#the past present and future is all miserable for me and I don’t think I’ll ever get better

[003soy]

Unrelated Frye Picture

[briebysabs]

Vnc OP 1 - Sora to Utsuro

We are here again! I’ll be taking the time to talk of VnC’s first opening and breaking down the lyrics. Specifically in regards to what I will refer to as the dream loop theory. If you don’t know what I mean by that, the base summary is that the VnC universe is a story. Noé is the narrator, the character, the archiver and the creator. Noé is writing the memoires to manifest his memories. Let’s call it a memory world. He does this either to escape his regret-filled reality or to save Vanitas. However, when he “loops”, he doesn’t remember why he’s there so everything plays out the way it was written in the memoires.

Then Noé will live on, write the memoires again, and the cycle continues. And because he’s done this countless times, the memoirs gradually stray away from the original story. I’ll elaborate further when talking about OP 1. Right about now!

This was the main translation I could find for the full song (not including English covers but I could reach the same conclusions for those as well) If anyone has other translations for the whole thing, I’d love to see it. https://youtu.be/G_bJwB1YePw?si=xPVlV3_Fd57S-Bo1

/You’re pondering the simple things, pretty much human emotions and love/

/I hope one day you’ll understand/

/Too many wounds have left you patched together, a miserable sight/

/That doesn’t even know the definition of alive/

It is confirmed that this opening is from Noe’s POV. But keep in mind for the rest of this thread, it’s future Noé speaking. There are two main readings for the song; for the most part it’s Noé talking to or about Vanitas. And then there’s Noé talking to himself. This part has both interpretations.

Noé to Vanitas: Vanitas does struggle to understand his emotions throughout the story, that includes love. Vanitas is a broken individual, has too many wounds/trauma Noé cannot ignore and for a long time, was fueled by getting his “revenge”. Thus he’s forgotten what it means to live. You can also read into “doesn’t know the definition of alive” in a meta sense, from the beginning of the story he’s already dead.

And the very name ‘Vanitas’ is surrounded with the imagery of death, futility and mortality. So yes, Vanitas as a concept doesn’t know what ‘alive’ is.

Noé to himself: Noé as well is trying to figure out human emotions. This is a case study of a human after all. The memoirs follow Noe’s journey in understanding Vanitas’ thinking. And we’ve had Noé blatantly ask Vanitas what love means. But we can read this as Noé , sort of telling his past self that one day he will understand and feel this pain. Take note of “many wounds have left you patched together”. As I said, he could be talking about how “fragile” Vanitas is but what if this is about himself?

/No need to say “just the two of us” or anything/

/I have a feeling we can understand each other/

/And that’s fine for now/

This is calling to the Catacombs Arc, where Vanitas repeats Noe’s line of being able to do anything together. Interesting enough, it’s that arc where we see a bit of Vanitas’ backstory and it ends with the two sitting against each other. An understanding has been reached. Of course we all know that’s what VnC is about but of course he adds the ‘for now’ because what would this show be without its looming doom.

/I love this world and the light only you give me/

/Makes the world I see through these fractured eyes/

/Look gleaming and bright/

It’s these verses that made me want to spend more time on this. First of all, ‘I love this world’, a little weird right? I can only hope this translation is the most accurate but we’re saying ‘this’ instead of ‘the world’. Makes it sound like “I like this one. I prefer this one.” And ‘the light only you give me’ is very odd if we’re saying this is from Noe’s POV. Emphasis on ONLY.

Another reason why I believe it’s future Noé singing because why would present Noé say Vanitas is the only light he has? Vanitas is the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Vanitas being the sole reason Noé loves the world…doesn’t line up with the Noé we’re seeing now. Now it could be Vanitas is a “special” light. But that kinda raises more alarms because Vanitas is very admired in this song guys. And present Noé I feel wouldn’t be so sure in proclaiming this. The world being seen through fractured eyes could be multiple things. We know Noé sustained an injury on his left eye when Teacher bought him.

This could feed into a theory that has been speculated over the years that Noe’s vision was permanently altered and he sees things from that eye differently. Of course, it could refer to future Noe’s perception of life being broken due to the events of the series. Thus why Vanitas is the one thing that makes it gleaming and bright. You could then ask “But Vanitas is gone in the future so how is that possible?” In comes my theory. It’s interesting how Noé is often associated with light, the sun etc. but here we see him give those characteristics to Vanitas’ presence.

/There’s no such thing as a sure thing/

/But you can see me can’t you?/

Things get a little fuzzy here. Obviously, nothing is sure, nothing lasts forever. This period of happiness will pass. But “you can see me”. Assuming this world is a memory, this could be Noé being elated from seeing Vanitas. That his plan has worked. But you can also interpret this, I forgot who pointed it out but ty whoever you are, that this is the one moment Vanitas interjects in the song. Essentially saying, “you can see me, so this is not real.” As if trying to wake Noé up. And if you look at the OP itself, for most of it Vanitas is following or lagging behind Noé like a ghost. There’s even a part where Noé is looking at a drawing of a view instead a real one, Vanitas is yelling at him, trying to get his attention and Noé ignores him completely. Not to mention the OP starts and ends with Noé sleeping, Vanitas nor his belongings ever in the room almost as if it was all a dream hmmm.

You can see this also as Noé acknowledging the world he has created is only temporary. Noé knows this isn’t real, isn’t a sure thing. But then Vanitas comes in to be like “you can see me, can’t you. So is it that bad?”

/I’m pondering the simple things, pretty much emptiness and frigidity/

/One by one lies have increased/

/Playing with a simple puppet/

/My rusted head is shaking/

We’ve contrasted “human emotions and love” with “emptiness and frigidity” here. Frigid here means the bitter cold, stiff, lacking in warmth. The opposite of what Noé says this world gives him so safe guess, he’s talking about the reality he is escaping. Where Vanitas is dead as well as a lot of his friends. The lies have built upon each other, adding to my theory where the numerous times Noé has done this has created layers upon layers of worlds. And each one has more inaccuracies than the last. This is his story, a play, he is the writer and the puppeteer of everyone’s roles. When they appear, what they say and do is decided by what Noé writes in the memoires. But by all the loops he’s made himself a puppet too. His head being rusted could hint at many, many years passing since everything happened. What’s even more interesting is remember, Vanitas is the one usually associated with cold and emptiness. So why is Noé assigning those things to his thoughts? It really shows how future Noé has come to view Vanitas vs himself. Because ignoring any theories or whatever for a second, future Noé is clearly burdened with regrets and hate towards himself.

/Your laughing was reflected by a daydream/

/Without knowing yet we just want to laugh/

/Throw away the answer, whatever you want is fine for now/

We circle back to the dream thing again. What is a daydream? It’s something you fantasize about when you are bored or in need of a distraction. A reflection looks and behaves exactly like you, copies your movements, but is it real? We all know mirrors and reflections play a major role in the story. Whether having mirrors or frames in official art or volume covers. Characters reflecting each other like Vanitas/Astolfo, Domi/Louis, Ruthven/Noé etc. I think the “throw away the answer” is interesting, it could be Noé again knowing what the “right” thing to do is but is desperate to see Vanitas laugh. Feels very much like a “oh forget about all that, what do you wanna do?” Noé putting other people before himself and being selfless to a fault.

/I love this world that lacks everything/

/If the mechanical echoes/

/Everything seems to be laughable/

/I can’t be proud of it/

/But isn’t the burning dream beautiful/

Why would you love a hollow world? This is Noé saying this. How can a world lack everything if it’s meant to be real? Unless it isn’t. Unless it lacks what you truly desire even if you claim to love it regardless. Echoes fall into the same vein as reflections I brought up previously. ‘Mechanical’ implies it’s a machine, tying back to it being empty and hollow. Lacking realness. And it’s funny, Noé says he’s not proud of it. His world, his creation if you will. That it’s laughable even but then goes on to call it beautiful. Think about that for a minute. The dream is burning because Vanitas will always die no matter what Noé does. Everything will go up in flames, it’s only temporary but guess what? To Noé, this fleeting period of happiness is far better than whatever he has left when he wakes up.

/When the sky and the void meet look back because the dreams will come later/

/When the sky and the void meet look back be still in bloom/

/When the sky and the void meet born and die repeatedly/

/The future and lies break and laugh/

We’ll stop here because the song then goes back to the first chorus “I love this world and the light you give me” stuff. This part of the OP I would say is the most vague, you can read this a lot of ways. However you want to interpret it, there is a clear loop going on. We can see “sky and void” as metaphors for Vanitas and Noé. Personally I’d say Noé is the void because of that official art that has Vanitas with a clear sky in the background and Noé is sinking into the darkness. Similar to when he drinks someone’s blood and sees their memories.

But while Vanitas has a few purple butterflies, Noé is given that distinct glowing blue butterfly. Vanitas is Noe’s light. We talk about that art for hours but that's for another day. Plus given how Noé talks in this song, it’s safe to say he sees himself as the void. And once they meet the dreams will come later, to be born and die repeatedly. Meeting could be their actual meeting from chapter one and the cycle/memory world begins from there. It could be wherever fuck they were when Noé failed to grab Vanitas’ hand. The future and lies….what lies? Who my dear readers would be lying to us :000. But eventually that mountain of lies will come tumbling down.

And, no theory just pure delulu I’ve always headcanoned that when Vanitas dies Noé is going to break out laughing. So if that happens the op spoiled it.

[starqueensthings]

If It’s Not You, It’s Not Anyone.

Ficlets inspired by song lyrics: part two.

Pairing: ARC Echo x GN!Reader

POV/WC: 2nd, but from Echo's perspective, 2082 words

Rating/Warnings: Teen. Overall fluffy but with significant mentions of anxiety. Seggsy time is implied a few times also.

A/N: while this isn’t my favourite song in the world, I’ve never been able to listen to it without this kind of imagery floating through my mind. I love the lyrics, especially when I fit them into an ARC Echo sized box. Not proof or beta read (and I’m notorious for making up my own words when I can’t think of the one I want… fair warning.) ENJOY. 

“Forever’s not enough time to love you the way that I want, because every morning I find you, I fear the day that I don’t. You say that I won’t lose you but you can’t predict the future ‘cause certain things are out of our control. If you ever move on without me, I need to make sure you know: you are the only one I’ll ever love… if it’s not you it’s not anyone.”

[Anyone - Justin Bieber]

He wasn’t a betting man anymore, the days he’d found himself brazen enough to wager his belongings were long since outgrown, and now merely a memory of the past brought up too frequently atop relentless jeers from his brother, Fives. The purgatorial hours after curfew but preceding sleep, saw Domino Squad sprawled across a table, discarded face cards tossed aside as the boys bickered with each other over who lay claim to the prize pot anchoring their fun. Echo was only too miserable to watch his prized possessions float from his clutches, lost to the treachery of one bad poker hand after another, the certainty of his impending win often betrayed by Hevy’s nearly inscrutable bluffing skills. “Just lucky, I guess,” the broad shouldered soldier would coo across the table with a wink, smirking as his fingers draped themselves eagerly around the mountain of contraband that he’d won.

Time and experience had seen a shift in priorities. Life… war… had quickly reinforced the notion that the distribution of Lady Luck’s attention was entirely unpredictable, and trying to elucidate her choices could send a man spiraling into an anguished insanity. It was far simpler to just swallow the bitter pill of unreasoning: sometimes you simply had her favour, and sometimes you did not (and Hevy, somehow, seemed to always have it).

Departing the protective bubble of Kamino’s isolation had proved less of a challenge than Echo anticipated thanks to the unexpected comfortability of their first posting. Surveilling the Rishi system from the stillness of a desolate moon was barely a challenge for the squad’s capable hands, especially after years of conditioning had endowed their expectations with images of carnage and violence, but despite the perceived insignificance of their objective, their overseeing officers were no less regimented or dogmatic than those whom had raised them. Tactics and strategy continued to be encouraged at every possible opportunity; obedience enforced, and discipline expected. “Segregation from the front lines is no excuse for complacency,” their sergeant would iterate repeatedly. “Any brother would be lucky to have landed this posting. Take it seriously.”

Between inappropriately fluffy songs, Clone Nation Radio recounted the events of battles fought across the galaxy, perfectly mirroring the sergeants continued pleas. Seemingly the only squad member willing to heed the advice, the quiet hours on the distant moon saw Echo pouring over schematics, the memorization of regulation manuals presenting him with the perfect shield against the potential chill of Lady Luck’s cold shoulder. His brothers’ snide remarks about indulging in this new ‘strange’ habit, simply rolled off his armoured shoulders. “We’ll see who gets the last laugh when these ‘dumb manuals’ help me out-survive all of you,” he would always chirr back with a roll of his eyes.

Yet his incessant need to retain information had unknowingly only sharpened a double-edged sword. In his earnest to ensure a complete competency, his shield of preparedness had rendered him protected on one hand, but preoccupied on the other, with the unknown shift in his awareness exposing a notion shared by many troopers: that the monster of mortality is all-too happy to lay-in-wait long enough for him to be forgotten about, pushed to the back burner a overly confident soldier's mind.  

The Rishi posting was quiet… until it wasn’t. Kamino seemed a fortress impenetrable to external threat… until it wasn’t. Both events had struck Echo with a hard blow of realization that tactics can only ensure a portion of one's safety, schematics will not prevent an invasion, one must learn to expect only that which is unexpected, and there are variables far outside any one man’s control. Lady Luck will ultimately always get to play her game…

And sadly, he’d seen too many brothers had crumple at his side, their torches snuffed in a fraction of a blink, many of them with packs and pouches full of treats that they’d won in a game the previous night. Why is it that Luck had caressed them then, only to fatally betray them hours later? 

No, his betting days were behind him… and then there was you.   

Now? He’d have bet everything he ever owned that your hair was the softest the universe had ever seen. Even after hours of fervent frolicking between the sheets, your bodies entwining with the desperate desire to reacquaint after so many rotations apart, and each strand having been tugged, bunched, knotted and tossed in the name of a passionate routine so mesmerizing that time itself seemed to pause, it still felt like silk draped between his fingers. 

He’d have wagered every credit in the galaxy that history had never seen a hand fit more perfectly into another like yours fit into his. It was as if the Maker had initially sculpted your bodies as one, only to have it fall from Mortis and fracture, the pieces seamlessly fitting together to reestablish his physical rendering of love. 

And he’d have bet that, in all the systems he’d traversed, none of them orbited a sun even remotely as radiant as the twinkle in your eye. A luminescence shining from deep inside of you unrivaled by any charted celestial body; a lighthouse that he was all-too willing to let endlessly guide him into your embrace… back home. 

Definity now seemed attainable. He had never been surer of anything or anyone in his entire life, and such a certainty had been achieved without the memorization of manuals, and without the aid of instructions, tactics, or strategy. Embedded with the impenetrable protection of your belief in him, his shield now seemed the perfect match for redirecting every potential blow of Lady Luck’s unpredictable tantrums; his irrefutable love for you unwavering despite the external chaos. 

But always a double edged sword, the 'distraction' of your love ensured that the undoubtability of your union walked hand-in-hand with unpredictability… with fear and anxiety. The monster of mortality, while frequently concealed behind dense clouds of bliss and enamoring twinkles of light, was never again truly absent from Echo’s awareness, and the harrowing chirp of a deployment transmission ringing from his wristcom acted as a stark reminder that the monster was always waiting patiently for an opportunity to rob the universe of such beauty.     

“What’s on your mind, love?” you would ask in those moments, when the surging heat of your frenzied entanglement subsided and the stillness of the night exposed his resurging anxiety. But your query needn’t ever be spoken; the cause of the deepening crease between his brows and the frown tugging at his lips was a mystery to no one, and part of him wondered if you only uttered the question aloud knowing that the sound of your voice would soothe him in a way that nothing else could.

“You are, Cyare,” he would always answer, too aware that the unnatural smile hitched to his lips would provoke nothing but a skeptical cock of your eyebrow, yet too willing to deny his fear its chance in the light.   

This routine transpired only a handful of times before you’d successfully pulled the truth from him, his desire to remain a pillar of strength simply no match for the knowing twinkle in your eye, its majesty quickly summoning the anxiety from the depths of his gut and out past his lips.

The truth finally spoken: that he was scared to lose each other, to lose you, intensely fearful that every sorrowful departure preceding a deployment would be the last. His tactical mind was painfully aware that the probabilities of him safely returning home varied largely from one mission to the next, the chances laced with a risk that was incalculable… unpreparable despite his every effort.  

But even fatality seemed a welcome alternative to his greatest fear of all: that he would return home from a long deployment to find the twinkle banished from your eyes, that he would find a person no longer blind to the fact that a life built on the shoulders of a soldier was one laden with an unavoidable and potent neglect, and that you’d become a person no longer willing to suffer the solitude that accompanied his absence.  

“I’m not going anywhere, Echo,” you would always reassure him. “It’s you and me, my love. Until the end of the universe.”

The mantra never lost its purity despite how often you chorused it to him with your fingers intertwined tightly between his, or your forehead pressed to his in a motion of complete connection, but tonight felt… different. Despite your recited promise and the intimate swaddle of your body around his, Echo could not shake the feeling of dread simmering in his gut. 

“What is it?” you probed in barely more than a whisper, your hands stalling their thoughtless swirls atop his skin, fingers instead nestling themselves between the swells of his heaving chest. 

“Nothing, Mesh’la.” He couldn’t quite quantify the intensity of his anxieties tonight, for even unspoken they seemed baseless and irrational. How could he express that the gnawing of his upcoming deployment felt more formidable this time, when he knew his words would serve no purpose other than plaguing you with worry? He had no desire to let his malignant fears rob you of the listful peace that he so badly longed for in these moments. 

You hummed quietly, toes shifting to gently glide along the top of his foot, the sensation grounding him enough to tighten his grasp around your shoulders. “I’m not going to call you a liar,” you snorted as you nuzzled into his side, “but it kinda smells like your pants might be on fire.” 

He should have expected such a response; you’d always been quick to wit, quick to humour, quick to ensure that, even in the enshadowed bedroom where the only light came from the patchwork quilt of a million other windows scattered from here to the horizon, he felt utterly seen. 

A small sigh stalled his explanation, his plagued mind still attempting to grapple for some semblance of justification. “I don’t know,” he posed, pausing to press his lips to your forehead, the familiar fragrance of your hair wafting into his nose easing only a fraction of his worry. “Something feels… weird. I can’t shake the feeling that something is going to go amiss during this next one.” 

“Sounds like a bad case of the ‘send-off scaries’,” you chuckled, shifting your head on his shoulder to watch your fingers resume their mindless doodles across his skin.

“No, Mesh’la,” he protested, the ghost of misunderstood frustration dancing across his tense features as he retracted his arm from around you and pushed himself into a seated position. “It’s more than that, but… I can’t explain it.” 

