#to try to keep his dreams of chivalry alive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gretagerwigsmuse · 9 months ago

Text

mila…the way that i am constantly on edge in the best way every single time you post a new chapter is just such a huge testament to your writing! it’s so clever and cool how you weave all the history in, especially since we aren’t seeing anya or bradley in the same timeline? and the fact that they both took a moment to stop and think about each other’s birthdays really put the biggest smile on my face! much much more below 💕

also girl you have my hackles raised already with the mention of that ambassadors daughter ☹️.

Experimentally, you rub your fingers over the shell of your ear; you just want to assure yourself regularly that you can still hear something from that side. It feels odd. You can feel your touch but can barely hear your fingers rubbing against the skin. It’s like the touch is disembodied from the rest of you like it’s not really happening. - in her george bailey era, poor thing! i like how you describe this “like it’s not really happening”

On the right, the skin feels like it always did — on the left, it’s like a flame licked its way up around your jaw, stopping just short of your temple. - oh honey 🥺 the ‘flame licking’ up her body is such a powerful visual!

You hurried to get dressed again, sobbing. You’ve still barely scraped together the courage to see how badly scarred you really are. - you got me crying with this one. i just wanna give her a hug, i know she’s going to be deep into the self loathing/feelings of inadequacy for awhile

But you are lucky, they tell you. - just because you’re lucky doesn’t mean you can’t complain or get mad sweet girl

You trace your thumb over the nameplate, every bump, and ridge exactly as you remember — it’s like a weight is lifting off your shoulders. You can’t keep the fond smile breaking out over your face as you realize it’s Bradley's birthday today. - and it’s his birthday!!! i started crying again knowing she thought she lost it!!? but then emil calls her naive and maybe she is a little? but i don’t believe it

Somewhere, wrapped in warm, hazy dreams, wrapped in the fantasy of Bradley, it was all so clear. The words came so easily. - that dream of theirs was so beautiful, i kept thinking about it since the last chapter. and she loves him! she really really loves him!

How many times has Bradley said those exact words? How many girls has he promised the exact same thing? A shiver involuntarily, like your body is physically trying to rid you of the thought. - no no no he loves you! he loves you anya! you’re special

Emil will never be able to see you as anything more than the little sister figure that tagged along, someone to project his guilt onto. - screw him! like anya said, she got bradley out! she did all the work, her and bradley were a team! (also love that you keep repeating the ‘aren’t you lucky?’ it’s really clever

“If he’s still alive, he has long forgotten about you.” - 1) no he has not! and 2) i had a brief fear that when emil came to pick anya up he was going to ask if she wanted to get married? like let him take care of her or some sort of misplaced chivalry? very glad he did not! (though i knew she’d say no) this is so much worse!

It’s Christmas, after all. That also makes it your birthday. - i love that they both had this same thought! they both stopped for a moment and recognized each other’s birthdays

Your handkerchief is safely tucked away in his footlocker, together with the things dearest to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of carrying it around anymore; he feels like he tainted the luck you bestowed on him. He doesn’t deserve it. But he also doesn’t want to — can’t — let you go. - oh bubs!!! this breaks my heart! 🥺 it’s funny, she was without his bracelet for so long and now she has it and he used to have her handkerchief on him all the time and now he has the physical distance from it

But Mav completely takes out of the equation that Bradley might not want to go. // “But I will respectfully disagree with Maverick,” Simpson’s tone has an edge to it now — there’s no secret that those two don’t really see eye to eye on most things. - okay getting an ally in cyclone! i love it! i feel like bradley and cyclone actually do get along really well all things considered even in canon? they’re both normally pretty even keeled? and obviously bradley does NOT want to go to nevada (first of all ewww) because he needs to be in virginia beach for anya can find him duh

“The trial at Nuremberg has started recently. If you are ready to cut your teeth on red tape and navigate brass politics, Rooster, that is the place to be now.” - mila you have the biggest fucking brain ily like just how you weave everything in here? it’s so cool and flows so effortlessly. and also…europe!!! bradley!!! go get your girl!

How can he explain that you are the only person he is sure he’d ever marry? // If he could follow his heart, he’d be on the first boat back to Europe - oh bubba 🥺 i’m gonna cry again! fuck emil for his shitty comments

It’s like his vision is glazed over as he goes through the motions — flip the page, move his eyes across, flip the page, move his eyes across, flip the page, move his eyes — no, flip back. - the ‘no, flip back’ made me think he was subconsciously looking for her? was he?

But it’s not even that. Just above that sleeve, a bracelet peeks out. A chain too chunky, plain, and loose for any piece of jewelry on a wrist so fine. A round plate at the center of the chain, its weight pulling the chain slightly askew — it’s too small to tell if there is anything written on there. But Bradley doesn’t need to see it. Because he knows what it says; after all, it’s his. - STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!!! THEY ARE SO INVISIBLE STRING CODED!! GET OUT! this is such a clever way to have him find out she was still alive!!

Unceremoniously, Bradley shoots up from this chair, tearing the page from the magazine before quickly folding it and tucking it in his pocket. - HE RIPS IT OUT!!!! BRADLEY!!! IT’S GOING IN THE FOOTLOCKER

But now, he seems to oscillate between apathy and what Natasha can only describe as stupidity. - he def has some form of ptsd and depression, the recklessness and apathy combo is killer

“I never told her I love her..” // “I left her… there,” He sighs heavily. “I had to — but I could have said it. I don’t even know why… I just didn’t.” - BUBS 🥺🥺🥺 sweet boy! oh i wanna hug him so bad! and i totally get why natasha says what she says since she really doesn’t Know? she doesn’t get why he’s so torn up about it, what’s some other girl in the long list of bradley’s past? but it still hurt hearing her say it

“You also have a commendation letter from the president for your service to the republic during the war. It has me intrigued.” - BADDIE!!! icon! this is so cool, how did they find out what she did?

“And now that I see you…” Mrs. Parker’s gaze lingers on the left side of your face. “Well, let’s just say that you’re not likely to attract my husband’s wandering eyes,” - oh 🥺

Of course, re-enrolled the moment you could. You just couldn’t even make it through the first week. Maybe you’ve built it up too much in your head. - oooo this is really interesting! i’m glad she at least tried to reenroll, but totally get that she feels out of place now? like it almost seems naive or childish? if that makes sense?

It’s ultimately, ironically, you suppose, what brings you to the residence of the U.S. ambassador and why the ambassador’s wife seems to be grilling you for her own amusement. - oh gee i wonder if a distinguished american soldier would ever meet the us ambassador to a major european country 👀 (i can imagine it going so many different ways tbh both sweet and sad)

There’s only one thing you want. That dream. Bradley and the beach. - oh sweet girl, you’re gonna get it! i know you are!

“Perfect — my daughter will be joining on our posting here, and she tends to be demanding about the hems of her dresses,” - oh no. oh no no no no no nooooooooooo noo mila i can’t handle it if this becomes an issue i really can’t!

You can’t fool yourself into thinking, you wouldn't even dare to dream, that Bradley would still want you. Who would? It doesn’t matter. He deserves to be happy, even if that’s without you. - oh i know my heart is going to get broken with all this self loathing 🥺 sweet girl he loves you! i can just picture him seeing her again and cradling the back of her head and pulling her in for a hug and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear on her left side and just shushing her and making sure she knows how much he loves her 🥺 anyway i’m gonna cry now

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 18 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 9.4k

Library

Chapter 18: You Keep Coming Back Like A Song

Sometimes, it’s like a high-pitched whine breaking through radio static.

Sometimes, it’s a rumble, like water in a big pot coming to a rolling boil.

Other times, it sounds just like an air raid alarm, like a time capsule breaking open of that moment of chaos and screams before all the sound suddenly falls still.

And then it’s back to that strange buzz, or fizz, like gas escaping from a poorly sealed beer bottle.

But it’s always there.

They tell you, you are lucky.

You didn’t die, and the war is over.

Gently, you brush your hair, trying to ignore how distorted and distant the sound of the teeth of the comb sound as they glide through the strands. It almost disappears in the permanent noise in your left ear. Experimentally, you rub your fingers over the shell of your ear; you just want to assure yourself regularly that you can still hear something from that side. It feels odd. You can feel your touch but can barely hear your fingers rubbing against the skin. It’s like the touch is disembodied from the rest of you like it’s not really happening. It’s hard to describe the sensation of hearing loss: it feels like your ear is stuffed full of cotton wool, both dulling your hearing and filling your head with constant noise.

You feel strange in your own body.

The fabric of the light blue summer dress sits uncomfortably on your skin. It’s the first time in almost two months you are not wearing something like a hospital gown. The bandages are finally gone. Only a few plasters remain to cover the slowest healing wounds at the creases on your left wrist, neck, and waist. They pull strangely on your painful skin; they feel awkward under the fitted cut of the dress.

They said you were lucky.

The layers of clothing, your trusty, threadbare green coat, and the way you landed on your side protected you from the fire raining down. Or part of you, at least. You feel anything but lucky when you catch your reflection in the window. Hell, you’re not even sure if you want to stare endlessly at your reflection, pick apart every way you’ve changed, or look away and pretend what you can’t see isn’t there for a little longer.

Your wrist is the only part you can actually see — the skin is an angry patchwork, wrapping all the way around, crawling up your underarm as if the flames spilled down your sleeve.

You know that the parts you can’t see are worse just because of how much they hurt. Your left shoulder, up the junction of your neck to your hairline, all the way down to your hip: the skin pulls and burns with every move, and the nerves and tendons scream like they are in overdrive when you make the wrong move. When the bandages first came off, you skimmed the skin on your neck with careful fingers. On the right, the skin feels like it always did — on the left, it’s like a flame licked its way up around your jaw, stopping just short of your temple. A chunk of your hair has been scorched away on the nape of your neck, making for a strange wobble in your hairline.

You never considered yourself terribly vain, but you burst into tears the first time you looked in the mirror in the bathroom. With shaking hands, you peeled off your gown, only to reveal what seemed to be never-ending, angry, red, and bumpy scars down your left side. Scalded, melted, torched. You hurried to get dressed again, sobbing. You’ve still barely scraped together the courage to see how badly scarred you really are.

On your nightstand, bottles of ointment, thick cream, and pain relief, a new daily regime. You have enough to start a shop, you think bitterly. But you are lucky, they tell you. The pain will lessen, and the scars will fade — all you need is time and patience, medicine, and physical therapy.

And accept that you will never hear silence again.

Accept that your body doesn’t really feel like yours anymore.

Accept that the world has moved on without you.

“Excited to go home?” Emil walks in just as you button up your cardigan. It’s too warm to wear a cardigan in summer, but nevertheless, you tug down your left sleeve as you turn to greet him. He’s wearing a new uniform — sharply cut, shining chevrons. His hair is combed neatly. Emil doesn't look anything like the rugged and sullen partisan fighter you met years ago, except for his eyes. There is a weariness in them, a sadness almost.

In the hazy hospital days, where your heart and soul spent endless days on a sunny beach dreaming about a life with Bradley, Emil dutifully visited you like one of his war buddies. While he brought them cigarettes and brandy, he brought you flowers on your birthday. He would sit with you and softly tell you about what was happening outside.

It’s over. The war is over. We made it, Anya. Aren’t we lucky?

“More than ready,” You reply, smiling. “I’ve been packed for hours.”

A small suitcase sits on the neatly made bed. It’s deceptively heavy — while you don’t have many clothes or personal effects here, everything that you had on you in the explosion was beyond saving a disposed — the thick glass jars of ointment and cream add a lot of weight.

“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something,” Emil starts. He looks strangely guarded. He avoids your gaze as he pulls out a chair, not saying anything. You take it as a cue to sit down on the bed across from him, your legs dangling off the side, even though he doesn’t say anything or make any sort of gesture.

You shift uncomfortably, your dress pulling on the plaster on your waist. Emil is staring at his fingernails. Swearing softly, you try to find a comfortable position, pushing yourself further back up on the bed. You can feel the muscle twitch in your left shoulder. As you lift your left hand, a slight tremor courses through it from the strain of leaning on it. It’s gone in a few seconds, but the dull pain remains.

You don’t prompt Emil to speak, just looking at him expectantly as, after a few minutes, he finally looks up at you.

“I wasn’t sure if I wanted to bring this up,” His voice is monotone. “But I suppose you have a right to it.”

Another silence falls. There’s a tension in the air.

You raise an eyebrow, following his movements with a skeptical look on your face. Emil reaches into his pocket, taking something out in his balled fist. Wordlessly, he flicks something in your direction. Quickly, you cradle your hands, the flicker of silver catching your eye as it falls. The familiar weight that lands in your palm is a comfort you had almost forgotten about. You thought it got lost. You thought you’d never see it again.

Bradley’s bracelet is blackened by the flames, dirt, and what looks to be dried blood marring the once shiny silver. You trace your thumb over the nameplate, every bump, and ridge exactly as you remember — it’s like a weight is lifting off your shoulders. You can’t keep the fond smile breaking out over your face as you realize it’s Bradley's birthday today.

It’s June 27th, 1945.

Your heart feels full of hope. Like suddenly, everything you’ve been waiting for and dreaming of is so much closer. The war is over. You made it. Aren’t you lucky?

“Jesus Christ, Anya,” Emil sounds pained. “You’re not really -” He trails off as you look up. Emil stares at you, somewhere between disbelief and anger. You quickly wipe the smile off your face, staring back impassively as you quickly tuck the bracelet away in your closed palm, crossing your arms as if to hide the evidence.

“I’m not really what?” You counter, voice forcibly light. Emil rubs his hands over his face in frustration.

“I really didn’t peg you for being this naive,” He grinds out. You purse your lips, offended, but wait to reply. “You’re actually in love with him.” Emil accuses you.

You scoff, fingers tightening around the bracelet. Instinctively, you want to deny it, even if only because Emil makes it sound like a crime. But the words stick in your throat, and your heart wrenches. You are in love with Bradley; you have been all along. You’ve never said it. Not to him — you’ve barely only admitted it to yourself. Somewhere, wrapped in warm, hazy dreams, wrapped in the fantasy of Bradley, it was all so clear. The words came so easily.

Instead, you roll your eyes deliberately. Theatrically. You scoff, but can’t get the lie out of your mouth. It’s a transparent tactic; it's pathetic, really.

But you’ll be damned if you admit you’re in love with Bradley while Emil is staring at you in wide-eyed disappointment.

“What did Bradshaw promise you?” Emil’s voice is frosty. The temperature in the room drops to sub-zero from his tone.

“Excuse me?” You blink.

“What did he promise you?” His tone suddenly turns sardonic. “That he’ll come back for you? Take you flying? Take you with him to America - marry you?”

Your heart sinks.

“What do you take me for?” You bite out. It’s a feeble defense. You know you don’t stand a chance when you see a flicker of sympathy in Emil’s eyes, but it disappears in a blink. The pinpoint accuracy hurts more than you’d like to admit. The words reverberate down your bones, and you hate to admit it’s shaking your resolve. How many times has Bradley said those exact words? How many girls has he promised the exact same thing? A shiver involuntarily, like your body is physically trying to rid you of the thought.

“Do you think he’s coming back for you, Anya?” He spits out. “Do you really, truly believe that?” You can’t help but flinch at the acid in his voice. But your face pulls into an angry scowl. What does Emil know? Who is he to judge? He only met Bradley once.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” You reply overly arrogantly, trying to get some sort of upper hand in the situation. Wrapping your feelings in a shield of lies and diversion is the only way to keep them yours.

“The ridiculous thing is you running around a war zone with an American identification bracelet on your wrist.” What do you think would have happened if you were captured? What if the Soviets found you with that on your wrist? You’d be halfway to a Gulag right now.” Emil is raising his voice with every word, thundering at you— he shoots up from his chair, unable to stay seated under the intensity of his anger. Behind him, a stern-looking nurse looks through the door opening before turning wide-eyed and leaving without saying a word. You refuse to be intimidated by Emil’s posturing while he continues to yell at you: “Seriously, Anya, it’s like you’ve taken leave of all your fucking senses!”

“But none of that happened, did it?” You counter, slowly rising to match his volume to cut off his tirade. The bracelet's metal is cutting into your palm; you are clutching it so tightly. “And now you’re suddenly trading in what-ifs? That’s rich. What if I got arrested with Bradl- Bradshaw?” You almost stumble over his name; embarrassment prickles down your neck, but you don’t let it deter you. “What if they had found the documents and weapons during that raid — that I stole for you and your cause — what would have happened to me then? They killed Eva for less.” You seethe. “You didn’t seem so concerned then.”

You were left alone to deal with all that.

Emil looks pained at the mention of Eva and sighs deeply, momentarily deflated, heavily sitting back down again. Your heart is racing. He restarts, more gently, more pensive this time, trying to drive home his point. “I’ve known many men like Bradshaw. I served with plenty of them. The uniform, the charm — so completely aware of it.” He pauses momentarily as if to gather his thoughts, his eyes darting about the wall behind you. “And I’ve seen many brilliant, pretty, young girls, just like you, not stand a chance once they got into the crosshairs.”

“You make it sound like I was a puppet getting my strings pulled,” You assert bitterly, not ready to forgive his outburst so easily. “The choice was mine — I made the first move.”

“The fact you think that gave you the upper hand is just proof of how naive you are.” He easily dismisses you. Again.

“Oh, fuck you.” You exclaim, exasperated. “You are so dead set on casting me as the poor fool in this that you will completely erase my decisions. If —” You swallow heavily. “If I believed Bradshaw, it’s because I chose to. I took every step in his direction of my own volition.”

Emil opens his mouth, frowning deeply. You raise your voice, refusing to allow him to cut in.

“If it was stupid or naive; if it was all just a mistake — then it was my mistake to make.” You’re not even sure you’re telling Emil or yourself. “And don’t you dare forget: no matter what I did or chose to believe, the mission was a success. I got him out.” You are struggling to catch your breath, adrenaline hot in your veins. But the words keep pouring out. “You can sit here and judge me all you want, berate me if you need to — whatever makes you feel better. Whatever makes you feel less guilty. But don’t delude yourself into thinking I need lessons in character judgment from you.”

A painful silence falls the moment the words leave your mouth. That’s below the belt. It’s petty. It’s heartless. Jan was Emil’s friend before he was his subordinate in the army before he was his brother-in-arms in the resistance. Before he betrayed everyone.

The silence drags on, and the ringing in your ear makes you feel off-kilter. You shake your head, trying to shrug off the noise, but it doesn’t help.

“I’m sorry.” Emil finally admits, with difficulty—his face wrenches in pain. You look away in embarrassment, finally uncrossing your arms, awkwardly pulling your left sleeve further over your wrist in a futile attempt to cover more of the scars. “I should have never allowed you to get pulled into the resistance this deeply,” He looks at you sadly as you blanch. Your heartbeat slows as ice pours into your stomach. “I should have never made the decision to leave Bradshaw in your care.”

Taking a shaky breath, you wait for Emil to continue.

“I feel responsible for what happened to you — for what you had to do,” He swallows dryly. “You were too young, too inexperienced. You just hid it so goddamn well because you are too clever for your own good. Because you throw yourself at things which such confidence and conviction.” Emil shakes his head, the lingering frustration still evident in his movements. “I should have seen through it and sent you home.”

You blink away the tears that start burning in your eyes. It will just never be enough, will it? After everything that happened to you. After everything you did. Emil will never be able to see you as anything more than the little sister figure that tagged along, someone to project his guilt onto. He’s done terrible things. So have you. He’s made bad decisions. God knows you have. And still, he dismisses you without a second thought.

You will never be his equal.

The war is over, and as far as you are concerned, so is this conversation. You’ve spent the past years of your life in service of a greater cause, in the shadow of greater men. There is no glory for you at the end. But you got what you wanted, didn’t you? The war is over. You are free. Aren’t you lucky? Getting up, you brush down your dress to straighten it with your free hand, Bradley’s bracelet looped around the shaking fingers of your left hand.

“Things didn’t quite turn out as I hoped,” A small, sad smile pulls at the corner of your mouth as you vaguely gesture at the left side of your face. “But do me a favor, Emil…” You take a deep breath to steady your shaking voice. “Don’t pity me, please.”

You’ll fight him at every turn if you have to, but you don’t think you can handle his pity. Or anyone’s. You don’t want it. Grabbing your suitcase from the bed, you finally look back up at Emil.

“I’ll see myself home,” your voice is even and polite. “Thank you for coming by and for returning my bracelet. I appreciate it.” With that, you brush past him to the door.

“Do you understand that whatever Bradshaw told you, he tells every girl?” All anger has dissipated from Emil’s voice, yet it does nothing to soften the blow of his words. “If he’s still alive, he has long forgotten about you.”

He just has to get the last jab in; lord your moments of weakness over you as if it will suddenly change your mind. As if it will undo anything. How petty.

You turn and stare at Emil for a moment, the corner of your mouth still quirked up. Anything you will say now will undoubtedly betray how much his words hurt you. Reacting in any way will just validate his anger and your deepest fears. What if Bradley died? What if he forgot? What if he just stopped caring?

What if he never really cared in the first place?

It’s probably the coward’s way out. But you just turn on your heel and leave, gait steady, head held high.

The screeching in your ear resonates through your whole body now, rattling your bones and making your hands shake.

But you won’t stop now.

***

It’s Christmas by the time Bradley finally sets foot stateside again. The journey home almost felt longer than the war itself.

Everything is like it was before. Everything about coming home is oddly familiar. Many things changed, but so many things remained the same. The fat cat in the bar just off base was still mean; the diner still had the same menu, and every street looked just like before. The Christmas party on base is exactly like before he left: full of cheer, alcohol, and off-key signing.

