#thats what HE chose. and whether he struggled over it or not - thats still up to him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wizkiddx · 3 years

Note

i just had the cutest idea at least in my head and would LOVE if u could do a blurb? where tom is trying to measure your ring size to propose while your asleep, but then you wake up and catch him.

this is v v cute! I hope this is what u want, sorry if it didn't translate I found it a bit tricky aha

summary: tom gets caught preparing for a very big moment

warnings: v small reference to smut

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Sleep always had been, and always will be, an important thing in your life. Naturally then, any source of interruption, was met with some….some hostility. Maybe it was your annoying flatmates as a student, who insisted on playing the worst drum and bass till 4 am every night; maybe your neighbours car alarm, which seemed to be set off by the lightest gust of wind; or maybe your loving- if slightly infuriating -boyfriend.

Tom had just got back from a trip abroad and you’d had a quiet evening in- consisting of pizza, a long forgotten film playing and lots and lots of laughs. As much as you loved his family and friends, celebrating with a fancy dinner and lots of drink - there was nothing better than a night in. It was what you’d both desperately needed too, just actual quality time with the both of you living in the moment, forgetting everything else outside the four walls of your flat.

Needless to say, you’d ended up right between the sheets and you honestly couldn’t remember falling asleep. But now, barely conscious, you did notice your fingers being moved and fiddled with. With a groan you limply pulled them away, rolling over to chase Tom’s body heat - which seemed to have disappeared. His presence hadn’t though, you could tell even with your eyes shut due to his little coo.

“Shh darling…. go back to sleep.” And with a mumbled incomprehensible response, you tried to - even if you personal heater appeared to be in hiding.

Yet then, barely 30 seconds later, the bed dipped weirdly again; Tom’s grasp lightly tugged at the arm you’d crossed over your body. Fighting against it, you snatched your arm away and groaned incoherently once again. Again you got a the most whispered and soft sounding reply from Tom. “Shhh Y/n/n…. come on, work with me here.” Clearly you were half asleep, not really paying any attention to to his words, so huffed - shifting again so you we lying half on your back, half on your side, your left hand lying on the pillow next to your head.

And yet again, barely a minute later, you were sure you heard him chuckle before the bed wobbled as he crawled up it. You could feel his shin brushing against your side as he once again went to grab your hand. And that- that was the last straw.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

The sight you were greeted with was not one you expected. Tom kneeling next to you, with bed hair and all, looking like a deer caught in headlights - literally too, the flashlight from his phone illuminated the otherwise pitch black room. His eyes bugged out his head, while he frantically fumbled with his phone in an attempt to get the light off.

“Nonononono” Muttering as if you weren’t there, Tom obviously struggled to find the right button to shut it off - giving you amply opportunity to notice the other object in his lap.

A yellow tape measure?

Why the hell he was measuring you while you slept, completely unawares, was beyond you. The boy hand some explaining to do - primarily because… he interrupted your sleep.

“Tom what the fuck?”

“I’m so sorry I-I just….just go back to sleep love.” It was weird, how he seemed defeated? He looked upset, and was doing that thing where he nervously ran his fingers through his brown curls.

“Not until you tell me what the hell you’re doing.” Sticking firmly, you reached over to flick the bedside light on, just as he finally got the torch off. The warm golden light illuminated to whole room, allowing you to more clearly assess the situation. The brunette was sat so he were almost leaning over you, with the tape measure but also you now noticed a little notebook and pen sat to the side. His despairing look had you immediately forgiving the interruption to your night- everything, melting away to concern. “What’s going on T?”

“You um-you weren’t supposed to-fuck! I’m sorry love I just-“ Reacting to his embarrassed ramblings, you sat up properly to cup his his cheeks with both your hands.

“Hey take a breath yeah? Then tell me why you’re being all creepy and sizing me up for a coffin or something?” He laughed breathily at that, but it was a smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

“I wasn’t- I… can we just forget this happened?” He already started to get off the bed, wrapping the tape up in a very hurried manner. With a scowl you shook your head, leaping up to grab the yellow ribbon out his hands before he could fight back.

At that point it was too late for Tom. You saw the way the tape was labelled, not with cms or inches. Instead it was letters of the alphabet, starting at G and ending at Z. You would’ve been confused, except the fact you’d used this weird scale before, when you and your best friend got matching promise rings the other month.

Tom had been trying to measure your ring size.

You couldn’t help but let out a little ‘oh’ as it clicked - making Tom sigh heavily, still looking at you with worried and terrified eyes. It took a minute for you to face him, smiling weakly with a little gleam growing across your eyes.

“We should- we should uh, let’s go back to bed yeh?” Stammering through, you already almost forced the the tape back into his hands. Wordlessly he nodded jerkily and placed both the notebook, the tape and his phone on the bedside - as you flicked the lamp off.

Obviously, it was awkward as hell. Right now Tom knew you knew - he was less convinced though on how you reacted. Now he was doubting whether you wanted that- if you wanted to be his wife. The silence was defeneing, the bedsheets the only noise to interrupt as you both settled back onto the pillows. Tom left a bit on no-mans land in the middle, not wanting to push it.

Really there was no reason to not move and cuddle up to him, even slightly cruel. You knew Tom was worried that he’d fucked up massively. You could hear his breathing shake, as you both stared up at the ceiling. Maybe it was slightly horrible, but you couldn’t help but feel insanely blissfully happy. Tom was your future and it was good to know he was starting to get the ball rolling.

“I’m a size N” You whispered up to the ceiling “just for the record.” You both swivelled to look at each other simultaneously, your smirk completely overwhelmed by the smile of pure joy that grew on Tom’s face. Yes the room was dark and you could barely see, but that image might just be one that lives forever in your memory - as your absolute favourite.

“Just-just so we’re on the same page… um, thats your fourth finger? Left hand?”

Finally moving from the awkward position, you nestled your head into the crook of his neck, legs wrapping round his. You chose not to answer super specifically, because it seemed like he was asking more than just one question there. Just very broad and very open to interpretation answer.

“Yes and… and um yes too…just for the record”

~~ let me know what you thought <3 ~~

tagging: @hallecarey1 @hollandfanficlove @crossyourpeter @lovehollandy12 @thefernandasantana

#tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland angst #tom holland #tom holland blurb #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #peter parker

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crash-cinematic-universe · 3 years

Text

tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

warnings: language! but that’s about it. kind of cheesy at some points but yknow what im not lactose intolerant

notes: this is the monsterous fic thats been kicking my ass this past week (6.2k words babey!!!) i was originally going to add ~~steamy~~ section to this one but i decided against it to make it readable for those who don’t wanna see that kind of stuff. if you want me to separately publish that then just lmk!! (if any of yall wanna talk about richard siken to me then please do, his work is so good)

taglist: @stranger-names , @gooseyhouse , @parkersdarling

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- no pun intended. His speed is a blessing, but also a bitter curse. He moves at the speed of sound, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the roads; he moves impossibly fast, and no one ever tries to catch up with him. People get tired of Peter rather quickly, not bothering to get attached to him when they know they can’t keep up.

That’s why it’s so jarringly startling when you decide to stick around. When faced with the grand decision of throwing in the towel and leaving Peter behind or sticking around and trying your best, you chose the latter. It was surprising, to say the least. Peter waited patiently for the distance between the two of you to start growing; he waited for the void you once filled to open up again. However, the void never emptied, and the distance never grew.

To anyone else, this would be a wonderful experience. Knowing that you wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten about would be comforting to anyone else in Peter’s position. However, this did the exact opposite for Peter. He wasn’t comforted or relaxed, on the contrary, he was always on edge. The future was cruel, and the mystery of it all felt like torture.

To quote the great Richard Silken, “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Peter lived and breathed by this ideology, that everyone he loves would have to leave eventually, whether it be by their own volition or not. It was obvious that you didn’t plan on abandoning ship anytime soon, so Peter decided he’d take matters into his own hands. If you weren’t going to be the first one to walk away, then he’d be the one to run away from you. He soon came to learn that loneliness was at its most bitter when you’ve come to taste the sweetness of love.

Love was a strange, complicated beast that Peter Maximoff had never dealt with before. If he were to be completely honest, love scared him. It scared him more than dying scared him. To Peter, death was an escape. Death was the end of a tiring journey, it was safe and simple and easy. Love was the opposite, it was the mouth of a dragon and the edge of a blade. It was the beginning to something so fragile and powerful, something that could end in flames.

Peter realized he loved you on a summer afternoon. The sun was shining and you were in the shade. He sat down next to you, and within minutes Kurt and Ororo appeared at your side. They seemed so put together, so sure and strong. Peter felt out of place-- he felt as if he were standing outside of a cabin looking in through the window at your wonderful friendships. He watched with his nose pressed against the glass as you walked across the room and opened the cabin door to let him in.

Peter realized he was in love with you in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm raged outside the mansion walls and raindrops kept time as Peter walked down the hallway. You were sitting on the floor of the common room next to a dying fire, a book clenched tightly in your hands. For a moment, he just stood against a wall and watched you. As creepy as he felt, a part of him believed he’d ruin your night by making himself known. He was okay with being a fly on the wall if it meant he’d get to see you. Peter wondered if there was a world where he had the pleasure of knowing you, without you having the burden of knowing him.

Still, you saw him. And you knew him. And you waved him over with a smile. He felt the urge to run, to leave you here alone with yourself, but he stayed put. Then, one step at a time, he moved forward. He got closer and closer before he found himself standing at your feet.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you told him. He believed it. Peter sat down next to you, letting his shoulder brush against yours.

“What’re you reading?” He asked. Peter already knew what you were reading, he read the cover of the book the moment he sat down, but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Crush by Richard Siken,”

“Oh. What’s it about?” Peter already knew what it was about. He’d read it at least fifty times.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’d much rather just read it to you and let you decide for yourself,” Peter’s stupid little heart lurched, and he almost cried at the thought. He held it together, though.

“That would be nice,” He said softly.

“Sorry about all the writing in the margins, I can’t help myself sometimes.” Peter scanned the sides of the pages, marveling at your notes. Some of them were reactions, littered with exclamation points and question marks and bold letters. Some of them were underlined phrases and little doodles-- most notably a little drawing of a chameleon on a tiger lily. He loved them.

“It’s okay. Literature is meant to be marked up-- what’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?”

“That’s a good point,” You grinned. Then, the reading began, and you allowed Peter to rest his head on your shoulder as you read to him. Even though he’d heard the poems a billion times by now, they sounded brand new coming from you. He listened closely. You were arriving at his favorite part, “You are Jeff” section 24.

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you...” You read on, not noticing the way Peter’s eyes had shifted from the book you were holding to your face. Peter’s mind wanders, and he curses himself for missing the lines you were reading “... You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

Peter felt like he was going to cry. You kept reading and he kept looking. It was getting late, and Peter was getting tired. Your voice had softened and slowed, and the fire that was burning in the fireplace had all but died. Peter was the one that fell asleep first, and you followed closely after. Both of you had lingering smiles on your faces.

Intimacy is an odd thing, isn’t it? Thinking critically, intimacy is just vulnerability with more layers. It’s the closeness between people, it’s allowing yourself to connect with someone you care about. It’s stripping yourself down to muscle and bone and hoping the other person doesn’t let you bleed out. It’s a level of trust that is more than closing your eyes and falling backwards; it’s closing your eyes and letting them push you over the edge into the unknown, and trusting them enough to know you’ll be okay when you hit the ground.

It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he had trouble with being intimate with other people. Too many times had trusted someone to push him over the edge, only to realize he’d be shattered when he hits the ground. After that, he decided intimacy was overrated. It’s not like anyone was going to have that kind of relationship with him, anyway.

Of course, then you came along and uprooted his entire worldview, like you had with everything else. He found himself thinking about you at every waking moment, which inevitably led to him… thinking about you at every waking moment, if you catch my drift. Sure, intimacy involves more than just physical intimacy, but Peter knows he can’t ignore the feeling that rises in his stomach whenever he’s around you. For the first year or so of your relationship, Peter became very familiar with the feeling of an ice-cold shower.

What Peter didn’t take into consideration was you. For some reason, Peter struggled to understand the fact that you were just as attracted to him as he was attracted to you. It was no secret that Peter was insecure, but he never really realized how much his insecurity affected his relationships. If he couldn’t love himself, how could anyone else? Peter is the only one who gets to see his persona in its truest form, and every time he has to avert his eyes. It’s safe to say his physical appearance has been the cause of very many painful-- and occasionally tear-filled-- sleepless nights.

