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peakyltd · 10 months

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New Endings - Part 2

Part 2 | Tommy x Reader |

A/N: Thank you so much for the love on part 1! I decided to turn this into a little series. So I think at least 2 to 3 chapters will follow after this one. I hope you’ll like it!

Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence/abuse, injuries (both not inflicted by Tommy), anxiety, panic

Word count: 4.8k

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

"I heard you met with (Y/N).” Polly confidently strided into Tommy’s office, closing the door behind her. Tommy looked up at her before redirecting his attention to the papers in front of him, a soft sigh leaving his mouth, slightly annoyed by Polly’s sudden presence. “Good morning Pol, I didn’t hear you knock.”

Polly rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair in front of his desk, her brown eyes surveying her nephew. “How was she?” Tommy scribbled down a few notes. “She was well.”

“Do you think it was a good idea?” She questioned as she lit a cigarette. “I mean, she’s engaged after all.”

“It was.” Tommy’s face remained emotionless as he looked up at his aunt. Polly took a drag of her cigarette. “Oh Thomas, please.” She blew the smoke out the side of her mouth. “It was for you, yeah. I don’t think it was for her. Didn’t you damage her enough?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched, her words had more impact on him than he realized. “If she didn’t want to come, she wouldn’t be there.” He simply stated while putting his fountain pen down on his desk.

“Right and what’s exactly the reason that you send two of our men to watch her husband? You’re doing the exact same thing as years ago.” Polly argued, remembering the countless arguments between them in the past.

Tommy took a sip of his whiskey before he leaned back in his chair. “Because I want to know who he is.” A mocking laugh left Polly’s lips. “ It’s been years, Tommy. Let her go, for god’s sake.”

“He’s hurting her, Pol. You should’ve seen her, you wouldn’t recognize her by the way she acted.” Tommy tried to explain, recalling her anxious behavior and the way she flinched at his movements. Polly held his gaze before she spoke up. “I hope you’re not saying this to have a reason to get him out of her life.”

“Pol I-” He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a second. “No. If she was happy I would’ve let her go. But she’s not.” She took another drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. “And what do you have so far?”

Tommy opened the drawer from his desk and took out a paper, attached was a picture of (Y/N)’s fiancé. As he handed it to Polly, he started to answer her question.

“David Wright, 35. Grew up in London. Has an exporting license in car parts as well and apparently has some history with different kinds of criminality.” He steepled his fingers. “Last two things could be the reason why they’re here.”

Polly read the paper thoroughly while finishing her cigarette. “She has a type.” She concluded as she put the paper back on his desk. “And all this information is correct?”

“There are some things that didn’t add up.” Tommy commented as he put the document back in his drawer. “I’ll find out what it is.”

“And what about (Y/N)?” Polly asked him, knowing her nephew’s answer. “She needs to get out of there.” Tommy answered while looking at his aunt, expecting contradiction.

“And what if she doesn’t want your help?” She raised her eyebrows. “Then I’ll have to accept it.” He sighed as he took another sip of his whiskey. Those words sounded so easy but Polly knew that someone had to move heaven and earth for him to simply let it go.

The feeling of exhaustion took over him once he arrived home. He was welcomed by Frances who kindly took his jacket and informed him that Charlie had been well today and had spend his day at John’s house to play with his cousins, although she heard from the nanny that he had asked for his dad multiple times.

Guilt accompanied exhaustion as he thought of many broken promises and the little time he spent with his son. He checked his pocket watch but it was late, Charlie was already sleeping. “Can you tell him that I’ll be home early tomorrow so we can see the horses?”

Frances nodded. “Of course Mr. Shelby.” Tommy thanked her and made his way to his office. “Oh Mr. Shelby, there was an invitation delivered for you this afternoon.” She told him as she handed him the envelope. “Thank you, Frances.”

He entered his office and closed the door behind him, putting the invitation on the side table close to the sofa. He took off his suit jacket and vest before putting a few more woodblocks in the fireplace. While he poured himself a whiskey, a soft knock was heard on the door. “Yes.”

The door opened as Frances set a few steps into his office. “I’m sorry for bothering you Mr. Shelby but I was wondering if I could get you dinner?” Tommy shook his head. “No.” He spoke while making his way to his desk.

Frances nodded, hesitantly turning to leave the room. “You’re done for today Frances, take some time off.” Tommy called out to her as he sat down in his chair. “Yes, Mr. Shelby. Thank you.”

As soon as the door closed, he leaned his head back and took a deep breath. He wouldn’t mind catching up on some sleep but he had to finish the last documents for one of the factories.

The warmth of the fire and the whiskeys he already had during the day made him feel drowsy. He was fighting against the weariness until his eyelids became too heavy and he doze off into a slumber.

Tommy felt a faint touch on his arm, not sure if it was actually there or if he was dreaming. In the distance he could hear a voice but it was too soft to recognize it. The touch on his arm turned into a firm one until he became aware that someone was squeezing his arm. He abruptly woke up from his slumber, startled by the sudden touch.

He quickly sat up, his heart racing and his breath fast. Ready to fight.

Only to find Charlie next to his chair. The boy looked at him with big eyes, frightened by his dad’s reaction as he held his plush horse tighter to his body.

“Charlie...” Tommy breathed out while he tried to calm himself. “Sorry, daddy.” Charlie apologized as he watched Tommy, his dad’s unexpected reaction was new to him. “No.. No it’s okay.” He turned his chair to face the little boy. “Why are you awake?” He asked while he looked for his pocket watch.

“I can’t sleep.” Charlie explained softly. “You...” Tommy trailed off. “What time is it.” He mumbled to himself as patted his trouser pockets, wondering if he left the watch there. When he didn’t feel anything familiar, he looked around the office. His eyes fell on his vest, which he hung on the back of the sofa. He got up as he focused his attention back to Charlie. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I had a bad dream.” The little boy confessed as he looked up at Tommy, hoping to find some kind of affection from his father. “You did? What happened?” Tommy asked him as he lift the boy with ease, Charlie’s arms found their way around Tommy’s neck as he hugged him tightly. “A monster ran after me, trough the house.” Charlie mumbled as Tommy rubbed his back gently.

“Monsters don’t exist Charlie. Everything is alright.” He explained while he sat down on the sofa, his arms protectively around his son. “He had eaten you.” The boy added as he got comfortable in his father’s lap. “But I’m still here, right?”

“Yes.” Charlie nodded. “Sometimes, Charlie, your brain makes up weird and scary things but it’s not real.” Tommy explained further to him. “They’re not under my bed?” He wondered, not believing his father’s words right away. “They’re not.”

“Will you look before I go to sleep?” He looked up at Tommy, who nodded in response. “I will and I will make sure you sleep well, yeah?” Charlie nodded, finally able to relax in his dad’s arms.

Tommy listened to the crackling fire, recovering from the sudden interruption of his slumber. The shock that went trough his body had him still shaken up.

“Did you have a bad dream too?” His son’s voice got him out of his thoughts. Tommy took a deep breath, trying to make it as easy as possible for both of them. “Yes.” The boy became curious by his answer. “Did you dream about a monster too?”

“Sort of, yeah.” Tommy answered. “Your eyes were weird when you woke up.” Charlie stated as he earned a soft chuckle from Tommy. “They were?” Trying to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. "Yes. I thought you didn’t see me.”

“I think I was surprised by your sudden visit.”

Charlie leaned his head against Tommy’s chest, accepting his dad’s answers. Tommy stroked his hair gently as he took the pocket watch out of his vest. 3:30 AM. He had been sleeping for hours and he hadn’t even touched the documents.

“Daddy?” Charlie mumbled softly. “Hm?” Tommy hummed, wondering what the following question would be. “Who is (Y/N)?”

Tommy frowned as he looked down at his son. “Where did you get that name from?” The little boy looked up at him. “Uncle John said you were still heels... something with heels for (Y/N). He said that to uncle Arthur today.”

Tommy sighed, mentally cursing John. It was a miracle how his brother always seemed to know the exact ways to get under his skin. “Uncle John talks too much. You shouldn’t believe everything he says.”

“But he also tells a lot of funny jokes.” Charlie countered, loving the jokes his uncle told him. “Everything he tells is a joke.” Tommy answered as he got up while holding Charlie. “Now let’s get you to bed, eh? It’s too late for you to be awake.” He explained as they exited the office and made their way upstairs.

“Are you heels for (Y/N)?” The little boy in his arms asked curiously. “That’s enough questions for tonight, don’t you think?” Tommy sighed as they entered Charlie’s bedroom.

It had been days since he had seen her and she walked out of his life once again. He had tried to call and thought about sending a letter to her house but knew that she would be in trouble if David would find it before she did. Besides that she probably had already traveled back home.

There was no time to think about her now as another meeting was scheduled. He parked his car in front of the Midland hotel and got out. Rain poured down on him as if the clouds knew how he felt deep inside. He walked up the stairs, trying to shift his mind to the plans he was ready to discuss.

Before he was able to reach the door, a woman came out of the building. Her shoulders were slumped, eyes wide and frantically searching for any kind of safety. Dark circles were visible under her eyes, despite the attempt to cover them up with make up.

"(Y/N)." Tommy stopped her, almost taken back by the state she was in. Her eyes fell on his frame, fueling her anxiety even more. "No. I-I have to go Tommy, please." She almost begged him as she moved away from him.

He looked around to see if someone was coming after her. “Where are you going?” He calmly asked, hoping that she wouldn’t push him away. “Home.” Her attention shifted to the door as it opened, gulping harshly.

A man came out of the building and made his way down the stairs. She let out a sigh as she realized it was not the person she had expected.

The rain still poured down from the sky, soaking both (Y/N) and Tommy. The pattering sound of the droplets hitting the streets surrounded them. He carefully stepped closer to her and put his hand gently on her arm, assuring her that he meant well. As he looked at her, he noticed the bruises in her neck. “Is he inside?”

She stepped away from him once again, knowing that if David would see them together, hell would break loose. "Yes.” Her eyes kept scanning the street, hoping to find something or someone who could help her. “But don't you dare to do anything to him." She warned as she focused her eyes back on Tommy, knowing his reputation very well.

His heart hurt at the sight in front of him, at what she had become. "Come." He nodded his head in the direction of his car. "No." She gave him a dismissive wave of her hands. "I’ll give you a way out."

Her coat became heavy from the rain and her hands started trembling. She wasn't sure if it was from the cold water or the fear of the consequences her actions would bring her. Tommy reached out for her hand, showing her that he was genuine.

David would be furious, she didn’t want to know what would follow for her if she got into accepted Tommy’s offer but right now he was the only one that could actually offer a way out, or at least he said so. Regardless of his apologies a few nights ago at The Garrison, she still didn’t know what to think of him.

Her wettened hair stuck to her face and the rain dripped from her chin. Her eyes were focused on the wet concrete stairs as her thoughts worked overtime. Tommy kept an eye on the door, in case her fiancé decided to look for her. (Y/N) shifted on her feet as she looked up, her gaze finding his.

"Where?" She asked him, still doubting on what to do. "Somewhere safe."

She looked around to see if anyone was listening before turning back to Tommy. "Watery Lane?" She asked him carefully. "I know he won't find me there."

"I’ll drive you there." He reached out for her hand again, to help her down the stairs. Nodding her head, she did not dare to take his hand. With one last glance to the door behind her, she walked down the stairs to his car. Tommy followed, opening the door for her so she could get in before getting in himself.

The car ride was silent. (Y/N) listened to the gentle taps of the water hitting the glass. She watched the rain drops escaping each other as they ran down the window, feeling like she was doing the same thing.

As they entered Small Heath, she noticed the familiar buildings and not long after, the car stopped in front of the house that she knew too well. When they both set foot into her new residence and the door was safely locked, she let out a sigh of relief. One she didn't know she was holding back.

"Let me get your coat." Tommy offered while he gently slipped it off her shoulders, getting a better look at her neck and arms. More bruises made themselves present. She turned around and caught him looking at the marks. Embarrassed by his gaze, she quickly pulled the sleeves from her dress down to her wrists.

His eyes met her guilty looking ones. "What did he do to you?" He asked her as he hung her coat on the back of a chair and moved it closer to the fireplace, in hopes that the warmth would let it dry quicker. She looked down at the floor, preferring to avoid his question. "He wasn't too happy that I left the house."

"The night we met?" He questioned her, his eyes scanning her body. He got a nod in response. "Did he find out that you were with me?" Tommy wondered as he took off his own coat and cap who were both soaked as well. His dark hair stuck to his forehead and his suit jacket was slightly damp. "I don't know."

"You don't know or yes?" He asked, turning around to face her again. "Yes." She quietly conceded, the cold and nerves made her body tremble. Tommy looked at her, trying to find the right words.

"Come." He spoke up. "Lets get you warmed up at the fireplace, eh?" He gently placed his hand on her lower back and directed her to the sofa. (Y/N) sat down, the heat of the fire gave her a pleasant feeling. Tommy handed her a blanket which she gladly accepted.

“I’ll see if Ada left a spare dress here.” Tommy told her, about to make his way upstairs. “You don’t have to, mine will dry. It’s not as soaked as my coat.” She explained as she wrapped the blanket around her body, feeling like she was already bothering him enough.

“You’ll get sick.” He declared while he turned back to her. “No, it’s okay.” She leaned her back against the sofa. The blanket captured her body in a warm embrace, stopping the warmth from escaping and helping her body to relax.

Tommy went to the small kitchen and got a bottle of whiskey out of one of the cupboards. He filled two glasses and put one in front of her on the sidetable. “This’ll warm you up.”

He sat down in the armchair as he saw her puzzled look. “I don’t have gin or tonic here.” She shook her head. “Oh no, don’t worry. I just- I-.” She didn’t dare to tell him she wasn’t a fan of whiskey, afraid that she came across as ungrateful.

“Would you like something else?” Tommy questioned after taking a sip of his whiskey. “No really, it’s okay.” She assured him but he had gotten up already. “Tea?”

(Y/N) fumbled with her dress, feeling like a burden for such a small thing. "If it's no bother." She watched him walk to the kitchen again, his low voice reaching her ears. “It’s not.”

While they both waited for the tea to finish, (Y/N) took the time to look around. Not much had changed since the last time she was here, except for a few added photo frames and some new decorations here and there. It still had the same cosy feeling, a place that earned the title home.

Lost in thoughts about the past she didn’t notice Tommy putting the cup of tea in front of her until he spoke up. “It’s not as gold as The Garrison, eh?” She turned to face him. “Oh.. No it’s not.” She smiled slightly, taking the cup from the table. “Thank you.”

“It’s still hot.” He warned before sitting back down in the chair. (Y/N) nodded in response. He eyed her from the spot he was sitting in, wondering what was going on in her mind. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He questioned as he watched her eyes focusing on the cup in her hands.

“Tell you what?” She mumbled while she tried to avoid his eyes. “That he hits you.” He recalled the events of the night in the pub.

“He doesn’t necessarily hit me.” She knew there was no point in denying after he had seen her bruises but it was easier to deny than to acknowledge it. Tommy lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Hurt, then.”

“Because I hadn’t seen you in years. I couldn’t just suddenly tell you everything that’s going in my life after such a long period of time.” Her eyes finally met his, unsure of what to do. Tommy took a sip of his whiskey. “For how long?”

She shrugged, not having a clear moment in time when David had started to treat her badly. “He treated me well when we got together but it got worse gradually.” She looked down at her cup again. “I think it started after a year and a half.”

Tommy nodded, he turned his attention to the fire and watched the flames dance in front of him. He couldn’t believe she had been going trough this for years already.

The sudden silence made her feel uncomfortable, not knowing how to handle Tommy’s reaction. Or the lack of it. “I often think that it’s because he’s stressed out from work.”

He turned his head to look at her again, his intoxicating blue eyes boring into hers. “With all due respect (Y/N) but no good man would hurt a woman. No matter the circumstances.” Her eyes wandered back to her cup of tea. “Maybe.”

He noticed how she still tried to come up with any kind of excuse for her fiancé’s abuse. Even after many years of enduring the mistreatment. It was something he couldn’t comprehend. He sighed softly. “What kind of work does he do?”

“He has an export license for car parts in Europe.” (Y/N) answered before she took a sip of her tea. The warm liquid warmed her body and made her feel at ease for a bit. “And besides that?”

“I-I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me.” She stammered, not wanting to elaborate on the that topic. Besides, she realized she was talking to Tommy. “I guess you already know?”

“I found some things, yes. Didn’t know London was the place you would call home.” He teased as he looked at her. His facial expression neutral as usual but still trying to lighten up her mood, even it was just for a moment. Her lips turned into a small smile and he could swear he saw a little glint in her eyes.

“I didn’t know either.” She confessed as she watched the corner of his lips turn up in the slightest bit.

The mentioning of the place she had called home for a few years now made her think of the moment she entered Birmingham again, a week ago. She knew there was a possibility that she would run in one of the Shelby’s but she hadn’t expect that it would actually happen. And now she was sitting here, in a familiar place, across from someone she swore she never wanted see again.

She let the events of the day replay trough her head once again. The screaming of David, the sudden shift of behavior in the lobby of the hotel and the way he threatened her when nobody was looking. She was able to escape him while he was busy with playing the nice guy to one of his business partners, it felt like her prayers had been answered.

With no plan she just ran out, hoping to come up with something while fleeing to wherever. Until she bumped into Tommy, who simply offered her a way out. But was it really that simple? She didn’t want to drag Tommy with her into her problems, he had enough himself.

She couldn’t burden him with that, being very aware what David could be capable of. On the other hand, she knew she was safe as long as she stayed with Tommy and the area’s where he had the upper hand. But she knew this wouldn’t end well and she didn’t want to be instigator of that.

She moved to the edge of the sofa and put her cup back on the small table. “I think this is a bad idea.” She stated, her hands trembled slightly from the nerves that were playing up again. Tommy looked at her and noticed her face had turned pale. “What is?”

“This. I have to go back home.” The calmth she had felt minutes ago, turned in to panic. “Why the sudden change?” Tommy put his glass down while keeping an eye on her. “David is up to no good and I don’t want to drag you into this.” (Y/N) got up and hung her blanket over the back of the couch.

“I think I’ve had worse than David.” His eyes followed her movements. “You don’t know him, Tommy.” Tears were brimming in her eyes due to the frustration and fear that was building up inside her. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not forcing you to stay, if you want to go, then go.” He got up and moved over to her. “But I promised you a way out and I keep that promise.” He gently grabbed her hand, his thumb moving over the back.

She looked up at him and gulped. It felt so good and familiar as he held her hand, it made her think of the past. A past without worries. She knew what he said was genuine but at the same time it was suffocating her.

Her widened eyes were staring into Tommy’s as a few tears slid down her cheeks. “I can’t.” She whispered as she felt the gentle grip on her hand loosen. Very aware of what his next move could be, she stepped back, ready to take a blow.

It didn’t come.

“Come here.” His voice was soft as he carefully pulled her into a hug. One she had needed for such a long time. Her arms wrapped around his waist, fingers gripping onto his suit jacket. Her head leaned against his chest while silent tears fell down her cheeks. His hand rubbed softly over her back.

“Why are you doing this?” She whispered trough her quiet sobs. His other hand gently stroked her hair. “You’d do the same for me.”

Silence fell over them as they held each other. She wanted to let go but she couldn’t, his warm embrace made her feel safe. The safest she had been for a long time. She felt herself calming down as she listened to the beating of his heart and his peaceful breathing.

He felt her arms leaving his waist, knowing it was his cue to let go of her. “I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was soft. The make up that had tried to cover up her tiredness had faded due to the rain and her salty tears.

“Any decision I’ll make will be a bad one.” She took a shakily breath as more tears threatened to fall. “I don’t even know where to sleep.”

Tommy moved over to the couch and took the blanket she had placed on the back before. “You can stay here. Use my old bedroom.” (Y/N) watched him as she shook her head slightly. “But what about-”

“Everyone is out. We’re only using the kitchen when we’re at the betting shop.” He interrupted her while he walked back to her, handing her the blanket. “Finish your tea first, yeah?”

She took the blanket without thinking, nodding her head. She felt so exhausted and her racing mind wasn’t helping her. She wiped the tears from her cheeks as she decided to sit back down on the sofa. Tommy sat in the same chair across from her, refilling his glass with the amber colored liquid.

“If I may be so bold (Y/N)...” Tommy leaned back as he took a cigarette from his pocket, rubbing it between his lips before lightning it. He took a drag, blowing out the smoke after. “I know that you’ve made a decision already.”

(Y/N) looked at him. “What do you mean?” She observed Tommy who took a sip of his drink. “You made a decision when you left the hotel. The moment you walked out of the door.”

She knew he was right. Lost for words or any rebuttal, she just took her cup from the table and drank her tea quietly.

“You need some rest and the only place you can get that right now, is here. Think about it.” He took another sip of his whiskey before standing up and making his way to the kitchen. “I’ll check if you’ll have everything you need.” Tommy calmly explained before he climbed the steps to the first floor.

(Y/N) finished her tea. Surrendering herself to the decision she had made, still not knowing if she did the right thing. She let her head rest against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes, feeling drained from today and every other day.

Not much later footsteps could be heard on the wooden stairs again as Tommy made his way back down. (Y/N) sat up, her body tensed up from the sound. “I left one of Ada’s old dresses on my bed and I’ll make sure to get you dinner.”

She nodded, feeling overwhelmed by everything he did for her. He strolled over to the chair he was previously sitting in, leaning on the back of it.

“Are you going home?” She wondered as Tommy checked his pocket watch. He broke his promise to be home early, to go see the horses with Charlie. He could add it on the list of all the other promises he broke. Once he arrived home, his nanny would’ve probably put him to bed already. A soft sigh fell of his lips. “Yes.”

He stood up straight and looked at her. “There’ll be men watching the house. If anything is wrong-”

“I’ll tell them.” She interrupted him, remembering it all too well. Tommy nodded. “Right.” He took his coat and pulled it over his suit, the fabric was still damp. “I’ll be back in an hour with dinner.” He announced as he walked to the door.

“Tommy?” (Y/N)’s voice made him turn around. “Hm?”

“Thank you.”

#Tommy Shelby one shot #Tommy shelby series #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders one shot #tommy shelby imagine

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captianmikasa · 13 days

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THIS IS THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY WIP, 'GENUINE FATE'. IT INCLUDES TWO SHIPS, EREMIKA & ARUANI. IT HAS 4 POV'S OF EACH OF THE CHARACTERS.

I AM UP TO CHAPTER 9 ON AO3 AND I HOPE YOU CHECK IT OUT <33

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CHAPTER 1— THE WOMAN WHO’S NOT EVELYN

EREN POV:

Today’s the day that I’m going to get married to the love of my life. Getting married this early was something that my parents were really concerned about. I'm 25 years old, and I’m fangirling over a woman.

This day is going to be the most important day in my life, point blank. I was nervous as I walked up to the altar. This is going to be something documented in history. The photographers took their photos of me as I was walking. It really felt unreal, getting married to the love of my life. She was someone who I genuinely really cared for, she really got me caught in a love loop.

Everyone’s eyes were on me. I took my stance as I waited for my soon to be wife to walk down the aisle. My, Evelyn. A large grin came across my face, even just saying her name in my head… My partner since highschool. We even went through college together. If I went back and told myself in highschool that this was happening, I wouldn’t have believed myself.

I waited for about 8 minutes or so, and there was no Evelyn. What’s going on? Is she taking more time to get ready than I initially thought? I know the process for getting ready when you’re a bride is quite a lot. But still, it concerns me. She was supposed to be out here and walking down the aisle 4 minutes ago. I bet she looks beautiful in her dress too, that’s what makes me even more anxious to see her.

After a few more minutes, there was no Evelyn. I became even more confused. What’s going on? She should’ve been out here so much longer ago. So why is she taking so long? What’s really going on?

I became anxious. Why does this happen to me? What the hell is taking her this long to come walk over here. I understand that it’s an important day, because I feel the same way– but still. She’s way off schedule. It’s completely stressing me out.

Evelyn’s father started to walk down the aisle by himself. He kept walking as each footstep got closer to me. He looked me in my eyes and moved his mouth over near my ear and whispered, “Evelyn is gone.”

I froze. I couldn’t process what was going on at the moment. Evelyn’s gone? That’s actually impossible. She was so excited about today. She used to have fantasies of us being together on this special day. I started to stress out as I answered him, “What do you mean, Evelyn’s gone? Where is she?”

Her father let out a quiet sigh, “Last time we saw her was a few minutes ago. She was in the car with a man. I think it’s safe to say that she ran away from the wedding.”

My face went completely pale. It almost felt like I was hyperventilating. Nothing was making any sense at this point. Evelyn being gone… It sounded so fake. But she was with a man in the car? A man? Why doesn’t any of this make sense?!

There was nothing I could do. I could barely even follow along with what he was saying. Was that 8 years down the drain? A tear started to form in my left eye, “Why? Why did she leave me…?”

“I-I–” Her father started to stutter as he was answering me, “I don’t know, son. If I were to guess, it was that she didn’t think she was ready for this committed life.”

I looked down at my shoes, “What do you mean, not ready? We’ve been dating for 8 years straight. We probably should’ve gotten married earlier if anything.” I lifted my head to look at him directly in his face as I continued, “And to put something on top of that, you— you saw her. You saw her in that car with a man and didn’t stop her whatsoever. Mr. Schult, why didn’t you stop her? Your daughter is someone who I consider to be the love of my life. Why would you let her just run off…?”

In the silence of Evelyn’s father, all I could hear was the people sitting down, whispering to one another.

He started to speak, “If she wasn’t ready, she wasn’t ready. I really do appreciate the love that you have for my daughter, but if she has her gut telling her to do something… it usually isn’t wrong. If you really love her, just let her go.”

I practically laughed, let her go? Is he serious…? “Let her go? Do you understand how much money this whole wedding was and how much time the people wasted coming here? Along as the most important thing, my love for her…? Do you really not realize how deeply in love I am with her? You make me sick. I hate you.”

He looked at me in my eyes, “The purchases? The last time I checked, I was the one who paid for all of this because you don’t have any money. Check yourself. And I also guess that you didn’t love my daughter hard enough, ‘cause she didn’t stay.”

I never wanted to punch a man so hard in his face before. I can’t believe anything that’s coming out of his mouth right now. “So is this it?” I questioned him, “Is this really the end between me and your daughter…?”

I saw my mother come up to me in my peripheral vision, “Eren, what’s going on?” She asked me.

I turned to her, “Evelyn is gone. She ran away. This all feels like some sick movie.”

My mothers eyes went wider than mine, “What?! Evelyn’s gone?!” Her voice was loud. I’m sure you could hear her from a mile away.

“Mom!” I started to become stressed out as everyone was whispering even louder and more frequently to one another, “Please, did you have to yell that?”

“I’m sorry Eren, but that’s ridiculous. She ran away? You two have been dating for what– 7 years?” My mom was very concerned.

I corrected her, “8 years. But yes…”

The woman who I made so many memories with. I really considered her to be the only woman that I will spend the rest of my life with. She was everything to me. But now she’s gone. How can that be? What did I do to deserve this…?

I know that my motto is that everything happens for a reason, but what was this reason? Genuinely, what was the reason that they had to take away the girl who I was going to marry.

Tears started to flow from my eyes quickly, as my mother grabbed my face. She talked, “I’m so sorry, Eren.” She turned towards Evelyn’s father, “Do you know where Evelyn went?”

He responded, “She went off with some guy. I saw her run away.”

My mother scoffed, “And you didn’t stop her?”

My mom and Evelyn’s father began to argue, it was loud and intense but I didn’t listen to a lick of it. I could care less about their argument right now. I more so care about the fact that I’m out of a wife. The person that I love with all of my heart up and left me so quickly on our wedding day. How sickening is that? The fact that you left someone who loved you so much, out of the blue like that?

“The weddings called off.” My father stood up and spoke in front of everyone.

“What if she comes back though…?” I fought for the sliver of hope that I had left.

Evelyn’s dad sighed and put his hand on my shoulder, “She’s not coming back, son.”

I briskly removed his hand from off of my shoulder and spoke, “I’m not your son anymore.”

I ran out of the altar and tried to go look for my car. I needed to get out of there as soon as possible. How did I get stood up by Evelyn after all these years? I’m never going to find anyone else that’s better than her. I guess I’ll have to wait for her, yeah? She’s gotta come back one day.

That's when an idea sparked into my head. She could be at our apartment. The thought made me go running to my car and start it in a hurry.

But even if she is in the apartment, what do I say?

As I backed out, I even almost hit another car, but I didn’t care. I need to get back to the apartment. She could be there and this could all be some massive prank. It’s gotta be that, right?

I started to speed down the road, on a 20 minute drive back to the apartment complex. But the speed that I was going at made it so that I could get there in 15.

I parked the car and hurried upstairs in the building. The 6th floor… Is she here? I rushed to the elevator and to our shared unit.

I went in my pocket to grab my keys. I shuffled with the keys until I found the correct one. My arm was shaking completely as I unlocked the apartment. I burst open the door, “EVELYN! Are you here?”

As my eyes landed on the inside of the apartment, nothing. All of her things were gone. She cleared out everything that belonged to her. Even the little things were gone. Everything, even down to the custom made lampshade that she created that was on the lamp in the living space.

I look to my left, the kitchen. There was a folded piece of paper that had my name on it in all uppercase letters. Just the way that Evelyn likes to write my name. She would always say how fun it was to write my name in uppercase, for some reason.

I went up to it and picked it up. It was a letter.

TO MY LOVE, EREN YEAGER:

I’M SORRY, I CAN’T DO IT ANYMORE. I’M NOT READY FOR THIS LIFE, BUT YOU ARE. I WANNA LIVE MY LIFE BEING YOUNG FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE. I’M SORRY IF THIS COUNTS AS ME LEADING YOU ON, AND ESPECIALLY TO OUR WEDDING NIGHT. AND TRUST ME, I REALLY DO LOVE YOU AND MAYBE ONE DAY I’LL COME BACK TO YOU. BUT I CAN’T DO THAT RIGHT NOW. I KNOW THAT I SHOULDN’T HAVE DONE THIS TO YOU, BUT I STILL LOVE YOU EREN. I TOOK ALL MY THINGS OUT OF THE APARTMENT SO YOU WOULDN’T BE REMINDED OF ME ANYMORE. LIVE A LIFE WITHOUT ME, FOR NOW.

I LOVE YOU.

— EVELYN SCHULT

And that’s when the tears started to flow again. She just wants me to forget about her… just like that? That’s not how life works, Evelyn. Just as I found my dream girl. Why didn’t she say anything earlier about this…?

This is more extreme than just leading somebody on. It took her all the way to our wedding day to realize that she doesn’t want to settle down with someone? I want to be mad at her, hate her, curse her– but I can’t. I just love her too much. And as much as I wanna say that if she ever came back, I wouldn’t go back to her. I probably would, no matter who I’m with. Evelyn was just something completely different. She was my everything, and now she’s gone without telling me goodbye in person. A letter isn’t good enough for me. I could cry, again.

I went to go look through her room, and she told the truth. Everything of hers was gone. It was a plain white bed sheet, white walls, plain everything– just like how it was when we first moved here together when we were 19.

The room still smells like her perfume though. The smell of the perfume makes me think of her voice. A voice that I never want to forget.

I sit in my own thoughts for an elongated period of time. I can’t believe that she really left me. I never would have imagined this day would come. The day that I proposed to her and she said yes, was the day that I was sure we would be together forever. Guaranteed. But I guess I was wrong. I hope this was all a mistake from her side, and she comes back to me in a month or two.

No matter how long she leaves me by myself, I will always choose her. No matter who I’m with, no matter whatever situation it is.

Evelyn, please come back for me.

_______________________________________

5 MONTHS LATER:

And today finally lands on a Friday. I can finally relax for a few days before I get back to the work schedule. 5 months since Evelyn left and I’m still not really over it, at all. I thought this breakup stuff goes away easily. I’ve heard plenty of stories where people said, the longer the relationship, the easier it actually is to get over them. But those people couldn’t be more wrong. Each time I walk around the apartment, all I can think of is her. Where her favorite spots to relax were, where she used to cook and everything.

Her room was still untouched from the last time that I went in there. A plain, blank, white room.- There's nothing specific that’s in it. It’s completely empty, with only a bed and a dresser.

I took off my shoes and went to go flop myself down on the couch. As soon as my body landed on the couch, there was a loud knocking sound that came from my door. A groan started to release from my mouth as I lifted up my head, looking at the door. It felt so far away even though it’s right there.

I got up, walking limply to the door. Who could it be? I asked myself before peeking through the peephole. I sighed at the sight of who it was. But I had to open it. He’s probably my closest friend after all…

I slowly opened the door. It released a creaking noise as I spoke, “Hi, Jean.”

“Hey Eren!” He invited himself inside. He opened the door and brushed past me, straight to the couch. When he sat down, he continued speaking, “I came over to check on you. It’s been 5 months… How is everything going over here? Or mostly, in your heart.” He said the line cornily, as he was pointing to where my heart was located in my chest.

I still walked limply over to the couch to which he was also sitting down on. I spoke, “I think I’m doing fine.” A complete lie rolled off of my tongue. I’m not fine, and I’m sure he knew it.

He took a pause, “You’re fine?” He started to look around the open themed apartment. His nose started to flare as well, showing that he’s smelling something. Jean continued, “You’re not fine at all. Have you been spraying Evelyn’s perfume around this place? Don’t tell me that you literally went out of your way to go buy her exact $200 perfume to spray it around your unit.”

I was stunned by Jean’s quick finding. I sighed and corrected him, “$175.”

He rolled his eyes at me, “Like that makes it barely even better. What’s even worse is that you still have the room arranged the way that Evelyn likes it. You re-bought some of the things that she would like.” He stood up and went over to the bookcase, “Like this plant. Evelyn’s favorite, right? You told me that you used to hate this plant. You need to get out of this apartment. Rent a new one or get a house. It’s sickening.”

After 30 seconds of me and Jean awkwardly staring at one another, I had the confidence to speak, “Okay, so what if I did all those things? I’m just grieving and miss her, loads.”

“You spent $175 on her perfume while she’s probably getting dicked down by 175 other guys. Pick a struggle.”

Jean's quick comeback left me completely stunned in silence. Is that really true? I looked down at my thumbs, twiddling, “Jean, do you think that she’s actually doing that right now?”

He let out a quick sigh of relief, “Yes! God, yes. She said she wanted to stay younger for longer. That’s code for wanting to have sex with more guys before she settles down. And you’re sitting in your apartment, going through the 5 stages of grief.”

Is that really code for what she was talking about? Did she just put it in nicer words so that I don’t feel too bad…? Was I lied to?

Jean came up to me in my face, “Think about it Eren! You guys started dating back in senior year. She didn’t get to experience her traditional college years because you guys were a thing. So when you were thinking about your marriage, she was thinking about if it was all a mistake. It’s time to get over that whore.”

I lashed out, “She’s not a whore! Just because you never liked her doesn’t make that true. Maybe she just wanted to have a break and hang-out. Be actually young.”

Jean sat down and scoffed, “Eren, what do you think that the context of young is? Young, single and free. If she wanted to go hang out with people and feel that type of young youth then she would’ve still gotten married to you. But she wants to be with other guys. And she is a complete asshole for doing that on your wedding night.”

I sighed in somewhat agreeance, “You might be right. But what are you doing here so unannounced anyway? It’s gotta be for something important I imagine.”