Maybe Bradley just sees the world with different eyes now. Everything shifted. Imperceptibly almost. But just enough to make him feel like he doesn’t quite fit anymore, like the place he carved out for himself in all those years of training, partying, and flying suddenly doesn’t fit him anymore. It pinches, it irritates. Bradley can’t seem to get comfortable. He really thought the feeling would leave once he finally got home.

At least now he sleeps. It’s enough to get him through the day. He still wanders around at night. He thought getting out of the claustrophobic confines of the boat would make the unease pass. That being home would make him forget the powerlessness he felt locked away in the small room. That the blood, the explosions, and the horrors would fade. But it’s only in the early morning sunrise, as he aimlessly meanders over the base or past the waterfront, just as the first beams of sun creep over the horizon, Bradley finds moments of solace. It’s quiet. The sky is clear, with only stars and clouds as far as the eye can see.

No planes, no explosions. No fiery trails marring the horizon, no black smoke obscuring the first light.

It’s those strange early hours; Bradley feels he can breathe freely. Even just for a moment, he can relax. The cold air doesn’t bother him; rather, it soothes him. If time could stop, Bradley wishes it would be right then, and he could stay in the fleeting moments of daybreak forever.

But the world never stops turning, twisting painfully around him. The moment is gone, but the memories, everything he’d like to forget, anchor him in place. Alone.

And he feels his loneliness more than ever at Christmas. It had never been his favorite time of year since he was an orphan. Sure, his father’s friends and the Navy always ensured he had somewhere to go. There was always something to do. But the time of year never felt special to him anymore, rather an obligation at best.

The officer’s mess is decorated with loud tinsel — it’s obnoxious in its volume — the flickering reflections cast over the whole room. When Bradley closes his eyes, it almost looks like flak explosions during nighttime. Quick flashes of yellow, the rumble of explosions shaking the air around him. His grip tightens on the dinner fork. He blinks rapidly. Like a record speeding up, the cheery Christmas music is suddenly back; Mav’s voice is loud next to him, the smell of the dinner spread wafting through the air.

Dropping his fork a little too loudly, although the clang against the porcelain plate barely attracts any attention, Bradley slumps back in his chair. His wine glass is full again, the mess staff making sure no one runs dry. It’s Christmas, after all.

That also makes it your birthday. Bradley takes a too-big gulp of his wine to stop the feeling of guilt bubbling up. Your handkerchief is safely tucked away in his footlocker, together with the things dearest to him. He doesn’t feel worthy of carrying it around anymore; he feels like he tainted the luck you bestowed on him. He doesn’t deserve it. But he also doesn’t want to — can’t — let you go.

“Rooster? Rooster!” Mav’s hand claps on his shoulder, pulling Bradley out of his miserable spiral. “Mrs. Simpson wants to know your plans now that you are home,” He half-whispers.

“Oh,” Bradley looks up at the kindly lady sitting across the table from him, a smile on her face. In contrast, Admiral Simpson, of course, sat next to his wife, is staring him down. “Truthfully, I haven’t had much time to think about it yet, ma’am,” Bradley admits politely.

“Beau told me you started left for the war as a lieutenant, and now you are a decorated captain,” Mrs. Simpson inquires conversationally. “Surely, you have your choice of assignments.”

“I think I need some time to adjust and enjoy being back,” Bradley replies, plastering a smile on his face, refraining from taking another too-large drink from his wine. He never thought he’d get to this point — it just simply didn’t really occur to him to think this far ahead. After the war. But it’s bizarre not to have orders on stand-by, alarms going off, and scrambling jets all hours of the day. Where does he go from here?

“With his flight hours and experience, the test center in Nevada would be a great option for Rooster,” Mav adds his two cents. Mrs. Simpson nods with interest. “If he were to actually apply,” He shoots Bradley a look. “He could be in the air in the latest jet before the year is out.”

Bradley bites his tongue. Mav always does this. Still does this. His decisiveness and insight make him a great leader in the air but a shitty de-facto father figure. It’s not that Nevada would probably be a bad move for Bradley. But Mav completely takes out of the equation that Bradley might not want to go. And now he throws it out there in front of Simpson, Bradley’s superior officer.

“Rooster has proven himself as a pilot,” Simpson agrees. “He has the stack to back it up,” He adds jokingly to his wife, motioning to the rows of service ribbons pinned to Bradley’s dark blue uniform jacket. She titters.

“But I will respectfully disagree with Maverick,” Simpson’s tone has an edge to it now — there’s no secret that those two don’t really see eye to eye on most things. “Being a test pilot is exciting, but if you want to advance your career in the Navy, there are more valuable assignments.” His sharp gaze settles on Bradley. “You should take this time to prove those battlefield commissions in non-combat. Hone your skills as an officer. Become a real leader.”

Bradley wants to reply, but another voice cuts in before he can open his mouth.

“I think you should consider settling down, Rooster,” Penny leans forward, past Mav, looking at him with a teasing smile. Mrs. Simpson makes noises of agreement. Pete and Simpson take a drink in unison, not taking any chances of arguing with their respective wives.

“I don’t know…” Bradley starts laughing. “First, I’d like to enjoy my first Christmas home in almost four years,” He raises his glass, hoping to change the subject quickly.

If only it were that easy.

Mav clinks his glass against Bradley’s. “Nevada — think about it,” He urges, voice low, probably hoping Penny won’t hear him.

“The base in Nevada is out in the desert,” Penny complains, clearly overhearing Mav’s comment, turning to Mrs. Simpson for support. “Can you imagine? Nothing for around for miles — you need a weekend pass just to make it to the nearest city!”

“That’s awful!” She agrees. “How is he supposed to meet anyone there?” She asks, turning to her husband.

“It’s a base, not a social scene, dear,” Simpson tries to do away with the whole conversation about settling down and Nevada, putting his hand on his wife’s shoulder before turning to Bradley. “The trial at Nuremberg has started recently. If you are ready to cut your teeth on red tape and navigate brass politics, Rooster, that is the place to be now.”

Nuremberg? Germany? Europe?

He could go back to Europe?

Bradley takes a deep breath to steady himself from the onslaught of thoughts that are suddenly cropping up. He hadn’t even dared to entertain the thought of taking up a post in Europe again. His fingers itch.

“You’d send him away again, Admiral?” Penny pipes up. “Bradley only just got back stateside.”

“Pen, darling,” Pete tries to cut her off gently. Although meant well, it’s not really appropriate to discuss. Serving in the Navy means going where the Navy tells you to, when the Navy tells you so. It’s the life they signed up for.

“No, Pete,” She waves her hand dismissively, eager to finish her thought. “Bradley,” Penny now turns to him, expression earnest. She’s worried about him. Simpson, who was just about to take a bite of his rapidly cooling slice of Christmas ham, is letting his fork hover awkwardly somewhere en route from his plate to his mouth in bemusement. “Think about it. Not even you will meet anyone in Nevada,” She continues. “And by God, don’t even think about Europe right now.”

“Why not?” Simpson asks, genuinely surprised.

“Who is he going to meet in Germany, Beau?” His wife admonishes.

Where in the conversation did they agree he wanted to settle down?

“An admiral’s daughter, maybe,” Pete jokes under his breath. Simpson coughs awkwardly to disguise his chuckle. Penny is glaring daggers at Pete now.

Bradley downs the rest of his wine in one go. He expects one of his superiors around him to comment on his table manners, but they seem to forgive him, considering the circumstances.

“Excuse me,” He says a little louder than necessary, effectively ending the conversation as he gets up. “Admiral, Mav, ladies,” He nods politely before forcing a smile on his face, tone joking. “If we are going to discuss my personal life to this level of detail, I think I need something a little stronger from the bar.”

With that, he saunters away. Posture relaxed, and pace unhurried, like he isn’t bothered in the slightest. He even playfully winks at Penny as he passes. But with every step, the ice in his stomach becomes colder — burning a hole through his bones.

Sipping on a whiskey at the bar smoking his second cigarette in quick succession, Bradley tries to get his thoughts into order before returning to the table. Everyone has an opinion on what he should do. If it weren’t for daily formation, PT, and inspections, Bradley truthfully would have no idea how to fill his days. Thinking about his future seems so overwhelming. Until recently, he wasn’t sure he’d even make it home alive.

Now, his head feels full from the alcohol and agony. Nevada, Nuremberg, settling down. How can he explain that the only person he would settle down with is someone he was never supposed to meet in a country where he was never supposed to be and he hasn’t seen or spoken to in two and a half years?

How can he explain that you are the only person he is sure he’d ever marry?

He doesn’t even know for sure you are still alive. He has no idea if you moved on in the meantime. Maybe you were never going to wait for him.

It’s all too much to think about. He waves at the barman for another round as he presses his cigarette butt into the ashtray. Rubbing his eyes, Bradley tries to summon the energy to be sociable again before dessert is served.

“Hey, Rooster?”

Tiredly, he looks up. Penny walks up to him, looking a little apprehensive. He nods in acknowledgment as he takes another drink from his freshly served whiskey. She slides onto the barstool next to him. Bradley automatically signals for another drink. Within less than twenty seconds, the barman slides another whiskey in front of Penny. Her gloved hand picks at the napkin for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Bradley,” She starts.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” He replies automatically, smiling at her, although it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a tension in his shoulders. Penny has known him for so long, that she sees right through it.

“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that,” She continues, honestly. “It was just a bit of fun.”

“It’s okay, honestly.” He dismisses her apology easily, clinking his glass against her instead, signaling to take a drink, and all will be forgiven. “It’s nice to have someone worry about me in my old age.” He jokes, the corner of his eyes crinkling, shoulders relaxing just a bit.

“The old age of 31?” Penny retorts, taking a small sip.

“I’m surprised I’m not graying yet,” Bradley adds dryly.

“You’re not a young upstart lieutenant anymore,” She jokes, lightly hitting his shoulder, before her face turns earnest again. “I’m so proud of you,” She adds softly. “And so happy you came back to us. Pete thinks so, too.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“The war is over, Bradley,” Penny continues in that same soft tone. “It’s a good time to start thinking about the future. Your future in the Navy and beyond that.”

“You’re right, but I -” Bradley hesitates. He plays with his lighter between his fingers. He can’t talk about it. He shakes his head. “I don’t know if that’s for me, Pen.”

“It took Pete all too long to figure that out, although he’ll probably never admit that to you,” Penny’s voice is low, wistful. Her pain is evident. “Don’t go down that path, Bradley — it’s lonely. Follow your heart.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Bradley chuckles dryly. If he could follow his heart, he’d be on the first boat back to Europe if he could follow his heart.

“If it were easy, everyone would do it,” Penny winks at him as she flips open her cigarette case. Bradley offers her a light. “You already beat all the odds; you’ve already proven yourself over and over in the air. Forget about your next professional milestone for a moment. It’s time to show yourself some kindness, Bradley.” Penny exhales a cloud of smoke, a kind smile on her face again.

Bradley hesitates, swirling his drink before emptying it. Show himself kindness? Kindness to himself would be to forget everything that keeps him awake at night. Forget the horrors, forget the noise, forget you.

“I think they’re serving dessert.” Bradley pushes his empty glass away, offering his arm to Penny with a smile.

Maybe he just hates himself so much that he won’t allow himself to forget. The swirling memories, the echo of your voice, the glimmer in your eye — it’s like shards of glass under his skin. If he were to pull out every single one, he’d bleed to death.

***

The haphazard pile of magazines is balancing precariously on the off-white side table. There is barely anyone in the sterile-looking waiting room; a few fellow officers are trying to make themselves comfortable on the hard wooden chairs, staring out the window, playing with a lighter after going through a pack of cigarettes, or just napping. The only real movement is the assistant, sometimes breezing through the room, everyone perking up for a moment, but she leaves without saying anything.

Getting a medical evaluation is the most tedious process in the Navy. Sure, it’s nice to have at least a place to sit in a quiet room as an officer rather than waiting in the overcrowded halls with the enlisted, but it doesn’t make it any less goddamn tedious. Bradley stretches his legs in front of him, trying to find a position where the back of the chair is not digging into every part of his flesh. He’s been here for an hour already. His appointment was 45 minutes ago. It’s a gray afternoon in late February 1946.

Bradley unthinkingly grabs the top magazine from the pile to alleviate some crushing tedium. He leafs through it, not really registering anything. Just going through the motions of doing something. He grabs the next. And another one.

Only five minutes have passed.

Bradley sighs and reaches for the next magazine on the top of the pile. Life Magazine. He starts leafing through it again, skimming the large pages full of pictures. Nothing sticks.

Victory in Europe.

The large letters are emblazoned over the large picture spread. It is the first thing that Bradley really notices. He slows down, scanning the pictures more carefully despite not wanting to. What starts with pictures of people celebrating will inevitably turn into a report of the horror of the final days of the war. Bradley has seen enough of that. The images of the camps, the burned and bombed-out cities, turn his stomach. He can feel, smell, and hear them right through the ink on the page.

It’s like his vision is glazed over as he goes through the motions — flip the page, move his eyes across, flip the page, move his eyes across, flip the page, move his eyes — no, flip back.

Bradley’s heart suddenly beats so hard he almost gasps for breath. On that page is a small picture—strangely familiar spires and towers on a skyline, thick clouds of smoke. In the foreground, a wounded man, clothes torn and splattered in blood, is being lifted into a truck on a makeshift stretcher. Chaos frames the man like in a Renaissance painting: the smoke, the people yelling, gesticulating. But it’s not that. It’s none of that. It’s the smallest thing. Negligible even.

At the bottom of the frame, right at the corner, a small hand is holding onto the stretcher: a ratty coat sleeve, the hem unraveling. The picture is black and white, but Bradley knows that the coat is that exact shade of moss green. But it’s not even that. Just above that sleeve, a bracelet peeks out. A chain too chunky, plain, and loose for any piece of jewelry on a wrist so fine. A round plate at the center of the chain, its weight pulling the chain slightly askew — it’s too small to tell if there is anything written on there. But Bradley doesn’t need to see it. Because he knows what it says; after all, it’s his.

It’s like a weight has lifted off his shoulders. You were alive. Feverishly, Bradley’s eyes fly over the text. You were alive on May 7th, 1945.

You were alive a day before the capitulation of Germany. He tries to calm himself down enough to read the whole text, trying to find any other clue — anything about you. It’s hard to stay seated; Bradley feels like he should be moving, pacing, doing something. It’s the most energy he has had since his last combat flight. His leg is bouncing, trying to release some of the sudden surge of energy. It’s getting him annoyed looks. Folding the magazine over, Bradley uses his free hand to rub over his face, trying to focus on the words swimming in his vision.

“Moments before disaster: the old city of Prague goes up in flames after final air raid. The Red Cross reports… major loss of life…site of the picture leveled.”

The text is going in and out of focus before him. Whatever levity he just felt, the crushing weight of reality is coming back tenfold. Bradley’s leg stills again as he tries to understand. He tries to reason. You wouldn’t have died. You would have found a way out. You would do something clever, have an escape.

His stomach churns. The dream. V.E. Day.

Were you really saying goodbye?

He thinks of you bathed in the sunlight. So soft, so free.

Unceremoniously, Bradley shoots up from this chair, tearing the page from the magazine before quickly folding it and tucking it in his pocket. He ignores the sounds of protest around him, ignoring his name finally being called by the doctor’s assistant as he decisively walks out of the building.

He doesn’t know where to go or what to do, but he doesn’t want to feel this pain now.

***

There are a few things Natasha hates.

Cold coffee.

Wet socks.

The way her new uniform heels pinch before they are broken in.

Dragging her drunk lug of a best friend from a bar in broad daylight on a Tuesday before his chain of command finds out while it’s her goddamn afternoon off.

Rooster has changed since he came back from the war. Sometimes, it’s almost imperceptible. He still sings, jokes, and basks in every sort of attention he can get. Girls orbit him as they have always done, and he smiles and flirts — but then it’s like the light in his eyes flickers, like a darkness is trying to claw its way up in him.

Sometimes, it’s like night and day. Rooster was never reckless, erring on the side of overthinking and, if anything, choosing to stay put rather than take an uncalculated risk. But now, he seems to oscillate between apathy and what Natasha can only describe as stupidity. Today falls firmly in the stupidity category.

The bar just off base is every bit as dirty and seedy during the day as it is at night. A drunken sailor stumbles out. Natasha is unimpressed. Serving with the Women Air Service Pilots during the war, she has learned that the uniform on a man means very little indeed. She has undergone the same flight training as her male peers, has plenty of flight hours, and has worn the uniform. Despite that, she never got the same respect. Which was, in the most unpleasant way, eye-opening.

For all his faults and skirt-chasing ways, Rooster was one of the few male aviators who would speak to Natasha and her colleagues as equals.

Impatiently, she pushes into the bar, ignoring the several pairs of eyes looking at her hungrily. She glances at the bartender, the person who called her, and he just nods at her.

At the far end of the bar is Rooster. He’s hunched over, forehead resting on his hand, shielding his eyes from the world around him. How long has he been here? His khaki uniform shirt is wrinkled, liquid from his glass sloshed around his elbows on the bar, and his hair messy, like he had been running his hands through it in frustration.

Natasha slows her pace. It’s not the happy-drunk Rooster that just tired himself out, outshining everyone in the room.

He looks like he is grieving.

“Hey, Rooster,” Natasha pokes his shoulder. He jerks but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge her. “Get up,” She encourages him, worried about his unnaturally quiet state. Bradley still doesn’t acknowledge her. Natasha is not in the mood for this — she will not spend her afternoon off cajoling a grown man having a drunk sulk into going home. Swiping Bradley’s car keys off the bar and stuffing them in her coat pocket, she grabs Bradley’s cover, forcefully planting it on his head.

That finally gets a reaction out of him, although it’s only a grunt. “Get up, Captain,” She hisses at him. When Bradley finally looks up, she immediately pushes his sunglasses on his face.

“Ow!” He exclaims, followed by a string of incoherent curses. Natasha makes most of the momentum, grabbing Bradley by the elbow and practically dragging him off the bar stool and out of the bar. She can’t stop — if Rooster gets it in his head, he doesn’t want to go, she can’t kid herself — there’s no way she’s making him go physically. So she’ll have to use shock-and-awe tactics at least to get a stumbling drunk Bradley to his car.

“God! Rooster!” Natasha is getting increasingly annoyed as he stumbles, nearly taking them both down. She will rip him a new one if he rips her new nylons. “Can you get it together for five fucking seconds?”

She’s this close to just dumping him at the base gate and having the duty take care of him. “Get in the fucking car,” She hisses, pushing him forward. Thankfully, he was predictable enough to just park behind the bar.

Bradley, completely uncoordinated, slams straight into the car. He groans in pain, leaning heavily against the passenger door. Natasha rolls her eyes as she makes her way to the driver’s side and unlocks the doors. She watches Rooster attempt to fold himself into the car, long limbs flailing. It would be funny if she weren’t so mad. When he finally sits down, Rooster burps so hard that Natasha flinches back at the off chance he is about to throw up — thank god it’s his car.

“You done?” She snipes at him. “Or do you need to hurl up that whole bottle of whiskey first?”

“Fuck you,” Rooster croaks out, leaning back, eyes closed.

“Oh look, it speaks!” Natasha mocks as she sticks the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life. “So, care to explain? Or do you prefer to wallow in your shitty drunkenness in silence?” Rooster doesn’t reply. Natasha didn’t expect him to. Bradley is really good at pretending he wears his heart on his sleeve — but when things get too real, he clams up. She’s known him long enough now to understand he’s hurting. She’s also known him long enough she knows he won’t talk about it until it stops hurting, which may very well be never.

“Anya called me a shit drunk,” Rooster suddenly blurts out.

Natasha stares at him in disbelief. Is this about some girl? All this over some girl? “Well, she was right,” She scoffs, unsure what else to say.

“I never told her I love her,”

Bradley’s voice is soft, and for a moment, Natasha isn’t sure she heard him correctly. Killing the engine, she turns to face him, mouth hanging open. Rooster is staring off into the distance, a lost look on his face.

“I left her… there,” He sighs heavily. “I had to — but I could have said it. I don’t even know why… I just didn’t.”

The sentences are coming out disjointed, but his voice is earnest. Natasha is stunned into silence.

“And now I’ll never see her again,” Bradley’s voice is uncharacteristically small.

“Why?” Natasha is confused. Rooster is actually so out of sorts about a girl, the vague and dramatic statements — he is suddenly like a lovesick puppy. Rooster has been in love, he’s been heartbroken, and he has grieved. Part of him is always grieving. But this is… different. New. Raw.

“I can’t talk about it,” He groans. “About anything — Anya, that — that place. And I’m so scared… I will forget everything about her. She will forget about me. Fuck!”

His sudden exclamation makes Natasha flinch.

“I’m an idiot. I should have told her — that I love her — when I had the chance.” Bradley slumps forward, forehead on the dashboard.

“Rooster, Ro - Bradley!” Natasha shakes his shoulder urgently. He can’t fall asleep now. “Who is Anya? Where is that place?”

“I can’t tell you!” Bradley’s fist lands on the dashboard loudly as he pushes himself back. “I can’t tell anyone, ever.” He hesitates as if he’s already said too much.

“What did you do?” Natasha’s voice is quiet, barely concealing her horror.

“I fell in love when I shouldn’t have,” He grinds out. “With someone I knew I couldn’t have.”

“Jesus Christ,” Natasha mumbles under her breath. “So, what — Rooster got into Rooster trouble?” She asks icily. This is the strangest drunk mood she’s ever seen him in.

“Something like that.”

“But then the tables turned?” Natasha shakes her head, voice softer. Rooster just nods in reply, leaning back again, eyes closed. It’s hard to be really sympathetic to her best friend in this situation — for every broken heart he left behind, Rooster always got away unscathed. If it hurt, he never let on. And if the girl crying in the ladies' room were anything to go by, there were a lot of broken hearts. But still.

