#and had to go to the hospital at night (though it transpired that nothing was wrong with mecin the end) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snobbybastard · 1 year

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Phillip Graves Angst

i got this idea for a one shot where daddy issues graves survives the tank and he's in the hospital and for days shepherd doesn't visit him and he's left to stew and realize everything he did was for nothing and shepherd never cared about him and he confronts shepherd when he finally visits and shepherd is just like welp you're not useful to me anymore, just another loose end to tie up and then graves starts feeling weird and shepherd is just like teehee I got the nurse to give you too much morphine and graves dies 😝 and um it's literally just angst which I usually don't do I like happy endings but I was feeling evil with the idea

!!not really proof read!!

Warnings: Mentions of violence, OD , Self-hate? , Phillip Redemption ❤️

Wordcount: 2k

Floating. That's the only way he could describe it. Weightless. Like zero Gs, drifting around so calm. Without care in the endless void he found himself in. Is he dead? He has to be.. Right? Phillip doesn't remember what got him here, so peaceful, and he's thankful for it. He doesn't have the strength to resist the promising luxury of rest. A long overdue break from the overworked aching in his veins, the unbearable muscle fatigue, the sleepless nights slowly but surely taking its toll. The images of his soldiers corpses piled up with bright crimson painted beneath them plaguing his mind, eyes sunken and bloodshot. He regretted he couldn't spare them the horror, they were under his orders and he failed them. Guilt had infected every inch of his being. He could've helped, but he didn't. He sent them out there. To die. Like lambs to a slaughter. And he might as well been the butcher.

It stings. His comfortable void had changed into a searing heat, like he was drowning in boiling water. He wanted to go back, to feel the previous serenity. He wasn't able to. He didn't deserve to.

When he finally woke up and opened his eyes the lights overheard blinded him, making him squeeze his eyes shut again. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be. Not with the smothering pain shocking though his system. His limbs were exhausted and he had a splitting headache. It felt like someone had put a bullet in his skull and it was rattling around, hitting against every nerve and causing as much damage as it went along.

Reluctantly Phillip opened his eyes, taking a minute to adjust to the vivid bulbs. His sight was still blurry, he wished he was in any condition to make sense of what transpired, but all he knew was he really fucked up. Things were staring to come into focus. A sterile room with a small window and bland curtain. He was dressed h in normal hospital clothing. It was silent, dead silent. Save for the light breeze outside and the steady beeping of a monitor. The room seemed untouched. Not that he was expecting any visitors. He didn't have any contact with his family nor anyone who would care if they received that unlucky letter in the mail. But what about Sheperd? He was certain the word about him being hospitalised would've gotten around to him by now. And by the looks of it, he didn't even blink an eye. Sure he was only his superior, a busy guy at that, but after all they've been through, everything he risked, he can't just be disposable, he's got to be worth more?

His head felt like a thousand pounds as he looked around, eyes already threatening to shut once again.

How long was he out for?

Phillips limbs were locked, desperate to function. He continued to scrutinize his surroundings. Searching for something he couldn't quite remember. An IV in his arm accompanied with bad bruising and severe burns peeling back on his skin. His fingers curl restlessly at his sides as Phillip tries to use his elbows to prop himself up. He sits up and the shifting of his weight irritates every injury he had obtained, His body yells for him to stop moving. He thinks of yelling himself, but the desire to cry out sits firmly in his thoughts, even if he wanted to his throat is cracked and dry.

He raised his hand instinctively to the scarring on his forearm. He gently traced the indent, wincing slightly at the feather-light touch. The skin was still sensitive after what had happened.

The mattress he was laying on was like a brick, it might've been comfortable at one point but Graves could feel the imprint he had made from laying down so long, being able to feel each and every sore on his back from being bedridden. Phillip is military, so he could sleep on a rusty bed of nails if he had to, but there's still a very noticeable difference between pitched tents in the middle of nowhere and some temporary apartment he rented out. And right now, he'd do anything to be back in the warm embrace of his home.

A few days blew by, only in the company of passing nurses who tried their best to make their visits as quick as possible. As much as Graves would hate to admit it, he was lonely. He missed the Shadows. His boys. His family. And given all that time alone, Phillip was left with his thoughts. The same ones he tries his best to get away from.

It mostly revolved around the Shadow Company. Usually if there was a mishap and some tragedy happened he'd always make sure his boys got the best treatment he could manage, and if they didn't make it, he'd inform their families as soon as possible and help them as much as possible while grieving. But recently, with all the deaths, all those lives.. nobody could have kept track. Now those families couldn't get the closure they needed, only able to go off some stupid information that they're MIA, giving them a sliver of hope, false hope. Or if they found a body- or what was left of one, KIA.

They deserved more than him.

He wasn't a leader-, he wasn't brave.

He was foolish.., gullible and reckless.

He put his trust blindly in someone who would send all of the Shadows in a building engulfed in flames without a second thought. Someone who would berate his men on the daily. Toss their lives around for fun. How could he have been so stupid?

He thought he could keep his guard down- if only for a moment, just because he felt as if Sheperd had good intentions.

Sheperd didn't care about him, not in the slightest. He treated Graves like shit, and he tolerated it. Pushed him away like a new pet desperate for attention.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't feel the need to make up for losing the missiles, especially since it was someone he was loyal to.

His mind would also wander to the things he had done.

He tried to make himself believe he was pressured into doing it- it's not 100% wrong, but he wanted to prove himself. Show people that he's not just some coward, though he feared it had done the opposite effect.

He deserved to die, in that tank.

No, it wouldn't make up for everything that was lost, but it would get rid of one more problem.

He knew he made a mistake.

Just like many, many times before.

He couldn't get rid of the feeling of pure guilt, that just slowly gnaws away at you, that follows you endlessly. Like a heavy strain on your shoulders that you can't seem to ever shake.

He didn't think he would end up like this when he took the job. He was a good man before this.

He just got mixed in with the wrong kind of people. An honest mistake, really.

He didn't want this.

Phillip Graves wanted to help people.

After the merciless massacre in Las Almas, he became an empty shell of a man, following orders without question. He was a husk of someone he used to be.

An empty pit in his stomach. Never-ending and condemned.

He had seen a lot, more than most. Full of enough pain and misery to destroy most. He held strong, well, tried to. He had one two many reasons for an emotional break.

But he didn't, not until Sheperd. Phillip had thought he saw everything, but the General had brought a new kind of brutality to his work.

For the first time today the door of the hospital room creaked open. Phillip, who was half asleep, snapped his eyes open, the sudden sound avoking newfound curiosity, he gave his full attention to the two figures in the doorway. It was a nurse- and Sheperd.

He looked fine, no ounce of regret, no softness in his features to show he messed up- the kohl on his eyes only highlighted the sharpness of his gaze. A tight coil in Graves chest tightened, just the sight of him- all high and mighty, no remorse for all the lives his so-called 'operations' cost, made every drop of his blood boil. Like molten lava, bubbling and waiting to burst.

Phillip clenches his jaw so much that he can feel his teeth squeak. Sheperd tips his head slightly, taking a few steps forward until he's at the foot of the bed. If Phillip hadn't been bedridden for days he would have jumped up on him right now and punched that fucker right in the face.

The men remain silent as the nurse goes to the beside, rumaging through a tray full of medical tools and equipment. Sheperd looks down at Phillip, a sorry sight. An eery, serene stare that send chills down Graves body. "You look like shit, Commander."

That's the first sentence he spoke to him in over weeks.

"I can't imagine why," He'd quip back, venom radiating from his tone. Sheperd gave him so much as a glare, crossing his arms.

The nurse approached Phillip with his daily needle of pain killers, and disinfected his arm with a cotton pad before injecting a needle into his arm, right into a vein, a light hiss escaping his lips.

"Where the hell have you been?" He asked Sheperd, narrowing his eyes. He thought he'd like some company or atleast someone to talk to after all that time alone but he's already irritated by his presence.

"I've had work to do, it seems to have piled up when someone fucked up the past few operations," Those words sliced into Graves heart sharper and more precise than any blade. He was only following orders. Orders from him.

His jaw couldn't have gotten any more tense and he balled his fists, his white-knuckle grip digging half moon crescents into his palms.

"I gave everything I had, everything, and you blame me?!" His voice faltered, and he swore he saw something in Sheperds expression, his nostrils flared, a manic look in his dark eyes. Usually Sheperd was more of a private person. More shielded and not as easy to read. A poker face always plastered on. Now he had something more easily identifiable—more of a primal feeling, something hostile.

Theres silence, layers of thick tension.

"...I thank you, for that.." Sheperds voice is disturbingly passive, his tone is calm compared to his incensed body language. Two conflicting feelings are giving mixed signals to Phillip.

"—But you are no use to me anymore."

"What?" His voice was unfamilarly quiet, almost forgien to his ears.

"You served your purpose, quite poorly. But

that's beside the point. You're useless to me now."

His breath left his lungs as though he had been sucker-punched. Phillip feels like his gut had been ripped open, he was used.

He couldn't be serious.

Why would he do this? He proved himself practical multiple times, maybe having a few slip ups but he always tried his best to fix them. It painted his usual black and white world, red. There was a strain on his chest that persists even as he pushed it down, a cold shiver shocks through his body as he tries to defend himself to the best of his ability.

"I'm... I'm not.."

"And by the looks of it, you're just another loose end to tie up." Sheperd interupts sharply with a small shrug of his shoulders.

The anger Phillip felt was watered down, diluted into heartache. The person he thought he could trust the most, had betrayed him.

"I can still—"

"No. No you can't. You've had enough chances." He breathed out a sickening chuckle.

Phillips breath seemed to be caught, like he was choking. He didn't know what was happening, he went wide eyed with panic. His eyes went to the nurse for help, but she only stood back and watched.

"I told you, you're only another loose end to tie up."

It was horrible. He had no choice but to watch the two as his head was hung down low and his skin was as cold as ice. He didn't even know if he was still breathing. The room was quiet once again this time only for the sounds of a mix between gagging and coughing. He struggled, until his body goes limp, he lies flat on his back, and stares at the white ceiling. The ceiling seemed to spin in circles and a deafening buzz rung out in his ears.

"Pathetic."

Phillip Graves knew he would die, slow and painful, it was only a matter of time. Only a matter of wounds that had yet to scar over. It was always coming

He believed- knew that he would die alone. Just as he deserved— charred and broken by his past. Trust was a risk, and Phillip took it like a fool. And now here he was, alone again, burned and betrayed once more.

#phillip graves #cod #call of duty #modern warfare #modern warefare ii #general shepherd #general shepard #angst #phillipgravesredemption #graves redemption #philip graves #shadow company #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty mw2

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respectfulkitfistosimp · 2 years

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A small fluffy story from 'The Dear Priestess'

The dear priestess series PT1 PT2 PT3

After the events on Egypt had transpired and you went back home you had found yourself at night on your bed for the first time since you worked at the hospital, the donations that it had received were enough to hire a few more doctors and nurses to cover the night shift you were usually working on until you collapsed. Even though not having to save anyone's life made you calmer it also made you realize how lonely you were, your arms were aching with the need of someone and your pillow just wasn't doing it anymore. Under normal circumstances you would have asked Marc or Steven, even Jake to sleep with you, but after how well their relationship with Layla was going you obviously couldn't.

You had no one, you were so lonely you pitifully grabbed for dear life onto a pillow, you longed for someone to hold and to hold you back, then you remembered you weren't completely alone, you had God with you, not THAT God.

You had Khonshu with you.

With newly found determination you called out to him under the covers, when you pulled them from your head he was standing on a corner of the room with his suit on, you pulled the covers and threw the pillow into the floor, he understood what you wanted and took of his shoes, blazer and loosened his tie just to lie on bed with you, answering to you mortal needs with nothing more than silence, if that night wasn't a new moon night then the brightness of the moon would have illuminated your entire room. You pulled the covers over the both of you and letf one of your arms to rest on his chest and the other one on his arm.

He began telling you a story you weren't listening to (even though he knew you weren't), you could feel the rumbling on his chest and his voice so close to your hear made your spine shiver and wondered if it would be a bad idea to kiss him. And you did, you got slightly up, which took him by surprise, and left a soft kiss on a corner of his peak, the angered mumble he left returned your lips back to him, this time you tilted his head down to leave a trail of kisses from the middle of his peak to his forehead.

—You must be really needy to show so much emotion.—he mocked you once you came back to the position you were previously on, you didn't answer him out of embarrassment—There is nothing to be embarrassed about, I too found myself lonely often, however since you began being my priestess I no longer feel that way.

His simple and caring words only worsened the redness on your face which you hid by getting closer to his chest, the arm you had around his arm was now under him. He chuckled at you, and thought to himself that you must have been so tired for you to be this emotional and to call to him on your time of need, the progress you were making made him happy.

—Allow me to lull you to sleep, we shall find each other on your dreams, my dear star.—he said softly and began humming a tune you didn't understand, yet it wasn't long before you collapsed on his chest, breathing slowly and talking a few words on your sleep yet he didn't stop until the sunrise and left only after you woke up.

#khonshu x reader #marvel #moon knight #khonshu #khonshu-x-reader #I'm lonely too #khonshu please come sleep with me

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hippogrifffeathers · 10 months

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(i can't) reign it in : Part 3

Lost in a day of grieving, dealing with the weight of countless eyes on the proceedings, it becomes almost too easy to miss the beginnings of fracuring in MC's amour. Easy to miss, until it falls apart completely.

read it also on ao3

For some time following, it seemed like everything would be okay.

MC’s secrets would stay exactly that, secrets- information kept frustratingly close to the chest. Isolatingly so, but they wouldn’t hear any counter arguments on the subject. After finally being able to talk to MC about that night in the foundations of the school, their waiting had been for naught as MC revealed the most minimal of information, remaining tight-lipped to any of their questions.

It had taken nearly a week for their strength to regain enough that Noreen was comfortable pulling them out of the coma- perhaps in part due to the overwhelming demand for their attention that was met when MC woke up. Between friends nearly beating down the Hospital Wing door, and Professors angsty to discuss with them what happened in battle that day- it had been no surprise that the Nurse kept a tight leash on visiting hours, and a tighter leash on MC’s recovery.

A strict regimen of potions, rest and getting ample nutrition- something visitors were more than happy to enforce on MC whenever they stopped by, unswayed by their friend’s pouts and complaints of it being ‘overkill’. Although next to a growing pile of gifts and letters, their whining was slightly harder to take seriously.

Even upon their release, it had not been without conditions- further check-ups with the Nurse herself, an agreement to ‘take it easy’ for a while and keep up with their health.

The professors, and their friends, suspected this had not been complied with by MC- if their immediate absence from their dorm room that night was anything to go by. But, they were forced to let it go.

Especially when they didn’t have proof of wherever MC had disappeared off to. For all they knew, MC could have been hiding from their peers in some alcove of the school. It wasn’t as though anyone could blame MC, even with the words of warning from their professors and friends, nothing could have prepared someone for the amount of attention MC had received upon their release.

As predicted, news of their victory over Ranrok had spread like Fiendfyre, and not just within the safety of the school walls.

Matilda was tired of chasing off journalists hoping for some scoop on MC, or a moment of vulnerability they could capitalise on. Perhaps almost worse, was the persistent questioning from the Ministry, the want of officials to talk to the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ themselves.

She could admit, she hadn’t predicted quite this level of interest- that had been her first mistake.

The second, had been assuming every front MC put up was to be believed.

When MC had been cleared to return to classes, their behaviour made it almost impossible to remember that they had lost their mentor so recently, had endured a traumatising battle and nearly lost control of their magic in the aftermath of mourning.

Their professors had expected a muted and withdrawn student, one still overtaken by the throes of grief. They had planned for it, to support their student through a healthy way to mourn, to ride out the waves with them.

But instead, they were met with the same student they had known before all of this transpired. One that was the quickest magical study in the room, who walked out of class with their friends and met all assignment deadlines with no room for error. Perfectionistic, even when the world had given them every reason not to be.

In light of this, perhaps they had been too quick to brush off the way MC’s brows furrowed as they cast a spell, the white-knuckled grip on their wand shaking ever slightly as they practised a new incantation. The strict way MC held themselves, mindful of every eye in the room, the magic crackling under their skin. Everything about their actions was about control, control, control-

And they had missed it.

So ready to believe that MC was healing on their own, handling things as they had all year- independently, but competently. It had been Eleazar who kept them right, but now Eleazar was gone, and they didn’t know how to help.

So they hadn’t, not past the occasional welfare check, the sympathetic glances when they knew MC wasn’t looking, the meetings with other staff about their behaviour and vehemence with which they kept external attention of journalists and Ministry officials off their backs.

It was easier to believe MC had it handled, than to believe they had fallen for yet more of their student’s lies, and they were out of their depth in knowing how to handle it.

Maybe if they had kept a closer eye on where MC was sneaking off to after curfew, they could have caught this sooner, helped them accept their pain in a healthy way.

Maybe, if they had been looking closer at MC during Phineas’ mourning speech for Eleazar, they would have seen the rigid control with which they maintained their composure, the careful tremor of their hand as they raised their goblet in his memory- a giveaway to anyone paying close enough attention that their absence of tears wasn’t honest, that they were barely holding back a wobble of their lower lip.

Looking at MC that day had been selfishly unbearable for their professors, who had failed them both- so they had missed the signs that MC was barely keeping it together. That the dam they had built was close to breaking its banks.

Instead, MC carried on shouldering their grief stubbornly alone, their professors and friends remained blissfully ignorant- until it all broke down at the worst possible moment.

__________________________________

The sun beamed down on a sea of black, the blossoming of spring a painful contrast to the sombre mood of the day. It felt ill-fitting for the nature of today’s gathering- but surrounded by the blossoming greenery, against the setting of scenic tranquillity, Matilda couldn’t help but think that Eleazar wouldn’t have wanted anything different for the day of his funeral.

Well, he likely would have preferred to go without the grandiose collection of guests- he’d never cared for Ministry affairs and traditions, and undoubtedly would be grumbling about it from beyond, if he could see the mix of Wizengamot members, Ministry officials, and old-money pureblood families amongst the seating. The thought of it brought a bittersweet smile to Matilda’s face, one she quickly schooled away.

An unfortunate byproduct of Eleazar’s achievements in life, was the insistence on a formal funeral arrangement ‘suiting to his titles and character’. Spare her, Phineas.

It had taken far too long to arrange, organising arrivals and sending invites to the relevant individuals- it had been one of the few tasks the Headmaster had been willing to take on himself, which suited Matilda just fine. She spent the time negotiating for a funeral that would have better suited Eleazar’s wishes, one that he would be at peace with. In the end, the Ministry had agreed to allow the will reading and burial to be a smaller, more private affair at a location of his next-of-kin’s choosing, a counter Matilda had rushed to accept.

It wasn’t without its complications, not given who the will details as Eleazar’s next of kin- but MC had taken the weight of that responsibility with only a flickering break in their composure, even as Matilda offered to take the burden of choice for them, before excusing themselves hastily from her office.

Their decision had been quick, without hesitation. A plot beside Miriam, who was buried on the outskirts of the Fig family home. A shared headstone.

The will reading would have to be done today, after the formal funeral affairs had taken place. Matilda had yet to talk with MC about that part, too focused on making sure everything went smoothly in front of their external guests.

Today would be hard enough on them, it felt cruel to add to that burden with a will reading- but the decision was out of Matilda’s hands.

She is pulled from her thoughts with the increasing volume of murmured chatter. The empty greetings of Ministry officials and the social elite, gathering in their cloaks and outfits of clean black, not a speck of dust out of place, nor a hint of colour. Eleazar would have rolled his eyes in amusement for their stuck-up attitude; Merlin, Matilda missed him.

Relief came in the form of her colleagues, leading a small crowd of Hogwarts students down the field towards the gathering. The funeral was an optional arrangement for Hogwarts students, having already attended the Memorial Ceremony, but it seemed a considerable number had chosen to attend the stuffy affair regardless. The scuffs on their shoes, wonkiness of their ties, caused something of a warming jolt in Matilda’s chest.

As they got closer, the students held back, not quite willing to join the fray of adults and high-ranking officials. Only a few slipped through the crowd, children of well-to-do families, seeking to join their parents who had been allocated seats, seeking the comfort of their loved ones or perhaps just happy to flaunt their position over their fellow students.

Well, not all of them.

Matilda spotted the telltale red pulse of Ominis Gaunt’s wand, but he made no effort to join his parents on the other side of the clearing, where they stood talking to fellow Wizenagmot members. Instead, she watched as he murmured something to his friends, with a slight shake of his head. Whatever it was, Sebastian Sallow gave a small chuckle, and even MC managed a laugh.

The sight of MC, donned in all black and looking uncharacteristically small reminded Matilda painfully of their first day at Hogwarts. The same student, in the same neutral-toned Hogwarts uniform, with a cut on their face and singed tips in their hair, looking lost in the sea of peers who had been here longer than them, fighting to maintain some composure against the uncertainties of what came next.

Another pang hit her chest as Matilda spotted the small distance MC was maintaining between themself and the rest of their peers, standing in the front corner, isolated from the rest of the group as much as they could allow. They likely weren’t even aware of it themself.

With her other professors focused on student crowd control, Matilda was happy to allow one of them to guide MC to their spot when necessary, and prepared herself to turn back around and play Deputy Headmistress to their guests.

Until she spotted someone making their way to MC, all professionality and self-assuredness he made a beeline right for them, cloak billowing behind him.

Faris Spavin. Minister of Magic.

Oh no.

“You must be MC! Terribly sorry for your loss, I understand yourself and Eleazar were close, I can’t imagine how painful this must be for you.” His hand reached out for MC’s own, not caring about their hesitancy, the way they tensed in his presence.

MC ducked their head slightly, looking rather unsure of the whole situation. They didn’t pull back from the Minister’s hold, allowing him to offer the gesture of condolence, “Thank you, Minister.”

He let out a false chuckle, “Please, call me Faris, Eleazar did.” No doubt taking MC’s neutral tone as one of controlled grief, Spavin pressed on, “He was a great man, did me many a favour over the years. He’d be proud of your accomplishments, I’m sure.” MC shifted awkwardly on their feet, but offered no response. Behind them, a few of MC’s friends looking close to intervening, watching the Minister with caution, not that he seemed to care- having eyes only on the mysterious new fifth-year, the one who was surrounded in fantastical tales, “It seems you have taken after him greatly, Eleazar was a close friend of the Ministry. Perhaps you should visit sometime, when this is over, and discuss more about honouring his work.”

How dare he. To approach a student, a grieving child, and attempt to take advantage of their pain to bolster his image, to know more about the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’. Minister of Magic be damned, not on her watch was she going to allow MC to go through this.

She was moving before anyone could stop her, leaving her other duties in the dust. Making MC endure this for a second longer until their other professors noticed what was going on didn’t seem fair.

“Minister, how honoured we are to have you join us.” Matilda kept her voice of perfectly neutral politeness, one suited for meeting the Minister of Magic, but she was sure to step slightly in front of MC, forcing the Minister to break his hold on the student, “Matilda Weasley, Deputy Headmistress.”

Spavin recovered from the interruption, offering her a brief handshake, “Ah yes- pleasure to meet you Professor. I was just offering my condolences. Such a pity, for to lose a mentor so young.” He shook his head, “Poor Eleazar, what a tragic loss.”

She was aware Eleazar had been acquainted with the Minister, but somehow doubted that extended as far as to the Minister genuinely wanting to look out for Eleazar’s former charge. Still, her chest pooled with grief at his words, “Truly, we’ll all miss him greatly.”

“We owe him a great debt, he died a hero, there is a no higher honour,” With this, Spavin’s gaze once again returned to the student Matilda had partially blocked from view, a glint back in his eyes, “Well except perhaps mentoring such a brilliant young student- I have heard many great things.”

Matilda considered it a fortunate circumstance Phineas had not been the one to spot the Minister of Magic with MC first, he would have been the only staff member who would rise to such bait.

“I’m proud to hear it Minister, we take great pride in all our students here at Hogwarts,” Her eyes swept the sea of students to the side, latching onto a head of silver, an agreeable nod, and tried not to let the sigh of relief overtake her as Dinah made a beeline for them. “I fear we’ve kept you for quite some time now, Minister, wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties any longer. This is my colleague, Dinah Hecat- Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts. She can show you to your seat, I believe Headmaster Black shall be honoured to see you again.”

Dinah, Godric bless her, arrived in perfect time to redirect Spavin’s attentions from the pair. She led him away and back towards the gathered Wizarding families and Ministry officials, before he could think of any parting words.

Subtly, Matilda manoeuvred herself so MC would have to turn away from the funeral arrangements to talk with her, protecting them from noticing the large array of gazes fixated on them, from where the Minister had accosted them just seconds before.

No doubt it was the exact response he had counted on, such a high level of attention. The first anyone outside of Hogwarts had seen of the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ since the news first broke, and the Minister was playing politics the first chance he had. At a funeral, no less.

Small mercies, that journalists were banned from such events. Although nothing could be said for word of mouth.

“Sorry you had to deal with that. Eleazar was a greatly respected figure by many, even at the Ministry. He…he would have hated all this pomp and fuss.” A small smile graced MC’s lips at her words, Matilda wished it would stay that way, “We should have expected someone would try to talk to you, I’m sorry.”

MC shook their head, ever poised and composed, even now, “It’s okay, Professor, you’re all…there’s a lot of guests here, I understand you’re busy.”

At the word ‘guests’, MC’s eyes drifted momentarily to the side, a giveaway to their sentiments- ones Matilda shared. These people weren’t guests, they were not friends, had not cared for Eleazar- they only cared for what his death symbolised, what attending the funeral of one so knowledgeable and well-regarded signified to others, a silent recognition of prestige.

All the better, that today was a mere formality.

It didn’t make what Matilda had to say next any easier, however. She had no way of predicting how MC would feel about it, and didn’t want to ruin their brief moment of reprieve from the stresses of today- but the funeral was starting soon, and she was out of time.

“I hate to drop this on you so suddenly, I understand you were planning on standing with your fellow classmates but…a seat has been reserved for you, if you want it.” MC’s breath hitched, it was subtle- but clear enough to anyone who was paying attention. Matilda kept her voice quiet, soothing, as she tagged on the warning, “It’s in the front row.”

It was almost heartbreaking, the way MC’s eyes widened at the news, body going tense in surprise? Shock? Panic? Matilda had no idea.

The front row was always reserved exclusively for family, those closest to the deceased. There would be no mixed messaging in reserving such a spot for MC.

“I appreciate it is…a lot, especially given what we’ve already asked of you during the ceremony itself.” She tried her best to be reassuring, give MC the space to make the decision for themself, “If you’d feel more comfortable staying here at the back then-”

“No.”

MC tensed, as if they hadn’t even expected the interruption themself. Quickly, they recovered, rushing to explain themself, “I mean, I- thank you Professor- that’s, I’d like to. Yes.” They looked away, casting their gaze over their shoulder, towards the arrangement of seats, row to row. The line at the front, on the right. Empty. Reserved for family. They turned back to Matilda, their expression one of firm resolution, “I want to be there.” For him.

She smiled back at MC, tried not to let the relief or joy show on her face, “I’m glad to hear it.” He’d want you to be there. “I hate to rush things, but we should probably be taking our seats now. Are you ready?”

It was a loaded question.

Already, Matilda feared she and the other professors had asked too much of MC today, she could only hope that what would come to pass in the next half an hour wouldn’t be the final straw. Perhaps they had been unfair to ask it of MC, to take an active role in Eleazar’s funeral arrangements, but it had felt wrong to assign such a task to anybody else.

At her question, Matilda swore she saw a momentary flash of fear, of pain. MC’s eyes flickered to the front group of students, catching their attention before MC had even meant to.

Gently, Natsai Onai reached forward, giving MC’s hand a gentle squeeze. She seemed moments from pulling her friend into a hug, but so wary at the same time. As though one wrong move, and everything would break. “We’ll be here, my friend. We aren’t going anywhere.” Something significant passes between them, as a second hand rests atop of MC’s own, briefly but firm as she offers parting words, “Remember, rain does not fall on one roof alone.”

Matilda had not heard such a sentiment before, but it clearly meant something to MC, who seemed to momentarily falter at their friend’s words, a brief break in their composure. They echoed the words back, sounding vaguely distant as their gaze swept over their gathered friends one final time, before pulling away to face Matilda, shoulders pulled back and head raised.

She remembered the face of the student who had led them out of the foundations of Hogwarts, through the broken battlefield, with barely a slip of emotion allowed to break their focus. Matilda had a sickening sense of deja-vu.

Brushing her concern aside, she led MC away from the pack of Hogwarts students, most of which were still being guided by Aesop and Mirabel into behaving, and towards the rows of seating which were beginning to fill up.