You shifted your posture to mirror his, scooping his hands into yours and squeezing his palms tightly to prevent him from shielding his face. “Perhaps it’s because this one is a little riskier than some of the others?” you proposed, trying to catch the eyes that he’d deliberately averted from you. “You were saying the Citadel is pretty heavily fortified, right? Maybe it’s the fact that the archive maps are dated and incomplete that has you a little more anxious than usual.” 

“Yeah… maybe,” he sighed solemnly, only barely resisting the urge to shake his head and argue.  

“You and Fives are an unshakable team,” you persisted. “Especially with Rex and the General beside you. You all have an innate call to protect each other. Just have faith… trust your instincts. They’ve never led you astray, my love. In fact–” a gentle guiding finger under his chin pulled his anguished gaze back to you, “–they led you right to me.” 

There it was, dancing in your eyes as if fueled by starlight, the twinkle that reminded him time-and-time-again that nothing could rob him of his home… of his home in you.

“You’re right, Cyare,” he conceded, leaning in to graze his smiling lips against yours. “I love you. It’s you and me to the end of the universe.” 

No, he wasn’t anymore… but if he was a betting man, that lingering moment of quiet assurances with breath dancing atop each other's cheeks and lips moving to convey an unspoken message, he’d have wagered that the very stars aligned the night he met you. He’d have bet there wasn’t a force anywhere in this galaxy stronger than his connection to you… and you can bet that if only an ounce of his courage remains intact when he returns home from that wretched fortress, the first place you’ll find him is in your doorway, perched on one knee with a ring in his hand and a plea in his eyes. You can bet that, if Lady Luck’s cold shoulder ever robbed you of each other, his love for you, and only you, would be a promise more steadfast and unwavering than time itself.

taglist: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations

[holyghostbws]

heartbreaks and mistakes ; bws 💔

| Based on this request: hiii, do you take requests? if so, could you do an angst imagine where Brad is going thru a tough time/breakup and the band mates help him out? |

They met in december. Brad could still remember the first time it snowed that year because that same day he met her. In that very moment it had felt as if time had stop, he swore he could see the snowflakes falling in slow motion, glistening as they fell into the ground, almost as bright as her smile.

Every time they’d go out together, Brad would immediately reach for her hand. He didn’t have to look at it, he knew exactly the position of her fingers and how to intertwine them with his. If the air was too cold, he would gladly take his jacket off and put it around her shoulders; sometimes he secretly wished she would forget hers, just so he could give it his, let his arms be his blanket and let the world know she had someone. With time, forgotten clothes started to appear scattered around his flat, only for him to put them in an empty drawer that then became hers. Sometimes it wasn’t just clothes, sometimes it was an earring resting on her pillow, a scrunchie forgotten in the bathroom, the smell of her perfume in his sheets.

Brad could still picture every moment with her like it was a movie, he often found himself replaying memories in his head as if they were episodes of a tragic love story. It made no sense that he had burned and deleted all of their pictures together and even blocked her on social media, because their love was inked to his skin. Their relationship was built upon small, meaningful moments… she was home to Brad, but Brad wasn’t home to her.

Brad remembered the first time he met her parents. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something planned, they met them on one of their dates by accidentally running into them. She had introduced Brad as a friend although they were way past that state. Still, he said nothing and thought she had her reasons, maybe her parents were difficult, maybe she wanted to introduce him at a better time like a family gathering… he should’ve known. He should’ve known since the moment he said “i love you” and she never said it back, instead, she started a brand new conversation about weather. He had been foolish, he had been blinded by love and was too busy falling for her to see that he was the only one falling.

He had already pictured a future with her. They would host Christmas for their family and friends, full of peppermint-flavored kisses and presents, romantic dates on Valentines, picnics in the middle of flowers blooming, sweaty summers by the beach, matching outfits for Halloween… they never made it that far.

It was heartbreak after heartbreak for him during that relationship: “sorry I can’t meet your parents, I just think we should wait until the right moment”, “no, I can’t go out with you and your friends tonight, I have so much work to do”, “I’m so sorry I missed your concert, I know it was important to you and trust me, I hate myself for missing it but things got messy at work and they wouldn’t let me leave… you don’t want me getting fired, right?”, “I promise i’ll make it up to you”, “I swear it’s the last time that this happens”, “I’m sorry babe, please understand that it was out of my hands”, “Please believe me, I swear it won’t happen again”… There’s only so much pain a heart can take and Brad’s had been strong for so long, it was bound to happen: the breakup.

The blind fell to the floor on his birthday, when she didn’t show up. Just as many times before, she promised she’d be there on time, and he believed her, of course. Even he knew, deep in his heart, he was gonna be let down again, he decided to trust her; another mistake added to the already long list. Even in a room full of people who loved him, Brad felt miserable. How come everyone but her was there to celebrate him?

He wondered what he had done wrong to deserve that, maybe it was karma, maybe he was a shitty boyfriend, maybe it was a lesson he had to learn. It didn’t mattered why anymore, she didn’t love him and the only way to get through it was to blur everything out by getting wasted with his best mates, the ones that did show up, the ones that did care for him.

A week after his birthday, the call came.

“Hey, I think we need to talk” she said. The sentence every lover fears the most. The sentence that ends it all. Her voice sounded distant, like it was muffled. Hearing her break his heart for the millionth time would destroy him, he need to protect himself, so he tried to dissociate as much as he could from the conversation.

“About what?” He asked, trying to play it cool. He already knew, he knew exactly how it was going to go, he knew how she would try to act like she cared, like it was a difficult decision to make but after all it was the right choice.

“Can I see you? I’ll drop by your place.” He didn’t want to see her ever again, it would only make things worse for him, it would make him feel guilty when he didn’t have any reason to feel that way. It was true, but it was also true that he did want to see her, he wanted to see her everyday for the rest of his life, he wanted to see her when he woke up and when he went to sleep, he wanted to see her smiling and wanted to see her crying. Brad wanted to see her young face and then also her face after time had aged it. He wanted her, forever.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t make it” Was the first thing she said when he opened the door. Brad stood still and quiet and watched her face filling with something that seemed like regret.

“Did you even try to go?” He asked after a while. His voice was calm, he tried to appear neutral and unbothered but his eyes gave him away. There was no hiding the sadness and disappointment in them.

Her dropping her head to the floor was enough answer for him. She didn’t. And he knew that, still, it didn’t make it easier.

“I honestly don’t know what to say to you. I don’t even know why you’re here. It’s so obvious that you never cared and that you don’t feel the same way, so why bother? Don’t you have better things to do?” He still kept calm but could feel his insides shattering with every second that passed.

“Stop being so dramatic, Brad. I had a really shitty week and came here to apologize.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, sorry for bothering you and interrupting your apology, I have no right to be mad at you.” He could feel himself running out of patience.

“Oh god” She whined. “I knew it was a bad idea coming here, it’s impossible to talk to you when you’re like this…”

“You’re right, it was a bad idea for you to come here, you should go.” Brad said.

“I’m trying to tell you something, you asshole” She started raising her voice.

“I don’t want to hear it. I’m sick and tired of you, of always waiting for you just so you never show up, of keeping up with your bad moods and hurtful words, of always giving and receiving nothing back, I-“

“I’m sorry! I really am! I’m trying my best to be enough for you. I just want to be with you.” Her voice sounded high pitched, like she was about to cry but her eyes were dry.

“Cut the bullshit and don’t go wasting my time. Don’t waste yours. I see through your lies, I just pretended I didn’t because I loved you and wanted to believe you, but we can stop now.” The calmness in Brad faded away and was replaced by anger.

For a second, silence filled the atmosphere.

“I love you.” That was a stab that stroke to kill. It fueled him with rage and suddenly he wanted to stab her back, to hurt her as much as she did to him, but how could you hurt someone that simply doesn’t care?

Months ago, those three little words were all he wanted to hear. It’s funny how words mean nothing when they’re a little too late.

“Goodbye, y/n.”

💔

A week and a half was the longest he could keep the break up a secret from his band mates, they noticed his eyes had lost its sparkle and the bags under them.

“How you holding up mate?” James was the first one to ask. James already knew the answer to that question but felt like Brad could use the talking… that would’ve worked if Brad was communicative about his pain.

“I’m fine, actually.” Brad answered. The first days were rough for him but he had already managed to keep his feelings bottled up, regretting it and beating himself up would be of no use and besides, why would he keep being sad and mad about a relationship that was already dead? It was better to just move on and keep going on with his life, after all, the world wasn’t going to stop and nothing would change just because she didn’t love him.

“You know it’s okay to talk about your feelings, right? There’s no shame here.” James reassured him.

“Yeah, you can talk to us about anything.” Tristan intervened.

“There’s nothing to talk about. She never cared about me, why would I care about her?” Brad said, it sounded way more harsh that he intended to.

There was nothing his band mates could say that would make him feel better, that would at least ease the grieving. Memories stung him, it was like a disease with no cure and time was only a cruel reminder of a love that had maimed him.

“Yeah, mate. Fuck her. You can have any girl that you want, we should go out tonight.” Connor said. James wanted to kill him.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go out! You’ll forget about her in no time” Tristan chirped in.

“I think it’s a good idea to distract yourself but I also think you should talk about your feelings with someone and not just go and fuck the first woman you find.” James intervened, afraid of how the others would take his words.

“Oh shut up, James. What Brad needs right now is a night out to get wasted and meet a pretty face.” Tristan said with a laugh.

“Hey! Let’s go to Ibizaaaaaaa!” Connor screamed.

Brad stopped listening to his friends plans after that. He loved them, he really did, but none of them had the answers for mending his broken heart.

“Hey, uh, what if we try writing something?” Brad said after a while. Tristan and Connor stopped talking and turned their heads to him.

“Writing? Seriously?” Connor said in disbelief.

“I mean… sure, if that’s going to help you.” Tristan said and gave him a pat in his back.

“It’s a great idea! I’ll bring the guitar.” James said, seeing it as an opportunity for Brad to open up.

Brad had handwritten notes he found deep in his drawer right in his pocket: words of love that he had thought of turning into a song, into an album even… maybe those would now turn into an angry song or a sad one, or maybe into nothing. That was the magic of songwriting. After all, music and his friends had always been his therapy.

[princesssarisa]

Character ask: Ebenezer Scrooge (A Christmas Carol)

No one requested this, but I answered asks for all the other main Christmas Carol characters last year, so it's high time I answered one for the iconic protagonist.

Favorite thing about them: His redemption arc, and how kind, generous, and full of joy he becomes by the end. Also the fact that Dickens breaks the standard rule of "Make the protagonist likable" and depicts a very unpleasant man, yet throws him into situations that make us engage with him even before he becomes likable, and then steadily earns our sympathy for him.

Least favorite thing about them: Well, he's obviously not a good person at the beginning of the story. That's the whole point.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I tend to be less social than many people are.

*I can be greedy and self-absorbed at times, though I try not to be.

*I try to be generous to those in need, as he is by the end.

Three things I don't have in common:

*I'm not an elderly British man.

*I'm not a business owner.

*I've never been a nasty miser.

Favorite line:

"If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart."

Explaining to Marley's Ghost why he doesn't believe in him:

“Because a little thing affects them. A slight disorder of the stomach makes them cheats. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!”

To the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come:

“Ghost of the Future! I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear you company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?... Lead on! Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!

How vow of redemption:

“I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future! The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. Oh Jacob Marley! Heaven, and the Christmas Time be praised for this! I say it on my knees, old Jacob; on my knees!”

His giddy joy immediately afterwards:

“I don’t know what to do! I am as light as a feather, I am as happy as an angel, I am as merry as a schoolboy. I am as giddy as a drunken man. A merry Christmas to everybody! A happy New Year to all the world. Hallo here! Whoop! Hallo!”

His prank on Bob Cratchit:

“Now, I’ll tell you what, my friend, I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore... and therefore I am about to raise your salary!”

brOTP: In his past, his sister Fan, his fellow apprentice Dick Wilkins, Fezziwig as a mentor/father figure to him, and Jacob Marley, to whatever extent they were really friends and not just partners. In his future, Bob Cratchit, Tiny Tim, the rest of Cratchit family, his nephew Fred, Fred's wife, and their soon-to-be-born baby.

OTP: Belle in his youth; in the present, none.

nOTP: Any of the ghosts or the Cratchit children.

Random headcanon: He's of Scottish descent. His family's surname was originally the Scottish "Scroggie" (from which Dickens may have derived his name in real life), but they Anglicized it to "Scrooge" when they came to England.

Unpopular opinion: Even though almost every adaptation shows him sharing romantic moments with Belle at Fezziwig's party, in the book I don't think their engagement took place until after his apprenticeship with Fezziwig. In the scene showing Belle with her husband and children on the night Marley died, her youngest child is just a baby, so she was still of childbearing age just 7 years before Scrooge's redemption. This seems to imply that she's much younger than Scrooge. I don't mind this fact; age gaps were common between couples of their generation. But apprentices in that era were usually teenagers, so unless teenage Scrooge started courting Belle when she was 10 or 11 years old, I sincerely doubt they were already sweethearts when he was Fezziwig's apprentice.

Song I associate with them:

Many songs from the many musical adaptations, but chiefly these.

From Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol:

"Ringle Ringle"

"All Alone in the World"

From the musical Scrooge:

"I Hate People"

"I'll Begin Again"

From The Muppet Christmas Carol:

"Scrooge"

"A Thankful Heart"

From Alan Menken and Lynn Ahrens' A Christmas Carol: The Musical:

"Nothing to Do With Me"

"Yesterday, Tomorrow, and Today/God Bless Us, Every One"

Favorite pictures of them:

These classic illustrations by John Leech:

Sir Seymour Hicks in the 1935 film:

Reginald Owen in the 1938 film (is it true or just a rumor that his wispy tufts of hair inspired the similar feather tufts of Scrooge McDuck?):

Alastair Sim in the 1951 film:

George C. Scott in the 1984 TV film:

Michael Caine in The Muppet Christmas Carol:

[frodo-with-glasses]

Not playlist anon (obvious now I guess), but I'm going to jump on the bandwagon and ask you to talk about Little Talks for the game since it's by my favourite band ^^

Oh HECK yes Of Monsters and Men, let’s goooo!

So once again, “Little Talks” is in the playlist more for the overall emotion of the song than for any specific lyrics. There are obviously any number of interpretations you can get out of it—that’s one of the best things about OMAM songs, their artistic ambiguity—but for me, it’s one of those songs that goes into my little list of “this is what it feels like to love somebody with mental illness”.

You may notice that I picked a male cover of the song, rather than just using the original (which is exquisite and has less confusion over that one part in the second verse where the two singers’ voices overlap for one word), because it is meant to be, once again, a conversation between Frodo and Sam. Specifically, I see this as being a sort of snapshot of life in Bag End in that…what, year and a half?…after the Quest had ended and before Frodo left for Valinor. The song is sleepy, it’s tender, it’s melancholy, and it’s deeply unsettling. Whoever the two speakers are, they love each other, but something has gone very wrong in the mind of one of them, and it’s tearing the other one apart.

F: I don’t like walking around this old and empty house

S: So hold my hand, I’ll walk with you, my dear

F: The stairs creak as I sleep, it’s keeping me awake

S: It’s the house telling you to close your eyes

F: Some days I can’t even trust myself

S: It’s killing me to see you this way

For Frodo, Bag End doesn’t feel like home anymore. It’s too big. Too empty. Too full of memories of a past life to which he can’t return. He has constant nightmares and frequent insomnia and can’t always be sure of his own mind. Sam offers what he always has—patient, gentle assurances, and sometimes a hand to hold—but it breaks his heart every time.

Both: ‘Cause though the truth may vary, this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

Ships. The Sea. The Sea only ever means one thing. It’s a look ahead to the very end.

F: There’s an old voice in my head that’s holding me back

S: Well tell [him] that I miss our little talks

F: Soon it will be over and buried with our past

S: We used to play outside when we were young, and full of life and full of love

Throughout the book, Frodo has a habit of looking into the future with pessimism: he’s miserable, but at least the misery will all be over and forgotten when he’s dead. Even the past is tarnished by the pain of the present; his happy years in the Shire come back to taunt him, dancing just out of reach, where he can’t grasp them again. But Sam looks on the past with fondness and almost aggressive optimism; in the dreary desert of Mordor, he thought back to when he was young, swimming in the farm pond with Rosie and her brothers, and even here he thinks wistfully about the days when Frodo was free and whole and things were easy.

You’re gone, gone, gone away, I watched you disappear All that’s left is the ghost of you Now we’re torn, torn, torn apart, there’s nothing we can do Just let me go, we’ll meet again soon

What is this story except Sam being forced to watch Frodo slowly deteriorate; of cradling his cold body, when he thinks he’s dead, and then watching him truly die from the mind outward, which is so much worse? Sam is determined to lead a good life in the Shire, but Frodo can’t stay here any longer. He has to leave, or he won’t heal. So after walking a long, long road side by side, they’re now torn apart on the pier of the Grey Havens. “Just let me go,” whispers Frodo. “We’ll meet again soon.”

Now wait, wait, wait for me Please hang around I’ll see you when I fall asleep HEY!

The sudden, raucous crescendo here in the original recording just gets me in the throat every time. It feels like love that hurts—raw, roaring, and desperate—when saying goodbye is like a shard to the chest that’s so close to your heart you can’t remove it without risking even worse damage, so it just stays there, and your skin and muscle close and heal around it, but you’re still carrying it with you ‘til the end of your life; and even though you may go for months or years without noticing it, it still pricks and gives you pain sometimes.

(Did that metaphor end up going a lot further than I thought it would? Yes. Am I running with it regardless? Also yes.)

“Wait, wait, wait for me.” It feels like something Sam would want to shout after the ship as it pulled away, but he shut his mouth and swallowed it into his chest, because Rosie was waiting for him at home and he couldn’t go, not yet.

“Wait, wait, wait for me.” It feels like something Frodo would want to whisper from the stern; please don’t hurry, take your time, but don’t forget me.

“Wait, wait, wait for me.” I read something recently that said mortals aren’t actually made immortal by the trip to Valinor; the land is called Undying because it’s full of elves, not because it can grant immortality. I’m not a smart enough Tolkien person to know if that’s true or not, but if it is, that adds a whole other layer of agony: Bilbo would have likely passed away not long after reaching Valinor. And Frodo? Frodo wasn’t exactly a spring chicken himself. He would have been even older by the time Rosie passed away, and Sam took it into his head to leave Middle Earth. After he had found his healing—and met all the elves he wished to meet and seen all of Valinor he wished to see—what else was there for Frodo to hold on to life for?

