one who was there, and that…that’s got to count for something.

It has to.

“I know the sort of things you want to hear.” Charlie says, shifts around in his seat just a little to try and get more comfortable in this incredibly uncomfortable fucking situation, “I know you want me to tell you I make a lot of money, because I do. I know you want me to tell you that I have a stable and steady job, own my own home, because I do. You already know those things, you have the proof of it in front of you. That doesn’t make me a good parent. That doesn’t make anyone a good parent. Nicole says she loves Henry. I don’t doubt that, but simply loving your child does not make you a good parent to that child.”

“What then, makes you a good parent?” His lawyer asks, and for a moment he lets himself get lost, in the way the past six months have gone.

He remembers the fight, that dream once more, that memory. He remembers the way he scrambled, desperate.

                                                    --------

The nights are cold For love is old Love was grand when love was new Birds were singing, skies were blue Now it don't appeal to you The thrill is gone

He’s standing outside, watching the cab drive away, and for a moment he can’t tell if he feels relief or absolute terror.

He wonders in the neighbors know, if they’re awake and heard all the yelling – if the yelling woke them up. He wonders if they see him practically running next door to your house, wonders if they can hear the way he’s pleading for you to answer your door.

He’s fully aware of how ridiculous he looks, standing there in his pajamas, with his robe wrapped tightly around him in the chill of night.

“(Y/N?” He’s freaking out, not because he’s angry she left, not because he’s sad, but because she gave him no fucking warning and he can’t do this by himself. He just can’t. “(Y/N)!”

You’re gorgeous, when you open the door. Completely bundled up in pajamas of your own, your eyes widen at his appearance, blotchy faced and covered in tears and snot and rage. He’s sure he looks wild, looks crazy, especially in comparison to you, an angel under the porch-light.

“Charlie – !” You gasp, immediately bringing him into your arms, because you know, you know everything.

You always have. He can tell you’re not sure whether to be scared or relieved either.

“She fucking – she’s gone.” He says, and he’s saying it like he’s trying to believe it, he’s looking down at you, trying to make sense of it all.

“I know, I heard – what are we going to do?” You whisper, eyes never once leaving his.

(He always liked that, in retrospect. Always liked how you said ‘we.’)

He sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, shifts barefooted on your welcome mat.

“I don’t know what the fuck to tell him, I don’t know – she told me to figure it out.” He spits, words like venom because they came from the mouth of a viper.

“So then we figure it out.” You say, say with such conviction that he believes you, that he knows in that moment you’re the only person he’s ever truly loved, the only person he’s ever truly wanted.

He glances towards the house, and the lights are still off – Henry’s still asleep. He chews his lip and raises a shaking hand to your face, fingertips brushing the corner of your mouth, and you know, you already know.

Thunder claps, and a downpour erupts from the sky in the most dramatic of fashions. Sometimes Charlie thinks his life is one big fucking movie. He hopes it’s a comedy.

He knows it isn’t.

“Can…can I?” He asks, because this is still a secret – even with his wife storming out in the middle of the night, even with declarations of abandonment, this is a secret.

You’re already pulling him into the house, already closing the door behind him, already shedding your robe, letting it fall to the floor.

“Of course, come here, of course.” You encourage, and he pulls you to a bruising kiss right there in the entryway of your home, right where any and everyone could see if it weren’t raining so heavily.

You kiss, and he strips you of all your clothes, he clings to you, to your body, shudders under your touch as you work to get him out of his. He can’t stay long, he can’t, not in case Henry wakes up, but the sight of you is too delicious to pass up, and before long he’s tugging you over to the couch, splaying you out underneath him.

He doesn’t bother with a condom, can’t be bothered right now, he’ll pull out, it’ll be fine – he just needs to be in you right now. Your eyes are closed and your nipples are hard as he rubs the head of his cock through your folds, as he slowly sinks into your pussy. He doesn’t know why this feels so good, why this feels so right, why this feels like home.

But it does, and it does, and it does.

And as you moan and gasp underneath him as the thunderclaps, as he fucks you to let some of this aggression and anger and tension out, you laugh, randomly, you laugh, and he finds he’s laughing too – because what the fuck is even going on anymore?

He doesn’t know, but it’s okay.

You’ll both figure it out.

In the morning, he wakes Henry up with blueberry muffins he heats in the toaster oven, mixes up some eggs. He’s not very good at breakfasts, but he knows how to do eggs, knows how to do them the way Henry likes.

“Where's mom?” He asks, and Charlie nearly drops the pan, because fuck he doesn’t know what to say, what to tell him.

His heart is beating wildly in his throat, and he scrambles, stumbles over his own words to try and say something to his kid who is standing, bleary eyed in his pajamas, waiting for an answer. It’s obvious, so obvious that Nicole is gone, especially after nine years of her being there, every morning at breakfast.

“She had to leave late last night.” He says eventually, settles on the truth, tries to figure out how to tell the truth and keep it all from him at the same time.

Nicole will be back, she has to come back.

“Where did she go?” Henry asks with a frown, not satisfied with the answer.

Charlie’s hand starts to shake as he serves up the eggs, cheesy and fluffy, scoops a big spatula’s worth onto the plate at the spot where Henry always sits at the table.

“California.” He answers, and Henry sits, takes a huge bite into his blueberry muffin.

“How long is she going to be there?” He asks with his mouthful, and Charlie’s parental overdrive kicks in for a minute, drowns out the blind panic panic panic.

“I don’t know – chew and swallow please.” He says, and Henry gives an apologetic glance with a smile. What did they always say, ignorance is bliss? “But while she’s there, we’re going to get to spend a lot of time together, and that’ll be fun, right?”

Charlie asks, and he suddenly realizes how ridiculous he looks, catches his reflection in the small mirror on the wall where Nicole used to check her hair before walking out the door – bedhead sticking all over the place, in his pajamas, holding a pan of eggs in one hand and face an absolute fucking wreck.

It’s a wonder Henry doesn’t point it out, how red his face is, his eyes.

“Sure dad.” The kid rolls his eyes with a silly smile, and Charlie can work with that, he can work with a good mood.