Natasha has known Bradley for long enough. She’s seen him in the deepest stages of grief, consumed by anger at the world around him. Bradley lost so much — and because of that, he allowed so little to really get to him. Let alone admit that anything got to him in the first place. Rely on Rooster to always have a joke or a throwaway line ready to defuse the situation.

“I’m sorry, Rooster,” Natasha finally concedes as she starts the car again, shaking her head. “You’ll get over it.”

***

“Dropped out of college, no typing certification, no secretarial experience…” Sharp blue eyes framed by thin golden reading glasses peer over the paper of your neatly written resume. You straighten your posture, although you could possibly not sit any straighter. Your gray dress starkly contrasts the colorful, tastefully decorated room. The floral sofa you’re sitting on is pretty but anything but comfortable. It’s stuffy in the room and strangely dusty. With every move, the specks of dust flutter through the air in the thousands.

“Why should I hire you as the ambassador’s personal secretary?” The question is not unkind, to be expected at an interview, but the meaning is not lost on you. Why are you even here?

“I am a quick study, I work hard,” You explain levelly, hands neatly folded in your lap. The high collar of your dress itches against your neck. “I may not have the certifications and diplomas, but I have the work ethic — you’ll see on my resume, that I worked...”

You trail off. The middle-aged woman sitting actress from you, not looking at you as you speak, stares at your resume unimpressed. You swallow.

“I worked all through the war to support myself and my parents.”

The woman sighs, finally putting the paper away on the low coffee table between you.

“I’ll be honest with you, miss S-…” Her flickers to your resume again.

“Anna is fine, please.” You interject politely.

“Anna.” Mrs. Parker echoes. “I will be honest — I invited you for an interview because your letter was well written. Better than most, more qualified candidates. You also have a commendation letter from the president for your service to the republic during the war. It has me intrigued.”

Oh.

So you’re here just to be gawked at rather than seriously being considered for the job?

“And now that I see you…” Mrs. Parker’s gaze lingers on the left side of your face. “Well, let’s just say that you’re not likely to attract my husband’s wandering eyes,” She clicks her tongue. “That’s a good thing, trust me.” She adds under her breath. You strain to hear the comment.

You don’t flinch. You don’t fidget or move. You’ve heard it all before by now. The scars on your face slowly become lighter — they’re not as red as they once were, but they are there. They will always be there; no careful curl framing your face or fashionable veil will fully obscure it. At least Mrs. Parker is blunt about it, you suppose. Most people just stare.

“You’re a tough cookie.” She continues with a smile. “I like that. Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

“What would you like to know?” You inquire.

“Why did you drop out of college?” Mrs. Parker comes straight to the point.

“Because the Nazi regime closed all universities in 1939,” You reply stoically.

“Allow me to rephrase: why aren’t you going back?” She retorts immediately, fidgeting mindlessly with her pearl necklace. Mrs. Parker looks like a lady of leisure — fancy clothes, expensive jewelry — but it’s clear she’s a sharp mind. “The semester has barely started; surely you are still admissible.” Mrs. Parker’s gold-framed glasses glint in the September sunlight.

“It’s not for me anymore,” You answer simply. Of course, re-enrolled the moment you could. You just couldn’t even make it through the first week. Maybe you’ve built it up too much in your head. But sitting through lectures and sifting through political theory just left you feeling hollow. It was too busy. Too noisy. Too strange.

“What do your parents think about that?”

You blink. At 26, you didn’t expect that question to come up at a job interview.

“My parents are dead, Mrs. Parker.” You reply softly, blinking against all the dust in the air. You don’t really listen to the apologies and commiserations. You’ve heard them all by now.

When you told Emil that things hadn’t exactly turned out how you hoped, you could have never dreamed about the situation you found yourself in now. When you got home that sunny day in June, the pile of overdue bills and notices on your doorstep should have been the first hint that something was deeply wrong. You sent your parents money, but your father always took care of all the bills and rent. Everyone that you called was relieved and surprised that you were alive. But no one had heard from your parents since April 1945.

As the SS were withdrawing from the Red Army advance, they razed villages, burned crops, and executed whole families without prejudice. Your tiny, defenseless ancestral village was wiped off the map in less than one afternoon. The house you grew up in was no more than a pile of ashes. Not even the trees that you climbed as a child still stood. The place you once knew so well is now an alien landscape.

There were no bodies to bury. There was no church to hold the funeral mass. There was not even a graveyard anymore.

You commissioned a small memorial stone for your parents to sit at what once was the gate to your beloved garden and called the priest from the neighboring parish to say a few words. It’s all you could afford.

That’s the next dump on your ever-growing pile of shit. With a lawyer for a father in a high government position before the war, you never exactly had money troubles. But you were in the hospital for two months, and you still need physical therapy and treatment. The large family apartment is more than you can afford. Whatever money your father left you, whatever hasn’t gone up literally in flames with your childhood home, you’ve had to sink into paying off your debts.

It’s ultimately, ironically, you suppose, what brings you to the residence of the U.S. ambassador and why the ambassador’s wife seems to be grilling you for her own amusement. You need a job, but you can’t do physical labor. At this point, you would have jumped at the chance to go back to a factory if you had to.

You’ve already sold almost everything you still owned in the apartment, except for two trunks of personal items and heirlooms you couldn’t bear to part with. When you were younger, you thought you’d probably be married by 26, not living four to a room in a dorm with other working girls.

Things didn’t turn out exactly as you hoped. But you suppose that’s also freeing.

There’s only one thing you want.

That dream.

Bradley and the beach.

“Well,” Mrs. Parker recovers smoothly. “I think you can handle me being honest with you, Anna,”

You nod.

“You’re not getting the secretary job,” She announces curtly. You didn’t expect to. “But I require someone with good English, and I see you’ve worked as a cleaner before.”

You hold your breath, plucking at your left sleeve and pulling it down out of habit.

“This place is a nightmare.” She fumes, waving her hand around theatrically. Dust swirls violently. “No one has lived here since 1938, and it shows. But I can’t get the maids hired to do the job properly — I’m not sure if they don’t understand me or just don’t listen.”

You wait for Mrs. Parker to continue, trying to breathe lightly to stop yourself from inhaling all the dust. “I’m opening a head housekeeper position.” She glances at you as she finally stops wafting new waves of dust around her. “You seem to have a good head on your shoulders, and your English is excellent. I encourage you to apply.” Trust your gut.

“Then consider this my application,” You reply immediately, motioning to your resume on the table. Head housekeeper is not what you came here for. You shouldn’t be doing any physically strenuous activities, let alone manual labor. The nerves and tendons in your left shoulder and wrist were damaged. When you put too much pressure on it or move it too much, painful tremors incapacitate your whole arm.

“How is your sewing?” Mrs. Parker inquires, tone businesslike.

“Excellent.” You lie. You are awful at handiwork, but you will sew till your fingers bleed if it means you get this job.

“Perfect — my daughter will be joining on our posting here, and she tends to be demanding about the hems of her dresses,” Mrs. Parker leans back as if to signal that the formalities are over. “And I am particular about the necklines,” She adds, almost offhandedly.

“Understood,” You reply. “When do I start?”

Mrs. Parkers bursts out laughing, clapping her hands in delight. You crack a small smile in response. You really hope that was the right move.

“Come by tomorrow to pick up your uniform and discuss salary.” She replies, still laughing. “You can start right away, and get all this goddamn dust out of the house.”

That night, when you are in your tiny dorm bed, you think of that beach — it calms you: the summer sun, the soft sand, and the salty breeze. But when you think about Bradley, you get a sinking feeling in your stomach.

You are not naive. It’s been three years. Emil was most likely correct — if Bradley is still alive, he’s probably forgotten about you and moved on.

It’s perhaps for the better. The thought hurts, but you try to get used to it.

You can’t fool yourself into thinking, you wouldn't even dare to dream, that Bradley would still want you.

Who would?

It doesn’t matter. He deserves to be happy, even if that’s without you. Tears prickle behind our closed eyes. You will get used to this feeling. Accept the things you cannot change and seize what you can.

You can go to Virginia Beach. Even if you can’t find Bradley, even if he doesn’t want you anymore, it won’t matter. You just want to feel it once more. It doesn’t matter that it was a dream or a delusion — it was the real in your heart and the happiest you’ve ever felt.

Maybe you’ll finally find something you've been missing there.

Maybe you’ll let the ocean wash you away.

Maybe you’ll finally find some peace there.

note | ffff i caught TWO separate strains of the flu since the new year and holy shit it took me out. still here though. thanks for reading and reblogging!

#like no one will ever understand how much this fic means to me i’m being so serious #the way i have butterflies in my stomach every single time i read one of these chapters??#like my heart is always pounding?!#the invisible string will never snap!#i just want them to get married and be happy and go to the beach in virginia #bradley fic

78 notes · View notes

sunonyoreface · 2 years ago

Text

One Cot - Simon “Ghost” Riley

Hi there, this story is a one shot about Simon Riley. I haven’t played COD before and I don’t know much about his character, but I love the thought of tough men being soft.

Summary: You help Ghost on a cold night and he returns the favour.

Word count: 2398

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: none, fluff.

Crews like task force 141 aren’t the type to pack extra cots. They don’t need them. Because crews like 141 don’t make a habit of bringing home extra bodies. There’s only ever one scenario when they have extra cots. Luckily for them, tonight’s not one of those nights.

For me, however, that means another night on the floor with my ankle cuffed to the bottom of one of their cots in case I try to run.

Although I’m deemed non-violent, I’m also a flight risk. According to them at least.

According to me, I have no clue where we are or how I’d even survive away from them. I’ve got no money, no ID, no map or compass, or even the slightest clue how I’d escape. Regardless, the cuffs stay on.

My wrists face the same fate. But my hands are free enough to rake them through my damp hair, working them through the tangles. It’s a soothing feeling of normalcy in this strange place.

In his cot on the other side of the room, Soap waits for one of the other boys to return from the showers and trade off babysitting duty.

One thing I can say is that chivalry is not dead, because they allowed me to shower first. Not that it matters all that much. There’s no hot water anyway so there isn’t much of a benefit in going first. But it’s the thought that counts.

Ghost is the first one back. It’s strange not seeing him wear layers upon layers of tactical gear. Instead, he only wears dark jeans and a black henley. And the balaclava too. I’ve yet to see him take it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showered with it on. I don’t know that the other guys have seen him take it off either. They make comments sometimes, little jabs and jokes about how it never comes off. Ghost hardly notices though. Or maybe I should say hardly reacts. He’s stoic through it all, preventing any emotions from breaking through.

Soap leaves without a word. They understand their positions. So well, that half the time I think they’re communicating through their thoughts.

Ghost places a duffel bag on the cot I’m cuffed to. I sit cross-legged on a blanket on the floor as he ruffles through it.

His strong form towers over me two feet away. Ghost doesn’t make eye contact as I watch him search through the bag. He’s less threatening without the bulky gear and a gun in his hand. But that mask is still terrifying enough to find its way into your dreams.

However, it's not the mask that sets me on edge around Ghost, it’s his eyes. They’re cold and unwavering, giving away nothing. They’re the eyes of a killer. Of someone who enjoys inflicting pain. Of someone whose been in so much pain himself, his only release is passing it on to others.

He hasn’t bothered me that much since my first day with them all. Back when he was ready to put me down like a lame horse. I was a loose end that needed to be tied up. Still am, if I’m being honest. Price stopped him, but if it was up to Ghost, I’d have been dead for days now. Even now, I’m sure part of him wants to kill me knowing it’s the more logical option. But until then, he’s under orders to keep me alive.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a staring problem?” His rough voice breaks the silence. He rarely acknowledges me so for him to speak up must mean I’ve struck a nerve. My mouth suddenly feels dry.

“Just you,” I say. “Sorry.”

But I don’t look away. I continue to watch him search through the bag. I don’t know what he’s looking for but he can’t seem to find it. The tight sleeves of the Henley hug his strong arms. Even through the fabric, I can see the defined lines of his muscles. His posture is nearly perfect and his movements could almost be considered robotic.

“What’re you looking for?” He doesn’t seem like the type of person to misplace his things.

“Nothing,” he responds bluntly.

“Maybe it fell behind the cot. I can check for you?” I offer.

“Negative.”

“Are you sure beca-“

“Stop talking, y/n,” he snaps. I flinch at his response. As he says this he finally makes eye contact with me and I regret ever looking at him. There’s an anger in his eyes that no man I’ve ever met has been able to match. A deep-rooted hatred for the world and all of its inhabitants. It’s not a look that you’re born with. It’s one that’s carved from years of pain and betrayal. He’s witnessed the type of things that would break most people. The intensity of his gaze is too much. I break eye contact to stare at the floor.

Fine. I won’t try to help.

I lean against the cement wall and try to think about anything else. I press my hands to the inside of my thighs in an attempt to warm them up.

When they found me I was only in ripped shorts and a ratty tank top with nothing else to my name.

Since then some of the men spared me a set of long johns, a long sleeve shirt, and a pair of thick socks. I’m not allowed shoes in case I try and take off. It’s better than what I had but the warehouse is cold and the cement floor seems to suck out any heat my body produces.

Ghost angrily zips up the duffel bag and tosses it on the floor at the other end of the cot. I watch the bag skid for a foot before finally coming to a stop.

He climbs onto the cot with a dissatisfied grunt. Ghost sleeps with his head on the far side of the cot and his feet at the end I’m cuffed to. He doesn’t take his shoes off. None of them do. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t sleeping with more gear on. Some days they’ll all sleep in their tactical gear as if they’re waiting to be attacked. Part of me is relieved they don’t feel as though that’s a threat tonight.

I can hear voices echo down the halls. Some of the others must be done in the showers.

I lie down on my makeshift bed: a pillow and a blanket that I fold in half to act as a mattress and duvet.

When I lie down, however, something shiny catches my eye under Ghost’s cot.

It’s a tiny chain. A necklace.

On my hands and knees, I crawl under his cot to grab the necklace.

“What’re you doing?” Ghost mumbles above me. I hear him shift his weight against the rough canvas fabric.

When I back out from under the cot, he’s sitting with his legs off the edge. Suspiciously eyeing my movements. His right hand is in one of his pant pockets probably wrapped around a knife in case I try something.

I kneel in front of the bed beside his legs. My damp hair clings to my neck and the tip of my nose is red and cold.

I raise the chain up to Ghost. His eyes latch on immediately.

“Is this it?” I ask. He eyes me suspiciously. I see him searching for any signs of deceit. Maybe I lied to him and hid the chain from him. Maybe I pickpocketed him before he went to shower. But I didn’t do any of those things. I hold his eye contact this time. His brows soften ever so slightly. It seems to be enough.

Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply grabs the chain from my hand. His fingers brush against my palm as he scoops it up. He examines it a moment before slipping it over his neck and tucking it under his shirt.

I don’t know why but I was hoping for a thank you. Or at least an acknowledgment that I’d helped. But Ghost remains silent. At the same time, the voices reach the room. Roach and Gaz round the corner from the hallway.

At their entrance, I turn back to my makeshift bed and pretend to sleep. It’s not that I don’t like them - although I don’t, in fact, I don’t like any of them - but I don’t have the energy for more questions from them tonight.

I hear Ghost shift in his cot and it seems our thoughts are on the same track.

As hard as I try, sleep doesn’t come. They shut off the main lights over an hour ago, yet I still haven’t calmed down enough to drift off. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop shivering from the cold.

The warehouse remains utterly silent except for the light snores and breathing of the men. Only the emergency lights fill the corners of the room with dim, orange light. They’re almost comforting in a way.

I pull the single blanket tighter around my shoulders and ball up even smaller if that’s possible, but nothing helps. My bones shake and my teeth rattle. If only I had another blanket.

The cot next to me creaks as Ghost shifts in his sleep. It creaks some more and then I notice he’s sitting up.

Ghost spares a glance in my direction as he rummages through his pocket for something.

Something silver glints in the light and I realize it’s a key. He wordlessly tosses it in my direction and by some stroke of luck, I catch it mid-air.

It’s the key to the cuffs. I spare an uneasy glance in his direction. He wants me to uncuff myself?

Ghost doesn’t react. Instead, he watches as I process my thoughts, as I push through my weariness and unlock my ankles first before freeing my wrists.

I reach to pass the key back to him but instead of grabbing the key, his large hand wraps completely around my wrist and tugs me in close.

I’m face to face with him as his other hand wraps around my jaw so I can’t pull away.

“If you try to run, I’ll kill you,” his low voice is barely above a whisper. The edge to his tone makes the threat feel all the more real.

“Okay,” I nod in response. My heart is racing and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

“Come here. Bring your blanket,” he motions to the cot. I spare a glance at the narrow bed. Surely he doesn’t want to share it with me? There’s barely enough room for one person let alone two.

“I don’t know,” I whisper back as though it’s an option. I don’t know where he’s going with this suggestion and I don’t think I trust him.

“That’s an order, y/n,” his response does nothing to ease my soul, but I grab my blanket anyway and crawl onto the cot.

It’s now he notices my hesitancy. How I purposely leave space between us on the bed. That I’m unsure of why he wants me up here. The fogginess of his intentions.

“I can't sleep with the sound of your teeth rattling in my ears all night,” nothing changes in my expression so he tries again, his tone softer this time. “You’re safe, y/n. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen.”

I sigh in relief but don’t say anything in response. He knows.

“C’mere,” he lifts the blanket for me to slide in. The warmth immediately welcomes me into the space.

The cot is more narrow than a twin mattress and leaves little to no wiggle room for two people. I’m pressed tightly into Ghost's chest as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer and preventing me from falling off.

I thought I’d be tense but the heat under the blankets completely relaxes me. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. His balaclava is soft against my cheek. I hear his breathing pick start to pick up. I can feel his chest expand deeper than before.

“Thank you,” my voice is barely audible, but I know he heard.

As I adjust to our proximity, I breathe in the scents that linger on his skin and in his clothes. I can smell the same standard citrusy shampoo on him as myself and the rest of the crew use. But there’s also a remainder of smoke and gunpowder from the day’s work. There’s something else more unique to him and yet I can’t put my finger on it. I take a deep breath and allow myself to revel in the calming smells. This shouldn’t be comforting and yet it is.

Nothing about this situation should be comforting and yet I feel safer than I have in weeks.

Wrapped in Ghost's arms, I know nothing else in the world can get to me. My only danger is the man who holds me. Yet I know in this instance after he’s sacrificed his space and his bed for me, that I’ve got nothing to worry about.

Ghost shifts against the canvas again. This time pulling me on top of him as he spreads out across his cot. He wraps his arms around my back he readjusts for the final time. I feel so small on top of him. Ghost spreads a hand out across my lower back and it feels as though it takes up the entire width of the space. His thumb soothingly brushes back and forth along the arch of my spine.

I lay my head on his chest and listen to the thrum of his heart. It beats strong and steady like a bass drum. I feel myself relaxing even more as my breathing starts to match his. I feel myself start to drift as my head lulls with his chest when it rises and falls.

For the first time in a long time, I don’t worry about what tomorrow brings. I’m so content in his arms that I don’t think about what’s next. All that fills my mind is the strength of his heartbeat and the distant scent of gunpowder. The last thing I think about before finally nodding off is the feeling of his thumb brushing up and down along my back, letting me know everything is going to be alright.

Edit+A/N: I have never received this much attention on a story before so thank you!! When I have time should I write more for Ghost?

Fic based on this concept:

12K notes · View notes

spxllcxstxr · 4 years ago

Text

Game On • J.P

(Gif not mine)

Writing Challenge: @lunalovecroft ‘s 2.7k Trope Writing Challenge! Congrats again! Everyone go check out their fantastic blog! Trope: Quidditch Rivals and Secret Dating

Summary: No one knows that rival captains, Potter and (Y/Ln), have been in a secret relationship for quite some time. Then, the Championship Game arrives.

Warnings: cursing, a small hint of steaminess (nothing big—it’s like a quick mention and that’s it), slight Wolfstar and Dorlene mention, mention of breakfast at the Great Hall, kissing, use of Ms when referring to the reader (only once), nonGryffindor!reader

Word Count: 2k

A.N: Kinda long winded but I actually like the dialogue for once??? Wow. Congrats again on 2.7k! Everyone go follow them because I get so happy seeing them on my dash ❤️ Hope you all enjoy and love you all ❤️

****

Your eyes snap open hours before they have to, your dorm still pitch black, the soft snores of your friends filling up the otherwise quiet space. The covers feel heavy and restricting on top of you, something you quickly remedy by kicking them clear off the mattress.

You swing your legs over the edge, feet meeting the cool wooden floor.

Rubbing your eyes, you glance over at the ornate clock on your nightstand. One in the morning. You sigh, your goal of getting a good night’s sleep before your important match in ruins.

Your skin crawls at the thought of the Championship Match only hours from now. The amount of blood, sweat, and tears you’ve shed in preparation for it is frankly quite concerning.

Unable to get back to sleep, you drag yourself out of bed, shoving your feet into plush slippers before slipping quietly out of your room. You’re forced to tiptoe around scattered books, most of them Quidditch related from last night.

There’s no way you’ll be getting back to sleep anytime soon, the anxiety of the morning’s match coursing through your veins. The nerves were the worst part of competitive Quidditch—after all these years you still couldn’t shake them.

Absentmindedly, you think about heading to the Kitchens, the warm and comfortable environment sounding like exactly what you need.

Late night visits to the Kitchens aren’t anything new, you and James often sneak out after curfew hidden underneath his Invisibility Cloak. Sitting in the far corner behind countless shelves and barrels was a frequent date for the two of you since it offered enough privacy from the rest of the castle.

The two of you could hold hands on the table, his thumb open to draw little figure eights between your knuckles. Your eyes could light up just looking at him without the fear of being called out. His lips could capture yours in a sweet or passionate kiss and no one would know.

