#he told me he’d write a letter back once he had some time to reread it and think it over | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

griffintail · 4 years

Note

I had this idea, I dunno if it’s dumb or not, but I figured if anyone knew it would be you! Y’know, cause you seem like you know way more than me about all these mcyt guys and gals? Anyways, I saw that a lot of people headcanon that Shlatt was Tubbo’s dad, and seeing all those dad!Shlatt AUs gave me an idea:

What if after Shlatt’s dead, after things have settled, after Tubbo becomes president and spends most of his time cleaning up the messes and mistakes Shlatt left behind- he discovers he wasn’t Shlatt’s only child. He finds handwritten letters in Shlatt’s files from a distant village, all of them fairly recent, asking him for child support money, or asking him to take “his mistake” with him. But the last letter Tubbo finds is a typed one informing Shlatt that the woman who sent all the previous letters has died, and that he has 1 month to come collect his child, or they’ll become a ward of the state; it’s been roughly 2 and a half weeks since that letter arrived. How would Tubbo react to all of this, and more importantly, would he take on the responsibility of becoming his new sibling’s guardian?

I don’t know how I became the person to come to for this lol. I hope you enjoy!

The Girl with the Horns

Pairings: Brother! Tubbo x Child! F! Reader

Warnings: Mentions of emotional abuse, Implied Buillying, Swearing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tubbo looked up the old White House building, taking a deep breath before going in. Inside, he immediately scrunched up his nose at the familiar smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke.

“Damn it, dad.” He muttered under his breath before starting to clean up the building.

He said he’d clean the building out himself as his father was the one who trashed it and now was that day. A lot of his presidency was cleaning up Schlatt’s mistakes before he even ran the rest of his new country. He sighed as he put another empty bottle in a trash bag. Schlatt had really lost it running things.

Slowly but surely, Tubbo was able to get the White House to a much cleaner state. He was now in the main office and was searching the drawers for his father's inevitable “secret” booze stashes when he found some handwritten letters tucked in the very back of the drawer. Frowning, Tubbo took them out and saw them all addressed to Schlatt.

Sitting down, Tubbo read the letter on top and his eyes went wide, back going straight as he reread the words before him.

I want money for this child you helped bring into this world!

A child?

The rest of the letter was talking about asking for child support and Tubbo was floored. Quickly, he read the next letter and it was much of the same, demanding Schlatt to take responsibility.

“Holy shit…” Tubbo muttered. “I got…I got a sibling?”

He made his way through the rest of the letters, his heart clenching when the woman writing the letters called his poor sibling a mistake or made stabs at Schlatt.

Then the last letter was a lot more formal. It was stamped with an official seal and dated. Schlatt had opened it as told by the broken seal but had obviously also put the letter back without a care after reading. Tubbo’s breath hitched as he read the letter though.

Dear Mr. Jschlatt:

We are sorry to inform you Miss Trentha has passed in an accident.

Behind, she has left a five-year-old (Y/N), of which in our records has your name on her birth papers. We will give you a month’s time to make a decision; after, we will have no choice but to send (Y/N) to become a ward of the state.

Tubbo quickly looked at the date of when the letter was sent.

“Two and a half weeks!” Tubbo exclaimed as he jumped up. “Shit! What should I do?”

He looked around the office he had spent time cleaning trying to process everything at once, words failing him. In a few short moments, he had found out he wasn’t an only child, that Schlatt hadn’t even looked back at this girl or her horrible mother, and that the sibling he just found out about was going to become a ward of the state! Schlatt had at least been kind enough to Tubbo to let Philza raise him but this child going into the adoption system…

“I-I got to run L’Manberg. There’s so much to do.” Tubbo ran a hand through his hair as he panicked.

But then Tommy’s words echoed in his head.

You can’t become the next Schlatt.

Schlatt was obviously going to let this child fend for themselves, Tubbo couldn’t be his father. He had to at least meet them. With a new will, he gathered around his friends, and with reassurances that they had L’Manberg covered, Tubbo set off on a horse to the village. It was a good three-day journey, so he’d only have roughly a week left to make his decision of what he was going to do.

Coming to the village, Tubbo took a deep breath as he stared at it. What was she going to be like? She probably didn’t have the best raising based on the letters that the mother sent. Tying up the horse outside the main hall, Tubbo went in, going through the various processes to prove that he was indeed Jschlatt’s child and proving that his father was dead.

After, they took Tubbo to a home where a bunch of children were outside playing but there was one that stood out among them and it wasn’t because she was sitting alone. It was because she had tiny horns on top of her head that were just starting to come in. Tubbo put a hand on his horns that were just starting to curl without thinking.

“That’s (Y/N).” The man that led him here nodded to the little girl.

“She’s five, right?” Tubbo asked.

“Yes. She’s not very talkative, but you can introduce yourself to her.”

Tubbo had few guesses why she didn’t want to talk. He went over, a few of the other kids were pointing at him. (Y/N) was using a stick to push images in the dirt, looking up when a shadow got in the way of the sun. Tubbo smiled when he saw her surprise when she looked up at him, he sitting next to her, wearing his casual wear rather than his suit.

“Hi. I’m Tubbo.” He introduced himself to her.

(Y/N) was silent as she stared obviously at his horns. “You have horns…”

“Yeah, I do. I’m a ram just like you.”

“Really?” She met his eyes now.

“Mhm. I, uh, I actually knew your dad because he was my dad.”

She shifted as she looked back at the ground. “Daddy was a bad man.”

Tubbo winced, putting a hand on his neck. “Why do you say that?”

“Mommy use to say that.”

“Ah. Well…dad wasn’t the greatest, I agree. It wasn’t nice for him to leave you alone.”

The little girl was silent and Tubbo tried to think of a subject change.

“Do you like drawing?”

She nodded. “Mommy wouldn’t let me use paper but I like drawing in the dirt.”

“Oh…do you…have any friends?”

She put a hand on one of her little horns and he immediately understood.

“I get it.” He smiled gently, putting a hand on his horn. “I didn’t have a lot of friends until I met my best friend Tommy. I’m sure you will find some friends.”

His heart melted as she gave him her first small smile. “I hope so.”

He sat with her just talking away, the time passing so fast without either of them knowing as they talked. He felt like he learned so much but so little about her; yet, he loved every moment sitting with her. She had to go back with the other children of the orphanage but within a few hours, Tubbo made up his mind. He couldn’t leave this little girl with everyone else; he’d take her back to L’Manberg.

So, in the morning, Tubbo put on his suit to be professional and he did the paperwork before waiting for them to bring (Y/N). (Y/N) came in timidly and Tubbo smiled gently as he crouched in front of her.

“Hey, so, I don’t want to leave without you, would you like to come with me? I can introduce you to a few of my good friends.”

“…They’re all nice like you, right?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, a few of them are pretty nice.”

She looked around but nodded. “Ok.”

He grinned as he stood up. “Then I’m going to take you back to my home.”

They got the few things that she owned and Tubbo put them on the horse. After, Tubbo changed into more appropriate riding clothes before getting on with (Y/N).

“Alright, here we go.” He muttered before getting the horse to go.

Off they went to L’Manberg, Tubbo making sure they had shelter each night. It was a bit stressful for Tubbo on these few days. He had gotten used to not eating every day but he had to remember now to make sure (Y/N) ate. He also had to remember this was boring as hell for her so he tried his best to make little games as they galloped along. There was a point he went off on a bee tangent for half an hour after spotting one and pouted to himself when he saw (Y/N) had fallen asleep against him but he kept an arm wrapped around her so she didn’t fall off.

As he got back to L’Manberg, he huffed as he saw Tommy and Fundy arguing as Quackity was laughing, Ranboo standing to the side awkwardly. Yeah, that’s how he expected his cabinet to act with him gone. He tied up his horse, grabbing (Y/N)’s things before taking her hand as he walked over to them. As the pair went over, (Y/N) hide behind him shyly.

“Guys!” Tubbo called.

“Tubbo! Tell this furry bitch—” Tommy started.

“Oh, fuck off Tommy!” Fundy shouted back.

They started having another go.

“GUYS!” Tubbo shouted, making (Y/N) jump with the rest of the group. “I have someone for you to meet, so can you shut it?”

Tommy spotted the little girl peeking out from behind Tubbo, noticing the horns first.

“Holy shit, she has horns like yours.” Tommy went around Tubbo.

“Yeah, this is (Y/N), she’s my little sister.”

“A sister?!” Tommy looked at Tubbo surprised.

Tubbo nodded. “I adopted her.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s a long story but I’m back and I’m got to bring her to my house,” Tubbo told them before walking off, feeling the little girl squeeze his hand tighter, probably getting overwhelmed.

They got to Tubbo’s house and he looked around.

“Er…You can have my room. I’ll need to make you a room.” He smiled at her.

“Ok…thank you.”

He patted her head between her horns. “I couldn’t leave you behind sis. Let’s get you settled in and I can make us some steak. Sound good?”

She nodded.

Tubbo knew it would be stressful learning to take care of another human while he had to run a nation but he had his friends to help him. He hoped he could do all this right.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt fanfiction #tubbo x reader #dreamsmp #dreamsmp x reader

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hercleverboy · 4 years

Text

persistence

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ when spencer finds out that the reader has a stalker, he is determined to not let history repeat itself.

category ↠ angst/fluff

warnings/includes ↠ stalker-like activity, death threats, few swear words, descriptions of blood, puking, spencer being kinda emotionally manipulative

word count ↠ 8.2k

“Normality is a paved road. It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow.”-- Vincent Van Gogh

Y/N stared down at the letter in her hands. Her fingers trembled, tears blurring her vision as she reread the words over and over. Written in an ominous red ink, a chicken-scratch-like writing filled the page.

‘If I can’t have you, no one can.’

It had all started two months ago.

First, it was the dark blue Sedan that she began noticing sat across the street from her apartment complex. Of course it easily could’ve belonged to one of the many people who lived in the complex, or perhaps even a friend of theirs. At first, it went unnoticed by her. It was only when she started taking note of the hours it was parked there that she began to get slightly concerned.

8am to 8pm. Every single day.

Like clockwork.

She’d peak through her living room curtains at 8am, and watch the car pull into its usual spot. It wouldn’t move all day but as soon as it struck 8pm, it left again- only to return the next day.

However, ever the sceptic, she didn’t want to blow the situation out of proportion. Her mind came up with countless possibilities. The owner was staying with a friend who lived close by (but then why would the car not be there overnight?), or perhaps it was an plain-clothed officer doing some form of undercover work? Honestly, there was nothing she hadn’t considered. So while the presence of the unexplainable car was a little unnerving, it wasn’t enough to make her paranoid.

The paranoia began when sheets of paper began being posted through her letterbox. They always came between the times that the blue car was parked outside, and had only a few words on each one that was delivered.

‘I’ve been watching you, you know.’

‘You’re so beautiful.’

‘That boyfriend of yours, does he hold you like I did?’

‘Does he touch you like I did?’

Whilst they weren’t exactly threats, they were enough to set her skin alight. She was constantly looking over her shoulder, jumpy and paranoid.

Spencer noticed it, too.

He’d seen the subtle change in his girlfriend’s body language, but didn’t want to push her on the matter. He had asked once, but she’d reassured him that she was fine. So he decided that he’d let her confide in him when she was ready, but that didn’t mean that this change in behaviour didn’t make his heart ache.

He was a profiler, one of the best, he knew the behavioural tells that signalled fear.

So what was she so afraid of?

Then the phone calls started.

Y/N heard the buzz of her phone, assuming it was Spencer calling. He was out of state on a case, but he always called to check up on her, or to notify her he was almost home. Although they didn’t live together yet, Spencer spent most of his spare time at her apartment. (He’d joked once that it was because her place was bigger than his, but really it was because his work took him away from her so often that he wanted to spend any spare minute he could with her.)

Reaching for the device, she frowned as she saw ‘Unknown Number’ flash across the screen.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

and then she heard it.

Heavy, husky breathing on the other end of the line.

The caller didn’t speak.

Unease filled her as she pulled the phone away from her ear and hung up. She placed her phone down beside her, biting down on her bottom lip as she attempted to rationalise what’d just happened.

Probably a butt dial, or maybe even a wrong number?

She pushed it to the back of her mind, distracting herself so that she wouldn’t have to confirm what she already knew was true.

The second call came two days later.

Spencer had returned earlier that day from an exhausting but overall successful case. He hadn’t even stopped by his place after landing, instead opting to go straight to Y/N’s apartment, unable to contain his excitement of seeing her for the first time in a week.

He let himself in with the key she’d given him for their one year anniversary, as he quietly made his way into the home. He called out her name, announcing his presence so she’d know he was home.

When she didn’t come to greet him in the hallway, or even call back to let him know she’d heard him he frowned. He slipped off his shoes before moving down the hallway, his eyes finally landing on her figure in the living room. She was stood by the large window that overlooked the street below them, her phone pressed to her ear. Spencer took in her body language, noting how her shoulders were tensed, and how the hand not holding her phone was gripping tightly onto the curtains as she peaked between them.

The unknown caller hung up, and Y/N looked down at her phone in her hand, eyes welling with tears- still unaware of Spencer’s presence behind her.

“Y/N?” He asked quietly, trying not to startle her but still managing to.

She shrieked, turning around to face him, relief filling her features as she saw the familiar sight of her boyfriend. She forced a smile on her lips and pushed her worries away, wiping the tears from her cheeks quickly and hoping he hadn’t already seen them. “Spence! God, I’m sorry. I didn’t notice you were home.” She chuckled.

His frown only deepened as he moved toward her. “Is everything okay? Who was that on the phone?”

Y/N’s breath hitched as she quickly came up with an excuse. “Oh, It was no-one.” She waved it off, hoping she’d played it off well enough to ease his worry.

Once he reached her he put his arms around her, enveloping her in a tight hug, his arms around her waist. She sighed, hugging him back with her arms around his neck.

He nuzzled his face into her neck, placing a kiss there that was so soft and delicate that it almost moved her to tears. “You know you can tell me anything, right? If something’s bothering you or worrying you then you don’t have to keep it to yourself. I’m here.” He whispered.

“I know.” She whispered back, squeezing him gently to comfort herself. “Thank you.”

Truth is, she knew she could tell Spencer what was happening. She knew that he would immediately inform his team, and with their wonderful minds and Garcia’s infinite systems, they’d have their unsub within days. So what was stopping her?

or more specifically, who was stopping her?

The answer would be Maeve, the woman that Spencer once loved, who he lost so suddenly and so tragically. She’d heard what had happened, and had comforted Spencer when he cried as he told her of the only other woman he’d ever loved, apart from Y/N. He’d confided in her about Maeve around four months into their relationship, and Y/N was grateful that Spencer trusted her enough to tell her such a thing. Losing the person you loved like that? Y/N couldn’t fathom it. Her heart ached for Spencer, and the heartbreak he’d endured.

She didn’t want to worry him over what might be nothing. After what happened with Maeve, she didn’t want to make him suffer all that again, to make him think that it was all happening again. She never wanted to be the reason for his hurt, and she knew that telling him is exactly what it would do- make him anxious, worried. She knew her boyfriend like the back of her hand. He’d go into overdrive trying to protect her, to prevent what happened to Maeve from happening to her. But still, she refused to be the one that set those events into motion. She knew it was stupid, he boyfriend was in the FBI- who are exactly the type of people you’d go to if you had a stalker.

She had tried to tell him a few times but when she opened her mouth to say the words, nothing would come out.

The final straw was the letters.

The first one was pushed through her letterbox on a Friday afternoon. Spencer was at work, thankfully only on a paperwork day instead of being called for a case. There was no name or address on the front of the letter.

She felt sick. Immediately she knew it was from him. At least she presumed it was a ‘he’, from the possessive tone of voice in the notes.

She ripped it open, taking out the letter. It was a single sheet of paper, both sides filled with that chicken scratch writing. Her eyes skimmed over the words written before her, tears blurring her vision. It was a love letter. Her stalker even gave her a nickname, ‘Dove’.

‘My darling dove, you were made for me.’

‘My love for you knows no bounds.’

‘You’ve got such a beautiful laugh, I’ve heard it.’

‘And your skin, so perfect, so soft looking. I’d love to run my fingers along your-’

Y/N let the letter drop to the floor as she felt the bile rise in her throat, dashing to the bathroom and throwing up her stomach contents in the toilet.

She felt sickened. She couldn’t bring herself to read what was left of the letter, instead screwing it up and throwing it away. The words she had read haunted her, made her feel disgusting. She spent hours in the shower that night, as though she was scrubbing his filthy words off of her skin.

The letters continued, and with each one, the comments became more and more repulsive. Instead of declaring his undying love for her, her stalker began to get enraged. With each letter he became increasingly angrier, and it shook Y/N to her core.

‘You whore, I could hear your moaning for that little boyfriend of yours from across the street’

‘When I get my hands on you, you’ll be begging for me to show you mercy’

‘I’ve protected you, watched over you! I’ve taken care of you for months now and this is how you repay me?’

‘Fucking dirty slut. I’ll kill you for that.’

‘What a shame it would be for that pretty flesh to be torn so carelessly, but it seems I’ll have to teach you a lesson, dove.’

‘You’ve made a mistake, choosing him over me.’

All of those led to one final letter.

Written in red ink, eight simple words with a sinister underlying message.

‘If I can’t have you, no one can.’

Dropping the paper as though it had burned her, she desperately tried to slow the breaths that were increasing rapidly, willing the air to fill her lungs.

The realisation hit her like a freight train.

She was in danger, real danger. Now that her life had been threatened, she knew she couldn’t hide it any longer.

No matter the consequences, she had to come clean to Spencer.

She scrambled around her apartment, grabbing any evidence she had in the form of letters/threats and made sure she had her phone so she could show them the phone calls from an unknown number.

She glanced out the window to the street below. It was only midday, and she could see the familiar blue Sedan parked opposite her complex. She just had to get to her car safely, which should be a relatively easy task, given the numerous people who were walking down the bustling street- the perks of living on a main road.

She made it to her car thankfully unscathed, locking the doors behind her. She didn’t dare look across the road at the car, afraid of what, or who she would see. As she drove to the BAU, she anxiously tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. She anticipated what Spencer’s reaction was going to be- he’d be angry, definitely. Y/N was torn, she wanted to stand by the decision she’d made two months prior to not involve her boyfriend with what was going on, but now she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d made a poor choice. If she’d have told Spencer earlier, things would’ve been resolved. But by telling him the truth, she couldn’t help but ponder if she was putting him or his team in danger.

Shaking her head clear the thoughts, she pulled into the car park that was next to the building. Taking a few deep breaths, she grabbed her bag and headed toward the buildings’ entrance. Her palms were sweaty and her throat was dry. What the hell was she going to say? ‘Hey Spence, I have a stalker who’s threatening to kill me that I neglected to tell you about, how’s your day going?’

After being granted access at the front desk, she was given a visitors badge and headed up to the sixth floor of the building. As she stood alone in the elevator, she tried to take a few breaths, feeling the familiar clawing at the back of her throat that indicated she was close to breaking down. She’d been holding it together for so long, been so fucking scared for so long.

As soon as the doors opened she was greeted with the smiling face of one Penelope Garcia.

When Spencer and her had begun dating he brought Y/N along to one of Rossi’s pasta nights and the whole team immediately took a liking to her, especially after seeing how happy she made Spencer. However Penelope in particular absolutely adored Y/N, and the two had even hung out together a few times.

Garcia gasped with a grin as the doors opened. “My sweet Y/N! I got the notification that you’d checked in downstairs and thought I’d come greet you!” She moved toward her, hugging Y/N tightly. “Are you here to see our boy wonder? He’s around here somewhere-” She pulled back when she noticed the tenseness in Y/N’s shoulders. When Garcia met her teary eyes she gasped at the sight. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N finally let the tears tremble down her cheeks, reaching into her bag to grab the handfuls of threating letters from the person who’d made her life hell for two long months. She handed them to Garcia, who after years of working that job knew from the first few words what they were dealing with.

Y/N met her worried eyes. “It’s bad, Penny. Really bad.”

Garcia nodded, shocked but still placing a comforting arm on Y/N’s back. “Reid- He never mentioned-”

Y/N shook her head. “I didn’t tell him. I didn’t want him to worry over nothing but- this is the first time he’s threatened my life and I’m scared, Pen. I’m really scared.”

Garcia burst into action, coaxing Y/N with gentle words to head into the bullpen. As soon as they walked through the glass doors, all of the team member’s heads turned toward them. Spencer’s eyes immediately fell on his girlfriend’s tear stained cheeks and within seconds he was by her side.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Are you okay?”

She shook her head, moving forward and wrapping her arms around him. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her, holding her to him as she cried into his chest, her shoulders shaking as she let out everything she’d buried so deep inside.

He looked over at Garcia, bewildered. She simply walked up to Hotch’s office. The team could faintly hear Garcia presenting him with the papers Y/N had brought with her, explaining what she had told her when she arrived.

Minutes later Hotch came out of his office, walking down into the bullpen to where the team all looked at one another, confusion on their features.

“Y/N?” He asked as he approached her, and she pulled back from spencer to see him, wiping her tear stained cheeks. “You’re gonna need to tell us everything. You may be in immediate danger.”

Y/N nodded and Hotch headed off toward the round table room, Garcia scurrying in behind him. The rest of the team, with concerned glances to one another, followed into the room. This left Y/N and Spencer alone in the bullpen.

She felt Spencer gripping her hand, squeezing gently. Worry laced in his tone, he moved to stand before her and locked onto her eyes. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

Y/N nodded and cleared her throat, her voice quiet with shame as she spoke. “I have a stalker. He sends letters, calls just to breathe down the line and scare me. In his recent letter, he said he’s gonna kill me.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, his hand dropping from hers and he turning and stalked toward the board room. He had to see the evidence for himself.

He reached the room and the groups gazes all shifted to him, but he could’ve cared less. He reached out for one of the sheets of paper, eyes quickly scanning over the threatening words as Y/N entered the room behind him.