He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when that good mood disappears, when the full weight of the truth hits this kid. He doesn’t want it to ever sink in, doesn’t want Henry to ever know.

But well, she left them. He’s going to know that eventually.

He puts the pan down and sticks his hands on his hips, throws the small dishtowel he’d been holding over his shoulder, making Henry laugh.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I’m fun.” He swoops in to tickle his son, momentarily forgetting all the bullshit as happy belly laughs ring through the kitchen, all the while Charlie demanding with a big playful pout, “Aren’t I fun?”

“Okay! Okay! Yeah, you are.” Henry relents, giggles making him hiccup, and when he settles back down he shoves another huge mouthful of the muffin into his face, and asks around it, “Can I have some milk please?”

“No you can’t.” Charlie says, teasingly, as he slides him over the carton of milk. Somewhere in the kitchen a timer goes off, the ding to turn off the toaster oven, and he’s out of his seat checking on the bagels he popped in there at the same time as there’s a knock at the door. “Henry bud, would you mind getting the door?”

Henry is out of his chair and running over to the front door, opening it up and letting the sound of the outside world come pouring in.

It’s almost deafening, the sound, the rush of cars and people chatting as they walk to work or the subway station, mail trucks and newspaper boys on bikes all honking their horns and ringing their bells at one another in greeting. Charlie is made aware, in the short moment he has to cry into the sink, the short moment he can release the breath he’s been holding, that the world goes on and on and on around him, outside of him.

He zeroes in on your voice when he realizes it’s you, standing at his front step.

“Hi (Y/N)!” Henry says, ever excited to see you – because why wouldn’t he be? He doesn’t know, doesn’t know that your heart is where Charlie lives, has lived for the better part of a year. Henry doesn’t know that, he can’t know. To him, you’re just the nice babysitter next door, just a friend. He opens the door a little wider and asks, “We’re having breakfast, wanna join?”

Charlie can’t help but turn around and try and get a glimpse of you, to try and remind himself that you’re not a dream. He can tell in your voice that you’re shocked, that you know he doesn’t know.

Charlie wants to yank you inside, wants to pull you into his arms and never let you go.

“Hey Henry, shoot I’m sorry I’m in a rush, I just wanted to give your dad this. It was in my mailbox but I think they put it accidentally.” You give Henry a letter, Charlie can’t really see from there, but you give it to him.

“Aw are you sure?” He complains, and the disappointment in his voice makes Charlie’s heart warm, because same, same.

“Yeah I’m sure, but I’ll see you after school, right?” You ask brightly, ruffle his hair and make him laugh.

“Yes!” He replies, and you laugh, do your very best not to cry, not to cry in front of him, for him – for them both.

“I’m going to pick you up, I’ll be right out front, three-thirty. Make sure your dad gets that.” You say, before giving him a hug, a tight squeeze that makes Henry giggle, only because he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know.

“Bye!” He waves as you walk down the street in the direction of the train station, closes the door and comes back into the living room.

“Who was it?” Charlie asks, even though he knows.

Henry comes bounding back into the room, letter in hand, carefully wrapped in an envelope that hasn’t been opened. He takes one look at it and the familiar handwriting throws him, why would Nicole put a letter in your mailbox?

“(Y/N), she said this is for you.” Henry hands it over, looks up at his dad confused when he asks, “How come mom didn’t say bye?”

“She…” Charlie says, takes the letter and sticks it in his back pocket. He can’t deal with that right now, not right now. He’ll deal with it when he goes to the theater, after he drops Henry off, when he can steal a minute alone. Tears are already stinging his eyes and he’s trying his best to swallow them, because he can’t let Henry know, not right away, not right now, “She didn’t want to wake you up, it was really late.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either, not really.

Henry’s face crinkles up, and for a minute Charlie is afraid that he’s figured it out, but he just pinches his nose, grimaces.

“Something smells like it’s burning.” Henry offers, and Charlie whips his head around, sees smoke coming out of the toaster-oven, realizes he’s forgotten to turn off the damn thing, realizes the bagels are blackened to a crisp.

Without thinking he flings the little door open, reaches in and grabs the bagels and immediately drops them, burning his hand. He’s frazzled, he doesn’t know what the fuck to do, just watches the burnt bagels drop on the floor and suddenly he’s shouting, hand throbbing in pain.

“Fuck!” He yells, because he has to, he just has to, “God fucking – fuck!”

He slams the toaster oven door shut, rips the dishcloth from his shoulder and whips it across the room, and he’s sobbing, face in his hands, already blistering, mind running and running and finally crashing, coming to a halt, because how is he supposed to break the news at all? How is he supposed to do this?

Why why why?

“Dad?” Henry asks, voice small, frozen in place from his spot at the kitchen table, stunned by Charlie’s outburst, “Is your hand okay?”

Charlie’s quick to pick himself up, dust the crumbs off his pajama pants. He sticks his hand under cold running water, and sighs.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry – I’m,” He shuts his eyes, lest he sobs again, and tries to steady his breathing. He doesn’t mean to act like this, “I’m sorry. Shit what time is it, c’mon Henry you gotta get ready for school! You’re going to be late.”

Henry doesn’t move for a little while, but Charlie gives him a stern look, and he finishes up breakfast quickly, brings his plate and cup over to the sink where Charlie is still trying to get his hand under control, goes upstairs.

The letter burns in Charlie’s back pocket, but he’s going to be late too, so he abandons it in the drawer of his bedside table when he dresses for the day himself.

                                                    --------

Back in the present, Henry isn’t there, and neither are you. Just him, and lawyers, lawyers he can’t stand.

Lawyers who’ve asked him a question.

“Patience.” He answers, looking down at his hand, where the scar of a burn he earned a long time ago still branded him, “Patience to try and be understanding when your child needs you to be. Patience to be firm and consistent, to set ground rules that are designed to protect them even when they hate it because they’re too young to believe they’re necessary. Patience to be kind and to listen to them talk for hours and hours about absolutely nothing – but you have to show them that what they like and what they think about is valid, and is worth thinking about, worth talking about in the first place.”

He sighs, suddenly feeling tired, too tired, wanting to call you.