The real and complete reason for keeping your relationship a secret was long since forgotten, but the general idea is still shared. It’s just easier being Quidditch rivals instead of being Quidditch rivals that snogged the second feet touched the ground. Neither of you were ever accused of going easy on the other during matches, and that’s how the two of you preferred it.

Plus, there was something romantic about sneaking around the castle and through secret passage ways pressed closely underneath his cloak. Stolen kisses in empty classrooms and quick shags in broom closets were fun when they weren’t inconvenient.

In the back of your mind you have an inkling that James might be huddled up in the usual spot as well, considering he has a match as well in a few hours.

You shuffle through the common room, a few third years spread out on the couch, sleeping atop their textbooks and notes. The fire crackles and pops lowly. A shiver runs down your spine as you step out into the corridor.

“Lumos!”

A murky blue light blooms from the tip of your wand, lighting up the dark corridor.

You shuffle across the stone, the occasional laugh or snore echoing throughout.

Filch isn’t an issue at this time of night, surprisingly the old care taker does get some sort of beauty sleep, though it does him no good, so you find yourself walking normally instead of carefully creeping around.

It doesn’t take long to get to the portrait of the bowl of fruit, faint giggles coming from the pear. You extend your arm to tickle the bottom of the pear, it’s giggles erupting even louder before morphing into an intricate brass doorknob.

Stepping through the threshold you’re immediately met with a blast of heat due to the large fireplace that practically takes up the wall to your right. Even though it’s the middle of the night, plates and goblets and utensils are clanking and crashing together, the pitter patter of house-elves darting around the area isn’t surprising at this point.

“Nox.”

The blue light fades and flickering orange takes over.

A small and pale grey figure rushes up to you, jittery like they’ve just consumed a gallon of coffee. One ear droops low enough where it’s almost dragging across the floor while the other is significantly shorter.

“Ms. (Y/Ln)!” The house-elf squeaks, wringing their lavender cloth between their fingers. “Mr. Potter is waiting for you!”

“Alright, Tilly.” You smile warmly at the elf. “Thank you.”

As you make your way to your usual spot in the back of the Kitchens, you hear Tilly bound back over to the counters, joining the many other house-elves that work down here.

Behind stacks of old crates and barrels, there’s an old and decrepit picnic table, obscured from the rest of the room. Each time you and James show up you’re surprised the house-elves haven’t chucked it into the large fire yet. It’s so rickety it’s practically only good for firewood.

And being the spot for the two of you to find refuge in.

James is sitting with his back against the wall, legs outstretched across the bench just like you suspected. He’s lazily tracing a finger around the lip of his steaming mug, hazel eyes lost in thought. From your spot you can see his teeth toying with his bottom lip.

“You ok Jamie?” You ask softly, trying not to startle him out of his thoughts.

His eyes flick up to yours before he fixes his glasses and runs a hand through his bedhead.

“Knew you’d join me eventually, love.” He sends over a wink, face lighting up.

“And you didn’t think to pick me up at my common room?” You playfully scoff, slotting yourself between his legs, face pressed into his chest.

The red fabric smells suspiciously like the Quidditch shed, like he got in some late night practice.

“Oh yes, because standing out in the cold corridors outside of your common room after curfew is much better than just waiting for you in the warm Kitchens.” James’ chin rests in the top of your head, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

“Blimey, chivalry really is dead.”

“Y’know, you could’ve waited outside the Gryffindor Tower for me.” James points out, chuckling at your complaint.

“I’m sorry.” You gasp. “Who has the Invisibility Cloak, again?”

“You got here just fine, didn’t you, love?” He snorts, chest rumbling.

“Whatever.” You grumble, rolling your eyes in defeat.

James sighs, rubbing your side. “You ready for the morning?”

You hum noncommittally, the thought of tomorrow’s match swirling through your mind.

“Nervous, love?” His voice is soft and delicate against your temple.

“I mean, this is my last chance, Jamie.” You mumble into his chest. “And of course it’s against you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, (Y/n)?” James asks, concern laced within his voice.

“It’s just that you’re an amazing player and I’m—“

“A spectacular player as well.” He interjects. “I’ve seen you out there practicing. You’ve built a bloody good team this year. We’re on equal footing.”

“Yeah well, I’ve never beaten you before.” You huff lightly, playing with the hem of his shirt.

“So?” He questions. “That doesn’t mean anything. There’s a reason you’ve made it into the Championship match, (Y/n). Because you’re a fucking phenomenal Captain. And I’ll hex anyone that tells you otherwise.” You feel his fingers flex angrily against your waist.

“You’re so sweet.” You pick your head up slightly to face him, a pout tugging at your lips.

“Guess I should give you a good luck kiss now, considering we won’t have time in the morning.” James’ hazel eyes shine in the flickering light while looking into your own.

“Does luck even last that long?” You bring your fingers up to hover over his sharp jawline.

“Sadly, love, we’ll have to test that.” He sighs.

You bring your lips to meet his, your fatigue making it a bit sloppier than it should’ve been. He nips at your lips, pulling you closer to his chest momentarily before pulling away.

You whine slightly at the loss of warmth.

“Gotta save some of that luck for myself, love. Can’t just let you win.” He smirks, lips grazing your hairline.

The two of you end up sitting there for another hour or so, listening to the fire crackling and the house-elves rummage around. Eventually, he pulls you underneath his cloak and drops you back off at your common room, a quick peck pressed to your lips.

You manage to drift back off to sleep, dreaming of James rather than Quidditch.

When you pry your eyes open for the second time, the sun is actually filtering through your curtains and most of your dormmates are awake and shuffling around.

You tune them out the best you can, opting to go through your routine in whatever silence you can find.

Your routine is quite simple, you let your joints pop and muscles stretch, trying to shake yourself awake.

The rest of the castle seems to be alive with boisterous laughter and over the top festivities. Glancing around at the corridors and the Great Hall, you’re able to notice a pretty even split between red and gold and your own house colors.

This was going to be one hell of a rematch.

Marlene and Sirius have a crowd forming around them as they flex and throw out trash talk. You watch as Remus and Dorcas try to coax them down from the tabletop, but they seem unsuccessful.

Peter, Mary, and Lily are fawning over James, hyping him up, even you can tell from across the Hall.

But he isn’t paying attention to them, his eyes are clearly trained on you behind his round glasses.

“Already envisioning Potter’s demise?”

You tear your eyes away from him, instead focusing on your teammate.

“Oh absolutely.” You smirk, before throwing yourself into last minute charts and maneuvers.

Breakfast goes by quick, your leg never stops bouncing underneath the table and your fingers tap incessantly against your goblet.

You and your team strut down to the pitch earlier than anyone else. There’s a slight breeze rolling through the grounds, something you take into account.

It becomes a bit of a blur after you’ve changed into your uniform, the crowd begins to show up and their cheers take over your hearing.

Remus is announcing the game, which you have no idea why since it never goes well for anyone. His commentary ranges from picking on James to flirting with Sirius to just trying to get McGonagall pissed off.

Marching out to the center of the grassy pitch, broom in hand, you’re bombarded with your name being enthusiastically chanted across the entire stadium. Confidence bubbles inside of you as you face James, Madam Hooch just beside you.

“Alright everyone, I expect a nice, clean, and fair game today. This is the Championship, no one will get away with any funny business.” Her tone is clipped as her yellow eyes take in everyone. “Captains, shake hands.”

You and James take a step forward, his hand firmly grasping yours.

“Good luck, love.”

With your hands still connected, James plants his lips on your own, and you eagerly kiss back.

The crowd erupts into even louder cheers.

“Bloody hell!” You hear Remus exclaim over the loud speaker. “James and (Y/Ln) are now snogging on the pitch! You own me five bloody Galleons, Sirius Black! I told you, you—“

“Lupin!”

James takes a step back, his usual smirk painted across his face. His hazel eyes glint mischievously behind his goggles, which he takes the time to adjust like they were his own glasses.

The roar of the entire castle fills your ears after your little reveal.

It’s a little overwhelming, you have to admit, but it doesn’t deter you. You’ve spent too many hours training for this very moment to back down now.

You roll your neck, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, but pixies have already erupted in your stomach. You feel James’ stare burning into you.

“Mount your brooms.” Madam Hooch’s harsh tone cuts through the crowd, but you’re barely paying attention to her as you swing a leg over your broom handle.

The whistle pops into her mouth like usual, but in the split second before she blows with all the air in her lungs, you lock eyes with your boyfriend.

His red and gold robes billow behind him, confidence just rolling off of him. Dark and chaotic curls drift in the breeze.

He sends you a wink.

“Game on, love.”

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20 @amourtentiaa @cherie-draco

For @lunalovecroft go check their blog out!

#lovecroftstropechallenge #James Potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter imagine #james potter fluff #the marauders x reader

342 notes · View notes

yostresswritinggirl · 4 years ago

Text

One of the first few girls I'll ever write in here wobdoswsn- I'm going on my base knowledge of Jean here and it's not gonna be a pretty start, mind you. I don't ship characters really but I see the dynamic in this one, honestly one of the fics that are easiest to write for me. Also I just realized how many poly asks are there aodhsosnxons—

Chivalry Isn't Dead

Poly Relationship Scenarios with You, Jean and Diluc!

Background (How It Started)

You are a knight in Ordo Favonius, the place where you met Jean and Diluc for the first time. You were there when they both started and you were also there when they ascended to be the Dandelion Knight and the Cavalry Captain.

You became close first with the captain, the first one you've met between them, because of the fact that you were under his unit. Back then he was very open and close with you, teaching you and making sure you were intact.

When Jean ascended, that's when she found out about you due to the nature of her work as one of the higher-ups. She found you so endearing with your whole-hearted desire to secure Mondstadt.

Jean knew about Diluc for a while now due to his status as one of the youngest to ascend in Captain hood and how their work was closely aligned, and they both collaborate with their silent oaths to protect you. The trio of you are VERY confused over your own feelings, wondering what exactly this entails or which one would you have to choose.

In the span of that mulling, you three had become very close due to your intervention, the glue that keeps you all together literally. You're very physical when you're dealing with people you consider very close, and the both of them always melt upon your embrace.

Between the both of them was light-hearted competition on who can make you feel safer, protect you better. And you are ever so dense over their friendly banter, and the sexual tension between them.

When Diluc left the knights, you had been under the comfort and command of Jean instead, taking your place away from the Cavalry unit to be those of the stationary knights to assist her after she became the Acting Grandmaster. You were devastated over his disappearance the most due to your closeness and Jean was the only person who could keep you sane.

The relationship starts in that period with you and Jean as the first set of couples.

When Diluc came back, his relationship with Jean became estranged and yet there was still a hint of comfort when he was under your presence. Jean was a bit devastated at their new status quo as she had come into terms of her feelings about him during his leave.

You spent most of your time then trying to get close to Diluc again and his feelings came back tenfold, making him finally confess. In front of you and Jean. the tension was thick when Jean finally caught her breath to inform Diluc of your relationship with her.

Horrified yet still adamant, Diluc stood his ground and looked at you both, millions of emotions flashing through his red irises. Jean looked at him longingly and of the old memories they shared protecting you. And you... were trying to understand why you desire them both in the same level.

Your honesty over the situation suddenly opened up the idea of polyamory and it seems that despite the tension between the two ex/knights, with you as their mediator and lover, they were willing to try or wait until you choose only one of them.

Spoilers: You chose both in the end.

How The Relationship Goes

While things go nicely between you and the other two, when it comes to them alone it was... weird. You pretty much carry the triangle here as they were both wary of displaying affection with each other, and most of it has to do with the reputation they have to uphold.

Jean protects you at day, Diluc makes sure you're safe at night. The nature of their work had you evenly split between the both of them and you three chance a fully present meet up by evening when Diluc is still on his shift and Jean has finished her work early.

Speaking of, you and Diluc fret over Jean's overworking albeit different in approach. Diluc would be brash about his opinion, calling her out while still offering materials that may help ever so subtly. While you are more adamant, sometimes dragging her off her seat and you taking over her work while she rests on the couch.

Since her work correlates with yours, you always put double the effort to help her with commissions to make sure it gets cut faster. This sometimes backfires with the both of you overworked, a disappointed Diluc pulling you both to the Winery to relax by the fireplace without the scandalous rumors sparking.

When you show physical affection Jean, she always reciprocates it the best she can, happily granting you attention and letting you cling to her during work. Your presence grounds her, relaxing her at the same time with your bouts of comfort.

When you indulge Diluc with affection, he's stoic and cross armed usually. Because of the nature of his work at the tavern, giving him some loving would need to be done while he works or not at all. The customers would find you behind the counter, clinging to his waist as Diluc serves the drinks nonchalantly, sometimes he wears glare if people were about to comment on it and that usually shuts them up.

Behind closed doors however the Ragnvindr indulges you too with his affection, still stoic but reciprocal, the rarity of it making it the more precious.

Dates RARELY happen between you three because of the fully loaded schedule all three of you have. It only ever happens when you all suddenly have free time or you cry about it.

The both of them spoil you a lot more than you'd realize. Diluc gifts you and Jean materialistically, while yours were small trinkets, Jean's are more for functionality or items that had slipped past her lips once of which Diluc remembers.

Sugar daddy Diluc for the both of you, motherly Jean in retaliation, and you're just their precious darling that will never be hurt under their supervision.

In time, Diluc and Jean would end up getting closer but still behind closed doors for safety. It was only ever you that's so shameless to pour out affection in full display and these two are too intoxicated by your love to pull you away.

During daytime on a weirdly usual occassions the people of Mond frequently spots your trio strolling hand-in-hand around the city, lively chatter about anything and everything before going back to your stuffy workspaces. Diluc would part a few feet away from the headquarters with a kiss on the head for you two. And when he turns back, you and Jean would giggle to yourselves before going to work.

Bonus: Diluc has asked for a professional painter to paint you and Jean, said canvas hanging at his office in the Winery. Jean has a Kamera photo of you three by her office too. And you have them both in a locket.

As Leverage

Your highly advantageous position to garner the heart of not only the Acting Grandmaster's but also the holder of the wine tycoon (and Darknight Hero) had made you a target for many lecherous beings.

While those with mind do not outright take you away, opting to trying to get to your good side as leverage, there are rascals like the Abyss Order who just does what they want and can.

The moment you disappear, both of them are immediately alerted due to their schedules coinciding with yours. And with your kidnapping, they too slip into the shadows, never to return for days.

It was one of the scarce moments that Diluc and Jean are in perfect sync, knowing each other's plans and next move, falling into each other's pace as they carefully concoct their plan for your retrieval.

Jean would definitely cry. As she was the one who mostly basks in your presence, there are many parts of her breakdown that comes to play: the heavy work left behind, your comforting presence that keeps her alive, and the fact that she lost you when she's supposed to keep an eye on you as per silent agreement with Diluc.

She'd cry at him, telling him she's sorry for being careless, and Diluc would comfort her in his arms without ending up as broken as her. This moment had established a bond between them that would be a solid foundation to your triangle, but also a better understanding of how important you are to them.

You disappear three days maximum with how quick and smart they are about the kidnapping.

Abyss Mages were almost forgotten with how quiet they suddenly got after that incident. That massacre.

While traumatized, you are also more than happy to see the newfound closeness between your lovers, as you melt into their tight cuddles after rescuing you.

There may or may not be talks of plans about you and Jean moving in the Winery officially.

Ugh, so cute!!! my bi ass was on full blast here-

@moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel

#genshin impact x reader #diluc x reader #jean x reader #genshin impact #exile.goblet #exile.flower #genshin impact headcanons #sojourner specials #hhhhhh #cute #gender neutral

375 notes · View notes

deadontheinsidebut · 4 years ago

Note

Hi angel!! I just wanted to say that I just found you today and I think you’re really talented! But I was wondering if I could have hc’s for suga, oikawa, and kuroo where you’re best friends with them but one day you wake up with them in your bed and ur like wait we just had a one night stand 😳. I hope this is okay and if you aren’t comfortable writing this I def understand!! Thank you!! 💞

HI ANON!!! That’s literally so nice of you wtf😳✨💗 Im sending you all the positive vibes and I’m hoping you have a wonderful day/night. 😌💗✨💗✨💗

— Waking up from a one night stand w/ Suga, Oikawa, and Kuroo

a/n: all the characters are aged up!! And there are mentions of alcohol and protective friends and siblings but it’s all cute and fun :))

—Sugawara Koshi

The two of you met in high school and immediately hit it off when you decided to become the manager for Karasuno’s volleyball team

Together, you, Daichi, and Suga formed the parent trio and looked over your little crows with pure dedication

But you and Suga had always been a little closer than the rest with your hidden sassiness and love for everyone around you

So five years after your graduation, it’s not a surprise that you two have managed to keep the bond alive

It’s been a long night at the karaoke bar with you crying over your ex dumping you and Suga doing everything in his power to comfort you

You’re definitely not in the best mindset right now as you sing your heart out to the boy who broke your heart and take shot after shot with your bestfriend

The sloshing of the alcohol in your stomach is burning and Suga tries his best to keep the two of you afloat as he calls an Uber

But he’s so out of it that he forgets your address??? So you two just end up at his house??? And the night is now fair game

You wake up with a killer headache and the smell of pancakes in the room next door

The clothes you’re wearing looks nothing like the ones from last night

Instead, you’re wearing an oversized gray sweater that smells like warm vanilla and laundry detergent

You step out of the strange bed only to notice the framed picture of you and Suga on his desk and you immediately knew where you were

As you make your way through the familiar hallway to the kitchen, you groan and whimper from the pain in your head

Suga is standing there in his pjs making breakfast??

And you stand there in shock as he turns his head to you and ask if you had a good sleep

You’re sputtering as you ask him why you’re here and what happened

And he sheepishly starts to explain the situation and how you two had ended up getting it on while drunk as hell

So you’re sitting on his chair trying to process the night as he serves you the pancakes and you go “what the actual fuck???”

You two eat breakfast in confused silence until you choke on a piece of the pancake and Suga is rushing to get you water and you two are laughing at how awkward you are

The laughing eases the tension and you two are back to just talking and teasing. He starts to apologize for last night but you reassure him that it’s definitely something to cross off the bucket list

And who knows; maybe it’s something you might want to happen twice

—Oikawa Tooru

You’re Iwaizumi’s little sister and you’ve known Oikawa since you were children

You were always by his side and watching every game of his up until he left for Brazil to pursue his dreams of volleyball

You’ve always had a crush on him and your friendship has always been strong, but maybe a future with him was too much to hope for?

Until he came to visit

You two were catching up at a local bar and laughing as if you had never been separated at all

He begins to order drinks for you and you start to blush at his familiar chivalry

You two have basically caught up on everything when you start to feel your eyes droop and your body lose its normal functions

Surprisingly, even Oikawa is a lightweight and almost passes out until he feels you tug at his sleeve and he mans up just enough to call you both a taxi to his hotel room

The smell of alcohol on Oikawa’s breath was the last thing you remembered before your eyes drifted shut

You wake up to the blinding light of the sun coming from the windows and peek open an eye to see a tuffle of dark brown hair

‘omfg...’ is all you think before you let out an ear-shattering shriek

Oikawa’s head shoots up and is darting his head side to side before registering your terrified face as you gather the blankets to cover your naked body

“Oh god... Iwa-chan is going to kill me,” Oikawa let’s out before gulping nervously

As you two begin to put together the pieces of last night, you let out a little giggle

Oikawa is actually horrified and is slightly shaking as he asks you what’s so funny

“Isn’t it so funny how I haven’t seen you in over a year and this is the first thing we do when you come back?”

He’s scratching the back of his head and turns a dark shade of red

And that’s when you had a brilliant idea

You pick up the phone and dial Iwaizumi’s number, eagerly awaiting his answer to tell him everything that happened

“Hey y/n, what’s up? You do realize our timezones are hours apart and I should be sleeping right now.”

“OIKAWA AND I HAD S*X!!!” You shout excitedly

You put him on speaker when he didn’t speak for a couple seconds

“YOU AND SHITTYKAWA DID WHAT???”

Oikawa is literally shivering in the corner with no clothes on and you’re roaring with laughter

“THE NEXT TIME I SEE HIS ASS, IM BEATING HIM ALL THE WAY TO ANOTHER PLANET-“

“P-please spare me!” Oikawa interrupts meekly

“But... just tell him to take good care of you since I can’t be there. You hear me shittykawa? Take good care of my little sister. Part of her belongs to you now.”

Oikawa looks from you to the phone and back to you before giving you a firm nod and a “yes sir” to the phone

Well, I guess that’s one way to start a relationship

—Kuroo Tetsurou

You met Kuroo the same time he met Kenma

The three of you went to the same middle school and Kuroo is the reason why you decided to play volleyball

Your job as the libero was full of diving so of course you would go hang out with Kuroo and Kenma full of fresh bruises and scrapes

Kuroo was always super protective of you from the get go and never wanted you to feel any sort of pain so it wasn’t a surprise when he was the first to help you clean up your wounds

He likes to tease you from time to time about how a pretty girl like you shouldn’t be hurting herself like that but has always supported you whenever you lost a game and encouraged you to carry on

So when you decided to go pro after highschool, he was right by your side

And it was even better since he worked with the Japan Volleyball Association

But after a devastating loss against one of the best teams in the league, you were a crying mess in Kuroo’s arms

He held you tighter than he’s ever held you and whispered words of encouragement as you two sat on your bedroom floor

And you two did the regular ritual for a depressing night where you down shot after shot while letting out every worry and doubt you’ve ever had

You were lost in the alcohol and the room was swirling more than you’ve ever experienced

You woke up to a pair of familiar biceps around your body

As you turn your body to face him, you’re met with a sly grin and beaming eyes

“GET OFF OF ME YOU BAFFOON” you cry out as you try to shove the beautiful man off your bed

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” Kuroo responds while cocking a brow

“Oh shut it you Cheshire Cat,” you mumble half-heartedly

He snakes his arm back around you and inhales the sweet scent of your neck before continuing to talk

“You know princess, if I had known you would be this good, I would’ve hit on you a looong time ago.”