“When did this start, Y/N?” JJ asked, that caring, motherly tone present in her voice.

“About two months ago.”

“Did you notice anything odd about the neighbourhood beforehand? Cars that weren’t normally there, people stood on street corners at odd times of day?” Derek queried, his eyes scanning over some of the notes she’d received.

She nodded. “There was a car I noticed, right at the start. I didn’t think much of it until I started taking note of the timings. It would sit there all day, but be gone overnight. Then it would return the next day.”

“Do remember the colour, or make of car?”

“Yeah, a dark blue Sedan. Then a few days later the phone calls started.”

“Garcia I need you to run through Y/N’s phone records, see if you can trace the number they were calling from.” Hotch ordered and Garcia quickly left the room, heading to her bat cave.

“Here, listen to this.” JJ started, holding up one of the first letters. “I’m doing this because I love you, pretty dove. So very much. It’s okay, you’ll see.” She looked up to her team. “He’s planning something.”

Hotch turned his attention to her. “Y/N’s safety is our primary concern. This unsub seems to have fixated on her, for whatever reason. Y/N, do you have any ex boyfriends or enemies we need to know about?”

“I have five ex’s, but I don’t think any of them would be capable of this.” She reasoned, but there was a seed of doubt in the back of her mind.

At her words, Spencer stood up, slamming the letters down on the table with an audible thud before leaving the room. Y/N stared after him hopelessly, Hotch clearing his throat before speaking again.

“I’ll need a list of their names.”

Derek piped up. “We also need to know locations of spots that you frequent, anywhere you may have met this guy. Coffee shops, restaurants, even the library. No detail is too small, okay?”

Y/N nodded, turning back to stare out the door that Spencer had stormed out of moments before. “I’m just going to go check on him.” She murmured, earning an apologetic smile from JJ.

She found him outside the building, sat on one of the stone steps of the staircase that led up to the buildings entrance. He had his head in his hands, trying to calm down the thoughts that sped through his overworking mind.

She sat beside him, draping his coat that she’d grabbed from his desk over his shoulders to combat the cold winter air. “You’ll catch a cold.” She muttered, offering a small smile as he looked over at her. Despite how he felt, he let the smallest of smiles find its way onto his lips at the comment. She had a stalker threatening her life and she was worried about him catching a cold?

They sat in silence for a little before Y/N broke it. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

“Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault.” He mumbled, looking out to the street, watching people walk by. When Y/N didn’t answer, he spoke again. “You could’ve told me, you know?”

“I know, and I’m sorry I didn’t.” She whispered sincerely.

“Why didn’t you say something, Y/N? I would’ve dropped everything to make sure you were safe.” He promised, trying to make his voice sound strong, but failing as it cracked with his words.

“I didn’t think it was important. He wasn’t threatening at the start, and I thought I could handle it.” Now the words were leaving her mouth, she knew she sounded stupid.

“You didn’t think it was important?” Spencer repeated back to her, his breaths heavy as he failed to understand her reasoning. “Y/N you are the most important thing in the world to me. Okay? Please tell me you know that.” He turned his body toward her.

“I know. I know and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner. It’s just I know- after everything that happened before with Maeve-“ She paused for a moment. “I didn’t want to worry you over nothing.”

His breath hitched when she said Maeve’s name, and Y/N could almost see him replaying the moment he lost her in his mind. The curse of an eidetic memory.

“I’m not going to let that happen to you- no, not you. Never you.” He sniffed, reaching over to take her hand in his.

She nodded, tears filling her eyes once more. She cuddled into his side, her head dropping on his shoulder. She sniffled. “I’m scared, Spencer.”

“It’s okay. He’s not coming anywhere near you, Y/N. I swear to you, he’s not going to hurt you. Not while I’m here.” He brought her hand up and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

Over the next few days, the team spent hours analysing ever piece of evidence Y/N had received, and Garcia went through tons of security footage, trying to get a good look at whoever was in the blue Sedan. She’d ran the license plates, but they’d come back as being fake, so that had been a pretty dead end, and the phone number she’d traced had come from a payphone, so there was no lead there either.

Spencer was evidently over-working himself, not taking breaks from work to eat or sleep. He reread the words a hundred times, desperately looking for what it was he must’ve missed. He was filled with this overwhelming need to protect her, to keep Y/N safe. To succeed where he’d failed previously. He couldn’t afford to make the same mistake he’d made with Maeve. He’d let his emotions cloud his judgement and it cost Maeve her life. He wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

There wasn’t time for that, not when Y/N was in danger.

Y/N spent most of her time alongside Spencer at the BAU, mostly because he insisted that she was somewhere he could keep an eye on her at all times. She only went home in the evenings so she could change and sleep in her own bed, but always with a police escort that Spencer had himself done a thorough background check on and knew could be trusted.

Eventually, It had been an entire week. Spencer had only had a handful of sleep, only when the exhaustion became too much did he pass out and actually get a few hours of sleep before he was right back at it. Members of the team who attempted to gently voice their concern for him received a scowl in response, with Y/N even trying to get through to him, but he just shrugged her off. Ultimately, Hotch had to pull him aside to talk.

Hotch walked into the room where Y/N sat reading silently in the corner while Spencer’s eyes ran over the words he’d already read a hundred times.

“Reid, Can I speak to you?”

Spencer’s head snapped up, pissed that he was being interrupted from the task before him. He grunted under his breath, standing up and walking out of the room.

Hotch brought Spencer up to his office, closing the door behind them so there was some dilution to the raised voices that were definitely going to come from this conversation. He sighed, turning to face the younger man and crossing his arms. “The Bureau don’t want us using any more of our time on this case. The unsub has been inactive for a week, and we have other cases building up that take priority.”

Spencer scoffed. “You want us to stop? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid not. The order came from above me, I have no power here. The best we can do for now is send Y/N home with police protection until this guy resurfaces.”

“You wanna send her home? No way, Hotch! There’s some son of a bitch after her and you want her to be at home?” He was angrier than Hotch had seen him be in a long while.

Hotch sighed. “Reid. It’s out of my hands. I recognise how hard this is for you, but we have no choice.”

“But I- I can’t protect her if she’s not with me! I can’t keep her safe.” His tone changed from angry to more of a begging. “Please, Hotch. There’s got to be something you can do.”

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer huffed, his anger returning. “Bullshit! You know as well as I do that she’s vulnerable as soon as she leaves here. Police presence or not, if something happens to her-”

Hotch shot him a warning look, which made Spencer stop mid-sentence.

“You’re done with this case for now, understand? Until he resurfaces, we have other priorities.” Hotch spoke. Spencer scoffed, walking and brushing past his unit chief. “That’s an order, Reid.” He warned.

Spencer ignored him, heading back to the room he’d left Y/N in, his mind refocused on getting back to his previous task- despite Hotch’s orders.

He stepped into the room, slamming the door closed behind him, earning a surprised squeak from Y/N, who still sat in the corner with her book in hand. He looked over at her, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “He wants you to go home, and we have to put the case on hold because we have others to work on. Can you believe that? How could he ask that of me?” He laughed humourlessly as Y/N shut her book, placing it next to her.

She sighed, standing, knowing he wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

It was just the protective side of him coming out, and at first Y/N thought it was endearing, but he couldn’t neglect his own needs to favour hers any more. She wouldn’t let him.

“Spencer, you gotta stop this. I know how hard you’re working, and I’m so grateful, but you’re killing yourself here.” Her voice was gentle, hoping she’d be able to appeal to him.

“No! No Y/N I’m not stopping until we get this guy, until you’re safe.” He snapped.

“You heard what Hotch said, you have other cases that need to take priority.” She moved toward him, still trying to reason with him. She was still scared to death, and she didn’t particularly want to leave Spencer’s side- after all he made her feel safe. But there were people who needed him and his team, and if she was no longer in imminent danger, his talents were needed elsewhere. It made her feel sick, but it’s the way it was. They were just going to have to wait for this guy to make his next move.

“But Y/N, you are my priority. Don’t you get that?” He asked, moving back as she came toward him. The motion hurt her, so she stood still.

“I do, I promise you I do, but there’s people out there who need that beautiful mind of yours more than I do right now.”

He scoffed. “So you just expect me to give up?”

“Of course not, but Hotch is right. What if this guy never makes any other moves? What if he just wanted to scare me? You can’t waste your time. It’s too valuable.”

“And what if the second you walk out of those doors he gets you?” Spencer shouted, his arms coming out by his sides to exaggerate his point.

“Then you’ll find me. If that happened, which is a worse-case scenario, I have faith that you and this team would find me and bring me home.”

“And if I can’t? If I fail, again? If I have to watch you die like I watched-” His breath hitched, his voice catching. He cleared his throat before speaking again. “No, No. I will not lose you, do you understand? I will not stop looking for this son of a bitch, not ever. I’m not letting you go home, Y/N. I’m sorry, that’s final.”

“Spencer, you can’t keep me here. You’d be disobeying Hotch’s direct orders-”

He shook his head. “I’m not having this conversation with you, Y/N. I’ll talk to Hotch, change his mind. Just- stay here. Please.” The last word was quiet and pleading, a stark contrast from the tone he was using before. He picked up the evidence files he was going through and walked away, feet stomping as his anger still radiated off of him.

Y/N had stood there for a minute, collecting herself before she took a shaky deep breath, bringing her hand up to wipe the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

She walked out to the bullpen, ignoring how Spencer had asked her to stay. Her eyes met Derek’s who offered her an apologetic smile.

“Hey.” He called out to her as she passed by. “Whatever the kid said, he didn’t mean it. He just wants to keep you safe.”

She gave a sad smile. “I know. Um, is it alright if I just step out the front for some air? I’m feeling a little boxed in.”

“Sure thing. I’ll keep you company, make sure you get back alright.” He stood up from his desk chair, grabbing his jacket and accompanying her downstairs.

When they got there Y/N turned to him. “Is it alright if I have a moment alone? I’ll stay where you can see me, I just need a minute.”

Derek was hesitant, but nodded. She pushed open the doors, out into the cold night. She remained stood by the front doors, where they bright lights from indoors seeped outside, lighting up the pavement. She took a few deep breaths, letting the cold air fill her lungs, hoping it’ll help alleviate the stinging pain in her heart. She looked up at the sky, willing herself to keep her tears at bay. She appreciated what Spencer was doing, and adored his instinct to protect her, keep her safe. She knew how stubborn he could be at times, but now she thought about it, maybe when she sided with Hotch earlier it made it seem like she didn’t have his back, which was certainly not the case.

Derek watched as Y/N collected herself, seeing that she was about to turn and come back inside. Suddenly someone bumped into his side, his attention turning from Y/N to the person who collided with him. He looked over to see a young man he didn’t recognise.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was going. My apologies.” The man apologised before walking off.

Derek furrowed his brow, before turning back to look outside.

Y/N wasn’t there.

He bolted forward toward the doors, flinging them open and looking left and right for any sight of her.

She was long gone. And so was whoever took her.

Hearing a crinkle beneath his feet, Derek looked down at the sound, noticing a scrap piece of newspaper on the floor where Y/N had been stood.

He picked it up, unfolding the paper. On it, written in the familiar blood red chicken scratch was the same threatening message Y/N had received before.

‘If I can’t have her, no one can.’

Derek placed the paper down on the roundtable, that the team was now gathered around, shock and worry on their faces.

Hotch closed his eyes with a sigh as he looked at the paper, guilt rushing over him. Just then Spencer came into the room, immediately picking up on the mood that had settled over the team.

“What’s’‘-” His eyes landed on the message, the realisation spreading over his features. “Where’s Y/N?” He asked, a sort of denial in his voice.

“He has her.” Derek confirmed, bowing his head down in shame that he hadn’t protected her like he was supposed to.

“Morgan, What happened? You took her out to get some air and then what?” Emily asked, trying to establish where it’d gone wrong.

“I took my eyes off of her for a minute, some guy bumped into me and it distracted me, and when I looked back she was gone.”

Emily’s mouth opened as she connected the dots. “It must’ve been a distraction, one guy bumps into you so that you take your eyes off of her while the other guy grabs her.”

“So what, we’re looking for a partner here as well?” JJ posed, looking up at her team.

“It would seem so. He waited for his opportunity, and when it came he took it.” Rossi chimed in.

“This is now an active investigation, we have a missing woman who’s already been gone for nearly an hour. We’ve got to work fast.” Hotch ordered, which sent the team out of their seats, each with a task assigned to them. However, Spencer still sat in one of the chairs, trembling fingers trailing over the words before him. The air in the room seemed thinner, his lungs working harder to fill themselves.

“Reid? Reid.” Morgan tried, but all he got from Spencer was little incoherent mumbles.

Finally, he looked up to meet Morgan’s eyes, the words he’d been whispering falling from his lips in a more audible whimper. “He’s gonna kill her.” He choked on his words, the realisation crashing down on him. “I’m going to lose her too.”

Time was a precious thing.

Spencer had never been more aware of how quickly the seconds passed than he was at that moment.

He was on his knees, hunched over the toilet, hands gripping the sides in a vice-like grip, desperately trying to push down the nauseating feeling creeping its way up his throat. After the note that Morgan found, Spencer had rushed into the toilets, standing over the toilet bowl as he dry-heaved, holding himself back from being sick. He took heavy breaths, eyes screwing shut as he tried to think of anything other than the danger that Y/N was in.

He tried so hard to ignore the familiarity of the situation.

The thought set in motion a memory that he’d much rather forget, one that he pushed so far back in his mind so he could deny it had ever happened, that he’d ever allowed it to happen.

Ultimately, it was the curse of his brilliant memory, having the ability to perfectly recall things that happened years before.

As if he could ever forget that day, eidetic memory or not.

“Diane, Diane, there’s still a way out of this.”

“You never wanted me. Never! You lied!”

Diane has her arm around Maeve, gun pointed at her head. The bullet she’d shot into Spencer’s shoulder felt numb, the scorching pain felt irrelevant to the fear spiking his heart.

“I didn’t. Diane, I offered you a deal and you can still take it. Me for her. Let me take her place.” His eyes lock on Maeve’s, so full of fear, and he tries to reassure that she’ll be fine- because he knows she will. How many times has he talked down an unsub waving a gun around? She would be okay, she had to be.

“You would do that?”

“Yes.”

“You would kill yourself for her?”

“Yes.”

Of course he would. In a heartbeat.

“Thomas Merton.”

Maeve’s voice was small but sure. What scared Spencer the most was how certain she sounded, as though she’d accepted that this was her fate; her end.

“Who’s Thomas Merton?”

“He knows.”

She loved him. And he loved her. Oh how bittersweet.

“Who’s Thomas Merton, who is he?”

“He’s the one thing you can never take from us.”

Its only a moment’s hesitation, a moment that he should’ve reached for a gun, a moment where he should’ve taken his shot.

“No.” Diane scowled.

Time is a precious thing.

and Maeve’s was up.

“Wait-”

The shot still rung clear in Spencer’s ears, a sound he was sure he would hear for the rest of his days. His breaths were heaving again, his eyes flying open as he willed the image of Maeve’s body to leave his head. But when his eyes screwed shut again, it was someone else in her place.

It wasn’t Maeve’s body on the floor anymore. Instead, in her place lay Y/N, blood gushing from the open wound at the side of her head, her lifeless body cold against the concrete floor.

That’s the thought that made him sick, throwing up into the toilet at the thought of watching Y/N die the same way he watched Maeve.

Taking gasping breaths, he sat back against the side of the cubicle, hands running down his flustered face, feeling the streaks of tears that trembled down his cheeks.

He shook his head, as if that would erase the horrific thoughts swimming around. He reminded himself that Y/N was still alive, and they had no reason as of yet to believe that she wasn’t. It was that thought that made him pull himself to stand, raking his hands through his hair and trying to calm his quivering hands.

Y/N was still out there, waiting for him to save her.

He grit his teeth together as he walked out of the toilets.

He wouldn’t hesitate this time. He was not going to lose her.

He walked back into the roundtable room, ignoring the looks he received from the team. They had been bouncing theories off of one another, trying to use their profile to figure out who their unsub was, and where they would’ve taken Y/N.

“Is it possible a woman is our unsub, or perhaps even the partner?” Emily posed, her eyes scanning over one of the letters.

Derek shook his head. “I don’t think a woman would use language like this, it’s very derogatory, it exerts a power over Y/N.”

The team fell quiet in thought, only interrupted when Garcia came scurrying in, her laptop in her hands. “You’ll never guess what I just found!”

Everyone looked up to her, Hotch speaking. “What is it, Garcia?”

“I looked over the list of Y/N’s exes, and only one of them jumped out to me as a little suspicious. So I did some digging.” She tapped a few keys on her laptop before grabbing her remote and broadcasting to the team what she’d found on the TV. “Daniel ‘Danny’ Stone, 29, dated Y/N three years ago. He was her last boyfriend before she met Reid.”

“Three years? You don’t think he’s still bitter about the relationship ending?” Emily asked, confused.

“Three years is a long time. Why surface now?” JJ chimed.

“Reid, did Y/N ever mention her previous relationship ending on a rough note?” Rossi asked, turning to face the younger boy.

Spencer frowned. “She said the breakup was a little rocky, but nothing awful. The last time she spoke about him was a few months ago, said he got in some sort of accident?” He looked to Garcia for confirmation, and she nodded.

“Indeed. Stone was involved in a road collision four months ago.”

JJ hummed, looking through the medical reports on her iPad. “Says here he suffered brain damage, specifically to his pre-frontal cortex.”

“Well that would explain why this stalker seemingly came from nowhere. People who suffer damage like this are impulsive, unable to make rational choices.” Derek posed.

“So what’s the theory here? He wakes up after this accident, and because of his injury chooses to track down his ex? Three years after they break up?”

Morgan shook his head. “It isn’t a choice. Not anymore. He has to do it. He’s become fixated on her. He knows she’s with Reid, and like he said, If he can’t have her, the neither can Reid.”

“Okay, but why stalk her? What does he gain from that? Instead of just taking her and getting what he really wants?” Emily questioned.

“This newfound impulsivity would make him a risk-taker. He’ll do things that the average person wouldn’t dream of trying. But it’s unlikely that Stone actually staked out Y/N’s home, or delivered the letters to her door. He wouldn’t have the self-control to span this out over months. He just pulled the strings.”

“So that was his partner, then.” JJ deduced, earing nods from the team. “Then what does the partner gain from this? Why help Stone?”

“Maybe Stone manipulated them. Perhaps he has some form of information on them he’s using as blackmail?”

“Did you get an address on Stone, Garcia?” Hotch asked, and Garcia nodded enthusiastically.

“You know I did, It’s already been sent to your phones.”

“Alright, let’s go.”

The team all stood, heading for the doors. Spencer was quick to get up and follow, hope sparking in him now that they had an address. He was just about to leave the room when Hotch’s voice stopped him.

“Reid, you know I can’t let you come with us.” His voice was firm, he knew there could be no room for error here. Not after what happened last time.

“Like hell you can’t.” Reid snapped, turning around to face him. He’d regret his smart mouth later when Hotch undoubtedly told him off for it, but at that moment who couldn’t have cared less.

“We will get her and bring her home, but you can’t be involved in this. It’s a conflict of interest, you know that.”

“Oh, so it wasn’t a conflict of interest when you went after Foyet?”

It was a cheap shot, one that Spencer really regretted the second he said it, but amends could be made later.

Hotch’s face didn’t falter, despite the petty jab. “Yeah, and look where that got me.”

Spencer’s defesnive stance dropped, his arms falling by his sides. “Hotch. You were there when when Maeve died. Do you remember it?”

“Of course.”

“Not like I do. I can see every second of it every time I close my eyes. I can’t go through that again. I almost didn’t make it out the other side, If it happened again I don’t know if I could cope-” He stopped, his voice catching in his throat. “Just- Please.”

Hotch grunted, giving in. “Fine, but you can’t allow your emotions to cloud your thinking. I know it will be difficult but I need your head to be in this.Y/N’s life depends on it.”

Spencer nodded and they headed down toward the SUV’s.

They pulled up to the address, lights blaring and sirens sounding. They all quickly jumped out and regrouped, strapping their kevlar vests to their chests as they moved. They were stood in front of an abandoned apartment complex, one that had ben uninhabited for years.

“Alright Morgan, Prentiss I want you to go around the back, find a way in through there, see if you can find this partner of his. JJ, Rossi and Reid you’re with me. ” Hotch ordered, as they all drew their guns and prepared to head in.

As they stealthily walked through the building, they listened for any noise that indicated where the unsub was. Hotch, who was leading the group, pushed open a door to the staircase, and they were about to head up when they heard a bang coming from the floor below them.

They headed down the stairs, seeing that they were entering the buildings basement. They rounded the corner, guns at the ready, and stepping into a small boiler room.

In the centre of the room, Daniel stood. He held a struggling Y/N to his chest, his arm around her neck and gun placed at her temple.

Spencer recalled how it the sight was all too familiar, how Diane had held Maeve the same way.

Daniel’s voice broke him from his thoughts. “If you step any closer, she dies.”

“Okay, okay. We’ll stay back, but I need you to put down the gun.” Hotch tried, shooting a look over his shoulder to Spencer, a look that told him to stay put.

Daniel shook his head. “No. You’re going to ruin everything!”

“Ruin what?” JJ asked.

“My chance do what’s right. Y/N doesn’t want me. But I love her, can’t she see that? I would do anything for her, and still she would choose him over me?” Daniel’s eyes moved to meet with Spencer’s, narrowing.

“Daniel, we know what you went through. We know about your accident, how you’ve felt so out of control since, but if you come with us we can get you the help you need.” Rossi was next to attempt to convince him, but to no avail.

“No- No!” Daniel scowled, clenching his teeth as his gaze fixated on Spencer, who’s eyes were locked with Y/N’s, trying to silently reassure her that she was going to be okay. “She’s mine. I protected her, I’ve looked out for her. She’s finally going to understand.” He looked down at Y/N, his grip on her tightening, causing her to let out a frightened yelp.