What else, except for the vague, wild hope of a reunion?

But until then, Sam lies awake in Bag End, with Rosie at his side, staring at the ceiling. And a motif of this playlist is repeated that first popped its head up in “Dear Fellow Traveler”:

“And I’ll return to my beautiful city Black skies will change into blue And though my love is so wise and so pretty Some nights I’ll still dream of you”

I’ll see you when I fall asleep…

I’ll close my eyes and dream of you, until we meet again.

WORD ASK GAME! (kinda!)

[sonickedtrowel]

last 10 fics

rules: post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

Tagged by @goldheartedchaoticdisaster, thank you!  And I’m just gonna let you know right now that I take a notoriously liberal interpretation of “first lines” because I can’t live without context.  Lines, paragraphs... who are we to say, really, what is a line? 

1. the sun isn't only sinking fast, every night knows how long it's supposed to last

Mendorax Dellora

(human colony)

Christmas Day

5343

Having a person erased from your memory, it turned out, was extremely unpleasant.  The Doctor’s head was a mess, even by his own generous standards, and every miserable effect was closely chased by the more-miserable thought that he deserved it, for having done it before.  For Donna.  For having been ready, still, to do it again.

2. though we cannot make our sun stand still, yet we will make him run

“I've been sending out a message.  A distress call.  Outside the bubble of our time, the universe is still turning, and I've sent a message everywhere.  To the future and the past, the beginning and the end of everything.  ‘The Doctor is dying.  Please, please help.’”

For just a moment, his eyebrows lifted and the corner of his mouth turned up.  It was a shame, really, that she couldn’t enjoy him being impressed with her.  A second later his eyes screwed shut as he seemed to physically shake himself out of it.  

3. can’t help pollen in love

“Artemisia?” the Doctor read aloud, flicking through the very pink, glossy leaflet River had presented him with.  “Why do I know that name?”

“I can’t imagine you’ve been,” River replied as she circled the console and fired up the controls.  “Of course, if I’m wrong, I’ll need details.”

“Gentileschi!” he cried, snapping his fingers in revelation.  “Brilliant painter.  I should introduce you, you’d definitely get on.”

“Delightful as that sounds, I think you’d prefer we make this trip without the extra company.  Of course, if I’m wrong…”

4. I don’t wanna run, just overwhelm me

Looking back, it was hard for the Doctor to say exactly when he’d stopped running.  The grief and resentment he’d been nursing since their first meeting had given way, little by little, to a terrifying thrill in the pit of his stomach.  It was that magnetic pull; the undeniable certainty that he was colliding with his future each time he crossed paths with River Song.  

Adrenaline spiked through his veins at the first syllable from her lips, her warm voice so smugly suggestive he suspected she wasn’t buying his feigned ignorance one bit.  She was utterly infuriating.  Infuriating, and brilliant and mad and funny and brave and kind, and she knew everything he’d ever been and had seen everything he would become.  

5. there is a love I reminisce

Being called upon by UNIT to clear up some extra-temporal alien mess or another wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for River.  Jack wasn’t always easy to get in touch with, and the Doctor, for all his many wonderful qualities, was not what anyone would call reliable.  And while UNIT did (in an extremely top-secret capacity of which no one, including their own tactical assets, was meant to be any the wiser) possess means of time travel, River was fairly certain she’d “accidentally” left their vortex manipulator knackered enough after the last time she’d borrowed it as to have rendered it basically useless.  To them, anyway.  She could always fix it up if she needed a spare.

So when the odd request from Kate arrived, if it really sounded like something they couldn’t handle on their own, she usually popped by to lend a helping hand (or staser, or what-have-you.)  This time, the message simply read:

Come and fetch your husband.

6. someday you’ll call my name

“I’m sure I’ve got an umbrella somewhere,” the Doctor called over his shoulder as he opened the TARDIS door.  In contrast to the blinding sunlight of the beach, the dim console room was a haze of greenish obscurity.

“I’m sure you have,” Liv shouted after him, “just don’t get lost looking for it!”

“I don’t get lost in my own TARDIS!” he shot back, just as the door swung shut, leaving him in darkness.  “I… get distracted.”

He navigated past the console mostly by memory, making a mental note to add sunglasses to the requisition list as he went, and only briefly snagged his foot on a rug.  He’d steadied himself against the opening of the corridor and was just beginning to regain some of his vision when the ringing of the telephone cut through the quiet control room.

7. then hold my memory

The plan had been dancing lessons; that’s all.  A swanky party with some of Hollywood’s lesser elite, where she’d cast a long shadow in the room, but wouldn’t chance running into any of Rita’s closer acquaintances.  She’d charm him into a dance or two— it was only the rumba.  What would be the harm?  But she couldn’t risk anything more with the psychic wimple in place.  If he saw through it, what then?  There was something about the thought of wiping this one’s memories that made her hearts twist in her chest.  He’d had enough of that already without her help.

But then they’d staggered away from the dance floor, giddy and grinning, and he placed a gentle hand on her back as he fell into step beside her.  His blue eyes were bright when she stole a glance his way and found him already watching her.  The breathless delight on his face was just too much to resist.

Oh, to hell with it.

8. the Furies my one abandoned WIP, so I like to forget this exists!! ugh!! the shame!!!!

The Doctor let out a heavy breath, slumping back against the outer wall of Clara’s block.  His coat snagged on the concrete, the gritty surface digging painfully into his fingertips as he mindlessly reached for some tactile distraction.  Clara was safe in her flat, with a pile of biscuits and a cup of tea that would surely be cold when she woke waiting on her bedside table.  It was, quite literally, the very least he could do for the girl who’d just rescued him by leaping into his timestream and scattering echoes of herself across infinity.  She deserved better, but for now, she’d be fine in the morning.

He dragged a shaking hand across his face as another wave of grief crashed over him without warning, crushing the air from his lungs.  He’d struggled for so long to get above water, but then he saw her, he spoke to her, he held her and kissed her and told her goodbye and now he was drowning, drowning, drowning.

9. a first time for everything kids we’re travelling dangerously far back in time now I fear we’re entering the suburbs of cringetown

The Doctor scowled down at the console.  He’d dropped Amy and Rory back to their wedding night, promising them no further attempts at a honeymoon outing.  Honestly, he didn’t know what they were making such a fuss about.  He’d been in loads of spaceship crashes; even died in one.  Ships that didn’t hit the ground didn’t even rate on the list.

Well, so much for having company to distract him.  The party was still going, though!  Back here on the night of the 26th of June, when the universe was brand new again… He could just pop back in right after they’d left.  Right after…

“No, but was that yes, or yes?”

“Yes.”

10. The Second Date

River’s senses prickled the moment she turned the key in the lock.  Her very first day moving in, and already they’d sent someone after her?  She didn’t exactly know to expect them; the memories were all a blur, really.  But she’d been trained to kill the Doctor, and, well, she had done, but rather more briefly than she supposed her former keepers had intended.  She was certain they’d be coming round at some point to rectify the situation.

Good.  She’d get a good look at them, finally, and they’d get the last look of their lives.

In one fluid motion, she threw open the door, dropped the little box of her belongings to the floor and levelled her gun into the room.

“River!” the Doctor cheered.  She froze.

PHEW not even gonna guess how much broken formatting or links made it in there but I did my best.  Tagging!!!! @xhellnhighheelsx @regalpotato @mnemosyne-musing @artemisery (YES YOU!!!) @diaryofriversong @mygalfriday (I know you haven’t been around Pam but WE MISS YOU!) and literally if you’re reading this and you write fic i am tagging you i just cant remember more usernames i have pneumonia. lol i’m gonna go lie down for 800 years.  or for one standard earth night until the crack of 7am, as it happens in reality.

[followmythoughts]

11/27/23

 It’s almost December so it’s time for the seasonal depression. I am gonna try to let everything out. Keyword: try. So many thoughts inside my head yet not all I can fully explain. It’s too tiring, and I guess, somewhat complex. I don’t think anyone will understand so for the sake of us all I will keep this all to myself. My notes and Tumblr are the only exception — unless if someone manages to find out.

I hate that I am nostalgic. It is my biggest drug. I miss yesterday. I miss who I was two months ago. I miss every moment I felt some type of emotion in. I miss my childhood. I miss my friends. I miss my old class. I miss everything. People may say that nostalgia is beautiful, but I simply don’t have it inside me to call it that. It’s more like bittersweet and grief. How can I call it beautiful when all it does is make me miserable? I am stuck in the past 24/7. It’s a cycle, because when I start to think that maybe, life is better right now. My present life is much more better than it was before. I come spiraling back. It will never pass. I can never truly let go of something, and if I have - it will always have claw marks. Proof of how I held it so tightly. If I had a chance, or a decision where I had to make a choice - I will always pick the option to go back in time. No matter how rich I am today, no matter how many friends I have made. I will always want to go back in time with my current knowledge. That’s all I want in life: I will always be chasing the same emotions of what I felt when I was just a child. Every birthday of mine, I wish that I wake up one day by a familiar scent, and as I look down at my hands I find out that they have returned to it’s 5 yr old self. And I am a child again. I know that there’s no chance but I hope. I foolishly hope it comes true one day.

Why do I keep thinking that life’s just a game? It’s the reason on why I do risky stuff - because I simply think I am no more but a virtual character whom you can reset anytime you want. But no, it doesn’t work like that. It’s reality. I am painfully self aware but I can’t bring myself to change. I don’t wanna grow up and live a 9-5 life. I guess this is my coping mechanism. That time where I just stopped going to school, and because of that my family had to carry the consequences of paying 20k. I kept telling myself that I’ll just kill myself when I get caught; and when I think back on it now - I want to laugh in disbelief because no way, I actually thought of that? It’s just like resetting your character on roblox. One click, and boom, reset. Act like you’ve never done anything wrong. How painfully naive. Tell that to my 2022 self where I hugged the tied blanket so tightly, debating on whether to actually do it or not. She will fucking laugh in your face. I am aware. I’m so self aware, yet I am still self sabotaging myself just because I am lazy. I know doing this specific thing will have consequences in the future and will just make my family drown in more debt but guess what? Nah, won’t do a single thing just because I am lazy. I actually cannot do this anymore. I tell myself I will change but I simply cannot. This year is my last chance. It’s nearing 2024 and if I simply cannot change, I will have no choice but to end it all because I cannot see myself having a future and a happy life with this. Life is fun though, life is chill, my friends and sister makes me happy. But I don’t want to burden my family even more. So I think killing myself is the best option. What am I talking about? You will never know. Life is so tiring man. I wanna die again. Hahahah, still remember those times where I had to beg God to take me. Couldn’t bring myself to do it. I am a coward. I had no idea how I was going to escape this. It is a cycle. At least the others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn't understand. Maybe I was lacking.

It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from all of the people. But there was no place to go. Suicide? Jesus Christ, just more work. I felt like sleeping for five years but they wouldn't let me.

[jaijai0724]

If we were given the chance to return to our past, would we take that chance or would we rather stay in the present?

Throughout our lives, there have been moments when we wished we could go back in time, even if it's just for a moment, an hour, or even a mere second. We’d wonder, if only we said one word differently, acted differently, or did things differently, then maybe we’d be in a better place than where we are right now. There may even be a time when we wish that we go back in time to when we were just little kids—a time when we only look forward and have no regrets to look back on. Maybe with a fresh beginning and immense desire to start anew, we would live more wisely and life would transpire differently and maybe then, we would turn out to be better people. If only time had been kinder to us, we would have fewer regrets about our lives and we wouldn't have lost so many valuable people and possessions. But this wish of ours will never be granted, because time is linear, and it does not forgive mistakes. It doesn’t make exceptions. However, if by some miracle, we were given the chance to go back in time, would we take that chance to relive our past or would we rather remain living in the present?

It was during my last year as a high-school student when I’d gotten so obsessed with the idea of Regression. This idea of ‘Regression’ does not pertain to the well-known psychological term which means to mentally regress to our younger minds, but it means to turn back time and physically return to our younger selves. For a long time, I always had this thought in my mind, “How nice would it be to go back in time to when I was still wondering how life would be like as an adult?.” Back to the time when I was still so adamant about growing up and so curious about the world. Back to when I still had people support my two little feet and caressed me when I cried.

There isn’t a particular reason why I had gotten so obsessed with this ‘Regression’ thing. Perhaps it was the fact that I was failing in school, or the fact my relationship with my parents turned sour, or the fact that my life was crumbling apart and I had everything in my power to stop it; but I didn’t. Everything in my life seemed wrong. I badly needed an escape from this miserable life that I created, and so, I hoped and I hoped that something will give me salvation. It had gotten so bad that I would pray to God, night after night, “give me one chance, just one chance, and I’ll make my life right this time.” If God would allow me to have another take in life, I promised I would be a better friend, a better daughter, and a better person. 

Do I still think this way? No, definitely not. Looking back, I just wanted something (or someone) to blame for how my life turned out. I just wanted to prove that I ‘deserved’ a second chance in life, that I don’t deserve to suffer just because I wanted to live. I didn’t want to accept that I brought myself to ruin, that I had so much time to fix my mistakes and redeem my regrets. And that’s the thing about life, we can always fix what we’ve ruined only if we tried.

Bad things are bound to happen. Turning back time does not give us the guarantee that everything will flow in the right direction or that we can avoid the mistakes and accidents that life would give us. A second chance—we don’t really need it. All of our regrets and all of our "what ifs" can be solved without having to turn back time because apologies exist, and we have everything in our power to make things right. What we are in the present does not define how life would transpire for us in the future. We have the capability to change and mature. Opportunities get lost, but new ones will come again. Relationships turn sour, but they do not have to end. Embarrassments are made, but time passes, and we’ll forget them eventually. Even if time turns back, bad situations will inevitably happen. We don’t need a second take in life to undo our past, we can do it now in the present.

Other links:

[sensitiveeeeee]

When Gratitude Surpasses Anxiety🌕

My neurotic brain constantly searches for images of my ideal self. What she might be wearing when she is brave enough, what her office will look like, what hobbies she’ll engage in when she has time for them and what talents might be brought to the surface, how motherhood may or may not fit in, and what she will be like when she has mastered mindfulness and is able to live in the present moment. Yes, instead of being present, I think about what it might be like to be present, in the future. Maybe then, my foot won’t be shaking at all times and I’ll accept awkward moments.

My neurotic brain has gotten me pretty far, but it’s been miserable getting here. But I am here, and I’m taking a moment to think about that. Instead of my ideal self, I wonder what my past selves might think of me if they could see me. The one who was cleaning dead flies and mice last year to pay for school would be amazed at being graduated and receiving the biggest paycheck she’s ever earned. The one who felt unsafe at work would be ecstatic to have a space, her own office, all to herself. The one who was surrounded by lawyers rolling their eyes at her incompetence could not even imagine being a respected psychologist. A psychologist who also has someone to come home to after a long day. The 16-year-old who hated herself would never believe she’d live with a partner she is attracted to who sings her praises and expresses his love each day. The bulimic teenager who was body-shamed would laugh if she was told she’d be married to a man who enjoys food with her and mentions daily how much he loves her ass (even if I do laugh at it and don’t understand how he thinks that). The small child in Title I who was so sure she was stupid would never think she’d be smart one day.

For a decade, I’ve felt stuck on a treadmill, exhausted and going nowhere. My mind got fit while I neglected my health, my passions, and my spirit. But tonight, this Wednesday night, instead of being enveloped in the stress of deadlines, I went outside with my love to watch the blue super moon and eat gelato. We sat in the middle of a blocked off street undergoing construction outside our apartment. We watched the street lights change and the brilliant moon rise higher in the sky as cars drove towards us before making detours, feeling the firm ground beneath us and the late summer night breeze. And I thought about how lucky I am. This ugly city I live in still has a beautiful moon. I have an amazing family who I’m able to see every week because I choose to stay in said ugly city. I have two adorable cats who adore me. I have the job I’ve been after for ten years. I have real love.

I have everything I need.

Yes, I’ll have a large caseload soon enough. Yes, I’ll have many uncomfortable moments. Yes, I still have to study and work towards my independent license. Yes, I don’t look how I want to, and my health isn’t where I’d like it to be. Yes, my work and home spaces need a lot of work. Yes, I’ll have to make a life-altering decision in the next couple years before my biological clock makes it for me. My anxiety loves to make lists, and it goes on and on and on.

Yes, I am not my ideal self, but I’m the closest I’ve ever been. And maybe I will never meet her, and maybe that is okay. The enormous hill is finally leveling out and I’m enjoying the view and the strength it’s taken to arrive here to see it. I’m here. I’m still uncertain. I’m still flawed. But in this moment, I am accepting of the parts of reality I don’t like. My neurosis is so loud that I lose awareness that I do like most parts of my reality. I have a good life.

I have everything I need. I am anxious. And I am grateful.

[amazythelsblogs]

You-Niversity

So. University. mixed signals as usual. my family and friends in Poland were quite happy that I had chosen to go to university, but I wasn’t. As usual! this is yet again the mixed signals that I send, let me list them

I’m much too free spirited and rebellious to be told what to do for another four years

i like to learn on my own terms, my own things and what I am super interested in, which is quite a downfall at times when I’m being offered to learn something new that doesn’t quite align with my vision

i wanted to grow as a person, not to be a student again and to be treated as such

picking mentors is very important. Having mentor who you look up to, who look like you, and who have been through many adventures, many successes and many mistakes is very important to me, mentors who are very positive, who are eloquent in speak, and who I know I will become like following their advice.

this is the catch, for mentors and teachers alike. Your students will never listen to you, unless you become what they are striving for. Unless you become the perfect image of success, wealth, health, beauty, happiness. If you look miserable, act and speak miserably, no one will listen to you. It’s like offering an out of date apple or cake. The idea of the treat is nice, but the fact that it is out of date puts you off. You need to teach the kids from the future, not from the past. That makes no sense. Teach them to project and imagine into the future, and to bring that here. Teach them the basics, the ancients, and give them free reign.

I didn’t really like the culture at the university. It had too much locura happening and it was just overwhelming for the senses. Also the fact that I was getting ready to be a model, where size xs fitted my body (not I was able to fit into xs, flip it and say it fits you) and suddenly found myself in a ghetto university. I’m still so confused why I even went there.

I was very much in my childish energy. I had been healing my inner child the entire summer, and was freshly out of home. Mentally, I was still 8. I had made a choice basically yo live one more year as a child, and rightfully so I suppose, i had been silting a lot. But it got way out of hand. I was mentally stuck in a cycle: it’s only a holiday, I have to go home after this, but when I did finally get home, it don’t feel like home any more. I had out grown it. I’ve been trying to come to terms with that. if I had been very specific about my life going forward, I had been living very in the present moment. If I had been more specific, I would have gone off to Cuba straight away. With all those savings I had. But I had crumbled my money very stupidly, I didn’t have enough forward vision. Any money I make now I am gatekeeping the heck out of.