You roll your eyes at his comment before surprising him by cuddling him back

“It’s not like I would’ve let you,” you mumble back

You feel him press a soft kiss on your head before holding you even closer

The day after, you two met up with Kenma for dinner and he immediately picked up on your guys’ suspicious behaviour

“You guys had s*x didn’t you,” he deadpans

“KENMA AJAOSNOSKS” was literally your reaction

Kuroo just sat there like a sly kitty cat

“You told him didn’t you?” You basically sneer

“Ah ah ah, a man never kisses and tells. Or in this case, smashes and tells?”

“No y/n, you just happen to smell like trash today so I assumed Kuroo left his mark on you.”

“HEY I’m not trash!” Kuroo barks back with a slight pout on his face

He pulls you closer until you were basically one nose apart

“Although, I don’t mind leaving my mark on you to make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

Kenma: get me out of here

Taglist:

@janellion @darkdinosaurpeanut @personality-still-downloading

People who may enjoy hcs of their lovers:

@herakosmos @myhaikyuuhq @shrimpyblog @sugacookiies @anianimol @spicyricerice @sstardusty

753 notes · View notes

prose-for-hire · 4 years ago

Text

The vampire that came to tea

Pairing: Spike x fem!reader

Request: Could I request a Spike x fem reader where you’ve secretly been dating for a while but then your parents find out so you arrange to introduce Spike to your family and he acts like a gentleman and is really shy because he is trying to make a good impression? Thank you :)

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Tiny blood mention, no injury.

You were Spike’s girlfriend. But nobody knew. You had kept it secret, on your request. You loved him to death and beyond but you wanted something lowkey. Personal and romantic.

Once you explained that was the reason why and not because you were ashamed of him, he agreed to keep your relationship a secret. For the time being.

It wasn’t what people expected when they saw you, and it definitely wasn’t what they expected when they saw him. He was the bad boy type and you were sort of shy and soft with others.

Opposites on the outside. But, you know what they say about opposites.

You didn’t know why, but your relationship just worked. You never even questioned your love for each other. It just felt so right. So honest. You fit together so perfectly.

You had met by perfect chance. Some may have called it fate or even destiny. Spike would have just called that bollocks, but you liked to believe that the universe wanted you to be together. It was cosmic.

You had been a receptionist at an underground military base right here in Sunnydale. You had taken the job because it paid surprisingly well for a front desk job, not realising why until much later on.

You were part of a military unit, The Initiative they called it. They tested and tortured various demons and monsters that they found on the Hellmouth you lived on. Of course, at the time you didn’t know you were living on a Hellmouth.

You had been employed for a few months until you were asked to bring some files down to one of the testing areas. What you had seen had shocked you. And then angered you. Testing on animals upset you, and some of these demons looked really human too. So you didn’t know what to do.

Until one evening, you managed to swipe a key card and free as many demons as you could. Most were understanding and made for the exit whereas one tried to attack you.

Luckily, the last person you had let out – he looked human – managed to throw the demon away and use you as a human shield to get you out of the building and away from the military force that was coming towards you.

Spike had then taken you as a hostage, allowing him to get out of the Initiative. He had actually let you go, a sort of thank you for helping him out (you realised a lot later that he could have actually tried to do worse. But he felt it like you had, that spark. You had been so sure of it).

He stalked away but you had followed him, trying to keep up with him and babbling away about how you had just lost your job and probably your house. He raised an eyebrow at you, at how friendly you were despite him having changed and held his fangs so close to your neck as if he would bite. Eventually he tried to shake you off, he needed to find somewhere to hide. You just nodded at each other and ran your separate ways.

Luckily, on account of being held hostage and all, you weren’t fired from your job. It actually came in very useful after you made friends with Buffy and the others and could help get them into the building undetected.

You and Spike had grown fond of each other, eventually he professed his love for you in his usual way. If he could have taken his own heart from his chest and presented it to you he would have. You had near-wept telling him that you loved him too, that being his girlfriend would be a dream come true.

You adored each other and cherished every second you spent together. Which was a lot. He brought you flowers, sometimes they were even alive. He never left a day without telling you how much he loved you. And he always treated you as if you were the only person fit to be living in this world.

You disagreed on things, sure. And you could argue like anything sometimes. But no matter what, you never went to sleep angry. You just adored each other too much. Wanted the best for each other.

He would go to the ends of the earth to protect you and knew you would do the same in return. Life was bliss.

So, one evening you broached the idea of sharing your love with those closest to you. With the world.

He jumped at the chance. He wanted to show you off. Wanted to rub it in Xander’s face seeing as he knew the boy had been crushing on you since he met you (unknown to you). Then you explained, slightly apprehensively that your father had seen him dropping you off at your parents house and they had asked about him. You had decided it might be time you introduced them.

He hesitated more at this request. Not because he didn’t want to take this step, he would want you to meet his mother if you could (before she was turned, obviously). He paused for a moment and then nodded, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you against him. He pressed so many kisses against your skin that evening, there wasn’t a single stretch of skin that hadn’t been caressed by his lips.

He was nervous but determined. That quiet courage he always held against his chest. The sweet nature you knew was hidden under his bad boy image was sure to shine through. You were sure of it.

He had even dressed up – he was wearing the leather jacket with the least amount of blood and rips on it. He had even brought your mother some flowers (He had ‘borrowed’ them from some unsuspecting guy down the street – but if the man will just stand there with such a loose grip on them). You had frowned, but, I guess the thought was there. Plus, your Mum would probably like the flowers. They looked pretty.

“Just, be yourself – they’ll love you” You insisted in a hushed tone, pressing a kiss against his cheek.

You knocked on the door as Spike read the card that said ‘in sympathy’ on it. He pulled it from the bouquet and pocketed it quickly before thrusting it at your mother before she had finished the last syllable of her greeting.

“Come in, come in!”

He made sure that you entered the home before him and your father saw the gesture and nodded at him. Shaking his hand in greeting. Your mother put the flowers away and you all stood in the hall, taking your jackets off.

There was some small talk and Spike was uncharacteristically quiet despite your parents’ friendly nature. If he didn’t have you by his side he probably would have turned and ran. He was nervous, he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

He had expected more suspicion and interrogation but they appeared to be happy to invite him into their home. He was still expecting them to snap, turn around and throw him out at any moment though.

You were eventually ushered to the dining room where your parents began to broach something with Spike.

“We, uh, asked y/n if you had any dietary requirements”

“Oh uh, no-” He started, he really didn’t want to be a bother.

“So, would you like your blood reheated or just cold?”

“Love!” He said incredulously looking at you. You had told them.

“It’s okay, they’re not stupid. Dad’s work colleague has a half-cousin who’s a vampire” You shrugged and Spike nodded, interested at this acceptance. He smiled at you, nodding and you smiled back.

“It’s normal here, we wouldn’t dream of judging you, son” Spike had gasped at the term. Eyes wide as he tried to play it off as cool.

There had been many figure in his life, and unlife, that he had wanted approval from and never received it. And here, where it had meant something a little extra, he had it without having to mould himself to be what the other wanted.

You smiled softly at his reaction, taking his hand in yours. He squeezed your hand tight, taking his strength from you. He really was completely in love you.

Spike had always been one for chivalry. He held doors and treated you with the ingrained ideas from his past. You adored it though, it was special. The meaning behind it and the fact that no matter how bad he acted you would always receive this care. This thoughtful gesture, even with the entire world watching.

But today, it was only your parents. They smiled as Spike just automatically pulled your chair out from the dining table before he went to sit in his own. He did it without even registering it most of the time.

After you sat down, Spike seemed to grow more confident. To be himself more than he had been before. He was beginning to feel more comfortable, despite still trying to stay in your parent’s good graces. He was becoming more animated as he spoke and he could tell that your parents were warming to him which made him practically glow.

You had warned him to keep topics such as torture, slayers and killing people to a minimum. And he obliged. He wanted them to like him after all. There were a few close-calls where he had to rein in what he was about to say. Change the endings to some of his anecdotes. But it was all going so well.

The thing about Spike was that it could be effortless. When he wanted people to like him and wanted to make that effort, he would. It was just in situations and people that he didn’t care for he could snap and be rude.

Luckily, chivalry and the idea of parental approval were still values he held to his heart despite denying it to anyone that wasn’t you. So, he was really making sure that he made the right impression.

His accent even switched in and out, he was pronouncing his words more his accent appearing to become standard register at times. More William. He couldn’t stop it, it happened of its own accord.

He listened intently, laughed in all the right places at what your parents said and adapted to their sense of humour easily. He slipped his hand under the table, reaching for you as the conversation continued. He just wanted to know you were there by his side.

“Blood’s the good stuff” Spike spoke approvingly, “Compliments to the chef” He was pacing himself, holding himself back from chugging the liquid licking the cup clean. He hadn’t tasted blood as good as this in a while.

Both of your parents smiled, they had made dinner together and sourced the blood too. They were very pleased with themselves.

“Yes, it’s human” Your mother nodded, without explanation.

“Mum!” You said, your eyes raised.

“What? He’s our guest. We couldn’t just give him some off-cuts” She insisted, “It would have been rude” She confirmed, nodding to herself.

Later on, after the meal had ended, you showed him the bedroom you had grown up in. He smiled, trying to imagine you living here. Looking through old pictures and trinkets.

He had the sudden pang of loss that he would never get to do this for you. Show you his childhood or the way he grew up. To introduce you to his mother. To the places he had hidden away when he grew up.

You soothed him, sensing a change in his mood. He looked sad but you didn’t press him for information, you knew he would probably confess it tonight. A shared bed, the safety to confess fears and honesty in a way that you only had with each other.

You leant against each other, a show of comfort, before returning back downstairs. This was so the guest of honour could take another victory lap. Your parents really did adore him. They saw how in love you both were. How much you completely unashamedly cared for the other. It was no act, anybody could see.

As the evening came to an end, you said your goodbyes. Your parents were already inviting you over for another meal in the near-future.

Despite how well it had gone, you were both able to relax more no that it was just the two of you. You sat in the car for a moment just gazing at the other softly under the dim light. It was relieving that you were in each other’s company. Both of you were pleased with how it had went but you adored time with each other. Where you could truly relax and be comfortable.

Spike had immediately launched into an enthusiastic review of the evening that made you smile softly towards him. He adored that smile of yours but he was too caught up in his excitement to remind you how much he loved it.

“You hear the way your Mum gushed about me on the phone to your relative? Right in the middle of dinner she just told them what for - that I’m probably the best in law they’ll ever meet”

“I’m glad you’re over your nerves at least” You giggled softly as his bravado returned.

He continued to gush the entire drive back home, where Spike was of course staying over. You couldn’t help smiling, he had slid his hand to rest on your thigh as he spoke. His eye was on the road but he was squeezing ever so lightly every time he got excited about retelling something that had just happened.

You glanced to the side as he spoke animatedly. Your sigh of contentment almost inaudible. You loved this man. You would never stop.

#Spike btvs #Spike x reader #Spike imagine #Spike x you #Spike fic #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs x you #Buffyverse #female #female reader #x reader

141 notes · View notes

ilynpilled · 2 years ago

Text

“There are no men like me. There’s only me” is so good bc yeah it is an accidental admission of loneliness that was intended as arrogant posturing, but the way it evolves into so much more. The thing is Cersei is like him, is him, supposedly, but it is a romanticized image. The point is that that is a distorted mirror for both that allows self love that is otherwise impossible. Like for Jaime, that is the illusion of the knight and maiden narrative that is keeping the faint flame (purpose, hope, life force) alive, but it is not real. “Her torch was the only light in the cavern. Her torch was the only light in the world. She turned to go.” And if Jaime is faced with actual Jaime, “his darkness”: Jaime really does not like Jaime. He is repulsed by Jaime. He compares himself to men (there are no men like me oh but there are and I hate them/myself) he draws parallels, consciously and subconsciously. The Smiling Knight, the empty chivalry of his young self in Loras (maybe Brandon as well, do not know his thoughts here we are not in his head), him equating his actions in the gold hand dream to the Mountain’s with Pia (also in ADwD, indirect parallel is made, like his thought process after being asked “Is that why you killed all the Starks?” Repeating Tywin’s dogma goes to him getting flashbacks to the dead children in crimson cloaks. The attempt at addressing the question devolves into “Brienne where are you? Have you found her?”, it goes to “the fear of a knight coming to smash the heads of children against a wall” what he represented to the Stark children in AGoT. Then the village anti-parallel with both Gregor and Tywin. Then the half moon!), he sees his soul in Ilyn, like that is the Lannister executioner, that is his silent ghost (“You were a knight once, Ser. So was I. Let us see what we are now.”) Ilyn is another mirror, (more real than the mirror of Cersei or Arthur Dayne, both are illusions for him anyway) after his confessions especially: “The pockmarks on Ser Ilyn’s face were black holes in the torchlight, as dark as Jaime’s soul.” after the Arya confession or “An ugly smile. An ugly soul” after the drunken confession. Can there even be redemption atp? is something he keeps trying to figure out. “Jaime glanced at his companion. Perhaps there is yet hope for the both of us.” And then in general, all that talk of sin, forgiveness (“Forgive me.” “Your crimes are past forgiving, Kingslayer.” “You’ve harmed others. […] The weak, the innocent...”) , crime, punishment, and simply praying, running, and being sent to the block to pay for your crimes, and punitive justice done by institutions such as the Faith. But he does not care about all that, he never truly did. Jaime and his relationship with institutions was never like that. He is the romantic protagonist. There’s only him, and his ghosts. He is keeping his oath to a dead woman. The ghosts who judge him in the weirwood dream are all dead too. It is only him. His darkness. “No doubt he wished to pray. Jaime wished to fight.” He tries to find Ilyn. He is itching for it. He needs to find Ilyn: the mirror and the executioner. He needs to “live and fight.”

Then the Lancel confrontation. Lancel thought Jaime would come and kill him for his sins. The punitive justice theme is there again. “Pray for me if you like, I’ve forgotten all the words.” He dismisses all of the religious talk. He picks up swords. Not blunted tourney swords, not anymore. Swords. And goes to the executioner/himself, and does his darkest confession in that book. It is really like: Do I want to destroy myself, or let myself destroy me, or neither?? “Kill me if you can.” , “It might please him even more to kill me.” , “He liked to believe that he was getting better, but the improvement was slow and not without cost. Underneath his steel and wool and boiled leather [he] was a tapestry of cuts and scabs and bruises.” There is truly only him. Like he is really repeatedly confronting his own soul. “Down a twisting passageway he went, narrow steps carved from the living rock, down and down. I must go up, he told himself. Up, not down. Why am I going down? Below the earth his doom awaited, he knew with the certainty of dream; something dark and terrible lurked there, something that wanted him. Jaime tried to halt, but their spears prodded him on. If only I had my sword, nothing could harm me.” It is like how George talks of Jaime’s arc: “Things have to happen to cause the characters to question who they are and what their place in the world is and what the meaning of it all is … To go through the dark nights of the soul in times of fear and terror … If you have real characters grappling with real problems, then you have power. Jaime losing a hand, the very thing that he defined himself on, is crucial to where I want go with the character. He questions: "What do you make of yourself once you lost that?" & “I don’t believe in karma […] I do believe in the possibility of redemption.” & “When we forgive them we are essentially forgiving ourselves. Redemption should be possible.”

There is no golden hand in the final AFfC dream. There is only the ugliness of the stump. He thinks he is (negatively), and thinks he wants to be (positively) certain “figures”. The latter is rooted in constructs he is already disillusioned by deep down. “False as fool’s gold.” So many distorted mirrors. But there are no men like Jaime. There is only Jaime and his choices. So where will he go now? How will that emptiness be filled now, once he “stared at the ugliness of the stump?”

“I don't know the answer, but these are questions worth thinking about. I want there to be a possibility of redemption for us, because we all do terrible things. We should be able to be forgiven. Because if there is no possibility of redemption, what's the answer then?”

oh jaime u insane silly little man i love reading what is going on inside your insane head sfm ugh

#jaime lannister #another day another saying the same thing in a new way #moment #some of these quotes might be worded not verbatim bc this post is from memory im just having a moment #also some repetition from previous posts but im just really having thoughts putting it all together #and then brienne’s light will fit into all of this #i dreamed of you she caught him before he could fall #and all the new themes set up w the hos convo #aaa #gn tho

90 notes · View notes

scarasimplysimping · 4 years ago

Text

These Books Of You

Xingqiu x Adepti Reader

Sypnosis: A boy of noble blood and disciple to the Guhua Clan, Xingqiu has been reading books of the heroic adventures of an elusive adepti, [Y/N] ever since he was a little boy.

Now a bit older, he sets everything aside in a journey to meet you.

(A/N): I planned to put it all in one post but like it wouldn't fit. Part 2 link below.

"How long will you stay with me?"

"Forever."

Liar.

It was midnight. All of liyue was quiet and asleep except for a certain room where you could here the rustling sound of packing made by a young man eager to leave before dusk.

"Are you sure about this?" Chongyun asks, catching his breath after climbing his friend's window.

"Most definitely!" Xingqiu says excitedly as he picks out the books he would be bringing.

Chongyun furrows his eyebrows, "You don't even have a plan!"

"These books are my plan," The dark haired boy says in a wise tone.

"WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!"

Xingqiu chuckles in response.

Chongyun begins to rant again. "Where will you go? Where will you search? What will you eat? What if you get mugged?"

Xingqiu laughs harder, "My friend, I appreciate your concern but I assure you. Nothing you say will change my mind. I will search all of Teyvat if I must."

"What if they don't exist? What if it's all fiction? Mere children's fairytales."

This makes Xingqiu stop in his tracks, contemplating the possibility for a few moments before coming to the conclusion, "They are real. I can feel it."

"And what of your family? Your brother?"

"I've left them a letter."

"What will they do with the letter? Teach it chivalry?" Chongyun says sarcastically.

Xingqiu does not bother to reply.

The exorcist sighs in defeat, "Xingqiu, if you don't come back alive, I will kill you."

"Then perhaps it's best if I don't come completely," He teases.

"Then I shall kill you right now and you won't get to leave at all."

The two friends bicker like this for a while until it is time for one's departure.

"Be careful, Xingqiu," Chongyun bids.

"I will. Make sure my family doesn't do anything rash while I'm gone."

The light haired boy rolls his eyes.

"Dear Chongyun, If in any case I don't come back, know that I've always appreciated your friendship."

And just like that, Xingqiu climbs out the window and disappears into the dark of night.

In the early afternoon, you sat peacefully, having tea with Cloud Retainer and Zhongli atop of Mt. Aozang. The breeze was nice and so was the view.

"It's a shame only we came to this tea party. It's been ages since we've gathered with the adeptus," The geo archon spoke.

"This is not a petty tea party. One has called a meeting to discuss the next move regarding a matter of great importance," Cloud Retainer retorted.

"And what might this matter be?" You ask while slouching on your seat, showing no interest.

"One has come to notice that ever since the incident of Osial's return and defeat, mortal's have come to One's domain asking for favors or offering goods much more times than One is comfortable with. The mortal, Aether has also-"

Cloud Retainer could not finish because the sound of your intentionally loud sigh interrupted her.

"Is the almighty Cloud Retainer scared of mortal affection and admiration?" You tease. Even Zhongli could not help but smile a bit.

Cloud Retainer threw you both a look that.. well you could only assume was a glare since she was in the shape of a bird after all.

The light-hearted argument continues until you here a soft grunting from a distance.

You all pause, listening as the voice becomes louder and louder and then, you see a hand grip the edge of the mountain, then another. A dark blue haired young man lifts himself up and throws himself onto the mountain surface, panting heavily.

"Oh.. Sweet.. sweet ground.," He says. You can almost hear him thank the Archons that he's made it this far.

"And what is your purpose of interrupting an important gathering?" Cloud Retainer's voice boomed.

Xingqiu blinked a bit before remembering why he was here in the first place. Quickly, he got up and bowed, still woozy from all the climbing. "I've been traveling for two days, seeking an adepti. I've heard that there's another adepti who lives here and I respectfully ask guidance in my journey," he says, still in a bowing position.

Zhongli recognizes him, "Xingqiu, are you not a little to far from Liyue Harbor?"

Xingqiu, in turn also recognizes the man but dares not question Zhongli's purpose. His only concern was finding you. "Please don't tell my family, Mister Zhongli."

You decide to entertain the mortal, "Well Xingqiu of Liyue Harbor, which adepti is it that you're looking for?"

Only then does he make eye contact with you, Xingqiu is taken in by your beauty. He stares a little too long before answering, "The heroic (Y/N)! The legendary adepti of great legends! They who saved thousands of lives and vanquished thousands more foes!" He says enthusiastically.

You are dumbfounded, never have you been sought after by a mortal for your heroic deeds. This was new. "And where do these legends come from?" You ask nervously.

"The books I've read! I've read every single one of the books that mention them."

Conveniently, you remember that time, thousands of years ago where you saved a family of writers who thanked you relentlessly and swore they'd write of your heroics.

While you are contemplating, Cloud Retainer speaks, "Look no further, mortal. The one you seek is here," She gestures to you.

You glare at her. "Is the mighty (Y/N) scared of mortal affection and admiration?" She mocks.

Xingqiu stares at you, trying to imprint this moment into his brain. "You... you weren't what I was expecting."

"And what were you expecting exactly?" You ask, offended.

"To be honest, I assumed you looked like a bird or fox! I was not expecting someone human and... beautiful." He says almost absent-mindedly.