Spencer gulped, tearing his gaze from Y/N and onto the unsub, putting on a strong and unbothered facade. He wouldn’t let himself be clouded by his emotions, not this time. “You’re right. You kept her safe, and I’m very grateful that you protected her when I failed to.”

“Thats right. You failed her. I’m so much better for her.” He seethed through his teeth. “ And that’s why, if she won’t chose me, she’ll have to die with me.”

“You don’t want to do that, Daniel. Put down the gun. We’ll bring you in, and if you tell us all about this partner of yours, we’ll tell everyone that you co-operated.” JJ suggested, her gun still aimed up at him.

“Why are you doing this?” Y/N gasped out, still struggling against his hold.

“Because if I can’t have you, the neither can he. No, No.” He grinned, bringing the gun up to his his own head. From where it was angled, the bullet would pass through his own head, and lodge itself in Y/N’s too. “You’re mine, Y/N.”

This time, Spencer didn’t hesitate.

One single gunshot.

Daniel collapsed to the floor, a bullet between his eyes.

Y/N fell to the ground with him in a fit of sobs, scrambling to get away from the man who lay dead on the floor, the pool of blood growing around him.

Spencer holstered his gun, immediately surging forward to wrap a trembling Y/N up in his arms.

“It’s okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe.” He cooed, rubbing a hand on her back in a soothing manner.

She sobbed into his chest as he held her, tears forming in his own eyes at the sound of her cries. But Spencer allowed himself a moment to breathe, looking over Y/N’s shoulder at the man he’d just shot without hesitation.

And he’d wouldn’t be losing any sleep over it, either.

He tightened his arms around her, thankful that she was safe. He brought her up to stand, his arms still tight around her. He looked toward his teammates, nodding gratefully at them as he walked Y/N out of the building. As he passed, he overheard JJ and Hotch’s conversation.

“Emily and Morgan found the partner fleeing out the back. They say he’s agreed to talk.”

With an internal sigh of relief, he held Y/N closer as they stepped out the doors of the building, guiding her toward the medical staff so she could be checked for injuries, despite how she told him she was fine. After it was concluded that she’d come out pretty unscathed, with only a few cuts and bruises, Spencer came and sat down next to her. She smiled weakly up at him, and he knew it would take a while for her usual bright smile to return, but she was alive- and right then that was all that mattered.

He immediately took her hand in his, gripping it tightly.

“Is it over?” She asked quietly, and he nodded.

“Yeah, they got the partner, and he’s going to co-operate in return for a reduced sentence, but he’ll still be going away for a long time.”

She nodded, her head dropping onto his shoulder. “Thank you so much, Spencer. You saved me.” She whispered.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m sorry about the argument we had, I was being a jerk. I just wanted to protect you, but in the end you still ended up getting hurt.” He frowned, looking down at the gravel ground.

“It’s okay, I understand. I’m sorry you had to relive all of this again, I can’t imagine how difficult that must’ve been for you.” She sighed, guilt overwhelming her.

“Hey, no. You’re safe, that’s all that matters.” He promised and she nodded against him.

Giving her hand a squeeze, he turned slightly to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“Let’s go home, sweetheart.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg #mgg x reader #criminal minds

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the-cult-of-russo · 3 years

Note

Ok so I've been coming back here to reread all of your work and I never get tired of it (the NSFW alphabet one is low-key my favorite one 👀) and let me tell you that you're one of my favorite writers and love all of your work.

You don't have to do it if you don't want to, but do you have hc of how Billy Russo would react/ be when he finds out that he's going to be a father? Based on your NSFW alphabet you did for him, you described him as a (extremely) sweet and caring person and I couldn't help to think about how he would be if he ever had a kid of his own.

(Once again, feel free to ignore this if you want to or feel uncomfortable doing it. It's a thought that hass been in my head for a while and wanted to get it out of my system lmao 😂)

First off, thank you! I really appreciate that 🥺🖤🖤🖤

Also, I love talking about headcanons, never worry about asking me about them lmao

So I just wanna say since I did write a multi chapter series about how Billy walked away when he found out that like, the idea for that happened because the first part, his letter to you, is what came to my head. And I wanted to write something sad and angsty. I feel like he's much more likely to stick around in all honesty but the boys got so many issues who even knows loool

But I just wanted to point that out because this will be different and I don't want people to be like; 'But Thalia... you did a whole thing where he left...' 😂

So yeah lmao

Remember, this is my Billy. AU, still bros with Frank Billy 👀😂🖤

I've split this into a few scenarios because I feel like there would be small differences depending on the context.

One night stand:

You had a one night stand with Billy. An amazing, ruin you for other men, kind of one night stand. But then you found out you were pregnant and went to Anvil to tell him. Of course when you turn up there he has no idea the bomb you're about to drop on him. Instead, he gives you a filthy smirk as you enter his office.

"Couldn't stay away?"

When you tell Billy you're pregnant, there's a long moment where he just blinks at you and you're pretty sure you might have broke him.

He cycles through a million and one emotions before it settles on a mix of sheer terror, shock and happiness.

He tries not to get offended when you blurt out that you'd understand if he didn't want to be part of his baby's life. He didn't want his kid to grow up feeling like he didn't love them. He's not his mother.

You're not offended when the first words to leave his lips are asking if the baby is definitely his. Its a valid question since you'd slept with him just hours after meeting him in a bar.

He tells you he wants to be there and of course he takes care of all medical bills and even tries to convince you to let him buy you a better place to live. Somewhere closer to him so you and the baby will be close by.

It wasn't planned or expected by any means but he wants to be there.

Casual sex/friends with benefits:

Billy comes over expecting to get some great sex and instead has you thrusting a pregnancy test in his hands. You're scared and upset and have no idea how he'll react. You've been sleeping together for a while but been friends for longer than that. His commitment issues are exactly why you're worried.

He sits down and stares at it, letting his brain try to absorb the fact he's going to be a dad. He feels the shot of anxiety run through him, wondering if he can do it. What kind of dad could he be? His own mother never loved him, would he be capable of loving a child?

But he knows the answer is yes. Because despite not even being in a relationship with you and this coming out of the blue, he feels excitement welling inside of him and he doesn't even realise he's smiling at the test in his hands.

When he looks back at you, sees how scared you are, he feels a pang of something in his chest that feels an awful lot like panic. He asks what you want to do, scared of the answer you'll give him. But of course you scoff and tell him you're keeping the baby.

Relief and happiness flood his body then as he gets up, hugging you tightly and stroking your hair.

"You don't gotta worry. I'll take care of you both, I promise."

And he means it. Once again he pays all the medical bills and he shockingly tells you he'd like to make a real go out of what you two have.

He buys a house for you and the baby but doesn't pressure you about him living there too. He let's you set the pace for what's happening between you.

Relationship/marriage:

He cries. Like a lot. Planned or not, the news has him weeping like a little girl. You're living together so he notices when you're feeling unwell. Notices that you haven't had your period since he normally gets you ice-cream and also gets you pads and things if you need them. He doesn't say anything though until you do.

So he gets the test for you. The pair of you sit on the bed after you did what you needed, a timer on his phone. The test is on the dresser across the room. Both of you are silent. Overwhelmed by what might happen. He really wants it to be positive. (If this wasn't planned then when you told him you might be, he started to really think about it and found he wanted a baby with you).

When the timer goes off you both jump up comically but hesitate near the dresser. Billy ends up being the one brave enough to look. You watch his reaction for a moment and you're startled when his eyes water, the way he looks at you with a beaming smile as the tears fall without him even noticing.

"We're havin' a baby!" He grins like a mad man, picking you up and twirling you around.

He's so excited that the second your feet hit the ground, he's on the phone to Frank telling him the news. Still crying, mind you.

Once he's made his phone calls, he tells you the penthouse is being left behind. He's buying a house near the Castle's for your new little family.

Both he and Frank fix it up and decorate it.

No matter which scenario it happens:

Billy goes to every appointment with you, every ultrasound. The first time he sees his baby, he cries. When he finds out if its a boy or girl, he cries. When he first feels the baby kick, he cries. When the baby's born, he's a mess. He attends every class with you and reads all the books he can get his hands on. And of course he asks Frank for advice about anything and everything.

He frequently talks to your bump, regalling the baby with tales of his life or reading from a book. He takes good care of you, anything you need, he gets you. You want pickles and a donut at 4am? Don't worry, Billy's got you. You need crazy good sex because the hormones are driving you up the wall? Billy's got you. You're sobbing because you feel like a beached whale and none of your clothes, even the pregnancy ones fit you? Billy's there. Telling you that you're absolutely beautiful. Radiant even. He gets one of his guys to buy you a bunch of clothes that fit and he cuddles you until you feel better. He dotes on you constantly, always calls and texts if he's not with you to make sure you're okay.

When you go into labour, he's there holding your hand and cheering you on the whole time. And the second the babys there, he's sobbing and smiling like an idiot. When he first holds his baby, it's a feeling he's never felt before. He feels complete in every way. So full of love he just might burst from it. And while a tiny part of him grieves for the baby version of himself that didn't seem to ever have that, he's overwhelmed by the pure happiness and love as he gazes down at his little ones face.

"Shit... you're so perfect."

He vows to be the best damn father he can be and the baby will never feel unloved for even a second.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine #billy russo headcanons

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

"Why should you get to be angry? It's my life you're messing with" Yakko?

Yakko was still angry, even though it had been over a week since Max had visited.

His siblings' hostility towards Max was really getting on his nerves. Sure, Max caught on pretty early and no one was hurt, but still. It threw everything off- though what that 'everything' was, Yakko wasn't sure.

All he knew was that there was this... pulse, or energy. Like a magnet- Yakko had wanted to touch his face. Why? Max had almost not stopped him- what did that mean?

The fluttering, the blushing, the magnetism, what did it mean???

And why was it every time Yakko felt like maybe he'd figure it out, something or someone always interrupted. Even when Max wasn't there- Yakko would just be trying to sort things out in his head or reading a book, but either his sibs, or his classes, or his parents, or something else distracted him.

That didn't stop him from trying though, as he and Max still continued to write to each other daily, already setting up for Max to visit again tomorrow. He constantly read and reread Max's letters- absorbing every word to craft a perfectly witty yet sincere response. He valued Max and his friendship, he didn't want to ruin it.

And hey, he could tell he was improving. Over the letters he managed to never bring up his grandmother even once- and most of his conversations with Max avoided her too (for the most part... he was working on that). At least he knew other topics now.

However, he was still peeved at his siblings for their attempts to ruin it. Sure Max was clever enough to catch it- but if he hadn't? What if Max had never wanted to see him again after that? What if he had gotten hurt? It was totally irresponsible. He thought Wakko and Dot were better than that.

So- yeah. He was mad, though perhaps angry was too strong. He had mostly buried his anger deep within himself when his father pulled him aside and told him not to get mad at his sibs and that they just needed time, but the anger still resided deep in his chest. Reading the letters did calm him a little though, so that was nice.

However, the day before Max was to come over again, as Yakko went to reread through the letters he found the box that he stored them in to be empty. He searched through every possible drawer and every possible location in the entire castle before admitting what his gut instinct had told him.

His letters were stolen.

And he had a theory on who the culprit could be.

.o0o.

Yakko found his younger brother in his old room, the one nearby the room once belonging to their grandmother, with the private letters all sprawled out before him as he read over them.

All attempts to keep this a civil conversation were thrown out the window in that instant.

"Wakko, what the hell are you doing with my letters?!" Yakko did at least attempt not to shout, but he caught his brother off guard, as he nearly jumped to the ceiling in surprise.

"Y-yakko- I-i thought- I'm just-" Wakko scrambled to gather his mind.

"These letters are none of your business! Why on earth do you have them?!" Yakko approached, angrily taking the letters back.

"I-i thought you read them all- I thought you didn't need them- I-i just-" Wakko fought Yakko, pulling on the letters.

"These are private letters full of private emotions, Wakko. You have no business- I haven't even read this one! What is wrong with you?!" Yakko yanked harder, causing Wakko to let go.

"I-i just- Max is just-"

"Max is just what? Being my friend? Being the first person outside of my family that's ever connected with me?! God forbid I have a life outside of you two!" The elder brother fumed.

"H-he's just trying to take you away! You can't see it because you're like- in love with him- or something!" Wakko bit back.

Yakko froze.

"What did you say..?" Yakko's eye twitched.

"Y...you're like- in love with him. He's just trying to take you away- he's just like grandma!" Wakko argued.

"Max is nothing like grandma." Yakko snapped. "Max has made me the happiest I've ever been in my entire miserable fucking life! You should know that after snooping around my private fucking letters!" Yakko shouted, his voice cracking slightly as he felt himself begin to tear up.

"I just- god-! How could you be so selfish? Why can't you just be happy for me?!" Yakko demanded to know.

Wakko opened his mouth to utter some kind of reply, when without warning, their mother burst through the door.

"What on earth is all this shouting about?" She demanded to know. Wakko attempted to blink away his tears, which unfortunately caused them to fall so instead he picked up what letters he could before storming out without another word.

"Yakko. Tell me what happened. Now." She locked eyes with Yakko, deciding it best to give the younger brother a moment to himself.

Yakko sighed, wiping his tears from his eyes as he sat on Wakko's old bed. Lena was quick to join him, slowly rubbing his back.

"He took my letters. he's been reading them- all of them." Yakko explained bitterly. Lena slowly nodded.

"I just- those are private thoughts between the two of us- it's not just my privacy, it's Max's too. I-it's like Wakko has no respect for either of u-us," Yakko hiccuped a little.

"Now Yakko, you know that isn't true. Wakko thinks the world of you," Lena reminded softly. "He's just... confused. And scared."

"Oh yeah? He can join the club then," Yakko sniffled.

"Look... I know you're going through a lot with Max right now: new emotions, new situations, and the like, but... you've been plenty selfish too, especially in neglecting your siblings, Yakko. They've tried getting your attention several times but they feel as though you won't give them the time of day," Lena held one of his hands.

"I-i haven't-..." Yakko's instinct was to protest but as he reflected upon the past few months, he recognized the truth behind her words.

"Shit..." He muttered.

"Now, I'm not going to make you cancel Max's visit for tomorrow, but do know that after he's gone I want you to spend some good quality time with your siblings, alright? I'm sure Max will understand your situation plenty," Lena said softly yet firmly.

"Y-yeah... I guess I've been pretty wrapped up, haven't I?" He chuckled weakly.

"It's alright dear, so long as you do your best to recognize the mistake and make up for it through your actions," She kissed the top of his head. Yakko sighed and leaned his head on her shoulder.

The pair stayed like this a moment, before Lena decided she had waited long enough and it was time for her to seek out Wakko. However, as she started to head through the door, Yakko stopped her.

"Mom?" He asked.

"Yes?"

"Do you-... Am I...?"

Yakko bit his lip as he tried to think of what to ask.

"How do you know if you're in love?"

Lena chuckled softly.

"Hard to say, as it truly is different for everyone... But from what I remember... it's a sense of comfort and peace; being at peace with who you are and who they are to the point where you constantly want to be with them for that peace... if that makes any sense." Lena shook her head.

"Then again, when has love ever made any sense?" She snickered.

"Uh-huh..." Yakko pondered her words.

"I'm sorry dear, I'm afraid that's something you'll have to figure out on your own," She explained. "I'm afraid I have to go to your brother now though, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah- that's... yeah," Yakko nodded and Lena headed out, leaving Yakko to sort out this new information.

.o0o.

Wakko hated shouting.

It made him feel small- like he was four all over again. God- why did he always just make things worse? He never backed down, even when he said something stupid.

He hid in one of the storage closets near the tower. It was dark and cramped, but it was where he felt he ought to be. After all, he didn't want to be seen.

He gripped the letters in his hands tighter. He didn't know why he took them that time- it was dumb. He was already caught- Yakko already knew he was a thief.

But it was to protect him against Max-

Max.

Just that name made Wakko's blood boil and angry tears increase.

He hated Max.

He hated him a lot. Yakko wouldn't see it- he was under his siren spell somehow. Wakko thought taking those letters would show him some kind of clue to unraveling it, but instead, it just showed how messed up and lost Yakko was. It hurt to read each word and Yakko's notes on the letters- the little question marks and underlines and occasional heart. Wakko hated it.

Wakko hated Max.

He hated him very, very much.

He was taking his brother away- his brother would never ignore him unless there was something very sinister forcing him too- which Max clearly was.

R...right?

Wakko continued crying.

However, after a while of crying in the dark a soft knock interrupted his tears as the door slowly opened to reveal his mother, who slowly sat on the ground outside the closet and opened her arms. Wakko hesitated a moment, before practically leaping out into her loving arms.

"There, there Wakko..." She soothed as he sobbed in her arms.

"I-i w-was just- i-i just-" he couldn't get his words out.

"I know darling, he shouldn't have shouted so much," she stroked his head.

"I-i just..." Wakko attempted to breathe enough to calm himself.

"I know... you don't trust Max yet, and it's scary seeing Yakko connect so quickly, I know," She moved him so she could see his face, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Wakko sniffled. "H-he's just trying to take him away."

"That's not true, Wakko. Max is just spending time with him- Yakko is just getting... a little caught up is all," Lena sighed.

"B-but he never ignored me like this before he met him," Wakko frowned.

"I know Wakko... he hasn't done his best with balancing everything out..." She said. "But... you haven't made it exactly easier either."

Wakko blinked at that.

"What I mean is... you haven't given Max a shot yet. You rejected him without giving him a shot to prove himself to you," Lena said.

Given him a shot..? Was she insane? She would never suggest he "give grandma a shot" so why was she suggesting to give Max a shot? Because he "seemed" friendlier and more charismatic???

"Wakko, look. Whether or not you like it, Yakko really really likes Max. The least you can do is give him a day to prove himself, alright?" Lena made him look at her.

She looked so desperate for him to believe her, it made him sad. She was clearly under Max's spell too.

It became clear to Wakko he had been underestimating Max. If he wanted him gone for good and to free his family from his influence, he was going to have to take drastic measures.

"Maybe..." he mumbled for her sake. Lena smiled softly and kissed the top of his hat.

"Yakko will really appreciate it," She said.

"Yeah, okay," Wakko looked at the ground.

Yakko will appreciate it when he's free of Max's stupid curse- all of them will be.

"I have to go back to work- will you be okay?" Lena asked. Wakko nodded. Lena slowly stood, helping Wakko up as well, before giving him another hug and a kiss on his hat.

"It's gonna be okay Wakko, just give him a chance," She said.

"Okay," he said, giving a weak smile. Lena gave a similarly weak smile back before hugging him once more and walking away.

'Give him a chance.' Oh please- Wakko would give him a chance alright.

Wakko stormed right back into that storage closet, climbed up to the tallest shelf, and pulled down the highest key, before storming right on down to the tower- quickly and furiously unlocking the massive lock just to be sure, and-

Yes, they hadn't bricked it off quite yet.

Wakko now had the perfect to keep Max far away from his family for the rest of his life.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 The End

#my fics #animaniacs #wakko warner #yakko warner #queen angelina ii #angelina warner #it's finally done!!!#sorry for the wait #and the shitty chapter-#this took a shit long time to write-#but hey! we got hella angst coming up #so look forward to that ;3 #(which should be coming out a lot sooner fingers crossed)#if you read this i love you #and again so sorry for the wait

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remuswriting · 4 years

Text

trust; m. atsumu

Summary: Y/N meets a beautiful man on his way to visit his sister.

Pairing: Miya Atsumu x Male! Reader

Warnings: negative self-talk, people calling reader “ugly/plain”

Word Count: 1,483 words

Notes: 1. The reader is not actually ugly, this was just focusing on how Sophie sees herself. I also changed some of it (from the books) so the reader feeling plain made more sense (in my opinion). 2. I tried something new with my writing but I’m not sure if it’s any good. 3. Finally, this is a Howls Moving Castle AU and meant to be a lot longer but my brain isn’t working. I’ll have to reread the book to finish this but I don’t know how to read anymore. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy.

It was hot in the shop. Y/N hunched over the sewing machine, quickly pulling pins out of the fabric as he reached them and stretching everything over so it would all end up being smooth. He’d have to admit this was the bet stitching he had done in a long time and he wondered who would wear the pastel pink dress. It made up for the lack of air conditioning and how he couldn’t get himself to stop sweating.

“This is perfect for a young girl who is going on her first date with her soulmate,” Y/N said, and he looked over the dress. “Every time she wears it, he falls in love with her all over again.”

He gave it to his mother to put on display once he finished it off and she smiled at the dress. She had told him how talented he was but it was a shame that he was the first born. He would never open up his own shop and would run the family business in the end. She told him how he made the most beautiful things when he wasn’t beautiful himself.

Y/N wasn’t upset about it. He had never been upset about how first born children will never be successful and be seen as plain. Seen as ugly. He took it as a blessing to already know what he would do for the rest of his life. He would never admitted how much he enjoyed it. He enjoyed the conversations he created with his careful stitching and words. Sometimes he was allowed to embroider stories into the fabric with intricate designs that always sold fast.

His brother and sister were exciting though. They had big dreams and everyone supported them in order to get there. His brother was an apprentice under a powerful magician now. He had gone to the mountains in order to train and Y/N hoped to one day visit him if it was possible. His sister stayed in Miyagi and was an apprentice under the best baker their land had to offer. They had promised to send weekly letters to him to talk about everything.

It was harder for Shoyo to send letters and Y/N used to get multiple at a time because of how far away his brother was. Weekly letters turned into a monthly letter from Shoyo, which it was just alright. Y/N just wanted to hear about what his younger brother’s life was like now. Letters from Natsu had stopped after the first two months and Y/N had told himself he’d go check in on her but he was busy with the shop. No longer having bread and mother being too lazy to pick it up herself was the thing that caused him to finally go visit Natsu for the first time since she left home.

