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emwritesstuff · 3 years

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as the world caves in | ch. 9 | bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.

You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.

But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.

This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode six (finale). Thread carefully!

masterlist | AO3

notes: thank you everyone for your patience with this chapter. I'm dropping this lil shortie so we can get the story moving. Let's go! (warnings: lil' fluff, lil' angst) (word count: 3K) nine: records

Bucky knocked on your door a few weeks later.

It was late, and you were snug in your pajamas, winding down after a long day. With your identity no longer a secret, the government was in the midst of transferring you to something more… hands-on, and definitely less diplomatic, you were assuming; so much for retirement, but you figured 30 years of it had been more time than you could’ve anticipated.

You almost didn’t hear the soft rapping on wood over Vera Lynn’s mellow singing.

When you finally opened it, you found him standing there, wearing tired eyes and a dark coat. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but I started walking and I—"

“When I said you’re welcome anytime, Bucky Barnes, I meant any time.”

A tiny fraction of a smile was offered your way, and you grasped it tight against your heart at the same time you do his hand, pulling him inside.

His fingers lingered on yours, but before you could start thinking about it he pulled away, taking a seat at the edge of your couch. “I finished it. The book.”

Bucky answered your question before you could ask it. “I just came from there. The last one– the last name.”

“Well. Are you alright?” You sat next to him, your knee knocking against his, and his gaze went from the floor, to the spot where your legs touched, and then to you. He knitted his eyebrows, seeming a little incredulous you were even asking.

“I will be.” His hands intertwined on the space between his knees, and you placed a hand ton his shoulder, getting him to look at you again.

“Yes, you will. Do you want to talk about it?”

One corner of Bucky’s lip raised up, and he shook his head. “Is that Vera Lynn?”

You smiled, turning to look at your record player as if Vera herself was sitting next to it. “It is. Takes me back, I guess.”

“It’s all we’d listen to at the front.”

Nodding, you wondered for a second if Bucky remembered dancing to We’ll Meet Again the night before he was shipped off. Even if you weren’t the only girl he had danced with then, you still asked yourself if that memory was burned on his mind as it was on yours.

We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when. A short-term promise, made back then by hopeful lovers, friends, family members; you had no idea that those lyrics would prove themselves so literal when you and Bucky mouthed them at each other in the middle of a dancefloor.

You let out a breathy chuckle, standing up and beckoning him to where you kept the rest of your vinyl. “Come on. Vera’s starting to feel a little too nostalgic to me.”

Your record collection was pretty extensive, ranging from things of the good ol’ days from the special editions that were still being released nowadays. Bucky joined you on the floor, and together you started to make your way through decades eternized in discs.

“Marvin Gaye.”

You look up from The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust, finding Bucky making a face at the album he was holding. “It’s really good. Do you want to—”

“No. No more Marvin Gaye.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “You don’t like him?”

“I like Marvin Gaye! Jesus. Marvin is good—Marvin’s jus’ fine,” Bucky rubbed his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, and you finally understood.

“Sam’s been preaching you the word of R&B to you too, huh?”

You giggled at the tired look he gave you and silently took Trouble Man out of his hands, stuffing it back with the rest of the 1970’s.

Years ago, Bucky would be delighted to dive headfirst in the new – your trips to countless science fairs and expositions were enough proof of that – but looking at him now, knowing him as you were starting to once again, you figured that just a dip of the toes was more than enough.

You pulled Frank Sinatra from the 1950’s section.

“I know Sinatra.”

“Do you now?”

You put the record on your player, and Vera Lynn’s longing gave way to Sinatra’s swagger and jazz.

“Do you?” Bucky teased, frowning at the most recent items in your collection. As soon as Frank’s voice filled the silence, he nodded. “Yeah, that’s nice.”

“I do know him! Or did. Met ‘im in 1962.” You plopped next to Bucky, who was shaking his head. “What?”

“Show off.”

“No, just been around. Met people on the way. And, you asked.” Your smirk grew into a grin as Bucky mouthed your words back at you. Then his face fell for a second, and your amusement was quickly replaced by worry. “What is it?”

“Nothing, I guess – I guess I just missed a lot.” The same way one of the corners of his lips tug on his cheek again in his attempt of a smile, melancholy tugs at your heartstrings. “I missed out on everything. And I missed out on you.”

Bucky’s head was low as he spoke and you could see the tremble of his hands, even though he clutched one of your records tightly. Nina Simone, 1960’s.

“M’not going anywhere, you know.”

“You still lived an entire lifetime—”

“I did, yes, thank you for constantly reminding me that I’m over 100 years old.” You shook your head at him, sighing softly when he chuckled.

You couldn’t blame him, for clinging to every bit of past he’d missed while he was in HYDRA’s clutches – you knew that was inevitable, but you wished that such sorrow wasn’t so related to you.

“What are you doin’?” He asked as you summoned a small stool from the side of your shelf and stepped on it.

“I want to show you somethin’.” The thing you were looking for was stored at the very top: a heavy, brown leather suitcase that almost made you lose your balance when you pulled it from the spot it had been sitting in for—honestly, years, many of them.

The contents of the suitcase rattled as you climbed down and sat next to Bucky again. Sinatra still playing, telling his lover I've got you under my skin, I've got you, deep in the heart of me;

You almost laughed from the truth and irony of it.

I'd tried so, not to give in

I said to myself this affair never will go so well

You unlocked the suitcase, revealing the gathered memories inside. Pictures, movie tickets, theater playbooks, receipts, trinkets. All souvenirs of the 80 something years of your life Bucky hadn’t been there to see.

Not organized in the slightest, the keepsakes of your life were tossed together and out of order just as in your memory: photographs of you in uniform, and sometimes in party dresses; of when you bought your house; of the few times you had pets. Posing next to famous people and other important ones whose names weren’t as well known by the world.

As you and Bucky went through each of them, you added a story or an explanation, sometimes both, to fill him in on the details of your life events. He laughed at some, frowned at a lot, stared at you intently for all of them.

“Is this Berlin?”

You hummed, nodding. “1989. That party was great.”

“Party?” Bucky knitted his eyebrows in surprise.

“The city was unified, the wall was being taken down, and everyone was celebrating. I’ve never seen that many bottles of vodka in one place.” You laughed, taking a good look at yourself in the picture.

The 80’s were definitely not your best decade, looks wise. You had tried a perm the year before, and the poodle look was only then starting to dial down. The beginnings of a bruise were starting to creep on your left eye, from the mission you had completed just a few hours before.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been that drunk.”

Bucky’s surprise intensified, his eyes wide. “We can’t get drunk.”

“Yes we can.”

“No, no we can’t.”

“We can, in fact. It’s all a matter of quantity and, well, speed.” You giggled as Bucky’s mouth gaped more.

“And the hangover?”

“Horrible. Like getting shot on the forehead. Comes quickly, too.”

He grimaced, and with one last look – certainly to register your peculiar appearance on his mind – gently put the picture back inside the suitcase. A stack of papers seemed to call out to him and he picked it up, releasing them from the band that held them together carefully.

Postcards of the places you’ve been: a small note to James Barnes and Steve Rogers on the back of each one.

Bucky’s voice faltered. He let out an anguished little sound, probably something that was supposed to be an Oh, or a What, but had no strength to crawl up his throat.

You brought your knees to your chest as you waited for him.

“You—you wrote to us?”

“I did. You can keep those, they’re addressed to you.”

After all this time, you could barely remember the words you wrote in those postcards; all you knew was that some had longer messages, others a simple Wish you were here.

“After we met in Baltimore, I thought that— that you’d have moved on from us.”

From me.

As if that was possible.

“Well, I stopped writing by 2003, give or take. But really,” You sighed. “It’s hard to forget someone when you’ve always been expecting them to come back to you.”

Bucky flipped the postcard from Rome, read the writing and smiled wistfully at it. “And, I did.”

“You did. And staying away was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but—”

“But you’re annoyingly stubborn.” His jaw tightened, then relaxed when he smirked. “I mean, I get it – If the roles were reversed, I’d leave you rebuild your life without me like a self-sacrificing idiot too.”

Alright. That was fair.

Shaking your head, you watched as he slipped the postcards in his pocket, an amused expression on his face.

“That was… a big mistake. Something a self-sacrificing idiot would do,” You screwed your eyes shut in shame, opening them when Bucky chuckled. “but now, I’m right here. And so are you.”

His stubble scratched the soft skin of your palm when you reached for him, and you continued. “We’re a little out of place in this century, that much is true, but if I’m being honest… I’m getting tired of yearning for the past, Buck.”

Good old times – sometimes really good, sometimes bad, every one of them old – tucked away in your heart like your records were tucked in neatly in their shelf, organized by year. As you went through the decades, your enhanced body eternizing you like marble, your heart seemingly stayed at that army camp overseas. Or maybe Sergeant Bucky Barnes had taken it with him, only for them to be frozen together, leaving you with an empty hole in your chest.

You lived your life longing for that missing piece, the one with blue eyes and the dashing smile and the skilled feet.

The one that in many other stories was the one that got away, the one who now believed he was somebody else, but had brought your heart back with him all the same.

The very heart that nearly leapt out of your chest when Bucky rested his forehead against yours.

You’ve never been this close – there isn’t an ounce of past in the gesture. His eyes being tightly closed kept him from seeing the surprise on your eyes and then how they fell to his lips for a millisecond. Then, those lips brushed against yours in a featherlike touch.

I would sacrifice anything, come what might

For the sake of having you near

He pried himself off you when you exhaled, as if your very breath had electrocuted him.

“M’sorry. I—I didn’t—” He said as you stared at the back of his neck, and the shock gives way to disappointment.

I didn’t mean to. Or maybe: I didn’t want to.

“That’s—it’s okay.” You clapped your hands on your knees, still feeling the prickle of his facial hair on them, and got up to change the music.

There was no doubt Bucky was touch starved, and that he probably craved the closeness that comes with a lover. He sought that for a fleeting second in Sam’s sister, and now in you. No point in dwelling on what it might have meant.

Right?

Looking at Bucky, his expression was overcast, furrowed eyebrows as he watched you from his spot on the floor. You offered him a gentle smile, and the crease on his forehead eased up slightly.

Right.

Don't you know little fool, you never can win

The record player made a scratching sound as you replaced Frank Sinatra with your go-to jazz compilation. Instrumental.

No lyrics.

There was one thing you’ve always been good at, regarding the infatuation with Bucky Barnes that has taken over your heart for almost a century now: locking the feelings away and stepping into the shoes of the best friend.

Besides, you’ve said it yourself: no more yearning for the past. Hopefully you and Bucky would be able to do that soon enough.

At that moment, however, you needed to feel the burn of whiskey down your throat and pretend it’ll heal the calcinating rejection spreading through your chest.

The guilt you found in Bucky’s eyes as he watched you sweep around your hardwood floors made you pour a glass for him.

He took it gratefully, frowning when you bottomed the whole thing up.

“There’s a lot in here.” He tapped the edge of the suitcase, skillfully steering the conversation in the direction of the more palatable, calm territory it was in before.

The sight of your autobiographical collection made you smile.

“An entire lifetime,” You said, fishing your dog tags from the bottom. “I suppose that’s where it started. Or at least, where thisstarted.”

Bucky took them reverentially, running his thumb over the imprint of your name and numbers.

He reached for his neck, producing from under his Henley the same type of metal chain he was holding in his hands. The fact that he still wore his like that sent a sharp blow to your lungs, almost knocking the air out of you.

His face softened, a smile so beautiful spreading across his lips, so much that your chest clenched in protest because it was simply not fair, how he still had you entirely.

He deposited both of your dog tags in your hands, and that’s when you saw it, and remembered it.

“Won’t we get in trouble for this?”

“Do you care?”

“Well…No.” You sighed, already resigned. And a little excited.

Bucky knew you well: it had been too long of being a good little soldier when all you were used to was the rush of being a hellion.

“And that is why, sugar, that I’m doing this with you, and not with Steve.”

The words made your heart soar, but you were sure to recapture it before it could fly away too high, still too attached to the sensation of the take-off to clip its wings.

You liked flying.

“And because Steve hasn’t been successful in his enlisting efforts. Yet.”

Bucky looked at you from behind his eyebrows, a reprimand hiding in his eyes, but he decided to shove his uniform hat on your head instead. You grumbled, calling him a jerk under your breath.

It was the night before Bucky was drafted to England. He looked handsome in his uniform, a shining, polished star, brighter than the sun even under the dim streetlight you two stood under.

After bringing his and Steve’s dates home (yours was lost to another boxing match along the way – not that you were crying about that) Bucky had decided he was going to stay up all night, because, in his words, he could sleep when the war was over. Or, more realistically, in the ship on the way to England.

So there you two were, illuminated by street lamps and moonlight, visiting the façades and front windows of your favorite places in Brooklyn like drifters in the night.

Bucky still concentrated on his task, his shoulder hunched slightly to block your sight.

“Let me see! Bucky!”

“ ’Sposed to be a surprise! I’m almost done.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “It’s not like I haven’t seen ‘em before.”

“You gotta be more patient. Here.”

He dropped your dog tags on your hand. You displayed the small steel plates on your palm, scanning your eyes over the two. One of them, of course, had your name, number, blood type, next of kin – an aunt you’ve never met – and address.

The other had Bucky’s.

James B Barnes. 32557038.

He slipped his own chain over his head, the plate with your name clinking against his.

You brought the tips of your fingers to your lips, feeling a smile begin to form onto them.

“I forgot we did this. I haven’t looked at these in so long.”

You had stopped wearing your dog tags the day the war had ended – Bucky was gone then, Steve too, and the weight of his dog tags slamming against your chest was too much to bear – your heart was already heavy with its own engraving of their memories.

“Steve had a lecture prepared when he gave mine back.” Bucky chuckled when you looked up at him, incredulous.

You shook your head, half exasperated and half amused. “Good grief, Steve.”

“Y’know how he is. Was,” He trailed, lips twitching as they formed a thin line.

You reached for him, your hand hovering in the space between you for a second before Bucky took it, lacing your fingers. Scooting closer, you let your cheek rest on his shoulder.

“He’d be glad we’re reunited.” You said, raising your head to peek at him and the newfound upwards curl of his lip. “And mortified we’re still bickering.”

Bucky smiled and squeezed your hand. “Old people. Old habits.”

Laughter bubbled out of your chest, and you realized a few things.

In that moment, it didn’t matter – the heartache, the unrequited side of your love. It was just a fact, a fact of life, of your life, that you a lot of the times loved him as more than your best friend. You loved him. And that was the core of it, the most important fact.

And you knew he loved you – you had each other – in this big, ever-changing, modern world, you had Bucky and Bucky had you.

You sat in comfortable, familiar silence until your eyelids grew heavy and you felt yourself drifting in and out of consciousness.

“You dozin’ on me, sugar?”

“It’s been a long day.” You said with your eyes still closed, feeling him chuckle beside you.

“Tell me about it. I can go—”

“You know damn well you should stay.” You patted his arm and hoisted yourself up from the floor. “I’ll get the pull-up ready for you.”

As you sauntered towards the office, ignoring his pleads and protests that he’s got it, he doesn’t need sheets or anything, you put your dog tags back on.

They jingled lightly against your heart.

Maybe you didn’t have to leave all of the past behind to start building something good and new, after all.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes imagine

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nugnthopkns · 3 years

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dance me to the end of love (iii)

word count: 4.3k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, potential percy jackson & the olympians spoilers, alcohol consumption, motion sickness and vomiting

series masterpost: here

a/n: this took me a hot sec to finish but here it is! there's a dumb little latin joke in here but that's just because i'm a nerd lmao

Ryan is certainly giving Bette a run for her money in the best friend department.

Magdalene has no intentions of usurping her best friend, but Ryan is quickly becoming the person she talks to most frequently. It started on social media but quickly moved to regular texting, both of them being twenty-five and capable of communicating through more normal channels. The text thread between them isn’t indicative of their newfound friendship – it looks like they’ve been friends since high school. At any given moment at least three conversations are going on, and Magdalene regularly sends him random updates throughout the day. Ryan likes hearing about any interesting artefacts she encounters at work so she keeps mental notes to tell him during their frequent phone calls.

Despite talking to him almost constantly, Magdalene hasn’t seen Ryan since they grabbed lunch at Barn Owl nearly two weeks ago. The lake house trip is a couple days out, and she’s been busy trying to get all her ducks in a row. At work, the current project is coming to an end and Magdalene will be sad to see it go – it’s the first thing she’s been on from start to finish. She’s got a neighbour coming to spend time with Caligula while she’s away so he doesn’t get too upset. Though the days are passing by in a haze as she tries to get ready, Magdalene is excited to get away for a little bit. It’s been a few years since she’s left Denver for more than a night, electing to skip on Bette’s previous vacation invites, and it will be nice to slow down. Life is moving at a comfortable pace, but having some time to pause and breathe will keep Magdalene from feeling too overwhelmed.

Halfway through her last day of work, Magdalene gets a text from Ryan that makes her nearly double over in laughter.

Julius Caesar walks into a bar and says to the bartender “I’ll have a Martinus please!” The bartender replies “Don’t you mean a Martini?” Caesar shakes his head and says “If I wanted double I would have said so.”

It takes her a minute to catch her breath, which piques June’s curiosity. Magdalene recites the joke and her boss rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but does let out a chuckle.

June didn’t think it was funny, but I did. Thank you for making today infinitely better. You riding with us tomorrow?

Magdalene tucks her phone back into her purse, determined to remain focused for the last few hours, and misses the reply telling her that Ryan won’t be riding with Bette, Tyson, and herself, but rather with Cale and his girlfriend to leave enough space for all the gear getting brought. She doesn’t see it until she’s walking across the parking lot to her car and it fills her with a sadness that doesn’t make much sense. He’ll be there for the entire week, so does it matter that he’ll be in a different car for the four hour drive? Magdalene has a sinking suspicion about why she’s upset, but she pushes it down. There’s no space in your life for a relationship right now, she reminds herself as she unlocks the door to her apartment. Caligula is waiting patiently at the door and distracts her thoughts from the handsome man with the kind smile that’s been all she can think about recently.

The cat is incredibly perceptive and knows the regular routine is going to change, making him particularly clingy. He follows Magdalene as she finishes packing, meowing and begging for pets, and she considers bailing on her friends. Caligula has mild separation anxiety and Magdalene doesn’t go away often partly because of it – though another reason is her homebody nature. Only the thought of seeing Ryan keeps her from hanging all her clothes back up.

“Don’t worry little boots,” she coos, “I won’t be gone long. Maria is going to check on you while I’m away, and I’ll be home before you know it.”

It seems ridiculous to speak to her pet as though it’s a child, but Magdalene knows Caligula comprehends what she’s saying. He’s always been smart, and the two of them share a bond that’s hard to explain. She picks him up, puts him in the pocket of her hoodie, and they spend the rest of the night packing and dancing along to the radio.

☼☼☼☼

Bette forgot to mention that the road to the lake house is winding, and Magdalene spends the entire ride with her head between her knees. Motion sickness is something that unfortunately plagues her during journeys longer than a couple of hours and she wishes she would have thought to take anti-nausea medication before leaving the house. Tyson tries to crack a joke about her being a bad passenger, but his girlfriend swats his arm and passes her friend a water bottle with a concerned smile. The two of them speak in hushed tones, almost certainly for Magdalene's benefit, and she does her best not to throw up on the floor of Tyson’s car. After what feels like two decades the vehicle rolls to a stop at the end of a gravel path.

“Mags, we’re here,” Bette says softly, praying that her friend will begin to feel better after stretching her legs and feeling firm ground underneath her.

There’s an unintelligible groan from Magdalene, but she rises out of the car and stumbles into the house. Tyson and Bette insist that she rest and they’ll handle the unloading of the car, so she crawls into one of the empty beds and falls asleep as soon as her head touches the pillow. It’s a dreamless slumber, one fuelled by the pure exhaustion of battling illness while travelling, and when she awakes hours later Magdalene feels oddly refreshed. Her energy level is still relatively low, but she knows that intaking food won’t be an issue.

Padding down the stairs as quiet as possible in an effort to not break the peaceful atmosphere, Magdalene is met with a quiet house. She’s utterly confused – she didn’t sleep long enough to miss dinner and judging by the way the sun is low in the final car full of people should be arriving any minute. For a moment she thinks the group left her in the mountains alone, but then the sound of a trunk closing breaks the silence.

“I fucking told you bro, you should have let me drive!”

Ryan’s voice echoes in Magdalene's ears and her heart skips a beat. She didn’t realize how much she had missed him or how excited she is to see him. Despite everything inside of her saying she should run into his arms Magdalene stays put in the kitchen, running the tap to get a glass of water. She focuses on the mountain on the other end of the lake, framing the setting sun and creating a postcard ready photo. The camera app on her phone is open and angles for the best shot are found. Ryan tumbles through the door a second later, arms filled to the brim with luggage and bags of food.

He drops them the second he sees her, running up behind her and lifting her off the ground. “Mags! Cale almost hit a deer!”

The shock of Ryan’s onslaught of affection catches her off guard, and Magdalene shakes her hand, forcing the picture to turn out as nothing but a blur.

“No hello?” She laughs as Ryan lets her feet touch down on the wooden floor. “It’s the least you could give me after destroying my chance of getting a National Geographic worthy picture.”

He smiles but doesn’t let his hands drop from their perch on her waist. “There’s six more days for you to nail it. I’ll even help if you ask.”

Other bodies enter the house then, causing Magdalene to slink away from Ryan’s touch even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. They’re simply friends, and she doesn’t want Bette to get any ideas. The last thing Magdalene needs on her plate right now is her best friend forcing her to paint a custom denim jacket with Ryan’s number across the back. “I can’t believe you almost hit a deer,” Tyson sighs in disbelief.

“It wasn’t even close,” Cale grumbles, picking up his bags and stomping off to find a place to claim as his own the next couple of days. A petite redhead follows after him, giving a small wave to those in the kitchen before scurrying away. When she asks, Ryan tells Magdalene the girl’s name is Livy, and that she’s Cale’s girlfriend from back home.

Everyone shrugs at his moodiness and disperses. Bette and Tyson stay in the kitchen to make dinner, Ryan goes to claim the final room, and Magdalene slips outside to sit on the patio furniture. The sun has dropped drastically in the past five minutes, causing the air to chill. She wraps her arms tighter around her legs and watches a pair of birds fly over the lake below. It’s so peaceful, a complete one-eighty from the insanity of her life in Denver, and Magdalene thinks about never leaving. She knows it’s impossible, but as she closes her eyes and listens to the quiet laughter of her friends inside the idea seems like a pretty good one.

The sliding door creaks open and Ryan goes through as quietly as possible. He tosses a sweater in Magdalene’s direction as he walks over, plopping down beside her on the small couch.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, slipping the fabric over her head. “I didn’t realize how cold it had actually gotten.”

He smiles in response and shuffles his body a little closer to create extra warmth. Magdalene leans into him, trying to appear casual even though her heart is beating rapidly, and pulls on the strings of the sweater Ryan gave her.

“So, are you excited for this week?”

It’s more awkward than she thought it would be – seeing him in person again, especially since they’ve been texting almost constantly, and the words kind of stick in her throat.

“Honestly? Now that I’m here I am, but I was a little leery about taking time off,” Ryan explains, detailing how he’s trying to improve some aspects of his two-way play and is worried his progress will plateau. Magdalene understands and shares her own worries about taking time off work even if her boss encouraged it.

After catching up quickly and running out of things to say, the pair of them sit in silence watching the sun set until they’re called inside for dinner. It’s nice to just exist, especially with Ryan beside her, and Magdalene feels her heart sink as they separate and he goes to make sure Cale isn’t actually mad at him.

☼☼☼☼

It storms the first two days at the lake house, forcing everyone to stay inside. Tyson complains about how he has less time to drive the boat that came with the property but the others take it in stride. Magdalene spends most of the time reading for pleasure, something she hasn’t been able to do much of the past few years, and Ryan joins her for large chunks of the time. It turns out that he too is an avid reader, and the two of them discuss their favourite novels and series while the other four play board games.

“So you’re telling me you wish Annabeth would have joined the Hunters of Artemis?” Magdalene shrieks in shock, almost knocking the wine out of her glass as her arms flail in disbelief.

“I think it made sense for her to,” Ryan defends.

“But she’s perfect for Percy!”

He sticks to his guns. “I’m not saying she isn’t. I just think that at the time the offer was presented it was the most logical choice. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about what would have happened if she did.”

She ducks her head in defeat because she had imagined it, on many occasions in fact. When reading the series for the first time in middle school Magdalene had desperately hoped Annabeth would choose the Hunters over Camp Half-Blood, gaining the family she herself never was privy to. They return to reading quietly beside each other, occasionally knocking elbows when trying to turn a page.