He has a cell phone tucked away, tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket with only one number in it, only one number and too many photographs he wants to look at, if for no other reason than to give him strength.

He thinks of you as he looks up at her, looks up at Nicole.

“Nicole is right it has to do with love – but what is love? It’s not letting them stay up late to watch a movie they want to watch just because they asked for it. No, it’s telling them to not have too many sweets, to go to bed early so they won’t get sick, so they’ll have energy for school the next day so they can learn and play and run. It’s having the patience to be yelled at and given the cold shoulder for all of twenty minutes before they forget why they were mad and ask for a bedtime story. Patience makes you a good parent, your honor.”

He scratches the side of his nose, chews the inside of his lip. She’s staring at him, and he does his best to avoid her gaze at all costs, lest he break down into angry, hate-filled yelling.

He’d never win Henry with behavior like that.

He sighs and looks up at her lawyer, gives an honest truth. Honesty was the best policy, you always said.

“I’m not perfect. I know I’m not. I failed Nicole, in more ways than one. But I have never once failed Henry. I maybe wasn’t there for Nicole the way she needed, but I’ve always been there for Henry. You know I – I wake up in the mornings and I walk him to school. Every day. I drop him off with the lunch I made him and I pick him up and we get pizza on Thursdays or after he’s passed a test. When he’s sad I let him cry and when he’s happy I laugh with him and when he’s hurt or sick I sit by his bedside all night long and I read to him.”

He grows more and more heated, until he’s white-knuckled in his lap, until his jaw is clenched so tightly that tears are threatening to spill from his stinging eyes.

He wishes you were here, wishes he didn’t have to be.

The lawyer paces for a while, in her sharp pantsuit and polished heels, giving him a placating smile. It irritates him, but he can’t let her know that.

“Mrs. Barber doesn’t do that?” She asks, and Charlie’s gaze flits to his ex-wife for just a moment.

“No. She doesn’t.” He says, making the lawyer quirk a brow.

“How do you know?” She asks, and it’s a perfectly reasonable question.

He wouldn’t know, honestly. He wouldn’t know because,

“She’s not here.” He says simply, and it’s the truth. It’s the truth and it hurts like a bitch because he doesn’t know what the fuck he ever did to deserve it, what Henry ever did to be abandoned by his mom. “Because she left him.”

And when he looks at Nicole, when he looks her straight in the eye, he tries to tell her through willful thought, tries to manifest it into existence, tries to tell her that there’s no way he’s letting her take Henry from him.

No way.

This is the end So why pretend And let it linger on The thrill is gone The thrill is gone

                                                    --------

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[awkwardtaco056]

so now that i’m no longer in the Hell that was school and after finding the lovely blog @endcringe i’ve decided to talk about my own experiences with cringe culture, bullying, and why it’s Really Bad to not let people enjoy inherently harmless things, especially neurodivergent people (read more because this is gonna get long and triggering at times, TW for mentions of bullying, suicide, child abuse, a brief mention of incest shipping. I won’t be naming any of the peers that I discuss my experiences with, because my point with this post is Not to “cancel” anyone, I just want to speak out on my experiences)

I’m neurodivergent; I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was 8 years old. I didn’t know a lot about it, and a family member even painted it as “oh it’s nothing blah blah blah just apply yourself more. Because of this, I had no idea about the concept of hyperfixations until I was in my late teens. Due to that, I would obsess over random things and my family would shame me relentlessly for it. My mother said I had an “addictive personality” and that she feared I’d end up a drug addict or alcoholic because of it.

I look younger than what I am, I’m short, and small. AKA, the perfect candidate for being picked on by people bigger and stronger than me. People made fun of my art when I was around 13, but fortunately that was an instance where spite fueled me to improve drastically. However, just because I happened to take the shitty comments and have it fuel me then does NOT mean bullying people will have that effect all the time. At some point someone put my old South Park fan art on a cringe blog. I was temporarily hurt, and a little angry, but I realized that if someone was making fun of a 15 year old’s art, they probably didn’t have much going for them in life, so I moved on.

Fast forward to high school. Everything was horrible and I’m not exaggerating when I say I barely made it out alive. I was living in an abusive household up until January 2018 and I found comfort in many different interests. I’ve always found great comfort in music and the arts in general. In 2016, I drew a picture of a mermaid. I was inspired by the chocolate opal gemstone, and I thought it’d be fun to draw a gay chubby mermaid with dark skin and a rainbow tail and freckles. Junior year was lousy and I wanted something that sparked Joy. I was immediately told that “scientifically, mermaids wouldn’t look like that. Mind you, my take looked like this:

Obviously I wasn’t going for realism, I just wanted to draw a cute mermaid. However, they continued to tell me that they wouldn’t look like that, going as far as writing so on the back of said drawing. When I got angry at her for taking it too far (as I’d established before that I didn’t like it when people wrote on my art without permission), they got angry back, accusing me of being unable to take criticism. Heated by the accusation, I went as far as asking my art teacher if it was fair for them to say that, and she said no, stating that constructive criticism would be talking about how I could improve my lineart and coloring in the digital version. I took her actual helpful criticism and since then have improved Drastically in digital art. Even with that being said, I found myself hesitant to participate in things such as MerMay because I was leery of hearing that peer berate me for having cartoony mermaids. 

 During high school I grew to love many musicians, a lot of emo/alternative stuff, a couple being Twenty One Pilots and Melanie Martinez. I love how unique TOP’s style is, their open discussion of mental illness, and as someone who had a rough childhood, I connected with every single song on Cry Baby. It was like nothing I’d ever heard. I started listening to mashups featuring all these different artists I love, adoring how they could change the tone and sound so drastically. A peer Bully of mine in junior year condemned these two artists, declaring that they made “Bad Music” simply because it didn’t fit their tastes. They’d throw my drawings on the ground, write over them in pen, steal my headphones so I couldn’t listen to music, push me around, complain that mashups sucked and gave them a headache, and in general shit all over conetnt that was actively preventing me from committing suicide. 