He told you this. He told you everything. He told you about Erik, he told you about his childhood, he told you about everything he loved and hated and feared and yearned for. That ordeal alone was scary enough, knowing that at any moment you could decide you didn’t want to deal with him anymore, but as always, you stuck around. You told him everything. You told him about your family and your struggles. You told him about everything you loved and hated and feared and yearned for, and not once did Peter even think that he wanted to walk away. This is the kind of intimacy that, over the years, Peter had struggled with less and less.

Still, it was the sexual aspect of intimacy that freaked him out. It was a beast he’d never dealt with, a feat he’d never faced. That being said, as every day went by Peter became more and more… frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, so he'd just let the subject approach him and wing it.

And as he sat on his bed watching as you twirled around to Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”, Peter realized he didn’t have much to worry about.

“Dance with me, dollface,” you laughed, reaching out for him. You looked like someone straight out of a movie, the lim blue light coming from Peter’s arcade machines illuminating a halo above your head. You put Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez to shame. Peter took your hand, grinning like an idiot as you twirled him around.

There he was, dancing in his mother’s basement with his favorite person in the entire world. He wasn’t a great dancer, and neither were you, but that didn’t matter. Peter was dreading this visit-- he hated the idea of being back in the basement that made him feel like a failure. But you assured him that you’d be there with him, and that getting to see his family would make it all worth it. His family isn’t what made it worth it, though.

“Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd came next, slower and a bit more somber, but still danceable. Your arms shifted to around his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. Somehow, you ended up with your back against the wall as the song came to a close. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you,” Peter spoke softly. This was a small victory-- he’d been so scared of the mere idea of loving someone. You were the only one who got to hear his love confessions. They were for you, and for you only.

“I love you too,” Peter would never, ever get tired of hearing that. Knowing that you love him is enough to keep him going for a hundred years. And he knows the odds, he knows that love is rocky and painful as much as it is beautiful. He knows that love can feel sweet in the beginning and go sour overtime. He knows that first, second, third relationships don’t always work out. But he thinks this is going to work out. And Peter doesn’t think this will ever go sour. Maybe that’s his blissful ignorance talking, maybe he’s jinxing it, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. Right now he is at his happiest, at his most content.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly, pecking Peter on the cheek. He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, and Peter grinned. In an instant the tv across the room began playing the opening credits to the first movie that popped into his head.

“The Breakfast Club?” You questioned. Peter shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good coming-of-age kind of movie,”

You sat against the headboard of Peter’s bed, allowing Peter to settle beside you. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he was quick to grab your hand. Peter loved the closeness. Over the past year, he’d come to realize he was a very affectionate person. Previously, Peter hadn’t known soft, physical love; the only time anyone would ever touch him would be as punishment or defense, not love. Love. Peter had gotten more comfortable with the idea of love, because when he thinks of love he thinks of you.

Every good story has a villain. A villain that you love to hate, or hate to love. A villain you can sympathize with, a villain you can’t excuse, a villain that the mere mention of makes you sick to your stomach. An unexpected villain. An obvious villain. A villain that’s just trying his goddamn best. Sometimes the villain is defeated, sometimes the villain changes their evil ways. Sometimes the villain dies and the crowd cheers.

Peter Maximoff never thought he’d be the villain of his own story. He tried his hardest to be a good person, but there was always that side of him that made him afraid. He was like an explosive; whenever someone got too close, he’d detonate and destroy everything around him. It was a self-defense tactic, albeit counterproductive.

It killed you to see him that way. He told you about the relationships he’d lost to himself. He told you about the abandonment and the loneliness. It broke your heart. He tried to distract himself, drowning himself in work so he’d never have the opportunity to ruin what he had with you. Peter Maximoff was a walnut tree; every time he planted his roots and began to grow, he’d kill anything that grew too close. However, the constant working started to wear Peter down.

It started with the late nights. He’d collapse next to you at four AM, knocking out the minute his head hit the pillow. Still, he’d be awake before you were, already scrambling around trying to complete various tasks. He was like a machine that was running from it’s problems. The late nights turned to all-nighters, and the few hours Peter managed to salvage set aside for sleep had shrunk to a few minutes at a time. He didn’t eat anything with even a hint of nutritional value. At this rate, he was going to work himself to death.

The worst part? Peter knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to shut up the little voice in his head that urged him to act out. The entirety of his childhood, Peter destroyed what he created. The need to be isolated, the feeling that he deserves to be alone spread throughout his body like a cancer. He locked himself away in the basement, trying desperately to stay out of everyone’s way so they wouldn’t shut him out. People tried to coerce him out of his cave, to pull him out of the bottomless pit he threw himself into. Peter saw them as the sirens trying to lure him into the ocean of loneliness, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. In his eyes, anyone who tried to help him were the villains of his amazing, heroic tale. Fortunately for him, one by one, they started to give up on helping him. They thought he was a lost cause; a fucking loser who was destined to wallow in his own self-pity until he died. At first, this was a triumph. He defeated them, he outwitted the sphinx and slayed the dragon. But a part of him hated himself for becoming the worst-case scenario that every parent feared their child would grow up to be.

He pulled himself out of his pit and back onto his feet, all by himself. It was hell on Earth, but he did it. That cancerous feeling of uselessness retracted back into itself, now residing in the place next to Peter’s heart. However, that horrifying fear of becoming a burden began to grow again, this time when Peter was in his mid-20s. He began to overcompensate, and that led him to where he was; always on the brink of collapse, running on nothing but coffee and twenty minutes of sleep. In return, Peter got to have friends. In his mind, that was fair. In your mind? Not even close.

You managed to catch him in his bedroom as he was in the midst of simultaneously scribbling in a notebook and reading an open novel. Peter Maximoff would always be the most beautiful person in the world in your eyes, but at that moment, he looked like hell. Your plan seemed foolproof, but then again, you weren’t sure what you were walking into. Lately, Peter didn’t seem like himself. Probably because of the lack of sleep.

“Peter?” He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded. “I got you something.”

“You did?” A sleepy smile was all he could muster, but that was google enough for you.

“I did. It’s to mark exactly three years since I first met you,” you sat down on his bed, placing the small wrapped book right next to you. Peter glanced at the calendar on the wall-- oh god, you were right. It’s been three years to the day and he forgot. He deserves the title of “World’s Worst Boyfriend”. Scott will probably be upset that he’s losing his title.

“What’re you up to?”

“Finishing up some old work I’ve been putting off,” he punctuated his sentence with a yawn. “Some of my old work and some of Hank’s, too.” “Why are you doing Hank’s work?”

“He seemed stressed about something, thought I might help clear his head,” The sentiment is sweet, you’ll give him that.

“Alright, well, can we talk for a minute?” Alarm bells went off in Peter’s brain. There has never, in the history of the universe, been a good conversation that started with ‘can we talk for a minute?’ or any of it’s cruel variants.

“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now, can this wait?” It was obvious that the answer to that was no, but still, he felt the need to ask.

“Not really, no. It’s important.” Peter saw the next few seconds playing out in his head. The inevitable had come to fruition; you realized that you could do better, and now you were cutting him loose. He couldn’t blame you, not really, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to rip him to shreds. He realized that whatever you brought for him was most likely a parting gift. How sweet.

“Oh. Alright.”

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight,” you sighed. “I’m worried about you, Peter.”

Oh. He’s heard this speech before, he knows the spiel. He can vaguely recall a guidance counselor telling him the exact same thing before Peter decided to call him a slew of expletives. The tar pit in his chest began to grow.

“I’m fine.” This was a lie. The first lie in a long chain of lies that Peter was about to tell to you, his favorite person in the world. He loved you, but in that moment his vision clouded over. You weren’t the person he loved and cherished anymore, no, you were just another faceless blur that provided a temporary escape.

“Really? I feel like you’re pushing everyone away, you’re pushing me away.” Peter was becoming more and more irritated by the second.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m not pushing you away.

“Don’t lie to me,” your voice is firm and unwavering. “You don’t sleep, you almost never eat-- I don’t think I’ve seen you stand still for more than three minutes once in the past month--”

“That’s just how I am,” Peter huffs. He wanted this conversation to be over. “That’s not your problem.”

“Your wellbeing is my problem, Peter, that’s the whole point of being friends with someone. Even more so now, because you’re my partner and I care about you--”

“Then stop,” Peter rolled his eyes. He's more irritable than normal-- most likely because he hasn’t slept in days. He could almost feel the venomous arms of isolation creeping around him. It’s a sick pattern, he knows; every time someone gets close to him, he feels the need to self-destruct before they lose interest. Even now, even after all this time, Peter’s still powerless against the poison in his veins.

“What?” You’re losing your reserve and your stature. He can tell. You’re slouching and picking at the cuticles on your thumb. It’s almost as if he’s been shoved into the back seat, and is now being forced to watch as a stranger takes the wheel and crashes the car. So much frustration, so much hurt, and it’s all coming out right now, onto you. Peter already regrets this entire interaction, but still, he manages to spit acid.

“Stop caring. Just leave, I know you want to. I know every night, you lie awake and think about all the different ways you can leave me in the dust. Not that it would matter to me.” This is another lie. Your eyes flash with hurt, but you stay put. You know he’s just being an asshole because he’s exhausted and too stubborn to admit that you’re right. He’s egging you on intentionally, trying to get you to snap and walk away.

“Peter, god, I love you but sometimes you can be so...”

“So what? C’mon, be honest with me,” He huffed.

“Frustrating,” You surrendered. The poise you once held was gone. “I know it isn’t your fault-- I know you’ve trusted so many people so deeply and been betrayed or sold out and I know you’ve loved so many times and been thrown to the curb without a second thought. But I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m here for you, and that I love you. I’ve tried everything, and it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. I want to make this work, but I need you to work with me.” It’s evident in your voice that you’re desperate. You’re just hoping you’ll get through to him, somehow. “I need you to want it as bad as I do-- hell, I need you to want it at all.” Here it comes--

“You ever think, maybe, I just don’t want you to be that person for me? I’ve spent my life being independent, my entire existence so far has been built around the fact that I’m going to end up alone. People come and people go-- people like you and Charles-- and they tell me they care. They tell me that they love me and that they're here for me. And then they get tired of me and they leave. I wish that you would just leave me the fuck alone and let me live in solitude,” There it was. The lie to end all lies. The words tasted awful coming out of his mouth, and the whole ordeal left his mouth tasting very… sour. Peter had to look away, he couldn’t look at the expression on your face.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” Your eyes never met his, but you paused before you exited the room. “I know you’re probably just… I don’t know, going through something, but you’re being an asshole. Don’t talk to me until you’ve sorted your shit out. Enjoy your solitude.” You left the room impossibly fast, your fists clenched so tightly Peter feared that your nails would break the skin on your palms. He struggled to keep it together-- why the fuck did he do that?

Peter collapsed onto his bed, and it’s only then that he realized you left behind the gift you got him. A part of him thought he should return it to you, but the other part of him urged for it to be opened. He tore the wrapping paper off before he realized what he was doing. The hardcover book the wrapping paper concealed was handbound, the cover littered with your beautifully familiar handwriting. In big, bold letters The Best of Poetry in the Humble Opinion of Y/n L/n was scrawled at the top.

Peter vividly remembers a late night you spent talking to him. You told him about your favorite poems, outlining each and every little detail you loved about them. Some of them he’d read already, some of them he hadn’t, but all of them sounded like artwork coming from you. He opened the front cover, and you’d written something else on the inside.

“In the words of the wonderful Peter Maximoff, ‘What’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?’. This is me, sharing the love.”

Carefully, Peter opened to a random page in the book. He saw the notes in the margins and the doodles and the exclamation points and before he knew it Peter was on the verge of tears. He was barely containing himself, and then he read a specific annotation you made.

He had opened to the first page of “The Worm King’s Lullaby”, one of your all-time favorites. A specific line was underlined, one that Peter was all too familiar with: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Beside it, you wrote:

“As much of a genius Mr. Siken is, I have to disagree with this. If you love someone enough, you’ll never leave them and they’ll never leave you. Even if they die, even if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a little part of them to carry with you. Carry this part of me with you, Peter. Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.”

That was it. The floodgates broke. Everything that Peter had held back came pouring out-- the past 10 minutes finally caught up with him, and they hit him like a bus. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, his knees pulled up to his chest so tightly he thought his legs would snap. Peter wanted to rip all his hair out or punch a hole in the wall or hold his head underwater until he was nothing but an obituary and a headstone. His chest burned and the pit of despair inside his chest had overtaken his system, and he hated himself with a burning passion. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that?