Tuesday brings sunshine and clear skies, which means Tyson is trying to corral everyone into the boat as soon as they’re up. Magdalene tries her hardest to get out of it but her pleas fall on deaf ears.

“You’ll be fine, stop being such a wimp,” Cale jests. She knows that he’s just anxious to soak up some sun, but the words hurt more than Magdalene would have liked them to.

Livy swats her boyfriend across the chest. “Enough! If she doesn’t want to come she doesn’t have to.” The smaller girl sends her a kind smile before speaking low enough that only Magdalene can hear her. “I know your book is just getting good and you look like the kind of person who needs alone time to function properly. Enjoy yourself.”

Seemingly excused from the day’s festivities, Magdalene gives a sheepish wave before climbing the small hill to the house. Ryan meets her halfway and is appalled when he hears of her plans.

“Nope, I don’t think so. You’re not leaving me alone to be the ultimate third wheel!”

He has her off the ground and over his shoulder in a millisecond, jogging lightly to catch up with the rest of the group. Magdalene’s laugh bounces off the tree lined shore, and she’s too busy having fun shrieking at Ryan to complain about being forced to spend all day on a boat away from her book. Tyson peels away from the dock before she can regret tagging along, and Bette tugs Magdalene to the bow.

The two girls chat quietly, giggling and sipping on the mimosas they made earlier. Magdalene isn’t a huge day drinker, but Bette makes sure there’s more orange juice than champagne to make her feel less guilty. Livy joins them a while later after becoming sick of the boys and their shenanigans. It’s nice to hang out with a group of girls that aren’t competing for the top spot in a class, Magdalene decides, and she revels in the stories they tell of going to hockey games and babysitting the children of players so they can catch a break. Twinges of jealousy creep up at the wonderful family dynamic the Avalanche seem to have, but she stomachs them. She reminds herself that other people deserve to have support systems and excuses herself from the conversation.

Magdalene slides into the free space beside Ryan, and without thinking he wraps an arm around her shoulder. It feels so natural that she wonders if it’s how he greets all his friends, but the looks of shock and Tyson and Cale’s faces say otherwise. After a bit more cruising they find a small bay to anchor in for a while. The sun had climbed to the middle of the sky and is unbearably warm, leaving everyone no choice but to jump into the water to cool off. Magdalene does her best to float peacefully a short distance away from the group but is somehow brought into a splashing war because the teams aren’t equal.

Eventually the constant barrage of water chills her to the bone, and Magdalene swims back to the boat. She watches from the sidelines and cheers for her old teammates with a towel wrapped snugly around her. Ryan breaks from the group too, insisting it isn’t fair to have teams on unequal strength. Once dry, he picks up the baseball cap he brought and places it delicately on Magdalene’s head.

“Your cheeks are starting to go pink and I don’t want you to burn,” he explains, passing her a bottle of sunscreen as well.

“Thanks Ry.”

They muse about the idyllic beauty of the scene in front of them until everyone rejoins them. For reasons unbeknownst to Magdalene Tyson is in a rush to get back to the house, which leads to him driving very fast and a little erratically. The contents of her stomach threaten to come up but she holds them down, tightening her grip on the leather seat. A wave crests and Tyson hits it head on, causing the boat to lurch and rock. Magdalene knows it’s going to happen before it does and leans over the side to save a mess from being created. All the alcohol and food she’d consumed throughout the day is no longer in her body, and heat creeps up the back of her neck. She’s embarrassed – what twenty-five year old gets sea sick?

“Are you okay?” Ryan asked, not bothering to hide the concern in his voice.

She tries to smile but it comes out more like a grimace. “I just, uh, get motion sick really easily.” Bette passes her a water bottle and she drinks it quickly, eager to get the taste out of her mouth.

Ryan lets Magdalene curl into his side the rest of the way home, and rubs comforting circles on her back to ease her discomfort, doing his best to ignore the stares from his friends.

☼☼☼☼

The trip comes to an end much more quickly than Magdalene would have liked. Tomorrow morning they’ll pack up and drive back to Denver, returning to their normal hectic schedules. Cale and Livy are heading back to Alberta for the rest of the summer, and Bette and Tyson will be going for a visit as well. She’s heard Ryan mention going home in passing, which most likely means he doesn’t have plans to stay. Magdalene will be all alone in Colorado, but she’s used to it. The only issue being friends with professional athletes is that they leave. She’s been dealing with the loss since Bette and Tyson got together years ago – having them around as her support system most of the year and then them disappearing for a couple of months.

Not wanting to think about how soon she’ll be alone, Magdalene heads outside and starts a campfire. It’s a skill she picked up as a kid and it has come in handy over the years. The newspaper crinkles under the flame from the lighter, and soon the kindling is burning well. Everyone else is still inside, cleaning up from dinner and preparing for one last night in paradise. She places a few blocks of wood in the fire pit once there’s a good enough flame and curls up in a chair, lost in thought about what comes next. There’s rustling from somewhere behind her but she pays it no mind, assuming it’s a small animal wandering through the forest.

“Can I offer you some company?” a voice says softly, waiting for a response. The movement wasn’t a raccoon but in fact Ryan, and Magdalene gestures at the chair beside her with a smile.

He passes her a glass of white wine, which she takes with an appreciative hum. They sit in silence for a moment, admiring the beauty of the setting sun. “I’m going to miss it,” Ryan sighs, leaning back in his chair and extending his legs.

She nods. “Me too. It’s so quiet up here. Denver gets too loud sometimes.”

“Tell me about it. I’m not just going to miss the lake though, it’s also lounging around and not having to worry about hockey. And you.”

The ending comes out rushed, and Magdalene isn’t sure she heard him correctly. “Me?”

Ryan looks at her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes you. Why wouldn’t I? You’re funny, smart, and catch all of my West Wing references. There’s no one who gets me quite like you, even back home.”

It takes her by surprise. They’ve only known each other for a few months, and only really started associating after the party at Bette and Tyson’s. There has to be somebody who knows him better than she does. When she voices her opinion Ryan just scoffs, saying that people treat him as one-dimensional because he plays hockey. Somehow the conversation shifts to Magdalene, and when she lets it slip she gets lonely in Denver without her friends, Ryan asks the question she’s been dreading.

“So why don’t you get a boyfriend?”

“I can’t just get a boyfriend because my friends are gone,” she laughs, but there’s an edge to it, like she’s unsure of where this will go and how to question the follow ups.

He rolls his eyes. “I know that, but like, I don’t know, wouldn’t it be nice to not be alone all the time?”

It would be, Magdalene thinks, but she just shrugs. “I guess I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I just finished school and for the first time in a long time I can focus on myself.” She leaves out the part where Ryan gives her butterflies and that if he asked she’d probably jump headfirst into a relationship with him.

The topic is dropped then because Tyson comes out of the house screaming about the night is going to be wild because it’s their last together for a while. Magdalene and Ryan share a look of mild panic, but both of them are itching to have fun with friends so they raise their glasses in salute before finishing them in one gulp.

Magdalene drinks more than she should and wakes in the morning with a killer hangover. It seems that no one else is better off though, all stumbling around looking for Advil and coffee like it’s going to be their last meal. Packing up takes a bit longer than expected, but they’re still out before the official checkout time. There’s a bit of discourse on who Magdalene will travel home with. Bette wants her in Tyson’s car, no doubt to talk about how close her and Ryan seem to be, but Cale offers to bring her with them. His reasoning is that Ryan is driving him and Livy directly to the airport, and having the front seat could be good for her motion sickness. It’s ultimately Magdalene’s choice and the idea of having more time with Ryan before he leaves is too enticing to pass up. She bids her other friends goodbye, promising to come over for dinner before they fly out, and climbs into the cab of Cale’s truck.

Once again she’s a less than ideal passenger, but this time it’s because she sleeps the entire way back to Denver. The drinking took it out of her and coupled with the queasiness in her stomach from the winding roads sleep is the only thing that makes sense. So much for extra time with Ryan she thinks as she wakes up in the airport parking lot.

“Sleeping beauty has risen!” Ryan chuckles, “Why don’t you get out and stretch your legs for a sec? We have the parking spot for another fifteen minutes.”

Magdalene does as suggested because truthfully her joints are a little stiff, and finds Cale and Livy grabbing their bags from the back. She hugs them goodbye and wishes them safe travels, which Cale returns with a warning not to get into too much trouble before heading for the entrance. Once both of them are safely inside the confines of the airport, Ryan and Magdalene get back in the vehicle and finish the last leg of the trip.

She directs Ryan to her apartment complex, and he mentions that he’s never been in this area of the city. “That’s because you have no need to be around a bunch of university kids,” she laughs. Once they pull into the parking lot, he offers to help her take up her bag. It’s only a small suitcase Magdalene could definitely handle herself, but she wants him to come up, to prolong her time with him.

Magdalene’s keys jingle in the lock as the door opens. Ryan follows her in and shuts the door carefully, not wanting to disrupt the aura of peace that permeates the space. From what he can tell, the average size apartment is the perfect reflection of Magdalene – packed full of books and plants and feels very put together despite the owner being only twenty-five. After their shoes find a home on the boot rack and the coats they brought for the drive home are hung in the closet she leads Ryan into the living room. There’s a soft purring by his feet, and Ryan looks down to see an animal. He never pegged Magdalene as someone to keep pets.

“Who’s this?” he asks, bending down to pet the small white cat.

“That’s Caligula.”

A puzzled look graces Ryan’s features. “Who?”

“Caligula,” Madalene giggles. “You can call him little boots if you’d like. He’ll respond.” She picks up the animal when it comes to her and scratches gently behind its ear.

“Why would you name your cat something dumb like Caligula, and why does it respond to little boots?”

It’s then the woman realizes that not everyone understands the reference. “Caligula was the third emperor of Rome,” she explains, “But his real name was Gaius. He gained the nickname Caligula as a child and it just stuck. It translates to little boots in Latin.”

Ryan is in awe of Magdalene for what feels like the millionth time. Of course someone as smart as her would have a crazy name for a pet and have the knowledge to back it up. He feels his chest tighten with affection but he wills it away. She isn’t looking for anything right now, he reminds himself. Magdalene’s self-professed inability to reciprocate his feelings is frustrating, but Ryan knows he’d wait forever for her.

☼☼☼☼

additional notes: catch some extra content here!

taglist: @scrunchmakar @marcoscandellas @toplinetommy @ricohenrique @lovethepreds @cutiesara23 @hockeyallthetime @stlbluesbrat21 (add yourself to the taglist!)

#ryan graves imagine #ryan graves x oc #ryan graves fic #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #cwrites #dmtteol

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blankdblank · 3 years

Text

Hobbit Soulmate Pt 35

Two more weeks of daily stops to the same banquet hall, that once split in half Adrien and his film stage cast around metal chairs forming the set of the fake play the first directions came about. Off to the other half they kept him too distracted while you worked with the choreographer on your own routine involving falling down on purpose. A lot less acrobatic than some had expected but no less adorable to you with thoughts of how it would look at the final go around. And while they broke you got to work on the second stage routine you would have, more graceful with large feathers for the entourage to the top hat and cane donning man.

Evening calls to both Richard and Lee up in Canada seemingly on vastly different schedules came between extra juggling lessons with Emma. Though soon enough you were back smiling for the security guard at the airport who let you past excited to see your next postcard of a film showing off the worth of all your travels around the world. Smoothing your fingers through your curls absently while rereading one of your favorite books adjusting to the slightly shorter length once you’d had it trimmed again. The flight had become a common blip to just get to the next stop along the way. When you would get to your between home however it would be a quick drop of the bag to head to the car waiting for you to take you to set alongside Lee.

Out in the hall once you’d hurried from the taxi up to your floor Lee outside his doorway stood off of the wall smiling and closing the distance. “Hey, welcome back,” nice and warm he hugged you tightly saying, “Rich left earlier I think, his car’s gone.”

“Ya, has to get to the empty northern set. Have fun up here? He said you’ve been making friends.” You asked in his pull back guiding him to your door as he took hold of your duffel bag.

“Just been meeting the other extras, they’re a bit curious on you. Understandably.” His eyes looking you over, “Sleep on the plane?”

“Nope, too cold, you sleep well?” Unlocking the door to step inside turning on the light guiding him inside.

“Inflatable mattress is a bit rickety.”

“How have you not bought a bed yet?”

“I don’t want to buy a bed, then I’d have to get rid of the bed. Will and my sister want the lounges at least for when they move out and we can split the moving costs.”

Down the hall you went stopping in the living room at the cabinet with a grin, “He fixed it up,” you said making Lee smirk watching you open the doors and peek inside.

“Saw him outside in the cold sanding away weeks back. Been keeping busy, even bought some shelves looks like.”

“Yes, he does love breaking out his hammer.” Making Lee chuckle going with you to the bedroom where you found a box of candies and a note from Richard that he would have dinner ready for you when you got back. A quick settle of your bag in the closet and you left your satchel beside that when he glanced at his watch again clearly having been waiting himself to climb in the car with you to get started. “Sorry I’ve left you to carry the weight.”

That had him chuckle walking with you back down to the lobby, “No problem, kind of like the mystery, even Tracy has been thriving in it. Though it will be fun to see you so relentlessly confrontational.”

“Thank you, get to be an odd duck.”

You caught his eye and he wet his lips at the door saying, “I saw him at a jewelry store you know.”

“I did not hear that,” you said exiting the door making him smirk again.

“He’s going to propose, or buy you something very very shiny.”

“Why do you do this?” you said locking the door behind you.

Leaning in however he pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek humming in the sling of his arm behind your back, “Gets cold, we need a distraction.” Making you roll your eyes while he settled closer to your side glad to have you back with him. “He is perfectly miserable you know, when he’s not on set, only got him to lunch once.”

“Oh I know, we’re just determined to mope when apart apparently, and everyone I work with seems to say I rattle endlessly on about Rich too.”

“Oh I doubt that, more like you don’t share much and when you do it sticks out. They want you to be over the moon happy, you brood off to the sides from what I know about you on set.”

“Well I’ve never been one to be the center of attention at a party.”

“Odd choice of employment for the lot of us wallflowers.” He hummed shifting his hand to fix your collar after fixing his own jacket shut again.

Changed and seated in a trio of people helping to straighten your hair you read through the script for the first scenes to be filmed today. Curious stares lingered around the room of actors readying to film the start of the first four episodes set through winter months. A few bouts of chatting with the others and some of the mystery seemed to drop away with people wondering how convincing the bubbly vibes you gave off could be warped into the cynical and rude young woman to head this cast. Though from a glimpse of your note taking on the edge of your script the also left handed father wondered how your right handed grip on the pencil had been known by those casting when he had been told that you were left handed, the one child of his hired three that was a leftie like him.

Once the camera was rolling that doubt dropped as you switched hands showing you were ambidextrous, a trait at least comforting himself that your characters could hold that bond. A bond that between takes you got to deepening sharing more about yourselves that Lee jumped in on stealing every chance he got to be close to you. Always trying to wrap around your side or back propping his chin on top of your head proving that like Tracy had mentioned there was a history there, one that was confusing as clearly Lee wasn’t the name of your boyfriend and he wasn’t the guy you had been photographed cuddling up to at your premiers.

“Richy Rich,” you said entering your apartment just filled with the scents of the dinner he was fixing up. From the archway of the kitchen the grinning giant frame came to scoop you up in a warm hug with lips melting against yours.

Tenderly he kept his forehead to yours smiling as he hummed, “I made meatloaf,” relaxing his arms more around your back as your fingers smoothed up into his hair. “I take it Lee’s in the hall.”

That made you giggle, “Changing his shirt, got something on it.” He nodded and you giggled, “If he’s wearing green then he was lying to buy us some time. I hear you’ve been brooding between shifts.”

“It’s cold, I’ve been missing my cuddling partner. Did you notice the cabinet?”

You nodded and smiled, “You did an amazing job. Doors open and everything.”

Settling you down he stole another kiss along with your hand guiding you to the living room to show off the cabinet and polaroids of what he had found sharing the story about the family he’d tracked down creeping your grin out more, “And you tracked the family down over these?” Lifting the pile of pictures conveniently free of the geode box and rings, “Really?”

Sheepishly in a try not to spill the beans he eased his hands into his pockets saying, “Music boxes and those pens are expensive, and the receipts had a name. Wouldn’t be right to keep them without looking into who owned them. Made a cute story.”

“Very cute,” you giggled out then glanced to the door at the knock.

“Open, Lee.” He called out smiling at you, “Told him before it was open, he insists.”

The door opened and creeping in Lee poked his head in and you said, “No one’s going to eat you. You changed your pants too.”

You teased making him smirk and lift his slipper covered foot, “And took off my boots. Socks were cold too. Brought some cake.” Lifting the cake he brought from his fridge.

Richard smiled saying, “Thank you, I’ll set the table, let you breathe.”

Lee retorted, “I am breathing,” turning to follow Richard’s path to the kitchen as you sat to undo your boots to change your own socks. You nodded up at him and he repeated, “I am breathing.”

Days had the three of you mingling your schedules to have lunches and dinners together between distractions from the sleepy section of town you had settled in. On the set still things only seemed to get a bit mixed up for you, between playing someone so opposite and even having so much friction between you and Lee on screen with his place right next to you between the takes and scenes. “He really isn’t over you, yet is he?” Tracy had muttered a week in and all you could do was sigh at another take pulling you apart while you were to film the big reveal scene for their pretend relationship he clearly had hoped to be with you instead.

Richard was your rock though when he kept these rocky days a bit smoother, even if it seemed he was plotting something. Each stolen glance away and subtle flinch or tuck of a sweatshirt in one of the cubbies he never seemed to move in the closet had that jewelry shop trip mentioned by Lee circling in your brain. No matter how many times his shifts had kept him away for part of the day or even some of the night you didn’t dip to start digging for what he might be hiding and simply pretended that you didn’t know or notice he was up to something.

Valentines circled in your mind and was always a possibility just a few weeks off, a date he made sure to note, even with a card or folded paper flower or heart. Either way he was miserable with secrets and would cave eventually. And in the evenings in together that same fluid friendship came out with a tv and the splurged purchase of a dvd and vhs player helped to add to group movie nights where Richard got to show off his morning off wine purchases to share more of his interest in it with the pair of you.

Confusing didn’t come close, and where wine led to joking and a lean in with a teasing smile apparently led to a kiss, not with your boyfriend. Right between the pair of men you had eaten with you shared a communal grumble at the phone call announcing it was morning. Off your back Lee eased with hand smoothing down your side, the motion opening your eyes to spot Richard’s hand from your shoulder to pat the nightstand for his phone he grumbled and set down seeing it wasn’t ringing. “Not mine,” he rumbled moving his hand to smooth across your back again drawing you closer with his forehead tapping to yours.

Behind you Lee found his pants and said, “Not mine,” sighing as he reached out tugging your pants closer from your pocket he brought your ringing phone, “Yours Jaqi.”

Richard sighed again and while your mind still settled to the fact that you and Richard were naked out of instinct you rolled onto your side with hand raised to accept the phone you read the name and sighed reading Jennifer Garner’s number you grumbled and answered, “Hey Jen,”

A sniffle later and while Lee, also clearly naked settled out beside you, she sobbed out, “I’m leaving Scott.” Smoothing a hand over your face she said, “I’ve called a lawyer and I just have to get out of here. How is Canada?”

“It’s cold, tons of snow coming,”

She sniffled again and said through clearly packing a bag, “Good, I could use some snow. I’ll let you know where I settle in,”

“Ya, I can have you for lunch when you get here.” She traded good days and you hung up settling your phone on top of your belly as the duo cuddled closer to you. “Jen’s coming to town, getting divorced.”

To that Richard rumbled, “No, no bad mood,” planting a kiss on your neck followed by another on your lips in the start of a trail down your torso. Smirking drowsily on your side Lee leaned in glad to have another chance to kiss you again. The night before obviously fueled by the wine at the mention that you had brought the kit of toys from New York hoping to give them back to him not needing them anymore clearly in case he might find someone to be in a relationship with. The morning was clearly going to be awkward and a second call from a friend back in New York had you in a sweater fetching a drink while the guys pulled on their underwear and sweats.

Now was when the awkward set in for the guys, or Lee at least. From the edge of the bed Richard glanced to Lee at his second glance his way making Richard say, “Oh stop, I think we’re a touch past bashful glances, don’t you?”

Lee looked him over asking, “We kissed. Touched-. Have you, have you had threesomes before?”

“No,” Richard sighed out smoothing his hand through his hair, “But I’ve had partners who’ve suggested it before, never got there though.”

Lee asked with brows furrowing, “Partners, not girlfriends?”

“I’ve dated men before,” That had Lee’s brows arch upwards, “Though it was always frivolous. A lot of charismatic people in musical theater. Focused on more scratching their itches to keep them content when it came to sex that I just never felt. Never even really bonded with anyone before, never truly loved anyone before. Sex was never truly gratifying at all preferring a more domestic side to relationships, but now I’m with Jaqi that’s all changed. And it’s absolutely fantastic that when I met her she felt the same way about relationships, though she’s never showed an interest in women before it’s more than comforting to have someone who is the same as me.”

Lee, “So, you think Jaqi’s gay too?” He wet his lips, “I mean, she likes us, well she loves you, no question,”

Richard cut him off by chuckling at his try to correct his wording, “Haven’t found a label for anything concerning Jaqi yet, good luck with that one,” making Lee smirk and nod, “I do hope you’ll help keep her from moping while I have to head to Europe.”

Lee’s hands fixed around his shirt on his lap, “I always try to keep her from moping, not counting with that Jordan debacle.” Wetting his lips again he asked, “How long till you come back?”

“I won’t, unfortunately, when filming is through here for you both she’s sending the furniture to her place in New York while I’m working in England. She’s got some free time there through the Daredevil premier till she heads to England.”

Lee asked after wetting his lips again, “You don’t like me, do you?” That made Richard smirk again, “Because you’re supposed to be proposing to her.” Right off Richard’s brow ticked up, “I saw you walk out of that jewelry shop, when are you proposing?”

“I am still working on that.”

Lee whispered, “But you have a ring?”

“I have one, my brother’s helping me come up with a plan. Easier back in England.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“Keep her from moping, least you could do for your girlfriend. I smell breakfast, come get some food.” He said standing up to head to the kitchen. Once there he grinned easing his hand across your belly to peer over your shoulder pressing a kiss to your free cheek as the other was holding your phone. “I’ve got it, Love,” he murmured into your ear guiding you away from the oven to take over cooking smirking as he caught your turn in time for Lee to come into the kitchen.

Passing you Lee leaned in to kiss your cheek too and got to helping with the food, not too long after you hung up and turned to set the table for the three of you. “What are you two up to later?” Lee asked looking you both over taking a bite of his food.

“I have to read through tomorrow’s script still, that reservation episode is still driving me up the wall,” gaining a smirk from Lee, “And you won’t help either antagonizing me the whole time.”

Richard hummed, “What are you up to?” lifting his mug for a sip.

Lee, “Just the go-kart race track with the guys. You can come too if you like?” He looked to you as you lowered your fork lifting a finger while you chewed, “Right, Jen is coming down.”

“Maybe next time. Plenty of time to shame the guys on the track yet.”

Lee post smirk wet his lips and drew in a breath, “I can eat at mine tonight,”

Richard smirked saying, “No need for that. If she’s wanting time with Jaqi we can help to keep Jen’s mind off her soon to be ex.”

Swallowing your mouthful you said, “I don’t even know why she called me other than I’m out here away from everyone else.”

The guys both said, “You’re her friend.”

Richard continued, “If I was going through that I’d want you to be with me. Even the other Jen calls on her rough days,”

Lee, “And Naomi let you in on her plan. Said she was torn between the roles. Has she called since you got the role?”

“Well, they still haven’t gone public yet, and she said she’d be off to email only on her new project thanks to shoddy reception.”

Richard, “Should be some interesting fireworks then.”

The conversation veered around to other things that could be done through the week noticed from trips around town. And once cleaned up at the time Lee said, “Better get a shower in before the guys get here, you two have fun,” his move in wasn’t missed and right on the lips he claimed a sweet kiss and smiled in his pull back.

“No kiss for me?” Richard teased.

With a shake of his head Lee chuckled to himself and at Richard’s step over they traded pecks on the cheek and Lee said, “Have fun you giant teddy bear.” Turning for the door to let himself out through another lingering smile your way.

Behind the closed door Richard smiled easing closer to you in the shift of your eyes to him. Straight to your hips his hands settled and smoothed upwards in his lean in to begin a trail of his lips down your neck, “While we’re alone, let me give you a rubdown and draw us up a bath my Love.”