Across the pew of the front row, on the left side, the Minister and Phineas were among the speech-givers to have already taken their seats. Matilda didn’t like the idea of leaving MC alone near them, even with a walkway to serve as a divider, but there was no changing tradition- much to her own ire.

If Eleazar had been here, he would have sat with MC regardless of the rules. Pair of troublemakers that they had been, MC probably would have hid a giggle at his audaciousness, the ever-reliably bad influence on them- but always worth it, to see how MC brightened under his attention. And Eleazar, under theirs.

But she and MC didn’t have that bond, so instead she led them to their seat, ignoring the panging pains that the rest of the empty row invoked. They had been the closest thing to family either of the pair had left, and now it was just MC. Sat in this front row. Alone.

In a moment of weakness, she caved and gently squeezed MC’s hand before departing, the most physical comfort she could allow herself to provide in that moment. If she reached out more, pulled MC into the hug this child so desperately deserved, she’d fall apart- and this wasn’t the time nor place for that.

So instead, gently squeezing their hand in her own, she reassured them she would beckon them forward when the time came, that she and the rest of the staff would keep a close eye from the side, and left them, as the rest of the pews steadily filled with people.

Dinah caught her eye as Matilda neared, joining her colleagues to the side of the seating arrangement. It was traditional for Professors to stand on either side of the pews, to maintain professionality and oversee the events even in their own time of mourning.

Not for the first time that day, Matilda cursed tradition.

“Thank you for earlier, Dinah, I don’t believe the Minister would have left so easily without your being there.”

Adjusting her robe slightly, “We agreed today would be a group effort, did we not? Besides, I left as soon as I dropped him off with the Headmaster. I haven’t the patience for Phineas’ empty gloating and politics on a good day, let alone at Eleazar’s funeral.”

“What’s this I hear about the Minister?” Aesop interjected, his voice a low murmur among the muted rumble of guests.

Matilda kept her tone neutral as she watched the final seats get filled, “Accosted our young student as soon as they arrived with the others. Undoubtedly wanting something out of the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’.”

Aesop tried not to let his distaste show on his face, instead allowing his gaze to sweep the room, catching on particular members of the crowd as he spoke, “I doubt the Minister of Magic has been the only one in attendance today looking to benefit from today’s events.”

Dinah opened her mouth, but whatever witty commentary she had been about to grace them with died on her tongue, as the Headmaster rose from his seat and walked towards the front podium, a hush falling throughout the crowd.

For a moment, it was peaceful. Bright sun shining down on the gentle rustle of grass, the occasional chirp of birds nearby- one of the few parts of today’s proceedings that brought honour to Eleazar’s memory.

It was nicer to focus on those parts.

The sea of students who had trekked down from Hogwarts Castle to be in attendance, the splashes of red the staff had added to their cloaks in his memory, in the front MC sat in the chairs allocated to family. It was in these flashes, that they could remember Eleazar as the kind soul he had been- full of mischief befitting of his House, eager to pass on knowledge and always ready to explore, be it some old map or a new theory- it never mattered.

Matilda dared not let her drifting memories get the better of her. How easy it would be, to drown out the drone of speeches with fond recollections of her own, to allow it all to fade to background for the next hour or so, and grieve in her own mind.

But there was still someone who needed her, so she reminded herself there would be time to grieve later, and kept her attention to the ebb and flow of speakers. Minister of Magic, Head Auror, a few friends of Eleazar, acquaintance families to the Fig name, some of it genuine and heart wrenching in their grief, others of empty words of condolence, sweeping generalisations.

Matilda wasn’t sure which was harder to hear.

Finally, the Headmaster took to the stand again, and Matilda prepared herself to move forward, to fulfil her promise to MC, gently nudge them towards the podium

Except she didn’t need to.

No sooner had Phineas spoke, a sweeping gesture made in the direction of Eleazar’s charge, the ‘Hero of Hogwarts’ (Merlin, Phineas, like this was the time for showboating) had MC rose from their seat, slowly making their way towards the Headmaster.

As ever, Matilda was impressed with their poise. Since they had arrived on that day so many months ago, she had waited for the moment MC dropped the perfect posture, the well-spoken mannerisms- yet to no avail.

Even now, faced with the most painful and meaningful of tasks- the returning of the wand- MC did not break, did not falter in their steps. They maintained the practised hold of their body, thanked the Headmaster with perfect mannerisms. Despite being donned in a uniform of all black, surrounded by a sea of mourners, drowning in grieving speeches, MC had not broken down, not shed a tear.

No, Matilda realised all too late, the realisation striking her life a curse to the check. They hadn’t allowed themself to shed a tear.

Hadn’t dared allow the waves of grief to wash over them, for fear they would drown, would break the too-perfect mask of composure they had built for themselves since that day after the battle, when they had lost control.

Oh Merlin, she had been a fool.

They had all been fools.

Now alone on the podium, all eyes on them, MC reached for the wand resting on a nearby plush pillow of black, raising it slowly in one hand. With the other, they reached into their robes, and for a moment everyone paused, confused, until they pulled out a second wand and a scarf of silver.

Miriam’s wand.

Eleazar’s scarf.

Oh, MC.

Tears pricked at Matilda’s eyes, and she did nothing to stop them from falling as MC weaved the two wands together- united now in magic, as they were in death.

To her side, she heard the telltale sniffle of tears, and knew she wasn’t alone in her pain for the unforeseen gesture.

For a moment, everything paused as MC stared down at the interwoven wands, a hand gently tracing their outline. Had Matilda’s vision been clearer, not blurred with tears, she would have seen the gentle tremor in MC’s hand, the spidery cracks in their wall of defences beginning to spread.

Slowly as they dared, MC looked away from the wands and turned to the side, forcing their gaze to fixate on the object they had been avoiding all day, vehement in denying up until this very moment. Their feet felt like lead as they neared it, but they dared not let themself stop walking until it was before them, less than an arm's reach away.

A coffin of perfect marbling, decorated in flashes of moonstone.

Their chest constricted, pain hummed under their veins, threatening to overtake their vision, their every step. MC forced it aside.

As though the wands were crafted with Elf Crystal themselves, they are placed delicately atop the coffin, cushioned by the wrappings of Eleazar’s scarf.

MC doesn’t move.

Standing over the coffin, both hands placed atop the wands, they stare down at the last part of Professor Fig they have left, their head remaining bowed, falling locks of hair obscuring them from sight. Nobody dares break the silence, the second stretching to eternity, as everyone is kept in wait, a rumble of thunder is heard in the distance- out of place on such a sunny day.

That’s the second warning they get.

Through trembling hands, MC’s thumb traces the soft material of the scarf, committing it to memory. They don’t feel the stinging behind their eyes, fail to notice the way their fingertips glow as they finally pull away, letting go of the wands, letting go of Eleazar, for good.

To Matilda’s side, through blurry vision she just catches the sudden lurch of Dinah’s posture, registers the tight grip her colleague now had on both herself and Aesop, but they’re all too late.

MC hardly manages to right their posture, when their eyes register the truth before them, the wands lying atop a coffin, right where Professor Fig’s hands would be crossed over just beneath the lid. Lying in the same position MC had left him before, the last time they had been with him, watched as he wrapped his hands around their own, clasping his hands as he took his last breath-

Finally, the dam breaks.

Weeks of holding themself together, gone in seconds. Broken, in a sudden flood of tears, as MC’s knees give out from under them, all desire to keep themselves upright, gone.

Their cry of anguish breaks the clear skies- except, the skies aren’t clear. Not any more.

Nobody sees the tendrils of magic that shoot to the heavens, but they do see the black clouds that suddenly hang overhead, replacing the clear blue that had been in its place seconds before. They all feel the harsh torrent of rain that hails down without warning, muddying the grass under foot and soaking the crowd through before anybody has the chance to cast a shielding charm.

The turn of weather is violent, uncontrolled, and seemingly out of nowhere. It disobeyed every natural order there was, and only one person seemed immune to its onslaught, head bowed and on their knees by Eleazar’s coffin, sobs clear enough to break through the sound of lashing rain.

In an abnormally perfect circle, the grass dies, shrivelling to a pale yellow despite the falling rain, before being swallowed by thickening mud. Death and decay spreads outward in perfect unison, slowly encroaching on the occasional wildflower, giving no sign of stopping.

At the centre of it, MC remains perfectly dry, even as the rain bounces off from their body, collecting in the mud dirtying their knees. In the sudden darkness of the skies, the rain pelting off from MC’s figure almost gave a glowing effect- an effect which could be mistaken as coming from the sobbing figure, if people didn’t know better.

Pity, that people in the crowd did know better.

“No.” Matilda hoped her strangled cry of horror couldn’t be heard over the rain, as the reality of what was happening dawned on her.

“They’ve lost control.” Dinah’s voice could barely be heard over the harsh sobs and torrenting rain around them, but it was loud enough for Aesop and Matilda to hear her pain. Torn between horror at what was going on, the dangerous position MC was now in (or the danger MC themself was), and the utter heartbreak of what they were witnessing- the breaking down of a student who had been scared of being vulnerable for too long.

Shock and confusion for the situation verberates through the crowd, under shielding charms guests look around at a loss of what to do, how to navigate this turn of events, the chaos literally raining down around them. Shamefully, the professors were no better.

Only one person, or perhaps a group of people, kept their wits about them. Remaining undeterred by the sudden turn of the weather, had different priorities in mind.

Sebastian Sallow raced past them all in a blur of black, a small group on his heels. He doesn’t slow as he nears where MC is knelt, crashing down into the dead earth at their side. Mud splashes up his trousers, landing onto his cloak, but if it bothers him he gives no outward sign.

He has eyes only on MC, the shake of their frame as they sob into their hands- their cries broken and unforgiving, fractured in such a way he had never seen them before.

Gently, his hand rested on MC’s shoulder, it tensed under the weight but didn’t recoil from his touch. Heart racing in his ears, praying to Merlin he was doing the right thing here and not just acting out of selfish interest to hold them, Sebastian continued on.

With a soft croon, he reaches his other arm around, guiding MC into his arms, hiding their face between the juncture of his neck and shoulder. They’re warm against his drenched body, he always thought they might be, but this was the last circumstance he imagined finding out in.

Gently, he allows one thumb to trace circles into their back- a trick Anne had taught him, long ago. Although whether he was comforting MC or himself, Sebastian couldn’t quite tell.

They sobbed against his shoulder, and he was sure if the rain hadn’t already completely soaked his uniform, this would have done it.

He didn’t mind one bit.

“It’s okay- you’re okay, you’re okay. I’m-We’re here, take your time,” Soft hushes of comfort, for only their ear, they poured out of him without sense, desperately fuelled by his want to just take it all away. They had been through so much, helped everyone around them so selflessly, how was it fair that they should be in so much pain?

Every cry was like another needle in his chest, a reminder of another way they had all failed to protect MC, that he had failed to protect MC.

And now their pain had torn the skies, broke the earth, yet still he stayed.

He wouldn’t let them suffer alone any longer.

“I-We’re not going anywhere, okay? You’re alright, you’re okay, just breathe for me, come on-” He takes a deep breath, in, and out. Again. In, and out. Slowly, he feels their chest shuddering as they attempt to copy- it’s nowhere near slow or controlled enough, but it’s something. They’re trying. “Amazing, just like that. I’ve got you, I’ve got you…”

I’ll always have you, his thumb continues to rub soothing circles into their back, as his second hand creeps up to the nape of their neck, soothes at the skin there.

He doesn’t care about the rain lashing down on him, nor the way it just bounces off from MC, keeping their hair dry under his touch, their clothes warm against his skin. He kneels in a circle of growing decay, traces it all back to the soft glow of MC’s figure, and holds them only tighter. He feels the moment Ominis steps closer, holding a shield charm over them both.

“It- it hurts.” Their cry is muffled by the fabric of his cloak, but their pain is somehow louder than the beating of the rain, “It hurts so much.”

“I know, I know.” He would endure a hundred crucios, if it meant he could take this hurt away from them. Carry it silently on his back, to stop them bearing the weight of the world on their own any longer.

Instead, he held them tight, whispered words of comfort in their ear, and hoped it would be enough to be there for them whenever that weight became too much.

“You’ll be okay, it doesn’t feel like it now, but we’ve got you.”

Another shuddering breath, deeper than the last, as finally MC’s hands rose to embrace him back- or, as close to as they could manage.

Fists clenched at the front of his robes, as their sobs tore into his skin, harsher than any pelt of rain that had lashed down onto his skin. He squeezed them closer, and almost missed the hushed whisper against his shoulder, low and pained as if they feared speaking it any louder would make it more real.

“H-he’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

Their breath hitched warningly, a delicate wobble to their voice. Sebastian wonders if this is the first time they’d spoken it aloud, had confronted their loss directly. He thinks of the dark circles under their eyes they didn’t realise he’d noticed, the distant look in their eyes that day of the school memorial, and realises that maybe it was.

After weeks of denial and repression, it had become far too much for them to carry any longer.

Why hadn’t any of them done something sooner?

Allowing his hand to run through their hair, soothing them through their sobs, it was all he could do not to fall apart himself, to stay strong for the pair of them. Just as MC had done for him, he’d be there for them now.

He would help them weather this storm.

Lost in their focus on helping MC, eyes only on their grieving friend, none of the students feel the weight of an audience’s attention on them.

Further back, Matilda watches with something between unfolding horror, and heartfelt pride.

Any other day, in any other circumstance, it would make for an endearing sight. Sebastian Sallow with MC’s face tucked safety into his shoulder, both arms around them as he murmured words of comfort in their ear. Around them, MC’s other friends, shields raised overhead as they surrounded the pair, protective, but not suffocatingly so. Not a glance spared for the storm around them, the grass dying under their feet.

The knowledge that their students had formed bonds so close that it transcended words, surpassed any instinct for self preservation or awareness in favour of supporting a hurting friend, should have warmed their professors’ hearts to witness.

But instead, their focus was on the sea of Ministry Officials and old Wizarding Families.

Guests who had only minutes ago been lost in confusion for the sudden turn of the weather, now shielded under protective charms, who would soon find they had nothing more to focus on than the scene unfolding before them, on the one person who seemed unaffected by the storm, whose breakdown timed perfectly with the onset of rain. Suspiciously so.

Changing the weather was not magically possible. Clouds could not be conjured, plants could not be drained of life, it did not follow the laws of magic.

Then again, nor did storing magic in barricades of goblin silver. Nor did summoning lightning from the skies or blasting an enemy to shreds without an incantation or wand movement- yet MC had accomplished all this with no known effort on their part.

To consider what else they might be capable of, was too intimidating a thought to bear.

All of this was information none of them could afford to have get out. MC had been nearly beside themself with worry the day they had awoken from their coma, and realised their professors had witnessed them use Ancient Magic. Through stumbling sentences, overlapping lies, they had attempted to explain it away- reassured only when Matilda promised them nobody would tell a soul, would let MC be the sole keeper of this knowledge.

But now, it seemed their desperately-guarded secret could be just two connected dots away from breaking confinement. Information moments away from falling into the hands MC had been so desperate to keep it out of.

Matilda only hoped nobody would be observant enough to realise what had happened. She hoped to Merlin that magical close-mindedness would make them ignorant.

This could still be managed, they could still do damage control. Pass this event off as an unforeseen rainstorm, poetically fitting for a day of loss.

Too late, the professors noticed the thinning of rain in the air, the slight brightening of clouds overhead. The beginnings of the storm were receding, as much without warning as its arrival had been.

Matilda’s head snapped to the side, meeting the equally panicked gazes of Dinah and Aesop.

There could only be one thing worse than the sudden creation of a torrential downpour in the open view of numerous Ministry members, and that would be the stopping of the storm.

One, they could pass off as a fluke, an unforeseen weather event.

The other would be no matter of chance, and everyone would know it.

But MC and their friends were too far out of reach, the professors were too late to warn Sebastian Sallow not to help MC control their magic- that doing so may only make their situation worse.

They had underestimated the bonds MC had created, how well their friends understood them, and were determined to help them. In their determination to support their friend, they had become blind to the repercussions it may have.

MC’s shoulders still shook in Sebastian’s hold, but their breathing had begun to level out, interrupted by the occasional hitched breath, a muffled hiccup.

Regardless, he kept his own breaths deep and paced, maintained the rhythm of his thumb rubbing circles into their back, and let them focus on matching him.

He remembered the months that followed after his parents death, the dark nights when he and Anne couldn’t sleep, too late remembering that they didn’t have Mum and Dad to go to for comfort anymore. Sometimes he’d cry, other times it was Anne- or even both of them, climbing into eachothers beds, clinging to each other into the early morning, desperate for some feeling of familiar comfort again. Clinging to any memory of how things once were.

Even now, his parents' old nik naks had become his most treasured possessions. The notebooks they had left scattered throughout the house, recipe pages with annotations scribbled in the margins. Old jewellery or clothing that had once been too big for him- whatever they had been allowed to keep from their old home, savoured memories of who his parents once were.

“Tell me about him.”

For a moment, MC stilled in his hold, “What?”

“Prof- Fig. Tell me about him.” Finally looking away from MC, his gaze latched onto something over their shoulder. The coffin, the wands lying atop of it, interwoven with a scarf. It should have been wet from the rain, but instead remained perfectly dry- just like MC, immune to the torrential elements. “What was his favourite season?”

A beat.

For a moment, Sebastian worried he had pushed it too far, crossed a line they weren’t ready for yet, but then MC spoke, soft and fondly melancholic, “A-autumn. He liked the colours and, and how all the students come back to Hogwarts in Autumn. We used to take walks outside sometimes, see the grounds.”

He pictured it perfectly in his mind.

MC and Professor Fig, two of the more mysterious figures at Hogwarts, passing around the grounds like ghosts, sharing secrets and tempting adventure. A break from the responsibilities piled on them since the school year began, a comfort away from thoughts of Loyalists and Keepers.

He hadn’t known the Professor of Magical Theory well, but he heard MC’s fondness for him in their tone.

“He always said that Spring was pretty at Hogwarts.”

Encouragingly, he hummed, “Oh?”

They nodded against his shoulder, their hair tickled at the skin of his neck. Sebastian didn’t mind. “Told me about the flowers that bloomed near the courtyards, all the colour that covered the Castle. He used to say that Hogwarts never looked more like home than when students were lying in the grass, studying in the sun.” Their voice cracked as they spoke, registering the mud under their knees, the dark clouds hanging overhead, ”I guess that’s ruined now.”

His heart nearly broke at the clear self-hatred in their tone. Their self-disgust over a loss of power that was in no way their fault, that they could never have seen coming.

Already, the rain around them had been slowing down, the black of the clouds fading to a lighter shade of grey. All this, they had done on their own, they just needed a nudge in the right direction, an opportunity to accept their pain, to come to terms with what had happened.

They’d been there for him during his pain, now it was his turn to be there for them.

“No, no, nothing is ruined. You aren’t ruined.” Their breath catches in their throat, grip on his robes becoming notably tight, “And none of us are leaving you to deal with this alone any more, got it? Just breathe, breathe with me. We’ve got you, you’ll be okay, I promise.”

He continues to murmur words of comfort, letting it ground them, as his promises wash over them.

For some time, they stay that way, MC’s breaths gradually levelling out, the tremor in their shoulders fading away. He doesn’t stop holding them, not yet.

Overhead, the rain finally stops, and beams of light fill its place. He feels the warming beam on his back as Ominis’ protective shield is dropped, already beginning to dry the sodden cloak. He blinks up at the skies, and finds only clear blue, speckled by the faintest outline of grey clouds, drifting in the distance.

It doesn’t end there.

From where they had all been gathered, huddled around MC like a protective herd, standing in a growing circle of dying grass- green began to invade their vision. No, not just green, colour. Speckles of white and purple daisies, yellow honking daffodils, even more wildflowers he didn’t even know the names of, sprouting out from the ground around them in a growing flourish, spontaneous life covering any previous sign of decay that had been in its place just seconds before. At its centre was MC, faint glow finally gone from their form, their hold on Sebastian slowling laxening as they began to pull back, composure interrupted only by the faintest shudder in their chest, the red rims of their eyes.

Beautiful.

Their eyes took in the sight of Sebastian before them, drifted upward to where Ominis stood, across to Natty, Poppy, the friends who had followed them down to the funeral today just to make sure they wouldn’t be alone, who had raced to their side the moment their grief became to much to bear alone.

A wobbly smile graced their lips, and it was all they could do not to break into a flood of tears again.

A hand presses down on Sebastian’s shoulder, tentative but solid as he tries not to jump, or eagerly reach back for it. It was the first time Ominis had reached for him since that night in the Catacombs.

With his other hand, Ominis reaches forward, palm upturned, a silent offering to MC. Gently, they take it, as he nurses them to their feet, Sebastian following. As soon as they’re standing, their knees buckle- a sudden wave of exhaustion rushing over them- just as quickly, Sebastian and Natty have arms thrown under their shoulders, holding them upright. Poppy joins at Natty’s side, a small huddle forms, but nobody says anything, waiting.

MC once again looks around at their companions, their friends, and wonders how they got so lucky. What they did to deserve such people in their life.

Their throat feels raw, their skin pricks with expended energy and everything around them feels like a blur- and all they can think of is trying to find some way to thank the people around them for what they did, express the love in their chest, to apologise for having to see them in such a state.

Instead, what comes out is, “I’m sorry about the mud.”

Like a final thread being cut, everyone laughs at the nonsense of it all, just revelling in the relief of having MC back with them, a wobbly smile on their face and blessedly there, held up by their friends.

A small distance away, Matilda watches the scene with growing unease, wishing she could find relief in the way MC had managed to recover, seemingly unaware to the extent of magic they just performed, but all Matilda could focus on was the sea of eyes now fixed on them, attention that wouldn’t be going away any time soon.

Pews of seats riddled with high-ranking Ministry officials, Wizengamot figures and power-hungry Wizarding families, all of them witnesses to such impossible environmental manipulation. Events that should have been impossible, and yet the only explanation could be magic.

Would it be a matter of time before anyone connected the dots? Realised this had been the result of an impossible, powerful magic.

Worse yet, would anyone trace the origin of such power to the young student who had broken down in grief just minutes ago, the Hero of Hogwarts themself? Matilda hoped not, but so much was out of her hands now.

If it had ever been in her hands to begin with.

For now, MC was calming down, surrounded by friends who would protect them, their magic stabilising. They were in good hands, Matilda was confident of that much.

Among the crowd of faces, the murmuring questions and muttered confusion, Matilda spots Phineas, unmoving in his seat, a glint in his eyes Matilda knows is a warning of incoming schemes, ulterior motives to benefit his family name- his attentions fixed on a distracted MC, whose back had been kept to them all.

She catches the eye of Aesop and Dinah, whose gazes had been similarly fixed on specific members of the crowd, individuals with too much knowledge of magic, those intelligent enough to have already allowed their suspicions to brew.

She sees the same worry reflected back at her, the weight of an oncoming battle- one by a different name- fast approaching. But one one thing, they could all easily agree.

Whatever came next, they’d do their best to protect MC from it.

#hogwarts legacy #my fics #thank you if you made it this far and i am SO sorry you read all that #sebastian sallow aka boy with the warmest heart around argue with the WALL this man knows how to comfort and reassure #main character #sebastian sallow #aesop sharp #matilda weasley

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fruit-teeth · 1 year

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Chronicles of Love and War (chapter 21)

Angelica awoke as the sun was beginning to rise outside the window. She stretched a little, her thoughts still foggy from sleep, before turning to see Spy asleep next to her. She smiled, curling close to him and gently kissing the back of his neck. He moved slightly in his sleep, smiling faintly, and she wished she could take off his mask and see his real face. Yet, she wouldn’t do that - not without asking, of course. She’d seen his face many times, but she knew how much his identity meant to him.

“I love you,” she whispered to him, though he stayed asleep, stirring quietly again.

Right at that moment, the phone on the end table rang. Angelica glanced over, and she picked it up without thinking. “Hello?”

“Howdy, ma’am,” came Engineer’s voice. “Is Spy awake yet?”

“Hey!” Angelica greeted cheerfully. “Uh, he’s still asleep - what’s up?”

“Well, I just wanted to update him on what went down last night,” Engineer began. “We got my pa out of the hospital, spent the night at the motel, and now we’re getting breakfast at the gas station! We should be back real soon,”

Angelica sighed with relief. “Oh, good! I’m glad to hear that!”

Just then, Spy fully woke up, and he nudged Angelica. “Who is that?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“Oh,” Angelica glanced back at Spy, replying, “It’s Engie, you wanna talk to him?”

Spy nodded, sitting up as Angelica passed him the phone. “Good morning, laborer,” he greeted. “I hope all is well,”

While Dell was updating Spy on what had transpired the night prior, Angelica got up and gathered her things for the shower. She wasn’t trying to listen in on their conversation, but she couldn’t help it.

"Thank you for calling, Dell, and I will also let everyone know what you’ve told me," Spy said finally as the call came to a close. “And...please tell your father that I hope we don't have any bad blood as we work through this predicament."

Angelica turned to look at Spy, watching as he hung up the phone. “Hon?” she asked, tilting her head. “What’d you mean by ‘bad blood’?”

Spy got quiet for a moment, sitting up and, in a rare moment, removing his mask to fix his hair. “It’s rather complicated, but…let us just say I may or may not have stabbed his father at some point.”

Angelica’s face fell, though she tried not to be entranced by the sight of her maskless lover. “Oh, hon…now, why would you do that!?”

“He was on the opposing team,” Spy clarified. “I had to disguise myself as him, and as to not ruin the facade, I had to stab him. Yes, Dell was upset, but he understood why I did it. That’s how these things go in this business.”

Angelica lingered, staring down at Spy’s face. Finally, she replied, “So…was that why he was in the hospital?”

“I assume,” Spy sighed.

When Angelica said nothing and sucked her lips into her mouth, Spy took a step closer to her. “Darling, this is just what this business is. You understand - this was how we met in the first place, was it not?”

“I know,” Angelica clarified quickly. “Rene, hon, I’m not judging you for this job! You know that – but…God, its gotta be pretty awkward when someone who survived one of your attacks is just…showing up again. You don’t think he’s gonna wanna get back at you for this? I get there’s bigger fish to fry, but…”

Spy took her hands into his own, giving them a squeeze. “Speak my true name quietly,” he urged her. “But I can assure you…if he wishes to get back at me, I’ll be prepared for that. I have been around this type of block many times, so to speak.”

Angelica nodded, but she could not dispel the uneasiness she felt. She rooted into him, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. After a moment, Spy reached up and placed his hand on her head, running his fingers through her black hair.

Following a brief period of silence, Angelica pulled away and cleared her throat. “Um - I’m gonna go take a shower. You coming?”

“In a moment, darling,” Spy clarified, opening up his closet to fetch his special towels. “I have some business to attend to.”

Angelica nodded understandingly, and she opened the door to the hallway to slip out. “All right - meet you in there, sweets.”

Spy waited in the room for a bit after she went to the shower, thinking about what had just happened. Even if it offended her strongly held values, she still understood his work and how essential it was to him. She was truly everything Spy had ever wanted in a lover, and he couldn’t help but smile over how grateful he was for her. He shook himself out of his daze, got his towels and specialty soaps, and walked to the shower room to meet her. It was early still, so they would not have to worry about anyone seeing them together in there.

Not long later, Lar-Nah got up as well and headed to the basement to check on Zelda. She carried her tranquilizer with her, as she was unsure of whether or not they would need to kill Zelda just yet. Lar-Nah's current plan was to knock Zelda out again as Helen hadn't yet issued the order to kill her.

Yet she observed something peculiar when she descended the stairs to the basement: she could hear Zelda, but Zelda appeared to be...laughing. Yes, Zelda was definitely laughing…but why?

Lar-Nah opened the basement door and stepped over the barrier to the small room that was Zelda’s prison. Zelda was seated in the middle of the space, bound to the chair, and sure enough, she was chuckling to herself.

“What’s so funny?” Lar-Nah asked her, closing the door behind her and popping open her case of tranquilizers. “Not that I care, I’m just curious about what you could possibly find so funny.”

Zelda lifted her head, her hair a wreck. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she cleared her throat, the side of her mouth quirked up into a small smile. “I’m just…I keep thinking about how you still have no idea where my sister is. She’s going to find me here, you know, and she will find all of you as well.”

"Well, she's going to be outnumbered," Lar-Nah said as she took out the tranquilizer syringe. “She doesn’t have a team, remember? And without your…magic, or whatever you call it, there’s not much she can do about that.”

Zelda hummed in the back of her throat, before letting out another giggle. She was grinning again, and it looked as though she was about to say something but stopped herself.

Lar-Nah paused, syringe still poised. “...what?”