Peter Maximoff had his breakdown in solitude, revealing in the fact that he was, undeniably, the villain of his own life.

As it turns out, ‘getting his shit together’ is much harder than Peter originally anticipated. He's trying, he really is, but it's hard. Especially without you there. Peter knows that he fucked up, and he knows that he needs to work for your forgiveness. And don’t worry, he’s going to work for it.

It had only been a week, but the entire mansion could tell that something was off. Life just wasn’t the same without the randomized gusts of wind that would knock people off their feet; no one had been seriously injured or had something stolen from them. The whirlwind that was mansion life, while still chaotic, lost it’s fun.

Charles tried to keep things running smoothly, but he was an old man and didn’t exactly understand you and Peter. People would knock on your door every now and then, but you didn’t answer. You were much too busy analyzing exactly how much of a bitch you were being-- realistically, the answer is 0%, but you didn’t see it that way. No, from your perspective, you saw Peter having a mental breakdown and you ditched him. Pretty shitty move.

What you didn’t realize was that Peter was doing the exact same thing, however, the blame falls mostly on his shoulders, and boy does he know it. He’s been scripting his grand apology, trying desperately to find the right words to express exactly how sorry he is. Peter was never very good with words-- it’s always too hard to know if you’re going to say the wrong thing and mess everything up. Although, it’s hard to see how the scenario could get any worse.

He made the executive decision to start with “I’m sorry”-- a solid start to any apology. Sure, he could stop there, but Peter realized that he’d probably need more to win back his partner. So, he managed to scribble down a few more lines on a tiny notecard he was supposed to use for studying. Oh, what a wondrous redemption arc this would be; Peter gets into a fight with his wonderful partner and ruins their relationship and then struggles to come up with a coherent apology.

“I’m sorry about what I said, that was shitty. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. God, he was going to die alone, wasn’t he? Maybe this is the cruel punishment the world is dealing to him, the universe is deciding that Peter’s redemption arc would be better if it, well, didn’t exist. Even so, he isn’t planning on giving up or giving in just yet.

He scrapped what he had so far and started at the beginning once again. His 9th grade english teacher would tell him to write about what he knows, and though he doesn’t know much, he’s an expert when it comes to himself. Peter knows how he feels about you, he knows how sorry he is, and he knows that he really, really, really wants you to know that he didn’t mean a word he said about not wanting you. Peter knows about love, at least a little bit, and he realizes he’ll need more than just words.

His mind drifts to that night, years ago, in front of the fireplace. He vividly remembers a tiger lily and a chameleon scribbled in the margins of your book. Realistically, Peter couldn’t get his hands on a chameleon, but a tiger lily was a different story. In high school, Peter took a botany course because he thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t, it was boring as all hell, but it seems like his slacking paid off. He knew tiger lilies were indigenous to Asia, but they’d become quite common along New England-area roadways.

Peter grabbed his jacket and took off, tearing through the roads like his life depended on it. In less than 10 minutes, Peter found himself in the middle of New Hampshire drenched in rain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve checked the weather before leaving. Nevertheless, he takes off into the small wooded area that laid passed the road’s end. Dozens of mushrooms dotted the muddy ground and mossy rocks clouded his peripheral vision. The rain begins to lighten as he spots a bright orange tiger lily peeking through the remains of a tree stump. He sprints over to it.

The tiger lily is bloomed and beautiful and Peter can’t tear his eyes away from the wide array of speckles and splotches and color. It’s pristine, but some of the petals are torn or wilting. The roots stretch into the stump below it, and Peter leans closer. The stump is old and worn, fungi and bugs eat away at the base next to a large hole where a family of worms reside. The stump is ugly, sure, but it’s useful. It helps keep the bugs fed and keeps the worms warm. There’s a metaphor here somewhere, but Peter is too distracted to find it.

He gently picks the flower and spins on his heel, taking off once again. The rain makes it harder to run, but it’ll take a lot more than water to stop Peter. By the time Peter gets back to Xavier’s the flower is a little crushed, but it’s still somewhat pristine.

He has the flower, he has the apology, and now all he needs is courage. Thankfully, that courage comes quickly as he instinctively knocks on your bedroom door. He probably should’ve stopped to collect himself, but he was riding a wave of adrenaline that wouldn’t come back.

“Go away, Jean,” You called from inside. You sounded tired, and it made Peter sad.

“It’s-- uh-- it’s not Jean,” Peter can hear your hesitant footsteps approaching the door, and suddenly the courage he managed to build up drained. His hands are shaking by the time you open the door. You look up at him, and Peter looks back at you, and suddenly everything is much harder to do. He looks down at his feet.

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, but clear.

“Hi.” Peter’s voice is uneven and quiet. You stand there in silence for a minute before Peter pipes up again.

“So, uh, you’re probably still mad at me and I get that, but I just want you to hear me out. I-If that’s okay,” You nod slowly, and Peter takes a deep breath. He thinks about the written apology that sat in his coat pocket, and he makes the last-minute decision to forget about it. He’ll speak from the heart, or, whatever people in rom-coms do.

“I’m sorry. It was really shitty of me to get angry at you because you were worried about me-- although, I guess shitty is an understatement. Everything that I said about, yknow, not wanting you or Charles or anyone else around anymore wasn’t true. I need you guys, and I love you guys and it was unfair of me to push you away. Solitude really sucks. I guess I’m just not very good at navigating relationships,” He exhales, and his chest shudders. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I just thought I should make it clear how I feel.” It’s only then that he remembers about the tiger lily in his hand. “Oh, and this is for you.”

“A tiger lily?” you smiled softly. “These are my favorite-- how did you know?”

“I’m just observant, I guess. You usually draw them when you’re bored, I figured you’d like to see one in person,” You gently took the tiger lily in your hand. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, and Peter realized that was probably a bad sign. His chest drops just a bit, and he takes a small step backwards.

“I guess I should probably leave you alone--” Peter can’t get very far, because you immediately jump forward and wrap your arms around him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, you can feel Peter’s arms lock around your waist.

“Thank you,” You whispered. “Please don’t go.” Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and a horrible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The close-contact was refreshing; he didn’t realize how much he missed it until that moment. He was pretty sure he would never, ever let you go. Not again.

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- that is, until you came along. You proved to him that he deserved physical affection, that his mutation and his personality and weirdo quirks didn’t make him lesser or unlovable. Peter Maximoff deserved love, and you were the one who never failed to love him.

You sat on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, reading to the group of children sitting at your feet. The emotional lines of “Snow and Dirty Rain” fell from your lips, and with every turning syllable the small group would listen just a little bit closer. Peter did, too, desperately trying to hear every single word you said. Class was almost over, and once the students were dismissed you’d probably stop reading.

“I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is,” Your eyes tore away from the page to look at the kids at your feet. They fell upon Peter, and a smile erupted on your face.

Peter vaguely recalls the twisted idea of love that he held as a teenager. He thought love was a dragon to be defeated, a battle that could be won or lost. It’s clear now that love is the opposite-- it isn’t a fight or a battle or a thing to be conquered. It’s more like a flower; it needs to be cherished and cared for in order to grow. Sometimes the flower wilts and dies, and that’s natural, but sometimes the flower lasts for a lifetime.

Love wasn’t a dragon or a knight, it didn’t have a hero or a villain; it was much more like a tiger lily and a tree stump.

#Evan Peters #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x reader #wandavision #xmen fanfiction #xmen

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disruptivebychoice · 3 years

Text

First Love

I remember you,

I was 17 and you were 21

The age difference was made

Yet, we believed

We had it made

We worked at the restaurant together

Our relationship was one not for others

With coworkers who made sure

The difficulty was filled with suffers

We struggled,

Rumors spread here and there

Insecurity ran high

I was in high school

You were in college

Stigmas played their part

To a love,

I never wanted to be torn apart

Our first kiss,

Was one worth the wait

I was scared,

Knowing that most

were only after me for one thing

But you were different

So I made it a deferment

We drove the day before I left for Alaska

Passing my Grandma’s

We talked about a kiss,

Thats when you stopped in the middle of the road

Put the car in brake

And grabbed my face

That was the first time we kissed

It was something magnificent

You played me a song called better days

And we knew those awaited

When I’d return from a cold cruise ship

It was poetic

With 1950s return home vibes

While away,

I’d be docked at each bay

Where we’d send each other lyrics

Signifying the strength

Of one another’s presence

I came home,

And that is when

Our relationship bloomed

No longer stressing,

Of being alone

Because together,

I would never be on my own

I remember the night

My insecurity got the best of me

We walked around the block

There were hearts in chalk

I was a mess

Crying, distraught

Depressed

I wanted to die and I told you so

I still see your face perfectly

The care,

The worry,

The turmoil never-ending

You stopped me and grabbed me close

In my cold winter coat

Holding me

Telling me we’d make it through

But I knew you’d leave

Everyone always did

And our love,

I couldn’t dismiss

You broke up with me on my birthday

The talk of the town

Got the best of you

It was the worst.

The beginning of cursed

But its okay,

You didn’t know it

That this was me broken

We got back together months after

I had finally turned 18,

You were okay now with relations

So we made the past into laughter

Spending endless nights with another

We smoked weed on the daily

I remember one time,

We sang Jasmin and Aladdin

As we held the bong closely

That video is a faded memory

But the magic carpet,

Felt like reality

Because he showed me the world

And love was dazzling

Flash forward,

Feelings got stronger

We fell in what I thought was love

Deeply

Then the day came

When I took your virginity

I remember it perfectly

It was a dream

And you were mine that had came true

But as we grew fonder

Drugs became our secret lover

We started to delay our jobs

Spending hours at home

Blues to do

Love that felt true

I remember that night you drank

For a contest to outweigh another

You ended up with 17 shots

Of that captain

As if you were the owner of the ship

But childish

You ran around the block

I chased you,

Sat on the bathroom floor with you

Watched your insides fall

Sick.

It was saddening to see

But you knew I was there

You had me

Flash forward

We’re hiking, we love nature

We were crazy

And found a tree

Where I bent over

And you did me endlessly

The enchanted forest was ours

We would camp and make love under stars

You had a problem with smoking,

So did I

Our vices differed

But please,

never take fault

I’m the one who chose

And I did quick,

I chose blue

You chose green

Soon I had to hide

I kept foils and straws hid

Kept away,

Like a little kid

You’d find me out

But somehow I’d talk my way out

Oh, that tin of stuff in the bathroom

That isn't mine

Must have been there

For a very long time

But you knew the truth

But love had you deceived

So you decided to believe

Flash forward

We would smoke weed

Do pills for thrills

Down the street

Parked in your car

Awaiting to go in my room

But what we didn’t know

Was the obliviousness

Of our disease, our stupidity

Cops were called

And they did show

We saw those lights

Red and blue

Scared.

Stereotypes played a role

One I hate to think of now

We had pills of orange,

Pills of pink,

Pills of white,

Bongs and weed

You claimed them as yours,

And I watched you handcuffed

Taken away in a cop car

As I walked down the street

Back to my house

With tears in my eyes

A call from jail

Took 3 days.

I had to meet up with your parents

To return your keys

The way they looked at me

I never thought they’d forgive me

I was embarrassed

At fault,

And mad I took my mom’s pills those days

For us to have and take inventory of

For you to be bust,

Well us.

You had to get clean after this

This is when secrets started to worsen

And how we ended

I honestly don’t even remember how

Whether I ended it

Or if you ended it

But I’m seeing you today

We saw each other a few years ago

Around this time actually

We were high,

We did cocaine and I never thought you would,

But then again

I never thought I’d smoke crack

But in that hotel room

We did,

And we fucked again

With minutes to spare of a flight

A foggy night,

I wish I would’ve held you tight

Telling you fo the dangers

Of this drug,

The wrong kind of hug

But I was wrapped up

In what was wrong

Now I’m clean,

You’re trying to be

You’ve stopped the hard,

But found new vices

One too many

But I believe you can overcome

You deserve to everything

That isn’t glum

I don’t know what today will bring

What feelings will immerse

But you’ll always be my first love

Not in love,

But first love.