The streets were busy like normally were. He couldn’t see over the crowd of people and he couldn’t remember the directions to the bakery. Y/N knew he had to take the trolley, but he wasn’t sure of which way to go beyond that.

The colors that danced around him were beautiful. Flashes of sky blues, sunshine yellows, apple reds, deep rich greens, and other colors the rainbow had to offer made the world look so lively. He had never stuck out, even with his plain, dull clothes. He had made them himself with left over fabric his mother had allowed him to use. It was always grays and blacks because clients loved the vibrancy the color wheel could offer, not darkness.

He remembered holding a sky blue tunic up to his torso as he stared in the mirror. Would he look good if he ever wore the colors he loved to see? Or would he look out of place because he was plain? Because he was ugly.

Y/N had been able catch the trolley, even though he had felt stuck in the crowd of vibrancy. Miyagi was beautiful to watch from afar but Y/N could never picture himself being part of it. He couldn’t imagine dancing through the streets with beautiful laughs and dazzling smiles. He just couldn’t.

It didn’t surprise him when he got lost again. He could clearly see the scrap piece of paper that Natsu had given him with the directions to the bakery. She had even told him the way he’d be able to find the back entrance, it was in an alley but all of the alleys on this side of the city were confusing. It didn’t make sense for all of them to look the same.

“Are you lost?” A voiced asked, and Y/N looked away from the alley to see two tall soldiers. They were dressed in the beautiful orange military uniform tops and black slacks. The one who had spoken had olive toned hair with a cowlick at the top. He was pretty with his scattered freckles that covered his face and neck, but he still intimidated Y/N.

“We wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you,” the other man said, and he had short blonde hair and warm brown eyes that were covered with thick black frames. It didn’t matter how inviting his eyes seemed, his smirk and tone of voice made Y/N not trust him.

They started to corner him into an alley and Y/N started to shake. He had heard about these kinds of things before but he never expected it to happen to him. He was plain and all he could assume was he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. An arm wrapped around Y/N’s waist, the pressure nice and warm. He looked up to see blonde hair, a small smile, and stern brown eyes looking down at him. Y/N had never seen a man so beautiful and he wondered if this man knew how beautiful he was.

The man’s jacket was covered with vibrant pinks, purples, yellows, and reds. The diamonds were all perfectly symmetrical and stitching unlike anything he had ever seen before. Y/N wished he could make something like that and not have to give it away. He’d hang it up on his wall as a trophy of something he was able to accomplish.

“There ya are sweetheart. Sorry I’m late,” the man said, and his accent wasn’t one Y/N had ever heard before. He had spoken to customers who had all types of dialect but this was one was one of a kind. “I was lookin’ everywhere for ya.”

Y/N wanted to say how he didn’t know the man but the two soldiers still stood in front of them. He imagined he was safer with the beautiful man than the two men, so he smiled up at him. The man sent the two soldiers off with a flick of his wrist, his arm never leaving Y/N’s waist. Y/N was unsure he wanted it to. The soldiers turned around and marched out of the alley.

“Who are you?” Y/N asked, and they had been strolling down the alley for a moment. They stopped, and the man looked down at Y/N with a cheeky smile.

“I’d rather show ya than tell ya,” the man said, and Y/N nodded slowly without meaning to. He wanted to be told, not shown because it was hard to really know when being shown. The man took his arm away from Y/N’s waist and grabbed Y/N’s hands instead. “Hold on and trust me.”

Y/N went to make the comment about how ridiculous it was to trust a man he had just met, but he was already up in the air with a shriek. They were high above the city and it looked beautiful beneath them. He could see all of the colors blending together and his face lit up with a smile. He wanted to see the beautiful things like this every day but he still wouldn’t trade the clothes he sewed. If he were to pick, he’d choose sewing any day.

“Try to move yer legs as if yer walkin’,” the man said, and Y/N followed instructions. He was required to trust this man since they were so high up in the sky. “Wow, yer a natural. Yer not goin’ ‘bout doin’ this every day, are ya?”

Y/N laughed a little and shook his head. He watched the city get closer and closer as they arrived at Karasuno Bakery. He looked up to the man, who was already staring at him intently. Y/N didn’t know what expression it was but he felt nervous and looked away.

“Be sure to give Natsu my regards,” the man said, and Y/N tightened his grip on the man’s hands.

“Won’t you tell me your name?” Y/N asked, and the man laughed in his eat slightly.

“Yer smart. You’ll figure it out,” the man said, and he placed Y/N on the balcony of the bakery before he jumped off the railing and was gone.

Tag List: @chaoswrites

#haikyuu fic #Miya Atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x male reader #x male reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #haikyuu male reader #xreader

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writesowhatnext · 4 years

Text

elementary, my dear weasley // fred weasley

Summary: Fred receives an anonymous love letter so he enlists his best friend to help him figure it out

Request: Could you write some fluffy Fred W x Reader? The reader gives Fred an anonymous love letter but since they’re friends, he asks her to help him figure out who it is? You can go anywhere from there! Thank you x

A/N: this is such a super cute prompt so I really hope I can do it justice

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: none actually, I think

As Fred walked towards you with a very serious look on his face, you regretted every decision you’d ever made, simultaneously. Why did you tell your mum that your cat had broken the vase? Why did you snog that boy in first year? Why did you dye Ron’s hair pink and let the twins take the fall? Why did you start your last Charms essay the day it was due? Why did you write Fred that stupid letter? Your mind was in overdrive trying to devise a getaway plan, if you avoided Fred now then he’d definitely come and find you at some point but then, at least you could be more emotionally prepared for rejection. How had he even found out it was you? You’d gone to extreme lengths to throw him off the scent.

In your panic, you’d forgotten to actually try to execute any form of escape plan and so there you sat, a sitting duck, with Fred Weasley charging towards you. You winced as he slammed the familiar paper down in front of you, familiar handwritten peeking out from between his spread fingers. You looked up from his hand to his face very, very reluctantly. And for some reason, he was smiling.

“You will never guess what I’ve just found.”

You frowned, watching him with a fairly healthy level of confusion as he dragged a chair to sit at your table. He ignored the annoyed looks from the Gryffindors at the table he’d stolen from and sat down, pushing your letter towards you.

“Read that.”

Your frown deepened as you slowly pulled the letter toward you. What sort of mind game was he playing?

Your heart beat loudly in your ears with every word you read: from the ‘Dear Fred,’ to the ‘With love.’, you’d reread and checked the letter more times then you could count and you could practically recite it by heart at this point. When you left it for him, it had been a good idea, now it just filled you with regret and a horrible sick feeling in your stomach. You raised your head to look at him and hummed, carefully watching his reaction.

“Hmmm?” he asked incredulously, snatching the letter back and staring at it. “I know it’s not surprising because I mean, come on, but surely someone confessing their love to me via the timeless art of letter-writing deserves more than a ‘hmmm’, don’t you think?”

You stared at him for a moment. All the while, he just looked at you expectantly. And then it clicked; Fred had no idea you sent that letter. Your mouth fell open slightly as you tried to figure out how you would behave in this situation – if it was someone else that’d been hopelessly in love with Fred.

“Let me read it again.” You insisted, pulling it from his hands. You didn’t read it; you just stared down at parchment, trying to figure out what you were going to do about it. He didn’t know it was you; that was perfectly clear. It would be fine. He never needed to know it was you, not really.

“Who do you think wrote it?”

Happy that you were finally asking the right questions, Fred smiled and rested his elbows on the table.

“That’s what I need your help to find out.”

“You want to find out who sent it?” you asked loudly. Perhaps a little too loudly, you discovered; a couple of people in the common room looked up at you.

“Do I-“ Fred shook his head. “Blimey, Y/N, what has got into you today? Of course, I want to find out who sent it.”

“Why?”

Fred could not fathom your behaviour right now – his fish impression proved that. Once he’d stopped opening and closing his mouth, he placed a hand on the paper, pointing at it with his finger.

“Whoever wrote this says that I am the sunshine of their world, Y/N.” he shot you a deadpan look. “The sunshine of their world.”

You made a face, your composure slipping, a horrible cringing sensation coming over you. “And?”

“And…” he stressed, rolling his eyes. “I want to find out who thinks so highly of yours truly.”

“To do what?”

“Bloody hell, Y/N, what’s with all the questions?” Fred huffed, making a face. “I just want to figure out who sent it – I have to talk to them.”

You wanted to know what he meant by that but you couldn’t afford to keep asking questions without raising some sort of suspicion.

“So how are you going to figure out who?”

“Well,” he said, frowning. “That’s why I’m here. George took a look and said that if anyone could help me, it was you. So, dear, dear Y/N, any ideas?”

You paused for a moment, confused. Why would George think you knew who wrote it? Sure, you knew a fair few people but you were hardly Sherlock sodding Holmes. It was probably a coincidence, you thought. Though, the strange nervous feeling in your stomach lingered.

“Well,” you leant your chin on your elbow. “Tell me how you found it.”

The smile that lit up his face at the promise of your help was almost enough to quash your guilt at the fact that this definitely, probably, certainly qualified as lying to him.

You barely listened as he talked you through his morning routine. He’d woken up, late as usual, and thrown on his robes because he thought it was Monday – it was not. When he was rifling through them to find some Helium Toffees that he swore – though you were thoroughly unconvinced - he didn’t plan to use on you, he found a folded-up section of parchment. And, the first thing he did was smell it.

“You what?” you asked, definitely now listening. “What did you do that for?”

“To see where it came from.” He replied as if it were obvious.

You frowned at him, lost for words. Not only had you not disguised any sort of smell when you’d written it, you were also kind of worried about Fred’s mental state that that was his first thought.

“So, what did it smell like then?”

“Nothing, really.”

You stared at him for a moment. You were exasperated, for sure, but you couldn’t help the way your stomach flopped, replacing it with fondness.

“Well given that very promising lead didn’t pan out-“

“Oi!” Fred poked you in this side, earning a hideously loud spout of laughter from you. You grumbled as he smiled proudly.

“What’s next?”

“Well,” he began, leaning forward as if revealing the biggest conspiracy to sweep the wizarding world since, well, Harry Potter. “I figure whoever it is has to be close to me, right? To get it in my robes and all.”

You tried to fault his logic, but you’d forgotten, with how horrible of a student he could be, that Fred was actually a genius when he wanted to be. You just nodded.

“I don’t know where to go from there though: I don’t recognise the handwriting; I don’t know when they put it in there; I can’t write one back-“

“You’d write back?” You tried to hide how breathless the thought made you.

“It’s like you know nothing about letter-writing etiquette.”

If only he knew.

Forgetting that you were trying not to be helpful, lest he discovered that you were his secret admirer, you were accidentally helpful.

“Didn’t you go through your pockets before you changed last night to find that chocolate frog Ron stole?”

“So, Ron stole that frog.” he turned to you, smirking. You remembered in that second that you’d promised Ron that you’d keep that information to yourself.

“What? Who told you that?”

He narrowed his eyes as you painted the most innocent expression you could on your face.

“But yeah, you’re right. So what?”

“So what?” This boy. “So, they must’ve put it in your robes after that.”

His face lit up.

“Okay so, who did you see after that?”

Finding his concentrated frown much cuter than you should’ve, you were almost disappointed when he started talking.

“George, Ron, You-“ you were both sad and happy that he didn’t pause. “Hermione?”

You shook your head, making a face. He nodded in agreement.

“Harry, Lee, Angelina. Do you think it was Angelina?”

You stomach sank at his excitement. “Could be.”

He smiled, leaning back on his chair, pleased with himself.

“So, what are you gonna do?”

He seemed surprised at your question as if he’d forgotten what the point of your detective work was.

“It’s still lunchtime, right?”

You looked at the clock on the wall. “Just about.”

“Come on then, my little detective.”

As you followed him to the Great Hall, you tried to ignore the way your heart jumped at the nickname.

When you reached the Hall, Angelina was sat down, surrounded by her friends. George was also there, probably late from his detention with Snape.

“Alright, George?” Fred said, nudging his shoulder against his brother’s. George looked at you, and then at Fred. Something was strange about his stare.

“Why do you look so happy?” George asked, crossing his arms.

“Y/N and I have cracked the case!”

“Oh, really?” When George looked at you almost pointedly, a lump formed in your throat. He knew.

“And I’m going to go seal the deal – wish me luck, Georgie.”

As Fred walked rather confidently over to Angelina, you and George stood shoulder to shoulder. In silence. It was eating you alive. Your mind swam with things to say: explanations, excuses, ways to make a clean exit.

“I didn’t think you had it in you.” He said, his tone light and a smile on his lips as he watched his brother strike up a conversation. Out of all the things he could’ve said, you hadn’t expected that. You looked up at him and he nodded over to Angelina’s confused face. “Letting him trot over there thinking Angelina wrote that letter? Very wicked.”

You paused before deciding you had nothing left to lose.

“What was I supposed to do? Tell him?”

“Yes.” George said as if it was obvious – his expression a carbon copy of Fred’s.

“He would hate me, George.”

He laughed, throwing his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. You wondered what about your misfortune he found so funny. “My sweet, sweet Y/N,” you both watched as Angelina’s friends burst into laughter. You felt even more guilty at Fred’s discouraged expression. “Fred could never hate you.”

As Fred returned to you, tail between his legs and ego wounded slightly, he didn’t even notice George’s arm around you. He just frowned, nodding.

“At least that narrows down our suspect pool.” Then he turned to George. “Up for helping us figure out the mystery?”

George let go of your shoulder, making apologetic gestures as he backed away.

“Sorry mate, still got detention.”

Fred made a face before turning to you. George winked as he left the Hall in the opposite direction of the dungeon.

“So, who’s left?”

You were worried about how short the list of possible authors was getting and George’s words were echoing in your head.

“Fred,” you started, tilting your head to the side. “I have to tell you something.”

“What?” he asked, frowning and crossing his arms.

“Well, I-“

You cursed yourself.

“So, I-“

“What I’m trying to say is that I…”

You closed your eyes and sighed.

“Basically this is really hard to say and I really don’t know what to do if you hate-”

“You wrote the letter?”

Your head shot up to see Fred, smirking with an eyebrow raised.

“I can’t believe you’d send me off to go ask Angelina whether she wrote it. Blimey, love, you’re more ruthless than I thought; should be a bloody Slytherin. It’s a good job I figured it out before I plundered over there like a right git.”

You blinked. What was happening? Why was Fred smiling? How did he know?

“You knew all along?”

He just smiled.

“Why- Why did-“ you stopped, mouth open. “Why did you make me help you?”

“Bit of fun,” he shrugged, pressing his lips together. “Wanted you to tell me.”

You placed your hand to your forehead, groaning. You must look like a right idiot.

“How did you know?”

“Smelt like you, didn’t it.”

You frowned, moving your head.

“You pay attention to what I smell like?”

“I pay attention to everything about you.”

He placed his hands on your hips. You were sure you’d short-circuited.

“The way you smell… the face you make when you lie… how suspicious you look when you’re messing with my robes.”

It was impossible, you thought, to be more embarrassed than you were in that exact moment.

“You saw me put it in there.”

“I saw you put it in there.” He said, pulling you into him. “Was quite pleased when I read it, actually, I’ve fancied you for years.”

“You’re lying.”

You placed your hands very tentatively on his chest, his soft jumper underneath your palms.

“There’s only one liar here.”

You made a face. He looked over your head, pursing his lips before looking down again.

“The sunshine of your world, ay?”

“Shut up.” You groaned, cringing again. He laughed, his whole body shaking. “What does this mean?”

“Well,” he moved his hand to the small of your back. “I was hoping it meant I could kiss you.”

You nodded, again at a loss for words.

“That alright with you?”

You just nodded.

#writing #imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter

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thero0ks · 4 years

Text

My Most Treasured Items

Reiner receives a letter from someone in his past.

No happy ending, just angst.

Season Four spoilers

Trigger Warnings: Detailed description of death/corpses, brief discussion of childhood abuse

The detour had never been in the battle plan. Hanji and Levi would probably be pissed if they knew she’d taken an alternate route. She had studied the map for weeks to know the layout of the city, so that this detour would only add a couple seconds to her time. That’s why she took off a few moments earlier than everyone else. Her feet landed in the alleyway. Peeking her head out to check the Main Street she found it was empty. Rushing to the lone mailbox she pulled out the crisp white envelope. Having taken great care to avoid any wrinkles in the delicate paper she gave the envelope a soft kiss before placing it in the mailbox.

Four years later she would be able to speak her peace. Her shoulders relaxed. A weight lifting off her as she took off in the air once more to rendezvous with the rest of the squad.

* **

They sat around the table discussing Zeke’s betrayal. Reiner proposed an immediate counter attack. They left the meeting agreeing to think on the matter.

Entering his own barracks he found a letter placed on his bedside table. The flowing script pulled at something in his memory. Amber eyes flickered over to the name of the sender and his heart stopped. Y/N L/N.

His legs gave way as he sat on the edge of the bed tearing open the letter. Another Devil from his past had come back to haunt him.

To my beloved Reiner,

What would I do if I had 13 years to live? I’ve thought about the question for four years now, and I still don’t have an answer. By my calculations you only have a year, maybe two left?

I know your love for me was forced, and I truly apologize for the turmoil I caused you. A devil like me is hard to love for someone like you. The bitter truth that you were always enough for me, but I was only another sin that stained your hands is a hard thing to bear. I guess I have a knack for loving the wrong people. Perhaps that’s my punishment for the sins of my ancestors? Isn’t that what you Marleyans say?

You said a lot of things four years ago, but I didn’t get to say a word. I just watched you leave, and dealt with the aftermath of all my friends dying. For the record, I never wanted any of this. I think all this death is senseless, and I meant what I always said that this world could use more love.

I guess this world doesn’t have a place for dreamers.

I wanted to hate you for choosing them over us, but I realize that’s your home. It's easy to hate something you hold no attachment to. Loyalty is a strong trait, and it’s something I wanted to curse you for. I looked at you leaving me as a betrayal, but how can you betray something or someone you were never loyal to in the first place?

I guess that’s what I’m trying to say. I forgive you for not choosing me, but I also ask that you forgive me for not choosing you anymore either. There is not a decision either one of us could change that would have put us on a different path. For both of our sakes I wish to allow you a glimpse into my dreams.

I choose to believe in a world where we made all the right choices. One where we ended up together, happy, and surrounded by all our fallen comrades.

Maybe you have no desire to see me in that way. Perhaps every stolen moment we had was nothing more then something you did to pass the time. I want to believe the man you showed me exists, because everything I showed you was real.

Even after four years I cannot hate you. I hope your heart softens when you think of me too.

With love,

Y/N L/N

A tear splashed on the cream colored paper. Reiner’s hand moved to his cheek trying to recall the moment his eyes leaked water. His heart ached at her words.

Every time he recounted his time on Paradis to other Marleyans internally he always ended the statement with “except her.” Never had he said it aloud, but never had he lumped her in with the rest of them.

He remembered the night when she finally opened up about herself. Growing up in poverty, her abusive father, and the inner turmoil she felt about loving the man that abused her. He’d been so angry when she recounted the abuse to him, and the confusion he felt when she expressed empathy for the monster.

Gripping the letter he realized he had been a different monster to her. Wasn’t that his goal? Make the Devils of Paradis suffer? Then why did he want to beg for forgiveness at her feet for the sins he committed against her?

Running his hand through his hair he straightened the letter. Rereading it, hoping for poisoned words to jump out of the page. He deserved every verbal lashing she could bestow upon him, but he knew they would never come.

He wanted to write back to her. Tell her there wasn’t a moment he regretted leaving her on that island to rot. How her heartbroken look still haunted his dreams. Mostly he just wanted to assure her that he too wanted desperately to believe that in some alternative universe they would be together forever.

Here he was encouraging a full scale attack on the island. “Forgive me for not choosing you anymore either.” The hope of a relationship between the two had been crushed with that statement, but love still lingered in their hearts.

She was exactly what he needed. His bed felt cold without her. He still had issues going to bed alone, because she wasn’t there to coax into bed. Knowing her soft heart would melt if he told her he couldn’t sleep without her.

It was such a strange thing that someone so small was friends with the dark. She often told him she found peace when darkness coated the earth. Perhaps that’s what made it easy for him to fall asleep in her arms. He’d tried to tell her he was a monster, but she’d always kiss his forehead, and assure him that he was a good man, and that she would love him no matter what.

A knock on the door pulled Reiner out of his thoughts. “What is it?”

Porco poked his head through the door, “we have all the Devils bodies. Magath wants you to take a look,” Porco said, gripping the door knob. “See if anybody essential to their military is among them.”

Reiner sighed, folding the letter up and tucking it away before following Porco down to the yard where the bodies were being kept. The gate guards gave them a nod of acknowledgment as they passed.

Several rows of bodies were laid out and Reiner inspected each. They were all new faces. The attack on Paradis they launched four years ago had wiped out the scout regiment.

Reaching the last row he caught sight of a female corpse. The (dark/light) hair looked familiar. His feet seemed to echo off the pavement. Stopping in front of the body he took her in. Her soft curves had grown cold and stiff. Several bullet holes littered her body, and her neck was twisted in an odd angle. Bile rose in Reiner’s throat as he took in the soft cheeks, and her eyes that once held so much warmth were nothing but an empty abyss devoid of life. The color now dull the light long gone out.

Tears streamed down his face as shaking hands reached out to her. Nothing felt like her as he touched her cold skin. He hadn’t felt the sting of pavement as he fell on his knees to grip her hand and brush the hair from her face.

Porco remained silent. Taking in Reiner’s actions. Porco couldn’t find it in his heart to judge the man for falling in love with a devil. Especially when he had watched the woman die.

“I should have taken you back to Marley.” Reiner babbled, amber eyes fixed in the past.

“Reiner, she chose to attack Marley,” Porco tried to reason.