My main mission now, is to drop this weird baby water weight, and get myself out of this country. To get to my spirit home, Cuba.

in Poland, and in Madeira, and in England, they were telling me all these stories about Cuba. How it is poor and that I shouldn’t go there. You really think I’ll listen. And you think I don’t know? Cuba, like me, was once very beautiful, very glamorous, a haven. But then it was destroyed by conflict and warfare, and the people that made it beautiful left. Well, that’s how I understand it. The inner warfare that has been in full roll since as long as I can remember has been the destruction of me. Now I just want to rest. And be in my crumbling Habana. No quiero nada mas. no amount of conflict, destruction, poverty, or heart break, can take my spirit out of me. Can tear me away from myself. No amount of material possessions will outweigh my beautiful Cuba. so whatever may happen, I’m getting myself there. Getting myself home. The time of suffering is over. The time of denial is over too. My people are suffering so I have been suffering too. My home has been suffering so I have been suffering too.

now here is a paradox which I will very quickly decline. I started learning Spanish when I was 13. It’s the biggest part of who I am, bigger than the culture I was born into. It is my life. Ever since then, Spanish and Latin culture has been my biggest passion. I scored better in Spanish than in my own mother tongue! My favourite line is to say “es de mi alma, es mi vida” so no fuera por mi cuba, por mi espíritu latino, no sería Olimpia, sería una fantasma. Spanish is the only subject I ever truly care about. It brings me back to life. It breathes life into me. Ohhhhh dios take me to my Cuba and I will never leave. Heavens above I have been so empty without this music that I’m listening to now. And it goes like this every time. It heals my soul. It truly does. It brings me back to life like I said. Nothing makes me happier than to dance in my red dress in the middle of my room, and I feel the people who came before me, I feel them. They call out to me. Por dios. I can’t wait to make my way back to them.

I’ve been bling myself back. So much has come into my energy, but I never wanted it. I knew deep down that I would feel when it was right for me. And this. This is right for me. I know I’m writing to cringe-ly dramatic, and I’m over exhausting the reality probably, but it’s fine.

[sleeponthephone]

they turn to jokes in my hand. they are a series of anecdotes, a bittersweet here’s-a-quirky-part-of-my-past. I don’t mean it. I don’t mean it.

I loved you, and you, and you. we reached for a good story. we reached for what was queer, what was cute, what was convenient. and you did the things I’d dreamed of, and you said the right things sometimes, and we strung five months out of it somehow. we said I love you but neither of us ever meant it. it was something to say. I slowly learned how to love you, chiefly that you could not be loved by me. I told all my friends about you and wore your bracelet everywhere. I could almost have been loved by you. breadcrumbs though, darling. you shared things you needed another person to hear. we were both ready to press the button when the time came. we were both ready to embrace when the years had passed and I came asking after you. you broke up with me in a starbucks (and it’s an old joke by now) but we also reunited in one. friend friend friend, the last one I have left there.

I loved you, and you, and you. yes, you stole my sex toys, but you were the first partner I ever opened up to about being nonbinary. one of my favorite days with you was sitting with you in the frozen yogurt parking lot as you passionately affirmed my identity. getting trapped in my parents’ town again made me miserable for a long time, and I started living in the future again. you helped to ground me back in the present. you were the reason I went back to college the next fall. you never knew that, you were gone by then- but you woke me up and changed my life and looked me in the eye and said you are real.

I loved you, and you, and you. you were wrong about how you felt. your partner was wrong about how they felt. the whole thing was so skewed, riding half off the tracks all the time, and I knew. you told my sister you were going to stay and I wanted to believe you. I knew I wasn’t setting out to love you. I knew you were a rest-stop for comfort, a place to sit and breathe and hold hands. I could feel it the whole time. I could walk into your world but I could not live in it. I liked you. for a while, you never made me feel stupid. you loved me right. you were expressive. it’s no one’s fault everyone ended up being wrong. you didn’t handle it right and we all carried that.

the stars, the moon, the sun. I knew all of your middle names. I seat you in a circle and I kiss you for the last time and it is february, bitter and biting. the others are with us too. one by one I release you. the room exhales and you stay out of my bed for good.

(- I was never in love. you fall in love with your first beautiful boy and oh how he haunts the narrative. now that I am out who knows, who knows, who knows…)

before i even start this, i know it’s going to be about hope. remember how i thought about kissing you? i never imagined it would be you who made the first move.

and it’s juvenile, it’s childish, i should most certainly not be thinking like this, thinking that one incredible night will stay burned into my brain.

but you know i write about you, i confessed that myself. i’ve only written two letters about you, more to come. i haven’t danced with someone like that since the summer. i kept him cool; i kept you warm. but my heart is still guarded, darling. you kept chivalry alive, you kissed my hand, i was waiting for you to do the same for a perfect stranger. i hope one day i will learn to appreciate a love just for me, i will keep a piece of it for myself without worrying it will slip out of my grasp and into the arms of someone else, as if it were a squirming puppy.

i know how it is every time. i’ll start to associate songs with you. i’ll see things that i think you’ll like and send them to you. i’ll put you in my future plans, pencil you in, i know how to do this.

if my heart were a house. but it’s more like a castle that’s infinitely expanding, wings on wings on wings. you’ll have a wing of your own, in time, I’m fairly certain. i wonder what your heart looks like. i wonder if it is open. god, i hope it is.

your eyes flashed pink and green and orange under the projector lights. there was a mirrorball. later, i heard you sing along to music in the car. admittedly, you’re a better dancer than singer. i spun around till i got dizzy, but you never once let me fall.

there is one thing you must understand: if i seem cold, it is never on purpose. i need to learn to trust being warm without setting myself on fire. your arms are a good start.

[emeren]

bloodlust ☤ 1

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“The devil and I get along just fine...”

Pairing: Fem!reader x Vampire!Eren 

Word Count: 5.1 k 

Chapter Warnings: Blood, anxiety

Chapter Summary: Reader, a nurse, finds themselves facing a fanged beast, unsure what to make of the world. But this devil with dark hair may not have the intentions you think. 

☤ this work of fiction deals with vampires. in turn, there will be discussions of blood and minimal gore. it will also include nsfw content in the near future. all chapters will be marked appropriately☤

Moonlight soaked the path towards his freedom. It danced and reflected off of the dew coated blades of grass. Each one emulated a life he planned to save, with the destruction of his  people and the protection of the person he cared for most in the world. She had yet to materialize into something more than the soft breeze of a memory.

He was hungry; the tortuous cry of his instinct to ravage told him so. However, years of training and restraint had yielded him more than capable of swallowing his own desire. The one thing he sought most weighed heavier than impotent monstrous actions. For his goal, he could resist the craving to release his sharpened fangs.

He allowed his eyes one last glance over the house he’d called home for the past four years; dark and gloomy against the stormy night sky. Soon, those who’d chained him in shackles and dragged him to the cellar would be amiss in panic. Wrought iron bars that once caged his devilish soul would be found empty. A beast was on the run.

He felt brief sorrow for those he would hurt in the process of securing their freedom from a pained existence. But he’d made up his mind. All that was left to do was to head north.

His nimble hands pulled the dark hood of his coat above his head. He took one deep breath, the entrancing smell of rain and dirt wafting through the air.

North, to the person that occupied his past, present, and future. To freedom.

☤    ☤    ☤

You considered yourself well suited to the role you’d decided to serve for the rest of your life. Time spent meticulously memorizing health patterns and disease characteristics had broadened your sense of confidence. Doubt rarely ever plagued your mind past the childish decision of what to eat for breakfast in the morning.

Nursing had not always been your final destination in life; the unprecedented scared you enough to mark healthcare as a profession to avoid. Losing two parents unexpectedly in high school due to a mysterious illness had been enough to change your once convinced mind.

Your rain jacket was slick with the slight precipitation clouding the late night sky as you entered the hospital locker room -- a weak cup of coffee in hand, marred with a ring of chapstick residue against the lip. Night shifts were often greeted with unrelenting misery on your behalf.

“You look excited to be here,” The familiar tone of your coworker hummed from behind you. There seemed no force strong enough to concur surprise in your unrested eyes. Historia was someone who lacked a certain fear factor in most aspects of her being, anyways.

“I didn’t see you when I came in, Historia,” You answered, eyes glancing over your shoulder to take in the blonde-haired nurse. Despite having walked in the rain the same as you, her demeanor was much more spritely.

She gave you a smile, following you towards your adjacent lockers. “Ah, I came in the back entrance today.”

“You’re awfully chipper for someone who’s working the night shift,” Your half-assed attempt at being friendly mingled with the clammer of your locker. Historia chuckled softly from behind her door.

“I prefer the night shift, actually. Isn’t this your third night on?” She asked. You slipped your wet jacket from your shoulders, shaking it slightly before hanging it in the metal box.

“Yeah, it is. Can’t say I enjoy it as much as you do,” You lightly closed the door, Historia doing the same. Overt kindness wasn’t a trait you claimed when burnt out on work; she knew this and gave you no foul for it.

Her blue eyes crinkled in the ghost of a smile. “Not a creature of the night, hm?”

“I’m no vampire, that’s for sure,” You chuckled. Historia’s smile faltered slightly. It came as no surprise that she was afraid of monsters and ghouls. You decided to change the subject in her favor. “Speaking of, I hear it’s a full moon tonight.”

“Oh?” Her eyes widened, coy smirk wiggling its way back onto her blushed cheeks. Despite your adverse to the unknown, you enjoyed indulging in childish hospital rumors. The notion that weird cases spiked on nights when the moon was full in the sky was a tale as old as time; strange people flooded the hospitals, with even stranger injuries and illnesses. Or so that was what people said, not that you’d ever experienced it yourself. “I wonder if anything crazy will happen tonight.”

“Doubt it,” You stepped aside, allowing her to match your stride as the two of you headed towards the conference room for a briefing before the shift. She hummed in agreement, the rest of the walk done in a comfortable silence.

The room for debriefing was a mundane conference set up. The walls were a bleached white; anatomy posters and warnings about the harmful nature of cigarettes decorating the walls. An oval desk surrounded by blue, plastic chairs took up most of the room. It smelled like microwaved Kraft, courtesy of a nurse scarfing down a last helping before their shift started.

“That’s odd,” Historia frowned, blue eyes tracing the room. Staff sat around in quiet huddles, most silently waiting for the briefing to start. She glanced down at her watch before nudging you in the arm. “Where’s Doctor Smith? We start in two minutes.”

The tall, burly man was never late for a briefing; his stoic nature didn’t allow room for such a lack. He had never given you a reason to doubt his trust, but something about his demeanor made you uneasy. He commanded a room with such conviction that your coworkers fell to his feet with unadulterated respect; you, a mindless sheep following their lead. Rational thought would’ve placed your discomfort on his position of power and his role as your boss. Simply put, however, he gave you the creeps.

The plastic chair skidded against the polished floor as you took your seat at the table beside Historia. The older staff coughed and occasionally grumbled, filling the tired silence with a sense of annoyance. Your blonde coworker sensed your gripe, elbowing you in the ribs and leaving a crease in your lilac scrubs. You suppressed a smile.

“Pardon me,” Doctor Smith’s commanding voice echoed through the room before he stepped in the doorway. Your muscles tensed; back straightening as if to give the illusion that you hadn’t been hunched over, looking exhausted and miserable. His blond hair was perfectly sculpted; not a strand out of place and not a wrinkle in his blue dress shirt. His lab coat was almost a sickeningly bleached titanium. “Sorry for my tardiness; I was dealing with an emergency back home.”

Historia shifted beside you.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He gave a terse smile before picking his clipboard off of the table and flipping through the papers. “Looks like we’ve got the regular scheduling for this evening. As usual, the night shift staffing is lighter than our other shifts, so remember to be vigilant and take action without being told to.”

You tended to tune out the mundane precautions and warnings that were part of a pre-shift briefing. Outside the window, rain pattered against the glass pane. The shower provided a sense of comfort; rain often preceded a night spent inside, wrapped in blankets with a mug of hot tea. Though your current schedule didn’t allow room for such indulgence, you took a small delight in the weather condition.

Historia bumped your knee with her own under the table. You glanced at your friend, slightly alarmed from your daze. She leaned over, attempting to discreetly whisper in your ear. “He looks distracted tonight, hm? Wonder what that’s about.”

Your eyes glanced at Doctor Smith, who was reading through the clipboard with a staccato like urgency. Not wanting to cause any disturbance, you nodded your head in agreement.

“We’ll follow through with our regular assignments. If you don’t know where you’re located this evening, I suggest checking the bulletin in the locker room. As for this meeting, you’re all free to go,” His blue irises scanned the faces of all the employees, searching for confusion or questions to be answered. You averted your gaze, following suit as the rest of the room erupted in moving chairs and shuffling scrubs.

You already knew where you were working for the night; the same place as the last two, over in the geriatrics wing. This night would be the same as the others, not that you were in any place to be upset about that.

“Y/N!” Historia’s voice called you to look over your shoulder, barely out of the conference room. She had a slimy smile on her face; the kind that reeked of favors and avoidance. You felt the need to control your eyebrow from rising in annoyance. “Can I ask you something?”

You exhaled from your nose. “Shoot.”

“I have a patient in room 702 that I was assigned to,” The slightest batting of her mascara slicked lashes, blue irises working their hardest to win you over. You raised your eyebrows, urging her to continue. The other staff shuffled by you, sparing nosy glances. “I was wondering if you could take it? I’ll work in the geriatrics wing tonight for you.”

You had to give it to the tiny woman; for all she was worth, she was great at getting people to do what she wanted. You valued her responsibility and reliability, and she’d proved to be a friendly presence in the workplace. However, that didn’t stop you from seeing the selfish underbelly of her prosperous actions.

“What’s the patient in for?” You humored her. Even if her request was self-fulfilling, you figured might as well use it to your own advantage. Almost anything beat another night in geriatrics changing diapers and administering pill dosages.

“A blood transfusion,” She responded, smiling softly at you. “I’m not very good with bloody things, you know. Easily squeamish.”

You pretended to ponder whether or not to take her up on her offer. It was an easy choice, really. “Yeah, sure. What blood type are they?”

☤   ☤   ☤

The stand rattled unpleasantly against the tiled ground as you stopped in front of room 702. The thick bag of blood shook slightly from the sudden stop. How Historia had ever become a nurse when grossed out with the concept of blood, you weren’t sure. It seemed that her sweet disposition often aided her in whatever situation she needed to change for the better. You were an adult woman though, so whatever her motivations might’ve been didn’t concern you.

You gave the cart a once over, making sure all the necessary tools and items were there: a needle, an IV, gauze, those sorts of things. Blood transfusions were a typically fussless procedure; tediously watching the red liquid pump itself into the body.

Your knuckles lightly knocked on the door. “Hello, I’m here to give you your blood transfusion!”

Silence, beating through the empty hallway of the hospital. The lights were dimmed and eerily abandoned. You waited for ten seconds before opening the door to the sleepy room.

The heavy door creaked open, revealing he who was to be given blood. Historia had mentioned he was a John Doe, lying unconscious on the bleached sheets. You turned back to grab your cart, not bothering to be quiet. He’d be awake soon enough, anyway.

As you wheeled it in, your back was to the patient. The cart squeaked and rattled, stopping at the foot of the bed. You turned around, ready to rouse him from his slumber.

Beautiful.

You’d had attractive patients before. Both men and women who floated by life with the easy wings of accurately placed facial features to boost them up. A pretty face often had heat rising to your cheeks, but professionalism stopped you from thinking any further. Natural biological responses couldn’t be helped, after all.

Never had a patient left your lips parting in awe, heart drumming up it’s own beat of excitement in your chest. His face was slim; sharp jawline and a large, broad nose peeking out into the air. Pale cheeks barely dusted by the pink of an almost intangible blush. His eyelashes were long and thick, jutting out against the purple hue of his impossibly dark circles. Hair the color of old driftwood swirled and bunched on his pillow. He had to have been one of the most attractive people you’d ever treated, let alone seen.

What color were his eyes? Were they a dark brown, one to match the nature of his hair color? Or were they green, contrasting his pale skin? You began to feel eager to find out, more excited to know and learn as your gloved hand gripped his broad shoulder. You frowned at the frigid temperature of his skin.

“Excuse me, sir,” You gently shook, trying not to give away the way your body was reacting. There was no place for hormonal displays in your line of work, and despite his undeniable beauty, you were determined to remain professional.

His eyelids snapped open with such a speed you had to compose yourself not to trip backwards. Contrary to what you thought, his irises were a pale, almost sickly greyish blue. They held no gleam; no life behind them. Disturbance washed over your brain, warning bells going off in your mind. He looks slightly… feral?

He jolted upwards, confusion knotted on his once peaceful face. You stumbled backwards slightly, hip clipping on the cart.

“Who are you?” His voice was gravelly, as if it hadn’t been used in quite some time. Blue eyes stared at you with such an uncertainty it made your head spin.

“I’m your nurse, I’m here to give you your blood transfusion,” You gestured towards the cart and stand, a red bag hanging from it like a token of peace. Despite his prickly reaction, you weren’t frightened.

“I feel like I’ve met you before,” He said, eyes squinted. Analyzing you, trying to pick apart your being, yet there you stood before him, a marvel to be held. He briefly glanced to the side; not more than a millisecond were his eyes off you before they were back, filled with unadulterated panic. “Where- where is Historia?”

You frowned, a little perturbed. “She asked to swap-”

“I need you to leave, now.” He growled, voice deep and authoritative. You widened your gaze, taken aback by his demanding request. The sheet fell from around his shoulders, bare chest exposed. Large hands raced to his face, hiding the features you’d once considered beautiful. “Get out of here!”

“Are you alright?” You panicked, stepping closer to the bed. His large form began shaking, knees drawing towards his chest from under the blanket. He appeared to be in pain; like a wounded animal.

“Fuck,” He yelled, breathing becoming labored. There wasn’t time to ponder. Was he having a panic attack? Was he going into shock? Questions didn’t need to be asked, you just knew that you needed to act. “I said leave!”

“No, I need to help you with whatever-” His hand shot off of his face, long, black claws sharpening from his fingers. You became fear stricken, his palm connecting with your chest. It sent you stumbling backwards, tripping over the wire to the heart monitor and slamming into the wall with your back. Tendrils of pain clamored up your spine.