You say you’ve always known I to be the one

That’s why you keep coming back to me

But what you don’t know

Is I didn’t know who I was

What you’re still unaware of

Is that you don’t know who you are

Because drugs,

Take the head

And put it in the stars

A never-ending wammy

A process of continual slamming

So today,

I’ll embrace forgiveness

Apologies and progress

Knowing him as my first love,

Will always be a friend

And our story,

Will be with me till the end

#poeticstories #poetrycorner #poetryportal #writerscreed #creedatelier #spilled ink #inkstay #twcpoem #poetrycreed #writtenconsiderations #poetryriot

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allmygyus · 3 years

Text

＊*✩Unrequited Love✩*˚＊

Trust (23/?)

[ prev : masterlist : next ]

⇢wordcount: 1,267 ⇢warnings: none that im aware of :<

After the podcast was finished, Jihoon, Seungkwan, Hansol, and Dino made their way to their dorms whereas you and Seungcheol were left standing outside the studio.

“So,” he put his hands in his pockets, “where are you headed off to?”

“Actually, I’m about to head to the practice room and practice,” you say while picking up your canvas bag and sliding it on your shoulder.

“Here,” Seungcheol said as he took the bag from you and slung it on his shoulder instead. “I’ll walk you there.”

He smiled at you and you nodded in reply. The two of you made your way to the building where the practice room was located. It was pretty serene in the campus since most students already went home and the ones residing in the campus were either studying at the library or just quietly hanging out with their friends.

“So,” he breathed out, “you’re positive that you and Mingyu aren’t in a relationship right?”

“Ye- yes. Of course! Were just- just best friends. Yeah.” you answered and laughed nervously. Talking about Mingyu with other people always made you nervous because of the feelings you had for him. You didn’t want anyone to find out that you were actually crushing on your best friend.

“Hey,” he chuckled and changed the topic to make you feel more at ease, “why are you so nervous? If its because of that drunken hug at Junhui’s party. Don’t worry, it’s all good.”

“Oh my god,” you exclaim and the heat rushes to your body. You totally forgot about what you had done that night and how embarrassing it was. “I was so drunk that night. I’m really sorry Cheol.” You’ve never wanted to smack yourself in the face so badly.

“Y/n,” he laughs at your reaction. “I told you it’s fine. I just wanted to skip the Mingyu talk because it made you so nervous.” He looked at you fondly and while you still continued to walk and yank your hair down while repeatedly calling yourself stupid in your head.

“You know,” he said, “you give the best hugs.”

“Really?” you answer and look at him before returning your vision to the walkway. “Well, thats good to know at least.”

He smiled and nodded. “You’re a good President,” you say. “because, even though I am technically your under, you never make me feel that way. I kinda feel like we’re friends working together rather than being a PA.”

“That’s good to know Y/n,” he replied and felt a little flutter in his stomach. “And to me, we are friends working together.” he laughed and nudged you. “So loosen up around me, don’t be so professional all the time.”

“Noted,” you smile and felt more comfortable around him. The two of you stop as you face the doors of the practice room.

“Well,” he said while taking off your bag, “here is your bag. I should probably go now.”

“Thanks for walking with me,” you take the bag and smile at him.

“Where is she? Its-,” Soonyoung frantically bursts out of the door, scaring both you and Seungcheol, to first see you. He greets you warmly with a smile.

“Oh there you are!” he cheered. The smile on his face suddenly disappeared when he saw the person next to you. Seungcheol. Soonyoung was taken back because he didn’t expect to see the two of you together at this hour. He felt a bit of jealousy, even, seeing the two of you so close.

“Hey Soonyoung,” Seungcheol nervously waves.

“Hi Cheol,” Soonyoung nods with a straight face. It was awkward now knowing the history between them. You were now very aware of their feelings towards each other and the friendship they used to share.

“Y/n, I’ll wait for you inside,” he says coldly and walks back into the practice room. You face Seungcheol and apologize on behalf of Soonyoung’s hostility.

“It’s okay,” he nervously scratches the back of his neck. “Honestly, I would react the same if I were in his shoes. No worries! I’ll head to my dorm now.”

“Okay,” you say as he starts walking away. “Head home safely!” You wave and he waves in return. You make your way into the practice room and greet Soonyoung.

“Hey,” you drop your bags to the floor and walk over to him. “Sorry I was a little late. The podcast ended-“

“You know,” he interrupted. “I know you’re his PA and you have to follow him around and help with student council things but just a warning. He’s not the person you think he is.”

Soonyoung spoke with his back toward you, both arms resting on the table and his eyes on the computer looking for the song that you chose to dance to. There was a fair amount of space between you guys and the tension was high.

Soonyoung wasn’t sure if he was reacting this way because seeing Seungcheol always hurt him. It reminded him of the betrayal he felt and the sadness of losing a friend. But now, seeing him with you somehow angered him. It was an unfamiliar feeling and it frustrated him.

“Don’t trust him too easily Y/n.”

You didn’t really know how to react because it was your first time seeing Soonyoung react this way. He wasn’t one to get angry often. He was just always smiling and playful and you didn’t know how to approach him because it frightened you to see someone who was always loud and happy to be so quiet and cold.

“Hey,” you quietly walked towards him while he continues to scroll on the laptop with his eyebrows furrowed. As the space between you lessened the pace of your heart hurried. Maybe it was because you were a bit scared of this version of Soonyoung or maybe it was something else. You wrap your arms around his waist. His body tensed up but relaxed shortly after. You rest your head on his shoulder and hoped that your best friend wouldn’t push you away.

“He told me,” you whispered and he turned around to face you, releasing from the hug. “About what happened to you guys.”

“Oh,” he frowned again.

“I’m sorry that happened to the two of you,” you rub his arm and reassure him that Seungcheol feels bad about how their friendship ended. Soonyoung pulls you into another hug and you embrace him, hoping that the negative emotions would just wash away from his mind.

“Thanks Y/n,” the both of you release each other from the embrace. You pat him on the shoulder and say “Now, stop sulking. You still have me, Seokmin and Mingyu.”

“I know,” he smiles and stares at you for a while and you stare at him with a smile in reply. The two of you stood there for a while and before the proximity could lessen any more, the music blasted through the speaker and caused both of you to jump and separate from each other’s grasp.

“Welp,” Soonyoung put his hands on his waist and clapped his hands once. “That’s probably a sign that we should start practicing.” He chuckled nervously and started the music, trying to ignore what had just happened.

You follow him and start dancing but the moment you two had was still replaying in your mind. You couldn’t ignore the fact that your heart was beating so fast and how close he was getting or how you even closed your eyes before the music came on. Now you were even more confused. Were you really catching feelings for two of your best friends?

Summary: ⤑ Soonyoung, Mingyu, Seokmin and y/n. It’s always been the four of them and y/n wouldn’t have it any other way. Y/n loved the three of them but she loved one differently. It’s their third year of college and y/n’s been debating whether she would tell the one she loved how she truly felt but would it be worth risking their friendship over? Along the way she struggles to realize what it is she truly wants.

Pairing: ⤑college student y/n x ??

taglist: @sunshineshouchan @dy-mglzz @suhfluffy @muhanuibean @itsdnguyenxoxo @unmanageable-day @ash-moon8 @444wjh

#seventeen #seventeen social media au #seventeen smau #seventeen au

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easily-infatuated23 · 4 years

Text

Undercover- Part Three (Healer!Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Prologue, Part One, Part Two , Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

a/n: ok i kinda love where this is going and i’ve decided that the Reader is a spy lol comment if you would like to be added on the tag list for this series! also sorry if this is a cliff hanger

pairing: Healer! Draco x Spy! (?) Reader

word count: 2.1k

warning: mentions of trauma and death

summary: During her stay at Malfoy Manor, Reader finds some evidence that will help figure out who had been ordering the killings of muggle-born witches and wizards but will Draco trust her?

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

This assignment had really taken a strange turn. Not only had I been imbedded with Death Eaters, but I had been stabbed and was now hiding in Malfoy Manor. Draco was much kinder and happier than the last time I saw him. Of course, I had heard the stories of this newer and better Draco, but witnessing it first hand was something else. No matter how many times I told him I had to leave to keep him safe, he would just assure me that the protective charms he placed around the house would keep us safe. I remained on edge. After all, safety is a matter of perspective. I had a feeling part of the reason he was against me leaving was not just for my safety, but I suspected he was glad to have the company. It truly was a large house. A large and empty house for just one person. With his father in Azkaban and his mother taking a much needed vacation abroad, he was the most alone he had probably ever been…physically that is. After my slip up in revealing the name of the organization after me, I tried to speak about the subject as little as I could. All I wanted was to be relieved of the burden I was carrying but, I knew if I did, Draco Malfoy would surely be killed. So, I continued to bear the burden of knowledge as Draco began healing me again.

Draco had lead me to his kitchen and motioned for me to hop up on to the counter. He had attempted to assist me but I was stubborn and struggled through the process myself. He opened his medical bag and pulled out a needle and suture thread. He rolled up his sleeves as he went to wipe some disinfectant on my side before turning to thread the needle “How did you figure out who I was?” I asked my Healer on the second day of my stay. “Well, the appearance change was pretty hard to see through but once those Death Eaters said your name at St. Mungo’s I remembered you”. “Remembered me?” I questioned. “I don’t think we spoke once while at Hogwarts and I have been off the grid pretty much since I finished there. Ouch! That hurts.” I said, wincing as he tended to my side. “Stop fussing, it’s only a few stitches. And if you hadn’t apparated I wouldn’t have to give you stitches you know” he replied, slightly laughing at my inability to stand the pain, especially after I had refused to let him use a pain relieving potion on me. I was worried I’d say something I would regret later. Whether I was worried about spilling something about my assignment or something else was still up for debate.

“You are avoiding my question” I said matter-a-factly. He sighed. “You knew me back then, I always noticed the pretty girls” he said with a slight blush. “That’s just a cop out answer, I don’t believe you” I replied, not making eye contact so that he couldn’t see the slight smile on my face. He shrugged his shoulders and stood up. “Believe what you’d like”.

He walked over to the sink and washed his hands. I jumped off the counter. “Fucking hell” I muttered. He laughed again. “You should take it easy for at least two weeks” he said. I groaned but then, remembered something. My heart sank a little as I remembered where I was and the history of this house. “Hey look I am gonna ask you a question that’s gonna make you really uncomfortable so I apologize in advance. And, please know I am only asking because I feel like I have to.” He turned to face me, a worried look washed over his face. “Do you have a record of all You-Know-Who’s followers? There were rumors about a book. I know he used this place as a headquarters during the second war and I am desperate for any lead on…..well a lead” I said, holding in my reasons. He grimaced slightly. “Unfortunately for me, yes but I guess that’s fortunate for you” he replied harshly. I felt guilty for bringing up the awful things in his past like this but I truly felt I had no choice. And besides, if this caused him to feel some apprehension towards me that might be beneficial in stopping his relentless questions.

He walked past me and began down a long hallway. I followed close behind him. He took a sharp left turn and continued down a spiral staircase that seemed as if it went on for ages. As he lead me down, neither of us spoke a word. When we finally reached the bottom, it felt like an entirely different place. This couldn’t possibly be the basement of the surprisingly homey manor I had just been inside. Could it? As we exited the staircase, we stood facing a large green door. The green paint on the door was faded, as if the door was centuries old but there was a large golden key hole shining on the front, underneath an equally shining golden door knob. The two looked as if they’d been installed recently.

“Mother and I tried to destroy it but nothing we did worked. There is some serious dark magic in this book. We locked it down here to make sure it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands.” He turned towards me, his face only inches from mine. If he hadn’t done this in such a menacing way, I might have swooned a little but now was not the right time for that. “I hope I am not putting it in the wrong hands now” he said. I shook my head. It had just occurred to me, there was a possibility that he didn’t believe my story. I knew it was true and the thugs after me were good evidence in my favor, but it all could have been a plant. Thats why he was asking so many questions. Maybe I would have to tell him after all. He turned back around to face the door. He reached into his shirt and pulled out a small golden key on a string. Had he been wearing the necklace the whole time? I wondered why I hadn’t noticed. He took off the necklace and put the key into the hole. He took a deep breath and unlocked the door.