Smirk melting across your lips your hands eased up around his shoulders in the firm smooth of hands up your sides onto your back, “I love you, you know that.”

Lowly he chuckled against your neck tightening his arms to lift you up and carry you to the bedroom to lay you out. Kneeling above you again he hummed continuing the kisses along your neck with hands working against your back firmly unable to move at the thighs holding him in place in this loving embrace. To your forehead his moved with a tap of noses at the sudden sniffle from your seeing the pants Lee had left on the end of the bed in fetching your phone. “I love you, it’s me and you always. Lee’s always been there, it’s always been us three. Not sure if he’ll be wanting another three way tumble, but it’s always gonna be you and me, no matter who he flits off to.”

Anxiously you wet your lips and you asked, “You think he’ll want to again, us three?”

“I think it had a lot to do with the wine, we did pop the third before the teasing started. Honestly I don’t know what he wants or would want, I know he still loves you and he’s comfortable sleeping with you after you were his first, hard to shut you off, I was miserable without you. For now, until I have to go and get naked for someone else I’d like to keep cuddled up with you while I can.” Stealing another kiss to your lips he hummed, “So no tears about last night.”

Weakly you said, “I didn’t plan-,”

“I know, and I doubt he did. He’s been picking up hints from your dad no doubt and has been asking about our future plans. He knows it’s you and me always. I know I hurt you when I slept with Tiffany, and there is no chance I would ever think you would do anything like that, and I will never hint otherwise. We chose together the three of us, I know your past and his feelings and I’m not threatened by that to dare to say anything hurtful about it. Please don’t be scared this does nothing to damage us at all.” Sweetly in a partial pout he asked, “Now can I flip you over and rub your back?” Up you lifted and stole a kiss of your own letting your legs loose granting your chuckling Mate to start the rubdown starting the afternoon of cuddling post bath to a show on tv.

“I love you, so much more than oceans can fight.” You murmured clinging closer to his side stretched out on the couch widening his already bright smile from the kiss you planted on his neck and burrow of your head there gripping at his shirt in a try to bring him closer to you.

“Oceans don’t stand a chance, my formidable Love,” he hummed back adjusting the blanket and his arms more across your back feeling you drifting off to sleep. Keeping you there until a convenient stretch from you a while later let him climb up out of your hold to hurry to the bath to relieve his bursting bladder. Jen Garner had arrived and asked to have lunch the next day hoping for a long nights rest and meal alone to deflate granting the three of you to blend back into another tame supper and night apart once your sheets were dried and the bed made again.

Quiet out of the bath while you remained asleep, now on the bed, Richard crept. Walking in the path of light lit by the lowly glowing aquarium lamp with tiny floating fish inside giving off bubble sounds on the shelves along the wall as a sort of nightlight used thanks to the trains of big rigs that woke you up in their path behind the building from the warehouse a while down the road in your first week there. He never got an answer for what nightmare they set off to have you jolt out of bed near to screaming halfway already to tears. Something he hoped was coincidental or drawn from a horror film of some sort. All the same while that usual train of big rigs came through sounding off he smiled to the sight of those unruly curls sprawled about halfway into your face nestled into the pillow supporting it and arms above your head matching the awkward sprawl of your legs. Impatient to sleep to bask in the time to cuddle even when unconscious with him now turned over when he slipped out of bed.

Sheets half strewn and wrinkled beyond repair until he would come back righting them to draw close to your side again. Somehow the notion was back on his mind, your wedding night, just that first night where you were secured together having vowed to be bound to one another forever. Deep back in the closet even in the dark he found the hiding place for the rings he had made up and once that cold metal touched his palm from your ring he slipped his ring right on his ring finger smiling to himself in the dark. Slowly he crept closer with yours in hand and to the bed he went hovering over you finding the right finger that after a few hushed huffs of hot air inside the ring to not jolt you awake.

Rather easily it slid over your lowest knuckle inching his smile painfully wider at the perfect fit, that smile dropped however at your brows scrunching up and body tucking to roll over onto your side stirring an urge to tell you to stop or turn back. Instantly his hands were over his mouth in his wide eyed stare in your settling back into the bed. Right up under the pillow your left arm curled and he caught his opening, around the bed up to the headboard he crept resting his hand on the wood frame to reach out lifting the edge of the pillow slow and steady. Sideways around your fingers his hovered to rest on the metal, down to your face from the ring his eyes darted and leaning in he pressed his lips to your cheek stirring a shift in your body aiding in the subtle tug of the ring. Back into his palm it was tucked and in a step back he let out a breath turning to head back and hide the rings away again smile back noting that the fit was just perfect.

“Richy,” lowly you whined to the sound of the engines cranking up again in the shift of gears hastening his rush to tuck the rings back in their place and turn to be back.

“Right here,” he said from the closet luring a disapproving slumbering huff in response hurrying him along to silence any shadow hidden pout sure to follow. “Right here,” he hummed again sliding back into bed drawing your shifting self to his chest again tangling with you to his favorite position halfway across your body granting tons of sleepy kisses to your cheek and nose to help you stir.

Halfway sprawled over Lee woke for his waking trip to the toilet groaning, barely able to make it there before his body dropped to the floor. “Agh,” he groaned wincing at the excruciating pain radiating from his right side upwards. To his knees he managed with tears threatening to pool into his eyes from the pain to the far wall of his bedroom where he managed to drop to his side whispering, “Jaqi-,” curling a fist he took a pained swing failing to catch his breath.

On the other side of the wall softly you grumbled in your sleep at the thump spoiling your late morning off in bed. Into your neck Richard huffed only to grumble himself at the second thump. “Lee have-,”

Two more thumps came quickly opening the Brit’s eyes making him lift his head as you turned yours with hearts quickening at the trio of thumps coming next and a muffled sound of what could be a groan. Together up you popped and hurried to pull on clothes and slippers, the last thing you grabbed was your key ring including the spare to his apartment he’d given you upon moving in for a spare to yours and out you shot. Straight to his door you went with Richard locking yours behind you to race inside his after you, “Lee?” You panted out answered by a pained groan.

“I can’t-,” he groaned out setting his head on the floor with eyes shut hearing you entering his bedroom.

“Lee,” you said on the way over to drop at his side looking him over as Richard stopped in the doorway inspecting the scene himself. “Is it your head, or stomach?”

“I stood up, and,” he panted again, “Just, this pain up my side.”

“Right side?” You asked and he nodded. “Okay,” you said easing his shirt up, “I’m gonna press on your side, it’s gonna hurt.” He groaned but clenched his eyes at Richard’s move closer to watch you press into his right side, the press made him groan but clenching into a ball he groaned loader at your hand releasing.

“Why did you do that?” gritting his teeth the pain now had tears in his eyes.

“That’s the appendix.”

“I’m gonna get you up, Lee, Jaqi you can get the car.” You nodded accepting the keys from him as Richard tucked Lee in his arms and lifted him bridal style only luring another groan, “I know it hurts but over the shoulder will be worse.” Around the room you grabbed his phone, wallet and keys leading the way out and locking up to the lot where you brought the car over opening the door from inside for Lee to be eased and buckled into the seat. Locking eyes with Richard panting for air through the pain he groaned again and Richard said, “Just sit tight, hospital in no time.” From the front to back seat he moved closing the doors behind him to buckle in as you turned the wheel starting the drive as Lee tired to relax back against the seat with eyes closed.

“Just another block,” you said at the final light seeing the hospital in sight, “Then they’ll get you fixed up.”

“My,” he panted out and inhaled to pant out, “my mom,”

“I’ll call them when we get you booked in.”

Richard said, “My brother had his appendix out when we were kids it’s quite a simple surgery and you weren’t half as bad as he was, painted half our bedroom by the time we found out it wasn’t a stomach bug.”

You nodded as Lee looked your way, “Three of my cousins’ kids have had them and two of my cousins, even my uncles have scars from theirs when dad was raising them. I’ve even looked into it, small cut and some clamps and then cut and singe off the tube thingy going to the appendix and it’s done, feel so much better after.”

Lee, “Have you had the surgery?”

“No, but I have had my tonsils out,” you said glancing to the halfway smirking Lee, “I know it’s not the same, but it kinda is, you can live without both of them.”

Lee panted out, “What I get,” making you look at him again from the road then back again, “pretending to sleep with Tracy.”

“Oh I highly doubt that is what did it,” Richard hummed helping to keep Lee upright in the final turns. Parked in the closest spot at the emergency room you both got out with Richard unbuckling Lee he eased his arms around again, “Almost there big guy.” You shut the car and shivered in the rush across the crosswalk.

The sight of the tall person being carried in had a gurney brought over and as Lee stretched out you said, “His appendix. I don’t think he’s been sick. Found him on the floor.” Sharing his blood type and a bad reaction to a medication he was given as a kid to help him pass something he swallowed making a couple nurses smirk at the irrelevant medication but glad all the same to have been informed of the reaction all the same.

Lee’s hand gripped yours and he said, “Jaqi-,” as the doctor from the ER called for an operating room to be prepped and nurses to bring over the prepping IV.

“Cut, clamp, cut, singe, stitch, done. We’re right here,” he drew in another breath letting you go at your peck on his cheek, letting the staff take over at Richard’s confirming pat on his shoulder through the confirming press the Doctor gave to his side.

Holding the clipboard you sat with Lee’s wallet filling in everything you could with Richard beside you stroking your back and walked over taking the papers for you and the nurse there said they had wheeled Lee back. “Thank you,” he said and turned to go back and bring you into his side pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Just took him back, his parents answer yet?”

“No,” you said still holding Lee’s phone, “Will’s on a trip and they’re out in Oklahoma with his sister. I said he’ll be fine.”

“He will be, you gonna call work? Let them know?”

That had your head turn to see the flashes from outside of the two photographers who had been camped out at your place since Jen had come to town hoping to catch her dropping by as her hotel had stricter surgery. “They’re not up for a few hours at least. Still dark out. I’ll call in the morning.”

Not even ten minutes into the first magazine Richard had brought over the phone began to ring and answering the call you said, “Mr Pace, ya hey, Lee’s still in surgery but he seemed to be early on in symptoms. The doctor didn’t seem bothered by anything.”

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “That sounds good, um, we can’t exactly fly out,” he said clearly having just woken up to check on his sick mom they’d flown out to help with the family home.

“Oh no I get that. We’re here I just wanted you guys to know. I’ll keep you posted and have Lee call you later.”

“Thank you Jaqi, really. Couldn’t have happened at a worse time when at least his mom couldn’t fly out.” A voice calling out had him saying, “Um,”

“That’s ok, I got him here, you take care of Gran Pace few days and he should be up and ready to go.”

“We’ll talk later, thank you Jaqi.” He hung up and you smoothed a hand over your forehead stealing another glance at the growing number of flashes through the opening doors as another patient arrived until a ring from your own cell phone drew your focus.

Your dad’s number was on the screen and you answered, “Dad?”

“Pumpkin, whose hurt? My friend up there said you’re on the news you’re at the hospital?”

“Lee’s appendix is giving him trouble,” that had him exhale in relief, “Ya, Rich carried him in and they’ve got him on the table now.” You wet your lips, “It’s on the news and they didn’t say who was sick?”

“They just saw you with a guy carrying another guy to the hospital. He alright?”

“Scared,” you said, “But shouldn’t be long now and I think work should be fine giving him a few days easy work. Sorry we worried you.”

“No, worry me, any time. Both you kids up there we need to worry from time to time. You ok?”

“Good, he was just on the floor when we found him. You ok? They didn’t wake you up?”

“Up to the sheep here in a bit, not too early, Pumpkin. All good here. Looks like the biggest birthing year yet coming up, they’re glad to have me around again for some more heavy lifting. But I’m never more than a flight away, don’t want to use up all your minutes, but call me if you need to talk ok? I love you.”

“Love you, Daddy, I will, hug the sheep for me.” Earning a chuckle from him before the call ended.

Pt 36

Hobbit – Soulmate - @evyiione, @deepestfirefun, @rhaenaatargaryen, @anastasialovers

X all Rich. A - @abiwim, @deepestfirefun, @thestorybookmistress

X Lee P - @tigereyesf

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore, @mariannetora, @shes-a-killer-kween, @ggbbhehe4455

#Richard Armitage x Reader OC #Lee Pace x Reader OC #Return to Canada #Love Triangle #Possible Poly #Jennifer Garner #Big Question #Sneak Test #Night Light #Hospital Trip #Losing an Organ #Breaking News Dead Body Run #Worried Parents #Helping a Friend

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whitmanpumpkin · 4 years

Text

okay, bear with me?? i saw this post and it’s been a downward spiral for the last four days or so? so, yeah -- we’re doing this.

being married was a mistake, and this wasn’t a statement you’d come out of nowhere with.

you’d been able to brew over the idea for months -- long months without much entertainment except for the evening news and a few neighbor’s potlucks. there had been plenty of embroidery sections against the sound of radio soap operas and the sensation of pricked thumbs, as well as a couple of walks through the park close to the house and cul de sac you lived in. and in all of these moments, you brewed over the same fact: marrying your high school “sweetheart” had been the worst choice of your life and you didn’t know how to get out of it.

there had been a few times you contemplated running away. if you moved to a city like new york or los angeles, nobody would know you; you could do everything all over again and with the hindsight few were allowed.

but then you were brought back to reality with the notion that by running away, you might make the situation worse for everyone. the scandal it would cause your parents? could you ever come back home? a loveless marriage didn’t seem nearly as bad as those outcomes, even if it meant more solitary time in a home that felt more like a prison.

with a husband that spend long weeks and months away from the homestead, selling globes and encyclopedias, you didn’t really know a life that involved taking care of another person for more than a couple of weeks at a time. sometimes, you swore that the man you married felt more like a guest in the house than the person who’s name was on the damned lease.

so, as his car peeled away once more and for another trip, and you waved from the doorway, you really thought about trying to escape. again. because you weren’t quite sure how many more months away from a social life you could stand.

with no children in the mix, and neighbors who seemed too interested in their own lives to come by, you relegated yourself to the continuation of embroidery patterns and trying new cooking techniques.

the first snow of the season fell at the beginning of december, when you’d been in the house and on your own for the last thirteen days. you were just taking out a loaf of bread from the oven when a knock came on the door. and it was an odd sound, really, even if it was so trivial in it’s nature. being at the end of the cul de sac, you rarely had visitors and never when your husband wasn’t home.

but nevertheless, you tossed your oven mitts off to the side of the kitchen and headed to the door. on the way, you scooped up your heels and placed them firmly on your feet -- just to make sure that whoever was on the other side of the door wouldn’t see you so indecently.

and peaking through the peephole, you found a smiling mailman and a rather large box.

unlocking and opening the door, you greeted the man as he explained the delivery. “you’re y/n y/l/n, correct?”

“i could be,” you jested as he handed the box over. your arms jerked slightly, not expecting the heavy weight of the parcel. the mailman came to help, rushing to move his hands back under the box as support. and you caught his eye for just a second too long, which let you take in the blue irises and the way his right eye seemed just a little uneven from his left. and you wanted to remember it for some reason.

you looked away first, eyes scanning the empty streets for someone who saw a moment that didn’t exist.

he helped you carry it in, setting the large and heavy thing down by the kitchen table. and then he tipped the brim of his hat to you, and headed out the door with a gentle goodbye.

and over the course of the next week, you made a habit of greeting the man. and he would always smile and tip his hat, and there was a twinkle of something in his eyes when he did so.

by the next week, there had been an interesting development.

you weren’t dreaming about the mailman.

it was easy to tell yourself that the first couple of nights, but then it happened a third time. and a fourth. and by the fifth night, in a lonely bed, you had to accept that these feelings sort of existed. they could never be acted on, of course. but where was the harm in talking to the man?

at first, you just watched him make his way down the street, from the window under the guise of reading. he’d finally come by, and you’d watch him from over the cover of your book as he rifled through his canvas bag and pulled one one to two letters -- just like he’d done with the rest of the residents on the street. and then would come the knocks -- three gentle taps against the wood frame of your door -- that would have you standing up and heading towards the entryway.

and as you peeled back the door to see him with a beautiful smile, you couldn’t help but smile back. because he just seemed so kind. he’d even small talk with you. which was probably one of the best things about your day; having that little extra human interaction (especially with him) is what made the whole day worth it.

he liked the smell of your cooking. he actually told you that one afternoon, when you were just finishing up a pot roast that would feed one for the evening. but, it could feed two, you guessed. “would you want to come in and try it?” you had asked.

bill, which you had learned was his name a few days ago, looked hesitant at first. he glanced between you and the kitchen, and then his empty mail carrier. finally, he shrugged and figured “what’s the worst that could happen?”

so, that was how you ended up with bill sitting across from you at a small kitchen table. the dining room wasn’t set up -- which bill said he didn’t mind. and it was alright, because you secretly liked having him so close. if you just reached out your hand a little more, you could slip a hand into his or at least rope it around his wrist gently. but those were the thoughts that kept you silent as you took another bite of the potatoes you’d prepared.

“your food is delicious,” he said inbetween forkfuls of the cuisine. you smiled bashfully. “if i could cook half as well as you, then i wouldn’t need to buy so many t.v. dinners for one.”

you couldn’t help but ask, “you’re not married?”

and he paused. his eyes slowly came up to meet yours, a brow hitched up in an inquisitive manner as he asked, “did you think i was?”

you guessed not; you just figured someone as kind and attractive as him would have to be married to a lovely girl and spending his weekends taking her on beautiful trips. but, maybe that was you projecting something onto him that didn’t need to be spoken of. so instead, you shrugged. “i guess not. i never saw a ring.”

“but you were looking?”

and you blushed. “i’m too inquisitive for my own good.”

“i don’t think so,” he replied.

and his smile caused your heart to stop for just a few seconds, because this was something a little more intimate than that wide-toothed grin he gives everyone as he tips his cap.

he gave you the same wonderful smile the next evening, when you invited him in for dinner again.

you had never been more happy that your husband picked a home at the end of the cul de sac -- it had meant more isolation and a cheaper price originally. but now, it meant you could have a handsome mailman over for dinner.

and not just once or twice, but enough times for it to be considered a regular occurrence. by the sixth dinner, you offered him a glass of wine. he accepted with only minor disagreement. and into the second glass, he wasn’t hesitating at all. he even made sure that you were getting a third glass as you continued a story about the neighbors down the street and their horrid dog -- which bill laughed at.

you adored his laugh.

and he loved getting one out of you. which was often. because he seemed to have such a natural funny bone, and everything he seemed to say was funnier than the last statement.

bill placed his fork back onto the table, another plate cleaned. “i’m going to have to start letting out these pants, y/n. your cooking is too good.”

“i could do that for you, if you needed.”

“i wouldn’t expect you to. besides, there’s no reasons that a, uh, a married woman as kind as you should have to let out anyone’s pants but their husbands.”

“i’m sure he’d never know.” you tried to wave the thought of the household man away. he hadn’t been home in five weeks, and you were starting to think that his postcards were ornamental. maybe he’d never come home.

bill sighed. “but i would. and i couldn’t do that to you.”

“even if i wanted to?”

he paused. his eyes wouldn’t come to meet yours; they stayed very still on what seemed like a pointless and printed flower on the tablecloth. “y/n,” he started with heavy caution. “you’re not talking about the sewing anymore, are you?”

you were about to answer, your mouth opening to try and flounder out a response as he clambered to his feet. “please don’t answer that.”

and then he was gone.

the next day, the mail was left in the box outside your door.

and the same with the day after that.

on the third day, you waited by the window and watched as he filed through his bag quickly and deposited the few letters you had into your mailbox. but then he looked up, and he met your gaze, and nothing needed to be said. because you were still married, and he was too nice of a person and too much of a gentleman to ever do anything. so, it was going to be up to you.

#i KNOW i always leave you guys with to be continueds #but i felt as though i needed to scope out what everyone thought on this concept before more came #bill hader x reader #bill hader #bill hader imagine #bill hader x you #bill hader self insert #bill hader x self insert #bill hader x self-insert

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trashfor-imagines · 4 years

Text

The Music Series: Haikyū Edition! | 2

21 ft. Oikawa x Reader

Summary: You were always on and off with Oikawa in high school, but it was clear you were in love. However, it was hard knowing you would barely make the top three in his life. Warnings: None, really. A seasoning of angst, for taste. Spoilers: If you’re only caught up on the anime, this story mentions what happens to the characters in the manga after high school and their professional lives.

“Toru! There’s a difference between putting volleyball first and just not calling me to say you needed to cancel our date. You straight up didn’t show!” you yelled, tears welling in your eyes. You willed them not to fall. “I know I’m not your number one priority, no one is, but for once can you at least act like you mean it when you say I’m - a - priority?”

He stood there silently in the living room of his apartment feeling small and terrible. He left you waiting in the rain for a date that he wasn’t going to show up to. Again. The coach had extended practice and it didn’t cross his mind to tell you, simply excited to play more. This was the same old fight since high school and he knew he should have known better by now. He had always made volleyball a priority and you honestly didn’t mind - he knew that, but being young and dumb and incapable of communication, he’d always tell everyone you broke up with him because you thought he was obsessed with the sport and not because he was incapable of thinking of others’ needs. Iwaizumi had always told him he was a fool when it came to you and honestly he wished his best friend was there to remind him of what to do to fix this.

“You’ve had so many chances. You don’t respect me and I can’t do this. Call me when you figure out how to dial my number. Or don’t. You probably won’t.”

You slammed the door shut and it absolutely destroyed you to go home alone that night.

“‘Hit it until it breaks.’ Huh. Just like your relationship,” Takeru snickered at you as he looked at an old sports magazine in the dessert cafe you were at. He found an old interview of Toru in it. “My uncle’s an idiot. I’m sure he’ll call you soon, big sis.”

It’d been two weeks since you broke up with Toru and you’ve heard nothing. Not even a blip on social media. Feeling bad about yourself, combined with the fact it was summer break, you went home to Miyagi for some R&R. You had a few things for Toru’s mom that you’d been collecting so you stopped by to drop it off. Takeru just happened to be staying there for the week and asked if you’d take him out to do something. Now you were sitting at a cafe having kakigori and honestly his company was incredible, despite being almost 11 years younger than you.

“I can’t believe my only friend right now is Toru’s 9 year old nephew,” you sighed softly. Your college friends were busy with their jobs, internships, and extra curricular activities that they hardly had time to sit on a phone call let alone come over to watch you cry over Oikawa Toru for the hundredth time. You weren’t even going to try calling Iwaizumi about it. Last time you asked his childhood best friend to knock some sense into the man, he simply replied back with an upside down smiley face emoji. What the hell did that even mean?

Takeru’s cheeks puffed up and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Hey! I’m almost 10! And I can leave if you’re going to be like that. I swear, you’re just as bad as uncle.”

“Hey. No swearing of anything,” you reprimanded him. “And don’t go.”

“Fine, but only because I like you.”

“So... got a girlfriend yet?” you teased, changing the topic.

“Big sis, I know we Oikawas are good looking, but aren’t you a little old for me?” he deadpanned.

Your face lit up red. “You little brat! I wasn’t asking for me!”

School was starting up next week so you went back after a couple of days home. The Oikawa family actually cried when you told them you were going back, having missed seeing you almost every day like when you were in high school. They were an incredible family with their own quirks who loved each other so much. It was similar to your own.

It was Sunday afternoon and you were cleaning your apartment when you got a phone call from Toru’s mom, asking if you’d talked to her son today.

“No, I’m afraid we still haven’t spoken. Is something wrong? Do I need to get to him?” you asked, panic levels rising in your voice.

“No, no, my sweet daughter. Nothing like that,” she sighed softly. “He should really be the one to tell you this, but Takeru said not a chance. He was drafted as a setter for Club Atlético San Juan today. My son’s going to Argentina.”

You dropped your phone in shock, the noise of it clattering to the floor interrupting your short meltdown. Quickly picking up the phone, you apologized before asking questions. “When is he going? W-what about school? And you and the family?”

‘And me?’ you wanted to ask.

Carefully, you listened to every detail she could give you. Your heart was so heavy you were sure you’d sink to the bottom of the ocean.

Time passed painfully. Days turned to months. Soon it was a new year. Then it was graduation. You started a job as a graphic designer that allowed you to work remotely and you did freelance photography, often shooting for travel magazines. You moved home to Miyagi to live with your parents when you weren’t traveling, cutting out unnecessary expenses. It wasn’t smart to have your own place when you weren’t going to use it for 3/4 of the year. The truth was, life was lonely without Toru around. Sometimes you found your vision blurring with tears whenever your phone pinged as a new article featuring the setter was published, or when you let your mind wander to old memories.