Some family members were no better. Once high school hit, I began listening to Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, and My Chemical Romance. Their deep complex lyrics stuck with me. I would write down quotes from my favorite songs and thanks to hyperfixating, I remember each studio album in order My mother resented when I fell in love with the “Emo Trinity” because “the Columbine  shooters were emo and that event traumatized me” Despite that, not only did the Columbine tragedy occur in 1999 and none of the bands got together until the early 2000s, but I have a pretty good feeling those groups aren’t For gun violence. The other side constantly criticized the fact that I love FOB, P!ATD, and MCR because I’m black and “why must you listen to that white people music.”

 I grew fond of Dan and Phil in high school (and I’m still a fan to this day!), I loved Phil’s kindness and positive aura and I deeply connect with Dan’s sense of humor and personality. Their content made me happy during some very dark times in my life. It’s November 2017, I’m over a close peer’s house at the time, and notice PINOF is upon us. I drew the PINOF whiskers on my face, my plan being to quietly watch them in the corner of peer’s bedroom on my phone through headphones, the others were doing their own thing and I knew they didn’t like them, so I thought they’d respect it if I silently indulged in it. Unfortunately, the complete opposite happened. I was immediately shunned and locked out of the bedroom, told that I’d only be let back in if I washed the whiskers off because “absolutely not”. Me, being stubborn, washed them off temporarily but drew them back on in the room. Life during then was especially bad for me, as the abusive household I was in was getting worse. They noticed, of course, and even though all I wanted was to enjoy this small tradition in a time during a deep depression, I was immediately shoved out the room and locked out, only to have said peer’s family members notice. I’m a relatively shy person, so this was honesty a really harrowing experience that had a lasting effect on me. 

I grew to adore Sanders Sides as well, but the moment I found out most of my peers didn’t like Thomas, I was terrified.  I stopped watching Dan and Phil’s content for months and shied away from other fandoms too, only occasionally indulging in times of complete solitude. One time when said peers were due to visit my house for the first time, I saw the Phandom and Fander stuff I’d hung up on my wall in my little sanctuary that was my bedroom (it was the first time in years I’d had my own room), and I was filled with panic and fear. I took them down and hid them away, genuinely terrified of what they’d do to me if they saw. It’s still incites so much anger in me to this day because they turned around and ended up shipping incest, but somehow liking D&P and Sanders Sides was So. Much. Worse.

They were baffled by my actions, despite having humiliated me Twice by going on a private blog of mine separate from everything so that I could fully indulge and laughing at everything on there, once at a peer’s house, once right in school. I don’t think they realized how traumatizing it was to have a large group of people in public laughing at something I was deeply self conscious about for all of my life. I put on a brave face at the time, but ended up crying in the bathroom after first period began. I continued to be treated as lesser until things came to an ugly head August 2018 when I ended up in the hospital because I nearly attempted suicide. Years of child abuse, bullying, and being deemed “cringy” made me feel like I didn’t deserve to be alive, that everyone would be happier if I were gone.

After arguably one of the lowest points in my life, I cut them off and slowly began to embrace the Real Me. I started letting myself enjoy the things again, made true friends and even found love, my first boyfriend ever at 18. I still get choked up retelling it, but when PINOF 10 dropped, after he found out how much I’d been hurt over the incident in 2017, I was greeted with a photo of him with the whiskers on his face. I cried for a while, blown away at such a pure act of kindness. He listens to me ramble about my interests, he compliments my taste in music, he watched K-12 with me. 

This got incredibly long, but my point is this: Cringe Culture hurts people. You might think it’s whatever if the Thing doesn’t apply to your interests, but content you’re denouncing as cringy could be something that’s keeping them alive, that one flicker of light in a void of darkness. When I was contemplating suicide, I listened to The Black Parade, repeating Gee’s words to myself over and over, that nothing in the world was worth hurting yourself over. Some friendly joshing here and there is okay, but actively ripping someone to shreds constantly to the point where they have a mental breakdown in front of you and later on plan their own demise is disgusting. Nobody should abuse anyone for having harmless interests, no one. Unless you’re participating in p*dophilic/inc*st/s*xual assault/inherently abusive ships/content and pretending it’s not bad because “Fiction doesn’t impact reality!”, you have every right to like what you like and be happy. Read homestuck. Play Undertale. Draw up the Wildest OCs you can imagine. And stay away from people who try to rob you of innocent fun, life is too short and in this cruel, unforgiving world, you deserve to be happy, whether you’re a 13 year old who draws cute furries, a 16 year old cosplayer on TikTok, a VSCO girl, a 30 year old who writes/draws self insert art or a 20 year old who adores Invader Zim. 

Cringe Culture is just bullying under a different name, and it can lead to many instances of people, especially fellow neurodivergent folk to feel isolated and ostracized. Attempting to bully someone out of an interest they have isn’t going to fix them; it’s more often than not going to cause more damage. I suffer from diagnosed C-PTSD, anxiety, and depression, and sometimes I still find myself trying to over-justify my interests. To all who are roped up in bad homes and lousy “friends” who berate you for your innocent passions, I’m sorry you’re suffering, things will one day get better even if it doesn’t feel like it, and fuck those people. I’d also like to note that sometimes even if it seems more terrifying, it’s better to have one or two close friends you can truly trust than a whole group that walks all over you. You have every right to call them out for treating you poorly, and if things don’t improve, you also have every right to leave.

You have a right to live your True Self.

[dreamyjoons]

everglow // 4 // myg

Synopsis: Of course exes move on, but what happens when they move on together and want to tie the knot? You don’t know the answer, but with Yoongi by your side, you hope you’ll find out.

Warnings: some angst, fluff, some fluffy smut, briefest mention of death, some swearing.

Words: 5.4k

A/N: fourth and final part of this short series. Thank you so much for all the love and feedback, this has been such a fun and encouraging way to start my ff career 😉 as ever, please check out my growing masterlist for more! I hope you enjoy, and thanks for stopping by. 🧡

You walk back into your hotel room, stunned to see it deserted.

“Yoongi?” You call, checking the bathroom and finding it empty.

You walk to the side of his bed and find his phone gone. Worry tingling in you, you pull your phone out of your pocket and dial his number. It rings once before it ends, and confused, you try again. This time it immediately goes to voicemail.

