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babyyweebbitch · 3 years

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Please stay with me — Remake

Soo I reread the one I did before and I wanted to remake it because it wasn’t as good (heres the first one) I hope I can make this one better 😭😭 Also, grab tissues. I made this TOO sad

TW // death ; blood ; funeral ; severe depression & relapse

summary: Chris Redfield and his wife were on a mission a seven months after Piers’ death. His wife has been Captain of their team ever since that day.

Seven months ago Piers Nivans died in order to save Chris’ life and for the BSAA. Chris was still fucked up after that day and he thinks about it almost every day. He took a break from the BSAA since his wife made him. It wasn’t a very long one though, he missed being at work, he missed his coworkers and he missed her

Chris resigned as Captain and let his wife replace him. It was a very emotional day not not only for her and Chris but for the entire BSAA because they’ve never had a woman as Captain before. She was a good captain probably even better than Chris. Despite her height, weight and basically being the youngest on that team at 28. She was undoubtedly the best captain in years

Her team along with Chris were on a mission. Their mission was to take out the enemy, find three hostages and disable the bombs set in the building “Okay men… we’re gonna be splitting into three teams since there’s a lot of us here. Team A; Corey, John and Andrew. Your job is to find out where the bombs are and disable them as quickly as possible.”

“Yes ma’am!” The three went off to do their job as told

“Team B; Phil, Jean and Mark, you’re in charge of finding and getting the hostages to safety out of this building. You three can split up, stay together I don’t care. As long as your job is done”

“Ma’am” the three left

She turned to Eric and Chris who were standing together “what a coincidence, you two are with me.” She said with a slight smile on her face, walking ahead of the two Eric leaned over to Chris “She’s so cool…” Chris thought of Finn the moment he said that, he couldn’t help but to smile and look at him “I know…”

“Stop standing around we have a mission you know!” She yelled out to the two of them. Chris and Eric quickly made their way to the door the enemies were behind, Chris was silent the entire time before he was quickly checked back into reality with a pat on the shoulder “you okay? We need you fully here for this” his wife said as he looked down at her and nodded “yeah I’m okay…”

Chris, his wife and Eric all prepared as the door was blown open and guns were firing. The three did take cover just in time. After about five minutes of gun fire and fighting it finally stopped, thinking they had all the enemies taken care of they all stood up “good job! We did it — Chris!” Y/N called out as she did catch a glimpse of an enemy that didn’t die somehow standing up and pointing their gun towards Chris.

She quickly ran towards Chris and pushed him out the way, for Chris it’s almost like everything was happening in slow motion. He had to process everything leading up to that moment. He heard a scream of pain when his head finally cleared, looking up to see his wife shot in the sternum and Eric shooting the enemy down

She started to fall and Chris caught her before she hit the floor, his eyes started filling up with tears as he looked at her “baby please… tell me this is a joke!”

She knew she was dying, her body felt so cold from the inside out she, she coughed before reaching into one of her many pokes on her pants “c…Chris… do me a favour okay? Please…. stay safe” she handed him her wedding ring, she never wore it during missions to avoid it getting broken, rusted or something. So she held it in her pocket where it was safe “I… feel so… cold”

Chris looked at the ring then at her “no don’t say that! You’re gonna be fine! You’re gonna be fine! Please stay with me!” He started crying, Eric stood by as Team B; Phil, Jean and Mark came in. They surprisingly finished the bomb quicker than expected “Captain w—“ Mark was starting to talk but he quickly stopped when he realised what was happening

“Guys… take care of him for me…” she struggled to talk. She looked up at Chris to see him crying, she lifted her Hand up to his cheek to wipe his tears one last time “no no… don’t cry hon… I’ll tell my parents you said hi… I love you..” Chris held onto her hand and his heart practically stopped the moment he felt her hand and body go heavy and her head fall back … she was dead now

“No…. Please come back! Please don’t go! Y/N!!!” He held her body close and just sobbed, Eric and team B were tearing up and trying to wipe their tears

It took a while to get Chris to let go of her body and let them put her on a stretcher and on the truck so they can go back. When they finally did everyone on the team was there. It took three guys to pry him off of her This was the first time they’ve ever seen him cry like this

—————————

It’s been almost a month since she’s died, Chris looked horrible. He hasn’t shaved, left the house, he started drinking again and Claire had to clean him up at night since he wasn’t sober enough to even do it himself. The house looked like shit especially the room Chris and his wife shared

It was the day of the funeral and Chris was sitting on the edge of the bed looking at the picture of him and her on their wedding day back in 2007. He somehow managed to even get up that day and not drink. He showered that morning, got dressed in a suit and did his hair. He still didn’t shave though

Claire came in “Chris? You ready?” She asked. She had on a black dress on “I guess so…” Chris responded. He stood up and placed the picture down on the night stand and grabbed the necklace he had with his wife’s ring on it.

Claire fixed his tie and jacket before they left. Chris was always taking care of her when she was younger so now it was time for her to take care of her older brother “good. Let’s go” Claire let him walk in front of her to the car. She drove because one he couldn’t think straight enough to drive and he was completely hung over from drinking too much

After about a 45 minute drive they arrived to where her funeral was being held at. Everyone they knew was there, Leon, their BSAA team, Her family. It was hard for him to see her brother and sister at their older sisters funeral

The ceremony, the viewing and speeches all happened and Chris barely even got through his speech without crying

(Im so so so sorry for this next part)

Chris’ speech: “Y/N was an amazing person, she always took care of everyone, me, her siblings, our team, Claire… everyone. She put everyone before herself no matter who they were. She joined the BSAA not because of herself because of her parents death in Raccoon City. She promised them she would do something in any way to stop what happened in Raccoon from ever happening again. She treated our team like her family and even the rookies as her kids even if they were a few years younger then her. She was an even amazing person and wife. And I miss her dearly.”

There wasn’t a single dry eye in that room when Chris said his speech. After everything, everyone went inside to eat and talk.

Chris sat with Claire and Y/N’s siblings. He just picked at his food and stared at the plate. He was terrifyingly silent before Leon came over “hey Chris… how are you holding up?” Leon asked as he stared at Chris. He could tell how hard this has affected Chris. “I’m fine…”

“Chris… You need to eat. All you’ve done in the past month was drink, workout and cry… You need to at least eat something” Claire said “she wouldn’t want this… Her or Piers wouldn’t want you to be like this. Y/N would be yelling at you if she saw you picking at your food like this. We both know she would”

Chris’ eyes started to water once again before he spoke “I…. I know.. but I just miss her so much, Claire… we were gonna start a family together… she wanted to have kids and get a bigger house so we can have a big family… now I can’t have one because she’s the only person I wanted a family with…” Chris sighed softly as he wiped his eyes

“I miss her too… we all do…” Leon commented looking down at his plate. Chris eventually ended up eating his food and everyone left to go home. The entire drive home was deafening to the point you can hear a pin drop

When he got home he changed inside a fresh pair of clothes and he started to clean the house, starting with the bedroom and ending in the Kitchen. He cleaned it exactly how she’d like it and when he was finished around 3:32 am he sat on the couch and sighed

They were right… She would yell at him if she saw the way he was, how the house was when she died

—————————

After a few years pass it’s before the entire Village situation. Every week since the funeral Chris visited her grave and just talked to her for a bit. On her birthday he spent almost half the day there, on new year’s he watched the fireworks by your gave.

He still hasn’t moved on since her death he can’t even get into another relationship with a woman since her death but it’s not like he can find anyone else like her… and honestly he didn’t want to.

IM SO FUCKING SORRY FOR MAKING THIS EVEN SADDER tbh tho I started tearing up writing this

#resident evil biohazard #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil 6 #Chris Redfield #chris redfield x reader #Chris Redfield angst #angst #reaident evil #resident evil angst #resident evil x reader #fem reader #if I’m being honest I cried 🧍🏾‍♀️

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creativeashproductions · 4 years

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When the Pain Ends // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Breaking up with your boyfriend ends with your broken hand, a broken heart and a trip to Canada. Getting out of Oklahoma for comfort of your younger brother Owen brings you into contact with a sweet Canadian.

Warnings: Swearing, hospital, cheating boyfriend, angst and bit of fluff

Words: 3.1k

Requested: No.

A/N: Tidbit of info is that I am a university student. I had last week off and I’m six minutes into my History Zoom Lecture. Here’s a little fic.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The scowl glued on your face as you waited in the ER for the results from the x-ray you had gotten back from minutes ago. A bag of ice on the swollen knuckles of your right hand still splattered in drops of blood. The same blood as the small drops on your shirt as well. If that didn’t put a scowl on your face, it was the next issue.

The reason for your visit to the ER was in bed next over complaining as a nurse checked his face. His eyes meeting yours in a blend of guilt, regret and fear almost. You couldn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to meet his eyes.

Let’s backtrack a little for a short history.

The summer after graduation, you had met a guy on the beach playing volleyball in need of another player. You joined, and then you fell for the guy just as he did for you. For the last three years, you were now twenty-one years old. Parker had been a really good guy. Until yesterday.

“Babe!” Parker sounded congested with the bandages held up his nose. He had been fighting the nurse to come to your side.

“Don’t call me that!” You hissed glaring at the tall boy with the auburn hair colour that had once been your favourite colour.

“C’mon it was a mistake-Ow!” Parker whined at the nurse applied more pressure as she cast a sympathetic glance at you. A small smile of thanks passed to the nurse who had maybe pressed a little no hard on Parker’s nose.

Your eyes rolled at the drama that was Parker when it came to injuries that had been his entire fault, to be frank. Your fist meeting his face? His fault for cheating. What did he expect? A congratulations? Screw that.

“Say anything else I swear I’ll hit the other ball.” You glared at the boy sending him to a fit, shaking fear of stupidity.

The beach was filled up with teens and adults with children on the nice weekend day out of the loud city. Originally you hadn’t been able to join Parker with your mutual friends, but something else had spurred you there. Instead of having the weekly movie night via FaceTime with your younger brother, you had other plans. A particular video sent by Parker’s best friend and his cousin too had brought you here. Livvy had grown close in the three-year relationship you had with her cousin.

Your fury filled gaze flickered around the beach and the grass in the large opening area of the waterfront. Finally, your eyes found Parker sitting with Livvy on the blanket on the grass with Steve. Livvy was the first to see with marching through the people spreading like a curtain from the angry girl.

“Hey, Parker!” You shouted at your boyfriend in a conversation with your other two friends. Parker’s smile grew just before it falters at your expression.

“Hey, Babe,” Parker spoke, climbing to his full five-foot-ten stature. Livvy’s smile pulled up in an amused smirk while Steve looked more confused.

“How was your weekend at your sick Granny’s house?” You came to a stop a foot away from him. Arms crossed just under your chest his thick eyebrows furrowed together.

“Uh…it was okay. She’s feeling better.” Parker nodded to himself tilting his head to the side, “It was-“

“I hope she better. Her treatment must have been incredible.” You replied, unfurling your arms to grab the phone from your back pocket.

Parker grew more confused, “What?”

“The doctor sure knew what he was doing. The prescription of ‘dicked down’ cured her illness and old age.” The whistle you made after your statement sounded, but you grew more satisfied with the circle of people behind you.

“Oh.” Steve choked, raising one fist to press against his mouth. By now Livvy had started recording on her phone.

Livvy and Parker may be cousins, but she loathed cheaters when it was the cause of her parents’ divorce. Parker’s lips parted as he paled. The click of the glass screen brought up a video of Parker and a brunette in a hot tub.

“Ba-“

“Fucking look at your actions.” You hissed stepping even closer, “Was it worth it? Jeopardizing a relationship with someone you share years of memories with? Years of love and trust? All for thirty seconds of fun? We both know you tend to…get too excited.”

“Oh shit,” Steve spoke, shifting his gaze between you and Parker like he was a bobblehead of Einstein. The very bobblehead that you had laughed giving Steve with his obsession over the legendary scientist.

“It just happened. I still love you. I just needed a- “Parker stumbled back bringing his hands to his face, “OW! You broke my nose!”

“Ouch.” You hissed shaking your aching hand coated in some blood that splattered your shirt from shaking the hand.

“What the hell! You bit…holy fuck!” Parker screamed as your foot came up between his spread legs, nailing his left nut. He collapsed onto the grass, struggling to hold his bleeding broke nose and his nuts.

“That’s what you get asshole.” You shouted, turning to Livvy, “Can you take me to the hospital?”

“Parker drove, I’ll drive you both there. Steve can keep you two from fighting.” Livvy spoke, ending the video to shove everything in the oversized beach bag.

Now it was hours later as per usual in most hospitals elongating the time you were forced to spend with your now ex-boyfriend. Livvy and Steve had gone home a while back. Parker continued trying to fix the unrepairable damage he had done.

“Y-“

“That’s it!” You exclaimed jumping down from the bed to storm over to Parker. You made a few steps before arms encircled your waist.

“Okay, Slugger.” The gritty voice of your father spoke tugging you as far away from your ex-boyfriend as possible, “As much I want to kill him, I think you broke his pretty-boy face enough.”

The anger drained from your body as you slumped against your dad anguish set in with a tsunami of hurt. Time melted as you broke in your father’s arm; missing the doctor giving information. Your hand was fitted with a cast, and next thing you were aware of it was in the car.

“You bruised hits nuts. Broke his nose.” Dad nonchalantly spoke, turning the steering wheel as he exited the hospital parking lot. He didn’t bother making small talk as he let you be quiet on the drive home.

You didn’t know what hurt more, the heartache or your broken hand stabilized in the brace. The clearing of a throat had your attention is drawn to the house you had grown up no doubt holding your upset mother.

“She’s not that mad.” Dad quietly spoke, handing your phone that had died during the time in the ER. You shot him a look at the inaccuracy of his statement because you both know she was angry.

“Her daughter just spent hours in a hospital with a dead phone. We both know she probably thought I was dead in a ditch.” You deadpanned as you both walked up to the door of the home in Norman, Oklahoma.

The door opened before you could reach for it, and a flurry of blonde hair attacked you in a hug. Your mother hugged then leaned away to scan your features. Catching the dried tear stains paired with the red-rimmed eyes.

“Sweetheart.” Dinah spoke, raising her hands to wipe the tears from your face only causing more to fall, “What’s wrong?”

“Parker cheated on me.” You mumbled melting into her arms in another round of tears, breaking your parents’ hearts.

Meanwhile in Vancouver, Canada

Owen loved his job and the people he had met, but he missed the weekly movie nights with his older sister. The Joyner siblings had gotten down pat a system of sync to have the same movie playing at the same time on FaceTime. Imagine his surprise when he got a text apologizing.

Virtual movie night postponed. It put him in a slump that greatly concerned his roommate at the decrease of excitement. Even the next day, he was sad like a kicked puppy.

“Bro? You good?” Charlie asked from his place in the kitchen, scanning his emails on his computer. Owen barely made his eyes, “Wasn’t movie night with your sister yesterday?”

Owen nodded, “Yeah she-“

As Owen had gone to explain his phone had dinged with a concerning message from his mother.

Mom: Have you heard from Y/N? She hasn’t come home.

Owen swiped out of the conversation to the most used one with you shared with him to send a mass of messages. All not even coming up as read by you. It was his stipulation that you had it one for his safe of mind.

“C’mon you little shit,” Owen grumbled, pressing your contact to call. It didn’t even ring, “Dead cell.”

Charlie’s full attention shifted to the younger guy sitting on their couch in the apartment they used during filming. As Owen started pacing, Charlie was over quick as a bunny to offer comfort to him. The boys had grown so close, with Jeremy too, that they knew how to help the other.

“Owen, you need to tell me what’s going on.” Charlie soothed the blonde with his eyes pleading with the teenager.

“My parents haven’t talked to my sister. She didn’t go home.” Owen admitted scratching at his chest when his chest tightened. The other immediately finding his pulse on his neck to ensure he still had a pulse.

“Oh shit.” Charlie retorted, tapping his foot on the hardwood floor trying to find the right words to help his friend.

For the next hour, the boys kept in contact with Owen’s family and checking your social media in shifts as they filmed. It was a slow day when Owen’s phone finally rang with his mother’s contact once more.

“Mom, did you find her?” Owen asked, picking at the skin on his lips pacing as he had all day. The level of anxiety had been perfect for the scene he had filmed as Alex.

“Yeah. Look, Owen, she needs to get out of Oklahoma. Do you have room for her?” Dinah asked her son periodically glancing in the living room at the lifeless young woman.

“Yeah. We have an extra room.” Owen supplied squeezing the phone in his grip, “How is she? What happened?”

“I’m letting her settle before I ask any questions, but her flight is in a bit. It was either you take her in, or we pay for a hotel room. Oh! I got this lego-“

“I have to get back to filming. I’ll call you tonight.” Owen told his mother as his thumb hit the record circle on his phone. Kenny waving him over to film a scene with Booboo that would be the last before heading home.

The over the counter pain pill went down with a swig of water in the airport waiting for Owen and his roommate. Owen had messaged you that he would pick you up on the way from the set in perfect timing.

“Y/N!” Owen cheered catching sight of your form hunched forward on the bench you had miraculously found empty. Your blank eyes seeing the blue of your younger brother.

Owen’s eyes widened in shock, “What the hell happened to your hand?”

Noncommittal, the girl walked by her brother with her luggage in the mission to get to the car. All you wanted was to burst into years under your blankets until the world turned again, when birds sang, and the word wasn’t painted in dull colours.

Just as it had during the ride from the hospital to the house, it was dead silent in the car with the barest sound of music. Owen and Charlie had been having a conversation with expressions with the tension in the backseat stifling.

“This is our place.” Charlie spoke, opening the apartment door with a flourish for the girl and her luggage. Your eyes scanned the modest apartment with minimal mess compared to the tornado devastation of Owen’s Oklahoma room.

“Okay.” You replied, watching as Owen rolled the luggage to the room you would use for the few weeks you would be here.

Once showered, dressed and settled, you retreated to the couch to watch a film with the two boys. Your mind fluttered between Beca’s blow out with her father and Jesse to the city of Norman. As if thinking of Parker manifested something your phone buzzed with notifications.

@/livvyjo: Go, girl! [video]

@/malia134: Parker goes down like the bitch he is!!!

@/notsteverogers: I got a front-row seat to the fight.

Those three comments on Livvy’s video had more support than hate plus the video itself was hilarious. It caught the entire confrontation from greeting the cheater to being pulled away to spend the ten minutes in the same car. The car you had hooked up in the backseat of in the years you dated him.

“-The prescription of ‘dicked down’ cured her illness and old age.” The pure anger on your expression amused you.

“What are you watching?” Owen inquired from the couch he watched the movie from. It made up for the lack of a film last night.

“A girl punching her bag of shit ex-boyfriend. She almost ripped his face off in the hospital.” You softly replied with your thumb double-tapping Livvy’s post.

Charlie’s attention shifted from the pool mashup with the Barden Bellas to the pride evident in your tone. It was the first time he had heard you laugh during the few hours he had been in your presence.

“What movie?”

“Oh, you know Parker’s Dicked Down Adventures. Filmed free with an iPhone.” You spoke sliding down to sit flush to Charlie to show the video you refreshed.

Owen’s mouth opened, “He cheated on you? How stupid is he??”

“You have a mean right hook.” Charlie supplied replaying the video for the third time with a weird feeling in his gut. The confidence stirred a body warming heat in the Canadian actor unlike anything else he had felt before.

“Dad taught me.” You replied, slouching down in the plush couch with a tiny smiling, “The nurse heard what happened. She put excessive pressure for his actions. I overheard his diagnosis; nasty bruised testicle and a broken nose.”

Both boys winced at the description. Owen ditching Charlie’s side to sit beside you, leaving you in the middle of the boys.

“I almost attacked him before Dad dragged me out of the room.” You recounted snuggling into your younger brother’s side.

“Where are my keys?” Owen questioned his roommate, “We need them to drive to the airport. I need to kill the ass that hurt my sister.”

Your deft fingers grasped Owen’s wrist when he went to get up because, in all honesty, he probably would book a flight. He wouldn’t go through with the plan to physically hurt Parker, but Owen had a wicked tongue for insults.

You spent one month in Vancouver with your brother and his castmates from helping Maddie with her homework. Movie nights with Owen changed to include Charlie too. Shopping trips with Sav and Tori. Baking with Jadah. You became family with them.

All good things come to an end. You had settled back in Norman with brighter plans that didn’t involve relying on men. Movie nights still happened with the boys, but things got hectic. Virtual movie nights shifted to texting Charlie and calls.

“Hey dork.” Charlie spoke walking down the street in Vancouver to the restaurant he was meeting the cast at. His lips pulled back in a massive grin, hearing your voice.

“Hey Char!” You enthusiastically spoke, walking out of the building with more pep in your step at the voice of the man, “What’s up?”

“On my way for food with everyone. How are you feeling?” Charlie asked, rubbing his fingertips on the dark denim pants. The sound of your voice brightening up his day more than he thought possible.

“Ooh. I should let you go, huh?” You questioned shifting to hold the phone between your shoulder and chin. Fingers unlocked the new car you had bought with the money you had saved.

A nice change of money from selling the jewellery, clothes and other miscellaneous gifts Parker had given you. The necklace he gave you that once belonged to his grandmother had been given back to him. Other than that you had no interaction with the ass.

“I’d rather talk to you.” Charlie admitted biting his lip in concentration, “I have a question.”

“Okay. What’s your question?” You questioned as your phone connected to your car—Charlie’s voice coming through the car speakers.

“Filming is almost over. Do you have plans for New Years? I’d like you to see you again.”

His words set a flutter of butterflies moving in your stomach at his nervous confidence striking the new information. The change in your friendship had been felt on his side as well and while you usually would think one-month post cheating wasn’t long enough. Something about Charlie felt comfortable as if everything had been preparing to fall for him.

“I could fly-“

“I’d like to see where you grew up. Your favourite places and where you went to school. I want to know the little things that made you who you are.” Charlie spoke coming to a stop outside the restaurant, waiting for your answer.

Owen’s eyes pulled from his debate with Sacha and Jeremy to the nervous Canadian biting his lip outside the window. By the expression on his face, Owen couldn’t guess who he was talking about. It was the smile that had been appearing on Charlie’s face for the last two weeks you had been staying with them.

Charlie had fallen for Owen’s big sister, and he couldn’t think of anyone better. The bond between you and Charlie had been natural and magical to watch. It was kinda gross seeing his best friend and sister having heart eyes with each other. Yet, Owen had never liked Parker, but he loved the idea of having Charlie as a brother.

“Y-yeah. Of course, you can Char.” The flattering blush heated up your skin at the turn in the convo—a grin splitting on the two individuals with more than three thousand kilometres between them.

“Cool. I should join the cast. I’ll text you later.”

“Bye, Charlie.” You whispered to the boy looking out the window noticing something she had been oblivious to.

The world had regained the colour, the birds sang again, and the world turned once more. All because a boy helped her heal.

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#charlie gillespie imagines #charlie gillespie fanfiction #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie imagine #luke patterson imagines #jatp fanfic #charlie gillespie #caitsy and ash productions

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jadelynlace · 3 years

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When You’re Unmatched Art / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!Reader]

[you can find the reference for the tattoo Ivar did here. He thought he was being slick, but he most certainly was not. Ivar, your feelings are showing!]

catch up on the porno, I mean series, here.

requested by: @quantumlocked310 ♡

author’s note: thanks to this post, you’ll all be subjected to the written requests. brief mentions of smut under the cut, and love sick Ivar.

synopsis: Ivar finally figures out how to design your first tattoo.

✎

For this to be Ivar’s passion—his mortal life’s calling—he could not, for all of the seconds in the year, figure out how to design your tattoo. There had never, in his professional life, been a client that had given him complete and utter reign. No simple idea, no nudge in a specific direction, hint of any realm no where on the forefront. You told him to design you a tattoo to take up space on your thigh. And that was it. Even after he declined, saying there must be some idea you had, you shook your head and give him control. Total, and utter control. And it was almost too good to be true.

Ivar knew he was screwed, when an entire sketchbook’s worth of pages went torn, crumpled and tossed into the garbage can with failed ideas. Even Sigurd offered no help—not that he was the artistic hand Ivar needed, he was the needle pusher and piercer. Music selector and unruly greeter. Floki only offered his normal words of wisdom, a way of not answering the question but instead making Ivar look deep within himself. “Don’t think about it much, Ivar. Just let your heart and your mind run freely together.” Great. No help. Both of them were caged in a muddled pile of muck and mud and dead leaves and Ivar couldn’t pull them out.

Through every outing the band of brothers went on, you in tow more often than not, Ivar would be at the receiving end of your questions—how he was coming along with it. You had no deadline, you understood his craft took time, but you were far too excited to see. Then came the first hook up—Ivar driving you home because you were too many martinis in, you inviting him up but he declined because it “wasn’t a good idea, princess” and you told him you “weren’t his fucking princess” and he drove around the block twice before finally knocking on your door. Weight against the frame with his temple kissing it, apologizing playfully for his nickname and you invited him in. A game of truth or dare later, Ivar asked you how drunk you were when it was his turn. And you told him you were sober enough to make decisions, clear ones, and then he dared you to kiss him. You felt like a high schooler again. When it was your turn to ask him and he had picked truth, your one question was the end of the game:

“If I asked you to fuck me right now, would you?”