You were in Australia when June came around. Life had been pretty exciting for you since April, picking up a photo journalism job for National Geographic touring Southeast Asia and Australia. You’d briefly gotten away from thoughts of Toru when you received a photo late one night from Iwaizumi of Toru and that cute little tangerine from Karasuno on the beach by a volleyball net. Apparently they ran into each other in Rio

(Y/N): Thanks Iwa. Iwaizumi: Np.

After Australia, you went home for a few weeks before you were on a flight to Bolivia to capture the Uyuni Salt Flat. It didn’t take too long to complete the job and you found yourself sitting in your hotel room and scrolling through Toru’s social media. Selfies on him throwing up peace signs, his teammates, sunsets, food, nothing out of the ordinary filled his feed. You didn’t scroll for long though; photos of the two of you would start appearing.

A notification pinged on your phone and your brows furrowed. It was his birthday tomorrow. Setting down your phone, you packed your bag. You were going home in a few hours.

While waiting for your flight, you wondered if that notification was a sign to call him. You stared at his number, unsure. Was it even his number still? You probably locked and unlocked your phone thirty times before setting it to airplane mode. It was time to board. The almost the entire flight home was sleepless as the need to call him grew and grew.

By the time you made it to Japan with over a day and a half of flying due to inconveniently timed layovers, his birthday was over. You wanted to look at his Instastory to see what he did. It was his 21st birthday. He’d been excited for that one because it meant he could “drink anywhere in the world.”

When you got home you unpacked and went about your day. It was midnight when you went to the rooftop terrace of your parents’ house and sat on one of the couches. You called stared at Toru’s contact photo for thirty minutes before you called, pressing the phone to your ear and waiting.

“(Y/N)?” You bit your lip, words suddenly leaving you. “(Y/N), are you there?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m here. Happy birthday, Toru. Sorry I’m a day late.”

“That’s okay, and thank you. It’s good to hear your voice.” His sounded sweet and gentle. There was a hint of a sleep as well, making you laugh quietly. Definitely partied. Definitely just woke up.

“It’s good to hear yours as well. So how was it? Turning 21.” You pinched your thigh out of nervousness.

“It was nice. My teammates took me out to a club. Definitely drank too much and stayed up later than I should have. Iwa would have been pissed.” There was a playfulness in his tone.

“Wow, wish I had been there.”

“Me too, (Y/N). I’m sure you would have done something cooler though. You’re really good at that stuff.”

You laughed lightly, “Well, you know me. I definitely already had a plan for your 21st when you turned 20.”

He laughed as well, boyish and familiar. “Really? What was your plan then?”

“I’d have thrown you a surprise party; invited Iwaizumi and your old teammates, our friends from college. The theme would have been Around the World. I would have set up a photo booth. We’d have drinks from different countries to try, play different drinking games, and dress like tourists.” Your vision began to blur and your voice wavered. “We’d stay up so late that-” You stopped mid sentence, covering your mouth with your hand as you tried to swallow your sobs.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay?” He sounded so concerned it killed you.

Sniffling, you wiped at your eyes furiously. “No. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too. My whole family’s been on me since we... You know. They call me all the time to tell me what you’re up to and where you’re going next. They really love your postcards and little souvenirs. Seriously... Thanks for looking over them.”

“Of course. I mean, your mom calls me daughter,” you laughed sadly.

“Yeah, she does, doesn’t she.” He paused and the conversation lulled for a moment. Clearing his throat, he spoke up again, “I’ll be home next week if you’re in Miyagi. It’s just a quick visit.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay.” You had so much more you wanted to say, but you wished him good night instead.

“Good night.”

Days passed and you wondered when he’d be home. You hadn’t heard from him since that phone call and you weren’t going to bother the Oikawas over this. His original plan was probably to come home and see his family. You only became a part of it because you called him. You had to be patient. If you fit into his plans, then you fit into them. You couldn’t force it.

It was Saturday morning when the doorbell rang. You were still in your pajamas when you answered the door, speechless to see Toru standing there with your favorite flowers in his hand. He smiled wide. “Let’s go out, (Y/N).”

Letting him in, you told him to make himself at home while you got ready. It didn’t take you long as you put together a cute new outfit you’d gotten the other day in town. Applying light make up, you checked your hair before heading downstairs.

The two of you walked into town, going to a cafe that you both often frequented throughout high school. He ordered your usual and it was a small crumb of relief to know that he still remembered something as trivial as a drink order. The two of you sat quietly, hands cradling cups, observing each other and taking your appearances. You'd both evolved in over a year. Toru had always been capable of being serious if need be, but his default settings were usually stuck at high school drama queen levels. He was definitely more mature and he’d always been attractive, but he oozed sex appeal right now and you wondered if it was because you were already biased towards him. No, you knew what it was. He had more confidence.

“I guess I should explain what happened. I called Iwaizumi that night after you left. He was pissed it was so late. He called me an idiot, told me stop wasting your time and grow up. I hadn’t told you about it, but I was struggling with a few things. Remember Jose Blanco?”

You nodded, sipping from your cup. He and Toru connected in high school when Toru wasn’t sure about what to do with volleyball anymore. He’d helped so much and was a great mentor.

“I was talking to him about a few things that were on my mind. Then you and I broke up. He ended up talking to some people and I got a call that I was going to play for San Juan. I got swept up with interviews and press statements and moving. The next thing I knew, I was half way across the world with no idea how to tell you I was starting my overseas career earlier than planned. I decided it was best I didn’t call you. I mean, we broke up because I didn’t know how to include you in my life the way you deserve.”

Sliding your hand across the table, you let your finger tips brush against his hand. Instantly he held your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles lovingly. Tears welled in your eyes. You’d waited for so long for Toru to finally see you completely and acknowledge what it was that he spent so many years of your youth apologizing for.

“Not having you there with me this past year was so hard. It felt like not breathing. I still love you, (Y/N), and if you can forgive me, I’d really like to make it work this time.”

Nodding your head, you sniffed, a teary but happy smile on you face as you wiped the corners of your eyes. “I love you, Toru. Let’s make it work.”

tag list: @hihiq

#oikawa toru #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu #volleyboys #the music series #fanfic #reader insert #one shot #imagine #21

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lokisgame · 5 years

Text

A Generous Donation [13]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12]

Friday morning was kinder. Mulder's back didn't hurt that bad and the nausea was gone, and even if he was still a little weak, he felt almost like himself again. After breakfast, he decided to kill some time cleaning his desk and fell down the rabbit hole lined with old papers until hunger pulled him from the basement. He was reheating some soup for lunch when the doorbell rang. A quick glance out the window revealed Scully's car in the driveway and somewhere between pulling the doors open and saying hello, a pair of arms around his neck drew him into a tight embrace. "Everything okay?" Mulder asked, hugging her back. "Yeah," she breathed, kissing first piece of skin she could reach, "how are you?" "Cold, a little," he chuckled, relieved, "wanna come in?"

"Yes, sorry," she said, slipping away, blushing slightly. He kept her close for one more kiss and asked against her lips. "How's Will?" "Awake," she laughed and stepped inside, slipping out of her coat. "At least awake enough to kick me out." "Rude but smart," he said and led her to the kitchen. "You're just in time for lunch." "That's what he said." "That's my boy," Mulder chuckled bustling around the stove. Scully froze for a second, stunned, and Mulder caught the silence, looking over his shoulder. "You want cheese or pastrami on your sandwich?" "Cheese," she said, burying the fear and when he turned back to the food, she wrapped her arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his back. "Why are you so good to me?" She asked softly, feeling expelled breath before soft laugh reached her ears. "Why do you keep questioning this?" He said, buttering a piece of bread. "You want me to be mean? I can hold the mayo." "That would be cruel, indeed," she smiled, hugging him tighter. "Yeah, I can be a real jerk. Charlie left pie, it's in the fridge." "My brother shared the pie? He must've really liked you," she said, letting go. "You didn't say he was a cop." "Narcotics squad, we don't like to talk about it." "And the girl, Emily? I gather she's Missy's daughter." "There's four of us, Charlie is the youngest, then there's me, Melissa and Bill Jr., the eldest. Melissa is divorced, Bill and his wife, Tara, have a son, Mathew. They live on the west coast." "You must have been quite a gang as kids." "Not really, no," Scully said, setting the pie on the counter, where Mulder already laid out the pan. "Once Charlie grew out of his big brother worship and Missy became too independent to play with her little sister, it was us against them." "Did you always win?" He chuckled, taking two bowls out of the cupboard. "As much as you can win against someone as stubborn as Bill or independent as Missy, we never got him to do anything and she only did what she wanted, so it was fifty-fifty at best." "Family politics never cease to amaze me." "We all listened to mom though," she chuckled, rinsing the pan, "at least until high school. We helped at home and got good grades, and in return were allowed a certain freedom." "Sounds fair," Mulder said and made room for her by the stove. "So you and Charlie stayed here and they moved away." "Bill followed in our fathers' footsteps and joined the navy, so he moved all over the place, and Missy," she moved the pie into the pan and paused to lick her fingers, "Missy always was a restless one. Last day of high school she decided she's not going to college and will go on a road trip and hitchhike all the way to L.A." "From?" "Annapolis." "Maryland?" "Yeah, military brats," Scully said, closing the oven door and setting the timer. "My dad went furious, didn't speak to her for days." "Which didn't change her mind," Mulder guessed and took the bowls to the table. "Not one bit," Scully said following with spoons and sandwiches. "Couch?" Mulder grinned and turned for the living room. "Sure, so Missy went hitchhiking." "We didn't hear from her for months," she said, folding herself on the couch and taking the bowl, speaking between blowing gently on the soup. "Occasional postcard at best, phone call for birthday, that sort of thing, until she showed up for Christmas that year." "That's harsh," Mulder said, wincing because he burned his mouth. "Yeah, but by that time we were just happy to have her home, safe and sound. She made her point and my parents didn't try to tie her down anymore." She paused to take a bite of sandwich. "It went on for a few years, until she had Emily in '87 and came back to settle closer to family." "How long did that last?" "Good fifteen years, Em and Will were like siblings." "And in that time you went to college, then med-school, did a residency in neurology and had Will." "Not only that," Scully sipped her soup, avoiding his gaze and talking about Will. "Charlie joined the force, my dad died, Bill moved a few times, got married, then Mat came around, you know, life happened." "And there was no guy for you, in all that time." Mulder pressed on, amused. "Well, there were men, obviously." "But?" "No one quite right," she said quietly, looking up from under her lashes. "No one?" Mulder teased, scooting closer. "Single mom, lots of overtime." "I would babysit for you." "I bet you would," she smiled and focused on soup and his warmth. "I like Charlie," Mulder said after a while, swallowing last of his sandwich. "What's his story?" "He's a workaholic, like me," Scully said, fishing her soup, "a little crazy too, restless, like Missy. And he's a shameless flirt, but I don't know where he got that from." Mulder laughed. "Maybe that's your father's gift, sailor's soul trapped on land." "And the work part?" "Ocean makes people tough, persistent," he grinned, taking her empty bowl. "You funnel that drive into your job." "You really got us figured out." She said and when he leaned over to set the dishes on the coffee table, she pulled on his sweater, tugging the t-shirt up. Mulder tired to catch her hands. "Wow, you don't waste time." "It's not that," she laughed, swatting at his palms, "let me see the marks, I want to make sure you're healing alright." "From those little pinpricks?" "Don't give me that." He laughed, but hissed when she pulled on the tape holding the gauze. "I feel fine," he said, felling her cool fingers, "the nausea is gone, my appetite is back, I can go back to work on Monday." "There's no inflammation around the scabs," she agreed, then ripped the rest of the tape away, making him flinch. "Sorry, I need to change these." "And here I thought you had such pleasant bedside manner." "One more," she said and tugged. "Ouch!" "Done, you won't need these anymore, simple bandaid will do." "Upstairs bathroom, behind the mirror." "I'll be right back." Scully kissed the tip off his ear, and leaving him laughing, dashed up the stairs and back, a second later. "You're fast," Mulder chuckled when she climbed behind him again. "Have to," she said, "thanks for keeping my toothbrush." "Thought you might be needing it again." "Definitely. This will feel a bit cold." She cleaned the spot on his left side, stuck the bandaid on and moved to his right. Few more swipes of her cool hands and she was done. Resting chin on his shoulder, she wrapped her arms around his waist, warming fingers on bare skin under the t-shirt. "Wasn't that bad was it?" "No, when do you need to get back?" "I promised to be back by dinner time," she said then sighed. "I hate this waiting game, it makes me feel helpless and it's driving me crazy." "I had terrible dreams," he confessed quietly, "Will's blood turned into green acid and melted right through his body." "Mulder," she crooned and pulled him closer. "When was the last time you really slept?" "Last time I was here, Tuesday?" She shook her head and hugged him tighter. "Feels like a lifetime ago." Unlocking her arms gently, he turned and put his arms around her, pulling her down on the seat beside him. "It's too early for bed," he said, leaving her room to snuggle against his chest, "but if you want we can move." "No, this is okay," she sighed and wriggled a little, hand searching for skin under his sweater, tickling lightly. "Blanket?" "Sure." Covered, they warmed fast. "Try to relax," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. "Now I'm good," she sighed, and melted into his side. "When did this happen?" He mused, absently drawing circles on her shoulder. "A week ago we were hardly dating, and now look at us." "Old married couple," she murmured under her breath, "sleeping in the middle of the day." "We should get out more." "And do what?" "Get out of town, go stargazing." "In December?" "Could be fun." "Can't we go someplace warm?" "The movies?" "And neck in the last row?" "I love the way your mind works." "It's a date then," she laughed softly, "now let me sleep." And together they slept, peacefully.

He was helping her into her coat later that evening. "You really don't have to stay up for me." "It's no problem, I'm a bit of a night owl, you know." "Mulder," she sighed, taking his face in her hands, pulling him down to kiss then rest her forehead against his. "Sleep is important, it helps you heal, and even if you feel better, you haven't healed yet. Go to bed, rest, I'll be back tomorrow." "But you haven't told me what you're thankful for, yet." "I'm thankful for you," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, "for everything you are, and all you've done." "That sounds awful like a goodbye," he whispered, hugging her tighter. "I know," she hugged him back, "but trust me, it's not." Fingers tangled in her hair and his lips were on hers, a deep, hungry kiss that stole breath and wiped out reason. This was Mulder who needed her as much as he cared for her. She heard the words I love you before, but never felt them painted on the roof of her mouth, hugged into her heart and filling her lungs, and she never felt more alive giving them back. "Thank you." Mulder breathed, breaking the lock. "For what?" "For not shutting me out," he said, softening the embrace, tucking the raw need away. "That's what I'm thankful for." "You're easy to please," she sighed, brushing his lips before letting go. "I really have to go." "Tell Will I said hi." "I will." Mulder smiled and leaning on the doorframe, watched her go, remembering to add one more thing to his shopping list for tomorrow.

It was almost noon when Scully stood on the porch, ringing the doorbell again and again, getting nothing, despite his car in the driveway. "Aren't those heels a bit high to sell girl scout cookies?" Asked a warm voice behind her and as she turned, Mulder was coming up stairs. He paused two steps from the top and she met him on the edge, eye to eye for once. "Four dollars," she said talking his face in her hands. His cheeks felt cool, but lips were as warm as always, soft and yielding and parting for her. He tasted like nuts, raisins and chocolate. "Have you been buying cookies from someone else?" "Never." Mulder smiled and kissed her once more before letting go, arm around her waist guiding her to the door. "I stopped by the bakery," he said rummaging through his pockets searching for keys. It took a second but he found them and when he dangled the ring in front of her, she noticed it oddly bare, a single key, no keychain. "What's this?" "For you," he said, letting go and leaning against the wall. Her eyes went wide. "Mulder, I can't." "Call it a spare," he smiled, "for as long as you'll need it." Looking at the key in his outstretched hand then up at him, she saw humour laced with sincerity. "Whenever you need me, use it." "What if I never give it back?" She asked and Mulder shrugged, giving her the same cheeky smile he passed on to his son. "God, you're serious." "I'm cold and I've got cookies, but the coffee's inside, so?" Scully took the key and slipped it into the lock, it turned smoothly. "Let's have coffee." "You've got the best ideas," he said and followed her in.

#generous donation #au #x files fanfic #msr fanfic #sweet nothings

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blurry-fics · 5 years

Text

Chapter Three

Realize That It’s Gone | Series Masterlist

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1924

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this one! :) (picture credit)

“What do you think his hair looks like now?” you asked Georgie, who was currently chasing a toy around your bedroom floor. “Do you think it’s still fluffy?”

Georgie answered by sprinting across your room and pouncing on a different toy than the one he had just been preoccupied with. He bat it between his paws a few times before rolling onto his back.

“Thanks for the reassurance,” you sighed.

Your phone buzzed against the nightstand where it was currently charging. You weren’t entirely sure what Tyler had planned for the two of you today, so you wanted to be ready for anything.

A car drove past as you were reaching for your phone, making you freeze. It was only a few minutes until noon, meaning Tyler could get to your house at any moment. You were excited to see him - despite the remark you had made a couple days ago - but it was still weird to think you hadn’t seen him in three months. It was impossible to anticipate what things would be like between you.

You waited until the hum of the car’s engine was distant enough that you were sure it wasn’t Tyler. Your phone was still lit up from the text message, reminding you what you had set out to do in the first place.

Marenna: Have fun today! Remember not to stress, Tyler is still your best friend :)

You took a deep breath, now somewhat reassured by Marenna’s message. Just as you finished your response, a car door slammed outside. It only took one quick glance out the window to confirm that it was Tyler. You scooped Georgie up, much to his dismay, and rushed down the stairs.

You were feeling a bit lightheaded as you waited for Tyler to knock on the door, so you took a seat on the bottom step. Georgie was wriggling ferociously in your arms, but you held him tight and scratched at the place behind his ear that always seemed to calm him down a little. In a way, it was helping you to feel more calm too.

The knock on the door made you jump, scaring Georgie just as bad. You took a moment to inhale as you stood up and exhale as you rested your fingers on the door handle. With a slight nod to yourself, you pulled open the door.

As soon as you saw Tyler, dorky grin and all, the fear seemed to melt away. He stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of you, before shaking himself out of his thoughts and meeting your eyes.

“Y/N,” he smiled.

“Ty.”

You beckoned him inside, wanting nothing more than to wrap your arms around him. As soon as the door was shut, you tossed Georgie down and pulled Tyler towards you. His hands gripped at the back of your t-shirt, holding you impossibly close. You allowed yourself to take everything in, from the warmth of his arms to the scent of his cologne that was only ever noticeable when he hugged you.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you laughed, wiping away tears when you finally let go of him. “I really didn’t mean to cry.”

“It’s ok,” he smiled. “At least I know you’re happy to see me.”

You wondered why you had ever been so stressed over seeing him again. It should have been obvious that you two would come back together like you had never been apart in the first place.

He still looked the same as when he had left, aside from the addition of a few new tattoos. His hair was still cut the exact same way - courtesy of his mom - and he was wearing the same t-shirts that you had grown so accustomed to. The Vans on his feet were still beat-up and dirty, maybe a little more so now that they had been all over the country. Tyler was still Tyler.

And yet, something at the back of your mind felt different.

“Look at this!” you said, pushing the thoughts aside to instead focus on his new tattoos. “When did this happen?”

Tyler held out his left arm, which was now covered in three dark bands. They were still a bit swollen from the fresh ink, but they looked amazing contrasted against his tan skin. It fit perfectly with the wrist tattoo he had gotten not long before leaving for tour.

“A few days ago. We had a day off and decided to get tattoos.”

“That’s certainly a… permanent choice to kill time,” you laughed. “It looks really good though, Ty. Honestly.”

“You can touch them, if you want.”

“Are you sure? It won’t hurt?”

He smiled at that. “No, it won’t hurt.”

You reached out and lightly ghosted your fingers over the tattoos as you admired them, glancing up at his face every so often just to make sure you weren’t causing him any pain. He didn’t seem all that affected by your soft touch, although you did notice that he was carefully watching your movements. His features were soft, as if he were admiring the way you were tracing his tattoos.

You blinked a couple times, “Um, so my cat. I kinda forgot about introducing you two once I saw you.”

You turned and led Tyler down the hall, towards the jingling sound of Georgie playing with another of his numerous toys. Georgie stopped and turned to look at you as you came into his view.

“There he is,” you said, gesturing to him. “I know you’re not big on animals, so I won’t make you touch him or anything.”

Tyler laughed, “Thanks.”

Georgie rolled up to a sitting position, scaring Tyler enough that he took a hesitant step back. You shot him a look.

“He’s active, Ty, not vicious.”

Still, Tyler eyed him carefully as he moved slowly across the room. You sighed and rested a hand on Tyler’s shoulder.

“Let me stick him in the laundry room and then we can head out.”

Tyler nodded and walked off to wait in the entryway while you grabbed your own Vans and dealt with Georgie.

“Let’s go,” you announced, grabbing your keys in one swift motion.

You followed Tyler out the front door, making sure to double check that it was locked behind you. He was idly tapping his palms against his legs as he made his way down the front path.

“I’m glad to see fame and money hasn’t changed you,” you laughed upon noticing his junky car parked against the curb.

He turned to look at you over his shoulder, “I’m flattered that you think I made enough money on tour to buy a new car.”

“You made enough to get a new apartment, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, one that I didn’t want and management is paying for half of,” he muttered.

“An apartment is an apartment, Ty.”

He simply shrugged as he unlocked the car. You were about to make another argument when you noticed the envelope sitting in the passenger seat with your name written across the front in Tyler’s handwriting. Not wanting to crumple it, you picked it up and set it in your lap.

“Is this mine?” you asked Tyler as he shut his door. It creaked loudly.

His mild annoyance was replaced with a smile, “Yeah. Open it, if you want.”

You carefully opened the envelope and grabbed its contents. There had to be at least a dozen postcards, all wrapped up in a rubber band. Already grinning, you pulled the rubber band off and fanned them out so you could see them better.

“No way! Is this all the places you went?”

“Yeah. Flip them over.”

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you turned the cards over, being careful not to spill them all over the floor of his car. On the back of each was a small paragraph, handwritten by Tyler. You couldn’t help but read over the first one, talking about how their first out-of-state show had gone and how he was feeling.

“Tyler,” you gasped. “You really did this for me?”

“Of course I did. I knew you would like it.”

“Man, you were so right.”

You set the postcards in your lap and held your arms out to Tyler. He took the hint and pulled you into another hug, made a bit awkward by the console in between you two.

“I’m going to read these all tonight,” you smiled as you carefully tucked them away.

You closed the envelope up and placed it gently in the backseat, putting your keys on top of it just to make sure you wouldn’t forget it. Tyler started up the car and pulled out into the street. Within seconds, you had kicked your feet up on the dash and Tyler had rolled down the windows, allowing you to enjoy the warm, summer air.

“So, tour, tell me all about it,” you prompted.

Tyler’s mouth slowly curled up into a smile before he began to talk. He talked about everything, from what he would have for breakfast each morning to his favorite way to arrange the setlist. Most of the time he had to pause in the middle of a sentence to remind himself of another story he wanted to tell you once he finished the current one. It was nice to hear him talk so passionately about something.

You were trying your best to pay attention to what he was saying, but your attention was more drawn to other things. Your eyes were roaming over his left arm, which was currently tensed slightly from his grip on the steering wheel. His tattoos somehow managed to look even better when they were illuminated by the sun. It took Tyler asking you a question for you to finally reel your attention back in.

Something still felt off.

“Did I already tell you about the guy we met in Illinois?”

“Yeah, you told me over FaceTime.”

“Ok,” he smiled. “That’s one less story to tell you, then.”

You studied Tyler’s face, trying to figure out what wasn’t clicking. He still looked the same. Talked the same. Acted the same. Even after being gone for three months, he was still the same guy he had been before he left.

Maybe Tyler wasn’t the one who had changed.

It had been on your mind for awhile now, what things would be like when he finally came back. With Tyler being gone for so long, your feelings had started to go, too. You hadn’t noticed it right away, but with each week that he was on tour you started to notice the little things that used to affect you so much starting to affect you, well, less. Texts from him no longer made your hands shake. You didn’t play his CDs on repeat just to hear his voice. He was no longer your only topic of conversation when you went to see Carter.

Carter’s question the other day suddenly started to make a lot more sense. He must have noticed it too.

You still loved Tyler - there was no denying that - but it no longer consumed your mind. It was nice, actually. Now you could enjoy your time with him instead of watching his every move, searching for any indicator that he shared your feelings. There were other people in the world for you to fall in love with. Tyler had made it clear that he didn’t view you as anything other than his best friend.

And for the first time in a long time, that was ok with you.