You sit on the bed and worry your lip, wondering where the hell he had to be at five in the morning.

You sat back against the headboard, unlocking your phone and pulling up your messages.

[you: 5:02 AM]

Where are you Yoongs??

You hit send, and you tip your head back against the headboard, your head thrumming. Before you realise it, your eyes flutter closed as you fall asleep waiting for him

You wake up to the sound of the shower, and you shuffle up from your sleeping position to blurrily look around. Cursing yourself for falling asleep, you reach for your phone. It read 14:06, and you sighed. The wedding was at three, you needed to get moving.

You realise the shower had stopped for a bit, and you draw your lip between your teeth. Something was wrong, you just knew.

Despite the time crunch, you sit in bed and wait. Finally, Yoongi emerges. He’s dressed in a simple dark purple button-down tucked into black jeans, his hair silky and swept back slightly. He knocks the breath out of your lungs - but that was nothing new.

But then he looks at you, and his face turns to thunder.

“Hey.” You say dumbly. He doesn’t reply as he begins to gather his things and stuff them in his suitcase. You watch him for a moment, his ring-covered fingers snatching up everything that was his.

“Where did you go last night? I was worried.” You ask weakly, your heart thudding in your chest.

He lets out a harsh bark of laughter, stopping in his motions to turn and face you. He looks at you with a coldness you’ve never seen before, and alarm bells are screaming in your head. Something’s wrong. But how? It’d only been a few hours.

“Oh, I’m sure you were real worried.” He snaps and you mouth gapes.

“Yoongi, what’s going on?” You ask, getting out of the bed and drawing to your full height.

His eyes flicker over you, lingering on his shirt that you were still wearing. He drags his eyes away to look out of the window, before turning back and looking at you in a way that made you want to hide. You’d never seen him like this. Yeah, you knew Yoongi could be a grump but this was different - colder, and directed at you.

“Are you gonna tell Isla before the wedding?”

Your brain screeches to a halt, trying to understand his words. His eyes are wide and almost watery as he looks at you, and you couldn’t be more confused.

“Isla? What… what are you talking about?” You ask, your eyebrows knitting together.

“Even after this, you’re not totally a shitty person, so do the right thing and tell her.”

“Yoongi, what the hell do you mean?” You ask, your stomach beginning to whirl as he rolls his eyes.

“You can play dumb or whatever, but I saw you with Mark. It’s shitty of you to hook up with a man on his wedding night.” He snaps, and finally the penny drops.

You realise he must have seen you with Mark downstairs. You briefly imagining how that may have looked - you in Mark’s arms, touching his face. But it wasn’t like that - Isla knew you were meeting, and you definitely wouldn’t ever go back to Mark, especially since you have Yoongi. At least, you had Yoongi.

Your look of realisation must have been plain on your face, and Yoongi took it as an admission of guilt. He shakes his head and slams shut his suitcase. He throws it by the door, and you see that he’s got all his stuff ready to go.

“Yoongi, it’s not what you think!” You rush, stepping forward to him but stopping yourself short.

“Oh sure. So what, you were just playing with me until you got what you wanted?” He bites, and you gasp.

“No! I-I love you, Yoongs.” You half whisper, sadness creeping into your bones.

“I don’t believe you. To think that after all this time…” he trails, and you shake your head.

“I do, Yoongi. I love you. I don’t know what you think you saw, but I promise you-“

He laughs mirthlessly, cutting you off. He moves to the door and rips it open before pausing and looking back at you. Your eyes swim, tears threatening to flow. You were hurt, angry and confused. How could he get you so wrong?

“I’m getting the first plane out of here, but it won’t be until after the wedding. If you can’t do right by me, at least do right by Isla. Goodbye, Y/N.” He sighs, taking in your teary appearance before walking out.

“Yoongi! Wait!” You shout, but he’s already gone, the door slamming behind him.

You step back until your legs hit the bed and you collapse on it, tears finally flowing down your face. You wipe furiously at them.

You’d come so close, so close to something wonderful. And it didn’t even last twelve hours.

You roll over and grab your phone to call him again, but the time stops you. You had to be at the wedding in twenty minutes. You consider blowing it off, but you didn’t want to do that to Isla, or even Mark. Maybe you could get them to talk to Yoongi too.

You throw yourself off the bed, a new sense of purpose filling you. If they just talked to Yoongi, he’d understand. You weren’t going to let there be another option.

You run around the hotel room, dusting your face lightly with makeup and pulling on any dress that you’d packed for the wedding. Just a few days ago you’d packed at least five outfits to choose from to wear, and now it didn’t matter. All that mattered was your Yoongs.

You grab your phone and key card, throw your sunglasses over your puffy eyes and ran from the room.

The lift down is agonisingly slow, and as soon as the doors begin to open you slip out and hurry towards the ceremony.

The chairs that had been set up the day before are filled with wedding guests, the sun bearing down mercilessly overhead.

There was only a chair on the back row that was free, and you sneak in and sit down, pushing your sunglasses up into your hair as your eyes scan the crowd.

You finally spot a head of honey-coloured hair, sat surrounded by strangers. Your eyebrows draw together as you stare at him as if he will sense your presence. You’re a little stunned to see him here - you think he wouldn’t turn up after what he believes had happened. But then again, he does seem to have grown to like Isla a lot. Maybe he was here to see if you’d confess to something that you hadn’t done. You school your emotions, not wanting to start crying again. Yoongi really seemed to bring the tears out of you.

A gentle piano melody begins playing, and the crowd stand. Having barely just sat down and caught your breath, you stand back up, looking back to see Isla beginning her walk along the boardwalk towards a waiting Mark. You turn to look at him, having realised you hadn’t taken in your surroundings at all.

He stands at the end of the aisle with the lady who conducts the ceremony, his cream linen suit moulding to his body perfectly. His white shirt sits unbuttoned, with a simple lei hanging around his neck. You also notice he’s wearing cream-coloured sandals.

You flick your eyes back to Isla, her hair curled and bouncing. Her white dress hangs off her shoulders, a gentle dip in the back that barely touches the floor. A bouquet of daisies sit in her hands, and a light purple lei hangs around her throat. But most noticeably of all, they’re both beaming. You’d never seen either of them look so happy, and even though there was a slight tinge of hurt that you couldn’t do that for them, you were genuinely glad they had found each other.