“Nothing!” Zelda trilled, eerily chipper. “I was just thinking about the pact I made with your husband…”

After a brief hesitation, Lar-Nah snapped her wrist forward and drew Zelda in close to her. “What pact?” she demanded to know, her free hand still gripping the syringe. “I swear, if you don’t tell me right now, I can go right back upstairs and get the truth serum and–”

“And then I’ll you everything you need to know,” Zelda finished, breaking out into laughter again. “Well, I can tell you, but there won’t be much good you can do about it!”

When Demoman heard the basement stairwell door burst open, he was about to get a container of quick oats from a high shelf in the kitchen. He glanced up just in time to see Lar-Nah storming out in a rage.

Curious, he called out, “What happened?”

“I’m going to kill him,” she called back.

“Kill who?” Demoman shouted back. When she didn’t answer, he went back to making the oats, though he kept nervously glancing over his shoulder.

Sniper entered the room a little while later wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that read, ‘I ate fried clams in New Orleans.’

“Good morning,” he greeted Demo, walking over to the coffee pot. “The coffee machine in my camper’s busted, gotta use this one.”

“Fine by me, lad,” Demo hummed in reply. “Oh, by the way – Lar-Nah is fuming, and she said she’s gonna kill someone. I think Zelda said something to her…”

Sniper paused, before setting the coffee pot down with a grunt. “Hell – I’ll go see what’s up. Hope it’s not too serious.”

He walked to where the lab was, and upon seeing that the door was ajar, he pushed it open. Lar-Nah stood by her desk, the glass covering of her nightshade plant lifted as she cut the leaves.

“Hey,” Sniper called out to her, getting her attention. “Everything okay?”

Lar-Nah lingered for a moment, staring at the nightshade leaves. Finally, she looked back at him. “I think we all need to have a meeting.”

“Why?” Sniper questioned, entering the room. “What happened?”

“It’s…” Lar-Nah trailed off, and she sighed. “I don’t even know if its a concern, honestly. But – the last time you were around Bill-Bel, did you notice any strange symbols carved in his skin?”

“...uh…” Sniper winced, trying to remember. “No? Honestly, I was too pissed off to notice, not to mention all I did was shatter that jar over his head. The jar with the magic inside, not one of the…other ones. Why?”

“Well,” Lar-Nah crossed her arms, turning all the way so she could face Sniper. "I had a strange encounter with Zelda just now, and she claimed she drew some kind of marking on him to keep him from disobeying her or running. She could be lying, or maybe she feels she has nothing to lose. I’m sure the truth serum would clear that up, but this feels too specific to be a lie."

Sniper stood there for a moment, taken aback. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Uh…is it like, uh…a sex thing? Or–”

“No!” Lar-Nah snapped. “She didn't say that, I mean. She did, however, mention that she made a deal with Bill-Bel when she initially brought him here. The sigil was part of this deal, and he is effectively tied to her forever. I guess that's why he's the mayor of this ridiculous town - she gives him whatever he wants if he does what she wants. I knew he was stupid, but agreeing to something like this is a new type of stupid, especially for him.”

“Okay, okay,” Sniper put up his hand to stop her for a moment. “Slow down and tell me the important part. What exactly got you so riled up?”

"Part of the contract has a condition where, in the event that something should happen to her, he must finish what she's started," Lar-Nah stated after a brief pause.

Sniper took this in, before clarifying, “Does that mean…?”

“If we kill her, Bill-Bel will be the one to summon The Corrupt,” Lar-Nah confirmed. “I don't know whether he even knows we abducted her, but when Bea learns Zelda is missing, she'll let him know.”

“I get that, but,” Sniper scratched his head. “Does he even know how to…do that?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out,” Lar-Nah replied. "I guess Zelda must have left him with some type of instructions to follow if they have this agreement. I wouldn't be concerned if he was working alone because I know how much he dislikes following directions, but if Bea is present, this may go wrong if they can make it work.”

Sniper went quiet for a moment, taking this in. Finally, he said, “Should I call Helen?”

“Yeah,” Lar-Nah sighed. “Or, at the very least– let everyone else know. We should have a meeting about it, I think. Because…”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Sniper cut her off, trying his best to sound reassuring. “Look, I dunno what’s gonna happen, but we’ll deal with it. Got it?”

Lar-Nah nodded, looking back to her nightshade plant. Sniper started to leave, but he turned back to look at her. “Oh, and by the way: did you end up sedating Zelda?”

“Oh–” Lar-Nah shook her head quickly. “No, I forgot. I will go do that now…”

“All right, good,” Sniper turned back to head for the phone.

Zelda was still in the basement, sitting in the chair when Lar-Nah returned. She had the syringe with her again, still clutched in her hand, but she also had a case of the truth serum with her.

“All right, Zelda,” Lar-Nah announced. “I’m going to knock you out, but first, I’m going to see if you’re telling the tr–”

Before she could finish, she noticed that the restraints that held Zelda's feet to the chair were gone, but she didn't have time to respond. Zelda leaped up, and even though her wrists were still cuffed, she smashed into Lar-Nah at full speed, knocking her to the ground.

“You harpy!” Zelda screeched at the other woman, bringing her right knee up to pin Lar-Nah to the floor. “Beast! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you all! If you harm my sister again, I'll paint this place red with your blood and the blood of everyone here! I would destroy this whole country for her, do you hear me!?”

“Get off of me, you brainless cunt!” Lar-Nah managed to say, though it was difficult with Zelda’s knee on her windpipe. She tried to get away from her, but Zelda ducked her head and rammed her forehead against her nose.

Lar-Nah let out a shout of pain, but thought quickly and shifted just enough so she could bite Zelda on the thigh. Zelda shouted in surprise as she sank her teeth into her and instinctively drew back, allowing Lar-Nah just enough time to slip out from under her and pin her down.

At that very moment, the sound of footsteps rushed down the basement steps, and Demoman ran in. “What happened!?” he exclaimed, before halting to look at what was going on. “Uh– what the…”

Lar-Nah took her sedative syringe and injected it into Zelda's neck, knocking her out. “She got her feet free and went after me!” Lar-Nah explained, though she sniffed, noticing that her nose had started bleeding. “Damn it– we need some better way of tying her down!”

Demoman stepped in, picking up the now-unconcious Zelda and dragging her back to the chair. “How long is that going to keep her down for?” he wanted to know, gesturing to the syringe.

“Four hours,” Lar-Nah replied, pulling a tissue from her pocket and hastily mopping at her nose. “Four hours, at most…”

“Good to know,” Demoman grunted, securing Zelda’s legs back to the chair. “We’re about to have a team meeting, Spy just said so.”

Lar-Nah sniffed again, nodding. “Okay…do we have everyone here yet?”

“No,” Demo shook his head. “But I think they’ll be back soon!” he approached Lar-Nah, noticing her nosebleed. “Oh, hell, did she break your nose?”

“I don’t think so,” Lar-Nah winced, noticing she got some blood on her fingers. “There’s a first aid kit upstairs, right?”

“Aye,” Demo replied, gesturing for her to follow him up the stairs. “There’s one in the kitchen!”

Upon arriving to the kitchen, the two were greeted by the sight of Sonya, who was up and about. She was rummaging through the fridge when she noticed Demo first. “Oh, hello,” she greeted him warmly. “I want to ask one of you – is my son call yet? Did he come back?”

“Not yet,” Demo replied, opening one of the cabinets to look for the first aid kit. "But don't worry, Misha's a good old lad, and I'm sure he'll be back soon..." somewhat irritated, he screwed up his mouth and opened the second cabinet. “Bloody– I could’ve sworn Medic put a first aid kit in here!”

“What is wrong?” Sonya asked, but it was then she noticed Lar-Nah standing there, her nose still bloody. Sonya gasped, closing the fridge and hurrying over to her. “Oh!”

“I’m fine, it’s not broken,” Lar-Nah tried to assure, but Sonya quickly pulled up a chair and had her sit down.

Just then, Spy’s voice came on over the intercom: “We’re having a team meeting! Please come down to the meeting room if you are available, we will begin within the next ten minutes.”

Demoman squinted at the speakers next to the ceiling. “Hell, I forgot we had those!” he shook himself, heading for the doorway. “I’ll get on in there– should I tell everyone you’ll be coming soon?” He glanced over at the two women, watching as Sonya took it upon herself to tend to Lar-Nah.

“Um– yes, I’ll be there soon,” Lar-Nah replied. As soon as Demo left for the meeting hall, Lar-Nah turned her attention back to Sonya. “Look, you don’t need to do this…”

“I want to help,” Sonya insisted. She stood up, getting a wash cloth and soaking it under warm water. Once that was done, she returned to Lar-Nah’s side, pressing the warm, damp cloth against her nose.

They sat in silence for a moment, before Lar-Nah spoke quietly. “Thank you.”

“My son tell me about you,” Sonya spoke up suddenly. “About who you are, and what you did.”

Lar-Nah could only murmur "...oh.” She drew her lips into her mouth, allowing Sonya to tilt her chin up as she swept the blood away.

Sonya hummed, carefully checking the bridge of the other woman’s nose to make sure it was indeed not broken. “Yes. But do not worry,” she pulled her hand away, setting the wash cloth down onto the table beside them. “I do not judge you. I am proud of you for choosing to live and to help him and this team. You should know this, if no one tells you it.”

There was a long pause. After a few seconds, Lar-Nah grasped Sonya’s large hand in her smaller one and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you,” was all she managed to say, trying to sound composed despite the emotions she felt welling up.

Sonya smiled at her, squeezing her hand back. She cleaned the last bit of blood from Lar-Nah’s face, before getting up. “Go to the meeting, now, they are very busy probably…”

Lar-Nah nodded, getting up and turning to leave. "Yes - thank you once more," she paused just before heading towards the meeting room, wiping her eyes covertly.

In the meeting room, a discussion was already beginning. Medic, Heavy, and Engineer were still gone, but Yana and Bronislava continued to fill in for Zhanna.

“So,” Spy took a long breath. “Let’s go over what we know so far: Bea is still out there, and there’s a possibility she and the pathetic fake mayor of this town are going to continue on with Zelda’s plan,”

Scout scoffed. “Yeah, well, he’s too stupid to even do anything! I guess the ol’ lady’s not, but–”

Spy cut him off. “He may be stupid, but he is also an influential member of this town. The people here don’t know who he really is – they think he’s their beloved mayor Bill Waters, not Bill-Bel. All they talk about is the new clock tower he's building, which will bring more jobs and some recognition to the community. To them, he’s their savior, and if we publicly go after him again, he could turn them against us,”

“They already attacked us once,” Demo pointed out. “And we all got away! We can do it again, right?”

“I don’t know…” Spy sighed. “Things seem very different here than they once were. However, it doesn't mean we won't pursue him and Bea. We only need to figure out where Bea is, though I doubt she's moved very far.”

Just then, a loud wheezing noise could be heard in the room. Confused, Spy glanced over, seeing Pyro coughing and wheezing loudly through their mask.

"Oh – Pyro, could you kindly step out for a moment?" Spy made a shooing motion with his hand to avoid looking disgusted by the noisy coughing.

Pyro got up and shuffled out of the room. Scout watched them go, a concerned look on his face, before he stood up as well. “I’m gonna make sure they’re okay,” he informed everyone, before following after his teammate.

The door closed, and Spy sighed. “All right…anyway, where were we?”

Soldier put up his hand. “I have an idea!”

Spy winced. “Urgh…all right, Soldier, what is it?”

Soldier proudly marched up to the front of the room, carrying a piece of paper in his hand. He slammed it down near the desk where Spy was standing, and then puffed out his chest proudly. “I found this outside!”

Spy raised an eyebrow, picking up the paper and skimming the writing. After a good few moments, his eyes widened, and he smiled. “Oh…I see…how interesting…”

“What? What is it?” Sniper wanted to know, curious.

“It would seem,” Spy began. “That there is an opening day party for the new clock tower today. First is a ribbon-cutting ceremony, and then after that is a party. According to this newsletter, Mayor Bill Waters will be attending both events.”

“Ohh!” Demoman exclaimed, eye going wide with excitement. “Are you suggesting we crash this party?”

“Yes,” Spy confirmed. “We are going to infiltrate this event – of course, it all must be done without being seen by the public. I will help with disguises, and we shall be off!”

As everyone began to prepare for the mission, the room quickly became vibrant with talk. Scout and Pyro soon returned to the room, though they were quickly filled in on what was going on. Just then, Miss Pauling stepped in, bag in hand as she looked around the room.

“What’s going on? I just got here,” she set the bag down onto one of the chairs. “Helen said she’s gonna be here later, what did you all decide to do?”

Spy walked up to her, putting the pamphlet into her hand. “We’ve decided to crash a party. Do not worry, I am already devising a plan as we speak. If it goes off with out a hitch, we can handle everything privately,”

Pauling smiled a little, putting the pamphlet into her bag. “Great! Well, I’ll help you out with that, if that’s okay. We’re gonna settle this once and for all!”

Meanwhile, in Teufort, things were just as busy. To start getting ready for the event, several local residents gathered around the clock tower. The town hall was also rather busy that day, and Bea had to weed around several people to get into the building.

“Excuse me,” she called out to the woman at the front desk, getting her attention. “I need to speak to Mayor Waters. Is he here?”

The woman nodded. “Yes, he’s in his office getting ready for the event today. Do you have an appointment?”

“Listen,” Bea leaned in close to the woman, trying to remain composed. “I need to talk to him, it’s very important!”

“Sorry,” the woman sighed, going back to her paperwork. “If you don’t have an appointment, you can’t see him.”

Bea stood there, her face twitching for a moment. Finally, she turned and walked into the adjacent bathroom and shut the door behind her. Moments later, she came running back out, exclaiming, “Hey, someone started a fire in the trash can in there!”

The woman jolted, leaping from her seat and grabbing the fire extinguisher from next to her desk. “Oh, god, not again!”

As the woman took time to put out the fire in the bathroom, Bea took the opportunity to sneak up the stairs. She quickly located the Mayor’s office and knocked on the door a few times. “Mr. Waters! Are you in?”

She got a garbled, barely audible reply. “Who’s there?”

“It’s me, just let me in!” Bea insisted. There was no response, and Bea raised her voice slightly. “Bill-Bel, I swear to God, if you don’t open this door I’m coming in there!”

“It’s locked,” came the reply, a little louder this time. “I’m busy, leave me alone!”

Suddenly, there was a loud clicking sound, and the door burst open. Bill-Bel’s snapped up from where he’d been laying it on the desk, just in time to see Bea standing there. Bea was holding a lockpick, and she looked furious.

“I told you, I’m busy!” Bill-Bel snapped at her, attempting to sound intimidating despite his lack of sleep.

“Yeah, well, this is important!” She slammed the door behind her, walking up to the desk and putting her hands on it. “Zelda is missing!”

Bill-Bel blinked slowly, taking this in. “…missing?”

“Yes, missing!” Bea snapped at him. “I last saw her in the herbal supply store, and when I returned, there were cops around, and the place had been wrecked! Those mercenaries must have got her, and I’m tired of this game of cat and mouse! You need to join me in finding my sister since you've been sitting here doing god-knows-what for the stupid people in this town all this time! Zelda brought you here and gave you everything so you would work for her, and you need to do that!”

There was a long pause. After a moment, Bill-Bel dropped his head back onto the desk and made a pathetic whining sound. “I can’t!”

“Get up— get the hell up!” Bea picked him up by the scruff of his jacket so she could look at him. “Why can’t you!?”

"Because I have to do it," Bill-Bel whispered, peering directly into her eyes in a way that made her uncomfortable. Bea let him drop back into the chair, taking a step back.

“Do what?” She asked, brow furrowing.

“Suppose she’s dead,” Bill-Bel began. “I have to…summon the…thing…”

Bea blinked a few times, letting this sink in. “You mean…The Corrupt? She’s not dead! Besides, I don’t trust you to summon something this powerful!”

“Well, then, what do you want me to do!?” Bill-Bel suddenly shouted at her. “I can’t think, I haven’t slept in…” he squinted, trying to think, before shaking his head. "I haven't slept in a long time, I have a speech to give soon and then a party to attend, what makes you think I have time to—?"

“Listen!” Bea snapped again, startling him back into his seat. “This is more important! You agreed to help my sister in exchange for this new life of yours, now fulfill your end of the bargain and help me!”

Bill-Bel said nothing for a long moment. Finally, he spoke: “My mother saw my future and she didn’t like what she saw.”

Bea stared at him for a moment, her anger dissipating for just a moment. “What am I saying?” She sighed finally, exasperated. “You’re not in any condition to help me, anyway, your brain is scrambled.” She reached into her bag, pulling out a pill bottle and shaking a few pills out. “Here — I have caffeine pills. Take a few of these and get through your day, and then at the end of the day..." She took out another bottle of pills and gave him some of those as well.“Take these sleeping pills so you’re not like this. When you wake up, come straight to me and we’ll find out where those bastards are keeping my sister! Got it?”

"Which one is the caffeine pill and which one is the sleeping tablet?" Bill-Bel asked, squinting at the pills.

Bea rolled her eyes, walking to a water cooler in the corner of the room and getting a cup of water ready. She handed him the water cup and pushed the caffeine pills towards him, saying, "Here, take the caffeine pills now and put the sleeping pills in your pocket for later."

The phone beside Bill-Bel rang as he swallowed the caffeine pills and then placed the sleeping pills in his coat pocket. He cleared his throat and picked up the receiver, answering, “Hello? Yes? Yes, I have my speech prepared, I’ll be right there. All right, thank you.”

He stood up, heading for the door. The phone suddenly rang again, forcing him to pause and sigh loudly. “I…can you get that? It might be my wife…I really need to go…”

Bea huffed, but complied. “Sure, whatever,” as soon as Bill-Bel was gone, she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Greetings,” a strange voice replied. “Is Mr. Bill Waters available?”

“He just left, sorry,” Bea answered, preparing to hang up. “This is his…assistant. Can I take a message?��

“Of course,” the man agreed. "Tell him I'm here to look into some unusual events that an anonymous source reported to my agency,"

Bea paused. “…agency? Who is this?”

“You may call me Lazarus,” the man went on. “My agency was initially contacted regarding a situation in a Teufort park, and we were contacted again regarding an occurrence in a local herbal shop. We have reason to believe that the two are connected.”

Bea stopped, taking this in. After a moment, she responded, “Bill Waters is busy at a ceremony today, but I can meet you. I’ve been investigating this myself. What agency do you work for?”

“That isn’t important,” Lazarus assured her. “Just know that we deal with demons and paranormal happenings. May I ask what your name is?”

“Just call me Beatrice,” Bea said, though she hated using her actual name for anything. “And I think you and I might be looking for the same group of people…”

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drrealityslenderverse · 2 years

Text

Stormy Night

A03 Request: Jay gets hit by a car

CW: gore

Back to Contents || Back to One-shot Contents

“He’s gone… he can’t be gone!” Tim rechecked the hotel room, concluding that Jay had once again ran off on his own. “Why would he leave now? It’ll be dark soon.”

Annoyance ate at his worry. Of course Jay would pull something like this. And here he was about to clean up the mess. Tim snatched his keys and ran for the car, hoping he could find Jay before Alex or that thing could.

He sped the whole way to Rosswood, thankfully not needing to worry about traffic at this time of night. What he did have to worry about was the poor visibility. Night driving had gotten harder with one of his headlights going out—and them too low on funds to get it fixed at the moment—and it didn’t help that the earlier cloudy overcast had turned into dark storm clouds. His wipers did little to clear the windshield even at their max setting. Was it dangerous driving like this, of course. But anything to make sure Jay was safe.

Maybe that’s why what would transpire felt morbidly ironic.

Jay hadn’t meant to stay so late, he’d known he probably shouldn’t have left the hotel at all without Tim. The sun had already been close to setting when he’d impulsively decided to return to Rosswood. Something had been nagging at him; something was telling him there were answers here. Specifically in the burned out hospital.

“Just a quick look… Tim wouldn’t agree to coming back here if I asked.” He tried to reason with his doubts, though they only started turning in the direction of this being an awful idea as a whole. “Nothing good ever happens here.”

And sure enough, he didn’t get to explore long before he could hear faint footsteps stalking behind him. Whenever he turned, the hall would be empty but Jay knew it would be a bad idea to trap himself in one of the rooms. When the storm hit, his nerves frayed further. Each rumble of thunder hid his follower’s location while each loud crack made him jump in expectation of a gunshot. The flashes of lightning that reached the interior made the shadows momentarily seem alive. The amateur detective made the smartest move he’d done all night and booked it for the exit.

Rain immediately began to drench him as he made it out of the building but aside from the worry of keeping his camera protected, Jay didn’t mind. The overgrown drive could take him directly to where he parked the car—he could already imagine being back in the comfort of the hotel room. Tim would be upset of course but at least it would be safer.

A bang followed by a spray of bark next to him made Jay pick up the pace. Fumbling in his pocket, he grabbed his keys and began hitting the unlock button on the fob. Relief swept through him when he saw the headlights blink; he was almost there, just a small stretch of gravel to the car… Surely he could make it that long without the cover of trees.

Sprinting, his focus narrowed to getting to his car. Through the downpour, he couldn’t see the car pulling in until the single headlight flashed into his eyes. Jay felt pain slam through his body, a combination of loud sounds assaulting his ears as the world switched off.

“Jay!” Tim’s throat burned from the loud scream of the man’s name. He threw the car into park, feeling it lurch forward violently before coming to a rest; the movement was enough to drop Jay’s body back to the ground.

A sick feeling swept through him as the wiper blades smeared crimson across the glass. Tim felt like he couldn’t breath, his mind was racing so fast through what just happened that it felt like reality was dissipating. The man gasped and shoved the car door open. He stumbled for the front of the car, feeling as though he were sinking into the ground with each step—it felt like his nightmares where he was trying to run only to have the feeling of being stuck in quicksand… only this time he wasn’t trying to get away.

“...Jay?” His voice was hoarse.

A broken figure was illuminated by the headlight of his car, as if it were a spotlight for a stage. Jay’s eyes were half lidded, his hair matted with blood from where it had slammed into, and cracked, his windshield. Blood smeared over his face and mixed into the puddle of diluted crimson and rain on the ground. His body was twisted unnaturally while his cracked camera had fallen several feet away from his mangled arm.

Nausea swept through him. His body swayed before he fell to his knees. Tim couldn’t stop looking. He hadn’t seen him. Not until that look of terror flashed into the headlight through the storm. The only reason he hadn’t heard the bones crunch was due to the thunder crackling above… Tim didn’t think he would’ve ever stopped hearing the sound of breaking bones if it hadn’t been covered up.

“This is all your fault.” Alex called out from the tree line.

He should’ve been worried about Alex shooting him. He should’ve gotten up and tried to stop him if he wasn’t going to run. All Tim could do was stare numbly at Jay. “...I know…”

#marble hornets #tim wright #alex kralie #jay merrick #slenderverse #creepypasta #one-shot #marble hornets one shot #slenderverse one shot #mh tim #mh alex #mh jay #masky #mh masky #a03 fanfic

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k-dokja · 3 years

Text

aftermath, another

summary: it was a rough night

"Hey..." Hobin waved at you with restrained hesitation. Patches littered his skin and covered where the bruises were. The reminder of what happened sunk your gut, but you couldn't mirror his smile for you had no energy left to give.

Most of it was drained when you cried every steps of the way the way to the hospital, it only ceased when you heard about the stabilized conditions of your friends. "Hey," you gave him a tiny wave back, "did you get checked up on?"

He nodded at you, then, awkwardly, he scratched the side of his neck. "Yeah, I did," he dipped his head again, finding your shoes fascinating, "I'll be okay though... how are you faring?"

With a halfhearted shrug, you pursed your lips in contemplation. In truth, you didn't know how to answer him. You only came down from being overriden by anxiety a couple of minutes ago. Reality numbed you once you were plunged back down to it. "Not the best thing that happened to me," you sighed, "not the worst either, I'll live."

Hobin nodded again, "You haven't rested since we came to the hospital, right? You should go home and rest."

"I will, but..." Suddenly, the need to share arose. You didn't really know what you were thinking, but it couldn't be bad to talk to him about it. At least, he'd know where you cane from. "I called an ambulance because I was worried about you guys, you know? I never thought I would... I would call it for him."

"Hey, now, it's fine, you did your best," Hobin extended a hand towards you then paused before he touched you. Once you didn't move out of the way, he settled his hand on your shoulder and squeezed. "I understand how you feel, not to the full extent but... Taehoon has always seemed invincible before, I was scared when he lost, too."

"I should've been there for him, even if I couldn't save everyone," you bit down on your lower lip, their dryness helped drawing blood, "I could've stopped the worst of it for him."

The images of what transpired earlier replayed in your mind again. The moment when you saw Taehoon laid lifeless on the floor sheared into your brain and every time it flashed in front of your eyes, you shuddered again. At least, the tangy taste of cooper in your mouth grounded you where everything else failed.

"Don't say that," Hobin pat your shoulder reassuringly, "you know Taehoon wouldn't be able to forgive himself if anything happened to you."

But would you be able to forgive yourself if anything happened to him? You current haggard appearance would be answer enough. “If...” You stopped to recollect your thoughts and then inhaled a shaky breath. “If that man ever came close to him again, I'd...”

You didn't need to finish the sentence. The downcast expression on Hobin's face implied his understanding. However, you didn't expect what he told you next.

“About that...” It was his turn to sigh. “You won't have to worry about him anymore.”

Your eyes widened. Shock mixed into relief swirling inside your mind. It was alarming how the turns of events changed in only one evening, but you managed to piece some of the puzzles together. “...How?”

Hobin cast his glance towards your surrounding warily before he forced himself to smile at you. “Not here,” he cautioned, “but I want you to know and... things are changing, I'll need your help so please, take care of yourself.”

Once again, you bit down on your bottom lip and gnawed. However, your action didn't carry the same anxiety and rage as before. At least, some of it subsided with this heavy news. “Okay then, I'm going to check on Taehoon before I leave but... I want to hear about the full of it later.”

“Okay,” Hobin's smile was more genuine, relieved even. At least one thing went without a hitch for him, as it appeared.

You kept your words afterwards, trailing the corridor to Taehoon's room and lingering at his bedside. Nothing inside you compelled you to leave when you saw your boyfriend laid immobile on the hospital bed. It was a strange sensation, having your entire body shaken with worries for him.

You couldn't stop it, but you could distract yourself with the new revelation. It was... outlandish, to say the least. Someone you saw only hours ago... gone, for good. You had wished that upon him but you never thought it would be granted in the same night.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't even imagine how Taehoon would react when he woke up.

Only time will tell.

“Not to speak ill of the dead and the cause behind our operation but I'm glad he died.”

Choruses of protests and distressed mentions of your names rang across the group, however, you remained undeterred by the opposition. In fact, you were indignant that they even opposed you. Not that you couldn't understand where they were coming from, but you were stuck to your stance.

“I’m serious, he was good as dead in my eyes the moment he touched a single strand of hair on Taehoon’s head,” you crossed your arms and turned up your nose.

No love loss between you and the older man, not after what happened. The emotional distress you experienced alone was enough to bill him into bankruptcy. If anything, it was a saving grace you never got your hands on him. A thought which you never voiced out loud because you knew how ridiculous it was.

You were simply unwilling to admit it.

“Why are you never this sweet when your own boyfriend is around?” Jiksae chortled after he narrowly dodged an incoming swat from you. However, his grin withered underneath your glare. Instead of instigating further anger from you, he raised up his hands in surrender.

“Because his head will get too big for his own good,” you snorted, “you think his isn't already big enough with all those female attention?”

“He doesn't care about them, you know,” Rumi had the kindness to point that out but you didn't have the kindness in you to avoid experiencing some jealousy.

“I know, but—”

“See, this is why I excel at recording,” Jiksae laughed and drew your attention towards his hand. It was after you spotted him that did you notice the position he placed the camera in was one of a recorder.

You reached out to grab him again, only for Jiksae to nearly sidestep out of your reach.

“I don't know about female attention but I'm sure Taehoon would appreciate knowing how much his girlfriend cared!” He evaded your capture again and danced around the room with his feathery light steps.

“Jiksae!”

#seong taehoon #seong taehoon x reader #how to fight #viral hit #fics

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musical-shit-show · 3 years

Text

could have danced all night

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader Inspiration: Prompts #2 (“apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”) #14 (“when i’m not with you, it’s almost like…i can’t breathe.”) and #41 (“i may or may not have left some…marks.”) Warnings: sexual references, kissing, meddling siblings, fluffy fluff Word Count: 3,733 Author’s Note: This is my first request! Big shout out to @acmbooksandfilm for sending this in, I had a lot of fun writing it. Also, apologies on it taking a bit to get out, writing has gotten difficult as my real adult job has slowly turned my brain to mush. But, if you would still like to send in a request, feel free! My DMs and Askbox is always open, even though it may take a little longer to complete requests. And as always, check out my Masterlist, About Me page, and Prompt Lists. Thanks for all the love on my other one shots and enjoy!