The large man rounded on him. “You know nothing about her,” he seethed. “She never wanted any of this.” Running his fingers through his hair. “All she wanted was to find something more out there than hell she was living in.”

“You can’t blame her death on yourself.” Porco reasoned.

“She would never have come here if it was not for me,” Reiner stated, as he removed a leather pouch that was strapped to her thigh. A bitter laugh escaped his lips as he pulled a small stone out.

* ** “Hey L/N!” Reiner said tossing the small stone at her.

A squeak escaped her lips as she lifted her hands to block her face. The stone making an audible thud against her ribs. “You didn’t even try to catch it,” Reiner said, picking the stone back up.

“Well I’m sorry, I grew up with an older brother who would have just pelted me with the rock,” she huffed. “It was a natural reaction to go into defense mode.”

Reiner let out a laugh at the thought of an elder L/N terrorizing her. “It’s a lucky rock,” he said offering the rock to her. He held the perfectly round stone between his index finger and thumb and her fingers brushed against his to pluck it out of his grasp.

“What makes it lucky?” she inquired. Curious eyes flickered up to catch his gaze.

He simply shrugged, “it’s perfectly round. That’s gotta be lucky.”

His answer seemed to satisfy her. “If I make it through our next mission without dying I’ll believe it’s lucky,” she said tucking the stone away in her leather pouch she kept secured to her thigh.

“What’s in your pouch?” Reiner asked, his head tilted as his gaze focused on her legs.

“My most treasured items,” she said with a shrug. “Tell you what Braun if I die before you, you can have my pouch and whatever is in it.”

Reiner ruffled her hair. “You’re not going to die as long as I’m by your side.”

* **

“The only time she wasn’t suffering was when I was lying to her,” Reiner murmured, the guilt washing over him at the sin he most regretted. The luck in the stone had finally faded Reiner thought numbly, or maybe it was the belief in the luck that died.

Perhaps he should be honored that a piece of him was counted among her most treasured possessions. A black and white photograph was the next thing he pulled out. It was a portrait, and Y/N was dressed in Marley’s finest. Joy seemed to be radiating from her face. Reiner’s guilt seemed to lessen. It was possible she had found a way to move on in her daily life.

The next thing he pulled out was a love letter. Reading through it he was surprised to find a small hand drawn portrait enclosed. The letter and portrait signed by Jean Kirstein. By the letter it was a different kind of love. It was the kind of love made for slow mornings, and gentle hearts. It was built for smooth sailing, but was never meant to survive the storms that life threw. Perhaps she knew that, and cherished the safety Jean had brought her for the period of their relationship.

The fact was that Reiner’s relationship with her had been built to weather storms, but he had set sail without her, so she was left to weather the waves without a life preserver. Somehow she’d clawed her way to the shore to try and rebuild what he had taken.

The last thing he pulled out was a small leather journal. Flipping through the pages he found some entries dated to cadet training, and her last entry was the night she died.

“Magath is going to want to read that journal,” Porco stated. Breaking the silence that he had given Reiner to go through her belongings.

Reiner tucked the items back into the satchel. “Can you give me the night to read through it?” Reiner’s downcast eyes took her corpse in one last time.

Porco nodded, “yeah just give it to Magath tomorrow.” Porco gave Reiner’s shoulder an awkward squeeze before leaving him.

Reiner tried to figure out how to say goodbye to the last thing in the past he cared about. The soldier was officially gone, and the only thing that remained was the warrior. All he wanted was more time. His thirteen years were almost up, his best friend and the love of his life didn’t have as much time. Perhaps they would be waiting for him. All he wanted was to see their smiles at the end of all of this. He was tired of fighting, and he was tired of being alone. “We’ll be together again soon,” he vowed, closing the door on death one more time.

#reiner x reader #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x y/n #reiner braun x you

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sweatersexual · 3 years

Text

just some black ink on some blue lines (and a shadow you won’t recognize)

Read on AO3

Stan wished he knew what was going through Ford’s mind when he’d packed this box and shoved it in a closet. When they were kids, they’d insisted to their mother on cleaning days that the piles of the stuff in their room were organized, they had a system. Ford probably still had one, but Stan was no longer privy to it. He’d probably be annoyed with Stan for messing it up if - when - he got back.

But if Stan was going to turn this room into a gift shop, this closet would have to be cleared out. So he dug through the motley collection of vinyl records, books, part of a research paper, a jar of molasses, and a Cubic’s Cube, placing most of them in the pile of Ford’s things to be packed away and eventually returned to him. The book on Fifth-Dimensional Calculus, though, that might be helpful with the portal.

Two loose sheets of paper fell out as he flipped through the book. A letter, but not addressed to anyone. Still, Stan had spent enough time bent over that journal to know Ford’s handwriting back to front.

I’ve fallen in love with him, the letter read. I never imagined I could fall in love, let alone with a hog farmer from Tennessee, but he’s brilliant and charming and something electric runs through me every time we touch.

The confirmation that Ford was gay after all these years was hardly a surprise to Stan. He’d suspected Ford’s sexuality for about as long as he’d questioned his own. But Stan could never imagine writing anything so sappy about a guy he himself was into. Stan snorted as he continued reading.

I know you would tease me if I told you this in person. That’s only one of the many, many reasons I can never send this letter. But I feel like I have to tell someone about this or I’ll burst. Anyone else would think I was some kind of pervert. But somehow, I think you would understand.

I know we never talked about this, back when we still talked. We both knew how our father felt about men loving other men . . .

This letter was written to Stan. Ford had wanted to tell someone he was in love, and he had thought of Stan, even though they weren’t talking to each other. Ford must have picked up on Stan being bisexual in some way and known that it would have been safe to come out to him, if circumstances were different.

Well, he’d have been safe from homophobia. Safe from the usual brotherly mockery was a different story.

We both knew how our father felt about men loving other men, and his disapproval hung like a specter over everything we did. I know some psychologists would blame his overbearing nature for my current inclinations . . .

Overbearing nature, yeah, that was putting it lightly. “He’s an asshole,” Stan muttered to himself.

. . . but I can’t help but feel that if an overbearing father makes one queer, there would be a lot more queer people in the world. And psychology is a very inexact science anyway.

Stan had already figured, but it was nice to have someone as smart as Ford say that at least one of the theories people put out about why people weren’t straight was bogus. It didn’t matter why he or Ford loved men, because they weren’t about to change, and they weren’t hurting anybody. The sooner more people realized that, the better.

I’ve given up on analyzing why I feel the way I do about F. The fact that we have so much in common probably has something to do with it, but we didn’t always get along so well. When we first met a few years ago, I found his unique blend of hick and hippie mannerisms very off-putting. He thought me stuffy and intractable. Still, we managed to stand living together long enough to become close friends, and now, something more romantic in nature as well.

A few weeks ago, he insisted we take a break from studying. We drove out to the middle of nowhere and stargazed, something we’ve done several times before. Talking about space excites our imaginations. It has sparked many a conversation about the future, not just our own hopefully bright ones, but that of the world and humanity at large. This time, however, we got on the subject of how grateful we were to have each other in our lives. I’m a loner by nature, as you know, so connecting with anyone as well as I do with F is rare and precious. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than his lips were on mine, and I was reciprocating wholeheartedly.

When the kiss broke, he looked at me questioningly, worried, I think, that either of us would come to our senses and acknowledge the enormity of what we had just done. Instead I simply kissed him back. We’ve shared so many since then, and the close quarters of our dorm have proven too enticing to get schoolwork done without distractions. I’ve had to relocate to the library several times in order to get any real studying done.

That nerd. Of course his main concern about getting a boyfriend was how it would cut into his study time.

Despite how busy we are, we’ve still found time for things like walks around campus or daringly holding hands in the back of a dark movie theater. But mostly we’ve spent an increasing amount of time in each other’s arms back in our dorm. We made love last night. I’ll spare you the details, but I’ll have you know he’s just as considerate and patient in bed as he is anywhere else. Perhaps even more so.

Oh come on. “Considerate and patient?” That’s how you’d describe your waiter, not your lover. Had the sex not been that good? Not that Stan wanted to know the details, Ford had been right about that, but sheesh, Stan expected something more spicy than “considerate and patient.”

I can’t believe I just put that down on paper. Thank goodness you’ll never read this, you’d say I’m such a sap. I can’t help it, I’m in love and the only one I can talk to about it is the object of my affections. And as much as I do love talking to him about us, it would be nice, just for once, for someone else to know how happy I am, and why.

Yeah, Stan had been there before, when he’d dated guys who weren’t out. It sucked, not being able to introduce him to your friends, having to worry about who was watching when you so much as held his hand. So much of what was normal for couples just couldn’t be for you.

But sadly, disappointment is just as much a part of life as love is. You taught me that.

Stan winced. Ford had basically just called him a disappointment. Stan had known their father had felt that way about him, and Ford probably did too, but damn. Seeing it in writing like that still hurt.

Even F may leave me someday. As lovestruck as I am, I can still see the obstacles ahead of us clearly. I try not to let it taint my time with him now, much in the same way I still look back on our childhood fondly, even though it ended so badly.

I still keep that photo of us on the Stan-o-War, you know. F has seen it. He thinks we should talk to each other. I have no idea how I would even start. And sending this letter is still very much out of the question. Ma thinks you moved from the last address you gave her anyway. I would tell you to call her, but that would involve talking to you.

See you never,

Ford

Stan turned the letter over and sighed. Disappointment or not, at least Ford didn’t completely hate him. You didn’t write a letter like that to someone you hated. You didn’t keep a picture to show your boyfriend. You didn’t fondly reminisce on old memories. It sounded like Ford had considered reconciliation as a possibility, but not one he knew how to pursue. Stan could understand that. He had felt the same way.

Stan wondered if he had enough information to look up this F guy. Surely it wouldn’t be hard to track down a Backupsmore alumnus who’d been a hog farmer from Tennessee and had the first initial F. Maybe he was the owner of the smaller sized clothes Stan had found lying around the house, or of the vinyl records that didn’t seem to fit Ford’s music taste. Or maybe Ford had moved on from his college sweetheart and they belonged to someone else.

No, looking up F was a bad idea. Either he’d figure out Stan was impersonating his brother and ruin everything Stan was working for, or he’d believe Stan was Ford and Stan would have to pretend they had romantic history. Neither option was worth the hassle.

Stan ended up keeping the letter down in the basement with his brother’s journal. Whenever Stan reread it, he felt every minute of the decade plus he and Ford had spent growing apart. In another life, could they have shared those moments together? Could they have come out to each other in person? There was a whole relationship as adults they could have had, and maybe it was still a possibility.

Stan just needed to get that portal up and running.

#gravity falls #stan pines #ford pines #fiddauthor #fiddleford mcgucket #fanfic #otp: not just research partners #1600 words

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randomingoftherandomness · 4 years

Text

Secrets I Have Held In My Heart

A/N: Modern!AU, Soulmate!AU, Soul Mark!AU, Angst, OT3.

This is quite honestly one of the longest things I’ve ever done in one sitting. I am exhausted. My prose and tenses are probably everywhere and I am so sorry for it. Enjoy x

(Edit 20/1/2021) It has recently come to my attention that lies and slander have been spread about my character amongst persons in this OT3 community. They are malicious lies made with the intent to cast a shadow over my credibility and my good standing in this community. I only ask that you come talk to me first before you believe the horrible things that have been levelled about me.

Please take care of yourselves x

Booker smiles placidly when he catches Joe's eye from across the room and let's the pretenses drop the moment he ducks out into hallway, finding a spot of quiet from all the music and chatter of celebration in the living room. He really should be happy but as it is with heartbreaks, happiness is something you can only fake until it feels real.

He opens the door when the doorbell rings and kisses the cheeks of the latecomers in greeting. They awkwardly avoid his eye with shifty smiles as they shuffle past him. Booker doesn't blame them. It's an awkward fucking situation all around.

Joe's warm and happy laughter carries through the air, and Booker just feels his heart twist in his chest. The sight of his head of curls bobbing along in the joy of whatever joke one of their friends was making while his arm was slung intimately low around Nicky's waist was unbearable. Booker has enough self-respect in him to recognise it as jealousy.

He has been in love with his best friend for almost as long as he has known him. It had been ridiculously easy for them; Joe had no soul marks and neither had Booker, so it was the most natural thing to move in together after they'd both hit 33 and when Booker decided to offer his fine art restorer skills up to go freelance, they make plans to spend the rest of their lives together. It made sense and they were happy. Booker had had no intentions of ever letting Joe know how he had truly felt and that was the mistake.

It isn't that he dislikes Nicky.

The man was beyond perfect and Booker could have never hoped to compare. From the briefest of familiarities, he knows that Nicky was a former theology student who left the seminary and is now deep in his work with a local NGO, well on his way to maybe working for the UN some day. He volunteers at a local shelter, helps at his church's soup kitchen, is handsome and funny, is a fucking Saint personified and looks great next to Joe when Booker looks like a twice drowned rat on his best day. It isn't that he hates the man. It's just that, well, Nicky isn't him.

Booker knew something had changed then. Joe had never looked at him the way he had when his and Nicky's eyes first met. And he knows Joe like he knows his own mind and there won't be any one as trusting or as kind. If he tells him he loves him, Joe would stay and he'd be Booker's, but that's not how love works and so he waits until the day they're both on the sofa watching a game and Joe turns to him to say, "Nicky's my soulmate."

Just like that. And because he could never hurt Joe, he smiles, nodding. "I figured he was. Congratulations man. That's amazing!"

There had been an indescribable look that crossed Joe's face when he said that but he hadn't lingered on it for too long. Joe's soul mark was on his left forearm set in stark, bold lines; a scimitar and a longsword threaded together with roses and thorns. Pretty cool and Booker made sure to tell him so.

That had been three months ago. Three months of waiting for the other shoe to drop, the inevitable moment when Joe says he's gonna move out and into Nicky's unit. For the second it hits his best friend that there really wasn't a place for someone like him in this equation. Two months of sitting around until he wraps up his current contract with the museum in the city and the curator takes him aside to ask him if he would be interested in working for a private collector in Turkey. Two years to work on a team of freelancers. Two years on the other side of the continent. Booker said yes with no hesitation.

"Hey, you good?"

Booker knocks his bottle of beer to Copley's. He is one of the newer persons to join their friend group but it feels like they've know each other for a very long time. His warm smile anchors Booker to the here and now and he is stupidly grateful for his presence. The man was steadfast and calm, and it made sense to Booker that he'd be the only one he told about his leaving. "Yeah. I'm ready to go whenever you are."

He'd snuck a duffle bag of his things out to Copley's house the day before and then two suitcases when Joe was over at Nicky's last night. Right before the party to celebrate Joe's birthday, he had brought his carry on out to Copley's car. His name was still on the lease and he has left instructions to help pay for his part of the rent until the end of the year if Joe would like to continue staying here. Copley will help ship the rest of his things after a month. All that's left to do is leave.

Joe had been looking forward to introducing Nicky to his family and friends, and this party was perfect for it. Booker feels bereft at the thought that this could be the last time he sees him in a long while and he cranes his neck to spy him in the center of the room, accepting a kiss from Nicky as the birthday cake is brought out from the kitchen. He holds that image of Joe, smiling from ear to ear and hopes he won't hate him too much for leaving without saying goodbye.

"Let's go."

His Turkish is passable at best but he gets by well enough. The rest of the restoration team were up and coming names mixed with pioneers in the field and despite the lingering heart ache, Booker finds himself pleasantly settled and happy with the work he gets to do. Everyone seems to be equally as excited as he is to be working on their employer's personal collection of paintings and sculptures, in addition to the rare books that Booker has never seen outside of museums and archives.

It's good work and it keeps him busy. It stops him from thinking about Joe too much.

Booker had found thirteen missed calls and twenty texts and ten voicemails when he lands. He hesitates only for a moment before deleting everything that wasn't from Copley or his work.

As if sensing he was being summoned by thought, his phone rings as he basks in the afternoon sunshine whilst reading a book on his off day, Copley's name flashes on his screen.

"You still alive, then?"

"Alive and kicking," Copley says over the line with a laugh. "I swear, Joe is going to eviscerate me one of these days."

Booker shakes his head, marking his page and setting his book aside. The sunlight feels good on his skin and he takes a deep lungful of air. "He won't. He's way too nice."

"You didn't see him glare when I packed the last of your things into the boxes. They're shipped, by the way. Should reach you in a week tops."

"Thanks. I owe you big time."

"Oh, you owe me more than big time. When I come over to visit, I want you pulling out all the stops for me. I want the five star experience, Mr Booker. No expense spared," Copley chuckles.

"Alright, alright," Booker laughs. "I'm sure I can rustle something up. Just let me know when, alright?"

Copley hums and they fall into a comfortable pause. "How are you? Really. Don't lie."

He tightens his grip on his phone, swallowing tightly. "I miss him every day but that's not new. I think I'll keep missing him for a while yet."

"That's normal. I'm not surprised. I think he misses you too, you know?"

"He has Nicky now. He doesn't need me. I'm... I'm just his best friend with a stupid crush that had made plans to spend the rest of my life with him. I don't fit in it any more and he deserves more than I could ever give him," He swallow tightly, licking his lips. "Copley, he'll be okay."

"But will you?"

Booker doesn't have an answer to that. When his things arrive a week and a half later, he accepts it and begins to unpack his books. He's grateful to have his familiar favourites and is eager to fill his shelves when he spots the edges of an envelope peeking out of a battered copy of Neruda. It was a letter and it was addressed to him, though the handwriting is unfamiliar to him.

Dear Sebastien, it starts and this clues him in that this person isn't someone who knows him well. No one outside of his employers and colleagues call him Sebastien.

I hope you don't mind. I'll be slipping this along with the books. I really do hope it finds you well. I don't have your number and judging by the way Joe seems to not receive a reply from you, you might have changed it. I would ask it from Copley but I do not know him well enough and you deserve someone you can speak to without any awkwardness. I write this letter because I want to know you better. It occurred to me that we have never exchanged more than a handful of words whenever we meet and it was always about Joe. I found myself curious about you even if it feels like I know you from all that Joe talks about you. He still talks about you. Even if it is in confusion as to why you left us. I don't write to judge you. I just want to be your friend. If you are amenable, please send your reply to me care of the address on the back of this paper. I hope that you do. I won't tell Joe if you don't want me to.

Sincerely, Nicky.

Booker flips the paper and sees that it's for the church he'd half-remembered being the one that Joe had mentioned off-handedly once. He rereads the words, thrown by the whole thing. He tucks it into his pocket, pushing it to the back of his mind as he focuses on unpacking his life. But the shape of it digs against his skin and he cannot help unfolding it every few minutes to read it all over again.

Each word was carefully pressed and written with intent. He finds his thumb brushing over the looping Joe, but it is the careful He still talks about you that decides things for him.

Scratching his chest absently, he tears out an empty page from his notebook as writes, If we're going to be friends, you'd better call me Booker.

The seasons change and his correspondence with Nicky grows from a weekly letter to every few days, to Booker posting a letter only to receive a reply for the one he sent two days ago when he arrives back in his flat. Booker takes to sending a box of baklava over an overnight service and Nicky sends him a handwritten recipe for his Nonna's tomato soup when Booker off-handedly mentions a sniffle.

Eventually it gets easier to talk about Joe and Booker tells Nicky on what he likes and what he doesn't, how to best care for him; he's allergic to a certain brand of detergent, he always forgets his scarf in the depths of winter so always stuff one in his coat pocket, he loves it when you caress his hair, he doesn't support any team in football but he loves watching a game and he always chooses the team that starts on the right side of the pitch, ask his mother for her recipe for lamb stew and make that for him when he's having a busy week.

Nicky never seems to be bothered by him telling him all these things and in turn, Booker learns that Nicky cannot function before his first cup of coffee, that he misses the quiet of his life in the seminary but he is glad he can do more as he is, that he has a few kids that he works with that he is hoping will get into gifted programmes that can help them excel in academia, that if he hadn't done the almost priest route, he would have been a doctor or a medic.

It was ridiculously effortless to be friends with Nicky and he finds himself actually looking forward to his letters and random bits and bobs in the mail. Sometimes Nicky sends Booker Joe’s sketches and he keeps them up on his bedside, keeping them in sight as he falls asleep at night. Other times there’s a picture or two, taken by Nicky, of Joe. Joe on the corner of the sofa, curled up and dozing, Joe eyes crinkling as he laughs at something. Joe with those ridiculous sunglasses they bought on a whim over a very wet Welsh afternoon.

As the first chill of the season sets in, Booker asks about Joe.

He's fine. Missing you. We're heading to his family's beach house. He said you both used to go together?

Booker finds that he can smile a little easier when the memories come or when it is brought up that Joe misses him. It still tastes a little bittersweet but he can be happy about how he had the chance to experience these things with Joe. Even if he hadn't been the one to keep having them.

Yes. He writes, But you both can do this together now. Make sure you pack extra blankets for yourself. I'm sure you know that he hogs them.

Nicky replies with a box of Marks and Spencer Welsh Cakes which Booker thanks with an assortment of Turkish Delights.

Their correspondence slows as the weather cools further. Copley, when he tells him about what’s happening over Skype, merely asks him if it i a good idea to be even putting himself in the same sphere as Joe and Nicky when he had moved across the continent just to get away from the heartbreak.

“I don’t see how it couldn’t be,” Booker says over the sizzling of the butter as he makes the cheese toasties that Joe used to love for breakfasts. He scratches at his chest, eyes watching the way the cheese oozes off its side.

“Mate, I don’t think you’re far removed enough to actually know how catastrophic this could be.”

“O ye, of little faith,” Booker huffs, flipping the toastie. “At some point I would like to be able to exist in the same city as him without melting into a puddle of heartbreak. If being friends with his soulmate helps get me there, I’m all for it.”

“You are a masochist, Mr Booker.”

Booker laughs even as he burns his finger on the pan.