* * * * *

Taglist

@faceofcontvsions @ohprettyweeper @tylersheavydirtysoul @topownsmyheart @schrodingersjustine @heythereitm3 @leam-2001 @breadbinishigh @wearebxnditos @iguessimsatan @harishaanne @5secondsofmoxley @patdsinner33 @littlerachelbee @iamnotawasteofspace

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forever--darling · 5 years

Text

not too far away - s.m.

a/n: where one voicemail brings up the past and a boy who’s now living a completely different life

prologue

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon, you were jogging across the crosswalk of a busy street in the city. The lights of the cars bounced off the puddles that pressed along the pavement. You could feel the water seeping further into the soles of your shoes and into your socks as you dashed through a large rain puddle on the end of the crosswalk to get onto the sidewalk. The combination of the rain and the wind had created a bitter cold to nip at your legs. They were becoming numb and your fingers were a shade of bright red as you approached your apartment building and fished out your keys from the pocket of your jacket. Shoving the key into the lock, you opened the door and bounded up the stairs towards the fourth floor, too impatient to wait for the elevator. You were leaving a trail of water behind you but couldn’t care as you desperately craved for the warmth of your small apartment.

As the white door appeared from the end of the hallway, you felt a sense of relief fall from your shoulders. Small uneven breaths were coming from your mouth as you unlocked your door that had a golden brass forty-six on it. You opened it and walked in only sparing a second to collect the mail left outside your door. Giving the door a small push, it closed shut behind you as you threw the mail onto the marble kitchen counter. You let your purse drop to the floor and peeled the jean jacket from around you revealing your white t-shirt that was sticking to your body. You had only just left your lecture hall, after a lecture that had gone longer than expected, when it started to rain. You were drenched from head to toe, your hair dripping small water droplets down your back as goosebumps ran across your arms. Teeth chattering and hands shaking, you went straight towards the heater and cranked it up high before walking over towards your window. You looked up to be met with a dark grey clouded sky that didn’t seem to be going anywhere.

Letting out a small sigh, you could feel the warmth beginning to move back into your body. Moving back towards the kitchen counter, you went through the small stack of envelopes, most being all from the same place. You skipped over them and put them into the back of the pile leaving a bright postcard to adorn the top of the stack. Smiling, you took it in your hands and gazed over the front which read Venice, Italy and was a picture of a gondola traveling through the narrow riverways. You flipped it over instantly being met with your brother's messy handwriting. It read,

‘hey bug, have had the best time in Venice and though I’ve loved every second of it, I can’t wait to come back home to you and tell you all about it. I missed you loads little sister and hope everything is going well with school. I’ll see you at moms and dads in a few days. -your loving older brother James.’

You chuckled at the simple words he wrote, so happy that he would be returning home after being gone for a whole year. Knowing that you would be seeing him, made you less anxious about returning home to be with your worrisome parents who could barely leave you alone.

Placing the postcard back onto the countertop, you pulled your phone out from your wet bag that had been left abandoned on the floor. You had one missed called from an unknown number and voicemail from the time you were on your way home. Clicking onto the voicemail, you put it on speaker and left your phone on the counter about to grab a sweatshirt from your room as it played but stopped dead in your tracks at the voice that came through the speakers. A voice you hadn’t heard in some time and instantly made your eyes shift towards the picture frame on the small table in your living room. If that wasn’t all, the words sent chills down your back.

“Y/N, hi. This is Karen. Karen Mendes. I haven’t seen or talked to you in what feels like forever but I guess you’re so busy with being all grown up now. Hun, I understand that you are very focused on your studies and I don’t want to be a bother but it would just be so nice to see you again. Shawn is coming home for a few weeks. We are going to throw a party for him on Sunday when he gets home and I know that it would mean so much to him if you were there. You two haven’t seen each other in so long and he misses you greatly, my dear. And I know it will be fun. There will be plenty of food and games. Your parents are even going to attend and one more Y/L/N will surely liven up the party even more just like the good old days. Anyways, hope to hear back from you soon, hun. We all miss you. Talk to you soon.”

Your heart was beating out of your chest and you were shaking. Hesitantly, you walked over towards the picture that your eyes had been fixed on throughout the whole time the voicemail was playing. It was framed in a grey frame and was a few years old now. You were sixteen when it was taken and it was the beginning of summer. Your families were having a barbecue and you and Shawn were dancing around the backyard as music played through the stereo. Everyone cheered you on and you had been completely embarrassed about the whole situation but did it anyway because he asked you too. You were barefoot and your feet were sinking into the soft grass as he twirled you around causing the skirt of your dress to follow. Just as the song was ending, his mom had approached from the patio with a camera in her hand wanting to get a picture.

Within the few seconds she had asked, he had pulled you up and onto his back and his arms hooked through your legs. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you smiled over his shoulder, laughter falling from your lips. He turned to look at you from the corner of his eye, a smile forming on his face at your sweet laugh. His cheeks were rosy and his hair tickled your cheek and the smell of mint filled your nose. You both were looking at each other for so long smiling like complete idiots that you didn’t even know the picture had been taken. It’s now forever one of your favorite moments to look back on because back then he was just Shawn not Shawn Mendes and you were just you before he had left and before the four shittiest years of your life happened and changed everything.

next part

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #my writing #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn #mendes #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x y/n #shawn mendes x you

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benhardyisdaddy · 5 years

Text

Love Of My Life - Part 11

MASTERLIST

(welcome to the next part, its been forever it feels so im sorry!!! i hope u all like it oooof)

Word Count: 2,098

“How cute is this place?” you ask, walking inside.

The door’s pushed open as a tiny bell rings, letting everyone know a new customer has arrived. John walks and stands next to you as you both slowly turn your heads and admire the building. It’s an old antique shop, filled with various things old and new, but mostly old. Everything was rustic and beautiful, causing the smile on your face to be permanent. You adored antique things. The thought of giving an old object a new home made you happy. You walk deeper into the building and admire an old vanity mirror. It was white, but had traces of wood peeking out from the paint, causing it to look beautiful. You run your finger over the flat surface and look beside it, an old Raggedy Ann doll catching your eye. She had a smile on her face, causing you to pick her up. You turn around and spot John looking at a rack of postcards, filled with different places. You walk over to him and hold up the doll, causing him to jump slightly and take a step back.

“No.” he says firmly, knowing what you were going to ask.

“But she’s so cute and she needs a new home!” you beg, your lip pouting.

“Love,” he starts, looking down at the doll and shuddering. “You can get anything else, anything else, just not… That. Please. It’s creepy.”

You frown and look back down at the doll.

“He didn’t mean that.” you whisper to her, causing John to smirk.

But the more you stare at the doll in your hands, you start realizing how right John was, but you’d never tell him that. You place her down next to a toy horse and walk back over to John. He’s still searching through the old postcards, pulling some out and flipping them around to read. You join in and turn the wrack slightly, your eye catching a card. John watches as you stare at it, your eyes gleaming. He smiles and reaches forward to pull it out of it’s slot, turning it around to make sure it’s okay. On the front is a gorgeous picture of the Eiffel tower at night, with it’s lights glistening all around. You can see people below it, looking up in amazement, just like you would. You had always wanted to visit Paris and see the Eiffel Tower in real life. Ever since you were a little girl you dreamed of visiting and eating at a small cafe, listening to their beautiful language and admiring their historical landmarks. It was definitely something on your bucket list.

“I always wanted to visit there.” you tell John, still looking at the card in his hand.

He watches you closely and smiles as he leans in to kiss the side of your head.

“Well, guess we’ll have to go one day.”

You look up to him fast, your eyes wide with excitement.

“Really?” you ask, almost shocked.

John nods and half laughs at your cute expression. He places the card back in it’s slot before turning and kissing you softly, making you lean into him.

“I promise.” he says, holding up his two thumbs to you.

You lean your head back and laugh a bit as you hold your thumbs up as well. The look on John’s face was child like and sweet, making you smile and swoon almost. John promised you the most extraordinary life and did not disappoint. You were just happy you had him in your life. That’s all you needed.

“And when we go, you can wear those cute little hats they like. And we’ll get you one of those cute skirts…” he whispered, leaning his mouth closer to your ear.

Your face goes red as his hand slides down your back. He leans his face down to yours as you stare into his eyes and smirk, biting your lip.

“I think we should go.” you whisper.

The corners of his mouth slightly raise up as he nods.

“I think so too.” he whispers back.

You raise a brow playfully and turn around, walking to the exit. John follows behind you, but not before turning back around and staring at the postcard once more.

***

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

You groan and roll over, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn’t want to be awake. You wonder why the hell you even set your alarm in the first place? You were hungover. Beyond hungover. Last night was a bad night for you. It had been about two weeks since you’ve gotten a letter from John. You were starting to think that maybe they had stopped. That there were no more. Maybe he didn’t get to finish them, you think to yourself. Maybe he got too sick and just couldn’t write anymore. Those thoughts had flooded your mind the night before, causing you to have another breakdown. You went to the store, bought a bunch of alcohol and ice cream, went home and forgot all about the ice cream. The alcohol was gone within two hours. You were pissed drunk and even more sad. You stare drunkenly at the empty bottle and frown. You were stumbling around, angry that John was still in your head. You really thought drinking would make those thoughts go away, but they only amplified them even more. You just wanted another letter, another piece of him. But no.

You were walking around your home and running into everything, causing yourself to laugh. The cell phone in your back pocket was irritating you, causing you to take it out and toss it on the couch. You walk over to your sound system and pick a song, causing it to blare. It was sad, yet fast paced. You start belching out the lyrics and dancing insanely, your eyes squeezed shut as tears slipped past them. You were sobbing and trying to ignore it. You were angry at the world and wanted to forget about everything. The song continues to play and eventually switches to another loud one. Your voice is dry and sore from screaming the lyrics, but you didn’t care. It was nice to feel something at least. You dance around and jump while flinging your arms. You didn’t care if anyone could see you. You didn’t care about anything at all right now. You just wanted John there with you, but that wasn’t going to happen. You know.

A few more songs come on and you continue dancing. Suddenly, surprised you hear it, there’s a loud bang on your front door. You pause dancing and look over to it confused. Another loud, forceful knock causes you to rush over to it. You freeze and wait once more, another knock making you jump. You unlock it fast and open it up wide, obviously not caring if it had been a murderer. It’s no murderer, only Roger. He stands there with his phone raised up to you. It shows that he’s been on a call with you for a while now and it’s still going.

“You called me!” he yells out, over the music. “I thought you were in trouble. When the music started playing, I left to get over here as fast as I could!”

You just stand there as you stare at him, feeling your head buzz. He looked so worried and soft right now, you weren’t sure exactly what to say.

“Left where?” you ask, not knowing why you did.

His face falls a bit, his cheeks turning red. He shrugs a bit, thinking of something to say.

“A friend’s house. It doesn’t matter, I’m here now and-”

“Which friends house?” you ask.

He raises a brow, his eyes narrowing a bit. He doesn’t know why you’re asking this.

“Are you drunk?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

You could barely stand up right, swaying all over the place. Your words were slurred badly as your eyes are hooded and red, mostly from crying.

“Which friend?” you ask again, ignoring him.

He sighs and looks away for a moment, then back to you.

“Her name’s Holly.” he finally confesses.

“Is she pretty?” you ask.

Roger’s eyes widen a bit, surprised by your bluntness.

“Do you love her? Do you think you’ll marry her?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but you gave him no chance. He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“Are you gonna leave her just like everyone else does?”

All of a sudden, Roger realizes that you’re not talking about Holly. You’re talking about yourself. And you’re not referring to Roger, you’re referring to John. It broke his heart, but not as much as it did yours. You watch his shocked face as you roll your eyes and sniffle, wiping away tears. You take a step back and go to shut the door.

“Didn’t mean to bother you, Roger. Go back to Polly.” you say, getting her name wrong.

You go to close the door, but he stops it with his hand. He opens it back up and watches as you stare at him like a lost little kid. Your eyes are wide with sadness, glossy from crying. You look so tiny and fragile, he didn’t want to break you. You just stare at him, not knowing what to say.

“I’m not leaving you.” he says fast. “I will never leave you. I’d leave a million other girls if it meant you needed me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Your brows knit together as your eyes squeeze close, tiny sobs escaping your mouth. Your body shakes as you stand there frozen, unable to move. Roger quickly walks forward and wraps his arms around you tightly. He places his head on top of yours and rubs your back as you weep onto chest. You grip his shirt harshly as you scream against him, slightly drowned out by another song that’s playing now. He kisses the top of your head as he kicks your door closed with his foot. He slowly moves the two of you into your bedroom and helps you lay down on the bed. He pulls the covers over you as you still cry and hold the sheets close to you. He hurriedly rushes to the living room and turns off the music and locks the front door. He walks back to the room and you’ve calmed down a bit. You look over to him with exhaustion in your eyes.

“Please don’t go.” you whisper to him.

Roger’s stood by your doorway and half smiles, walking up to the other side of the bed. He slides in next to you and stares up at the ceiling. You roll yourself over and place your head on his chest, wrapping your arm around him. Roger freezes and finally relaxes as he places his arm over you as well. And just like the night of the hotel, the two of you fall asleep together.

***

Now it’s the next morning and you’re alone in bed, your head pounding. You hear movement in your kitchen as you slide from under the covers and sit up a bit, your legs dangling over the side. You close your eyes and allow the nausea to subside. You take in a deep calming breath when you suddenly hear a knock at your front door. If you weren’t so woozy, you’d have jumped up and answered it. You listen as Roger opens it up and speaks to someone. You hear him thank them as he closes it. You listen closely, but there’s nothing. Curiosity gets the best of you as you stand up and slowly walk out of your room. You spot Roger in front of your door, his back facing you. He’s staring down at something, not moving. You knit your brows together as you lean your shoulder against the wall, watching.

“Rog?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

He turns his head fast and looks at you, a confused look on his face. You stand up straight, suddenly getting worried.

“What’s wrong? What is it?” you ask.

He looks back around to whatever it was and then slowly turns, something in his hands.

“It’s for you.” he says, holding it up.

Your heart almost stops. You haven’t gotten a letter from John in what feels like forever. You could cry from being so happy. You fight back a huge grin as he slowly walks up to you and reaches it forward. You take it fast and stare down at it. You freeze. Now you really are crying. This wasn’t John’s normal letter to you. No.

This was a postcard.

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gaycrouton · 5 years

Text

Zeal

Words of Love 26/27 [An unexpected trip to Scully's childhood home gives Mulder a new understanding of his partner.]

Zeal: (noun) great energy or enthusiasm in pursuit of a person, cause, or an objective.

They had just landed after finishing a case in New York when Scully got a phone call from her mother. She gave Mulder a signal to wait where he was while she answered it. He stood in the middle of the terminal holding their bags as he watched Scully pace back and forth, listening intently to her mother’s words.

He couldn’t hear the exchange from this far away, but he could tell Scully was a little stressed out by whatever her mother was saying. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she kept running a hand through her hair, nodding even though her mother couldn’t see her. After a few minutes she started walking up to him and he caught the tail end, “I can do it mom, no problem… I love you too..Bye.”

“Everything going okay with the Scully matriarch?” He asked as she took her bag from his grasp.

“Yeah. She went on a vacation with her friends, but she’s positive she left the doors unlocked. She won’t be able to enjoy herself until I drive over there and reassure her.” The exhaustion in Scully’s voice was evident, but he knew there was no way she wouldn’t let her mother suffer through the night.

“Well let’s swing by and check it out for her before heading back to D.C.” He shrugged and started walking towards the car as Scully immediately tried to ease him of the burden she considered herself to be.

“Mulder, it’s totally out of the way. I don’t want to drag you out on this errand. You have to be tired-” Her ramblings were interrupted by his raised hand.

“Scully this isn’t an inconvenience to me. What else will you do? Drive with me back to D.C, get in your car, backtrack to Annapolis, and then drive all the way home? No way. This is good as long as you can tolerate a few more hours with me,” he teased.

“Thank you Mulder.” The gratitude weighed heavy in her voice and he was glad he had offered. In all honesty, he would take any opportunity to see Scully’s childhood home. He knew she traveled from place to place growing up, but as far as he was aware, Maggie Scully’s household still had room that held all the musings of an adolescent and teenage riddled Dana Scully and he had to see it.

He had been to Maggie’s house before, though under less than ideal circumstances, so he already knew pretty much how to get there. He didn’t realize this would come in handy until he turned to her, expecting a response to the conversation he thought he was having with her, only to be met with snores and closed eyes. He had to say, sleeping-Scully was one of his favorite versions of her. It was like all her stressed vanished and she was finally at peace.

He couldn’t help himself and stole a few quick glances to see her. She was slouched further down in the seat than normal with one hand strewn across her lap and the other laying carelessly beside her. Her head was lolled back onto the headrest so he had a good vantage point to see her face. Her hair was gently mussed and her face was devoid of the normal lines of worry that usually plagued her. She must have fallen asleep a few minutes after getting to the car because, by the way her eyelashes were fluttering against her cheeks, she was in a deep sleep. He jumped a little bit when a soft grunt left her slack-jawed lips, but relaxed when she just licked her lips and sank further down in her seat. She would kill him if he ever said it outloud, but she was painfully adorable like this.

Who knew angels wore pantsuits?

After about thirty minutes, and hundreds of glances, they arrived to Annapolis and were greeted with a sudden burst of hail. He didn’t think much of it until it got loud enough to rouse Scully from her sleep. With a gentle groan of irritation, she sat up and blinked the sleep out of her eyes. “What’s going on?” she croaked.

“We’re almost to your mom’s, did she mention anything about hail?” he asked, trying to navigate the growing downpour.

“No, no. Not that I remember.” She had to raise her voice over the sound of the hail against the car as he pulled into the driveway. “Wait here, I’ll open the garage so you can pull the car in.”

He told her to be careful as she quickly eased out of the car, opening up the door in one grand sweep. He pulled in and she quickly shut the door behind them. He got out of the car and walked to the front to make sure the hail hadn’t hurt the car too bad. There was maybe one or two tiny dents, but honestly he felt lucky.

“Let’s check the forecast when we get inside,” she said over her shoulder as they went through the adjoining door from the garage to the house. It was jarring to him how much this house was reflective of Scully. Anytime he went to his own mom’s house, it was bleak, sterile, and hostile. A far cry from his haphazard apartment. Maggie’s house, however, was a real home. The pictures on the wall, the worn furniture, everything was reminiscent of a happy family. Hell, it even smelled like Scully.

It was fascinating to him to see her interact with such familiarity. After stepping in from the garage, they were in pitch darkness, but she was able to navigate across the room and flip on the light switch with blind grace. He couldn’t help but wonder how many times a teen Scully did this same thing, sneak in through the garage, find her way in the darkness, avoiding her parents or siblings.

He saw her make her way to the doors to check if they were locked or not and he decided to stay where he was, not wanting to tread in her personal space without an invitation. He didn’t know if she wanted shoes off or on, so he slipped out of his dress shoes and put them next to other shoes on a mat near the door.

After noticing Scully hadn’t taken hers off, and contemplated putting them back on, he shrugged and looked to his side to examined the photos on the wall. He couldn’t keep the shiteating grin off his face when he was met with a school photo of Scully in, what he was guessing was, her teens. Everything about this photo was pure gold; braces, a bad perm, and the painful fashion of the early eighties.

“Well, looks like this was all for nothing, she locked all the doors after all. What are you-no!” Her statement quickly turned into a girlish squeal when she saw what he was looking at. Instantly, his gaze on the photo was replaced by a blushing, real, thirtysomething Scully trying to block the image from view.

“That just might be my favorite photo of you Scully,” he joked.

She firmly grabbed his shoulders, turned him around, and nudged him down the hallway. “You never saw that photo, wipe it from your memory, forget it,” she was embarrassed, but laughter was seeping through her voice. She motioned for him to sit on the couch as she found the remote before joining him, sitting so close he could feel her body heat. After pressing a few buttons, the room was illuminated with the news. “This is Ron Steele, reporting live from Annapolis. Well folks, it looks like the hail isn’t letting up anytime soon. We’ve put out a safety advisory warning people to stay indoors.” The screen was then taken over by an extremely red map, showing the surrounding area completely covered in cartoon hail.

With a sigh, they looked at each other and shrugged. “Looks like we’re staying here tonight,” she murmured, standing up and stretching.

He presumed he would have seen it either how, but these mere five minutes of waiting were torture so he just decided to be blunt. “Can I see your old bedroom?” he blurted. Call it the psychologist in him, but he really wanted to see Scully’s roots and the signs of the woman she would end up becoming.

She stopped mid-stretch and regarded him with a cocked, entertained eyebrow. He gave her the best, innocent, puppy dog stare he could, no matter what she said, he knew it was her weakness. It worked and she motioned for him to get up, “Sure, follow me.” He didn’t need to be asked twice and he practically jumped off the couch in excitement.

He followed her down the hallway, amused as she haphazardly discarded her shoes as she walked before ascending the carpeted stairs with stocking clad feet. Of course, little Scully had the most secluded room in the house. They went down a long hallway, passing by four bedrooms and a bathroom before reaching hers at the very end. The rest had been pretty distinguishable, Charlie’s had planes, Melissa’s had a tapestry, Bill’s had a navy poster, Scully’s room however was completely bare. She put one hand on the knob before threatening over her shoulder, “If you mention the contents of this room to anyone, I will shoot you.”

He raised his hand in a mock scouts honor as she opened the door. Oh my god. Of everything he could have imagined, this was not it. Her room was a gentle light pink color and absolutely covered with music posters. Madonna, Prince, Queen, Depeche Mode, The Eurythmics, it was like Rolling Stone threw up on her walls. His favorite was probably the shirtless photo of Bruce Springsteen on the ceiling above her bed.

Her room was modestly furnished, just with a full bed, a dresser, and a desk with a huge boombox cassette player, with huge stacks of tapes laying around it. He went to it and pressed play, eager to see what cassette was still in it. He turned to Scully with a bemused, shocked expression when Cherry Pie by Warrant softly filled the room. “I don’t know what part surprises me more. The fact that you were into hair metal or that young Scully was listening to such suggestive songs.”

She rolled her eyes and sat on her old bed, reclining on the palms of her hands. “Something young Scully and I still have in common,” she laughed. Hm, unexpected, but good to know. He noticed a bunch of postcards lying on her desk, he picked one up and noticed a small message on the back in the curly cursive of a child, ‘To Future Dana: Hi! Love, Past Dana.’ This may just be the cutest thing he had ever seen in his entire life.

He held up the card to her so she could see, “Hey, Past Dana says hi.” He played with the way her name had felt in his mouth while she laughed.

“I used to send myself postcards anytime I went on vacation so I would come home and revisit the trip.” Of course she did, that was so Scully. He set it back down and kept exploring her room, as non invasively as he possibly could. Every item he focused on would get an elaborate description, she spared no details. She just laid on her back and watched him with almost as much intensity and care as he was giving the objects.

He was about to lay by her side on the bed when he noticed a yellowed piece of loose leaf spiral paper peeking from under the bed. He bent down and picked it up when a smile instantly broke out on his face. Scully tried to scrutinize the item in his hand, but quickly gave up. “What’s that?”

He laid down on his stomach next to her, the sides of their bodies completely flush against each other. Maybe it was the semblance of teenage comfort that made him so bold, but he pointed to the paper in his hand as they ignored the intimacy of this action. Recognition dawned on her face accompanied by a deep red flush. “Oh my god, I haven’t seen that in years!” She put her face in her hands in an attempt to contain her embarrassment.

“Let me see if that Art Appreciation course I took in college paid off.” Her eyes peeked out from in between her fingers to watch his finger move across the page. “According to the signature, this masterpiece was by a six year old Dana Katherine Scully in the summer months of 1970. The medium appears to be Crayola Marker. The subject of the painting is a woman, presumably the artist in a white gown with shoulder length red hair-Scully has your hair always been around your shoulders?”

“No, as a kid it used to be down to my waist and I would wear it in braids all the time. When I was in second grade, a kid named Tom in my class told me no boys would ever like me without my hair, so I looked him dead in the eye and cut the braids off at my ears. My mom was so upset, but I always liked short hair and it’s been that way ever since,” she was smiling fondly at the memory and he knew he was too. Dana Scully, sticking it to the man since she was a child. He wished he could have seen it.

“Was that before or after this drawing?” he asked.

“A good while after. I must be psychic,” she teased.

He chuckled before returning to his assessment, “So, it appears to be a grown Scully in a white dress, she’s holding pink flowers that match the huge smile on her face. She’s standing next to a brown haired man, who’s significantly taller than her, not that it’s a rare accomplishment-” she playfully slapped his arm with a smirk, “He’s dressed in a suit with a green tie and holding her hand with a smile that rivals her own, the line for his lips nearly falling past his face. There’s a huge arch in the background-” It dawned on him what the image was of, Scully drew a photo of her getting married in the future.