As she walks by you, your eyes slip past her to Yoongi. He’s already looking at you.

His eyes only meet yours for a second, but the hurt you see makes you feel like you've been kicked in the chest. He looks away instantly, his eyes fixing on Mark up ahead with a thunderous look. You sit back and pull your sunglasses over your eyes, determined not to wallow. You were going to make this right.

Isla meets Mark and they hold hands, both laughing giddily. The crowd settle back in their seats, and you draw your lip between your teeth and watch the wedding get underway.

The ceremony drags, and the heat feels worse than it had been all weekend. The objections part of the ceremony passes, and for a moment you were worried Yoongi was going to say something, but he remains silently glued to his chair, his eyes never moving from Mark.

Eventually, mercifully, the wedding ends, and as the crowd cheers, Mark and Isla kiss. You clap along with the crowd, a small tear slipping from the corner of your eye.

They walk out between the rows of seats, grinning and waving. Isla waved at you and Mark offered you a shy smile, to which you grinned back to both of them.

Isla’s mother stands and directs everyone to move down the beach towards where the reception as being held, and you scan the crowd for Yoongi.

He goes to move away, walking out of the row he was sat and begins heading back towards the hotel. You try to scramble to intercept him, but Mark’s mother beats you to it, linking her arm in his and dragging him towards the reception area. You can see the torment in his face, and you almost choke in your emotions. You follow behind at a distance, watching as Mark’s mom talks animatedly at him.

You soon arrive at the designated area: tables and chairs set up in the soft sand, decorated with native flowers and candles. Tables of food have been laid out, and backing onto the decking behind was a bar and DJ, with an area for dancing. It was quaint and cute, but you couldn’t tear your eyes from Yoongi.

Mark’s mom peels away from him and he’s standing alone, and before you think about it, you’re marching over to him.

“I thought you were going?” You ask, and immediately want to smack yourself in the face. Yoongi looks round to see you, and you can tell you’ve put him on edge. He gives you a brief once over before finally meeting your eyes, jaw set.

“I thought you were going to confess the truth?” Your mouth falls open. Did he really think that lowly of you?

“Yoongs, I haven’t done anything! I was trying to comfort him.”

“Oh is that what they call it now?” He laughs spitefully, and it sets daggers into your heart.

“Yoongi, please don’t-“

“I’m sorry Y/N, but I can’t do this. You broke my heart, please don’t break anyone else’s.” He slams his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before walking away to the bar.

You stand there like an idiot, staring at his back. Frustration and hurt bubble up inside you, and you don’t know how to let it out without causing any more hurt.

The sun was already beginning it’s slow descent down, the sky starting to flash shades of orange and pink. You looked out across the ocean, and although you want to take in the beauty, a dark cloud still hovered over your heart.

Fishing out your phone, you dial the one person you think might be able to help you.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jin-oppa.” You say quietly, moving towards the edge of the ocean for a bit of privacy.

“Oh, Y/N. What do you want?” He asks bluntly, and you realise you can’t take any more. Not today.

“I take it you’ve spoken to Yoongi.” You state, your voice cracking as you realise the frostiness of his tone.

“Yep. You should be ashamed-”

“Jin, I didn’t do anything! You know me, and Yoongi knows me. Why do you both think I’m that cruel?” You choke, hurt and betrayal bubbling in your chest.

“The evidence doesn't lie, Y/N.”

Jin, for fuck sake.” You whine, before launching into recounting the story of what happened with Mark. Jin is silent the whole time, and remains silent after you finish talking.

“... and you’ve told Yoongi this?”

“Not fully, he hasn’t given me a chance. He keeps telling me to confess to Isla about my ‘crime’.” You tell him bitterly, kicking at the sand with the edge of your sandal.

“Maybe you should get Isla to talk to him? Or go shout at him. He can never seem to hide from you when you’re angry. Maybe leave Mark out of it, Yoongi can land a mean punch if he wants to.” Jin remarks, and you briefly wonder if he knows that from experience.

“I will. She’s not here right now, and they have to do their first dance, but I’ll ask as soon as I can.”

“Okay, good luck, Y/N. And I’m sorry I believed that about you. I know you’re not like that, but Yoongi’s like a brother, and he’s loved you for a long time. I don’t want him to hurt again.”

“Thank you, Jinnie. I… I love him too. I’m going to make sure he doesn’t hurt again.” You say firmly. You’re determined.

You both say your goodbyes and hang up, just in time as a horn cuts through the chatter of the guests. You turn to see a man blowing through a shell, dressed in Hawaiian ceremonial clothes. He then lowers the shell and begins to shout.

“Please welcome Mr and Mrs Kwon!”

Isla and Mark walk through the hotel doors and onto the deck, giggling and waving as the crowd cheers. They stand in the middle of the deck and take their position to have their first dance, their bodies tight together and their hands clasping gently to one another.

The crowd gathers around to watch, and you join the back of the group, your eyes never moving from Yoongi.

A gentle melody plays and the couple begins to spin around the floor, but your eyes never leave him. Yoongi has a glass in his hands, and it looked to be a large whiskey- a very, very large whiskey.

His eyes seek you out too, and for a minute you’re both caught in an electrifying moment, as if no one else existed but the two of you. You wanted him to know you had nothing to hide, and only love to give. Whether he got it not, you’ll never know as he turns away, his face red and his teeth gritting.

Your eyes flick to Isla and Mark as you draw your lip in between your teeth and bite down, determined not to tear up yet again.

The song ends and the crowd cheer and clap, and you numbly clap along too. The couple then break apart and talk to the crowd, soaking in the love and congratulations. Yoongi had walked away then, Mark getting dangerously close to him.

Isla finally stopped before you, and even though you plaster a wide grin on your face, she sees right through it. She always did.

Grabbing your hand, she drags you out past the tables and towards the shoreline, before sitting on the sand and pulling you down with her.

“Isla, you’re meant to be talking to your guests at your wedding.”