He looked at me in my eyes, “It was exactly what I said earlier. I wanted to check on you and make sure that you’re okay.”

I rolled my eyes, “Jean, you always have another motive. Just spit it out.”

He chuckled, “I wanted you to be my wingman at the bar.”

I let out an exasperated sigh, “That’s not it either.”

He groaned loudly, “Okay, fine! I want you to get your mind off of Evelyn. You’ve lost all of your energy since the break up and you need to get over her. Maybe you can find a nice girl at the bar or something. My extroverted Eren is gone! C’mon, she’s probably fucking different guys left and right, so why can’t you?”

I looked away from him, trying to find a quick excuse, “I’m not doing relationships yet.”

He shoved me, “First of all, it’s been 5 months, you can do a relationship. Second of all, it doesn’t have to be an actual relationship. Just have sex with a girl for a night to get your mind off of things for a while. Trust me, it’ll help.”

“Your whore tactics will help? I don’t think so. I’m not that type of person that needs to be with other people to get over someone.” Jean’s face looked shocked from what I said.

He started to stand up, “Wow, I feel disrespected. But also, you don’t have any ground to stand on for that one. Evelyn was your first and only real relationship, so how would you even know what type of person for real breakups you are? You wouldn’t.”

Honestly, Jean’s got a solid point. I don’t know how I am when it comes to actual relationships yet. Or when it comes to the breakup process either. Do I listen to Jean? Is this gonna be the thing to make myself stop feeling this continuous way of 5 months?

I sighed, “There’s no way this is gonna work.”

A large gasp came out of Jean’s mouth with a big smile along with it, “Is that a yes, then?!”

I thought about it for a minute. Is that a yes? Am I really gonna do the things that way to get over Evelyn? It sounds terrible when I first take a look at it. But the way that Jean explained it made it sound better. She’s sleeping with other men, guaranteed, so shouldn’t I have fun too?

It all still felt a little wrong but I went with it, “I guess so.”

Jean gave me a hug as he spoke, “You’re making such a good decision for yourself! You don’t even know, Eren…”

I rolled my eyes, “I really hope that you know what you’re talking about.”

_________________________

About an hour later, we were in Jean's car as we pulled up to a bar. I’ve honestly never been to a bar before. Being in a relationship at such a young age had stopped me from being in this environment.

“C’mon. I promise I’ll get you a lady.” Jean held open the door for me to get inside. As soon as I stepped foot inside, the sound of the bar was louder than I swear I’ve ever heard in my life. Jean continued talking, “Did I forget to mention that it’s club night?” He smirked.

I should’ve known. There’s always something hidden up Jean’s sleeve. I know that he just wants the best for me but clubs really aren’t my scene. The atmosphere almost automatically gave me a headache. The lights were bright and the music was loud. There were so many people all over the place.

Me and Jean went up to the bar and he ordered us drinks. He spoke, “This’ll loosen you up a bit. You’re a handsome man, Eren. I’m sure picking up a few girls will be no problem.”

I rolled my shoulders back as I took the drink, “Hopefully not.” I was still extremely nervous about what was going to happen. I’ve never picked up a girl in this environment before.

It felt like there were a million and one eyes staring at me, but when I turned around it was nothing. I had to try to calm myself down here.

Jean turned to me, “Are you alright, bud?”

I shook my head back to reality, “Yeah. It's just a little overwhelming, that's all.”

He rested his hand on my shoulder, “It’s not that hard, trust me. Just go up to a girl that you find at least somewhat attractive. If she’s outgoing, dance on her. If she’s shy, speak to her. Or even better, when she speaks to you first. That’s how you know that you’ll get some.”

I rolled my eyes at him, “That sounds like some asshole shit, to be honest.”

He groaned, “Whatever! It’s fine. I’m just gonna go talk to this girl over here. Not too much of my type but she’s got a cute smile.” I lost him within the sea of people that he went through.

I sighed to myself as I looked around for someone to try to get with. As I did a skim around the room, I didn’t find anyone in particular who I’d want in my bed tonight. And especially not anyone to wear Evelyn’s wedding ring either. I groaned and sat down at the bar, asking the bartender for another drink.

Maybe drinking will ease my mind.

I heard a voice pop up to the left of me, “You alone, handsome?”

Her voice was grainy and an extreme amount of raspy. She sounded like she was on the line of being an addictive smoker. I was going to respond with a no until I saw her face. She looked identical to Evelyn. A blonde with green eyes. The blonde was clearly fake, it looked like she had just got the highlights in her hair.

It took me a minute but I decided to answer with the honest truth, “I’m just here with my friend.”

She tried to look at me with seductive eyes, but it wasn’t landing, “Yeah…? Does that friend happen to be a girl?” She spoke slowly, but her voice was so aggravating.

I was quite annoyed but I thought back to what Jean said, ‘Or even better, when she speaks to you first. That’s how you know that you’ll get some.’ It still sounds terrible, but… “No, just one of my guy friends.”

She chuckled, “How is a handsome man like you got no girlfriend?” She caressed my chest with her finger like we were in a movie.

I visibly cringed from her actions, “She broke up with me.”

An ‘awe’ noise came from out of her mouth, “I wouldn’t do such things to you. Wanna get over her?” She questioned me.

I knew what this was leading to. If I agreed then me and her would end up back at one of our apartments, having sex. Honestly, I was worried. I had sex with Evelyn for so many years that it would feel weird to do that with anybody else.

I sighed, “Think I might be ready for that. What’s your name?”

She laughed as she rolled her eyes, “Does that really matter?”

I didn’t change my facial expression, “Objectively, yes. It does.”

She let out a long sigh, “My name is Chloe. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“It’s Eren.” I responded.

She had a tiny smile from across her face, “Nice to meet you, Eren.” She corrected herself.

To be honest, if this doesn't just turn out to be a one night stand, I’ll be upset. I don’t want to learn new names, new faces and a whole new partner. Plus– she grosses me out to an extent. But she reminds me of Evelyn by her looks.

She continued to speak, “Can you purchase me a drink, maybe?”

I looked towards her, “What do you want?”

She chuckled, “Whatever you’re having.”

I ordered her the same thing that I was drinking. It was on Jean’s tab but I’m sure he won’t mind. I mean, I’m doing exactly what we came here for. I didn’t even wanna come out here anyways.

Jean came over with a girl. It was a woman with curled honey blonde hair and brown eyes. Jean had his arm around her and they were speaking until he saw me and cut himself off, “Eren– who do we have here?” He acted as if he was genuinely interested to know the girl.

I looked up at him, “This is Chloe. Who is the woman that you’re with?”

The girl that was under Jean’s arm put out her hand, “I’m Yasmin! Nice to meet you, Eren.” The woman was sweet sounding. I wish that Chloe sounded more like her. If she did then we would have something going on other than just sex.

The girl that Jean pulled was conventionally attractive but nothing crazy that I’d turn my head to. She reminded me of the Yasmin Bratz Doll.

I shook her hand, “Well you already seem to know my name from Jean.”

Chloe pushed me back so that I could look at her, “Are you flirting with another girl infront of me?”

Jean cleared his throat and answered for me, “No! He’s just introducing himself, relax.” Jean was speaking as if he was nervous even though I really wasn’t flirting with Yasmin. It was just nice to hear her speak since it was such a large contrast to Chloe’s annoying voice. God, I really hope that she doesn’t sound like that when she moans…

Chloe started to get a grasp of my hair. She played around with it, “You have longer hair than the average man. You know, I think the longer hair look on men is more attractive.” She let out a small chuckle with her mouth closed.

Flirting with her right now was genuinely insufferable but, I should really listen to Jean for once in my life, “Yeah, you think so? Well I love the blonde on you. It looks wonderful.”

Yeah, I was partially lying. The only reason that I found it somewhat attractive is because I’m thinking of Evelyn. But in reality, her personality is as ugly as her voice. But as I looked at her face, I think she was more shocked that I could tell the blonde was fake.

She slowly went in for a kiss. Before she kissed me, her eyes rolled up to her head as her eyes were closing. It looked, ugly. That was there when I made the rule. Backshots, only. Her lips pouted out a crust. It looked like she hadn’t used chapstick in years. Or am I only like this because Evelyn used to use chapstick every two seconds…? It rubbed off on me quite a bit, so now I guess I’m more observant of things like that nowadays.

I looked at Jean and Yasmin before I kissed her back. The two were egging me on. Doing the ‘Do it!’ motion. I followed along with their instructions. I kissed Chloe back. Her mouth was open excessively. It was the real definition of a wet kiss. As I started to pull back from the kiss, she took her hand and placed it on the back of my head, leaning me in even more.

She wouldn’t let me pull away from the terrible abomination that some people call a kiss. My eyes opened, I was mentally done with the kiss. When my eyes opened I saw her really getting into the kiss. I looked to the right of me. Yasmin and Jean were giving… concerned faces? They looked like they were cringing almost as much as me.

Jean mouthed the words, ‘Pussy is pussy, right?’ he shrugged his shoulders at the same time. Yasmin gasped and shoved him a little.

This felt really, disgusting. To be fair, I think that I might just be judging the girl a little too much to my Evelyn standards. I mean, Evelyn was literally my everything. She was good at everything she did as well. Maybe I should just sleep with her and give the girl a chance. Maybe she’s inexperienced…

Chloe finally pulled away from the kiss, “Come back to my apartment with me. I need you.”

I looked at Jean and Yasmin for advice. Jean held up a thumbs up while Yasmin tilted her hand back and forth, signifying a ‘maybe, maybe not.’

The majority vote is a yes, then. I look back at Chloe. “Yeah, let’s go.”

She grabbed my hand and smiled. Jean and Yasmin waved me bye. I was nervous, honestly. I was more scared than almost anything else in my life. I really couldn’t picture myself doing this with a woman that I actually don’t know.

We took an Uber to her apartment complex. The ride there was a little awkward, at least on my side it was. I could feel her eyes piercing through my head the whole time.

Once we arrived at her complex, it was a pretty modern building. It looked like it had to be building a maximum 10 or 15 years ago.

We went into the building. Chloe started to speak, “Don’t worry, I’m on the 3rd floor. It won’t take too long my love.” All I could think was ‘Please for God's sake, don’t call me that.’

As we got into the elevator I could feel her smile radiating throughout the area. There was another woman in the elevator, she was an older lady. She seemed to be in her seventies at least. She was giving me and Chloe a sweet look.

She spoke, “Are you two a couple?”

I answered her question, “Ahh n—”

“Yes! We are.” Chloe cut me off. What the hell is her problem…?

“Awe, you two are so cute!” The old woman gave us a compliment as it rang that we were on floor 3. “Have a good day, cute couple!”

“You too!” Chloe answered. We both walked out of the elevator as she led me to her apartment.

I spoke, “Why did you tell that lady that we were dating?”

She let out a laugh that I never want to hear ever again, “It was cute! Plus it made her happy.”

I gave her a disgusted look, “Yeah, never again.”

She turned to me, “Awe, why not, Eren?”

“Because we are not in a relationship.” I responded blandly.

She groaned, “Whatever, anyways— we’re here.” She started to unlock her door with her keys.

The left side of the apartment looked like a wreck, while the right was pretty clean and tidy. It was obvious she had a roommate. Now the real question is, which one is her side?

She grabbed my face and was the one that started to kiss me first. It was that same wet kiss from earlier. I wanted to hurry up and get this over with so we can just fuck, honestly.

She started to grind on my leg and it was all just one huge blur. Once we got into her room, she let out the loudest moans I think I’ve ever heard in my life. If I was her roommate, I’d probably move out by now. The moans were unnecessarily loud. I know my dicks a pretty big size but, is it really that good?

I stuck to my rule of backshots only. That way also made it easier for me to imagine that Chloe is Evelyn. The sex was still terrible. She wasn’t inexperienced, I could tell that much but she just genuinely sucked at– every aspect.

She came way before me. It was a miracle that I was even hard at all.

_________________________________

The next morning, I woke up in her bed. The first thing that sparked to my mind was Evelyn. Jean was wrong. Sleeping with that woman didn’t do anything but remind me of Evelyn even more. How was I even supposed to get over her?

I woke up before Chloe did. If I can get up and leave before she wakes up, that would be ideal. I don’t know if she’s a heavy sleeper or not though.

I took my chances and started to try moving away from her. Sadly, she woke up first thing.

In the morning, she was even more raspier than usual, “Eren, where are you going?”

A million and one things went through my mind of what lie I could use to get out of this one, “I– I have work.”

She looked at me, “On a Saturday?”

I stuttered for a second, “Ye–yeah. I have work so I have to leave.”

She sighed, “Oh, okay. I can walk you out.” She switched to a smile. She was slightly more tolerable in the morning. She seemed more relaxed.

I found my clothes and we both walked out of her room.

I. Froze. Immediately.

There was a woman. She stood some distance from Chloe’s room, but just enough to talk to us. The girl sported a gray set. There was a sleeveless buttoned top, along with the flared pants. It was in the style of a suit, with narrow vertical lines running through it. She looked, good.

Her hair was a short bob length, black and fluffy. She had what I think they call ‘Manga Lashes’ with a natural pink lip.

It’s hard for me to find girls attractive, but this woman— she was one of the most stunning I’ve ever seen. It was almost like I forgot about Evelyn for a second. And no one has yet managed to have that effect on me. What is going on in my mind? Is this what Jean was talking about?

The woman groaned, “Chloe, I am so fucking pissed off at you. How many time have I told you to stop bringing men home in the depths of the fucking night?!”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “And once again, it just sounds like an excuse for you to act like a fucking hater because I’m getting dick and i haven’t seen you bring a guy back in lord knows how long. Oh wait that was—”

“Chloe. Don’t do this ‘victim’ complex shit in front of your fuck buddy, pretty boy over here. Your fucking loud ass moans keep me up every night. They’re so terrible and you wonder why every guy tries to leave you in the morning. Surprised this one hasn’t left you yet.” She points to me, “He must be a stupid one, for choosing you.”

I’m stupid? That was suspiciously rude and seriously uncalled for. This is my first time ever even being here. Plus, I don’t even like Chloe.

Chloe sighed, “Again, you’re being over dramatic. I’m sure that you have no problem sleeping.”

Her roommate gasped, “No problem? Do you know what time it is…? Your moaning has kept me up all night so I could barely sleep. I’m an hour late to work right now, and that's money that I have to give back to my clients because I slept in, AGAIN!”

Chloe raised her voice higher than the other woman, “You know what, Ackerman?! I’m so done with you treating me like this! You shouldn’t be talking to me like that! It’s rude and disrespectful. It’s not my fault that the fact I’m enjoying myself is keeping your dusty pussy from sleeping.”

Ackerman? That's gotta be the pretty ones last name, yeah? It can’t be her first.

Ackerman started yelling, “CHLOE, DON’T FUCKING TALK TO ME LIKE THAT! It’s been months of you doing this and me along with my clients are sick of it. I’m packing my things after I get back from work and leaving this place for good. Fuck you, stupid fucking whore…”

The girl walked along and slammed the door shut once she left. She was so rude but at the same time, she was stunning. The most beautiful I’ve seen in a long time…

Chloe waved her hand in front of my face, “Hello! Eren– why are you standing there star-struck like that? You alright?”

I woke myself up back to reality, “Yeah. I’m fine.”

#aot #attack on titan #armin arlert #shingeki no kyojin #eremika #mikasa ackerman #snk #annie leonhart #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #eren x mikasa #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren aot #mikasa

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jimblejamblewritings · 2 years

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not a soldat | part 3.

Summary: Y/N L/N is not a superhero. No serums, no agencies. Just a civilian from a long line of family that’s served in the military. Y/N’s a history buff and bit of a spy in her own special way. This somehow lands her in trouble she never saw coming and straight into the hands of Falcon, Captain America, and Black Widow… if she doesn’t get caught in the unbreakable grasp of the Winter Soldier first.

Warning for the Series: violence, angst, slow burn

Pairing: Bucky x black!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

Aside from the kind of plain, cramped apartment, Bucharest was nice. Your place was complete trash when you first bought it, until you had cleaned it up and used the first bundle of money to furnish the place. But overall, the small one bedroom place was nice. And the best part was your neighbors were quiet. You had actually only met one of them, the older couple on the ground floor. Everyone else moved on different schedules. So you never saw any of them.

You were eating an apple when the special phone buzzed. It was a text from Sam on the small group chat. It was Maria, Sharon, Nat, Nick, Steve, Sam, and you in the chat. Basically the remnants of former S.H.I.E.L.D. You sent back a picture of your hand on top of the notebook you were reading through.

You couldn’t publish anything now, probably never could ever again but you still enjoyed going through everything. You were also recruited by Nick to be the historian of new S.H.I.E.L.D. once they started up again. Nick thought your decoding skills and amazing ethic was something they could use. Everyone agreed even when you pressed that you couldn’t do what they did. In the end, it was Nat who convinced you.

She had told you that it wasn’t always just about the fight but the papers and documents as well. You had agreed afterwards and put up the military histories, mostly. Any soldier that had even a remote link to either HYDRA or S.H.I.E.L.D., you were still going to read through and figure out everything. After that, you already had an ongoing list of projects once S.H.I.E.L.D. started again. You were about to be in the backdoor of every country on Earth.

You got up to pour yourself coffee and then realized the bag was empty. It was time for a trip to the market. Which wasn’t a problem, you needed more fruits anyway. You changed out of pajamas and into a light summer dress. Grabbing the cloth bag on the coat rack, you locked up and headed out the apartment building. You turned a nectarine in your hand before setting it back down to grab another one. Your hand brushed against a rough glove that was reaching for the same nectarine as you.

“Sorry,” you said before realizing that you probably needed to switch to Romanian.

Learning the language had been the hardest part, and not one you were very good at. So far you had only the basics and skirted by with English and a language dictionary that you didn’t bring with you to the market. You looked up from the fruit to apologize again in Romanian when you froze. Even under a hat and in long sleeves, you couldn’t shake those blue eyes. You sucked in a breath and dropped your bag, turning on your heel and running. There was no way he was tracking you.

You were supposed to be safe in Romania, Nick promised you. You turned down an alley. You were going to have to take a roundabout way to your apartment. You made a wrong turn looking at the wall in front of you, it must’ve been a left you should’ve taken not a right. You freaked when a hand grabbed you and reached for the serrated knife that was almost permanently attached to the thigh strap worn under your skirts and dresses. You turned around, lunging with the knife when it was grabbed from you as if you hadn’t even tried. The wall had trapped you in, there was nothing you could do but cower against the wall. Your hands held up in front of you in the weakest defense.

“Please, Soldat, don’t hurt me,” you mumbled over and over as you sank against the wall.

You heard him hum in disapproval before he crouched down to your level. You turned your head. You looked at him in confusion when he gently grabbed your hands. In your right hand, he placed the knife. In your left, the bag of groceries you had dropped.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

You stopped looking in his eyes when the glint of the chain on his dog tags caught your gaze. You still couldn’t say his name but you knew he was telling the truth.

“You kept it.”

He was talking about the serrated knife now in your hand. You nodded, slowly putting it back in the little thigh strap.

“Good, watch yourself. Be safe.”

He looked out the alley and nodded, deeming it safe. The Soldier patted your knee and stood up to leave. You waited for him to clear your line of sight before standing up. When you left the alley, he was nowhere that you could see so you headed back to your apartment. Your door had four locks and you locked all four of them before relaxing. You weren’t craving your coffee anymore. You weren’t very hungry either. You grabbed the notebook off of your dining room table and moved to the couch. The words were swimming as you kept reading and soon you fell asleep on the couch.

It had been a week without incident. You hadn’t seen him again and you couldn’t avoid the market any longer, you needed food. If you just avoided the stand maybe he wouldn’t be there. Once again you were in a sundress with the knife on your thigh. You had thrown a light chunky sweater over it.

You closed your door and when you turned around he was there, closing the door to the apartment across the way from you. You went to turn around but realized he would know where you live. He probably already knew though, you did just close the door. He pulled at the glove over his left hand and just watched you as if he was waiting for you to make the first move.

“Do you have?” he tapped his thigh.

“Mmm hmm.” You lifted the hem just enough for him to see the tip of the knife.

“Good, be safe… I’ll leave first.”

Like the alleyway, the Soldier left first and was nowhere to be seen when you got downstairs. You didn’t see him the whole time you were in the marketplace either. It made you feel safe and scared. Safe if he was trying not to infringe on your space but scared because he could trail you like a shadow and you wouldn’t even know it. You approached your building when you saw him.

“They’re watching your apartment,” he said as he took out a large sunhat from his bag. You noticed it still had the tag on it.

“They don’t know it’s yours, they’re waiting to see who enters. You can hide in mine.”

“What do they look like? Have they been following me for long?”

“Man and a woman, dressed like cheap tourists. Gross Hawaiian shirts.”

You laughed and he looked at you confused.

“I know them. It’s my delivery.”

“Delivery?”

You started inside and he trailed close behind you, like he didn’t believe you. You entered your apartment and he stayed by the door. Out of sight from the window. You opened up the window and waved. You were tackled to the ground as the package flew through the window. You quickly jumped up and waved, signalling that you were okay. They flashed a compact mirror so the light shined in your eye, signalling they were leaving and would see you next month or in the next two months.

“It’s not a bomb.”

You picked up the package. This was how you got mail from your family. Only S.H.I.E.L.D. was on the secret cellphone, Nick didn’t think your family would be safe if somehow the line was tampered with. So you would write letters and make packages of gifts, leaving them by the abandoned fisherman’s cart outside the building. And every month or so, a package from the two low-level newly recruited S.H.I.E.L.D. agents would fly through your window. Sometimes wrapped in lots of bubble wrap if it was a fragile figurine from your mother.

It was always the same two, they knew nothing and the only faces they had ever seen on file were yours and their supervisor Sharon Carter. For your safety, it was kept that way. You set the package on the dining room table and opened it up. There were lots of letters and even a few tins of cookies from your sister. Your heart almost dropped when you saw the dog tags until you read the letter attached.

Not dead yet. Even the tours couldn’t get me down. Finally retired and settled down with Aleisha like you suggested… because she’s pregnant. Hope these little metal flats add to your collection. Love, Tyler.

Your second eldest brother had left the Marines. You smiled as you read the letter a second time, Aleisha was pregnant. Hopefully you would be able to make the baby shower, or the birth… or the first birthday. That was the goal you settled on. Make it to the first birthday, target on your back be damned.

The Soldier awkwardly shifted. He had made sure you were safe and now he felt awkward in your space. He did a once-over of the place and walked out the door. You still locked all four locks but only after waiting for him to enter his house, there wasn’t an immediate sense of danger any more.

It was a couple more days and you had finished the notebook, Harvey Smith. One of the bad guys. But it was done and it was time to move on. You shelved the notebook. Tomorrow you would place it in the fisherman’s cart and it would be taken to Nick and stored in S.H.I.E.L.D.’s safe. You picked a new notebook, ready to start a little bit before getting breakfast. You opened the little notebook and saw the name written in there: Bucky, 107th. You stood up and hastily unlocked the four locks to walk across the way. The shuffling of footsteps could be heard behind the door you were knocking on. His rough face softened slightly when seeing you, but it was still a scowl.

“This is yours.”

You handed him the notebook and he flipped to the first page seeing his name. His flesh hand immediately went to where you assumed his dog tags were underneath his shirt.

“I didn’t look at it, if you’re worried about that.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Bu…”

The name faded on your tongue and it didn’t go unnoticed by him. He couldn’t help but subconsciously look at your neck before meeting your eyes. There was nothing else to say. You had delivered the notebook so you gave him a curt nod and turned to head back into your apartment.

(Part 4)...

#bucky x reader #avengers fic #marvel fic

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nev3rfound · 3 years

Text

someone i once knew : b.b - p.6

now that your memories are resurfacing, it’s finally time for bucky to get the answers to his questions and to see you, the real you once more. (4.1k)

oh my goodness, this is it?! a quick non soppy thank you for reading, but seriously all of your comments, feedback and excitement have made writing this series so joyful for me, so thank you and i hope you like the last part!

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX (THE ENDING)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

WARNINGS: mentions of hospitals, references to bucky’s ‘death’ in CATFA, blood, angst - i think that’s it!

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop

Bucky ignored everyone as he stormed through the compound once he got off the jet. He didn’t care about the warnings being yelled at him, all he could hear were the words you uttered before you were taken away. ‘I remember.’

“Buck, wait,” Steve grabs Bucky by the shoulder, forcing him to a halt as he stares at Steve coldly. “she’s still fragile, Fury needs to see us, now.” Steve states, watching as the rage in Bucky’s gaze melt into sadness.

“I need to see her, Steve.” Bucky pleads as Steve lowers his hand from his friend.

“I know,” Steve sighs. “but she’s in good hands, the sooner we speak with Fury, the sooner you can see her.”

Opening your eyes, you blink rapidly as a series of faces greet you, all wearing bright smiles. “Hello, Y/n.” Someone steps forward, dressed in all black and with an eye patch covering one eye.

“I-”

“No no, don’t try and talk just yet.” The man states as he glances over his shoulder to the woman with a device in hand, tapping away at it whilst you watch in confusion. “I’m sorry to say it has been longer than it should’ve been since your last check-in.” He explains as you furrow your brows, remaining quiet. “We are aware that they are supposed to be every few years, but there was an accident involving Howard Stark.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, Howard, your dear friend who has helped you through all of this. “Is he?” You mutter, your voice is hoarse as the man simply nods.

“Due to Stark’s demise, it has taken us years to have access to your chamber.” He continues to explain, stepping away and past a group of people, strangers from those you knew whilst you remain inside your chamber.

“Years?” You ask, still tied up inside the chamber. Usually, once your eyes opened you would be released, allowed to walk with Howard and Peggy if she was available; but this feels wrong, somethings changed. “How long?”

The man pauses as he turns back to face you. “The year is 2011.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you look over at all of the people before you. “No, no that’s not possible.” You breathe out, feeling your chest tighten as you fight in the restraints keeping you inside the chamber. “It was 1989!” You state, but the man simply turns away from you. “It was 1989.” You repeat under your breath as three men approach you, one with a needle in hand and without warning, plunges it into your forearm.

“You’ll be safe, Y/n.” The man tells you as your vision blurs once more until your head rolls forward.

“Take a seat, Sargent, Captain.” Fury directs them both into the room, seeing Tony already sat, waiting for them.

Sitting down apprehensively, Bucky remains perched on the edge of his seat, hearing the plates in his metal arm whir loudly as he clenches his fist. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Fury who spares a glance at Maria, watching her close the door to the conference room.

“Are you finally going to explain what you know about my assistant and what the hell is going on here?” Tony asks, leaning back in his chair as he rests his feet on the table.

“Yes, we will.” Fury starts and Maria hands out a file from SHIELD, dated back to the late 40′s.

Taking the file in his grasp, Bucky eyes it carefully, noticing your name etched into the cover.

“What is this?” Steve questions whilst Tony and Bucky open their files, a photograph of you clipped onto the front page.

Running his thumb over the image, Bucky remembers being there for that photo. You had just gotten your summer dress, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. A photographer captured your smile as you walked into the hall for the weekend dance, Bucky right behind you, just out of shot.

“This is Subject 359 from Project Revive.” Fury presses a button on the tablet in front of him, revealing a projection of photos, showing you stood alongside Howard Stark and Peggy Carter, images causing heartache for the three men. “Miss Y/l/n volunteered herself after the war for an initiative to suspend life.”

“She went into cryo?” Bucky speaks up, sadness etches his tone as he focuses on your bright smile in the photo of you in between Howard and Peggy.

“She did, Sargent.” Fury states. “Y/l/n was Howard’s first subject to succeed in the trials, and was put into the induced state for organised periods of time and then awoken to ensure she was still healthy in all respects.”

More images flash up, showing both Peggy and Howard getting older, but you remaining youthful between the two.

Steve can’t help but feel his heart sinking at the sight of Peggy, the years he’ll never have with her, the forgotten time as a golden band remains on her ring finger.

“So how come she doesn’t remember anything?” Tony breaks his silence, tearing his eyes from the images of his dear old Dad to focus on Fury whose frown only deepens.

The projection disappears as Fury rises to his feet before pointing to Bucky. “The winter soldier happened.”

Bucky lowers the file from his grip as he watches Fury carefully. He remains quiet, too afraid of what will be said next.

“After the winter soldier executed Howard and Maria Stark, access to the chamber Y/l/n was held in was restricted.” Fury explains, now looking over to Tony who lowers his feet from the table and sits upright.

“That’s why you needed me.” Tony can’t help but scoff. “You took my DNA.”

“Howard was a smart man, but he knew his systems could easily be overridden by someone more intelligent in the future. So he ensured the only way the chamber holding Y/n could be accessed was by his own bloodline.”

Tony laughs quietly under his breath. “Tony,” Steve starts, but Tony carries on.

“God, Dad truly had a reason for everything didn’t he?” Tony remarks. “Too bad he wasn’t alive to see what a car crash he created.” He jokes, leaning forward to glare at Bucky whose head remains buried in his hands.

“It’s all my fault.” Bucky mutters. “Everything, after all this time.” He slowly sits upright as all eyes remain locked on him like a target.

“Not necessarily, Sargent.” Maria speaks up from the sidelines. “You see, Y/n had been left in cryo for just over two decades when we finally got to her. She was disorientated, and had missed an entire segment of history, the turn of the century, evolution of technology and much more.”

“So, we did what was written according to Howard, which Y/n had agreed upon if the time came.” Fury adds. “We took her to Wakanda, and suppressed her memories.”

Bucky shakes his head, throwing your file aside as he stands up. “No, she would never do that!” He yells, slamming his metal fist into the table causing it to split.

Remaining unphased, Fury carries on. “She did, Sargent. Look in her file and see for yourself.”

Bending down, Bucky picks the file up and skims through the various pages, past your health reports and to a legal document where your signature remains inked on the bottom of the page.

“Y/n Y/l/n was a broken woman after the loss of her best friend and fiance. She trusted those that were left behind and put herself into their hands, knowing she would be making a difference and aid the future of science and medicine.” A fraction of a smile forms on Fury’s face. “But bringing her into the twenty-first century meant changes had to be made in her mind. Memories had to be rewritten and others to be permanently hidden.”

“So how come she’s now remembering?” Tony asks. “And how come she ended up here, as my assistant of all people?” He huffs loudly.

Fury spares a glance to Hill who nods, before exiting the room. “Y/n was always going to have a job of some descript within SHIELD.” Fury paces around the room as the three pairs of eyes burn into his every move. “However, when Y/n returned from her time in Wakanda, after her memories had been rewritten we got in touch offering her a job opportunity which would lead to being Tony's assistant. What we didn’t expect during that time were two super soldiers to resurface from the dead.” Fury motions to both Steve and Bucky.

“So they triggered it?” Tony pieces the details together, pointing the blame to Bucky who tenses under Fury’s cold gaze.

“It seems that way. But now that she’s remembering, the details of the life she has supposedly had all these years are fading away. She’ll be confused for a while, but the memories implanted can be removed.”

“She can forget about that life?” Bucky questions quietly, having heard you briefly discuss memories of the life you never truly lived with such vividness. “She’ll only remember the life she lived with us?”

“Yes, Sargent.” Fury states. “Y/n Y/l/n will be the same girl you left in the 40′s, give or take some level of trauma.”

“Can I see her then?” The question leaves his lips instantly, barely allowing Fury to take a breath.

Yet, Bucky watches the glances exchanged between the other men, the uncertainty in their expressions whilst Bucky remains still.

Steve slowly stands up and pats Bucky’s arm, giving him a knowing smile before heading toward the door, Tony right behind him who doesn’t spare Bucky a glance.

Now alone with Fury, Bucky can feel his body tensing under Fury’s scrutiny. “Is there something else I’m supposed to know?” Bucky tries to remain composed as his leg bounces beneath the table, his foot repeatedly hitting the floor.

“Y/n will be unconscious, in a comatose state for the next week or so.” Fury explains, watching as Bucky sinks into his seat. “It’ll take time, Sargent, for her to recover from this.”

“But she’ll be Y/n.” Bucky comments, watching Steve and Tony walk in separate directions past the glass screens of the conference room without looking back.

Fury reaches down beside him, lifting up a metal briefcase. “Before you go, Barnes,” Fury unlocks the latches on the case, lifting the lid up. “there’s something you might like back.”

Bucky raises a brow as Fury reaches inside the case, taking something out and places it on the table.

Feeling his breath hitch in his throat, Bucky doesn’t trust his legs to work properly as he eyes the small box. “I, I never thought I’d see that again.” Bucky admits, a tired chuckle following.

“We kept it as per Y/n’s wishes.” Fury remarks, sliding the box across the table as Bucky grasps it in his flesh hand, opening the lid to reveal his prized possession, unable to forget the memories laced around the diamond ring.

Smiling at the jewel, Bucky closes the lid to the velvet box and places it into his pocket. “Thank you.” Bucky mutters. “For looking after her.”

“Y/n has been SHIELDS best-kept secret for almost 6 decades, Barnes.” Fury comments. “It’s about time she’s allowed another chance at living, don’t you think?”

Nodding to himself, Bucky pushes his chair back, hearing it scrape along the wooden floorboards.

“One more thing,” Fury interrupts as Bucky reaches for the door handle. “none of it was your fault, Bucky.”

Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Bucky focuses on Fury as he remains straight-faced, but reaches forward, bringing the projection back up of you, Howard and Peggy.

“I hope she knows that too.” Bucky thinks aloud as he opens the door, closing it behind him before he can hear Fury’s response.

Watching the former soldier walk down the corridor, Fury sighs deeply as he removes the projection. “I’m sure she will.” He closes the empty briefcase, knowing that this is the end of Project Revive, once and for all.

Hanging from the railing, Bucky could hear Steve screaming his name, his arm outstretched for him to grab.

The wind was hurtling at his body full speed as his fingers began to slip from the rails, but he knew he had to make it, he couldn’t leave you for the second time and not come home.

Steve began to climb down from the train, moving across the broken frame toward Bucky, stretching his arm. “Just hang on!” Steve yells, fear rising through his tone as the bolts of the railing Bucky is grasping onto begin to creak, pulling away from the metal lining of the wall.

“Steve, I,” Bucky calls out, moving along the rail closer to his friend.

“Grab my hand, come on!” Steve cries out, knowing he can save him, he has to save his best friend. “Come on, Buck.” He mutters, thinking back to the morning before they left, seeing you in Bucky’s arms with the ring on your finger, a whole future for you both awaiting to be lived.

Looking up in desperation, Bucky cannot stop the scream leaving his lips as the railing breaks as his body becomes weightless, his arm still outstretched as he falls.

Steve screams as Bucky cries, falling through the air toward the ground at full speed.

The train carries on, turning a corner leaving Bucky truly alone as Steve breathes heavily, his heart has broken into pieces as his best friend is gone.

Lying in the snow, Bucky can feel his breaths slowing, life draining from his body as the white ice surrounding him is turning crimson. “Y/n,” He breathes out, looking up at the bare branches reaching for one another from different trees. “I’m sorry.” He whispers as his eyes begin to dip, just as several men appear above him.

Panting heavily, Bucky looks over to the clock on his bedside table. 7 in the morning, again.

He buries his face into his hand, feeling guilt course through his body knowing you’re awake and he has yet to see you. Part of him was nervous to see who you’ve become and whether you’re still the same girl he loved and lost all those years ago. Or if you’re this new version that he knew as Tony’s assistant, one who views him as the former winter soldier, not James Barnes.