“Colin, enough,” Benedict huffed as he threw on his shiny black tailcoat, “Surely you have better things to do than pester me about my love life.” Anthony, Benedict, and Colin often crossed paths when getting ready for the numerous events of the season, and now the younger Bridgerton brother was doing everything to get on his elder sibling’s last nerve.

“I’m merely pointing out the obvious, Benedict,” Colin said smugly, straightening his cravat as he looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but flash a mischievous smile at his reflection, “Practically everyone in the ton knows about you two, what’s the harm in proposing?”

“What on God’s green earth are you two talking about?” Anthony strode into the room, closing the door in the likely event that Colin said something inappropriate and scandalized one of their younger sisters or, heaven forbid, their mother.

Benedict couldn’t help but flush. Yes, he was close enough with his brothers to discuss all matters surrounding women, but it felt wrong for him to talk about you. Especially when your relationship wasn’t meant to be any sort of relationship whatsoever.

It had started out innocently enough; you had been close with his younger sister Eloise and Penelope Featherington for years, acting as surrogate older sister on account of you being several years older than them. You were also friendly with Daphne and Simon Bassett, and often had tea with the pair when they weren’t off performing their duties as the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

In truth, you knew Benedict the least out of the Bridgertons who had or were close to coming of age, and was shocked when he requested to have his name written on your dance card at the first ball of the season. When it came time to dance, you had expected Benedict to act shy at first; but after some coaxing from you, he won you over almost instantly with his wit and humor.

He only asked to dance with you once more at that particular event, not wanting to be improper. However, it was clear from the way the two of you looked at each other that there was a spark.

“No one,” Benedict said, almost too quickly, “Our brother is just sticking his nose into affairs that aren’t his own, as usual.” Anthony rolled his eyes, thoroughly unamused by his younger siblings’ bickering. The three of them strode down the stairs of their home and seized a carriage so that the conversation could continue in private.

“So…” Colin drawled, “It is an affair, then?”

“You know that’s not what I meant at all.”

“A slip of the tongue, perhaps? You know, brother, you must choose your words more carefully—"

“Mark my words, Colin Bridgerton; I will kill you in this very carriage if—”

“Will the two of you, please,” Anthony huffed, feeling a migraine coming on, “Benedict, is this about who I think it is about…?” Colin nodded fervently, but Benedict remained stone-faced. He hated keeping things from his family, especially his brothers. But he couldn’t risk tarnishing your name, not after what had transpired between you two.

It wasn’t meant to happen. When Benedict had snuck off one night to another one of Sir Granville’s soirées, he was shocked to see you there, wearing a tightly-laced corset, undergarments, and practically nothing else. As soon as you saw him, your eyes widened to the size of your mother’s best teacup saucers. Without thinking, you grabbed him and pulled him into the nearest empty room.

“Benedict, wha—what are you doing here?!” he remembered you asking him, utterly flustered. His eyes drifted to the sheer robe draped over your shoulders, the fabric floating gently with your every movement.

“I could very well ask you the same question!” he attempted to whisper, now distracted by how your corset pushed up your bosom considerably, “How do you even know about these, um, parties?” For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of what to say as Benedict’s pale blue eyes bore into yours.

You sighed, resigning to come clean, “Genevieve—Madame Delacroix—she told me about them. I confided in her about my father’s money troubles,” you felt the tears start to well up, but could not bear to cry in front of Benedict in the state you found yourself in, “I barely have any money for a dowry to find a suitable husband, and Genevieve and Sir Granville are familiar so…I work when I can and just make the guests feel comfortable—you know, offer them drinks, tobacco, the like—but I provide nothing more than hospitality.”

You felt that you needed to make that distinction to Benedict. Though you suspected that any chance with him was gone now that he had discovered your secret, you wanted to at least maintain part of your reputation, “Granville is generous enough and I could not be more grateful,” you continued, pulling the nearly translucent robe tightly around your body, “And these parties are so secretive that I thought, perhaps, I could scrounge enough money together before the end of the season before I was discovered. Clearly not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh dryly, but Benedict stared at you, his expression earnest, “You need not worry about that,” he breathed, “I won’t tell a soul.” You absentmindedly bit your bottom lip, chewing nervously on a bit of broken skin. Could he really be trusted? Yes, you had crossed paths over the last few weeks, exchanging pleasantries and the occasional flirtatious glance, but would Benedict be able to keep your secret?

“Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied coyly, deciding that you didn’t have a choice in the matter, “Perhaps I will be able to repay you one day.” A sly smile spread across Benedict’s face, his eyes flickering to the locked door. Though the party was continuing on the other side, you two had remained virtually undisturbed.

Feeling bold, he traced his fingers over your collarbone, instantly sending a chill down your spine, “Perhaps…you could repay me now?” he posited, trying his best not to sound like a complete and utter rake, “Only if you wish to, of course.” Despite your best efforts, you could feel a palpable spark that had been building between the two of you over the past few weeks. And you had grown tired of restraining your impulses any longer.

Gently, you placed a soft kiss on his lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and Benedict cupped your face with his hand, his grip surprisingly tender. His free arm wrapped around your body smoothly, pulling you flush against him. You frantically thought through the consequences of someone discovering you with a Bridgerton, but you were too preoccupied with removing Benedict’s clothing to pay much mind…

“Benedict!” Anthony snapped his younger brother out of his reverie as the carriage slowed to a stop, “Would you get your head out of the clouds and tell me what’s going on?” Benedict stared at him, utterly panic stricken. He had kept your secret for nearly a month now, and during that time the two of you had gotten even closer, both in the eyes of the ton and after nightfall in your bedchamber.

Benedict’s mind almost drifted to the night he had shared with you only hours before, but focused on the task at hand, “You needn’t worry your pretty little head, brother,” he said coolly, “I have it all under control.” Anthony looked as if he were going to be sick, and Colin smiled with devilish glee. The three brothers clamored out of the carriage and made their way into the bustling ballroom, more of their family trailing close behind.

Benedict could hear Eloise whine as Lady Bridgerton attempted to smooth down her hair, and he felt a small pang of guilt for not coming to his sister’s aid against their mother’s incessant prodding. But now, he had more pressing matters at hand; namely, what in the hell he was going to say to you now that his brothers were onto him.

He spotted you from across the hall, his heart fluttering with every step he took in your direction. He noticed that you were wearing an intricately laced shawl that was tied tightly across your chest, completely covering your collarbone and much of your breast. Benedict felt himself frown slightly, then immediately scold himself for being improper at a society function; surely, you need not show your bosom to the entire ton in order to draw the eye of him and a number of other suitors.

You were conversing with Penelope and Lady Featherington when he finally approached you, eyes wide with fear, “Hello,” he said politely, giving a slight nod to Penelope and her mother, “Is there a spot open for my name on your card?” You quirked an eyebrow, giving him a smirk as you removed the card from your wrist.

“Why of course, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied in an equally cordial manner. Heaven forbid Portia Featherington get a whiff of your affair; you’d be certain your name would be splashed across Lady Whistledown’s pamphlet before you’d wake the next morning, “In fact, you are the first gentleman to ask, so you may have the first dance. If you are not otherwise engaged, that is.” He shook his head and his eyes gleamed as he returned your card to your delicately gloved hand.

Despite his anxiety being astronomically high, Benedict was delighted that he was able to dance with you so early in the evening. He always thought of you as a fluid dancer, light on your feet as the two of you would glide across the ballroom. He often found himself not being able to take his eyes off you, the lively music and judgmental crowd fading away the moment he embraced you.

More importantly, he wanted to speak to you about the precarious situation you found yourselves in. It was only a matter of time until either Anthony or Colin pried the truth out of him, and he wouldn’t let the news spread across all of London society, besmirching your good name. He cared about you too much to allow such a wretched thing to happen.

A few moments later, all of the couples were signaled that the first dance was to begin. Benedict shot a glance to Colin, who had been talking Anthony’s ear off since they arrived. Now, the two of them were staring him down, whispering like schoolboys. He refrained from scoffing and instead took your hand gently, pulling you into his tall frame as the music began.

You instantly noticed the nervous and almost pained expression splashed across Benedict’s face, and you furrowed your brow in worry. However, you decided your best course of action was to try and alleviate the tension he must’ve been feeling, “I see you haven’t taken a liking to my shawl,” you remarked, a sly smile dancing on your lips, “I will have to tell my sister she has dreadful taste.”

Benedict ripped his eyes from his brothers’ stares and produced a small chuckle at your teasing. He realized he’d much rather converse with you than worry about what Anthony and Colin were up to, “No, it’s uh—it is, quite lovely,” he countered, lowering his voice, “Though I would prefer to see more of you, of course.” You raised an eyebrow, impressed by his boldness.

“I believe you saw plenty last night, Mr. Bridgerton,” you posited, weaponizing his own name against him, “In fact, I suppose you could blame yourself for my more…conservative attire, wouldn’t you agree?”

Benedict couldn’t help but flush, but cleared his throat to attempt to keep up with your rather scandalous banter, “Yes, well…I suppose…” he stuttered, “I may or may not have left some…marks.” He spun you, watching as your dress moved gracefully around your body and fluttered behind you as you gripped his arm once more.

You searched the panicked expression on his face. Surely, he only knew you were teasing, so why did he look like he was on the brink of sickness? “Benedict, why are you acting so strange?” you asked, attempting to keep the mood light while searching for information, “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?”

Benedict swallowed, attempting to maintain his composure. Besides the looming threat of every affluent family in Mayfair uncovering your secret, he was also painfully aware of how nervous you had been making him over the past weeks. The way your smile lit up every room, the way your eyes sparkled playfully, the way your laugh made his heart do a somersault.

“It’s just as well,” you continued, not waiting for him to answer your rhetorical question, “I overheard Colin and Pen whispering earlier, and Simon and Daphne as well. Apparently, all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.” He sighed, a little relieved that you had caught onto his family’s shenanigans before he worried you unnecessarily. He couldn’t help but appreciate your perceptive nature.

“Believe me, Colin and Daphne may be my siblings, but they are not my friends right now,” he joked nervously, only half-kidding, “And Anthony is on dangerously thin ice. It appears my family can’t help but get involved in matters that do not concern them.” You giggled, causing Benedict’s heart to swell. He was growing more infatuated with you by the second.

“I wish my family cared half as much as yours does,” you say, a twinge of sadness in your voice, “They are all so wonderful, and I’m sure they are just being protective.” Benedict nodded, heartened by the kindness and understanding you were showing to his siblings. You already got along quite well with Eloise and Daphne, and you were always courteous to his mother while still being able to hold your own when conversing with Anthony or Colin.

As the dance came to an end, Benedict had begun to realize his affection for you. Not just physically; yes, your first encounter at Sir Granville’s had brought you two together faster than he had ever expected. It was reckless, intimate, and completely wonderful, but getting to know you, without dozens of uppity members of high society leering at your every move, was more valuable than any nights you had spent together.

And he decided in that moment, as your hand released from his and you both bowed respectfully, that he could not bear to spend one more day without you by his side. But he could not profess his love in front of God and everyone, least of all his family; he quickly surmised that he must wait until a moment presented itself.

You were quickly whisked away by your mother, unable to even say a proper thank you and goodbye. But as your eyes met his blue ones, you couldn’t help but notice how they were sparkling in the candlelight, and you felt a twinge of melancholy. You cared for Benedict, but feared it was only a matter of time before your affair ended and he was married to another disgustingly wealthy aristocrat. You gave him a fleeting smile before getting dragged to the other side of the ballroom.

As you turned away from him, Benedict felt two hands grasping each of his arms, one hand belonging to each of his meddling brothers, “I knew it!” Colin whisper-yelled as he and Anthony pulled their love-struck sibling into a secluded corner of the lavish hall, “You know, you really aren’t fooling anyone, Ben.”

“How do you mean?” Benedict asked nervously in one last ditch effort to conceal the truth. He shouldn’t have bothered; his brothers had seen how smitten he was with you, and soon the entire ton would be abuzz with salacious gossip if he did not make his move that very evening.

“Benedict,” Anthony chided sternly, clapping him on the shoulder, “Please, do not deny it any longer. You’re clearly bewitched.” The eldest Bridgerton child could not help but smirk; it was almost entertaining to see his usually guarded brother so obviously in love.

Benedict sighed, defeated, “Alright,” he whispered, his face flush with embarrassment, “I apologize for thinking I could ever keep a secret from you two.” Colin smirked proudly, feeling as if he were London’s greatest detective, “I’ll tell you everything if you want, but for the love of Christ, it cannot be here.” He gestured to the room, which was growing more crowded with preening mamas, hunting for the slightest whiff of a scandal.

While Benedict and his brothers searched for a private room for him to regale your escapades, your night flew by, and hours later you found yourself chatting with Daphne and Simon on the gorgeously decorated outdoor terrace. The night was perfectly temperate, and although the noise had died down significantly as many guests had departed for the evening, your head was still swimming in thought. Specifically, you were overwhelmed by the thought of Benedict.

He was quite kind to you, and a very smart, charming gentleman, but you felt your heart lurch as you recalled the intimate nights you had shared over the last few weeks. Men of Benedict’s status would not wed a tainted woman, no matter how much you wished he would. It was only a matter of time before Lady Whistledown revealed your transgressions, and you would be marked as an undesirable to the entire upper echelon of society.

You shuddered at the thought. “Chilly, dear?” Daphne asked sweetly, noticing the unsettled look on your face, “I would think you’d be more protected from the elements with that beautiful shawl on.” Your heart jumped to your throat before you could cover for yourself; Benedict had appeared on the terrace, looking absolutely petrified. Simon and Daphne exchanged glances.

“Darling,” Simon said, turning to his wife, “It is quite crisp out here, don’t you think? Perhaps we should—”

“Go inside to warm up?” Daphne finished his sentence, that unmistakably mischievous glint in her eye that all Bridgerton children possessed, “Why yes, I think that is a fantastic idea, Simon.” She hooked her arm under her husband’s, and the two of them bid you and Benedict adieu, much to your dismay. You were certain he had been found out by his family and was here to end your affair before word reached the rest of the ton.

Still, you managed to smile politely. Simon was right, there was a slight chill that pervaded the terrace, mostly due to the lack of company that had populated the space only hours before, “Hello, Benedict,” you mutter, shifting your weight from one heeled foot to the other, “Will you be departing soon or—?”

“Erm, yes,” he answered a bit too quickly, and you raised an eyebrow. His strange behavior all night was another indicator that ending things was clearly as difficult for him to initiate as it would be for you to accept, “But first, I, well, I need to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you weeks ago.”

You felt a lump in your throat almost instantaneously. ‘Here it comes,’ you thought, more distressed than you hoped you would be. Benedict took your gloved hand, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. If it were not slightly improper, you would almost find it comforting; his touch always seemed to soothe you, ever since your first night together.

“I never expected to…for us to become so close in such a short period of time,” he began, wondering at what point in this silly speech he would make a royal ass out of himself. Though he had gained a little brotherly insight from Anthony and Colin, he still felt as though he could vomit at any second, “And, well, truth be told, I have enjoyed every moment we have spent together.”

You smiled, pleased by his kind words, “Truthfully, I have felt the same,” you remarked, “But it’s quite alright, Ben, I understand—”

“You do?” he cut you off again, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, “Am I really so obvious about my affection for you?” You stared at him, confused. Was this not him ending whatever…relationship the two of you shared? Now you felt like the fool.

“Affection?” you repeated, your mouth twitching, “I thought you did not want to see me anymore.” Benedict’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but laugh dryly. You had mistaken his jittery behavior as a bad omen, when that could not be further from reality.

He shook his head, and you felt the pace of your heartbeat quicken, “My dear, I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding,” he joked, clearing his throat, “I know that our relationship has been a secret for some time, but I cannot hide how I feel for you any longer. You are kind, and witty, and strong, and incredibly adventurous, and when our dance came to an end earlier this evening, I…I felt like there was a part of me missing as soon as you left. I…when I’m not with you, it’s almost like…I can’t breathe.”

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, taken aback by his doting and earnest words. “And it would be my honor,” he smiled, his gaze intense and impassioned, “If I could ask for your hand.” Your eyes sparkled back at his, and you nodded silently, attempting to conceal a squeal of girlish glee. You two were still, unfortunately, in public.

“Yes,” you exhaled, feeling foolish from your assumptions about Benedict only minutes before, “I would be equally honored to be your wife, Benedict Bridgerton.” You snuck him a quick kiss on his cheek, causing him to flush for what was probably the hundredth time that night, “I see our friends were right after all, weren’t they?”

“Yes, yes they were, and I doubt I will ever hear the end of it from Anthony and Colin,” Benedict mused, smiling sweetly as the corners of his eyes crinkled happily, “I’ll see to a proper visit first thing tomorrow morning, I promise.” He studied you, doing all he could to absorb the joyous look etched upon your radiant face. You smirked, turning in the direction of your family’s carriage.

“I shall hold you to that,” you said, pulling him towards the exit, “But don’t think this night is over, Mr. Bridgerton. I’m not done with you quite yet.”

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I hope you enjoyed reading! As always I would love to hear any comments or feedback! Like/comment/reblog, all that good stuff :)

314 notes · View notes

wonlouvre · 3 years

Text

pairing: doctor!wonwoo x lawyer!female oc genre: modern royalty, arranged marriage, fluff and future angst word count: 3.2k WARNINGS: ANGST, VIOLENCE, GUNS

a/n: we are nearing the end guys :( and i promise, it’s a HAPPY ENDING! but for now we have to face the angst, i’m so sorry. disclaimer!! as i have said from the previous parts, i am not well-versed with investigations and court procedures. PLEASE CORRECT ME IF I’M WRONG. thank you very much!! please enjoy this new part and hit my ask box with what you think of it <3

nine: grief | masterlist

Wonwoo has had difficult times in his life and he has managed to overcome them all. Growing up in the public eye, fulfilling duties decreed to him even before he became a teen, a break-up, excelling both academically and physically and most of all, loving himself for who he is. He knows his parents did everything in their power and love to make it a little easier for him. They are the reasons he kept going and going.

But his heart can’t seem to carry this overwhelming heaviness.

His parents wanted to end the engagement immediately. It was an argument, an angry one. His mother had her ears closed even before he could speak meanwhile his father’s closed lips already said it all. Of course, he was defensive. He understands his parents concern for their citizens, but nothing is final until a verdict is reached. He has to come back to Jung and Sam and he has to come back to you. Surely enough, when he stepped out of the doors of his home, he had chosen love over duty.

It’s just that he didn’t know that you had different plans.

“Where’s the pretty lady?” Sam asks out of the blue while he plays with the new toys Wonwoo brought for the kids at the welfare.

He has been visiting them frequently, at least four times a week in between his hospital schedule. Especially after you decided that he should distance himself from you, he has been in and out of here because the boys are one of the only reasons he’s here other than you. He’s hoping you only meant a break if that’s what you wanted. Because he’d give it to you with as much distance as you want just come back to him. Come back to him because he doesn’t and can’t let you go.

“She’s a bit busy now,” he tries to make up an excuse and Sam raises his sparkling eyes at his face, probably searching for some truth in his lie.

“You look different when she’s around,” the young boy says and goes back to his toys.

Wonwoo’s ears perk and his brows knit in question. “What do you mean?”

“Jung thinks I don’t see it, but his face,” Sam explains and gestures to his tiny yet swelling cheeks. “It changes because of this girl here that I think he’s crushing.”

Wonwoo can’t help the growing smile on his face. “Jung has a crush?”

“Yes.” Sam bobs his head cutely. “You’re just like Jung with the pretty lady around.”

“How about now?” He asks the observant boy who purses his tiny lips before narrowing his eyes at him.

“You look a little sad.”

Wonwoo didn’t need to ask who’s the pretty lady Sam was talking about because to him, you’re the only pretty lady in his life (second to his mother of course even though she’s angry at him at the moment). He tried to not make it obvious. He doesn’t want anyone to see him that the controversy and your father’s arrest is breaking the two of you apart. He can’t let them see him falling apart for that matter because he wants you to see him confident and strong.

He doesn’t want to further fuel your doubts and fears. If he can’t support you closely, he’ll do his best to support you even from afar.

That’s why life for him continued. He goes to work, attends to his patients and co-workers needs, he eats, he exercises and he even entertains drinking with Soonyoung despite having to take care of him because of how fast he gets drunk.

It’s an ineffective distraction because he misses you terribly. He misses going to your office just to take you away from your computer, he misses driving around town with you in the passenger seat and listening to your stories, he misses sleeping over at your apartment after a tiring day shift, he misses your warm and welcoming embrace, he misses your shy and soft kisses against his lips, cheeks, nose, forehead, neck and everywhere else.

Did he tell you he misses you?

He sends you messages every day. He doesn’t call and he doesn’t wait for a reply. He just wants you to know that he’s here whenever you’re ready. Jeongyeon is kind enough to keep him in the loop, but the updates are very minimal because she’s still your subject and she doesn’t want to hurt you any further.

For a moment, Wonwoo was afraid to take the leap. But when you asked him if he still wants to marry you which could be equivalent to you ending things, he had to. If you stay or not, he had to say it with all his heart. You had to know because he was sure that whatever it is his whole being is feeling, it’s only for you.

“I love you.”

Your heart drops at his confession, making you sob to the palm of your hands. He can’t do this to you right now. It’s already hard and painful. You want to be selfish, but it would be wrong to let him suffer with you when he has been nothing but kind and honest.

“You’re not your father, Y/N,” he promises and holds your hands down. “Please look at me.”

You shake your head, sniffling. You want to scream you love him too. But the words are nothing but a lump at the back of your throat. You continue shedding your tears and the sight breaks Wonwoo’s heart.

“It’s okay.” He lifts your head up by your cheeks. He wipes your tears away even though it’s futile. He wishes to share with your anguish, but he also respects the desires of your heart.

His smile was small when he leans down and briefly presses a kiss to your trembling lips. You accept it, fearing it might be the last. You also listen to his last words before he leaves with his bag and coat because it also might be the last time you’ll ever hear them.

“I love you.”

The rain patters on the roof of the car when Wonwoo’s words echoed inside your head. Just the thought of what had transpired the last few days brings tears to your eyes. You haven’t seen him since that night and the longing is unbearable. You wish to hear his voice, feel his touch against you or just see him. But you can’t and you have to persevere through it because you owe justice and accountability to your people.

You haven’t spoken to your mother even if you tried. She’s just tired, so tired you can’t bring a word out of her. You try to be understanding and a little more patient. After all, getting over a betrayal doesn’t happen overnight. That’s why you continued working even though almost every client you have has backed down and declined your services. Nonetheless, you still go to your office every day as if everything is okay. You drink your coffee, you run over your files and even do a little organizing and disposing here and there.

Your father’s first trial is today and you’re on your way to speak to him at his detention center. This is the first time you’ll see him aside from the television and newspapers. You’ve been crying ever since he got taken away. You can’t help it. You already know the truth and there’s no blinding away from it. But you want to hear from your father, whom you thought you have known all your life. You want his truth and maybe find some closure.

When you arrive at the parking lot, the rain has ceased and little by little the temperature is rising again. You really wish things were different. Something in you wishes that this is a set-up. You wish that your father was innocent and only being framed. But there is a bigger something that’s telling you to throw away those wishful thoughts because it’s wrong.

You ask yourself, am I angry at my father? while walking to the entrance leading to the visitor’s area. I should be, right? You argue because your family name and career is tarnished. Your upcoming marriage is no different which is most likely to be over.

“Hi my darling,” The King, stripped from his expensive suit, greets you with his usual smile.

The glass between you and your father is clear enough to see that he doesn’t look good. Your father used to look every day ready with his suit on and slick back hair. But right now, he doesn’t. Tears well up in your eyes but you hold it in. It will take a long time to get used to seeing him like this. It will take a painfully long one.

Maybe you’re not angry. Maybe you’re just hurting.

“Hi dad,” you greet back. “How are you?”

The old man smiles and warms his thighs with his hands while looking around the small room. “I’m okay.”

You nod and the cold silence engulfs the room.

“I’m sorry darling,” he finally says and hearing those words made you burst into tears. He sees you crying and this is the first time he can’t reach his hand out to wipe the tears away. “I’m really sorry that your father’s greed has left you and your mother a wound that might never heal.”

Greed. The news, the Royal Police, the prosecution and everyone else were talking about this. They’re still talking about this. It’s scandalous, it’s controversial. It’s unbelievable too. How could the head and protector of the kingdom do this?

How could your father do this?

“Dad,” you sob. “Dad.”

“I know,” he tells you. “I know.”

“Please tell me they’re lying,” you begged, your voice shaking.

“I cannot betray you any further, my darling,” he sadly says. “I have to set you all free from my lies.”

You harshly rub your fingers against your eyes, trying to dry the tears that won’t stop from falling. “Who’s Kim Mingyu?”

The alarming buzz! blasts, indicating that your time’s up. You’re quick to your feet and hold your sweating palm against the glass. Your father mirrors your action but it didn’t last long because he was being handcuffed again.

“Remember,” he says, struggling a little against the two uniformed men. “You are your own person, my darling.”

Maybe you’re not hurting. Maybe you’re grieving because you just lost your father.

You know who Kim Mingyu is. You already knew before you could even ask your father. You just wanted to know how your father met him and entangled himself with such a man. What led him to fall for his lies and money that he could trade every ounce of dignity and integrity in his being? Something of that sort.

Kim Mingyu’s mining business was proposed to the Secretary of the Trade and Industry Department. A mining business that will have children go underground for long agonizing hours. At first, they were immediately rejected knowing that there’s an obvious and strict law disallowing foreigners to the kingdom’s mineral resources. Much more the exploitation of young children. But, Mingyu was ambitious and a sniper to every man's weakness. It didn’t take long for the Secretary of the Trade and Industry to bite. It was easily followed by the Secretary of the Justice Department and your father. They all, among many others, eventually fell for his trap. Everything worked out for Kim Mingyu.

Your hip is against the hood of the car as you watched the prison guards surround the vehicle your father will ride to the court. Everyone is on high alert. Well, they should be. No one else is more high profile than a criminal king. It’s only the first trial but you’re already more than aware of how things will turn out in the end.

You clutch the lifebuoy pendant of the necklace you’re wearing, nervous and trying to keep everything together.

You could leave now, but the time and opportunity to see your father is running out. This prison is the only place you could linger just to see him, even for a short while. You won’t be able to follow him at court because Seungkwan advised you not to. Which you understand. This whole case involving your father is already causing a media frenzy so staying away is the smart thing to do.

As you wait, your phone suddenly rings with an unknown number flashed on the screen. You blink, wondering who could it be at this hour. After a beat of hesitation, you answered and held the phone against your ear.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Princess Y/N. How’s the King doing?”

You’re not that forgetful to not recognize this voice. “Mr. Kim, how did you get my number?”

“That’s not important right now,” he dodges the question. “What’s important is what I am about to tell you.”

“What do you want from me?” You say with gritted teeth and from your peripheral you can see the guards scramble. Your father is about to come out.

You can hear him scoff. “I don’t want anything from you, Your Highness. But listen…”

Your heart starts to beat faster. It’s a hard visual but your father is nearing the exit. Your bottom lip is starting to hurt from how hard you’re biting it and the few seconds of pause and suspense that Mingyu’s giving you is not helping at all.

“Listen you sick---” He cuts you off and your blood runs cold.

“I’m going to kill your father.”

What is the fondest memory that you have of your father?

They’re too many to count and every memory with him, small and big, will always mean everything to you. But as an example, it would be the day you finally took oath as a lawyer. He didn’t tell you, but he, together with your mother, was secretly present at the venue. He told you beforehand that they shouldn’t go because he didn’t want the people to make you uncomfortable and steal the spotlight. You ignored his lame excuse of fame and told him that he can do whatever he wants.

But he was really there. Tears brimming on his eyes together with pride beaming on his heart. Your mother had to calm him down because he got a little out of control, almost screaming with all his chest at the venue that you’re his daughter.

You only found out when you hopped on the car and they’re inside with a small cake, flowers and party hats on, shouting loud congratulations and surprise simultaneously.

Your father was always there. Your parents were.

You remember those when you ran and pushed your way against the guards blocking your father’s view. You were frantic as you screamed at them to get your father back inside. You fought with all your strength and thrashed against their hold just to reach your father. When you slipped away from them, you ran again, fast.

You did your best to not get caught. You just have to be close to your dad and push him back inside. You just have to be close to him. You just have to protect him.

You have to be there for him.

“Please stop!” You shout when another guard takes hold of your waist, locking you to the ground. “You have to bring my father back inside!”

“You’re Highness, please calm down!” The guard shouts back and you fight against him. When he didn’t let you go, you stomped the heel of your shoe on his feet, making him fall in pain.