“Close your eyes,” He rose from the bed, both hands dropping from his face. You couldn’t see his eyes, fist clutching your scrubs above your heart. Uncertainty. Terror, facing death like this. A monster stood before you, created by the devil himself. Tall, foreboding, chest heaving. His neck snapped upwards; wide, red eyes piercing into your thinly veiled soul. He spoke something like a garbled beast. “Promise me you’ll close your eyes.”

You didn’t respond. There were no words to be spoken. Between his pink lips glinted a pair of large, sharp incisors. “Promise!”

You reverberated with his words, wincing and shutting your eyes involuntarily. He didn’t want you to watch as he slaughtered you. “I-I promise!”

The loud clamor of metal colliding with the polished floor had you breaking your promise mere seconds after it’d been made.

He stood, illuminated by the fluorescent bulbs like an angel ascending to heaven. The bag, once an object you’d believed to be a healing beacon, clutched between clawed hands. His teeth, bare to the world, puncturing the thick plastic as though it were paper.

His adam’s apple bobbed rhythmically as he swallowed mouthfuls of thick, red blood. It was as if he’d been starved; knees buckling and desperate blood sucking so intense that his legs could no longer support his body weight. He knelt on the once clean floor.

The twine that connected your sense of reality and rationale had been pulled taut -- pieces of the frayed string snapping and threatening to drop you into depths unknown. Uncertainty had always been a foreign concept; you’d been given the option to study your circumstance and fully conceptualize it before going head first into a situation.

That’s what had intrigued you about being a nurse; though the job seemed like a bull in a china shop, you’d learned every reason why or how that bull ended up there and what exactly you needed to do to get it out.

You lacked the expertise or even the understanding to handle this particular situation. What studying could’ve been done? Reading horror stories or watching Twilight as a teenager with your friends? Even then, the probability of this happening to you felt like it should’ve been a zero percent chance.

You liked knowing what to do. Thrived on it, actually. This man, tall and dangerous, presented you with no opportunity to know. There was no textbook on how to handle a vampire, as childish as it felt to recognize that that’s what this was.

You’d been so sure. So convinced that there was no possibility of this heinous monster being an actual thing to walk the same crusted earth as you. Yet here he was, dawning the shape of a man and the face of an angel. How could someone so beautiful be so terrifying?

The hospital wall was cold against your back, the distant hammering of an organ that no longer felt placed in your chest rang true against your clenched fist. You felt the chilling call to move, to rise from your place and run. You didn’t know where, but the muscles in your thighs screamed a silent symphony.

He made quick work of the bag, like it was nothing and had never been anything in the first place. Who had donated that blood? They were probably asleep somewhere, lying in a bed and dreaming of a different world. A world where their charitable donation wasn’t being consumed by a devil before your terrified soul.

The red liquid oozed from his lips and dripped onto his barren chest. You hadn’t moved since you’d collided with the wall what felt like an eternity ago. Your ears rung rapidly with the obnoxious blood flow to your overstimulated brain.

Eyes the shade of a blue jay traced from a pair of blood soaked claws up towards your face, following the path of destruction. Though shock and fear reverberated through your every nerve, the softness in his gaze dulled a small part of your terror. He looked guilty, holding his dripping hands in front of his face like he’d just committed murder.

“You promised to close your eyes,” A voice so small, as if he’d known you your whole life and you had just witnessed a character altering situation. Something echoed in the back of his words, something that sounded like resentment. You couldn’t tell if it was directed at your prying eyes or himself.

“I- I didn’t, I mean, I tried not to but,” You were at a loss. A loss for a way to communicate how you were feeling, a loss for sanity in the world. The monster before you scowled, as if scolding a child who’d disobeyed their parent. “What are you?”

He brought his bloody hands to the floor; you noted that the claws were gone. “I figure it’s pretty obvious at this point. Can’t you tell?” He whispered.

“But vampires aren’t-” His steely gaze hardened at your choice of words. “They aren’t real, are they?”

“They are,” He responded, looking at you with such a strong emotion that you shifted uncomfortably against the wall. What was he thinking? Those eyes looked like they were fixed on someone he cared deeply for, not someone he’d met mere minutes ago. “But you weren’t supposed to know that, which is why I asked you not to open your eyes.”

“You started drinking a bag of blood right in front of me!” You whisper-yelled, brows knitting together to display your slight frustration. The wonder and fear still laid active in your chest, but something about him was familiar and comforting, despite his gruesome actions. You couldn’t explain exactly why you knew he would bring you no harm. “Of course I was going to open my eyes. If I’m not supposed to know, why would you do that right in front of me?”

His scowl deepened. “I tried to warn you. I haven’t had any blood in awhile and I lost control of myself.”

“What happens now?” Your question came out smaller than intended, unfamiliarity rising in your abdomen. The thick stench of blood was beginning to make your intestines twist in disgusting unease.

The question sought to strike a chord in the young man’s features; a grim and saddened look swept across his sharp attributes. His hand came up to pinch his temples, unperturbed by the bloody fingerprints left in its wake. “We have to get out of here, and fast. If we don’t, the people who are after me will kill you.”

“Kill me?” The word had a different sense of fear wafting over you; the kind that pricked your eyes with the sensation to shed tears. He looked pained. “I can tell them that I didn’t see anything, I can promise that I never saw you and-”

“It doesn’t work like that,” He snapped, glancing at you with irritation. His harsh tone forced your pleas to die unsaid in your throat. “The people following me aren’t rational. One of them will also be able to tell you’re lying.”

“So then, what am I supposed to do?” You cried, allowing the bottled up and suppressed emotions to spill over the thin wall of resolve that his comforting presence provided. He didn’t flinch but remained in serious tranquility. “I’m supposed to leave here and hit the road with some random man, who is a fucking vampire, and what? Hope for the best?”  

He looked away from you, blood-covered face staring at the hospital bed that he’d once occupied. “It’s my fault you’re stuck in this now. I owe you enough to protect your life as best as I can.”

You were in hysterics. What sort of ultimatum was this? Stay and die or leave and risk dying? Another predicament that couldn’t be solved with the aid of literary education. Resentment was beginning to build in your own chest. Diving into an unexplored depth of the ocean, brimming with creatures and lore that you had never predicted to be real.

“Hey,” You snapped back to reality. The man before you scooted forwards slightly. Though his face was that of a devil, soaked in another’s blood and deathly pale, his movement had your chest tightening in something other than fear. “I won’t let them hurt you. I promise, if you come with me, you’ll be safe until I can get them off our tail. Then I’ll take off and they’ll follow me, leaving you alone.”

Sticky tears trailed down your cheeks, eyes burning. When did you start crying? “How -- how can you be so sure? How can I trust you?”

He was on his hands and knees in front of you now, sharp nose half a foot away from your face. Any call to breathe was put on hold, teary eyes widening slightly at his stare. It was soft and open, trusting in the strangest way. His dark hair hung around his face.

“My goal is to rid the world of demons such as myself. That’s why they’re after me, and why they would take your life to guarantee silence. When I’m finished with what I want to accomplish, I will be dead and so will they. I have nothing to gain by hurting you. I promise to keep you alive long enough to see the end of this.”

Your lips parted in awe. The conviction in his tone was that to lead an entire army into battle; to create religions and cult followings. Blessed be the demon who wished to take down his own kind.

You had spent years convincing yourself to trust in what others told you to follow. Self-intuition wasn’t enough to breed a successful nurse; you needed the expertise of studies and procedures done before you. You required the necessary tools that others had used and approved of. Your heart’s certainty had no place in medicine. It had no place in the tried and true.

The man slowly rose one freezing hand towards your face, apprehensively watching for your reaction. You sat unmoving, owl-eyed. His palm caressed your chin, cold thumb swiping the tear from your cheek, smearing blood in its wake. “Find it in your heart to trust me.”

The conviction of his words rang lightning through your veins, mouth speaking without precedented thought. “Okay.”

He rose from his crouched position, offering a red hand to help you up from against the wall. You shook your head. There had been enough blood sharing for the evening, sanitation crossing your mind as you shakily slid along the rough plaster, bracing yourself to display a toughness that you weren’t sure you contained.

The rule of thumb not to trust those whom you don’t know played a soft melody in your heart. Mothers’ warnings and fathers’ lectures. Apparently all you had been told fell upon deaf ears, clouded with the hazy judgement of a life threatening situation. But in circumstances such as these, did the general rule apply? You were left to ponder.

“Hey, wait,” You frowned, a dumbfounded feeling crossing your mind as the man stepped towards the opposite side of the room. He stopped and turned, sharp jaw jutting against his mane. “What even is your name?”

“Oh,” He turned back towards the other side of the room. You didn’t follow. The door was the opposite direction, so whatever business he had over there did not concern you. “It’s Eren. And you?”

You felt a slight heat rise to your cheeks at the confession of his name. It was beautiful, feeling somehow appropriate for his physical appearance. “It’s Y/N.”

“Ah,” He responded, as if he already knew. You scoffed inwardly at his tone, still anxiously pressed against the wall. His blood stained hand rose to the latch on the window, attempting to open it.

“Why are you opening the window?” You questioned, noticing a beep from out in the hallway. The door stood open, allowing passersby to witness the blood on the floor and your cheek, as well as this man called Eren, who appeared straight out of a horror movie.

Closing the wooden door meant deciding with certainty to trust him; to follow him and hope that whatever tales of murderous vampires he’d shared had been truthful. To step away from the knowledge and the comfort of your current life. It implied that no one would see you in there with him and come to your rescue.

They will kill you.

Your hand gently clicked the heavy door into its place.

Turning back to Eren, you noticed his hand wrapped around the latch to the window. He was frozen in place, watching you make your final choice.

“You didn’t answer my question,” You reiterated. Eren turned back towards the glass. His reflection wavered slightly in the shine.

“This is how we’re getting out of here,” Eren responded, pulling the latch and shoving the window open as far as it would go. It stopped at about two inches, for safety reasons.

Disbelief once again danced across your mind, pulling you into what was beginning to feel like a new equilibrium. “If you’re planning to leap out of that window, it only opens that far.”

He ignored you, bringing his bloodied palms up against the glass. It appeared as though he merely shoved it; so light that it shouldn’t have budged. It shouldn’t have moved at all. The heavy window snapped at its industrialized hinges, pummeling down towards the ground below.

He glanced at you from over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised semi-smugly. You gawked back; simultaneously impressed by his strength as well as put off. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll die if I jump from here,” You scoffed, still not moving from your place. Eren stared back emotionlessly. He stepped towards the bed, reaching beneath it and pulling out what appeared to be a black hooded jacket.

He swung it over his shoulders, pulling the hood above his head. “I know. If you ride on my back, you won’t die.”

“Are you always this mundanely serious about fucking supernatural shit like this?” You spat. There was a warmth beginning to settle in your face as well as your core; heated by the idea of being so close to him.

“Yes,” He retorted, walking towards you so quickly you thought your head would start spinning. “No time to waste with your endless questions.”

He reached down, abruptly swooping you up from behind your thighs, effectively gripping you bridal style.

“Eren, put me down. Put me down!” You started squirming as he thundered towards the open window. You hated heights as much as the next person; they were fine in retrospect, but made you dizzy when in close proximity. Eren seemed unbothered by your quiet cries of protest.

“Eren, I swear to god,” You brought your fist to his broad chest. He ignored you, stepping onto the ledge of the window. Against any better judgement you still retained, your eyes glanced towards the drop. Your stomach sank, becoming a heavy boulder in the bottom of your abdomen. “Fuck, put me down!”

He stared down at you. A gaze so tranquil that the rest of the scene seemed to fade away. You became hyper-aware of his bare chest which you were pressed against; that unfamiliar churning in your core spreading towards your limbs.

“Hold still, or I’ll drop you.”

☤   ☤   ☤

next chapter >>

tagging: @sunshinedragonofthewest​ @ryukatters​

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 25 - The Family Dinner [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking.

Word Count: 5300

Summary: Family time can be chaotic.

Sharing secrets was difficult, but sharing secrets about one’s past was quite possibly one of the most difficult things that a person could do with who they loved. You knew how difficult it was for Spencer to talk about his past with you, but he stood by his word and told you absolutely everything, with nothing to hide. By the time you finished that conversation, it was almost dawn and yet you didn’t feel tired at all.

After that night, something changed but it wasn’t a bad change like Spencer feared.

You felt even closer to him, if such a thing was possible. In the following week, your relationship was better than ever-

Well.

Until now.

“I don’t believe this,” you shook your head, “I just… I refuse to believe this. After everything we’ve been through, I don’t even want to believe you’d put yourself in harm’s way and betray me like this. I get that you have no regard for your happiness, but doing this?” you ran a hand over your face, “This is too much, Spencer. You have no idea what you’re walking into, what kind of danger that’s going to be waiting there to ruin you!”

Spencer just raised his brows, then looked between the two ties he was holding up.

“So that’s a no to the blue one?”

“No to this whole thing!” you let out a groan, falling back to the bed, “No to this dinner with my family nonsense!”

He chuckled at your dramatics as you huffed out.

“Don’t you think maybe you’re worried about the wrong thing?” he asked, “You’re also meeting your father today.”

“But we know my father is a sadistic cruel demon sent to earth to make everyone’s life miserable,” you pointed out, keeping your eyes on the ceiling, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but my father isn’t the only dangerous person in my family.”

“It’s just a dinner.”

“No, that’s what they want you to think,” you insisted, sitting up in bed, “Before you know it, they invite you to our place by the lovely countryside, and you’ll walk in thinking it’s just like any other place, there are wolves howling outside and-“

“Why are you giving me the plot of Dracula right now?”

“Because that’s what they are!” you exclaimed, “They’re like vampires! Have you ever wondered why my sister was named Mina? Dracula’s Mina!”

“Your mother loves horror books?”

“Spencer you can’t ignore the signs!” you insisted as he started tying his tie, a small grin pulling at his lips, “They’ll- they’ll suck the life out of you! By the time the dinner is over, you will be begging to see the sunlight again, and you will never be able to. Figuratively speaking.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve already met all of them,” he said patiently and you felt your heart melt, “In case you forgot.”

“Yes, and do you remember how that went?” you asked, “Nolan threatened you, my mother treated you like she was going to hire you and questioned you about everything, and Mina… Mina is a warning by existence.”

“Kenzie was nice though.”

“Yeah, she’s the only good person in our family,” you muttered, then turned your head when you felt his glances on you. “What?”

“Nolan is a part of your family?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” you scrunched up your face and grabbed your lip liner and lipstick to walk to the mirror, uncapped it and started applying it, “I’m going to have a billionaire stepfather who looks like a puppy around my mother— that’s not the point.” You put the lipstick into your purse and went to sit down on the bed again while he ran his fingers through his curls as if trying to keep them under control, “I just don’t want you to change your mind because my family doesn’t know how to act normal.”

“Change my mind about what?”

“About this,” you motioned between you and that was more than enough to make him turn his head, his brows furrowed. “I love them, but they’re going to be overly prying, overly dramatic, overly….everything and the next thing we know—“

“That’s never going to happen,” he approached you to crouch down so that he could look at you better, then reached out to entwine his fingers with yours, “That’s why you were so nervous about this?”

You pursed your lips, heaving a sigh and shrugged silently.

“Do you remember what you said to me a couple of days ago, that night?” he asked, “How trust works both ways?”

“You already know almost everything about my past.”

“That’s not it,” he shook his head, “This is about our present, and future.”

“Or lack thereof,” you commented dryly, making him chuckle.

“Do you seriously believe that?”

“They can be a little intimidating.”

“I’ll be fine,” he assured you, “And no matter what happens tonight, or on dinners to come with-“

“Social vampires.”

“With your family,” he corrected you, “It won’t change anything. I promise.”

You cupped his cheek, running your fingertips over his slight stubble and he turned his head to place a kiss into your palm, nuzzling there.

“Fine,” you murmured, “Let’s go see my sadistic demon father then. Should be enough of a practice for tonight.”

                                              ***

When you and Spencer got to the prison your father was held in, Luke was already by the hallway, waiting for you.

“Hey,” he said, “He’s going to be ready in five.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

“And don’t worry, after you guys are done here, I’m taking him to bullpen and he will leave at 7 p.m. latest. Rossi promised, even if there’s a dead body he’s gonna attend the dinner tonight.”

You looked up at Spencer, “Wait, there was a possibility of you not attending if someone ends up dead?”

“I mean if there’s a case…”

“Please don’t kill someone so that you guys can avoid this dinner,” Luke pointed out and you made a face at him, “We took you off our suspects list way too soon.”

“Hilarious,” you deadpanned and one of the guards opened the door.

“He’s ready.”

“I’ll be behind the glass if you two need anything.” Luke said and Spencer squeezed your hand as if trying to assure you everything would be alright.

“Come on,” he coaxed and you nodded, then took a deep breath and entered the interrogation room, Spencer following you. Your father looked up, then raised his brows.

“Oh look at you two, together again,” he said and you rolled your eyes, trying your hardest not to show how nervous you were. You took your seat across from him beside Spencer, and crossed your arms.

“John.”

“Dr. Reid.”

“So that’s why you haven’t had the time to come and see me lately,” your father motioned between you, “I can hardly say I approve but…”

“Oh that’s good. I’d probably kill myself if I did something you’d approve of.”

“Honey, you’re surrounded by CEOs and businessmen, and you went for an FBI agent?”

“What the fuck does that have to do with-”

“How much do you make monthly?” he asked, turning to Spencer, “I mean, I need to make sure-“

“Oh shut up, will you?” you cut him off, “He’s going to be hearing all that nonsense and more tonight, I don’t need this from you too.”

“Tonight?”

You and Spencer exchanged glances and he shrugged slightly, as if telling you to continue. A small smile pulled at your lips and you turned to your father.

“We’re having a family dinner tonight,” you said, “Naturally it doesn’t include you, so there’s one good thing about this bullshit, I guess.”

“Well, if it doesn’t include me you could hardly call it a family dinner.”

Your smile widened and you clicked your tongue,

“Nah, Nolan is going to be there so we’ll be fine. The whole family is there.”

Your father frowned, “Nolan?”

“Yeah,” you said, “Yeah, mom’s boyfriend.”

A silence fell upon the room as he stared at you for a couple of seconds,

“Your mother has a boyfriend now?”

You hissed in a breath,

“You’re right, boyfriend doesn’t exactly cut it,” you said, “He’s going to propose, so I guess we could call him mom’s future husband-“

“You’re lying,” he cut you off and you tilted your head.

“Am I though?”

“She wouldn’t get married,” he shook his head, “No way.”

A laughter escaped from your lips, “Why not?” you asked, “Because she loves you?”

“Yes she does.”

“The last time I checked, she called you a monster and was hoping you would die as soon as possible,” you stated, “Barely a love story.”