Beautiful? As in attractive to a mortal's eyes? How dare he use such methods of flattery.

"How long will you stay with-"

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Zhongli and Cloud Retainer decide it was best for them to leave, they quietly dismiss themselves and leave you alone in this awkward situation.

The young man before you just stares at you with dazzled eyes.

"Now that you've found me, what do you plan?" You finally question.

Xingqiu stops for a moment. He didn't really think this far and didn't expect to find you so soon.

"I want to be your friend," Xingqiu blurts out.

You are again, taken aback by his straight-forwardness.

This was unnecessary. A mortal of such fleeting lifespan. How would this benefit you? This wouldn't benefit him either; you think to yourself. This is nothing but mortal entertainment. You had no interest in entertaining a mortal at your expense.

"I have no need for mortal company," You say firmly, all your nervousness replaced with a cold gaze.

"Please? I've dreamt of meeting you my whole life-"

"And now you have. Go."

"I swear to the Seven Archons I shall serve you well-"

"No!" This time, you raise your voice. "Go home," and with that, you vanish into thin air.

Xingqiu is sad and dejected, even on verge of tears but he does his best to keep it together. "Very well," He quietly whispers.

Xingqiu, climbing down the mountain is several feet away from the ground when his mind wonders back to you and the harsh rejection. "Well it's not like an adepti to mortal friendship is common anyway. At least I got to meet them," He says, trying to look on the bright side. He assures himself that he will return.

Tears start bluring his vision and he takes a wrong step, causing him to plummet down and make a loud thump sound.

He groans in pain. For the most part, he was unharmed except for his right hand which was twisted in a weird position.

"Drat! Xingqiu, how pathetic can you be? You fall and just had to break your right arm, you're sword hand!" He scolds himself.

The good part of this was that it was nightfall now, if he was lucky, all the hilichurls around the area would be asleep and he could avoid combat.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans as he sees a hydro abyss mage that he could have sworn was not there before. And the abyss mage sees him.

Xingqiu curses and tries to make a run for it, but as he was still limping from the fall, the mage catches up to him and teleports in front of him. Xingqiu stumbles backwards. In a desperate attempt, he shouts your name. But the abyss mage wasn't going to wait for you to show up. The young man suddenly feels himself getting drowned. So was this it? Rejected by a childhood dream, almost fell to his death and was currently being drowned? What a weird day. What a sad way to die. It's almost poetic. Xingqiu was slowly beginning to lose consciousness, coming to terms with this tragic death when he felt the bubble burst, quite literally.

He fell to the ground, the last thing he saw was the vanishing particles of a defeated abyss mage and what appeared to be a silhouette of a person- Xingqiu was saved!... and falling unconscious.

After you rescued him, you hurriedly brought him to Wangshu Inn, blurting out to Verr Goldet that you almost let a mortal die.

You paced back and fourth at the terrace. While the vigilant yaksha, Xiao watches you with annoyance.

"What if he dies?" You ask frantically.

"You dressed his wounds quiet well. He won't die unless someone comes in and murders him," Xiao says as if trying to be comforting.

Xingqiu awakens from his slumber, body still aching. A cast of bandages was made in order to support his broken arm.

The door slowly opens, you walk in with some hot soup and set it on the bedside table. It didn't take him long to realize that you were the one who saved him.

"You're awake," You state the obvious but almost sigh in relief. "Despite the attack, you managed to go almost unscathed.. except for well, your broken arm."

"Thank you... You really are my hero," Xingqiu says, once again beaming at you.

"Don't come back to Mt. Aozang,"

"Wait- what?" His face falls. And all the feelings of being rejected earlier come back.

"If...," You hesitantly start, "If you must see me, then I spend one night a week at the statue of Pervases." This was a lie, of course. But you were willing to do as you said if that meant the mortal, Xingqiu would stop going through such dangerous measures in order to meet you.

As if like a switch, his bright smile returned almost instantly. "My liege, you won't regret this!"

"Drink your soup and meet me at the terrace when you're prepared to return for Liyue Harbor." You don't know why you say what you say next but it felt right, "and call me (Y/N)."

You shut the door behind yourself quickly, leaving Xingqiu alone in the room, euphoric.

"You should not get too close to mortals," Xiao warns once you reach the terrace.

"I will not."

"In the thousand that I've known you, never once have I seen you prepare soup for a mortal.. or immortal."

"That means nothing."

"And I suppose your made up visits to the statue of Pervases mean nothing as well?"

He had a point there."Don't eavesdrop on my conversations, Alatus."

He glares at the sudden mention of the name. "Their lives are fleeting, (Y/N). The peace at the end of their journey is just a thousand years of grief for us if we so choose to befriend them. I just warn you because I care for you," Xiao says before vanishing from your sight.

He was right. You knew that. Of all the adepti, Xiao knew you the most. He was there when the mortal part of you was taken away in exchange for eternal life, after all.

You loved once. But that did not end well.

"How long will you stay with me?"

"Forever."

Liar

Never again.

Shortly after Xiao's departure, Xingqiu arrives with that ever so charming smile.

Charming? Did you just think that? Right after promising yourself to solitude? Oh dear...

"I've prepared! Will we go on foot or will you fly us there? I must warn you I get motion sick-" He stops talking when he notices you taking steps toward him. You put a hand on his shoulder and Xingqiu's mind goes blank. Was this approval? Mutual admiration? Were you friends now?

"Close your eyes," You tell him.

To which he obeys without hesitation. He's read enough romance books to know where this is going. Xingqiu would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous but at the same time he was extremely excited. His train of thought is cut short when he feels a harsh gust of wind blow his way.

"You may open them now."

He does and to his surprise, the both of you are back at Liyue Harbor, specifically the bridge.

"We... teleported?" He asks, embarrassed of his thoughts just moments ago.

You nod. "This is as far as I'll go. Make it back to your residence carefully and get some rest."

"Can't you come with me?"

"No."

"I have a friend who-"

"No."

"We can grab some countryside delicacy-"

"No."

He sighs in defeat, "But I'll see you tomorrow night, right?"

"Perhaps."

Xingqiu, in a moment of elation and not thinking properly, abruptly takes your hand and places a kiss on your knuckles.

Realizing what he had done the dark haired boy glows red as apples and lets go as quick as he took hold of you. "W-well... good-bye then."

The boy leaves you dumbfounded once again.

Part 2

#xingqiu x reader #xingqiu #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin x reader #genshin angst #genshin fluff

74 notes · View notes

bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

Text

Mysterious Night Blooming Roses pt 3

Hey look, more of that vampire bodice ripper.

Things are really heating up at Castle Pankratz!

tw: blood drinking, horny

---

“Many of your predecessors found my feeding to be...pleasurable,” the Viscount shrugged. “So don’t be embarrassed should any such feelings or physical reactions arise during our time together.”

The blush that bloomed across Geralt’s pale cheeks was enchanting and the vampire felt himself falling a little more in love with his most recent pseudo-employee.

“Wh-What happened to my, uhm, predecessors?” Geralt asked, biting at his bottom lip.

“The one before you, Moira, she’s off to start a wool trading business in Temeria. She wanted to learn a skill and find a job; you know, become a woman of independent means.”

“Oh.”

“And before her there was Thoren, and he’s probably teaching his children to fish by now. I suspect he has his own fleet of ships with the price cod has been selling for in Redania.”

“They’re still alive?”

“Of course! And they left Castle Pankratz with a hefty payment in thanks for their service. Enough to buy a whole herd of sheep, if you’re Moira. Or a nice cottage and a fishing boat, if you’re Thoren. I don’t know what you’ll choose to do with your money when your ten years is up. How old will you be, then?”

“Thirty-four.”

“You’re the perfect age! I became a creature of the night some time during my twenty-seventh year of life and that’s how I appear now; or so I have been told. I’ve actually been living here for nearly two thousand years.”

The peasant’s went wide and he swallowed thickly. “Hmm.”

“May I have your consent to drink from you, Geralt? I know it’s an odd way to meet and a rushed explanation of things, but it’s been rather a long week and I’m… I’m hungry, Geralt. Would you mind?”

“I suppose not, Your Grace,” the peasant murmured, and tilted his head to the side.

---

Their first time together had been rushed and uncomfortable and awkward. Fumbling. Like two teenagers attempting their first romantic embrace in a barn, avoiding their chores and praying that their parents or siblings didn’t accidentally peek inside and catch them.

Things had gotten better since then. The village’s Samhain celebration was drawing ever closer and the darkness of night came earlier every day. There was more time for Geralt and Jaskier to spend together, talking and laughing in the library or sitting room. Jaskier wrote music, and often played his compositions for Geralt on the harp, lute, or piano. Geralt would read out loud some nights, his fingers playing idly with the laces of Jaskier’s shirt or the fringe of his hair as he did so.

Then, early one autumn evening, Jaskier summoned Geralt to his private chambers.

“Your Grace?” the peasant asked, peeking his head and shoulders into his Master’s enormous bedroom.

“Come in, Geralt. Please come in and close the door behind you.”

Geralt stepped inside and closed the door. His eyes remained downcast as he turned towards bed where Jaskier lay, reclining comfortably like some kind of presiding deity. “You summoned me, Your Grace?”

“Come here, pet, and have a seat. I’d like to talk to you about something rather important.”

Geralt crossed the windowless chamber and took a nervous seat at the very edge of Jaskier’s mattress. He’d never been in this part of the castle before; usually the vampire took him to the sitting room or his own bedroom to feed because it was easier to tuck him in for a nap afterward. It was, as the vampire liked to joke, a rather draining experience for the young man.

“Are you displeased, Your Grace? Have I done something wrong?”

“Oh no! Of course not, dear heart! You could not possibly be any more pleasing, in all honesty. I just wanted to know how you were getting along. How do you spend your days in my castle when I am asleep in here?”

“I read, mostly. You have some of my favorites in your library.”

“Such as?”

“I’ve read The Three Musketeers twice. I’ve read Treasure Island, Faustus, and a few collections of poetry as well.”

“Studious,” the vampire smiled, tugging Geralt closer. The mortal man allowed himself to be moved up the bed and into Jaskier’s cold yet inviting embrace. “I like that in a man.”

“In… in a man?”

“Have I misunderstood something, my dear? I thought I saw you peeking at me while I changed for supper yesterday,” Jaskier explained, relaxing his arms enough so that Geralt could easily leave if he wanted to. The vampire was right, however. Geralt had been peeking and he had liked what he’d seen. “I thought that you had perhaps begun to feel the same things for me that I have begun to feel for you.”

“What are you feeling exactly, Your Grace?” Geralt’s voice was low and sweet and dripped like honey. The warm human wrapped in Jaskier’s arms smelled fantastic, like lust and mint; the wine from dinner still sang in his blood. The vampire shivered and narrowed his eyes. The irises flashed from blue to red and then back to blue again, revealing to his guest the intense emotions he usually held in check.

“In regards to you, my dear Geralt? I’m afraid that I feel significant attachment. I have not tasted blood so sweet and floral in over a hundred years, nor have I had conversations so scintillating. I suspect it has been many more years since I’ve had that, if I cared to actually count, but that would be a waste of time in your presence. You are clever, curious, loyal, and your chivalry seems to know no bounds, dear heart. How could I not feel something romantic in nature towards you when you, yourself, are so naturally easy to romance?”

The peasant’s face flushed prettily and his heartbeat sped up to a pleasant, ringing tempo. Jaskier could smell the mixture of love and arousal wafting off his darling Geralt and it nearly intoxicated him. He felt his fangs go sharp and steely in his mouth and he bit back a predatory hiss. “Fuck!”

“Your Grace? Are you alright?”

“Perhaps you should go after all, my pet. I’m afraid I-”

“No!” Geralt stiffened and pulled out of the Viscount’s arms. He shrank back against the covers and looked up at his Master with wide, worried eyes. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I’m so confused. I can’t leave again until I know what your intentions are. It’s only been a few weeks since my arrival and yet I still I -” the young man grappled with his language, pleading for something that would get his feelings across to the ancient, all-knowing vampire before him. “- I can’t stop dreaming about you, Jaskier! I can’t get you out of my head! The more I try not to think about you the more I fantasize about sneaking in here and laying at your side as you sleep. I ache to feel your skin against my own. I long for your hands, colder than death as they are, to caress me and hold me.”

The vampire let his lips part, his fangs gleaming in the low light of a few candles. Geralt’s words caught in his throat and his heart-rate rose again. It was nearly frantic. Jaskier would have been worried, but that particular rhythm combined with the way Geralt had started to smell was really getting to his head.

He allowed himself to give a single, territorial little growl before he rose onto his knees. The vampire placed one hand on either side of Geralt’s head and leaned down, brushing the tips of their noses together as he trapped his human quarry against a goosefeather pillow. “I dream of you as well, my pet. I dream of running my fingers through your soft white hair and listening as you read to me in that deep, rumbling voice.”

“Your Grace?”

“I dream,” Jaskier sighed, tracing his nose along Geralt’s jaw, “Of how delectable you smell when you’re happy. Of how caring you are when you’re worried. Of how you might react to sweet, glorious compliments being whispered in your ear as I hold you close and take you apart. I’ve had centuries of practice, dear heart, and I really am quite good.”

“Your Grace.”

“I dream of touching you, Geralt. May I please touch you?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Gods, Geralt. When you call me that, it -” the vampire’s fangs lengthened again, pushing and straining towards his sweet human sacrifice, “- It really awakens the nature of a beast in me.”

“My apologies, Master.”

Jaskier groaned and leaned away, his hands covering his face to keep his fangs from finding Geralt’s neck on instinct. “That’s certainly not any better.”

“Do you wish to drink from me, Jaskier?” Geralt asked. His voice was meek. Nervous. The vampire’s long-dead heart nearly cracked in spite of itself.

The peasant had never referred to it as drinking before. Always feeding or supping. Geralt understood that he was a food source and kept his distance from the whole process by using such specific terminology for their activities. Yes, the human clearly enjoyed the endorphins Jaskier’s feeding process released throughout his body, and the inhibition-lowering side-effects of Jaskier’s vampiric presence had let a few specific terms of endearment slip through the human’s lips but…

This was different. This was Geralt offering himself up rather than accepting his status as an offering from the village. He was an equal participant, now.

“Would you like it if I drank from you, my dear?”

“Yes,” Geralt admitted. His face was aflame with either shame or lust; Jaskier suspected that it was a strong combination of both. He pulled himself against the vampire and tossed his hair to the side, baring the pale column of his throat. His voice was breathy and a little higher than normal when he locked his gaze with Jaskier’s and whispered, “I’m all yours, Your Grace.”

The backs of the Viscount’s knuckles swept across the smooth expanse of skin and both men shuddered with anticipation. Jaskier curled around Geralt possessively and ran his icy lips down the side of the human’s neck to his pulse-point. The vampire nibbled teasingly for a moment, letting his teeth and tongue worry the skin to a warm, vibrant pink before placing the tips of his fangs down. As he pressed in, breaking through and tasting the first few delectable ruby droplets, Geralt moaned openly.

His hand clenched in the material of Jaskier’s night-shirt and his eyes rolled back into his head. It was rapturous. It was ecstasy. And now he didn’t have to keep himself silent and resigned; he could react the way he’d wanted to for weeks as his Master drank deeply from the fount of his heart.

“Jaskier!” The hand that wasn’t the vampire’s silk night-shirt was grasping at the skin of his hip, digging his fingers into the cold, firm crease where Jaskier’s long torso met his legs. He needed to hold on to something. He needed an anchor to this mortal realm or he’d go floating away forever, lost to the pleasures of his soon-to-be lover.

Jaskier removed his fangs from the human’s neck after another moment or two and slowly licked the wound to clean it. Geralt frowned and glanced up, his eyes bright and his face flushed.

“Done already, Your Grace?”

“Oh, Geralt,” the vampire purred, clambering to straddle the taller man’s hips. “I’m just getting started.”

159 notes · View notes

somegirlsnerdywords2 · 4 years ago

Text

Anime i’ve Watched

That begin with a O (Part 1)!

Yep this is how i’m going to bring over all the anime and manga i’ve watched and posted about on the old blog. It’s not so detailed but it will have to do. Anything new I watch or read from this point on will have their own posts.

Ojisan to Marshmallow:

Genres: Slice of Life, Comedy, Romance, TV Short

Synopsis: Habahiro Hige is a simple-minded older man who works an office job and is an enthusiast of Tabekko Marshmallows. His days often consist of being teased by his 24-year-old colleague Iori Wakabayashi, who uses his obsession to her advantage: from eating them in front of his face, to buying out his favorite brand from the convenience store, and even embarrassing him in front of their boss. Although her friends cannot fathom what she sees in him, she just cannot get over his marshmallow-like, fluffy frame. No matter the lengths it takes, Iori will find a way to get his attention. Little does Habahiro know that she is trying to seduce him into a romantic relationship with her. The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right? At least this is what Iori would honestly like to believe. With a bag in hand, Iori continues to make him chase after her day after day, hoping that he will finally see through her attempts. Will he ever realize that their relationship can become s'more? [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 9/10

Finished airing in 2016 with a total of 12, 3 minute long episodes.

My Thoughts: A cute, bite sized anime with feeling. Something light and short to watch on a bad day.

Omoide Poroporo (Only Yesterday):

Genres: Slice of Life, Drama, Romance, Film

Synopsis: Taeko Okajima is a 27-year-old, independent woman who spent her entire life in Tokyo. Looking to unwind from the rush of the big city, she decides to visit her family in the country to help out during the harvest. On the train there, Taeko vividly recalls her memories as a schoolgirl in the initial stages of puberty, as if she is on a trip with her childhood self. A young farmer named Toshio picks her up at the station, and they quickly develop a friendship. During her stay, Taeko forms strong bonds with family and friends, learning the contrasts between urban and rural life, as well as the struggles and joys of farming. Nostalgic and bittersweet, Omoide Poroporo takes on Taeko's journey as an adult woman coming to terms with her childhood dreams compared to the person she is today.

My Rating: 9/10

A film released in 1991.

My Thoughts: One of the lesser known films by Studio Ghibli and well it didn’t leave that big of an impact on me it was still an experience to watch and one i’m thankful for.

Onigiri:

Genres: Comedy, Supernatural, Fantasy, TV Short

Synopsis: Ancient Japan is under attack by powerful beings called "Kamikui," and it is up to the "Oni" and his band of eight beautiful female warriors to stop them. Each of these girls have unique skills, abilities, and personalities. They partner themselves with the Oni, Jin, to stop the miasma of darkness sweeping across Japan. Onigiri follows the escapades of Jin and his merry companions as they strengthen their bonds and fend off the demonic invasion. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

(Couldn’t find a gif, the one above is not from the anime.)

My Rating: 7/10

Finished airing in 2016 with a total of 13, 4 minute long episodes.

My Thoughts: Meh. Can’t remember a thing.

Ookami Kodomo no Ame to Yuki (Wolf Children):

Genres: Fantasy, Slice of Life, Film

Synopsis: Hana, a hard-working college student, falls in love with a mysterious man who attends one of her classes though he is not an actual student. As it turns out, he is not truly human either. On a full moon night, he transforms, revealing that he is the last werewolf alive. Despite this, Hana's love remains strong, and the two ultimately decide to start a family. Hana gives birth to two healthy children—Ame, born during rainfall, and Yuki, born during snowfall—both possessing the ability to turn into wolves, a trait inherited from their father. All too soon, however, the sudden death of her lover devastates Hana's life, leaving her to raise a peculiar family completely on her own. The stress of raising her wild-natured children in a densely populated city, all while keeping their identity a secret, culminates in a decision to move to the countryside, where she hopes Ame and Yuki can live a life free from the judgments of society. Wolf Children is the heartwarming story about the challenges of being a single mother in an unforgiving modern world. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 9/10

A film released in 2012.

My Thoughts: Like movies that make you cry and have a bit of an odd concept? This film may in fact be for you! Nice art and a touching story.

Orange:

Genres: Sci-fi, Drama, Romance, School, Shoujo

Synopsis: Naho Takamiya's first day of her sophomore year of high school is off to an uneasy start. After waking up late, she receives a strange letter addressed to her. However, the letter is from herself—10 years in the future! At first, Naho is skeptical of the note; yet, after witnessing several events described to take place, she realizes the letter really is from her 26-year-old self. The note details that Naho's future life is filled with regrets, and she hopes that her younger self can correct the mistakes that were made in the past. The letter also warns her to keep a close eye on the new transfer student, Kakeru Naruse. Naho must be especially careful in making decisions involving him, as Kakeru is not around in the future. With the letter as her guide, Naho now has the power to protect Kakeru before she comes to regret it once more. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 8/10

Finished airing in 2016 with a total of 13 episodes.

My Thoughts: I loved the manga... I honestly have no idea why I only gave the anime an 8... Maybe the story just had less impact the 2nd time around? Not a clue.

Ore Monogatari!! (My Love Story):

Genres: Comedy, Romance, Shoujo

Synopsis: With his muscular build and tall stature, Takeo Gouda is not exactly your average high school freshman. However, behind his intimidating appearance hides a heart of gold, and he is considered a hero by the boys for his courage and chivalry. Unfortunately, these traits do not help much with his love life. As if his looks are not enough to scare the opposite sex away, Takeo's cool and handsome best friend and constant companion Makoto Sunakawa easily steals the hearts of the female students—including every girl Takeo has ever liked. When Takeo gallantly saves cute and angelic Rinko Yamato from being molested, he falls in love with her instantly, but suspects that she might be interested in Sunakawa. With his own love for Yamato continuing to bloom, Takeo unselfishly decides to act as her cupid, even as he yearns for his own love story. [Written by MAL Rewrite]

My Rating: 9.5/10

Finished airing in 2015 with a total of 24 episodes.