“Dad!” You call when you’re finally nearing him. His head lifts up at the sound of your voice and searches for you among the sea of men. “Please! You have to take him back inside! I received a call from Kim Ming---”

BANG!

It was searingly fast. Your whole body collapses on the sweltering concrete before you could reach your father and when his eyes finally find you, you are already swimming in the pool of your blood.

“It’s always good to see you Mrs. Wang,” Wonwoo compliments the old lady who’s starting to frequent the emergency room. “But not in this manner.”

The old lady gives him a cheeky grin and pinches one of his cheeks. If Wonwoo doesn’t know any better, she’s doing this to not get scolded any further.

“Your blood sugar is high and I don’t think your granddaughter appreciates her grandma endangering her own life,” he lightly scolds her, if that’s how he can put it. He’s still a doctor after all. “She loves you and she wants you to be healthy when she walks down the aisle in the future.”

Mrs. Wang gives him a silent nod at the mention of her granddaughter, promising that she won’t disobey anymore. That relieves Wonwoo, his lips lifting in a smile. He signs her clearance and hands it back to the nurse. After a few more instructions, he takes his leave and walks back to the information desk.

He takes one of the patients charts to read. The phone rings and the nurse in charge immediately picks it up and answers. At first, Wonwoo didn’t bother looking up from the paper because emergency calls happen every three seconds. But when there was an eerie silence amidst the loud and busy room, his curiosity made his head tilt up only to get surprised at the widened eyes the nurse was giving him.

He was about to ask what’s wrong but when he heard the sound of the siren nearing, he ignores his suspicions and runs to the entrance.

The ambulance parks at a safe distance and the paramedics get out. They move quickly to get the patient out and when they see him, their mouth falls open but no words come out.

Wonwoo didn’t notice so he proceeded to ask, “How’s the patient?”

“Wonwoo!”

Soonyoung almost tripped on his feet as he tried to get a hold of his friend. He takes his arms and tries to pull him away from the ambulance he’s about to open. Wonwoo is starting to get irritated at the bizarre and disconcerting feeling that’s starting to settle in the emergency room.

Wonwoo knocks him off with a glare. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Wonwoo, please,” Soonyoung begs with an unsteady voice, clinging to his friend.

“Female, late twenties, two gunshot wounds,” one of the paramedics finally yet carefully reports while the other opens the doors of the ambulance. “It’s Her Highness, Princess Y/N.”

Wonwoo roughly removes his friends hand from his arm to step closer to the ambulance and when he sees your lifeless body, he didn’t waste any more time and helped the paramedics move the stretcher out. Soonyoung can see his friend’s hands shaking as he takes hold of the bloodied gurney. He knows he has to stop him right now.

“Baby,” Wonwoo calls as he runs and wheels you inside. You can’t hear him, but he has to try. He observes proper protocol of transferring you to the bed of the emergency room before applying more pressure to your wounds. You have lost a lot of blood already and it’s not helping Wonwoo that he can’t see your eyes.

“Please, please, please,” Wonwoo whispers as he removes all the obstructions on your body and when his eyes catch the necklace he gave around your neck, his legs grow weak and removing it from you made his tears fall.

“Baby, please,” he pleads. “Open your eyes, hmm?”

Soonyoung steps in together with the doctor who will perform the surgery and take everything from here. He slowly pulls his friend away from your body. Wonwoo didn’t protest anymore, there’s nothing in him left to do so. Your blood is in his hands, in his white coat, it’s everywhere.

This is not the distance Wonwoo wanted.

He can’t be apart from you forever.

#seventeen #wonwoo #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen imagines #wonwoo imagines #seventeen scenario #wonwoo scenario #seventeen fluff #wonwoo fluff #seventeen imagine #wonwoo imagine #seventeen angst #wonwoo angst #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo seventeen #fic: ifliys

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ktheist · 3 years

Text

1 | play me like a toy [m]

title inspired by blackpink’s sure thing cover.

⟶ read the last part, all yours to enjoy, here.

muses. mafia heiress!reader x ex-mafia!director!hoseok

genre. age gap factor. chaebol-mafia family au. arranged marriage au. office au. modern au.

words. 5.8k

warnings. contains smut. mentions of gun use. mentions of cheating.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs.

synopsis.

sit still, look pretty.

such were the words your maid-turned-mistress of a mother has ever taught you. the mindless marionette mask worked for the most parts. but when you find yourself hanging by a thread - or is it the beeping line of your dying father’s heart rate monitor? - you decide it’s time to shed off that mask and seek han group’s infamous loyal dog that went off radar 17 years ago.

jung hoseok.

alternatively;

“marry me or be killed.”

“is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

jung hoseok is in a dry spell.

there was no doubt as to whether he could score a date, get laid and maybe even have his nightstand to call him up again exactly the week after.

the issue was time.

with his boss and longtime friend getting married, he ends up coming to work with a different pile of papers on his desk every day. well, it was his idea to sign a promissory note that if kim namjoon ever found a woman he loved and married, hoseok would take half of the ceo-ly workload so his overbearing boss could enjoy his honeymoon and truly, as hoseok would put it, live.

the order went a little differently but namjoon found a hole in the way the sentences were worded that got him flying away to the caribbean and leaving hoseok to fend for himself in these trying times.

oh, and it’s almost hit the third month of the newly weds going mia.

in the first place, he didn’t think namjoon would hold the agreement over his head like he was flexing a few hundred thousand dollar’s worth of lawsuit.

but the man did just that and now hoseok is slaving over his nine-to-five which actually tend to drag on till ten or, if he’s lucky, even midnight. sure, he got promoted from head secretary to director but he’s wondering if this endless cycle of coming back home only pass out in the bed and wake up earlier than a parent with a toddler - is worth it.

hoseok groans, his hand grabbing around for his phone to put a stop on that obnoxious alarm even if it’s just for five minutes before he has to hear it again.

and grab something he did, but this so called phone feels too soft to be a phone and shapes like an cup but softer and - he puts more pressure to his grasp out of confusion -

“mhm, what the hell?”

- it complains in a groggy voice too.

almost as if pricked by a needle, hoseok leaps right out of bed, sending the duvet flying to the floor and revealing the naked woman - you - who’s stretching her limbs whilst her face scrunches in displeasure at the rude awakening.

“__-___?! wh-what the- what are you doing in my bed?”

“so you touched my boob,” you say, legs crossed and arms folded over said boob.

“i-i-” it’s the first time you’ve ever seen hoseok opened his eyes so wide - he has pretty eyes. especially when they’re brimming with fear and bashfulness, “i’m sorry, i have no excuse.”

he hangs his head low.

“why didn’t you touch the other one?”

it’s then, when hoseok’s eyes snap up to you, gaze searching for a sign - any sign, to confirm that he misheard that, does the man realize that you’re messing with him.

that, and you doubling over with laughter trickling out of your mouth should be affirmation enough.

“god, you should’ve seen your face, hobi!” you’re still holding your stomach when hoseok’s shoulders stiffen and his round eyes turn sharp.

“that’s not something you joke about, ___,” he says, it’s easy to mistake his sternness with anger if you didn’t know him your whole life, “are you gonna let it go every time someone disrespects you? mr. han would’ve snapped their neck in half-”

“hoseok, come on,” you cut him off with a dismissive hand, “none of those gory talks about snapping necks and pulling out nails. that’s the reason i end up here in the first place.”

it’s the way silence lulls into the room and hoseok looks at you with the hardest knitted brows and eyes that seem to have retracted his soul far back into his memories, as though searching for something - that makes your heart drop.

all sense of humor now gone.

“you don’t remember what happened last night... do you?” the last part is just an addition to ease your throbbing heart.

if you’d left it as a statement, it made it more real that he did forget.

just a man, sitting at a half empty bar, three shots of vodka in and hostility in his voice that could’ve killed but so very hoseok of him, “that seat’s taken.”

aloof. distant. and every word in the book that described a man who didn’t want to be bothered and he drowned himself in alcohol.

“i’ll leave once the owner comes back,” you’d slipped into the seat anyway, despite the heat of hoseok’s stare.

not paying any heed, you ordered yourself a margarita.

“it’s been awhile, hasn’t it, hobi?”

that’s when he turned to you. truly looked at you.

“do you perhaps have a little sister who,” his eyebrows began to knit as if the screws in his head started turning, “would be about your age by now... ____?”

you didn’t really catch up. all you could remember was hoseok’s calculative stare as he watched you down one drink after the other. the the chilliness of the margarita somewhat soothing the burning sensation as it went down your throat.

“that’s the fifth for you,” his large hand covered yours, stopping you from picking up the glass as he cautioned you.

“yeah? i’m only stopping if i have something else to occupy my mouth with.”

in his distracted state as he tried to make sense of what your words meant, you lifted the glass to your mouth and downed the last of your drink.

and then, you stood up, walked the tiniest distance between your seat and his, grabbed him by the collar and crashed your lips on his.

you remembered your confidence dissipating like air with every second passing without hoseok so much as responding to your kiss.

maybe it was the shock.

because one that passed, you found his arm around your waist and his lips kissing you harder than you kissed him.

you stumbled into your car, not caring if yeojun had a front row view from the rearview mirror of the things that transpired at the back seat. you barely remember the walk from the parking lot to his apartment.

those sweet whispered promises. the hands that burned your skin with every touch. those eyes that pierced right into your eyes, as if invisible hands reached into your soul and grasped it in his palm.

“mine,” hoseok husked, voice sending ripples of pleasure dripping down your legs. he’d thrust himself balls deep inside you, like a beast who hadn’t had a drop of water since the drought, “you’re mine from head to toe.”

if that wasn’t enough, he fucked you raw until you were at your limit and he’d just... stop.

“hoseok, why-” you’d been breathless, skin glistening with sweat and knees trembling to give in but he’d banded an arm under your torso and held you to him so your bodies remained connected even if none of you moved.

“you think i’d just let you cum so easily?” he placed a hand on your ass, as if warning you what would happen if you’d pull away, “after all these years... you grew up fine as fuck.”

he’d languidly pulled out of you, as if knowing how torturous it felt for you with his fingers on your clit that sent electricity through your veins.

“what is it, hm? is it the kang’s or is it the seong’s? i guess the rumor about boss being hospitalized was true,” his words barely registered in your mind as his index finger touched your back and traced down your spine whilst he started thrusting in and out of you agonizingly slow.

“please, just fuck me,” you’d hissed, pain and pleasure and frustrations mixed in your voice.

“hm, still as tight-lipped as ever, huh?” he’d sounded completely relaxed as if the smacking sound that echoed in the air as his body slammed against your deliciously - didn’t affect him in the slightest.

as if he took no pleasure in fucking you. as if this was only for your poor little soul that came running back to him because you had no one to depend on.

“y-you have to- ah! s-swear your l-loyalty to- oh my god,” it was last night, while the citylights poured through hoseok’s window, his room was directly across another apartment building.

“loyalty, huh?” he tested the words on his mouth, as if it was a foreign candy gifted to him as present.

his body feels hot against your back as he lowered himself flush against you, his breath fanning your sweat-glistened skin, his voice brushing the shell of your ear, “you should know i’m yours as much as you’re mine. nothing i wouldn’t do for you, kiddo.”

he’d used that nickname he’d used to call you as he fucked you into his bed, and sent you moaning his name like you wouldn’t know any other name.

anyone could’ve seen.

neither of you cared though.

well-

you throw your gaze out at the twenty storey building, noticing a man vacuuming the living room three units to the left from the unit directly across from hoseok’s. above him, two kids, a boy and a girl are jumping around while holding an airplane in their hands.

-until now, that is.

hoseok had become an entirely different person last night. no - rather, he’d returned to you as the man you’d always kept in that special spot in your heart and locked it up so no one would be able to see past your steel schooled expression and the devil may care nature.

“i...”

your gaze snaps back to hoseok once again. he parts his lips for the briefest moment, as if to say something but clamps them shut again. the way his eyes gleam with guilt is enough to tell you the unspoken words that hang in the air.

and yet, your heart hardens like the steel mask you often wear on your face.

“and... to think i gave you my virginity too...”

the silence that lapses between you is tangible.

“sike, i’m kidding,” you grin, brows rising to the ceiling but when hoseok doesn’t so much as laugh or frown - he simply looked at you like a parent disappointed of his child who still didn’t see why what she did was wrong - you tilt your head to the side slightly, “or am i?”

“ugh, you’re no fun,” you throw your head back after failing to gouge a reaction from the man who screamed bloody murder as if you’re some street rat that he was so close to calling infestation control.

“i need to meet mr. han,” he announces after a whole solid minute of sitting on the edge of the bed with feet planted on the floor.

“what for? what are you gonna tell daddy? ‘i’m sorry i took your daughter’s virginity, sir, it won’t happen again?’“ you watch him get up, tongue unconsciously slipping out and sweeping over your bottom lip as you watch the curve of his ass as he walks to the closet and disappears into it.

“were you really a virgin?” he comes out dressed in fresh crisp button down tucked in a pair of black pants, a contrast to his rolled up sleeves, creased shirt and disheveled hair from last night.

“i don’t know, did it feel like i was?” you shoot him a coquettish smile.

the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple bobs up and down, his lingering gaze on your crossed, bare legs not going unnoticed by you. you’re donned in last night’s dinner dress that hugs your curves and stops mid thighs.

but his gaze is gone too soon.

“you’re not seriously going to daddy, are you?” you tug on his sleeve just before he steps out of the door, “hobi, i’m just kidding, i’ve been with multiple guys before you,” the way his brows threaten to knit into a frown doesn’t go pass you but it’s gone too soon, “and does daddy like the idea? he’s not fond of it, but he knows he can’t stop me from doing whatever i want with my own body.”

the beep of the door as he opens it rings in the air as he looks at you in the eye, “did any of those men work for mr han?”

only silence follows his reply as you bite your lower lip, hesitant.

“we can’t hide this- mr han might already know. he has eyes and ears-” hoseok steps out of the door only to stop dead in track when he sees at least half a dozen men lined up in front of his apartment in black suits.

“good morning, miss ____.” they bow at exactly 90 degrees angle like robots.

“-everywhere...” hoseok trails off, eyes scanning the area on high alert.

“don’t worry, they’re not daddy’s men. they’re my men,” you raise one hand, index finger pointing to the ceiling as you shoot them an expression void of any smile.

they seem to understand that as they dip into a bow again, the leader, yeojun, stops in front of the elevator when he and his men would have joined you in any other circumstances.

“it’s not about saving my own ass, ___,” hoseok begins.

the way his arms cross over his chest makes his sleeves wrap deliciously around his biceps.

his deep brown eyes appear like a hazel storm under the sunlight that pours from every crevice of the parking lot where the elevator stopped at. “mr. han asked me to protect you from everything and i’m sure he hired someone else after i left to keep trash men away from you... and to think i did exactly what he wanted me to protected you from-”

“hobi,” nimble hands hover over his chest before you gaze up at him through your lashes, making sure to give it a slow, innocent blink before speaking, “i didn’t regret what happened last night. and you trying to apologize for someone i’m not sorry kind of hurts.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t think of it that way...” he trails off, lips pressed in a straight line as though deep in thought.

“if it makes you that uncomfortable, i won’t talk about it but promise me this stays between us, please?” you hold up a pinky finger like you would when you were younger.

the smile that makes its way to hoseok lips causes your heart to palpitate just when it’s barely calmed down.

his pinky finger is much larger than yours as it hooks around yours in a promise, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. as if he’s still unsure if he should be making any promises. as if he’s unsure if he should be hooking his pinky with yours instead of pushing you as far away from him as he could. but before he can come to a conclusion, a voice reverberates into the air.

“miss ____.”

the sound of hoseok sucking in a sharp breath rings in your ear as a dozen men in black suits bow at the sight of you.

before another word comes out from anyone else, you speak, voice echoing against the walls.

“listen up you sons of bitches, if i find out any of you snitched to daddy, i’ll make sure your wife, your husband, your kids, your grandparents, hell even your neighbors pay for it. got it?”

a round of rigorous “yes, miss!” follows after the splitting silence that hovered after you finished.

turning around, almost getting lost in those pretty, star entrapped eyes of his, you smile, “see, they’re loyal to me.”

“uh, i can see why.” it’s the humorous tone that finally wraps around hoseok’s words that makes your heart clench painfully.

he’s still the same hoseok you know.

some things never change.

“well, i’ll lend you one of my cars,” you say all of a sudden.

almost as if hit by a foul ball, hoseok’s eyes widen, “shi- what time is it?”

you don’t expect much when you check your phone, the digits on the screen staring back with a 9-something am - you don’t care to check the details, “late.”

“fuck, i was so focused on gathering enough balls to meet mr. han - i need to get the papers i was supposed to look over for today’s meeting,” a string of curses follow hoseok’s scampering retreat. and you simply watch in your spot - he’s always been such a klutz, forgetting the important details and scrambling to get what he’d forgotten and just remembered - done.

before the doors of the elevator close and swallow him in its belly, hoseok’s nimble fingers slip between the shutting gap, making the doors split open again, “oh,” he says, as if remembering something, “you don’t have to do that - i can drive, i got a driver’s license like, eons ago.”

right.

when he left, he was only 18 and had nothing more but a duffle bag filled with all his belongings and an acceptance letter of the university he applied to.

hoseok had been driving you around everywhere before that. he got pulled over by a cop once but your father easily handled that.

jung hoseok’s been with you for as long as you remember.

you recall bawling your eyes out and clinging onto his leg, begging him not to leave because your nanny left and you found out a few months later that her body was found washed up along the river bank near her hometown.

mr. kim, the gardener quit and said he wanted to visit his kids but the whole family ended up dying in a fire.

everyone who left ends up dead.

pushing the somber feeling that’s threatening to pull the muscles in your face into a frown, you shake your head, an amused smirk tugging on your lips as you mask away every other feeling.

“you really don’t remember anything, do you?” somewhere in that innocently clueless gaze of his, you search for a lie - it would’ve been better if he lied about forgetting for whatever reason.

but when the genuinity over pours from those pretty eyes, you push away the gnawing feeling in your heart, “we were both shit faced drunk last night so we came to your place with my driver and you left your car at the bar’s parking lot.”

“oh shit,” he begins punching the button on the inside of the elevator, “i won’t take long, i pro-”

the metal doors gradually shut, cutting off what he was about to say.

“p-please, i’m sorry, i’ll do anything...” the man’s words got blurred out as you stare out the window of his medium sized flat with a master bedroom, a room and a bathroom connected to the common area.

it’s been a week since you met hoseok. you want to be mad that he doesn’t call, especially after not seeing each other for so long and finally reuniting only for him to forget everything about that night.

but you didn’t even give him your number and you may or may not be mad that he didn’t think to ask.

a bloodcurdling scream drums against your eardrums, making you physically flinch as your head snaps towards the man lying on the ground with his mouth wide open and no longer any sound coming out.

his head is titled at the new guy who’s standing over him with a baton gripped in one hand. the sight itself makes the pit of your stomach churn.

“god fucking damn it, yeojun,” you shoot a glare at the head bodyguard, “didn’t you teach him rule number 1? make no sound, catch no attention?”

at that, yeojun snaps his fingers and two of the bodyguards closest to the new guy - soon? soobin? was his name? - approach him. one of them places a firm hand on his shoulder whilst he kicks soobin behind his knee, sending him kneeling with a thud.

“i’m sorry, miss ___, it seems soobin,” ah so you did get his name right, “needs to join mr. yoo here in learning a thing or two about obeying orders.”

yeojun doesn’t even flinch when one of your donned-in-black bodyguard strikes one of their own at the back of his head with that baton they usually carry around their waist.

soobin’s face scrunches up painfully as he breathes out through his nose, teeth gritting together.

“you boys, break some things and you, get the car ready,” with that, the bodyguards hovering over the middle-aged borrower and soobin begin scampering around, toppling shelves over, pushing vases to the ground and breaking plates in the kitchen.

“you were too nice,” yeojun murmurs underneath his breath once you’re in the hallway, the sound of glass shattering and furniture breaking still echo off the walls.

“i shouldn’t even be doing this shit anyway. who does he think i am? sending me to take care of small fries...” agitated, you shoot yeojun a glare.

to which he only responds with raised eyebrows, as if asking if you’d go against your brother’s orders just because you’ve never liked to see violence yet violence follows you everywhere.

“let’s see.... richest bachelor, heir to han group, one of the biggest conglomerate family that runs the underground ring...” the black haired man starts counting off with his finger until you swing your purse to his side.

“which side are you on? me or my chanyeol’s?!”

laughter trickles down his lips as he follows you into the elevator. somewhere in the distance, the hallway faintly rings with the fading sound of mr. yoo’s helpless pleas.

when you arrive at kimcorp, the secretary shoots up from your seat, her smile is gorgeous and welcoming but the knitted set of brows above her eyes do a poor job of hiding her anxiousness.

odd.

you didn’t use the han name to get past the receptionist, only mentioning “hoseok is expecting me, tell him i have something of his he’d really like back.”

was it the lavish dinner dress? was it the couture handbag?

“ah, it’s the fox fur, isn’t it?” you twirl on your heels, lips curling prettily as you narrow your eyes at the startled secretary.

she’s standing there like a thief caught red-handed. as if her worst nightmares came true the moment you started saying something besides the “i’m here to see jung hoseok.”

“i-i’m sorry, ma’am?” her shoulders tense up and her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“nothing, it’s nothing,” you put on a billion dollar smile - one that she seems to be struggling to wear.

before the poor thing peed her pants, you turn around, your back on her and push on the double doors of the office with a white plate that spells out “head director jung.”

the syllables of your name roll off the mouth of the man behind the large desk that almost takes up half of the room, piles of documents stacked up on either sides while the middle section is cleared for a mac and a macbook perched directly in front of him.

“you sound surprised, didn’t the receptionist tell you i was coming?” you put on your best smile even as you watch him push a button on a smaller-than-a-palm-sized remote directed at the cctv and dash for the blinds and close them so that the secretaries facing his room won’t have any visual access to what goes on from now on.

“yeji didn’t specify who,” he says mindlessly, still peeking through the blinds - possibly to check if anyone noticed the sudden move.

somehow, hearing the name of another woman leaving hoseok’s lips doesn’t sit right with you.

“since you easily told her to send me right up, i assume you have an idea of who it was,” a devious smile tugs in the corners of your lips as the sound of hoseok sucking in a sharp breath brushes your ears.

as he was in the middle of turning around and facing you, you managed to catch him off guard and trap him between the window and yourself. the ridges of his toned abs brushing against your front torso with only layers of clothing separating you.

the warning tone he uses to say your name with is music to your ears.

he sounded like the old him. the old hoseok who’d drive his fist into anyone’s face without batting an eye. the old hoseok who would turn to your crying frame with the sweetest smile and hand you back your backpack that fell on the ground amidst the struggle of trying to bite and kick your kidnappers in the shin.

“i missed you, you know?” your voice is tinged with playfulness but your heart skips a beat like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“i-i... we...”

the words get stuck in his throat the moment your lips brush his. what surprises you is the softest sigh that leaves his mouth before a large hand buries itself in your hair, pulling you close until he’s tasting you. licking your bottom lip as if asking for something he didn’t need to ask for in the first place.

his free hand grasps your ass as if he’s been dying to feel your soft cheeks in his palm. you part your lips for him, tasting the faintest sense of cigarette in his breath.

hoseok tends to smoke when something bothers.

you hope it’s you. you hope he lays in bed at night, staring at the ceiling. you hope you’re all he thinks about.

by the time you pull apart, you’re both heaving for air. a soft thud drums in your ears as hoseok leans his head against the blinds-covered-window. you press your cheek against his chest, face hot.

one of his hands sits on top of your ass as if paying his overdue respect for your body but yet unwilling to let you go. the other rests on the back of your head, his thumb mindlessly caressing your scalp.

“hoseok?” you’re the first to break the silence.

he simply hums in response, “hm?”

“i can’t give it back,” you turn your cheek to bury your face in his chest, your voice coming out muffled, “i can’t give back your freedom.”

“so you’re saying you can’t let me go...” hoseok echoes the words you say to him.

but the way his lips curl into a pleased smirk and his white shirt creasing at the front from having your bodies pressed together a moment ago, gives those words a different meaning than you intend them to.

somehow, the distance between you seems smaller.

“thanks miyeon,” hoseok’s smile switches to that of a kind, considerate superior.

miyeon, the woman who guided you to hoseok’s office returns his smile. but you don’t miss the cautious gaze she throws your way before slipping out of the room after setting down the tea cups.

he’s back to himself. the kind that jumps at every little sound and tends to wear a frightened puppy look almost too often.

“no, rather...” you trail off, chanyeol’s face burning at the back of your mind - your brother, the heir to han group and the man that will marry you off to the kang’s in order to mend the strain in the family ties as soon as your father breathes out his last breath.

you shake your head, a smile on your face, “it’s been awhile, how bout catching up over lunch?”

and so it goes, you visit hoseok every few days in a week. at times you tell the secretary to keep your visit a secret so you could surprise him, you’d end up catching him neck deep in work yet he still manages to pull off the rolled up sleeves, two buttons undone and slicked back hair with a single strand falling over his forehead, its tip grazing those set of strong eyebrows.

when you knock, he looks up and the tension in his brows seem to fade away. he shoots you a dimpled smile as if he’s been waiting for you to whisk him away from work.

and you do just that. arm looped around his, you both walk out of his office like lovers.

hoseok talks about his past - the one you’re not part of - fondly. as if looking through a lense of something he never dreamed he could have.

at first, he attracted the wrong kind of crowd with his permanently set furrowed brows. but then he finds things he enjoys doing outside of classes that he couldn’t get to enjoy when he was with han group.

dancing, tracks, boxing and more. he likes that rush of adrenaline that courses through his veins.

and you tell him about the meetings and gatherings and social events to maintain your relationships with the vassal families. they’re usually attended by the women of the han family which means you and han chohee would be smiling and laughing together in front of the wives and daughters of the vassal families before taking off that loving step-mother-and-step-daughter facade once you walk out of the vicinity.

your lunches and dinners are spent with trips down memory lane, filling the other in on the moments each of you miss in each other’s lives. and for a moment, the hoseok in front of you who flinches at the sight of bugs and little, random noises feel familiar.

that is, until you hit your one month reunion mark.

chanyeol’s been gathering support of the vassals by personally accepting their invitations.

his presence easily overshadowed yours and yeojun confirmed that your father’s condition isn’t getting any better.

“i need you to come back and work for me, half of the men would drop everything and follow you,” you stare at the girl staring back at you on the surface of the tea. she bites her lips and you feel the faintest taste of blood in your mouth.

eyes snapping to his calculative ones - as if he already knows what you’re going to say before the words even pass your lips, “i need you by my side so i can take over han group.”

the hoseok sitting in the single couch next to you with parted legs and feet planted on the dark carpeted ground fits the head director setting better than the inked skin, cigarette smoke and gun-in-waistline setting you’re about to drag him in.

“you’re willing to go against chanyeol to become the head of the family?” he asks, eyes clouded with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint.

hoseok’s always been an enigma. his mind, a maze you’ll never end up figuring out.

guess that part of him is still the same.

“it’s not a choice for me to make,” a clean click! resonates in the air as you place the gun you’d pulled from your garter, point facing him, index finger on the trigger, “you have two though.”

it’s the way his eyebrows rise whilst his eyes glint with amusement tells you that hoseok - your hoseok - is still somewhere in there.

throw a sane man into an asylum and he’ll start going insane. put a mad man back in society and he’ll trick you into believing he’s sane with his warm, dimpled smile.

“marry me or be killed,” you say simply.

that amused glint is still there, granted, it shines faintly compared to the caution that overflows from those sun-hit brown eyes as they fix themselves on the gun perched on the see-through coffee table before they travel to your knuckles, to your arm and meet your steel gaze.

his the softest protrusion of his adam’s apple drops and rises again as he swallows, “is there a third option?”

“we fucked but you were too drunk to remember so that option’s invalid.”

the air is dense with tension. it fills up your lungs and almost causes your chest to cave. you’re not sure how long to stay there, stiff and still like a rock with your back straightened as if your etiquette teacher was hovering right behind you with a long, wooden ruler that’d be ready to strike your arm at a slump of your shoulders.

but liberation comes to you in the form of a phone call.

“___, we have to go, th-the boss- the doctor says he’s not gonna make it through the night.” it’s the first time you’ve heard yeojun stammer as if he hasn’t quite yet recovered from the shock of the news he’s relaying to you.