Once the door opened he stepped aside, allowing me to look inside the small room that had been revealed. The inside was dark and gave off a feeling of uncertainty and slight panic. There were only two things residing in the small room; a podium and a large black leather bound book. I started to walk in when Draco put his arm across the entrance and stopped me. “Prepare yourself. Once you go in and open it, you will never feel the same again. The book can have an effect almost like a Dementor” he said. “What exactly is the book?” I asked. “The Binding of the Death Eaters” he said with a shiver. “Before someone could receive the Dark Mark and be fully inducted as a Death Eater, they would have to sign their name. It binds your fate to the Dark Lord” he said. The way he stared at the book could only be described as a raging and powerful fury. I knew that Draco Malfoy had been a Death Eater but I had no idea that even after the Dark Lord had been killed, he still had so much power of Draco’s life. “I am really sorry” I began. “I know that sorry means nothing especially since I have forced you to come down here but I truly am. I’m also sorry that you never got to chose not to sign.” He looked at me. The fury was still spinning in his eyes but with every moment it lessened. He said nothing but simply nodded. I entered the room and, with a deep breath, opened the book. I titled my head to one side and turned to Draco. “It’s blank” I said. He looked almost relieved. “The names are only revealed to someone who has the Dark Mark” he said. “So you were testing me and my story” I said. He nodded. He then turned side ways and gestured with his left arm for me to exit the room. “This might freak you out so you might want to leave now” I said, pulling my wand from my jacket pocket. “Obscure Appareat Vestigium” I whispered, pointing my wand at my left forearm. The black skull appeared on my arm and a snake slithered out of its mouth. Draco stepped back with a horrified expression on his face. “It’s not a real Dark Mark and it’s not permanent” I said quickly. “The task force I’m apart of developed this charm for undercover work”. Draco looked me in the eyes, turned, and hurried up the staircase.

Now I’d done it. Just as he was going to fully trust me, I broke his trust. The look he gave me made me feel sick. Just another horrified face to add to the growing list that haunted my nightmares. I sighed deeply then turned my attention back to the book. I flipped through the pages. I saw plenty of names I recognized, all ex-Death Eaters who had wound up in Azkaban or served lighter sentences and some were names of people who were killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. I even saw Draco’s name. His signature was much shakier than most of the other names. He had been so young. The more I looked I realized something was missing. I started to realize an option that I had never considered. It made the sick feeling in my stomach lurch again but before I could fully register the awful feeling, I saw a name I recognized. This was a name I had never seen associated in this way with the Dark Lord. Suddenly, things started to make more sense. My heart was practically beating out of my chest.

I jumped out of the room and shut the door. Draco had left the key hanging on the door knob which I grasped and used to lock the door. That book had just become very important evidence in a trial no one knew was beginning. I spoke the Dark Mark removing incantation and raced back up the spiral stair case. When I got to the top I was out of breath. I turned right and made my way back into the kitchen. Draco was sitting at the kitchen table. He looked dazed and upset. “I can give you an explanation now” I said breathlessly, tossing him the key. He looked up at me suddenly, just barely catching the key. I had clearly startled him. “I know who is behind the Dark Saints and right now you may be the only chance there is that this will all stop.” He stood up. “What are you talking about? Stop what? You being chased?” He was clearly frustrated. “You have every right to be frustrated with me and I promise I will explain everything but first I need to get one more piece of information.” I said. “And what’s that?” he retorted, crossing his arms. “Do you know where I can get the last…let’s say year of Daily Prophet obituary sections?” He looked at me, clearly feeling very puzzled. “I mean…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I guess they did start offering a digital option two years ago-” “Perfect!” I said, cutting him off. I raced back up the stairs to his bedroom where I remembered seeing a computer. “Wait! What are you doing?” he called after me.

When I entered his room I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. I sat down at the computer and began furiously scanning through the obituary pages. He entered the room moments after me and stood over my shoulder, curiously watching my frantic scribbles. Once I had finished I slumped back in the chair for a moment. I hadn’t noticed when I started crying but once I did, the tears flowed at a hotter temperature and more quickly down my cheeks than they ever had before. I finally turned to face him. “There’s at least twenty of them” I said, trying to hold my voice steady. “What does that mean?” Draco asked. He understood that I meant twenty people had died but he wanted to know how that was important in my explanation. I slowly stood only to suddenly become so dizzy my balance faltered. “Y/N? Are you ok you’ve gone very pale”. I started to nod but then shook my head then everything went black.

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

taglist!:

@pointlesscoconut @bi-andready-tocry

#healer!draco #draco malfoy x reader #slytherin #draco malfoy fic #harry potter #harry potter au #ravenclaw #gryffindor #hufflepuff #malfoy manor #spy!reader #hogwarts #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy series

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ineffably-effable · 5 years

Text

good omens fic recommendations

If you’re looking for coherent reviews you’ll be disappointed, but if you want a list of quality recommendations - with excerpts & some vague ramblings as to what the reader should be in the mood for - enjoy!

29 recommendations underneath the cut.

(17k) Something We Were Withholding Made Us Weak by triedunture

Crowley and Aziraphale learn to move in tandem.

Mood: beautiful slow burn, misunderstandings, heartache that would be solved if someone taught these besotted idiots to communicate.

Paradox: Crowley has never risen from his seat and gone to stand behind someone at a counter, never put his arms around their middle and pulled them tight against him. Has never apologized with a touch, with a closeness, with the thin line of his body. So why does it occur to him that he might do that now? Might press up against Aziraphale from behind and rest his forehead on Aziraphale’s nape and ask silently to be forgiven. As if it’s the most natural thing in the world when he knows, intimately knows that it’s not.

(51k) how deep the sand by Handful_of_Silence

After the Apocalypse, and with characteristic slowness, both Crowley and Aziraphale think there might be something they need to sit down and talk about.

And then Aziraphale disappears.

Mood: tragic twist of fate, separation, hurt/comfort, guilt & devotion.

He thinks about the picnic they’d have had. He’d have pulled the top down from the Bentley and let the wind tussle his hair, the weather of a glorious August now gone warming his skin. They would have chatted, sitting carefully on a tartan blanket, and they’d have made their own plans.

They might have even found the right time to talk properly. Honestly. About everything that’s been, about the possibilities that could be now that everything’s different.

About maybe not going back to London. Going back to their Jobs.

About leaving it all behind, together.

The words Crowley didn’t say are clogging up his throat.

(14k) Made Flesh by rfsmiley / @redfacesmiley

AU in which Crowley is two entities, and Aziraphale isn’t sure how he feels about either of them.

Mood: oblivious idiots, daemon!fic-if-you-squint, pining & tamed desire.

Eleven years pass, attended by another marked change; the creature cannot bear to be out of the same room as Aziraphale. The angel, isolated and frayed as he is by the fear of the coming war, has no problems with this development – he needs the company – although sometimes he looks into the yellow eyes and feels the spear of a nameless sorrow. If it comes to it, Heaven will win, of course; the certainty, however, is bitter. He tries not to think about what will happen to Crowley, or to this small being that runs at his heels as he moves, gripped by a contagious agitation.

(8k) Ad Astra by drawlight / @drawlight

Some things can only be said in the dark.

Mood: beautiful prose, longing, ruthless inner-voices & insecurities.

Aziraphale swallows. His eyes hold Crowley’s. Crowley stands very still, wretched. Terrified. Watching Aziraphale’s very wide eyes, the open of the mouth. There is a softness in Aziraphale’s look, in the swallow of his throat. It could be? (It might not be.) He wants to scream it; he wants to say nothing at all. Let me stay in this bit of maybe. Maybe is not no, maybe means perhaps, someday. Maybe means you might feel the same. (You might not.)

(13.3k) Alegría by drawlight / @drawlight

After the End That Wasn’t, Heaven and Hell are leaving them alone. Entirely alone. (This is a story with nothing of miracles.)

Mood: beautiful prose, longing, ruthless inner-voices & insecurities + domesticity

(Yes, I know the mood is almost the same as above, but honestly this is @drawlight, what were you expecting? Read it if you want a Crowley that will absolutely wreck you & leave you heart-broken.)

Aziraphale is a touch-strong man. He touches everything (Crowley knows, he always watches). Aziraphale loves and he likes to love through his skin. His fingers on a particularly fine leather binding, dipping into the embossed author, the tooled name of the title. His hands breaking apart a loaf of Italian sourdough, fingers coming away with residual flour. Dipping his hands into sacks of grain, rubbing a fine weave of silk through. He touches Crowley too, in his usual and gentle way. The touch on the arm to still Crowley’s whiplash self, to make a point during an argument. Aziraphale who thinks nothing of oh, my dear, you’ve got an eyelash just there, let me get it for you. Crowley has a good memory. He catalogs them all, cross-examines them. Six-thousand years of maybes and what-ifs and what was thats ? But Aziraphale is just as easy with his touches on glass bottles while pulling out his favorite vintages. He touches his favorite fountain pen far more often than he reaches for Crowley. No, in context, it means nothing. It’s just Aziraphale as usual. Don’t look too closely, it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t.

(13k) small infinities and all that by JustStandingHere / @billypotts

Crowley and Aziraphale are turned human. This is the aftermath.

Mood: slow burn, domesticity, best friends falling in love & all the beautiful awkwardness that entails.

And there it is, isn’t it? Something they’ve known for a long time, but haven’t named it. Have been too scared to name it. Something that speaks in their bones, in the space between them.

(12k) the deft, sweet gesture of your hand by deadgreeks / @mortuarybees

Crowley arrives injured at Aziraphale’s door. He takes care of him, reads him an awful lot of Mary Oliver, and knits elaborate metaphors for his insecurities (literally).

Mood: beautiful writing, mixed signals, feeling unworthy of the millenia-long object of your affections, unable to create gifts that are good enough for the people you love and being in love with a complete idiot.

Aziraphale has tended to the sick and injured during periods of plague and war many times throughout his long life, and he tries to adopt the same kind-but-impersonal detachment as he carefully washes Crowley. It is slightly harder, Crowley being the sole object of six thousand years of repressed desire, but he’s also Aziraphale’s closest friend, and a person besides, so he does him the courtesy of not ogling his bare legs or torso as he goes.

(9.3k) Slow by write_away / @theirdarkreturning

Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves somehow married. Crowley fears going too fast. Aziraphale forges ahead. Neither know how to ask questions of each other.

Mood: Miscommunication, with a hefty side order of pining and the urge to yell at your screen in the vain hopes of getting through to these two idiots.

For Crowley - that was the demon’s name, and it’s best to memorize it quickly, before he changes it yet again - knew that the angel would love him if he just asked, and Aziraphale - the angel, though there’s no rush with him, there never really is - knew that the demon would take him in with open arms if he just asked. It’s just that neither of them were good at asking things of one another.

(14.7) Lead me to the banquet hall by obstinatrix, wishwellingtons

Crowley loves taking Aziraphale out to eat almost as much as Aziraphale loves eating, but it’s always a bit of a one-sided affair. Aziraphale has never understood why. Crowley planned on keeping it that way, but best laid plans…

Mood: wonderful footnotes, pining, creating a shrine to the object of your longing and then submitting to the mortifying ordeal of them finding it.

The thing about Aziraphale is quite simply this: Crowley can never have enough of him. God, Satan, everyone knows he’s tried. Crowley has spent centuries glutting himself on the sight of him only to be empty again days later, wondering whether it’s too soon to show his face in the bookshop. Aziraphale drifts from brasserie to bar in his quest to indulge in the best of human culinary expertise; Crowley follows after, because he knows Aziraphale will be there. It isn’t enough, but it’s something, and the only thing Crowley can ever expect.

(14.2k) all i need, darling, is a life in your shape by deadgreeks / @mortuarybees

After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives.

Mood: domesticity with pining, chosen family, acts of love, boyfriend sweaters & idiots in love.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes indulgently, passing out the rest of the gifts and sneaking little glances at Crowley as he struggled with the box. He’d worked so hard on it, searched all the best yarn shops in London for the perfect skeins. He even had to sit on hold for hours with the manufacturer of the yarn he chose because he needed another skein from the same dye-lot, knowing that Crowley would want only the best, and he’d notice even a minor inconsistency in the coloring.

(27k) Long Is The Way, And Hard by Kate_Lear

A story of Crowley’s thoughts about Aziraphale, from the Beginning to the present day.

And also of temptation, and want, and whether - for a Fallen Angel - redemption is possible after all.

Mood: slow burn, denial, temptation, jealousy, lust to love, character growth.

Aziraphale hasn’t shared his bed with anyone. He can’t have done, because if he has then Crowley is going to hunt down that mortal – in this world or the next – and enact something creatively and comprehensively bloody upon them. Possibly involving methods from the Spanish Inquisition, that have scabbed over in Crowley’s memory and that he shies away from picking at.

(25.7k) your weekend lover by witching

Mood: miscommunication, mutual pining, ineffable idiots who are on the same page but reading a different damn book

It was purely physical, they had agreed on that from the beginning. Aziraphale couldn’t quite remember why he had agreed to that, but he suspected it had something to do with not ruining their friendship, or some such nonsense. At any rate, that was the deal. The new Arrangement. Purely physical.