“Of course you wouldn’t understand,” he said through his teeth, “Your mother and I were in love, Petal. We still are, regardless of divorce, or this.” He motioned around the room and you blinked a couple of times, trying to wrap your mind around it.

“Jesus, you really are delusional.”

Spencer muttered your name to remind you to be careful, but you shook your head, keeping your eyes on your father.

“I’m pretty sure Nolan could buy this whole prison,” you motioned around, “I should suggest that, as a wedding gift.”

“They won’t get- hold on,” your father said, “Did you say Nolan? Nolan Yates?”

“Mm hm.”

“Nolan fucking Yates is going after my wife?”

“Ex-wife who hates your guts,” you corrected him and he gritted his teeth.

“I knew it,” he spat, “The first time I saw him at that gala, I saw the way he looked at your mother. They’re not getting married.”

“Okay then you lunatic,” you scoffed “I guess you need something to have delusions about while we’re out there moving on—“

It happened in a flash. One second you were talking, the next you were cut off as your father jumped on his feet, Spencer pushing you out of your chair to behind him almost automatically.

Then, something in Spencer’s eyes shifted.

He grabbed him by the arm, twisted it and slammed him down to the table in front of you, making you cover your mouth, your heart beating in your throat as the door opened with a bang and Luke and two guards came in.  Luke was the first to pull Spencer off of your father, telling him to let go while one of the guards grabbed you and pushed you out of the room before he made his way to your father still trying to get out of the handcuffs and lunge at them as if he was a man possessed. They dragged him out of the interrogation room to what you assumed was the hall that led to his cell while you stood still by the wall, trying your hardest to snap out of it but your mind was almost foggy.

“Excuse me,” you managed to say as you made your way to the bathroom, your hands still shaking. Thankfully no one was there, so you rested your palms on the sink, taking a deep breath before you turned on the tap, holding your hands under the ice cold water.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, “It’s fine. You’re fine. It happens, you have a fucked up family.”

You rolled your shoulders back, that crazy light in your father’s eyes flashing in your mind before you shook your head, exhaling slowly.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice reached inside as he knocked on the door, “Can I come in?”

Your heart was still pacing in your chest but you cleared your throat.

“Yeah,” you called out and he stepped inside, his lips pulled into a thin line as he offered you a small smile.

“Hi,” he said gently, still keeping his distance, standing by the now closed door. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, crossing your arms, adrenaline still pulsing through you, “Yeah, of course.”

“I’m sorry,” he said and you pulled your brows together.

“Huh?”

“That you had to see that,” he said, “I know I shouldn’t have slammed him down like that, but when he lunged at you, I just…. I saw red. I understand that it was hard to watch and I apologize—“

“Hold on,” you cut him off, gawking at him “You’re apologizing because you stopped that psycho from lunging at me?”

Spencer frowned as if he was confused at your own confusion, and nodded.

“Yeah. Human mind is very complex, so even if you think you hate him, it could’ve been difficult for you to see him hurt, not to mention it was me who did that. Jung has a theory that states—“

“Spencer,” You interrupted him again, “Lock the door.”

His frown deepened but he did as you asked, but he didn’t get to ask why when you walked to him and pulled him into a kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your tiptoes. His hand cradled your head, a sigh of content escaping him but he pulled back when you grabbed his tie to loosen it.

“Wait, here?” he asked, “Y/N, this is a bathroom.”

“Yeah, I’m aware?”

“Do you have any idea how unsanitary this place probably is?”

“Oh, very unsanitary,” you stated, “On the other hand, though…”

You shrugged your shoulders and pulled your silk blouse over your head, so that he could see you in your bra. He stared at you for a moment and he swallowed thickly, his eyes snapping up to yours when you giggled.

“You make a good point,” he muttered before he pulled you into a kiss and walked you back to the sink.

                                                ***

Unfortunately, the rest of the day wasn’t that fun, especially when it was time to get to your mother’s house for the family dinner. You had insisted on picking Spencer up from work after you were done at your work, so that you would at least try to change his mind on the road again, but when you actually arrived to your mother’s place, he still looked like he wanted to do this.

“Last warning,” you said as Spencer looked up at the house, then twirled the flower bouquet in his hand, “Not too late to change your mind professor.”

“I’ll be fine, come on,” he offered his free hand and you took it, then both of you climbed the stairs to the front door.

“I’m a little nervous, in case you couldn’t tell.”

“You hummed the Darth Vader theme for the whole road,” Spencer reminded you, “I had a feeling you were nervous, yeah.”

“Abandon hope all ye enter here,” you quoted Dante as you both reached the door and Spencer scoffed a laugh.

“Ah we went from the den of vampires into the gates of hell, then?”

“Yeah! As Dante would put it, to a place we come where nothing shines.”

“I doubt he envisioned this when he was talking about the circles of hell.” He rang the doorbell and you let out a small whine, looking up at the dark sky.

“There are worse people than me out there,” you said as the footsteps came closer, “Why am I being subjected to—“

“Spencer!” your mother greeted him as she opened the door and you frowned.

“Since when do you answer the door?” you asked and she shot you a look before smiling at Spencer.

“Hello Ms. Knight.”

“Welcome, both of you!” she gasped at the flowers, “For me?”

“Oh—yes, of course.”

“They’re lovely, thank you!” she said and took them from him, “Come in, come in!”

“No I’m serious, did something happen to Tina? You never answer the door.”

“It’s nice to see you too sweetie, I see we started our dramatics on the way.” she kissed your cheek and you smiled.

“Hi mom.”

“Let me put these in a vase.”

“Spencer!” a gleeful scream rang in the hallway as your mother went to the kitchen and Lily threw herself at Spencer who crouched down as soon as he saw her “Hi!”

“Hi there! Whoa, you’re very strong!”

“Just in time for bedtime,” Kenzie walked into the hallway with a wine glass in her hand, “Hi guys.”

“I told mommy you’re a magician! And grandma, and Nolan too!” Lily counted with her fingers, “And I told them- I told them you can make coins disappear, and that you can do magic with paper, and then—“

“Bug, breathe,” you said, “Also, where’s my hug?”

Lily hastily rushed to you to hug you, then turned to Spencer as if she wasn’t interrupted while he just watched her with a fond smile on her face, listening intently to everything she was saying, and that warm feeling spread through your stomach again.

“And then I told Bobby I know a superhero, then he told me superheroes can’t be magicians but he’s wrong! Do you use magic to catch bad guys? Because if you do, I can help you with your superhero name!”

“Alright, auntie time.” you lifted her up into your arms as Spencer straightened up, “Sorry about that.”

“No, don’t,” Spencer shook his head, still smiling, “Please, I… she’s amazing.”

“Lily,” Kenzie said, “Bed time, come on.”

“Can you show me a magic trick please and thank you?” Lily said breathlessly and Spencer let out a laugh before turning to Kenzie.

“Is that okay?”

“Sure thing.”  

Spencer took out a coin from his pocket and held it in her sight, “Alright Lily, this is just a coin, right?”

“Don’t let him trick you,” you whispered to Lily who giggled, then nodded fervently after checking the coin.

“Yes.”

“Okay, keep your eyes on it,” Spencer showed it to her one more time before he put it into his palm, closed his palm and when he opened it, the coin was nowhere to be seen. Lily gasped, her jaw dropping and you couldn’t help but smile at her expression, her eyes shining with awe. You pressed a kiss on her cheek as Kenzie took her from you, and she let out a whine.

“But you all will have fun here!” she murmured, pouting and you heaved a sigh.

“Lily I can assure you, no one will have fun here.”

“Don’t be like that,” Kenzie shot you a look and smiled at Spencer. “She didn’t intimidate you, did she?”

“She tried,” Spencer said as you wrapped your arms around his torso and he kissed the top of your head, “Didn’t exactly work though.”

“For some reason,” you grumbled and Lily waved at you.

“Night night!”

“Good night!”

“I’ll see you later bug!” you said and entwined your fingers with Spencer’s, then pulled him to the dining room where Kenzie and Nolan were talking. Before you could even greet them, the sight of the dinner table caught your eye and you gawked at all the food there, your mother was definitely out of control and this was the proof of it.

There was enough food for a small army.

“Oh God please don’t tell me we’re going to have live music too,” you muttered and Mina raised her brows.

“Yeah, you might want to lower your expectations,” she shot a fake smile at Spencer, “But then again, that seems to be the theme of tonight. Hi Dr. Reid.”

You gritted your teeth, glaring at her and of course the jab didn’t escape Spencer’s attention, but he chose not to respond with the same sarcasm.

“Hi again.”

“Welcome, Dr. Reid,” Nolan smiled, “Y/N.”

“Hi Mr. Yates.”

“Nolan.”

“So this is where you grew up?” Spencer asked you as you led him away from them towards the library, and you nodded.

“Yeah,” you said, “Right over there me and Mina got into a fight and she pushed me into a vase.”

“Ouch.”

“Spent the next ten minutes begging me not to tell mom. Over there,” you pointed at the corner, “Used to be this huge Christmas tree every year.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and we used to have another room next to this, dad’s study, but after he was arrested and we all figured out how evil he was, mom grabbed a sledgehammer and smashed the—“

“Dinner is ready!” your mother called out and you heaved a sigh.

“Just saying, we could just tell them there’s been a murder.”

“You don’t give up, do you?” he smiled at you fondly and you shook your head, Kenzie entering the living room again.

“I’ve been called stubborn before.”

“Can’t imagine why,” he joked as he kissed you on the forehead and you turned to your family who was slowly taking their seats around the table, then both of you approached the table to sit down as well.

“I’m so glad we decided to have this dinner,” your mother clasped her hands, “It was about time, wouldn’t you say?”

Spencer smiled at her after thanking the maid who was filling his glass, “Thank you for inviting me Ms Knight.”

“Y/N was trying to make him change his mind,” Kenzie sang and your mother tilted your head.

“Spencer, I promise you we’re not as bad as my daughter tries to make you believe.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad,” you defended yourself, “I’m just saying you might be a little too much.”

“Define too much.”

You gawked at her and motioned at the table, making Spencer chuckle silently beside you.

“I really appreciate the effort you put into this,” he added, making your mother smile.

“Why thank you, Spencer,” she said and turned to Nolan, “Honey, Spencer works for the BAU as you know, you should introduce him to your friend.”

“Your friend?” Kenzie asked.

“The head of FBI,” Nolan said, “That’s a great idea. He might also help you in any position you want in the bureau.”

Spencer blinked a couple of times, as if he was at loss for words, then cleared his throat.

“Thank you,” he said “I already- I already have the position that I want though.”

“Ah for the future,” Nolan waved a hand and your mother sipped her drink.

“Yeah, now that it came up,” she said, “What are your future plans?”

“Mom,” you said warningly and Mina leaned back, looking between you with a smirk on her face.

“It’s just a question, don’t be so nervous,” she commented and Kenzie arched a brow at her.

“Mina.”

“No it’s okay,” Spencer pushed his hair behind his ear, “I um… I think I’d like to focus more on teaching.”

You lowered your glass, “Hm? Really?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I mean I do love BAU, they’re my family but seeing murders every single day, seeing all those victims, it becomes too much sometimes. But I love teaching already, so I think I will do that. In the future, I mean.”

“Oh how lovely. How about something other than your career though? In your future, would you say you’re planning to have chi—“

“New topic,” you cut her off quickly, “I saw dad today, and he knows you two are dating now.”

Your mother frowned but Nolan reached out to squeeze her hand, “It’s okay, he would learn eventually.”

“He actually thinks he is in love with you,” you told your mom and she scoffed.

“Please don’t say that, we’re eating,” she said, “I don’t want to feel nauseous.”

“It’s actually understandable that he’s under that disillusion.” Spencer said, making all of you turn to him, “Especially people in his situation, they feel this need to hold onto some outside world that’s waiting for them to get out of their minds. In a way, he hopes that because if he feels cut off from here, he will probably crash down. It’s very common in people who are imprisoned.”

“Well he can hope all he wants, I never want to see him again.”

“I’m sure Y/N doesn’t want to see him again either, but she’s not that lucky, thanks to FBI. What do you think about that, Spencer?” Mina asked, and Spencer looked at her.

“I think that’s a decision left to her.”

“Is it though?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Mina I need you to remember what I was like when we had dinner with Kenzie, and return the favor.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means shut the fuck up.”

“Y/N!” your mom gasped and Mina tilted her head.

“Ah well, excuse me if not all of us are in a forgiving mood unlike you.”

“None of that!” your mother said, “Both of you, honestly…”

“Spencer, you strike me as a whiskey guy,” Nolan said, attracting his attention, “I purchased a bottle of limited series in an auction in London the other day, would you like to try it after dinner?”

“Sure,” he nodded fervently and you held up your hand.

“I want to try that too. And what about that rum you were talking about the other day? Is it here too?”

“Sure thing.” Nolan snapped his fingers, “In fact, I know a great distillery, why don’t we visit there after dinner?”

You lifted your head, “That could be fun. Where?”

“Costa Rica.”

Spencer looked between you, “You—um, you want to go to Costa Rica after dinner?”

“We could take the jet. We’d be back before the dawn, obviously.”

“People,” you cleared your throat, “Has no one read the normalcy manual I e-mailed you the other day?”

“Yes but the manual said we could talk about drinks.” Nolan said and Spencer turned to you, frowning.

“Normalcy manual?”

“I just thought it’d be useful for tonight.”

“Oh it was very useful,” Mina commented, “Especially the footnote about murders, even if it was unnecessary. No one will joke about murder Y/N, we don’t want your boyfriend to arrest you again after—“ she was cut off as Kenzie kicked her leg under the table, and Spencer pursed his lips, as if he still felt guilty about that.

“I wasn’t in the city,” he said calmly, looking her dead in the eye, “I came back as soon as I heard, I was trying to get her out when you got there.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” you said, “Mina , stop it will you?”

She didn’t even look like she heard you, “Get her out? Ah so that’s why I walked into that interrogation room when she was being hounded by your team?”

“Okay!” Kenzie said loudly, throwing the napkin on the table, “I’m so sorry, I just remembered something about Lily’s school that we missed. Babe, can you come with me to the kitchen for a moment please?”

Mina huffed out and put her glass down, then pushed her chair back and followed Kenzie to the kitchen.

“Honestly….” you downed your drink and motioned for another one but then Spencer squeezed your hand under the table, as if trying to assure you.

“I bet you miss the serial killers right now huh?” you mumbled and he tilted your head, humoring you.

“Drinks are better here,” he admitted and you tried to smile before you grabbed your cigarette pack from your purse.

“I’m gonna go to the backyard for a moment to smoke,” you said and your mother shot you a look.

“It’s dinner time, Y/N.”

“It’ll take like five minutes, tops,” you said and pushed your chair back, “I need some fresh air anyway. Spencer?”

“Sure, I’ll come with you,” he said and followed you down the hall until you reached the door to the backyard, opened it and stepped outside.

It was a silent night, as silent as it could be in the middle of the city. You looked up at the stars as you lit your cigarette, then heaved a sigh and leaned back to Spencer’s chest when he wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I apologize on her behalf,” you said and he shook his head.

“You don’t have to,” he muttered, “She has a point. I should’ve… I should’ve been there, in that interrogation room.”  

You looked up at him, then reached up to run your fingernails over his slight scruff while he lowered his head to press his nose into the crook of your neck, nuzzling there.

“Spencer, you need to stop blaming yourself,” you said slowly, “I mean it. I don’t blame you for that at all— and….you know Mina. She just turns into someone else when it comes to protecting the family. She doesn’t mean it, not really.”

He nodded silently and you combed back his hair with your fingers, making him heave a sigh.

“This is nice,” he muttered and you let out a small laugh.

“So are you ready to admit that I was right?”

“Hm?”

“I said you would regret it, do you regret it yet?”

“The dinner?”

“Yeah.”

He shook his head “No.”

“Why not?”

His arms around you tightened and he pressed a kiss to your neck, “Because you’re here.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours and you stubbed your cigarette before you turned to him. He smiled at you and you couldn’t help but stare at him under the dim lights of the backyard before you stood on your tiptoes and brushed your lips against his.

“God, I love you so much,” you said, making him smile, “Thank you for being here and… I don’t know, going through this absolute torture. I know it’s a lot.”

“Hey,” he cupped your cheek, running his thumb over your cheekbone, “I need you to listen to me, okay?”

You nodded, looking up at him.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” his voice was silent, almost hesitant, “To make you happy. You know that, right?”

You could feel the burning in your eyes and you sniffled, your heart skipping a beat before you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into his chest. The rest of the world felt like it disappeared as you swayed from side to side, inhaling his scent and you pulled back.

“I know now,” you wiped at your nose, clearing your throat and he pushed your hair behind your ear.

“Good,” he grinned, “Glad we cleared that out.”

Someone knocked on the door and you turned your head to see Mina as she opened the glass door.

“So about earlier,” she leaned sideways to the doorframe, “Apologies and remorse, etc.”

“That means she’s sorry for what happened earlier,” you said helpfully and Spencer scoffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, “I get it. Trust me, I felt exactly the same when I saw the tape, but I was trying to get her out with minimum damage.”

Mina nibbled on her lip, eyeing him up and down.

“I guess,” she said, “But just so you both know, mom and Nolan are actually planning a weekend trip to Costa Rica. It’s like what happened with Kenzie all over again, only there’s two of them now.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you muttered and Mina nodded at Spencer.

“Yeah so you might need to tell them you have murders to solve during the weekend Sherlock, because they’re not going to listen to us.” she said and Spencer looked down at you.

“I’ll be there in a second,” you said and he pressed a kiss into your hair before making his way inside. Mina lingered there for a moment, inspecting her fingernails in a complete nonchalant manner.

“I guess I could trust you to know what you’re doing,” she said, “Just make sure he doesn’t screw you over, okay?”

You raised your brows, then clicked your tongue.

“Kenzie said no sex unless you apologize huh?”

“She meant it too!” Mina whined as you walked past her, letting out a laugh.

“Unbelievable,” you shook your head with a smile, making your way to the dining room. “All of you.”

Chapter 26 

[j-j-ehlby-writes]

Almost (c.e.)

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Word Count: ~5.9k

Summary: You and Chris were set up on a blind date by your mutual friends. Sparks flew, but you never heard from him again. Two years later, you come face-to-face with him once more for their friends wedding.

Warnings: Some angst, swearing, not much else

A/N: This is a mixture of the movie “Life as We Know It” (mmm Daddy Josh Duhamel 🤤), a dating experience I had, and one scene from One Tree Hill. Enjoy.

My Masterlist

                    Two years ago…

My heart is pounding all the way to my ears. My hands are shaking under the table. My knee bounces uncontrollably as I wait.

I knew this was a bad idea. Why did I let her convince me to do this?