“are you sure?” you can almost hear the thump of the organ in your chest slowing down before it ceases to throb completely, “you know how bad chanyeol wanna fuck me up, he could’ve made the doctor tell you this because he knows you’ll tell me and if... if i rush there and daddy’s laughing that obnoxious laugh while trying to make pass on the nurse like he usually does...”

yeojun grunts, “yes, ___. i have men planted there as patients, nurses, janitors and they all say the same thing - that the doctors are rushing to the vip ward and they’re trying to make it look like your usual hourly check up but it’s not... look, this is the real thing. if we mess up, there won’t be another chance. now, did you convince hoseok to come back?”

almost as if reminded that you’re not the only person in the room, your eyes snap to hoseok whose eyes are already fixed on you with a concerned expression.

“he’ll come back.” with that, you hang up the call.

“i’d love for you to think it through for a few days, realize this isn’t really a life you want and come to me on your own to sign our prenups,” you say casually, placing down the teacup and slipping your phone back into your handbag as if you’re getting ready to leave the tea party, “but...”

but before you can lift the gun and fully point it at him, a large hand covers yours. his warmth seeps through your pores and makes your body feel warmer.

“the gun’s a bit excessive,” his breath fans your face as your eyes fix on the supple skin of his neck.

it’s as if invisible hands reached out and held your head in place, forbidding you from tilting it and gazing into his eyes. his fingers reach over the back of the gun, grazing your hands.

a click cuts through the silence.

“at the very least, unlock the safety,” his teasing tone doesn’t match his saddened eyes.

and just as you thought you’d closed the distance between you and him, the circumstance forces you to take five steps back.

#bts scenarios #bts smut #hoseok smut #hoseok fic #bts fic #bts x you #bts x reader #hoseok x you #hoseok x reader #bts fanfic #hoseok fanfic #hoseok scenarios

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brittanyslibrary · 3 years

Text

Liar ✦ Shota Aizawa

part two

Summary: she had a choice to make; allow hundreds of innocent people to die by the hands of an elite gang of powerful villains, or partake in a mission that involved faking her death and infiltrating said gang to save the lives of those innocent people.

she chose the latter; hoping that Shota Aizawa would understand.

He’d noticed her attempting to put distance between them, he should have known then what was about to transpire. Aizawa always prided himself on being a very observant man, always able to predict the actions of others.

He never could have predicted seeing her face plastered on every news outlet, newscasters calling it a “sad but honorable death”.

He didn’t care that she died with honor, he didn’t care that she would go down as one of the most selfless heroes in history.

The love of his life was gone, her soul that had once been a lingering flame in the darkness of his own now snuffed out, turning him into ash. Into nothing.

There was no sound when he fell to his knees in the faculty room during the lunch break. He couldn’t feel Hizashi’s hands gripping his shirt as his tired eyes were pried wide open and taking in the scene of steaming rubble before him.

His stomach had twisted uncomfortably as he desperately tried to regain his breath, but the way his chest burned and filled his entire being with utter agony was too much to ignore.

He’d broken bones before, gotten his skull crushed and had enemies nearly gouge out his eyes. None of that pain came close to this, it didn’t even touch this.

He fell into a hole. Hizashi might have been the only one to understand exactly what he was going through. It was a repeat of when they’d lost their close friend, years ago when they had been U.A alumni themselves.

“Why wasn’t I there to protect her?” Shota had asked him one night, after Hizashi had picked him up from the sidewalk outside of a crowded bar, wasted and tired and utterly broken.

She had meant so much to him, even though he wasn’t one to voice his emotions, his concerns. Hizashi could see how he doted on her, the little classroom aide who climbed the pro charts and stole the hearts of everyone she met.

She was kind, that’s what he remembered about her the most. Always offering a hand, and that’s how her and Shota had began to see each other more often.

She hated seeing him so exhausted, so she took on the grading while he took on his parols at night.

It was only two weeks after they’d begun that routine that Hizashi had weaseled out of him the crush he harbored on his assistant.

After a few bumps and misunderstandings due to her obliviousness and Shota’s failure to properly communicate, they had finally decided to give a relationship a try.

Hizashi had never seen Shota as happy as he was in that long year and a half that they were together.

“How could you have known? She was on her way to school and someone cried for help. She was doing her job, and she would have hated it if you were even able to step in” he attempted to reason with his friend, now sitting on the plush couch in his living room.

The water Hizashi had poured him shook in Shota’s trembling grasp. God, he just missed her.

He missed the way she would laugh at his deadpan expressions, or hug him from behind whenever he made them coffee in the morning, or how she kissed him so softly, as if she didn’t want to break him.

But in the end, she did break him.

Hizashi knew this, as he cradled his drunk friend in his arms while he openly sobbed. Never did he think he would see the ever stoic Eraserhead this way.

But grief had a funny way of twisting people until they snapped.

The funeral was almost as devastating as the incident itself. She had no family left, and whatever friends she had before she moved to Japan couldn’t make the trip.

But her fans, and all the staff and students at U.A, felt the profound impact her death had on their beloved home room teacher when he was forced to cut his speech short and escort himself to the bathroom, where he dry heaved into one of the toilets since there was nothing in his stomach for him to throw up.

The school was quiet, especially classroom 1-A. Where you would normally hear Bakugou’s screaming, Midoriya’s rambling and Iida’s attempts to calm the excited chatter of the students, now only the quiet drone of the pre-recorded training videos could be heard.

Mr. Aizawa didn’t return to class for two straight weeks. When he did, he seemed to be the same hard ass, stony expressioned teacher they’d always had.

Those close to him could see it, though. The facade crumbling slowly, slowly until whatever was left of him would crumble with it.

For three months he had been trapped in a sort of haze. He moved through the motions of life, but he was not living. He felt like he was just another corpse that he was too slow to save.

Until one afternoon, a Saturday where he’d normally spend it holed up with her until their paroles would take them out into the fresh air, that the newscaster’s uttered her name again.

But it was no memorial, no way of paying respects. They were astonished.

So was Shota, dropping his can of beer at the scene unfolding in front of the camera.

“Six of Japan’s most lethal thugs almost got away with the bombs they had set up under Mustafu’s sewer system today, which would have brought the entirety of the city down on the citizens and killed hundreds. But, but somehow...somehow our beloved hero has risen from the dead and stopped them. If you can’t recognize her under the rugged disguise she’s wearing, that’s pro hero Electra Heart!”

There were paramedics on either side of her, helping her through the crowd. She looked so different, hair cropped short and an eyepatch slung over her right eye. Her skin was ashen thanks to the debris that must have fallen on her during whatever fight broke out when she apprehended those responsible for this, and she was a lot bulkier under the layers of clothing and armor she wore.

“Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi is taking questions at this time. Let’s pan over to the press and see what they’ve got for us”

The stiff man seemed so proud of himself as he recalled the events that led to the capture of these villains. How, pro hero Electra Heart, faked her own death to go deep undercover and infiltrate this gang, how her sacrifice had saved so many lives and effectively taken down an entire gang of villains that had operated underground until now.

They screamed questions at her as she was loaded up into the ambulance, but she refused every single one, opting to stare vacantly forward.

Then, his phone rang, and he had to tear his eyes away from the screen.

“She’s at S City Hospital, let’s go see your girl. She looks pretty beat up” Hizashi’s voice sounded grave despite the giddiness he attempted to lace it with.

There were so many emotions that he had felt in those moments. Relief, sadness, joy, anger.

That anger was the easiest to handle, as it was like an anchor of safety he could latch onto.

So, he hung up the phone, and continued to stare blankly at the television screen....

#my hero academia #anime oneshot #oneshot #shota aizawa #shouta aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa x oc #eraserhead #present mic #hizashi yamada #class 1 a #bnha fanfiction #bnha #reader insert #multiple parts #bnha angst #comfort #its okay everything works out in the end I swear

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firewoodfigs · 3 years

Note

Hi!! Could you do "It was a hospital bed, and A slipped in carefully to lie beside B all night" for a Royai fic from that prompt list? Thank you!! ❤️❤️

hello anon!! thanks for the prompt aaaah I had a lot of fun toying with it in between work and the other shenanigans that have been cropping up this week <3 I hope you don't mind the somewhat unusual ending ahaha I dimly recall writing a few other fics indirectly responding to this prompt (here and here!) so I wanted to try something slightly different from my usual fare 👉🏻👈🏻 part of this was also originally from a two-shot I'm working on, tweaked to fit the prompt hehe. I hope you enjoy!!! 🥰

+++++

Riza can think of a million reasons why hospitals are awful.

First, the food. She’s not sure if it’s as nutritious as they make it out to be; there are times when she wonders if it’s even edible. She’s had worse, of course - hospital food isn’t as bad as ration bars - but she’s quickly getting tired of eating plain yoghurt and bland porridge every day, for every single meal.

Second, the stench. Riza hates that every inch of the place smells like a victim of obsessive cleanliness; she has to resist the urge to upchuck every time the door opens and the smell of chemicals and antiseptic filters in like an unwanted guest.

Third, the fact that she’s sharing a room with a man who, at this point, is behaving more like a cat on hot bricks than a disciplined soldier is quickly driving her insane. She’d readily agreed to be his caretaker, of course; Riza doubts there’s anyone else capable of dealing with his antics and ever-growing anxiety. But after hearing him sigh and toss and turn in his bed for the fifty-eighth time that night (she’d counted, because she was bored out of her wits, and there was nothing else she could do other than sleep or stare at the ceiling, per doctor’s orders), Riza decides she’s just about had enough.

She looks at him from her bed. He’s presently engaged with twiddling his thumbs, thinking out loud.

Riza sighs and rises from her bed quietly. She brings the IV stand along with her - an unnecessary inconvenience - and carefully slips into his bed once she’s made sure that the tubes and wires connected to them are tangle-free.

“I never pegged you as an opportunist, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, despite her best efforts to be discreet. “Sleeping with your commanding officer while he’s blind?”

“You could always court martial me later, sir,” Riza deadpans. “Now scoot over.”

Luckily, he obliges without much retort.

“Your wish is my command.”

Riza huffs. She adjusts the thin, scraggly piece of linen that the hospital justifies as a blanket - another downside of this shitty place - and makes sure he’s probably covered, warm.

“Three words,” she mutters.

“Eight letters?”

“Twelve, actually.”

Roy raises a brow. “What could it be?”

“Would you like to wager a guess, sir?”

“Not really.”

“You’re an idiot,” she says. Roy laughs, and it’s a tiny little sound that is so discordant with his current mood, but it’s at least genuine. “Now go to sleep.”

“Alright, alright.”

He stops fidgeting, for a while. Riza closes her eyes and attempts to fall asleep - and she actually does, for a while - at least until she hears the sheets rustling again, the movement and tension coming from beside her. She groans softly.

“You should sleep, sir.”

She feels him stiffen. Roy smiles sheepishly, looking right through her like she’s not there. It still unnerves her how this is probably going to be their new normal: him without his sight. Her as his eyes.

“Sorry.”

Riza frowns. An apology is not the answer she wants. What she wants is for him - or them both, actually - to sleep and rest and properly recuperate so that they can have a speedy recovery, so that they can get out of here as soon as possible.

“Bad dreams?” she asks, because it’s the exact same thing that’s been haunting her. (She’s lucky her throat makes it impossible for her to scream or kick up a fuss; she’d hate for Roy to stumble blindly through the room in what he probably thinks is an act of chivalry and/or heroism.)

He shrugs.

“Then and now,” he offers. His smile fades, and he lapses into an unexpected moment of vulnerability. “Hard to differentiate between day and night nowadays, too.”

And because Riza doesn’t know what to say, she simply brushes her knuckles against his.

Roy returns the gesture, drawing indiscernible patterns on the back of her hand with his bandaged one.

“Well, it’s almost midnight now, sir.”

He lets out a small laugh, but it’s painfully hollow.

Riza shifts slightly. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze - hospital beds are clearly not meant for two persons (or anything inappropriate) - but it doesn’t bother her all that much. She just wishes there’s more she can do, to comfort him. Make him feel a little less gloomy.

“It feels like I’ve been sleeping for years.”

“If it helps reduce the incidents of you falling asleep during office hours, then you should get more sleep now, while you can.”

Roy turns, like he’s searching for her, even though there’s not much closer she can be at this point. He exhales shakily. She feels his hand trembling against hers, and responds with a gentle caress. (She knows he’s still feeling guilty, probably berating himself internally about their predicament, about what transpired beforehand. And to be fair, there’s a part of her that’s still angry about all that's happened underground. They’ll probably have to talk about it, at some point, but probably not now — not when they’re both still drugged up and only half-lucid.)

“Humour me, Lieutenant.”

“What?”

“I can’t sleep,” he confesses. Dimly, Riza notes that his voice has taken on a somewhat petulant edge — like a child complaining about their bedtime, but she doesn’t comment on it. Being nearly bedridden for a week is enough to drive her nuts, too. “I’ve tried counting sheep and all that shit, and it’s just — it’s not working.”

Riza sighs. She’s tired, yes, but she’s also aware that she’s probably not going to get any sleep at this rate. She tries to think of ways to stave off his restlessness. Reading is one — she can probably bore him into sleep with a Xingese recitation (she’s gotten pretty good at that lately), but she’s technically not supposed to be talking much. Alcohol is another, but neither of them are supposed to be drinking (and besides, the only form of alcohol available in hospitals isn’t meant for human consumption). Maybe chess, then. She’s not particularly keen on playing a game of chess, now (because she just wants to sleep), but she thinks it’ll help exhaust some of his boundless energy.

“We could play a game of chess, if you want. Breda was kind enough to drop a vinyl board here in the afternoon.”

“I can’t see —“

“I’ll tell you where I move my pieces.”

He frowns, clearly not liking the idea. “You’re not supposed to be talking much, Lieutenant.”

“I’m fine,” she insists, turning to pour a cup of water for herself before continuing. “I won’t have to speak much — unless you’re being a nuisance or a cheat or a fraud.”

He laughs. “I’ll be none of those things, Lieutenant.”

“Good.”

She sets up the board on his bed and helps him sit up. Riza lets him play white.

“It’s your move, sir.”

“You’ve made yours?”

“No. You’re playing white.”

“Tough. It’ll be more embarrassing if I end up losing.”

Riza smiles. “Well, we don’t know that yet, sir.”

He opens with pawn to e4. She helps him move his pieces and parrots her movements back to him. Pawn to e4, too. Pawn to d4. Same here. A closed game, not quite like his usual aggressive style of playing.

Riza watches as he frowns with intensity. It’s probably more a test of memory than strategy for him at this point. She wonders if there’s a way he can adapt to chess, to the military’s utilitarian (and frankly unsympathetic) demands now that his sight’s impaired.

(Life is so unlike chess, Riza thinks, in spite of Roy’s silly metaphors that postulate otherwise. The rules are never fixed, and the universe is always rife with uncertainty. It’s not like chess, where you can predict your opponents’ moves if you get good enough. Neither of them had expected that he’d be here right now, losing sleep and contemplating life over a chessboard while blind.)

He clucks his tongue, reciting a series of movements from memory. The Blackmar-Diemer. Riza smiles indulgently.

Still as aggressive as ever, sir.

Of course.

The game quickly becomes a round of blitz, and though he manages to open his lines and mount a rather decent attack, it’s clear that he has trouble recalling after the eighteenth move. It's still an impressive feat, though. Better than the average layperson.

“Check,” Riza announces, conversationally. Technically, she’d had the advantage, both on the board (and in real life). It shouldn’t really count, and besides, checkmate isn’t her objective — it’s to get her commanding office to sleep.

“Well-played,” Roy hums. He’s strangely still in his bed as he closes his eyes, rubbing at his temples — presumably to ease off an oncoming migraine. It happens a lot, when he’s in deep thought, when he’s over thinking. Thinking too much for his own good. “I need to work on my recall, I think.”

“I think so too, sir.”

He laughs, but the sound is again empty, foreign. It is so at odds with his usual smirks and unbridled laughter (when he’s laughing at someone else, or a joke made at somebody’s expense), like there’s an ache beneath the surface that she cannot reach.

Roy turns slightly, bumping into his dethroned king as he adjusts himself on the bed.

She blames the sudden, uncharacteristic urge to cry on her drugged-up system.

(Riza doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to how uncommunicative his eyes are. He’s always regarded each and every one of his subordinates with respect and meaning and gratitude, but he’d simply looked over the unit as if taking inventory when they had come by earlier.

But she’ll make do, Riza thinks. She has to. She’s always known him in a way nobody else has, in a deeply intimate way, like a book she’s memorised by heart.)

They fall silent for a few minutes. His lips part a little - she knows he’s about to say something - but it snaps shut again, like he can’t bring himself to say the words.

Riza simply waits for him, like she always has; holding onto his held breath like it's the last thread of hope. She leans into his touch a little closer than necessary.

I’m right here, even if you can’t see me.

Roy smiles.

“I hope I won’t forget your face, Riza.”

#royai #royai fanfic #royai fic #sorry my lunch break is almost over so I gotta go back to work LOL but I will come back and edit this later AHAHAHAH #my new brand is 'excessive usage of chess metaphors' and man. it shows.......#lovely anon <3 #have a great week anon!!! mwahmwahmwah!!!!!!#reblogs and comments are always appreciated :")

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joontier · 3 years

Text

Subliminal in Scrubs | V2; report xi

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: humor, workplace relationships

warnings: mentions of explicit themes, curse words

word count: 2.6k

g/n: Send me your thoughts?

[taglist]: @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle @btsmakesmehappy @stargukkie

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) | navi. | m.list

As soon as you get out of the elevator, you rush to the slot where your car is parked, checking your surroundings before sending a quick text to Chohee.

You fall silent, remembering the events that transpired last night, and having to see the cause of it all just this morning.

You barely make it out of the basement with the eight-year-old family Camry you borrowed from your parents and as you exit your apartment building, you make a mental note to have it checked one of these days.

Thankfully, you reach Woocheon alive and in no time, considering the current state of your car. There are only thirty vacant slots left when you reach the hospital’s basement. Sighing, you keep your eyes open for any vacancies. When you spot one just beside the space reserved for motorcycles and bikes, you speed a little towards it, hoping that no one else will beat you to it.

Just next to you, a scooter arrives, and as a familiar mop of blonde hair greets you, you knock on your window, excitedly waving at Jimin as he lifts up the scooter seat to retrieve some of his things inside. “Jimin!!”

“Hello, _______, good morning to you too. You seem...bright-er today.”

“I’ll tell you all the deets later with Soomin, but ackkk can you believe it? Our first day!!” Jimin laughs at your enthusiasm as he waits for you to get your stuff from the passenger seat.

“You want me to help you with that?” Jimin eyes the duffel bag hanging by your shoulder. “I’m okay, no worries,” you reply, reassuring Jimin and waving him off with a free hand.

“_______, it seems as heavy as it looks...” Ah, maybe the strap straining against your shirt was a little too obvious then... but you don’t have the heart to burden Jimin with your own belongings so you politely decline one more time.

Jimin, however, isn’t convinced one bit with your statement, especially when he sees your knuckles turn white as you adjust the strap of your bag. “How ‘bout this instead? You carry my bag, and I’ll carry yours because mine is definitely lighter than that...baggage of yours, ________.”

He doesn’t budge from his spot, raising his eyebrows as he gives you an offer you can’t deny. “Fine, but this is only for today, okay?” Pouting, you hand your bag over to Jimin who accepts it with a smug smile. He then proceeds to jokingly topple over due to the weight of your bag.

“Jimin!” you exclaim, tugging the strap back towards you. “I’m kidding! It’s fine _______, don’t worry about me,” he smirks, doing weird poses as you both make your way out of the basement parking lot. Just a couple of minutes later, and Jimin entertaining you all the way through, you both arrive at a small restaurant just beside the hospital where the three of you agreed to meet for breakfast.

With brows furrowed in concern, Jimin waves his fork in front of you to get your attention, “_______, you okay? You’ve been staring at that bottle for quite some time already...you think maybe you can ketchup later instead?” Jimin snickers quietly to himself, while you and Soomin have similar expressions, staring blankly at Jimin who instantly turns quiet after seeing your reactions. Jimin sinks slowly in his seat as he clears his throat. “Uhm, sorry...I’ll just shut up...for now...”

“Mustard you do that this early in the morning?” Soomin looks at you then squints her eyes at Jimin while she fights the grin playing on her lips. Jimin’s face lights up like a little kid on Christmas day. The two share a high five as they bond over their equally awful jokes as you quietly rejoice in your seat, glad that they seem to have come out of their shells after their awkward first meeting.

You wish someone else in particular would have at least made an effort to rectify your rather unpleasant first meeting too.

“You two would make a cute couple.” You make sure your observation is loud enough for them to hear, disguising half of your sentence as a cough to distinctly express your amusement.

The two instantly part at your remark - Soomin going back to picking at her food while Jimin takes a sip of is drink. Your eyes widen a little bit, realizing that you might have celebrated a little too early for that. “Anyways, like Jimin here mentioned, you do seem a little distracted today...you alright?”

You close your eyes for a bit, trying to lose the image of Jungkook greeting you in your own corridor this morning. You’re certain it’s not just your sheer pique against Jungkook that continues to bother you, but half of it is definitely the humiliation that came with realizing he was the same person that had indirectly brought you to your high last night - and your own dignity could not take the veracity of it all.

“Okay, remember when I told you guys recently that my neighbor was leaving and that she’s looking for a new tenant, right?”

“Mhmm.”

“And do you also remember the time I mentioned that I am...uh...displeased with a particular human being named Jeon Jungkook?”

It’s Soomin who makes a second murmur of affirmation.

“Ah, yes... you meant you hate him. Am I correct?” seconds Jimin.

“That is affirmative. Yes.”

You take a deep breath before starting, “Well...”

“Hang on, let me just backtrack a little bit...we’re talking about the same Jeon Jungkook from Yonsei right? The one you tied with at the boards?”

“That is also a yes.”

“Well... I think he might be my new neighbor.” Grimacing, your face crumples in disappointment while you imagine just all the possible things that might happen having Jungkook as your neighbor...and all the nightmares that will accompany his moving in.

Jimin purses his lips in a poor attempt to control his snicker. “You have an insane amount of bad luck following you around, ________.” Courtesy of Chohee divulging yours and Jungkook’s history all the way to your first encounter with him, Jimin is well aware of your resentment towards Jungkook.

“In all honesty though, he seems like a normal dude. Just leaning a bit towards the cheeky side, but nothing too atrocious really...and if I do say so myself, you really, and quite literally, just got off on the wrong foot.”

“Jungkook...Jungkook...Jeon...” Soomin is looking somewhere else, clearly focused on trying to recall a memory as she repeatedly taps her nails against the table repeatedly. “There’s something about him that I’m forgetting but,” she says, looking at her watch, “but shit!! We’re going to be late, we gotta leave!”

The three of you get up from your seats abruptly, the sound of your chairs scraping against the floor startling the other customers in the restaurant. “Come on! Quickly!”

The locker room is full by the time the three of you arrive that you have to squeeze through rows of interns before a female WMC employee in uniform comes through the door with an announcement. “All interns, please proceed to the lobby for your hospital tour and orientation. Chief Park Daejung will be with you momentarily.”

Your trio scrambles to look for free lockers while the rest of the interns start to file out of the room, so when Jimin finds a free one for the meantime, he hurriedly grabs both yours and Soomin’s stuff and stashes them inside before ushering you all out of the room to catch up with the group.

At the lobby, the HR assistant from earlier, Narae (the same reason you’re convinced majority of the male interns are paying more attention than expected) is already making a roll call of all the interns that came in this morning and your trio just makes it in time to hear your names getting called.

Even from the back row with all the disadvantages of having average height, you’re practically buzzing in your spot and just like a crazed woman, you’re powerless to shake off the smile that seems permanently etched on your face.

“Excited?” Jimin nudges your side as he looks at you with an equally warm smile. “Yeah...” you murmur, marveling at the sheer size of the hospital, “I have studied my ass off my whole life for this moment...”

Opening the information booklet handed over by Ms. Narae earlier, you slide your ballpen off your lanyard, deciding to write your name both in Korean and English on the first page and officially claiming it yours. As you get to your surname, someone bumps into you, causing you to scribble a line throughout the entire page.

You take a deep breath, internalizing your annoyance and drilling it to the far end of your brain. Nope, you weren’t going to let this bother you, not today at the least. The name Chief Park Daejung class out however, makes you look up from the booklet.

“Jeon Jungkook? Glad to have you join us...fifteen minutes after call time.”

“I am sorry, Sir. Something came up. This won’t happen again.”

The chief turns to Narae, who’s been nothing but professional the whole time, ignoring all the ogling from all the other interns, “Didn’t know we actually got him. I’d recognize this kid anywhere. He’s the spitting image of his father - plus, they both make sure to make strong first impressions,” adds the chief, handing over a clipboard back to Narae.

Even though the voice coming from your right is unmistakable, you still close your eyes in fervent prayer, hoping that the person the chief was referring to isn’t the same number one person on your fight-on-sight list. Slowly, you pry one of your eyes open just to see Jungkook already staring you down with a smug grin on his face. “Fancy seeing you here, smally.”

Soomin, who’s standing on your left, leans toward your ear. “Ah, that’s what I was going to say earlier this morning...Jungkook was on the intern list.”

With the smallest smile your face muscles can muster, you look at Soomin, eye to eye. “Thanks for the warning, Soomin. I...really appreciate it.” She winks at you as she replies, “You’re very much welcome, dear.”

Jimin, who seems to have overheard the entire conversation, looks over and waves at Jungkook. “Hey bro, didn’t know you applied for Woocheon too! This is awesome!”

You’re starting to question if your so-called friends are really on your side or not.

Taken aback by Jimin’s questionable enthusiasm, Jungkook scratches the back of his head before voicing out a reply, “Oh yeah...surprise! I guess...”

Surprise indeed.

“Well, shall we start then? We’ve got a long day ahead of us!” Chief Park clasps his hands together, “Everyone, welcome to the Woocheon Medical City.”

Woocheon is going to be hell.

Miss Narae continues to walk your group around the hospital’s main building - through the lobby, cafeteria, outpatient clinics, as well as the different departments. “Correct me if I’m wrong but don’t the orientations usually come before the tours?” you ask Soomin, going over to the page of the booklet showing the hospital map.

“Yeah, but there’s a lot of foot traffic in the hallways starting from ten onwards so it’s not recommended to have the tour during those times…” Soomin replies.

“Oh… I see…” Your group finally arrives by the operating rooms and you close the booklet, focusing on Miss Narae’s guidelines. Suddenly, the automatic doors open and out come two doctors talking to each other with the taller man stretching his arms. “Interns, may I introduce to you our surgical residents, Dr. Min Yoongi and Dr. Kim Namjoon, specializing in general surgery and neurosurgery respectively.” Your group bows to the senior doctors, likewise greeting them a good morning.

“You all sure about choosing medicine as your career path?” The smaller one of the two, who you assume to be Dr. Min, says with a straight face.

“Hyung, don’t scare them away! But just so you know,” Dr. Kim adds, then takes a step closer to your group, “...there’s still time to back out, kids,” he whispers, earning nervous chuckles from the group.

“Ah new babies!!” Someone from behind your group announces. With the blue scrubs he’s wearing, you assume he’s another surgeon (and an insanely handsome one too). “Apples keep the doctors away but the hospital can’t really keep its patients away can it? Else we wouldn't have such a magnificent hospital such as the Woocheon Medical City, right?” Laughter erupts from the group as he passes through, making a beeline towards Dr. Min and Dr. Kim.

Miss Narae clears her throat, gathering everyone’s attention once more, “I’d also like to introduce to you Dr. Kim Seokjin, also a surgical resident specializing in general surgery.”

“Oh don’t believe her! With looks like these? Sheesh! We’re actually newbie actors filming season 3 of Hospital Playlist...but you know...between us three, it’s obvious who sets the bar, right?” This earns eye rolls from both Dr. Min and the other Dr. Kim.

Pushing Dr. Seokjin towards the operating room, Dr. Yoongi turns to your group again, “Please ignore him. We’re actual licensed doctors…Hyung just…” Dr. Min sighs, rubbing at his temples, “...he says he doesn’t like attention but he keeps on doing humiliating things like these…”

Dr. Seokjin, who’s already inside the operating room hallway, overhears Dr. Min’s words. “Hey! Why do you keep outing me like this?! Also, this appendectomy will just take a while - wait for me! I’m craving kalguksu today!”

“Soomin...is it just me or everyone here has got to be damn attractive?”

Jungkook leans in from behind, raising his eyebrows at you and Soomin. “Oh you guys weren’t aware that it was one of the qualifications before getting accepted into Woocheon? Kind of an unspoken rule really…” Jungkook remarks as he crosses his arms over his chest and you swear on your life you hadn’t taken a peek at the very distracting outline of his arms.

Jimin who seems to agree with the idea wholeheartedly, places his fingers under his chin and wriggles his eyebrows wildly.

Boys.