“In a god damn heart beat.”

He was more than screwed when you wouldn’t leave his mind, after you rocked his world and he used your name on his tongue to get himself off the next time his left hand was needed. And then he texted you, asking how your day was, that was it. And after a conversation, playful but real, he was over at your apartment with take out and beer and you two watched true crime and Ivar told you he had seen this one and tried to have you guess before the show told you. When you were right he said you were smart, when he silently figured out an equation in his head, how many liters to grams to degrees, or whatever the hell it was, you almost dropped your beer. He wrote it out for you to show you, a near different language across the page through algebra, and you told him he was smart. The tattoo idea clicked then. The minute Ivar realized he caught feelings, the tattoo idea became so visible he drew it in almost an hour.

There was never a nervousness with him when it came to the day of appointments, even with the most picky of his clientele, Ivar took it as it was gifted because he loved his craft too much to have these types of petty things take up hatred in his heart. But you walked through the shop, shortest of shorts on, a pair of flowing pants in your bag for the event that session went longer and nipped off into the chilling night time air, and both a coffee for yourself and a Red Bull for Ivar. He nearly wanted to throw the ink onto the floor because he was scared that once you saw the design, you’d laugh, you’d call him something pathetic and walk out, and it would be the last he’d see of you. Instead he handed you the artwork, and your eyes scanned the image for almost five minutes, mouth agape and holding it as if it were a map to the unknown, hiding gold and jewels and you asked him if you could keep the sketch. Even with it forever on your skin you nearly begged him for the original artwork, saying something about how you wanted to frame it. You’d never seen Ivar blush before, but you were sure he did when you said that.

The session wasn’t short—it was almost his full day’s work of hourly long needle dabs, buzzing and brotherly bickering between him and Sigurd. Intensive talks between you and him, explain to him the less than glamorous parts of your job, the funnier parts and the teenage humor of the men you worked with. Hvitserk’s track record for receiving the majority of patient vomit on every call and you watched Ivar laugh, smile more than you had known him too and you wondered if it was because of the machine in his gloved hand or if it was you.

Sigurd ducked out right before lunch, picking up with the three of you had ordered and your skin received the welcome break from the on-going buzz. You were quick to kiss Ivar once, lingering lips on his to thank him and he looked shocked for a moment, worrisome that his brother would see before he tossed the fear aside, shoving his tongue down your throat. When it was all said and done, dawned with the artwork on your flesh you couldn’t stop the smile. Neither could Ivar. He’d promised the sketch after he photocopied it for his portfolio and you went home with the sore leg but a full heart. He showed up late, just shy of midnight after cleaning up the day’s worth of work, buying a frame and bringing dinner for the two of you to eat. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of it, even in its red and swollen, tender state, you loved this tattoo, and Ivar took his time treating it for you. Even after his head spent time between your thighs, one hand plastered on the bare skin and the other holding yours. Even after you rode him, artwork in his line of sight and it made him finish quickly; watching the piece on your skin, your palms on his chest as he moved your hips for you. Your head tossed back as you moaned his name when you came, the heavenly sight and you were forever marked with his skill. The after care from the sex went beyond the closeness, holding you as the television played in the background; he spread the lotion over it, his entire hand nearly able to cup your thigh as he made sure to leave no line un-slathered.

“You know I’m going to want another one before this one even heals,” You said to him, craning your neck up to look at him.

“Yeah?” Ivar asked, his hand in your hair. “Where do you think you want your next one to go?”

“On my arm, so I can see it all the time,” You replied, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Who knows, maybe I’ll just cover myself like you do,” You giggled.

“You’re perfect already,” Ivar said through a yawn, his eyes closing, head drooping against yours. “You tell me where you want ‘em, and I’ll do it—but you’re perfect already,”

Ink Drinker Tags:

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full masterlist can be found here.

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theeasternempress · 3 years

Text

A Message for a Graveless Brother

Summary - On the anniversary of Fives’ death, Echo tells his lost brother of his new family.

Word count - 1.4k

AO3

As happy as Echo was to be traveling across the galaxy with the Bad Batch, he couldn’t deny that his late-night thoughts often made him crave his old life. Rex and the entire 501st had held Echo’s heart for so long and even though Echo was happy where he was, Echo was having difficulty forgetting his roots.

His brothers in the 501st had been everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d ever needed. There were times when they drove him crazy, but now he could only fondly reflect on those times as the happiest time of his life. If he could go back in time, he’d kick himself for spending so much time reading reg manuals instead of spending those precious moments with his brothers.

Each time he thought of his brothers, he thought of the pain they must have gone through when they believed Echo to be dead. Did they mourn him and if so, for how long? Did they do anything to remember him? Who was the one who cleaned out his bunk and locker? Did they clutch his few belongings tight, fighting back tears?

These thoughts plagued Echo for much longer than he cared to admit, yet the one thought he always cursed was the thought of the heart-wrenching pain Fives had gone through at his loss. He and Fives had been the final members of Domino Squad for so long that he’d been unable to imagine a life without his brother, without his best friend, and he was sure Fives thought the same.

But now, it was Echo who was the final member of Domino Squad. All the pain and sorrow that Fives had been going through, Echo was now going through as well. In a way, it helped Echo feel better connected to the brother he never got to say goodbye to.

The rapid buzzing of the comms system broke Echo from his reverie and returned him to his position in the cockpit. When Echo checked the comm line, the communication number matched the one that Rex had given him on Bracca. Everyone else on the ship was asleep, so it would give Echo a private moment to talk to his old Captain. Echo accepted the comm request and impatiently waited for Rex’s figure to appear, despite it only taking seconds.

Rex was hunched over, draped in the poncho that he’d been wearing in Cid’s parlor, with a weary look on his face. Echo knew that Rex was in serious need of some rest, but he also knew that Rex never rested until all of his work was complete.

Echo fought the urge to salute Rex, instead saying, “It’s good to see you, Rex. Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s alright I just … just wanted to talk to you about something,” Rex replied, the tired roughness to his voice making him sound decades older.

Echo stayed silent as Rex continued, “It’s been a year since Fives’ death and … I don’t know, I felt like I had to contact you to talk about him. Do you remember the plaque I gave you, the one that I painted his helmet insignia on?”

Of course Echo did. The plaque was nothing more than a roof tile ripped off of a Kaminoan building that had been meticulously painted with Fives’ helmet insignia. Rex had given the plaque to Echo before he left with the Bad Batch as a way of having both Fives and Rex with him. The plaque was small enough that it could easily be tucked into a pocket, so Echo always had it on him.

Echo pulled the plaque out of his pocket and put it within view of Rex. Even through the slightly distorted hologram, Echo could see Rex’s expression soften and his shoulders drop at the sight of the plaque in Echo’s hands.

“I always have it with me, Rex. I think of it almost as a good luck charm … as a way of having both you and Fives with me,” Echo spoke softly.

“I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand the circumstances of Fives’ death,” Rex began with a shaky breath, “But I’m damn sure that every day that goes by, I thank Fives more and more for his warning about the inhibitor chips.”

“He was the best brother anyone could ask for. He’d be happy to know he died to save his brothers,” Echo said wistfully.

Echo and Rex spent the next hour talking of Fives with Echo relaying his favorite memories of his favorite brother while Rex filled Echo in on all of the time Echo had lost with Fives. Eventually, a familiar female voice called out for Rex, leaving the two brothers to say a hasty goodbye before ending the transmission.

With Rex gone, Echo was left alone with the shiny plaque held tight in his hands. The paint job on it was immaculate, and Echo almost couldn’t believe how perfectly Rex had been able to recreate Fives’ helmet. Echo softly traced the blue design before pressing it to his forehead and sighing. He’d never be able to rest his helmet against Fives’ in the way they did after every successful mission, so this would have to do.

The memory of his lost brother reminded Echo of his new brothers and little sister. He’d had his entire life ripped away from him by the Techno Union, but his new family was helping him rebuild his life brick-by-brick. It was taking time, but they gave him more patience than he thought he deserved.

It made Echo wonder, what would Fives think of his new family? Would he be upset with him for not staying with Rex and the 501st, or would he be happy that he’d found a new family on his own?

Staring at the plaque in his hands, Echo knew that Fives would only want whatever would make Echo the most happy. He’d been like that their entire lives, one time going so far as to steal a bag of candy for him after Echo off-handedly mentioned craving some. Echo berated him for the act, but smiled every time he unwrapped a piece of candy. The sweet memory still made Echo smile.

With his gaze locked on the familiar blue paint, Echo began to whisper, “I miss you so much, Fives. I have a new family now and even if they’ll never be the same as Domino Squad, they’ve given me a home.”

Echo paused to collect himself while carefully choosing his next words, “I think you’d like them. I mean, Crosshair is kind of a jerk and I know you two would butt heads, but I’d still trust him with my life. Wrecker, on the other hand, you would absolutely adore. He’s almost as crazy as you, but he’s got a heart of gold. He’s a gentle giant if I’ve ever met one.”

“Hunter is our leader, our sergeant, and is definitely the tamest out of the four of them. Not like that’s hard,” Echo laughed to himself, “He’s a good brother who puts a lot of the team’s worries on his shoulders, too many of them if I’m being honest. Tech … he’s the hardest to describe. He and I work together the most and I enjoy his company. We definitely bicker a lot, but at the end of the day he’s still a good brother. We’d be in a lot of trouble without him.”

“I think your favorite would be Omega, though. She’s our little sister, and I know you would have loved to meet her. She’d laugh at every single joke you’d make, even if it was one of your stupid ones that only you thought were funny. You … you would be a good older brother to her.”

The thought of Fives being unable to meet the brothers and sister he so dearly loved brought tears to Echo’s eyes. He knew they’d all jokingly complain about the addition of another reg to their team, but Echo had a strong feeling that Fives would easily find a place among them. Echo wiped away his tears, replacing them with the smile that he knew Fives would want from him.

With the blue of hyperspace swirling around him, Echo allowed himself to tilt his head back and try to fall asleep. He replaced the grief at the life he had lost with Fives with replays of his favorite memories of Fives, Rex, Domino Squad, and the 501st. With those nostalgic memories in his mind, Echo fell asleep with a soft smile on his face.

Unbeknownst to a sleeping Echo, a familiar hand now rested on his shoulder as the ghost of Fives stared fondly at his slumbering brother.

#tbb #the bad batch #tbb echo #echo #captain rex #fives #hurt/comfort #no plot just feelings #tcw #the clone wars #my writing

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myheartrevealedocs · 4 years

Text

Untouchable- Ch 3: The Fox (S1E7)

Summary: A Spencer Reid x OC fanfic that retells select episodes, starting in season 1, from the point of view of Lydia Ambers, a forensic scientist.

Warnings: lots of murder, including the murder of young children, swearing

Ch 2 | Ch 4

~ ~ ~

“First case. Are you ready?”

Lydia glanced at Gideon, an eyebrow raising in the process. “Shouldn’t I be? I’ve done two months of preparedness training. And I’m not exactly out in the field.”

He chuckled. “You’re a crime scene investigator. Is that not ‘out in the field’ enough?”

“I just mean: I’m not facing down the bad guys, I don’t carry a gun, I sit and look for fingerprints. Not much to get the adrenaline pumping.”

When she said that, his face turned to a serious one. “I don’t know about that. This case is bad.”

She followed him into a conference room and he nodded for her to sit at a circular table, while he opened a case file and started to pin pictures on the wall. And he wasn’t lying. They were gruesome.

Lydia was accustomed to, if not entirely comfortable with, looking at some horrifying scenes, but it was rare that children were involved in something so violent.

A family, all killed in a dark room. The scene was a bloody one, almost all of them looking to have been stabbed except the father, who was shot through the head.

Elle was the first to join them and greet Lydia, before swiftly disappearing to grab the others on the team and start the case debriefing. Lydia did her best to assess their willingness on her joining the team as each one entered and shook her hand. Morgan seemed genuinely happy to have her and JJ was automatically polite. Reid, however, was harder to… read. He gave her a curt nod and a, ‘Nice to see you again,’ before sitting down.

Gideon and JJ went back and forth describing the case: the Crawford family had been found in their basement. It was set up to look like the father had stabbed his entire family before shooting himself. Which would mean the unsub was dead. However, they had a similar case from a month ago.

Scratch similar. The exact same case from a month ago. Every detail. Including the assumption that their killer was dead in the house.

And a bonus was the fact that both families were supposed to go on vacation five days before their bodies were discovered, but they’d only been dead for 24 hours.

It was the perfect set up, Lydia realized. She didn’t know what someone would want a whole family for, but this unsub knew how to trap them all at a time when no one would go knocking on their door.

She tried to keep up with them as they spoke, but she was overwhelmed fairly fast. As Morgan and Gideon went over organized and disorganized contributors, JJ introduced a suspect into the pool. A man named Eric Miller, who’s ex-wife and children were part of the first family that was killed and who was just picked up by police after a month of being off the grid… with his kids’s blood on his jacket.

The physical evidence was fairly damning. And he disappeared for a whole month. That didn’t exactly play into his favor. Lucky for her, deciding whether or not he killed them wasn’t her job. She just had to find more evidence.

“Was any of his DNA found at the Crawford house?” Morgan asked.

“No.” Gideon was immersed in the photos he had. He didn’t look up even as he was talking. Lydia was curious what he planned to find in the pictures, but didn’t wish to disturb his thoughts.

“Did he know the Crawfords?” Reid continued.

“If he does, he’s not saying. In fact, he hasn’t said a word since his arrest,” JJ finished, leaning back in her seat. “Uh, the Arlington PD has asked us to interview him,” she told Gideon.

Reid finally picked out Miller’s mugshot and made a sound of disbelief. “If anyone could apply overwhelming force, he’s your man,” he said, catching a small laugh from JJ.

“I want you to find out,” Gideon told him. “Talk to him.”

His demeanor changed almost immediately. “Y-you want me to… talk to him?”

“Yeah. You’ve done interviews before with other agents running point. You can go solo.”

The boy looked at the other faces at the table nervously. Lydia actually enjoyed seeing it from someone so prideful, but she repressed a smile. He didn’t deserve teasing right now, he honestly looked terrified to conduct this interview alone.

“Morgan, Ambers, the Crawford house is a fresh crime scene. Once the Crawfords were brought down to the basement, they must have known their fate.”

~ ~ ~

Lydia’s eyes traced the walls of the stairwell as Gideon led them down to the basement. She wanted to see some signs of distress: a fight or scuffle. But not only were they clean, they were lined with perfectly straight mementos: picture frames, a wreath, two tennis rackets, etc. The family all walked down willingly.

But how do you control an entire family? Who alone has that much power?

“M.E. said they were all killed down here,” Gideon explained.

In the center of the blue carpet was a perfect red circle, which Morgan walked around and towards a separate smear on the washing machine.

“Sam was found here, Emily over there. So… I’m the unsub. How did I do it?”

Morgan flipped through the photos of the bodies, nodding at Gideon’s words. Lydia watched their process, knowing that if she was probably going to investigate quite a few scenes with them like this.

“Well, I had to bring ‘em down here first.”

“How?” Gideon prompted.

He shrugged, his eyes looking between the spots where the bodies were found. “I had a gun.”

“Ok. Use a gun to force them down here. What next?”

“Stab ‘em.”

“Who first?”

“The strongest,” Morgan said. “The father.” He held a photo next to the washing machine. It showed Chris Crawford laying against the machine awkwardly.

Lydia shook her head. “Chris Crawford wasn’t stabbed. He was shot.” She pointed at the smear. “The blood trail there follows his head as he slumped down and died. And there was no other blood on him or around him.”

“Okay.” Morgan rearranged the details in his mind. “Shoot the father, and then stab the mother.” In her photo, Allison Crawford was pale faced, blood dripping from her mouth down her neck and into her gold hair. The unsub had left her in the center of the room.

“How you gonna keep the kids from running away?” Gideon asked

Morgan thought about it a moment. “Restraints. Can’t aim a gun at them and stab the mother at the same time.”

“No restraints were found on the victims.”

“Because I took them with me,” he argued.

“No ligature marks were found.”

This threw Morgan for a loop. He flipped through all the photos in his folder, looking up at the locations in each photo.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Gideon offered. “See how they lived.”

Lydia took one final look at each of the blood pools on the floor. A five year old boy and eight year old girl. Had they really sat there and watched someone kill their parents in the middle of their basement?

~ ~ ~

“The yard is overgrown,” Gideon observed. “And like the roof, Chris Crawford’s car is in need of maintenance, but Allison Crawford’s SUV is in pristine condition.”

“Says here that Allison drove the kids to school. If they were educated privately, maybe the car was just an attempt to show the other parents wealth,” Morgan reasoned.

Lydia sighed. “Adds up to the rest of the house.”

“Rest of the house?” Gideon asked.

She gestured to the living room table. “These magazines are clearly placed. No one finishes reading a magazine and then places it into a perfect fan shape so that the title is showing. They’re designer names. And I don’t see any other magazines in the house, so likely, they were trying to fake subscriptions to high end magazines they don’t have.”

Gideon smirked. “Expensive furniture and a plasma screen TV. Behind the curtains: water damage,” he said, adding to Lydia’s statement. “Allison spent money on the things her friends could see and neglected those they couldn’t.”

“You saw the water damage,” Lydia argued, and Morgan went to confirm the accusation.

“The Crawford’s lived beyond their means,” Gideon continued, ignoring her comment.

“So, where’d the extra cash come from?” Morgan demanded.

“Get Garcia to check their financial status,” he instructed and disappeared into the kitchen.

Morgan nodded for Lydia to follow Gideon as he turned on his phone to make a call.

“Emily,” Gideon whispered, pulling a painting off the refrigerator, then turning it towards her. It was a house, painted entirely black. At the bottom, signed in sloppy, capital letters was the Crawford’s daughter’s name, Emily. “This painting is of this house. Strange that, for a child, it has no color. Has lines, dimensions, but no color.”

“Was there any indication that Emily had some kind of mental disability?”

Gideon’s brow furrowed. “No. Why?”

Lydia waved away his confusion with a flick of her hand. “Nothing. It would just explain her dedication to realism over classic, childish fun. I can search her room for anything else to indicate she would paint something like that?”

Gideon nodded and she left, jogging upstairs and immediately finding a door with Emily’s name on it.

The room was more than enough evidence that the painting downstairs was not typical of Emily. If her bright personality didn’t shine through her colorfully decorated walls and sparkly clothing, her collection of paintings did. This girl obviously had many different colored paints and she used them.

Lydia sifted through a couple of pictures on her desk until shouting from downstairs distracted her.

“Help me! Help! Please! HELP ME!!! No! NO!!! Please, no!”

Lydia could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she leapt down the stairs and found Gideon shrieking out of a window, a very startled Morgan watching him.

“NOOOOO!”

Morgan glanced at Lydia when she fumbled into the room, but he didn’t look concerned for Gideon. If he was, he likely would have interrupted this far sooner. But he definitely didn’t know what was going on.

His yells only lasted about a minute, before he went completely silent, not moving from his spot in front of the window. The other two held their breath in anticipation of an explanation, but he stayed there until a light came on in the house across the street. Then another. A dog down the street erupted into howls at the disturbance.

That’s when he turned around. “Why didn’t anyone hear them scream?”

Morgan looked out the window once more, to see the concerned neighbors rushing outside or opening their windows. And just like that, Gideon was off again to another part of the house.

“Shit,” Lydia mumbled. “I guess that’s one way to make a point.”

~ ~ ~

Before she knew it, she was back at headquarters. The case was close enough that they set up their evidence boards in the conference room so they didn’t have to impose on a police station. Hopefully she’d stay there for the rest of the case, knowing that she’d only be asked to leave again if another crime scene appeared. But, she was at a loss right now with what little evidence she had. A kid’s painting that didn’t match the others? And proof that someone was able to control and keep silent a whole family of four in their house for four days? She had no clue how this all formed into a profile that Gideon claimed he’d already started.

“I believe the unsub had control over this family,” he started. Everyone except Hotch, who was in Garcia’s office trying to make sense of the false wealth lead, sat around the round table, watching Gideon piece together his theory. “He may have separated each family member. He tells the mother, ‘If you scream, I’ll kill your children.’ He tells the children, ‘If you cry, I’ll kill mommy.’

“The suspect found a way of restraining them without leaving marks. Based on lividity, the M.E. estimates that the father was the last to die.”

“Which means he witnessed the whole thing,” Morgan added. “If the unsub did spend time with both families, he must’ve known he had the time to spend with ‘em.”

“‘Cause he knew they were going on vacation,” Reid reasoned.

“Look at travel agents, relatives, work colleagues, contract workers, children’s tutors-” Gideon was interrupted by Hotch’s voice over the intercom in the center of the conference room.

“Gideon, we’ve been looking into the Crawford financials.”

Garcia’s voice stepped in to explain. “Allison Crawford spent way more money than Chris could afford. They were in major debt.”

“And Chris Crawford wrote a number of checks for a series of visits to a therapist.”

This wasn’t surprising news, although it didn’t give them anything. There still wasn’t any shady business in either household.

“Allison had two cell phone accounts… one of them billed to a separate address in southeast Washington, D.C.”

Everyone perked up, quickly taking note of this new discovery.

“Did you get that?” Hotch asked.

“Yeah, I got it,” Gideon sighed. “Ambers, stay here. The rest of you, let’s go.”

~ ~ ~

When the team got back, they were taking a man in for questioning. Lydia followed them to the interrogation room hesitantly. Gideon had said that they were looking for a smaller man in stature and this guy was anything but. He was awkward and nervous, sitting with Gideon and Morgan while the rest of the team looked on from the other side of the double-sided mirror.

As she watched the interrogation go down, Lydia took mental notes of everything she could on this man:

Frank Fielding. Unconfrontational. Attached to the painting Gideon was holding. Right-handed. Sweaty. Manic-depressive. On medication. Nervous stutter. Guilty conscious. Calls Allison Crawford ‘Ally’...

‘Cause he was her brother.

Lydia could see Gideon and Morgan losing their assurance that this was their guy as Frank started to cry over the loss of his sister. His sadness then turned to anger and he started to blame Chris for killing his family.

“The rule was-- I was never supposed to go to the house,” Frank explained. “That was the only rule.”

Allison Crawford used money her husband didn’t have and was embarrassed by her mentally ill brother. That gave two men in her life motive, but not enough to kill a different family.

He explained how Chris hated him and how his phone was cut off and that was the reason for his visit. That led to another small burst of anger. He began banging his fists against the table and Gideon moved away.

“There’s no way this guy could’ve gotten into the house without a key,” Elle reasoned, shoulder-to-shoulder with Hotch, directly in front of the glass. She was right. He was tall, large, and clumsy. Not exactly prime ninja material. “Knowing how Chris Crawford felt about his brother-in-law, do you see him having one?”

“No,” the unit chief replied.

They sat there for a few more minutes, listening to Frank explain his visit to the Crawford house and seeing his sister and a stranger at the table. As he spoke the words out loud, he seemed to figure out what they were all thinking. This stranger was the unsub.

Gideon and Morgan tried to calm him, but Frank started to freak at the thought, banging his fists against his head and shouting. They were quick to jump into action, pushing him against the wall and holding back his hands. Hotch, Elle, and Reid all ran in to help, but Lydia stayed behind, just staring at the prescription pill bottles he had discarded across the table.

She hated those things.

~ ~ ~

“He’s been looking at those pictures all morning,” Elle mumbled over her cup of coffee, in reference to Gideon. Morgan was just hanging up a call and Reid was at his desk, looking over something.

“Well, I sure hope he sees a connection,” Morgan replied. “‘Cause I’ve checked doctors, lawyers, travel agents, tutors, contract workers. I’ve got nothing.”

“Why target those families?” Elle asked.

Hotch walked past as she said this, his nose in a file. “Well, to know that, we have to know how.”

“All right,” Morgan started, pulling the attention of the whole team. “We know organized killers are often skilled workers with above-average intelligence. High birth status. And in most cases, male. In the workplace, he’s socially confident. And with women, sexually confident. Every offense is preplanned. Targeting the victim is almost as pleasurable as the actual kill. These guys they’re… they’re meticulous. It’s a compulsion. Everything has to have its proper place.”

He was winding up, beginning to pace around the bullpen as he formulated his profile.

“They do exhaustive amounts of research on their victims. They watch their every move, every last detail is observed. Everything has to be written ever so neatly in a book or possibly a journal. Like, when the kids are coming home from school and when daddy’ll be home. Playtime. Suppertime. Bathtime. Bedtime. Plan the work… work the plan. This is the way that he maintains control.

“He takes great pride in his job. I think the workplace has to be the connection.”

Hotch looked like he wanted to say something, but for the first time that morning, Gideon emerged from the conference room, holding up the two paintings from Emily that he’d collected.