Playing with the ring in his fingertips, Bucky walks toward the medical wing within the compound, already hearing laughter sounding from the room causing his heart rate to spike.

“She was amazing, truly.” You tell Steve, resting your hand over his as he tries to stop tears falling from his eyes. “And she was happy in the end, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, wiping his eyes. “but she seriously punched Howard for not taking Maria on a date sooner?” He asks again as you nod, gentle laughs sounding from you both as Bucky hovers behind the entrance, a wall of apprehension stopping him from entering.

“Do, do you think he’ll visit?” It’s almost whispered as you look down at your marked hands, scratches and dark bruises now littering your skin.

Hearing faint movements from the doorway adjacent to your bed, Steve smiles to himself for a split second. “Why’d you think he wouldn’t?”

Bucky leans closer against the doorway, his heart hanging together by a mere thread as you shakily sigh. “I just, what if I’m not who he remembers or even wants in his life?”

Ever since your memories flooded your mind, you couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering what he’d think of you.

“I’ve been awake for two days, Steve,” You add, doubt clouding your mind as Steve silently prays for Bucky to just walk in. “and, and he hasn’t been yet I just, I,” You stumble over your words, eyes locked on the sheets covering your body as you remain unaware of Bucky turning the corner, walking toward you.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky quietly calls out, standing still in the entranceway with the box now in his pocket, out of sight as he clasps both hands together, flesh into metal.

Your hand slips from Steve’s as you force yourself further up the bed, itching to climb out.

“I wouldn’t do that, you know what Bruce said.” Steve reminds you, yet you tear the sheets from your body and uneasily rise to your feet.

“Since when did that stop me, huh?” You joke back, Bucky unable to stop himself from smiling at your playful antics with Steve, giving him a glimpse of what he once knew.

Moving closer to one another, you both can’t help but note the changes. Your gaze hovers to his metal arm, the black plates etched with gold leading to his shoulder, his long hair and stubble lining his jaw. But he still had the same loving blue eyes, even if you could see the pain lingering behind them.

Yet, Bucky could still see it’s you. Despite the bruising and cuts across your skin, you hadn’t changed one bit.

“James?” You speak up, too afraid to reach out as your hands remain by your sides.

“Y/n.” Bucky responds softly, taking a step closer as Steve watches from the sidelines, having never anticipated seeing this moment happen after he saw Bucky fall from the train all those years ago.

“It’s really you, isn’t it?” You ask sadly as tears begin to fall across your cheeks.

Taking another step toward you, Bucky lifts his arm up to brush the tears from your face. His hand shakes as he takes a deep breath, allowing himself to cup your cheek in his hand.

Closing your eyes, you rest your hand over his as he holds back the sob in his throat. “It’s me, doll.” Bucky whispers as you squeeze his hand, not wanting to let go. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He breathes out, knowing no words can truly describe the past sixty years, not yet at least.

“I’ve missed you so much, James.” You try to compose yourself, knowing it’s no use as you look up at him, the man you’ve loved. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Chuckling sadly, Bucky nods in agreement. “I thought the same until I heard you playing the piano the other week.”

“Wake and dream medley.” You remember it, having danced many a time with him at his Mother’s house, twirling around the living room whilst Rebecca laughed with you as Bucky dipped you and dropped you by accident. “I, I,” Stumbling over your words, Bucky glances over to Steve.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Steve speaks up. “But it’s good to see you both, together after all this time.” He adds sincerely before stepping out of the room whilst Bucky guides you back toward the hospital bed, knowing you still need your rest even if you deny it.

“You’ve read my file, Y/n,” Bucky sighs. “I, I’m not the same man you knew.” He looks away, still cautious of himself, of his own mind. “There are things that I’ve done that I’m afraid of you learning about.”

Unable to take your eyes off him, you take hold of his metal arm with both your hands, gliding your fingertips over the cool metal as the plates whir into place.

And then the last thing Bucky anticipates hearing causes his ears to perk up. You giggle, a smile growing across your lips as you shuffle closer into Bucky’s embrace.

“I know James,” You tell him, lifting his arm to rest around you as you lean against his chest, inhaling the scent that was a foreign memory intertwined with old pillows after he left for war. “but I want you to know, I’ll love you, whoever you are or whoever you turn out to be. Nothing, and I mean nothing will change that.” You assure him, feeling his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage.

“You still love me?” He breathes out, trying to disguise the evident surprise in his tone, but you quickly move from his embrace, staring at him with sorrow in your gaze as your brows furrow together.

“You think I could ever have stopped?” You retort.

“Doll,” Bucky starts, but you shake your head.

“Why would you think I would’ve stopped, or possible could?” A scoff sounds from you as Bucky lowers his gaze to the marble tiles on the floor, shame overcoming his mind.

“James, for years I mourned you, I strove for a better future, dealing with losing you and Steve. My parents were gone, I had no one left besides myself.” You explain, fighting through your emotions that have been suppressed with your memories for so long. “In all that time, not once did I ever stop loving you, even if you were gone.”

“I was never very good at loving you though, Y/n.” Bucky admits. “We both know that I, I left you, twice. Both times with the promise of coming home.”

“And you did.” You comment, resting your hand on his stubbled cheek as Bucky glances up, seeing a shy smile form on your face. “You’re here now, we both are.” You chuckle in disbelief. “By some means, we’re both here, in the twenty first century, alive.”

“Never thought I’d live to see the turn of the century, let alone live in it completely.” Bucky jokes, hearing you laugh quietly. “Will, will you still have me then, Y/n?” He asks softly as he reaches into his pocket, revealing the small velvet box.

Your eyes widen in shock at the sight of it. “They gave it back to you?” You ask in disbelief, feeling the corners of your lips bury further into your cheeks whilst Bucky nods.

“And now I’m giving it back to you, its rightful owner.” Bucky states, lifting the lid revealing the ring, your ring. “That is, if you’d still like it, doll?” He apprehensively asks.

Yet, you roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself from huffing in response. “Are you seriously asking me that?” You remark, and Bucky blinks for a moment. “And like this? Come on, Buck, at least give it a little class.” You joke, only ever calling him ‘Buck’ in times of relief.

Moving from off of the bed, Bucky grunts as he kneels down in front of you on one knee. “Y/n Y/n, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife, my doll and my best friend forevermore?” His words mirror those he uttered decades ago in that old dance hall, and yet they still roll off his tongue with the same ease.

Following his action, you lower yourself from the bed, Bucky reaches out to support your waist as you kneel in front of him. “Yes,” You smile. “and I guess this time, forever means forever, huh?”

“You’re stuck with me doll,” Bucky jokes as you lean closer, your lips ghosting his.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, James.” You whisper, closing the distance between you both as you kiss him, the sensation of coming home after all this time hitting you like a ton of bricks as you wrap your arms around him, wishing to never let him go.

“Close your eyes.” Bucky whispers, and you oblige. “Think of him, think about any details that you have relived, any conversations or scenery you noticed.” Bucky suggests, trying his hardest to not reach out and take your hand in his.

Keeping your eyes closed, you try to focus on his face, hear his voice, but it’s all too much of a blur. “It’s no use.” You sigh, burying your face in your hands. “I just, I know if I ever saw him again or met him somehow, I’d know who he was.” You mumble into your palms, unaware of Bucky tearing his eyes from you, the ropes pulling his heart snapping for good, now beyond repair.

“You’ll find him, Y/n.” Bucky pats your back, hearing you sniffle.

“You think?” You ask, lifting your head back up as you half-smile to Bucky who nods.

“I’m sure of it.” He forces a smile, but you can tell it’s not reaching his eyes.

And after all this time, Bucky was right, you had found him; only to discover he’d been there all along.

T H E E N D

(thank you to the following for all the love on the series - i couldn’t have done it without your support :) )

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thedistantdusk · 3 years

Text

Arcadia, Chapter 2

Here we gooooo :) Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey, @remedialpotions, @not-steve42, @jamezbot, @gryffindorhealer, and the majority of the HG server for their help <3

If you’ve just arriving, here is Chapter 1. :)

_____________________

D A Y + T W O

He’s driving her mad. Absolutely fucking mad.

Ginny grips the hose in an attempt to water the rose bush outside their window, but her eyes are unfocused, unseeing.

This entire thing was such a terrible idea.

She should’ve insisted on another Auror as backup on her first solo mission. Someone less attractive. Someone she hadn’t shagged up one side of the Burrow and down the next.

But the request was difficult to grant in the first place. It took Ginny a full year of documentation to prove this was a necessary use of resources. Attica (and Unspeakables in general) don’t tend to be well-liked by the older Aurors, which made Harry the best fit. The only fit. Everyone— from Kingsley to Attica to even Hermione— agreed. And even aside from the sheer convenience of it all, Ginny’s years of experience with the Thought Chamber and Harry’s ability to sniff out trouble like a niffler after gold made them a brilliant combination to tackle… this.

It’s just a pity, then, that she still finds him so bloody attractive. Even though he’s become a bit of a brooding, sarcastic mess.

Ginny blinks down at the bright pink petals, their leathery flesh beaded with water droplets. Maybe the problem’s that she hasn’t spent much time around him since then. He still comes around for Sunday roast, of course, when his work schedule permits. In spite of what Mum went through, she’d never allow Harry to feel unwelcome. It’s his house as much as theirs— and yes, Ginny still lives at home. It’s the least she can do to maintain a degree of normalcy, even though everything irrevocably changed when It happened.

Ginny’s hands begin to shake around the hose; her brain starts to spiral. The Burrow is less welcoming now. Their hugs are more forced. Their family more distant. And although everyone functions on a basic human level, Ginny knows in her gut that the remaining Weasley siblings — Harry most certainly included — are still going through the motions to cope.

And maybe it’s because she really hadn’t had a libido in nearly five years, but fuck, it hasn’t taken much to come rushing back. Her thighs press together as her head fills with another series of intrusive thoughts instead. But she can’t suppress the memory of Harry emerging from the shower this morning, his top-half dripping, his bottom-half toweled. Not that it matters much, not when she knows every fucking inch of—

“I think that bush is good now!”

Ginny jumps, a string of swears springing to her lips. “I— fuck.” She turns to the unexpected voice. “Sorry! Let me—”

But Oliver from last night merely leans over to turn off the hose. “You’ll quickly learn that sort of language isn’t great for Arcadia, Jen,” he intones, finger wagging.

Years of training allow Ginny to blush in chagrin. To shove aside the telling-off she’d have provided a long, long time ago. “Sorry.” She winces. “It’s just a habit, leftover from—”

“—London, right,” he finishes, his eyes never leaving hers. “Anyway. Listen. Sharon and I would be honored if you joined us for dinner tonight.”

“Did I hear something about dinner?” Harry strolls out of the house, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying thump. “Goodie! As my wife knows, dinner is my favorite word.” He rests his chin on her head, sliding his thumbs through the belt loops of her jeans. Ginny’s heart clenches in familiarity even as her face remains placid. They agreed to all of these terms beforehand… to feign public affection. To seem utterly smitten. It’s just funny how they’ve both relied on old habits.

Ginny reckons that makes sense, though. After all, it worked for them once.

She turns towards Harry with a pout. “But Pookie Pie, I thought your favorite word was snuggles! We certainly did enough of that last night.”

Harry’s chuckle rings out with false bravado as he tucks her hair behind her ears. “We did something, all right. Not sure if snuggling is the right word for it. What do you think, Oliver?” Harry whips around to face him. “What’s your favorite word for… marital relations?” His eyebrows waggle suggestively above his glasses; Ginny stomps on his foot to keep herself from laughing.

Oliver, however, does not find them delightful. “I think this is for you. From Mike.” He points to a box that he apparently rested on the ground while Ginny was drowning the roses.

Harry bends over to pick it up. This does nothing to distract her.

“Couldn’t Mike erm…” Ginny shakes her head to clear it. “Sorry. Couldn’t he bring it over himself? He lives just—”

“Out of town on business, I’m afraid.” Oliver’s voice turns cold as he peers at Ginny again. “He won’t be back for weeks. Months, maybe.”

Ginny makes a noise of concern and rests a fist on her hip. “Huh! That’s funny. What out-of-town business could a primary school teacher possibly have?”

Oliver’s eyes narrow, but his grin remains. “Teacher business, I guess.”

“When can we speak to someone about the trampoline?” Harry blurts, slicing the tension. “I’m missing my exercise, Ollie. It’s how I stay fit. You won’t like me when I’m not exercising!”

With that, Oliver’s grin finally fades. “Well, you can ask Mr. Gogolak, but I don’t think anything will come of it. He’s available tonight from 5 o’clock to 6:13, on the dot. He lives just up there, on the corner. Anyway, I’ll be off.” He gives a parting wave and turns to walk up the drive, but Harry isn’t done.

“Not sure how we’ll manage to make that and dinner, though,” he calls. “Don’t we have to be indoors by six?”

But it seems Oliver is absolutely intent on being elsewhere, because he opts to walk backwards and yell from the street. “Of course not!” he shouts. “Six is only the move-in deadline.” Then he barks out a cruel laugh, throwing his hands in the air. “Any idiot knows that dinner starts at 7!” With that, he sends them a final glare before lumbering away, his brown loafers crunching on the pavement.

Harry and Ginny snort in unison; if Oliver hears them, he doesn’t engage.

“See you later!” Ginny confirms, ensuring it’s loud enough for him to hear. Then she drops her voice to a stage-whisper and cups her hand into a regal wave. “Hope Sharon removes that stick from your arse before dinner tonight, you miserable sack of shit. Suck my dick!”

Harry laughs. “As much as I appreciate the support, Muffin Cakes, that’s one insult that just doesn’t work when you say it.”

And Ginny doesn’t know what comes over her next… she really, really doesn’t.

Because in the blink of an eye, she’s pushed Harry against the front door with a petulant pout. The pulsing between her legs returns with humiliating swiftness; it’s a blessing, really, that Harry’s dreadful at flirting and picking up on cues. They’re in public, but this is the furthest thing from acting.

Nonetheless, Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs as her arms drape around his neck. She watches, rapt, as his eyes darken. Apart from that one slip-up last night, he’s excelled at his job… and as she leans into his hard chest, she realizes how she really feels: she's jealous. Dreadfully jealous.

How dare he be better at this? What in hell gave him the right to soak her knickers with a single look? She’s had years of professional training and a lifetime of practice, but it comes naturally to him— this pretending shit.

And for fuck’s sake… he’s a lot better at it.

“But it’s been ages since you’ve been in my knickers, Baby Bear,” she croons, batting her eyelashes. “How would you know?”

She intends it playfully. A gentle way to put him in his place. But to her surprise, something stinging and sober crosses Harry’s face.

The moment’s over… absolutely over.

In a flash, he pushes her away and gestures at the door. After you. She nods, still turned on but now confused. The whole thing reminds her of ancient history, where she waited for him after each quidditch practice and thought, wished, prayed that he’d touch her… all while hoping to God he wouldn’t.

It takes until they’re inside for her to figure out why he’s upset.

He locks the door behind them with a wave of his wand— and when he whips around, his face is twisted into such a brooding scowl that it pins her on the spot. Shit.

“It goes without saying,” Harry mutters, voice dangerously low, “that there are some things a bloke just doesn’t forget.” He lets out a deep breath, his eyelashes fluttering. “Ok?”

Oh.

Ginny’s cheeks flush as it all comes rushing back. She’s honestly forgotten how… attached he was to that ability. How much he prided himself on being able to please her. How he worshipped her body with such respectful, hushed reverence that it still features in her fantasies.

It seems there’s a limit to his acting skills, after all. A line that he just won’t cross. She should be chuffed that she got what she wanted. Instead, her stomach throbs with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, biting her lip. “I didn’t mean—”

“Forget it.” He waves his hand over his shoulder and trudges upstairs, leaving her in hollow silence.

Right.

_________________________________

Mr. Gogolak crosses his left leg over his right and swirls his brandy tumbler. Between the ruddy patches on his cheeks and the way his words slip over each other, it’s not his first of the evening. Harry’s reminded of Slughorn. In the worst possible way.

“Anyway.” Gogolak waves at the massive tabbed binder to his left. “As the rules clearly stipulate, a trampoline would lead to other things. Unsavory things.” He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip.

Harry’s eyes flit around the room, trying to take it all in. The decor is… nice, he supposes, if you want every guest to be aware — beyond a shadow of a doubt— that You’ve Been Abroad, thanks. Multi-colored felt flower vases dot the floating shelves above Gogolak’s head, each a pop of color in a room that’s otherwise painfully beige. Scrolls hand-painted with renditions of Buddha and Lokta hang on the far wall. And above them… Harry cocks his head, puzzled, and tries to place where he’s seen that particular mask before.

“Of course,” Ginny agrees with a fervent nod. “We understand the need for decorum and cooperation, don’t we, Hen?”

“Where‘s that mask from?” Harry blurts, nudging his chin up.

Ginny rubs her temples in frustration, but if anything, Gogolak seems flattered.

“Oh! That.” His face flushes with pride as he takes another drink. “That’s a wrathful Mahakala mask. From Tibet! I bought it cheap off a street orphan during my last trip. Can’t say he had much need for it, what with being starving and living in the street.” His laugh booms over the sitting room.

Harry tries to focus. He’s there for Ginny. He’s there for Ginny. He’s only backup. But ah, bugger, after the other shit today it’s too much, and—

“Ha!” Harry returns his humorless laugh. “Isn’t poverty hilarious, Jen?”

There’s an anxious pause.

Ginny ends it with a fake giggle of her own. “As you can see, Mr. Gogolak, my husband is growing a bit testy without his exercise!” She nudges Harry in the ribs— hard enough to make her point, but not hard enough to hurt. “So if we could only have the trampoline, then—”

“‘Fraid not,” Gogolak slurs, peering down at his brandy again. “See, there’s a reason Arcadia has been named Best Village for so long: People simply love to live here!”

“Oh?” Ginny returns her teacup to the table. “Everyone loves to live here?” She rests her elbows on her knees, her voice dropping to a discreet whisper. “What about the people who’ve gone missing, then?”

At first, Gogolak is unperturbed. Then his smile deepens, his eyes traveling from Ginny’s face down to her chest. For fuck’s sake. This arsehole can’t be serious! Harry’s gut swirls with something visceral and protective. He wraps his arm around her shoulders as his hand inches for the wand in his back pocket. Ginny catches his hand on the way and interlaces their fingers with an almost imperceptible, “Shh.”

“Well, well, well,” Gogolak drawls, leaning back to full-on leer at her. “You’re a feisty one, aren’t you? Should’ve known. You’re a ginger, after all.”

Wrong answer.

“Not sure what the color of her hair has to do with her question,” Harry says stiffly. It’s the politest thing he can manage. Ginny squeezes his thigh.

Gogolak faces Harry instead, his face a mask of delighted malice. “Your wife is very beautiful, Mr. Petri,” he drawls. “You must forgive an old man for noticing.”

“Pee-tri,” Harry grouses.

Is it possible to accidentally Avada Kedavra someone with your eyes? Surely he’d be forgiven for that, yeah? He counts five deep breaths, his face burning, as he waits for Ginny to take the lead.

He’s still a bit taken aback at how quickly things changed. He thought he was irritated with her earlier, but now he realizes that frustrated is a better word. They haven’t been together in ages, but she has to know what she still does to him. It wasn’t like she’d grown less beautiful. And while he’s not proud of how things ended, he’s spent the last five years taking pride in knowing her. In being her first, as primitive and knuckle-dragging as that sounds. Because no matter how bad things were, he was always able to make her…

Yeah.

He bites the inside of his cheek. Had he deluded himself into thinking it was as good for her as it was for him?

Ginny clears her throat again. “But what of the people?” she prompts. “The missing people? Like Eric Highland, who lived in our house until last August, when—”

“Oh, him!” Gogolak booms out another uncomfortable laugh and drains the rest of his tumbler. “Well, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but—” He makes a slitting motion across his throat and pours himself another drink. “Committed suicide. Quite a mess.”

Then Gogolak stills, his eyes widening; for the first time this evening, he looks vaguely embarrassed. “Oh, but not in your home, of course!” He waves his hand dismissively. “We’d never, you know, let someone move in after that. Would affect property values, you see.”

Harry’s heart pounds in his ears as Ginny clenches his hand, for once. He wonders if he’s ever given less of a shit about property values.

Another span of uncomfortable silence stretches between them… but this one grows more furious and heated with every second. The version of her he knew before would have Bat Bogeyed this wanker before she took a breath. But everything’s different now.

“That’s… not the preferred term,” Ginny finally manages, her voice strained. Harry grips her hand more tightly; that odd rush of pride returns. He knew she’d say something. There’s not a single version of her that would let that go.

Gogolak’s brow furrows. “What do you—”

“—Took his life,” Ginny interjects, her voice ringing with the righteousness Harry only dimly recognizes from the woman he knew before. “Or died by suicide. Or had terminal depression.”

He holds her hand even tighter as she draws a deep breath, shifting in her seat. Get him, Gin. Get the bastard. Whatever you need, I’m there.

“Committed is a word that… implies a crime,” Ginny finishes. But her words sound careful now. “It just adds to the stigma that people with mental illness are problematic. Words mean things. So.”

Gogolak presses his lips into a thin line. “Forget I brought it up.”

“I will,” Ginny says coolly.

Ginny hadn’t thought much could be worse than the meeting with Mr. Gogolak. Unfortunately, dinner with Sharon and Oliver is proving her wrong.

“This is free-range chicken, of course,” Oliver drawls, gesturing towards their plates. “Got them at the organic market. Anything for health!”

They’d already been treated to iceberg lettuce salads and glasses of generic Merlot. Perhaps she should have anticipated chicken breast and rice as the thrilling main course.

Harry cuts his chicken breast with a sigh. “That’s a pity, Oliver. We all know that caged chickens are tastier!”

Ginny muffles a snort with a cough and reaches for her glass of wine.

Sharon pauses, fork mid-way to her mouth, to peer at Harry, bleary-eyed and confused. Oh, for fuck’s sake; what was it about suburbia that removed one’s ability to recognize a joke?

Oliver changes the subject before Ginny gets the chance. “Where did you two meet, anyway?” he grunts. “And how long have you been married?”

Ginny smiles, preparing the canned response they practiced for months. They met in uni through mutual friends. They both work in computers, and last year, they finally realized it was time to leave the big city.

Harry shatters all of that with three words.

“Magic camp, actually!” he announces, throwing an arm around Ginny’s shoulders.

Fuck. She analyzes her chicken with newfound intensity and tries to imagine something sad.

“Huh,” Oliver says flatly. “Wouldn’t have taken either of you for magicians.”

Sharon has the grace to act embarrassed. “Now now, love,” she chides, reaching for the breadbasket, “I’m sure people have loads of hobbies that aren’t always obvious to everyone!”

“Exactly!” Harry grins and reaches for a piece of baguette. “Besides, it’s mostly Jenny who’s mad for it. Card tricks, pulling bunnies from hats, sawing women in half. Even—” he pauses for a dramatic gasp— “magic wands! You name it, she loves it.”

“Well!” Sharon raises her eyebrows; it’s clear she’s feigning being impressed. “If I’m ever in need of disappearing something, I’ll know who to call!”

Aha! The perfect opening!

“Speaking of disappearing,” Ginny starts, as casually as possible, “we checked with Saint Julian’s Primary. It’s not true Mike left on business.”

Sharon’s smile freezes and melts with such speed that Ginny feels a pang of sympathy. Poor Sharon. She’s really just doing her best to be a pleasant hostess. It’s Oliver who has the clear ulterior motive.

The man in question takes another sip of wine, unfazed. “And why did you have interest in contacting a primary school in the first place? Bit weird for a grown adult, that.”

Harry releases another fake chuckle. “Oh, Oliver, you’re such a prankster!” He bites off some bread. “Surely you’re not turning the tables on my wife and accusing her of being the weird one. After all, all she did was ask about the whereabouts of a lovely member of our community. Right?”

He gives Oliver such an exaggerated wink that even Ginny almost believes him. “And besides…” Harry’s hand wraps around her shoulder again. “Do you reckon we should tell them?” he murmurs, voice laden with his expectation.

Ginny rolls her eyes, fully intent on a thin-lipped, silent warning about making shit up… but Harry’s earnest expression stops her. His green eyes blink behind his glasses, the corners of his mouth slightly upturned. Before she knows what’s happening, one of his warm hands cups her chin while the other comes to rest on her stomach.

Oh. She sucks in a breath, her heart pounding— because for a moment, she forgets where she is. She forgets they’re faking. She forgets they split up and chose separate paths, that they weren’t looking through a portal of what could have been, should have been, before their lives turned to shit.

“Not yet, of course,” Harry murmurs, appearing for all the world like he’s drinking her in as his fingers tap at her stomach. “But soon. We hope.”

And with that, he abruptly clears his throat and turns back to the Skinners. “Anyway, that’s why we called Saint Julian’s,” Harry adds, nonchalantly as you please. “Always good to be prepared, eh?”

“Oh, how exciting!” Sharon cries, clasping her hands together. “And yes, I agree— preparedness is key.”

“Knew you’d be happy for us,” Harry says with another wink. “Quite an exciting time, I’m sure you understand.”

It’s then that Ginny finds her voice. “So. Erm,” she starts, trying to focus. “They hadn’t heard from him. Mike. The school, I mean.” She takes another sip of wine to get her bearings back. “Any idea where he could’ve gone? You understand why we’re a bit worried, especially if we’re planning to—”

“No,” Oliver snaps, nostrils flaring. Sharon’s fork clatters to her plate; if swearing were allowed in this house, Ginny’s confident she would’ve let one slip. “I don’t understand, and you’ll find that snooping isn’t a past-time I appreciate,” Oliver finishes, drawing himself up taller to puff out his chest.

Ginny lets out an incredulous chuckle. “But Oliver… this is a matter of safety. We’re worried about our neighbor.”

“Yeah, Ollie-O!” Harry clucks his tongue, relaxing further into his chair. “Perhaps Arcadia isn’t as perfect as we were led to believe.”

Oliver just fixes them both with a stern glare. “Nope,” he says flatly. The p pops. “You’re wrong. Per usual.”

For six seconds, the four of them sit in painful, frigid silence. Ginny feels Harry’s hand reach behind him… inching closer to his wand...

“Jenny!” Sharon finally chirps, her voice a falsetto. Oh, thank fuck. “I need to walk the dog. Would you join me?”

___________________________

Captain Bone’s toenails tick on the pavement as Sharon holds his lead. Ginny peers at him with unexpected affection as he prances beneath the street lights. Dogs are too high-maintenance for her to even consider, but something about this one is undeniably appealing. As if he hears her, Captain Bone turns to Ginny with a slobbery grin.

Sharon laughs. “He likes you. He’s a sucker for a pretty girl.”

Ginny scratches beneath the thick leather collar with Captain Bone emblazoned on a bronze plate. He throws his head back for more access. Poor Captain Bone. The whole collar looked horribly uncomfortable. “I like him too,” Ginny agrees as he flounces away. “I’m afraid work keeps me too busy for a dog, though.”

Sharon waves this away. “Nah. I’ve seen the way Henry stares at you.” She flashes a knowing smile as they continue strolling, side-by-side. “I reckon if you really wanted a dog, he’d oblige.”

Captain Bone halts, mid-step, and picks up his leg. Sharon removes a waste bag from her pocket.

“You’re probably right,” Ginny mutters. She’s not sure why that feels like admitting to a scandal.

Sharon sighs. “The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. Like he’s holding the whole world in his hands.” Her voice grows wistful, distant; Ginny has a feeling she’s not actually talking about Harry at all.

“Well, we are newlyweds.” Ginny mashes her kitten heel — a clothing acquisition specific to this assignment — into the pavement. “I’m erm. Sure that’ll change.”

But Sharon just stares at Captain Bone as he does his business. “Maybe,” she says softly. “But I don’t reckon Oliver ever looked at me quite like that.”

Ginny blinks at Sharon beneath the streetlight, the fluorescent throwing her features into sharp relief. Wrinkles fold the corners of her eyes. Bits of gray sprout at her scalp beneath the warm chestnut color. Her smile may have been natural once, but now it’s forced. Uneasy. Ginny grimaces. This poor woman… imagine thinking you couldn’t do better than a wanker like Oliver.

“Shit!” Sharon swears, ripping Ginny from her reverie— and soon, she sees why. Captain Bone charges down the street, his lead scraping the ground like a limp noodle. “I wasn’t holding him tightly enough,” she whispers, horrified. “I’ll have to—”

“No,” Ginny says, taking off her heels and thrusting them into Sharon’s arms. “Let me!” And with that, she’s off, bare feet slapping the pavement.

“Don’t blame you for trying to get away,” Ginny mutters, rounding a corner. “The place is bloody creepy. But next time, Captain Bone, could you do this in broad daylight? Nighttime ‘round here is—”

Wait.

Ginny stops, dead in her tracks. A weird sensation creeps over her, crawling against her skin. All the street noise vanishes. Crickets stop chirping; wind stops whistling. She looks around, panic rising in her throat, but nothing looks amiss. She can’t shake it, though… their eerie, numb ringing that fills her head, and—

Like a thunderclap, it all comes back. The faint wind returns. Bugs resume their buzzing. The electric lamppost makes a dull crackling just above her.

Weird. Very fucking weird.

Luckily, Ginny specializes in weird; in the aftermath of whatever the hell that was, she’s more confused than frightened. She takes a few more shaky steps, making every observation she can (temperature, cloud pattern, weather conditions, insect movement)... and that’s when she spies something glinting to her left. Something golden and stuffed in a storm drain.

No. Ginny’s heart pounds as she rushes over, sinking to her knees. It can’t be…

But the closer she gets, the clearer it is: Mike’s chain necklace… the medallion of Saint Julian. Right beside Captain Bone’s pretentious leather collar. For the first time, fear floods her stomach. She surreptitiously reaches for the wand tucked into her waistband. “Accio necklace.” It soars through the gate and into her hand just as Sharon’s footsteps round the corner.

Ginny shoves the necklace into her bra— and it’s only then she realizes that there must’ve been something strange and slimy hanging from it, because whatever the fuck that was is now pressed to her right nipple.

Blech. It takes every bit of her willpower not to shudder and gag. She manages to school her features into innocent concern as Sharon finally catches up.

“Well,” pants Sharon, hands on her thighs, “did you find him?”

“No,” Ginny laments, genuinely upset. She gestures towards the storm drain. “But for some reason, his collar’s down there.”

Even beneath the streetlamps, Sharon’s face turns white.

______________________________

Harry’s back muscles contract in agony as he hunches over the laptop. This whole assignment is a painful reminder that he’s not as young as he used to be. How many hours did he spend snoozing on the lawn at Hogwarts without so much as an ache? But a single bloody night on these shit couches, and he’s popping Paracetamol like sweets. He shifts in place; must be time for another dose.

“Hear anything?” Ginny emerges from the walk-in closet in a towel turban and fluffy white dressing gown, two evidence bags in her hands.

Harry glares at the laptop screen and tries very hard not to remember that one of those bags contains a lacy black bra— one he definitely hasn’t seen before. For the past hour, he’s been in an envious haze of wondering if she bought it for the mission or bought it to wear for someone else.

Either way, it consoles him that deep down, she’s still Ginny; she took this necklace and shoved it into her bra without letting on that something vile and gross was pressed to her ti—

He shakes his head to clear it, but that hurts his neck. For once, though, he embraces the pain. Anything to shift his focus.

“From the props department? No.” Harry sighs and retrieves the medicine bottle from his luggage. “I swear, I have no idea who they got to make the moving boxes and pick the couches, but I’m fairly sure Victoire could do better.”

Ginny scoffs at this. “Well, of course Vic could do better. She’s the most perfect, adorable human alive,” she says fondly, tossing the evidence bags in the transporter box.

It’s plain cardboard, easily disguised as a standard moving box. But with three taps of her wand, the bags evaporate, presumably materializing in a Ministry lab somewhere. Not that Harry cares about the specifics. This is a key example of the sort of detail that’s less and less intriguing the longer he holds this job.

“But I was actually asking if you’d heard anything about Mike and — hey, what are you doing?”

“Paracetamol,” Harry mutters, popping open the bottle. “I’m getting old, Ginny,” he warns, rising to his feet with an exaggerated grimace. “Dunno why you thought it would be a good idea to go on a mission with an old man.”

She rolls her eyes and walks into the bathroom. “You don’t need to be so bloody noble. Please join me on the bed. We could make it longer, even, if you—”

He clears his throat to cut her off. That would be a terrible idea on all counts. Silence on the other side of the door tells him that Ginny either realizes this or chooses not to press the issue. Good...

“Erm. There’s no hits on Mike,” Harry calls into the bathroom. “I reckon he’s dead, Ginny. Credit cards and car haven’t been touched.”

The tap turned on behind the door. “Can’t say I’m shocked,” Ginny admits, voice muffled, “but— holy hell, who taught you how to squeeze toothpaste?”

Harry smirks and returns to the computer. “Myself, probably.”

Ginny lets out another irritated groan. “And the toilet seat’s up!” She strides out of the bathroom. “Strike two!”

Harry hears the distinctive sound of clothing hitting the floor beside her bed but wills himself not to turn around, not to turn around, not to—

“Well.” Ginny sucks her teeth as the bedding rustles. “I suppose I should take all of that as a good sign, really. You clearly don’t have girls in and out of your flat.”

Oh?

Harry’s heart thunders in his ears, his stomach flipping in hope. She takes that as a good sign? Really? He glimpses over his shoulder before remembering he’s not supposed to look.

And just as quickly, he regrets it.

Because Ginny’s sprawled back against the bed, her face so white that she nearly blends into the linens, but his eyes aren’t too focused on her face. They’re drawn down, down, down… down to her creamy chest, dotted with chocolate freckles. Down to her breasts, which he definitely still knows every inch of, even as they rest beneath a black lace vest he hasn’t seen before. Down to the shorts that hug her hips and graze the tips of her thighs… the same thighs he spread open and dipped his head between as she tugged on his hair, her cries breathy and panting in the garden’s evening mist.

Ah, fuck. That one does it. Harry adjusts his basketball shorts as discreetly as possible, but another glimpse at her face tells him he didn’t need to worry.

“I can’t believe I said that,” she whispers, eyes filled with horror.

Harry clears his throat. He honestly forgot she said anything. Now he just feels guilty for eyeing her up while she spiraled.

“I’m so… fuck. This is so unprofessional.” She sinks her head into her hands. “Please, Harry, forget that I said anything. I’m so sorry. That was—”

“It’s forgotten,” he rumbles, his voice deeper than he realized. “Legitimately. I’ve already forgotten it.”

She shoots him a weak smile through the slits of her hands. “I know you haven’t. But thanks for saying it.”

Harry offers his best expression of bafflement as he picks up a pillow from the end of her bed. “Haven’t a clue what you mean, Unspeakable GW. See you at 0-700 hours.” He stops halfway out the door and gives her a military salute. “Unless, of course, you decide to start a bit later,” he adds seriously, “in which case I’ll see you… erm. 0-whenever-the-hell-you-wake-up-hours.”

Ginny giggles, settling against the pillows again.

“Thanks,” she says after a moment, peering at her cuticles. “For… everything. And especially for forgetting—” She makes a vague hand gesture as her cheeks flush the most fascinating shade of pink.

Harry stills, one hand on the doorknob.