My Thoughts: I freaking loved this anime!! The male lead wasn’t your typical pretty boy, all of the characters were wonderful in their own ways and the relationship between the two leads was painfully adorable. Big fan of this title!

#anime #tv short #omoide poro poro #only yesterday #films #onigiri #wolf children #ookami kodomo no ame to yuki #orange #ore monogatari #my love story

127 notes · View notes

cosmic-navel-gazin · 4 years ago

Photo

In which I chronicle my Legacy of Kain journey and bridge it with your boy Adam Warlock! (Part 5 of many, and MASSIVE, I MEAN, HUMOUNGOUS SPOILERS for Soul Reaver 2 and the 1970’s Warlock)

Awwwwwwwww yeah we are going there, these compositions are most definitely on purpose.

This is where I realize that my true purpose in this world is to draw and talk about obscure or forgotten works of fiction, and I embrace this destiny.

Ladies and gents, laughing times are over (not really though), sh*t gets very real again.

I guess it’s a bit late for this but if you have even the slightest interest in checking any of these properties out, do yourself a favor and go experience them first hand. If you just want to see me lose my mind and don’t really care about spoilers then please, proceed.

You know, when I started this little crossover of sorts, I was just having a laugh you know? It was just a cute little thing, I’ll write this one post and maybe I’ll get enough material for a second one and that’s it. THIS IS THE SEVENTH POST (even though it says Part 5).

Never, and I do mean never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be here one day, talking about having your past and your time-travelling-future selves meet and clash, of seeing your sanctimonious attitude and overall the worst about yourself personified and given free reign to go on bloodthirsty crusades showing off how much of a hypocrite you’ve bee- but wait, I am getting a bit ahead of myself.

I’ll get there I promise, let’s go back a bit.

Where we last left off, we managed to travel back to an even more distant past than we’ve been before. To the time of the great Vampire Purge, so that Raziel can meet this infamous ancient vampire who knows all the lore and might have the answers we seek on what exactly is causing the corruption of our world.

As we step out into this era of History we notice the fields covered with the Sarafan Order banners, and the impaled corpses and chopped-off heads of vampires. No different no doubt from the kindness vampires showed mankind later when they gained the upper hand during Kain’s 1.000 year old reign. Raziel seems a bit distraught by the sight since he assumed the Sarafan to be virtuous and heroic:

“For all the butchery of Moebius’s crusade, this massacre was somehow more chilling. The killing fields of the Sarafan betrayed a kind of orderly ruthlessness, the cold-blooded righteousness of the true believer.”

“Here at last in the flesh, I beheld my former brothers-in-arms, the warrior-priests of the Sarafan order; their lives devoted solely to the annihilation of the vampire plague. And while I confess I felt a twinge of longing, a pang of grief for what I had believed was my lost virtue, I regarded them now with none of the reverence I formally felt. For I had seen the human face of the vampires, and now I beheld the monstrousness of these men.”

While on the topic of genocidal holy wars, my boy Adam here had a bit of a run with a similar pious little group that goes by the name of Universal Church of Truth, who were going about doing a bit of cleaning throughout the galaxy:

Things don’t go so well:

Interestingly enough, I’ve learned of a deleted cutscene for Soul Reaver 2 that plays out very similarly to Adam’s first encounter with this “holy” order. There was this minor female vampire character that was being hunted down and would be executed by vampire hunters right in front of Raziel.

This scene was probably removed because they knew that almost 20 years later there would be some asshole on the internet trying to compare their games to obscure marvel comics of the 70’s.

But yeah bummer for Adam here, we’re a couple of pages in and he’s already failed to save someone. However, through the power of the Soul Gem, he’s able to retain her soul for a brief moment, letting us know more about these holy inquisitors:

Some of these methods don’t seem that far off from the Sarafan, especially on the twisting of good intentions part, but on a galactic scale:

Aye, a great bunch o’ fellas all around, if you submit and “fit in”:

Damn.

Hush Adam, I’ll get back to your predicament give me a moment. I just want the good people at home to keep both this church and the Magus, the god they worship in mind for later.

Now, back to the game. In the Sarafan Stronghold during the first hour of gameplay, Raziel made comments on the vampire he’s currently seeking while looking at some stained glass depictions:

“So this was the legendary Janos Audron - reputed to have been the most ancient and diabolical vampire to have ever existed. According to folklore, he lived high in the cliffs of Nosgoth’s northern mountains, and preyed mercilessly on the defenseless villagers below. His reign of terror ended when the Sarafan finally hunted him down and tore his throbbing heart from his still-living body. (…) But I wondered - could Janos Audron truly have been as monstrous as depicted here? Or was this merely artistic licence by the Sarafan, who sought to lionize themselves by demonizing their darkest enemy?

Keep these stained glass images in mind, they’ll also be important shortly. Neetheless to say, the hype was very real to meet this Janos Audron.

And as I kept hearing about this gentleman, I thought: “I really love this cast of pricks, where everyone speaks in half truths and is hiding something and has some hidden agenda, but you know, I kind of wish there was some slim ray of hope, of goodness and honor, just some good old plain chivalry and honesty. Maybe this Janos lad won’t be as bad as he was depicted back in the Sarafan Stronghold.”

It took us a while but we’re finally make it to his retreat.

I really love the entire segment, the hopelessness and feeling of dread while making your way through this place, probably my favourite puzzle area of the game. I also really love the music and architecture here.

When we do make it to the top, BOY OH BOY were my prayers answered!

Lo and behold, enter Raziel’s new daddy/mentor figure, my man JANOS AUDRON! Proabably the one decent and kind creature I’ve seen yet in these games (if you don’t count helpless human npcs who are just trying to live their lives but are caught in all these wars, slaughter and destruction).

FINALLY an understanding, moderate, compassionate man in the midst of all the lies and deception. I love him! Oh and he has what seems to be a Romanian accent. Maybe a nod to the granddaddy of all vampires: Dracula? I think his design is cool as well, so that helps.

Before we go into huge lore dumps and while on the topic of having a brief father/mentor figure for your protagonist when he’s utterly lost, alone and confused, I thought I’d bridge it with Adam’s own once foster parent, the High Evolutionary:

From the few minutes you get to know these dads they’re very different characters with different backstories and motivations. Janos is this sad lonely old man, the last of the ancient vampires and one who has been keeping himself alive solely for his sense of duty.

While the High Evolutionary was once a man called Herbert Wyndham who performed an experiment that evolved him into a godlike being. This experience proved to be such an assault on his senses and perceptions that he chose to encase himself in this armour. Like the name suggests he is obsessed with genetic manipulation and tampering of various kinds, it is his life’s ambition.

Despite his somewhat villainous appearance, he’s never portrayed as such from what little I’ve read, he’s just…a bit creepy. Like, he takes Adam in and is super stoked about adopting him, but he also values him not so much as a person per se as you and me would, but more as one would value an impressivly carved piece of work:

I don’t know, maybe it’s his metal face that doesn’t emote much; his sometimes questionable morality; maybe it’s the fact that Adam was 5 years old at this point, a baby boy, and this pink armoured deity is super hyped about him; there’s something a bit unsettling about this guy. Have some more dubious quotes I’ve stumbled upon:

All in all, I think he did care about him, in his own strange way:

Anyway, what’s important is that these adoptive dads serve a somewhat similar purpose, and that is to push/urge our ”“”“"heroes”“”“” (I say with many quotation marks) into a more benevolant role: to guide them in their messianic mission and save a corrupted world. Basically there to provide a chance for them to be good boys. Up until now their track record leaves much to be desired, and they’ve been quite lost on what they’re supposed to be and do.

Raziel:

“So it’s all true, then - what Kain and Vorador have told me - I really am some kind of unholy vampire messiah…”

Janos:

“Unholy? -no. Messiah… perhaps.”

Raziel:

“I don’t like that word - it smells of martyrdom.”

Janos:

“Raziel, your role in this world’s destiny is more crucial - and more benevolent - than you’ve allowed yourself to believe. Your journey will not be easy - dark powers are allied against you.”

Oh and both dads give their sons their toys (Soul Reaver and Soul Gem):

Back to the meeting with Janos, we finally learn tons of things, both new and others that have been hinted at throughout, namely:

Janos has been living a life of a recluse, alone, on top of the Aerie;

Janos knows of Raziel (some old legend I think) and has been waiting for him to hand him over the Soul Reaver, saying it is the key to save Nosgoth;

The Pillars of Nosgoth were erected by the ancient vampires and they were the rightful guardians. Janos was called to be th 10th guardian, the Keeper of the Reaver;

Over time this ancient race started to die out, with their history slowly being forgotten;

Humanity prospered and since the Pillars choose their guardians from birth and vampires were no longer born, humans were called to be their guardians but were “wholly ignorant of their true purpose.”

The Circle of human guardians is led to believe (by whom we do not yet know) that vampires are a cancer in the world. Janos warns that “with their vampire purge, the members of the Circle have assaulted the very architects of the Pillars they are sworn to protect (…) With every vampire they kill, the humans are slitting their own throats.”

Janos being a cool level-headed guy here when Raziel says he must hate mankind for all the suffering they’ve brought to him:

“They fear what they don’t understand; and they despise what they fear. But no - I do not hate them.”

I find it funny how Raziel asks if humanity should be forgiven for trying to exterminate the vampire kind and doesn’t realize that: one, he himself was exterminating vampires just a couple of moments ago back in SR1; and two, how he is just like how Janos describes humanity to be:

“They don’t understand what they’re doing. They are simply unenlightened… and vulnerable to manipulation.”

Again, this last line, completely unlike a certain blue shambling corpse I know. Not like him AT ALL.

Then, as they head inside, we learn something odd as Janos presents Raziel with the Reaver. You see, the two times Raziel has been close to the Soul Reaver still in its physical form, reality started to bend and distort (I show it off in this previous post).

When we met Kain and decided not to kill him, he explained that when: “two incarnations of the blade meet in time and space, a paradox is created, a temporal distortion powerful enough to derail history”

This distortion, or sense of displacement however, is nowhere to be found now when Janos presents the blade to him. Raziel feels nothing and says that “this nothingness is somehow worse…” and to get it away from him.

We learn the Reaver was forged by the same ancient vampire race that erected the Pillars (which we’ve seen hinted at when we explored the land and came accross all sorts of old murals).

But now THIS is when the game first impales me through the heart.

Me and Janos are interrupted by the Sarafan warriors who arrive carrying Moebius’ Staff (which disables vampires to the point of being barely able to move at all).

And of course! OF COURSE! Of course the moment my boy Raziel finds a truly positive influence in his life to guide and enlinghten him, and that was willing to put himself in danger in order to save him… he is axed! HEART RIPPED FROM HIS CHEST!

And by whom you ask? Who would do such a deed and kill my last ray of hope?

WHY, ME!

TWICE!

“Me” because I was the one to open an entrance to Janos’ up until then impenetrable retreat, and literally me: human Raziel of the Sarafan that lived during this time period and was head inquisitor!

A bit different from what was depicted back at the Sarafan Stronghold, we found several centuries later (putting the same image here again so you don’t have to scroll up to compare, am I swell or what?):

The Sarafan escape with Janos’ heart and the Reaver, while wraith Raziel has a final moment with Janos.

This part destroys me:

Raziel:

“Forgive me; I’m sorry… I failed you.”

Janos: (gently)

“No, Raziel. Perhaps this was my true purpose - simply to save your life this once.”

Raziel: (distraught)

“While I have taken yours…”

That last bit is probably my favourite line-read in the entire series so far (which is the most impossible thing to choose since there are so many great ones). But I think it’s the overwhelming sadness in Raziel’s voice that makes it memorable, you’ve never seen him feel like this for another creature.

Breaks my stone hardened heart every time I listen to it. And here’s why I think it’s an effective emotional scene, even though we only get a few minutes with Janos before he is murdered - it is because of contrast. Up until now everyone you meet is some degree of a bad or manipulative person, and you don’t really have a true friend or someone to confide in, there’s no one that really brings out the best in Raziel and it sucks because there is potential there. So when you introduce the apparently only decent and noble person in this god forsaken land and you’re so used to by now suspect and mistrust everyone, it is impactful because he was truth and honesty in a sea of deception and moral relativism. He was my light in the midst of the fog and the one who saw good in me. And right when you’re finally relaxing and getting confortable the game pulls the rug from under you.

Now, while on the topic of having your past and future meet, there was a little something about the meeting between Adam and the Universal Church of Truth that I’ve been saving up until now. If you remember, Adam was interrogating the young woman who was killed by the inquisitors about the church and the god they worship. When suddenly:

Good news is, Adam must’ve taken a left turn somewhere and ended up on the set for “Monty Python’s Life of Brian”, where he learned some latin:

This helped him quickly figure out the Magus’ identity:

Learn your dead tongues kids, you never know when it might come in handy when meeting your time travelling, thousands of years old future-self:

So as you can se, we have a similar self-discovery journey going on but reversed in a way. In Raziel’s case you play as his future self, who time travels back in time, meets his past self and sees what a hypocrite he’s been his entire life. In Adam’s case you follow his present self, who meets the Magus (his future self), who has travelled back in time 5.000 years, in which time he has built his empire. Meeting and confronting said empire/future self, leads Adam to see what a hypocrite he’s been his entire life. You see, both Adam and Raziel have always been their own worst enemy (their own shortcomings and character flaws). So it would be only natural that we get embodiments of the worst in them: Raziel, the human Sarafan Warrior and the Magus, their past and future selves respectively.

Oof, this was a long one, and I’ve reach the character limit. In the next post I’ll elaborate more on their characters and different selves; and we go through the roller-coaster of emotions that is the endgame for both these stories.

Look foward to me losing my mind even further while I go into time travelling, paradox shenanigans… oh, and look foward to happier times with COSMIC SUICIDE! See you in the near future.

#the infinity legacy #legacy of kain #soul reaver 2 #raziel #adam warlock #the magus #marvel comics #marvel cosmic #this post drained my spirit #my fan art

163 notes · View notes

dreaming-of-assclass · 4 years ago

Text

Yoshida Headcanons

A couple of people have asked for these, which makes me really happy. The amount of love I have for this boy is immeasurable 😭💜

He’s the most chivalrous and gentlemanly in the Terasaka squad...and honestly, he’s in the top 3 for the class boys as a whole. It’s a natural habit for him, having a sister and growing up with Hara. He’s a little too protective at times but it’s out of love.

That chivalry is kind of the main reason he has a “crush” on Kanzaki. He just has a big soft spot and weakness for anyone (ahem girls) who is sweet, gentle, etc. He feels the need to protect them and be like a knight in shining armor or something.

He never quite feels that way for his closest female friends though. With Hazama, he knows she’s tough and can handle herself. She doesn’t want to be protected or treated as the fragile princess her mom wants her to be. She knows he cares for her, and she returns that equally so. They’re super tight.

With Hara, well, he’s known her too long. Hara is like family at this point in their lives. He’s so comfortable around her, he almost doesn’t even keep up the tough guy act. Hara can certainly protect herself, he knows that for sure. She’s tougher than him, and anyone hes ever met.

He’s the first to suggest doing something fun, exciting...and usually dangerous lmao. He just loves stunts and the thrill of that kind of stuff, it makes him feel alive. His philosophy is to live life to the fullest: otherwise, what’s the point?

He’s secretly always wanted a lizard for a pet. He thinks they’re so cool, and would love to have one in a terrarium in his room. He never brings it up though, since his parents would say no and his friends would judge him.

THIS BOY SECRETLY TAKES SO MANY SELFIES. MOSTLY MIRROR ONES WHERE HE CAN GET HIS FULL OUTFITS.

He never posts them unless they look a certain “tough” way, and give off those vibes. But yeah, his camera roll is full of sooooooo many.

He’s ridiculously skilled at catching food in his mouth. Whenever he’s hanging with Muramatsu and they’re both bored, they throw like candy or pieces of bread at each other, trying to catch it. And Yoshida always wins everytime.

He’s really good with little kids :’) He’s especially close with Hara’s younger brothers, treats them like they’re his own siblings.

He’s subscribed to like...six different car/motorcycle magazines. His mom complains so much, but he does make use of them. Once he’s done, he creates collages with the pics. And besides reading them, he uses them as reference pics for his beloved drawings.

He has a really wholesome laugh that’s actually contagious, and it embarrasses him so much. It’s just so cuteeeee and the squad loves teasing him. And poor Yoshida just has a red face, scowling and denying it.

He’s very good at grocery shopping and doing errand runs in general. He just has great time management skills, and knows how to make the most efficient use of his chores/jobs. It’s pretty impressive for a 15 year old. And it’s part of the foundation for how he later excels in business management in the future as an adult.

He’s a morning person! Surprise surprise haha. Along with Muramatsu, it’s just very natural for him since he was raised in a family business and learned to rise and shine early to have a productive day. It’s just that the squad hangs out at night all the time lmao, or Yoshida is used to having to study late. He can run on very little sleep too, preferring to have energy drinks over coffee, which tastes gross to him.

He literally daydreams in class about his future motorcycle and what it’ll look like, and all the nice modifications he’ll give it. Along that line, he dreams of adulthood and getting to run his own business...and having a girlfriend haha. It’s cute because he gets so lost in thought then literally jumps up when he snaps out of it, confused when Kanzaki asks him a question or Muramatsu throws a paper at his head from behind.

#assclass #assassination classsroom #ansatsu kyoushitsu #taisei yoshida #headcanons #group 3 #yoshida...is such boyfriend material ahhhhhh

58 notes · View notes

nev3rfound · 5 years ago

Text

you came home? : s.r

brief summary: being in a relationship with steve when he travels back to return the infinity stones and wondering if he’ll come home to you or stay in another timeline

word count: 1.8k requested: yes - by @ruby-bloop this idea is so freaking cute, I couldn’t resist it! warnings: minor endgame spoilers(?) but honestly it’s fluffy af

* masterlistin’

* commissions (feel free to click, idk why I try lol)

fun fact: I can’t not post something once I’ve written it. I planned on waiting to post this tomorrow, but I love it too much to hold it back lmao.

Wiping your hands over your black dress, Bucky rests his arm around you as you stand between him and Sam. After everything that has happened, the things you’ve all endured and those you’ve lost, you have found a small victory.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” It was a question that lingered on your mind ever since Steve said he’d be the one to return the stones. You knew if anyone was going to do it, Steve would volunteer himself immediately.

Deep down you could see the look in his eyes at the thought of travelling back in time. You knew you wouldn’t see the man you loved again once he disappeared, if he did return, he’d have lived a whole other life without any of you in it. And that broke your heart.

Bucky clenched his jaw as he looked over to Sam, his expression mirroring Buckys. “We don’t know what’ll happen in there, doll.” Bucky speaks up, looking down at you as tears fall from your eyes.

After all this time, you tried to keep it back. You didn’t want anyone to see you cry, but today was too much. Everyone around you was filled with sorrow, but the thought of losing Steve as well was a thought that hurt too much.

Steve steps out in his suit and glances over at the three of you. He can already see you trying to hold everything back for his sake, you can’t be the reason he changes his mind.

“Return them in the exact order.” Bruce explains to Steve as he closes the case, locking it shut as Sam wanders over, leaving your side.

“You know, I could come with you.” Sam tries to persuade Steve, and you watch as a small smile forms on his face.

Pausing, Steve faces Sam, resting his hand on his shoulder. “You’re a good man, Sam. But some things are meant to be done alone.”

The words rang through you. He needed to do this alone. If he was with someone, he couldn’t possibly stay.

Lowering your head, Bucky releases his hand from around you. “Come on, doll.” He mutters softly, taking a step forward as his face drops.

You watch from the side as Steve stands in front of his best friend. After all this time, against all of the odds, they’re both still alive. You couldn’t have comprehended any of it, no one could have. You remember the day the Winter Soldier attacked Sam’s car, how Bucky tried to kill you. If it wasn’t for Steve saving you, you might not be stood by their side now.

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.” Steve tells Bucky, watching the sorrow fill his blue eyes.

Bucky forces a light laugh. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

There’s a brief pause before Steve reaches out, bringing Bucky into a tight hug before pulling away and turning to you.

He takes a hold of your hand, leading you away from everyone else. No matter how hard you try, you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. “Hey, don’t cry.” Steve tries to comfort you. He brings his hand up, resting it on your cheek as he wipes the tears that escape.

You sniff lightly, trying to laugh it off. “I’m sorry, I just,” You can’t bring yourself to say it. If you admit it to him, you’ll forever feel guilty about him coming home. If you keep the words contained, he’ll never know and can live a life he’s dreamed about since he woke up from the ice.

Steve can see something inside of you screaming to be said, deep down he knows he wants to say it back. But all he can think about is the time he knew, a place he felt comfortable and first found himself. Having the chance to go back is a possibility to him, how could he miss the chance?

“I know, love.” Steve mutters, bringing you into his arms.

The pair of you stand, wrapped up together for a minute before a heavy sigh leaves Steve’s lips. “Make us proud, Cap.” You tell him as he walks up onto the platform.

Bucky returns to your side, flashing a sad smile as you watch Steve’s dark suit be covered in all white. He bends down, picking up Mjölnir and the case before nodding to Bruce.

Your eyes dart over, having heard it’ll be a matter of seconds before he comes back.

Within a blink of an eye, Steve is gone. You turn around, walking away knowing deep down he won’t be coming home. You faintly listen to the worry in Sam’s voice, the confusion Bruce mutters whilst you turn your back. They’re both panicking about Steve. He’s been gone too long for this to be okay.

Tears roll down your cheeks as you look down at your watch, seeing another minute roll on by. It cements what you feared, but knew what would happen. That Steve decided to stay.

“Sam?” Bucky calls out, interrupting the pacing you can hear from behind you.