“Both are by Emily. Painted months apart. This one… is full of color, life,” he explained, holding up the framed photo from Frank Fielding’s house. “The one I found at Emily’s house has lines, dimensions. No color. Ambers, you said you saw other ones in her room?”

Lydia’s eyebrows knit together. “Yeah. She had all sorts of paintings: fields, trees, stick figures, other kid stuff. I think the only color she didn’t use was black.”

He nodded, assuring her that she was confirming his thinking. “I believe Emily was coerced to paint this. It’s a point of view. It is his point of view. This is where the killer stood and just watched the family.”

“What does he get out of making them paint the house?” Lydia asked, but she was interrupted by Hotch dropping his wedding ring onto Elle’s desk.

They all stared for a moment as it spun, fell flat, and Hotch put it back onto his finger. “Each of the dead husbands was missing his wedding ring. This is the unsub’s trophy. He targets a family because he lost his own, and for a few days, he gets to play daddy.”

“And he can do whatever he wants because no one’s gonna come looking because they’re supposed to be on vacation,” Morgan continued.

“Ambers, I want you to go to forensics and have them check the inside of Chris Crawford’s clothing,” Gideon instructed. “The suspect may have worn the father’s clothes, too. Complete the fantasy.”

She nodded.

“So, why kill them?” Elle asked.

“Because the fantasy can’t last,” Gideon reasoned.

“Do we know anything that actually helps us identify this bastard?” she demanded.

Lydia could tell she was getting more frustrated by the minute. She wondered briefly if Elle was naturally impatient.

“Wait a minute,” Morgan mumbled. “Chris Crawford worked for the I.R.S. and… Reese Miller was a secretary at the GAO.”

Elle sat forward. “That makes them both government employees.”

The team was already halfway out of their seats. Gideon reminded Lydia to head to forensics as soon as possible, before grabbing a file and leading the team to the elevator.

~ ~ ~

“Hey Garcia,” Lydia called as she walked into her office. “I just got off the phone with Gideon. He…” she paused, startled to find another presence in the room. “Dr. Reid, I’m sorry.”

He somehow seemed just as shocked to see her there. “Oh… hey, Lydia.”

The fear in his eyes made her suspect that she had walked in on something, but Garcia was completely unaffected. “What’s up with Gideon?” she asked, pulling Lydia’s attention back to her.

“Right. Both the Crawford’s and Reese Miller were seeing a therapist. He thinks that might be the connection.”

She nodded and began typing at a furious rate.

“Any luck in forensics?” Reid inquired.

Lydia shook her head. “No foreign DNA was found on the clothing in evidence. My guess is he washed everything before he left.”

“Here we are. The Crawfords made 12 weekly payments to the Applewood Family Medical Center,” Garcia interrupted.

“What about the Millers?” Reid asked, leaning over her shoulder to get a good look at the screen.

“No, nothing here.”

“How about pharmaceuticals? Nobody gets therapy these days without a healthy dose of medication.”

“What are you implying, Reid?”

“That everyone is medicated.”

Garcia stopped and looked up at the boy, shocked. “Did you just make a joke?”

“No,” he replied. “I meant statistics. They- They show that-”

She laughed and cut him off. “Reid, next time, just say yes, okay?”

He glanced at Lydia, like she might be able to explain it to him and she couldn’t hide the grin creeping on her face. He was somewhat of a goofball. Far different from the silent, stoic figure that she’d met in Santa Cruz.

“Now, medication normally requires reimbursement from the HMO, and since she works for the government, like you and I, we share the same healthcare provider.”

Reid raised an eyebrow. “Are you hacking into the government’s HMO database? Is that legal?”

“‘Course not. We’ll all go to prison, you’ll be someone’s bitch, and Lydia will become a hustler.”

“Oh, hell yes!” Lydia cried and he grimaced.

“Really?”

But Garcia was already onto the next topic. “Oh. Right there. Good call, Reid,” she complimented as a new page popped up on her screen. “Mrs. Reese Miller-- Diazepam.”

“Who prescribed the meds?” he asked.

“Dr. R. Howard at the Applewood Family Center. Let’s find out what he looks like. Here we go.” She did some more typing and a photo of a ginger woman popped up on the screen. “... Dr. Howard isn’t a he.”

“That doesn’t add up. She fits the description, but Fielding said he saw a man.” Lydia pulled out her phone and dialed Gideon’s number right away. “Hey Gideon? Yeah, Garcia’s got a Dr. Rachel Howard at the Applewood Family Medical Center? Small woman, orange hair, and she prescribed Reese Miller anxiety meds. It’s the same facility that the Crawfords went to family therapy at.”

He made a sound of understanding and hung up.

“Oh, Lydia?” Garcia started again. “I sent an email to an administrator at a nearby university about you starting online courses.”

“What?!” She leapt forward and ran to the girl’s side. “You didn’t have to do that! What did you say?”

“I told them I’d hack their site and frame them for stealing from their students if they didn’t admit you immediately,” she joked.

Lydia rolled her eyes. “Oh great. Thanks, Garcia.”

“No, silly! I just told them how brilliant you are and your plan to transfer to online classes while you worked for the FBI and I sent them your transcript-”

“Garcia! Where’d you even get that?”

“I thought you’d already graduated, Lydia,” Spencer spoke up.

She shrugged. “I got my undergraduate, but I had already applied to start getting my master’s degree when Gideon offered me this job. I guess experience might mean I don’t need it anymore, but I didn’t want to just drop out of school, so Garcia was helping me try and transfer to an online school so I could continue my education.”

“Do you plan to get a PhD?” he inquired.

Garcia gasped, suddenly. “Oo, you totally should. Then we’ll have another ‘Dr.’ on the team to compete with boy genius.”

Lydia laughed. “I’m not sure I could survive that. And I’m not sure anyone could compete with boy genius. I wouldn’t know what to do with it. I mean, people with a doctorate tend to become college professors and do extensive research in their fields… I just want to look over crime scenes and work in a lab. The master’s degree was truly just to help me widen my options… and because I didn’t have anywhere else to go after graduation.”

“You know, a lot of agents become professors after they retire,” Reid explained.

“Not an agent-” Lydia tried to argue, but Garcia was getting excited again.

“Oo! Oo! Dr. Ambers! Tell me that’s not the coolest name!” she exclaimed.

Lydia smiled at her and Reid was suddenly reminded of something that happened back in California, when they had met.

“Hey, you didn’t flinch.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“You have everyone call you Lydia. Because when Gideon called you ‘Miss’, you reacted badly. But you didn’t flinch when she called you Dr. Ambers.”

Lydia was speechless. She had never liked to be called by her last name, she knew that much to be true, but he was right, she hadn’t minded the new title. And now that she was thinking about it, the first few times Gideon called her ‘Ambers’, she’d been unsure, but she’d started to answer to it without hesitation.

But how had Reid noticed? She’d barely noticed.

“You don’t like to be called Miss Ambers?” Garcia interrupted her thoughts, causing her to startle. “Oh, you’re right, Reid. She did flinch.”

“I don’t-” she started to complain, but stopped herself. “Listen, I don’t think changing my title is reason enough to get a PhD. And I don’t have the money. My student debt is crazy and if I don’t get a full time job as soon as I get my master’s, there’s no way I’ll pay it off.”

“Oh, I can help you cut down the amount of time it takes. I had 3 PhDs by the time I was 21.”

Lydia turned on Reid with a look of utter shock. “Three? Three?! Reid, I know you’ve got your memory going for you, but that doesn’t even sound possible.”

He smiled, his lip curling in as if to hide his satisfaction. She could see a small blush grace his cheeks. “It is possible. For you, too. I’d be happy to help you get your doctorate… if that’s what you want.”

Lydia glanced between the two before her. They both seemed extremely excited by the prospect, which she couldn’t deny would be an awesome thing to accomplish. But time and money weren’t exactly things she could spare.

“I’ll consider it,” she agreed.

~ ~ ~

A little while later, Gideon sent Lydia on another errand, calling her to tell her to go to the medical center herself and help Hotch search for the trophies of the suspect they had taken into custody: Karl Arnold.

A CSI team had searched Karl’s house, and decided it was clear, which meant he likely kept his trophies in his office. And since Lydia was supposed to be the team expert on searching for things out of place, she hopped into one of the team's SUVs and drove herself to meet up with Hotch.

He was already well on his way through the office when she got there, every drawer and box open and many miscellaneous objects lying around. He started throwing books off a bookshelf and she ran over to join him.

He was starting to get really frustrated. He was muttering to himself, wondering how hard the crime scene investigators had searched the house, because there was clearly nothing here. Once all the shelves had been clear, he stepped back, still huffing.

Lydia eyes searched for other places around the room that could fit the missing wedding rings and quickly shushed Hotch, holding up her hands to make her point. He looked somewhat surprised at her command, but did as she said, and she went to work, knocking on the wall along each shelf. It had almost gotten too high for her to reach when a hollow knock could be heard.

She ran her fingers along the edges, searching for a lip or hinge that might open up to the other side. The top board seemed weakest, so she dug her nails into the top and yanked it free. With that one out of the way, the two below it were far easier to pull the nails from the wall and Hotch was quick to step in front of her and assess the items he’d hidden.

There was a tangle of belts, a stack of black, hardcover books, and a metal container, colored brightly, like an old music box.

Hotch went for this, pulling it down from the shelf and opening it carefully. While he did this, Lydia looked over the books. Each one was labeled with a name, but the horrifying bit was the amount that he had collected.

The team had assumed that he picked his victims one at a time, did his research, then killed them, but he had so many families hidden here. Lydia wondered how long he might have been stalking these people without their knowledge, but Hotch brought the box to her attention.

She turned and felt sick. The container he was holding had eight wedding rings in it, all masculine. She flipped around to look at the journals again and was overwhelmed by the realization that these weren’t families he was stalking, he’d already killed them.

He’d been doing this for far longer than they’d suspected.

“Congrats,” Hotch said. It was the first time he’d spoken to her since she got there. “You just solved your first case.”

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irenedonnee · 4 years

Text

One shot

For the mood board challenge by @outlanderlush and @iamnottrisha

A/N: So that was fun! Mood board by @holdhertightandsayhername and beta by the amazing @lcbeauchampoftarth ❤️ I hope you’ll enjoy!

On December 7th, Jamie arrived to the small village on the Isle of Skye that was infamous for the tragic bus accident that had killed thirty-five tourists; one of them being his estranged brother, Willie.

Jamie didn’t even remember what had caused the feud between them, seven months prior to the bus crash. It didn’t matter. His big brother was dead and Jamie never had the chance to say goodbye.

During the year after Willie’s death, Jamie tried to find a way to remember his brother. He wrote an article about his law firm, he sent money for the education of Stella, his niece, and he drank. He knew it was not the right thing to do, but only when he was drunk would Jamie stop feeling guilty for his brother’s death.

Nothing worked. So, after kissing Sarah and wishing her a Merry Christmas at the office party, he drove to the train station and bought a ticket to Scotland.

Jamie lived in London, in a small apartment. He had no partner, no pet, no plants; only a bar filled with the finest bottles of whisky and wine. He would not get drunk on cheap alcohol.

He had a very successful career, but he found he had this emptiness inside him. It wouldn’t go away, and got even worse after Willie’s death. His family lived in Scotland and he barely saw them. He wanted nothing to do with them — he was still so bitter and angry. He had never felt loved by them.

His life was a mess.

It took hours for Jamie to reach the quaint village, but he didn’t notice the time passing by. He was lost in his head, thinking about his life, from his birth to Willie’s death. He didn’t consider the last year as living, but mostly surviving.

Jamie was left by the bus on the sidewalk, alone with his leather bag. He took a deep breath of fresh air, looking around. Gradually, Jamie felt a weird sense of serenity fill his soul. Considering the tragic history that was related to the place, the last thing Jamie had expected coming here was peace. He reasoned that he should have come earlier.

Putting his bag on his shoulder, Jamie headed to the local bar that was just on the other side of the road.

A bell rang when he opened the door, and he was surprised to find the place almost empty. There were a few men playing pool and some others drinking beer around tables. Jamie noticed a couple sitting next to each other on the same side of the table. The image of Sarah crossed his mind, but he pushed it away. They had just started seeing each other, and he didn’t want to think about where this relationship was heading just now.

Jamie sat at the bar, putting his bag on the seat next to him.

“Hey.”

He looked up at the barmaid. She was tall, with wild dark hair in a messy bun. He felt her amber eyes looking into his soul, making him feel uncomfortable. Her pink lips were curled up in a small smile.

“Hi,” he said in a breath.

“Tourist?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“Welcome,” she said. She stared at him without saying anything. He didn’t really know what to do, as he grew paralyzed by her beautiful eyes. “What can I get you?”

“Uh…” he swallowed, not able to look away from her face. “A whisky, please.”

She smiled and poured him a glass. “There.” She put a napkin in front of him and handed him the glass. “It’s cold outside.”

“Aye,” he smiled, taking a sip. “You’re a Sassenach.”

“Obviously,” she smiled in return, showing off her teeth.

“What are you doing here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Oh, I don’t tell my secrets that easily.” She waved her eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

Jamie grinned, taking a long sip of whisky, emptying his glass. “Oh, I don’t tell my secrets that easily either,” he responded as he handed her the glass.

She eyed him, the corner of her mouth curled up, before refilling his glass.

“Thank ye.”

There was a cozy atmosphere in the bar that warmed his heart.

“Do you own the place?”

“Yes,” she answered proudly. “I started it almost three years ago now.” She took a glass and wiped it with a towel.

“It’s really nice.”

“Thank you,” she smiled sincerely.

She wasn’t speaking much, only giving short answers and mysterious smiles, but Jamie was mesmerized by this woman. He wasn’t thirsty anymore, but he didn’t want to leave just yet. So, he ordered another drink.

He spent the night at the bar, talking to her or simply looking at her when she was serving other clients. He noticed the crescent moon necklace and the horseshoe tattoo on the inside of her arm. There was something mystical about her, and for a moment, he wondered if she was a witch.

When it was closing time, Jamie rose and put his bag strap on his shoulder. “It was lovely to meet you. I didn’t quite get your name.”

She smiled at him. Her eyes looked tired and her hair was even messier than when he came in the bar. “Claire.”

“Claire,” he repeated with a sly smile. “I’m Jamie.”

After one last look over his shoulder, he left the bar. The cold of the winter night knocked the air out of his lungs. He closed his arms tightly around his chest and made his way to the bed and breakfast that was on the other side of the road.

There was a light on n the lobby, so Jamie made his way inside. An old woman was sitting by the desk reading a book. When he entered, she looked up at him with a smile and greeted him. He eventually booked a room for the next few days..

It was a small room with a bed that groaned loudly when he laid down, but the exhaustion of the day had him falling asleep without even taking his shoes off.

***

Jamie spent the following day wandering through the village. It was a small community, only taking fifteen minutes to walk through it. The bed and breakfast and Claire’s bar were further down towards the end of the street, in a more deserted area. In the light of day, Jamie saw that the bar was facing the sea. He sat on a bench and stared at the raging water for a few hours.

He didn’t know why he had come here, what he had expected to find. It seemed as if there was nothing to do in this village but wait for the day of your death to arrive. It was depressing, and he realized it didn’t help his state of mind much after all. The peacefulness of the place was becoming heavy.

Yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman from the bar. Claire. There was something about her that made Jamie want to go back and see her. The bar opened at seven, but he didn’t want to be the first client.

The day was unending, and as the hours went by, he was growing more anxious at the idea of seeing her again.

He stopped by a tiny restaurant to eat fish and chips while reading the local newspaper. He stopped by his room to take a long shower and watch television. Finally, he put on his coat and crossed the road to Claire’s bar.

It was earlier than the previous night, so he was surprised when he opened the door to see it full of people. It was loud with the sound of people talking and laughing, but it still had the same cozy ambiance.

He immediately spotted Claire standing by a table, talking with two fishermen. Her fists were on her waist and she was laughing. Jamie was immediately taken aback by how stunning she was. Her hair was still like an aura around her head.

She saw him and smiled. He had to remind himself to breathe before smiling back and walking to an empty seat by the bar.

“You’re back,” she said, a few minutes later. She stood in front of him behind the bar.

“I am back. I told you it’s a nice place.”

She smiled and handed him a whisky. “How long are you staying here?”

“Just a few days. And since there aren’t that many things to do here,” he raised his glass in front of her.

She chuckled and went to serve another client.

It took a couple of hours before she could speak to him for more than two minutes. Once the clients were gone and just a few remained, she went to him and let out a proud sigh. “What a night.”

“Is the place always full like that at this time?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah, it usually is on the weekend. Another one?”

“Are you trying to get me drunk?”

She smirked. “Don’t take it personally,” she filled his glass, “it’s my job, after all.”

Jamie chuckled and watched her pour herself a glass. “I think I deserve it.” She clicked her glass with his and took a long sip. He watched her with the corner of his mouth curled up.

“You know I was thinking about you today?”

She raised her brow, encouraging him to continue.

“I was walking around the village and I wondered why an Englishwoman would move to a village this boring.”

“Oh, I don’t find it boring. Not at all. You see, I have my bar and a small apartment on the second floor. It has a fireplace and a big library. I have a spot right by a big bay window where I can paint. I love it. It’s calm, it’s peaceful. I used to live in London and I had a very small apartment. Even though I was surrounded by thousands of people, I felt more lonely than in this little village with 300 people.”

Jamie studied her face, wondering what kind of life she lived in London before moving here.

“That’s interesting. What did you do in London? Did you own a bar?”

She chuckled. “God, no. I was a surgeon.”

Jamie’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “A surgeon.” It was the last thing he had expected.

She grinned in her glass before taking another sip. “Surprise you?”

“Yes, not that you don’t look like you could be one. It’s just… very different than this and your art studio upstairs.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes that’s what we need. Like you, for instance. What are you doing here? Are you in some spiritual trip? Usually people go to warm places in the middle of winter.”

Jamie smiled sadly. “I guess you can call it that.” He didn’t want to talk about himself, as he was too captivated by Claire; but if he wanted her to trust him, he had to open up a bit.

“My brother died in the bus accident last year.” He saw a shadow cross her beautiful face. “We weren’t on good terms and I never had the chance to say I’m sorry, to say goodbye, to tell him I love him. I guess I’m trying to find a way to do so.”

“I’m sorry,” she said in a whisper. “That accident was tragic. I lost a friend of mine too.”

He looked up at her. “You did?”

“Yeah, my friend was also a surgeon from London. He was coming to visit me. You see, I burned the bridges to my old life, but he was my best friend. So he spent Christmas here with me and when he left, well…”

“I’m sorry. God, that’s terrible.”

She nodded. “Life is. We just need to find something to make it less terrible,” she smiled sadly.

That night, they talked until it was closing time. Unlike the day before, they talked about personal things, things they had never told anybody. It seemed so easy to do so; as if they had known each other their entire lives.

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Claire asked shyly, guiding Jamie to the door.

“Yes.”

So the day after, he was there as soon as the bar opened. He wasn’t the first customer, but this time, he didn’t care that he was there early. He had dinner while talking to Claire. As more people started to come in, he had to let her work, but he knew she wished she could be talking to him instead of working. A few hours later, when she was less busy, she came to sit next to him. She lit a cigarette and handed it to him, which he declined.

“I don’t smoke.”

She shrugged and took a long sip.

“I leave tomorrow,” he finally said.

For a split second, he thought he saw sadness in her eyes, but then it was gone.

“Oh,” she said. “I hope you enjoyed your time here and that you found what you were looking for.”

Peace, that was what Jamie was looking for. His brother was dead, there was nothing he could do to change it.

“You think my brother knows I’m sorry?”

Claire looked at him and shrugged. “Do you believe in God?”

“I used to, but now I’m not so sure.”

She thought about it for a long moment, smoking her cigarette. “I think you have to listen to your heart. It will tell you what you need to know. But siblings forgive each other, because that’s what families do. So, yes, I believe he knows.”

Jamie smiled and took her hand. “Thank you.”

She smiled back and bent to kiss him. They both were surprised by the gesture. “Sorry,” she apologized, pulling back, her cheeks turning pink. She got up and went back to work.

Jamie spent the night thinking about that kiss. Claire didn’t come to see him until the bar closed. When she did, the bar was empty, so Jamie closed his arms around her and kissed her.

They made their way to her apartment, not able to keep their hands off one another. They kissed deeply, took their clothes off, and jumped into bed. The way she kissed him, the way she touched him, healed him. And he hoped that it was the same for her.

At that moment, Jamie realized that he had found what he was looking for her. For the first time in years, he felt at peace. No weight on his shoulders, no aching heart. Everything he needed was in his arms.

He fell asleep with his head resting on her chest; and when he woke up the morning after, he left a note on the nightstand. He kissed her goodbye and went to gather his things at the bed and breakfast. As he sat on the bus, looking at the sea by the window, Jamie smiled to himself. He had found a safe haven, he had found peace, and he knew it was a feeling he was never going to let go.

He felt at peace, but he also felt as if he was living in a haze. He had drank a lot during the weekend and he wondered if this was real, or if it was just a dream. Was Claire even real?

He doubted for a moment, but never in his life had a dream made him feel so alive.

When Claire woke up, the sheets were cold. She noticed the paper on the nightstand and a smile lit her face when she read it.

To new traditions.

#mood board challenge #outlandee fanfic #one shot #mood board one shot #jamie and claire #au

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generaldisdainn · 4 years

Text

Four of a Kind

AO3 link

Rating: MA

Pairing: Kristanna

Summary: After accepting a job as the head of marketing for a local animal shelter, Anna finds herself in a new city in need of a place to live. Luckily, 3 guys know just the place.

Previous chapter

Chapter 9 (we’re back to our regularly scheduled fluff and shenanigans hehe)

“Alright. It’s official.” Anna came out into the kitchen and enunciated her entrance by throwing a drawer handle onto the island where Kristoff, Ryder, and Sven were all sitting. “I need a new dresser. Who wants to go with me to Target to get one?”

Sven pushed his stool back dramatically. “I call shotgun!”

“Okay, I’ll take that as a yes,” Anna chuckled.

“I’ll go too!” Ryder said with a smile.

“Kristoff?” Anna turned to him, wondering if he would join them.

“Sure, what the hell. I could use a couple of things from there.”

“Alright!” Anna clapped her hands together, suddenly excited to have the whole group with her. She figured it would turn a boring shopping trip into an actual event. “Let’s go!”

After a moment spent gathering up their things (Sven had to change into a different outfit before they left and Ryder insisted on bringing a snack "just in case"), they made their way down to the parking lot. Kristoff decided to drive since his car would be spacious enough to accommodate the four of them and a dresser. Sven got shotgun while Ryder and Anna sat in the back. Ryder handed Anna his phone every once in a while to show her a meme at which Anna would laugh earnestly.

“Oh my god, dude, pick a song!” Kristoff huffed. They’d only been driving for a minute, but Sven had already skipped through about 15 songs.

“I’m trying to find one to fit the mood!” Sven retorted as he flew past another five songs.

“Oh, play that Tik Tok song! Say So!” Ryder eagerly suggested.

“Ryder, you know nobody else in this car uses that app,” Sven replied.

“Alright, well you guys are missing out. When we get home I want everyone to see the dance I learned last night and you guys will change your mind,” Ryder asserted.

“Oh my god,” Sven groaned.

Anna smiled at the thought of Ryder learning Tik Tok dances in his room. She’d be lying if she said she had never wanted to try one herself. “I want to see your dance, Ryder! Maybe we could learn one together sometime!”

Ryder looked at her with a wide grin. “Yes!”

“Anna, don’t tell me you use that godforsaken app too,” Sven said with a resigned sigh.

Anna shrugged. “I do sometimes. I think it’s fun.”

“Doesn’t it steal your data and send it to China or something?” Kristoff chimed in.

“Yeah like every app doesn’t already collect all of your data,” Ryder scoffed, rolling his eyes for effect. He turned up to the front, pointing a finger towards Sven and Kristoff. “You guys are just mad because you’re boomers now. You’re old and you’re boomers and you refuse to accept that the world is moving on without you.”

Anna laughed and slapped a high five with Ryder, smiling at their newfound solidarity in using Tik Tok of all things.

“If being a boomer means that I don’t waste my time watching horny people thrust their hips to music then I will gladly claim that title," Sven said with a confident nod. "Right, Kristoff?”

“I accepted my fate as a boomer a long time ago,” Kristoff agreed.

Sven turned around to face the back, his mouth quirked upwards in a mischievous smile. “When we were in college, Kristoff would go around and bang on people’s doors to get them to shut up late at night.”

“What? I needed my sleep. And I know other people were thankful that I did that,” Kristoff said defensively. Anna laughed at the image of a grumpy, sleep-deprived Kristoff roused out of bed and making his way to a room where kids were up late partying. Sometimes he really did give off the energy of an old man. She couldn’t help but find it endearing.