He wants to make her feel better… but really, it’s more than that. He wants to tell her that his heart still jumps into his throat when he hears about an Unspeakable being injured on the job. He wants to admit that he avoids Sundays at the Burrow not because he stopped caring, but because he cares too much. He wants to confess, in a rush of passion, that she wasn’t just his first: she’s his only. That he reckons she’ll always be his only. That exchanging work for Them was the stupidest thing he ever agreed to, regardless of the circumstances.

Oh, and of course, that he still fucking loves her. Harry rubs his forehead, frustration gnawing at his stomach. Why in hell did he admit that to himself? You never admit that to yourself. What an idiot.

Still, they have a mission… a moronic, suburban mission filled with every literal and metaphorical breed of Karen imaginable. But as worthless as Harry considers this whole assignment, her neck is on the line if they come up empty-handed. And she values her assignment— and her neck, he reckons— quite a bit.

So he makes the choice to both reassure her. And to be foolishly honest.

“Erm… for what it’s worth?” Harry croaks, staring down the dark corridor to avoid meeting her eyes. “You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted in my bedroom, anyway.”

Before she can reply, he closes the door and walks away. His cheeks burn as he pads downstairs, but Harry knows it’s best to leave it, really. To save them both the awkwardness.

Even if it means sleeping on this shit couch forever.

#harry/ginny fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #x-files #canon compliant #au

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otonymous · 4 years

Text

Kissed By The Baddest CEO (MLQC Victor x KBTBB - NSFW)

Description: Old flames and prospective lovers threaten to derail your budding romance with Victor before it even begins. How will you extricate yourselves from a web of misunderstandings?

Warnings:

NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language — reader discretion is advised. Potential Trigger Warnings: profanity, jealousy, angst, exes, mentions of alcohol, bone fetishes, rough sex, 69 sex position (oral sex), mirror sex, vaginal intercourse, swallowing, size kink

Mild spoilers for Victor’s family history (MLQC); slight bending of MLQC & KBTBB canon universes via creation of original side character

Word Count: ~10K words (please set aside a good chunk of time for some fluff, angst and smut 🤣)

Author’s Notes:

First of all, a GIANT thank you to the super gracious @lin-ful for commissioning this Victor piece from me. You are an absolute joy to work with and I really appreciate the fact that you gave me carte blanche to basically do whatever I wanted 🤣 I really hope you enjoy the read! (P.S. I would never be so sadistic as to ever make you choose between Victor and Eisuke, so please rest easy 😆)

This story is especially significant to me as a writer because it represents the culmination of a number of milestones: the first time I’ve created an original character, my first attempt at writing a crossover story, the first time I’ve written in both first- and second-person perspectives. It is also the longest single piece I’ve ever written. That being said, please note the warnings listed above and happy reading! 😊

Nb. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1: Hello Diana

“Really Vic, I thought you were beyond name calling by now.”

Her voice is sultry and low, smooth in your ears like the whiskey in her tumbler. Completely at ease in a couture Givenchy pantsuit that likely cost more than one of your production budgets, she sat with her legs elegantly crossed in a leather armchair, tipping her glass to vermillion lips. And as the flames danced in the imposing marble fireplace of one of Shanghai’s oldest and most exclusive supper clubs, they reflected off an enormous ruby ring gracing her middle finger.

Victor scoffs, taking a sip of his own whisky and glancing at you as you follow suit with the virgin cocktail he ordered on your behalf while you were in the restroom.

He was so infuriating at times, but at least it wasn’t warmed milk.

“First of all, you weren’t meant to hear that. Secondly, I hardly consider ‘dummy’ name calling. Far worse exists when it comes to options, as I'm sure you can attest to, Diana. You’ve used quite a few in your day.”

Amusement spreads across her fine features as she throws her head back in laughter, the sound enticing even as it disrupts the low chatter in the room. However, none of the men looking her way seemed to mind. She was brimming with so much joie de vivre that even you weren’t immune to her charms, smiling despite the anxiety that sat heavy in your chest from the very moment Victor introduced you to Diana Shum that evening.

You didn’t quite know why you felt ill at ease, especially towards someone who was doing you a favour by brokering a major deal on behalf of your company. Well, more like doing Victor a favour, since he was the one who made the request. Perhaps this was how all men felt in the presence of such a woman: elegantly confident and unapologetically vivacious, drawing attention everywhere she went.

“Are you still dredging up stories from our Oxford days, Victor? Not very gentlemanly of you. How do you put up with him?” Diana turns to wink at you and the spotlight of her attention makes you feel like the only other person in the room. “Let me assure you those boys deserved every insult in the book; one-track minds and transparent to boot. They should consider themselves lucky I even acknowledged their sad existence.”

“Di, you made the Prime Minister’s son cry. You should’ve seen those puffy eyes the next morning at the swim meet against Cambridge."

Victor raises his brows, subtle amusement colouring his expression. And simple though it was, the sight of his handsome face so transformed by the faint smile on his lips made your heart race.

No, there’s no way. It’s probably just the fatigue catching up to you. The flight to Shanghai from Loveland City must’ve been more taxing than you initially thought, even though Victor had graciously offered to let you hitch a ride on his private jet. You place a hand on your chest, trying to calm the frenzied rhythm of your heart. The gesture goes unnoticed by Diana but Victor throws a worried glance in your direction. You smile to ease his concerns. He furrows his brows.

“Oh please, I should’ve ripped him a new one with the way he tried to get frisky on our date. He’s lucky I didn’t call Soryu to deal with him and his wandering hands.”

A sudden change seeps into Victor’s eyes, dark irises softening as if focused on something miles away. “Soryu. How is your cousin doing, by the way?”

Diana leans back, taking another sip of her drink. “You’ll see for yourself soon enough. I take it you are accompanying this lovely producer to Tokyo to meet with Eisuke and wherever the Ichinomiya heir is, Soryu isn’t far behind. In all honesty though, Vic, surely you would know better than I. Weren’t the three of you thick as thieves during prep school?”

You perk up at the topic of Victor’s childhood. It was a rare chance to learn about the formative years of this stone-faced man before he became the slave driver of Loveland Financial Group.

“I was only there for a year and a half with Soryu and Eisuke before…before my mother passed. My father sent for me shortly afterwards. I haven't seen them since.”

Deep voice trailing off, Victor’s gaze shifts to the fireplace where it remains, as if hypnotized by the flicker of orange flames. And as the silence stretches on, you become disconcerted to see him so uncharacteristically lost in his thoughts. You reach out to touch him but Diana beats you to it, laying a delicate hand on top of his much larger one as it rests on the leather armrest.

The gesture is ridiculously small for how much it blindsides you — the sight of her hand on Victor’s dazzling like the light reflecting off her ruby ring.

He blinks at the touch, long lashes fluttering in the split-second it takes for him to compose himself and suddenly, the unflappable CEO is back again.

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day and we should probably call it a night. But you have my thanks, Diana, for setting up this meeting with the Ichinomiya Group.”

It was Diana’s turn to scoff. “Can we please dispense with the formalities, Victor? Soryu mentioned Eisuke was having difficulty finding the right people to make this documentary on the anniversary of his Tres Spades Tokyo hotel, so it was serendipity that we bumped into each while on business in London. It’s a win-win situation. Meant to be.”

Meant to be.

There is a spark of something in Diana’s eyes when she makes that last statement. It stays with you long after you part ways with Victor for the night, lying awake in your hotel room as you wondered whether the LFG CEO was already asleep in his.

Chapter 2: SOS

“You’re awfully quiet. Should I take this to mean that you already know everything about Eisuke Ichinomiya and his chain of luxury hotels?"

Victor speaks without raising his head, leafing through the documents on his lap and stopping periodically to leave his signature with the same gold pen that marked up your reports. Its barrel glowed warm, reflecting the soft lights of the cabin of his private jet, en route to Tokyo from Shanghai.

Letting out a shaky breath, you try to steel yourself despite the rising heat in your cheeks. Because after a night spent tossing and turning in your hotel room, you arrived at a conclusion so absurd it could only be true:

You were in love with Victor Li.

Against all odds, the bane of your life had become your biggest ally and mentor. All the pieces of the square puzzle that was the LFG CEO had fallen into place to form one coherent and beautiful picture:

His exacting demands transformed into standards of excellence, his workaholism a paragon of commitment and dedication.

And though you were loathe to admit it, each soft utterance of “dummy” leaving his lips made the corners of yours turn up in the goofiest of grins.

Oh god, how did it ever come to this?! Where and when along the rocky path of your working relationship with the slave driver did you fall in love with him? But that wasn’t even the worst of it. If your intuition about the previous night’s events served you well, the beautiful Diana Shum was also enamoured of him.

You turn to Victor, meaning to inform him with utmost confidence that you had already conducted extensive research on the Ichinomiya Group’s charismatic CEO and his chain of casino hotels. You even thought to throw in a snarky reminder that he himself had been marginally impressed with the presentation you gave on the topic back in Loveland City.

“Are you close to Diana Shum?”

Was NOT what had you meant to ask. Especially in a voice that cracked like a 12 year old pubescent boy’s. And if there was a way by which you could’ve drowned in a bottle of water, you would’ve gladly done so. Instead, you settle for gulping it down, trying to keep your stupid mouth from spewing more nonsense in front of the man who was your de facto boss.

“Ahem.” Victor clears his throat, long legs uncrossing as he shifts in his seat. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the muscles of that chiseled jaw settling firm.

“I-I’m so sorry. It’s none of my business. You don’t have to answer-"

“I’ve known her for a while, if that’s what you’re asking. She’s a classmate from university and also a cousin of a friend of mine from prep school, as you’ve probably gathered from yesterday’s conversation. Since graduation, she’s taken over her father’s role as CEO of Shum Property Developments and we’ve partnered periodically on various business ventures…”

He continues and you nod at the appropriate times, half listening as a million thoughts filtered through your head: your surprise at how unusually verbose Victor was being, the relief you felt to see that he was as determined to avoid your gaze as you were his. Because the truth was that the longer he went on about Diana — so beautiful, polished and charming that you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate her even if you tried — the harder it was to keep the clouds from darkening your face. And when Victor says,

“Not like it has any bearing on anything now, but we also dated for a short period of time…”

…It hurts to breathe.

Finally turning in your direction, Victor fixes you with a scrutinizing gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, um, I just…wanted to know a bit more about the person who helped me and my company. So I can better thank her later.”

You speak without meeting his eyes, hoping to placate him with a quick smile as you pretend to rummage through your purse. Thankfully, he drops the topic, returning to his documents. And though the rest of the plane ride is spent in near silence, the thoughts in your head have never been so loud.

Chapter 3: Sexy Bones [Victor]

She wore that dress today. The same one she had on when she impudently stormed my office to insist that I give her company a final chance before pulling funding:

Fitted to conform to every curve, yet formal enough to be professional. Beautifully sensual in her usual understated way. My favourite shade of red.

“It’s my go-to outfit when I need a confidence boost,” she told me once in between bites of pudding at Souvenir. “It makes me feel like a queen, like I can do no wrong. Perfect for business meetings I just have to nail, you know?”

“Dummy,” I had said then, feigning dismissiveness so she wouldn’t pick up on the way my eyes kept drifting towards her lips, so soft and plush I couldn’t help but wonder if her kisses would carry a hint of caramel sweetness.

It was true that the girl could be incredibly dense at times, playing at being queen when she already ruled my heart. Or how oblivious she was to the fact that the British doctor was completely smitten with her during today’s meeting at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel.

Dr. Luke Foster.

Completely absorbed in reading through what looked to be like a stack of medical journals, Dr. Foster had largely ignored us while Eisuke and Soryu made quick work of introducing the eclectic mix of other associates in the room:

Ota Kisaki, the so-called “Angelic Artist” whose work I was well-acquainted with, having previously spent a small fortune on his painting, Koro of My Kokoro.

Baba Mitsunari, a charming man whose handsome features were made all the more striking by the black fedora and red suit he wore. The girl pointed out that he bore an uncanny resemblance to the cashier we saw at a convenience store earlier that day and I had to agree.

They glossed over a man named Mamoru Kishi, apparently sound asleep in one corner of the room with his face covered by a newspaper and a full ashtray by his side.

Finally, they came to Luke Foster, a blond-haired man with the air of an English gentleman. Eisuke explained that Dr. Foster was the hotel’s on-site physician as well as a fellow alumnus of our prep school, apparently having left for reasons no one wanted to articulate the year before I transferred in.

And when the doctor finally looked up at us from his readings, his eyes took on an almost maniacal quality to see the girl standing by my side.

“Those proportions, those angles….perfect…absolutely perfect!” He exclaimed as if in a daze, standing up suddenly and causing the reading materials to spill from his lap in the process.

He looked completely unhinged, almost like a zombie as he reached out a pale hand towards her collarbones of all places. I stepped in front of her on reflex, only to have the doctor fix me with a piercing gaze as if he had just become aware of my existence and found it thoroughly offensive.

“Annnnd there he goes again,” Ota’s tone was one of exasperation, but there was no mistaking the amusement in the smirk that spread wide across his face.

“Ooh, Lu’s got a new victim! Maybe now he can finally stop staring at the Boss’s girl every time she comes in to clean the penthouse!” Baba chimes in, fingers stroking at his chin as if hatching some mischievous plan.

“Will the lot of ya shaddup!? I’m tryin’ to sleep over here…zzz…” The man with the papers over his head gave a muffled shout before promptly rolling over onto his side.

Soryu just sighed, running a hand over his face. And just when I began to worry that the girl was scared out of her wits, having wandered into this strange den of wolves, she surprised me by chuckling under her breath.

Did the dummy find this funny?

“Tch, ignore them, Victor. Let’s just get on with the presentation,” Eisuke said as he took his seat at the head of a long table. The girl straightened up and immediately got to work, transforming into the consummate professional she always was when it came down to business. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as I watched her nail her pitch.

Taking a surreptitious glance around at her rapt audience, I stopped at Luke. The intensity of the doctor's stare made me uneasy, the way those blue-grey eyes hovered above the scooped neckline of her red dress, tracing along her collarbones as if he were caressing them with his gaze alone. I mentally berated myself for not putting my suit jacket over her shoulders before she got up there.

And though it was spoken under his breath, Dr. Foster’s murmur of “sexy bones” rang loud and clear in my ears.

Chapter 4: In A (Traffic) Jam [Victor]

“Victor, you won’t believe my luck! Not only did we cinch the Ichinomiya account, I also found the perfect candidate to appear on our Mystery Finder show!”

The girl was practically breathless on the other end of the line, words jumbling together as they came a mile a minute. And though her enthusiasm is as infectious as it is adorable, I remind myself to play it cool. “Really. And who might that be?”

“Dr. Foster!”

HONK!

I swerve back into my lane on reflex, narrowly avoiding an accident as the driver next to me flips me the bird before speeding away. My heart raced, beating fiercely against the cage of my chest, but it had little to do with my near brush with death.

At this moment, I was more concerned with a man who looked like Death himself.

“Oh my god, Victor, what was that? Are you okay?” The concern in her voice is palpable and it makes me think of how kind and tenderhearted she is, of how easily someone could exploit that to their advantage. “This is a bad time, isn’t it? I’m so sorry, I’ll call you ba-”

“Don’t worry about it, just some idiot not paying attention on the road. And what's this about, ahem, Dr. Foster?" The name itself was unsavoury, sticking in my throat until I spat it out. I hoped the vitriol escaped her notice.

“Okay Victor, get this: it’s like the man has X-ray vision!”

She whispers for dramatic effect, and my grip tightens on the steering wheel as I picture those slate grey eyes sweeping over the curves of her body, a lewd expression falling over the doctor’s features. He was a handsome enough man, that much was true; intelligent and a first-rate surgeon according to Eisuke and Soryu. Goldman confirmed as much when I had him dig up all available information on Luke Foster. On that basis alone, many women would find him to be an extremely attractive suitor and ludicrous though it is, I can’t help but think the worst. Luke had been quite open in his admiration of her, especially her collarbones. What if she returned the sentiment?

In retrospect, it was a horrible idea to leave her to her work (and that wolf) in Tokyo while I returned to mine in Loveland City. While she had the company of her coworkers, clearly none of them sensed the danger in Luke Foster that I did. I no longer had the right to call her a dummy when I was obviously the idiot here.

“I’m telling you Victor, he can just look at somebody and tell you everything about their bone structure. It’s too accurate to just be guesswork! Apparently, he can remember anyone he's ever laid eyes on based on their bones. It’s incredible. I’d love for Professor Lucien to meet him. If only he had the time to fly out to Tokyo…”

The girl continues and I catch sight of my furrowed brows in the rear-view mirror, deepening the longer she goes on and on about men who weren’t me.

“…He’s already agreed to be a guest on the show! But…he did make a rather strange request."

For a moment, I can barely breathe. The skin over my knuckles blanches as it stretches tight, my grip on the wheel growing harder as I brace for unwelcome news. God knows what she would’ve agreed to in my absence. Filled with a sense of dread, I had to know all the same. “Which was?…”

She pauses, the hitch in her breath subtle but speaking volumes nonetheless.

“Just say it, dummy.” I soften my tone in encouragement though my mind was already racing, thinking of all the ways my legal team could dissolve a contract should the girl have already signed papers.

“Well, he…he asked if he could examine my body in lieu of payment for appearing on the show. You should’ve seen him! He was so desperate he was practically begging and I…I just couldn't say no."

MOTHERFUCK!

Chapter 5: Role Model

“STUPID VICTOR LI!”

You had meant to throw the rolled-up magazine in dramatic rock star fashion, sending it flying across your suite at the Tres Spades Tokyo hotel to give at least a resounding smack as it hits the wall. Instead, it flutters to the carpeted floor, barely a few feet from where you lay sprawled out on a bed much too large for a single person.

And from the surface of that glossy cover, Victor’s handsome face — all sharp eyes and chiseled jaw - staring up at you from beneath a headline that read: "Man On Top: How Victor Li Conquered The Business World.”

Man on top. What a tease if there ever was one — especially since you’ve developed the recent habit of falling asleep to the fantasy of having the broad expanse of Victor’s muscular chest hovering over you.

“The only thing he should be on top of is ME!”

Your voice echoes in the room, empty save for you. Even still, your cheeks burned from embarrassment over the absurdity of your current situation. Victor Li didn’t belong to you. Not when he had someone like Diana in his life.

Victor and Diana. Diana and Victor. A perfect match regardless of how the pieces fit. And for an instant, your anger flares to remember the nonchalance in Victor’s voice when he told you that their past history as lovers had no bearing on the present, as if they didn’t look like they belonged together when you saw them just now in the lobby of the hotel, moments after you purchased the magazine with Victor’s face gracing the cover from one of the shops.

Practically ecstatic in your surprise to see him there at the Tres Spades, you were just about to call out to him when his name died in your throat, choked by the sight of the woman at his side. Victor was escorting Diana to a limo waiting just beyond the revolving doors. And the last thing you saw before the chauffeur pulled away was the two of them slipping into the vehicle together.

He hadn’t even told you he was coming to Tokyo.

It was only after you became aware of the fact that you were blocking the entrance to the shop that you recovered from the shock, murmuring apologies as you pulled yourself together just enough to make your way back to the safety of your hotel room.

Rising up off the bed, your feet sink into the lush carpeting as you pad over to where the magazine lay. You pick it up and smooth out the crinkles, fingers tracing the outline of Victor’s profile as you do — gentle, as if you were touching the man himself. And when your nose begins to tingle, you know it won’t be long before you feel the familiar sting of tears behind your eyes.

“Think you could stop being so nice to me, Victor? You’ll give a girl the wrong impression.”

Heaving a sigh, you slip the magazine beneath a pillow on the bed. A quick glance at the clock on the bedside table told you it was almost time for your dinner date with Dr. Foster. Sitting around moping wasn’t an option, at least not tonight. Lightly slapping your cheeks, you push the image of Victor and Diana out of your head and get ready to step into the shower.

Chapter 6: Hard To Swallow [Victor]

“I’m glad you remembered that you owe me a dinner, Victor Li. And though I practically had to drag you to this restaurant, I guess the means don’t really matter if the end result is the same. But still, what a lucky coincidence that we bumped into each other again at the Tres Spades of all places. Now that’s something to drink to.”

Diana holds up her glass, Cabernet Sauvignon swirling as it meets mine with a delicate clink. Under the table, the tip of her stiletto pushes against my oxfords before sliding past my ankle, inching its way up my leg. I pull away, watching those red lips spread into a smile as I do.

“You might be the first man who’s ever been able to resist me. Has anyone ever told you you’re one stubborn asshole?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She laughs at that, taking another sip of her wine before setting it down. “So, tell me about her.”

“Her?” I focus on cutting into my Kobe beef, already aware that Diana will see through my bluff. She always did.

“Surely there must be another woman if you keep turning me down over and over again, Victor. A girl has her pride too, you know.”

“We are not getting back together, Diana.”

“Tsk, you’re no fun, Vic. All work and no play, all the time. I’ll have to remind myself of that the next time I start entertaining thoughts of calling you up again.”

She pouts, but it isn’t long before her eyes take on that familiar spark of mischief as she continues.

“But seriously, tell me about your cute little producer. That is the girl you keep rejecting me for, I presume. I need to know about the woman who’s finally managed to infiltrate the entirety of Victor Li’s notoriously impenetrable heart. She must be quite the lover if she’s got you wrapped around her little finger like that, pulling strings with all your friends left, right and centre.”

It annoys me to no end that the mere mention of the girl is enough to reduce me to a swooning idiot. I fight to keep the smile off my face.

“You’ve got the wrong idea. She’s not my lover.”

Diana begins to protest, but her words are lost on me because I’ve stopped listening. In fact, the only thing I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears, propelled by the adrenaline racing through my veins to see him enter the restaurant.

Dr. Luke Foster.

WITH MY DUMMY, NO LESS.

And my dummy looks…absolutely gorgeous. Her hair is done up, leaving her graceful neck and collarbones exposed in a little black dress I’ve never seen her wear before, I realize with not an insignificant amount of jealousy.

But wait…collarbones?!

Sure enough, that surgeon is staring at her clavicle like some kind of pervert. The sight alone incites the beginnings of a dull throbbing in my temples, no doubt exacerbated by the vice-like clench of my jaws.

I follow them with my gaze as they are led to a table for two; fixate on Luke’s face even as the sommelier arrives to make his recommendations to the pair. The doctor stares at my girl like he couldn’t care less about the meal, as if the only thing he hungered for was precisely what I myself had desired for so long: the woman. And she—

Just looked my way.

Surprise etches itself onto her beautiful features — the brows I had dreamt of one day lightly running a fingertip over while she sleeps lifting into a delicate arch. And why shouldn’t she be surprised? I had given her no indication that I had rushed over to Tokyo from Loveland City as soon as I heard what Luke had requested of her.

But there is no nod of acknowledgement, no smile in greeting. Just her, looking away as if she hadn’t seen me at all, her smile apologetic when she retrains her attention on the doctor. And while it was only for a fraction of a second, I could have sworn her eyes carried a hint of sorrow.

Or perhaps I’m projecting.

Because her obvious avoidance feels like a rebuff, a sucker punch to the gut. She’s never blatantly ignored me like that, no matter how wound up she was even during those times when I verbally tore her sub-par proposals to shreds. The feeling of rejection sits heavy on my chest, the tie around my neck much too tight.

“Victor, are you all right?”

Diana’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She is looking at me curiously. I reach for my glass of wine, suddenly feeling like I was on the verge of choking. “Of course, what could possibly be wrong?”

“ ‘What’s wrong’ is the fact that you haven’t listened to a single word I’ve said for the past ten minutes. Even if there’s no chance we’ll ever get back together again as you so adamantly insist, the least you could do is pay attention to the person you’re sharing a meal with.”

I take a deep breath, more than a little disconcerted by the girl’s ability to affect me. “Of course. My apologies, you’re absolutely right. Please, continue.”

Across the candlelit table, I look Diana in the eye, resolved to keep up at least the pretence of being interested in what she had to say when all I wanted to do was storm the table where Luke sat with my girl. With each sideways glance in their direction, my grip tightened on my utensils to see them chatting, seemingly engrossed in the world’s most interesting conversation.

And when she hands over a manila envelope to the doctor, my heart skips a beat.

Could it be…marriage documents?!

One tiny corner of my brain berates me for how ridiculous I am being but when it comes to her, I simply can’t help it, and the fantasy in which I casually stroll over, flip the table onto Luke Foster and steal my girl away in a bridal carry becomes so vivid in my mind’s eye, it almost seems like a good idea.

Diana excuses herself to use the restroom and I pounce on the opportunity to send the dummy a text:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR. DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 7: Choked Up

“Is there something wrong, Dr. Foster? You haven’t touched your meal.”

You do your best to school your expression into one of polite neutrality as you take in the strange sight of the pale, blond-haired man shaking out an alarming number of pills onto the palm of his hand, tapping loudly on a bottle seemingly produced out of nowhere. He pops them all into his mouth at once and you pray you won’t have to perform the Heimlich maneuver as he chases them down with a few gulps of water.

A smile spreads across the doctor’s lips as his eyes fall upon your collarbones once more. You were used to feeling like a third wheel by now, even when alone with Luke Foster, given his penchant for carrying on conversations while staring intently at your bones. But you took no offence at his behaviour, especially after Baba’s attempts to give you insight into Luke’s peculiar mannerisms:

“Try not to take it personal, Miss. Lu will look at anyone who’s got beautiful collarbones. It’s a well-known fact that he’s obsessed with the boss’s - he's even framed the X-ray films of Eisuke’s bones. He likely just wants yours to add to his collection.”

Strange though it was, the request that Luke be allowed to have X-rays films of your collarbones in exchange for appearing on Miracle Finder was innocent enough. Certainly nothing that warranted the stony silence you received on the other end of the line when you called Victor the other day to tell him that Dr. Foster wanted to examine you. After a brusque “I have to go,” he had hung up. No goodbyes, not even a mutter of “dummy.”

But Luke Foster had been nothing short of a perfect gentleman, never once laying a hand on you. Moreover, he even insisted on paying for tonight’s meal despite the fact that you had invited him as thanks for appearing on the show.

“Please, just call me Luke. Vitamins and water are all I need to survive. I only ordered because Eisuke said it might be awkward if you seemed to be the only one dining.”

“I-I see.” You smile, taking another bite of wagyu. And for a moment, you are too wrapped up in the blissful way it seemed to melt on your tongue to be disconcerted by the strange events of the evening.

You weren’t, however, too distracted to continue throwing surreptitious glances in Victor’s direction, fighting to keep composed each time Diana’s laughter carried over to your table. What were the chances that you’d find yourselves at the same restaurant in all of Tokyo? You know that he knows you are here; even Chik couldn’t put on a performance convincing enough for the LFG CEO to believe for a second that you didn’t see him.

With your dismal acting skills, you definitely didn’t stand a chance.

“You’re in love with him.”

COUGH, COUGH!

You clear the steak lodged in the back of your throat with a few hacking coughs, half of your face hidden behind your napkin as you tried to be as discreet as possible, the words “Death by Wagyu” flashing through your mind. After soothing your throat with a sip of wine, you ask:

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re in love with that man sitting just over there with the woman dressed in red. That Victor fellow who accompanied you to that first meeting with Eisuke.”

For someone who seemed to pay very little attention to matters that didn’t concern bones, Luke Foster was surprisingly perceptive. Or maybe you weren’t as discrete as you thought you were and it was obvious to all but yourself that you were staring at the golden couple.

“I…how did you...what makes you—”

“Please pass this message on to him for me. If he doesn’t treat your collarbones with the respect they deserve, he can’t blame me for swooping in to take his place.”

Then, for the very first time that night, Luke Foster looks you in the eye, the intensity in blue-grey irises making your breath hitch when he says: “Until then, I hope you find happiness with him, Sexy Bones — especially since he also seems to be exceedingly fond of you. Quite the annoyance, really.”

And for the very first time that night, you smile freely, naturally, at Luke, blushing hard as you contemplate his words. Suddenly bashful, you drop your gaze only to catch sight of the manila envelope you brought with you. You pass it across the table to him.

“Here. Your payment for agreeing to appear on Miracle Finder.”

The expression on Luke’s face can best be described as euphoric when he takes the films from you, momentarily excusing himself from the table as he murmurs something about requiring brighter lighting to examine them.

That is when you hear the buzz of your phone from inside your purse. And when you finally fish it out, you see a single text from Victor, commanding as always:

“MEET ME AT THE BAR IN THE TRES SPADES HOTEL IN AN HOUR. DON’T BE LATE.”

Chapter 8: Green-Eyed Monsters [Victor]

“Another whiskey on the rocks for you, Sir?”

I nod to the bartender, watching as he chips away at a block of ice to produce a perfect crystalline sphere — still spinning in the glass when he pours the amber spirit over it like a libation. It almost takes my mind off the fact that the girl is late. By exactly ten minutes, according to my watch. And for a moment, I’m gripped by a sense of panic when I consider the possibility that she might not come.

She never did answer my text though I knew she saw it — having witnessed her reaching into her purse to pull out her phone seconds after I sent the message. And while the logical part of my brain is telling me I’m being an absolute idiot, worst-case scenarios are already running through my head: the girl is side-swiped by a car while crossing the street, or somehow managed to fall into an open manhole and is currently standing knee-deep in sewage.

Or maybe she is pinned to the wall in a dark corner somewhere, hemmed in on either side by the gifted hands of a world-class surgeon by the name of Luke Foster.

I lift the glass to my lips, too impatient to even savour the smooth burn of the drink as I reach for my phone to send her another text. That is when I see her:

Cheeks flushed and chest gently heaving as if she had rushed to get here. An errant lock of hair falling from her up-do, framing that beautiful face like I had dreamt so many times of doing with the palm of my hand.

She makes her way towards me in that dimly lit bar, and though I’m aware of the faint ticking of the second hand of my watch, time may as well have stood still. Because I could have lived in that moment forever, gazing upon the light in her eyes as if they held every last star in the sky, as if those heavenly bodies had fallen just for her in precisely the same way I had: deeply, irrevocably.

And I know there is no turning back.

“Victor, sorry I’m late! What are you doing here in Tok—”

“Why did you ignore me?” My voice comes out stern, even to my ears, and I curse myself for losing my cool around her yet again. The girl furrows her brows, eyes dropping from my face to the half-empty glass of whiskey sitting on the counter. And when she looks up again, something in her countenance has changed — soft surprise giving way to a hardened expression.

“If it’s the text you’re referring to, I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

She looks away, refusing to meet my gaze as she perches on the stool beside me. “Surely you wouldn’t have wanted me to interrupt your dinner date, especially when you and Ms. Shum seemed so intimate.”

Intimate?

The bartender approaches, interrupting our conversation before I get the chance to formulate a reply. “What can I get for you, Miss?”

“She’ll have a glass of warmed milk—”

“Whiskey. On the rocks, please.”

She speaks over me, turning slightly in my direction as she does. I ignore the murmur of “Ladies’ choice” from the bartender as well as the smirk on his face as he begins preparing her drink. The thinly veiled challenge in the girl’s expression — elbow propped up on the counter with her chin resting atop a loose fist — only serves to highlight how incredibly alluring it is when she pushes back.

“Hmm. Bold. Since when did you start drinking whiskey? I don’t think you need me to remind you of your non-existent alcohol tolerance. Besides, didn’t you already have enough to drink at dinner?”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Victor Li,” she says, reaching for the glass the bartender sets down before her. She takes a moment, staring at the rich, golden hues before finally taking a sip. I fight to keep the smile off my face when hers pulls into a grimace from the sting of the alcohol she clearly wasn’t familiar with. Dummy.

“I’m surprised you even noticed me at all, not with the lovely Diana there. But I guess old wounds really do have difficulty closing, no matter how much we say they’ve healed.”

“You’d have to ask for the expert opinion of your overly friendly doctor about that.”

“Excuse me?” She sets her drink down a bit harder than likely intended, sending the liquid sloshing about the glass to kiss the pink of her lipstick imprinted on its edge.

I don’t like where this conversation is going, the ill-disguised barbs only serving to increase the tension between us. It was foolish to have what should’ve been a very private discussion in a public space but, as always, the thought of her and Luke together is enough to make me forget my place and position, throwing caution to the wind and behaving with reckless abandon.

And still, the heat beneath my collar goads me on.

“Luke Foster. The one you’re so enthralled with that your manners seem to have been completely swept from memory. I presume that’s the reason why you didn’t acknowledge my existence when you saw me in the restaurant.”

Her eyes widen in disbelief as she leans in close, voice dripping with sarcasm: “Just like how you didn’t remember to tell me you were coming to Tokyo? Or maybe you weren’t planning on telling me at all, since it clearly looked like you weren’t here on business. But then again, I guess your business is none of mine.”

I don’t know whether I want to push back or kiss her senseless.

Instead, I settle for a deep breath, trying to keep my frustration in check. Having a heated argument with her was not how I had intended my evening to go. In fact, my entire day had not proceeded as planned, and if I hadn’t been accosted by Diana as soon as I stepped foot in the Tres Spades hotel, I would have been having dinner with the woman who occupied all my thoughts, all the time. At the very least, I could’ve saved her from the clutches of a pervert doctor.

I glance in her direction, study the beautiful melancholy of her silent profile as she watches the ball of ice slowly melt into her drink. Then I take another sip of mine, steeling myself for reparations I desperately needed to make.

“I am only going to say this once, so listen closely. Diana Shum and I dated shortly after graduation for all of two months before we decided to part ways on amicable terms. We make for much better business partners than we ever did romantically, and while she has expressed occasional interest in rekindling our relationship, I have never been of the same mind. I can assure you this will never change.

“The reason I came to Tokyo is not because of her — professional or otherwise — but because I was in a rush to prevent a certain dummy from doing anything she’d regret later on. But…”

I knock back the rest of my whiskey, emptying the glass.

“…I’m afraid I’m too late.”

She looks at me now, eyes wide as if she were still processing the words. Her next question comes on a whisper: “Why would you be too late?”

And it is my turn to look away.

“Well, you seemed to be pretty intimate yourself with Dr. Foster during your dinner date. I can only presume that…”

The girl moves closer and I can’t help the way my eyes are drawn to her mouth — the tremble of her lower lip, full and pink and lush. Without thought, I allow my gaze to trace along the graceful column of her neck, settling at the delicate notch between her collarbones and in that instant, I come to a visceral understanding of the extent of Luke Foster’s obsession, for mine was magnified a million times over:

I yearned for the entirety of this woman before me — needed her for myself, now and forever.

“Presume what?” Her voice is low, shaking.

“I can only presume that you’ve already allowed him to…examine your body.”

There is a moment of silence — each torturous second seeming to stretch into eternity to smother the last embers of hope.

“I have…”

Oh god.

“…given him X-ray films of my collarbones as he requested. That is all. He’s never touched me, not even once. I took him out to dinner tonight so I could give them to him as thanks for appearing on the show.”

Petty. Sheepish. I felt all these things, but none so powerful as the staggering sense of relief that washes over me to hear her say these words. Closing my eyes, I let the revelation sink in, finally feeling like I can breathe for the very first time that night.

Chapter 9: The Big Bang

You don’t quite know what made you do it.

The ambience of the bar, perhaps: sultry jazz and flickering candles purposefully placed to create just enough shadows for a veil of privacy.

Or maybe it was the crestfallen uncertainty that painted the handsome features of Victor Li’s face, his sudden display of vulnerability both novel and endearing.