Rolling your eyes at them, you retort, “You do realize that that only means we’re hot too.” likewise raising your shoulders at them. Soomin gives you a high five before flipping her hair towards the two. Jungkook gives you both a lopsided smirk in reply, “I’m not going to deny that.”

Soomin grabs you by the elbow, turning both your backs to the boys behind you, “You sure you hate him, or you just can’t take the way he’s flirting with you?”

#jungkook x reader #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btsghostie #jeon jungkook #bts aus #bts fic #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #doctors au

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cryinginthebackseat · 3 years

Text

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part i

AO3 part ii

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 4.009

Summary: Russell Adler should have known better that it wouldn’t take an entire nation or continent to bring him to his knees.

Warnings: just swearings, sexual tension, blood, mentions of past abuse and brainwashing. adler being that manipulative asswipe like usual.

Author’s note: i don't know what i'm doing. one moment, i was watching the walkthrough of the new call of duty game, found myself curious, acutely curious by that guy with the scars and shades on- a younger, shadier (no pun intended) Robert Redford in Spy Game and oh my... fast forward to 2 weeks later, here we are.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A house somewhere on foreign soil,

Where ageless lovers call,

Is this your goal, your final needs,

Where dogs and vultures eat,

Committed still I turn to go.

I put my trust in you.

A Means To An End - Joy Division (1980)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It's mystifying how little she talks. Or when she does, it's always in fragments. Like a crossword puzzle in your local newspaper, but several letters are missing. He initially thought maybe MK-Ultra fucked her head or worse, if it hasn't worked at all, but the more he watches her, the more he realizes it's just the way she is. And it's ironic because he named her Bell. He expected her to chime like a goddamn goldfinch yet here they are.

But he won't be fazed. Russell Adler is a man who's stopped at nothing in getting what he wanted before, he sure as hell won't stop now for a close-mouthed science project.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“We've got a job to do, Bell."

It intrigues him, every time, the way the words trigger something deep within her psyche, the way her eyes change, her body stands a little straighter, like a machine ready to function at his disposal. It reminds Adler of one of those cartoons he watched when he was a kid about wizards and magic words, except there are no musical dance numbers playing in the background or a talking cricket perching on his shoulder. This is his power over her, over the USSR, over Perseus. That monstrous filth. It really does take a beast to tame another.

Although he surmises calling Bell one would be superfluous.

She barely looks like one, but Adler knows too well than to underestimate her. Just because Bell hasn’t shown her set of claws, that doesn’t mean she’s harmless, delicate, like a miniature China Doll in his breast pocket.

Bell never offered him her reply before, but now, now, she nods, head almost bows, obedient pretty thing, and says:

“Yes, Adler.”

So it goes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It takes West Berlin for Adler to realize she’s left-handed.

She wears her watch on her right hand, smokes with that same said hand only when she’s writing or moving her pieces for an impromptu late-night game of chess against Lazar. And she always wears her gloves all the time- leather, black, lined with silk and pretty, small buttons on the cuffs, covering those striking red nails underneath. Whether it is for the theatrics or an old habit of hers, he can't really tell.

He doesn’t know why he begins to take notice of these mundane details about Bell, but rationalizes because he’s never been in the same room with this version of her, post-brainwash Bell, for more than 10 minutes. And for all intents and purposes, there’s still a lot of question marks surrounding her character; who is she? Where did she come from? What is her connection to Perseus?

Are they in a possession of a walking, breathing bomb about to destroy them all or the West’s only salvation?

He supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Adler hears Bell from his table, typing busy on the computer- barely blinking- all soaked up in that caffeine-infused energy at 1 am. She's always like that, he learns, when it comes to working, always with that steel determination, pulling out all the stops as long as it gets the job done- that Soviet discipline at it's finest.

Reminds him a little of himself when he's young.

Adler walks up to her.

“You done for the night?” A shake of her head is her only response. He sighs. “You should go home, Bell.”

“You go. I’ll lock up behind you,” Bell replies, low and monotone; that youthful stubborn.

If she was any other person, he would probably commend her for such fierce willpower, but she is Bell, the walking conundrum, his ace in the hole. Call him paranoid, but the idea of her having the safehouse for herself does nothing but raises every alarm in his head.

“No, we’re going home,” he says instead, tone brooking no argument and she frowns at the screen, her fingers stop moving then looks up at him with those goddamn empty eyes. "Come on, it's late anyway."

She doesn't say anything. Adler wishes he could read her mind- or crack that lovely skull on the back of her head, dissect her brain, learn its secrets and answers.

Adler has his gun with him. It wouldn’t take long. A quick, true shot to the heart to keep the brain intact. He’d have Hudson contact one of his people inside BND and he'd deliver the brain himself if he has to. They could do it. He heard they’ve been studying inmates' brains for decades now, anyway.

Before he has a chance to entertain the idea further, though, Bell nods once and rises up from her seat.

Bell walks past him. Her scent, like honeysuckle on ice, hits him like an uppercut in the face. Adler inhales, as if against his will.

He thinks he could get drunk on it.

“Hop in. I’ll drive you back to the hotel,” he says once they’re outside, regretting the decision the moment the words left his lips, but he knows he can’t just leave her on her own at this late hour.

The irony isn’t lost on him, though, considering he just thought about unspooling her brain a few minutes ago.

Bell complies without a protest. Getting inside the passenger seat, wordless still, fingers toying with the radio. An angry, krautrock music comes blaring all over his car. Adler winces, but at least the riot is loud enough to muffle the one's brewing in his head.

"How's your memory these days?"

Bell shrugs. "Nihil novi sub sole." There's nothing new under the sun.

Good, he muses. The least she knows about herself the better.

Though that doesn't mean he's out of the woods yet.

"Listen, from now on, I want you to keep me informed if there's any new progress about your memory or if you've developed any new symptoms. I want to know everything." He steals a sidelong glance at her, making sure she is listening (she always does, but Adler needs an excuse)

(An excuse for what?)

"Alright, Bell?"

"Of course," replies the woman in question.

"Good." Adler shifts his attention back to the road. "Good." Taking a long drag, he considers trying to appeal to her sentimental side. It's not something you'd improvise last minute- at least not with someone you brainwashed to believe you are her mentor/confidant for the past decade, but he's itching to know where he stands with her.

"You know, I'm just tryin' to look out for you, kid."

Her lips twitch but the rest of her visage remains impassive and faraway, more like a flick knife than a woman. The correlation is uncanny.

That's when she inches closer. The space between them bridged. He freezes. Hyper-aware of just how dangerous this is, but can’t bring himself to pull back, to look the other way. Not when her hand reaches out to pluck the cigarette from his mouth, eyes still glued to his, and curls her lips around the filter. One heavy pull, and then she rolls down the window and tosses it out on the side of the road.

"Thought I'd reciprocate the sentiment."

And with that, she leans back in her seat before Adler could even process what has just transpired.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Welcome back to the land of the living, kid,” Adler greeted her, about a month ago.

Park had insisted that he had to be there for her when she woke up (naturally, Adler had balked at the idea, but at the English woman’s fact-of-the-matter explanation, also because it had somewhat dawned on him last minute the logic behind her machinations- “both of you are supposed to have known each other for years now. If she doesn't see you by her side, she’s going to wonder why”- thus, here he was)

“How are you feeling?”

Bell blinked owlishly and stared at the older man with those bottomless, cat-like eyes that had haunted him since January.

Her gaze eventually softened as recognition flickered across her face.

“Like someone just hit me in the chest with a bulldozer,” she said hoarsely. “Where are we?”

“St. Dismas’ hospital, Pittsburgh.” Adler got up and fetched her a glass of water from the table. “Although not a bulldozer, but bullets did. That, and you hit your head really hard on your way down. Thought we’d lost you there, Bell.”

Bell drank in silence. She’s still watching him, thinking. This was the first time he realized that he couldn’t exactly read her expression and somehow that threw him off.

“What happened?” she asked, one hand mid-air, like she was deciding which to touch first, hesitating and abandoned the idea.

“You don’t remember?” She shook her head. Adler pretended to look remotely distressed about it. “The doctors warned me about this. It must have been because of the fall- heck, I could even still hear that sickening crunch from here.” He dragged his chair closer towards her bed.

“We were in Amsterdam. Remember Fohler?” she shook her head again. “Well, we’d been tracking this son of a bitch for months, but we were chasing him in Amsterdam. He was running away and climbed up some scaffolding. You were about to go up after him,” he recited the fabricated story he, Park and Hudson had crafted. “He shot you and you fell and hit your head against the pavement.”

Bell looked away first, silent. Her hand gingerly touched the back of her head and winced, albeit only slightly.

Adler was almost impressed, if not, disarmed by how calm and composed her reaction was to all of this. But then again, after having had witnessed first-hand how the woman barely flinched under any kind of interrogation technique they threw at her- a personality built for wrestling tigers- he really shouldn’t be surprised.

“Bell, what is the last thing you remember?”

Bell frowned. “Not much. I remember ‘Nam, but-”

“Vietnam? Kid, that was thirteen years ago.” Adler watched the way her throat bopped, like she was swallowing her own blood and the color drained from her face, just like the first time he’d seen her, and proceeded to drop the bomb:

“Bell, the year is 1981.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Bell dear, would you mind taking a look at this?"

Park's voice sails from across the room. She says it like it's a compound word: Bell-dear. Like the two words belong together. Bell-dear. 2 syllables, 1 word, 9 characters and that just might be the weirdest thing he hears this year and he heard many things.

"Bell dear?" Adler asks much later, his gravel-and-smoke voice reduced to a whisper, when she delivers a document to his table.

Park shrugs as if that explains everything. "What? I like her."

He's tempted to say you really can't put a term of endearment and someone you brainwashed into submission in the same sentence, but what else is new?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They wind up in a bar. It’s called Die Stube and the place’s brimmed with artists and all sorts of leather-clad, Bowie-esque dramatic, chromatic blue eyelids young people chattering over a dirty cloud of smoke.

The two of them colonize a lone booth in the back. It’s dark and the quietest. She orders a beer and he, a scotch and they drink in silence. There are moments where her head would twist to the side, as subtle as a needle and survey the phantasmagorical scene before them, like studying something from a petri dish.

While he’s watching her.

Only to tear his gaze away to the nearest object he can find.

It lands on his watch.

"It’s almost ten. Hudson's contact should be here soon," he announces, if anything to distract himself. She nods mutely in reply, as always, and runs a finger around the rim of her glass.

"The place ain't much of your scene?"

She shrugs, like it's self-evident. "I didn't know this was a scene, though."

"Well, that’s West Berlin for you. A worry-free playground for the hedonists, hipsters and proto-electro NDW enthusiasts with drugs on tap," Adler says, sipping his drink in practiced nonchalance. "Always makes my head spin."

"I guess I remember it differently," Bell replies, tinged with something akin to begrudging.

That warrants his full attention. "What do you remember?”

Bell shrugs again and lights a cigarette instead, menthol, one of those long, skinny cigarettes they only market for women; biding her time, making him wait. She lets the smoke flares from her nostrils so her eyes are veiled.

"It’s hard to explain, but I suppose it’s grittier?” she gesticulates, searching for the right word like she’s skim reading the entire Oxford dictionary in her head. “Bizarrely, infinitely grittier and dimmer? Like being in an underground tunnel and there's not much to see."

Interesting. Maybe she’s recalling one of her ops for Perseus or her mind is confusing her with the world on the other side of the wall.

“Maybe you’re remembering one of our clandestine ops here. It was a few years after Vietnam,” Adler supplies, passing over the tale like bait.

She falls for it, hook, line and sinker.

“Ah, I guess that also explains my fluency in German.”

“I taught you that.” It’s only logical, he decides, that she learned from him. She’s supposed to be his protégé after all.

An elegant brow quirk. "You did?"

"Yeah, though you were already fluent in Latin, Russian, Vietnamese and Portuguese when we first met anyway. You have quite a natural ear, kid.”

She gives him a look. He really can’t categorize it, but it makes it a whole lot harder to fight against her stare.

“What else did you teach me?”

If they were anyone else, the lines could have a potential to entice, to seduce, that winsome, catty-eyelashes coquette, but they aren't anyone else and Bell does not voice it like that. Yet the implication behind the question stirs something in the pit of Adler’s stomach anyway, that tight knot of confusion as it is buried with something else and he finds himself, once again, uncharacteristically speechless.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That particular question of her stays, even hours later, unbidden. Interspersed with her scent and face.

His emotions are a minefield whenever she’s near now. It evokes that newfound rush of terror within him, like walking on a tightrope or being thrown into the pit to face hundreds of hungry lions, bare hands. It makes Adler questions his every decision, and he can’t have that in his line of work.

Adler lights his sixth cigarette, contemplating everything, nothing. Anything to distract him from her. It's 4 am and he’s exhausted, but his mind won’t stop whirring. This isn’t like him at all- like he's lost somewhere in a Dali-style labyrinth that is his head and he wonders if this is a byproduct of his fear or fascination or confusion for the young woman.

He fears it is all of them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(They're only 10 minutes away from East Berlin when he senses it, something akin to burning on his peripheral vision, pulling him like weight.

Bell is staring at him from across the seat.

He cocks his head slightly to the side.

Adler catches the quick, telling quirk of her lips, like she's about to smile but lights a cigarette instead.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Did you hear that?”

Krauss has just crossed the wall and their soles are slippery from the rain. She's panting. Her breath is white like a fog. Adler muses it must be from the running, until his iris trails down to where her hand is clutching his jacket sleeve, the leather creasing like a modulation signal.

“What is it?” Adler asks, hushed. There are no Stasis here, but even one can't be too careful.

“The TV.” She’s gaping at the broken TV next to them. Adler looks at the said object, frowning, then back to her. “Y-you didn’t hear it?”

"Heard what? Bell, the thing's dead."

Bell withdraws from him. Stepping back until her back meets the walls, her eyes seeing and unseeing, like a lens finding focus in the dark, then she closes them, as if trying to regulate her breathing. Adler has never seen her scared shitless of anything before. The sight confuses as it intrigues him.

"Bell, what's going on?" Adler steps closer, but he dares not to touch her.

She shakes her head, dismissive. In just a span of seconds, Bell dons that mask she likes to wear again; deadpan and frustratingly distant. A spike of annoyance drives through him. Just when he thinks he can get through her, there she goes again, retreating behind her palisades.

"Nothing." Bell turns away abruptly and she’s walking again."Let's just go. The others are waiting for us."

He doesn't pry about whatever she heard on the TV- Adler knows better than to beat a dead horse, thank you very much- not even after they save her from Volkov's clutches, after she bashes his head against the steel door and reeks his blood all the way home, it seems superficial at the time.

Until two days later.

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The day starts, as it mostly does for the team, with a briefing.

Fifteen minutes in and something like a gasp pulls his attention to her.

That’s when he notices it; her hands are shaking, coffee spilling out of the mug over her hand. A shatter follows. Her mug smashes to smithereens at her feet. She’s swaying, near collapse, like a house of cards about to fall, a hand on her nose.

Adler catches her before she tumbles to the floor.

“Bell!” His arm around her waist tightens, trying to keep her steady. Lazar rushes to their side in a flash and helps him move her to a nearby chair.

"Jesus Christ," he curses, more to himself than to her as he watches blood, a bead of angry red, trickling down her nose. "Sims, get me a washcloth from the bathroom."

He kneels before her once Sims returns with a damp cloth. Nicotine-stained gloved fingers tentatively grasp her chin, holding her still.

“Kid, you alright?” Adler asks, worry bleeds into his voice without him realizing it. He firmly presses the cloth under her nose, his other thumb touches the pulse at her throat- it's almost sickly affectionate. “Bell, talk to me."

Bell looks at him, discombobulated, like he's a figment of her imagination, then blinks. Again and again until she heaves a deep breath.

"I-" she hisses. One hand flies up to her head. "Fuck. My head.”

Adler’s eyes immediately search for Park’s. A knowing look passes over her face and he knows without saying that she's thinking the same thing, like they're attached to the same brain-wire:

MK-Ultra.

There’s a fraction of pause, then Lazar asks, "Should we give her something?”

Before Park can voice her answer, Bell beats her to it. "I already took an anticonvulsant this morning. It should have helped.”

“Wait, this has happened before?” Adler asks.

Bell looks away, a hesitating look shadowing her face. He fears the worst.

“Bell…” he tries again, a slight warning to his tone.

She sighs loudly, as if mentally preparing herself before walking into a storm.

“Yes. Two days ago."

His mind instantly refers to East Berlin, the TV. Trying to connect the dots in his head. It seems far fetched, but now he wonders if she saw something that triggers this. Although he's never read about this on other subjects before, the correlation is just impossible to ignore.

Fuck. He heaves a breath, willing himself to calm down, to think. They can't afford complications at times like these. Not when there's so much at stake right now.

Adler snaps his attention back to Bell when she tries to scramble awkwardly to her feet, swatting his hand away. The hand on her neck immediately reaches for her waist again and pushes her back down onto the chair. His grip's tight enough to leave marks on her skin, but he doesn't care.

"Bell, for fuck's sake, stay still or so help me," he says, exasperated, not letting go of her waist.

"I feel better now." Stubborn little shit.

He is tempted to scream at her face and grab both of her shoulders and shake. “The hell you’re not. Stop fighting it. You’ll only make things worse.”

Her face sours, if only for a millisecond before it morphs into guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Adler watches her for a long moment. It’s only now that he realizes that he’s still holding her waist and the cloth on her face.

He backs away from her like he’s been burnt.

“You should have told me. I thought I made it clear the other night to keep me informed regarding this,” he scolds.

“I’m sorry,” she utters again and she looks so pliable like this, a blank canvas perfumed with obedience and lethal mind. It makes him almost feel sorry for what he has in plan for her once the shit show is over.

“Look, just go back to the hotel and take a day off.” Her mouth cracks open. He raises a silencing hand. “That’s an order, Bell.” But she merely scowls, looking more like jagged ice than a person. Hudson may have just met his match, after all.

“I told you I’m fine.”

“That’s not how it looks to me.”

“It is. It’s my body and I know what I’m feeling, and I’m telling you, I. Feel. Fine.”

His jaw clenches. “Are you disobeying a direct order, agent?”

Bell doesn’t answer, but her whole face remains challenging and hard. Undeterred.

Adler holds his breath. He feels the whole room collectively does the same. It’s like staring down the barrel of a gun and there’s an awful sort of danger to be found in that.

Just when he thinks an imaginary bullet would dig itself into his skin, however, Bell utters, “Of course not.”

And so the woman resumes to her normal, docile self at a drop of a hat. Even when Park steps in and whisks her out of her seat, drives her back to her hotel with Lazar on shotgun.

It doesn’t assuage his worry, though. He’s still restless throughout the day, like a roaring ocean inside a bell jar. She’s never done this before, openly rebels against him. Now, the situation is just bad. Not casually bad or almost-got-shot bad, this is the-entire-Europe-could-turn-into-a-nuclear-wasteland bad, an-armageddon-waiting-to-happen bad.

What if this is the beginning of her old self trying to scratch her way out of the surface? Adler’s blood goes cold at the thought. He is going to have to keep a close eye on this development.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

West Berlin - 1 am, local time.

“How is she?”

“Stable. I’ve administered another dose of Propranolol before I left the hotel. She should be fit as a fiddle in the morning.”

“Tell me, what do you think happened to her?”

“My theory? Traumatic brain injury. A cumulative product of torture, trauma-based mind control and chronic stress. I've read reports about cases like these before in MI6. None of them is still alive to recount the tale, unfortunately."

Adler grips the phone.

“How long do you think we have?”

“Theoretically, 2-3 weeks tops.”

“But?”

He hears Park sighs on the other line. “But then again, none of the subjects I’ve encountered before were like her. So, I suppose it’s still a little too premature to determine at this point."

Adler kneads his temple, feeling the start of that familiar Bell-induced headache forms in his head. Can things just be fucking simple for once?

“We don’t have that much time anyway, Park. And if Hudson gets a wind of this, he’ll want her gone by morning. I can’t let that happen. Not…” he pauses. “Not when we are this close.”

"What are we going to do about her, then?"

Adler sighs.

"Raise the dosages of her drugs,” he says. “And keep an extra eye on her. I think we may be heading into uncharted waters now.”

Tagging: @mvalentine cause you said to tag you with everything i write so 👁👄👁

#russell adler #russell adler x bell #cod bell #cod #call of duty #call of duty black ops #call of duty cold war #cod cold war #alex mason #frank woods #helen park #lawrence sims #jason hudson #lazar azoulay

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omg-imagine · 3 years

Text

Forget Me Not (Part 12/15)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: Angst, language

A/N: Kinda nervous posting again since it’s been a while, but we’re winding down to the end of this story with only three more parts to go (2 chapters + an epilogue). As always, feedback is appreciated. Thanks for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy!

Part 11

Home.

You are home. It’s supposed to be home.

But it wasn’t. To you, it couldn’t be.

This place feels too far from home, too foreign. You had no memories of it, no recollection of the safety and security it offers. Not even the faintest remembrance of the laughter, smiles, and tears; the fondness and the sadness these four walls have witnessed over the years.

You can’t call it home. You don’t know where home is, and you’re not sure you have one anymore.

Not after leaving him behind.

It’s cold and dark when you first wake, sleep weighing heavily in your eyes. A pair of curtains block out the sun from filtering into the room, leaving you to wonder if you had slept through half the day. With a yawn, you stretch, the bed underneath creaking as your body fully rouses from yet another night of fitful slumber. Almost a month back in New York, and it doesn’t make sense to keep blaming your lack of energy on the time difference.

The ache is still ever-present. The pain caused by the void in your heart remains, sharply throbbing in your chest with its refusal to go away. Two heartbreaks, two betrayals, occurring five years apart, but it feels as though not much time has passed in-between.

It hurts to ponder about it, that evening when your seemingly perfect little world came crashing down. Hiding behind rose-tinted glasses, you were unknowingly tricked, fully caught up in a well-crafted illusion. His illusion. Love has blinded you to the sad reality, and in the end, it left you a shattered mess, a hollow shell of your former self.

You doubt you’ll ever be whole again.

Forcing yourself out from under the covers, you reach for your phone on the nightstand to check the time before scrolling through your notifications. Nothing was of interest to you, fortunately; you didn’t have the energy to respond to those you suddenly abandoned. Friends who cared about you but realized you were never close to them. Not in the way it used to be.

As you skimmed over the new texts and emails, you then came across his now unsaved number. The moment you stepped on the plane, you deleted his contact from your phone and blocked him. Yet the last messages he sent to you were still there and haven’t been read since, though you already knew what they could entail—

I’m sorry.

It was never my intention to hurt you.

Please give me another chance.

Let me fix this.

Just come back, Y/N. Come back home.

Home. There was that damn word again. You were beginning to loathe it, even more so knowing that whenever you think of home, you wind up thinking of him.

The last time you saw him was the morning after the storm. Booking a one-way ticket back to the east coast, you then spent the early hours packing as many clothes that would fit in a single suitcase. Tears had long since dried up, having none left as you headed down the stairs, ignoring the look he gave you from afar.

He was dressed in the outfit he had on the night prior; his hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and it was quite obvious he endured no sleep. Your resolve nearly crumbles as your gazes connect, bodies close enough that he could reach out the slightest bit, and he’d be holding your hand in the palm of his.

Fighting the urge, you didn’t cave in. You couldn’t allow yourself to fall for it—for him.

No, never again.

As expected, he followed you out of the house, remaining quiet as he watched the cab driver load your luggage in the trunk. You paid him no attention when he approached the vehicle once you climbed in, wanting nothing more than to escape this nightmare. With nowhere else to go and no one to turn to, you decided it was best to leave California, not that you belonged there anyway.

It played out like a scene from a movie—the taxi pulling out of the driveway slowly as the raindrops started to fall. Hearing him call out your name, his voice cracking with each syllable, made you hesitate for a beat. Perhaps you could forgive him, you had thought in that split-second. Forgive and forget; let what happened in the past stay in the past.

But even if you did, the pain’s still there, and it was overpowering. This pain resulting from his deception had been too consuming, too unbearable to move on.

You told the driver to hurry as you couldn’t afford to miss your flight.

The atmosphere in the car was fraught with grim silence. As the house sequestered in the hills vanishes in the rearview mirror, you knew you were running away from it all. You couldn’t stand being here in LA, where every turn, every corner, and every street reminds you of a life that wasn’t truly yours.

As idyllic it once was, you wanted no part of it anymore. Instead, you sought for familiarity, the life you used to have, the one you could only remember.

What you thought was your real home.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you had broken down in the backseat, never feeling more alone than you did at that moment.

You wish you could forget, but it’s not that easy. It’s never easy. Memories of him linger in your mind, still tragically fresh as they haunt you day in and day out. Closing your eyes, you could see him wearing this smile that used to make your stomach flutter. You came to love his smile the same way you had loved him wholly.

Now? Seeing it was a stab to the heart—a reminder of how he took advantage of your condition, your vulnerability. Of every lie you were fed. That smile, the one you previously hoped to wake up to for the rest of your life, had been an act, a facade.

Everything had been a facade.

A sudden knock on the door startles you, and you clicked off the phone screen before announcing to whoever that they could come in. Your mother Nancy enters soon after, her face displaying concern when she realizes you had just woken up. She’s silent as she walks towards the window and then pushes the curtains aside, the sunlight outside immediately washing over the room.

Briefly, you squint to adjust to the brightness, a confirmation that it was past noon already—another wasted day.

“Hey, darling,” she speaks softly as she moves to sit on the mattress beside you. “How are you doing?”

There’s no point in lying, but as much as you greatly appreciated her caringness, you didn’t want to burden her with your problems. They were yours to deal with and yours alone.

“Better.” And that, you were. Just a week ago, you finally stopped crying yourself to sleep. “I might even go out tomorrow and look for a job. Can’t keep freeloading under your roof, right?”

You release a half-chuckle, a small attempt to lighten up the mood. It was comforting when your mother cracks a smile in response.

“Oh, hush. You’re always welcome to stay as long as you need to,” she assures, a loving warmth radiating from her tone.

Lips pressing together, you sense that she has another thing to address. “What’s wrong?”

Nancy pauses to take a breath, shoulders rising and falling. For some reason, you’re on edge, finding yourself bracing for what was to come.

“Have you spoken to Keanu lately?”

Upon hearing his name, you swallowed away the lump in your throat. After telling your parents what had transpired, it stirred up various emotions—mainly anger from your father, sorrow from your mom. Their hearts sank as you recounted the story, tears blurring your eyes that you couldn’t see their faces. It was a good thing, however; you probably wouldn’t have reached the end.

Since then, they’ve refrained from speaking of him and to him. He’s called the house on a few occasions but could never get past the automated answering machine. Pictures of the two of you hanging on the walls were taken down shortly after the revelation, and you were unsure of who had done it.

Your parents still couldn’t believe he was capable of such a thing. He had played them the same way you were, twisting the truth and omitting facts. Painting himself in a way that made them think allowing you to stay with him was the best decision when just months before he treated you as if you didn’t matter.

As if he didn’t love you.

“No.” Curt, you had nothing else to say.

“He’s a persistent one, I’ll tell you that. Left another message last night,” Nancy comments, feeling her stare as you fiddled with the hands in your lap. The next time she speaks, it’s slow and controlled. She’s careful with her words, wary of how you would react to what she has to say. “Hon, the last time you were here, you told me something. Something that I probably should have mentioned the day you woke up in the hospital.”

You tense, eyes flickering up to hers. “What is it?”

She sighs deeply, her smile fleeting and replaced by a taut frown. “I knew you and Keanu were having… problems. Not the full story, but enough that told me you’ve been unhappy for a while.”

“W-Why didn’t you bring this up then?”

“Because the second I saw him in your hospital room, I could see how much he loves you. How scared he was at the thought of nearly losing you—”

“Pfft, sure he was,” you scoff at the statement in disbelief. “What he did—you don’t do that to someone you love. You don’t lie to them, betray them. Hell, if you had given me a heads up earlier, then it would have saved me all this trouble.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t you get it? He’s an actor. Of course, he’s good at playing pretend. Got us all believing that things were all sunshine and rainbows. He fucked up and fucked up even more by lying. I’ve always had a bad track record in relationships, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised.”

Tension hangs thickly in the air, an apology murmured at the end of a passing second. You didn’t mean to snap at your mother, to let the anger and betrayal consume you that you began taking it out on others although unwillingly.

But you were just too goddamn hurt. Every day, the memories are suffocating you despite constantly wishing and pleading for them to disappear. That life, the one you had with Keanu, no longer exists, and yet you were still holding onto the frayed remains of it, not ready to move on—to let go.

You grieve. You grieve and mourn for the recent past, the happiness and love you experienced in the time you were left unaware. Never have you felt so complete, so content, and much at ease. You had turned a blind eye to the signs, to the small inklings of doubt brewing inside because you thought that there was no way you could get something else as close to this.