“You haven’t had a boyfriend for as long as I’ve known you.” My best friend so pointedly mentioned when we were out to lunch last week.

 “What’s wrong with that?” I counter.

“I’ve known you for three and a half years.” She deadpans. Even without looking at her, I know she has her eyebrow raised at me and her lips are pursed.

“Your point?” I know she thinks my serious lack of companionship these past few years is wearing on me, but it’s been quite the opposite. Not being attached is freeing. I can do what I want when I want; I don’t have anyone to answer to. If I want to sleep until 3 on a Saturday, I’m going to do it. If I don’t want to socialize with anyone, I won’t. If I want to take a spontaneous road trip, I’m going to do it. My life is my own and that’s how I like it.

“I want my best friend to have someone to experience life with.”

My shoulders dropped, sighing in defeat. There was no way I was getting out of this conversation.

“I want you to be as happy as I am.” I see the love in her eyes as her mind goes to her boyfriend and their new relationship. They’ve only been together for a few months, but I know that this is it for her. She’s a smitten kitten and he is equally as infatuated with her. They’re sickeningly cute. “Which is why I think you need to meet one of his friends-”

“Lemme stop you right there,” I interrupt her, “I hate blind dates.”

“You’ve never been on one.”

“And there’s a reason for that.” She rolled her eyes at me. “They’re cliché, they’re awkward for both parties, and they never amount to anything, thus being a total waste of time.”

She sighed, “Ever the skeptic.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“Regardless,” she continues, “I think you’ll really like this guy. He’s already expressed interest in you.”

Like that makes everything better. “Great so now I have to live up to his impossible expectations of me when I know absolutely nothing about him.” As if the idea of a blind date wasn’t bad enough, now it’s only a semi-blind date. There’s no doubt in my mind that she has hyped me up impossibly high, that’s what a best friend is for. However, when your confidence level is next to none and already skeptical of the pending meeting, there’s no way he’ll like who I am in reality.

“I can tell you anything you want to know about him.” She is bargaining with me. She really wants me to meet this guy. She wouldn’t be trying this hard if she didn’t believe we would hit it off.

“Well is he nice?” This was the only real question I had. If he isn’t kind then there’s really no future.

“Incredibly!” She continues to tell me of the many things he has done for a charity he started a few years ago and slowly but surely she was starting to convince me. If he was that generous then he has to have a good heart and therefore is a good man.

How bad could it be?

I check my phone, glancing at the time. Great, he’s late. That can’t be a good start.

Numerous reasons why popped into my head.

Reason one: he saw me and bolted.

Reason two: he got into an accident on the way here and he could be in the hospital.

Reason three: he changed his mind and decided to stand me up.

More and more played through my head as I sipped my drink. 

By the time I was on my second drink, I was convinced he wasn’t showing up. I knew this was a ridiculous idea. I knew I shouldn’t have done this. I never should have listened to her.

I chugged the rest of my drink followed by some water before standing up to leave some cash. I was slightly humiliated for actually thinking this would be any different than all of my expectations.

My shoulder rammed into another as I turned to leave.

“Oh my, God, I’m so sorry!” A hand steadied me, gently grabbing the shoulder he ran into. “Are you okay?”

“My already small ego is a little bruised, but I think I’ll live.” I looked up to meet my assaulter’s eyes and immediately I froze.

Holy shit, it’s Chris Evans.

His piercing blue eyes were staring right at me, his concern was directed towards me. In all of his charming, ray of sunshine, bearded glory, he was here.

“I’m so sorry that I’m late. Traffic was insane over the bridge. I would have called but I don’t have your number.” He half-smirked but not in a cocky way. I’d seen him do it in interviews before. He could have come up with a lame excuse, but somehow I knew he was telling the truth.

“No, it’s okay. I understand completely.”

He sighed in relief, his gorgeous and perfect smile taking over his features. He looked down at the table and it disappeared. “Were you leaving?”

“Uh,” I stammered, “I was because I thought I was being stood up.”

“I feel awful. Please let me make it up to you. Let’s sit down, have a nice dinner, and get to know each other.”

I hesitate, now even more nervous than I was before.

As if sensing my hesitation, he decided to sweeten the pot a bit to persuade me, “We can even get dessert.”

I chuckle at his attempt. That’ll do it though. I sit back down with him following suit, finally starting our date.

We talked about everything. Anything and everything. No topic was off limits. Hours went by but it felt like minutes. We didn’t even know how long we’d been there until our waiter came to tell us that the restaurant was closed. We left and walked around the city until the night sky was giving way to the morning. He accompanied me back to my car, gave me the best hug I’ve ever received and a kiss on the cheek, promising we’ll get together again soon, and opening and closing my car door for me. I drove away with the biggest smile on my face and literal butterflies in my stomach. That was the best date I’d ever been on.

When I made it back to my apartment with the early morning rays peeking through my shades, I had a text message waiting for me from him. Just a simple good night, he had had an amazing time, and he couldn’t wait to see me again.

I fell asleep, hopeful. Hopeful that I would see him again, that this could maybe go somewhere. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but it was hard not to. I hadn’t felt this way in an exceptionally long time. I haven’t been on this good of a date in equally as long. I can’t wait to see him again…

                      Present day...

I finally pull into the parking lot after an hour stuck in traffic. My 12-hour day at work today has taken a lot out of me. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. Thankfully though, my 2-week-long vacation starts tomorrow. After that, I have fourteen days of no working, no getting up at the ass crack of dawn to be able to drive in miserable traffic, no dealing with difficult or boring co-workers. Just fourteen days of rest and relaxation, after the wedding of course.

My best friend and her fiancé are getting married on Saturday. I’ve watched them go through all of their highs and lows throughout the last few years and when he came to me telling me he planned on proposing, I couldn’t have been happier for them. He even asked me to secretly photograph the moment for her. She was more than surprised about everything.

Now their wedding is here and everyone couldn’t be more excited to celebrate them.

Tomorrow is their rehearsal dinner. The wedding party and their plus ones are all invited.

I walk into my apartment, immediately relieving myself from the confines of my shoes. A heavenly scent registers to me and I’m carried all the way to the kitchen. I see my sexy boyfriend standing at the stove with his back towards me.

“Hey babe,” he calls without turning around.

I hum, happily making my way towards him. I wrap my arms around his waist, placing a kiss on his back. “What is that unbelievable smell?”

He chuckles, vibrating through his chest. “Your favorite, of course.”

I hum again, “You spoil me, baby.”

He chuckles again, turning in my arms. His handsome face finally came into view. His gorgeous brown eyes look into mine as I get lost in his. For the past year, I’ve been the happiest I’ve been in a while. Since the day I met him, it was like everything fell into place. He’s sweet, ambitious, funny, kindhearted, passionate, and just overall the best man I had ever met. He makes me so happy…

Oh who am I kidding? He’s perfect. He is everything I ever wanted. If I made a list of all of the qualities I wanted in a husband, he would check off every single box.

But the feelings I have had for him over the last year are nothing compared to what I had in one night for him. I find myself wishing his eyes were bright blue instead of dark brown. I wish his arms were around me instead of the ones around me right now. The butterflies from that night have stayed dormant ever since.

I don’t know what happened after that night. I honestly thought we had a good time that night. Conversations flowed seamlessly. We made each other laugh so hard we had tears running down our faces. The physical connection was there- at first he had his arm around my shoulders as we walked around town, but as time went on he slowly moved lower around my waist, eventually intertwining our hands together until we arrived back at our cars. He even said that he wanted to see me again.

But I never heard from him again after that one text message. No call, no text, not even a message from my friend’s boyfriend. Nothing. I was disappointed beyond belief. I didn’t think he was that guy: the type to ditch someone without any explanation or goodbye. I thought I understood him to be a gentleman. Everything I had read about him pointed to him being one of the purest humans in the world. This was the opposite of all of that.

From that day on, I’ve loathed him. He gave me the perfect evening and then cut me off cold turkey from anything further. I have a three strike rule. His first: he was late. His second: he tricked me into liking him. His third: he lied to me. Three strikes and he’s out.

I have tried not to look back since. It’s not without its difficulties though since he’s literally everywhere. On magazine covers, in commercials, movie trailers, streaming services- he’s there. Why did he have to be such a successful actor? If he weren’t, it would make for forgetting him that much easier.

No closure. No answers. Nothing.

The rehearsal dinner went smoothly the next night which hopefully was foreshadowing for the big day itself. 

A majority of us were standing around about to start when the doors loudly being opened drew everyone’s attention away from our milling about. A man stood in the middle of the doorway then strode in like he owned the place. The closer he got, the more the details of his face came into focus.

No. Freaking. Way.

I look toward my best friend. She looked like she wasn’t shocked he was late, but she knew he was coming. I creep up behind her and clear my throat. Instantly she cringed.

“Did you forget to tell me something?” I whisper to her.

She sends me an apologetic smile, “Well, I actually put off telling you ‘cause I didn’t know how you would react and then I meant to tell you last night but with the whole ‘I’m getting married in two days’ buzz took over and now the rehearsal is here-”

“Just please tell me I’m not walking in with him.” I beg.

She chuckles nervously before she escaped to go greet him with her fiancé.

I turn to her sister who is also one of my closest friends. “Did you know he was going to be a groomsman?”

The guilt written in her face tells me everything I need to know. “She made me promise not to tell you.”

I groan, “The loyalty level around here is staggeringly low.”

I head over to where my boyfriend is standing and take comfort in his arms before I have to deal with the man who broke my heart.

“Are you okay?” He asks a little confused by my actions.

I nod, “Just tired from last night.” He chuckles at the mention of the night before, squeezing me into his chest.

“Alright everyone! Time to get started.” The wedding coordinator beckons us all to the back entrance of the barn standing next to our corresponding wedding party member. I stand right in front of the Maid of Honor and Best Man. I kept my eyes forward focusing on anything but the guy who took his place next to me.

“It’s good to see you,” He murmurs to me over the instructions of the coordinator.

I scoff and roll my eyes. He has the nerve to say that to me after two years of silence. I imagined a million times what it would be like to see him again. I’d imagined a lot of screaming with possible hitting. Or I thought about the ever-effective, old fashioned silent treatment. He doesn’t deserve to know that our one night out together effected me so much and I’ve carried a rather large torch for him ever since. At the very moment, it will be the latter, but there’s no telling what tonight and tomorrow will bring.

“Now ladies, rest- don’t grab- your hand near the crook of his arm. Men, keep your arm at that angle with an open hand resting on your stomach- no fist. And don’t forget to smile- this is a happy day!” As quickly as he showed up, the coordinator was on to the bride and her father before either of us could register he was there.

I begrudgingly did as I was instructed, “resting” my hand on his bare forearm, holding a stand-in bouquet for the occasion in my other hand.

“Are you not going to talk to me?” He speaks again but I ignore him once more.

Thankfully that was when it was our turn to walk down the aisle. For the rest of the rehearsal, he didn’t get a chance to say anything else. As soon as we were done, I go straight for my boyfriend. I figured there’s no way he would approach me if I were with another man.

We all head to the restaurant afterwards to celebrate the last night before our friends begin their lives together as husband and wife. I keep my distance from Chris, always sticking close with my boyfriend.

The one moment I was alone was when I went to the bathroom. I thought for the few minutes I wouldn’t be in danger.

However I was wrong.

As soon as I step out an arm shot out in front of me. A very pale muscular arm.

“Are you seriously going to ignore me for the next two days?”

I duck under his arm fully planning on continuing what I set out to do.

“Y/N,” he grabs my arm, “will you please talk to me? What did I do to make you so mad at me?”

I whip around hopefully sending daggers his way. “Are you serious right now?”

“She finally speaks!” He exclaims.

“Because I cannot believe what I’m hearing. Like, I don’t think I heard you right.” All of the feelings I’ve been burying for two years were making their way up to the surface and I don’t think I can stop them. “We had a fantastic night. It was literally the best night of my life, it was the most comfortable with a guy that I had ever been. You made me laugh, you gave me butterflies, you helped me feel for the first time in years.” I try to swallow down the lump that was forming in my throat. “You told me you wanted to see me again. You made me excited for the future for once in my life… and then you took it away.”

With every second that passed, his expression got closer and closer to utter defeat: his shoulders slumped, his grip on my arm loosened, his jaw slowly unclenched, his eyebrows furrowed.

“You were late,” I hold up one finger, “You tricked me,” two fingers,” “You lied to me.” Three fingers were up and in front of his face for emphasis. “Three strikes and you’re out.”

I back away from him, having nothing more I wanted to say. As soon as I turned the corner, I felt liberated… for about five seconds. When that passed, devastation hit. For the last two years, I’ve held out hope- I tried not to- but I did, that maybe someday something could happen between us. That maybe, just maybe, we could pick up where we left off that night.

Now that the moment of confrontation has come and gone, I feel all the hope fade away. All of those possibilities I pictured have left the building. Being with him is no longer an option. I have my boyfriend who makes me happy, who gives me everything I could possibly want.

The rest of the night went on without another incident. Chris kept his distance. However, I could feel his eyes on me for every second that passed as we sat at the table. It was a relief when we finally left and could retreat back to our hotel rooms for the night. The bride and I got to stay in a suite that we’ll all be getting ready in in the morning. They wanted to uphold the “not seeing each other the night before the wedding,” even though they’ve lived with each other for a year and a half now.

On the wedding day, everything went according to plan. Everyone was on time to hair and make-up, pictures went flawlessly, the weather cooperated with everything, Chris didn’t attempt to talk to me at all- it was a perfect day to watch two people who love each other commit to the other for the rest of their lives.

But then came the reception. That’s when I knew apparently all bets would be off. The ceremony was over. Niceties would wear off as more and more alcohol is consumed. I was not looking forward to it.

We make our ridiculous entrances and take our seats at the head table. We eat then speeches were made. Lots of laughs were had as the Best Man dished on stories he had with the groom growing up, a few tears were shed at her sister’s after recounting the moment the bride knew he was the man of her dreams- overall I’d say they were a success.

Again, I felt his eyes on me, burning holes in the side of my head from the other side of the groom for the entire dining portion of the evening. I kept myself from glancing in his direction, instead focusing on the conversations with the bride’s sister next to me and my boyfriend who is across the way- anything not to meet his eyes.

Finally the DJ announces it was time for all to convene on the dancefloor after the specialty dances. I immediately see my boyfriend start to stand, knowing he’d been ready for this all night. I’d been looking forward to dancing with him all night as well, I even removed my shoes in anticipation. As I stand up, a hand is held out in front of me. I knew whose hand it was. I remember staring at it as he would rub his lips on our date. The strength of it as it intertwined with mine as we walked down the streets of our town, the safeness I felt as he squeezed it if he detected I was getting anxious around a group of people and I needed the reassurance. I knew that hand well, unfortunately.

“Dance with me?” He nearly whispers in my ear. I didn’t realize he was that close until I could feel said whisper on my neck. I contain the shiver that runs down my spine at how husky his voice is. God I’ve missed that…

No! I will not be enchanted by him again. He does not deserve me.

I exhale the breath I was holding, it comes out a lot harsher than I expected. “No, thank you.” I turn away from him, but his hand gently grabs my arm stopping me from going any further.

He whispers again, “He’s not good enough for you,” before walking away.

I’m frozen in place. I glare at his retreating back as he makes his way over to the bar. My mouth hangs open in disbelief. How dare he… How fucking dare he assume anything about me or my relationship. He doesn’t know anything about what our relationship is like. My boyfriend treats me so well, spoils me even though I know I don’t deserve it. He listens to me, he cares about me, and he makes me laugh until I cry- he’s everything I’ve wanted in a man. Chris is the one who had his chance and subsequently blew it. He has no right to judge or even comment on my relationship when he knows absolutely nothing about it.

I hurriedly make my way to my awaiting boyfriend and pull him onto the crowded dancefloor. “You okay?” He asks me, “Did he say something to upset you?”

“Nothing worth repeating.” All I wanted to do was forget about him and his irrelevant feelings towards my relationship…

…Except I couldn’t. His words rattled me. Does he see something I don’t? He told me on our date that he’s an excellent judge of character so he wouldn’t say something like that unless he got a bad feeling, right? Either that or he said it just to get under my skin and force me to talk to him. No matter the reason I hate him for it because my pride won’t let it stand.

I spot him leaning against the bar, staring directly at the two of us over the rim of his glass. His perfect eyebrow quirks up at the eye contact, that sets my blood to boiling. He thinks he’s so smug. I wish I could just slap that stupid hidden smirk right off his perfect face…

Following a few dances, I mutter something about him going to dance with the bride to my boyfriend before exiting the dancefloor. I rush out of the barn, away from the crowd needing some air from his suffocating gaze. I find a little lit area that’s perfect for pictures. There are rectangular hay bales set together as a makeshift U-shaped bench with some low watt bulbs strung up above between two poles. It would be serene if I weren’t already on edge.

After taking a few deep breaths, I finally feel like I can speak without yelling. “You had no right.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know he followed me out here. It’s exactly what I wanted him to do, just like it was his intention to get under my skin. As much as I wished to avoid this conversation it seems that we can’t go on without it. We may tear each other apart in the process, but this is my chance for closure. This is my only opportunity to get the answers I’ve been needing to move on for the past two years. Two years of wondering what went wrong after the most perfect date I’ve ever been on with an equally perfect man has been eating at my heart and mind. I hated always wondering “what if” or “what would I be doing right now if I were with him” especially when I started dating my boyfriend. I had no answers as to why those questions could not be. I thought with time I’d stop asking them, thinking I’d never see the man again. He’s a big movie star, why would he wonder about a woman he went on one date with?

As I expected, his deep baritone voice comes behind me, but his words do little to ease my nerves. In fact they set them off even more so than before. “I’m sorry.”

I scoff at his half-hearted apology, knowing he doesn’t mean it at all. “Oh bite me, Christopher.” I turn around to face him. God he looks even better out here. The subtle gold glow from the lights are complimenting his skin tone, they make his baby blues shine which just frustrates me more.

“Please, Y/N,-” He takes a step closer to me, but I won’t have that. 

“No,” I take a step back keeping the needed distance between us for fear I may strangle him. “I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit excuses. You had no right to pass judgment on a relationship that you know absolutely nothing about.”

He slips his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “Oh, I’ve seen enough.”

“Really?” I jut my hip out, resting my hand on it. “In the two days you’ve been here, you think you’ve got us all figured out?”

“Yes,” he answers with conviction. 

My shaking hands clench into fists, trying my damnedest not to lose control. I entangle them into my hair as best as I can without ruining the work the hairstylist did this morning before running them down my face. He has some nerve. 