Most likely however, it was the way in which his downcast expression morphed into one of ecstatic relief when you told him that Luke Foster had not laid a single finger on you.

Because when Victor tilts his head back, eyes closed and sighing deeply as if some unfathomable burden had been lifted, you cannot help but bring your lips to the Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of that strong, thick neck.

Cedar wood and pine.

The notes of his cologne are so familiar you didn’t realize how much you missed his scent until you literally came face to face with it. Victor is warm, so very warm beneath the skin of your lips. And under your touch, you become vaguely aware of the fact that the rise and fall of his chest has stilled.

At any other time, you would’ve questioned your sanity for how boldly you were behaving, especially towards someone who was your boss. You had never been one to put yourself out there when it came to matters of the heart. Something about the moment however, about Victor, made you feel like the one thing you could not do was let this chance pass you by.

So when you hear that shuddering breath, feel the faint scratch of his five o’clock shadow when he nuzzles against you in return, you know you’ve made the right gamble. Being with Victor Li feels right. And the surreal sense of belonging you find within the embrace of his muscular arms gives you the courage to say, “You must really believe I’m a dummy if you think I’d let any man other than you touch me.”

He slides a finger beneath your chin, gently lifting until all you can see are those jet black eyes, swimming with heat and emotion. The sudden silence of your surroundings sinks in: no more music, no idle chatter. Not even the rustle of limbs moving about in the dimly lit bar. And there, in the strange privacy of suspended time…

...Victor kisses you.

* * *

“Are you sure…this is…what you want?”

The deep timbre of Victor’s voice sends a thrill vibrating along the surface of your skin as he questions you between kisses — laid on your mouth, the line of your jaw, the pulse of your neck. His firm body presses you into a corner of the elevator, empty save for the two of you writhing in unison against a mirrored wall.

Each movement of his soft lips against yours is purposeful, imbued with meaning: longing in the gentle teeth that nibbled on your lower lip before drawing it into his mouth, in the sensual slide of the tongue that sought yours. Affection obvious in the hands that rose to cup your face, thumbs tracing circles on the apples of reddened cheeks to tell you in no uncertain terms that Victor Li belonged to you as much as you yearned to belong to him.

So you had no qualms about answering in the affirmative, nodding your head because the press of Victor’s muscular thigh between your legs already left you breathless and wondering whether he could feel your wet heat seeping through your panties.

And all he really did was kiss you.

Ding.

The elevator stops at your floor and even before the doors slide open, Victor has hoisted you up, wrapping your legs tightly about his tapered waist and whispering into your ear, “Which room?”

You knew Victor was fit, had seen him move fast and effortlessly through the waters of his Olympic-sized swimming pool that one time he had you deliver a report to his mansion on a Sunday. And yet, you could not help but admire the sheer perfection of his physique — the bulk of his biceps, flexed beneath strained layers of clothing; the ease with which he carries you all the way to your suite.

And when he sits you down upon the king-sized bed, you wonder if it is, in fact, too small for all the things you cared to do with him.

The LFG CEO shrugs off his suit jacket, loosening his tie just enough to pull it over his head before dropping to kneel at your feet. You watch him reach for you, shiver when he caresses the sensitive skin behind your knee with a light graze of gentle fingertips. Large hands trail down your calf — touch barely there and teasing — until his palm finally cups the heel of your stiletto to slide it off your foot.

He looks up at you then, the intensity in ebony irises rendering you still and mute as you patiently await his next move despite the frenzied pounding in your chest. There is a stroke of something almost feral in the dark depths of the gaze that falls heavy upon you — searching your eyes, lingering on your lips…tracing the neckline of your dress.

“I’ve never seen you wear this dress before.” Victor says, taking the same amount of care to remove the shoe from your other foot.

And if you were able to think straight under the influence of his touch — the hands that pushed back the hem of your dress as they roamed higher and higher up your thighs towards your heat — you might have found it strange that Victor was choosing now, of all times, to comment on your wardrobe choices. As it was, you answered without second thought: “It’s new. I bought it especially for tonight’s dinner.”

Victor stills and when he speaks again, there is a faint tremble in that voice, as if fighting to contain some unfathomable emotion.

“The doctor couldn’t stop staring at you. I know because I was the same way. I couldn’t look away from the moment you stepped foot in that restaurant.”

The revelation leaves you silent, waiting with bated breath for Victor to continue.

“Forgive me…”

Fingers entwine with fabric, gripping tight.

“…but I can’t stand the thought of you looking so beautiful for anyone else.”

RRRIIIIPPPP!

You fall back, wincing at the sound even as you feel your body respond to the sudden shock of having your dress torn right down the middle. Victor’s display of brute strength was so at odds with the façade of composure he was synonymous with and yet, there was no denying that you were incredibly aroused by this show of power — by the fact that he was now straddling you on all fours like some wild beast, tearing away the rest of your undergarments to leave you completely bare.

You’ve never been so desperate to feel him inside you, deep and rough and untamed. The thought throws you into a frenzy of lust.

Digging your fingers into the front of his dress shirt, you yank it open to send buttons flying in haphazard directions, but the only thing that concerned you was the sight of that broad chest and muscular torso, so impressive it actually elicits a moan from your lips and a smile from his in return.

Propping yourself up onto your knees, you press against him, flesh to flesh — one hand running over the burning surface of his skin even as the other tugs at the buckle of his leather belt, impatiently moving to palm him when his dress pants fall and gasping to finally see and feel the full extent of the LFG CEO:

Victor Li is rock hard and intimidatingly large.

And the sight makes your mouth water.

Sinking onto your heels, you trail your lips along Victor’s chiseled body, tongue teasing at his nipples as you do and relishing the catch of his breath in his throat.

But just as you begin to lay kisses along the deep V of his abdomen with the intent of tracing lower and lower, Victor stops you, puling you up for a kiss before laying back on the bed and positioning you above him…

…with his face between your legs.

“This way,” he says, voice muffled, and you might have commented on his inability to relinquish control even in the bedroom were it not for the sensation of his flattened tongue sweeping hot and wet along the seam of your already dripping pussy, teasing from end to end.

The sensation is so intense it’s almost unbearable. You throw your head back, mouth dropping in a silent scream as you sink onto Victor’s face, fighting the instinct to grinder lower onto that talented tongue despite the encouraging grip of Victor’s hands, strong on your hips and thighs.

“I’ve wanted to taste you…for so long,” he murmurs, sucking the swell of your clit into his mouth and humming in approval against moist flesh to hear you moan above him. “Your flavour is absolutely exquisite.”

Gathering your wits, you fold forward — intent on giving just as much pleasure as you were receiving. Victor twitches once within your grip, not quite contained by the circumference of your palm and fingers, running up and down the sizeable length of his cock, hot in your hand like his breath on your slit. And after placing a few wet kisses on the smooth, hard head, you open your mouth to taste him.

The tepid salt of his arousal. The groans originating from deep within Victor’s chest each time your lip brushed past the tender underside of his cock. The subtle rhythm of his pelvis, lifting in time to your mouth swallowing more of that solid shaft, quickly becoming slick with your saliva.

And then you catch sight of your reflection in the mirrored closet. See the bulge of Victor’s bicep as he grips your hip, the flex in the muscles of his neck when he lifts to bury his face deeper into your folds. See yourself: hair disheveled and eyes half-lidded, drunk on sex. Observe the messy smear of your lipstick as your mouth stretches to accommodate more and more of your boss’s cock. And when the tip of Victor’s tongue begins its relentless tease of your clit, you watch as a most debauched expression falls over your features, the tension in your body breaking as you find release on his lips.

You are still shaking when he enters you, sensitized by an orgasm that left tiny sparks of electricity running along every nerve, priming you for second helpings. A true paragon of patience, Victor Li takes his time, deliberately slow as he pushes — savouring the sensation of drenched, swollen flesh parting just for him.

It was almost unfathomable that you could experience such extreme pleasure, each powerful swing of Victor’s hips driving him deeper into your body — hitting just the right angles until your very senses were extracted along with your second release of the night, running slick between your legs to ease the slippery slide of your bodies.

It draws out Victor’s own, your lover moving to pull out moments before you surprise him by taking him once more into your mouth — gaze locked onto those dark eyes from below as you taste him on your tongue, euphoric to see him bite his lips when your lick yours to swallow every last drop.

Chapter 10: Pillow Talk

Beep Beep Beep Beep.

You roll over, eyes still closed as you reach out to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock.

Except your palm comes down on warm flesh with a resounding smack, echoing throughout your hotel room and accompanied by a deep voice that says, “Are you finally awake, Dummy?”

Your eyes shoot open to see Victor lying naked in bed next to you, a splotch of red blooming on his chest where he had been attacked. He sets his phone down to hand you a glass of water from the bedside table, and even though memories of the previous night come rushing back to burn your cheeks, you cannot help but notice how glorious he looks bathed in morning light. You hope he doesn’t see the way your hand shakes when you accept the glass from him with a meek “Thanks.”

Victor clears his throat, waiting for you to finish drinking before he says, “That was the fourth time you slept through the alarm. I’ve already informed your colleagues you’ll be taking the day off. We didn’t get much sleep last night and I think you’ll need some time to…recover.”

You bite your lip, turning sideways to feign a sudden interest in the curtains so he wouldn’t see the giant smile spreading onto your face. It was almost surreal that Victor Li was your lover, and if it weren’t for the exquisite soreness you felt between your legs, you would’ve been hard pressed to believe it for yourself.

The sheets rustle and before you know it, Victor has his chest pressed up against your bare back, laying a soft kiss on your shoulder before he rests his chin on it.

“How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Okay. Pretty good, actually.” It was too early in the game to tell him you were already doing cartwheels in your mind.

“Good. I’m glad to hear that because I found this under your pillow…”

He places something in your hands. Your eyes widen when you recognize the magazine with his face on the cover.

“…And this ‘man on top’ wants to know what it feels like to have this woman on top of him for the rest of the day.”

You’ve made it to the end! 🤩 Thank you so much for reading! Check out more of my work here! 📚

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maivalkov · 3 years

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I have seen not long ago a post about "spain's dark side" so...your opinion about that? (I kinda have a feeling of knowing why himaruya came up with that and, if I am right, I am not sure if I like it. It's not that I don't like the dark side thing, but if the reason is what I think, then I don't fancy it)

Great question! Please excuse the length of this response in advance, and if I go off on any tangents. To directly answer your question: I have a horrible feeling that Dark Spain is inspired by the Spanish Black Legend/La leyenda negra, and I don't like that at all. You've really hit on an important topic here, so I'm going to extend this discussion. I call this upcoming piece: Why I don't like Dark Spain and why we, as fans and creators, need to be mindful of how we enjoy our beloved series.

Side note before we begin: I'm going to be talking from a writer's perspective, since this is what I mostly do. My opinion is just that, nothing more. Some will agree with me, others won't, and that's okay. If you're happy with the terms, let's crack on.

Part 1: "Dark" characters I'm not against 2P or "dark" versions of a character if it's required for a particular setting. Let me show you what I mean, using some fic plots I just pulled from my head: Example one: You've got this gritty, fantasy gangster city plot. You use a real city as your location, but the characters are human. Antonio's the leader of a huge criminal organisation and therefore he will do incredibly bad things. It's trigger warnings ahoy. Is this portrayal okay? Sure. (read on before you hit that reply button) Example two: You're writing a horror fic. Antonio's a sexy merman who's more likely to decorate his cave with your entrails, than serenade you on a beach. Is this plot fine? Absolutely. It's dark af, but you're writing sexy merman horror. It kinda’ comes with the territory. Did you see how I wrote "fantasy" and "human" in bold? And did you see that I used Antonio, not Spain? There's a reason. I personally believe in this: When your story uses Hetalia characters in their human form (i.e: Antonio is just Antonio, he does not represent Spain), there's much more freedom and flexibility. I've read many excellent works with darker themes who use real locations alongside human versions of the characters, and do so brilliantly. They're wonderful stories, and they don't cause harm. They're fiction. Fantasy. Fiction. Did I mention fiction? On the flip side: When we are writing the characters as country personifications, who represent the people and the history, we must take proper precaution. The same applies to writing about historical events. (To be continued down below.)

Part 2: Dark Spain

As someone who's been in fandom 10+ years now, my problem with Dark Spain is this: a number of creators back in the old days seemed to agree with my Black Legend theory/concerns, and yet they willingly made content for it. Not everybody did this, but I certainly saw some who thought "wow dark crazy Spain because Inquisition", applied it to certain ships because "ohh angst leads to romance, what a plot" and that is wrong on so many levels. If you know the Spanish Black Legend, then you know how bad this is. It's an incredibly difficult topic because it is, in the simplest sense, massive propaganda designed to seriously damage a country's image. I welcome Spanish input on this, but personally I think using this as some edgy portrayal of Antonio in your fics is insulting. Don't bloody well do it.

(Please note that the fandom is MUCH better now, but it doesn't change the fact it has, and could still happen. I used past tense for a reason, as I do think things are improving.)

Russia is another character which suffers this treatment, and I do think we have a responsibility to be considerate. Many countries have done awful things, mine (the UK) included, and yet our characters have escaped receiving this Dark persona. It's not fair, it really isn't. It's a poor judgment call on Himaruya's behalf if my theory is true. If I'm wrong, then this argument is void. Either way I feel like Himaruya should've specified how and why Dark Spain came about. Part 3: Historical writing

Here's where it gets interesting. I'm not saying "don't write historical hetalia fanfiction", and I never will say it because historical fiction exists. You can go in your local bookshop and boom, people are making real money off it.

I'm not one of those lucky sorts, but I am contributing to that genre myself. Despite lots of magic, fantasy and general artistic license, my story Gatito can be considered historicaI.

It's set in England, 1569. Spain and the Netherlands are two of the main characters, and yes, their conflict is referenced. It coincides with the timeline, and all the while I write them as personifications, I can't pretend that tension between them doesn't exist. If I did, that'd probably be even more insulting to their history, and no doubt confusing for the reader.

The main plot is a daft mash of Arthur misusing his magic, a vile fictional man from Antonio's court who wants his head, and poor Netherlands and Portugal get wrapped up in the drama along the way.

The Dutch conflict is featured, but not the plot. The event is occurring right in the middle of a fictional disaster which Antonio is trying to overcome. It's acknowledged, but it's on the side, to put it simply.

I use human names (Antonio and Abel) and explore that situation from an emotional, human perspective. I do not claim that Abel is a victim, and no one thinks he is either. Personal HC time here: I don't think any of the characters look back at their history and think "wow, poor me". Everyone's made mistakes, and they've all played a role in hurting someone else. My history teacher once told me this: The more you look, the more you see. There's many sides to a story, and even to this day, I doubt historians have truly, faithfully documented events so that it's fair on every nation involved. That's why we need to try and learn history from multiple perspectives, and why when writing hetalia characters during a historical event, we should show the reader as many viewpoints as possible. If you don't, then... well. I frown at you. More on this in part 4.

Part 4: Conclusion/advice

I won't pretend to be a saintly figure in the fandom, and this rant is a bit of a mess, but I hope you get what I'm on about. Thank you if you're still reading.

I'm going to finish with a bit of advice that has helped me have a positive time, and allowed me to create works for a series I really love:

1- If your story is historical, and you purposely want to paint a country in a bad light, think before you do. Don't slander another country for the sake of your comfort character or ship. If your story is set during a battle then yes, they can moan about the opposition, but don’t go hardcore. You know what I mean.

2- Research, research, research.

3- You want to write a particular character. Their human name is unconfirmed, or you don't know a part of their history, but you want to write about it. What should you do? Talk. I had this very dilemma regarding Portugal's surnames, and I just asked Portuguese mutuals on Tumblr for help. I received numerous valid responses in under an hour, and I felt better for it. 10/10 highly recommend.

4- If you've gotta' write Dark Spain: Keep. It. Fictional. If you don't believe my theory behind it, cool, crack on. But if you agree with me, then yeah, I've said it enough. Respect the country.

5- DO explore history. It's fascinating.

6- If you write historical hetalia and you feel that something might be misunderstood: PLEASE USE DISCLAIMERS, END NOTES ETC. I write number 6 from experience. There is a scene in Gatito where a significantly stressed Antonio attempts to summarise the Dutch conflict. He's being blamed for countless fictional issues, and rather than think things through, he blames himself for Abel's pain as well. He does it on a purely emotional basis. Have you ever had that really bad day, and things keep getting worse? Someone comes along and says "you did x y z and I'm mad", and rather than argue your side, you accept it?

That's Antonio in that scene. I know it is, because that's how I intended it to be read. His answer is flawed, to say the least, but in his human heart, he can't help it. I used the end notes as a warning/apology/explanation for this scene. I don't want it to be misinterpreted, and I don't want to disrespect Spanish history.

7- If someone does comment/ask about a sensitive, historical part of your work: don't rant. And don't get offended. I believe we all need to talk more. Have conversations about HCs, how we would write/imagine different scenes, and use it to improve your work.

8- Have fun, and be sensible. Thank you again for reading, I hope this helps to some extent. I know I've thrown my opinion out here, but if you strongly disagree with me, don't @. Move on, embrace what you believe, and everyone's a winner. (This really should've been number 9 on the list haha.)

#ask #hws spain

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straymackerel · 4 years

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idk if your requests are open but if they’re not then feel free to ignore this. 😅 id like to request an imagine with dazai having a long, deep conversation with his new co-worker who happens to be a former member of the port mafia but she left for obvious reasons and only fukuzawa knows for now but ofc dazai being dazai, he’s sharp af so he decided to talk to her bc one, he understands her and second he developed feelings for her shortly after she joined ada. thanks in advance! 🥰

➽─{done! they were actually closed, but this was such a fun request i made it 2k long (✿´ ꒳ ` )}─❥

You often wonder if it was something you said.

Ever since you joined the Armed Detective Agency, all of your new coworkers have been nothing short of friendly and accommodating. All of them––except for the bandaged mystery who can’t quite take his eyes off of you.

At first you thought it was just your imagination. When he answered your questions dismissively, you thought maybe he didn’t have a way with words. When he bailed on group trips to Café Uzumaki––but only when you were going too––you brushed it off as a coincidence. And when you first ‘caught’ him fixated on you, looking you square in the face from his own desk, you hoped he was actually looking at something above your head or next to you.

After all, in the Port Mafia, you always felt as if you were being watched, precisely because you were being watched. Your every move was silently documented, your behavior acutely observed within a larger culture of distrust and suspicion. You wondered if maybe you carried that instinctive unease with you to your new day job. (The only proper day job you’ve ever held.)

But there was no need for deft maneuvers to realize that this intimidating brunette was, indeed, staring you down in silence. He has no intention of hiding it; he’s openly tracking your movements, peering into your essence. And the most unnerving part of all: he’s smirking half of the time. If you didn’t know any better, you would confront him the first chance you got; but your situation is precarious, delicate. You have no business drawing attention to yourself, a former member of the Port Mafia. Sure, the President is already aware of your circumstances, but the Mafia has engrained the virtues of secrecy into you. You hope to keep your past on the down low.

Besides, there’s something off about this brown-haired detective. Something you realized at the beginning of your employment, way before he started staring into your soul. Something you hope you’re wrong about.

So you wait it out, anxiously. Drained by the presence of your colleagues, you find yourself in Café Uzumaki alone one slow-moving afternoon. The paperwork was piling up, the tension in the air almost tangible as Dazai declined yet another offer to do actual field-work with the others in favor of keeping tabs on you (unbeknownst to anyone else). You’d left the office at your earliest convenience, hoping to relax in the corner with your favorite beverage.

It is all you can do to keep from spewing the profane as he invites himself to your table, waltzing in without a care in the world.

You’re trapped.

Ordering himself a double shot espresso, your coworker ignores your apparent apprehension as he gets comfy in his booth seat. Downing his drink while you’ve barely touched yours, he glances behind him to check out the waitstaff. No words are exchanged until the baristas are out of earshot.

“Well, you certainly seem to have a vested interest in me,” you say in the most nonchalant manner manageable––nervous because of his constant surveillance, but also because he’s quite handsome for a borderline stalker.

“You can drop the tight-lipped smile,” Dazai replies, eyes darkened.

You lower your voice, hackles raised. “How much do you know?”

“I suppose it’s all speculation, but my hunches are rarely wrong. You chose to work at a detective agency after all.” Though he’s avoided your question, the look on his face tells you everything you need to know. Eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth upturned, he most definitely has your former occupation pegged.

“What gave it away?” is the only thing you can think to say.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Perhaps it will aid me in playing detective,” you quip. He chuckles dryly.

“Oh, where to start. That concealed weapon you carry––it’s not issued by the Agency. Though its outline is comparable to our standard Beretta 92FS Inox sidearm, there are some subtle differences, even when it’s tucked away and wrapped in cloth.” You raise your eyebrows, surprised that anyone would notice.

“The way you move soundlessly and seamlessly,” he continues, not bothering to pause. “It’s obviously second nature. You hardly make a sound if you can help it. And then there’s your understanding of the underworld, even though you try to hide it. You obviously know much more than you let on; your knowledge is too convenient. You claim to know just the perfect tidbit or two for a case, having overheard a street vendor or a barkeep, but the expression on your face is all too telling of a certain sense of pride. Such a seemingly mild-mannered sweetheart as yourself. Did you know that when you flinch at violence, you always react a hair slower than everyone else, as if you’re simply following suit? Also––”

“Okay, OK, I get it,” you say, defeated. “So that’s the reason why you’re leering at me every day? To add to this never-ending list of yours?”

“Well...” Dazai’s voice trails off. His features relax for the briefest moment, more alarming than reassuring to you. And then that nagging thought resurfaces. That is, the very first thing that came to mind when you were first introduced to him. Again: something you hope you’re wrong about.

“You’re quite suspicious yourself,” you interject. “Let alone your little stalker habit... you have the same name as him.” The corners of his eyes crease.

“That’s an odd way of putting it,” he says with a hint of mirth in his voice, and not a smidgen of denial. Fuck.

Logic dictates that you should be scared shitless right now, sitting across from one of the most dangerous men in Mafia history. Logic dictates that you should’ve used more covert methods of uncovering his past. Straightening up, you tell yourself not to think about it.

“Well, I was under the impression that Dazai Osamu was only a legend and nothing more. I mean, a teenage orphan prodigy who threw their life as a Mafia exec away, only to disappear forever? Sounds like bullshit,” you state with as much cool-headedness as you can muster.

“I take that personally!” he gasps, twisting his arms every which way in mock offense, as if to shield himself from your harsh commentary.

“You didn’t consider changing your name?”

“Not even once.” He winks, to which your heart may or may not skip a beat. Are you scared, or oddly enamored?

You push your cup along your side of the table. “How come you turned tail too? You had the status to do literally anything you wanted.” He brushes it off.

“What is this, my interview? The last time I checked, you were the one on trial,” he says, waving his hand like he’s batting your assertion out of the air.

“I’m on trial?” you ask, the cup coming to a stop. “Do the others have suspicions as well?”

“Oh no, nothing in particular to go on. Though Ranpo most definitely has you figured out,” he says, to which you startle. “...but he couldn’t care less, so don’t worry.” You unintentionally sigh relief as he continues: “My colleagues have this peculiar way of testing their new recruits. We call it an ‘entrance exam.’ And before you ask, I’m not responsible for administering yours, but I might be able to push you in the right direction.”

“Any hints?”

He shakes his head, “Not really. No general tips or tricks. I need some more information,” he says, leaning in a bit. “So tell me about yourself. Why leave the Mafia for the ADA?”

You press your lips together, realizing he’s asking you the very same question he himself dodged moments ago. “I needed a change of atmosphere. And scenery. I wasn’t quite taken up with the constant death threats and daily bloodshed.”

“Oh, death threats? And bloodshed? I don’t suppose you were on the receiving end?” Dazai asks, one eyebrow cocked.

You laugh a restrained laugh, nodding. “I wasn’t. But those kinds of tactics... they aren’t in my nature. Everything about that job was suffocating, and I just couldn’t do it anymore.” Dazai looks at you thoughtfully.

“It’s interesting, though. You carry your past line of work in all of your mannerisms. Any chance you were born into it?”

You nod again, “Not my choice.”

“What a coincidence.” He flashes a toothy smile, silence thickening the air. You scramble to break it, eager to talk about something else.

“...So? Any advice for my test?”

“I’d be a little more forthcoming if only you’d tell me the full truth,” Dazai responds, and your face falls.

“What do you mean?” Your strained voice comes out meeker than you’d like, and it’s Dazai’s turn to sigh. He leans back into his booth seat, as if a little distance might solve your unease.

“I lost someone. The best friend I’ve ever had. He told me I wouldn’t find what I was looking for in the Mafia, so here I am. And I’m pretty sure you have someone like that too.” How does he know? Why is he telling you this? Your hands––they’re clammy. You turn your gaze to your lap, realizing that he’d dismantle anything but the truth. There are no options but one.

“It was... a family member.” More silence. Is your nose getting red? You hope your nose isn’t getting red.

“The Mafia threatened them?” he prods.

“They were collateral,” you say slowly. You hadn’t expected to talk about them today. You hadn’t expected any of this from a coworker who kept you at several arms’ lengths for days. Another coworker might respond “that’s horrible,” or “I’m sorry for your loss,” but not Dazai.

“Dazai, do you ever wonder if it’s our fault they got hurt?”

“No,” he replies immediately. Then he hesitates. “I mean, yes, and for a very long time, but not anymore. Evil will do evil; if not to our loved ones, then to someone else.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right.

“But does it make it any easier?” You peer at him, hopeful, and he dismisses your expectations with a quick shake of the head. “Right.” Pause.

“But you’ve come to the right place. Unlike the Mafia, this is an environment where you can heal. Sometimes the wounds reopen,” he says, “but I promise you that your feelings will go towards something productive.” You swallow, blinking back would-be teardrops. The salty marinade seeps back into you.

Then, under your breath: “Okay.” “Thank you.”

“Of course. I could talk about this all day.” The tightness in your throat dissipates, the water in your eyes no longer threatening to spill.

“So, the entrance exam? I’ve told you everything now,” you pry. He thrums his fingers, amused.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I figured pretty early on that you would be okay. You’re gonna pass just fine without my help––I only wanted to get to know my new coworker better.” His fingers stop as he gauges your response.

“Wha–?” This guy! He played you, straight to the verge of tears..! Shoulder tense, you jump to your feet.

“Sorry to deceive you. I’ll see you upstairs, then.” Jeez, the bandaged bastard’s already heading out!

“Wait!” Cheeks flushed, you’re unsure why you’re calling out to him, but it makes him stops in his tracks.

“...Yes?”

“...You’re not gonna tell anyone, right?”

“I’ll think about it.” Dazai’s coy voice is all but reassuring.

“No, seriously,” you plead, eyes wide. “I really need this. God forbid someone else prompts a retelling of my life story.” He turns to face you.

“Then let’s make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

He steps towards you, leaning in to whisper in your ear: “Meet me in front of this building tomorrow at 10 PM. There’s a restaurant I want to take you.” You feel your mouth open, then close by itself.

This is it. This is why he can’t look away from you. If he was only observing you, he could, would do it without being so obvious. You’re sure of it now. You replay each once-menacing occurrence of eye contact from the past few days in your head, and you notice something new. Hunger? Want? Even greed? You can see it in his eyes right now. Those eyes, they threaten to dance around, maybe even travel a bit... lower.

(You jest yourself. ‘Once-menacing?’ He’s still menace, still a danger.) He turns away, heading for the door again, not waiting for a response:

“Don’t be late.”

A chill runs up your spine. It’s a mix of fear, and bitterness, and panic, but most of all...

A growing anticipation.

#Dazai Osamu #bsd fanfic #bsd fic #dazai fic #dazai imagine #bsd x reader #bsd oneshot #dazai oneshot #armed detective agency #dazai fanfiction

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

Text

let it out (Javier x Reader) {MTMF}

Title: let it out Rating: Explicit Length: 3000 Warnings: SO MUCH ANGST oh, and Smut (oral F receiving, unprotected sex) Notes: You can find the Maybe Today, Maybe Forever Timeline here. Set in late 1995. I know I said I didn’t think I’d have a chapter today, I really didn’t think I would. I was pretty upset last night and all of this came out. Summary: Reader and Javier finally discuss everything between them from Colombia.

Taglist: @grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow @hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501 @fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim @amarvelousmandalorian @lukesrighthand @historynerd04 @mrsparknuts @synystersilenceinblacknwhite

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You fumed as you sat down the file you had been reading, abandoning the sofa before you were tempted to flip the table over in your annoyance.

“What’s wrong?” Javier questioned as he came back into the family room with two beers. “What is it baby?”

You laughed bitterly and shook your head, “Look at the file.” You folded your arms across your chest and paced away from the sofa. “They just can’t let it go.”

Javier’s brows furrowed as he sat down on the sofa and picked up the discarded file. You watched him as his eyes scanned over the page, “What am I looking at?”

“The P.D. requested files from the DEA about Escobar’s ventures here.” You explained, your tone still dripping with venom. “They struck my name from every fucking file.”

“What?” Javier’s jaw rocked, his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he glared at the documents, shuffling through the other files sitting on the table. “I see Murphy and Peña everywhere in these files, but I don’t see—”

“Me.” You gritted your teeth. “Carefully omitted from a crucial part of DEA history.” You dragged your fingers through your hair, fingers curling into fists at your side. “Never underestimate the lengths that men will go to really prove what pieces of shit they are.” You gave him a look. “No offense. You’re not like them.”

Javi rubbed at the back of his neck, shaking his head. “I don't get a free pass. I’ve done enough shit in my life that I don’t get one.” He gestured to the files. “But this is… what the fuck?”

“I just love that you are still there.” You pointed out, looking away then. “I mean goddamn, they could’ve just rewritten history and wiped our whole team off the mission.” You laughed again, “I mean at least they didn’t replace me with fucking Chris.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t.” You shook your head. “They understand the situation at the P.D., it doesn’t fucking matter. It just… five goddamn years.” You lowered your gaze, lips pursed together. “I’m gonna go make sure Josie didn’t get woken up.”

You couldn’t actually handle being there with Javier right then. You didn’t want to keep exploding and you felt like you were about to erupt with everything you’d kept a tight cork on. There was so much about Colombia that you wore like a scar. Maybe a festering wound that you kept patching up and hoping would just go away.

But he had his own trauma and it seemed rotten to unload on him.

Maybe he could’ve done more. Maybe he didn’t fight hard enough in the end when everyone found out. Maybe you shouldn’t have forced him to keep it a secret.

But you hadn’t wanted to give up your career. You’d worked so hard to get there. In the end, your choice were causing everything you tried to protect to be erased.

Josie was out cold in her bed, her little fingers wrapped around the edge of her favorite blanket. You leaned against the doorframe, trying your best not to cry.

She was worth it. Wasn’t she?

There were so many things you wished you’d done differently. Your hindsight on Colombia kept you up at night sometimes. If you had come around to your feelings for Javier sooner — if it hadn’t been that night. Josie might not be Josie. You might not even be with Javi.

Everything worked out the way it was meant to. But then little things like the report came out and it made you hurt. You gave so much of yourself, only to have it all stripped away because you dared to have a child. And Javier was still right there! It wasn’t fucking fair.

“Can we talk?” Javier questioned as he lingered behind you in the hallway.

Your stomach dropped. Talks were never a good sign.

“Yeah.” You swallowed thickly and pulled Josie’s door closed, turning to face him. “I’m just stressed.”

“I know.”

You blinked slowly, eyes holding his gaze until he turned away. “I wasn’t blowing up about you.”

“I know.”

You followed him back into the family room, sinking down onto the sofa and tucking your legs beneath you. “You’re very…” You gestured to him. “I don’t know.”

“Neither do I.” Javier admitted as he picked up his beer and took a sip. “I honestly don’t know what to say, baby. It’s fucked up and you have every reason to be pissed off but,” He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and looked away. “Do you…” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Do you ever regret it?”

You shifted how you were sitting, bringing your knees to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. “I don’t.” You told him honestly. “Sometimes I wonder… if things had been different.” You had just looked at your daughter and questioned whether you regretted her.

You let out a frustrated sound and pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes. “Sometimes maybe I do. Regret isn’t the right word. I don’t regret either of you. I regret the situation… and the one I helped create.” You gestured to the files on the table. “They came down hardest because I lied. I sat in front of the ambassador and the director and I lied to them.”

“What did you tell them?”

You bit down on your bottom lip until you tasted blood, your eyes fixed on his face. “They asked me if the baby was yours.” Swallowing thickly you looked away, your jaw clenched tight. “I told them no. I came up with some story… I met someone in a bar. I never saw them again. You know…” You laughed a little, nerves making your hands shake. “I should’ve told them, but… I just had this feeling that if they found out that it was you that they’d send me back to the states. Maybe they wouldn’t have.” You glanced back at him. “I was afraid that if I wasn’t there…”

Javier stared at you and it was hard to read what he was thinking, “What?”

“I thought if I wasn’t there, if I got sent back to the states…” You gestured between you. “That it would be too much work for you. I was wrong because staying was considerably more work for you.”

“Yeah.” He clicked his tongue against his teeth and nodded in agreement. “I didn’t know they asked if it was me…”

You rubbed your lips together before you spoke, “It was three days after I told you and I didn’t… I didn’t know how to believe you were all in. I wanted to, God, I wanted to. But I just…” You rested your chin on your knees. “I was so afraid.”

“So was I.” Javier said so quietly, you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear it. Your expression fell and he stared back at you. “You put me through hell, baby.”

Thank fuck, he was going to finally bring it up. You knew it was there, lurking under every conversation. Three years, it had sat there like the elephant in the room and neither of you had touched it.

“I know I did.” You told him, holding his gaze. “And we can’t ever move past it if we don’t discuss it. It hurts like hell, but we can’t fix this until we stop fucking hiding everything.” You dragged your hands over your face. “It’s always going to weigh us down and—”

“I had no one.” Javier interrupted you, his face flushing red with the emotions he was still holding back. “And I get it. Even better now that I know that they even thought Josie was mine… but I had no one to talk to. I couldn’t call my pops, I didn’t have Steve…” He laughed bitterly. “I had you, which was worth it, but… There was so much I couldn’t say to you.”

“Then say it to me now.”

“No, because none of it matters now.” Javier raised his voice slightly, but caught himself. “You might have let me into your apartment and into your bed, but you kept me at an arm’s length for the rest of the time we spent in Colombia. And I couldn’t be mad at you because I was afraid of doing the wrong thing… and then you’d both be gone.”

“Because I refused to let myself believe that you wanted any of this.” You gestured around the condo. “We talked all the time and you never — ever — expressed an interest in having a family or having even a fraction of this.”

“Well neither did you.” Javier pushed his fingers through his hair, shaking his head as he looked away. “I thought everything else was all I would ever get.” He confessed. “After the bullshit I pulled with Loraine, I just figured… ship had sailed. I didn’t want it anyways.” He gave an incredulous laugh. “And then you came along and…”

“You were the best part of that move to Colombia. I was so nervous and terrified.” You shook your head. “That first week working with you and Murphy just felt right.” You smiled at him, “You felt right.”

Javier rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a heavy exhale. “I don’t do this shit. You’re not a fucking therapist and Steve has already been burdened with this goddamn baggage, but… I hate the man I was in Colombia. I still have nightmares—”

“I know you do,” You reached out and he took your hand. “I never meant to isolate you. I was so afraid that I wasn’t going to lose you.”