He works harder than ever, learning and improving his own techniques under the tutelage of his colleagues and can appreciate the opportunity. There's already talks of him going to New York after the New Year's to accompany some of the artifacts that are being lent out for display. Booker is climbing the stairs up to his building, head down, free hand rubbing at his chest and reading through the latest methods of restoration on his phone when he bumps into a person rushing down.

“Oh, sorry--”

“Booker.”

Joe’s eyes are big and wide when their gazes meet. Booker blinks, breathes in deep before looking behind him to see Nicky watching them from his landing, exhaling shakily as he whispers, deep and with feeling, “What the fuck are you guys doing here?”

Nicky nurses his cup of tea from his lean against the window and deftly avoids the inquiring glare Booker keeps sending his way from the safety of the kitchen. Joe, on the other hand, is carefully prowling the space of his studio flat he has made home, obviously cataloguing the way his books sit on the shelf and the way he has kept the space marginally clean-ish, how there are pictures and sketches tacked to the wall behind the dining table, the clear signs of a life he has built here.

“Let me get this straight, you picked up Nicky’s mail from the church, saw my handwriting, and decided to come all the way to Turkey. Just to see me,” Booker says, gesturing at their backpacks leaning against his door. “Again, let me ask, why?”

“Why?” Joe laughs, throat clicking when the sound comes out rough and raw. “You ask me why I would fly out to Turkey in the middle of the holiday season just to see my best friend who left me without telling me he got a job in Turkey and was going to leave without even so much as a goodbye, and you are asking me why I would come all the way out here just to chase you down? Are you perhaps short of a marble!”

“And what was I supposed to do! Linger around you when I was dying every single time I looked at you and knew I wasn’t your soulmate? We were going to spend our lives together, Joe! I loved you!”

Booker slaps his hand over his mouth and turns away, focusing on his breathing. “You love me?” Joe says softly in the stillness of the flat.

“I did. I do and I’m sorry,” He sighs, feeling his chest shake with his trembling breath. He presses the heel of his hand to his sternum. “I do. And it’s okay, Joe. I know you don’t love me in that way. It’s okay. I just need some time away to figure out how to love you like you need me to.”

“And what do you know about what I need from you?”

Booker feels Joe come close and allows himself to be turned around to be face to face with him. “Do you know I love you too?”

“Yeah,” He chuckles wetly, rubbing his nose with the back a hand. “I’m your best friend.”

Nicky choose this moment to speak. “Booker, look at him and listen. It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you in our letters. “

There’s an insistence in Nicky’s gaze that galvanises Booker to turn to Joe and meet his eyes head on. “I love you, Book. I always did. I still do. Even after the bullshit you’ve put me through.”

“But Nicky--” “Nicky’s my soulmate and I love him too.” Joe smiles, eyes gone liquor soft when Nicky returns his fond look. “But I’ve loved you for the longest time, Book. I still want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The itch on his chest starts to burn.

“And you’re alright with this?” Booker breathlessly asks Nicky, taking a step back. “This- This whole Love, Actually thing is a situation you’re okay with?”

“Yes,” Nicky says, standing to cross the distance between them. Joe reaches for him then, tenderly touching him by the elbow while Nicky slides a hand to his cheeks and Booker feels immediately overwhelmed. He parts his mouth to speak when he doubles over dropping to his knees when the fire spreading over the skin on his chest sends him to his knees gasping for air.

Joe keeps a hold on him while Nicky looks him over with clear worry. “Fuck!” Booker groans, trying to arch away. Clawing at his shirt, he tears at it until the buttons plink on the floor as they fall. For a moment, he does not register the dark lines that spread over his sternum. Running shaking fingers over his raw skin, Booker barely holds back the awed gasp at the scimitar and longsword twined together with thorns and roses.

“Well,” Nicky laughs softly, cupping him by the side of the head, sweeping him into a gentle kiss. In that second that their lips touch, Booker feels his heartbeat skip a notch. “I guess this answers things, doesn’t it?”

-- Epilogue --

“That’s the last of the boxes.”

Joe kicks the door shut behind him, dropping the bags in his hands to the floor, ignoring the evil eye sent his way by Nicky who had warned them against scuffing up the hardwood floors. Booker throws himself onto the sofa with a sigh and Joe, grinning like a maniac, does a running start before launching himself onto Booker.

“Oof!” And then after a beat and a wiggle. “Joe, you’re suffocating me and I can feel your dick against my ass.”

They’ve finally moved into their first home together. It had taken a bit more effort after Turkey to keep their fledgling relationship going but all’s well, ends well and Booker is back with them after finishing up his contract with glowing recommendations and growing his contact list. Joe was ridiculously proud and he knows Nicky feels the same too.

They’ll need to work hard over the next two days to spruce the place up in time for their housewarming. Their friends and families will be here and Joe cannot wait to show off his loves. Wrapping his arms around Nicky and pulling him along back to the sofa where Booker is, he basks in the happy warmth of feeling whole with his heart in one piece.

#joe x booker x nicky #booker x joe x nicky #joe x nicky x booker #the old guard fic #gab writes stuff #please dear god give me wisdom to never do this again #this was too long and i am FUCKING EXHAUSTED #I am going to bed

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taetaespeaches · 4 years

Text

love languages (hyung line)

I got an ask about what love languages each member of bts was, and that inspired me to write some mini drabbles for each member showing their respective love langugages.... so here it is, lovelies! I hope you enjoy :))

p.s. if you want to read about why I think the members have their respective love languages, read the ask I answered here.

[ maknae line here. ]

hyung line x reader genre: fluff word count: 1.9K

seokjin: giving gifts & words of affirmation

YOU stood at the kitchen island, leaning overtop it as you read over some papers for work, your fingers mindlessly toying with the pendant on your necklace. Jin sat in a stool opposite of you, a guitar in his hands, though he hadn’t played the instrument in a few minutes. He was too distracted by you messing with the Tiffany necklace, a silver diamond circle pendant. He had bought it for you before leaving for his last tour.

“Want some tea, love?” Jin asked you, gently propping the guitar up against the counter as he stood. You dropped the pendant as you looked to him.

“Yes, please,” you flashed a quick smile, returning your gaze to the reading, picking up your highlighter as you began noting important passages.

As he worked on boiling some water and fixing you both some hot tea, he kept sneaking glances at you, appreciating how you poured yourself into your work. Picking up your mugs, he brought it to you, setting it down next to your reading on the island, placing his chin on your shoulder as he peered over at the papers.

“That looks confusing,” he pouted.

You lightly chuckled, picking up your mug and taking a sip. “It’s not the easiest thing I’ve ever read, but it’s alright,” you assured him. “Thank you,” you gestured to the mug.

Jin’s gaze fell to your necklace as he told you, “I’m so proud of you.” Noticing the clasp had made its way to the side of your neck, he pushed your hair aside, gently taking the chain between his fingers. “I really admire your dedication. You inspire me,” he confessed as he stepped behind you, tenderly situating the necklace so the clasp was at the back of your neck again.

He had told you all of this before, but the compliments never ceased to make your heart race, filling you with love. “Thank you, Jinnie,” you whispered.

“I also love this necklace on you,” he said, and you could hear the smile on his lips.

“I know you do,” you giggled. “It looks good on me, doesn’t it,” you bragged, extending your neck to show it off.

“It really does, goddess. You’re stunning.”

yoongi: acts of service & giving gifts

STEPPING into your apartment, your senses were flooded with the smell of food cooking. Rolling your head over your shoulders you audibly moaned at the scent. Walking further into your home, you noticed it was especially clean, the side tables completely dusted, the floors vacuumed and mopped, all of your belongings tidied and organized.

Walking into the kitchen, you grinned upon the sight of your boyfriend wearing an apron as he stirred the contents of a pot on the stove.

Seeing you appear in his line of vision, he looked up quickly, before returning his gaze to the pot. He greeted you with a simple, “hey, Kid.”

“Hi, Min,” you responded. “You cleaned.”

“I did,” he said nonchalantly as he began turning some meat he had frying.

“You’re cooking,” you pointed out.

“You’re observant,” he quipped, a smirk toying on his lips. Rolling your eyes, you crossed your arms, a fond smile plastered to your face.

“Go sit down,” he told you. “It’s almost ready.” As you prepared to go to the table, which you noticed had a stunning bouquet of freshly bought flowers on it, Yoongi called out, “oh wait, can you come open this wine?”

You made your way to him quickly, grabbing the corkscrew from the drawer before grabbing the wine next to him. As you worked on removing the cork, you paused, setting it down and turning to face your boyfriend.

Placing a hand to his jaw, you guided him to look at you, which he did with widened eyes and pouted lips. “Thank you,” you appreciated, placing a kiss to his pout. A small smile overtook is face as he gestured to the wine, trying to push your attention elsewhere.

You giggled, opening the wine and picking it up before grabbing the two glasses from the counter. “Such a honey boy,” you teased with a smirk as you sauntered toward the dining room table, earning a scoff from Yoongi, though he couldn’t hide the upturn of his lips.

He simply shook his head, a weak attempt to hide the fond affection he felt for you.

hoseok: quality time & words of affirmation

YOU smiled at the sight of your boyfriend’s expression as he concentrated on your nails, holding back a giggle. If you didn’t know any better, he would like quite intimidating, his eyebrows pulled together in a sort of glare.

However, his demeanor completely changed when he swiped the nail polish brush too far to the right of your nail, coating your skin in pink paint. With a squeal and a kick of his leg, he whined, “why is this so hard?”

“Let me see,” you held your hand out in front of your face, holding back a laugh at the pink finger. “The other nails look great though, Sunshine,” you grinned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he groaned, taking the alcohol wipe and removing the polish from your finger. “Does it take you this long when you do them yourself?”

“No,” you giggled. “But I love this, you’re doing so good.”

“Ah it’s so frustrating,” he laughed through a groan.

Leaning forward, you rested your forehead against his own as you giggled. “Take a break,” you cooed, bringing your unpainted hand to run through the hair at the back of his head.

“I’m working, don’t distract me with your sweetness,” he told you with a smirk as he set the alcohol pad down and reached for the bottle again.

“Oh, my bad then, go on,” you told him with a bit of sass, leaning back and holding your hand out for him to get to work.

Laughing, he wrapped his hand around yours, bringing it close to his face as he attempted to repaint the nail he just messed up on. As he made the last swipe on the nail, a wide smile spread across his face. “Finally!” he yelled out.

“Yay!” you played along. “Only six fingers left,” you pointed out sweetly, though he knew you were teasing him.

Laughing, he set the bottle onto the floor to the side of you both before saying, “you know what?”

“What?”

Instead of a verbal response, he tackled you to the ground, both of you falling into fits of giggles as he tickled you, you having to hold your freshly painted hand out of the way leaving you defenseless. “Stop,” you whined through your laughter. “I’m sorry, you’re doing so good, Sunshine, I’m in awe.”

Ceasing his tickles, he rolled off of you to lie on the floor next to you as he held your hand up, inspecting the four fingers he had painted so far.

“What if I just left it like this?” He teased.

“Well that would look quite silly, wouldn’t it?” You questioned.

“You could pull it off,” he assured you with a nod. “You always pull everything off.”

“Oh shush,” you pulled your hand from his, sitting up and looking down at him.

He smiled widely at you as he propped himself up on his forearms. “It’s true,” he complimented. “I could have put any of these colors on you, even though I do love you in pink, and it would have looked amazing. Four fingers or all ten. You’re gorgeous.”

You rolled your eyes at him, shaking your head though you sported a bashful grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me,” he told you as he sat all the way up, reaching for the nail polish once again.

“I do,” you agreed with a sigh.

“I’m lucky for it,” he said sweetly, making you roll your eyes again. “Keep rolling your eyes, Petal, you know what it does to me,” he winked, you scoffing in response.

“Just finish my nails, Hoseok.”

namjoon: acts of service & quality time

LOOKING through your mail as you made your way down the hallway to your apartment, you spotted an envelope with handwriting that you would recognize anywhere. Quickly unlocking your door, you tossed all your things and the other mail on the side table, making your way to your sofa as you tore open the envelope.

It started with a simple, “My dearest girl,” and you immediately felt tears prick your eyes.

Namjoon had been on tour for two months and neither of you were coping well with being away from each other. You read through the letter, smiling as he told you about museums he had been to, saying he wanted to take you one day.

He wrote about the weather and how the rainy day made him think of that time you both fought and made up on his birthday. “One of my favorite birthdays ever,” he wrote.

He also included a set of lyrics for a possible new song, you being the inspiration. “You’ve been my muse since the first night you came into my life,” he told you below the lyrics.

Opening your laptop, you took a chance, hoping he’d be in his hotel room available to talk.

As the skype tone rang through the room, you reread the letter, taking in every word. He was so poetic, it never failed to amaze you.

When the tone abruptly stopped, Namjoon’s voice cut through the speakers, calling out a happy, “Babe!” Looking to the screen, there your boyfriend was, smiling a wide dimply grin, his eyes wide with excitement. His hair was slightly pushed back as he sported a white t-shirt with a colorful cardigan overtop.

At the sight of him, tears gathered in your eyes. “Why would you do this to me?” you accused, wiping under your eyes quickly.

“Huh? What did I do?” He asked worriedly, his smile dropping as his eyes bouncing all around his screen before settling on your face.

“This letter,” you whined. “Fuck, I love you.”

“Oh my god,” he breathed out. “Don’t do that to me, I was so scared.”

“Well, I’m soft, so thanks for that,” you held back a giggle. “I miss you so much. I love this letter.”

“I miss you too, babe,” he chuckled. “I swear, all day I just think about talking to you and I just want to hear your voice. I miss it every moment. I think the members are getting sick of me,” he laughed at himself. “I’ve been moody.”

You laughed as you cooed. “Aw Joonie.” Pulling your legs up and resting your cheek on your kneecap, you smiled.

“I miss talking to you all the time,” he whined with a slight chuckle.

“Me too, babe.” You pouted. A moment of silence washed over you both, Namjoon studying your expression and demeanor, picking up on your tired appearance.

“How’s work going?” He asked curiously, resting his chin in his hand atop the table.

You sighed. “I mean, not bad. It’s just kind of stressful right now,” you groaned.

Namjoon flashed you a look of concern. “Anything I can help you with?”

“No, no, you have enough going on,” you chuckled. “I can handle it, babe, don’t worry.”

He smiled softly. “I always have enough time for you though.”

With a groan, you mumbled, “I know.”

“Tell me about work, please,” he insisted, making you giggle at his persistence.

“Fine,” you gave in, shaking your head with a grin. “You and your need for communication,” you teased.

“You know, some people think communication is the key to a successful relationship,” he pointed out with a smirk.

“Crazy,” you joked, both of you giggling before you told him all about work, allowing him inside your mind, putting you both at ease.

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otherworldly-healer · 3 years

Text

Raine sat down at her office desk warily examining the envelope that held her name on it. She had placed it there earlier after checking the mailbox. Taking a shower and getting into clean clothes after trekking through the forest all day was a more pressing matter. Then dinner, lesson plans, and a few chores stole her attention. After everyone else had returned to their rooms for the night she finally got around to investigating the letter.

She noted it didn’t have a return address. It was rare if ever that she got mail that wasn’t some sort of advertisement for a business or an announcement of activities at the University or other community hub. Most correspondence was much easier on the telephone or meeting in person, so whatever it was it must have been formal. She unfolded her reading glasses and turned on the lamp to begin reading.

Professor Raine Sage,

I've been told I'm better at expressing myself in written word than spoken, and I'm inclined to agree. Even so, I'm not looking forward to writing this; I haven't written a letter in some years, and our relationship is complicated enough in normal circumstances.

I'm writing several letters now as a contingency. In the event I should disappear from the island before I find the courage to say these things aloud, I've given instructions for them to be delivered. If you're reading this, then I am no longer in Spirale. I suppose it's possible that you're reading this letter while I'm still here, but as I've entrusted these letters to one of my dearest and most reliable friends, I won't bother entertaining the thought.

A part of me is grateful that I won't have to deal with the fallout when these letters are first opened. For that, and for everything, I am sorry. On the other hand, it's entirely possible that I will return tomorrow and have to face the immediate consequences. But there's no way to predict what will happen, and I'd rather have those difficult conversations than leave, potentially for good, without a word.

Out of all of Spirale's victims from our world, I chose to write to you because I trust you are the most capable of understanding my intentions.

In my wake, I've left a path of devastation almost as wide as Yggdrasill's. I can't excuse the things I have done, nor would I want to; to try would be an insult to every life sacrificed, and despite what you may think of me, I cannot accept such callousness.

And yet, I must try to convince myself that there is a way to atone - that I am not irredeemable. I must believe that I can make a difference. It's naive - childish, even - but if I consider my current actions as useless, what hope can I have to actually make a change?

If I can't undo the past, I will do what I can to better the future. That is what I believe. It has taken me six years since my arrival to put it into words, but I believe I have felt that way deep down for a long time.

Unfortunately, I won't be able to act on that belief in Spirale, at least for some time. And that brings me to the point of this letter: I want you to remind me of this.

When people leave and return, their memories are sometimes altered or erased. I believe it due to the nature of the differing timelines between the island and its targeted worlds, but that's all I can say. Ironically, I can't remember if I ever told you this. It's a very real possibility that, should I return at all, I will not remember any of the experiences here that have shaped me.

I can remember who I was when I first arrived. The thought of being like that again scares me.

That isn't to say I expect you to restore my memories, nor do I expect you to try. If I do return as the bitter, apathetic person I was before, I doubt you would be able to convince me anyway. I simply ask that you tell me what I have said here - that no matter how hopeless it must seem, I must try.

I won't burden you with any other messages, though you are free to tell the others what I've written here. I pray that we get the chance to meet again, even if it is while I am someone else.

Take care, Yuan Ka-Fai

She had to reread the contents a few times before fully processing what was written. Even then she felt a rush of conflicting emotion that she couldn’t quite describe. He was really gone? Just like that?

She couldn’t understand him. He would write to her because he felt she was the most responsible one? He didn’t say that he trusted her personally, just that he trusted that she could understand his intentions. It made some sense, admittedly, rather than burdening one of the younger members of the group. Still, she couldn’t help but feel weighed down by this task that he had given her. To always have to be the mature voice, to be composed and weigh all perspectives, felt a bit unfair. Yet she had never been one to ever vocalize that she was being overwhelmed. Yuan and her weren’t close. Would this task not be better served to someone else? Was she just a last-case scenario, in case others had disappeared as well? Surely that must be all.

She had had little reason to keep checking her phone during these eclipses. Ever since Genis had arrived, she had little reason to keep obsessing over who had come and gone from this island. And while she felt a stinging loneliness when Colette and a melancholy when Six had disappeared, they had come back the same people. In her experience it seemed to happen more often than not. She knew from prior conversations with Yuan himself that it was possible for people to come here differently—Mithos had once been from four thousand years ago, and many of her companions such as Sheena had come from different times in their Journey.

Of course it was possible. But she didn’t want to think about it. If she allowed herself to, that bubble of optimism that she’d been trying to build would surely burst again-- as fragile as it already was. She wanted to enjoy her time here to just be herself. She wanted to have a home and not have to be a historical figure, a leader for her race. Despite setbacks she was happy here; at times more content than she had ever been in her entire life. But time and time again the reality of this place threatened to take that all away. How long would it be before someone she was closer with would be spirited away back to their home plane? What if they came back, but had no recollection of ever meeting her?

No. No. No. I’m so damn tired of starting over! That’s all my life has been! Hit a dead end, regroup, turn on my heel, and set off again. Pretend that it doesn’t hurt. Pretend that it is inevitable. Right when I’d been foolish enough to begin to feel comfortable in this city.

Yuan had done it again. What a frustratingly cowardly man. Even going so far as to say he’d be glad that he wasn’t there to deal with the fallout of the letters. He would speak with her briefly and leave her with some worrying information while having no answers for what to do with said information. No plan of action. Just a looming threat to be wary of. Raine could feel anger welling up as she ran her hand through her bangs. Her fist pounded the table, rattling the cup set next to her on a coaster.

Of course after four thousand years he had never had answers before, why should she expect it to be any different now? A man of inaction. Indifference. And yet he still insisted that he had changed. Waver had insisted that his past didn’t matter in this place, but she couldn’t agree. Experiences and memories formed who people were. Yuan had admitted to his mistakes but she hadn’t known him well enough to tell if he had really devoted himself to changing. Besides her, how many of her companions had he approached and expressed his desire to atone? To build that better future?

She still had so much to say to him. So much to ask him. She hadn’t had enough time. As infuriating as it was, Yuan had been incredibly helpful with acclimating herself to the city. He was a straightforward voice that helped dispel confusion. She wanted to understand him better, but to the professor it felt like he was always trying to hide from her and the rest. Complicated was right. She had respect for him. She hated his guts. They shared more commonalities as half-elves that she cared to admit. Raine could never forgive how he hardened his heart to overlook the damage he caused through negligence. How turning into an angel had tainted him and his view of mortals as expendable. She was conflicted. In another time and place, she could have even seen them as friends with their common interests. It was just too hard to divorce him from his past actions in her mind. Not completely.

Yet…she had to admit there was a heart there somewhere deep down. She’d seen it, briefly, on more than one occasion. The one time that Yuan had let a glimmer of his emotions show. That one argument they had at the club. He was desperate to make amends. He repeated that wish here in the letter. To acknowledge how much of a hand he had in perpetuating the cycle of violence and hatred in Aselia. Even if those things could not be forgiven, at least he was not running from them. That alone proved that he had changed.

She didn’t want to believe that it was too late for anyone.

She needed to have hope that people could change if they wanted to.

She refused to ever let go of that plea.

In her eyes he wasn’t irredeemable. However, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still too scared to actually face any of them. Meetings were always sporadic, and they had spent a fair share of their time working in the same place avoiding one another. She’d said it time and again…adults were troublesome creatures, stubborn and often stuck in their ways. Deeply complex and entangled in their own doubts and fears. Her included. She had to have compassion for that.