(16k) I’ve Got You To Help Me Forgive by Kate Andrews (k8andrewz)

Pt1: Crowley deals, more or less, with the Fall. Also, Crowley has feelings. The angel doesn’t help with that. Also, sunny rocks are very nice.

Pt2: In which tea is made, a story is shared, and a leap of faith is taken.

Mood: Lust, first times, innocence, ineffable sex, memory wipes, Aziraphale showing initiative and being a bit of a bastard, overwhelmed Crowley, Gabriel is a total dick. Fair warning this isn’t PWP, it has loads of plot and feelings too and fantastic characterizations.

The air in Crowley’s lungs took leave of him all at once. Memories he hadn’t given a good look at in ages resurfaced. Memories he’d quite ably buried, thank you very much and he sat up abruptly, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. He set his sunglasses on the table, then pressed his face into his palms and gave it a good scrub. After a sidelong glance at Aziraphale who sat there patiently watching him, he asked, “What am I supposed to do with a question like that, hmm?”

(13.9k) The Lightness of You by Rend_Herring

God should not have built them with such discrepancy, made them need for love, and long for wholeness, then left them to their own devices.

Mood: When you want to mix up your pining & angst with a bit of humour, sex and a praise kink.

The jasmine vine actually tries brushing up against Aziraphale’s cheek and he blushes, says, “Oh, you,” all indulgent and sweet-like. It leaves a fragrant white blossom behind his ear.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale says sincerely, and Crowley glares openly at the traitors. “That’s very kind of you.” His smile really is a beacon of otherworldly radiance. An orchid blooms on the spot, the epiphyte whore.

(7.2k) summer and his pleasures by witching

absence makes the heart grow fonder, and crowley and aziraphale’s hearts were plenty fond to begin with. a story told through phone calls while they are separated for work-related reasons.

Mood: drunk dialing and dirty talk, idiots in love

Something clicked in Aziraphale’s mind, and he held back a curse word threatening on his tongue. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, he found himself just in that sweet spot of intoxication where he was cognizant enough to recognize that he was doing something he absolutely shouldn’t do, but not quite enough to stop himself. “I would, you know,” he said, full of newfound confidence. “I’d – if you were here, I’d make it… very much worth your while.”

(3.6k) Birds of a Feather by idiopathicsmile

Aziraphale nests. Crowley relearns some crucial facts about angelic courtship rituals.

Mood: Jealousy, lashing out, withdrawal, oblivious idiots slowly learning how to use their words.

Is Crowley jealous of a musty old flat above a used book store? In the millennia he’s spent slowly twisting his own heart around Aziraphale’s little finger, it’s not the weirdest thing he’s been jealous of, to be honest.

(11k) A Touch Like Sunlight by goodomensblog / @goodomensblog / @just-quintessentially-me

When Aziraphale is threatened by angels who seek justice for Aziraphale’s crimes against Heaven, Crowley comes up with a plan to keep him safe from harm.

Mood: PTSD from witnessing the attempted murder of your husband, it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you, self-sacrificing idiots & badass idiots protecting eachother.

“Right! Brunch!” Aziraphale says, bouncing up on his toes - as if they hadn’t just been discussing the murder of archangels. “Do you think they have crepes?”

(13.6k) These Things Were Here by MajorEnglishEsquire

Crowley, following times of overwhelming distress, resorted to the snake form as a means of finding comfort and solitude.

Mood: displays of affection, love shown through care-taking, using your ineffable boyfriend as a security blanket.

Nothing like it happened again for years. The pattern, however, was too recognizable to be mistaken when it did reoccur.

When commended for some catastrophe of which he was no part, Crowley became a completely disconsolate mess, but he still actually handled those occasions better than when he was, in fact, party to such disaster.

If he was blamed, but not actually at fault, Aziraphale may find him on the verge of discorporation due to alcohol poisoning, but at least he would say what was wrong. It was worse when he had an assignment he couldn’t breathe a word of. It was worse when he would smile bitterly and leave silently, haunted beyond expression.

(4.6k) let sleeping snakes lie by kythen / @kythen

The world doesn’t end. Crowley falls asleep. And Aziraphale stays by his side, waiting for him to wake up again.

Mood: acts of love, comfort, warmth, home

To some extent, he understands Crowley’s need for sleep. It had been an exhausting decade for the both of them, what with the end of the world business, and it had culminated spontaneously in them cutting off their ties with both Heaven and Hell rather dramatically, which were the only ties that either of them have ever had since the Beginning. Just as Crowley had sauntered from the ranks of Heaven to Hell, he had finally found his way out of Hell and into something that finally felt like freedom.

(6.4k) All The Dreams We Had by ImpishTubist / @impishtubist

This time will be different, Aziraphale thinks. This time, Crowley will remember.

Mood: amnesia, groundhog day - but centered on a single relationship - and with more angst

It takes a year for Crowley to fall for him again, a year until the air raid and the church and the books; a year before Aziraphale finds himself pressed up against a brick wall and exchanging desperate, burning kisses.

Crowley’s forgotten again by morning.

(70k) The Place You Need To Reach by Zetared / @zetablarian

When Crowley is forcibly recalled to home office, Aziraphale conspires with a denounced saint and strikes a deal with the agents of Hell to get him back.

Mood: sacrifice, loss of self, trauma, love, tenderness and fantasy-novel-esque world & character building

“I have a journey to complete,” Aziraphale reminds the Adversary, primly. “May I begin?”

“In good time, Aziraphael. In good time. Tell me, do you recall the rules correctly?”

Aziraphale grits his teeth at the purposeful use of his forgotten name, but he doesn’t mention it. “Yes, of course. Using no miracles or ethereal influence of any kind, I must walk through the circles of Hell and complete an unknown task in each to earn passage to the next. I must not look behind me, where Crowley will walk. I may speak to Crowley, but he cannot speak back. I will not hear him or see him or feel even a hint of his presence. I will move forward, and, God willing, he will follow me.”

(1.9k) Kissing, Accidentally. by skybound2 / @skybound2

The one where Crowley gives in and kisses Aziraphale while he has him pinned against a wall.

Mood: hilarious footnotes, brilliant Crowley internal monologues and ineffable kissing against a wall.

No. No what actually happens is that when Crowley slams Aziraphale up against a wall in the middle of a hallway at a former-Satanic-hospital-turned-paintball-complex to express to him how very not nice he is, his hindbrain, forebrain and all other portions of his brain, decide that while denial has been a lovely place to reside for the previous six millennia, they are rather due a relocation at this point. And “Oh! Would you look at that! Here’s the oh-so-very soft mouth of an oh-so-very-beautiful angel right in front of us! And all we have to do to get there is to just…lean forward an inch. Less than an inch, in fact! How fantastic!”

(9.3k) Build Our Kingdom by Mackem

Mood: : ineffable dates, promises kept

“Ready for lunch?” Crowley drops to his knees to start unbuckling the straps on the basket as though this is something they do all the time; as though he hasn’t just effortlessly catapulted Aziraphale back in time almost fifty years.

“You remembered,” Aziraphale breathes as wonder courses through him. He mentioned something once during an awkward moment, half a century ago, and now here kneels a demon atop a picnic blanket.

“Hmm?” Crowley barely shoots him a sidelong glance as he concentrates on opening the basket.

Aziraphale’s eyes do not move from him. “You remembered,” he repeats, no less stunned. “Crowley, you really didn’t have to.”

Crowley’s hands still. Eventually, his eyes still on the basket, he murmurs, “Well, we did The Ritz, didn’t we?”

(9k) On The Matter Of Touch by Somedrunkpirate

For two ineffable husbands, they don’t really touch each other much. Here is a story on why that might be.

Mood: touch-starved idiots in love, heart-breaking internal monologues, misunderstandings, miscommunication, protective idiots.

Crowley had decided long ago that curiosity should have been a sin, because it has been the one thing consistently tempting him in his existence. He’s done everything he can think of and more, just so see what it was all about. But this, with Aziraphale, feels more than just an experience he can add to his endless tally

(8.2k) dum memor ipse mei by NeverNooitNiet

There is something, Aziraphale thinks, that is inherently selfish— unangelic, even— about grief. But then of course, the same could be said about love.

Mood: identity angst, calling Aziraphale out on his bullshit

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous ,” Crowley snaps. “Of course I don’t— angel, do you have any idea just how much more straightforward my life would be if only I were able to hate you?”

(5.6k) bent to the very earth by Ark / @et-in-arkadia

Use me, please, Crowley had said, so Aziraphale takes him at his word.

Mood: tenderness & kisses & sex against a wall

Aziraphale kisses him back because that is what makes sense, kissing Crowley, why, the thought crosses his mind often enough—he just never had the sort of momentum that seems to fire up Crowley now. Crowley whose hands are shaking before they ball up as fists on Aziraphale’s lapels, Crowley who keeps kissing him and kissing him like otherwise he’ll drown.

(40k) Lit in the Darkness by ToEdenandBackAgain / @toedenandbackagain

Mood: Aziraphale and Crowley sleeping together through the ages. Mutual pining.

Aziraphale, despite being nowhere hear as gangly as Crowley, is somehow still all arms and legs when he sleeps. Crowley takes an elbow to the face three times before he wedges the angel between the wall and his body with an angry growl, making sure to trap the flailing limbs tight beneath his own.

Works In progress

this gorgeous ineffable wives snippet by @mia-ugly

Mood: beautiful writing, emotional vulnerability, submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known,

“Whatever happens tomorrow -“ And something will happen, they won’t walk away from this. They’d never be allowed. “Darling, you should know -”

the bucket list

by darcylindbergh / @forineffablereasons / @watsonshoneybee

If you’re going to go native, you might as well go all the way.

Mood: saying the absolutely wrong thing at the wrong time, reaching your breaking point, miscommunication and heart break.

“You know, we are the way we are,” Aziraphale said slowly, pressing it a little, brushing his wing up against Crowley’s, “but we can also change, Crowley. We have done, over the years. We’ve changed quite a lot, since we first met.”

#ineffable husbands #good omens fic #ineffable husbands fic #good omens fic recs #ineffable husband fic recs #this is basically a love letter to this wonderful fandom #good omens #good omens fic rec

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thegeminisage · 5 years

Text

we were robbed: the morgana & arthur edition

i have a well-worded and very-thought-out meta about this brewing in me but i don’t have time for all that so have this instead (spoilers obviously):

arthur & morgana didn’t know they were brother and sister but in actuality they would have GROWN UP like brother and sister because (though we don’t have any ages) it’s implied that morgana came to uther quite young

season 1 has them acting all flirty with a touch of antagonism but if they had had their shit together from the start there would have been nothing but (somewhat loving) antagonism from the get-go

a nice thing to have done would have been for someone to suggest arthur/morgana and for them both to look genuinely disgusted (”he’s like my BROTHER”/”she’s like my SISTER”) instead of “i’m pretending to be disgusted but secretly i’d hit it” because it would have been really funny come season 3 when the reveal came thru

here’s the thing about siblings, particularly when there are only just the two of you and you’re very close in age: siblings know you better than anyone. if you grow up with someone they have been witness to all of your weird obsessions and awkward phases and stupid crushes and bad ideas. they are often the only playmate of your age and so you spend 100% of your time together whether you like it or not. you learn to tolerate them and vice versa. you know what will make them happy. you know what will piss them off. there is no one you hate more than your sibling. there is no one you love more than your sibling. no one else on earth can make you so angry or so happy. they are your partner in crime and/or the one framing you for murder. they will help you bury a body and mock you mercilessly for it for the rest of time. siblings are your life companion until one of you becomes an adult. in a perfect world, nobody would have ever, ever, EVER understood arthur and morgana as well as they understood each other - absolutely no one else on earth can comprehend what it’s like to grow up where you grew up with the parents that you had except someone who did it with you