“You weren’t and you aren’t.” Javi told you with the faintest smile. “This wasn’t the life I ever pictured for myself, but it’s the only life I want now. But there is so much shit and resentment.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded. “So much.” You laughed bitterly. “I’m sorry I left you.” You wiped away a stray tear. “I spend so much time thinking about that morning. How peaceful you looked, the way your arm felt around me.”

“You broke fucking heart. Didn’t even know I had one.” Javier squeezed your hand. “Why did you leave?”

“Shame.” You questioned, turning to look at him. “Fear.”

“Fear?”

You nodded slowly. “I thought I was going to be another stupid girl who fucked Javier Peña.” You stared at him, “And caught feels. You were so passionate and—”

“Because I finally had you.”

“I know now.” You shook your head, half-embarrassed. “I didn’t then. I thought that was just what you did. I thought it was all false promises and… I couldn’t cope.”

Javier pulled you into his side and you willingly let him, “I should’ve said something.”

“I should’ve too.”

You curled your arm around his middle and sank into his side. “I love you, Javi.”

“I love you too, baby.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We need to… do this more often.”

“Is there more?” You laughed and tilted your head to look at him, your brows furrowed together.

Javier gave you a look, “I’m sure I can dredge up something.”

“Oh God.” You rolled your eyes. “Can we please just go back to what dicks the DEA are?”

“That’s a whole different conversation.” Javier said with an edge to his voice, shaking his head. “I fucking hate them.”

“Me too.” You chewed on your bottom lip as you stared at the TV. Whatever you’d been watching had transitioned into late night programming and David Letterman was running his mouth — a strange form of white noise as the background of your conversation with Javi.

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“This wasn’t a fight.”

“I know that, but I just mean… I don’t want this to become something we fight about.” You tilted your head to look at him. “You know?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, brushing his fingers over your cheek. Javier held your gaze for a moment, before he leaned in to kiss you.

Oh.

You curled your hand around the back of his neck as you leaned into the kiss, letting your mouth slant over his with a little more need. He met your need with his own, his tongue sweeping out over your bottom lip. Your lips parted, granting him entrance.

He used the arm he had wrapped around his waist to pull you onto his lap. You straddled him, resting your hands on his shoulders. “Is this—” You pulled back and inhaled shakily. “How we’re handling this?”

Javier arched a brow and shrugged a shoulder, “If you’re up for it.”

“Bed.” You told him, leaning in to steal another lingering kiss before you removed yourself from his lap. “I don’t want to fuck you with David Letterman in the background.”

Javier followed you into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him before he joined you on the bed. He laid on his back first, before turning onto his side to face you. “We still good?”

“Javi, we’ve been good.” You reached out to touch his cheek. “But at least we’ve addressed the elephant in the room.” You scooted closer and kissed him. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

He rested his hand on your hip as he pulled you closer. “Me too.” Javier brushed his nose against yours before he kissed you.

You let his hair slide between your fingers and you groaned softly, hooking your leg over his hip in an attempt to get closer.

He rolled you over, pinning you beneath him as he settled between your thighs. His sleep pants were thin and so were your shorts, the fabric leaving nothing to be imagined. At least you weren’t the only who had reacted to the situation.

“Javi.” You begged quietly, fingernails digging into his skin through the soft cotton shirt he wore. You grabbed at it, dragging up and over his head. His mouth was on yours again a second later, teeth dragging over your bottom lip.

You hated that it had reached a fever pitch, but it had been a long time coming. You were both terrible at communicating with each other. You used to be better — even if you said a lot without saying anything. When you were just friends it was easy to share what was on your mind, without risk of hurting the other person. But you never did share the most important things.

Javier sat back on his knees and peeled your shorts and underwear down your thighs. He tossed them aside, watching as you tugged your shirt off. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, baby.”

“Shut up.” You laughed, nudging his leg with your foot as you looked up at him, a faint blush spreading across your chest. Javier caught your foot, fingers curling around your ankle as he held your gaze before he trailed his hand up your leg. He moved forward, settling between your thighs.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day.” Javi drawled out as he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, before he lifted your legs and settled them over his shoulders. He dipped down, his tongue delving between your sensitive folds. His hands trailed over your legs, holding you steady as you squirmed beneath his ministrations.

Your lips parted with a breathy moan as your head fell back against the bed beneath you. “Javi.” You breathed as you pushed your fingers into your hair. He released one hip, sliding his hand over your stomach, grasping at your breast.

He swirled his tongue around your clit, lips wrapping around that little bundle of nerves and forcing you even closer to the edge. Your back arched and you rolled your hips against his mouth. His grip tightened at your hip, holding you down as his other hand roughly palmed at your breast, scraping thumb over your nipple.

Your release caught you by surprise, your legs trembling as the rush of pleasure coursed through you. Javier pulled back abruptly, but only briefly. He pulled your legs around your hips as he settled over you, shoving his sleep pants and boxers down until his cock was free.

“Please.” You whispered as you curled your fingers around the back of his neck and dragged him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his mouth. A moan got lost between your lips as he pressed into you. The aftershocks of your release left you clenching around the length of him. He barely drew out before pressing back into you, hip-to-hip and you rocked into him.

Javier kept one hand at your hip, his other tangling in your hair as he cradled the back of your head. He kissed you desperately, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your throat and along your collarbone, before catching your mouth once more.

Your nails bit into his shoulders, his arms, wherever you could cling to him as a second release built on the wake of the first. Your back bowed up off the bed and you let yourself get lost in the sensation.

He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, your name on his lips as his own orgasm claimed him. His hips stuttered, the length of him buried within you as you felt his release spill. You didn’t let him pull away when he started to, your legs tightening around him as you held him close. The weight of him pressing you into the bed, right where you wanted him. His hand found yours, interlacing your fingers together. He had always been so good at the little touches, the little efforts that revealed the depth of his emotions. He had, ever since that night.

Maybe you should have held onto him that night... when you hadn’t. You had been so afraid to believe that he meant all those little things. He had. But you could hold onto him now. And now that you had him, you had no intention of ever letting him go.

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #pedro pascal x reader

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arthurjdrake · 4 years

Text

For Keeps : Alain & Arthur

Summary: A phoenix and a hunter go into a bar. (aka Amelie and I somehow never posted a doc we wrote like 3 months ago don’t judge us) >_> Parties: Arthur and @carbrakes-and-stakes

Recent events had come to show that sometimes meeting new people (Leah especially) didn’t always go terribly, and the little he’d experienced of Alain so far from their online conversations gave Arthur a strangely positive vibe. He couldn’t say what it was, but shared interests were certainly a scene setter for an interesting afternoon over beer if nothing else. Though it transpired with recent revelations that his interest in Alain was further vested in gauging just what sort of person he was and just what Evelyn saw in him that made her interested in being with him. Call it protective curiosity. The Perfect Pint was a decent enough establishment and one he frequented if only for the full plate of good food and Guinness they had on tap. A sizeable establishment with light filtering through slightly grimy windows, it smelled like an ashtray but was relatively clean by most pubs standards. Not to mention the presence of several dart boards and snooker tables for patrons to use if they so pleased. Wooden stools lined up against the bar resembled careless soldiers. Two were occupied and Arthur was five minutes early. So he leaned on the darkwood bar, occasionally sipping a cool pint of Guinness while watching the highlights scrolling on the screen and wincing at a particularly nasty tackle.

Alain pushed the door to The Perfect Pint expecting to have a peaceful moment for once. No hunting, no arguing, not questioning everything. Just chatting with someone with common interests and seeing where that led. Not going to the Silver Bullet for once would also be a nice change. It must have been months since he last went to a normal bar. Being greeted by the sound of football matches and people playing pool was a nice change, and it reminded Alain of the few weeks he had spent in Europe a couple years ago. Now he did not care much for the smell of cigarettes, but if this was all he could complain about, then he would not complain at all. Recognizing some customers as he made his way to the counter, he nodded politely and took a seat with the man he figured would be Arthur. If not, then things would probably get awkward really quick. “Bonjour,” he greeted him, figuring that would be enough of a tell. The bartender approaching, he ordered himself a pint of Amber Ale and turned his attention back to Arthur. “I hope I’m not late.”

There weren’t too many people in town Arthur felt he could go down to the pub to simply have a drink with, he was woefully short on friends who weren’t so studiously academic that it was kind of funny to imagine them in a setting like this. Plus, it reminded him of home in an inexplicable way. From the smell to the darkwood features of the pub, like his local back in Twickenham. Occasionally he glanced at his wrist-watch checking and rechecking the time, the smooth carved wood of its casing a familiar comfort in its proximity. As a figure approached and sat down beside him he turned, body-language relaxed and comfortable, an amicable smile warming his features upon hearing the French. “Salut,” he greeted with a small dip of his head, taking a moment to just study Alain, taking in the years around his eyes and features, the stubborn lingering grease around his fingernails and a missing finger as well. Interesting. Arthur vaguely remembered him saying he was a mechanic in a past conversation. A bit rough around the edges but he could see the appeal though it was the personality he was more intrigued to learn more about. “Not at all,” he laughed quietly at the sentiment with a shake of his head “no, I’m just partial to being early.” He let Alain order before he leaned back a little, “so you own the garage in town right? How’s business been going for you lately?”

If Alain could feel like he was being scrutinized, he didn’t mention it to Arthur, and instead, pretended to look just about anywhere else. He had never been here, so this gave him a good enough excuse not to be attentive. “Is it really how pubs look in the UK?” The place looked like a postcard, and a whole lot like pubs that claimed to be authentic, and he couldn’t quite decide if it was really close to the actual thing or a caricature. Clearly, the mime places weren’t as authentic as they claimed to be, so maybe this was the case here as well. He rubbed at the corner of his eye with one finger and thanked the bartender as he came back with his drink. “Do you actually speak French or…” either way, there would be no hard feelings, but once again, he was curious, which was a good indicator : a bored Alain did not ask questions and hardly spoke. Taking a sip from his pint, he leaned back a little in the seat and nodded in reply to Arthur’s question. “Business is doing alright. I’ve had a few good months with the falling fish. Lots of shattered windshields, lots of intensive cleaning too,” scratching the back of his neck, he shrugged. With the big lobsters, a bunch of cars had been roughly damaged, and considering he had to spend some time off work, all those events had helped keeping the cash coming. “What about you. You’re a teacher, right?”

“It’s not a bad imitation of one considering they even have an old geezer eating roasted peanuts” Arthur admitted eyeing another patron at one of the tables in the corner. “Plus this is the only place I can actually catch games when they’re on, even if it is at like one AM… Granted it’s worth staying up if only for the Irish breakfast.” The question was met with a nod, “I speak a little to pass conversation. I’m kinda rusty and the amount of exceptions to all the tenses always catches me in one place or another…” He shrugged a shoulder taking a sip of his beer “personally, I think it’s important especially if you’re going to live somewhere for a while you know? Too many people just expect everyone else to cater to them just because they’re too lazy and entitled to learn another language.” That was a trait that bothered him about most people growing up in an anglophone environment, the lack of desire to even try and relate to people from other walks of life; forcing them to adapt from their culture. It was hardly fair in his mind. “Ha, yeah I can imagine there’s all sorts of interesting things that keep you busy. The newspaper mentioned something about screaming moose you know? I never thought I’d live anywhere that the wildlife would be much of an issue.” Or maybe he should’ve considered that before moving to White Crest. “Yeah! I teach up at the university, history and mythology department. Certainly no lack of folklore around these parts.”

“What?” Alain followed Arthur’s eyes and his shoulders shook with amusement at the sight of the old geezer eating roasted peanuts. “Alright, that is authentic for sure,” he had another sip of beer. Listening to the man talk, his brows furrowed. “You’re kidding? This is like music to my insomniac ears,” of course insomnia was a stretch, but Alain was not about to tell Arthur that he was a vampire hunter, and that as a result, he really didn’t need to sleep that much. Insomniac seemed a lot more simple. “Night entertainment and food, I’m sold,” he scoffed. Now was he surprised to hear that Arthur struggled with the french language? Not really. “Hey, if you ever need practice, you know where to find me,” he offered. It did not cost him much, and he liked chatting in his native language. Really a win win. “I agree. I mean, obviously if you’re only here for a week, there’s only so much you can do, but don’t expect everyone to speak your own language, that’s… logical,” he shrugged, refraining from rolling his eyes. “You just have to be … logical,” he repeated. Clearly things were easier for him when he visited France, but his time in Spain had been quite something, as he could only remember very few things in Spanish. “Screaming moose?” His eyebrows raised and he glanced to the side, clearly concerned. Could it be due to supernatural reasons? Possible. He’d have to ask Kaden about that one. “Clearly not. The area is quite … rich in folklore. I think we’re a good tie with Louisiana and Salem,” he agreed. “What is your favorite folklore story?”

“See?” Arthur chuckled eyes crinkling at the corners in his mirth at the token sight that seemed a staple in most pubs back home, there was always at least one. “No way! I kid about a lot of things but not that. Definitely not when it comes to a full Irish and watching rugby or football. For sure, next time there’s something on I’ll let you know, even if it does mean I have to sit and watch France play--” he lamented with a put-upon look though it was all in jest. Insomnia was interesting but hardly surprising in a town such as this; there could be any host of reasons behind it. “I might take you up on that, I find it hard not to be so formal in structuring the sentences...” Arthur tilted his glass a little “well, yeah sure but I still think if you’re going to visit another country it’s at least polite to try. It’s just always been a pet peeve, just people being so self-involved they don’t think about trying to make an effort for anyone else.” Alain seemed surprised and Arthur’s brows furrowed, “didn’t you see the newspaper? It was a while back but something about Sunday at sundown being when moose would scream? Seemed a bit weird… I didn’t know moose could scream… Just thought they trampled things.” But hey, wild life could surprise you especially in a town like this.

“Rich is an understatement,” he said with a shake of his head. “Issue is most of the stories around these parts were passed down by word of mouth… Not many actual documents to look at.” There was a spark that always seemed to light up his features whenever he got into a discussion about folklore, “oh, would totally have to be the Huldufólk - the hidden folk - Icelanders believe they’re hidden elves that live in the shadows between rocks, it’s said they love to dance and invade farms at Christmas to hold wild parties. That their origins come from the Garden of Eden, when God visited Adam and Eve, Eve was washing their children and hadn’t finished… Embarrassed, she hid the unwashed children and lied about their existence. To punish her God declared that the children she hid would be hidden from all of mankind and so the first Huldufólk came to be.” It was an interesting and unique narrative and one that had always intrigued him. “How about you? Do you take any interest in folklore?”

Pursing his lips, Alain remained silent as he turned to look at the other man, looking as offended as he looked amused by his comment on French teams. “Let’s not mention that England has not won a world cup in football since the 60s, despite being such a great nation of football, then, shall we?” clearing his throat, he took a sip of beer to hide his smile. Such an argument could go on for days, for sure, but it seemed like Arthur was not the kind to start pointless arguments. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I will admit to being less formal than I used to be,” it had been a while since he left the Babineaux household, and his speech level had grown simpler with time. “Of course. Portugal was awkward, I didn’t speak a damn word of portuguese and had to rely on one of those tiny vocabulary books,” he mimed the rough size of said book with his hands and raised his eyebrows in despair as he remembered how thankful he was that most people knew more English than he knew Portugese. “Yeah, some people do have a hard time not focusing on themselves,” scratching at the back of his neck, Alain looked thoughtful for a moment, staring into the gap. “They kind of sound like nazguls when they scream,” he finally commented, but it usually happened a bit later in the year. Alain had not exactly planned to discuss rut season, but if this was where the conversation was heading, why not?

“Like most stories. And it’s not like books or history is any better. It’s always written by those who survive, or those who won,” biased, but at least the version couldn’t change once printed on paper. You could tell how enthusiastic Arthur was about the subject, and it was refreshing. Leaning against his elbow, the hunter listened to the scholar talk about some ancient legend. The story sounded a bit too polished to be the truth, but he did not doubt that Iceland had a bunch of little folks living in the shadow. “It’s hard not to when you spend your whole life in this town. I’m afraid I don’t have stories to tell however,” clearly this was a lie, but Alain knew better than to start telling people he barely knew about his night time activities.

“True,” though Arthur raised a brow in mild challenge, “but what we do have are three six nations titles to the name in the last ten years. So I think that counts for something. You can take football, I’ll take rugby. Issue settled.” It was banterous and Arthur’s grin was cheeky in spite of himself. “You tend to get that way with time, formalities are nice but they can be so constricting to adhere to all the time.” He snorted a little at the comparison, “oh Gods don’t ruin Nazguls for me like that. No no that’s not allowed.” Lord of the Rings was sacred in this sphere and nothing, especially no moose screaming was allowed to ruin it.

“I mean that’s true of almost anything in life. It’s just nice to actually have some hard evidence to work from rather than just the word of mouth. At least that way you can start to deduce what influences there might’ve been on a source.” Perhaps the story was too polished, too easily wrapped up but it was a nice tale nonetheless. Not everything in the world had to be all doom and gloom. So what if there were elves that liked to play games and pull tricks. “Huh, really? Did you grow up here?”

“Heh, fine,” then coughing to jokingly hide what he was about to say, he added in a hurry, “Football’s better anyway.” Obviously coughing was not meant to really hide anything, and he found himself laughing. Shaking his head, he ran a hand in his hair and sighed heavily. “Formalities are fine by me, although I wouldn’t hope to see me ‘formal’,” he scratched at the corner of his mouth, shook his head and took a sip of beer again. Once again he found himself laughing at the man’s reaction. Alain really would have to stop insulting everything Arthur liked. “Nazguls ruined themselves on their own. Moose have the right to ruin them more,” it appeared they had yet another thing in common. Although he was never an hardcore fan, he still remembered the first time he read the Hobbit very fondly.

“Fair enough. I just feel like history is really biased and often misinterpreted too,” you just had to look at what people were taught at school. Maps placing their country in the middle of the world, wars lost barely mentioned… “I did grow up here. But no, no stories,” not any he wanted to tell. “I can however bore you to death about astronomy. Or myths related to constellations, although you probably already know them all.”

It wasn’t the worst, Arthur rather enjoyed a challenge and the fact Alain seemed willing to challenge ideas in a joking fashion was a good sign for the man’s own personality. “Noo!” he protested with a laugh waving his hand as if to try and stop the insults light-hearted as they were “that’s not allowed, only the waters of Bruinen are allowed to completely wreck the Nazguls or a hobbit with a frying pan. Sheesh these are the sorts of debates I used to get into with Evelyn. The real issues of life.” It wasn’t entirely true, this was one facet of many that he and Evelyn had discussed but Arthur was curious to see how Alain would react to hearing her name.

“It often is, but I think that’s part of the challenge of studying it. Knowing you have to work to try and uncover the obfuscated truth behind the fogs of what people want you to believe.” It was countless, the amount of times he’d tried to submit revisions based on contrary evidence, some had gone through while others… It was a tiring endeavor but one he’d continue to pursue regardless. “That would hardly bore me. I’ve been fascinated with astronomy since I was a child. There’s actually very little I find more interesting.”

“I don’t know,” Alain’s brows furrowed at the mention of hobbit held frying pans, and they furrowed some more at the mention of Evelyn. You could see the cogs turning and trying to figure out what this was about. Biting his lip, he shook his head. “You wouldn’t happen to be…” he tried to remember the words she used. “I think she might have mentioned that she had a favorite professor in town,” he scoffed, shaking his head. He supposed that it made sense that she would mention him to her mentor, as secretive as she could be, it was hard not to share some things.

If Alain had often had to do research, it was far from the academic kind, but that did not mean that he couldn’t dedicate entire days to gathering information on certain kinds of undead species. The hardest part was not knowing the species name and hoping to recognize characteristics in his readings. “That’s what I like with cars, they don’t usually tell lies, which makes my job a lot easier,” he doubted that cars would be something Arthur could be interested in, but he was not too surprised to hear that he liked astronomy too, but that did not mean he wouldn’t be excited about it. “Really?!” His tone of voice was unusually cheerful. “Then you have to join me for stargazing sometimes.”

It would be interesting to see what Alain came up with, and while he clearly processed the passing mention Arthur took a sip of his Guinness giving him time to think but out of the corner of his eye watching curiously. “Oh did she?” it was easy enough to feign mild surprise with just a dash of curiosity thrown in for good measure. He made a quietly amused sound, “yes, she does like to remind me of that as often as she can - along with the fact she was one of my brightest students… She’s hardly a forgettable person but if you know her I’m sure you’re aware of that fact.”

“Well, no lies if they’re built well. I once had a guy try to sell me a knockoff Bentley - full look of the thing but the insides were scavenged from hell. Luckily I didn’t agree to that deal.” While Arthur didn’t know much about cars, he knew which ones he liked and back in the day he’d raced the odd car here and there. So it was more a casual interest than a passionate hobby. The enlightened state that seemed to come over Alain’s features on the topic of Astrology - much in the same way his own lit up at the mention of mythology was interesting and Arthur could tell that whatever else, Alain was certainly someone he liked. “Stargazing? Sure, I’ve actually got a great telescope back at mine. Always try to do some Astrophotography when I’ve been out on fieldtrips… Nothing better than a long hike and taking some good photos. I’ll have to show you sometime.”

Alright, so maybe it was not completely a coincidence that he and Arthur had ended up talking to each other, although Alain hoped that they really shared the same interests. “She does leave a strong impression, a good impression,” he clarified. Even knowing that she was not really human, he couldn’t seem to be able to change the way he felt about her, and he was terrified by it, even though he liked to tell himself that if she had fed on him this whole time, he would change his mind about the woman he had feelings for. “I’m grateful we met.”

“The lies here come from that guy, people lie, not cars. If you ever want to acquire one of these, please do tell. I like restoring properly older cars. “The Continental Bentley from the 1950s is a real beauty, but hard to find in good shape these days,” the man’s enthusiasm didn’t waver as the subject changed to astronomy. Quite the contrary. “See, that’s something I struggle with. I never seem to be able to take a proper picture. I tried, but I think I’m just really not good with that kind of technology,” he liked taking pictures, and Evelyn liked having her picture taken which was a great combination, but when it came to space, it was almost disastrous. “You really need to show me. I could use that.”

“That’s true,” Arthur agreed, seeming to take measure of the answer and find it satisfactory “she’s quite a remarkable young woman.” Evelyn had been right, and from what Arthur could tell, Alain was being genuine. “How did you meet? If you don’t mind me asking?” Evelyn had been rather cryptic of late regarding Alain and Arthur was rather curious to learn the story there. “She’s a good friend of mine so I find myself interested in the people she surrounds herself with.”

While Arthur was still taking note of Alain’s general disposition, he seemed to relax into the new conversation put at ease by what he could read from the other man’s reaction regarding Evelyn. “It’s funny you mention that, I’ve got the Bentley Continental V8 here at the minute but back home I have a 1949 Bentley VI Saloon and a 1962 Chevrolet Corvette. They’re some of the best drives I think I’ve ever had on the road.” An understanding nod was given, “ah yeah, often you just have to spend a while playing around with the exposure on the camera and make sure you use a tripod to keep it stable. It’s a bugger but once you get the hang of it it’s not too bad.” He grinned clearly excited by the proposed idea “but sure, next time there’s something astrological going on, send me a message and I’ll give you a crash course. Maybe you can give me a crash course in cars.”

Young woman. He had to wonder if this was meant to be an attack or not. As far as he was concerned, yes, she was young, and yes, he was older, and it was uncommon, but it was something he and Evelyn had discussed. In the end, it was Alain who felt the least comfortable about the difference, not her. “Oh, ahem,” he mused. “Well, I was trespassing on her property, which is a great first impression apparently. I wanted to find a good spot to stargaze, but didn't know it was a private beach,” he trailed off. Yeah, that had been embarrassing, and he had considered fleeing the place the moment Evelyn disappeared to get a cardigan.

Now he was glad he did not.

“Oh.” Well he really was not a fan of the newer ones, as he found them a bit too soft looking, but he kept that to himself. And so it surprised him that Arthur seemed to like some very different cars, but he would not question the man’s taste. To each their own. “See Evelyn, she owns too many cars,” he scoffed. An understatement, although it was not really a surprise. She liked owning things, especially pretty things, and Alain wondered sometimes if there was a reason for that need. “Sure, that sounds lovely. Let’s just hope that my crash course involves no crashing cars,” shaking his head, he took another sip of beer. “I just think that people, just, everyone should know more about what’s under the hood.”

It was less an attack, more a statement of fact and Arthur’s view of evelyn. She was an incredible young woman. There was no further intention to the words than that and if he did notice any discomfort it wasn’t remarked on. He’d learned one lesson lately and that was to let some things lie. So instead, he listened to Alain’s story, leaning a little more on the bar with his interest fixed because he was genuinely curious to learn the tale and get a better understanding of his friend’s mind in this. “And did she stay out?” Arthur assumed so but better to get clarification just to be on the safe side.

“But I do have the other two older ones, I might get them shipped over at some point… I just didn’t know how permanent my residence here was going to be and I didn’t want to ship them and find myself heading back overseas you know? Too much hassle.” Though he had to laugh at the statement of Evelyn and cars, “she has too much stuff period. Always has, but I can hardly blame her for that.” Arthur had his own reasonings about why that might be the case but it wasn’t something to discuss right now. Alain was nice enough but not someone he’d chat in depth to about his long-time friends. Not yet at least. “Yeah, I’d rather not go out in a ball of flames.” The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on him. “You’re probably right, I guess it seems so foreign and alien to most people that even approaching the topic seems like a challenge. It’s kind of the same with history… or language. Some people nowadays are afraid of not being able to overcome the challenge I think.”

“She did,” he wrinkled his nose, “considering the reputation of Harris Island folks, I did consider for a moment that she was staying with me until the police arrived,” which was something that made him feel terrible, but could you really blame him. “I think she had nothing better to do,” Alain might have never been the luckiest person there was, but he always wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve her.

“I mean, that’s fair.” Alain rarely had to get cars imported, but he remembered having to import his own car from France, and how much of a hassle this had been. “I’d love to have a look at those, if you ever do get them shipped here,” he added, finishing his pint and searching for his wallet to pay the bartender. “Glad to know that she always has been this way,” he had a light laugh. Alain had given up on thinking of things he could offer her, hoping that memories could be things she would cherish more. “Let’s avoid that, yeah,” he shook his head. “People probably think it’s too complicated, too hard, too … I don’t know… That only some people are allowed to have this kind of knowledge,” the man had always been curious, and it was no surprise to learn that Arthur, an academic, felt the same way about learning new things.

“Understandable,” Arthur had met a few people that lived out that way and hadn’t been too impressed with them “Harris island folks can be pretty funny about strangers wandering onto their properties. Luckily she’s one of the better few out that way.”

“Sure, I’ll let you know if I ever make the decision to do that… Though considering how much glass damage it seems people complain about online I’m not sure if it’s something I’d really want to expose myself to… But I guess knowing a mechanic doesn’t hurt with that issue.” Setting his glass on the counter he pushed back a little. “Maybe, I guess some people just feel its unreachable for them in particular or they have no effort in pursuing the avenue to acquiring it.” Arthur waved his hand as he saw Alain reach for his wallet, fishing his card out the back of his phone case before good-naturedly adding “don’t worry about it, I’ll get them.”

“I suppose that’s what happens when you get a bit too out of touch with reality,” Alain was certain that his sister, or his parents, were the kind to react poorly to trespassers, and the reason he knew that was because he was himself not really fond of trespassers, and this, despite having spent the last two decades in the middle class.

“I don’t think soundproofing your garage is the answer to big noises, but hey, you now know a mechanic. I’m sure you’ll be alright,” the corners of his mouth tugged up, as he stood up from the stool. “Let me know if you ever feel like learning a thing or two, alright?” He frowned slightly at Arthur’s offer, but didn’t question it for too long and instead nodding, thankful. “Alright, thanks.”

With a huff of amusement Arthur grinned, “good thing people who are rational like us exist then.” With the delivery of a few notes across the bar and a tip for the waiter Arthur pushed to his feet and tucked his wallet away. “Well, nice to meet you Alain. And if you ever fancy watching ridiculously late night rugby matches just let me know.” With a wave of his hand he made his way towards the door and the walk back home in the early afternoon light.

#for keeps #para #alain #p: alain

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doof-doofblog · 3 years

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"Do You Really Think You Can Live With That? Do You?!"

Tuesday 16th February 2021

Hello again everyone! Hope you're all having a good week! As promised, I'm making sure I catch up completely so by the time tonight's episode (Thursday) is aired, I'll be able to review that tomorrow morning! That way I'm all up to date along with the rest of you! There's quite a lot going on in the soap at the minute, I'm really looking forward to seeing which direction the storylines will go! Monday's episode ended with a bit of a surprise - Phil and Kat?! Let's see if things follow up from that! Anyway let's jump straight into Tuesday's episode.

The first thing I'm going to focus on is Ash and Peter! So the episode begins with them returning from a night out, it looks as if they've been out all night drinking, as much as Peter is eager to keep fun going, Ash is adamant that she wants to go home as she's beginning to feel really rough. However, once again Peter still attempts to hit on her, I don't know about you guys, but is anyone else finding Peter, I don't know a bit, desperate? She jokes that even if he was to run around the Square naked, she still wouldn't be interested in him, but then her innocent joke turns out to be a bet, something which Peter decides to go through with. Later on when Ash is home sobering up, she receives a knock on the door. to her shock Peter is stood on her front door step, wearing a cape and joking gear, however, taking her up on her bet he decides to strip down to nothing, wearing only the cape and jog around the Square. Of course the locals, including Ash and Stacey enjoy watching the show Peter puts on for them, personally - I found it cringeworthy - I don't know, some people might've found it funny, I mean as respectable as the way it was filmed, I just found it cringey! But the one part I did find hilarious was when Peter got so far and actually ended up falling flat on his face! I have to admit, I did laugh out loud when that happened, not meaning to be harsh! It eventually becomes clear that Peter has really injured his head, so Ash takes it upon himself to rush him to the hospital, however this decision soon becomes her biggest mistake.

Whilst Peter is getting seen too, the nurse is constantly getting interrupted to handle other situations, Peter notifies that he's in agony and begs Ash to give him the morphine he's been prescribed. However, Ash knows full well she's not supposed to as she's not on duty, but seeing her friend pleading for the pain relief, she actually gives him the dose of morphine. Unfortunately, she should've stuck to her guns and not given him the dose, a nurse returns and sees the medication has been used, clearly someone has tampered with it or giving it to Peter without their knowledge. Peter claims to have done it to himself, but the nurse isn't convinced, Ash was the only one there who knew how to prescribe the morphine. Ash is in very very deep water right now, giving a patient medication, whilst not on duty, dressed in her pyjamas and also smelling of alcohol, this is not going to look good on her records. She ends up being suspended and under investigation! Peter has now caused his friend to be in deep trouble. I really don't know about you guys, but I really hope that Peter and Ash do not become a couple, I think Ask could do so much better than him! What do you guys think? Am I being unfair or do you maybe think the same thing? I've love to hear your thoughts!

The second thing I need to talk about is Iqra! I really do feel for her going through all this, knowing that her girlfriend lied to her and that her sister has now moved away and is pregnant with someone who is stuck in prison for something he didn't do! But since finding out the truth, knowing that Ruby was also involved with the attack against Martin, Iqra is finding it really difficult to keep quiet. Whilst in the Cafe, she happens to notice Martin walk in and attempting to be the polite neighbour she asks how is wife is, acknowledging that she hasn't seen his wife for a while, but when Martin mentions that Ruby isn't drinking at the moment, Iqra makes a joke asking whether or not she's pregnant, of course the look on Martin's face says it all and Iqra is surprised to hear the news, she congratulates him regardless. Martin begs her not to say anything as it's early days in the pregnancy and no one else knows, as Martin makes a quick exit, Vinny appears and approaches Iqra as she's sat alone, she tries to appeal to her good nature, trying to persuade her not to give up on Ash, he understands her disappointment for being lied to, but pleads her not to punish Ash for standing by her family and for something that actually he did instead of her. As much as it hurts her, there's a brief look she gives that looks as if that she's think that what Vinny is saying is true, all Ash was doing was really looking out for her family, regardless of the horrendous outcome. Later on as she's leaving the Cafe, she happens to witness the events taking place in the Square, (Peter running around naked), as she watches on she notices Ash from across the Square cheering Peter on. Iqra knows that she can't see herself getting back with Ash, there's too much water under the bridge and she appears to be moving on anyway, it's blatantly obvious that Ash and Peter have been flirting and Ash has done nothing to stop Peter's advances towards her. Iqra decides to escape the scene in front of her and head to the Vic.

Later she happens to spot both Ruby and Martin. It looks as if enough is enough for Iqra, why should Ruby enjoy what she's got while she knows her loved ones are having to suffer, especially considering that Ruby is to blame for everything. She discreetly congratulates Ruby on her pregnancy news, however Ruby looks mortified. Martin informs her that Iqra guessed, it's then that Iqra drops quite few hints regarding that fact that Habiba is pregnant and alone whilst Jags in prison. Ruby doesn't even bat an eyelid, informing her that her family issues has nothing to do with her. Interestingly, Martin mentions that he's glad that Jags is prison, of course from his point of view his children could've lost their Dad becomes of what he did - ONLY JAGS DIDN'T DO IT!!! As Martin leaves the Vic, Ruby warns Iqra to stay out of her marriage, but Iqra knows that Ruby has gone way too far, eventually she gets the courage to confront Martin, visiting him at home, knocking on his door and revealing the truth, Ruby was to blame for his attack as she was the one who paid Vinny to rob the shop! It wasn't Jags who attacked him, it was Vinny, but Ruby is to blame just as much as he is! Will Martin believe Iqra? As far as I know, things aren't going to be looking good for Ruby, I believe her world is going to crumble around her. Do you think she'll deserve it? Will Martin confront his wife?! I'm really eager to see where things go from here!

The final thing I need to mention is Phil! So during the previous episode, we saw Max searching high for low for type of documents of some kind, eventually he found a memory stick which hold all the criminal past of Phil! In this episode, it becomes perfectly clear why Max is looking for information on Phil, he takes it upon himself to give him a visit. He warns him that he has ever piece of criminal history on him on that memory stick, blackmailing him, teasing him that the police would have a field day if they got their hands on it. Phil knows he has to act fast in order for him not to pass it on to the police, he questions what Max is after, asking him how much money he is wanting in exchange for the memory stick. But Max isn't interested in money, instead he drops the bombshell that he wants him to sign the papers of the Queen Vic over to Mick Carter. Of course, in Max's mind, he's doing this for Linda - if he can get Mick his pub back, then Linda will be free to leave her husband and have a life with him. Unfortunately, I can't see it going that way. Phil is stunned and claims that it's not that easy as it's Sharon's home, but Max also states that the police will also be interested in learning what they both did to Ian. It comes to Phil's realisation that Max isn't messing around, he could ruin them if he didn't follow his instructions. Max announces that he'll give him 24 hours to get the papers signed over to Mick, otherwise the police will come knocking. Phil, at this moment, is kind of stuck in a corner. As much as it hurts him, he knows he has to inform Sharon.