“We had one night. One night! One nearly perfect night together and suddenly that makes you an expert on what is good for me?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘an expert’-”

“I wouldn’t say anything!” I interrupt, “I never heard from you again. Now after two years, you come in here acting like you know anything about me or my relationship? Who do you think you are?”

“A man who made a mistake!” He snaps.

There was a long pause. I never expected to hear that from him. All these years I wanted to think the worst of him for leaving me hanging like that. He got my hopes up, thinking we may have a future together only for them to come crashing back down to Earth when he never contacted me again. I wondered and wondered if maybe I read the signals wrong. Maybe I took his flirting as more than it was. Maybe the small gestures like his arm around my shoulders, on the small of my back, or the hand holding were only him being friendly. I wracked my brain going over every single detail of the night to try and pinpoint a reason for him not to have called me afterwards. I found nothing, which was equally as frustrating.

“Alright, I made a mistake.” He moves to sit on one of the hay bales. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his head in his hands, letting out a huge sigh. “God I wanted everything with you.”

Once again, I’m frozen by his words. He what? But that doesn’t make sense. His words and his actions don’t line up- how could that be?

He removes his hands from his face, staring at the grass. “After that night, I wanted it all. I wanted to settle down, get the house with a white picket fence in the suburbs, carry you through the threshold after our wedding day, bring our children home from the hospital, watch them grow until we’re old and gray. I wanted everything.”

My heart aches. All of that was exactly what I wanted, especially with him. I could feel the tears building behind my eyes, my heart breaking mourning the loss of what we could have had by now if he had only said something.

I also find my anger growing as well. If he felt all of that, why did he not contact me again? Why did he give me hope that our night out together could have been the start of something good and then taken it away just as quickly?

“But?” There had to be a “but” coming after his statement. Clearly something stopped him from pursuing the possibility of “us,” destroying any future we could have had.

He sighs, “but…” he finally looks up at me with more emotion in his eyes than I was expecting. There was contemplation, confusion, honesty, agony…

I look away. In an instant I knew what he was about to say. It makes complete sense. He was at the height of his career, shooting movie after movie all around the world for a majority of the year. How would he have had time to have a relationship mixed in with that? He couldn’t.

“Your career was more important,” I interject, “I get it. I do.” I couldn’t fault him for choosing work over someone he just met, no matter how much he claims to have liked me right off the bat. He was going to be busy. We probably wouldn’t have had a lot of time to see each other. It’s not like I could give up my career to follow him. Besides even if I could have, he wouldn’t want that. He said so himself. He wanted someone who was independent; who could do their own thing and not be enveloped in his crazy life.

He stands up and steps closer to me, “no, that wasn’t it. I promise you that wasn’t it.”

There’s that word. Promise. He promised we’d see each other again soon after our night together. But he broke that.

“Then what was it?” My voice cracks at the end. I can feel my reserves slipping the more he speaks. I didn’t realize how much I missed his voice until now. I haven’t seen any of the movies he’s been in the last few years. I have him and his hashtag blocked on all social media platforms so I don’t see anything of his on any of my timelines. My other friends think I don’t like him (only my best friend and her now husband know about our date). To hear it again brings back all of the good memories we made together in that short night and all of the emotions I’ve been holding back since. “I have been wracking my brain for years wondering what went wrong after that.”

“I got scared,” he finally admits the truth. “I got scared of how much I liked you and how much I wanted to protect you.”

“From what?”

“From me,” he casts his gaze down at his hands as he fidgets with them, “and my life. I didn’t want to subject you to the chaos that is my life. I know what my fans would do to you if we were in a relationship, I was trying to protect you from all of the ugly that being with me comes with.”

So that’s what he was afraid of? He was afraid our relationship would inevitably end exactly like his last one? His “fans” were horrible to her. They sent death threats to her and her family members, always commenting negatively on her social media pages all because she was dating him. I remember reading about it right after it happened. I knew that side of his fandom was toxic. But did I care? No. Did I think I couldn’t handle it? I honestly don’t know, but would I have been willing to deal with it for him? Yes. I would have given up anything to be with him. That’s precisely why he did what he did. He didn’t want me giving anything up for him because he knows I’d be giving up any semblance of privacy I had if I were in a public relationship with him.

If I had known these were the reasons why he ghosted me, I would have been broken hearted but I would have understood. Hell, I probably would have fallen more in love with him if I knew that, not fallen in loathe.

He continues, “I thought that if I never contacted you again, you could move on”- he clears his throat-“and find someone better than me who could give you the normal life you deserve. Which as much as I wish I couldn’t, I see that you have…” he pauses as if deciding whether he should keep speaking. When I don’t stop him, he does, “But I can’t help feeling like that could have been me.”

My slightly shaky hands cover his fidgeting ones. His hand moves until he’s intertwining our fingers together, palms touching. They fit perfectly together as if they were each other’s missing puzzle piece. His thumbs stroke mine sending warmth down my arms all the way down to my toes. The sparks I felt back then return with full force. He leans down, pressing his forehead against mine. My heart is beating out of my chest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t feel it in some way.

I feel my heart break in my chest. My lip quivers and the tears threaten to make themselves known. My only saving grace is the fact that he can’t see my face. I may lose it completely if he did.

His breath is coming out equally as shaky between us, he squeezes my hands as if he doesn’t want me to let go. Believe me, I don’t want to. I bring one of our interlocked hands up to my lips. I kiss the back of his hand because I can’t kiss him where I want to. I pull back just enough to see his beautiful baby blues that could have any woman in the world swoon. They were terribly bloodshot right now but that only made them more tragically breathtaking. I tear one of my hands out of his and bring it to his cheek. He leans into it, a tear drops into the crevices between the contact.

The barely above whisper that came out was all I could muster without having a total breakdown because he’s right. It could have been him. We could have been something great. We could have built a life together. We could have had it all. And it broke my heart into a million pieces knowing all of this could have been avoided if life had handed both of us different lives.

“It almost was.”

~*~

Taglist: @the-marvel-wars​ @elusive-beauty​ @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent​ @fantasy-is-my-reality​ @princess-evans-addict​

[fandomlovingfreak]

Glacial Passion (3/?)

Regulus Black/Reader

Rating: Lemon, 18+

Trigger Warning: Arranged Marriage, talk of potential pregnancy

Word Count: 2461

MasterList Link I AO3 Link I Wattpad Link

Summary: Glacial, cold, icy… all words that described Regulus Black’s grey eyes. Was there truly no emotion behind those eyes, or did a caring man exist beneath? Could she defrost those glacial eyes?

Disclaimer: Regulus Black (Walburga Black, Orion Black, and Sirius Black) is a character from Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling. Reader or y/n is not owned by Rowling. This work has not been created for profit or financial compensation, and is a transformative fair use work in accordance with Section 107 of the United States Copyright Act.

Notes: Chapter three! I thought this entire fic would be around three chapters, but we're not even close to done yet!

Enjoy

The guest room isn't so bad. He becomes very acquainted with the unused room as his wife had elected to ignore him for the foreseeable future.

After the fourth night that he'd slept and attended meals with his parents without (y/n), Walburga brings up the absence of his wife in her own  special way . "You cannot sleep in a different room than your wife."

Regulus holds back from rolling his eyes, "you and father do not share a bedroom."

Walburga's ever-present frown deepens, "We already have a son."

Even after all these years, he hates that she pretends Sirius never existed.

"So this is about sex," he wipes his mouth with his napkin.

"It is."

"These things don't happen overnight."

"They don't happen if you do not participate in the happening," Walburga taps her manicured fingernails on the table. 

"What do you want me to do? I can't force her to sleep with me." Besides, if they did continue to have sex, he will unquestionably use contraceptive charms to ensure his wife did not conceive. 

Walburga studies his face, "If you do not try, you will not see success."

In an attempt to change the subject, he blurts out, "She is miserable here--"

"She will be content soon. Once she has the first child."

Orion takes this opportunity to speak up, "possibly you should take your new wife out of the country."

"Out of the country?" Regulus frowns.

"Take her out of this house on your honeymoon. Maybe visit Paris. It couldn't hurt after the past few days."

Honeymoon... he was hoping that he could avoid taking (y/n) on one of those. But, if Orion thinks this could make (y/n) happy... well, he supposes he can sacrifice the time.

***

Walburga catches him before he can make his way out of the dining room. 

"You must not cast those charms any longer."

Regulus would rather his mother not tell him he can and cannot use contraceptives... 

"Who says I did?"

Walburga squints angrily, "Next time you do your duty as the next Master of the house, make sure you give your seed time to take hold within your wife."

He draws his lips into a tight line, turning to leave the conversation before it became any more invasive.

No promises would be made to his mother or anyone else over the use of contraceptive charm. There was no need for a child in this present time. Things of that nature could wait.

***

"What are you doing here?" (y/n) asks when he walks into their shared bedroom.

"It's nice to see you too, wife."

She rolls her eyes, turning back to her novel.

"You were not at dinner tonight." Regulus unbuttons the top of his shirt.

"I wasn't hungry," she says without looking up from the book.

Regulus continues to undress, removing the cufflinks from his dress shirt. 

"Mother was wondering where you were."

"I'm sure she was."

He watches her for a moment. "We will be leaving soon."

(y/n) looks at him confused, "Who will?"

"You and I."

"Leaving where?"

"On our... honeymoon."

"What do you mean?"

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek, "I'm taking you to Paris on our honeymoon."

"Honeymoon..." (y/n) looks like she's contemplating giving him a  flat-out   no.

"I can tell you are tired of the house. The apartments I've secured are much  lighter  than Grimmauld Place. Moreover, it has an excellent view of the city."

"I don't know..."

Regulus steps forwards, taking her hand in his. "Just spare two weeks at the least." The pad of his thumb rubs underneath the ring on her left hand. He's secretly pleased to see she has not taken it off despite the state of their relationship currently.

"Regulus," (y/n) tries to move away from him.

"Please," he breathes out the word, "please, I'm trying."

(y/n) analyzes his face, "what would we do in Paris?"

"I could think of many things we could do."

She doesn't respond to his suggestive words.

"Is that a yes?"

"I'll think about it."

"We're leaving tomorrow. I've already made the arrangements."

"You can't just-- just--"

"I thought you'd be happy to get out of the house."

She sighs, her fingers worrying the dark fabric of her skirts, "Ok."

"Excellent," he brings her hand up to his lips, "I look forward to sharing your bed again, Mistress Black."

***

Dressed in a violet dress, I stick out, standing next to my in-laws and husband. Which is fine by me. I rather stick out than look like I'm a part of a funeral precession  every damned day .

"Are you ready?" Regulus holds his arm out to me.

I gently place my arm on his, nodding.

"Owl, if you decide to stay longer than planned," Orion looks to his son first than to me. He's got a small smile on his lips. I smile back politely.

"Naturally," Regulus says before apparating us away from the house.

I hate apparition. Hate it with my entire being. Squeezing my eyes shut tightly doesn't stop the uncomfortable movement of tumbling through time and space.

When I'm able to open my eyes, my fingers gripping Regulus's arm uncomfortably tight, I'm met with the sight of a large brick building.

"Are you okay?" Regulus steps in front of me. Cupping my face, he looks at me with concern.

I open my lips slightly, trying to find the words despite my churning stomach, "I just-- I just need a moment."

He nods, not letting go of my face. Then, almost absentmindedly, his thumb brushes against my cheek.

"I'm fine now. Where are we?" I squeak out, trying to distract him from continuing to touch my face like so.

Regulus snaps out of whatever was happening between us, his hands dropping from my face as he turns to look up at the building. 

"This is where we will be staying." He hesitates for a moment before gently grasping my hand in his, "Do you mind?"

I shake my head no.

"Let me show you the apartment." Regulus helps me up the three steps of the building before holding the door open. He motions towards the staircase, placing his hand on the small of my back as we walk up the large staircase.

Regulus unlocks the heavy wooden door, pushing it open for me.

The sunshine in this room shines brighter than in Grimmauld Place. Probably due to the airy curtains and the creamy champagne color that the walls are painted.

It's a complete contrast to the rooms we share at Grimmauld Place. 

"What do you think?" Regulus gently pulls me into the room.

I turn to admire the white comforter of the bed, running my fingers against the soft material. 

"It's beautiful."

Turning, I catch Regulus's eye. He's leaning against the dresser, watching me intently.

I bite the inside of my cheek, "What are you looking at?" 

"Am I not allowed to look at my wife?"

"Obviously, you are. If looking is all that is on your mind."

He actually smiles, looking down at the ground momentarily, " we are  on our honeymoon."

Rolling my eyes, I begin to walk past him towards the bathroom. However, Regulus's fingers wrap around my wrist, preventing me from exiting the conversation.

"Regulus--" I find myself in his arms, his fingers tilting my chin towards him. Even as I despise the way he's dragged me into his arms, I can't say I hate the feeling of his body pressed against mine.

"Do you want this?" I hate that he's so diligent with asking for consent before he kissed me or initiated any--  activities . It would be so much easier to hate him if he was a beast of a man.

My contemplation of his question only lasts a few seconds before I lean up to kiss him.

Regulus makes a sound of surprise but quickly regains the dominance, his hands cupping my face. 

Slowly, he begins to back us up towards the bed, pulling me onto his lap as he sits down on the white comforter. 

"No," I pull away from the kiss, still straddling his thighs.

Regulus's lips are red as he looks at me confused, "You don't--?"

I shake my head, "I'm starving."

He smiles, tucking a flyaway hair back behind my ear, "We'll find you some food then."

***

(y/n) sips her tea. She hasn't spoken a word to him since he brought her to the wizard cafe.

"How is your food?"

She sets her tea down, "good."

Regulus strums his fingers against the table.

"Did you want something, Regulus?"

"Not particularly. Are you ready to get back?"

"Why are you so eager to get back?" Her smile is small, almost teasing.

"'m not eager..." Regulus frowns, straightening the lapel of his jacket.

"You've hardly touched your food," she looks pointedly towards his plate.

Regulus looks down as well, "I don't find myself quite as famished from our traveling, wife."

(y/n) rolls her eyes at his comment, "For your information, Regulus, I had to skip breakfast to pack for an impromptu trip my husband sprung upon me."

"I could have easily bought you a whole new wardrobe here if breakfast mattered to you that much."

"That would have been a waste--"

He chuckles, "money is not an issue for us, darling. You may have anything you desire simply by asking for it."

(y/n) bites the inside of her cheek, "Just because it is easily obtained does not mean it is not wasteful to live like this."

Regulus bites the inside of his cheek, looking away from (y/n). 

***

Lounging on the bed, he watches her. The chiffon robe she wears leaves little to the imagination as she walks by the open window. Regulus is certain she'd be mortified to find out it's nearly transparent when the morning light hits the fabric. He's enjoying the show, but he hates that anyone outside could see her.

"(y/n)," Regulus stretches his arms above his head.

"Yes?" She turns, the fabric of the robe shifting.

"Come here, please."

She frowns, hands coming to her waist, "why?"

He shifts on the bed, "because you're walking by the window  practically naked."

(y/n) crosses her arms across her chest, "Regulus!"

A small smile tugs at his lips, "Come here, darling."

She slowly makes her way to the bed. Regulus tugs her down to the bed, caging her in with his arms before she can make a noise. (y/n) looks up at him, the robe revealing her beautiful body.

Regulus trails his fingers down her neck towards her breast. Then, rolling her nipple between his fingers, he watches keenly at the way the nub hardened under his touch.

"Reg--"

He cuts her off, "do you want this?"

Her mouth opens and closes before she replies, "yes."

Regulus ducks down, kissing her deeply. He presses his rapidly hardening cock against her thigh.

"Have to be quick," he shoves his sleep pants down enough to free his cock.

"Why? What do we have to do today?"

He chuckles, "nothing that can't be pushed back. Do you want slow then Mistress Black?" Regulus's fingers drag down her jaw, fingers gently angling her face towards his.

(y/n) frowns back, "I--"

"You don't have to be embarrassed. I can make you squirm under me for however long you desire."

Slowly, he pulls the string of her robe loose, the material exposing her torso completely to his gaze.

"Is that what you want, darling?" He spreads her thighs so he can kneel between them.

Her mouth is parted slightly, chest heaving as she watches him drag his cock up and down her slit. 

"Please--"

"Such a good girl." Regulus inches in, entranced by the way her body welcomes him.

(y/n)'s fingers pull at his hair as he bottoms out, "Merlin--!"

"Not my name," he slowly pulls out before thrusting in hard.

(y/n) snorts, "was that a joke? Did you just make a--" he thrusts in again, "a joke?"

Regulus smiles down at his wife, "possibly."

He doesn't expect her to giggle, and he especially does not expect his stomach flip-flopping at the sound of that giggle. To distract himself from this onrush of new emotion, he leans down, kissing her with feverish passion. The softness of her lips, the way her tongue moves shyly in an almost submissive manner with his, and the way she completely surrenders herself to his kiss doesn't help him as the sudden adoration he feels for this woman continues to skyrocket. Love isn't the word. Love maybe would never be the word, but he feels like when they express passion through their sexual encounters, he maybe could be feeling something  like love . 

"Oh, Regulus," (y/n) moves her hips in time with his, the push and pull of their lovemaking intoxicating.

His fingers move to play with her clit, rolling the bundle of nerves and making her squirm underneath him. The way she grinds her hips hard against him with each skilled movement of his hands on her delicate flesh feels magnificent. She's breathtaking, and he can't even find the words to tell her how--  how much he enjoys this. 

Maybe enjoys it more than he's ever enjoyed it before.

"Don't stop," (y/n) whimpers.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he ducks down to kiss her as he pushes her over the edge. The feeling of her pulsing around him propels him towards his own release.

"Merlin--" He continues to thrust shallowly, burrowing his face in her neck. (y/n)'s fingers move tenderly across his back and shoulders as he comes down from his high. Regulus could stay like this forever.

"Are you going to--?" Her voice breaks his small paradise.

He frowns, "yes."

(y/n) stares at him before pushing his shoulders lightly until he pulls out, landing on the other side of the bed. "If you're going to do it, do it now. I want to take a bath."

He has a feeling the bath has something to do with washing away any trace of what they just did. Nevertheless, he does as she asks, wandlessly casting the charm.

***

After ignoring him for the rest of the morning and afternoon, reading on the sunny balcony, she appears to be in a better mood when he comes to get her for dinner. 

"Do you wish to get dinner with me?"

(y/n) softly closes the worn novel before looking up at him. Her face is sweet, lacking any of the anger it held earlier when they quarreled. 

"I would."

Regulus expects her to continue the conversation. Instead, she walks by him without another word. Placing his hands on the balcony's railing, Regulus looks out towards the city. The chaos of the muggles and their  cars  feels an awful lot like the current feeling in his head.