The photo held so much childlike innocent it hurt his heart a little bit. Six year old Scully drew this probably imagining being walked down the aisle by her father, her entire family in attendance. This Scully knew nothing about conspiracies, knew no pain, had no real fears. He all the sudden got overwhelmed with the idea that looking at this might be painful right now, a reminder of what she’d pushed off, the family and the possibility of making one that now felt intangible. All because of him. He decided to try to make light, “Let me guess, Bruce Springsteen?” he asked pointing to the man.

He looked over and was shocked to see her face was filled with comfortable serenity, her lips charmingly curved upward. “No, I just liked drawing what I imagined my future would be like, that was how I always drew my future husband. The pictures always varied, but he was always there by my side, making me happy, doing everything for me, just loving me.”

“Did he have a name?” he asked, relishing the honesty she was giving him.

She shook her head, the movement shaking him a little on the bed. “No, I thought that would be bad luck.” He couldn’t get her to believe half his theories, but here she was believing giving a name to a drawing would jinx her. She always kept him on his toes.

“Do you ever wish the drawings came true? That you weren’t having to run around the country chasing killers and ghosts?” he asked, his self conscious nature leaching through his voice.

She considered him with thoughtful eyes. She was staring at him so intently, he could only ever wonder what she was seeing. “Who says they didn’t come true?” she asked. He was a little puzzled about her words when she snaked the hand not holding up her head towards his chest, grabbing something in front of him. When he glanced down his heart caught in his throat, she was holding his green tie, the same shade as the one in the photo.

Now that he really looked at it, his outfit was practically a replica of the drawing, down to the eye color and height difference. She didn’t have a white dress on, but the hair was spot on. She noticed him connecting the dots as his gaze returned back to hers and she simply mumbled, “Psychic,” under her breath while stroking the silky fabric of the tie.

He was moved. How did she always manage to do that? She picked and chose the moments she would reveal her true feelings much like a flower blooming, and it was equally as beautiful. He reached down and grabbed her lithe hand into his own, pressing her palm to his chest, right over his heart.

“The drawings you describe remind me a lot of the dreams I have now,” he whispered, almost worried the sound of his voice could break the air of vulnerability between them. She smirked and he made sure she saw his eyes dart back to the drawing between them before adding, “All of them.” He could see she was repressing the smile from fully taking over her face, it was almost a straight line except the ends, which she rebelling upward against her will.

“Dreams are the questions we haven’t yet figured out how to ask,” she responded cheekily, regurgitating his own words to him, but the meaning far more implicit now.

“Questions we haven’t figured out how to ask, feelings so strong they intimidate us and only come out in the safety of our mind.” A verbal dance of hidden meanings, a dance they did far too often.

“Dreams come true. Without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them,” Scully recited. Of course Scully had the perfect literary reference for every situation, she even made Updike sound romantic.

Taking a chance, he raised her palm from his heart to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss to the surface and whispering “I love you, so much,” into her soft skin.

The smile she had been fighting broke free and she reversed the position of their hands and brought his palm to her lips, the words were soft to his ears, but he could feel the ghost of her lips move in her own sentiments of love. She mimicked him afterwards by placing a kiss to his palm and resting it over her heart.

Most of his dreams after that focused on how beautiful that drawing would look next to an image of the real thing. After all, she was right, dreams come true.

#words of love #msr fluff #msr #msr romance #mulder and scully #x files fanfic #gaycrouton #onlytheinevitable #my fanfiction

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nicolewrites · 6 years

Text

dearly beloved

hi, i’m alive

Rating: G/G+ Genre: Romance and Friendship Characters: [Ash K. and Misty] Words: 5,473

in which Ash and Misty decide to get married and the world collectively loses its mind / poke, ikari, contest, wishful, leafgreen / ua

AO3 | FFN

Paul hardly looked up from his book as he slid aside the latch on the mailbox and reached in to retrieve their mail. As usual, there was the letter from Reggie and Maylene with a hastily added signature from little Preston, a couple of magazines relating to Dawn’s work, some bills, a postcard from Zoey and Candice’s world tour, and a high-quality formal envelope. His brow creased as he pulled out the last item. It reminded him of letters he got for official League events, but there were none of those coming up, so he was left perplexed. The printing that their address was written in was in handwriting that Paul also usually associated with the League, but this time, it was clearly of a personal level.

He slid it back in between a magazine and Zoey’s postcard and tucked all the mail under his arm. He closed the mailbox and headed back towards the house. He shut the door behind him and followed the noise in the house to the kitchen.

Dawn stood in the doorway of the kitchen with her back to him, but she heard him coming and turned to face him. She stepped towards him as he neared, leaning up to peck him on the lips. He returned the simple gesture and passed her the mail. She beamed and spun, her hair flying back and nearly striking him in the face, before walking into the kitchen.

Paul followed her in and placed his book on the counter before moving towards the kitchen table. Dawn was hovering between the fridge and the table, skimming through the mail while also glancing at the third person in the room every so often. Little Noah, the product of a happy accident when Paul was 21 and Dawn just 20, was happily eating the porridge that his mother had prepared. Noah paused to grin widely as Paul sat down at the table. Paul’s lip twitched up as he admired his son for a moment. Noah looked strikingly like Dawn besides the flint grey eyes that were definitely his.

Dawn had apparently found the letter as she placed the rest of the mail down on the counter next to Paul’s book. She held it up and looked at him in confusion. “Do you know what this is for?” “No,” he replied.

Dawn walked towards his chair and Paul leaned forwards slightly. She perched herself sideways across his lap, leaning into him slightly as she tore along the top of the envelope. “It’s addressed to both of us,” she mused.

Paul’s hand rested on the outside of her hip to hold her in place as he watched over her shoulder as she pulled out an invitation of a sort that was thankfully not adorned with the terrible handwriting of the Indigo Champion. Dawn let out an excited gasp as she realized what the card was. Paul raised an eyebrow.

“Were they even dating?” he asked.

Dawn laughed. “Not exactly no, but I mean, it is Ash. I imagine Misty could only put up with him for so long.”

Paul gave Dawn a weird look. “She’s signing herself up for dealing with Ash for life this way,” he reminded.

“Yes, but he’ll have to deal with her too, and I think commitment is something in itself.”

Dawn placed the invite on the table and glanced at Noah. The toddler was contently eating his breakfast. He seemed quite happy to ignore both of his parents despite his mother’s curious stare.

“Besides,” she teased coyly, brushing her fingertips along the hand he’d placed on her, “I don’t think we’re allowed to judge how other people get married.” Paul glanced at Noah before pressing a soft kiss to Dawn’s hair in a rare display of affection. “At least we were together before he came along,” he pointed out.

Dawn hummed her agreement. She picked up the card again and flipped to the inside where the date was written. “September 7? That’s so soon!”

“They both have League obligations the further into the season it gets,” Paul reminded and Dawn made a small sound of acknowledgement.

“Still,” she argued, “even we were engaged for more than a month and we deal with the same kind of issues as Ash does with you and arguably more so with Noah.”

Paul shrugged. He definitely didn’t have an answer for Ash and Misty’s decision. Ash was already hard enough to manage when they were dealing with Interregional politics that required communication between the two champions, Paul didn’t have time to analyze Ash’s personal life too.

Dawn perked up suddenly. “Oh! I guess we’ll have to get Noah a little suit then!”

Paul tensed. “Why does our two-year-old need a suit?”

“Because it’s a wedding! Everyone has to dress up!”

Paul sighed. Even though she worked as a Poké Stylist, he wondered sometimes why Dawn didn’t just switch into a career in fashion. She’d made her own wedding dress when they were married and had been the designer for May’s. He supposed it was because PokéStyling was more similar to coordinating.

“Just don’t wear yourself out,” he said. “I know you’re going to insist on making Noah’s outfit and you’ve probably already started mentally designing your own, but don’t burn out.” Dawn twisted to look at him and she beamed. “I love you too,” she teased and leaned in so she could kiss him again.

Noah whined across the table and the two adults pulled apart and turned to face the child who had upset his bowl and was hovering on the verge of tears. Dawn shook her head and stood from Paul’s lap, heading to give their son the comfort he wanted.

Iris was tired. She was dead tired and she just wanted to go back to sleep. Cilan kept shooting her concerned looks, but Iris ignored him. They had been planning for this lunch for a while–they couldn’t just cancel. Besides, across from her, Trip looked nearly as exhausted. “How was your trip to Hoenn?” Cilan asked politely as he brought over the last dish he had prepared. Though it was a little past lunchtime, Iris and Cilan had agreed to host Trip for lunch while he was in Opelucid after arriving back in Unova from a vacation.

“It was good,” Trip replied almost noncommittally. He yawned and Cilan let out a sympathetic chuckle.

“You’ve not yet adjusted back from the time change, have you?”

Trip laughed shortly. “No, I haven’t, but that’s my excuse, what’s yours?” He directed the last bit of the question towards Iris who just shook her head.

“I’ve been up late these last few nights,” Iris defended. Trip raised an eyebrow and she knew he needed more justification. “The Unova League is apparently seeing a competitor who gave Paul trouble last year. I want to be ready.” “Mm,” Trip consented finally, “the guy that got the Sinnoh Champ down to just his starter right?”

“Yes,” Cilan said as he finally took his seat at the table. He brushed his hand over Iris’s comfortingly. “The way you’ve been training lately, he will be very hard pressed to beat you.”

Iris smiled into her drink as she took a sip from her glass of water. “That’s the plan.”

There was silence that fell over the three of them for several minutes as they all ate: enjoying Cilan’s excellent cooking. Even though it was just for lunch, Cilan had prepared two vegetable dishes, an egg dish that remained one of Iris’s favourites, and had baked a loaf of bread fresh. She smiled at Cilan and thanked Arceus for giving her husband the gift of good cooking.

While she herself was normally content with some fresh fruit and the traditional foods from her village, Iris could not deny that Cilan’s cooking was delicious. He had lived in a restaurant his whole life as the Striaton City Gym Leader and it had clearly turned him, and all of his siblings, into wonderful cooks. By the way Trip was digging into the meal as well, Iris knew he had no complaints.

“How was the event?” she finally asked, curiosity winning out.

Trip glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “About what was expected. Wallace is a brilliant orator and Max certainly appeared to be a strong pick for the Elite Four.”

Trip had been in Hoenn covering the ascension of Max Maple, a close friend of Ash’s, to a member of Hoenn Elite Four. Iris had been hesitant to send Trip, a League photographer for the Unova region to cover the event, but Wallace had requested the best in all of Napaj so that he might give Max the best publicity possible. Still, it was almost a vacation for Trip, something she wished he would take more often, so she had conceded and sent him over.

Their conversation was interrupted as the trio heard the front door bang open. Cilan and Trip both rose from the table and Iris gripped a Pokéball out of reflex. It wasn’t an unwelcome intruder after all, as Georgia strode into the kitchen, looking relaxed and bored. She took in the scene and rolled her eyes.

“If you don’t want me to walk in, don’t schedule a meeting with me and leave the front door unlocked,” she drawled sarcastically.

Cilan sank back into his seat and Iris slid Haxorus’s Pokéball away. Trip remained slightly more on edge, and Iris recalled the last time Trip and Georgia had interacted and had to force herself not to laugh at the memory.

“Anyways,” Georgia said, striding across the kitchen and sitting in the fourth chair at the table. “This was on your doorstep.” She handed the offending item to Iris and Iris’s eyebrows rose.

It was an envelope that resembled the official Pokémon League ones used to send out notifications of official business. Iris blinked in surprise and turned it over so that she could see the address. It was clearly for her and Cilan and by the handwriting alone, Iris knew it was from Ash. Indigo Champion he may have been, good handwriting he did not have.

“It’s from Ash,” she elaborated for Cilan and Trip who could not see the envelope.

She broke the seal and slid the letter out. The front of the card had curving, elegant handwriting that was clearly not Ash’s, and Iris stared at it. Cilan, who had leaned over to watch her open it, recoiled similarly. She opened it and saw more writing and information inside the card which was thankfully printed by who Iris assumed to be Misty, not Ash.

Trip coughed politely and the Unovan couple exchanged a look and Iris folded the card again. “It’s from Ash and Misty,” she amended.

“That’s one of his Elite Four members right?” Trip asked, confirming.

“Yes,” Georgia filled in. As a member of the Unova Elite Four, she was familiar with the elites across the other regions of Napaj.

“They’re getting married,” Cilan said finally. Trip and Georgia both appear stunned. Cilan laughed, brushing his hand against Iris’s. “Honestly I don’t even know if they were really dating. They were together in a lot of ways I suppose, and now I guess they’re just solidifying that fact.”

Iris touched the envelope, frowning slightly. “I know Misty, and I know Ash. They’re both spontaneous people, but it is Ash, and I would think he would want a bigger wedding with all the connections that he has.” Trip leaned back in his chair. “Well, if he’s the Indigo Champion marrying a member of the Indigo Elite Four. He’s invited the Unova Champion and her husband,” he looked at them both pointedly before continuing, “and I imagine he’s invited the Sinnoh Champion and his wife as well. Plus, we all know Ash has tons of other famous friends. Just because it’s sudden, doesn’t mean it will be low profile.” Georgia gave a low whistle. “Something this big, a Champion getting engaged, should have already burst into the media. I wonder why it hasn’t.” Cilan took Iris’s hand and squeezed it. “I imagine they’ve already informed the major news sources and are putting a hold on the information until they’ve received personal congratulations from their friends. That’s what Iris and I did.”

“And you think Ash is smart enough to think of that?” Trip asked, sounding amused.

“No,” Iris agreed. “Ash isn’t, but Misty is. And she hates the paparazzi, so I would expect something exactly like this from her.”

May’s phone rang suddenly, rattling the table and drawing the gaze of her, Drew, and Solidad. Drew raised an eyebrow at May.

“Are you going to answer it?”

His words seemed to restart her system and he watched, amused, as she jolted and scooped up her phone, answering the call. He made eye contact with Solidad who took a sip of her coffee to hide her amusement.

“Hello?” May greeted into the phone. “Max?” she said after a brief second.

Drew was surprised. Max was currently drowning in paperwork and the press after being officially elevated to the Hoenn Elite Four. May and her brother had been in brief contact lately, but not much since he was so busy. The last time they’d seen Max in person, he had been hiding out in their house after his own apartment in Ever Grande had been mobbed with the press following his announcement as the new Elite Four member.

Drew studied May’s face. Her brows knit together as she listened to her brother talk, but she suddenly burst into a wide happy grin that lit up her whole face. “That’s fantastic news!” she cheered happily.

Drew exchanged another look at Solidad, but the older coordinator was just as clueless as he was. He resolved to simply wait for May to finish the phone call. Thankfully, it appeared that whatever news Max had to share was limited to whatever made May so excited because she ended her call shortly after, still grinning.

“So?” Drew prompted as May slipped her phone back into her purse.

“Apparently Max received a very interesting piece of mail from a good friend of ours today. I’m sure we’ll have a similar card waiting for us at home,” May explained.

Drew pondered her words. “May, literally all of our friends are already married. Who else is getting married?” He had automatically assumed marriage because the last time she had been this excited was when Leaf and Gary, friends through Ash, had finally gotten married almost two months ago.

May’s smile widened. “Not all of our friends,” she teased.

Drew raised an eyebrow. “There’s no way that Ash actually figured out his life enough to propose. He might be the Indigo Champion, but there is no way that he has got his head screwed on straight enough for this to be happening.”

“Maybe she proposed to him,” Solidad joked, but she appeared just as interested as Drew was.

May shrugged. “All Max said was that they sent out the invites and that the date is set for September 7.” She took a sip of the hot chocolate on the table in front of her, still smiling.

“And you’ll still be okay to travel then?” Solidad asked, raising an eyebrow briefly at May.

May waved off her concern. “I’m not due until November, so it’s fine. I can’t miss Ash’s wedding. This has been a long time coming.” Solidad shrugged. “If you’re sure.”

Drew gave May a careful glance. “This might even work in our favour. The Indigo Champion getting engaged to his own Elite Four member might steal the media attention away from us for a while.” May perked up at the mention. “Arceus, that would be amazing!” Solidad laughed at the couple. “You hid it for four months, so as far as they’re concerned, they have four months of Hoenn Coordinating Royalty content to make up.” Drew sighed. The media had hounded him and May relentlessly since they were teenagers. At first, it was all speculation and it had been really quite annoying. After they started dating for real, it had become intrusive and irritating on a larger scale. That only multiplied once they were engaged and had climaxed at their wedding when a photographer for Coordinator’s Weekly was discovered lurking around by security and removed from the premises.

When he and May had announced that they were expecting, four months into the pregnancy, the media had gone insane and even two months after that fact still did not leave them alone wherever they went. In fact, there was a woman a couple tables away that kept trying to be discrete in her photographing of the trio of coordinators. She was not subtle, but neither Solidad or Drew could be bothered to tell her off and May simply hadn’t noticed.

“I’m just happy for them,” May reiterated.

Solidad smiled. “How long have they been together?” May laughed. “Honestly none of us can say if they were ever really dating. They’ve always cared for each other, and that turned to love at some point, but Ash was always Ash. He was completely oblivious to her feelings for quite some time. It’s a wonder he ever figured it out.”

“Hey, May,” Drew called, teasing his wife. “You haven’t got much room to laugh at Ash there considering I gave you roses for almost 4 years before you finally figured it out.” May pouted. “You said they were for Beautifly.”

Solidad burst out laughing and Drew smirked. He leaned over and kissed May on the cheek which lessened her pout, but she still clung to it stubbornly.

“I love you,” he reminded her. His admission cracked her and she smiled again. “I love you too,” she relented.

Solidad shook her head. “And you two wonder why the press doesn’t leave you alone anymore.”

May shrugged. “We’re kind of used to it at this point. As long as it never hits the point it did at our wedding again I think we’ll be okay.” “Besides,” Drew said, “with Max as an Elite Four member now, there’s no telling if May will still be the most popular member of the Maple Family anymore.” May looked mildly offended and Drew chuckled. “He’s single, May,” he reminded. “And a trainer of elevated status. He’ll have a fanbase soon enough.” May’s smile turned a little mischevious. “You would know about fanbases wouldn’t you, Mr. Fangirl.” Drew groaned. “Please, let’s not go there.” “Oh how they used to follow you everywhere! So condescending to competition when you won, and depressed and mopey when you lost,” Solidad teased.

Drew glared at her. “You are both the worst.” This time May leaned over and pecked him on the lips. “You married me and we like Solidad.”

Delia Ketchum was humming to herself as she spun the sponge against the dishes before handing them off to Mr. Mime so that he could rinse them and place them in the drying rack. With just the two of them, there weren’t many dishes, but they still tackled them together like they always had. Whenever she had guests over, they always tried to help clean up since Delia insisted on cooking, but she let Mr. Mime deal out the rejections in that field. The cooking and the cleaning was always done by the two of them and no matter how many pleading looks Leaf or Misty gave, no one else was taking over.

Just as she was handing off the last of the plates, the doorbell rang. Mr. Mime glanced at Delia and visibly shrugged. Delia just smiled and shook her head. It was probably just one of the neighbourhood kids again, but she ought to check. She removed her yellow gloves and placed them next to the sink. She crossed the kitchen and living room and headed to the main entrance of her house.

A series of knocks sounded from the door and Delia was surprised: maybe it was something urgent. She opened the door and was mildly surprised to see a very concerned looking Leaf Oak on her doorstep with her husband hovering just behind her. Thankfully, Gary looked more amused than concerned and Delia knew it was not super serious.

“Delia,” Leaf began suddenly, raising a very familiar envelope up to eye level, “what is this?”

Everything clicked in her mind and Delia laughed. “I believe it is exactly what it says it is.”

Leaf glanced at the envelope, observing the thick, high-quality paper and the less than neat writing that topped it. “But, how?” Gary laughed, stepping forwards and tucking an arm around Leaf’s waist. “I believe, darling wife, that it happened the very same way that it happened with us: me, on one knee, and you, wearing the ring.”

Leaf smacked Gary with the envelope. “Not what I meant, stupid.”

Delia smiled at the couple. “Would you like some tea? I’ll have Mimey put on the kettle and perhaps I can answer a few more of your questions.” Leaf sighed and removed Gary’s arm from her waist. “I would love to sit down, and I have so many questions.”

Delia opened the door wider and led the young couple into her home. Neither Leaf nor Gary was biologically related to her, but she felt as if they were part of her family. When Gary’s parents and Leaf’s mother had passed in a tragic accident when they were young, Professor Oak, Leaf’s father, and Delia had tag-teamed in raising Leaf, Gary, and Ash. Subsequently, Leaf and Gary had spent a lot of their childhoods eating at Delia’s kitchen table or playing in her backyard.

Like a proud mother, she had cried when Leaf and Gary had announced their engagement and again at their wedding. They’d only been married close to a month and a half, but they had been engaged for two years before that, having started dating at 17. Due to work restraints for both of them, they’d only recently gone on and arrived back from their honeymoon and Delia hadn’t seen them since they got home. The remnants of a healthy tan clung to Gary while Leaf had an extra spattering of freckles across her nose.

The pair followed her into the kitchen and sat down as Delia politely asked Mr. Mime to turn on the kettle. Leaf was still turning over the envelope in her hands, staring at it in confusion. Delia sat next to her and placed a hand over the young woman’s.

“You have read it, haven’t you?” “Of course,” Leaf replied. “They were clear enough about the date and the location and I’ve been in contact with Misty about bridesmaids already, but I’m still so confused.”

Delia laughed. “Well, let me help with that. What about it is confusing?” Gary stretched in the chair and asked a question before Leaf could: “Were they dating at all or did Misty just snap and tell him they were going to get married?” Delia, recalling Ash’s embarrassed story, pressed a knuckle to her lip to halt a short laugh. “Well, they were kind of dating in their own way, as much as Ash could manage anyways, but I’m not sure it was ever established in the way most relationships are, because, well,” she paused, not quite sure how to put her son’s eccentricity into words.

“Because he’s Ash,” Gary suggested, filling in the blanks.

Delia shrugged. While a basic definition, it certainly wasn't wrong. There just wasn’t anyone quite like Ash.

“Can they do this? I mean, Misty’s in the Elite Four and Ash is the Champion. Are they allowed to do this?” Leaf asked.

Delia shrugged. “I’m not concerned about it because I know they’ve been through enough together that they wouldn’t be concerned about League rules. Besides, everyone knew they were best friends when Ash was attempting his League challenge three years ago and they knew that it wasn’t a conflict of interest then, so I don’t suppose it should be now.”

“But why just decide to get married like that?” Leaf pressed, obviously still confused.

“I suppose for them it was a combination of seeing all their other friends married and engaged and realizing they loved each other enough that they didn’t need four years of dating and two years of engagement first when they had thirteen years of friendship,” Delia explained.

Leaf blinked as Delia addressed her and Gary’s long engagement. It had been the result of both of them pursuing PhDs during that period, but they had been together for a long time. “I guess that makes sense,” she murmured. Leaf slid the card out of the envelope and looked at the date. “Why September?”

Delia smiled. “The date Misty fished him out of the river when they met.” Gary and Leaf both laughed.

“Well,” Gary drawled, “maybe he’s not completely hopeless after all. She did say yes.”

“I win!” Misty cheered as she slapped down her last card victoriously. She smirked at Ash.

Ash groaned and placed his last three cards on the table so that they could count up his penalties. Misty’s smirk widened as she tallied the points and Pikachu let out a tittering laugh from his perch atop one of the counters where he was enjoying a treat. Ash stared at his partner, feeling betrayed.

“Don’t you side with her too,” he complained. Pikachu just rolled over, content to ignore his trainer.

Misty leaned over the table and pinched Ash’s cheek. “I won, Mr. Pokémon Master. Pikachu’s just agreeing that I’m the better one of the two of us.” Ash gently swatted Misty’s hand away. She leaned back, still smirking. Ash leaned forwards instead and just straight up kissed her. Misty stiffened in surprise briefly before she let her hand cup his jaw and she reciprocated the action. Ash drew back after a moment, slightly breathless, but smiling.

“Right, but who’s the Champion again?” he asked teasingly.

Misty rolled her eyes and scoffed. “You beat me once. It won’t happen again, I promise. Still,” she mused, “I think I can find enough sympathy in myself to play another round if you’re desperate for pity points.”

Warmth curled in Ash’s stomach. He loved moments like these when no one was watching and they were able to let loose. It was rare for them since Misty was a member of the Indigo Elite Four and Ash was the Champion. There were hardly ever moments of peace for them like this and they deserved to be treasured when they could.