The car came to a halt in the parking lot. “Alright, boomers and zoomers,” Kristoff began, sending a look back to Ryder and Anna on the word ‘zoomers’. “Everyone out. We’re here.”

***

Anna made her way down the furniture aisle, appraising the various dressers and armoires. Nothing piqued her interest like she hoped it would.

“You okay?” Kristoff asked from behind her. The concerned tone in his voice tugged at her heart. She knew the face she made when she was concentrated oftentimes made her look worried.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just looking.”

“Do you like any of them?”

Anna hummed thoughtfully for a moment as she looked over her limited options. “Not really. I think I might have to go somewhere else. I would’ve loved to go to Ikea, but I think the closest one is like an hour away.”

“I’m not doing anything today if you wanted to go to Ikea. I could drive you. Not if you don’t want that of course, but it might be nice. There's no pressure or anything though-”

“Kristoff,” Anna interrupted his rambling, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “I’d love that.” They shared an easy smile for a moment.

They were both brought out of their shared comfort as Ryder careened past them in a shopping cart and crashed into the stand next to them. Sven stood at the end of the aisle, a hand over his stomach as he doubled over in laughter.

“I can’t take you guys anywhere,” Kristoff said with a sigh, his mouth forming a slightly amused smirk nonetheless.

***

“Can we go to Lowes? I want to get some of those wall-hangy things for my new plant,” Ryder asked as the four of them headed back to the car after their Target run.

Anna was about to nod in agreement, but Sven jumped in before she could say anything.

“Oh, I’m actually not allowed in Lowes.” He said it so nonchalantly. The rest of the group faltered and stopped in their tracks while Sven kept going towards the car, completely unphased.

“Why aren’t you allowed in Lowes?” Anna hesitantly asked. There was a tiny part of her that thought that he was joking, but he had said it so sincerely, as if being banned from a large chain store was a common occurrence.

“Oh, I think I barricaded one of the aisles with plywood? I don’t really remember to be honest. I was high off my ass.”

“Sven, when the fuck was this?” Kristoff asked incredulously.

“It was like the beginning of freshman year of college. We weren’t super close then, so you didn’t go out with me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kristoff groaned.

“I used to be pretty dumb. But it’s a fun story to tell.”

“Used to be?” Kristoff asked.

Sven rolled his eyes and nudged his friend playfully.

They drove back to the house together. Sven was finally able to settle on a song and danced along in the front seat while Ryder and Anna laughed at Tik Toks in the back.

Kristoff dropped Ryder and Sven off and waved them goodbye as Anna climbed into the passenger seat and plopped down next to him.

“I’ll find a dance for us to learn before you get back!” Ryder promised. Anna nodded enthusiastically and gave him a thumbs up while Sven rolled his eyes.

“Thanks again for driving me, Kristoff,” Anna said with an earnest smile as Kristoff pulled out into the street.

“Yeah, it’s no problem,” he replied, gazing at the road ahead, hoping she wouldn't see the subtle blush playing out across his cheeks. “I’m happy to do it.”

***

Kristoff looked over at Anna for a moment, allowing himself to admire the way she gazed out the window with wistful wonder at the passing trees. They had been driving for a good fifteen minutes or so at that point, conversation and comfortable silence passing between them easily. They had almost immediately settled back into friendly coexistence after their fight and subsequent reconciliation. They began watching shows together on the couch at night, and last weekend the four of them had all gone out together. Even on the rare day when they didn’t see each other, they were still a part of each other’s lives in small ways. Kristoff had gotten into the habit of leaving a piece of bread in the toaster for when Anna woke up, and Anna made a point of preheating the oven so it was hot for his dinner when he got home from work. They were thoughtful habits that they had both gotten into. Things were back to normal for them, even surpassing what their normalcy once was. The easy car ride so far had been a reflection of that.

A song came on the radio, and Anna suddenly bolted upright. “Oh my god, this song.”

“What about it?”

“This was one of my breakup songs with Hans.”

“Your breakup song?”

“Yeah, you know, like a song that helps you get through your breakup. You had to have had one.”

“I didn’t!”

“Are you serious? There wasn’t a single song that really spoke to you after your breakup?”

“No, I didn’t even know that was a thing until just now,” Kristoff said with a chuckle, amused by the sudden shock in Anna’s voice.

“Oh my god, I have an entire playlist on my Spotify called ‘Hans Sucks.’”

“Get outta here.”

“No, I’m dead serious- look!” Anna flashed her phone at Kristoff for a brief moment- just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the playlist’s title: ‘Hans Sucks’.

“Okay, I actually have to hear this.”

Anna laughed and plugged in her phone. The first song that came on was “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.”

“Wow, very creative,” Kristoff teased.

Anna swatted at him. “Shush, this song’s amazing.” Anna sang along, bopping her head and singing the lyrics like she was the only one in the car. Kristoff smiled. If he hadn’t been driving he probably would have stared at her the whole time, captivated by the fiery tendrils of her hair that bounced as she sang and the way the light caught in her eyes. He didn’t know the song very well (he wouldn’t call himself a Taylor Swift fan), but her energy was infectious. He found himself bouncing his head and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

There were some more unfamiliar breakup songs that came on, some of which Kristoff found to be surprisingly empowering.

“You know, I’m starting to get this whole breakup song thing.”

“Right? They make you feel powerful! Like- fuck you, Samantha!”

Kristoff laughed.

They went back and forth on music for a bit, sharing stories about their favorite songs and lyrics.

“I had my first kiss to this song.”

Anna nearly choked. “Apple Bottom Jeans?”

Kristoff chuckled to himself. “It’s called ‘Low’, but yes, unfortunately.” He supposed it did sound a little ridiculous when you said it out loud. “It was at my 8th-grade dance. This song was on when I kissed my date under the bleachers.”

“That’s hilarious. I think my first kiss was after a date in high school? It was gross. He used way too much tongue.”

“Oh yeah, I used to be a terrible kisser. I’d like to think I’m okay now though.”

Anna hummed to herself for a moment. “I’d say you’re more than okay.”

Kristoff blushed, her words sending a shiver down his spine. He remembered what it felt like to kiss her- the soft way she bit at his bottom lip, the feeling of her hand in his hair. He was suddenly thankful he had the driving to focus on.

“Sorry, was that too much?” Anna asked. The sudden nervousness in her tone made him rush to reassure her.

“No, no, you’re fine." He could still sense her doubt. He tore his eyes from the road for a moment to offer her what he hoped would be a reassuring smile. "I promise. I was just caught off guard. Here- play this song next.”

The two continued to exchange songs and stories. Kristoff kept his mind on the driving. If we wasn’t careful, he swore he would crash the car getting lost in the way she moved.

***

Anna felt her arm brush against Kristoff’s as they walked down one of the hallways in Ikea. She had the sudden urge to grab his hand or maybe even cling to his arm as they walked. “He asked for time. He needs space,” Anna reminded herself. Kristoff looked down at her with a smile and those warm, brown eyes. She felt her stomach dip as she let herself get lost in them for a moment. Nope. She couldn’t. She turned to her right and made her way over to a couch, pretending to be enthralled with one of the intricate pillows.

“That’s pretty,” Kristoff said, motioning to the pillow in her hands.

“Yeah, it’s really cute.”

“Do you want to get it?”

Anna looked at him and cocked an eyebrow.

“For the couch," he clarified.

“I mean, I do, but I don’t know if I have decorating rights in the apartment,” she said with a slight chuckle. She placed the pillow back down, only for Kristoff to pick it back up and hold it close to his chest.

“Sven decorated most of the place. He can stand to have one pillow that we picked out on the couch.”

Anna’s heart swelled. A pillow that they picked out. Together.

***

“I used to come here all the time when I was little.” Anna’s elbows were perched on the fake counter of one of the many Ikea kitchen displays. She peered at Kristoff from one side of the fake window, his head rested on his hands much like Anna’s was. Kristoff smiled as she spoke, looking at her in a way that radiated warmth. They were on either side of the window, staring at each other through the gap where glass would have been if it was a real kitchen. “There was one near our house, and our mom would take us sometimes on the weekends. My sister and I would run around in the kitchens and play house until our mom finally told us it was time to go. She always got us food on the way out too.”

Kristoff nodded. “That sounds really nice.”

“It was.”

“Do you miss them?”

Anna had almost forgotten that she told him that her parents had practically disowned them. “Sometimes, but it’s easy to remind myself that I’m better off without them. And I have Elsa, so I’m okay.”

“I would love to meet her sometime.”

Anna’s heart fluttered at the implication that maybe one day Elsa and Kristoff would meet. Of course she assumed that Elsa would meet her roommates at some point, but the way Kristoff said it made it seem formal- like he would be meeting her in a kind of traditional “boyfriend meets the family” kind of way. Anna quickly shook off the thought before she could let her mind get too carried away. “What about your family? I don’t think I know anything about them.”

“I was adopted when I was 4 by my mom and dad. They’re great,” he started as they resumed their walk through the kitchen section of the Ikea. “My mom is the strongest person I know. And my dad is seriously hilarious. He has all these ridiculous stories from growing up on a farm.”

“They sound incredible,” Anna said with a wistful smile.

“They are. They would really like you.”

That same feeling bubbled up in her chest- the promise of some sort of future with him and the vision of time spent together as more than just friends. She watched as he walked over to a bed and laid on it, letting out a sigh of contentment.

“Kristoff,” she hissed. “We’re not supposed to lay on those.”

“No one’s looking,” he countered, patting the spot on the bed next to him. “Come on! It’s really comfy.”

Anna looked at him for a moment, biting her lip and mulling it over in her head. She had always been a stickler for the rules, and the thought of breaking one now, even a small one, made her feel a bit anxious. But the soft twinkle in his eyes and the way he held an arm open in such an inviting way overrode any sort of worry she felt. She climbed up next to him and sunk down into the pillows, careful to leave enough space between the two of them. She turned her head to the side and saw him, all rosy cheeks, brown eyes, and warm smile. She counted the freckles that ran across his nose, ones that she hadn’t noticed before. She could feel his breath tickling her face. They were far enough so that they weren’t touching, but close enough that under any other circumstances, she would’ve expected him to lean in for a kiss, to capture her lips in his and pull her into his chest.

He suddenly bolted upright as if he had been struck by something, his eyes alight with mischief. He grabbed her hand and tugged her off the bed. Anna giggled at the unexpected motion, but followed him along regardless, down the hall and around the corner. She was starting to think that perhaps she would follow him to the edge of the world.

They stopped and Kristoff laughed, taking a moment to catch his breath. “There was one of those Ikea cop people.”

“One of what?” Anna joined him in his laughter.

“You know,” he started, motioning with his hands as if that would help him find the right words. “Those people that work here and walk around to make sure you don’t steal anything or sleep on the beds. I didn’t want to get us in trouble.”

“Oh.” Anna covered her mouth as she giggled. “Well, thanks for saving us then,” she concluded.

Kristoff offered her another smile. It seemed as though he had been smiling a lot more frequently lately. “No problem.”

***

“This is the one,” Anna announced, pointing to a beautiful white dresser with ornate handles on each drawer.

“I like it,” Kristoff concurred.

“I think I’m going to paint it and really make it my own, you know? It’ll be a fun project.”

Kristoff nodded. “I really like that idea.”

“I’m glad.” Anna looked at the large box before her and let out a sigh. “Now for the not so fun part- checking out and getting this thing in the car.”

Kristoff took a step forward and grabbed the box containing the disassembled dresser. He lifted it without hesitation from its slightly elevated position and placed it on the ground by his feet. “Here, can you grab that cart over there?”

Anna didn’t say anything. She always forgot how strong he was. It caught her off guard whenever he reminded her, whether it was by lifting something at home or lifting this Ikea box. Anna was always struck by the defined muscles of his arms and the sturdy width of his shoulders in those moments. She tore her eyes away and ran to go get a cart.

Kristoff again easily lifted the box onto the wheeled platform and took the lead in guiding it over to the checkout area.

“So once we finish building this thing are you going to start painting it right away?” Kristoff asked.

Anna’s heart surged. We. He wanted to build it with her. “I’ll probably work on it periodically. It’s nice to have ongoing projects like that. You and Ryder and Sven are welcome to paint stuff on it too if you’d like.”

“Oh god. Don’t tell Sven that. You’ll have a million dicks all over your desk before you know it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Anna replied with a laugh.

Anna paid for her dresser. She would have paid for the decorative pillow too, but Kristoff had insisted on covering it. He loaded the dresser into his car with relative ease, and they hopped in together, exchanging cheerful glances before starting on their hour-long journey back home. This time the ride was more silent, quiet spaces filled with the soft lull of the radio and the feeling of the wheels against the pavement of the road beneath them. Anna thought about how natural it would feel to reach out and hold his hand. But she kept to herself. She was fine with that. She was just happy to have such a good friend.

***

Kristoff knew he liked Anna. It wasn’t hard to admit that much to himself. He knew he liked her almost too much- enough to want to wake up next to her every morning and make her breakfast in bed and kiss her whenever he got the chance- even sleep with her for God’s sake. He thought he wasn’t ready for a relationship, and yet, here he was.

It seemed like she was keen on knocking down every wall he had tried to put up, exposing him for a kindhearted, sensitive person. A while ago Kristoff would’ve said that that version of himself was dead, buried long ago with his last relationship. But with her, he was starting to see parts of himself emerge that he assumed were long gone.

She was there for him even when he let his insecurities get the best of him and turn him into a total asshole. He felt unworthy of her, and yet every time he tried to distance himself, there she was, ready to remind him of what it felt like to show your truest self and let people in.

He glanced over at her sleeping form. She had warned him this would happen. She told him that she always got sleepy on car trips. She said that she might end up falling asleep and if she did for him to please wake her up. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when she looked so peaceful and so beautiful. Her cheek was smushed up against the glass and he thought he could even see a hint of drool in the corner of her mouth, but she was gorgeous and stunning and she made his heart feel light.

For the first time, he felt like maybe he had made the wrong decision. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that he needed time to be on his own. Because when he looked at her, suddenly he felt like he didn’t need any time at all. He was ready. There was something about her. Something in the way she made him feel. Free to be himself? Confident? Appreciated? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was there, gnawing at him, slowly wearing away at the part of himself that continued to tell him that he was too scared to try again, too scared to open back up when he could just get hurt again. Something told him that she was different, maybe even that she was the one. Maybe he wouldn’t act on it today or tomorrow or this week or the next, but Kristoff knew in his heart that they wouldn’t be just friends for long.

#kristanna #kristanna fanfic #frozen fanfiction #frozen fanfic #kristoff

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sariasprincy-writes · 4 years

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Hollow Point - Epilogue

One // Two // Three // Four // Five // Six // Seven // Eight // Nine // Ten // Eleven // Twelve // Thirteen // Fourteen // Fifteen // Sixteen // Seventeen // Eighteen // Nineteen // Twenty // Twenty-One // Twenty-Two // Twenty-Three // Twenty-Four // Twenty-Five // Twenty-Six // Twenty-Seven // Twenty-Eight // Twenty-Nine // Thirty // Thirty-One // Thirty-Two // Thirty-Three // Thirty-Four // Thirty-Five // Thirty-Six // - Epilogue Part I (here)

Epilogue Phantom Pain

Berlin, Germany

It was raining again. Water fell from the sky, pelting the ground and speckling the glass of the store fronts lining the sidewalks. Inside a little coffeehouse a few blocks from the city center, Sakura sipped her mocha as she watched the sky attempt to drown the earth beneath it.

The little shop wasn’t terribly large. Just big enough for a few tables. She sat by herself while the rest of the room was occuied by a group of young, high school-aged locals. They chatted animatedly in rapid German; their laughter only broken up by the tinkling of the bell above the front door.

Sakura didn’t look up as the chair across from her was pulled back before a man in a raincoat sat down. Kakashi pushed his hood back before he let out a relieved sigh, obviously happy to be out of the rain. He ordered a plain Americano from the waitress and waited to speak until she brought it out to him in a large porcelain coffee mug similar to Sakura’s.

“How did your meeting with your contact go?” Kakashi asked before he taste-tested his drink.

“As well as could be expected,” she replied. When he shot her a curious look, she explained with a faint glare. “He was more interested into getting into my pants then talking actual business.”

“Which is why you choose to work with women,” Kakashi provided.

Sakura tipped her head. “Still, he proved to be of some use. As it turns out he knows of someone who wants to begin moving product into New York.”

“Oh?”

“Her name is Karin. She’s a Russian dealer out of Moscow. She smart and crafty, but she’s been busy fighting other dealers within the country to branch out.”

Kakashi’s brow arched in surprise. “You’ve been watching her a while then.”

“Almost a year,” she nodded.

“She shows promise then.”

Sakura hummed her agreement as she drank from her now-lukewarm mug. “I’m not ready to introduce myself yet though. She has some in-house cleaning to do before she can consider branching out. Until then, I’ll keep watch from a distance. Ino thinks Karin would help Tenten keep up with her orders.”

“That would ease the flow of product out of Cairo too,” Kakashi said.

Sakura nodded again, her gaze distant as her mind worked through the ins and outs of her business. There had been some Egyptian Federal Agents poking around her eastern port lately. They were moving so much product it was beginning to draw the eyes of the government; something she needed to shut down soon.

“Is your shoulder bothering you again?” Kakashi asked abruptly.

Confused, Sakura realized she had been massaging her shoulder through her sweatshirt where Izuna had shot her nine months ago. It ached on cool days or when she sat still for too long. And when she allowed her mind to wander…

She dropped her hand. “It’s fine.”

Kakashi obviously wasn’t convinced, but she continued before he could press her. “Any word on Kisame?”

The ex-Marine observed her for a long moment before he finally shook his head. Sakura didn’t know if she was more relieved or disappointed. Kakashi had spent the last few months bouncing between Egypt and Israel, mostly keeping an eye on Temari’s operations and checking in with the latest news in Tel Aviv. If there was any news on Kisame, Kakashi would have heard.

“Temari hasn’t seen or heard anything from him since he arrived in Cairo nine months ago,” Kisame said. “He likely scouted out what became of Akatsuki in Egypt before he returned to Israel. He’s been underground since then.”

“Hopefully he got another assignment,” she murmured, none too hopeful. Sakura didn’t doubt Kisame still had it out for her. Especially since their last meeting had ended on less than friendly terms.

“Speaking of another assignment, you’re heading back to New York almost two weeks earlier than you planned,” Kakashi said, absently stirring his coffee. “What’re you working on?”

“Nothing in particular. Tenten is looking to recruit more men. Her influence is spreading faster than either of us anticipated.”

“Tenten has the money and resources to handle that on her own,” he said in confusion.

“Yes, but I want to be there to remind her who provided her all her new territory,” Sakura said, just a hint of sharpness entering her tone. “Tenten and I get along just fine, but she plays by her own rules. I don’t want her forgetting this is my game.”

Kakashi considered that with a single side-nod, as if to say he agreed with her reasoning.

Sakura fell quiet after that, her mind running through the errands and projects that needed her attention when she returned to the States. She needed to meet with Tenten, check in on Ino, and Sakura tended to have this habit of dropping by Tobirama’s. Purely to get an update on his numbers, or so she told herself.

“What time does your flight leave?” Kakashi asked.

Sakura checked her watch. “Four hours from now.”

“Do you want me to join you or do you need me to check in on Temari again?”

Whatever Sakura was about to say fell forgotten as she heard Itachi laugh somewhere behind her. Abruptly she jerked her head to the sound, her heart skipping a beat in her chest. Only for her gaze to land upon another man. He was a young American, about Itachi’s age with a deep laugh like he used to have.

Not for the first time, Sakura forced herself to remember Itachi was gone, he’s dead. She had stood on the hill in Arlington nearly nine months ago as they lowered his casket into the ground. His entire family lined the front row of mourners, including Shisui and someone Sakura recognized from a photo on the mantle above Itachi’s fireplace: Sasuke, his younger brother.

Then they had stamped the newly dug earth with a name plate. Sakura had only visited it once.

Still, Itachi haunted her. She heard his voice in crowded places and felt his touch in her dreams. She wondered when she would ever stop thinking about him.

“Sakura?”

At the call of her name, she turned her gaze back to Kakashi. There was an expectant look on his face that reminded her he was waiting for an answer.

“Check in on Temari,” Sakura finally replied. “If the police aren’t poking around again, come join me in New York.”

With that decided, they finished their coffee and stood to leave. Under the awning, Kakashi told her he’d keep in touch and to update him on the situation in New York. She nodded her assent and waited until he was out of sight before she dared glance back at the coffeehouse.

A dull ache rose in her chest, but she inhaled and exhaled quickly, pushing the feeling away as she turned her back on the café. She had a plane to catch.

Queens, New York, United States of America

As soon as she landed, Sakura made her way to Tobirama’s mansion. It was late when she arrived. The stars were already out and a bright, full moon illuminated the sky even against the polluting city lights.

As usual, the guard let her pass. She drove up the circle drive and parked out front. Immediately a staff member greeted her and accepted her car keys to park her vehicle in the garage. The butler answered the door before she had even started ascending the entrance stairs. In the doorway, he accepted her coat without anything more than a polite ‘good evening’.

Tobirama greeted her at the bottom of the stairs. His brow arched curiously. “You’re here early.” Then he glanced at the expensive watch on his wrist. “Nearly two weeks early.”

She cocked her head, a smirk lingering in the corner of her mouth. “Should I come back later?”

His gaze lingered on her a moment. Then the corner of his lips flickered up into a smirk before he grabbed her and roughly sealed his mouth over hers. They stumbled to the bedroom, bumping pictures on the wall and tripping over discarded clothes until Tobirama hoisted her onto his hips. Her legs wrapped around his waist before her back hit the wall just inside the bedroom door.

A sound between a gasp and a moan ripped out of her throat as he lined himself up. Then he settled deep inside her, allowing gravity to do its job as his fingers bruised her thighs. Sakura wasn’t even sure if he had closed the door behind them, but she couldn’t care less as he started a hard, fast rhythm. Her head fell back against the wall as he buried himself into a particularly sensitive spot, her breathy moan turning into something sharper as his teeth bit into the soft skin of her neck.

Then Sakura retaliated. Her fingers tangled into his hair, jerking his head back before she crushed her mouth to his. She wasn’t sure if she had missed him, but she was certain she missed this, and she tightened her legs around his waist to pull him closer.

Their battle lasted until climax. Sakura came with an unmuffled cry before Tobirama carried her to the bed. He finished inside her before he rolled off to rest on the bed beside her. Sakura didn’t move until her breath evened out and the sweat on her skin began to make her feel cold and sticky. Without a word, she pushed herself to her feet before she made her way to the joined bathroom.

Inside, Sakura took a quick shower and wrapped herself up in one of the plush towels on the rack before she paused in front the mirror. Steam clung to the surface and she wiped it away with her hand, only pausing when she caught sight of the ugly, circular scar on her shoulder just below her collarbone. It had healed well after the surgery and would fade more with time, but it was a stark reminder of what had happened that day.

Sakura turned away before the memories could surface. She rubbed some lotion onto her legs and ran a brush through her hair before returning to the bedroom.

Her bag had appeared in the hall just outside the door and she brought it inside before dug out her computer bag. Tobirama was still in bed, his own laptop open in his lap.

“How was Cairo?” Tobirama asked.

He didn’t look up at her as she settled on the far side of the bed, one leg bent at the knee in front of her while the other hung off the side of the mattress.

“Boring,” Sakura replied as she booted up her system. “Temari has a pretty good handle on everything happening over there.”

Tobirama side-eyed her. “So, what did you do for the last month?”

“Hung out at the beach. Drank frilly drinks.”

“You’re not the kind to drink frilly drinks,” Tobirama said flatly.

Sakura couldn’t resist her smile. The man was right about that. “I went to Germany.”

Just as she expected, he blinked in confusion. “What the fuck is in Germany?”

“A contact,” she replied, unfazed by his language. “You remember how I said I might be able to get a line into Russia? There’s someone in Moscow that might be willing to start trading into New York.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay, but why meet in Germany?”

“Because that’s where he lived. I don’t fucking know. We just did,” she said, attitude creeping into her voice.

Tobirama was hardly put off by her tone. He didn’t look up from his computer as he asked, “So now what?”

“Now we wait to see if this new dealer contacts me,” she shrugged, her eyes turning down to her computer as her finance software loaded up. “It might take a little while, but I think I have what she wants.”

On the other side of the bed, Tobirama cocked his head. “Which is what?”

“Guns, money, power. Exactly what every other woman wants.”

He shot her an odd look as if to say he doubted that was what every woman wanted, but Sakura ignored him. Instead, she turned down to her work, double checking her accounts and her gun stores.

She was still balancing her finances when her phone went off a little while later. She picked up her phone absentmindedly, saving her work before she glanced at the caller ID. Instantly, she froze. The number was unsaved in her contacts, but she knew who was on the other end.

Orochimaru.

Closing her computer, Sakura stood from the bed. She picked up the call, but didn’t speak into the receiver as she grabbed the first article of clothing she found off the floor. It was Tobirama’s shirt. Quickly she slipped it on over her head before she left the room, closing the door behind her.