Poor Sharon has absolutely no idea what's been going on. I find it funny yet awkward and cute that Sharon is hopeful in getting back with Phil. As she's chatting away with Jean, Jean acknowledges that she and Phil belong together - obviously, both of them are completely unaware that Kat had slept with him the previous evening. As Kat thinks on her feet, unless it's the guilt that's starting to eat away at her, she attempts to be nice to Sharon, mentioning that she could do so much better than Phil, she's a good looking woman and could have any young stud man she wanted. However, Sharon seems to take her compliment completely the wrong way, suggesting that Kat is mentioning someone like Keanu, who we all know she had an affair with. Kat tries to apologise but Sharon is having none of it, the two powerful women clash and Kat storms out. As she does so, she notices Phil waiting at the bar, it's then she mentions to him that she'll be ready for round two whenever he will be. Do you think Phil and Kat could become a new couple? Will this be more than just a romp? Who knows? Eventually Sharon notices Phil waiting at the bar, as she approaches him he asks whether they can talk privately. Jean eyes Sharon in a hopeful sort of way, getting poor Sharon's hopes up, but unfortunately Phil has only arrived to deliver the bad news. She's furious to learn about Max's threats and voices her fears about losing the place she loves most. However, Phil tries his absolute best to make her understand that having the Vic will not replace Dennis, plus the pub was bought with bloody money, how will she be able to live with herself knowing that? At least if they sign over to Mick Carter, everything would be legal and completely above board.

Will Sharon agree to giving the pub back to the Carter's? She's already been threatened by Linda, now Max is also threatening to go to the police, it looks almost as if they have no choice. I'm sure Phil won't see Sharon out onto the streets, but it looks as if if they want to keep the police away, they're going to have to do what they're being asked. How else can they make this problem go away? Overall, a really good episode I thought! I'm really looking forward to seeing what happens next! I apologise for this post being late but I'll be back again tomorrow following Thursday's episode! Please feel free to leave me a comment or message, I'd love to hear your thoughts on any of the current storylines! Enjoy the rest of your day folks! Love you all xXx

#eastenders #peterbeale #ashpanesar #staceyslater #iqraahmed #rubyfowler #martinfowler #vinnypanesar #jags panesar #maxbranning #philmitchell #sharonwatts #jeanslater #katslater #mickcarter #lindacarter #soapfan #soapblog

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prismartist · 4 years

Text

smell of smoke

Summary: Patton struggles to finish an essay as the deadline approaches.

Words: 745

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Ship: Royality

Warnings: cursing, self-deprecation. Ask me to tag anything else.

Ao3

Musicals have a long history, tracing back to ancient Greco-Roman times

No.

Musicals have influenced our world for the longest time, and it is fair to say that they are a solid pillar in our society

Nope.

When one is asked to think of popular media in the modern world, one of

What the hell?

“Putangina!” Patton hisses, slamming one hand onto the keyboard. He takes off his glasses and wipes his eyes, trying to force down the tears that were building up. The tea wasn’t helping the fog in his head clear up. His eyes were drooping. His arms felt like lead, and the white emptiness of the document seemed to taunt him with its ever-blinking cursor. The blanket draped around him, its weight and warmth normally a source of comfort for Patton, now felt like it wasn’t even there. Patton felt detached. He couldn’t focus. It didn’t help that his back was hurting from all the slouching.

He should’ve gotten a coffee packet earlier, he thinks. Shouldn’t have wasted his time on youtube. How stupid, he scolds himself. This is stupid. I’m stupid.

“Patty?”

Patton flinches, and looks over to the sleeping figure beside him, now blinking sleepily.

“Oh my gosh, did I wake you?” Patton whispers in a panicked tone. “I’m sorry-”

“No, babe, it’s fine,” Roman reassures, sitting up. “I just heard you curse and… well, you don’t do that a lot.”

Patton chuckles weakly, and presses a kiss to Roman’s head. “I’m fine Ro-ro, go back to sleep.”

“Uh, no, you’re obviously not,” Roman says, now sitting up straight. He leans his head on Patton’s shoulder and yawns. “What’s going on, berry?”

Patton sighs, and lazily waves a hand at the screen, where a keysmash sat leisurely on the empty page. Roman’s eyes furrow.

“How long have you been working on that?”

Patton rubs his fingers together for comfort. “Two… three hours?”

“You didn’t start until… eight?”

Patton shakes his head, wiping more tears away. “I-I didn’t do anything, even though the assignment was given two weeks ago, I didn’t do a single fucking thing–”

“Woah, hey, hey,” Roman immediately puts an arm around Patton. “It’s okay, you had other things going on.”

“Barely.” Patton chokes on his words. The tears were spilling out now. “I only had two other projects. I had plenty of time to–”

“No, you didn’t,” Roman says, firm. “Love, one of your projects was to literally paint an abstract piece. You couldn’t find the paints for days. The other was to compile and edit your favorite videos. I saw how long it took you to find that one vine.”

“I shouldn’t have spent so much time on that.”

“I would argue otherwise,” Roman says softly, rubbing Patton’s shoulder. “That vine made you happy, and you wanted it in your project. So I’d say the effort wasn’t a waste.”

“Still…” Patton starts to delete the keysmash. “I could have done it today. But I spent all my time on youtube.” He laughs weakly. “If that isn’t a waste of time, I dunno what is.”

“Executive dysfunction is nothing to blame yourself on.” Roman argues. “ADHD sucks.”

“But now I have no time to do this. The deadline’s after the exams next week, and I know if I start studying tomorrow I won’t have any time for this.”

“Then don’t do it now,” Roman suggests, nuzzling Patton’s neck. “Pass it in a little late, I doubt you’d barely get a deduction.”

“Negative five points for every day over the deadline we don’t pass it in,” Patton mumbles.

“Out of fifty points. You still got plenty of time.”

Patton sighs, and looks over at Roman, who looks back with a comforting smile. He wipes away the tears off Patton’s face.

“You’ll be fine,” Roman assures. “And if you do need help…” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You can always ask Logan.”

Patton groans, though a tiny smile appears. “Come on, don’t pretend you don’t have a crush on him too.”

“You got me there.” Roman chuckles, and kisses Patton on the cheek. “Just go to sleep now, okay? Health is important if you want a good grade of any sort.”

Patton kisses back on Roman’s forehead softly. “I guess you’re right,” he concedes.

Roman closes the laptop, and Patton sets it down on the floor. Slowly, they both lay down, and Patton wraps his arms around Roman.

“Thank you, mahal kita,” Patton mutters, as he drifts off to sleep.

#sanders sides #royality #roman sanders #patton sanders #romantic royality #ts patton #ts roman #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #prismatic writing #i just realized this can be set in the same universe as my corner of the sky fic

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brideofedoras · 4 years

Text

Soulbound

Disclaimer: the usual... I only own my OCs

Word count: 3200+

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Stalking, mentions of self-harm/scarring

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Her chest grew tight again at the detective’s words. “That case… haunted him,” she gripped the table Arnold was laid out on when her knees wobbled. “He… Daddy always called me every night to let me know he made it home. It didn’t matter how late. I knew by the tone of his voice if it was a good day or bad, if the case was solved or if it was a rough one. He hated that the trail went cold on him.” She winced when her lungs rattled on a breath. “But he was like a dog with a bone.”

“He wouldn’t let it go,” John nodded. “Marty and I helped Sam on that case when we could, but a big lead on inSyndicate dropped right into our laps. Sam tabled his investigation to join me on that raid.” Haunted hazel eyes met hers. “I should’ve told him no.”

She shook her head. “Daddy always did what he wanted, you know that probably as well as I do,” her voice rasped as her lungs constricted. She patted at her pockets as she pushed the words she needed to say out, “He talked about you... a… a lot, Detec...tive, he thought the w… world of you… and y… your dad.” Her vision greyed at the edges.

“Emily, where’s your inhaler?” Rudy’s voice sounded muffled.

“She left it on her desk,” John shoved away from the table, jogging to the desk and returning quickly. “Here,” he uncapped the inhaler before he pressed it in Emily’s hand.

Emily’s hand shook as she lifted it up to dose herself. “S-sorry,” she rasped out. “Anx-anxiety is sky-high.”

“Do you have medication for the anxiety?” Dorian asked, cupping her elbow to guide her to her desk.

She nodded as she sank into her desk chair. “It doesn’t help.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach. “What did you find on our friend Arnold’s ownership history?”

“Three owners have been registered, but I don’t believe the last owner legally acquired him,” the DRN looked over his shoulder at John. “I’ve sent everything I’ve uncovered so far to you but I need to look at his memory again.”

John nodded. “I’ll call Maldonado and let her know what we’ve found so far,” he stepped back as he pulled out his phone. “You gonna be okay?” He turned back to Emily.

She lifted her eyes to his, surprise flooding her to find genuine concern in his hazels. She shrugged, “I just need to keep busy.”

He frowned. “Can you get me a list of the…” he motioned toward her computer, “... uh, product that uses the same type of synthetic skin and a list of stores that carry those things?”

“I was already working on it before you guys arrived,” she twisted her chair to face her computer. She reached for her notebook instead, not willing to turn the monitor back on if Kennex was still standing behind her. “I’ll get the list to you before I go home tonight.”

“Thanks.”

When he didn’t walk away she turned her head to look over his shoulder. “Is there anything else, Detective?”

He hesitated before shaking his head. “No… Actually, yes.”

Her brow furrowed as she avoided meeting his eyes.

“Sam preferred using notebooks to tablets and computers for his notes,” he propped his hands on his hips. “Always wrote everything down before typing them up for official documentation.”

“He said by writing things by hand helped him retain information better,” she shrugged. “And typing them up further ingrained the information into his memory. Sure, he could record the interviews and review the audio and visual later but this way he could jot down facial expressions, make notes on body language, tone of voice, eyes, little details you can’t see clearly when reviewing any recordings of the initial interviews.”

“Huh,” John frowned thoughtfully. “Never thought of that.”

“Daddy was old school,” she shrugged.

“And you?” He motioned to her notebook.

“It’s easier.”

It doesn’t irritate the scarring on my left arm.

She kept that to herself. “I’m sure you have more important things to do than discuss the merits of archaic forms of taking notes, Detective Kennex,” she tugged at the cuff of her left sleeve when she realized she could see the faint line of an old scar. “I need to finish compiling that list for you, anyway.”

She waited for him to walk away before she turned the computer screen on.

“It’s Kennex,” she heard him as he paced away. “Hey, you remember Sam’s last case? The Community U murders? I need everything we got on that case. We’ve got a new lead. That android at the bank heist this morning? Dorian accessed some old footage from one of the murders. I want to be lead on this one. We’re still at Rudy’s, why? She’s stunned but otherwise fine, she’s working on getting a list compiled for me on the android.”

“John, you need to see this,” Dorian spoke up.

“Sandra, I’ll touch base once we get back to HQ, Dorian’s got something for me. What is it, D?”

Emily turned away from her computer and the unpleasant task of scrolling through sex toys (why the hell would anyone use toys that felt like that?) and made her way over. She halted in her tracks when both Dorian and Rudy looked at her, shaking their heads.

“Emily, you don’t need to see this,” Dorian immediately shut down the footage he was projecting.

But not before she saw the images.

Not before she saw her own face.

“That… That was me,” she stammered.

“Yeah,” Rudy nodded. “It looked like you were at Community University.”

“Dorian, pull it back up,” Emily approached the table.

“You don’t want to see this, Ms. Williams,” Dorian shook his head, his blue eyes flicking from hers to John when the detective moved to stand beside her.

“There for several months I felt like I was being followed,” she folded her arms over her stomach. “I’m not sure when it started but I remember a couple of my visits to the hospital, to see…” She shot a quick glance at John before looking away, “to see you, Detective. I mentioned it once or twice that I felt like I was being watched.”

“Do you remember when it started?” Kennex stepped in front of her.

She shook her head, tightening her arms around herself. “I was in a funk for a while, with losing Daddy and trying to keep going with my education and my dreams. There at first I thought it was my anxiety making me feel things… It may have been happening the entire time, I don’t… I don’t know,” she looked up with a silent apology in her eyes. “I just didn’t really realize it until a few days before I interviewed for the internship with Rudy, didn’t say anything to anyone until I told…”

“Until you told me,” he finished for her. “Why tell me, why tell someone in a coma?”

“I told Sandy,” she flashed an uneasy smile. “She knew. But without any proof, other than me getting anxious, there was nothing she could do. The department was already stretched thin, she couldn’t spare even an MX to shadow me. I made sure to always be vigilant about my surroundings. I was either at school, here at the lab, or at the hospital. I always texted Sandy to let her know where I was, and every night when I got home I made sure every window was secured and the door was locked up.”

“Emily has three locks on her door,” Rudy interjected.

“Do you have a gun?” Kennex shot Lom an exasperated look for the unnecessary interruption.

“Daddy’s guns are locked up in a safe in the back of my closet,” she frowned. “I don’t know how to handle a weapon.”

“You’re gonna learn.”

Her eyes widened at the do not argue with me, you’re gonna do it whether you like it or not look he leveled on her. “I don’t like guns.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grumbled. “Can’t believe Sam never taught you.”

“He was afraid it would trigger my anxiety and my asthma,” she pointed out. “I was afraid, too. Guns scare me. Just the thought of actually holding one in my hands is enough to spike my anxiety.”

“Ms. Williams,” Dorian spoke up, drawing her attention from the hard hazel eyes of the detective towering over her. “John’s right, you need to learn how to handle a gun. I can work with you to help you overcome your anxieties regarding firearms. With this case reopening, I’m afraid you’ll be stalked once more. Whoever it is thinks you know something.”

She shook her head, “But I don’t know anything about it,” she turned her attention back to John. “Daddy never told me any details about any of his cases. When he talked to me about his day, he would tell me if it was a good one or a bad one, if he was getting anywhere or if the lead turned cold, but he never told me anything else.”

“Sam was a damned good detective,” Kennex nodded. “He knew how far to bend the rules to get results. But you’re his daughter, they know that. And with you working with Rudy, working with us, that puts you in the spotlight again. We’ll make sure you’re safe, but you need to get a gun and learn how to use it.”

“And tell us immediately if you feel like you’re being watched or followed,” Dorian added. “John, I’ve downloaded the footage. I would feel better if Captain Maldonado was viewing it with Ms. Williams.”

The detective nodded in agreement, his jaw ticking. “No arguments, Emily,” he leveled that look on her again. “How long will it take to finish your list?”

“There are too many stores in the city for me to write them all down,” she reached up to massage her temples. “Most… the sketchiest ones are near the Wall and in the Koln Avenue District. I’ll get it typed up and sent to you--”

“If I could see the list, I could scan and send it out,” Dorian suggested. “You won’t need to type it up.”

“Finish up that list and head to the precinct,” John instructed her. “And call me when you’re on your way.”

“I don’t have your number,” she pointed out.

He sighed heavily before turning toward her desk. He pulled her notebook toward him and leaned over to write something down on a blank page. “I should get your number, too.”

Emily joined him at the desk, carefully taking the pen he held out to her. She wrote down her number before adding her name and gingerly tore it from the notebook. “Don’t lose it, I don’t give my number out to just anyone. I don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t lose it,” he promised as he took a step back. “Let me know when you’re heading to the precinct.”

She nodded, looking up to meet his hazel eyes. “Detective?”

“Yeah?” He stopped his retreat.

“Am I in danger?” She blanched at the slight tremor in her voice, but it could not be helped. Dorian’s refusal to let her view the footage he’d uncovered scared her.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, his brow furrowing. “Sweetheart, I’m not gonna lie to you. I really don’t know if this is just old footage or if there’s more to this than we know or understand.”

She wrapped her arms around herself, one hand on her shoulder, the other on her hip in a defensive hug. That one word hurt, a stinging reminder of the chilling rejection weeks before. She closed her eyes and drew in a slow, steadying if rattly breath before exhaling. “I… um… I appreciate you being honest,” she cleared her throat to speak. I’ll arrange with Dorian about learning how to handle a gun, even though I don’t want to.”

“Emily,” he stepped forward. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Your dad was--”

Emily held her hands up, “If that’s the only reason you’re protecting me, because of some sense of duty to my dad, don’t bother. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

“Emily--”

“I will call when I’ve got the list finished, Detective,” she turned her back to him and dropped into her chair before he could see the pain reflecting in her eyes. She reached for her notebook and pen, determined to focus on the job and not dwell on the hurtful words she’d stopped him from saying. But when her eyes dropped to the half-torn page and landed on the phone number and the words John had written down she clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from gasping out loud.

Put this in your phone and memorize it too. If you ever feel like you’re being watched or followed, call me. I don’t care what time it is. I’ll answer.-- John.

Tears burned and blurred her eyes as she reread the note. She knew that handwriting. She was achingly familiar with it.

It perfectly matched the words imprinted on her thigh.

Her dismissal stung.

John bit back a sigh before turning away from Emily to join Dorian and Rudy once more. “We should head back to the precinct. I need to talk to Maldonado and get that case file. And we need to figure out why that thing,” he pointed at the android on the table, lowering his voice, “was surveilling Emily.”

“I am running background checks on his previous owners,” Dorian murmured. “Perhaps there is a connection between one of them and the case Detective Williams had been working on.”

Kennex nodded. “Look for a connection to any of the cases he’d worked, including the ones he helped me with,” he suggested. “Rudy, keep me posted on anything else you learn about the T-1.”

“I am curious about the liquid in the hypodermic needle,” Rudy nodded toward the upgraded hand. “Once I’ve removed the hand I will take it to the crime lab.”

“Don’t leave Emily here alone,” John’s hazel eyes narrowed. “I don’t want her by herself.”

“I’ll wait and deliver it when she heads to the precinct later,” the scientist promised.

“Good. D, let’s go,” John tipped his head toward the stairs.

His eyes landed on Emily’s back as he turned to head out. “Let me know when you do, Rudy,” he tossed over his shoulder. “And have McGinnis call me with the results, too, will ya?”

“Sure thing, John,” Rudy replied.

Kennex reluctantly tore his eyes from Emily before jogging up the stairs behind Dorian. Once they stepped outside he glanced over at the DRN. “What else did you see, Dorian?”

“The earliest footage I’d found of Ms. Williams showed her with her father having dinner at a diner,” Dorian opened the passenger door of the car. “I also found footage of Detective Williams with you, your old partner Martin Pelham, and Captain Maldonado.”

John braced his right hand on the roof of the car as he glared at his partner. “On a case?”

“Yes, and at McQuade’s,” the android frowned worriedly. “There’s also footage of you in the hospital, John. With Ms. Williams.”

“How the hell--”

“Surveillance,” Dorian’s jaw tightened. “They hacked the surveillance.”

“How?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know, but I’ll figure it out.”

“You do that,” the detective muttered before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“The conversation you were having with Ms. Williams earlier seemed intense,” Dorian spoke up moments later.

“She thinks I’m only interested in protecting her because her dad was a friend,” John admitted. “She shut me out.” He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand to the wheel, “I remember one night Sam, Marty and I were on surveillance. Sam’s wife had called, something she never did unless it was an emergency. Lizzie was upset with herself for pushing Emily too hard about something and she shut down, shut her out.” He glanced over at Dorian before turning his attention back to the road. “Sam called Captain Hennings and pulled a few strings to get someone to replace him so he could go home. Hennings called my dad to come in. Sam didn’t open up about that phone call until shortly after Lizzie died. She was sick, Emily wasn’t taking it very well and when Liz wanted to talk about it, Emily shut down. It was… Sam said it was her default way of handling situations that upset her. She would shut down, shut everyone out if someone pushed her into opening up.”

“Like you?” Dorian watched his partner grimace. “You refuse to speak at the anger management classes.”

“That’s different,” John shot him a glare. “I’m not opening up to a damn stranger about my problems. Yes, I said problems. I’ve got ‘em. No group therapy session is going to help me come to terms with any of this,” he gestured toward his leg and head. “I shut down any attempt to get me to open up, I don’t completely shut down and shut everyone out for days on end.”

“No, you just threaten to throw them out on the freeway or you go to the shooting range to blow off steam,” Dorian shook his head. “How can you know for sure Ms. Williams shut you out?”

“The look in her eyes,” the detective frowned. “She was stunned, upset, scared, hurt, then nothing. It’s like she flipped a switch on her emotions. The blank look in her eyes told me she was shutting me out.” He gripped the steering wheel in a white-knuckled hold. “This case is already opening up some old wounds. I don’t want to add to it.” Any more than I already have, he added silently.

“Your concern for Ms. Williams seems to go deeper than her being your mentor’s daughter,” the DRN looked out the passenger window.

John’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “I’m remembering bits and pieces of her visits,” he admitted. “Her conversations.”

“Is she your soulmate?”

Kennex glanced over, meeting his partner’s eyes. “I don’t know. She’s familiar to me, very familiar, but I don’t remember anything more than her scent, her touch, her voice. Her laugh.” The pillowy press of her lips on his stubbled cheek. Dorian did not need to know that. He cleared his throat as he focused on the road.

“She wrote her number down, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, it’s in my pocket.”

“You gonna compare her handwriting to your soulmark?” Dorian reached up to touch the St. Christopher’s medal still dangling from the rearview mirror.

John glared at the pendant. “No.”

He already knew Emily’s handwriting matched his soulmark. She’d left cards for him at the hospital for his birthday and for Christmas, even one for Valentine’s Day. Those were safely tucked away at home, along with a short note she had written and apparently discarded before Sandra had grabbed it and slipped it into his bag the day he was discharged from the hospital.

He huffed out a breath. “Even if she is, D, it’s not real until I remember.”

Dorian gave him an understanding smile. “Do you want her to be?”

“She’s too good for me,” he grumbled.

The DRN’s smile widened into a grin. “That’s true.”

“You’re not supposed to agree with me, Dorian,” he grumbled.

“And you didn’t answer my question,” Dorian pointed out.

“Not going to, either,” John pressed his foot down even more on the accelerator. “Let’s just focus on the case and find out why someone’s had Emily under surveillance. I have a feeling that damned android was planted at the crime scene and I want to know why.”

#almost human #john kennex #john kennex x ofc #soulmates #self harm

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evalinkatrineberg · 4 years

Text

Practice Prompt 2

A/N: The dialog with @idaliamoretti and @lady-indiana comes from an rp we did earlier today :)

The knock on my bedroom door made me jump. As quickly as I could, I tugged the white shirt I was holding over my head, still pulling down the hem with one hand as I made my way to the door, opening it with my other.

My father was standing in the other side of the doorway, his car keys in hand. “Proctor wants you to come in and help her out with something today.”

I frowned. I had done a research assistantship with Professor Proctor during the spring semester, after taking her course on genetics in the fall. I loved the work I had done under her, though it was mostly just looking at certain chromosomes under a microscope before and after she had altered the sequence of nucleotides, and comparing how the images varied. Either way, it had gotten my name out there as her assistant on the papers she published, which was certainly something. I definitely couldn’t be credited with most of the work or writing though.

“Why?”

My father shrugged, already walking away from the door. I tied the fabric belt of my flowy black pants in a bow, and began to follow him down the hallway. It wasn’t like Professor Proctor to spring work on me unannounced like this, especially when school wasn’t even in session anymore.

My father made his way immediately to the door when he reached the bottom of the staircase, picking up his work bag, which was already leaning against the shoe rack. He tapped his watch twice, raising an eyebrow in my direction.

“I haven’t even had my coffee yet,” I protested.

“You should’ve gotten up earlier.” My father only shrugged as I grabbed my purse from the hook next to the shoe rack.

“I woke up at the same time I always wake up.” Not a lie. My early morning routine had been the only thing that remained constant these past few weeks. Between capital officials calling or visiting in person, and family members I barely remembered trying to get in touch with me, altogether consuming my every waking moment, my life felt like it had been the unfortunate victim of a hit-and-run accident.

“Not even at the palace yet, and already developing an attitude,” my father noted, holding the door open for me. “That’s not a good sign.”

I sighed, opening the passenger side door of his car the moment two chirps confirmed it was unlocked. “Sorry, I’m just kind of confused and concerned as to why Proctor wants me to come in today.”

As he got in the car himself, he handed me his work bag and nodded, the only sign that he had even heard what I said. He was a man of few words, my father. Always blunt and to the point, he got what he needed to get done done, and didn’t waste people's time with niceties and polite chatter. That part of socializing he left to my mother. It was also probably a big part of why the officials from the palace preferred to have her around when they needed me to sign something, rather than my father.

My absolute favorite moment from the past few weeks had been the time that some official or another had called from the capital, and my father, fed up after a long day at work, had picked up the phone and just yelled, “What? What do you want?” He had then paused, as whoever was on the other line said something, and then calmly, he had said, “Oh, Evalin, it’s for you.” My mother had been absolutely mortified, and had taken the phone out of my hands to apologize profusely to the capital official on behalf of my father. I had found it hilarious, however, and had to leave the room at one point, unable to contain my laughter any longer.

“She probably just needs your help.”

Thank you, Captain Obvious, I thought. I bit my tongue, though. Fighting with my father wasn’t worth it. It never was, but especially not now that this would be our last full day together for a while.

So we continued the rest of our ride in silence. The streets were just beginning to fill with other vehicles as we hit the main roads. I kept my eyes on the cars passing by as I thought about the upcoming Selection. Today really was my last full day in Knoxville. I didn’t know whether to be sad about the fact that I kind of hoped I wouldn’t be back for a while. I would miss my family, sure, but I couldn’t deny that no matter which way the Selection went, it was going to be a life changing experience. I was going to learn and grow from it, and for once in my life, not in the traditional classroom-learning sense.

This could possibly be the last time I was setting foot on this campus, I realized, as my father parked his car. This might be the last time he drove me here, the last time we hugged in the lobby of the biology building before heading down separate hallways, the last time I had to smell the brine of the oyster labs as I passed by them on the way to Professor Proctor’s laboratory. Had I taken all these things for granted?

I swallowed once before walking into the lab, refusing to let myself dwell on all the what-ifs. I was done with what-ifs. The here and now, that was real, and that involved finding out what Proctor needed me to do for her.

My professor was standing in the corner of her laboratory, flipping through the pages of what appeared to be an old book with maroon leather covers. The book itself looked like it was shorter than most normal-sized books, but maybe that was just the angle I was looking at it at. Or maybe most of my time had been consumed by textbooks and official documents the past few months.

“Good morning, Professor,” I said by way of greeting, holding on to the door as it closed behind me to make sure it didn’t slam. “How are you?”

Professor Proctor looked up from her book, shutting it with one hand as she smiled at me. “Good morning, Miss Berg,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she pushed some gray hairs behind her ears and readjusted her glasses. She might be old, but she was no less wise than she had been when she had published the results of her first independent study when she was just twenty-two. I had been ecstatic when I learned that she would be teaching my genetics lecture last fall. I mean, this was a woman whose tenacity and intelligence had always inspired me. I had literally done projects about her in elementary and middle school.

“Or, should I say, Lady Evalin?” One corner of her lip tugged upwards.

I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks as I hung my purse on the coat rack by the door. “That really isn’t necessary, Professor.” Then, turning back to face her, I added, “My father said you wanted me to come in today?”

“Yes.” She began to move towards one of the microscopes, placed on a low lying lab table towards the front of the room. She pulled out two chairs, facing them towards each other, and motioned for me to take the one opposite of her. As I complied, she explained, “I wanted to talk to you before you left.”

That was right - I hadn’t been able to see her since the announcement was made on the Report. My research period with her was over once the spring semester ended, and with all the craziness of the Selection going on, I hadn’t made time to come to campus and seek her out myself.

“Thank you, Professor, for making time for us to talk. I’m sure your schedule must be busy after the release of your latest findings.”

She smiled at my reply. “It may be, but science does not stop and wait for the media circus. There are always new discoveries to be made. The world keeps turning.”

I felt my blush deepen at her clear jab at the Selection. Oh, God, she must have been mad. Or maybe my father had paid her to give me the lecture that he couldn’t bear to give me himself.

“With that in mind,” she continued, “can I ask why on earth you decided to enter yourself in the Selection?”

Oh yes, here it was.

I decided to start with a joke, laughing nervously as I asked, “Did my father put you up to this?”

“Oh, good! He’s already given you this lecture! Now, I don’t have to!”

I sucked on a tooth. That hadn’t gone according to plan, but I decided not to correct her. Professor Proctor gave amazing lectures, but they were always long-winded and strongly worded, and I wasn’t sure I could handle one at the moment. I still hadn’t even had any coffee yet. “I understand that by participating in the Selection, I am putting my education on hold, but this could be a great opportunity. Think about it - if given a position of power and influence, I could promote the inclusion of more women in science!” It definitely wasn’t my primary reason for going, but it was better than admitting my childhood crush on Prince Arin to my professor.

She waved a hand through the air. “The Princess Safiya is already a woman in science herself. You’re more useful here, studying and publishing research to enhance our knowledge of the human genome. By throwing yourself at the shoes of some spoiled boy, you might as well be throwing all of your intelligence and hard work in the sciences into a trashcan, lighting that trashcan on fire, and then kicking it down a flight of stairs.”

I nodded ever so slightly, brows furrowing as I attempted to think of something I could even say in response to that.

The professor saved me from having to respond, though. She clucked her tongue. “None you worry, though! Your time at the palace won’t be a complete waste!”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” I replied flatly. I didn’t know why I was so irritable lately. First the almost-fight with my father, and now this. Was the stress of the competition getting to me already?

“How were you at history, Miss Berg?”

I pursed my lips, thinking back to high school, picturing the marks I had gotten on my exams. “It was my best subject out of the humanities and social sciences. I think a lot of my success had to do with my memorization skills.”

“Good.” Professor Proctor nodded, leaning back in her chair. “So you are aware, then, that Illea did not always exist as a country. Not as it does now, at least.”

“Yes,” I answered hesitantly. Where was she going with this?

“So, then, the Illean caste system, as it exists currently, could not have always existed, right?”

Alarm bells were ringing in my mind. “Yes, but -”

She cut me off. “Tell me, Miss Berg, have you ever dreamed about pursuing another career? Something besides biology?”

Wasn’t that what I was doing by participating in the Selection? Wasn’t that we she was just about to lecture me about before?

I studied the woman across from me. How could she sit there, so relaxed, not a tense muscle in her body, and talk about such things? She was like a spider with a fly already trapped in its web - all she had to do was watch. She had the power to strike at any moment.

“I used to dream of being a ballerina,” I admitted, “but I was four years old, and they were just that - dreams!”

“But what if there was a world where your dream could become a reality?”

“Well, that would require for me to have advanced physical coordination skills, which I don’t,” I stated, staring at her point-blank, my face relaxed. “That fact has nothing to do with the history of Illea.”

A casteless society. Was my professor really hinting at a casteless society? It was downright treasonous of her to be doing so, and bold of her to speak so freely of these things in front of somebody who would be inside the palace tomorrow.

“That’s neither here nor there,” Professor Proctor reprimanded, waving a hand through the air again. “The point I’m getting to, though, is that I have a proposition for you.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, letting out a scoffing laugh. “Okay, what is it?”

“I need you to write me letters while you’re at the palace.”

I frowned. “That’s it?” I had already been planning on writing my family and June, and maybe even Lukas, though I doubted he’d want to hear about the drama that was bound to ensue. I supposed I could add Professor Proctor to the list as well, though I found it highly unlikely that she would want to hear about the drama either.

“Yes, but not just any letters.” Here it was. Here came the catch. “I need you to get information about the plans the government have against the rebels and the abolitionists.”

“No.” The word came out of my mouth before I could even think, before I could even fully consider her proposal to me. “I won’t do it.”

She sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. I’d hate to have to do this Miss Berg, but if you don’t send me those letters, I will make sure you never work in the field of biology again.” Her eyes narrowed as mine went wide. “If you want a research assistantship after your time gallivanting at the palace is over? You won’t get one from me, or any of my colleagues. You want to get into graduate school when this is all finished? Good luck doing it when no accredited institution worth a grain of salt will accept you.”

I shook my head, standing up and pushing my chair back under the lab table. “Treason, and blackmail,” I hissed, my voice wavering slightly, in spite of my desire for it not to. “I don’t care if you never let me work with you again. I don’t want to.”

“Think carefully on my offer, Miss Berg,” she instructed, not even moving as I made my way across the room to grab my purse. “I won’t hold this little outburst against you.”

I stopped in front of the door, my hand hovering over the doorknob as I looked over my shoulder at her, the woman I had spent most of my life aspiring to be, one last time. “You disgust me.” I shook my head again. “I’ve lost all respect for you.”

I opened the door, flinging it wide as I began to walk down the hallway.

She called after me. “What do you think your father has in your attic, Evalin?”

The door slammed, cutting off anything else she might say. I hurried past the oyster labs and up the stairs, blinking away tears as I made my way into the main hallway. Was I crying? God, I needed to get myself together.

I ducked into the ladies room on my left, right before I entered the main atrium, and threw my stuff down on the sink counter. After splashing some cold water on my face, I considered my possible next steps. My mother was at work, so I couldn’t ask her to come get me, and my father was up in his lab, which meant his phone was in his locker, and he wouldn’t be able to check it until the end of his workday. That left one person with a car that I could call.

June picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Evalin!”

“Hey, June.” I reflexively put my hand up to my free ear, covering it, even though the bathroom was silent. “What are you up to right now?”

“Running errands,” she replied. Indeed, if I listened closely, it did sound like she was in her car, not on a crowded street, but still definitely driving.

“Could you possibly come get me along the way?”

She cut me off before I could even tell her where I was. “I wish I could, Ev, but I’m on a bit of a time crunch!”

I heard someone mumble in the background - a distinctly male voice, and familiar at that. Was that Lukas? I blanched, putting two and two together. Oh my God, were they hooking up in June’s car? Was everyone I knew breaking a law today?

“No worries,” I assured her, my voice breathless and a little shaky. “I’ll find another way home.”

“Okay.” She paused. “Is everything okay?”

No.

“Yes!” I did my best to sound bright and chipper, but I didn’t think for one second that June was fooled. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

With that, I hung up. It looked like I was stuck here, and at the very least, I was not going to spend the rest of my day in the bathroom. So I picked up my purse, and made my way to the dining hall, purchased a cup of coffee, and carried it back to the biology building, where I spent a few hours playing solitaire. Anything to talk my mind off what Professor Proctor had told me.

It occurred to me that I didn’t have to give her the time to blackmail me. I could report her for conspiring with the rebels right now, and have her arrested. The only issue was, I had no proof. It was her word against mine, and I wasn’t naive enough to think that anyone would believe me over a world renowned researcher and scientist.

My phone was on it’s last two percent when my father finally emerged from the hallway. He frowned as his eyes darted from me to the three empty coffee cups that were now stacked behind me. Hey, walking to the dining hall was exercise, right?

“Done so soon?” His tone was skeptical, and he narrowed his eyes at me.

“Yeah, she got a call from a publisher of one science magazine or another, asking her if they could interview her about her latest study.” I shrugged nonchalantly. It was a good thing that I had had the better part of a day to come up with a believable lie. “How was your day?”

“Less hectic than I thought it would be.”

I stood up then, following him out the door and through the parking lot, to his car. He was silent up until we were in his car, when he asked, “Was it good to see her before you leave?”

“Yeah,” I lied, leaving it at that. Luckily, my father didn’t press me for more details. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel at every stoplight, humming along to an old song playing on the radio. No matter how much any of us protested, he refused to change the station in his car to anything other than “Classic Hits of the early 2000s.” He was insistent that it was the only music that would ever play in his car. If we wanted our own music, we were to bring something else to listen to. Too bad my phone was dead.

My father pulled into our driveway at a snail’s pace, each motion he made deliberate yet relaxed. He turned the keys, shutting the car off, still humming to that stupid song that played at least twice every time I rode with him to work - once in the morning, once in the evening.