Misty’s palm cupped her chin as she leaned her elbow on the table and smirked at Ash again. The ring on her finger, the one Delia had painstakingly picked out after hours of searching, glinted on her finger and Ash was happy to see it. It looked like it belonged and it certainly felt like it did.

Ash’s decision, a stupidly impulsive one, had been, in retrospect, completely out of the blue for most people. Ash and Misty had never officially labelled their relationship before that moment, but it wasn’t like there was nothing there. When he turned 19, Ash had finally started reading into Misty’s actions a little differently. They had basically dated without the labels for years, but Ash had been unable to recognize it until other people, like May and Dawn and Misty’s sisters, spelt it out for him.

Ash himself was 23 and Misty was almost 24. He had figured he didn’t have much to lose, so he had gone to his mother for advice. Delia had been overjoyed and amused and a bunch of other emotions, but she had promised her few tears were happy ones. Ash knew he loved Misty and he loved her differently from the way he loved May and Dawn and Brock. Delia had been the one to pick out the ring in the end, and Ash had done the rest by proposing over a casual dinner at Misty’s apartment.

He had stumbled over the words and made a complete fool out of himself. Misty was always better with her emotions, however, and she bailed him out by kissing him to get him to shut up and answering the question he had been unable to articulate with a resounding ‘yes’.

“Hello? Earth to Ash?” She waved a hand in front of his face. “Still with me?”

Ash grinned. “Always.”

Following their very sudden engagement, they had had a very candid discussion about a wedding and had decided together that they wanted it to be as small as possible. It wasn’t super realistic considering both of their positions, but it was a hope. They also wanted as little media there as possible. The nightmarish results of the photographer that had snuck into May and Drew’s wedding reminded them that no press was indeed good press.

Following an example set by Iris and Cilan when they were engaged, Misty had written a short statement to the Pokémon News Network and asked them to hold it until they were ready. Ash and Misty had written the invitations by hand quickly and Misty didn’t wear her ring in public until they were sent out. She actually even held off wearing it until they had received most of the personal congratulatory messages and RSVPs for the wedding. At that point, they had allowed PNN to release the statement and Misty had worn the ring out in public.

Neither Misty nor Ash wanted a big wedding anyway. It was more for their friends and family.

Still, nights like these, where they’d put away all the wedding stuff so they didn’t stress, were nice.

Ash reached across the table and flicked Misty’s hair. He also snagged the deck of cards and retreated back to his seat. He shuffled it as she’d taught him. Misty laughed and tried to grab the cards back, but Ash grabbed her outstretched hand instead and pressed a kiss to the top of it.

She smiled softly at him and then Ash got a wicked idea. He held her hand loosely and turned it over so he was looking at her palm. He lifted it up again, but instead of kissing it, he dragged his tongue across it, licking it childishly.

“Ew!” Misty squealed. She recoiled, snatching her hand away and rubbing her palm against her jeans. “That was so immature, Ash Ketchum!”

Ash grinned. “What are you going to do about it?”

Misty pushed her chair back and stood up. “You’re going to eat those words,” she promised.

Ash laughed and sprung up from the table. He took off running for the living room and made it almost across the room before Misty’s arms wrapped around his waist and they tumbled to the couch together. Misty landed on top of him and Ash squirmed so that he was holding her in his arms.

They were both laughing and Ash felt happy. This was how he wanted to spend the rest of his life and he suddenly just wanted it to be official.

“Let’s get married!” he blurted. His outburst clearly surprised Misty because she stiffened. She blinked at him. “You already asked me to marry you once. We still have three weeks, Ash.”

“No, like, right now!” he insisted. “I know it’s a thing that people do when they just go to a courthouse and get married. I don’t need some fancy ceremony or expensive cake. I just want to be with you.”

Misty looked slightly taken aback, but she smiled at him broadly after a moment. “Ash not needing a cake? That’s a first.” They both laughed, but Misty leaned forwards and pecked him on the lips. “Honestly, I’ve never wanted a big wedding and if you wanted, I’d marry you in a PokéCentre.”

“So,” Ash said, “screw the wedding?”

Misty laughed and rested her head against his chest. “Only we would get engaged without technically dating and then plan a wedding only to give up and get married three weeks earlier in a courthouse, but you know what? I’d love to marry you, Ash Ketchum, so let’s get married!”

Ash grinned. “I love you.”

Misty kissed him again and it was a little deeper and for a little longer. “I love you too,” she confessed when she pulled back. “But, unfortunately, we are probably going to have to wait until tomorrow since it’s kind of late tonight.” Ash shrugged. “Fine by me. I can beat you in Kart Racers in the meantime!”

Misty raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you are so on!” She rolled off of him so they were lying next to each other before they both lunged for the gaming controllers to turn the console on.

The press–and all of their friends–were going to have a field day, but honestly? Ash and Misty couldn’t have cared less.

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creative-frequency · 6 years

Text

Ardyn x Fem!Reader: Dark Before the Dawn Ch. 4

Word count: 4546 Warnings: Eventual explicit content, tw: blood, tw: gore, angst, Ardyn being a douche, two endings Notes: This is probably the hardest thing I have ever written. Angst is really not my thing, but that just seems to be where this story is going for now. Thanks for the stitching help @sevansheart ❤️ Tagging: @valkyrieofardyn @poisonous-panda @tyncri @insomniacapples @lucisizunia@themissimmortal @bellab00p @arminartlert @sammy4417 @sevansheart@singergurl91 @xxreighnxx @jastiss @curlyjools

Sweet Disaster -series Masterlist

Previous Chapter

After the short walk in the darkness, to which your eyes have grown scarily accustomed to, you arrive to a lonely, sad-looking building on the side of the road. You don’t remember encountering it on your journey with the prince and his retinue. It’s clear that the dwelling has been long since abandoned, possibly even before the fall of the darkness. The red neon-sign looming over the main door is broken with only the three first letters readable and its metal parts rusty.

“Charming,” you mumble and walk past Ardyn, who looks at the building from under his brows.

After everything he has told you during the last few hours, you can’t stop to think anymore. You just have to push onwards, convincing yourself that there will be a time when you can focus on those thoughts, and maybe, just maybe, it’ll clear your head a bit.

If there is anything good about the wound on your side, it’s that the constant ripples of pain keep you firmly grounded to the present, pulling you from the ocean of confused thoughts and questions. Though, the bad side is that you have lost a lot of blood and currently have no real way of treating the injury. So you just have to hope and pray that it won’t get infected and that the daemon claw didn’t have poison in it.

“Hmm. It’s smaller than I remembered…” Ardyn says half-audibly and sighs.

You glance at him and turn to look for any signs of occupants. Luckily there are no broken windows or suspicious sounds coming from inside. Hope rears its head inside you. You don’t really care about the quality of the accommodations as long as you no longer have to be a daemon bait. Literally anything is better than spending the night outside. While you haven’t been followed anymore for some time, you are not stupid enough to think the daemons would’ve just completely given up.

You continue towards the entrance and see a crooked “Out of Business” -sign plastered on the inside of main door’s glass. Below it is another sign saying: “Hunters welcome!”

You try the handle. The door is securely locked, as expected. With a discouraged frown, you turn to Ardyn.

“Allow me.”

You step aside and watch as he kicks the door open. The loud crack of the lock giving in echoes around you, emphasizing the surrounding silence. Ardyn goes in first to make sure the coast is clear and you follow with meek steps, cursing the stinging pain in the wound.

Ardyn marches to behind the reception counter. “Which room would you like, darling? There’s plenty to choose from.”

“As long as we get separate rooms, I don’t care,” you reply as you look around.

Ardyn scoffs in amusement and you hear the light clink of keys as he grabs one from the board behind the counter.

The motel interior is actually rather nice despite the tacky neon-sign outside. The floors and walls are wooden and there are plenty, almost too many, paintings, old photographs, postcards and such on the walls. It looks like the place was left to wait for someone who would start to run the business anew since there are no papers anywhere, but everything else is neatly in place. The reception room has a homely feeling, but the emptiness twists it towards creepy.

How old school, you think. You knew Lucis outside Insomnia was underdeveloped compared to the Crown City, but inside the dusty old motel it feels as if time stopped decades ago.

“Have you been here before?” you ask tentatively, not entirely sure if you want to know the answer.

Ardyn only flashes a mysterious smile and motions for you to follow. “This way, please.”

He leads you to the end of the hallway and stops in front of the door that has the largest number on it – a golden twenty-one. He unlocks the door and gentlemanly holds it open for you. You hold back an eye roll at the motion.

“You’ll be safe here for the night. I guarantee it,” Ardyn says as you walk past him. The door shuts after him with a satisfying click.

The dark room is a much like the ones you have stayed in with the guys after leaving Insomnia, complete with a dull color scheme and heavy drapes. There are two beds, both covered with striped quilts, an old television and dust everywhere.

You heave a sigh. The moment you see the neatly made bed, exhaustion washes over you. You just want to flop on it and wake up when the sun comes back again. Now that you’re allowed to pause to breathe, a million thoughts rush into your mind along with the painful need to check your wound.

“How are you feeling, my dear?” Ardyn asks concerned and walks after you into the room.

“I’m fine,” you reply dismissively and totter towards the bathroom with the intention of inspecting your injuries there. You try the light switch and immediately afterwards feel extremely silly. Of course there is no power. What did I expect?

You can hear the scraping of matches just before a faint, warm glow paints the floor boards under your feet.

“There were candles?” You turn around and close the bathroom door.

Ardyn places a single tall and slim candle to the table. “Just this one, I’m afraid. I’m sure there’s more somewhere else.”

The living fire makes you feel a lot better. Being in the dark for too long has a way of dragging a person down unnoticeably and you feel as if you gain new strength from staring mesmerized at the flame.

“Or we can always set the drapes on fire,” you joke wryly.

Ardyn puffs in amusement. “I’m sure we can find other ways to stay warm, darling.”

“No thanks.” You roll your eyes to the ceiling and sit down to the bed, then pull the candle carefully closer.

The light is way too dim for you to do any proper inspections, but you try your best. The blood-stained, completely ruined jacket is partly dried against your skin and you rip it off extremely carefully so the wound won’t start bleeding profusely again. Then you take your shirt off, forced by the situation to not care how much skin you reveal to Ardyn. At least you’re wearing a sports bra instead of a regular one.

Ardyn watches silently as you take a deep breath and cast your eyes down.

It doesn’t look as bad as you thought. Actually the cut is pretty clean, though dirtied from the blood that still keeps dripping slowly down your exposed skin. The wound stretches just from above your left hip bone to under your breast, shallowing on its way up.

“Can you go find a first aid kit? There’s gotta be one for hunters somewhere,” you ask from Ardyn and he tilts his head slightly before moving. For a second you think he will refuse to run the errand for you.

“Well, since you asked... Do you require anything else?” You don’t like the smile that spreads to his lips.

“Oh, yeah – any potions you can find. Doesn’t matter if they’re expired. Thanks…”

Ardyn lets out the smallest sigh since he can guess what you need the hunter’s first aid kit for, but stays silent.

Meanwhile he is searching outside the room, you carefully feel out the edges of the wound, not bothered by the blood that stains your fingertips. You’re lucky that the Arachne didn’t cut any deeper or your ribs would’ve been badly damaged. Just the two lowest of them were hit, but not enough to be torn. Hopefully.

Examining the injury makes you feel slightly better: It’s deep in the lower end only and while you’ve lost a lot of blood, at least it’s a relatively clean cut. You don’t want to think about any possible internal bleeding you might have and hold on to the hope that a potion will take care of it. If Ardyn can find the supplies, you should be able to stitch yourself up pretty well. For a moment you mentally prepare for the possibility that you might have to burn the wound to seal it.

“I suppose since you are a nurse, I shan’t be worried,” Ardyn says as he paces back to the room.

You pull a wry grin at him. He places the decades old med kit and a small cardboard box next to you to the bed. Then he proceeds to light the two candles he brought.

Alcohol doesn’t have an expiration date … Right? You wonder as you roll open the disinfectant. The smell is ten times worse than the modern ones you have used and you cough, the forced motions making drops of blood spill from your side to the bed covers.

“Shit…” you curse and check the contents of the med kit and the box.

A shaky wave of relief washes over you. There is a needle and sutures, reserved for any hunters that might have happened to hunt in these parts. It looks like the kit has never even been opened before. Lucky you. Also in the box there are two potions and you don’t want to know the expiration date.

I’m gonna make it through this.

Ardyn takes off his coat and sits down on the opposite bed, brows scrunched deeply together as he watches you.

You grab one potion, shake the bottle lightly and crush it against your palm just over the wound. You feel nothing, just as you were afraid. There is no tingling sensation like there should be, and the essence of the potion just vanished rather than enveloped your side with turquoise sparks.

“Must be too old,” you mumble to Ardyn’s wordless question.

You decide to try another approach so you grab the other potion, lean back on the bed and shake the bottle more briskly this time. When your position is good, you open the potion bottle’s cap as fast as you can and messily spill the vanishing liquid over the wound.

It works. Drops of the healing essence pour into the wound and it sends a tingling jolt through your spine. It doesn’t knit your skin together almost at all, but your main goal is hopefully achieved.

Maybe that’ll take care of any internal injuries, you wish and toss the empty bottle back into the box as you get back up. You feel slightly better.

“Admirable ingenuity,” Ardyn coos and you can almost detect a hint of relief in his expression.

You scoff, then take a clean cloth from the med kit and douse it with the antiseptic. It stings like hell when you even put it near the wound; the vapor from it is so strong. You bite your lower lip and as quickly as you can, wipe the skin clean around the cut.

You attach the suture into the needle and take two deep breaths. The equipment is ancient, but you’re lucky that places like this usually have extensive first aid kits to help out the hunters. Maybe Ardyn knew that too? You grimace inwardly.

“Are you sure about this?” Ardyn asks quietly. A small trail of blood trickles from the wound over your clean skin.

You nod curtly. Your hands are steadier than how you feel. You have to stitch the cut. It’s too deep for the bleeding to stop on its own otherwise.

“Distract me,” you say on a whim.

“Pardon?” Ardyn quirks a brow at you, but the half-smile reveals that he heard you quite well.

“Just… just talk about something,” you huff and try to get into a more comfortable position to start the procedure, “Usually you don’t shut up even if I tell you and now you’re just sitting there and gawking at me.”

“Now, now, my dear. No need for such”–Ardyn leans forward, elbows resting on his knees–“hostility.”

You scoff and would roll your eyes if you didn’t have to keep them fixated on the needle that is about to pierce your skin. The wound is numbly aching, still stinging a bit from the disinfectant, but you know that the second the needle sinks into your epidermis, it’s going to hurt.

Oh, it’s going to hurt like hell.

Ardyn takes your deep inhale as a sign to start distracting. “Is there a particular topic you would like to discuss? Or are you content with just listening to my voice?”

Why does he have to sound so charming, but smug? Asshole.

“What… ever…” you mumble and clench your jaws. It has been a while since you’ve had to stitch yourself, and it’s in no way a pleasant reoccurrence. Maybe you’re already delirious from the pain, but the sting of the needle is not as bad as you would’ve thought.

“I used to have a chocobo,” Ardyn says.

The sentiment is so distracting that you have to glance up midway of pulling the thread through your skin.

“W-what?”

Ardyn smiles almost tenderly, about to dive into some distant memory, judging by the look in his eyes. “Yes. A black one… In ages past they were more common.”

You don’t know what to say. Out of all the things you expected to come out of Ardyn’s mouth, chocobos wasn’t one of them.

“We had many, many ventures together, scouring the face of Eos.”

Ardyn speaks in the same pleasant tale-regaling tone you heard on your first meeting at the outlook in Lestallum. He tells you about the dangers they encountered together with his faithful mount, leading to nights spend in pouring rain and trying to seek shelter. An unheard warm fondness is lilting Ardyn’s voice and you notice how soothing it is to listen to.

Your hands are moving on their own. You can feel the sharp stings of pain on top of the humming one underneath, but somehow they’re not registering into your brain. You snap the thread and place the bloodied needle on the nightstand. Almost done…

“Done already?” Ardyn asks. His eyes never left the gruesome task of yours while he spoke.

“Still need to put on the clean gauze,” you say weakly and turn to take the med kit that is no longer on the bed next to you.

“Allow me,” Ardyn murmurs with a roll of clean bandages in his hand and the beginnings of a wry smile on his lips.

“No, I can do it myself.” Your voice is all but convincing and while you feel tremendously relieved that the wound is now properly treated, the burst of functionality that allowed you to get it done is crumbling away. Your hands are shaking again.

“Be sensible now, my dear,” Ardyn pleads.

“No. I’m the nurse here.” You stretch out your hand to take the bandages.

Ardyn partly sighs, partly groans in exasperation. “While that is true, we both know it’s easier if you just accept my help.”

You stare darkly at the expectant look on his face.

“…Fine.” Your hand drops.

Ardyn moves to sit to your left side and takes off his gloves in a ridiculous, flamboyant manner that makes you groan inwardly. Then he rolls up the sleeves of his white shirt. You try not to look at him or his bare hands because it only would cause you to think about the other times he has been sans gloves.

Ardyn takes the disinfectant to wipe the excess blood from your skin. The heavy odor makes you wrinkle your nose and you mentally prepare yourself for what’s about to come.

Bloodied cotton pads pile up on the bed and you try to focus on something, anything else than the man sitting uncomfortably close to you. You stare off into the distance while his hands work, carefully wandering on your skin and not even bothering to try and act completely decent. You don’t dare to point it out lest he would only get bolder and you would get carried away.

But damn if the touch doesn’t feel good.

You chew your lower lip, forcing your brain to disregard the inviting, familiar scent floating into your nose from Ardyn’s auburn hair. You choose not to see the glances he passes to you, only waiting for you to break and finally give in.

He is so gentle that your heart is aching and the tender feeling is crawling back inside you.

You whole being is aware of how you would be able to do absolutely nothing if he would kiss you now. A part of you, which is quickly becoming the majority, even wants him to. The touch is so warm and caring. The fingertips so tender. Every other emotion is burned when lust coils inside you, setting your body alight.

And all you do is sit frozen still, silently begging for Ardyn to be done with the bandages soon.

Seconds pass in painful silence. You try to focus on the fluctuating pain on your side and not look at Ardyn’s face so close to yours. You breathe in and breathe out… slowly.

“There. All better.” His fingers linger on the fabric, making sure it’s smooth against your skin.

“Thank you,” you mumble and wait for him to retract, which takes forever while you’re still immobilized.

Ardyn sits onto the opposite bed and you hastily pull the shirt back on, relieved to cover your body again. You spend a moment realizing how dirty and torn your clothes are from the game of cats and mouse with the daemons.

“I-I should probably text Gladio that I’m okay…” you begin to fill the silence.

“Yes, that would be for the best so he won’t worry in vain.” Ardyn relaxes on the bed, casually eyeing you.

You take your phone and tap the screen on, glad that you’re able to tell Gladio that everything is fine for now and you’re finally about to get some rest.

But nothing happens. You tap the button again. And again.

“Everything alright, my dear?” Ardyn asks in a tone that is too sly for you to miss.

“M-my phone died…” you splutter in panic.

“Oh, that is unfortunate. I’d offer for you to use mine, but alas, I don’t own such a device,” he says almost humorously and you’re at a loss on how to react.

An uncomfortable feeling strangles your heart as you try to think through the situation. Gladio knows you’re alive and you made a promise to meet him in Galdin. Maybe that will keep him from worrying too much, but other than that, no one knows where you are. Hell, even you don’t know where you are.

You glance at Ardyn. He looks unbelievably content and relaxed as he takes his coat from the bed and gets up to hang it near the door. His beloved fedora and gloves are on the nightstand and you can almost hear him humming again as he rolls his sleeves down.

Meanwhile, you’re in pain and lost. Mild panic and exasperation pound your temples like an approaching storm.

Did he do this? Could he have… done all this?

“You seem awfully happy considering the situation we are in,” you note, “or rather, I’m in.”

Ardyn looks up to you with raised brows, a mask of perfect innocence on his face. “Oh, I assure you, I take no pleasure in this,”–the playful lilt drops from his voice–“but I won’t lie to you and say I haven’t enjoyed your company.”

You scoff dismissively. You’re so done with Ardyn’s sweet talking. What is he even trying to achieve? If he thinks you will jump his bones if he keeps flirting, you are more than ready to prove him wrong.

“Well, I’d much rather be back in Lestallum already than here with you, no offence,” you say passive-aggressively. You don’t like the look of the grin that spreads to Ardyn’s lips.

“Snappy,” he only remarks.

You sigh, holding the irritation inside you and start peeling the dusty, blood-stained blanket off the bed. You can’t wait to get under the covers and sleep. The day has been the longest in your life and you’re exhausted and annoyed at Ardyn’s façade attitude.

“The night is cold. Perhaps we should share the bed,” Ardyn smirks in a suggestive tone.

THAT’S IT.

“In your dreams, Ardyn! Enough already!” you yell and slam the blanket to the floor. A cloud of dust flies into the air, almost provoking the autonomous reaction of coughing. Your heart is hammering inside your chest, wild from you finally taking a stance and protesting.

Ardyn’s devious grin quickly dissipates as he examines your stern look. “Careful, darling. You’re injured. Best not get too excited.”

“I’m not getting ‘excited’!” you claim, but the sharp pain on your side disagrees. You have one job and it’s to make sure your stitches don’t open.

“Oh? Are you sure about that? Perhaps there is something we could do to help you relax?” Ardyn says blatantly and you growl out loud at him.

“Stop teasing me all the time!” you scream at him despite him standing right in front of you. You are fuming, not even realizing your hands are balled into fists and your glare is fixated into Ardyn’s passive reaction.

“There is a connection between us. You feel it too, do you not?” He takes a step closer to you and you immediately back away while furiously shaking your head.

“Shut up. There is no ‘us’. There is no connection.”

There was a time when you would have liked nothing more. Still, the words make your heart flutter with hopeless desire.

“I can see the struggle inside you. Why are you resisting?” Ardyn asks softly in a tone that is melted dark chocolate – sweet, but slightly bitter.

“J-just stop it!” you splutter angrily, “There is nothing… I don’t want to talk about this.”

Denial. Refusal. There is nothing more you can say or do. You just want to escape the situation.

Why is he forcing me to do this?

Ardyn lets out the smallest sigh before turning his eyes back to you. “You’ve never been good at admitting your feelings, my love.”

Your heart jumps. “I’m not playing your wicked game, Ardyn,” you say decisively, trying so hard to disregard the truth in his words.

Ardyn grins impishly. “You know what they say about war and love.”

You shake your head, as if it would make what Ardyn is implying less true.

“No. You should leave me alone.”

“We both know you don’t want that.” He sounds so impossibly cocky and knowing that it’s one of those moments when you just want to hit him with a chair.

“I’m going to get another room.” You try to move past Ardyn, but he takes a step to block your route.

“I can’t let you do that,” he says calmly.

The splash of fury ignites inside you. You stare vehemently at Ardyn, drilling holes into his stupid face with your piercing stare. You don’t even realize you are moving until you grip his shirt violently and try to push him out of your way. The freshly stitched wound on your side sings in pain, but you ignore it. It’s secondary to the burning hatred scorching your insides, demanding to become manifest.

Ardyn barely shifts, but you don’t care that you would have no chance of forcing him to move even if you weren’t injured. There is no way you could physically force him to do anything.

While you still grasp his white shirt, his hands clasp around your wrists. His grip is like a cage that instantly contains your rage, but it only inflames you further.

Ardyn pushes you down to your knees on the floor. You try to scuffle yourself free, but its futile. He crouches in front of you with a concerned look in his eyes.

“Are you quite done, my dear?” he asks while you still try to pull your hands away like a trapped animal trying to escape.

Your knees hurt, your left side is on fire and while your eyes fill with tears, you’re still blinded with rage. You wish you had never met Ardyn. You wish you had never fallen for him. You wish you had never left the City of Light. Desperation washes to the shores of your mind like a tsunami.

It feels as if your whole life has been just a series of mistakes, all leading up to this point where you are beaten and bruised both emotionally and physically. You want to cry for help, but there is no one who could come for you.

The only person who was able to save you from the sweet placidity of death is already in the same room with you, and the feelings you harbor towards him are causing you to burst at your seams. You hate the situation and the excruciatingly obvious fact that despite everything, you still love him.

You can’t take it anymore.

In a sudden movement you push forward, causing Ardyn to lose his balance and fall on his back while surprise flashes through his face. You straddle him, breaths heavy and throat dry. Your hands are shaking and you can’t stop staring at him. His expression is blank, but a glint of curiosity catches your eye.

You summon your weapon and push the muzzle against his jaw.

“I’m immortal, remember?” The tone is low, almost daring you to pull the trigger.