In the hall, a maid passed by. She nodded respectfully at Sakura before she quickly retreated down the other end to give her privacy. Sakura hardly even glanced in her direction. The staff were already used to seeing her half-naked, if not fully, by now.

As soon as Sakura was sure she was alone, she held the phone to her ear. “What?”

“Well isn’t that an unpleasant greeting. Shall we try again?” Orochimaru replied cheerfully. When Sakura remained silent, he huffed. “Fine, be that way. I believe you know why I’m calling.”

“You want to collect my debt.”

“Smart and beautiful,” he chuckled.

Sakura resisted the urge to growl. “What do you want?”

“And straight to the point,” he complained. “Very well. There is a man named Inuzuka Kiba. He’s a drug runner that I want taken care of. He’s mostly a ghost, but he commonly does his business in-”

“Moscow,” she finished.

She heard Orochimaru’s surprise through the phone. “You know him?”

“I know of him,” she said vaguely. “Why do you want him gone?”

“Oh darling,” he chuckled too fondly. “When I cleaned up your mess in New Jersey, did I ask any questions?”

A glare settled across her expression, but she forced it away with a sigh. As much as she hated Orochimaru, he had a point. And taking care of Kiba might actually earn her a favor in Russia.

“Consider it done,” she eventually said.

“Excellent.”

Orochimaru hung up then, but Sakura didn’t immediately return to the bedroom as she weighed her options. She hadn’t exactly been planning on moving into Russia so soon, but with Orochimaru’s orders, she had no choice.

After another minute, Sakura finally returned to the bedroom. Tobirama was still sitting where she had left him, computer on his lap. He glanced up at her briefly when she paused beside the bed, her phone still spinning slowly in her hand as she thought.

“What is it?” he asked.

Blinking her thoughts away, Sakura tossed her phone down onto the bed. “Remember how I wanted to go to Russia?”

“Yeah.”

“Turns out we’re going earlier than I planned.”

Tobirama arched his brow in surprise. “When?”

“Next week.”

Moscow, Russia

Music filled the ballroom. It drifted from the orchestra down below and rose up into the high ceiling. Men and women were dressed in expensive evening attire with glasses of champagne and whiskey in their hands provided by passing servers.

From the second floor, Sakura stood shadowed on a balcony overlooking the elegant party. The faint murmur of conversation reached her ears, but from her distance she couldn’t make out their words. Especially not when they were laced with such heavy Russian accents.

Like a hawk hunting her prey, Sakura watched the party-goers mingle with a calculating gaze, her eyes sharpened with black eyeliner. The people below looked like business men and women, and perhaps most of them were, but her sights were set on one.

Karin.

The beautiful woman stood out in her sparkling, silver dress. The material brushed her ankles, but it hugged her bust and curvy waist, the bits of crystal in her dress sparkling against the giant chandelier overhead. Her red hair spilled over her shoulder in silky curls, her bangs framing her youthful face. She was only a few years older than Sakura, but even she had to admit Karin was doing well in the Russian Underground. Especially now that Kiba was out of the picture.

“Is she ready?” a voice asked.

Sakura didn’t turn her gaze away from Karin as Tobirama came to a stop beside her. The woman below them was fingering a flute of champagne, but Sakura had been keeping an eye on her for near that of an hour. It was only her second glass.

“Not quite,” Sakura replied. “Perhaps after another drink.”

“Should I warm her up for you then?”

Sakura turned her gaze away to peer at Tobirama then. There was a reason she had invited him to come along with her. He looked dashing in his black-on-black suit. The color was normally slimming, but this particular outfit made Tobirama’s shoulders broader, his muscles more apparent. Dangerous without being overly intimidating.

He really was an attractive man with his dark eyes and grey hair. Under the shadows of the balcony, the ridges of his cheekbones were emphasized, the cut of his jaw stronger. He was a silver fox. Exactly the type of man Karin was attracted to.

Sakura smoothed her hand over one side of his collar, pressing it down firmer. Then she smiled. “I’ll give you a couple of minutes to get acquainted.”

Tobirama smirked faintly, the harsh shadows making it appear more cruel, before he slipped away. Sakura tracked him as he descended the stairs and slipped through the crowd until he was standing beside Karin. He took her hand as he introduced himself, bowing slightly as he raised the back of her hand towards his mouth. He didn’t kiss her skin, but he came close in a polite greeting.

Sakura hadn’t told Tobirama she was using his charm to gain a hearing with Karin, but he had always been smart. Sakura didn’t put it past Tobirama to have figured it out himself.

From her shadowed vantage point, Sakura watched the pair like a predator. Tobirama flirted with Karin seamlessly, bold but not abrasive. His intentions obvious but unapologetic. The red-haired woman fed on it. From her research, Sakura knew Karin had been starved for attention in her childhood. And who better than Tobirama to give all of his to her now.

Sakura continued to stand there until Tobirama’s gaze briefly flickered in her direction. A silent cue that Karin was ready for her now.

Stepping away from the balcony, Sakura adjusted the shoulder of her black evening gown, ensuring it covered the scarring on her shoulder. At the same time, her phone pinged in her clutch purse, a stark reminder to mute the device before she went into this meeting.

Fetching her phone, Sakura unlocked the screen to silence her ringer when she saw an unusual text message: a simple location with a date and time. It was from an unknown number, but the description was oddly familiar. There was only one person who ever texted her like that:

Itachi.

tbc…

#hollow point #chapter 37 #epilogue #did I forget to mention it's a 2-parter??#my bad #:D #tobisaku #itasaku #one chapter left #lemon #(how are we tagging these again??)#edited: 02/26/20 #small tweaks of the last paragraph

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ally-127 · 5 years

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paris with taehyung

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: romance; fluff and smut

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: reader x idol!taehyung

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it’s just been far too long since he’d seen her, he would practically do anything. even if it’s abrupt—like buying a one-way ticket for her to travel halfway across the world without telling her. night(s) spent at a fancy hotel might simply be the perfect way to make up for what they’ve lost in the months they’ve been apart

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.6k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: some swearing

𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐜: serendipity - park jimin

you didn’t know how you ended up in such an extravagant hotel room in such an extravagant place, but you did.

all because of a text and a phone call from him.

the notification on your phone simply said:

pack your things and call your boss. you’re going to paris.

it was five pm in the evening on a weekday and you really couldn’t tell if he was joking. until your phone started ringing. his name appeared on your screen and your heart made the tiniest flip between your ribcage. even after five years, he seemed to have that effect on you. it’s ridiculous, you thought to yourself. regardless you picked up the phone immediately, not bothering to wait.

“hello?” you chirped, drumming your fingers on the table as you sit by the kitchen bar in your shared empty apartment. you and taehyung bought it together. but these days, you were the only one who resided in it.

“hey,” his voice was deep and husky as it resonated through the phone and into your eardrums. it was a familiar sound that made brought you warmth every time you heard it, a sound that you grasped on every time you felt you hit rock bottom. a voice that made you miss him so much it hurt.

across the line you heard him exhale from relief that he could finally hear your voice after a long, hectic day. you imagined the small smile that completely lit up his face as he held his phone to his ear. that small smile he reserved for private moments like this, for moments where he knew there would always be someone waiting for him on the other line, that you would always be there to pick up.

the low hum in the background indicated that he was in the car, probably on the way to the venue in wherever he and the boys were set to perform that night.

“what’s that message about?” you teased him, as you usually did.

“i really miss you,” he said. you pictured him running his fingers through his hair. it was a habit he always had and couldn’t get rid of, you could just see him do it in times like this. “far too much, y/n, please come to me.”

“how shall i do that?” you gnawed at your bottom lip. your chest tightened at the hint of desperation in his voice as he said your name.

five months deprived of him, of his touch, of his love. it tended to mess with your head, bring tears to your eyes and bring about numerous sleepless nights. delusional assumptions that he’d left you haunted you, only for you to later realise how wrong you were when your phone began to ring every other night.

“i bought a plane ticket for you,” he confessed. you could tell he was trying his best not to stutter. “a first-class, direct flight to paris.”

suddenly, you ran out of words to say. his tone explained it all. he was being dead serious.

“tae…” you drawled on. “i can’t, you know i can’t.”

your job would be on the line and you’ve worked your heart and soul to get it. for you, finances didn’t come as easily as it did for him. every offer taehyung had made to help you in terms of money, you refused it. it wasn’t for your ego, for your pride. it was for the effort put in years and years of studying that you needed to make up for. and you made a promise to yourself that the only source of finance you had and were ever going to have was yourself.

especially once you started loving and dating someone whose face and name were splashed across every single billboard and music chart around the world.

“please,” the need in his voice was so evident it would have made you seem cruel if you turned him down.

you sighed. your desperation mirrored his, but he was always better at expressing it. he knew the right words to throw you off your mental wall that built up after years and years of experiences of careless lovers, to guard your weak heart and your faltering mind.

“it’s been five long months,” he was never a needy lover. but at this point of time, he was almost craving for you. he wanted you in his arms, his lips on yours, effective immediately. “spend a night or a month with me, i don’t care. i just need to see you.”

“i’ll arrange something with the office,” you tap the pencil between your fingers on your temple. in your mind, you’ve already begun planning what you should do to just get a week off. all for him.

“promise me that you’ll try,” of all people, taehyung understood what it meant to be completely immersed and devoted to your job. but his tone almost offended you, like he’d lost his faith in you and your will to try for your relationship.

the desire to prove him wrong––and how much you actually loved him––overpowered your senses. you ended up calling up the office for leave, shoving a week’s worth of clothing into your suitcase and hailing a cab to the airport in the span of two days. before boarding the flight with the ticket he’d bought for you, you took advantage of the privileges the thousand dollar ticket gave you. you downed as much champagne as you could in the unnecessarily prestigious lounge, to make yourself drowsy for the twelve-hour flight.

and that was how you ended up in this room.

the room that’s furniture and interior simply screamed luxury. the room that seemed to have taehyung’s presence everywhere. the french, ornate wainscotting on the walls was lined with gold and painted a brilliant white. the air carried a light tang of jasmine from the branded diffusers that scattered around the room. you swore you could smell him amidst the strong fragrance. your sensitive nose picked up on the remnants of his familiar cologne that he’d spritzed on right before he headed out.

the scent was so personal, so nostalgic you swore he was right in the room with you.

the cream-coloured, plush carpeted floor sunk under the soles of your feet as you glanced around the room, suitcase still in hand.

he’d opted for a suite, instead of a regular room.

just for the two of you.

parisian armchairs and sofas greeted you first, making the king-sized bed seem miles away, hidden in a separate space.

you trudged towards it and tucked your suitcase idly in the corner, next to his. you felt out of place here and as you glanced at the time by the clock placed on the bedside table, you realised that you had two hours before he would be back.

if he was here, he’d help you adjust to the lavishness, the expensive lifestyle you had laid out right before you. he’d explain each and every detail to the opulence existing in this very room. he was not even close to being a superficial person, he just simply had upscaled tastes compared to yourself.

you ran your finger against the intricate carvings on the wall, eyes flicking up to look out the window.

the view of the entire city took your whole breath away.

as an artist, you noticed the details first. the buildings were coated with a light tinge of yellow, tinted from age. amidst the buildings and in the blurry distance, stood the eiffel tower. the prized possession and pride of paris, a structure in which carried the reputation of this artistic, metropolitan city.

with the help of the warm evening sunlight, you let your eyes glaze over the architecture and drink in the dwellings built hundreds of years ago. your heart swelled in your chest as your eyes traced every splash of colour, every movement of beings and vehicles on the parisian streets. it was a moment of serenity, where all problems seemed like nothing at all.

autumn treated paris well. hues of reds, oranges and yellows from fallen leaves decorated the sidewalk of roads where cars zoomed by, where careless pedestrians jaywalked. the occasional honks from cars and dings of bells from bicycles that reverberated from below became a melody to which you savoured. for once, you and your hectic mind were at peace.

the blissful nonchalance of your mind drove you to the ensuite bathroom. you stripped yourself free of your worn-out hoodie and sweats you’ve been wearing for the past fifteen hours and step into the shower.

the screech of the copper faucet sent alleviating, steaming water down on you, cleansing you from the germs and dust of the plane ride. you coated yourself with the body wash and shampoo that’s scent paired with the diffuser outside, which was a ridiculous but congenial touch. the glass walls of the shower fogged up from the smoke rising from your body, your fingers tracing random shapes on the water vapour.

stepping out of the shower made you realise how quiet the room was, the only sounds emitting were the draining of water in the shower and the subtle hum of electricity from the elegant fixtures on the ceilings and against the marble wall of the bathroom.

you found yourself missing the rich echo of his voice that bounced off every surface and kept you in its embrace.

the sink was cold as you braced yourself on it, hair wet and a towel wrapped around you. you stared at yourself through the reflection in the antique mirror placed right in front of you.

tired, you may look due to the dark under-eye circles, you seemed to have a sense of exuberance thrum through you. the thought of seeing him again made your head spin and your heart race in your chest. to hear his voice and see his face in his own perfect form––not through the screen or speakers of your phone––excited you in ways you couldn’t explain.

you let your hair air dry and dressed in a short, silk robe. you found that it was a rather appropriate attire for a hotel room like this, where luxury here matched with the material of your robe.

moments later, you found yourself seated on the soft bed, sketchbook propped up against your bent knees while you sketched out the only thing, the only person that was on your mind.

taehyung.

infatuation, was the only explanation people could offer you about this magnetic force of attraction you had with him. but you two weren’t teenagers anymore. twenty-four and ridiculously immersed with one another was what you were. six years wasn’t enough to tame the flame, the pull you had with him. the more time you spent apart from him, the more you yearned for him.

you figured that this was natural, but sometimes it was just far too overwhelming.

you closed your eyes and took a shuddering breath, picturing him in the back of your mind. you remembered tracing your fingers across his face as he stared into your eyes in the darkness of your bedroom, in times where a schedule did not take up the whole day and in times where he didn’t have to travel a million miles away to perform for millions of fans.

as if a spell had been cast, your pencil began to draw the outlines of his face with precision and details you didn’t think you could recall. you were filled with reminiscence as you marked down his round, puppy-like eyes, smiling to yourself when you remember the way he would sway you with those mischievous irises.

you knew the exact shape of his full, distinct lips. he would use them to kiss you on your forehead, on your lips. he would use them to showcase his talents, his singing, his acting. the familiar, low, smoky voice would emit from them, in addition with his wicked smile that lured each and everyone in. you drew his straight nose, not forgetting to add the tiny freckle that he had on the under the tip of his nose, close to his septum–– a place you loved pressing your lips gently to in private moments you two could manage to obtain.

you began to sharpen his features on your sketchbook, adding shadows to where it was needed, under his defined lips, his chiselled jawline, his high cheekbones. with shadows came the highlights, using the eraser on the back of your pencil to add brightness to his face.

you began to draw the outline of his hair, strands his fingers ran through whenever stress and anxiety managed to break through his hard shell, strands that your fingers tug every time you made love. you pondered on what colour he must have dyed it thus far, a question that reminded you of just how long you haven’t seen him. the strokes of your pencil were soon in sync with your anticipated heartbeat, the fact of being able to see him again looming over you the entire time you draw.

hours later, across the room, amidst the peaceful silence, you heard a click by the door. you stood from where you were sitting on the bed, striding your way calmly to the living room to see who it was. your mind was too focused on the door to realise you were still holding onto your sketchbook and pencil. you could hear the sound more clearly, and it sounded like a card sliding in and out of the slot in the lock. you heard another click and the metal door handle was pushed down.

the door creaked opened and in came a tall figure. a figure you knew all too well, a figure you had been aching for, came into sight.

your heart forgot a beat when he looked up only to see you standing right in front of him, finally coming to a realisation that you’d actually made your decision to come here. his pink lips parted in surprise, his dark eyes lighting up as soon as his eyes scanned across your face.

“taehyung,” you breathed, tossing the materials in your hands to the side.

he stalked hastily towards you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you so close and tight it knocked the wind out of you. his arms were wrapped around your waist as you stood on your toes to reach his height, encircling your arms around his neck. you felt him bury his nose in the crook of your neck and felt his chest rise and fall from his heavy breaths, inhaling the entirety of your presence in. he hadn’t said a word, but you didn’t care. he was here with you and you were here with him. it was the only thing that mattered.

“y/n,” he pulled away to look at you. “i missed you so fucking much.” there was that voice you missed listening to oh so much.

a voice you much rather hear in places that weren’t over the phone.

with his hands grasping your jaw gently to tilt your head up towards him, he kissed you, raw and hard. his lips on yours was something close to euphoric, his fingers stretching up to weave through the delicate strands of your hair. years and years of memories came flooding back to you while tears pricked the back of your eyes. you held them back, releasing your lips from him to whisper,

“i know,” you caressed his cheek with the edge of your index finger. “i missed you too.”

his light brown hair was dishevelled from the concert that he’d just performed an hour or so ago. he was dressed in a sleek blazer over a t-shirt with black jeans. he looked exactly the same as he did when he left. ravishing, as usual.

once he was willing to let you go, you bent down to pick up your sketchbook and pencil. your eyes catch the small, tender smile he had hung on his face, your heart blossoming at the sight. you made your way to the bedroom before he could get nosy about what you were drawing. he’d always been inquisitive about what and how you were creating art every time an idea struck you, it was in his nature to do so.

“are you hungry?” you asked him as you set your sketchbook down on the bedside table, not ready to show him your creation yet.

he nodded while he licked his bottom lip. taehyung had this habit of sticking his tongue out on his bottom lip at random times, and you had noticed it ever since you met him. it was so adorable in the way you just wanted to hug him, like a puppy.

a smile quirked by your lips, your heart still pounding in your chest. from the bed, you glanced at him as he took off his blazer effortlessly and swung it by the chair nearest to him. his light brown hair fell down to his eyes as he kneeled down on the carpeted floor to untie his shoelaces.

he was too busy with untying them that he didn’t notice your stare.

or so you thought.

“what are you staring at?” his boxy smile reflected yours, standing up from where he was crouching on the ground. he could sense your stare from miles away.

“you,” you admitted slyly.

he chuckled deeply, voice echoing throughout the bedroom. he made his way round the bed to you. “i’m going to order room service. want anything?”

you shook your head, leaning back against the headboard.

“if you say so,” he reached forward to pick up the phone on the bedside table to call for his meal.

he made his order swiftly, his english not once faltering. you beamed with pride, the english you’ve been teaching him coming into effect. you couldn’t take full credit for it, though. he’d just gone on a world tour and he had namjoon to practice with, after all.

“you’re improving,” you mused as you sit cross-legged on the bed, beside him.

he sat himself down in front of you, directing his unwavering gaze at you. “namjoon has been helping me.”

you found it even more impressive that he figured out what you were talking about without needing you to specify what exactly it is.

“i really don’t like language barriers,” he told you. “it’s so hard to communicate with people everywhere.”

to him, communication was important. he loved to convey messages, whether through body language or spoken words. the lyrics he wrote and the choreography he danced to, was few of the many ways he did so. he loved to express himself. it’s one of the things the drew you to him in the first place.

“you’ll be fine,” you reached forward to stroke his hair. “you’re making progress, and that’s all that matters.”

“thank you, love.” he leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the lips. he slid off the bed and onto his feet, the satin sheets rustling in the process. “i have to take a shower.”

“go ahead, no one’s stopping you.” you let out a light laugh as you watched him scramble clumsily to the bathroom.

“wanna join me?” he questioned, head poking out from the double doors of the en suite bathroom, light brown hair bouncing in excitement. his eyes twinkled with intent and his eyebrows were slightly raised, hinting at something filthy.

at that you laughed, loud and boisterous, at his attempt of getting you naked for him. “nice try.”

“oh, come on,” he threw his hands up.

“i’ve already showered,” you teased him.

“it was worth a shot,” he shrugged, lips forming a pout.

“hurry,” you rolled your eyes at him playfully. “don’t let your room service run cold.”

“in that case,” he shut the door mid-sentence. “i better hurry.”

moments later you heard the shrill screech of the faucet followed by the sound of gushing water. you laughed to yourself, shaking your head.

what a dork.

you realised that this was the taehyung you fell in love with. not the sensuous, fierce performer he was on stage. not V from bangtan, but kim taehyung from geochang.

kim taehyung, who you met in the first year of college at a café somewhere you didn’t remember. who helped you pick your collapsed textbooks which was the result of the clashing of your bodies. who then offered to buy you a drink. who you thought was an absolute cliché, but also someone who you never thought would have stuck with your infuriating self for the next six years.

back then, he was just a boy who had dreams larger than life.

today, he was part of one of the biggest boy groups in international pop culture.

day after day, you see him on the front covers of your favourite magazines, on news articles, on advertisements.

you were enticed each time you saw his face on the screens of buildings on your way to work. but you were also disappointed because you were selfish.

you thought you could have him to yourself. as much as you told yourself that you could, you always knew in the back of your mind, ever since you met him, that it’ll never happen. so you had to just live with it.

he was just a trainee when you first met him, but you immediately knew this boy, quirky and all, was going to make it huge one day, if not soon.

and he did.

and you couldn’t be any prouder than you already were.

your thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched scream.

no, it wasn’t a scream.

it was kim taehyung singing in the shower.

taglist: @minjiyeonnie

chapter 2 link here

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kindashysorry · 4 years

Text

Blackout

Daverine Words: 2.4k Warnings: Swearing, and poor information on constellations and Roman mythology @the-games-changing

___

“How long has it been now?” Katherine asked, taking a sip from her watermelon Slurpee as Davey pushed her on the swings. Davey checked his watch, squinting in the dark, the watch hands barely visible. “Uh, almost half an hour, I think.” Kath almost choked on her drink.

“The power’s been down almost how long?” Davey took a sip from his own Slurpee and pushed her again. “Is that an ‘it feels longer than that’, or an ‘it feels shorter than that’ holy shit?”

“A bit of both.”

The two of them had been at home when the power went out, interrupting their nightly routine, and when it didn’t come back on after a few minutes, Kath knew exactly what to do to make the blackout a little more fun. After a little convincing (and one big dose of puppy-dog eyes), Davey and Kath hopped on the back of Davey’s motorbike and drove off to the park with a small hill on it, a few streets away. Stopping by briefly to grab their Slurpees from Elmer, who had taken it as his third job to support himself and his sisters. “Y’know some guy came in here like two hours ago and threw up in the middle of the store then just walked out. Who does that!?” Elmer complained as he used the torch on his phone to light up the Slurpee machine where Kath and Davey were filling up their cups. Kath had slid him a ten-dollar note, clicking her tongue in sympathy. “People are just like that sometimes. Sorry you had to deal with that, bud.” Elmer shrugged,

“Pays the bills, it’s nothing I can’t deal with.” Katherine and Davey had left after exchanging goodbye’s with Elmer and crossed the road to the park, where they were now sat.

Davey had wandered over to a semi-flat piece of ground and lay down on his back as Kath continued to swing, lost in her own thoughts. Davey called out to her, and she looked up to see him waving her over. She jumped off the swing and made her way over to him, getting comfortable on the grass next to him. She rested her head on Davey’s chest as they looked up at the night sky, the stars looked so much brighter without the glow from the streetlamps, the burning pinpoints of light like small diamond dust twinkling down on them. “You like stars, right?” Davey asked, playing with Katherine’s hair. She shrugged with a smile and a small incline of her head. “My father made me take an astronomy class when I was younger, I thought I’d hate it but,” she shrugged. “I guess I was wrong. I‘ve always really liked stars since then.” She sighed, trying to get more comfortable in the grass, looking into the sky “I mean, they’re so big and have so much going on up close, but all we see are pretty lights a million light-years away. We only get to see the tiniest snippet of them, y’know? So many people look up and love the stars, they think of them as warm balls of comfort that could do no wrong. But the stars can be cold and cruel, a side people don’t often see. They can be cold, and cruel, and no matter how much you love them, the stars never love you back.” Kath sighed again and Davey grabbed her hand, rubbing small circles on the back of it with his hand. She looked over and gave him a small smile, though her eyes betrayed her slight embarrassment at her rambling. He squeezed her hand comfortingly and the pair fell into a comfortable silence. They watched the night sky move slowly by them, an occasional wispy cloud drifting in front of their vision, to which Davey would try and find animals or objects, which Kath could never decipher. The two of them stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms for a few more minutes, Katherine tracing small patterns on Davey’s side as Davey braided the small section of her hair he was playing with earlier. Kath took a deep breath in and stretched, heaving herself to her feet and snatching her empty cup off the ground. “Have you finished yours?” Davey nodded and placed his cup in her outstretched hand. She gave him a small smile and motioned to the bin at the bottom of the hill. “I’ll be right back.” She said and began to walk down the hill. Davey watched her leave, smiling to himself. Despite the cold night air, he felt warm. A nice warm, that made him feel nice and cosy, one that started in his chest and spread through his body with each beat of his heart and every moment he spent with her. With Kath, he felt safe, he felt grounded. He felt safe and grounded, and warm. Davey lay back in the grass, closing his eyes, smiling softly as he let the warmth wash over him.