“You better believe that I will hold you to that, Yuan,” she whispered. Raine let the letter rest on her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her eyes stung as if forcing back tears.

No, I refuse to be upset by this!

...though it was much too late.

The half-elf closed her eyes and took a deep breath, leaning back in her chair and staring at the ceiling. Her hands curled around the sides of the letter, causing the page to wrinkle. “To write me of all people a last message. What are you thinking? It sounds almost like a will.” She reached over to her phone to check the contact list and…sure enough, Yuan’s name had vanished.

“If you come back with all of your memories intact, you’ll truly be sorry.” She folded the letter back into its envelope and took her glasses off.

“Whatever happens next, don’t ever stop trying. You’ve gotten too far to give up now.” But she was merely talking to herself. Her words would no longer reach him. Hopefully someday in the future she would have the opportunity to say that to his face.

#stormswake #wow pain!

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years

Text

Willow Run | Ch. 8

Summary: On a horse ranch in Texas, life is far simpler than on the streets of Bakubah, but Syverson has a bad habit of taking in strays of all kinds, no matter what demons may be after them. Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC Word Count: 4K Warnings: Mentions of past sexual assault A/N: It’s late and it’s long and sadly, there’s not nearly as much fluff in it as I thought there would be, but that’s where the story went. CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5 | CHAPTER 6 | CHAPTER 7 |

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Sasha awoke excited for another note. Though she’d only received two, they’d become something of a calling card for Sy, his thing, so to speak. She loved that he took even a moment out of his day to ensure she felt comfortable and safe in his home, and though she never brought it up, she’d begun keeping them in one of the shoe boxes that came from their shopping spree. Always carefully folded, she allowed herself the small, childish hope of one day filling the box with Sy’s writing, if only so she could go back and reread them, remembering their story from the beginning.

Flopping her arm down on the pillow, she pouted as she found only cotton. Maybe it was just a formality. Truth be told, while she trusted his character and kindness, Sasha didn’t truly know Sy, especially where it pertained to how he acted as a lover. Maybe the gestures stopped once he knew he’d locked down a lady, or maybe this was just a one off.

Sasha pondered both sides as she got dressed and headed downstairs, surprised when she found Sy leaning against the counter, still in his lounge pants. Despite a serious case of bedhead, she couldn’t help but find him even more attractive in his freshly-woken state. Sy smiled when he saw her, gesturing for her to join him in the kitchen. It was only then that Sasha noticed the phone pressed to his ear. Sy blindly lifted his free arm up, a signal for Sasha to snuggle in close if ever there was one.

“Morning, darlin’,” Sy whispered against the crown of her head, giving Sasha a tender kiss that turned her knees to jello on the spot. Squeezing him tight, she pressed her own kiss to Sy’s chest, just over his heart.

“Yeah, uh, I’m not sure...Would you be able to tell that from lookin’ at ‘er? Okay, okay, good. Yeah, uh,” Sy checked his wristwatch briefly before his hand swept over Sasha’s head affectionately, “ten works. I took the day off, so we’ve got plenty ‘a time. Alright, thank you. See you soon.”

Closing the call, Sy set the phone down and wrapped Sasha up in a bear hug, a plethora of kisses scattered all over her face before he cupped her jaw in one hand.

“I called my mom this morning. Told her about you and asked her for advice on the lil’ one, especially when it came to a doctor--”

“I can’t go to one now! He’s got all my information, Sy! The second I go to a doctor and they pull up my name, the insurance company will send a letter, and he’ll know where I’m at!” Sasha interrupted in a panic, eyes wide, hoping Sy hadn’t just done what she thought he had.

“Darlin’, I know. That’s why I called my mom for advice. The answer was under my nose the whole time and I’ve just been so caught up in makin’ sure you were okay and that things are runnin’ smooth around here, that it totally escaped my mind. None of us Syversons were born in a hospital. I was born upstairs in my room, actually.” Sy spoke soothingly as he held Sasha’s shoulders, his blue eyes holding her gaze so she understood that they were on the same page.

“Our family’s been friends with the Taylors for years, and Nat’s taken up her mama’s post. I invited her over so y’all two can get acquainted. If you end up likin’ her, she’ll be your midwife and see things through with us to the end. Her husband is actually one of my best friends. We served together. If she manages to wrangle him away from his job, it’ll be more like an afternoon barbeque than anything else. Don’t panic, mama. I got you.”

Sasha took a deep, shaking breath, emotion threatening to get the best of her once more. Pressing her face into Sy’s chest, she was silent for a few breaths before looking up at him, her eyes glazed with tears.

“Why are you doing all this for me, Sy? You barely know me.” She whimpered, her breath hitching in her chest as Sy kissed her tears away, his smile sweet and understanding.

“Because someone helped me once, and I’m in the position to do the same. And because you’ve been doin’ a lot for me too, mama, without even realizin’ it.” At the confusion on Sasha’s face, Sy’s smile grew.

“I don’t...I don’t open up to people much, darlin’. I’ve told you more than I’ve told...anyone...in years. And I’ve been sleepin’ through the night, which never happens. I don’t know what kinda magic you brought with you, but I haven’t felt this at peace with life...ever.” He explained, a blush creeping up past his beard, Sy’s long lashes dusting his cheeks as he gazed down at the floor, utterly vulnerable.

Sasha’s guilt was forgotten as she reached up and stroked his face with the back of her hand, bringing Sy’s gaze back to her. No words needed to be said as they stood, an island unto themselves, each understanding the other’s heart in a way they’d never expected to.

“You’re special to me, Sasha. Very special. I hope you know that.” Sy whispered, each word spoken closer to her lips, until his were pressed to hers in the most tender show of affection she’d felt yet. Sasha’s arms slipped around the broad frame of his back as she drank in the gentility that rolled off Sy in waves, knowing she’d never find another man like him.

She could have stayed like that forever, wrapped up in his strong arms, floating away on the gentle breeze of his attentive kisses, but the clock on the stove caught the corner of her gaze and she knew they had precious little time to eat and get ready for Nat’s arrival. Still, she couldn’t help but cup his face and tug him down for one, much more playful kiss before they finally parted, each wearing a lopsided, twitterpated smile.

Natalie Taylor was probably the most beautiful woman Sasha had ever seen, and her husband Mark was no slouch either. The couple looked like they were straight off the cover of a magazine, with Mark wearing a smart gray-blue button up, black tie, and matching black slacks, while Nat wore a carmine off-the-shoulder top and high-waisted jeans with heels Sasha was immediately jealous of, even if she’d never worn heels in her life.

Sasha watched Sy greet them both warmly, her anxiety growing as she wondered just what the pair would think of her and Sy being so close, so fast. One look from Natalie however, and Sasha’s worry was thrown out the window.

“Sy, you told me she was pregnant, not that she was damn near ready to go!” Natalie laughed warmly as she stepped out of her heels and made a beeline for Sasha, her long braids trailing behind her like the train of a wedding veil.

“You must be Sasha. God, you’re gorgeous! I’m Natalie, but you can call me Nat,” Natalie smiled, extending her hand, which, like the rest of her, was perfectly manicured. Sasha shook it with a shy smile, wondering if Nat was always this put-together, or if she just dressed up for the initial meeting; she couldn’t imagine a midwife who attended a birth in heels and super luxe-looking fabrics. The cleanup alone would be a nightmare.

“Sy, there’s no way she just ended up at your gate. Where’d you meet her, really?” Nat shot a playful glare over to Syverson, making him laugh.

“At my gate, I swear on my mama.” Sy chuckled as he gave Mark a hug before holding a hand over his heart as though he were pledging allegiance to the flag.

“Sy’s always had a horseshoe up his ass with this type of stuff. Shame it never came in handy outside the wire,” Mark joked with a wink, moving to join his wife, carrying her stuffed-to-the-brim work bag with ease.

“Well, however you two met, I have to say, first and foremost, congratulations. Second, do you know how far along you are, honey?” Nat asked, getting straight to the point, her smile faltering a bit as she saw the marks strewn all over Sasha’s arms and legs. A look back at Sy made him close his eyes and huff out a breath.

“We met three days ago, Nat. None of that was my doing,” Sy explained, doing his best to stay patient, knowing full well everyone assumed the worst, even if they knew him.

“I was about to say…” Nat murmured, shaking her head, her eyes moving back to Sasha with even more kindness than before.

“Good riddance. No one needs a man like that in their lives. Boys, if you’ll excuse us a second, Sasha and I are gonna have a little chit chat about the baby, then we’ll be back.” Natalie said with confidence, taking her bag from Mark before giving him a kiss on the cheek, having to reach up on her tip-toes to do so.

Taking Sasha’s arm in hers, Natalie led her upstairs, keen to find out not only more about the baby, but about what had happened to Sasha and how she’d come into Sy’s life. Sasha moved as though on autopilot, looking back at Sy for reassurance and only feeling better about everything when she got a gentle nod of encouragement from him.

The boys had turned the TV on downstairs by the time Sasha and Nat had closed the door to Sasha’s room, only the faint sound of garbled voices coming through the wood.

“Well, first thing’s first. I’m glad you got out of wherever it was that you were before Sy, ‘cause any more of this,” she pointed to one of the fresher injuries to Sasha’s legs, “and who knows what would have happened. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, sweetie. You’re safe here. Sy’s good people. I’ve known him since I was little and that man’s always gone out of his way to be kind to others. Even more so after he enlisted. Heart of Gold, just like my Mark.” Nat’s words were earnest and sentimental as she unzipped her bag, pulling out everything she’d need to carry out an exam and then some.

Sasha didn’t recognize half of what the devices were, but she panicked a little at the sight of something that looked more like a penis than anything medical ought to. Nat, seeing where Sasha’s gaze had gone, smiled knowingly.

“It’s for an internal ultrasound. Helps me see the baby a little easier. It doesn’t hurt, I promise. Have you had an ultrasound yet?” The concern in her tone came with the last question, Natalie fighting every urge she had to hug the other woman, already feeling for her and the situation she’d escaped from.

Sasha shook her head, too overwhelmed to speak much. Logically she knew she’d have to be examined at some point, she just hadn’t counted on it being so intimate. “I only managed to get to the doctor twice before coming here. Once just to make sure I was carrying, and the second to get some general info on what was normal and what wasn’t.”

“Did they do a blood test?”

“Yeah, but just in-house. Just to confirm.”

“Okay. Well, we can cross that bridge another time, since I didn’t bring my cooler with me today. Don’t worry though, all my testing is done with patient numbers, not names, so if you ex is savvy to that sort of stuff, he won’t be able to tell you apart from any other woman in Texas,” Natalie explained, wishing Sy had told her more of the story over the phone, but understanding that Sasha’s story wasn’t his to tell. Turning to face Sasha after dousing her hands in alcohol, Natalie indicated to the bed with a kind smile.

“If you wanna go ahead and lay down for me, undies off, we’ll have a quick look, and go from there, okay?” Sasha nodded, feeling a touch more anxiety as she moved to lay on her bed, slipping her underwear off as she was told to.

“This won’t hurt, will it?” She couldn’t help but ask, her anxiety getting the better of her and making Sasha’s breathing more laboured than it needed to be.

“Shouldn’t hurt at all, sweetheart,” Nat confirmed, gloving up to do the visual inspection.

Once started, it didn’t take long for Natalie to find the tell-tale signs of abuse she was nearly certain even Sy didn’t know about.

“How long ago were you raped, honey?” She asked as kindly as she could, her face one of sympathy as she watched Sasha tense up immediately.

Though in the back of her mind, Sasha knew what it was, she’d spent years avoiding the word, not wanting to admit it to herself. Tears filled her eyes as she looked over at the nightstand, unwilling to meet Nat’s gaze.

“About f-five days ago,” Sasha mumbled, face red and hot with shame, one arm coming up to cover her eyes. If the house caved in on them at that moment, it would have felt better than remembering her last time with her ex.

“That’s why you ran. I understand. You’re beyond brave, Sasha. Most women, even under those circumstances, are too paralyzed by fear to leave. You took the most important step to save your baby’s life, and that’s something you should be very proud of.”

Though she wasn’t certain anything would come of it, Natalie discreetly took a swab, labeling it separately, and slipping it in her bag, hoping that if nothing else, it could be used later against the man who’d caused Sasha so much physical and psychological pain.

With her visual complete, Nat set up her portable ultrasound and attached the internal wand to it. Anxiety rose up in Sasha once more as she watched Natalie prepare, and before she could stop it, her voice came out in something of a whisper.

“Could...Nevermind.” Quickly correcting herself, Sasha shook her head, wiping furiously at her eyes and chastising herself for being such a baby about things.

"Nuh-uh, honey. None of that holding back nonsense with me. You want or need something you voice it out. Loud and proud, mama." Nat coached, stopping what she was doing and moving to slip a blanket over Sasha’s knees, having a good idea of what the other woman meant to ask.

“No, nevermind. It’s fine. Let’s just get this over with, please.” Angry at herself, Sasha took a deep breath and nodded to Nat, who still looked concerned, but nodded back.

Though the ultrasound was uncomfortable, it didn’t hurt, something which gave Sasha only the smallest bit of joy, as she knew it meant she was healing physically. Looking out the window, she mentally checked out through the rest of the exam, responding only when spoken to, and only with what she needed to say. It was all overwhelming, but having shed enough tears in the past three days, Sasha refused to allow herself more, her internal monologue having nothing good to say about her own behavior.

“Okay, sweetheart. We’re all done. Both you and your baby are in great shape, although I would ask that you start eating more. With Sy around, that shouldn’t be an issue. Man loves to cook,” Nat said with a sympathetic smile, feeling for Sasha even more than before.

Taking a seat by where her patient had sat up, Natalie took Sasha’s hand in hers. Smiling softly, she looked down to meet Sasha’s gaze.

“Do you wanna know what you’re havin’, or do you wanna wait ‘till the day?”

Still lost in her own thoughts, Sasha merely shrugged. “Just want it to be healthy. Nothin’ else matters.”

Natalie’s lips pressed together, the answer breaking her heart. She’d tended to many a battered woman due to her volunteer work at a women’s shelter, but it never got easier to see just how things that were supposed to bring joy on any other occasion, were nearly always reminders of what a woman had endured instead. Rubbing Sasha’s arm, Natalie stood.

“I’ll go get Sy. After all of that, I know you could use a snuggle.”

Sasha decided then and there that she liked Natalie, hoping Sy would keep his word and allow her to entrust the other woman with her and her baby’s care. Though she didn’t outwardly show it, she felt relieved that Nat had the intuition to know when to pull back and keep from being overbearing; it was a rare gift, in Sasha’s experience and one that would be useful during what she could only imagine would be a painful labor.

“That girl’s been through a lot.” Natalie sighed as she took a seat on the couch, handing the ultrasound photos to Syverson. “Sasha’s about 6 months in and she’s gonna be having a baby girl. She was too overwhelmed to even ask about pictures or care about what the sex of the baby is. There were signs of repeated sexual trauma, and she confirmed that she’d been raped two days before coming here. Whoever she was with before? Needs to get bit by a rabid dog and die as slowly as possible, because what he did to her is just…” Natalie couldn’t finish her sentence, too angered by what she’d seen on Sasha’s body to even think of a fitting word.

Without needing to be told, Sy tucked the pictures into the back pocket of his jeans, pointed at Mark then at the barbeque where the steaks were cooking, and jogged upstairs. Knocking softly, he opened the door after getting no reply.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispered kindly, taking a seat at Sasha’s hip, one hand reaching out to rub the back that was facing him, Sy knowing she was upset just by how heavy the air was. Still getting no response, he slipped the pictures out of his pocket before getting into bed behind Sasha, one hand sliding under her head while the other went around her swollen tummy.

Sy stayed silent, not wanting to push. If Sasha wanted to talk, she would; he’d gladly spend the day with her wrapped up in his arms if it helped her more than talking did. Pressing kisses to her shoulder and the back of her head, it wasn’t long before he felt Sasha’s fingers thread through his over her belly.

“It’s funny how easily you can push something to the back of your mind, to ignore it completely because to believe it means accepting more pain.” Sasha whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion. Sy squeezed her hand, urging her to continue

“Nat asked me point blank if I’d been raped, and up until she said it that way, I’d never once thought of what had happened to me, as that. He was basically my husband, I just...I always told myself that it was normal. That husbands just took whenever they wanted to get their rocks off, y’know? But in the back of my head I knew. Knew it wasn’t normal to...to bleed after, stuff like that. Back when I had friends, they always went on and on about how good it felt, and I just...It’s never felt good. Never.” Sniffling, she curled further into the pillow she held against her chest.

Feeling his rage rise to meet the bile that made a knot in his throat, Sy breathed deeply, reminding himself that it would do neither of them any good to be angry at a man who wasn’t there to answer for his crimes. Stroking a hand over her hair, he gently shifted them until Sasha sat with her back pressed to his chest. Holding her close, he tucked his face into the crook of her neck, choosing his words carefully before speaking.

“It shouldn’t ever hurt. Even if you’re just havin’ a one-night-stand. What he did to you wasn’t out of love, like a husband’s supposed to. He did it to control you, to make you fear ‘im, because he’s a weak sonofabitch. I can’t imagine the kind of pain you suffered under his hand, but I know one thing; it backfired on him, big time. Because the moment he put this lil’ one in ya, he made you the strongest woman on earth and no amount of fear or control could keep ya. You fought, you got out, and you got to somewhere safe. Never again will he have any power over you. Never.”

Sasha felt herself smiling as she realized that Sy was speaking the truth. She had gotten out, gotten away, gotten somewhere safe. All because of her baby. Sniffling, she wrapped his arms around her tighter, Sy gladly giving her another squeeze as he kissed her cheek fondly.

“Wanna see your lil’ one, mama?” Sy murmured against her cheek, his own smile growing as he slipped the pictures into view, resting them on her bump.

Sasha’s breath hitched in her throat as she took in the grainy, black and white image of her baby. Though there wasn’t a lot of detail, it was easy to see the baby was at ease, sucking on its thumb.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Sasha asked, remembering Natalie’s question, and immediately regretting her answer. She did want to know.

“That right there, darlin’, is your lil’ sweetpea,” Sy whispered, surprised when he found his own voice thick with emotion. Sy let out a wet chuckle when Sasha practically dove onto him, hugging him tightly.

“Congratulations, mama,” he murmured against her hair, Sy’s expression softening as he felt Sasha cup his face. Their gazes connected only for a moment before she brought him down, their lips connecting in a way that made both their hearts sing.

#henry cavill #syverson x ofc #captain syverson #captain syverson fic #fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #willow run

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arysthaeniru · 4 years

Note

Just came over from spiraling downhill. You’re writing is so lovely, I’ve beeen reading and rereading it for the past week or so. Maybe once I can get my thoughts more organized I’ll try and leave you a more detailed comment on what I love in particular over on ao3 but I struggle to put my thoughts to words on a regular basis as it is so uh. Basically, Kiryu’s inner monologue is very very fun to read and all you’re characters are written out in a way that makes them feel layered and lovely. Like a warm and flakey biscuit.

But anyway, if you’re still taking Drabble requests I’d love to see some more nishiki and haruka interactions. I think about the one we see from nishiki’s POV in his interlude a lot and how uh. Terribly it went. What does haruka think of nishiki exactly anyway? She distrusts him but he’s also clearly someone Yumi and Kiryu love. I just think that could be a fun thing to untangle or just take a glance at.

Thank you so much for this lovely ask <3 <3 I’m so sorry I took so long to reply to it,, but I’m so so happy that you enjoy Kiryu’s inner monologue. I always wonder if he’s a little too thoughtful in my fics, but I prefer leaning into Kiryu’s emotionally competent side.

And there is more of Haruka’s thoughts on Nishiki in the next chapter actually!!! It was supposed to happen last chapter, but Nishiki and Kiryu dominated that one. So instead, I’ll give you a snippet from a yakuza 3/4 AU in this universe that I’ve been idly daydreaming about! I keep thinking about a three-part structure of Nishiki + Haruka + Mine / Kiryu + Majima + Daigo / Yumi + Reina + Akiyama....anyway. I’ll probably never actually write that, but it haunts me anyway.

“Nishikiyama-san.”

Nishiki looks up from his paperwork with surprise. Kiryu’s kid doesn’t often come to him, even though Nishiki’s on kid-watching duty almost half the week, these days. She usually does homework and watches TV in the main room once she’s back from school. And sure, they exchange pleasantries when Nishiki gets up to get coffee and runs into her in the kitchen. They’ll talk about her classes, what takeout she wants for dinner, whether she needs money for some club-related expense. But it’s all casual stuff, polite things.

Nishiki knows that Haruka doesn’t trust him. Just as her relationship with Yumi’s been slightly wary since the events atop Millennium Tower, her relationship with Nishiki’s been strained ever since she’d first met him. He doesn’t begrudge her that, though. It’s a healthy thing for a kid to have grudges about life-threatening things. He’d held grudges against people for simply wearing similar clothes to him, back in the day. Kiryu’s ultimate peace is more unnerving than this quiet, normal resentment.

Still, they’d fallen into something of a habit of not really talking to each other when Kiryu wasn’t around, so her approaching him in his office with such a strangely determined look is unusual.

“Need something, kiddo?” Nishiki asks, putting away the paperwork.

“...yeah.” she says, after a long pause. There’s almost something shamefaced on her expression, and Nishiki’s curious. Kiryu’s never once really gotten angry with the kid, not in his earshot. He’s always open with her too, talking about his feelings and his reasons for his parenting decisions. Why isn’t she going to him with whatever this is?

“Well, I’m all ears.” Nishiki says, with a nod, gesturing for her to pull up the stool in the corner, so she can sit by his desk. She does so, and meets his gaze, brows furrowed, and lip tightly pressed together.

“I need your advice. There’s—well. There’s a group of kids at school who’re really mean to everybody from Sunflower. And me too, because you know. We don’t have normal families or nice new clothes or anything—and that’s fine! I don’t need that sort of stuff.” Haruka says, stumbling over her words, “But. It’s not fair for everybody to have to endure that sort of hardship. I want to...make them stop.”