AND THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I WANTED FOR ARTHUR AND MORGANA

imagine a canon where when morgana says in season 1 that SHE ALONE can convince arthur to defy their father and get him to do (whatever dumb thing - kill the afanc, find the morteus flower, etc) it’s not because of her Womanly Wiles it’s because she grew up with this IDIOT and she knows him better than he knows himself

imagine a canon where arthur and morgana’s relationship more closely resembles merlin and arthur’s just for the SHEER AMOUNT of insults traded - and morgana hardly has to mind her tongue the way merlin sometimes does because she and arthur are nearly of equal station

shooting each other rude looks behind uther’s back at dinner, absolutely roasting people at court under their breath, roasting each OTHER under their breath, scheming to get away with mad plots right under uther’s nose, tattling on each other when one of them was holding a grudge, alternatively arch-enemies and thick as thieves, that’s SIBLINGHOOD, babey. like this except if morgana wasn’t lying

you know what i think? if morgana and arthur had been written as proper siblings, arthur would have been one of the first people morgana confessed the truth about her magic to. yes sometimes it’s hard to tell people close to you about that shit, but we didn’t see morgana so much as CONSIDER telling arthur the truth in canon. arthur, as morgana’s adoptive-not-adoptive brother, would be one of the most important people in her life (and vice versa). if magic = gay, there’s no way she wouldn’t asking probing questions such as “so hypothetically if you found out someone you loved had magic what would you do” (more subtle than that because she’s not merlin but you get the idea - that’s what the gays do with our straight siblings. we test for homophobia.)

like if arthur had come for her when he thought the druids kidnapped her because he was actually as distraught and worried as uther was and she, instead of freaking out and fleeing, begged him to cover for her because she wanted to stay - THAT’S WHAT SIBLINGS DO. they ask impossibly hard shit of each other and then they owe one another favors for the rest of their lives. morgana and arthur should have been RIDE OR DIE for each other. that arthur would have fucking covered for her or at least been really torn about it and really fucked up that he didn’t, if he chose not to

i would have loved to see arthur struggle more with the fact that was not only morgana his biological sister but she was magical - and yeah he didn’t find out until morgana had turned ~evil~ but THAT IS WHAT WE WERE ROBBED OF

as a matter of fact arthur only gets about 5 total minutes of screentime in the same frame as morgana AT BEST! after she pulls off the sister & magic reveals but in every bit of it he is fucking HEARTBROKEN. arthur’s more fucked up about morgana than merlin is and it’s merlin’s stupid fault she went darkside to begin with

look at the tears in her eyes. he’s so sad to see her like this. he calls her MY LADY even when she’s trying to murder them all. arthur grew up with morgana. arthur must have loved her SO MUCH. she would without a doubt be someone he considered his immediate family. there’s a million and one fanfics about arthur changing his mind about magic after he discovers someone he loves (merlin) would be killed for having it, but almost none of them deal with how arthur would take the revelation that morgana, his sister in all but name (at least until he finds out she’s actually his biological sister too), has magic, and would have to be put to death according to the law

like. ok. he sent merlin out of town when merlin was facing execution over something as simple as STEALING in 2.06, he helped mordred escape the chopping block in 1.08, he pled gwen’s case in 1.03 when he thought she was a sorceress for real, do we really think he wouldn’t have fought for morgana?

moving on: morgana died nearly right in front of arthur and we get 0 emotional reaction from him - typical. granted he was also dying, but a word exchanged about how the pendragon line ended with the two of them on the same day would not have gone amiss.

think of the PARALLELS - they both died from a sword forged in a dragon’s breath, when their father was the one who drove the dragons to extinction

LIKE: morgana wanting arthur to lift the ban on magic SO BADLY yet being the reason arthur remains convinced he can’t - because he watched his bright sweet compassionate and brave sister become someone cold and ruthless - watched her pain morph her into someone not unlike uther, who also used his pain as an excuse to kill people

arthur wanting morgana to stop her crusade EQUALLY badly but HE’S the reason she remains convinced she can’t do that EITHER because he still won’t lift the fucking ban

(AND LET US NEVER FORGET THAT THEY BOTH HAVE THAT FIREBRAND PENDRAGON RAGE - when arthur gets mad he gets GOOD and mad - both of them tried to kill uther, both of them at one point attempted to or actually did disown him once they were able to fully comprehend the extent of his crimes)

their reconciliation could have been so good. morgana insisting that magic didn’t make her this way, people did - people like arthur and uther. as good as arthur’s moment at the druid shrine in 4.10 was, that same moment and emotion should have gone to morgana in late season 4 or 5 (preferably while she was beating his face in with him making no effort to stop her winter soldier style lmao)

man ok arthur and merlin’s grand tragic not-quite-romance was good and fucked up and i love it to death, but SIBLING RELATIONSHIPS are so fucking powerful. they’re messy and difficult but most of all they’re ENDURING because you just can’t pick your family

and they had such a good character and good relationship RIGHT THERE with morgana and they WASTED all of their potential

thats ALL IM SAYING. ok. thank u and goodnight

#personal #merlin blogging #bbc merlin #liz's meta #liz's merlin stuff #i guess is gonna have to be a tag i use #long post #sorry for the amanda palmer song but like #they say u can catch it but sometimes ur born with it HELLO that's magic babey #liz makes stuff

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what-the-fuck-khr · 4 years

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26 for platonic lambo and i-pin?

OKAY SO PLATONIC AND FAMILIAL GOT BLURRED BUT I HOPE THATS OKAY,, also I didn’t know whether kids or teen (adult,,, feh they’re fifteen) so I chose a middle ground where they’re roughly ten-eleven and I think Lambo learns more about his flames, but struggles to control them properly until he’s closer to fifteen. I-pin, I think after the future arc and onwards, changes her path from only studying to learning how to fight more physically and less with what she learned from Fon, while still studying! also, I decided she’s learnt a bit more Japanese since she knows little to nothing while she’s five, so I tried to get that across with how she speaks I HOPE THIS IS ALRIGHT IM SORRY LOL,,, prompts here!

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

“Haah, I-pin, are you alright?!”

Lambo ran his hands through his hair, his one open eye wide and full of so many emotions.

I-pin had been hurt, so all he wanted to do was protect her. But he didn’t have full control of his flames yet; so while the enemy was out of commission, he’d injured I-pin further by accident.

He felt sick.

“God-! I-pin, I’m sorry!”

I-pin’s head turned just a little so she could watch the poor boy fret over her. She knew better than to try and move much while hurt. She wasn’t nearly as reckless as the others, now much older.

Her body felt so incredibly numb, but when his hands touched her shoulders, it was like the static that ran through him brought her sense of feeling back in that one area, only for it to disappear with him when he let go.

It was a process he repeated as he tried to find any external injuries; they all appeared to be internal at this point, save for the one to her leg she received from the man they’d gotten into a fight with.

“God, I shouldn’t have done anything-! You’re hurt, I hurt you...! I-pin, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Sobs started to rack his body, harsh and jerky, but her grabbed one of her hands and held it tightly.

“I-I keep messing up, I-pin...! I d-didn’t want to hurt you-!” Lambo sniffed, but it didn’t calm him down.

“I-I’ve been a terrible person, I keep h-hurting you, and we’re meant to be f-friends...!”

“Crybaby...”

He dropped his head and tried wiping away his tears with his shoulder. “R-Ryohei-nii will be here soon, he’ll help you! I’m sorry, I’m so awful!”

I-pin blinked slowly, but turned her head further to the side and squeezed hands. “Thought... we are family?” Her voice was soft, and he had to hunch over to hear her properly.

“It is okay... I will be okay, Lambo.”

“B-But I hurt you-!”

Against her better judgement, she used her leg to push herself over and onto her side, but she tried to keep her expression from changing as a searing pain shot up her leg and into the base of her spine from the gash in her calf.

“Ah, don’t move...!”

She reached up, arm trembling, and dropped her hand onto his head. She gently moved it side to side, petting his hair comfortingly.

“I am strong... I promise I will be okay. You did your best. I believe that. I am proud of that.”

“Waah...! I-pin, I’m sorry!”

#lambo #i-pin #ipin #khr #katekyo hitman reborn #writing #my writing #writing prompt #drabble challenge #l #i #ask #itskicks #I HOPE SOMEWHERE BETWEEN PLATONIC AND FAMILIAL IS OKAY #AND THAT THIS AGE AND KIND OF ANGST IS ALRIGHT TOO LOL #eeeeee i love them i love the kids theyre so!!! fantastic!!!#i wish the kids were loved more than they are #theyre just... kids... theyre five...#THEYRE FIVE

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knicole0527 · 3 years

Text

How Did I Fall For Unwritten History?

So I’m in a whole relationship right? Like a whole fat ass relationship. Like me plus her equals nobody else . Its kinda dope and kinda like coccaine . If she was a drug I’d take it . She grounds me . She makes love to my mind , heart , and then my body . Her way of words sometimes makes me feel stupid because she uses words I cant imagine using . My vocabulary aint that big . But ask me about math or science ? I’m definitely ya girl . She was my missing piece . If that makes any sense at all . We definitely have our rollercoasters but I’ll killl anyone over her and I stand on that . Best part its with who I chose and not who my parents chose or approved of. I actually dont care whether they approve of me or not. Mom didnt want kids anyways. As she put it, she likes “ a return to sender kid “ I know she used to joke about it but I later found it to be true. So at this point either you like my happiness or you dont. But anyways, So we met the first time at work, Afni Call Center to be exact. She was a bet. By bet I mean with green money with coworkers. So I bet that I would get smashed by this girl and they would each owe me 50 bucks. I mean who can turn down money. Plus she was kinda cute and I know she was watching my little booty when I would walk away . I was 80 pounds lighter when we first met .

But here lately things have gone to shit . I can admit I fucked up . Well in the beginning . I cheated . She found out . But I was honestly gone tell her everything but she found out I broke her heart all that and then some . Since I put all my business out there . Only reason why I cheated was because I wanted a kid . I wanted her for sure but I wanted a kid . As time passed us by I realized she doesn’t want kids at all . So I had to make a decision , kids or stick around for my one true love in my adult life . So I looked her in the face , I probably had tears In my eyes and told her I chose her . She looked at me with confusion for a little and I dont think she anted me to flat out give up kids. But I was gone doe what I had to do to keep her by my side .

Now before we get to me cheating . I had an apartment on Old Morgantown Road . I loved that damn space man . Hard wood flooring . Storage unit . I had a w/d hook up . I had a good apartment and I could afford it and be able to live my best life . Rent was 475 a month . Utilities and water ran me about 80 . So I was well within my budget . But my dumb ass got involved with this man who I thought I could change . I was trying to hear from nobody about nothing . I wasnt trying to hear that he was cheating because I felt like I gave him no reason to cheat . I was giving him everything and then some . Hell I let his stupid ass cousin stay on my couch . So they were living rent free right , I know stupid Kendra always doing dumb shit . I should have opened my eyes but I didn’t .

Well he and I are definitely no longer together . He got my little cousin pregnant . I dont know whats worse . That she knew he was still living with me . That she knew we was kin . That he knew we was still together , fucking and living together and I never ask for a dollar . Or that my bosses had to call me in the office with another one of my cousins and sit me down to tell and show me that he was cheating and she was pregnant . It even shocked me that she tried to question me about my niggas car . Like girl he and I live together so yes maam I’m gone drive his car . and she was in shock to see me in the drivers seat . huh . Aint that funny how it all played out though ? But you know , karma got took his dick for a minute . He got the worst news of his life . His heart was just as shattered as mine . His trust was screwed if not worse than mine . He found out that while he was too busy cheating on me , she was getting knocked down by his cousin . LMFAO SERIOUSLY . He did all that cheating and got that girl pregnant and ended up getting played himself . So while I was his woman , he had a side bitch who had a side nigga , but THE SIDE NIGGA HAD A SIDE BITCH . I hadnt had sex with him in a while because things started getting to me and I was becoming very suspicious so I was still going to get checked anyways . But yea . What a fckd up love hexagon . Crazy how we all worked together . But when I reached my snapping point . I became a little on the ratchet side and called his mom and told her come get her sons belongings because he was homeless again . My cousin didnt have her own spot so somebody had to come take care of him because by that time I was done pretending .

Shit got bad for me mentally . I had me fckd up . I lost my job and went broke because I drank and popped it away . I know definitely wasn’t the right thing but I just wanted to feel numb to everything . I didnt really care how I got high just as long as I as high I was okay and at peace .

Alot of time went by and my past came back . She made me feel safe . And she saw me ; like the actual me . She knew something was up . Hell I gained 50 pounds since the last time we seen each other . But when she came back . I dont know if I was more so excited to see her or trying to fuck her right there on the floor at work . I walked in the door and the moment I seen her ... I didnt care who I was talking to , I think Wanda , I’m sorry boo but I seen my old boo and just had to do it . I could not help myself I had to hug her before I did anything else . I had a little more weight on me too because during our last encounter , hmm hmm , I was a bit smaller and hadnt grown boobs yet . So when she seen me running 90 mph to her ; baby girl was in for a shock .