___

“Okay, you’re for sure making these up now!” Katherine laughed into Davey’s shoulder.

“I’m not! That’s a real constellation! Look,” she re-traced the pattern of stars, connecting each glimmering dot to the next with her finger. “That one there is Cygnus, ‘cause it looks like a swan, see?” Davey didn’t see, but nodded along, engaged anyway. “You can find it easier if you look for the really bright star at the end of its tail, called Deneb.” That, Davey could see. “Then follow it up to the head, Albireo, which is actually a double star but the name is used specifically for the brighter one, and then you can see the two wings below it.” He was lost again. Davey squinted into the sky, trying to follow Kath’s finger, but to no avail, he sighed. “I’m fairly certain I know where the Big Dipper is, but that’s it.” He scanned the sky, before reaching up and tracing the shape in the sky. Katherine smiled. “Close,” she said. “But you’re off by one.” She reached up and gently took hold of Davey’s wrist, sticking her tongue out slightly as she drew the constellation, deep in concentration. “You missed Alkaid, the very last one at the end.” She dropped her hand and Davey swore lightly under his breath. “I thought it felt shorter than usual.” He put his hand down as well. “Show me another one?” Katherine smiled giddily, her eyes lighting up.

“Okay!” she bit her lip, pausing for a second to search the sky, more clouds swirled overhead, blocking out patches of stars. She searched for a few more seconds, then put her hand back up and outlined another group of stars. “That’s Draco, the eighth largest constellation in the sky!” a large grin spread across her face. “Draco has a load of deep-sky objects, like the Cat’s Eye Nebula, that’s 3000 light-years away! There’s also a handful of galaxies and galaxy clusters like-” She cut herself off, heat rising in her cheeks as she twisted the hem of her shirt self-consciously between her fingers. “Sorry, I’m rambling again.” She mumbled quietly. Davey grabbed hold of her hand, intertwining their fingers, squeezing her hand lightly. “No, I love hearing you talk about stars! You’re so passionate and I love listening to you talk about your interests.” He moved their hands up and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her palm. “Can you show me another? If you want?” Kath’s cheeks turned redder, a slight smile playing at the edges of her mouth. “Thanks.” She said quietly, before mentally dusting herself off, clearing her throat and sweeping the sky for another constellation. More clouds had formed, cutting down the sky by another portion. With a small sound of realisation, she landed on a small batch of stars that were grouped near the others that had previously been pointed out. “Hercules,” the smile grew a little wider. “It’s made up of fifteen stars,” she drew invisible lines connecting each pinprick of light. “But there’s something like three thousand, three hundred and eighty-one, though we can only see a hundred and thirty-five with the naked eye. He’s a pretty cool constellation, but,” Katherine pointed back up to Draco. “He killed Draco to get the apples he was guarding, which I think was pretty rude of him. He could’ve at least tried restraining him or something! Like he didn’t even look at Draco or anything, just threw a spear at him and was like ‘okay, he’s dead now, let’s get those apples!’ like how impolite can you be, y’know?” Davey chuckled quietly and wrapped Kath up tighter in his arms. “He didn’t even say ‘hi’ to Draco?” he asked.

“No!”

“Shame on him!”

“Yeah!” Katherine cheered. “Shame on him!” she giggled and nestled up against his chest, resting her head on his arm. She sighed contentedly and turned her head to face him. “You wanna show me one now?”

“But I don’t know any constellations.” Davey protested. Kath shrugged.

“So make some up.” He hummed as he examined the night sky, only a small patch of stars visible in the cloud-cover. He tilted his head slightly, looking for shapes in the sky. “That,” he said, connecting a vague heart in the stars. “Is Katherine. He pointed at two bright stars sitting next to each other near the top of the heart. “Those two stars are an easy way to find it.” Davey broke off, pausing as he thought of what he was going to say next, hoping it didn’t sound as awkward as he thought. “Katherine was a kind-hearted girl who lived in a small town. But she was exceptionally beautiful.” Kath propped herself up on her elbow, smirking slightly as he continued. “So beautiful in fact, that Venus herself became jealous. She seethed away in her resentment for years, until one day she had enough and flung Katherine into the sky, imprisoning her in the stars so that Venus had no other competition.” Davey finished with one final trace of the heart, though he knew the shape had changed since the first time he drew it, clouds covering half of it. “That,” Katherine said after a pause. “Was probably the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.” She smiled cheekily.

“Shut up,” Davey replied with a roll of his eyes and a smile of his own, feeling his cheeks begin to burn hot. Kath laughed, grabbing hold of his hand. “I’m sorry Davey,” she shivered slightly and tucked herself further into his warm body. “It was sweet. So sweet in fact, I think I might throw up!” She chuckled again, and Davey buried his face in the top of Katherine’s hair, groaning in embarrassment. “You know I’m not good at the romantic talk stuff.” Kath smiled and pressed her lips against his neck, their heads fitting together like puzzle pieces. “Aww, you know I’m just messing with you, right?” her eyelashes brushed against his jawline as she waited for a response. “Right?” she said again after a few seconds, moving away from his neck, and into a sitting position, as her nerves grew. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt or offend her boyfriend. ”Yeah, yeah, I know.” Davey answered, sounding vaguely sarcastic, and Kath cursed herself internally.

“Because I was! I mean, that was really sweet!” She stammered quickly. “Like not only was it nice, you created that snippet of story in a heartbeat! And it was wonderful!” Davey sat up as well, gently taking hold of her arms. “Kathy, It’s okay!” Katherine pushed her hands up against her cheeks.

“Ah! No, I didn’t mean to sound rude, oh gosh, now I feel bad! I’m so sorry!” Katherine was still talking at a hundred miles an hour, Davey could hardly get a word in edge-wise “Kath, Kath, I swear it’s okay. It was cheesy.”

“No, no it wasn’t! But even if it was, I love cheesy!”

“Kathy, it’s fine! Do-”

“I love cheesy! Cheesy is great! I-” Davey tugged her gently forward into his lap, pressing his lips to hers, silencing her panicking with a kiss. He could still taste the faint watermelon flavour from her Slurpee lingering on her lips as he deepened the kiss. After a few seconds, the two broke apart, both of them big, blushing messes. They rested their foreheads against each other, breathless. Katherine slid her hand into Davey’s, her breathing slowly returning to normal. She lay her head against his shoulder still bathing in the silence. “Blueberry was always my second favourite flavour.” She said, laughing quietly into his shirt. Davey chuckled too, “Yeah? Well, I think I need to try watermelon next time.” They sat there in a warm, comfortable silence, absorbing the marvellous feeling of just being with each other. Thunder rumbled overhead and a cold droplet of water splashed down onto Davey’s forehead, making him yelp in surprise. Katherine laughed, tilting her head back in amusement until another drop landed in her eye, and with another boom of thunder, the sky opened up and the heavens rained down upon them. Each drop that fell looked like a shooting star, and Kath and Davey laughed again, their cheeks beginning to return to their usual colours. Davey helped Kath to her feet, then reached behind him and slid his jacket off of his arms, holding it up over both of their heads to shield them from the rain. The two of them ran down the hill, one hand holding up Davey’s jacket and the other interlaced together, trying not to slip in the wet grass as they made their way back to Davey’s Motorbike. By the time they arrived at the bike, the rain had gotten heavier, and despite their jacket protection, the two of them were drenched. “Do you think the powers back on yet?” Katherine asked through chattering teeth.

“I dunno, guess we’ll see when we get back.” Davey handed her helmet over and tied his soggy jacket around his waist. Katherine looked at her helmet and paused, waiting for Davey to finish with his jacket. “Are you alright to go?” he looked up as Kath grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down into another kiss. They leaned against the bike, bodies pressed together as the rain-soaked through their skin. Kath pulled away, leaving Davey stunned, and jumped on the back of the bike, patting the spot in front of her. “You coming?” a smirk carved its way across Davey’s face as he hopped on, feeling Kath’s arms wrap around his waist. “Hold on.” He said though he knew she didn’t need to be reminded and kicked the stand back before taking off down the road, Kath giggling into his back as they drove home.

___

#asdfghjgf #i hope this is okay #its 3:14 am and my eyes are going all spotty lol #i feel like it lowkey got progressively worse as it went on but #://#i have a part 2 in the works if youre interested in it #dont feel pressured tho lol #aahh my brain broken imma shut up and go to sleep now #katherine plumber #katherine pulitzer #davey jacobs #daverine #davey x katherine #davey/kath #newsies

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wordywarriorwrites · 4 years

Text

Chapter 19: On the Line

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn A03 Story Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration with the prompt, “Why did you do it?” & @sherrybaby14 Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge with the prompt, “Show me. Prove that you can handle me.” Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. *Re-blogs are welcome. Plagiarism isn’t. *

Bucky had traveled 3,575 miles on nothing more than a combustive cocktail of desperation, adrenaline, and frayed nerves.

He hadn’t eaten, showered, or slept in almost two days, but that hadn’t mattered, and even with nothing but a city name to go by, he still managed to track Steve down. He’d waited anxiously and expectantly; practiced what he wanted to say; braced himself for what he anticipated would be, at most, a very soul-crushing, heart-breaking, go-on-a-bender-right-afterward rejection…

However, instead of a rebuff, Bucky received a bullet to the chest, and he didn’t even know the prick who capped him, let alone the reason for it.

A subsequent ride in a dilapidated mini-van with a rank interior, and a dipshit behind the wheel who drove like they were playing a fucking pinball machine instead of operating a motorized vehicle. The shocks – if they’d ever existed at all – had done nothing to absorb the impact of the chaotic ride, and Bucky tried not to howl like a wounded animal as everything quaked, rattled, and rolled around him.

The jacket used to help plug the leak was his own, but Steve was the one who kept continued pressure on the wound. Bucky was in the trunk, with all two-hundred-forty-pounds and six-feet-two-inches of Steve’s body straddled over him, and when Steve wiped the back of his hand across his sweat-drenched forehead, a streak of Bucky’s blood was left behind.

“Drive faster!” Steve yelled toward the front.

“I’m going as fast as this putain de boîte de conserve will allow!” came a harried reply.

As they careened around a sharp corner, Steve redoubled his efforts, and pushed down harder. The goal was to keep Bucky from being jostled, but all it did was exacerbate the pain. In a matter of minutes, he wasn’t able to take a full breath, or comply with Steve’s repeated commands for him to keep his eyes open.

“Hey, hey, look at me!” he bellowed. “God-fucking-damn-it, Buck, don’t you fuckin’ dare do this to me!”

Everything eventually came to a grinding halt, and then, things started to move way too fast again. Someone dragged him out of the van and he would’ve screamed if he’d had the oxygen to spare. He was transferred onto something soft, and then, prodded, poked, and asked questions he couldn’t answer because he was too busy wheezing and spitting up blood.

Another individual shined a light in his eyes and flatly remarked, “pupils responsive.” Another person said, “possible perforation of the right lung,” and he thought to himself, “Again?” Then, it was all barked orders and issued statements – remove the bullet; control the bleeding; repair the damage.

Bucky was going under – knew he was being dangled over the fucking grave – but he somehow managed to force his eyes open. When he blindly and wildly batted his hand around, someone grabbed it, and then, a pair of watery, baby-blues appeared in his line of sight. A voice insisted he needed to be taken into surgery immediately, and ordered Steve to let him go, but Bucky couldn’t allow that, because the darkness was closing in fast, and he needed to get it out before it was too late.

He tried to make his heavy tongue and blood-caked lips form the words. He tried to say it once – just one, fucking time – but his body was broken and uncooperative. The only thing Bucky could do was hold on, and he held on as tight as he could for as long as he was able, but all too soon he was forced under, and down into the darkness.

If Bucky had been asked to wager his chances of survival, he wouldn’t have bet on it. Given the deadly accuracy of the shooter and the massive blood loss, he figured the odds just weren’t in his favor, and when he woke up a few days later, he was both extremely shocked and very, very confused.

“M’alive?” he croaked to nobody in particular.

Natasha gasped and all but jumped out of her chair, “You’re awake?”

He tried to ask where he was and what happened, but she suddenly dashed for the door; a few seconds later, Natasha was back by his side, and accompanied by an attending physician who explained what had occurred while he’d been unconscious.

Apparently, Bucky was a lucky man; if the bullet had entered just an inch to the left, he would’ve been dead, but swift action and proximity to the best hospital in France had kept him out of the morgue. From there, he’d spent six hours with a surgeon; he’d flatlined a time or two, but the woman who’d been in charge of putting his sorry ass back together had stubbornly refused to let him die on her table.

Whatever else Bucky was told went in one ear and out the other; it wasn’t his first rodeo, and he knew he could anticipate at least two weeks of disgusting food and awkward bedside manner before he was released. The nurse who arrived a few minutes later gave him some water, went over the rules of the morphine pump, and showed him how to call for aid. After being told he would make a full recovery, Natasha shook hands with the medical staff, and thanked them for everything they’d done. Bucky was exhausted from just listening, but he also nodded in thanks, and as soon as they departed, he depressed the button to release the pain medication.

As soon as he woke and was somewhat coherent again, Natasha explained what happened. Apparently, Mason Dubois’s security detail had viewed Bucky’s unexpected presence in Paris as a threat, and since Steve was considered to be Mason’s boyfriend, that concern extended to him as well. The guard had just been doing his job, but nevertheless, Natasha assured him the matter had been dealt with, and that Dubois would see Bucky was well-compensated for the egregious mistake.

Bucky was in and out of it for about a week, not only because he was exhausted, but because the meds made him drowsy and unable to focus. He barely remembered when Tony, Thor, Wanda, Clint, and Bruce arrived, and save for consistently disappointing meals and lukewarm sponge baths, he really didn’t have the energy or patience for much else.

Over the next few days, they took turns visiting and keeping an eye on him, but the one person Bucky wanted to see had yet to make an appearance. He wasn’t sure of the time when he next opened his eyes, but he knew it was late because the lights had been dimmed, the door was shut, and his newest sentry was snoring and mumbling in his sleep.

Instead of using the cot one of the nurses had brought in, Steve was hunched forward in a chair at Bucky’s bedside. His torso was propped up on the edge of the mattress, and he had his face tucked in the crook of one arm, while the other rested heavily across Bucky’s waist. Though he was desperate for another hit of the mind-numbing, pain-relieving drugs, Bucky didn’t dose himself; instead, he reached out an unsteady hand, and gently stroked Steve’s hair.

The twitching and frantic murmurings stopped on a dime, and the contented sigh he let out made Bucky’s chest constrict even tighter. His vision was blurred and the room was dim, but he could still see Steve so clearly, and even after everything that had happened, he knew – Bucky knew Steve was the one.

Steve was the man he’d set everything aside for and put it all on the line for. It was Steve who he thought of and dreamed about; who he missed, desired, and needed every second of the fucking day; who he wanted to call when he was happy; who he wished to talk to when he was at the end of his rope; who he wanted to laugh with, take on the world with, and be with until he well and truly kicked the bucket.

Bucky stared down at Steve -- the man who’d literally saved his life twice -- and finally knew what he wanted to say.

The shaky hand he’d been carding through Steve’s hair became rock steady, but before he could act, the handle of the room’s door was turned, and the sound startled Steve out of his slumber. The speed at which he got to his feet and took a fighting stance meant he was being hypervigilant, but then, he seemed to come to his senses, muttered something about the nurse being right on time, and lowered his fists.

Every hour, on the hour – that was the schedule for rounds, and the staff was diligent. They checked his vital sheets, and if Bucky was awake, asked about his pain level, inquired after his comfort, and wondered if he needed assistance getting to the bathroom. The checkup was thorough and efficient, and Steve didn’t take his eyes off the nurse until the examination was complete and they were left alone again.

Steve rubbed his eyes and smothered a yawn, “Natasha will be here to take over and--”

“I was wrong,” Bucky interjected soberly. “And I should’ve never let you go five years ago.”

If Steve had just turned around and left, it wouldn’t have surprised him. If he’d told him to fuck off and never speak to him again, he would’ve deserved it. If Steve had threatened to re-open his chest wound; if he’d said it was too late; that what Bucky had put him through was unforgivable; that he’d already moved on -- that, too, would’ve been warranted.

When Steve didn’t say or do anything, Bucky knew he had his answer. He had to accept it, but that didn’t mean he had to face both the pain of his loss and his injury; he reached for the little baton connected to the morphine pump, but Steve was quick, and snatched it right out of his hand.

“You don’t get to say that to me and just check out afterward,” he snapped. “Tell me the real reason you’re in France – and don’t insult me by lying to me.”

Given the lengths Bucky had gone to in order to shore up power and neutralize threats in the past, it was more than fair for Steve to assume he’d flown all the way to Paris on business. The enraged look in his eyes suggested he believed Bucky had found out about Mason Dubois, and that the only reason he’d traveled cross-country was to put a stop to whatever was going on between them. It would’ve been easier had that been the case, but it wasn’t.

The real reason had nothing to do with business, but had everything to do with what Bucky knew to be true and what he felt deep down in his marrow: without Steve, he would never know peace, happiness, or rest, and Bucky’s love for him was more important than his so-called pride.

“You asked me what I wanted,” he choked out raggedly. “And what I want is you. That’s why I’m here.”

A myriad of expressions flitted across Steve’s face; at first, he appeared to be dumbfounded. Then, he bounced between frustration and sorrow, before he resolutely settled on incredulity and disbelief.

“You know, you had me for a minute there,” Steve asserted as he dropped the morphine switch back down on the bedspread. “But then, I remember who you are, and realize I can’t believe a single word that comes out of your deceitful fucking mouth.”

Bucky was trying to breathe through his torment and think of what to say when Steve suddenly turned, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, and left without a backward glance. His abrupt departure prompted Bucky to toss back the blanket and yank the IV from his arm. He was in no condition to be up and about just yet, but he got to his feet anyway, and shuffled out to the hall.

As soon as his toes passed the threshold, it was all, “Monsieur Barnes,” this and, “Tu dois retourner au lit,” that, but Bucky ignored the fuss. A quick glance to the right showed nothing but a long hallway of rooms, but when he looked left, he spotted the exit, and watched as Steve headed brusquely for it.

Foregoing his meds wasn’t the wisest decision Bucky had ever made. Being upright, let alone walking around without assistance, was also rather stupid. Using the wall for balance instead of parking his ass safely in a wheelchair? Definitely not a good idea, either. And shouting Steve’s name at the top of his scarred lungs in the middle of an otherwise respectfully quiet hospital hallway – yeah, that was bad, too.

But on a scale of, “Meh, screw it,” to, “What the actual fuck am I doing?” yelling out a declaration of love to a man who clearly wanted nothing more to do with him was really off the charts.

Steve halted mid-stride and the moment he chose to turn around was the exact second Bucky’s legs decided to give out on him. He folded like a cheap-ass lawn chair, went down hard on his knees, and felt one of his many stitches pop in the process.

The automatic door hissed open and swooshed shut. A doctor was paged over the intercom and an ambulance wailed in the distance. Some teenage girl in the lobby gasped and the woman seated next to her sniffled. A muffled, drawn-out scream, and then, the cries of a newborn. The phone at the front desk rang, but nobody moved or picked it up. When one of the staff eventually tried to aid him, he refused the assistance, and hung his head.

Bucky remained kneeling on the linoleum like a wretched supplicant, but soon, he wasn’t alone in his prostration. Dark-washed denim against bare skin, followed by a pair of sturdy hands that lifted him up and off the cold floor. Bucky was torn open; all raw, vulnerable, and exposed; and nothing more than a complicated, dead weight that bled and wept in Steve’s strong arms.

As he was carried back to his room, he had to bite down on his own fist to stop himself from sobbing. As soon as Steve set him down on the bed, the nurses swarmed, and proceeded to admonish him in both English and French while they cleaned, stitched, bandaged, and doped him back up. Bucky was back beneath the sheets and on the fringes of passing out again when Steve abruptly shook him awake.

“Did you mean it?” he asked gruffly. “Did you really mean what you said?”

He opened his eyes, fixed Steve with a level stare, and allowed both the tears and irrevocable words to tumble and fall. This time, there was no chance of misunderstanding; no room for subterfuge; and no backing out. When he repeated it again for good measure, Steve sighed, leaned over the bed, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his mouth.

Bucky knew Steve’s caress and murmured, “I love you, too,” didn’t mean all was forgiven.

But it was a pretty good fucking start.

Translations: Putain de boîte de conserve – Fucking tin-can. Tu dois retourner au lit – You must return to bed.

Chapter 20: Evermore

Everything: @jennmurawski13 @nerdy-bookworm-1998

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @captain-rogers-beard @lilliannaansalla

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

LOST TIME (part 2 of 3) A fantasy of Flocking Bay.

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

LOST TIME

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5556 words

written 2003 by Glen Ten-Eyck

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

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Morton Hewitt did not last. He bought the house for back taxes in 1944. He lived there for a week. He painted the hardwood floors and then hanged himself in the garage the next day.

Byron Thomas bought the house from Hewitt’s estate. He was a grave digger for Trinity Graveyard. He updated the plumbing and lived there quietly for several years. Apparently he liked his work a little too well. He buried two people who were not yet dead. One of them lived. He was adjudged sane at his trial and hanged for his crime.

Mark Altman bought the house next. He was a reclusive sort and lived there for a quite a number of years before it was discovered that he’d had some visitors who had never left. He died in prison while awaiting trial. There was an interesting hand written note attached to the autopsy report which stated that the coroner had ruled out both suicide and homicide but refused to pronounce the death natural.

Dora Greene got the place next. She was Mark’s sister. Like Mark, she lived there quietly for years. One day she walked into town and set fire to the school, killing five and maiming six more. She spent her last years in a lunatic asylum, setting three more fires and killing two more people. She herself died in her last fire.

While she was in the asylum, one Tony Fisk, age twelve, urged on by several other urchins, had thrown some stones at the windows of the Vekin place. He had missed. Becoming angry, he took careful aim and they all watched the flight of the stone. In the young malefactor’s words, “It went away without falling.”

It would not have been worthy of a news story, except for the fact that each of the children who had watched the stone had gone severely and permanently cross-eyed. In a small town like Flocking Bay, that many kids going cross-eyed at once could not be hidden.

George Abbot bought the house and rented it at a very low price to a Michael Farley. The two had been feuding, down-state, and the house was supposed to have been a peace offering. Farley stayed only a few weeks. He went out and dynamited Abbot’s automobile. Farley was quite mad and lived out his life in an asylum for the criminally insane. The county coroner ruled Abbot’s death to be suicide. After all, he had known the history of the house and had knowingly rented that house to an enemy.

Cornelius Baker took the house next. He upgraded the kitchen and installed modern wiring. He lived there quietly and apparently got on well for about five years. He was a long-haul truck driver. Bodies followed him about the country. Finally, he was caught with one in his truck. He drove his truck into a bridge abutment at over ninety miles per hour rather than be taken alive.

Now, I had the place. I mentally withdrew my blessing. He had not been a good man at all.

Lois saw that I was finished with the file and making good inroads on my sandwich. She asked, “Did you sleep there, last night?”

“Yes, I did. Most restful sleep I have had in years.”

“What is your full name?”

“Vandervekken,” I replied, getting out my driver’s license. I was used to this. “No first name or middle initial. Just Vandervekken.”

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know, at least seventy.”

“You don’t know how old you are? Seventy? You look like you’re in your early twenties,” she said incredulously. “I told you that things connected with the Vekin place get interesting.”

“I got a head-wound during the war. Traumatic amnesia.”

“Viet Nam wasn’t that long ago. It would only make you in your fifties.”

“Not Viet Nam, Lois. WW II. Apparently, I was helping the French Underground.” I handed her the military fingerprint record. Her eyes widened as she realized that I was serious. “The amnesia’s been permanent, so far. I have language skills . . . too many. I’m a fluent, accentless polyglot. I even speak Basque. I know how to do an amazing number of things . . . no trace of name or personal past. No ID either.”

“Couldn’t they trace you by these fingerprints or something?”

“They tried. I was found among the bodies of a wiped-out unit of the French Underground during the German withdrawal from Paris in 1944. Someone from another unit was able to say that I was an American volunteer with a name that he could neither remember nor pronounce ... something sort of Dutch. That inspired my current name. I got back with a temporary ID and that military fingerprint record, which I still carry.”

“That’s sad, and eerie, too. What’s it feel like?”

“I’ve thought about that a lot. I think the best way to describe it is like a house that’s furnished but nobody is home. Empty. Alone.”

“So, how does that relate to your choice of name? You must know what having only one name does to our systems for indexing things and people.”

“True. I want to stand out, in case somebody recognizes who I am. As for Vandervekken, he was the Flying Dutchman, who swore that he would take his ship around the Cape of Good Hope, against a gale, if it took until Judgment Day. That was in the Seventeenth Century and he is still sailing. His ghost is seen as a Dutch East India Co. galleon with all sails set, sailing into the teeth of a gale. He can’t get home either.”