“What?” Sam is blunt in his response, but you hear him sigh quietly before walking in your direction. “Y/n,” He speaks up, standing in front of you. He rests his hands on your shoulders, focusing on your eyes. “you might wanna turn around.” Sam tries to force back his smile, and you can feel your heart beating in your throat.

Slowly, you turn around to see Steve, the same Steve that left minutes ago before you with a smile on his face. “Buck didn’t do anything stupid did he?” Steve jokes, and you sniff before running over and wrapping your arms around him.

Steve drops the hammer, holding you back as he picks you up off of the ground. Though it had been minutes for you, Steve had been gone for years. He hadn’t seen you, heard your laugh or had the chance to talk to you for decades.

The only chance Steve had was when he was returning the mind stone. He saw you stood in the streets amongst a series of scared civilians. You weren’t an official Avenger yet, but everyone knew of you. He watched as you smiled to him, not knowing the effect it had on his heart as it pulled at the strings holding it together, nearly causing them to snap.

“You still down for pizza later, Cap?” You call to him, and Steve turns back to catch you once again.

That was the first date he ever took you on. You didn’t know it was a date. To you, it was a colleague thing, getting to know an Avenger before you join. What you hadn’t expected was the chivalry, the humour he had and the pure joy you felt around him.

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up at 7?” Steve tells you, watching you nod before you help civilians get out of the streets, disappearing out of sight.

Ever since seeing you then, you were all Steve could think about. When he travelled back to Brooklyn for old times sake, he wandered the streets he used to walk with Bucky, laugh with him as he struggled to breathe properly. No one noticed Steve, turned their heads to look at him. Despite the passing of time, he didn’t stand out.

And then he saw her. Her brunette hair pinned in curls, that pencil skirt with heels as she stood in the street, holding a gun. Steve watched as a younger version of himself darted toward her, saving her from being hit by the car.

He watched, seeing her defiance even then before she fully knew him. He could see the blush crossing her cheeks, the corners of her lips rising.

Steve stood still as he hid in the shadows, watching his former self walk alongside Peggy. He knew he still owed her that dance. Maybe now he could finally give her that last promise.

But Steve couldn’t. All he could think about was the girl back home, waiting on that date in 2012. He thought about the memories you shared together, the life you had that was filled with terror and excitement like nothing else. He missed Peggy, but he longed for you.

Releasing you from his hold, your hands slide into his as you look up at him in disbelief. “You came back?” You question, watching as he chuckles softly to you.

“What made you think I wouldn’t?” Steve questions in response, raising an eyebrow.

He watches your face drop, your hands slipping out of his. “I thought Peggy was the love of your life.” You tell him gently, ignoring the strings holding your heart beginning to be cut away. “I, I thought you wouldn’t miss the chance to be with her, start over.” You explain, having envisioned everything so clearly.

Steve slowly shakes his head. “I did love Peggy, but I realised there was more for me waiting back home.” He reaches out to you, but you pull away

“But, I don’t understand, Steve.” You sigh. “I, I don’t know what I want in life. I don’t know if I want kids, a family a, a life like that.” You ramble, unsure of your words as you fear Steve has left everything for you. “Please don’t tell me you gave everything up for me.” You plead, watching as Steve lowers his gaze to the ground.

“I didn’t give anything up, Y/n.” He speaks slowly, trying to find the right words to use. “I came back for myself, to see what I can have in this life with you. I’m not telling you to change your path to fit mine, all I’m saying is that, that I love you.”

You lift your head up, turning back to face Steve. “You love me?” You whisper, not believing the words that left his lips.

“I’ve loved you since 2014. After I nearly saw you die at the hands of the winter soldier, I knew I couldn’t imagine life without you. When I went back, I saw you in 2012, the battle of New York. You asked me if I was still on for pizza.”

A small laugh escapes your lips, making you smile at the memories of that unanticipated date. “I didn’t know what I was getting myself into clearly.” You joked uneasily, watching Steve step closer toward you.

“Are you glad I’m home?” He questions, something he wondered about when he returned, not seeing you stood where he left you.

You step closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I couldn’t be happier, I was just worried you were giving everything up.” You tell him quietly. “But I guess it means I can tell you that I love you, without trying to guilt-trip you.”

“Come on, just kiss already!” You hear Sam yell from beside Bucky who simply rolls his eyes, silently agreeing with him for once.

Glancing over your shoulder, you flip Sam off. “We’re having a moment Sam, give us a break.” You joke before turning back to Steve. “I’m glad you’re home, Cap.” You rise onto your tiptoes, leaning in close to kiss him softly.

As your lips part, Steve’s he hums in content. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

1K notes · View notes

strippermuffins · 4 years ago

Text

Monday Fairytale

“Shit, I’m short.”

Y/N glanced at the cashier of the bagel truck with a wry smile with just slightest hint of reassurance that she was in fact trying her best to not claw through her handbag just to make up the remaining fifty cents.

Fifty cents. That was how much she was short of. She felt every single penny wrap around her neck in a godforsaken noose— more so for holding up the line than not popping by the ATM to have cash on her.

“Ma’am, if you could just—“

“I got it, I got it,” she frantically replied, using up all of her pre-caffeinated sanity to sound composed even as the contents of her wallet screamed in desolation. “Just give me a second, I’m so sorry.”

“Lady, just step to the side,” a nasally complaint from certainly the man behind her— one that accompanied a scowl, she was sure— leered around her. Y/N would usually just shrug off the attitude. She lives in a big city. Absolutely no one has the time to be nice or patient, but she was panicking.

Y/N dreaded the thought that fifty cents might be one of the few things she would ever ask any figure at all pertaining a higher power. She had no time to beat any other rush hour breakfast line except this one.

“No, miss,” a voice embodying the euphoria that overtakes your forehead after a good painkiller replaced the commotion of impatient customers. “I insist. It happens, I’m happy to cover this for you.”

Y/N stepped to the side almost immediately just so she could have the foot space to turn around in pure amazement at the modern day angel who had just stepped in to declare his menial—but life-changing— philantrophy.

Before she could even utter a word of gratefulness, it seemed the cashier shared in her shock as the sharply dressed man next to her handed over a sizable stack of notes.

Gods above and devils below— he was stratospherically handsome.

Another moment of panic had set in as Y/N feared that she was in a dream and that she could be any way later than she already was for her meeting. She had seen her fair share of happiness and tragedies in this ancient metropolis, but handsome men in expensive office attire were strictly reserved for movies.

His medium grey shirt adorned each detail of his uncannily perfect upper body as if the tailor had a marble sculpture of the man to work off from. His stature was tied together beautifully with pants of a slightly darker shade that Y/N would not have been able to pin on a spectrum and a belt of which she had no doubt the morning sunlight must have drawn inspiration from.

“Hey, pal,” the same nasally voice shredded her momentary day dream, and she was now able to see that it in fact came from the scoundrel behind the subject of her Monday bliss— which in theory sounded oddly paradoxical. “I appreciate the chivalry but—“

“This should cover everyone, right?” The gentleman continued, politely swatting away the interruption like a pesky fly on a hot summer day. “Just give me that one over there. I’m good with that.”

Y/N hoped that he wouldn’t notice at all that she was still in pure awe at his abnormal generosity. The bagel line that extended close to the entrance of the apartment building nearby went from being annoyed at her incompetence to otherworldly charmed by this knight in Hugo Boss shining armor.

She couldn’t have seen the man politely handing over her order the next second as he excused himself from the line. Y/N could see that the cashier was still trailing her eyes in shock at the abnormality of wealth distribution on a godforsaken Monday morning.

“And this is yours, I believe,” the handsome man joked. Y/N chuckled softly as she took the paper bag from his hands and she could swear back and forth that he was magnetic. “Don’t worry about that guy. I have to get going now, though. Have a nice day.”

Y/N could have sworn he lingered his gaze on her just a little longer. It seemed that her manners had gone silent, but before she could part her lips just enough to say thank you— since a situation involving her slamming him against the lamp post in an impromptu makeout session wasn’t appropriate— he disappeared with one last smile into his chauffeured black Benz.

Y/N walked in pure awe towards her office building for the next few blocks as she both tried to demolish her meal without smiling too hard. This had to have been a fever dream or just that one instance in life when the cinematic universe bleeds over for corporate hamsters like her to feel less awful about their glass office prisons.

She hadn’t noticed that she was still smiling ear to ear until her manager, forcibly called Bang P.D of his own coercion and no one else’s, stopped her in her tracks.

“What the hell are you so chirpy about, sunshine?” He snapped, lumping a stack of paperwork right on her desk. The coffee in her hand would have met the floor had she not resumed her usual Monday dread.

“Nothing,” Y/N muttered, shoveling the stacks to her end of the table. “Just in a good mood.”

“Hopefully that carries on in the meeting later,” he scoffed, turning his heel to exit her office. “If you don’t get Kim Seokjung to sign on with us, you can get acquainted with the water cooler again.”

Monday morning was never properly settled without an empty threat from Bang P.D. Y/N was almost grateful that her fairytale bliss was disappearing. Smiles are rarely ever genuine in corporate and she hated to kid herself.

Y/N was never going to see this guy again. He probably had a woman waiting for him to be a million times more chivalrous to that he had to rush to see. She was just a lucky commoner caught in the threads of his charming web.

She had underestimated the bliss, really. It trailed her to the meeting room shortly after and the mile high view of the park and skyscrapers below only heightened her little euphoria. The rich— especially the handsome bunch— really do know how to capture the commoners by the heartstrings, it seems.

“Wipe that glee off your face or Bang P.D will do it with his forced overtime, Y/N,” Nayeon, her co-worker and the closest concept she has to a friend in this lonely city, pinched her gently. “Seriously, some of us are miserable. Kim Seokjung is a dickhead and if he cancels today, it will be the third time.”

“Someone paid for my bagel,” Y/N whined, glancing at Nayeon with a small smile. “And for everyone else in line as well.”

“Crack? Is that what you do, Y/N?” Nayeon hushed, shooting her an affectionate yet snarly glare. “That literally never happens.”

“I’m telling you it did,” Y/N insisted, keeping her expressions as complacent as possible as her colleagues began to take their seats. “Though remind me to never go to Riley’s again. What kind of food truck doesn’t take cards these days? After a pandemic too.”

“One that actually makes good food, dumbass,” Nayeon retorted, shaking her head softly at her friend. “You got lucky this time.”

“Yeah, well. I’m hoping the good karma carries on so Bang P.D doesn’t chain you and me all week for fucking this deal up.”

“Way to go. Keep your spirits alive, Y/N. You can do that for a bagel but not a deal that could help you move out of that prehistoric relic.”

“My place is exceptionally tasteful. Excuse you!”

“By that you mean derelict and musky— and not the good kind! You just willingly walk up five stairs. Couldn’t be me.”

The girls laughed among themselves for the few seconds of fleeting happiness they were allowed. Nayeon was right. If Kim Seokjung bails and chooses another PR firm for his book tour, Y/N would for sure become acquainted with the water cooler and the staff room dish rack. She was the one who brought him on to try and make a name for herself, but it seemed she had not picked the right old money know it all with an out of touch book and too much dough to blow.

“Look alive, ladies,” Bang P.D snapped his fingers towards them. Y/N had gotten over the disrespectful threshold. She wasn’t a human in his eyes anyway. “He bailed again. His brother is filling in.”

And neither Y/N or Nayeon knew. The girls turned to face each other in pure panic as they had not been notified prior. The fear in their eyes seemed to inquire which of their incompetence allowed for this to happen.

“Chill,” Bang P.D continued. “I didn’t know either. He literally called in just this morning. I’m just ready to wrap this over with. Kim Seokjung could send his damn poodle at this point.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint, then.”

All the heads in the room collectively whipped around to behold the owner of the apologetic statement. Y/N gulped as her eyes widened like saucers at the sight of the handsome man who took care of the bagel rotting in her stomach.

“No fucking way,” she thought to herself, the realization blaring in her eardrums.

Kim Seokjung had a brother and he was the man who gave the cashier at a bagel truck a stack just to make time move faster for him. Kim Seokjung had a brother who was punctual and funny.

“Tiki, his poodle, would make a better co-signer than me, but I was told you needed a human,” he continued.

A soft laughter roared through the room, and Y/N giggled to herself simply because she had never seen Bang P.D panic before.

So much so that she almost didn’t take notice of the handsome man locking his gaze with her briefly— as if he too was pleasantly surprised to see her again. She didn’t know if she was just adamant to get it all over with, but she held his gaze long enough to whisper a soft thank-you-for-this-morning to the multimillionaire bagel philanthropist north of her seat.

He shook his head as if his gesture was just so normal in his routine, and Y/N swore he kept his eyes on her long enough to ignite just a faint hue of blush on her cheeks.

Nayeon swiveled her focus back and forth from her and the handsome man. Y/N knew that she must have figured out the whole ordeal because she slumped in her chair and rolled her eyes with a smile.

“I’m Kim Seokjin,” the handsome man gave a name to his otherworldly existence. “You probably haven’t seen me around at all because I like to sort of manage in the background, but I would just like to apologize for my brother’s previous tardiness. Truly I’ve tried all my life and still can’t contain it, so I will fully sign once and for all today. The proposal is excellent. May I know who initiated it?”

“She did,” Nayeon perked, directing his gaze yet again towards Y/N. “All of it. Her name is Y/N.”

Bang P.D looked both dejected and furious that he even pinned all of the responsibility on her. Y/N could only manage a small smile as she nodded and affirmed her work.

“Very well, then,” Seokjin nodded, uncapping his fountain pen as she glanced at her for every dotted line he glided his name across. “Am I able to discuss more about the terms with you after this meeting, Y/N?”

“She would love to,” Nayeon interjected once again, to both the dismay and gratefulness of Y/N of course. “In fact I think she could benefit from someone who listens. She doesn’t get much of that around here. Hah.”

Hah. Nayeon made sure to always end every valid observation as a joke as nobody else in the office understood her brand of snarky humor as well as Y/N.

Y/N was simply just overwhelmed with relief that her gamble had paid off in the best way possible that it was even hard to accept so much satisfaction with her work. It didn’t come from Bang P.D and she wws all too grateful for that.

“She’s right,” Y/N finally spoke. “I could go over the clauses after.”

Y/N could feel Nayeon’s deadpan that’s-it from beside her. Y/N wasn’t as brave as Nayeon. She wasn’t some old money graduate who could treat this job like a past time and get away with so many snarky remarks. Even in the face of a literal old money angel, she had to be professional.

“Okay, well,” Seokjin dropped the pen back into his shirt pocket. “Meeting adjourned now, yes? I apologize once again. If not me then I’ll make sure my brother enjoys your consideration.”

The staff could not wait to wrap up their supplies upon the dismissal, and Bang P.D practically pulled Seokjin up by his shoulders just for a handshake. Nayeon had joined the rest of the crowd as they shuffled out of the office, and once Y/N could catch that heart fluttering gaze of his again, she mouthed she would be right in her office whenever Bang P.D was done with his overwhelming gratefulness.

Seokjin knocked on the glass in the same manner a confident yet slightly timid schoolboy would on his way to make an impression with his crush. Y/N was sure he had swindled many like her before, but there was an air of genuine intent surrounding him as he made his way to sit in front of her.

“I hope you had a warm welcome,” Y/N began, glancing over to the side for a split second to see Nayeon looming over with a coffee mug in her hand and an encouraging brow raise.

“I sure did,” Seokjin replied, his hands individually and politely resting on the arm rests. “It’s not everyday I try and help a beautiful woman and I see her later with a manager that would have liked me to be a poodle.”

“Well,” Y/N continued. “It’s not everyday I meet a bagel enthusiast somewhat bent that I wrote an astounding PR proposal. So much so he has to see me alone.”

Seokjin shook his hand and still so politely laughed at her professional dismissiveness. If he was marvelously gorgeous at ground level, he was hard to not melt at the sight of on the 60th floor. Y/N had no idea Kim Seokjung had more to offer than tardiness. She was entirely too grareful he never showed up.

“I am quite serious about that. Thank you for seeing the potential so many others turned down. I know he’s my brother and I’m almost always inclined to be biased, but with you and your team on our side I think I will perhaps sleep better.”

“Why is that so?”

“He’s not exactly easy to make likable. I don’t like him most days.”

“I have a strong bias and inclination that you are the opposite most days, Mr Kim.”

“Most days, Miss Y/N?”

And if Nayeon had instilled anything in her at all, it all boiled down to this next tongue-in-cheek catch.

“All of them if you’d like to hear that.”

Seokjin clasped his hands together gently and eagerly leaned forward as if there was no one on earth he would rather speak to but her.

“And would it be formal of me to formally invite you for dinner with me tonight whenever you and I can meet as Jin and Y/N?”

“I—,” Y/N was struggling to meet his eyes as confidently as she had been prior to this romantic proposition. She wanted badly to say yes, of course, but Y/N was never someone who approached flirtation with her brain. It was always with her issues, and she could feel his warm gaze dropping ever so slightly at her clear hesitation. She did not want him to think he was rejected, but she had herself to think of first.

It wasn’t entirely rushed that he had signed the proposal so quick. Her firm had been delayed a few times that everyone on the team, including the janitor, could recite the clauses by heart. Nayeon and her had a firm plan to approach everything. She was well within her professional competence and his interest in her came out of a kind curiosity than forcible persuasion.

Her work was very, very unlikely to be interrupted. Seokjin approved of the terms and expressed his satisfaction prior to knowing that it was her who drafted it. He really was unequivocally interested in her for her and whatever enticing demeanor she radiated from the bagel instance until now.

So why was she hesitating so much? Even if all societal connotations were eliminated, it would not be so abnormal for her to just say yes.

“Y/N, you know exactly why,” the voice in her head interrupted, causing her eager smile to hang onto her hesitation just a little longer.

She had seen many hopeful interns and young professionals walk to their cubicles looking dreary and defeated beyond just corporate dread too many times. She and Nayeon have had to push past the lines at the clubs and rescue one too many dreamy-eyed youngbloods trying to fix their broken hearts by killing their livers.

However, it seemed that Nayeon in this current moment had every intention to murder Y/N in broad daylight if she didn’t agree. She had figured out the situation from meters away and threw a deathly, coercive scowl towards Y/N as her claws sunk unintentionally into the forearm of an unsuspecting male intern.

“I will kill you,” Nayeon mouthed, scrunching her lips as she urged Y/N to agree— a feat Nayeon had never shown before due to her unassailable distaste for the male species.

But Nayeon was from the same old money circle as Seokjin’s. She had to have known a few things Y/N could never grasp.

Even more simple than all of this mental gymnastics— her heart tugged at the sight of him. He was a hopeful boy shooting his shot at a girl he was interested in.

“Well...” Y/N began, relaxing her shoulders as she pushed her chair further. “I work very hard so I most likely won’t be too cute when I get off, but does 8pm work for you?

“8pm has never worked better,” Seokjin sighed in relief as if he had been hanging onto every breath that she drew. “Please come as you are. I’ll be happy to see you however.”

The content on his face was paramount. The kind of happiness for someone who anticipated a rejection but was grateful the universe ended up on their side. Y/N wondered if a man Seokjin ever got rejected before, and if he has then it had to have surely been someone who eclipsed her in terms of... well, literally everything.

This led her to a train of doubt Nayeon had taught her not to have. Why was Seokjin even interested in her? And why in god’s name can she not put a finger on where she had seen him before? He looked far too familiar and it was an observation she had not deduced prior.

If all rich and handsome men shared the same features, Y/N thought Seokjin had the créme de la créme.

Y/N hadn’t noticed that he seemed to have snapped out of his own daze of being entranced with her, much to her own surprise. He uncapped that marvelous fountain pen again and handed it over to her alongside his business card.

“Please give me your number,” he requested, looking once again nervous and Y/N once again wondered why. “I want to let you know I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

Y/N couldn’t help but relax her shoulders and laugh endearingly at his wonderfully timid disposition. She took the pen from his hands and touted quietly to herself that her number had never looked more beautifully written. Seokjin took his business card from her and gently put it back into his suit pocket alongside the pen.

“I wish I could look at you longer, Y/N,” he spoke softly, his shoulders hunched eagerly forward in the same manner as when he asked her out. “But I’m horrifically late for my next meeting. I’ll pick you up in the lobby at 8pm.”

“You best get going then!” Y/N blurted, not really wanting him to leave— if at all— but rather out of worry that she might be a minor inconvenience. Even if the younger brother of the richest family in Seoul had just asked her out.

Seokjin dropped his smile ever so slightly at her accidental dismissal, and Y/N shook her head like she had never wanted anyone to think otherwise so badly.

“No, no,” she insisted, chuckling softly at her own insolence. “I mean, I can’t wait to see you as well. I usually don’t agree often if at all, but the pandemic is over. Might as well take a chance, right?”

Y/N could see that Nayeon’s jaw had dropped in pure shock at what had just exited her lips. It was as if she could detect the curtness of her words from across the office. Call it a best friend’s intuition.

“Oh, if she’s not gonna kill me, she’ll at least strangle me for this,” Y/N thought to herself, hoping Seokjin at least found her dryness somewhat humorous.

It was if the heavens listened to her because he too started laughing as his gaze lingered on her the whole time he left his seat and walked slowly towards the door.

“I promise I’ll let you know more when I see you again, Y/N,” he wished her well, his smile reaching his eyes as they twinkled towards her. “Until then... have a day as beautiful as you are.”

Before another word could exit her lips, he bowed ever so slightly and left with his bodyguard by his side. She hadn’t even noticed that the guy was there, but she did notice the lingering gaze on Seokjin’s face even as he headed towards the elevator. She could not help but display the same hopefulness to let him know that she too couldn’t wait as well.

When his marvelous stature disappeared in the elevator, Y/N had never wanted to work harder just so the hours could fly fast enough until she could look into those capitative brown eyes again.

What else could have wanted to tell her that it was best saved for later?

36 notes · View notes