Perhaps you were both to blame after all.

“I thought he was different,” you whisper, sorrow flowing from your words. “I thought he was the one. The man I’d settle down with, marry, and then maybe someday, be the father of my kids. We’d build an entire life together, a family, a future. The kind of life where I could look back on it fifty years from now when we’re old and gray and not regret a single thing.”

Feeling your mother’s hand come on top of yours with a light squeeze, you fought off the tears forcing their way from your eyes. You swore you would never shed a tear for Keanu ever again, but you are crumbling from within. The weak walls you put up are now tumbling down, leaving you even more vulnerable than before.

“I want to hate him. I want him to feel my pain and suffer through it, knowing that he’s the reason why. But I can’t. Somehow, I just can’t.”

“It’s because you still love him. No matter how much it hurts, you’re still in love with him,” Nancy adds solemnly, and you nod shakily. “You’re healing, dear. So far, all you’ve done is put on a bandaid, but it doesn’t mean the wound closes up immediately. It’ll burn, it’ll bleed, and it’ll ache, and right now, that’s what you’re feeling; the pain of a fresh open wound.”

“Make the pain stop,” you mumbled incoherently as you lean against your mom’s side, wet cheeks pressed to her shoulder. “It has to stop.”

“And it will,” she promises, listening to your soft and tired cries. “It’ll take time for the wound to heal, but eventually, it will. Until then, life continues, and you would have to as well. You don’t have to go all-in right away, but don’t let this heartbreak hinder you from living, sweetie. You’re strong, and I believe you will feel that same happiness again, in one form or another. But you won’t find it unless you go out and look for it.”

For the first time in what seemed like a while, you felt something other than loss and despair. It creeps into you slowly, half-expecting a cold, crushing weight to fall heavily on your chest rather than the warmth and light it is. But as quickly as it came, the sensation subsides, a wave of loneliness, emptiness filling the vacant space surrounding your heart.

A shuddering breath released, you then reflect upon what your mother said about time and how time heals all wounds. You wonder how much time is needed until you can finally break free from the remnants of the past and breathe again. Could be days, weeks, or even months more, but it’s right there, waiting for you on the horizon.

You may not have a place to call home, but what you do have is time.

---

Seconds turn into minutes; minutes turn into hours. The sun sets, the moon rises; bright, blues skies bleed into a fiery red before dimming to an inky darkness. The world spins on its axis as people wake, move, then sleep, and the cycle begins all over again.

Two weeks have come and gone, and life pushes onward. You could tell by the scenery outside where the season of fall has taken charge of the Northeast. Days are shorter, with nights stretching out longer as the year fades into winter. Time was flying by at a brisk pace. Very soon, a blanket of snow will cover the ground you walk on, reminding you to take a step back and admire the natural beauty of mid-November.

The crispness of the late afternoon air is refreshing as it fills your lungs, a welcome change from the hazy summer heat. Leaves that were once lively shades of green are now painted in deep hues of amber and burgundy, and they crunch beneath your boots with each leisure step down the earthy path. The nearby lake is as pristine as ever, sparkling freely underneath the rays of the ochre sun as it waits for the impending frost.

Wandering about outdoors for hours now, you were lost in your stream of thoughts. You honestly felt better, not entirely mended, but just enough that you can step out of the house and explore the quaint little town. A picturesque place, it was a perfect settlement for your retired parents where everyone knew everybody; their faces, names, the street they lived on. Boilding down to more personal details such as knowing the pets they owned, which book club they’re a part of, and any recent travels.

When the townsfolk saw you, you sensed the feeling of familiarity. Those you passed by in the streets waved at you, and though you couldn’t exactly recall your relationship with them, it made you smile. Recently, old friends and family in the area had begun reaching out after hearing you were back. You never gave them the full explanation, only revealing that things in California did not work out, and you figured it was best to leave.

Was it a permanent decision? Most likely. Life here is simpler, quieter. You enjoyed the peacefulness, favoring the calm atmosphere of this town much over the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles. It gave you space to think, to focus, to breathe. To reacquaint with yourself, rebuild who you are as a person by taking this journey of self-discovery.

It’s the brand new start you desperately wanted, needed. An opportunity to find your place in this world without the past holding you back. Without the shadow of the woman you once were looming over you. And if your memories don’t ever return, which deep down, you hope they never would, you would be fine with it.

You were tired of being stuck searching pieces of the past. You had to live.

Trekking up the gravel road leading to your parents’ home, a black car sits on top of the hill, one that you did not recognize. Perplexed, you approached the house with hesitant steps, dragging your feet through the pile of dead and dry leaves. There was a moment of panic when you noticed a man sitting on the front porch steps, hands clasped on his knees as he hung his head low, a curtain of dark hair masking his identity.

But you don’t need to think twice, for you already know who it is.

“Keanu?”

His name slipping out of your mouth feels different now. Gone is the affectionate tone that it was usually spoken in. It held no meaning, void of any warmth or tenderness. Keanu, the name is bitter on your tongue, a poison that could cause you to spiral down yet again, and saying it out loud brought upon a rage that swirls through your veins.

How dare he show up here unannounced?

As you take your breaths, one… two… three... and out, Keanu straightens his posture and meets your stern glare. Slowly, he gets up, the expression on his face hard to read. But aside from that, he looked worse for wear. The bags underneath his eyes were dark and prominent, the beard on his chin was unruly and untamed. He appears gaunt and exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept a wink ever since you walked out of the door and out of his life.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You’re the first to break the thick silence, a testament of your bravery and strength of some sort. Brows furrowing and teeth gritting in anger, it contrasts with Keanu’s lax demeanor as he steps closer. “No, stay back. You have no right to be here right now.”

“Y/N, please...” He speaks calmly, each and every one of his movements measured. “I’m not here to fight—”

“I have nothing to say to you,” you seethed, shaking your head as you stormed past him and towards the door. Tears brew in your cloudy eyes, a sign of how much he still affected you. Seeing him again after all this time only proved that the wound he had inflicted bleeds to this day.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Keanu quickly trails from behind, his voice dripping with utter desperation. “Please, just… give me a chance to talk. All you have to do is listen, and I promise you won’t ever have to see me again.”

The seriousness in his timbre causes you to halt in your tracks. Swallowing dryly, you turn around, sad, tired eyes reaching his guilt-filled ones. Keanu stands before you with a face written in despair, making him barely recognizable. The way he’s staring at you as if he’s hopeless and in pure anguish is unsettling, and you almost pitied him for it.

“Y/N…” He pleads softly, defeatedly. “Hear me out, please.”

You wrestled between your options, half apathetic, half curious of what Keanu had to say. Unspoken words on the tip of his tongue, he mutely begs for you to relent, and if this is all it takes for him to leave you alone, leave you for good, then so be it.

“Ten minutes,” you muttered, low enough that he barely catches it at first. Crossing your arms against your chest, the gentle autumn wind rustling through the trees pierces the silent air as you observe Keanu staggering forward, a hand rubbing at the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, gazing at you with his searching brown eyes. “I-I know saying it a thousand times won’t make a difference, but I really am sorry. What I did before and after the accident was inexcusable and selfish. I hurt you, and I will never forgive myself that. Don’t expect you to do so, either. You probably hate my guts right now, and flying out here might be a mistake, but I needed to talk to you in person. To say goodbye one last time.”

Brushing his hair back, Keanu then pads over to the trunk of the car, and all you can do is wait for him to come back. It doesn’t take long, but he makes two trips to unload two boxes, setting each of them down in the space separating you two. He instantly notices the confusion etched across your features, burying his hands in his coat pocket with an exhale.

“Are those—”

“All the things you left behind,” Keanu finishes feebly. “Thought you would want them back.”

Stunned, a mirthless chuckle escapes your throat. “You didn’t have to do this. Those aren’t my things anyway.”

“But they are—”

“They’re not mine,” you cut him off with a weary gaze. “Keanu, I’ve said this before; I’m not the woman you fell in love with. Not anymore. Look, throughout those months we spent together, I tried to fit into this life everyone told me I had. A life that’s far from what I was used to. God, it feels like a dream being her. So confident, happy, and successful. Waking up from the coma, of course, I would want that. I had just gotten out of a terrible relationship which left me broken and unworthy of anything and anyone. Then you showed me the love I thought I didn’t deserve, and it kept me from realizing that it was all too good to be true.”

Eyes faltering to the ground, your fingers fumbled with the hem of your sweater, ultimately distracting yourself from the tears threatening to fall. “The truth is, I didn’t know you. You were, are, a stranger to me. You had done things behind my back, hid details that would have been a deal-breaker, but you didn’t care. I’ve thought about it a lot lately; would I have stayed if you told me from the very beginning. I wasn’t sure if I was madder at you kissing someone else, knowing how much it would hurt me, or the fact that you lied to fix this—us.”

There is a moment of silence that weighs over everything. The wind stops blowing; the leaves are motionless. Time seems to slow around you and Keanu as he waits for your next words. Words that you are still searching for since you hadn’t prepared to voice those thoughts out loud. They all came rushing, flooding like a broken dam, too overwhelming to keep at bay.

“Which one is it?” Keanu probes delicately, equally afraid of which answer you’re going to give.

“Neither,” you revealed, surprisingly. “I’m angrier at myself for falling too fast; for being the naive little girl who let herself be fooled, who refused to listen to her instincts even though she knew they were usually right.”

You see Keanu open his mouth to speak, but you weren’t done. “I always believed this accident was a curse. It erased years worth of memories that, at this point, I’ll never get back. But now, I see the good that came out of it. Our fights, our arguments, they were all signs that our relationship was falling apart, but I couldn’t let go of it—of you. I held onto us thinking the bad will just phase out eventually when in reality, I couldn’t bear giving up on you and this life we shared.”

Another pause. “Huh, funny. Looking at it, the same thing happened all over again.”

With that said, you felt relieved, somewhat lighter. Despite previous inclinations, you didn’t shout or yell at Keanu. Nor did you discuss to the fullest extent of the suffering you’ve endured. Strangely, it was nearly therapeutic admitting all of that to him, to yourself. For months, you had been unable to let go and accept the truth, allowing fear and doubt to control your actions.

But that was then, and this is now.

And now, it was time for you to be free.

“Guess this is it,” Keanu sighs dejectedly. He didn’t come here to win you back, knowing there’s nothing that he could do or say to repair the damage. Like you, he’s letting go, letting this be the closure he needs, and you need as well. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly, “Guess this is goodbye.”

Before you could leave his sight to spare Keanu the awkwardness, he holds up a finger, signaling you to wait a second. Swiftly, he goes to retrieve something that’s lying on the front seat, something that you’ve spent countless hours flipping through. He then reluctantly passes it over to you, and you’re unsure what to do with it.

“Your pictures,” he points out, though you were already aware. “I’m not trying to be an asshole or anything by giving this, but this book is yours. Keep it, burn it, do whatever seems right to you. But I want you to know, to remember, that I did love you. I still do, and these photos are proof of it, even if you can’t bring yourself to believe that I’m telling the truth. You deserve love and to be loved, Y/N. More than anything in the universe. I fucked up my chance to be the one to tell you that every day, but it doesn’t mean the next person you fall for will.”

“Ke…” your voice suddenly breaks with emotion, uncertain of what to add after his statement. It’s because you still love him. No matter how much it hurts, you’re still in love with him, your mother’s earlier words echo in your mind, ringing true in your heart. Even after everything, a piece of you still loved Keanu, and saying goodbye to him more painful than you anticipated.

As you stand frozen, Keanu inches nearer until he’s by your feet, the palm of his hand coming to rest on your cheek. He strokes your face with a tender caress before tilting your chin upwards to meet his gaze, brushing his thumb along your lower lip gently. You allow him to have this moment, to hold you and study you for a final time, commit you to memory as this would be the last.

Eyes fluttering shut, you feel him press a soft kiss on your forehead, the warmth of it immediately spreading throughout your body before he slowly pulls away.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N,” Keanu says, opening the driver’s side door of his rental. You look at each other once more and see the subtle, hopeful smile he shoots your way. “And don’t be afraid to love again.”

You watch as he starts driving away, opting to wait until the car is finally out of view before releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

In your hands is a keepsake of your memories. A collection of captured moments that you had cherished so dearly. But things are different now; mistakes were made, words were said, people have grown apart. You found no reason to linger in the past when there’s nothing left to salvage.

Nothing left to do but heal.

The warmth of Keanu’s kiss eventually disappears, the world around you unpausing, continuing as it was before. You stay standing in place, glancing back and forth between the book you clutched on tightly and the boxes laying on the ground.

Yet in the quietude, the wind still blows. The leaves still fall, and the earth still spins.

Time resumes, bit by bit; passing for life to move forward—

For you to move on.

Part 13

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer @fanficsrusz @toomanystoriessolittletime @awessomness @meetmeinthematinee @ringa-starr @ficsnroses @iworshipkeanureeves @keandrews @greenmanalishi @feminine-machinegun @thehumanistsdiary @lilyette @rdjloverxxx @flaminasteroid @danceoftwowolves @ravenpuff02 @wheretheriversrunintothesea @breakthenight @allie1804-fan @partypoison00

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves

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moral-turpitudes · 4 years

Text

Tea Party:

A/N: So Tumblr has been a bitch and not showing certain things in the tags so I’m reposting this requested fic lol.

Trigger Warnings: Angst, Some fluff, Slight smut, Swearing, Fighting, Blood, Drinking/Alcohol, etc.

Word Count: 3,425

Characters: Tommy x Reader

Summary: Y/n helps Ada Shelby on a whim, saving her life and earning some praise from the Shelby family, but little did she know she’d fall for one of their most respected members.

Summary of Request: “Reader saving one of the Shelbys from their enemies and taking them home safely and the family being thankful. A few days later the enemy goes after the reader thinking she works for them and they destroy her shop, house, or car. The Shelbys find out about this and offer help, and she becomes closer to the family and everybody really likes her and she starts a relationship with Tommy. I’d like angst, fluff, and smut.”

Requested by: Anon

It was a bleak winter evening the night you met Thomas Shelby. The stars were shining and the moon was illuminating the dark roads of Small Heath, giving you an rare view of the town. You had just finished packing up your small jewelry stand that you had set up near where your families vardo was parked. This was one of your more frequent stops as there were always locals wanting to buy jewelry for their loved ones. In return, this made you a nice familiar face amongst the dreary town.

In the distance, you heard screaming, but it wasn’t one of children playing or couples yelling, it was fearful and full of anguish. Before you knew it you were running towards the sound. Yelling for your mother to keep an eye on your stuff as you dashed off into the unknown. Your heart beat frantically as the shrill screams got closer, causing a shiver down your spine as your eyes adjusted to what lay before you in the dark alley. A woman seemingly around your age was lying there in a pool of blood, a cut running across her arm and a stab wound to her abdomen. You cringed at first, but having seen your fair share of blood due to your family throwing punches and hunting, it made you a bit less squeamish. You carefully crouched down beside her, pulling off your scarf as you gently placed it over her abdomen.

Her eyes were closed and her voice was horse when she spoke.

“Please don’t let me die out here. Please take me back.” She said crying as she finally glanced up at you.

“I-I won’t let you die love you’ll be fine...where do you live? What’s your name?” You asked applying pressure to her wound as she screamed out in pain.

“A-Ada...Ada Shelby...I don’t want to go home. Take me to my brothers.” She said frantically trying to get up.

“Hey hey easy, it’s okay I got you. Where are they aye?” You asked as you draped her arm across your shoulder and helped her walk down the dark glass-like roads.

“The betting shop on the corner. You really don’t know do you?” She asked.

“Know what Ada?” You asked, leading her up the street.

“Usually if I say the last name Shelby people run or they look at me like I killed their whole family. The Shelby’s are part of the Peaky Blinders...does that ring a bell?” She asked wincing, signaling for you to stop for a moment. As you both caught your breath, you shook your head no.

“I don’t know how you couldn’t tell but I’m not like most people. I’m not from here. I travel with my family and I come here often to find work and to sell jewelry, but other than that? I’m on the road.” You said looking at your flat shoes, nothing compared to miss Ada’s fancy heels.

“I see...what’s your name?” She asked smiling slightly.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” You said, grabbing her arm and helping her walk towards the brick building up ahead.

You led her through the doors, the scent of whiskey and cigarettes filling the dimly lit lobby.

“Polly! Tommy! All of you bastards help me please!” She said yelling as the scarf grew more saturated with blood in the short time you walked her in. She was paling and you sat her up in a nearby chair as you heard everyone running over.

“My god what happened! Arthur, John, get the first aid kit now!” She yelled as Tommy came over, a worried look on his usually stoic face. You grabbed your coat, applying pressure as Ada winced until they got back with the supplies.

“I was walking here from my apartment. Tommy, I think one of Changretta’s men got me. They had those awful tattoos on their necks. They fucking cut me and stabbed me. I can’t die not like this.” She said putting a hand on her pale forehead.

Tommy looked at her concerned, his eyes going down to you as you sat by her holding her other hand.

“Who are you?” He asked angrily.

“Y/N Y/L/N...I heard her when I was packing my jewelry stand up. I ran over to help her. I didn’t see where the men went though.” You said looking him in the eyes before helping Polly prep some gauze. You took your glove off and urged her to open her mouth.

“You’ll want to bite down on something. This is going to hurt.” You said before pouring some of the whiskey on her abdomen while Polly poured some on her arm. Ada screamed through the cloth, earning concerned glances from some of the unrelated workers in the shop. You poured more, making sure to flush out the wound before quickly threading a needle.

“I can stitch if you’d rather not go to a hospital.” You said. Polly eyed you and Ada nodded as you began. Tommy watched as you worked, neatly stitching the small puncture wound closed.

Polly gently wrapped her arm with gauze and you helped Ada up to wrap some around her waist. After that, she gave you a hug and you went to grab your coat.

“No dear, here I’ll wash these, it’s the least we can do. Thank you for saving our Ada, Y/N.” Polly said smiling.

“Of course...I couldn’t let something happen knowing I was that close.” You said, messing nervously with the gold necklaces draped around your neck.

“So you’re travelling with the other gypsies up the road aye?” Polly asked.

“Yeah. my family likes stopping here, good business since it’s busy usually.” You said.

“Oh I’m very familiar. I grew up traveling. I think I’ve seen you before...you sell the beautiful necklaces.” She said smiling, putting your nerves at ease.

“Yeah...” You said.

“C’mon we have to find them. John you get the guns, Arthur you get the ammo.” Tommy said lowly walking by you.

“Are you going after them?” You asked him. He stopped in his tracks as his eyes pierced yours. He nodded and lit a cigarette staring at you as he waited for his brothers.

“You going to kill them?” you asked.

He smirked and looked over at Ada and Polly and then back at you.

“No I’m just goin’ to see if they want to have a tea party.” He said dryly joking.

You nodded, knowing the real answer. To be honest you’d do the same if someone came after your family.

They soon left, leaving you with Polly and a groaning Ada.

“You’ve not heard of the blinders?” Polly asked gathering your blood soaked clothing. You shook your head, yet preparing yourself for her explanation of the family business.

Later that night, you were taken back to where you family was parked by one of the Shelby’s drivers. Thanking him as you were helped out of the fancy black car. Your family came out of the two vardos and ran towards you enveloping your frame in a hug and asking where you had run off to. You hesitantly told them, knowing they were more likely to know who your new acquaintances are.

Your father tensed up and so did your mother, but you reassured them and could tell they were still happy you stopped to help someone.

The next few days passed and you spent them selling various necklaces and then deciding to go into town with your parents. You all bought some supplies and various things, and then returned a few hours later. While unpacking your latest haul, you heard an oddly familiar voice outside. Carefully stepping out, you saw Ada and Tommy talking with your parents. They seemed at ease as you heard Tommy speaking with your father. As you walked up you saw Ada smile and go in for a hug. You embraced her gently to avoid ripping her stitches and then stepped back.

“Hello Y/N. We wanted to thank you.” He said smiling slightly, handing you your jacket and scarf from the previous night, no sign of blood on them. They were soft and smelled rather floral.

“Oh thank you. And it was no problem really Mr. Shelby.” You said, catching him looking at you as you glanced up from the coat in your arms.

“Call me Tommy.” He said, another small smile playing at his lips.

Your parents excused themselves knowing this was more your business than theirs, and you hugged Ada once more before waving them off.

A thought crossed your mind though, making you smirk.

“Hey Tommy!” You asked, causing him to stop with Ada, the two of them looking at you.

“How was the tea party?” You asked smirking.

“Great...a little bloody though.” He said smirking back.

You nodded and waved them off, putting on your coat and placing your scarf in one of your pockets. When you tried to pull your hand out, your fingers brushed against a piece of paper. You gently pulled it out, and opened it so you could read what it said.

“Y/N Y/L/N,

I apologize for being so frank last night. Per my aunt Polly’s request...as well as all of my sibling’s, I have written this as a thank you for saving my sister. She has been talking non-stop about the events that transpired and about you. Something about how we should meet more often and that you seem like a good fit for me? I can’t say no to her though, since she practically begged me to write this.

Therefore, since we didn’t meet in normal circumstances and since I can’t help but to agree, I’d love to ask you out. I’ll be at the shop tomorrow evening at 6. If you’re interested, I’d love for you to come by. I look forward to getting to know you and discussing the “tea party.”

~ T. S.”

You smiled at the small letter and laughing at the assumed inside joke between you two. You’d barely met the man, but if his family felt this strongly, you figured it couldn’t hurt. You’d been single for a long while, the constant travel putting a strain on any relationship you attempted to have in the past.

The next day you spent the day rummaging through your various dresses, picking out a lacey white one. You slipped it on and checked your makeup in the small mirror in your vardo before heading out, wrapping your coat around your shoulders. As you made your way through the streets you eventually got to the shop and walked in nervously. It was a drastically different atmosphere compared to the other night, men were roaming about yelling out various numbers and the other women among them were typing and making calls.

You saw Polly in the distance and smiled when she saw you come in. She quickly walked over, giving you a hug.

“What are you doing here dear? Is everything alright?” She asked.

You smirked. “I’m um, here to see Tommy. I got a letter?” You said, holding it in your hand.

“Ah that. I’m glad he got to writing it. I’ll show you to his office.” She said, taking your hand.

She knocked and he answered, letting her in with you following behind.

“I have a visitor Tommy. Be good. She said nodding towards him and leaving.

Tommy smiled and stood up, eyeing you as you walked towards his desk.

“I see you got the letter...would you like a drink? I have whiskey and.....whiskey.” He said, walking over to his stash of the brown liquid and crystal glasses.

“That’s a hard one...I’m going to have to go with the whiskey.” You said smirking.

A minute later you were holding a cold glass, sipping on it as you sat in one of Tommy’s leather chairs.

“So about the tea party...I’m assuming my aunt told you about the peaky business right?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You said, fiddling with your necklace.

“Does that make you scared?” He asked. You thought for a moment, but you decided to take another chance.

“Not really. I’m here aren’t I?” You said.

He laughed lightly and took a drink, sitting down beside you.

“You said you agreed to their request of meeting me...is that true?” You asked. Tommy got up after a moment and put his hand out for you to grab.

“If it weren’t, we wouldn’t be leaving.” He said. You took his hand and laughed as he pulled you through the lobby and out the doors of the shop.

“Where the hell are we going?” You asked seeing the sun was setting over the town.

“The Garrison. I figured that it’d be more of a date if I took ya somewhere.” He said ushering you inside the pub. The smell of smoke and various alcohols filled your nostrils as you took your coat off and placed it with Tommy’s.

As you all talked the night away, you grew more drowsy and he walked you back towards your vardo. But in shock, you stood there looking at the sight before you. The wooden planks holding up the intricate structure were torn off, and the inside was destroyed. You ran over to your parents and saw them picking up pieces of clothing and random trinkets the assumed robbers left behind. When you walked back and checked your living space you saw a black cross-like design had been painted on your door.

You looked at Tommy with hot, anger filled tears in your eyes.

“Who did this? Who fucked with my family aye?” You said walking up to him and shoving him in the shoulder. He barely moved as a an angry look overcame his features as well. You stormed off and rummaged for a handgun you had in your purse, never feeling the need to use it until now.

“You know who did this don’t you. Don’t fucking lie to me Tom.” You said cocking the gun and checking the bullets. He watched you as you angrily paced, and walked over, gently placing his hand over the barrel of the gun.

“I do know. It’s the same gang that attacked Ada. We...unfortunately have a vendetta with them. But going out there and shooting random men isn’t going to stop this.” He said looking at you. You were shaking slightly at the sudden rush of emotions as the alcohol still burned through your system.

“They took almost everything from us. Where will we go? Where the hell will we live? I though you took care of them last time!” You yelled, easing the handgun down and shoving it back into your purse.

“I have a spare property down the road, you all can stay there. Don’t worry Y/N I’ll make sure they won’t live to see tomorrow.” He said before you threw him into a hug. You cried knowing your family was safe, but also at the thought of losing all you’ve worked for. Your life was in that small space and it was all gone or severely broken, and your heart was too.

“C’mon, I’ll send some men to come help them. I’ll take you to the shop, and you’ll stay there until I get back ok?” He said. You nodded and followed him to the shop, this time in a much more sullen tone.

He immediately called everyone into the meeting room and he let you sit by Polly as he spoke. You quietly told her what happened and she sighed. The rest of them you had assumed liked you after saving their sisters life and all, and so they all got ready, cocking their guns and putting on their razor caps. Ada came over to you with tears in her eyes, taking your hands in hers.

“Oh Y/N I’m so sorry to have dragged you into this.” She said. You smiled and reassured her she wasn’t at fault. As the night drug on, you discussed your new living situation and were alerted by some of Tommys men that your parents were safe. You cried with relief, sitting in the meeting room shakily. Polly came in a moment later, with some tea, knowing you needed something to calm your nerves.

“Thanks.” You said, feeling the hot steam against your lips.

“No problem. Don’t worry about him, he’ll be back. He always is.” She said staring out at the night sky through the dusty window.

You nodded, sitting there as you let your mind wander. You looked up after a long while, your eyes growing heavy, and decided to concentrate on the clock. It was almost midnight.

Before your mind could race to where your new love interest could be, he thankfully came through the doors with his brothers, as they hollered and sat their weapons down.

You stood up slowly, as you saw Tommy walk towards you. He had a cut on his forehead and a slightly busted lip.

He said nothing as he came to you, the adrenaline from the night coursing through him as he embraced you, catching you by surprise. He then kissed you, his lip burning slightly as he kissed you, but nevertheless he continued. When he stopped, you stood there gazing into his eyes.

“They’re gone. You don’t have to worry now.” He said. You nodded and hugged him again, feeling him planting a kiss on the top of your head.

“Well are you going to invite her over or are you going to fuck in the lobby?” Arthur shouted as John and the others laughed. Tommy turned around slightly and gave him a look and then turned back to you.

“Would you like to go now?” He asked.

Your cheeks heated up at his brothers remarks, but you decided to take him up on the offer. “Yeah, as a matter of fact I do.” You said, and before you knew it you where being led out to his car and driven to his house, nervously awaiting what was to come. As soon as you got to his estate, he led you through on a tour. Your eyes widened at the grandiosity of the place. You had rarely seen a place like this, only imagining them in fairytales. You looked around as he led you through, stopping lastly at the main bedroom which you assumed was his.

You had just enough time to revel at the room before he kissed you again, making you giggle slightly as he snaked his arms around your waist and nipped at your neck. As he worked his way down, he undid your dress, letting it slip down your frame as he went to lie back on the bed. You hesitantly undid his shirt and pants, slipping them off as he watched you.

“Are you sure you want to?” He asked.

“Never been so sure in my life...” You said before straddling his waist. He smirked, and kissed you as you continued your movements making him fall for you more with each second that passed.

After your night together, you decided a couple of days later on another date, more-so like a re-do since you both were more drawn to each other. As time went on, you became closer with his family, while yours acclimated to their new temporary surroundings. And over the upcoming weeks you managed to land a job with them, helping you to earn some money and helping your parents to get a new vardo to get them back on their feet. After a couple of months you had been able to attend more of the family meetings, after deciding to stay at Tommy’s place instead of travelling. And after some odd weeks later, a new gang problem arose, giving you that same fearful feeling that you had some many months ago. Before heading out, tommy cocked his gun and checked the bullets making sure each one was accounted for, and walked past you with his brothers towards the door.

“Hey you forgot something...” You said smirking as he smiled and walked towards you kissing you.

“No more tea parties alright? You be careful okay?” You said. He chuckled and winked at you before heading out the door, going out to deal with death and destruction once again. As much as you hated him being gone, you loved when he came back, and his family did too of course, especially since you’ve made him a bit nicer. As you walked back to your desk and picked up where you left of with your work, you smiled, knowing you made the right choice and took the right chances.

Tag List:

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