“I see,” Lois said, adding to her notes. “What brought you to Flocking Bay?”

“I was just passing through. I like small towns, so I avoid the main highways and big cities whenever I can. I liked the atmosphere of Flocking Bay enough to inquire about the possibility of settling here.”

“Look, we both know that small towns are dying. You could have had your pick from any of a dozen houses. Why the Vekin place?”

“I was shown fourteen places, actually. I know that it seems a bit forbidding at first, but it felt good. Like a warm glove on a cool morning. Have you ever actually been there?”

She shuddered, “No, and before you, I have never heard of anyone who said that the Vekin place felt good ... You say that you are a writer. What have you written?”

“Charles said it very well, ’Pseudonyms are great for privacy.’ My own writing aside, I do translations but you won’t find my name on most of them. Archaeologists like to take credit for their finds. I mentioned that I’m a polyglot? I sight read ancient languages as well as modern.”

I extended my hand to Lois and invited, “Would you like to come and see for yourself this house of dark history? I promise that you will find it worth your while. In all of those stories, not once was the interior of Vekin House described. Do come.”

“I have to return the file and get my camera,” she responded gamely.

“I shall await you in my auto, in front of the Voice,” I answered. As I walked her back across the street, I had the pleasure of seeing her stare at Lilitu.

“If that’s what I think its, I’ll ride with you anywhere!” she called over her shoulder as she entered the Voice’s office. True to her word, she emerged in a few minutes with a camera. Not one of those tiny little cameras that have become fashionable, but a business-like press camera. I opened the car door and gave her a hand up.

As I got into the driver’s seat, she asked, wonder in her voice, “Is this really a Packard V-12 Touring Car?”

We pulled away with the almost uncannily quiet, vibration-free ride that the car was famous for. I replied, “You bet she is. Lois, meet Lilitu. Lilitu, meet Lois. After the war, there were still quite a few of them to be had, and I liked both the ride and the durability, so I hunted one down and had it fixed up like new. I’ve kept her that way ever since. She’s only had two owners in over two-million miles. The first owner only put on about sixty-thousand of them.”

“You drive a lot,” she stated.

“I was looking for something ... I think that Flocking Bay has it. My turn for a few questions , if you don’t mind.”

“Fire away. If I don’t like the question, I won’t answer it.”

“What did you do before you took up the Voice?”

“The same thing that I still do. The stock and futures markets. I’m good at it. I got out of college with a degree in the sociology of medieval witchcraft. I got a job as a waitress on the strength of my looks. I put my first fifty dollars in tips into a risky stock that kited way up. On a hunch, I dumped it three days after I bought it. It nosedived shortly after I sold out. After commissions, I had three hundred and fifty dollars. I rolled it over the same way. The rest is history. So far, my hunches have always worked for me.”

“What brought you to Flocking Bay?”

“Like you, I was passing through. I was on my way to Lakeside Resort about three years ago. I got a hunch that I should stay, so I did. The Voice was failing. When a small town loses its paper, the end is in sight. I didn’t want the end to come, so I bought the paper. Here I am.”

“And here we are,” I said with a flourish as I pulled up in front of the house. We both stared. The yard was neatly trimmed, though the bushes and trees still retained a slightly forbidding aspect. Going up the path to the front door, I noticed that the flagstones had been leveled, the weeds removed and the joints and refilled with fresh sand. The iron fence and balustrades had been cleaned of rust.

“You’ve been busy,” was Lois’s comment.

“That’s just it,” I replied, puzzled. “I didn’t do it. I thought that stocking the fridge and setting out a snack last night was something that the real-estate agent arranged. Sort of a welcome wagon. This is beyond the call of duty.” Opening the front door, I felt that comfortable, welcoming feeling that had caused me to buy the house in the first place. Impulsively, I said, “Hello, house, you certainly look nice today.”

Lois looked at me quizzically and asked, “Do you talk to everything, or is this special?”

I thought for a moment before answering, “Actually I only talk to things that have personality enough to warrant a name, like Lilitu, my car, or Drachen, my typewriter.”

“Typewriter? You do like antiques, don't you? What are you going to call the house, then?”

“I’m not sure,” I answered. “Something good ... What does the place feel like to you?”

“The place actually looks and feels . . . well . . .” Lois groped for the right word, “I’d have to say . . . happy. Not what I expected, at all. It feels like what you see when a pup that loves its master is greeting him. No wonder you slept well, if it feels as good to you as it does to me . . .” She sort of trailed off. “I wouldn’t normally say this, but I’m getting a hunch about this place . . .” she trailed off again.

“I guess that the house was just waiting for the right kind of person,” I responded. “It was pretty rough on everyone else. I’m glad that you like it too.”

“Look at these floors,” she mused, “They were beautiful before Hewitt painted them over. You can still make out some traces of the parquetry patterns. If he hadn’t already hanged himself, I’d help you to do it.”

<==Previous Next==>

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Return to Flocking Bay

#LOST TIME #Part 2 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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espejonight28738 · 4 years

Text

The Passing Years

A/N: @Bushybrows_99 Sorry for taking so long, but at least I had it on time! Or at least here it is still on time. I tried to write some shizaya christmas fluff, and then I failed miserably at the “fluff” part, but at least it is shizaya christmas.

You can read it on AO3 if you prefer

“I promised my beloved Celty I was going to hang out with my friends on Christmas, at her request. You can't cancel on my two hours before you are supposed to come, Shizuo.” Shinra had been repeating variations of that for the last ten minutes when Shizuo finally gave up.

“Fine! I'll go, but don't fucking complain then if I end up beating the shit out of the louse you call friend.” Really, Shizuo had no problem being with Shinra and Kadota for Christmas, but Izaya? What the hell was Shinra thinking?

“He promised to be in his best behaviour, and so did you. Besides, maybe this is an opportunity for you to make up and stop destroying school property any time you see each other. It's been five months since you met and half the school is already remodeled.”

Shizuo knew there was no way that would happen. The only existence of the stupid flea annoyed the shit out of him, but Shinra and Kadota kinda were his only friends, so he decided he could try not to commit murder that day.

The evening was… it was almost torture for Shizuo, but he didn't break anything, and Izaya had the decency to make his presence a little less annoying. Of course, the worst was yet to come, because in the stupid gift exchange Shinra had organized, he had to give Izaya a gift. Just his fucking luck.

“So what did Shizu-chan got me? I hope it's not contaminated of disgusting beast germs.” Only Izaya could insult someone with such an innocent, although fake, smile on his face.

He just mumbled something that could have been a threat, and gave Izaya the box. For just a moment, just one second, he wished Izaya would like his gift. Even if he hated him, this was the first Christmas Shizuo spent with someone other than his family, so he would like to look fondly at the memory in the future.

“Uh, Shizu-chan, I knew your protozoic brain doesn't understand complex concepts easily, but I thought you knew I was a man, because I'm sure this came from the women section of a shop.”

It was really wishful thinking that Izaya could just accept the coat as a goddamn normal person and move on.

“Yeah, well, there was no 'flea' section in the store, so I did what I could. You should be grateful, now your dead won't be something as lame as hypothermia.”

Not that Shizuo noticed, but why the fuck didn't Izaya use a sweater or something? It was snowing out there and he had just a long-sleeve shirt.

Izaya was about to respond, when he seemed to think better of it. He got up and put the black coat on. It was slightly big on him, but Shizuo supposed he could still grow. He ignored the warmth inside of him at seeing Izaya pleased with the gift.

“What do you think, Dotachin? Shinra?”

Before either of them could really answer, Shizuo spoke up.

“You look stupid.” Izaya's smile looked almost genuine for a moment there, as if the comment had genuinely amused him.

“Well, it's a real shame you don't like it, because this is my new favorite coat. Thank you, Shizu-chan.”

Shizuo though he said it just to reil him up, but it wasn't the case. Or if it was, it was a really dedicated way to annoy him, because no one saw Izaya without the coat on the outside in the years to come.

Stupid flea.

The next to Christmas were kind of the same deal. Then Shinra went to the university, and Shizuo didn't heard of Izaya for a few sweet years. And then the asshole tried to get him arrested. He swore he was going to kill the fucking louse.

His Christmas were a solitary affair. Kasuka was off filming some christmas special, and his parents had moved to the more rural part of the country. Shizuo pretended not to know it was because they feared someone connecting them to him.

So when he felt Izaya was in his city, it wasn't much of a problem deciding to go chasing him out.

“Shizu-chan, don't you get tired of being so salvage all the time? You could let me go do my thing, it's Christmas Eve.” Asked Izaya, dodging just by little a trash can that flew his way.

“Or you could fuck off and let me enjoy my Christmas Eve, Izaya-kun.”

“Come on, Shizu-chan, we both know you haven't spent your holidays with anyone since we graduated. Only Shinra would have the bad taste of inviting over a monster.” He just didn't stop moving, and that was really getting on Shizuo's nerves.

It was only more infuriating that he still wore that black coat with the fluffy sleeves. The fact that everyone in Ikebukuro knew him from that stupid piece of cloth Shizuo had given him many years ago made him wanna puke. The only saving grace was that only Kadota and Shinra knew about that, and none of them were suicidal enough to try to spread the rumor.

“He already had the bad taste of inviting you.” In high school, Izaya would have laughed at that answer, but he didn't nowadays. Shizuo wasn't sure when it happened, but Izaya now got even angrier anytime Shizuo acted like they did in Raijin.

Stupid Izaya and his even more stupid mind games.

He didn't had to see Izaya to know a knife was coming his way. Predictable asshole.

Their fight extended to the first hours of the next day. They had run across the entire city at least a few times, leaving a path of destruction behind them, mostly on Shizuo's account.

But then, as if they hadn't been trying to kill each other for hours, Izaya turned back with a smile on his face.

“It was good to spent Christmas together again, Shizu-chan.” He said, and then turned in direction of Shinjuku.

Any other day, Shizuo would have keep on chasing him, but he realized then that it was the first time in years he hadn't felt lonely on Christmas, so he let it pass.

“Only the stupid flea...” Fortunately, no one was around to see something akin to fondness on his face. Nor that time, nor the next several years.

After that fight where Shizuo almost killed Izaya, the later disappeared without leaving a trace, just as Shizuo had wanted for so many years.

The first months, he hadn't even noticed. It wasn't like he saw Izaya all the time. Sometimes many months would take place between one encounter and another. There was only one day they met every years, and he had really tried not to think about it.

[What are you doing for Christmas, Shizuo?] He read in Celty's phone. They were in the park, enjoying the freedom of the night, where they could be without causing an escandal.

Shizuo though that Izaya was the reason everyone in this city was so interested in him. As he would learn he gained the new new of “The Demon of Ikebukuro”, that wasn't the true.

“Same as every year, I'll just be in my home watching movies or something.”

[That's good. Shinra made a comment about Izaya and you spending every Christmas fighting each other for the last years. I'm happy you can finally have a peaceful Christmas.]

Shizuo didn't even try to ask why did Shinra knew that, he didn't care. He just thanked Celty and parted to his house, he had job the next day after all.

He didn't know what to do with himself. He had wanted Izaya to leave him alone, he wanted pace. He had it now, he should be happy. This should be the best Christmas since he was a child, but it wouldn't. With three days ahead of him until the day, he knew he would feel lonely.

His parents were still away, Kasuka still had to work, Shinra and Celty were going away for the holidays, and he didn't really talked with Kadota except for the occasional greeting anymore. Tom had a family to spend the day with, Vorona had gone back to Russia.

And he really hadn't noticed that he expected to be that day with Izaya, fighting like always, until he realized he was alone for the holidays for the first time in years.

Maybe it was for the best. He wasn't sure.

When the day finally came, he expected almost a tangible evidence of the change. He didn't. After Izaya left, everyone seemed to forget about him. You didn't hear his name on the streets, the urban legend just disappeared.

It drove Shizuo mad. If he closed his eyes, if he didn't see the scar on his chest, sometimes he questioned if Izaya had even existed at all in the first place. It shouldn't make him feel so abandoned. It shouldn't hurt him as much as it does.

“You're a monster, Shizu-chan, you're destined to be alone.”

Who would have thought Izaya was the only thing keeping his own words from becoming true?

Shizuo put on a coat and climbed to the roof of his building, lighting a cigarette on his way. During the many years chasing the flea, he discovered sometimes the view from the roofs was calming, It was kinda beautiful, but seeing all those people on the street make him feel even more secluded.

Usually he wasn't one for regretting things. What was done was done, no use dwelling on the past. But he indulge a little of honesty, for the sake of not keeping lying to himself, even if he had to lie to the rest of the world.

He knew he was having this little epiphany far too late to make a difference. He closed his eyes and thought of that first Christmas. He thought of Izaya refusing to take off his coat, and how he annoyed him the entire day. But he allowed himself to also think of all he had tried to forget. Izaya giving him his cookies, since he wasn't really fond of sugar, and they being almost cozy side by side in the sofa.

He thought of the next year, when Izaya gave him a photo of the four of them he apparently convinced his sister to take during the school year. Shizuo told him he had burned it, the truth was he kept it safe in his apartment, away from prying eyes.

He thought of the last year, and the conversation they had.

“Do you want me to keep visiting you on Christmas next year, Shizu-chan? I know life must be terribly lonely for a monster.”

“I'd prefer being alone that having to be with you, Izaya-kun.”

And yet, Izaya eventually came back. And, contrary to the rest of the year, he never seemed in a hurry to shake off Shizuo on Christmas. He kept coming for years, and Shizuo never thought of asking himself what was behind all of that.

He wondered what was Izaya doing, if he also felt alone. He wished he could ask him. After all the years, it was now he wanted to talk to the informant that had made his life a living hell. Really talk. Definitely, too late for that epiphany.

Only the wind and the night's sky were witness of the pain in his words.

“Shit, I really fucked up with him, didn't I?”

#durarara #drrrsecretsanta #Shizaya #orihara izaya #Heiwajima Shizuo #my fics

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eleanor-writes-stuff · 5 years

Text

keep calm and let HR handle it [IV/VI]

Rey managed to go a full year without ever directly interacting with her new CEO, but now it seems like he’s dropping by her office every single week.

(Because what else is a love-struck fool to do when he falls for his head of HR other than find reasons to visit her department?)

OR: five times Ben gets summoned down to HR, and one time Rey gets called into the CEO’s office, based on this prompt from @optimisticsprinkles: “Rey as the director of HR at [office] and Kylo/Ben starts finding reasons to be sent down to HR”.

On the second anniversary of Han’s death, Rey is contacted by multiple concerned parties regarding the well-being of one Ben Solo, CEO. Hurt/comfort (of the touchy and cuddly kind) ensues.

Chapter 3 Also available on AO3. And hey, maybe check out my Twitter and Ko-fi?

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Meeting?

Hey Ben,

Would you mind dropping by for a quick meeting today? I’m free all day, so just come by whenever you can.

Warm regards, Rey Niima, Head of Human Resources, The Organa Foundation.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Meeting?

Hi Rey,

I’m always happy to visit, but I feel like I should ask… what did I do this time?

Best regards, Ben Solo, Chief Executive Officer, The Organa Foundation.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Meeting?

Nothing bad, I promise. Just thought you might want to talk.

(And before you ask: no, Mitaka wasn’t the one to tattle on you. Don’t scare him!)

Warm regards, Rey Niima, Head of Human Resources, The Organa Foundation.

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Subject: Re: Meeting?

I’ll be there in half an hour.

Best regards, Ben Solo, Chief Executive Officer, The Organa Foundation.

“So if Mitaka wasn’t the one to tattle,” Ben says as he walks into her office, forgoing his usual knock, “who was?”

Rey is still consumed by indecision and doubt as he walks to her, but one look at him and she’s sure she made the right choice to call him into her office. The smile he’s giving her doesn’t reach his eyes, and the way he seems to almost collapse into the chair she’s begun to think of as his fills her with concern.

I don’t know, he just seems off, Finn had said with a frown at lunch.

At least you’ve actually seen him, Jessika had replied. He’s been so quiet I was beginning to wonder if he even came in today.

She’s almost ashamed that it had taken Poe’s reminder for her and the others to put all the pieces together. Go easy on him, it’s a tough day.

Tough might be the understatement of the century, given that today is the second anniversary of Han’s death.

Rey takes a moment to brace herself for the conversation ahead before she offers him a small smile. “Let’s just say it was a number of concerned parties.”

“I figured you take your job seriously, but I didn’t realize you’ve gone to the extent of setting up a network of spies to check on everyone’s wellbeing,” Ben teases, but there’s no hiding the hollowness in his voice, the dull look in his eyes, the quivering curve of his lips as if they’re shaking from the strain of maintaining his smile.

“Not everyone,” Rey tells him, and leaves it at that for him to make of it what he will. She’s not quite sure what to make of it herself, the fact that everyone had seen fit to bring their concerns about Ben to her and unanimously decide that she’s the only one qualified to reach out to him on this day.

Whatever the hidden message is, he seems to get it.

Slowly, inevitably, Ben collapses under the strain of his act. It’s a heartbreaking, intimate thing to witness: how his mask gives way to barely-concealed pain, how his shoulders slump in defeat, how he leans forward as if to reach out for her.

“You know what today is, don’t you?” he murmurs, resting his loosely knitted-together hands on her table.

Rey moves closer and reaches across the desk to curl one hand above his. “I do.”

He closes his eyes, draws a shaky breath, and slowly exhales before meeting her eye. “Do you know what happened? The real story, not the one they told everyone else,” he clarifies, and at this point Rey really shouldn’t be surprised anymore.

The official version of events, the one that claims legendary F1 driver Han Solo had somehow lost control of his car on a rainy night and fatally crashed into a tree, should never have held up to scrutiny. But everyone had been too busy mourning his loss and adjusting to his absence to linger on the cruel twist of fate that had taken him then, and no one has been in the mood to poke at barely-healed wounds since.

“No,” she says quietly; unnecessarily if the look on Ben’s face is anything to go by. He nods before she’s even really formed the word, just one tiny, tired dip of his head.

“Barely anyone has,” he whispers. “And only once from me, just enough for my mom to know that… to know that it’s my fault, that I’m the reason–” He falters then, pulls his hands away from hers and brings them up to hide his face instead as his shoulders start to shake and a single, strangled cry rings out in the stillness of her office.

Her first instinct is to rush out of her chair and to his side, to take him into her arms and hold him close, but Rey hesitates. Even after all these weeks of getting to know each other and growing closer, even after a few happy hours spent curled up together while she shared painful details of her past, this is somehow still uncharted territory for them. Ben is open and honest with her, always has been since that very first day, but she’s never seen him vulnerable and hurting like this.

Rey wonders if anyone has in recent years, if Ben has anyone else in the world to hold him and comfort him. And that thought alone is enough to make her brush away her hesitance and go to him, offering him wordless comfort as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and lets him hide his tears in her embrace. She thinks she can feel every single drop of his anguish, scalding hot as they soak through her shirt while she cards one hand through his hair.

“I didn’t know,” Ben finally mumbles against her stomach. It takes him a little while longer to find the strength to pull away from her, and when he does her heart breaks for him all over again. He looks so young like this, with the sad eyes of a lost child drowning in his own grief. “I didn’t know he’d been drinking that night–”

Neither had she until this exact moment, but Rey keeps quiet.

“I didn’t even stop to think, about him or Mom or anyone else, I was just so focused on myself like always, I called him up because I’d finally seen the truth and I was so lost and scared and I needed him and a part of me just knew that he’d help me come home even after everything, that he’d do anything and everything for me…” Ben chokes on a sob, takes a moment to breathe while Rey tries to help him with little sounds of comfort and reassurance and support.

“Dad… Dad hated drunk drivers, always had,” he says, voice thin and shaky but there nonetheless. “He thought they were the most selfish, awful people on the road, for putting other people at risk like that. And no matter what everyone else said, no matter how they’d try to goad or trick or flatter him into driving, surely the great Han Solo can’t be defeated by just a couple beers– no matter what, he never, ever drove under the influence… until that night. Until me and my selfish call and the fucking mess I’d made and dragged him into–”

He’s shaking again, but not from sorrow this time. Rey crouches down, cradles his face in her hands and keeps his eyes on hers. “Hey. Hey. Shh, just breathe. Don’t do this to yourself, Han wouldn’t have wanted–”

Ben shakes his head, but gently enough not to dislodge her grip. “You don’t understand, Rey. If it weren’t for me, he would never have gotten on the road that night. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be dead. But I called him and he didn’t even stop to ask questions, didn’t even hesitate, just promised me that everything was going to be okay, that he’d be there right away–”

She doesn’t need Ben to finish the story, not that he seems capable of it right now. They know how the story ends; everyone knows the ending even if they don’t know the rest of it.

Han never made it.

“I waited on the curb outside my office for an hour,” he says – quieter now, darker now. “One whole hour, and I never once thought to worry about him, I was so fucking trapped in my own mind. I spent an hour cursing my father out for failing me once again, and all the while he was dying because of me.”

The pain in Ben’s voice is palpable, but the hatred… the hatred is unbearable.

“Ben.” She tightens her grip on him, looks him straight in the eye even as her vision swims with tears. “Ben, listen to me: Han… god, I hate saying this, but Han didn’t have much time left and we all knew it. We did,” she insists when he begins to shake his head. “You know better than anyone else the kind of shit he got up to when he was younger, the kind of shit he kept doing even after he’d grown far too old for it. The man had two heart attacks in two years, Ben, Christ, it was a miracle he even lived through the first one, let alone the second.”

When she’d told Han as much the day she went to visit him in the hospital despite his protests, he’d laughed weakly and told her that his whole damn life was a miracle, that he’d been living on borrowed time since the day he was born and one of these days, kid, one of these days…

“There was nothing any of us – not you, not me, not Leia, not even the best doctors in the world – none of us could have done anything,” Rey says, as much for Ben’s benefit as her own. And for the very first time, she believes it, accepts it, makes her peace with it. It’s the only way she can encourage Ben to do the same. “But you know what you did do?”

“Other than speed up his death?” Ben mutters darkly, almost petulantly as he tries his best to avoid her eyes. Rey gives him a little pinch on his cheek for that, and nearly laughs at the stupefied look he gives her for it.

“We’ll have none of that, or I’ll go for the other cheek,” she warns him, lips twitching with amusement despite herself. “And no, that’s not it. Ben,” Rey softens, slides her hands into his hair and finally gives into the smile tugging at her lips. “Ben, you gave him the one thing he wanted more than anything in the world: you gave him his son back.”

“But I–”

Rey shakes her head, pulls him back from the edge before he can drown again. “I spent a lot of time with your parents – you already know why.” He’d unlocked that level of Tragic Backstory just two weeks ago, after Finn and Poe bought everyone several rounds of drinks to celebrate their decision to finally move in together after working through their ridiculous fight from last month. “And all they wanted, the both of them, was for you to come home. You came home that night, Ben. The second you made that call and reached out to him, you came home.”

She waits for the tears to come, his and hers both, but Ben just stares at her instead, lips parted with no words to speak, eyes gleaming with something other than tears.

God, the way he’s looking up at her right now…

Rey finally gives into the urge to pull him close, to rest her forehead against his and just smile. “Ben, if he could see you today… I promise you, he’d be so proud, and happy, and he wouldn’t regret a single thing, Ben. Not if this is what it all led to.”

It’s not easy, resisting the urge to open her eyes and see if she’s getting through to him, but Rey chooses to trust in the truth, to believe in Ben. She stays still instead, patiently waiting for him to let her know what he needs. It doesn’t take long for him to lower his head and tuck himself under her chin, for him to curl into her waiting arms and just… stay there, for what feels like a lifetime.

But this time, his tears don’t hurt.

They heal.

. . .

Oops, looks like we hit an unexpectedly rough path of angst there. Sorry about that, but I can promise it's all smooth sailing ahead! Only two chapters left, so not much of a surprise really.

Until next time: thank you all for reading, thank you so much for your encouragement and support, and please do like/reblog/comment if you liked this chapter despite the angst!

#reylo #rey x ben solo #rey/ben solo #rey/kylo ren #reyben #star wars #rey #ben solo #kylo ren #my fics #fic: HR

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neoneversleeps · 5 years

Text

the sun, the moon and the stars | m.tl

pairing: moon taeil x reader (hanahaki!au)

genre: angst

warnings: major character death, mentions of blood, mentions of underage drinking

description:

She was the sun and he was the moon, and you were the stars that burned with the desire of attaining something unattainable.

words: ~6k

notes: hey guys! this fic has been a long time coming and im so happy to have finally finished it. this is also the first time im writing angst so bare with me if its not that good. hope you enjoy it nonetheless !!

- lilac

Moon Taeil. The name was fitting, really. Every time you thought of him, you thought of the moon. You thought of the nights all those years ago where Taeil drove the both of you to the hill outside the city in his hand-me-down car in the dead of the night because you just needed to get away. How the both of you sat on the grass looking up at the moon, his hand gently resting on yours and the soft night breeze drying your tear stained cheeks. he was your shoulder to cry on in those times. A comforting presence. Much like the moon in the night sky, Taeil had become a constant in your life from the very beginning.