“I don’t care.”

“Then shoot me.” He manages to shrug and pull a taunting grin.

You push the muzzle forward again. Ardyn looks at you with his amber gaze, waiting for your next move. He doesn’t even pretend to be in any danger.

Seconds that feel like hours pass and your dedication crumbles.

“I…” Your grip weakens and the muzzle falls down to his neck. “I… can’t.”

Ardyn takes the weapon off of your limb hands and tosses it away. It lands with a metallic thud against the wood, and after a second it disappears in a flash of blue embers.

With one swift motion, he pushes you off of him and pins you against the cool floor, hands above your head. It takes several seconds for you to realize his grip hurts.

“That’s enough,” he whispers dangerously, stern amber eyes never leaving yours.

Your mouth opens and closes, trying to reach the words that keep slipping off your tongue. There is no softness in Ardyn’s demeanor. No sign of the man you have fallen for.

“You seem to have lost your fire…” he says and presses his nose against your cold neck. He inhales deeply and hums in gratification.

The weight of his body on top of you is familiar and inviting, making yours to ache. You’re dancing on the fine line between tossing your pride away and escaping with its leftovers.

I should have never let you inside my heart, you think and squeeze your eyes shut. Ardyn’s scent floats into your nose. You want to be burned under his touch, to feel that searing connection with his skin against yours all the while you know you shouldn’t be feeling that way.

“Would you like some help in rekindling it?” Ardyn’s tone makes a shiver run down your back.

You swallow.

Chapter 5 VERSE 1

Chapter 5 VERSE 2

#ardyn x reader #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #ffxv fanfiction #ffxv #final fantasy xv #fanfiction #my writings #tw: blood #tw: gore #sweet disaster #dark before the dawn

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weeklyhumorist · 4 years

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FICTION: Ivanka Run: Chapter 1- Greetings from Crimea

After years on the lam, world-class criminal mastermind Ivanka Trump must come out of hiding to find her long-lost husband.

Una Donna Sconosciuta

“Vuole qualcosa di più, signora?”

“No, grazie,” the woman smiled. As the waiter walked back inside, she placed her paper on the table and, running a hand through her cropped, jet-black hair, looked out across the piazza. She closed her eyes and angled her face up at the waning evening light, when she was startled by a name she hadn’t heard uttered in years.

“Ivanka.”

Greetings from Crimea

Ivanka unclasped her shutters and pulled them open. “Give it a minute. It won’t be so stuffy.” The man grunted in response, and keeping his hands in his pockets, he surveyed the stucco-walled, sparsely decorated living room, sweeping his socked feet along the cool, burgundy tile floor. Though outside the sun had fallen below the tops of the surrounding buildings, the earth seemed to still radiate with the day’s baked-in heat. “Do you want a drink?” Ivanka crossed the room to a small bar set up in the corner.

“Bellini.”

“They’re playing Taylor’s latest video everywhere around here.” She looked back at him over her shoulder as she filled a glass with champagne, flashing a wry grin. “Kay certainly looks healthy.”

“I may have a lead on where he is, Vank.” Ivanka set the bottle down hard on the table. A dog barked in the courtyard below.

“He’s dead, Josh.”

Josh sat down in a wicker chair and proffered a postcard from his inside jacket pocket. “I received this in the mail last week. Postmarked Simferopol.” Ivanka stepped across the room to where Josh sat and took the postcard from his hand. There was no message written. She flipped it over to the front, and emblazoned across the top of a photograph of a cathedral were the words “Greetings from Crimea.”

A Brother’s Intuition

“Mind if I vape?”

“No, please. The fog helps keep my skin dewy.” Ivanka continued to study the postcard, flipping it over again and again, as if some new clue would suddenly manifest itself. “Christ, Josh, this could’ve come from anyone. The Main Directorate. Deutsche Bank. There may still be an outstanding account with a Central Park West body image coach. Someone’s trying to set you up.”

“I’ve received plenty of those. Ruses. Red herrings. This is different. I have a feeling about this one.”

“A feeling. I certainly had a feeling, too, when I received Jared’s severed hand by way of DHL.”

“Pssh,” Josh shook his head. “You know how many stray men’s hands they have lying around the crown prince’s palace?”

“With fingers that dainty?”

Josh drained the last of his Bellini. “Think, Vank. If he is alive, that could be your ticket back.”

Addio

“One thing’s for certain,” Josh said, standing from the wicker chair and stepping over to the window, “you’re not safe here.” He placed his glass on the window sill. “I mean, if I can find you.”

Ivanka watched Josh take a long pull from his vape pen. A dense, peach-flavored cloud escaped between his smiling lips. She sighed. “You have a big fucking mouth, Josh.”

“It’s one of my best features,” he shrugged. “I got us a couple tickets on the regional train to Milan. I figure from ther—” The words seemed to catch in his throat. He coughed, his hand absently undoing the top button of his shirt. “Flom thur we cah—” He braced himself against the windowsill as he continued to hack. He looked up at Ivanka, his eyes filled with sudden shock and disdain.

“You have plenty of other fine features, as well, Josh,” Ivanka grinned, “not least of which being your taste in champagne cocktails.”

Josh’s hand slipped from the window sill, and he collapsed onto the tile floor, his cough abating as his body went still. Ivanka quickly crossed over to where he lay and began rifling through his pockets, removing his cell phone, two train tickets, and a small tube of high-end moisturizer, before moving over to the bar in the corner and sliding out a compact roller suitcase from the space underneath. She secured the cell phone and train tickets, along with the postcard, in an exterior pouch, and without looking back, grabbed the suitcase’s telescoping handle and exited the apartment, shutting the door behind her.

Train to Milan

Ivanka balanced a corner of the postcard on her knee, absently rotating it around, as she watched the countryside roll past her train window. Just a couple more hours to Milan. She figured once there, she’d run down her list of contacts. Certainly, she must have a friend left in that city who could help arrange a transport, or at the very least, some dego sap with modest influence and a penchant for soft-spoken, Monica Vitti types.

She glanced down again at the postcard. Greetings from Crimea. Ivanka remembered the first trip she took with Jared to Simferopol. They had made a brief stopover on their way back from the G20 summit to talk business with Konstantin. She was so taken with Jared’s quiet genius; the way he was able to convince Konstantin to accept swing state voter data in exchange for exclusive building rights on Ukraine’s largest landfill for herring carcasses.

But after all, that was a lifetime ago.

Monica Vitti’s Papers

“So, it’s ready, then?” Ivanka asked, following a squat, besuited man to a desk in the rear of his office. She glanced around the room and noted that the space, with its high ceilings, brand new fixtures, and chic decor, belied the man’s chosen line of work. Behind him, an expansive window looked down upon the train station’s pale facade.

“Is fast order. Not easy,” the man said. He bent down behind his desk and unlocked the bottom drawer.

“Your man said three days. It’s been a week already. I’m nearly on a first-name basis with the guys who sell slap bracelets in front of the Duomo.”

He chuckled and, fishing out a red passport from the drawer, slapped the booklet on the desktop. “Is good work. You see?” The man grinned. He had yellow-stained, watery eyes. Half of a pencil mustache terminated in a splotchy scar that Ivanka guessed had been caused by an old chemical burn.

She picked up the passport and quickly scanned its pages. “Checks out. Grazie,” she said, slipping the booklet into her pocket.

“Is nothing, signora.” His eyes lingered over her as he absently stroked the single end of his mustache. “You remind me of somebody, signora. You know?”

Ivanka took a tentative step back. “No.”

“Ah! Monica Vitti!” The man clapped his hands, and Ivanka smiled. He laughed loudly. “L’eclisse!”

A Stroll Through the Gardens

The days in Simferopol tend to run together, particularly when your innkeeper only serves borscht. Ivanka hadn’t dared look into her toilet since she arrived.

Progress was slow to nil. She had to tread carefully. There were quite a few people in the region who would’ve been interested to learn of her return. Of course, many of them were dead now. Dead or in the wind, like her. All the more reason why Ivanka thought Jared’s presence in Simferopol to be unlikely. But then, why was she there? Due diligence? Wishful thinking? Or maybe she’d simply wanted to practice her patronyms.

Ivanka had taken to strolling around the university’s botanical gardens in the afternoons. Despite herself, she’d felt drawn to its winding, tree-lined paths, its long rows of flowers. When she and Jared were there years before, they had spent hours in the garden taking in the sights, making future plans, and discussing the respective values of various accounts on the books at Deutsche Bank.

Ivanka approached the edge of a small meadow, reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out the postcard. She read its face again. Greetings from Crimea. A postcard is a message, but also a keepsake.

A smile crept across Ivanka’s face. It was a funny thing, memory.

FICTION: Ivanka Run: Chapter 1- Greetings from Crimea was originally published on Weekly Humorist

#fiction #ivanka trump #politics #satire #spy #Trump

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incorrect-pokespe-quotes · 7 years

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Pokespe Supernatural AU!!!! for the AU Contest

In this world, professors are like Men of Letters and each one takes several students and train them when they are young. Professor Oak trains Red, Green, and Blue and they become very well known in the hunting community. When students turn 18, they’re allowed to leave the hunting life if they want to. Red decides to stay, but Green decides to leave and go to college. Blue, a powerful witch, also parts ways with Red but continues to hunt on her own. She keeps in contact with Green and they make sure the other is safe. Red, shaken at his friends’ decisions, drops off the grid and aims to become the best hunter.

“Yeah, I know. Love you too.” Green sighed as he ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket. On the floor below him, the party raged on. Drunk students shouted and laughed and the pounding beats of Bill’s latest favorite techno track fused into a muffled cacophony that quite frankly wanted to make Green bang his head against the wall. Bill, one of Green’s few friends, had wanted to celebrate his early graduation by throwing a small house party. However, with the help of some party-animal students, it had soon evolved into the current three am and still going strong rager. Green made his way downstairs with the intent of congratulating Bill, saying goodbye to Daisy, then going home and trying to cure his impending hangover, in that order.

Bill wasn’t hard to find. The usually mild-mannered genius was dancing half-naked on a table, his sister trying to convince him to get down and put on a shirt. Green caught her eye and she motioned him to come over.

“Are you leaving already?” she shouted, trying to be heard above the crowd. He nodded. She instantaneously burst into tears. He blinked as she threw her arms around him and sobbed loudly into his shoulder. Perhaps his sister had more to drink than he thought she did. “Green! Don’t go, please, it’s scary here!” she wailed into his ear. He gently, but briskly, detached her arms and took a step back. “See you tomorrow, sis. And congratulations, Bill!” He had to shout the last part, but Bill didn’t seem to notice as he swung his shirt over his head. He sighed as he turned and started fighting to get to the front door. He needed to get better friends.

As soon as he stepped out, a gust of cool wind greeted him and washed away the stench of alcohol and sweat from the party. The house he was renting was a ten minute walk away, a great way to cool his head after some questionable alcohol-fueled decisions. Aside from the faint music behind him, the night was silent and still. It reminded of those nights his grandfather used to take him and Daisy camping before he was old enough to be a part of the Professor program, before he knew what really went bump in the night.

Green soon arrived at his house, one of the many perks of having a famous relative.The quaint one-story home had been conveniently vacated right before he started school and he was currently paying a dirt-cheap rent to someone who lived in the recesses of Canada. He fished the key out of his pocket and inserted it into the lock, but the door swung open at his first touch. He tensed. He never left it unlocked. He fished out a hidden gun from the shrub by the door. One lesson that had been drilled into him was to always keep an emergency stash of weapons around the house. This was only one of the many hidden both inside and out of his house. He took a deep breath to calm himself and stepped in.

Inside, nothing had been touched. The hallway was still as empty as it had been when he had left for the party. He held his gun out and methodically swept each room. The kitchen was spotless Same with the bathroom. The living room could have used some work, but it still showed no signs of an intruder, supernatural or otherwise. He crept towards his bedroom and tightened his grip on his gun. He started counting to three in his head to kick down the door. Before he could get to three, the door swung open by itself to reveal Red’s sheepish face. “Green. Nice to see you. Could you not point that gun at me?”

Green’s house was just as Red expected. It was painstakingly tidy with little to no personal touches other than the framed photos he kept on the nightstand. He was pleasantly surprised to find that his friend still kept the one that was taken when they had first started training with both of them, Blue, and Professor Oak. A bigger surprise was a recent photo of Blue and Green, both dressed to the nines and smiling arm-in-arm for the camera. Or in Green’s case, not frowning. Green noticed him staring, quickly crossed the room, and tossed the frame into a drawer. As he brushed past, Red caught a whiff of alcohol clinging to Green’s loose black polo shirt. He’d never taken Green for a college party boy.

“Are you drunk, Green?”

Green put his gun down. “I think I’m the one who gets to ask questions here. Where have you been, Red? It’s been two years, yet Blue and I have heard nothing from you. Not even a postcard to tell us you’re alive.”

“Well, you know how it is…” he trailed off lamely, rubbing the back of his head. Honestly, he’d just been so upset the first couple of months that their trio had split that he’d just drove around the country aimlessly, hunting mindlessly. His whole life, his friends had been there right at his back and keeping him going, so that when they decided to leave the life, to leave him, it had felt like getting a limb ripped off. And then one month had turned into three, then a year, then two years in the blink of an eye without his friends. But here he was, sitting on Green’s bed and avoiding his expectant eyes.

“Ah, whatever. It’s good to see you again,” Green muttered. He awkwardly clapped him on the back. “So why are you here?”

“Well, ah, you see…you might want to sit down for this,” Red stuttered out and twiddled his thumbs. Green raised an eyebrow, but dutifully took a seat on the bed. “Your grandfather might have been…kidnapped?”

“WHAT?” Green shouted as he leaped up off the bed. He immediately reached under his bed, pulled out a duffel bag, and started stuffing clothes into it. “Stats. Now.”

Red dutifully rattled off information as the duffel bag was filled. “About last week I was checking in after a hunt, but he never picked up, which is really strange because someone is in his lab at all times. So I thought I’d swing by and check on him. But the lab had been busted open and no one was there.”

“Demon presence?”

“Yes. Sulphur scattered in the lab. I checked around the usual hotspots, but all I got was a name - Team Rocket. The Professors knew nothing about them and neither did our informants. Which is why I’m here.”

Green tugged the zipper shut and swung the bag over his shoulder. “You drove the Impala here, didn’t you?”

The Impala had belonged to Professor Oak was younger, but it had become a gift for the three of them when Green, the oldest, had turned sixteen. They’d spent two happy years laughing, bickering, and sleeping on the worn leather seats. Then when Blue and Green had left, the car naturally went to Red. He nodded.

“Then come on, we’re going to New York to pay Blue a visit.”

#pokespe AU fanfic contest #trainer red #trainer green #trainer blue #submission

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the-prima-vista · 7 years

Text

Until the Fog Lifts: Scene #1 - Below Storybrooke General

You know how I said last week that I was going to write two more chapters with the scenes I’d had planned for the future? Well, it’ll be two/three chapters on ff.net or ao3, but I’ll be posting the scenes individually here - these won’t even be published on those sites until I have more than a few written.

And, in a unexpected turn of events, I’ve actually managed to get a scene written, so here it is! I hope you enjoy it (scene and context under the cut)

[This scene takes place almost immediately after Chapter 50 ends - Killian returned to the docks, leaving Emma and Neal to drive the Bug to the hospital to talk with Tamara. The plan was for Emma and Neal to share a brief, slightly awkward, but civil, conversation about the last time they were in the Bug together before arriving at the hospital, and then this scene.]

Emma hadn’t realised Regina had continued to use the facility beneath the hospital as her own personal prison after Rumplestiltskin’s release, but nevertheless, Neal led her through the hospital and down into the dimly lit depths of the building.

“She’s in one of these,” he told her, nodding his head towards one of the heavy metal doors. “Regina said Tamara’s here. Greg too, but they’re in separate rooms.”

They wandered along the corridor, peering through the small hatches into each room. Most were empty, but Emma saw both Greg and Sidney - and that was something she’d need to talk to Regina about at some point - before they reached the cell that housed Neal’s ex.

She looked bored, drawing patterns onto the grey wall, and only glanced up once they had the nurse on duty unlock the door for them. She raised an eyebrow expectantly but didn’t say anything.

“I think Regina needs a refresher course on the eighth amendment,” Emma said, glancing around the small cell. “I’ve been in an actual prison and it was better than this. Have you even been outside since she locked you down here?”

“No.” Tamara scowled at her. “That door hadn’t opened once until you came down here.”

Emma grimaced. Just because Storybrooke didn’t have a real prison, and couldn’t send its criminals out of town to one, didn’t mean they should condemn all their villains to solitary confinement. “I guess the Evil Queen doesn’t care much for prison standards.”

“Why are you here?”

Emma looked over her shoulder, moving aside when he finally stepped into the room.

“Because I asked her to come,” Neal said. Tamara seemed unable to look at him. “I wanted to ask you some questions and I wanted the Sheriff around in case you tried to attack me.”

Tamara sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the wall. “Why would I attack you, Neal? What would be the point?”

“I don’t know. To try and escape?”

“I’ve got nothing to escape to,” she said, clearly exhausted. “Everything I did was for nothing. No, worse than that. Everything I did was to help someone who wanted everything I was fighting against.”

Neal didn’t look understanding. “Maybe you should have looked into things before joining up. You were working for Pan . It’s not exactly easy to feel sympathetic. Doesn’t help that you shot me. I’ve had bad break-ups before but that’s definitely made the top three.”

“Is that what you want to ask me?” she questioned, opening her eyes again to stare at Neal. “If I was always with Greg? Why I pretended to be with you?”

If those really were the answers Neal wanted, Emma wished he hadn’t asked her to come along. She wanted to know how Pan had contacted them, or if there were any backup plans he’d had for destroying Storybrooke if the self-destruct clause failed. She didn’t need to be around for Neal and Tamara’s relationship drama.

“Yeah, that’s what I want to ask you,” he said. Emma sighed. “Because, honestly, Tamara, I can’t figure it out. If I hadn’t found out about Henry, I wouldn’t have come to Storybrooke. I wouldn’t have had a reason to. So why me?”

“I wasn’t with you to find out where Storybrooke was or how to get to it.” She seemed too tired to be difficult, answering almost immediately. “Greg had been here before. He knew where it was. He just couldn’t get to it. Not when it was still cursed. The Home Office knew who you were and it, I mean Peter Pan, told us we could use you to find your father.”

“ What ?”

“We were told that your father was the most powerful magic user in the world and that he would make it difficult for us once we finally reached Storybrooke. Pan said that, if we couldn’t get him out of Storybrooke, we could find a way to use you to get an advantage.”

“And you thought you had to marry me to do that?”

“No.” Tamara sounded surprisingly apologetic. Perhaps she, like Emma, had noticed the hurt in Neal’s voice; maybe she cared a bit. “It was never meant to go that far. It wasn’t part of the plan. Greg and I, we were just going to watch you. And we did. For a few days. The plan changed when I overheard you talking to August. You told him that your father would come looking for you once the curse was broken, and he said he’d send you a postcard whenever that was. So, I made contact with you and then Greg and I decided that I’d stay with you and we’d wait for the postcard to arrive. When it did, I told Greg, and he got ready to come here. I stayed in New York to wait for Rumplestiltskin.”

“I threw the postcard away,” Neal said. “How did you know I got it?”

Tamara rolled her eyes but didn’t elaborate. “The plan was to destroy Storybrooke once I’d taken care of your father. Greg wanted to come here earlier to try and find his father first. If it isn’t obvious already, things didn’t go according to plan.”

“I’m impressed,” Neal said, his voice cold. “It’s one thing to lie your way into my life, but really, you went above and beyond. Sleeping with me so you could keep up your cover? What’s that job again? Where you have sex with people for money? I mean, I assume the ‘Home Office’ paid you.”

Emma’s eyebrows rose. Tamara’s head rose sharply, gaping at Neal. Emma knew Neal could be cruel, especially when he was emotional, but she’d never heard him sound so calculated, each word carefully picked to hurt Tamara.

“Neal, I-”

He didn’t let Tamara finish. “Why did you say yes? I proposed after I got the postcard.”

“Because I still needed you,” she admitted quietly. “I was still waiting for Rumplestiltskin. Would we have stayed together if I said no?”

Neal took in a deep breath, shook his head and turned his back on Tamara. Emma watched him, looking at his slumped shoulders, his bowed head. She didn’t wait for him to compose himself and calm down and ask another question. Instead, she patted Neal half-heartedly on the shoulder - a pathetic attempt at comfort - and took a step closer to the other woman.

“What I don’t get, Tamara,” she said, drawing the woman’s attention away from Neal’s tense figure, “is why you wanted to destroy magic in the first place? Why work for the Home Office?”

“Does it matter?”

“Just tell us, Tamara,” Neal said quietly, still not looking at her. “Don’t you think you owe me that much?”

There was a long silence and then Tamara sighed and began to speak. “My Grandmother. She was sick. She was all I had and I spent all my money and all my time trying to find a cure for her, but nothing worked and when she died, I had nothing left. A few months after that, I met Greg. We got drinks whenever he was in town and he told me about his father and about his past and then, one day, he told me about magic.”

“You believed him?”

“Of course not,” she snapped. “But he asked me to come with him on one of his jobs for the Home Office and I saw it. Magic. He’d been telling the truth when he told me that there were people who could click their fingers or wriggle their nose and change people’s lives.”

“And you wanted to help him destroy it?”

“Yes.” She didn’t even hesitate. “I spent years trying to find something that would save my grandmother. There are people out there with the power to save anyone, but they don’t. Why should you get a gunshot wound magically cured and my grandmother have to spend years in pain because the people who could help hide away and save their powers for a few select people?”

“That still doesn’t explain why you want to destroy magic,” Emma said. “Why don’t you want it to be more available instead of gone for good?”

“And what would that do except give these magicians even more power?” she asked, shaking her head. “What do you think would happen if the world found out what some people could do? Why should a few certain people have the power to choose who lives and dies? Why should they get to put a price on someone’s life and expect people to pay it because they have no other choice?” Emma opened her mouth to interrupt, not that she knew what she was going to say, but Tamara didn’t let her get a word out. “Don’t try to tell me that wouldn’t happen. You can’t be that naive. I went to one, you know? He called himself the Dragon. They said he could do anything. I went to him and told that I was ill and he was the only one who could help. Guess what he did? He asked for my most precious possession and ten thousand dollars before he would help me.”

“How is that any different to a hospital?” Emma asked. “Or is that your next plan?”

“Do you think I didn’t spend all the money I could on hospital care? I did! But unlike people like The Dragon, doctors can’t heal everything and, as expensive as it is, at least it’s moderated. These people, they can demand whatever they want for something that they can do in seconds, and who would dare to stop them when they can kill and control people just as easily as they can save them?”

“I guess the answer to that last question would be you and Greg?”

Tamara’s jaw clenched and she turned away, gazing up at the tiny barred window above her. “I thought there were more of us. That’s what the Home Office was. Or what I thought it was. A collection of people willing to do whatever was necessary.”

“And that included kidnapping a child? Because your boss told you to?”

“If I’d known who he really was, I never would have-”

Neal shook his head, a bitter chuckle falling from his lips. “So that’s a yes then?”

“I would have done anything.”

“And now?”

Another silence. Tamara might regret working for Pan, but it didn’t seem like she felt the same way about what she’d been trying to do. Emma sighed. If Tamara didn’t want to talk or apologise, she wasn’t going to force her.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” she offered in a whisper as she stepped past Neal towards the cell door.

Neal turned to follow her. “Don’t bother. I don’t need one.”

The two of them were just out of the small room when they heard Tamara speak again. “Did you get him back? Henry? Did you save him?”

“Yeah, we did,” he said, turning back to stare at her through the open doorway. “You’d have known if we hadn’t. I’d have made sure of that.”

With those last words, Neal let the door slam shut.

[After this scene: Before they leave the hospital basement, Emma lets Sidney go. She can’t justify keeping him in solitary confinement when the only thing she knows he’s guilty of is letting Regina use him as a scapegoat, and that it was really Jefferson and Regina behind Kathryn’s kidnapping. As they leave the hospital, Emma thinks about moving Greg and Tamara up to the Sheriff Station once her and David are back on duty and considers looking into hiring an actual guard once she has time - it's better than trapping them down below the mental hospital, at least until she’s made improvements. She drives Neal back to Granny's, they say goodbye, and she goes to the docks to pick up Killian]

#cs ff #captain swan #emma swan #cs utfl #once upon a time #neal cassidy #tamara #sorry about the lack of CS #but this was a scene I really wanted to write #and I'm approaching these chronologically #next time: killian and emma return to the loft for dinner #movies #and late night discussion about things that happened in neverland #my writing #cs utfl scenes

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