“You’re a guest, and this is my wedding. If anyone can do what they want, it’s me. So,” she shifts and faces you fully, her light features pulling into one of utmost sincerity. Relief floods your system - a friend. “Tell me what’s going on with you and Min Yoongi.”

Tears finally break loose as you talk to Isla, explaining what happened with Mark and what had followed with Yoongi. She nods as you speak, giving you her undivided attention and you’re so thankful.

That’s until you stop. When you finally finish speaking, she nods once, looks out towards the ocean and then out of nowhere, bursts into laughter. You sit stunned, your eyebrows shooting up and your jaw dropping down.

She belly laughs and cries, and even though you’re hurting, a smile pricks up at the corner of your mouth. That was the Isla effect.

“I’m sorry,” she laughs, wiping tears from her eyes. “This is just so dumb. I know you’re both hurting but god, what a mess.”

“I know, I know. But he won’t let me get close enough to make it right.” You smile sadly, your eyes drifting out towards the ocean.

The sun was just hovering above the ocean, and the sky was darkening enough for the candles and tiki torches on the beach to be lit. It was beautiful, and you wanted to share it with Yoongi. You threw a look back over your shoulder, hoping he was still here. You had to make him hear you.

“Go to him. Deploy some of that Y/N stubbornness and get him to hear you. You’re both perfect together, even if you’ve only just realised that your feelings. They’re too strong to ignore.” She shrugs, and you snap your head to look at her. Did she..?

“Yeah, I knew you weren’t a couple. He always looks at you like you never see him. But I started to see you looking at him the same way, so I let it slide. Especially with my mother around.” You both share a giggle, before you throw your arms around her shoulder and pull her in for a hug.

“We may not have been the greatest couple, but you’ve been one of the best additions to my life.” You mumble as your cheeks squish together.

“Of course I am!” She laughs, pulling back and fixing you with a serious look. “Now go and talk to him. I want us to go on double dates, and we can't do that without Yoongi.”

You laugh and fix her with a confused look but she merely shrugs.

“You get good deals on things when there’s four of you.” She smirks, and you smile, before getting to your feet. You hold out a hand and pull her up, and share a quick hug before you both walk up towards the party.

You separate then, and you scan the guests for Yoongi. A bunch of people had made their way to dance, and a few sat dotted around the tables eating. Yoongi was at a table, leaning against his chair and sipping on his whiskey. He was watching you, and when you finally found him he snapped his eyes away. Steeling yourself, you march to him.

He looked beautiful in the dark and candlelight, and it made your heart thud in your chest - although that could have just been fear, plain and simple. You couldn’t lose him. That was not an option: not now, not ever again.

You stop before of him as he lays back against the table, his legs out in front of him and his hair covering his eyes.

“Get up.” You demand, and his eyes snap to you, surprised.

He stares at you for a moment before he laughs you off, turning away in his seat and throwing back his drink. You grit your teeth, before reaching out, snatching the glass from his hands and slamming it on the table. He spins back to you stunned, and you take the opportunity to grab his hand and pull him up, dragging him to the dancefloor before he can argue.

A slow song is playing and you’re silently relieved that you have the chance to be close and talk, but it does nothing to stop the panic that threatens to seize you.

You pull him to an empty spot in the crowd, and turn to face him, standing mere inches from you. You swallow thickly as you place your arms around his neck gently, and he huffs.

“Don’t be a child. Just do this, and if you decide you still don’t want to talk to me I'll… I’ll leave you alone. For good.” You whisper, your voice breaking repeatedly. He mulls over your words before slowly sliding his hands to rest on your hips.

You both begin to sway to the music silently, as you hurriedly race to sort out the emotions running around your head.

“What you saw isn’t what you think.” You start, taking a deep breath before you continue. You make eye contact and hold it - You need him to know how sincere you are.

“Mark wanted to clear the air before he got married. Isla knew about us meeting - she even encouraged Mark to talk to me.

“When I hugged him and wiped away his tears - which is I imagine what you saw - we were talking about his dad, and how he wanted him here. His dad dying had a lot to do with how Mark treated me, so it was rough for him to finally face. It was the ending of an era between us.” You end quietly, your heart hammering in your chest.

“But Yoongs,” you say, and you see him swallow and his eyes swim. “I love you. I do, and I would never treat anyone like that, but especially you. So whilst I’m hurt you think that, I understand you’re in pain. But I don’t want to lose you. Not ever.” You finish, before taking a shuddering sigh and closing your eyes.

You’d said your piece. Now it was all up to him. You opened your eyes to look at his face. He simply looked at you, his expression unreadable. You continued to sway in silence, fear prickling in you.

“Yoongi, please say something.” You ask, the air between you stifling.

“I’m sorry.” He says quietly.

“You’re… what?” You ask, eyebrows knitting together. Your blood rushed loudly in your ears, blocking everything out.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re a good person, but I just saw you in his arms and… freaked out, I guess.” His voice is quiet as he moves his eyes away for a minute to collect himself.

“Oh.” You say dumbly, and he looks back at you.

“I guess I never realised how deeply I feel for you until I nearly lost you. I think it scared me a little too, especially when you said you wanted me like I wanted you.” He begins, his words speeding so quickly you could barely keep up with him.

“Yoongi-”

“I know- I know I’ve probably fucked this up for us, but I don’t want to lose you. So if you don’t want to be together, I get that. But I don’t want you gone from my life. Please don’t go.” He pleads quickly, his eyes flicking rapidly over your face.

You feel your entire body ready collapse from relief, and your heart feels like it’s beating so fast it could burst out if your chest.

Suddenly, you begin to giggle. Shock flits across his face as your giggle grows louder and tears fall from your eyes. You move a hand from around his neck to wipe at your eyes as your giggles subside, and you put it back over him, a smile gracing your lips. The first genuine one you’d had in a while. His lips prick up slightly, and you know you’re a goner.

You lean forward and kiss him, gentle and sweet. He’s stunned for a minute, before his entire body relaxes and he pulls you flat against him, bringing a hand up to cup your face. His thumb dusts across your jaw as he deepens the kiss, the two of you stilling in your swaying to be totally engrossed in each other.