You remembered the time when you were young and stupid and drank way too much at some house party. How the both of you stumbled through his garden at 3am, you desperately stifling your laughter as you tried to maneuver Taeil without him falling flat on his face. He was even more of a lightweight than you. You ended up tripping over your own two feet and sending both of you crashing onto the ground. Laughter flitted from you both as you stared at the moon in the sky. Suddenly Taeil leaned up and hovered over you. You didn't even have time to think as his lips planted a kiss on yours, and you kissed back. His kiss was warm and soft, hot breath fanning against your lips in stark contrast to the cool air around you. You couldn't quite remember how you ended up falling asleep in his room that night, but you definitely remembered the morning after.

Waking up the next morning on the mattress next to Taeil's bed, you had looked at the sleeping boy with newfound hope. Hope that your pathetic little (or not so little) crush on Taeil would be reciprocated. However, when he finally woke up he had no recollection whatsoever of the night prior. Your first kiss, forgotten so easily by the boy who had held your heart in his hands for as long as you could remember. Life went on normally after that, as if nothing had changed. But something had changed, and you were terrified because of it.

You were scared, so, so scared but you pushed every thought of the dreadful disease that plagued your world to the back of your mind. You weren't in love with Taeil, right? It was just a crush. It would fade. Its wasnt love. It wasn't. It couldn't be. He was your best friend and your love for him was purely platonic. These were the word you repeated to yourself over and over in your mind, hoping that if you said them enough they would become true.

You knew, however, that you were lying to yourself. Still, repeating the mantra in your head seemed to keep the disease at bay for quite some time. There even came a time where you thought you had successfully avoided it all together.

You were wrong.

It was the day Taeil's college acceptance letter was said to arrive. You had already gotten yours and had a confirmed spot at the University you were both aiming for. You were just as nervous as Taeil about his results and were headed over to his house for moral support (and to calm your racing heart). But as you turned the corner onto the street where Taeil lived, said boy was already running towards you, a piece of paper held high in his hand, chanting “I got in! I got in! I got in!”. He reached you and immediately picked you up in his arms, swinging you around a couple times. You were taken aback at first but soon laughed with the overly happy boy. He set you down again and as you looked into his eyes, the ones that shimmered like the moon in the night sky, you just knew.

He hugged you impossibly tight and whispered in to your neck: "I'm so happy we'll get to stay together. I don't know what I would do without my best friend." And you smiled, because you knew that his words were sincere and warm but there were tears pooling in your eyes at your sealed fate. He pulled away and the smile on his face morphed into a concerned frown at your teary look. "Are you ok?" His worried eyes bored into yours. "Yes," you responded, "I'm just so proud of you." The smile he gave you after that was worth the ache you felt in your heart.

That night, the seed was planted in your lungs, and a few months later you coughed up blood for the first time. You were a goner now.

It had been almost five years since that day and somehow, you were still alive. It seemed that the universe wanted to draw out your suffering for as long as it could. Both you and Taeil were now finished with college and well into your work-life. You had decided to become a graphic designer, as it was your passion since you were young. It only provided you with some odd jobs and didn't exactly guarantee a loaded paycheck, but it made you happy and you figured, with what limited time you had left, you might as well enjoy it. You worked mainly out of the comfort of your small apartment. It wasn't much, filled with tiny fake succulents and vintage knick knacks you had collected over the years, but when the golden hour settled throughout the city, the warm light bathed the apartment in an orange glow. And at night, you could perfectly see the moon shining down at you from where you sat at your desk, distracting you from your work countless time as your mind drifted to the man who shared it’s name.

Moon Taeil. The boy you had met as just a child had now grown into a man. He had become a true virtuoso on the piano (musical instrument he had mastered in his teen years). He was sought after by many theaters and often played shows that were sold out in the blink of an eye. In addition to his musical work, he had also taken on a day job as a music professor at the Uni you both studied at. He was as happy as could be, and you were happy for him. All these years your love for him had never faltered and even though it meant bloody petals would force their way out of your throat every once in a while, you didn't regret loving Taeil. You never did. It was just so easy to love him and to you, it felt natural. No matter how much it hurt.

However this did mean it hurt unbearably to see him happy with someone else. Tanaka Michiko, a Japanese transfer who had moved to Korea 2 summers ago. Taeil fell head over heels for her, and you couldn't blame him. She was gorgeous. Her sooty black hair fell in waves just above her shoulders, soft freckles dotted around her nose, a permanent dazzling smile on her face and honey skin which was warm to the touch.

His face brightened every time he would talk about her to you, about how much he wanted her to be his. Hours he had spent telling you about every detail that defined her as his head rested on your lap, your fingers combing through his tresses. From the way she talked, a cute accent highlighting every word that left her mouth, to the way her nose crinkled when she laughed. With every miniscule particularity you had learned about the girl, you were sure you could draw her from scratch in your mind.

So, finally, one night you had smiled at him and with a heavy heart and petals scratching at the insides of your lungs, and told him to go after her.

He chased after her for some time, but it wasn't long before she too fell for his charms. How could she not? Taeil was the perfect man. Handsome, thoughtful, kind, talented. It was impossible not to fall for the guy. A few months passed before they were official, and Taeil had proudly introduced her to you. You felt that you should hate her. Hate her for taking Taeil away from you, taking up his time, for having that which you have always hoped for. But you found that you just couldn't. Because she was sweet and understanding and kind and most importantly, she was good to Taeil.

You could see how much love she held for him in the way her eyes lingered on his face every time he smiled. You'd know that look anywhere. It's the same one with which you looked at him. When the two of them were together, it was like she was the sun and he was the moon, an absolutely perfect pair. Both of them completely opposites but a faultless match nonetheless. When you sat facing them in yours and Taeil's favorite diner, you felt as though you were the stars looking onto their love, but never getting to touch or feel the love you so desired for yourself. Always watching from a distance. Always longing for the warmth they held. But much like stars in the freezing expanse of your universe, you were left out in the cold.

Two years had passed since they first got together. Their anniversary was coming up and Taeil had begged you to help him come shopping for something special, claiming he needed your help choosing "the right one”. You had asked him what he meant on the phone but he was evasive.

Now you were being pulled through the crowded streets of Seoul by a very excited Taeil. "I've already narrowed it down to this one shop, but I just can't decide which one she would like better and I *need* your opinion." He explained through quick breaths as he moved through the huge number of people that surrounded you, all heading their separate ways. You were still very confused as to what he meant. "What do you mean, Taeil? Which wha-" you were cut off by Taeil's shout: "Here it is!". You looked up at the sign above the quaint little elegant looking shop in front of you.

The name Manon's Bijouterie was printed above the entrance, elegantly curled in a feminine looking font. Your stomach dropped to your feet. You should of seen this coming.

He was going to propose.

And of course he wanted his best friend to help him choose the perfect ring. You gulped and looked up at the man beside you, a sheepish grin on his face. "You sure you ready to pop the question?" You asked him, trying to keep your voice a teasing tone, despite the shakiness hidden underneath. He laughed nervously but answered determined nonetheless. "I'm sure." He smiled at you, genuinely happy. You couldn't help but smile back, surprised at the fact that it was genuine as well. Then again, all you ever wanted was for Taeil to be happy, and he was, so by default, you were happy too.

The two of you spent the next hour and a half deciding on a ring. He ended up buying a small and delicate silver ring with a beautiful golden shimmering quartz stone. "It reminded me of her warmth." He had told you, a warm smile spread across his face. "You know, kinda like she's the sun and I'm the moon". He giggled slightly at his confession. “It’s silly i know.” You felt unable to respond in any way, instead resorting to chuckling bitterly at the irony of the fact that you had made that same comparison in the past. Fate really loved to rub salt in your wound. Taeil didn't notice your little change in demeanor though, he was far too immersed in thought as to how he was going to make his proposal as perfect as possible.

That night ended up with flowers once again forcing their way up your throat, scratching at your inner walls and taking drops of blood with them. Hanahaki ,as you had discovered, also had a cruel way of always choosing a flower that reminds you of your unrequited love and for the past years the petals you had coughed up had always belonged to the same flower.

The moonflower.

Ipomoea alba, sometimes called the tropical white morning-glory or moonflower or moon vine, is a species of night-blooming morning glory, native to tropical and subtropical regions of the New World.

“The moonflower requires full to partial sun, so it is important to find it a place where the sun's rays can easily reach it.” This particular sentence had stuck out to you as you had looked up the name of the flower during one of the first times it happened. You almost laughed at how much the universe seemed to love irony.

In all your time living with the disease you had gotten pretty desensitised to the flowers crawling up your throat. Tonight, however, you broke down in tears. And for the first time in a long time, the fear of death plagued you nightmares.

It was becoming more and more noticeable that your health was slowly deteriorating, gradually becoming worse in the months leading up to the fateful wedding. Taeil and his future wife were far too busy with preparations and their own jobs to realize there was something wrong. In fact, most of your friend group were too wrapped up in their own worlds to notice either, which you were thankful for. You didn't want any questions. You had never told any living soul about your little “issue” and you promised yourself you never would. Unfortunately for you, your good friend Johnny was very perceptive.

He invited you to coffee and you had innocently accepted. How were you to know that he would end up interrogating you? "Y/N, I know there's something wrong. You've been looking really under the weather lately and I'm concerned. Also, before you say anything, know that I won't let up until you tell me." His tone was firm, one of his hands resting comfortably on yours. You loved the fact that Johnny was so caring, you truly did, but right now it was very annoying. "How many times do I have to say it? I'm fine, Johnny. I just have this cold that's been clinging on for longer than it should. That's it." You say as nonchalantly as possible, itching to just change the topic. "Well, I don't believe you." Johnny states matter-of-factly. You roll your eyes at him. "Fine, don't believe me then, but that's all there is to it." He gave you one last disbelieving look but dropped the questions. You released a sigh of relief. However, from that point on you were careful to cover up the paleness of your skin whenever you were around Johnny, aware that he still had his suspicions.

Time had a habit of slipping through your fingers. In seemingly only the blink of an eye it was the night of the rehearsal dinner. You talked with some of the guests and greeted Taeil's parents, admiring the beautiful beachside location the couple had chosen for their ceremony. The venue had a breathtaking view of the ocean, full moon standing tall in the night sky and perfectly visible from the small balcony where guests mingled throughout the evening.

You had started to wear heavier makeup to hide the bags under your eyes, the paleness of your skin and the hollowing of your cheeks. You gave your speech perfectly and had the whole audience, including Taeil, tearing up at your emotional words. You were so numb to the pain in your chest by now that delivering the speech was an easy feat.

That night, as you laid in the bed of the hotel room close to the venue that Taeil had rented for you so you wouldn't have to drive back to your apartment in the night , you looked out at the sky through the huge balcony windows. The same full moon from earlier looking down at you. The moon had caused you so much pain over the years, serving as a constant reminder of the boy whose heart would never be yours. Yet somehow, even after all the suffering, the moon still brought you comfort. Still reminded you of those many nights where you and Taeil gazed up at it's beauty, all your hardships and concerns being swept away by the wind. You smiled at the memory and, somehow, you felt at peace.

There were no flowers that night.

The next day was strangely enough one of the happiest days of your life. You had expected to be close to bursting out into miserable tears every second or to be so numb to everything around you that you wouldn't be able to utter a single word but instead, you found yourself waking up with a weight having been lifted off your shoulders. The whole day you were filled with a sense of happiness.

You sat in the prep room with Michiko, talking and laughing about all kinds of things together with the other bridesmaids. You even told them childhood stories about you and Taeil, something that would normally bring back painful memories. You told them about the times the two of you had secretly snuck out candy from your local convenience store or how you would always prank Taeils older sister on april fools day each year. You even recounted some drunken Taeil tales that had Michiko clutching her stomach in laughter, her makeup artist desperately trying to keep her still as she tried to do her job.

Shortly before the ceremony was set to start, you had located Taeil's fitting room, rasping your knuckles lightly against the door before he uttered a "come in!". You slipped inside the room. Taeil was standing in front of the mirror, nervously arranging his bowtie with a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead. He looked handsome. In that moment you thought back to the scrawny Taeil you had grown up with. You were so proud of how far he'd come.

Picking up a napkin, you went up to him, turning his body so he would face you. You lightly tapped the napkin against his forehead to remove the droplets of sweat before moving to perfectly set his bowtie. Taeil sighed and smiled at you. "What would I do without you?" "Crash and burn, probably." The both of you chuckled. Taeil looked nervous so you laid a hand on his shoulder as you spoke to him. "Taeil, you're an amazing person and you deserve all the happiness in the world. You both do. And I know you're going to be the best husband ever." He seemed to want to retaliate but you didn't let him. "You can do this. Deep breaths.This is just like playing a sonata in front of a bunch of people. You've done that loads of times." "Yeah but this time I'm not playing the piano. And as far as I know a sonata does not require a lifelong commitment." You gave him a pointed look. "You know what I meant." He smiled at the look on your face and took a breath. "You're right. I can do this." He hugged you before you stepped back out of the room.

"Go get em tiger."

That day you walked the aisle, not as a bride (as you had many times imagined) but as a bridesmaid, and yet, the smile you wore was still blindingly bright. It was like the happiness that filled Taeil on this day was within you too. You found it weird, of course, but there was no itch in your throat and no ache in your heart so you were content.

Everything went smoothly and after the ceremony and the cake-cutting, the real festivities started. You danced with God knows how many people that night and drank quite a few cocktails. You were pretty sure you had danced with Taeil as well at some point. You still faintly recalled seeing his face in front of you as he moved rather dorkily to the music. Your own laughter rang in your ears. It felt as if you were on cloud nine.

Little did you know, that you would soon plummet from said cloud very quickly and very painfully.

You were growing tired and Johnny had offered to walk you down to your hotel room.

That's when it happened.

It was like everything hit you at once. There was a pang in your chest as every ounce of heartbreak you had felt came crashing into you, the pain making you cripple over. You could barely hear Johnny's concerned words over the ringing in your ears, could barely feel his hands trying to hold you steady as every moment of rejection you had ever had played in front of your eyes like a broken record. Suddenly, your throat seared with a burning heat and you were throwing up more flowers than you ever had, the white petals contrasting with the angry red of your blood as they lay on the ground in front of you. The world around you was muffled. You could hear someone's frantic shouting and footsteps but it was distorted, could see flashing lights in your peripheral but everything was spinning. Soon enough, your vision faded to black as you collapsed onto the floor.

You woke up to the beeping of a machine. Slowly trying to open your eyes, you were met with a bright white ceiling and pale blue walls, a window with the curtains only half shut, letting in enough sunlight to let you know it was daytime. You turned your head to the side. A heart monitor. That confirmed the fact that you were, indeed, in a hospital. Your throat still burned slightly, a bitter aftertaste of blood in your mouth.

The door opened carefully and a nurse’s head popped in. "Oh, you're awake!" She spoke chirpily as she met your eyes. "Your friends will be happy to hear that. I'll go let them know as soon as I take your vitals. Is that ok?" You nodded, afraid that if you opened your mouth to speak, a river of flowers and blood would spill out. Her gaze met yours a couple of times as she took your vitals. She always smiled at you, but there was an underlying sadness behind it, maybe sympathy or pity. You couldn't blame her, you were in a pretty pitiful situation.

She left the room and soon after, Johnny appeared before you. "Hey you." He smiled, trying to sound as happy as he was normally, probably to make you feel better. It didn't, but you were appreciative of his attempt. "Johnny." You croaked out and his eyes flitted to yours.

"What happened?"

Johnny explained that he had called the ambulance as soon as he saw the petals and that Taeil had come running frantically as he got wind of the situation.The ambulance had promptly arrived near the chapel and he guessed that most of the guests knew by now. Taeil and Michiko were both here at the hospital all night, same as Johnny. They had only stepped out half an hour ago to get a late breakfast.

You frowned. You felt bad for ruining your best friend's wedding, one of the most important events in his life. You were brought out of your thoughts by Johnny. "Just a cold that's been clinging on for longer than it should huh?" He quoted your words back to you and you shrugged, not really knowing what to say. You felt bad for lying to Johnny too. He let out a frustrated sigh. "How could you not tell me about this? Or anyone, for that matter? I mean, I can understand that you wouldn't want to tell me, maybe we aren't close like that.” You winced at his words. “But not even your family? Not even Taeil?" You laughed bitterly at that last part, which then turned into a choked sob, tears gathering at your eyes. "Oh God. It's Taeil isn't it?" Johnny whispered in realization. Then you burst into tears. Too much. This was all too much. Sobs wracked through you as Johnny held you, softly patting your hair as he whispered sweet nothings to you.

You calmed down after a few minutes, just in time for the doctor to walk into the room. "Good morning." He greeted the both of you. "I have a few things to discuss with the patient.” He glanced at Johnny. “Normally only family members are allowed to be present but if you want your friend to stay I can allow it." You squeezed Johnny's hand as you turned to talk to him. "You wouldn't mind if I spoke privately with the doctor, would you?" Johnny gave you a reassuring smile as he squeezed your hand back. "Of course not". He gave you a kind smile once again, nodded politely at the doctor and left the room.

"So, miss y/l/n. According to our test, you have had this disease for nearly a decade. Am I correct?

"Yes."

"And during all these years, you were the only one with knowledge of you having this disease?"

"Yes."

"And were you aware that there was a procedure to remove the roots from your lungs?"

"Yes."

"And you knowingly chose not to have this procedure?"

"Yes."

Of course you knew about the removal. That in the early stages you could remove the roots slowly growing inside your lungs before they became too many. Was the reason to not have this removal stupid? Maybe for some people, but not for you. It might sound crazy to anyone else, but the feelings you had for Taeil were a part of you, they were woven into your soul and had, for as long as you could remember, been a part of your life. Losing those feelings would be like losing a part of yourself. Besides, the procedure removed all feelings of love towards the person in question. Wouldn't that also mean you wouldn't even feel platonic love towards Taeil? You couldn't risk losing your friendship with him. Taeil was one of, if not the most important person in your life. You couldn't lose him. You couldn't.

The doctor sighs thoughtfully. "To be honest with you. It's a miracle you've even survived this long. Most people suffering from hanahaki die in the first two years if they do not get it removed.” He looks at you for a reaction, but you do nothing. “The fact that your body has held it off for so long is medically unprecedented. However, the disease has become so advanced that we don't even have the possibility of removal now. And the flowers inside your lungs just keep on increasing in quantity. At this rate, I'm afraid the time you have left is at best... three days." You swallowed hard at that last sentence. All these years you had known this day would come. You had prepared for it, trained yourself to not feel fear in the face of death. Yet here you were, and the thought of your life ending still absolutely terrified you.

Seeing as you didn't respond, the doctor figured you might want some time to process the information he had just loaded onto you, so he cleared his throat. "I'll leave you to-" "Is it possible that my friends not be informed of how much time I have left?" The doctor blinked a few times before he answered. "Legally, we only have the obligation to inform your family of your condition so yes, your friends do not have to receive that information. But are you sure-" You cut him off again. "I'm sure" You spoke firmly and the doctor nodded, turning to exit the room but you stopped him once more. "One last question." He turned back to face you. "Does it hurt?" You asked, voice barely above a whisper. The doctor looked at you with sympathy in his eyes. You didn't have to say it, he knew what you were referring to. "I wish I could tell you otherwise… but death by hanahaki disease makes the person suffer a great deal." You nodded at him to continue. He sighed. "The plants will build up to the point that they pierce through the tissue of the lungs, filling them with blood, which the person will then start to cough up as the lungs tear apart from within and the person will start choking as they are no longer able to breathe. The whole process can take up to a few minutes." He spoke calmly and you absorbed all the information, leaning back on your bed, not being able to avoid picturing the scenario in your head.

You told the doctor he could go so he left the room. Only a few minutes passed before Taeil entered the room. His hair was slightly tousled and the dress shirt he wore was wrinkled and untucked. He looked tired and stressed out and your heart ached at the sight. He came to sit down on the chair next to your bed, clasping his hands together and placing them on your bed before laying his head on top of them, his face not visible to you. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, as if preparing for something. Slowly he lifted his head but his gaze still wouldn't meet yours.

"Is it me? Is it because of me that you've suffered all these years?" Taeil's voice came out raw and pained, the quiet sound would have barely been heard if it wasn't for the fact that the room was deathly silent. You bit your lip, you had to tell him. Your hand moved to comb through his hair and he let you,the gesture a comfort to him as much as it was to you. You didn't quite know how to start so you just went with your gut feeling "I don't regret loving you. If I did, I would have had the roots removed but I couldn't-" "Why didn't you?" Taeil stood up abruptly, his voice suddenly much louder in volume. "Why in the hell didn't you get it removed? Why? Why? When you knew that it could kill you!" He was yelling now, tone strained and desperate and you felt hot tears gather in your eyes all over again. "I couldn't risk losing you! I've loved you my whole life Taeil!" "But I haven't. I never loved you like that and you knew it." Your heart broke at his words. It was one thing to be aware of it but another entirely to hear the words directly out of Taeil's mouth.

He raked his hands roughly through his hair in frustration. He was angry, that much was obvious. "Why couldn't you just think of yourself for once? And why did you have to be so-...so stupid as to not tell anyone? Why-" His voice gave out at the end, a sob threatening to spill from his throat. Taeil had always loved you, just not in the same way. The fact that this was the reason that you might lose you was excruciatingly painful for him. He looked over at you, saw the silent tears rolling down your hollowed cheeks and the way your formerly vibrant eyes seemed to have lost all it's color. It felt horrible to see you like that and he mentally cursed himself for not noticing sooner. For not helping. For being a terrible excuse for a best friend.

Neither of you said anything for a while until you broke the quiet. "I'm sorry..." You looked at Taeil as you said it. You were sorry. Sorry for Taeil and the fact that he was the one you fell in love with, which wasn't his fault. Sorry for your friends and family whom you had kept this a secret from all these years.

But most of all, you were sorry for yourself, for falling in love with the one boy you would never be able to have.

Taeil stepped towards you and enveloped you in hug. Unbeknownst to you, you had started crying once again. You were tired of crying by now, tired of everything, in all honesty. As Taeil held you and tried to calm you down it was like you knew that your end was close, even closer than the doctor had predicted.

In that moment, you made a decision.

After a few more minutes your cries had ceased. "Taeil? Could you do me a favor?" His eyes met yours as you talked. You saw anger, sadness but mostly fear swimming in his dark orbs. obrs that still shimmered like the moon in the sky, even after all these years. He nodded nonetheless. "Remember that bakery we used to go to all the time when we were in college? It had my favorite chocolate muffins ever. If I recall correctly, it's somewhere near here. Would you mind getting me one, please?" Taeil's brows scrunched up slightly at the odd request. "Please?" You added, trying hard not to sound desperate. "Of course." He said and gave you a small smile.

He stepped towards the door, opening it before glancing back at you one last time. "Should I tell the others to come in?" He asked. "No, that's ok. I'd like to get a little rest to be honest." You chuckled softly and gave him a reassuring smile. "Ok." His eyes flitted over you briefly. Clearly, he was nervous about leaving you alone. Eventually he gave a light sigh. "Well, I'll see you later then."

"Yeah, see you later Taeil."

The door clicked shut behind him and you reached for your phone. There was something you had to do. You scrolled through your notes until you found the one labeled "for my parents" which was a letter you had written a while ago in the event of your death, to say goodbye. You copied and pasted the text into an email and sent it. Then you went through your files to retrieve a video labeled as "taeil". You had recorded the video months before, on a night were you had coughed up so many flowers you had thought it would be your last. You attached the video into another email, finger hovering above the send button. You waited about twenty minutes, the itch in your throat and the ache inside your body getting worse every minute until it was almost unbearable. And as the flowers started to force themselves out, you hit send.

Taeil knew something had happened as soon as he entered the hospital wing you were stationed at. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, looking at the notification that lit up his lock screen.

[1 new email]

from y/n

goodbye taeil

(no body)

[1 attachment] - taeil.mp4

His blood ran cold and suddenly he was running frantically to get to your room. His phone had started buzzing again. He turned the corner and his eyes met Michiko, taking notice of the tears running down her cheeks as she held her phone next to her ear. He stopped dead in his tracks, the squeaking of his shoes alerting Michiko to his presence. She slowly lowered the phone as she locked gazes with Taeil. His eyes flitted downwards as she mouthed the words “I’m so sorry.”.

It was then and there that Taeil’s world froze in place. No. No. No, no, no, no, no. This was not happening. This was not was not happening. This wasn't real. It wasn't. She couldnt be dead.

Could she?

He felt the impact of Michiko running up to him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Felt her nails digging into the fabric of his jean jacket as she held him tightly, desperately trying to ground him. He noticed as his tears dropped onto her shoulder, heard his heavy intakes of breaths ringing in his ear, but he felt as if he wasn't truly there.

You. The one person in his life he had taken for granted. The one person who was always, always there. A constant presence he could count on. You weren't supposed to leave. You were supposed to be there forever.

But now,

you were gone.

And you were never coming back.

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