I was over it. I wanted nothing more than to eat dinner, shower, and curl up in my bed. I was all but packed, seeing as we didn’t need to bring many personal items with us, since our wardrobe and essentials would be provided for us at the palace. All I needed to do was get through the rest of today, and then tomorrow, I would be on a plane, and with any luck, I would never have to see Professor Proctor ever again.

My father practically raced to the door. I trailed behind him, narrowing my eyes at him as he watched me slowly trudge up the porch steps, his gaze expectant. He waited until I was right behind him before he slowly began to open the door, which creaked slowly on its hinges. From what I could see, the inside of our house was dark, which was odd, considering my mother’s car was definitely in the driveway.

Once his hand was inside, my father flung the door open the rest of the way, and I stepped inside, blinking twice as the lights flashed on around me, and a wall of people jumped into my line of sight. The word, “Surprise!” was yelled in various pitches and intonations, jarring me almost as much as the sudden change in brightness did. I dropped my purse as I took in the sight in front of me. My entire family - my father’s parents included - along with June and Lukas stood in the living room, partially obscured by the staircase, wearing party hats and holding noise makers. Above the couch was a banner that read, “We’ll Miss You, Evalin!” in big red block letters.

I forced myself to smile, and then I forced myself to hug everyone, and act like this was the best present I had ever received. “I knew you’d love it,” Lydia squealed. “A going away surprise party just seemed perfect!” When our brothers were out of an earshot, she whispered, “I released the ants, too!”

I was quite sure an ant infestation was the last thing I needed at this point in time, but I assured her that it was the highlight of my day, which was the truth, though the bar was quite low. After her, it was my grandparents, who were so pleased with how much my Swendish had improved since I had last seen them around Christmas time. I informed them that I had been furthering my study of the language in order to help me stand out during the Selection, and they beamed.

The rest of the night was much the same. It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that our company started trickling out. First it was June, lazily waving goodnight as she made her way to her own home nextdoor. Then it was my brothers and Lydia, whose departures were punctured with screaming and laughter as all four made it to their rooms, finally. Then my father decided it was high time to drive his parents back to the hotel they were staying in, though they promised they would see me again at the official send off ceremony the next day. My mother drifted off upstairs, saying she needed to deal with whatever mess had been made. I didn’t want to imagine what her face would look like when she found out her daughters had collected and released ants into her sons’ room.

That left just me and Lukas, seated on the couch downstairs, me with a glass of water, and him with an untouched slice of cake.

Now was as good a time as any, I decided. Today could not possibly get any worse.

“I heard you in the car with June, today.”

Color rushed to his cheeks as he placed his plate on the coffee table. “I went with her to pick up your grandparents from the hotel.” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he added, “She asked me to come with her since I know a little Swendish.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes.” He narrowed his eyes right back at me. “You sounded kind of upset on the phone. What happened?”

I just shook my head. “You would not believe the conversation I had with Professor Proctor today.”

“Oh, good.” His eyes lit up, his lips starting to tug upwards in a smile, and his speech animated. “She filled you in on everything, then? It’s great that you’re continuing to work with her.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “I never said that.”

His face went pale at that, and he leaned forward, towards me. “What do you mean?”

“I told her no, Lukas.” It was an effort not to ball my hands into fists in my lap. “You’re working with her?”

He shook his head, and then ran his hand through his hair. “Evalin, why -”

It was all the answer I needed.

“Get out of my house.” I stood, pointing towards the front door. “Now.”

Reluctantly, he got to his feet. “Evalin, listen, you’re being irrational. Can’t you see -”

“Don’t you dare try to call me irrational when you’re the ones committing treason,” I hissed, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the door. “Get out of my house, and don’t you ever come back.”

My teeth were clenched as I opened the door, practically shoving him into the night air. As he stumbled out onto the porch, my father rounded the corner of our driveway in his car, his headlights like a beacon in the night.

“Evalin,” Lukas tried again.

I’d had enough. I pushed him towards the porch steps as hard as I could. He stumbled back a foot as I reiterated, “I said leave!”

Finally, he took the hint, and began walking across the lawn, turning right when he hit the street. To my left, my father stepped out of his car, locking it as he came to stand beside me on the porch. “I never liked him,” was all he said as he turned around, opening the front door and holding it for me.

It was a sleepless night after that. Between the fight with Proctor, and then the fight with Lukas, I had a lot to think about. My brain wouldn’t shut off, no matter how much I tried to drown out the sound of my thoughts with the sounds of the crickets outside. By the time light started filtering through the window again, I had managed to sleep for maybe half an hour, if that.

There was not enough coffee in the world to get me through this day. The morning was a blur of my mother fixing my hair and applying makeup to my face, Lydia zipping up the dress the capital officials had instructed me to wear, and my father, handing me cup after cup of coffee until I couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes without having to use the restroom. After that, we were out the door, and off to the town square, where the mayor was waiting on a stage in front of a crowd of people.

I had to give the crowd credit - some of the signs were kind of creative. Even June was there, holding one that read, “Evalin? More like Eva-WIN!” I cracked a smile at that, but it faded as I thought back to the night before. I wasn’t going to get the chance to tell her about Lukas. Shit.

Speak of the devil. There he was, dressed in a button up shirt and dress slacks, standing at the side of none other than Professor Proctor herself. A bold move, on their part. I refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing that I had seen them. Instead, I adopted the broadest smile I could manage, and plastered it on my face as the mayor droned on about my merits as a candidate for the princes heart, and what a great service I was doing for my province.

Once he had wrapped up, it was time to say goodbye to my family. My brothers were first, practically crushing me with the combined force of their hugs, and assuring me that they would get payback for the ants. I only laughed, challenging that I would love to see how they planned to do that from the other side of the country.

Then it was my grandparents, who gave me quick well-wishes in Swendish, before stepping aside to let Lydia through. Lydia gave me a quick hug, both her and my mother offering words of encouragement.

The last one left was my father. Steeling myself for what I knew I had to do, I wrapped my arms around his neck, closing my eyes as I inhaled the scent of coffee and hazelnut for one last time. Then, discreetly, I raised my head a bit, and whispered into his ear, “Proctor knows what’s in the attic, and I think I made her very angry yesterday.”

My father, to his credit, didn’t so much as flinch at the news. His face remained stoic, though he did offer me a nearly imperceptible nod, the only sign that he had heard what I said.

With that done, I was ushered into a limo, where I sat for the next two hours, until it arrived at the airport. I had wanted to sleep in the limo, but the caffeine in my system had left me too jittery and alert to do so. Maybe that was for the better, though. I didn’t want to accidentally fall asleep on the plane, in front of the other Selected girls.

One of them was already on the plane when I boarded. I ran through my memory, trying desperately to place her face to one of the names I had memorized. No luck. I was drawing a blank.

I offered her a smile as I made my way down the aisle. “Hi, I’m Evalin!”

She matched my smile with one of her own. “Hi Evalin! I’m Indie!”

Indie. Indiana? The film director from Clermont? I struggled to remember what else Lydia had told me about her, but it wasn’t coming through. God, I was so tired.

I took a seat across the aisle from her, keeping my smile in place. “It’s nice to meet you! You’re from Clermont, right?”

“Yes, I am! And you’re from -” she paused, smiling sheepishly, “-remind me again?”

“Carolina.” I smoothed out my skirt. At least I wasn’t alone in the not-remembering-information boat at the moment. “You’re a movie director, right?”

Her smile was nothing but kind as she replied. “I am. What is your profession?”

I inhaled slightly before answering. “I’m still in college, but I’m studying biology.”

For now.

“Oh wow, that’s really cool. I could never do science.”

“Thanks,” I replied with a slightly nervous laugh. “It’s second nature for me, really. I grew up around it. I think it’s really cool, what you do, though! I’ve never had that kind of artistic vision!”

“Aw, thank you. It’s the only thing I could ever do, and I’m glad. I truly love it. The profession saved me, in a way.”

“That’s amazing!” I couldn’t help but smile at that. Indie and I weren’t so different when it came down to it. What she felt for directing was exactly what I had felt, still felt, for biology. “That kind of passion is very admirable!”

Once again, she matched my smile. “We are still waiting on two more, right? The plane is supposed to leave soon.”

“I think so.” I frowned, looking over my shoulder, out the window. Missing the plane would set a sour tone for the rest of the Selection, that was for sure. As I craned my neck, trying to get a better view, I caught side of a girl with dark hair was walking through the parking lot. “Looks like one is coming now!”

Sure enough, as soon as the words popped out of my mouth, one girl boarded the plane, followed by a second girl, who already had headphones in. The first girl popped into the plane like a ball of pure sunshine, looking over her shoulder at the plane staircase. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, breathlessly, “My parents kept saying goodbye!” She turned back to us then, her eyes flickering over each of our faces in turn. “Idalia Moretti,” she said by way of introduction, plopping down in an empty seat to my right.

The fourth girl took up a seat towards the front of the plane, not so much as glancing back at us. Instead, she turned to face the window, keeping her headphones in.

“What about you guys?” Idalia’s voice drew my attention back towards my right side.

I offered her the same smile I had given Indie earlier. “Evalin Berg. It’s nice to meet you!”

“Oh,” Indie began, grinning like mad at Idalia. I had to admit, the girl’s energy was infectious, and she was practically bursting at the seams with it. “Hi, I’m Indie! Are you guys excited?”

With everyone on board, the plane began to take off. It wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be to say my goodbyes to Carolina, though I did still have my worries. Would Proctor report my father, out of spite for me? Would Lukas? What was even in my attic that was so illicit? It’s not like my father could just sneak up there willy-nilly. The attic door was a drop-down from the ceiling on the second floor, kind of like a reverse trap door, with a ladder that unfolded out once the door was open. The hinges were so rusted and creaky that half the neighborhood would know that someone was going into our attic before they ever set foot in it.

I turned my attention back to the matter at hand. “Very,” I answered. “A little nervous, too, though. What about you?”

“It should be an interesting day,” Idalia offered. “Tomorrow is when I’ll be nervous. Or, I guess whenever we meet the prince.”

“I’m definitely a little of both excited and nervous,” Indie agreed. “But you’re right. Tomorrow is when things get really real.”

They were right. I needed to focus. “True. Today is just makeovers and getting settled in, right?” I winced at my own unawareness of what I had gotten myself into. I cursed the stupid fights keeping me awake all damn night, and for making me forget what I really needed to do. “Sorry, this whole thing has been a bit of a whirlwind. It’s kind of hard to keep track of all the details.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Indie answered. “I’m sure there will be people telling us what to do, and where to go. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“It’s kind of weird, being thrown into the spotlight like this! Do any of you know any of the other girls? I’ve only gotten tidbits of information that my sister has dug up.” A half lie. Lydia had dug up a good deal of information, I just couldn’t recall any of it.

“I know one of the girls,” Indie admitted. “Emily. She’s acted in a few of my movies. I know some of the other actors just from industry talk, and stuff.”

“Yeah!” Idalia took over the conversation. “I just know the details because I have a friend obsessed with this stuff. She sent me a PowerPoint of, ‘The Most Important Things to Know,’ on everything and everyone.”

Indie’s eyes went wide and her smile grew. “A PowerPoint? That’s iconic!”

“Oh wow!” I laughed, but it came out a good deal more nervous than I had intended it to. “Dare I ask what it said about us?”

“Oh, Evalin,” Indie reprimanded with a shake of her head, “never read the reviews.”

I blushed, but Idalia only smiled as she forged onwards. “She is iconic like that! She liked your last movie, by the way. It was in her PowerPoint.”

“Oh, really? That’s sweet!”

So much for not reading the reviews.

A joke. I should crack a joke. “Ah, sorry! I’m used to my work being peer reviewed.”

I was the only one who laughed at my joke. I should not have cracked a joke.

As if it took her a second to catch on, Idalia let out a small chuckle. “I’m pretty sure your slide just said, ‘bio smart but I have no idea what any of her work says.’”

“Ah,” I replied, feeling the blood rushing to my cheeks once again. I should have seen that one coming from a mile away. “I haven’t really done anything of note. I held a research position under my genetics professor last semester, but it was mostly just me using a microscope.” It felt weird to talk about it now, after everything that had happened yesterday. I could only imagine these girls’ reactions if I had told them the full story.

“That sounds way more intelligent than anything I’ve done, so,” Indie trailed off for a second. “Kudos to you.”

I let out another nervous laugh, fidgeting with my hands in my lap. Time to change the subject. “What movies have you directed?”

Indie seemed to consider it for a moment, as if she had to pick between a large sum of movies when saying her next sentence. “A few,” she settled on, finally. “Some of them you might know are Lady Bird and Little Women. I’ve also done The Greatest Showman, but I also direct episodes of TV sometimes.”

“Oh, I loved Little Women,” I gushed immediately. “That and Pride and Prejudice are the two movies my sister insists we watch whenever we have a family movie night!”

She grinned at that. “Pride and Prejudice is amazing. I’m glad my movie sings along beside it at your family movie nights.”

“Funny,” Idalia interjected, smirking. “My house is usually filled with suggestions of Megamind on family night.”

“Hey, I mean, Megamind,” Indie trailed off again, clearly searching for the words in her head. “Important stuff!”

Interesting. That movie definitely sounded like something Randall would request. That, combined with her big personality, was making me wonder if Idalia and I had more in common than I had initially assumed. “Do you have a lot of siblings, too?”

“No, actually,” Indie answered first, “I don’t have any siblings. You?”

Idalia had an amused smile on her face as she admitted, “I only have a younger brother, but Megamind is usually not his idea.”

“Like I said, Megamind - important stuff,” Indie reiterated.

“Megamind is a classic,” I decided out loud, though I had never seen the movie before. “I have three brothers, and a sister.”

“A big family,” Indie observed. “That must be nice.”

“It is,” I admitted, thinking back to our goodbyes a few hours earlier, “for the most part, but we can get a little antsy. There’s plenty of teasing and pranks to go around! Having time to yourself must be nice, though!”

Idalia nodded knowingly. “I probably tease my brother more than he teases me.”

“Having time to myself can be nice,” Indie agreed, “but at least I get to live vicariously through my characters.” After a brief pause, she picked up the conversation again. “Oh, hey! Idalia, we never asked you what your profession was. You seem like a prankster. It has to be something interesting.”

I wasn’t the only one who got that vibe from Idalia then. The brunette leaned back in her seat, cracking a smile as she responded, “Interesting assumption. I fence sabre.”

My eyes immediately lit up. So that was where I knew her from! “Oh, wow, that’s awesome! I thought your name sounded kind of familiar! You fenced in the Olympics, right? My youngest brother had the games on all day, every day when they were being broadcasted!”

She brightened as well, her smile broadening. “I did. I’m going again next year. Or at least that’s the plan.”

“Ah, congratulations!” Thinking about all of her words had me biting my lip. “Are you nervous about the possibility of this Selection taking over a year? I know the officials said it shouldn’t, since it should display the prince’s decisiveness, but” I sighed, “I have to wonder how into the Selection he’s going to be, what with his engagement to Evie Waldia being cut off so recently.”

It was a fact Gabriel had been bringing up since the beginning. This wasn’t a quest for love, according to him, but a quest for the royal rebound. His argument only got worse once he realized how similar my name was to Evie’s. From that point onwards, he refused to address me as anything other than, “Evie 2.0,” much to my annoyance. I was my own person, not a new Evie, and not a rebound. My brother, of all people, should know that.

Idalia turned her head towards the ceiling. “Time will tell, but I doubt they will say I can’t go. Illea, like everyone else, sends people that can win. If I’m still one of the candidates when the time comes, it would be foolish of them to deny my participation.”

“That’s true,” I conceded. “It must be so cool, being able to compete for your country like that!”

“That really is cool, Idalia,” Indie echoed. “I’m sure you’ll get to go. It’s probably even better press for Illea if they send a Selected.”

I was inclined to agree. “That’s a good point! You’d get to be serving the nation in two ways at once!”

“I guess that could be said,” Idalia conceded, chuckling. “So we’ve got a film director, a bio major, a fencer, and,” she paused, looking at the fourth girl, who had shown no inclination to join in the conversation, “an unknown.”

“Should,” Indie bit her lip, and I tried to remember who the fourth girl on this plane should be. “Should we try to talk to her, or…” She trailed off again, not taking her eyes off the girl.

It hit me then. Shala Lie of Dominica.

“Shala?” I asked. No reply. I frowned and lowered my voice to a whisper, having the vague sense that Shala might still be listening in on our conversation. “Maybe she’s just very nervous.”

“Yeah, probably.” Indie shrugged. “Well, anyway, you girls seem really nice. It’s definitely made me feel a lot better about this whole process.”

“Likewise,” I replied. I had to admit, my smile was less forced this time. “It’s good to know that we’re not in this alone.”

Idalia took control of the conversation again. “I’m sure Prince Arin must be having a similar feeling.”

“Speaking of Prince Arin,” Indie began with a grin, “thoughts?”

I couldn’t help but blush at the thought of the prince. I kind of hated it. What was I, twelve years old? Nonetheless, I had to field my question. “Well, he is quite handsome, don’t you think?”

“He is quite handsome,” Indie echoed. “I’m excited to get to know him. Or, at least I hope I get the chance to know him.”

“Me too. I’d love to be able to talk to him and get to know him.” Admitting this to these girls, these almost strangers, was somehow less embarrassing than admitting it to anyone at home had been. “I’m sure he has lots of interesting stories to tell.”

“Yeah, probably. It’s just crazy that we are going to be living in the palace, of all places,” Indie gushed. “Hanging out with the prince, of all people. It feels like a fever dream!”

“Truly!” I had been saying as much since the letter first came in the mail. “I never imagined that this is where my life would actually take me!” The faint popping in my ears was my first clue, but a quick look out the window only confirmed my suspicions. “It looks like we’re about to land!”

“Yep.” Indie nodded in agreement. “We should keep in touch down there. I think it’ll be nice to have some friendly faces around.”

My smile was my main reply; my words were secondary. “Certainly!”

“I wonder if we’ll be near each other, room-wise,” Idalia chimed in.

Finally, something I could actually remember. “What rooms are you in? I’m in room eighteen.”

“Oh, uh, you know, we might be close to each other. Hold on.” Idalia paused, pulling a piece of paper out of her back pocket. She skimmed it for moment before finishing with, “Yeah, sixteen.” Her brows furrowed, then, as she looked over what I could only imagine must be a map. “Okay, so we’re in the same hall, but you’re right outside the circle of rooms around mine. Not the closest, but still same hall.”

I looked over her shoulder, taking it was was indeed a map, for myself. “Yeah, it looks like we’re diagonally across the from each other.” I smiled at Idalia, then. This could be good. “We should definitely be seeing each other around, then!”

“I’m in room six,” Indie announced, “but we will still see each other around!”

“I’ve heard there’s a woman’s room, and also etiquette lessons,” Idalia admitted.

“True.” My grin was one hundred percent genuine this time. “I’m kind of excited for the etiquette lessons. It’ll be nice to learn something different, for a change.”

“Oh, it’ll be something for sure,” Idalia agreed with an amused grin. “How to be photographed, how to curtsy, maybe which spoon is for the salad as well!”

I laughed at the joke. “I wonder if they’ll make us learn how to walk with books balanced on our heads.”

It was Indie’s turn to laugh now. “That would be funny to see,” she admitted, “but, trust me, that’s not the hard stuff. It’s the learning to talk to the press that’s hard.”

That was where the conversation ended, as the plane touched down and we were escorted down a carpet, through a large crowd of people, and into a limousine. It was silent at that point, and for that I was kind of grateful. I was out of Carolina. I was here, in the capital, possibly about to meet the love of my life, and at that moment, that was all that mattered.

#selectionoc #((sorry this is a long one lol))

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crackimagines · 5 years

Text

Massacre - (evil!Byleth AU)

Withering Flower - Chapter 3

AU Masterlist Here!

3 weeks later after wiping out Those Who Slither In The Dark, Byleth finally returns to Garreg Mach Monastery to make it his new base.

However, Imperial forces have occupied it in his absence.

That was going to change.

——

Jeralt’s Battalion Journal - The Massacre of Garreg Mach

After 2 years of wandering all over the place, the Monastery was a sight for sore eyes. It may have been run by the most extreme and insane fools but it sure was a comfy and fortified position.

Though, we didn’t get to casually take in the sights. Civilians were present, more prominently, the Empire had dug their heels into the place, daring anyone to enter.

I bet they were feeling pretty damn confident about how safe they were.

Byleth was more than happy to prove them wrong…

——

3 Weeks Later After Chapter 2…

Byleth flipped page after page of the history of TWSITD. They had been hidden for so long, pulling the strings of everyone, the events dating back to when Sothis was still around in this world.

He frowned upon reading information on Sothis, never getting the chance to ask her about Zanado though, that might have been for the best.

Byleth was only slightly shocked that they were the ones behind the Tragedy of Duscur, linking several keynames like Cornelia and such to who was connected to the King’s assassinations. He made a mental note to start hunting out those who have associated with TWSITD.

There can be no loose ends.

“Sir?”

Byleth turned to the voice, and it was the Mage who helped Byleth assault the stronghold head-on with the others.

(Byleth) “Ah…Percy, right?”

(Percy) “Yes sir. The War Council is waiting for you.”

Byleth nodded and put the documents in his coat. He walked out with Percy into the camp, watching the soldiers sharpen their weapons.

After a quiet walk they both went into a tent where Shamir, Alois, Leonie, Riddhe and several mages were standing. Byleth nodded at Percy and he left the tent.

(Byleth) “Sorry to keep you waiting. Now, let’s get straight to it. Shamir, what did you and the scouts find out?”

(Shamir) “Garreg Mach was overrun by Imperial forces 2 years ago when we left, and is currently being led by General Randolph. He’s one of Edelgard’s best commanders.”

(Riddhe) “No doubt he’s had plenty of time to look at the Monastery’s defenses and buff them up. Our men are in for a tough fight…”

(Leonie) “We may have lots of mercs but who knows how much Imperial forces are lying in wait once we start approaching?

(Alois) “Shamir, isn’t there a civilian presence as well?”

(Shamir) “Yes. Considering how they’re loyal to the Empire, we don’t know how much militia forces we’ll be up against as well.”

(Leonie) “Then we just need to go in from behind right? I mean sure they’ll be expecting it there, but we have a fighting chance!”

(Riddhe) “True enough miss Leonie, but how many forces will we lose? We have a respectable 250 mercenaries, but they no doubt have way more than we do! If we do win, our defenses will be absolutely pitiful.”

(Mage) ahem “If I may?”

Everyone turned to the mages as the leader of them stepped up.

(Mage) “Commander, I think this would be a fantastic opportunity to start field testing with the technology Those Who Slither left us.”

(Byleth) “…I’m listening.”

Inside Garreg Mach Monastery…

Randolph’s hands slightly trembled while reading the report. This was written by Edelgard herself, stating that someone or something dangerous is out on the prowl. One of the Empire’s most powerful allies was wiped out by having a mountain collapse onto their base.

Bodies were littered outside, mainly consisting of Imperial forces.

“To all Generals in the frontlines and defending the motherland, be vigilant.”

Randolph sighed, silently hoping that this enemy would never come to Garreg Mach, but he couldn’t help but wonder what this threat actually was.

(Fleche) “You read the report too, didn’t you brother?”

He heard his little sister walk behind him, staring at the paper too.

(Randolph) “Are you concerned, Fleche?”

(Fleche) “I’m concerned for you more than anything! What if they hurt you or worse-”

(Randolph) “Hey, don’t think about things like that.”

(Fleche) “That’s why I want to be on the frontlines with you and-”

(Randolph) “No, you’ll be sticking to support. If this enemy is someone dangerous like the Knight of Seiros, I want to make sure that you’re alright when I’m out there fighting.”

(Fleche) “I…” sigh ”I understand…”

(Randolph) “Good.”

(Fleche) “Who do you think this threat is though? It can’t be the Knights of Seiros, you drove them back into Kingdom territory!”

(Randolph) “And the Alliance is too busy fighting amidst themselves. I suppose we’ll find out when the time co-”

SLAM!

The door swung open, an Imperial soldier breathing heavily.

(Soldier) “General Randolph! An unknown enemy is marching towards Garreg Mach from the back entrance!”

(Randolph) “What!? What are their numbers?!”

(Soldier) “It looks to be a small force, about 100 to 200! But the person leading them-”

(Randolph) “I shall see for myself, get the men into position!”

Randolph and Fleche ran for the back gates as Imperial soldiers rushed outside with their weapons.

The two got to higher ground where archers and snipers were setting up, looking at the army approaching.

(Randolph) “Hold your fire! Do not attack unless they do!”

When Randolph turned from the archers to the army, he saw four figures leading the army.

One was Alois and Shamir from the Knights of Seiros, though from the looks of their forces, it wasn’t the church invading. The vanguard force should’ve been much larger.

An orange haired girl who he didn’t recognize was walking right next—

Professor Byleth.

Randolph was told by Edelgard how lethal he was in combat…But he went rogue from the Church, why was he here?

(Fleche) “Brother, isn’t that?!”

He didn’t say anything, but his face confirmed it for Fleche.

(Randolph) “HALT!”

He saw the professor raise a hand into the air, and the army did exactly what Randolph commanded.

Byleth walked closer to the gate and where the Imperial soldiers formed a blockade.

Randolph stood on the platform above the gate, looking down at Byleth.

(Randolph) “You are entering territory that belongs to the Adrestian Empire! Leave the premises immediately, or we will open fire!”

(Byleth) “General Randolph, I do not think you are in any position to give me demands.”

(Randolph) “Excuse me?!”

(Byleth) “I will be saying this once. Surrender and have all your forces leave the Monastery. Do that, and I will personally guarantee your safety.”

(Randolph) “What does a force of a mere 200 men have over the Adrestian Empire?!”

He saw Byleth simply sigh and stated loudly enough for everyone to hear.

(Byleth) “It seems that the time for talking is over.”

Everyone aimed their weapons at Byleth, but he didn’t move an inch.

Randolph looked to see if the mercenaries were taking action, but they remained perfectly still as well.

Then a gust of wind blew out hard from behind, creating an earth shattering blow of thunder as Randolph and the others saw a giant shadow completely overwhelm them.

Everyone turned around and saw the giant standing right before them, a fist coming to swipe them all off like flies.

Randolph grabbed Fleche and threw themselves off the balcony as the giant stone creature swatted the archers off, making them fly off to the side.

The soldiers on the ground turned their attention away from Byleth and charged the golem.

Several soldiers threw their spears at it, making the golem turn around and use its massive shield to deflect the attacks.

(Fleche) “Brother, what is that?!”

(Randolph) “I don’t know! Just get to safety! SOLDIERS, ENGAGE THE ENEMY!”

The soldiers from within Garreg Mach began charging outside towards the mercenaries and Byleth.

As they were about to attack Byleth, the group in front suddenly disappeared in a blur, making the other soldiers stop.

Looking to their left, they saw the corpses of their allies drop from the sky and an ear piercing screech filled the air.

(Soldier) “What the hell?! Is that a giant eagle?!”

(Soldier 2) “What are these things?!”

They started retreat as the Demonic beast made swooped in again and picked up even more of them.

More Golems started beaming into the monastery, swatting at everyone like flies while the eagles killed the wyvern and pegasus riders.

(Randolph) “We cannot hope to fight this! EVERYONE, FALL BACK!”

Soldiers began to run with Randolph, trying to dodge the Golems crushing everyone in the Monastery.

Byleth and the army slowly started to move up, quiet chatter filling the air besides the screaming and the sound of stones moving.

(Percy) “This isn’t a battle, this is a slaughter…”

(Riddhe) “It’s better for this to happen than risk the lives of everyone. Besides, there’s bound to be far worse battles to come…”

Percy nodded. This entire “fight” was hard to take in, but ultimately it was for the best.

At least this was a mercy kill compared to what they did with the prisoners of TWSITD.

Fleche and a group of soldiers stood near the main entrance, trying to get as many soldiers out the gate as they could.

Fleche was about to run out herself until she saw everyone that was running out got set on fire by artillery strikes.

(Fleche) “WAIT, DON’T GO OUT THERE! THE ENEMIES ARE-”

In the distance, she saw a group of mages cast spells to keep the bombardment up. It was clear the professor did not want anyone to leave.

(Randolph) “FLECHE!”

She turned around and saw her brother and what little forces were following him. Fleche could see the soldiers behind him getting stepped on by the Golem, leaving nothing but red paste in their wake while the giant eagles sent wyverns and pegasi down to the ground, most of the riders being crushed by their mounts.

(Fleche) “We need to run to the trees for cover! The mages are blocking the roads!”

(Randolph) “MEN, WE ARE LEAVING! COME ON INTO THE-”

Right as everyone took their first step, an arrow went into Fleche’s leg making her trip over.

(Soldier) “SNIPER!”

The soldiers tried to form a shield, but were picked off one by one by snipers they couldn’t see.

Randolph held Fleche and put her into his chest as an attempt to shield her from any more attacks.

They both shut their eyes, fearing the worst as they felt the golems close in.

(Byleth) “I’m afraid I did warn you, general.”

They both looked up to see nothing but corpses surrounding them, all their former friends and soldiers bleeding on the ground.

A group of soldiers started marching down the road from the main entrance and towards the town.

(Randolph) “W-WAIT! There’s only civilians down that road! They have nothing to do with us!”

Byleth sighed.

(Byleth) “I know. And it will give me no pleasure for what I am soon about to order.”

(Fleche) “You…YOU DAMNED MONSTER!”

She grabbed her brother’s sword and ran at Byleth, trying her best to ignore the pain in her leg and attempting to stab him in the gut.

(Randolph) “FLECHE!”

Byleth raised his hand gently, and formed a magical barrier that instantly reflected her sword, making her fly back.

Randolph scrambled over to Fleche trying to help her up.

Byleth couldn’t help but feel a bit of irony in this.

He was using the exact spell Thale prevented Byleth from saving Jeralt.

Here, it was to try and save her brother from a terrible fate.

He found no humor in this twisted turn of events.

Leonie Alois and Shamir walked in behind Byleth.

(Leonie) “H-Hey um…maybe they have a point? We can have the civilians be prisoners-”

(Byleth) “And risk escaping for them to spread word of what we’re up to? Not a chance, Leonie. I don’t find this anymore pleasant than you do, but it’s necessary.”

(Alois) “I…I don’t like it, but I agree too.”

(Shamir) “Hm.”

(Byleth) “If you do not wish to partake, I completely understand. That goes for anyone else that can hear me.”

The reaction was mixed. The mercenaries looked at each other and whispered, while some stepped forward, ready to do what was necessary.

(Byleth) “Riddhe, can you stomach this?”

(Riddhe) “Yes sir.”

Byleth turned to him, looking him straight in the eyes.

(Byleth) “Without hesitation?”

(Riddhe) “Yes sir.”

Byleth nodded, and turned back to Fleche and Randolph.

(Byleth) “Then, make sure no one gets out. Surround the town first for any possible points as quietly as possible, then begin.”

Riddhe and several other squads started filling into a line and moved into the town.

(Leonie) “…”

(Byleth) “Believe me when I say this, Leonie. Death is a mercy.”

(Randolph) “Then…w-why aren’t we dead yet?”

(Byleth) “If you recall, General, I said that I would guarantee your safety if you complied quietly. That did not mean I was going to kill you.”

Randolph and Fleche’s eyes slowly went wide as they saw the mages from down the road start to surround them.

(Byleth) “From this day forth, Garreg Mach Monastery now belongs to the Knights of Nemesis.”

Everyone looked to Byleth as he turned towards the crowd forming around him.

(Byleth) “We shall be the knights to liberate this world from the poison that is the Church of Seiros! We shall stamp out the tyranny that is the Empire! We will crush any who oppose us from reaching our goal to bring order to Fodlan!”

Several mercenaries began cheering out as the golems got into formation, with the eagles landing next to them, everyone forming out into lines of soldiers.

Shamir, Leonie, and Alois stood in front of the soldiers, looking at Byleth.

(Byleth) “FURY SHALL GUIDE OUR BLADES, AND VENGEANCE SHALL BE OUR SONG! DEATH TO THE FALSE PROPHET, SEIROS AND DEATH TO THE FALSE EMPEROR EDELGARD! In the coming years, all of Fodlan will know fear! ALL OF FODLAN WILL KNOW THE KNIGHTS OF NEMESIS!”

(Everyone)

“OORAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Fleche and Randolph looked horrified as the soldiers raised their blades in unity. This was no ragtag band of mercenaries. This was the most dangerous fighting force they have ever saw.

(Mage) “You have our condolences to know this information and still be alive.”

(Fleche) “H-Huh?!”

The mage talking to them was glad he was wearing a mask.

He couldn’t bear looking at them in the eyes.

(Mage) “This will be the last time you’ll get to see sunlight for a very long time.”

(Randolph) “P-PLEASE! JUST SPARE MY SISTER AND-”

(Mage 2) “Byleth, your orders?”

(Byleth) “Review the documents and perform experiments that wasn’t finished. I’ll be down later to supervise it myself.”

Fleche and Randolph were dragged away screaming into the Monastery as several soldiers and golems accompanied them.

(Leonie) “So…Now the fight really begins.”

(Shamir) “It’s going to be a long bloody war…For them.”

(Alois) “This isn’t going to be justice for us, but the whole world.”

Leonie looked down while Shamir and Alois kept their sights steady on the town.

Byleth put a hand on Leonie’s shoulder and she felt a little bit more at ease.

(Byleth) “Everyone. Thank you for being with me. As you said Leonie…”

“Now the war can properly start.”

………

Percy and the other mages with him were being surrounded by children and their parents.

Percy took off his mask and handed it to a child.

(Kid 1) “Oh cool, your mask looks really scary!”

(Percy) “Haha, well, we do look kinda weird don’t we?”

(Parent 1) “Hey, don’t tell that man that! S-Sorry I-”

(Mage 1) “No worries ma’am it’s alright.”

(Parent 2) “So, you all are imperial forces right? Can you tell me how my husband is doing?”

(Percy) “Um, what’s his name?—”

All the mages including percy suddenly stopped where they were and reached for their heads.

(Byleth’s Voice) “All units, do not be alarmed. We are testing out a long range method of communication with magic. Your squad leaders can directly communicate with me.”

(Percy) “Percy here, commander! What’s our orders for the—” !!!!

The mages slowly turned to Percy.

(Percy) “E-Even the kids?-…Understood.”

Percy slowly reached for his mask, and put it on.

(Parent 1) “S-Son, get back…!”

(Parent 2) “W-What’s going on, are we under attack?!”

(Percy) “…“

Percy’s hands started to glow purple, along with the rest of the squad with him.

——

The Elites of the Fell Star Journal - “Quiet”

What I remember about the rise of the Knights of Nemsis is…

…Is how quiet it was.

During the waning hours of the occupation of Garreg Mach, the newly formed Elites of the Fell Star was discreetly transferred to the town.

It was a silent trip.

We all knew what was about to happen, what we were about to do.

Did we have any doubts? Any private, traitorous thoughts?

Perhaps, but no one said a word.

Not during the briefing not when the order came down, and not when we marched into the town square.

Not a word.

#fire emblem three houses imagines #fire emblem three houses headcanons #fe3h #fe16 #byleth #evil!byleth #withering flower #leonie pinelli #shamir nevrant #alois rangeld #randolph von bergliez #fleche von bergliez #golden deer #blue lions #black eagles

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