You pull back and smile at him, and he shows you that gummy smile that shatters your heart. You card a hand through his hair, looking as his face transforms with a smile and kiss-reddened lips. You liked how that looked. In fact, you loved it.

And him. You loved him.

The thought seized you so strongly that you needed to bask in it. Alone, with him.

You step out of his embrace and grab his hand before pulling him off the deck and onto the sand. You pull a blanket that had been left out for guests in the chilly evening off the back of a chair and begin running down the beach, away from the party. You hear Yoongi laugh behind you as you run, and you pause by a palm tree, secluded enough for you both not to be disturbed, but open enough so that you can see all of the beach and look at the sky. The moon was taking its place in the sky, the sun having fully vanished - it was perfect, and you could share it with Yoongi.

You drop his hand so that you can throw down the blanket. Once it’s spread out, you turn back to him.

He stares at you like you personally put the moon in the sky for him. And you look at him as if he was the sun - eternal, bright. Both you both belong in the sky together, and you both glow.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers, and a smile slips onto your face.

“So are you.” You say sincerely, causing his grin to slip back on his face.

You stay there only for a few seconds before he’s on you - he’s kissing you, cupping your face and dropping you both onto the blanket. You’re pressed underneath his body, his kiss hot and fast - as if he’s making up for lost time.

He creeps a hand to unbutton the top half of your dress, pulling back from your kiss long enough so that he can shove the sleeves down and reveal your torse. He unclips your bra and pulls it off you, dropping it beside you before swooping down to seize a bud in his mouth. He’s rough at first, sucking hard on your nipple as he pinches the other. But then he slows, peppering kisses along your chest and gently taking the other bud in his mouth, flicking it lightly with his tongue whilst he draws light rings around the other.

You arch under him, the change in pace driving your body wild. You could feel your panties sticking to you with how we they were. It was heavenly, but you needed him. Now.

“Yoongs, we can take turns later. I need you.” You gasp, running your hands into his hair and tugging gently so that he releases your nipple and looks at you with blown out eyes.

He smirks, before dotting gentle kisses back up your chest, pausing at your neck and jaw and capturing your lips again. His kiss is deep and slow, pulling back to nibble on your lip. You both open your eyes and look at each other, each second electric.

You push him back so that he kneels up and you begin to unbuckle his trousers. You push them down to his knees before you guide him back to sit. Slowly you drag his boxers off him, letting his hard cock spring free. You take his length in your hand and pump him a little. He throws his head back as you run your hand along him, and you kiss along his throat as small groans slip out of him. You run your finger along his tip, moving some of his precum down his length. Sweat was beginning to form on his forehead, and his shirt was sticking to his body. He looked sinful, and he was all yours.

You slide your panties off and drop them with your bra before you straddle him, feeling his hard length brushing against your wet core. The feeling makes you both hitch and groan.

“You sure?” He asks, wrapping one arm around your back for support and other reaching between you to rub his tip against your wetness and clit. You take a shuddering breath as you meet his eyes.

“Positive. I want you.” You whisper before kissing him again.

Reaching between you, you place your hand over his and guide him into you slowly. Despite how wet you are, it still burns slightly as he pushes in. You whine into your kiss and he slows to a stop, but you kiss him back fiercely and continue to take him in.

When he’s fully seating in you, you both still, your kiss trailing from fiery to gentle, slow and gentle, with the occasional small smile dotted in.

You roll your hips, and feeling more accustomed to his size inside of you, you begin to move. You start with slow bounces in his lap, getting used to the drag you feel inside. The pain subsides and pleasure bubbles up until you start to pant into his kiss.

Yoongi breaks apart your lips to lean his forehead against yours, meeting your thrusts so that he can pull out further before driving back in, the sensation making you throw your head back. The pace is slow, but so soft that you can’t ever complain. You’d never felt so cared for.

Yoongi kisses up the column of your exposed throat as you roll your hips, clenching down on him causing him to growl into you. You bring your head back up and kiss him again, rocking your hips faster.

His breath gets more ragged as you speed up, his hands moving to your ass to push himself further into you. Your hands are in his hair, holding his sweaty forehead against yours. Your eyes flutter shut as he finds the angle to hit your soft spot inside, and you whine. He laughs, and you pay him back by clenching your walls, causing to swear under his breath

“Fuck... are you getting close princess?” He asks breathlessly, pulling back to meet your eyes. You preen at the nickname, nodding quickly.

“Me too, cum with me, Y/N.” He grits out, moving a hand from your ass to press gently at your clit.

You groan as you lean your forehead against his, moving one of your hands from his hair you place over his on your clit, both of you leading you over the edge.

“Yoongi-” you gasp.

Your orgasm crashes over you, making your eyes slam shut as your body rolls, your walls clamping down hard over his cock. The pressure becomes too much for him, and his orgasm rocks through him, his hot cum filling you as you both ride out your highs together, seizing each other in one last kiss.

He softens and pulls out of you, both sitting in the same position as you catch your breath. He lets go of you for a minute, grabbing your panties to wipe at your leaking core. He throws them off the towel before he lays you both down, facing each other on the blanket.

He shimmies his boxers and trousers over himself, and you take a second to flip back down your dress skirt and cover your chest back up. Then you’re both lying still, with nothing to do but exist together.

A chilly breeze rolls past, shaking the palms above you and causing goosebumps to raise over your skin. Yoongi pulls you flat against his chest and picks up the edge of the blanket to throw over you both.

You both get sprayed with a shower of sand, and you yelp as you hide in Yoongi’s chest.

“Uh, Yoongs! It got in my mouth.” You giggle, wiping at your lips.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to be sweet and romantic.” He cringes, his cheeks flushing red. You look up at him through your lashes and laugh, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“I don’t need all that. You being you is perfect for me.” You sigh, pulling back so that you meet eyes. A small smile cracks at his mouth, which you return wholeheartedly.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Yoongi.”

With a grin, he leans down and kisses you again; light pecks turn into a gentle kiss, his arm circling your waist.

The kiss breaks apart and you lean foreheads together, your heart light. You feel like you’re glowing, and nothing could ever break this feeling.

You had Yoongi, that was all you had ever really wanted.