Nishiki blinks. Bullying? Why wouldn’t she tell Kiryu?

If Kiryu knew that Haruka was being bullied, he’d puff up with outrage and rage towards the cool on a rampage path for justice by meeting every teacher until he extorted a promise from each of them to protect orphans—which would, of course, ironically guarantee that nothing would change, and that things might actually get worse. Right. Nishiki knows how school administrators think, and an ex-yakuza coming into the school and demanding what looks like “special treatment” won’t do anything but escalate the situation. There was a reason that Kazama had never stepped in with their school situation as children, and for all that the old man had been a shitty father, he’d understood those optical politics well.

Haruka’s come to Nishiki not because she trusts him more than Kiryu, but because she knows Kiryu’s approach isn’t useful. She wants Nishiki’s help.

“That’s difficult.” Nishiki agrees, pressing a hand to his face, briefly, “It’s hard to get bullies to stop. You’ve told the teachers, I presume?”

Haruka nods. “But they won’t do anything! Kanae-chan’s dad’s on the school board. And Erina-chan’s one of the top students. Her group can’t do anything wrong!”

“So, you want something else?” Nishiki asks, and at Haruka’s miserable, fervent nod, Nishiki feels his own righteous fury rise in his chest. Even if he’d briefly entertained the thought of simply telling her to toughen up, he can’t now. “Some things never change. We always used to get bullied at school too. And the one thing I know about bullies is that they don’t stop unless they’re scared to act up. But you can’t just punch them into submission, it doesn’t work like that.”

He remembers all too vividly the pitched battle he and Kiryu had upheld against their bullies in high school. The endless fights, the stealing and hiding of possessions, the name-calling, the taunting, the vandalism of the orphanage—it had never mattered what cruelties rich children with nice, neat families said or did, though. The image of chinpira punks like Nishiki and Kiryu in their second-hand clothes, bruises all over their cheeks, always won out. Nobody had ever believed their claims of protecting themselves, nobody had believed their claims of self-defence. All fighting back had done was paint themselves in the image of evil.

“...so, what do I do then?” asks Haruka, and even though Nishiki knows that Kiryu’s not her real Father, the stubborn set of her jaw looks <i>so</i> much like him. He shouldn’t do this. These sorts of tactics aren’t the sorts of things to be used against children, in Kiryu’s clear-cut world. But Nishiki knows how cruel children can be, how deep those wounds in your heart can slice.

Haruka is Yumi and Kiryu’s charm, their bright hopes for the future. He can’t let her get hurt like they all had been. He doesn’t want her to be hurt like they had been.

“You ever heard of the ghost of Rukia-san?” asks Nishiki, casually. When Haruka shakes her head, he explains. “Rukia was a bullied student, small, helpless, weak, and everybody laughed at her and called her names and pushed her around. One day, they took things a bit too far. When they shoved her head in the toilet, they drowned her...the bullies managed to pretend it was an accident, but Rukia-san’s ghost knew better. Filled with righteous rage, she wreaked havoc upon the bullies, one by one, until they came clean and thoroughly repented for their crimes. Not satisfied with this, her ghost haunts the hallways of other schools now, looking to torment other vicious bullies...”

Haruka’s eyes narrow. “Is that a real thing?”

“No.” Nishiki says, with an immediate scoff. “But you want the bullies to believe it’s real. If you fight back yourselves, they can tell the teachers. But if what looks like supernatural events occur, with no way to pin it on you or any of the Sunflower Kids, what the fuck are they going to say? They can’t tell on anybody.”

The kid looks interested now, any hint of wariness has vanished from her frame as she leans closer, clearly intrigued. “So....how would I pull that off?”

“First, you’d want to get them nice and paranoid. Is there somewhere that’s both private and public? Your bullies hang out in the bathroom much? You’ve got to tell some of the other kids this ghost story, and then do a summoning ritual, very publicly. To make it look like it worked...I dunno. We can get you something with static electricity, so everybody’s hair stands on end, like she’s in the room. Or you can get a classmate to pour water everywhere. Or you have some fake blood somewhere. Point is—you get the bullies a bit paranoid. They might roll their eyes, call it fake, but a part of them will be thinking about it, no doubt.”

Nishiki lays it out, carefully, like he is planning a coup. Haruka’s eyes are wide, completely rapturous. “Yeah, they hang out in the bathroom sometimes.” Haruka agrees.

“Then, once you’ve set that up, it’s time to let the chaos ramp up. Stick insects or frogs in their seats, leave them threatening letters, have strange voices and rattling around where they are—pull as many pranks as possible.” Nishiki explains, “But this is the key: you have to pull this off as a group, and you have to have group alibis. The bullies might try to accuse you, but if a different person does every prank, and all you orphanage kids hang out together, it’ll be hard for them to figure who’s doing it. You need a completely united front from all your friends.”

Most of the teachers had always treated most of the kids at Sunflower like a faceless, voiceless horde. If that characterization persists, Haruka using that stereotype to her own advantage will be critical.

Haruka’s brows furrow, thoughtfully. “Not all of them will like this...I don’t know if Sakuno or Shika would be up for it.”

Nishiki looks at Haruka, and shrugs. “That’s difficult. But ultimately, you have to ask your friends whether their own sense of morality is going to prevent them from protecting the younger children. This isn’t kind or righteous or something that will feel good. But the bullies will leave you alone. A fear of consequences is one of the only reasons that bullies stop. And since the school will never impose consequences on rich students, supernatural consequences might be the only way.”

Haruka looks down, and her hands clasp together. “I want to protect everybody.” she says, finally, her voice solidifying with conviction. “Nishikiyama-san. Please help me.”

Nishiki can’t help be grin, as he leans forward to ruffle her hair. “It’ll be my pleasure.”

And her answering, hesitant smile is like being blessed with sunshine after years of rain. Nishiki had never thought much about children, even after Kiryu’s insistence that they look after Haruka, but he thinks he gets it a bit now. Haruka’s smile is a mirror image of Yuko’s and his heart aches, and he cannot help but feel wistfully happy anyway.

He failed Yuko. He can’t fail this girl.

[....]

Uncle Nishikiyama finally enters the small antechamber where he’d deposited Haruka and her DS two hours ago, deep circles under his eyes. He and Uncle Kaz always look so tired these days, busy with things they don’t often tell her about. Still, there’s a slightly kind look to his eyes as he removes his cufflinks and rolls up his sleeves.

“Hey kiddo,” he says, with a yawn, “Want to get some ice-cream?”

“Mmmm.” Haruka agrees, easily, “Can we get one of those big strawberry parfaits? We can split it!”

Uncle Nishikiyama agrees and tilts his head towards the door. Haruka presses the save button, snaps the DS shut, and follows after him. She holds her hand up automatically, before remembering that Uncle Nishikiyama doesn’t really ever hold her hand or touch her. To her surprise, though, he takes her hand. Maybe he’s even more tired than he looks, because there’s an almost surprised expression to his face when her fingers close around his warm hands.

Haruka, who has become something of a master at saying something sweet when things get awkward, smile widely. “Did the meeting go okay?”

Uncle Nishikiyama nods, absently, turning his gaze back towards the evening streets of Kamurocho. “Yeah, just some urgent problems with supply. Had to move some things around and yell at some people. Easily enough solved.”

“Mmm, sounds boring.” Haruka says, wrinkling up her nose, and she delights in the fact that it wrenches a laugh from him.

“You don’t know the half of it.” he says, darkly, “How was your game? Did you do well?”

Haruka shrugs. Even though Uncle Nishikiyama has a gigantic plushie of Bulbasaur in his bedroom, he doesn’t really seem to know anything about Pokémon. She wonders if maybe he’d had a kid who’d liked Pokémon, but the fact that Uncle Nishikiyama doesn’t talk about other children and seems to get tense when Haruka tries to play with the Bulbasaur makes Haruka think that she probably shouldn’t pry any further. Something tragic’s there.

Haruka’s come to realize everybody has something tragic, something in their past that makes them hurt and feel pain, and the kindest thing you can do for people is to simply be there for them when it hurts, and not dig too deep.

“It’s okay,” she answers noncommittally, instead, “I beat Whitney, but I have to wait until tomorrow for the bug-catching contest in this region.”

Uncle Nishikiyama just nods, not especially interested, but not especially bored either. “When you’re close to finishing this game, let me now, and I’ll get you another one, okay?” he asks, pulling them in to the fancy French café just by the Millennium Tower.

“Thanks!” she says, with a wide grin, as they sit down and look at the menu to order.

She doesn’t know what to make of Uncle Nishikiyama, really. He’s a strange man, to whom violence comes far too easily, but he’s quiet these days, in a contemplative way that reminds her more of Uncle Kaz. He likes meat and fancy food and expensive clothes, but he’ll also join her in watching idol shows and reality dramas on TV, if he’s not got paperwork to do. He has a quick temper and gets mad easily, but is also pacified easily, and when he’s in a good mood, he’ll give everybody lavish presents. And he’d helped her too. There’s a clever shrewdness and unyielding determination whenever he helps Haruka and the Sunflower kids plot about how to get the bullies to leave them alone. She appreciates that kindness, that ruthlessness, even as it occasionally scares her.

And, the fact of the matter is, he’s at home way more than Uncle Kaz is, these days. Which is an automatic plus in Haruka’s book.

“You look a hundred miles away.” Uncle Nishikiyama says, with an amused smile. “What’s wrong?”

Haruka shakes her head and buries her worries and annoyance and irritation with Uncle Kaz and her Mum and everybody who she loves but never seems to have enough time with her. She’s sensible enough to understand that you treasure the people that are here with you. No use crying over spilt milk—even if she really wants to. “Nothing, really. Just thinking about how much I want to do karaoke.”

Nishikiyama gives her a look. “Isn’t it a schoolnight?”

Haruka returns the look firmly. She wouldn’t have had the courage to do this two months ago, when she’d first tried to properly ask Uncle Nishikiyama for help, but now, she knows him better. He’s a familiar evil. Easily bargained with, if you know the right leverage. “You’re the one who took me to Kamurocho on a schoolnight. Besides, I did all my homework already, while I was waiting for you to finish your boring meeting.”

Nishikiyama’s lips quirk up at the sides and he props up his chin in his hands with a sparkle in his eyes. “What’s in it for me if I take you to karaoke?”

“You get to sing too!” Haruka says, and then quickly realizing that’s not enough, she smiles angelically, “And you’ll get the best, most enthusiastic backup cheering that you’ll ever hear!”

Nishikiyama nods, firmly. “That’s more like it.” he says, and grins, broad and amused. “Attagirl. You’ll be ready for anything in no time.”

There’s such a fierce fondness to that absent-minded compliment and Haruka can’t help but beam at him. She’ll love whoever will have her, and as long as Uncle Nishikiyama will spend time with her, she’ll take him. Evil or not.

#spiraling downhill fic tag #nishikiyama #sawamura haruka #thank you for this wonderful request hehehehe #i hope you will like the real haruka and nishiki thought that are happening next chapter #sorry this took so long!!! i have....so much work #one more request left

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thero0ks · 4 years

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Decade of Loneliness <Jacob Frye>

I’ve had this fic posted to AO3, but never transferred it to Tumblr. Please enjoy if you haven’t read it yet, or re-enjoy if you want to reread :D

“Jacob, we need to talk..” She said rocking on her feet. Her hands were fidgeting inside her coat pockets.

“What is it love?” He asked following her out of the pub.

She took a deep breath for courage, “I need to say this at least once.” She began as she turned to face him. “Jacob I like you, so much it hurts.” She said biting her lip in anticipation of his reaction.

“I don’t know what to say.” His eyes were wide as his jaw went slack.

She let out a nervous breathy laugh, “don’t say anything then. It’ll just make it worse.” She said with a wave of her hand. “Anyways, I’ve come to tell you I'm leaving. I already told Evie goodbye, and I wanted to say goodbye to you as well.” She said simply.

“You’re leaving?” Jacob asked startled.

The (h/c) nodded scuffing her boot across the cobblestone. “It's time for me to move on. I’ve been reassigned to France.” She said with a shrug as she looked up at him once more.

"I promise I’ll write, and Jacob?” She inquired.

His eyebrows raised, “yeah?”

“Try not to give Evie and Henry too much trouble..and take care of yourself.” She said giving him a brief hug before setting off.

“(Y/N)!” Jacob called, and she turned.

“If I’d said I cared too would you have stayed?” He called across the street.

“Maybe.” She said simply before turning on her heel once more.

** As the years passed the letters with Jacob quit entirely. (Y/N) was still in regular contact with Evie. She was happy to hear of Evie and Henry’s marriage, and was surprised to learn of their move to India. She couldn’t help but feel for the younger twin being alone in London. Perhaps he had someone by now. There was no way of knowing. (Y/N) was too embarrassed to mention the younger Frye twin in any of her letters to Evie.

It was late summer when she was given orders to return to London. She was scheduled to arrive in early fall.

When she arrived in London she found herself seated in a café staring out a window watching the rain pelt the London cobblestones. Her mind drifted back to Jacob. She’d convinced herself that it was the timing of things. They were both young, and neither one was truly ready for any commitment of any sort. She was still convinced there had been something between the two. She could still recall the way his eyes would light up whenever she walked into a room. Her thoughts were cut off when she heard a giggle. She felt something brush against her legs and grip her coat.

“Emmett!” She heard an exasperated voice. A voice she recognized. She glanced down at the young boy hiding in her coat.

She smirked behind her teacup, “well Mr. Frye it seems as though God has quite a sense of humor.”

“I’m terribly sorry miss...do we know each other?” Jacob asked startled.

(Y/N) scoffed with a roll of her eyes, “I help you free London, and you can’t even recognize my voice? Typical.” She said shaking her head as turned to look at him.

“(Y/N)?” He managed to utter out. In the blink of an eye he had his arms wrapped around her, his face buried in her chest. She was surprised at his reaction, but happily wrapped her arms around him.

The little boy crawled out from the table poking Jacob in the side. Jacob quickly released (Y/N) turning to face the little boy, “da, who is this?”

“This is an old friend..(Y/N)” He said with a smile.

The boy quickly crawled into her lap any shyness completely gone, “I’m Emmett Frye.” He said grabbing a strand of her hair.

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you Emmett.” She said steadying the boy so he wouldn’t fall.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re just like your father?” She asked with a chuckle.

The boy merely shrugged, “auntie Evie does.”

“Evie says you two still write?” Jacob asked sitting down at the table taking a sip of her tea. He used to be convinced that her tea always tasted better than his, and a decade later the statement still rang true. (Y/N) nodded, “we send letters as often as we can. France hasn’t been the most exciting.” She said with a soft chuckle. “The wine has been excellent though.” She added as Emmett shifted in her lap. “How have you been?” She asked.

Jacob shrugged, “good...exhausted.” He added glancing at Emmett.

“Children tend to do that, and a child of Jacob Frye...well I can only imagine.” She said with a laugh.

Jacob grinned, “he’s a little too much like me.”

(Y/N) glanced down at the boy who was now dozing in her arms, “well he’s quite the charmer, and definitely not shy.” She added.

“He hasn’t taken a nap in months.” Jacob said his eyes bright, and almost misty.

(Y/N) studied him for a moment, “Jacob...are you okay?” She asked softly.

Jacob glanced down at his best friend. They hadn't spoken a word in ten years, but it only felt like a day. The connection was still there, and the trust between the two hadn't been broken. “Honestly? No." He said sitting back with a sigh. "Emmett’s mother left a few months ago. It’s been hard, taking care of Emmett, and running the brotherhood.’ He said with a sigh. “We’re supposed to get another master assassin soon.” He added punching the bridge of his nose.

It was then that she noticed the faint crows feet at the corner of his eye. “Jacob...did they not tell you?”

“Tell me what?” He asked his eyes watching his son.

“I’m the master assassin they sent for. I was going to report tomorrow. I just assumed you knew…” She said trailing off.

“You’re staying?” He asked perking up.

She nodded, “I think Emmett isn’t the only one who could use some sleep." She said studying his bloodshot eyes. "How about we put Emmett down for a nap, so you can rest, and I'll take care of everything else.” She said standing up, careful not to wake the boy.

“You don’t have t-” Jacob started.

“Jacob that’s what friends do..and it’s okay to ask for help sometimes. Evie isn’t here, and you're still my best friend.” She said added. "It's what friends do. Remember?" She asked offering him a small smile.

Jacob finally agreed, taking Emmett from (Y/N). The boy was still snoring away happily. Jacob lead her down the streets of London. “I have to ask, are you still living in a train?”

Jacob let out a laugh, “I was until Emmett’s mother informed me I couldn’t raise a family in a locomotive.”

“Jacob Frye bought a house?” (Y/N) teased. “You really did get boring when I left.” She said as Jacob let out a laugh.

“I couldn’t keep up that lifestyle forever you know.” He said nudging her shoulder.

“True.” She said with a grin. When they arrived at Jacob’s home they put Emmett to bed. “Now, go to bed.” She ordered as she started picking up Emmett’s things.

“Yes ma’am.” Jacob grumbled trudging down the hall.

Soon Y/N had the whole house clean, and she was sitting down on the couch to relax when she heard the soft patter of footsteps as Emmett came down the hall rubbing his eyes. He crawled onto the couch snuggling into Y/N’s side as he started to wake up. “When’s mommy coming back?” He asked gripping his teddy bear.

“Oh Emmett.” She said softly rubbing the boys back. “Do you know how much your daddy cares for you?” She asked. The little boy shrugged. “He would do anything for you Emmett. Auntie Evie, and uncle Henry loves you a whole bunch as well.”

He sniffled, “they’re far away though.”

(Y/N) pulled Emmett into her lap, “now you have me, and I’ll be here whenever you need. If you need someone to tuck you in, or someone to talk to I’ll be here. I know I could never replace your mom, but I can give you any love that she may not be capable of giving you.” She said softly.

“(Y/N)?” Emmett asked softly burying his weepy eyes into her neck.

“Yes?” She hummed.

“Can you sing me a song?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Of course,” she said softly.

Jacob leaned against the wall his heart aching at his son’s words. An old wound was reopened when he heard his friend speak. He felt guilt at his display of unrequited love. He hadn’t been entirely truthful that day. He’d loved the woman so much. When she left he felt like a shell. He couldn’t tell her that he loved her. His younger self felt broken, and he didn’t feel right dragging her into his problems. Here she was though, after all this time. He had a child now, and she still wasn't leaving.

He thought back to the last letter he tried to send. He didn't know how to tell her about Emmett. He wrote a hundred letters, and set fire to each one. This was something you couldn't put into a letter. Emmett's mother had demanded he stop writing to her as well. For his family's sake he ended all communication. He did ask Evie about (Y/N). After a while he didn't need to ask anymore, Evie would just tell him in all her letters. Evie had never been a fan of Emmett's mother.

"Do you think we could go to the park?" Emmett asked softly.

(Y/N) chuckled, "my dear little Rook it's pouring out. I don't want you catching a cold."

Jacob stepped into the room with a small smile, "I haven't heard you talk about my rooks in years." He said softly, sitting down next to her.

“How long were you lurking?” She asked nudging his shoulder.

“Long enough.” He admitted running his hand up the back of his neck in a nervous manner.

The evening passed quickly, and after Emmett was tucked into bed (Y/N) and Jacob found themselves seated in front of the fire. (Y/N) pulled a flask out taking a long pull from it before handing it to Jacob. Jacob took a drink as a heavy silence fell on the pair. Jacob’s hazel gaze bore into the fire. “I wasn’t entirely truthful.” He began hesitantly.

(Y/N) looked at him intently taking another swig from the flask. “That day you left. I wasn’t entirely truthful.” He clarified.

“Jacob…” She began but he cut her off.

“I need to say this at least once.” He began. Her answer caught in her throat. He recalled their conversation. Even if he had seemed distracted at the time he wasn’t.

“I was terrified, and you were this one good thing in my life that I didn’t want to destroy. When you told me you cared for me I got scared, and I pushed you away. I was convinced that I would destroy any relationship that was between us if we became more. I didn’t want to lose you, but when you left I realized every single day I was losing you more and more. Each time I sent a letter I didn’t think I would get one back, and then when Emmett’s mother demanded I stopped writing to you I thought that I’d lost you forever. When I walked into that cafe today and saw you I realized what a fool I’ve been all these years. You said you cared for me so much that it hurt. Does it still hurt? I mean all those years in France did you feel like you left your heart and soul in London, because you took mine to France.” His eyes were wide searching her face for understanding. She bit her lip in an attempt to compose herself.

“I’ve spent years trying to move on, but every person I kissed left me wishing they were you. My heart and soul separated from me the moment I first saw you.” Her gaze had drifted to the fire. It was easier to confess things with a shifted gaze. “My feelings haven’t changed. You own my heart and soul, and you may do with it as you please.” Her lips were pressed against the whiskey flask, and he scooted to the edge of the couch knees pressing into hers.

His tongue darted across his lips leaving a glossy sheen, “I want to kiss you.”

Her eyes widened at the statement. Jacob was never the kind to beat around the bush, and the way he was looking at her. Pupils blown, lashes drooping, and lips in a perfect pout. All she could offer was a nod as her breath caught in her throat. He pulled her close; palms cupping her jaw leaning down to touch his lips to hers. She finally found out how soft his hair was as she buried her finger in his dark locks. His lips were soft and eager as they kissed, and she gave him a soft nip. He pulled back suddenly with a twinkle in his eye, and his infamous smirk. “Come love, I didn’t know you liked to play that way.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” She said giving the side of his jaw a nip. Jacob let out a low groan.

“I look forward to learning.” He said pulling her lips back to his.

___

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@pink-polarfox

#jacob frye x reader #jacob frye #jacob frye oneshot #jacob frye x y/n #assassins creed #assassins creed syndicate

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