Time went by and we started seeing each other a little more outside of work . Then she started to spend the night . But when she started doing that , I think I made things a little complicated for her at her moms . I had no intentions of doing so but it kinda got weird because she wasnt coming home very much any more . But yall , when I had her all to myself . Do you know how many times I undressed this girl with my eyes . I mean she standing there fully clothed and I seen EVERY INCH of her thru them clothes . It was bad yall . lol . She kinda eventually sorda moved in ; even though I thought she had already moved in . Time went by and things were okay ya know . We were just in the “ talking “ phase and just filling each other out . She started to grow on me a little more than I planned . and then I wanna say it was my birthday or after ? Baby girl was so drunk . She , our mutual friend , and I went to go grab food and drinks . Weeellllllll , I trapped her into drinking and drinking and drinking . We got home ? and she drank and and got funnier as the night went on . I remember that day like it was yesterday and the videos I have are absolutely the funniest videos I have ever recorded . “ butt clouds “ and the car honk that about gave her a damn heart attack .

Anywho times have went on . We decided to go to hilltop and live there . Who would have thought we would live together because I was stern on not wanting to live with her . It was weird living there . Always wondering if or when we were going to get a roommate . Then ? Thats the first time I ever broke a heart . See , she was always wanting to like distinguish a title. Meanwhile I am petrified of titles and labels and shit . Plus I have labeled myself for so long I didnt want to put a label on she and I . So I waited and waited and waited and decided to test waters . By testing waters meaning , I caught baby fever BAD . LIKE BAD BAD . I wanted a kid so bad I didnt think about talking to her first , I was just hoping one day I could be like , surprise baby we are having a baby ; butttttt I was gonna tell her how I got pregnant IF if actually happened . But she kinda beat me to it . She seen the messages on her tablet and as you know it went to shit from there . I broke her heart . I wasnt sure if or when she would or could ever forgive me . ( its JAn232021 ) and I know she still hasn’t forgiven me for anything . Not sure if she will ever get past it enough to love me love me .

We made it official , May 2019. By that time the only things that mattered to me were building a life with her. Come August 2020 . We got a place together and as time went on, I knew something was wrong but I would rather ignore it than have to go to the doctor because that just aint my cup of tea. I hate doctors.. they always wanna diagnose people with shit. I just didn’t wanna be one of those people so I held out as long as I could before it got to the point of being unbearable . I lost yet another good job . At first they thought it was covid and it wasnt . I tested negative for covid . Then I had like 5 appointments that following week . I was put on all types of stuff . I was throwing up everything . I was crying non stop . I was doing things not in my normal regimen . Thats when things fell harder on her . Harder as in bills , and stress and everything . I became that burden . I became the thing in the relationship that puts everything on the line . I became the complete failure in the relationship .

I wasn’t able to help like I planned . in fact my checks were so small that every pay day because I had all my bills and people I owed money to on auto pay and I kept making promises, put me in the negatives . I was in the negatives for 3 to 4 months . So imagine being the one in the relationship who didnt feel welcome . Who didnt feel like I deserved the love and things like that . All I wanted to do was help out and I couldn’t . Made me want to pack up and wait until I knew she was gone so I could leave . I didn’t know what to do . But I knew I was pretty much of no use . I knew that she resented me . I knew it pushed things back so far it may never come back to normal .

But now , Im better than I was still struggling though . But I have this amazing job . I have a job where I can do my part and not hurt . I have a job where I can finally help out now . But its not enough . I’m not enough . The love is not enough anymore . I have became disposable . I have become the one who broke and shattered her heart and trust in her adult love life . How do I come back from it ? How do I rescue something that may have already died ? Am I worth it ? Am I better off without ? Do I deserve her ? She deserves the world and I want to give it to her I do .

But idk , maybe my mom was right . just maybe the only things I’m good at are singing and laying on my back . Havent accomplished shit yet . Got banned from a job because I tried to put my hands on someone . Got fired from 3 good fucking jobs because of my health .

Im crashing at this point . My future is on edge . I am on edge . this is not cool dude . But I will play the hand I’m dealt . Maybe I will win and marry the woMAN of my dreams . Or maybe I will just fck it up once again . We Will See .

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paintmearainbow · 4 years

Text

What Is Love ?

Love.

Love means different things to different people. Some people say love is making your partner happy and seeing them happy makes you happy . But love, is actually a figment of our imaginations. In a way, love is selfish and makes us lose our independence. You make the other person happy to keep yourself happy, and you become dependent and vulnerable. It's a somewhat like a shared dream. And until one person decides to wakeup, and that dream, albeit fun while it lasted, becomes a living nightmare

1 YEAR AGO

For Harry and y/n; sneaking out of premiers and award shows,buying tacos and eating them at 3 AM was love. For them, love was dancing in the kitchen to Elvis and baking with each other. Love was watching horror movies in makeshift tents, snacking on caramel popcorns and cans of soda; all while making fun of Harry's "those dumb bitches" in the movie. Love was falling asleep in each others arms and reading each other books. It was dressing up as Disney characters and acting out scenes from their favourite animations. It was etheral, perfect. Almost too perfect too be true

People always said "Love will fizzle out. One of you will get bored." Harry and y/n didn't listen. They burned so fast, so bright and didn't realise that their spark too, like all blazed and sparks from lighted matches, had extinguished. One second it was burning so brightly, and the next, it was gone

..............................................................................................

"When was the last time you spoke to him ?" asked y/n's sister.

" A week ago" a distraught y/n replied. "He barely has time to even talk to me on the phone, let alone show me the sights and explore the places with him via facetime"

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to close her eyes and all the memories flashed through her eyes, like a movie roll, playing over and over agai

FLASHBACK

"Y/N !" exclaimed Harry, the golden flecks in his eyes dancing with joy. Oh how she longed to see him, feel him and be with him in real life , rather than on a screen. Yet she was eternally grateful for Harry for never making her feel left out from the tour experience, he always made sure to show her around, even if it was only on a screen, while giving tour guide commentary in a horribly fake American accent.

"You're in for a treat ! We're going to see the Louvre today. Come on an enjoy the sited with Harry's Tour Experiences"

Y/n couldn't stop laughing.

Being an art fanatic, she giving Harry detailed descriptions of the art, while all he did was turn it inti a joke. His put on accent stood out when he kept saying " Oh shucks ! Here's another painting of a few women and men fighting and eating." He termed an entire style of art; renaissance art as "men and women barely dressed fighting and eating". He made a few sly comments on how y/n would look lovely in that dress. It was so wonderful and each of these virtual trips was marked with his signature end. Going to a park, and eating the same food.

His laughter was contagious and y/n loved it. She wondered how she got so lucky, so blessed to have hazza in her life.

She never thought that this love, would eventually fizzle.

end of flashback

Now she was lucky if he spoke to her for 5 minutes. Even those 5 minutes were filled with her talking and him showing least interest in what she had to say. She doubted whether he even listened.

Today, however was a low blow. It was y/n' bday. had it been any other year. Harry would've made this day perfect. They had been together since they were 18. The first year, he bought her 18 gifts on her birthday. The subsequent year, he got her 19 and so on. He would make her breakfast in bed and wake her up with showers of kisses and a "Good Morning, Happy Birthday Darling."

Today however, at 7 PM , she was yet to have him acknowledge that it was her birthday. She was yet to have any sign of news from him at all. She illusioned herself, thinking that maybe he had interviews to attend.

Her sister, however, tired with y/n's moping, said" You're coming over with your friends to Club 22 this night or else I wont speak to you. I don't want you to spend your birthday moping around"

With great difficulty, y/n was persuaded by her friends to go clubbing. The loud music, the drinks and the dim lights were never y/n's scene. Yet, for the sake of her friends, she fixed up a smile on her face and tried to enjoy, trying her best to forget than Harry's call still hadn't come.

.......

It was 10 PM and the party was in full swing. y/n's friends were drunk, so drunk. Everyone around her was laughing, drinking and joking. Meanwhile, a new disturbing thought had settled in y/n's head. What if he got into and accident ? What if he's really sick ? She was ridden with anxiety and couldn't get Harry off her mind, until that one fateful message from Nezza, her best friend, Harry's PA, through whom they had met, sent her that message. When y/n's phone lit up and she scarmbled to see the text, hoping it was Harry, she did not know it would change her life permanently.

The text was simple. "I'm so so sorry honey; you deserve to know" It was attached with a single file of pictures.

She subconciously knew what had happened. She had seen all the signs, yet chose to ignore them, not wanting to get up from her dream. The reduced duration of phone calls ultimately leading up to a call a month, the regular excuses, coming home late, half hearted kisses, they all added up. For a split second, y/n wanted to think that it was something else; maybe harry was too drunk or had passed out in a bar.

The message to forever to download. It was so slow and painfully excruciating. It was like the calm before the storm. The slow before the fast. The light drizzle before the thunderstorm. When the picture finally loaded; her heart shattered ever so fast. The pain she felt was numbing, yet somewhere in her mind, she was gald that Harry was safe.

There was Harry, his arm around the small waist of the redhead, his fingers entwined in hers. The same fingers which ran through y/n's hair multiple times, were now woven in another's hand. She thought her heart couldnt break more.

Fate was not kind to y/n.

She swiped to see the next picture, and she wasn't sure how, or whether it was even possible, but her heart further broke. Harry was kissing her in the booth, their booth, in Alessandro's the place he had her first date with y/n.

Fate had evil plans for y/n.

Tears streaming down her face, the makeup for the night ruined, y/n looked around for her sister and friends but they were nowhere to be seen. The only thing glowing right now was her glitzy dress, the one she had been forced into. Unable to take it anymore, she ordered an uber and left.

Fate wasn't kind to y/n at all

The minute she left the club, she was blinded with lights, the flashes from the camera, and the shouts from the reporters

" How do you feel about Harry cheating on you on tour ?"

"Did you expect this ? How do you react to Harry kissing a supermodel, younger than you!"

Y/n wanted to scream, but keeping her emotions in she pushed through the sea of people, got into her uber, gave her address and broke down.

She cried and cried. The uber driver tried to ask her what was wrong but she couldn't stop crying. she wanted the pain to go away. she wanted to cry. But most of all, she wanted Harry to tell her that it wasn't true and hold her in his arms and tell her it's alright.

But it wasn't. it wasn't alright. Far from it.

The next morning after an extremly broken sleep, y/n awoke. All the event's from last night wre remembered and her eyes started to water again. She switched on her phone to see the hashtag #y/ndeservesbetter and #harryandy/nareover trending. She also so 100 missed calls, voicemails and texts from Harry but chose to ignore them.

Y/n was raised to be strong. She spent most of childhood see her mom struggle to make meets end. She had seen the worst. She was strong. She went over to the mirror and saw her reflection and realised that she looked a mess. She took 3 deep breaths, washed her face, and masked her emotions, just as she did way back in high school, before she met Harry, before he changed her.

She went down and suddenly the apartment door opened. There stood the man who she loved, the man who had broken her heart, the one who still held her heart, no matter how broken it was.

He pleaded with her to forgive him. He begged, cried, said it was a one time mistake, and he regretted it, that he loved her; but y/n turned a deaf ear to his pleas. Their love had fizzled out, and she was blinded by affection not to realise it earlier. And as the saying goes " Once a cheater, always a cheater." Y/n wasn't taking any more risks. She put on a strong facade, made up her mind and left, leaving a crying Harry on the porch.

She wasn't over him, far from it. She was so broken, yet showed no signs. She had calm expresssion, yet her thoughts were chaotic. But she knew what was best and she knew this was the right thing to do. She had to take the lessons from this experience and move on, just like her mother had taught her. Dreams end, no matter how amazing it is, no matter how much you want to hold on and live it, and this, her perfect dream, had also come to an end.

So, what is love ?

A dream ? A nightmare ? Soemthing too good to be true?

Maybe all it is, is an illusion. A fairytale. Or maybe it is the truth, because truth teaches us lessons and so does love. i guess it's one of those things which just has no answers.

author's note

AND THATS A WRAP. I DO NOT CONDONE CHEATING. it's something which definitely shouldnt be forgive . this the first ever imagine I've posted on my new tumblr. Please send feedback. Hope you enjoyed it. Reblog. What are your thoughts? i would love to hear them. Send requests for more imagines.

i should be studying but eh.

keep dreaming

ashu.

(here's a random B99 gif for no reason)

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